#it's just that he is overly expressive when it comes to things he's not expecting

[metaphorical-goblin]

big difference between Phoenix and Miles having inappropriate thoughts is that Miles is incredibly obvious (face red, fists clenched and shaking "and maybe we could hold hands.... and........ kiss....... oh god... he has a very nice ass.............")

whereas Phoenix's mind is filled with things that need to be censored and construction/looney toon sounds every time he sees Miles and he just has to be like "oh yeah I'm used to this, it's no big deal, alright see you in court"

[lizzy019]

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König who is overly sensitive when you mention things that hit his sore spots. You comment on his height? His shoulders will sag. You mention how awkward he is at times? Don't expect a response from him for the rest of the day. You tease him for his scarring, even if it's playful? His skin will be covered for the whole week.

König who adores how soft your skin is when he first got to touch it, to lay his thick and calloused hands on it. The colour, the light fuzz of hair, the precious marks and dots that reminded him of just how individual and lovely you were.

König who can't stand the overly plush mattress of yours, and would rather sleep on the floor. Being in the military since 17, he's come to enjoy the harder type of mattress to sleep on due to the cots, so your overly fluffy bed annoyed him, even if it cradled him nicely.

König who would definitely wear anything for you, and I mean ANYTHING. Even if it won't fit, if you like it on him whether it compliments his skin or if it would just look cute on him, he'd buy it and wear it while covering the soft pinkish hue on his cheeks.

König who loves cooking you authentic Austrian cuisines and desserts for you to try. If you don't like it, he'll give the most playful expression of fake hurt, a hand placed against his chest as if he was distraught, but he wouldn't force you to like it or anything. More food for him!

König who absolutely needs cuddles after he comes back from his military service, craving that feeling of being able to bury himself in your grasp, engulfing his senses with you and your body.

König who has a bit of a possessive issue when it comes to you, but it's almost so subtle that it just seems like he's clingy. With his height and how he looks compared to you, he would kill anyone who dare came near you to try and take you away from him.

König who's too lazy when it comes to his laundry, and he has two hampers loaded with clothes that desperately need a wash. (He probably bought new ones just to avoid washing his dirty clothes 0.0 and he didn't wash the one he bought either lmaoo)

König who has some bad mommy issues, always needing a little bit of scratches to his scalp to relax and soothe him when he needs sleep. Begging you almost for some gentle scratches for his scalp that just craves the sensational feeling of tingles.

König who definitely supports you in whatever you do or say a bit too outwardly. You dress in a certain manner? Fuck yeah! You have a strong opinion about something? Ja! You don't like Austria but he's an exception? He's fucking honoured! (lmaooo I can picture it thooo)

König who LOVES lava temperature baths, it really gets to the deepest parts of his sore and stiff muscles, plus, it's funny seeing you try to stay completely still so the heat of the water doesn't affect you as much as when you move around. You're just so cute to him!

König who is secretly submissive and doesn't know how to tell you 0.0

König who fucking worships you like a god. In a sense, you're his Lord and Saviour, protecting him emotionally and being there for him when things get too rough. You provide him solace and comfort, a serenity that he can't find anywhere else and he's eternally grateful for it.

König who likes playing with your hair, no matter its texture <3

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[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. a flicker of a flame.

about. when satoru notices the flicker of cursed energy within your unborn child, he starts to feel the weight and nerves of becoming a father.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, expecting parents, reader is pregnant, hospitals, nerves about being parents, listen idk how gojo’s cursed technique works so here u go >:( canon verse, expecting father!gojo, fem!reader.

“i can see it…like…flickering inside of you.”

satoru carries an expression of intrigue, like a child who’s just discovered a new sensation.

you flip the page of your magazine, not bothering to spare your husband a glance while you instead choose to admire the many strollers and their offers that decorate the page. “don’t be weird, satoru.” you tap a perfectly manicured nail against the one you like most, leaning over to show the item to him.

“but it’s there… like actually there.” the sorcerer replies, keeping his voice low despite the loud ambience of the maternity ward’s waiting room. people crying, people celebrating, families already full of children gathering around to hear more exciting news. “i like that one. it’ll fit in the hallway too. do you want it in grey or in black?”your husband passes you a pen from the depths of your tote bag in his lap, letting you circle the stroller in the magazine so you know to come back to it.

this time, you do him the honours of looking up at him — a fresh glare settled on your glowing features. “satoru gojo please stop referring to our baby as an ‘it’.” you sigh in exhaustion, watching him slump in his seat because you know he hates it when you’re irritated with him. “i thought you were excited about having a baby girl. and the grey one, it goes with your eyes.”

that seems to perk him up enough, earning you a kiss to your cheek that has you smiling like a fool in the nurses office. “sorry, sorry…” satoru starts to coo warmly, a soft tone that’s usually reserved for you and his students. “it’s just that… every time i look at you, i see two vessels of cursed energy instead of one. there’s a flicker of a flame there, right where she would be. it’s blowing my mind.” he points to your bump, nestled away under the layer of his clothing since they’re the only thing that makes you feel comfortable right now.

you close your magazine slowly, fighting the flutter of your heart and the warmth that spreads through your body. you know that your husband is being cautious, overly observant and extremely over protective — being pregnant and having a baby in your line of work was dangerous. scary, even. but you knew that satoru wanted this with you, and you him. that he cared a little too hard or worried slightly too much because while he was the strongest, you’d become every target and every weakness to him.

you and your daughter.

an unborn child who may possibly have the powers of a god among men.

so, instead you tuck away the irritation that comes with your hormones and let your gaze slink over to the large man squished into the abnormally small seat of the waiting room — just to be by your side. “do you need me to explain how pregnancy works, satoru?” you quip and rest your head on your knuckles, just to make him laugh and ease up a little.

a wiry smile starts to tug at the corner of his soft, pink lips. “i’d rather you show me but i think we got the fun part nailed.” gojo’s face splits into a wide grin, making you roll your eyes. “we made her, yanno. she’s alive in there because you’re keeping her safe.”

“and you too, mister six eyes.” you tap his skull, brushing against pure white locks, as gojo leans over you affectionately — probably in demand for a kiss (which you give).

the receptionist calls your family name from the front desk — no doubt to call you in for your neonatal appointment. another set of scans to help confirm your little girl is nice and healthy before you tell the rest of your friends and family later today.

gojo wanted to hand out copies of your scans to everyone at dinner. show off.

but as you stand, satoru goes quiet, offering you his hand as aid. “do you think…do you want…” pressing his lips into a thin line, your husband mulls over his words whilst guiding you down the hall to the doctors office — nodding to the receptionist to thank her as you pass. “i hope she doesn’t have what i have. i wouldn’t wish this burden on anyone.” he looks you straight in the eye, blue eyes piercing your soul. you feel your baby move and kick, forcing you to wonder if she’ll have the same mind blowing eyes as her father. “i hope she’s like you. beautiful and strong and��“

“ours. she’ll be ours and the best parts of both of us. her daddy’s strength, bravery, good looks and her momma’s wits, pretty ‘get me what i want eyes’ and smarts too.” you laugh, bright and loud as you cut gojo off — turning to look at him with a happy smile. “if she turns out like that, the best parts of both of us she’ll be perfect. i’ll love her because you gave her to me, we can figure out the rest later.”

that seems to reassure satoru, who sags in relief by your side as he wraps an arm around you, his large palm splaying across your baby bump. “you’re right, you’re right,” he grins again, feeling her little feet mercilessly kick at his palm. “as long as she’s healthy, we’ll be fine. i love you.”

“we love you too.” you swoon a little too much.

satoru gojo will be a great father, you think, your baby girl is so lucky — she has the strongest daddy in the world and he loves her a little too much already.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[entirelysein-e]

『 Good boy 』

☼ synopsis: Choso is a needy puppy in heat who gets caught jerking off with your panties

☼ character: Choso Kamo

☼ wc: 1.9k

☼ cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, switch!reader, dog hybrid Choso, masturbation, cum eating, handjob, oral (giving and receiving), creampie, knotting

☼ Kinktober Masterlist

Choso was always a good boy, making sure the house is well guarded as well as cleaned while you went to work, eagerly greeting you at the door the second you came back home. “You're back! Finally!” He said happy, immediately taking your bag and your jacket from you, trying to help you unwind the second you stepped inside your home. “Have you been a good boy today?” You asked amused, able to smell your favorite dinner in the oven already. Choso only nodded, waiting for his daily headpats from you and you giggled at the sight, head tilted downwards and his tail wagging so fast it became a blurred line. “My good boy,” you praised and ruffled through his black hair, making the little ears that adorned his head flop slightly.

It filled you with pride and joy seeing your little puppy so happy and comfortable around you, remembering the time when you just got him. He was in a terrible shape, not taken care of well by his previous owners and fresh wounds covered his body that was already littered with scars - and yet he was trusting and friendly, cautious of course but he still tried to see the positive things in everything. This trait is probably what made you keep him, the way he was so selfless and really wanted to take care of you without expecting anything in return from you but you gave him an endless amount of love these past few months he has been with you.

By the time you finished your dinner, you noticed something was off, Choso was whimpering slightly and his ears were laid back against his head. “Hey… are you okay? What's wrong?” You asked concerned, feeling his forehead gently and frowning when he was burning up a little.

“Let's get you to bed early, should I hold you?” You asked caring but he shook his head, moving away from your touch, which you weren't used to. You just figured that he didn't like to be touched when sick or that he didn't want to risk getting you sick as well, so you let him trail off to bed alone before joining him hours later.

The entire night you kept your distance instead of cuddling up close for warmth and comfort like you two usually do and the way he even whimpered in his sleep made your heart ache.

Morning came fast despite the rough night both of you had and Choso found himself glued to your side, legs wrapped around yours and his arms clinging to your torso.

“Please don't leave… stay home today… I need you,” he whined but you only cupped his face, a pout appearing on his handsome face as he leaned into your touch. “I can't, baby… I have that important meeting in the morning but I promise I’ll come home right after” you promised, your heart threatening to burst at the crushed expression he wore now but he understood - you probably didn't know what was going on anyways, never having owned a puppy hybrid before so he couldn't blame you and let you get up, wanting to take care of it himself.

He watched you leave like he did every morning, trying to behave normal and trying to act like he just felt a little sick over night and needed some extra cuddles that day which you gladly provided, even leaving work early just to take care of your beloved puppy.

This wasn't exactly the case but he didn't have the heart to tell you that he was in a rut, needing to bury himself inside of you and filling you up repeatedly but he could take care of himself… or at least so he thought. His little ears didn't pick up the sound of your keys turning, neither did he hear your worried calls for him. His whimpers of your name almost drowned out the slick sound of his own cum aiding as lube while stroking his achingly hard cock, overly sensitive from all the times he made himself cum already, a small puddle on the floor and some of it dripping off his torso. Even if his ears were occupied, he should have at least noticed your smell filling his senses but his nose was buried in a pair of your panties that he stole out of the laundry, the scent of your cunt so intense and addicting to him.

“Choso?” You asked in a soft voice, unsure if you were concerned or shocked by the scene playing out in front of you. Your little puppy perked his head up, the collar jingling with the sudden movement and his cum shooting all over the floor in front of him. He wished he could disappear in that moment, shying away from you but you were able to stop him before he entirely died from embarrassment. Your palm on his arm made him shudder, a burning sensation spreading through his entire body and the embarrassment was forgotten, big eyes looked up at you “help… please,” he whimpered, dick twitching again already without ever letting him catch a break.

The mess he made of the floor and himself let you figure that he's been at this for hours, probably since you left in the morning and you felt so bad for him, giving him a warm smile and kneeling down to him. “Are you in a rut?” You asked bold, making him blush further as he nodded affirmatively.

“I read about that when I educated myself about owning a puppy hybrid… it's okay baby boy, you're my good boy, aren't you?” You asked with a soft voice as your hand traveled from his strong biceps towards his chest, smearing a few pearls of his cum over his pebbled nipples which made him shudder and goosebumps formed over his entire body.

“But you've been such a naughty boy, stealing my underwear… Do you think I should punish you for that?” You asked, a smirk growing on your lips when he pouted but he nodded, knowing he's not allowed to steal your panties. A little yelp escaped his pouting lips when you pinched his sensitive nipples before tugging his face close to the floor by the collar he wore - something he wanted to do, proud of being your good boy.

“Clean up the mess you just made,” you ordered, trying to sound stern when all you wanted was to help him feel better but he wanted to be punished first, letting him lap at the spurts of cum on the floor while you fondled his tight balls, so pretty on display with his ass in the air like that.

Once he was done you gave a small slap to each of his butt cheeks and allowed him to sit up again “Look at you, my good boy,” you cooed as you reached for his aching length, making him cry out in pleasure from how sensitive he was after all these orgasms. “P-please… I need you,” he begged, gently fucking your hand and you allowed him, pumping his shaft and wrapping your lips around the tip to reward him for good behavior. The cum he used as lube tasted bitter on your tongue but it didn't taste bad, craving to taste some more of him as your tongue teased the little slit on top of his tip and Choso didn't mean to but he pushed your head down on his length, no longer gently fucking your hands, now pumping himself into your warm mouth but you didn't protest.

You knew how much he needed this and he waited the entire day for you without a single complaint so you let him fuck your mouth with utmost care, his sweet moans and whimpers rising in pitch the closer he got. To say it was sloppy was an understatement, your saliva dribbling down his balls and your nose nestled into the small bush at the base. What finally sent him over the edge was your hands fondling his balls, smearing them with your spit and gently squeezing them just the way he liked it. Your name echoed off the walls in a lewd scream, his cum shooting down your throat before he pulled himself out of your mouth, kissing you hungry. Little thank you’s were whispered between kisses and tears threatening to spill from his eyes letting you know that this meant more to him than just getting off - it was personal - it was a need for you and your love.

The smell of your arousal filled his nostrils, not having noticed how you tugged your pants down just enough to reveal your glistening slit while he kissed you.

“Can I? You mean it?” He asked excited yet flustered, finally able to make you his forever. All you could do was nod and get on all fours for him, your cunt dripping with arousal.

Finding him desperately fucking his hand while sniffing your underwear turned you on more than you thought it would and the way he was so desperate for you only made it worse. His tail was wagging fast when he licked a long stripe all the way from your clit to your puckered hole before stuffing his eager tongue into your pussy, dying to taste your juices. All you could do was moan helplessly, not expecting him to eat you out like a man starved but he didn't want to stop this. Slender fingers rubbed and gently pinched your puffy clit while his tongue was lapping all over your folds or fucking your tight entrance until the knot in your stomach exploded, your arousal coating his tongue and resulting him to cum untouched while he whined and whimpered into your folds.

You almost had to pry him away after your third orgasm, dying to feel his dick inside of you and who was he to deny you that? With shaking hands he lined his bulbous tip up with your slick core which caused a loud moan to erupt from both of you - he fit so perfectly inside of you and hit all the right spots so that neither of you lasted long.

Choso felt your walls clamp down and the moment you screamed his name in ecstasy it was over for him, panting hard and he really wanted to pull out but your cunt sucked him in so good that he just couldn't stop himself.

“Fuck- fuck I'm so sorry,” he whined loudly and for a second you didn't know what he's apologizing for until your eyes went wide, feeling the giant knot stretching you further than you've ever been stretched. His hot cum was spurting against your insides, your name falling from his lips in cries of pure pleasure and the knot keeping it all inside of your pussy.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled as he rested his forehead between your shoulder blades but you whimpered, the stretch borderline painful but the way you felt so connected to him now made it into something pleasurable. “Feels good… can we stay like this?” You asked breathlessly, not wanting this moment between the two of you to end and Choso only humped his hips against yours in a silent agreement and to let you feel that he was far from being done - cock still hard. His shallow thrusts right against your sweet spot made you moan again, only waiting until the knot swells off so he can fuck you properly again only to knot you to him again and again.

Networks: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Homesickness.

Pairing: Yandere!Silver x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 1.6k.

Commissioned by the very lovely @felix-the-lemon-king.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Physical Intimidation, Arranged Marriages, and Manipulation.

“You’re going to miss the ball, beloved.”

You flinched into yourself as you heard his voice, accompanied by the sound of clipped heels against stone floors and the slight reverberation of both disruptions against barren walls. A foolish, naïve part of you had convinced the rest that a royal guard – no, a general would have too much pride to be found absent from his own betrothal celebrations, let alone be seen in a servant’s hall, but you should’ve known better. There were many in Briar Valley who let their pride distort their vision, countless who allowed their rank and titles to overshadow even their most basic sense of rationality. Silver was, tragically, not among them.

And Silver was, tragically, the only resident of the valley you were engaged to.

You didn’t rush to respond. Patiently, you counted the seconds until he was standing at the base of the stairwell you’d took refuge in – not unlike the way you used to hide in spare bedrooms and vacant parlors as a child, whenever your parents were entertaining guests who had too many questions about your pointed ears and the scales on the backs of your hands. And, tangentially, you couldn’t say the bolt of dread that would always strike your chest when you heard you parents calling you out of that day’s chosen hiding place was totally dissimilar to the fear that knotted in the back of your throat as Silver stepped into your line of sight, coming to stand in the doorway at the stairwell’s base. He was still dressed in his regalia, his clothing evenly divided between the pitch-black armor of the royal guards and the formal attire that would be expected, given the occasion. His sword was sheathed at his waist – a sight that, weeks ago, might’ve made you somewhat wary, but that you’d since grown desensitized to. No part of you found comfort in the fact that he seemed to be constantly within arm’s reach of a weapon, but it was hard to be scared of something he never seemed to draw.

It took him a moment to find you in the darkness, his eyes more limited by it than your own, but he seemed to soften as his gaze finally landed on you. “You’ll miss the ball,” he repeated, his tone concerned rather than irritated. Another small blessing – for a knight, your betrothed seemed remarkably slow to anger. “Is something wrong? I know Malleus took charge of the arrangements, but if something doesn’t suit your preferences, I can—”

“It’s beautiful,” you assured, because it was. Because it had been. Because for any little girl from the Briar Valley or any other fae land had been in your place, this all would’ve been nothing short of a dream come true, but you weren’t a little girl, and you weren’t from Briar Valley, and you found very few things beautiful about the idea of getting married at all, let alone to a man you had only recently met. “It’s only…” You curled your hands around the fabric of your own attire. “I’m afraid I’m just… not very good at parties, I guess. I’m sorry.”

You half-expected Silver to frown, to urge you back to the banquet hall he’d come from, but he only sighed, shaking his head in a sympathetic sort of way before taking to the stairs and seating himself beside you, leaving a measured gap between your body and his. “You don’t have to apologize. I know you’re not used to being here, just yet.” He paused, flashed a small smile in your direction. Even at the best of times, you struggled to read his expression – not because he was overly cold, but because he always seemed to radiate that same uncanny, only a touch above off-putting warmth. At least a portion of it had to be insincere. Fae or human, there wasn’t a person alive who could be so consistently affable. “It took me months to adjust, the first time I left the valley. Everything was so alien – if I hadn’t been travelling with my father, I wouldn’t have lasted more than a day.”

It was difficult, but you did your best to smile, to laugh. Although your pairing had seemed strange at first, it did make a twisted kind of sense – a fae born without magic, raised by the human nobility of a country with only negligible ties to Briar Valley, arranged to marry a human with magical prowess in spades, raised in service of a fae king, for the mutual benefit of their homelands. You wouldn’t have been surprised to find out it was a part of some elaborate joke, the type it was rumored your kin were so fond of. It was only unfortunate that you had to be the target of their humor.

“The dark bothers me more than anything,” you admitted, before you could think better of it. “Where I come from, it’s almost always sunny. Having to live someplace without light and with so little warmth—” And so many cruel faces, and so many gnashing teeth, “—I suppose I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“It’s not always like this.” It was the most eagerly you’d ever seen him speak. “You’ve come during a poor season for it, but the view from the castle’s highest tower on a clear day is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and the valley’s coasts get much more sun. I’ve heard they tend to hold their festivals around this time of year, too.” He seemed to pause, to consider, then went on, “After the wedding, I’d be my pleasure to take you to one.”

At that, you let yourself relax. He was aloof, sure, but he was kind, too. You could be thankful for that, if nothing else. “I was planning to return home as soon as possible, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to stay a little longer.”

“Of course.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought you heard him moving closer to you. “Malleus suggested we continue to stay in the castle while you settle, but… it would be nice, if we had our own home.”

Your delicate smile wavered. “Silver, I know we haven’t talked about this but—”

“Unless you’d like to stay here, I mean. But, I’d still like to show you the cabin where—”

“Silver,” you tried, again, letting out an exasperated laugh. “I meant that I’m not going to stay in the valley at all after the wedding. I understand why I’ve been asked to marry you, and it’s not that I haven’t enjoyed my time here, but—” Another laugh, a pleading glance in his direction. “I don’t belong here, as you wouldn’t belong anywhere but Briar Valley. You know that, don’t you?”

Now, it was Silver’s turn to go quiet. When you found the nerve to look toward him, you found him staring blankly ahead, his lips ever so slightly quirked downward. Huh.

So that was what he looked like, after he’d gone cold.

You didn’t see him draw his sword. His hand was on his hilt, grip tight enough to bleed the color from his knuckles, and then, your back was pressed against the harsh slant of the staircase, the flat of his blade pressed to the base of your throat and Silver above you. You didn’t scream. You didn’t move. You might’ve forgotten to breathe, too, if you hadn’t been shocked enough to let out a single, airy gasp – just loud enough to be audible.

“After the wedding,” he started, speaking slowly, carefully, as if he was afraid you might not understand. “I think you should remain in the valley, with me. I’ll build us a house – a cabin not far from the castle – and you’ll be safe and warm for as long as I can take care of you. Would you like that?”

You opened your mouth, but suddenly couldn’t remember how to move your tongue. Silver angled his wrist, the slant of his blade pressing into tender flesh. “Would you like that, beloved?”

“I---” You forced yourself to swallow, to shut your eyes. “I want to go home, Silver.”

This time, you felt something razor-sharp and frigid bite into the skin just below your jawline, drawing the thinnest possible trail of blood. “And you will.” Then, after a measured pause, “And that home will be with me.”

He wasn’t cruel enough to make you say it aloud. All it took was a quick nod, a pathetically fractured whimper, and he was drawing back, returning his sword to its sheath as he pushed himself to his feet. There was no mention of swords or cabins or the blood now dripping down your neck – only long, weighted look, the implications of which you didn’t wish to examine. “Stay here.” Almost reflexively, you moved to stand, but all it took was a tilt of his head and a flash of his blade to have you falling back into place, paralyzed. “I’ll tell Malleus that you won’t be returning. When I’m finished, we’ll return to our chambers together.”

You hadn’t formerly been sharing chambers, but pointing that out felt redundant, if not entirely useless.

You watched as he started to turn away, only to hesitate and return to you. With a deliberate kind of slowness, he lowered himself onto one knee in front of you, taking your limp hand in his. “Of all the people I could’ve been betrothed to, I’ve found myself increasingly glad that I’m betrothed to you.”

His smile was warmer than it ever had been, and yet, you’d never felt so cold.

“And, eventually, I know you’ll feel the same.”

[hoe4hotchner]

Aaron Hotchner x non bau rich reader. Like a part 2. Reader meets the BAU but they are impressed like reader is so rich but humble and loves Aaron and Jack so much.

The mystery woman | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x rich fem!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: nothing it's fluff

A/N: I loooveeeeddd working on this!!!!!

Hotch's relationship with you had always been something of a mystery to his team. While he was naturally private about his personal life, the snippets they’d heard over time painted a picture of someone warm, grounded, and, to their surprise, immensely wealthy. It was something they hadn’t expected — someone who seemed to belong to an entirely different world yet had seamlessly become a part of Hotch and Jack’s.

They never pried — Hotch would have shut that down in an instant — but curiosity lingered nonetheless. For all his long hours, endless casework, and rarely taking a day off, somehow Hotch had managed to meet someone so different from the chaotic nature of the BAU. It wasn’t just your wealth that fascinated them; it was how easily you fit into his life. If anything, it only fueled their curiosity. How had someone as busy and emotionally guarded as Hotch caught someone like you?

It wasn’t lost on the team that Hotch rarely spoke about you unless someone specifically asked. Even then, he was usually brief — mentioning how you’d taken Jack to the park or baked cookies for a school event. But the way his expression softened at the mention of your name hinted at something deeper, something they all could sense but couldn’t quite pin down — something that hinted at a human connection he hadn't felt since Haley.

That curiosity finally found an outlet when you joined Aaron and Jack at Rossi’s dinner party.

Rossi had insisted that the whole BAU team come together, spouses included, determined to create an evening to wind down, where hopefully work could be forgotten for a while. Naturally, the team had been eager to meet you, though they hadn’t dared to push Hotch for details.

Hotch had paused just long enough for the team to notice before replying, almost offhandedly, that he wasn’t sure if you were coming when Rossi announced the party. Your schedule that week had been especially hectic, and he didn't want to pressure you to join if you didn't have the time. “She’s… busy,” he had said, the slight hesitation in his voice giving away a faint uncertainty about whether you’d even be able to attend.

It was enough for the team to conclude: you, too, were a workaholic. Of course, you were — you had to be, considering the kind of lifestyle and responsibilities they imagined you must manage. The thought only added to their intrigue. What kind of person juggled such an overwhelming schedule yet found time to date?

But what they didn’t know — what Hotch himself hadn’t quite expected — was how enthusiastic you were about attending. The moment you’d heard about the dinner, you had set to work rearranging your obligations, clearing your calendar, and delegating tasks. While your schedule may have been packed, you never hesitated to prioritize moments like these.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you had told Aaron firmly, brushing aside his protest about how much effort it would take to move things around. The excitement in your voice had been unmistakable. It wasn’t just about meeting his team—it was about being there for him and Jack, stepping into a part of their world that mattered so much to them, about meeting their family, and showing how much you truly cared for them.

It was a side of you that Aaron cherished, though he rarely spoke of it to others: your ability to make time for the people you loved, no matter how busy life got. And now, as the dinner drew closer, the team’s long-standing curiosity was about to be answered.

When you arrived, dressed impeccably but not overly flashy, the team’s first impression was of someone who exuded elegance. The second thing they noticed — impossible to miss really — was the way Jack clung to your hand, his small fingers wrapped around yours like he never wanted to let go. His face lit up the moment you stepped through the door, his excitement bubbling over instantly.

“Uncle Dave, this is Y/N!” Jack declared proudly as he tugged you forward. “She’s the best. She makes the most awesome pancakes!”

The team exchanged amused glances, charmed by the adoration in Jack’s voice. Even Hotch, standing off to the side, looked relaxed with a rare smile on his lips as he watched the interaction.

You laughed and crouched slightly to tousle Jack’s hair. “Jack’s biased,” you teased as you glanced up at Rossi. Straightening, you extended a hand to greet him with a polite, confident handshake. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

Rossi grinned, shaking your hand firmly. “Well, anyone who can win over Jack is already a favorite in my book.”

The casual ease of the interaction left the rest of the team intrigued. While they had expected someone polished, they hadn’t anticipated such genuine warmth. You seemed entirely unaffected by the fact that you were meeting a room full of highly trained profilers. Instead, you carried yourself with a natural charm that immediately put everyone at ease, making it clear that, to you, this wasn’t a performance or an obligation.

And as Jack dragged you over to show you a plate of cookies Rossi had set out, the team couldn’t help but exchange glances. This was someone who had Jack’s trust and admiration. If there had been any lingering doubts about what kind of person had captured Aaron Hotchner’s heart, they were already starting to dissipate.

As the evening unfolded, the team couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly you navigated the gathering. You shared stories of your philanthropic ventures but downplayed your role in running them. When asked about your background, you focused on your hobbies and interests rather than the lavish lifestyle they knew you could easily flaunt.

But what stood out most was your connection with Aaron and Jack. You weren’t just present; you were integral. When Jack pulled you to sit with him, you leaned in to listen as if whatever he was saying was the most important thing in the world. And Aaron had a softness in his eyes when he looked at you.

At one point, JJ leaned toward Emily. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy.”

“Or Jack this smitten,” Emily added, watching as Jack giggled uncontrollably at some joke you whispered in his ear.

Later in the evening, Spencer approached you hesitantly, curious but respectful. “I hope this isn’t intrusive, but… how do you balance everything? Your work, your family, and, well…” He glanced at Aaron and Jack, who were chatting nearby.

You smiled, thoughtful. “It’s not always easy, but with him, it’s worth it. Jack too. They remind me that it’s not about how much you have or do — it’s about who you share it with.”

As the night ended, the team left with a newfound understanding of the person who had captured Hotch's heart. You weren’t just wealthy; you were kind, and deeply in love with Aaron and Jack. And for the first time in a long time, they saw their unit chief not as their leader who had gone through so much but as a man who’d found something extraordinary — someone extraordinary.

[beejunos]

ANIMAL INSTINCTS | Alastor x f.reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cressidagrey]

Lightning in a Bottle - Chapter 2

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody's first choice for once in her life.

Also known as: Azriel's shadows decide that if he doesn't treat his mate right... they'll just do it for him.

Warnings: 

Elain Bashing, Angst, Nesta threatening bodily harm, Amren being mean.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was a lot of things. A knight however was not one of those. 

He was a bastard, a shadowsinger, the spymaster of the night court. He had fought in wars, tortured, killed, slaughtered, and bathed in the blood of his enemies…figuratively and literally in a sense.

But Azriel had never once been considered to be a knight. 

Not until he had met a slip of a human girl who never had the acrid smell of fear clinging onto her like he had expected. 

To Eira Archeron, Azriel had been a knight. 

He still wasn’t quite sure what he had done to give that impression…how she had heard Spymaster as a human and then continued to call him Sir when he had returned to the human lands to make his preparation to talk to the Human Queens. 

She had stopped calling him that at his request…she had been more than content to let Elain do the talking. And his attention had snapped from her, to her twin sister…flawlessly polite and beautiful. 

Azriel easily admitted that between the threat of the war and the worry of the future..somehow his attention had stayed there. 

And he hadn’t thought much more about the fourth Archeron Sister. 

Not when the other three had demanded his attention in a myriad of ways…from Feyre as High Lady, to Nesta with the problems she had adjusting or Elain, who had suffered beautifully and pined away for her human life. 

Eira…Eira hadn’t been anything to worry about, because she had done nothing. 

Hadn’t done anything but tried to be no trouble for any of them. And succeeded. No need to pay attention to her, because she hadn’t done anything. Ever. 

She had found herself work as a seamstress, seemed to adjust well to Velaris and her new Fae body…and that had been that. 

She was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma…and Azriel hadn’t even realised it. 

He had become complacent… had started to have a fucking blind spot right in front of his face…and he hadn’t noticed. 

Too busy with himself…with his own overly emotional moping, because he had felt unfairly treated… and had come away from that with a chip on his shoulder the size of the continent and the mulish expression of a teenage boy on his face…

He had admitted that too. 

At last, he had realised it…at least before he had done any lasting damage, Rhys’ words rattling around his brain and seemingly dousing him in cold water. 

It had been an infatuation with Elain…nothing more. Jealousy about his brothers both finding their mate in such a short period…Feeling unfairly treated...

And Azriel didn’t even have the excuse of his age for it like he had with Mor.  He had been so young when he had fallen head over heels in love with her…His centuries spent pining painfully away were a choice he had made because Mor was unattainable...

So really, these days, Azriel had no excuse that it had taken that long…

Weekly dinners had been a tradition for centuries. And they were not going to stop with them now. Especially not with Nyx there now, who enjoyed the attention of everybody doting on him…though he had one clear favourite. 

Azriel entered the dining room to Nyx’s loud chanting of “Ra! Ra! Ra!” which was the universal sign that he wanted Eira to hold him and nobody else. 

Feyre relinquished her son with a snort, letting Eira take him and settle him on her hip, pudgy little baby arms immediately flying around her neck. 

He blinked once at Eira’s appearance…at the sight of her in a grey dress, high-necked and covering her from her wrist to her ankles, cut high at her neck. Not out of the usual for her. He had not once seen her in the traditional Night Court fashions of tops and trousers…But what did surprise him…that was her hair…

Usually, it was scraped back into a messy knot at the base of her skull…well, now it fell down to her waist in perfect ringlets…held back from her face with two gilded hair combs. Beautiful. 

She took her seat and he moved to sit across from her, like he always did… like he was in a trance, somehow so taken by her that he couldn’t help himself. 

Eira smiled at Nyx in her arms, bright, pearly white teeth showing. He had never seen her smile like that either. 

And then her eyes met his… that smile changing from brightly happy to painfully polite…

And with one look… everything changed.

Lightning crackled along his veins. Crackled through his whole body, his hands tightening into fists as for a moment he didn’t know what happened. 

It caught around his ribs like a whip, tying him to her for eternity. And Azriel could just stare at her, wide-eyed, as she went back to doting on Nyx like nothing had happened…

Everything inside him was rearranged, a place carved out inside his chest just for her…just for Eira. 

For Eira with her big silver eyes, her delicate little hands…

He had always liked her…liked her soft voice, and how she had filled the silence so that he didn’t need to say anything, do anything, but hang onto her every word…liked how she had made it so easy for him to be around her…how she had seemingly always tried to be helpful, always tried to be kind…

Finally! the shadows crooned. Finally, Master! That took you long enough! 

They had known. 

They had known?! Since when…how…

He watched in terror how a tendril of shadows appeared over Eira’s shoulder and waited for her to flinch back…but nothing happened. Eira didn’t even seem to notice it, as she was cutting food in smaller pieces for Nyx, feeding him, his blue eyes wide, staring at his aunt in adoration. His little wings fluttered against her hold and she adjusted, seemingly without a thought…doting on Nyx. 

Eira Archeron was going to be the death of him.

Azriel knew that already. 

Because it already felt like she was crushing his very heart in the palm of her hands…because everything he had spent centuries begging, pleading, praying for, was right there, sitting in front of him and ignoring his very existence. 

Eira. 

Everything he wanted…right there, where he had last expected it. 

“Az, do you want the salad now, or am I just supposed to wave it in front of your face for another five minutes?” Cassian asked him, voice dripping with sarcasm, and that finally managed to get him to function again.

“Thank you,” he managed to force out, pulled all the wayward shadows in his nearer surroundings to him with a harsh tug at their metaphorical leash and took the salad from his brother. 

Salad. Dinner. 

And then…cauldron boil him, he needed to…figure out what he was going to do with…

His blood was rushing in his ears and he was thankful to sit because otherwise, he would have already fainted. His heart was pounding in his chest, far too fast…worse than it had in centuries…even while fighting for his life. 

“Are you alright?” Cassian asked him carefully and he just about managed a nod.  “You don’t look too good.”

He probably didn’t.

“I am fine,” he forced out. 

Great even. He was…

Mate, some instincts inside him purred. Mate. 

Our mate, the shadows sang, so very pleased. Ours! 

He forced himself to eat. Even when every part of him ached for Eira to turn to him like she usually did during dinners…and start a conversation about something or other…Listen to her voice. 

She did nothing of that sort that evening, doting on Nyx, though her soft whispers to the little boy made something inside him ache. 

“So what else happened this week?” Rhys asked at that moment, clearly trying to start a conversation, something that didn’t involve Keir in Hewn City being an absolute pain. 

“Eira got her teeth changed,” Elain spat out and Azriel was so taken aback by that tone of her voice that he needed a moment until the words registered…until…

Eira got her teeth changed? Why had she done that? She was already perfect. There was no reason to change anything. 

He couldn’t help but stare at her, again or once more or…and he watched the blush rise high on her cheeks, see how uncomfortable she was as the attention of the table shifted to her. 

“You had your teeth changed, Eira?” Rhys asked, sounding as taken aback as Azriel was feeling. 

“I did,” Eira agreed, her voice quiet. 

“Look at me?” Nesta requested, two seats down from him and he watched as Eira bared her teeth. 

Perfect pearly white teeth. Uniform in size. No trace anymore of the two big incisors that had sat inside her mouth. They had been just a smidgen too big for her. It had been charming as far as he was concerned.  But now they were all…all perfectly even. 

“It looks great,“ Nesta said. “But they were fine before as well.” A sort of understanding passed between Nesta and Eira, a look between the same grey eyes they shared that Azriel didn’t understand but wished he would

“I like it more like this,” Eira admitted, her voice quiet, going back to take care of Nyx. Nesta inclined her head. 

“Then that’s all that matters.” And that was that.

As long as she was happy, Azriel couldn’t care less. If she liked this more, then she should have whatever made her happy. 

“You actually agree with her? Nesta!” Elain exclaimed and Nesta stared at Elain, lips pursing for once, seemingly disagreeing with her sister. 

“They are Eira’s teeth,” Nesta said with a shrug.  “As long as they are attached to her mouth, I think she can do whatever she wants with them.”

Azriel tended to agree. Her teeth. If she liked them like that…well, that was that then. 

“You should have had them made into fangs. You could use them, Girl,” Amren commented drily. 

Eira said nothing in response, her shoulders seemingly caving in. 

His shadows bristled so sharply that he nearly flinched, hissing quietly, Our Mate. Our Mate! She doesn’t need fangs, but the tiny ancient one needs her throat ripped out!

He glared at them, but they ignored that. Instead, some of them bitched under their breath about anything Elain had to say…while some others were waxing poetically about the gleam of Eira’s hair in the candlelight. 

So beautiful, they purred in his ear.  So pretty. Doesn’t her hair glow like gold like this? Like a halo…

It was decisively unhelpful. Even when they were right. 

Especially because it frayed what little self-control he had. What little self-control he had that stopped him from going on his knees before her right now and begging her for…something, anything…everything. 

His ruined hands curled into fists as the shadows continued with their little monologue. 

Nyx seemed to be content to tuck his head against Eira’s shoulder and play with one big ringlet of that gleaming hair as he fell asleep, yawning widely. 

That seemed to be all the excuse Eira needed as she stood up. “I’ll put him to sleep,” Eira offered quietly as she stood. She hadn’t said a single word that evening unless it was talking to Nyx or Nesta asking her a question. Had stayed quiet. Silent. 

He missed her voice. 

He couldn’t stop the shadows from rushing out to pull her chair back so that it made no noise, fighting with them for control as they insisted on clinging to her skirts. “I’ll be up early tomorrow…I thought I could take Nyx to that playground he likes,” Eira said at that moment looking at Feyre and Rhys.  

“Of course,” Feyre agreed with an indulging smile. “He loves the swing there.”

Eira left and he watched her go, trying to swallow and trying and failing his shadows from following along in one big massive cloud…

“Az, what was that?” Rhys asked with some amusement but he couldn’t bring out the words. Couldn’t say anything…could just pull open his metal shields and push it at Rhys, begging him to understand. 

His brother’s eyes widened in pure undiluted shock. 

*By the cauldron,* he breathed in Azriel’s mind. 

“Are you both alright?” Cassian demanded, the shock being obvious on Rhys’ face. 

*Congratulations, brother,* Rhys said quietly in his mind, carefully. *I hope this isn’t…unwelcome?*

Unwelcome? How could this be unwelcome? 

This was…This was everything he had ever wanted. 

“Yes,” Rhys said, clearing his throat. “I am fine, and Az will be… alright.” 

Oh, he would be. He would be more than alright. He just…needed to...He pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart thump against the touch. 

“You sure about that?” Cassian asked drily. “You look a bit green around the gills, Az. How are you feeling?” 

“Like somebody is carving up my chest,” he managed to bring out. 

It was the truth. That mating bond was like a razor wire, tied around his ribcage, sharp and painful. He wasn't sure if that was even normal or if that was just him trying to get used to it, if it was, just the shock that finally he had a mating bond himself or...

“Well, that sounds healthy,” Cassian said sharply, reaching out with one broad hand to put it on Azriel’s shoulder and squeezing. Warm, solid…giving him something to concentrate on. 

“Give him a moment,” Rhys said with a pointed look. “He’ll be fine once he catches his breath.”

He just needed...

She's fine, Master, the shadows assured him. Just singing the Princeling to sleep. 

“You want some water?” Nesta asked, already moving to stand. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Cassian demanded, his voice sharp.

He had no idea what he was supposed to say. 

“The mating bond snapped for him,” Amren drawled drily. “He’s just being dramatic about it.”

Dramatic? He was being dramatic? 

Azriel hadn’t thought he would get this for half a millennium! 

*Careful, Az,* Rhys said into his mind. *She does not mean it like that.*

He harshly pulled at the shadows that had been striking out on their own, getting ready to make their displeasure known to Amren. 

“What? To whom? You?” Cassian asked, the hand tightening nearly painfully. 

“If that was the case, I would be utterly uninterested,” Amren said with a snort. “But I imagine.. it must be Eira.” 

It was deathly quiet in the room after that declaration, all the eyes on him. 

Elain broke the stifling silence. 

“Is that a joke?” She asked, sounding utterly aghast. “Your mate is Eira?”

He couldn’t help the snarl that broke out of his throat, Cassian's grip turning from supportive to warning in an instant, the shadows poising themselves to attack. 

“Careful,” Rhys said quietly. “His instincts are primed. And his control is…not what it should be right now.”

*Reign it in, Az. Nobody is going to take her from you,* Rhys warned him. 

“We are all just…surprised!” Mor hurried to add, exchanging a look with Feyre next to her, who was paling rapidly. “Congrats! She has been having a crush on you for years!” 

What?

“Oh gods,” Feyre murmured under her breath.“I…I may have really messed up,” she admitted with a grimace. 

Not exactly what Azriel wanted to hear. 

A glance was exchanged between Rhys and Feyre. 

“You told her to get over her crush?” Rhys said surprised, blinking once. Feyre just nodded. “When?”

“2 days ago? After she got her teeth changed…I thought she only did it for Azriel,” Feyre admitted quietly. 

“Why would you do that, Feyre?!” Nesta demanded sharply. 

“Were you trying to protect Azriel’s virtue?” Cassian asked with a snort, trying to find some levity in that situation even when Azriel was starting to get furious.  “Don’t worry, there is nothing left for you to protect.”

“I didn’t want there to be any problems. And she was annoying you at every dinner,” Feyre tried to explain. His eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. 

“Annoying me?” He repeated, unable to believe what he was hearing. “She wasn’t annoying me!” 

“Making you uncomfortable then,” Elain amended quickly. “She talked to you constantly.” 

Yes. And it had never bothered him one bit. 

He would rather just listen to her talk, to one person talking, than to take part in the loud and raucous conversations that could go on for hours. 

If anything…he had welcomed it as a respite. In Eira’s little world, there weren’t really any…there were no bloodyproblems to take care of,  no weapons…she talked about embroidery and fabrics and books she had been reading…her world was so soft. 

“If that bothered me, I would have said something,” he bit out. He didn’t need Feyre to protect his virtue. Or Elain. Or anybody else. 

“I thought you would be too polite for that,” Feyre admitted with a grimace. Before he could respond, Elain beat him to it. 

“Does it even matter?” She asked, crossing her arms as she stood. “It’s Eira. It’s not like you’ll actually want her,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll be upstairs.”

It was pure shock that kept him rooted to his chair. Pure shock that stopped him from lunging across the table, at Elain’s throat because how dare she?!

The shadows hissed, spitting mad, whirling around him, a mess of voices, bombarding him with suggestions of what he should do about this, about that kind of disrespect to his mate. 

Want her? He didn't just want her, he needed her!

To his surprise, it was Nesta, Nesta of all people who slammed her hands onto the table, who stared him down with sparkling grey eyes, steel in them. 

It wasn't Nesta who stared him down. It was Lady Death herself.  “You lay one finger on Eira where she doesn’t want it and I’ll hack off your fucking hands!” She snapped at Azriel. 

He swallowed. He could only incline his head in response.

“We’ll deal with all of this tomorrow,” Rhys pointedly, with a sigh, making an executive decision. “After our visit to the Hewn City.”

*Can I trust you not to tell her for one night?* he asked Azriel mentally. *Let Feyre talk to her first and apologise?*

 *Tommorow,* he agreed. He didn’t want to tell her now…not when she was tired and wanting to sleep. Tomorrow. 

Still, without a conscious thought he sent the shadows to check on her…finding her up in her room, getting ready for bed. 

Safe. Content. 

His. 

[graveyardcuddles]

Breakfast in Bed

A/N: just a dadstarion drabble. feeding as a love language. mdni.

word count: ~ 3000

tags/warnings: sfw, shameless fluff, soft spawn astarion, baby fic, mentions of reader being pregnant in past tense, breastfeeding, soft blood-drinking (? lol), tav reader, mom reader, soft vampire romance, hints of angst, just lots of sweetness, playing fast and loose with dnd lore about dhampirs and vampires.

You're enjoying a rare deep sleep when a small yet powerful sound jolts you into a state of semi-consciousness with alarming urgency. You can barely register your own body around you, attempting to roll and shift. Suddenly, you feel a familiar cool hand touch your shoulder. "Shhh, it's alright, love. I've got her."

Astarion. He must have sensed your panic at your daughter's cries before he even had the chance to grab her himself. You sigh in relief as he quickly moves to soothe her.

"Gods below, whatever could be making that absolutely hideous sound? Has a little gremishka gotten into our home?" He says with a heavy dose of sarcasm as he pads over to her cot.

Untangling yourself from the bedding, you open your eyes just in time to see Astarion gently lifting your tiny daughter out of her bassinet.

"Darling, waking up your mother so early?" He tuts. "And here I was hoping to make this a peaceful morning."

Despite his mock scolding, his expression betrays the softness of his eyes, wide with adoration. His lips curl upwards in a carefree way that you've never quite seen from him with anyone else. A secret smile that only she can pull from him. She scruches her little legs, and he places a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his hand covering almost her entire back. He coos to her as her cries taper out into little whines. Nestling her close to his chest, Astarion tucks her tiny head under his chin. Rocks her gently while shushing her until she goes quiet.

You watch as her tiny scrunched body relaxes as she calms in his hold. So enchanted you are by the two of them that it takes a moment for you to notice the aroma of food coming from behind you. You turn around and see a small tray on your nightstand with a bowl of porridge, two hard-boiled eggs, toast, and some blackberries.

Once again, you find yourself struck by how much he's changed in the years since the Nautaloid. He never used to cook for you before, and you never resented him for it. You couldn't expect him to be enthusiastic about cooking when he couldn't even taste what he made for you.

All of that changed after the news of your impending little one broke. He had quietly taken to practicing a few basic meals for you. They often lacked the amount of seasoning you normally preferred, but with your overly tender stomach, the bland meals ended up being a blessing on days you could barely keep things down.

As you eat your breakfast, you watch the two of them. Somehow, he's always had a remarkable talent for calming her. Something else you never imagined. You used to tease him about it frequently: "Oh sure, I go through all the hard work only for you to be the favorite, then?" He had simply smirked, barely able to contain his triumphant aura.

He's talking to her now; always talking with her about anything: one tangent will lead to another story and then another. He carries on conversation with her as he would any adult, despite the fact she can't even babble yet.

Even before she was born, he would speak to her in the womb. He knew your heartbeat would be a source of comfort for her when she was born, just as it was for him. She would recognize you from it, know you. He lacked the ability to provide that same comfort but hoped his voice would make up for his lack of heartbeat.

In truth, you were awed every day by how naturally Astarion had taken to caring for her, and how much she in turned seemed to take such comfort from him. You remembered how he refused to believe it at first. How something so small and innocent and precious could possibly come from him, an undead creature. Him, with his red eyes and fangs and cold skin. He had been so afraid of frightening her with his appearance at first. You had reassured him constantly, and he had seen his own likeness in the form of portraits over the years. But he could never be sure you weren't just placating him. Could never be sure those artists weren't simply flattering him.

The first time she opened her little eyes and peered up at him, Astarion let out a sigh of relief that her irises weren't a vampiric red. As her tiny eyes bore into his, he tried to discern what their true color was. You were half-delirious from exhaustion as you watched the two of them become acquainted. Barely thinking, you sleepily suggested to him that perhaps her eye color took after his original shade from before he was turned.

Astarion grew quiet and still for a long moment, something inside of him seemingly triggered by your words. A memory locked away long ago, lost to time. For the second time that same day, his body was hit with deep racking sobs. As he cried quietly into your shoulder, he clung to the little bundle in his arms, a part of himself thought long lost now given back to him.

He brings her to you now, settling down next to you in bed. You cuddle up next to your husband and baby. He's still too enthralled with her to pass her off to you, as he often is. He kisses her little hands and cheek. He smiles radiantly, far past his fears of scaring her. You're more than content to let him hold her as you eat.

She's calmed down now, her soft delicate features smoothed and her big bright eyes looking up at you both. Those captivating eyes are like faceted gemstones, a rare shade even amongst High Elves. Her skintone is similar to yours in color but with an unsettling washed-out, pale undertone that would be alarming on any other child who wasn't a dhampir. Branches of veins show through her semi-translucent skin. Her soft, silky miniature curls were the color of milkglass.

Your little one is deceptively fragile-looking, sickly even. It's easy to forget sometimes how powerful they could potentially be one day. Even at her tender young age of eight weeks, she's a formidable one. Eating and crying with equal fervor. Small and mighty. Just as opinionated as her father.

She wastes no time in letting you know both know she has needs that must be met. Rolling towards Astarion in his arms, she presses her tiny face into his chest. Her little mouth opens up as her face nudges around his shirt, seeking nourishment. You both giggle at her frustrated attempt.

"I think that's my cue, love." You place the tray back on the nightstand and gently take her from him to nestle her in your arms. Pulling down one strap of your nightgown, you begin feeding your babe in a peaceful ritual you had mastered weeks ago with her. Astarion settles in behind you with his chin resting on your shoulder. For a few minutes, he simply watches the two of you. When he takes note of your unfinished breakfast, he grabs a handful of blackberries from the tray and holds out for you to eat at your leisure as you cradle her.

It isn't lost on him, the way in which you were the first person to ever feed him. Truly feed and nourish his body, with the very blood from your own body nonetheless. Never in a million years did he ever think he would one day witness you feeding his child with that same body. An entirely brand new soul, somehow born of your union. Innocent, beautiful and alive. A part of Astarion was alive again, and he could hardly believe it even as he faced each new challenge head-on.

Since she was born, he would sometimes go without feeding for days at a time. Though the elk, deer and boars that populated the nearby woods provided ample prey for him, you knew he hated leaving you two behind even for a few hours of time that it typically took for him to hunt.

He was trying to hide it, but you could tell he was starving now. His face was a little more hollow than usual, eyes a bit more sunken, skin paler and colder. It was truly a testament to how much he adored your daughter that despite his sickly appearance, he still radiated with joy in her presence.

The blackberries run out. You tilt your head to look at him. "You should feed," eyes fixed on his. He blinks at you, obviously surprised at your suggestion. "Just a bit of my blood before you go hunting."

It takes more than a bit of willpower to stifle your giggle at his reaction. Astarion had never been one to hesitate accepting your blood.

"I- Darling, come now. You're sweet to offer, but we shouldn't. Not when you're already expending yourself," his arms snake around your waist, and his cool fingers knead into the softness of your belly comfortingly.

"Ha, trust me, this is nothing compared to feeding you while traveling and fighting for our lives in the wilderness," you assure him.

"Besides," you gesture at the jewelry around your neck. "That's what this is for."

The Amulet of Silvanus, which had already been more than useful to both of you during your time traveling, had come to have many more beneficial properties than you could have imagined at the time. It restored your blood levels, allowing Astarion to feed on you regularly. And even though he had abstained from feeding on your blood while you were with child, it had been found to also be useful in keeping your milk supply up, giving it a second use once your baby had arrived.

"It's alright," you insisted, eyes and voice soft. "I feel strong enough for this again, my love. Truly. And I trust you," your daughter continues to nurse peacefully, blissfully unaware of the conversation between her parents.

"At least let me take the edge off of your hunger, Astarion. I know you won't go too far. Besides," a smile forms on your face, unable to hold back your enthusiasm any longer. "You know I've missed it, too."

He stared at you for a moment before breaking into a smile that made your heart ache so much you swear it could have killed you.

"My love," he kisses you on the forehead, then on your lips, then both of your cheeks and your lips again. It's soft and reverent, gentle and loving.

"Always so good to me." He strokes your hair and kisses you some more before pulling away gently. His maroon eyes broke from your gaze and locked onto your little one.

"Are you sure about this, though?" There was a hint of hesitancy in his voice despite his previous enthusiasm. "I don't want to do anything that would hurt you around her," he whispered, conflict clear on his face. You considered his words carefully.

"Well..." You start with a hint of playfulness. "I don't know if you remember, dear husband, but this?" You gestured at your nursing infant. "Feeding her? It was painful at first. And we don't even know if she'll need blood one day. But if she does, I'll be providing it for you both." He looks guilty already, so before he could respond, you followed up. "But even so," you cup his cheek, gently forcing him to look you in the eye. "No matter what happens, she can't hurt me." His eyebrows raised, and he smirked at you with obvious skepticism.

"When we first found out about her, we vowed we would love her, no matter what. Even if her hunger drove her one day to drain innocent people dry." You gaze down on your little dhampir, your precious 'baby monster,' as she fed. "At the time, I was scared, but now... my love for her is so deep. I know nothing will ever change it. Nothing could ever possibly change it."

You look to him and see his eyes were round with wonder. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable, my heart. But just know you don't have to worry about hurting me. You could never hurt me, my love."

He sighed, looking at you with a sort of incredulous amusement that would normally be followed up with a statement about how nothing you say ever makes sense. Instead, he takes the hand that had been caressing his cheek and kisses it longingly.

"I'll never understand what I've done to deserve you, my dear," his nose runs along your inner wrist, savoring your scent.

"Hmm, besides helping me save the world? Well, making me laugh and being adorable definitely doesn't hurt."

"Our daughter is adorable. I am enigmatic and alluring, NOT adorable," he rolls his eyes dramatically.

"Hmm. Sorry love, but I'm afraid all evidence points to the contrary. Our daughter gets her looks from somewhere, and you know who she takes after." Astarion can't hold back his grin he looks down at her and strokes her silvery curls. The semblance between father and daughter was no small point of pride for him.

"Alright, my love. I know better than to argue with the mother of my child." He slips in behind both of you easily, pulling you up so your back is flushed to his chest, allowing yourself to lean back into him.

His arms come up under where both of yours are supporting your babe. He cradles the both of you protectively. "I've got you. I've got you both," he reassures. Your little girl continues to nurse peacefully, both parents holding her tight.

Astarion noses at the base of your neck and inhales deeply. Soft kisses pepper up and down your neck before his lips hold still in place, silently asking permission once more.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder in answer, giving him greater access. Taking a deep breath, you feel the familiar sting of his fangs breaking your skin. He was so gentle, sinking his teeth in fast enough so as not to make the sting linger, but also slow enough so as not to bruise the skin. His fangs work back and forth tenderly, taking great care to keep the bite bleeding while not opening the wound further.

You find yourself easily relaxing. "You're still gentler than she is most of the time," you joke.

His lips attach around the bite wound, gently latched just enough to keep them sealed around it. The flow of blood stayed slow and steady this way, trickling gently from you to him. In your arms, your little one is also feeding eagerly. For a moment, you can't help but giggle at how the sound of Astarion's suckling at your neck joins in with her own precious little eating noises. Her tiny ears wiggle adorably with each drink, and while he refuses to acknowledge it, you can feel Astarion's own ears make miniscule twitches when he feeds on you.

Sighing happily, you sink deeper in his embrace. You had truly missed being able to provide this for him. Time seems to slow down to a hazy crawl as you savor this moment. In the warmth of your bed, surrounded by your little family, you feel as though you could spend an eternity here. You wish you could. It wasn't easy to sacrifice so much. Give so much of yourself over to caring for your babe. But it was moments like this that had made your many sacrifices worth it.

Your undead love at your back and your tiny, half-undead infant in your arms. The feeling of his cool chest and her not-quite-warm-enough little form were somehow the most natural thing in the world. The steady beating of your heart sustaining the both of them. They were both supposed to be impossible, wrong, and profane to everything sacred and divine. And somehow, they were perfect. And you were lucky enough to have them both.

Though you're more than prepared to supplement your daughter's diet with blood the moment the need arises, you feel grateful in this moment that she's still satisfied with your milk. Melancholy borders on the edge of your warm and blissful feelings. Astarion has spoken often of how painful the blood hunger can be for him. You try to keep it to yourself, but guilt squeezes your heart when you think of her with those same hunger pains. Astarion has already sworn he will guide her through them, teach her to hunt on animals when she's strong enough. As you look upon your daughter, you can only hope to yourself that she and Astarion keep each other close, even if you one day leave them behind. There had been talks of ways the two of you could extend your lifespan, and you invested every hour you could spare into researching life-extending magic.

Yet if your endeavors failed or you died prematurely, after some time, perhaps decades, perhaps centuries in the future, you will be the one who leaves first. Astarion will remain unliving and physically unchanging, and while dhampirs were said to be more alive than undead, they were exceptionally long-lived creatures. Sources the two of you researched varied greatly, but all accounts agreed that dhampirs could outlive High Elves by centuries, possibly thousands of years if they renewed themselves with blood. Two ancient souls, undead and half-undead, largely unchanging in an ever changing world. Astarion and her would need each other.

Just as you begin to feel lightheaded, he pulls away, licking and kissing your bite to seal the wound and carefully collecting any stray strands of blood. "Easy," his arms are diligently wrapped around your babe, keeping her supported and snug. "Restore yourself, darling," he encouraged.

You nod sleepily and bring your hand up to touch the amulet. "Te Absolvo," with a soft flash of healing magic, your dizziness was instantly gone, the buzz in your head replaced with Astarion's sweet praises in your ear.

"Thank you, my love," he whispers. He presses a deep kiss into your neck, where your fresh bite mark heals. Your daughter has finished her meal now as well, and you pull your gown back up to tuck her closer to you. She snuggles up on your chest, and you stroke her back softly. She's fast asleep again already, her schedule leaning more and more each into the nocturnal with each passing day. Another early manifestion of her dhampirism.

Nocturnal sleep schedules, blood hunger, spider-climbing, shape-shifting. It didn't matter what new challenges the two of you might face with her. You trusted Astarion would be there for her. He would struggle. He would make mistakes, you know. But he has you both.

As you hum sleepily to your baby girl, Astarion nestles into your neck tenderly. He mumbles unto your skin quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard.

"You have given me everything. Thank you."

[writer-freak]

Haikyuu aftercare headcanons | Gn reader

Characters: Kuroo Tetsuro, Kozume Kenma, Bokuto Kotaro, Terushima Yuji, Semi Eita, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu

Warnings: gn reader, fluff, a bit repetitive, english isn't my first language, haven't written for Haikyuu in a long time and this is an old piece

A/n: My Haikyuu hyperfixation was awakened again and I looked through some old writing and decided to fix this up. Still isn't my best writing and I also had some family issues so I didn't really have motivation to write. So I'm going to have to get back into the groove.

Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and really motivate me to write more <3

Kuroo Tetsuro

Kuroo's aftercare is really about making sure that you feel loved and comfortable. He’s the type who would immediately clean you up and then wrap you in a cozy blanket. He’s got a stash of your favorite snacks ready, and he’ll cuddle up with you, asking about your day and making sure you’re feeling great. Expect a lot of soft kisses and maybe some playful teasing just to make you laugh. After that, he’ll hold you close, rubbing your back until you both drift off to sleep.

Kozume Kenma

Kenma tends to be more gentle and quiet with his aftercare. He’s not overly expressive, but he’ll make sure you’re taken care of in his own way. He’ll hand you a water bottle, clean you up, and then settle down next to you with his Switch or phone. If he's really tired, he might just go to sleep with you right away. In general, he likes aftercare to be more calm, so he’ll play your favorite game together or watch something with you. He’ll occasionally check in with a soft, “You okay?” if you stay awake with him. When it’s time to sleep, he’ll pull you close and wrap his arms around you.

Bokuto Kotaro

Bokuto is very enthusiastic with his aftercare it is almost overwhelming but he just wants the best for you. He is always about about making sure you’re happy and comfortable. He’ll scoop you up for a bear hug, clean you up quickly, and then bring you some water and snacks. He’s super attentive, asking if you need anything and telling you how amazing you are. He’ll probably end up talking about whatever comes to his mind, as he tends to be very energized even after sex. When you’re ready to sleep, he’ll make sure you’re tucked in snugly, holding you close to him and whispering sweet things until you both fall asleep.

Terushima Yuji

Terushima is more laid back with his aftercare. He’ll clean you up and then pull you into his arms, making sure you’re pressed against him. He’ll either talk to you about anything and everything, or he will just immediately take a nap with you. If he is in a talking mood expect a lot of laughter and maybe some silly jokes. When you’re both ready to sleep, he’ll adjust the pillows and blankets to make sure you’re both comfy, then hold you close as you drift off.

Semi Eita

Semi is really caring and attentive with his aftercare. He’s the type to make sure you’re hydrated first, offering you a glass of water and ensuring that you actually drink it before cleaning you up. He’ll ask how you’re feeling and if there’s anything you need. He’s really good at reading your emotions, so he’ll provide exactly what you need, whether it’s cuddles, talking, or just lying together in silence. Sometimes while cuddling he even hums your favorite song. When it’s time to sleep, he’ll pull you close and make sure you’re both comfortable, his soft humming lulling you to sleep.

Sakusa Kiyoomi

Sakusa is more thorough and meticulous with his aftercare. He’ll make sure everything is clean and tidy, including you. He’ll bring you a warm towel and help clean you up, then offer you water and make sure that any mess is cleaned up. He’s not the most verbally expressive, but his actions show how much he cares. He’ll settle down next to you, holding your hand and he allows you to play with your hair if you ask him to. When it’s time to sleep, he’ll make sure you’re tucked in comfortably and just hold you close.

Miya Atsumu

Atsumu is really affectionate but also a little cheeky with his aftercare. He’ll clean you up with a playful grin, maybe leaving some teasing touches while cleaning you up. He loves making you laugh, so expect some teasing and jokes. He’ll bring you snacks and water, then cuddle up with you, wrapping you in his arms. He loves to chat and will just end up talking your ear off, making sure you feel completely relaxed. When you’re ready to sleep, he’ll pull you close, making sure you’re both cozy and whisper sweet nothings until you drift off.

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

[latenightreadingpdf]

Healing - James Potter

₊‧⁺˖⋆ Masterlist ⋆˖⁺‧₊

Summary: James Potter has made a habit of visiting you in the hospital wing for every one of his "injuries".

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The hospital wing smelled of clean linens and healing potions, the quiet hum of magic hanging in the air as you tidied the space. You had always been drawn to healing, and your time as Madame Pomfrey’s apprentice had only solidified your desire to make it your career. It was a quiet day, which you didn’t mind; the calm allowed you to focus on your studies.

Then, the doors burst open.

Madame Pomfrey appeared, bustling in alongside a stretcher that levitated James Potter. He looked worse for wear, his jersey rumpled and streaked with dirt, his glasses askew, and a pained expression on his face.

"Another Quidditch injury, of course," Madame Pomfrey sighed as the stretcher lowered onto one of the beds. She turned to you, offering a kind smile. "Y/N, you’ll handle this one. James, meet Y/N, my apprentice. She’ll be taking care of you today."

James, despite his discomfort, managed a grin. "Pleasure to meet you, Healer-in-Training."

You smiled softly, pulling a chair to sit beside him. "The pleasures all mine James. Now, what happened?"

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck. "Got shoved off my broom during the game. Didn’t land quite right. My leg’s killing me."

You nodded, already jotting down notes in your leather-bound notebook. "You probably a pulled muscle when you landed. Let me grab a few things to help with that. Stay put—I’ll be right back."

As you walked to the supply cupboard, you heard a commotion behind you.

"Prongs!"

You turned slightly to see three boys barreling into the room: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. All wore matching looks of worry, though Sirius's dramatic flair made him the loudest.

"Are you okay?" Sirius asked, rushing to James’s bedside. "Do you need me to carry you everywhere now? I will, you know."

James groaned, half in pain, half in exasperation. "I’m fine, Pads. It’s just a pulled muscle."

Peter and Remus settled into chairs nearby, though Sirius decided to climb onto the bed, squishing himself beside James.

When you returned, your arms full of salves and potions, you stopped short at the sight of the chaotic group. You’d expected only James, but now there was a whole audience.

Clearing your throat softly, you stepped closer. "Hello, everyone."

The Marauders turned to you, and Sirius gave you an overly enthusiastic wave. "Oh, hello! Are you here to save our James?"

"That’s the idea," you replied, amused. Then you turned your attention to Sirius. "But I’ll need some room to work, so I’m afraid you’ll have to get off the bed."

Sirius pouted dramatically but complied, sliding off and promptly sitting on Remus’s lap instead.

"Really, Padfoot?" Remus muttered, though he didn’t push him off.

"Thank you," you said with a small smile before turning back to James. "Alright, I’m going to apply some salves and potions to help the muscle heal. Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable."

James nodded, watching you with an expression that was equal parts curiosity and appreciation. You worked quickly but gently, your touch steady and practiced.

"That should do it," you said, stepping back and packing up your supplies. "How does it feel?"

James stretched his leg cautiously, a grin spreading across his face. "Loads better already, actually. Thanks, Y/N. You’re a miracle worker."

"Happy to help," you replied, handing him a small jar of salve. "Apply this if it starts to bruise or feel sore again. Do you think you’re okay to walk back to your dorm, or would you like to stay a bit longer?"

"I’ll be fine," James said confidently, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Take it easy," you warned lightly, your tone soft but firm.

James smiled up at you, his warm hazel eyes meeting yours. "Don’t worry. If anything happens, I’ll come straight back, I wouldn’t mind seeing you again."

Sirius let out a mock gasp. "James Potter, are you flirting with the healer?"

James’s ears turned pink, but he shrugged nonchalantly. "Can’t blame me for appreciating good company."

You chuckled, shaking your head as you moved to tidy up. "Take care, James."

As the Marauders escorted him out, Sirius called back over his shoulder. "You’re always welcome at our dorm, Y/N! Just say the word!"

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

It had become a running joke among your fellow students: James Potter’s newfound devotion to the hospital wing. Whether it was a phantom ache, a paper cut, or the slightest shove from Sirius, he was there, demanding your attention. You couldn’t say you minded too much—it was hard not to find his antics endearing.

Today, however, was different.

When James walked in, his usual playful swagger was replaced with something a bit more subdued. A dark purple bruise marred his cheek, and his glasses were slightly askew. You immediately put down the textbook you were studying and stood to greet him.

"James," you said, concern lacing your voice. "What happened?"

He gave you a sheepish grin as he settled onto the nearest bed. "Ran into a bit of trouble with some Slytherins. Just a little scuffle—nothing to worry about."

You frowned, pulling your stool closer to him. "A little scuffle? This bruise says otherwise."

Grabbing a jar of salve, you dipped your fingers into the cool, minty substance and turned back to him. Gently, you cupped his face, tilting it so the light caught the bruise.

James froze, his hazel eyes wide as he looked up at you. For once, he was completely still, not a single cheeky comment slipping from his lips.

"This might sting a little," you murmured, focusing on applying the salve. Your thumb brushed along his cheekbone with practiced care, and James let out a soft sigh, though you weren’t sure if it was from relief or something else entirely.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but notice the way he was looking at you—like you were the only person in the world. It made your heart do an annoying little flip, but you pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"Is there anything else you need?" you asked softly, your hands still cradling his face.

James hesitated for a moment before his lips curled into a grin, mischief sparkling in his eyes. "Actually, yeah. There is one thing."

You tilted your head, worried there might be another injury. "What is it?"

He leaned just the slightest bit closer, pointing to his cheek, his grin turning playful. "Aren’t you going to kiss it better?"

You blinked, taken aback for a moment, before a laugh escaped your lips. “James Potter, you’re impossible."

"Hey, it might help," he said, his grin widening. "You’re the healer—you’d know best, wouldn’t you?"

Rolling your eyes, you tapped his nose lightly. "I think the salve will do just fine."

He sighed dramatically, sitting back against the bed. "Worth a shot."

You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile as you packed up your supplies. "Let me know if the swelling doesn’t go down in a day or two. And try to stay out of trouble for once."

"No promises," he said, hopping off the bed. Before leaving, he paused by the door, turning back to flash you a boyish grin. "Thanks, Y/N. You’re the best."

As the door closed behind him, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. James Potter might have been impossible, but he was also undeniably charming.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[killerpancakeburger]

SILVER-TONGUED

SUMMARY: Soap drops by your office to pick you up, like every friday evening for your poker game with the Task Force. But when you turn out harder to remove from your desk than expected, he's going to resort to a different method.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader

TAGS: Civilian!Reader, Anxious!Reader, Clingy!Soap, Established Relationship, fluff, swearing, mention of chronic pain, suggestive/light smut: dirty talking, gropping, foreplay (?), semi-public (happens in your office on base but no one walks in lol), (they keep their clothes on). Idk how to tag, help

WORDS COUNT: 1.2k

A/N: Just because I wish I had a Soap to sweet-talk me from my desk at the end of the workday. *sigh wistfully* This is the filthiest thing I've ever written, so... enjoy? But also forgive my amateurism.

Plunged into your work, you’re essentiellement deaf and blind to the outside world. When you notice Soap's presence, he had the time to sneak into your office and behind your chair, arms folded over your backrest. By the way he pronounces your name, you can tell this isn’t the first time he's calling it.

“Hey,” you salute, surfacing back to reality with difficulty, focus not leaving your computer's screen, but reaching backwards blindly with one hand for contact. He grabs it right away.

“What's up?”

He chuckles a bit at that.

“Day's over is what's up. Ye coming?”

Your eyes fly to the clock in the bottom right corner of the screen. The evidence is damning: your shift has been over for ten minutes. It is far from unusual for you to stay too late, but tonight's friday and the 141's weekly poker game is summoning you in the form of an overeager Scotsman whose eyes you would damn yourself for.

On the field, the Sergeant MacTavish can remain immobile for hours on end with a sniper rifle in hand, stoically waiting for a target to get in his sights. On base however, your lover can hardly stay still more than a minute without a reason he'd deem legitimate.

His question is very much rhetorical. You tried to slip away once, not because you didn’t want to come but because you were worried the guys felt obligated to invite you out of politeness, and somehow Johnny must have read your mind because he snatched you and fireman carried you all the way there.

You wouldn’t have forgiven him if he had dared to pull those antics in front of others, but he managed to keep that spectacle just between the two of you. You still yelled at him a lot afterwards though. And punched him. And kicked him. Felt like hitting a punching bag anyway, so you didn’t feel guilt over the fact that he wasn’t defending himself at all. Once you were done huffing and puffing, you just glared at him, out of breath, fists clenched, and he stared back shamelessly, a grin on his face. The genuine joy in his expression was contagious, so you started laughing uncontrollably, and he joined you quickly. 

Coming from anyone else, this overly familiar behavior would have disturbed you. Being carried around like a helpless toy, powerless to resist someone else's will, wasn’t something you were fond of. But Soap proved himself time and time again to be safe. He could tell apart your serious reluctances from your playful protests, and if he had any doubt that you were uncomfortable, he would have stopped messing around instantly.

Deciding for you in that particular moment eased you off a burden, saving you from crippling indecisiveness and from endlessly weighing pros and cons in awkward silence. It was a favour.

You never contemplated refusing the offer again after that.

“In five minutes,” you bargain, not wanting to interrupt yourself in the middle of a task.

He loudly whines in protest at that, acting more distressed than he actually is.

“Nooo. Come ooon. Ye can finish later.”

“Be quiet,” you retort, and yet unable to curb an amused smile from stretching your lips.

He sighs exaggeratedly before admitting defeat. For exactly five minutes and not one second more.

“Bonniiiie.”

You don't relent.

“I'm almost done!”

“Ye were s'pposed to be done 20 minutes ago!”

You don't have any good argument to oppose that truth, so you remain silent. Soap does not.

He starts massaging your shoulders and dispensing cajoleries into your ear to coax you into compliance. You manage to tune him out until he curiously presses the tips of his fingers into your trapezius muscles and you wince. He lets out an impressed whistle.

“Fuck, yer tense. Yer shoulders feel like reinforced concrete.”

You sigh, having heard that one before.

“Bane of my existence,” you mumble absently.

He hums pensively, and you think that's the end of the matter, until his hand slides down your chest, all the way from your collarbone until your navel, leaving shivers in its wake, and his lips settle on the crook of your neck.

Concentrating suddenly becomes impossible.

“Johnny,” you call out in warning.

Or at least that was the goal, but you can hear in your own voice how affected you already are.

He treats his name like a demand for more, and leaves a trail of kisses along your neck and your shoulder, tugging on your collar to have more skin to work with. Meanwhile his hand caress and grope your torso, burning you through your clothes, in slow, unhurried motions that feel terribly suggestive. He knows your body so intimately well, only brushing the sore spots, like the side of your ribs, where the bone presses right beneath the skin, teasing the sensitive areas and tenderly stroking the rest.

“What do you think you're doing?” you contrive to ask, resisting the temptation to close your eyes to focus solely on his touch.

This may be afterhours, but you’re still in your work office, and anyone could barge in. While the idea may be arousing in theory, you know that the reality would mortify you.

“Just helpin’ ye relax, hen. Ye work too hard. Lemme take care o’ ye.”

Once again, you can’t find a good argument to oppose him. You do work too hard, and you desperately need to unwind before the pressure you self impose makes you explode like a time bomb. Since you've started dating, Soap had a tendency to mentor you into taking it easy, and he never steered you wrong until now.

You sigh in defeat, lift a hand to grasp his mohawk, letting your head tilt backwards, and surrender to his wandering hands and mouth.

Two fingers glide on the inside of your thigh, from knee to groin. In the meantime, his hand squeezes your breast. His lips stop from sucking and licking your flesh only to whisper filthy nothings into your ear.

“Could sneak under yer desk… make myself at home between yer legs… and let ye fuck my face while nobody knows. Would help with yer tension, ah'm sure.”

You suck in a gasp at the conjured mental image, legs spreading almost immediately. You, digging your fingernails into your palms with restraint, Johnny's cerulean eyes almost shining in the half-light of the bottom of your desk as he's staring hungrily at you, kneeling. Him raising a finger across his lips in silent command before spreading your knees further apart and nuzzling against your crotch. You fighting back against the urge to grind on his face and suffocate him between your thighs, the knowledge that he's not averse to the idea making things worse.

“Johnny,” you whimper, beguiled. “Fuck.”

He lets out an appreciative hum.

“Knew ye'd like that.”

The fingers tickling your inner thigh finally move to where you want them most. You grit your teeth to contain the moan that threatens to escape you as his middle finger runs up and down your slit.

Then the racket of your phone vibrating against the wood of your desk abruptly brings you back to reality. Your eyes open wide and you raise your head to see who's calling, only to swear in horror as Ghost's mask occupies the screen. As the contact's photo vanishes, a notification indicating seven missed calls makes your stomach twist in fear.

One does not stand up Lieutenant Riley and comes out unscathed.

[blackknight-kai]

Hello there, greetings!💗💗

Sincerely hoping it doesn’t make you uncomfortable or anything of the sort, how would The Destined One and Wukong (separate) react to you asking to sit on their face?😏😏🙂‍↕️

P.s- only answer if you feel like it of course❣️

Hehehehehehehehehehe I like this question. I’ll do my best 🫶 I hope comes out okay!!!!

I feel like at their core Wukong and Destined One are the same. And what I mean by that is more so that they are unequivocally attracted to you and while they will react differently both would 100% LIVE to please the ever living fuck out of you if you asked them. They are hungry for you and your pleased sighs and sounds. While they may be focused on other things 90% of the time the moment you flip that switch you better be ready because that intense focus and drive they have for battle and questing/adventure etc? Yeah that’s gonna be on you.

(Gets spicy but not overly explicit so be warned, minors DNI!!!!)

Destined One

Regardless on if you just ask out of the blue or it’s during spicy time, I feel like he’d be surprised/flustered by your request. Not expecting such a bold question

His expression would go slack as your words caught up to him, his heart would be pounding and his blood would feel like its boiling with how HOT his body just got - I bet he shudders JUST a little, enough to send a slight ripple in his fur from the top of his head down to his toes.

He doesnt have a grand reaction outwardly but by the slow lazy swish of his tail starting to flick sharply behind him, you know he’s effected by your words

His surprise wouldn’t last long whatsoever, he’d regain composure, or well, his surprise would turn into laser focus. His expression now one of hot stoic intensity making you shiver at the volume of HEAT his eyes speak to you and the way his body tenses just like when hes readying himself for a fight

You’d hear one heavy breath leave him and hed give you one very pointed nod and then its game on

Moves VERY swiftly, you almost dont see him. One moment he’s a few feet away and with a blink he’s RIGHT THERE. Hot hands gripping your waist tightly

He will NOT waste time. Nope. You lit this fire youre going to have to let the flames lick you until it burns out - heh

He is STRONG so he’d absolutely manhandle you but he’d do it with gentle impatience.

If he’s REALLY impatient his claws might accidentally rip a little hole in your clothes and he’d give you an apologetic look but is he stopping? No.

As he lays on his back, your thighs on either side of his head, his face is set with intense determination, it would be kinda funny if he didn’t look so….hungry.

You can hear his tails thwacking the ground (or bed whatever) as it flicks to and fro. He is READY for this meal

He wont force you down on him, but his eyes will flick between your face and the naked heat between your legs, silently begging you to take your seat

His claws would flex, clenching and unclenching against your the skin of your hips as he holds you literally holding himself back from taking

His heavy breaths would make you shiver as you finally decide to give you both what you need

As you settle down over his eager mouth he groans, its heated and desperate like he’d been waiting eons to taste you

He’s going to make it so good for you

Might be a little sloppy at first in his eagerness but once he gets going damn does he focus on the places that feel the best for you

His eyes would never ever shut for more than a quick rare blink. He’d be watching your every move his gaze roaming over you from your blissed expression to your wet heat

His hands at first would grip just your waist but over time they’d slide to your thighs holding you to him as you twitch and grind against his mouth and expertly flicking tongue

He will not be stopping, by the way, his simian nostrils will flare as he breathes heavily but he’d rather suffocate then stop hearing your moans or tasting your pleasure

You’re gonna cum? Good. Do it. He’ll take it and more

Pride and possession would fill his chest as you shudder above him gushing over his tongue, HE made you do that.

He’s gonna make you do it again, adding his fingers this time for extra stimulation as he coaxes you to start moving your hips against his mouth again

At some point though hes probably going to push you on to your back as he continues eating you whole

He is in LOVE with tasting you and hasn’t had his fill yet

By the time he allows you a break your going to be a shivering panting filthy mess and the fur on his face soaked with your pleasure

He’d crawl up your body leaving wet kisses in his wake and while he expects NOTHING of you but to lie there and relax as he takes himself in hand, if you reach out to assist him he would needily groan a desperate sound in your ear as he buries his face against your neck

Wukong our fav monkey king!

This cocky little asshole.

He is an absolute menace and a tease on a good day as it is

You asking if you can sit on his face? Oh boy

Be ready for some bullshit as his face slowly morphs from pleasant surprise to a very large cocky as fuck smirk

He would definitely tease you, his body language relaxed as though hes unbothered, his words taunting as he tries to act as though your question didn’t stir something in him

His tail would lazily flick and swish but the growing heat in his eyes gives him away

Would make you say it again, just because it feeds his ego and he likes being a little shit. Plus, seeing you get impatient or flustered is his favorite pastime

You’d think he would be impulsive and jump your bones, but no. One of his worst traits after being alive so long is learning patience and self restraint in moments like these

Dont mistake his playful teasing nature though

He is FAMISHED the minute those words first left your sweet sweet mouth

Looking closely you’d notice the turbulent possessive heat in his eyes. He’s like a predator who has locked on to his prey

He wont make you wait long or push your buttons too much though, not wanting you to change your mind and prevent him from getting his meal

He’d lazily lie down for you to take your rightful place BUT from how taut his body is you can tell he’s eager and excited. Clearly holding himself back from just taking

A hum of contentment and interest would leave his throat as you settle yourself with your knees on either side of his head

Wukong would definitely lick his lips, his mouth watering in preparation for what is about to come

He is a tease so instead of getting to work or letting you just fall onto his face he would grip your hips preventing you from moving.

His strong hands would hold you in place effortlessly as his rubs his furry cheeks against your thighs enjoying the feel of your skin against his face as he smirks up at you knowing what you want but not ready to give it to you juuuuust yet

He’s mouthy and cheeky so expect him to not shut up as he teases you for how ready you are for him as his eyes roam over you

Filthy words would tumble out of his mouth just so he can watch as you get wetter with anticipation

Just to watch you squirm he might lean up and flick his tongue against you before laughing as your body twitches

If youre listening you can hear his tail thump against the ground (or bed whatever) displaying that although hes exercising new found patience right now, he truly is just as needy as you are.

Wanting to make you even more desperate he’d teasingly flick his tongue against you here and there, no pattern and as though he has no care.

Your thighs would be nipped and sucked too as he chuckles up at your pouting needy face

When he finally lets you take your throne he is like a monkey STARVED

He’s messy, not afraid to get in there, but his mouth works with purpose

He’d be groaning at your flavor as though you tasted just like an orgasmic sweet juicy peach that he loves so much

His hands would wonder stroking from your thighs up your hips to squeeze at your chest possessively as you move against his mouth and tongue

He’d growl low in his chest as you moan and sigh his name, his claws grazing your skin and plucking at your nipples as he makes it his one and only duty to make you reach your peak

A possessive groan comes out of him as he feels your thighs tremble knowing youre close

But at the last second he lifts your hips from his drenched furred face with a devilish smile, laughing as you give him the dirtiest look he’s ever seen

He’d coo at you teasingly before leaning up and kissing wetly from your thigh to your heat, sucking noisily as he goes. you shiver and goose bumps break out over your skin but he doesnt let you budge as he takes his time worshiping you

It’s when he guides you back down, expert fingers starting to join his tongue that youre given free rein to move as you please again

He keeps his heated focus your face, his eyes demanding that you dont look away from him as finally brings you to orgasm

Watching you come undone and moan his name sends ripples of pride and hunger through him. Possessiveness rears up inside him as he knows only HE can bring you this

He’d watch you intently and rub your thighs and stroke his hands up your body as you both breathe heavily for a moment trying to catch your breath

He wont let you rest long though, oh no.

He’s fired up now and its as though he MUST watch you fall apart over and over until HE is satisfied that hes proven his worth as your provider of pleasure and satisfaction

He is a KING and demands your pleasure and he will get it

Wukong would yank you back into place above his mouth and would get to work, this time with a fierce determination, one that makes your toes curl as his eyes bore into you

He’d ignore his own raging need (for now), unless you happen to take pity on him and reach back to slip your fingers under his clothes and stroke him to return the favor and attentions he’s bestowing on you

[illbegottenfaith]

lucky - theo nott x reader

A tussle over a vial of Felix Felicis proves to be strangely enlightening

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - argh I had a bit of a rough time ending this fic also why do I kind of want a smutty pt 2 to this ahem ahem insufferable!theo when reader loses a bet with him ahem ahem

tropes/warnings - academic rivals, enemies to lovers (ish), cameo by Mattheo (??), fluff, physical touch, slight angst/yearning

word count - 1.6k

Two weeks. For two weeks you had spent every moment of your free time researching and experimenting to get the right recipe for the Draught of the Living Death down. You had seen the way Theodore Nott had perked up at the mention of the curious potion when Slughorn first mentioned the competition. You felt something stir inside you over the gleam in his eye, and that was when you decided that you absolutely had to win it. After all, who couldn't use a little extra luck every now and then? 

And win it you did. Strangely enough, Theo didn't seem to mind as much as he should have. After a superfluous promise to pass you the vial of Felix Felicis the following lesson, Slughorn dismissed the class. But you weren't satisfied, not when you'd realised a glimmer of an inkling of what Theo might be planning. He took off the moment Slughorn finished speaking, and you scrambled to swipe your things into your bag to catch up with him. As expected, you turned the corner and found the Potions storage room's door ajar.

"You know, I expected better of you, Nott."

Theo stilled, his back facing you, before surreptitiously pulling his hand out of his pocket. "You expected that I would be above stealing?"

"Of course not. But I thought you'd have enough dignity not to stoop this low." You clicked your tongue disapprovingly. "Didn't take you to be so sore a loser."

Surprisingly, your appeal to his pride was ineffective. He turned around and stared at you from under his beautiful overly long eyelashes, his lips twisting into a malicious smile.

"Loser? I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with the term, Tesoro. You see, one, and only one, of us has today's highly coveted prize." His oily smirk widened. "So you'll forgive me if I don't quite feel like I've lost."

Your face flamed with indignation. "That Felix Felicis is mine and you know it."

Theo took on an expression of faux innocence, splaying his deceitfully empty hands. "I haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about."

You finally snapped. It was one thing to have his aggravating dreamy mug haunting your every waking and sleeping moment, and another to have him outright refuse to acknowledge that you had bested him. You hadn't slaved away the past two weeks perfecting your Draught of the Living Death just for him to nick it from the storeroom. No, you had won, fair and square, and it was time someone smacked that into that swollen head of his. 

You lunged at him, shoving a hand into his pocket, taking Theo by surprise. A second later, his hand closed around your wrist For pockets that did not appear excessively large, it was surprisingly difficult to rifle through its contents, especially with Theo's squirming. 

"You always do this," you bit out. "Since first year you've never been able to stand me getting ahead of you."

"Bold of you to assume you've ever gotten ahead of me, mia cara," Theo grunted through gritted teeth, wincing as you doubled your violent efforts.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, give it up already! I won, you lost. Now give me the vial."

"Finder's keepers."

So engrossed were you in your spirited if awkward wrestling that neither of you noticed someone had stopped by the storeroom.

"Uh," Mattheo started, half-conflicted about whether or not he ought to avert his gaze. "I can come back later."

"NO!" The two of you shouted, Theo trying to wrench your arm away, cursing furiously under his breath in Italian while you stubbornly scrabbled for the vial, hooking him in close by his belt loops. Eventually, after a sharp elbow jab to his rib, Theo's grip slackened enough for you to pull the vial out and shove it into your satchel. 

"Knock yourself out," you said breathlessly to a stunned Mattheo, with your uniform slightly askew and a tinge of pink colouring your face. You left briskly before Theo could recover and wandered to the staircase towards your next class, fixing your hair, still trembling from the adrenaline.

You hurried into the Great Hall for lunch once Charms ended, sliding into a seat next to two of your friends already eating.

"Hey, what did I miss?"

Ivy and Katie exchanged a cryptic look. "What didn't you miss?" responded Ivy innocently, tucking into her slice of Shepherd's pot pie nonchalantly. You frowned at Katie, who seemed to be pointedly avoiding your gaze.

"I don't get it. What happened?"

"Are you kidding? Everyone's talking about it."

"Talking about what?"

"You and Theo getting lucky in the Potions storage room."

You choked on your food, earning a few overly aggressive thumps on your back. "I am going to kill Mattheo."

You found him easily enough, pouring over some dull Ancient Runes assignment in the library. He didn't look up as you entered, fuming, but that was quickly remedied by a sharp smack to the back of his head.

"What else was I supposed to think, L/N? You had his hand down his pants, for Salazar's sake."

"In his pants, you idiot," you hissed. "In, as in his pockets. Didn't the scuffling and the fighting give it away?"

"I don't know," Mattheo said doubtfully, "it's a bit hazy how much actual fighting was going on. If I didn't know any better, and I don't, I'd say I was interrupting a little...something."

You glared at him. "He was trying to stop me from invading his pockets. There was nothing but fighting."

"Right," Mattheo said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because if there were one person stronger than a goddamn Quidditch player, it would be you. Because that's obviously more plausible than the idea that he might just like you feeling him up."

You faltered, and Mattheo took the chance to scoop up his books and leave. "I wasn't feeling him up," you muttered half-heartedly, but he was long gone. And it was true. At no point were your actions motivated by anything other than a righteous desire to reclaim what was yours. But you'd be lying if you said that your mind hadn't wandered, if only for a split second, to what it would be like to be in that exact position under very different circumstances. But it was only inevitable, with the pressing against the hard muscle underneath the coarse fabric and the illicit feeling of running your hands along the most intimate part of his trousers. You groaned, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to erase the memory.

You left the library soon after Mattheo, turning your thoughts around and around in your head.

"You let me have the Felix Felicis."

It wasn't a question as much as a statement of fact. Other than a glance towards you, Theo showed no sign of acknowledging you. He kept that irritatingly cool expression, gazing out at the setting sun and the idyllic sight of the Hogwarts grounds bathed in a soft, liquid golden glow. You joined him at the observation point, your gazes parallel to each other's.

"I don't understand. Why steal it in the first place, then?"

"Why do you even want it?"

You cast your mind around fruitlessly. "It's...it's luck in a bottle. Who wouldn't want it?"

"But it's more than that, isn't it?" Theo tilted his head, considering her with his unfairly piercing gaze. "You like getting ahead of me. You like that you have something I want." 

You tried to ignore the way your hair was sticking to the back of what you were sure was your very flushed neck. "So you agree? " you asked, in a voice that sounded braver than you felt. "I get ahead of you?"

A small, almost genuine-looking smile flitted across his face. "On occasion." He turned to face you fully now, his smile turning cocky. 

"Is that where you get off? Being the object of my undivided attention?"

"You wish." You stuck your chin out defiantly, forcing yourself to look him in the eye. "Is that where you get off? All those ironic Italian pet names?"

Theo hesitated, blinking, like that was the last thing he expected you to bring up. "Right," he muttered, "ironic."

"So I think it's only fair," you continued, oblivious to the flicker in his expression, "that we call it even. At least for today."

Theo shrugged. "If you say so, mi - L/N."

You nodded, a little taken aback by how easy that was. Now what were you supposed to do? Leave, probably. But for some reason, your feet stayed rooted to the ground. Something compels you to stand there and trace the outline of his face as the setting sun throws harsh yet delicious shadows over the contours of his face.

"Is there something else you wanted?" Theo probes gently, as if he's almost as curious as you.

So much, you want to say, and the crushing weight of the sudden realisation almost knocks the air out of your lungs. All you could think about was how much you never wanted to stop looking and looking and looking at his beautiful face. Where was all this want coming from, and what on Earth were you supposed to do with it?

"No," you say in a small voice. "Nothing at all."

Part 2

[lillikitty]

What it’s Like to Date Him

Alastor Edition

Note: I plan to make this a series. I think it’d be fun! Expect to see more in the future.

SFW

Even though you’re his partner, that doesn’t mean he’ll treat you that much differently in public.

Alastor is not a fan of PDA, but he does more acts of service for you. He tends to make you food, holds doors open for you, massages your shoulders. Things like that is how he expresses he loves you.

He’s also big on quality time. He loves when you two are just in the same room, even if you aren’t having a conversation he finds it lovely to just have your presence.

Now he’s not the biggest fan of physical affection but he makes an exception for you in private. He still doesn’t let you initiate any form of affection in public, but in private he’ll let you do as you please.

He also will give you some physical affection if he deems it appropriate. Cuddling at night is alright and he’ll give you a good morning kiss but don’t expect him to be overly affectionate.

He loves to dress you though, if he can make you both have matching outfits he will! It’s his way of showing you’re his to others without being obvious. It’s subtle, it’s cute!

However, if someone starts to flirt with you while you two are out and doesn’t listen to you telling them to leave you alone, Alastor steps in. He will wrap his arm around you and pull you into him to make it clear you are indeed taken.

He lets you pet his tail once. He doesn’t like his tail being messed with ever but he let you do it once to satisfy your curiosity.

You can pet his ears if you’re cuddling. But if he tells you to stop you have to stop, that was a boundary he set.

NSFW

Alastor has a low sex drive. It’s not usually there but it’s not non-existent. However, if he’s not in the mood he’s not doing anything. Sometimes if he’s indifferent you can court him to have sex.

He will always top. He never lets you top. He likes the control and doesn’t like being vulnerable in any way.

Depending on how his day goes will determine if he’s gentle or rough.

If he had a good day he’s gentle with you, he takes care of you and will actually put your pleasure before his own. He wants to please you and make you feel special. Gentle kisses and praises while he’s slow and passionate.

If he had a bad day… Well let’s just say you won’t get to walk for awhile. He’s rough, he’s violent, he’s using you to let out his frustrations so your pleasure isn’t the first thing on his mind. When he’s rough that’s when his sadist side comes out, he scratches you and licks up the blood that comes out while he relishes in your screams.

Like I just said, he’s definitely a sadist and loves blood play. Any chance he gets to taste your blood he takes. So you usually end up with a lot of bite marks all over you.

Now, Alastor is a gentleman so aftercare is always important. Regardless of how his day went, he will always give you aftercare. He helps bandage and clean any wounds he left and runs you a bath while he gets you water.

By the time you get into bed to rest he pulls you close to his chest and kisses the top of your head.

“Goodnight my dear.”

[kuroosdarling]

POSITIONS — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. sanji vinsmoke !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : sanji always liked missionary, but he was eager to broaden his horizons with you once you give him a proper taste.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. brief mention of blood (this man & his nosebleeds) mentions of creampie, overall vanilla sex — wc : 500 words

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : starting to post my fics that are just sitting in my drafts. i asked risu which character to post first and here we are with sanji <33 enjoy !!

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)♡*.ﾟ

sanji always loved to take you in missionary. there was something so special to him about seeing your pretty face, slotting his body on top of yours and being as close as possible.

loved pressing his forehead against yours to gaze into your eyes. or better yet, when you carefully push back his slightly damp bangs out of his eyes so you could see his face better.

loved to wrap his arms behind your back, pulling you towards him to press your chests together — utterly driving him insane when he feels your nipples brushing against his.

above all, he loved seeing your precious face. intently watching each beautiful expression morph into bliss as he drove you closer to your pleasure, using your reactions to guide his way there for you.

but one day, you insist on changing positions.

he wasn’t so sure, in fact, he hasn’t ever done anything besides missionary so he didn’t even know how to go about it. but luckily, he had you to show him the way.

it started when you climbed into his lap, effectively kickstarting his old habits. after the initial gush of blood coming out of his nose and a few overly enthusiastic compliments — he simmered back down the moment you slid down on his cock.

it took him a second to try to not come instantly, but the way you were perched up in his lap, your chest directly in front of his face, your hands delicately resting on his shoulders — he couldn’t help it.

but he always had so much more to give you.

he soon realized that maybe new positions were a good thing. a different way for him to worship and love your body. his tongue running all over your chest, circling around your nipples as you bounced on his cock.

it was truly heaven watching you use him to get yourself off. your soft mewls fired up his core, driving his hips up further to meet yours. there was no way he’d want to stop having you like this. it might have even taken over as his new favorite position.

but something else overcomes him when he has you on all fours. the way you look so beautiful presenting yourself for him has his mind going drunk with satisfaction.

knowing that only he could ever have you like this, driving himself further into your warm cunt, deeper than he has ever gone — has him losing his control.

he’s still sweet, but there’s an edge to it now. his hips erratically snapping against you. he feels so high, so overwhelmed with the control you graciously gave him.

it’ll even have him reaching over to take one of his cigarettes, smoking it while his thrusts never falter. the view he has is one of the best ones he’s ever seen. screw the all blue, this right here was his life’s dream.

being able to admire your body from any angle is a new game he adamantly wants to play. so expect him to try and throw you in any position at any time. he has a lot of new things he wants to explore now that he knows how willing you are to help him.