#should i need to tag anything else lmk

[l-tuses]

small thing on misc information on ren.

touch!

he's actually very avoidant of touch. if anyone seems like they are about to touch him in any capacity, he will do everything in his power to dodge it without being too obvious. an example of this would be him moving a hand away should someone reach for it.

if touch is engaged without him expecting it, he will tense up. there might not be any frustration uttered outright! but he will kindly request that the person stop. at that point it's a matter of 'if you do not listen to the simple no i am giving you, then you have officially lost my respect.'

however, the flip side to this is that becoming friends with him may open windows of opportunity for touch to happen. it might take a very long time to happen. his trust in people has been whittled down to nothing from a very young age. it was only solidified after he became an adult and went through hell.

relationships!

to touch on the above point further. it's good to note that ren has outlived everyone he's ever known. that makes it incredibly difficult to even grasp the concept of 'friendships', let alone 'relationships' even if they're negative. what would be a short time for him could very well be an entire lifetime for someone else.

in his eyes, it would do no good to befriend someone only to leave and come back a half a century later and find that this person has passed away. even befriending someone who might live longer than a century would be iffy for him. people change. he has seen people change for the worst and that has turned him off from being close to people.

that isn't to say that it's impossible to become his friend, he has a lot of personal hurdles to overcome before he can get that comfortable with someone.

if by some VERY odd chance, he does develop romantic feelings for someone, it may very well be kept to himself. again, this goes back to the above point. he isn't fond of touch and quite afraid of being that open with people.

alcohol!

he has very mixed feelings about alcohol and the consumption of it. having been around as long as he has, it's hard to ignore that it can possibly bring out the worst in someone. he avoids drinking in excess to avoid being too honest. it might destroy him if he were to one day slip up, then express how horribly lonely he is despite everything he's been through.

he may keep a wide berth with someone should they be absolutely wasted. that would be done as a means to protect himself should he feel unsafe. however, he will be inclined to offer water should they start looking ill. lmao.

all of these things are connected in some way or another. it all circles back to going through a lot of abuse when he was younger. younger being aged eighteen and above. when he was a small child, he was very much pushed aside by family to focus on his brothers.

[cj-the-random-artist]

Let us dance into the night as the fire rages on....

Gonna add a greyscale version, the sketch this was based on under the cut, but all I really have to say about this is that this is the first time in a long time. Maybe even years. That I've sketched up a simple doodle and had it grab me by the soul and rip and illustration out of me. This is also the first illustration in a long time where I enjoyed the whole process. I also tried different techniques and stuff here and I'm in love with how this turned out actually

But yeah greyscale version and sketch this was based on under the cut

I was gonna add some rambles down here about the way I think about Narinder and the Lamb's dynamic and the stuff going on in the background and other things but after spending like an hour and a half writing and rewriting this caption. Uh. Nevermind lol

Enjoy the chaos that is this drawing and, if you're reading this, may something good happen for you today

[shepscapades]

This one was a freaking doozy. If I keep talking i think i may be in trouble

[taranzas-biggest-fan]

Day 3 - Gashes

strong start. on the 3rd day of october. something something spiders a carnivore

[zorosdimples]

MORE, PLEASE, ALWAYS, FOREVER

pairing ༄ simeon x gn!reader

warnings ༄ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. suggestive content, religious/sacrilegious imagery, corruption, manipulation, dubious consent, drugging. simeon calls reader “little one” and “darling.” please let me know if i’m missing anything!

word count ༄ 771

notes ༄ this is my first time posting my writing, so please be kind! this drabble is darker than what i usually write; i’ve just been thinking about simeon and corruption for months… i have fluffier pieces in the works, i promise! <3

“but s-simeon,” you whispered, afraid to raise your voice lest desire drip from each syllable—as if the angel couldn’t see your trembling thighs or the glint of hunger in your gaze. your skin glowed, he observed, all dewy with want; he had never seen anything so beautiful, so vulnerable. your chest heaved as though you couldn’t catch your breath. “you’re an angel.”

“yes?” he hummed, trying not to sound too eager—all while his blood sang for you.

your tongue wetly floundered for a response, brain unable to comprehend anything other than the fierce fire that licked at your very core. oh, if he did not relish your sputtering, dumb state. you hung onto his every word as if he would lead you to salvation.

that’s what angels were created for, right?

“angels, humans, demons—we all have more in common than you think. we all have similar urges, similar needs,” simeon stated, lithe fingers traveling down your sides to dig into the soft flesh of your hips, forcing a breathy sigh from your lips. shame would have eaten you alive had it not been for your desperation.

“but you humans are rather self-centered, no?” he asked with an experimental squeeze that had your eyes fluttering dreamily. “you assume that your corrupted moral compass applies to the other two realms.”

you shivered as simeon leaned so close that you could smell the sweetness—caramel?—that clung to his skin. his lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “angels, as god’s chosen creatures, are encouraged to love deeply.” his fingertips grazed your belly as you swallowed thickly. his hot breath melted your resolve while his thinly-veiled words had your nerves thrumming in anticipation.

patience was a virtue that simeon usually embodied, but the thrill you inspired within him was cracking his restraint. he couldn’t help but push: push himself, push you. he needed to hear you to say it.

he gently cradled your chin between his thumb and forefinger, angling your face to meet his expectant gaze. if you had been in the right state of mind, perhaps you would have noticed how his azure irises were unusually dark, pools of midnight you could drown in.

the smile that tugged at his lips was almost wicked as he probed, “what do you need, little one? tell me.”

the endearment fell on deaf ears as you leaned into simeon’s grasp like a simpering pet. your eyes flickered down to his lips instead of answering his question, biting down on your own almost hard enough to draw blood.

“ah ah,” he chided, pinching your chin, still a hair’s breadth from your face.

you looked like a wounded animal for a moment, eyes wide and shimmering, staring down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. you tried to wriggle from his grasp in embarrassment.

the angel’s grip was unyielding, though. he was certain there would be bruises on your tender flesh come morning—the thought only heightened his arousal. his honeyed chuckle, like a potent sedative, lulled your movements.

“as much as i appreciate your enthusiasm,” simeon said with featherlight strokes to your burning cheek, “i need you to use your words, darling.”

you whimpered in response. your brain was fried, incapable of intelligent thought. all you could do was feel and act—instinct usurping rationale—more animal than human. all you could muster was a breathy and pathetic “please,” punctuated by the unshed tears that sparkled in your eyes.

“please what?” he cooed with faux sympathy. his free hand skimmed down the slope of your shoulder and the curve of your arm to ultimately settle on the fat of your thigh. the movement caused a tremor to ricochet through your body.

he looked at you like he wanted to devour you, to pick your bones clean, to consume you so wholly that not even your soul remained. and maybe it should have frightened you. but all you wanted was to lay yourself bare and let the angel feast on you until there was nothing left.

“i need you, simeon,” you finally breathed, soft as a prayer.

as soon as the words left your bruised lips, he lifted you onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist. you exhaled a warbled moan when he dipped down to scrape his teeth against the column of your throat. “that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” he murmured into your skin.

you were too far gone to answer—not that simeon cared. he finally had you where he wanted you, writhing and whining prettily. he made a mental note to thank solomon for the spell that had his little human begging for more, please, always, forever.

[zaacoy]

That one dumb tweet has put this outfit that HE ONLY EVER APPEARS IN ONCE IN THE ENTIRE SHOW into the forefocus of my brain for like 3 days now so have this

[coriander-candlesticks]

Introductions ✨✨

Hey! I'm Coriander. It's not what I go by in my other blogs on here but I want to keep things a bit more separate, at least at first. This is gonna be a long one (sorry) so I'm adding a cut.

I'm exploring Hellenic polytheism, and have only recently started, but it's something I've been considering, in a way, for over a year. I don't have a big, intense story that marks the beginning for me; I didn't necessarily feel a personal, spiritual connection to any of the deities from the time I was a young child in the way others describe, and I haven't had an intense experience that marked the beginning of my path.

I've always felt drawn to Greek mythology, though. I have a distinct memory of laying on my stomach on the floor of the school library in 3rd or 4th grade, reading a picture book about Hades and Persephone. It kept my attention the way others - even Egyptian mythology, another major interest - didn't. I, of course, had the classic queer kid experience of being super into the Percy Jackson series for a while, but my interest in it predated that. The specific deities I've been drawn to have changed somewhat as I've grown up, and they definitely shaped some of my interests. But delving into them again has helped me see connections that weren't explicitly connected to Greek mythology. I felt drawn to Athena growing up, for example, and my love of owls was definitely shaped by that. Even though that has settled into the background somewhat, that connection has persisted in things like my knitting and desires to dye yarn and learn how to weave (side note: I associate crochet more with Apollo, actually, despite it also being a fiber art). I felt connected to Artemis and Persephone as a kid, but that waned as I got older, discovered I was trans, and began my transition. I've felt connected to Hestia and her quiet hearth-keeping since I learned about her: I've always strived to make myself & my space safe and welcoming for others, and being told I succeeded in that is one of the best compliments I've received. But my interests in the morbid (ex Pompeii & the Paris catacombs), psychopomps, rocks & minerals, and keys weren't explicitly related to Hades. Some of the connections didn't click until I started to look into him more seriously about a year ago. I was an artist and had interests in writing, poetry, singing, and playing instruments long before it actually clicked that all of those fell into Apollo's domain, as I associated Athena far more with visual arts as a kid. I also didn't realize that he & Artemis cover diseases (another long-running interest) until very recently. The concept of xenia, too, was something I grew up with to some extent, even though no one called it that. My father modelled it to my siblings and I; I even learned about it within the context of ancient Greece at some point growing up and it stuck with me, despite not knowing the name.

I grew up Mormon, and was incredibly devout until college, when the pandemic forcibly separated me from that environment and I not only discovered that I was queer in several ways, but realized that the Church 1) wasn't safe to stay in and 2) wasn't actually true (which came later, when I started to get over my fear of reading "anti-Mormon literature"). During that period between those two realizations I got into tarot and using plants and crystals for their correspondences (two other interests growing up), as well as using rocks to ground myself. At that time, I considered myself a "liminal Mormon", and was reaching out to Heavenly Mother specifically via tarot. But as it set in that Mormonism specifically, and Christianity generally, wasn't for me, I got more and more interested in modern witchcraft separated from the belief system I was raised in.

It never quite felt right, though. The constant need for protections and doing something "the right way" lest things backfire and you invite the wrong thing into your home, or hurt yourself, or others, or or or, made my anxious & scrupulous brain go into overdrive. I wasn't even sure I believed in it spiritually, or if I was just interested in it from a mindfulness standpoint, and staring down the barrel of comically high piles of research without knowing where to start was exhausting. The concept of dual deities, the Divine Masculine and Divine Feminine, put a bad taste in my mouth (which bled over into Persephone for a while because she and Hades are often used to symbolize those archetypes- sorry Persephone). But, not wanting to listen too much to my discomfort (since part of it may have been, and probably was, prior conditioning), I pushed ahead and actually completed one ritual that had all of the steps - cleansing, representations of the four elements and directions, etc. - and was very carefully designed to leave room for growth and change. It represented the start of my path. I still have the jar I made during the ritual, though I'm still trying to figure out what to do with it.

Around that time, I was considering whether or not to work with deities- specifically Hades, as that was who I felt the most drawn to at the time. The idea interested me, but I wasn't sure if it was from an academic or spiritual angle. I'd really only seen deity work from a modern witchcraft/neo-pagan perspective which, again, didn't sit right with me. On top of that, I wasn't quite ready to let go of Christianity even though I already functionally had, and was terrified of doing something "wrong" and getting, for lack of a better term, sent to (figurative) hell. I decided to do a simple "yes/no" tarot pull and got about the clearest "no" you can get: a reversed Ace of Swords. So I decided to let it rest and that, if I ever felt drawn to it again, I could re-approach the topic.

So, for over a year, I didn't touch it. Continuing with witchcraft after the ritual didn't feel right, either, so my altar collected dust while I tried to sort out my spirituality (or lack thereof). I settled on "I don't know and that's okay" and left it at that, trusting that when the time came, and I had more energy and mental space, that I would be able to start looking into things again.

I never truly stopped thinking about the idea of deity work/worship, though. It was always in the back of my mind. I figured it was because of the way I was raised and tried to sever my idea of spirituality from how I was conditioned while I worked through my religious trauma, got on anxiety medication, and learned more about myself and how I interacted with the world (including that I have both ADHD and autism, something that surprised no one).

Recently I talked with a witchy friend about my thoughts on divinity and what is or isn't out there (neither of us were sure but we both felt like there was something), and that conversation gave me the button I needed to start looking into paganism again. I realized at work a week or two later that I could just look up the different paths of paganism (a term I'd recently heard that hadn't clicked before then) and see if there was one that did fit. The first site I found not only had a clear, concise explanation for belief systems I hadn't knowingly come across before, but it touched on Hellenic polytheism and gave a recommendation for someone to watch to learn more about it. And unlike the sharp knot in my chest that warned me away from attending BYU, and going on a mission, and delving further into modern witchcraft as I'd been introduced to it, learning about Hellenic polytheism felt right. It was heavy and grounding and like home. Many of the issues I'd had with other neo-pagan systems - the constant vigilance & protections & concerns over trickster spirits, for example - simply didn't exist there, or were approached very differently. I still had a mental block about it, though, and realized it was because of that tarot pull a year prior. So I did another one, and got a clear "Yes, jump right in. We're waiting for you". And that's where I've been since which, granted, hasn't been for very long. I've felt especially connected to Apollo and Aphrodite recently, who I believe reached out in a different tarot pull recently - using the same card, actually - which is interesting because while I've appreciated different ways Aphrodite has been depicted, I haven't felt very connected to her in a way I realized was her until recently. It makes sense, though- I got into my first relationship around the same time I did that ritual, and not only are we still together a year later, but a trinket I used to ground myself during those first few months is also pretty directly associated with her. I'm planning on adding it to her altar/shrine area as soon as I find it (it's also still amongst the moving wreckage).

But anyway, hi! If you read this far thank you for taking the time out of your day to do so. If anyone has recommendations for books or other educational resources, or discord servers/other online forum-esque communities, please feel free to share. I've been enjoying looking through the tags and getting a feel for the community here, too; hopefully I'm here to stay.

[moonlightperseus]

okay like i want to preface that i do not have anything against the storylines that they are doing, i’m straight vibing with this season, having fun. i just want to say it’s a little frustrating to me that 911 keeps tacking on these buck and/or eddie centric “surprise” scenes at the end of an episode because then it becomes the big talking point of the episode after the fact and a lot of the other stuff that happened in it falls away to the sides a bit

[endersdead]

i wish my friends got to grow up with me… :/

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

scam when the mold in its water bottle is affecting him negatively :((

[nuvomica]

Fam like this has zero hate in it but how is gender affirming surgery any different from the ones you hate? It's literally purging the parts of your body that you or society can't accept and it's kind of just as devastating and sad. I agree with you that people should do whatever they want with their body but also like it's kind of awful to see someone suffer so much that they have to go to surgical solutions.

This is why it's so interesting to me!! And this post is super rambly with no clear answer because I'm me and I'm learning all the time!!!!!!

Your opinion is yours, but it is super interesting that upon the topic of surgery, your mind goes to 'purging the parts you hate'. Gender affirming surgeries aren't always 'cosmetic', aren't always found through suffering. Who am I to draw lines and cast aspersions? To me, it feels like as much of a grey area as most debates are, especially as I try to stay aware of my own inherent biases vs my personal issues with gender and appearance.

For example, breast surgeries. Done to combat cancer. Reductions because of back pain. Reductions for convenience. Implants for gender affirmation (for trans and cis ppl). Implants because of previous medical reductions. Or literally any number of reasons.

At what level is it 'okay' to get something done, if in my opinion, there is a level of 'not okay' at all? 'Okay' being a loose term as it is, because I certainly don't mean morally, but as a point of, say, condemning societal pressures on people. It would be presumptuous of me to ever look at something someone does for themself and say, "well that's not okay."

Is convenience a medical reasons or a cosmetic reason? Or is it neither. Is it that there is not enough clothing and aid out there for someone who is inconvenienced by large breast size? Is it that there isn't any clothing that fits cutely, that t-shirts stretch, that lingerie doesn't come in that size? Or is it inconvenient enough that it either causes their back to ache if they're too active for too long or with chronic pain that doesn't ease at all?

What about those who get surgery on their tubes or uterus, not for 'medical' reasons, but for comfort? For taking control back? For (here it is again) convenience? For gender transitioning? How could I ever hate a surgery like that?

Meanwhile, in my personal view, seeing someone get a nose job for purely cosmetic reasons is sad to me. Why did they feel they have to do that? What sort of pressure have they face throughout their life to take them to that point? But what right do I have to judge? None, other than that I am a part of the same society that made them feel their nose was not acceptable. I do not have a broad, hooked, high bridged, or flat bridged nose, so what standing do I have to judge at all?

What about someone who loves plastic surgery as they love art? For whom body modification is a joy, or as I said before, is about control. Should I be pitying them? I don't, right up until they change something I personally view as 'sad' to change. Isn't that strange? Where did I find this moral high ground from which to look down and feel pity? What arbitrary measure have I developed for what parts of the body are 'sad' to alter?

I wouldn't go up to a stranger in public and say, "I'm so sorry you got your nose done." So why do I feel comfortable pitying the actress who had a face lift? (Rhetorical, I know the objectification of celebrities is a core reason here, but it serves my point).

It goes further. At what point is a surgery 'just' a body mod? Someone getting an ear piercing to combat headaches or allergies. Someone getting their ears or genitalia taken off so they just have a hole. Someone gets bottom surgery. Someone getting their earlobe pierced. Someone getting their eyebrows tattooed because theirs don't naturally suit their gender expression 'right'. Someone getting the name of a loved one on their arm. Someone getting laser hair removal. Someone getting their eyeball tattooed. Getting their incisors capped to points. Veneers. Tongue splits. Acrylic nails. My view is already biased by a Eurocentric upbringing and the conservative nature of my town, so.

With my own biases, I do feel a hate for buccal fat removal. I do feel a hate for cosmetic nose jobs. I do feel a hate for brow lifts. I do feel a hate for hair transplants. I won't deny that. You're right, I do feel shitty that gender is so ingrained in appearance and the value therein that trans ppl can feel so devastatingly unhappy about their own bodies. At the same time, I don't feel someone getting top or bottom surgery is 'wrong' in doing so, and I do not pity them.

Oh not to even bring up teeth. This debate starts all over again at teeth. Cosmetic, comfort, medical.

My original post and my continued thoughts are never a condemnation of the individual undergoing a surgery, only on the pressures of industry and society. It's my frustrations with sexism, racism, transphobia, and fatphobia.

Gender affirming surgeries happen all the time for cis people, including very invasive ones, and I just want to be extra aware of the hypocrisy and more intense scrutiny towards trans people getting similar surgeries, you know? Especially as someone who experiences dysmorphia but not gender dysphoria.

It just comes down to all these questions, and then further still down to personal philosophy. As is the case for most of my personal philosophies, I find it hard to make blanket statements set in stone, because there's always context. There's always further understanding to be gained, if not in my own, then in hearing of how others understand.

What right do I have to feel sad? To hate?

Where is the defining line between cosmetic, comfort, and medical, if there is one?

[unicornlovers10]

Normally I would tag spoilers, but I'm honestly making an exception for the new Harry Potter game. If it convinces people to not buy the game, or support JK Rowling in general, then it'd be worth it. Because not only is the source material problematic, but the new game is as well.

[housefinches]

gonna start lexapro soon but i’m so worried i might not enjoy my cute and fun hobbies anymore like regularly crying in public

[etfrin]

⤷❝Mine To Love | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, mentions of killing, mentions of caging/locking you up (doesn't do it though), hair pulling, breath play if you squint, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), pinv sex, blowjob, male masterbation, cunnilingus, mating press, mentions of Lucy Gray, no spoilers | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: Snow realizing his feelings for you, being fucked up about it and fucks you!

⇢☾A/N: don't romanticize, it's dark romance so y'all are warned! This is set in the same au as The Study (you don't have to read it beforehand but it's recommended)

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > <tag list>

It started slowly, so slow that Snow didn't even realize it. It started with that night in the study after he had you. He didn't touch you again, denying himself of you. You, his wife, a little bird stuck in a cage. The First Lady of Panem was nothing but a doll, a showcase piece for the country.

You played the role well enough, but you weren't a doll at all. You brought life in what was otherwise a stone-cold mannor. The workers cook your favorite, making sure you're the most well-accommodated. Like a Queen. How their shoulders relax and the smile that springs up when they do the tasks that you assigned them. You earned their respect and their loyalty.

You were dangerous yet harmless. It baffled Coriolanus to no end. It started slow. He coincidentally met you in the hallways more and more. After that night, you couldn't make eye contact with him, no longer did you greet him with an awkward hello or a shy smile.

You look down at the floor whenever he passes you by, your body flushing from the mere second of proximity. So obvious and adorable. He loved how easy you were to read, how open you were. Whatever your lips hide, your eyes show. Whatever your soul hides, your body shows.

It started slow. The monthly dinners with the First Lady turned weekly. Every Sunday now he had you sit across him for dinner and he would ask you about your day. Just to be polite, mind you, don't look into it. He would be annoyed by those one-word answers but would never show it. His fingers subtly grasped the glass of wine tighter than he should, his heart pricking his brain into paranoia. ‘What else?’ he wanted to ask, ‘Stop saying it was good. Tell me what made it good.’

Instead of uttering those words, cameras were placed on every inch of the manner with the audio functions so everything is recorded for his and only his view. He watched you walking through the library, your fingertips touching the spines of the books you already read (which was most of them), you didn't even realize new books were added to the collection, all similar to the ones you liked. He watched you stroll the gardens, your face in a frown at the neverending white roses. A red rose and several other flowers were added the next day.

It started slow. He began to talk about his day more and more trying to fill a silence. He started asking for your opinion and oh, how that lighted your eyes up that you were finally doing what you were meant to do. Supporting him not as a doll but as a wife. You begin to talk about your days more, trusting him with your day-to-day activities. You tell him about friends and family, something he wasn't interested in (he has files on every single person you mentioned).

The nights that were dedicated to his needed sleep turned into the witching hours in which he would stroke his cock over the memory of you. His mouth biting into the pillow to stop his groans, hearing them would mean admitting his need for you and he rejected that notion. His cock was oversensitive because he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop fucking into his fist, again and again thinking about you. Not just your pussy but you. Your desperate moans, your lips marking his neck, your slick walls, and everything of you. Your tears, your head on his chest when he had fucked you. Everything.

He wanted to pin you against a wall. He wanted to bend over during dinner. He wanted you on his lap in his study. He wanted to push you to the bed and fuck you until the bed breaks. He wanted you!

The realization made him spill onto his bed sheets for the nth time. A gasp escaped his lips as he realized how deeply you are rooted in him now. He needed to kill you. He can't afford this again. Whatever this is. Obsession? Love? Was there ever a difference? He needed this to end.

‘You don't deserve to be loved,’ he thinks, you were no Lucy Gray after all, you were different. You could never compare to his first and only (not anymore) love. But he had caged you, he had you and knew your every move. The rumors that spread of cheating were seized along with the man who flirted with you. True to your words, you hadn't fallen to the temptations of the Capitol, rejecting their offers politely rather than basking in their attention like before.

‘Good,’ he thought, he had killed everyone who had touched you and it was hard to hide the evidence. “I am so much better than her,” he muttered, “I could do so much better.” He asked himself, ‘Why? After all the promises I made to myself of never repeating the mistake.’

He didn't get a reply but he dreamt of you.

Breakfast had passed, lunch too, he hadn't seen you once today. A quick peek at his monitors showed that you were sleeping in your room. He clenched his jaw, a part of him hating you for sleeping in because it deprived him of seeing you. A part of his heart warmed because your hair was a mess, the shirt you were wearing while sleeping was his, and you looked so darn pretty.

Coriolanus convinced himself that he was going to your room to wake you up. Nobody should sleep this late into the day. It wasn't healthy, and he needed the First Lady to remain healthy. That was all.

He stepped into the room, his footsteps quiet so he didn't alert you. He sits down on the bed, your sleeping figure beside him. Your mouth had dried drool on the corners which made him disgusted but amusement all the same. His hand went to your cheek, he couldn't control the action of his thumb stroking your cheek.

“I should lock you up forever,” he whispered as softly as possible, almost inaudible. “In this room, so no one can see you but me.”

He knew by now his thoughts weren't normal and it would never be. That's him and he had accepted himself. He leaned in closer, his lips inches away from yours. He stopped right before he closed the gap. He takes a deep breath, taking in your scent before pulling back.

His hand goes to your shoulder, he shakes you. “Wake up, bird,” he said, his eyes softening when he saw you wake up and peer at him with confused eyes. You yawn, and sit up, your eyes wide when you look at him. You rub them with your hand and blink.

“Is there anything wrong, Coryo?” You asked softly, “Anything I can do to help.” “You should shower and eat first,” he said instead, “and next time don't sleep in. I don't like indiscipline.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, “I was finishing a book.” Your eyes flicker to him, “It's nice by the way! I will tell you about it during dinner.” He wanted to hear about it now, he wanted to pull you closer and kiss your lips, he wanted to push you into the mattress and breed you. He wanted to clean you up after and feed you every kind of feed.

He clenched his jaw, trying to get rid of such thoughts. “We'll see,” he said before walking out of the room, accidentally slamming the door. The first sign of Snow losing control.

The second sign of Coriolanus losing control was how his breath hitched when he saw you during dinner. You are wearing yet another one of his shirts (how do you even get your hands on them) and that's it. A white shirt that reached your knees, you had forgone pants and opted for shorts that couldn't even be seen. Your legs were in complete view, the same legs he wanted wrapped around his waist.

He didn't say a single comment even when it was clear you were waiting for one. ‘Were you trying to seduce him?’ he thinks, ‘Or something else.’ He felt paranoid about you wearing his shirt. Did you want him? Want him to bend you over, press your face onto the table and fuck you like you were an animal?

He felt his pants getting tighter from his thoughts, flashes of what he could do to you, what he had done to you. He couldn't focus as you talked during dinner, he made a mental note to watch the cameras later to know the words you had blessed him with.

It hits him like a wave when dinner ends and you come to him with a book. Tabs were spilling out and it was a hardcover of an old classic that he had to read during the academy.

“You once told me that you liked this book, I spent last night annotating it! I did a few finishing touches before dinner…”

That explains your attire, you were busy formatting this gift for him. He took the book from your hand, he wanted to throw it across the room, he wanted to set it on fire. It was now his most precious treasure, more important than Panem itself.

The truth he denied washes over him. Making him take a sharp breath and your eyebrows etch together in concern. He had once a girl dedicate songs for him, now he had a wife dedicating booms for him. ‘It would be a mistake,’ he told himself, ‘It won't be a mistake if I don't repeat the past.’

The desires he shoved at the back of his mind sprang forward and he made a decision. The third sign of Coriolanus surrendering to himself was that he had everyone including the guards leave the dining room. Making your eyes widen from the sudden instruction.

“Is there anything wrong-” you begin to ask before Snow interrupts you. “Here is what's going to happen now. You're gonna be on your knees, you'll take my cock in your mouth and you'll make me cum. Then I will take you to our room and I'll fuck you until you can't remember your name.”

You blink once, twice just staring into his eyes that revealed nothing before you went closer to him and got down on your knees for him. “Like this?” You asked, breathless, your cheeks flushed. He smirked, “Exactly like this, pet.”

“Now part those pretty lips for me,” he said as he unzipped his pants and set his hard cock free. He lets out a chuckle as he sees you eyeing his cock like a long-lost lover. Guess he wasn't the only one thinking about that time.

You part your mouth wide enough for him as he pushes his cock in slowly. No matter how desperate he was a gentleman for his wife. He knew better than to gag you. He stopped when his cock had completely disappeared, his length engulfed into your wet, hot mouth.

He throws back his head as his dick hits the back of your throat. He relishes the sound of your choking around his length. He lets out his groan, trying his hardest not to cum down your throat so soon. His hand is in your hair, keeping you in place like an obedient pet.

You try your best to take in a deep breath as your tongue swirls around his length as much as possible. You weren't the best at blowjobs, but you knew the sloppier the better. Saliva ran down your cheek as you tried your best to focus on his cock underside, your tongue dragging itself across a pulsing vein that reached his cockhead.

You moan around his length as the taste of pre-cum bursts in your mouth. You close your eyes and try your best, bopping your head up and down. You clenched your fist, trying your best not to gag when his cock gets deeper into your throat.

Meanwhile, Snow was a wreck of a man, the heat of your mouth ruining his capability of having coherent thoughts. You were sucking his soul through his dick it seemed to him. His fingers tangled in your locks, gripping your hair tighter as a way to anchor himself to reality.

His blue eyes dilated to almost black as he looks at you taking his cock so well. Like you were made for it. Made for his cock. Made for him. Meant to be his wife, his bird, his pet, and his love. It's destiny, he decided as he pulls you off his cock and uses his suit sleeves to wipe your mouth and chin.

‘Everything leads to this,’ he thought, as he pulled you onto his lap and pressed a kiss to your lips. The saltiness of his taste in your mouth does not deter his tongue from tasting you.

“Go to my- our room,” he whispered to you as he broke the kiss. “I'll be there soon,” he promises as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips kissing your skin. You nod and get off his lap. Your feet drag you into his room.

Meanwhile, Coriolanus takes a deep breath, trying to maintain whatever pathetic excuse of sanity he had held. It didn't work. His cock was hard enough to hurt and his brain made him think. He thinks of removing you, he thinks of keeping you. He thinks of plans to protect you, backup plans to make sure you remain untouched while still maintaining the image of the First Lady. His true possessiveness and obsession flares up in his mind.

‘It won't be a mistake if I don't repeat the past,’ he told himself, repeating that line to his head.

He takes a deep breath, a glance at the cameras shows workers and guards kept the halls clear and you were in his room and on his bed waiting for him. Waiting for him to ravish you as you kept playing with the buttons of the shirt, and your underwear on the floor. Your face was crimson but your lower lip was in a darker shade of red with how much you bitten it because of nervousness.

He lets out a huff of air before adjusting himself accordingly. Coriolanus Snow was many things, gentlemen included and gentlemen don't keep their ladies waiting.

You freeze as he enters the room. You swallow nervously, your fingers pausing on the shirt button you were playing with. He glances at the panties that were on the floor and he gives you a little smirk. “Take it all off, my wife,” he said as his hands worked to undress him. His suit was on the floor, his shirt joining it soon enough.

You have to press your thighs together as you see his skin again, a whimper escaping your lips at the sight. He was so beautiful, craved by the angels, breathed to life by the devil. Soon, his pants and boxers were getting ridden off.

You check him out, your gaze hungry. Your fingers shake with desire as you take off your (his) shirt. You let it fall, exposing yourself completely to him, like he did for you. His eyes rack you up, causing a flush to every visible inch of your skin.

“Open your legs,” he said, as he walked closer and got down on his knees for you. “I am hungry,” he said, while his lips pressed to your knee and his lustful eyes bewitched you. You had to bite your tongue to not let a moan from his mere words. You spread your legs wide, letting your cunt come into his view.

Your folds that were glistening with your arousal and your slit which was the cause of your juices fluttered around nothing from his gaze. “Exquisite,” he had whispered, the praise warming you up and making your pussy clench harder. “Eager too,” he chuckles, looking up at you but you refuse to meet his gaze.

“Have your meal,” you mumbled, embarrassed. He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, making your breath hitch from the contact. A sharp moan escapes when he bites, his teeth digging into the flesh and your hand falls onto his hair. Your fingers grip the blonde locks but you don't try to push him away. Your legs tried to close around him, but his hands made sure to keep them spread as he liked it.

He pulled away, admiring the mark before he pressed another wet kiss to it. His fingers grip your thighs, they hold tight enough to leave marks too.

He takes in a deep breath, nuzzling into your thigh. Your primal scent makes him go wild, his nail digging into your skin as he brings his lips closer to your pussy. One swipe of his tongue onto your folds and he groans louder than you have ever heard him to do so.

“You taste like fucking candy,” he lets out, as his nose bumps into your clit, his tongue messily swirling around your folds, gathering as much of your juices as possible. Your legs were all on his shoulders now as he all but pressed his face, burying himself in your cunt. He takes in a deep breath through his mouth before he begins to ravish you properly.

His mouth taking in your entire pussy and sucking it with such devotion it made you see stars. He laps at your pussy, his tongue never stopping to devour you. You pulled him even closer, your thighs closing around his head. The action only made him. You couldn't see it, but his eyes rolled back from the lack of air and your taste that quickly became his favorite.

His teeth pulled at the outer lips of your pussy, making you cry out and gush more juices. He licks it all up. Before his attention goes to your little bud, his mouth kisses it at first. Then he takes your clit into his mouth to suck without any mercy.

It makes you cry out, the soles of your feet digging into his back as your hips begin to rut against his face. You have no control over your actions. You were gripping his hair so tight you were afraid that you tore away a few strands. Overwhelming pleasure attacked all of your senses as he didn't stop his merciless actions.

You arch your back, your lips moaning his name as heat begins to gather in your body. You cry out, “Close! Coryo! Fuck!” Pleads begin to leave your mouth as your hips grind faster, your clit nudged his nose as his tongue is now inside your walls, fucking you with his tongue.

Your eyes widen, and you let out a silent scream when his teeth nip your swollen clit. You lay on the bed, panting as your pussy cums on his face. Your arousal makes a mess on his face which makes you even more slick when he pulls back and gets on top of you.

You looked into his eyes, his cold blue eyes that were nearly black now. He was panting, both of your breaths mixing into the air. With whatever senses you have left, you use your palm to clean up some of the mess on his face.

As soon as you finish up, he holds your hand. His mouth on your palm with broad strokes of his tongue he licks the remaining of your juices clean. “Can't let it go to waste, my bird,” he whispered to you as he leaned down. His body caging yours or were you caging him down with your legs around his waist? He pressed a kiss to your cheek. Sweet and gentle, and so unlike him but you don't dare question his affections. May it be sweet or savory, you accept it with your arms wide open.

“Want you,” you whispered to him. “You'll have me when I see fit,” he replied, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck before they reached the flesh of your breasts. One of his hands squeezed your breast and his thumb rubbed circles on your nipple. His lips paid attention to the underside of it, licking the skin around the round flesh before his teeth sank in making you gasp. He sucks harshly, his hold on your breast getting rougher as he forms the mark on your skin. When he's assured that a hickey will be formed, his lips pull back and he presses a kiss to the mark.

“You're mine,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin before he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks just as harshly as before. You moan, “Yours, Snow!” Your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh. His fingers play and squeeze your other breast while he continues to suck your bud. Your cunt despite having a previous earthsharing orgasm begins to pulse with need. You whimper, “Corio, please!”

Coryo pulls away, his eyebrows etched in annoyance, as much as he likes to hear you beg, he would rather focus on his task of marking you up. He leans up and presses his lips to you. You moan into his mouth as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers tangling themselves into his curls bringing him even closer to you. He breaks the kiss, “I'll teach you to be obedient later, my pet.”

You let out a whimper when he pressed a hard kiss against your lips. His hands travel down to your hips. “Get ready,” he whispered to you, “I meant my words.” I'll fuck you until you can't remember your name. Remembering his earlier words, you whine loudly, “Please!”

His hand grips your hip tightly as his other hand holds his hard cock and guides it to your entrance. Just to be a little tease, he swipes his mushroom tip all over your cunt, his cockhead bumping your swollen clit making you arch your back and your nails dig into his flesh harder, making him moan as well.

He finally pressed his tip into your slit, his cock gliding in smoothly because of how wet you were. He groans as his dick gets sucked into warmth. His head is between the space of your shoulder. He was panting, his hot breath hitting your skin as he pushed in inch by inch. Your hands are on his back, your legs around his waist as you encourage him to go deeper into you with your soft moans.

His teeth sink into your neck to stop a groan, as his cock reaches your deepest spot. While your nails drag themselves across his back to create red lines. Both of you finding ways to anchor yourself to reality, to not go insane with the pleasure you find in each other.

“Move,” you plead, “Please, Coryo, need you to fuck me. Need you!” Snow decided to have mercy on you both, his hips began to move shallowly, and he refused to completely pull back. He refused the concept of depriving his dick of your sweet, wet pussy. “Faster,” you beg, his deep thrust hits at your every spot, some you didn't even know existed. It fried at your senses, your mind going haywire, your body getting desperate for another release.

“No,” he barks near your ear, his mouth biting your earlobe before he begins to kiss your jaw and then to your collarbone. His lips suck purple and blue bruises on your skin while his hips grind into you. Making you go dizzy and insane with how his cockhead kept grazing your g-spot.

“Please, please,” you babble, “You're fucking me so good, Coryo! I can't take it, please! Fuck me harder, love!” His hips had stopped moving as he heard your words. His head leaned up to you, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “What did you say?”

You looked straight into his eyes, not hiding the love you had for him, letting it flow through your words and your body. “Love,” you whispered, your lips pressing a delicate kiss that could shatter everything you had built with Snow. “I love you,” you whispered. One of your hands moves to his cheek, caressing him. “You don't have to do anything in return, just know that I love you.” You smile at him, knowing it's more likely that he won't ever return your feelings.

You prepared yourself for a harsh rejection but instead, his hips begin to move again. Harder, faster than before, his cockhead kissing your cervix with his thrusts, his fingers digging into your hips marking it. You won't be able to walk later but that didn't matter.

What mattered was how perfect Coriolanus had begun to fuck you. No, it wasn't a fuck. This was something more. Something changed with your confession, something changed and will remain changed for the rest of both of your lives.

One of his hands reached upward, his fingers snaking around your throat. He pressed it in, not enough to block your breathing but enough to make you lightheaded. Your pussy which was already tight, clenched around him further making him groan right against your ear.

“Lover indeed,” he whispered, his words that you nearly missed, your heart understood what he meant. You gasp, “Kiss me.” You knew that even without him saying those words, he could love you all the same.

Snow complies, his lips clashing with yours. His hips rutting into you as his hands guide your legs into the mating press position, making you cry out into the kiss as his cock reaches even deeper than before causing a small bump into your stomach that neither of you notices.

The kiss got open-mouthed, desperate with how his tongue tangled with yours. It was filth filled with the pathetic, insanity of love you both felt for each other. His thrusts got faster, and sloppier as he was close to his end. Your cunt pulsating around his length as you too were close to shattering again.

What it took for both of you to reach the end was him breaking the kiss to whisper, “I should kill you. I should kill you for making me a lovesick fool again.”

The words even when you know can mean your doom makes you cum like nothing else. Your lips cry out as your walls begin to milk his cock for what it's worth. He groans into your mouth, letting himself feel your fluttering cunt before he thrusts into you once, twice, and finds his release. His cock spilling into you, his cum painting your insides white, marking you.

He pulls out, his back covered with scratches, his curls clinging to his forehead and his lips swollen from the kisses. You looked just as much of a mess as he did, with marks all over your body.

He thinks to himself as he lies beside you. He wasn't going to kill you now. Not in ten years or fifty but your end would only be when he decides.

He loves you after all, in his twisted way.

tags : @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @justacaliforniandreamer

[bbieangel]

Sticky

Joel Miller x F!Reader (18+)

mdni please

You and Joel find another way to make the summer heat more bearable.

tags: smut (duh), food play (popsicle), anal play, creampie, unprotected p in v (do not! do this! pls!), kind of? oral (f receiving), praising, dirty talk (joel doesn't know how to shut up and we love him for that), mentions of gagging (once), reader is abled, afab reader. joel is 20 years older. idk if I forgot anything else.

word count: 9.2k

a/n: this is just another level –for me, at least– of things I wouldn't normally write. please take my phone away? thanks. I think I was possessed when I came up with this. anyways! hope you enjoy.

this was inspired by If You Like Piña Coladas by @gutsby ! it was amazingly written, I loved it and after reading it I came up with this idea. <3

as always, please enjoy and lmk what you think! reblogs, likes and comments are always deeply appreciated 🫶🏻

It all started when you were out on patrol, scavenging and rummaging through abandoned places, looking for supplies to take back to Jackson.

"Anything, really." Maria told you, as the warmer weather was approaching and you needed anything that would help keep people cool. Especially the elders, kids and babies.

Could a horse carry a whole fan back to Jackson? Not possibly. So Joel got to disassemble it while you took the opportunity to look through every drawer, cabinet and box.

"Joel, look!" You said, holding up some molds. They were the kind that you would fill up with juice and fruit, then put the sticks in them to make a popsicle. Maybe it wouldn't keep you cool, but it was a nice distraction.

Joel chuckled as he saw them. He remembered making those with Sarah every summer in a desperate attempt to keep his daughter in a somehow manageable mood, as she hated the heat and made her irritable. You could see the shimmer in his eyes, the kind that showed up every time he thought of his daughter. He has recently started to open up about her, and you didn't really push him to do it: just let him.

"We should keep those." He replied. "Maybe try making some back at home."

The idea sounded fantastic, and there were more molds as you kept scavenging. Maybe you could even make them and offer them at the town hall for people to feast on while they fought the intense rays of sun.

Once back home, you got to work. Joel helped by squeezing the oranges as well as cutting up strawberries and apples, the kitchen ending up a fruity mess. But you didn't mind, if anything, it made your heart flutter at the sight. It was domestic, tender, to be cooking together. Making a snack to make the summer heat a little more bearable for the both of you.

You set them inside the fridge and honestly, forgot about them until two days later until Joel brought them up. The two of you were plopped on the couch, fanning yourself with magazines as you tried to pay attention to the TV with that old DVD player plugged into it, playing a movie Joel had made you watch more times that you could count on.

You were distracted, and you knew it. And he would be a liar if he said he wasn't. Your cause of distraction? The way Joel's cheeks were slightly flushed, sweat trickling down his tanned neck, how the popsicle would drip down his veiny hands. How he would lick it, God, why couldn't he lick you instead? And he was suffering from the same twisted thoughts. The way your lips would wrap around the popsicle.. he was almost sure you were doing it on purpose. Pushing it inside your mouth and pulling it out with a plop! He could think of the times you'd done that with his cock before, the image being burned inside his eyelids.

He couldn't do it anymore. Couldn't pretend he wasn't affected by you.

"It take you that long to finish that thing?" He spoke up, his voice slightly hoarse from hiding his desire for too. damn. long.

"What do you mean?"

You asked as you bit into it and chewed a smile piece of the ice thing, then swallowed it. His eyes followed the movement of your throat and oh, you knew.

He wanted to erase that shit-eating grin off your face with the tip of his cock, smearing his precum all over your—

"You know what I mean. You're doing it on purpose."

"And you aren't?" You leaned forward, and that made him feel like he'd been caught red-handed. Truth was that, yes, he had been slurping at the thing like he would swallow your juices whenever he found himself on his favorite place on earth: between your legs.

"What if I am?"

"What if I am too?"

The silence between you grew thick, like a string that was taunt with too much tension. Until he snapped it, grabbing the popsicle and shoving it into your mouth. You tried to protest by whining his name.

"Shut up." He spoke as he quickly worked to take off your shorts. He pushed them down and immediately placed his head between your legs, making you open your mouth so much that the popsicle almost fell. He caught it and put it back into your mouth.

"Keep suckin' it, sweetheart. Don't stop 'til I tell ya so."

And you obliged, a small smile on your face as you loved experimenting new things with your man. He licked a long stripe over your damp underwear, making you close your legs around his head. He was quick to separate them and nuzzle his nose against the cotton of it, inhaling your scent. You would be embarrassed if he hadn't done it like a hundred times before. It was nothing new.

"Joel.." You whined, almost pleaded as you gripped his hair. You kept eating the popsicle, licking and slurping at it to provoke him even more. And did he notice.

He looked up at you, eyes dark from his pupils occupying almost his whole irises. He took a finger and pushed at your entrance, penetrating you with your underwear.

"You take what I give you." He reminded you. Your mouth felt open at the sudden contact, aching to be filled. Some of the juice spilled down your chin and onto your chest, and he looked at it like it was the most attractive, sexy thing he'd ever seen. He pumped his fingers a couple of times before his patience broke.

"Damn it, darlin'. I swear I'm tryin' to take my time but today just won't be the case." He spoke, before pushing down his own clothes and your underwear flew God knows where.

He sat you on his lap, pressing you down against the evidence of the effect you had on him. Gently, never being rough, pushed your legs open with his knees and held you like that.

"Oh, look at 'er.. Already cryin' for me, baby?"

He teased, and brought two of his fingers at your slick. You squirmed on his lap, breathing ragged as you tried to find something to hold onto. But he didn't let you.

Instead, with those two fingers, he parted your lips open and looked down at your glistening cunt. It was gaping, closing around air as if it was already preparing itself for the stretch that Joel's length would be.

But.. he didn't do it. Not yet. He pulled the popsicle out of your mouth and pressed it against your hole. Your eyes widened and you gasped for air at the cold sensation, telling him that he couldn't do that, that it was wrong, that—

"Beggin' to be filled, isn't she?" He murmured, hot breath against your ear. He didn't really care about you trying to be cautious, he knew that deep down you didn't care about that either. You wanted to be filled, and he was a man that took your wishes seriously. He placed the popsicle in front of you so you could see it before he slowly trusted it inside of you. You cried out and he hushed you softly.

"Oh, I know, I know." He cooed at you. "She'll get used to it. Now take it."

And you trembled, fighting the internal battle of pulling his hand away or letting him fuck you senseless with a popsicle. The sticky, orange, freezing cold stick was melting inside of you. And every time Joel pulled it out and pushed it back down, some would drip out of your hole. Juices mixed with whatever blend of fruit you poured into those molds, all dripping down to the floor.

You could sense Joel's eyes locked on it, his breath becoming more labored than he would like to admit. He would beg to clean up that mess with his own tongue if it meant tasting your tangy, slightly sour slick.

"Takin' it so good, princess. Look at you. 's it feel good?" He asked, whispering against your ear. You couldn't see him but you knew that he looked pussy drunk, that grin on his face that told you he was high just from watching you take a popsicle or whatever he pushed inside of you.

You were a mess. Hair sticking to your forehead as the old ceiling fan wasn't strong enough to cool down any of you. Your own back felt sticky and hot against Joel's chest. But did he mind? No. He loved every liquid that would come out of you, even your sweat. He had eaten you out after being hours on patrol, sweat pooling in every fold of your body. But he just couldn't wait until you showered. That summed up how little Joel cared about any of that stuff.

Your head fell back against his shoulder and you shut your eyes closed as he stretched you further with the popsicle, the sounds were almost enough to make you want to hide your face in the crook of his neck out of embarrassment. They were almost pornographic, and you felt Joel's cock twitching underneath your ass.

"Joel—Please!" You cried out. "I want it. Please. I can—"

The popsicle was shoved into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue and making you gag softly as he went a little too deep. You could taste yourself in it, and it turned you on even more. Joel was tired of your cries, he would give you what he wanted when he wanted it.

"Hold it." He commanded and you held the popsicle, drool dripping out of it and into your chest, making an orange mess.

With his hands now free, he pushed your hips forward and up, lining the red, unattended tip of his dick against your entrance. You squirmed and cried, voice muffled by the long, cold stick.

"Shh, sh, sh. I got you, sweetheart."

I whispered and pulled you down against it with one swift move, having little to no mercy with your aching hole. He pushed on your lower back and you leaned forward as he started moving his hips deliberately, kissing your cervix every time he went up. He moaned at the sight of orange juice still pouring out of you, coating his cock along with your slick.

"What a sight, baby. I bet.."

He took the popsicle out of your mouth, and you panted for air. Your moans and soft cries filled the room as he filled you, stuffed you full to leave you limping for a week.

"..It'll look prettier like this." You almost didn't hear him, the pleasure overtaking you.. *almost*. But he made sure you did, at least, feel him when he pushed the popsicle into your rosebud, making the small hole stretch around it. He whimpered at the sight, something he never did. You gasped, holding onto the coffee table in front of you for dear life as you could swear you saw your soul leaving your body for good.

The squelching sounds, juices dripping everywhere making a mess around you two, was enough to make you near your orgasm. He pumped the thing in and out at the same rhythm as he raised his hips. You swore you'd never felt more full in your life, warm and cold at the same time in different places. He stared in awe, watching both of your holes swallow both him and the popsicle smoothly.

When Joel noticed that you were near, he picked up the pace of both: the popsicle that entered your anus with ease, melting and filling you to the brim, and his cock that you could swear you felt on your stomach.

"Thatta girl.. milk my cock, sweetheart. Yeah, good fucking girl."

He babbled nonsense, an indicator that he was close too. With not one, not two, but three thrusts he gripped your hips, biting down –gently– onto your shoulder as he painted your walls white with his seed. You could feel your legs twitching as his body trembled, your name coming out of his mouth in soft prayers. You followed quickly after him, closing your walls around his length in a way that almost got it hard again. You stayed there, bodies still intertwined and covered in fruit juices, panting for air until you both came back to reality.

He then scooped you up into his arms and carried you upstairs. He would clean up the mess later, he said as he guided you both into the shower. Once there, he made sure to clean up every dip and crevice of your body while you felt your eyelids drooping. He caressed your back gently and pressed soft kisses against your forehead and shoulders while rubbing you dry, making sure you were taken care of and never felt like any encounter was just to please him. Then, he carried you to bed and cuddled up against you, placing your head on his chest and running his fingers through your hair gently, like he always did to soothe you.

"We gotta make those more often. You know.. to survive the heat."

He murmured with a smirk as you drifted off to sleep. And all you could wonder was how the fuck did a man twenty years older than you have the stamina of a beast.

[ohdeerfully]

hiii! this is my first request on tumblr but i jus love alastor sm and there is NOT enough fics for me out there. so im asking u❤️

what abt alastor being jealous of someone else in the hotel? for example: angel dust, he puts on music and you two are dancing with eachother happily not noticing the red eyed demon with a tight grin. 🥰

Hii! Honestly after writing this I realized I didn't follow the prompt exactly, less jealousy and more Alastor being overprotective. Oh well! Hope you like it anyway :D!

Be Back Soon (i)

alastor x reader (fluff? alastor is just overprotective) part i TW: Cursing/Angel existing if you want tagged in the next part, lmk! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

Your fingers dragged down the skin around your eyes as you let out a long sight, sitting at Husk’s bar with shoulders propped on the cold counter. What a day it had been, running around in the typical chaos of the hotel as Charlie tried to get some group bonding activities finished. It was getting late, and you just finally had a moment of peace.

“‘Ey, toots!” The chipper voice broke your peace and you couldn’t help it when another audible sigh escaped you. The culprit of the broken science paid no mind.

Turning your head, you narrowed your eyes and made eye contact with the lanky pink spider. You were a little salty at him in particular, being one of the main catalysts to the everyday insanity. He had an easy grin played upon his lips as he stared back down at you with his multicolored eyes, one pair of arms on his hips that jutted out a little too unnaturally in a mischievous pose. His golden tooth glinted under his light grin with a similar air of “hey I’m up to no good right now.”

“You look fuckin’ tired!” He barked a laugh, dramatically squeezing his eyes shut in a theatrical show of laughing in your face. It really wasn’t that funny, and you couldn’t stop the frown that touched your lips as you watched him. He took pride in being the way he was. Annoying.

“No thanks to you, Angel,” You clipped back. You turned your head to watch Husk, who was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. He had become an expert in ignoring the spider demon’s presence, which was how he managed to stay sane with said demon’s constant flirting and sexual nature.

“Anyway,” He waves away your targeted words with a wave of his hands as his eyes roll up. “I was thinkin’ we get outta here for the night? Me and Cherri were gonna have a “girl’s night.”” You briefly thought about the humor in Angel admitting to being ‘one of the girls,’ but pushed the thought away to consider his invitation. “It wouldn’t hurt ta get some fresh air. This place is real stuffy sometimes, and a huge snooze fest,” he persuaded. He rested his face on one pair of hands, fingers laced under his chin, as he leaned against the bartop in anticipation for your answer.

You purse your lips in thought. It wouldn’t hurt, right? You didn’t go out clubbing a lot, and with Angel and Cherri with you surely nothing wrong would happen. They looked out for their friends, and you would (maybe regretfully) consider yourself Angel’s friend. You glanced at Husk for a moment, as if looking for advice, but his eyes remained close and his lips had an annoyed curl. Maybe you should get out of his hair.

“Okay, okay,” You grinned, a little sheepishly. While you couldn’t really consider ‘fresh air’ to be a feature of Hell, you agreed that you needed to just Get Out of this place. Running errands for Charlie got mundane, even with all the strange characters that cycled through the place. One tends to get used to the chaos.

Angel stretched his arms up in a cheer, which earned a one-eyed, aggravated look from Husk. He uttered something under his breath before grabbing a bottle and walking to the other corner.

“Alright, sweet lips,” Angel cooed at you. “Let's get you dressed! You got anything decent up in your closet?”

Your hand found its way to the back of your neck as you answered sheepishly, “Eh, not really… At least, not for a night out. I don’t really do much outside of the Hotel.” Angel frowned at the response, tapping his chin in thought.

“Lemme take a look,” With a swipe of his arm, your hand was suddenly being held as he dragged you up the steps toward the floor of your room.

Walking down at the same time, you briskly passed by Alastor, who had his eyes closed and a hum in his mouth. His blazing red eyes peered open as you and Angel rushed past him, a quizzical furrow in his brow seeing the connection between your hands. You shot him a shy grin and craned your head back to shout a quick ‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ before you disappeared around the bend of the stairs.

You didn’t miss the dark gleam in his eyes.

Angel, in an attempt to dramatically burst through your door, slammed full body into the entrance. “Ah- the hell?” He cried, roughly jiggling the handle.

“I keep it locked,” you snickered at him and the disheveled look in his usually preened hair. You saw him take his hands to brush it out as you fiddled with the lock, an annoyed mutter of words escaping his lips. The second the door clicked, Angel shoved past you and reattempted his dramatic burst through the entrance with a bit more luck this time around.

He went straight for your closer, rummaging through this and that. What a breach of privacy, this guy is, you thought with a strained smile as you stepped up next to him to try to guide him through your very Ordinary and Plain clothes.

You felt a prickling sensation on your skin, and you swear you heard a frequency of low static, but when you whipped your head around nothing stood there. Did that shadow just move?

Shaking your head, you looked at the piece Angel held proudly in his hands, one pair of arms gripping the top and the second pair pulling the bottom out to really get a full inspection.

It was incredibly simple, but still a bit more revealing than anything you were used to wearing. A deep red top, so cropped it may as well be a sporty bra, with a couple eye-catching accents of rhinestones. Connected with thin straps was a similarly tight pair of booty shorts. Your face flushed at the thought of wearing this. It was practically lingerie.

“Isn’t it a bit, uh, tacky?” You tried in an attempt to dissuade him from this getup. He acted offended, one hand going and pressing against his fluffed chest. You didn’t miss the way he took this as an opportunity and pressed up against himself to perk up his mass of chest fur.

“Babe, I wear shit like this all the time! You tellin’ me,” He started a rant, shaking the clothes in a fit of mock rage. “You tellin’ me I’m tacky? Hah! Me! Angel Dust!” He wiped away a fake tear in his laughter.

Your face flushed again looking at the getup. With a defeated mutter you swiped it from his hands and trekked painfully slowly to the restroom. You ignored Angel’s urgency for you to ‘hurry the hell up’ because it was almost time to get going.

You slowly stripped yourself of your day clothes, gingerly stepping through the tight shorts and tucking your arms through the straps of the top. You didn’t even remember buying this thing, it had been stuffed far in the back of your closet. You couldn’t help the feeling of dread thinking about the other embarrassing things Angel might have seen in there. Though, you doubt anything could phase that guy.

You had to admit, looking at your reflection, that it did accentuate your curves, even if you didn’t have much to begin with. The rhinestone accents glittered in the bathroom light, obviously designed in a way to bring attention to the chest. The straps that connect the two pieces fit snugly against your exposed torso. You were suddenly glad Hell never got that cold.

“Almost ready!” You snapped at Angel calling from the other side of the door. You quickly threw on some touches of makeup, trying your best to compliment the shades of your outfit and adding some glittery makeup around your eyes. You quickly dragged your fingers through your hair to style it comfortably.

You ripped open your door just as fists started banging on it. Angel stood there with two arms raised, stopped midair to keep himself from decking you in the head. You glared up at him, trying to maintain your earlier sourness to hide the fact that the outfit had grown on you.

“Hey, sexy lady!” Angel teasingly leaned himself against the doorframe with a smirk. “Let’s fuckin’ go! You took too damn long! Cherri hates waitin’.”

Grabbing your hand again, he ushered you out of the room. As you raced down the stairs, you tried to continuously preen your hair to keep it from flying out of shape as Angel practically drug you down each step.

He slowed at the bottom, releasing your hand, and stepping towards Husk’s bar to aggravate and flirt with the cat one last time before heading out. You tuned out his sexual innuendoes as you tried to glance over yourself one last time.

“My, what a dame you are!” Alastor’s recognizably radio-afflicted voice ripped your attention away from picking at a loose rhinestone. He stood over you, a slight bend in his waist and an unnatural crane in his neck. His smile was there, but tight and uneasily wide as he examined you through squinted eyes. He leaned his weight against his cane.

Swallowing your unease, you examined his expression. You knew Alastor didn’t care for such… promiscuous outfits. Especially on what he considered his. You knew his compliment was satirical, and you didn’t miss that glint of anger flash through his expression.

“Heyy, Al,” You drew out your words, unintentionally accentuating the awkward tone between the two of you. He paid no mind, keeping up that seemingly cheerful grin of his as he just… stared at you. His fingers tapped impatiently on the radio of his cane, each tap bringing a warp to the frequency that always surrounded him. “I’m going out with Angel tonight. Y’know… to get some air…”

“My dear,” His eyes closed in a laugh and he straightened himself out. “Why would you ever go out there for fresh air? Now, you know those demons would just eat you right up.” A dark sneer infected his smile, lips curling and exposing the line of his black gums.

“‘Ey c’mon, Smiles,” Angel stepped up next to you and lazily threw an arm over your shoulder. You saw that sneer only deepen as Alastor watched the spider get way too close to you. “Give ‘er a break! She’s always runnin’ around doin’ shit for this bum-ass hotel! It makes her… boring!” 

You didn’t know whether or not to appreciate Angel both defending and insulting you. You decided to just ignore his comments as you watched Alastor’s expression get darker and more sinister. You felt a cold sweat prickle at your neck as that static-y frequency of his became more prominent and aggressive as his eyes swept over the two of you, lingering on your exposed abdomen with a frustrated twitch in his brow.

“Why, of course!” He suddenly cheered, brandishing his hands to his side in a slight bow. “But…” He stepped towards you, looming over you. You felt that nervous tickle again. His right hand raised and, with a quick motion, a fairly modest jacket materialized around your shoulders. “All better! Wouldn’t want greedy eyes seeing what’s mine!”

How bold, you thought. He was from the ‘30s, though, and very old fashioned. It made sense that immodest wear bothered him. Plus, you looked down at the jacket. It had a similar color scheme, and was light enough to not be too warm. At least it goes with my outfit. How sweet.

You felt a bit giddy at the permission Alastor had given you–not that you needed it. (You did). You’re a grown ass adult. (It doesn’t matter). You shot him a smile of thanks before dashing out the door, meeting Cherri who had been frequently laying on the car horn for you to Hurry the Fuck Up.

Before Angel Dust could follow, a tight grip on one of his wrists stopped him in his tracks. He hissed, yanking his arm but to no avail. Alastor’s grab was like iron, and his nails began to dig into Angel’s skin.

“Hey you fuck, let me go! I gotta get out there before Cherri starts blowin’ this shit up!”

Alastor pulled Angel in closer, a sneer-like grin crossing his expression. There was a maddening look in his glowing red eyes.

“If she comes home with even the smallest scrape,” He said in a low tone, the garble of his radio slightly distorting his voice. “I’m going to make you wish you never came to this Hazbin Hotel.”

Alastor’s grip didn’t yield as Angel tried again in a futile attempt to release himself. He had a nervous laugh in his voice as he tried to act unintimidated by the Radio Demon’s threat.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you creepy red fuck,” He gruffed back, “Me an’ Cherri will stick right by her. You don’t gotta worry about nothin’.” Alastor’s expression shifted in an instant, his cheerful grin reappearing. He stood up straight and smiled down at Angel. “Good man! Now, don’t be too long,” He shooed Angel out of the lobby, who was more than glad to get the fuck out of there. He heard a faint ‘I’ll be watching’ from behind as he slammed the car door shut, muttering curses under his breath.

He knew Alastor would send that damn shadow of his to keep a close eye, so why the fuck did Angel have to babysit you in the first place? Plus, you weren’t some weak, naive fool. Whatever. He knew Alastor would take any excuse to cause some entertaining mayhem.

He sighed as he looked at you, who had a nervous but excited grin as Cherri rambled and cursed about something.

Maybe he shouldn’t have invited you out. He knew he was in for a long, stressful night. Good thing there would be a bar.