#i need to draw more of him i need him carnally (he will splattered my guts on the floor)

[doublekanble]

deer (in a head light)

Alastor/reader (gnc)

platonic-romantic. (almost everyone thinks you two are in love or is extremely baffled by the fact, a bit more romantic for me but can be seen as anything actually i just like writing people being sort of stupid)

word count: 5.6k.

or, collectively, everyone's reaction to the fact. Nifty is there👍. no real warning this is a normal fic part two to this.

Husk have never gone through this level of raw mental torture, while Angel thinks it’s absolutely hilarious how hard is it for Husker to accept that one of the most feared Overlord of all Pride Ring is vying for a cute lil fella like you. What started out as a small remark over the rim of a particularly strong cup of gin about how Alastor have been seemingly hovering around you, making small talks that you try to keep up with confused enthusiasm - soon turn into listing off every growing instances of odd affections that no one ever thought he’s capable of, but it’s yours in abundance.

You’re standing up with the intention of going outside? Unless he’s actively in a conversation (and several time, even during one) Alastor will find a convenient excuses to walk with you. You’re cold? Everyone else better be cold too, either that or hope to God he have anything to give you to wear. Hungry? Thirsty? Almost like a caretaker, he’s always making sure you have little bites of food and drink here or there, reminding you like clockwork. Staying in your room for the day? Your room is close to Angel, and the first time he come out of his room, fresh from a hangover, only to catch the tail end of a red coat and a greeting disappearing behind your door, it takes everything in him to try and rationalizing not breaking the door down.

(Husk thinks he was being overprotective. Angel brushed it off with a nervous chuckle. It’s a good thing, he remarks, if only Angel kept that attitude.)

The idea of Alastor actually taken interest in anyone, even positively, send shivers down his spine. Husk have been one of the older soul that fell into the hand of the sadistic Overlord, one that did just enough to keep his earn and do what he want when Alastor would’ve gotten busy with a new project or two. He knows he’s useful enough to Alastor, even with the occasional slipped up, learning quickly where to tread and where to back down. The Radio demon is insane, but he is surprisingly much more lenient with people than he often let on, but not as much as he is with you.

Which quickly became a thorn that Angel uses to dug into his side. Old battle-worn Husk cannot wrap his head around the fact that you, of all people in Hell, somehow get back on Alastor good side and stays there for longer than anyone thought you could.

You are more than bearable, don’t get him wrong. Good at reading and picking up on certain cues to pleased people (more particularly, the fact Husk likes to be alone most of the time), and in spite of being just a tad bit too stubborn at times, is generally a polite and entertaining thing to have around. It would’ve made sense for Alastor to wants to keep you for fun, if not for how you two started out.

Having missing out on your first introduction, all he have to go off of is your debrief of it on the one day you want to try whiskey. You’d damn near spat it out, opting to just sit with some soda instead (he didn’t try to poke too much, you’re almost like a pop-up pirate at time). Husk figured you would earn the ire of the most egotistical man he’d ever known, considering how you loudly asked Charlie for Alastor's resume as a way to try and barred him from working here.

Of course, that didn’t work, both you and Vaggie are long-time victims of Charlie convincing puppy gaze, and Alastor secured him and Nifty a spot at the hotel. But Husk was extremely adamant it would put you on a black book with Alastor, still remembering how Alastor grip on his cane would tighten just a bit whenever you spoke up on the first day. And yet, you get to laugh about it.

-

“Yer just bein superstitious kitten. At this point ‘m pretty sure dude just got the hots for them, nothing big.”  Angel fiddles with his phone on one set of hand, the other propping himself on the bar counter, holding a popsicle to his mouth. He wants to tell the spider that’s absolutely not how the word superstitious should be use, but he digressed. “We’ve been at this for days, if he gonna do something, we would’ve known.”

Husk scoffed, throwing the piece of cloth he’s been using to furiously wiping down a stain someone left on the counter over his shoulder.

“Yeah right, as if you can get your head out of your ass enough to see that.” He ignores Angel smirk, already knew where this can go if he let it, almost like a whisper, he spat. “I’m just saying, he ain’t the Radio demon for show. You lots know nothing about whatever he got planned in his shitty fucked up head.”

Forced contractor be damn, this bar is his pride and joy, or whatever’s left of it anyway.

At that, Angel sends his attitude right back, hand(s) flickering, “And I’m saying he’s head over heels. What? Ya wanna explain the fucker just- casually waltz up to them and kissin' their fucking hand as a morning greeting? Cus’ I’m calling bullshit. Nobody even doing that fucking thing anymore, and he’s doin’ it every chance he gets! Like, have you even seen them?!” Almost like a comedy setup, they both look over to the chattering at the top of the stairs.

Over the railing, you’re rushing off from Alastor’s side to catch up to Nifty, who’s desperately nagging you to come and help her with a spot she can’t dust off with a ladder, having long depleting the fun of falling off from it. And almost like instinct, he took your hand and planted a gentle peck, along with a well wish for your day.

You, with your other hand occupied and being dragged away too fast after the fact for you to formulate a real respond, simply perks up and laugh, waving at him before you fully give into the little bug-like demon and let her rushed the both of you to the other side of the hotel – Alastor stands and watch you fully disappearing behind a corner before turning his head and look directly at the pair. His mic sounding nothing except for a low drones of static.

Husk expertise kicking in, he looks straight ahead instead, wiping down the counter again just to be safe. Angel’s years of acting led him to immediately start talking about the latest project he’s involved in, popsicles stick held from his face. Husk can’t be too bothered by it this time, at least he’s reading the room. But even with their combined effort, it still doesn’t stop Alastor from manifested himself right by the bar, smiles almost pull taut, a too jolly “How is it going gentlemen?” and a request for a cup of moonshine, with a tune contorting just to sound much too whimsical for anyone else except him echoes from his microphone, and he’s off again.

“…y’know, you can just say you’re sorry for being wrong Whiskers~”

“Go fuck yourself.”

-----

Vaggie knows that no matter how much she tries to warn Charlie about the cannibal murderer in their own cozy hotel, her partner can and have constantly willed it away with loving words and cute beady eyes that she can’t fight against. Her loving and trusting nature always been the tried-and-true counter to Vaggie’s much more doubtful and skeptical side. Recalling the way you refer to it (two people working in harmony, balancing out each other’s nature, like a tango, a secret rhythm unknown to anyone but them), she smiles.

It dropped the moment she remembers the matter at hand, specifically, you, a friend that have grown dear to her heart, and the cannibal murderer she very much hated guts - growing close to yours. She’s not sure whether this qualifies for a tango when she’s dragging her feet and Charlie’s tap dancing.

Vaggie would’ve been glad you have virtually zero comment on the fact Alastor is getting close to you, and with her luck, purposefully ignoring it (what’s with you and dive bombing out of the conversation the moment the topic came up), if not for the fact Charlie is very insistent on letting you know all about it (=> conversation you have to dive out of). You and Vaggie traded favors all the time, exclusively about Charlie, who always try to bite off a bit more than she can chew.

Usually, you did a much better job on keeping Charlie from trouble than Vaggie actually can, having the heart she lacks to guilt her partner into keeping still or stop her from running into red light traffic. Yet a pattern emerges soon after this deal started that you three all pick up on, much to Charlie’s delight.

Somehow, some way, Charlie aged old puppy dog eyes are much, much more effective when the both of you are right next to each other. Alone, while Vaggie can’t turn her down, you can and have consistently do so. But together, you both would turn to each other, and you either would give into Charlie first, or wash your hand completely from the whole situation altogether, both decisions are equally awful, and often left Vaggie alone on the line of defense.

Like that time you asked for the Radio demon resume, being extremely firm on his demeanor being horrible for customer service and how unfit it would be for a hotel to house someone who clearly doesn’t want to help or be help. Vaggie remember the chills running up her spine as you stand firmly in the face of the greatest mystery to Hell even after all this time and not even batting an eye to his straining words or the implications of it. Even going so far as to point out that he’s a liability and can’t keep himself straight for anything worth the hotel’s effort.

Only for Charlie to held onto your (and Vaggie’s) hand and tell you both she can do this. She remembers it took you not even 5 second to turn towards her with a wistful gaze, a smile pulls on your lips, and put a hand on her shoulder.

Aside from her first real injuries, it was the biggest betrayal she’d ever gone through.

Vaggie like to think it doesn’t sting so badly that her partner and her friend are now growing more used to the giant red flag stalking their halls. If not also for the fact she have to be in on your effort of stopping Charlie from bringing up a weird line of conversation while you still - albeit not fully of your own volition - feeding into her girlfriend delusion of being a matchmaker. It wouldn’t be so hard if you just, try to at least calm Charlie down yourself, but your tendencies to avoid particularly specific conversation makes her boomerang from appreciation to pure exasperation.

Especially when she would be fighting her love for Charlie to keep your dignity intact.

“But Vaggiee…!” clinging onto her left arm, Charlie tries her best to bring her girlfriend’s eyes back to her. “Just look at them! They’ve never looked at anyone like that!”

She would love to argued otherwise, you have a habit of looking at everyone like that, something with making people feel more welcome to talk to you. But all thought vanished from her head when she turns to try and make an argument, and for a brief moment she forgot what they were talking about. Charlie’s good at distracting her, but she steeled herself and stop Charlie from jumping off into this and making it so much harder on you than it already is.

(God, the things Vaggie’d do for love.)

“I know you really want to, hun, but - I’m just, not sure about this. It’s Alastor we’re talking about. I get them being into him or whatever, but you’d really set them up with the Radio demon? You know…”

Charlie was slowly wilting a bit, but picks herself up at the hesitation, thinking it’s her chance, she races over her words. “A thoughtful, charming and-“

But still can’t finish fast enough, and Vaggie have to advert her eyes, she can’t handle a sad Charlie that well. “and a horrible cannibalistic freak, Charlie. He’s not a good person.” At that, her girlfriend really clings onto her.

“Vaggie…this is a hotel for redemption! We've got to believe that people can change…” Charlie’s not addressing her point, there’s no real way to denying the fact Alastor is really just who he is. A rotten, rancid piece of meat. Redemption be dammed when he doesn’t even believe in it. “And! I have proof that Alastor likes them~” Pulling out little drawn post-it-notes from her front pocket, Charlie nearly doubled over while trying to put all of them onto the table in front of Vaggie, and you.

“I’m going to go back to my room.” You abruptly stand up, nervously grinning while shuffling out of their office. Having sat completely stilled while hoping that you can somehow divert the topic ever since the start of the conversation, you gave up. Completely disregarding Charlie’s attempt at making you stay. “It’s late, and I should’ve been in bed some hours ago…”

“Wait! I swear that this time I-“ Charlie tries to reach for you again, but Vaggie held strong. Nodding towards the exit, you mouthed her a quick thank you as you walked out, wishing them both good night while gently pushing the doors close. “I have the proof…”

“C’mon babe…” visibly deflating, Charlie sat herself back into Vaggie’s arms with a pout. She doesn’t have the heart to press this too deeply, so she pushed back her hair and give her a small peck on her eyelid, she always did have pretty eyes. “You know they’re not going to listen to you if you keep ambushing them like this.”

“I know, but I just- really love them both…” Vaggie raised an eyebrow at that. “And they seem so, nice together. Alastor always makes sure to greet them every day, they always wished him goodnight-“ she scoffed.

“They do that for everyone hun, and I’m pretty sure that bastard just do it because…well, who knows? He’s weird, who knows what he’s thinking…maybe he’s just trying to- toot his own horns playing nice. He does that a lot.”

When Charlie stays still, Vaggie really thought she could end this tonight, for both your sake and her’s. But then, as if was given water from the spring of life, with her back straight, she sat right up and held firmly onto Vaggie shoulders.

“But he’s trying so hard for them! Don’t you see how he’s spending so much time just hanging around them? Oh, and don’t forget that he asked them, specifically them, what they think of his radio show! He doesn’t do that for anyone else Vaggie! He brings them food when they forgot to eat. They told him about stuff they would’ve ever tell us without prompting! And you have to see the way he looks at them when they’re just, sit together and, and-“

“Woah. Slow down Char. Through your nose.” Even like this, she’s endearing. She held Charlie’s arm and bring her closer.

“You have to see Vaggie, he looks at them like…how you look at me!” Vaggie pauses. Charlie is getting to her, she have to stop her from talking or she’ll give in. She thinks about how miserable you would be sitting through an actual talk about this, it doesn’t help.

“And, you’re one of the most wonderful things that happens to me, Vaggie. I love everyone in the hotel, and I would give my everything for them,” knowing her, she would “but you.” She breathes, and Vaggie feels her breath stuck in her throat. “You are my everything. We’re perfect together. And I really love them, and I just thought…”

Charlie looked at her with such a soft and gentle look, her eyebrows slightly drawn together, lips jutting out just a little bit. “I thought he’s perfect for them, that they’ll be perfect together too. I know he’s not the best person, and you don’t trust him. You don't have to. But I think he’s doing his best for them, and they’re doing so much for him too...” their hands, held tightly together “So please, trust me. I genuinely think this can work out. They deserve to be love like I did too.”

Vaggie tries so hard to held strong, opting to stay silent instead of replying and stoking the growing flame, but Charlie looks at her with her big shiny eyes, and she caved.

“…Alright… I guess he haven’t really…done anything to them yet…” before Charlie could jump up in joy, Vaggie tries to get her focus back “But if he touches a single hair on them- woah!”

Wrapped in her arms, Vaggie barely able to get out the full sentence as Charlie rambles on. “Oooh, thank you thank you thankyouthankyou I knew you’d understand! Oh there is so much I want to do too-“

“Charlie, bit too tight…”

“Oops! Sorry!”

Coming down from her high, she stares into her lover’s eye with the brightest grin possible. It takes everything in Vaggie to think about how disappointed you’ll be, so she closed her eye and takes a breath. “We have to let them sort it out themselves, though. No matchmaker.”

“But-”

“You know how closed off they can be. Give them time Charlie. They can find their own way home.” Like that, Charlie smiles a smile so bright and gentle, reserve only for Vaggie. “Like you and me?”

And all she can think is that this might not be that bad after all.

“Like you and me.”

----

“So...thissss is what the youth are…into?”

“Arguably, it’s somewhat better than what I have as a kid.”

Pentious squinted at the device in his hand, clawed hands carefully swipe through your ‘carefully curated feed’, whatever that means. You sat next to him on your balcony, various knick knacks on the side table he insisted you need, hands considerably less clawed holding a book you’ve never managed to get through past the 10th page, as you only ever try to read it when the moon is blue and you always ended up forgetting the previous pages, something he learned while he was helping with cleanups.

He’s flustered when you laugh at a joke without needing to look at the captions in the video, wanting to pretend he completely understood what just happened. It takes you a bit to calm down and explain to him what was so funny, it only serves to confused him further. You grin and handed your book over to Frank without putting a bookmark in first (who then immediately turns the page and started narrating half-way through to the other eggs), reaching for the phone.

“I’ll put on something a bit easier to get used to, is that ok with you?”

“But, aren’t we learning how to be ‘hip’?” you cackle, he tries not to shrink into himself.

“We can leave that for some other day i think, you don’t need to be hip or anything right now. And besides,” handing him your phone, he minded his claws, “I think you’re cool on your own.” You hum and turn to an open sketchbook on the table, picking up a pencil, you start to sketch one of the egg boiz running about your room.

Pentious nearly burst into tears, he should’ve known his friends (or, you) would’ve never made fun of him. Turning to your device again, his attention is immediately captured by a cat video.

You two stayed like that for what must’ve been an hour or two, occasionally checking up on what the other’s is doing. (he would show you the cutest video, you showed him your barely intelligible sketch. He feels like you’re sketching his nightmare he said, you’re flattered). With almost all of his eggies already tiring themselves out some time ago and gathered around both of your feet (and his tail), bundled up in your duvet and pillows. Except for egg boiz number 3, who’s in his lap as both are captured by a video of a dog getting a haircut (a mini-American shepherd, you chimed in happily that it’s one of your favorite video).

Then, the calm afternoon was broken by a singular knock to your door. You and your still cognizant companion(s) look up from your respective entertainment at hand and stare at each other. You glance over to him, head nodding towards the door, he shrugs, growing restless, you pat his shoulder as you stand up and walk away.

Pentious really did try to turn back and focus on the groomers narrating a particularly endearing moment in the nine minutes long video, but he can’t help but be on edge when a familiar voice sing a greeting too loud for him to ignore, and he realized just who is at the door, your door, his new best friend's door (verdict still out on whether you consider him as one).

Taking a peek, assuring to himself it’s to keep you safe, he locks eyes with red and half of his soul descend into the ring below, the other half turns him right back to your phone when the red starts to raise his eyebrows at him. He can keep you safe from a safe distance surely, but when he tries to hug the egg in his lap to comfort himself and feels nothing, he freezes. Horror-struck, he turns and look at you, specifically your back, the other half of his soul joins the first.

Without him realizing, number 3 already slipped out of his grasp and is now climbing on your shoulder and interjecting your conversation with the gentleman, who is now full-on glaring at him whenever your head slightly turn away. He gulped, but he still put your phone back onto the table and stand up, forget to mind his still sleeping minions at his tail. Thank Lucifer they decided to stay silent for once.

“I was just going to stay in tomorrow too… maybe- oh, Sir Pentious? What’s up?” You stare at him, easy-going as always. Almost like you’re unaware of the way Alastor is smiling at him. Pentious can only thank whoever is in charge of fate for the fact you slotted yourself right between them, and cursed them all the same for the fact you can’t covered up the demon’s face.

Clearing his throat, he tries to steered his nerves and curb his stuttering. “I see that someone have rudely interrupt our study session. May I have your permission to…”

At the sounds of radio static grows, his words in turns wilted as he stares into bright, glowing red and yellow growing in volume. Luckily, you manage to pick this up and covered for him. “Oh no don’t worry, Al was just asking when I’m free to hang out with.” As you turn to that same terrifying shade of red, it immediately transformed into a charming smile.

“Why, hangout is such a casual term dear. I prefer to call it a trip! Much more exciting that way.” With his usual theatrics delivery and a backing of voices coming from the microphone staff he uses to give you a gentle knock on the head, clashing with your much more casual tone brushing him off, Pentious wishes he can see this as endearing.

“Oh you’re trying to goat me into going back there again.” That wasn’t a question on your end. Alastor smiles in amusement, but it strained when number 3 chimes in and tries to asked you where is back there. He’s extremely grateful the demon chooses to ignore it, letting you entertain the egg instead.

“I do not know what you’re referring to at all.” Closing his eyes and leaning a bit to the side, the demon bounces a bit on the tip of his shoes and sings. “Otherwise, it seems my presence is making our welcomed guest uncomfortable.” Pentious tries to stand tall for you and number 3, but Alastor preference for getting up close and personal is mincing his confidence to bits. “I guess I will settle for an extra visit by tonight to talk a bit more about your hectic schedule, if that’s alright with you Ma chère?”

You laugh a bit and agrees with him, saying a quick sorry while he brushed it off with a smile, adjusting his coat’s flawless lapel with one hand, the other reaching for yours. Lifted up to his lips, he planted there a kiss with a look that can passed off as soft. Pentious looks away the moment their eyes lock again, whistling like he hasn’t been blanching at the two of you.

As you turn to close the door, he could’ve sworn red dials were looking at him in the seconds you look back to him, completely in contrast with the life-threatening aura now stand outside the door.

“Haha, sorry about that. I didn’t have time earlier and he was busy, so…” you trailed off, explanation offering him nothing but more questions. “I’ll try to be a bit more mindful about this next time, yeah? Didn’t know he still held something against you.”

You want to keep doing study sessions with him? He perks up a bit at the implication, while choosing to ignore the second part, until his egg started speaking.

“Uh, boss number two, why does Alastor kiss your hand so much?” Number 3 raises his hand, still sitting snugly in your arms. Pentious makes a note to make him sleep on the edge of the bed tonight. It doesn’t help that you’re leading them back to the others, who also started to chime in with their own questions. He can tell this time you’re getting a bit miffed, smiles growing a bit taut and looking off somewhere, unable to let them somehow ruin your goodwill towards him, he cracked. “SILENCE! Cease with your silly questions right now!”

You look at him, and he would’ve shrink into himself if not for how you seem more surprised than angry, as your brows relax and you smile a bit, he let himself breathe. “It’s alright, they’re cute, they can get away with a little questioning I think. And hm…” you bounce on your feet in a slightly familiar manner, he sweats a bit. “-I mean, it’s normal for friends to be close, so I don’t see any problem with it.”

“Oh…friends can kiss each other on the hand?” number 1 jump up. You laugh.

“Of course they can. Alastor loves getting into people’s space too, so I wouldn’t put it past him.”

He would’ve tried to say something and help you out with the questioning, but it hit him that at least in his time, the specific to the gesture was more of a formal greeting. But he takes into account the fact it's Alastor, and how whenever he sees you two together, the Radio demon always seemingly follows after your heels like a shadow tie too tightly, and he shivers. Anxiety fills his heart as he tries to navigate this thought.

“I do have to say, why is it that he tends to get so…closssse…to you?” You visibly stiffen at this, but as he takes your hand in his, trying his best to be tactful, still minding the claws, you stare. “Could it be…he’s trying to threaten you, dear friend?” he tries to recall how you comforts him in time of distress, and did his best to echoes the same sentiment to you.

“Whatever it is, you can share it to me! I will, uh- “

“You’ll duel him, right boss?”

his eggs chimes in where he falters, he follows their lead.

“Duel! Yesss! A duel to the death! That Radio bastard will regrets the day he-“ You squeeze his hand, and he drop his false bravado and let you seated him back on the balcony, letting number 3 dropped from his spot in your arms to the duvet covering the floor.

(with much less grace compared to you, but all the heart. he takes the fact you’re still around that he’s doing great.)

“We don’t need any of that silly. He’s my friend, I think.”

You fall back onto your seat, number 1 climb up to your lap with a question. “You two are friends? Like with boss?” sitting up, you sing an enthusiastic agreement while reaching for your notebook again. Pentious swore the sketch is looking more and more familiar by the line.

“Yeah, like with Sir Pentious! Al’s intimidating but he’s fun to hang around.” Hunching over while minding number 1 watching in your lap, your grin drops to something a bit kinder. He feels like he’s overstepping, despite the fact the room is void of anyone else. “He nice to talk with, I’ve never seen him shutting up on anyone else’s terms. That’s a good thing.” He wanted to say that’s a bit too barebone, even for himself, but then, turning to him with a smirk, you added. “Don’t tell him i said this, but he’s ssssuch a bitch sometimes. It’s fun though.”

Nodding with a much more serious look, Pentious takes your word as a command. “Not a word to my grave!”

“Hehe, that’s why you’re my favorite.”

Refocused on your sketch, you trust Pentious to be able to work your phone a bit better than before. He thinks he would’ve work it better if not for the tears gathering in his eyes, he takes the tissue paper you handed him without looking and wiped it away, only to panic about the long scratch he left on your screen. You laugh and assured him it’s fine, you can change the screen.

(verdict be dammed, you’re HIS best friend.)

(he took a peek at your sketch before you turn the page, and it hit him why it looks so off-putting. Antlers sprouting from two end on a figured too lanky to make out the physique of, but familiar enough all the same. He’d much prefer you go back to sketching his eggies, he said, you happily complied and he leave your room after with 5 torn note full of egg sketches and another schedule study session he pray you'll relay to Mister Alastor.)

---

“There you are darling! I was looking everywhere for you.” Calling out with joy, then stopping to take in the sight. He steadied you with one hand while you stop to catch your breath, nearly doubled into him. “I can see that you’re quite busy, seems like Nifty is giving you quite the run for your money huh!”

“Please…shut up…” you don’t need to look at him to know he’s enjoying this way more than you do, laughing at your utterly exhausted state. “I didn’t know there’s this much bugs in here… How can she even keep tracks of them??”

“Don’t feel too bad now, that one mind and health both are simply wonders to behold! Even I can’t keep up with her at times.” Trying to dust off your shoulders, he looked offended when you just swatted his hands away, waiting for an explanation.

“We’re not done yet, she’s just in the kitchen for a bit.” You pulled out your phone to check the time, Alastor squinting his eyes besides you, leaning over to keep watch and raising an eyebrow at the long scratch on the glass. “One hour before I’m free…”

“Thinking of giving up then~?”

“Yeah.”

Laughing at your tone, he takes your hand and twirl you, but not too much! Just enough daze you a bit. “Well darling, I would love to whisk you off with me for a trip downtown! I’m running low on good meat, and simply can’t afford to stained my coat while the tailor’s out of commission. But knowing you…” he’d look down-right sad if you let him. He can tell you try to keep your expression neutral, but your smile is growing to match his.

“No Al, an hour is-“

“An hour is an hour. Yes I know dear but it’s dreadfully boring without you.” Holding on still, he brings his face close to you, taking delight in the growing red on your face and you acting like nothing is out of the sort.

“You’ll survive Alastor. Nifty however…” As the sound of tiny footstep calling your name quickly approaching, he can’t help but letting a long, drawn-out sigh, backing off from you. A lost for him. You smile.

“Over here Nifty!” calling out to the little woman, you step away from Alastor to meet her half way, her stopping just before she hit your leg.

“You! I’ve been looking for you where have you been! I saw SOOOO many of them but they’re on the ceiling and I can’t reach them at all you've got to come help me – oh hiii Alastor!”

Nifty stops pulling you down the hall again just to give him a violent wave, dancing from one foot to the other and giving him time to catch up to you two, fully aware of your tradition from the moment it first started. Alastor smiles border on self-pleasing, gracious of Nifty’s effort to not drag you away just yet, less so the fact she would stares with such a wide grin. Nevertheless, he takes your hand again and bring it up, speaking all the while.

“Nifty, dearie, won’t you work our dear friend here a little less? I need them to-“ he pauses as you suddenly grip his hand and bring it up to your lips, too quick for him to stop you. And before he knew it, you both disappeared behind the corner yet again. Nifty voices and your cackle echoing down the empty hall way.

When he came back, aware of how the light flickering above his head now finally stabilizing itself, he laughs. Steadying himself, Alastor brushed off his coat and fix his monocle. Humming along with a love song slowly trickling from the microphone while walking the same way you and Nifty ran off to before. He have time to spare while waiting for you.

[astarionmademewriteit]

Make it Hurt

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

MDNI. 18+ only. Minors and blank bios will be blocked.

Wordcount: 1.7k

Tags: Blood play; Knife kink; Mentions of violence and gore; PIV rough sex; Choking; Spitting (in mouth); Act 3 Spoilers; Gortash being a lil' bit submissive but switch-coded.

Summary: Durge and Enver have another council meeting, but it is quickly revealed that Enver was using it as an excuse to see his favorite assassin. The sexual tension had been building up between them for while and Durge finally acts on it, finding quick but mutual gratification in their shared love for pain and blood.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

I grow weary of this cat and mouse game Gortash and I find ourselves playing at. It was no secret that centuries of bad blood bore between Bhaal and Bane. Their respective chosen settling their differences in order to overtake Baldur's Gate. However, the list of differences between Gortash and I happened to be shorter than previously suggested.

He was brilliant, to be sure. His thirst for blood and pain rivaled my own. But I was a seasoned killer, trained in the art of murder and violence. I did not veil the carnal pleasure that ran through my veins at the sight of spilled blood, nor the ferocity of lust that churned deep within me when I was called to dole out executions on his behalf.

Most others saw my duplicitous nature and turned away in quiet disgust, but Enver openly admired me for it. And now we sit at yet another council meeting, carving out our well-laid plans for the city. 

Enver’s hand is splayed out over a letter from General Thorm detailing his work in the Shadowlands and the army he continues to amass. The contents bore me into bouts of restlessness.

I shove away from the table, and in one fluid motion draw my dagger and bury it into the table, right between his fingers.

His unflinching dark gaze meets mine and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Enough with this drivel, Gortash,” I hiss, “This is the second council meeting in one week. If I cared what Ketheric had to say, I'd visit that dreaded place myself. Why am I here?”

Enver chuckles darkly, pulling the dagger from the table and testing its sharpness. He presses his fingertip into the sharpened point, until blood rushes from his finger. Red rivulets flow freely from his wound, splattering on Thorm's forgotten letter.

“Does world domination carve into too much of your precious time?” His rhetorical question was full of condescension, “Perhaps, I just needed to find another excuse to conspire with my favorite assassin.” He cocks an amused eyebrow in my direction and a smug grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

I roll my eyes and yank the dagger from his grasp, hoping it catches against his skin once more so I can watch him bleed so prettily for me.

“There are better excuses than reading letters from that heretic,” I growl with disdain as I gesture towards the letters. Ketheric had his uses, but he never appreciated the finality of death–something I took personally, as his sacrilegious mindset directly conflicted with the tenants of Bhaal.

“Would you rather I prepare some prisoners for torture? Maiming? I understand you are fond of spilling blood,” his gaze never leaving mine, “It's one of the many things I admire about you.”

I circle around to his chair and sit on the edge of the council table beside Enver. I prop my leg over my knee, drawing his attention. He leans back in his chair and watches me closely, his eyes lingering on my form.

“Maiming?” I spit with disgust, “There is art in murder, but maiming is below me,” I grab his wrist and examine his pricked fingertip, “It's about coaxing,” I squeeze the tip of his finger and watch as blood dribbles down his wrist, “It is about taste,” I pull his finger into my mouth unprovoked, sucking and pulling blood from his wound. The coppery taste sends my body into a vibrating thrum of excitement and ecstasy. 

Enver sucks in his breath and something between a sound of approval and a low guttural growl escapes his chest. I slowly let his finger retreat, never breaking our intense gaze. 

“It's about practicality.” I push myself off the table and stand behind him, grabbing a handful of his hair at the crown of his head, pulling him painfully backwards until his eyes are back on me. The sharp edge of my dagger flush against his throat–one swift movement away from nicking his artery.

Gortash’s eyes watched me carefully, but he was neither scared nor nervous. I couldn’t help but feel pleased at this revelation. A look of longing passes between us, and in one fleeting moment I lean down and crush my lips to his. He receives me eagerly despite the steel of my knife threatening to bite into his flesh.

After a moment I bury the dagger into the table and Enver quickly stands and wraps his arms around my waist. I jump off the ground and wrap my legs around his middle, connecting our lips again. Our kiss is messy, filled with teeth, tongue, and lips–molding together with bruising force. His prickly stubble rubs deliciously against my face.

Enver spins and sits me on the edge of the table, hovering over me as his gilded fingers lace through my hair. He sighs deeply into my mouth as our tongues explore one another. I start thumbing the laces of his robes, pulling them open and running my nails through his thick chest hair–not holding back the way my sharp nails bite into his skin.

His golden filigree gloves claw at my scalp and down the back of my neck as he grows more desperate. I bite hard into his bottom lip until I draw blood, smiling against his abrasive kisses. He groans with pleasure as I suck the blood that surfaces from his wound.

I pull back momentarily, panting heavy as I whisper how good he tastes while pulling the last of his laces free. In a flurry of hurried movements, we undress before our lips crush back together, as if our very survival depended on it.

I lay flat on my back in the middle of the council table as he crawls over my body with a predatory gaze. Enver knees my legs open while he trails kisses down my neck. His cock rubbing torturously between my slick folds, teasing my clit and driving me into a lust-filled craze.

Impatience thrums through my body and I quickly grab Enver’s throat with enough force to cut off his airflow. I pull him up to meet my eyes, his dark gaze boring into me with such frantic intensity.

“Fuck me,” I growl, “Before I change my mind and slit your throat. And make it hurt.”

He chuckles darkly. Clearly amused by my threats, “As you wish, my assassin.”

Without a moment lost, he painfully forces himself inside me, threatening to split me in half. I cry out in pleasure, relishing in the way he fills me completely–his hips snapping into me with newfound ferocity. His golden filigree claws dig into the very wood of the council table, leaving deep splintering grooves.

My nails dig into his back, tracing painful welts into his flesh. The pain only motivates him to rut into me harder, pulling out far enough so that the swollen head of his cock forces me open wider, before snapping back into me with unrelenting force.

I wrap my legs around his waist, lifting my hips up off the table so that he is hitting my pleasure points with devastating precision. His name falls from my lips like a haunted hymn, echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the council room.

Enver’s lips meet mine with such brutality that my skull presses painfully into the table underneath. His back is now spattered in bloody scratch marks, dripping down his back artfully.

I groan in pleasure, my ecstasy building into a dizzying crescendo. Enver’s teeth suddenly dig into the flesh of my lips, and the familiar coppery flavor of my blood spills from the wound. He sucks at my blood, groaning with carnal delight while he continues to thrust relentlessly into my dripping cunt.

He pulls back, reveling in the taste of my blood–savoring it on his tongue. “Open up, dear assassin,” he growls. I comply instantly, opening my mouth wide and letting my tongue fall from my lips seductively.

He hovers over my mouth and allows a mixture of my blood and his saliva to fall back into my waiting mouth. I whimper–elated with our own debauchery. His pace becomes more aggressive–abusive, even, as I chase my release. 

My pleasure peaks and I’m falling victim to the white hot flash of ecstasy that rocks through my body, seizing my muscles until I’m coming undone–completely unraveling under his body. My cries ring through the room, Enver’s name the only prayer I care to recite.

Gortash breathes heavily in my ear, chasing his own release. His thrusts become uneven and sloppy. His eyes are glazed over and his pupils are completely blown out as he watches me while I continue to fall apart as he ruins my cunt with his punishing pace.

As my orgasm starts to subside I pull the dagger from the wooden table and press the sharp edge to the soft flesh of his throat once again. His eyes roll into the back of his head, enjoying the cold steel against his neck–the possibility of death lingering close by only motivating him to fuck me harder–deeper.

“Come inside me, Enver,” I hiss, tightening my legs around his waist as he continues to rut into me, desperately. His golden claws dig into the table, further marring the council table–leaving behind evidence of our violent tryst.

“Yes, my assassin,” he relents, shooting ropes of cum deep in my slick cunt, filling me with his seed. Enver whimpers into my neck, biting viciously at the soft flesh of my throat, leaving bruising evidence of his lusty confessions on my skin. His cock spasming uncontrollably inside of me.

His orgasm begins to subside, our sweat mixes with blood and violent ecstasy as he stills inside of me.

I run my fingers through his dark, bedraggled hair, having discarded my dagger momentarily.

“Regain your strength, Gortash,” I command arrogantly, “We are not done yet.”

He laughs breathily as he tries to regain some semblance of composure, “Whatever my favorite assassin commands, I shall happily deliver.”

I felt momentary relief now that we have finally acted on our building sexual tension. The feeling is quickly replaced with a new kind of hunger–one that rivals the murderous fantasies that occupy my mind. We complement one another, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a beautifully violent masterpiece. 

I knew at that moment that something incredible would have to pull us away from one another. The impossibility of it amused me greatly.

[wornoutmouse]

Fun fact: demon slayer starts in 1912 and ends in 1927(or at least that's when the Tashio era ends). Using that math Tanjiro (as long as he kept his health good) would very well be alive today at the ripe age of like 78 if my math is correct since he started as 13 in the series. (My math probably wrong asf)

Power imbalance, power bottom reader, knife play,  blood but not blood play...

He hated you.

Your very being irked him more than anything he'd ever experienced in all his centuries of living. You were clumsy, boisterous, and played that arrogant music all throughout your home while walking around half naked. Well in Muzan's opinion you were half naked, he couldn't even begin to describe his disbelief at the trend of exposing skin. 

It didn't help that you had that insignificant filth running through your veins. At first he was unsure, after all this was a completely different country than Japan, not to mention your darker skin and coiled hair. But no, he could smell and recognise the Kamado blood running through your veins just as strongly as it had run through all your ancestors. 

Completely undiluted. 

At the very beginning when you first moved in, you  came to his home. Knocking aggressively on his front door already getting off to the wrong start. When he opened it, you slipped past him and walked into his living room barely even saying hello as you put poorly decorated sugar cookies on his obsidian coffee table. "This is a nice place you got here Mj." 

Muzan's eyes twitched, that joke had long since gotten old since he moved to America. 

Now that you were closer he could definitely smell, the century old stench of rivaling bloodlust simmered just below your onyx skin. At any moment he expected you to attack him in some way or form. "Anyways I'm here to say hello neighbor, my name is Y/n and I'm your new best friend!"

Your happy attitude also agitated him to no end. Even though the knowledge of demons had dwindled down to only a few select families, even basic humans were wary of him as their baser instincts made them aware of his dangerous origins. This fact had long since forced Muzan to only prey on the elderly to survive. You had stayed a bit longer babbling about some nonsense that Muzan never acknowledged as he watched you from a good distance.

"You know you really got to add more to your wardrobe than 1963 suits." You walked from the back of his home, an area that he didn't even notice you wandered to. Finally getting bored, you open his door bidding your farewells. 

Just before leaving you stop and with a cheeky grin say, "If you ever need anything just come on over. We Kamado's are known for our kindness." 

Since then he'd been on edge around you. The point of relocating was for him to keep a low profile but now it seems he'd have to come face to face with an old nemesis reborn. 

Muzan snapped out of his thoughts with a flinch as he pierced his hand with his nail. He watches the dark blood well up from the wound and drip down his wrist. In the end this world had long since lost its hostility dwindling the average human incapable of basic combat. Giving you were no doubt a great descendant, Muzan failed to see you as a true threat.  

But one can never be too sure

🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢

You heard a knock on your door, soft and hesitant. "I don't think I'm expecting company." You checked your watch and peered out of a nearby window. It was at least 8 at night, you were braless wearing sweats with a red T-Shirt and on your way to bed.  In the back of your mind you visualize your two grand-uncles Inosuke and Zenitsu coming over to make you spectate their fights. For two old dudes they still had enough strength in them to do hip breaking nonsense.

You open the door shocked to see your next door neighbor standing before you. For once he wasn't wearing a suit that cost more than your house. His attire was still expensively dressed but in a more casual sense, that being a black dress shirt and slacks. His sleeves were rolled up displaying his pale skin. "Can I come in?" A dazzling smile you had never seen before practically blinds you as he walks past you into your home.

When Muzan walks in his eyes immediately dart to the clear as day Nichirin Blade sword displayed recklessly on your living room wall above your couch. "You like it?" A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, "Got it from my grandpa, he says it's really special but I feel like he's exaggerating. You know how old people are." Muzan shakes out of his stupor. "I don't quite understand what you mean by that, however I do know that it's much more wise to listen to your elders than ignoring…..It could save your life."

Muzan replicates you and puts a hand on your shoulder gently squeezing. This was it, he'd go in for the kill and it would be over, the amount of blood he'd pump into you would be enough to watch you meet a satisfying end of combustion completely untraceable if the police were to get involved. How he wishes he'd be there when your poor grandfather walks along your remains splattered on every surface in your living room. Unable to do a thing as he's finally in his last stretch of life. 

The beauty.

Muzan's finger only twitches in the slightest before pain sparks from his own neck. "The thought of you coming into my own home unprovoked and at night no less, was the most obvious sign one could ask more." You had his hand gripped so tight your veins popped while your other hand held a small pocket knife that burned  brighter than any Nichirin sword he'd ever encountered. He didn't understand, he was quick enough to kill even the best of the ancient Hiroshima. So how did a little foreign girl like you get the upper hand?

It was embarrassing and almost laughable if any of his pillars were alive to tell the tale.

You press the blade harder before bringing your other hand to caress Muzan's cheek,  "Did you think I'd be just an ignorant descendant of an infamous hero?" You clicked your teeth disappointingly. "How naive, you've really become lazy after all these millennia huh?" You walk forward, pushing Muzan back with seductive strength. He allows you to push him into your couch,  I say allow because at any time he could have stopped you.  

Muzan is most definitely not holding me at gunpoint right now. 

The knife never wavers even as you climb into Muzan's lap, pressing it even closer against his jugular. "You do know getting beheaded will not kill me, and I doubt this petty little kitchen knife will get the job done in the first place." Your lips draw into a smirk and you press the knife closer as you trail it down his chest, "That may be true but it's gonna take one hell of a time for you to grow back." Your hand jerks down, popping his shirt buttons open.

Muzan watches with interest, your eyes light up as more skin becomes exposed. The tones of your dark skin contrast strikingly as you caress his pectoral with the tips of your fingers. "For a 1,000 year old grandpa you look decent." Still threatening his life with your blade, you kiss him. It's deep and carnal. Your lustful desires being made known as you grind in his lap. The flesh of your ass snuggly hotdogs the forming outline of his cock. "I've always wanted to be with a demon. You've had to of become a real freak after living this long!"

When you pull away Muzan's thin lips are pink and a bit swollen. He is out of breath despite needing none, "You have a lot of nerve for a mere human." With your free hand you loosen the belt of his slacks, only standing to pull them off, pleased when Muzan voluntarily raises his hips to aid you. 

Don't get him wrong, he was still planning on killing you and ending your wretched bloodline once and for all, he just needed his mind to clear itself. Your scent, your confidence, strung him along like a puppet. His hands grip onto your ass cheeks like a lifeline. Molding them between his fingers, even giving them a shake through your sweats. His nails elongate and puncture the thick fabric as if it was nothing more than a spider web. 

Your sweats are tugged off completely leaving your lower half nude. Muzan moves his hands to hold your ass again but your blade politely makes itself known. You are out of breath and clearly flustered. "Watch yourself, demon, I'm the one calling the shots, don't forget that." Muzan bites his tongue with sharp glare. He raises his hands in surrender, "Of course." 

Muzan can feel your wetness against his leg and it's driving him insane. "Hey…" red eyes refocus on yours, "You ain't got any diseases do you? And you can't get me pregnant right?" Muzan smirks hands enclosing around your ass despite your protest. "I can, however it will cost a lot more than doing it once." The odds didn't seem in your favor but you were in no position to stand down and grab a condom and Muzan knew it.

You curve the blade towards his chin, "If you are lying and give me some ancient unknown disease or I find out you have superman sperm, I will kill you." Muzan links his lips, "Wasn't that the plan from the beginning or have you had a moment of level headedness?" Your wrist is quick and precise, cutting a thin slash along his jawline., not enough to scar and it barely even bled, but the threat was clear.

You grab Muzan's dick and use your thumb to attack the underside with fast strokes. Said man doesn't react outwardly, the only sign being his eyelids lowering by a fraction. "Were you always this well endowed or did you adjust this part too?" Muzan was not amused by your insinuation. Deciding to once again display the true power imbalance this situation had, he loops his arms underneath your large thighs and lifts you just enough to thrust his cock against your hole. 

From there he let's go, making you plop down on his length, making you yelp and allowing him to lean back with a relaxed sigh. You were so warm and tight. Now even though I explained what had happened with great detail,  keep in mind that in reality it all happened within a fraction of a second. 

Your large and in charge persona was cracking.  You gripped Muzan's sides tightly as your pussy spasmed around his girth. "F-Fuck it's too….." you trail off not wanting to give Muzan the credit he was truly due. 

It takes a few moments for you to get your bearings all the while Muzan and his dangerous jaw swayed in the crevice of your neck. A viper playing with its prey. The blade is back against his neck once again making his cock twitch. If he were human this would be a dangerous feat.  Your grip never slacked nor lessened against his neck, slicing into a growing wound that dropped dark blood down his chest and to his abdomen. 

His dick stretched your pussy and made it weap on each downstroke. Muzan's hands grip onto the cheeks of your ass with gritted teeth.  Your insides gripped him ever so slightly.  Sucking him back in as if he belonged there.  He felt used and it felt good.  His black ringlets stuck to his face from sweat and his red eyes grew in intensity. 

He couldn't see much of your body, hell he could barely even touch. In the back of his mind humorous thoughts such as how he knew Tanjiro would lose his sanity if he knew his granddaughter was being bedded by the man he despised. But the more you bounced, the more you squeezed, the deeper you cut into his neck proved that you were truly the one in charge. 

"Oh God you're so deep!" Your deep almond eyes shut themselves with pleasure. Muzan could feel your legs shaking with exertion at the same rhythm your pussy twitched. His balls felt tight after having no action in over a dozen years. "F-Faster." He has no care for your blade, only wanting to cum and feel the sweet ecstasy he knew your creamed pussy would provide. "Come on human, go faster." Muzan locks lips with you, gaze hardened and intent on proving some sort of point.

Tossing the knife you wrap your arms around his neck pulling his head closer. Red eyes target brown ones as his hands take a stronger grip on your ass. He uses his strength to bounce you. The sound of his balls slapping against the curve of your ass is just as disgusting as it is sexy. Your nipples rub against his through your tank-top making you both moan. The feeling blood stains your shirt making you shiver from the cool wetness

The couch you rest on bangs against the wall behind you the faster you both go. Muzan's feet are planted firmly in the ground, his fangs further elongated. He looks feral and it is in this moment where you get a glimpse of the horror many people felt when he took their lives. "Focus little Kamado, you wouldn't want to disappoint me now would you?" 

Muzan's hips meet yours, spreading the tempo. Your juices coat his lap before finally you tense up completely into a cramp inducing stance as Muzan impaled you on his cock one last time. "Ahh.." Muzan empties himself within you with a relieved sigh. 

Maybe the Kamado bloodline could go on.

[cognacdelights]

the long & winding country roads

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summary: whilst on a spontaneous drive down the long and winding country roads of north carolina, jj maybank can’t seem to keep his wandering, sinful hands off the playful little miss sat beside him in the passenger seat.

warnings: cursing. dirty talk. sexual content. unprotected sex. semi-public sex. 

The ceaseless, Mid-July sun had reached it’s peak in the cloudless, indigo heavens, relentlessly beating down on the meandering labyrinth of conifer-lined dirt roads that expanded the length and breadth of the scenic, coastal state. A gentle, mechanical hum filled the sweltering, muggy haze that had settled amongst the winding back roads - his heavy, boot-clad foot pressed ever so lightly against the precarious accelerator pedal, holding a comfortable speed which well-exceeded the sign-posted limit. A refreshing, tepid draught caught itself within the tousled, wind-swept locks of her cascading, natural waves as an invigorating surge of adrenaline tugged at the corners of her full, gloss-glazed lips to form an exhilarated, devilish smile.

Her exposed knee rested against the camouflage-printed fabric of his cargo shorts - as his attentive, calloused palm subconsciously placed itself on the glistening, sun-kissed plains of her mid-thigh. The soft, compassionate warmth of his skin against hers compelled her luminous, wanderlust-filled eyes to tear themselves from the picturesque landscape of the open road before her, and fixate on the scuffed, swollen knuckles that resided in her lap. Gently, she ran the velvet-like pad of her thumb across the dry, half-healed scabs and the purple-hued tinge that decorated his rough skin - reminiscing the jealousy-fuelled events of the previous weekend. JJ Maybank had always been possessive of his vibrant, social butterfly of a girlfriend; it was merely a natural instinct when her bewitching allure and sultry magnetism was somewhat of a mating call to the hormone-riddled boys of Kildare Island. Evidently, his well-trained fists were his only defence when the brazenly insolent boys came knocking, answering her oblivious calls.

His grasp, although tender and affectionate, tightened around the soft sun-drenched flesh of her thigh - his chewed-up, unclipped nails digging ever so slightly into the love-marked plains. The thrill of the ardent gesture sent an intoxicating wave of desire throughout her petite, sundress-clad silhouette, forcing her back to subconsciously arch against the crimson, sun-bleached leather of the passenger seat. A haughty, wicked smirk etched itself into the foundations of his fair, stubble-lined features as the delicate pads of his fingertips sensed her yearning body shifting beneath his warm, tantalising touch. Excruciatingly slowly, he began to trail his over-worked fingertips along the voluptuous, tanned lengths of her thighs - his concentrated, cobalt eyes never once veering from the winding, country road before him that was framed exquisitely by the silt-splattered glass of the windscreen.

Reaching the salaciously lacy boundaries of her muted, pastel-pink thong, his teasing digits caressed the delicately sensitive nerves of her flourishing heat through the intricately-patterned fabric. A low, almost inaudible drawl of delight crept to the surface from the depths of her throat, disrupting the otherwise monotonous purring of the old, yet carefully maintained, engine. He began tracing languid, meticulous stripes along the length of her dampening folds - before utilising his masterful thumb, drawing taunting circles against the acute bud of nerves of her clit. The sensational friction of the dew-doused fabric rubbing against her throbbing, intimate heat - guided by the pressure of his skilfully devious fingertips - pulled a louder, more amorous whine from behind the plump, peach-tinted confines of her lips.

After what had felt like an everlasting, agonising eternity of teasing, JJ slipped his audacious digits beneath the rose-coloured, juice-soaked lace. At first his tantalising, tender paws continued their previous caressing motions, painting affectionately ardent strokes against her sensitive skin as he coated his meaty, ring-clad fingers with her pearl-like juices. An ungodly, pleasure-filled moan dissipated into the lukewarm breeze as he forcefully thrust his dew-soaked fingers into her hankering, heavenly hole - curling them in an expertly cavalier fashion against her pleasure point. His impatient, fervent pace increased with each vehement thrust, as his dauntlessly nimble fingertips ventured deeper into her sumptuous warmth - masterfully tending to her acute nerves with an abrupt yet cadenced rhythm.

Her dainty, fragile hands clutched desperately at the searing leather of the passenger seat - her manicured, periwinkle nails grazing harshly against the structured material - as an unholy symphony of lust-filled expletives and enraptured whines projected throughout the vacant, isolated road from her sinful lips. His dark, cerulean eyes flickered to her unravelling silhouette, taking a brief, fleeting second to marvel at the glorious sight of his two fingers pounding in and out of her divine pussy in an over-zealous frenzy. As he returned his intense, focused gaze back to the narrow, tree-lined dirt road before him, he felt the familiar, adrenaline-inducing clenching of her core around his manic digits. His poised length stood to attention, pressing painfully and uncomfortably hard against the tight constraints of his signature cargo shorts, a smug, satisfied smile upturning the corners of his thin lips, “not yet, princess. I want you to cum around my cock.”

With his seductively commanding words uttered, he withdrew his frenzied fingers from the enticing warmth of her core - forcing a helplessly neglected, withdrawal-filled whine to claw against the back of her throat. She peered upwards at the stiff-jawed blonde with her luminous, pleading doe eyes, watching intently as he contently sucked the saccharine juices from his drenched fingers. Going against his lustful demands, out of a pure and carnal desire to orgasm, her petite hands wandered beneath the floating hemline of her scandalously-short sundress. Out of the corner of his fervid eyes, he caught her swift, disobedient movements. He abruptly coaxed her defiant, wandering hands away from the yearning depths of her intimate heat with a hasty, reprimanding slap, “I said, not yet.”

“Then pull over, or something,” her enraptured, desire-filled tone whined in response to his seemingly impossible, agonising demands, “I need to get off.” The heavy sole of his worn-in, scuffed-up combat boot pressed gently against the mud-covered metal of the break pedal, slowing the speeding vehicle to an almost stop. Feeding the torn, leather steering wheel through the calloused plains of his palms, he turned the battered and bruised vehicle down a barely-used farm lane - the roadway marked solely by the two dirt tire tracks leading into the grassy, forest-like abyss. Once completely out of sight and concealed by the untamed, over-grown foliage of the surrounding woods, he cut off the purring engine.

She wasted no time; the second that the melodic, mechanical humming of the engine ceased, she clambered over the neutral-set gear stick and into the comfortable perch of his lap. Her already-bruised knees rested naturally against the well-worn, crimson leather as her luscious, gloss-coated lips instinctively found his. The embrace was ardent and impassioned as his impatient, lecherous hands delved beneath her loose-fitting sundress and lasciviously cupped her voluptuous, bare ass cheeks, gripping onto them tightly. A lustrous moan vibrated against his thin, chapped lips as their hankering, hungry mouths moved together as one in a synchronised display of sheer, salacious yearning - the teasing tips of her manicured fingers running themselves through the unruly knots of his tousled, blonde locks and mischievously tugging at the curled ends.

Growing both bored of mindlessly toying with the dishevelled ends of his sandy waves and ever more eager to feel his pulsing, hardened length inside her aching core, she trailed her dainty, devilish hands down his shirt-clad chest - her perfectly-shaped, lavender-painted nails grazing against the aftershave-stained cotton. They came to rest at the shining, metal buckle of his belt, forcing the faded, tan leather free of the troublesome clasp. His low, raspy tone mumbled a barrage of incoherent compliments as her nimble, delicate fingers fiddled with the zip of his cargo shorts, tugging it down the rusted tracks. She gently palmed his poised, erect length through the thin fabric of his boxers in a salacious retaliation to his earlier reluctance to allow her to reach her euphoric high - however, the lascivious longing that had consumed her throbbing, soaking heat forced her to relent.

Pushing the pre-cum-stained fabric from obstructing her path, his painfully hard dick brushed against the hickey-littered plains of her sun-kissed inner thigh. One dainty, delicate hand coiled around the base of his pulsing span - caressing his length with a few, ardent strokes as the other pushed aside the now excruciatingly damp fabric of her lacy, rose-coloured thong. She positioned his cum-coated tip at the very edge of her thirsting, pearl-drowned entrance, her curvaceous hips moving ever so slightly backwards and forwards to create a euphoric friction between his poised head and her sensitive folds. Sultry whines spilled from her full, peach-glazed lips at the skin to skin contact - relishing in the intense wave of pleasure that overwhelmed her petite silhouette.

His eager, authoritative fingertips pushed down against her sensuous hips, as he yearned for nothing more than to feel the lascivious heat of her soaking, touch-starved pussy clamping around his achingly erect dick. On command, she lowered herself leisurely down his rigid span - a sensual, melodic moan resonating throughout the almost vintage car and bouncing off the dirt-splattered windows. Unchaste, carnal grunts subconsciously spewed from the depths of his throat as she found a steady, rhythmic pace. Her dainty, delicate hands instinctively balled into tight, vice-like fists around the crumpled cotton of his slogan-print t-shirt as her glimmering, glazed-over eyes fluttered closed, basking in the fierce surge of impassioned bliss that wholly consumed her ethereal frame.

Her clear-painted toes curled and her sun-drenched back arched out of pure, ecstasy as his gluttonous, pining hips bucked fervently up to meet with her own - the very tip of his masterful, rigid dick amorously caressing her elusive pleasure point. An angelic harmony of salacious curse words, enraptured whines and lascivious moans proceeded to echo amongst the small, confined space - only spurring the two enthralled teens on in their enamored, fervent embrace with one another. An elated gasp joined her sinful symphony as the rough pad of his thumb began to trace sloppy, hurried figures of eight against her swollen clit in a lustful frenzy, intensifying the blissful exhilaration that coursed through her veins like a high-voltage electrical current.

As the telltale knot of euphoria began to entangle itself within the pit of her stomach - her clothed, love-marked hips began to pick up their pace once more, rapidly riding his hardened span as though her life completely and utterly depended on it. The tight, heavenly clenching of her pre-cum-coated walls swaddling his achingly rigid length signalled her impending orgasm to the indigo-eyed, blonde-haired boy who took it upon himself to increase the pace of their ardent bucks and enamored thrusts by guiding her voluptuous hips against his. His named rolled off her tongue as though it was a sweet, seductive whisper of a foreign language as she couldn’t resist the inevitable any longer; an intense, ecstatic wave of pleasure hit her with the weight of a tonne of bricks as she continued to roll her salacious hips in cadence with his - allowing the hypnotising phenomenon to wash over her.

It was only a mere, several seconds later that she felt the fervid warmth of his hot, creamy cum spurting against the delicate walls of her intimate heat and she was once again throw head first into an exhilarating spiral of intense elation. However, this tidal wave of euphoria was cut drastically short. The emphatic pounding of a heavy, clenched fist against the condensation-laced glass abruptly sobered her disoriented senses. Staring through the fogged-over, dirt-splattered glass was the dark, apathetic eyes of Officer Shoupe - a concoction shock, horror and disgust contorting his ageing, weathered features.

“Shit,” she cursed lowly, the thick droplets of cum tickling against her sun-drenched, hickey-marked thighs as it seeped from between her delicate folds and left a sticky, meandering trail beneath her low-cut sundress, “that’s my dad.”

TAGLIST: @bellaguarneri @drewsephsmiles @spilledtee @outrbanks @ilovejjmaybank @outerbxmalia @parkerpetertingle @milamaybank @jjtheangel @shawnssongs @jayjaymaebank @jjouterbanks @jjcultmain @summerintheobx @rudyypankow @captainpogue @poguelifesurfshop @letsgofullkook @o-b-x @kiarascarreras @maybankslut​ @jjs--whore​ @jiaraendgame

[outroshooky]

a sliver of the stars | jhs

⇢ genre: drabble (fwb!au, friendstolovers!au) (fluff, smut, a smidgeon of angst)

⇢ pairing: jung hoseok x reader

⇢ word count: 1.1k

⇢ audio: weak when ur around / blackbear

⇢ warnings: smut (d/s dynamics [sub!reader], praise, a couple instances of a daddy kink, oral sex [f receiving], marking [bruises], implied sex), an instance or two of body image anxiety.

⇢ a/n: born out of my need to write more pieces for hoseok and the fact that i think he would 11/10 be the most caring partner, regardless of how official or not the relationship is. to all of my readers out there who struggle to love their bodies: you are beautiful. beautiful is found in diversity, in our differences. your stretch marks are beautiful. your skin, dark or light or something in between, is beautiful. you deserve to feel loved and you deserve to love yourself.

It’s an unspoken agreement. The kind of thing that’s never broached outside of the lips of whiskey bottles and bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces interlocking. Never discussed, kept under wraps, and all for the better, somehow. Like the world isn’t fucked up enough as it is with or without him in it, in or out of reality.

It’s strange when he stays. Stranger when he doesn’t stay to be fair, but he always tries his best. He likes to show that he cares, in spite of it all. A twist of your wrist during a messy blowjob, a sloppy makeout in the backseat of his car. But even then, he’s insisting that he return the favor with an open-mouthed kiss to your hip, and suddenly the cosmos is just a tiny bit brighter with him in it.

He loves to go down on you. Shocking, in some capacity. You can’t remember a day you ever looked in the mirror and felt worthy enough of that, of being wanted by somebody. Somebody who wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill type of guy, somebody with substance. Somebody you cared about, somebody who cared about you. Cares. Puts effort into it, this little thing you have that nestles itself between leather seams and the folds of your sheets. He wants it. Wants you.

His head is tucked between your thighs, your fingers a permanent fixture in his tawny mussed locks. He’s splayed your legs, bare for the world to see, but he’s staring like he’s got everything he ever wanted in front of him and frankly, you’ve never seen someone look so entranced. So hungry. Ready to pounce, except he doesn’t have to. Just needs to glance up at you, the heat in his eyes making you shudder. His hair is messy. He’s naked, sculpted like divinity carved from marble, the sheer face of a blank cliff. He is hard, so fucking hard and thick and nearly dripping with need. He’s two seconds from grinding into the mattress. It’s hot. So you tell him.

“Hoseok, baby, you’re so fucking sexy when you look at me like that,” you pant. You’re heaving, short of breath; he’s like a god; liquid sunshine runs in his veins, glows through his skin. He’s gorgeous in the light. Unspoken.

He smirks, the corner of his mouth pulling. Hot. He wants it. Wants this, the praise, even the degradation. He loves it. Thrives on it like a sunflower blossoming in the moon’s praises, and you can’t help but squirm under his heat. “Yeah? How bad do you want it, hm?”

“So bad, so bad,” you’re rambling, killing time, drawing out every ounce, every millisecond. You need it. Need him.

He chuckles. Needy. It always looks good on you, so delectable to him. “What do you need, babygirl? Tell daddy what you need.”

“Need you—” it practically bursts from your lips, “need your mouth, your fingers, your cock daddy—”

“And my baby gets anything she wants, always,” he kisses the inside of your thigh, so close, so close— “as long as she’s good.”

“I’m a good girl, good for you, please daddy, please go down on me, I’ll do anything you say f-fuck—”

Your cry bursts hollow from your throat as his lips close over your clit and suck, eyes fluttering shut in ecstacy, groaning at the taste. Always so perfect for him. He’ll make you cum, over and over like this. Hoseok plays your body with the strokes of a musician, drawing tones from your lips that fill the air like the most heavenly carnal symphony. He pauses too, to decorate your body with ornaments that leave you breathless and pink in the cheeks, stained with your own shame without a care in the world. Purple roses and blue lilacs to remember him by, and they’re the objects of his gentle touch when his own release splatters your stomach. Not for long though, because no sooner is he traipsing off to the bathroom for a warm washcloth than he is collapsing into bed beside you and wrapping an arm around your waist. He misses your smile, the kind you hide into the crook of your elbow. He cares.

Was it okay? He never says it, never breaks the hallowed silence of that bedroom in the wee hours of the morning, but you know he’s thinking it. It’s written in the way his fingers trace down your curves and edges, in the way the corner of his mouth twitches when he fingers each petal carved crimson into your skin. The sculpted becomes the sculptor, and all is still.

You don’t know how to tell him that yes, this is okay. It is more than okay. He is so much more than okay. He is, in fact, everything good and right and wonderful, like every star in the universe gave just enough dust to make another, but there wasn’t enough room in the galaxy for him, so he was bottled into this merely mortal body instead. He shines in the dim radiance of the hour, but come morning he will glow as the sunlight falls in a block across your comforter and his hair will stick up at odd angles and he will groan sleepily as he buries his face in your back, seeking darkness. He cares and it is so much more than okay, so much more than you can fathom to tell him in plain, clear-cut language that is not gestures of adoration masked by the complicated drapery of not labeling whatever this is.

So you opt to roll over and face him, cradling his face in your hands like he is glass about to shatter. An ancient masterpiece, marked and torn from the rubble of reality, somehow placed beside you in this ocean of a bed. Disconnected, disjointed. Compassion. He nuzzles into your palms, his eyelashes dusting the beautiful full apples of his cheeks. He looks so much younger when he sleeps. So much less war-torn, busy with his ever-racing mind. Your thumb rubs his cheekbone and his hand finds your wrist, but he does not take it away. Just holds you, like you are the only thing grounding him as the waves roll over and over themselves. It is nothing short of ethereal.

The lips of whiskey bottles and the press of two bodies becoming one, except when the lips are your own and the press is to his temple. Kept under wraps, save the warmth that spreads in your veins like the buds that bloom across your thighs. The world is fucked up, but it is, for sure, just a tad better, a bit more bearable with him in it. A little less fucked up with a sliver of stardust next to you, heart beating rapid under your palm, humanity intact. A slice of the cosmos, and you are simply orbiting him.

You don’t dare say it with a mortal’s mouth. Instead, he does.

“I love you.”

Precedence be damned. “I love you too, Hoseok.”

“Goodnight.”

“...Goodnight.”

[doginshoe]

The Draconian Huntress XI

summary: In a time where there is an impending war to come, Lucy sets forth to find the draconian people in order to shift the tides against the demon King Zeref that threatens to take over Fiore.

part 11 of 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10

read on ff.net here

Natsu vs Gajeel

Lucy couldn’t believe just what was unfolding before her.

It was unbelievable how many people had filled the colosseum in such short notice - like this was a common occurrence in The Draconian Kingdom.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, even as people still filed in through the large gates, as the ominous drum beat thundered throughout the arena.

It called the people in as the match drew closer to a start - the anticipation becoming so thick that even the archer was being swallowed by it. Her heart rate picking up as a knot formed in her belly and her hand clutched at the fabric of her skirts.

“Nervous?” Laxus called, and Lucy looked up to the tall blonde Commander by her side. He stared her down, almost a look of pity on his face.

She looked away from him, her brown eyes being drawn back to the grounds below - the Sanguis Pit. They washed over the grounds, mainly the gaping holes that littered the open space and the blood stains that were splattered across the large stone walls that stretched high above the fighting pit. It looked as if two armies had clashed here… Large armies with Giants and Orcs amongst the battalions.

The destruction was too chaostrophic for meager duels between men. There were even scorch marks that ran up the wall and even into where the civilians sat in the lower levels.

Her stomach twisted again.

“Just what sort of fight is this?”

She deflected his question with one of her own, yet that already gave Laxus her answer. It wasn’t often that outsiders beared witness to a Draconian pastime that dated back to their early ages. It was carnal and savage, just as if they had reverted to the dragons that bestowed their powers upon them. It was why he had asked for them to leave their smaller companion behind to wait with their Healer Grandeeny. He knew she had the wits and care to make sure the little girl was distracted.

“De provocatione ad Throni,” Laxus spoke in the old draconic tongue. “The challenge to the throne,” he paused as he looked to his princess who’s eyes were nearly burning holes into the ground and the dark haired male who looked uneasy beside her. “It’s a battle to the death.”

The winter sprite looked up, disbelief clear in his eyes as Lucy’s shoulders stiffened.

“You’re really going to let someone kill the King?” Gray piped up, exasperated, “I mean I don’t like either of them, but to have a death match with your own King… that’s insane.”

Laxus didn’t even bat an eye at Gray’s ignorance, his expression like stone. “The King is the strongest Draco, only second to his chosen mate. If the King is killed in combat then he was not fit to lead to begin with. That is our way.”

“Even I took up arms against Natsu,” Laxus added, which earned him an even wider eyed stare. “It was when Layla had ran with you and King Igneel had disappeared. Natsu, by expectation, was raised to the throne.”

He gave Lucy a pointed look before he turned to look at ‘The Blood Pit.’

“He was a boy and I was just a few years his senior. It was foolish but I fought with him. Yet, I never challenged him to the Sanguis.” He paused as his blue eyes stretched over the arena, taking in the destruction that marked it’s exterior and gave an opening to the pain and death that had wrecked the old colosseum.

“If I had then, I wouldn’t be standing here today.” His voice held weight with the last line, the blonde commanders eyes pulling away from the pit.

“That’s-” Gray started, but Lucy had cut him off. Her voice interjecting in a loud hiss that sent the winter sprite taking an innocent step away from her.

“It’s barbaric.” She looked back to Laxus. “I’ve known people to be cruel, but slaughtering those around you to get to the top? It makes me sick.”

“Those words ring a bell,” a croaky voice joined in, “I believe they were the same one's your mother used when she had first been let into the Sanguis to witness a proelio mortem between two drakes.”

The trio of warriors turned to the old man that entered the royal tier seating - the Advisor.

Laxus bowed his head, yet Lucy and Gray remained still - apart from the displeased look growing on the archer’s face.

“Lord Yajima,” Laxus greeted, but the old man waved him off.

“It has always been ironic; the history of the Heartfilia’s and the Draconians  - bound to us by an old oath, yet always disappointed in our actions.” Yajima walked slowly to the edge of the balcony, his eyes connecting with Lucy the whole way. “It is almost as if their predecessor cursed them to live a life of misery rather than saving them as she intended.”

Lucy’s thin brows pulled down. “What do you know about the history of my family?”

“I’m the advisor of the Kings and Queens. It’s my duty to know the Kingdom and its history. In fact, I remember teaching it to you when you still ran about these castle walls.” He spoke before halting by the large rail that surrounding the top tier and slowly raised his hand, bringing the entire crowd to a hush. “But, I’m afraid I can’t retouch on our lessons right now. There is much more important matters at hand.”

The drums slowly faded to a low beat, the dull thud repeating in a monotonous rhythm that slowly declined in octaves.

“Wait-” Lucy called and reached for the old advisor, but a large hand captured her shoulder, halting her movements. She looked up to Laxus and he shook his head.

“It’s not time for that. Natsu is the one who needs you right now.”

Lucy’s face contorted into one of anger. “What? Get off-” she yelled as she threw herself from his grasp but Laxus only pulled her back again.

“When you’re Queen you’re going to find out everything you want to know,” Laxus voice turned into a quiet hiss, “but if Natsu loses today then that’s not going to happen.”

Lucy's eyes widened as he turned her to the arena.

“You’re his mate - his life - as he is yours. Haven’t you sensed it? Feelings that aren’t your own.”

Her mind flashed to when she had first seen Natsu. The excitement and flush that had first dawned on her before her fear finally took over.

“When they step into the arena, your faith in him alone can be his strength. It’s all up to you if he wins or not. That’s why he ordered for you to be here.”

The drums died on a quiet thump and the silence fell over the colosseum, yet it barely lasted a second before Yajima pulled his hand down and the first gate crashed to the ground. A figure walking out in a steel suit of armour - but it wasn’t like any of the knights she had seen.

The steel was jagged, like waves, and consumed nearly all of his face. The thick metal stretched over his arms where the waves carved out more, the edges beginning to glint like sharp swords all the way down to his hands that were left free. However, Lucy could tell it wasn’t a vulnerability in the armour as it gave way to the scales that climbed up his hands and the claws that extended from his fingers.

Gajeel let out a roar and his black wings expanded from the space where his armour didn’t reach, where it then wound down to make thick shields for his legs. The only place on the armour that wasn’t made of steel was on his stomach, where it became a crystallized form of the black stone; the material that the walls were made from.

He looked to be impenetrable. Yet, Lucy knew that it was weighing him down. The only fault of such quality armour that seemed to defend as well as attack, and while Gajeel looked strong, there was only so much movement he was allowed.

He planned to finish this quickly.

The archer felt the twist in her gut again as the crowd boomed out a loud cheer. The drums picking up as Gajeel stepped further from the gate and into the centre of the blood pit. She flicked her eyes to Laxus again and he only gave her a stoney gaze that Lucy couldn’t decipher. She noticed he wore it often.

When she turned back to the crowd it was growing quiet again and she took a step closer to the rail, her hand coming up to tight around the bar as she kept her eyes on the other gate. If what Laxus said was true, then she needed to give her strength to him. Not only to get her answer, but for the war that was to come. It was Natsu who agreed to fight against Zeref and if Gajeel were to kill him now then there wouldn’t be any assistance to aid Erza.

Not to mention she doubted that the Lieutenant would even keep herself, Gray and Wendy alive.

Natsu had to be the victor and so Lucy swallowed hard.

“Try not to be nervous,” Laxus spoke up from behind her. Yet, Lucy couldn’t help it bubbling up in her stomach as her knuckles turned white from her tight grip.

“He’s right,” Yajima added and she jerked her head towards the older man that was by her side. “You are twined together. Everything you feel he feels. Everything you sense, he senses. Natsu can even feel the beating of your heart at this moment. Although, it might not be as strong for you, the drake is completely overwhelmed by their mate when their in close proximity.”

“Your anxiousness will become his anxiousness, so try not to let the feelings overwhelm you. I’ve seen Draco’s fall in this arena from a distressed mate.”

Lucy shook her head, “but how can I? His survival is dependent on everything.”

“Draw it from him.”

The blonde looked down as the hum of the crowd began to fade. There was uneasiness coursing through her entire being. Just how could she stop it by drawing it from something she hadn’t even been aware of before?

Her brown eyes look up as Gray leaned on the railing beside her, his hand reaching out to rest on her arm.

“If anyone can do this then it’s you, Lucy,” he encouraged. “Even if you can’t feel whatever they’re talking about, you’ve seen and fought in battles that had cost everything before. Just breathe.”

Gray smiled and Lucy couldn’t help her lips twitch up at the corners of her mouth. With a soft nod she turned her eyes back to the gate before closing them, her chest heaving with a deep breath as the colosseum died to silence once again.

When she opened them again, the gate dropped - the flare sparked and Lucy felt a rush of adrenaline fill her veins.

The audience took a collective gasp as Natsu leapt from the darkness of the passage, his wings expanding in a fiery display as he kept himself stationed in the air. With each beat of his wings, Lucy found herself resembling them to a burning flame - the chaotic reds and oranges, streaked with an angry purple becoming a bonfire of colour.

His abdomen was dawned in a golden array of metal covers that came all the way up in a point to his solar plexus where two chains then stretched out to join with the metal that garnered on his chest, and then flared out to create heavy padding on his shoulders. His gauntlets carried the same waveform as Gajeel’s armour, the edges also sharpened to a deadly blade and capped with the dark stone. On his lower half he wore loose beige pants that met shin pads much similar to his gauntlets.

Lucy noticed his head was left unprotected, as two horns rose out and curled like a demon. His face was nearly completely covered in dark lilac scales and that stretched over his arms and down his back where they met his wings. When his eyes met hers they were golden rather than his usual olive green.

They nearly took the air from her lungs as he stared down at her, his gaze looking savage and wild before he turned it to his opponent. The entire arena stayed in silence as the two drakes glared at each other - the anticipation in the blood pit turning to tension as they locked gazes. It wasn’t until Gajeel let out a short laugh that the arena could stop holding their breath.

“What’s wrong, Salamander? Lost that fire of yours already, Ghi-hi?” the drake sniggered as his own wings expanded behind him. The jet black colour a stark comparison to the array of warm tones amongst Natsu.

Gajeel stretched out his arms as he grinned, “Or maybe I just haven’t hit the right nerve yet. He rolled his shoulders, the steel clanking against steel as he shifted his position before leaping into the air towards Natsu.

“I’m sure this will fire ya up,” he yelled and pulled back his fist that came barreling towards the King at unimaginable speed.

Lucy’s mouth dropped as Natsu pulled to the side, the punch just barely grazing his shoulder, the armour scraping all the way up Gajeel’s gauntlet. It wasn’t possible, she thought. A man of that size with all his armour to move at such a speed… It wasn’t human!

The crowd roared as Natsu spun in the air as he turned, his leg coming down to deliver a blow to the top of the dark haired male’s back. Yet, he made no signs of even feeling the kick as he twisted and aimed another blow to Natsu’s head - the punch inches from his face before he grabbed hold of Gajeel’s hand.

“And to think I thought ya were going easy on me with that first hit,” Natsu grinned and his eyes glinted as he squeezed down on the other drake’s hand, steam rising from where their skin met.

“You bet I was. Thought ya weren’t paying attention to me cause you’re too busy staring at that Lady Heartfilia, Ghi-Hi,” Gajeel smirked as he pushed his fist harder into Natsu’s grip. “Is only right for me to give my opponent a little wake up call.”

Natsu brought up his own fist and swung it toward the dark haired draco, who caught it just as swiftly. “Watch yourself, Gajeel. I mean, we don’t want this fight to end too quickly, now do we?”

Gajeel knocked his forehead against Natsu’s - a trickle of blood beginning its descent down to their eyebrows. His lips twisted into a wicked smile as he gave his snarky reply.

“No, I guess we don’t.”

[justmorefandomtrash]

A Pinch of Love

Prompt: Relationships

Ft: Demisexual Seung and the eight types of love

(Will be posted to AO3 asap)

@leeseunggilweek

There were eight types of love according to the Ancient Greeks.

Eros was sexual love, eratic and all-consuming, the carnal desire to seek pleasure.

Philia was affectionate love, friendship and without physical attraction.

Storge was familiar love, for family and childhood friends.

Ludus was playful love, the early stages of love and the glee of young lovers.

Mania was obsessive love, leading partners into the depths of madness and obsessiveness.

Pragma was enduring love, matured and aged over time to create a unique harmony.

Philautia was self-love, caring for oneself and feeling comfortable.

Agape was selfless love, the love that accepts, forgives and believes for the greater good.

Exploring each of them however, was something that Seung had never expected in his life.

---

Storge - familiar love

Seung knocked on his sister’s bedroom door, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. It opened to reveal a smiling Yeong-Hui who pulled him inside, chattering excitedly about the latest kpop song.

“Noona.”

She stopped, spinning on her heel and pulling him into a tight hug, running her fingers through his hair.

“What do you need?”

“A skirt.”

“Got it. Bundle yourself up in my duvet and I’ll set to work.”

He nodded and slipped out of her grasp, flinging himself onto her bed, wrapping his arms around Ji-Hye, who prefered to nap in Yeong’s room rather than his. Nuzzling into her fur, he giggled when she patted at him with her paw before resigning to her fate. He heard his sister humming as she hurried around the room, occasionally followed by quiet thumps as she threw clothing into a pile. Ji-Hye whined as he rolled over, and he pushed himself back against her gently, pulling a pillow to his chest. It wasn’t often that he felt the need to wear certain types of clothing, but some days he couldn’t stand it.

“Okay, so I’ve got those leather shoes you like? The black pair and the white pair, I’ll match some outfits around those. Eomeoni will be back soon, Abeoji a little later so we can get them to do your hair and makeup okay?”

Nodding, he curled into the pillow a little more, stroking Ji’s paw as she patted at him again. She loved attention, especially hugs and was probably a little annoyed that he wasn’t looking at her.

“I found that paint splatter top you love, the one with the stars on it. Want a skirt to match or several outfits?”

“Several outfits please.”

“Got it.”

Unburying his face from the pillow, Seung pushed himself up onto his elbows, gently patting his dog as she snuggled up to him. True to her word, Yeong-Hui was setting out different outfits, the paint splatter top closest with a pair of knee high socks next to it. She threw a plaid miniskirt over the back of her chair, quickly retying the ‘sleeves’ at the front. This was quickly followed by a sheer skirt, with flowers around the hem and a black skirt underneath, then a lace up one on the bed next to him. Shuffling through her draws, she tossed over a white t-shirt with a cloud saying “I’m okay” on it, telling him to put it with the sheer skirt. A lace top dropped onto the lace-up skirt, a pleated top landing on his face by accident. He threw it onto the chair, chuckling as Yeong-Hui huffed and sat on the floor next to him.

“It’s not like you’re much better at it anyway! You can’t throw straight.”

“Do I need to explain it?”

“Just try the outfits on!”

He rolled over, falling onto the floor and groaning, pushing himself up before wandering over to the outfit on the chair. Running his fingers over it, he shrugged and turned back to the one on the bed. He held the lace top against himself before switching it out for the skirt.

“This one.”

“Go for it!”

Slipping out of his pyjamas, he found himself pulled in front of the mirror as Yeong-Hui fussed around him, tightening the laces before wrapping her arms around him.

“There’s my sibling.”

“Thanks Noona.”

“Anything to make sure you’re happy.”

---

Philia - Affectionate love

Whenever Seung was in Japan, he found himself being greeted at Kyushu airport and taken to Katsuki Yuuri’s family onsen. He’d spent many nights there, relaxing and partaking in traditional activities to the point where he felt like he could consider Yuuri a close friend. They were affectionate to each other in a friendly way, not being too concerned if they shared a bed at night or swapping clothes if they were in a rush. There was nothing romantic or sexual between them, and they were perfectly happen to maintain that friendship, deflecting any questions about their relationship.

“What do you have to say about the rumours that you and Katsuki Yuuri are involved behind Victor Nikiforov’s back?”

Yet here the press were again, pestering and pestering them despite the rather public announcement of Victor and Yuuri’s love for each other. Before he could answer, he saw Yuuri out of the corner of his eye, clutching onto Victor as if they were a lifeline.

“We are? Well that’s news to me. Last thing I knew was that I was happily single with my dog whilst Victor and Yuuri were engaged with their own dog. If I’d known I was involved in an affair, I might have tried to make an effort if I could be bothered.”

“B-”

“No buts, Yuuri and I are simply friends, now let me go.”

He pushed through the crowds of reporters, nodding to Yuuri and Victor who smiled their thanks. No one, no one at all, tried to destroy the friendship he had so carefully maintained.

---

Ludus - Playful Love

Seung was not new to the game of attraction and love. Most of the time it was fleeting, there one moment and gone the next. But with Phichit, it was like falling in love for the first time, hard and full of those cliche moments like tripping over because he was staring too much, and the world being just that bit brighter when he was around. It was the tiny gestures that made his heart beat just that little bit faster, the words that made him smile that little bit more.

“Seung! Great to be competing against you again! Let’s both get to the final this year, no?”

“Sure.”

Even as Phichit pulled him into a tight hug, much closer than he would allow other skaters, he couldn’t help but squeeze back and smile. This was new, this inability to hide behind the mask he’d carefully constructed for years, and he found himself not caring about the way the press whispered and wrote articles about the way he began to express himself. He started being more daring on the ice, going for music and costumes he would never have dared to before. Allowing himself to show expressions seemed to simply draw in new fans from across the world, yet he silently dedicated every program to a single person.

Phichit.

For coming into his life and unintentionally sweeping him off his feet, cracking the facade he’d perfected over the years and giving him the freedom to show the true him on the ice.

He had it bad, and it simply made life that little bit more exciting.

---

Eros - Erotic Love

Eros was terrifying for someone who had never experienced it before. It was need on a primal level, the carnal desire to seek and receive pleasure. It left Seung confused, the small gestures sending shock waves through his body. Arousal scared him, the idea that someone could experience those feelings on a regular basis almost unreal. He found himself shying away from contact with other people, especially Phichit. His coach didn't seem to understand and would keep arranging meet ups with fellow skaters that he either ran away from or didn't show up at all.

"You are meeting up with them! They flew over from Russia specially to see you."

"Well send them home! I don't want to meet people, I want to stay with Ji-Hye and phone my family because I don't need anyone else. Why won't you listen to me?"

"Because maybe, just maybe they can help you understand what's going on."

"What the hell can playboy Victor Nikiforov and strip off and pole dance Katsuki Yuuri understand about me? The pair of them probably have k-"

"Seung!"

He spun on his heel, nearly tripping over his coach before she caught him, pushing him slightly towards the duo walking towards them.

"Good morning! I haven't been here in so long, it looks great still, as do you."

"A-ah, thank you?"

"Come on, I want to see the sights!"

"Vitya darling, please calm."

"Fine, thanks for bringing him coach!"

They beckoned for him to come over and reluctantly he followed, trailing along behind them as they chattered. He found himself seated on a park bench, Yuuri and Victor on either side. Yuuri leans over and grasps his hand, squeezing it lightly.

"Your coach said that you're shying away from everyone. You seem confused about something and Phichit is panicking, thinking he's done something wrong. Is there anything we can do to help?"

"Eros."

"Hm? Eros... You're struggling with eros. I can explain what it is, but not what it feels like I'm afraid."

"Neither of us have ever felt sexual attraction."

He slumped down on the bench, thinking back to a time where he'd been at Phichit's (a long time ago) apartment and he'd been laughing at an Instagram post of the duo and...

Oh.

"You're both ace?" "Uh huh. Now tell me, what does it feel like?" "Like... I can't think, as if there is a need to..."

"There's nothing wrong with desire Seung. I know that it's terrifying, but it's okay to let yourself fall."

A tear drips down his face and a tissue appears in his vision. Taking it, he dabs the tears away, nodding his thanks.

"Let us arrange a day between you and Phichit, or perhaps even get you two to stay in the same hotel room next competition to

give you more time to prepare."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

---

Mania - Obsessive Love

Mania was definitely worse. It was the sparks of jealousy whenever someone approached Phichit, it was the envy when someone touched or even spoke to him. Seung found himself sulking every time he couldn't spend time with him. It didn't take long for it to go away when Phichit hugged him and made it clear that they were best friends. He could deal with best friends.

---

Agape - Selfless Love

Agape was a complete contrast to mania. It was the lazy early morning cuddles in hotel rooms, it was the forgiveness after an argument, it was a reunion at an airport after a long time apart. Phichit nuzzled into his side, clutching at the blanket covering them. Seung pressed a lazy kiss to his forehead, admiring the way that the sunbeams broke through the curtains and fell across their skin.

“Morning darling.”

“Morning to you to sweetie.”

Quiet pop drifted through the air as he ran his fingers through Phichit’s hair, breathing in the refreshing lemon scent that clung to him even after a night spent pressed up against his side, a hint of orange mixing in.

“Seung…”

“Phi?”

“You’re crushing my arm and I have god-awful morning breath.”

He laughed, an honest and free laugh, rolling over to lay across Phichit’s stomach.

“Get off you heafty lump!”

There was no malice in the words, Phichit sitting up to pull him into a proper hug, their bodies fitting together as if they were two halves of a whole.

This was the love he’d been craving, letting himself fall in more ways than the way they fell back against the heap of pillows at the head of the bed, hair fanning out as hands wandered, exploring the soft skin of hips and thighs, gentle kisses assuring the other that they were there and they were perfect. This was the love that so many sought, and so few found, choosing to focus on other types of love rather than seeking the purest of the forms.

---

Philautia - Self Love

Seung stood in front of the mirror, fiddling with one of his piercings to loop it around his ear. It was a dragon cuff that Phichit had sent over as a gift from one of his brothers, insisting that it would be a perfect match with the dragon tattoo he had curling at his hip. The gesture was appreciated, and as he twisted it into place he pulled his vest over his head, leaving himself in his shorts. The purple and black stood out against his skin, a harsh contrast, covering up one of many scars that littered his body.

Call him cliche, but perhaps Phichit’s words about how beautiful he was were having an effect, because looking in the mirror all he can feel is the ghost of Phichit’s kisses across his skin, the gentle drag of his fingers across his thighs and hips, lingering on the tattoo and quiet whispers of how proud he was.

Phichit loved his body enough for the both of them, but looking in the mirror and not loathing some part of it? It was a strange feeling, but freeing at the same time, knowing that he could look in the mirror and love himself. Not to the point of narcissism, but enough to be confident about what he wore and how he looked.

“Flaws… are something that everyone has. They are nothing to be ashamed of. Damn right Phichit, they’re not.”

---

Pragma - Enduring Love

Years later, Seung settled on his sofa, an elderly Ji-Hye and Phichit curling up onto him. They had a unique relationship, able at times to finish each other's sentence.

They wouldn’t have it any other way.