#love him all fucked up with demon blood on his face barely holding on to humanity by a mere thread <3

[rocksalt-and-pie]

Famine:

The sweet little boy in question:

[the-xolotl]

Take It Right.

Alastor x fem!reader

ᯓღ Warm-up snip — gift idea for my wife @denki-69

ᯓღ a/n: you got me; i love writing for Denki. at this point this is my entire life’s purpose. it’s to write filth with or for Denki.

SUMMARY: Alastor helps you take his knot when it’s still too big for you to take.

ᯓღ cw: knotting, womb fucking, cervix stretching, slight cumflation, slight mention of blood.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED ON SIGHT. Thank you~♡

“You can take it sweetheart, I know you can,” he laughed lowly, radio filter tickling in your ear. Your eyes roll back feeling him put more pressure on your hips and feeling his fat cock sink in deeper. The knot at the base of his length had swollen impossibly large and it’s teasing at your entrance the further down he forces you. Admittedly, you’re a bit terrified at the sheer size of the stretch his cock already spread you, but the added circumference of the knot had you trembling from more than just pleasure.

“A-Al please… I can’t—” you know begging and pleading for mercy is useless. He’s made up his mind, and deep down you wanted it. It was the surface fear that currently wouldn’t let you simply let go. Even as you tried to relax feeling every inch go into your soaked pussy made you clench.

“Here,” he purred, guiding your hand between your legs, “Follow my rhythm, let go, focus on my voice,” his voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine. He pressed your fingers against your throbbing clit, rubbing in tight circles to help ease the aching pain that’s his knot pressing against your hole.

He’s so close to having his entire length inside you and it’s taking him all of his composure to not shove you down; you know, make you bleed now and apologize for it later. But he didn’t want to do that to you. Instead he’s taking his time; the amount of foreplay and eating out had you wet enough to make a stain on the bed and he had stretched you out a decent amount. And as much as he loved your snug cunt, the only draw back would have to be this.

Even still, it’s maddening how good and warm you feel sucking his cock in, the way you cried and moaned his name. He reveled in your trembling figure sitting on his lap basically fucked dumb when all he’s done is ease you down half his dick. And even with the attention to your puffy bud it’s already making you clench, you’re going to cum again. With your body tensing and back arching he feels your orgasm and juices dripping down him. You nearly right down scream already feeling overstimulated and overwhelmed.

He took the opportunity to thrust up into your waiting heat, the tip of his cock pressing and pushing a past your cervix made your entire body spasm. His tendrils shot out to grab you, pressing you harder against Alastor’s chest, keeping your legs spread open over his lap and a gag to keep in your high-pitch cries.

The searing warmth and tightness of your sex made him moan out your name. Truly the prettiest sounds you have ever heard now that he’s successfully nuzzled his knot inside you and is spilling deep into your waiting womb.

You feel his hot cum fill you up to the brim but the knot stopped it from spilling out. You’re fighting hard against your restrains; it’s painful as much as it’s arousing and pleasurable that the radio demon has forced his way inside you. Big, warm tears begin to fall even wetting his cheek as you seek to hide your face into the side of his neck for comfort.

Being a little dazed himself he’s barely babbling praises and coos, “That’s a good girl, that’s my girl. See? You fit perfectly. Made just for me.” They aren’t even coherent full thoughts but you sob and keen at his words.

When you feel a pressure in your belly the hand that had been rubbing at your clit goes to press on your belly. Swollen, full of cum. Full of his fawn. You’re clenching and cumming again. Alastor sucks in a breath, he needs to also take a minute from the overwhelming ecstasy, the hold on your hips only gets tighter, his claws begin to break skin and warm red liquid slowly drips down your thigh.

© 2024 the-xolotl — all rights reserved. do NOT alter, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter eight

“i want everything i asked for.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: ‘fuck it, do him scared!’ or whatever the saying is, no plot cuz y’all have had enough of that, pheromones are putting in work cuz you have heart eyes, y’all are touch-starved and pent up, half-transformation demon alastor (i hope that makes sense lol), implied demon alastor, little bit of angst or even hurt/comfort at the end? 🥲 smut: clothes ripping, scratching, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, slight degradation & praise kink dynamics, blood play & biting, handjob, orgasm denial, cream pie

word count: 6.6k *maniacal laughter*

author’s note: it wouldn’t be right to start this off without a formal apology for the cliffhanger and then, subsequently, the publishing delay 🥲✨ this ended up being more of a labor of love than i had expected; i just seemed to have such bad luck, this week of all weeks. thank you for your patience, and i hope this makes up for it! @hazelfoureyes one of these days i’ll have some more for you, but until then darling, you ever so kindly ‘asked’ me for smut so… 💅🏻💖

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

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Alastor meant for it to be chaste, really he did. And while he had desperately hoped for acceptance, the ardor with which you returned the kiss was unexpected. The grip of your hands around his wrists was fierce, pulling him in; fingers like sticky fibers against the patch of bare skin nestled between his gloves and the cuff of his shirt. 

So you were hungry, too… He couldn’t help but smile against your mouth at the thought. 

Finally, his luck was turning around.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

When you offered your help to Alastor, a kiss was the last thing you ever expected. 

Actually, you had been fully prepared for him to hurt you somehow, whether it was his intention or not. He had gotten upset so quickly, you assumed it must have been residual animosity from the meeting with Valentino that he could no longer contain. The more you thought about it, you truly understood how degraded he must have been by the whole affair, filling you with a guilt you worried might never go away. He needed a victory.

So offering your help was the least you could do.

But you never could have imagined the way he took your face in his strong hands, holding you with such care despite the intensity roiling off him in his half-formed demonic state. The strain on his face as he struggled to compose himself, his eyes switching back from black with red dials to that familiar searing red. The storming hunger you saw in them, half-lidded, as he closed the gap between you…

Your mind was practically rendered blank, running on instinct; the warm ache throbbing between your hips quickly taking up any remaining space that was left.

His mouth was softer than you expected but his press against you was firm and wickedly practiced. You felt him smile against you and for a moment you forgot to breathe, the resulting gasp being the perfect opportunity for Alastor’s tongue to snake into your mouth. If your eyes hadn’t already been closed, they would have rolled to the back of your head. His tongue was soft and big and hot, his movements steady and filled with purpose; not a drop of wasted effort. You could only hope to keep up…

It was such arduous work keeping your hands at his wrists, floored by the intense desire you had to reach out and touch him. But you didn’t know your limits here. He was still riled up — if anything, you had heard his antlers grow — and you didn’t want to make any wrong moves.

So you put all your longing into the grip of your fingers and mouth, your mind wandering on the feeling of him. Large, elegant hands cupping your face like glass. His body looming over you, offering shelter you were more than willing to accept. His mouth so hot against yours it would leave you feeling cold once it was gone. And he smelled so good this close, smoky and verdant like a bonfire on a crisp autumn night. 

Your thighs rubbed together from the pulse radiating there, and he let out a small groan against your mouth as your nails absently dug into the skin of his wrists. The sound of him simultaneously made your legs weak and fanned the flame between them. His voice had always been nice — he didn’t build a career for himself on the radio for nothing — but you felt a growing fear at the aspect of never hearing something like that again after he was sated; knowing that no matter what it would haunt you for eternity. 

I really am so fucked…

He was pecking now, his breath and teeth and tongue ghosting over your swollen mouth and face as he feverishly placed multiple at a time. You wanted to reciprocate so badly, whether with your lips or hands, but it was clear he needed to ravish you first so you stayed put in a shocking exhibit of will-power. But when you felt the tug of his teeth against the corner of your jaw you couldn’t stop the shaky moan that escaped you, not even noticing how your hips rolled on nothing but air.

That’s all it took. 

Alastor pulled away and gave a quick kiss to your hands before dropping them to take up the torn fabric of your collar. He gave it a sharp pull, tearing your dress straight through to the waist; the sound ringing out in the quiet of your room with the promise of what’s to come. You were too stunned by the suddenness of the action, but the look on your face must have really been something if the expression you were seeing on his was any indication — ravenous and wild. 

Your chest heaved with quickening breath, heartbeat kicking and head empty as you felt all the blood in your body rushing down. Too overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, you dared to bury your face in his chest, grateful to be just tall enough to reach. Mortifying as it was, it was all you could think to do. 

Though safety wasn’t the only thing you found, pressing in so close to him like this, your throat going dry at the feeling of his arousal against you. No amount of time or experience could have prepared you for this, for him. You were beginning to think that there would be nothing left once he was through with you.

Just need a minute…

Mercifully, he let you. Even going so far as to cradle you against him, cupping the back of your head with his left hand. You relaxed into him, a hot puff of air leaving your mouth to soak into the fabric of his clothes. Alastor’s pleased hum in response vibrated against your face, and you brought your hands up to grip the lapels of his coat for fear of crumbling at his feet.

As you steeled yourself, he didn’t desist from his poking and prodding at your exposed back with his free hand. It disappeared briefly, followed by the faint sound of something falling to the carpet before the air was ripped from your lungs at the touch of his hot, bare skin against yours. You whined into his chest as your back arched against his palm, your fingers nearly ripping through his coat with the force of your grip, earning a gruff and sinister chuckle from him. Being able to bask in the feeling of the rumble in his chest against you was a lovely consolation, though. And just under that… his heartbeat. 

His hand against your back regained your attention then, scratching and massaging at its leisure; nails tracing indistinguishable shapes along your skin. Traveling up and down your spine at first, then your shoulders and, finally, the back of your neck where he paused. 

His message read loud and clear: time was up. 

Alastor pulled you away from him with a gentle firmness, managing to handle you delicately despite his clear desire for haste. You could see it burning in his eyes with no intent to extinguish any time soon. He was so mystifying like this, you couldn’t help but drink him in. Stately, powerful… beautiful. It felt impossible now to have ever been afraid of him in this state of half-transformation. He didn’t seem to mind the admiration, soft smile and lust-heavy eyes radiating with ego.

His antlers look so handsome when they’re branched out like this…

“Shouldn’t you have offered to take my coat by now? I’m your guest, aren’t I?” he teased as he swiped your dumbstruck mouth with the pad of his thumb. The filter dipped in and out over his quiet, low tone of voice, sending a fresh wave of heat to your core and cheeks as you fought the urge to nuzzle your face against his bare hand. How had he already reduced you to this? “But I suppose I haven’t been well-mannered myself. Just look at what’s become of your dress.”

His face was smug as he played with the decimated fabric, fingers dancing across your exposed neck and shoulders before pulling down the long sleeves. They had been the glue, apparently, your dress falling past your hips with ease and into a heap on the floor in near silence. Goosebumps pricked your skin as you stood before him in your underwear, already feeling naked as he took you in. You noticed him focus in on your shoulder and neck, the draw of his eyebrows confirming your earlier suspicion that he had left a bruise.

“It’s fine, it didn’t hurt,” you lied self-consciously, unable to keep the nerves out of your voice. It sounded like an apology. He hadn’t meant it and in the grand scheme of things was a bruise really so bad? It would be gone before you knew it.

He didn’t seem convinced, a sound of disapproval coming from behind his closed lips before a smile took its place. “Hmm… if you say so. Perhaps a kiss to make it better?”

Alastor wasted no time leaning down to place his mouth there, and you sighed as the heat of his wide, wet tongue swiped over it before he closed his lips with a small smack. As he nuzzled in — kissing, licking, sucking, nipping — your shaky fingers took to the task of unbuttoning his coat as he had suggested. The action earning you a growl and a bite, not yet enough to break the skin but taking your breath away all the same; the fire in your belly now flickering up into your chest.

Once the coat was loose you ran your hands under it, starting near his waist to travel up his chest until you reached his broad shoulders. Was he the one who was so hot, or was it you? It was impossible to tell. You used the top of your hands to start working the coat off of him, and he paused from his effort at your neck to assist with removing his arms from it before tossing it off to the side — his remaining glove along with it. You caught sight of the saliva glistening around his mouth and chin before he resumed his station and didn’t even try to hold back the soft moan that escaped you.

What was the point?

With a snarl — that was the closest thing you could think to call it — his hands hooked behind your knees and hiked you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around him for purchase as you gasped. Alastor’s mouth found yours again and you held his face to keep steady as you hunched over him, tears forming at the corner of your closed eyes from the relief of being able to touch him this time.

This kiss wasn’t as poised as the first had been. It was hurried and open-mouthed, messy and deep. Not enough, not enough, not enough. You broke away this time, seizing your opportunity to explore his face with your lips as he had yours. His claws bit into the flesh of your ass as your mouth latched onto his neck, sucking at the pulse you found there. The resulting buck of your hips from the action and the moan he let out only pulling another from both of you.

You didn’t even notice that he had been walking until you were suddenly tossed onto the bed, his body immediately caging you in beneath him. You hooked your legs around him as he ground into you, your cry of pleasure from the friction echoing off the walls. He did it again and you whined, squirming, his hands on either side of your head as he leered down; red eyes glowing with satisfaction.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor took a moment to take in the sight before him, feeling his eyes glitch as he roamed over your flushed face, but made quick work of grabbing it with one hand to pucker your mouth before returning to explore it with his tongue.

It surprised him how much he was enjoying this; kissing you with abandon, somehow never scratching the incessant itch despite his efforts. He captured your bottom lip with his teeth, resiliently managing not to bite straight through it as you moaned into his mouth.

“Alastor…!” 

His name was a song on your breath, scorching down from his ears to his cock, all of which reacted with a twitch.

One string loose. 

How many more would he need to cut before you went slack?

Who had bound you up like this in the first place? It certainly hadn’t been him. On the contrary, he was so eager to see you torn open and bare, stripped of all the little secrets tangled like knots on your tether to him. Always keeping your guard up around him wasn’t only irritating… it was selfish. And there was only one of you here allowed that luxury. 

Still, this was quite the consolation prize, seeing you surrender to him so easily. He had barely gotten started and you were already making such a pretty face for him; a new favorite, even. Your little pout that normally inspired vexation looked sweet like this, swollen with his kisses. It was an image he would soon not forget, being so much better than what he had imagined.

Your scent had truly blossomed now, dizzying him with the potency of its floral, nutty musk; just a hint of sweetness underneath. It complimented his own smoky, green, and bitter scent so well. But Alastor was ready to make his next new discovery, his hips finally lifting away from you as he gave you a final peck on the mouth.

“Hmmm, delicious as your mouth is, there’s another place I’m quite eager to kiss.” He could feel the wickedness on his face as he said it, unable to contain the static that flared around him as you breathed out a curse, body trembling.

Alastor made a slow descent, teasing you with licks and bites and kisses to draw out as many moans and whimpers as he could from you. Such music you made for him. Only for him. It was a good thing he had already resolved to avoid sleep as much as he could in the future; he wouldn’t get much anyway with the sounds you made ringing in his head like church bells.

He could see the damp soaked into your underwear before he even touched them, already intoxicated by the smell and heat wafting off your core. He’d have to be careful here… not an easy task, but he’d manage. The self-advised warning did little to stop him from tearing the garment in half with ease, enjoying the wide-eyed look you gave him as you quickly propped up on your elbows from the sound.

“I’d apologize for frightening you, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t mean it,” he said, holding your gaze as he palmed your bare sex, thrilled by how wet you already were. You were having such a hard time keeping your composure, serving only to egg him on. He hummed and continued, almost surprised by the words that came out of his mouth, “You don’t seem to mind, though… how lewd.”

Your head fell back with a loud whine, arms giving out so that you were flat on your back again; face scarlet as his fingers moved against you, collecting your arousal. His dick throbbed against him at the sight, leaking onto his skin and clothes. He couldn’t help the hiss that spilled from between his teeth when he tested you with his middle finger, tight as you were wet.

“Oh my… it’s been a while for you too, hm? I’m honored,” he cooed, relishing the way you whimpered and clenched at his words. “I do worry how you’ll fare… Contrary to the restraint I’ve shown so far, I must warn you… I don’t have the capacity for gentleness today.”

Your eyes shot open with shock, and with that he removed his finger and brought it up, putting the entirety of it in his mouth to suck you off as you watched. His eyes closed in pleasure, groaning as his tongue lapped up every bit of you, savoring every second. Clean and tart… like a ripe summer cherry. He couldn’t stop the bit of drool that escaped the corner of his mouth, the rush of saliva incensed by your taste coming on too quickly to swallow it all.

Alastor was breathing hard through his nose, a fresh wave of hunger — he wasn’t sure what else to call it — trembling through him with a fierce burning need. His smile and voice were sharp, static fraying as he spoke, “Hmmm… My imagination wasn’t even close. Aiming to please, dear?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

His fascination with licking you off him would be your second-death. Not only that, but you hadn’t expected him to say any of the obscene things that were spilling from his mouth, let alone the way you were responding to them. You had been subject to dirty talk before and enjoyed it (if done well), but… there was just something about it all coming from Alastor that set your veins on fire.

“Alastor, please, it’s embarrassing,” you pleaded through gasps, watching through half-open eyes as he licked away at his hand. You felt as if you had a fever, your face was so hot, hair already beginning to stick to your forehead with sweat.

As if falling on deaf ears, he merely proceeded to give a sharp tug to his bowtie, removing it in one go before unbuttoning his shirt. Something about the harsh way he pulled his shirt from the belted waist of his pants made you dizzy, but you felt a scream die in your throat watching the way his shoulders and chest moved as he freed his arms, with just the slightest flex of his abdomen; your eyes unable to resist following the trail of hair below his navel that disappeared under his belt.

You had made peace with your budding attraction to him — it was easier that way, considering your near-constant state of proximity — but this felt like being tossed directly into the fire.

Burning at the stake.

As he towered over you, you took in the large, pink scar lacerated across his chest from left shoulder to the right side of his ribcage. There had been mentions of the battle against Adam and his Exorcists within the group; how terrifying it had been, how brave everyone was. The loss of their friend Sir Pentious, who had died trying to help protect them against Adam. That was when the conversation normally tapered off, the grief still too close at his loss, but also because of what led up to it.

From what you understood, Adam had been Alastor’s appointed target to handle. One he was unmatched against, if the scar was any indication. A killing blow he had managed to survive. You hoped the pity you felt wasn’t making its way into your gaze as you looked at him, knowing he’d dislike it. Still… You sat up with hands stretched out, the instinct to touch and comfort him too strong to fight. But he pushed you back down, a shadow coming over his face as he bent over you. 

“Patience, sweetheart. I still owe you a kiss.”

You didn’t have time to process the dismissal before he raked his nails on your skin as he dipped down, your back arching up to meet them as you breathed through the small sting of pain. A splash of sobriety hit you as you felt the heat of his breath hovering over your cunt, your stomach tight as he moved closer, a wanton cry as he finally lapped at you with his tongue; a slow, wide, firm sweep from hole to clit. Sealed with a kiss, as promised.

You shuddered and gripped the duvet as if your life depended on it. The image of him nestled between your legs making your brain short-circuit. His eyes were shrouded with a predation that should have terrified you. So why did it thrill you instead?

 “Oh my god…”

That wicked grin of his…

“Last I checked, Hell is the absence of God. Let’s try again, shall we?” 

He hiked your legs over his shoulders, looped his arms around to grab the top of your thighs, and pulled you to his mouth. You saw white as he didn’t hesitate in setting a voracious pace, his tongue dipped into you — long and thick — as his nose pushed against your clit with every open-and-close of his mouth. His chin providing a pleasant hardness that nearly knocked the wind out of you.

He was incessant. 

Sucking, prodding, licking, and swallowing; a starving man who may never eat or drink again. Your hands found purchase on his antlers, a bit smaller now but still looming, earning a moan of approval into your heat that blossomed in your chest. The room was filled with the sound of wet smacks and a harmony of throaty groans from him; keening, breathy moans from you. Both unabashed.

In between breathing his name, words were tumbling from your mouth that you couldn’t register, too lost in the feeling of him on you. Not just your pussy, but your legs, too. His hands gripping your thighs so fiercely as your hips rolled against his face that you hoped for bruises. A keepsake. It was impossible to know if this would ever happen again.

You hadn’t even realized you were slipping away from yourself until he pulled back with a sharp gasp, finally coming up for air, jerking his antlers from your hands. The lower half of his face shimmered with a blend of your arousal and his spit, the sclera of his eyes gone black, dials taking the shape of his red irises. Again, your arms reached out, shaking from the effort as you tried to catch your breath. 

“Kiss…,” you barely managed to say, dizzied as you were.

Alastor obliged, climbing up to your open hands as you pulled him down to you, unable to find the strength to meet him halfway. He flinched as you ran your tongue over his left cheek, licking up some of the mess there as he wiped at the other side with the back of his hand. The taste of your combined fluids sent a jolt of pleasure through you and you moaned through the sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that followed. The laugh that escaped him was sinister but sent another wave of warmth through you all the same.

He rewarded you with a finger, followed quickly by another. And before you knew it, another. Pumping in and out of you with a delicious stretch and a maddeningly consistent pace before they curled, teasing your spongy core as his thumb circled your clit at the switch; the sudden onset of your orgasm had your body trembling under his touch.

“Ohh… mm, fuck…! Hmmmnn… Ah—! Alasto—ahh!”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” His voice was rough but soothing. A crackle of static melded into your moans and the wet sounds of your cunt, and he gave his head a violent shake as if to clear it. There was nothing but a growling need when he spoke next. “I’ve got you, don’t fight it. Let me see how pretty that sullen face of yours looks when you cum…!”

It was all too much. Just the intensity of his eyes on yours boxed in between your hands holding his face could have sent you over the edge. But his words again, that pet name… 

The tether snapped so viciously you were fairly certain you passed out for a moment, your vision gone black as you screamed. Only to be brought back to consciousness by Alastor’s fingers slowly riding the wave of your orgasm, no longer stroking with purpose — you were clenched around him so tightly his previous pace would have probably injured you both — but with a languid solace. Graciously accepting every roll of your hips into his hand as you moaned his name and gasped for breath.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

God, it was so fucking satisfying to see your face twisted up, eyebrows knit and your pouty lips salaciously framing your open mouth as you cried out for him. Another perfectly shattered expectation, much like the rest of this experience had been. He didn’t even mind that your eyes were shut. The consolation being the glimpse he caught of them rolling to the back of your head before they were out of sight. That, and, this would only be your first. He was determined to get at least one more out of you before this was over, truly unsure how much you could handle.

He was surprising even himself, speaking to you in the manner he was. He enjoyed a good tease, but he couldn’t recall going to this extent before. Perhaps it was a result of the pheromones, but he simply couldn’t seem to help it. The reactions it was pulling from you were too exhilarating to deny himself… and by extension, you.

His static was filling the air, buzzing with the energy of a lightning storm as he sucked you off his fingers once more with a snarl; his free hand sloppily undoing his belt before giving it a freeing tug, desperately hard erection weeping slightly at the bit of alleviation. As the realization that he was preparing to enter you sunk in another ripple of goosebumps pinpricked his skin, causing him to bite down on the inside of his lip from the sensation.

The taste of his own blood came with inspiration.

Alastor tucked back some of your damp hair before bringing his face down to meet yours, swiping at your lips with his blood-coated tongue. Testing the waters. Your eyebrows drew together and you stretched underneath him, as if waking from a night’s sleep, before blinking your eyes open. He watched as your tongue responded with a quick prod of what he had left there, and felt his smile grow when you let out a hum of content.

He would never tire of being right.

“I thought you might like that, my little killer… Have some more,” he whispered against you. Giving your lips another rough lick before taking your mouth again, groaning into each other as your tongue soothed his still-bleeding lip.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Something about this kiss was different.

There was a fierceness this time that hadn’t been there before, no doubt spurred on by the blood pooling in Alastor’s mouth. It had been shocking to taste at first but then… you found that it wasn’t too bad. Diluted with saliva, it was almost sweet, and you relished the way he enjoyed your tasting of it.

Your hands traveled up to the back of his head, gently scratching the prickly velvet of his undercut with one while the other pulled at the hair on his crown. His hiss into your mouth made you moan with another jump of your hips, and you felt him shift over you then; vaguely aware of the sound of him unceremoniously tugging down his pants before he took your hand from his crown and brought it between you.

The gasp that escaped you was sharp, your hand instinctively wrapping around his length as he guided you through stroking him. He was so hard, wet, and heavy, burning to the touch, but distant alarms were ringing about your ability to take him all. It scared you how much you wished to try.

His moan of relief was another keepsake, the sound of it so soft and pleading in your ear that you nearly sobbed from your desire. You couldn’t help but wonder what his face looked like, making a sound like that, and found yourself jealous of the skin of your neck he was hiding in. You stayed like this for a moment, his hand leaving you to work on its own as he cradled the opposite side of your head to lick and kiss your neck between gasps and moans. With a final nip to your skin Alastor pulled back, the mattress dipping as he put all of his weight onto his forearm to the right of your head as he adjusted himself.

“Don’t close your eyes,” was all he said before pressing into you, the tip of his cock already threatening to overwhelm you as it teased your entrance. 

It was not an easy task, your eyebrows drawing together in such a way that it nearly blurred your vision. You whined between closed lips, doing your best to breathe through the sweet stretch of him finally entering you. Despite his direction, he didn’t seem to be doing much better; sweat beading on his forehead over furrowed brows, kiss-swollen mouth open with panting breaths. Flushed cheeks. Even in the state he had reduced you to, you were trying to sear the image of his lust-strained face into your psyche.

He was rocking his hips slowly, allowing you to adjust to him with each little thrust as your arousal coated him, easing his advance; breathy moans collecting between you in puffs of steam, joining the two of you together in all the places you weren’t touching. 

All the while, your eyes were locked on each other. Had anyone else ever seen his the way they were now and found them beautiful instead of horrifying? You moaned as you stared at him; taking in his large, elegant antlers and sweat-damp hair, reminding you of the bedhead you had seen the other morning. His handsome and sinister face. He could easily tear you to shreds — and in a certain way, he was — but you were overwhelmed at the amount of care he had shown you so far, even with his earlier warning. 

His thrusts were building in sharpness, parting you with a tantalizing push-and-pull until he finally bottomed out with a growl. You cried out from the fullness he gave you, already twitching around him despite his stillness as he gave you both a moment to try and catch your breath. 

Alastor peppered your face with kisses and licks as you relaxed into him, testing you with a shallow thrust that had you biting down on your lip. Another. Another. Another. Until your mouth was hanging open, your hands traveling up to hold onto his triceps in your need for stability and to keep him close. Suddenly you felt him leave you completely, not even able to process the emptiness before he slammed back into you with a harsh grunt that made you squeal; writhing as he pressed up into your cervix.

He must have really enjoyed that, because he did it again. And again. And again. Settling into an excruciatingly blissful pace, his hard length massaging knots out of your body you didn’t know where there. Your legs instinctively hooked around him, nails digging into the flesh of his arms as you gasped and whined.

“So — ah..! Good… Alastorrr…!”

“Fuck!” he hissed between gritted teeth as your hips bucked, brows knit tight as he shook his head as if to clear a fog. 

You didn’t know he was actually trying to keep something at bay, the additional inch of growth in his antlers lost on you in your current state.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor’s hips stuttered for a moment before muscle memory guided him back to rhythm, desperate to regain the ecstasy that was torn from him. It had been a close call, but he managed to keep the switch from happening. Though the monster inside was still there, clawing at him just below the surface. 

He felt as your hands moved from their place on his triceps (which he had quite enjoyed) to settle on his chest, your fingers delicately tracing his scar. The line wasn’t steady though, perforated by the impact of his thrusts, which you were handling with a surprising welcomeness. 

It was almost…

There it was again, lying in wait; that ravenous, goading shadow roiling inside of him.

Take the risk…

Could he, though? Composing himself was practically second-nature, after all…

Say it!

Alastor exhaled, somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” He allowed himself to relish the sound of your cry and the blissed out look on your face, which in turn provided a moment to steel himself before continuing, “I didn’t think you’d be this greedy.”

“Fuuuck…! Alast — oh my god…!”

A fresh wave of your arousal flooded over him as you desperately rolled your hips to meet him, but the intention had been to make you climax — and judging by the way you were spasming around him, you were close. Not drive him to his own at the sight of your glowing eyes, just as they had that day in the alley.

He had miscalculated.

With an agonizing force of will he pulled out of you, harsh breaths straining his lungs as he got off the bed to hastily remove his pants and shoes. He groaned through the ripple of adrenaline that was tearing through him, heartbeat pounding in his ears like a drum, the feeling of it causing his hair to stand on edge. Fuck. He wouldn’t be able to hold it off… not this time.

“What’s wrong?” Despite the question, your voice was still so thick with lust that it made his back hunch over.

It was taking all he had not to wrap his arms around himself in what he knew would be a useless attempt at containment. Even breathing was painful. The air saturated with the smell of sweat and sex and Valentino’s goddamn pheromones!

I really am going to kill that son of a bitch!

“Alastor…?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Burning at the stake.

It had been a good way to put it.

He had been burning you alive before dousing you with ice.

What had gotten into him? What had gotten into you? No one had ever said something like that to you before and received anything but a slap in the face. Greedy… The word made your heart stutter, some of the blood from the lower half of your body traveling back up to your face. Was it true? 

Embarrassment was beginning to sober you up. Had you gone too far? It seemed strange that you had, considering the words came from his mouth and not yours. Fuck, all of this had started because of him. How else had he wanted you to react? Or was he ashamed of himself? 

Was he regretting this already? 

“What’s wrong?”

You watched as his back arched up like a spooked cat, the force of his breathing revealing the ribs and notches of spine under the skin. He looked like he was in pain… Maybe the scar on his chest wasn’t as healed as it seemed? You climbed off the bed and made a timid approach.

“Alastor…?” 

He flinched at the touch of your hand with a hiss, the shock of his reaction making you trip over yourself and fall back onto the bed. He kept his back to you when he spoke next, the absence of his filter making you shiver in pleasure and worry.

“You remember what I told you earlier, yes?”

I don’t have the capacity for gentleness today.

How could you not remember that? 

“I do,” you answered, just above a whisper.

He straightened himself then, still turned away from you and managing to look regal despite his trembling. “I need you on all fours… and you must promise not to turn around. Do you understand?”

It was a question that didn’t leave room for any response other than yes. So you just positioned yourself on the bed, facing your headboard and gathered the pillows there underneath you for support. You had just finished settling when you felt his weight dip the mattress behind you, heart in your throat as he ran his nails down your spine before slipping his fingers into you.

You both sighed as he pumped you, filling the room with that familiar lewd sound between breaths. Stoking the embers of your stolen orgasm with every drag, until he removed them completely. You whined at his absence, the tightness in your belly teetering somewhere between pleasure and pain as you heard him shudder through stroking himself. His free hand resting now on your hip.

“Don’t get comfortable. If you cum facing away from me I’ll never touch you again.” His voice was tight with effort, the filter over it harsh and pocketed as he adjusted himself behind you, the grip of his hand on your left hip promising to bruise. 

To your shame, the threat alone almost made you, a graceless moan tumbling out from your chest as you barely managed to nod your head in confirmation; your cunt flexing around the words echoing in your mind. The obscene sight of it drew out a sound from Alastor that could only be described as animalistic, earning the plump skin of your hip a few punctures as he thrust into you, bottoming out.

It was a brutal pace, his cock nearly leaving you with every thrust before plunging back in. He still had one hand on your hip while the other grabbed your shoulder, the slapping sound of your skin meeting quickly overpowering the gasps and moans falling from your mouths.

“Haahhh… nnghh…! …fuck!”

“Alastor…”

You felt him twitch inside of you at the sound of this name before he practically shouted, “Again…!”

The blush burned down from your face into your chest, but you complied and whined his name again. And again. Until it seemed to be the only word you knew.

“Ohhh, fuuuck…,” he hissed, followed quickly by a snarl.

You could’ve sworn you heard fabric tearing before a green glow reflected off the lacquered wood of your headboard. Alastor’s huge silhouette taking shape as it intensified; invoking the image of a nightmarish spider more than the deer demon you knew. You closed your eyes and buried your face in the pillows you had gathered, refusing to turn around despite your instinct to do so. And even through the fear, you still felt your orgasm building, the battle to keep it at bay quickly turning against your favor. 

“Alastor… I… I can’t… I—”

The words were stolen as he suddenly bit into your shoulder, his mouth so wide you felt his teeth sink in from shoulder blade to collarbone. You screamed into the pillows as his hips stuttered, until there was a final thrust so deep it would have pained you if it weren’t for your throbbing shoulder. His seed spilled out hot and thick, fueling the aching fullness inside you as he grunted into your flesh; teeth still latched to you as if making a primal claim.

Hot tears fell down your face as he rode out his orgasm behind you, unsure if they were caused by the savage bite to your bruised shoulder or lament over the deprivation of seeing his face. But you had done as you were told, managing not to turn around or climax. The bite he was now nursing with licks and sucks and kisses providing plenty of distraction.

Almost too much…

As he tried to catch his breath, you could feel him shrinking behind you as he pulled out, his slick torso laying flat against your back as he lapped up the blood dribbling from the bite. And in between his kisses that traveled from your shoulder to your tear-stained face, his hands were petting you with such a tenderness it only wrought more tears. 

His soothing whispers of shhh, I know, I’m sorry, I’ve got you, I’m sorry ringing in your ears as he brought you to lie down, cradling you to him as he caressed your face with his hands that inflicted such pain and comfort… protection.

For what seemed like hours, the two of you laid in silence, looking into each other’s eyes as his thumb stroked your cheek. Until finally you buried your face into his chest, hands over his heart.

And slipped into shadow.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

ps: phew! we fucking made it y’all… i truly hope it was worth the wait. but i do want to announce here that i will be taking a little break. i know this one was already late, but it kinda took a piece of my soul lmao since we only have two more chapters i need to make sure i have all my ducks lined up to wrap this with a pretty little bow. thank you for your patience and love, i really do appreciate you. and i’ll see you on may 5th 💖

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmic-lavender

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 12.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, body horror, horror, angst, mutilation, violence, wounds, blades, death, many religious imagery/references, nudity, protective!Simon, NSFW, soft/loving smut, fingering, mating press, implied virgin!reader due to time-period standards, pretty vanilla, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon’s skin is bare to the moon, and he can taste your blood on his tongue. 

Eyes wide, the man’s lips are loose; jaw slackened at the horror that lays below him as crimson drips down the swell of his Adam’s apple and between the dip of his chest. He can’t move, even as the chill sets into his spine, the hair over his arms and on the back of his neck standing on end. 

All he can see is your body. 

You don’t move, you don’t smile or send him that stern look of stubbornness—the snow falls to your head, it collects on the side of your face and limp corpse. Your torn clothes show the weeping wounds and jagged remains of flesh. 

But none more so than one on your neck. The gaping tear made from his fangs. 

Not me, Simon’s fingers twitch at his sides, your body in a pool of red. Not me. 

It was him, though, wasn’t it? 

He doesn’t remember what happened, cannot recall the memories in his brain—a demon, the Lord of this forest, and a prisoner all in one. You hadn’t killed it, no, there was no way to do that. Silver could only do so much.

But it had done something to you, to make your scent twist and rot. Your soul didn’t smell right.

“I…” Simon’s voice fails him. 

His body is broken and bent, his entire side burning with pain, but none of that matters. Brown eyes quiver, and the man goes to lick his lips only to gag at the taste of copper, snapping his eyes away to pant quick breaths into the tree line. 

Simon’s hand raises to hover above his stomach, shaking. 

“I didn’t bloody do that,” he mutters, the evidence on his chest and stuck in his pores. The forest is silent. “I didn’t do that.” The man says it louder. 

You stare forward numbly with a broken neck and a torn-out throat.

Foot twisting him around, he levels his back to you, hands coming up to his head as his jaw clenched so tight his molars scream at him. What had happened? What had gone on? Simon closes his eyes and hunches his shoulders forward. 

“No,” he growls. “No, I didn’t fucking do that to you.” 

The night continues to keep him in its black hold, the snow absorbs the blood and black liquid. He can smell the rot—the infection under your skin as it brands your corpse. 

This forest was like a beacon to every monster in its vicinity. It called them here and made them lose themselves. Under the light of the moon and sun, whenever its branches told him to run and hunt as a beast, Simon Riley had no option but to obey. He would come here on a moment's notice when he felt the change coming over him, to his hut and his glade. 

There were few times he could predict it, and no matter how much he wanted to stay with you, that just wasn’t how it worked. 

Every monster that was called here was bait for that demon, and no monster had the ability to wield anything that could kill it. No silver. No holy water. 

But a mortal could. 

Every hunter entering these dark bounds had been hunting the wrong colossus and never had the chance to know it. 

Simon bends slightly forward to hold his head tighter, grunting out whimpers as if trying to keep his brain from falling out. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. Then louder than a scream and longer than the first, “Fuck!” The trees shiver. 

Simon harshly pulls at his hair, feeling the strands snap before he slides his hands up and down his face; trying to push off the crimson yet he only succeeds in spreading it. He can’t hear your heart beating anymore, can’t hear the swell of your lungs. Nothing. 

Hand lashing out, his knuckles connect with the hard bark of one of the tree’s trunks and he sends it back and forward three more times until his fingers crack and bend. When he’s done, the man doesn’t even notice the tears freezing on his cheeks as his breath puffs out in clouds. 

Simon silently stifles a ragged inhale and sags forward, unable to turn back and look at you—he can’t bear it after everything he’s been through. Forehead tapping the rough bark, his pain-filled body flaring, the blond clenches his fists like an angry child.

He should have told you in the glade—in the safety of consecrated ground where holy men and women had been buried for time immemorial. He should have explained why it was only you that made him whole.

But Simon was a silent creature; a creature of silent glances and hidden softness that borders on a fear of abandonment. He would never tell you until you happened to figure it out yourself or if it became undeniable.

Oh, you should have stayed away. 

His knees threaten to give out, so he lets them go until he can move his body to the side and lean against his tree. Barely breathing, he cares not about the cold. As he did when he was a child, all those years ago yet still shrouded in pain and hate, he loses any and all expression from his face—brown eyes dark as they stare at nothing. 

There had been a moment that he’d come back to himself as the Ghost. A brief moment. 

Simon wants to hang for the memory he now holds. 

Your eyes, blood-burst, looking into his own as his fangs rend your flesh in two. The feeling of your neck snapping under his jaws. Tongue lolling in blood and licking its muzzle; whiskers dripping.

This time Simon gags, but he also hurls up his guts, too. 

Bending his aching spine, his forearm keeps him up, bare thighs tensing and nerves quivering as his abdomen bunches. Simon pants staring blankly at the bile in the snow, saliva pooling in his mouth. He still can’t look at you. 

With little left for him, the man curls up in the snow and resigns himself to freezing to death, arms loose around his waist and injuries screaming at him. 

He’d killed you—is death not the only option left for him as well? 

Simon lays there until his eyelids grow heavy, only thinking of you and how you had been. Your kindness, your wit. He enjoyed your loudness, and there was no one to perfectly challenge him but you. 

From the first time he’d seen your form, it had only ever been you. He was yours, utterly; wholly. He should have told you to stay away.

“M’sorry, Love” he whispers into the ground, shivering violently, lips blue. His head is turned away as the trees hold their breath. “All my bastard fault—should’ve been me. It…fuckin’ hell,” Simon breathes, clenching his jaw. “Should’ve been me.”

He mutters his self-hatred until he falls silent and his chest rattles. Until the forest listens. 

Until it answers.

Simon’s eyes snap open to the sound of a world cracking in two and finds your body gone. 

—

This place isn’t real. 

You sit in a mirror vision of your shop, but nothing is correct. Looking into the corners, shadows slip away with quiet laughter, and the door rings but no one walks through. It’s…repetitive. It never stops, but you can’t seem to leave. 

You think it’s been days, weeks, even. Always it feels like there’s something watching you, and the window of your shop shows nothing but black night outside and flickering lamps. 

It doesn’t feel right to speak. 

If you speak, whatever is standing out in the street will know you’re here. 

You shake as you watch it now, silent and swallowing down saliva. Its eyes have been ripped out, and the chains along its wrists drag so loudly you can hear them even through stone and wood; they make you flinch and shiver. For whatever reason, the phantom of the man cannot find you, though he has been looking. 

He even knocks on the door.

It was a clanging, dead, thing. With a slam of a gnarled wrist and a raspy cry of your name on his slit tongue. You don’t want to ask how it knows your title, so you only hold your hands to your mouth to stifle your sobs. But for all of this, you still contained self-awareness.

You’re in Hell, or some strange, twisted version of the middle point. Purgatory. 

But why? Why here of all places—your soul had been branded, you heard that curse and felt the blackened nectar in your flesh. Had known what Simon had…

You blink quickly, looking away from the twisted man and taking down a shaky inhale. 

Whatever this place was, you and this shade were the only ones here. The only once-human ones, anyways. You didn’t exactly want to go out and meet him. 

“Please!” It bangs on the door again and your head snaps up in panic, hand whipping to your mouth to hide the sharp gasp. If you ever got out of here, you never wanted to see your home again. This version ruined it. “Please, let me in. I can’t see—it took out my eyes! Please, please I need my eyes.” 

Your eyelids close tightly, your heart clenched and beating fast. 

All of this terror lets you think about Simon. And so you do, and try to not blame him for what he did even if you know in your heart it’s not his fault. 

You remember the first time you met him, and you think that’s perhaps one of the best memories you hold. 

“If you expect me to fix this, you’ll need to hand over half of your soul and a blessing from God himself,” you frown at the remains of a pair of tweed pants, blinking with your mouth agape. “I’d ask what happened, but I think that would put me on a list of some kind, Sir.” 

Simon stares.

“How much?” You sigh and shake your head. 

“Really, there’s very little I can do here short of just offering you a new pair.” Placing the scraps on the table and lightly pushing them forward, the man moves his large hand out to take them from you. 

Your fingers touch, and you blink as a slight spark makes you flinch. Simon as well, you remember, had snapped his hand back to him, his eyes slightly widening and his throat holding down a breath. 

“Woah,” you mutter, touching your head as you suddenly go lightheaded. “S-sorry about that, I don’t know what—”

“Both.” Simon slides the fabric back to you. 

Your senses come back in a slow sweep and you clear your throat. “...Both?” 

“Fix the pants and sell me another, yeah?” A quirked brow, but something else swims in that dark gaze, something that fights with itself. “I’ll pay. Money’s no problem.” 

“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. The both of you stare at each other. 

You’re struck by the thought that this man’s eyes are far more deep than anything you’ve looked into before. 

“Of course, if that’s what you want.” He grunts, tipping his head and looking to the side for a moment. He wears that strange covering, too. The one that sits on his nose. 

“Good.” Simon backs up a step before pausing. “You have a name, then, Tailor?” 

You tilt your head and cross your arms, eyes narrowing carefully. “Just as you do.”

That silk fabric twitches, gaze sparking. 

“Simon Riley.” Your smile slowly pulls at your muscles, and for the first time throughout the day, you truly mean it. 

You don’t know how time works here, but you also can’t really understand that you’re dead. Of course, the thought of an afterlife crossed your mind in your living hours, but you’d never thought you’d go to one so soon. 

But every time you blink, you don’t think you’re meant to be here.

So, again, why? The question was mulled over incessantly after every memory of Simon, and you start to believe he’s the catalyst. 

What were you missing? 

The man himself had hinted at it, talking about how your scent to him was opium—like a drug. It kept him…him even when a monster. 

“Please!” You’ve discovered that all of the windows are bolted and the front door is locked, but it never becomes daytime here. A perpetual night and a pleading soul guarding you. In the long hours where you sneak from one empty room to another, so similar to real life that it makes you sick, you wonder if this place is an exact replica of the city you called home.

If some of the other houses are not so vacant after all; the inhabitants hiding like you are. Purgatory sounds about right.

Chains drag and there are garbling sobs and you stare at the door without the key to open it. 

The thing was blind—if you could sneak past it…your eyes looked out the window to Simon’s home across the street. There was a pull to all things that included him. A sanctity. Despite how your life had ended, how you’ll surely still think about it and sob out of pain, you can’t blame him for it. 

He didn’t have control.

You begin to think of a plan to break out without making any noise as you close your eyes tightly, hands clenching at your sides. 

“Back again, Mr. Riley?” Your bell rings and you glance at the intimidating figure walking through. He takes a deep breath when he enters, nodding in greeting before lumbering to the counter. 

“Any trouble?” He had a habit of asking this when he’d been gone on a longer trip of his, always back disheveled and with bags under his bloodshot eyes. As if he gets back and the first thing he wants to do is come see you.

The thought didn’t bother you. 

You laugh, “I’m happy to report the only thing that happened was that a pigeon ran into the window.” 

Brown eyes glance over his shoulder to blink at the impression of feathers on the front glass.

“Poor Bastard,” he huffs, amusement in his accented tone as he slips his hands into his pockets. “Get any feathers out of it? New pillow if you’re lucky.” He tilts his chin. “If you know how to pluck a bloody corpse, that is.”

“You’re incredibly strange, Mr. Riley,” you laugh, nodding your head at him. “I’ve never heard a man state such things.”

“I wrong?” Simon grunts, but you hear his slight smile in his tone. 

You only roll your eyes. “I highly doubt a pigeon would give you enough feathers for a pillow.”

“Well, you’re just not fuckin’ trying hard enough then, yeah?” 

“Are you here for a reason, Sir?” You can’t stop smiling, holding back your loud laugh as happiness is plainly stated on your face. “Or are you just here to speak to me about the feather-quantity of the local birds?” 

Simon’s eyes are crinkled slightly, and you try very hard to imagine him beaming just as you do, though you know it’s slim. 

You want to make him smile; you want to be the reason he does. And you don’t even know why. 

Your very soul leaps when you see him from across the street, it tightens and calls out like a reaching hand desperate to grasp into another counterpart. You’d never felt like this about a man before, much less one you barely knew anything about on a personal level. 

You liked Simon Riley.

“I was thinking ‘bout a new undershirt. Black.” A hand moves up and a pile of money is placed on your counter. “Anything’ll be good, just need a new one.” 

“Of course,” you easily slip into business, not bothering to look at the sum. “Special occasion?” You pause before fake laughing. “A lady to impress, perhaps?”

Your heart sinks more than it should; nearly hurting. Did Mr. Riley have a courtship? 

He blinks at you carefully, long lashes caressing his scarred cheeks. You swore his lips under the silk twitched. 

“No,” is all he says, blunt and casual, thighs shifting. 

You stare, hands touching themselves on the counter as heat burns your cheeks. 

“Okay,” you mutter, embarrassed, though you don’t know why. “That should be no trouble at all. I’ll just need your measurements.” 

Simon nods once, staring at your hands before he takes off his jacket and places it on the wood. You grabbed your long measuring tape and slipped to the front, asking lightly for him to hold out his arms. 

Heart hammering, he does so; great torso flexing and face blank. 

You begin with the chest, sliding your hands along his clothed body to flatten out the tape until you can see the mark it rested at. It would be false to say you didn’t lose your breath slightly, being so close and able to freely feel the swell of his muscle. Under your fingers, his pulse was like a hammer, and he was so large you actually had to give him a hug to connect the other side around him.

“S-sorry,” but Simon’s eyes are entirely blown, body tense and slightly shivering as your hands feel him. 

“Don’t be,” he breathes, and you feel the push of his lungs to his ribcage; molten heat. 

Your lips tingle, and heat seeps into your stomach as you shift your thighs to quell it. 

Simon grunts, and his head turns down incredibly fast. 

You blink. “Mr. Riley?” 

“Nothin’,” his lips flinch, and his brown eyes, more like black now, dart to your lips. “M’fine. Keep going.” 

You do so, oblivious to the coil in the man’s gut that mirrors yours, flaring with every gentle poke and prod.

It was when you’d almost given up that there seemed to be something else on your side in this god-forsaken place. You found your knife. 

It was in the same drawer where your tape measure should be, just sitting there where all else was absent. You stare and slowly reach for it, sliding your fingers over the hilt and the glint of the blade before picking it up. 

But you’d checked this drawer a million times over, what had—

There’s the sound of a fluttering of wings outside of your shop, and you’re unimpressed with yourself at how your mind immediately goes to a helpful pigeon spirit. You hold a hand to your lips to stop yourself from laughing, despite it all.

A spark alights in your heart. 

“Thank you,” you whisper to nothing, turning the blade over in your hands and smiling. 

Walking slowly, you avoid every creak in the wood—unlooping your belt for the small prong that would come in handy. Placing the blade into the slit of the lock, you insert the prong above it, twisting and waiting to hear a series of clicks; putting your ear next to the wood. 

The dragging of chains is far off, the loud wailing distant. 

Now or never. 

You hold your breath and listen to the sounds of the lock, sweating and grimacing. It’s so very silent outside—you’re so used to the clanging of metal and the clop of hooves that it scares you more than the monster. Like you’re standing out in a field but there’s no wind, no air even. Unnatural nothingness. 

So hard at focusing, when the click of the door lets you know it’s open, you don’t notice the heavy breathing on the other side. Standing and taking out your knife, you silently celebrate plucking your belt away just as the handle jiggles. 

Only you’re not touching the handle. 

Blood leaving your face, you can only skitter to the side as the hinges squeal like a dying animal, the barrier slowly opening as your back flattens against the wall. At first, nothing happened. 

The door is open and you stare wide-eyed as no sound enters your ears. Lamp-light seeps in, creating a long glow along the floors. 

A ragged breath makes you want to shrivel up, and then the wailing starts. 

“Please, please, where are my eyes?” Too close. 

You flinch wildly as chains are dragged into the room, the scent of dead wood sticking to your nostrils. Up close, the man’s skin is dripping water—seaweed over his shoulders and hanging off his restraints. 

He walks inside and the gaping wounds of his eyes make you nearly gag. “Where did you take them? I want them back, please, let me borrow yours until I find mine again.”

He drags his heavy silver chains far into the shop, stumbling and groaning through sobs. Those things seem to have no end to them, and he bumps and walks into the back room right as you slip outside. 

Immediately, you rush out into the street, crossing the cobble and hopping the long metal ahead of you as you re-loop your belt with one hand and grip your knife tightly. Getting to Simon’s house, you grasp the handle of the door and pull.

It jerks with a bang of metal.

Locked. 

“Shi…” you trail your curse and bite your lip. Silently, you take a step back to quickly think as the warden still calls hopelessly from your shadowed shop. Where else would you go? The inner city? The town?

Your eyelids blink. 

The forest. That had to be it—there had to be answers there, right? 

You were beginning to grow more fearful that you would be stuck here forever, in between life and death. A branded soul and yet, you weren’t in Hell. Or, at least, you imagined Hell far more hot than this. 

Turning, you slip down the steps and speed walk down the road, not running for fear that your shoes would make too much noise. That was also strange—all of your clothes were mended here, stitched back together as if never cut; wounds healed and nonexistent. You weren’t one to complain.

“Where are you going?” The Warden is on the steps, and he falls down them in a shattering of bone and a slurp of wet skin. “Please, give me my eyes! I can hear you running away—I can smell your souls! Let me have what little is still free! Let me see!” 

Souls?

You start sprinting as the great wail of chains lets you know you’re being pursued. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your lips expel, skirts swish, and muscles tense all at once. Like a race, the man’s panting breath is almost felt on your neck, bare feet far faster than he should be. “I don’t have your eyes—I’m sorry, but you’ve really got the wrong person! T-try down the block?!”

You call loudly behind you in hopes that it will get him to give up on you, legs pumping harder as he screams with rage and you curse yourself with every breath. He’s gaining on you, somehow, this blind beast is gaining on you.

There was no way you were making it to the forest.

In a split-second decision, your shoes skid over the street, and, steeling yourself with what little sanity you have left, you turn with your knife at the ready. 

Hell, you’d already died once. 

But you’d never forget the image of this beast running towards you with a wailing mouth and dragging chains, the things so heavy they wrench back his arms. You falter for a moment, but shake your head and raise the knife in one hand, gritting your teeth despite your unimaginable fear. 

Bravery was far too hard at this moment, but there was no more running. You take down a shaky breath and will your arm to stop vibrating with its sweaty palm.

“My eyes!” It screams. “Give me your eyes!”

Seven feet, five, four, three—

A familiar rageful roar takes over, and a black shadow covers the street lamp light from above as if a storm of vengeance. You watch as the gargantuan body flies over you and wastes little time for pleasantries.

The Ghost slams its body into the Warden, and they go down in a flurry of feral snarls and wails. You watch, frozen still with shock, as black claws can be heard tearing through flesh and rending meat, a slick slapping of pig slop as black blood spills to the streets. 

In the utter absence of all else, you listen with a quivering body, the fear extending down to your spine. Not of the other thing on its back, wailing and sobbing about its eyes even as its gut is invaded by a large muzzle and ivory fangs, but of that muzzle-owner itself.

You didn’t realize how much of a shock it would be to see Simon again. Like this. 

Your eyes stare blankly at how an arm is ripped from its socket, shredded from a shoulder, and tossed to the sidewalk with a rabid jerk; the body of the Warden lifted as the Ghost rises to his back paws and grips tightly. Hands on the lower half, mouth on the top, your jailer is torn in two with nothing more than a tear and a sound of vertebrae popping. 

Black splatters over your cheeks, but you make no move to swipe it away. 

Simon drops the body to the ground, and it twitches—it speaks as it bounces. Brown eyes dig into its mangled face, ears erect. 

“My eyes…M-my…eye—” A large paw pad is pressed into its head, and pressure is leveled. Brought down like an anvil. 

The Ghost crushes a skull under his foot and the resounding pop is enough to make you snap out of your frozen terror. He turns to you seconds later, mouth stopping its snarling and going silent all at once. 

The beast blinks slowly, ear twitching once.

Averting your gaze, you completely give up in light of this new arrival and clench your eyes shut. Your neck hurts—burns—like it’s being ripped open over and over again, snapping, and the light getting sucked away. 

Great feet take lumbering steps forward; you take one back. 

“I…I don’t,” you shudder and shake, hand holding your knife. Your mind can’t comprehend him being here—in this void with you, leaping in a great bound to tackle the monster to the ground. No, no, this was another phantom. He was going to kill you again. 

Wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t his fault.

You back up some more until there’s a soft huff. It’s tiny, small as if coming from a lap dog that Mrs. Ida would own. Your eyes are firmly shut, yet he tries again. 

A wet nose is leveled to your forehead, pressing in and tapping you lightly. A chuffing noise echoed in the back of his throat, gruff and low as he breathed you in. You hide a whimper as that nose dips to your neck, imagining the ways he’s going to sink his teeth in and how your bones will—

The Ghost sags into you, and with a flick of his ears, the large head begins to rub into your flesh as he grunts. Your eyes snap open as his gargantuan hands circle your waist, anchoring you to his chest as he leans back on his haunches; small noises bouncing from his breast as he curls his head behind yours. You’re lifted gently as you squeak, hands snapping to dig through fur and, like logs, your feet dangle from under you. 

You don’t speak as Simon begins running out of the city, down the black outskirts. Into the midnight shadows the two of you disappear in the direction of the mirrored forest, your body in his grip and the side of his head never failing to lean into yours. You can feel his eyes roving, darting down and around, before always coming back to you regardless of the things he smells here. 

Like a candle in the dark, he had already scoured the bounds of this purgatory for you—waiting for that small flicker of something to grasp onto that would let him find your light. And it hadn’t been your scent or the way you’d yelled. It had been the very call of your soul, or, at least, souls. 

Because that was what it was. 

The reason you were here instead of Hell was because that corruption had only marked your soul. Not realizing that half of it didn’t belong to you. 

Simon knew little about how it worked, but sometimes people are only born with a fraction of their soul as theirs—the other pieces snapping into place when a match is met but still not held as theirs. Your other half, the reason you stayed here, was because Simon’s soul had held you up like a rope to an anchor.  

That spark in the tailor’s shop; the longing and the insatiable pull to be near you—marked as two pieces of a puzzle sitting right next to each other, the image leaking from one to the other. 

A Fated Pair.

The Ghost breaks through the treeline and you curl into him as he covers you with his arms, eyes watching the black trees and the void of space above him. There were no stars here—no moon. You can’t see anything, but he can. 

Simon rushes your intertwined souls back to the place he had dragged himself through; a great fissure in the earth that had opened and swallowed your body who knows how long ago. Weeks, months—years, even. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. 

His instincts brought him through, and his guilt had kept him going; this all-consuming and deathly guilt. He’d never forgive himself, but he can’t leave you here. 

Simon finds the fissure as great screams begin to wail out from the city, echoing off the trees and over the air. A scream and a plea. Hundreds, thousands. 

He doesn’t bother to stay, because you’re in his arms and his nose breathes in your scent. You grip onto him tightly, shaking with a fear-bathed quiver to your lips, and those large arms hold you ever closer; a large grunt and a rub of his chin. 

Simon stands on the very edge of a void, and he jumps. 

—

You wake to the large dog curled around you, softly breathing and using his body to shield you from the gentle snowfall. So warm does his blood run, that you don’t even feel the cold on you, only the brush of silk and the hard press of his hands. 

Simon’s breath ruffles your hair, his spine shaped in such a way that not a sliver of you is visible to the world beyond your head in his neck, resting on the swell of his softness like a pillow. As if he was a swan, keeping you in a bed of feathers.

Your eyes flutter open, and you take air down to bathe in the scent of earth. 

The Ghost shifts, grunting and not letting up on his grip. 

You’re in the very same place you died, yet there’s no evidence of that—the blood is gone, the broken trees are surrounded by young ones, and the snow is deeper than it had been before. But your clothes are…

You shift, and the beast lets you go easily, though his eyes don’t leave your face. He stays on the ground as you sit up, looking down at yourself. 

While the forest may have moved on, you, it seems, have not. 

Your clothes are back to the state they’d been in before—torn and ripped open, long gouging marks and stains that would never come out. You tense at the sight, swallowing saliva down as if wine with a grimace. Like a magnetic link, your eyes slowly turn up to meet Simon’s. 

He waits. He watches. That muzzle of his closed and his breath slow. If you told him to get away, there would be no doubt that he would—he would disappear and never come back to you, a memory that fades into a dream and then farther on. 

Your fingers twitch as his large claw lifts, a finger pointed and slowly coming up to your face. You try not to balk away as it draws near to your nose, where a tiny snowflake rests. The blackened sickle pauses, Simon’s chest expands, and then he slightly brushes it away with little more than a twitch of his finger. 

The knife is only a foot away, sitting bright and glinting in the morning light. You look to the sky to distract from your burning cheeks; your internal war. 

Light. Real and glowing above you from a globe set into the heavens. 

Gazing at it with wide eyes, your sockets fill with stinging tears, blinking until they slip down your cheeks and you put a hand over your mouth as a small sob wafts out. You bend your spine forward and cry, gasping. 

Simon keeps himself away, unknowing if he should reach out or if he would only make it worse. His great body is tight with agony, souls raging with pain. Everything in this form was more instinctual, more in tune, he wanted to comfort you—to make it alright again, but even as a human, when had he ever been good at that? 

The Ghost watched, body wound up but still deathly still; ears pointing straight. His hands twitch. 

You sob until your lungs hurt and your head feels light, not knowing how to process this in the slightest. When you’re done you numbly stare at the ground below you, trying to rid your mind of death, demons, and wool. 

A human hand on the top of your head makes you startle. 

Snapping your red eyes up, you meet tight orbs of brown, a face twisted with remorse and a deep inner hatred. 

“I…” Simon’s lips utter out, his voice low and pale skin in the snow. “M’sorry, Sweet Girl. I can never fuckin’ give you an apology that matters, eh? But I need to say it—I need you to know.” You stare and feel his fingers caress your scalp. He looks away, breath small. “It’s all my bloody fault, yeah? So don’t you dare think for a second that anythin’ comes back to you.” 

The hand threatens to leave you, to slip back down and return to his side, but with a small noise of alarm—one that had Simon’s eyes widened in concern—your body darts forward. 

Connecting with him, you make him grunt as his biceps press into your side, shocked as his first reaction is to make sure you don’t fall. 

“Get me out of here,” you plead. “Please, Simon, get me out of here.” 

There’s no hesitation as he lifts you upward, a bridal hold like the same he had used to lift you above the thorns and mutters into your hair as he quickly walks into the trees. 

“C’mere, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, c’mon now, you’re back. You’re back.” The knife is left far in the past, and there it will stay—far away from the two of you. “Breathe, then.” 

You bury your head into his neck, breathing hard and shaking not from the cold but from memories; things you shouldn’t know. 

“M’sorry,” Simon says again, voice cracking. “Christ, I’ll never say it enough.” 

If you hated him he understood—would welcome that Hell in its own right. Of all the things he’d done, this was the worst sin he could have ever committed. He’d spend the rest of his life thanking whatever power was out there that had broken the earth for him; had led him to you. His tailor.

You sob through a panicked chuckle. “Y-you already have, you brute.”

Simon rubs his face into your hair, holding your quivering souls together and opening his mouth in a shaking exhale as his eyes flutter. 

“Breathe,” is all he says, repeating everything like a record and an order as you hone on the stiff tone—getting you to focus. 

You follow the pulse in his neck, lips pressing into his flesh as your head tilts. 

You’re both back at Simon’s hut as you still try to calm yourself, the man’s face turned into yours and his forehead pressing into your scalp. There’s so little for you to grasp onto besides him—how he feels, the dig of his fingers, and the sound of his breath. 

He sets you on the bed and he pauses, kneeling down slowly as his hands come to gently clutch your cheeks. 

“Can you look at me, Love?” Simon asks you, voice gruff in its low tone. You shiver, sniffling, before your eyes stutter over his features and land on those burial mound browns. He releases a tiny puff of breath—a flicker of his lip.

“Atta girl, jus’ like that, then.” The man blinks slowly, tilting. Simon looks you over with a heavy expression, one that shows the pain and the weight he carries. “Need to get these off, okay?”

A finger lightly travels to your neck, tapping the remnants of your shirtwaist as a few more tears slip out when you blink, shakily nodding. Simon’s lips tighten. 

“Want to do it yourself,” he breathes, “or is it alright if I touch you, Sweetheart?” Your hands are too unstable to do it yourself, he knows that just as well as you do. 

So, in a small broken whisper, you simply utter out, “Please.” 

Simon nods once and the topic is settled; he knows.

The man’s fingers deftly undo the buttons, one after the other as the light from outside seeps into the small square of a home. He doesn’t comment—doesn’t make a sound—just does what he can to help you and get you sorted out; Simon could hear the rapid set of your heart, feel your pulse like a rampaging storm. 

When you’re down to nothing but your flesh, the man grabs the covers from behind you and wraps you in them, his eyes not once flickering downward until you’re entirely swamped by fabric. A hand on your waist squeezes. 

By now the brush of his skin atop yours had sucked you in as if lighting had struck with every pass or small press. The glide of his scars and calluses grounded you here. 

There were very few beings that would hunt for you through life and death and fewer that stayed that course. Thumbs once more brush away the water on the swell of your face. 

“Sleep,” he utters, even if there’s light outside. 

You gaze at him, at his stubble and his pale complexion; the wind rustles outside. What would he do? Guard the door most likely, perhaps even think of how to get into town and grab new clothes for the both of you, food, and necessities. Simon’s mind was fighting itself, just as it always had but now there was the largest stain on his consciousness that he could ever remember having. 

He was worried if he handled you, you might break under him. You…you already had. Avoidance, even if it killed him inside, was the best course of action.

Your mouth is filled with wool, tongue heavy, but in your heart and whatever feeling you have burning in your chest, you know you can’t let him move away from you. Simon being this close made it…easier. Even if a piece of you was still hesitant about black fur and sharp teeth. He had said it himself, hadn’t he? 

Simon wasn’t the Ghost, but at the same time how could they ever be apart from one another? 

Yet, your lips are already moving just as he’s about to stand up. 

“Stay?” Simon’s lungs take in a silent breath, a moment of long silence as he tries to understand why you would want to be around him at all. His hands twitch, your eyes catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs with a slow swallow. “Please, Simon,” you breathe. “I don’t…I can’t be alone again.”

He grunts and is already lifting you. 

Simon shifts your body back and lays you nearest to the wall, shuffling his body until he can lie with his spine facing you; his face to the door as he stays unblinking. 

“Nothing's going to happen to you,” he says, and you turn so you can lightly rest your head into the span of his shoulder blades. Simon’s jaw clenches. “It’s safe here. We’ll figure it out when you’ve got your energy back.” 

You want him to explain, but perhaps right now sleep was the best option. For all intents and purposes—you can’t even remember when you last had true sleep. So you stay there, skin to skin, and breath to breath as the sun still shines outside; the wind travels slowly. 

As you slip off, Simon has to restrain himself from turning around and pressing you into him—leveling his head above yours and breathing you in like how he wishes he could. But no. Too much. 

He’d explain it all when you were better. 

So he settles on the fact that all he can do is watch the door with a far-off expression, his body sagging back into you as your heat meets his.

—

You slept for three days, and in that time, Simon had only left once. On day two he went into town where he’d snuck like a thief—and there truly was no better analogy. Wearing only a blanket once more, the man breaks into your closed Tailor’s shop; boards on the windows and a sign out front to set it for sale. Inside, everything was as it had been left. Dust and layers of stale air, but there was never a better place to be for Simon.

It was where he met you, after all. 

He takes everything he’s able to carry. A large trunk of clothes, personal belongings, and anything that looks of great importance; clothing himself in a simple undershirt and pants along the way. With that, he goes to his own home and grabs all manner of money. Come morning, people would believe it was a robbery, and that was perfectly fine with him. 

Mostly everything belonged to you, anyway. They could have his sparsely furnished home and its cracking foundations. It mattered not. But he knew you needed your work—your passion. 

As he grunts and lifts the trunk, a knicker echoes out behind him. Blinking, dark eyes look behind to find a meeting pair—a long horse’s neck leaning out of a stall. They stare at each other before Simon huffs a chuckle and turns to the shadows.

When you finally did open your eyes again, deep in the third night, everything was different. 

You blink at the bright roar of the fireplace, the flickering of the candles that push back any darkness—curtains on the windows to hide the blackness of midnight. There are your belongings on the cleaned table; the foot of the bed and, there, on the desk. Measuring tape, fabric scissors, and yards of materials are stacked in the spotless corners. 

There’s no doubt that the broken window is fixed for the moment as well. 

New sheets sit on the end of the bed, waiting for you to get up before he can fit them. Jaw loose, you glance all around as the fabric pools at your waist, bare body glistening in the light as your head moves like a bird back and forth slowly. Dare you say it, the place felt…homely. Warm. Small, yes, but the definition of comfort rarely mattered when speaking on size. 

There’s a shuffling sound outside the door and you realize you’re alone. 

Face stuck at the door, your sudden tension is somewhat lessened by the small grunts and puffs of a large nose and heavy, clawed, feet. Somewhat. 

An open maw bites down on your throat with a tearing of flesh before your neck fully snaps.

Your hand lightly comes up to your throat, pressing very loosely as the sounds continue, spiking your cautious curiosity. You know you shouldn’t be holding this against him, but, you had…died. You had felt your neck snap and your blood coat his fangs. 

Somehow, Simon had brought you back from that, but he had been the one to do it in the first place. 

No, you think, feet very carefully sitting on the floor. No, not Simon. The Ghost.

Yet again—aren't those the same? It was a constant question.

Your lips are thin as the dagger in your heart digs ever deeper, but it is your dagger, and it is also your heart, too. Yours. Standing, you cover yourself with the thin sheet, hearing it drag behind you as your body takes you to the door with quiet and even steps. 

So much the two of you have gone through—it seemed hard to comprehend it in this world of black fire and battling beasts; hell and purgatory. He’d tracked you down…how? As your hand meets the handle, slowly walking feet coming closer from beyond it, you tighten your hold on the fabric near your neck and breathe slowly. 

You first see crimson, and then the beady brown eyes of a large dog and a stained muzzle. Breath tight, you stare at the dead bodies of two sheep in the Ghost’s maw, limp bodies hanging from the legs out of puffed cheeks. The both of you halt your courses. 

Simon’s eyes slash down your nearly-naked form, and he drops the animals to the ground before his head darts to the side; snow splattered with blood and the imprint of large woolen bodies. He snorts and takes a single step back, seemingly hunching down lower as he sniffs the air in distraction. 

His feet pivot, one clawed foot moving away.

“Simon,” you say, breath puffing over the cold air. He waits, head only slightly tilting your way; eyes pointing down. You don’t know why you speak, why you call to him like this. 

The silence settles as you struggle to articulate, mouth opening and closing like it was a choice between speech or the metaphorical blade to your throat. You close your mouth and look to the side, the lids of your eyes tightly shut. 

Without another word, you’re setting your feet in the drowned snow and walking up to him, fingers shaking before your hand extends from the elbow. It rests above the side of his muzzle, hovering with a tiny quiver as you fight with your own fear. 

You can feel Simon’s eyes on you now, watching. Always watching. Forever watching. Eyes like hard earth; like the dirt under your nails. 

Simon’s throat grumbles, and before you can make a decision, he helps make one for you. 

He softly moves his great lumbering head down and to the side—slotting it under your hand as you gasp, feeling the strands of fur under your grip. Immediately, your eyes snap to meet his, seeing long lashes holding snowflakes. The Ghost’s so large that he has to bend low in order to give you a comfortable resting point for your hand; sitting in between his sharp ears. 

You swallow down your nervousness as the seconds draw on, your heart rate slowing until you can properly move closer and feel the waves of fur beneath your fingertips. Playing with them, you card your digits in gentle strokes, hearing the low purr that rattles your bones as a great weight is leveled into your torso. 

A tiny giggle emanates from your chest, and the beast responds by only pushing himself deeper into your stomach. 

“Easy,” you mutter, eyes light as a smile forms on your lips. 

The chill seeps in gradually as you both stand there, a werewolf and a barely-clothed tailor. Before long you’re shivering even as you feel content next to Simon and to steal some of his furnace-like heat. 

You pull back and the wolf momentarily tilts to find you, only to open his eyes when he can’t feel your sturdy body. He blinks, before slowly standing back up to his full height. 

The light from the hut seeps out to cover you, and you take comfort in that—if the door shuts on its own, you’d be left in a darkness you know you’ll fear for many, many years. With its illumination, you speak freely.

“I don’t know how you did it, Simon,” his right ear twitches. “But…but I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened. I should, I know I should, but for the life of me, whenever you’re near I can’t think straight. Please, when you’re back to,” you huff a tiny laugh, “whenever you’re back to walking in a man’s skin, explain it to me. Explain why I can’t think of anyone else but you.” 

Avoiding the sheep, you step back into the hut and close the door as those dead eyes follow loyally, the wolf not breathing beyond a thin line of condensation wafting into the air. 

You only make it five steps back to bed before the wooden barrier is opened loudly, hitting off the back wall and shutting closed on its own. Turning back quickly, startled, you’re met with a fast panting chest and a human hand that swipes blood away from his lips. Bare skin is close to yours, and your eyes widen at the instantaneous blown feeling of your pupils. 

Simon’s face is above yours.

“Because you own half of my fuckin’ soul,” he breathes into your scalp, accent rich and heavy with implication. “Just as I own half of yours.” 

Literal or a metaphor, you care not. 

You both stay there, hearts pumping and skin tingling as the air increases in temperature—the sheet around you held in a tight fist suddenly seems almost suffocating. Your arms itch to drop it. Drop it now and let him see you; let him feel you like no other has. Where did these thoughts come from? Or…had they always been there?

The man hasn’t moved, and you know he won’t do anything unless you ask it of him, but you can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of blood and musk. Quick death and dragging claw. 

If he was fire, it would be a blessing to be burned. 

“Simon,” you say, voice tight. He grunts like a damn dog, hands at his sides twitching as his bare chest shines. So many scars. You want to trace them, to feel them writhe. “You’re no good for me.”

“I know,” he growls. 

You press your lips to his and breathe him down as the sheet falls from your shoulders, all-encompassing hands finding the swell of your hips and sliding behind them; gripping tightly. Your own dig at his waist, finding the bulk of his abs and the deep tapper of his v-line before you gasp at his hand kneading the flesh of your arse. 

At the motion, Simon takes the opportunity to smirk before letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You release a small noise from the back of your throat, and he groans—one hand coming up to grip the base of your skull and maneuvering your head farther upward. He pulls back and presses into you, your face growing hot as he finds your neck and starts leaving deep open-mouthed kisses as his chest vibrates. 

Lips swollen and sensitive, you whimper as he bites down at every other interval; arms around his waist and nails running up and down his spine. Simon shivers, hips lightly bucking as you press on the small of his back. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Love,” he nuzzles under your ear, pupils wide and blackened, feral-like. “The things you do to me, yeah? Drivin’ me up a damn wall whenever I caught a whiff of what I did to you.”

Your stomach is rolling in tight knots of desire, lungs heaving as his hands squeeze and travel. At your core, you can already feel the slippery effect on your folds—a stain of sin that leaks out with nothing to hold it hostage inside of you. Face tightening as Simon groans long, he leaves hickey after hickey, as if unable to not mark your neck and under-ear. 

The feeling of teeth there doesn’t even startle you, no, not now. 

You ache with need, legs threatening to close in on themselves before Simon loops a hand in your inner thigh and keeps them open. The world around you blurs as your body tingles with a yearning that almost hurts.

“C’mon now, Sweetheart,” his lips come back to yours and you let him ravish you with long, deep kisses as his hand moves up. You balk forward and shiver as you feel the deep press of his growing lust for you against your stomach. “Don’t wanna know how long I’ve been dreamin’ about this.” 

Your eyes flutter, and you gasp out through the joining of your hungry mouths, “Show me, Simon. Show it to me.” 

His teeth bite slowly into your bottom lip, easing you into this game of wolf and sheep as his half-closed eyes open and dig into you. Simon’s fingers flex but don’t move, the other still at the base of your neck; your own have been leaving crescent-shaped marks on his back for a while, absentmindedly pulsing along with the heated blood in your veins. 

There are still the remnants of sheep’s blood on his cheek—slashed up the side of his face and over his deep-set eyebrow, but you find you don’t care at all. 

With how his fingers tap so close yet so far to that sensitive bundle and the dripping mess of your insides, nothing matters. 

“My Girl wants that?” Simon hums, and as easily as if he were picking up a shirt from your shop, he lets his thick fingers push you open as you suck in a quick breath and sag into him. Into his neck you sigh, hitched airways making it seem tight. Instinctually you open your legs wider, whining at the press of calluses and scars in your clutch and sliding up your sensitive walls. 

Simon stops and waits mid-way past his first knuckle with two fingers, groaning as you tighten and flex around him at the foreign sensation. His thumb at the back of your head moves up and down, his own thighs hard with eagerness and a stain in his abdomen from the lack of attention—but he cares little about his own leaking head, content only when able to give you pleasure in the purest form. 

Your stomach as well as his are wet from his weeping tip, the chill of it making you both shiver and try to mash your bodies ever closer as the sheet below you two is tangled at your feet. The fireplace crackles. 

“Simon,” you keen, and he answers with a bite of your shoulder before rubbing his head into your neck. Like opium, he’d said. If only he could tell you your scent now was convincing enough to make him lay on a bed of burning coals if only he could smell it for three more seconds. 

Arousal. Lust. Animalistic desperation that Simon’s eager to bring you to the brink of—face sick with pleasure and eyes blown with numb satisfaction. Open and bare to him.

“Attagirl, that’s it,” he slides his digits deeper as your hips buck, making him grit his teeth to hold back a grunt as his dick is jostled. “So wet for me, fuckin’ perfect. Let me help, yeah?” 

“Fuck, Simon,” he buries his fingers at the base, wasting no time in crooking them back toward him and pulling his wrist down. You moan loudly, stretching and being played like an instrument. Simon’s fingers repeat the motion until you’re a mess of rutting thighs and shaky legs. 

The man takes down every moan and whimper—every sigh and jerk with a growing sense of pride. His dick is begging for friction, and the little bit he gets is from your stomach rubbing against it with every slippery sound of his fingers entering and exiting your core. 

Simon’s mouth is open with a tight pant for breath, mirroring yours before the pad of his palm rubs against your bundle. You arch into him, whining and pleading instantly with a burning face, half convinced something had overtaken your body to make you act in such a way. 

The man moves his fingers faster, making sure to maneuver his limb in such a way as to get your clit harder and harder with every pass, leaving you limp in his arms. Simon anchors you to him with a hand on the back of your shoulder blades, grip hard and knuckles white. 

As your face screws up and a fire burns in your core, nails leave long scratches down the back of his torso as if he was a wooden trunk to tie a horse to—a rock in a storm. 

“Simon,” you sigh out, head stuck under his chin. “S-so good, keep going.” 

He opens his mouth as he rubs his chin on the top of your scalp, mixing your scents together potently. 

“Look at me,” Simon utters, in his desperation to bring you to the edge, his accent is as deep as you’d ever heard it. “Look at me, Love. Wanna see your eyes watchin’ me as you fall apart. I’ll make it good, promise.” 

“K…” You gasp as everything keeps building up and up, teeth clenching together and legs fighting to close around his hand—Simon bullies you open through the overstimulation; the flood of your senses. “Know you will!” 

“So good to me, Sweetheart,” he grumbles, taking you by the side of your cheek and leaning back slightly so he can still let you rest on him but also watch. 

Your eyes flutter with every rapid intrusion from Simon’s digits, tight and textured walls giving in to him as he pushes and prods, searching for something as his brows crease and his abdomen bunches. The man’s biceps flex and strain, feet wide open and lips parted as he locks onto your gaze. 

“Fuck, what a bloody sight to see. Yeah, you enjoying that, then?” He mutters, and only when he pushes those teasing words out does he find a point inside of you that leaves your mouth opening and your toes curling; that he truly loses his breath. 

Holding your head forward, Simon’s jaw slackens as your face contorted with pain-like expressions of confused pleasure, sweat glistening your forehead and your lips swollen—neck nothing more than raised skin from all of the man’s biting. 

You strangle down such an instinctive and leg-shaking moan that Simon nearly forgets that he’s not even truly inside of you yet; balls tightening with building excitement and his length begging to be squeezed, used for nothing but that same expression on your face.

“Christ,” he breathes, teeth grinding and feeling you fight to keep his fingers in. Slick drips down his wrist, tapping the floor in a clear stain that could bring him to his knees. 

You can’t even speak, spine curling with such raw electric sparks. If Simon isn’t careful, your legs will entirely fail you. 

“Sim-” Your voice is high, mixed with panic as you let him hit that same point again and again like a hunter. “Simon!” You chant, fighting to meet his eyes as your vision blurs. 

Everything was too hot, the scrape of his calluses on your flesh like a knife raking through your insides with pleasurable stabs. 

“Jus’ like that, Love,” he breathes, not blinking. “C’mon know you feel it. Squeezin’ my fingers just right. Look at that pretty little face.” 

You’re building and building, standing on the precipice of a large chasm. There’s nothing to stop you from going over the edge—and you don’t want anything too. 

Your body tenses gradually, knees wobbling and your abdomen pulling into itself. A sharp claw seems to play with the string of your impending release, fiddling with it and taking it into its fingertip; rubbing it back and forth in a slow game.

Your breath comes out in short gasps, moans getting higher and more cut, Simon’s eyes are transfixed, panting like a dog, and, in an instant right before you break, moves his fingers at a break-neck pace. 

Your sharp cry is caught on his lips, sucking it down as your orgasm floods his hand, leaving it a sticky mess that he continues finger-fuck you through with firm strokes. He’s whispering praises on your lips, keeping you up as his hand snaps to your waist when your legs buckle. Your walls move like a noose, letting the man fantasize how it would feel to have you speared open in his lap as you writhe and take him down in the low light. 

All of these thoughts, this sight, make him harder by the second. 

Simon keeps moving his fingers, drawing your explosive release out until you plead quietly for him to stop from overstimulation. The sensation makes your abused clit cause your spine to arch with every touch of his wet palm. He obliged, the sound of slick slapping halting, but his fingers didn’t leave your spasming cunt as your limp head fell to his shoulder. 

Your chest heaves, aftershocks leaving your mind blank to all else but the press of skin and sweat. The air reeks of sex and hot breath. 

Simon’s head clacks yours, fingers flexing as you whimper and dig your hands into his sides. He chuckles and slowly pulls out, taking long strings of cum with him as they string his fingers together and dribble to the floor from your slit. He holds you up, uncomfortably shifting his feet when your body jostles his raging erection—making him hold back a tight gasp. 

“Good?” The man asks, gruff and casually. Your open mouth lays a firm kiss on his burning flesh as he side-eyes you waiting for a response. 

“Yeah,” your voice is far off. Simon chuckles lowly. 

In an easy sweep of his arms, you’re picked up and carried to the bed; set down to the plushness that’s down one sheet. You lay on your back, gazing up at the man as he stares down at you in turn. 

Neither of you speaks until Simon has to rip his eyes away, clearing his throat. Your eyes travel down before widening at the violent red of the man’s length—the thing twitching and dripping pre-cum down to the base in an obvious plea for stimulation. Yet Simon makes no move to do anything. 

“You should get some more rest—”

“Let me help,” you whisper, eyes widely innocent as they meet the browns that snap your way, those orbs slightly widening. “I own half your soul…right?”

Simon watches you, jaw loose. 

“It looks painful,” you ease out, pointedly moving your gaze downward with unabashed boldness. 

“Is,” he utters. If he was being honest, he was worried that he had been coming on too strong—that this part of the night might be going a bit far. You were a lady, after all, and he respected you as such. He needed confirmation. 

“Then let me help, Simon.” Your eyes blink at him, hand coming up to trace the bulk of his thigh muscles. His breath goes shallow, self-control fraying fast. Just a little more. You lick your lips. “I want to feel you take me like no one else has. I want you to stay in this bed with me until the fire goes out and the light outside peels through the curtains. Can you do that for me?”

Your wet core pulses again, wanting—waiting for something more. Something only Simon could give you. 

The man’s chest rattles. “Yes,” he relays, words low. 

After a moment of eye contact, the man places his knee on the bed, shifting so that he has himself in between your legs; hands coming up beside your head. Your lungs are heavy, fingers coming up to rub over his blood-stained cheek as his nose brushes yours. Simon’s stubble itches you, but you still sigh constantly as he kisses you once more. 

This was slower than the previous—less desperate though you don’t know how as you could feel the strain of his length prodding like a hot iron in your inner thigh. It made you slightly nervous, the size and the action itself, but you didn’t doubt who you wanted to be the one above you. 

Simon kisses the side of your lips, nipping at the skin as he grunts out, “You sure?” 

Brown eyes never waver as they stare you down. Any ounce of hesitation would be found immediately and the action would be over; Simon paraded around as a cold and heartless beast, but never had there been a man more considerate of your own safety. He didn’t want to hurt you. 

You drag your fingers through his hair and he shudders, one grip sliding to your legs as the drag of barely-there claws makes your breath hitch. Your lips mutter, quietly, “Yes.” 

“Gotta make me believe it, Sweetheart,” Simon kisses over all of the marks he left, slowly dragging the warm press of his mouth and side-eyeing you. 

You glare down at him and feel his smirk on your skin, how he hooks his hand under your knee and lightly lifts the limb. Your muscles flex at the sudden spread of your legs, your hand in his hair grasping tighter. Simon sighs low as your body shifts, shivering at the slick heat he restrains himself from rutting against. 

Face burning at your bare excitement, the man’s eyes glaze over. 

“I’m sure, Simon.” 

“Don’t wanna make you feel like you have to—”

“Simon,” you interrupt his comment, and the blond huffs, the air sliding over your heated skin.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop.” You smile softly and drag his face back to yours, kissing him deeply. “Let me try…” Simon mutters on your lips, and soon both of his hands are pushing up your knees as you widely blink at the openness of your core before your legs are folded up. 

You whine at the stretch, the embarrassment of having your dripping folds on full display. This was foreign to you.

Simon hums, looking down and groaning. He taps his forehead to yours as you breathe deeply, letting him take control. 

“Okay?” He asks, and your heart skips a beat. 

“Are you going to keep stalling,” you breathe, looking into his gaze teasingly. “Or are you going to show me how you can’t function without me beside you?” 

There’s a stretch as he lines himself up, hips moving back and abdomen sliding over yours—your lungs stutter as his eyes glint at you; lips flicking in a smirk.

“You going to keep me here?” You breathe, voice breathy as Simon’s length begins to steadily press forward, your face twists as you take him down, lines forming on your forehead. “Make me,” his hands keep your legs up beside you, open as they tighten. His lids narrow in concentration at the tight vice of your walls, having to slowly bully his way into you inch by inch. “Make me tailor your clothes a-and spin your wool?”

The sounds from your joining bodies are vulgar. A slide and a coating of flesh with natural assistance as Simon’s jaw clenches, not able to help the jump of his pelvis as you moan and arch your back as he moves even farther into your clutch. 

You both writhe as he bottoms out, bodies shaking at the intensity of the moment and the sparks under your flesh. 

“Ah,” Simon strangles a whine, eyes tight shut as yours follow. Quick kisses are placed on your lips. “Don’t tempt me, yeah?” 

The great stretch of your insides leaves you sighing, tiny waves of pain pushed back by pleasurable pulsing and the scrape of veins. His head lays in the hold of your womb, slick leaking out from the ring of your core. 

“We,” your hips jerk, and Simon’s hands on your knees tighten until you know there’ll be bruises come morning. “We’re beyond temptation.”

Simon chuckles—his eyes dark and glimmering in the firelight. “Smart girl.”

He lets you adjust there for a moment, even if his dick is pleading with him to move and drive your back into the mattress; to see your face crease in rapture. But that wasn’t what his head wanted, no, he wanted this done right. 

When you look at him and your thighs stop shaking, he carefully grinds himself into you, letting your bundle of nerves meet the wirehair of his happy trail and give himself the slightest feeling of relief. You bite your lip, one hand on Simon’s cheek and the other still in his hair. 

The angle of your legs makes you feel him that much deeper, even as he simply grinds himself inside of you and doesn’t move much beyond that. 

“Feels good, y’know that?” Simon mutters as your mouth takes down a slow breath, eyes stuck on each other as the man fully begins to remove himself and softly flinch his length back into you; exiting just enough before letting him re-enter. “Tight; warm.” He shudders, gritting his teeth. “C-can smell you like this—how much you want it. Always have.” 

You whine at the words, tightening around him as he begins gently fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin and tight walls joining the crackle of wood. The scents on the air are a perfect mix of addictive pheromones—so potent even you can smell it as you try to meet every dig of his hips.

Simon’s face goes to your neck, nuzzling into it as his eyes go tight. 

“Fucking hell,” he breathes out a groan into your ear, mouth open. 

 The heat returns easily to you, the burning in your gut. Simon’s pelvis hits you, stimulating your clit every time in the perfect way, as if he’d glanced at your body once and immediately memorized what made you tick. His sweat drips and pools with your own, slick leaking out to the mattress and making you feel dirty in the best way as your cut-off sighs hit the ceiling. It's hot in here; nearly too hot to focus on the slide of skin and dig of your nails into his hair. It’s telling how fast you seem to hit that peak again, at the constant scrape of his veins and the push of your walls as if trying to force him in. 

Your back arches into him, and Simon cants his hips faster, biting on your chin and pulling at your lips as his eyes watch with eagerness. His abdomen bunches at the sheer pleasure he feels making you feel like this, chest heaving and large build all but swallowing you below him. 

“Simon,” you breathe, kissing him on his lips eagerly, growing desperate. 

“Let me take care of you,” the man grunts hard, getting harder to focus, “trust me?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, clenching your jaw as he brushes a spot so deep inside of you that your eyes go blurry for a moment. Your lips move without your brain understanding the slurred words. “Yes, I trust you. I…I…oh, fuck.” 

He sighs and bites a whimper down as your walls flex, gripping him tighter and tighter. 

“Knew I’d find you,” Simon pushes your legs harder into the mattress, form slightly shaking. You moan high into his mouth, eyes fluttering and knot growing tighter. “Knew I’d make it right, eh? Death can’t keep you away from me, not now. I’ll find you.”

You gasp, itching cord snapping and release spilling out around the plug of his dick as he continues on as you jerk and rut out of order; eyebrows pulled in. It isn’t long after that Simon follows you, shoving his lips on yours as his mouth parts with a tight cry. Inside of you the spill of his seed fills your womb and he fucks through it, hands releasing your legs to rub up and down your sides. 

Your core floods as he stays there, resting and stationary above you, his weight heavy but not crushing. The both of you stare at one another and breathe down the heated air; all of the scents and the desire there—the unspoken bond that extends life and death. 

Simon grunts and forces out, breathless, staring through blown pupils.

“I’ll always find you.”

In the morning there’s a pile of wool sitting in a cloth sack against the wall, and the sound of chopping wood outside. The curtains are drawn to the bright rays of the morning sun as they meet your softly smiling face, visage half-covered by the newly fitted sheets.

[beenbaanbuun]

puppy w/ park seonghwa

words - 2.7k

genre - smut

warnings - dog hybrid!seonghwa, dom!seonghwa, human!reader, sub!reader, brat!reader, collaring, marking, biting, ownership, name calling (puppy, toy, master), reader is in a dress, minimal anal play, fingering, seonghwa is jealous

——————————————————————————

“you’re a bastard,” you scoff as you storm into the living room, rage flowing through every blood vessel in your body. the smirk on seonghwa’s perfect face does nothing but make it burn even hotter and before you know it you’re right before him, fingers wrapping themselves around his purple collar and tugging him close. the smirk never fades, even when your hot, minty breath is assaulting his senses. in fact it only grows. “where are my fucking shoes?”

he chuckles, opening his mouth just wide enough for you to see his extrovert of a tongue lapping over his sharp canines. he knows the effect his tongue has on you, and the bandaid on your shoulder is proof enough that his teeth hold just as much pleasure. there’s a familiar twitch in your core and you have to squeeze your thighs together to get it to calm down. he’s a conniving little mutt for causing so much trouble on a night as important as this. it almost makes you see what your hybrid-sitter meant when he called seonghwa ‘evil incarnate.’

“now, now, pup,” he croons, his voice deep and smooth as he reaches out a hand to trail up your thigh. it sends a shiver up your spine quicker than you can push it away and the twitch in your tummy only gets more impatient. oh well, you think, with a bit of luck you’ll be getting laid by someone other than your hybrid tonight. with a bit of luck, you’ll find the man of your dreams. “that’s no way to ask a question, is it?” his fingertips walk themselves to the inside of your thigh, dipping just under the hem of your short skirt, “ask politely and i’ll consider telling you, hm?”

“or maybe you can just tell me so i’m not late,” you growl as you let his collar go and force him back against the sofa. the hand on your thigh thankfully slips away, but his amusement only grows louder. you groan, irritated that this demon of a hybrid is the only thing between you and a potential love life. “god, you’re so irritating!”

the hand that previously lay on your thigh goes to rest on his own, and you follow it with your gaze. his fingers push against the denim, the little indents in the material casting your mind back to the previous night. you’d ridden it so well, or so seonghwa told you. such a pretty pup, he called you, doing such a good job of being independent. he’d left off the words ‘for once’ but you know as well as he does that being independent isn’t really your thing. it’s why you have a hybrid, and why you’re so willing to take yourself to meet a shitty tinder date that you’re not even half as attracted to as you are your pet. you getting yourself off using his body is probably the most independent you’re going to get.

his fingertips shift higher on his thigh until they rest next to the zipper of the jeans. despite how thick the denim is, it does nothing to hide the bulge he's sporting; a bulge that seems to be growing right before your eyes. again, it was something he’d praised you for last night. the way you wrapped your fingers around him and got him to cum with nothing more than your hand. “good pup,” his words echo around your skull, “i told you you didn’t need me to guide you through it, didn’t i? so good making me cum all on your own.” the words had felt so good at the time, but now they’re just a nuisance.

you’re late.

“why should i care if you’re late?” two fingers begin to play with the brass button that sits just below his clothed navel. they tease the button hole with it, half pushing it through before pulling it back and tracing a soft finger around it. it has you salivating, knowing exactly what it feels like to be played with like that. his lithe fingers working their way around your tight cunt, barely dipping into your treasure trove before pulling back to tease you some more. it’s evil, he is evil. “i told you a week ago i didn’t like you going on this date. what do you think has changed?”

he tilts his head in a way that makes you so unbelievably aware of how condescending he’s being. it’s like he sees you as nothing more than a dumb pup in need of some guidance that obviously only he can give. he talks to you like a fool; like unless his words are slow and simple you won’t understand. it makes you feel small under his fiery gaze. small, weak and pathetic.

you gulp down the words that had found themselves caught in your throat, hoping that upon the second attempt to get them out, they’ll come much easier. they weigh heavy on your mind, and for a second, you wonder if this is really the right move to make. you could just admit defeat and just pick out another pair of shoes. you could tell seonghwa you’ll see him later and leave. you could find a way out of this so easily if you just tried.

the way he’s looking at you like you already belong to him makes you not want to bother.

“you also told me a week ago that you’d fuck every other man out of my brain if you had to,” you fold your arms petulantly, trying to hide the way your chest heaves as you make your final decision. you can go on another date with another guy on another day, right? its not like dean from tinder is the only man in the world? he’s not even as pretty as the one sitting before you right now. “i'm still thinking about other men, aren’t i?”

silence. just for a moment or two, but it’s long enough to make you aware of just how hard you’re breathing, how quick your heartbeat is.

“are you sure that’s the move you want to make, pup?” he purrs as he leans forward, an elbow on each knee to support him. “i’m not in the mood to joke about this.”

“i’m not.”

“joking?” he lifts an eyebrow, “or sure? because if you’re not sure then i suggest thinking before you speak,” in one swift motion, he stands and takes a step forward, towering over you in a way that has your mind collapsing in on itself. “if you’re not joking, then i don’t know what you’re still doing on your fucking feet, puppy.”

his hand comes down on your shoulder, fingers digging in slightly as he guides you down lower and lower. the wood of the floor is harsh on your bare knees, but as he stares you down like you’re nothing more than a pest, you realise your knees are the least of your worries. by the time the night is over, you won’t be able to think straight; seonghwa will make sure of that.

the hand on your shoulder slips to your throat, a single finger tracing upwards from your clavicle to your chin. it lifts your gaze, holding you so you have no choice but to watch him. his ears twitch atop his head as they so often to when he’s annoyed with you, the white fur catching the light beautifully. it’s really not the time to be admiring how soft his coat it, but credit where credits due; you worked hard on making him look so beautiful.

you worked hard on everything when it came to him.

“such a silly pup, thinking she can go out and meet whoever she wants,” he purrs as his sharp nail digs painfully into your chin, “all while her master sits and home and waits for her to come back to him? because that’s what i am, isn’t it; you might be the master in everyone else’s eyes, but we both know who’s in control here.”

his finger slips free from your chin, your spine relaxing the moment it does. you heave in a heavy breath, unaware of how shallow they’d become as seonghwa stared you down. the way your lungs burn with need as you take in breath after breath is deliciously painful. you can’t help but notice the way it has your pussy fluttering around nothing. it has you wondering what it would feel like to be choked, for his pretty hand to wrap around your jugular and squeeze until you’re gasping for breath. you could beg for it, but knowing him, it’d take a lot more than a few pretty words for him to comply.

“seong—” he tsks as you attempt to call out his name.

“i don’t know who that is, puppy,” he tail swishes menacingly behind him, like a dog about to pounce. you have no doubt that that’s very much the case; theres a few more buttons to push first, but you have no doubt that sooner or later you’ll be face down with your cheek pressed against the wood. you just have to push a little harder.

“master,” the word is nothing short of sultry as it drips off your tongue. you can’t help but feel proud of yourself as you watch your hybrid visibly stiffen before you. “i’m sorry,” no you’re not; not if the outcome of tonight is this, “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

his tail swishes again. just a few more buttons.

“i’m not upset,” he lies, “i’m just struggling to understand your thought process.”

“i wanted to get laid,” you answer swiftly.

“you could’ve just asked,” he rebuts as he trails a hand up to his neck to unclip his collar. “i’d have been more than happy to let my puppy fuck themself on my cock all night.”

his words are punctuated by the sound of the clip coming undone, then the jingle of the name tag as the collar slips free of his neck. his skin there always looks so beautiful, like it’s begging to be marked. seonghwa never lets you, though; he prefers you to do it in places that won’t be hidden away by the thick leather band.

“i wanted to get laid by someone other than my…” you trail off, the word you want to say right on the tip of your tongue. you know it’ll get you what you want, yet your heart still beats ten to the dozen at the thought of actually saying it. honestly, you’re not sure why it has you so nervous; it’s a fact after all. you take a deep breath. “my pet.”

his eyes darken, a sly smirk rising to his face. now you’ve done it; you’ve secured your fate. it was significantly less buttons than you thought you’d have to push, not that you mind. it’s less work for you and you get fucked in exactly the way you want to; hard and fast, like you’re nothing more than the hybrid’s bitch.

“pet?” he scoffs as he leans forwards to wrap his collar around your neck. “if i’m a pet, puppy, then you must be a fucking chew toy.” the action doesn’t surprise you one bit. seonghwa likes to see his name dangling prettily from your throat. he likes to hear the twinkling of the name tag as he clouds your brain with his cock. it’s just an extra level of possession that seonghwa craves.

you hear it fasten into place, and before you can even register anything else, you recognise the familiar bite of his fingers against your skin. he’s quick in his movements, shoving you around into exactly the position he wants as if you are really just that; just a toy for him to play with however he wants to. his hands are everywhere as he pushes your head down, lifts your hips up, arches your spine until the icy temperature of the floor seeps through the cups of your dress too. you don’t even register it as he pushes your skirt over your ass and slips your panties down in one swift movement. everything is just so quick, and within a few short seconds, he has you exactly where he wants you.

he kneels behind you as his hands smooth over your ass, kneading the smooth skin beneath his palms in a manner far softer than you’d expect of him tonight. as he spreads you open for him, you know you should feel exposed. you can feel the burn of his pupils as his studies your holes, twitching as he runs a finger over the tighter of the two. it feels strange, just like it always does when he plays with that hole, but as he hums in appreciation, you let yourself sink into the feeling. you can cope with strange when he’s whispering pretty things to you, letting you know how good you’re being, how nice you feel clenching around him. his lips come into contact with the bottom of your spine, just a few inches north of where his thumb teases you, and you let yourself relax.

that kiss is worth just as much as his praises.

“the lube is upstairs, puppy,” he sounds almost sad as he whispers those words against your skin, his thumb slipping away from your puckered hole until only a ghost of a sensation is left, “and as sad as it makes me, i can’t fuck you there without it. you’re just too tight, and i don’t want to hurt my toy, hm? not really…”

his words feel like a safety blanket with how soft they’re being spoken. you’re well aware of how condescending it’s supposed to be, his voice lilting in the same was it would when talking to a child, but something in you doesn’t care. you like it when he talks down to you like that.

“it’s okay though,” he continues as he presses two fingers up against your slickened pussy. they trail up and down your slit, going from your entrance to your clit, gathering your wetness on the tips. the sound is vulgar, squelching loudly as he plays with you. you're too far gone to feel any humiliation from it, reveling in the short-lived electricity that lights you up every time he bumps against your clit. he can’t help but chuckle as he watches your hips buck against nothing, “i still have this sensitive little thing to play with, don’t i?”

you nod feverishly against the floor, keening as he lets his digits play with your clit for a moment or two longer than he had before. the circles he rubs against it are slow, and don’t nearly have enough pressure to do anything, but that doesn’t phase seonghwa. in fact he seems to rather enjoy it as you pant against the wood, shifting your hips to try and get just a little more stimulation. he gives in for just a second, pushing his fingers up against your swollen bud just hard enough to fetch a moan from your lips.

but it's gone again within the blink of an eye, seonghwa purring cruelly at your misfortune.

“sorry, pup,” he says with no remorse as he trails his fingers back up to your glistening hole. he tests it with one finger, sliding it into you with little resistance. “tonight isn’t about you getting spoiled, though,” he retracts it until just the tip is buried inside of you. a second finger slips in beside it and he pushes them in until they’re buried to the hilt, “it’s about you learning your place,” he scissors them inside of you, relishing the way your walls push back against him, “you’ll cum if you’re lucky.”

he ignores the saddened whine that leaves you, instead turning his attention to where his fingers pump in and out of you. with how wet you are, he has no doubt that he’d be able to slip right into you if he really wanted. it’s what he’d done the previous night, barely pumping his fingers into you twice before burying himself inside of you and marking you up like a hungry animal. perhaps it was wishful thinking to assume that the purple marks that cover your shoulders would’ve stopped you going on that date. perhaps he underestimated just how ‘full coverage’ your concealer was. perhaps he should’ve just put his foot down and told you exactly how he felt about the date. oh well, he tells himself as he bends his fingers to press against that sensitive spot inside of you, forcing a moan from your lips.

he won in the end.

[nino-rox]

Akaza x Male Human Reader | S

Warnings: NSFW Gay sex, Sexual themes (Rough, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex), Some blood. Top Akaza, Bottom Human Reader.

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post.

Akaza picked you up, your back against the wall, as his dick grazed against your hole.

The smirk on his face when he licked his lips told you that he knew what he was doing to you.

And you liked it. Akaza’s mouth covered yours, his tongue searching and pushing its way into your mouth while his hands squeezed your ass.

You kissed him back, one of your hands reaching up to touch his cheeks, as the other was wrapped around his neck. You never thought you’d fall in love with a demon - let alone get fucked by one against the wall.

When you felt the tip of his cock nudging at your entrance, you tried to push him away, but it was useless. The thrust was smooth and deep, making your breath hitch.

“A-ah…” Akaza’s arms wrapped around you tighter as he bit your earlobe before moaning softly.

You bit his lip harder and moaned as he went faster. His dick throbbed inside you as it slowly slid out and then slowly slid back inside of you, hitting the spot just right.

“Oh, God…” you moaned as he fucked you faster. He bent his knees and moved you from the wall onto the floor, still thrusting inside you.

His body pressed against yours while his cock rubbed against every sensitive spot within your hole. Every inch of you tingled. His hands made their way to your neck again, this time holding it tightly. You could feel his fingers digging into your skin, leaving red marks that would turn purple after a few hours - it got harder to breathe.

Your moans became louder and more frequent as he moved faster and deeper. He was taking control of you now. And you loved it.

Your bare back was laid against the floor as your eyes were shut tight, sweat dripping down your forehead. Akaza removed his hand from your neck and brought it down to cover your mouth, silencing your cries. “Be quiet!”

Akaza whispered harshly. He fucked you even faster, his hips slapping against your ass with each stroke as you arched your back. Your head rolled from side to side, and you could feel the drool escaping your mouth. He placed his free hand under your back, making you arch it more as he bit down hard on your nipple. The pain shot through your body. You didn’t want to scream, but his nails pierced your flesh, leaving long, bloody scratches behind. It hurt like hell, but somehow, you couldn’t stop begging for more.

Akaza pounded you harder and harder until you cried out in pain. It felt like your skin was ripping apart, your body shuddering, and your muscles tensing. You opened your teary eyes to see Akaza lustfully watching you. The look in his eyes told you exactly how much pleasure he was feeling. It looked like it was too much for him to handle, so he closed his eyes, biting his lip as he came inside you.

He pushed his sweaty chest against yours as he pulled out and shoved himself into you again - continuing to rail you as his cum dripped out of your hole with each thrust. This time he kept fucking you - his muscular defined body completely resting on you - while groaning, muttering nonsense words. Then all of a sudden, his moans turned into screams, and Akaza started fucking you harder than ever as you let out sinful moans into his ear “AHhh Uh AH, I’m-im going to cum, Akaza”, You managed to choke out, crying out and writhing around on the ground.

With each thrust, you felt your walls clenching on his cock, the blood flowing down your thighs and soaking into the floor beneath you. Your whole body was drenched in sweat; his thrusts got sloppier as you heard him moan from ecstasy. You felt his cock begin to pulse around your tight walls, cum spewing inside you. Your entire body shook violently as you rode out the waves of ecstasy, his seed coating your insides. Your orgasm lasted for minutes, causing you to almost pass out. When it finally subsided, you both lay motionless, his dick still inside as cum oozed out of your hole.

REQUEST FOR PART 2!

[flametrashiraarchive]

hi there!! could I request a sanemi x reader where the reader is either taken or severely injured by a demon?? I am a SLUT for a good protective angst to fluff so you may take any and all creative liberties🤭🤭

Argh this hurt so good haha. Poor 'Nemi 😭 thank you for your ask! I hope you enjoy it!

Cw for you being badly injured, blood, swearing, being in a coma. No sex, just pain and suffering (with a happy ending)

Sanemi Shinazugawa x injured reader

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Sanemi presses his hand firmly to your stomach to stem the bleeding. "Not you. Not you too. You're not fucking leaving me, understand?"

His heart is pounding in his chest, his blood running cold. The demon who injured you is already dead, but if it wasn't Sanemi would kill it all over again and again and again. How fucking dare that monster do this to you? He wants to tear it apart.

"Talk to me. Say something, goddamn it." His voice cracks as he begs you. 

You're barely clinging to consciousness as you reach up and caress his face, accidentally smearing your blood across his cheek. "'Nemi… it's okay."

"No it's not fucking okay, moron."

And then you pass out, and he realizes those are the last words he may ever say to you. 

It's his fault. All of it. 

If he'd fought harder, been firmer with you about you staying home for this mission, taken out both demons instead of trusting you to deal with one of them. If only if only if only. 

Sanemi's life has been plagued with if onlys. He presses his forehead to yours and prays. Who he is praying to, he has no idea… you, the gods, Buddah, death itself… anyone who'll listen.

"Please, please, please. Not you. Not you." 

Hot tears roll down his cheeks as he keeps applying pressure to your wound. His kasugai crow is on its way to bring help. All he can do is hold in your guts and plead.

"Don't leave me alone."

He puts his cheek against yours so his lips are by your ear. "I'll marry you. I'll treat you like goddamn royalty. I'll do anything, just stay. Stay with me." His voice breaks. "Stay. With. Me. Please!"

He doesn't let go. Even when the medical squad comes to help, he keeps the pressure on your wound until they pull him off. And then he holds your hand. He holds it the entire way to the butterfly mansion. He holds it as they operate and put you in a bed to recover, as the doctors come and tell him things he can't understand. All he cares about is whether or not you'll survive. 

Why won't you wake up??

It doesn't matter if you have to rest for months: he'll take care of you while you're bedridden and make sure you take your medicines exactly on time. It doesn't matter if you'll struggle with training for a while: he'll kick your ass all the way through rehab and make you even stronger. He'll change dressings, cook, clean, anything. 

Just…

"Come back to me," he whispers, holding your hand to his forehead as the sun sets on the fifteenth day of your coma. "Wake up, please." 

He's sleeping when you finally do.

Your vision slowly refocuses to find him resting his head on the bed beside your arm, his hand still wrapped around yours. He stirs as you run your fingers through his fluffy white hair, a faint, sleepy smile curving his lips before he snaps back to consciousness and bolts upright.

The force with which he hugs you damn near knocks you into another coma. 

"Don't do that again," he whispers. "You hear me?"

It hurts, but you smile. "I love you too."

He buries his face against your neck and holds you tight, unwilling to ever let you slip away again.

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: vulnerability

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: PG

genre: angst & fluff

pairing: alastor x reader x lucifer

summary: you find alastor after the battle in bad shape. you have to help him and get him healed.

note: this is the fic from the snippet i posted the other day! ☺️

After the battle, you saw immediately that Alastor was missing. Quickly running off to search for him and realizing the only place he could be was the broken down radio tower. Finding Alastor broken and battered in that tower did not fare well with your soul. You helped patch him up temporarily, but he was still bleeding a lot, barely hanging on to a thread of consciousness.

“Al, I need you to get us to Luce’s room. Can you do that?” You ask, looking at him, your hand caressing his face. He nods, shockingly quiet and with a heavy sigh, you’re both engulfed in shadows and reappear in a bright and circular room. You support Alastor, clumsily as his seven foot frame leaning on your five foot frame was difficult to manage. You get him over to a chair and look at him.

“Al, I’m going to grab Lucifer.” You whisper, tears coming to your eyes looking at him. The bandages not even looking pristine at this point and his blood seeping through quickly. His button up open and hanging on his shoulders as he slumped in the chair, looking the most human you had seen him.

“Just stay with me chére. He’ll come.” Alastor murmured, pulling you to the arm of his chair.

“Please, Alastor. You’re scaring me. You’ve lost so much blood. And I can’t… I can’t loose you.” You look at him, tears falling down your face. He looks at you and shakes his head.

“You couldn’t-“ He’s cut off as the door opens and a disshelved Lucifer comes charging in, his eyes wide and when it lands on the both of you he gasps.

“Fuck Alastor.” He says coming over, making you cry harder. “Is he…” Lucifer trails off thinking the worst. Alastor opens his eyes for a moment and looks at Lucifer.

“You wish.” He whispers. Lucifer’s eyes widen and he goes to the other side of Alastor.

“You’re making our girl cry, asshole.” Lucifer points out. Alastor looks at you with a soft smile.

“Don’t cry. It’s okay.” He tries to assure you but when he moves a bit, the bandages start leaking. Lucifer’s eyes widen.

“It’s not letting you heal is it?” Lucifer asks.

“No, I haven’t been able to heal at all.” Alastor responds, his hand going to the wound again on his chest. Lucifer takes his jacket off and tells you to stand away. You shake your head as Alastor grabs your hand.

“Fine. Fine. This might hurt.” Lucifer warns as he rolls up his shirt sleeves. Your mind is reeling on what this all means and what Lucifer is doing. But you stay silent, knowing that your questions right now would delay whatever they were doing.

“Do your worst.” Alastor grinds out. Lucifer puts his hands on Alastor’s chest and his hands start to glow gold. Suddenly the wound it self is glowing gold and Alastor’s eyes shoot open. The scream that rings out is nothing like you’ve ever heard. Alastor starts thrashing, trying to get away.

“Damn it, hold him down!” Lucifer yells at you as he keeps his hands on Alastor’s chest. You push Alastor’s shoulders down as he looks at you betrayed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You have to stay here, please.” You tell Alastor as tears fall from your eyes as Alastor’s demonic form takes shape.

“Fuck, Al, calm down!” Lucifer yells pushing him back down now with you.

“Alastor, please, we’re trying to help you. Lucifer is healing you. Please, we love you, we wouldn’t hurt you.” You say, gently taking his face in your hands. His eyes lock on yours and you watch as the radio dials fade and his crimson eyes shine back.

“Darling…” He whispers and cries out as the golden glow is the brightest and then the room is shrouded in what feels like darkness, but it’s just the same light as before. You look at Lucifer and see the sweat that had beaded on his forehead, and you wiped it away. Lucifer looks up at you grateful. You both look down at Alastor as he looks down at his chest which he unwrapped. You follow his eyes and see the wound healed but almost like golden stitches were tattooed across it. It wasn’t normal gold though, they glittered and were almost glowing in the dark.

“You branded me.” Alastor deadpans looking at Lucifer. Lucifer just glares at him, his eyes partially lidded with exhaustion.

“Thank you Lucifer for saving me.” You say. “Oh you’re welcome Alastor, I’d probably do it again.” You look at Alastor after that, “These tattoos are pretty cool. Thanks again for saving me. Love you!” You then look at Lucifer, the panic you felt before fading into manic, “Oh no problem. They look great! Love you too!”

You shake your head as you hop down off the chair and walk into the bathroom, missing the looks that Lucifer and Alastor exchange. You grab some soap and start washing your hands, getting ready to wash your face. Wanting to be away from both Lucifer and Alastor’s sheer ridiculousness.

“Ducky, why are you crying?” Lucifer asks, standing on your right behind you, scaring you as you jump, not hearing him or Alastor come into the bathroom.

“I-I’m not. Not crying.” You say looking at your self in the mirror. You blink and more tears fall. “Maybe I am.” You sigh.

“Why?” Alastor asks.

“Why? Why?” You ask loudly rounding on them. “I almost watched you die, Alastor. And either one of you could have died in that damn battle. And I just- I can’t loose you. I just… I can’t loose you both.” You whisper out as you slump against the counter of the bathroom, hiding your face in your hands. There’s a beat of silence and then you feel two hands pull your hands from your face. Your eyes meeting Alastor’s.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere.” He whispers, holding your hands to his chest.

“And I’m not going anywhere.” Lucifer says, coming to your side and resting his head on your shoulder. You sob as you stand there.

“You promise?” You ask, feeling ridiculous asking these two beings to promise. But you needed something that felt more concrete than their words at that moment.

“I swear it.” Lucifer says, kissing your lips.

“So do I.” Alastor adds on, kissing both your hands. You nod and take one hand to wipe the tears away from your eyes. Alastor stops you and wipes the tears from your eyes for you. And then suddenly your clothes are changed into pajamas. You look at Lucifer who is also in his pajamas, smiling for the first time.

“Remedial creation, darling.” Lucifer winks at you.

“Aren’t you just a useful little devil?” Alastor purrs, and both yours and Lucifer’s eyes widen. Lucifer’s cheeks completely red. You chuckle as you walk through them to the bed. As you look back you see them murmur something to each other and both nod, as Lucifer hugs Alastor. Alastor pulls Lucifer back and quickly gives the King of Hell a quick kiss and they both make their way to the bed. You climb in and ask what side each wants or where they want to sleep.

“May I-uh, sleep in the middle?” Alastor asks, still uncharacteristically quiet.

You excitedly nod and hop on the left side as Lucifer takes the right. You cozy up to Alastor’s left side and rest your hand on his chest. Lucifer grabs your hand as you both rest your hands on Alastor’s chest and cuddles into his right side. Alastor, is fast asleep almost the minute his head hits the pillow. You look at Lucifer who is also out like a light and smile. You all made it through this, you could make it through whatever came next.

[cillivnz]

MISS A SPOT, HIT THE SPOT [lord dimitrescu]

pairing. LORD DIMITRESCU x MAID!READER (dub!con turned consensual)

initial, DIMITRESCU SONS x READER (very dubious consent)

word count. 3072

warnings. AFAB!reader, cursing, misogynistic themes, animal cruelty (using gator-skin on furniture; don’t call PETA on me, i’m sorry), groping, a little bit of exhibitionism, dub!con, fingering, reader is pinned against the wall, reader’s family has been serving the Dimitrescus, large age-gap, oral sex (both receiving), throat-fucking, tongue-fucking, clit play, pyromania, dacryphilia, extreme degradation, belittling, spitting, penetrative sex (p! in v!), squirting, multiple & forced orgasms, extreme breast/nipple play, reader’s just being used by the family, reader is called maid as well as a pet name in Romanian, unprotected sex, creampie.

listening to. ‘Enslaved’ by Diva Destruction

notes. Y/L — Your Last Name, Y/F/N — Your Father’s Name, căprița mea mică — my little doe

A regular day in an abysmal castle.

Your ancestry were sworn servants of the Dimitrescu royals, and ensuing your father’s demise after leading a devoted life to the Lord, it was your turn.

You managed to avoid his acknowledge, as well as his sons’; something you thanked your stars for. You were still at a tender age; early twenties yet unexposed to the worldly works, courtesy of your conservative father. You loved the old man, despite him giving you constant reminders that your birth doomed him— how you should’ve been a son to continue his legacy, not a fragile, worthless woman. But those words only came out of his mouth like venom when he was made to overwork or worse— punished.

And like any other day you were dusting the halls. Except it wasn’t every other day you felt your skirt lift up fervently by two strong hands who also pinned you against the wall. An heir. Another, holding you down, while one tugged at your blouse. Alas, the Dimitrescu boys had found you.

“Well, well, the silhouette comes to life.” The one pining you spoke. He had a raspy voice with some baritone to it. ���Sire, please leave me be—” you beseeched, but before you could even beg, you choked on your own words as your thong was pushed to the side. “She wants to leave, yet you roam about our land dressed like a whore.” This erupted demonic laughter from all three. “You thought we ought not to catch on?” The one below spoke, his face so close to your cunt, you felt heat radiate off of him with every syllable he dragged. “Your scent lingers— hauntingly— how we’ve chased after your ghost.” “But you were always too fast, little doe.”

“Always teasing us — where were you hiding this beauty? Hm?” One teased, his stone cold lips grazing your bare shoulder. “Moreover where had you been hiding this ass of yours?”

You jolted when a harsh slap landed on your ass, your not-so-subtle moan eliciting evil laughter from the men harassing you.

The one gripping your ass began to spread it, you writhed like a worm in their vice-like embrace, begging and praying for the abuse to be over; in a way it was.

The minute you felt something stroke your folds, prodding at your entrance, a demonic thunder struck. “What do you have here, boys?” They froze, as did you. This is the most cooperation you four have shown, as if unsaid, yet understood that if you hold your breath and close your eyes, the Lord can’t hurt you.

But slowly, as if puppies caught creating chaos by their master, did the boys move away from you. Bright yellow eyes ablaze in the monotonous dark of his castle. His eyes darted from your glassy eyes staring at him, the fear in them, to your rosy cheeks, blood-red lips, and straight to your skirt; your ass was out since a Dimitrescu brother hiked it up, the same heir, on realising what his father’s hungry eyes were doting upon, made a feeble attempt to fix your skirt, but before his fingers, barely tainted with your slick wetness, could touch the fabric of your skirt, let alone fix it, his father ordered. “Don’t you dare lay hands on her, more than you have already.” The Lord spoke with utmost calmness, and that’s what terrified the four of you, you especially, the most.

Reluctantly but obediently they stepped away from you. You were still clinging to the wall, frozen in place. “Come on over,” You saw his gloved hand motion towards him, “My chambers need cleaning.” An ominously mischievous tone and provocative smirk tugged at his lips.

The walk to the Lord’s chambers was awkward and fearful. He had insisted you walked in front of him, and you could feel eyes ripping through your flesh, your predator ready to pounce on you at any given moment.

You were making feeble steps towards his chambers, almost there, when he interrupted you, “Halt,” he said, causing you to stop dead in your tracks, but you dare not look back at him. “Clean my study firstly.” He ordered, and waited by the door for you to turn around.

Once you turned, you were met by calculating amber eyes that peered down at you from a head held high. He stood by the doorframe, and on seeing you make weak, yet progressive steps towards him, his thunderous strides entered the chamber. He was seated on a leather chair by the time you entered, as if he’d been there the entire time. ‘Gator skin,’ you heard a rumour the one time you cleaned the Lord’s study before. ‘He tore it apart with his bare hands, and had it skinned into a chair as a trophy.’ You hadn’t believed the chamberlain until you’d seen it yourself.

On the left of it was an ablaze fireplace, and in front, was a library; not colossal, yet extreme in number. Books of alchemy, instructional journals of God summonings, documentations on every supernatural creature that roamed the planet and how to kill them; even the Satanic Bible was on display.

“Do you fancy reading?” You almost jumped when his ravenous voice broke the eerie silence you were just growing accustomed to. “Yes, my Lord.” You seemed to pique his interest when he hummed after a short pause, surprised within yourself at the sudden confidence. It was clear, you preferred the father’s company to his sons’. Perhaps, you felt safe knowing he is the leash on his sons— the fear of your fears.

“Well, if your cleaning is satisfactory, perhaps… I’ll let you take some.” the Lord proposed, but somehow you knew this reward wasn’t for cleaning but something else he wanted to deem satisfactory.

You dare not utter another word and got to cleaning.

Dusting away, between books, underneath books; wiping away at the large mirror by the shelves. “What do they call you?” He asked with authority.

“Y/N Y/L, my Lord,” you hesitantly revealed. “Y/L!” He exclaimed, “You’re Y/F/N Y/L’s daughter,” he concluded in a wicked tone. With each wipe, he grew closer and closer and the horrid smile on his face grew wider and more sinister, forcing you to look back at him at a neck-snapping speed, only to catch him, still seated, gazing at you innocently.

“Mop the floors,” he requested, before adding “Maid.” As if asking your revelation of your identity fell on deaf ears that never demanded it. Without muttering, you dampen the mop and began cleaning.

This was just cruel.

You thought your saviour actually required your services, yet the man had you in the same position as his sons, except voluntarily, for you had to bend on all fours and stretch not to miss a spot, after all you were cleaning your master’s land, at his request. ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,’ you sighed, only daring to think of it.

You heard fervent movement behind you, and the next thing you feel is your thong being pulled down till your ankles. It happened all too fast, you barely registered anything until his large hands spread you open to him. “They were right about you,” He spoke, intrigued, “Such exemplary beauty, căprița mea mică. Utterly pristine.”

Noticing your haltered movements, he quirked a brow. “Did I permit you to stop?” You choked a gasp, feeling his left hand trace your curves, making its way to squeeze your throat, while his right hand fiddled with your glistening folds. “No sir,” you breathed a sigh at the pleasure he was making you feel. “Fucking continue then.” He ordered and you did.

Maybe not a regular day in an abysmal castle. Your 9’6 Lord and Master, the fearsome and notorious, the head of the dreaded Dimitrescu family, Lord Dimitrescu himself, kneeling behind you while you wipe his floors, fingers stroking your lips, not yet penetrating, just— “Oh!” You moaned when a long, thick, wet something slithered about your pussy. Prodding at the places his very fingers grazed, now wiggling inside you.

You began panting, about to look back and begin your pleads when a strong hand grabbed your skull and forced it in place.

You were terrified; just a bit more coaxing and he could crack open your skull. You were less than half his size and half his age. What was more frightening to you was that it was just the tip of his tongue inside you. Your eyes rolled back and damn-near saw your brain as he began pushing more of it in.

Still, obediently, you wiped.

This pleased the Lord as he wrapped an arm over your waist to your legs and brought his thumb to your clit. The circular motions of figure-eights on your clit were frantic, causing an excruciating jolt of pleasure to run down your lower half, his anomaly of a tongue amplifying the feel.

You bit you lip, nearly drawing blood as the knot in your core grew unbearable. Feeling you clench around his tongue, Lord Dimitrescu replaced the oral attack with two of his fingers, stretching you so bittersweetly. The assault on your cunt was aching. He’d graze your g-spot oh-so-softly, slowly driving you to the edge yet deliberately prolonging the high tide. “You are making a mess, căprița mea mică,” he sighed, eyeing the slick dripping down your thighs, drenching you in all, and the wooden floor beneath you. “Allow me to help.” It was more imperative than offering, so it was but natural you grimaced in pain when he pulled out his fingers, moments before you were coming undone, only to spread your aching hole and spit into it.

You moaned; shamelessly, you let out a filthy, degraded moan, and the sound travelled straight to the Lord’s cock. “There, there,” he rubbed his spit on your folds, your swollen clit bathed in it, “All better — nice and clean.” He chuckled, causing goosebumps to arise on your spine and your breath to get caught in your throat when he shoved not two but three fingers smoothly into your weeping cunt.

You clenched at the sudden attack, bewildered at how easily you were being made to cum for your master yet again. He rose from his position to whisper in your ear, “Hits the spot, doesn’t it?” At that moment, he had you unravelling with a curl on his fingers inside you.

You screaming a string of curses, the Lord greatly amused by your sailor’s tongue.

He stood up, without a word or move. “Clean the mess you made.” He gestured down at your juices that he flowed out of your cunt. “And while you’re down there…” He unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock that sprang free, a demonic thing, it was; certainly, not pleasurable to accommodate inside, unless…

“Don’t be afraid, maid.” His baritone voice gave you absurd comfort, the tone, reassuring.

“It can’t hurt you, unless I want it to.” His pearly whites were like the fangs of a serpent, peering out, bloodthirsty for you. You wavered off the uneasiness, still eager to please your master. Grabbing his colossal cock, you began to work out the large vein on the underside of it. He hissed when you applied pressure, using both your hands in an attempt to hold it; in vain it went. You licked the tip, before slowly taking it in your mouth.

“That’s it. Show me you’re an all-rounder, maid; not just for wiping floors, show me that’s not all you can do bent over.” He chuckled, something so sinister about how his own vulgarity was so amusing to him. However, you weren’t opposed to it. After all, orders were orders; that’s one thing your father did teach you, if ordered directly, orders are orders, even if they’re fatal.

You gagged on less-than half the length, but your quick save by jacking off the inches unabsorbed by your mouth was much appreciated by the man above you. His large palm resting atop your head, slowly caressing your messed up hair into place. The gesture nearly knocked the air out of you, for when your perplexed eyes met his expectedly ravenous ones, you were shocked to see them replaced by fondness.

“You take it like it was made for you.” He cooed. You couldn’t help but put your guard down, making it unknowingly advantageous to the Lord who grabbed the same head he was caressing, as support to fuck your throat. He only chuckled at the stream of years flowing through your glassy eyes. Your flushed face tainted with tears was now red with lack of oxygen. His cock was slamming past your uvula; the bell tolls, as if he were morally obligated to.

“So young, yet you suck cock like you’ve been a whore all your life.” He chuckled to himself, before thrusting in deeply, and cumming inside your mouth. You swallowed his ichor without being told, when you stuck out your tongue to show him, he groaned, face contorted in some form of arousal, as he lifted your frame to his, kissing you with neediness. His lips were surprisingly tender, beard teasing your face while his tongue, one that swept your insides clean, forced entry into your mouth, which you hesitantly permitted.

“Dust by the fireplace, better get to it.” He said, pulling away from you. You grabbed the supplies and moved towards the said place. You hadn’t noticed when the flames became blazing, a conflagration, either way, you dipped the mop in the bucket beside you, and began wiping.

You couldn’t get much done, however, for from underneath your skirt, you felt something big prod your entrance. Rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, Lord Dimitrescu positioned himself behind you, before shoving the whole of it in. You screamed, damage was made to your vocal chords as well as your walls when the penetration quickly turned into pummelling, giving you zero time to adjust to the mammoth size of it.

Dumbfounded, cock-drunk, utterly paralysed in place, you had no choice but try to get accustomed to the relentless attack your pussy had to endure. “My…-my Lord!” You moaned, trying to form an actual sentence, “This is highly inap…-inappropriate!” You managed to muster. “Really now?” He questioned, you don’t know if it was a scoff or a laugh following his amused tone. “Who,” he paused, pushing you forward. You were now a stone’s throw away from the fire, every thrust into you pulled you back, which, despite the burn of the stretch, made you grateful for you were pulled back from the fireplace. “Do you think,” he continued, thrusting into you harder each time; the heat of the fire threatening to melt you whole, grazing your face, delicately. “You are.” He finished, slamming into you so hard, you began to cum, but before you could unravel before him, he pulled out, causing your pussy to spasm around the eerie nothingness of the room.

You were reduced to a whining mess, no words coming out of your abused mouth. “What’s the matter, maid? You want to cum?” he questioned, gripping your curvy hips. “Even when you’ve missed a spot?” One of his arms snaked on your waist, the other roamed about your spine, laying you down, before pulling your head up by your hair.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” he groaned, cock pressing against your slit, it’s new home, yet not in. He grabbed the bucket of freshwater besides you, pouring it all on the floor. “Let’s get that spot, shall we?” He said, before doing something so degrading, you felt disgusted in your own skin for enjoying.

Your hot body was used to wipe the floors of Lord Dimitrescu’s study. Ripping your blouse into shreds, he groped your breasts that had sprang free, before positioning your chest on the wet floor, and swaying you left to right.

This man, your ancestry’s master, was balls deep inside your abused pussy, fucking away the life in you, while using your tits as a mop. You moaned as your burning skin made contact with the icy puddle. “That’s how you wipe, căprița mea mică, so much better.” He grunted, the pace, the size, the girth, the sheer brutality of his sex was like a punch to the gut, nonetheless your poor cunt made feeble attempts to get accustomed to the ongoing torture. Your cunt clenched around his cock while your breasts swayed from side to side, the carpet had soupçons of water, courtesy of the fervency with which you “wiped”, which it soaked up instantly.

“My Lord, I’m going to- oh!” You yelped when he pulled out, shoving his fingers inside you and curling them. You hadn’t anticipated this, body reacting on sheer adrenaline junk that’s been coaxed out of you since the incident with this man’s sons in the halls of his castle.

Then, as fate would have it, mocking your misery, you squirted all over the floor. The juices gushing out your cunt, drowning the man that coaxed them out. He giggled, like a fucking teenager, while you fought for consciousness. Sure, you’d had sex before, he was a chef in this very place who mysteriously disappeared, but a man Lord Dimitrescu’s size? You had never held your head high around the family, avoiding their gaze like a thief, and now he’s fucking you like a stinging reminder of why you should’ve stayed in the shadows— remained a silhouette.

You were sore from the previous two orgasms, yet the man made it look easy to coax your third. The hostility your cunt displaying, clenching around the wanted, yet unmanageable penetration, was enough to unravel Lord Dimitrescu, you following with pornographic screams.

His grip on your hip and scalp was tormenting, but it soon loosened when he pumped into you one last time, pussy milked dry, filled with his overflowing load. He exhaled sharply, pulling up your panties, tapping your ass lightly. “You have been amazing — definitely considering promoting you.” He seemed very proud of his joke. Leaning down to catch your ear where you’d nearly passed out on the ground, he whispered in your ear. “Now, clean up.”

He left a moment after, stopping at the doorway to catch a glimpse of your sexy, worn out body. “My room’s next.” He said, leaving you alone with a shit load of mess to clean.

Your mess.

main masterlist. more from “resident evil: village”.

[rae-writes]

reality’s nightmare

om brothers x reader

wc : 4k (holy fuck, I did not mean to do this much-)

warnings : gore!! blood, broken bones, mangled body parts, heavy injury detail, talks of intestines/organs, there’s some fucked up imagery in this one y’all

synopsis : they say angels look beautiful when they fall, but no one talks about after they hit the ground

a/n : look, I love the scene where they’re standing before Diavolo, and it’s been mentioned that they were hurt— buuut what if we saw them bruised and broken and bleeding 

…thud…

…TH-UD…

crACK-

CRACK—

C R A C K…

Bloodcurdling screams filled the house of Lamentation, instantly waking the other seven inhabitants. The screams turned into sobs as many pairs of feet slammed against the hard floor. 

Rather unceremoniously, your door was nearly knocked off its hinges as each of your demons burst in the room, huddling around your bed; you were frantically kicking at the covers and hiding your face behind trembling arms. 

“Mc!”

His hand reached out to caress your form gently, startling you and causing you to cry even harder as you reached out for him. 

†

Lucifer holds your face in his palms like you’re made of glass, lithe fingers attempting to wipe your scalding tears in vain. He’s at a complete loss as he watches you shake like a leaf in his grasp; you were terrified, more than he’d ever seen in all his time of knowing you.

When the first born finally managed to catch your gaze, he could physically feel his heart stop. “Mc…” 

Pale as a ghost and face soaked with tears, you stared at Lucifer as if you never thought you’d see him again after bidding goodnight just three hours ago. “L-Luci-”

The surrounding area was dark- eerie - though thankfully, you could clearly tell you were at the Colosseum. You took only a single step forward before something slammed into the ground with a sick crack, just a couple feet away. 

Wings so black they blended into the dark atmosphere were bent wickedly, feathers astray and torn out while a few bones stuck in odd directions, having pierced straight through the flesh. Two gashes on the lowest part of its back oozed blood like a river, quickly forming a puddle underneath the body. The torso itself was turned in a position that was just wrong- no matter what being in the three realms it was. 

With a hand over your mouth to try and ease the bile rising in your throat, you could feel the unnatural warmth of its blood washing over the soles of your bare feet. In an attempt to scurry backwards, you slipped, bracing your arms against the dirt before your face could be washed in it. 

And only then, when you finally came within face-to-face proximity of him, did you realize who it was. 

Lucifer stared back at you, brows furrowed in pain and lips- blood dribbling past- curled into a grimace. 

You broke into a fresh round of sobs- the broken and hoarse kind that made your chest throb- and pulled your boyfriend closer. Your movement was so rushed and unexpected, Lucifer toppled over right on top of you.

His arms caught him, but he was essentially unable to push himself up as your hands had come around his back, fingertips pressing almost harshly into the skin where his wings would normally be. “My love?”

“Show me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand-”

“Show me your wings!” words desperate and eyes frantic, you were truly starting to make him panic, “Please…” your fingers grasped the shiny feathers hesitantly; you thought they’d break or tear— Lucifer could tell. 

He was confused and worried and honestly, his hands were beginning to shakily ball up your cover as he listened to you whisper in relief about how ‘they’re not broken…’

“I’m alright, Mc, I promise. My wings are alright. You’re alright.” Just what did you dream of to make you like…this? To say something like that?

You kept one hand in the middle of his four wings and the other at the base of his back where the other pair have been long since ripped out. “Can we stay like this?”

“For as long as you need.”

†

Upon seeing your frightened state, Mammon was frantic himself, hands grasping at your waist to pull you against him instead of the wall, “It’s me, Mc! It’s me, baby, it’s me!” He lets your hands grip his forearms as tight as you need, not paying much attention to the pressure in favor of trying to keep eye contact.

“Mam..mon?” the disbelief you seemed to be in sent his heart clenching, especially when you ran your palms along his bare skin, moving up and up until you were under his sleeves, grasping at his shoulders, “Mammon!” 

The pained yelp that echoed in the air made you jump, head whipping around to find the source through the darkness. Calling out in vain, your feet took you in a random direction before you tripped. With hands stretching out to feel around, you felt a trembling form that didn’t quite seem…right.

What looked like they could’ve been arms at some point in time were crushed, bleeding, mangled limbs. Almost every bone was on the outside, tearing through its skin like paper. Elbows inverted, wrists twisted forward and back, fingers snapped in every other direction. Even some of its fingernails were ripped or cracked. Shoulder blades so out of place, it was hard to tell what they were supposed to be. Collar bones not where they were meant to be— one was completely shattered and it showed through the skin. Almost the entire upper portion of the chest was barely recognizable. 

His face was, though. His gorgeous face, head dripping with blood and staining the ends of his snowy hair, features pulled into a heart-wrenching grimace. 

“Mammon…” your hands squeezed and prodded every part of his arms, starting at the shoulders you'd dug crescent moons into- not missing his collar bones that were peeking from his sleep shirt. 

He watched you examine him, pulling you closer every time you choked back a sob. “‘S me, baby, whatsa matter? You’re making your pretty eyes all swollen…” 

“Hold me— just hold me. Need t’feel your arms around me…” 

Ignoring the mumbled ‘in one piece’, Mammon wrapped his arms around you tightly without another word. He’ll chase away…whatever it was that scared you. He won’t leave. 

“I won’t leave. Promise. ‘M right here.” 

†

Oh, Levi’s eyes began watering as soon as he heard your sobbing, bursting out into tears right alongside you when he finally saw your scared form. Lacking his usual shyness, his hands curl around yours and uncover your face like you’d normally do to him. 

“Mc…m-my Henry…” he didn’t know what to do or say but he knew that the way you peered up at him- like you’d seen a ghost- makes him want to curl up and die. 

From the moment you heard the first shrill cry, you knew undoubtedly that it was your Levi. Without questions, you scrambled to your feet and took off sprinting despite being unable to see much, shouting his name with urgency. 

Stopping to catch your breath, you froze when fingers wrapped around your ankle, turning to look at what’d grabbed you. A scream left your throat at the sight. 

Crushed legs were dragging against the dirt, oozing blood and being speared with what looked like every leg bone there was. The left leg was bent out of place at the hip with the knee inverted while the right foot was twisted completely backwards, femur snapped and sticking out of the thigh. Flesh had torn where the bones caught on the ground— wide gashes that were as long as your forearm. It was horrifying. 

Even more horrifying when your sweet boyfriend had blood pouring out of his mouth as he sobbed, still dragging his mangled body along, begging for help. 

Levi flinched when you began pushing him back, mouth opening to spew out apologies when they were cut short as he watched you settle between his legs, arms hooking under his thighs to pull them even tighter against you. 

You nuzzled your head against one of his knees, “Don’t go anywhere, Leviathan…stay- stay with me, don’t leave.” Your fingers dug into his sweatpants absentmindedly. 

Levi was completely floored with how much terror filled your voice and he found himself wrapping his tail around your midsection to try and assure you that, “I’m never leaving. Y-you can’t get r-rid of me, now!” 

…just what happened to you exactly? And did he really want to find out, given how genuinely terrified it made you— the bravest person he knows. Levi didn’t know just yet, but he did know that he’d stay with you for as long as you wanted him to. 

†

Satan clutches both your ankles softly to keep you from hurting yourself, kissing at your calves when you stop thrashing. He’d never seen you in such a state and if he hadn’t trained himself over the centuries, he would’ve gone into a rage to find out who or what did this to you. 

“I’m here, darling, try to calm down now. Shhh, love, listen to my heartbeat- here.” The way you clutched at him like he’d disappear…

“Tannie?” 

You could barely see three feet in front of your face, shown by the way you stumbled and tripped your way through the dark. A loud, horrifying sound reaches your ears at the same time a liquid splashes across your face. It’s warm- running down your face disgustingly, but the sight in front of you…

Something had been impaled on a spiked rock; the jagged tip was coated in a dark substance— the same substance that nearly formed an ocean underneath the figure. It was pouring from the giant hole now in their chest area and the position had the rest of their body curved backwards. Not wanting to talk about the similar dark shapes you saw strewed about- knowing very well they were probably organs and intestines- you grip its twitching fingers cautiously, following the stream of blood down, down, down…until it reaches its face. His face. Satan’s face. His eyes are popped wide, clearly numb to the severe pain he should’ve been feeling. 

Choking back a scream, you cradle the back of his head, lifting it up so he can swallow better as he finally begins to thrash and scream. Begs to stop go unheard and you’re forced to listen to the vile sounds of his chest ripping and tearing and blood gushing, screaming yourself when it soaks the entire lower half of your body. 

“Yeah, it’s Tannie.” He doesn’t mention the grip you have on his shirt, nor does he say anything about the way you push yourself harder against his left side. 

You tap your finger along to the beat of his heart- the rhythm is strong and steady. Alive. “Satan…” 

He watches you smooth your hand over his chest, “Yes, love?” Frowning, he wipes at the corner of your eyes, not wanting you to cry anymore. 

You say nothing at first, instead choosing to curl up closer. There’s an edge to the air before you give a nearly inaudible, “Don’t leave.” 

Satan relaxes, if only for your comfort. “Never.” He needs to know what caused you so much torment— for now, though, he will be with you for as long as you need. 

†

Asmo chooses to scramble around gathering water, a warm washcloth, and spritzing a light soothing scent on his clothes before he’s clamoring in your bed. He gingerly wipes down your face, whispering about swollen eyes and how much salt is in tears; he’s just trying his best to divert your attention. 

But you’re still hysterical, eyes unable to stop shedding tears even as he’s wiping them away. Your hands snake up his jaw, pressing down and smoothing across the skin until your breath stutters and you simply can’t let out audible cries anymore. 

Running around in the dark wasn’t such a good idea, especially now that you’re sprawled on the ground with your head throbbing from how hard you hit it. The lumpy dirt is uncomfortably irritating, but before you can move, you hear shrill crying as something comes slamming into the ground a couple feet beside you. 

Nearly inaudible whimpers left it as it just laid there, body and wings twitching sporadically. Slowly, with sick cracking sounds following, it’s head turned to the side- facing right at you. His jaw was hanging, knocked out of place, and visibly broken. Teeth were fractured or missing entirely, mouth ripped one one side and lips punctured with holes from his teeth...his tongue was hanging by only a couple of muscles, nearly severed from the force of the fall— he must’ve bit it as he was screaming. There was blood pouring onto the ground underneath him, coating what was left of his lower face and splashed into his eyes, all the way up to his forehead. 

You couldn’t even scream as you watched Asmo’s body convulse with choked sounds, eyes refusing to close even as an acidic taste started to make its way up your throat before you were forced to lift your upper body and retch out the contents of your stomach. 

Shakily, almost like you were scared he’d fall apart, you place a kiss to his cheekbone, trailing down his jaw until you reach the corner of his mouth. “Azzy..I love you.” 

You were now officially scaring Asmo, but he kept his cool nonetheless. “I love you more, hun! How about we go take a relaxing bath before trying to sleep again? Sounds good, hm?” 

Briefly, your fingers pressed down harder where you were caressing his jaw before letting up. “Mhm.” You wrapped your arms around his neck like a child, not wanting him to go too far. “Sleep with you.” 

“Yeah, you can sleep with me. My sheets will be good for your skin!” While his words were chipper, there wasn’t a single trace of a smile on his face; why was this happening to you? What happened to you?…what did you see? 

“I love you, Mc. You don’t have to worry about anything else.” 

†

Even though he knows everyone is worried, Beel shoves to the front with the sole intention of protecting you. You’ve curled yourself into a ball, but he just lifts you into his arms and pulls you in close. 

At the familiar warmth of your boyfriend, your eyes snap up to see his worried smile and the only thing you can manage to do is rest your forehead against his with a choked cry of his name. 

Your knees were scraped and bleeding from all the times you’ve tripped in the dark, so you were walking slowly, inching forward until your foot came in contact with something soft. Crouching down, you squinted at the orange color and rubbed the soft tufts between your fingers before your eyes finally adjusted. 

It was Beel. He was curled on his right side, peeks of bone showing from where he landed. His eyes were swimming with blood, upper face drenched with it from where it streamed out of his head- he’d cracked his skull straight across his forehead. His neck was bent in an odd direction- probably twisted before hitting the ground- and more blood bubbled out of his mouth the longer he thrashed his head and tried to speak. 

When he reached a trembling hand out, you finally took notice of Belphie lying beside him; the sob that ripped from your throat was guttural when the younger started crying out in Beel’s stead. 

“I’m here, Mc. It’s okay now, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You didn’t have the heart or the bearings to tell him that you were afraid of something happening to him again, instead choosing to just bury your face in his neck and sob harder. The cries only increased in pitch when you felt him move, “Don’t go! Don’t leave me, stay, don’t leave me, please…”

He’d only shifted to scoot further back, but his heart was absolutely breaking at the state of you. “Always, Mc.” Laying down, he tucked you into his right side, frowning at the thought of something causing you this much anguish. “I’ll stay with you always…I might have to carry you with me to the kitchen later tonight, though…sorry.”

†

When he finally manages to shove everyone out of the way, Belphie caresses your cheeks, dipping his fingers into the flesh softly as he forces you to look at him. “Look at me. No, no, at me.” 

Your brows are furrowed, breaths coming out quick and short, “Bel…” you cradled his face even softer than he was yours, “My Belphegor…” 

The sharp pebbles and uneven ground irritated your palms and knees as you crawled, trying to make your way around in the dark with little injury. You staggered when your hand slipped in something warm, flailing before bumping into what the warmth was coming from. You’d slipped in blood. 

It was a trembling, bleeding lump on the ground, curled into a half fetal position on its left side. The arm that it landed on was completely bent backwards at the shoulder, fingers twitching with the pain they must’ve been feeling. A few rib bones punctured the abdomen, causing a tearing sound when they moved too much. There’s a large crack on the left side of the skull, which is where most of the blood is pouring from; through the streaked blood, where he’d probably tried to rub it away, you could see Belphie’s face. Tears had washed the blood from his eyes into his mouth where he kept having to spit it out onto the dirt in order to keep crying out for help.

With a start, you easily recognized what- or who- he was clutching onto desperately to be Beel. The way they were curled around one another…your tears mixed with the blood pooling into the dirt, hands making their way through the disgusting mud puddle it created to grab at his injured hand.

“Your Belphegor, ‘m your belphie-” he dragged you in closer, tucking you securely against his left side, “Wanna tell your Bel what’s the matter? Nightmare?”

Pushing the nauseous feeling down- and the distinct feeling that you knew it wasn’t a nightmare, that it was real- you shook your head in denial. It was such a poor lie that you couldn’t help but wince into his shoulder, but he didn't say anything.

He just pulled you in tighter and tighter until your breaths were practically his. “Told you to sleep with me. Nothing stands a chance against the avatar of sloth in this department.” Belphie relaxed when his rambling made you laugh, “Not gonna let anything haunt you like this again.”

It was real, it was real, it was real. “Okay…I love you, Bel.”

Lucifer fell backwards out of the heavens; the first to fall and the first to hit the ground (he watched his brothers fall with him— heard the vile sounds of each one of them hitting hell's earth). Though various emotions clouded his mind, he still had the wit intact to try and maneuver himself before crashing, though that made it much worse. Half twisted before his landing, his torso remained twisted, ribs shattered and internal organs pierced with bone. His back, despite his best efforts, is what had the most contact with the ground- broken at every vertebrae. Feathery wings now black fluttered uselessly against his will, shocked with the pain of having been torched, torn, broken, and pierced by their own bones. Lucifer had always been the one that hid his pain best out of the six, so he grits his teeth and twists his torso back into place and gets up because he needs to get to his family. 

In an attempt to reach out for his brother, Mammon fell through the clouds with his arms stretched out, eyes never straying from the view in front of him, not even when Lucifer’s body hit the ground and he knew he was about to be next. He caught himself, or tried to, instantly snapping his wrists and sending a domino effect throughout his arms; each bone and joint cracking, shooting sharp pains straight to his head. Even his shoulders had been knocked horrendously out of place, so the only way he managed to get upright was the frantic flapping of his wings. Broken, kneeling on shaking legs, the sight of his mutilated arms made his stomach churn and bile rise. The acidic feeling has him retching miserably, yet even so, he spits out as much of the taste as he can and stands, hellbent on finding his family even if his arms are useless. 

With his throat closing up from panic at having the ground beneath him crumble and break, Levi falls through feet first, head lifted to watch the heavens grow farther and farther, arms scrambling in vain to grab at something. In this frantic state, he never saw the end of his fall coming- he only felt the white hot pain cracking through his lower limbs- heard his bones shattering and snapping apart. His hands are clutching at dirt, choke sobs wrecking through his frame because he can’t feel his legs anymore. His brain is only registering the throb of pierced skin, veins, and arteries. The drag against the ground makes the pain worse, but he can’t find it in his hysterical self to stop pulling his body along, arms shaking under the strain as he attempts to seek out one of his brothers for help.

Opposite of his…’creator’, Satan fell backwards amongst the clouds, head tilted towards the ground as it got closer and closer. His eyes closed in anticipation of the impact, expecting his skull to get crushed, but they quickly shot open at the gutting sensation in his abdomen. Blonde hair tickled the rocks beneath him, head still lolled backwards with no energy to lift it, making the blood dripping from his mouth stream into his eyes. He’d been impaled on a spiked boulder, sending a numbing tingle throughout his entire body; the only moving parts of him were the shocked blinking of his eyes, bobbing of his adam’s apple as he tried to swallow his own blood, and the occasional twitch of his fingertips. Once the numbness made its way to his throat, he began to panic, blindly moving his sluggish limbs in an attempt to get free. The struggle irritated his wound, making more and more blood gush until there was a whole ocean of it underneath him- at some point, he lost the ability to move at all, and the only thing he could do was let out curdling screams until someone found him.

Asmo fell in a daze, not really processing the situation until he saw ink black washing over his ivory wings. He suddenly screamed, hands rubbing over the shedding feathers like somehow he could stop them from blowing away with the wind. Watching all the feathers burned down into four smooth, leathery wings, he was completely hysterical as the reality of the situation sunk in. When he couldn’t bear to look at what he was becoming anymore, he cast his teary eyes in front of him, breath getting stolen from his throat when his jaw met the ground, shattering instantly upon impact. The rest of his body hurdled against the dirt and he just laid there, too shocked with pain to even really feel it. The tang of copper crawled up his throat, spilling out of his mouth, but the only thing he could do was let out choked whimpers, hoping someone could hear. 

As his throat constricted until he could barely breathe, heart thumping sporadically after ‘letting’ his sister be shot, Beel fell clutching his twin against his chest. He promised he wouldn’t let go, but the momentum made him lose his grip anyway, sending Beel further into panic. He never got the chance to wonder about the end of their fall- he was too busy trying to reach his brother again- but he felt it. The shock of pain blooming where he landed on his right side, the feeling of organs being pierced by bone. He desperately wanted to lift his head to see if the other was still beside him, but his eyes were covered with blood from his cracked skull. He whimpers out his twin’s name, flinching when someone grabs his ankle before frantically reaching out with his left arm to grab onto Belphegor’s ankle— he wanted to shout out, but he couldn’t find the energy to speak. Instead he had to listen to Belphie cry out for someone to save them. 

Belphie fell screaming, hands grasping onto his twin with frantic desperation after having watched his sister get shot with an arrow. The wind blowing past them was grating against his ears, further panicking him when his grip began slipping the faster gravity dragged them down. As soon as they broke apart, they were scrambling to reach each other again, and he didn’t notice the sight of the ground coming closer until they crashed into it. He fell on his left side, arm and leg getting crushed under the shocking weight, ribs cracking, and head knocking against the dirt so hard it made his vision blur and skull break open. In this position, he was facing Beelzebub’s feet, like they were Yin and Yang. He uses his right arm to reach out for his twin again, gripping onto his uninjured leg tightly, voice coming out cracked as he assured his brother it’d be okay before crying out for one of the others to please come save them.

[riseatlantisss]

A New Beginning

Pairing : Astarion x gender neutral!reader, short and sweet one-shot

A/N: Minor spoilers for Astarion’s arc in BG3. The first half is from reader’s POV, the second half is from Astar’s POV, hope its not too confusing! Enjoy! Written while listening to this on repeat TW : mentions of abuse, trauma, PTSD, but most importantly : lotsss of cuddles

English isn’t my first language, sorry for any mistakes <3

It’s unlike anything else, the vivid pain of helpless past trauma that radiates through the body like a burn, the horror of it tight as a fist around the throat. Astarion knows it all too well. But in that moment, safe in his bed with the love of his life in his arms, the pain heals.

The room is pitch black as you wake up, except for the dim light of a candle glowing from your nightstand. The air around you feel cold, but the bed is warm and comfy. You don’t feel like getting up just yet. Astarion is laying on his side, facing you, eyes closed. Messy white curls are falling on his forehead and his arm is wrapped around your waist. You smile as you contemplate your so-called scary, blood-thirsty vampire boyfriend’s cute bedhead. He looks pretty damn adorable.

"You realise it's rude to stare, don't you?" Astarion says, voice gravelly and eyes still closed peacefully. "How did you know I was staring?" You ask, almost shocked. "It comes with being a vampire, darling!" He replies before tightening his grip around your waist and pulling you nearer. 

You chuckle and roll on top of him. He pulls you even closer and holds you there for a long, delicious moment. Your fingers clutch on his curly silver hair. Since Astarion made the shattering discovery that physical contact did not necessitate pain, he has been eager to use touch for comfort. Fortunately for you, when it comes to touching him, you can never get enough.

His fangs glimmer like daggers as he brushes them along your skin, devouring you with kisses, drawing his lips lower and lower until they are resting above your thrumming pulse dancing at your neck. His skin pale and his eyes red, burning brightly in the near-darkness, sharp and piercing, he glows in the dim light of the room.

The way Astarion feels in your arms—the mixture of fragility and tensile strength—makes the protectiveness surge in your chest. His warmth pierces straight through 200 years of vampiric cold. Sometimes you find yourself thinking about all the horrors he had to endure under Cazador’s control, and you shiver. You know how tough he is. Everyday he gets up to fight the same demons that left him so tired the night before. And that, my love, is bravery. You think, running your fingers through his hair and down his neck as he lets out a long sigh of joy and relief. You are so proud of him. He is free now and that’s what matters most but what’s done is done, and you’ll never be able to protect him from the past.

“Astarion, are – are you happy?” You timidly whisper, a barely noticeable worry in your voice.

Was he happy ? The words resonate in Astarion’s mind. No one ever asked him that. No one ever cared about his feelings. Never. Before you, it used to be simple. Someone else did all the thinking for him. He never had any question to answer. Hunt victims for Cazador, entertain Cazador, push through the pain of his constant abuse, and repeat. So fucking cruel, but so fucking simple. Now it is all so... complicated. Everything is different. Now, he has someone who truly cares for him ? A friend ? A lover ? Gods help him.  

But it's true. You hadn’t done anything but go out of your way to make Astarion happy since the day you’d met him. Even if he thought he was the last person that deserved to be happy. Yet every time he holds you in his arms, he is. He is the best kind of happy, a pure and wonderful happy that lights up his insides and makes his dead heart beat again. He actually didn’t think a vampire could get this happy. Brooding is in the job description. Angst is a part of the daily routine. Nobody can be a vampire without some anger issues and major emotional baggage. But in that moment, safe in his bed, holding the love of his life in his arms, he is nothing but happy. He is home. That is a gift and one he will be eternally grateful for.

Hoping actions would speak louder than words, he decides to keep quiet and pulls you in for a long, sweet kiss, holding you even tighter, never ever wanting to let you go.

“I love you,” he breathes softly after a while, keeping his mouth as close to yours as he can. “I love this. And I want it all.” 

[sadlilghostt]

His loss and ruin.

Angel x sibling reader

๑ | synopsis: after a few years in hell, angel met a certain demon that he thought he could actually trust. Angel did actually fell for him, sadly, kindness nor love was a thing in hell, so he became more ruined and broken. Until a certain gambling demon came for his rescue.

๑ | tw : cursing, panick attack, abuse will be mentioned, blood, gore, death will be also be mentioned.

๑ | a/n : a part two from " my little sunshine " ig? HAHA I just watched HH ep 4 or 5 just right now and it just booster my motivation to write a second part of that one HEHE hope y'all liked it! ~

" My little sunshine "

Master list

After the chaos occured on Valentino's studio and his very first heated argument with husk, angel ran off to a strip club to blow off some steam, but Satan must be hating on him somehow to bring husk to his tail and be his 'little-shining-armor' and caused more chaos.

" husk, what the actual fuck you are doin' here? " angel groaned as he struggled against his hold.

" let go off me! " he tried to pulled his arms back but fails miserably when husk tightened his hold to him and proceeds to push him away from the club.

" no, I'm takin' you back to the hotel. " husks gruff voice grumbled behind him.

" gett- off! " he groaned as he kicked his legs back trying to push him away to his relief, husk finally let go of his arms. Angel dusted off non-existent dust off of himself as husker gave him a frustrated look.

" that fucker put somethin' on yer drink. " angel glared at him.

" you don't think I can't tell when someone spikes my drink?! " he snapped as he run his fingers to his hair " I do this all fuckin' time! " he continues as husk gave him a look of disbelief.

" you just let people drug you all the time? "

More anger and frustration bubbled to angels chest, the bottle is in the verge of exploding.

Angel snapped his body to husks direction as his hands were in front of him, indicating his distress and frustrations.

" you think I ask for it? ! " he snapped, catching husk off guard. " I don't ask any of this shit! "His hands flew above from his head as more of his bottled emotions pour out.

" I didn't ask to be this way. " he turned back to him as husk stared at him.

" I didn't ask for you Charlie to save me, " he pointed at Huskers chest as he stepped away.

" I didn't asked for you to save me. " he pointed more to his chest, there nose were barely touching.

" I can handle myself. " he huffed pointing at himself " really? Because I just see someone self-distructing. " husked snapped back pointing back at angel's chest which angel leaned away. Husker pauses before continuing.

" it's seems like-- " just turned away " I don't know.. " he shook his head. Husker turned back again to face angel as he shrugged awkwardly " it seems like you need a bartender to talk too. " angel laughed at he placed his hand to hide forehead.

" oh, so— " he flew his hands again to his side as he chuckled. " now you're going to act like you give shit about me? " he places one of his hand to his hip.

" you think after how you treated me—" he quirkee a brow a him, pointing at him " I'm going to open up to you? Please. " he huffed as he opens his arms again dramatically as he turned away ready to walk out of this, and this conversation before he breaks more.

" maybe I would treat you better if you you were real, " more anger filled angels nerves as unwanted memories flew back to his mind. From the start where he was alive. Where he was still with you.

Anthony came back home late again with more bruises on his neck, his body was swaying as he stumbled to his steps when his eyes landed on you.

You were seated in front of the door with your arms and legs crossed.

He wondered, why we're yous till awake.

" anth. "

Anthonh breath out before cracking up a wobbly smile as he leaves ok the door frame " heya sunshine. " he shot and finger guns at you, but your expression remains the same and clearly unfazed.

He gulped, " why- why are you still awake? It's in the middle of the night.. " he stumbled up on his step as he walked towards your direction.

" oh I don't know, maybe because I was waiting for my idiot, stupid of a brother to come home and actually eat with me in the nights and sleep together and cuddle like he promised? " you quirked a brow at him as you stand up from your seat.

He gulped once again, " oooh.. " he breathe to his teeth as he sighed and gave you an apologetic look. " I'm sorry sunshine.. For- not being able to eat dinner with you.. It's just- "

" work has been very tougher lately and you/i can't afford to leave early. " you rolled your eyes, perfectly synchronizing with him which he gave you a shock look before letting out a breathless laugh.

" well- wow. " he coughed out.

" anth.. " you sighed frustratedly as you walked towards him " I know you, we're literally siblings. I know you from head to toe and you're like an open book to me. "

You stared up at him with a frown, he looked completely nervous, making you sigh as he averted eye contact again.

" I know when soemthin's up or not, and I can tell that work has not been only tough, but rough for ya too. And don't think I can't see the bruises anth, I can literally see the dried blood on 'yer nose. " you squinted an eye at him which he flinched when you noticed this.

He sighed as he slumped before chuckling.

" I just can't hide anythin' from ya, aight sunshine? "He cocked his head to the side.

" bitch, I've been with your for years, what did ya expect? " you chuckled when you felt a stinging pain on your forehead.

" hey! Language. " he pouted.

" Italian and english? " you sarcastically replied.

" Gesù Cristo, sei una minaccia, " he chuckled as he shook his head ruffling your hair.

" hey! Watch it! I just groomed that! " you groaned. But giggling afterwards, he too started to chuckle as the both of you shared a heart laugh.

Once the both of you calmed down, a soft from were on your face again as you sighed.

" I just don't want'cha to hide things from me anth.. You've been there for me ,and I wanna be there for ya too, so please just cut the act ok? " you dropped your head softly to his chest as you lazily hang your arms around his waist.

" I don't want to see you silently suffer so please, " you tilted your head to meet his troubled face.

" don't be afraid to lend me 'yer troubles ok? "

Angel stared at you for a moment before sighing as he hugged you with his other hand on your head.

" what can I do? I can't say no ta that eyes sugar. " he softly laughed as you smiled brightly at him.

" good, now let's eat! "

Angel felt tears swelled up upon his eyes at the memory as his heart pounded, he the lump of his throat thickens as he listened more to husk.

" and not some bullshit version of yourself, ways pushin' my boundaries. " husks scoffed as he watched angel walked away from him. This grew more frustration for husk.

" lemme tell ya, nobody in that hotel cares who you are! " he snapped as he swung his hand to his side. " how famous, how hot. "

" so you might as well just cut the act. " angel stopped from his tracks. With that single sentence, he finally snapped.

" anth.. We talked a bout this, I told you to not be afraid of lending me your troubles. If I were to loose my life just ta have you to open up then sure I'd fuckin' bet my life on that. " you sighed dramatically as angel shot you a look for swearing but you ignored it " like I've said, I've been with you for years, I can literally see through that mask that you're in trouble. So please just drop the act, ok? "

Your voice rang onto his mind as his mind finally went blank, emotions finally exploding.

" IT'S NOT AN ACT! " he snapped turning around to face husk again, tears were threatening to fall from his eyes. Husk was once again, shocked as he finally see his walls breaking down.

" it's who I need to be.. " he hugged himself as he averted his eyes.

" and this— " his hand flew above his head " this is my escape " escape from everything,escape from val, escape from the memory,the memory of you dying into his arms. He smiled but it was strained and tensed.

" where I can forget about it all! " he turned again stumbling as he leaned into the clubs wall for support. An image of you dead in his arms flashed into his mind again.

" h-how much I hate-! " himself, he hated himself for for not being able to save you from that night. " everything! " he continued.

" a place where I can get high, and not have to think how much it hurts. " he clutched his chest. He wondered, what would you think if you saw him now, would you still care for him? Love him? Would you still see him as an older brother?

" and maybe.. " he pushes himself off of the wall as he places his hands on the side of his head as he looked down on his foot. " I can ruin myself enough in the process, " his hands slowly went limp to his side.

" if I end up broken, I won't be his favorite you any more and.. I wont have to remember that fuckin' night where she died right into my arms. " his voice shook as he shook his head trying to shove away the memory of you slowly going limp into his arms.

Angel sat on the side walk, hugging his legs into his chest.

" and maybe he'll let me go.. And maybe.. And just maybe.. I might get actually redeemed and see her again. "

Husk looked down at the spider demon sadly, he wondered who's she he was talking about. But he figured that it must be someone from the day he was life, deciding not to push it, husk sat down beside him.

Husk sighed heavily as he started, " I was an overload once you know." Husk started. Angel turned his head to look at him to see if he was lying.

Husk met his eyes before smiling awkwardly.

" yeah.. And uh.. " he trailed " it's was nice to have that power, but when your dealing with souls, while Also being a gambler, the stakes are pretty high. And loosing a few more hands can be more than a little dangerous, so when you're down on you luck, you turn into anything to..keep you afloa even making deals yourself. So I know what is like to.. Regret the choices made and.. " he pauses for long before starting again. " knowin' ya can't take it back. " he finishes, a thickening silent envelopes them before angel broke it.

" I..." He trailed as he stared at the puddle infront of him " had a little sister. " husk perked up at the mention of this before turning to look at angel,

' so that was the "she" he was talking about. ' husk thought. He remains silent and listened further.

" she was my everything, my source of light, my little sunshine. " angel smiled sadly, husks eyes widened a little to see him talking so sweety about someone, but it was a relative anyways so of course he'd talk sweetly about it. But it was new to see angel dust being like that.

" our parents were never good, so we eventually ran away from home once I turned 18,she was 16 back then. " he pauses before continuing " her name is Y/N, Y/N is.. Someone ya should not mess with, the girl was like a tiger on loose when mad. " he chuckled dryly " but overall that chaotic personality, she was the sweetest sugar you'd eva' picked, a delicate little flower. " he sighed as he stared into the distance.

" back then, I was very secretive, hidin' my outside doins from her, comin' home late and neva' eaten dinners with her, no cuddles night and such... " he sighed before continuing " she confronted me once about that, but.. I choose to hide things from her again, till one night. I caught myself in a bad deal and stole bunch'a drugs and money.. And that stupidity of mine caused her life. " he tests finally pour into his eyes as he let out a little sob.

" I watched-... Husk i watched her.. Died right in my eyes! " he panted as he turned to the feline who had his eyes wide at the information he was getting. " and.. Right into my arms. " angel hugged himself tighter.

" so that's why.. I did everything.. Everything to ruin myself more.. Just to get that wipe off of my mind, to forget- her hands slowly let go of my hand.. Her eyes running out of life.. That- little sad smile she held even dying. " he cried, shoulders were shaking as he sobbed, husk sighed as he placed a hand ok angels shoulder and pats it.

" everyday.. Everytime, I regretted not coming home early, I regretted not spending enough time with her, I regretted for not listenin' to her.. If I could turn back the time.. If I had a second chance to be with her.. I'll.. I'll be a better brother this time. " he sobbed.

Husk was silent, trying to look a better words to ease up the spider demon, he let out a heavy sigh before smiling lightly.

" well , I never known the gal but.. I'm sure she forgives ya. " he started as he watched angel tears up.

" you did fucked up big time but.. " he pauses as he stand up and walked in front of angel.

" I'm sure the gal still see's you the bestest brother she eva' had. You did took care of her once the both of ya left yer parents house, so the little gal must be waitin for ya up there. " husk smiled at him before holding out his hand, angel smiles before wiping off his tears and accepted his hands pulling himself up.

"... Thanks.. For.. Listening. " angel awkwardly rubbed his arms as husk shrugs.

" told ya you could need a bartender to talk. " the both of them chuckled when the clubs door busted open and saw them.

" THERE THEY ARE, FUCKING GET THEM! "

I'm the heavens, on your room, your hands fiddled with the necklace on your neck as you stared off into the distance.

Suddenly your nose itch making you sneeze, you rubbed your nose as you sniffle groaning a bit.

" to who ever the fuck talkin about me, I hope you bit your tongue. " you groaned.

After the little massacre happened, angel and husker were covered in blood as the two happily walked their way back on the hotel when angel suddenly bit his tongue.

" OW- FUCK-"

[gingerlee-holds]

if it's ok with you I would love a part 3 of the letting of steam fics. i love the first two so far

oh of course!!!! thank you so much for the request heehee! i think there's gonna be one more chapter after this one before the story ends heehee, so if its requested ill begin working on that- i wanted alastor to be sweet with husker cuz husk's very clearly terrified of him so he's gentle with husk- anyways enjoy!! and thanku again for requesting <33333333

(also dont get mad but im not showing Angel's accent phonetically, that's just not my style so use your imagination)

Last Man Standing

Read the first one here! Read the previous one here!

Words: 1953 Pairing: Ler!Alastor, Lees!Niffty, Angel, and Husker Warnings: Alcohol and a panic attack, Angel being Angel, and also its unedited

Husker slightly trembled as he looked around. The radio demon could appear from any shadow, and Husk was never ready. The gambler hated that Alastor got to him so much, but he couldn’t help being afraid. That demon had his soul, and his grip on it was ceaseless. 

Mercifully, Husker wasn’t alone as he slunk through the hotel halls. He tightly held Angel Dust’s hand, who seemed completely unfazed by the situation. Behind them, trying to keep up, Niffty clapped her hands excitedly. Husker was at least glad she was enjoying herself. 

“Stay close, Niffty,” Husk looked behind him, motioning for the maid to hold his other hand. “You know how extra our boss can be.” He felt a little better holding their hands, but he knew that once Alastor tasted figurative blood in the water, it wouldn’t matter.

The shadow of the radio demon followed them down the dark hallway. Alastor may have been part-deer, but all that was going through his mind now was the instincts of a hunter. And if he wanted to be efficient about this - which he always did - he’d pick them off, one by one, starting with the weakest. 

Angel looked over. “Huskie, your hand is trembling. You afraid of the dark?” He said it with a light tone, but as soon as he saw the hotel bartender look back at him with eyes filled with terror, he softened. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll protect ya,” he said, affectionately rubbing Husker’s knuckle with his thumb. 

“And I’ll protect you, too!” Niffty giggled as she said it, squeezing Husker’s other hand.

Despite the fear, Husk grinned a little. “Thanks, you two,” he mumbled. He wrapped his tail around his waist like a hug, trying to level his breathing.

“Besides,” Angel continued, gesturing as he spoke, “I’m pretty sure Alastor’s just having fun with this. Nobody’s getting hurt. Just a little scared.”

“Cuz he’s a bad boy!” Niffty offered.

Angel snickered under his breath. “Yeah, sure. Besides, you’ve seen how agitated he looked this morning. He’s barely shown his face since the battle. Maybe he needs this.”

Niffty giggled again. “And when he finds us, he will tear our souls apart!”

Husker’s breath caught in his throat as he was reminded of Alastor’s threat. “What?!” 

“No, hun,” Angel chuckled and rubbed Husker’s shoulder. “She’s just fucking with you, Huskie. Our souls are fine.” He sighed a bit when he felt Husk tense up, silently wishing he could get some alone time with him to talk. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to wait for long. Angel spoke up again as they continued walking. “Niffty, no more jokes, got it?” 

Silence.

“Niffty?” Angel looked over, and Husker stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he held up his other hand for Angel to see: it was empty. “Niffty!” Both sinners looked around the hallway but found no trace of the neurotic little maid.

Husker’s breathing rate increased. “Oh, shit,” he whimpered. 

In an empty room, Alastor dropped Niffty on the bed, who was clapping enthusiastically. “You got me!”

The radio demon grinned and ruffled her hair. “That I did, little darling. I have two more targets, so I can’t tarry long, but I’ll leave you with this.” With a motion, Alastor summoned two tendrils, using one to hold up one of Niffty’s hands and the other to wiggle against her stomach. He fondly knew that it didn’t take much to unravel the little sinner, and as he predicted, she instantly began cackling like a lunatic. She was easy prey. “Now, don’t go anywhere!” Alastor giggled.

“YEhEHEheheHS SihIhIHihIR!” Niffty said through her laughter, giving him a salute. 

Husker was panicking. She was gone, and he was next. He heard Angel beside him, but his voice sounded distant.

“Maybe she just found a bug on the ground, hun! You know she loves cleaning pests.” Angel’s reasoning wasn’t heard as Husker began stumbling forward.

The radio demon momentarily opened the door just as Niffty uttered a loud shriek that echoed down the hall.

Angel stood straight upright, but before he could say anything, Husker took off like a shot, running as if his life depended on it. “No, Huskie, wait!” Angel ran after him, trying to keep up with the gambler. By the time Husker looked back again, the porn star was out of sight. Alastor got him, too. The bartender whimpered and took off running again.

“Alright, asshole!” Angel Dust yelped as he was unceremoniously pinned to a wall by Alastor’s magic. “First of all, how you’re holding me is all wrong. See, these hands over here are barely being held down at all. And you shouldn’t keep the arms completely stretched and extended like this; it’s always better to allow some give; that way, the muscles don’t get sore. Have you ever done this before?”

Alastor’s eye twitched in annoyance, but he took what Angel said into account and moved him a little. “An expert?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty much a pro regarding restraints. But secondly, and also most importantly, you’re scaring Husker. He’s having a panic attack, thanks to you.”

“I’ll attend to him shortly, don’t worry. As for you, my effeminate fellow, it’s time for your punishment after being found!”

“Do… do you hear yourself right now?” Angel raised an eyebrow. “That is some seriously kinky shit. I’ve heard that exact line a dozen times. It’s one of the classic amateur porn-writing lines. Like, you know what I’m gonna say to that, right?”

“Hm! Then don’t say anything,” the radio demon smiled wide. “Just laugh.”

“With the way you’re holding me down, I might just do thahAhahahahhat! WhaaHAt?!” Angel looked down and saw sets of claws extending from the wall, wriggling into his underarms.

“Four arms means four armpits! Now, excuse me,” Alastor turned and walked to the door. Angel Dust’s laugh was just as loud as his personality, and he wasn’t used to the gentle, teasy touch he was receiving. With a chuckle, Alastor left him to his tickling. 

Husker ran until he saw the bar, and with all the grace of a terrified cat, he leaped over the bar, knocking a bottle over, and curled up on the floor in a ball. He trembled and gripped his neck, practically feeling his chain tightening as the radio demon held his soul in a vice-like sadistic grip. 

Suddenly, Husker was jarred out of his thoughts by a single light turning on overhead. He held his breath and looked up to see enough light to fully illuminate the small bar. Then, there was a soft knocking on the countertop.

“I’d like a drink, please.” 

Husker peeked over the counter to see Alastor sitting on one of the barstools, legs crossed and hands neatly folded on his lap. His eyes were closed, and he smiled without teeth. He looked… completely unthreatening. “W-what?” the bartender asked, his voice still shaking. 

“A drink, friend.” Alastor’s voice was soft, almost soothing. Was he trying to comfort him?

“I- why?”

Alastor opened one eye. “Because I’m parched. Being a hunter is hard work, you know.”

“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t know.” Husker glared at his boss. “What did you do to the others?” 

“They’re all having fun, don’t worry.” Alastor tapped the counter again. “Now, gin and tonic, please.”

“That’s… not your usual order.” Husker looked at the radio demon suspiciously. Husker’s favorite drink was a gin and tonic, so why was Alastor ordering it? Regardless, Husker began making the drink and served it to his guest in a large glass. 

“Thank you.” Alastor politely nodded before pouring half of the drink into another glass and passing it back to the bartender. “Here, have some.”

Husker looked down at the glass and then back up at Alastor. He didn’t seem to be manipulating him. It looked like Alastor was genuinely just trying to calm him down. Hesitantly, the gambler picked up the glass.

“You’ve won.” Alastor held up the glass. “A toast! You were the last one I found.”

Husk held up his glass and took a big sip. The alcohol warmed the back of his throat, and he felt all his muscles loosen up a bit. Sighing, Husk leaned against the countertop and looked up at Alastor. He was warmly smiling as he drank from his glass.

“You should have seen the look on Angel’s face, Husker. It was absolutely to die for!” The radio demon laughed as he set the glass down, and thanks to the gin, Husker found himself chuckling along with him. 

“I bet he made a sex joke, didn’t he?” 

Alastor nodded, and the two laughed together. 

After a few minutes, both were filled with warmth and laughing at nothing in particular. The radio demon wiped a tear from his eye and sighed happily. “Now, you get a reward for lasting the longest.”

Husker tilted his head, smiling lopsidedly in confusion, before he felt Alastor’s tendrils from behind him, gently massaging his shoulders. The shock of the touch quickly melted, and the gambler slowly laid his head on the counter. Smiling wide, he yawned like a cat, and his ears twitched. 

Alastor smiled and used one hand to rub his ear, and to his surprise, he heard a low purring sound coming from his bartender. He knew Husker was starved for touch, but he had no idea it was to this extent. He couldn’t help letting a small “Awww…” out, smiling fondly at the grumble Husk made in reply. The feline sinner swatted at the radio demon, and Alastor gently grabbed the offending hand, tracing the heart on Husker’s paw with a single claw. 

“H-heeheehehee… C-cuhuhuhut ihihit ouhuhut…” Husker began giggling but didn’t pull away from the touch. As Alastor continued administering his reward tickles, Husker never once moved, only letting out sleepy giggles.

“You are far too precious to be so scared, Husker.”

“Sh-shuhuhuhut ihihihihit…”

“No, I don’t think so.” Alastor wiggled the claw a bit faster, and Husk’s giggling mixed with his purring made for an extraordinarily adorable sound. Without stopping the massaging, ear rubs, or palm tickles, Alastor gently led Husker out from the bar to the oversized couch in the lobby and sat him down. With a start, the radio demon realized he was still tickling the others, and he quickly stopped all his magic, releasing Lucifer, Vaggie, Charlie, Niffty, and Angel from their tickly punishment. 

The other hotel residents slowly stumbled into the lobby, wiping tears from their eyes and rubbing their still-tingling spots. All had blushes on their faces, and none wanted to talk to the others after being so thoroughly wrecked. Lucifer was practically gasping for air as he shuffled in, and without a word, he sat down on the far end of the couch and instantly fell asleep. Next to him sat Charlie, and next to her sat Vaggie, and the two girlfriends snuggled close to each other. Niffty hopped onto the armrest and conked out faster than you could say ‘stab,’ and Angel crept in beside Husker to wrap his four arms around the sleeping bartender.

Alastor sat in his recliner, took a deep breath, and smiled as the other residents slept. Finally, the Hazbin Hotel was quiet, and he could get some rest. He was shockingly tired, and as he lay his head back against the seat, he grinned at the fun he had had today. He hoped he could do it again soon because, as far as he could tell, nobody else disliked it either. Although maybe he’d have to go easy on the theatrics with Husker. 

The other residents were plotting revenge against the radio demon as he slept. But that would come after everyone was awake. For now, the hotel slept.

[storm-angel989]

Could you write Valentino x his biological teen! daughter? Maybe they both died the same death at the same time ( I heard he was shot by a cop) and they live in hell together? Thank you💓💓💓

In life, they called him The Mayor. 

Born into a prison town, by the age of twenty four Valentino had already served his time in the penitentiary. Unlike the rest of the criminal population he was locked up with, Valentino used those locked up moments to work his way to the top. By the time he emerged, he had connections within every gang, and at least three members of each owed him favors. 

Charm, after all, had always been his strong point. And he was skilled at selling anything to anyone. From drugs to bodies, Valentino had his hands in it all. He was on top of the world until she came into his life. 

A cute little blonde thing. The words “I’m pregnant”. A house the next town over, bought and owned under an alias. Soft kisses and a proposal, a promise to be wed after the birth of their daughter. A shift from selling to negotiating deals- brokering deals inside and outside the prison.

For a fee, of course. 

Nine months ticked past. A hurried ride to the hospital. Hours of pain and too much blood, Valentino watched death take the only person he ever loved. As he clutched his newborn daughter to his chest, he wondered if this was payback- karma for all the wrong he had done. 

A quiet car ride home, and Valentino’s focus stayed elsewhere. Rather than his usual alert eyes, the mind that usually assessed every shadow was too busy processing the information he had been given on how to keep this tiny creature alive. Exhausted, he slowly climbed the steps into the house and closed the door behind him.

“It’s you and me now, bebita,” Valentino said softly as he took a seat in the rocking chair. 

The child cooed and he pressed a ready made bottle to her mouth. As she ate, he snapped open the top of his dress shirt and laid her against his bare chest, using one hand to keep her secure. So focused on his daughter and the events of the day, he didn’t notice their presence until it was too late. 

Three quick shots. Two through him. One through them both. A flash of red. And then white. 

“Ah, Valentino,” a loud voice boomed. “And your little girl too. How sweet.” 

Valentino looked around frantically at the red and black painted office. Seven pulpits surrounded him, but whatever was behind them was obscured by a different colored fog. He looked down and to his relief, his daughter lay fast asleep in his hold. 

“The Mayor, they called you, hm? You have quite the talent. And quite the rap sheet. I call dibs.” A different voice said. 

A squabble of arguments, and words Valentino couldn’t understand. Sins? Greed? Lust? Where the fuck was he? He opened his mouth to demand, and instead he found himself in an entirely different room, in front of a rather usual looking desk. 

“So you’re Valentino, hm? I’m Asmodeus, the demon of lust, and I’ll be the one you answer to.” 

Valentino recognized the voice as the second one that had spoken. The red fog that surrounded him in the former room cleared, revealing a flaming red face surrounded by blue. Startled, he stepped back and wrapped his arms around his daughter. 

“Leave her out of this, take me,” he demanded. “I’m the one who deserved to die, not her.” 

Asmodeus raised an eyebrow. “You are dead. No way out of it now. But leave who out of this…oh, oh!” He stood up and walked around the desk. 

Valentino stepped back and Asmodeous grinned. “Ah. Not very often we get a two for one deal. Tell me now, what is her sin?”

“Sin? She isn’t even three days old,” Valentino replied in what he hoped was an authoritative voice. “She’s done nothing wrong.”

Asmodeus shrugged. “Born out of wedlock, unbaptised. It’s all the same to heaven, they don’t give a shit.” He returned behind the desk and took a seat. 

A thoughtful expression crossed his face. Or at least, what Valentino thought looked like was a thoughtful expression. Really, it was hard to tell. 

“Let’s clear the air,” he said after a few seconds of silence. “You’re dead. She’s dead. You’re both sinners, so you’re in hell. You, my friend, will take on the form of a demon. And she, because her only sin was being born, will maintain her human form and grow up. She’ll stop aging at the age of twenty five but you…what to do with you?”

Valentino watched as he pulled out a binder from his desk and seemed to review its contents. Anger began to fester and he held his daughter ever so slightly tighter. Hell? Impossible. 

“You're a demon?” Valentino demanded. “And I’m dead? And this is hell?”

“You’re both dead, and yes. I am indeed a demon. I represent the sin of lust, but you’ll learn all about that,” Asmodeus answered. He closed his binder and peered at Valentino.

“Usually, I send sinners straight to the pride ring with nothing but the clothes on their backs. This is hell after all- and you earned your place here. But your little girl didn’t, so I’ll make you a deal. You work for me, and I’ll set you up with everything you need to take care of that little girl of yours.”

A contract and a pen floated over to Valentino. Asmodeous’s name, already scrawled on the contract in bright red. Valentino looked down at his little girl and took a deep breath as he picked up the pen. Slowly, he scrawled his name on the line. 

Asmodeous grinned. “Ah. Smart man. I knew I picked a good one. Now come, let’s get you settled. That little girl probably needs a bottle.” 

Thirteen years later, Valentino would have traded the terror of that first day in hell for the current moment. 

His daughter, dressed in what barely constituted clothing. Tight bandana top. Way too short jean shorts. Long hair, curled down and a face framed with makeup. 

“You cannot wear that to school,” Valentino told her firmly. “Beyond the fact that is does not comply with the dress code, you look like a…”

“Like what Dad? Like a slut?” Reader yelled as she put her hands on her hips. “Go ahead, say it!”

Valentino gave her a stern look. “Go change. This discussion is over.”

“I hate you! And I hate this place!” She screamed back.

Valentino winced as she slammed the door. Behind him, Vox chuckled.

“It will get better, Val, once she gets through her teenage years. Until then, buck up buddy. She’s just like you.” 

“I’ll go talk to her,” Velvette said as she stood up. “Val, might as well head down to the studio. Give her some time to cool off.” 

With a sigh he picked up his mug of coffee and made his way downstairs to his office. As he did more and more frequently these days, he wondered if he would be facing the same struggles with her on Earth that he did in hell. Probably, he figured. After all, it was his daughter. At least in hell, he had friends to help raise her. And a life of luxury he hadn’t imagined existed on Earth. 

And if he had his way, he would be sure she never knew any different.

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 7

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | AO3

-----

Eddie doesn't know why he can't just shut his mouth.

Well, no.

He does know why, and it's because he talks to distract himself, to make himself sound confident and in control and not afraid at all. Fuck, he's terrified right now, and walking by Steve's side and yammering at him helps, even if he kind of thinks he should have stuck more to Ozzy Osborne and less to Nancy Wheeler. The way Steve's looking up ahead at Nancy after Eddie had commented about her true love worthy actions is - complicated in a way that Eddie, if he's honest, never expected to see on Steve Harrington's face.

Eddie'd kind of always figured that the guy had maybe four emotions and not a whole lot else going on under that hair. He feels bad about it now, now that Steve's walking by his side in hell barefoot and bare chested, the copper scent of his blood still marred and fouled by the strange ichor of the demon bats whenever Eddie leans in too close to him, wearing Eddie's vest better than Eddie himself ever has.

For your modesty, Eddie had said, as though it wasn't really for the sake of Eddie's sanity. As if he wasn't tempted by all that bare skin for more than one reason, as if it wasn't mostly because of the dim light and the grime that he hadn't caught more than a handful of the words inked on Steve's skin, the way he'd been staring.

As if he wasn't doing his best not to still stare. He knows there's come on, I didn't even do anything this time on Steve's bicep, knows it sounds like exactly something he said and lied about. Knows there's oh yeah, Jessie's real cute, legs for days somewhere on Steve's chest, and he's trying to think about something else besides the way it makes him scramble to remember if Jessie was one of the many girls he'd pretended to have a crush on.

Something else. Anything else.

Absurdly, he wonders if there's still demon bat blood and flesh between Steve's teeth, if Eddie could taste it as well as smell it if he kissed him.

"It doesn't matter. Nancy and I aren't soulmates," Steve says quietly, yanking Eddie out of his own thoughts and back on to the topic at hand, which is -

Right. Steve and Nancy, not Steve and Eddie and bloody ichor kissing.

"How do you know?" Eddie challenges.

There's a measured, purposeful silence, and Eddie's eyes widen a little.

"Did you test it?" Despite his true love talk, he hadn't known Nancy and Steve were that serious, back in '84 - or maybe one of them just had something really specific on their skin, that let them know immediately.

Steve scoffs, though, lip curled up in the briefest sneer before he seems to give up. "Not intentionally."

Oh. That's - oh.

"Oh," he says lamely, unable to come up with anything else.

He thinks about asking did you ever go to the hospital, then? or is this what you were trying to protect me from? because fuck, he wants, and he's in the middle of hell and he might as well throw it all in, but… what if it isn't him? Right now, Eddie thinks he'd rather hold onto the pretense that it is, that it could be, than know for sure.

Still a goddamn coward.

"She said she loved me," Steve says, once again snapping Eddie back into the conversation, and huh, he's going to have to remember that.

That Steve will talk, too, if Eddie's quiet long enough, if he gives him the space and shows him that he'll listen.

"Not all the time, but enough," Steve continues. "I believed her. But then - she said that we were just pretending. That it was all bullshit. Both of those things can't be true."

Eddie swallows. "I mean… yeah, sure they can. People can have a lot of feelings about things that are messy and don't make sense, right? Like she could love you and think what you guys were going through was bullshit."

Steve's quiet, and there's this look on his face like he wants so bad it's hurting him, and fuck, Eddie's heart aches. Then Steve seems to shake himself out of it.

"We've got more important shit to worry about, anyway. How're you holding up, man?"

Eddie blinks at him, thrown by the quick subject change. "Fine?"

Steve gives him a look, but - he isn't actually lying.

"Oh, you know, I'm terrified as shit and I feel like my legs are jello and my lungs are about to give out, but at least the murderous mob can't find me down here and I'm not in this alone anymore, so, you know. Things are looking up."

That gets Steve to give a little amused huff, at least, one corner of his mouth turned up in a little smile before his expression goes contemplative. "Maybe I should talk to them."

"Uh." Eddie stares at him. "To who?"

"Carver and the rest of the team. I mean, I don't really know the freshmen, but the older guys seem to be the ones leading the charge anyway."

Yeah, no, that still isn't making any more sense, and he raises an eyebrow. "And you're just. Gonna waltz up and ask them nicely to call off the freak hunt? Jesus fucking Christ, man, are you serious with this?"

The look on Steve's face tells him that yes, he is, and -

"Nope, no, uh-uh, I cannot overstate how bad of an idea this is, you - Buckley, Wheeler, a little help over here?"

The girls stop and turn to him practically in unison, and he waves a hand at Steve. "Stevie here thinks he should go have a nice chat with the mob out for my blood and tell them that he's ashamed of their behavior, and they should all go home and think about what they did."

"Hey!" Steve protests, in that harsh whispery tone that says he'd be shouting if he wasn't worried what attention that would draw. "That's not what I meant, geez, I just thought I could try to run interference with the guys on the basketball team."

Nancy and Robin exchange a look.

"I mean, it's not a terrible idea," Robin says, but she looks unsure about what she's saying.

"Of course it's a terrible idea," Nancy retorts. "Do you want to draw their attention to us?"

"I think their attention is already pretty drawn," Steve points out.

"To Eddie," Nancy replies. "What's the point of working to keep him hidden if we're just going to announce that we're involved with him somehow?"

Steve scowls. "How the fuck is Carver not a suspect, anyway? It was his girlfriend, then he's found at the scene of the crime with his friend's body, and he's still walking free and leading the crusade against someone else? That feels like basic detective work to me."

Eddie snorts. "Probably the same reason why your parties used to get busted up with a warning, but I got arrested for supplying the people who went to them."

He expects some blustering protest, especially when he sees Nancy's eyes cut to Steve with a wary resignation, but Steve just deflates a little.

"Oh." He looks over at Robin, giving her this little crestfallen expression with a searching eyebrow raised.

Robin's brows are pinched, and she shrugs at him, which apparently gives Steve the answer to whatever he was asking.

He turns back to them, shoulders squared. "So all the more reason I should talk to them. If he's getting by on that shit, then I can use the same thing to get him off your back."

Nancy looks at him all soft and contemplative, and for a moment Eddie has the horrifying thought that the back up he called for might actually be against him, but -

"It's still not worth the risk," she says firmly. "And we have more important things to worry about right now than Jason Carver."

Another earthquake strikes before Steve can attempt to continue the argument - if he was going to, anyway, Eddie'd seen the look of determination on his face but he's also seen the way he tends to ultimately defer to Nancy.

It doesn't really matter, he guesses, because the shaking is violent enough to knock them around - Nancy ending up held securely in Steve's arms and Eddie and Robin ending up hitting the ground.

Well, Eddie ending up hitting the ground, but for once his ability to throw himself around without thinking comes in handy, and he manages to catch Robin enough that she lands mostly on him.

There's a silent round of looks between the four of them, making sure they're all okay, and then they're off again.

"Hey, Eddie," Robin says as she comes up alongside him. "Thanks for the save."

Eddie huffs out a little laugh. "Steve just did the exact same thing."

Robin's expression goes a little scrunched. "He just threw himself on the ground and gave me an admittedly not very soft landing spot, but better than the Upside Down floor?"

"No, he - hey, shut up, I'm very comfortable - he came up to thank me for a save, too."

Her eyebrows shoot up, and then narrow contemplatively, gaze settling hard on Steve's back where he's walking with Nancy. "Oh did he. Your own personal thank you, huh?"

"Uh."

Eddie doesn't exactly know what to say to that. He'd fixated on Nancy to deflect from his own actions so he didn't have to process finally accepting his massive crush on Steve Harrington in front of the man himself, because she seemed like the obvious choice, but Robin had jumped in after Steve without a second thought, too, maybe she didn't appreciate not being singled out for a thank you.

She doesn't look unappreciated, though, she looks like she's mulling something over, a tentative little smile of amusement tugging at her lips before she looks back at him.

"Well, we both know what you did."

His eyes widen. No. There's no way she knows he's having horny soulmate thoughts about Steve Harrington, she can't -

"Making sure the kids didn't get in the boat?" she prompts. "Even though it meant that you had to come back out on the lake? Yeah, you can talk about being a coward all you want, but we see you."

Eddie flushes, grabbing for a piece of his hair to hide behind and immediately dropping it, considering it's still damp from lake water and Upside Down gunk. "Don't make me into something I'm not, Buckley."

He's not the hero in this. He's barely a party member. He's just - a companion they picked up for this particular quest because they had no other options. Eddie's got no illusions about where he stands in all of this, no matter how much he wants it to be different.

She rolls her eyes. "Well, it's still nice to have another almost adult in all of this. We actually outnumber the children, at least for now."

Eddie frowns. "How many children are involved in all of this?"

"Six," she replies. "A hoard of six of them that used to show up to irritate us when we were just trying to serve ice cream without getting screamed at by overheated mall rats; it was very annoying how many children Steve was friends with. Then I invited myself into their little party, but we kind of got Erica Sinclair involved too, so the numbers didn't exactly improve."

She pauses, then looks at him suspiciously. "You don't come with another child that we're going to have to watch out for, do you?"

He barks out a laugh. "No. The three youngest of my flock are already involved with all of this, it seems. The only thing I come with is blood thirsty jocks."

It comes out light and joking, the way he'd meant it to, but it still makes her look at him consideringly for a moment.

"No," he says, guessing what she's thinking.

"We would, you know, if you wanted us to," Robin tells him. "Steve's run interference with his old crowd before."

He opens his mouth to retort that he doesn't want them to, then snaps it shut, aware that would be a lie before he even says it. "It doesn't really matter what I want right now," he settles on. "Like Wheeler said, it's too risky."

Robin looks at him like she knows exactly what he was going to say, and he shifts his weight uncertainty, fiddling with his rings and waiting for her to call him on it.

She doesn't, though. She just gives a little hum, watching him for a moment longer before turning her focus back on the path ahead of them, calling out to Steve to ask him how much farther and getting into a shouty whisper fight about who needs to lower their voice.

And, well. That's the end of that, it seems, and they continue onto the Wheeler house to get their hands on Nancy's Wheeler's apparent stash of firearms. He tells himself that the warmth he feels is the satisfaction of having won that argument twice, and not from the fact that someone - that Steve Harrington - was ready to stand up for him despite the risk.

It's a good thing the lies he tells himself don't count.

Taglist: @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @affablevixen @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void

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Part 8

[pagannatural]

2.02 Everybody Loves a Clown

-Dad died so we’re going to a carnival

-MY GOD Dean looks amazing in this episode. He looks most himself in a t shirt covered in car grease. No wonder Sam keeps coming up to bother him.

-Sam is like Do you need anything Dean? Can I help with the car? Will you talk to me? I broke into our dead dad’s voicemail so that we could hang out again

- Dean: “I feel like a friggin soccer mom” well didn’t Sam play soccer and aren’t you his mom

-Dean asks why Sam was so quick to jump on this job and Sam says it’s what dad would’ve wanted. Sam wishes he could’ve truly made amends with John. They mostly fought about Dean last episode, and Sam has probably put it together that actually John traded his soul to the demon to save Dean so Sam probably feels a complicated gratitude toward John for that. He doesn’t know about John asking Dean to save/kill him, so he doesn’t know John has another reason for saving Dean other than just caring about him enough to sacrifice his soul and life’s mission to save him.

The other layer to Sam deciding now that he wants to be a hunter like John always wanted is that it’s so much easier for Sam to do that now that John’s dead. He’s struggling with the grief-that part isn’t easy- but he’s been fighting John his whole life. He doesn’t need to assert his independence from a father who isn’t there. Now his only real conflict hunting with Dean is being in love with him, but he trusts Dean and he’s seen now that he’s Dean’s top priority.

-What I wouldn’t give for Dean to lie to the carnival manager and say their act is him throwing knives at Sam. Can you even imagine the homoerotic tension. He just barely papercuts Sam’s neck, Sam gulps and tilts his head to show Dean the thin line of blood. Where am I

-Sam calls Dean’s behavior his “strong, silent thing.” The way he describes Dean in the rare moments he does is pretty revealing. Dean lies and hides himself frequently and Sam is the one person who sees through his bullshit. One of my favorite things about Sam is that he feels what he feels and he acts on it and the only feelings he can’t act on are those ones. You know the ones.

-Dean is angry that Sam suddenly wants to do what John would have wanted. Dean is pissed off that Sam wants to follow John’s wishes, now of all times. Because meanwhile, Dean is collapsing in on himself like a dying star with the need to not have to follow John’s last order, which was to potentially kill Sam. Dean would rather die. Of course Sam doesn’t understand this and just wants Dean to let him in, and he needs comfort from Dean. I bet usually Dean would give him that.

-Dean makes up with Sam by flirting with him, teasing that he’s a stickler for details about the case, and Sam smiles blushingly. He’s so pleased. Dean glances over at him with this pained longing. Just kiss.

-Sam with his whole body facing Dean, gazing at him:

-Sam looks displeased when he realizes Jo and Dean want him to leave so they can flirt

-Sam tells Dean that he misses John, feels guilty, and isn’t okay, and knows Dean isn’t either. He has tears in his eyes.

Dean looks at Sam like it’s physically painful not to comfort him. He must feel so guilty and horrible knowing John said he might have to kill Sam, like he can’t touch Sam while he’s holding this secret. He also thinks it’s his fault that John is dead instead of him, and therefore that it’s his fault Sam is struggling.

-Sam leaves. Dean just fucking loses it. He’s been working on repairing the Impala, the thing John left him. He grabs a crowbar and smashes the windows, tears a hole in the trunk. He’s so angry with John for putting this on him. Imagine, the same Dean who made John promise he’d keep Sammy safe before he would agree to leave for kindergarten. He stares after Sam, his lips trembling.

I love when Dean is violent. I don’t think his violence has surfaced in contexts other than overwhelming emotions for or related to Sam.

-They need to resolve the issue of why Sam is sticking around now that he’s finally, finally decided to. Sam’s actions show a trust and devotion to Dean as well as a desire for closeness, but Dean’s guilt and fear make him want to push Sam away.