#minors dont touch

[fraugwinska]

What about the reader found and old radio, they thought the radio was broken but it's not, it's just antique.. when they play it at night time alastor broadcast was heard first they feel something is odd.. but they love to listen to his voice, heck they even like talking to each other, because of this encounter alastor talk about it to rosie, she was happy hearing alastor telling her stories but she feel odd when alastor mention that the person he talks to is a human, Rosie giving him advice to not fall for human because they're different species, and it will make him weak etc.

Alastor feel guilty and agree with rosie advice so he's stop contacting the reader from the radio, he thinks that the reader will be fine but no the reader take it personally.. they thought alastor don't want to talk to them anymore.. it drive them mad and lead to suicide..

So yeah angst :D

Oh Anon. What have you done.

I cried while I wrote that - it took two very good friends of mine to encourage me to post it (Thanks to @macabr3-barbi3 and @mysterypotatoink). But I think it's tragic and beautiful, and honestly - I'm kinda proud of it!

TW: Psychological Trauma, descend into madness, loss of self care and suicide - please take care of yourself and do not read if you aren't comfortable with any of the mentioned! MINORS DNI

Here we go.

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Leap of Faith

You carried in the last box from you banged-up minivan. The old thing barely made it to your new home. A little cabin in the outskirts of New Orleans, a little off the grid and surrounded by the peaceful and whirring bayous of Louisiana.

A fixer-upper, just like yourself.

The online auction had intrigued you the second you found it, the photos were a bit blurry and you knew it was a risk to buy a place you've never set foot in, but something in you called you to get it. The price you paid was laughable, barely making a dent in your savings. Moving states sounded scary and impossible, but you felt oddly calm about it.

You didn't have a lot of stuff to move anyway. After all, you only lived with your late grandmother, and she never really cared for material things. Your parents left you at her doorstep, never to be seen again.

Caring for her in her last, sickness-ridden years had been a no-brainer - it felt like nothing in comparison to all she had done for you - but it also had been a bit lonely.

You had your friends, if you could even call them that, but you rarely saw them - guiding your nan through the last months of her life had been demanding and time-consuming. It had left you exhausted and emotionally unavailable, and after a while, calls and texts ceased, until it was just you and her. You felt lost, as if the world was slowly pulling away from you.

When she finally died, peacefully in her sleep, you felt sad, relieved and drained.

Detached from the city you lived in.

Lost.

So you decided to sell what little you inherited, except for a few sentimental mementos, and move away from it all. To start a new life, a happier one, finally one that was truly your own.

You took the final box inside, setting it on the coffee table and wiped the sweat from your brow. You looked around the little cabin: The roof had some spots that needed a patch, and the wood floors were a bit warped, but it was all yours. No more having to share anything with anyone.

The cabin came furnished, a lot of the stuff was old, but still usable. You figured that would change once you settled in and had a vision of what you wanted and needed to buy. The thought of thinking about no one but yourself made you nervous.

But a little excited, too.

The old furniture would do for the moment, but there was a particular piece that caught your eye: an old, vintage cathedral radio, sitting nestled in between a cracked wooden box and a tarnished, bronze candle holder in a bookcase that was a bit out of place in the tiny space. With a tilted head, you stepped closer to inspect it, drawn to it by it's unique character and beauty.

It looked as well-loved as it looked well-used, the mahogany a bit scuffed, the knobs a little worn from years of being turned. But there were golden details etched into the front, and you traced them lightly with a finger, strangely touched and intrigued.

You were certain the old thing didn't work, but when you plugged it into the nearby socket, static erupted from the speakers, making you jump back. You had to smile, though.

Tonight, you wouldn't be alone. You'd have this little device and a little music for good company.

***

"I'm home!" you announced to no one in particular, as you closed the door behind you, your hands full with overfilled grocery bags full of necessities, waiting to fill your empty cabinets.

The day had been hot, but a welcome breeze of the impending night break cooled the inside of your little cabin a bit. With a quiet grunt you set the paper bags down at the small kitchenette. Your groceries were quickly dispersed, and you put on an apron you saved from your grandmother as you got started on dinner.

You hummed as you cut vegetables and boiled water. It had been a long time since you had cooked, really cooked, your nan wasn't much for eating and had no problem living off of simple soups and toast. When you opened your fridge to get some butter, your glance fell onto the radio.

A little music would be nice, you decided, and you walked over, cleaning your hands on the red, frilly cloth around your waist before you turned the dial. The soft sound of static made you hum in contempt - yup. Still works. A little turn to the left, and the room was filled with a soft jazzy tune, the melody a bit grainy, but you didn't mind that at all. You returned to the stove, swaying your hips to the beat as you worked. The music made you feel at ease, and for a moment, the world seemed to be just right.

Just as the onions began to brown in the pan, the song faded out to a voice. You turned your head to the radio, intrigued by the unusual, eccentric accent of the host. It reminded you of the old, vintage films and recordings your grandmother had been fond of - wasn't it called 'transatlantic'?. Whatever it was, it made you smile.

"Now wasn't that a kick in the head, dearest listener? I sure hope you enjoyed the little musical interlude, but it's time to return to the real show! As usual, my name is Alastor, and you are listening to the best jazz, blues and swing music that Hell has to offer!"

You blinked, a little puzzled and yet amused. "Sure is hot as hell today, strange man in the radio.", you mumbled, chuckling as you stirred the bell peppers under the caramelized onions.

"Today we have a very special guest joining my humble broadcast, it seems. Pleasure to meet you, darling, quite the pleasure!"

"Oh who? Me?" you asked, looking theatrically over your shoulder with batted lashes, shaking your head over your own silliness. You weren't used to talking out loud to yourself, or even really thinking out loud. You were always alone, after all, but the little pretend-play was fun. You laughed a bit, waiting for the host's guest to speak.

"Of course you, little dove. Who else would I mean?"

You gasped, and nearly dropped the spoon as you whipped around, eyes glued to the humming, orange glow of the radio in the dim darkness of your living room.

"What's that? You're surprised, my dear? Don't worry, you're not the only one! This is a first for me, too. Never had a human join my program. I must say, I'm quite intrigued! Tell me, what is your name?"

Your eyes grew wide, and the hairs at the back of your neck stood up. You took a hesitant step backwards and hit the hot stove, making you curse under your breath. Was the heat finally getting to you?

"Don't be shy now, darling. I'm not gonna hurt you, cross my lil' old, blackened heart."

"I-I'm..." you began, swallowing as your fingers tightened around the wooden spoon. "My name is..."

"Yes?"

"I'm... crazy.", you mumbled, rubbing a hand over your face and chuckling a bit. You were just going insane, that's all. Must be the stress, combined with the intense heat. And lack of a companion, a tiny voice reminded you. Yes. Must be.

"Hello crazy, this is Alastor." The host laughed, together with a canned audience.

"Alastor...", you repeated, realization settling in - this wasn't a joke, or a trick of your mind.

"At your service, my dear.", the voice cooed. "Now, I believe you still owe me your name..."

***

You weren't crazy.

Or if you were, you didn't mind. Not with Alastor by your side - or, to be exact, in the radio on your bookcase.

After two weeks of ignoring the cursed radio after unplugging it in a wave of panic on your first night, your morbid curiosity got the better of you. You plugged it back in, and turned on the dial. Just once, you told yourself, then never ever again.

And that's how the two of you got in contact with each other once more. Alastor was as chipper as the first time you heard him, and after a bit of back-and-forth, he promised once again not to harm you, and you shared your name with him. The rest was history. He was very pleasant company. For a demon from hell.

You wouldn't classify the conversations you had with him as a real friendship in the beginning, but you did talk. Occasionally. Mostly in the evenings, when you cooked dinner: He'd ask you about your day and would pry eagerly for a little bit of gossip or new information about the modern New Orleans. When he let it slip that he lived in this very cabin in the 1920's, you weren't stopping with questions about what it was like back in his days, which he, in return, answered generously and enthusiastically.

The first few times he would try to coerce you into making a deal for your soul, casually sprinkling the offer into his small talk, but with enough blunt refusals and a few more days of radio silence (pun intended), he dropped the topic and seemed content on just talking. You, in return, found yourself relaxing into his charming company, your brain happily engaged with trying to wrap your head around him, or better, you tried to come to terms with it.

Weeks passed, and turning the radio on in the evenings became less of an occasional lapse of judgment but more of a routine you were looking forward to. You could tell the Alastor felt the same, his banter became less tense and acted, and a little more genuine.

It made your heart swell in happiness, that someone out there seemed to appreciate your company – even if that someone wasn't human.

Apprehension became amusement, and fascination became friendship. Oddly enough, you found common grounds in a lot of things: A love for cooking and good music. Preferring books over films. Red wine over white. A shared aversion of vulgarity, and appreciation for good manners.

Your nights were cut shorter and shorter, you would spend hours chatting on and on, until the deep darkness of night disappeared into a shade of blue on the horizon. Neither of you minded, at least that was what you thought. Alastor never ended the conversations with you. Either you had to say your goodbyes, or you would just fall asleep after hours of talking on your couch, and awake with a pained back to a shut-off radio. Then, after you'd realize that you would have a whole day ahead of you without hearing his voice, the loss would make your chest ache.

Two months into the 'thing', which was still a strange concept you could barely comprehend, the truth of the matter dawned on you: You liked him. Not just because he was a surprisingly amicable voice coming out of your vintage radio, a lively constant in the uneventful life you had made for yourself in Louisiana - he had become important to you, irreplaceable, even. An essential element to your life. You couldn't imagine how you'd gone so long without him, and yet, here you were, lost without him, scrambling through the hours until you could talk to him once more.

"Something on your mind, darling? You're awfully quiet today."

You held your fork and knife still above the salmon you had just been about to eat. It was the first meal of the evening in a long time where you weren't spending the entirety of the preparation time speaking to him, lost in thought about your blossoming feelings. He had gotten excellent at reading you like an open book - you should've gotten used to it after a couple of weeks of him catching on to every little change in your demeanor and knowing just what to say, when you were feeling happy, upset or nervous.

"Oh, um... no. It's nothing Al. Work had me in a wringer today."

"Is it your co-worker Susan again?" You could basically hear his eyes rolling, making you chuckle. "That name must be cursed, every single soul with that name is a menacing pain."

"Maybe,", you muttered, nibbling on a piece of the roasted fish. "This one is mostly just an ornery old bitch."

"Taking the words right out of my mouth, dear." he laughed.

There's was a comfortable pause, with just a gentle background noise of his ever-playing static and an easy, melodic tune coming from his program.

"Is that really all that preoccupies that pretty little head of yours?"

You blushed, picking at the food with your fork. "Bold for a guy who's never seen me to assume my head is pretty."

The radio crackled with pops and feedback. "Bold to assume I can't see you whenever I want, little dove." he said, his voice strangely deeper, tinged with something you didn't catch at the shock of his words.

"You... what?"

"And I can most assure you,", he purred out of the speakers, "pretty is a well fitting word to describe you."

He hummed in approval when your cheeks gained color, as if he knew his comment threw you off guard and made you turn a lovely shade of pink, but it didn't make it any less enticing.

***

"Alastor, if I didn't know better, I would say you have become smitten with this mysterious gal you're blabbing on and about."

Rosie giggled, hitting his shoulder in a playful, friendly swipe. "When will I meet her? Come on now, you can't hide her forever. Or are you afraid she'll like me better?"

She laughed, and Alastor forced a toothy grin. His long time friend was the only one he talked about you with, and he knew she was intrigued whenever she could smell a blooming dalliance, especially with a notoriously abstinent bachelor like himself. Normally, he would laugh at that thought with a healthy dose of mockery, but he found himself to be less and less aversed at the thought - if it would be you. Impossible, of course.

"Nonsense, Rosie dear, nonsense,", he chuckled, taking a large sip from his coffee cup, a heavy hand bringing up a plate stacked with finger sandwiches. "And I'm afraid you won't meet her for a long time, maybe never. Humans seldom traverse to hell in their lifetime, and who knows if the little darling will take on the trip downstairs?"

Rosie coughed in her tea, her blackened eyes wide in shock. "Human? It's a human girl you've been courting here? Oh, Alastor, you old fool."

Alastor scrunched his nose, "Talking, Rosie, talking is all we do. And yes, she's a human. I don't see the quandary in that. It's just a little fun."

"Well,", she huffed with a small, thoughtful frown. "I would've hoped for a little more sense in you." The tall demonesse set down her teacup with nimble fingers.

"You may not call it courting, but if it quacks like a duck, it's a duck, love." Rosie ignored the indignant look Alastor gave her. "You know as well as I do that such a connection is dangerous to entertain. Humans are fragile and fragile things tend to break. And when they do, the owner mostly follows. You need to break this connection off."

Rosie gave him a sad look as his ears flattened against his head. She would've been more than happy for her oldest and dearest friend to have a partner on his side, someone good and honest who really cared about him, maybe loved him even, as unlovable as he was. But she had to protect him from the silly idea of possibly falling for a living, breathing and supposedly untarnished soul, and the heartbreak that would surely follow. "Don't make the mistake of breaking your heart, dear friend." she smiled, a tint of melancholy hidden in the red of her lips.

"I think it's far too late for that."

She offered a handkerchief, but Alastor waved her off, his smile more faint and close to a frown than she's ever seen.

***

The first day where nothing but static noise came out of the radio, you were irritated but just thought: 'Maybe Alastor has something to do'.

The second day of static you grew concerned. 'What if something happened to Alastor? Was he okay?'.

On the third day, you were panicked. 'Maybe he doesn't want to talk to you anymore! Maybe he met someone in hell, someone that he could talk to whenever he wanted and not through an old, dusty radio?'.

"Please talk to me.", you whispered into the empty room. Your knees were pulled to your chest, and you sat on your couch, eyes fixed on the radio in the bookcase. Your eyes stung with the tears threatening to spill. "Please, Al. I miss you." You shook your head, chuckling sadly. It had only been 3 days, but they'd felt like an eternity. The world had seemed silent without Alastor's constant chatter.

When night fell for the fourth day, you were half asleep, eyes red and burning and tears still staining your cheeks. You talked for hours into the void of your house, the radio now moved to sit in front of you on the coffee table, growing more and more desperate as hours passed. Talking faded into pleading, and pleading into begging.

"Please, I'm sorry, if I did something wrong, I'm sorry...", you mumbled into the wooden furnishing, resting your cheek against the top of the machine, eyes slipping shut with fatigue and defeat. A dry sob slipped past your trembling lips, as your hands desperately grabbed the sides of the antique device.

"Alastor please, don't leave me alone here...", you whispered with the last of your strength, before your body succumbed to your exhaustion, your unconscious mind welcomed the darkness.

If you had stayed awake for just a moment more, you would've, maybe, heard the faint shuddering breath beyond the static rumble. But you didn't. So you had no chance at knowing that, Alastor, listening to every word, saw and heard you at your weakest, and all it did to him was stir the embers and give the blaze an opening for the flames of his anger at fate to rage.

Work had called, again. Susan of all people. Threats were made - either come back to work, or don't come back at all. You smashed your phone. It was useless anyway. What was the point without...

Alastor wasn't here, hadn't answered for seven days now. And you had spent the whole time talking, begging him to show himself, just show himself and tell you what you did wrong, just talk to you one last time and then you'd stop, if that was what he wanted. You became obsessed with the orange light of the illuminated screen, imagining the flickers were maybe signs from him.

You stopped eating, stopped drinking, stopped almost anything, you just sat, in front of the radio, unmoving and unwilling to miss the smallest sign of his return.

Every single minute stretched into agony, and every breath that left your lips made a fresh tear roll down your paling cheeks, until your body couldn't produce them anymore. Then, you cried wordless whimpers and moans, even started praying to an unknown entity.

It wasn't as if Alastor owed you anything. It's not as though you thought the two of you were anything other than two kindred souls, one human, one demon, talking to each other. As a result, it wasn't like you had the right to anything from him.

It was strange to consider the connection the two of you shared: Something more than acquaintances, something closer than friends, and yet never fully crossing the line beyond it. The unpenetrable boundary dividing life and death in between.

Your eyes fell on a large, old crucifix on your wall, staring back at you with pity.

For the first time in days, you left the sofa, took it from the wall and burned it on your gas stove, watching the face of the nailed figurine slowly melt in the fire.

***

It had been eight days of excruciating, one-sided silence.

Eight days Alastor cursed his cowardice as he sat, red eyed with claws digging into his scalp, as he listened to you plead for him to talk - To answer. To do anything. Anything, but leave you alone, he heard, as if the words were spoken right in his ear.

Eight days of watching you slowly detriment from the eyes of the shadows he was able to manifest above, tugging on the very fabric of the world to move you, to keep your mind from going where it shouldn't go.

He kept telling himself it was for the better. His shadows murmured persistent reminders that he should find entertainment in your growing lunacy. He was the radio demon, after all. He shouldn't care if this wisp of a human were to perish, should laugh at your wails of agony and despair.

But Alastor never felt less like laughing. Your dried sobs and pained apologies for things you never did wrong in the first place filled his head, taunting and gnawing on him with feelings he thought he was unable to feel: Guilt and Regret.

It was as Rosie had predicted - he was becoming weak. But weakness was something that should be avoided. Had to be. He knew. Being weak, being feeble, would make him vulnerable, make him into the prey his cruel from already portrayed to the world he had to inherit. He couldn't allow it. Couldn't let his feelings for you bring him down to the levels of the sinners in hell he would tear apart and laugh while he did it.

That's why he stayed silent. Endured it, all of it, every word, cry and plea. Stayed invisible and silent, waiting for you to move on, forget him, shut off and leave the radio, never to turn the dial again. For your sake and his.

When the connection broke, on that eight day, Alastor could feel your resignation, your peace with which your pale hands gripped the electrical cord at it's base to pull. And he was suddenly filled with the awareness of something horrible, like a premonition. It set his already battered, aching heart in an ice cold grasp of dread.

His room exploded in green light as he expanded into his full demonic form, his limbs threatening to pull and burst at the stitches and his smile splitting his face almost entirely in half. He had to reach out, had to reform the connection to the radio one last time, even though nearly impossible.

You were about to do something he would never be able to forgive himself for.

***

Your car broke down just where it needed to. You took the radio out of the trunk, knocking the hood two times for a goodbye, the key safely in the ignition. Maybe some other poor soul would find and repair it, make happier memories with it.

You clutched the wooden device closer and started to walk. Indigo blue faded into black as you looked up to the sky that was sprinkled with glowing, shimmering silver dust, stars blinking in the unimaginable distance. There, but out of reach.

Just like him.

Your dry sob stung in your throat, but you didn't really feel the pain. Your eyes were fixed on the path to your final destination, right in front of you.

The Crescent City Connection Bridge was mostly abandoned by traffic at this time of night and provided just enough covered spaces to hide you from some foolish saviors eyes.

You didn't need to be saved.

You didn't want to be saved.

Because you were about to save yourself.

There was nothing waiting for you in the other direction than the one you were going. So, with slow but steady steps, you walked towards the middle of the bridge, settling on a place next to a metal pillar and looked over the railing onto the shimmering waters of the Mississippi River.

Alastor had told you about the river, how he loved to watch the steam boats floating on it from the radio station where he worked at when he was alive. The station was long gone, you didn't even find out where it had been in the first place, but you liked to imagine that you were looking at the same scenery now that he had been looking at when he peered out of his booth in his radio tower.

It made you smile through the tears... You were glad the end was somehow connected to him, even if it was most likely just your naive imagination.

It felt like the device in your arms was emitting static energy, prickling over your arms, hands and fingers as you caressed the mahogany wood gently, feeling as though the radio was shaking in your hands, trying to pull you back from the fenced ledge.

A quiet sob escaped your lips, turning into a giggle and into hysterical laughter. You sat down between the railing, and hugged the radio close, trying to breathe as you closed your eyes, resting your temple on the worn, warm wood.

"It'll be okay, Al.", you said quietly, your voice unnaturally hoarse and rough from lack of use and dehydration. "I'm coming. I'm coming to you.”

With one arm around the radio, holding it tight against your chest, you turned to stand on shaky legs, gripping the railing with one arm and, with one final glance at the stars above you you smiled. You heard sirens in the distance, and some people shouting from a sparkling streamliner passing under the bridge. Time was running short, so you didn't wait to put first one foot over the fence, then the other, taking a deep breath.

"I guess doves were always meant to fly."

And, with that, your body twisted, turned and leaped, falling as the light on the radio, firmly pressed against your heart, began to glow in deepest crimson and swirls of green.

Falling like an angel would descend from grace.

Part 2 for closure

[sleepingdeath-light]

red and the wolf ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (kinktober entry)

word count ; 974

content ; sexually explicit content, dirty talk, slight praise kink, penetrative sex

fandom ; mystic messenger

pairing ; hyun ryu / zen x gender neutral reader

read also on ; ao3

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

When your boyfriend had called himself 'a wolf' in the bedroom you'd just brushed it off as a joke about him having a high libido (which your perpetually aching thighs and few dozen pairs of ruined underwear could attest to). But now, with him looming over you in with those sparkling, perfectly white teeth, and glimmering red eyes, and that deep voice that sounded like something between a growl and a whisper, you couldn't help but think he was being far more literal than you'd initially given him credit for.

Not that you were complaining, of course, it was nice to be manhandled every once in a while — even if all of the filth falling from those beautiful lips of his was starting to drive you mad.

Zen urged you to be loud, to make as much noise as you want and more — leaning down to brush his lips against the shell of your ear and whispering in that heavy evening voice of his to ask if you can be 'louder' for him. Practically begging you to keep making all of those 'pretty noises' you know he loves. And every whimper and moan and gasp earned you a cuss, or a grunt, or a perfectly angled thrust of his cock straight into that spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars. A reward for your obedience punctuated by wet, messy kisses to your lips that were more tongue and teeth than anything else (oh how swollen your lips would be tomorrow, marred with the indents of his teeth and your own, bitten so deeply that you could already taste your own coppery blood on your tongue despite how young the night still was).

He downright worshipped your body between thrusts: groping at every ridge, and swell, and dip, and scar — complimenting each part of you with an earnestness that you knew better than to dispute. Calling you 'hot', 'sexy', and 'all mine' as he sucked, bit, and marked his way along your throat and jaw. Tenderly lapping at your pulse point and chuckling when he felt it jump after a particularly playful slap to your backside. He playfully calls you his 'little pet'; the 'red' to his 'wolf' — and he mouths wet promises against your throat of not stopping until the mattress is hanging off of the bed and you're both too tired to go on (and with his stamina, well… you'll surely have a long night ahead of you).

He then effortlessly lifted your trembling thigh with one hand to wrap it around his waist, feeling the muscles of his abdomen pressing into your skin as he pressed his muscular chest down against yours. And in that same husky voice, Zen praised you for taking him 'so well' tonight, words that barely reach you as you’re far too close to climax to notice much beyond how good it feels to have him touching you and the waves of pleasant heat washing over your body as you start to mount your peak.

Clearly he’s not too far behind as you can just about see him gritting his teeth through your hazy vision as he tried his best to last out for you. Pace quickening and deepening as he eagerly chased your high and chased your lips with his own with the same amount of ferocity you’d come to expect from him, calling you 'perfect', and 'made for me', and telling you how you feel 'so fucking good, babe,'. Each broken phrase an island of coherence amongst the endless stream of growls, and moans, and grunts that slip from his lips as he pounds his hips into yours and fills your hole with his dick in that way you love (and how could you not?).

Long strands of white hair fall over his shoulders and out of his up-do, tickling your nose and sticking to the sweat covering your body and face as you started to rapidly approach your climax. But by now you're too distracted by the way it felt to be stretched out on that pretty cock of his, and the distant sensation of him slipping one of those large, soft hands into yours and holding it tightly — grounding you in the same way that he was kept grounded by the sharp stinging pain of your fingernails digging into the toned, pale expanse of his shoulders and back — to care about anything like that. Even the fuzzy sound of his voice praising you, and cussing, and grunting and moaning against your lips (and jaw and cheeks and throat, always moving and marking and loving you) was too distant to your muddy mind for you to truly notice or understand beyond your short responses in the shape of moans and whimpers.

Then something snaps and the world around you comes crashing down, washed away with what remained of your coherent thoughts by the torrent of burning pleasure that wracked through your body. Kept in that blissful, whited-out place by his soft lips, and endless flirting, and expert thrusting as you lost yourself in the pounding of your heart, and the aching of your lungs, and the intense sensations that left your whole body limp and trembling, and your entrance pulsing and fluttering around your Zen. No longer able to do anything but moan, and gasp, and whimper until your throat was too hoarse to do even that.

And Zen (your Zen, your wolf) followed soon after with a loud cry (howl, even) of your name as he filled you completely with his seed. Pressing his sweat slicked forehead against yours as you both try and catch your breath. Completely messy and blissed out and in love; red and their wolf, basking in the musky afterglow before going straight back into the fray the moment you had both come back down to earth.

[kurokrisps]

I just wanted to toy with comics again. I didn't even have it planned out, I just drew May ranting first and then made the dialogue after. The punchline was gonna be about pancakes...but I changed it to waffles cus I'm clever.

[apatheticftm]

im feeling dominant but in a bratty way thatll end up with me tied up being edged over over again tbh

[nyxknows]

Please make me suck you off while you're in a discord call with your friends and choke me harder every time I accidentally get too loud

[tigerlily980]

They are running from Alan jdjdjdjdjd (Sally in the speech bubble belongs to @lafatis)

((You can visit the Instagram version to see what song I picked for it.))

[rttnpnkpmpkn]

You know… people may not care about how their actions may affect everyone else in the future until they themselves get into deep shizz, and I don’t care if I hurt those kind of people’s feelings by blocking them and letting them know what a f▪️king pain they’re being when people think we’re responsible for babysitting any random stranger who’s perusing our blogs!

Stay out of 18+ blogs if you’re a minor… Don’t ever lie about your age to bypass restrictions… and most certainly, always be wary about the people you meet online.

I’m saying this as you have yourself to look out for. Not everyone has the luxury of having a safety net, and you need to be reminded of that.

You want to prove that you’re mature? Follow our terms and wait until you’re older. The fact that I have to remind people of this makes my blood boil because I’m only drawing and having to avoid stepping on a landmine because there are stupid people of all varieties in the world,, and we have to suffer indirectly because of them.

I’m saying this again, because this time I keep having kids bypassing my restrictions on my Instagram when I clearly had it set up for those 18 and older.

I know I can’t maintain everyone within age range, but I let them know how angry I am feeling.

Take your headaches of friends and leave! 💢🫵

[malleux]

Hi can I request a drabble of a make-out session with albedo and you end up finding out this star birthmark is super sensitive. More of a dominant reader if that's ok ^^

Tyy <3

my star.

-> albedo x gn!reader

-> warnings: MDNI 18+, making out, groping, hickeys

a/n: im very rusty when it comes to more spicy scenes so I really apologize if this is awkward or doesn't flow well. im very tired but I knew I needed to get something out haha

The stars had always been your favorite.

The unpolluted sky shined brightly upon you and the field you laid upon, illuminating you enough to see where you were but not enough to allow any prying eyes to witness. Not that you would care, except for one thing. 

The reputation of your lover, who laid quietly beside you. 

You didn’t question his silence, figuring that he was simply trying to relax after a long day of studying. His fingers playing with your hair were enough to let you know that he was still awake and here– with you. 

Your own fingers were curled up in the fabric of his shirt, the silk cooling the heat of your body as you laid against him. 

“How was your day?”

“Better, now that I’m here.” 

You tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach at Albedo’s words, instead smiling and looking up at him. His eyes were soft, already gazing down at you with pure adoration. The air around you seemed to shift, and you leaned up on your elbow, cupping his cheek with your free hand and bringing your lips to his. 

It was the first kiss of the night, but certainly not the last. Each one after that gradually made your insides hotter and hotter and soon enough, you were straddled across Albedo’s lap, his hands resting on your thighs while yours tangled in the hair on the nape of his neck. 

Gradually, you peppered kisses along his cheek, trailing down to his jaw, then his neck. Soft breaths sharpened the further down you went, but when Albedo let out a small moan, you had to pause. 

Your lips had ghosted along the star in the middle of his throat. You didn’t know it was as sensitive as it was, but this was the first time you had really tried to take control of yours and Albedo’s little passionate escapades, so it was understandable. But after seeing just what you do to him, you knew you’d have to take control more often. You smirked, pulling away and meeting Albedo’s eyes.

“You like that?”

He nodded. 

“Use your words, ‘Bedo.” 

“Y-yeah.” He swallowed, and you couldn’t help but watch his throat bob up and down. “A lot.”

At that, you went down again, pressing kisses everywhere around the star, yet avoiding the spot exactly. Albedo squirmed beneath you, obviously impatient for the stimulation that you were denying him. You loved seeing this side of him, all vulnerable and needy for just you. It boosted your ego– no wonder Albedo liked being in control so much. After this, though, you had a feeling he’d be a little more receptive to being beneath you. 

Finally, you gave into temptation and attached your lips to his marking, making a louder moan erupt from his throat. You felt Albedo’s body flush as you began sucking on the star itself, determined to leave a little mark. Albedo would struggle to hide it tomorrow, but it was just payback for all the times he did the same to you. 

Albedo’s fingers laced themselves in your hair, pulling you up from his neck and placing his lips back onto yours. One hand moved down to grope your waist while you rubbed your own hands down his chest, lifting his shirt and touching his bare skin. He shivered under your touch. You got to the hem of his pants before he pulled away and gently held your wrists, shaking his head. 

“Not tonight, my dear. I just want to enjoy this moment with you.”

You smiled at Albedo and laid back down, but not before placing one last kiss upon the now-bruised star and smoothing out his shirt. He rested his head on yours, returning your kiss with one to the top of your head. 

“I love you.” You heard him whisper as you returned your gaze to the sky.

The stars that shined above were certainly beautiful, but they didn’t hold a candle to the man beside you. 

The love of your life– your star. 

“I love you too.”

[reds-self-shipsafterdark]

Imagine your robot F/O using and fucking you over and over and over again, bragging how robots are stronger and complaining how humans barely last compared to them.

“Stupid human, can’t even manage 837 rounds,” they say, with their cum (or nearest equivalent) practically dripping out of your ears as they mount you for Round 839.

[All banners described in alt text]

[kalevalakryze]

Pairing: Bo-Katan Kryze / The Armorer Characters: Bo-Katan Kryze, The Armorer (The Mandalorian) Warnings: 18+ content, smut Notes: minors dni, still chipping away at the long road to get better at writing smut lmao , i took armoralor's textposts like a to-do list, but also i can't just not make it soft at the end, i love my babes soo much okay

Read on AO3: Throne Room

[sleepingdeath-light]

the concubine ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (kinktober entry)

word count ; 1036

content ; sexually explicit content, oral (male receiving), implied dom/sub dynamic, referenced praise/worship kink, implied size kink, getting caught/semi public sex

fandom ; marvel cinematic universe / thor films

pairing ; king!loki odinson x non binary afab reader

read also on ; ao3

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

The role of the concubine was to serve their prince without question or hesitation, to give mind and body in equal measure the second it is asked of them, and to make themselves available at a moment's notice if they are called upon. These traits of willingness, obedience, and sensuality were ones that you'd embodied perfectly for centuries as you loyally served the royal family of Asgard in the only way you could — servicing and pleasuring their youngest prince more times than you could ever hope to count over the millennia you'd known each other; earning you the title of his favourite servant, which he’d often make known whenever such things were discussed amidst the drunken whispers and seedy gossiping of royal feasts.

This favouritism was precisely why you had been the first one called upon when your dear prince had been crowned as the reigning monarch in his brother's absence (well, in truth it was more accurately described as exile but nobody wished to utter such filthy words about dear Thor). Summoned to the throne room by messenger — whose arrival had caused quite the uproar amongst your fellow private servants, which was only made worse by her insistence on you being the only one to come with her — and escorted by a dozen or so guards to meet with your new king. Though, of course, meet was more of a polite euphemism for what you’d been called upon to do, as you fully intended to help him celebrate in ways only a concubine could: with you on your knees, pleasuring him eagerly wherever and however he wished.

So that is exactly what you did.

—————

The coldness of the throne room floor seeped up through your sheer robe and chilled the skin of your calves as you knelt on it, with the only reprieve being the distracting feeling of his large slender hands in your hair and his cock sliding in and out of your mouth. He was big, to put it bluntly: long, and thick, and intimidating enough that most would choke before even wrapping their lips around the pinkish tip — a cock befitting of a god such as himself if ever there was such a thing. As pretty as a dick could be, yet so imposing that you couldn’t help but want to worship it whenever you laid eyes upon it.

And worship you did: reaching up with one hand to gently, tenderly, massage his balls whilst the other grasped at one of the strong, leather clad, thighs on either side of your head just to try and keep yourself steady and upright; running the flat of your tongue along the velvety length of his shaft, circling the pointed tip along the swollen head before taking it between your lips and lightly sucking on it — repeating the process over and over again, slowly taking more and more of him into your mouth each time as you readjusted to his size; taking him to the hilt every couple of seconds, not stopping until you could feel the leaking tip hit the back of your throat, then starting to bob your head and hollow your cheeks whilst humming softly around his cock — watching through your eyelashes as he bit down on his lower lip, furrowed his brow and let his head fall back against the ancient golden headrest behind him. He truly was a work of art; more than worthy of being called a god, and you earnestly told him as much whenever you pulled away for a sparse few moments to catch your breath.

Whispering about how 'large' and 'handsome' his cock was, repeating how 'honoured' you were to be permitted to pleasure him, and calling him 'my king', 'my lord' and 'my god' in between high pitched gasps when you felt the familiar tingling of his magic starting to worm its way between your thighs. Savouring the flavour of him as small pearls of precum slipped from his slit, eagerly swallowing all he had to give even as your legs started to sting and grow numb. Basking in every sound he made because of you — every moan and groan that he tried to muffle by biting down on his glove clad hand, every grunt that punctuated his hips bucking up into your mouth, every low whisper of praise ('just like that,') or command ('keep on going, pet,', 'don't stop until I tell you to,') that he gave to you, and that you followed without the slightest hint of hesitation in your mind or demeanour.

How very well trained.

And, too distracted by the smell of his musk and the heaviness of his length on your tongue as you took him to the hilt once again, you didn’t manage to hear the sound of footsteps approaching the throne room from behind you in time to save your, and more importantly your king’s, dignity. And Loki, completely caught up in the hot tense feeling of his approaching climax and swirling thoughts of what he’d do to you next, didn’t even realise that anyone else was near enough to catch you until it was too late. His superior senses dulled by hazy pleasure until those footsteps came to an abrupt halt and his eyes snapped open to see one of his many guards, mouth agape in shock and frozen in place as he processed exactly what he’d walked in on.

Thankfully all it took was your king yelling at him to ‘get out!’ and scolding him for not seeing that he was clearly ‘busy’ for the unfortunate young man to scurry off with his tail between his legs. Though the mood was very much so ruined after that.

You’d have to continue this somewhere more private later, your king had to do some damage control…

[ilyas-salty-bitters]

begging for a Julian x OC or Lucio x OC rp I’ll literally write for either of them I just have so much muse pls interact or just add me

rainywoes#1552

[chaoticaart]

them 🖤💛

[sleepy-stars-room]

“we’ll always have this summer” ✨

purpose of this post series: a post keeping track of what fics I’ve been wanting to read and leave feedback for! this one is a bit special b/c it’s written by a wonderful friend of mine hehe <3

additional note(s): let’s enjoy the chaos as I read through this fic, you’re welcome to join, and leave reactions. YALL IDK HOW LONG IVE BEEN WAITING FOR EMMA TO WRITE A FIC FOR HOON LIKE 😩 being down bad for hoon and emma’s writing !! what a win 😌 

oh oh AND THIS IS A 18+ WORK SO MDNI!!!

this post is for ENHYPEN - Sunghoon (if you couldn’t already tell)

↓ click on read more to see my reactions + review ↓

we’ll always have this summer - psh  by @asahicore​

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader (afab, she/her)

fic type: written fic | word count: 25,727

genre: romance, comedy, idiots-to-lovers, university au | warnings: food, hoon is a horse nerd, parents arent always the greatest, smut so MDNI !!! (oral m and f receiving, lots of making out, sub!hoon x dom!reader, nicknames, slight praise kink, marking, vaginal penetration, outdoor sex)

summary: Your mom ruins your summer plans by sending you to the equestrian center your grandmother owns in the south of France, wanting you to spend some time away from the city and take a break from your med studies. Although you’d been determined to spend the worst time of your life there, you soon find out that maybe the cold boy next door who doesn’t want to talk to you and loves horses might actually turn this summer into the best one of your life.

my additional notes: omg ash another note?? yes. WAIT LMAO I JUST HAVE TO EXPRESS THIS B/C LOSING MY SHIT RN! ITS FUCKING A SUB HOON OMLLL YESSS WE LOVE TO SEE IT! I LIVE FOR SUB! ENHA OR MEN IN GENERAL TOO THEY DESERVE LOVE TOO 😩 like let me take control <3 

okay enough of this, time to read it, enjoy it, and rave & review it! emma if you see this which I’m sure you will, ily and be ready for some lengthy ass review which is mostly me screaming about how good it is <33

review post 

take this a fic rec!! much love to you for those who follow me and yeah :)

signing off with love

- ash

[nyxknows]

waiittt don't pull out when we both finish i want to warm your cock and i dont want your cum to spill 🥺

[tigerlily980]

I didn’t feel good today but probably not an excuse to not motivate myself or better myself so here’s some doodles I made on requests of some friends (huge fan of Moral Orel btw)