#spike 😌

[charlotte-family-apologist]

I needed practice drawing Kenshi so have this.

My sister said my artistic strong suit was facial diversity and confident lines and I think that's pretty accurate.

[messedupdoilies]

the fanged four are sooooo funny because all this dramatic shit with Darla coming back to life, becoming mystically pregnant, becoming a vampire again, etc. is happening in LA with the rest of the line and at the same time, there’s just Spike by himself in Sunnydale.

He’s watching Dawson’s Creek and trying to make Buffy like him.

[mothlover69]

Its vampire vthursday for my personally

[kindahoping4forever]

Ash @ Take My Hand Sydney Night 2

[blujayonthewing]

I was a human ALL WEEKEND and it only hurt a LITTLE BIT*

[kakejiszkas]

.

[twoheadedfawnn]

so in that pic I’m obviously angelus, luna is dru, are you spike 🤔 and darla is just our wife

exactly u get me 🤭☝️

[teamfortresstwo]

I think Espio and our daring MC should get to be friends! Theatre buddies!

[delirious-donna]

tw: katsuki x female reader, pro-hero, early 30s katsuki, pure smut, pussy drunk katsuki, finishing untouched, implied multiple rounds, implied unprotected sex, seriously I was just on a filthy rampage 😌

It had happened so fast; so fast that you weren’t sure when your intent had been entirely disregarded in favour of your hot-headed husband’s desire to devour you whole. Not that you were really complaining.

Your phone slid onto the counter, anticipation thrumming through you knowing that another patrol had ended successfully with nothing but a few scrapes and scratches to deal with. Child’s play at this point for the number two pro hero and the love of your life.

Heavy boots stomped towards the apartment door; each step echoed in time with the second heartbeat between your legs and you clenched them shut for a hit of friction. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, not without his body slotted against yours. Hard steel enveloped by your soft curves.

The overwhelming swell of lust was immediate when the door opened, a head of ashy blond spikes dipped low appeared and it felt as if his presence sucked the very oxygen from the room. His cumbersome gauntlets were missing—likely left behind at the agency—but his hero suit remained. It was covered in fine dust, thick black streaks of dirt darkened his biceps and sweat lingered on his brow and shoulders as if he had run here… had he run here?

It was hardly a new scenario, this man was your husband and the routine of his dangerous line of work was well accustomed to both of you, but there was always the adrenaline that came after the ‘fight’. It consumed you both, dragged you under raging, lust-fuelled waves until there was no rational thoughts left—only the need.

Katsuki was your air, your reason to draw breath; all you wanted was to see him happy, loved, content with the world he built for you both. Those were the desires you always harboured, right now, you were focused on your baser instincts.

You needed to swallow him down, have his fat tip punish the soft tissue at the back of your throat until you were slurping down his seed like the greedy beast you felt like. Dammit, you were already licking your lips in sweet anticipation. The phantom salty musk taste whet your mouth with runny saliva, and he smirked when he caught your eye.

Honestly, you had expected to settle low and spread on your haunches. You wanted to worship him whilst he towered overhead. His sheer size and frame were mammoth and imposing; broad shoulders and arms thick with golden-hued muscles, a barrelled chest heaving with every inhale and his nostrils flared as confidence beat against his conscious thought. Bakugou Katsuki was a pure powerhouse of a man, a man of action first and foremost, and never more was that true when you felt his deeply calloused palm grab at the back of your neck.

His mouth slanted atop yours, tongue bullying its way into your mewling mouth as you grabbed at his shoulders to stabilise yourself against the force of being hauled against his chest. His unique glycerin laced sweat mingled with the spice of his soap, filling your nose with only him whilst caramel burst over your tastebuds.

Katsuki overwhelmed your senses so easily that you had no idea you were being walked backwards towards the bedroom. He boots thudded as he kicked out of them, stalking forward with no sign of halting the dominance of his kisses, the grope of your hips, waist, breasts. He never stopped, refused to waver and you were simply swept up in the rip tide that he was his momentum.

Instead of falling to your knees in the hallway like you intended, you found your spine pressed against rich brushed cotton sheets, bare and vulnerable to his attentive gaze. It had you squirming, reacting to every simple brush of his fingers on your heated skin. It did not go unnoticed, nothing every did with Katsuki.

You whined, low and throaty when he pathed a wet trail of kisses down your front, stopping at your breasts and lapping at your peaked nipples in turn. He showed no sign of shucking out of his hero suit, and whilst you adored him decked out for business, right here and now, it simply wouldn’t stand.

“Kat—please...”

His crimson eyes rolled in feigned annoyance, but the smirk couldn’t hide exactly how pleased he was that you wanted to see more of him, like he didn’t already know… the menace.

“For a kiss,” he bartered with a smug smile.

“My fucking pleasure,” you replied, eliciting an amused huff of the hero hovering over you.

Grabbing at the front of his compression shirt, you pulled him down until your lips crashed against his. The kiss was a mixture of sweet and salty, the pace alternating between slow and steady to hurried and frantic. You knew every lick to make him groan, every nip at his bottom lip that would stir the beast within until it roared with the compulsion to take over.

“Cussing is my vice, get your own. Now stop complainin’ and let me eat you out.”

With those rough words, the top half of his clothes swiftly disappeared into a dark corner leaving him bare-chested and magnificent. A literal wall of muscle with a liberal smattering of scars, and it stole your breath to gaze upon him.

Your foot braced against his toned pec, taking in the sight of the ash blond God that moved to kneel between your thighs, drinking him down in intoxicated delight.

Katsuki kissed along your calf until his nose pressed against the fat of your thigh, a low moan issued from his throat sending sparks dancing in your veins. Sometimes you could hardly believe it; the big burly pro hero known for his surly, no-nonsense attitude was so easily affected by being buried in your pussy—pussy drunk if you will. It would make you chuckle if he wasn’t in the process of scattering your wits to the wind with his hungry mouth.

Time ceased all meaning as you gave into Katsuki’s every whim, giving up on the keening pleads for you to return the favour after your second orgasm broke onto his awaiting tongue, slick slurped down his swallowing throat. His fingers tightened into the fat of your backside, spreading you further apart with each massage of his warm calloused hands.

He took his time in licking a fat wet strip over your soaked cunt, tugging on the puffy flesh of your folds with insistent lips. Guttural groans vibrated against your throbbing clit, your bud tender from the array of orgasms the hulking male pulled from you without showing sign of stopping.

Your toes sank into the flexing muscles of his broad shoulders, sensing their every ripple as he prodded once more at your gushing entrance. Slick already coated his fingers, drenched up to the knuckles as he pressed against your velvet walls.

“So good—taste so fuckin’ delicious,” he grunted, lips dancing across your sweat dappled skin with every word.

“Oh, ‘suki—oh god. Please, one more.”

Eyes of brightest ruby snapped up to lock with your own, widening almost imperceptibly as his entire body jerked, once then twice. His digits pressed firmly against your front wall, massaging the engorged tissue of your pleasure spot in earnest until you broke apart at the seams once more.

So blissed out from the release of tension low in your belly, you barely realised when the weight on the bed dipped and moved, Katsuki rolled sideways on a panted breath to reveal a large damp stain on the front of his black combat trousers.

“Fuck—I… shit-I need a minute. Got me busting in my damn pants like I’m still a fuckin’ horny teenager, sweetheart.”

You chuckled but quickly schooled yourself into some semblance of a stern expression. “You’re saying it’s my fault, Bakugou?”

“Don’t you Bakugou me, Mrs Bakugou. Don’t think that cause I ruined my trousers I’m not going to ruin your insides. Just gotta give me five minutes,” he huffed, standing to peel away the sticky mess from his cum-covered groin.

You paid for that attitude… over and over until you were as ruined as he promised.

[gnaga37]

while i was still doing the limulo model i was like "oh well if this comes out nice i could look if anyone would... maybe.. be interested in buying the model ^.^" now that i'm doing it. no. i wouldn't wish this on anyone ✌

[intrepidacious]

bring your hunger

summary: There is a Witcher in your house.

pairing: geralt of rivia x succubus!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ only!!), light dubcon due to demon magic, penetrative sex (p in v), some biting and choking 😌 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: somehow it's been over a year since i posted a full fic but one ao3 writer's curse later here we are. whole new fandom. i've also never written smut until this show rewired my brain so bon appétit (please be kind). my biggest love to @aphrogeneias and @brandycranby who both let me complain about this story for about three months, i adore you!!

masterlist | read on ao3

There is a Witcher in your house.

You smell him long before you lay your eyes on him, the stench of his magic permeating the forest, harsh and acrid. Somewhere in the woods nearby, something is burning.

For a moment, you hesitate, considering your options. A lesser creature would’ve turned on the spot and run, would’ve stolen a horse in the nearby town and gotten as far away as possible, and maybe you should be doing the same. Forsake your home and this region and try to forget them to save your neck.

But your instincts are never wrong, and right now they are drawing you closer, one cautious step in front of the other, until your door creaks open.

He’s sitting in your chair, turned to the side to have a clear view of the entrance. He is propped up against the dining table, his matted white hair sticking to his forehead. The air is heavy with the smell of blood and sweat. Whatever happened across him managed to get him good; he seems to have bandaged himself up, somehow, but the gashes in his chest look painful.

He stares at you, frown deepening on his face, but he stays very still. There is a dangerous look in his amber eyes, full of fire and fury, and for some reason, that doesn’t scare you. Not at all.

Gods, you’re hungry.

There’s a steady pulse of power coming from him, muted but incessant, like his body’s not ready to drop the fight quite yet. He doesn’t, however, reach for the weapons he’s carelessly dropped on your good carpet.

So instead of fleeing, you draw the door shut behind you and you tilt your head.

It’s stronger now, the smell of your own powers. You don’t think it holds as much sway over Witchers as it would do over mere mortals, but it’s still enough for him to white-knuckle the edge of the table.

"I know what you are," he grits.

The low timbre of his voice makes you grin.

"That makes us even, then." You get closer to him, gingerly stepping over his swords. "Are you going to do something about it?"

His nostrils flare a little, but apart from that his face stays unreadable. Only his eyes betray him, still trained on your lips. He can’t help himself.

"I don’t kill your kind," he says.

"How generous of you." You come to a halt between his legs, reaching out to tilt his chin towards you.

He lets you, and there’s the slightest hint of amusement hidden at the corner of his mouth. From up close, the fire in his eyes burns even brighter.

"Let me show my appreciation," you say lowly.

His scent changes ever so slightly with the first small spike of his arousal. It sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

Your fingers trail down his throat, along his broad shoulders, down the taut muscles of his back, leaning into him even more. His hands fall to your hips, almost involuntarily. Slowly, unhurriedly, you let your nose brush against his and he inhales with a shudder.

This is always your favourite part. The final moments before they give into their desire, your meal prepared and served up on a silver platter, ready to indulge in.

"Don’t," he says, barely a warning.

"Don’t what?" You can feel his breath against your smile.

"Don’t tease."

"No?" He’s got remarkable restraint, this Witcher; but you can hear his racing heart. "Alright then."

And between one moment and the next, you let your clothes disappear.

It’s a simple trick, one that everyone of your kind can do as easily as blinking, but it’s never failed you. His eyes turn even darker as he realizes what you’ve done, as you move back a little to let him take you in. You lick your lips as another waft of his arousal reaches your nose.

Delicious.

"Is that better?" you whisper, tipping your head to the side.

He doesn’t reply. He pulls you towards him sharply, and then his mouth crashes against yours, hard and sudden. One of his hands grabs your ass, hauling you into his lap while the other one cradles the nape of your neck.

It’s a brutal kiss, divinely ferocious. Your naked core brushes over the noticeable bulge in his pants and he groans. You move your hips back and forth, just enough friction to make his fingers curl, nails biting into your skin.

This, you think, this is just what you’ve been craving. This sense of presence, of awareness. Your heartbeats growing faster. Pulling, tasting, wanting. More.

You only break the kiss to undo his belt, and he chases after your lips, hazy, starving.

You can relate.

He is already rock hard when you pull him out of his pants, ready and leaking. He pushes into your touch, raw need taking over.

You let out an appreciative hum, positioning yourself in his lap, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest. You want him to feel good, after all, no: you need him to.

You haven’t been sated in so long.

"Witcher," you chuckle breathlessly as his arms tighten around you, caging you against his body. "Aren’t you supposed to kill wicked, evil things like me?"

He growls, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You gasp as he drags his tongue over the bite marks immediately; like he’s savouring your taste, too.

When he looks up at you again, his eyes are like molten embers.

Your hand tangles in his hair and you yank his head back to kiss him again, swallowing the sound he makes when you sink down on him, and it’s a pity, really, because you could get your fill from that alone. It’s delectably salty and bitter.

Finally, he’s fully inside you, and he tilts his hips to allow you a better angle as you start moving.

"So good for me," you murmur.

He slaps your hand away when you try to slip it between your bodies, and then his own fingers find your clit, gently teasing at first, but quickly applying more pressure. You gasp, your walls clenching around his cock.

He lets out a breathless huff. "There, huh?"

"That’s it. Just like that."

It’s too much. Your breaths quicken as the air around you starts to hum and crackle with building energy. It’s making your head swim, each precise stroke to your clit bringing you closer to that edge you’re chasing.

His mouth still trails along your neck, nipping there. Your skin already feels sticky with sweat and magic as you’re hurled ever closer to the peak of your arousal.

Just as the tension in your core gets tight enough to snap, he stills completely. His cock is fully sheathed inside you, but he doesn’t move, his arms around you hard and unyielding, not even allowing a single roll of your hips. Something between a whine and a growl escapes your lips as your canines come down hard enough to draw blood.

The Witcher smiles at you hazily. "Do you want to come, little demon?"

You want to bite him. You want to suck out his energy until he’s nothing more than a sad, empty husk.

Your snarl only brings out a dark glint in his eyes, and his hand moves to your neck, forcing you to hold his gaze. His grip tethers you in your denied pleasure.

"Ask nicely," he says lowly, brushing his lips against yours.

Wicked, evil man.

Underneath your skin, your powers are brimming with unease, not yet refilled, not yet repleted; he knows this. You know he knows, and yet you’re unwilling to give in. "Or what?"

His grin widens just a fracture as his chin juts out in unmatched arrogance. You could burn it off his face. You could dig your claws into the gashes in his chest and widen them even more, feast on his blood instead.

"I know you need it," he says. His cock twitches inside you. "Beg."

A shiver goes down your spine, hot and cold at the same time.

You don’t beg. Ever. You don’t yield control, not even for your meal, especially not to someone like him. But then he expertly applies pressure to your throat and your eyes roll back in your head, all thoughts lost to the thick haze of your desire.

"Please," you whimper, clenching around him again. "Please fuck me."

He groans, hips stuttering into yours involuntarily before he moves in earnest, keeping his hand on your throat. It’s almost agonisingly slow at first, one roll of his hips almost letting him slip out of your cunt completely before he pushes back in with one single, firm stroke.

Your startled cry of pleasure gets stifled by his mouth, coaxing, biting, until your claws dig into the thick muscles on his shoulders. The arm around your back guides your movement, pressing you even closer to his body than before as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

You’re so close. You can already taste the precipice, black stars dancing along the edge of your vision.

Another moan rips out of you when you come apart for air, mouths open. "That’s it," he pants, watching you through half-lidded eyes, "Come for me."

His voice cracks with rapture, and it’s that more than the feeling of his own climax that sends you over the edge.

This part of your nature never gets old: As the orgasm rushes through you, the pent-up energy surrounding you snaps like lightning, funnelling into your body like an invisible current until you shudder blissfully with your appetite sustained. Your magic crackles around you, dancing on your burning skin like sparks of fire.

You hum appreciatively, your eyes still closed as you take a moment to collect yourself. This day has taken a pleasantly surprising turn, after all. It’s been too long since you’ve felt so thoroughly sated.

However, when you try to move out of his lap, the Witcher’s grip on you tightens decisively.

"Is that it?"

Your eyes fly open.

He is breathing heavily, but despite his loss of blood and the energy you’ve pulled from him, there’s not a trace of exhaustion to be found. He still has that same dangerous twinkle in his gaze. Fire and fury. Something lurches in your stomach.

"I thought your kind’s supposed to be insatiable," he says, leaning in to nuzzle at your collarbone. His medallion bumps against your breasts with a sharp vibration as his fingers trail down your side, a slow, torturously delicate touch. "You can give me one more."

It’s not a question. Still, the hands parting your legs even further are almost as gentle as they are relentless. A light press to your overstimulated clit has you keen, spasming around his cock, and he chuckles lowly.

"Eyes on me."

You hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut again. You’re leaning heavily into him now, another wave of pleasure starting to build as the smell of his magic envelopes you.

He growls, moving both of you around so you’re spread open on your dining table, him leaning over you with a look that wants to devour you whole. Like you’re the one being served up for him to make a meal out of. Impossibly, he’s growing hard again as his deft hands coax you closer to your next release.

"Just one more."

It’s such an obvious lie, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re brimming with energy, dizzyingly replenished and yet still ravenous. The air is humming with it, the promise of more.

"Don’t lie to me, Witcher," you still gasp.

His smile is positively sinful. "You said it yourself. I’m just so generous."

You’re so full. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his aura flickering with lust, rich and decadent and beautiful.

"In other words," he continues, his lips brushing your ear right as you reach your peak again. "We are just getting started."

this fic was brought to you by horny hyperfixations. reblogs and comments are what keep your local writers sustained!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics to get notified whenever i post 💛

[ohdeerfully]

Requests? I got you 😌

Reader who made a deal with Alastor, be his informant, and he'll provide aid when needed. And reader was damn good at holding up their end of the deal, while Alastor hasn't really needed to uphold his since aid hasn't been asked for.

So what might happen when his dear little informant hasn't came back from gathering info on the Vee's?

EATING IT UP idk i love this kind of stuff thank you so much. im making this a two-parter! it was getting kinda long and i wanted to get something posted (:

Your Half of the Deal (i)

Alastor x Reader part i part ii part iiiTW: kidnapping, cursing, alastor is manipulative (per usual), alastor is in denial if you want to be tagged in the next part, let me know! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

Deals with Alastor were, for a lack of better words, a big deal. Not something to mess around with. His twisted nature allowed him to create so many loopholes for himself, forcing one to do more than what they bargained him for. It was unfair, but that’s what happens when you make a deal with the Radio Demon.

You weren’t as lucky as the other demons at the hotel, not receiving the typical advice Vaggie debriefed any newcomer. Alastor got to you first. He got you soon after you fell into Hell, before you even knew exactly what was going on or the whole ‘soul’ thing. 

“My,” A light voice cooed from the shadows, causing you to jerk your head up. Your ass still stung from the tumble you took after falling down into god knows where. You were curled up in a dark, moldy corner, a brief respite from all the freaks that you kept running into. Your fingers–no, claws?--still aches after defending yourself from a pair of spiked thugs.

“What a poor sight. How dreadful!” He continued. You could barely make out the form of the speaker. You just knew he was tall. With blazing red eyes. His voice had a radio-like filter over it, with a general low frequency humming around himself during the silence.

He had seen you, a new fallen demon, fight yourself away from those two earlier, a wild look in your eye. How it pleased him, seeing that look somebody gets when they are desperate for their life. But you, in particular, piqued his interest. To be able to acclimate to a new body, in a new place, and fight for your life at the drop of your hat.

You seemed capable, and he liked that. He knew you were naive, fresh meat always was. And he liked that.

You had yet to speak, only looking up at him from your fetal position. But he could tell you were tense and ready to spring, if need be. He played a grin on his face and leaned down closer to you.

“Oh, how rude of me! I’m Alastor,” He held his hand out to you from his bent over position. You shook his hand cautiously. “I saw that scuffle earlier, and dear if I may say, you fight like a wild tigress.” 

You quirked your brow at this comment. “Thanks,” You replied plainly. “(Y/N).” You didn’t want to talk right now. But, you were at least glad to see a face that didn’t immediately go through your throat. 

Alastor, of course, didn’t go after those of the ‘fairer means,’ as he would put it. At least, not in a violent way. He was all for the typical manipulation.

“Even still, a fair lady such as yourself needs someone to protect her! And,” He stood up straight again, a dangerous glint in your eye. “For a price, I could be at your beck and call.”

“A price..?” You responded weakly. You had to admit, seeing this tall, confident man in front of you did seem to put you at ease. He seemed kind. And it wouldn’t hurt to have some help, if there were more creatures wanting to attack you.

“Your soul!” He said, all too cheerfully. Your mouth dried up at this. With everything that has happened to you so far, you had a hunch that the term ‘soul’ actually carried meaning in this place. But, how much..? Was it worth the protection he promised?

“More like a mutual contract, really! Mutual benefactors!” Alastor lied, seeing that hesitance in your expression. “I get your soul, you do what I ask, and I protect you! Simple enough.” 

The expression he held, with that tall grin of his, didn’t do much to calm your nerves. As chipper as he seemed, there was something to it. Something more, but you couldn’t quite tell.

“Deal?”

His glowing eyes seemed to darken as he squinted them in anticipation, his smile somehow growing wider. The static in the air seemed to crackle with more energy, almost violently, as you considered his hand that he had held out. There was an ominous aura that made your skin crawl.

Ah, what the hell. Flashes of those thugs from earlier was enough to put you on your feet. You could only imagine the other shit that lived in this place, and had a feeling they were the bottom of the barrel. You had only just managed to get away from them.

You made eye contact for a couple of seconds, the prickling sensation on your skin becoming harsher and more aggravating the closer you stepped to him. You grabbed his hand.

You were thinking about your unlucky situation–which you often did in your free time–as you gave yourself a onceover in the mirror, black eyes examining your tight outfit. A little spy getup–a little stereotypical, something you would definitely see in the movies. But, hey, it never failed you.

Thinking back, you could tell now that his words and smile were filled with deceit and manipulation. You often got pissed at yourself for how naive you were. You hadn’t even called on him once since then, and you’ve been stuck as his little pet for nearly four months now. He runs you around like a doll in a big playhouse, sending you this way and that to get intellect from his various enemies.

“I’m much too popular to be roaming in those areas!” He had claimed when you questioned why he, the Radio Demon, couldn’t just do it himself. “Demons flee at the sight of me. The Vee’s would see me from a mile away.” You had a suspicion that he just didn’t want to be seen in public making such a petty fuss over his television rival.

There was no point in dwelling on it, but you couldn’t help the occasional feeling of regret that twinged your chest when you thought too long. You were stuck as his, whether you liked it or not. 

Slicking back your hair, you finalized your sleek outfit. Another day of being thrown into precarious situations by that red asshole. It was becoming a weekly thing, with Alastor requesting more and more information, especially from those Vee’s he hated so much. In fact, now that you thought about it, they were the only demons you snuck by. How obsessed they were with each other.

It was no easy task, getting through the security of that place. In fact, it was nearly impossible, seemingly getting harder every time. You had a cautious feeling that they knew what you were up to, and kept falling short of catching or stopping you. There were cameras pointed in every direction, every angle, in the highest quality imaginable. Every trip left your heart racing with adrenaline.

“On your way now, are you?” Alastor asked coyly. He waited for you at the entrance to the hotel, a glint in his eyes. Oh, how he loved playing with you like this. Watching you bend and break for him. He loved it. And you hated him for it.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll get killed this time,” You said snidely, referencing the increasing danger of each trip. “Wouldn’t that be a treat for me.” You said this in a whisper, but Alastor still heard.

He bent at the waist to be eye level with you, that sinister grin of his lowering slightly. It seemed he had wanted to say something, his teeth parting for a moment before closing again. His grin perked back up and he straightened himself into a stand. He simply reached out and patted your head.

“Now, don’t go out with that kind of mindset! Why, you know our deal!” His lips curled in reference to the rather one-sided promise you made each other. To be honest, considering you never had to call for Alastor’s aid, you weren’t even comforted by the notion. Who’s to say he even shows up? How will he even know if you need help?

Alastor stepped towards you, his hands flapping as he shooed you out of the door. “The night is only so long! Go along!”

So, now you’re here. Tucked behind a corner near the Vee’s residence. There were cameras everywhere, obviously, and you swore you saw more than last time. What point does Alastor even have, making you come here so often? What more could he want? You knew him and Vox were rivals, but it wasn’t like Alastor didn’t know how to take care of the TV-head.

You had a sick feeling that Alastor just enjoyed making you do bullshit for him like this, and didn’t care much for the actual information. The thought drew a sneer on your face. If you weren’t literally soul bound to this guy, you would probably just let yourself get caught and likely killed on the spot. But, of course, your deal made that dream impossible. 

With a couple hops on your toes, you began your brisk walk towards the back of the manor. You were hyper aware of all the cameras, and hoped that your dark outfit helped blend with the shadows. 

However, the second you lifted a window and stepped foot into the building, lights flashed and an alarm rang. Fuck.

The television demon himself got to you surprisingly fast. As if he had been waiting. Which, honestly, wouldn’t have surprised you. You briefly wondered why it took them so long to have an alarm system in the first place, and began frantically looking for a way out. The window behind you had shut and locked. The hallway was incredibly narrow and Vox stood in the way.

Fuck it, you made a mad dash for the Overlord, hoping to catch him off guard. You raised a clawed hand and swiped at his television head. A pointless attack, you realize, as the screen nearly flickered for a moment; his wide, pixelated grin staring into you. Before you could move again, his arm tightly gripped at your throat. You felt an electrifying sensation, stinging through every nerve, and blacked out.

“Heyy, Al?” Charlie’s voice rang through the doorway of Alastor’s radio tower. “Have you seen (Y/N)..? She was supposed to help with some decorations.” She had opened the door without warning.

He paced back and forth in thought, gripping the top of his cane with one hand and tapping the end of it in his other. He didn’t respond to Charlie, but the question did ring in his head over and over. You hadn’t come back from the night before. You always came back before the day broke.

He didn’t know the feeling that stirred in his chest as he watched the minutes pass by. The hours pass by. All without a sight of you. He never thought to keep watch as you worked, refraining from sending his shadow to spy on the spy, as he always saw you as capable enough. 

Besides, he thought to himself. What a waste of my time that would be. Fretting over a single demon.

“Alastor,” Charlie said again. He craned his neck to her, stopping his train of thought. His grin had a strain to it and his nose wrinkled in aggravation. Why was she in his space? He hated intrusions.

“What?” He said bluntly.

“(Y/N)?” She spoke your name again, hoping to prompt some conversation out of the Radio demon with the implied question.

Alastor composed himself, acting unphased by the… worry? That he felt. “Why would I know where she is? I take care of this hotel, but not so much the residents.” It was a true enough statement, as he preferred just watching the demons Charlie try desperately to rehabilitate and fail miserably every day. 

“Now, if you don’t mind,” He interrupted Charlie before she could say anything, her mouth hanging open and words dying on her tongue. He briskly turned on his feet and walked towards her, standing at the doorway. “I would prefer you knock next time.” He shut the door on her.

He couldn’t handle the heavy feeling that threatened his lungs as he thought about what was happening at the Vee’s residence. 

Did he really care to go out, risk a scene, risk the intel, just to get you? To make sure you were okay?

Yeah. He had to. He hated that feeling in his chest, especially as it just grew heavier and more overwhelming. He just chalked it up to the deal he had made with you putting a pressure on his own soul to hurry up and deal with it. But he couldn’t help the tightness that consumed him when he thought about what you were doing in that place. Or what they were doing to you. He brushed the emotion aside, trying his best to ignore it.

He argued with himself that yeah, he was only going because of that deal he had made. No, no way did he have a soft spot for you. No way in Hell. He was just doing this to hold up his deal. Yeah.

With a heavy sigh and a twitch at the corners of his lips, he brushed his talon-like fingers through the fringe of his hair, pushing it back before letting it fall into place again. He tried to maintain a leisurely composure, but a wild glint in his eye was proof enough that he was stressed out.

Best to get this over with. He had a deal to uphold. He opted for the faster route, melting into his shadow.

part ii part iii

[anilovie]

Could I request something with a shy! Reader who has a huge crush on Anakin. And every time they see him, they just—run away. Lol.

This drives Anakin up the fucking wall, because he just wants to talk to them and see their sweet face and hear their beautiful voice. He thought their little crush was cute/funny at first, but as time went on, he actually fell harder. 😌💕

Eventually, he corners them and seduces them into looking at him. Like—cups their jaw with his leather glove and presses his thumb against their throat to force their neck back to look at him. 🥵 And then he just DEVOURS them.

I love your writing sm, by the way. 💕

A.N: I loooooved this request. i could write about this for HOURS. lmk if you want more, sweet anon 💖

CW: fluff, lots of fluff, solely fluff, kissing and requited pining with a dash of fluff, gn reader

WC: 1.5k

♡ Let’s be real. Anakin would certainly know you have a crush on him from the moment it forms.

♡ As the ‘Brotherhood’ book insists, Anakin is better at reading peoples emotions through the force than anyone else. So of course he’d be able to pick up on the way your nerves spike whenever he’s near, the rush of elation coming from you when he walks in the room, the stutter of your heart when you lock eyes and he offers a polite nod in greeting.

♡ He can feel how you stare at him from across the room when you think he’s not looking. Can see the goosebumps on your skin when he ‘accidentally’ brushes you. He can tell when you’re even thinking about him just from the way your heartbreak quickens and you begin to fidget with your hands.

♡ He knows everything about what you’re trying to hide from him.

♡ But you have no idea that he returns those feelings.

♡ It only makes your crush on him that much more frustrating. Because he wishes he could just sit you down someplace and talk to you for hours— stare into your eyes and study the way your face moves when you smile, and frown, and laugh, and cry. He wants to know every inch of you, to study all your flaws and perfections, to know everything about you.

♡ More than anything, he wants to just have you already, raw and real and unapologetically you.

♡ But you’re always making excuses to leave him early whenever you’re left alone. Always turn away when you catch him staring. You’re always crossing your arms or pulling your jacket tighter when he’s near, or hiding behind Obi-Wan, or cutting yourself short when you speak. And if he tries to flirt with you, you clam up and practically disappear in a puff of smoke.

♡ One time, he’s almost certain he made you cry. All he said was that you looked pretty, and tapped the bottom of your chin with his finger. That’s it. But your eyes got all wet and your lip started to wobble, and you quickly turned away, muttering some excuse about being late for an appointment.

♡ most infuriatingly, you’ve only been able to make eye contact with him a handful of times; much less hold it. Your pretty eyes turn wide with embarrassment, your nerves go haywire, and you rip your beautiful gaze away far too quickly for his liking.

♡ And force forbid you have to speak to him. Always staring over his shoulder when he talks to you, or at his chest, or his shoes, or your shoes.

♡ If you manage to get a few sentences out without stumbling over your words or cutting yourself short, he is so proud.

♡ If you’d only just look at him, you would see that.

♡ Though you can never seem to form a complete sentence around Anakin, to Ashoka you can’t seem to shut up.

♡ “Kriff, alright! I get it! Enough about my ‘hot master’!”

♡ In all honesty, you think Anakin merely tolerates you. You’re friends, and you work together, so you think he’s obligated to be nice to you.

♡ the only way you can come out of your shell around him at all is when he makes it glaringly, sickeningly obvious that he’s head over heels about you, too.

♡ Sweet smiles, soft touches, and gentle words of praise and adoration. Constant endearment and doting. It’s endless coming from him, earning constant eye-rolls from Ahsoka.

♡ he always lowers his voice so it’s in that soft, raspy register with you. He doesn’t even notice it, but you do. It’s like he’s reserved all of his gentleness just for you.

♡ most days, he has to call your attention to him, otherwise you won’t dare trouble him. For example, you’re hurrying past him in the starfighter bay, heart jumping into your throat as soon as you recognize that curly head of golden hair, when;

“Hey— you just gonna walk right past me?”

You skid to a stop and turn back around, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry… thought you were busy. Didn’t wanna bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me. You never bother me.”

“Oh…” you laugh nervously, clasping your hands in front of you. His attention pins you to the spot, forcing your gaze to your shoes as you awkwardly rock back on your heels. “So, did you… did you need something?”

“Yes, actually,” he gestures with his head behind him, toward his ship. “Come with me?”

Your gut swirls in anticipation for what Anakin could possibly need to be alone with you for. You’re no genius when it comes to spaceships; you can only hope that whatever it is, you don’t make a fool of yourself in front of him.

Anakin leads you inside to the control room, and then abruptly stops. He turns to you with his arms crossed, intense stare piercing into your face, and comes right out with it:

“Why won’t you ever look at me?”

Immediately, your face grows warm. He gives you no time to even wrap your brain around the question before adding;

“You’re not scared of me, are you?”

As if to prove him wrong, you flick your eyes up to his face, and then quickly away. “I do look at you.”

“That hardly counts,” He scoffs.

It’s worse. He’s making it so much worse. The small space, the forced proximity, the confrontation— your heart is going haywire in your chest, skin breaking out in a nervous sweat. Your mind goes absolutely blank.

“Am I that hard to look at?” His tone is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind it.

“No— no, you’re not hard to look at, at all,” you quickly assure. And because your brain has melted, you add, quieter, “that’s sort of the problem.”

He’s silent for a long moment. And when you sneak another glance at him, you see a grin slowly crawling onto his face.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“You think I’m handsome, hm?”

“Just a little,” you mutter, arms crossed defensively. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“No?”

“No.”

You search for the exit, thinking it’s about time you get out of this situation before you quite literally pass out. With every word, Anakin leans closer to you, and your pulse has quickened to the point of dizziness.

“I think you like me,” Anakin’s voice has dropped to a near-whisper, rasping as he leans down close to your face. You’ve shrunk back as far as you can go, almost hitting your head on the control panel above.

You turn your head away, trying to escape him, only to find his arm already braced against the wall by your head, trapping you in.

“Anakin—“

There are so many thoughts flying through your head. This can’t happen— he’s a Jedi— you want him— you can’t breathe— is he getting closer?

“Look at me,” he demands. And it’s like he’s the pied piper: His voice controls you.

Blue.

“There you go,” the corner of his lips tilt up. “Not so hard now, is it?”

“It is hard,” you whisper, eyes welling with overwhelmed tears. “You make me nervous.”

He can feel your fragile will shatter, bringing his other hand to cup your jaw, keeping your head tilted up with leather fingers. Even if you look away, you have no choice but to face him.

“Well, I’m proud of you.” His voice is incredibly soft. It’s not mocking or teasing or anything.

He’s proud of you. Anakin Skywalker is proud of you.

That knowledge coaxes you back to him, slowly, and you see true adoration shining in those glittery, softened eyes. Your shoulders finally relax, shaky breath filling your lungs.

“Please don’t make fun of me,” you beg, giving up on hiding what you truly feel for him. He’s forced it all to light now, anyways. “I know you can’t feel the same. And I’ll keep it to myself. I don’t want to trouble you—“

“Hey, hey,” he cuts you off, hushing softly. “What did I say? You’re never troubling me,” his gaze shifts between both of your eyes, as if unable to decide which to look at. “And who says I can’t feel the same? Who says I can’t feel more?”

Your attention accidentally shifts down to his mouth, and your mind goes absolutely blank again.

“W-what?”

Pretty, plump lips curl into a smile. Mischievous, this time. Knowing.

“What’re thinking about, hm? Tell me, please. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

His face draws impossibly nearer, you almost go cross-eyed trying to keep looking at him. His breath tickles your lips, and you instinctively squeeze your eyes shut.

“Show me what you’re thinking,” he urges. And with a surge of confidence, fueled by the desire to just take what you’ve wanted for so long now, you lift your chin and close the last remaining centimeters between you.

“Mmm,” he immediately hums, appreciating your eagerness. He smiles against your lips, and it lights your body on fire.

You are kissing Anakin Skywalker.

His lips are just as soft as they look.

You finally know what Anakin tastes like.

These three thoughts are all you can grasp until you pull away too soon, stomach somersaulting from the soft sound your lips make as they break apart. Only he hasn’t had enough. Using the hand on your jaw to keep you still, he captures your lips in a bruising kiss, tilting his head to taste you deeper, harder— he lets his tongue swipe your bottom lip, coaxing you open, wanting to know if you taste this good everywhere— only the feeling of his hot tongue on your lip fills your face with unbearable heat, and you pull away from him with a gasp.

“Anakin—“ you whine, bringing your hands up over his to cover your face.

He’s laughing now, ducking his head so that his bangs cover his eyes. If the lighting wasn’t so dim, you could have sworn there was color blooming on his cheeks.

“What? Too much?”

Again, you’re left speechless.

But you’re not stupid. Of all the words he’d just spoken to you, all of the gentle touches and longing looks in the past, of how he’d just kissed you—

“There’s no need to be so shy around me, sweetheart,” he tries to amend. “I adore you. Everything about you,” he shakes his head. “I always have.”

He couldn’t make it more clear. A tiny, hopeful smile eases its way onto your face, but you bashfully push at his chest. “Okay,” you huff. “Just— just let me breathe for a minute, okay?”

He laughs again, but leans back and returns his arms to his sides so you can gulp in a deep breath. Your face is so hot, and your lips are tingling from his phantom touch. And he’s still just staring at you, unblinking.

“Stop looking at me,” you mumble, and he responds by affectionately squeezing your cheeks between his thumb and pointer finger, stealing a quick kiss on your pouted lips before you can complain.

“Never.”

[tamvmat]

Busying myself with some Dredge themed aberration ideas!

The Man O' War and Tripod fish are pretty weird guys naturally...so it was fun to make their mutated versions. My own ideas 🙏😌 Ink drawings

Blistered Tripod ~ This poor mass of fluid filled boils does nothing more than sit pathetically on the ocean floor. It's tough to tell if it's even alive.

Spined Siltstrider ~ It skitters rapidly through the silt and sludge on the oceans bottom, impaling any sea life it encounters to consume.

Man At Arms ~ Like a living mine, the Man At Arms is equipped with barbed spikes within its air filled membrane. The spikes erupt violently in all directions if the creature is disturbed, sadly spelling the end for the poor beast as its means of flotation is ruptured in the process.

[bonesmarinated]

I like to explore ocs by drawing them as a younger age, it's like looking at family old albums and see all the blunder years. Cringe and free. teenage dirtbags at the mall in the 90s wearing his battle jacket covered in metal patches, bullet belts and all that spikes 😌🤘 his mom came to watch him play with his black metal band at the community youth center (she waited till the end of the fourth song. They played 11 songs 😑 ) Kristian become an altar boy mostly because it got him out of classes for weddings, and funerals, the former of which being the best, because the groom would usually tip the boys really well to show off to his new bride being accused by the Mosignor of stealing communion wine, when every altar boy knew that Father Martin took a bottle after every service once time, nearly burning the church down with the incense burner

[rawmeknockout]

I dunno if it's still in the grace period, but man I wanna ride Rodimus in his holoform like a fuckin bronco in his own backseat

//respectfully cunt and pussy are used in a gender-neutral sense 😌//

Rodimus holds tight to your waist while you ride him like a champ. The up and down movements of your beautiful, alien body hypnotizing, he's never seen anything so charge-inducing. He can feel both the holoform and his real metal body surge with arousal. His frame is riddled with excess sparks of energy, armor uncomfortably tight around his sensitized protoform. Although he enjoys the sight of his fake flesh body pushing up into your cunt, Rodimus can't help superimposing his real frame onto the experience. He would love to see you try and take his spike to the hilt, stuffed nearly to capacity.

Your fingers clench and curl into his collared shirt, nails burying deep into the faux fabric. His frame rocks and shudders with your frantic movements, cab bouncing with the rhythm. His engine rumbles and purrs with the moaning of his holoform icon, his true frame trembling underneath and around you. The slap of his damp skin against yours is so real, feels so tangible, you can't help but be brought into the illusion and lose all perception of reality. Your brain can't help but accept the touch of another human, real or not. A sensation you didn't know you even missed.

The charge builds beneath his protoform, pleasure filtering from his holo-avatar to his mech frame and doubling back, all of the sensations blending together. With you on top, clenching around him with your soft cunt, Rodimus loses track of where he ends and the mech-made construction begins. He grabs hold of your hips, keeping you firmly rooted in place as he fucks up into you, chasing the sensation of your body welcoming him over and over. The charge finally reaches the brink of overload, Rodimus' metal frame snapping and popping with it, tensing and jerking upon release. The gentle whimpering and moaning from Rodimus' mouth, the minute, spastic jerk of his hips, is enough to make you come soon after, taken with the way his avatar's brow furrows and eyes squeeze shut. His mouth is open around gasps of air he doesn't need, chest heaving in programmed mimicry.

You roll your hips down upon his lap, milking him to the point of overstimulation. With each tug of your body, Rodimus' cab hitches around you, quickly building up steam again.