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Desperate | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello hello hello! I’ve got some good, old-fashioned angst here for ya.

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: hella angst. Touch starved Bucky and reader. Some slight NSFW vibes, but nothing graphic.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice when you told him you had to step away for a moment. He remained focused on his clean up duties in the kitchen; he didn’t raise his head or look your way. In fact, he didn’t seem to be noticing you much at all, lately. But as you eyed your ensemble in the full-length mirror in your bedroom, you knew you’d win back his attention.

This was his absolute favorite lingerie of yours. The set that made him so feral, drove him so insane with lust, that he’d broken the headboard last time you wore it. After that, the two of you agreed you’d save it for special occasions only; otherwise, the apartment you shared would need to be entirely refurnished. And though tonight was just a normal, run of the mill Friday night, you needed to pull out the big guns.

The black leather bustier- the one that made Bucky destroy furniture- hugged your figure perfectly. It’s plunging V-neck ended just above your navel. And the lacy details perfectly mirrored the cheeky black underwear Bucky gifted you last Valentine’s Day. A matching garter belt was the piece de resistance, and it held in place the thigh high stockings that drove Bucky wild.

You gave yourself one final look before slipping on a pair of black stilettos and stalking out of the room. This was it- the perfect formula for recapturing Bucky’s gaze.

He’d been distant lately. Almost cold. He hadn’t touched you- in even the most innocent sense- in nineteen days. It had been even longer since you were last able to steal a kiss. And the two of you hadn’t had sex in three weeks, which was unheard of.

Usually, Bucky gave his physical affections freely. He loved touching you, kissing you, holding you. He wanted to play with your hair, hold your hand, kiss your forehead- anything- as long as it meant he got to touch you. To feel you. When he had a rough day, your arms provided him with safety and comfort. And when a mission stole you from his side, your lips welcomed him home. He poured his love for you into every touch, leaving his fingerprints all over your soul.

To him, any moment spent without your skin pressed against his was a moment wasted.

And your sex life was mind-blowing, to say the least. Bucky’s stamina and eagerness to please you left you breathless and seeing stars almost every night of the week. After a few rounds with him, you found yourself unable to speak, unable to think. The only thing that had the power to permeate your hazy, lust-filled mind was him. Your hunger, your need for him could never be sated, and fucking him only made you want him more. But he was more than happy to give himself over to you. He could pull two or seven orgasms from you before you even knew what hit you. And that was just his warmup.

But the last three weeks had been completely void of any debauchery. Bucky didn’t slip into your shower or slide his hand up your skirt. He didn’t even grab your ass when you walked by wearing leggings. It was a startling difference that filled the apartment with a biting, bitter cold, chilling you to the bone. But Bucky said- he swore- he was fine. That he was just tired. Or stressed. Or busy with work. And while you knew his work-life was intense, it never before stopped him from jumping at the chance to make you scream.

And it wasn’t just the lack of erotic touches that gnawed at you. It was the loss of all physical affections. He didn’t reach for your hand in the store. Didn’t pull you into his chest at night. Didn’t kiss you goodbye in the morning. It left you agonized. Miserable. Empty.

Every day, you wondered what could’ve possibly caused Bucky to pull away. What could make him withdraw from you so suddenly. Worry ate away at you, slowly devouring you whole. He seemed to work late almost every night these past few weeks. And when he was home, your attempts to talk to him about the issue went nowhere.

You thought he’d gotten past his urge to hide his troubles from you. It took time, but he learned to be honest. To communicate. And when you were finally confident that he’d stopped hiding his struggles, you learned to stop reading into his every mannerism. His every muscle twitch. His every vocal change. If he said he was okay, he was okay. And after working together- he trusted you to listen, and you trusted him to tell you the truth.

And over the last few weeks, he did, indeed, say that he was okay. That there was nothing lurking beneath his surface. And so, you did as he asked, and you believed him.

But after three weeks of nothing- no roaming hands, no bite marks, no early morning quickies- you were hungry for him. Aching for him. You feared that your bottled-up lust would actually drive you crazy. And so, you decided reach for your secret weapon.

You found Bucky right where you’d left him: leaning over the kitchen sink, taking care of the dishes from dinner.

You kept your tone light, innocent, casual. “Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, baby.” He didn’t look up.

“Um, do you think you could help me with something real quick, Sergeant?” Sergeant. It was devious. Wicked, really. The sound of his title coming out of your mouth always got his heart racing, always made the blood drain from his brain and travel elsewhere.

But he didn’t fall for it.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just give me one second, I’m-” Finally, he looked up.

His words died in throat, his mind went blank. The pan he’d been scrubbing fell into the sink with a loud crash. Want filled his eyes. He could’ve sworn his mouth started watering.

“What do you think, Sarge? You wanna come over here and,” you ran a few fingers up your thigh, “help me out?”

You braced yourself, knowing Bucky was about to pounce. You figured you had less than five seconds before he swept you off your feet and hoisted up over his shoulder. He’d fireman-carried you to bed that way more times than you could count, and you knew this would be one of those nights.

But five seconds became ten. And then fifteen. And then twenty. And all he’d done was stare at you.

“Buck?” you took a few steps in his direction. “I thought we could have some dessert.”

He struggled to form coherent thoughts or piece sentences together. “Um, well, I was-” he gestured to the mess in the sink, “I was gonna do the dishes.”

“I know, baby,” you placed a light hand on his shoulder. “But I think you can finish them after- I mean, later.”

Bucky should’ve jumped at the opportunity. He should’ve taken you apart right there on the kitchen counter. But he didn’t. He didn’t even touch you.

He cleared his throat, “I’m- I’m just gonna do ‘em now.”

Without a word, you turned on your stiletto and retreated to the bedroom.

Humiliation flared in your chest. Tears gathered in your eyes. And your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the rest of the world. Suddenly, you felt stupid. Foolish. Part of you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment.

Bucky had every right to refuse your advances- that wasn’t the issue. It was his complete and utter lack of affection for you. If he didn’t want to have sex with you ever again, you’d (probably) survive. But the harsh and sudden halt of any and all physical affection was eating you alive.

You kicked off your heels the moment you entered the bedroom and found yourself stomping toward the bathroom. You needed to get away. To hide. To protect yourself from any further mortification. The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, and you leaned against the cool wood, hoping to find some peace. But the bathroom mirror only doubled your shame. And as you stared at yourself, clad in what you thought to be Bucky’s favorite lingerie, your breathing hitched in your chest.

This whole venture was so idiotic. So thoroughly and excruciatingly mortifying. It felt like the final nail in the coffin. If Bucky didn’t want you in your best lingerie, he must not want you at all.

The hoodie you’d slipped out of only minutes ago sat crumpled in a pile on the counter, and eagerly you shimmied into it. Anything to cover up your failed attempt at seduction.

What was wrong with Bucky? Was he not interested in you anymore? Did he find you unattractive? If he wasn’t seeking sex with you, he had to be getting it from someone else, didn’t he? Who was it? Who-

A gentle knock yanked you out of your spiral.

“Sweetheart…” Bucky called through the door. He tried the handle and found it locked. “Can you come out, baby? Please?”

No part of you wanted to leave the safety of the bathroom. Something deep within you feared that this would be it- the tipping point, the moment of truth. If you did as Bucky asked and ventured out of the bathroom, there was a chance that Bucky would drop some major, soul-crushing truth on you.

Maybe he’d spent the last three weeks trying to figure out how to break up with you, and this was his perfect opportunity. Maybe he’d break your heart and ruin your life the second you opened the bathroom door. If you could just stay in here- forever- maybe he wouldn’t dump you. Maybe you could delay your heartbreak and extend whatever feelings he once had for you, just for a little while.

But if he didn’t want you anymore, what was the point of prolonging the inevitable?

With a huff, you dabbed at your eyes with your sleeve and opened the door.

There stood Bucky, looking hopeless. Lost. Miserable. He was propped against the door frame with slumped shoulders and a downtrodden expression- but perked up a bit when you opened the door. A sad smile stretched across his face, and he stood up straight, but his frown returned as you brushed right past him.

“Baby, can we please talk about this?” He almost begged.

There was a heavy desperation in his voice. Panic blazed through his chest. Something told him he might be losing you.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you!” You removed your garter belt and slipped off one of your stockings. “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for weeks! And you just keep saying you’re 'fine'. Or that you’re tired. Or that there’s 'nothing to talk about'- when there clearly is!”

Normally, Bucky could always make you feel better with a hug. Anytime the two of you got into a fight, a long, warm embrace helped ease both of you into open, honest communication. But Bucky didn't reach for you. He opted to keep his distance. To allow you some space.

But space was the last thing you wanted.

“Look, if there’s something going on and you’re not interested in having sex, that’s fine,” you told him. “I get it. It happens sometimes. But the-” you yanked your other thigh high off and tossed it to the side. “The total embargo on physical touch is really fucking with my head.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your hands shook with wrath. “Buck, you’re never home anymore- you’re always ‘working late’.” You let out a sharp exhale, “and when you are home, it’s like you’re on another planet. You keep your distance from me- you won’t even sit next to me on the couch.”

All Bucky could do was nod. Everything you said was true; there wasn’t a point in arguing.

And as the weight of Bucky’s sudden frigidity finally hit you, your fury was snuffed out. Rage no longer pulsed through your veins with each beat of your heart. Grief took its place. It forced its way into your heart, into your bones. You could’ve sworn you felt fractures spider-webbing their way through your ribs.

Tears trickled slowly down your cheeks at first, but a downpour followed soon after. “Are you- are you not attracted to me anymore?” You asked between heaving sobs. “Do you not want me? Did I do something?”

“Sweetheart, I-”

“Is there…” your voice cracked. Saying it was too much; part of you feared that vocalizing your fear would make it come true. As though another woman would materialize simply because you asked whether she existed. “Is there someone else?”

The question sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. Bucky stared at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. You did your best to get a handle on your shaky breaths and pained wails; if Bucky was about to reveal an affair, you didn’t want to seem so broken. So hopeless. So pathetic. You didn’t want to give him any ammo to take back to his side piece. Any dramatic tales that would make her howl with laughter.

But he didn’t admit to having a mistress. He, instead, let loose a few tears himself. Knowing that he’d made you question his loyalties, that you’d actually feared he’d been unfaithful, made him want to die.

“Oh my god,” His voice wavered under the hefty weight of his pain,“Baby-”

“Is there someone better?”

“No.” He couldn’t fathom the suggestion that there was someone- anyone- out there better than you. “There is no one better.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to be near you. In three quick strides, he arrived in your vicinity. But he remained just out of your reach. Everything in him begged - screamed- to hold you close. To kiss you. To take your hand, at the very least. His fingers twitched with the need to touch you. But he refrained.

“There’s no one else- of course, there’s not. There will never be anyone else. I still want you, I will always want you. I love you.”

The overwhelming urge to remove himself from your space barked at him. It screamed and hollered from the deep recesses of his mind. And he knew he should listen. But he couldn’t- not when you were falling apart in front of him. Not when he’d made you feel unwanted, unattractive, and unloved.

“You didn’t do anything, doll,” he hated himself for doing this to you. For making you doubt his love. For reducing you to a sobbing, heaving shell of yourself. “I’m still attracted to you- I’m so attracted to you. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

His reassurances helped assuage some of the fear, some of the worry. But only a small portion. Because even though he’d refuted all of your hypotheses and accusations, he still hadn’t given you a reason. And he still hadn’t touched you.

“Then what’s-” you forced yourself to take a moment to think. To breathe. To get your head on straight. “What’s the problem? What’s going on with you?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t make eye contact. He simply stared at the area rug, tracing its border with his eyes. And though he knew you needed his touch, needed his affection, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t bring himself to slip his hand into yours or cradle your face in his hands.

His silence sliced through you and tore you open. You could’ve sworn you were bleeding out.

“Buck, I miss you-” It was needy. Ugly. But you didn’t care. “Please, just be honest with me. I’m worried about you. And this isn’t normal for us, so-”

His words came out so low, so hushed, that you struggled to hear him. “I just haven’t been able to shake what happened last time.”

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. He gave a small shake of his head. His hands balled into tight fists. He’d thought about what happened over and over and over again. He thought about it every day for the last three weeks. Relived the panic, the fear. And every night when he tried to fall asleep, the scene played out on an endless loop inside his mind. Horrifying nightmares plagued him each time he closed his eyes. He woke up shaking, covered in a cold sweat. There was no escaping it.

---Three weeks ago---

Things started around 8pm. It was all innocent enough, with Bucky spooning you as the two of you rewatched New Girl. But Bucky let his hands roam, as he so often did. And after only one episode, his hand had snaked up your shirt. His warm palm rested against your breast as his fingers swept over your skin. He teased your nipple once, twice. It was all the motivation you needed.

At his prompting, you pushed your body back against his, allowing your ass to grind against him. A low, animalistic moan vibrated deep within his chest. All bets were off after that.

Before you could even blink, Bucky had you in his arms. He palmed your ass and positioned your legs around his waist as he set off down the hall toward the bedroom. His lips hungrily devoured yours. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on the strands every now and again. He let more depraved sounds loose and you happily swallowed them all.

Time lost all meaning after Bucky laid you out on the bed. The world outside of your bedroom ceased to exist- only Bucky remained. The two of you were a frantic, needy tangle of pounding hearts and sweat-slick skin. Teeth marks adorned his chest. Scratches adorned his back and shoulders. And Bucky devoted all of his time, all of his energy, all of him to pleasing you.

He took his time, slowly working you over as though it were his job. He loved teasing you, love watching you squirm. And when he had you absolutely begging, he gave you exactly what you wanted. In fact, he kept giving it to you- and had no intention to stop.

He’d lost track of time. Lost count of how many times he made you come. All he knew was that double digits had been reached- and that was a long time ago. Was it an hour ago? Or three? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had his best girl falling apart at the seams. Over and over and over again.

He made sure to check in with you after every bout of world-shattering ecstasy, and you always gave him the green light. As time passed, your sentences turned into solitary words, which devolved into incoherent, needy sounds. But you always gave him a fervent nod, ensuring that you absolutely wanted- needed- him to continue.

Even as sweat dampened the hair around your face, even as your lips grew swollen- you wanted more. More Bucky- there was never enough of him. It didn’t matter that he’d carried you to bed hours ago, you were insatiable. If he fucked you for a full twenty-four hours, it still wouldn’t have been enough.

At one point, you ended up in his lap, riding him like your life depended on it. He was seated upright on the edge of the bed, his chest pressed to yours. And by the depraved sounds and shaky breaths that fell from your lips, he knew you were close to yet another heart-stopping moment of bliss. His right arm snaked around your back, holding you firmly in place. He forced his vibranium fist down into the mattress; it gave him the extra leverage he needed to fuck into you even deeper. To push you over the edge.

With a strangled scream, your orgasm crested over you. Your eyes squeezed shut. Sharp inhales filled your chest. Your mouth hung open. Every muscle in your body went rigid. Tense. Slight tremors rocked you every few moments- it was exactly what Bucky wanted.

“Oh, that’s my girl,” praises dripped from his lips like honey. A debauched moan vibrated out of his chest. “So good for me, always so good for me, baby.”

He watched as your eyes rolled back in your head. And with a final exhale, your limp body slumped forward, your face landing against Bucky’s chest. He put his movements on pause and allowed you to recover. To catch your breath. To rest.

He smoothed his cold, metallic hand up and down your spine. “You doing okay, sweetheart? You tired?” He dotted a kiss to your hair, “We can call it a night.”

You didn’t say a word.

“Baby,” he scratched gently at your shoulder blade. “Can you answer me?”

But you remained silent.

Concern coursed through his veins. He feared he’d gone too far. That he’d pushed you past your limits. And if you were upset, he needed to do whatever he could to help you through. As gently as he could, he used both of his hands to lift your head from his chest.

What he found sent a wave of chills rushing over his skin.

You were out cold. Completely unconscious.

Bucky found himself operating on autopilot. He removed you from his lap and laid you flat on the bed. His fingers searched your neck for a pulse. Your name fell from his lips in a horrified, desperate prayer.

A breakdown loomed on the horizon, darkening everything around him. His hands shook, his chest tightened. The copper-penny taste of blood exploded across his tongue as he sunk his teeth into his cheek. But he couldn’t fall apart- not when your life depended on it.

And massive sigh of relief left his chest when he felt your strong, steady pulse beating beneath his fingertips.

And once he knew that you were, indeed, alive, he allowed himself to fall apart- but only for a moment. Tears dripped down his face and splashed against your chest as he loomed over you. He breathlessly told you he was sorry. That he loved you. That he didn’t mean to hurt you.

But that was all he permitted. You still needed him, even if you weren’t in dire straits. And so, he forced his emotion behind a wall and pressed on.

No part of him wanted to leave your side, but it was a necessary evil. He sped through the apartment and into the kitchen, digging in the freezer for ice packs. And when he found the two you required, he snagged a couple dish towels from the drawer by the sink and raced back to the bedroom.

“Hey, I’m- I’m back, baby,” he said to your unconscious body. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I just had to get-” he held up the icepacks. Even if you couldn’t hear him, he wanted you to know that he’d never- under any circumstances- abandon you when you needed him.

He wrapped each ice pack in a towel and tucked one behind your neck while the other rested on your chest. And then, all he could do was wait.

He hovered over you, watching for any signs of waking, any signs of distress. His hands smoothed over your hair and drifted across your cheek. His fingers monitored your pulse every few seconds. His lips left kisses against your forehead. And though he knew that your life wasn’t in danger, it didn’t quell the shaking in his hands. Didn’t stop the waves of nausea cresting over him.

And he didn’t take a full inhale until your eyelids finally began to flutter open.

He watched closely as you finally blinked your way back into consciousness. Everything was kind of fuzzy, a bit hazy around the edges. A quiet ringing filled your ears. A slight tremor rendered your hands unsteady. And the world around you seemed to tilt and twist without warning.

But Bucky was right there, anchoring you to the earth. He let a gentle hand rest against your cheek.

“Hi, baby,” his voice was soft, sweet, comforting.

But you couldn’t respond even if you wanted to, as your synapses refused to get their shit together. Words collided and melted together, dripping into amorphous puddles inside your mind. You swore someone had stuffed your head full of cotton. Everything felt far away; the entire world was muffled somehow, as though you were trapped behind fifty feet of glass.

Concern bled into Bucky’s words, “Sweetheart, are you alright?”

And it wasn’t easy, but you finally remembered how to think. How to speak. You chipped away at the thick pane of glass separating you from Bucky, and finally answered.

“’m okay…” You reached for Bucky’s face and allowed your fingers to gently trace down his jawline. His stubble pricked at your skin. His warm breath fanned your face.

And without warning, tears slipped from your eyes. Rivulets coursed down the sides of your face and dripped into your hair. It was a sudden, jarring shift that sent Bucky’s heart leaping into his throat.

“Oh, no- oh, sweetheart,” he gently cradled your face in his hands. “Baby, you’re okay- everything’s okay. You’re fine. You’re safe.”

He did everything in his power to bring you some sense of peace, but the tears refused to stop. And he found himself desperately, hopelessly, trying to comfort you. He tripped over himself again and again, apologizing endlessly. And when that didn’t work, he changed tactics. He spelled out what happened for you in clear, easy to understand terms, ridding you of the dreaded unknown. He promised that you were only out for a minute or two. That you were perfectly safe.

He left gentle touches against your skin and dotted kisses to your cheeks and hairline- just like you always did for him when he fell to pieces. And if it worked for him, he hoped it might work for you.

He wasn’t sure what brought an end to your waterworks- his reassurances or his touch- but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you’d finally stopped crying. That your breathing was returning to normal. The sharp pain radiating through his chest dulled a little bit as he dried your last few tears. Finally, your hands stopped trembling. And your heartrate slowly regressed to its mean. He thanked a startling number of deities that you were alive and seemed to be improving.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “How do you feel, baby? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Um…” you dried your damp lashes on the backs of your hands. “I’m cold.”

“Shit- sorry,” Bucky snatched your icepacks from their respective positions and threw them to the floor.

Guilt bloomed in his chest; he should’ve removed the ice the second you woke up. Should’ve covered you with a blanket. Should’ve used his body to keep yours warm. Should’ve-

He didn’t have time to spiral into guilt and shame and ‘should haves’.

He leaned over the side of the bed and located his discarded hoodie, the one you’d yanked over his head only a few hours ago in your insatiable pursuit of his body.

“Hey, here you go, doll,” he gently helped you wriggle into the soft fabric and covered you with the bedspread. And once he was confident that you were comfortable, he slid under the blanket with you and vowed to give you all of his body heat.

The second he laid down next to you, you rolled onto your side and buried your face in his chest. He curled his body protectively around yours; he wasn’t going to let anything else happen to you tonight. Or ever. His hand swept up and down the length of your spine on a seemingly endless loop. He whispered ‘I love yous’ and “I’m sorrys” until he thought he might go hoarse.

And when your world fell properly into place and you finally felt like yourself again, you plucked your head from his chest.

“Hi,” you reached upward and let your fingers slowly drift across his cheek bones. The slope of his nose. His lips.

“Hi, baby.” He couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his features. This was the version of you he knew. The version that, only a few minutes ago, hungrily egged him on in his pursuit of your pleasure. “You doing okay?”

You gave him a confident nod, “Yeah, I’m okay now.” Your lips drifted across his, “Sorry, it kinda took me a minute to come back to myself, you know?”

“That’s okay, doll,” he let he tips of his fingers ghost over your spine. “Don’t apologize.”

“And I really didn’t mean for there to be any,” you gave Bucky some unenthusiastic jazz hands, “any theatrics tonight. Sorry about the drama.”

Bucky gave a shake of his head, “No, baby, it’s okay. I’m…” he traced your features with his cold, gentle fingers. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I’m totally fine,” you shrugged. “It was weird though, right? This has never happened to me before- I’ve never passed out during sex.” You gazed at him with a spark of lust in your eyes, “You know, I’m actually impressed. You made me come so many times that I actually blacked out. None of my ex-boyfriends can say that.”

You let out a quiet laugh that Bucky didn’t return. He didn’t find it funny- he didn’t find any of this funny. But he put on a smile for your benefit.

“Oh, and sorry about all the crying,” you sighed. “I don’t know what that was about.”

“That’s alright- it happens,” he shrugged. “You went from really high highs and then fell to some pretty low lows. It’s just got to do with the chemicals in your brain, nothing to apologize for.” He trailed kisses across your forehead and down your nose, “Plus, you were probably scared. Or freaked out, at least.”

The guilt sunk its teeth into every fiber of Bucky’s being. And as you nestled closer to him, a tidal wave of revulsion nearly dragged him from the bed. He should’ve known better. Should’ve exercised better judgment. You weren’t like him; you didn’t have the enhanced energy and stamina to match his. He shouldn’t have pushed you to the edge like that. Shouldn’t have carried you past your limits.

Normally, he’d do anything to be near you. He wanted- needed- to touch you as much as possible. And if he couldn’t touch you, he at least had to be close to you. But the voice in his head screamed at him, telling him to vacate your vicinity. And the overwhelming, urgent need to put some space between his body and yours yanked him out of bed.

“Baby, I’m gonna go get you some water, okay? And a snack,” he headed for the door, “you stay there, I’ll be right back.”

It was the perfect excuse. He really did need to provide you with sustenance and hydration after your black out- but a trip to the kitchen also provided him with a reason to remove himself from your side. He counted it as a win-win.

And from that moment on, he did his best- his very best- to keep his hands off of you. To stay as far away as possible. To ensure that you would be safe.

He couldn’t risk your well-being, not again.

------

It wasn’t quite what you expected him to say. And though it was a far better reason than the affair you concocted for him during your downward spiral, it still didn’t make much sense.

“Last time?”

What exactly happened last time? You wracked your brain, searching your memories for some terrible event- but you came up empty. And just as you were about to call bullshit on Bucky’s reasoning, you stumbled upon the memory of your innocuous, minute-long black out.

“Oh, the thing with me passing out?”

Bucky gave a solemn nod. At the thought of it, his face lost all color, all warmth. A sickly shade of gray tainted his skin.

“Buck, I know that was kind of weird and not at all ideal, but it was fine,” you shrugged, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

You took a cautious step toward him, and much to your dismay, he countered with a step back.

“If anything, it was a fluke.” Again, you took a step in his direction. And again, he backed away.

Bucky feared what might happen when you backed him into a corner, when his spine hit the wall. He knew he’d have to slip from your grasp and vacate the room. That he’d have to find an escape. But he knew it would hurt you. After weeks of no warmth, no touching, no physical intimacy, you were barely hanging on by a thread. And if he ran from the room, it would surely cause that thread to snap. But wasn’t that better than the snapping of your neck? Or your spine? Wasn’t it better for you to hurt emotionally, rather than physically?

“Buck, it’s never happened before, and I highly doubt it will ever happen again,” you said. “I didn’t sleep well the night before, and I had a long day leading up to that. I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, I was dehydrated, and I’d been sick the week prior. It was a perfect storm of circumstances that made me pass out. Not you.”

You intertwined your fingers, locking them together in search of any kind of touch. Any physical reassurance. “Seriously, Buck, that will never happen again. I promise.”

Bucky knew of one surefire way to ensure it would never, ever happen again. All he had to do was keep his distance. If he could refrain from touching you, if he could keep his hands to himself, you’d be safe.

But you’d be miserable- he knew you would. And as he gave you a long once-over, a sharp pain shot through him like lightning. Tear tracks trailed down your cheeks. Your eyes were red and puffy. Dark circles stained your under eyes- you hadn’t been sleeping, had you? No, you’d been staying up all night, worrying about Bucky. About the state of your relationship.

And when he noticed the way you’d tangled your hands together, the way your right thumb stroked against the back of your left hand, he could’ve sworn he’d been stabbed through the chest. You were so desperate for affection, so robbed of touch, that you were trying- and failing- to self-soothe.

“I know it was scary for you,” he finally said. “And I know you’re the one who passed out, so I’m not trying to make this about me- I swear. But it was…” He, too, found himself absentmindedly searching for physical comforts. He slowly raked a hand through his hair a few times, but it didn’t have the same effect; only your hands could bring him peace. “It was scary for me, too.”

A pang of anxiety rocketed through you. How could you have been so selfish? So heartless toward Bucky’s plight? Of course, he’d been scared. Of course, the events of that night affected him, too. And you knew that if the situation were reversed, you would’ve been paralyzed with fear. With worry.

You’d just gotten so swept up, so overwhelmed by the loss of his hands. His lips. His arms. It darkened your periphery and gave you tunnel-vision. All you could see- all you could feel- was the cold. The emptiness. The fear of losing him.

“Shit, baby, I’m-” you reached for Bucky but recoiled. “I’m so sorry. You just- you said you were fine. Every time I asked, you swore everything was okay. So I thought-”

“I know…” Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek. He let his head droop, allowed his gaze to drop to the floor. And he stayed that way. For a while.

His hands dug deep into his pockets and his shoulders fell forward ever so slightly. He found himself awash in regret. Longing. Loneliness. He knew it was his fault; he’d done this to himself. He’d chosen to isolate, to pull away. But it was the safest option for you, wasn’t it? And your safety came before anything and everything else- full stop.

“It took me a long time,” he finally said, “it took me a long time to be able to touch you. I couldn’t bring myself to do it for…” He silently thought back on that time, adding up the days where he kept his hands to himself- but they were far too numerous. “For a while. Do you remember that?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I- I guess I always figured it was just some old-fashioned, chivalrous, nineteen-forties type of thing…”

“Well, that was,” a small smile flickered across his face, “that was part of it. But the real reason is that I was too scared. To touch you, I mean.” His smile disappeared. His features suddenly fell. His eyes darkened. “Sometimes, I don’t know my own strength, you know? And I was too- I was so afraid that I’d hurt you, baby.”

“Oh…” You hadn’t thought of it that way.

“I had to kind of overcome that fear, and it took time. I think it took me over a month just to hold your hand- and even then, it was only for a second.”

Bucky’s words had an endless darkness to them- a darkness you were well acquainted with by now. When he was really down, when he was going through a particularly miserable time, his voice took on the pitch-black tone of the abyss. And when he found himself drowning in the obsidian sea, it was your hands that guided him out. You’d hold him close to your body, wrapping him in the safety of your embrace- and slowly, he’d wade out of his agony.

But this time was different.

No matter desperately you longed to touch him, to comfort him, to save him- you couldn’t. He didn’t want your hands, your body anywhere near him. Of course, he did want you close- he just wouldn’t allow it.

“But you know I’ve never been afraid of you, right?” Your arm twitched with want. Almost on autopilot, your hand tried to reach out and touch him, but you forbade it. “I’ve never thought that you’d hurt me-”

“I know.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. You never saw him as a monster or a threat- you never saw him the way he saw himself. “But when we first started dating, I was having these nightmares. I actually had them for the first year of our relationship- at the least…”

Your heart sank. He had enough nightmares as it was; and to know that you’d somehow delivered him a fresh crop of terror made you nauseous.

“Every night when I went to sleep, I’d have these awful dreams…” His eyes took on a hollow quality as he hurdled backward and fell into his memories. “They always started out okay- they seemed like normal dreams. In some of them, we were hugging. In others, we were having sex. And everything was fine. But then, you’d start-” He dragged a few fingers across his bottom lip and down his chin, “you’d start bleeding out of your mouth. Your eyes would roll back in your head. And you’d collapse. You’d die in my arms. Every time.”

A small gasp filled your lungs, “Buck…” It was your most basic, most intrinsic instinct to comfort Bucky with soft, gentle touches. Your hands were his homing signal, and when he got lost in the dark labyrinth of his past, you automatically guided him to safety. You couldn’t remember a time when you’d ever caged that reflex- until now. He stood in front of you, completely despondent, and you couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.

“And the other night- it was exactly like one of my nightmares. You went completely limp, baby, and your eyes rolled back in your head. You were unresponsive. I was so scared, I…” He almost didn’t want to say the words. Didn’t want to tempt the universe by voicing his greatest fear. “I thought I killed you. I thought I’d held you too tight and crushed your spine, or something. I had to-” He cleared his throat, forcing the oncoming emotion away, “I actually had to feel for a pulse to make sure you were still alive.”

“Baby, I- I didn’t know that.” He’d conveniently left that out when he walked you through what happened. He’d sidestepped his horror and his trauma and put you first, as he always did. “But you’d never hurt me- you couldn’t.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not on purpose. But I thought I’d gone too far in the heat of the moment, and…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. “Even though you didn’t pass out because of me, I’m still- I can’t get over it. I can’t stop thinking about it. It was like one of my nightmares had come to life- it hit way too close to home.” He pressed his palms to his eyes for a moment and forced himself to catch his breath. Only when he felt his heartrate return to normal did he speak again. “So, I’ve been scared- too scared to touch you.”

It shattered you. All Bucky did- all he’d ever wanted to do- was protect you. And though he’d spent the last three weeks aching for his best girl, he didn’t dare lay a finger on you- all in the name of your safety. Sure, his execution wasn’t the best, but his intentions were pure and kind, as they always were.

“But I know I didn’t… I didn’t handle this the right way. And I’m sorry- I’m so sorry I pulled away,” he tripped over himself again and again, desperately begging for your understanding. For your forgiveness. “I know you’re not happy- believe me, I’m not happy either. I’ve been miserable this whole time- I miss you so much, sweetheart. And I never wanted to hurt you like this. I just didn’t…” He gave a small shake of his head, “I didn’t want to hurt you physically, either. And I didn’t know what to do. So, I figured that keeping my hands off of you was safest. But I didn’t mean to upset you.”

All the work he’d done, all the effort he’d put into fixing his self-image had crumbled in one fell swoop- all because you didn’t have the wherewithal to eat breakfast and stay hydrated three weeks ago. Bucky’s normally upright posture was sloped, his shoulders curved forward. He had the same hollow look in his eye that he had when you’d first met him. And now that he’d spent more than five minutes with you, you noticed all of the fingernails on his right hand were bitten down to the quick.

“Shit. Buck, I’m- I’m so sorry, baby.” You dried your cheeks on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I fucked up…”

“No, no. This is all on me- I fucked up. I basically abandoned you.” His voice took on a harsh, sharp edge he only ever reserved for use against himself. You knew the inside of his head was a horror scene, full of admonishing comments and self-flagellation. You wished you could rescue him from his own mind.

But his tone softened when he spoke about you, “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart-”

“Buck, I accused you of cheating,” you nearly scoffed. It was ridiculous. Completely absurd. That you believed for even a moment that Bucky could actually have a mistress proved just how out of your mind you were. But grief, you figured, was capable of making people believe crazy things. “That was absolutely wrong of me. And I didn’t even-” you shook your head. “I didn’t even think that the other night might have affected you-”

“You were upset, and rightfully so.” He absolved you of any blame, any guilt. “Plus, you were the one who blacked out, not me. My feelings on the subject aren’t nearly as important as yours.”

“But you witnessed it. And it scared you. A lot.” You hated knowing that he’d been too horrified, too paralyzed with fear to even hold your hand. And the fact that he’d dealt with all of it alone was enough to force you to your knees. “I should’ve known better- I should’ve known you were upset. I’m so sorry, Buck. This was so unfair to you, I-”

He held up a hand, halting your words. “You can’t read my mind, sweetheart. And I could’ve communicated better.” He flashed you a sad smile, “That’s something I said I’d work on- communication. And I’m getting better at it, but I’m not perfect yet.”

“I’m not either, so… I guess we both have some stuff to work on. I probably shouldn’t go around alleging that you had an affair out of the blue.” You crossed your arms over your chest, hugging them tight to your body. Even if Bucky wasn’t sleeping with someone else, he still hadn’t allowed himself to touch you. And you were no match for the bone-chilling cold that had settled into the apartment.

“Um, okay, you know what? We can actually- let’s completely forget I said anything about this. Just put it out of your mind, alright?” This time, it was you who retreated. You who stepped away.

“Sweetheart, wait-” Bucky adopted your role as the pursuer. He took a few strides in your direction, anxious to close the gap between you. He felt you slipping through his fingers, like he may never regain what the two of you used to have.

“No, Buck, it’s okay. We’re okay. I just want you to do whatever works for you. I don’t want you to be hurting all the time, I don’t want you to be scared.” Again and again, you stroked your thumbs over your upper arms, but it didn’t bring you a hint of comfort. “And if that- if that means you can never touch me again, I’ll understand-”

“That’s not what I want- that’s absolutely not what I want,” Bucky’s eyes were wide. Almost crazed. It was as though the thought of never touching you again threatened to push him to the brink of madness. “I just need to… I need to take it slow. I have to start back at square one, like I did when I first met you. Is that okay? Can you- ”

“Whatever you need, I’m on board.” It was an automatic, instinctual response. Your voice was steady and even, free from any breaks or signs of uncertainty. You’d do anything for him, anything to ease his mind. “We can move as slowly as you need- there’s no rush.”

“But are you… are you sure?” His words dripped with anxiety, with fear. “Cause I can- I can try to get over it. I don’t want you to be miserable, doll. I can-”

“Buck, it’s okay.”

“Baby, I feel like I might…” He nearly doubled over, “I’m afraid I’m gonna lose you over this.”

“You won’t- I promise, you won’t.” Another surge of need coursed through you, begging you to wrap Bucky in an embrace, but you kept your hands to yourself. You’d never push him, would never dream of making him uncomfortable. “You will never lose me. I’m here for you, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes.”

And you meant it. Now that Bucky let you in on his secret, you understood that there had to be some distance. Some space. Of course, you’d still miss the physical intimacy. The sleepy mornings spent with your body draped across his chest. The late nights full of depravity and lust. But with the looming darkness of a possible affair banished, you could wait.

Though, you didn’t have to wait long at all.

Because Bucky vanquished space remaining between your body and his. He strode eagerly, anxiously across the room and raised his right hand, desperate to feel you again. But just as his palm grew close to your cheek, he faltered. His brain struggled to reign him in, to put a pause on his possibly dangerous plan. Only millimeters remained between his skin and yours, but he couldn’t find it in him to close the final gap.

“It’s okay,” you said. “Take your time.”

It was the final push he needed. And finally, he touched you again. His palm lightly ghosted over your cheek, and tears instantly crested over your lash line. The feeling of relief, of home, was almost intoxicating. It was the lightest, softest touch- almost imperceptible. But to you- to Bucky- it was like a fireworks show.

And after testing the waters with his feather-light touch, he found himself nearly begging for more.

He allowed his palm to actually rest against your face, to cup your cheek the way he always did. And it acted like an instant pain reliever. The excruciating ache in your chest relented, and your muscles slackened as they released their knots. An all-encompassing warmth wrapped around your entire body, finally ridding you of the vicious cold you’d suffered through all these weeks. This was the warmth you knew you couldn’t live without, the warmth only Bucky could provide.

His knees almost buckled beneath him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow anything to take this moment from either of you. All this time, he’d felt unmoored, adrift, lost in a dark, endless sea. And no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t seem to find his way back to shore. But with his skin pressed against yours, he finally felt steady. Stable. You provided him with a guiding light. An anchor. He felt more like himself than he had in the last three weeks, all because of you.

Your tears dampened Bucky’s skin, but he didn’t mind. He brushed them gently away with a light sweep of his thumb.

“Can I?” you motioned to the tears trailing down his cheek.

And after a moment of thought, he gave you a nod. Your hand drifted lightly over his skin to mop up his tears, but your touch only brought on more waterworks. He was so starved of your affection that even the lightest touch made him whimper. He let out a soft, grateful sound that knocked the breath from your chest.

The two of you remained there a while, soaking in the sensation of the other. Bucky didn’t dare to hug you, and kissing you was still off limits. But his palm remained flush with your cheek for as long as you allowed- and you had no urge to ever remove it.

You knew there was a long road ahead for him, but you didn’t mind. Starting back at square one with him was something you could handle. Something the two of you could handle together.

“It’s kind of a bummer that I didn’t get to make good use of your…” Bucky gestured to your discarded garter belt and thigh-highs, “outfit.”

You let loose a laugh that vibrated under his palm- the sensation sent a wave of warmth cresting over him.

“It’s alright, Buck. I’ll wear it again, I promise.” You leaned into his touch, greedily searching for more of him. “You can take as much time as you need, okay? I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

———————————

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hazelfoureyes · 7 months

Text

The Radio Demon Fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 4)

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

7k words of a fever dream, happy Sunday, sinners ✨💦 I really hope you like it 🥺💖

You were back, unexpectedly but welcomed nonetheless. But now Alastor finds himself in a new kind of hell. There was, unfortunately for him, no killing what he felt when he looked at you.

{Warnings/Promises: Smut, Ace spectrum Alastor x FemReader, Alastor has feelings, creampie is the best nighttime snack, Angel is always the good guy, cervix punishment, mating press, Alastor demon form, Antlers go brrrr, drinking to forget, drowning (in cum)((and emotions)), discussions of murder, Alastor gets horny for discussions of murder, kinda breed kink if you squint, I saw a fan image of a hazbin hotel pool and it’s been stuck in my head for days.}

MINORS DNI (ah! Eh! I — stop. I see you. You know I see you, right? Get outta here! 🚨)

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

You were quick to stifle your smile, seeing Alastor standing in front of you with his hand outstretched. Why were you smiling? You were dead. Brutally so. And, You were in hell. But the corners of your mouth kept tugging upward at the sight of the stupid fucking deer demon before you. His own wild smile, eyes half lidded as he looked at you like he knew you.

You took his hand, needing the help standing. He fingers slipped from your palm and came to rub the velvet skin of your—- ears? You smacked his hand away, taking a step back.

The look he gave you, confusion? You weren’t sure, his head cocked to the side, hand lingering a beat longer in the air. He took a step toward you and you took one back.

Alastor laughed, “Quite the welcome, dear.”

You narrowed your eyes, did he know? Did he know you dreamt of him so many nights? That you struggled daily to not see his face behind your eyelids, not hear his lilting voice in your ear?

“Long time no see, Alastor.” You didn’t mean to sound quite so bored when you said it, you weren’t really sure at all what was going on in your head. You didn’t expect to see him so soon, literally immediately upon your death. You didn’t have time to recalibrate the mixed up feelings you had created for yourself over this stranger.

You pined for months to see him again, trying so hard to push the memory of him as deep as you could. So deep, in fact, you found yourself tortured at night with fantasies of his company. Even during the day, your life was altered around him. You couldn’t listen to the radio, the odd static and reverb just forcing him back into your consciousness. You took long forest walks, thinking about hunters and deer. You wore that fucking robe for an embarrassingly long time, remembering being in another world entirely.

Alastor’s face fell, throat closing slightly as he thought he realized what was happening. You didn’t remember the time you’d spent with him. He had been enjoying lazy nights in his room and pleasurable times in the woods with a ghost. He took a step closer, maybe if he— maybe your body would remember? If you just smelled his bed, perhaps you’d stop acting so cold. If he could awaken the impressions he was sure he left on your soul, he could pick up where he left off. A comfortable companion. Kind eyes that only saw him. His name, sweet and low tumbling from your lips.

You hit the wall with your back, making distance from him. He hadn’t hurt you, but you couldn’t be sure what would happen now. Fantasies are no indication of a person’s real self. Your dream romps were just that— dreams. Fiction your mind produced to fill the gap in your life he somehow created in your short time together. Imagination fleshing out this unknown demon you couldn’t stop thinking about.

His hand fell. There was a second his smile dropped, brows knitted. It came and it went, “Well! I best go get Charlie. She is the official welcome committee of the Hazbin Hotel, after all. Follow me.” The door swung open, his long arm gesturing.

Charlie pulled you into a hug, bouncing between “Welcome back!” And “I am so, so sorry you died!” She held your hands in hers, “The hotel has gone through a lot since you left! I have so much to show you. While Alastor has your room b…” her voice carried on, but your mind stayed put. She did jazz hands at every sconce and door frame on the way to the lobby.

You had expected it, your death. You figured there was a 50/50 chance you didn’t make it out of that forest. But that didn’t make this moment any less surreal. You looked down at your body, yours but new. Your hands came to your head, fingers climbing up your skull until you found them. Two soft, tulip petal shaped ears. Were you going to be sick? The room began to spin. Charlie’s voice underwater. Was some detective going to knock on your parent’s door? Carrying a folder with your photo and bad news? Your eyes clenched at the image, your heart ballooning in your chest.

“Maybe she needs to take a rest,” his voice cut through the waters of your confusion, a spear straight to your psyche. His hand slipped up your arm, resting on your back. You shook your head, eyes blinking wildly.

“It’s fine. Please, Charlie, continue your tour.” You took an exaggerated step to your left, out from under his touch. You thought you heard him sigh. Why was he being so kind? The last time you spoke you were staring daggers at him while he carried on about doing exactly what he had promised.

Charlie excitedly presented the lobby to you, the bar, the library. Alastor walked a few feet behind you both, quiet, his shadow dancing down the hallway in front of you. It’s mouth flipping from grin to grimace and back as it watched you nod along to every detail Charlie felt you should know.

The newest addition to the hotel since you left, a large indoor pool on the second to top floor. You lingered there, watching the water reflect pink and red light from the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Pentagram City.

“Almost done! To the left is Dad’s studio. He comes and goes. Ya know, parent stuff.”

You tried to mask your concern for whatever damaged parent-child relationship she was referencing.

“And to the right is Alastor’s radio station.”

You glanced to the demon, standing near the wall, inspecting his nails. “I didn’t know he had a radio station. I just assumed-,” You shrugged, “He just sounded like that.”

Alastor felt his bottom lid of his left eye twitch involuntarily. Why were you speaking like he wasn’t there?

He bit his tongue, literally. He needed time to think, to plan how to handle this situation. Your death was early and therefore unexpected for him, too. Not nearly as surprising, though, as your loss of memory of him.

He knew though, maybe this was for the best. If you were here, if he could see you around the hotel, perhaps that desire to have you near would die down. His shadow shifted behind him before sinking into the floor. Yes, exactly. This was a good thing. His eyes glanced to you, to your little doe features, two ears and a tiny fluff of a tail. His jaw tightened, had you done it on purpose? What did it mean?

”Would you like to see it?” He didn’t recognize his own voice, because he hadn’t realized he was going to say it until it was done.

Yes. “No thank you.” You wanted to run face first into the wall. It felt like your ribs were twisting off your spine. One side lurched up—- touch him. He wants you, he felt so good. Get him alone. The other side pulling down—- fuck him. He owns you, he’s a demon. Stay away from him.

His ears turned back and down, folding into his skull. You tried to keep your face neutral as you stared back at him, breathing teetering on panting. Every time you looked at him you were in danger of spilling your guts.

“Well!” Charlie slid into the tense air between you two, nervous chuckles, “That makes sense! Because Al’s station is super off limits. So. Uhh where was I going with this.” She looked around, “Is the room ready, Al?”

He nodded, leading you both to the elevator and a few floors down.

“This floor is for our more precious residents. Not that every soul isn’t precious! But ya knooow,” she opened your door, “You’ve got Angel, Husk, Niffty, sometimes Cherri Bomb, and Alastor as neighbors!”

Yippee. You get to lie awake knowing the object of your fucked desire is just past an easily smashed wall.

There was a moment where you all three looked at each other. Charlie becoming more and more fidgety as the seconds ticked on.

“Sooo, We should let her rest, like you said, right Alastor?” Charlie began a dramatic walk to the bedroom door, taking big steps with high knees.

You needed to do this and let it be. “Actually, may I have a moment, Alastor?”

Always, Yes. “I suppose I have the time, my dear.” He twirled his microphone stand before settling it behind his back. Charlie wanted to ask you if you were sure, but the tension was rising again. She backed out of the room, pulling the door closed as she went.

Alone. Again. There was a feeling in the air, like you would either fuck or fight. Was it an animal thing? Or was it always there?

“I never got to thank you.”

His stomach turned, he couldn’t bear this again. Please, stop thanking him. Smile straining, struggling to keep it together, he nodded, “Whatever for?”

You had a strange feeling, a familiarity to the conversation. Ah, that was right. Would this end the same way as your dream? With you on your back? “You were — true to your word.” You fiddled with the comforter of the bed, avoiding looking at him. “You were gentle and you got me home safe and sound. I didn’t thank you. I was just so-,”

“Full of misplaced rage?” His head tilted to the left, eyebrows high.

“Just rage, would have been fine. It was an unfair situation that you helped get me out of.”

Alastor watched your face, only sadness to be found. Not a sight he took any pleasure in. “Well you should truly thank Angel Dust. He is the one who brought me to you, desperate to help you. Even offered me his soul! Not that it’s his to give.”

No one had told you. “Oh,” genuine surprise, “Thank you for that. Yeah, I have to thank him. I’d probably still be in Valentino’s—,” the light of the lamp beside the bed flickered, “studio.”

Looking at you, Alastor couldn’t decipher the feeling in his chest. Relief, sure. Shock, yes. But behind that, a strange tugging beneath his sternum. A pain, vague and nebulous floating over his chest. Why did you come back so soon? Why did you die so early? He wanted to ask you so many things, but if you didn’t retain any memory of your time with him, he doubted he would like the answers.

“I’m going to finish my mental breakdown now, thanks for the tour and uh, the information.” Scratching awkwardly at your arm, you went and opened the door. He paused a moment before moving. “I would like to see your radio station, sometime. If you’d want to show me.” He nodded and left. The room felt colder now, deader.

Your night went exactly how you anticipated, lying awake in the plush red blankets of your new home staring at the ceiling. You wondered if you slept, if you’d see him again. Thoughts of the overworld, family, connections. Little fits of rest came but nothing more than 30 minutes here and there.

Alastor paced his room until dawn, an animal in an unlocked cage. When you had appeared, dead and truly in hell, he thought you’d come to see him. He was embarrassed to even think it now, he had believed you wanted to be with him in earnest. As comfortable with his company as he was yours. He cradled his head, again he felt himself succumbing to the enjoyment of others. He had accepted it with you, more so than the rest, and now it was a weapon in your hands. He felt like an idiot. And he hated it. What a fool, to think you’d died to get home to him. A growl rising in his chest. Home. He desperately wanted to see Rosie, to vent the situation and find clarity. But the idea of leaving you alone in the hotel irked him. He couldn’t put his finger on why. Maybe you wouldn’t be here when he returned. He could always summon you with your connection to him, but he wanted you to be there, with him, of your own volition or he didn’t want it at all.

If you’d forgotten entirely, he had two courses of action. To start over, or to let it die.

He looked to his bed, remembering you lying there. Sleeping, peaceful, content. Safe. Alastor turned to the wall, knowing you lied just beyond the wallpaper and sheet rock in your own deathbed, alone. The out of place physical need for you was something he struggled with, but whatever feeling this was — far worse. You were his, yet he couldn’t have you. Couldn’t possess you in the ways he’d grown accustomed to the past year. Starting over felt tedious. But this wasn’t a feeling that would die, he knew that. He could feel that by how deep the roots of his despair sunk into his soul when you looked at him like a stranger.

He didn’t rest that night, and neither did you.

Maybe it was the deal, the connection between you and him, but no matter where you were in the hotel you could feel him. A sixth sense, his presence always on your radar. A small part of your brain power was always on him, focused on the idea of Alastor. You wandered the halls until the others woke, feeling that little string between the two of you. Taut, strong.

When you found Angel that first morning back, you took a seat beside him in the lobby.

“Alastor told me you are why I got help. From Valentino.” You tried your best to maintain eye contact, not getting distracted by his arms.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart. I kinda did it for myself, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep again if I just let it happen. I’m a freak but I ain’t sick in the head like Val.” He locked his phone, turning to you, “So do you always start passin’ out mid-convo or does Charlie’s voice just do something to ya?”

You groaned, “Did she tell you that?”

“Well she panic-sang it, real worried about you. Did you get settled in yesterday?”

“I didn’t sleep, now that you mention it.” Angel laughed, taking you by surprise, “What?”

“Oh I’m sure you didn’t. Not with your co-star next door.” He winked, “I’m sure you’re happy to be here in the flesh.”

“Ugh I forgot about that. Did -,”

“Everyone see it? Yeah you’re a minor celebrity.” You took a throw pillow and screamed into it while he spoke, “But hey! At least you don’t gotta worry about crazy fans. Smiles will keep ‘em at bay.”

“Why would he do anything for me?” Pillow still over your face, you groaned, “I’m just a soul on his roster.”

“Ha I don’t think he treats just any soul the way he’s been treatin’ you. I think Husk would tell me.” Angel kicked his feet, “What a mental image! Does he have pubes? I feel like he does but they’re like, sharp? Like hostile somehow?”

Pillow down, “Ew, Angel! Hostile? How the fuck would I know?”

Angel stopped, wide eyed, “Oh is it a secret? Is that part of the deal?” A sinister giggle, “You can tell ole’ Angel Dust. We’re pals, remember? You technically owe me.” His many fingers poked at your sides, goading you.

You scrunched up your nose, swatting at his hands, “Angel, what are you talking about?”

His smile fell, now side eyeing you, he opened his mouth to ask you to stop playing coy when he heard you all those nights in Alastor’s room when Charlie burst into the lobby.

“I am so sorry! I didn’t tell you about the redemption activities!” She tossed papers onto the coffee table, “Alright, plan Stairway to Heaven!”

Angel sat back, bored the juicy gossip had to wait, your attention fully occupied by Charlie’s sketches.

Alastor watched you from the second floor balcony. Over the next few days he would always be watching, either from the shadows or out in the open. Looking at you, that carnal hunger was gone. He felt no overpowering desire to be surrounded by you. But, now and then, you’d make a small noise or sigh and he would feel a little twitch. A muscle memory reaction to you

Where the need to touch you had faded, he instead found an insatiable hunger to be near you. He had thought it would be better, you at the hotel. But it had become worse. The further you were, the more undone he felt. It baffled him. So, he stayed near. You were almost always within earshot or eye sight. If not, he at least knew where you were. He could focus on the hotel and his plans for Charlie only then.

You never looked at him, it was obviously on purpose. Even when he would take a seat beside you or across from you, you’d manage to glance everywhere but directly at Alastor. By the fourth day, he felt like he was going to snap. It was beginning to feel disrespectful.

That fourth night when you again couldn’t sleep, you found yourself at the edge of the pool. Did people in hell swim? You’d been there for nearly two hours and not a single sinner appeared. It was well past midnight, though.

The entire room was tinged pink, shadows a pretty red. The water itself looked like a sea of rose quartz. You didn’t have a bathing suit. You didn’t have anything now that you thought about it. Nevertheless, you slipped into the water and let yourself float from the edge.

What a familiar feeling, floating. The ceiling shimmered with the water’s ever-moving reflection. Mind reeling back to the green glow casting your shadow on the ceiling of Valentino’s studio. You closed your eyes, you were always sinking it seemed. Sinking out of consciousness, into a another dream, out of the woods and into the bedroom of your captivator. The only times you felt weightless— ah, right. Body held up by shadows, cameras rolling. Under him, beneath the stars, sleeping form disconnected from your mind. It was always with him. You wondered for a second if you could sleep like this. What would happen if you drowned. Could you drown?

The carpet soaked with every step you took, your body sopping wet, clothes heavy with pool water. You were dragging your bare feet to the elevator when you saw a light coming from the ajar door to Alastor’s radio studio.

He was looking over papers, monocle resting on his cheek. Alastor turned to you, taking note of your shoes in your hand and wet hair. Your ears were heavy with water, fine fur drooping with the weight. “You look like a drowned rat, my doe.”

“Don’t call me that,” you wiped your hair from your face, “I can’t sleep.”

You never struggled to sleep in his bed. “What did you do when you couldn’t sleep on earth?”

Your life already felt far in the rearview, either the effects of sleep exhaustion or your time in the underworld, “I slept… really well. Not a sleepless night I can remember.”

Alastor only hummed a response. Because all of your sleepless nights were here, with him.

“Why are you working?”

“Why are you swimming?”

“I just told you.” Your brows knitted, was this a conversation or a riddle.

Ever present smile beamed back at you, “Well then take a guess!”

You stared at him, sitting at his curved desk with all his switches and buttons. Papers here and there. Just smiling at you. “Cool, thanks for the waste of time.” You turned to leave when you heard a low sound coming from his chest.

“Why do you speak to me like that? Avoid me?” He stood, hair sharp and standing at attention, “What have I done to you to deserve your disgust?”

“Nothing! That’s-,” the problem, “I’m just tired. I don’t feel right, like I misplaced something. There’s a nagging feeling, maybe something I forgot in the overworld.”

Alastor closed the gap between you two, “I can assure you everything you need is here.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah. Of course.” Turning to leave, his clawed hand reached for your wrist. Pulling you back, your wet clothes were now soaking into his suit.

His free hand took your chin and made you look up at him. Alastor’s red and pink eyes stared into yours, grin wider than you remembered seeing it before. You fixed your gaze on the desk behind him. “Look at me.” His voice cracked with a static interference. Your eyes finally came to his, your hand now holding his wrist just below your chin. “Don’t you dare look away.” He saw it, a flash of recognition flit across your now wide eyes. There was a pulse of electricity to your core, your body remembering his voice, those words, like an activation phrase. How did he know? Your thighs rubbed together, feet barely touching the ground as he held you close.

When his lips crashed into yours, you melted for a moment. Your body relaxed into him, a small whine slipping from your mouth to his. But then something in you snapped back, remembering he was a stranger holding your leash. You pulled his hand from your face with ease as your feet came back to the ground. Tugging your wrist free, you opened your mouth to yell at him, nothing but heavy breathing came out. Again, he reduced you to speechlessness. You glanced at his face before turning; he looked wounded.

You thought you heard his shoes shuffling along the carpet as you rushed into the elevator. A bang, a thrash, echoing down the elevator shaft as you descended to your floor.

Did he think because you acquiesced to sex before, somewhat under the pressure of a worse fate, he could just kiss you anytime he wanted? Did he see you as a toy?

Maybe being a toy would be nice. Maybe a good fuck would let you finally sleep. He did hit all the right places, those shadowy appendages never letting a single need go ignored…

You slammed your door shut, angrily peeling off your clothes. No, you weren’t a possession. You weren’t an object to be taken off the shelf at his convenience. No matter how much your body ached for his clawed hands and thin waist, you wouldn’t lower yourself to being under him. Not metaphorically, therefore not physically. You curled onto your bed, naked, body humming for him. Sleep came in pieces, fractured moments of rest.

“You look like shit.” Angel greeted you when the sun finally rose and everyone mulled around the hotel. You waited until you were sure the lobby bar wouldn’t be empty, you didn’t want to run into him alone.

“How do you fucking sleep in this place? All night just screams and moans from the city.” You rested your cheek on the bar, “Husk, something with orange juice that’ll make me forget where I am, please.”

“The moans are my favorite. Speaking of moanin’ in the night-,” Angel was cut off.

“Get used to it. You sold your soul to a psychotic dick. Welcome to the club,” Husk’s tone was harsh, tilting into sardonic as he slid your drink to you.

With a huff, you sat up, “Don’t compare us. You sold your soul. I—,” you searched with your hands for the word, “was guilty of having a colossal cunt of an aunt.” A deep sip of your drink, “Fuck, he only got my soul because he made a deal with a different demon for it. Soul traded in like a used car. I’m the Kia Sorento of hell.”

Husk grumbled, “Yeah well, either way. Might as well get comfortable. We’re here for the long haul.”

Angel put a hand out to shut up Husk, scooting his stool closer to you, “So like— did Mister Wrong-Kinda-Horny have you killed?” His eyes went to your ears and back, “Is that why ya came back a little lady deer? Some kinda sex thing?”

You downed your drink and gestured to Husk to refill your glass, speaking to Angel without looking at him, “Why would he do that?

He grabbed your bar stool and swivelled you to face him, leaning in even closer, “Well, ya know…” his eyebrows raised up and down, ready to finally get the dirty details, “because ya-,”

“My little doe, just who I was looking for.” His sudden appearance startled all three of you. He was ready now, to pin down your fate. Were you going to stay at the hotel permanently or not? With his supervision or without?

“Why does everyone keep interruptin’ me?!” Angel slammed his hand on the bar.

On impulse, your own hand formed a first, “Stop calling me that!”

Alastor laughed, unhinged, a finger wiping a tear from his eye. Still, the attitude with which you spoke to him surprised him, “Oh? Why should I? You are a doe,” his microphone gestured to your head, “And your soul belongs to me. If I remember correctly, so does your body.” His eyes darkened, back bent as he came to your eye level, “But I always have video evidence if you’re unsure of the details.”

You lifted your glass and cocked your arm back to throw it but stopped. Alastor was grinning, something in his stare egging you on. He was loving this. Finally you were paying some attention to him. You were looking right at him.

Setting the glass back down, you left your stool and slipped past him, “Lucky for you, radio demon. It’s all you have anymore.” You had decided you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying his name.

Husk sunk beneath the bar, Alastor’s antlers expanding as his eyes became overtaken with black. Angel scrambled over the counter to join the cowering bartender. Alastor whipped around, spine cracking and stretching. You were in the elevator for another quick escape when you turned and saw him gaining on you, his mouth nearly unhinged, teeth sharp and numerous. His body contorted to get his truly demonic face in your eye line, back bending in half to drop his head down, “What did you say?” The air around him seemed to bend and shake, the hiss of a misaligned radio station biting at your skin.

Your finger was shaking as you pressed the ‘close door’ button repeatedly, wetting your lips you found your foothold in anger again, “Fuck you.”

You didn’t recognize the sounds you heard just past the hollow elevator doors. Something between a screech and a wail. Not a sound you’d heard any deer make before.

Shakey knees and legs melting to jelly barely carried you to your room. You collapsed against the door as soon as you entered, locking it. Not that it mattered, you knew that.

A knock shook the wood and made you yelp.

“It’s me!” You recognized Angel’s voice, “Let me in.”

He fell into your room, hair a mess and eyes wide, “I don’t know where he went but he left the hotel. Jesus Christ you have balls of steel.” He fixed his hair, adjusting his chest fluff, “Or are a total idiot.” He saw the tears swelling in your eyes, gears shifting immediately, “Oh shit, sorry. You okay?”

You shook your head no and crumbled to the floor, “I haven’t fucking slept more than three hours a night in like, five fucking days. I’m going crazy.”

“I don’t know why ya’ll are fightin’ but can’t Alastor help you out? Ya’ll are close, maybe a night in his bed will set you straight.”

Your tears streamed down your face, “Angel! What are you talking about?! You keep saying shit like we’re friends. The closest I’ve been to him was in my fucking wet dreams!” You curled into the fetal position on the carpet, exhausted, scared, confused. You’d never seen something as skin-crawling as his full demonic form. But a part of you was mesmerised by the transformation. A sick part of you, you decided.

Angel lied down beside you, facing you, eyes blinking. One of his hands wiped at your tears, “What exactly happened after you went home?”

You sniffled, “I couldn’t get him out of my head. I wore your robe. It smelled like you.”

He laughed, “I wondered where that thing went.”

“I started having these dreams, just—- really fucked dreams of him.”

Angel’s eyes narrowed, “fucked how?”

Your wanted to hide your face but didn’t have the energy to move your arms, “He fucked me in the woods like his life depended on it. Best sex of my life, in my own imagination. Naturally.”

Angel sat up, he didn’t know what to ask first, “best sex?? Sorry- no. Fuck, uh, you had dreams about fucking the Radio Demon? You two never… met up?”

You rolled onto your back, shaking your head, “If he could have visited me, he never did. Trust me, I looked for any sign.”

“Uh huuuuh.” Angel nodded, “Well. His extra weird attitude makes more sense. He’s been super creepy, always just popping’ outta shadows and shit. More than usual.”

Angel looked over you, crying softly on the floor. He considered telling you, but if Alastor hadn’t he figured it was best he stay out of it. Lest he be the one fleeing into elevators.

“Have ya considered actually fucking him?” Angel couldn’t believe he was recommending anyone fuck Alastor, but it seemed like maybe it’d actually do you good.

“Why would I do that?”

Angel looked annoyed, “Because you wanna fuck him?! Get it out of our system?”

“Yes and I sometimes wonder what it would be like to drive into oncoming traffic. We all have the call of the void. He—,” you thought about the kiss, “I feel like it’d just make it worse. I’d want more.”

Angel showed you his phone, “He’s apparently eating sinners in the doom district, so, it’s your call. But maybe a good bang would get you both to chill out.” He scrolled, “Fucking hell. The best sex, of your life? Have you not had much sex or-?”

You crawled up to your bed and plopped your now heavy body down, “Angel.”

“Do you have some weird kink? Is it just really big?”

“Angel!”

“Does he go full demon and his peni-,”

“ANGEL.”

He spun his head around to look at you, “I wanna respect your boundaries but I will actually die again if you don’t explain this shit to me.”

Settling back, you groaned, “I’ve never felt so needed before. He held onto me like he couldn’t breath unless I was under him. But you see him, you’ve been here. Does that sound like him?”

Angel sat beside you, “Honestly didn’t know he knew what sex was until you came here so” he leaned back, two arms holding him up, “You guys are pretty fucked up.” You nodded. “What did he say, when you told him about the dreams?”

“Didn’t really come up.” You rolled your eyes.

He patted your thigh, “Got it. You’re gonna owe me like, a metric shit ton of drugs.” Angel pushed off the bed, waving as he left, “I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

You sat up, staring curiously at where he had just been. Tomorrow? It was only 9am

Angel spent several hours in the lobby, pretending to read and socialize with residents. He jumped from the chaise lounge as soon as he saw Alastor walking into the hotel, “Hey uh, I know you know I think you’re a freaky fuck, but I wanna just say it sucks real bad and I’m sorry.” Alastor didn’t reply or even stop walking, Angel having to jog to keep pace.

“I mean, if my fuck buddy thought our bumpin’ uglies was all just dreams I’d be super fuckin’ bummed too.” Alastor became so still so quickly that Angel nearly fell over trying to stop his momentum. He waved his hand in front of Alastor’s face to make sure he was still conscious, “uhh anyone home in there?”

Alastor’s eyes flicked to dials, residents looking up warily as the power flickered and the space seemed to distort around them, “Explain, quickly.”

“She told me this mornin’! She thinks all those nights you were bangin’ her brains out — which, from one porn star to another, sounded top notch from my room — we’re just horny dreams. She’s all fucked in the head about it.”

Alastor melted into his shadow and slinked down the hall and up the walls, leaving Angel behind, “You all owe me!”

You heard footsteps suddenly advancing on you down the hall. Spinning around, your nose nearly brushed against his, Alastor’s face already down to your level.

He leaned in to you, his mouth hitting against your cheek, “I need to speak to you in my room, dear.” His voice was clearly not asking you.

Your blood ran cold, goosebumps dancing down your neck and arms. “Why would-,”

“Now.” His arms wrapped around your waist, you pushed him away and turned to walk off but stopped. You weren’t in the hallway anymore. A bedroom. With a haughty laugh you turned to spit venom at him for such a dirty trick.

As if expecting it, he cut you off, “They weren’t dreams, my doe. It was astral projection.” He took you by the shoulders and pointed your entire body at the forest scene melting into his room. Had it always been there? You couldn’t remember seeing it before, when you arrived in hell. Just him and his smile.

You felt the blush rise from your toes to your ear tips. Both hands came to your face, desperate to hide your existence from the situation.

You remembered that grassy clearing, the tree line. Peaking in and up, you saw the starry sky you spent so many nights moaning into.

“Why-,” your hands balled into fists, “didn’t you tell me?!” You turned to him, face red. You wanted to shove him, to hit him, but your mother taught you better than to lay hands on someone first. You finished fights, not started them.

Alastor smiled down at you, like he always did, “I thought you had no memory of our-,”

You cut off him off at the head, “visits.”

He laughed, “spirited visits.” Was that a pun? You groaned.

“I, I thought it was just make believe.” The gentle touches, the sweet names whispered into your skin, the way you could taste him even after you woke. The blush burned your cheeks.

Now that you knew, now that your eyes fell on him once again with recognition, he felt you’d actually answer him, “How did you die?”

The question took you by surprise, You thought it was obvious, “I tried to kill a hunter in the woods. Well, I did kill him. But he killed me, too.”

A genuine grin spread across his lips, a cackle, “You killed a man?!” You shouldn’t have been so proud, but he looked so impressed, “Tell me every detail. Who was he to you?” Alastor’s hands came to your arms. You remembered last night, pulse quickening, and walked to his bed. You took a seat on the end, sinking softly into the plush blankets. Your hand ran over the fabric.

“My employee’s father.” The fabric was soft, the threads tiny and tight.

Alastor took a seat beside you, legs crossed, “Oh? And why him?”

A hum, “He was a bad man.”

His hand picked up yours, bringing it to his mouth. There was that loss of blood to his brain, something you effortlessly did to him. “Who says?” His own heart picking up pace. You killed. Was it egotistical to think you inspired such a thing? Did you kill for him?

You watched your fingers tremble under his lips, “What?”

“Who says he was bad?”

Your eyes searched the room for an answer, “I think anyone would agree with me.”

His smile reached his eyes, “So you decided? He probably thought he was quite alright.” He turned your wrist over, mouth pressing to your pulse point. “Did you plan it?” Your scent was familiar but different now. Skin still just as soft. He felt himself salivate. Your spell just as strong in death.

A gulp, all of those walls you struggled to keep standing turned to dust against his smirk. A stranger, a lover. Effortlessly your body shifted into a new gear under his touch. “Yeah, for a week. I waited until I knew he was going to be there. Walked the paths, bought a knife.”

“A knife,” he practically purred, “A favorite. No gun?” He pulled your arm toward him, bringing your whole body into his.

“I wanted something more… personal.”

Alastor buckled slightly, cock jumping in his lap. “You were made to be my undoing. I am sure of it. A cruel joke from heaven to distract me.” His mouth found your neck next, little nips before he chose a place and latched, sucking a bruise easily seen by others.

“This is a really fucked conversation, Alastor.” Your body softened, a small sigh coming before you could consider being embarrassed.

“For a ‘fucked’ situation, my dear.” His nose traced along your jaw. “But one you’ll find I quite enjoy.” He placed your hand on his lap. Did he see the face you made? The stupid grin? Your hand squeezed lightly on the length you felt tenting his pants, earning a moan into your cheek. Real. He was real. In your hands, now. No dreams or projection. No fantasies. No little pink toy. “Bear with me, just a little more. You’ll find my … proclivity for such topics quite important for these kinds activities.”

“You’re sick.” You turned, nose to nose smiling still.

He hummed, his own smile spreading, “desperately so.” Your hand gently traced the shape of him through his pants, “Why did you kill him? As opposed to all the other bad men?”

A question you didn’t feel you could answer, “This topic is having the opposite effect on me…” you squeezed him again.

“Fair enough,” he pushed you back onto the bed, leg going over your body to straddle you, “Then tell me how you felt? A compromise.”

How did you feel? When you killed him? “I felt strong.” He repositioned himself between your legs, “I wasn’t scared. I knew I’d succeed or-,”

“Or?” His breathing now a barely strained pant. Say it. Say it and he’ll let himself go completely.

You focused on the canopy of his bed, a red wine color much like his own coat. “Or I’d end up here, with you.” His head fell, forehead resting on your stomach. You looked down to see his antlers larger than before, no longer cute little prongs. “Alastor?”

He wasn’t an idiot.

Maybe a little roundabout, but you chose him.

Red dribbled from his chin, mind going foggy as eyes went black. His hands rid you of your clothes with delicate cuts, your body lurched up the bed by wide palms.

You chose to come back.

Your hands came down to undo his pants and belt, seeing he probably couldn’t manage himself. As soon as he was free of his clothes, he was rutting into your thigh. “Alastor”, you took his face in both hands, dials flickers to dilated pupils as you got him to focus on you.

“My little doe.”

You came home.

His head came to rest just above yours, wide and sharp antlers just out of reach. His leaking cock finally found your core, Alastor groaning into the blankets to find you already so wet. Your hands gripped his arms, nails breaking skin in anticipation.

Lined up and impatient, he pushed up into you with unmeasured force. You bit onto the flesh of his shoulder, trying to keep yourself from screaming. In those dreamlike visits, he filled you so perfectly, body molding to him. But now, you were stuffed. With one thrust your cervix was bruised and tender. The tiniest pain bled into the eye-rolling pleasure of having him back in you. With heavy breaths he thrust into you with a need you couldn’t ever remember feeling before. He fucked you like he would die without your moans spilling across his chest.

And it was true, feeling your soft cunt clenching him so tightly was a need more than anything else. A ray of light at the bottom of the Mariana’s trench. Impossible, and undeserved. You were everything he wasn't good enough to have, wasn’t clean enough of conscience to hold. An angel clipping a wing to dip into hell, you killed to sink back into his arms. Even if you didn’t say it, not yet. He could feel it in you. He had left a deeper impression on your soul than perhaps you had his. You weren’t just his by way of a deal, you corrupted yourself to his level.

He looked down at you, your eyes already wet and unfocused, mouth hanging open as every breath turned into rhythmic moans. Your soul a fresh snowfall, your adoration for him a drop of blood. His eyes shut, mind focused on where you and him merged now. Friction pulling him forward to his climax.

Your body was trembling, his lower stomach rubbing against your already swollen clit. That soft button just past your entrance wasn’t just being pressed, it was smashed against your walls with his shaft. His head dragging past it. You wanted to speak, to express how good you felt, but your tongue was frozen in your mouth. Every inhale became a gasp, every exhale was now a moan. You felt his body tighten, thrusts become shallow as his large head refused to stray far from your womb. Silently, your hands tore into his shoulders as you gripped through your orgasm. The muscles in your jaw now locked. Your legs came to wrap around his hips and draw him in, thighs convulsing as his pace didn’t stop for you to recover.

With an unmistakable mating press, his cock buried itself in your pussy. Balls deep suddenly made more sense as a phrase. Your cervix stung as his body forced more room for itself in you. The way your walls spasmed around him felt debauched, your body starved for him. Hungry as he had been. Alastor felt your soft cunt drowning in his seed and he groaned into your hair. Already spilling out, he didn’t even consider unsheathing himself from you.

You struggled to slow your heart rate, vision blocked entirely with his own heaving chest. As he softened in you, so did his form. Body reconfiguring above you, antlers now small and uncharacteristically cute.

With regained red eyes, he looked at your face.

“Are you-,” he sighed, “Asleep.” Not a bad future after all, he mused. Watching you sleep.

He considered wiping you down before placing you beneath his blanket, but it seemed like such a waste. Your head on his pillow, he felt everything in his chest settle. Like a puzzle whose pieces were all right but just not flush, his own damned soul settled flat. Everything snuggly in place.

One of his large palms came to rest on your head, a familiar place for him now, “Sleep well, darling doe. I’ll be here when you wake.”

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult: @nonetheartist , fizzled-phoenix , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @fjorjestertealeaf , @pansexual-opera-house , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @roxxie-wolf , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @phobophobular , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @surusurusuru , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1

🎞️ TRDFAHS VHS owners: @leathesimp , @alastors-staff, @howabouticallyou , @myrunawaysweets , @karmakillz , @serendipitous-fernweh , @universal-s1ut , @anuttellaa , @sillyb0nez , @nonamevenus , @fairyv-ice , @nitnat6245 , @alicehasdrowned , @alicebaskervilleposts , @jyoongim , @lunaramune , @christinebloodwrittings , @itszzmoon , @thekanrojimitsuri2 ,

@luna-usagi-chan

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

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