#but has no idea how to say it and if its even their place
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SET ME ALIGHT AGAIN.
Cregan Stark x female!Targaryen!Reader
"It was on request of your younger brother's small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And now it's at his hands that the haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s giving back to you. And you let it flood you."
WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; p in v, oral (fem receiving), angst (?), breeding kink, size kink, size difference, romantic fucking in front of the fireplace, afab reader, post dance of the dragons
WORDS: 4.8 K
NOTES: I dedicate this to @sylasthegrim. You're not only one of the few people I really grew fond of in the short time we truly got to know each other, but since both our minds basically came down to the same idea, this is for you! Thanks for beta reading this. 💕
❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
You’ve been in Winterfell for a moon’s turn by now, and have quickly noticed that the ancestral castle possesses a beauty and calmness the Red Keep can be jealous of. But even that isn’t enough to make you feel at home – as if you could ever call a place your home again. Not after you’ve witnessed almost everyone in your family, no matter whether you liked them or not, perish at the hands of each other.
It was on request of your younger brother, now dubbed King Aegon the third, or rather of his small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And while you’re grateful for the chance to flee the one place that has caused you more hurt than good, riding in a carriage up to the far North like a commoner wasn’t exactly pleasant.
But how else should you have gotten there when your precious mount died along its kind as the common people stormed the Dragonpit?
For the past month, you’ve very rarely seen the sun – or anyone else than your maids.
Your days are spent in your chambers, not leaving the safety of the Guest House as you often try to find the sleep you can’t seem to get at night. And during the night, when the Hour of the Owl strikes and no light other than that of the moon reaches Winterfell, one often finds you wandering the quiet halls of the castle. Sometimes one even spots you outside in the Godswood, regardless of the low temperatures that make the three pools fed by an underground hot spring look even more inviting.
But warmth and comfort are never what you’re after.
You feel incredibly daring tonight, sitting beneath the ancient weirwood tree on one of its roots. Although there is a thick fur coat draped around your frame, the thin nightgown beneath does not allow you to be kept as warm as one usually desires, your bare feet hidden inside of the coat not a big help either.
Tiptoeing barefoot through the snow was the hardest part, but it was worth it as it gave you exactly what your body longs for.
You’re far too absorbed by the reflection of the moon dancing on the pool of black water beneath the tree, and the peaceful allure of the snow-covered night that you don’t notice you’re not alone anymore.
“Princess?” a husky voice rings out from the shadows, one you’d even recognize in a room full of loud and drunken men.
Almost as if he doesn’t want to startle you, the tall frame of the Lord of Winterfell approaches you without any sudden moves, becoming more visible with the moonlight shining down on him. “What are you doing out here this late?”
Only when he’s stopping not far away from you do you avert your eyes from him to the water again. “I could ask you the same, Lord Stark,” you reply softly.
A chuckle rumbles in his chest at your remark, and you can’t help the tint of heat hearing it brings to your cheeks. “Indeed you could,” he says. “I have not slept well, and the night has a peaceful allure. But you should not be out in the open without any guards, especially not this late at night.”
You drag your index finger through the snow at your side, drawing a mindless pattern in the dark as you do not pay any mind to his words. “And why is that, Lord Stark?” you ask, a certain snarkiness to your tone. “There is nothing worse that could happen to me than what I have already endured.”
Cregan sighs, and even in the dim light you can make out that he’s scratching his stubble covered chin. “And yet, should something else happen to you, I would not like myself for neglecting you and not protecting you just as I have sworn to the king,” he explains. “Besides, there is a cold chill in the air that I can not believe you are not feeling right now.”
“Perhaps that is the answer you’ve been looking for, my lord,” you mumble. “Perhaps I came here to feel something.”
The Wolf of the North doesn’t immediately answer you. Instead, there lingers a pause between you. But it’s not uncomfortable or feels as though it doesn't pass, no, you find yourself to actually enjoy his company.
His next words, however, even surprise you as you didn’t think he was capable of it. “Feeling the cold of the snow has its way to make one feel alive, that much is true,” he agrees, and then looks up to the dark sky. “You wish to feel something else than the pain of the absence of the people you’ve lost in this war, I understand… I think.”
His words make the feeling of emptiness, the hollowing ache of loss just worse, while at the same time, he seems to know the feeling of craving pain when you’re just so used to it.
“This cold bite, the chill that lingers on the skin — no one should want to feel it, Princess. It makes even my bones shake, do you know that? Surely you must be shivering, and we should be getting you inside. I should be getting you inside.”
You know he‘s right. While his words are blunt in nature, they are very much that of truth. You shouldn’t be out here, nor should you want to be out here. There‘s nothing to enjoy about this cold chill and the snow, not when you‘re as sparsely dressed as you are. You‘re not yet used to the chill of Winterfell, of the North.
Cregan offers you his hand, but you‘re still hesitant to take it. Albeit you reach out, your significantly smaller hand hovers over his, not yet grabbing it. “You‘re not exactly wearing proper attire to be out in this wretched cold for very long,“ he remarks. “Let me help you get up, your feet must be in agony by now.“
“And what if I don‘t want to?“
“Then I will still get you up.“ There is a tinge of amusement in his voice now, seeing this little bit of rebelliousness from you, your strength of mind. Even if he doesn’t exactly approve of it. “I shall simply pick you up myself, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you inside to your chambers, even though I‘d get you quite angry and don‘t imagine you want me to do just that.“
You don’t believe he actually has the gumption to do something like that at first, although you know he’s able to muster a decent amount of strength that would easily allow him to lift you up. But then, you wonder if he would truly do it if challenged. “Try that, if you dare, my lord.”
He lets out a snort of amusement, enjoying the teasing that slowly shapes between you two. It still is a challenge, and as a man of his station, he could never let words like this go unspoken. “Oh, I dare, Princess.”
Putting forth his arm, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and easily pulls you forwards onto your feet without applying too much pressure. You’re certainly caught off guard by his actual willingness to lift you up, and a squeal escapes your lips before you’re tossed on his strong shoulder as if you are some silly, helpless girl.
Cregan carries you through the Godswood and towards the Guest House, though you don’t resist too much as you’re hanging there over his shoulder – a part of you is grateful you don’t have to walk through the snow with your bare feet once more.
“Lord Stark, put me down at once!” you demand with a little twinge of laughter in your voice. You feel so light, much lighter than you imagine he’s used to lifting up, almost as if it’s taken all of the pressure off your shoulders.
But when there doesn’t come an answer from him, you grow slightly frustrated. “What if anyone sees, you madman!” you remark, embarrassment warming your cheeks.
“Madman? That’s rich coming from the woman who was willing to freeze to death in the snow,” he says jokingly, approaching the large doors. “Who do you think could see us at this hour, princess? The rats? And what if they do? What if someone sees me carrying the poor princess, who had the gall to get out of her bed after midnight and wander the Godswood while in her nightgown?” Although there is amusement in his voice, you also notice the faintest hint of flirtation laced within. “Will they judge me for carrying her, or would they judge her for her imprudent midnight excursion?”
You stay silent thrown over his shoulder, not sure how to reply. You thought you had a good comeback, but it seems Cregan is one step ahead of you. The flirtatious teasing you’ve heard catches you off guard, not expecting to hear it from him at all. It makes your cheeks flush with even more embarrassment when you notice that he’s actually right. But you don’t want to admit the truth in what he’s said.
“You mock me, but you shall see there would be much scandal if someone were to see this,” you retort, trying to keep calm as you’re now a little bit flustered by these sudden developments. “Besides,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and nonchalant, “who says I won’t tell a tale of you being the imprudent one?”
“Ah, you little rascal,” Cregan replies with a chuckle, giving your thigh a tight squeeze. “I see you’d find a way to turn the tides and have it end up with me being the bad guy, taking my chances on a vulnerable woman in the guise of protecting her.”
You’re clearly enjoying the teasing a tad too much, enjoying these quick and witty back-to-backs with him, taking your mind off of your grief. Drawing in a deep breath, you hold onto Cregan’s thick coat. “What would you have been protecting me from, Lord Stark?” you ask with feigned innocence. “Were the trees too menacing that you just had to sweep me off my feet to carry me away from their clutches?”
“No, I am afraid it was not the trees that had me worried, Princess,” Cregan replies as he brings you further into the Guest House, easily opening the door to the sleeping quarters with one hand. “The cold was the greater menace, and it had you in its grasp.”
Your words die in your throat when he puts you down on your bed, the soft furs very welcomed beneath your cold feet. You look up at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest as he towers over your significantly smaller frame, and you wait for him to make the next move.
There’s a moment of silence between you, obviously he’s considering his next words.
And boy do they disappoint you. “I shall make sure a fire is lit for you to warm yourself, princess,” he says, turning around to approach the hearth on the other side of the room.
Cregan crouches down to build and start a small fire in the hearth that should last the night, not wanting you to stay too cold. But you wouldn’t be a thoroughbred dragon if it didn’t mean for you to take any risks. And so you get onto your cold feet, the coat still draped around your shoulders sliding down to the ground.
Feeling a bit too exposed too quickly, you grab one of the thick fur blankets laying on your bed instead and wrap it around your frame, before you tiptoe towards the large wolf kneeling in front of the fireplace.
“I have something different in mind,” you speak softly. Cregan, startled by your words and your sudden approach, turns around and faces you as he rises to his feet. You reach and bury your hands in the collar of his coat, the blanket falling to the ground in the process, and when you use your grip to pull him close, you find that he does not shy away in the least – if anything, he follows the tug to connect your lips in a heated kiss.
He brings his large hands to your waist with ease, and presses his body against yours. The wolf feels like he’s drowning in you, in your lips, your warmth, your presence and scent. Wanting to lose himself in the moment, in you, his hands wander lower to your hips.
“I did not expect you to do this tonight,” he breathes against your lips, breaking the silence.
“And I did not expect some things from you tonight either,” you reply, breathlessly, voice breaking with every breath you take. “Is that a bad thing?”
His voice is low and smooth as he speaks, shaking his head. “Quite the contrary.” There is a flirtatious smile on his lips, and a playfulness you haven’t seen before in his gray eyes. It’s as if that small spark between you has quickly evolved into an inferno that now burns bright in the both of you.
It’s a fierce and burning kiss when your lips connect once more, fueled by the fires coursing through your veins. You release a soft whimper with his large paws trailing over your sides, feeling the fabric of your nightgown.
“If we continue this, I won’t be able to stop myself,” he rasps.
You tilt your head back to look at him, a cheeky grin on your lips. “Perhaps I do not want you to.”
Cregan’s eyebrows raise at your reply, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist once more. He can’t help but feel a jolt of arousal run down his back, which prompts him to release a low chuckle. “Well, if you wish for it that much…” he whispers in response, before pulling you back toward him, kissing you passionately.
A breathless chuckle slips past your lips as you pull back from him, licking your kiss swollen lips. “But there are a few things we need to get you out of first,” you tease, tugging at the thick, furry coat that’s draped over his broad shoulders.
“Are you this eager to have your hands over all of me?” he replies with a flirtatious smirk, but still unclips the coat and lets it fall to the ground. He doesn’t mind you seeming quite intent to get him out of his armor, allowing you to fumble with the clasps and buckles, and eventually helps you remove the heavy bits until he’s left wearing nothing but his breeches. But even those are quickly unlaced by you, left to be a puddle around his feet.
“My my, do you not feel a little too hot still, Lord Stark?” you tease, letting your fingers wander over his exposed stomach. You can’t help but feel warmth creeping onto your cheeks as you see him in such little clothing, so exposed. He’s a muscular man, tall and large, and the sight of his bare skin with the dark of hair on his chest and a trail of it running below his undergarments is a welcoming one.
Through the linen you see that he’s already hard and begging, waiting for you to take things further. Truly a shame you seem to relish in the teasing.
Goosebumps prickle on his skin in the wake of your finger, making you smile. You drag your finger along the waistband of his undergarments, hooking it beneath to tug on it. He knows what you desire, and he’s not ashamed to give you just that. “I do not see you so eager to remove your own clothes, Princess,” he teases, undoing the laces in the front for his undergarments to join his breeches. “It is hardly fair you want to see all of me, yet I am not allowed to do the same.”
You take in a sharp breath at the sight of his hard cock, standing to full attention. It has you licking your lips. Batting your eyelashes at him, you’re quick to pull your nightgown over your head, a smirk on your lips. A flimsy piece of linen conceals what lies between your legs, but it’s still enough for him to all but devour your almost bare frame.
“There,” you whisper, “now we are on equal grounds.”
Cregan takes a moment to look over you, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts fully exposed mto him. He knows you’re no maiden who’s completely untouched, you wouldn’t be as confident if you were, but it doesn’t stop him from appreciating the sight in front of him.
“Equal grounds, truly?” he asks you, taking a step toward you. One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against him, as his other hand fists the linen of your smallclothes. “I think you still have an advantage over me, Princess. Because I have yet to see what lies beneath your undergarments.”
Your palms rest flatly against his chest, and you press a chaste kiss to his skin. “I will not stop you, Lord Stark,” you whisper, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
“Then let’s make these ‘equal grounds’ a little bit more equal, hm?” Cregan whispers as well. He sinks to his knees with his mouth trailing a path down your body, licking and kissing over your skin until he reaches your navel. His large hands trail over your sides and thighs on his way down, the movement and sight making your breath hitch in your throat.
A shudder ripples through your body as he tugs your smallclothes down your legs, and while you watch him with your hands buried in his dark curls, his eyes are all but focused on what’s between your legs.
He drapes one of your legs over his broad shoulder, his dark blown eyes darting up to meet yours, and before you can make any teasing remark, his mouth is on you. A gasp catches in your throat. “Cregan, please,” you whimper, forgetting all courtesies the moment his tongue drags through your slit. There’s no softness, no gentleness in the way he all but devours your cunt, the previous teasing having made his patience run thin.
Your head tips back in pleasure as his tongue alternates between sliding into you and swirling around your pearl, noticing both options have you grind your hips against his face. The tip of his nose rubs so perfectly against your pearl when his mouth pays attention to your entrance, and Cregan’s fingers dig into your flesh with your body tensing up already, keeping you steady.
The Wolf of the North growls against your cunt as if he’s truly turned into one, devouring you with all he’s got, the sheer pleasure brought by his tongue and lips taking over you.
As you look down at him again, you find him already staring up at you, watching you carefully as you slowly but surely unravel on his tongue. It’s intense, but you’re captivated enough not to break eye contact.
“Gods, yes, I–” you whimper, and fall apart all over his tongue with a shudder. If it wasn’t for Cregan’s paws on your body, you would have lost balance by now, especially with the way he seemed to work his tongue in and out of you faster just in rhythm to his nose rubbing your pearl.
He pulls away from you slowly as your peak subsides, and with his beard and lips glistening with the remnants of your arousal, how could you not pounce on him right then and there?
He supports his body with one arm placed on the ground and stretches his legs as you push yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his strong neck. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes you moan against his lips before you deepen the kiss.
Cregan’s hard cock is nestled between your bodies, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around it, stroking him once, twice, before you shift your hips and slowly sink down on him.
Muscular arms completely wrap around your waist, making you very well aware of the size difference between the two of you. You’re significantly smaller than him, and relish in the feeling of being safe and protected with him around. You two haven’t been too close upon your arrival in the North, but it seems that there has been a hidden attraction lingering for quite some time.
You know your hips would sooner or later become sore from pumping him with your core, hence you stick to rocking your hips back and forth with his cock stuffed deep inside you. It’s intimate and slow, but with the coarse hairs around the base of his cock dragging over your pearl with each swivel of your hips, you’re still racing for completion.
While he mouths along your jaw and the curve of your throat, one of his hands comes up to cup your breast. Rolling the perky bud between his index finger and thumb, the slight sting works wonders to amplify the pleasure coursing through your veins.
“By the Seven,” you whimper, grinding your hips against him with more determination.
There comes a sharp hiss in return from him, barely audible between the open mouthed kisses he presses to your collar bones. You’re clawing at his shoulders and neck by now, scratching it despite the sensuality of your movements, and it feels as though you’re even drawing blood. But he doesn’t care about that – he rather enjoys having a woman that doesn’t hold back.
Trailing his lips up to your throat, he nudges your chin with his nose, prompting you to tip your head back. “It’s not them you need to pray to right now, Princess,” Cregan rasps, a clear strain to his voice. “But perhaps I should take that as a compliment, hm?”
His words cause you to chuckle, and you’re grateful that he’s quickly distracted by kissing your throat again, because otherwise he might have noticed the heat his words bring to your cheeks. “If that is…” you trail off panting, burying your hand in his curls to tug his head back, forcing him to look up at you. The sight of his dark blown eyes hungrily gazing at you sends a shiver down your spine. You feel desired. “If that is a compliment, then I shall have to say it much more often.”
You’re not sure if it’s the fact you state wanting to compliment him more often, or if he’s just not used to having an appreciative lover in general, but your words seem to flip a switch inside of him. You quickly find yourself lowered on the fur blankets, warming your back while the flames heat up your skin and Cregan your blood.
Nestled between your legs, he’s growing more determined now, the sensual rocking of your hips clearly not enough for him, but you don’t mind it. As much as you enjoy being in control, setting the tone, you also revel in following the lead.
He’s propped up on one elbow, supporting himself as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips that make his cock drag so expertly against the sweet spot inside of you.
With one hand, you hold onto his broad shoulder, digging your nails into his skin, while the other gropes at his chest, teasing his bud just like he’s done with yours before. The feeling of his coarse hairs beneath your fingers feels somewhat strange at first, for Aemond hasn’t had as much chest hair as Cregan does, but it’s also comforting.
The familiar coil in the pit of your belly tightens slowly with his hips snapping into yours over and over again, split open by his hard cock.
“Will you fill me up, my lord?” you moan breathily, arching your back with your breasts pressing against his sturdy frame.
Cregan releases a choked groan at the question, and for a moment you can feel his hips stutter. You briefly wonder if you’ve pushed your luck too far, especially with him not replying immediately, until his raspy voice cuts through the heavy pants and moans.
“Only if you let me take you to wife, Princess.”
You inevitably clench down around him as a small, hiccuped gasp catches in your throat, resulting in Cregan drawing in a sharp breath. The haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s now giving back to you. And you let it flood you.
Your hand comes from his chest to his biceps, holding onto it as you gather your thoughts. His hips haven’t slowed down one bit, and he’s truly expecting you to answer as if he wasn’t repeatedly impaling you on his cock right now.
Staring up at him with wide eyes, your voice isn’t any louder than a whisper. “It would be foolish of me to turn this offer down,” you reply.
An impish smirk dances along Cregan’s features. “Is that meant to be a yes?”
“Y-Yes, it is, “ you whimper beneath him, arching your back once more.
The warmth of his body, his weight and scent cloud your every being, and his thrusts are determined and harsh enough to render you speechless, your mind and body completely claimed by him.
His hand snakes between your bodies, aiming for your sensitive pearl. Though the coarse hair around his cock has granted you at least a bit of friction, it’s not enough to bring you to your peak. His thumb circles over the little bud, fully coated with your arousal, and the thread in your belly is close to snapping.
“Then I just might,” he grunts in return.
Your body jerks at the sudden touch, but his muscular frame between your legs is enough to keep you pinned to the ground. “I need you… Cregan,” you whimper, bringing a hand behind his head to pull him down for a heated kiss. Your lips hardly part to release whimpers and moans, swallowing each other’s sounds of pleasure without any shame. “Let me give you a spare.”
It appears that your words give him a new-found vigor that leaves you gasping, the pace of his hips increasing. As you start to roll your hips against his thumb, you not only create some friction that feeds your pleasure but his as well. It’s not long after that your peak washes over you with a soft gasp, walls clenching around him like a vice.
With your small frame trembling between his strong arms, Cregan releases a strained grunt, his own peak being milked out of him by your cunt fluttering around his cock. He keeps on dragging his thumb over your sensitive pearl, prolonging your peak and the pleasure that comes with it.
You stare up at him with wide eyes as you’re milking him for every drop, because there’s something so vulnerable in this wolf of a man, towering over you with his skin glistening with sweat, so desperate to fill you with his seed and breed you.
The last jolts of his peak force him to languidly rut his hips into yours, desperately chasing the feeling of bliss that courses through your veins. His chest heaves with every heavy breath he takes, and the dark curls are damp and fall into his face.
Only as Cregan is certain there’s not one drop of his seed left inside of him does he slowly stop his ministrations, and the hand that has toyed with your bud seizes your hips, stilling them.
His erratic breaths fans over your sweaty skin with his lips pressing to your temple. The feeling of being whole with him doesn’t leave you, not when his weight pins you down and keeps you grounded, easing your tumbled mind.
“I shall welcome the arrival of any child you bear me,” Cregan says, inevitably breaking the silence.
A smile spreads across your lips as you wrap your legs around his hips, and your arms around his neck. “Be careful what you wish for. My children will certainly be just as stubborn as me.”
His heart is practically pounding against his ribs, and he can feel himself on the verge of being lost by your touch alone again. You make him go wild and feral, your bold and flirtatious nature bringing out another side to him that’s completely unexpected. And yet it feels so right.
The teasing banter brings a smile to his lips and a light to his gray eyes, your wit and humor shining through. “Let them be stubborn, then,” he chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “They only need to be half as feisty as you, and I shall be the happiest man in Winterfell.”
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the girl next door 20
Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.
Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.
Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.
This lewk but silverfox
Not long after you close yourself in your room you hear the front door close. The house is silent but not calm. While you want everything to just go back the way it was, being alone with your mom doesn’t promise you peace. She never takes it well when she doesn’t get her way.
You have your table pulled up the bed, doodling random petals and stems, some connected and some not. The sunlight beams through the curtains and shines onto the paper as you scratch the graphite over it. You cup your chin as you bide your time, dreading the inevitable. You’ll have to face her again and you have a lot to atone for.
The rustle of leaves is underlined by the darting whistle of some distant bird. Along the edge of your vision, you sense movement and peer over at the window, expecting a flutter of wings. Instead, you see a shadow looming in Steve’s window, just across the gap between your houses. You don’t recognise that man; it must be the friend he mentioned.
You slide the table out and stand slowly, cautious as you try not to draw attention. The man has grey hair like Steve, he’s a little shorter by your measure, and built a bit broader. He turns to lean just beside the window and you carefully tug closed your curtain. You keep forgetting to do that although you can’t even remember opening it most times.
The noise of your movement draws your name from the front room. You huff and face the door. It’s time. You emerge and go to find your mother on her recliner. She stares despondently at the ceiling.
“Whatever you said to Steve...” she mutters.
“I didn’t...” you can’t even finish the lie. You didn’t say anything but you also don’t know everything you did around Steve.
“I don’t want to hear it. You reel it in,” she sits the chair up straight and winces at the jarring motion. “Whatever you’re up to, it stops now.”
You look at the floor, “sorry, mom.”
“Ugh, you’re useless, you know that? If you hadn’t been hanging around like some troll, he would’ve stayed,” she snarls. "If you weren't here, everything would be so much better."
“Mm, but I saw... his friend--”
“Oh, shut up and go away,” she snaps and reclines again. “Tomorrow, he’s taking me out. Away from you. You can stay and clean up your mess.”
You back away without another word. She’s only looking to argue. It will be good for her to get out. Somewhere that isn’t a hospital. And she’s right, this place could use another clean, and you could use the distraction.
🏡
As promised, your mother leaves with Steve. That she’s ready to leave the house before noon is a feat on its own, not to mention how she woke up before you. Still, you made her coffee for her and reminded her about her medicine. Those parts went as usual.
Alone, you feel lighter but not free. You sweep and mop and make sure all the dishes are done and away. You even make sure to use the old vacuum to clean up your mom’s recliners and the carpet in the front room. A spritz of freshener makes the air a little less stale.
You finish around one and go back to your room. You take out your pencils and set to work on a new picture. No more amaryllis; you’ve moved on to morning glories. It’s so beautiful how they open with the sun.
You use your colour pencils, some of them so short you can’t even sharpen them, to give dimension the broad petals. You lose yourself in the task, fingertips a medley of hues as you switch between shades and blending stick. You have your forehead in your hand, your shoulders hunched, and your eyes laser focused.
It’s only your name that breaks your reverie. You blink and sit up, the ache setting into your knuckles as they have a moment to rest. You door is open.
“Hey, sweetie,” Steve says, “we’re back.”
“Oh,” is all you can utter.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he has a hand on his hip. You wonder if he’s been there a while. “Not to intrude but... could I get a peek?”
You stare at him for a moment, confused. Then look down at the page. It’s mostly done, you guess. Doesn’t matter, really. There’s worse things to judge you about.
You set down the pencil and lift the book. He breaks the threshold of your room and crosses to look closer. He carefully puts his hand next to yours, silently asking permission to take it. You hand it over and he raises it closer to squint at the lines.
“This is beautiful,” he remarks, “you should think about my offer. We could go out and find some good scenery,” He suggests as he continues to examine your work, “and you shouldn’t be all bent over like that. You can always use my studio if you need--”
“I’m fine,” you shrug.
“For now, but one day that’s catch up to you. Trust me,” she offers the book back to you. “So... do you only draw flowers?”
You close the book and pack away the pencils.
“Mostly,” you answer.
“Wow, to be honest, I always found them challenging. No two flowers are alike, right? Every rose has different petals, every tulip a different number of stamens,” he says. “So how was your day?”
“Is my mom here?” You asks, ignoring his question.
“Yeah, she’s all tired out. She’s relaxing. Still early though,” he checks his watch, “you wanna come over for a swim?”
You’re flumoxed by the pace of his conversation. The constant pivoting has you off-balance. You’re wholly unready for any of it. Those hours alone have left you in an odd daze.
“Thanks, but uh, I don’t have a suit,” you say.
“You don’t?” He clucks, “well that’s too bad. You could just wear some shorts and tank or whatever. No one around to see.”
“It’s okay,” you rebuff again. “I’m still pretty tired.”
“Oh, of course, sweetie, maybe another time. Did you take another pill? I know they really get to you.”
“Erm, no.”
“You’re going to, right? You need to be consistent, you know? To see if it works.”
“Right, I know,” you murmur guiltily. You’d forgotten all about the boxes in the cupboard.
“Now, I’m only looking out for you. I mean, you take care of your mother, make sure she takes her meds, but what about you? Who’s looking after you, sweetheart?”
You hug yourself and stand. You untangle your arms from around you and push the table back to the corner. He might mean well but you’re just embarrassed. No one does care about you and you’re okay with that. You have to be, you can’t change it.
“It was rhetorical,” he says, “sweetie, I’m going to look after you. I promise.” He’s pauses as if waiting for an answer, “haven’t I?”
“Hmm,” you turn to him and push out your lower lip.
“Haven’t I taken care of you?” He asks.
You nod, “yes. Thank you...”
“You and your mom, right? That’s how it’s gonna be. The three of us.”
What he’s saying, the way he’s saying it, it’s making you uneasy. You tuck your lip under your teeth and let it pop back out. He tilts his head as his eye flicker eerily.
“Well, I’m going to stay the night to keep an eye on mom. She’s having a bad day. She did a lot so... I’ll get started on dinner and you take your medicine, okay?”
Your heart pounds in your ribcage. There’s something about his tone. He’s not asking, he’s telling. You look at him in your doorway, noting how he fills the whole thing. Thinking of how you couldn’t get past him or move him, even if you had the courage to try. You reach over to steady yourself with the table.
“Sure,” you agree softly.
“You’re not busy tomorrow?” He wonders.
You blink and shake your head, “n... no?”
“Good, we have a surprise for you,” he grins. “Big one.”
“Al--alright,” you resist as shiver.
“You should dress up nice, too. Maybe that cute little dress you got,” he taps on the doorframe and takes a step back, “I like that one.”
He winks and spins on his heel, leaving you in a queasy silence. A surprise? What could he possibly mean?
#steve rogers#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#the girl next door#series#drabble#au#silverfox au#mcu#marvel#captain america
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Six Degrees of Separation
Rating: Teen || Chapters: 1/4 || Word Count 1.4k
Summary:
The Dead Boy Detectives run into a familiar pub while out on a case, and Crystal has to contend with an unfortunate event from her past.
Hob Gadling wasn't planning on adopting three teenagers and a full grown woman, but stranger things have happened in his long centuries of life.
Read here on Tumblr, or over on AO3
dedicated to @softest-punk for making me emotional about Hob adopting the kids in DBD 💖
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“In here!” Edwin shouts, gesturing frantically at the entrance to a pub that looks vaguely familiar to Crystal. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much time to wonder before the banshee chasing them lets out a blood curdling scream. Crystal rushes in with Charles right behind her, pushing the door and slamming it shut behind her. Thankfully the pub seems to be completely empty except for one man.
A man who looked extremely pissed off to see them.
“Oh bloody hell, fuck no, not you, out!” the older man shouts, moving out from behind the bar and looking ready to chase them out by force if necessary. Crystal braces herself, glancing around frantically for some sort of back door that she can bolt to if necessary. She’s pretty sure she can outrun him.
Charles and Edwin however, are a different story.
“Hob, it’s us!” Charles exclaims, throwing up his hands in an attempt to show no harm.
“We’re sorry for bringing a ghost to your door, Mr Gadling,” Edwin adds. “If you’ll just let me borrow one of your books to get rid of this banshee, we’ll be out of your hair.”
“Not you two, her,” the man, Hob (what the hell kind of name was that?) growls, pointing at Crystal accusingly. Edwin and Charles turn to her in shock, and Crystal is about to protest that she has no idea what this man is on about, but then the memory of how she knows Hob Gadling comes flooding back to her.
The pub they’d run into was The New Inn and Crystal had almost burned it down last year because some girl she hated at school had come here for her 18th birthday. With all of Crystal’s friends, sans Crystal. Ex-friends now, since Crystal had tried to burn the place down with the whole party still inside. Hob had, unsurprisingly, pressed charges, and it took a lot of money from her parents to make everything go away.
“I’m sorry!” Crystal yells, just as the banshee screeches and slams its body against the door behind them. It lights up an iridescent blue, a warding against ghosts. Of course Crystal had to go and fuck up the one supernatural relationship she had because she was an idiot asshole last year.
“I know this isn’t a great time, but I’m kind of a different person now?” Crystal says, having no idea how to even begin to explain the weird circumstances of the last month. “I swear what my past self did isn't who I am now,” she adds, also raising her hands to show she means no harm.
“She’s part of the Dead Boy Detectives Agency, mate,” Charles interjects, while Edwin nods furiously in agreement. “Please don’t throw her out!”
The banshee lets out another screech and slams itself against the door, rattling the frame so hard that Crystal’s afraid it might fly off the hinges at any moment. Whatever ward Hob had placed, it wasn’t going to hold out for that much longer.
“What the hell is going on?!” a familiar voice cries out, and then Jenny Green of all people is coming out of what Crystal assumes is the kitchen. She’s also brandishing a butcher knife, because why would any of that change now that she lives across the pond?
“Jenny?!” Charles and Edwin yell.
“Oh fuck,” the older woman curses, glancing back and forth between the three of them and Hob. Crystal really hopes they haven’t just gotten Jenny fired. Finding a job had been tough enough for her when they'd relocated, and she had refused any help financially from Crystal.
“You know them?!” Hob asks, shock clear in his voice.
“It’s a long story,” Jenny grumbles, then screams when the banshee throws itself against the door again. “What the fuck, why did you lead a ghost here? ”
The door rattles and creaks, and the ward around the pub shimmers and vibrates angrily, which seems to finally prompt Hob to action. He straightens his back, rubs a hand over his face, and then takes one, two, three deep breaths before he looks them all over appraisingly.
“Jenny, get the salt from the back,” Hob orders, gesturing her back to the kitchen. “The iron knives should be on the shelf next to them. Edwin, you know where the tomes are,” he adds pointing upwards, likely towards a room on the second floor of the pub. Jenny and Edwin nod quietly before disappearing to their designated posts, leaving Crystal and Charles alone with Hob.
“Right, so since when have the Dead Boys gotten themselves involved with trust fund brats?” Hob asks, still eyeing Crystal warily as if he expects her to pull out a lighter at any moment.
“Since this trust fund brat got possessed by a demon and got her memories stolen,” Crystal answers, wincing when she realizes how harsh that sounds. “Sorry. I just recently got them back and it's been a weird time. I really am sorry though. For like, nearly burning this place to the ground cause I was mad.”
“You did what? ” Charles cries out, his mouth agape. “Please tell me that was all David’s doing.”
Crystal scrunches up her face and then shakes her head. “I wish it was, but no. Just plain old shitty Crystal,” she answers truthfully.
Hob looks between the two of them, then sighs, his expression softening.
“Look, clearly you’ve done some soul searching and I am the last person who should be allowed to hold a grudge against someone who’s done some bad things,” he says, then gestures to Charles. “If the boys vouch for you, then I’m willing to bury the hatchet. All right, Ms Von-Hovercraft?”
“Please just call me Crystal,” Crystal pleads. She really hated being referred to by her surname. It still felt weird and foreign to her, after everything she had gone through. Hob huffs, and this time when he looks at her, there isn’t a shred of contempt in his expression.
“Yeah okay. Crystal,” he says warmly. “You can call me Hob.”
Crystal wants to ask where the hell the name Hob comes from, because she’s pretty sure she remembers his name being Richard , but before she can say anything, Edwin and Jenny come back and Hob turns his full attention to taking care of the banshee that’s trying to get past the wards he has around the entire pub.
“You’re lucky Tuesday’s a slow night,” Hob says, before he starts flipping through the tome. “Jenny, Crystal, make a salt circle by the tables over there,” he adds, pointing to his left. “You’re going to need to lead her there so we can trap her.”
Crystal and Jenny make as large of a circle as they can, pouring generous amounts of salt into the floor. When they’re done, Hob instructs them to the front of the pub, where the door is still rattling and glowing angrily. Edwin and Charles are standing next to Hob, Charles with his cricket bat out, and Edwin and Hob ready to chant the spell within the tome.
“When I count to three, open the door and run like hell into the salt circle,” Hob tells them. “One, two, THREE!”
Crystal throws open the door and both she and Jenny cover their ears as they run towards the salt circle. The banshee’s cries are even louder now that she’s inside the pub, but their plan works. She follows them straight into the circle, then screeches again in anger once she realizes she cannot follow them out. Her long hands try to grab for Jenny’s apron, but Charles materializes right at the circle’s edge to bat her hand away.
Hob and Edwin start chanting some spell in what Crystal assumes is Latin, and the banshee screeches at an even louder volume than before. The salt circle alights a bright gold, and Crystal and Jenny are practically thrown backwards by the force of the magic taking effect.
The banshee lets out one more high pitched scream, and then her dark grey dress suddenly becomes stark white, dark and wet black hair paling slowly to a soft light brown. When the banshee lifts her face, her eyes are no longer sunken and black, but wide and bright green.
She’s beautiful, now that she’s no longer in pain.
The Night Nurse shows up shortly afterwards, collecting the woman and gently reassuring her that she’s going to a better place. She looks at Hob like she’s offended by his very existence, which the man takes in stride and cheerfully waves her off, telling her to say hello to her boss for him.
“Right then,” Hob says after the banshee and the Night Nurse have left. “Now that that’s taken care of, care to explain to me what the bloody hell is the connection with you lot?”
#dead boy detectives#dead boy detectives fanfic#the sandman#the sandman fanfic#hob gadling#crystal palace#edwin payne#charles rowland#jenny green#will eventually be payneland and dreamling but this part is gen
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To Love and To Cherish (II)
Part 10 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!
Warnings: CNC, oral (f), knife play (he fucks her with the hilt of his knife), bondage, threats, chasing, creepy phonecalls, mild mirror sex, somnophilia, anxiety, fear, angst, cliffhanger.
A/N: Please keep in mind that though this is dark play, everything has been discussed and even practised in advance and is fully consensual.
Hehe
@icannotbetrustedalone 😘
A late lunch is brought to your door after you wake up. You have no idea how Sam knew you were awake, perhaps she'd timed your jet lag that well.
She tells you to enjoy, that her team will be here around dusk to get you dressed for your date.
You smile at that word, knowing that she had no real clue what your husband was really up to.
Later in the day, there’s a knock on your door.
You open it to Sam, with her binder, looking eager.
“Are you ready?” She asks with a smile.
When you nod and open the door wider, she turns her head and nods too, and you blink in surprise when four other women follow her into your room with a lot of different things in hand.
You spot a garment bag, and a makeup kit, another bag has a hair curler sticking out.
They introduce themselves, their specialties are in hairstyles, makeup and nails.
You're out of your depth and you say so, glancing over at Sam for some kind of help.
“Don't worry, we already know what to do based off your preferences.” She explains, “You just have to sit back and enjoy being pampered.”
You guess you could try.
When they're done, you're surprised to see so much of yourself there.
There's a lovely little tiara on your head, your hair in a delicate updo with strands framing your face. The dress- is beyond beautiful, white shimmering fabric, an off shoulder design that makes you feel like a princess.
Your fingers and toes are freshly done in a dark red like you'd requested, so that they can match the red on your lips.
There's a small heel on your silver shoes- safe to run in while still being pretty.
“You guys are amazing.” You say in wonder as you fully assess yourself.
They laugh, happy that you're satisfied.
Sam presents one final thing to you, the one odd thing you'd asked for that wasn't in your binder.
You grin at her, ducking into the ensuite bathroom and tugging the garter out of the box, sliding it on.
There's a small knife attached to it, and you make sure it's concealed, and easily reachable through the slit in your dress before you step out again.
When they’re finished with some last minute makeup retouches, Sam smiles proudly, and wishes you a very good night, letting you know that they’ll all be leaving you soon, here alone with your husband.
You can’t help the excited pulse your nether regions give at the reminder, dressed pristinely from head to toe, all for Billy to tear off.
You grin at Sam, walking the small group of women to the door, listening quietly to their plans for the night, encouraging and enjoying their banter, sending them off with a wave into a car waiting for them.
The heavy wooden door closes with a dull sound that echoes through the castle, emphasising your desolation.
You turn, leaning against the door in your shimmery dress, taking in the quiet silence of the place.
There’s a little bit of fear tingling down your spine, the feeling of being truly alone in such a big place, not really knowing where you are, with no means of escape.
You find that it turns you on.
All dressed up, all for him, and you can’t even really leave, a headiness to the realisation, your fear is an aphrodisiac all on its own.
You bite down on the corner of your lip, smiling, pushing yourself away from the door, and decidedly picking a direction to begin your exploration.
You touch everything you see, trailing your freshly done fingertips over every item, examining the feel, appreciating the textures.
The curtains, the lighting fixtures, you examine all of it, a crown on your head that makes you almost feel like you own it all.
You get into the fantasy he’s weaved, becoming the role of the princess he’s cast you in.
You find the throne room first, a flourish of plum and golds, a large red carpet leading to the thrones in question- two- sitting side by side, beckoning you closer.
You squint, looking up at the massive chandelier that sits in the middle of the room, with little pieces of glass that if cleaned properly, would probably reflect little shards of light.
You pick the chair on the right, and settle yourself onto it, sighing happily at how comfortable it is, relaxing for a moment, before standing to continue your exploration.
You’re passing the dining room when a phone begins to ring in the distance.
It sends a shiver of fear over you, the dated sound echoing through the halls. You begin searching for it, following the rings of what you assume is an old era phone.
You find the phone on a table at the bottom of the staircase, ruby red, sitting beside a marble statue of a woman, posed with her hand in the air as if to block the light from her eyes.
It keeps ringing until you tentatively pick it up, bringing it to your ear.
“Hello?” You say softly into it.
There’s a voice on the other end, modulated to be unrecognizeable to you, but even that sends a shiver of excitement through you.
“Princess.” The voice says calmly.
You swallow.
“Who is this?”
The voice is deep, each grovel is a tremor in your body.
“I’m just a nightmare, sweetheart. I hope you’re ready for me.”
You shudder, shaking your head.
“Ready for what?”
He doesn’t answer your question.
“You look gorgeous. Prettier than I expected. It’s making me… want.”
You stiffen, taking a breath and looking around, searching the shadows for some sign of a man, lurking in the darkness.
“You can see me?” You ask in a soft whisper, laying the fear on thickly.
“Of course, princess. I’ll be inside soon, we’ll get a nice, long introduction to each other.”
You gasp in surprise, dropping the phone and moving quickly to the doors you passed during your exploration, making sure that they’re locked.
Your hand is on the door separating the kitchen from the gardens- when the lights go out.
You hear your own breath of surprise, your heart pattering in your chest, real fear being awakened inside of you when you realise that this is actually happening.
Everything is still, you’re afraid to move, the darkness becoming honey thick all around you.
Eventually, being still is too much, and you have to force your body to break the stillness around you.
There’s barely a sliver of light, the moon, casting pale streams through the windows. Instinct tells you to stay where you can see, your body backed against the window, eyes peering into the darkness as if it’s alive and coming for you.
You glance down when something shimmery catches your eye, gasping, you realise that the moonlight makes you a bigger target, your dress reflecting its beams in every direction.
It leaves you no choice but to step into the darkness.
You wonder where he is, if hands will just reach out and grab you at any given moment.
It makes your stomach tight, that what you’ve been yearning for is almost within reach.
“Hello?” You call out shyly, voice shaking just a little. You walk softly out of the kitchen, one hand against the wall to guide you, unsure of exactly where you’re going.
Suddenly, a chill runs over the back of your neck, like a soft breath from someone standing just behind you. You turn, waving your hand into the darkness, and finding nothing but air.
You feel so much like prey in that moment, searching for a predator with hunting skills beyond your comprehension.
You’re passing the dining room when your heart freezes in your chest. In the corner of your eye, you can see the silhouette of a dark figure, standing in the moonlit window.
Your breath halts in your throat, turning to face him, the swishing of your dress is louder in your ears.
The mask is- terrifying- white, with the appearance of fractured glass across it, some pieces missing over the cheek area, his real face peeking through.
He raises a hand, and presses a gloved finger to the mouth of the mask.
You turn, and run.
Fuck, this was it, it was really happening. He was here, and he was going to do all the things he promised he would, all the things you’d practised together so that he was sure you were always one hundred percent safe and comfortable.
You’re not very fast, the dress and heels slowing you down
He grabs you at the very moment the lights flick on.
It takes a moment for your eyes to get adjusted, and then you gasp when your back is slammed to a wooden wall behind you, the intricate carvings pressing uncomfortably to your spine.
His hands are on your shoulders, keeping you in place as you look up at him with fear in your eyes.
You finally get a chance to see him fully, all masked up, covered from head to toe in what can only be the most mouth watering look on the planet.
Sure, his suits were divine, but seeing him dressed down like this was a cherry on top of a malevolent cake.
It clings to his skin, the cut of his chest and arms showing through the tight, long- sleeved shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of navy combat pants, and further into boots.
It’s much easier to note where you can see his skin- on his wrists between the sleeve and the glove, his neck, and parts of his face that show through the fractured pieces of his mask.
He’s a work of devastating art, lust incarnate, bringing forth so much delight that you struggle to hide it.
“Please,” you whisper shakily, getting into character, feeling it spark arousal, “Don't hurt me.”
You watch the darkness clouds his eyes, a predator, hidden beneath layers of humanity, finally being set free.
“Oh, princess,” he whispers, leaning in, trailing his gloved thumb over your jaw and cheekbone lovingly, “I am definitely going to hurt you.”
You gasp at his words, reaching for the weapon strapped to your thigh. It was your turn to give him a surprise.
The dagger is sharp, you made sure of it, wanted it to be real, you wanted to see a genuine look of surprise in his eyes when you finally pressed it to his neck.
Except, he doesn't look surprised at all.
“Leave.” You say, with so much command in your voice that you almost believe you have the power to say something like that to him.
He studies you for a lengthy moment, before he tilts his head back and lets out a deep laugh, and even that, works to seduce you.
His hold is an iron grip on your wrist, and it was a mistake letting him grab you, he’s too strong, and no matter how hard you struggle, you can’t get your hand back.
“This knife is pathetic, princess.” He grabs the hilt, twisting it so that you’re forced to release it or have your wrist twisted too, it clatters loudly in the empty space.
“Is that all you have to fight me off with? No wonder this is so easy.”
You exhale angrily, trying to push him away, your freshly done nails digging into his arms.
He grips your hands, pulling them above your head and pinning them there with one of his.
A soft sound of distress leaves your lips, struggling to get away but your dress is too much of a hindrance, keeping your legs pressed in one place when he moves closer.
“Here, why don’t I show you mine?” He murmurs, reaching with his free hand to pull a significantly larger knife out of his boot.
You gulp, eyeing it wearily as he rubs the handle roughly against your cheek, the hilt is coated in a rubber, with indents to help with grip. He slides it around till it’s pressed to your lips, smearing your lipstick, you angle your head away to avoid it.
“I’m going to fuck you with this,” He promises, leaning in till the mouth of his mask is on your ear, “Gonna use it to get you ready for my cock.”
“No.” you murmur weakly.
“No?” He teases, “Well why don’t you try stopping me then?” He murmurs, pulling back a little to free you from his hold.
You’re surprised to be free, knowing that it’s just a trick, knowing that he wants to chase you.
You keep your eyes on his form, watching him observe you as you slowly back away.
“Go on, princess,” He says in such a condescending tone that your knees wobble, “Run away from me.”
When you're far enough away that you know he won't grab you, you turn, pulling your skirts up a little so that you can run.
Heart pounding in your chest you have no idea where you're going or what your plan is beyond running away. You couldn't very well hide in a dress that glimmers when you breathe, you couldn't fight- all you really had in your arsenal was your capacity to get him angrier.
With that in mind, you grab the first heavy thing you can find- the telephone directory- turning and chucking it in his approximate vicinity.
It doesn't slow him down at all, because he grabs your wrist in the next second, pulling you into him.
“No!” You exclaim, swiping your nails across his mask, knocking it askew so that he can't see.
You’re not proud of how hard you stomp his foot next, watching him double over with a low grunt, allowing you to get some distance.
The phone, you decide, angling your run to get you to the base of the main stairs.
You just make it to the phone- grabbing the glossy handset and raising it to your ear- before he grabs it roughly from you, reaching behind to rip all the important wires out of the back.
You almost can’t do it, wanting to drop to your knees right there and beg him to take you- but you know that deep down you had to see this fantasy fully play out.
He’s angry now, and he shows it by grabbing the entire phone and slamming it to the floor while you watch, backing away in horror, his sleek boot slamming the broken pieces until it’s nothing but ruby shards.
“Who were you going to call, princess? You don’t even know where you are.”
Jesus, you think, helplessly aroused.
The next time you turn away, he wraps an arm around your waist and picks you up.
You kick your feet in protest, scratching at his arms, trying to pry his iron grip off of you but it’s no help, you grunt, and you kick and you wriggle and still he drags your body wherever.
He drops you below the chandelier of the throne room.
It glitters in your eyes as you try to catch your bearings, sitting up you watch him grab a length of rope from his belt.
You try to scramble back but your dress catches under your feet, making you slip, falling back even more.
He grips one of your wrists while you’re disoriented, and you feel the rope wrap tightly around it. You try to push him off, but he just catches your other hand, wrapping them securely in front of you, knotting them easily.
He stands, and with a strong arm, throws the other end of the rope through a support rung of the chandelier, catching it as it swings toward him.
Then, he pulls, forcing you up onto your knees, your hands suspended in the air, as he moves to secure the rope to the throne nearby.
You struggle, trying to tug your way out, your legs tangled in your dress, stopping you from standing.
“I wouldn’t.” He warns softly, “Pull too hard and it might fall, carving up that pretty body before I’m done.”
He kneels beside you, brushing some of your hair out of your face.
“That would make me, real upset.” He breathes through the mask.
“P-lease.” You beg, turning your head to look at him, relaxing when you realise there was no escaping without hurting yourself.
“God, you're so pretty.” He trails a gloved hand over your cheek, down your chest, the leather is smooth on your skin, you shiver when his hand reaches the top of your dress.
“I almost don't want to hurt you.” his hand smooths over the front of the dress, slipping lower to gently untangle the skirts from your legs, you adjust to let him do so, thinking that it will allow you to stand up.
You turn your head to look at him, examining his eyes through the mask, the way they linger on your body, you don’t even realise what’s been done until you feel his gloved hand slip under your panties and press right to your clit.
The friction is delicious, the smooth leather providing an interesting feel between your thighs. You look down, realising he’s used the high slit of your dress to get under your skirts easily.
“Don’t.” You beg, trying to inch away, “Please.”
“I don’t fucking care what you want, princess.” He grits out harshly, his finger pressing down more firmly, slipping from side to side, the pleasure, trying to force you to shut down your resistance.
“I’m here to steal from you, and I’m going to take everything I want.”
Your breaths become shallow when his finger starts circling your aching bud, you’ve been denying yourself for so long that you feel the sweet burn of pleasure the longer he does it.
You can even feel how wet you are, in the fluidness of his movements. He breathes into your ear, and you find yourself leaning into him to take the weight off of your knees.
“Don’t do this,” You murmur weakly, “Please I’ll do anything.”
He laughs in your ear, slowing his movements to torment you.
“I’m doing you a favour, sweetheart, you should be grateful. At least I have the decency to let you cum before I fuck you with my knife.”
You make a sound of protest, angling away from him.
“No!” You cry.
He doesn’t let you move far, gripping the back of your head, till it’s tilted back, hands suspended above you, his fingers resume their fast movement on your clit.
He’s dextrous, even with gloves on, you can feel the micromovements that succeed in bringing you right up to that edge even faster.
Your eyes roll back in your head, surprised that he’s got you right on edge so soon, though you know you shouldn’t be, this is your husband after all, he knows exactly how to get you off.
The weeks of denial burn, your body not accustomed to orgasm needs an extra push getting there, he presses down even firmer, speeding up.
You groan, unable to stop it, or resist it, your stomach clenched tight with nothing in sight but the precipice of orgasm.
Don’t stop, you beg internally, please don’t stop.
It’s a hollow thing, but strong nonetheless. You breathe shallowly through gritted teeth as you reach your peak, thighs trembling, as you rut yourself helplessly on his gloved fingers.
Too good, needing just a little bit more, thighs sticky with your orgasm, his fingers growing even more messy as you come.
Your vision whites out for a moment, senses evaporating temporarily, you come back to the sound of your own panting, heavy in the room.
You don’t get a chance to look over at him with desperate eyes, he pulls his hand from between your thighs and promptly shoves his drenched fingers into your mouth.
You hum in protest, trying to pull away, but he’s still got that iron grip on the back of your head.
“Taste that slutty little cunt, princess. Remember how wet you get for me when you’re begging me to stop later.”
You can only grunt your denial, with his fingers in your mouth, the taste of leather and your arousal making its point on your tongue.
When he draws his hand back, they come out with heavy strings of saliva that cling to your bottom lip.
“You’ll pay for this.” You whisper hoarsely, your head hanging low. Your arms start to ache a little from the way they’re held above your head.
It’s the wrong thing to say, he grips your hair once more, tugging your head back to an almost uncomfortable position.
“What was that?”
You make a little sound at the way he manhandles you, tilting your head, you look him in the face.
“I said, ‘You'll pay for this.”
He studies you slowly, you watch his eyes flicker as he studies your face. You curl your hands into fists, hoping he lets you down soon.
His laughter doesn't surprise you, but it does make your stomach twist.
“Yeah? Who’s gonna make me pay? You?” He says between small sounds of amusement, reaching back, he pulls the knife from before out of his pocket.
You eye it warily, as he brings the blade up to your line of sight, you swallow, trying to breathe as you examine the wicked edge of the serrated blade.
You go perfectly still when the cool metal of the blade touches your cheek.
“You might be a pretty little thing, but you have no power to make me pay. You’re all mine to do what I want. You can’t stop me.”
You whine pitifully, knowing that his words were true.
He reaches up, cutting the rope and guiding your hands into your lap. By now, they tingle, almost numb but not quite, you sigh in relief, watching him quietly squeeze your arms.
“Don’t be scared,” He says, surprisingly soft for someone who was just running the sharp edge of a knife over your cheek, “I'm sure you'll learn to love taking my cock. Maybe with time, you'll beg me for it.”
“Go to hell.” You utter with as much venom as you can muster.
Behind the mask, you hear his laugh, watching the way he lowers his hand, flipping the knife around so that the hilt points toward you.
You lean away, your dress glittering as you move, feeble bound arms raising to push his hand back as he draws closer.
You don’t get far in stopping him, and in the next moment, you feel the hilt of his blade pressed between your thighs.
Fuck, this was too good.
Your head tips back in bliss, torn between fighting him and begging him to just take you in any way he wanted.
Your husband, the man you loved with almost every atom in your body.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” You whisper on a shaky breath, turning to look at him.
Behind the mask, he huffs, the hand in your hair wraps neatly around your throat.
Pulling you close, looking into your eyes, you can hear his angry breaths behind his mask.
He wriggles the hilt of his knife against your cunt, pleasure swelling in your head at the very touch.
He stands suddenly, sheathing his knife, grips your arm to haul you up. Your legs wobble, almost giving out beneath you before he’s wrapping his hands around your hips to lift you.
With your hands tied together, there’s nothing more you can do than wiggle, shifting your body this way and that, but he doesn’t say a word, dropping you onto one of the thrones in the next moment.
He grabs the rope that's tied to the throne- the one that had been used to pull you onto your knees just moments before- and uses it to secure each hand to either side of you.
You kick your foot out at him, and he simply grabs your ankle, gloved hand trailing up to your thigh for a moment before he bends your knee, pulling your leg over the arm of the throne, and securing your ankle to a point somewhere between the base and the foot that you can't really see.
From there, it's over for you, your other foot is caught just as swiftly, and the next thing you know, you’re tied securely to the throne with your legs opened wide, draped across the arms of the intricately carved seat.
He's silent for a moment, appreciating his work, you tug at the restraints to further reinforce his satisfaction that you can't move.
“Damn. You look like a work of art.”
You frown up at him.
He leans over you, and you finally understand the versatility he has with you in this position. He could fuck your cunt, or your mouth, or even your breasts if he so wanted and you couldn't do a damn thing.
He grips your jaw with one hand, tilting your head up, coming closer, pressing a knee into the open space between your thighs for balance. When he gets close enough, he covers your eyes, and the next thing you feel is his mouth on yours.
It gives you butterflies, the way he presses in firmly, taking with his mouth, his beard scratching softly at your chin and lips. You hum against his mouth, feeling his hold on your jaw tighten for a second before he's shoving his tongue past your lips.
Like he owns you, his kiss consumes your senses, your bound fingers curling into little fists as you enjoy kissing him for a few moments more.
Before you bite down harshly on his tongue.
He pulls away in a split second, back to you as he presses his hand to his mouth. You grin in victory as he tugs the mask sitting on his head back down to his face before turning to face you angrily.
He's slow when he approaches, predatory with his long legs and his cocky attitude.
He drops to one knee in front of you, tilts his head, leaning in.
You hear the loud thud of his hand slamming into the space beside your head long before you've registered what's happened.
It makes you flinch in surprise, despite the fact that he'd practised it with you before. It seems way more sinister now, with his masked persona feeling like a different person altogether.
Naturally, the fear spinning inside of you, only succeeds in making you more aroused.
“You're such a brat, I almost want to fuck you right now with no prep.” He presses his thumb between your spread legs, ambling slowly over your clothed clit, “I bet I'd make that little cunt cry with how much I stretch her.”
You suck in a slow breath.
“Please don't.”
He pulls his knife out again.
“You don’t really have a choice.” He answers, carefully angling the cool blade between the seam of your panties.
“Don’t move, little girl, or I might accidentally hurt you- on purpose.” He teases, tugging the knife toward him so that your panties are cut through with zero effort.
You sigh in relief when your cunt is finally exposed to the cool air, sticky with arousal, you groan when he tugs your undergarment free.
“Look at that weepy little hole princess- fuck- she’s so empty, isn’t she?”
“Noo” You hum softly, clenching around nothing as he studies your most delicate area.
He moves slowly, almost reverent in his actions, notching the tip of his hilt against your entrance, you feel your lungs seize as the pleasure hits you.
You hiss when he presses in, the ridged hilt stretching you open, not as big as his cock, but certainly larger than his fingers.
You take it as best as you can, relaxing, eyes watering with an abundance of pleasure.
He tilts his head, makes a single click of his tongue.
“She’s so greedy,” He says breathlessly, “Look at that.” He sinks more of the hilt in.
You bite your lip, moaning when he pulls slowly out, pushing in again.
He starts slow, moving softly until you can take all of the hilt. He grips the blade, you wonder if the glove protects him from the sharp edge.
You want to say his name, but he hasn’t given it, so you settle for sniffling, your bottom lip wobbling wetly as he takes his time.
“Stop.” You mewl, trying to stay in character, looking at his masked face, watching his dark eyes look back.
“No, sweetheart,” He says evenly, “I’m going to play with you, until I’m done.”
You suck in a deep breath, holding it.
He quickens his pace just a little, and before you know it, your cunt has locked tight around the hilt of his knife, every blunted ridge of it being imprinted into your head as you see stars.
It’s unexpected, you hadn’t meant to cum, your body jerking helplessly against the restraints, you pant, unable to see straight for a few moments.
You gulp in air, coming back to your senses. He waits patiently for your orgasm to subside, your body to relax before he works the hilt out of your eager cunt.
“You’re so pretty when you do that.” He says, tucking his knife back into his belt, studying you for a moment before reaching up to shove two of his fingers past your lips.
You can’t go anywhere, simply forced to feel him carefully push and pull his fingers in and out of your mouth, the weight on your tongue encouraging your brain to surrender to him.
When he determines his fingers are wet enough, he glides them down your chest, and tugs at the front of your dress.
It takes a little work before his thumb and index find your pert nipple.
A breath of air leaves you, and your back arches involuntarily, begging for more of his touch.
“You like it, huh? Kinda pathetic.”
“Rot in- f- hell.” You grunt, eyes rolling back as pleasure swims in your head from the way he takes his time to play with your nipples.
You feel his hand, drag over your stomach as he chuckles, the rushing sound as he disturbs the fabric of your skirts. Deft fingers rub circles into your inner thigh before a lone finger slips under the silky elastic garter that was holding your little knife.
You watch him assess you, bound arms and spread thighs and his masked face tilts as his eyes meet your centre.
“So pretty.” He mumbles, before he leans in, lifts his mask to the top of his head and lays a gentle lick to the seam of your cunt.
You gasp in surprise, unable to see his face with the mask atop his head, all you can do is feel- the way he licks gently at you, softly, the need burning white hot with each moment he teases. His tongue trails up to your clit, offers you a preview of the pleasure he can give, before placing slow swipes of his tongue over you.
You sigh, the fight leaves your limbs, you feel like jelly above him, with a tongue that can only be described as godly.
There’s no way you can continue fighting past this, his tongue pulls obedience from you, compliance, it makes you willing and eager to let him do whatever he wanted, helpless for your perfect husband.
You let out a slow moan, head tipping back, thighs trembling with the way his tongue moves, gliding over your clit, showing you exactly what he was capable of without ever actually giving you anything.
“Please,” You simper, unable to resist, with the tongue of such a dextrous man working on you.
If he wants to ask you about where your fight went, he doesn’t bother, merely laughing into your heated cunt, the fractures of his pale mask staring back at you.
Almost there, your fingers curl tight, nails pressed to the flesh of your palms as your breathing hastens.
There’s a rushing in your head, pressure all over, threatening to make you burst apart.
You’re not sure if he knows or cares, his mask moving slightly when his head does, when his tongue, the raving appendage it is, delves through you.
Faster and yet faster, slippery tongue gliding over you, aimed at your oversensitive bundle of nerves, delicate movements of his tongue that are going to unravel you.
His beard rough against your thighs, a wet smacking sound, warm air brushing over you as he exhales, the reminder that he's there, enjoying his time on his knees, unwilling to stop until you've hit that peak.
He presses in closer, his grip on your thighs tightening, firm in their reminder that he’s there- as if you could forget. Your body shakes, soft whines leave your throat, his tongue harsher on your clit.
“I-” You try to say, but your body decides that you’ve spoken enough, you bite down on your bottom lip, every muscle in your body pulled tight.
The first thing you do when your orgasm hits, is tremble.
A sweet fire erupts inside of you, an insurmountable amount of pleasure spreading over you. Your breathing is harsh, heaving, his soft tongue licks you through it, gentle now and soothing between your thighs, no doubt drinking deep of your orgasm.
You press your hips into his face, unable to stop yourself, and he rewards the movement with more careful touches of his tongue.
The rope holding your arms and legs down chafes slightly, protesting your movement, and after a minute, you slump into the chair, boneless and sated.
Your breathing remains harsh, lips wet from being trapped between your teeth, your face is hot, you can feel each time the blood reaches your cheeks, each time your heart contracts in your chest.
You can't hold yourself up and you know it. If you weren't tied up you'd be in a boneless pile.
“Not bad, princess.” He says, warm breath on your thighs. He raises his body to be in your line of sight, the mask still covering his face.
You feel your nipples tingle, excitement stiffening them as he hovers above you.
He tilts his head to study you, his gloved finger tapping the tip of your nose, sliding down to your parted lips.
“You look real pretty when you come. Your mouth opens and your eyes roll back sometimes- makes me want to do it again and again so I can memorise the way you look.”
It's hard to respond, brain hazy with post-orgasmic bliss, but you have to- you need to.
“Please,” You whisper, “You're not the first man to make me come, and you won't be the last.”
You know you're in real trouble when his hand wraps around your throat.
Your eyes widen, he squeezes hard for a moment, which only succeeds in filling your brain with mindless pleasure. You don't bother trying to breathe, waiting till his grip loosens to take a small breath.
“If you think,” He grunts angrily, leaning in till he hovers over you, “that another man is ever going to touch you, you're more delusional than I thought, princess.”
You can only make a small grunt of protest, gazing angrily up at him.
“And maybe I can't control who touched you before I met you, but I can still gift you their heads.”
It makes your breath stutter in shock.
He releases your throat, pressing the tip of his gloved finger to your bottom lip.
“Tug this off. I want to really touch you now.”
You hold his eyes while your teeth sink into the tip of his glove, biting down on his finger too. He pulls down, dislodging his finger from the glove. You release it, and repeat the process with all five of his fingers, and finally, when they're all loose, you clamp your teeth down on the middle finger of his glove and he pulls his hand free easily.
It smears your lipstick no doubt, and you probably look quite messy by now, no doubt your hair is askew as well.
He reaches down after he makes you help with his other glove, and you hear the slow drag of his zipper. Nothing has ever sounded so euphoric.
You look up at him with wide eyes to find that he's already looking at you.
His eyes terrify you, so much darkness in them, you wonder how you'd never seen it before.
“Don't do this.” You beg, startling when you feel his hot cock brush your inner thigh.
At the same time, the main lights flicker off, only the small auxiliary lights on the walls glow softly.
The darkness in his eyes grow, until it becomes an extension of the room.
“Just breathe, princess, this is going to hurt.”
It does at first.
Even though you've come three times so far, and he's used the hilt of his knife on you, and also his tongue to help further your wetness, his size still pinches.
It's been a while, and you feel it in the way he stretches you open, going slow because he knows he's not an easy man to take.
But God, he feels so good.
The pain comes with double the pleasure, that makes your eyes roll back in your head, bound hands curling into fists, nails digging into your palm in an attempt to process the feeling.
He pushes the tip of his cock in, works carefully to fill you, slows down when he encounters resistance.
You take a shallow breath, coming back to your senses a little, looking up at him as he works himself into you.
He rocks his hips, encouraging your body to feel him, to welcome him in, and you have no control over it, surrendering to him easily.
He's so deep you feel it in your throat, a shuddering mess as he bottoms out, you feel tears spring to your eyes, a fullness you've been craving.
Your lips tremble, watery vision glued to the mask, you couldn't look away if you wanted to.
“Should I stop?” He asks, a minuscule tremor of his voice that gives away that he's not as unaffected as he seems.
You can't say the words, the lie too big to be voiced, but you want to keep playing despite how desperately you need him.
You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding softly.
He blinks behind the mask, a tilt of his head to study you.
Arms braced on either side of you, he leans in till the mask touches your cheek.
“That's too bad.” He murmurs.
Then, he draws out, before pressing into you once more.
You make a small sound, and then another when he does it again, the slow drag of his cock is torture, but that's the best part.
You whine, unable to speak, or voice your frustrations, but he chuckles above you, already knowing that he's not giving you what you need.
It's slow, so fucking slow and yet deep enough to create spots of black in your vision.
He grunts above you, and the sound goes right down to your cunt, clamping around him for a second before releasing.
“Fuck.” He growls, “You're so tight. I'm going to love coming in you.”
This was it, time to be the best actress possible.
“N-no, you can't! I'm- I'm not-”
His laugh is so dark it sends shivers down your spine.
Deep and low, devastatingly malicious.
“I can’t?” He teases.
You shake your head no quickly, eyes wide in shock and fear.
He pauses his slow movements to look down at you, too enraptured to focus on two things at once.
“Who’s going to stop me, princess? You?”
You struggle against your bindings helplessly.
“It's okay, we both know you'll learn to like it.”
With those words, he resumes his slow pace.
It's not fair, barely realistic you've never had an orgasm creep up on you like this.
You don't understand, his cock is moving slow, and yet all your pleasure spots are sparking. Is it his size? Or maybe he just knows your body so well that he can force an orgasm so sweet out of you that it almost hurts.
But you can feel every spark, every short circuit of your brain, your toes curl, and your back stiffens, and the dangerous man above you draws it out, wringing each drop of pleasure before moving to the next.
“Perfect.” He whispers, almost sounding out of breath, and when your chest begins to burn, he delivers one harsh thrust of his cock that makes you topple like a house of cards.
A moan leaves your mouth on every other breath, unable to control your vocalisations, or even your breathing, clamped so tightly around him that he makes a low grunt before you feel him spill inside of you. It makes it that much better, knowing that he's hit his peak at the same time you have.
You come back to your senses slowly, his mask coming into focus.
Each breath eases the burning pleasure, replacing it with sweet euphoria, a drug like never before.
He’s panting too, trembling a little, no doubt struggling to stay upright after his first orgasm in six weeks.
And here you are, about to taunt him for it.
“Is that it?” You ask softly.
You’re a little unprepared for the way his eyes scald you.
“Is my cunt that good?” You continue to tease.
He closes his eyes, takes a slow breath to calm himself.
When he looks at you again, you know you're in a lot of trouble.
He leans away, reaches for his knife before slowly cutting the ropes free from around your ankles.
You hiss when he frees your arms, noticing that there's the impression of the rope on your wrists, you rub them as you right your legs, moving them from their previously spread state.
He watches you, and you do the same warily.
“Stand up.”
You gulp, pushing yourself onto wobbly legs, you sway for a moment, before looking over at him expectantly.
He’s still wearing the mask, but by now you’re aching to see his face, you wanted to see your husband while he did these wicked things to you.
He tilts his head toward the door, and your eyes follow the motion, not understanding until he speaks.
“Get out.”
Your head swivels back to him.
“Go, before I change my mind.”
This was another game, you realise, you’d made him mad, and he was going to show you exactly how helpless you were.
You back away, like always, keeping your eyes on his. You can feel his cum, smearing the inside of your thighs as you move. It only makes you more aroused.
You smooth your dress out anxiously, looking down at the shimmery material, and then back up at him, slowly backing away until you’re far enough that he won’t grab you from behind.
When you make it to the door, he’s still standing where he was, looking at you in the dimly lit room.
You can feel your heart in your throat with the fear of everything around you, a sinister ambience, the thrill of being chased.
Outside is dim as well.
The main lights are off. All you have to go on are the smaller lights along the walls.
You don’t get too far from the throne room before all the auxiliary lights flicker off as well.
The darkness squeezes at your heart, a shiver going down your spine. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the distinct nothingness.
The room is still, quiet around you but you can feel him everywhere. It’s like he’s the darkness surrounding you, touching your skin, depriving you of everything except himself.
It’s why you’re not surprised when you feel him at your back.
His hand reaches around, grips your throat and uses the leverage to pull you back. He isn’t gentle, squeezing at the sides harshly to ensure you’re paying attention to him, as if you could ever be distracted.
His bare hand, warm, coarse, thumb and middle finger pressed to either side of your neck. You go lightheaded at the sensation.
You feel his nose press into your hair, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear and you realise he’s taken his mask off.
“I change my mind.” He whispers darkly, laughs when you struggle.
You pull out of his grip, and you run as fast as your legs can take you.
He doesn’t chase, and you make it a good distance away, tucking your body behind a wall to catch your breath. You don’t know where you are, but you assume it’s somewhere near the front doors. The pins in your hair are uncomfortable, and you take your time tugging the little tiara out of your hair, dropping it to the floor.
You can feel his cum, making an even bigger mess, and the implications of that only succeed in heightening your arousal.
The sound of his knife, dragging against the wooden panels on the walls catch your attention. You lift your head, a tug of desire pulls below your navel.
“You know, the first time I met you, really met you, I couldn't believe you were real.” He says, his voice carrying through the quiet hallway.
“You looked at me, and you listened, and all I could think about was how to get you alone, away from that useless boyfriend of yours.”
Your lips part, head pressed to the wall, eager to hear his words, your heart drumming in your chest.
“And when you left me that night, I went back to my lonely apartment, and I found out everything I could about you. I didn’t sleep. I needed to find something to hate- something that would help me stop obsessing over a girl I’d met one time.”
His voice gets closer and you know you have to move, or else he was going to find you.
Quietly, you kick your shoes off, abandoning them so that your steps can be quieter, you lift your skirts slowly, trying to stop the swishing sound it makes.
“You know what I found? Nothing. Nothing could make me hate you, nothing could stop what you started when you smiled at me, all of it made me want you.”
Your heart hammers even more with his words.
“And while I was trying to come up with a plan to make you mine, I’d been yours for ages.”
You stop, turning to his voice as he says that last part, wanting to go to him, to hold him, to tell him the secret you’d been keeping for weeks- that you were his too.
“Don’t fret too much about it though, princess. There’s no need to worry, I’ll feel all better once you come on my cock.”
You gasp, backing away, one hand behind you to stop you from bumping into anything. He was absolutely insane in the best way.
You can’t see a damn thing, feeling your way around to find the entrance you’d come through, your breathing is loud in your ears, you’re sure he can hear you.
You were conflicted. You wanted to run towards the scary man hiding in the darkness, though you know it would be worth your while to run away.
“You want me so bad?” You taunt into the darkness, “You’ll have to catch me first.”
Skirts in hand, you follow the first light you see- the moonlight streaming through the kitchen windows, the feel of the carpet runner helps you move in a straight line, and the next thing you know is that you’re at the foot of the stairs.
You look back, trying to make shapes out of the darkness, but there’s nothing there, you turn and begin your ascent.
You don’t know where he is, he could be two feet or two inches behind you and you wouldn’t know.
Your body is warm from the adrenaline, the dress constricts your breathing.
You stop for a second time when you find what you think is a tea room.
There’s a large wooden table sitting in front of an equally large window, the moonlight streaming in allows you to see that there’s a wall of mirrors on one side of the room. On the other side, is a smaller round table with a porcelain teapot, and other matching dishes.
“Surprise.” He says from right behind you, and you swear your heart jumps right out of your chest.
Before you can turn to look at him, your cheek is pressed to the large table, one hand behind your neck, the other pulls your skirts up.
When he has your ass exposed, his hand comes down hard on your soft flesh. You cry out.
“That’s for all your mouthing back.” He grunts, before spanking you again.
It hurts, stings so sweetly, you try to rise but his hand is firm on the spot between your neck and shoulder.
When he’s satisfied, he reaches down between your legs.
He clicks his tongue, his fingers swiping through the mess between your thighs.
“Look at the mess you made. Don't you have any kind of consideration for how hard I worked to put my cum in you?”
You feel him move, you assume to take his cock out. Your suspicions are confirmed when you feel him kick your legs wider, pressing his tip to your entrance.
You mewl helplessly when he enters you.
Stretched once more, he feels bigger in this position, his pace is harsh, fucking into you meaningfully, your eyes roll back in your head, spit slipping from past your lips as your face is kept pressed to the table.
You feel a sharp tug and your dress loosens, too pleasure drunk to figure out why.
The glide of his cock quells your urge to fight, your body sparking, electrified at the feeling of him.
He pulls you upwards, and the front of the dress sags, exposing your front to the air.
“Look at us.” He growls into your ear, turning your head to the mirror, you see your bodies reflecting back. Him, in his tight shirt and open pants, you with your beautiful shimmering dress caught between your bodies and hanging off your shoulders. It’s the first time for the night that you see his face, and your eyes are locked on how handsome he looks, hair askew, filling you with his magnificent erection.
He’d cut the back of your dress, you realise absentmindedly, your full breasts on display for him because of that, a small sound leaving your chest as he enters you again.
“We’re perfect together.” He acknowledges, you internally agree.
He presses his lips to your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror, his teeth flashing for a second before he bites you.
You cry out, the sweet burn of it only succeeds in making you want him more and more.
He doesn’t stop when you come, only slows for a moment to help you catch your breath before he continues.
“All mine now, princess.” He affirms, his hips slapping against yours, filling you till your vision blurs.
Deeper than ever, you feel his cock press securely to your cervix, eager to have him fill you with his cum.
You take a shuddering breath, so close to another orgasm, unable to think about anything with the way he feels.
Your nails claw at the table, willing your body to take him, your perfect husband, giving you just what you need. He groans above you, enjoying you almost as much as you enjoy him.
The pleasure builds, swimming in your head, worsening with each move of his cock inside of you. He holds nothing back, all of his energy is focused on filling you as hard and as fast as he can, leaving nothing behind but hot, near blistering, rapture.
You cry out when you come, body shuddering, a loud roaring in your head. He grunts loudly, following you over the edge, filling you with even more of his hot cum.
After a moment, he draws out of you, helping you stand, he gently pulls your dress off, discarding it on the ground, he reaches to scoop your swaying body into his arms.
You’re sated, unable to lift your head. You feel him rest you gently on a soft, cool bed.
The sheets are amazing on your overstimulated skin, and you peek your eyes open to watch him pull his tight fitting shirt over his head.
In the low light, your eyes find his tattoo, you smile softly as it ripples, watching him kick his shoes and pants off too, until he’s hovering above you, naked.
“You’re so gorgeous.” You whisper dreamily, raising a hand to press it to his cheek.
He lets out an air of amusement, he reaches around, gripping one of your legs to wrap it around his hip.
“Only the best for you, princess.” He hums, before you feel him push his cock into you once more.
You fall asleep to him fucking you, your adrenaline crashes after countless orgasms, and before you know it you’re out. You wake a few hours later to find him inside you once more.
You moan his name, your body still eager and receptive to him, having craved this side of him for so long.
“Messy pile of wife.” He grunts into your ear mid-thrust, “Just like I promised.”
There’s so much of his cum slipping out, you can feel it, you can’t wait for him to top you up with more.
He kisses your cheek, licks a stripe through the tears slipping from the corner of your eyes.
“Cum for me. One more time, baby.”
You gasp, nodding, head filled with cotton, floating in the clouds, lost in his essence.
You blink hazily after you feel the smooth metal plug slip in, soothing you with its coolness, arousing you with the reminder that he’s filled you to the brim.
You’re pressed against him, his hand wrapped securely around you. He stretches to reach something on the bedside table.
You’re almost asleep when you feel him slip your ring back onto your finger.
It makes you complete, eases any lingering worry.
“I love you, Billy.” You murmur, before you finally let sleep take you.
.
It wakes him up.
He blinks in shock, turning to look at you.
You’ve already fallen asleep, breaths even with your left hand pressed to his chest.
Had you really just said what he thinks you just said?
He considers shaking you awake, desperate to hear you say it again. To tell him what he’s been dreaming of for years.
What if it was a mistake? His mind asks.
His stomach drops.
What if you didn’t really mean it?
He swears he breaks his own heart in the moments after you say those four words.
He stays awake for a while, trying to memorise your words, the way you said them, the way they made him feel. He tries to learn the hour and the minute and the position of the moon in the sky at the very moment the words left your mouth.
He wonders if he’ll ever hear them again, wonders if this would be the only time in his life that you say these words to him.
If this is all he gets, he decides he’s going to cherish it.
“I love you too.” He whispers, with everything he has.
.
You’re curled up against him the next morning having breakfast when you finally take the time to examine your ring.
Your body is sore, having been fucked thoroughly, but you were a little proud to see the litany of scratches over the expanse of Billy’s back. You weren’t the only one marked last night.
You raise your hand to offer him a piece of your buttered croissant, he eagerly takes a bite.
“My ring looks the same. What did you change?” You ask, reaching for more jam.
“The inside.” He says with his mouth full.
You smile, pulling it off your finger to see what’s there. On the silver surface on the inside, you can see something engraved. At first you think it’s words, but as you bring the ring closer to your face you realise it’s numbers.
“I’m still confused.” You state.
He makes a little hum, having just swallowed his food.
“If you go to my bank, and show them this ring, and give them your fingerprint, you can withdraw from any of my personal accounts.”
You blink, your eyebrows drawing together.
After a moment you give him a confused look.
He chuckles, reaching up to cup your face, his thumbs smoothing over your tense eyebrows, encouraging them to relax.
“Any amount, little wife, any time.” He elaborates.
You blink in shock.
He was… giving you access to his money?
“Is that safe?” You ask warily.
“Planning to take all my money?” He teases.
“No! But- what if someone steals the ring… or… kidnaps me and forces me to take it?”
“That will never happen.” He promises, his fingers tightening on your cheek to reinforce his words, “As long as I’m breathing, and even if I’m not, you will always be safe.”
“You can’t stop breathing,” You fight back, leaning in to wrap your arms around him, “I won’t let you.” The words are muffled against his shirt.
He laughs.
“Noted.”
.
He grunts, his fingers curling over yours as they grip the back of the soft couch.
“Hold on.” He commands, just as he slides his amazing cock into your body.
You make a soft sound of delight, tipping your head back to rest on his chest. He groans into your ear, fucking up into you slowly and thoroughly.
His skin is hot, having spent the morning of the second day exploring the gardens outside, only to come back in and ravish you on the sitting room couch.
His left hand drops down, thick fingers find your swollen clit.
“Sing for me. Let me hear you, wife.”
You whine, the sensation of his fingers rolling over your clit makes your legs shake.
“Gonna take my cum like a good girl?” He grovels in your ear.
You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding, seeing stars as he rubs your clit with more fervour.
“Fucking perfect.” He moans, and the words go right to your cunt, setting you off.
He growls in your ear when you clench around him, it only makes your orgasm last that much longer, eager to have him cum, you roll your hips on his cock.
It succeeds in working him into a frenzy, and you’re face down, with your ass in the air in the next moment.
He licks your slit harshly before his cock slides right back in, moving faster, his hips set a brutal pace, your next orgasm is like a gunshot.
He falls beside you after he comes, out of breath with a dopey grin on his face.
“What is it?” You ask curiously.
“Nothing really,” He gasps, “I just feel really fucking good.”
You smile shyly, leaning up to kiss him.
.
You’re whisking eggs for french toast when his arms wrap around you.
He presses his nose into your hair, breathing in your soft smell.
“Morning.” He grovels into your ear, feels your body shiver.
“Hello Mister Russo. Sleep okay?’
He chuckles, remembering the feel of your lips around his cock as he came last night. Fuck, you were delightfully insatiable.
“Like a rock,” He confirms, “Join me for a bath?”
“Yeah,” You agree, “Let me finish this batch and I’ll be right there.”
“Don’t keep me waiting, little wife.” He whispers as he pulls back, reaches for an apple sitting in the basket nearby, taking a slow bite.
“I won’t. Love you.” You say absentmindedly.
Billy stops.
He turns to stare at your back in shock. You continue moving as if you haven’t said anything strange.
“What was that?” He asks.
You raise your head to glance at him.
“I’ll be right there.”
“No, the last part.”
You blink, a look of confusion on your face.
“I… love you?”
The room goes still, the only sound is the french toast as it sizzles.
“You love me?” He asks, his heart getting heavier and lighter at an alarming rate.
“Yeah? I-I said it to you on our first night. You- you said it back.”
He did remember saying it back.
“I thought you said it accidentally.”
You pause, reaching to turn the stove off, before facing him.
“You thought my tongue slipped and I told you I loved you without meaning it?”
Billy swallows.
“I thought the number of orgasms had gotten to your head and you were saying things that might not be totally true.”
Your eyebrows raise in realisation.
“It was true. I’ve been… feeling like that for a while.”
“Like you love me.” He says dumbly.
You nod your head.
“Like I love you.” You confirm.
This wasn’t an outcome Billy had ever seen coming. Sure, he’d been hoping for fondness, that he could give you a comfortable life and you could be content by his side.
But love?
Unthought of.
“Why the fuck would you love me?” He whispers, horrified.
He’d done so many bad things, ruined your life in so many ways.
You take a careful step in his direction.
“What’s not to love? You’re smart, and strong and you go after what you want-”
“-One of those things was you.” He argues.
You laugh. He wasn’t joking.
“Yeah, how I got here wasn’t the best, but, I’m glad I am, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
He takes a step toward you, and then another, and then his arms are pulling you into a soul crushing hug.
“You love me.” He murmurs into the top of your head.
“Yes,” You reply, holding him just as tightly, “I do.”
.
“Where are we anyway?” You ask on the fourth night.
He raises his head from between your thighs.
“Europe.” He answers vaguely, before dropping his head to lap gently at your clit once more.
You smile happily, leaning back against the library desk.
“Billy?”
“Mmm?” He hums from between your thighs.
“I love you.”
You feel the breath he lets out before he pulls back.
He kisses you, lips wet with your arousal, a tart taste on your tongue that makes you smile when he pulls away.
“I’ll show you how much I love you.” He mumbles, dropping to his knees once more.
.
Coming back to his apartment after that had felt surreal.
Like it was all a dream, the fucking best dream you’d ever had.
You’d been given a letter from your mother at the front desk, and you’d happily dropped it to the floor the minute Billy had pulled you into his arms for a slow kiss.
It was… magical, your fingers glazing through his beard, gripping his hair, the next thing you know you’re being lifted and taken to his bedroom.
The fire hadn’t left either of you, burning, sizzling sparks each time you touched, each time you held his hand or kissed his cheek.
He was all over you, inside and out, claiming you in a way you knew deep down would never be done by another.
“My wife.” He groans into your ear when he comes.
You pant, reaching up to kiss him, legs wrapped tightly around his hips to keep him inside of you for as long as possible.
Your husband.
.
He leaves you in the early morning of the next day. It’s training day and he wants to get there early to get a jump on what he’s missed.
He kisses a path between the valley of your breasts down to your womb before he leaves, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit. You grin happily as you fall back asleep.
Later, when it’s time for you to leave for work, you find that manila envelope your mom had sent you sitting on the kitchen counter. Billy had probably picked it up from the floor where you had left it yesterday when he was leaving for work earlier.
You reach for it after you’re done hopping around to tug your heel on.
It’s unopened, so you take your time peeling it open, wondering what it was. Last time it had been a bunch of recoloured family photos, you assumed this was probably more of the same.
It’s not, it’s a stack of papers. At first, it’s odd things like flyers for bikes, and a bouncy castle rental ad. You flip through, a little concerned that your mother might be losing her mind.
Your face falls when you flip another page, and find what’s really been sent.
SUPREME COURT OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK
You could feel your heart turn to ice.
You see your name printed under Plaintiff, and under Defendant, is Billy’s. Most of your information has been filled out, including your fucking social security number. Most of Billy’s information is missing, only his real name is there.
Then you see it.
‘The grounds for dissolution of the marriage are as follows:’
Divorce papers.
These were divorce papers.
.
.
.
A/N: DON'T HURT ME THANKS
#billy russo#billy russo x reader#accidentally on purpose#accidentally on purpose married billy#billy russo x female reader#my writings#the punisher#billy russo smut#dark!billy russo
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please enjoy enemies to lovers with patrick! no one asked but i’m very into the idea of patrick being an annoying cocky shit because i want to fuck him<3
enjoy my sweets~
Enemies to Lovers with Patrick Zweig
- you guys met at age 12 when you started at the same tennis academy that patrick went to
- your dislike for one another wasn’t immediate, in fact you thought patrick was really cute at first
- sure he was a bit cocky and he had no clue what personal space meant but he made your heart flutter regardless
- your beef with him only developed when he randomly decided you were his enemy of the week cause you got a ball past him
- he went from shooting you little smiles to giving you cocky looks
- as you grew older, you really started to dislike him
- you became friends with his best friend art and that irked him real bad
- told you one day to step off his court and leave his best friend alone
- you’re a competitive piece of shit so you start training even more and your friendship with art deepens
- this was the turning point for both of you to really dislike one another
- art is fighting for his life listening to you both shit talk each other
- one day, art asks you if your hatred is actually just lust
- he basically suggests fucking patrick n seeing if your emotions cool off
- you choke on your water and glare at him n he never mentions it again
- sure patrick is extremely hot and you catch yourself watching his arms whenever he plays
- but thats only because despite hating him, you can’t deny he’s a phenomenal player
- art’s suggestion worms its way into your brain though
- everything comes to a head when you two get into an argument over if the ball was in or out
- patrick claims it was in but you say that since you’re literally closer, you can see that it’s out
- he storms over to your side of the court and you guys are yelling at each other
- he briefly glances at your lips and that’s all it takes
- yall end up making out for the rest of practice
- you go back to his place and despite wanting to have sex, you both just cuddle in bed completely silently
- when you both cool off, patrick tells you that you drive him mad but he wants to kiss you all the time
- from that point on, you guys are dating even though no one formally asked
- you still bicker like an old married couple but it’s a lot more loving now
- art is celebrating except now he needs to pry you guys off each other if he wants to hang out
- patrick tells you that he knew that he was gonna get with you one day
- he only really argued with you because he found it hot whenever you got worked up
- despite how fiery he is, he cools down with you
- loud cocky fuck boy patrick is gone to the world as long as you’re with him
NSFW
- who said patrick zweig MUNCH!!
- not really submissive or dominant, he likes to fight for control with you
- on dominant days he’s a hair puller and very into dirty talk
- on more submissive days, he wants praise and biting
- wild in bed
- loves angry sex, it’s a lot better than both of you yelling at each other
- extremely gentle with aftercare when yall have angry sex
- has the stamina of a fucking horse, you’ll be recovering from a round and he’s ready to go at it again
- likes to sext, he’ll randomly send you texts to inform you that he’s hard and he misses you
- hates going on tour in general but hates it even more because you have to stay behind and he gets extremely lonely
- good at aftercare but is quick to fall asleep when he’s done cleaning you up
- loves when you’re sore but also hates it cause he doesn’t wanna throw you off your game
- make out king, he knows how to use his tongue
- can genuinely stay up the entire night if it means you’re in bed with him
- loves kissing and biting you to leave hickies
- loves it when you leave hickies in visible places, it’s his way of telling the people who ogle at him that he’s happy n taken care of at home
#challengers#challengers headcanons#challengers fic#patrick zweig#patrick zweig imagine#patrick zweig headcanon#patrick zweig x reader#enemies to lovers#artydonsgf
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I'm posting this to my own blog, since @qafi told me in a DM they didn't want my reply on their post calling Levi a "failure". They suggested I make my own post instead.
Essentially, they claimed that Levi's sense of "guilt" is what drove him to want to save people, which is what led him above ground and what, in turn, led to him "sacrificing" so many people for a so-called better world, which is what led to Eren being able to enact the Rumbling. Basically, in a roundabout way, blaming Levi for how things eventually turned out with Eren because he was "too noble and selfless", driven by, supposedly, a sense of guilt for being a "bad man", and wanting to atone for that. They claimed that his desire to save people is essentially what ended up getting so many people killed, and if he had just stayed Underground, more people would have survived.
I didn't agree with any of that, so this is what I wrote in reply.
I wouldn't give so much weight to the idea of Levi being driven by a sense of guilt, nor would I call Levi a "failure".
Levi wants to use his strength to help others because he feels he's duty bound toward that end, having something no one else does. That comes from a natural inclination toward selflessness and generosity, which manifests in the form of protection.
It was Erwin who laid out a path that allowed Levi to utilize his strength to its maximum potential. But the desire to help others was always there in Levi, born of an innate empathy within him.
This quote from Isayama sums it up:
"It's that he found a place to make the most of what he can do, or rather, his own special abilities. Underground, where it was all he could do to stay alive, he had to live for that, but then he started to form relationships and began to feel that he could do things for others. And that's why he first went above ground... And then... he felt like he should make the most of what he can do. Or he was awakened to a sense of mission, I should say."
Erwin shows him the path toward utilizing his strength to it's actual potential, but the instinct to protect and help and save was always there in Levi.
We see this play out in "Bad Boy" with Levi's desire to protect his mother's memory. He only initially fights back against the men to protect Kuchel's honor. That's a sign of the empathetic nature in Levi, that even after years of lessons from Kenny in how to fight and commit violence and even to take lives, all to protect himself, Levi's instinct is to fight only in defense of another.
That isn't something learned, and we see this instinct in him displayed before he would ever have felt any sense of guilt from what the man in the glasses says to him. That we see that selflessness in him from the start shows it's not driven by or rooted in guilt, but simply a component of his nature.
The very fact of Levi taking Furlan and Isabel under his wing is also proof of an innate desire to help others. He didn't need to help them, and indeed, Levi would undoubtedly have had an easier time surviving on his own than with the added burden of two extra mouths to feed.
The thing one has to remember is that, Levi was of very limited means to help anyone Underground. He wasn't considered a citizen of Paradis, and he had no immediate means to make it up to the surface, and so had no recourse toward really utilizing his abilities on a broader scale than what he was already doing, that is, using his physical strength to defend those weaker than himself in a brutally harsh and cut-throat environment. That's what we see him do with his rescue of Furlan and Isabel. Again, that's Levi's natural empathy manifesting. But Levi had no path toward saving "more people" at that point. He could only do so much while trapped in the social status of being a resident of the Underground City. Being denied citizenry, he wouldn't have been allowed to join the military, for example. And Levi's own sense of imagination when it comes to using his strength is limited. We know this from Levi's own sense of directionlessness after Erwin dies. He relied on Erwin to show him what to do. So it wasn't so much a lack of desire to help others that kept Levi Underground, but a limited imagination, and also a lack of means.
Once he made it up top, we see that natural inclination to help others play out multiple times. For, example, when he saves the life of the solider who'd endangered his own by cutting him off mid-flight on the SC obstacle course. And we also see Levi display an empathetic concern for the scouts chasing him, before they ever even make it up top, hoping no one got hurt in their pursuit of him through the streets of the Underground. We also see Levi's concern for Flagon and the rest of his squad at the end of the story, not wanting Isabel and Furlan to come with him, in part, because he knew without them, Flagon's squad would be shorthanded, and thus, more susceptible to titan attack.
Levi didn't know what his strength could be used for up to the point he saved Furlan and Isabel because nobody ever showed him. Kenny abandoned him, and Levi was left without explanation for why he was so powerful.
His reaction to his discovery that he could use his strength to aid others was to then feel a weight of responsibility toward that end, and that in itself is a manifestation of his selfless nature. Because nobody ever taught him either that he should feel that way.
So I maintain that he never decided to use his strength to help others to sooth some sense of guilt in himself over disappointing his mother. If that were the case, Levi either would have vowed never to kill again, or he would have displayed an increasing sense of guilt and self-loathing over killing others, which we never see Levi do at any point in the story. He kills because he thinks it's necessary. As he tells Jean later, he doesn't know if it's right or wrong, just that it's a necessary act toward a particular outcome. There's no sense of moral quandary in Levi's acts of violence, no agonized worry or wondering over his actions being morally correct. He doesn't see it as a good thing, but neither does he see it as a bad thing. He kills and commits violence for purely utilitarian purposes. When it's necessary toward saving either himself or others. Questions of guilt or remorse never come into it. It's simply a question of factual reality.
Again, Levi didn't even realize his strength could be used to help others until he was essentially full grown. It was that discovery which compelled him toward that decision, not a sense of guilt.
That shows a natural inclination toward selflessness, just like him fighting for his mother, but not himself, does. That selflessness lead to him searching for an answer as to the reason for his great strength, this in spite of Kenny teaching him it was meant for his own power, which eventually lead to him realizing it could be used to help others. Once Levi discovered that, he was always going to be someone who used his strength toward that end.
I don't think Levi ever truly believed in a "better world", either. I think Levi always knew that the goal of the Survey Corps was a pipe dream, and that he, personally, never truly saw it as worth the lives of his comrades. But he supported it because it was what his comrades had chosen to give their lives for, and, again, Levi believed his strength was meant to support them in whatever way they chose to live those lives. His protective instincts found an outlet in supporting the scouts mission, for the scouts themselves, not for some far-off Utopian future.
His taking on the responsibility of Eren was also toward that end. Levi didn't want to use Eren as a weapon. It was Erwin's decision to bring Eren into the scouts, and Levi trusted in Erwin's judgement, believing he had a vision beyond Levi's own scope of imagination. Remember, again, how Levi wasn't able to imagine for himself a better way to utilize his strength beyond helping a single individual at a time, and even before then, he wasn't able to imagine that he strength could be used toward that limited end. And that ties back to Levi not ever truly believing in or seeing the possibility of a better world, but simply doing everything within his power to support and protect the ability of others to choose for themselves. Levi's mind is one of practicality and pragmatism. He isn't a dreamer. He let Erwin use him as a weapon because he trusted in Erwin's judgement more than his own instincts, and trusted in Erwin to make the best use of his strength. He believed Erwin could see something he couldn't.
And so Levi's disappointment in the end doesn't have to do with his own failure to realize the Scouts dreams, I don't think. Their dream was realized. A world without titans was brought to fruition. It was made reality. They succeeded.
Levi's disappointment in the end is because what he knew all along turned out to be true. Which is that that dream was never worth the lives they gave.
He supported them because it was how they chose to spend their lives, the cause they dedicated themselves to. But it was never something Levi himself believed in. There's a reason Levi never says "dedicate your heart" until near the very end, with Hange. Because Levi never believed in the ideology of an ideal or Utopian world being worth the lives of his comrades. He believed the opposite, that the thing his comrades sacrificed themselves for needed to prove its worth to them. His single salute at the end is for all his fallen comrades, for them personally, not the ideology behind the Survey Corps itself.
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Hello! If u don't mind i would like to req Tom Riddle x m!reader where reader is an exchange student and surprise surprise he's a parselmouth! So let's say, speaking with animals r common on where he live, n obviously Tom was intrigued
U can do anything w this prompt, sfw, nswf, whatever! I js need to feed my TR brainrot
omg yes!! this is a brilliant idea!!! thank you for requesting, I love this prompt so much
the TR brainrot is so real😔
I made the reader confident, because I felt like they would be interesting to someone as narcissistic as Tom, and he'd probably feel more curious about the new boy who seems so oddly comfortable in what should be this new, unfamiliar environment.
hope you enjoy!
tags: x male reader, kinda ooc Tom? (not really though, this is how I imagine he would act around others at Hogwarts, seeing as he was supposed to be charming and perfect, you know?), suggestive thoughts (Tom has pretty interesting thoughts about reader 😏), cocky!reader, use of y/n, not beta-read
word count: 1564
Fresh Face - TR x male!Slytherin!reader
The Great Hall buzzed with chatter, friends catching up after the holidays, first-years being welcomed to their new houses, excitement and general anticipation for the new year. Tom sat, surrounded by his friends, making idle small talk with a pleasant smile painted on his face.
Suddenly, McGonagall stood at the podium, gesturing for silence. A respectful hush fell over the Hall as people broke off their conversations to tune in.
Some keen individuals began to notice that the Sorting Hat was still out. Other even more observant students noticed the figure stood off the side of McGonagall. Some particularly enterprising students made the connection between these two observations, and concluded that this figure was a new student, about to be sorted.
But that still left the question: why was he separated from the first years?
Only one specific student, Tom, noticed that the figure was a young boy, around his age, who stood with confidence and a calmness that was odd for someone clearly in an unfamiliar environment. Tom also noticed that the boy was dressed in brand new school robes, unmarked but pressed and proper, high quality and perfectly tailored, highlighting the boy’s long legs and muscular chest and strong thighs and-.
Tom moved on.
He noticed more. He noticed movement.
Movement?
Yes, right there, on the boy’s shoulders, around his neck (and what a lovely neck it was, Tom wanted to know what it would look like bruised and with his hands wrapped around it-). A dark, sleek thing, winding about the boy, a small, narrow head, a flicking tongue...
A snake?
Tom watched, in curiosity, as the snake shifted, pressing its face close to the boy's ear, hissing something Tom couldn’t hear, too far away. He watched, in shock, as the boy chuckled, slanting a gaze towards the snake and rolling his eyes (Godric, what Tom wouldn’t give to see those gorgeous eyes roll for another reason-).
Bloody hell, what was with him today, these cursed thoughts were getting out of hand.
Tom watched, intrigued and definitely not obsessively so, as the boy (a parseltongue?), turned back to the podium, attention back on Professor McGonagall, who had finished her speech.
Tom was ashamed to realise he had heard absolutely none of it, and he could only watch as McGonogall turned to the mysterious boy, calling him up.
“Y/n Y/l/n, if you could please come up.” McGonagall called out.
Well, at least he knew his name.
Tom watched as the boy strode up the stage, nodding politely at Professor McGonagall, a small gesture of respect and deference that detracted nothing from his confidence. The snake was still on the boy's shoulders, mostly hidden by the boy’s robes.
The boy, Y/n, sat down on the chair, elegant and comfortable, waiting as McGonagall placed the hat on his head. Y/n’s eyes slipped shut for a moment, a small smirk spread across his face as he opened them again, a loud declaration of “Slytherin!” ringing out across the Great Hall from the old hat.
Tom found that a small, barely noticeable twitch had occurred on his own lips, tugging them slightly upward in a mirror of Y/n’s smirk. Tom quickly reigned in his features, unfortunately not before Mattheo, his younger brother, noticed it, a teasing smirk spreading across his face, an expression promising misery later.
Suddenly, gasps rang out across the Great Hall, and Tom watched in awe as the boy gracefully stood from the seat, each movement powerful and controlled. That wasn’t what the mindless fools about him were gasping at, however. They were gaping at the beautiful, gorgeous snake on Y/n’s shoulders, uncurling from where it was looped about his neck, baring its head and hissing out at the crowd.
“Look at these idiots.”
Tom raised a brow at the snake’s rather offensive comment.
Y/n chuckled, a hand lifting to stroke at the snake’s head, a languid smirk on his face as he walked off the stage, joining the Slytherin table amidst hesitant cheers and staggered applause.
“I know, Nyx, I know. But it’s rather funny isn’t it?”
Tom could barely hold back the smirk as he heard your response.
“I suppose...”
Tom grunted in surprise, glaring at Mattheo, who had elbowed him in the ribs, and at Theo and Enzo, who were snickering behind their hands and avoiding his gaze by collapsing into each other.
“What’s got you gawking, Tommy?” Mattheo asked, a cocky smirk on his face as he avoided Tom’s retaliation.
“None of your business.”
“Aww come on, don’t be like that Tommy. I’m your little brother, it’s practically my duty to make it my business.”
Tom scowled, swatting at Mattheo’s head and slapping him, hard.
Mattheo whined, rubbing his head and glaring at Tom.
“You’re mean. And your boy is staring at you.”
Tom was embarrassed at how quickly he turned his head, the tips of his ear flushing slightly and a scowl fixing on his face as Mattheo cackled with Theo and Enzo, laughing at him.
All thoughts of revenge and fratricide were chased out of his mind as he looked at you, your (beautiful, merlin) eyes already staring at him, meeting in a thrilling clash of wills.
The snake, Nyx, flicks its tongue, looking at Tom assessingly.
A shame you were seated so far, Tom had no means of speaking with you right now. Whatever, he was a Prefect, and in your new house. He’d find time.
You smiled passively before turning away, paying attention to the young boy engaging you in conversation.
Tom, too, turned back to his brother and friends, scowl returning as he watched them falling over each other and howling with laughter.
****
You were reading peacefully in the common room, catching up on topics covered at Hogwarts your old school hadn’t covered, when you felt a presence approaching you, and the cold nose of Nyx, your pet snake, pressing against your neck. You look up, seeing Tom Riddle, Slytherin’s perfect prince, heading towards you.
You slid a bookmark into your textbook, marking the page before closing it and setting it aside. As Tom approaches you, he smiles pleasantly, eyes calculating as he greets you.
“Y/l/n, right? Nice to meet you, I’m Tom Riddle, the Slytherin prefect.” He extends a hand, elegant, pale, and slender. You take it, shaking it in yours and noting how cool it was to the touch in contrast to your own warmth.
“Yes, nice to meet you, Riddle.”
Nyx raises her head, peering at Tom.
“Hello, speaker.” she hisses, and you turn to the snake, brows lifting in surprise. You had been warned that Hogwarts had no speakers.
“Hello, I am Tom Riddle, what is your name?” Tom speaks back, calm and collected.
“Nyx. You seem more intelligent than the buffoons around us.”
You laugh, fond amusement at your snake’s discontent with the lack of intellect surrounding you.
“Sorry about her, she’s crabby about the move.” You hiss, speaking to Tom as you pet Nyx’s smooth scales.
“I was told there were no speakers at Hogwarts. That it was considered... Dark arts.” you speak, tone questioning as you raise a brow at Tom, your eyes appraising.
He just smirks, his eyes equally calculating. “It is considered Dark, yes. And no-one but my closest friends and trusted know of me. You are quite bold to have revealed your... talents, so readily to the whole school, Y/l/n.”
Tom was intrigued, fascinated, curious even. (obsessed~ sings a voice in the back of Tom’s head that sound suspiciously like Mattheo)
“They can’t do anything about me, and I refused to leave Nyx lonely and unattended.” you shrug, smiling at Tom.
“You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Tom raises his brow, smirking at you.
You smirk at him as you pick up your book, standing and walking past him to your dorm room.
“I’ll see you around, Riddle.” You call out over your shoulder.
Tom chuckles to himself as you walk away (and salazar, that ass-), before turning away to return to his dorm for the night.
The minute he walked into the dorm, he was greeted by jeering and snickering from all fronts, Mattheo, Lorenzo, Theodore, the assholes three.
He ignored the hollering of the three idiots, and strode into the en suite bathroom, showering and getting ready for bed.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, it was to be met with Mattheo and Theo looping arms around his shoulders and walking him over to their bed, one either side, and Lorenzo sprawled on his bed, laughing his head off as the Theo-duo menaces traded matching smirks and launched into a merciless interrogation and endless teasing.
****
After substantial ribbing and general bullying from all three fronts, and Mattheo being dramatic and snuggling with Theo and Lorenzo cooing over him in a bed together after Tom hexed him, Tom settled into his own bed, his eyes slipping shut as he systematically went through the memories of his day, filing them away as was demanded.
Eventually, he fell into his memories of you.
Y/n Y/l/n.
Parseltongue, exchange student, smart, snarky, confident. (hot, gorgeous, delicious-)
Curiouser and curiouser.
Tom smirked to himself as he crafted a new room in his mind, one just for you.
He fell asleep with one thought in his mind.
This was going to be interesting.
****
Word Count: 1564
I might do a continuation of this eventually, it's a great idea! thank you so much for the request @prettorett I hope you enjoy this!
🥰🥰
tag: @helendeath
this is the fic haha
#tom marvolo riddle#tom riddle#slytherin boys#my fic#fanfic#x male reader#male y/n#tom riddle x male reader#lorenzo berkshire#theodore nott#mattheo riddle
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Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @this-was-a-terrible-idea behind the cut; nineties "Captain America" ride or die.
( chrono || non-chrono )
Hawaii is . . . a place. The asset might actually hate it, which is almost a novelty at this point in its existence. Hating something that isn’t a fascist organization or a murderous supervillain is something it honestly thought it’d forgotten how to do.
It’s a weapon, after all. A weapon and a thing and not enough of a person to hate things like “getting too much sun” and “too many tourists on the beach”.
There really are a fucking lot of tourists, though.
The asset suspects that Captain America just picked up the first brochure he saw at the airport and has been following its advice, as opposed to, he doesn’t know, asking a single fucking local where a quieter place to hang out might be?
Then again, Captain America seems to be enjoying the scenery. By which the asset means people-watching all the pretty dames in unexpectedly skimpy swimsuits. Which is definitely not typical Captain America behavior, but . . . well, what the hell does the asset know, anyway? The kid’s closer to the height it remembers, at least, if still a lot thicker. And his face looks right. And his tendency to get himself punched in the face, that’s right too.
The eyes are definitely right.
The asset gave Captain America its leather jacket for civilian camouflage on the way here. The kid proceeded to wear it over the damn armor because he refuses to wear anything but the armor, and also sewed a giant white star patch to the back of it and bought the douchiest sunglasses that the future has ever produced to wear with it. The asset has never previously seen cause to use the word “douchiest” in cold blood, but Captain America has once again expanded its horizons in new and unanticipated ways.
Fuckin’ punk.
“Punk” has some different definitions in the future, apparently, but Captain America seems determined to live up to all of them.
The asset also hates punk music, it turns out. Go figure.
How the fuck do people even dance to that shit, though?
. . . well, now it sounds like an actual centenarian, it guesses. Great. Which it is, technically, but that’s not the fucking point, alright? It’s a goddamn old man yelling at the kids on the corner for playing too loud or whatever, apparently.
As much as it counts as a “man”, anyway, old or not.
“Damn,” Captain America whistles, peering over his glasses at the back of a very pretty dame who’s just walked by.
The asset is increasingly certain something is awry here.
“You really should pick an alias, Cap,” it says.
“Why?” Captain America says, wrinkling his nose at it.
Because there is absolutely no way HYDRA is not going to find us while you’re walking around in their gear in public with their shield on your back, but I would like to at least PRETEND we’re trying to hide, the asset doesn’t say.
“It’d make it easier to avoid HYDRA’s attention,” it says instead. Baby steps or whatever.
Captain America, unfortunately, is still the same stubborn little shit he’s always been, and “baby steps” have absolutely never worked on him.
“So what?” he says. “We’ll just kick their asses if they do.”
The asset really should’ve known better.
“Understood,” it says instead of You’re a fucking idiot, kid, because . . . because it’s not the person who’s allowed to say things like that to Captain America.
It doesn’t have the right to be that person anymore.
Doesn’t deserve to be.
“Wanna hit the waves?” Captain America suggests. The asset will literally never want to do that, but supposes it should appreciate being asked for its opinion.
“No,” it says. Captain America doesn’t tase it for the refusal, which is . . . novel, again.
It really had forgotten how to say that word, it thinks, but Captain America has definitely reintroduced it to its vocabulary. Both in DC and in that lab, and especially ever since following him out of that lab.
The asset was really not prepared to have to explain why the legal drinking age applies to Captain America, for one thing. Though it’s not like alcohol really affects him, so . . .
It’s very difficult to explain to Captain America why a rule or law that he thinks is stupid or irrelevant is a rule or law that he should still consider listening to, is the thing. More accurately, it’s a fucking moron’s game, and most of the time the best the asset can do is distract or reroute him.
Still. Walking into a club or bar in HYDRA-issue stars-and-stripes body armor and ordering a cocktail that looks like the damn Fourth of July while undeniably a teenager would definitely draw both unnecessary and unwanted attention.
Also, the drinks are too damn expensive these days anyway, to say nothing of the damn cover charges. If the asset hears that “inflation” bullshit one more time, it’s gonna go goddamn dig up Reagan and kill him deader.
Trickle-down economics its ass.
“C’mon, Buck, you’re supposed to be the fun one, aren’t you?” Captain America teases it with a smirk, pushing his stupid douchey sunglasses up into his hair. The asset cannot think of a single thing more “fun” than avoiding ending up in HYDRA’s many arms again. Not regularly getting its brains fried out of its head is in fact the most fun it’s ever had in its life.
Seriously. Fuck everything else except that. There is not a single damn thing the asset wouldn’t rather do than that.
Except for be face-to-face with Steve Rogers again, obviously.
“I’m too busy sweatin’ to death for fun, Cap,” it says dubiously, hitching its heavy duffel bag up a little higher on the metal shoulder that’s currently mostly-camouflaged by a denim jacket and an unfortunate embarrassment of a Hawaiian shirt that Captain America had laughed at it for wearing. The asset doesn’t experience embarrassment when the alternative is sticking out like a sore thumb and obvious target, for obvious reasons, but Captain America apparently didn’t get that memo and had again refused to wear anything but the body armor.
Christ’s sake, they’re on a goddamn tropical island. Isn’t that fucking hot?
Stubborn little shit.
The stupid bullheaded stubbornness is SOP for Captain America, at least.
“Toldja you were overdressed,” Captain America hums. The asset rolls its eyes, which is a strange impulse, but it does it before it thinks better of it and then it’s already done it, so fuck it.
“You’re wearin’ a leather jacket and fuckin’ nanobot-enforced Kevlar right now,” it reminds him dubiously.
“Breathes pretty good, actually,” Captain America says with a grin, adjusting his lapels as he preens.
The asset genuinely does not know what its life even is anymore.
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Super Sankta 2 Exu sounds like an excellent idea Zerav. For maximum meme, she's a John Wick style Guard- just uses guns to bash in people's skulls.
Super Sankta 2 Exu whose going John Wick style on people is funny but my concept for Exia Alter was always based on like, the concept that Skadi Alter first introduced that we all thought at the time was gonna be the standard fare for alters
My Ultimate Sankta vs Exia 3 concept was based around the idea of a "Bad End" Exia the way Skadi Alter is, where Exia would be further mechanized ala Executor and become an emotionless seraphim-type unit who would essentially be the ultimate Sankta weapon. This would happen as the result of Laterano having some kind of big event that would cause them to pull all remaining Sankta from all corners of Terra for their promised day of ascension where they would leave Terra and all its problems behind, with certain Sankta (Like Exia) essentially being the vanguards and protectors of these people (I essentially just took the idea of the Rapture and assigned it to the Sankta), with the event concept in question being Penguin Logistics invading this holy land to save their girl.
So like. you can imagine how hard ive been popping off with all the new lore reveals we've gotten over the past 2 years. That said, this concept is a little outdated, and just leaving it at that would be no fun
So here's my pitch for how Exia Alter 4: The Quest For Peace would go with modern foresight (added read more because reasons)
The Popes basement computer in Zwillingsturme just let out a directive that they need to gather their best Sankta to fight against the end of the world. This is in conjunction with the last few events squarely tying together Iberia's Seaborn plotline with both Laterano and Siracusa and their dividing faiths. Now, all of this is in conjunction with the hints we've been getting that Penguin Logistics is going to split up (Lappland and Mostima have already flown the coop, and currently the rest are in Siracusa helping Texas the Amogus, but that will likely not last especially bc Exia's own anniversary line all but majorly hints at this split happening because they all got different stuff going on)
If Penguin Logistics splits, Exia will well and truly be left without a support system.
Now, Exia has always been kind of off as far as Sankta go, because for all intents and purposes she shouldn't be out of place: We see just how Sankta tend to act in Guide Ahead, and Exia didn't really seem all that different. Yet, when we look at her history and actions (she was basically kicked out, she was super accident prone which made other Sankta hate her, as part of Penguin Logistics shes constantly drunk, Texas herself says that Exia being an optimist makes her different, etc), she's actually Really different.
Almost like she has an abnormality compared to other Sankta. Me and a few others (check out @annierosaart post here) have speculated on her being different, but we also don't really know WHY: Even if she was suddenly disconnected from the Sankta empathy powers, we don't see any indication of how, and unlike Ezell we don't have any sort of 'wake-up' moment for her.
But given the weirdness about her and her lines, I think I know what the exact nature of her abnormality may be (and heres my pitch) when looking at the most relevant characters who have abnormalities, namely Executor and Arturia, because I think she falls in line with them (shameless plug to my old exia/executor buddies post):
Executor's abnormality is that his emotions are incredibly muted compared to others. He isn't heartless or emotionless, but more that his heart and mind runs on rationale and logic first and foremost, which almost disqualified him from being canonized had he also not been Laternos single most competent man because saint fedex is entirely disconnected from caring about petty things like being racist.
Arturia's abnormality is that she is receptively empathetic to the point she has nothing within her. She can remove the inhibitions of people, and this is in service to understanding them, because she lacks an understanding of herself: She has a grand dream of an empathy for the world even beyond the Sankta Empathy power, and to accomplish this she draws out the emotions that people hide. As a result, she reflects the emotions of others within herself and thus is incredibly empathetic to the point she's also lacking in emotions and a self.
Exia? I think that her abnormality is that she's too emotional, that the emotions she feels are far more amplified compared to others.
I believe this for a couple of reasons: All the weirdness surrounding her aside, whats the one thing that's always defined Exia? Her Rapid Casting EX. It's always been memed about, but simply firing a single bullet from a gun is akin to casting an Arts attack, with guns serving as a type of wand in these cases. Exia is the only character within the series whose been noted to be so fast with her arts and casting.
This post here does a phenomenal job expanding on this point, but Arts are an expression of the soul, they're influenced by emotions and become stronger with them because they are ultimately expressions of the self, which all characters in and of themselves having a "unique" arts inherent to them. Hell, all of Leithaniens arts are based around using musical expression, while Sarkaz are noted for their arts based on souls and memory, with the literal main heroine of Arknights having an empathy based arts superpower.
Exia, having Super Emotion as her Sankta halo abnormality, could explain why shes so good at gun, even without Oripathy, because said emotions are boosting her casting ability. Remember, anyone can use originum arts, it's just that oripathy is needed for them to be able to do it without a casting device.
This heightened emotion could also possibly explain her crush on Mostima, and even why Mostima is so weird/cruel about her: Mostima was simply a childhood friend alongside her and her sister, and yet when she left for Lungmen, Exia was hot on her trails and then waited 4 YEARS to be beside her and meet her again. She joined Penguin Logistics specifically because of Mostima. It's incredibly likely that Exia might have just had a small crush on her that then spiraled heavily because of this, and Mostima (with her chronic backstory-itis letting her find out that the whole Sankta and halo thing is a scam from her op files and events) might even be aware of this aspect of Exia, and may have wanted her to get over it, always leaving to try and make Exia move on but also always coming back because she needs to look after Exia. After all, if Exia had heightened extreme emotions, what are the chances she could die of grief? She already gets drunks regularly, and despite being cheerful and optimistic, Exia is wearing a mask hiding an incredibly depressed individual.
It could also be possible that the reason why Exia never noticed this is because while it doesn't let other Sankta feel her emotions, she can still feel that of others. She's always confused as to why back in Laterano people always accused her of being disingenuous, because can't they feel her emotions? Well, if she has Super Emotions, it could potentially be overloading her halo, so while she can receive signals, they can't be felt by others. Moreover, this mechanical aspect blends in well with her E2 art, where she is the single operator in the game without an animal/living motiff
Even other Sankta have birds and/or human statues and robotic elements (funnily enough, Executor Sniper only has crosses but even then he is clearly being themed as specifically an angel), but Exia? She has her guns, becoming wings as a ring forms with them. She's literally ascending while her wings become darker.
So what does all this mean?
Well, the Pope's basement bonzi buddy just sent out a directive for the Pope to gather the best Sankta to fight against the end of the world, and who else to recruit but a vulnerable, lonely Sankta who was kicked out for being TOO destructive? Exia's profile does make mention that despite appearances, she is also incredibly pious just like other Sankta, and if the Pope himself came knocking, wanting to give Exia a place back in Laterano, and in a high ranking, respected position no less?
She would jump at the chance, not only to be beside her sister (and possibly Mostima), but also to be accepted back into Laterano society.
Executors own halo has a mechanized element to it, where he also gains more parts to it when he goes from normalest man to saint fedex, so he likely underwent some kind of modification to go along with his promotion, especially because he also now carries an Nier Automata companion cube with him straight from the machine
If Exia is to be canonized, she might be adjusted in a similar way by The Law.
She might even be fully altered into becoming Laterano's perfect weapon to fight against the end of the world. The Witch King himself describes this approaching threat as a void of infinite knowledge which seeks to eliminate them, an unshakeable truth of existence that drives people insane.
The Creator must perish.
What better weapon to fight against such a thing than one who feels her own emotions so strongly she cannot be swayed? Or better yet, an equally as unshakeable, emotionless machine?
#forgive this humble blogger for the late reply he had simply forgor#zerav meta#arknights#this post became waaaaaaaaaay longer than intended but IM LETTIN IT ALL OUT
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Could i request the wilder boy trio letting a blind merlin feel around their features to put faces to their voices? Also plz imagine the comedy of merlin trying to run their hands alllll the way up eironns antlers but theyre too short to reach or getting jumpscared by lorsan's fluffy ears because they didnt know he had them.
Blind Merlin! Feels the Wilder Boy’s face.
Please let me know if any of this is disrespectful! I tried.
Eironn
Eironn is a little puzzled by the request, but he complies.
Eironn respects you immensely, as Merlin, and as a person, so he bows to your request, quite literally, kneeling on the ground so as to give you better access. He knows he is quite tall, and thus, he felt it was best to allow you to have the full picture. He also tells you he’s kneeling. Should you ask him to stand up so that you have a better idea of his height, he obliges immediately.
He doesn’t know much about how to accommodate blindness, but he’s very willing to learn and to listen to any requests you have.
He feels how your fingers drag down his cheeks, feeling his nose and his brow, and does his best not to move. He’s a bit flustered by how intimate this feels, but he remains resolute. He’s rather gentlemanly in this way.
He feels a bit awkward, he knows he probably shouldn’t move, but is it alright to blink? To move his face? He wants to make sure you have a complete picture.
As you touch his antlers, and he feels you gasp in surprise, he jolts. “Is-is something the matter?” He says, worried, did you prick yourself on something? Or scared? Or worse…disgusted?
“I didn’t realise-“ Your fingers graze along the bone, “No one told me about how big your antlers are! They must be beautiful, and your hair-its so soft!”, You stroke his locks with your fingertips.
He can’t help but smile as your hands go alll the way up his antlers, feeling the tips. You-you can’t even reach, that’s…adorable. Why is he so flustered by this?
Should you compliment him on his features, he coughs in his hand, blushing. It’s not the first time he’s been complimented, but from you, with such sincerity, it feels…different.
Byron
Byron agrees immediately. He blindfolds himself for his own training voluntarily, but even he has Elona as a guide, and his skills as a wind whisperer, he holds a great deal of respect for you, and maybe privately talks to you about how you navigate the world without seeing, hoping to implement it to his own training. He even gives you his own tricks, should you wish to ask him. He also, perhaps, knows the most about any stigma against blindness, since so many assume he is blind. Heck, he’ll even lend Elona to you should you ask. She’s basically a trained seeing-eye bird already.
His only wish is that it is to be done in private. He leads you to a safe place and bends low so that you can have better access.
Otherwise, he treats you very normally, though he’s careful not to startle you.
He’s rather silent as you touch him, only speaking when you ask him questions about colors or certain features. He’s as still as a statue, allowing you to touch his face at your leisure. He makes no remarks about how he feels, and no one can tell whether he’s affected by this interaction at all.
It’s only when you reach the sides of his ears (You didn't realise they were so fluffy at the end!) that you tilt your head, something is…off. Oh. You don’t feel the cloth around his temples. And as you trace a line from the sides of his head to his brows, you still can’t feel it.
“Did..you take off your blindfold?” You ask, gently grazing his eyelids.
“Yes,” He says, his voice Low and simple, “I can put it back on again, if you wish.”
If you ask him what color his eyes are, he obliges immediately. You likely have a clearer picture of his face than most people now.
It’s been a long time since someone has touched his face like this, and he perhaps felt his heart go a little faster at your touch. Especially if you compliment him. But he’ll never tell anyone about what occured.
Lorsan
I think you broke him. Yeah, yup he’s broken. He goes very quiet, and his hands twitch.
Lorsan probably describes everything around you should you ask, in lovely, flowery detail so vivid you can imagine it in your head. He’s not above playing pranks, or embellishing things (just a little!) to you, but he wasn’t expecting you to request to actually touch his face.
“One second, magister!” He says, too cheerfully. He then pulls out his hairbrush and passes it through his ears, and his hair as quickly as he can.
“Done!” He crows, throwing the brush back into his bag, and makes a mock bow towards you.
Dude is chatty throughout the whole thing, talking about any sort of thing he can imagine. It’s mostly to distract himself, If you tell him to shut up, he will shut up, though he might twitch a bit.
Being touched like this was very…nice, he hopes you can’t feel the heat on his cheeks. His nervousness makes him anxious, and that’s why he moves around a bit. Thankfully,
As your hands brush against his head and get to the base of his ears, you gasp,
“What? What’s wrong?” He jerks his head back, concerned that he’d somehow hurt you.
“I-I didn’t realise you had bunny ears!” You say, your hands go back to his head, and you lightly run your palms over his ears again. “They’re so soft!”
Lorsan has the biggest grin on his face for the rest of the goddamn week. He is completely insufferable, especially if you talk about his ears to other people.
Though, if you try to pet him again in public, he gets a bit huffy and embarrassed.
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Can you do a Gitae Kim vs kwak Jichang who will wins reader heart headcanon?
Who will win readers heart?
May contain some suggestive ideas
Gitae
Okay I can understand that he is hot and "oh please ruin my life," but I don't know much about him. He is very cold-blooded and won't hesitate to take another person's life for his own satisfaction.
He gives off the same vibes as Eugene💀.
Hear me out: You cannot tell me Gitae is bad in bed- is swear this man is aggressive and will use you- some people may be into that. I mean, I wouldn't mind being tossed around (by goo)
I have a sense that even though he may be boy trash(positive), he is very loyal and protective. Insane but in a positive way. He will kill for you, he will die for you, he will stay by your side no matter what.
Would come home after a long fight with flowers and a box of cigarettes talking about "Short-cake, I got ya my favorite beer (emphasis on HIS favorite) but you wouldn't mind it. He does seem like the type to rub your back afterwards.
Would drive you around in his little junk car he spent a fortune trying to fix while blasting music. He seems like a careless driver, but anything for the trill ya know! He would drive at night on the highway, blasting music as he slams his foot on the gas pedal. One hand will be on your thigh while the other on the steering wheel.
He is very carefree about things. It doesn't matter if you dress like a slut or go out in lingerie because this man can FIGHT. If any man looks your way, he will just throw some sort of weapon at him. There is no need for him to go over there and kick his ass when anything around him can be used as a weapon.
THIS MAN WILL SPOIL YOU! Doesn't matter if he doesn't have money, he will find and spoil you. Though, he wont put in much effort into spoiling you. He will just be like "take my card babe," while he goes to kiss Charles' ass.
This dude? WOULD RUN AWAY WITH YOU!! All you gotta do is say so and this man will sweep you off your feet and start walking out the door. He wouldn't mind living in a cabin, as long as you cook. Will hunt a bear with his bare hands.
Jichang
They say the guys with a J name will mess your life up, WRONG!!! (unless yall break up). this FINE MAN will treat you right. Yall already KNOW that this man is classy. Will treat you right. Very Loyal.
I lowkey feel like this dude has attachment issues. He can only focus on one thing (person) at a time. So you gotta make sure his eyes aren't on anyone else's.
Though, he would love spoiling you. He would put more thought into it, buying your favorite things. He would rent out a venue just because you said you wanted to dance, buying you an expensive dress that you saw on Pinterest, a display of food on the table as he stands there in his suit. "Princess, this is all for you."
He would make a house a home- you cannot tell me this man doesn't know how to cook. All you need to do is give him a recipe and watch him cook. He will pick you up by the waist and place you on the counter. "Give me a min hon," he says before placing a peck on the lips, then goes back to cooking.
WILL HOLD THE DOOR OPEN FOR YOU!!!! IDC IDC
Stares at you in awe all the time idc idc this man STARES at you.
He is the comforter, always comforting you. He will cuddle with you in his arms, play with your hair, feed you sweets, all while whispering cute little things in your ear. I fear this man loves romance a little too much.
WILL TRY TO GET INSPIRATION TO TREAT YOU RIGHT OFF TV SCENES. Hear me out. In a movie he will see some cringe kissing scene reenact it with you. Its more like, you both are on a date outside, walking by the beach, he would spin you around by grabbing onto your shoulder then kiss you. This cringe mf.
I got a lot of good things to say about this man idk hes just a lover.
I think it depends on the man you prefer. We are all delulu here. If you prefer a more insane and possessive (Gitae) or a more calm and classy man (Jichang).
#Wow prob the second ask ive ever gotten LMAO#please how dare you compare my perfect man jichang to that trash gitae#I dont hate gitae hes just- gives serial killer vibes#hot but nothing good about him ya know- at all#Same with gun and goo but we dont know much about gitae#lookism#lookism thoughts#gitae#kwak jichang#jichang thoughts#kim gitae
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The Fire in the Sin
Chapter 3 - Overture
Word count: 6,733. Read on AO3.
Summary: Takes place slightly before and through the end Episode 1 Season 1 and during the events of the actual extermination day. TW: canon typical violence and language. Alastor is an ass for most of this chapter but you get brief moments where you can see he's still a simp for his wife, he's just having A BAD DAY.
This AMAZING painting is done by the wonderful lustylita. Please follow her for the best Alastor artwork your eyes will ever feast on. The entire scene in the radio tower was inspired by this image.
Series Summary:
Present Day chapters – Alastor has been missing 7 years. No one knows what happened or where he went – not even his wife Mina, who has been searching for him. One day he shows back up and seems to expect a happy reunion with her but he won’t say where he has been. With the promise of eventually giving her both answers and revenge for the last 7 years, she decides to play along with his games, but she can’t pretend to be happy about any of it. Prequel chapters – Mina, an Irish immigrant to America, dies a violent death in 1917. She spends the first decades in Hell making a life for herself, working as a torturer for Abaddon, enforcing the one major law of Hell; Sinners can’t leave. And then she meets and falls for Alastor. They live blissfully together for decades, until one day, he just vanishes.
Chapter 3 - Overture
Present Day
Alastor sat on the balcony of his room, intently watching the road that the lead up to the hotel. He took a sip of his coffee, then checked the time on his pocket watch. This year’s extermination was set to begin in a few minutes and the hotel was short one resident.
Not that he was worried.
Mina had survived several years’ worth of exterminations without him and she was resourceful.
And she certainly knew how to make herself scarce, apparently.
No, he wasn’t concerned exactly but he was definitely agitated.
Likely this was her way of making a point to him about not knowing the whereabouts of one’s spouse during trying times, but he didn’t care for it.
As the residence of a Hellborn, the hotel was a safe haven during exterminations and therefore safe for any of its other permanent residents, including Sinners . . . as long as they stayed away from windows and doorways. Now was not the time to be playing petty games with him. If Mina wanted to continue to be stubbornly cold and distant, she could very well do so in the safety of her own room.
Alastor took another drink, looking every bit on the outside like he hadn’t a care in the world.
He supposed she could have found sanctuary elsewhere.
If his suspicions were correct and she had returned to working for Abaddon, Mina could also still claim her old residence at The Pit. That had been in her previous contract after all; housing, safety, and above all else . . . power.
Alastor sat up and squinted as a figure came into view down the road.
Well, he was almost beginning to hope she wouldn’t show up, it would have been undeniable evidence of what she was up to.
He slipped into shadows and manifested purposefully behind her.
“Playing games now, are we?” he said, delighting in the way she jumped in her skin, her usually sleek black tail fully fluffed out in agitation that he had managed to startle her.
She huffed at him and continued walking.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, you don’t,” he said dryly. “It makes perfect sense to be out and about minutes before an extermination day begins.”
“I just needed some fresh air before I have to be cooped up in the hotel all day and night with you.”
“Oh, the horror,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
“If you’re so concerned, then why don’t you go back inside? I don’t need an escort just to walk up the drive.”
“An excellent idea, my love,” he said and linked his arm through hers before she could protest.
They turned to shadow together and appeared a second later in the hotel lobby.
“Look what the cat dragged in!” Angel announced, surprisingly awake and already with a bottle in his hand. “Or what the deer dragged in . . . the deer dragged the cat in- you know what, never mind.” He took another big gulp from his drink.
“Oh thank God, thank God, thank God,” Charlie said, launching herself around Mina in a bear hug. “We were so worried when no one could find you. Thank goodness Alastor got you back in time!”
“I was already coming up the road,” Mina mumbled and shuffled off to sit next to a very inebriated Angel.
“And where were you, exactly?” Vaggie asked with a hand to her hip. “We’ve been looking for you for the last hour.”
“I told you all we needn’t worry,” Alastor chimed in, once again using his shadow form to transport himself across the room and into the seat on the couch next to Mina, sandwiching her between himself and Angel. “Extermination Day makes everyone a bit restless. So she got a bit carried away while out gathering her thoughts? No harm done.”
Mina looked at him with surprise; she clearly hadn’t expected him to defend her. But he wasn’t about to give the impression to the rest of the hotel residents that he didn’t have the situation under control.
A scream sounded in the far distance, just loud enough to make out, but it was enough to make the mood of the room instantly shift.
A second later, the siren began to shout its annual alarm that the extermination had begun. It had just been too late to warn the first victim.
Alastor felt Mina’s weight shift a little closer to his side. His smile widened, knowing she was never as unfazed by these days as she let on. No one was.
“Yeah,” Charlie said, her eyes suddenly sad and focused on the hotel door, “No harm done.”
___
Alastor wasn’t the type to verbalize his complaints, but inwardly he had to admit, the day was proving to be particularly shitty.
In fact, his entire first week back had been more trying than he had expected. Playing along with Charlie’s childish and naive fantasies had pushed him far out of his comfort zone and the extermination had her seeming extra determined to give them all a wholesome day.
The only upside was that today was the first time since his return that Mina had gone hours without insulting or pestering him. Before his departure, they had enjoyed decades of marital bliss. All that time had allowed him to forget how difficult he found her when they didn’t see eye to eye on things.
Only this time it was worse because Alastor honestly was left feeling a bit bereft at her treatment of him. Nearly a century ago, she had been smart to keep away from him. He had been after her soul, after all. But this time was different. This time, he had no ulterior motives – not with her at least – he was just desperate to have her by his side once again.
Some of the things she had said to him, especially during the first argument in her room, had well and truly hurt his feelings. And that fucking pissed him off. It was one thing to confess to being in love, he had gotten over his reservations with that ages ago. But even to this day, he didn’t care for how easily Mina could control his emotions. It made him feel weak and distracted where once upon a time he had found strength and comfort in her.
And then to start off the day with her up and going missing the way she had was just the icing on the cake. Mina was keeping her own secrets from him, and the audacity of her hypocrisy had his already short supply of patience running on empty.
However, since the extermination had begun, she had been noticeably warmer towards him. It had begun there on the couch, her willingly leaning into his side for comfort. Then she and Niffty had disappeared into the kitchen for a while and brought back breakfast for everyone; some sort of quiche but in the shape of a cupcake that Niffty had called “egg bites.” He had been skeptical at first but then Mina had presented his own special serving, promising she had made his extra spicy, and they had been incredible.
Charlie then insisted on them all participating in some sort of social game she had called “two truths and a lie” so they could all get to know each other. He had been about to excuse himself when Mina had once again settled herself next to and against him. She had even brought him more coffee, knowing full well that he was perfectly capable of summoning it himself, just so she could make a point of being nice.
So he stayed, deciding that it would be a good opportunity to learn more about the other residents and study them. Plus, Vaggie and Husker both looked hilariously uncomfortable with Charlie’s proposition.
As their host had begun to explain the rules of the game, an explosion had gone off, close and large enough that they had all felt the rumbling beneath their feet. Mina had turned in her seat, eyes glued to the front doors, but her hand had gripped onto his bicep and held fast.
“It’s quite alright, Mina,” he had told her, “We’re safe as houses in here.”
Several smaller explosions followed, along with a resounding chorus of screams, and Charlie’s little game was forgotten as everyone sat around in tense silence.
“Well, that was a real buzzkill,” Angel said once the battle outside seemed to push itself deeper into the city center and farther from the hotel.
“Then why don’t we lift the mood a bit, eh my dear?” Alastor said, smiling pointedly at Mina.
She met his gaze but seemed uncertain.
“I don’t know, it’s been a while . . . and I don’t usually do it to make people happy.”
“Nonsense! I’ve seen you command an entire crowd into a jolly good time, you would do perfectly well just giving them a slight suggestion of a more peaceful time.”
“Whattya talking about?” Angel looked confused but he was the only one. It seemed everyone else was already clued into Mina’s ability and were considering the idea.
“You didn’t think the Radio Demon’s own wife was powerless, did you?” Alastor said, materializing a grand piano with a snap of his fingers. “They don’t call her The Siren for no reason, my friend. She can command your emotions and desires with a simple melody. Her real talent is making a person kill themselves at the sound of her voice but of course she wouldn’t do any of that here.”
“He ain’t kidding, either. Seen her get a dozen demons to turn their guns on themselves and blow their brains out,” Husker said and then chuckled. “Gotta admit, it was pretty a good night.”
“Yeah, sounds super fun. Just the kind of thing we need today,” Vaggie deadpanned.
“Vaggie,” Charlie said, “Alastor said it wouldn’t be like that. Plus, I trust Mina. She would never do anything to hurt us.”
“You wont regret it,” Alastor said, appearing at Charlie’s side and holding her by the shoulders. “It’ll be more soothing than the smoothest whiskey Hell has to offer. Calm your nerves in no time at all. Mina?” He said her name with a suggestive gesture towards the piano, inviting her to begin.
“If you insist,” Mina said and took her seat, “Did you have anything in mind?”
“You’re the professional,” Alastor said but Charlie clapped her hands.
“Oooh, ooh, I hope you know this one, it’s a bit after your time but-“ and she bent over and whispered something into Mina’s ear.
Mina feigned offence. “I’m hurt you would assume otherwise. Not all of us are stuck in the past,” she gave Alastor a teasing look.
She began playing and the soft, happy melody filled the room. It wasn’t one Alastor recognized but he had to admit, it wasn’t awful. Mina was a talented pianist, and it was rare that she chose a tune when he prompted her for one that he didn’t like.
Then she began to sing and the magic really took shape.
“I want to live where soul meets body
And let the sun wrap its arms around me
And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing
And feel, feel what it’s like to be new . . .”
The first time he had heard her sing, Alastor had been convinced she was working a spell on him. Her voice was truly the most enticing he had ever heard. There had been plenty of female musicians he had respected and admired in life and in Hell but never had one made him feel the way she had. But that was just her sheer talent.
When she sang and brought her magic into it, the difference was obvious. There was no longer any individual thought of his own solidifying in his mind, nothing left of himself but whatever her siren voice commanded. It was the difference between infatuation and someone taking complete and utter control over your faculties.
Nothing would unsettle and bother him more if it was anyone else doing this to him. But Mina had never used her power over him without his consent and he had quickly learned to admit, it was the most affective drug to settle one’s nerves. And with his own power being far greater than hers, he knew he could withstand a mental attack if he ever truly fought against it. Vox had given him the opportunity to test that theory ages ago, and the rival Overlord had far stronger powers of hypnosis than his wife.
The song ended and the spell lifted but the sense of tranquility still lingered in the room’s atmosphere. All of the guests, even Niffty, looked completely blissed out.
“Jesus toots, I feel like I need a cigarette after that,” Angel said, his head lulled onto the back of the couch, and each of his six limbs limp at his sides.
Mina stood up from the piano and bit her lip as she looked around.
“Maybe I went a little too hard on them.”
“Au contraire, ma chér,” Alastor said, putting an arm around her waist, “I think it was just right.”
Indeed, the following few hours had passed nicely, allowing him to enjoy Mina’s good mood while it lasted and tolerate each and every one of Charlie’s silly forms of entertainment.
Eventually, though, due to the limited nature of her powers of hypnosis, the charm had worn off and when it did, he was more aggravated than ever. The occasional sounds of turmoil outside were the least of his problems compared to the personal Hell he was finding himself in within the walls of the hotel.
Mina’s social battery had worn out long before his and she had retreated to her room. He sent his shadow in to check on her every now and then, but found she was being sincere, rather than trying to sneak off again. She was tucked under the covers of her bed with a novel in her hand, only slightly changing positions every time he spied on her.
He should be relieved, but it just bothered him more that she felt she could simply excuse herself to do something as selfish as read while he was left playing the extroverted hotel manager. The least she could do was play another song to keep the rest of the staff more subdued. A song an hour was not that much to ask of her on a day like today, and yet she had retreated from everyone like a senseless wallflower.
Charlie was on the verge of hysteria, Vaggie and Husk were taking turns on who could be the most Negative Nancy, and Angel wouldn’t stop making leud inuendoes at everyone’s expense. Truly, by the time dusk had settled, the only person Alastor wasn’t ready to kill if it meant five minutes of peace and quiet was Niffty.
He decided enough was enough and as soon as the opportunity came where no one was paying attention to him, he slipped into his shadow form and left for his radio tower. If he couldn’t leave the hotel, at least he could get some work done.
___
Mina crawled out from her covers and went to her bedroom window, peering out over the city below.
The extermination was still going strong, more than 12 hours in. She let the curtain fall in disgust.
She knew she shouldn’t have excused herself when she had, but she was so mentally exhausted she just couldn’t take it anymore. It had gotten to the point where it was impossible for her to focus on anything, so she had left. When she became overwhelmed in social settings, she got pissy. And she was really trying to make an effort to not be pissy with Alastor, at least on this particular day.
Mina sighed, knowing she should probably return the favor of checking in on him. Although she had pretended not to notice, she was aware every time his shadow slunk into her room to make sure she was alright.
Either that, or he was making sure she was staying put. Her fault for getting home stupidly late this morning, once again on a job up on Earth she thought she could take care of overnight. But really, whatever Alastor suspected, did he really think she was going to leave the hotel while the extermination was still happening?
She headed out to find him and quickly found the other residents still gathered in the lobby, though it was evident Alastor wasn’t among them. Niffty hadn’t seen him either, so in preparation of finding him holed up in his own room, she grabbed him a glass of rye from the bar as a peace offering. But his room was very much empty and that left her one last logical place to look; the new radio tower he had added to the hotel. Mina left the glass on a table in the room and left.
He hadn’t invited her up there yet, so she had avoided going up there on principle but if he was really there tonight, she had to make sure he was okay.
After giving a soft knock on the door to announce her presence, Mina stepped into the room and stared in stunned silence at what she saw.
Alastor was using a laptop.
His jacket and monocle were off and his hair was pulled back into a tight knot in the back, meaning he was fulling engaged in his task and incredibly over stimulated by it. The state of his disarray meant he would be in an extra irate mood, but she had always found the distressed look on him incredibly attractive. When he let his guard down it was for her eyes, and her eyes alone, and it showed his level of trust in her. Plus, it was just plain hot.
But the shock of seeing him using such modern technology was more than enough to distract her from her lustful thoughts.
“Alastor?”
“Hmmm,” he responded, not bothering to look up from his task.
“Just making sure it’s actually you.”
“Very funny.”
He wasn’t telling her to get out, so she slowly approached him, noticing an image of the hotel on the screen of the laptop. His hand hovered over the keyboard rather than touching it and the green glow of his magic ebbed and flowed as the image shifted around.
“What are you doing up here?”
“I’m . . . fuck,” he hissed through his strained smile and pinned his ears back. The laptop screen flickered to black for a second and when it came back on, the program he had been trying to use had clearly crashed. “I’m working on something. Someone around this Hell forsaken place should be.”
Mina put a hand on his shoulder and he tensed beneath her fingers but didn’t shrug her off.
“Can you do whatever this is downstairs? I don’t like you up here, it’s not safe right now.”
“I’m fine,” he said and this time he did push her hand off.
Mina crossed her arms and looked down at him, her tail swishing in agitation behind her.
“Al, please. You can have as much solitary confinement as you want in your room, to do whatever this is, where an angel is far less to break through the glass and exterminate you.”
“No one but you is annoying enough to bother me up here,” he mumbled, still not turning to look at her.
“Oh, I’m annoying now?”
“Yes, terribly so.”
“Well better annoying than dead! Not even the great Radio Demon is immune to an exterminator’s blade so you get your arrogant, narcissistic, egotistical ass downstairs unless you plan on disappearing for good this time.”
Alastor slammed the laptop shut and Mina was shocked it didn’t break in half from the force. He stood and as she blinked, he was back in his normal attire; jacket perfectly in place and hair down, though it was more frazzled than usual.
“And would that make you happy, my dear?” He sneered; eyes turned to dials as his temper began to take over. “I may be all those things and more but you have been nothing less than a cold, stubborn, secretive, hypocritic little shrew since I’ve returned.”
She glared back up at him, a solid head taller than her even if he hadn’t quite begun to morph into his full demon form.
“Sit down,” she said.
He tilted his head. “Pardon?”
“Sit,” she repeated, pointing a claw at his chair. Then after a beat she added, “Please.”
He complied and returned to his normal visage, though the upper half of his face was still stuck in a deep scowl.
Without invitation, Mina set herself in his lap and kissed him.
Alastor went rigid at first but as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself tighter against him, she felt him relax beneath her.
He began to kiss her back in earnest and she felt his hands tighten around her waist, his claws digging into the flesh of her upper thighs.
It was the first real moment of intimacy between them besides the quick kiss he had given her on the first night of his return. She parted her lips and he responded well, and as his tongue met hers she felt the vibration of a purr beginning in the back of her throat. It was undeniable at this moment how much she had missed him and how starved for his affection she was, and it caused her near physical pain to pull away when she did.
“Let me be absolutely clear,” she panted, still holding onto the sides of his face “I am still very upset. It’s taking all of my self-control not to lash out at any given second with you. But I’m also still madly, desperately in love with you, and am not about to lose you all over again. So please,” she pressed a kiss to his forehead, “get your precious, infuriating tail downstairs where I can remain angry without also having to worry for you.”
Alastor’s smile dropped into a thin line and for a moment he looked so sad. It was such a foreign expression on his face that Mina almost didn’t recognize it for what it was and then in a moment, it was gone, replaced by the wide, sharp-toothed smile she was used to.
She could tell he was trying to come up with another stinging remark, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, a bright flash of yellow light lit up the room. He turned his gaze to peer at something behind her and Mina stood and turned as well, looking out the large window at the destruction happening outside.
A horde of angels had come within a few hundred yards of the hotel and one of them was armed with some sort of light-wielding weapon and using it on a fleeing group of Sinners. Several angels broke free from their arial assault and descended on what was left of the scattering crowd, their spears glinting in the dim light, even at this distance.
How was this not blasphemous? Angelic beings straight from heaven getting to kill in the name of their cause while she had been sent to Hell for simply doing what she had to do to survive. And what of it if she had enjoyed it? These angels were doing far worse than she ever had while she was alive, and they clearly had as much lust for violence as she did.
“Darling,” Alastor said, standing up from behind her, “I believe we were in the middle of something.”
“I know, it’s just,” Mina said, eyes still glued to the scene of carnage below them, “I hate them. So much. I just-“
Another flash of light from whatever that horrible weapon was and Mina felt Alastor grab her arm.
“Time to go,” he said and felt the familiar light weight feeling of his shadow before she was being pulled down.
They were back in his room in an instant but he was no longer beside her. Rather, she was left standing in the middle of the normal portion of the room while he had materialized a full work bench and seat in his bayou, his focus already seemingly back on his work.
Mina knew it was just an act. He was just as affected as she was, he was just better at shutting it out, but she still hated him for it in that moment. How could he keep going like this, just pretending he wasn’t in just as much pain and turmoil as she was? She wanted to scream at him, claw at him, make him beg to take her back, make him show her that he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him.
And why couldn’t she set her own pride aside for one night? She should go to him, tell him that none of it mattered, that she forgave him as long as he was still hers, and continue on with the kiss she had given him up in his tower. He could take her and fuck her right there on the floor of his room and it would be like none of the pain of tonight or the last seven years had ever happened.
But that wouldn’t be like either of them.
Intimacy was a struggle with Alastor. He always had to be in the exact right state of mind for it to be of interest to him. Only then would he let his guard down. Only then, could he be soft and sweet with her. And as much as her body ached for that side of him, Mina’s heart was still too bruised to give him what he would need in order to fulfill both of their desires. She could do it; the moment they had shared a minute ago had proved he was still susceptible to her advances, but it would mean letting him believe she trusted him again. And that was the crux of their situation. He demanded trust from her when, right now, she had almost none to give.
With regret, Mina grabbed the whisky glass she had left on the dresser before and walked towards him, setting it beside him without a word.
As she turned away, she saw from the corner of her eye his confused glance at the glass.
“Mina,” he said her name with the same trace of regret she felt but rather than give in, she simply walked out the door and let it shut behind her.
___
The morning came and with it, the end of the extermination. It had raged well into the evening hours, but it had given Alastor the opportunity he needed to complete his task. As deplorable as he found working with this kind of technology, it needed to be done to set the next part of his plan in motion, and it was a welcome distraction from his personal problems.
He couldn’t be wrapped up in his exasperation with having to make this blasted commercial and succumb to his turmoil over the state of his marriage. He simply didn’t have the emotional capacity for all of that at once. So, he had chosen one over the other and figured he would deal with the consequences in the morning.
Thankfully, Mina had seemed to resign herself to at least being cordial in front of the other residents. If she was still smarting from his abrupt dismissal of her advances the night before, she was being classy enough to act as if all was well when they had an audience. Perhaps today would be a better day, after all.
She had easily agreed to join the others in the lobby for his presentation and as the commercial began, it quickly became evident she was the only one who appeared entertained by his efforts.
Could she tell he had purposefully done an awful job? He couldn’t be certain, but she was failing to totally suppress a grin and as she made eye contact with him, there was a kind of familiar knowing in her look.
That shared glance between them meant more to him than the rather passionate kiss she had given him the night before.
As the commercial ended, so did their moment, and he focused his attention back to where it needed to be.
“So, what do you think?” he asked, acting for all the world as if he expected Charlie and Vaggie to be pleased, which of course they weren’t.
“I’m sorry, what the fuck was that?” the loud little one began, followed by Charlie’s pathetic attempt to smooth things over. If she was really going to rule Hell and be the powerful force he would eventually need her to be, she really needed to work on her authoritative tone.
“Bad, the word you’re looking for is bad,” Vaggie interrupted.
“Funny, I was going for hilarious.”
Mina failed to stifle a chuckle and Vaggie turned her head to glare at her. “It’s not hilarious.”
Mina just raised an eyebrow at her.
“Ugh, of course you’re on his side,” Vaggie huffed and turned her frustration back on Alastor. “It didn’t even explain anything about how we’re trying to save demons from extermination, which is the whole fucking point.”
Charlie started up again and the three of them went back and forth for a minute, Alastor purposefully riling Vaggie up until she was on her feet on the couch, trying to add height to her indignation.
“You been here a week and you – both of you,” she exclaimed, pointing dramatically at Alastor and then Mina, “are supposed to be helping, and instead you’re mocking us.”
“Oh don’t drag me into this,” Mina said, crossing her arms, “I got Charlie that spot on the news and that would have been plenty helpful if she had done a decent job of it.”
“And you don’t think we find it suspicious that the news spot you got her is what supposedly got Alastor’s attention, huh? After you made such a big deal about looking for him?” Vaggie countered.
Alastor’s smile grew as he watched the tension between the women in the room grow even more.
Mina’s ears pinned themselves out to the side as she eyed the petite demon up and down.
“You don’t want to go there with me, love. Trust me.”
“You want me to trust you?!” Vaggie exclaimed, “Then get him to fix that disaster of a commercial because no one is going to want to come to a place that a powerful Overlord like him thinks is a waste of time.”
Vaggie sat back down and Alastor was just considering if the time had come to make his move when Angel raised a hand.
“What?!” Vaggie snapped.
“If in ya filming a commercial, can I suggest you take advantage of the talented celebrity you got right here?”
“Angel, you’re a porn star,” Vaggie said unimpressed and as they bantered, Alastor slithered his shadow form across the room to reappear closure to the cause of further discourse, just in time for Angel to predictably suggest that he make a sex tape with him.
“Aha! Never going to happen.”
“Will you stop hitting on my husband?” Mina said, all traces of her previous good mood gone as Vaggie and Angel unintentionally got on her last nerve.
“There’s no need to be jealous, baby,” Angel said, “You could join in. I usually charge extra for girls but if it’s in the name of helping out the hotel, I’ll give you a freebie.”
Mina growled as she stomped over to where the spider demon lay sprawled across the couch.
“Whoa whoa whoa,” Angel held up all four hands in submission, “I’m just kidding around, no need to get violent.”
“I swear,” she said, a finger pointed right in his face, “come onto either of us one more time an’ I’ll cauterize every single one of those holes you use to make a livin’.”
“Jesus, Alastor, your missus is a little tense,” Angel said, brave enough to turn away from the angry feline to look up at the deer demon who was clearly enjoying the chaos. “You really haven’t fucked her since you got back, have ya?
Before Mina could react, Alastor whisked them both away via shadow back to Charlie and Vaggie’s side of the room. Her jealousy was never sourced from an insecurity of Alastor’s faithfulness to her, but rather from feeling disrespected by anyone who would dare tread on her territory. The feeling was mutual, and they had both had their moments in the past where someone’s leud comment got the better of them, but now was not the time or place for violence.
Thankfully putting the space between her and Angel, as well as keeping a well-placed hand around her hips, created an instant calming affect the hot-headed Irish woman.
They watched together as Charlie attempted to diffuse the situation more and Angel just continued making suggestive comments, though they were at least self-deprecating now.
Then, right on cue, Charlie’s phone went off and she dismissed herself to talk to her father.
“Hey, I have question,” Angel said, finally changing the subject away from his body parts, “if freaky-face over there is so powerful, then why can’t he just make people stay here?”
“Oh, trust me,” Alastor laughed, before quickly extending his antlers, “I can.”
Before he could truly revel in the look of fear on their faces and the look of delight on Mina’s, Husker decided to put in his two cents, and it started another round of Angel’s inappropriate and pointless flirting. It only came to an end when Vaggie stepped in, making the point that Sinners were supposed to choose the hotel.
“Well whatta ‘bout her?” Angel asked, gesturing towards Mina, “can’t she just go downtown and sing one of her trippy little tunes to get people feeling like they want to be better people?”
Vaggie groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “Absolutely not. What is it about the concept of choice that you aren’t getting?”
Alastor watched with amusement as the drunkard and the self-righteous continued to clash, not failing to notice that Mina had fully calmed down and had stepped away, trying to subtly eavesdrop on Charlie’s phone call. His wife’s instincts were still sharp as ever as to what was really worth paying attention to. It impressed and excited him. As long as he couldn’t explain anything to her himself, he needed Mina to be on her toes and trying to work things out on her own.
Lucifer must have finally wrapped things up – honestly how long did it take to ask a simple favor – because Charlie had pulled Vaggie aside, then quickly bounded out of the hotel and down the street, as Mina curiously watched the whole scene unfold.
It was time for the real fun of the day to begin.
____
Once they were done filming the commercial and were waiting for Charlie’s return, Mina took the opportunity to talk in private with Vaggie.
“Alastor made a deal with you, didn’t he?” she asked, cutting to the chase.
“Wait, you didn’t know?” Vaggie asked.
Mina knew he had purposefully done an awful job with the original commercial he created. He didn’t take the hotel any more seriously than she did, but he was a showman at heart and would have easily been able to come up with something more convincing than that if he had actually been trying.
She could tell immediately he was toying with them, drawing Charlie in with the idea of the commercial, but then not fully delivering until he got something in return. Then suddenly he and Vaggie returned to the lobby and the plan was a go.
So Mina ignored Vaggie’s question, not liking the implication that Alastor hadn’t let her in on his plan. True, he was hiding a lot from her, but this just all felt so painfully obvious, she didn’t feel the need to be clued in beforehand.
“What were the terms of the deal?”
“Well, that’s the weird part,” Vaggie said, “it wasn’t a big deal. He just said he would help film a decent commercial if I promised to not make him do any TV related stuff in the future.”
“Huh,” Mina said, already forming theories in her head and turned to walk away.
“Wait,” Vaggie stopped her, “you don’t think it’s more than that, right?”
Mina paused, knowing she was at a crossroads. She could do things Alastor’s way and dismiss Vaggie’s concern and pretend nothing was wrong. But Vaggie was likely too smart for that, and it would ultimately cause more distrust between them. The other option was to display just enough honesty to make it appear Mina really was on her side. If Alastor was being even a little honest with Mina, then it was true he needed to gain Charlie’s trust to get along with whatever plan of his he was concocting. And Mina seemed to have figured out before Alastor had that Vaggie was the real path to gaining Charlie’s trust.
Mina made a show of sighing and looking defeated.
“Vaggie, look, you’re a smart girl. And despite you clearly having a problem with me since day one, I respect you. So, I’ll be honest with you. I really don’t know what Alastor’s planning, but I do know him. And he never makes a simple deal, there’s always a catch. It’s either going to benefit himself more than he’s letting on or it’s going to hurt you more than he’s letting on. Sometimes both.” Mina put a hand on Vaggie’s shoulder and did her very best to look concerned. “Just promise me, if he tries making another one, you’ll tell me about it before you agree to anything, okay?”
“Okay,” Vaggie agreed, “And hey, I know things got a little tense before . . . I guess I shouldn’t have tried accusing you-“
“It’s fine,” Mina smiled, “water under the bridge.”
Later, even when they had a moment alone, she didn’t confront him about the deal. It almost certainly had something to do with Vox. Either he was using the deal to protect the hotel from Vox’s reach or he would use the deal in the future so that Vaggie couldn’t force him to get involved if Vox were to ever jeopardize the hotel in a way Alastor thought he could benefit from.
Mina decided it was best for now to sit with her theories as a test to see how well she could predict Alastor’s next moves. She surprised herself when she realized she still trusted him with her safety; because no matter what the intentions of his little deal with Vaggie were, it wouldn’t bring any harm to herself.
As they came down the staircase into the lobby together, Alastor burst her little bubble.
“You know about the deal, don’t you?” he whispered.
Mina just smiled.
“I see your need for attention can still win out over your need for secrecy.”
He huffed. “I wasn’t keeping the deal a secret; I’m just surprised you haven’t asked me about it.”
“Hmm,” she shrugged, “I guess I didn’t find it that interesting.”
That clearly was a blow to his ego, and he sulked in silence the rest of the way into the lobby, choosing a solitary chair rather than being close to her.
Charlie arrived home and Vaggie pulled her to join them in front of the television set. The commercial began to air when an emergency broadcast cut it short.
Mina sat in shock as Katie Killjoy announced the coming arrival of the next extermination.
Just six months away? They were cutting the time between their slaughter in half?
The other residents were just as outraged as her.
Everyone except Charlie and Alastor.
Rather than continuing to watch the TV screen, Mina studied their faces and came to the sinking realization they both already knew about this.
She quickly worked out Charlie must have just found out at the meeting with the angels she had been at all day but Alastor?
How the fuck did he know?
#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor#alastor fanfiction#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor x oc#alastor the radio demon#hazbin oc#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel fanfiction#alastor x reader#the fire in the sin
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man… i hate how people hate on vinny everyman cause he was complicit to habit’s various vile deeds through the show and decided to continue the investigation!
🎉SO I WROTE A WHOLE RANT/ESSAY DEFENDING HIM 🎉
IMPORTANT NOTE- words or paragraphs in red are important/key parts and bold or caps is just for emphasis also if my spelling is shit its because im excited lol
btw please don’t take this too seriously, these characters are fictional, and this whole thing is just an analysis on morally grey characters and the hate they get
comments are very appreciated and ill always try to comment back to yall
❗️❗️SPOILERS❗️❗️
(DONT READ UNLESS YOU FINISHED THE EVERYMAN HYBRID SERIES OR YOU DONT MIND SPOILERS)
first of all, are yall forgeting that they (the characters) are literally in a loop where they repeat the same roles over and over again! LIKE THEIR DECISIONS ARE MADE FOR THEM NOT BY THEM so keep that in mind
vinny has been a victim (like every other character) in all iterations/universes, throughout each-one he’s never learned how to defend himself or say no to peer pressure!
habit has made VARIOUS EXAMPLES (via murder and torture) of people who either didn’t listen to him or that he straight up didn’t like!
as the show goes on you see how habit now becomes dependent on vinny and how vinny becomes dependent on habit (cause all of vinny’s friends are dead and slender man is still out there)
it becomes a bully v.s victim situation where the victim has to stay with their bully to be safe, a situation that many people blatantly ignore for the sake of habit’s charisma and character,
he became adaptable to the situation, becoming complicit towards habit’s violent tendencies and even insulting or pushing habit cause he knows that habit cant get rid of him if they want to defeat slenderman!
for my other point, aka continuing the investigation,
DUDE! who tf wouldn’t follow the investigation on slenderman or habit, THEY ARE KILLING PEOPLE AND THE POLICE CANT DO SHIT ABOUT IT! and yes I acknowledge that vinny did remove incriminating evidence of himself that would make him look bad, WHICH IS A SHITTY THING TO DO btw
but other characters have also made shit decisions or mistakes in the series, ITS LITERALLY A REALISTIC THING TO DO!!
for example jeff gets stephanie sent to a fucking MENTAL INSTITUTION because he SUSPECTED that she was working with slenderman
(she wasnt, shes a victim of slenderman and also emo as fuck)
do i think it was a good idea to pressure others into the investigation, no! thats a terrible idea and he should have done it by himself or atleast warned gang about his knowledge of information!
do i think it was a good idea to summon habit, HELL NO, but if we are going to be honest habit is apart of this never ending loop too!
BUT in the end hes not necessarily a villain, hes a morally grey person like the rest of characters, except for habit and slenderman they are straight up evil,
it’s realistic storytelling!!! and some people throw it out the window so they can place blame on a character that they dislike cause people cant handle morally grey people without forcing them into a hero or villain arcs!!
-from your fella named, yeehaw-fuckers
#tw swearing#tw mentions of violence#tw mentions of bullying#character analysis#analysis#i will defend each character with my damn LIFEE#everyman hybrid#emh#everymanhybrid#vinny everyman#evan emh#jeff emh#stephaine emh#habit emh
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Season 3 I want muriel and crowley to be besties, crowley goes through the whole over the top break up but then finds something in helping teach muriel about the world and their worth and aziraphel returns and is just like wtf as the two are sitting drinking tea together and gossiping
#just them#good omens season 2 spoilers#good omens spoilers#good omens s3#like ahhhhh parent and child fr fr#it would be so wholesome and also be very interesting and could make good angst too#aziraphel having mixed feelings cause he kind of hoped crowley would just take him back but he seems happy?#and so he puts on an “im happy too” act in return#and muriels just there like ive seen both of you cry over eachother twelve times this week alone stfu#but has no idea how to say it and if its even their place
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Vine_Boom.mp3
[First] Prev <–-> Next
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#song lan#a-qing#xiao xingchen#xue yang#The scene where Song lan sees Xue Yang is supposed to be dark and dramatic but there's something about the whiplash of emotions-#-that makes me lose my mind!! That's *HIS* bestie!!! Back off bitch!!#Poor guy wandering around for years looking for his amiguito only to find him with the guy that split you apart in the first place#XY wasn't even trying to flaunt it on purpose. He was just vibing with XXC at the wrong time.#I also love A-qing for being quick on the uptake that these two are so similar its practically like a mirror image.#This also mirrors song lan's first/last appearance with the bff sundae. XY finally gets his revenge (having a domestic life with a bff).#((XXC has no idea what the t-shirt says. He just needed a spare. I like to think XY sewed and embroidered it personally))#I will get into my xue yang thoughts more later but...man I will always wonder how things would have gone if song lan never showed up#xxc never should have run away (out of shame for causing SL harm). It was always going to cause more harm...#Dont worry SL. XXC still misses you. Some bonds cannot be broken even if time and distance pull you apart.
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I can't put it into words, I have tried many times and failed, but the relationship between theon and asha means everything and more to me.
#(this post is based solely off the show)#he's her baby brother!#he means the world and more to her#ever since he looked up at her that night in his crib he's been something that means more to her than her own life#she would do anything for him#and their dynamic post ramsay is so interesting#cause like. they don't really believe in mental health on the iron isles. its tough it out or die.#so she has no idea how to really help theon after everything he's been through. but she was gonna try god dammit. because he's her baby#even though she offers him the idea of offing himself. its obvious that's not at all what she wants. she wants him back.#she wants him to be ok. she wants to stop seeing him so scared and miserable#she doesn't know how to fix it but she wants to and all she knows how to do is force him to tough it out#but it so clearly comes from a place of love and worry#and just... ahhhhhh#she's really like: my baby my baby you’re my baby say it to me#but like... in a bigger tougher scary big sister way... if that makes sense#they're driving me crazy. I want to go home. I need to sit down#asha greyjoy#yara greyjoy#theon greyjoy#got#game of thrones#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire
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