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BNHA villain!deku fanfiction recommendations

Guidance, or To Shake(the world and its foundations) by orionchildofhades

part 2 of a series (status: 2/3 works, words: 76,810)

status: complete

chapters: 9/9

tw: Major Character Death, Violence and Blood, Gore

tags: villain!deku, quirkless!deku, support department!deku, traitor!deku, shigaraki & midoriya friendship, league of villains as family, gore

summary:

When does a victim becomes a villain? To be born in a world full of powers without one is simply unjust. Even more when said power defines everything you are and would be. Midoriya Izuku, quirkless, learned that the world in which he lived wasn’t perfect. Heroes did bad things, villains did good things. The former were usually the reasons why the latter existed. After a certain All For One gives him a chance to show his value, Izuku joins the not-yet-known League of Villains.

Au fucking revoir Mister Prince

daily koss #29: if we only have one shot… better make it count, right?

Since I started on the 18th of February, today marks the one month anniversary of me drawing these wretched old men every day!!! I wanted to make something special for it, so I tried my hand at a comic (even though I am NOT good at comics—dear god, paneling is so unintuitive for me that I ended up wrangling this into a webtoon format just to avoid it).

Despite the increasing level of render and polish on my dailies over the past two weeks, this is the first time I’ve really, actually tried to flex my art muscles and apply my braincells to a piece 😂 Here’s to hoping my work paid off! I have now, officially, moved from low-effort shitposts to real-effort seriousposts 😔

(Also, if you’ve never read a webtoon before, hopefully the long-scroll format wasn’t too jarring! >_<)

A meta aspect I love about KOSS is that Transformers is a multi-timeline franchise: Knock Out and Starscream exist across multiple different continuities, sometimes alongside each other, sometimes not. But they only really ‘work’ in TFP, despite them both having other characters as constants (Breakdown, Megatron). If this were any other world, and they were any other versions of themselves, they might not even have been coworkers—just ships passing in the night.

And yet, the perfect storm of random events led to them being in one thing together, with a compelling dynamic at that (even an entire episode that puts it on blast!!!). Sometimes I think about how, according to the TFP artbook, Knock Out was originally conceived as something of a counterpart to Bumblebee—another fast, pretty car, except a villain this time—but the writers ended up fleshing out his relationship with Starscream the most. I wonder what the thought process behind that was—did the devs find their dynamic fun to play with as well?—and whether the two would get more moments together if Prime wasn’t cancelled…

But I digress! The fact I discovered TFP in the first place is the cherry on top of the serendipity-cake; I never imagined I’d ever get into Transformers, but one impulsive ‘hey, what if we watched the new Transformers movie’ from Lacuna at 3AM in the dead of January changed the trajectory of my life.

I’ve always been really bad at committing to projects for over a month at a time—I often find myself burnt out and restless after only a few days, even. So to still have so much drive and inspiration to create fanworks—for KOSS, of course, but an assortment of other pairings and properties too—is such a novel and exciting experience. My tune may change at a moment’s notice (I can be very fickle), but for now I’m eager to keep scribbling on 🥰I already have something planned for the next week of Daily KOSS hehehe~

Anyway, things referenced in the comic!

G1 cartoon s01e13 “Fire in the Sky”

2019 IDW continuity Tread & Circuits issues 2, 3, and 4

Armada episode 48

TFA s02e03 “Mission Accomplished” and s03e13 “Endgame II”

2005 IDW continuity “Choose Me,” Spotlight: Megatron, and Annual 2017 “Chosen One”

And it’s probably obvious from the art, but I love the juxtaposition of Starscream being tortured by god in every other universe while Knock Out is either happily married or doesn’t exist.

Starscream from Transformers: G1 is autistic!

tfp autobutts gain a new recruit...

part 2

I mean... he is so... unnoticable that it is highly possible that he will be able to free Megatron from imprisonment... Next

Made this bookmark a few weeks ago 🍁

Why can we not bookmark stories on ao3 anymore ?? I can't even access my account .

I think that more fanfiction should be written with the aim to tackle the original meaning of hanahaki. Because when the concept of hanahaki disease was originally created, it was intended to be a metaphor for suppressing one’s feelings.

Your feelings are this beautiful garden of flora inside of your chest. When you express how you feel honestly, you allow for it to grow freely. But when you hide how you feel out of fear of rejection, and try to make it smaller and smaller, the flowers become cramped inside of you, until you choke on your own feelings. Every flower you cough up is something you’ve felt, but refused to say.

The whole “dying” thing is intended to be more symbolic especially. You’re killing off bits and pieces of yourself and how you feel, because you’re afraid to express yourself.

It’s not really supposed to be, “The one I love doesn’t love me back, and I’m dying from it.” Rather, it’s more along the lines of, “Repressing your emotions is bad for you, and it’s better and healthier to express them freely, even when it’s scary.”

Which is to say that, one, the cure for the disease should be telling the person that you are in love with how you feel. How the other person feels about the person afflicted should have nothing to do with it, as the trope is meant to be about feeling your emotions unapologetically.

And that, two, it’s not an inherently romantic trope. Obviously, it has romantic applications, but it can be written for any situation where a character is hiding how they truly feel. This can include a refusal to address a specific trauma, a desire to indulge in something that they’re ashamed of, and even really practical things, like wanting to ask one’s boss for a higher position.

Although (as an aromantic person myself) I don’t agree with this conclusion about the trope, this application would also avoid people calling it arophobic. When the thing killing the character is a refusal to be honest with themselves, rather than an unrequited love, it’s on nobody’s hands but their own to save their life.

There are a ton of ways that this interpretation of the hanahaki disease could be applied in new and interesting ways in fanfiction, and I’d love to read what things people could come up with!

hi po! i was wondering if you could recommend some articles or books about visayan mythology, especially those of panay and negros island. also, articles or books about the history of those places before the spanish colonization. thank you so much!

Yup I have a couple. I’m Bisayan myself with my moms family coming from Aklan. Here are a few good sources to read.

- The Boxer Codex (Bisayans Chapter only) This is a scan of my copy of one of the English editions of the Boxer Codex manuscript. (Because lets face it, these books are not cheap and are hard to find)

- The Muñoz text of Francisco Alcina’s History of the Bisayan Islands (1668), translation by Paul S. Lietz (note: The link only brings you to the page of the 4 volumes. However, only volume 3 is available online.

- Relation de las Yslas Filipinas in 1582 by Miguel de Loarca (have to scroll down a bit for the English translations)

- Chants, Gongs and Ancestral Memories of the Panay Bukidnon, Philippine Islands

- Panay mountains host good vs evil rituals (old newspaper clipping I found from 2002 in the Philippines Daily Inquirer)

Edit: I also just wanted to point out that the original name of the island of Negros was Buglas, which is the name I prefer to use when talking about the island.

Wie cool ist das! (They took the creature)

With NASA announcing their streaming service NASA+ and also announcing it’s going to be free and also ad free, I’d just like to appreciate the lengths they go to make scientific knowledge and exploration as available as they possibly can.

[fic] Bookbound

Bookbound

Ikemen Prince | Chevalier Michel x Main Character (Emma) | T | 6.8k words ao3 link

Without their realizing it, Emma and Prince Chevalier have formed a book club.

A/N: The books used here are inaccurate versions of the real-life books. There are direct quotes, though. Some statements and conversations between Chevalier and Emma on the books are just for the sake of this fic. Poetry quotes are from Pablo Neruda. The metaphors are dangerous quotes are from Milan Kundera. A Lover's Discourse was written by Roland Barthes.

It begins—as always with Prince Chevalier—with a book.

“I’ve read a lot of foreign books about the subject, too. Would you like a recommendation?”

Lounging on the sofa, a hardbound book on hand, Chevalier makes no hint that he’s heard her offer. The afternoon light filters through the window, and the prince’s personal library seems distilled under the diffuse, misty glow. Like a fantastical place, frozen in time, and Chevalier its pristine owner.

“I can lend you one of mine. It was kind of you to let me read your copy of Midnight Cinderella. I want to return the favor.”

The sound of a page turning is loud in the wood-paneled room. “There is no need. I have an inkling of the kinds of books you read.”

Emma deliberately ignores the remark, her smile faltering only for a millisecond.

“Didn’t you say you want to expand your knowledge on human interest topics?” she goes on. “I think I have some books about love you haven’t read yet. No, I’m pretty sure of it. They’re good, I swear!”

Finally, Chevalier lifts his head to look at her, except his eyes are burning with annoyance. He snaps his book shut, and Emma flinches a little.

“If I say yes, will you stop pestering me?”

“Yes!”

“Then—” Chevalier sighs, and gets up to return the book to the shelf. Emma watches him, hopeful, as he approaches her. His movements exude a coiled energy in them, like a predator waiting to pounce at a moment's notice, his presence filling the room like overflowing water.

He stops a couple of feet away from her, disassembling her for any deceit with his icy stare. Emma tamps down the urge to avert her eyes.

“Fine,” Chevalier says, after a few tense seconds. “Impress me.”

And it’s like the first morning of spring; Emma can’t contain the smile pulling at her lips. She brings her hands together. “Wonderful! I’ll get the book now—be right back, Your Highness!”

As she hurries to retrieve her book, she fails to see the peculiar expression that settles over Chevalier’s face, as though he’s confronted with a rather curious problem. 

♔

When Emma comes back with her recommendation, Chevalier is at the sofa again, hands entwined over his crossed knees, seemingly deep in thought. He looks up when the door clicks shut, a perfectly arched brow raising in expectation.

“Here it is, Prince Chevalier.” Emma presents the book, a lady staring mildly in the cover. “It’s about two people full of misunderstandings. It’s short, but an enjoyable read. I hope it’s to your liking.”

It takes a moment before Chevalier accepts the book, the delayed response an indication of skepticism. But Emma is not deterred, and relief spills over her when the prince tucks the book under his arm.

And because she’s already this determined, why not go even further? “I look forward to your thoughts on the book, Your Highness!”

And this makes Chevalier pause, partway through his retreat to the sofa. He angles her a sharp look that, if only manners permitting, a click of the tongue would have completed the effect.

"While you're at it," he says, slowly, to drive the point home, "do you want me to write a report on it as well?"

"I—" Heat washes over her cheeks and ears, and she stutters a bit more. She clamps her mouth shut, breathes a little, and tries again. "I just want to have a nice conversation about books with you, Your Highness."

"That is unnecessary."

"But I—"

"If I liked it," he interrupts, emphasizing the word liked, "I would reconsider."

Emma exhales. Examines the prince. From his position—body angled towards the sofa, but his head turned in her direction—it's as if he's a snapshot of memory captured midway through recollection. His eyelashes gleam against his pale skin, dampening his usual harsh countenance.

"Thank you, Your Highness," she says. And, because there's nothing more to talk about, she adds, "I'll be going now, have a good day."

She leaves the library with the image of Chevalier opening her book in her mind.

♔

Exactly two days later, Chevalier barges in Emma's room and glares at her, his arms full of books.

"Good morning, Prince Chevalier…?"

"I finished your book," he says, with great effort, enunciating the consonants in a way that makes Emma brace for an inevitable tirade. "It is a standard story. I am hardly impressed by it. Goes to show how a simpleton like you would latch onto books like this."

"I beg your pardon?"

He lays Emma's book on her desk, fishes out another one from his pile, and shoves it to her.

"Your Highness?"

Then he heads straight to the spot on the sofa that he has unofficially claimed as his and begins reading.

Emma studies the book he gave her. Thick, and with an unobtrusive cover, like a mystery waiting to be solved. She glances at Chevalier, who is now acting as if nobody exists in the world, then back at the book again. 

Her confusion must've felt palpable to the prince, because Chevalier exhales a loud, emphatic sigh and says, without even looking at her, "Surely you cannot stay a simpleton forever. Then again, you must be content with your laughable naiveté."

Is that Chevalier-speak for his lending his own book to her, in return for what she did a few days ago? It doesn't matter, in the end, what he thinks of her. Another marvelous book offered to her by the prince, and who is she to refuse? Emma gasps in delight.

"Thank you, Prince Chevalier! I'll start reading this right now!"

That pulls Chevalier's eyes away from the book. His face morphs into something complicated, and he mutters, almost to himself, "You are a strange one."

But Emma misses what he said, because she’s too absorbed with starting the book.

Enveloped by the soft, cozy colors of Emma's room, the two are wrapped in their own worlds, held by words in pages.

♔

In between her duties as Belle, her role as a student under Sariel’s imperious tutelage, and her goal of surviving interfactional conflict, Emma still manages to squeeze in reading Chevalier’s book. The first few chapters have her go back and forth, initially puzzled by what it’s all about until, eventually, she realizes that Chevalier may have done this on purpose.

The book is brilliant—a work of art, even—but it’s also difficult, with heavy themes about time and family; plus it also has a questionable love story. And the prose just adds to the challenge. Emma spends three whole hours cursing Chevalier’s name for trolling her with this book. Is he insulting her? Her intelligence? Does he think she’ll give up on this dense and difficult book? In the name of Rhodolite, she’ll finish this within the week—and understand it!—come hell or high water.

But if Chevalier thinks that Emma will take this lying down, he’s mistaken. Challenge accepted.

♔

“So, you’re finished reading the book,” he notes with amusement as he eyes Emma up and down, lingering on her very dark undereye circles. “And just under a week? Impressive.”

“Oh, don’t act so giddy,” she snaps, and Chevalier arches a brow, a warning sign. She collects herself. “You did it as a test! Clearly you wanted to see me fail.”

“What would I get from seeing you fail?”

“I don’t know—entertainment?”

“You think so highly of yourself.” And Emma would have fired another snappish retort to that, except Chevalier shifts from his seat to face her fully, his hand migrating from his knee to his cheek, leaning forward, ready to observe her. “And what are your thoughts on the book?”

So they’re really going to do this, and for a wildly hilarious moment Emma pictures Chevalier as her elementary tutor, thick-rimmed glasses and slicked-back hair, the nasally snobbish pitch to his voice. She bites her tongue to keep herself from snorting with laughter, lest Chevalier take offense and execute her on the spot.

Chevalier waits patiently in silence, opting to watch her try to get it together. She hopes her thoughts don’t telegraph across too obviously, but she succeeds in swallowing her urge to chortle after a few calming breaths.

“The main characters fell in love when they were kids, and they ended up together in their old age. It’s taken a while to get there, with a lot of complicated things in between, but I suppose I liked that they still ended up together, in the end. I guess that’s what you call true love …”

“True love?” The curve of Chevalier’s smile appears to be ironic. “Of course you’d believe that nonsense.”

It’s a jab she doesn’t like. “What’s the harm in believing in the idea of true love?”

“False expectations that lead to a disappointing outcome.” His reply is quick, as if he’s answered something along that line in the past. “There is no such thing, true love. What is real and more enduring is the coldness of betrayal. Remember that.”

Ah. So it’s like that. Perhaps it is true for him, someone who grew up surrounded by politics and intrigue. The palace is a dangerous place for anybody, even her, with its whispering walls and its suffocating chambers. There are eyes everywhere, and one cannot afford to be truthful to survive. Chevalier must have learned the meaning of betrayal long before he knew the definition of love, which he now seeks only from books, a secondhand experience. Not even to understand what it feels like but to fashion it into his arsenal. Love as a weapon.

It’s a sad and lonely way to live, and somehow, Emma pities him for that.

“Anyway!” she says, more cheerful than how she feels. “I’m not here just to return the book. I’m also here—” she brandishes another one in front of the prince “—to tell you not to underestimate me! As a response to that book, here is mine. And don’t refuse it! I’m staking my pride here, you know.”

He takes the book gingerly, and Emma can see how dubious he is of her latest recommendation after her first offer more than a week ago. She grinds her teeth and thinks that her smile looks sarcastic now.

“Huh,” Chevalier says, inspecting the book. It’s thinner than the one he lent, and though it’s not as dense and difficult Emma is confident it packs just as much punch as the former. “We’ll see, then.”

Just you wait, Emma thinks. You’ll change your tune after this.

♔

At the courtyard, in the middle of reading a newly purchased book, a familiar cover materializes in Emma’s vision, and she looks up to find Chevalier, a disgruntled air about him.

“Not bad,” he says, and there’s an almost-smile gracing his lips.

He leaves as soon as he hands the book, his cloak billowing dramatically behind him as he walks away.

Emma watches him go. Then, looking down at her book, she feels a smile creeping in.

Not bad. It’s not a complete surrender, but it feels like victory all the same.

♔

From then on, they develop a sort of unspoken ritual, taking turns recommending a book from their shelves, after which they engage in a lively discussion on their interpretation and verdict.

Emma has since learned from these exchanges Chevalier’s thought process; has since developed an intimate familiarity with his mannerisms—like how he taps with his index finger whenever he formulates his response to an argument, how he looks to the side whenever he finds the other person’s reasoning to be flawed, how he faces the other person fully whenever he’s interested in what the other has to say.

And because of this, their time together lengthens that even the other princes notice. At one point, Clavis pulls Emma into a corner and expresses his glee over this development.

“If you want some advice, I’m here for you,” Clavis says.

Emma boggles. “What are you even talking about?”

Midway through her third week of being Belle, Emma encounters Chevalier during a ball. Now that she has the hang of it and that she’s already developed friendships with some of the princes, she’s asked Luke to accompany her as her escort. Thing is, while Luke has agreed to her request, he suddenly disappears as soon as she converses with some acquaintances she’s made in her previous social gatherings.

So much for that friendship. Emma sighs, but ultimately she should have seen that coming.

Not far away from her left she spots Chevalier striding away from the crowd, and based on his expression Emma surmises that he’s had enough of pleasantries and reports for the evening. Next thing she knows, her feet are moving of their own accord. Towards him.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” she begins once she’s within hearing distance.

Chevalier glances at her, and for one fleeting moment his face cracks. Emma smiles, painfully wide and painfully sarcastic, and inwardly she regrets approaching him.

“What.” At least he still deigns to respond to her greeting, no matter how begrudging his tone is.

“Calling it a night?” When Chevalier’s expression twists Emma hastens to add: “I just want to say that I’ve finished the book! And I’ve a lot of questions.”

“And you wish to discuss it here and now?”

“Well, Luke has already left me, and I no longer have anybody to talk with …”

Chevalier’s sigh sounds like it’s dragged out of him. He could have huffed like other times, but now, as Emma takes a closer look at him, under the bright and dazzling lights of the hall his skin is at an alarming level of pallor. She remembers the latest clash between him and Leon about border protection, and while Leon has a point about screening procedures Chevalier is too paranoid to adjust his airtight stance on the matter.

“Your Highness, if you want I can accompany you until we reach your chambers. I can ask my questions on the way there.”

The pointed glare he sends her way would have cowed her during their first meeting, but Emma has since then developed immunity after repeated exposure. Despite his negative reaction he doesn’t protest, so Emma interprets that as an assent.

When they’ve reached the palace hallways, Chevalier speaks: “Well? I’m waiting for your questions.”

Emma startles. Honestly, that was just an excuse to divert Chevalier’s attention from her inexplicable folly. She’s also concerned about Chevalier’s exhaustion; no doubt he’s working himself to the ground over that border issue.

But she supposes this is a good time as any other to bring it up.

“Right. I’m just curious about this particular book … It’s a short story collection, but all of them tackle, in one way or another, a different kind of love. This one story that stood out for me has the girl fall in love with the wolf. It’s not common for stories to have a person fall for a beast—a beautiful man who turns into a beast. Usually it’s the other way round, right? Love transforms the wicked into the beautiful, but here, the beautiful is wicked all along. And the girl doesn’t care.”

“And your question is?”

“So I guess my question is …”

Why does this remind me of you? A beautiful man, a wicked beast. A man without a heart.

But Emma cannot utter it out loud, for speaking of it means implicating her into the equation. A girl who falls in love with a beast not in spite of, but just is. Total acceptance.

She glances at Chevalier, whose features have captured the attention of so many: straight-backed and tall, a fair-haired immaculate pillar with the bluest eyes she has ever seen. Nobody can deny his beauty, and this beauty obverts the heart within. He claims to have no heart, but Emma knows that is not true. It just takes effort, patience, and determination to decipher the puzzle that is Prince Chevalier.

Why did you choose this book? What do you expect me to take away from it?

What do you want to tell me?

“I guess my question is,” she repeats, and Chevalier is quiet at her side, “what did you think after you’ve read it?”

He doesn’t reply for a long time, and Emma is too afraid to see his expression. Is it disappointment? Annoyance? Anger?

Sadness?

Alas, she is spared an answer: they’ve arrived at Chevalier’s room, and whatever the prince’s response was, it is now lost into the silence. Emma can no longer recover the moment.

“Well, here we are, Your Highness. I’ll return to my own room now. I bid you goodnight.”

She curtseys and immediately turns around, not waiting for his affirmation. Even so, she can feel his eyes on her as she leaves.

Maybe she should have asked those questions, and maybe he would have answered them sincerely. But what did she want to hear? And what is she so afraid of? What does she expect from a man who doesn’t see himself as human? Hope is not expectation; expectation ensures guarantee, and she’s sure Chevalier would say of hope: that it’s only for dreamers like her, heads stuck in the clouds, unable to see the ground. 

Perhaps she’s been reading everything wrong from the start. A metaphor is a connection between two things, but it falls upon the reader to accept that link. And she might have seen something that doesn’t exist, and it’s just her wishful thinking that gave it life.

Perhaps—and maybe this is what she fears all along—she’s been extending a hand to someone who doesn’t want to reach out in the first place.

♔

(Somewhere in one of the palace chambers, an unfolded letter rests on a desk, filled with the most beautiful cursive:

I know that it wasn’t the question you wanted to ask, and I can see it in the dip of your brows, your downcast eyes. I can read you like how I can read all the books in the palace—and remember them.

So, this is my answer:

The world is beautiful, but in this beauty lies danger. Beware of gifts wrapped in honey and silk; the sweetness hides the hungry fangs beneath. It will tear your flesh the moment you look away.

I chose that book because I want to teach you a lesson. Isn’t that how metaphors work: an image for a notion? And this is the lesson: kindness is cruelty, love is the savage beast of fallen kingdoms, and in the end you will be devoured by its wickedness. It doesn’t matter which comes first; beauty is not a moral concept, and I am not a moral person.

Whether the story reminds you of me is unimportant. We all have things to cling to.)

♔

On the fourth week of being Belle, Emma and Chevalier have so far exchanged a total of six books, and despite some intense arguments that ensued over a difference of interpretation, Emma likes to think they’re all productive—and thus, an accomplishment.

She thinks that this seventh book will inspire the same level of fervor in discourse.

“Ah, I’ve read that already, years ago,” Chevalier says, tone dismissive, eyes glued to the report he’s editing.

Emma freezes from her place, caught off-guard by the revelation.

“Oh,” she manages after three excruciating seconds, silently proud that her voice is not coming off as warbled. “I see.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

At that Chevalier's eyes abandon the report and casts an exasperated look at her, impatience oozing all over his pores.

Emma scrambles for something to add. “So! Doesn't that mean we can talk about it right away? There’s a part where it’s speculated that people are just halves of a whole, and when they find their significant other, they will feel complete. It sounds a lot like soulmates and true love, isn’t it?”

“For its absurdity? I agree.”

And Emma should have foreseen this, but Chevalier’s repudiation of it grates her. It’s as if nothing has changed at all.

“I just thought that it’s a nice sentiment.”

“Fine, I’ll humor you.” Chevalier sets his papers aside and faces her. Emma straightens up in reflex. “Let’s say that the premise is true, that we are indeed just half of the person we were, then what does it mean to be whole? We live our lives missing something crucial, and yet here we are, still thriving, still surviving. What would we gain if we become whole?”

And this is the crux of the matter for Chevalier, isn’t it. The disavowal of the heart, torn flesh and emptied ribcage. As a royal, his existence is in the service of Rhodolite, and he embraces this purpose like someone with nothing to lose because he has nothing in the first place. Due to this great responsibility, he has shed the worldly layers of his humanity and all that’s left is cold and ruthless efficiency.

He would not recognize the buoyant foolishness of dreams, the exhilarating breathlessness of love. And this is what's been bothering Emma, even before that night in the ball: that, for all the times he spurns the good things, her heart still aches for him.

“Well …” Emma hesitates. “Happiness, I guess?”

Chevalier stares at her blankly. “Happiness,” he echoes, every syllable round as if tasting it for the first time. His face crumples in disbelief. “What does happiness have to do with it?”

And this is no longer just about the book for Emma, but also about the prince as well. With every book she lends there's a corresponding meaning to it, a hidden language that she hopes Chevalier would pick up. After all, interpretation lies on the reader, and Chevalier is intelligent enough to piece the hints together. It's her way of telling him that he's not alone and that she is with him—whether he wants it or not.

“Prince Chevalier,” Emma begins, earnest and full of meaning. In a sudden bout of boldness, she places her hand over his. Squeezes once. “I just want you to be happy.”

For a few nerve-racking moments it is deathly silent. Then:

“You want me to be happy.” He shakes off her hand, his expression incredulous. “This is absurd. Do not waste my time any longer.”

He gets up from his seat and storms off the room, and isn’t this funny—the last time this happened it was Emma who had turned her back to Chevalier, and now it’s the other way round, with her watching his tall, proud figure recede in her vision.

♔

But she doesn’t waste time: the next day has her rummaging through her shelves, searching for that one particular title. When she finds it, Emma exclaims in triumph. If she can’t convince Chevalier through her words, she will convince him through her books.

It doesn’t take that long to locate him. She finds him at the rose garden, except he’s not alone. Chevalier is with Clavis, though judging by their body language they’re not discussing something important. Emma takes this opportunity to march towards Chevalier and, as she nears both the princes, readies the small book.

She shoves it into Chevalier’s unprepared hands. Chevalier jerks slightly in surprise, his eyes widening a fraction. He opens his mouth to speak, probably something incendiary, but Emma doesn’t let him.

“Here!” she yells. Both princes cringe at the volume. “Read it immediately! I’ve thought about it long and hard! You better appreciate this!”

And then she flees, denying Chevalier an opportunity to refuse. In the background she hears Clavis’s gleeful laughter, and the sound doesn’t leave her until she is out of the garden altogether.

♔

Prince Chevalier may not have been an emotional man, but he’s clearly vindictive, as evidenced by his barging into Emma’s room just as Emma is settling in for the night. He conspicuously locks the door, and Emma would have questioned him about that action had it not been for Chevalier’s piercing gaze when he turns to her, crystal sharpness that prickles at her skin, and involuntarily she shivers.

“I finished the book as you’ve ordered,” he begins, and even though he displays insouciance, his words have bite in them. Emma flinches. “And how do you want me to proceed?”

It takes a few seconds for Emma’s mind to come up with something. “I’m sorry?”

Chevalier only stares at her, waiting.

The lack of response this time has Emma panicking. “Honestly, Your Highness,” she stammers, “I did not expect that you’d talk to me about the book on the same day. I, uh, well, um …”

Her words taper off into silence. Chevalier continues to watch her, until finally he huffs and goes to her in five definitive strides. He stops within a couple of feet from her, and the distance, or lack of, causes Emma to stiffen. Chevalier’s gaze remains stubbornly on her, and the moonlight that slants through the window glances half of Chevalier’s face, so Emma can see the glimmer of the prince’s blue, blue eyes, cut sapphire against pale ivory skin.

He raises one hand, and in that hand Emma’s book bends slightly from the pressure. He steps closer. The book’s spine hovers near Emma’s cheek. Taps. The smell of book paper invades Emma’s nose.

“Poetry,” he declares, incredulity and derision mixing in that one word. He taps the book on her cheek once more. “You wanted me to read poetry. Although …”

He lets the last word linger. Then slowly—achingly slowly—he slides the bookspine down her cheek, to her neck, like the caress of a teasing finger. Emma’s breath catches.

Chevalier’s eyes fall to her collarbones. “I have gone marking the atlas of your body / with crosses of fire.”

His voice reverberates in the confined spaces of Emma’s room.

“My mouth went across: a spider, trying to hide. / In you, behind you, timid, driven by thirst.”

The spine migrates to Emma’s lips, as does Chevalier’s burning gaze. He presses down her lower lip, Emma stays still.

“I must say: very bold of you to order me around. Commanding me to read the book you threw at me—and it's poetry. I should have severed your limbs for that insolence.”

Emma can’t reply; the book remains on her lips, a slim but hard weight grazing her lower teeth.

“Why have you chosen that book,” Chevalier asks, but from the tone of his voice he isn’t seeking an answer. “Do you have something to say to me. No—” he lightly shakes his head “—answer me this instead: who is who in your little book of poetry?”

And of course Chevalier has caught on to the meaning of her gesture. The fact that Emma has chosen this particular set of poems means that she is baring everything to him, all cards laid down the table. That hand reaching out to him hasn’t left at all; it’s only waiting, however long it will be.

Tentatively, she raises her own hand to touch his wrist. When Chevalier doesn’t reject it, her other hand follows. All the while her eyes never leave Chevalier’s. Carefully, she takes the book away and pulls the hand down, her lips freed from the pressure.

She breathes low, relieved, then says: “What do you think, Your Highness?”

The prince’s brows furrow, annoyed at her deflection. “You vex me so much.”

Then, with his free hand, he grabs the back of her neck and brings their lips together.

Emma jumps at the contact, but his hand cradling her head stays firm and solid. Chevalier tilts his head slightly and bites her lower lip, and Emma moans in response.

When they part, Chevalier glares at her. “Do you think you can get away with placing me as the object of your desire? How arrogant of you.”

He proceeds to bite and tug at her lower lip again, and even if Emma wants to say something in return the only sound she can make is a sigh. Her hands tighten their grip on Chevalier's wrist.

His tongue peeks out and licks her teeth. Emma blooms before him.

"My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road," Chevalier whispers into the corner of her mouth, his breathing loud and ragged.

"For someone who seems to hate poetry," Emma pants, "you quote them a lot."

There's a pause, and for one distressing second Emma thinks Chevalier will pull away, but he just moves his lips to her neck, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on her pulse.

When he finally answers, she feels more than hear his words:

"You made me read them."

“Should I … apologize, Your Highness?”

This time, Chevalier does release her, taking a step back and shooting her a considering look. Emma falters, feeling suddenly bereft, but tries not to let it show. But Chevalier, being Chevalier, realizes this, and he smirks, and Emma feels hot all over again.

“You should apologize,” he answers, oh-so-casually; “regardless, you will be punished.”

The huskiness of his voice, the seeping desire within, inflames Emma’s flesh, and Emma has the mind to defy Chevalier a little more.

“Shouldn’t we—” Emma stumbles over her words after seeing the prince’s dark gaze on her. “Shouldn’t we talk first?”

“Talk?” Chevalier repeats. The smirk still on his lips; it gains a predatory edge, and Emma’s heart skips a beat. “We have done enough talking. Now …”

He closes the distance again, his hands finding their place on her waist. He directs her towards the bed. When the back of Emma’s knees hit the edge, Chevalier pushes her down and follows suit. Above her, Chevalier crowds Emma’s senses, everything else is just white noise.

He dips his head to position his lips right by her ear, his breaths giving her goosebumps, and Emma shudders when Chevalier begins to speak.

“I hope you’re prepared for your punishment, because it will last the entire night.”

♔

The shaft of light streaming through the window pools on Emma’s face, and the stinging sensation wakes her. Her mind still sluggish, Emma groans and turns away, wanting to go back to sleep. She almost succeeds, were it not for a voice floating somewhere above her.

“It’s almost awe-inspiring how irresponsible you can be, at times.”

The cadence sounds familiar, the timbre rich and lilting, but it still takes Emma close to fifteen seconds before her brain finally puts a name and face to the voice, and the realization of it has her shooting up from the bed, whirling around and finding Chevalier beside her, lounging with a book in hand, loosely dressed, his shirt only buttoned halfway.

“I,” Emma says eloquently.

Chevalier snorts.

“Good morning?” she tries again. “You’re up before me.”

“It’s almost noon, actually.”

Emma processes this information. “Oh,” she says. Then: “Oh.”

She remembers the night before, a burst of fire that ignited her nerves, her blood singing with every bit of his touch. The hungry way he devoured her, like a beast but without the savagery—only passion.

It summons heat to Emma’s cheeks, and with Chevalier so close to her, having a full view of the gamut of her reactions, she just wishes for the world to put her out of her misery.

Mercifully, Chevalier doesn’t say anything while she wills herself to non-existence.

It takes a few more awkward silence before Emma notices one significant fact.

“Prince Chevalier?” she says. “If it’s almost noon, then why are you still here, not, um, properly dressed?”

Instead of an exasperated look like what Emma’s been expecting, Chevalier becomes thoughtful, snapping his book shut and putting it on her desk. Directing his full attention on her, Chevalier smiles dryly.

“Didn’t you want to have your talk?”

Oh. It’s an odd feeling, to see this aloof prince being gracious to her. Normally he would have dismissed anything that resembles a heart-to-heart conversation, and Emma had tried subtly, numerous times, before.

So for him to stay in her room, waiting for her to wake up and not leaving right away—it’s progress.

“I do,” Emma says, burgeoning hope in her tone. “Let’s talk.”

From where they sit on the bed, Emma and Chevalier are facing opposite each other. Emma relinquishes her slouch; Chevalier’s eyes drop and he sighs, reaching behind her to drape the blanket over her naked body, which she’s just starting to take notice of. She blushes, hard.

“Okay,” she continues, distracting herself from the embarrassment. “So. What happened yesterday? Do you really hate poetry that much to, uh, attack me like that?”

Now it’s Chevalier’s turn to feel uncomfortable. He averts his gaze, shifting from his place on the bed. Exhales.

“It’s not …” he hesitates. Brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “When you gave me the book, Clavis was with me.”

He pauses, and gives Emma a pointed stare that conveys how from that alone she should grasp the implication.

And grasp she does. She imagines Clavis’s reaction after he realizes that Emma practically ordered Chevalier to read love poems. 

“I’m sorry …” she mumbles, feeling chastised.

“The poems in the book,” he continues, “are blatant in their desire. Do you really feel that way about me?”

“Oh. Oh, well—” It seems that they’re taking turns with the discomfort, Emma looking down and formulating her reply. “I thought it’s the quickest way to clue you in. I was actually thinking more about how they articulate longing quite well, rather than the, you know, sensual. But I wasn’t discounting that, to be … honest.” Then she looks up again. “Why were you so fixated on who is the desirer and who is the object?”

“I find it arrogant of you to have such designs on me,” he says without a beat. Then, more subdued, “It just feels jarring, to be desired by someone when all your life people fear you.”

And Emma just slumps from that admission, her heart clenching for Chevalier, the loveless years that froze his heart, unable to learn about and accept the kindness of unconditional affection. The urge to take him in her arms is strong, but she keeps herself at bay.

Nonetheless, Chevalier picks up her thoughts, and he throws a warning glance at her. “Don’t.” Then, after a moment: “Since when?”

She understands what he means. “I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but I’ve always looked forward to our conversations, you know? Thinking about what book to lend you, enjoying the books you’ve lent me … I guess it’s cumulative. Then one day, I found myself wondering what it’s like if you allowed yourself to love. And, more hopefully, to love me.”

She gives him a rueful smile and a helpless shrug. And another:

“Do you feel the same way as I do, Prince Chevalier?”

It must've looked ridiculous, to Chevalier, or to anybody who would come across the scene: two people in a room, on the bed, one naked, the other dressed, talking about love. Confessing her love to him and asking if he loves her back. Emma has always thought that her love life would involve grand declarations of love, what all those books have promised: heroic swordsmanship, the defeat of an embittered enemy, the impassioned call of her name—the works. Not this. This ridiculous quasi-interrogation of each other's thoughts about a night that derailed the trajectory of their relationship. The lack of gravitas and splendor. Chevalier is not even properly dressed for the occasion.

But—and this is the thing—Emma is not in a romance book, and Chevalier is not a romantic hero. Far from it. Chevalier has done all the things for the sake of Rhodolite—merciless things, callous things, unforgivable things—and will do so again if he deems it necessary. And Emma knows that. And yet—

And yet, here she is, naked save for a blanket, giving her heart to the heartless prince, longing for his love.

She feels a ghost of a touch on the corner of her eye, and then Chevalier tucks a stray lock behind her ear. The action was so gentle that it almost breaks her heart.

“There’s a fragment in a book that I’ve read a long time ago.” The hand on her hair doesn't leave; instead it follows the downward path of her cascading locks, stopping in the middle, right over her heart. There's a hypnotic quality descending on the prince's gaze right now, his eyes trained on his hand, and slowly, that hand opens, rotating to press its palm on her chest, where Emma's heart beats wildly inside.

Emma remains still in his hand, afraid that if she moves, the spell will break and Chevalier will no longer show this side of him ever again.

“Something about metaphors,” he resumes, entranced with the memory. “It says: Metaphors are dangerous. Metaphors are not to be trifled with. A single metaphor can give birth to love.” 

He finally lifts his eyes to meet hers, and the fire in his sapphire gaze sparks a gasp out of her. 

“Love begins with a metaphor. To me, that metaphor—it’s that beautiful, wicked beast.”

And Emma remembers that evening ball, filling the quiet hallways with her inchoate yearning, unspoken questions that would unravel her desire, nascent but hopeful, a bud waiting to bloom. Why does this remind me of you? Because—and it dawns on her now because of his confession—Chevalier had understood the parallels and the metaphors, had expected the connection that would untangle itself before Emma, but had chosen not to speak of it. At the time, was it because he still found hope to be a nebulous image of a future he did not want to see, one that had no use to him?

And what about now?

She looks at him and still sees an immaculate pillar, sleeted with ice. But there are cracks at the foundations, and it may take a long time to chisel them away, but Emma is patient, has always been with Chevalier despite their clashes and arguments. It will be worth it. Love thrives, after all, in courage amidst struggle.

Her hands ascend and halt inches away from Chevalier’s face, uncertain. He does not tear his eyes away from hers, and that makes Emma swallow her hesitation. It feels like a long time before her palms touch his skin, and when Chevalier exhales, the first step in a new world, her hands slide down to the nape of his neck, to his back, as she embraces him as though she’s never letting go.

“You’re going to regret this,” Chevalier says into her hair.

Emma grins. She's too happy to count on that possibility. “We’ll see about that.”

♔

“Here.”

In Chevalier’s hand is a book, the cover simple, the title embossed. A Lover’s Discourse.

Emma blinks. “Hmm? It’s not your turn yet, Prince Chevalier.”

“It’s yours. I’m giving it to you.”

“Oh!” Emma smiles and takes the gift, hugging it to her chest. “Thank you, Your Highness! I’ll treasure this forever.”

Chevalier just watches her in reply, a curious expression on his face. Recently, the severe edge that graces the prince’s countenance has lessened, especially around her. He smiles more, his eyes gentler—although it cannot be said of the same when it comes to other people. Clavis still delights upon Chevalier’s harshness towards the other nobles. For now, Emma relishes being special to Chevalier, but in the future, she hopes that the kingdom will see how she sees him, too.

“You’re really strange, you know,” he says.

“Hey!” Emma pouts. “I hope that’s not an insult. It’s a gift from you, of course I’m going to cherish it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes!” Then a thought occurs to her; she inspects the book. “I am a bit surprised by the title, though. Why this book?”

“Why not? It’s my answer to that book of poetry you forced me to read.”

“I didn’t force you to read it! I just—I was just frazzled!”

Doubt is written all over Chevalier’s face, and Emma glares at him, flustered.

“Of course you were.” But then he softens. “I found it an appropriate response, anyway.”

“Oh?”

Chevalier looks away. “I am devoured by desire, the impulse to be happy.”

Oh. Chevalier has never forgotten what Emma wants for him, that day. Warmth unfurls inside her, blooming like spring flower. This is what love must feel like. Complete and whole, sunlight in her veins.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a bop to her head. Chevalier pulls back, another book in hand, sighing in displeasure.

“Less daydreaming, more reading.”

And Emma can’t help but laugh at that. “Yes, as you wish, Your Highness.”

She snuggles further into her bed. There’s movement near her side, and then Chevalier’s arm presses against hers. Emma ducks her head to hide an elated smile.

Her days as Belle are already nearing their end, and there are still a lot of things to confront—Clause 99 being one of them. But right now, as one of Chevalier’s hands finds hers and intertwines their fingers, Emma doesn’t care.

OH MY GOD!! I finally cut them out of their paper prison phew!! :3c

The bookmarks are finally printed OH MY GOD!! :D

The bookmarks are finally printed OH MY GOD!! :D

So like for like one of my school projects we're doing bookmarks and I'm doing quite a few models, like here are the two marble hornets models (waiting impatiently to print and cut them!!) ⁽⁠⁽⁠ଘ⁠(⁠ ⁠ˊ⁠ᵕ⁠ˋ⁠ ⁠)⁠ଓ⁠⁾⁠⁾

(like I'm still putting them together so I'll be showing more models soon hehe) >:3

I’m only a few episodes in but he’s kind of a mood

My new bookmark🥰

My photography

Hungry for BOOKS ❤️

My photography

Me time. Procreate, Derwent sketch brush. Reference photo IKEA and 3dsky.org. Detail of bookmark design. 
https://www.instagram.com/p/CGcMsKPHVyw/?igshid=qxzxiiotfrwa

Frog bookmark but my printer sucks so I’m not able to print it out 🥲

Another bookmark!! I don't think I'll get bored of doing bookmarks

I was bored, I checked on my Tumblr, I saw the other post, and now I'm workin on it

Bookmark (3), this one is like the first one but the OC is Electric Shortage instead of Crusher Blow (I suck at naming things), I like it and I wish you do too!

Bookmark (2), this time is Sliver of Straw, originally it was gonna be just to draw em naked and have a model, but I wanted to do a bookmark again, also, I have to fix some things and end the broken arm

Get Off My Screen!

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: I'm doing this cuz someone wanted to see my shitposty idea hahaha, I hope it's not too OOC but oh well- I hope someone could write a proper fic with this since I don't trust my writing much HAHAHAHA

A/N: I'll also be doing this from the reader's POV for now. Just message me or request if you wanna see Vox's POV since it might be too long if I include his thingy in this post XD

College life is fun, do doubt about that; from the parties to the friends you make- it truly was unforgettable.

Even if you did study a lot, wanting to get high marks- you had time to indulge every once in a while and goof off with friends.

It made you a star student on paper- but nearly bordering troublesome with your chaotic behavior.

You were lucky to never have been caught with their shenanigans.

But of course your friends just had to push it.

A new ghost hunting hype trend surfaced online and they were convinced that they had to get into it.

You said it was a bad idea, getting into stuff you didn't know.

Your friends brushed you off and all piled into the attic of your parents' home.

Of course, your parents were more than happy to explain some things before leaving your group to their devices.

They've been messing with the... "paranormal" for most of their lives.

You just chose not to believe it.

It wasn't like there was proof aside from heresay anyways.

Your friends proceed to mess with the ouija board they found, among other probably possessed things.

You found it all way too creepy to be honest.

Especially that old CRT TV that was just sitting in the corner.

It was an old thing you remembered using, but it always glitched and stuttered when you were a kid.

Even if there wasn't actually anything wrong with it according to the technicians that tried to fix it over the years.

Your friends started screaming before you could really reminisce.

"WHO'S MOVING IT?!"

"I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING-"

"IT'S MOVINNGGGGGGG-"

The fact the ouija board was actually reacting slightly freaked you out.

You managed to calm your friends from bombarding the thing with questions before asking what actually mattered.

"What's your name?"

V... O... X...

That didn't sound like a demon name you were even vaguely familiar with, at least off the top of your head.

Then of course that creepy TV from your childhood turned on by itself.

Your friends were screaming bloody murder at this point.

You didn't even realize the fuss until you saw the darn thing was unplugged.

You freaked out too, bolting down the attic stairs with your friends quickly in tow.

It was smooth sailing afterwards, your parents assuring you that nothing would happen.

Your friends stayed for dinner until they had to go.

You were about to retire for the night as well until you realized you couldn't find your phone.

Everywhere you looked, it wasn't there.

That left one place.

The attic.

By the time you gathered the courage to return, everything seemed just fine.

The TV was finally turned off, how and why- you didn't bother enough to know.

So you picked up your phone off the floor and just headed to your room.

Only to practically get jumpscared when you opened your phone.

WHO PUT A FRIGGIN WEIRD GLITCHY SMILEY ON YOUR WALLPAPER?!

Annoyed, you switched it back before plugging it into the charger.

Come morning, you had a bone to pick with your lot of friends.

Because not only was your phone stuck with the wallpaper problem, soon were all your devices.

You tried everything, restarting your stuff, running an antivirus, even getting it professionally checked.

Nothing.

And the problem continued to persist.

Now at your wits' end, you figured whatever entity was messing with your gadgets could at least converse with you through said gadgets.

So you opened a blank notepad on your laptop, nearly glaring at the screen while waiting for something to happen.

Five minutes passed and nothing happened.

"OH YOU CRAPPY PIECE OF TECH JUST DO SOMETHING!"

Even more waiting and still nothing.

Eventually you just decided to type something up on the notepad in impatience.

"I know you're in there. Stop messing with me."

And to your surprise, something finally replied.

"Oh I know, you're just fun to mess with doll."

What. The. Fuck.

And that was how you met him.

Vox, the tech overlord demon, months ago.

When he infected your phone, then consequently the rest of your electronics too.

Since then he's been an annoying thorn in your side.

Well... or even a welcome distraction.

Maaaaybe even an odd Omegle Buddy?

Who even still does those?

Either way, you never had to use spellcheck again whenever doing your work.

Nor did you consult Google as often either.

As rude and annoying as he was, Vox was quite helpful when it came to paperwork.

Not that you didn't know much about him, on some days you would both just chat using the notepad.

He hated some radio guy named "Alastor"?

You would laugh if you weren't so tired.

Depending on Vox's mood, he was either tolerable or a downright prick.

Fighting over control of the cursor was also pretty common occurrence.

Vox practically living in your gadgets forced you to learn at least basic software care and programming.

The guy also ended up sorting your files!

You'd be more thankful if he wasn't so bitchy about your file arrangement anyway.

It wasn't that bad.

You want to call him your virtual friend- but he's more like an annoying virus that throws hissy fits from time to time.

Even if said hissy fits were either excessive amounts of lag or mostly obstructive visual glitches and pop ups.

The little shit was also constantly messing with you during class.

Not that he cared enough even if you told him you were, he'd still be messing with your notes or even your files every now and then.

You stopped trying to change wallpapers after you realized he kept switching them back to his grinning face.

Let's not even mention his multitude of custom emojis stuck in your device.

How that got there, you didn't care enough to figure out.

What a weirdo.

Though him constantly interacting with your software gave you an idea.

You saw your friend fawning over a thing called a "desktop pet" just a little ago in class.

They chose to get a virtual slime.

It piqued your interest after you saw it was interactive too.

And knowing that Vox liked to mess with your operating systems a lot, you decided to try and get one to see what he'd do.

You got the basic one, just a random anime "chibi" or so it was labeled on the website.

It walked around and did some emotes before a notepad opened up with a message.

"What the fuck is that."

"My new desktop companion, do you like it?"

You didn't get a reply so you just left to grab a snack.

You weren't even surprised with what you came back to.

Vox was already using the cursor to bully the desktop pet you downloaded.

Either throwing it around or just repeatedly spam clicking it so it fell over.

The sonova bitch-

You kind of expected it, just leaving Vox to do his thing while you went to take a nap.

Only, you didn't realize you would be coming back to a new custom desktop pet and an open note.

"You're welcome~"

If that was what Vox looked like, you couldn't deny it was cute.

Or at least the small desktop pet made it seem so.

It was a striking design for sure-

Did he have a monitor for a head??

Oh that explains the face on your screen wallpapers.

You didn't realize until too late that Vox could interact with you using the desktop pet either.

Sometimes the things he did were cute with it, like the emotes that were installed on the thing.

Or he was just a little shit closing your windows or dragging them off screen before you could notice and stop him.

He was an annoying bastard-

But you kept him around anyways.

A/N: I really had fun writing this thing, it hasn't gone romantic since I didn't know if I wanted it to go that route so this is more of a friendly thing? Either way I might write Vox's POV sooner or later this was a really fun idea HAHAHAHA

A/N: Vox's POV is here!! :3

Bad idea, right?

Adam x fem!reader

Summary: You weren’t really known for your good decision making skills.

Part 2

CW/TW: first attempt at smut, Adam is his own warning, unsafe sex, semi public, college au!!!, dubious consent if you squint, oral both reciving, p in v

The golden door knob of the bathroom door dug uncomfortably into your lower back, and outside of the room music was playing loudly. And even though the bathroom was neatly stocked and you usually take your time to snoop around and steal stuff from frat parties, right now all you could focus on was Adam’s hand in the back of your neck, forcefully frenching you while he pinned you against the door.

The kiss was disgustingly wet, teeth clanking together and his tongue shoved down your throat. And it was still the best make out session you ever had with anyone.

And the best part of it all? His tongue piercing. Hottest thing you have ever experienced.

When your lips disconnected you were connected by a string of saliva. But it seemed like Adam hated the mere thought of not touching you in anyway. The hand on your neck quickly moved towards your hips, together with his other one. Shit. His hands are huge. Fuck that, he was big in general. He had to bend his neck and back at an awkward angle to be able to kiss you.

Golden eyes starred right into your own eyes. His pupils were blown wide and his lips were pink and wet, his face in general was slightly flushed. You wish you could keep your composure like that. Your whole body felt hot, and you probably also looked that part. The way Adam smirked at you confirmed your fear. Before you could throw some sort of remark at him, he started kissing and biting your neck.

You couldn’t suppress the surprised gasp leaving your mouth and the shaky call of Adam’s name. Adam’s right hand weaselled his way under your shirt groping your tits, while his left hand went towards your ass, making itself at home in the back of your jeans pocket.

Your own hands grasped at Adam’s hair. Fingers digging into the surprisingly silky thick strands. Adam groaned at the seemingly present feeling. His left hand gave your ass a generous squeeze before he removed it and moved it towards unbuttoning your jeans.

“Adam-" you shakily called out, but you were interrupted by your own moan from Adam biting extra hard at your shoulder. Adam rolled his own hips into your own, or well, more like into your stomach because what the fuck why is he so tall and so big and has such broad shoulders and Jesus even his bulge is big can you really take that??

Collecting all your strength and will power, you pushed at Adam’s shoulders to give yourself some sort of space. Even though that push was weak as fuck, Adam followed your wish and gave you some space. A little. His hips were still flush with your own but at least he straightened his back a little and you guys weren’t breathing in the same air anymore. Your hand was still grasping at Adam’s shoulder, into his black shirt. Because you truly didn’t want him to leave. He raised his pierced brow in question at you.

“Dude, we won’t have sex in a bathroom. At a party.” You told him straight up. Your dignity couldn’t take it. And also if someone found out you were fucking your ex boyfriends most hated band member, at the nasty frat party he was throwing, in his bathroom, you would kill yourself from sheer embarrassment.

Adam rolled his eyes at you, as if you just told him the stupidest thing he has ever heard. His hands were on your hips now, massaging soothing circles into the plush flesh. You didn’t notice it, like 2 minutes ago, but thanks to Adam’s skilled fingers your pants were shimmed down a good bit, fully exposing your panties. Great. Since you didn’t plan to hook up with anyone today, you just had to wear your baby pink panties with the ugliest bow sewn into the front.

“Mmm, babe, who gives a fuck? People fuck at parties alllll the time, just.. relax, baby.” His thumb was now playing with the hem of your underwear.

Shaking your head at him, you tried to collect your 1 whole brain cell to remind you how bad of a decision this was. Using one hand to pull up your pants, you wanted to use to other hand, which was still holding unto Adam to push him away once and for all, but he was quicker than you. Damn you, guitarists players. He easily grasped both your wrists into his one hand and used the other one to pull you flush against him.

“Jesus! Alright, alright, we don’t have to fuck. We can do other fun stuff though.”

Before you could ask him what the fuck he’s talking about, he kissed you again. Probably to shut you up. He’s one to talk, you don’t think Adam has ever shut up, in his life.

Still keeping his tongue inside your mouth, and his hand on your body, he herded you away from the door. Which you didn’t even notice because all you could think and sense was him, till he sat you down at the edge of the bathtub. Your bare ass meet the cold porcelain, because Adam was already pulling both your jeans and underwear off. He was kneeling down in-front of you, a nice sight you had to admit.

Adam was currently grumbling to himself, because to properly take off your clothes he had to also take off your shoes and all he wanted was to get his dick wet and now he’s on his knees undressing you while his dick aches. Thankfully it didn’t take long for him to slip you out of your shoes, and in his slight frustration he simply threw them over his head, not caring where they landed.

“Fucking hell, you really know how to make a guy work for it, huh? Spread your legs, slut.” Adam placed his hands on your knees, his eyes were flickering between your hidden core and your eyes.

“What? No more ‘Babe’ and ‘Baby’. Sooo rude of you.” You teased him with a grin on your face. Actually you were nervous, no one ever went down on you. But, well, it’s not like you go around sleeping with everyone. You only ever slept with your ex and that experience was so horrid that you considered celibacy. Shit, if Adam wasn’t such a charming asshole you would have tried to shake him off like 3 make out sessions ago. But no, he had to spin your head around and made your insides into molten lava. Fuck.

“You really want to test my fucking patience? Dumb bitch…” He took matter into his own hands and gripped at your thighs to pull them apart. Even though his words implied something else, he was still gentle.

You quickly shut your legs again, your knees knocking together painfully at the force you used. Adam seemed to be even more aggravated.

“Wait!..Uh..I..Didn’t shave..?” You carefully spoke the words out loud. God help you. What did you even want. Do you want to leave?..No. You just need to get over yourself. Easier said than done.

“Babe, does it look like I give a shit?” Adam raised a pierced eyebrow at you. He gently rubbed your knees, looking into your eyes. And then he started laughing in realisation.

“What a fucking limb dick! You’re joking! Fucking useless excuse of a man. Next you’re going to tell me you’re a virgin.” Ah shit, he figured it out. Your body ran even hotter at Adam’s mocking of your ex. AH.

Adam’s face seemed to turn giddy, “Are you?”

You shook your head at his question.

“Eh, whatever. It’s better this way. Virgins they get sooo fucking clingy, it ain’t cute . But don’t worry, babe, it doesn’t matter how many guys you have fucked since I’m going to be last one.”

Before you could question him, he used your moment of confusion to settle properly between your thighs and he licked a broad strip up your pussy.

A moan escaped your lips, while one hand tangled into Adam’s hair and the other one covered the lower half of your face. Biting at your lip, you tried to remind yourself to breathe.

The delicious contrast between his hot tongue and cold piercing made you feel dizzy. You need him, genuinely.

Adam’s thick fingers found your entrance easily. He gently eased one finger in, which wasn’t hard since fuck you were wet from simply being near him.

His tongue drew pattern into your clit while his finger gently pushed in and out of you. Wait..Was he fucking spelling his name into your clit???

Your eyes where closed while you tried to focus on relaxing.

Adam’s free hand snacked up your torso and he pulled your shirt down, exposing your bra. With skill he was able to free your one (1) boob from the bra, and he pinched your nipple. Hard. At the same time his lips left your cunt and he also bit the inside of your thigh.

“Ouch! What the hell! Can’t you bite and pinch in a sexy way?” You asked him while starring into his golden eyes.

“Eyes on the price, baby, or I might just leave you high and dry.” He smirked at you, and when his lips returned to your desired place, he made sure to hold uncomfortable eye contact with you. Asshole.

Even though you were embarrassed to hell and back, you kept your own eyes trained on his. Fuck, he was good at this. You really were missing out till now. Keeping your moans and whimpers of Adams name at bay was near impossible.

He slowly entered another thick finger, stretching you out deliciously. And with a come hither movement of his fingers, he hit places which you didn’t even know existed.

“Fuck, Adam, please don’t stop pleasepleasepleaseplease-“ You couldn’t keep your composure anymore. What kind of witchcraft is he using that he can make you fall apart like that.

Adam stuffed you full with a third finger, sucking at you clit and carefully nipping it with his teeth. It wasn’t a big surprise, with the constant stimulation, that you came all over Adam’s face. Your thighs squished Adam’s head and your eyes were squeezed shut, while your fingers were tugging at Adam’s head. If you wanted to tug him away or towards you, you weren’t too sure.

Carefully removing his lips from your overly sensitive private parts, Adam whipped his face with the back of his hand while chuckling. Sucking his own fingers dry while starring into your soul, you tried to catch your breath.

“Aww, was that my baby’s first orgasm?” He mockingly cooed you. Adam got up from his kneeling position and rubbed his knees.

“Shut up.” You simply told him. Yeah, very creative of you.

Adam grabbed your cheeks into his hand and squeezed them together, “You ready to suck the best dick you will ever get?” He asked you while grabbing his hard dick through his cargo pants.

You turned your head slightly, trying to bite the thumb near your mouth. Adam took the opportunity to graze his thumb over your canine while you bit down on his thumb. You made sure not to actually hurt him. He smiled down at you and moved his thumb to massage your tongue.

You couldn’t help but to wrap your lips around his thumb and to suck it and stroke your tongue against the underside of it.

“Fuckkk babe, giving me a taste of how heavenly it will be? Jesus, I hope for you, you have a weak gag reflex.” He unbuckled his heavy, studded belt and unbuttoned his jeans to pull them down, together with his boxers. They had guitar prints on them. Cute.

Right. You really bit of more than you could chew. His huge fucking hands should have been your first warning.

So yeah, his dick was big. Huge, even. So what. You could handle that. Maybe you should have written your testament before coming to the party. Oh my god, how embarrassing will be this? Cause of death: Choked on a huge dick.

Of fucking course he had an prince albert piercing. The sluttiest piercing known to man. The golden, curved rod really suit him tho.

“Bitch, I swear to fuck, if you say that you don’t give blowjobs I’m going to-“ Adam slightly threatened you.

Rolling your eyes at his rambling, you wrapped your fingers around his cock and carefully licked his tip. You tried not to think too much about the fact that your fingers could barley wrap themselves around him. Adam’s hands immediately tangled themselves up in your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail to keep the hair out of your face.

You tried to get as much spit on Adam’s member as you could, the more the better.

“Ah, fuck yeah, I love when bitches slobber all over my dick.” Adam smirked down at you.

Your lips were already wrapped around his tip, your tongue playing with the piercing. Even though you avoided it till now, you looked up at Adam to glare at him.

Obviously Adam didn’t take your glare serious, urging you with a hand at the back of your head to take in more of him. Rolling your eyes at his nonsense you obliged him, trying to relax your throat and to take more into your mouth. You really had to focus on breathing through your mouth.

Adam booped your nose, making you look up at him, “Shit, babe, you’re so goddamn pretty.” He mumbled.

His dick is down your throat AND that’s what’s making you blush. Ugh. You’re weak.

“Cmon, keep looking at me with those slutty eyes. Don’t you want to make daddy feel good?” Part of you cringed at his words, the other part got even more turned on. This was something you needed to addresses within yourself at 3 am when you’re questioning all of your life decisions.

In your try to get him even deeper down your throat, he hit the back of it, causing you to choke. Ugh. Adam groaned at the feeling. He trailed a finger across your throat, “Chillax, sweetie.”

His hips rolled forward, testing the limits of your gag reflex, “..But don’t worry, baby, we can train that gag reflex of yours away. It’s hot anyways when whores gag on my huge dick.”

Can he just shut up? You’re already sucking his dick, he doesn’t need to talk about other girls.

Even though you had your lips wrapped around your teeth to keep from hurting him, because of his words you slightly grazed the underside of his cock with your teeth.

Adam yanked you off his dick by your hair, glaring at you, “Watch it, whore.”

You couldn’t help the whine which escaped your throat at the lack of contact. But also your fucking jaw hurt already.

“That’s what I fucking thought. How about you beg for me to shove my dick down your throat, huh? Acting all ungrateful and shit..”

You pressed your lips tightly together. Could you get over your pride by begging for dick? Adam’s dick at that? The most obnoxious guy on campus?

Before this you have never really interacted with Adam, you only ever saw him in passing, thanks to your ex. The rumours floating around didn’t help you with truly ever interacting with him. But one thing you always were sure of with Adam, he had a starring problem. His golden eyes seemed to be constantly trained on your figure. So it didn’t really surprise you that he wanted you to keep your eyes on him.

“Adam, please…” You whimpered out. He has bewitched you body mind and pussy because what the fuck.

“Please what, slut?” His thumb was rubbing at your cheek gently.

Fucking hell, even though you just came your pussy was aching. And it was not like you didn’t sit right in front of the solution to your problems.

Making sure to look Adam in his half lidded when you gave your impression of puppy eyes or doe eyes or whatever stupid eyes could get him to fill you up.

“Adam, please I need you to fuck my..pussy. Please?” You asked him. Ah. You hate begging and dirty talk, most humbling experience in your life.

Adam seemed rather pleased at your words, till you got to the part where you asked him to fuck your pussy, at the prospect of that he turned down right giddy. Grasping under your arms, he pulled you up. A surprised little gasp left your lips, as you hang in the air for a second. Great, he’s strong. Why are you surprised? You knew that.

“Oh, baby, I can give it to you however you want. Against the wall? On the floor? Want to ride me till your little legs give out? I can fuck you in front of those idiots who think they deserve to simply look at you.” Adam grinned down at you.

All you could do was gap at him like a fish out of water. Your brain is fried. Adam could tell by the smirk adoring his face, because of course he could, “But apparently I already finger fucked that little brain of yours out off your head. Need me to make the big decisions, huh?”

You simply shook your head at him. Adam bend down to kiss you, tongue first obviously. You wrapped your arms around his neck. His hands were on your bare ass, squeezing and groping. With his body he herd you towards the sink. With great displeasure he ended the kiss, he gently turned you around, bending you over the sink carefully. When you looked up, you made direct eye contact with your mirror image. Ew. You looked messy af.

Letting your eyes wander even more up, you looked at Adam who stood behind you. His own eyes were focused on your ass. Or maybe your pussy. It was hard to tell. When he looked into the mirror he grinned at you. His hand softly ran over your back and butt, making you relax your muscles.

“Alright baby, you just gotta chillax for me. ‘Tis might be a stretch…” Adam slowly rubbed the tip of his dick against your clit and entrance while watching intensely your face through the mirror.

“Adam..Cmon don’t tease me.” You whined out.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, babe.”

And with that he slowly entered his thick tip into your tight cunt. His hands were on your hip, softly massaging them.

A stretch summoned it up pretty well, but it felt delicious. Thank Adam for his prep, otherwise you would have died. And you would have truly pulled through on that celibacy promise.

Moaning shamelessly, you bit your finger in an attempt to quiet down. Fuck fuck fuck, who knew Adam could hit all those spots.

“Fuuuck, you’re really sucking me in. Vice fucking grip, you really don’t want to let me go, huh?” A breathy laugh left his pink lips. His tongue wet his lips and then he bit down on it.

With every rock of his hips he entered more and more into you. Shit, he seems endless. Adam’s lips grazed across the back of your neck and shoulder blades. His stumbles scratched your skin deliciously. Sloppy kisses were placed on your shoulders.

“ Shit, if you keep squeezing me like that I won’t last long.” Adam mumbled into your skin. It seemed like those words weren’t meant for your ears.

You rested your heated cheek against the cool sink, so you could also successfully avoid looking at yourself being fucked into oblivion.

“Adam..” An especially well placed roll of his hips broke your sentence of in a moan, “You ever..Fuck! Ever thought about having a smaller dick..ha. Splitting me in two, Jesus.”

Adam raised his hand and spanked your ass, then he made sure to whisper directly into your ear, “Aww, my poor baby, gonna tap out? My dick too big to fit into that tight pussy? Shit, baby, I’m going to ruin you for anyone else. I will fuck you loose.”

Before you could tell him that, that is in fact not how that works, he started to pistol his hips into your own.

Grasping at the edges of the sink, you gasped and moaned at the amazing feeling. You get sex addicts now.

Adam mumbled something’s to himself, through your own haze of pleasure you only grasped a few words.

Grasping one hand under your chest, Adam hoisted you up so that your upper body was bend up. Your back against his chest. His own face was right besides yours, turning your face towards his. Your lips crashed into each other. With his one hand he fondeled and pinched your nipple of your still freed tit.

You stopped the kiss to gasp for air, while Adam seemed to have the time of his life, “Watcha think babe, think we should get these here pierced?” To emphasise he his words, he gave an extra hard tug to your nipple. All you could muster up was a pathetic whine.

How he can talk so much while you’re basically brain dead was beyond you.

Adam snaked the other hand down your body, gently rubbing circles into your clit.

You would like to personally thank other woman Adam has ever slept with who made him into this sex god. Because my god, does he have magic fingers. And a magic tongue. And a magic dick. He’s also a great kisser. And is handsome. And rich. His style is also decent. Now, all you need is to fix up his personality, and he would be perfect.

“You close, baby?” Adam groaned into your ear.

Nodding your head furiously, a hit of clarity washed over your brain, “Wait- Adam..Do..Ah! Don’t come inside, ‘m not on birth control.”

This seemed to straight up turn Adam even more on.

“Don’t talk dirty to me, slut. Want me to knock you up? Make you all round ‘n shit?” His one hand moved from your boob to your stomach, grabbing the plushy flesh.

You tried to shake your head, but shit his words turned you on so much. You're realising more about yourself during a one night stand than during your therapy sessions. What does that say about you?

“Shit, the way you’re squeezing me just screams yes.” Adam went to apply more pressure on your clit, causing you to sob due the overwhelming pleasure.

And just like that you came around his dick, you felt yourself squeeze him dry. It didn’t take long for Adam to come after you. You felt his hot cum fill you up.

Adam left soft kisses across your neck and shoulder soothing rubbing his hands all over your body. You focused yourself on breathing in and out while steadying your breath.

Carefully Adam slipped out of your abused hole, but he kept his arms wrapped around your stomach. You leaned your back against Adam’s broad chest, your legs felt weak as hell.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, it made you realise how bad you actually looked. You can’t step outside like that. Obviously your whole body was flushed. The neck line of your shirt was pulled down your boobs, showing off your bra while only one tit was actually out. Most of your skin was covered in hickies and bite marks while your hair looked like a birds nest. You’re wearing 0 pants and Adam’s cum was slowly dripping down your thights. Great, now you have to go and buy plan b.

Properly fixing your bra and shirt, to at least make you feel somewhat better, you tried ti smooth out your hair next.

“What’s your opinion on that?” Adam’s chin was resting on your shoulder while he was watching intensely.

“..What? Getting knocked up?? Horrible.” You frowned at him.

“Would be hot. Nah, getting you pierced up, babe.” Adam’s grin pisses you off lowkey. Note to yourself: never trust Adam with birth control.

You scoffed at him, “Isn’t the healing process annoying?”

“Nah, it ain’t that bad.”

“How would you even know?”

Taking a half step back, an arm still wrapped around you though, he pulled up his black shirt. Showing off his own golden nipple piercings. Ok, thats sexy.

Averting your own eyes, you looked around the bathroom to look for your panties and pants. Ah, they’re still by the bathtub.

Adam was once again close to you, now he was smoothing down your hair.

You have listened to your friends bitch and moan about situation ships who they can’t get enough off. And you had to admit, you didn’t fucking get it. But now, with Adam’s lips against your hair line? Yeah. You’re whipped now.

Useless fuck boys.

Adam scratched at his stubbly chin, “I gotta piss, slut. Want to hold it while I do?”

“No.” What the fuck.

“Your loss, bitch.” He shrugged at you.

Shaking of his arms, you waddled around to put on your pants. You tried to avoid looking at Adam real hard. When you were fully dressed, you stole a glance at Adam. Yup, he was standing at the toilet. Fucker.

Looking around, you found your shoes near the door. Walking over, you stumbled around to put them properly on.

Putting your ear against the door, you tried to listen for any foot steps or chatting. Sadly the sound of Adam and the music outside made it really hard. Should you really go through the door? What else could you do?

And there was a knock now on the door, making you jump up.

“Occupied!” Adam yelled out.

“Dude, this bath has been occupied for over 30 minutes now! Get the fuck out!” Ah shit, that’s the voice of your ex. Now you’re really going to die.

Covering your mouth with your hand, you looked helplessly towards Adam, who was now zipping up his pants.

He walked over and was about to unlock the door, when you slapped away his hand.

You mouthed “What the fuck!” At him. Adam simply rolled his eyes at you and then raised his eyebrow at you. Yeah. What were you going to do?

Wait…This bathroom was at ground level. Looking around, you spotted the window behind the bathtub. Quickly walking over, you opened up the window and looked outside. Ok, no one is there. And you can easily climb out.

Swinging your leg over, you carefully slided down towards the ground.

You heard a “What the hell.” From Adam, before the sound of the door unlocking ringed out.

“Jesus dude, it smells like fucking sex in here. Don’t tell me..” Before you could fully listen in on the conversation you decided to fuck off.

Pulling out your phone, you looked up a 24 hour pharmacy near you. It wasn’t that far away from your apartment. With a sigh you started to walk towards your destination. You pointedly ignored all the texts from your friends. You really needed to collect your thoughts now.

Standing still on the side walk, you realised that Adam neither flushed the toilet nor washed his hands. That’s who you let it hit?? Why can’t you be attracted to normal guys, but no you’re into the trashiest of the trash.

The light of a car flashed you in the face, and the car stopped besides you.

“You still want plan b?” Adam called out through the open window.

Starting a mental battle and immediately losing it, you got into the passenger seat.

Adam’s eyes traveled over your figure before he put the car into drive and started driving towards the pharmacy. It was a quick drive and before you could unbuckle your seat belt Adam already got out and walked in.

While Adam was away you took the time to look around. Those were pretty leather seats and this car looked down right expensive. It smelled like his cologne in here.

Adam was one of the many nepo babies at your college. Your ex was also one of them. Even though they dressed in an alternative style, these guys never had to truly struggle, never experienced hunger. Part of you was envious of that.

Adam got back into the driver seat, slamming his door shut. He carelessly threw the pill package into your lap with a cold water bottle.

“..Thanks.” Ripping apart the package, you placed the pill under your tongue while putting the bottle to your lips and then you swallowed it down.

Once you stopped drinking, you wiped away the water with the back of your hand.

Adam took your cheeks into his hand, squeezing it. You furrowed your brows at him in question.

…Ah.

Opening up your mouth, your lifted your tongue up and moved it around to show him you really did swallow the pill. Maybe he should just not cum inside you, problem solved.

“Shit babe, next time I gotta cum down your little throat.”

Next time, huh.

Alastor x Reader - A very long mating season (doctor's appointment gone wrong)

WC: 9,698

Description:

Alastor’s been acting weird for a while now, and Angel Dust calls in a friend of his, you - the only doctor in the whole pride ring - to have you take a look at him. Despite Alastor’s insistence that it’s only a bad headache, you swear on your doctor’s oath that something more is going on… (fem reader)

Warnings:

SEX, NOT scientifically accurate, me NOT a doctor, reader and Alastor boing their groins a few times so yk do what you will with that info, rut, heat, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, blood (not that much), porn with plot, not edited

“Say, what do ya think is goin’ on with Smiles these days?” Angel Dust reclines his elbows on Husk’s bar, sipping at his drink while waiting for Charlie’s response.

“Alastor? Oh no, do you think something’s wrong with him?”

Angel tries not to roll his eyes at the princess. The poor girl, going around managing hell with a heart of gold and… seemingly zero observation skills. “Yeah Alastor! He’s been acting all weird lately. Hidin’ away at his radio tower most of the day, in his room when he’s here, never comin’ down anymore to make breakfast, not responding to my pranks! Ugh, I’ve been bored as fuck here without his crazy reactions.” 

Husk chuckles at that, pausing his cleaning. “Are you sure you miss that last part? I remember a certain someone almost getting killed several times over a joke.” 

Angel groans at the smug grin of his companion. If the damned cat wasn’t so cute he definitely wouldn’t let him get away with all his complacent remarks. 

Nifty darts out from under the bar, joining in on their discussion. Nobody bats an eye, as they were all used to the little demonness’s mannerisms by now. “Ooooh is this about Alastor? I saw him walking around and pulling at his own head earlier. He looked like he was in pain!” She giggles impishly. “Wonder what that’s all about!”

Charlie looked close to tears in worry, and without Vaggie around to help, Angel sighs, awkwardly trying to solve the tension he brought up. “Hey don’t worry ‘bout it, if you’re all noticing and it’s not just me, I know a doctor we can call up.” 

“There are doctors in hell?”

Angel snorts. “Fuck, even the princess of hell herself doesn’t know it! Yea there are doctors, or at least there’s one doctor I know of for sure. I guess most of the caretakers on earth ended up in heaven.” He twiddles with the soft tufts of milky fur on his chest. “She used to patch me up after… ya know, my work with Val and all. Not sure if she’s got experience with patients like him, but I could call her up and give it a shot.” Charlie darts into a standing position, squeezing Angel in a tight hug. He pats her shoulder hesitantly, still not used to how loving the princess was. “Yes! That’s just it Angel.” Then her sparkly eyes widened even more, sparkling brightly at a vision only she could see. “Oh Angel! Helping a friend out of the kindness in your heart! You’re already getting so close to redemption, I can feel it!” She pulls away just as quickly as she leaned in, shooting two thumbs up in his direction. “I’m counting on you for this one!”

“Yea, yea.”

Angel fumbles with the smooth buttons on his phone screen, finding her number in recents - he’d just called her a few days ago when Val worked him for 2 days straight, filling his body with his sick drugs and leaving him untreated, lying cold on the studio floor. 

“Hey toots? Yea, this is Angel calling.” 

There’s unintelligible mumbling. 

“No, it’s not for me. It’s for a… friend.”

_____________________________________________________________

You’re in your office wiping down the scarce collection of medical equipment you’ve garnered in hell. Hell’s sky casts a pomegranate glow on your figure, inflecting off the pleats in your skirt and button-up shirt. You had forgone a traditional white coat, as there was no such clothing around here. 

When you first landed in hell, you quickly realized that the social hierarchy similarly mirrored that of earths. There were the wealthy and powerful sins, celebrities - flashy, big overlords - and finally, the common people, average sinners. 

In the beginning, your optimism led you to think you could maybe become someone important. Why not try? You had an eternity in hell after all. Yet it didn’t take you long to realize that you didn’t have what it takes to be known. You weren’t a serial killer or a twisted psychopath in life. You didn’t have it in you to climb the social ladder like a cold-hearted politician.

You were a good-natured doctor who saved lives, who thrived on knowing you were the reason your patients could live comfortably. Your only flaw? You could say that curiosity was what killed the cat, or in this case, deer. You giggled, playing with the little bush of a tail you had. It was what guided you to persist through the long years of medical school despite the imposing student debts, unsympathetic parents and all. It was also what drove you to murder. 

One, just one time.

You remember the day with crystal clarity. Your boyfriend, who had tied you up and bound you to his car, which he steered off the edge of a cliff. The hot slickness of crimson liquid coating his hairline where the windshield smashed him, the horrified pried open state of his jaw, his eyes wide and searching for nothing in particular as they stung with the salt of his blood. 

The fall had miraculously loosened your ropes enough for you to wiggle out of them, hauling your scraped wrists out of the scratchy material. He begged you to help. He, who had betrayed you and planned to smuggle you away from the life you built for yourself. There was still time to call the police. His heart was beating steady and strong. You thought his body would be of better use to your research than alive.

Someone who dedicated their whole soul to saving lives, ended up in hell for taking one.

But that cruelty was a one time occurrence, and you still opted to play the good doctor in hell. You snort at the irony as you wipe down the stethoscope in your hand, then promptly set it down on the counter as your phone interrupts your reminiscent thoughts with a sudden ring. 

“Hello?”

Ah, it was Angel, a regular patient. You were fond of the spider demon. He’s saying something about a friend needing help. “Of course, could you get your friend on the phone so that I can schedule an appointment?”

Nervous laughter rings on the other side of the conversation. “Uh, here’s the thing. He doesn’t know that I’m makin’ this appointment.” 

“Oh?” Now you’re surprised.

“Listen this is gonna be a lot to ask for, and I already ask for too much outta you-.”

“Angel, you could never ask too much from me.”

You hear a shaky sigh. Then a pause. “A-Alright then, would it be ok if ya come over to the hotel and check him out there? He’s in some weird sorta pain, but he’s not the type to tell us.”

“Sure, I don’t see why not. When should I come over?” “It’s not emergent, as this has been goin’ on for a while and he’s still up and movin.’ How ‘bout tomorrow mornin’ 8:00 am? It’s gettin’ late and I’ve seen him like once today. I’m thinkin’ we should have the best luck tryna catch him after breakfast, when Charlie has him do a few tasks around the hotel.”

“Sounds good to me. Could I get a patient name?”

“Yea, Alastor.”

“Alriiiight.” You stretch out the word as you quickly jot down his name and time of the appointment. “And demon type?”

Angel snorts as though it was a funny question. You smile from the contagious sound of his entertainment, despite having no idea what was so hilarious. “...Demon type?”

“Sorry toots, I wasn’t laughin’ at ya. He’s a deer.”

“Oooh, a deer demon? Like me…” You jot that down too. “Take care, Angel. Let me know if you want me to give that ugly moth a sedative overdose!” 

Angel laughs, and you end the call on a gleeful note despite knowing that neither of you could really do anything to the overlords. Or… perhaps you could, perhaps they were made of the same perishable flesh as any other, perhaps you were letting their status outshine their mortality. Though that’s a thought for another time.

You perch yourself on top of your working chair, clicking through your VoxTek computer to file the appointment in your weekly schedule. 

Alastor. The syllables taste rich and familiar on your tongue. You swear that you’ve heard it somewhere before.

_____________________________________________________________

Alastor as in the radio demon Alastor? 

It took you a second to recognize him, as you’ve only seen him a handful of times, but once you do, you’re suddenly not so confident about today’s appointment. 

It takes everything in your power to sculpt your expression into a neutral one. You scan your eyes over your surroundings. Darkened green walls encapsulated a small bar that looked reminiscent of a casino slot machine. Angel Dust, your spider friend, and a sour-faced gray cat demon sat chatting at the bar, nervously glancing between one another and the tall man in red. Then there was the princess of hell, Charlie, and a white haired vertically challenged woman crowding the deer demon, waving their hands exaggeratedly as though they were trying to prove a point to him. 

Their heads swing in almost unison at your arrival, and you instantly realize that they must’ve been distracting him from your arrival. Right. He didn’t even know you were coming. You swallow your nerves and make your way to the bar, skin sizzling with the phantom touch of his crimson eyes on your figure. His twisted sharp grin blurred through your peripheral vision as you focused on maintaining eye contact. 

“Hey, I’m a doctor, and I’m here to-.”

“Eek! You’re here!” Before you could even offer your hand for a shake, Charlie all but sprints at you, interrupting you with a tight hug. You blink away the strands of her hair that caught in your eyes from the swirl of the motion. 

“Hello, Princess Charlie.” You wave politely. This was your first time meeting any sort of royalty in hell, although she wasn’t nearly as intimidating as the strawberry-haired demon situated behind her.

“I’m so so excited to have you here and oh! Are you by chance interested in joining our hotel? My hope is for sinners to be redeemed-.”

“Charlie.” The short white-haired girl lays her hand on Charlie’s arm. “Let’s not forget what she’s here to do, babe.” She must be her girlfriend.

White-hair shortie directs her attention to you. “Vaggie, nice to meet you.” She keeps her introduction short and sweet, gently pushing at Charlie once again, reminding her to inform you of the situation.

“Right, right. So, you’re here, the best and only doctor in the entire pride ring to help our friend who’s been struggling a bit.” You keep a cordial smile plastered on your cheeks as she talks. In the back of the room, you see Angel now working at distracting Alastor from leaving. Impatience begins to tug at your heartstrings, pleading the princess to keep it short. You didn’t want to fail so soon.  “...And we’re just really worried! He’s been having pains apparently, in his head. Headaches.”

You turn to look at said demon, who was still sitting atop the same bar stool, perched so stiffly that you could feel the secondhand pain of his muscles that must be aching. There’s a slight swishing of his tail, and he clutches what appeared to be his radio stick tightly with one clawed hand. Was he nervous? Your eyes sweep over the sweat beading under swept bangs, and the clenching of his teeth. Ah. It must be his “condition.” 

“Alright, Princess. I can tell you all really care for your friend. Just leave the rest to me.” You squeeze her shoulder warmly, guessing that she must be fond of physical affection. She grins delightedly at you.

“Great! This is so so so good. Thank the devil! I’ll leave you to that then! Best of luck! Not that you’ll need it or anything.” You keep waving at the princess until she disappears beyond the door, watching as she spun around several times to match your waves. 

You were equal parts burning with the need to get things started, and dreadful of approaching the menacing demon, who had resigned his attempts of fleeing. You walk carefully, tiptoeing as though you were advancing toward a frightened animal. Angel Dust - and the grumpy cat - look at one another, and finally dash away, after making what you assumed to be some sort of excuse to Alastor. 

He doesn’t look at you at all, instead choosing to stare straight ahead with that abnormally wide strained smile of his - if not for the slight twitching of his ears, you would think he’s not even aware of your presence. 

You clear your throat nervously, flexing your forearm to prevent it from trembling before holding it out for a handshake. If the rumors were correct, and you had no doubt they were, you certainly didn’t want to lose the radio demon’s respect; especially not in the first meeting. 

“Hello, you’re Alastor, the radio demon aren’t you? I-It’s nice to finally meet you!” Well, you were never that good at first impressions anyway.

For a moment you think you hear him sigh, a static-filled gravely sound. Nearly imperceptible. Then he’s turning to you, reluctantly reaching his hand to yours at a snail-like pace. You try not to feel too rejected. Or feel too mocked by the seemingly ever-present grin on his face, and the clear scrutiny in his eyes. 

“Likewise, my dear. It’s always a pleasant surprise to meet another deer demon in hell, given their supposed rarity. ”

You had an impression this was far from pleasant for him. Maybe he doesn’t want competition? You snort, brushing that thought away. As though a low-level sinner like you could be a threat. “Ah, right.” You playfully flick the fur of an ear, trying to lower the tension. His darkened eyes follow the motion of your hand. “I barely remember that I am a deer demon sometimes! Everything is the same as when I was human, except for the addition of some ears and a tail.”

His grin turns sharper, with the cutting flavor of something uncomfortable. “I assure you dear, you are very much not human. I can tell.” 

“...Right.” You close your eyes briefly, willing yourself into a more business mindset so as to ignore how awkward the whole situation felt. “So, could I get a description of your symptoms? I know Charlie told me, but I want to hear it straight from the source.”

You smile encouragingly at him, as you often did with difficult patients while alive. And you had a feeling Alastor was every bit of that - a difficult patient.

He straightens up, losing the slight hint of ease he’d started to gain. “Well, it is like I said. I seem to be experiencing pains in my… head.” He winces a little - likely due to said head pains, you note.

“And how long have you been experiencing these pains?” You lean against the edge of the stool next to him, not quite sitting on it but not standing either. 

Your ears twitch at the subtle creak in his stool. He’s shifting around again. “...Around three months.”

Your eyes widen, pushing yourself off the stool. “Three months! Why didn’t you say anything…?” You quickly shut yourself up before you could cross any boundaries, silently scolding yourself for the overt reaction.

“The pain wasn’t that bad.”

He’s lying. You narrow your eyes to warn him, you can tell.

He tries again. “...I assumed the pain would go away on its own.” 

“And not get worse?” 

He gives an affirmative nod. You ask him several questions after that, trying to get a quick history of his health complications during his time in hell. With each question he answers, you find yourself only getting farther from any sort of possible conclusion. 

As soon as you started working as a solo doctor in hell, you learned really quickly that demons rarely suffered from the same ailments as people did above on earth, and if they did their symptoms were different. Your mind rushes through illnesses other demons had visited you for - a snake demon who couldn’t get his skin to shed properly, a cyclops demon who grew an extra eye that blocked the vision of her original eye, a volcanic demon whose lava had leaked to his internal organs and started burning him from the inside…

What about deer demons? Little was known about them, to the point where you were even unsure of your own biology.

You bring a finger to your lips, chewing on your nail while thinking of your next steps. The curiosity within you begged to think of a conclusion, or even just a premise. Nothing. You finally pull your finger away from your lips, remembering where you are. Right. There’s no need to overthink things. You haven’t even done a physical examination yet. Speaking of which…

You gesture for him to stand up, regretting the motion immediately as his gaze turns displeased; likely at your attempt to order him. “Alastor, would you lead the way to a more private space?” His ears straightened, and he looked at you defensively. Why did your words never come out right? You blush and wave your hands back and forth in denial. “N-no, not - I meant for your physical examination.” 

Thankfully, he ignores your blunder. Nothing about his steady grin and lidded scarlet eyes revealed what he thought. “Right this way then.” 

You timidly follow after him.

Have you gotten so rusty during your time in hell that you couldn’t even talk to a patient without turning into a blubbering mess? You’ve only been here for a decade… or two… three decades. In that time, you’ve met with all sorts of patients, from lowly sinners to more powerful overlords. He’s tall, you observe. Very tall - almost 7 feet? Over? It shouldn’t intimidate you, he was far from the tallest demon you’ve encountered. 

But they didn’t tower over you. They didn’t have his same opposing presence, which unfairly dominated the entire room with its sheer power, and they certainly didn’t have… they didn’t have his… 

…scent.

Your knees go soft at the same moment he comes to a sudden halt, causing you to bump your body into his. Your forehead bumps into the hard bone of his scapula, startled hands reaching out to steady yourself by gripping onto his suit. He twists his head acutely to look at you, and you flinch, preparing yourself for his notorious anger, but you are only met with discomfort in his eyes. You hurriedly distance yourself from the demon. 

His jaw clenches and unclenches, and he’s looking at you as though he’s holding back from killing you right then and there. A strange, almost pleasant shiver runs through your body. You blink. What a strange response to potential danger.

Before you had time to apologize - for what, you don’t know you just feel like you’ve wronged him somehow - he masks his irritation with the same cheeriness in his smile. “And we’re here! Will my bedroom be a good enough space for your physical examination, dear?”

You swallow back the ever-growing weird feeling inside you. “Yeah, of course.” 

He hums an old-fashioned tune as he walks into his room, sharp clacks of his shoes dulling down on the red carpet that covered his bedroom floor. Your curious eyes catch two red armchairs, several deer skulls hanging ominously on the walls, a large maroon bed that was so neatly made it looked to be a mere display, and the soft glow of a swamp surrounded by forest trees in the distance. 

You unpack the equipment you carried with you - stethoscope, thermometer, gloves, examination light, cotton balls. You left your less earthly conventional items back in your office, as you had absolutely no idea whether they would be of use. Each new patient meant you had to study and adapt to their unique anatomical features and curses, on top of your prior anatomical knowledge. 

Alastor stays silent the entire time you rummage through your materials, except for the occasional thump of his tail on the bed sheets and the consistent hum of jazz and radio static, which was periodically interrupted by sharp pops. You smile internally at the flattening of his ears; he must be really annoyed by that hyperactive tail of his huh? Personally, you were quite fond of your own. But you could see why a man like Alastor would be bothered by this. 

You pull on your gloves, starting to settle into a comfortable pace. All is going well, you reassure yourself. All except for the weird musky smell from him that kept tugging unexpectedly at your insides. Better not breathe all that in. He could be contagious.

You pull out a thermometer. “Alright, I’m going to take your temperature ok…?"

He simply nods. So quiet today, especially for a man who never seemed to shut up on his infamous radio broadcast. 

Just when you think he couldn’t get any rigid, you see him stop dead at your hand cupping his chin. “Open your mouth for me…” His claws tear into the bed sheets beneath, and you pat his shoulder, trying to get him to relax. His tail furiously thumps against the sheets. Oh. He doesn’t want you to touch him. 

You remove your hand from his chin and manage to take his temperature, dipping the oral thermometer beneath his tongue. You could practically feel the heat emanating off his skin onto your hand. It would be surprising if he didn’t have a fever. “Since demons all have varying levels of body heat, I can only measure fevers by comparing them to your baseline temperature. I’d say you definitely have one based on your appearance alone…” You pull out your notepad. “...But I still need to record the results for future reference.” 

You might as well be talking to yourself. You didn’t mind it though, given that you were trying to ignore his overbearing presence. “Now, I’m going to examine your eyes and ears.” You take out your light and gently gesture for him to look upward. At least he was complying now. Eyes seem normal, just as evil and red as a demon’s eyes should be. You move to his ears, which you didn’t even dare to touch based on the sudden cautioning glare he was shooting at you. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t touch anything.” You smile non threateningly before shining the light at his ears, humming as you peeped inside. They quiver, the fur slightly brushing against the head of your examination light. 

“Hmm, nothing there either…” You rummage through your bag, pulling out your stethoscope. He narrows his already lidded eyes in distaste. “I’m going to have to make some contact with it… but I’ll be fast I promise. Just tell me if you want me to pull away.”

He grits his smiling teeth, finally speaking up for the first time during the whole appointment. “You will not be coming near me with that… thing.” You’re taken aback as he suddenly stands up, brushing off his coat. A single droplet of sweat runs down his clenched jawline. “I did not require such a ridiculous examination in the first place.” He’s trying desperately to keep up his usual buoyant facade. But his frustration, at something, kept breaking through the surface. “I’ll be perfectly swell in due time! Tell the princess that these pains are nothing and it will resolve itself.” 

You panic, reaching out to grasp at his lapels before you could even think about it. You’ve never had a patient leave untreated. “Wait! Alastor, I can’t just let you go like that. As a doctor, at least let me try to help!” The second you make contact with him, you watch in horror as his face twists into something truly terrifying. Crack! There’s a breaking sound, then his form twists, joints lengthening asymmetrically with frightening speed until he dwarfed you by at least an additional 3 feet. He leans down to stare you in the eye. You’re unable to look away from the morbidly glitching radio dials. “You can’t help me. Nothing you do will ever be of use to my situation. It would help me more, in fact, if you left this very instant.”

…What did he say? 

Nothing you do will ever be of use to my situation.

Nothing you do will ever be good enough.

Just like they told you when you started medical school all those decades ago. 

You don’t even notice that you’re crying until you’ve been standing there wordless for so long that his demonic form has slowly, inch by inch shrunken to his original self. You don’t even notice that your vision is blurry. All you felt was defeat. Humiliation, rather. Who were you to think that you could help an overlord in any way? You weren’t even qualified to be a doctor down here in hell. No one is. You just thought you’d try. That’s all.

The ball at the pit of your throat tightens until you can barely breathe from concentrating on stopping the traitorous tears salting your cheeks. Distantly, through the muffled ringing in your ears and erratic static engulfing the room, you hear a low exhale. 

Could you get any more pathetic? You hold your breath when you feel a single clawed finger wiping at the stabbing fluids running down your face, each one hot and heavy with shame. You blink to clear your teary vision, and you see him looking down on you with an unreadable expression.

Apologetic? No, why would a man like him say sorry? Besides, he had nothing to be sorry for. He was correct in his reaction, you really couldn’t do anything to help. You just had to go and cry about it afterwards. Fuck. You sniffle pathetically, 

He speaks softly, the dense static lessening in volume. “There’s no need to shed tears over something that is not your fault.”

It doesn’t help. You didn’t cry often, but once the tears started it was difficult to stop. He lets his hand drop to his side and moves back to his previous position on the edge of his bed. 

“This isn’t something you can help me with, my dear. It’s an unpleasant condition I’ve had to suffer every year since I landed in hell, and nothing but waiting it out would help. This year just happens to be… more difficult than the others.” 

“Y-You’ve… had to go through this every year?” You picture the pain he must go through, and the empathy within you instantly felt for his hardships. What type of horrible things did he do on earth to deserve this? You snort with your trembling voice at your ridiculous question. You’re in hell, dumbass. What do you think?

“Every year.”

“Well, m-maybe I can help and we just don’t know it yet. Let me try, at least?” Hope dares to grace your mind, and the tears, although still running down your face, slow to a trickle.

He hesitates. He’s going to say no, isn’t he? That’s alright, you’ll do everything in your power to research deer demon biology on your own time. “You may try.” 

You blink in surprise, and your lips slowly twitch upward into a forming smile, despite the liquid sorrow still lining your eyes. In contrast to his uneasy expression, his tail thumps lightly at your grin. You find it… cute how closely the movements of his tail matched his feelings.

You pull out your stethoscope once again, attaching the tips of the headset to your ears. You glance at him for permission one more time, and he tilts his head with a disconcertingly wide grin as though to feign nonchalance. His flattened ears and tight fists however, told another story. Nonetheless, he compliantly unbuttons the top of his shirt and looks to the side, lying on his back. You smile apologetically and gently press the stethoscope to the skin of his chest.

Heartbeat… was sound. Slightly quick, likely due to current discomfort. You move the stethoscope around his chest, and you hear what sounded suspiciously like a breathy gasp. Focusing on your work, you dismiss it as a background noise. Lungs seem normal. 

Your own heartbeat is starting to quicken, for a reason other than the sniffles that had dulled to an occasional disturbance during your examination. His scent. Your eyes nearly tear up again from the effort not to breathe him in from your proximity. You feel the gummy walls lining your mouth salivate, the sticky fluid pooling in the crevices of your teeth. Was this possibly a symptom? Perhaps he was contagious after all, and the illness was an airborne one. You think back to a time when you had to treat a cloud-like demon who was overly condensed with liquids; and the very next day, you found that you’ve contracted a similar ailment yourself, your entire face bloated with an excess of fluid.

Perhaps that was Alastor’s case as well?

You should’ve brought a face mask. You move the stethoscope lower to his abdomen. Digestive track… you press the diaphragm tighter against his lower abs to get a better read. 

This time, the low noise that escaped his throat was almost impossible to miss. The strange feeling inside you squirms at the sound, but you clear your head of any dirty images, knowing that the radio demon was famed for not being interested in anything of that matter. Right. He’s most likely just in pain. Stay professional. You shift the stethoscope around, searching for a sound. Don’t make this moment any longer than it already is, you pray to no entity in particular.   

You move further down, still not hearing a sound from his digestive tract. Was that the issue here? He’s been having a rough time because there’s issues with his digestion? Well, that would certainly explain his reluctance to admit his illness. 

You’re so focused on listening that you don’t notice the gasps through gritted teeth rising in volume, relentless shifting of the demon beneath you, or the way your head, leaning ever so close to his skin in an unconscious effort to move closer to the stethoscope, was fastly approaching a forbidden area. Not even the heated gentle graze of suit fabric brushing against your chin interrupted your concentration. Neither did a strangled static-filled noise piercing the air. 

It was only when you felt the sudden assault of rough cloth, covering something pulsing warm and hard, colliding into your cheek did you finally blink in surprise, dropping the bottom half of your stethoscope in your haste. 

You stand up in a flurry, fluttering your lashes in disbelief as Alastor, the infamous feared radio demon overlord you only just met today, laid on his bed beneath you bucking his hips shallowly into the air where your face was a moment prior. His teeth are clenched so hard crimson black liquid drizzles over his gums and soaks the lapels of his suit. His eyes twitch along with his flattened ears, flickering and crazed, while his claws have shredded what was left of his bed sheets at this point.

“A-Alastor…?” 

His voice turns into something inhuman, growls layered with the eerie buzz of static. Before you could fully process the situation, he encircles a hand around your wrist, gripping you with bruising force to land on top of him. His arms encircle you, sinking his claws into your hips. Fuck, that hurt. But… you let yourself breath in his scent at last, having let your guard down with the suddenness of his movement. The effect was immediate. It felt as though you’ve given yourself a tranquilizer, with the way your muscles seemed to suddenly fail you and you melt submissively like butter into his hold. 

He tosses you onto all fours, and your elbows knock into one another as you strain to hold yourself upright. The dizzying, all-consuming fog of heat building within you and permeating each of your senses with its presence was all too foreign for you. Your mind scrambles, losing all progress of diagnostic thoughts. You wanted to pull away, to get him to calm down so you… could… talk…

That was the last of your conscious thoughts as you feel yourself slip into some sort of hypnotic bliss. He pulls your skirt to the side swiftly, pressing his hips to yours, the movement coarse and sloppy. The noise he lets out at the contact is depraved. 

“Darling… I’m just going to stay here for a bit… ngh - just for a bit.”

For a moment, he simply stays still, staticky gasps breathing hot on the back of your ears. He played with your tail, which was shaking back and forth with a mind of its own. You arch your back needily, pressing into him and prompting him to growl and finally hump into your heat. 

Was he saying something? You couldn’t tell with the way your brain had gone soft. An internal, animalistic voice told you to not think. Just part your legs and let the buck behind you have his way, it says. You whimper, the soft sounds slightly muffled by Alastor’s pillow - his pillow, which smells deeply, intoxicatingly, irrevocably like him. You’ve only met him today, but he was safe. The voice tells you that he’s yours, he’s going to protect you, he’s going to mate you.

He snarls into your ear at your needy whimpers, roughly jerking his hips into yours repeatedly. You whine, feeling the heat inside your abdomen crescendo into a sudden pain. You need him. You need more of him.

“A..Al…astor…hah… p-lease I need mo-re…” Your words fall apart with each thrust of his clothed cock over your soaked pussy, eyes starting to water with the frustration of not having his cock fill your aching hole.

In your heat-ridden mind, there was nothing you could think of but the insatiable need to be fucked dumb until you were filled by something. You cried in disappointment at not knowing what to ask. You try, you really do, but you can’t remember what the two of you were doing before this for the life of you. You gather enough strength in your ragdoll limbs to twist your neck at him, hand clumsily reaching for his pants. 

Then he stops.

He fucking stops.

Like a spell being broken, Alastor’s movements stutter to a halt the second your finger touches his zipper. He tears himself away from you, breaths shaky as he steps backward. It takes your dumbed-down consciousness a few moments to register what was happening. Your eyelids, which have begun to stick together from the adhesive of your dried tears, pry open ungracefully.

No. No, no, no, no, no! The fire in your abdomen twisted and turned, threatening to consume you whole with its intensity. He can’t leave now. No! You whine in protest, but he’s avoiding all eye contact with you. The bare skin on your hips were damp, and you realize it must be from the sweat you now see dripping off his skin in torrents. His mouth is twisted irregularly wide, even for him, as though he were pouring his all into maintaining his composure.

“My dear, I’m afraid I lost control of myself there. I do apologize, but right now you need to leave.”

You whimper, still stupidly reaching for him. Why would you leave? He’s right there. You need him, and you can smell, with a frightening accuracy you’ve never previously noticed in yourself, the desperation rolling off him. You climb toward him needily, pawing for his well-endowed girth, still twitching and hard under the offensive cloth, begging to be freed. 

“LEAVE.”

He didn’t take so kindly to your advances this time. With a single blink of an eye, you were torn away from your potential release and thrusted into the hallway, where you landed on your bottom, legs folded under one another and ears pressed against your head, staring at Alastor’s shut door with dazed eyes and unfulfilled burning in your womb.

Shit. As your mind clears and you tune into your surroundings - the red, flickering lights of the hallway and coarse texture of the rug beneath you - you think of the diagnosis that’s been right under your nose (literally) this whole time. You’ve dealt with animal patients before.

Yearly pains, usually lasting several months. Signs of fever. Changing behavior. Your heated reaction to his condition, the supposed contagiousness of it all. You’ve been blind as a deer in headlights. 

Alastor was in a rut.

_____________________________________________________________

Alastor thought that he'd gotten used to his ruts. That he would be able to handle his issues himself for the rest of eternity. 

It’s been nearly a century since he’s landed in hell, nearly a century since the torture began.

The first time the feeling hit him, it had been a complete shock. The feeling was foreign and intrusive; and while he had gotten used to his new height, physical animal features and sudden craving for cannibalism rather quickly, this cursed feeling was an entirely different field of issues altogether. 

He’s never been interested in sexual intercourse with another. Of course he knew what desire meant, but his own sense of desire had been so low throughout his life he barely needed to even touch himself. The small, infrequent bouts of want he experienced as a human was nothing like the searing hot whip of desperation that would haunt him in hell. He found it amusing, in an unpleasant sickening way; the way he thought himself to be entirely fearless, unaffected by what usually frightened others, yet the higher ups still ended up finding the one thing that bothered him and used it to punish his dead soul. 

He maintains the same grin and duties he had to attend to normally, albeit with a stiffer posture and less patient remarks. He didn’t touch himself. He had found out the hard way, during his first year, that touching himself would only increase the desire to an unbearable point and draw out the rut that much longer.

So he’d suffer through day by day, ignoring the itching in his antlers and the yearning confined in his slacks. 

Unfortunately, he’s come to the realization that each year without a mate, the duration of his rut would last longer than the previous. This year had been the longest yet, and given how fast time seemed to pass when he was not in a rut, it felt as though barely any weeks had passed since his last rut. If he were being honest, perhaps five months would be a better guess than three. Still, he followed the same rule he always did: do not give into the urges by having another, or make it worse by touching himself. It was his way of maintaining some semblance of control down in the depths of hell, where he found himself chained to not only a master but these unfavorable urges of his.

Though it was easier said than done. Many times he’s found himself unable to keep his composure, excusing himself from breakfast with the others, locking himself in his radio tower for days working on scripts, killing any scum who walked his way, doing anything to distract himself from the treacherous burning in his crotch. Anything to stop the inevitable bucking of his hips into nothing as his lower half takes on a mind of its own, wretchedly trying to catch a surface, any surface, to grind on.

Just when he finally got himself under enough control to sit at the bar for a drink, his hotel friends join him. Usually this was not a disturbance, yet the way they all seemed interested only in talking to him did strike his suspicion. People never initiated conversations with him, unless it was to foolishly challenge him to a fight. Not even his supposed friends, who had grown cordial enough with him over time but still maintained a comfortable distance.

Yet here they were, taking turns talking to him as though they’ve been doing the same congenial routine since he got here. Suspicious indeed!

He smelled her before he saw her. A sweet, tantalizing scent which wriggled into his throat and squeezed, causing him to stiffen his muscles and lid his eyes. She’s a doe. He realizes this all too late as he finds her standing in the doorway, bathing in the mouth-watering scent. The sudden flash of pain in his pupils alerts his companions, but not before they too, notice the girl.

He wanted to leave then, and really he could do so if he wished. Vaggie and Angel Dust couldn’t defeat him, and Husk was under his control anyway. But the traitorous need to get more of that delectable scent wafting off her body in waves was too strong for him to ignore. He’d only stay a few minutes more, he promises himself that. 

A few minutes turn into 10, and suddenly he’s all alone with her. 

A doctor. How ironic! She claims to hold the cure to his miseries, all the while not knowing that she had become part of the cause. Her presence was nearly unbearable to him who’d been in a rut for so long without a mate, and Alastor had to physically force himself to sit still by digging a claw into the meat of his thigh. She doesn’t notice his dilemma, nor does she notice the subtle crossing of his legs to hide the bulge of his painfully erect member, that had started leaking profusely into his slacks.

He plays the part of a gentleman the best he could, warning her with his eyes to maintain her distance. The poor girl was nervous and self-conscious, he could feel that. Normally he’d never care, but the damned hormones that influenced his thinking during his rut told him to soothe her, to assure her that everything would be ok, as tears quiver down her face. It was disgusting, the feeling of wanting to protect another. Disgusting, but also oh so right.

He held back when she accidentally touched him in the hallway. He held back, when she leaned in uncomfortably close, checking his temperature. He held back when she turned around, revealing her twitching tail and skirt that would be so easy for him to tear away and have his way with her. 

Yet he knew the unavoidable situation that would occur as soon as she had him lay down on his back, stethoscope in hand. He couldn’t help it. Each touch of her cool, gloved fingers pressing against his too-heated skin felt like the bitter promise of heaven for a soul deep in the trenches of hell. 

When her face is that close to the throbbing, aching part of his lower half, there was nothing he could do as a sharp sting of pleasure shot through his brain. He bucks his hips upward, body spasming and entirely fatigued from the many decades of having denied himself his biology. 

Why was he doing this again? At this point, who was he fighting against? Was he proving a point to the higher ups, letting them witness his impressive self control? Or was he torturing himself, making himself a fool by adding to the pain they already gave him? 

In the midst of his dilemma, he hadn’t noticed the way he grabbed her body and threw her onto the bed, nearly humping his hips into hers. He had been pent up for so long that he couldn’t even feel the pleasure initially, because his body was so used to him denying it. But when she turns her head to him, reaching out to touch him, looking at him with hazy, needy eyes…

Yes, that snaps him out of his thoughts. He must be out of his mind. After surviving a whole century of this torture, now he was letting go of himself all because he was put in front of another deer demon? 

He forgoes being courteous and removes her from his room as fast as he could, not giving the animal part of his brain a single second to change its mind. 

As soon as she was out, and he made sure his door was locked, he let out a pained growl, nearly crawling away from the door. His antlers lengthened, form twisted, the more animalistic part of him cries out in anger. Anger at himself, for throwing out his only chance at relief. His cock feels nearly numb with pain, growing in need from the narrow encounter a few moments prior. Resigning to his fate, he shakily unbuckles his pants, refusing to rip them off like he truly wanted to, for the sake of the little dignity left inside him. Rationally, he knew he was about to make things worse, but his instincts fed lies to him, telling him that this would make it all better.

Before he could even begin touching his leaking cock, he heard her. More specifically, he could hear her broken whimpers through the wooden material of his door, echoing needily through his head. Her scent had grown even stronger if possible. It was mind-numbingly sweet, despite the intensity being anything but so. He must’ve sent her into a heat, he realizes. 

This was going to… complicate things. Although Alastor could take care of himself, and was prepared to do so for the rest of his time in hell, he couldn’t let her - his doe - suffer from something he caused. Especially not with his current state of mind, where every molecule of his being told him to protect her. His mate. 

Then he hears the unmistakable slick sound of small fingers thrusting into something wet, and his ears stand pin straight as they turn to the door. 

He decides that the devil has tested him enough.

_____________________________________________________________

You’re leaning on the shut door of Alastor’s bedroom, sweat pooling in the thin threads of your clothing. Through the door, your head was clear enough to think; but that didn’t stop the incessant heat pooling between your thighs, attempting to suction all your attention toward one thing and one thing only.

Was this the type of pain Alastor has been in this whole time? You whimper, rubbing yourself depravedly against the rough carpet beneath you. 

There was nowhere to go. You were in no state to ask Charlie and the others for a room of your own, and you wouldn’t be able to tear yourself away from the scent of him if you tried. You mewl as you ground yourself in just the right spot - but the usual satisfaction didn’t come. Frustrated, you try grinding yourself harder into the carpet, ears alert for any noises you might catch from beyond his door. You hear the unzipping of his pants, and you cry, feeling almost betrayed at the sound of him. Shakily, you tuck your fingers beneath your skirt and plunge your fingers into your entrance, letting your fingers fill the gushing cavity.

You moan at the glimmer of relief, then immediately sigh in frustration as your fingers did absolutely nothing to quell the ache. 

The door rips open. 

“Alastor?” You blink wearily up at the disheveled demon, all seven feet of him glaring down at you. It doesn’t even register you to feel embarrassed at this point, with your hand still stuffed under your skirt in an obvious act of self-pleasuring. 

In a blink, the ground beneath you disappeared. Black smoke claws at your lungs and you squeal, finding yourself reappearing into existence on a plush crimson mattress. He materializes in front of you, breathing inconsistent and ragged, the radio static heavy in his voice. 

“Darling…” He encircles your wet thighs with his damp gloves, leaning over your so closely you could feel his sweat drip onto you. He leans his forehead on yours, the flush on both your faces matching in color. “I need-.”

You pull him down by his hair before he could speak, tiring of the whole waiting game. You didn’t want to hear a whole speech, all you wanted was to have him rail you so deeply into the bed you’d forget who was who. His lips crash onto yours, and you kiss him furiously, the heated passion arising from natural biological need stronger than anything you’ve ever felt with a human man.

He groans into your mouth, spreading your legs with his knees, and slots his cock desperately into your soaked pussy. This time, you don’t give him enough time to pull away before you hurriedly work at the zipper. The moment your hands wrap around his member, hotter than the rest of him even, he lets out the most depraved noise you’ve ever heard another make. To think that you would’ve heard such a thing from the radio demon seemed nearly incomprehensible just a few hours ago. 

He takes control again then, flipping you haphazardly into the four-legged position you had assumed earlier. There was no need to prepare anything - the both of you were leaking so much that you were sure he could slip in without any pain, despite his impressive size - but still he hesitates, pausing with his tip at your entrance. It twitches against your slick.

He must be thinking again, you realize. Thinking dangerous thoughts, that would take away your relief. You weren’t going to let him stop this time, especially knowing now how badly he needed it.

“Alastor if you don’t put it in right now-.” 

He growls, each rivet of the sound layered with radio static. Without another word, he thrusts his whole length in. Or at least you thought it was the whole thing. But when he doesn’t move, and you peek curiously at the junction between you two, you realize with fascinated horror that he was only halfway in. 

You keep your neck in that twisted position, wanting to watch his face while he waits for your walls to loosen enough to take the rest of him. Instead of looking away, like he’d done so while trying to hide his condition, he stares straight into your eyes with his piercing blackened gaze. Between his dark eyes, the slightly lowered grin, lengthened antlers and bloody drool slipping down his chin, he almost felt more animal than person. Especially given the complete silence, aside from his staticky heavy panting. Like he was incapable of speaking at the moment.

The enchanting stare-off between the two of you was interrupted by a sudden sharp thrust from him, causing your head to tilt back as you ground out another whimper. There’s a loud smack as his balls hit the base of your pussy. Something wet drips on your bare shoulder blades, where his claws had torn off the top of your shirt. It’s from his mouth, you realize. His hot breath condenses on the back of your neck, and without warning, you feel the entire top row of his teeth sinking into your skin followed closely by a guttural moan. You half scream, half moan at that, and you feel the lips on your neck curl into a grin.

He starts moving his hips; back and forth, back and forth. Little white specks dot your vision, which was blackened as your eyelids reflexively shut from the overwhelming pleasure. Your brain shuts off, the only things you could feel being the throbbing yet fulfilling sensation of his teeth digging into your neck, the warm rivulets of your own blood running down your sides, his claws shredding into your hips, and of course the maddening gratification of his cock repeatedly drilling into your hole.

This heat thing- no, he was turning you into a hedonist. You feel his teeth momentarily pull out of your skin to lick at the blood trickling from your wound, your heartbeat helping gush the red fluid out in erratic waves. There’s a gulp; he’s swallowing, drinking the blood out of your body as he never stops thrusting. 

He pulls his teeth out and suddenly flips you around, cock still thrusted deep into your womb. You get a good look of his face, his eyes half-lidded, pupils an endless reddish black void, smile dripping with a mix of his natural darkened bloody spit and the fresh, vibrant red of your blood. He leans in, pressing the salty iron on his lips to yours. You, in all your heat-dazed mind and curiosity, let him thrust his tongue into the cavern of your mouth, invading your tastebuds with something musky and bitter, mixed well with  a pulsing sweet irony taste. 

You’re tasting him on your tongue. Him and you, together. You must really be fucked dumb because that’s the thought that brings you over the edge, body stilling as a cry rips from your throat, choking on the blood that had started to clot in your throat. Your walls spasm wildly around his length, causing him to thrust faster.

He fucks into your limp body on the bed, a look of deep concentration on his face as he works to overcome a century of not having orgasmed. He cums without any warning, face frozen into the same smile he always wore. He doesn’t want you to see him come undone. 

Your breaths begin to steady as he clings onto your hips, spurting endless amounts of sperm into your body. It never seemed to end. Each time you thought he was done, his hips would convulse and you’d feel another bout of liquid fill your womb. You reach a shaky hand to pet the bulge that filled your lower abdomen, your innards being stretched uncomfortably full from the girth of his knot and endless cum. He glances at you then, almost sheepishly. Almost apologetically, like he’s doing something wrong. You caress his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

You speak up. “That was… not what I expected when I arranged this appointment.” 

He stares at you in what looks like amusement.

It’s only now, in the aftermath of your session, that you notice how much of your blood was coating your skin, forming a thin, sticky layer. Yet he showed no signs of stopping, the same deranged grin gracing his face as the one that was there when you first started speaking. 

“I apologize dear, but it seems that we are far from done.”

He digs his teeth into your abdomen now, savoring the taste of iron on his tongue. You hiss in pain, twisting your body on the sheets as though to avoid his assault. But he maintains a firm grip on your sides, and you give in, letting the pleasure of being under his control overtake the pain. He sinks his teeth deeper, and there’s a weird tingling sensation where he bites. You wiggle a bit, realizing that the tingle was coming from the strange sensation of his teeth hitting muscle. 

“N-not done…?” Your own heat felt like it was fading, returning you to your normal state of mind.

“I’m not sure how long this will last, given the amount of time I’ve been putting off the whole ordeal.” He pulls your thighs around him and situates you in his lap. You blush, feeling shy all of a sudden at his unexpected display of affection. “Once it deflates enough to pull you off…” He nibbles at your earlobe, threatening to bite into the soft flesh. “We’ll be here for quite a while darling.”

You hum contemplatively, resting your head on his sweating chest. A long time… you weren’t looking forward to explaining all the missed appointments to your patients.

And you certainly weren’t looking forward to facing Charlie and the others. 

_____________________________________________________________

Two weeks later, Alastor finally let you leave his room for the first time. 

You limp to the door, wondering how you were going to explain the fact that you spent two weeks straight fucking the cum out of your supposed patient. Well, he was still a patient. And you had treated him. Just with a more hands-on method than you originally thought. 

You had cleaned up to the best of your ability in Alastor’s bathroom, where he took you one last time over the sink. Luckily, your shirt covered any wounds he left on your upper body. Unfortunately, given how short your skirt was, there was no way you could hide the deep bite marks from your thighs to your ankles. 

“So… you found out that his ‘illness’ was contagious because you contracted it, then locked yourself in his room essentially to quarantine from the rest of us?” Angel asks speculatively. It was clear he doubted the words coming from your mouth.

“That’s the most kind, pure-hearted thing I’ve ever seen a sinner do!” Charlie on the other hand, instantly bought into your lie. She holds your hands excitedly, a million thoughts racing through her head at what she could do with this information.

“Then what about those marks on your legs? Looks like you got mauled by an animal.” Husk is quick to point out the evidence, but you laugh, covering it up with another excuse you thought up.

“Oh that’s from when I went exploring alone in the swamp. Alastor didn’t tell me there were dangerous animals in there. Now I’ve learned my lesson!”

“Riiiight then why didn’t either of ya respond when we came checkin’ up on you all those times? We were worried, ya know?”

Alastor enters the bar, a grin brightly plastered on his face and clothing as polished as ever. “We were busy!” 

He’s already decided that you wouldn’t be leaving his side after you saw him in such a vulnerable state. That, and the strange alteration the rut left on his hormones has led him to form an… unexpected connection to you. After a few back and forths, you excuse yourself, standing up from the bar stool and heading back upstairs with the excuse of forgetting something in Alastor’s room.

On the way up, you feel the burning of several suspicious stares, as well as a strangely possessive and loving one. Your phone dings.

It’s a message. From Angel.

Just admit ya’ll fucked up there

.

.

.

A/N:  I’m not a big fan of writing “he growled” buuuuut my other options according to Google are “he snarled, barked, yapped, bayed(?)” and I wasn’t about to fucking write about how he bayed at the sight of your pussy. Maybe I should’ve just gone all in on making him a little bitch and only wrote “he whimpered pathetically” but alas the fic is over

♱Father Forgive Me (For I have Sinned) ~Chapter Two♱

Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Chapter Two Warnings: profanity How to find the other chapters in my pinned post

♱ In which the purest soul in Heaven falls from grace… for the Devil. ♱

[Chapter Two]

“[name]!”

You turned your head, before seeing Emily racing towards you to tackle you to the ground in a hug. You laughed, although it came out as more of a wheeze under her crushing grip, and hugged back. She raised her head, eyes watery. 

“Adam said you disappeared,” she said, and the barely restrained fury at him was evident in her voice, which dropped to an incredulous whisper. “Where were you? What happened? Sera’s mad as hell-“

“He didn’t leave me,” you managed to crack a reassuring smile, and Emily’s shoulders drooped at your next words, “I flew off.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he neglected his responsibility. And, frankly, ignored my direct orders to keep you safe.”

You raised your head to see Sera, her forehead creased in a stressed frown. “Come with me to my office.” She began to turn, then paused, eyebrows pulling right down, deepening her frown. “Is that blood on your clothes?”

You glanced down. The dark patches seemed to be covered with a thin gilded sheen. “I-it’s nothing, really,” you babbled, scrambling to wipe it off, only to see most of it had dried.

Sera didn’t seem convinced.

Emily pulled you up before you followed them hesitantly, the confusion on her face at the situation evident, even though she was smiling at you nervously.  You gulped. 

Charming. 

♱♱♱

“So, to be clear, you let [name] fly off and put herself in harm's way even though she has no experience as an exterminator?” Sera turned from Adam to you. “[name], this is only a one time thing. You are most certainly not accompanying the exterminators down to Hell next year. After Adam has proven how neglectful he is-“

“No,” you gasped, the words flying out your mouth without you even thinking about them.

 The entire room seemed to freeze.

Awkwardly, you cleared your throat and continued, more gently. “No, it wasn’t his fault. See, what happened was-“ you glanced over at where Adam was seated next to you. He raised an eyebrow, face flat, and you swallowed. Your throat felt like a desert. 

“I flew off,” you continued. “He went after me, I mean, he really tried I swear. But I shook him off and ended up tearing my wing on a branch, hence the blood- he found me a while later and healed me up. The wound wasn’t too serious. It only broke some skin, and- and, I could still fly. We just lost each other in the crowd going back up to the Pentagram is all.”

What am I doing? What the hell am I doing? You could almost feel the beads of sweat forming on your brow as you smiled at her stiffly. 

Sera turned and looked at Adam, waiting for his confirmation. He looked over at you, grinning wide. You pointedly stared back, which wasn’t necessary- he didn’t miss a beat. “Yup. That’s what happened. I was tryna tell ya the whole time and you guys just weren’t listening.”

“Please let me go next year, Sera,” you pleaded, eyes widening. She chewed her lip, contemplating, as you continued. “I was perfectly fine. And I may not be an experienced exterminator, but you know more than well enough I can hold my own against a couple of mere sinners.” You shot a look at Adam.

”Yeah, [name]’s powerful as fuck-“

“I wouldn’t say powerful-“ you began, but was cut off by Sera.

“You’re far too modest, [name],” Sera smiled at you tiredly. “And what you said seems to add up. I know you’d never lie to me-“ she side-eyed Adam, who didn’t notice, continuing to pick at his nails. “-Or to anyone, for that matter. Yes, you may go again next year if you wish.”

You looked at the ground. “Thank you, Sera,” you said, your own voice ringing small in your ears.

♱♱♱

“Jeez, sugartits, I didn’t think I’ve ever heard you lie before,” Adam smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You glared at him in fury, before jabbing a finger at his chest. You were both in a hallway, Sera’s office door at the end of the corridor where you had come from. 

“Watch it, Adam,” you hissed, then took a deep breath, calming yourself down. “I did it for you, so be grateful.”

“…thanks.”

You smiled at him. “No problem.” 

You both stared at each other for a few moments, before Adam spoke.

“Are we gonna fuck right now?”

“No!” You hissed, exasperated, feeling your face burn. “No, we are not. Here’s what is gonna happen, Adam. Next extermination, you’re gonna let me fly off by myself, mind your own business, and not tell Sera, and if you don’t do that, I’ll blab and tell them everything. And then they’ll hate you forever.”

He stared at you for a second, blankly. You gulped, your blood pounding in your ears. Crap. Dumb idea-

Adam finally raised an eyebrow. “Why do you want to go off sneaking around Hell during the extermination, sugartits? Got a secret?”

“Most certainly not,” you snapped. “I simply want to explore Hell alone.”

Adam stared at you for a moment. “You never say what’s on your fuckin’ mind, do ya, sugartits? You always gotta water it down to be nice. If I annoy the shit outta you, just say that.” 

Your gaze softened, then you shook your head and stared at your feet. “I’m not a mean person.”

“Not mean if it’s the truth.” He shrugged. You looked back up at him. He was wearing that familiar, shit-eating grin again. You huffed and rolled your eyes, kicking at the pristine floor. 

“Sure. Well, some people have a filter.” 

“Meh. Whatever.”

“So, will you do what I asked you to do?”

Yeah, I’ll do what you want.”

“Wait really?” You stared at him. 

“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck. Do what you want, you saved my ass from a three hour lecture back in there anyways.”

You watched him walk away until he rounded a corner and disappeared, shocked at his nonchalance, and then pressed your back to the wall and sank down, head in your hands. 

Did you seriously lie to the Seraphim just to be able to go back to Hell next year? Why? Why?

Was it because of- no way. Don’t be ridiculous. You knew Lucifer had the quality of being ‘tempting’, from what the Bible said, at least, but there was no way you were being led to temptation from a small interaction with absolutely no ‘tempting’ aspects to it. Whatsoever. 

Hell is a nice break from Heaven. And it’s interesting to see what it’s like. I’m just curious is all… 

You stared at your hands, mind flashing back to something Sera had said a while ago.

Curiosity killed the cat. 

“[name]?”

You looked up. Sera was staring down at you. “Are you alright?”

You cursed internally, your heart almost leaping out of your throat. “Yes, Sera, I’m just… thinking.”

“Perhaps I could help?”

You studied her face. It was wearing the specific, reserved look she wore for when she was suspicious but didn’t want to show it. You smiled and shook your head. 

“I’m just trying to figure out what I ate this morning that could make my stomach hurt this much.”

Sera’s face relaxed, nodding. You knew that she wouldn’t believe that you’d lie to her. You knew it would be easy to squash her suspicions. 

“Well,” Sera said, “Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded smiled weakly again, watching her steady, deliberate steps as she disappeared around the corner, then hung your head again, sighing.

You prayed you weren’t digging yourself into a hole.

♱♱♱

A/N: Stay Tuned!

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