A Gaslight District OC I made named Jessica. She's inspired by Mel, but with a vintage housewife aesthetic.
I imagine she's a mobster who fights with twisters, kitchen equipment, and a golf club. Outwardly, she's softspoken and sweet, but is also a remorseless killer.
cw: nsfw, blood, thoughts of cannibalistic tendencies, dry-humping, spit, teeth-kink, heavy making out, fluff towards the end, cannon zayne powers mentioned, tba
a/n: not proofread, short, super indulgent cause i want to jog my brain for the bigger fics since i've been sorta slumped T-T
thinking of holding zayne's jaw open as you trace your fingertips over each ridge of his teeth. he's trying not to get aroused at the way you were straddling him, warm cunt over his crotch, and fingers in his mouth.
"you have such pretty pointy teeth, zayne. you should be more careful about eating sweets to keep 'em pretty forever."
you'd coo at him in a soft whispery voice, warm breath ghosting over his lips as you tilt your head to see the way his throat moves as he swallows. the flush on his neck was creeping up to his cheeks and he was holding back from making any noises, resulting in soft whimpers. you can see his hands beginning to go all frosty from restraint as he grips into the couch.
"your fangs are my favourite you know? especially when you smile or when you...bite me."
you say, enjoying the way he squirmed and the way something hard began to nudge at your clothed pussy. he was so easy and pliant when it came to you. willing to hold back for your sake just with a few flutters of your lashes and a smile. he'd do anything to see you smile down at him.
you let go of his jaw, watching the red of your fingerprints on his skin dissipate slowly. before you could pull your fingers out fully, he bit down. quick and sharp, snagging the tip of your finger in his incissors. you hissed in pain, seeing the line of red drip down his fangs and roll down the side of his lips. this shade of red suited him. your blood, suited him. you felt yourself grow wetter, the wetness seeping into his slacks and making him groan. he didn't lick away the blood. not yet.
you pressed the blood into his lips, smearing them with the shade of you, groaning softly when his hips bucked instinctively against you as you did.
"i need you, my love...please..."
he pants out, toned chest heaving as he tried to keep holding back. he looked so sweet and ripe for devouring with his soft flushed skin and blood stained lips. and when you just sat back, admiring him, he licked his lips and tugged you closer, cold frosted fingers bunching into your hair as he kissed you. the taste of copper and heat and him and you swirling between your tongues, dripping pink drool down each other's chin from the intensity of the kiss.
"mmf so sweet...perfect..."
he groaned against your tongue, green eyes half lidding the way a sated feline's would. you tugged at his bottom lip with your teeth, pricking it with a bite that made his body stutter and an instinctive hiss to escape his throat. the two of you looked deranged when you finally pulled away a string of pinkish spit between two blood smeared lips. the vision of pure unrestrained hunger for one another.
his hands were now frosted over as he held you by the hips, the cold making you gasp softly as it seeped through your clothes. he was guiding your body to rub against the aching tent in his slacks. the dampness making the fabric catch and stutter. your breathing grew heavier and so did his, the sight of his teeth gnashed together as he tried to hold back his moans only making you feel hotter. you wanted him to bite into your flesh and swallow a piece so you'd be a part of him forever. the mere thought of him, whimpering in reverence as he swallows your flesh down his bite marked throat.
"my love, i'm...close..."
he grunts out, rutting against you quicker. his tent curved against your aching clit, nudging it at a perfect rhythm. you felt the tightness in your lower stomach snap and find yourself letting out a groan as you slumped forward. the proof of your release and his soaking through the fabrics between you. he was panting against your ear, pressing soft kisses to the side of your head.
"zayne?"
you ask him, breath shallow as you tried to catch it.
"hm?"
he looked down at you through his thick lashes, green pupils peeking through narrowed slits. fluttering for a moment as you reached up to smear the dried blood on his jaw deeper into his skin.
"how long would i stay in your bloodstream if you ate me?"
he paused, pushing a sweat slicked hair strand out of your peering eyes. when he finally replied, he gave his answer the way he would your every query. with wholehearted attentiveness. as if all your questions no matter how small or silly required his well thought out answer and nothing less.
"not long enough, my love. i'd rather have you whole and by my side."
you pouted up at him.
"but you look so good like this...all bloody and torn up and mine to keep."
he gently tilted your chin up and placed a kiss onto your lips. the scent of drying blood lingering between the two of you.
"then i should look good all the time since i had always been yours to keep from the very start. now sit still and let me bandage your finger."
Notes: Reader has a vagina, reader n alastor are both sex-repulsed asexuals, platonic sex for heat relief reasons, extremely dubious consent to noncon, retracted consent, CANNIBALISM AT THE END!
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Heats suck ass.
One of Hell's cruellest jokes has to be you being reborn as a mammal, and all of the inconveniences that come along with it. Heats are the worst of all, up-heaving your entire life and leaving you incapacitated in the progress. Being high on a cocktail of hormones and left in a lust-driven frenzy is never a good thing… But there are plenty of people in Hell willing to take advantage of it. Add to that the fact you've never had that much of a desire to masturbate, and it's a recipe for disaster.
At least you have Hazbin Hotel now. While the conversation with Charlie about temporarily moving your room faaar away from the others, she'd been nothing but understanding and accepting. It was the first time you didn't feel disgusting about going through this every month. She even left you drinks and food outside your door at regular intervals. (Because, while it's very much possible to get through a heat without eating or drinking, being unable to die doesn't make it pleasant.)
After you've spent days using toys to get yourself off, you reek of it no matter how much you shower. The scent has to be chipped away at by time. When you head downstairs in desperate need for a drink, it's a walk of shame. Both of your wrists are throbbing with exertion.
You had wished the bar were empty, but wishes don't always come true.
Angel Dust takes one sideways glance at you and bursts out laughing. The tips of his heels clack against the wood of the bar as he kicks his legs around, one pair of arms crossed over his lap.
"Been having fun, babe? Fuck!" He leans his chin on one hand, swirling around a drink in your general direction with the other. "You were holed up in there for days. Y'know, I know a guy or two that could cut that time in half. Easy. Won't even cost that much."
You're, frankly, too exhausted to think of coming up with a comeback or quip. "Maybe. I'm tired," you respond. As if it isn't obvious. The practically audible roll of his eyes doesn't bother you. You're not into hiring a complete stranger as 'heat relief' even if it'd make your life easier. There's no reason to trust them.
You slide into a stool a couple seats away from Angel Dust. Husk looks at you, his frown relaxing somewhat. He probably experiences something similar, after all. Without any unnecessary words, Husk is pouring you a drink. A mix, though more alcohol than anything else. At the very least it could help you take your mind off of things. It might be what you need.
Even a couple of sips in, you know this is definitely not what you need. Given your exhaustion, the alcohol hits harder than ever and the drink tasted strongly of liquor to begin with. Your head feels heavy. So do your arms. Your legs itch to move. There's zero good reason to keep drinking, but sometimes you like the taste of your own self-destruction. It doesn't take long before you've veered well into 'tipsy' territory.
You can feel the pinprick of a gaze at your back. Static teases at the edge of your hearing. You ignore it.
"No, but, really," Angel Dust starts again. "I don't get why ya don't just hire someone and get it over with. Yeah, yeah, I get it— It's not pretty, you're not making kissy-kissy love-dovey faces at each other, but it's Hell, toots."
This time, you turn your head just far enough to the righ to shoot him a glare. You slam down your glass. A slosh of alcohol spills past the rim, staining the top of your hand and darkening the wood it lands on.
"I just don't like it, okay?!" You spit out, defensiveness flaring up all at once. The idea of some stranger's hands roaming over your body, to have to expose yourself like that in front of someone— To have sex with them, it makes your stomach turn. And, at the same time, hot tears burn at the corner of your eyes. You wish that you weren't like this too, sometimes, but what can you do about it? The alcohol has loosened your tongue. "I don't like to have sex, so why should I pay someone else for the honour of being touched by them?!"
You grit your teeth, eyes burning holes in the counter in front of you. This sucks. This is genuinely just horrible. Before the tears have a chance to spill past your cheeks, or you manage to make an even bigger fool of yourself, you stumble your way off the chair and up in the direction of your room. If anyone had told you anything, it would've been hard for the noise to get through passed your plugged ears. You can't shake the feeling that you're being followed and wriggle your ears as you pull your claws from them.
Still, the only thing you can think of, for now, is to get the hell out of there. You use your newly freed hands to wipe away at the corners of your eyes. You'll cry in the relative safety of your room. It's only when you've arrived at your door that you whip around, bringing you face to face with Hazbin Hotel's most infamous employee— The Radio Demon.
He's smiling, as usual, the quirk of his mouth revealing a glint of yellowed teeth. Alastor's pupils are narrowed into slits. The red, metal ferrule of his cane taps against the floor. He tilts his head at you.
"You are aware that it's quite rude to keep a caller waiting, yes?" You absolutely do not have the energy to deal with this. Why has he decided to cast his eye upon you now, at all times? You haven't been 'worthy' of his attention for even a moment prior. "But, I suppose you may be allowed a bit of leniency… That fellow can be quite a drag!"
You have no idea what he's getting at. If it weren't for the alcohol active in your system, you might've been left unable to speak at all. Right now, you want nothing more than to crash into your bed and sleep until you won't wake up without being even slightly hungover.
"Look, um, I was going to head to bed," you say, still teetering on the edge of an apology. Your mouth opens in a jaw and you barely cover it with your hand. "I probably can't help you much right now. Maybe Charlie—"
"Oh, no, no," Alastor intercepts with a shake of his head. "Dear, if I needed anyone else, I would have simply gone to them! No, you've caught my attention today, with your short-lived little speech down at the bar." He takes a step forward. You don't have the chance to move back before his fingers have invaded your space in a flash, wiping away imaginary tears still lingering near your eyes. You flinch after his arm has already retreated.
"That was…" You swallow. You're inebriated, but not far enough gone not to feel any shame about that moment already. "Well. Not great." You slump against the wall next to you. Alastor's eyes meticulously follow your every movement, and you soon find yourself straightening once again.
"Not great in the moment, perhaps," he acquiesces. "But I do believe there is potential for an agreement there between us. You see, much like you, I suffer from a similar… Ailment, shall we say, every month, like clockwork." You're left too speechless to interfere. Whatever direction you had anticipated this conversation to take, it had not been this.
"Much like you, I am not interested in the regular 'relief services' provided by the masses. I want it to be done with as soon as possible. In that respect, I suspect we have a shared interest. Objectively speaking, you are also more attractive than whoever is offering themselves up for a dollar and a dime." A beat of silence falls, the noise of static once again increases. "That was a compliment."
"T-thank you," you stammer, mind still struggling to catch up. It's like you've simultaneously sobered up and gotten even more confused. "So, if I understand correctly… You're saying we should have sex."
"That's how you could choose to describe it, yes. Only as a means to make both our lives a little bit easier. When I heard you express yourself earlier… Well, I would not have used the same phrasing, but I believe our feelings are much aligned! Always the perfect grounds for a fruitful agreement."
"I'm not… I'm not interested in making any kind of official deal," you tell him. One look at Husk turned you off the idea forever. It certainly hasn't done him any favours.
You've heard far too many horror stories about deals in hell gone wrong. In misheard conversations, or illegible fine print— You have no desire to find out that you've accidentally sold your soul to a demon as infamous as Alastor, relegated to being a cautionary tale for centuries to come. Though you will admit that the idea of easier heats is appealing.
"I don't think any kind of 'deal' is necessary in this case, my dear," Alastor says, looking down at his nails and flexing his fingers. "My reasons are clearly laid out, whatever you make of them. You wouldn't lose anything from it— Really, I'm being very hospitable right now, ha!"
Your mind chugs away. Perhaps it's the alcohol clouding your judgement, but it doesn't all sound so horrible, given the right circumstances. Charlie already knows of your heats, you could inform her of this, too. If she thought anything was up, you're sure the Princess of Hell wouldn't hesitate to burst in and help, embarrassing as it might be for you. That's simply the kind of person she is. Beyond that, powerful as he may be, Alastor is still incapable of killing you.
Your mouth is forming the words before you've completely thought them through. "I want it to be here, in the hotel. And if I hate it… Then we'll never do it again."
"Yes, yes, certainly. But it will be my room," Alastor counters. "Nowhere else."
This takes away from your idea of familiar ground, as you've never been inside there before, but it still feels safe enough. You nod, sealing your fate. Even without a tangible deal in place, you're certain that Alastor will hold you to your word.
Afterwards, the whole conversation feels like nothing more than a fever dream. For a few days, you manage to fool yourself into thinking that none of it ever happened. That you'd passed out in bed and dreamed up the whole thing.
This delusion manages to last until Alastor presents you with a strip of pills, informing you that you are to take them in order to line up your little 'predicaments'. Neither of you wants to be in any coherent state of mind for your little deal, it seems. If suppressing your heat through pills like these didn't suck so much, you'd be doing it all the time. But, whether this is the only time you go through with this or not, you only have to go through all the side-effects once.
When Alastor's rut rolls around, you don't need to be told. You can smell it on the air. It sends your temperature spiking, leading your feet to the door of his room without even thinking about it. After putting off your heat with the medication, it seems to fog over your mind more than ever before.
You lean against the frame of the door. Lifting your hand to knock on it brings the sensation of moving through sludge. Everything is so heavy, so difficult. Feverish heat pools in between your legs and soaks through your clothing. The fabric is clammy against your fur.
Your hand barely brushes against the door before it's yanked open. The world around you upturns at once, sending you crashing to the floor. Instead of your face meeting wood, you're caught in… Something. It's long, dark and a little transparent. Through it, your own skin and clothes are still visible. Following the tendril to its source, you find Alastor.
In the back of your mind, a little square untouched by your heat, you'd been worried about how this was supposed to go. What would you even say, would you have to make some kind of awkward small talk before you have sex with each other? That had seemed about as dreadful to you as the act itself. The dancing around the subject until neither of you would be able to control yourself anymore.
Alastor doesn't look like he'd be capable of such politeness or niceties right now. His bow tie is skewed around his neck, one of his gloves missing. His clawed hand, covered in gray fur, slowly clenches and relaxes again. The coat that he's wearing is more tattered than before. There are gashes left in it, around the bottom.
None of that is even mentioning his expression. His smile is stretched wide enough to look painful, a little spit gathered at the corners of his mouth. The pupils are deep, dark puddles you could drown in.
In your hours worrying about the logistics, awkwardness, and shame you had never once considered exactly what you would be in for, here. Alastor is dangerous, he's repulsed by sex, possibly even more so than you, and forced to take part in something he loathes— What had you been expecting? There is no lust there, but he looks ready to devour you whole.
"You kept me waiting," he tells you, every word strained out through grit, yellowed fangs.
You do not get the chance to respond. Entangled in his shadow, he drags you in through the entrance of his room, the door slamming shut behind you. Fear has doused your heat with a bucket of cold water and you let out a short-cut scream as you're dragged into his dark room, a glittering expanse of stars above you.
As you hang suspended in the air for a moment, the full expanse of his room sprawls before you. It smells of dirt and grass, with actual trees growing inside of it. Somewhere in the back, a bush rustles, and the thought flashes through your mind that he keeps other things in here.
"You'd do well not to be distracted," Alastor tells you, something still uncanny about his voice. His mouth opens ever so slightly, this time. A dark, uneven tongue momentarily darts past his lips.
You wish you could say something, anything. But every muscle in your body is tensed up, constricting even your throat. The walls of the expansive room seem to be closing in on you. You cannot actually, permanently, die in Hell by Alastor's mind, you tell yourself. But repeating this over and over again does nothing to soothe your nerves.
You're brought down to the ground, dropped in soft, wet clay next to a small pond in the room. You hit the floor with a wet smack that is anything but gentle. The wind is knocked out of you and you wheeze in a breath, the contents of your stomach sloshing around inside of you. Your nose is clogged with the smell of dirt and still water, reeds rustling as your fingers claw around in the mud in an attempt to get up.
Once again, all of your limbs are pinned down with tendrils and, in a flash, Alastor is on top of you. His hands roam over the lower parts of your body and, at the almost-gentle touch, your mind is starting to turn to slush again at the knowledge you'll have sex soon. Heats are truly incapacitating and, even with the smell of the pond and mud, Alastor's pheromones hang thick in the air. It's a scent that has your face scrunching up, metallic and sharp.
Your bones still echo with pain in response to the smack you made. "This isn't what we agreed to," you manage to force out, your body trembling.
Continuing on from touching, his claws have started to cut through what little clothing you're wearing on your lower half. Anything above your hips is left untouched. At one point, the nail catches on your skin and you jump.
"We would relieve each other's heats, in part with sex," Alastor says, the corners of his mouth trembling. With both of his hands yanking away the scraps of your clothing, you finally realise what is so wrong about his voice: It's raw, unfiltered through the usual filter of his microphone. "Other than that, I do not think we made any agreements that I could break. I cannot hurt you. Permanently, that is. If, in my 'excitement', I leave a little damage… I hope you'll accept any advance apology for that."
A thick string of drool slides through the gaps in between his teeth and drips down onto your chest, darkening the fabric. Your heart is racing and your head is rolling around the floor, multiple overlapping parts of you screaming over each other— Self-preservation, fear, shame, disgust, but there is nothing you can do about any of it.
Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut, imagining yourself in the comfort of your nest, cooped up in your room, anywhere more comfortable than here. Oh, right now, how you could wish that you could turn off your rational mind completely. The opportunity soon presents yourself as your thighs are nudged apart and you open your eyes just in time to see the tip of Alastor's cock nearing your entrance. Other than pulling his clothes a bit to the side, he hasn't shed anything.
A loud, guttural noise is ripped from your throat as he forces himself inside of you, cramming as much of his cock in your slick hole as he can in a single movement. No matter how sex-ready your body might be because of your heat, that doesn't make it comfortable. There are no slow grinds to loosen up your insides and get you used to the movement. If there are any tears, at least they'll be healed by the time he's done with you. Mud is caked thick underneath your nails and the tears dripping down your face add to the softness of the mud.
(you asked for this and you agreed to this but this is nothing like what you expected, what you wanted, and it is simultaneously worse and better. because you would have never wanted him to touch or caress you like a lover but, right now, you feel no better than a piece of meat.)
But when you open your mouth, as much as you want to scream or cuss him out, all that leaves your lips is a whiny, needy noise thanks to your heat. Your pussy has stretched out to fit him and the pain is gone. In response to your noises, your pheromones that must be filling the air, Alastor shows no response. Not even a twitch of his ears or nose. Instead, all that he busies himself with is the same, selfish thrusts, rapid and purely chasing his own pleasure.
If you weren't high on hormones, none of this would've felt remotely good. Now, though, with the pain ebbing away bliss takes it place, shooting through your limbs every time his hips meet yours with a smack. Your hand sneaks in between your legs and you rub vigorously at your engorged clit. The consequences of doing such a thing with hands so dirty as yours is something for the you of tomorrow to worry about. Aided by your hand, you cum in no time at all, walls spasming around his cock.
It's the first time Alastor lets out a noise other than his heavy panting. At your pussy clenching around him, trying to milk him, he lets out a groan. More spit drips down on your chest and, finally, you look up at his face once again. For a little while, he'd been nothing but a set of thrusting hips to you, too focused on the pain and the intrusion to remember who he is, what he is.
When you do, you wish you hadn't looked. His composure has only crumbled further. His smile has spread wide enough that his lips have started to curl in on himself, a little blood clinging to his lips from where his teeth cut through his bottom lip. He's pounding into you at a pace that has become bruising and, at this point, you can't imagine it feels good for him either. Your mouth hangs half open, a constant stream of little noises leaving your mouth.
Your orgasm has washed away the worst of your heat. With the increased clarity of mind, your stomach twists and turns and, once again, you close your eyes. The sensations are too much, the knowledge of the fact that you're having sex with someone you don't even like, platonically or romantically, digging gashes in your mental state. You should've never agreed to this. Your heat had egged you on to go here, but you'd taken those pills all those days. (In a little corner of your mind, perhaps you'd told yourself that it'd be worse if he forced himself on you when his rut rolled around and you weren't in heat.)
You listen to the ceaseless rustling of the plants at the edge of the pond and feel yourself retreating into the back of your head, trying to forget the rest of your body. You're a little thing huddled in the back of your head, gazing out at the world through your skull, and nothing else is attached to you, that is all that you are.
With another snap of his hips, Alastor finishes inside of you, spurt after spurt of cum filling you up. You let out a long, shuddering sigh. The sloppy thrusts, the gasps for air and the rolling of his eyes are all indicators that this is about to come to an end— A heat relief service indeed, but at what cost? You'll have to avoid him like the plague for the rest of your stay here, that's for sure.
You crack open your eyes. You are greeted with the sight of Alastor's mouth opening for the first time, teeth seeming longer than ever, saliva almost literally pouring down on you. Alastor is past all point of reason, panting so hard it leaves clouds in the air. A rumbling, like the growling of someone's stomach, reaches your ears. Before you can move even a muscle, he strikes.
His fangs sink down into the meat of your shoulder, tearing through the fabric of your shirt as if it were mere paper. You scream so hard your throat erupts in pain, violently bucking against the tendrils still holding you down. With every twitch of your muscles, they seem to solidify further. His tongue slathers the broken skin and torn muscle as you wheeze in a breath, tears and snot running down your face.
Alastor's cock has hardened inside you once again. It seems that he's satisfying two hungers at once, now. Black spots dance across your vision. Even if you can't die permanently, you seem to have a painful road ahead of you; until he's had his fill, that is.
But Mama I’m in love with a criminal / And this type of love isn’t rational, it’s physical / Mama please don’t cry, I will be alright / All reason aside I just can’t deny, I love the guy.// - Britney Spears, “Criminal”
^ this best describes me after reading Tokyo Vice 😳🫣🥵 anyways—
cw blood
Drew @yinyuedijun’s yakuza!Suo for @pixelcafe-network’s Challenge Friday, with Challenge #2 being a music prompt (see song above). I’ve been entranced by Mao’s depiction of Suo in a yakuza au setting ever since Sincerity seriously I always mistype it as yaluza smh stupid keyboard 😭 and been bugging them about how he usually wears when dispatching some guys… was gonna incorporate some Chinese motif in his clothes but the handsome suit he wore in the official illustration still really slaps me in the puthy 😳🫣 (plus leather gloves); also I think yakuza au Suo’s weapon of choice would be a katana or any razor-sharp long object 🗡
“What if I don’t want to remember?”
Beowulf looked at her-this strange, hollow creature with tear-streaked cheeks and ash still tangled in her hair. And for a fleeting, painful moment, he saw a part of himself. “Then forget,” he told her, voice low and rough. “But eat first. Even forgetting takes strength.”
Maii'ard stuff. StarFang my beloveds. This week is turning out to be really bad so I took it out on myself to draw/write about the more angsty bits of "Layla"/Beowulf stuff.
Here are some comfort doodles as comfort
Lore dump of this:
"Layla" is souleless here, and as one side effect of that she has a very weird and complicated relationship with emotions. She emobodies a form of emotional detachment as until Beowulf got to her, she has been isolated from the world - she is the world's observer rather than a participant. After I was done thinking through this scene and reading over the bits and pieces I wrote about it it reminded me vaguely of that quote from the last unicorn "I can feel sorrow, but that's not the same thing" - she feels, but there a detachment, some different way she feels the world around her.
Anyway, back to these two - they have come across a village in ruins, there's dead people and animals, and while Layla walked through it and observed every body and scortched remains, she collapsed outside of the village, physically in pain from the grief that struck her and she doesn't understand it nor why she is crying for "people she did not even know existed until now". Her soulesness also makes her not "want" anything, so often times she doesn't feel the need to eat or ask for food or warmer clothes or anything. Why should she? It's like an immortal being stuck in a human body they're forgetting to nourish.
And days after this scene takes place that I wrote about. Beowulf found them a place to stay the night, some deep part of the woods, the moon hid itself behind clouds and there's a stream next to their little makeshift camp that Layla focuses on. Beowulf is offering her food here, and she's confused as to why, she doesn't hunger, and then they have some short talk and get to the quotes above.
Discussing a bad blood draw & photo of the resulting bruise utc so if ur squeamish abt blood or needles don’t read
Just had THE WORSTTTTTT blood draw of my life which is impressive bc my veins r notoriously troublesome but a) he went into the same spot where I was still bruised from a blood draw last week b) he had to jab and wiggle like three times to get the first bit of blood and then c) it still wasn’t enough and he had to keep jabbing every time it moved even slightly AND THEN d) it FELL OUT COMPLETELY before the final vial was done and there was blood fuckin EVERYWHERE all over my arm all over my clothes all over HIS scrubs all over the vials and the supplies and the chair like good lord it was a horror scene 😭😭😭 by the time I got home there was a grape sized ball on my inner elbow and my mom gasped when she saw n said I had to ice it immediately…
Here’s what the bruise looks like now after like four hrs of me icing it on and off it’s gonna be the size of a golf ball tomorrow morning jfc
haiii, can u write scara carving his name into reader's arm? ^^ feel free to ignore!
Haii, I hope you enjoy this!!! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡
CW. Blood, name craving, knife play(?), could be modern au or normal au, slightly suggestive, aftercare of a cut
A/N:: Scara likes seeing the reader in pain but don't worry he takes care of the cut afterwards :)
You let out a loud gasp, you felt his knife digging into your skin.You winced in pain, he had his iconic smile on his face. His knife was between his fingers, he twirls it around between his digits, you would be impressed but right now, you were nervous only focusing on the knife, you wanted him to do it, craving his beautiful name into your soft skin. He smiles and kisses your arm where he was going to crave into your skin. “Shh” he shushes when he hears you whine, his soft kissable lips on your skin, you can feel the cold blade against your skin. It was a different feeling, you whine when you feel the cold sharp blade tip poking at you. “Tell me when” he says, you wait and let out deep sighs, you tell him that you're ready so he smiles and gives you a last kiss before he craves you. The blade sinks into your skin, your blood slips through, covering a small part of your arm bloody. “Tell me when to stop,” he says. Craving a “S” into your skin, then a “C” he can't help but smile when he sees his work on you. He continues but stops when you let out a gasp, he quickly cleans it up, rubbing alcohol on your skin and he wipes it clean. He continues after cleaning it up, he continues to carve his name into your skin, he smiles once he sees a “SCARAM” he just needs a few words into his work, he kisses your cut, licking it clean and he continues. He was done, he loved his work, it was perfect, he kissed your neck and your cheeks rubbing your back as he cleans it. Telling you how good you did for him, how obedient you are, he loves you so much!
