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kentopedia · 4 months

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ THIS WORLD, IT'S CRUEL — levi ackerman

summary . . . levi comforts you after a nightmare

contents . . . gn!reader, takes place after the female titan, pet names (my love, darling), i got the urge to write something for levi last night, so here we are — 800 words

blood splattered across the trees. the bodies of your dead friends and soldiers littered on the ground like nothing more than discarded trash. the sun pelted down on them, the feet of titans crushed them.

levi was among the bodies. his eyes stared back at you, cold, empty. the blue in them had faded to a steel grey, nothing there at all; not the love and affection that usually bled between his irises.

and you were frozen, feet stuck in the soil as the world around you swirled so realistically, swaying. the female titan’s eyes turned to you—you’d be next, you knew.

fear gripped you, clawed up your neck, but you couldn’t breathe; couldn’t move.

the female titan picked you up, stared at you, squeezed you tight. though you thrashed, you were caught in her palms, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to scream.

whatever sound left your throat was raspy, nothing more than the end of an exhale. you screamed and screamed, your body trapped, as you tried to kick and claw and cry to no avail.

then—

“hey, hey, calm down, it’s okay.”

a voice. it cut through your the vivid image, and suddenly, the sun seemed to dim, the female titan blurring into a figure that seemed darker, different. the air turned cold—the beating sun that you’d sure you’d felt dimmed.

you screamed once more, and this time, a shrill sound came out. levi’s name spilled from your lips… not quite a yell, but loud enough to wake anyone else who was sleeping down the hall.

tears tracked down your cheeks as you blinked, realizing that you weren’t kicking at the female titan, but the blankets of your bed. the sun was gone because it was the middle of the night, and the room didn’t smell like pine because you weren’t there.

levi stared at you, eyes concerned as they darted all over your face. he brushed away your tears before they rolled down, dripped off your jaw, a steady stream that you weren’t sure how to stop.

“levi,” you said again, squeezing his wrists as he held your cheeks. “levi.”

“it’s okay,” he repeated, noting the terror in your expression that hadn’t faded, knowing exactly what had happened in your mind. it wasn’t the first time you’d had the nightmare—it wouldn’t be the last. “you’re okay. i’m okay.”

you searched his face for any sign of a lie, that perhaps, this was the dream, and levi had truly died back on the mission. but levi breathed like a living person, held your face like a breathing person, and touched you with a warmth that no dream had ever supplied.

“breathe, my love,” he said, catching your eye, taking a long inhale with you as you watched, focusing on those beautiful blue eyes. they were full of life; full of love—not the dulled irises that you’d seen in your dream.

you took a long, stilted breath, closing your eyes. you let your hands trail down his arms, grip at his biceps, nails digging into the skin. “i’m sorry, levi,” you said, softly, voice cracking. “i didn’t mean to make so much noise, i just—” your lip trembled, but you refused to cry again. your gaze fell to his lap, to the place where his thighs brushed your own on the bed. “i’m sorry.”

“fuck. don’t—” for some reason, your apology always seemed to crush him. his expression broke, and he tugged you onto his lap, sending a fresh wave of tears over you. “just. come here. don’t apologize.” you trembled in his arms, and he hushed you, rubbed your back as you squeezed his shoulderblades, buried your face into his collarbone. “you’re okay.”

he smelled like fresh linens, so clean and soapy. there was a hint of bergamot. so very levi. he was safe. he was alive. so were you.

“you’re okay,” you repeated his own words, exhaling, shifting so your cheek was pressed against his jaw, your nose buried in the soft skin of his neck. though, if you were talking more to yourself or to him, you weren’t sure.

levi held you for a moment, running his hands along your back, his fingers tracing each knob of your spine. slowly, he lowered you back to the bed, maneuvering you onto his chest, tucking you into his side. at some point, your hands had fisted in the fabric of his shirt, clutching it tight, the material wrinkled.

you released your palm, sighing softly as he kissed your forehead. “i didn’t mean to wake you,” you said — the same thing you always repeated after every nightmare.

to which levi always said — “you didn’t.” because sleep evaded him, always, and he never got far enough into it to have dreams.

you reached for his hand and levi let you, let you squeeze his palm, lace your fingers together. the darkness settled back into the room, the serenity stilling, even as the images of your dead squad members lingered on the back of your eyelids.

you were alive, and so was levi.

it would be okay.

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pedros-mustache · 1 year

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good thing

word count: ~4k

warnings: smut (18+ only). also: established relationship, angst, non-planned pregnancy, implied sex-for-pay, age gap, language, x fem!reader

a/n: idk you guys. he is—as my middle schoolers would say—Him. it was bound to happen that i would write a pregnancy fic about this man. i will admit that i am weirdly nervous about sharing this fic so please be kind, friends✨🤗

“How long have you known?”

“Long enough.”

“Whose?”

“Not yours.”

The room falls quiet, swollen with the ugly reality of your revelation. Your heart hangs in your chest. A clock on the shelf ticks each miserable second he does not respond.

Joel drums his fingers on the faded arm of the couch, his face blanketed by an unreadable shroud. He stares out the window, and you know he is thinking—wondering—calculating—when this happened. You cannot tell if he is hurt or angry or merely confused, but you can tell he is running the numbers. Running the myriad of possibilities of how you got knocked up under his watch. You could tell him—spill your slimy secrets on the creaking apartment floor like a parishioner at confession—but what good would that do? What would that change? Truth revealed or not, the fact remains:

You are pregnant, and whatever is blossoming between you and Joel, whatever tender flower has broken through cracked soil to find the light of day, the baby is not his. More than that, this development, this situation, marks the end of your budding connection. That glittering future you once saw with him, the future of safety and security at his side? Snipped at the bud, crushed beneath the heel of practicality. You can go no further. Not with him.

Across the apartment, the girl—Ellie—shuffles side to side. You glance at her over your shoulder and watch a wave of discomfort twist her smooth features. You sigh, dropping your arms from their position crossed over your chest.

“Come on, Joel. Now isn’t the time to ask questions. When Tess gets back with the guns, you and her have got to get Ellie out of here.”

Maybe it is something in your resolute tone of voice, or maybe it is reality crashing landing at his feet, but your comment breaks Joel’s attention from the window. He stands, his jaw tight, his brow furrowed. He faces you, and that unreadable shroud falls from his face. He is angry, that much is clear.

He points to the apartment door. “Out.”

The blood in your veins slows, turned sluggish with the weight of your sudden anxiety. “What?” you breathe.

Shaking his head, his free hand comes to rest on his hip. You know the stance: he does it every time you insist on sharing tea in the morning or rubbing the tension from his sore muscles. He’s irritated, but not outraged. That alone is a reassuring sign.

“Not you. Her.” He gestures to Ellie. “Go wait in the hall.”

You start to protest. FEDRA on the move, Fireflies dispersed, night coming quickly—time is wasting. There’s no time for you and him and figuring this out, if that is what he wants. That ship has sailed and sunk beneath a bitter ocean of what-could-have-beens. There is only time for here and now and getting the fuck out of Dodge.

“Joel, I don’t—”

But his face softens as it so rarely ever does. He pulls his stare from the girl and turns his brown eyes—those damn puppy dog eyes—on you, and you are helpless. “Please,” he whispers.

The clock on the shelf ticks louder. Maybe you can steal a few minutes...

Without turning to face Ellie, you cock your head at the door in a silent dismissal. She releases an annoyed huff, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath about fucking adults before slamming the door behind her.

“Delightful child,” you murmur.

“She could save us all.”

Scoffing, you press your palms to the chipped table in the center of the apartment. The wood veneer is smooth, cool to the touch. It soothes your racing heart, even if only for a moment. “You’re starting to sound like Tess.”

Joel remains quiet—perhaps thoughtful, maybe biding his time—but his fixed stare carves gaping holes in the side of your head. You can feel him rooting through your mind like a scavenger. He is wondering when you slipped away long enough, when you found the time. He is replaying the moments in the market when you spoke to any other man and held his gaze for too long. He sifts through your shared memories with frantic fingers, and you can feel him—you know him well enough—to sense the panic swirling in his chest.

But for the first time in the three years you have known him, you do not have it in you to quiet the storm in his mind. You have your own tempest to battle.

Finally, he speaks. “You gonna look at me?”

The slow, deep timbre of Joel’s voice catches you off guard. You expected anger, shouting, frustration that boils over into rage. But Joel has always been gentle with you. Beneath the brusk of necessity, he is a true Southern gentleman. Just like his mama raised him. And even now, standing on the edge of the crumbling cliff where you have placed yourself, he treats you with nothing but respect.

God, you could love him. You really could. If only things were different.

You look away from the table and find him a step closer. Not close enough to touch. He is too angry for that; it is written in the shadow on his brow. But he is close enough that you can see the concern etched in the lines on his face. His frown is not at you, it is for you, and that makes looking at him all the harder.

“When did this happen?”

You shrug, eyes skittering to the floor. “I told you. It doesn’t matter. The details don’t matter.”

“Don’t they?” He has both hands on his hips now, his head tilted as he tries to catch your wandering gaze. “Come on, girl. Answer me. You owe me that.”

He’s right: you do owe him. You owe him so many times over it is impossible to count. Still, if he knew—if he truly knew... There would be no hope of repairing the damage you would cause. You would only split the torn earth on which you stand wider. The crumbling cliff would give way, and you would fall to your doom.

He reaches out. His fingers skim the rough hem of your flannel, his flannel. “Tell me, baby.” Those three words, choked out and brittle with desperation, snap your resolve in two.

You will lay your cards on the table, spread yourself across the sacrificial altar, bear your soul. For him—always for him.

Inhaling, you stand straight, bracing your socked-feet on the floor. You meet his eyes. If you’re going to go down for the decisions of your past, you’ll do it with your chin held high. Your father didn’t raise a quitter.

“Remember that battery, the one for the radio? The boots, the jacket?”

Joel nods. “For my birthday.”

You nod. “For your birthday.”

He holds your unwavering stare. The clock ticks: tick, tick, tick. Understanding rises like a slow tide over his face. You can’t bear to watch it. You look away. Shame gnaws at your stomach like a hungry wolf, and you press a hand to your belly.

“You didn’t—” He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth curling. “You didn’t have to...”

“I wanted to. For you.” Something catches in your throat. You circle the table, placing the furniture between his growing emotion and your growing regret. Fuck, you should have just stayed quiet. “So you could have one good thing.”

“But now you’re—”

“Pregnant.”

Tearing a hand through his hair, Joel twists. He faces the door, and you wonder if he is dreaming of escape just like you. You wonder if he is dreaming of a world where doves still fly and babies live past six months and men and women can afford to build a life together.

He presses a closed fist to his mouth. Light bounces off the cracked face of his wrist watch. “What are you going to do?”

You answer without hesitation. “Keep it.”

His neck turns so fast you swear you hear it crack. You would joke about his age if the situation weren’t so dire. Two nights ago you joked that he is old enough to be your uncle, maybe even your dad; he fucked you good when you said that, just to prove you wrong. That levity feels far away now, impossible to grasp should you even dare try.

“The likelihood of survival—”

“Is slim. For me and the baby, I know. But I’ve thought about it. Hell, I’ve even prayed about it. And I—” You blink away the warm tears rising to blur your vision. “I want this.”

“Why?”

Why? What a simple question. What a loaded answer. You don’t know where to begin. But he looks at you with such earnestness, such a craving to understand, that you have to at least try.

“I want a husband,” you say. When he frowns in confusion, you push onward, the words rising to your tongue like a sermon. “I want a child and a home. A life I can build and call my own. I may never have a husband or a true home, but with this child, no matter how it came to be…” You give a pitiful shrug of your shoulders. “I need something more, Joel. Something more than simply living to die.”

After a moment, when your words have settled like dust on a crowded roadway, Joel motions to your stomach. He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Can—can I?”

“Yes.” You release the word on a stolen breath.

Rounding the table, Joel keeps his focus glued to your abdomen. His chest rises and falls, deep inhale after shallow exhale. He stands before you, a giant amongst men, his fingers shaking as he unbuttons the three lower buttons of his flannel. He brushes the fabric aside, and when your stomach is bare before him, he swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs as though he, too, feels a lump lodged in his throat. He smooths the palm of his hand over the slight bump at your womb. Barely there, blink and you miss it, but unmistakable once noticed.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see,” he murmurs. His thumb massages your ever-stretching skin, back and forth, back and forth. His warm breath fans your face as his forehead comes to rest against yours.

“Because you didn’t want to.”

You pass your fingers through the graying hair at his temples and study the way his eyelashes fan his cheekbones. Little moments, you think, to be tucked away in your heart once this is all over and he is gone.

“When Kate was pregnant, I knew. Sarah... I could feel her...”

Your chin trembles, your fingers curling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I know... I know...”

“A baby. In this world. I can’t remember the last time I—”

Without warning, he cuts his own thought short and slowly lowers himself to his knees. He presses one hand to the small of your back, the other still massaging the bump of your stomach. You hold your breath as he leans forward and touches your bump with his forehead. He whispers something, something you cannot hear and you suspect is not for you, and then he is standing. He catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, and when you meet his eyes, you see the world.

“Sugar, you are my good thing.”

I wanted to. For you. So you could have one good thing.

His words—your words—ring loud in your ear, and you choke on a sob as he lowers his mouth to yours. He kisses you like the rain kisses dry land. You are parched, cracked and withered from the fear of this moment, but with his touch, he waters your aching heart. He is eager, holding you close, cradling your jaw with the wide expanse of his hand. Never before, not in the year of sharing his bed, has he kissed you with such devotion coating his lips. You could drown in it.

You tear your mouth away long enough to look over your shoulder. The door to the apartment remains shut, a measly separation between you and the outside world. “The girl—”

Joel shakes his head, already working on the remaining buttons of your flannel. “She doesn’t matter.” He kisses your neck, once, twice, creating a wet trail to your earlobe. “Not right now.”

“Okay.” You turn back to him, your face softening as you catch his dark eyes.

He nudges your nose with the end of his own. “Okay.”

Words dissipate. Like fresh dew beneath the morning sun, the need for talking disappears under the weight of all that is and was and could be. There is nothing more to say—not aloud, not right now—but there is much, oh so much, your body can say for you.

You kiss Joel with a fierceness you have not felt since the first time he laid his hands upon you. You are desperate for him, desperate to tell him just why you did what you did, and how much you need him, want him, fuck—maybe even love him. You part your lips to allow him access, and you cling to his arms, your nails biting the flesh beneath his denim shirt. He hisses when you bite his lower lip, the hand still resting in the small of your back pushing you closer to his warmth. You tangle your arms around his shoulders, holding him closer, closer, as close as he can get without forcing him to merge into your own skin.

With a quiet grunt, he fists his hand in the hair at the back of your head and wrenches to the side. You gasp, eyes widening as he flattens his tongue against your pulse point. He sucks your skin, biting gently, before releasing your neck with a wet pop. You whimper—even as he takes your chin in his fingers again and seals his mouth to yours.

For a moment, you allow yourself to sink fully into the kiss. You do not know what the future holds or what will become of you and the child within. All you know is that here, in the now, in the present, Joel kisses you, and sweeps his tongue across your tongue, and runs his hand down the inside of your jeans to cup your ass. And for right now, in the here and the present, you are okay and you are safe and the risk of being with him is worth the reward.

He squeezes the flesh of your ass again, and you shake yourself free of any wayward thinking. Just him—just you—just now.

“Pretty girl,” he whispers against your lips. “Mine.”

You nod, and through laboring breaths, you confirm what has always been the truth. “Yours.”

It is a backwards, lopsided dance to the only bed in the apartment. He collapses to the edge, and you straddle his thigh as you kiss him. His broad hands run the course of your body, up and down, front and back. He massages your breasts through the paltry fabric you call a bra, pausing long enough to tweak a nipple hard enough you whine. He chuckles, leans forward, sucks the offended nub through the covering. You go to shrug off his flannel, but Joel stops you with a hand to your arm.

“No.” His eyes roam from your face to your shoulders to your peaked nipples and finally, the swollen womb above your center. “Keep it on.”

He leans back on his palms as you unclasp your bra and toss it to the floor. The zipper of his jeans strains against his growing erection. You peel your underwear off and face him with a smirk.

“You’re overdressed.”

He tilts his head in acknowledgment. “Maybe.”

“We should fix that.”

He waves his hand in invitation. “Be my guest.”

Biting your lower lip to conceal a grin, you pounce, zealous for him as much as he is for you. His clothes come off in quick succession until you are both naked save for his flannel hanging loose around your shoulders. He pauses then, a second, maybe two, his hand poised against the side of your neck. His eyes dart between yours, his lips parted, words he dare not say resting on the tip of his tongue.

“I know, baby.” You put one hand on his shoulder, his warm, tan skin a comfort against the chill in the room. You reach out and grip his hard cock with your opposite hand, and when he winces in pleasure, you brush your knuckles over the hair on his jaw. “I know.”

Joel allows you to stroke him, a rare occurrence in your repertoire of fucks. What is normally a frenzied connection in the dark, moments stolen before the light of day brings reality crashing back, is turned slow by the knowledge that things are different now. Things cannot be as they once were, no matter what the future may bring. So you stroke his cock, spit in your hand, and stroke it faster. Up and down, until he is pulsing in your hand and weeping from the tip. He drops to his back on the bed, his face buried in his hands as you touch him.

But then you pull away.

Joel removes his hands from his face. He stares at you, a flash of annoyance brightening his eyes. “What—”

“Shh.” You plant both hands on his sturdy chest as you swing your leg over his hips. “Walls are thin.”

Gripping the base of his cock, you run your dripping warmth over his tip. You hover above him, eyes rolling back in your head as you tease yourself. Sparks of pleasure radiate through your body, and you grit your teeth to keep from moaning. Joel grabs your hips, but he does not force you down. No, he waits until you are ready. He waits until you position his cock at your entrance and begin the slow descent to heavenly madness.

You suck in a deep breath as his cock stretches you open. He fits snug in your core, like he was crafted just for you. When you have adjusted to his girth, you move your hands to grip his arms. You shift your knees, lifting your hips up before descending again. Over and over, a smooth, unchanging rhythm.

You are in no hurry to find release. For once this fuck is more than finding a shot of pleasure amidst the cruel darkness of the world. You want this to last and you want this to feel good. You need this imprinted upon your mind, locked in the secret place of your heart.

But you and he both can only take the slowness for so long.

Joel soon resumes his position of dominance, as is custom when his need builds. You allow it because you crave it. His breadth and strength and command shields you from danger in the outside world, but you crave it in bed too, when you can allow that breadth and strength and command to slam the fear from your mind.

He slides an arm around your waist and flips you to your back, keeping you snug beneath him. He gives a few experimental thrusts before he kisses you—softly, a tender hello before the war that is sure to come. He leans back and exposes your body to the yellow light of the room. He trails his hand down your sweaty chest. His fingers dance over your bump, hovering there as if in prayer, before finding your swollen clit. You gasp, hips lifting upward, as he rubs you in circle after circle. He brings you to the edge before pulling away and gripping your shins with his hands. He pushes forward, and you are bent in half, completely at his mercy.

Holding your knees to your chest, he picks up the pace. He plows into you, teeth gritted, lips pulled back in a snarl. He watches his rigid length split you apart, thrust after thrust. On some level, you know he is staking his claim. He drives into you with such force, with such feral carnality, you know there is some part of him that just wants to mark his territory. Reclaim what is rightfully his. You let him because it is true. You belong to him, Joel Miller, not the man who planted his seed in you and walked away. Always and forever—his—your purpose.

You slap your hand over your mouth to keep from crying out in delicious agony. You feel stretched and full and electric all at once.

“That’s it.” Joel releases your shins but presses his chest to your legs. Your hips lift, swallowing him to the hilt. “Take me—fuckin’—good.”

The pressure in your core builds. Light dances at the fringes of your touch. You close your eyes, latching on to the feeling.

Leaning back, Joel swats your hip. “Open your eyes.” He withdraws his cock far enough to slam into you with more force, his tip angled against your most sensitive spot. “Look at me.” He swats your ass again.

Dutifully, you peel your eyes open. You look at him—into his eyes, his soul—as he fucks you.

You burst like the skin of a ripe grape. It is violent, sudden, earth-shattering. You convulse beneath him, and the tremors wracking your frame are enough to send him over the edge. He grabs the curve of your waist with one hand, lurching forward to catch himself on his forearm above your head. He swallows his groan of pleasure, managing to barely release a muffled whimper. His warmth oozes from your core and stains the bed sheets beneath.

He remains tucked inside of you until you are forced to push him away. A cramp in your leg demands attention, and you rub the blasted muscle until the pain has subsided. You return to his side, to his sweaty body, to his arm that slips beneath his flannel and lays beneath your back. He rolls to his side to face you.

The truth of your situation looms like a storm cloud at the edge of the room. He can see it; you can see it. You must acknowledge it before the here and now is upon you and you have no plan with which to fight it.

“What are we gonna do?” You hold his forearm, thumb brushing the bone of his wrist. His hand is warm and heavy on your cheek, his eyes married to yours.

He does not hesitate. “I’ll keep you safe. Both of you. All of you.” He smooths the sweat-plastered hair away from your face. “I promise.”

You nod because Joel Miller always keeps his promises. Whatever he says is true.

He relaxes his hold on your face as he shifts onto his back. His eyes flutter shut, his breathing even. You glance at him and the evening light that cuts his face in angular shadows.

“Hey, Joel?”

He opens one eye, peers at you in expectation.

You smile—softly, a tender hello before the war that is sure to come. “You’re my good thing, too.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #hbo the last of us

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crystlizabeth · 5 months

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You belong to me..

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Shadow!femreader

Summery: she may have been a shadow and worked for graves but when your commanders friendliness becomes a bit to touchy it’s a problem, you don’t touch pretty things that belong to Simon Riley.

Warnings: possessiveness, unprotected sex, jealousy, praising, mentions of blood, not proofread

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

Simon hated watching those shadows touch you, even if it was ‘friendly’. You smiled at every praise that left Graves lips of how you did such a good job, the pat to your back to low for Simon’s liking and the way he let his hand drag as he walked away. Simon couldn’t help but wonder how Graves was towards you when nobody was around, even if he was your commander your superior he wasn’t allowed to touch you like that. Simon clenched his fist as you stood there soon turning towards him, your gaze different a look a smile that was only meant for him displayed on your pretty face.

A sweet face that he’d have buried in a pillow tears go pleasure running down you face. You saw the way his eyes watched you his dark eyes hooded dangerously staring you down. Price catching Simon’s attention was the only thing that made him look away from you, one last glance towards you before following Price.

Even with that gold ring on your finger signafying that you where his, the last name on your Files no longer yours but his. It wouldn’t be enough he wanted you to himself he had begged price multiple times to call a transfer of you to 141 but Graves always declined because you worked for the United States, the Shadows you belonged to Graves.

But jealousy gets the best of everyone right?

Simons hands grabbing the side of Phillips vest slamming him against the wall, “what crawled up your ass and died Lieutenant.” Graves groaned.

“Why is it you always find your hands on my wife.” Simon spoke his face close to Phillips, his voice dark.

An ugly smirk appeared on Phillips face the cocky twat only shrugged his shoulders a short reply “She’s nice, a good asset to me. She is a good asset.”

That right there if he could without geting put away for life would have taken his knife and silt Phillips throat, carving the commander inside out and feed it to his Shadows and Shepherd himself. Instead Ghost fist connected to his face, more than once, enough to leave blood on his hands and the shirt he wore. He let go of Graves letting him slide down the wall, “if you’re smart, you’ll keep your hands to yourself and mouth shut.” Simon spike lowly leaning down to make eye contact with him.

“I don’t see what she sees in you…” Phillip coughed wiping the blood from his nose.

Simon stayed silent, he didn’t need to answer that because you saw him for him he didn’t have to explain what you saw in him to someone who’s been wanting you to themselves. “I’ll give her the world a safe home and face to look at… your really think she’ll stick around you forever, please. I see her more day out of the year you do why do you think I decline those transfers from your captain. Just to spite you and help her forget you.” Phillip said blood dripping from his toothy smile.

Simon was fuming, his knuckles splitting even more from clenching them. Who did graves think he was? You stuck around someone like that, even bleeding and in pain graves still chose to test his limits.

One punch after another Simon was on top of him graves of course fighting back but a man’s rage was different few more punches and he stopped. Phillip was still alive he was gonna leave him there to rot nobody would believe him he was a traitor staying in UK soil this was bound to happen. And even then Simon had proof that it was just self defense.

Grabbing Philips hair making him look up at Him “Ya listen here, stay the fuck off my wife she can work for your or you’ll be smart and start a transfer. But may god help you if you lay a finger on her again.” Simon spoke harshly finishing by pushing Graves against the wall.

The click of your door opening startled you awake, but the figure that stood in the hall light that poured into your room made you less tense. “Simon..you can be in here..” your voice groggy, your eyes scanning over him at yuh turn your light on. He was covered in blood his mask held in his left hand as he looked at you.

You quickly got you closing your door pushing him to the bed sitting him down “who did this to you.. Simon.” You spoke lifting the bloody shirt off his head his blond hair sticking up.

“It’s not mine.”

It’s not his? Who’s was it then, who pushed him over the edge just enough. Was he gonna get in trouble for this, arrested. “Love stop the worrying..” he spoke breaking you out of your thoughts his large hands pulling you towards him.

He pulled you in close sitting you in his lap your thighs falling around his waist, the feeling of his hands grabbing your face made you wince a bit the feeling of dried blood on his hands made you cringe.

“You belong to me..” he spoke his dark eyes penetrating yours. “You belong to me.” His words stern and harsh.

“Say it.”

“I belong to you Simon.” You spoke his hands falling down your face his hands finding the bottom of your shirt lifting it over your head. You could feel the tension radiating of his skin, he was gonna take his stress and the rest of his anger out on you.

“Good girl, say it again, tell me I’m allowed to have you as I please.” He spoke his lips kissing your neck.

You obeyed “ I belong you you Simon, take me. Have me I’m yours.”

His lips met your kissing you so hungrily he was here to remind you who you belonged to. His hand grabbed the band if your panties pulling his hand back harshly snapping them at the pulling them if you your bare cunt exposed to his trousers. He lifted you up dropping your body on the the mattress as he undid his pants, quickly finding himself on top of you.

“Are you sure.”

“Take me Simon, I’m yours.”

That’s all he needed to hear, his fat head spreading your wet folds apart as he pushing into you. It’s been a minute since he’s been in you but your walls always seemed to mold around him so nicely, those gorgeous sounds you made slipping from your lips as he started moving.

The sound of skin slapping as he fucked into your poor cunt, you drooled for him. He knew how to make a mess out of you, your nails digging into his back as he bullied your pretty pussy. Even with every hard thrust he loved you so well, kissing you so tenderly as your cried out to him. You soft whimpers pleading for him drive him crazy this is how he knew you where his, his to destroy, his to love.

Your finger tangled his his blonde curls tugging on them as he made love to you cradling your head your knees pressed to your chest, he felt every inch of you. “Please don’t stop Si, god please don’t stop.” You cried out.

He didn’t the tightness of your walls staring to clamp around him was enough to bring him to his edge the moans that escaped your lips was enough to make him cum knowing that he made you this way. Your body folded into a mating press as you came on his fat cock. Your pleds for him to cum in you, that you wanted him to fill you marking you as his once again make you need him for days after. His thick seed filling up your puffy cunt, his white nut spilling out the sides as he fucked it into you.

“Common take it, yeah atta girl fucking take it.” He growled pumping in and out of you your nails digging into his biceps the feeling of his thick nut filling you making your eyes roll back.

His cock still in you as he sat up letting your legs fall down your chest falling up and down heavily, your body glistening from sweat. You were gonna be walking funny the next morning that’s for sure, “I didn’t hurt you right?” He asks his calluses hands gliding up and down your torso.

You shook your head no, “good..” he said leaning down kissing your lips tenderly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up yeah..”

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

Simon smut!! I have a Johnny one coming sooner or later!!

#ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x black reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley cod #ghost x black reader #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader #x black reader #black fem reader #phillip graves

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wegc · 4 months

Note

hey! first i wanted to say i loved ur perv!chan hc, and drabble, i want to add something if u dont mind <3

imagine one day y/n/you goes to chan’s house cause it’s raining, and she’s too far from her own home, so she knocks on his door, cause i wouldn’t hurt to stay at chan’t for a while, right?

it’s pouring, so the walk from the car to the front door is almost like a shower, so when he finally opens up, his first thought is “oh my fucking god i can see everything”, all while masking with concern to rush you inside, and make you change into his clothes.

not that he’ll keep your shirt cause it has your perfume on it, or your underwear for… late night purposes.

you guys go and sit on the couch, and you explain your situation to him: your car broke down in a street close to here, and you decided to ask him for help, bit it started raining, and now you can’t go back home. chan really doesn’t mind you staying, but he’s a little off ever since you stepped on his house, so he’s fidgeting a little, stuttering, and you find it adorable, cause he’s just cute like that.

night goes on while you’re talking, and at some point you just got a little too close to him, and he doesn’t know if you’re hinting something, or if it’s all up on his head. and while you’re giggling, and playfully grabbing his arm, he’s imagining the same way you’d latch on him for support while he’s stretching you out.

and then the unthinkable happens.

— channie, you know that i see the way you look at me, right?

…what?

— uhm, what-what do you mean?

— you know, you look at me like you want to… just do whatever is in your mind to me. but you mask that, and act all shy. i just picked up on that.

holy. shit. he thinks, i’m fucked now.

— i don’t really mind, though. to be honest, i wish you’d just act on it, y’know?

and there ends my prompt/drabble!! you can finish writing it, orrr whatever !! <3 have a nice day <3

chan acting strangely quiet and fidgety around you, constantly playing with the strings of his sweatpants, all because he’s trying to ignore the way the buds of your breasts harden due to the cool air :(

your skin’s glowing and now you’re way too close to him, your tits practically pressed against his arm and your voice becoming far lower than it usually is—he can’t think properly at all, he can’t give adequate responses to what you’re saying because he shouldn’t be this close to you and his self-control is crumbling by the minute.

and when you tell him that you know everything—that you’ve heard his quiet pants and grunts in the washroom when he’s jerking off, that you’ve felt his intense stare, that you knew he soiled your panties, or even worse—that he left his phone unlocked one day and you found the cum stained, printed photo of you—he comes lightheaded.

what makes it worse is that you’re a fucking minx—purring in his ear, telling him you don’t mind, telling him that you know how much of a disgusting, depraved pervert he is and how you love it, how you touch yourself to the thought of him doing worse, crossing even more boundaries, how you want him to be the first to touch you, how you want him to make you cry, to ruin your spent hole for anyone else.

yeah he’s fucked.

he shouldn’t. he promised your brother—his best friend. but how can he say no when your begging him so nicely; whining against him exactly how he’s dreamed of? how can he say no now when he’s already bucking his hips against your hand that’s currently palming his aching, twitching cock? god—he’s so close to cumming right there, right in his boxers. he’ll just have to take you. he’ll break this one promise.

#bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #answered #anonymous

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thegnomelord · 5 months

Note

Hi! Could you do #15 with Ghost & FTM!Reader? I love your writing :D

Sure thing anon :D and thanks for the compliment lol, play the game HERE

Prompt: "Come here. Sit in my lap and tell me what you want."

CW:NSFW, Sub Bot Ghost, Dom Top FTM reader, riding, cockwarming, dom/sub, strap-on's, praise.

Simon went off to a mission. . .but he's not the one who come back.

It's Ghost that returns to you, loud footsteps ringing like gunshots outside your room, barely able not to take the door off it's hinges when he comes in. He stands in the doorway, on the proverbial line between here and back there; the scent of blood hits you before you even see him, blood on his clothes, on his body, on his soul (or what's left of it)

You continue writing your report, but move your eyes to meet his. The blood splattered across the bleach white of his mask turns the warm browns of his eyes dark like the head of a bullet, like the soil he'd been buried under, like the rot festering in his brain; Your first instinct is to comfort him, to get up and hug him, to hold him until your presence pushes life into his lungs, to let him claw your back and bite your shoulder because Ghost loves you with his teeth first but— no.

It's not what he needs right now.

"Come in, lock the door." You order, keeping your voice steady, firm, a bit bored even.

You write down a few more sentences in your report, ears straining to hear him follow your orders, the door locking, counting the steady 'thump's of his boots as he walks up to your desk. Neither of you talk, the silence broken by his staggered breathing; can't drown the world in blood without loosing your breath too.

"Strip." Your tone never changes, like this isn't abnormal for two lieutenants to do, like it's just another order, because he isn't a lieutenant right now. He's just another soldier.

He doesn't say a word, doesn't hesitate either, even the soft 'click's of belts and buckles turned harsh from how fast he undoes them. A little bit of care returns in the way he folds his gear, neatly laying the folded clothes on the edge of your desk. He stands before you naked save for the mask, dark eyes bearing down at you.

Beneath the scent of blood and sweat, there's the undoubtable smell of gunpowder and steel that had burrowed deep into his pores, his muscles rigid and jaw so tense you wouldn't be surprised if he'd chipped a tooth.

You finally look up, rolling back on your chair to create space between you and the desk. "Come here," You pat your thigh. "Sit in my lap and tell me what you want."

There's the slightest nod of his head before he's walking around your desk, Ghost's calloused hands grip your shoulders firmly as he settles on your lap, thigh thighs caging in your own, the chair creaking. He's a mountain of muscle on top of you and he doesn't attempt to ease the burden of his weight on you, he expects you to shoulder it as much as you expect him to give you all that's weighing down on him.

You tip your head back to look up at Ghost, gripping the armrests to keep yourself from touching him — you don't reward half-assed jobs. "Repeat my last order."

"Sit in your lap," Ghost says, rough, more teeth than tongue. "an' tell you what I want." His hands tighten on your shoulders as if he's trying to see how much pressure he needs to put before you break; a dog tugging on the leash.

"And?" You keep the discomfort from his grip secret, keeping a good poker face until he relents, his hands still firm but now holding you like the edge of a cliff than something he's destined to break.

". . .want you, sir." Ghost manages and you finally reward him, just a small brush of your fingers along his naked thighs feels like a hot knife carving through ice, painful and pleasant at once.

"Good," You hum, "Now, here's what's going to happen." The battlefield's uncontrollable, chaotic, unstable. Knowing what's going to happen will be good for him. "You'll go get my cock from the dresser, you'll put it on me, then you'll sit nice and pretty until I finish my reports." His eyes darken as you speak, "Any complaints?"

"Negative." He breathes out, body already starting to buzz. You motion for him to go and he does, walking across your office as you adjust the chair so you have a better way of writing with Ghost in your lap.

Ghost sucks in a breath when he finds the toy already attached to the harness, gripping it tightly in one hand and his heart flutters when his fingers don't wrap around it all the way. It's Simon's favorite one; Long and thick, never failing to make him feel so fucking full with the prominent curve it has, covered in artificial bumps to rub and tease his prostate with every breath or minute twitch, and a thick knot at the base to make sure he's not going anywhere.

It's Simon's favorite — Ghost couldn't give less of a fuck so long it's in him.

He pads back over to you, kneeling when you tell him to. You're slow and measured as you stand up, bracing your hands on his wide shoulders. "Put it on me." You hum, fingers scratching the back of his neck in reward when he does as he's told, careful with the strap like he is with his gear, tightening the belt until the large cock sits comfortably but firmly on you.

You sit back on the chair, grabbing the lube. "Hop up," Ghost is a little more eager this time, settling back in your lap. The 'click' of the cap opening sounds like a gavel. "Stay still and relax." You order, pouring a generous amount on your fingers and trailing down to circle around his hole. "Need you to tell me if it hurts, understand?"

"Affirmative sir," He says, tries to buck his hips into your hand to speed you up but you just grip his thigh until he realizes rushing you won't get him anywhere and he stills.

"Be good now," You circle his hole a few more times to smear the lube, pressing the pad of your finger against him and putting a bit of pressure without truly trying to penetrate him, just getting his body used to human sensations. A small ragged breath leaves him and you take it as your cue to push in, slow at first, only able to push to the first knuckle before he clenches down, unsure if he wants to draw you in deeper or push you out.

"Sir," He breathes out, resting his head on your shoulder, smearing the blood on his mask on your clothes.

"Relax," You remind him, waiting until his clenching walls cease trying to snap your finger off before pushing a little deeper. You repeat this song and dance a few more times until he's comfortable having your finger slowly fucking in and out of him, a nice flush across his chest.

"I'm going to add one more now." You say as you pull your finger out to pour more lube, hearing him bite back a groan by biting your shoulder as best he can. "And no biting," You huff, cooing softly when he stops what he's doing.

"Yes sir," He sighs, eyes fluttering shut as he feels you push two fingers into him. It's a bigger stretch than before, a bigger burn, and he relishes it. He pants, chest rising and falling rapidly with every thrust in and slow drag out, not even noticing that he's rock hard. You crook your fingers, lazily searching for his prostate and you know you find it when he actually moans, muffled as the sound is.

"There you go, good boy." Praising him softly you continue to stretch him up to four fingers, feeling him wrap his arms around your neck and resting his head on his forearm, panting softly in your ear and even giving you a soft grunt every time you graze his prostate.

His thighs are covered in lube by the time you're satisfied, his cock standing stiff at attention. You pulling your fingers out has him growling low in his throat, but you placate him easily with a firm grope of his thighs while you squeeze the rest of the lube on your strap.

"Now, you'll sit until I finish the reports, no more than an hour or two." You grip the back of his neck, making him look at you. "Can you do that, my strong man?"

"Yes sir." He breathes out, and even with the mask you can see a bit of your Simon coming back, the skin around his eyes flushed, pupils dilated.

"Good boy. Relax now." You guide the tip of your strap to his hole, letting him catch his breath before slowly pushing his hips down until the head slips past his rim. He shudders, swearing beneath his breath, his arms tightening around your head as he continues to slowly sink down the large strap.

He's panting by the time he's halfway down, the bumps on the thing lined in such a way that at least one is always pushing past his prostate, the tip spreading him apart further than your fingers can reach. You start taking pauses, letting his clenching walls get used to the large intrusion before pushing an inch more, going inch after inch like that.

Once only the knot remains Ghost has almost fully melted against you, the strap so big and stretching him so wide it demands his full attention, leaving the violent thoughts in his head nothing to hold on to. "Think you can take the knot?" You ask softly but firmly, brushing a hand down his arched spine to his stretched rim, feeling how taught it is.

"Yes," Ghost breathes out, burying his head into the crook of your neck. "Give it to me sir."

You grant him his wish, gently pushing his thighs down and tilting your hips up and it looks like it won't fit — then with a 'pop' the knot slips into him, tearing a loud nasally moan from him. It's insane but you swear you can feel him clenching around the strap, your hand settling on his stomach where the head of your cock is bulging his tummy, his cock leaking an endless stream of pre with how the bumps press against his prostate.

"Good boy," You praise him, groping and massaging his trembling thighs until he relaxes, fully relaxes, a long shuddering breath escaping his lungs. "Such a good boy, just sit and feel, alright?"

He hums in confirmation, slurring a 'yes sir' like he's drunk or sleepy. Even through the layers of clothing you can feel his wildly beating heart steadily slow from it's frantic beat to something calm, the pleasure and pain and everything melting away from his mind as his body finally registers he's safe. Safe to just be.

You keep your nondominant hand on his hip to keep him steady and still, brushing the surrounding skin with your thumb as you let him float in his head while you get back to your reports. . .

#Gnome's Prompt Game #cod mw2 #x reader #gnome correspondence #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ftm reader #sub character #sub simon riley #cod modern warfare #cod x male reader #cod smut

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minkdelovely · 2 months

Text

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter two

“i come loaded with the

safety switch on.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: blood, sensory overload, vomit, implied cannibalism, descriptions of graphic violence, power dynamics, non-consensual touching, valentino sighting, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 2.5k

author’s note: i just wanted to give a huge shoutout to @hazelfoureyes for being so gracious to let me tag her here as inspo! if you haven’t already, please go check out her work - she’s seriously sooo talented and awoke my need for more interaction between alastor and valentino lol

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Alastor had insisted that you walk back to the hotel, your arm linked under his as he paraded you through the remainder of the city like a proud parent.

You tried to fight feeling grateful for the support since he could have easily teleported you back to the hotel, but you gripped his arm all the same. The adrenaline dump had left you feeling so depleted and all you wanted was to be back in your bed. Snippets of what happened in the alley raced through your mind’s eye, and you shook your head, trying to keep them at bay. Did you really have the capacity to be that enraged? That violent? Apparently you did…

The blood was drying tight on your face, contrasting with the slick, heavy feeling of fabric latching to the skin of your chest. You could feel yourself winding up, overwhelmed and uncomfortable by the mess you were covered in. There wasn’t a part of you that felt clean and you were desperate with the need to remove your dress. Tears blurred the edge of your vision when you fixated on the taste in your mouth, barely managing to pull away from Alastor before you fell to your knees and vomited.

Bile, blood, and… It was the tipping point.

No longer able to hold it back, the sob you released was closer to a scream. What had you done? You couldn’t fight the images flashing in your mind; the sound of screams and flesh tearing, an airway so saturated with blood it bubbled. How it felt when your teeth punctured flesh, no easier than biting into a piece of fruit. Your mouth filling with blood… and swallowing. And that wasn’t all you had swallowed, was it?

It wasn’t until you started frantically tearing at the collar of your dress that Alastor approached from behind you, grabbing your wrists easily in his large hands.

“Now, now, that simply won’t do,” he chided cooly in your ear, radio static gone, his presence large and stable behind you. “I thought a walk might help you to calm down, but at least you managed to save this episode from prying eyes. Be a big girl now and stop crying, we’re nearly home.”

You couldn’t see through the tears as he pulled you up to your feet, his hands releasing you as soon as you were standing. A throb of pain rocked your head and you choked out a final sob, trying to steady your breath as you rubbed your burning, swollen eyes.

Why was he being so patient with you? He had been in a good mood ever since he found you in the alley, not even bothered by the fact that the clothes you had been sent to pick up were soiled and needed to be returned to the cleaners. And how had he even found you in the first place? Was he following you?

“Oh, my dear, you look like the stuff of nightmares!” Alastor said in his usual static, not sounding at all sorry for you. Hell, he probably meant it as a compliment. “Remind me to ask what that poor creature did to earn your wrath.”

With that, he hooked your arm again and led you up the hill.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“What the fuck happened to you?!” Angel shouted from the bar when you entered the lobby. Husk nearly dropped the glass in his hand, but managed to recover, his face pale.

Thankfully, your audience was just the two of them. You wouldn’t have known what to do if everyone had been there to see you in this state. Dread came over you then, thinking of what it will be like to finally stand in front of a mirror. Your empty stomach churned.

“Not to worry, Angel, the blood isn’t hers. Poor thing ran into a bit of trouble running errands, but that’s all been taken care of, hasn’t it?” Alastor cooed, resting his hand on your shoulder as he peered down at you.

“Well don’t just stand there, let her get cleaned up before anyone else sees! Niffty’s gonna have a fucking fit when she finds the mess on that carpet,” Husk said to Alastor, shaking his head in exasperation.

Alastor’s fingers dug into you at being rebuked, but you were more focused on the muted plop sounds of blood falling to the carpet from the laundry bag. Had it really just been an hour since you had picked it up? You were so tired it was hard to believe that it was still only morning.

“Yeah, don’t worry, toots. We won’t tell no one about your, uh… day out,” Angel said delicately, raising his hand with a suave smile. “Scout’s honor. Though I gotta say, I think you look fuckin’ badass. Whoever it was got what was coming to ’em.”

You huffed out a small laugh, managing to give him a weak smile before Alastor enveloped you both in shadow.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Angel and Husk watched as you and Alastor disappeared, giving themselves a moment until they felt like it was safe enough for them to talk again.

“So… what the actual fuck, am I right?” Angel half-laughed, taking a swig from his glass. “I think she fuckin’ ate somebody.”

Husk hummed, nodding his head slightly in agreement. “Definitely not impossible. I just hope he didn’t put her up to it.”

“You really think he’d do somethin’ like that, Husk? I mean, sure, he’s been bossin’ her around but… forcin’ her to eat someone? Seems extreme.”

Husk sighed, giving him a defeated look. Angel shook his head, eyebrow peaked in disbelief. Ignoring the phone buzzing in his pocket, he finished his drink.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Despite how much you had been looking forward to it, it felt strange to be back in your room. Everything was the same as how you’d left it, but it almost felt like nothing here belonged to you anymore. The room was so still, quiet except for the sounds of Alastor rooting around in your ensuite bathroom. What he could possibly be looking for, you didn’t know, nor did you really care. You were so tempted to just collapse on the bed…

The shower turned on and you sighed, closing your eyes to enjoy the soothing sound it made. It was a peace short-lived, your eyes flying open when you felt fingers at the back of your neck undo the button of your collar, followed quickly by cool air against your spine as Alastor unzipped you. You stiffened and moved away, turning to face him, bringing your arms up to keep the dress from slipping off your shoulders to the floor.

The rebuttal died in your throat when he laughed, stepping towards you in your retreat.

“Testy, aren’t we? I was merely trying to help, and this is the thanks I get?”

His eyes narrowed when you moved farther away in response. Would he ever stop toying with you?

“Alastor, please, I’m too tired for this,” you pleaded, glancing at the bathroom behind you as you fought back a fresh wave of tears. You knew he wouldn’t like it if you started crying again.

“Which is exactly why I’m trying to help! Surely, you aren’t insinuating that my intentions were anything but courteous?” He said it casually enough but you could feel the threat veiled underneath as he continued his way to you. “Seeing how my clothes need laundering again, I figured you’d want me to take the dress as well. It was a gift, after all.”

“I’ll take it myself,” you tried to say evenly, looking away from him. He was hovering over you now, effectively making you feel small. “And I didn’t think you were—”

He tipped your chin to look up at him and licked the pad of his thumb on his free hand. You stood frozen stiff as he used it to wipe your cheek, not daring to upset him more by pulling away. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the truth of how completely in control he was over you sunk in, killing whatever was left of the hope you had of staying under his radar. Silently, you watched as he brought his thumb back to his mouth, but your breath hitched as he sucked off the residue. The look in his eyes made you want to disappear, and you hoped the tear-streaked mess on your face was able to hide the blush now burning your cheeks.

“Sylvie… shouldn’t you be getting in the shower? Or is wasting water another bad habit of yours?” he said, voice low and face smug.

Without thinking, you jerked your face out of his hand and quickly pulled the dress off, shoving it at his chest. Before he could say another word you were in the bathroom, using all the restraint you had left not to slam the door in his face. Leaning against the door, you could hear him laughing as he made his way out of your room. Finally there was silence, and you slid to the floor with your face in your hands, swallowing against the feeling of your heart in your throat. And worse, you weren’t sure if the tightness in your chest was shame… or something else.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Niffty was already hard at work removing the blood stains in the lobby, mumbling to herself as Alastor passed through to make his way back to Cannibal Town. Making sure to give Husk a knowing, pompous grin, and receiving a scowl in return, he walked out the hotel. Alastor couldn’t recall the last time he had enjoyed himself so much before noon. Whatever else the day had in store he couldn’t know, though it would be tough to beat.

The taste that lingered in his mouth was bordering on cruel, a gamble he wasn’t sure he had properly hedged the bet of. Regret wasn’t something Alastor felt often, if at all, and he would vehemently deny it even if he did. Was it regret he felt at tasting the blood that dried on your face? No. While the blood itself was subpar — it had come from some vile creature, after all — it had been transformed by your skin chemistry and tears, creating a flavor that was robust and surprising. Had it not been for decades of tempering his self-control, Alastor worried briefly in the back of his mind that he might have done something drastic; hence allowing himself just the one taste. And apparently doomed to savor it until opportunity presented itself.

He couldn’t help passing by the alley as he made his way through the city, unsurprised to see that your victim was still lying there, stripped of clothes and whatever possible valuables he had possessed. It would be at least a week before he recovered from the attack. A thought passed through Alastor’s mind and his antler’s grew in response to the idea, mouth curling up in a fanged, sinister grin. Passersby ran away in horror.

It wasn’t until Alastor walked into the dry cleaners that the armor of his good mood chipped. Of all the fiends in Hell, Valentino was the least of whom he ever expected to run into here. Cannibal Town wasn’t a sanctuary in the true sense, but its culture did manage to deter most of the demons Alastor deemed undesirable. A peace he was not willing to part with. Though clearly someone had tipped Valentino off about how to blend in here, as he was without his gaudy trademark robe, instead donning a shockingly respectable black suit.

Alastor had no grudge with Valentino, he simply just didn’t respect him. Getting sinners to sign themselves over to you in promise of fame was so trite. How Valentino could be proud to call himself an Overlord was a mystery, unless he was truly that shameless. Or more likely, from what Alastor had overheard Angel saying to others in passing, oblivious. Both seemed correct. While Alastor could suffer a fool, anyone who would bend under Vox’s will really wasn’t worthy of his concern or energy.

Valentino turned at the ringing of the bell over the door, with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin as he took in the sight of The Radio Demon.

“Well fuck me, if it isn’t the big, brave hero! I thought Adam sent you to Super Hell, but I guess you would be too stubborn to die,” Valentino said haughtily, taking a drag off his cigarette. “How’s the wound, flaco?”

Internally Alastor bristled, but he maintained his facade of nonchalance. It wasn’t surprising that the Vees had found out about what happened between him and Adam. Of course it irritated him all the same, considering that the battle between the two of them wasn’t quite public knowledge. For now, all Alastor could do was keep the fact that the Vees knew in his back pocket and work on a plan of action to counteract it, should need arise.

“Wound is a bit strong, Valentino, but as they say: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! You’re too kind, inquiring after my health,” Alastor responded jovially, though the smile on his face was cold and menacing. “I must say, I never thought I’d see you here. I didn’t think Cannibal Town would be an ideal place for you to… scout.”

Valentino scoffed through a strained smile. “No shit. There are a lot of kinks out there, but ‘ragtime cannibal freaks’ isn’t one of them.” He paused to take another drag, continuing as he exhaled red smoke, “But this is the only place that can actually get all the stains out of my shit. Looks like I’m not alone in that department. Busy morning?” He gave a pointed look at the bloody laundry bag hanging off Alastor’s arm.

“You could say that,” Alastor teased, finally making his way up to the counter. The employee took the bag with a smile and removed the suit from its paper covering. Your dress was hanging in an armoire back in Alastor’s suite. He never intended to get it laundered. “Send my regards to Velvette. I haven’t had the chance to tell her how much I enjoyed her input at the last meeting you were apparently too busy to attend.”

Before the moth demon could say anything his cell phone rang, and Valentino answered as he gave Alastor the finger in response, opening the door to leave. “What do you mean, Donny hasn’t fucking showed up yet?!”

And then he was gone, yelling at his phone in the middle of Cannibal Town. Bold.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

When you woke up your room was dark, save for the light of a sconce near your door, the throbbing in your forehead making itself immediately known. The headache wasn’t surprising considering how much you had cried, nor was the pang of hunger you felt. You didn’t feel ready to eat anything yet though, but you definitely needed to get some water in your system.

Slowly, you got yourself out of bed, pausing for a moment to breathe through the stiffness in your body. Even when you had fled from Alastor earlier, your bathroom had never seemed as far away as it did now. It wasn’t until you were practically in front of it that you noticed the red dress hanging from your bathroom door, a note peaking out from the left pocket of the white, ruffled apron attached to its waist. It was a brief message, but impactful all the same.

I believe red suits you best. - Alastor

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

tag list: @fairyv-ice

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fan fiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x female reader #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut #slow burn #song fic #if i can’t have love i want power #love and power #x reader #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hazbin hotel slow burn

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mtchacffinz · 1 year

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of the greed in spirit

prompt! Jing Yuan's a service dom (real) + what's he like in bed?

content! NSFW, pillow princess!reader, soft service dom! jing yuan, headcanons ahead, praise, face riding, c^m eating, mentioned sq^rting, p^ssy drunk

note! [opens curtains] slutting this general out (im kidding) im rambling here, so its a bulleted fic 🩷 enjoy my thoughts!! i have so much to say..

With him, you dont need to say nothing. Unless it's the first time Jing Yuan's been with you on the sheets, he's the type to retain minor details on how you like your things through clothings, and even your preferred fancy interiors of different wares. Having said that, he definitely knows how to keep you going.

Foreplay is important. Heck, Jing Yuan does it so well you'd think it's the main course! Unknowingly, he'd approach you slowly— enticing you with his sweet coos and hums right next to your ear. Jing Yuan's big palms travel to your hips, you gulp almost nervously. His hands are tracing circles on your back. Jing Yuan's touches are featherweight, it feels agonizing, electric.

"Everything alright?" He's a little cruel. After subtly riling you up, he's going to ask for your welfare. That doesn't matter. What happens is, no matter how you reply, you always find yourself under his figure.

Jing Yuan's charm is in his subtleness. His presence may be grand, but those small antics he does greatly helps with his lovely expressions. The way he nibbles on your neck while you entangle your hands on his grey hair, when he gives you the sweetest kisses on your knuckles everytime you reach over to him, nuzzling deeper into your palm there right after.. you can tell the general just thrives on pleasing you.

You noticed he barely pays attention to his needs as well. He's so busy eating your cunt out you could only imagine how suffocating it is to have his erection confined in his pants. The thing is, Jing Yuan doesn't even mind. His cock can twitch and leak precum all it wants, the general's grip on your thighs were still firm, unrelenting.

You'd squirm and whimper, god he loves hearing you when you do. He'd reward you with praises that even if you just finished, your sex would just twitch in anticipation. Maybe if you soil his fingers with your juices, he'd even put up a show for you eating his fingers out clean.

If there's something he's not willing to do in bed, that would be hurting you. As soon as there's even a hint of discomfort in your side, Jing Yuan would immediately halt any activity to see your condition. Despite being a general, usually known for his accomplishments in a very stern and relentless environment, his eyes could get so soft. It never fails to melt your heart everytime he looks at you with those saffron optics. You can't help but reach over to his frame and shower his face with butterfly kisses.

Jing Yuan doesn't say it, but he doesn't need to verbalize it when he's basically grabbing onto the plush your ass when you sit down on his face. He loves it when you sit. Even when he's gasping for air, especially when he's gasping for air— he'd be holding onto you for dear life like your his life line. Something about you riding yourself senseless on his nose while his tongue's chasing after those sensitive nerves on your slit has his dick twitching. As soon as he hears you utter the words "Lay down" from those pretty lips of yours, he wastes no time ♡

Another thing is when you cum so hard you twitch and lag into his arms. Gripping the sheets, eyes decorated with dried tears, a broken moan breaking out of your throat.. it's like a celestial noise no one can recreate but you.

He's fond of giving. Shen it's his time to be receiving, his demeanor doesn't change much. He's still gentle, guiding you to what he wants. You absolutely love how he communicates. Jing Yuan asks for requests with term of endearments and pairs with with handful of praises. Maybe this is why you try your best when you service him? After all, he does so well with your body, its only fair you'd return his diligence, right?

When he moans, Jing Yuan doesn't whimper, no. He groans deep. Sometimes he'd attempt to curb it, but after finding out that it actually gets you off— he can't help but let it out once and a while. He'd be putting away stray hair strands from your face when his cock is deep all the way to your throat, trying your best to take it in.

As soon as theres that knot below his stomach, waiting to snap, you always insist on taking it from your mouth. You love it when he breaks in you, broken moans intensifying just as he grips your head down his crotch. When he finally catches his breath after moments of breathlessness, Jing Yuan makes sure you're okay, profusely apologizing.

He understands you get tired, so he always prepare something for you after every session with him. He views this time with you as intimate, sacred of heart. There'd be scents you'd like around the room, may it be incense or candles, sometimes he'd even massage any muscles you find sore or tired. But often times, you'd just want him to clean you up and stroke your head while cuddling him up— just listening to his heart beat accompanied by the calming rise and fall of his chest.

so how was it? (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ i saw this man right up my alley and went "oh no" cus i know I'm gonna write atleast ONE thing about him!

#honkai: star rail #hsr #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai: star rail x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #I need him fr

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ranticore · 24 days

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so what exactly is a 'crawling beast of the earth' and why did harpies have to develop such extreme modifications just to defend against them?

nobody really knows what the crawling beasts are except the wyrms, and they're not telling anyone. the beasts take many forms but commonly they are eyeless and worm-like with large jaws but no mouths. they do not eat, they show no signs of intelligence, and it seems that all they do is crawl and bite. their bodies have a high heavy metal content and by their very presence they leach toxic waste into the earth around their burrows that destroys organic life. although nobody really knows what they are or where they came from, it's universally acknowledged that crawling beasts are not monsters or natural animals. monsters - not animals - are able to physically touch a crawling beast without being poisoned and you can kill one by ripping it to shreds, but the easiest way to kill one is to throw their bodies on a pyre.

in terms of behaviour they seem to show no response to injury or environmental stimulus but always crawl or burrow towards the highest concentration of large living creatures they can sense (through means unknown). if one gets within biting distance they will bite.. even if there's a layer of topsoil between you and them. they do not notice others of their own kind and can mindlessly form huge aggregations underneath villages or settlements, fouling one another until eventually the sheer volume and mass of the pile-up spills onto the surface.

the purpose of the beasties, in this setting, is to provide a common enemy that can be a catalyst for human and monster cooperation. they're kind of a macguffin that makes everything else happen, but i like them because they're undefined and terrifying for everybody. one big crawler will destroy a field of crops in one night and make the soil barren, and that can be the difference between making it through the winter and starving, in a small village. crawlers are the reason flighted harpies fear touching the ground. the whole land is infested with them (the sea, too) and their numbers are only growing.

for most harpies, attaining the size and strength (and talons) necessary to fight a crawling beast would reduce their ability to neatly and accurately forage or hunt their normal animal prey. so instead of everyone developing this weaponry, instead only one guy in a flock does, and thereafter he's the flock's bodyguard. kings suck at hunting and foraging. because even regular eagle harpies are naturally pretty big and pointy, they are the first choice for human falconers who want a partner who can swoop down, snatch up a crawling beast, and drop it on a fire. solitary monsters fare the best here since they usually don't attract any crawling beasties, except when they're pressganged by humans (or other monsters) into helping the general pest control effort.

only wyrms are known to hunt and eat crawling beasts.

#ice storm over kosa #normal earth. then one day bam here's the crawling beasts. and THEN monsters happened #more on that later

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flowercrowngods · 7 months

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a tiny thing for @eddiemonth day 06: crush & sincere

“I will crush you beneath my heel like vermin.”

Like thunder, the evil wizard’s voice rolls over the battlefield, leaving fear in the heart of everyone who’s alive enough to hear it and rattling the bones of those who aren’t.

Men and women alike, soldiers and knights and able bodied young men, watch with bated breath as Sir Steven, the bravest of them all, rises to his feet again beside the black-clad wizard, his grip on his trusty sword never wavering as he wipes blood and sweat from his face.

There he stands, heroic as ever, meeting the evil wizard’s eyes with a heated glare of his own.

“Try,” he says, standing his ground as his voice, too, is carried over the battlefield. Carried, indeed, for the wind blows in his favour, the sun shines only for him, and the ground beneath his feet holds him up like a trusted friend, a most beloved brother.

Sir Steven reaches towards his neck, feeling the band of leather against overheated skin, a charm resting just above his heart — right where it belongs.

The wizard doesn’t have what he has.

***

A soft chuckle abruptly changes the scenery and rips Eddie into a different world once more; sun glazed battlefields replaced with the darkness of his room, hard soil replaced with the softness of his bed, and a knight turns into a beautiful boy wearing his favourite shirt.

“A magic used guitar pick necklace? Is that what the evil wizard king doesn’t have?”

Steve’s eyes are closed but the smile on his lips shines bright, and Eddie can’t even be mad about the interruption. He reaches out a hand and trails his fingers through Steve’s hair, gently combing back the locks sticking to his sweaty forehead. The smile dims a little, turning into something more genuine.

“I can’t believe you interrupted me at the best part there, Stevie. I was going to make a heroic entrance as a dragon shifter, called to the knight simply by touching the charm.” He keeps up his slow and gentle caresses, his hands trialing down to Steve’s cheeks and neck, where Eddie’s necklace clings to overheated skin indeed. “It means a lot, you know, a charm like that.”

Steve hums, moving closer to Eddie, seeking his warmth and his touch alike, and Eddie can’t possibly refuse him.

“It could save the world, you mean?”

“Hmm. The world. A young boy’s heart. And everything in between.”

Steve blindly reaches for Eddie’s hand and brushes a kiss to his knuckles, and another for good measure.

There’s a weight to their words that’s not meant for moments like this, but it hangs in the air nonetheless, and Eddie breathes it in. The weight of a past survived and a future acknowledging that. Both of them shared like this moment. A promise.

“So what happens next? With Sir Steven and the evil wizard, and with Eddie the dragon shifter. That’s very fitting, by the way, you little hoarder,” Steve laughs, still keeping his eyes closed, and Eddie can’t help but join in, overwhelmed with affection for this boy.

This sunshine boy who’s having a bad day and a fever but still manages to be the most radiant thing in the world. This wonderful boy who asked Eddie to stay and tell him a story until he falls asleep.

“Don’t feel good? Do you wanna stay in bed, baby?”

“Yeah. Can you stay?”

“Of course. Cuddles?”

“Could you maybe… Could you tell me a story?

“I’ll tell you any story you want, sunshine.”

This incredible, insufferable boy who’s too nosy and too sassy for his own good, interrupting Eddie here and there to ask questions or give a snarky little comment that’s dripping with fondness whether he’ll admit it or not.

This boy. His boy. With the smile and the wild bed head and the insistent tug on Eddie’s hand to tell him what happens next.

And so Eddie continues his story about the evil wizard being defeated and the world celebrating the heroics of the knight and his dragon and their unlikely band of friends. If he adds a little Lord of the Rings imagery here and there, Steve won’t know about it anyway.

Before he reaches the end, Steve’s hand goes slack where it’s tangled with Eddie’s, and his breath evens out, the smile never quite fading from his lips. Eddie keeps talking, though his voice is hushed now and thick with a smile of his own now.

He loves him. God, he loves him so, so much, he can barely stand it.

“Good night, Stevie,” he whispers even though it’s barely three in the afternoon. He gets up and out of bed, tucking the blanket around Steve’s sleeping form and brushing one more kiss to his hair before sneaking out of the room on slow, quiet steps.

Outside, Wayne is reading a book on the porch, a cigarette in his hand. Eddie snatches one from the pack and leans over his old man to brush a kiss to his hair, too, feeling far too full of affection right now and needing to let it out. There is a sincerity inside him that needs to be shared.

Wayne lets out a gruff kind of hum, but Eddie isn’t so easily fooled, smiling as he lights his cig.

“How’s your boy?” Wayne asks.

“Asleep for now.”

“Good.” There’s a moment of silence between them and Eddie closes his eyes against the afternoon sun for a moment, drawn back to his story. “You let me know if he needs anything.”

“Of course. Thanks, Wayne.”

“Sure. Just wouldn’t wanna be crushed like vermin, is all.”

The laugh bubbles out of Eddie before he can help it, sincerity replaced by something lighter, something manageable for now as he lets his uncle bully him for telling ridiculous stories to the boy he loves so endlessly.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddiemonth #let them be soft your honour #dio words #a ridiculous little thing for my soft boys #eddie’s necklace saved the world bc he gave it to steve before the final battle telling him ‘i’m gonna need that back when it’s all over’#and steve replied with ‘it’s a date munson.’#dio’s steddie ramblings

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queen-of-the-avengers · 8 months

Text

Explosion of Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: stepping on a mine, thinking you're gonna die, thinking the love of your life is gonna die, angst, fluff at the end

Summary: Fury has you and the team going through a minefield to look for lost data the Soviets left behind. Your scanners pick up most of the mines, but luck has it that you step on the most dangerous one of all.

Squares Filled: explosion (2020) for @star-spangled-bingo

Author’s Note: I realize that landmines explode as soon as someone makes contact with them, HOWEVER, this is my story and it's fiction so I get to make the rules and I say only when the pressure is relieved do they explode like in the movies.

Miles of wasteland stand before you, acres of land that are charred from the explosions that happened between the Soviets and US Intelligence. The Soviets stole data with the intention of selling it to assassins and killers, so Fury tasked your team to go collect that stolen data. When the Soviets knew the Us was closing in on them, they scattered the data across acres knowing it would take them forever to try and retrieve it.

You’re about to step foot onto the charred land when Bucky stops you.

“Look at this.” He points to a sign a few yards away. “This is a minefield. Be careful. I don’t really wanna clean bits and pieces of the team.”

“Should we turn back?” you ask. “We only have technology scanners for the area. We can grab mine scanners.”

“No, we’re already here. Just be careful. Our scanners should be able to detect them.”

“Easy for you to say. You can fly,” you joke with Tony.

The land is so large that you have to split up on your own. Tony’s right, the scanners you have are able to detect most of the mines. Some of them are hidden so you’re not going to touch those areas if you don’t know if there is a landmine or not. Everyone is connected with earpieces so you can communicate if something is wrong, so you’re just listening to the casual conversation some are having as if you’re taking a walk in the park instead of through a deadly minefield.

“Are you and Laura finally taking that vacation you’ve been talking about?” Natasha asks.

“Yeah. Cooper is old enough to watch the other two. I was thinking of taking her up north.”

“I think she’d like that.”

You scan the ground as you walk slowly and find one of the boxes buried containing data. You kneel and dig the box up before plugging your flash drive into the data box. Once it’s done downloading, you take it out and continue to search for other data boxes. Your scanner is picking up most of the landmines but there is one patch of land that is coming up blank.

Stupid you walks right over it thinking it’s safe. You step onto fresh soil and hear something click from below you. You pause and look down to see what you stepped on. It’s buried underneath the ground but you can definitely feel something under your foot. Since this place is so big, there is no one around you to help you. No one knows you’ve stepped on one. No one knows you need help.

Your first instinct is to run like hell and hope you can survive, but you’ll only have a second before the mine goes off. Tears start rolling down your cheeks at the thought of dying. You’re still young, you still want to see the world, get married to the love of your life, and live life to the fullest with him by your side.

“Hey, guys?” you sniffle and wipe your tears even though more fall. “I’m in trouble here.”

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks in concern.

“I stepped on a mine.” Everyone becomes alert. Your body shakes in fear and your voice cracks under the pressure. “What do I do?”

“I’m on my way. Don’t move,” Bucky says. Only Bucky comes to your aid because he doesn’t want to put anyone else at risk of stepping on a mine. Bucky can see just how terrified you are when he gets to you. “Doll, you’re gonna be okay. Don’t worry, I got you.”

“I don’t want to die,” you cry.

“You’re not gonna die. I promise I won’t let that happen. Take some deep breaths for me, Doll.” The first and second ones are shaky but the third and fourth ones are much smoother. “Good girl. You’re doing great. Keep doing that. I’m gonna dig the mine out so I can see what we’re dealing with. This won’t explode. I’m just digging around it.”

“Okay,” you sigh shakily.

Bucky gets on his knees and uses his knife to dig out the soil around the mine. Tony, Rhodey, and Sam fly over to see how bad the situation is while the rest of the Avengers make their way back to the start of the minefield.

“What’s going on here? What do you see?” Sam asks Bucky.

Bucky digs out enough soil to see exactly the kind of mind you stepped on.

“It’s a bounding mine.”

“Shit,” Sam sighs.

“What does that mean?” you panic.

“Nothing--”

“Don’t bullshit me, Bucky. What does that mean?”

“It’s a more deadly mine than the others. It shoots the main propeller about four feet into the air, and metal shards fly out of it over the span of six hundred feet. It’s very deadly.”

“Can you disable it?” Steve asks over comm.

“No.”

“Oh, God,” you cry and cover your mouth. You take two deep breaths to calm yourself down. “Bucky, get the hell out of here.”

“Like hell, I’m leaving you.”

“Bucky, please,” you whimper and take his hand. He stands to his full height in front of you. “I don’t want to die but I don’t want you to die more. You need to get out of here. There’s no use for this mine to take both of us out. Tony, get him the hell out of here.”

Tony is about to take Bucky when your boyfriend holds up a hand to stop him.

“Wait. Can I at least get a kiss goodbye?”

Instead of giving him a verbal answer, you pull him close and kiss him like it’s gonna be your last. He slides his hand into your hair and grips it gently so he can control the kiss. He kisses you in a way that makes your head dizzy. The kind of kiss that makes you forget about everything but the feel of his lips.

If he’s gonna kiss you one more time, may as well make it memorable. You pull away from him and open your eyes to study the shade of blue in his. You expect him to pull away and leave your side but you frown when he doesn’t. You look down to see him standing on top of the mine and you are free. He must have switched positions with you while kissing you.

“No, what did you do?” you gasp.

“I promised you I wouldn’t let you die.”

“No, I’m not letting you do this!”

“Tony, get her out of here.”

As soon as Tony’s hands are on you, you’re fighting him.

“No! Bucky!” Tony grips you tightly and flies off with you in his arms. The image of Bucky gets smaller and smaller until you can’t see him anymore. As soon as Tony sets you down, you’re running toward Bucky. Steve jumps into action and practically tackles you to the ground. “No! Let me go! Please! Bucky!!!”

“Y/N, stop fighting.”

“No! You gotta let me go. I have to be with him!” Suddenly, an explosion happens and you sob loudly. “NO! Bucky!!”

You fall to the ground in a fit of sobs at the loss of your boyfriend. Steve’s arms are still wrapped around your body to prevent you from going after him. As soon as one explosion happened, another one followed suit, and another one, and another one. The air is covered with thick smoke that is very hard to see through so you’re not sure if Bucky is even alive.

Everyone is silent for their fallen friend. The only thing that can be heard is your heartbreaking sobs.

“Look, I see something,” Clint points out something in the smoke.

You look up and see something emerging from the smoke. Once the smoke clears, you can see Bucky walking toward the group with his vibranium arm in his flesh hand.

“Did you really think I was gonna let a mine take me from my girl?” he coughs.

The spikes on his body open to welcome his arm and he locks it into place. He whips his arm around to make sure it’s on properly, and you scramble out of Steve’s arms. You run into Bucky’s arms and cry against his chest. You’re too overwhelmed to say anything but hug, kiss, and embrace him. When you’ve calmed down, you pull away from him and slap him in the chest.

“Never do that again!”

“I had no choice. I knew I could have survived but you wouldn’t have.”

“You could have at least told me that!”

“I didn’t know if it was gonna work or not,” he says quietly.

Everyone got what they needed from the minefield, so you head back to the Compound. You haven’t said one word to Bucky after leaving the minefield, and he hates when you give him the silent treatment.

“Doll, please talk to me,” he begs. He follows you into your shared bedroom, and you quickly head into the bathroom. Before he can join you, you close the door and lock it so he can’t get in. Of course, he can get in with his metal arm but he’s respecting your privacy. “I’m sorry, but I had to save your life.” He rests his forehead on the door and he can hear you crying softly inside. “Y/N, please come out.”

You don’t. He sits on the floor right outside the bathroom door and waits for you to come out. He sits there for hours waiting patiently for you to come out of the bathroom. When you do, you take a seat next to him on the floor.

“What we have is a partnership, Bucky.” You look into his eyes. “Your life isn’t fully yours anymore. You have my heart in your hand so if you die, then so will I.”

“The same thing goes for you, Doll.”

“If you would have told me what you wanted to do, I would have been more likely to go along with it. You have to be better at communicating. I will do the same.”

“Okay, you got it. Do you want to watch movies for the rest of the night?”

“Yes,” you smile.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

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bunniesanddeer · 10 days

Note

Hi,

Just recently found your stories! I love how you write Alastor! I have a request and I apologize if its long.

Reader arrives at the hotel and unbeknownst to everyone they can see people’s pasts, mainly their earthly lives, once they touch them. Which usually isn’t a problem until she meets Alastor. They see his past as well as the fact that his soul is owned by a mysterious entity.

As time goes by, Alastor and reader form something of a friendship and he can sense reader is powerful and repeatedly tries to get them into a soul deal. One evening while at the bar, he’s trying to make a deal when reader, somewhat drunk, states “no power I have can help you with your deal.”

One of those “oh shit” moments and reader runs only to get caught by a very agitated Alastor. They explain how they know and don’t know who the deal is with etc trying to calm him down. He realizes they have known this whole time and not spoken of it so he feels he can trust them.

Sorry sorry sorry this longer then it sounded in my head!

Hi! Sorry this took so long! So much has happened, and yet so little. In the middle of trying to buy a home, and my full-time job has been kicking my butt. Sorry if this is OOC, or anything like that. I have been having a hard time writing at all!

Everything

Pairing: Alastor X Reader

Warnings: Mild horror.

Word Count: 2,093

Maybe it was the psychology degree. Maybe it was that strange empathy that had been instilled into you as a survival response. Either way, you don’t know what caused it; when you ended up in Hell, because of course you did, you found out you had a strange ability, one that startled you. At a single touch, the entirety of someone’s life was made known to you; all their secrets, their thoughts, and even their afterlife. Their lives were heavy burdens, and so you settled on wearing gloves. You could minimize the damage to your psyche, and to your soul, if you avoided it entirely. No one would find out, if there was no risk of you using it.

Time was hard to measure in Hell, and so you couldn’t tell how long it took you to find a comfortable, enough, routine in Hell. You wore soft gloves, and only took them off when alone, or when they got soiled. You had a job, and you were living a boring rerun of your life on Earth. That was until you saw the advertisement for the “Hazbin Hotel”, looking for employees. You recalled the Princess, Charlie, making a fool of herself on the news only a few months prior. She was endearing, and the reminder and call for employees drew your attention. Without thinking too hard on it, your decision had been unconsciously made. You were going to apply.

The main lobby was large, and had family portraits of the royal family hung on the wall. There was a bar and couches on the far side of the room. There was no one but the bartender in the room. The grumpy cat at the bar drew your eyes, and so you made your way to him.

“Ah, hello?” You called to him, trying not to startle him.

Sharp pupils lazily flickered towards you, and the cat-man let out a grunt.

“I’m here to maybe, apply for a position here,” you continued. You extended a hand and introduced yourself. “I was a therapist, and although it has been some time-”

“I don’t care. You’ll be talkin’ to Charlie,” the bartender interrupted, taking a swig of his drink. “She probably already knows you’re here.”

Sure enough, a white blur was bounding down the steps, exuberance filling every part of her form. “Oh hello! Hello! My name is Charlie,” she said, grabbing at one of your hands and shaking your whole body with her handshake. “You said you were a therapist?”

Now that she had settled into being mostly still, you could make out her features better. She had blonde hair, loosely tied, and cherub cheeks. Her large eyes were filled with such wild hope, that you feared ever needing to tell her ‘no’. This was the Princess of Hell, Charlotte Morningstar.

“Uh, yes, I was!” You try to match her tone, and notice other people filling into the lobby. “I specialized in correctional counselor. I worked with those in the prison system, trying to help them avoid recidivism. Along with programs in the prison, we helped them acclimate back to civilian life, and keep their records clean! I also worked with some after they left.”

Charlie’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Oh wow! That would be PERFECT.” You watch her smile grow, and she turns to the woman that was now standing next to her. “You hear that, Vaggie? This is great, right?”

Although you were hesitant, this felt like the right move. So with a little forced pep to your step, you accepted the offer she made only minutes later, and joined the Hazbin Hotel team. That was before you realized Alastor was there.

Months into your stay was the first time you accidentally touched anyone. You had been in your room, organizing some of your things, when Alastor barged in, yelling about some Angel Dust annoying him. The two of you had a weird friendship going. He would poke and prod you, and you would laugh it off and speak your mind about what you thought was ‘wrong’ about him — all in good fun, of course. Because of your general comfort with each other, he liked to barge into your personal space more and more often, and it had led to a few close calls. Now, though, was far too close. You weren't wearing gloves, and he had his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

“My dear, you simply must tell Angel Dust that his attempts at wooing are preposterous!” Alastor flipped you around so you were facing him. “He has no musical talent at all, I’m sure! How would it ever work?”

You scrunched up your face, and stared up at him. His bright red pupils widened as you laughed. “Al, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, what fooey!” Alastor grabbed at your hand before you could pull it away, and it happened. Everything. All the terrible words and looks in his childhood. His mother’s soft smile, and her softer hands cupping his face as tears rolled down his cheeks. Angry voices telling him to leave. The cool feeling of metal under his hands. Warm liquid pooling beneath his feet. The chains wrapped around his throat. The abject hate he felt. The way every single choice he made had to be done precisely. The spark of joy he had to smother around people he loosely defined as friends. The control he desired like smoke in his hands. And then it was gone, and Alastor was giving you an odd look.

“Are you alright, dear?” His head cocked, and the static that constantly coated his words quieted down. His thumb rubbed across your bare skin once, before he pulled his hand away from you, letting it clasp around his microphone.

“Uh, yeah. Zoned out there, for a moment. No worries,” you said, trying to discourage his well-known prodding. You couldn’t handle it, right now. You shrugged your shoulders. “I didn’t get much sleep, last night, I’m sorry.”

When he finally let it go, and went back to his ranting, your mind slowed down. Now that it had happened, it was only a matter of time before something slipped. Would you die, because of what you knew? Would his master order him to slaughter you, or would he do it happily himself? Or would he use you, thinking that your power could save him, when the inevitable confrontation occurred?

You could only worry and wonder. There was nothing you could do to change it now. And so you kept your mouth shut, and waited.

The inexorable fate that awaited you, came weeks later, when the staff had settled in together to drink. Angel Dust was working, Sir Pentious had squirreled himself away in his room, and Charlie and Vaggie were out having ‘date-night’. The group, including Alastor, were several drinks in.

Husk poured Alastor another drink, rolling his eyes at the Radio Demon’s antics. Alastor was telling a wild tale, and it had you and Niffty cackling, although it seemed she had heard it before.

“And just as he turns back to yell at me, he slips, and falls! Splat! Straight onto the concrete!” Alastor lets out a raving cackle. Niffty giggles, her drink splashing a bit as her whole body shakes. You wipe a tear from the corner of your eye, and try to calm your breathing.

“That is so fucked up, Al. Why?” You wheeze. “Why do you do this?”

“Because-” and he hiccups, which sets you off into more giggling. “Because life is a tragedy, and tragedy is hilarious.” He sets his drink down, and slots himself onto your seat, squishing you as he does. “As you know, my dear, I take quite a liking to anything that makes me laugh.”

He’s incredibly drunk, there is no way he isn’t, because he fucking taps your nose with one red claw, and mutters “Boop”, under his breath. You shake your head, feeling like you’ve drank more than you had. Your eyes feel the tiniest bit fuzzy and you laugh at the strangeness of it.

“Are you alright, Al?” You ask, scooting over just a little, trying to get him off of your hip. “You seem out of it.”

Husk grunts, “He’s always like that with whiskey and rye. Should’a seen him a couple years ago-” His voice cuts off, and you look over to see the death glare Alastor is giving him. It settles when the bartender stays quiet with an eye roll. “Oh, whatever.”

Alastor hums, and then returns to looking at you. “You know, my dear, I could really help you out, down here, if we were to make a deal! Imagine setting up your own little clinic, and helping all the wayward souls down here!” He giggles again, and his smile widens. “Or you could manipulate them all to do your bidding with your strange mind medicine!”

You shake your head. “C’mon Al, you know I’m not interested in that.”

Alastor shakes his head, his ears flopping back a little. “Then not that! There is plenty I could give you, for just one, little deal!”

Without thinking, you mutter, “I have no power that can help you with your deal, Al.”

Your heart stops in your chest, and you stare at Alastor as his entire demeanor changes. His eyes are wide, and his pupils are tiny pinpricks of light in his dark sclera. His hand grips at the arm of the couch, and you know you’ve fucked up. Before he can say anything, you dart up, and out of the lounge.

With the sudden surge of adrenaline, you feel nearly sober. Your feet pound at the floor as you dash down the hall, and up the stairs as quickly as you can manage. You slide around a corner, and sprint down a hallway before you hear the static.

The normal white noise has been replaced with a thick static, heavy with screams, and the hall is getting dark. It feels as if the torches on the wall are being snuffed out, even though you can see them still softly glowing in the dark. Your heart pounds, and your breath catches as you hear Alastor’s music playing at a distance. He’s not nearly far enough behind. Is there anywhere in the hotel you could even hide?

It doesn’t matter, because he’s right behind you in only seconds. His form has grown enormous, and he takes up the entirety of the hallway. One large hand stabilizes him by pressing against the wall, and the other wraps around your torso, fingers wrapping around your form easily. He squeezes you, just enough to let you know how much power he has over you, and he brings you level to his face.

“How do you know?” His voice is rough, and deep, and the static and screams re making your head hurt. When you don’t immediately answer, he squeezes just a little, and shakes you. “HOW DO YOU KNOW?”

You let out a rough sob. “I can just tell. If I-” your voice cuts out as you cough from the previous exertion. “If I touch someone, I know just about everything about them, from their mortal life, to here in Hell.” Tears roll down your face, and you heave. “I tried to avoid touching you! It’s why I wear gloves! But you caught me off guard a few weeks ago!”

Alastor’s gaze doesn’t waver, but his expression does, just a little. You keep talking.

“I didn’t tell anyone, and I wouldn’t! That goes so far against my morals. You know that. Haha. Patient confidentiality.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have prevented it, and I wish I could help you now that I know, but I can’t!”

Your form is set on the ground, and you want to curl up, so badly, but you don’t. Instead, you open your eyes, and see Alastor, at his normal size, adjusting himself.

“Yes, well, I suppose there’s nothing to be done.” He flicks his eyes to you. “If you say anything, ever, I’ll gut you, do you understand?”

You merely nod, and he nods in return. He takes a breath, and then offers you a hand, and you take it.

He gives you a sly smile, as you are wiping your face off with his handkerchief. “I’ll get a deal out of you, yet, my dear!” And he says nothing more, as the two of you make your way back downstairs.

You hope, with everything you are, that he doesn’t.

Thank you for reading! My taglist is pinned on my page. I will try to have the two other requests I'm working on out soon! Sorry for the wait. Having a chronic illness, a job, and house huntng is hard, haha!

Taglist: @wen01203 @alastorssimp @girl-nahh-two @numetalnerd2007 @justchillingandhavingfun @alastorssimp @wen01203 @lemonyboy97 @fairyv-ice

#alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #bun's short fics #alastor fanfiction #alastor x you #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfic

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konigsblog · 2 months

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I’m sorry this is a ramble but this thought plagues me and I just can’t write so . Spare me my agony here; older stalker Konig.

He sees you at work, some pretty young thing at a seedy diner or bar, barely old enough to be employed there at all. Too young to be working, you’re something he thinks should be housed away and pampered like some dumb pet, so silly of you to not settle down already. Low hanging fruit is what he takes you for, with how naive and innocent you seem; no concept of the world, of seedy men like himself with too much time and money on his hands, his red flags too visible to anyone who knows what to look for. And you poor, poor thing have no clue what he’s like, his faux charm and large tips and solid build blinding you of his true intentions.

He watches, becomes a regular, gets to know you and make small talk and leave fat tips and cheesy compliments that make you giddy and flustered despite the odd air he has about him or the way your coworkers whisper that he’s no good. Eventually his regular appearances turn into him staying til close, then offering to walk you home his possessive streak covered up by vigilant protectiveness that leaves you dizzy with his little touches to your arm or the small of your back, the nearly parental way he kisses your forehead at your door.

Little did you know he’s been planning the whole time; memorizing your work schedules, your daily schedule, the things you eat or drink, places you go on your days off, watching you through your apartment window or sneaking in when you’re out of the house to raid your dirty laundry or leave a gross surprise of his cum in your leftovers. He’s a shadow in your life, always lurking in the background of every scene no matter where you are or what you’re doing. Eventually he’s sneaking in when you’re asleep, so silent for such a behemoth of a man, so he can paw at your soft and prone form while he pants and spills into his hand like a dog in rut while you’re none-the-wiser, unaware of the way he smears his soiled hand on your skin, your cunt, your pillow or sheets.

When he finally takes things further, too determined to do anything but hoard you all to himself, he’s so sweetly condescending as he relays just how long he had planned everything, how cute and stupid you were to never realize what he had been doing all this time, the bits of himself he left around your apartment, on you, inside of you as a precursor to him claiming you fully. You’ve already consumed so much of his seed, you’ll be fine taking it from the source like a good girl Schatz, nicht? Sure his cock is big, but he knows the best ways to stretch your tight hole already, so you’ll be fine! Just stop thinking and let him have you already, he’s worked so hard for you, your the center of his world. His stupid little Liebling, pathetic and confused as she struggles against her bindings and his hands, no choices left but to plead until her voice dies and give herself over to him, because nothing could convince him to accept no as the answer.

anon, my jaw is on the floor, i absolutely adore older stalker-könig and his creepiness. (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

CW: RAPE/NON-CON, AGE GAP, STALKING. 🪦🕊️

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. 18+

my brain rots at the thought of könig sliding inside for the first time, holding your wrists down beside your head as he begins rocking gently. the way he cocks his head to the side almost mocking you, taunting you for being so easy, so pliant, and so vulnerable and naïve around him. the faux sympathy and empathy leaves you longing for his sweet praise, but when you're slapped for falling for the mask he puts on, you sob harder with his slicken cock hammering against your cervix, stuffed inside that inexperienced cunt. it's as if you wanted this to happen, to be used and controlled as if you were a puppet, with your inappropriate and flirty comments after each cheesy, overly sweet compliment he gives you, unaware of his seriousness, how this was a part of his plan to reduce you to a mutt, with your purpose being to serve a man, könig.

he hides himself so well, and you take the bait, falling for the façade of a gentle, older male with sweet intentions. looking back, you can only let out pitiful and pained cries as you connect the dots and realise your stupidity, finally realising what you fell for, how stupid you must look on your back begging for him to stop when he'd given you so many hints and chances to flee, your voice becoming quiet and strained as you plead. the rough texture of his old, scarred skin over your mouth to silence you, against your soft and supple skin, your body shaking with each thrust, showing you what you're worth, what your purpose truly is.

könig shows you what reality is, getting you out of your stupid head, that's doing you no good as he continues with his violation and assault. he teaches you that life isn't fantasy, how you don't know everyone and their intentions or who they truly are, or how you'll fall for it and become a wolf's prey within seconds due to your kindness and naivety, how you never accuse anyone and hope they mean well, too naïve for your own good and assuming the best about everyone. leading you to be forced to take every inch of the man's experienced, hung cock, with your eyes glistening and horrified, and the smell of him on your bedsheets reminding you, or the cum stains along your shirts and panties.

or, perhaps the bruises and marks he leaves along your skin as a warning, or maybe as a sign of ownership - who you belong to, who owns you.

how could you be so foolish? :(

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ghouljams · 8 months

Text

More 1870s Cowboy!Ghost, I saw someone cosplaying his gunslinger skin and lost my mind just a little

Life is quiet here. The sky is wide and blue, the grass is just on the yellow side of green, and the women are as pretty as they are quick with a gun. Well, just the one. Ghost swings off his horse to lead her the rest of the way to the barn.

“Hey, pretty boy!” You call from the back door, “Come have a drink when you finish up.” He’s still not used to the way your smile makes his heart jump. The genuine fondness behind it. Pretty boy. He wouldn’t let anyone else get away with calling him that, just you. You get away with a lot of things.

Most recently it’s been this. A spare drink to drown out the still uncaught bounty. Never mind that he’s hardly trying anymore. There’s hardly time for it with all the work you have him doing. Work he hardly minds when it’s you asking for it. He likes the animals, likes the warm soil of the garden, likes looking over his shoulder to see you going about your own work. Shaking out sheets as you take them off the line or twisting ripe squash from the vine, the way you brush your hand up the back of your neck to wipe away the sheen of sweat, you’re gorgeous. Ghost’s never seen anyone like you.

He takes his time unburdening his horse, putting away tack, checking her stall has food and water. Steeling his nerves. It’s becoming harder and harder to ignore your sweet talk. Eventually he’ll find himself stuck in your honey. Then he can’t say what will happen. Maybe you’ll keep him.

Ghost touches the worn cotton of his mask; thinks of the scars under it, the scars under his skin. Maybe not.��

You’re waiting by the back door when he finally makes his way back to the house. You offer a short glass of clear liquor. “You’ll get him tomorrow,” You tell him. Ghost can’t tell if you’re joking or serious. Your usual good humor makes it hard to gauge.

He pushes his mask up to his nose and takes the offered glass, clinking it against yours. You both tip your head backs, let the alcohol slide down your throats. Ghost sniffs, clears his throat against the residual burn. He checks his glass to be sure he got it all, and looks up to catch you staring at him.

“I got something on my face?” He jokes, voice flat as he wipes the wet edge of alcohol off his lip with his thumb.

“No it’s just,” you tilt your head with a smile, “Every time I see you like this I can’t help wanting to kiss you.” Ghost stills, you’re forward but not this forward. “That’s probably silly of me,” your smile falls a little, and he can’t have that. He can’t have you losing hope, losing interest. You’re not supposed to be interested in the first place, but- but he wants you to keep it. Wants you to keep sweet talking him. You can’t give up and let him win. Not when he wants so badly to lose to you.

Ghost grabs you by the collar of your shirt and pulls you to him, leaning down to bring your mouths crashing together. He catches a bit of your smile before you can pucker, a little bit of teeth before he kisses you properly. It's not a perfect first kiss, but it is perfect. You're perfect, so warm and sweet and soft. God you're so soft, how can anyone be this soft? Your lips cushion his and your warmth surrounds him in a way that can't just be physical. You part your lips, draw him in for another kiss and another, a slow slick glide of indulgence. His hand cradles your cheek, and it isn't the last drops of tequila he's savoring when you draw back. Stars, your smile could stop his heart. It nearly does.

Ghost tugs his mask back down over his lips to stop himself from kissing you again. Is he supposed to feel so, so giddy just from kissing someone? He can't push down the smile that bubbles up. Another good reason for the mask.

"I should-" you take a step back, make a noncommittal gesture with your hands. Ghost nods.

"Right, and I should-" he waves towards the barn, both of you smiling like fools for each other.

"Ok," even your voice is soft, so soft. He should kiss you again, he can still feel your lips against his.

"Supper," Ghost tells you, confirms with you. You nod, grip your skirt with giddy fingers.

"Six o'clock," God he wouldn't miss it for the world.

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost x oc #oc: goose #simon ghost riley x oc #simon riley x reader #x oc #1870s!Cowboy #cowboy!ghost #gunslinger!Ghost

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