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adrinktostopyourthirst · 1 year

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Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Ready to Comply

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Villain!Reader

Plot: Something had been missing. But that has nothing to do with your life time enemy standing in front of you to finally end this.

Warnings: 18+. Smut, light angst and violence.

Words: 4,4OO

He remembers telling Steve and Sam about them – “Their most elite death squad. They speak thirty languages. Can hide in plain sight. Infiltrate, assassinate, destabilise. They can take a whole country down in one night. You’d never see them coming.”

…and you used to be one of them.

Bucky takes another look around the massive room, wincing when he sees all of his colleagues passed out around the space. It happened way too fast. How is he the only one still standing? They walked in here so confident, so prepared. He had done so much research on you. He knew everything.

His mind is running a million miles an hour to try and process how you are still so calm after single-handedly taking out his entire team. So skilled, so graceful. Only one strand of hair had come loose to hang over your eyes.

It’s just you and him now. Again. Exactly how you ended up last time. And the time before that, long before he had a team to stand with him. You’re the only one who has had nearly all versions of James Buchanan Barnes as your opponent. Why the fight has never been settled before, neither you nor Bucky know …or let yourselves admit.

It is a thing of Bucky’s nightmares. The same one, over and over and over again. You are always in it and always have the winning hand. Never has he been able to figure out how to make the odds turn in his favour. This conniving, effortless and mean – mean – woman. This picture of a villain that heats his blood to a boiling point and makes his skin tighten with frustration. He’s had the dreams for years. For years, the image of you haunted him.

Though if he had to be honest, despite the endless losing battle, seeing you in his dreams was a welcome relief. You became a confusing token for him during these years of recovery. A constant – an image of beauty almost. Now here you are, again.

Bucky turns to you, his piercing eyes connecting with yours as you raise your brows in curiosity.

“Am I supposed to be scared of you?” he scoffs and you admire the way he sounds so cool. Like you haven’t just proven how easily you could beat him. Not that you’d make it quick or easy – not with him. What would be the fun in that?

You have spent years perfecting an attack on this man, knowing he’d return to you time and time again. Like fate wanted him in your claws. Your little plaything. All you can see is a challenge. For you, yes, but mostly for him. To break him, tear him to shreds. Perhaps, if the fates allow, for him to change his alliance. For him to finally embrace that inner darkness, find harmony and purpose with that Winter Soldier monster in his body.

A challenge indeed…

“Scared of me?” you drawl with an indifferent shrug of your shoulder, “No.” You never intended to scare him – of course, not until the next words fall from your lips. “I think you and I both know perfectly well there’s only one thing you in particular should be scared of,” you start, “a part of you that can hurt you beyond torture.” You can tell he has caught on when you see his jaw tick and his eyes harden. Your footsteps are slow and long as you approach the metal-armed soldier in the middle of the large hall of the worn castle you decided to reside in. “And don’t be mistaken, I don’t need ten pretty, Russian words to turn that side against you.” Silence before your final blow, “Your trauma will work just fine.”

That seems to be the trigger as he lunges forward, raising his hands and turning them to claws before you take a few steps back and halt him with a simple palm in the air.

“ –Careful,” you warn with deadly calm. “Every time you show people that short fuse of yours, you make it so easy for someone to grab onto it and light it on fire.” Short puffs of air leave his flaring nostrils and you purse your lips to repress the sadistic smile spreading over it. Until you realise you don’t care, letting the corners of your mouth tug upwards.

“Look at you,” you mock, “still depending on the control exercised on you for years. You have no idea how to take the reins yourself.”

“You don’t think I can exercise control?” The question is his way to take back his power, having had quite enough of you pressing where it hurts. His voice is clear, sharp, the gravel in it completely gone.

Bucky’s face, to your disappointment and his credit, remains stoic and you have no idea how lucky you are he has learned to restrain himself even just slightly, because you don’t know how dangerous Bucky becomes when he is genuinely pissed. Sure, he’s grumpy and harsh all the time and you’ve seen him channel Hydra’s fury, but hardly ever does his own rage come out to play.

“A smart and well-trained assassin doesn’t dive at his target like that. Any chance you’re still as good as the Winter Soldier without Hydra telling you what to do?” A small part inside you is warning you to back off, to not test the dangerous man any further. Just because you know exactly how to push the Bucky Barnes past his limit, doesn’t mean you should.

“The Winter Soldier was created to kill. I can do much more damage.”

“To yourself?” You nearly snort.

Bucky grits his teeth harder. Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Let me ask you an important question,” he starts, his voice awfully cool and steady, “what on Earth makes you think I need to control myself when I can so easily control you instead?”

And now you know where that voice, the confidence, comes from. You clench your jaw tightly when the heel of your right foot dips down in the open grove between the floor and the heightened platform. A grove that has crumbled down into the depths of the ancient building, where you know the dungeons are. So far down with so much debris at the bottom, one wrong step and the fall would instantly kill you. Even as you are – a super soldier just like Bucky, yet chosen different paths – you won’t survive that fall and Bucky knows it.

You should have known not to pick this location to hide in – shouldn’t have picked the ruin you passed in the way through the mountains. Bucky guided your arrogant self straight into a trap what he assumed is of your own making. The bastard was always manipulative enough to get people to fall into the grave they dug themselves. So pretty, so skilled and somehow… so, so clever.

Sure, you can be impulsive at times, but it isn’t like Bucky is giving you any other choice than to whip out the nearest blade and charge at him. Smirk on his face, Bucky settles into fighting mode and opens his stance to welcome you in. Not giving him any time to realise that he had you fair and square, you summon decades of training into your limbs. Your head goes quiet, eerily still, as muscle memory takes over and your feet and elbows and hands crack into every open spot that Bucky has.

Quakes of pain hit you at every defence he puts up, but you soothe it over with your next blow. Hit after kick after punch, you work Bucky back into the main hall, away from your previous battlefield and trying not to lose all that space you fought for.

Hesitate and you die. Hesitate and you die. The mantra keeps repeating in your empty head and you scream and grunt and yell with every powerful thrust of your fists, only for all of it to be blocked by Bucky. There is more than anger coming to the surface. This rage – this ancient rage at yourself, at the world, at Hydra–

Bucky doesn’t get any time to retaliate, but you know better than to think you can exhaust him with fighting techniques he has memorised himself. So you switch to the sharp end of the blade and you twist and turn it within your hand as you jab and stab for the soft bits of skin on his body.

Your bones shudder when the knife jams between the plates of his arm and Bucky’s hand flies to take the knife during the abrupt pause your body found itself in. But you’re nearly as strong as he is and definitely faster, so you twist the knife with Bucky’s own power to angle against his chest and jam it there.

The blade tugs at the fabric of his shirt and Bucky’s eyes harden as they fall on yours. You narrow your own eyes at him and grit your teeth as you put pressure behind the stabbing instrument. Your gaze lowers to your hands.

His hand is wrapped around yours almost in a gentle way, the length of his fingers curling around your fist which is clutched around the handle of the blade. The touch makes you shiver and you focus all your attention on staying rigid and exercising enough power to remain in your current position. Both your breaths are shallow and the stare you’re exchanging is so sharp, you’re sure you can see a bolt of electricity shoot from your irises to his.

Slowly dragging your hand down half an inch, he wraps his other hand around yours as well, two of his hands now securing the blade against his own chest. You try not to let it show how much his actions confuse you, apprehension burning in your stomach. His flesh hand is warm, radiating heat from his skin to yours, callouses scraping slightly.

“Right here. Through the ribs and into my heart.” His voice is soft and calm, coaxing a paradoxical reaction from you. It makes you want to prove to him he has no reason to be this calm, but his tone calms you down all the same. He trusts you enough to hold a blade to his chest, yet has no faith in you to drive it through his ribs.

Always these games…

Bucky hisses through his teeth, "Kill me then. I fucking dare you." Though his tone is just as calm and quiet as before, private almost, there’s an impatience to his voice. Like he wants you to put him out of his misery.

“Got something to run from?” you purr with a sympathetic head tilt, eyes still narrowed in on his. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

“On the contrary. I have all the time in the world,” he whispers and you notice his head moving closer just an inch, his scent making your eyes flutter. He didn’t seem like the type to smell exceptionally good – but boy, were you wrong.

“Should I make it a slow death then?” you taunt and he smirks.

“Whatever makes you feel the most power.” Damn him. He knows those words strip the power away from you in an instant. He knows it and he knows you know it, too. “But that leaves you with none, doesn’t it?”

You hold your breath to keep your defeat from slipping out with it. Eyes on the blade in your hands with a look as sharp as the dagger itself, you tighten your fists around the handle.

And all of a sudden it dawns on you. Fear. Gut-wrenching, horrifying fear. Not of Bucky. But losing him. The consequences of allowing yourself to plunge that knife into his body. It’s ridiculous, really. You barely know him. Yet–

Yet he is the only one like you. The only one with emotions and personality traits abnormally heightened like your own, with that goddamn serum tainting his DNA. The only other person in constant war within themself - war between good and evil. Good won in him. Evil won in you. Because the world is so awful, so endlessly painful. And Bucky knows that – has been a victim of that awful nature. Yet good won.

He’s good.

And you want to jam a knife between his ribs.

So you do the one thing you promised yourself you wouldn’t do if you were ever in this position, because it would make you lose your resolve: you look up into his eyes.

Grey-blue.

You remember, from all those times staring him down and trying not to think of their colour. That beautiful, innocent colour that you knew he could flatten with just a look, a drop of his brow. All brightness and light gone and eyes empty. But it is there now. You don’t get where the light comes from that shimmers in his eyes. It’s a dark room.

“Why are you hesitating?” he asks, his voice merely a whisper. You never heard him sound like this before.

“I’m not.”

“I could have killed you five times over by now,” he reminds you, his hands twisting around yours, showing you just how easily he could redirect the knife’s target.

“You won’t.”

“I won’t?”

“You won’t,” you breathe.

A pause.

“I won’t,” he breathes back, his eyes dropping down. You swallow and the room seems to shrink, so much so, you hear your heartbeat echoing around you.

You don’t get to release the air lodged into your throat as Bucky lunges again, this time to cover your lips with his own. You hadn’t realised that your grip on the knife was completely depending on Bucky’s hands, until the weapon clatters to the floor the second his hands grab your face to drag it up to his.

You want to enjoy the feeling of his lips, but the rush you feel and your ramming pulse make you feel impossibly dizzy. His tongue taking advantage of the gasp you let out makes you dizzier, and you let out a whine. He groans back, walking you backward in an attempt to get closer to you. This large, solid man pushing and pushing and pushing as he strips all your bodily control from you with his bruising kiss.

You think you’re kissing him back, you aren’t sure, but every step he takes forward, you flee back. Step after step, you refuse to close the distance, his mouth so wild and feral against yours. Until you gasp again, your back hitting a crumbling pillar and Bucky crushes his entire frame against yours, his nails digging into your scalp as the kiss deepens.

Then it hits you. And it overwhelms you now. Your hands clawing at his chest, his shoulders, his neck – closer, closer, closer. God, he tastes like fire and stone and that ancient fight. You moan desperately and he grinds his hips into yours, making your knees nearly buckle over from the pleasure it ignites between your thighs. You need more of that, of his arousal against your own.

Vaguely, in the back of your mind, you realise that this was your fight all along. This was the very thing you needed to settle. A compatibility no one can match. And you want to tell him that, mock him for it when his lips leave yours, but they attach themselves to that spot below your ear and your eyes roll to the back of your head with a low moan.

This man…

“Who would have known,” he murmurs against your skin, accentuating his words with the scrape of his teeth, barely making you able to register them, “those moans might be the thing that actually kills me.”

You almost want to laugh, but he’s right. If your moans kill him, his mouth will kill you. Your heart is beating so loud, so hard, the organ might give out entirely. Your fingers hurt from clutching onto him and you can’t feel your legs. All he’s done is kiss your neck. His grip on you is so tight, so full of frustration and passion–

“Bucky,” you rasp and he freezes.

His forehead drops to your shoulder. “You’ve never said my name before,” he grinds out, his voice rough. “Do it again.”

“Bucky.”

“Again.”

“Bucky.”

His head lifts from your shoulder, his hands still holding your face and his eyes connecting with yours. “I am not going to stop until you have no voice left to say it with.”

He isn’t asking for permission. Not at all. This was a warning – for you to prepare, to finally settle this. You cling to that last piece, that last little shred of dignity and defiance.

“Who says we won’t leave this battle unfinished like all the other ones?” you ask, albeit breathlessly, clinging to that mechanism that keeps him away and angry.

Bucky narrows his eyes, dragging them over each of your features in a slow, deliberate swoop. You feel like your skin might peel off if he looks at you any longer. He can see it, can see the facade. The grip on your face is tight and you try not to swallow away the dryness in your throat.

Then he smiles.

“Nice try,” he nearly whispers, “but now that we’re here, I’m not planning on any unfinished business with you.”

This time you do swallow, eyes fluttering as you look up at him. You try to snap your walls back up, push him away, but your body isn’t listening. It’s whining for him, crying out for that spark. That final puzzle piece. The one man that can handle you. The only one that is still standing there in the end.

You feel it shift– your alliance.

“Shut up,” you snap and crash your mouth to his, fingers clutching to his shirt.

He laughs against your lips and his hands slide around your waist now, dragging you closer and conveniently dragging you up so one of his thighs slots between yours. The touch of his firm muscle against your throbbing core makes your knees tremble and you would melt to the floor if it wasn’t for Bucky’s hold on you.

The shuddering breath you let out has Bucky knowing enough. He never saw this coming, never even considered this. But he felt the shift – he was sure it was your scent that made his body betray him. Somewhere, his mind was screaming at him to not be stupid and drag that fucking knife away from his heart. Yet his intuition, trained for decades and somehow sharper than ever today, had muffled that scared voice and told him to trust his gut. She isn’t going to do it. And it was right. Just like he wouldn’t have done it.

And now – this powerful, deadly, untouchable woman is in his arms. So pliant, so desperate, so needy. He couldn’t feel more powerful himself. Not a serum in the world, not a stronger metal for his arm could grant him the feeling of power he has now. With you on his side, he is unstoppable. You can make him do anything.

He has something else in mind, however. He wants to show you exactly what anything entails, how much he is actually willing to do for you. And the strangled moan against his hungry mouth when he drags your hips over his thigh again, settles it for him. There is nothing like the pride and hunger that rushes through his veins when he hears that noise.

Maybe one thing. When you say his name.

“Bucky.”

Fuck.

Digging his fingers into your body so hard he’s sure he is leaving temporary bruises –Good, you’re his now– he lets out an animalistic growl and gives a hard thrust against you. Your body moulds perfectly between him and the pillar. The answering grind of your hips against him, brushing his cock so nicely, has his heart coming to a stop. The kiss turns messy, tongues and teeth and bruised lips, he doesn’t know what to do with that endless, dreadful need. Both your breaths are uncontrolled and low noises of need slip from both of you. He doesn’t know where his body ends and yours begins, so entangled with each other as he mindlessly grinds you further into the crumbling stone.

“I swear to God, if you don’t take off your clothes soon,” your growl surprises him and he lets out a low laugh at the desperate command. The only reason he doesn’t mock you for it, is because he agrees. Why are his clothes still on?

Quickly setting you down, he starts making work of his clothes, both of you ripping at yourselves to get rid of that last barrier. But Bucky gets distracted and helps you undress instead. And when you’re left in just your underwear and a lose hanging shirt that sags over your shoulders, all Bucky has managed is to shed his weapons and to unbuckle his belt. Earning an unimpressed glare from you at the lack of nudity, Bucky lets out a growl in answer.

“I’ll fuck you slowly later,” he grunts and is on you again.

You want to protest, you really do, but the words escape you the second his lips connect with yours again. Oh, this man is trouble. Softer and languid this time, his mouth drags over yours, tongue taunting and tasting. You slacken against him, your fingers around his forearms to keep from slipping to the ground. Trouble, trouble, trouble.

In such a daze, such a trance from that sinful mouth, you hardly notice his hands slipping between your thighs after his leg pushes them apart. That first touch, so deliberate, so specific, of his fingers to your aching pussy, has you visibly shudder against him, nails digging into his skin.

“I was wrong,” he breathes over your lips. His fingers slip past the flimsy fabric of your panties and a long finger slips through your folds, dipping into your hole tentatively before teasing you further. “This is going to be the thing that kills me.”

And with that painful confession, his finger slips into your dripping hole so easily, so smoothly, so goddamn deep, you lift to your toes and stretch to make it bearable.

It’s unbearable, the pleasure that sparks all throughout your body. You need him to move, need him to– to–

“More,” you plead, unable to open your eyes back up, “more, more, more.”

You can almost hear his cocky grin as he slips another finger in and curls it against a spot deep inside of you. It releases a moan so sudden, you couldn’t have stopped it if you tried, your eyes flying open. Bucky’s brows shoot up with intrigue, pressing his fingertips against that spot again and almost making you curl up into a ball against him. Fuck. He’s going to kill you.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he breathes, his forehead falling to yours after watching that look of defeat on your face, “I got you.”

Thoughts having left your head, you can only nod breathlessly, tilting your head back against the stone as his fingers start working inside of you. The involuntary convulsions of your cunt around his fingers make your neck and cheeks warm, the loss of control making you feel beyond vulnerable. But God, you can’t find it in you to care too much. The way he stuffs you full, the way his mouth works messily against the column of your neck, the heavy breaths that come from him from just pleasing you – it all builds up in your abdomen. Tightening, fluttering, aching. Your toes curl as his fingers move faster, the friction against your entrance so filthy in combination with the sound of your wetness.

Bucky groans, impatience straining through his cock as he wants to feel you around his fingers. He can feel you flutter, he can hear your breathing getting impossibly laboured and he should, he really should, want to drag this out more. But there is this wild, primal part of him that wants to get you to your next orgasm already, and your next, and the one after that.

He sighs deeply, channelling all of his restraint to keep calm and savour this moment. This moment of weakness for you. Weakness within him. Fuck, you’re his weakness. His fingers keep moving into that spot that seems to make you stutter and stumble, his wrist turning to make you feel that stretch, his tongue darting out to touch that spot under your ear. And then, he presses his palm to your clit, thrumming with need, and the shudder that rumbles down your spine has him stand on alert instantly.

Rotating his palm against your clit, his fingers ramming into your spot, he watches in awe as you fall apart around them. The way your eyes roll back, the breathless scream from your lips, the tension building and building and building in your body before weakening to near paralysis. Oh, that does things for Bucky’s ego.

Fingers trembling and bottom lip aching from the assault of your own teeth, you try desperately to get some air back into your lungs. You can’t feel your legs, your head is buzzing and your pussy won’t stop contracting around Bucky’s fingers, even as they have stopped moving.

“Oh my God,” you whine softly, eyes still closed.

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, burying his face in your neck. That was the best thing he’s ever done. Screw making amends, screw being good, this made it all worth it. He doesn’t know why or how, but this makes that neglected part inside of him hum with delight.

But he’s not done. Oh no, not with his cock groaning at him to explore you a bit further. Not with only his zipper in the way of that warmth that is still wrapped around his fingers. Fuck, how good would his fingers taste right about now?

He’s not waiting to find out and then his eyes lock with yours, darkness and light shimmering in them simultaneously. They flutter to close at the taste, at the way you bite your lip as the sight, but he is not losing you out of his sights.

“Winter soldier,” you breathe, a calm sort of power tainting your tone.

Oh, he likes it when you call him that.

You do not need those ten Russian words. At all.

He smirks, “Ya gotov otvechat.”

#hbd to me :-)#is2g this has been in my drafts for so long and i couldn't seem to finish it #but oh my god i finally did it #im sorry you guys had to wait for so long i tried my best #also this is my birthday present to you guys!!! i hope you enjoy it #thank the heavens for how h*rny i am bc DAMN it is baad #PLS TELL ME WHAT U THINK???#its not my best work but i hope you enjoy it anyway #BYEEEEEE #bucky barnes #writing #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes smut #oneshot #e to l

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skinks · 1 year

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parents stop commenting on literally every meal I make for myself and especially the portion sizes when you are 100% aware I’m receiving treatment for an ED challenge

#yesterday it was ‘do you want to finish mine?’ after I said no TWICE I said NO #and today it’s ‘you’re not eating all of that are you?’ FHHDHDHD NO ITS TWO MEALS ITS BATCH COOKIGN FOR LUNCH TOMORROW I’m eating HALF #my whole life I grew up being asked to finish other people’s food because oh they couldn’t possibly #and then getting called greedy for doing it #and now I’m here trying not to panic cry because the therapist wants me to delete MFP and I won’t be able to weigh my fucking spinach #and they barely eat any vegetables at all but I’M the one eating too much ok ok ok ok #good god in heaven I need to move out #tw ed mention

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todayisafridaynight · 10 months

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a dude has never felt more defeated finishing one page and then seeing i have two more

#snap chats #uuuuGHGHGGGGHHH #this is my fault #BUT THE FIRST PAGE LOOKS SO NICE UGH #my mantra Itll Be Worth It Itll Be Worth It Itll Be Worth It #I REALLY HAVE TO FINISH IT TONIGHT CAUSE I HAVE THINGS THIS WEEK NOOOOOO #dying. dying and crying #i think the first page was the most troublesome one at least. thats where all the establishing shots are #not its just. uuugggggHHHHHHHHRAHHVHH #im fine. ill be fine.#my HEAD HURT.#im never coloring comics again i swear to god in heaven i keep saying that but then i do and i want to bite my fingers off

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skeletalheartattack · 1 year

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you should read Dai Dark. it's about skeletons in outer space.

ive been recommended Dai Dark a few times now, and im very interested! though i tend to take really long to get around to things i think. i haven't read many mangas in a while, but it's definitely one i want to check out at some point

#ask #anon #ik its also got the genderless character with 6 eyes and.. i shouldnt say.#i do want to read it at some point. same with dorohedoro. same with the rest of the jojo parts after 6.#i still havent gotten around to finishing part 6s anime.#im very bad at this stuff i gotta say #one thing ive been watching a lot of is the yakuza series. i cant play them myself but ive just been watching playthroughs more or less #just got done with yakuza 3 and.. god.#im excited with yakuza 4 #only just started watching a playthrough of it #id play them myself but. yknow #i still dont plan on spoiling myself on yakuza 0 since ive been watching holly play that one #watched kuu play through 7 and god damn.#i slightly wish i did 7 last but. i dont think i wouldve gotten as big into it as i am now currently #but yeah im very bad at dividing my attention on things #i still gotta get back to rewatching dbz cell saga. im still around cells second form. after tien blasts him into the ground over and over #and.... get back to beastars.#good heavens.#some day.#i also have trouble reading stuff after a long while since i feel like theres a moment where i miss information ive read #or like my brains slowly getting tired and im not comprehending whats going on.#i also have problems reading where if im reading a big paragraph. i tend to read one line over and over by accident #idk what any of that says about me though. i dont read a lot of media #anyway thank you for the ask anon :)

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dragonji · 2 years

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cause of death: forcibly exploded self due to he needed to fill out too many legal forms

#j.txt #o(-< i am so exhausted. why is applying to r*nt Any property so you have somewhere to live such a Nightmare i just want to be finished.#this single application. for One (1) complex. is over 20 pages of documents half of which i literally cannot fill out on my own #they have to be given to employer/school/bank for verification. i would just give up and try to find a dif place but my roommate-#already applied and we're trying to stick together since its better than figuring out how to cohabitate w someone new #but god in heaven. im abt to Lose It

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81folklore · 8 months

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heaven - OP81 - part 2

pairings: oscar piastri x private!secret!reader (fc: gracie abrams)

summary: a very sweet softlaunch ends pretty quickly

authors notes: first of all a huge thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged and taken the time to read my works it means so much to me and im so so grateful!! next, this is something i made at 1am so please bear with me😭. i am working on the lando and charles stories i PROMISE but i want them to be special and i currently have zero thoughts about where to take them so it might be a while🫣 also i almost finished this when tumblr DELETED IT?? i want to cry😁 ALSO i started this at like 1am and i cant be asked to do tweets rn so insta smau it is

part 1 part 3 masterlist

yourusername

liked by yourfriend2, user7 and 583 others

ahahah i love the beach and my friends

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yourfriend2: dont be fooled she called me crying after the fourth photo bcs she lost 5 games of uno in a row

yourusername: i called you in confidence and this is how you repay me??

user6: its fine we know how emotional uno can get😁

yourusername: ??

user7: im so single hahahahhaa (im dying inside)

user10: is it confirmed that this is oscar?

user9: im not being funny but oscar doesnt even follow her so i think yous are just reaching

user10: …they have the same dog??

yourfriend6: might aswell post his face at this point

yourusername: leave me aloneeee im having fun!!

oscarpiastri

liked by clementnovalak, paularon_ and 93,357 others

second part of the season incoming 😁👊 (after a very competitive round of uno)

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user7: ready to see you up on the podium🧡

user10: uno you say?

user3: right could they be more obvious😭

yourusername: its race week babyyy

*liked by oscarpiastri*

user17: literally what is happening why are all of the grid softlaunching😭

user8: and why does it always end in the hardest of launches

yourusername and oscarpiastri added to their stories

yourfriend2: 😭😭

yourusername: i am sick and tired i just want to POST him but softlaunches are so fun😔

yourfriend2: its really fun when everyone already knows?

yourusername: no but we are in too deep now☹️

user6: god you guys are insufferable

user23: JUST POST THE CUTE COUPLE PHOTOS ALREADY

user23: i lied please dont im so single it hurts

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 6,572 others

the world through my eyes☀️

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oscarpiastri: i love you sososo much

oscarpiastri: my favorite person in the entire world

yourusername: ur literally my sunshine🫶

yourfriend1: god you make me SICK

yourusername: ..okay😁 oscarpiastri i love youuu🤭

landonorris: i hate people in love (you guys are very cute)

user10: THE NOTE OH

user18: THE HARDEST OF LAUNCHES HAPPENED

user7: he is her world oh my lord

user63: and the fact that hes her sunshine too😭😭

user63: literally crying myself to sleep

oscarpiastri

liked by danielricciardo, yourusername and 143,572 others

my happiness

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yourusername: teheehee thats me🤭

yourusername: i LOVE YOUUU

yourusername: i didnt know you took photos of me like this☹️

oscarpiastri: of course your my favorite🧡

yourusername: oh could you get any cuter🫠

yourfriend4: thought you should know yn is currently jumping up and down and giggling while looking at this

user23: I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU NOT TO POST THESE?? I CANT HANDLE THIS??

user8: god really saw me sad and said ‘heres the happiest and best couple, wallow more’

user16: YOU GUYS ARE LITERALLY THE CUTEST?? THE NOTES?? THE POSTS??

user1: i cant stand people in love (i want to cry and drown in my tears)

yourusername: oh my god im so obsessed with you

oscarpiastri: i loooove youuu

oscarpiastri added to their story

yourusername: ahhhhh im so☹️

yourusername: osc☹️☹️ur literally the cutest thing to exist

yourusername: my boys🫶🫶

yoursusername: im so in love with you sunshine☀️

oscarpiastri: love you, thank you for showing me happiness🤍

#f1 instagram au #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #formula 1 insta au #formula 1 social media au #social media au #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #private!yn!oscar

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rrrrinmaru · 2 months

Text

you can talk between my legs (raf x mc, nsfw)

wc: 3200 rating: E warning: hand job, teasing, orgasm denial

“I could’ve sworn–” he mumbles, long eyelashes fluttering shut as he nuzzles into the curve of your palm. His lips are parted, two soft crescents pressing against your skin. He exhales, a rough, pained sound—you lean forward, trying to catch his gaze.

His eyes don’t seem bloodshot. His pupils are dilated, but not severely enough that you suspect he’s been drugged. Then he takes in another long, straggling breath with the tip of his nose skimming up the sensitive inner length of your wrist, and you start wondering if perhaps he is high after all.

“Could’ve sworn I’ve smelled this before,” Rafayel murmurs to himself. It’s as if you’re nothing more than a lifeless doll with what appears to be a devastatingly enticing scent. He fits the jut of your wrist bone between his lips—you flush, wondering if he can taste the desperate quickening of your heart rate or if that’s just all in your head—and he practically sags into your palm.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Rafayel pays your words no mind. He closes his eyes, a delighted little sigh leaving his mouth. “You smell delicious,” he moans, a low, throaty sound that threatens to make your knees buckle.

That is—horribly unfair, you think to yourself, cheeks flushed all the way to high heaven. How can Rafayel stand there without a care in the world, making such sounds that should be enough to constitute public indecency. Isn’t he ashamed? Does he have no propriety?

You conveniently ignore how you’re not exactly putting up much resistance against this behaviour. It’s not your fault if Rafayel wants to act like a slut in his own house. If anything, you’re the victim here, so blatantly being used as a prop.

“Miss,” he groans, rubbing your palm against his cheek, as if he’s a cat that wants to be marked by your scent. “Can I—please, I need to—”

While he speaks, you reach out your other hand to cup his face. Whether you do this as a form of support or as another form of teasing (because you know damn well the bottle spilled on both your hands), that’s between you and God.

On his end, Rafayel cuts himself off before he finishes his sentence. He whines softly, reaching up to grab your wrist with his free hand. “You smell so fucking good,” he curses, and practically buries his face in your palms.

“We have places to be,” you say. Your mouth says one thing, but your fingers are cupping Rafayel’s cheeks, thumbs stroking over the smooth skin below his eyes as he mumbles nonsense into your hands. “It’s your party.”

Rafayel mutters something. The way his lips scratch against the sensitive surface of your palms is distracting; you drag your hand along his cheek and tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“What did you say?”

“I said—” Rafayel says in a low, rolling voice—he looks up, eyes half-lidded and eyelashes sweeping over the breadth of his cheekbones. He knows how he looks when he looks up at you like this. You know he knows, because his lips spread in that slow, satisfied smile that reeks of a cat getting the cream, and his eyes are like two crystals glittering in the low light.

For a moment, you stare a little too long. The way the light catches on his eyelashes, the way it dips between shades in his eyes—were his pupils always so dilated?

“I said, fuck the party,” Rafayel rasps. His eyes are trained intently on you like a hunter locking onto its prey; he groans, a rough, too-loud sound as he presses his lips to the base of your palm.

You definitely don’t hallucinate the sudden sensation of wetness swiping over your wrist.

“Rafayel!” You jerk back from shock, eyes widening at the slip of tongue darting out of his mouth for another taste. Before you can wrench your hands out of his grip, he’s moving far faster than you ever thought him capable—

One hand drops one of your wrists. The other pulls back, forcing you forward—you stumble, too unbalanced far too quickly, and that free hand comes to wrap around the small of your waist to yank you fully into his embrace, shoulder to hip all lined up with a delicious, dizzying pressure.

Like a fisherman reeling in a catch. Snapped up in a second. You didn’t even know there was a reel line to begin with, but now Rafayel is rocking his hips insistently against you and your legs spread, of course they do, and you find his thigh in between yours, pressing up into the growing wetness there.

“Please,” Rafayel murmurs, burying his face in your neck. It’s—you don’t have the words to describe the way your head is filling up with hot air, the way your cheeks are rapidly turning red as you try to squirm out of his grasp. He’s never—you didn’t know he was this strong.

You’re not really trying to get out of the position you’re currently in, but you’re putting up enough resistance that it would have sent a normal civilian to his feet. Rafayel is… holding his own. Holding you to him as he makes these little desperate sounds, teeth scraping against your neck as he grinds his length on your thigh.

“Please, what?” You whisper. You don’t know why you’re whispering. The two of you are the only occupants in this gigantic house of his, and it isn’t like anyone will overhear. It isn’t like anyone will see.

But your voice is as quiet as a whisper, a soft exhalation of air from your taut lungs.

Your free hand is clinging uselessly to the front of Rafayel’s dress shirt. It’s a nice shirt. You find yourself trying to focus on the way the material feels, the way it slips between your fingers as you scrabble for some kind of hold that won’t crumple the shirt up beyond belief; better to think about how the silk feels against your skin rather than the growing hardness rubbing insistently against you—

He’s so desperate, you can’t help but think to yourself. Rafayel huffs, fingers tightening around your waist to bring you back down to earth.

“Stop drifting away,” he whines. His back is a long, curved line, like a drawn bow. “Help me.”

You—it’s not like you don’t know what he’s asking for, but you think you might pass out from embarrassment before you actually get your hands on him. It’s not everyday you get a criminally attractive man begging for your hands on him. In fact, today is day one. It’s never happened before.

You know what to do, but only in theory. In practice, it’s so disarming to have Rafayel hunched over you, sucking bruises into your neck that you know you’ll have to cover up before heading into work tomorrow.

As if sensing your hesitation, Rafayel jerks his hips against your thigh—once, twice, sliding along the groove of your leg with such intent that it makes your core clench.

“Be patient,” you say instinctively, all too familiar with a demanding Rafayel.

“Can’t,” he replies. His soft fringe brushes against your neck as he dips his head lower, his tongue lapping against your clavicle. The wet muscle drags across your collarbones, a feather-light, teasing touch that makes you shiver.

The whole world narrows down to this one point, you think dazedly. Rafayel’s hands on you: one hand occupied with squeezing your waist—as if insistently reminding himself that you can’t run away—the other has fingers entangled with yours, and you swear you can feel his fluttering heartbeat through his skin.

His lips on your neck, wandering lower with every pass of his tongue. All of a sudden, you recall what you’re wearing. A little slip of a dress, a long pool of cerulean silk, and the most daring plunge cut you’ve ever tried.

Rafayel didn’t buy this dress for you. But when the two of you had gone out the other day—for very above ground purposes, such as escorting him to a new gallery showcase—you had passed by a boutique and you had seen his eyes linger on this dress on the mannequin.

It had only been for a moment, but he had his eyes on the dress and you had your eyes on him.

And when you showed up today, fingers drenched with that weird perfume, you saw the way Rafayel’s lips parted with shock, eyes running over your figure with such greed that it made you want to press your thighs together to stave off the heat that suddenly flared up.

Then he tilted his head to the side, scented the air, and here you are.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Rafayel mumbles in a daze to himself. He doesn’t look up at you for a response—it’s as if that statement was just a noncommittal comment and not something meant for you to hear—and continues to trace a thin line down your chest with his tongue.

Your hand unconsciously follows the path he takes. As he inches lower to that sliver of space between your tits, your fingers trace a similar route down the front of his chest, pressing through the fabric to feel the hard planes of his muscles.

When your fingers catch on his belt, you hear the way his breath audibly hitches.

“Ask nicely,” you murmur. You feel like your entire body’s been soaking for too long in an onsen. Your head is boiling up and you feel—you feel possessed.

Instead of asking nicely, Rafayel laughs against your skin and reaches for the belt himself. Before he touches the leather, you close your fingers around his wrist in a tight grip.

“Not very nice to be restrained, is it?” You ask teasingly. “Ask nicely for what you want, Raf.”

“I’ve been nothing but nice this whole time,” Rafayel groans, but obediently lets you lead his palm back to cupping your waist. “I’ve been saying please. I’ve been nice.”

“One more time,” you coax, squeezing his palm.

Rafayel grumbles, eyes flicking up to peer at you. But despite the petulance hanging from his lips, his eyes are dark with fervor.

“Please,” he murmurs, the word breathed out against your skin, the space where the dress slips a little too far down and reveals too much of your cleavage. “I’ve been so good.”

A lot of things happen in quick succession. He lets his tongue dart out, dipping down between your tits and licking a long line up your chest. Your fingers catch on his buckle and flick it open. He leans in closer, clearly intent on leaving a bruise the shape of his mouth right above your heart, marking you for the next few days.

You grab the belt by the silver buckle and yank.

Rafayel’s breath snaps in two. He glances up, lips parted in surprise as the belt falls to the ground with a clatter. “Miss—”

“What?” You ask breathlessly, fingers already fiddling with the button of his slacks. “You asked nicely.”

“I—” Suddenly, it’s as if the roles are reversed. You’re the hunter in the dark, your shadow stretching out so far it’s like a gaping maw that swallows everything in the evening light. Rafayel is the prey floundering for driftwood in the wide open sea.

Right before you undo his zipper, you pause. The tips of your fingers linger against the hardness straining through the fabric. You can feel it—there’s a heft to it you can’t ignore. It’s a dizzying thing, feeling the physical weight of someone’s arousal for you.

It feels scalding through his slacks. You swallow, wondering if you’re parched or your mouth just craves something to suck on.

Rafayel slants his hips into your fingers. He grinds along the flat of your palm—a long, insistent movement—and his voice comes out as a groan when he speaks.

“Please,” he begs. His fingers spasm around your waist and your hand, as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself. All he knows how to do is to rock along your hand, feeling the bite of the metal through the fabric of his briefs—he must crave it, you think, and it’s that thought that stays in the forefront of your mind as you finally drag the zipper down.

“You’ve stained the front,” you say dazedly, touching the tip of your index finger to the wet spot.

Immediately, Rafayel’s hips snap forward, chasing your touch. He makes this sound—as if he’s been wounded—and you feel—

“Don’t just touch it,” he pants, forehead pressed against your chest. He’s still bent over, as if your touch was enough to reduce him to shaky knees and he needs your body to hold himself upright.

You think he’s really in no position to be giving you orders, but you want to see the way his eyelashes flutter and his eyes roll back into his head, so you skate your fingers along the throbbing length of it.

“Harder,” Rafayel gasps, hips rolling into your grip. “Hard—ngh, hold it tighter—”

You can’t help it. Your fingers curl around the length cutting a visible outline in his briefs, but your thumb finds its way back to that wet spot. It’s damp with precum and the muscle there feels softer. You gently dig your thumbnail into that spot, and Rafayel stutters on his next sentence.

“Fu—ck,” he groans out, his breaths coming out in hot pants against your tits. He’s so out of it, eyes closed with bliss written all over his face as he ruts into your hand.

But even though he’s not sucking marks into your skin, even though he’s not feeling you up or dipping fingers into your drenched underwear—

This is really doing it for you, you realize. You’re rocking slowly along Rafayel’s thigh, instinctively chasing the friction against your stiff clit as you rub the pad of your thumb against the head of his dripping cock through his briefs.

“Fuck,” Rafayel exhales lowly. “That’s—mm, fuck, that’s good—harder, Miss, harder—”

“Can you cum like this?” You ask, pupils blown as you watch the way your sentence sends him into a full body shudder. You can feel the stickiness through his briefs, the jump of his cock when you tighten your grip—

Rafayel makes a broken sound. “You can’t just ask that!”

The laugh escapes your mouth before you can reel it back in. “You can, can’t you?”

Fuck, you think to yourself, lips curving up. He’s so cute. He’s so weak like this, whining as he ruts his hips into your palm, chasing the pleasure your fingers can give him.

He doesn’t deign that with a reply. Instead, he digs his fingers into your waist, hard enough to sting, hard enough to leave bruises that you know you’ll stare at in the mirror for the next few days. He drags you closer, higher on his thigh, and your breath catches when this small movement presses your clit even tighter against his leg.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” Rafayel murmurs. “You’re soaked.”

“You’re one to talk,” you reply, rubbing your thumb against the underside of his cockhead and relishing in the hitched groan you draw from his mouth. “Harder?”

“Mm…” Rafayel nods, exhaling roughly into your chest when you slow your pace, dragging your fingers against his cock. “Feels—‘m close, feels—nngh, fuck, fuck—”

“Go on.” You hold him a little tighter, feeling the muscle twitch in your grip. His fingers spasm against your waist, tightening and loosening in random bursts as if he’s just kneading at your hips, trying to find purchase while he shivers through the heat slipping through him. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Don’t s—ay it like that,” Rafayel protests, voice cracking in the middle.

You squeeze your thighs around Rafayel’s leg, riding out the heat that flares up in your core whenever he says something in that whiny, pathetic voice of his. The fire in your abdomen grows, like embers catching at drywood and spreading throughout your body.

“I want to see it,” you say, swiping your thumb over the dampest part of his briefs, pressing down into the drooling slit at the head of his cock. “I want to see you cum.”

Your words must be the catalyst. He shudders, shoulders trembling as his hips jerk forward once, twice—he bites down, right above your heart, and you let out a quiet gasp at the sting.

Beneath your palm, beneath your fingers, you can feel the fabric grow even wetter than it already is. His cock twitches in your grip, pulsing frantically as Rafayel pants weakly, hips rolling of their own accord to drag out his pleasure.

“Miss—!” he groans in between kisses to your chest, tongue laving over the bruise he’s sucked into your skin. “Fuck, so fucking good, nngh…”

He goes back to being non-verbal as you stroke him off, fingers pulling at his cock to coax out every last drop of cum. It’s stickier than you expected, but it makes the slide smoother and Rafayel lets out this breathless, choked noise with every downward stroke.

And then, because you’re feeling a little brave after you just jerked him off through his briefs, you skate your fingers up and pull at the rim, trying to reach below the fabric.

A hand snaps to your wrist before you can get your fingers under.

“If you touch me again, we are definitely not turning up for the party,” Rafayel mutters.

You hum, twisting your wrist in a playful attempt to escape his grip. You try to stretch your fingers out, the nail of your middle finger scraping against something hot, and Rafayel’s hold on you tightens so abruptly that you almost burst into laughter. “I thought you didn’t care about the party?”

He gives you a considering look, then rolls his shoulders in a careless shrug. “True. I have more important things on my plate.”

Rafayel pauses. He straightens, leveraging the height he has over you as he looms, and then pointedly drops his gaze to where you’re practically seated on his flexed thigh, skirt tossed to the side as you unconsciously rock your hips along the muscle there.

You flush crimson. Before you can try to slide off and adjust yourself to a more presentable appearance, Rafayel ducks down.

He’s close. So close that you can still see the flecks of pink in his dilated eyes, the redness in his cheeks from his climax. So close that when he speaks, you can feel his breath against your lips.

“I owe you an orgasm,” he murmurs. “Hands, mouth, or something else?”

You can’t help the way you clench your thighs. What other reaction are you supposed to have?

“… All?” You say tentatively, and Rafayel’s eyes light up.

“That’s the right answer,” he proclaims excitedly. “We’ll start with my mouth. I’ve been dying to get between your legs.”

Before you can reply to that shocking sentence, he sweeps you up and over his shoulder like you weigh nothing at all.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #l&ds rafayel #rafayel #恋与深空 #祁煜 #러브앤딥스페이스 #恋と深空 #rin writes lds

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ancientcharm · 2 months

Text

Inside Pantheon, Rome, Italy. It is one of the best preserved ancient Roman buildings in the world.

Photography by Luigi Di Criscio (@luigidicriscio)

In Latin Pantheum (from Greek Πάνθειον Pantheion) means "common to all the gods." It was built from an earlier temple commissioned by Marcus Agrippa during the reign of Augustus (27 BC – 14 AD). After a fire, the current building was commissioned by Emperor Hadrian (117-138).

Agrippa finished the construction of the building called the Pantheon. It has this name, perhaps because it received among the images which decorated it the statues of many gods, including Mars and Venus; but my own opinion of the name is that, because of its vaulted roof, it resembles the heavens. Cassius Dio, History of Rome 53.27.2

Cassius Dio's uncertainty about the name suggests that "Pantheon" was a nickname, not the formal name of the building.

The portico of the Pantheon at night.

The inscription M·AGRIPPA·L·F·COS·TERTIVM·FECIT means: "Marcus Agrippa, son of Lucius, made [this building] when consul for the third time."

Photography by Jfabrix101 / Wikimedia Commons.

Texts from Wikipedia.org

Beautiful

#rome #italy #ancient rome #roman architecture

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bongwaterbunny · 2 months

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i did NOT expect my last halsin post to blow up- i mean seriously i was just horny and posted some thoughts but THANK YOU???

anyways. heres my humble offering in hopes to appease the gods (@strawzumie and @im-eating-rn)!!

cw: facesitting, pussydrunk halsin, fem!tav, d/s dynamic, overstimulation, lmk if i missed any lol ive been foaming at the mouth over this little thought

halsin has ALWAYS been a service dom. like he doesnt even THINK about cumming until you've already finished all over his fingers or his tongue, maybe even multiple times! he just loves the sweet little noise you make when you're overstimulated. he loves the squeals and whines that leave your lips, how you mutter his name under your breath? nothing sounds better to him.

"keep singing like that and you'll make the birds jealous, my heart" but how can he expect you to be quiet when he wont even let you hide your face?? insisting he needs to see that look in your eye when you cum AGAIN, swatting your quivering hands away when you tug a pillow up to your mouth, the man is so mean sometimes! cant he see how flustered you are?

god he loves the taste of you too. he's perfectly happy to eat you out until the sun comes out again, until you're crying so loudly that the entire camp can hear just how beautiful you sound with his lips flush against your cunt, nose nudging your puffy little clit every time you squirm!

and when i say facesitting i mean faceSITTING. you barely even have the chance to hear his throaty chuckle when you hover over his face until his hands snake around your thighs, pushing you down with such force youre worried that he cant breathe! i mean, the way his eyes glaze over and you can notice them cross doesnt really help soothe your worries either, but its not like you can get out of his tight grip, can you?

"so sweet.. heavens above, you're sweeter than honey" he mumbles against your throbbing core, his words muffled and the way his lips move only serve to send tremors of pleasure shooting up your spine. his tongue is practically scooping your wetness into his waiting mouth as it gushes out of you! and god, the way you whimper and grind your hips forward once you finally get over your fear of smothering him? you just earned yourself two more orgasms right there on his face! good luck getting his head out from between your thighs tonight <3

#halsin smut #halsin x tav #daddy halsin #halsin x reader #bg3 halsin #halsin bg3 #halsin #halsin silverbough

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hazelfoureyes · 11 days

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⟢Alastor x Cupid FemReader Tasked with making a demon believe in true love or you can’t return to heaven, things immediately go off the rails when you hurt yourself and Alastor catches one of your most troubling arrows; Mania

I managed to finish this despite, ya know, the aforementioned: (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

˚₊ · »-♡→ Week 1 and Week 2 (keep reading)

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 3 and Week 4 smut💦

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 5, Week 6, Week 7, and Epilogue smut💦

「warnings/promises: Alastor x CupidFemReader, broken bones, feet washing, normal sized Luci, you know the outfit in my PFP? You’re wearing that but soft purple and the bottom half is ambiguous because idk baby whatever you feel best in it’s your story, Husk has a bad time, Alastor has a bad time, You have a bad time, Charlie has a great time 👌🏼, not choking」

Minors this one is chill but the next two imma need you to Dni 💋 ♥️ 🧹lovingly

You had made a mistake, yes, but Hell? Really?

Sure, you had dropped an arrow into the water supply of a nunnery which did lead to some unholy behaviors. But! The nuns seemed quite happy. Wasn’t that the point?

Tossing you to Hell through a hastily opened portal was honestly unprofessional. You ended up dropping three stories, upside down, in front of a butcher's shop.

In the seconds between Sera telling you, ‘You can return when you’ve made a sinner believe in true love.’ and Lute kicking you square in the chest through the hell door, you thought it wouldn’t be so hard. True, you couldn’t use your arrows as that wouldn’t be “true love” and also too easy, even gods weak to your shots, but ultimately sinners were still human. Humans were pushovers! Pliable, gentle at their hearts, desiring love and tenderness. How bad could the naughty ones be?

And then you landed shoulder first onto the pavement. It hurt. Things didn’t hurt in heaven…

Your arrows scattered, quiver spilling when you inverted. Wincing, you scrambled to grab as many as were within reach. Your right shoulder was burning, a new sensation.

You counted them by name as you gathered: Eros, Agape, Philia, Pragma, Philautia, Ludus, Storge… panic.

ErosAgapePhiliaPragmaPhilautiaLudusStorge— Mania wasn’t there. Arguably the arrow that caused you the most trouble, the sting of Mania would cause a madness that led to obsessive behaviors, possessiveness, jealousy.

Pulling yourself up, arrows clutched in one hand, the other holding the place near your collar was throbbing, your eyes were frantic in their search.

“What’s this?”

You finally looked up from the sidewalk, a man’s back to you before he turned. Bile rose and burned your throat as he pulled Mania from where it had pierced his chest pocket.

His eyes, shades of red heaven didn’t even entertain, made a simple trip from the arrow's head to your face.

The man went so still you thought for a moment he was a hologram, but you could see the tiniest rise and fall of his chest. A deer facing down a bright light, he remained frozen in place as you began to approach him.

“Excuse my manners, but that’s mine and I really need it back.” Your injured arm moved first and the pain made you see white, a cry so sharp people turned to look. He snapped back to his senses, and with an odd sound you couldn’t quite place, he seemingly disappeared into the ground.

Mania was left behind, shining smugly against the dirty pavement. You didn’t want to make a reach for it, fear flooding you. You’d never felt pain before.

You’d seen it in humans, but never in your existence had you experienced it. Would both arms hurt?

You let the left hand abandon its guarding place and grabbed the errant arrow. Tucking into an alley, you crouched and returned the arrows to their quiver with immense difficulty.

Okay, yes it was Hell but maybe you were a little paranoid. A sense of being watched wouldn't leave you even after you re-emerged from the darkness of the alley.

The enormity of your task set in as you surveyed the area. You, an obviously heavenly creature even without your wings out on display, would need time to make anyone believe in any form of love. Where would you go in the meantime? And now injured for the first time in your life? How long would that need to mend?

Expanding your view, you saw the currently defunct doomsday countdown hovering above the embassy. Perfect, holy ground would atleast keep you safe for the night, which was falling with a malignant speed.

They couldn’t have given you some time to change? Or pack a set of clothes? Your short sleeved button up a (literally) glowing shade of white was attracting too much attention, golden sandals now cloudy from various fluids across Pentagram city’s streets. Your heart shaped overalls a powdered purple, you looked like an adult child among a sea of very tired professionals.

When you got to the embassy you only had one good arm to open the heavy doors, which unfortunately didn’t budge. Perhaps you needed two? Trying to muster up some adrenaline, you began to pant. Deep breaths like the women in labour you sometimes worked your magic on.

As soon as you gripped the handle you saw something that made you jump back, muscles flexing around whatever damage you’d done in your body from the fall. A large black snake? Some demonic squid’s appendage? Something unholy grabbed hold of the handle as soon as you had and gave such a tug the doors violently shook.

You spun around to the dark neighborhood behind you. Nothing. Turning back the thing was gone. And so was all of your hope. It was locked. The tears were unwanted and unnecessary, but just-- you were hurting so much, you were dirty, you were alone, and now essentially homeless.

If there was ever a reason to cry, you decided to let yourself have this one.

The lamplights flickered and the entire street went pitch black. Because of course it did.

Hyperventilating now entirely without intention, you watched as one light to the left popped on with a static buzz. Desperate to be out of the darkness you ran to the spotlight. As soon as your foot entered the beam, the light beside it lit up. Your eyes wandered to heaven above, were they helping you? Had you not been entirely abandoned?

Of course! Yeah. They sensed you at the doors and sent off some guidance. How silly of you. Relief washed over you as you ran through the lights until your foot left one spotlight but the next hadn't popped on.

Twirling back to the embassy, you saw all of the lights shut off in succession behind you.

Just you and the one lamp now, and the glow of some TVs in the shop window to the right. What was the meaning of this?

That weird sound you heard earlier but couldn’t place… electricity but dusty and barely contained. Your gaze was drawn to the radio in the shop window in front of you. You hadn’t noticed it until it buzzed to life. It lit up faintly, dial turning on its own until a high and smooth voice rang out, “Looking for your way to heaven? You’re in luck! The Hazbin Hotel is now accepting any and all willing to find redemption!”

This must have been the message, I mean, heaven was never good at being subtle.

“Just make your way to the left and toward the looming building atop the hill!”

Your head turned to your left and then up slightly. Bathed in red and white lights stood a behemoth of a building on the edge of a cliff.

Head still facing the hotel, your eyes flitted back to the radio.

“Reception is open 24 hours a day!”

You touched your arm, then patted at your pockets. Not a wallet or ID card on you. You were the 17th Cupid incarnation, why would you have a fucking ID card? But didn’t those places need such things? You’d seen every romcom earth had ever produced. There was always some issue with hotel check ins.

“Not a red cent needed! We literally do not care who you are!”

Oh. Wait. Was this a trap?

“Created by the Lucifer Morningstar’s daughter! A foolish young woman who genuinely believes in reforming sinners!”

Lucifer?? The former angel, yes, but the word angel carried much more weight now. Perhaps he would have a modicum of pity given your circumstances.

You took an unsteady foot forward and toward the hotel when the street lights all buzzed back to life.

The path to the hotel was long, many demons stopping you on your way but quickly losing interest after a second or two of pestering you. You gave a silent prayer to the archangels for that blessing.

It must have been nearly 1am when you finally made it to the hotel’s doors. When you entered you found an empty reception desk and a poorly written note:

Before the bell’s hammer even hit the metal, a man popped up from behind the counter.

The man.

The man you shot with Mania.

“Welcome to th-,”

You were outside and leaving the awning before he could finish, but just as quickly as you left he appeared in front of you, “Still missing your manners?”

He blocked your path with his remarkable size. Why were demons so tall? What was the use of it?

“Deer got your tongue?” He bent over unnaturally at the waist.

“What?”

“Would you like-,” he began.

You walked around him and down the driveway. He moved briskly beside you, slowly growing larger and larger until his body was several stories tall and entirely blocking the gates of the premises.

A horror. Hell was full of horrors.

He crouched, large toothy smile now baring down at you.

If you stabbed him in the eye with an arrow, which would cause the least trouble? It was a rule to never give a double love bite but this was a dire situation.

But if you were sent to hell for a little nun love fest, what would purposefully stabbing a sinner do?

He rapidly shrank, hands coming to his front to catch a summoned microphone…Cane? Staff?

“You’re injured. Just, come back inside. I promise I don’t bite without consent.” His head cocked to the side, a quiet, “Usually” tacked on.

We’re you visibly hurt? How bad was it? You looked past him to where sounds of yelling and music were rolling up the hill.

“You don’t have many options, angel.” He hissed the word through clenched teeth. Disgust almost seemed to lace his voice, but why, then, was he offering help?

“Not an angel. Cupid. Different.” Kind of. You gave the quiver a shake.

“Ah yes. That explains why you shot at me earlier.” A large hand came to your side and directed you to turn back around. He kept it there, pushing softly to keep you moving.

“I didn't shoot you.”, You huffed, crossing your arms before doubling over in pain. He stopped walking, hand resting now against your spine. Regaining your composure, you continued towards the hotel lobby, “My arrows fell out and…you caught one. With your body.”

“My pocket made quite the lucky catch. Now!” He snapped, a key appearing and floating into his hand with a sparkle of neon green, “Let’s get you to a room and cleaned up.”

“Do you work here?” You asked as he escorted you to one of the upper floors. The room was surprisingly clean and well decorated. You had expected a dingy highway motel. And while the room was largely dark wood and rich colors, it wasn’t as offensive as the rest of hell had been.

“Ah! My my, forgive me! I am Alastor, the radio demon and hotel manager here.” He bowed and offered his hand for you to place yours in. You did so without thinking, and he kissed your knuckles once but his mouth lingered over your flesh. Eyes half lidded, he glanced back up at you, “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

There was no way to reverse Cupid’s arrows. Not by force. Love could only die by the hands of the ones who held it. Others could definitely bruise it, but ultimately it was up to the beholder. Mania was a little different, obsession could be dispelled by shattering whatever illusion the holder felt.

If the holder thought someone was the epitome of genteel chastity then a show of wanton sexuality could break the spell. If someone was convinced the object of their desire was very smart and savvy then acting ignorant could make the obsession fall flat. But there was no indication he had any illusions of you. Not yet, atleast.

Mania was now his, and he would keep it in his heart until he lost it or killed it. He could, technically, be possessed by, and be in the possession of, Mania for eternity. A sinner had never been shot before, that you knew of.

He didn’t noticeably react as you took back your hand. With a hum, he snapped again and you found a chair pulled up behind you and knocking into the back of your knees. You fell into the plush armchair, watching a metal basin of steaming water slide against your feet.

“Excuse you— ExcUU-,” you pulled your legs back but he pulled harder, Alastor removing your dirty shoes and tossing them off to the side like trash.

“You can't clean yourself with that broken collar bone. Allow me.” His hand gripped your ankles and dunked both into the water, “I insist.”

“It’s broken? How could I break a collarbone…,” the humor wasn’t lost on you, sinner washing holy feet, but your focus was entirely on the concept of a broken bone.

“Falling twenty five feet head first, apparently.” Alastor rubbed soap into your calves.

“But I don’t break.” What happened to you, what had that kick into hell done? “You saw me? Also, that isn’t dirty.” you pointed at your calf.

“Peripherally.”

Did he mean the dirt or witnessing the fall? You sat in silence while he hummed, returning your feet to their original color.

“Now,” he rose, patting his hands dry on a small towel, “Unbutton your top.”

Your expression was apparently quite loud, Alastor putting his hands up quickly, “Not like that. I’ve no interest in that sort of thing. I need to see your shoulder and upper chest.” He waited patiently, staring at you the entire time. His smile was so wide, teeth yellow and sharp. Unsettling.

He really did look like he could eat you. You’d heard of such demons.

You slipped off the straps of your overalls, and began to open your shirt. He did away with the water, coming to kneel directly to your right as he watched. You couldn’t see anything without some kind of mirror. If it was bruised or swollen, it was out of your line of sight. Long clawed hands came to the front and back of your shoulder, pressing inward. You pulled away, a firm grip now as his right hand held at the left side of your waist.

“Are you a doctor?” Hotel manager and doctor would be an unlikely combo, but the day had been odd from start to finish.

A shake of the head, “But when I was alive, I did have quite a lot of experience with the inner workings of anatomy.” You grimaced, how could he say such sinister things with such a lovely voice? “Maybe not broken. But I’d say at least a fracture. Perhaps your heavenly body didn’t take full damage. It hurts when you move your arm, correct?” You nodded.

He hummed, another click of his fingers and a fabric unfurled into his waiting hands. “Take it all the way off so I can set this.”

You were exhausted. The pain was gnawing at your nerves. No more fight in you, you just wanted rest, so you slipped off the shirt entirely and let him wrap your arm up into a simple sling. You were surprised his hands were so warm. Demons seemed like they’d be cold to the touch. Like lizards or pearls.

When he finished, you sitting in the large chair with your arm wrapped in a silky black sling, no shirt, and pastel purple heart-shaped overalls folded down your torso, you considered having another cry. You felt your chin tremble. You couldn’t recall ever crying from sadness before today.

It was just a mistake. You hadn’t meant to drop your arrow. Why were the archangels so angry? What’s some sex between nuns?

Alastor bristled, hand coming to your cheek. It was an unwelcome gesture. You batted his hand away with your only free one, but he just sighed and set it on your thigh. You pushed it off, shooting him a glare. The audacity.

You thought you saw his eye twitch.

With what little energy was left in, you stood and open the door for him, “You have been very kind and helpful. Thank you very much. You can leave now.” Oh, right, “Please.”

He stood, pausing as he passed you. He was so tall. Shoulders wide. You felt your heart rate pick up. Even with two good collarbones you knew you couldn’t take him in a fight.

Alastor leaned down to your level, you backing up and into the door, “Until the morning.”

When he said it you had thought he was just going about formalities. But he wasn’t. You awoke some hours later to a knock. When you opened the door he was looming in your doorway again.

You tried to close the door but he put his foot in the gap, then a strong hand wrapped around the door’s edge and he pushed his way into the room.

You sputtered, arm flailing a little as you choked on which reaction to give first. You were undressed, in just your under things.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself further when you get dressed. I’ll undo the sling and help.” Closing the door he then spun back around to face you, smile as bright as it was earlier that same day.

“No! Absolutely not! Leave! Please!”

As he guided your arm through the shirt, you struggled to process what had happened. One minute you were indignant and stubborn and then he was so close to you, hands warm and gentle, and then already he was untying the sling and your shirt was just there and-

“See? Wasn’t that easy? No harm in accepting help.” Alastor looked you over from top to bottom.

“Accepting? What part of any of that did I accept.” You stood bottomless in a button up, trying to get the overalls from the hanger with just your left hand. His chest pressed into your back, nearly forcing you to fall into the armoire, to assist you.

“The part where you didn’t actively fight me. I think we can call that acceptance until you learn better.” His words shook through your ribs and to your front.

Annoyance rose in your chest, what was he thinking? Humans had no right to touch you let alone a sinner. “You’re an eldritch horror, please back away from the divine creature before you.” Alastor laughed, backing away with the clothes in his hands. Hand out, you motioned for him to pass it over. He tossed it on the floor, and took a seat on the bed with crossed legs. “Oh, I see. You’re an asshole. Perfect.” Pretense gone, manners not needed.

You grabbed it with your left hand and managed to get both legs into it before slinking it up and onto your left shoulder. While you tried to figure out how to do the right side, realizing the flaw in your order of processes, Alastor leaned over and unhooked the left strap, overalls falling to the carpet with a soft thud.

You stood there for several moments, staring at him with purple fabric pooled around your ankles, him staring at you with a shiteating grin.

After finally getting dressed, preferring to not think about how, you were followed down to the lobby.

“Breakfast?” He asked, you both in the elevator as he hadn’t gone more than three feet from you since he entered your bedroom.

“No, no appetite. I need to find Lucifer.” You were sure he could help somehow. Somehow he could do….something. Details about Lucifer’s powers and abilities, his strengths and skills were all kept hush-hush. But if nothing else, you could find someone who understood your position.

Your hand was being vigorously shaken before the elevator doors even closed behind you. Charlie Morningstar was not what you expected. Chipper and bright, she was bursting with energy.

“Gentle, Charlie. Our dear Cupid is injured.” Alastor’s hand came to the small of your back. You reached back with your left hand and knocked it off of you.

“Like, the real actual cupid?!” Charlie’s eyes were shining, you could almost see the hearts floating up around her face. You felt Alastor’s hand again, now on your hip. You took three steps to the right, slipping from his fingertips.

“Yes, that is exactly what I-.” You were cut off, Charlie launching into a speech about sinners and heaven and redemption and so much more you couldn’t process.

The energy she gave us was very angelic, which was confusing. Until you saw her father entering the common area.

The most hated creature in all of creation. Your best hope for a tiny sliver of comfort.

Alastor’s hand reached for yours, fingers trapping your wrist and stopping you from approaching the king of hell.

You shook your arm. His hold stayed. You tugged. He was unaffected, talking to Charlie now about your injury as if you weren’t right there.

As Cupid, or at least as a cupid, you weren’t physically strong. You really weren’t meant to exist for a long time, just for as long as your body held up to repeated trips to the human realm. But, in heaven, you were never capable of being harmed. And of course, on earth, you weren’t really corporeal so no harm could come to you. You weren’t built for tug of war with a 7 foot tall demon.

“Mr. Devil! Sir!” You waved your foot, shouting out to the normal sized man. As he saw you, his eyes widened, “Hello there! Sorry to be a bother, I’m from heaven and-” You jerked your hand free, power walking to Lucifer, “I’m here on punishment. It’s a pleasure to meet another member of Elysium’s caretakers. Former or otherwise.”

Flustered, Lucifer fumbled with his phone before dropping it. “Oh! Shit! H-hello!”

You reached down to retrieve it for him, seeing black and red shoes behind you as you did.

“What — why are you here?” Lucifer was looking at Alastor now, which was great news because for a second you thought he was talking to you. A sneaking feeling leaked into your chest that heaven hadn’t actually told him you were coming.

“Just keeping an eye on my guest! As you can see she got injured and I’ve taken to the task of her safety while she’s in hell.”

“No one asked him to do that, sir.” Your smile was strained, you could feel Alastor’s shoulder was touching yours. You looked to where you were connected and then back to Lucifer, “Are all sinners like this?”

“Honestly? Yes. They’re all pretty terrible.” Lucifer sighed, “What did you do?”

A cold sweat, “Misused an arrow. I can’t leave hell until I make a demon who doesn’t already believe in true love…believe in it.”

“Oh no! That’s— you’re gonna be here awhile.” Lucifer pulled at his collar in a mock attempt to release the awkward heat of the conversation. He saw you wither, and Alastor seemed to bloom, so he quickly changed pace, “But! Uhhh, you can totally do it! Charlie has some of the best of the worst here. If I can ever help, just ask!” Nervous laughter that did not put you at ease. He seemed so silly. So sweet and easily flustered.

You felt your hope dash for a second time in less than a day. How long would you be in hell? How long was awhile?

“She is my responsibility now. She won’t be needing anything from you, your majesty.”

A darkness came over you as the two demons began to bicker. You now had your own obsessed shadow; a large and creepy sinner following you around. How on earth could you get close enough to a demon to complete your task? Convincing someone of true love would require trust and time. This would be impossible with Alastor attached to your side.

You spent the first week in hell in the hotel. Everytime you got the courage to leave and explore the areas outside, you’d find yourself shadow portaled “back to safety” by Alastor. It was like the human film ‘Groundhog Day’, always starting over back in the lobby.

No matter where you went in the hotel, he was either beside you or where you had been headed. You saw the sky less often than Alastor’s grin and you couldn’t stand it. You took to hiding, leaning against darkened stairwell corners and sitting on the floor of the ladies restroom.

It bought you a little time to yourself, but the second you moved he was there again. Asking if you were a lost little doe, hand reaching for your waist to pull you near him, red eyes threatening to swallow you whole.

Toward the end of the week, while helping you get dressed as he did daily, Alastor took a step back. “I could get you some new clothes. Cannibal town has the finest duds.” He lifted the lace that lined the top of your pocket, “You stick out. No demon is going to let you trick them into believing in true love like this.”

You could have screamed. No, no demon would even approach you with Alastor standing behind you. It absolutely wasn’t the clothes. You politely rejected the offer and went about your day.

The next morning you awoke to find your floor littered with strips of something. Flinging open the armoire you found two empty hangers. You turned back, noticing the white and purple color to the fabric confetti.

The march to Alastor’s room was easy, as it was 10 feet in front of your door. He had placed you directly across from him, because, ya know, Mania.

He clearly hadn’t expected you to leave your room in your underwear, eyes like saucers as he yanked you in.

“What in heaven are you doing?! Anyone could see you.” He hissed, closing the door with a little too much force.

“Whose fault is that?!” You seethed in return. Anger was something you rarely ever felt but he was inspiring new things in you. “Someone shredded my clothes.”

Alastor’s ears folded back, eyes looking to the left and up, “Odd. Are you sure? Maybe you accidentally threw them away.” That devilish grin you’d come to expect. He knew damn well how stupid that was.

You stomped your foot, if you had two working hands you’d try to rip his antlers off, “Are you serious?!” You turned to leave, kicking the door before attempting to open it.

A large hand pressed back on the door, slamming it shut. His breath was dropping down the back of your neck despite his considerable height, “You will not be leaving this room in such a state of undress, my dear.”

His voice was so low and close, had anyone ever spoken to you with such a commanding tone? A new feeling twitched in you. You blocked it out.

“You don’t get to make decisions for me,” said too softly.

His other hand came to press on the door, too. An arm to either side of you, trapped, as he leaned in. You pressed yourself against the door to make distance from his body.

“Oh, I absolutely do. Who is going to stop me? You?” Alastor’s voice had noticeably dropped an octave as he whispered what felt like a challenge against your hair.

Who indeed…you had no strength, an arrow would either be useless or complicate things. Lucifer seemed preoccupied and jittery. Heaven wasn’t returning your prayers.

He took your silence as an answer.

“Exactly. Now, I’ll only ask nicely once.” His hands left, warmth on your neck fading. You turned to look at him, sensing his eyes burning holes into your back.

He was holding a two piece set. Older style, 1920s American maybe. Black and burgundy. When did he have time to get this when every hour seemed to be spent near you?

“May I help you get dressed?”

You’d gotten quite close with the few residents who didn’t run at the sight of Alastor. Husk was one of them. You became fast friends, often drinking and lamenting about Alastor’s general existence as Alastor sat some 15 feet away on the sofa. Still not allowed outside the hotel gates, your second week you spent many hours at the bar talking to the surprisingly kind grump.

To your delight Alastor didn’t seem bothered by it, oddly, as long as you were in eyesight he seemed content.

You thought maybe his mania was already waning. Sure you hadn’t attempted to leave the hotel, and you hadn’t argued when he dressed you, but…Ah, hm. Fuck.

Mania can look like Love when you don't struggle against it. A fly motionless in a web can elude the spider for a little bit.

Don't push against the restraints and you can forget they are there entirely.

But push you did, accidentally. Husk was making some new cocktails, trying to enjoy himself and be creative.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He grinned.

“Good?”

He took another sip before handing the glass to you. You grabbed it, taking a taste. Sweet but a bite as it went down. Something with citrus. When you looked up from the glass, he was gone.

A choking noise from behind the bar made you stand up in your seat, eyes flying from Husk to Alastor. A glowing green leash dragging Husk across the floor, his hands desperately pulling at the collar as he struggled to breath.

“Stop!” You shouted, crawling over the bar and grabbing the chain with your good arm. You tried to pull back, to slow the choking force, but got pulled along with it. “Alastor!” You screamed as your shoulder hit the floor and sent searing pain down your arm.

You could hear Husk gasp, the green glow disappearing from past your clenched eyelids.

“Why can’t you-,” Alastor started to speak a he came to your side. Husk scurried away, crawling back from the demon. You hit the hand Alastor offered you but were surprised to see his face painted with concern.

“I said stop.” After rolling to your feet you began to march away. “Every time I find something nice in this piece of shit domain you remind me I’m in hell.”

You had almost made it to your room when a hand pulled you by the good shoulder and pushed you against the wall. It still hurt.

“Don’t you know? Sharing a drink, it’s as close to a kiss as you could get without bringing your mouth to his.”

“It was a drink, Alastor. You had no right.”

His hand settled on your throat. No grip, just a gentle placement, “I have every right.” His brows knit together in worry, in confusion. “What should I do to make you understand me?” His hand came to your chin, thumb ghosting over your lips.

“If I let you go too far, someone will surely take you. Who wouldn’t? Please. Stop pushing me so much.” His eyes were almost loving as they shined down at you. His breath was picking up. You could hear the desperation in his voice.

Those damned eyes were unrelenting in their stare into your own. There was no creature in presence or audacity in heaven like Alastor. You’d never encountered anything like him.

“Of all the Love you had to take a stray hit from, Mania really was the cruelest accident.” You held your hand at the crook of your neck, wondering if you did more damage. No, if he did more damage.

“Mania? Is that the arrow I caught? How fitting.” His finger pulled down on your bottom lip. You’d seen this movie, you’d been there for these scenes in dorm rooms and under rainy awnings, in darkened beds and sunny fields. You could move, no part of him was actually holding you physically. “Yes, maybe I am obsessed. But whose fault is that? Will you take responsibility for it?” His chest was shaking with every breath. Why didn’t you move? Just walk away. Knock off that touch as you had been doing. You hadn’t noticed how quickly you were breathing, too, until his hand was pulling your chin up and towards his face.

It only came out as a whisper, half said as it was only half meant, “don’t.”

A laugh, “At least pretend you mean it.”

Your knees came together in some desperate attempt to stop the feeling creeping up your legs and to your lap, “Apologize to Husk.”

“Why would I ever do such a thing?” His breath was so warm on your mouth, face tilted to keep his nose from hitting yours.

“What a terrible reply!” You slid down the wall and slipped under his arms, “If you shadow work your way into this room I will fuck that horny spider on camera just to spite you.” You opened your door, pausing to make sure he was still down the hall, “Angel on Angel, working title.”

Your whole body went slack, the sounds of a wild animal loose in the hallway rocking the door as you took shaky steps to the bed, paintings on the walls rattling as he did unseen damage. Sounds of an unknown, unholy animal raging just past the thin drywall.

Had you ever seen Mania work so quickly with so little fuel? Hand coming to your mouth, a burning where his finger touched you.

No one had touched your lips before. No one could ever hope to. Humans were beyond the realm of feeling you, and you didn’t allow kissing with the partners you took in heaven. Personal rule. As in, it was too personal.

The lights in your room flickered, briefly shrouding you in darkness before coming back to life.

Deja vu.

Oh.

What had he introduced himself as? The radio demon? It wasn’t heaven who brought you to the hotel. Of course not.

No. Obviously not.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor smut #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor

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fellthemarvelous · 4 months

Text

Holy forking shirtballs

I'm choosing violence today. I started this on Twitter, but I'm going to finish my thoughts here like I always do.

But what really blows my mind the most is the way that people look at Aziraphale's "choice" at the end, as if he had one to fucking begin with.

I'm sorry, but Aziraphale knows how messed up Heaven is. He told The Metatron, more than once, that he did not want to go back to Heaven! We can debate what each of us means by "choice" all night because my "choice" and your "choice" might be two different concepts. He could have been strong armed by The Metatron or he could have looked at where things were headed and realized he had no choice but to intervene himself.

You need to ask yourself what Aziraphale has a moral imperative to do.

What do we owe to each other?

Seriously, if you have not watched The Good Place, I recommend you go and watch it, because it absolutely shaped how I've viewed Good Omens 2 since its release.

My levels of frustration with the bad faith mischaracterizations of Aziraphale are off the charts. If you are blaming him for everything, implying that he should have to grovel and that Crowley has a right to hurt him back, you have missed the point of Good Omens entirely.

I defend Aziraphale, but I don't think one of them is more right or wrong than the other. They're equals. They're a group of the two of them, acting and reacting to each other throughout history. They're Alpha Centauri.

I cannot even begin to explain how fucking devastated I felt when Crowley said these words, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. What he said took a lot of courage because he's finally admitting something they've both been too scared to publicly define for 6,000 years. Crowley has had to spend so long with a rough outer shell because he fell and had to hide all of his softness.

The look on his face was one of pure joy when he created that nebula, but I think the fact that he got to share that moment with Aziraphale is what has always stuck with him.

So yeah, seeing Crowley with a broken heart at the end of "Every Day" was sad for me as well.

My brain still lives here!!

But Neil has said that Good Omens 3 is not quiet, gentle, or romantic. I imagine it's going to be more like the the first season in which they are not central to the plot. GO2 will help us make sense of how they ended up where they are when we see the bigger picture with all the other major players involved with GO3.

Aziraphale was still a soldier and accidentally got himself discorporated in his own magic circle in season one. He had a platoon waiting on him to start Armageddon, and he deserted them to go save the world with Crowley instead. Aziraphale is a deserter. I need everyone to remember that. He yeeted himself out of Heaven and sought out Crowley before even locating a body just to warn him about what was happening so they could try to save the world together.

I can't help but think of 1941 and that magician who had been arrested for being a deserter.

Aziraphale disobeyed orders. That took courage but it branded him as a traitor against Heaven. They tried to destroy him for it the same way Hell tried to destroy Crowley for his part in stopping the war.

Aziraphale and Job are the only characters we have seen interacting with God directly. Aziraphale has spoken to God before and he is determined to do so again.

Aziraphale knows Heaven is flawed, but he also knows it's supposed to be good. He wants it to be good. He does not like the way the system works and he wants to make a difference. (And I'm pretty sure he's also determined to talk to God without being intercepted by The Metatron.)

Since when is that a bad thing? I don't get it. And I've had this discussion before.

If you need to change the system by burning the old one to the ground, it's still change, and we don't know what Aziraphale has planned.

It seems to me that people just want to see Aziraphale fail because it would punish him for returning to Heaven instead of running off with Crowley.

Some of y'all take everything Aziraphale says or does and twist those things into malicious anti-Crowley actions because you think the only reason Aziraphale exists is to make Crowley happy, and if he isn't thinking only about Crowley then he's doing something wrong.

Aziraphale does not exist as a plot device to further Crowley's character. They come as a pair. They've been learning from each other for 6,000 years. Crowley challenges Aziraphale just as much as Aziraphale challenges him.

You can be mad at Aziraphale all you want, but villainizing him is gross. Defending Crowley does not mean you have to tear down and mischaracterize Aziraphale anymore than defending Aziraphale means you have to tear down Crowley (but I don't see that happen on nearly the same level it happens to Aziraphale). Stop painting Aziraphale as an abusive partner, for fuck sake.

Aziraphale knows there are flaws in the system. He wants to make a difference, and since he has seen that Gabriel can change, then maybe the whole system can. He has to at least try, and if he can succeed then maybe he and Crowley can stop hiding and finally be together without having to look over their shoulders all the time.

Why is that a bad thing? He's just as protective of Crowley as Crowley is of him!

But don't forget that Aziraphale's wing was covering Adam and Eve too. As much as a wants to protect Crowley, he has a moral imperative to keep humanity safe as well.

He sent Adam and Eve into the unknown with a flaming sword so they could protect themselves.

As much as he wants to be with Crowley, there are 8 billion people on Earth heading toward the Second Coming and Judgment Day. They'll work together to fight alongside humanity in the end. Aziraphale should not have to humiliate himself just to earn Crowley's forgiveness. That's a rancid notion.

The Resurrectionist was a whole ass moral dilemma for Aziraphale, which is why I brought up The Good Place earlier, but that's a post for a different time.

Aziraphale has his own motivations and they're just as important as Crowley's, and they don't have to be chalked up to Aziraphale being the bad guy. Weird, I know, but shades of grey.

"To the world."

#good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale defense squad #yeah i'm being bitchy #no i don't care if you're offended #no i'm not interested in your aziraphale hate #i'm not interested in hearing takes about aziraphale being toxic from people who can't even be objective #some of y'all need to watch the good place because you need a lesson in moral philosophy #we should be able to have discussions about the characters without gross takes calling aziraphale abusive #az and crowley approach everything from wildly different perspectives because of where they are #just admit y'all shit on az because he doesn't look or act like crowley #I'm so done with the shitty aziraphale takes #they aren't even interesting enough to debate #they're just annoying

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solarsturniolo · 5 months

Text

Too Damn Long // C.S. pt5

by Natalie 💋

summary: chris hasn't gotten off in six weeks and desperately wants to get off.

tags: @oversturn @sturnioloskies @flowerxbunnie @m6ttsturniolo @simplysturn @megamett44-lover @lustfulslxt

Warnings: SMUT / mommy kink / sub(ish)!chris / sharing is caring / very dirty, very smutty, minors DNI / not proofread yet

DISCLAIMER: these stories are fictional :)

text - reader

text - chris sturniolo

Word Count: 2866

Rose petals and strawberries.

The smell drove him crazy. It was so strong, but so light at the same time; almost like it emitted from her naturally. “You’re so pretty,” he hummed, slipping his hand under the fabric of her shirt, his fingers grazing her skin. He leaned in, pressing kisses to her shoulder as his hand made its way up her torso, his knuckles brushing against the underwire of her bra. His breath caught in his throat at the sound she made. He nipped at her skin. “Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty.”

“Stop it, you’re making me blush,” she whined softly.

“Really?” he hummed, continuing to kiss her shoulder, trailing kisses to her neck. “That’s what got you?” he asked, amused with her reaction.

She shivered as his lips met her neck, feeling his other hand slide under her shirt. His large hands cupped her breasts, a soft moan eliciting from her. “Can I kiss you again?” He asked her. His hand slipped under the cup of her bra and he groaned. “Please,” he whispered, his rough calloused fingers gently tweaking her nipple, feeling it harden under his touch.

She nodded. “Y-Yes, you can kiss me, Chris,” she whispered as she tried to keep her composure. Chris barely let her finish before he leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a hungry kiss. A sound escaped her, she was shocked by his eagerness, but she met him with the same fervor. Running her fingers through his messy hair, she tugged on it softly. She felt him bite softly on her bottom lip, another soft sound passing her lips at his action. He smirked, an idea beginning to form in his head. He pinched her nipple, earning another lustful sound from her. He silenced her, kissing her hungrily again, slipping his tongue into her mouth while he had the chance.

He explored her mouth with his tongue, his cock throbbing at the disgustingly erotic sounds she was making. He stopped for a moment, his swollen lips ghosting over hers. “Can you taste yourself?” he growled lowly, smirking down at her. “Do you taste your sweet pussy on my tongue, baby?” She whimpered and nodded her head. “How do you taste, sweet girl?” he asked.

“G-Good,” she choked out.

“Just good?” He scoffed, lifting her chin to make her look up at him. “No, sweetheart. You taste like fuckin’ heaven. You’ve got God’s grace between those pretty legs of yours,” he hummed. His hands reached around her, gently unclasping her bra. She helped him rid herself of her clothes, tossing her shirt onto the floor, quickly followed by her bra. He pulled away for a moment, looking down at her chest. “Look at how pretty you are, mommy,” he smirked, cupping her breasts in his hands, the weight of them filling his palms. He pinched her nipples with his forefinger and thumb, biting his lip as he watched her squirm under his touch. He leaned in again, pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips, leaving a trail of sloppy open-mouthed kisses down her chin and neck, sucking softly at her collarbone. He gently twisted her nipples and she gasped at the feeling. He kissed her chest, dipping his head down closer to her breasts. “So pretty,” he repeated again, taking her left breast between his lips, sucking softly on her nipple while gently massaging her other breast with his hand.

She was a mess. “Ch-Chris,” she gasped, tugging gently on his hair again.

He lifted his head to look up at her, admiring her in the blissful desperation she was floating in. “Have I been a good boy tonight?” he asks.

“Yes, Chris,” she breathed out. “So fucking good.”

“Say it. Say I’ve been a good boy,” he whispered to her, his teeth gently grazing against her nipple. “Say that I’m your good boy.”

She swallowed the desperate pleas she was holding in, her eyes fluttering open to look at the man gazing up at her with lust drunken eyes. “You’re my good boy.” she whimpered.

In one swift motion he had her just the way he wanted her; her hips up, back arched, head down in the mattress. He sat himself up on his knees, leaning over her smaller figure. “Fuck, mamas. I can’t get over how pretty you look for me,” he mumbled, kisses being pressed along her spine. She let out a quiet muffled whine, turning her head to try and look back at him. He grasped a fistful of her hair, pushing her cheek down onto the mattress, causing her to whine again. “Fuck you’re so pretty,” he repeated again in a low grunt, spreading her legs apart with his knee. He stroked his painfully hard cock, moving his hips forward just enough for his cock to slide through her drenched folds. He moaned softly at the sight, his dick gliding over her clit with each slow thrust he made.

“Please,” she whined, not wanting him to tease her any longer. She rocked her hips to match his pace, craving to feel him inside of her. “Chris, mommy needs it so bad. Be a good boy for mommy,” she exhaled, pressing her hips back against his. Chris watched, almost hypnotized by the sight of her rocking her hips against his cock. “F-Fuck, stop teasing me,” she moaned, bringing a hand down between her legs. Chris shuddered as he felt her gentle touch on his shaft, stroking his length and causing him to let out a sound of approval. He groaned as he felt her position his tip at her entrance, whimpering as he felt her sink her hips back onto him. Chris was completely intoxicated with lust, watching his cock slowly disappear between her folds, feeling her body tense up as he entered her. He groaned again, slowly filling her up with his shaft and he leaned down, pressing sloppy kisses to her shoulder. “Tell me when you’re good, Ma,” he hummed, biting softly on her shoulder.

“S-Sorry. It’s been s-so long,” she replied, laughing a little as a wave of embarrassment washed over her. She blushed wildly, hiding her face into the bedding.

“Yeah, too damn long,” Chris agreed, breathing heavily into the crook of her neck. “Still feel just as good as I remember,” he purred as he pushed the last inch of his cock into her, bottoming out and holding her hips flush against his. “You take my cock so well, fuck I’ve missed you.”

Another minute passed as she adjusted to his size, feeling him completely fill her up. He waited patiently, covering her in kisses for the time being until she finally nodded her head, signaling that she was ready. Chris pressed a few more open mouthed kisses to her shoulder, beginning to move his hips at a tauntingly slow pace. He groaned softly into her skin, god he had missed this feeling. With each slow thrust of his hips, her tight cunt clenched around his shaft. Chris held her waist as he moved himself back to an upright position, guiding her hips back to meet his.

She whined, trying to look over her shoulder back at him again. “Chris, p-please, I-I’m ready, please go faster,” she pleaded. She gasped when he stopped his thrusts entirely, whining and pushing her hips back, moaning as his thick cock filled her up again.

Chris had to stop and watch as she rocked her hips, fucking herself back onto his cock. He had never seen her so desperate for him before, and this was the most erotic thing he had ever seen any woman do. She was so needy for him, she was so full of lust and desire that she couldn’t wait anymore and had to take matters into her own hands. He moaned, her pussy swallowing his cock. “Jesus, fuck,” he mumbled, pressing down on her back for a deeper arch. She whined, doing as he wished.

Chris couldn’t take it anymore. His hips snapped forward, causing the girl beneath him to let out a soft cry. “Fuck, mommy. Your pussy feels so good. All tight, just for me,” he mumbled, his hips snapping forward quickly again, burying his dick deep inside of her. “Did Matt get to fuck this pretty little pussy before I did?” he growled into her ear, slowly picking up his pace with his thrusts.

She moaned, biting softly at the pillow as he filled her with deep, rough strokes.

“Answer me,” he mumbled, biting her shoulder again. She let out another cry, rocking her hips back to meet his. She shook her head hesitantly, and Chris felt like his ego could explode. “You saved your tight little pussy for me?” he whispered, kissing the spot on her shoulder that he had bit. His hips snapped forward again at a decent pace, his cock slipping in and out of her with ease. “It’s okay, mommy,” he whispered, panting softly as he picked up the pace with his thrusts. “I’ll keep your secret. Nobody has to know, just you ‘n me. I’ll be a good boy and keep my mouth shut,” he chuckled.

Her brain felt foggy with how he was speaking to her, borderline degrading but still sickly sweet. It made her tummy turn and her legs shake. Each thrust he made drew out a moan from her lips, the tip of his cock grazing her cervix. “Making m-mommy feel so good,” she whispered in reply.

He leaned over her again, his chest pressing against her back as he buried his dick inside of her. He hooked an arm around the front of her waist, his fingers gently rubbing over her sensitive clit. “Yeah? Does that feel good, mommy? You like how good I fill you up?” he mumbled. She whined, clenching around his shaft, causing his hips to buck forward. “F-Fuck, don’t do that.”

“S-Sorry-”

“I don’t wanna cum yet,” he exhaled against her shoulder, leaning into her neck and kissing her skin gently. “But if you keep doing that, I might.”

She whined, backing her hips against his again. “Don’t stop,” she begged.

Chris chuckled darkly. “Does it feel good, baby? What do you need me to do?” he asked.

“Chris, fuck me,” she growled, looking back at him over her shoulder. Something in Chris switched on at her tone and he grabbed her by the back of her neck, shoving her face down into the mattress once more. He leaned down over her, kissing the shell of her ear. “Be careful what you wish for.”

No longer holding back, Chris’s thrusts became rough and quick, fucking her at an almost animalistic pace. A primal growl grew at the back of his throat, each thrust making her lurch forward and whimper like a little puppy. He began losing control of his thrusts, only growing faster and rougher with each snap of his hips against hers. “Fuck, mommy. I’m your good boy,” he grunted, brushing his stubbly cheek against her soft plush skin. His hips snapped forward against her supple ass, his dick and sack coated in her arousal as it gushed out of her. “I’m your good boy, mommy. Fuck, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so m-much mommy,” he choked out.

She was a wreck underneath him, unable to keep up with the speed and intensity of his thrusts, his dick fucking into her mercilessly, his fingers rubbing circles over her clit, stimulating her in all the right ways. She was lost in her lustful bliss. “More,” she barely whispered, her jaw going slack as sweet noises fell from her lips. “P-Please, m-more. More,” she panted.

“Saved all of my cum for you, mommy,” he exhaled. “Six fuckin’ weeks. I waited six fuckin’ weeks to get myself off. I’ve been so fucking good. I’ve been such a good boy,” he whined, his thrusts growing impossibly faster. “Fuck, please let me cream in your pretty little pussy,” he panted, his sweaty forehead pressing against her shoulder. He licked his lips, the pleasure coursing through his body feeling almost addictive. “N-Need to cum inside of you, mommy. F-Fuck, I’m such a messy boy, I’m your messy boy, p-please,” he begged.

She couldn’t even form a coherent thought. “M-More,” she whined, pornagraphic moans being the only other thing she could get out. She arched her back deeper, crying out as he had access to a different angle, one that hit her cervix with every single stroke. “M-More, p-please God, more,” she whimpered. His fingers circled her clit faster, he could feel her tightening around him.

He moaned softly into her ear. “Mommy, please. Tell me I can cum inside of you. Tell me I can breed your pretty pussy. Please, I-I have so much. I-I’m begging you. Just wanna paint your pretty cunt with my cum. God, p-please. I’m so close,” he panted. “I’m a good boy, I’m so good for you. I-I’m a good boy,” he began to whimper, his thrusts growing sloppy and uneven, but still rough and fast nonetheless.

She whined. “Y-Yes, Chris,” she breathed out. “Y-Yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck yes.”

“Say it.”

Her mind was fuzzy. All she could think about was him. He rubbed her clit faster, feeling her clench around his shaft. “F-Fuck, Chris,” she squeaked out, closing her eyes tightly.

“Say it.” He growled. “I know you want to, mommy. All you gotta do is say the word.”

“Fuck, Chris, please,” she begged him. “Fill me, cum in me.”

He did not need to be told twice. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, mommy. Gonna fill your tight pussy with my cum, fuck you’re gonna look so pretty with it gushing outta you,” he panted. She moaned at his filthy words, her thighs shaking as he brought her closer to her orgasm. “Want you to cum first,” he mumbled, his other hand grasping her breast, tweaking her nipple between his fingers.

The extra stimulation from him is what sent her over the edge. She tightened around him, waves of pleasure rolling through her body, sweet erotic moans spilling out of her helplessly. Her arms collapsed under her. She felt her brain growing foggy, the warmth from her orgasm making her shudder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Chris whined, his voice raspy and breaking with each noise he made. “Fuck, Mommy, I’m gonna make a mess, fuck I’m gonna make such a mess,” he panted. He pulled out of her momentarily, gently rolling her over onto her back. “You okay?” he exhaled, trying to catch his breath, positioning himself at her entrance again.

“Yes,” she nodded, looking up at him with glassy lust-filled eyes.

He nodded, burying his dick inside of her again, hissing softly as she clenched around him. It didn’t take long for him to match his previous pace. He pressed kisses to her face, his hand cupping one of her breasts. “So fuckin’ pretty, mommy. God, you’re so pretty,” he whispered against her cheek.

“P-Please,” she whined, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling his hips impossibly closer to hers. “C’mon, baby. I know you’ve got one more for me,” she purred.

Chris panted, his thrusts growing sloppy again. “F-Fuck, mommy. I-I’m cumming,” he whined. His hips snapped forward a few more times, whorish moans falling from his plump swollen lips. “I’m cumming, fuck I’m cumming. Fuck,” he cried out, burying his dick inside of her one last time. The knot in his stomach exploded, his load shooting inside of her in thick white ropes. He moaned as each rope of cum drained from his cock. He pressed loving sweet kisses to her face, his forehead gently touching hers. “F-Fuck,” he whined, his eyes fluttering closed.

“You did so good for me, pretty boy. So, so good.” Her voice was soft, her fingers gently ran through his messy sweaty hair. Chris laid on top of her, breathing heavily and nestling his face into the crook of her neck. He pressed light feathery kisses to her skin. Even after all of that, the sweet smell of roses and strawberries surrounded him. He winced slightly, an aftershock making his body lurch forward, his hips thrusting. He grunted, the muscles in his back flexing with every little wave of aftershock he was hit with. His chest rose and fell with unsteadiness, quick sharp breaths leaving him. “That’s it, baby. You did so well. ‘M so proud of you.”

His hips bucked again, another grunt muffling into the crook of her neck as a final wave of pleasure ran through him. “S-Stay,” he whimpered, brushing the tip of his nose against her shoulder. “Please.”

“Chris, I-”

“Don’t go just yet,” he mumbled, kissing her shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweet boy,” she reassured him, her nails gently massaging his scalp. He hummed, kissing her shoulder again. “D’you want me to see if Matt can pick up some food on his way home?” she asked.

“Mhm.”

“Anything in particular you want?”

“Mmmphh.”

“That’s not an answer,” She laughed.

Chris smiled. He loved making her laugh, even the tiniest bit. It fed him some sort of satisfaction, he didn’t get that feeling from anything else. “I don’t care, whatever you want, Mamas.”

------------------------------

a/n: inbox me for new story ideas! :)

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ghostievampylady · 11 months

Text

♱ the proper use of a belt

simon "ghost" riley

in which your Lieutenant teaches you how he can use his belt, that is steading your head while he deepthroats his cock inside your mouth

cw: smut, pwp, deepthroat, tears, really messy bj, size difference, choking, begging, gagging, hair pulling, neck holding, degrading nicknames, cum swallow, dom!ghost.

the following story is inappropriate for minors, be careful of what you consume online

"C'mon, lovie-" He had both of his hands fisting your hair and guiding your head closer to his hip. "I know you can open your mouth a little more to me, darling".

Damn the day you were put together with him for a mission that got both of you running from the enemies and having to hide in a small cabin along the woods. But damn the day they don't do it again, because you were on the verge of tears, but absolutely liking your position right on that moment.

You don't know if it was for the rush of adrenaline, running away from deep down armed men, but the moment you both found that cabin you saw the bulge on Ghost's jeans pants.

That being said, you were now on your knees, mouth open and locking your eyes with Ghost's brown ones. He looked at you sweetly but heaven knows how wicked his mind was playing right at that moment. The desire to make you swallow his cock, feel his cum go down your throat, making you choke at the liquid.

As he asked you to open your mouth more, you shot a glare at him, even though the grip from his hand at the nape of your neck made you whimper from pleasure. What did he want? Deepthroat you? Sorry but that seemed almost impossible with his length.

"Gh- fuck, I can't." You had your hand wrapped around his cock, mouth taking what you could, feeling the hard member twitch inside your cavity. You heard him chuckle and shake his head.

"Don't you believe in yourself? Let me show how you can do it, dear." He moved inside the cabin, finding an old and seemingly falling to pieces chair, one of the only things inside that place.

He sat down, spreading his legs, giving you a full view of the unfastened belt and unzipped pants from where you were, just a few meters away still knees on the ground. He ran his hands on his thick covered thighs, groaning as he could feel blood rushing through his hardened cock, dripping a mix of spit and precum on the ground.

"Come here." The sound of his left foot tapping on the ground ecoed in the empty room, you gulped, anticipating the next step of your filthy adventure and appreciating the man at your front.

You kneeled on the ground, right in the middle of his legs and placed your hands on his thighs. He lifted the balaclava, showing his mouth, lips fitting into a grin.

"You're so beautiful, looking at me like that, you really like to follow my orders, don't you?" He said, caressing your right cheek with his hand, running his fingers above your mouth, slightly parting your lips and allowing his index and middle finger play with your tongue.

After some seconds he seemed to get ready for what he was planning and stopped teasing you, removing his fingers and placing a gentle yet fast kiss on your lips, returning the balaclava to its traditional position.

"Let's start slowly this time, alright?" You nodded eagerly once he finished the sentence.

He then gripped at the back of your head, combing the hair with his fingers and moving your face again to his crotch area. With the free hand he held his cock right above your face, touching and running it all over your cheeks and finally lips, where he stopped.

"Tongue out, now." Ghost demanded, seeing you open your mouth the wider you could, sticking your red tongue out ready to receive him. A view that made an electric feeling run trough his spine. "God, you're dirtiest little plaything I've ever seen".

He lowered your head on his cock and finally the warm and wet feelings got back, making you whimper as you felt every inch caressing your tongue, slow enough to make you go crazy. His member was a twitching mess, veiny and heavy. You got to a significant part of it without gagging, finally doing it by a purposeful and unpredictable thrust from the man.

You gagged, making spit and more fluids run down your chin and down your neck. Hearing someone laugh you looked up to see the amusement of the man, he was fucking laughing at you gagging at his dick. You gathered all of your ego and refused to let any inch more leave your mouth.

"Oh... dirty girl is gagging but won't let my cock out, such a good slut," He felt your shushed moan trembling around him, causing such a good sensation he could cum right there. "Let's do it one more time, darling. You have to breath slowly for me, right? "

Ghost placed one of his hands on the side of your throat, making a small pressure, while the other remained at the back of your head. He then thrusted up in one swift and slow movement, making you whimper and cry out after feeling his cock enter fully inside your mouth.

"Fucking good, you're swallowing me whole." He groaned thrusting one more time, not letting you move your head.

Just when you were feeling the slightly grown out hair from his happy trail, you tapped his thigh making him let loose of you a little. You were hearing such dirty things leaving his mouth, and also feeling a pool forming on your underwear. The feeling of being choked and gagged on his cock was so depraved and hot to you.

"More... Please, Ghost!" Were the only words that left your mouth.

It was like you've seen something inside him burn after those words. He then pulled his belt out of his pants with one hand and placed it straight after your head, holding both ends with his hands, by the curve of his thighs. This way you had your head pressing exactly on his happy trail, seeing his cock closely enough that it was pressing on the tip of your nose.

"This time no more learning, darling. I'll do it my way and I'll do it rough." He thrusted against your face and in the small space left you managed to get his cock inside your mouth.

And you suddenly understood why you were fucked, because nothing was holding your head, just the pressure of the belt he was holding forcing you down. He started with a few slow thrusts making you ready for the next steps, you could see how his hips moved skillful, a glint of sweat tracing down the exposed part of his abdomen.

In mere seconds you were a mess again, gagging fully as he thrusted in and out of your mouth faster, forcing you down by tightening the grip on both ends of his belt.

"Fu-Fuck, lovie. Look at you, are those tears? Don't cry, let me give you sometime to breath." He let your head go up, mouth leaving his member with a 'pop' sound, the sensation of emptiness coming back. Ghost's observed one more time the line of fluids connecting your mouth and chin to his cock.

He gathered the wetness with his hands and moved to his shaft, motioning it up and down, the vision making your mouth water. Without a warning he got up from the chair, placing one of his foot on it and lowering his pants more so his balls could hang freely.

He pushed you closely, holding you by your neck one more time, and forcing him down your throat. This time you didn't gag, instead embraced his thighs with your hands and moaned around his shaft.

"Ohhh... fuck-" He thrusted non-stopping inside your mouth, balls hitting your chin. You were completely degraded, the small amount of eye makeup you still managed to wear during the missions were running down your cheeks, your hair was tangled and you felt sweat taking over your body.

Ghost wasn't different, his hips snapping fast but erratically, voice down and raspy, letting profanities such as "Good, you're my fucking slut", "Trained your throat so well so take me, lovie", "Swallowing all my cock, darling" together with a variety mix of other swearing. He still managed to hold your head down though, but he could swear that by this time it wasn't even necessary.

You could tell he was close and you wanted him to cum down your throat so bad, but didn't want to stop so you could tell him, just letting your eyes and whimpers beg for you. Looking into his own like your life depended on receiving his warm seed there, a message that he completely understood.

"F-fuck, I get it," He didn't stop his thrusts, becoming more unsteady "Gonna cum so hard and you're swallowing like the good whore you are"

Mere seconds after he finished that sentence he stopped thrusting and held your head down, moaning his pleasure inside that little cabin. You were gripping his thighs, brows furrowing and slowly downing his cum. Hot, salty and sinful.

He let out of your head, still supporting your body with his legs, himself taking leverage on the wall by his side. You were a babbling mess, holding his leg for your dear life, slowly coming down to earth.

"Fuckin' hell." He said, finally being able to move correctly after some minutes in that position, eyeing a sink in the corner of the small space.

Ghost's grabbed you by the waist, making you straddle him, holding as he pulled the chair to the side of the sink. He was quiet now, he is quiet. Concentrating on wetting a cloth he kept on his pocket in the thin line of water that left the sink.

You were placed on the chair, eyes still locked at him, no words to spare as he cleaned your whole face. Taking out all the runny makeup and impurities, aftercare needed after what he did to you.

"Are you okay, darling?" He crouched in front of you, eyes smiling at your way, satisfied.

"That was the craziest shit I've ever done. No words to spare," You started laughing his way "You're freaky dude, I like it".

Dude.

"I suppose I'm still your Lieutenant" He said as more of a joke but also smashed by being called a dude "Do you think we can finish the mission?"

You chuckled and got up, senses finally coming back. Walking through him and picking up your gun and backpack on the ground, waiting by the door.

a/n: Hi, everyoneee. This is Aurora, I tried writing this and hope you liked!

#ghost smut #simon riley #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod mw x reader #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost imagine #simon riley imagine

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merlinssassybeard · 11 months

Text

'Ex' Husband Gojo

Tags- fem reader x Gojo, swearing, angst.

Synopsis: The reader had a miscarriage and her husband wasn't there with her to give her support and now she's mentally shaken. Y/n decides to divorce him and but things take a way different turn...

Gojo and reader are married for 4 yrs and love each other profoundly but a terrible accident happened with reader and caused reader a miscarriage and was going through a very bad time. Reader wanted Gojo there to help mentally and emotionally but he was busy with curses...

"Satoru", you began with a shaky voice.

Your husband Satoru Gojo had all your attention the moment you said his name.

You had called up Satoru to the Tokyo estate, your marital home, for 'an important emergency talk'. These words were enough for Gojo to run from his busy packed schedules to run home to check up on you.

"Hmm?", Satoru hummed indicating you he's all ears. Both seated opposite to each other in the kitchen.

"Satoru, i-", you hesitated but continued, " Satoru, i want divorce...."

At first, he was unresponsive, still processing whether the words he heard were real or some weak residual cursed technique from cursed spirits left on him considering he came right after finishing a mission.

"Divorce?" Satoru came to his senses, "is this... some sort of.. joke my love MRS y/n? Cus' I'm really not liking it!", he tried to laugh it off.

But this wasn't a joke.

Not for you.

You're done.

Done giving him all of everything you have and receiving none.

You had your head slightly bowed down, unable to summon the energy, the strength to look right into his eyes. "This is not a joke, Satoru Gojo.", "i cannot live like this anymore".

Satoru knew it was indeed serious by the tone of it so he's demeanor changed as well.

"Why is it so y/n?", he mumbled in his soft husky voice while extending his hand towards yours to hold. "Is it something i did? You know you can tell me. I told you beforehand marrying me wasn't going to be easy, you remember?"

Yes he is right. He did told you a bazillion times when you nagged him for marriage anytime and everytime you saw him breathing around you. He had told you enough times that being his wife and also in a conservative society isn't going to be a cakewalk. 'Once married, there is no way out of the marital bond since its a holy bond, blessed by the heavens themselves' or as they said, but you didn't care, at that time.

"Reasons don't matter.", you flinched your hands away from his approach and passed the envelope with the papers and got up. "You'll find my signatures in there. Please be civil. Don't want any drama."

Satoru didn't knew what to say since he didn't even expected such a devastating and mind boggling news either. He had just finished his mission overseas and had taken only an hour of rest before being assigned another 'clean up' duty (messed/botched mission by another sorcerer) and in the middle of it he gets your call for an emergency meet up at the house.

He has been working all around the clock and came home to see you, hoping to receive kisses or you expecting souvenirs, which he had plenty just for you. But instead he got this ..... a farewell?

Gojo stayed seated there, watching you leave the kitchen to the room. He stayed seated there for a moment wondering what did he do, where did he go wrong, did he go wrong? Are you alright? Is this a cry for help? Is everything okay with you?

He wanted to check up on you so he got up to head towards the bedroom where you were but stopped dead in his tracks when it hit him, the reason....

"Y/n", you heard the door slide open and Gojo calling your name.

He opened the door and saw you were.... packing? God, you're really not joking.

"Yes?", you gathered the strength to look up at him for the first time in months! Due to his 'business trips' and you swear to god you would have fell down crying as your knees went weak.

"Is it...", he stumbled to say further but he knew he had to confront you with this, "is it because of that thing we talked about? On the phone?"

You knew you will burst out crying in front of him if he talked any further and because of that you couldn't speak either, holding tight onto lips to avoid the tears.

"Uh huh mmmhh mmmhh" you nodded and tried to avoid eye contact.

Oh no! Satoru knew he messed up. But he couldn't just let you... leave!? How could he? He knows and you too, that you are the only person who makes him vulnerable to the point he acts like child, only with you. You are the only one who actually makes him happy and content with his life in this miserable shite world. No words describe your and his relationship. So just how could he just let you leave?

"Y/n. I get it. You want kids." He mumbles, "then we'll have kids! Okay?" He declared.

You looked at him, and when he said that he looked as if he's been held under gun point, reluctant, yet... determined?

No! Yes, you do want children but the role of a father cannot be forced upon a man! That way the child will only be a 'burden' rather than a child born out of love and acceptance.

"No need." You announced and turned your back to him and started putting your clothes in the bag. "My mind can't be changed"

Gojo was left puzzled. He is ready to give you what you had been asking the day you both got married, what his and your parents wanted and the entirety of the Jujutsu Society had a keen eye on.

"I can't let you leave y/n like this", he said not knowing what to do either.

"Okay, I'll put on some fresh clothes.", you replied unbothered.

"No y/n i I told you once you're married you can't!", Satoru tried to come up with some reasoning.

"How the FUCK i cannot?" You yelled right onto his face, throwing the dress in your hand on the floor, annoyed at everything and anything.

"You just CAN'T!", Satoru tried to hold his sanity together.

"I AM FUCKING LEAVING! Divorce or NOT!", You snapped at him and went to pick the dress up and put it in the bag.

"Listen y/n, we can't go with divorce, it'll cause a lot of talk in the family and there's more but we just can't...", he tried to reason with you calmly but you were not in the mood.

"Why do you suddenly want me in your life when from the past fucking 4 years all you have done is being out on your trips?" You sneered and mocked, "Announcing we're going to have kids! Wow! That's not how it works Satoru!"

Satoru now lost it.

"Then what IS IT YOU WANT!? Haven't i given enough? You wanted this marriage! Not me! But i went for it because it was you! Went against my family for you and kept you away from them but what do you care" (your in-laws are toxic and would love to dance over your grave)

"Thats because i refuse to be your whore! You called me up whenever you felt like it. Might as well be your wife rather than just be some whore you sleep with on friday nights."

You recognized what you just babbled out and its disgusting. Your hands involuntarily moved and covered your mouth. You couldn't ever fathom the words you puked.

It is NOT like that! Not at all! You love Satoru, you Have been for a long time! And to have him as your husband is a dream come true! But how could say such lowly things.

Satoru just stood there. It was like one explosion after the other. So that is it? You came to him... for looks? For money? For sex? Goddammit! Satoru wanted to laugh because women of his family warned him not to marry some average human girl, saying further that you'll rob him of his money one day. But he didn't and just stood there watching the horror in your eyes unfold.

Satoru saw you as the only person in his life that made him actually understand the definition of love. Especially someone human, a non sorcerer like you. Thought of you made him content and calm, knowing he has someone waiting for him...... but not anymore.

He rubbed his temple as he'd been without an eye covering this whole time and his head ached a little with all this drama unfolding. He smiled through and looked at you, "that's what you think of me y/n?"

"No-no Satoru! Thats not what meant! Ugh! I don't want the divorce anymore!-"

He interrupted, "ah its okay, totally okay. I'll sign em."

Gojo was awfully calm and collected and you knew that when he's like this he would explode like a volcano if irked.

"No i will not let you!" You screamed and pushed him and ran out of the room in a frenzy to retrieve the divorce papers and tore the sections with your signature into tiny unrecognizable trash.

Satoru walked into the kitchen and just stood there. "You can have this house. I'll have Ijichi send down some papers later."

You eyes widened, "what..... papers?"

"Separation papers", he replied.

His gaze went around the house randomly and said, "since you don't wanna be a-" he stop and looks at you but continues.

"Since you do not wish to be a 'whore', you're free from me. I don't want chaos in both of our families so im suggesting separation. Yeah? Works in favor of both of us"

You were shook. You knew what you were doing when you brought the divorce papers but you didn't expected it to become so real.

"I'm leaving now. I'll send for my things so please don't throw my things just yet! Haha." Satoru was throwing jokes at a moment like this.

Damage has been done.

You ran out as soon as you saw him leave. You kept saying that its not what you meant and there's more to it and what not. But he just wore his blindfold and got into the car.

You saw him shut the door on your face and uttered his last words as your husband to you....

"Congratulations, Ms y/n. This'll be the last time you'll see me and when you think you're ready for divorce, lemme know!"

Part 2

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