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upsidedownwithsteve · 5 months

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[2.1K] Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+

The week following your night with Steve, you’d had absolutely no problem getting yourself off.

Every night, you lay in bed before sleep took over, your hand shoved down the front of your sleep shorts, fingers slipping clumsily and a little unpracticed over yourself, eyes clenched shut and lips parted silently as you thought about your best friend.

His digits were longer than yours, thicker, able to reach places you couldn’t, filling you up in a way you’d never felt before. But you could hear Steve’s voice in your ear as you swirled messy circles over your clit, chasing that throbbing feeling as you remembered his words.

“Has someone done that to you? Has someone put their mouth here?”

Cheek pressed to the pillow, pushing low whines into the cotton, legs spreading wider, knees hitched up as you fought to catch that feeling only Steve was able to give you before.

“Do you like it when I talk to you?”

He’d whispered it in your ear, breath warm against your cheek, hitching and gasping when you had tightened around him.

“My girl likes hearing dirty things, right? Like when I asked you if someone had gone down on you? If you’d had someone’s tongue here?”

Stomach tensing, the hook there tightening, skin too warm, the idea of your best friend laying between your thighs, your legs thrown over his shoulders too much for you to handle. Would he do it real soft for you? Would he lick over you like a man starved? Only breaking away to talk filth into your slick skin? Would he tell you how good you tasted, how sweet you were?

You came hard, back arching, a gasp leaving your lips, fingers moving until it was too much and you had to stop, sliding slick over your bare stomach as you relaxed back into the bed, butter on a hot day.

The next day, you vowed to ask Steve.

Just half a beer, that’s all it took. A few long drags, a movie that was never started, the tape half in the VCR and Steve’s bedroom lights low. Lingering looks, mussed sheets, anticipation heavy in the air like summer, a growing heat that settled on your skin and it fucking buzzed. It fizzed, it glittered.

“Did you really mean what you said?” You asked out the blue, pulling Steve from the TV set, leaning back on his pillows like you belonged there. “The other night, last week? About how it was a shame that no one had— no had ever… gone down on me.”

Steve stopped, the tape forgotten, his eyes wide as he looked at you over his shoulder. He watched the way your thighs rubbed together under your dress, a thin summery thing, delicate straps and material cut out of the sides, your skin on show between the buttercup yellow cotton. You watched him swallow, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his gaze got a little darker, the words he remembered telling you coming back to him.

“Shit, you look so damn pretty, you know that? I could do that for you though, if you wanted.”

Steve cleared his throat, rose up from when he’d been kneeling in front of the television, blurry static crackling, forgotten about. His knees bumped the edge of his bed as stood over you, breath hitching as he took you in, eyes trailing over bare legs and upupup until they settled on your mouth, the way you licked at your bottom lip nervously.

“Yeah,” he croaked, his voice already shot. You looked so pretty. He remembered what you looked like when you came, head thrown back against his shoulder, crying out his name in soft, heaving gasps. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. “Yeah, yeah. I meant it.”

“Could put my mouth on you, let you know if you’re really as sweet as you look.”

“Have you been thinkin’ about it?” Steve asked, his voice sweet and soft. He smiled when you nodded, huffing out a breath like it was all too much. “Yeah? Fuck, sweetheart, so have I. Did you get yourself off, did you manage?”

He wanted to be filthier, he wanted to ask dirty, dirty questions. He wanted to know exactly what you thought about when you touched yourself. If you thought about him, if you got as wet as you had with him the week before. He wanted to know if you made the same noises in the quiet of your own room, if you whispered his name when you came.

Instead, Steve moved onto the bed, a little clumsy as the mattress dipped but he stayed by your feet, a hand reaching out to bravely curl around your ankle, your frill lined socks tickling his palm. One tug and he could spread your bent knees open for him, dragging you down his bed until your hair fanned over his pillows and he could push your thighs apart. Steve wondered if you’d let him.

Maybe he could find out.

You nodded, lips parted and already panting, barely able to form words. Steve’s thumb was circling over the skin of your ankle, slowly coasting upwards until his warm palm sat against your calf. He rubbed there too, fingers pushing at your skin like dough, all plush and soft and pliant for him. Your thighs parted, if just a little.

“Every night,” you whispered, eyes closing at his touch, the heated embarrassment creeping over your skin at your confession. You weren’t sure you were supposed to look your best friend in the eye when you told them you’d come on your own fingers, thinking about them. “Couldn’t help it, just- just needed to touch myself.”

You heard the boy groan, low and throaty, his hand climbing higher, laying on his side at your feet so you could feel his warm breath ghost over your shins. You let your legs fall apart again, inch by inch, eyes still closed until your feet slid across the sheets in opposite directions, knees parting. You felt Steve’s lips there, on the inside, at the sensitive skin, a barely there kiss.

“Did you come?”

You swore, breath hitching, nodding as you chewed on your bottom lip, hands coming up to press over your eyes, as if you could hide from him. Mortification was crawling over you, despite how Steve had had his fingers inside of you mere days before, how he’d watched you come, how he had a clear view of your spread thighs and the damp cotton clinging to your cunt, right now.

“Can I make you come again?” The boy sounded wrecked and the question made you open your eyes, gaze stuck on his like honey. “Please.”

You nodded, as if you’d ever say no to that. Like that wasn’t what you wanted.

You expected the boy to launch himself at you then, to grab and pull and kiss and nip. But as heavy as Steve’s gaze was, he moved slow, careful. His hands found your ankles again, one around each leg and he dragged them further apart, his eyes on yours. The static of the TV fizzed and outside the open bedroom window, you heard the Harrington’s sprinklers turn on.

“Lemme see,” Steve whispered, his tone that same sweet rasp as before. He nodded encouragingly when your hands found the hem of your dress, his smile soft, if not a little dirty. His chest was falling and rising faster and faster, his white t-shirt taught over his broad chest and shoulders. “There’s a good girl, fuck, honey.”

You flushed as you did as you were told, the hem of your sundress dragging up your thighs by your own hands. The material was still fisted between your fingers as you held it around your hips, legs spread obscenely, cotton underwear a cherry red, lace trimmed and with an obvious damp spot.

“Can I use my mouth?” Steve asked, murmuring, already moving between your knees, his stomach pressed to the bed. “Wanna taste you properly. Shit, can I do that? Please? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

You whined, high and needy, nodding enthusiastically as you sucked in a breath. “Fuck, can you? Please, Steve, I want that, god, I really want that, haven’t stopped thinking about it, imagining it, shit.”

You swore Steve’s eyes rolled at your words, his hands coming to curl around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him, nose pushing at where your hands lay over your stomach, still clutching your dress. He pressed a kiss there, lips grazing over the skin under your navel.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You didn’t get a chance to reply before the boy was bringing his mouth down, open and pushing against your clothed cunt, tongue a hot, wet press over your folds, prodding gently until he found your clit between them. It was an instantaneous reaction, your body seizing up at the unfamiliar touch, an electric sensation, your body a livewire under Steve’s lips. He hushed you softly when you gave a weak cry, pushing at your inner thighs to keep you open for him.

He licked up your cunt, tongue dragging over the cotton, soaking it more and more until the fabric was clinging to the outline of you, until he could tease the tip of his nose over the spread of you, bumping against your clit. The noise your cunt made as he finally pulled your underwear from you was filthy, a wet sound that made his cock kick up in his jeans.

“Feel good?” Steve cooed, voice sticky with affection and awe for you. Your dress was rucked messily over your stomach, one strap sliding off your shoulder as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, bringing your bare cunt closer than before. Each word settled over your slick skin and made you twitch. “Nice, yeah? You gonna tell me, honey? Tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel, huh?”

“So good,” you breathed out, voice and words garbled between moans, your hands dropping from your stomach to clutch at the sheets on each side of you. But Steve wasn’t having any of that. He tsked, letting go of your legs only to coax your hands into his hair instead, hissing when you grabbed hard. “Fuck, Steve, please. More, please, feels so good, too good, I can’t, I--”

He wouldn’t have you begging, he wouldn’t dare. Steve wanted to give you everything you wanted, so he wasted no more time, surging forward the mere few inches it took to get his mouth back on you. Steve kissed over your cunt with the enthusiasm of a man who’d been starved of the one thing he wanted most. Lips pressed to you, tongue sneaking out to taste you, gathering up your slick only to press it to your clit. He hummed as you cried for him, eyes squeezing shut as you pulled on his hair, tugging him closer until his tongue was pushing into your entrance and his nose was nudging your clit.

He was shiny with you, mouth and chin wet and slick, eyes fluttering shut and rolling to the back of his head every time you gave his hair a good yank, your hips lifting to catch his tongue. He groaned, murmuring out pretty phrases like, ‘such a good girl’ and ‘so fuckin’ sweet for me.’

Steve lapped at you until you came, tongue soft but persistent, intent on you making you fall apart with just his mouth, groaning in want as he watched your entrance clench around nothing. He sucked and licked at your clit until you shattered, until you couldn’t take it any longer. Your back arched like last time, head thrown back into the pillows that smelled like him instead of against his shoulder, but Steve decided he liked this view just as much.

The boy tasted like you when you kissed him, half dragging him up your body as you panted, dress still messy around your waist, unabashed in your nakedness. Unlike the time before, Steve was miraculously still hard, desperate and aching under his jeans as he’d tried his best not to rut against the bed as he ate you out. Your palm grazed over his cock, smiled into his kiss when it twitched under your hand, his hips canting into your touch.

You only pulled away from his lips to press him onto the bed, switching your positions. Your dress fell back down, covering your sticky thighs and Steve was ready to protest, until you tucked your fingers around the button of his jeans and popped it open.

He let out a curse, breathing heavily, eyes half lidded and watching you. You quirked a brow, asking a silent question you were pretty sure you knew the answer to - this wasn’t a case of a friend helping a friend, not anymore.

You waited. Steve nodded.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot

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frostyhelltime · 12 days

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I Said Don't Touch My Hair

Basically someone fucks with curly haired GN!Reader's hair and promptly finds out.

Characters Listed: Alastor, Vox, Lucifer.

Warnings: Violence, but it has Vox and Alastor being pissed off, so what did we expect?

Author's Note: I have really curly hair, 3A or 3B typically. And it frustrates me to no end when people just walk up to me and start touching my hair without even asking. Especially if I spent a lot of time making my hair look extra nice that day. So I got to thinking I wonder what the guys would do if someone approached their lover and did something like that?

If anyone wants me to do this for additional characters let me know. I just thought I would start with these three.

Also hope you like the graphics! I made them myself!

Alastor

It's a distinct possibility this person doesn't even get to lay a hand on you, actually. Ever cognizant and aware, especially when it comes to possible threats to you, he likely has this person on his radar before you do. He is the type of person that's typically five steps ahead of everyone else, and he prides himself on it.

It's during a pleasant stroll on the way to Cannibal Town to have tea and coffee with Rosie that some fool accosts you.

Rosie has been pestering him for the better part of a month to introduce his little paramour and he has finally given in because you were just as excited to meet one of his friends.

In fact you had been so excited you made sure to put extra care into your curls today, wanting to impress. He knew from you only partially jokingly berating Angel when he played with your hair that you didn't like it mussed up when you actually put serious effort into their appearance.

But he can't find it in himself to be annoyed or anything of the sort at the people he passes by when he sees your bright smile as you walk, arm in arm, together. He's also smiling as well, of course, but looking at you the smile turns more soft and genuine for a split second, a chuckle on the tip of his tongue about some joke you made when he sees some stranger's hand reaching for your curls.

Although his smile remains ever present, the scrunch of his nose and furrowing of his brow belay his true feelings.

"Ah ah ah. Don't you know it's improper to touch someone without their permission?" His voice rings out with a thicker layer of static, freezing the demon who stupidly hadn't even realized exactly whose arm you were on. He's annoyed at the way his voice takes on an extra edge of static as you turn around to face the poor soul who probably wasn't much longer for his world. He doesn't like that it could be apparent he's so annoyed. Oh well.

"How repulsive." He mocks, delighting in the clear terror they were feeling as they back up and away from you, as if that will save them.

"Don't worry though, my good fellow. It's a mistake I'll be sure you don't make twice. Someone has to teach you some manners, after all." His voice drops low, letting his form shift taller, antlers elongating and becoming more angular, neck craning forward and stretching to reach the man who was already attempting to run away, maliciously excited grin growing closer and closer.

You release his arm, knowing he'll be back once he's done. You also know he would be even more upset if your clothes got ruined by the blood of this poor uneducated sinner who he plans to teach some manners, and goodness knows the last thing this demon needs is another reason for Alastor to be mad at them.

With a twist and a rip of his claws, once, and twice, the sinner finds themselves violently robbed of their hands and begins blubbering for forgiveness. Alastor blinks at the pathetic creature and brings the hands closer to his maw. He swallows the two offending hands without even a second thought, tilting his head to look at the sinner quivering in delightful fear as if pondering what to do with him next. He takes another step forward and is about to continue when he hears your voice ring out.

"Alastor dear, we're going to be late. I'm sure he's learned his lesson. We don't want to keep Rosie waiting, do we?"

"Ah you're right. We can't be late, it's so impolite. I'm afraid I won't get to continue your lesson." He sighs and then tuts at the sinner frozen in fear, who is still unsure if he's actually going to get to live or not.

Alastor's eyes shift from yours to his prey and his claws give one final rip through flesh as if to punctuate his 'lesson', pulling open the demon's chest with practiced ease before he retreats.

"I hope you found my lesson on etiquette quite educational." Alastor chuckles to the man good naturedly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

And with that he's rapidly returning to his normal form, his arm laced through yours again and he's continuing the conversation from before, mood brightening when you thank him and kiss his cheek for protecting you.

Vox

Vox doesn't even see the person coming. No one other than you tends to exist in his peripheral when you're together.

He had been planning awhile, wanting to really wine and dine you for your anniversary. Remind you how good it is to be with him and all the wonderful perks that come with dating the CEO of VoxTek! Of course you knew, but he liked to spoil you and remind you how good he is to you all at the same time and an anniversary was the perfect excuse. Which is also why you're extra dolled up, curls perfectly coiffed and a backless outfit with a cutout in the shape of, a V, of course to entice him for the time you'll spend together...after dinner.

You're listening half mindlessly and half focused as he talks. There's something just nice and relaxing about his ecstatic chatter and it never failed to make you feel at ease.

He's currently talking about his latest idea for a new show that he thinks will be a hit as you two walk, his arm resting on the small of your back on your bare skin. A subtle but possessive claim to you.

A claim that one poor idiot either doesn't heed or doesn't see.

Either way their hand is reaching for you and snags on your curls almost immediately, causing you to jerk back and yelp in pain, frustration and annoyance evident on your face. Though it compares little to the immediate upset it causes Vox.

You think he didn't mean to snag it, only wanting to feel it, though it doesn't much matter now what his intent was.

The guy doesn't even look remorseful since he doesn't seem to even think it's a big deal until he realizes Vox seems upset as well and then he's apologizing, but apparently it doesn't seem sincere enough for Vox.

The tall man quickly steps forward, barely needing to take any steps at all before he snatches the man's hand with sheer brute force, his other hand beginning to gently untangle your hair and pulling it out of this idiot's grasp. You found it such a funny contrast between the grips of his two hands that if you weren't so pissed you would have laughed. As soon as the man is untangled from you, Vox has him picked up and slammed into a wall, electricity crackling from him as he does, errant sparks burning the man's skin without Vox even trying.

"Listen here you piece of shit, do you have any idea who you just fucked with?" His eyes narrow, electric sparks growing bigger and hotter as he speaks. The man just shakes his head no, trying to apologize to try and save his own skin.

"Now, you're going to apologize to my sweeatheart and you're going to mean it." He growls, dropping the man down in front of you as carelessly as he would a sack of trash. Even belly down the man tries to scramble to get up and run but Vox's foot is pressing down and keeping him pinned before he can succeed.

"I'm running out of patience..." He warns, narrowing his eyes, and then the man is changing gears and giving his best attempt at as remorseful of an apology as he can muster.

You are pissed but take pity on the man, not letting his torment get more drawn out. You're certain Vox won't just accept an apology so you might as well let him get on with it, and not extend the suffering.

You kindly accept his apology as you continue to fix your hair.

As soon as the acceptance leaves your mouth though, the man has such a large amount of electricity shot through him so violently that he's almost glowing, a smoldering corpse left in the dust of the smoke that had arisen from the electric burns, which Vox steps over to check on you, making sure you're okay.

You are of course fine, and assure him as much and it seems to placate him a bit that you aren't actually hurt.

He hurls one last insult of "Prick" before he leaves, his hand gently on the bare skin of your back once again, although he pulls you closer than before so you walk almost hip to hip. He would certainly pay more attention to look out for any other idiots that thought they could get handsy with you tonight.

Lucifer

Another one who sees it before it's coming. He's always aware of everyone and everything when he's out with you. Dating the king of hell certainly had some perks! But it also came with a big fat target on your back. Although you never minded. You knew he was always looking out for you and wouldn't let anything happen.

It's part of why you never noticed anything amiss, you always felt so safe around him that you did sometimes let your guard down. It was easy when Lucifer was so sweet and goofy, even when he wasn't trying.

Needless to say, his hyper vigilance that most never noticed beneath the silly facade comes in handy now, his eyes catching someone approaching you from afar as he walks towards you but still too far away to hear anything they might be saying to you.

You were waiting for him, patiently as ever, to meet up for a date. You looked so beautiful, standing there and smiling down at your watch since you knew he would be there any minute now. It made him giddy just seeing you there.

But despite how far away he is, as soon as he sees them reaching for you, he's beside you in a flash, crossing the distance and using his cane to block their hand and push it away from you before it ever makes contact.

"Hey hey hey, what are you doing? That's so rude." He laughs, smiling at the man, who seems genuinely shocked to see the king of hell in front of him suddenly. He is smiling but there is an air of annoyance in his smile, as if he's trying to keep it casual and struggling. He's not unnecessarily violent, and usually just a casual signal that you were with him was enough to have people keep their distance. He's pretty confident the sinner will just turn and run.

"Lucifer!" Your happy voice chirps at him, only barely registering someone had been reaching for you, and clearly not even registering it as a threat now that he was here.

"Sorry I'm late. I...got distracted." He says sheepishly, shifting his attention from the sinner to you, especially since the sinner jumped back as if the cane had been made of pure fire, running off as quick as he can. But not before mumbling out a shakey "S-Sorry!" Seems Lucifer was right on that bet. He wouldn't have to worry about them bothering the two of you anymore, he's sure.

But you just smile and wrap an arm around his, clearly not the least bit annoyed by the interruption.

"...What does this new rubber ducky do?" You only halfway joke, having a pretty good idea what could have distracted him, and just as quickly his face changes from apologetic to excited. You smile seeing how his face changes; you were right on the money it seems.

"Shoots spikes like little pointy bullets!" He grins like a child excited about their latest toy, and he's guiding you now, away from this person who almost caused trouble if he hadn't been there in time.

"Ooo, after dinner can you show me? That sounds so cute!" You smile, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

"Although I know you don't need any spikes to save me, my king." You whisper to him teasingly, his face flushing just a little bit red at your playful use of his title as you headed to your date.

#hazbin hotel #Alastor #alastor x reader #vox x reader #vox #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader

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elaratyrell · 7 months

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Misery {Annie Wilkes! Aemond Targaryen x Author! Reader}

*All images found on Pinterest*

Warnings: Dark! Aemond, stalking, language, mentions of murder Smut- oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), female orgasm

*Divider from Firefly Graphics*

Synopsis: You find yourself near death after being the victim of a car accident in a snow storm while working on the latest instalment in your bestselling Misery series. The man who found you, your self declared number one fan, seems innocent enough, but his dark past, and even darker intentions, soon become clear

With a sigh of slight relief, you placed the final page on top of the pile beside you, tying a rubber band around it and placing it in a blue leather case.

Another book finished to hopefully join the others on the bestsellers list.

You had written twelve other books, to be exact, and had now finished your first completed draft for the thirteenth.

The cursed number.

The unlucky number.

The number of misfortune.

But for you it was a blessing.

For years you had dedicated your life to the running series of books centred around a character called Misery. You'd published your first book at eighteen, becoming the new face of the romance genre. And as you had grown up, your books had matured as well, becoming darker, bordering on the thriller genre as well as still centering on the romantic aspect. It was a bold move, but seemed to pay off, as it had made you even more popular than before.

Yet, after dedicating your life to one character for an entire decade now, you knew you had to move on, take another path in a new series you were going to write. You knew some of your fans would be disappointed that this would be the last entry in the Misery series, but it had to be done.

It felt like a relief to you, that you could finally move on with your life. And you felt as though it were almost a weight being lifted off your shoulders as finished your usual celebration of a single cigarette and champagne. You rose to your feet to take the manuscript to your car with the rest of your belongings, departing from a small log cabin called Winterfell Lodge you always rented out when working on your latest novel. It was always calming to get some time away from the chaos of the city.

You pulled your coat around you tighter, the snow flurry thickening around you as you loaded your bags into the trunk of your car. Usually, you wouldn't drive in weather like this, especially as it seemed as though a snow storm was fast approaching, but you needed to get back to the city as fast as possible.

Quickly shooting your agent a message to let you know you had finished the initial draft and were on your way to get back to the city, you started the car and drove away from Winterfell Lodge.

You squinted slightly as the snowfall grew thicker still, trying to see the curve in the road as the wipers speed couldn't keep up with the snow that was now covering the road. You slowed your speed, maintaining control of your car, humming along to the song playing on the radio.

Maybe you should have waited for tomorrow.

It was already late in the afternoon, and the clouds darkened the sky.

You turned on your car's headlights, a small sign reading 'Curved road, next thirteen miles'.

You hit the curve no problem, turning the wheel with perfect control, keeping a steady speed as you continued turning the wheel, but suddenly one of the wheels skidded, followed by another as the car span erratically out of control.

And all you remembered was the car spinning of the road, followed by it slamming into a tree, doing a one hundred and eighty degree flip, landing on it's hood.

And then as you fell into the darkness, you heard the harsh sound of the radio static and the howling winds, and felt the blood trickling down the side of your face.

Followed by nothing. Only darkness.

When you awoke, you felt numb.

You skin was paler, and clammy with a feverish sweat that sent a slight tremble through you. You couldn't lift any of your limbs. They felt weighted down. You didn't even want to try and lift your head.

"You're awake."

The voice was male. It sounded calm, well spoken. Soothing, almost.

Approaching footsteps to your bedside soon brought the owner of the voice into your vision.

He looked around your age, maybe two or three years younger, around twenty five or six, perhaps. He had long silver hair tied half up, a strong jaw and a tall, well defined figure. One of his eyes was a vivid blue, like a sapphire, the other a cloudy white, a long scar running from his brow down to his cheek. Resting on the bridge of his nose was a pair of black rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a dark blue sweater, the white collar of his shirt peaking up above its neckline, and a pair of black trousers.

Your saviour was very handsome, indeed.

"W-where... where a-am-"

"Shush," He interrupted you, placing the back of his cool hand against your forehead, frowning slightly at the heat radiating on your skin from the fever. "We're just between Storm's End and Winterfell. You've been here two days. I was concerned that you were not going to pull through. I'm thankful to say that I think you will recover. You'll be okay. Thank the gods you'll be okay." He shot you a slightly relieved smile. "Oh, how foolish of me. My name is Aemond Targaryen, and I'm your-"

"Number one fan?" You murmured, your eyes fluttering closed from a split second before opening again to see him shooting you a rather bashful smile, his cheeks dusted with pink.

"That- that's right," He murmured. "I-I am also a doctor, fortunately enough." He added, gesturing to where you were connected to a drip before outstretching his hand and opening his palm to reveal two pills. "You need to take these for the pain," He said softly, lifting your head slightly to bring the pills to your lips and swallow them, his fingertips lingering slightly against your lips.

Aemond propped up the pillows slightly, resting your head back down. Giving you a better view of your room, you noted you appeared to be in a rather old cottage or farmhouse. Your room was rather charming; wood panelled walls, a large fireplace opposite the bed. From the window, you saw a view of the mountains.

"Shouldn't I be in hospital?" You mumbled.

"The blizzard was too strong. I didn't want to risk trying to get you there. I couldn't even call, the phone lines are down and I don't own a mobile, I'm afraid. I doubt you could even get signal out here with the weather like this."

"Thank you for saving me," You murmured, you eyes aching with fatigue.

"You are more than welcome. Now, you should get some rest. You nearly lost your life." He replied, stepping back. "I'll be back to check on your when your meds run out," Was the last thing he said before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

Your fever past after a few days in Aemond's care, but you were still incredibly weak. But Aemond promised you that things would get better.

"It's not going to hurt forever, I promise you."

"Will I be able to walk?" You asked.

"Of course. And your arm will be fine, too. Your shoulder was rather badly dislocated, but I managed to pop it back in there. But I must say, I am rather proud of what I managed to do with your legs, especially considering what I had around the house. In fact I don't think there's a doctor in the whole of Westeros that could do a better job."

And with a flourish of blankets, he made your legs visible to you for the first time.

From the knees down, you believed you resembled a mummy. Steel rods that seemed to be remains of aluminium crutches were used as splints with taping circled around them. From the knees up, your thighs were swollen and horribly bruised.

Upon seeing your slightly horrified expression, Aemond hastily added. "It is not nearly as bad as it looks considering the severity of your injuries. You have a compound fracture of the tibia in both legs, and the fibula in the left leg is fractured too. I could hear the bones moving, so it's best for your legs to remain immobile. And as soon as the roads open, I'll take you to a hospital. In the meantime, you've got a lot of recovering to do, and I consider it an honour that you'll do it in my home." He gave you a kind smile, once again leaving you to get some more rest until he had to administer your next round of painkillers.

And soon enough Aemond's visits to your room became more frequent and for longer periods of time. He didn't just stay to gave you your meds, but also to reassure you that the sweeling to your cheek would go down, and how you were still beautiful, and how much he adored your books.

"It was quite a miracle that you found me," You said one evening after Aemond had fed you your dinner. He let out a small, slightly nervous chuckle in response, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Actually, it wasn't a miracle at all. I... as I... in a way... I was following you."

"Fo-following me?" You stammered out.

"Well it isn't exactly a secret that you were staying at Winterfell Lodge, you know, considering that I am your number one fan, but some nights I found myself driving there, sitting outside and just looking at the light in your cabin, knowing you were most likely creating another Misery masterpiece. I'd try to imagine what the world's greatest writer was creating." He replied, his voice light and airy, as though it was the most simple explanation.

"Can you say that last part again? I didn't quite hear..." You murmured, trying to brush off the fact he practically stalked you. Aemond just shot you a small smile in response.

"The world's greatest writer." He repeated before continuing. "Anyway, the other afternoon, when I was on my way home, there you were leaving the lodge. I must say I was curious as to why an intelligent woman such as yourself would go for a drive with a storm such as that approaching."

"I... didn't know there was going to be a storm like that..."

"Well, luckily I did," He replied. "And, it was lucky for me too. Because you're alive, and now you can write more incredible books. I've read absolutely everything you've written. I enjoyed your three standalone novels at the start of your career immensely, but the Misery series... I must say that they are my absolute favourite. I-I know them all by heart, all twelve of them. I love them, they helped me through my darkest times... through any obstacle I've faced in my life, I've managed to find solace with Misery.

You couldn't helped but feel touched by the way he spoke so fondly of your work, how he constantly sang your praises whenever he got the chance. The man was socially awkward it seemed, and perhaps rather shy at times, but he was still surprisingly charming.

"You're too kind..."

"And you're too brilliant," He replied. "You must be to create such a wonderful character like Misery." As he spoke, he traced a finger down your cheek. The swelling was gone, and the bruise was fading. He cleared his throat, hastily pulling his hand away and rising to your feet. "I'll um... just wash these dishes up." He said, seeming rather embarrassed all of a sudden. "I'm sure the road will be open soon, which means the phone lines will be back up in no time. But until they are, I'll kept trying so you can phone your agent."

He stopped when he reached the doorway, turning away from you, his hand hovering over the door knob.

"Is there something wrong?"

"Oh goodness no. I-I was just wondering if I could ask you a favour."

"I'm sure it's the least I could do after you've shown me such kindness." You replied, mustering a small smile that made his expression brighten.

"It's just that I noticed in your case there was a new manuscript..." He trailed off, hesitating slightly.

"You want to read it?"

"If it's not too much trouble. I do not mean to intrude."

"I usually only let three people read my new work this early," You replied, making his smile drop slightly. "And that's my editor, my agent... and the person who was kind enough to save me from dying in a car wreck."

"I... thank you," Aemond smiled. "You have no clue as to the gift you've given me and the gratitude I feel to you."

You shot him a smile, but that soon changed into a grimace as you winced from the pain.

Aemond glanced at his watch, hastily placing your empty plate on the bedside table before reaching into his pocket for the painkillers.

"It's like clockwork, the way your pain returns," He murmured, pressing a glass of water to your lips to help you swallow the pills. "The pain will subside soon. It will be okay," He sighed, placing his hand over yours as your expression twisted in discomfort.

"What's the title of your newly finished book?" He asked, trying to take your mind away from the pain.

"I'm not sure yet," You murmured. "I usually come up with the title after the final draft is finished. Perhaps after you read it, you'll have an idea or two."

Aemond's expression brightened again. "I will do my best not to let you down."

Days past, and soon enough Aemond could move you from the bed to a wheelchair. Your arm was healing nicely, as were your legs, despite there still being some time until the latter were properly healed. Aemond never failed to update your over his progress of the manuscript.

"I read chapter one, it was one of your best introductions to a Misery novel I have ever read..."

"Page twenty, I've reached. It's incredible how you can engage with the reader so quickly in the novel..."

"Page thirty, I had to force myself to put it down..."

It wasn't until one day when he came in with your lunch that something seemed a little... off, about Aemond.

"I know I'm only forty pages into the book..." He began in his usual tone. "But... oh I cannot criticise someone like you-"

"It's fine," You replied. "I can take it. Believe me, if I can deal with the critics, I'm sure I can handle whatever my number one fan has to say."

Aemond softly exhaled, keeping his gaze fixed on where he was cutting up your lunch. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

"It is brilliantly written," Aemond admitted. "Although everything you write is brilliant. But... the swearing..."

You raised an eyebrow.

"The... swearing...?"

"Yes, the swearing. There, I said it!"

"It bothers you?"

"It is inappropriate. It has no nobility," He protested, sawing through the food on your plate.

"It is appropriate for the setting and background of the character speaking-"

Aemond stilled, his hands stopping from cutting your food for you. His head lifted to meet your gaze, his expression uncharacteristically cold.

"No. It isn't," He replied firmly, resuming to cutting your food, his gaze still focused on you. "What do you think people say when they go into the grocery shop in town. Give me a carton of those effing eggs and five slices of that bitchly roast chicken?"

You couldn't help but smile at his refrain from using the profanities, but it faltered as the cutting becoming more and more erratic.

"...And in the bank, do I tell Mr Lannister, here's one big bastard of a cheque, give me some of your darn money?"

You let out a nervous chuckle at his rants, but soon enough your ears were greeted by the grating sound of metal against china. He looked down, slamming the plate down on bedside table.

"There! See? Now see what you have made me do! These were my mother's plates! What she left me when she passed! And now, it's all scratched!"

His chest heaved as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. When they reopened, his good eye was full of shame and embarrassment.

"Oh... I'm so sorry... sometimes I can get so worked up I... oh, can you ever forgive me? Here..." He pressed your pills to your lips before picking up the plate, shooting you a rather overly sweet smile.

"I hope you can forgive me. Oh, Y/N... how I adore you. I mean... your mind. Your creativity... that is all I meant."

Several days passed, and Aemond's previous disposition had returned. He didn't lecture you over the choice of language used in the book, but still seemed disapproving nonetheless. He still cooked and fed you your meals, brushed your teeth, gave you your pills, praised you every waking moment he was with you. The phones were still apparently out, but he had assured you it was only a matter of time before they were up and running again. He had even managed to convince you to autograph his limited edition copy of your first Misery novel, promising to cherish it for the rest of his days.

He still gave you regular updates on reading your manuscript. At page 185, he expressed his sadness at being over halfway through. At page 300, he branded it better than perfect, that it was divine. He said it was more beautiful than any tapestry adorning the Red Keep. He had then introduced you to his pet snake, Vhagar, and his cat called... Misery.

And you had found out more about him.

How he had graduated top of his class from medical school, and how his peers and his family were constantly consumed with jealousy from his success. How they would attempt to belittle and mock him for his eye, and how in his lowest moment, his fiancée, Alys, had left him, but you had saved him with releasing your newest Misery novel some weeks later.

He had told you about the neglect from his father, his older brother's alcoholism and his mother's untimely death. He stiffened when he mentioned his eye, but you quickly changed the conversation and didn't bring it up again, not wanting to upset him by bringing up possible past trauma. And you had listened to him, consoled him over the misfortunes of his past, and he had expressed his gratitude in return.

And then he had left you to rest while he returned to finish the manuscript, which he had entitled Misery's Child.

The slam of your bedroom door awoke you from your doze, your eyes fluttering open to reveal Aemond staring down at you, his face ashen and jaw clenched.

He must have finished the book, it seemed.

"You... she cannot be dead," He murmured. "Misery cannot be dead!" He then exclaimed, voice rising. "How... how could you do this to me?"

"Women in that age... it was tragically common for them to die in childbirth, Aemond. I'm sure you know that. But you know, she will still be alive in... in spirit..."

"I do not want her spirit! I WANT HER! AND YOU MURDERED HER!" He yelled.

"I... I didn't kill her..."

"THEN WHO DID?"

"Nobody she... she passed away and..."

"She passed awa- she passed away?! No, Y/N, you did it. You killed her. You murdered my Misery."

He picked up the chair by your beside where he usually sat with you with ease despite it's weight, rising it in the air as if to strike it down on you before turning and throwing it against the wall. It shattered immediately upon impact, breaking into pieces on the floor.

"I... I thought you were good," He murmured, tone suddenly soft. "But you're not good. You're just a dirty, untrustworthy woman. I don't... I don't think I should be near you for a while..."

He walked to the door, and stopped to turn back to you.

"And don't even think about anybody coming for you. Not the doctors, your agent, your editor... I won't call them. I haven't called them and I never will. Nobody knows you're even here. And you better hope nothing ever happens to me... because if it does... you'll die."

After the click in the lock of your door, followed by the slamming of the front door and the revving of Aemond's car as it pulls away from the house, you let out the breath you didn't know you had been holding.

You were slightly shaken from Aemond's outburst, but tried to focus on what needed to be done, shifting to the other side of your bed and reaching out with your arm. It had come out of it's sling several days ago, and was now bandaged in a cast. You managed to grasp ahold of the armrest and pull it towards the best, shifting your body closer to the edge of the bed. Your legs screamed in agony as you manoeuvred yourself onto the wheelchair, but you persisted nonetheless, managing to sit down in the chair and wheel yourself towards the door. Reaching into your hair, you pulled out a hairpin Aemond had leant you, pushing it into the keyhole and soon enough hearing a click. Turning the knob, you pulled open the door and wheeled yourself out of the room, looking down the flight of stairs that blocked your way.

Letting out a deep sigh, you gripped the banister with one hand as you slowly steered yourself to the edge of the staircase.

"What have I got to lose?" You murmured, before wheeling the chair down the stairs.

The chair turned on its side as it crashed down the last step, but you managed to hoist yourself up again. You immediately tried grabbing a phone, but it turned out to be fake. You then discovered the windows bolted shut and both of the front and back doors having a second lock at the top, which you couldn't reach due to not being strong enough to stand just yet.

You wheeled yourself back into the living room, looking at the photographs placed on the drawers against the wall. There was Aemond as a young boy standing with his siblings and mother, his eye unharmed. Another showed him graduating medical school, a proud smile on his face. The third was him with his mother. And the fourth... was you.

He truly wasn't lying when he said he was your biggest fan.

Between the two photographs was a crystal dragon ornament, and beneath that was an emerald scrap book. You lifted the ornament carefully and grabbed the book, opened it.

The beginning seemed fairly normal. More photographs of his childhood and teen years. The was a photograph of him at what seemed to be a formal event with a women you only assumed was Alys. She was dressed in dark green, matching Aemond's tie, and you were sure she was very pretty, but you couldn't see her face due to the black ink scribbled over it, almost cutting through the photo. The next page was work related. More photographs and newspaper clippings of his medical success.

But turning the page was a different story entirely.

The first page contained a page of the newspaper, what seemed to be it's headline emblazoned in large capital letters.

'Doctor Aemond Targaryen arrested for the murder of nephew Lucerys Velaryon'

'Doctor Aemond Targaryen was arrested this morning, accused of the murder of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Targaryen, 20, pleaded not guilty to the death of Velaryon, 16, under the accusation he had simply acted in self defence after his nephew attacked him with a knife and caused the disfigurement of his left eye'

And it only got worse as you read the following pages.

'Targaryen trial postponed until December 10.'

Accompanying the headlines were photographs of him standing in front of the courthouse with his lawyer, Larys Strong, a stony expression on his face.

'Targaryen declared innocent by jury, claims he was a victim of a malicious attack.'

'Shamed doctor Aemond Targaryen resigns from King's Landing hospice.'

You slammed the book shut, a sick feeling brewing in your stomach as you hastily placed the book in it's position with the ornament on top.

Wheeling yourself to the stairs, you gripped the banister and you pulled yourself up the stairs. Your arms ached, the muscle burning and sweat beading on your forehead as you persisted, refusing to let go and crash back down to the bottom again.

In time, you reached the top of the stairs, moving the wheelchair as quickly as you could, taking the pin out and moving towards the bed, when a slam of a car door stopped you in your tracks.

Aemond was back.

You knew he would enquire about the now unlocked door, but you could just pass it off by saying you urgently needed to use the bathroom. You also knew that you didn't have enough time to haul yourself back into bed, and so you did what you could, and threw yourself out of the chair and onto the floor, pushing the wheelchair away from you slightly as the front door opened, the rustling of paper bags being put on the table before the creaking of the stairs. There was a slight falter before he twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

He knew it was unlocked.

"What happened?" He asked, voice laced with concern as he hurried over to you, lifting you into his arms and shushing your cry of pain as he placed you down in bed atop the covers. His glasses had been taken off, the brilliant blue of his good eye burning into you.

"I needed the bathroom, but I couldn't get back into bed I... I lost my balance and fell on the floor..." You lied, hoping that you managed to convince him that your story was true.

"You needed to use the bathroom?" He asked, receiving a nod from you in response.

"And you managed to get yourself on and off the toilet alright?"

Another nod.

He slowly nodded in response, and you let out a small sigh of relief, visibly relaxing at him seemingly believing your story.

"And... you managed to get down the stairs and into the living room without hurting yourself after picking your bedroom door lock?" He added, his tone still soft.

A little too soft.

"Aemond... I never..."

"And you managed to somehow drag yourself back upstairs into your room?"

"I... I don't..."

"The dragon ornament on top of my photograph album," He replied. "It was pointing the wrong way."

You opened your mouth to speak, but found yourself at a loss for words, you mouth dry and your blood running cold.

"It's okay," He murmured, running his thumb over your lower lip. "I shouldn't have scared you. I know I did. I frightened you, hm? Well for that I apologise. I will refrain from repeating that behaviour in the future." He added, leaning forward slightly. "You are so incredibly important to me, Y/N. I'm sure you know that. You saw the photograph downstairs..."

You tried to speak again but he quickly shushed you, the finger resting on your lip tracing down your jaw, your neck, across your collarbone. His pupil had dilated, his breath quickening slightly as his hand moved down to your chest, covered by one of his shirts he had given you, framing your body in a pale blue.

"You do not need to speak Y/N," He whispered, leaning closer still, one hand placed the other side of you, caging you against him. "You will only waste your energy..."

As he pressed his lips to yours, you knew you couldn't fight back. You were weaker with him even without your injuries, and with his erratic behaviour, and what you had discovered downstairs...

And so you let him deepen the kiss. You let him part your lips with his tongue. You let his hand wander down from fondling your breast to your waist, pulling the shorts you had on down to your knees.

You let him ever so gently part your legs, pressing a line of kisses along your upper thigh, and then pay the same attention to the other, his lips tracing your flesh that had been swollen with bruises the week before.

Did you even know how long you had been here?

Staring up at the same ceiling, being enclosed in those same four walls day after day had merged the days together.

And if you asked Aemond, would he tell you the truth?

You couldn't trust him, but you needed to stay alive. And if you had any hope of getting out of here alive, you needed to stay on his good side.

And so there you were, legs spread as Aemond lowered himself between them, his moans vibrating against you at your taste, his tongue circling your clit and sending a jolt of pleasure through you that was both pain and pleasure as your legs twitched slightly, a hand tangling in his silver locks.

You resented the way your legs squeezed around his head as he thrust two fingers into you, murmuring against you about how wet with want you were for him. Your body was betraying you, but you couldn't stop the way he was making you feel such pleasure. The mere curling of his fingers against your sweet spot, or the flick of his tongue against your swollen clit caused a string of breathy moans to leave you, and soon you found yourself coming undone. He drew his fingers out of you, replacing them with his tongue as he eagerly lapped at your release.

He sat back, lips glinting with your release. He reached forward, fingers parting your lips so you could taste yourself on him. He let out a satisfactory groan as you sucked on his fingers, allowing them to linger on your lips as he pulled away.

Pressing his lips to yours, he pulled your underwear and shorts back up to rest on your hips.

"I would love to go further with you, but I'll have to wait until you're back to your full strength. It may take some time... but I think I can manage with having your addictive taste on my tongue until I can truly claim you as mine. You'd like that, hm?"

"I..." You let out a deep breath. This man was unhinged. He'd break your ankles with a sledgehammer before letting you leave. You knew that your best chance to survive this, was to play along. Allow Aemond to believe that you were beginning to reciprocate his affections for long enough so he could let down his walls and nurse you back to health so you could escape.

"I would like that..." You murmured, looking away to feign embarrassment.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of, my darling Y/N." Aemond replied, looking at you with such fondness, you wouldn't have believed he was a murderer. He paused for a moment. "This may not be the best time, but I have a surprise for you. In the other guest room."

"Oh... okay..."

"If you want to wait another day, as disappointing as that would be-"

"No, I can see it now," You hastily replied as to not flair that nasty temper up again. He smiled warmly in response, stepping towards you as you reached for the wheelchair, but he instead lifted you into your arms bridal style, walking you away from the chair and towards the bedroom door. Instinctively, you wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, your head resting against his shoulder.

He pushed open the door with his foot, giving you another overly sweet smile as he proudly declared "It's your new studio. I set it up last night. I just needed to get the typewriter and paper, which are downstairs."

"But... w-why..."

"You need a place to work, after all," He interrupted you, placing you down on the desk chair. "All writers need a place to work."

"B-but... what would I write?" You asked.

Aemond smirked at you, walking over to where a trashcan sat in the far corner of the room. The clang as it landed on the floor echoed around the room as he dropped it at your feet, your manuscript discarded in it.

"You want me... to burn my book?" You looked up at him in disbelief.

"I know this may be difficult to you," Aemond nodded, reaching into his back pocket and bringing out a box of matches.

"I... I can't..."

"Yes. You can," Aemond's voice was firm. "You can do this. Do it. Now."

Your hands began to tremble as he pressed the matchbox into them, pouring lighter fluid into the trashcan.

"I know this is the only copy," He continued. "You always only write one copy at first. When you were eighteen, you wrote your first book and you didn't make a single copy. Because you didn't think anybody would take it seriously. But they did. And you kept that tradition because it's a superstition to you, and you don't want to make a copy in fear of it being rejected. I'm trying to help you can't you see that?" His voice was steadily rising as his agitation grew, making the tremble in your hands worsen.

"I just want to help you. Why won't you let me help-"

As he spoke, you hastily lit one of the matches and threw it in the trashcan, the manuscript exploding into flame.

And as Aemond lovingly kissed your forehead, murmuring how proud he was of you for being so strong, all you could do was stare at the flames consuming your work, your own masterpiece.

"Now you can go back to doing what you're great at," Aemond murmured, a hand resting on your shoulder. "You can write a new novel, your greatest achievement ever... Misery's return."

He knelt down by you, a finger hooking beneath your chin, turning your head to meet his gaze. "I know you didn't mean it when you killed her. And now you can make it right. You can even write it in my honour, as a thanks for saving your life and nursing you back to health." He leaned forward so his breath was tickling your ear, his hand now resting on your thigh. "Although there are also other ways you can repay that debt to me."

"And you... you expect me to write something up just like that?" You asked.

"I expect nothing less than a masterpiece from you," He replied reassuringly, pressing another kiss to you, this time on the cheek. "I have the upmost faith in you my darling... I know you won't let me down... and if you do... we'll just have to start again. And again. And again... you won't try to escape, will you?"

"O-of course not. I... wouldn't dream of it."

Aemond hummed in approval. "I know you won't," He whispered, kissing you on the lips before standing up. "No one will come for you. If they do... I won't let them take you. If they try to take you from you, or if you do try to leave..." He said, opening a storage closet and reached inside, brandishing a sledgehammer. "There are other ways of keeping you here... with me... forever..."

Masterlist

#Aemond Targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #Aemond Targaryen imagine #House of the dragon #House of the dragon x reader #House of the dragon imagine #Spooktober

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creepy-friday · 5 months

Text

Creepypasta x Fem!Proxy

I got a notification via E-Mail that someone left kudos on a fanfiction I forgot about on AO3.I deleted it and decided to rewrite it here.It's not my best work.

Their chatter and the crunching of leaves around the fresh murder in front of you didn't hold the resonating sound of the pen scribbling on your notebook to not fully grasp your attention.

Each word is perfectly put in its right place and with each glance at either the mutilated corpse not too far from you or on the policemen's observations you get closer to the calligraphic and professional sentence you always end every report. Thinking that's enough for today, you placed the notebook back in the backpack you firmly held on your shoulder, the right strap being loose to the mid of your back.

You fade away in their chatter, adding to the crunching of the leaves back in the direction you came from-the woods. You weren't in a particular hurry as today's 'true work' only beggings after two more hours when the manor will 'welcome' a new resident in. The Master dutied you to "welcome them in" as you do to every unfortunate newcomer.

Passing the same route you memorized as the back of your palm, you place your hand on a few oak trees as you pass them, some having so vaguely craved his symbol on them. The oak trees remind you of him as well, his tall and demanding figure only adding to his ghostly white, eerie presence. You were in no place to doubt his wishes, and neither were any of your colleagues-but out of his reach, if that's even possible, you can be curious about his ways of resolve.

The mere thought of a new resident sends shivers down your spine and a pounding headache. To have to deal with another mentally unstable rapist or murderer only adds to the stress of living in his manor.

The crunching on the leaves stops as you grab your bag one more time, ruffling a bit inside of it before pulling your mask out and adjusting it on your face. Not wasting any time you get the notebook out and enter the end point of your destination-an old-fashioned manor that was housing about 15 people. A single push of the enormous marble doors gets them opened, letting the remaining light of the day shine on the dark red material. Closing them back makes you think they're heavier, a deep thud resonating through the silence of the manor before it was accompanied by a pair of footsteps that faded as quickly as they came.

You decided to pay them no mind and to finish your task before the sun could set, ignoring the pair of glowing green eyes that thought they could stalk you from the darkest corner of the room.

"Home so early?" BEN asked with a grin on his face.

The manor has three main floors and many other pairs of stairs, each leading to different parts of the building,but now you were heading to the very last floor, on the very top of it where a room stood out in particular from the others. The last floor was made of a set of 10 inhabitable rooms, in the center of them being one room made out of various shades of red that gave an expensive yet eerie feeling around it. As soon as someone enters the last step and makes their way on the floor, low static begins as the walls start to become suffocating. Each window is shut and hasn't been opened since the day you came here. As you approach the habitated room, the 11th one, the static only grows, but you learned how to combat it, even if the air becomes thicker with each passing secound.

There you stood,in front of The Master of this manor,your rescuer and provider,even with closed doors you felt his gaze piercing your soul,shattering it apart. A different static sound could be heard-the signal that you were free to enter. The room looked as clean as ever, the window behind the tall figure holding no dust particle despite not anyone cleaning it,not even the books on either side of the room had any sign of age on them.

Taking your mask off you reglated your voice and started your statement."I've bought the very few details of Jeffrey's victims."

Silence. Placing the open notebook on the counter you waited for his response,but he didn't even looked at it. Even if his face held no expression,you could feel the tension that beared it.

He finally gave attention to the notebook in front of him for a bare second before returning his head to the clipboard in front of him. A few moments had passed,yet the only thing that was heard was your thumping heart inside your chest.

"Dissmised." you gently bowed your head before you took your notebook back and walked straight out of his office.The familliar creature in front of you turned into something darker as time progressed.

The silence of the manor was disturbed by the chatter of two masculine voices. "Piece of shit Rogers.." a faint click was heard accompanied by some heavy coughs. The man's comment was responded with a few shakes of a pill bottle.

"You still had some?" you could recognize this raspy voice in any nightmare,Masky's or Tim's bickering being present even in your sleep. Most residents prefer to not use their real name if they can avoid it,mostly to show the lack of empathy and to amplify the need to show that we're strangers to each other.

"I gotta look out for myself." his partner and friend that lead him to this manor 3 years ago stated. "We're murderers,Brian." Masky replied,half annoyed that his friend isn't understanding of his stress regarding his 'work'. You decided to ignore your partners,making yourself as small and as silent as possible to ride up the stairs to the silence of your room,appealing to your proxy skills,but to not much succes.

"Where you've been, bitch?" the white masked man barked. "Ditching work for a few notes isn't some lead shit,isn't it?" he continued as he dragged a long puff from his cigar. "Respond motherfucker." he flicked the cigarette down and as he was about to make his way to you Hoodie shaked again his bottle of pills. "You're tired. Get some rest." Masky snatched the pill bottle and walked the other way,adjusting his mask back on.

Should you thank Hoodie? No,what he did wasn't for your sake,but for this manor's moments of silence before the storm. There were a set of unspoken rules,each one of us knowing them the moment we set foot inside this haunting place. Fights were not allowed inside public rooms,all conflict is either in one's intimacy or outside the manor's quarters. Masky's temper almost made this rule impossible to follow but Hoodie's calm demeanor complimented his fiery personality perfectly. Maybe that's why they came together here in the first place.. "How long now?" Hoodie's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "One month until the police said they will have a lead." after a few moments of silence his silvery voice responded "Son of a bitch." he got up and walked after his partner,no other word being exchanged in return.

We were in a sticky situation at the moment,you were only the voice mail of it. Every now and then you are tasked to go out in town to find out if there is any evidence that could lead to the murderous activity of this manor. Every source of evidence is destroyed by any means,the digital evidence is handled by BEN and the human one is handled by the occupats of this manor. Proxies,such as you and the other three men are put to tougher missions,including getting rid of the bodies from the other's killings.

Recently, Jeff was tasked to get rid of papers in a detective's house but his careless attitude didn't calculate that his wife was home, resulting in his need to get rid of her.

She managed to run but not too far off as she was killed in the place you just attended. Since his job wasn't to get rid of the body,he called in a proxy,not even bothering to hide the evidence. From what you managed to hear,Toby was the only proxy available at the moment and his arrival was late because of the encounter of a creature on his way out the woods,resulting in others finding the body. You only massaged your temples to the tought of him anxiously walking around his room,waiting for The Master's punishment.

A few knocks got your attention, making you open the doors in an instant after giving your clipboard one more look. It held the information of the new resident of this manor, its name being on the very top in bold letters, your thumb holding the clipboard on 'Cody's' family name.

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta #female proxy reader

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b1rds3ye · 7 months

Text

My Heart Burns For You

Rodolfo is still by your side and ready to fight for Las Almas, but after a near-death encounter he realises he can't stay silent about how he feels for you.

Pairing: Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Canon-Compliant (Straight after Borderline), Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Italicised sentences are characters talking in Spanish

Word Count: 2.3k

For Fall4Rudy by @glitterypirateduck

Prompts: “I can't get you out of my head” (6), “Say it again” (16)

Warning: Graphic descriptions of injuries, talks of death

A/N: In the campaign Rudy almost dies in a fire, bleeding after a gun to the face then the next day he’s just vibing. I get that the military is fast paced but DAMN- (Also YES I GOT TO CONTRIBUTE TO FALL4RUDY I WAS SO SCARED WITH ASSIGNMENTS I WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO SKDJFALKSDS)

It was the early hours of the new day. The Vaqueros are vigilant all day, all night, even on their own base, meaning you were pacing back and forth on watch duty. You volunteered this time, with your fellow Vaqueros not arguing with a knowing smile. It seems everyone but the sergeant major himself has become aware of how close you had become, or aware of how you swoon whenever he spoke to you, or offered that little extra bit of care. Combined with what was one of the highest stakes missions to date, you couldn’t help the need to see Rodolfo the instant he and Alejandro got back from the Mexican border…

… if they get back.

You tutted at yourself before turning your head back to the horizon, grip tightening on your rifle. They will be back and you will be the first to see them, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Like cowboys you will see them on the horizon, riding in front of the burning glory of the sun. With a successful mission they will bring the new day and reignite the passion and hope that the Vaqueros so desperately need.

There’s a distant but familiar growl of a cargo truck, and you immediately take cover, gun at the ready as you look down its sights as you try and get a visual of the vehicle. Right on cue, you hear the familiar cackle of Alejandro’s voice through your comms.

“Guns down, friendlies returning to base.”

You smile as you loosen your posture, standing back up again. But simmering under your joy is the thought that they’ve returned home a little too early.

“I’m taking it’s a successful mission, Colonel?”

“Sergeant.”

The line is silent for a few moments.

“That’s a negative.”

It is meant to be morning and yet the sky is looking ever darker. The stars do little to illuminate your darkening expression. Your swallow is thicker than the tar that shapes the tattered roads beneath you, scorched after years of neglect under Las Almas’ heat.

“Where’s Rodolfo?”

You try to ask as nonchalantly as possible. To hide the fact you’re demanding an answer like a kid to your direct superior.

“I’m here.”

The tension in your shoulders was relieved at that voice. You would rather see him, rather have him tell you as he stood beside you. Ideally his voice wouldn’t sound strained, fatigue bleeding through the speakers into your own weary mind, painfully reminding you that you’ve essentially pulled an all nighter to catch a glimpse of him before you hit the hay.

“I had to come back to you.”

You chew your lips as the static cuts off. Before you can think any further at Rodolfo’s odd choice of words the truck pulls up to you as you stand by the entrance of the base. You squint even as the full-beam headlights turn off, the glare stubbornly clouding your vision. The slam of a car door has you tilting your head to Alejandro as he exits the truck. His smile is genuine but strained.

He was in the driver’s seat. And if Rudy was around, Alejandro never drove.

The colonel seemed to be reading your mind.

“Rudy is being rather honest right now, I needed to give him some adrenaline.”

On the other side of the truck, Rodolfo’s silhouette eventually comes back into view. His head had lulled forward, footsteps pounding against the sandy grounds of Las Almas. They were determined but not nearly as clean as his usual gait, pebbles audibly grinding against his boots. Only when he emerged from the shadows of the truck did you realise why Alejandro needed to give him a boost.

“Rudy…”

Rodolfo is silent, only marching ever closer to you. His visage is nothing short of horrific, blood both fresh and dry painting a terrifying collage on the upper half of his face. He must have tried to wipe the blood off, finger-sized smears across his countenance that haphazardly spread onto the wrists of his hoodie did little to relieve you.

“Rodolfo? Friend, you must get patched up-” Alejandro muttered after the sergeant major. Upon realising Rodolfo was beelining straight to you, Alejandro only gave you a firm nod with a knowing look. “Sergeant, patch him up.”

But Rodolfo had already reached you, hand held ever so lightly around your bicep like the gentlest but encouraging breeze to follow him into base. You can’t bring yourself to resist, not even trying to slow down his brisk walk and instead look over your shoulder to address Alejandro.

“Roger that, Colonel!”

Alejandro only waves you off dismissively with an amused expression between a smile and a grimace as Rodolfo paced double time into the building with you in tow.

“Rodolfo?”

“I need to tell you something.”

He leaves it at that and the damning baritone that ends his sentence leaves you unable to even dare to say anything else. Instead you can only take him in apprehensively as he leads you down the familiar hallways towards your quarters. When you expected the familiar indoor smell of your second home to wash over, instead it was dominated by the pungent odour of something charred. Bitterly mixed with smoke and gasoline, you dreaded the image conjuring up in your mind as you notice a hole in Rodolfo’s jacket, loose threads singed off in a cruel finish.

When you reach your room, you take the lead, pulling Rodolfo down to sit on your bed. It’s only then does his hand tighten, fingers attempting to clamp around your bicep but it only closes around air. You head straight to your first aid kit, and then to retrieve a towel that you dampen with water. He watches you all the while.

Rodolfo parts his knees, letting you stand between his thighs. With one hand you take his chin, the other giving light dabs across his face. You can’t help but grimace as you notice the towel dirty with red, but Rodolfo doesn’t seem all too bothered with his own injuries, the weight of his head on your hand getting heavier as he gets comfortable.

“What on earth happened so suddenly that you need to tell me now?” You chastise lightly. “I’m sure it can wait tomorrow, you need to rest-”

“No, we failed,” Rodolfo grumbles. His syllables were a little slurred, no doubt to the adrenaline running off but his eyebrows were adorably furrowed as he tried to maintain concentration. “We will head out in the morning to find Hassan, I need-”

“To rest,” you argue. Your ministrations cleaned up the main mask of his face, and now you could get a good look at him without being concerned that he was going to kick the bucket in a few minutes. You give him a frown before you continue to dab at his temples and the blood that got stuck in the roots of his hair, Rodolfo offering the odd hum of contentment all the while. “We can handle it tomorrow, if we’ll be fighting like you said, we’ll need to concentrate-”

“I love you.”

Your hand stilled. You instinctively wanted to argue that he must’ve had too much adrenaline but he is looking as serious and sober as ever.

“You tell me I’ll need to concentrate but I can’t get you out of my head.”

He reached up to take your hand that’s at his temple, despite the thickness of his fingers he nimbly moves them to thread in between yours. You do not doubt that the man standing before you is Rodolfo, but something was different. He was changed. The fire in his eyes held a different light, more sombre, a tinge of desperation. He was distracted, or instead, he was too focused on a singular goal that he disregarded everything else like a moth to a flame. He still wore his dirtied gear upon sheets that you’ll likely have to wash later.

“What happened tonight?” You whisper tentatively. In truth, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know the answer.

“I almost died.”

In any other situation you would have laughed. Of course he almost died, you two almost die every day. It comes with the territory of being a Vaqueros.

But the both of you know that.

“In the cartel safehouse, alone,” Rodolfo murmurs. “I saw Hassan, he talked to me. They set the house aflame but I was concussed, I couldn’t move no matter how much I wanted to.”

He looks away briefly and you offer his hand a gentle squeeze of encouragement. He leans forward, getting closer to you until his tactical vest clacks against yours.

“Alejandro saved me,” he admits. “But before he did… I thought I was done.”

For a second, Rodolfo is back in the safehouse, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows a cough.

“I swear I was burning in the flames of hell already, it was suffocating. In those moments when I had no choice but to lie and wait, I could only think of one thing. They say that your life flashes before your eyes but that did not happen to me.”

And then it was Rodolfo’s turn to tighten the grip on your hand, expecting you to slip away through his fingers like smoke.

“I could only think about you.”

Rodolfo drags your hands down to his cheek. Pulling his hand away briefly to then manipulate yours to cup his face. He leans into it and you indulge, gently stroking the plushness of his cheek with your thumb. With his face close up to yours, you now notice the faintest stray smears of soot against his skin and you try to wipe them away even as it gets your own hands dirty in the process. His face is flushed, skin warm to the touch like the final embers of a campfire.

“The only regret on my mind - that you never knew how I felt about you. I know the lives we’ve chosen are dangerous, but you were always my respite. I accept it is fair that I will die out on the field as a Vaquero but when I was burning in that safehouse I could only think how it was unfair to you.”

His eyes had slowly closed as he nuzzled deeper into your palm.

“It was unfair to you if I never got to show you my gratitude or repay you. It was unfair if I didn’t get the chance to at least try to give you the comfort you have given me.”

You could barely hear him over your pounding heart. Rodolfo resigns himself, slowly lifting his head from your hand. He doesn’t look particularly sad, only accepting, looking as resolute as ever.

“You don’t have to feel the same, but you deserve to know. Coronel may fight for Las Almas, but I realise now I am fighting for you. Regardless of how you feel, I always will be.”

With no words able to capture how you feel, you can only push forward, pressing your lips against his. Rodolfo was more than happy to accept, his hand already slipping to the back of your head, pushing you impossibly closer to him. Any closer and there will be teeth clacking and even then it would not feel close enough. Your military gear only feels like a hinderance, as it creates an uncomfortable pressure against your chest that you push through just to get a taste of him. His groan is swallowed up by you and reverberates through your entire being. Pressing up against him, the bitter fumes of toxic flames that surrounded him were distant, managing to instead get the whiff of his cologne; the smell of comfort after quiet nights spent huddled together in base. His other arm cradles the curve of your back, the firmness of his bicep nudging you forward until your abdomen is against his.

And with a single kiss you pour all of the emotion you can. For all the days spent pining helplessly at his natural kindness. For all the times he refuses to let you do a mission alone, to the hushed, panic whispers of reassurance when you’re bleeding out on the field. To let him know he’s already paid in kind if not more. That every time you reload your rifle and step onto cartel territory, ready to sign your life away, that you had been fighting for him all the same.

When you pull away, Rodolfo does not let you move any further than you have to to regain your breath. He rests his forehead against yours, heaving breaths intermingling. His hands have crept up to your neck, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your skin. No doubt his fingers have accidentally dirtied your face with the soot and dirt from the mission, but you will gladly adorn the markings as a sign that you are his.

“I love you too,” you say breathlessly and he instinctively lets out a content sigh.

“Dios mío, please, say it again.”

“I love you, Rodolfo Parra,” you reply and he offers a smile worthy to be put in a museum.

It takes a few testing tugs until Rodolfo allows you to finally part from him, not after you distract him with a quick peck on the lips. You gingerly pick up the towel that had been forgotten on the floor, setting it aside and now opening up the first aid kit beside you.

“Now that I’m your lover I can order you around, hm?” You tease and you giggle with how his smile turns shy upon referring to yourself as his partner. “I’m going to patch you up, we’ll wash up, and then you’re going to rest.”

“How cruel,” he replies fondly. “But I guess whatever mi vida says must go, yes?”

Call of Duty Masterlist Check Out the Rest of Fall4Rudy Here!!

#FALL4RUDY #rudy x reader #rodolfo x reader #call of duty x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #cod x reader #rodolfo rudy parra x reader #rodolfo parra #rodolfo cod #/*avery actually writes*/

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twogyuu · 12 days

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an unfinished tale [one - teaser]

Pairing: Wonwoo x fem!reader

Synopsis: In an age absent of DMs and dating apps, a year you're not supposed to exist in, you defy all odds and manage to fall in love with the neighbor down the hall from your uncle's dorm. Part of you wishes he feels the same, part of you hopes he doesn't - for the sake of your heart and his.

Genre: Fluff, crack, smidgen of angst, first/last loves, time travel!au, 90s!au, college!au, uncle/roommate!chan, chan has a twin brother who is reader's dad LMAO, fairy godmother!seokmin; featuring friends!seungkwan, vernon, and jihoon too 💙

Warnings: profanity

WC: 573 (est total chapter WC ~5k)

A/N: This is a Wonwoo fic, I promise 😂💀 He's just not featured a whole lot in the first few chapters because we're setting up scene! Likely, full chapter to be released at the end of the month or early May :) Please look forward to it!

masterlist

His roommate sat up from his bottom bunk, one hand propping himself up, revealing the top of Chan’s emerald green and white tracksuit. Hair on the back of his head stuck up in all sorts of directions, some strands standing straight up due to the static.

He furrowed his brows, lips setting into a pout – both in confusion and curiosity. Chan asked slowly, “You brought . . . a girl . . . back to our dorm?”

His eyes drifted from Vernon to the person in question, taking note of her saddened state, but most importantly, her rather bizarre fashion. Vernon understood because he had the same reaction – he just didn’t show it well. At first glance, she didn’t look weird: she wore a cropped bubble sweater with a drawstring around the hem that hit her at the waist, meeting right where her pair of black leggings started. A pair of Converse All Stars with thicker than usual white rubber soles donned her feet. It was all in the subtle detail that just felt off – the leggings made it feel like she was from the last decade, and hell, when did Converse get a height boost? (Where could he find some?).

Chan’s gaze landed on her face again – she looked so . . . familiar. Did he know her from somewhere? Have they met before?

Chan opened his mouth to say something, only to shut them again, lips twisting tight, wagging his finger at her. The feelings are at the tip of his tongue, but he had no words to express them.

Regardless of his confusion, the girl stood stiff under his scrutiny, hands pressed into the sides of her legs as she peered at Chan. She seemed too absorbed in her own thoughts to care for Chan’s obvious judgment. Her eyes wide and chin trembling, as if he held the world in his hands and he was the hero she was waiting for all this time to bring comfort to her misery.

The adoration and relief that swam in her eyes was strange and nostalgic . . . almost as if he was her–

“Do I know–”

“Dad!”

She launched herself into Chan’s chest, tightly wrapping her hands around his waist and collapsing into a whole body-shaking sob. Vernon figured it had been a rough day for her already, but perhaps more than she led on and she was only finally giving into stress.

“Dad?” Chan repeated in an exacerbated, nebulous tone. He immediately looked from the girl then to Vernon. Chan pointed at her, shoulders raising to silently ask, where the fuck did you find her?

Vernon couldn’t help but smile a little, only offering Chan a small shrug in reply before nonchalantly, sauntering to his side of the dorm. He deposited his backpack underneath his old, unsturdy wooden desk that was on the verge of collapsing from all the books piled on it. Vernon settled into the spinning office chair, leaning back and propping up his feet. He had no plans of intervening at any time soon. He was a believer that people should feel their emotions. The girl seemed too fraught and crying seemed therapeutic for her as she clung onto Chan.

On the contrary, Chan was distressed, unsure of if he should push her away or comfort her. The former felt wrong. . . genuinely, she seemed so sad and desolate. At the same time, he was incredibly uncomfortable.

Dad?

He was certain he did not look that old! So damn rude.

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines

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cozy-cinnamon-roll · 2 months

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Lee!Alastor Headcanons Let's Gooooo

so sorry for the word wall... but I cannot be concise about the scary demon man 😅

Words cannot describe how much I love the idea of Alastor's accent slipping when he's tickled. It's hard for me to picture it in my mind because it never really slips on-screen (although his "WELL! Looks like I need a visit t' the TAY-ler!" line gets pretty close lol) but GAH the man was born and raised in Louisiana, he's gotta have at least a little southern drawl buried under that Transatlantic thing he's got going on.

{ helps that I grew up in the south, and I know how common it is for folks with very faint/non-existant accents to suddenly go FULL TWANG if something gets them riled up (or, ya know, ✨flustered✨) I don't even have a southern accent myself but I still start to drawl my vowels a little bit if I get wound up enough. }

I'm also a huge fan of the hc some people have suggested that Al loses his static filter when he's tickled, falling into genuine laughter. I have a bit of a hybrid version: I feel like as he resists and tries to suppress his giggles the radio filter gets thicker and thicker, the way it sounds when you're losing a radio station... but then once you REALLY get him good and he can't fight back the hysterics anymore, it'd just drop out completely, and all you can hear is his genuine laughter.

I expect there'd definitely be more and more of that crackling radio background static too (not the voice filter, but the lil buzzy crackle noise that happens when he's not speaking) the more flustered he gets, since that seems to happen pretty consistently when he's nervous.

Ya know that lil squeaky noise Al makes at the very end of "Stayed Gone" (literally the last sound you hear before Vox's "FAHAHAHAHACK!!")? I picture his voice doing a lil compressed version of that noise if somebody sneak-attacks him at juuuust the right moment. Basically his version of a squeal of surprise.

That said.... Alastor seems to have a pretty strong hold on his startle reflex. I mean, a fucking chandelier falls directly in front of him and his expression doesn't falter. So I have a theory that Al is able to keep such a tight hold on his startle reflex because his knee-jerk response to being startled isn't fight or flight, but freeze... a literal "deer-in-the-headlights" if you will 🦌

THEREFORE I feel like that deer-in-the-headlights instinct means that he'd be completely disoriented by tickling, anticipated or not. So few people touch him at all that the mere sensation of being tickled would likely overwhelm him very quickly. Add the tension between his panic and the equal and opposite reluctance to stop it (because, lee)... being tickled would just completely short-circuit the poor guy's brain.

I'm SURE there will be a part 2 to this in the future, so stay tuned! 😁

#oh deer he's ticklish #lee!alastor #ticklish!alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel tickles #tickle headcanons

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bunniesanddeer · 1 month

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Bound to Hell

This is the companion work to "Going Straight to Hell". This is from the reader's POV. Minors DNI

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Violence and sexual assault against a minor is referenced. Revenge, demon deals, etc. 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 8,349

You’ve known for a long time that your soul would be bound for Hell. From the moment your mother died, you’ve been slowly corrupted. When you finally realized that no matter what the afterlife looked like, it wouldn’t be good for you, you cried yourself to sleep. You had stared into the mirror the next day, wondering if someone would be able to see it in your face. Would people know at a glance that you were disgusting— that you were a lost cause? Although you knew, deep down, that it wasn’t your fault, the thoughts still swirled in your mind each night.

It was late one evening that you finally gave up. You had long foregone begging to be freed from your living hell, but something in the way your hips ached, and your chest hurt pushed you. When the night finally felt late enough, you curled into the corner of your bed, and you begged. You cried, and wept, and whispered for some higher power to save you. Whatever could you have done for this to last so long? You deserved freedom. You deserved kindness. And so with your heart on your sleeve, already bruised and battered, you called for a savior.

“Please,” you keep repeating, as many times as it takes. “Anyone. I need this to end. I need help.” You sob and pull your knees to your chest. Your skin aches from the way you dig your nails into your arms. You keep doing it anyway; it feels like the only thing keeping you awake. “Please just help me end it. I’ll do anything.”

Then, there is a shiver that crawls down your spine, cold and dreadful. There is a sudden feeling of being watched, and it is something you’ve never experienced quite this way. You sit up, your head whipping around, trying to catch sight of whatever is in your dark room with you. You can’t see much, but that only makes the feeling worse; you are absolutely sure that someone is in the room with you.

“Who’s there?” Your voice is quiet, but in the silence of the room, it feels like you are screaming. You cross one set of fingers, hoping that nothing responds.

There’s a clicking sound, sudden and loud. Then the stereo on your desk flares to life. The radio dial flickers back and forth, static bursting forth. You jump at the sudden noise, and stare at the desk. There’s no way that just happened.

“Hello?” You call into the hopefully empty room. Your eyes flicker around the room, trying to see anything at all.

“HEL-” A voice nearly screams from the stereo, and you shriek.

“What the FUCK!”

You push yourself back so that you’re flush with the wall, and you try to slow your breathing. You don’t need to be having a panic attack at this time of night.

“Hello! Can I speak now?” The voice continues, strange and warbled. The static is thicker than you’ve ever heard from a radio station. It wasn’t often a problem anymore, and it confused you. Not to mention, the man, (although you weren’t sure that it was a man), had an accent that you hadn’t heard anyone have.

“Are you talking to me?” You grab at your knees, swallowing hard.

“Ha! Of course, I’m talking to you!” The voice laughs, and part of you feels patronized. There’s something in his tone that sets your nerves alight. Something is seriously wrong. Not to mention, it feels like you are having a strange dream. “I couldn't help but hear you calling for help, dear!”

You immediately doubt his words. He sounds so fake, as if he was on a TV show. You settle yourself, still subtly looking around the room. You wouldn’t be surprised if this owner of the strange voice is in the room with you.

“You seem to be having quite the problem, and I’d like to offer my services!” His voice trills, his volume nearly pushing them to their limits. You glance at the door, suddenly remembering Richard. God, if he walked in now… “However, I can’t help you unless you call my name with the intention of making a deal. It’s the rules, unfortunately.”

A snort escapes you. What the hell was this? Some children’s book? It reminded you of a cartoon. “Like Beetlejuice?”

“I have no idea what that is, my dear.” He sounded genuinely confused, and it made you want to laugh. Whatever this guy was, there was a good chance he wasn’t human. Something in the way he talked, made it feel like he was positioning himself above you. It was strange, but it was like you instinctively knew something that your conscious brain couldn’t pinpoint.

“Ah,” You mutter. You stay silent, trying to let your brain catch up with everything. Part of you feels like you need to remember all of this. It’s as if a single detail could be the difference, so you stay put and think.

“I don’t know what your name is,” You say some time later. You frown, and glare at the stereo on your desk. If this was a dream, you were going to be annoyed. You wouldn’t put it past your desperate brain, though. Whatever would keep it from blipping out of existence.

“I’ll tell you in just a moment! Fret not!” Static pours into the silence. He’s thinking mighty hard about something, and it makes goosebumps erupt on your arms. He’s planning something. “I just wanted to tell you that I could help you with whatever your problem might be, if only you called me. Nothing is too big or small.”

You turn towards the door, and a thought immediately comes to mind. Richard. Your nails dig into your palm, and you grit your teeth. You could have his blood spilled into the tile. If this thing speaking to you is real, it could be done. Something twists at your heart, and suddenly you want it with such desperation. You want to be free. He needs to die.

“What’s your name,” you demand. You keep your voice flat, but confident— you won’t look like a fool, or an easy target for this strange thing’s whims. You want to know if it could be done, but you know you need more information first.

“The name’s Alastor, darling! Who might I be speaking to?” His voice is full of tenacity, as if he knows what you will ask of him. Something he says catches your ear, more than the rest, though.

“Shouldn’t you know my name?” You figured if God or angels, or whatever, were real, that they would know your name. (Some lost memory of someone telling you something about angels flickers in your mind. Aren’t angels supposed to not tell you their name?) Something is wrong.

There is suddenly a surge of tingling across your body, and it feels heavy, oppressive. “No, dear. I am a demon, straight from Hell, here to provide you my services!” His laughing grates your nerves, and the words set your veins on fire.

You can feel your expression fall, as anger surges up. Of course! Of course, when you finally get an answer, it’s from some malevolent force, and not something that actually wants to help you! He will want something from you, you know it in your bones. You don’t know if you will be able to pay the price.

“Why the long face, dear?” He laughs, static popping and crackling as he does. You start crying softly as you hear his joy. There is something so wrong about someone taking the joy in this, as he does.

“I guess I should have known that if there was some higher power, they wouldn’t help me. Guess it would end up being some demon.” A bitter laugh rips from your throat, and you duck your head between your knees. You were never worth saving, it seems. Why bother? What was worse than this? Dread settles on you as you think about how this has just confirmed how little you are worth.

“I’m not just some demon, darling. I’m the Radio Demon! Powerful overlord of Pentagram City!” He sounds angry as he protests your assumptions of his power. You scoff to yourself. So the guy has an ego, big fucking surprise.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” You lie down on your side. This conversation is exhausting, even for something that might not even be real. You just want him to leave. “I’ll think about it. If you’re actually real, and not just some strange thing my mind made up to keep me here.”

“Well then! I will speak to you again, dear! Remember, just call my name with intention, and I’ll appear!” He says it with surety, to the point where you think you will call for him. You hear a click, as the dial for the stereo turns, and then it is silent in your room again. Just you and your far too angry thoughts. Could you do it? Could you call on this demon to help you kill Richard?

You scream, throwing a plate against the wall. It shatters into a bunch of pieces, and you wince. That won’t be fun to clean up, or explain. You sigh, and go to find the broom, ruminating on the morning’s events.

Richard had been especially grumpy, pulling you from your room by your hair. He’d pushed you to make breakfast, complaining on and on about work. You hated him complaining about things he didn’t even let you do, it was ridiculous. He was allowed to do whatever the fuck he wanted, and he threw you around like a rag doll, but some guy misplacing his shit was the worst thing ever? Richard was ridiculous, you were sure. The man had the worst priorities, like trying to break your jaw when you told him ‘no’.

You wanted him dead, you were sure of it, but you weren’t sure how to go about it. You knew the end result would be your life being taken too, but the tradeoff didn’t seem too bad. Richard wouldn’t hurt another soul if you took him down with you. Maybe you could find a way to burn down the house while he was asleep? No, that wasn’t a guarantee, so you needed something else. Stabbing him wouldn’t work unless you were making breakfast. The man kept too close of an eye on you when you were cooking, though. Maybe strangling? Richard often fell asleep for a bit after finishing, leaving him vulnerable. Maybe you could—

The demon! If he was real, he might be the key. You would call on him, as soon as you were done sweeping up your mess.

You dumped the broken pieces into the trash, and put away the broom, deciding you would go back to your room. Something didn’t want you to invite him into the rest of the house. You heeded the feeling, and went to your room. You only had an hour or so until Richard was home, but it would be enough.

The door clicked behind you, and you settled in front of it. You weren’t quite sure how to call, but figured starting with the demon’s name would be right. You closed your eyes, and let out a breath.

“Alastor,” you called softly, peeking one eye open after a moment. Nothing. Maybe you were doing it wrong? Taking a deeper breath, you spoke steadily. “Alastor, I want to make a deal.”

Your room erupted with heat for a brief moment, and it made your eyes pop open. A shadow was creeping unnaturally off the ground, and forming a solid shape. The demon! His appearance sent a shock through you.

Alastor was incredibly tall, nearly seven feet, the little tufts on his head putting him over that. The little tufts were the same color scheme as his hair, and scraped the ceiling. His hair was cut almost into a bob, and was a bright red with red-black ends. His eyes were just as red as the rest of him, (honestly, he was mostly red, which was a strange sight in your drab-colored room), with glowing irises and black slits for pupils. The pupils shift to you as you take in his bright, old-fashioned suit. His hands only have four fingers, and his fingers end in sharp claws. You gulp at the thought of them touching you, they would surely tear your skin with barely a press.

You fall forward just a bit, your hands catching the carpet beneath you. Alastor is definitely a demon. Nothing else could look like this. Your brain feels like it’s melting as you try to comprehend that Hell is indeed real, and so are the demons that come with it.

The demon pulls a strange cane out of thin air, spinning it as he surveys you and your room. The smile on his face hasn’t budged a bit, and it makes you uncomfortable. Then he’s looking at you, cocking his head. The tufts on top shift, drawing your gaze for a moment.

“You’re real,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. You shake your head, and then decide you need some bravery. You push yourself up onto shaky legs, and move a little closer to him. His sharp smile, (man, he has only sharp teeth, how does he chew?) grows as you do.

“That I am, my dear!” He leans his body towards you, and his face gets very close. His eyes look even more alien, up close. There seems to be swirling in his pupils, green flames flickering every few moments. Then, you try to breathe, and your nose burns. He smells awful. You imagine it is the smell of an open grave on a hot day, and it nearly makes you gag. You wince, and take a step away from him.

“Uh, sir, you smell real bad,” you say, trying not to let all of your disgust show. You put your hands up, already surrendering, as his eyes shift. Shit.

“What?” He asks, static heavy in his voice. (You wanted to know how he does the static thing. It was weird, but kind of cool, and it also hurt your ears). He’s definitely annoyed, and it makes you wince again.

“Yeah, sorry. You smell like an overripe corpse. It’s downright foul.” You perch yourself on your bed, picking at a stray thread. Whatever it would take to avoid his eyes. They made you want to squirm in your seat, like a child who got caught doing something they weren't meant to. You finally settle, and glance at him. “Right, uh, sorry. Meant to introduce myself, but that really threw me off track. Hi.” You give him your name, softly, waving a little with one hand. (You want to smack yourself. What is wrong with you? This is absolutely not how you should talk to a demon, who has more power, you think, than you could imagine).

He repeats your name back to them with a flourish of his cane. Something in the way he says it makes you shiver. “Well, hello to you too! I was quite hoping you’d call on me, and now here we are!” His grin widens, something dark leaking into it. “Are you ready to make a deal?”

You shake your head. You want to make a deal, but not yet; you need more details. “No, I wanted to-”

You don’t get even a moment to explain yourself, when he explodes.

Your room is suddenly far too dark, shadows at the edges almost seeming to turn solid. His body grows, the sound of cracking bones making your stomach turn. Antlers stretch across his head, scratching at the ceiling, the gouges deep. Your eyes widen, and you push yourself away from him as his face warps.

If he was a little frightening before, he is downright terrifying now. His mouth is all sharp teeth, opening as if to take a gouge out of you. His eyes have turned black, the pupils changing to an almost dial shape. A bright red ‘x’ forming on his forehead. His claws sharpen, and start to reach towards you. His shadow, that you only just noticed, moves independently, crawling along the ceiling. It starts to grab at you, as well.

You finally yelp, and tears pour down your face. Dear God, what was that? You want to tear your skin off. You grasp at the blanket you had unknowingly pulled over yourself, watching as he shakes his head.

His eyebrows hitch down as he shrinks, and he lets light back into the room. The smile is still fixed in place, but something about it seems tighter, as if it’s more of a struggle to keep. He hums to himself, as if deep in thought, and you can only watch. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself.

“Oh dear, I hadn’t meant to frighten you! Merely lost some of my self-control, there, dearest!” He sounds far too chipper, and it grates on your already frayed nerves. You hadn’t meant to upset him, whatever you did, you just wanted info. He did want to make a deal, right?

Alastor places his hands behind his back, the cane disappearing as he does. (‘Still so weird! How does he do it,’ you think). He tilts his head just slightly, and for a moment he reminds you of a puppy. The tufts tilt towards you, and you realize that they’re ears! The thought calms you down just a bit. He looks so strange, but his ears make you want to laugh, and it gives you the calm to speak up.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. You stare down at his, admittedly fancy, shoes. “I just wanted to know how a deal would work, so I could make one with all the information I needed.”

Alastor stiffens, and it makes you finally look at him properly. With a wave of his hand, the chair at your little desk pulls back, and plops himself right into it. He looks silly, his giant being stuffed into a tiny, wooden chair.

“Sorry, darling! Hadn’t meant to give you the heebie-jeebies. I got a little ahead of myself!” He props his head up with one hand under his chin, his other hand twirling his cane. “Do you have questions? You can ask away!”

You settle some more, and let go of the blanket you had in a death-grip. “What… what do I have to give you, in a deal?” You feel sure that you know already, but the question just makes his smile grow even larger, somehow.

He leans forwards, his eyes hooded, and he looks hungry. It sends shivers down your spine, and something in the back of your mind starts screaming, “Your soul. And because you’re still living, your life as well, depending on what you want. Your soul would be mine for eternity, and you would serve me in Hell.”

You knew it. Your soul would be the cost of whatever you asked of him, and he would take your life too. Although you wouldn’t mind him doing the deed himself, the soul bit makes you uncomfortable. You just found out you do have a soul, and he is already asking for it? Maybe that’s your fault, you did want to know about deals.

“I was going to kill myself anyway, so you can have it.” You state factually.

“Oh, were you?” He goads, his hands flexing as he watches you move around on your bed. You fix your glare on him as you nod.

“Yes. No matter what happens, I’ll end up dead. If I do it this way, it’s on my own terms.” You can only think of Richard as you tell the demon what you plan to do. If it wasn’t for him, none of it would be necessary. He’s ruined your entire life, and all you want to do is ruin his in return.

“Well, do tell! You can’t just leave me with that! Tell me what’s in that noodle of yours!” He swings his cane at you, looking delighted. “Come on!”

You sigh, nearly fed up with how strange he is. “Fine. I need you to tell me what you can do, first. What are the limits to this deal?” You need anything you can get. Are you going to damn yourself, or let your soul get torn to bits for something useless? No. Not even you are that desperate.

He hums, thinking about his answer. “I can do near anything, dear! Anything your little heart desires can be yours!”

You nod, and huff to yourself. “Fine. I’ll tell you what my problem is, and then I’m gonna tell you exactly what I hope to get out of this.” You sit up straighter, glaring at him as you do, and cross your arms. “It ain’t pretty, though, so don’t go blaming me if you get bored or grossed out by details.” You sneer at him, trying to quell the anger rising in you.

“Oh darling, I promise I have seen and heard much worse. Worry not, your little head!” His grin widens, and you want to hate him. How dare he find some sick form of entertainment in your despair? You want to kick his stupid, sharp teeth in.

“There is a man in my house that I have had the displeasure of living with for several years. I was thirteen when my mom met him.” You stare off into the distance, as too sharp memories prickle at your mind. “He was nice at first, and he was good for my mom. She had been distraught when my dad died. I was the adult in the house for a little while, and then she met Ric- Richard. He had been really nice at first. He helped around the house. He got my mom into therapy. Encouraged me in my classes. He made it clear he wasn’t trying to replace my dad, but he was good for a while. My mom loved him. They got married. He adopted me some time after that. Things were good.” You close your eyes, trying not to cry. You think of how your dad would feel about everything that’s become of you. Would he blame you, or would he gut Richard? Richard always blamed you, and part of you believes him.

Your eyes open, and flick to him. All you can feel is despair slowly corrupting into fiery indignation. You wanted Richard gone. You wanted your skin reclaimed, and cleansed of his filthy sins. Alastor seems to light up at the expression on your face. He leans forward, eyes wide with interest.

“The first time he touched me, I was fourteen. Mom was over at the hospital with grandma overnight. I was home with Ri- Richard alone. It was the first time it had happened. I was in the kitchen, reaching for something in a cabinet, and he came up behind me. He grabbed my ass, and squeezed hard. I remember being too shocked to really say anything. I just stumbled back, watching him as he laughed it off. He didn’t apologize, just said he hadn’t meant to.

“I spent a couple of days trying to decide if I should tell my mom. I didn’t get the chance. She got into a car accident leaving work. Died before we could even get to the hospital.”

A bitter laugh wracks your body as they watch him. “Wanna guess who I got stuck with, because this motherfucker adopted me?”

Alastor stiffens, and you realize he didn’t know what had made you call for him. You figured he knew, and had been drawing it out of you as some sick form of torture. The thin veil of discomfort you can see on his face just slightly endears you to him. Perhaps he didn’t like such a thing?

“Yeah. You can imagine that I’d get to properly mourn my mother, but I never got the chance. He’d crept into my bed that night, using his tears against me.” You wave at yourself with a tired hand. “I’m small, you know? I’ve been about this height since I was thirteen. Five feet and two inches. I’ve got nothing on him, especially because at the time my weight was dwindling because of stress. You can imagine how damn easy it would be to toss me around like a rag doll.”

Alastor’s ears perk forward, and his eyes seem distant. Your face twists. He’s probably thinking about tearing you into pieces, or whatever strange demons did. You shake your head off the off-topic thoughts, and think of Richard again.

“He’s raped me, many, many times. I haven’t experienced a kind touch that wasn’t to trick me since my mom was alive. The motherFUCKER-” You sit up on your knees, hand falling forward to clutch the edge of your bed. A deep desire for violence fills up your entire being. You pant, a growl rumbling in your throat as you imagine what you would do to him. “Has stopped me from going to school many times, so I couldn’t show up hurt. Then that fucking VIRUS happened, and no one could see what was happening to me. I was trapped. Now that things are fine again, I should be able to leave and get a job, but he’s trapping me here. I’m stuck!”

You let out a guttural yell, rolling off the bed and onto your feet. You pace, and shake your hands around. “He’s DESTROYED me. He’s taken and taken and taken from me! I’m fucking done.” You stop moving, and look Alastor straight in the eyes. “I want to keep him from ever doing anything to anyone else. The justice system won’t fucking work. It never does! I want to rip his fucking heart from his chest while he watches. I want to make him beg, and scream like he’s done to me. I want to tear him to pieces over and over and-”

You collapse to the floor in a heap of tears. What has become of you? What bastard decided your fate would be to suffer Richard, and his aftermath? You rip at your hair, trying to pull yourself back. You felt a cool hand on your back, and you raised your head. Alastor was crouched beside you, and it seemed out of place for him. It made you feel weird.

“Oh, do stop that, dear. You mustn’t do that. You want to look your best when we send you off to slaughter the man, don’t you?” His voice sounds almost soft, tinged with something you can’t pinpoint. It makes you frown.

You can only think of your fate, now. Were you ever destined for heaven? Were there any versions of you that could make it? You tug at your lips with your teeth, nearly ripping an old scab as you worry.

“Do you think I’d go to Heaven if I didn’t do it?” You ask, watching him. His smile shifts. He seems to be thinking hard on his answer. You wonder why, briefly.

“I am unsure, dear. Who knows why one gets to Heaven? There are plenty of sinners in Hell for the littlest of things. I want you to know, though, you sure won’t get to Heaven if you kill yourself!” He laughs, and it makes you glare at him, albeit weakly. He stands up, towering over you. Your stomach twists. “You said you wanted him dead, darling! Now is your chance! Imagine all the other little boys and girls he’ll hurt if you let him live.”

That bastard. You feel called out, but he’s right. What else can you do? Your eyes flicker about as your mind races? What can you do? He offers you a hand as you nod at him. He helps you stand and then promptly drops your hand.

“Now, are you ready to make a deal?” His voice is sharp, the static crackling loudly again.

You sigh, and avoid his eyes. “Not today. I need some time to think about everything. Can you tell me what Hell is like? So I can get an idea of what I’m headed towards.”

If you were going to damn yourself, you wanted to know what you were going to. Would it be worth it to make a deal with him, kill Richard and be his? Or would avoiding Alastor, and just doing it all yourself, be better? Would Alastor even help? Or is he more of a plan for the aftermath? You haven’t decided.

“Now that is a fun topic! Hell is full of vicious sinners; the worst of the worst! And just about everyone else too! Ha ha!” He laughs, and it makes you shiver. He clearly has fun down there. “There’s plenty of suffering! People out on the streets stabbing each other! Swindling each other out of everything they have! There’s even cannibals!”

You grimace. Cannibals were gross. “Ew. That mean Dahmer’s down there?”

“I do believe he has his own little picture show! I wouldn’t know. I find that drivel terribly boring.” Alastor sounds just slightly offended, and it bothers you for a moment. Is— was he a cannibal? The thought makes your stomach wriggle.

You snort, shaking your head at him. “You talk like an old man, demon.” He sounds like he belonged in old movies. Far too much charisma built into his voice, along with a dead accent. “What else is there? You said it was a city?”

“Oh yes! There are other overlords, like myself, who run different parts of the city and of that ring of Hell. Sinners, mortal souls like you and me, reside in the topmost layer of Hell. People have entire lives there; houses, jobs, and all that fun! And then once a year the angels descend to slaughter whatever riffraff they can find on the street! And poof! Gone forever! It’s quite fun to watch.” He sits down in the chair, gesturing with his cane.

You groan, tipping your head back. Why the hell wouldn’t there be capitalism in Hell? You might not get to participate, but the thought of people having to keep working dead end jobs, even after they die, feels cruel. (Although, that’s the point of Hell, right? You hate it).

“There’s fucking capitalism in Hell? God dammit,” you snark, annoyed.

“Exactly, darling! God did damn it, and so it’s in Hell! Ha ha!” His teeth clack together, and his laugh nearly sets you off. Yeah, it was kind of funny. You refused to admit it, though.

You roll your eyes at him, and wave your hand at him, asking, “So you think I’d have a terrible time there? Can I expect to get shivved at the first opportunity?”

“Well, if you made a deal with me, there’d be nothing to worry about, dear! I take care of the things that are mine. The only one you would need to worry about is good old me! Of course, you would only experience my bad-side if you dared to disobey, but you don’t seem the type.” His possessiveness doesn’t surprise you, but something in the way he says it… Your whole body shakes for a second, and then you relax again. How bizarre.

You hum, and then your eyes catch your little round clock. You stiffen up, realize the time. Richard would be home soon, and you needed to be prepared. He’d likely make you make dinner, and you needed him appeased so you could think. “I need you to leave. I should be able to make a deal next time, but I need to figure out how to word it.” Your eyes shift to the door. You start forcing yourself to relax, in that strange way you always do.

“Oh! He’s coming home, isn’t he? Why don’t you make a deal now, and get it over with?” Alastor seems excited, but you readily shoot him down.

“I can’t. I have to do this the right way. I’m giving you my eternal soul, for forever. I need to make sure I don’t regret it. Bye.”

His eyebrows furrow and his smile narrows. You ignore the feeling it gives you. “As you say, my dear. I expect you to call for me soon.” And in a flash of flames, he disappears from your room.

Later that night, your blanket wrapped around you as tightly as you can get it, you think over everything you could ask for. Hell would suck, but if you had protection in a place you knew you were going to go, it might be easier. You could also make sure that you were actually comfortable in your afterlife. It seemed like there were plenty of people there. Not exactly the best place to meet friends, but better than nothing, right? You hug yourself, imagining any other arms than Richard’s, and plan your words.

You stand in the center of your room, dressed in dark jeans, and a comfortable shirt. Your hair is brushed, and your teeth clean. You don’t know why you bothered to change out of pajamas this time, but you did. You sigh at yourself, and call. “Alastor. I’m ready to make a deal.”

“Alastor,” You say, your voice firm. You keep your eyes on him, refusing to show fear. You need to show that you are serious, and understand the consequences of what you are doing. He bends over, as he seems wont to do, and puts his face close to yours. You notice that he doesn’t smell as bad this time. You refuse to back down, even as his teeth separate so he can speak.

“Yes, dear?” He seems excited, his mile almost vibrating with it. His fingers twitch.

“I’m ready to make a deal. I’m allowed to set my own terms, right?” You narrow your eyes at him, daring him to tell you no. “Because they’re going to be specific.”

“Ha ha! Of course, you can, dear! I will, of course, have my own as well!” He pops straight back up, swinging his cane as he goes. “Whatever could your little terms be?” Static burst in his words and prickling at your skin.

“I’ll have your protection in Hell, and you can’t harm me unless it’s earned. I also don’t want to be abandoned, or sequestered from others. If I get the opportunity to make friends at some point, I ask that you let me. I spent my entire life trapped, and I won’t take more of that in Hell. Well, other than you owning my soul. I’ll do as you tell me, but I just ask that you be reasonable.” You let out a breath, proud of yourself for actually getting it all out.

His eyes narrow at you, and you feel something instinctive scream at you. You are toeing a line you can’t see.

“Of course, dear! Not a problem! I, of course, will be having your soul at my beck and call. And! I was hoping to have what’s left of your body when you die! Haven’t had mortal flesh in quite some time. Ha!” He laughs as your jaw drops in shock. (You knew it! Of course, the fucker was a cannibal).

“You can have Richard for sure, but,” you trail off, your eyes finally leaving him. One hand wraps itself around your throat, thinking of his teeth sinking into it. Your chest fills with squirming bugs at the thought, but you push it away. You can only think of how much you have been through, and the abuse your body has taken. Don’t you deserve better, at least in death? “I don’t know about that. I don’t want my body to necessarily be a waste, but it’s taken a lot of abuse. I think it deserves some, I don’t know…”

“Hmm,” he hums, tapping his chin with one claw. “I suppose I could limit it to one bite! I'll take the rest from whatever you leave of Richard. Ha ha! I am just so sure that you will taste much better!” He grins fervently. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes. You can have my soul, and one bite. I get protection when the deed is done, as our terms dictate.” You offer your hand, meeting his gaze. His eyes on you makes you feel like you’ve been doused in flames. It’s intense, and you feel out of place.

His grin widens as his hand reaches towards yours. It erupts into green flames, and you realize the whole room is getting weird. Green, flowing sigils cover the walls, and shadows encroach on the corners. You, however, can’t turn your head from him to look. It’s almost as if your head is in a headlock, neck unable to strain against the hold. You finally clasp your hands with him, realizing the flames feel like wisps of air licking at your hand with no heat. You shake his hand twice, quickly dropping it, trying not to think about how gigantic it is compared to yours.

“You’d think selling your soul would feel like something. Doesn’t even hurt.” You laugh at yourself, rubbing at your chest. That’s where the soul would be, right? You frown as you say, “Guess we ought to plan how I’m gonna do this, huh?”

He cocks his head, thinking about it for only a moment. “A knife should do the trick! Very personal, and I would love to see you covered in the carnage! Ha ha! It would be delightful!”

You agree, although the idea of being covered in blood isn’t the best one. You grit your teeth as you realize you don’t have any knives available. “I don’t have one, other than the kitchen knives, but he’s kept them locked up for a while now. Otherwise, I would have been gone by now.” You laugh at your misfortune. You wouldn’t have made the damned deal if you had been able to off yourself a year ago.

“Worry not! I have just the one!” He holds his hand out, and a dagger appears. It has a deep red handle, with an eye made from a ruby and gold set into the bottom of the handle. The blade itself has a golden hue, symbols etched into the center of the blade. “This should do the trick!”

You take the dagger gingerly, trying to be careful with it, while you take a look. It’s a beautiful blade, and you can't help but admire how shiny it is. You laugh, something giddy in your chest. You grip the handle firmly, and slash at the air.

“I thought it would be heavy, from the look of it. Glad to see it’s just the right weight.” You fiddle with it, nodding. “This will do. Now I just need to—”

You don’t get to finish the thought as a loud thud reverberates through the room. Richard is home. You glance at the clock. He’s home two whole hours early. He normally goes to the bar after work, but he hasn’t today. Something is wrong. Your eyes widen, and you whip your head to the door. Oh, no. You haven’t had time to plan. You set the dagger down on your desk, and look up at the demon in your room. While you know he’s powerful, you need time! You don’t like jumping right into things without a set plan.

“You need to go, he can’t see you!” You glance around your room, and then hit your leg. You feel like an idiot for looking for somewhere to hide him, but what are you supposed to do?

“Oh, my dear! Worry not! You can just finish it now!” His voice is far too loud, and it makes you flinch. You glance at the door again, praying to higher powers that you now know exist, and begging them to keep Richard from walking through your door.

“No! You don’t understand! He’s homie early, which means—”

There’s more thumping from the home beyond your door. You flinch with each, pushing at Alastor lightly. His eyes narrow when you do, so you pull your hands back. “Please,” you whisper, resorting to begging. (he would like begging, right? You want to cry). “Hide. Something! Him coming home early is bad! Please!”

Alastor is still for a moment, his smile nearly flat as his eyes flick over your face. Then, with a subtle nod, he disappears from view. The itching at the base of your skull tells you he is still there, but it doesn’t help. Your only backup is no longer visible, and your mind is shutting down at the thought. You cower to your bed, trying to make yourself feel secure. You want to scream. It’s been a long time since Richard has taken you in your bed, you hope he won’t try tonight.

Richard slams open your door, and you flinch, despite having expected it. You can already feel the fight leaving you. (You hated this part of you. Why did your body and brain feel the need to shut down? It made it so hard to fight back. You want to scream).

“Come here,” Richard demands of you. You try getting off the bed slowly, if only to delay the onslaught for a moment more. The man growls at you, instead. “Faster, you fucking twit!”

Richard grabs at your forearms, pushing your back up against the end of your bed. His grip is biting, and makes your skin crawl. “Did you get a hold of my fucking phone last night? Huh?” He shakes you roughly, your head snapping back and forth a few times. It hurts already. “Answer me!”

“No, Rich- I swear. I didn’t-” You yelp as you try to answer. You don’t even know where he keeps his phone at night. He pulls at your hair. “I swear! I didn’t!”

Richard scoffs, pushing you further onto the bed. “Oh, you little bitch! You think lying is going to help you right now?” He crawls up after you, grabbing onto your ankle to stop your retreat. His grasp on your ankle is nearly crushing the bones, and you want to scream. (You beg in your head, over and over, that no matter what happens next, Alastor is not in the corner to watch you get raped. The thought disgusts you more than you name). “Marie asked after you. Kept mentioning that she was worried about you.”

Richard was leaning over you now, his hands on either side of your head. You hate this position. He always tried to kiss you, and you could smell his disgusting breath. You hate him, with all of your soul.

You push against him, trying to put some space between your chests, but fail and the desire to scream bubbles up again. Your head feels full of cotton; you won’t do this again, you can’t. Richard lowers himself even more, his mouth going to kiss at your hair. His hips grind against yours, and you finally have enough. His throat is exposed for just a moment, and you see red.

You latch your teeth into his jugular, and bite down as hard as you can. You push through the pain in your jaw, and you press your teeth together, through his flesh. Richard starts yelling, the noise garbled. You ignore it, and rip your head back, spitting him out immediately.

Richard is scrabbling, and you take his pain as an opportunity to remove him. His arms are swinging, hitting you as you push him onto the floor. You’re screaming. You can’t tell what you’re saying, but you can feel the way your throat aches.

Once the man is on the floor, still reaching for you, you grab the dagger. You won’t let him survive. You settle on his hips, disgusted for only a moment. Richard is tugging at you, trying to pull you off, but you only scream at him. He can’t get rid of you that easily.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” You slam the dagger into Richard’s chest, your hands briefly struggling to pull it out again. Blood splatters on your face and across your chest. The warmth of it unsettles you, but you need to see it through. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”

You can feel tears running down your face, as you hitch and sob. You just want it over. Your hands drive the blade into his chest again. You can hear the cracking and breaking of the bones of his rib cage as you push it in as hard as you can. A flash of bright red beside you lets you know that Alastor has shown himself. Richard’s eyes glance at the demon, and it makes anger swell in you. No, that won’t do.

Your hands are too covered in blood to comfortably continue to use it. With an angry sob, you toss it to the side carelessly. You look at your gore covered hands, sticky and disgusting, and scream. You crawl up Richard’s chest, covering your jeans with blood, to get leverage. Your hands, that feel far too small, wrap around his ruined throat, to get the job done faster.

“I hate you,” you whisper. All you can think of his grimy hands touching you, and making you fear the sunset. You want him to suffer for longer, but you can't help it. “I’ll find you in Hell, you piece of shit.” You push a little harder, and he goes limp, eyes glazed over soon after.

As soon as you know he’s dead, you force yourself off of him, and away from the body. You sob, and your throat aches as you silently beg. What an awful thing to have to do. It didn’t make you feel better, either. You just want it to be over. You tug and pull at your face, wondering if something terrible lies underneath it.

“Oh, dear,” Alastor says. You can feel his hand, still cool to the touch, even through your clothing. It makes you glance up at him. He has this strange, proud smile on his face. It makes you still, sobs stopping. He dangles a handkerchief, a deep red one, in front of your face. “Feel free to clean your face, dearest. While you do that, do you know how you’d like to die?”

The bluntness of the question makes you laugh, and a disembodied laugh track plays. You make a face, feeling the desire to just crackle;e at how strange Alastor is to you. Having you wipe your face when you’re about to die? And the weird radio-show stuff? “Not really. I was going to go violently one way or another. I guess you can choose.”

Alastor pulls his hand from your back, standing straight up. His hand is offered to you, again, and you take it. Your balance is off, as if your body is ready to go already. His grip on your hand remains unyielding, steadying you.

“I suppose it is time for me to take my due, dear! Just one bite, and then I’ll send you on your way.” You close your eyes. The thought of his teeth in you makes you feel peculiar. That’s not the point, though, so you take a breath. Are you ready to die? You aren’t sure. You look at him, and nod like you are, despite it.

“Alright. This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?” You laugh to yourself, trying to settle your nerves.

Alastor nods, serious. “That it will, my dear. But worry not! This is not the end, as you know. We are just getting started!” He laughs, and then wraps one hand around the back of your head. You don’t resist as he pulls you to his chest. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you just barely off the ground. Your breath stutters, as you realize this is the closest to a kind touch in a very long time. His touch is gentle, despite his nature. His breath fans across your neck as he moves you. He looks confident, and it makes you feel just slightly better. Your hands grasp at his arm and his chest. His suit is rather silky, and you focus on the texture beneath your fingers. His clothing is nice. You wonder if he’ll give you anything that nice in Hell.

“Are you ready, dear? If you relax, it will hurt less.” His voice has gotten softer, the normal static that accompanies it gone.

You believe his words, despite the fact that lying seems to be his standard. You do your best to relax your muscles, and go lax in his arms. Even your hands loosen, just barely rubbing at his suit jacket.

You feel a strange desire to make him understand what it means to you. You aren’t alone in your final moments, and finally someone knows about Richard. Finally, you close your eyes and you smile, just barely. “Thank you, Alastor. See you on the other side.”

You can feel his breath on your neck. You tell yourself, over and over, not to open your eyes, and just as you go to peek anyway, his teeth scrape your skin. Your whole body lights up, for a brief moment, and then his teeth are in you. You yelp, and then something weird happens. The pain slowly leaves, and you can just feel him. He’s suddenly very warm, and it makes your skin flush. His teeth are dug into the junction of your neck and shoulder, and you can feel them scrape along bone. It’s an unexplainable sensation without the pain. Your pondering stops as you realize how weird and slow everything feels.

You are dying. You can feel it now. Alastor’s thumb, on your head, is just barely rubbing at the skin behind your ear. The sensation lulls your body to a strange fatigue. The only thing left is the warmth of Alastor’s body against yours.

Your diaphragm stutters, and your mind fades.

You’d meet him again in Hell.

My asks are open! Feel free to reach out and say hi, or make a request. I might be a little slow in responding to requests, but they will get done! I'm just pretty busy right now!

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

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gococogo · 2 months

Text

Share Your Toys | SilverV

Synopsis: V buys something new and odd and Johnny doesn't want to participate. All until he needs to show V just how to use.

Word Count: 2.1K

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand/Male!V

Warnings: nsfw/anal/dildo/sex toy/masturbation/degrading/slut shaming

Notes: I know I've only done one cyberpunk fic in the past. But I have this one and one more planned to post haha. I'm here for the male!v x johnny enjoyers

Does he feel a little ashamed buying one? No… Maybe. Just a lil. They had peaked his interest when he had spotted one, but he had much more pressing matters on hand.

So, here he is, with a six-inch dildo in hand.

It’s odd looking. It’s thicker at the tip than it is at the base. Being an ombre from a pink on the bottom to a pastel blue to the tip, it’s almost alien looking. With ridges on the underside that poke out a fair bit, V already knows this is going to be an odd sensation. Something funky to use to get his mind off of current things.

“There’s no way in fuck we’re sticking that thing up your ass,” Johnny snaps from the couch.

V sighs a gruntle noise. He tries to ignore Johnny but the rockstar taps his foot on the ground. He looks up to Johnny finally with a raised brow. He sits on the edge of his bed in only an old t shirt -one that use to be an outdoor shirt but slowly turned into a pj shirt with all the holes and grease stains in it. He sets the dildo on the bed next to him with another sigh.

“We?” V asks.

“Yes, we,” Johnny bites back. “I can feel everything you feel to an extent. And tonight, or any other, I don’t think I’m in the mood to have that thing shoved up my ass,” he says as he points to the dildo with a silver finger.

“You’ve never taken a dick before?” V mocks as he scoots up on his bed.

He makes himself comfortable and brings a bottle of lube with him in hand. Johnny leans back on the couch with his legs crosses over one another. He pushes his aviators up back to cover his eyes. The red glass reflects V on the bed, laid back with his shirt pooled over his crotch and thighs.

“I said I don’t want that,” Johnny grits out.

V rolls his eyes. “Just, leave me alone and I’ll forget you’re ever here. Go to whatever corner of my brain you normally go to when you don’t like something. It’s still my body, so I can do what I want and put whatever the hell I want in it.”

Johnny stares at V for a moment longer and for a split second, the merc feels very exposed. The rocker has seen everything before. Has done stuff to him before. But right now, the look he’s receiving is something different. Then, without a word, Johnny disappears in a glitch of blue and red static.

Good. Now he can continue in peace and use sex for a moment to forget about how shit life is.

Getting the first inch in is a struggle. Even with a lot of prep and a lot of lube, the tip is a tad thick. The stretch is a little overwhelming as V opens his legs out a bit further. He works himself little by little, letting the ridges of the fake cock rub up inside of him.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

V stops all so that he can glare at the disturbance standing over him at the side of his bed. He’s gotten so use to Johnny popping up randomly that when he does, it doesn’t phase him at all now.

The rocker’s arms are crossed over his chest and he still wears those red aviators. He can see himself in them again. Legs apart, dick half hard between with a large cock spreading him open. And all Johnny does is frown.

V moves the dick, pushing it a little further into himself and watches Johnny’s face. And when the rocker’s face scrunches up into a scowl, soon followed by a shaky, quiet exhale that is a clear indication he’s trying to hide his reaction, V can only smirk.

As cockily as he can say with a cock up his ass, the merc grins, “How should I be doing it then?”

Johnny’s scowl only deepens. Yet, he disappears from where he’s standing and reappears in a wave of glitches and static in front of V. Bent over and looking over him without his aviators. Dark, brown eyes stare him that hold something dangerous.

Without a word, Johnny takes control of V’s spare arm and grabs a pillow behind him. He shoves it under V’s back that has the merc rolling his eyes. The pillow trick? Really?

“I can’t believe you’ve got me doing this,” Johnny grumbles under his breath.

“You’re the one that hopped in yourself, I could have done this on my own,” V interjects.

Johnny covers V’s hand that holds onto the base of the fake cock. “And have a shit time because you’re taking too long? I’d rather not sit back and have to experience that.”

“But you’d rather experience a misshaped dildo up my ass?”

Johnny only frowns at that, his brows furrowing together. Hard enough that it brings creases to his forehead and brings out his crow’s feet.

With a hard push, one that V wouldn’t have deemed himself ready, the cock is pushed halfway in. V throws his head back against the bed. The ridges of the dildo rub up against the part inside of him that makes everything tingle. The painful stretch of the cock has him trying to catch his breath. But it’s a pain that is welcome. Has him buzzing.

The thickness of the first half has him already feeling full. The ridges on the underside of the dildo rub up against all the good parts inside of him that adds to the dizziness in his head. He breathes heavily, soft whines hitching his throat as Johnny moves the cock inside of him before he can get use to the feeling. Slowly pulling out before pushing in where it was before. And God it feels so good. It has him gripping the sheets with his other hand, the other being held down by Johnny.

The rockstar lifts one of V’s legs up and props it over his shoulder so that he can settle in closer. V looks to Johnny through slitted eyes and the look on the rocker’s face only turns him on more.

Johnny’s mouth is parted, and he breathes in sync with V. Each time he pushes the cock inside of V, each time a little deeper, each time hitting his prostate, Johnny shivers and pants. The blue of the cock all but disappears into V’s ass, leaving only the pink half to take down. God he’s quickly enjoying this as much as V is. Who knew the rockstar could have a little fun.

Being trapped on a biochip must do that to someone though. But by whatever God there is, is it hot to see Johnny become a little desperate. He’s so focused on the fake cock that his own hips move in sync faintly.

Johnny growls, -something that V never expected to hear- and pushes the rest of the cock inside of V. It slips in easily, the base being narrower than the first half. And everything feels like it short circuits inside of V, as if his cyberware doesn’t know what’s happening. His back arches as he groans deep within his throat. The cock is so wide and girthy it stretches him greatly. It makes him feel full and has him twitching. Each movement has the ridges grinding up inside of him and each time that happens, a small hiccup of moans are forced from his mouth. He can’t help himself. This feeling is wild and he’s glad that he bought this.

Johnny on the other hand. He’s bent over V trying to catch his own breath. He doesn’t need to breath but it bloody feels like he can’t intake air. Every time V moves and shifts, a wave of pleasure pulses through Johnny that has him shivering and twitching. He can feel himself grow hard in his leather pants. He’s not meant to be into this but by god does it feel great.

He catches his breath before pulling cock out of V to the tip, the sweet sound of moans and groans coming with it. With a forceful push, he shoves the entire six inches back into the merc, the blue disappearing along with the pink. And there it is again, the wave of pleasure and tingles from V that has Johnny shivering and groaning deep in his chest.

He begins slowly pumping the fake cock inside of V, revelling in the raw feelings and sensations that come from the merc’s end. He can feel V’s pain and those friendly pats to his shoulders from strangers. All of those are faint, like passing by a soft blowing vent. But this, this has Johnny’s head spinning and his code glitching.

V other hand comes back down to stroke his hardening dick. He grinds his teeth together at how overstimulating such a simple touch is. God he’s not going to last much longer if Johnny keeps this up. Especially with the pace quickening with every pass of his prostate.

Johnny begins panting loudly as he quickens the pace. Each time it fills V up in the right places and stretches him a little painfully. But that sting is something that feels so good. He matches his stroke on his dick with Johnny, letting him take the full reigns even though he knew he was fucked when the rocker popped back up again to make his comments.

V gets lost in everything, letting his mind go to this moment right now. Forgetting about everything that’s fucked him over in life. Johnny pushes the cock fully in and lets it sit there for a moment. All so he can swat V’s hand off his dick and replace it with his own. The feeling of Johnny’s metal hand on his dick is cold and brings a harsh gasp out of his mouth.

V meets dark brown eyes that stare at him. There’s something different there that the merc can’t quite place. Maybe because he’s having trouble reciting the alphabet or he’s completely forgotten what day it is. His mind is a jumble. But he knows that that dark look within those eyes is something akin to…

“You’re such a slut, you know that?” Johnny quips in between his own panting.

And there it is. Johnny’s comments. Why should V be surprised?

“Yeah and-“ The comeback V was going to make is lost as Johnny moves the dildo inside of him.

He grinds it into him shallowly, letting it rub up against everything inside and makes his entire gut and head to buzz. And in time with the movement, he strokes V’s dick, his thumb flicking and rubbing over the tip each time strokes up.

V grabs onto the blanket again, still letting Johnny guide his other hand on the fake cock. Everything is going crazy. He can’t help but grunt and whine like a two eddie whore.

“Yeah,” Johnny groans out. “You sound like one too.”

V can feel himself coming closer and closer. If Johnny keeps this same pace, he can get there quickly.

“My little slut, how does that sound?” The words are spoken deeply, gravelly.

And it all goes straight to V’s dick. He cums as if a freight train just hit him. His Kiroshi’s become spotty for a second, the black spots disappearing slowly after a while as his eyes recalibrate. He can’t catch his breath for a moment and when he opens his eyes, Johnny is gone.

For a split second, V feels a bit of panic, but as soon as it comes, Johnny appears back again in a storm of glitches and static. He’s hunched over V with a wide expression upon his normally grouchy features. He pants and shakes. He gulps, trying to collect himself. But whatever V felt, Johnny did as well ten fold it seems.

V slips the alien like dildo out of him with a pop and a groan, and throws it aside on his bed. He’s too worn out to worry about anything other than the rockstar leaning over him.

He reaches up and pats Johnny’s face. The simple touch has brown eyes latching onto V.

“Was it worth it?” V asks.

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

Johnny sits up straight, still kneeling in between V’s legs. He runs a hand down his face and lets his gaze run down the merc’s body. His eyes linger on V’s still leaking cock and the cum splattered over his stomach and tattoos. He’d be wrong if didn’t admit this was all a little hot. It’s all in how V pants and shakes from the orgasm still, his chest and stomach rising rapidly with each breath.

Johnny swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing on his throat. “A little then, yeah,” He grumbles.

Please do not copy or repost my work. <3

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