Whore4Romance

24 Female Motto #1 The smuttier the better

[anunsociablebear]

Nothing will turn me away from you. I'll look at your past and find all the ways you should've been loved. I'll see the worst things you've done and understand you, not judge you. Lay the burdens you carry on my shoulders and the pain you feel in my palms, I'll take it even if I bleed.

I wont leave you, I'll only pull you closer.

[whore4romance]

I teared up reading this ❤️ I love this so much my first and only pin on my tumblr

[gothamgraveyard]

"Babe, what, and I stress this, the fuck?"

Part 2 is out! (Tim, and Duke's portion)

Dick Grayson x crazygf! reader and Jason Todd x crazygf!reader

Summary: You find out that they still kind of talk to their ex. It's professional, but you're not over it.

TW: Kind of smutty, death mentioned (Jason's part)

DICK GRAYSON

"Just answer the fucking question, Dick! Did you sleep with her in the Batcave? Yes or no?”

"No!" Dick groaned, dragging his hands down his face, his voice cracking with frustration. His eyes were bloodshot. "We did not do it in the Batcave. Why the fuck are we talking about this right now? It is two in the morning!"

"Because I looked at your phone and her name is 'Babs 🌶️'!"

"That's a chili pepper! It means she handles the red-alert comms, you psychotic brat! It’s an emergency tag!"

"I don't care! It looks like a fucking sexting emoji!" You dropped to your knees on the mattress, crawling over to him and slamming your knees right into his thighs. You grabbed his jaw, fingers digging into his skin, forcing him to look at you. "Who’s the better kisser? Me or her? Don't lie to me. Did you guys used to make out on roofs? Did she use tongue? Does she do that little sigh thing I do when you touch her? Tell me!"

"Jesus Christ, Babe," Dick choked out, his chest heaving, looking genuinely stressed. "You are lightyears better. You're fucking incredible. Please, look at me, you're the only one I want. Can we please stop this?"

"No! Because I’m prettier than her, right? Obviously I’m prettier. Look at my fucking face." You shoved your face inches from his, your eyes wide. "But she’s so good with your dad! Ugh! It makes me want to vomit! She talks to Bruce, and he actually responds like a human being! I tried to talk to him last week and he treated me like I was gum on the bottom of his shoe! She has history with your fucked-up family, Dick! Did you guys fuck while you were living there? In his house?!"

"No! Never! I swear to God, never!" Dick’s hands came up, grabbing your wrists, his palms sweating. He looked completely panicked now. "Babe, please, you’re making shit up. I hate when Bruce does that to people, I literally moved to Blüdhaven to get away from him. I don't want her. I don't want any of them. I want you."

"Are you sure?" you whimpered, the anger turning desperate. You shifted, straddling his lap entirely, your bare thighs rubbing hard against his sweatpants, feeling how stiff he already was despite the stress. "Because she has that red hair. You like the red hair, don't you? Did you pull it? Did you bend her over the fucking desk in the cave?"

Dick’s grip tightened on your hips, an irritated groan escaping his lips. He was miserable that you were this upset, but the feeling of you grinding against his crotch was pushing him over the edge. "I didn't bend her over anything. Stop saying that shit, it’s making me sick. I don't give a fuck about her. Right now, I care about the fact that you’ve been screaming at me for forty minutes, your nipples are hard against my chest, and you’re tearing me apart."

"I'm upset babe, you’re friends with your fucking ex!" you snapped, tears of pure rage blurring your vision. "You talk to her every day! I feel like a fucking idiot!"

"Babe, you’re losing your fucking mind, please don't cry," Dick mumbled, his voice breaking as he pulled you down, burying his face in your neck, holding you so tight it bruised. He was completely desperate to fix it, terrified you were actually going to leave him. He nipped hard at the skin right over your collarbone. "You want to know what we did? Nothing like this. She never made me feel like this. She never made me want to rip my own hair out just to get her to shut up and take my dick."

"You're just saying that," you panted, your legs already wrapping around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, feeling him throbbing against your cunt through his pants. "You're just trying to manipulate me because you know your body is perfect."

"I'm not manipulating you, I’m fucking begging you," he hissed, flipping you under him so fast your head hit the pillow. He pinned your hands above your head, his face paler than usual "Look at me. Look at my eyes. I will block her number right now if you want me to. I'll do whatever the fuck you want. Just tell me you're mine."

"Prove it then," you choked out, pulling at his sweatpants "Put it in me right now and make me forget her fucking name."

"Shut up," he muttered, slamming his mouth down on yours, cutting off any other unhinged theories you had left as his hand ripped his sweats down.

JASON TODD

"Who the fuck is 'Artie'?" you shrieked. "Who the fuck is she, Jason? Because I just saw a message pop up on your secure line that said 'Rain check, Big Guy,' and I know for a goddamn fact it isn't one of your freak-show brothers!"

Jason froze, his knuckles turning white around the rifle barrel. He set it down with a heavy clatter and finally looked up, his green eyes flashing. "Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re going through my secure comms? Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"Answer the fucking question!" You stepped right into his chest, shoving him hard enough to make his boots slide an inch "Is that Artemis? The giant Amazon? The one you were playing house with in the desert? Are you still fucking her? Why’d she call you ‘big guy’!? Your dick’s not even that big!”

"We haven’t done shit since before I even knew you existed!" Jason argued, standing up to his full height, towering over you as his chest heaved. "She’s a teammate! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, a teammate? So you didn't bend her over that ancient shit in Egypt?" you screamed right back, getting entirely in his face, your chest heaving against his. "Did you taste her? Did she taste better than me? Did you love it when she pinned you down, you fucking manwhore? Tell me right now! Did you put your mouth on her?!"

"We didn't fuck in the desert! We were trying not to get killed, you crazy bitch!" Jason snapped, his eyes were glowing green. He grabbed your wrists with an iron-tight grip, his fingers digging into your skin as he shook you. "You are making up disgusting, toxic shit in your head because you're insecure! Stop fucking yelling at me about shit from six years ago!"

"Is it because I'm not as strong as her?!" you went off, completely pivoting into a breathless rant, the words tearing out of you like a flood. "Is that what it is? You want some giant warrior bitch who can toss you around? Or is it the red hair? Are you obsessed with redheads? Is that why you're always so fucking chummy with her and Roy?! Oh my god, do you want to fuck Roy too?! Are you into guys?! Because I'm not a fucking guy, Jason! I can't be a guy for you! What the fuck do you want from them, do you want a threesome or some shit?! Is that what you guys do when you're 'saving the world'?!"

"Are you fucking insane?!"  his face twisting in pure, unadulterated disgust and fury. He yanked your wrists down so hard your balance broke. 

"Then why are they always texting you?! Why are you always looking at your phone like you miss them?!" you screamed back, your face flushed, tears of absolute blind rage spilling over your eyelashes. "If you're still playing orgy with your little Outlaw club, then I guess it's fair game! I’m gonna fuck my ex!”

"Say that shit again," he snapped. "Say you’re going to go touch another man. Say you’re going to let someone else lay a hand on you. See what fucking happens to both of you. I will hunt him down and paint the fucking walls with him."

"Why do you care?!" you choked out, your heart hammering against your ribs "Go call your Amazon! Go tell Roy how crazy I am while you guys jerk each other off!"

"She was before you! And Roy is my fucking brother!" Jason groaned, you were getting so deep under his skin. "Do you not understand how time works, you idiot?! I haven’t touched her, I don't want to touch her, and I sure as hell don't want a goddamn man I consider my brother! But you want to go fuck your ex?”

"Yeah! Because you're driving me fucking insane!" you screamed back, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper into the apex of your thighs. You could feel how insanely hard he was through his sweatpants "You're a liar! You're a dirty, lying fuckboy!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Jason snarled, his hand flying from your throat to catch your jaw, his thumb digging brutally into your cheek to force your mouth open. "I am not a liar. I am fucking obsessed with you. I haven't looked at another woman since the day I went out with you, and you're being a loon”

"Prove it then," you panted, your teeth baring as you bit down lightly on his thumb "If they're nothing, text them right now telling them we broke up and if either of them offer you a pity fuck, just know you’re going to die a second time, Todd”

A/n: was this a ploy to get banged hard? yes, yes it was

[whore4romance]

Jesus Christ this is exactly what I fucking needed I’m gushing 🤤

[iridreams]

Pt.2 Roommate!Simon Smut 18+, non-con, drugging, somno Pt. 1

• Roommate!Simon who still is unhappy with the situation. You are not reciprocating the way he wants to. You still try to build everything back up, after he broke it for you. Calling people, trying to converse, attempting to go back to work. And worst; you were going on a date like he didn’t finger your sweet hole days ago, left you a mess.

• Roommate!Simon who gets a little distant over the days and for some reason it tugs at your heart; like he didn’t already get you addicted to his touch, no matter how innocent he feigned it to be. So you try to talk to him, feel nervous and scared that you might have displeased him. And there goes your date, forgotten when you feverishly try to make it up to Simon, eyes teary when he still ignores you. Only when you start to wail, beg him to tell you what you did wrong, completely oblivious to the toxic nature of what you two have become, he caves a bit. Makes sure to still seem mad when he growls you to stay far away from other men. In your weak, brittle state you nod. Anything for him to like you again, to touch you again.

• Roommate!Simon who makes you some tea in the morning that has you feeling funny. Just a light headache suddenly turned into a blown-out heat burning in you. You’re dazed, hazy-minded when you search for him – a thing he is proud to have taught; always running to him if you had problems – find him in his room. He acts all unknowing, softly coos at you when you say that it burns so bad, that it’s itching and you want it to stop so bad.

• Roommate!Simon who acts like he doesn’t know what you mean, softly stroking over your tummy with his rough fingers as he asks you to explain while you feel like you’re going crazy. Slowly you take his hand, guiding it between your legs. It’s maddening with how innocently you look up like you weren’t making him cup at your pussy as you shyly whisper that it burns down there.

• Roommate!Simon who goes ‘oh, really?’ and gives your swollen cunt a rub. It has you tensing up, moaning when you realise it makes it better. He thinks you just go incoherent because you were overwhelmed, but no, when you turn to him, pupils blown wide, pink tongue out, fucking panting, he knows he put in too much of a dosage. Your eyes are all muddy, half-lidded when you grind down onto his thigh. Desperately getting off while your slick sickers through all the layers.

• Roommate!Simon who lets you, because it’s fun watching you pathetically following your own instincts, stripped down to the most primal, salacious ones. Meanly bumps his thigh upwards to make you whimper.

• Roommate!Simon who gets off on seeing you so drugged and helpless, presenting your puffy cunt to him, moaning for him to please, please, please help you. You need something inside of you, to cool you down, to stop this burn! But he is evil. He only gives you his fingers, has you overstimulated beyond repair while you cry, beg for more. The orgasm he gives you are too much. You just want your virgin pussy stretched out.

• Roommate!Simon who has never been in such a snug heat that felt too small for him to even attempt of fitting in. But he knows your cunt is flexible, made to take him. When he pushes in, your whole face freezes and your weak arms start flailing around. It was too much. You never even had anything inside yourself. Still spreads you out over his fat cock, laughs cruelly when you gargle around, choking on the finger in your mouth.

• Roommate!Simon who drinks up every cry. Every twitch of your pussy. You could barely manage to cry out his name, the thick girth rubbing in places you didn't know existed. The drugs made you so horny, but your body can only take so much. Another load of him inside of you and you softly pass out.

• Roommate!Simon who admires your pliant body, still impaled on his cock, as your body gives out. Genty keeps on fucking you for a good hour during which you come back every now and then. Your body is a mess, torn apart to be put back together, brain melted from the number he did on you. And still you’re so beautiful, rosey cheeks decorated with dried tear stains, so much cum flooding out of you. He can only smile, pushing all the warm cum back into you. He’d talk to you in the morning, where you’d be too sore to even move away from his strong arms.

[whore4romance]

Someone liked my comment asking for a part 3 and I reread this and realized it’s so fucking good!!!! And yes we do need a part 3!!! But alas I am here reblogging cuz I didn’t the first time which was a CRIME!! Read this beautiful work 🖼️ 🤤🥰

[whimsyunicornxd]

simon riley who quits smoking for you without a second thought

it was a nasty habit he's had since his teens, his way of dying a little bit with each lit cigarette. he never expected to last this long, with all the packs he goes through, bullets dodged, and the battles he's barely survived. he never thought to quit, always itching for a stick between his fingers to ease his anxiety and shaky hands.

before he met you, he never had a reason to. now that he has you, tucked into his side and leeching off his warmth, he knew he had to change. the little looks of disappointment every time he went for a smoke gutted him, or when you'd grimace every time you had to swallow his cum made him grit his teeth. or simply the idea that his smoking could kill your pretty lungs.

he quit cold turkey, like an idiot. it was the hardest thing he's been through, even if he wouldn't admit it, and he's been shot, stabbed and many other questionable things.

but it'd be easy in comparison if it meant keeping you healthy, giving you the live you deserved with him.

sure, he was as grumpy as ever and itched to put his lighter to good use, his hands shaking at his sides with restraint. he needed something to do, something to take his mind off the bad thing he craves.

and there's nothing more he craves than you. lips wrapped around your clit as he feasts on your puddy. tongue laving over the swollen flesh with half lidded eyes, murmuring excuses of, "jus' need m'lips 'n 'ands busy, luv." plunging thick fingers into your plushy cunt, slick and soaked with arousal as you let him. you're so proud of him for quitting, letting him overstimulate your pussy if it meant he never picked up another pack.

so instead of smoking ten a day, he'd eat you out ten times more instead.

[whore4romance]

Oh dear lord yes I’ll help you quit my love anything for you🥰💋

[rubikqiub]

cw: cheating, bad relationship, Soap x reader, Simon Riley x reader, yearning Simon, asshole Soap.

When Johnny first started bragging about his new missus to the team, Simon didn't think much of it.

With Soap, new girls came and went. This one shouldn't have been any different. That should've been the end of it.

Simon couldn't have given less of a shit.

But this one seemed different.

____ always looked so unhappy around Johnny.

Like the first time Simon met her.

Johnny had introduced her as his girl.

Few drinks later, she gently tugged at Soap's sleeve as the music changed.

"One dance?" Johnny didn't even look at her.

"Nah. Not in the mood, doll."

Simon simply watched from the other side of the room. He wasn't the dancing type either.

Hell. He'd probably step on her feet every ten seconds.

But if dancing meant wiping that sad little look off her face…

He would've become fucking Michael Jackson.

She'd visit the base every now and then just to make sure Johnny had properly eaten.

Always carrying a bento box.

Rice. Meat. Vegetables.

Enough food to feed half the bloody task force.

Sometimes she'd bring sweets for the whole team, too.

The moment she left, Johnny popped the lid open.

"Tch. Don't like this."

Without a second thought, he shoved the whole thing across the table.

"Anyone wants it?" Simon frowned.

The fuck?!

Simon would never do that.

Never.

If she had made that lunch for him…

He would've eaten every last grain of rice.

Hell, he'd lick the damn container clean before letting somebody else touch it.

Days kept passing, and Johnny kept running his fucking mouth.

Complaining.

Rolling his eyes whenever her name came up.

Like loving her was somehow an inconvenience.

How she wanted to dance.

How she always worried if he'd eaten.

How she texted him good morning every single day.

Then came the night at the bar.

Simon hadn't meant to look. Johnny didn't care enough to hide it.

One hand around another woman's waist.

Then..

...a kiss.

What the fuck was wrong with him?!

How could anybody cheat on such a perfect bird like ____?

If she were his… He would've thanked every God willing to listen just for letting her choose him.

Still. As furious as it made him…

That wasn't what finally broke him.

It happened back at base.

Johnny started talking about his first time with the missus.

"She's always asking for kisses. Wants hugs all the bloody time." The whole room laughed. Simon looked up from the paperwork in front of him.

"And don't even get me started on sex. She keeps trying to make it all romantic while I'm just trying to stick it in—" Johnny never got to finish that sentence.

The lieutenant's fist broke his nose before anyone even realized he'd moved.

"THE FUCK, RILEY?!" Blood poured down Johnny's face while he stumbled back, holding his nose. The room fell dead silent.

"I'm taking the missus away from you."

"You what?"

"Heard me."

Without another word, he turned around and walked out of the base.

Somehow, he ended up standing outside their apartment.

He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten there.

He just knew he'd started driving.

Now he was here.

"Oh… You're Johnny's teammate, right?" She smiled politely.

"…Yeah."

"What brings you he—"

"You know he's cheating."

Her smile faded.

"You already knew. You're not stupid." She didn´t answer. Didn´t have to.

Simon clenched his jaw.

"…Take me instead." She blinked.

"…Excuse me?"

"Take me instead of that fucking asshole."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough." She looked away.

"I'd treat you better. The way you deserve." She turned to stare at him.

"…Why?"

For the first time that night… Simon hesitated.

Then he didn´t.

"I'd never make you beg."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

I know I can treeat youu beetterr, than he can...!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️ Please give me a Simon Riley like right now ToT

[whore4romance]

Fuckin’ melting over here 🫠 🥰

[rawme-price]

Thinking about ghost who would literally eat anything and picky eater!reader...

Of course, ghost first realized how bad your eating habits are while out getting dinner with you. Yes, dinner, a small payback-maybe-date after he rescued you from your broken down car at 3am.

"Uhm...I'll just have the chicken tenders. From the kids menu, please." You refuse to make eye contact with the waiter or ghost, stomach twisting that none of the more adult options were anything you liked.

You braces for the comments from ghost, having heard plenty from his teammates. Gaz snorting about what he's dubbed "your one vegetable a month" whenever he sees the only sub you eat lettuce with. Soap, too, makes comments about how you should try home-cooked meals instead of your store bought meals. Even price has chuckled about "dessert for lunch again, love?" When literally all you could stomach that week was sweets.

When you doesn't comment, you stubbornly stay staring at your hands "I know it's embarrassing eating with me...sorry."

"Wot? Yer eating, aren't you?" Ghost raises his brow at you, shoveling another giant onion ring into his mouth. "Not my fuckin' issue. If you don't want it, give it to me."

And...really you should have expected this.

Ghost, the man who lived on literal scraps in his childhood, who ate everything he was given because he had no choice. Of course he wouldn't care what you eat, so long as you eat.

"Oh...uhm." You're not sure what to say. You're used to always feeling some level of embarrassment about your diet. "Thank...you."

One dinner turns to two, turns to shared lunches and weekend brunches. You gravitate towards ghost because he doesn't care about your eating habits. If you order something and find it tastes different than expected, ghost will happily devour your dish while you ask about crisps.

You realize you've never been able to eat freely with another person before. It's...really nice.

[whore4romance]

I feel so fucking seen I absolutely love you❤️🥰

[voidsw0rld]

Pt. 2 to this. Careful what you wish for. TF141 x reader +18 mdni TW: Heavy smut warning !!!!

Check out my masterlist!

Honestly, you didn’t know what had completely possessed you to suggest such a thing. Maybe it was the crushing lack of sleep, or perhaps the raw adrenaline of finally making it back to the safe house alive. But before you even realized the gravity of what you were doing, you were standing entirely bare in front of four hardened men whose intense stares burned into your skin with a nasty, unyielding need.

A volatile mix of too much testosterone and months of touch deprivation had completely sealed your fate. You knew exactly what they had in store for you.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you freed your hair from the towel, allowing the damp, dark strands to cascade down your bare shoulders. You watched with a smug satisfaction as the four of them stood entirely frozen, practically vibrating with tension as they waited to see who would dare make the first move.

Deciding to set the pace, you sauntered over to Gaz. His eyes were darting frantically between your bare breasts and the floor—a nervous little lamb caught in a trap. You stepped directly into his space and wrapped your hand firmly around his clothed erection.

A sharp, ragged groan tore from his throat the second you palmed the thick length of him through the fabric. A wicked smirk caught the edge of your lips as you watched him completely crumble from the faintest touch.

“Aww, I think little Gazzy boy is enjoying this, hmm?” you teased in a low, mocking tone. The taller man’s face scrunched up with pure pleasure, his hips instinctively bucking a fraction of an inch into your palm.

The other three just stood there, completely entranced as they watched you handle their teammate through his tight cargos. Almost in unison, their hands instinctively dropped to their own fronts, desperately trying to relieve the uncomfortable, suffocating tightness in their pants.

Before Gaz could pull away, you smashed your lips into his. A soft moan escaped your throat as his tongue immediately fought yours for dominance, tasting of raw hunger and desperation.

The dingy room only offered an old, weathered mattress resting flat on the floor, but it was more than enough for what you had planned for your boys.

“Strip,” you commanded, pulling back from the kiss just enough to look Gaz in the eye.

Without a single second thought, he scrambled to tear off his heavy tactical layers. You turned your attention to the remaining three, who were already standing there with their dicks practically in their hands, and gave them a sharp, commanding gesture to do the exact same.

As the clothes began to fly, you caught Simon about to pull his balaclava over his head. You stepped in immediately, your hand arresting his movement.

“Ah, ah, big boy. I want you to keep that on. Can you do that for me?” you murmured. You pulled the dark fabric back down into place, locking your gaze onto his wide, dark eyes before leaning down to press a slow, deliberate line of kisses down his heavily scarred chest.

Ghost could only nod eagerly, his massive frame shivering as he stood there, wanting nothing more than to completely lose himself in your touch.

As you continued to trail sloppy, hot kisses down Ghost’s chest, a strong pair of hands suddenly locked onto your hips from behind.

“Are you sure about this, Sergeant?” Price’s deep, raspy voice rumbled directly into your ear. His hot breath tickled your skin as you tilted your head to the right, leaning into his touch. “Because once we start, there won’t be any backing out. Not after you let us in.”

“I think I know what I’m doing, Captain,” you cockily retorted, though the sudden friction of his thick cock rubbing right against your bare ass sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.

Price didn't hesitate. His heavy hands traveled up from your hips to the swell of your breasts, his thumbs ruthlessly pinching your hyper-sensitive nipples. Your back arched instantly from the pleasure of it, which only served to push your aching body closer into Simon’s space. Ghost took full advantage, his thick fingers slipping down between your thighs to tease your soaking folds, extracting a breathless string of moans from your lips.

“Aye, don’t you two go having all the fun here,” a gruff Scottish accent cut through the dark room. Soap stood just a few feet away, his eyes wild as he stroked himself, completely transfixed by the sight of you already coming apart under your superiors' touch.

“Easy, MacTavish,” Simon growled darkly, his fingers still rhythmically playing with your slick, needy entrance. “Why don’t you and Gaz break her in for us?”

He looked down at you through the eyeholes of his mask, a dangerous glint in his stare. “She’s going to need all the preparation she can get.”

Ghost chuckled darkly, finally pulling his hand away and stepping back to let his two sergeants have their way with you. The pure gravity of his remark stirred an unsettling, intoxicating wave of excitement deep in your stomach. Before you could even process it, Price let out a low laugh and delivered a harsh, echoing smack to your bare ass, causing your entire body to jolt forward.

You didn't even have time to register the shifting movement in the room before Johnny’s hungry hands locked onto your waist, lifting you effortlessly and pinning you flat against the weathered mattress.

Soap flipped you onto your stomach with terrifying ease, his rough hands immediately kneading the soft flesh of your ass as he admired the stark red handprint left behind by the captain.

“What’s it gonna be, Gaz? Heads or tails?” Johnny joked darkly, his voice thick with a heavy, predatory amusement.

Gaz didn't bother answering with words. He walked over to the head of the mattress and dropped to his knees, lining his swollen tip up mere inches from your face. He reached down, tangling a fistful of his fingers into your hair while his rough thumb stroked your cheek.

Any trace of his previous nervousness was entirely gone, replaced by a dominant, sinister look that made your insides coil tightly, leaving you completely soaked.

“Nah, I think heads suits me just fine, Soapy boy,” Gaz murmured, a dark grin spreading across his face. Without a shred of warning, he shoved his length deep into your mouth, forcing you straight down to the base.

Your eyes widened at the sudden, suffocating fullness. A muffled gasp caught in your chest as you choked slightly, your throat struggling to adjust to the sheer size of him.

“Not so bratty now, are we, princess?” Gaz mocked in a tone of faux sympathy. Clamping both hands around your head with a crushing grip, he began guiding his cock down your throat at an unforgiving, relentless pace.

Behind you, Soap wasted absolutely no time. He lined himself up with your slick entrance, dragging his swollen tip along your wet folds until your entire body shivered with desperate need. With a heavy, deliberate shove, he buried himself inside you, completely stretching out your tight little walls.

The sudden, overwhelming blend of burning friction and fullness made your eyes roll back, an involuntary moan vibrating directly against Gaz’s cock. The tight constriction of your throat made Gaz grunt, his teeth biting into his lower lip from the sheer intensity of the feeling.

“That’s it, lass. Good little slut for us, aren’t you?” Soap grunted. He delivered a hard, encouraging pat to your thigh before gripping your hips in an iron hold, instantly picking up a brutal, rhythmically punishing pace.

You were quite the sight—stretched and thoroughly used at both ends by your fellow sergeants, completely caught in the middle of their raw, unbridled hunger. From the shadows of the room, Price and Ghost could only stand and watch. Their dark eyes were completely fixated on the chaotic spectacle, slowly stroking themselves in heavy anticipation for their own turn to completely ruin you.

Drool escaped the corner of your lips as you continued to take Kyle deep into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you looked up at him through tear-stained, lustful eyes. The visual alone was enough to push Gaz straight over the edge.

“S-shit, you’re fucking enjoying this, aren’t you? Such a fucking slut” he panted, his chest heaving.

You let out a muffled, wicked little giggle around his length in response, which only caused his thrusts to become entirely erratic. His head snapped back in pure pleasure, his face completely scrunched up as he released a hot, heavy load straight down your throat. He kept his hands locked in your hair, holding himself deep in your mouth to ride out his high and ensure you swallowed every single drop of his cum.

Behind you, Johnny was close behind. His brutal thrusts were becoming sluggish and heavy, his deep, guttural grunts echoing off the dingy walls as his climax neared.

The moment Kyle finally pulled out of your mouth, Soap gripped your hips and flipped you over onto your back, pulling his twitching cock out just in time to release all over your chest. You let out a shaky moan, watching the sticky, white substance coat your sensitive breasts. You dipped a finger into the mess, licking it off your skin as Johnny milked himself dry above you.

“That’s it, lass. Rub it all over that pretty body,” Soap growled, his voice thick and raw. He reached up, his firm hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you into a deep, bruising kiss, forcing you to taste his juices on your own tongue as you submissively allowed him to invade your mouth one last time.

You lay there flat on the weathered mattress, completely fucked out and floating in a haze of pure bliss—entirely unaware that you weren’t even close to being done.

From the shadows, the two older men stepped forward, stalking over to the edge of the bed like apex predators finally cornering their prey.

“Why don’t you lads go get cleaned up,” Price instructed. His voice was entirely calm, but it carried the unyielding weight of an order rather than a suggestion. Before either sergeant could even think to protest, they gathered their gear and slipped out of the room, quiet, satisfied smirks plastered across their faces.

Then, the door clicked shut, leaving you entirely at the mercy of your Captain and Lieutenant.

You could only let out a weak, breathy whimper as you looked up at the two men standing over you, their expressions dark with a terrifying, unyielding intensity. Your naked body was utterly dwarfed by their massive, towering builds, and the stark contrast only added to the frantic nervousness fluttering in your chest.

You knew right then and there that they had absolutely no intention of being gentle with you.

Dropping to your knees between them, you were completely caged by their sheer size. Their heavy, scarred hands began to roam freely over your already exhausted body—tugging at your waist, squeezing your hips, and delivering sharp, possessive slaps to your breasts that wrung helpless mewls of pleasure from your lips.

“Captain, I—”

You were cut off instantly by a sharp, stinging slap to your cheek. It wasn't enough to truly hurt, but the force of it was more than enough to put you directly in your place and let you know exactly who owned the room now.

“It’s Daddy to you, little miss,” Price commanded sternly.

His thick fingers clamped around your jaw, his thumb roughly forcing its way past your lips. Driven by the sudden, intoxicating shift in the dynamic, you immediately began to suck on his thumb, your wide, needy eyes locking onto his.

With his free hand, he reached down and pinched your nipple, calloused fingers rolling the hyper-sensitive bud so ruthlessly that a muffled yelp escaped around his thumb.

“Use your words, little miss,” his voice dropped to a deep, gravelly rasp.

“Y-yes, Daddy,” you managed to choke out, your chest heaving as you looked up at him through long lashes.

A low, gruff voice from directly behind you pulled you right out of your dazed thoughts. “Here’s how it works, dove,” Simon murmured, his tone cold, commanding, and absolutely unyielding. 

“Since you were brave enough earlier to pull that stunt, we're going to see just how much you really mean it. You won’t disappoint us, right, little one?”

It was terrifying how easily you crumbled into a desperate, eager-to-please mess the second Ghost gave you an instruction. But before you could even nod, a massive, gloved hand slid between your thighs, finding your over-stimulated nub and pinching it firmly.

“What did we say about using your words, princess?” Simon warned, his voice vibrating against your back.

“Y-yes, s-sir… I’ll b-be so good,” you breathlessly choked out, completely undone by the agonizingly beautiful pressure building all over again.

"Good girl", Simon praised from behind.

Price lay back on the mattress, his dark eyes fixed on your trembling form as Simon lifted you with effortless, terrifying strength, guiding you directly over the captain’s waiting cock.

If you had thought Gaz and Soap were big, you were in for a brutal, rude awakening.

Price’s large hands clamped securely onto your hips, providing the leverage to slowly and unyieldingly ease you down onto his massive, twitching size. He stretched your tight walls like nothing you had ever experienced before.

Panicking from the sheer fullness of him, you instinctively tried to pull away and escape, but the iron grip on your hips held you completely paralyzed in mid-air, forcing you to take him.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Nearly there,” Price cooed, his breath hitching as he felt your tight, aching muscles convulsively swallow him down, forcing you to sink all the way onto his terrifying length.

Your aching core finally bottomed out against him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. But just as you thought the worst of the stretching was over, Simon’s massive hands slid around your waist, adjusting your posture and tilting your hips forward. 

His heavy palm pressed flat against your spine, pinning you in place as he lined himself up directly at your tight backdoor entrance. His tip was already leaking pre-cum with anticipation, rubbing in small, maddening circles against the hyper-sensitive skin of your second hole. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable impact.

“Be a good girl and breathe in for me, dove,” Simon murmured darkly.

Before you could even draw air into your lungs, a sharp, burning fullness invaded your lower half as he shoved himself straight inside you without an ounce of warning.

Your head flew back, your eyes rolling to the ceiling as a breathless, ragged scream died in your throat. The absolute pressure of having both of your superiors' cocks stretching both holes simultaneously was overwhelming. If it was even possible, Simon felt even larger and thicker than Price—which shouldn't have been surprising given the sheer, beastly size of the Lieutenant.

You were practically seeing stars. Your mind completely whited out as the two older men began a brutal, unyielding rhythm, bullishly pistoning in and out of your poor, tired holes with a relentless, synchronised force.

Your legs were shaking violently at this point, entirely spent and completely unable to keep you steady. But you didn't have to worry about collapsing; two sets of massive, heavily calloused hands held you in an iron vice, keeping you firmly locked in place as they thoroughly broke you in.

“Fuck…” Simon started

“That’s it. You’re so fucking good for us, little dove,” Simon growled, his deep voice vibrating right through your back. The raw praise only amped up your bliss, making your head spin. With what little strength you had left, you leaned back against his massive chest, hooking a tired arm around his neck to pull him even closer into you.

“Knew she would make us proud,” Price beamed, his eyes completely transfixed on your flushed, completely fucked-out face. He gripped your hips even tighter, brutally picking up the pace from below.

The room was filled with the lewd, echoes of wet friction and heavy skin slapping against skin, completely drowning out your strangled moans.

“F-fuck… i-it’s too m-much,” you practically begged, your voice cracking as you felt that familiar, tight knot in your stomach winding up all over again.

But your desperate pleas only encouraged your superiors to push you even harder, driving you right over the cliff.

Before you could even process the sensory overload, your climax tore through you yet again. Your entire body went completely limp against Simon, your muscles twitching helplessly. There was no physical way you could keep this up, but the two men had absolutely no intention of letting you off the hook just yet.

“What do you think, Cap? I think she’s got at least one more in her, don’t you agree?” Ghost asked. His breath was ragged and hot against your ear, and you felt his large, heavy hand slide up to wrap firmly around your neck, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to restrict your breath and force your head back against his shoulder.

The sudden restriction of oxygen made your vision blur with stars, your pulse hammering frantically against his palm as your tight, overstimulated cunt convulsed around them.

“Think you’re right, Lieutenant,” Price panted, his dark eyes darkening further as he watched your helpless, choked-up expression.

With that, their rhythm became even more brutal than before, their heavy bodies pistoning in a relentless, synchronized assault. 

All three of you were completely slick with sweat now. 

Simon kept his iron grip on your throat, using his other hand to reach around your torso, finding your hyper-sensitive, throbbing clit and rolling it at an evil, unforgiving pace that made you screech out a muffled cry.

At the same time, Price leaned up, capturing one of your sensitive nipples between his teeth and sucking hard enough to leave a deep, dark bruise.

You had never experienced this much overwhelming pleasure in your entire life. Somehow, your body found a second wind, and you crashed into another shattering orgasm—so intense you genuinely thought you were going to explode.

Both men were right behind you. With a final few deep, punishing thrusts, they both let out guttural roars, spilling their hot, heavy cum deep inside your holes, completely filling you to the brim.

As they finally pulled out, your legs gave way entirely. They gently lowered your trembling, spent body onto the weathered mattress before stepping back and standing up.

Lying flat on your back, you could only blink through the haze, admiring their toned, god-like statures. They stood panting in the dim light, their skin glistening with a mixture of sweat and your own slick juices as they proudly admired their handiwork.

“You did well, Sergeant,” Simon murmured, his voice returning to its usual quiet rumble. “Maybe that'll teach you to not be a brat in the future”, he teased, turning to leave the room to grab you a glass of water in a merciful attempt to bring you back down to reality.

“Think this should probably become a regular team-building exercise,” Price panted, chuckling to himself as he followed closely behind the Lieutenant.

You lay there frozen on the mattress, your muscles twitching as you tried to comprehend what the absolute fuck had just happened—while secretly hoping this was far from the last time they’d break you in.

-

-

-

-

-

void

[whore4romance]

I think you deserve an award 🥇 holy shit I’m soaked

[smuttothechase]

Lucifer has a daddy kink.

Lucifer one-shot ❤︎

warning/tags: MDNI. NSFW. daddy kink, dom/sub undertones, praise, squirting, slow burn? Lucifer x fem!sinner!reader, established relationship, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, slight teasing, dirty talk, freaky, choking, and lowkey shit writing, hella Lucifer glaze, sorry not sorry

a/n: yes, hazbin hotel season 2 is out and i cannot stop thinking about Lucifer Morningstar, his fine self. i seriously went a bit crazy with this, but that last episode with his new song had me FERALL | ᯓ★ 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

When the people of hell ask you what it’s like dating the king of hell, Lucifer, you would first say how you simply didn’t expect it to happen.

Sure, he’s always made you feel a type of way. Your first time seeing him, you knew you’d want to sink your fangs in.

Then you saw his true demon form, and his beautiful pearly white and red wings on the day of that crazy, holy, battle, and before you could stop your mouth from moving.. “Wow..” you sighed, in awe of the king himself. “He’s beautiful.”

Charlie, of course, was already watching you with that crazed, hopeful, look in her eyes and since then she made it her mission to get you guys together.

It isn’t news that Lucifer isn’t fond of sinners, he thinks they’re disgusting and the worst. But you believe in Charlie’s cause. You had a hopeful and beautiful look in your eye as Charlie explained the hotel to you. Lucifer most certainly noticed that, and it made it easier for him to fall for you.

Your relationship with him grew to be extremely passionate, romantic and beautiful.

Who knew the fallen angel, Lucifer, the king of hell, could love so hard.

Coming across Lucifer was like finding a diamond in a gold mine. You truly believe you are the luckiest woman in hell. His loyalty to you is unlike any devotion you’ve seen from others. He genuinely loves you, and you love him.

Actually, he’s OBSESSED with you in every single way, and is always so quick to compliment you, kiss you, touch you, please you.

He’s such a simpp, but you lovee it. You CAN’T have it any other way. Fuck that nonchalant shit, you like what’s yours to be loving you loud and without shame. And that’s exactly the kind of person YOUR king of hell is. Your precious, fallen angel.

And believe it, he’s sooo eager to please HIS precious, little angel.

That’s why when you two are relaxing downstairs with the rest of the gang, and you tug on his coat, looking up at him through your pretty lashes to get his attention, he immediately knows something is up.

His precious girl definitely needs something. You can’t help it or control yourself, stealing quick glances at him while you’re with everyone else still makes you get flashbacks of your last night with Lucifer. You couldn’t take it anymore.

You lean closer and whisper in his ear, “Luci, my love. I need you so bad right now.” He thinks he might just pounce and fuck you right then and there.

Ohhh, FUCK, he’s ready to ruin you.

Subtly and sneakily, watching the others to make sure they don’t interrupt your “spicy convo”, he snakes his hand around your waist and pulls you in a bit closer, locking eyes with you.

He leans in as well, his breath on your ear sending literal shivers down your spine and asks, “You gonna be a good girl for your king, angel?”

You sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you, and whisper against his lips, “Anything for you, my king.”

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

Yeah, he thinks he might just die.

Actually, YOU think you might die.

He has you wetter than you’ve ever been before, fingering your pretty little pussy with his jaw slacked, and eyes hooded, filled with a deep, dark desire.

He’s hungry for more, breathless, watching you squirm and react to every single touch he blesses you with.

He loves to finger the shit out of you, finger your pussy soo good, and watch you come undone from just that alone, sometimes, and he’s most certainly skilled at it.

“He must have the hands of God.” You think to yourself as your back arches.

It’s not enough, though. He NEEDS more.

He leans down toward your perfectly fucked out face and makes out with you so passionately, letting his tongue feel around in your mouth, letting both of your tongues tangle and swirl around each other. The kiss is HOT, sexy and desperate.

He pulls away from the kiss but still keeps his face very close to yours, his labored breaths hitting your face. You note how he smells like cinnamon bark and vanilla. God, you just wanna devour him.

“Baby,” you whine against his lips.

He curls his fingers and moves them in and out rhythmically. “That feel good, my sweet girl?”

“Mhmm, yess, baby. Fuu- yess, Luci,” You choke out.

He groans at the sound of your voice, he just lovess hearing you moan. You’re so loud and reactive. He can never ever get enough of it, how filthy the sounds are that you make, but how it’s so fucking sexy at the same time. He can’t stand it.

He can’t stop himself from bringing his hand around your throat and continues to finger fuck you at the same time. He brings himself closer to your ear and licks it a little before huskily mumbling in your ear, “Say yes, daddy.”

You gasp and shiver at the sensation of his forked tongue on your ear and his low voice. You might just come right now.

“Mmm. Y-Yess, daddy,” you whimper, desperately. You can’t take it anymore, you’re seriously wet and horny for him, off his skilled ass fingers and his voice.

You moan again while grinding against his hand, “Faster, please, daddy, please. M’gonna come.” The words helplessly spill out from your pretty lips, filled with heat and undeniable desire.

He moans from hearing you beg, letting him know how how dumb you are off his fingers alone.

“Yeah, angel? You love when daddy fingers you like this, hm? My pretty girl.” He muses as he changes his fingers’ tempo, removing them from inside you and bringing his very wet fingers to rub your clit, rubbing it so quickly that you immediately approach your climax.

“Mm, yess, daddy, please keep goingg, just like tha— ah!” You squirt like crazy. All over his hands and his sheets, your slick and wetness is everywhere.

“Woww, look at you,” Lucifer hisses, more than amused. “Look at this mess you made from only my fingers, princess.“

He brings his fingers to your mouth, giving you a knowing, suggestive look and you waste no time on wrapping your yummy lips around his digits, sucking and slurping all over his fingers. Sucking them like they are his hard, delicious cock.

You lick and suck his fingers clean, eagerly, moaning around them, all while looking him in the eye, happy to please your king in any single way.

He moans and literally growls at the sight of you licking his fingers like they’re about to disappear, and he thinks he might lose it.

He knows he’s really done it, though, when he feels your pretty hands paw at his hard on, through his trousers.

He looks at you to find out you’re already hungrily looking at him through your wet lashes and you literally fucking purr, “Your turn, daddy.”

He’s in for a longgg night, baby.

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

a/n: wow. i must say i had SO much fun writing this. i’ll be honest, i never thought i’d ever end up writing for Lucifer or any character from hazbin, for that matter. but i seriously couldn’t help myself. this is also unexpectedly long. i just love writing for a simpy ass mannn ugh

ᯓ★ 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 | ᯓ★ 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔪𝔢

[whore4romance]

Oh dear lord🤤

[hishumanbellestories]

idk if you do requests but if you do could you write a Alastor x reader where Y/ and Alastor were close friends when they were alive when Y/n committed suicide so when they start dating in hell Al is super protective. Sorry if this is too much

♡ ♡ ♡

Hello! Happy to oblige to this very pleasant request, @helluva-simper! I got a little carried away and I don't know if I completely fulfilled your request. If so, let me know if it disgusts you. ☹ The story is very long… it tells of your friendship and what Alastor does to end up in hell.

WARNING: blood mentioned, murder scenes. The ending is a little sweet/fluff! PART II: click here.

You will find sections dedicated to jealousy and moments of sweet protectiveness/concern towards the bottom, there is a note to indicate it if you want to skip the whole narration. Happy reading!

♡ ♡ ♡

1920 – New Orleans.

The streets were alive with music. Jazz spilled from the clubs, mingling with the scent of sizzling street food and the laughter of passing crowds. The city pulsed with energy, a place where anything felt possible.

You were weaving through the bustling French Quarter, the beads of your necklace clicking together with each hurried step. The warm night air hummed with conversation and the distant trill of a trumpet. That’s when you saw him—leaning casually against a lamppost, arms crossed, a grin playing on his lips:

Alastor.

He had the kind of presence that demanded attention without trying. Sharp brown eyes gleamed with mischief beneath the brim of his fedora, and his suit—impeccably pressed but slightly rumpled from the humid air—suggested he had a knack for looking effortlessly put-together.

“Now, there’s a face I don’t recognize!” he called out, voice brimming with exaggerated cheer. “What brings a fine young lady like yourself out into this wild, untamed city?”

You smirked, raising a brow. “You say that like you’re not part of the wild.”

Alastor let out a laugh—bright, unrestrained. “Guilty as charged! But I do like to think I bring a certain flair to the madness.” He tilted his head, studying you with amused curiosity. “You’ve got the look of someone with a story. Care to share?”

You weren’t sure why, but something about him felt instantly familiar—like you had known him before, in another life. Or maybe it was just the way he carried himself, like he belonged to the city as much as the music did. Either way, you felt no hesitation as you grinned back at him. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” you countered.

Alastor's eyes lit up, and he extended a hand with an almost theatrical flourish. “Then, my dear, we have ourselves a deal! Let’s find a proper place for storytelling—somewhere with good music and even better company.”

And just like that, the night began.

The first meeting was just the beginning. What started as playful banter on the streets of New Orleans quickly turned into something more—a friendship unlike any other.

Alastor had a way of making the world feel electric, as if life itself were a performance and he was the master of ceremonies. You, on the other hand, had a way of grounding him just enough, pulling him back from his more reckless impulses while still encouraging his mischief. Together, you balanced each other out in a way that neither of you had expected but both of you secretly needed. The two of you became inseparable. Whether it was sneaking into speakeasies, dancing until your feet ached, or sitting by the Mississippi River sharing stories about dreams and the absurdities of life, there was never a dull moment.

“You, my dear, are one of the few people in this world who truly understand me,” Alastor declared one evening, tipping his hat back as he leaned against a balcony railing. “And that is either a wonderful thing… or a truly terrifying one.”

You chuckled, nudging his arm. “Terrifying for who?”

He turned to you, grin wide, eyes gleaming in the gaslight. “Why, the rest of the world, of course!”

And honestly? He wasn’t wrong. You had a way of finishing each other’s sentences, of knowing exactly what the other was thinking with just a glance. Whether it was pulling elaborate pranks on unsuspecting bystanders (all in good fun, of course) or covering for each other when trouble inevitably followed, you were a team.

“I swear, if you ever get yourself locked up, I might consider bailing you out,” you teased one night after Alastor narrowly avoided getting into a scuffle at a particularly rowdy club.

“Might?” he gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “How cruel! After all we’ve been through!”

You smirked. “Oh, I’d bail you out… but not before letting you stew for a few hours first.”

Alastor let out a laugh—loud and full of life. “Now that is why we’re friends. You’re almost as devious as me.”

There were moments—brief and fleeting—where the laughter faded and something deeper settled between you. Those were the nights when the world felt quieter, when Alastor would stop grinning just long enough for you to catch glimpses of something else in his eyes.

“Ever wonder what comes next?” you asked once, lying on the grass in a park long after midnight, staring up at the stars.

Alastor was silent for a moment before answering, “sometimes.” Then, after a pause, “but as long as I have a friend like you, I don't think I'll ever have to worry about being alone in whatever comes next.” You turned your head to look at him, surprised by the rare sincerity in his voice. He met your gaze and, for once, there was no mischief, no mask—just Alastor, your best friend. You smiled, but your smile seemed unconvincing to his eyes, and the gleam in your eyes was no longer the same. Something gripped you from inside. Alastor had become a part of you, but it wasn't enough.

He was a constant need.

Something in your chest was blooming and it was heavy.

It started subtly. Alastor noticed before you even said a word. The way your laughter became softer, less frequent. The way your eyes—once alight with mischief—began to dim. You still showed up, still went along with his antics, but something in you had changed.

At first, he acted as if nothing was different, thinking you’d snap out of it on your own. But then, one night, he found you alone, sitting on the edge of the riverbank, staring into the dark water as if it were calling your name. And that’s when he knew—this wasn’t something he could ignore.

He sat beside you, unusually quiet. The city still buzzed behind you, jazz and laughter filling the streets, but here, it was just the two of you and the sound of water lapping against the shore.

“You’re not well,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

You let out a tired breath, your arms wrapped around your knees. “No, I’m not.”

You really wanted to share the burden, how you felt, the heaviness of the world and not feeling enough… especially that he didn't see you the way you did, but your thoughts were incomprehensible. How could he love someone like you?

Alastor wasn’t the type to fumble for words, but for the first time in a long time, he felt at a loss. He could charm his way out of almost anything, but this—this was different. This was you, his best friend, slipping away from him in a way he didn’t know how to stop.

“Do you ever think… maybe it’d be easier if I just—” , you hesitated, fingers gripping your arms a little tighter.

Alastor’s grin vanished.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice sharper than usual. “Don’t even finish that thought.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden intensity in his tone. He turned to face you fully, his usual playful expression replaced by something raw. Something desperate.

“You cannot leave me,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less fierce. “I refuse to allow it. We have a deal, remember?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “You can’t exactly stop me, Al.”

He leaned forward, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Maybe not. But I can remind you why you shouldn’t.”

Before you could react, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, worn-out trinket—a cheap little charm you had won for him at a carnival months ago. You barely remembered it, but he had kept it.

“This ridiculous thing,” he said, rolling it between his fingers, “is completely worthless. And yet, every time I look at it, I remember you. The way you cheated at that ring toss, the way you laughed when I nearly tripped over that poor man’s dog.” He exhaled sharply. “And if this stupid thing can hold that much meaning to me… imagine how much you mean to me.” But not enough… you thought.

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear something like that.

Alastor suddenly reached out and grabbed your hands, his grip firm, grounding. “Listen to me. The world is a cruel, wretched place, I won’t deny it. But you?”, he smiled then—small, sincere. “You make it bearable. And if you leave, who will remind me that life isn’t all bad?”

You swallowed hard, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

“You don’t have to,” he said simply. “You just have to stay.”

The river still whispered below, the city still pulsed behind you. But in that moment, sitting beside Alastor, his hands holding yours as if he could keep you tethered to the world—something shifted. The weight on your chest didn’t disappear, but it felt just a little lighter.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

Alastor knew something was wrong the moment you vanished.

At first, he convinced himself it was temporary. That you just needed time. That you’d come back, and he’d tease you about running off without telling him. He’d call you a terrible friend for worrying him and then demand you make it up to him with a night on the town.

But days passed. Then a week.

And then... he found out.

Your name echoed through the streets like a ghostly whisper, carried by murmurs of sorrow and disbelief. Alastor stood frozen, heart pounding as the words reached him—words he didn’t want to believe.

You were gone.

And you had taken yourself from the world.

For the first time in his life, Alastor felt the breath leave his lungs in a way that had nothing to do with laughter. His mind refused to accept it. His body rejected the reality of it. But the truth remained.

You were gone.

He didn’t remember much of what happened after. Someone tried to console him. Someone tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t hear them. He didn’t hear anything. The world had lost all sound. All color. All joy.

And then came the anger.

It started as a slow, simmering rage—a silent, festering wound deep in his chest. But grief is a twisted thing, and Alastor was not built to handle loss in the way ordinary men did.

He was not an ordinary man.

The first girl died only days after your funeral. She had your hair. Your laugh. He heard it across the street and for a fleeting, impossible second, he thought—You came back.

But it wasn’t you. It would never be you...

And if the world had taken you from him, then he would take from the world.

One by one, the women who bore even the slightest resemblance to you began to disappear. Some were found—lifeless, their bodies discarded like forgotten memories. Others were never seen again.

Alastor was careful at first. He didn’t want to get caught. But as the weeks stretched into months, his grief evolved into something insatiable. He no longer cared about consequences. He wanted them to know. He wanted them to fear him.

Because if he had to live in a world without you, then the world would learn to suffer as he did.

The city spoke of him in hushed voices, afraid to say his name too loudly. The newspapers called him The Butcher of New Orleans, but the radio stations had a different name—The Smiling Devil.

They said he never stopped grinning. That even as he ended their lives, he hummed little tunes, like it was all just a grand performance.

They didn’t know the truth.

That he wasn’t smiling.

That it was just his teeth, bared in grief so deep it had turned into something unrecognizable.

That the songs he hummed were the ones you used to sing.

But none of it mattered anymore. Nothing did. Because the only person who had ever truly seen him—the only person who had made life bearable—was gone.

And so, Alastor continued his symphony of slaughter, letting the city drown in the echoes of his suffering.

Until, one night, as he stared into the mirror, covered in blood and surrounded by the remnants of his latest victim—

He swore he heard your voice.

And for the first time since losing you…

The smile on his face faltered.

Alastor stood motionless, breath hitching as the whisper of your voice curled through the air like cigarette smoke.

It was impossible. He was losing his mind.

And yet…

“… Alastor.”

His blood ran cold. His name, spoken so softly, so familiar, yet carrying the weight of something beyond the grave. He turned sharply, but the dim glow of his apartment revealed nothing. Only the remnants of his latest crime—a body slumped in the corner, eyes wide, lips frozen in a scream. A woman who had your hair, your face, your shape—who had been a pathetic, fragile imitation of you.

His pulse roared in his ears. The radio crackled with static, his own heartbeat distorted into white noise.

“… Why?”

The question wasn’t from the radio. It was from you.

A slow, eerie grin stretched across his face, but it was empty. A reflex. A mask. His voice came out smooth, but there was something desperate beneath it.

“Why what, my dear?”

The silence that followed felt suffocating. He swallowed, suddenly aware of how cold the room had become. His fingers twitched at his sides. He felt it again—your presence, unseen but unmistakable.

“… This isn’t what I wanted.”

Alastor stiffened.

Ah. So that’s what this was. Guilt, slipping in through the cracks. He had thought himself immune to it, but hearing your voice again? It was different.

“Oh, but you see,” he murmured, tilting his head as he addressed the empty room, “what you wanted no longer matters. Because you left me.” His voice darkened, laced with something venomous. “And now I’ve made sure the world remembers you.”

A flicker in the corner of his vision. A shadow? A trick of the dim light? No—you were here.

Alastor clenched his fists, something twisting in his gut. His smile wavered. He should feel triumphant. He had honored you in the only way he knew how—with violence, with chaos, with the ruin of everything that dared to resemble you.

Then why… did he feel like he had failed you?

“Alastor…” Your voice was barely a whisper, a breath against his ear, a sound carried by the wind itself. “I was hurting. And you—”

He stepped forward, reaching out, but there was nothing to grasp. Just air. Just absence.

“I needed you.”

A laugh—high-pitched, jagged—bubbled up from his throat, unsteady and wrong. His fingers curled into his palms, nails biting into his own flesh.

“I tried!” he snapped, voice cracking, his mask slipping. “I told you to stay! I begged you to—”

Silence.

A void where your voice should be.

And for the first time in his life, Alastor felt something unfamiliar clawing at his chest.

Not anger.

Not madness.

Not even grief.

But regret.

The radio hummed. The body on the floor remained lifeless.

And Alastor, for all his power, for all his wit, for all his control—stood there, for once, with nothing.

Just the ghost of you. And the echoes of a laughter he would never hear again.

Alastor was losing himself.

The killings had been satisfying at first. Each act of violence had been a desperate grasp at control, a way to fill the gaping void you had left behind. But now—now, even as blood pooled at his feet, even as screams rang in his ears—there was no satisfaction. No relief.

Only you.

He saw you in every shadow. Heard you in every whisper of wind, every crackle of his beloved radio.

And worst of all? He felt you.

You haunted him in ways he couldn’t escape. Not in the way spirits haunted old homes or restless souls clung to their unfinished business. No—you haunted the very fabric of him.

He had always been a man of control, sharp and calculated, always three steps ahead. But now? He felt unraveled.

The change began slowly. A creeping sensation in his chest, a disturbance in his mind.

At first, it was just the dreams. Nightmares, if he were being honest—though he’d never admit to fearing them. He dreamed of the river, of your reflection staring back at him from the black water. Your eyes empty, accusing. He dreamed of reaching for you, only for your image to ripple and disappear, leaving him gasping for air.

Then came the waking moments of displacement.

He would enter a room and forget why he was there. Hear a voice—your voice—only to turn and find nothing. Food lost its taste. Music lost its charm. Even his own laughter—once so effortless—felt wrong. Forced.

His mind fractured further with each passing day.

The killings became less about vengeance and more about habit. A desperate attempt to feel something. But they no longer served their purpose.

Nothing did.

And that’s when he realized—he was changing.

The transformation was not sudden, nor was it entirely physical.

Oh, he still looked human, at least in the mirror. But inside? Something fundamental was shifting.

His once brilliant mind—sharp as a knife—now teetered on the edge of something far darker. He had always been clever, but now his thoughts felt inhuman. Detached. Cold.

He began to crave things he could not name. His body itched for something beyond flesh, beyond blood. He could feel his soul twisting into something grotesque, stretching toward something otherworldly.

It wasn’t just madness.

It was evolution.

The final breaking point came when he tried to speak to you.

Tried to summon you—truly summon you.

Through old rituals, through whispers in the dark, through desperate, fevered attempts to bring you back.

But nothing worked.

Because you were gone.

And so, Alastor did the only thing left to do.

He laughed.

He laughed until his throat burned, until his ribs ached, until the world around him seemed to distort under the weight of his hysteria.

And in that moment, something inside him snapped.

The man he had once been—the clever, charming, mischievous man who had loved you—died that night.

And in his place, something else was born.

Something with sharper teeth. Something with a hunger that could never be sated. Something that no longer cared for the limits of mortality.

And so, Alastor stepped fully into the madness, embraced the darkness, and let the last shreds of his humanity rot.

For without you—

There was nothing left worth saving.

The swamp was alive with the hum of cicadas, the distant croak of bullfrogs, and the soft rustling of the wind through the trees. The night stretched on, dark and endless, as Alastor dragged yet another lifeless body through the underbrush.

It had become a ritual by now. He worked alone, humming some jazz tune under his breath, the weight of his latest victim barely a bother. He had done this so many times. The city was catching on to the string of missing women, but no one suspected him. No one ever suspected the man with the charming smile and the quick wit.

Until now.

A sudden snap of a twig.

Alastor froze, fingers tightening around the corpse’s wrist. His head tilted slightly, ears picking up the faintest movement in the distance. Someone else was here.

Hunters.

The realization hit just as he spotted the faint glow of a lantern through the trees.

Then—

BANG!

Pain. A sharp, searing pain tore through his chest. His breath hitched as he stumbled backward, his grip on the body loosening.

BANG! BANG!

Another shot—this time, his leg buckled beneath him. He collapsed to the damp earth, gasping as warmth spread through his clothing. Blood.

He could hear them talking, could barely make out their figures through the dense foliage.

"Didja see that?! We got ‘im!"

"Damn thing’s huge—look at those antlers!"

His vision blurred. His body ached, cold creeping into his fingers. But he barely noticed—because something was wrong.

His hands—his fingers—were stretching, warping into something unnatural.

Antlers.

He could feel them growing, twisting out from his skull. His body contorted, reshaping itself, the pain of death giving way to something even stranger.

His last breath came out as a laugh—a wheezing, broken chuckle that sent a chill down the hunters' spines.

And then—

Nothing.

Alastor awoke to a world bathed in red.

The sky above churned with crimson clouds, the ground beneath him cracked and scorched. He pushed himself up, disoriented, his body still tingling from the sensation of becoming.

And then he saw his reflection.

The murky water of a nearby puddle rippled, distorting his face—but there was no mistaking it. His features were still his own, but… changed.

His eyes glowed with an unnatural red light. His ears were long, pointed. And his smile—his signature, ever-present smile—felt sharper.

But the most striking change?

The massive set of deer antlers crowning his head.

Something deep inside him stirred, and as the realization settled in, Alastor did the only thing that felt right.

He threw back his head—

And laughed.

Hell had given him a new form, a fitting form.

And Alastor?

He was going to enjoy this.

Hell was not what you had expected.

It wasn’t fire and brimstone, nor was it eternal torment—at least, not in the way the preachers had warned. It was loud, chaotic, an endless city pulsing with neon lights and strange, inhuman creatures.

And somehow, you were here.

Your memories were hazy, blurred at the edges, but the weight of your death still clung to you. The pain, the loneliness, the finality of it all—it had been too much. And yet, instead of fading into oblivion, you had woken up in this strange, twisted afterlife.

And then, you met him.

At first, you thought he was just another demon. His sharp suit, his unnerving red eyes, the way he grinned like he knew a joke no one else did—it all fit the description.

But there was something familiar about him.

Something in the way he spoke, the way he tilted his head when he looked at you, like he knew you from somewhere.

And then—

"Why, if it isn’t my dear, darling, Y/N!"

His voice was a melody, smooth and rich like a radio host’s, yet laced with something darker.

You froze.

He knew your name.

And suddenly, it hit you. The way he carried himself, that unmistakable laugh, the gleam of amusement in his eyes that never quite reached his soul.

No. It couldn’t be!

"Alastor…?"

His grin widened. "Ah, so you do remember me! My, my, what a reunion! And here I thought I was the only one who got a second chance at—shall we say—infamy?"

You took a step back, heart pounding. This wasn’t the man you had known. He looked like him, sounded like him, but everything about him was… wrong.

The Alastor you had known—your dear friend—had been mischievous, yes, but not like this. Not this predatory, bloodstained thing standing before you.

"What happened to you?" you breathed.

His laughter rang out, bright and sharp. "Oh, sweetheart... YOU, happened! Your little disappearance sent me on quite the downward spiral! And, well… let’s just say I took up a new hobby." His eyes glowed with something unreadable. "Turns out, Hell appreciates a man with a knack for… entertainment."

Your stomach twisted.

You had left him behind in life, and now?

Now, he was something else.

Something monstrous.

And yet—

Even as fear curled in your chest, even as you saw the demon he had become, a part of you still saw him.

Alastor.

Your friend.

And that part of you couldn’t help but wonder—

Was there anything left of the man you had once loved?

The air between you was thick with unspoken words.

Alastor was still grinning, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something unreadable, something unsettling. He had changed, but so had you. And now, standing before him in this twisted afterlife, you knew you couldn’t keep the truth buried any longer.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest.

"Alastor," you said, your voice softer than you meant it to be. "I—I never meant to leave you like that."

His grin didn't waver, but his head tilted slightly, as if he were listening to a song only he could hear.

You took a shaky breath. "I—", your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to say it. "I loved you, Alastor. I always did."

Silence.

His expression didn't change. Not at first. But his fingers twitched ever so slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Ah," he finally said, voice smooth as ever. "Is that what it was all about?"

You nodded, unable to look away.

Alastor let out a slow chuckle, shaking his head. "And here I thought you were just mysterious."

You frowned, confusion twisting in your gut. "Alastor—"

"Darling, darling," he interrupted, lifting a hand as if to stop your words. "Why so serious? We’re in Hell! Surely, there’s no need for all this brooding when we have eternity to waste!"

You blinked. "What?"

He clapped his hands together. "Tell you what, sweetheart—why don’t we go paint the town red? And no, no—" he wagged a finger playfully, "not that kind of red. I mean, unless you're feeling violent." He chuckled at his own joke.

Your mind reeled. He was deflecting.

After everything you had just said, after everything—was this really all he had to say?

"Alastor," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Do you—did you ever feel the same?"

His eyes glowed.

For a split second, his grin faltered—just a fraction.

Then, as quickly as it had faded, it was back in full force.

"Now, now, dear," he purred, stepping closer. "That’s an awfully dangerous question, don’t you think?"

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his face inches from yours.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away with a theatrical twirl. "Come now, let’s not dwell on silly things like the past! You’ve got a second chance, I’ve got a second chance—why not make the most of it?"

He extended a hand toward you, his grin unwavering. "So, what do you say, dearest? Care to join me for a night on the town?"

Your heart ached.

He was deflecting. Hiding behind jokes, behind that ever-present grin. But beneath it all, you saw something else—something buried deep.

A hesitation.

A fear.

A truth he wasn’t ready to speak.

You glanced at his outstretched hand, then back at his face.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to face the truth just yet.

Maybe he never would be.

But for now?

For now, you could take his hand.

And see where the night would take you.

At first, it was just fun.

You and Alastor—together again, painting Hell with laughter and chaos, just like old times. He took you everywhere, showing you the wonders (and horrors) of the afterlife, always keeping you close, always grinning.

It was as if nothing had changed.

Except everything had.

Because now, you both knew the truth.

You had loved him in life. Had lost yourself in sorrow, thinking he never cared. And he—well, Alastor never admitted things outright, but you saw it now.

The way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking.

The way his fingers twitched, as if itching to touch you but not daring to.

The way his voice softened just slightly when he said your name.

And then, one night, he finally broke.

You had been teasing him—nothing new, just playful banter, a joke about his unbreakable grin.

But instead of laughing, he had gone silent.

Then, without warning, he had grabbed your wrist, pulling you close, his grin sharp but his eyes unreadable.

"You left me," he had said, voice unusually quiet. "Do you have any idea what you did to me, my dearest?"

Your breath caught. "Alastor—"

"I don’t lose things." His fingers tightened just a fraction. "I don’t let things go. But you… you were gone. And I—". He cut himself off, his usual humor nowhere to be found.

You reached for his hand. "I’m here now."

He stared at you for a long moment. Then—

He laughed.

But this time, it wasn’t mocking or theatrical. It was relieved.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. "Well, I suppose that means I’ll just have to make sure you don’t go disappearing on me again, hmm?"

And from that moment on—he didn’t let you go.

You were together, always.

The Radio Demon and his darling—Hell’s most inseparable pair.

It had been building for weeks.

Alastor was always by your side—more than before, more than ever. If you moved, he moved. If you laughed, he laughed. If you so much as sighed, he was right there, grinning, tilting his head, asking in that smooth, playful voice, “what’s on your mind, darling?”

But something was different.

The way he looked at you lingered too long. The way he touched your wrist, your shoulder, your waist—light, fleeting, but always there—spoke of something deeper.

And then, one evening, he finally snapped.

You were strolling through the streets of Hell, passing under neon lights and the ever-present hum of the afterlife’s chaos. Alastor had been oddly quiet—for him, anyway. No dramatic narration, no wild bursts of laughter, just… watching you.

You stopped, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

His grin widened—sharp, knowing. "Oh, nothing, my dear! Just admiring something that belongs to me."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Alastor—"

"Tell me something, sweetheart," he interrupted, stepping closer, eyes glowing. "Did you ever consider just saying something back in the mortal world? Or did you enjoy making me suffer?"

You blinked. "Making you suffer?"

He let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, woe is me! My dearest, darling companion, struck down by despair because she thought I didn’t care—", his voice dropped, silky and smooth. "When in reality…"

A pause.

A grin.

A flash of red eyes beneath the glow of Hell’s eternal lights.

"I simply didn’t realize how much I needed you."

Your breath caught. "Alastor—"

"So!", he clapped his hands together, suddenly bursting with energy. "Since we’ve already done this whole ‘tragic longing’ thing, let’s skip to the fun part, shall we?"

He bowed dramatically, extending a hand toward you, eyes gleaming. "My dear, delightful Y/N—what do you say we make this little arrangement of ours official?"

You stared. "Are you… asking me out?"

He grinned. "Darling, I’m claiming you. But if you prefer something more traditional, well—consider this your official invitation to be courted by the one and only Radio Demon!"

Your lips parted, heart racing.

This was insane.

This was Alastor.

And yet—

You slid your hand into his.

"Took you long enough," you murmured, smirking.

His laughter rang out like music, his fingers curling around yours. "Oh, my dear," he purred. "You have no idea what you’ve just signed up for."

And just like that—

Hell’s most dangerous and inseparable couple was born.

Alastor's jealousy.

From the moment you set foot in the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor never left your side.

Oh, sure, he pretended he wasn’t clinging to you. He acted as if he was simply amused by your presence, as if you were just an interesting little pet to keep entertained.

But you knew better.

His sarcasm never faded. His teasing never stopped.

"Careful, dearest! Wouldn’t want you tripping over your own feet and landing in someone’s clutches! I hear certain demons love picking up strays—oh, but don’t worry!", he leaned in, grinning sharp as a blade. "I’d simply have to rip them apart, now wouldn’t I?"

You rolled your eyes. "Alastor, I can take care of myself."

"Oh, I know, sweetheart!" he chirped, looping an arm around your shoulders. "That’s why I let you think you’re independent! It’s simply adorable—like watching a baby bird flap its little wings before tumbling right back into my talons!"

Despite his words, his grip on you was firm.

And as you got to know the hotel’s residents—Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Niffty, Husk—you noticed something strange.

Alastor didn’t like how quickly people warmed up to you.

Charlie adored you from the start. Angel Dust practically draped himself over you, calling you “sweetheart” and “sugar” and throwing playful winks your way. Niffty loved fussing over you, and Husk—well, Husk didn’t hate you, which said a lot.

And Alastor?

He just watched.

Watched them.

Watched you.

And the more he watched, the tighter his grip became.

"My, my," he’d say with a chuckle whenever Angel Dust got too close, "it’s so fascinating how some creatures just flock to the most dangerously naive souls!"

You shot him a look. "Alastor—"

"Oh, don’t mind me!" he sang, swaying beside you. "I’m simply delighted by how easy it is for people to love you! Truly, it’s a miracle you weren’t snatched up by some unsavory characters long before I got my claws into you!"

His grin widened. "Oh, but don’t worry, dear! I’ll make sure that never happens."

And he did.

Subtly. Silently. Without ever admitting it outright.

When Angel Dust got a little too touchy, Alastor’s voice would suddenly cut in—cheerful, mocking, but firm.

"Oh, Angel, darling, let’s not forget whose company she prefers now, hmm?"

When a stranger tried flirting with you at the hotel? Alastor would simply appear beside them, laughing, grinning—his shadow stretching just a little too far, curling just a little too hungrily.

"Oh, how charming!" he’d croon. "But do tell me, dear guest, do you value your existence? No? Ahaha! Excellent!"

And when you got hurt?

Even something small—a scrape, a stumble—he was there before you could react.

"Tsk, tsk!" he’d sigh dramatically, offering his hand. "Must I do everything around here? Honestly, you’d be lost without me!"

You scoffed, taking his hand. "You don’t have to be so dramatic."

"Darling," he said, voice smooth as velvet, "I’m always dramatic. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong."

You squeezed his fingers. "Alastor."

For just a moment, his grin softened.

Just a fraction. Just enough.

Then, just as quickly, it was back.

"Now, then!" he declared, twirling you away from whatever danger had dared approach you. "Shall we continue this delightful little adventure? After all, Hell’s simply full of surprises! And I’d hate for you to face them without me!"

You laughed. "Like you’d ever let that happen."

His eyes gleamed.

"Oh, my dear," he murmured, "you have no idea."

Alastor's protectiviness.

Alastor was not a man easily shaken.

He had danced through massacres with a grin, turned suffering into a symphony, and waltzed through Hell with his usual flair. He had never known fear.

Until you.

At first, he brushed it off. Of course, he liked keeping you close—who wouldn’t? You were delightful, charming, his! But then… he started noticing things.

How sometimes, your laughter faltered.

How sometimes, your eyes drifted, seeing something else.

How sometimes, you would disappear into yourself—not physically, but mentally, trapped in some dark corner of your thoughts.

And that? That terrified him.

Because he knew what happened when people lingered in sorrow too long.

He had lost you once already.

He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

So he never left you alone.

"Darling!" his voice rang out too cheerfully whenever he caught you slipping into thought. "Why the melancholy? Bored of Hell already? I told you, dear, I’d be your eternal entertainment, but really—I thought I had more time before you started questioning your life choices! Ahaha!"

He talked constantly—more than usual, filling every quiet moment with sound, ensuring that your thoughts never got too loud.

If he ever caught you alone, lost in your head?

"Tsk, tsk!" he’d click his tongue, appearing beside you in an instant. "Now, what did I say about wandering into dangerous places?"

"Alastor, I’m just thinking—"

"Oh, I know that look, my dear! And I simply refuse to let you fall into bad habits! Now!" he’d clasp his hands together, grinning just a little too wide. "Shall we dance? Murder? Cause delightful chaos? Or perhaps you’d prefer a story—something to distract that beautiful little mind of yours?"

You sighed. "You don’t have to hover, you know."

His grin never wavered. But his fingers twitched.

"Oh, but I do, darling." His voice dipped—just for a second, too soft. "You’re simply terrible at being left alone."

And that was the real reason.

It wasn’t just protectiveness.

It was fear.

Fear of silence. Fear of losing you again.

So he never let you drift. Never let you isolate. Never let you forget—

That you weren’t alone.

Not this time.

Not ever again.

It was just a knife.

A simple, ordinary knife.

You had gone to the kitchen to cook, humming softly to yourself as you grabbed it from the counter. Just like always. Just like anyone would.

But the moment Alastor saw you holding it—

BANG!

In a flash, the knife was out of your hand, clattering to the floor as Alastor’s cane struck it away.

And then—

A hand gripping your wrist.

Tight. Too tight.

"What do you think you’re doing?"

His voice was light. Too light. That awful, sing-song lilt still dancing in his words—

But his grip?

His grin?

His eyes?

They were wrong.

Red. Wide. Unblinking. Terrified.

"Alastor—"

"Did you think I wouldn’t notice?" he pulled you closer, fingers digging into your skin. "Did you think I’d let you do this again?"

Your heart stopped. "Alastor, I was just—"

"Just what?" His smile twitched. "Just holding a knife? Just standing here all alone? Just thinking—"

His breath hitched.

And suddenly, you weren’t standing anymore.

You were crushed against his chest.

His arms were wrapped around you—vice-like, unyielding, desperate.

"No." His voice cracked, barely a whisper. "No, no, no, I won’t let you."

"Alastor—"

"You left me once," his breath was shaking. "You disappeared, you were gone, and I—"

He buried his face in your hair.

"I lost you."

You felt his entire body shudder.

"I can’t—" his voice broke into static. "I won’t lose you again."

And that’s when you realized—

This wasn’t just protectiveness.

It was obsession.

Fear.

A crippling, suffocating fear that had hollowed him out from the inside, left him raw, left him feral at the mere sight of you with a blade in your hand.

Because to Alastor, that knife wasn’t for cooking.

It was for stealing you away from him.

Again.

Forever.

And he’d burn all of Hell before he let that happen.

1. When You Take Too Long in the Bathroom

It started small.

A simple, human habit—closing the door when you went to freshen up.

But if you took too long, Alastor would knock—once, twice—before phasing straight through the wall, appearing inside with a grin.

"Oh, darling! Are you hiding from me?" his voice was cheerful, mocking, but his fingers twitched against his cane. "Or were you just hoping I’d come check on you?"

"Alastor, I’m fine—"

"Are you?" he tilted his head, eyes piercing. "You are alone in here, after all. Just you and that dangerous little mind of yours. Terribly unsafe, if you ask me!"

You sighed. "I was literally just brushing my hair."

His grin never wavered.

"Ah, but you see, my dear," he leaned closer, caging you in, "you have a terrible habit of thinking when you’re alone. And I simply can’t allow that."

From then on, the bathroom door never stayed closed for long.

2. When You Didn’t Answer Him Immediately

If you ever didn’t answer when he called—

"Sweetheart!"

Silence.

The air shifted.

"Darling?"

Nothing.

Static began to hum.

And before you could even realize what was happening—

He was there.

"Ah, there you are!" his voice was too bright, his smile stretched too wide. "For a moment, I thought you were ignoring me!"

You blinked. "Alastor, I was just—"

"Oh, I know what you were doing!" his laugh was sharp, too sharp. "You were lost in that pretty little head of yours! Drifting!"

His grin twitched.

"I hate when you do that."

From then on, if you didn’t answer immediately, he’d find you. No matter where you were.

3. When You Tried to Walk Away from a Fight

It happened once. Just once.

Some demon had been too bold, said something too cruel—and instead of fighting, you had turned away.

Big mistake.

Because before you could take two steps—

SNAP.

In an instant, Alastor’s hand was on you, pulling you back, his claws digging into your skin.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

His voice was low.

Dangerous.

"I-"

"No."

His grip tightened.

"You don’t walk away when someone disrespects you." His smile was gone. His eyes burned. "You stand beside me and watch as I tear them apart."

From then on, you never walked away from a fight.

Not because you were afraid of them.

But because you knew—

Alastor would always fight for you.

4. When You Said You Needed “Space”

One night, after a long day, you sighed. "Alastor… I think I just need some space tonight."

Silence.

His grin froze.

And then—

A chuckle.

"Ahahaha! Oh, darling! What a funny little joke!"

You frowned. "I wasn’t joking—"

"Oh, but you must be! Because surely—surely—you don’t think I’d leave you alone just because you asked me to! Ahaha!"

He leaned closer, eyes wild.

"You don’t need space from me, sweetheart."

His fingers trailed along your arm, light, possessive.

"You need me."

From then on, “space” was no longer part of your vocabulary.

Not because you didn’t need it.

But because you knew—

Alastor would never give it to you.

The night was quiet.

Too quiet.

You sat on the edge of the terrace, legs dangling over the abyss of Hell’s endless void. The sky stretched above you—red, empty, mocking. The city lights flickered below, distant, meaningless.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt small.

Lost in the nothingness.

You didn’t hear him approach.

Not until—

"Oh, darling…"

His voice was too soft.

The moment you turned your head—

He was there.

Standing a few feet away, frozen, his ever-present grin strained. His eyes—wide, glowing, terrified.

"What a dangerous little spot you’ve found yourself in!" his voice was still playful, still teasing—but his fingers twitched against his cane, his whole body rigid. "And all alone, too! My, my—what would I do if you fell?"

You blinked, pulling yourself from your thoughts. "Alastor, I was just looking at the—"

"The sky?" he let out a sharp, hollow laugh. "Oh, of course you were! Nothing concerning about sitting on the edge of oblivion, alone, quiet, lost in your thoughts..."

His breath hitched.

In an instant, he moved.

A flash of red. A rush of static—

And suddenly, arms were around you.

Yanking you back.

Dragging you away from the ledge.

The world spun, and before you could protest—

You were in his lap.

His grip was iron.

His arms—wrapped tight around you, chest pressed against your back, breath shaking against your ear.

"You terrify me sometimes, you know that?"

His voice was low.

The ever-present laughter in his tone—gone.

You swallowed. "Alastor—"

"Shh." His grip tightened. "Don’t—don’t ever do that again."

A tremor ran through him. His fingers dug into your sides, clutching, desperate.

"You can’t leave me again."

It wasn’t a plea.

It was a command.

An unshakable truth. A law of the universe.

Because Alastor had lost you once.

And if Hell itself thought it could take you from him again—

He would tear it apart.

His grip on you was unrelenting.

His breath—shaky, uneven, desperate.

His heart—if he even still had one—was pounding against your back.

"You can’t leave me again."

The words lingered in the air, heavy, suffocating.

You swallowed hard. "Alastor…"

He said nothing.

Did nothing.

Just held you.

And then—

Slowly, shakily—he turned you in his arms.

His hands moved to cup your face, fingers trembling against your skin as if afraid you’d vanish the moment he let go.

His eyes—wide, wild—searched yours, glowing red, burning with something raw, something dangerous.

"I won’t let you slip away from me."

His voice was low, almost a whisper.

His thumb traced your cheek.

"Never again."

And then—

His lips crashed into yours.

Desperate. Starving.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was raw, possessive, terrifying.

Like he was claiming you. Like he was branding you into his very existence, ensuring that no force in Hell—or beyond—could ever take you away from him again.

The static in the air hummed.

His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling, clutching, refusing to let go.

The kiss deepened, his breath faltering against your lips, as if he had needed this—needed you—more than he had ever needed anything in his wretched existence.

When he finally broke away, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged, his grin nowhere to be seen.

"You’re mine now, darling." his voice was hoarse, trembling with something dark, something devotional.

His lips ghosted over yours again, softer this time.

"And I’m never letting you go."

[whore4romance]

Dear lord this was beautiful 😍

[adelineriley999]

simon accidently yelled at you

The apartment had gone unbearably quiet after he yelled.

Not the comfortable kind of silence either. Not the kind Simon liked after long missions where the world finally stopped demanding things from him.

This silence was wrong.

You stood by the stove with your back turned, shoulders tense, blinking rapidly like if you just tried hard enough the tears would disappear before he saw them.

Too late.

Simon stared at you like he’d just watched himself pull a trigger he couldn’t take back. His chest rose once. Heavy.

“...Fuck.”

The word came out under his breath, barely audible.

You wiped quickly at your face. “It’s okay.”, you whispered , hurt and embarrassment blooming in your chest.

It wasn’t okay.

And Simon knew it immediately because your voice did that tiny shaky thing it only did when you were trying very hard not to cry.

He felt sick.

The kind where the person you love looks hurt because of you.

Simon took one cautious step forward. Then another.

“Love.”

You shook your head without turning around.

That hurt more than the tears.

Usually when he came home, you gravitated toward him automatically. Hands on his chest, arms around his waist. Soft little smiles like he was something worth waiting for.

Now you were standing as far away from him as the kitchen allowed.

Because he yelled.

Because he came home carrying all his anger and dropped it right at your feet.

His jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly.

“Do what?”, you mumbled, trying to smoothen your voice.

“Stand there acting like you deserve that.”

You finally turned a little at that, eyes glossy. “Simon-”

“No.” He scrubbed a hand down his face harshly. “No, don’t excuse it.”

You went silent. He looked wrecked now. More wrecked than when he first walked in.

Rainwater still clung to his jacket. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but guilt sat on him even heavier.

“I came home to you,” he said, voice rough. “Warm flat, food on the stove, you waiting for me.” He laughed once bitterly at himself. “And first thing I do is bark at you like some miserable prick.”

Your lips parted slightly.

Simon looked away, jaw flexing.

“Spent two bloody weeks thinking about getting back to you.” His voice got quieter. “Then I walk through that door and make you cry inside five minutes.”

The tears you were trying to stop spilled over again.

The second he saw them, he looked genuinely devastated.

Not angry. Not frustrated.

Devastated.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

He crossed the room immediately then stopped himself halfway, hesitating.

Simon Riley, who would walk through gunfire without blinking, suddenly looking uncertain about whether he was allowed to touch his own wife.

“You don’t have to comfort me,” you whispered.

That nearly broke him, his eyes shut briefly.

“Christ.”

He finally stepped closer carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. His hands settled lightly on your arms, almost tentative.

“I’m sorry love,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Ever.”

You looked down, vision blurring, “I know you’re tired.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I wasn’t trying to annoy you-”,you huffed ,choking slightly on the tears.

“I know.” His voice cracked slightly then steadied. “I know you weren’t.”

The guilt in his expression got worse somehow.

“You were taking care of me,” he murmured. “That’s all you were doing.”

You tried to look away again but Simon gently caught your chin before you could.

“Look at me.”

You did. Big mistake.

The second he saw how hard you’d been trying not to cry, his entire face softened into something painfully guilty.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”, he murmured ,gently cupping your face.

“You never yell at me.”, you sniffled.

That one hit directly to the ribs.

Simon actually flinched.

His thumb brushed carefully under your eye, wiping away a tear with absurd gentleness for a man built like a concrete wall with emotional constipation.

“I swear to you,” he said quietly, “the second it came outta my mouth, I wanted to take it back.”

You could hear how honest it was.

Simon wasn’t good at pretty apologies. He wasn’t poetic, wasn’t smooth. But guilt made him painfully sincere.

“I hate that you looked at me like that,” he admitted softly.

“Like what?”

“Like you were trying to figure out if I was angry with you.”

His voice nearly disappeared on the last part. Because that was the thing eating him alive now. The fact that for even one second, you’d looked at him uncertainly instead of safely.

Simon pulled you against him suddenly, firm and desperate, burying his face into your h.air.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly against your temple. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You felt the way he held you tighter after every apology, like he was trying to physically make up for it.

“I missed you,” he admitted in a low murmur. “Missed you so bad it felt wrong sleeping without you there.” His arms tightened. “Then I come home and act like that.”

Your hands slowly curled into his shirt. Simon exhaled shakily at the feeling.

“There she is,” he whispered, relief and guilt tangled together. “Thought I fucked this up properly for a second.” he mumbled ,inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You didn’t.”

“Nearly did.”

And judging by the way he kept pressing little apologetic kisses into your hair like a man trying to repent for his crimes against domestic peace, he was going to spend the rest of the night making absolutely sure you knew he regretted it.

lol yeah i'm procrastinating my long fics TT

[whore4romance]

I love this so much my heart❤️ i will also indeed cry if you yell at me 😭 and the reassurance just *chefs kiss* 🥰

[lushberrys]

AnxiousAttachment!Jason who needed to constantly have his hands on you, even when you need space

"Can you stop? I just need a minute." You'd ask after a long day. And while he cared he didn't care. "What, I can't touch you now? It's a crime to want to touch you and be close to you?" He'd argue back before dipping his head into the juncture of your shoulder from behind, his arms wrapping around your middle

AnxiousAttachment!Jason who texts you at two am for your reassurance when he's on patrol and those pesky thoughts get too loud. His mind won't stop racing until you answer him

"hey i know you're sleeping but you still love me right? you're not going to leave?" "i just feel like i can be doing more. am i doing enough?" "please stop ignoring me" "baby i just need to know i'm doing right by you"

He rushes to your apartment when you don't reply, gently waking you up just to talk to you

AnxiousAttachment!Jason who picks up on your moods instantly. He blames it on being raised by Bruce, he's an expert on reading body language. So if you seem even just a little bit off, he's spiraling

"Why'd you turn away from me? What did I do?" when you shift in the car. When you come home tired from work he's asking, "is it because I forgot to take the trash out? I'll do it right now. And don't worry about the dishes, I'll get those too." God forbid you don't laugh at his jokes the way you usually do, "hey, you're not mad at me are you?"

AnxiousAttachment!Jason who watches you out of the corner of his eye when you're on your phone. His mood instantly sours when he catches you laughing at the screen

"What's so funny, baby?" He asks as casually as possible. "Just my friend from work." You answer truthfully with an air of nonchalance that sets off alarms in Jason's mind. "Oh. Okay, that's cool... What's they're name?" He's ready to do an extensive background check to make sure they're not a threat to you or your relationship

AnxiousAttachment!Jason who lays awake at night when you're not with him, his thoughts spiraling

"They're gonna leave. I know it. Why would they stay? I have nothing to offer them. What, a once dead ex crime lord turned vigilante? Fuckin' stupid to think they see any future with me - shit there is no future with me."

He throws up from anxiety and finds his way to your apartment, breaking in through your bedroom window like he always did. He just needs to hold you, needs the proof that you're real and his

AnxiousAttachment!Jason who feels like his heart has been ripped out of his chest cavity when you spend your free time with your friends and not him

He knows, deep down, that there's nothing wrong with it. He loved that you have friends and he likes your friends well enough. But he always finds himself texting you against his better judgment. "Hey, having fun?" "When will you be back?" "Coming back anytime soon?" "Let me know when you're on your way and I'll order take out for us"

AnxiousAttachment!Jason who would rather die all over again than make himself look like a burden. His pesky little brain telling him that you'll leave if he does

"Jay, you gotta relax baby, you're injured. I got it taken care of." You try to tell him. But he insists "No, it's fine. I can still get up and help. I gotta get up and help" "because if I don't, you'll leave"

AnxiousAttachment!Jason who cries to you in bed in the dead of night where no one else can hear his anguish or ghosts from his past

"Just don't leave me, please. I know I'm not perfect, hell - I'm not even good - but please. You're my everything. I love you more than anything else in my worthless life." He sobs into your lap as you hold him when his anxiety gets the better of him. You've learned that what he needs is soft reassurances, gentle touches.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jay, I promise. I'm still here, aren't I?"

AnxiousAttachment!Jason who is just so emotionally draining to be with

[whore4romance]

I feel very attacked rn but that’s besides the point. Point is id fucking adore the shit out of my man if he was as clingy and attached as I am. Like yes bombard me with messages that you miss me while I’m out with friends. Yes come and break in my window to cuddle me in the dead of night because you need reassurance. Yes I’ll do anything for you baby because I love you and I’m never going anywhere cuz I’d cry and throw up at the thought of you leaving me too🥰🤤😭

[boolger]

“You get your ass down again!” You snapped at him, pointing to the ground, “down!”

For a moment Simon wanted to point out that he wasn’t a dog, but your anger was so fucking hot that he felt himself chub up. His eyes flickered to look over at his team for half a second, visible in the light from the pub, before a small smile on his lips appeared. Then he dutifully let himself fall down on his knees again; he was still tall like this but you were a bit taller though not much.

“Was it or was it not a deal?” You asked, arms crossed, leaning forward a bit. Simon had to fucking focus to not look at your tits.

“‘Was a deal, ma’am,” he dutifully answered looking up at you, unable to keep himself for smiling a tiny bit, “‘m sorry.”

He didn’t care if the entire parking lot of the pub watched him like this, it only turned him on. He licked his lips for a moment, taking in your frown and slight shaking. He loved you like this. A part of him almost wanted to act out just a bit more.

“Well it’s no help now, is it?” You muttered before rolling your eyes, turning around and waving at him, “go say bye to your friends, then.”

Fuck, if he hadn’t already married you, he would do it.

He watched you open the door to the car and slam it shut, which meant he didn’t have long before you would go. Simon wasn’t planning on wasting any time. He got up, gave the team a wave and dutifully crawled into the car on the passenger seat while you sat behind the wheel.

“Lemme fuck ya, luv,” he immediately offered, “in the back, please, show ya how sorry I am.”

“You’re drunk.” You merely answered.

“Half a pint.”

“No more?”

“Nope, swear it. Can call Cap to confirm it.” He knew you trusted his captain fully just like he did.

“Hmpf.”

He leaned over, kissing up your neck with a soft sigh.

“Missed ya.”

“I was just out grocery shopping.” You grumbled though you didn’t sound as mad as you did just a bit earlier.

“Yeah, but I got lonely.”

“Could have bloody called me, you twat, didn’t have to go to the fucking pub.”

"C'mon baby,” Simon crooned, biting the tip of your ear for a moment, “lemme show ya how much I missed ya.”

“… I’m not getting fucked in the backseat of our car, I’m angry.”

Mere moments later Simon was eating you out, after you drove into a darker spot of the parking lot. Your legs were swung over his shoulders, your back on the seats. Even though he had to curl up a little to not hit the ceiling, Simon didn’t complain one bit. How could he, when you were tugging on his short hair, forcing him to eat you out however you wanted? You were still a little mean, but Simon found it hot. The fact you had made him go onto his knees in the fucking parking lot, fuck.

He fucked you so hard the entire car shook with each thrust and he had to cover your mouth so you would alert the whole neighbourhood with your moans.

“My pretty girl,” he panted into your neck, as he covered your body with his own, grabbing onto the door handle to keep himself upright, fucking into you with his hard, sharp thrusts, “my mean, strict wife.”

You made a sound beneath his palm, perhaps disagreeing with his comment but he nailed your sweet spot then, making you wail with pleasure instead. He would go on his knees for you any day. They could be bruised and bloody but he wouldn’t hesitate if you told him to do it.

[whore4romance]

Something about a man on his knees for me just gets me going AHHH🥰 yes indulge my little temper tantrums then put me in my place🤤

[swanndxarest]

𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐨 "𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥." 𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝-𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭-𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐞. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞.

[whore4romance]

It’s either all or nothing with me

[yeah-iveheardofbears]

motel afterglow

pairing: virgin!eddie munson x virgin!reader

summary: in the late night, post-concert rush, you and your best friend share more than just secrets in the dark...

wc: 6.7k

tw: best friends to lovers, loss of virginity (both m and f), explicit smut, p in v protected, eddie eats pussy because of course he does, hand jobs, mentions of bullying, tiny miscommunication, eddie has the nerdiest dirty talk but it works, very retro us of the word porno, sex toy mention, masturbation, fluff fluff fluff,

love notes: hi my munson loving babes, i'm back with another nerdy dirty talk filled oneshot! i wrote this the other day and never posted it. its from combining a couple of older drink order requests that were similar:

i'm a decrepit old lady (lol), so it's been a long time since i've been a virgin, so i hope i did this justice. it's definitely full of fluff and awkwardness

masterlist | consider buying me ko-fi

The motel room you guys could afford was exactly how you'd imagined it would be. Expensive enough to not be infested, but cheap enough that the sheets felt like tissue paper. 

Indianapolis had been loud. Loud enough that your ears still rang a little.

Your concert ticket was crumpled on the nightstand next to Eddie’s rings and a couple stray guitar picks he’d emptied from his pocket. Evidence of the night scattered everywhere. A denim jacket tossed over the back of the chair. Your boots kicked off near the door. Two plastic cups from the gas station down the road sweating onto the dresser.

The bed itself was small. Technically speaking, it was a full, but the mattress dipped badly in the middle, which meant there had never really been a question about whether you’d end up sharing space.

Eddie lay on his back beside you, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting loosely across his stomach. His hair was still a little wild from the humidity outside the venue, curls spreading over the faded motel pillow.

“You’re still smiling,” he said into the dim room.

“I am not.”

“You are,” he insisted, turning his head toward you. “You’ve been smiling since the encore.”

You rolled onto your side to face him, the thin motel blanket shifting between you. “That was a good encore.”

Eddie huffed a soft laugh. “It was an amazing encore.”

For a moment neither of you spoke. The muffled sound of a car passing on the highway filled the silence, headlights briefly sweeping across the ceiling through the gap in the curtains.

You became very aware of how close he was.

Close enough that you could see the faint crease between his brows when he squinted at you. Close enough that if either of you moved even a little, your knees would bump under the blanket.

“You know,” Eddie said after a second, voice quieter now, “most people after a concert like that would be out cold.”

“And miss the post-show analysis?” you said. “Never.”

“This is why you’re my favorute,” he murmured.

But he didn’t look away.

The quiet stretched between you, the small motel room seemed to shrink around the bed, until it felt like the rest of the world had slipped somewhere down the highway and left the two of you stranded in the middle of it.

"Well," you finally broke the silence. "As much as I hate that Gareth fractured his ankle, there would have been no way we'd all be able to sleep in this motel room together. So I guess it worked out money wise."

It was supposed to be the three of you on this little weekend road trip, but Gareth had gotten drunk and hopped on a picnic table one too many times before the show and had spent the evening in an emergency room getting a cast. You and Eddie had still gone.

"Yeah well, I came close to getting my own bones broken when he fell on top of me the second time." Eddie rolled his eyes with a huff of laughter. 

"Almost had to go all by myself and deal with my metal-induced euphoria alone."

"Perish the thought," Eddie said, a smile touching his lips. "I'm a vital part of your euphoria management system."

You watched the slow way he blinked, the way his lashes swept down against his cheek. 

"Eddie," you said, and you didn't know what you were going to say after that, only that you were going to say something.

But he was already moving, shifting onto his side too, facing you fully. The motion sent the mattress dipping again, bringing you even closer. The worn denim of your jeans brushed against the worn denim of his.

“Yeah?” he breathed out.

You opened your mouth to speak but pushed the thought aside and instead blurted out:

"I don't have pajamas." 

He gave you a confused look at the weird way you said it but then nodded slowly.

"Me neither."

You shifted your legs a bit, pulling your knees up closer to your body.

"I don't want to sleep in my jeans." 

"Yeah, I wasn't planning on that either." 

You raise an eyebrow and he goes on. "So...we could sleep in our underwear. I could look away for a second so you can get under the covers first. 

You think about the black thong you have on.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm not really wearing underwear underwear."

"Uh... what?" He looked lost.

You took a breath.

"I'm wearing a thong."

He didn't say anything at all. Just kind of stared at you like you'd just announced you could fly. Then a slow flush started creeping up his neck.

"Oh," he managed after a solid ten seconds of silence.

"I could use my shirt to cover the top half. But still..." you trailed off. "My ass would be out." 

"Yeah... I uh, know how a thong works," he managed.

You just blinked at him. You hadn't meant for the conversation to go in this direction but now it was here and you didn't know how to get it back.

He swallowed, and you watched the movement of his throat in the dim light.

"Okay," he said, after a beat that felt longer than the entire opening act. "I mean, I'm not going to make you sleep in your jeans. That's a special kind of torture. So we can... you know. Do the underwear thing. I'll face the wall. And I swear on all my Judas Priest records I won't turn around."

You searched his face, the earnestness you found there making your chest feel tight.

"Right. Okay." 

You each get up from your respective sides and undress. Eddie kept true to his word, but you still felt the heat of knowing he was just a few feet away.

You slip under the thin covers and wait.

"Okay, done. You're good."

He turned around and got in. His briefs were black too, and hung low on his hips. He had also taken his makeshift tank top off and was only in his boxers.

"You're shirtless." You say as he pauses, halfway into the bed. 

"Uh... yeah? I don't usually wear a shirt to bed..." He trails off like he's just realized what you'd said. "Is that... is that okay?"

You just nodded.

He slid the rest of the way in and pulled the covers up.

There was a lot less space between you now. You could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, could see the way the dim light caught the tattoos scattered across his chest.

"You've seen me shirtless before, sweetheart. It's not some revolutionary event," he said, a note of humor in his voice.

"I've never been in a bed with you while you were shirtless. Different experience entirely."

"Right," he said, and then softer, "Well I've never been in bed with a girl and her ass cheeks were out, so I think we're even." 

"I told you not to look!" You shrieked, hitting him with a pillow.

"Hey! I said I didn't!" he laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm a virgin not a monk, I can visualize what a thong entails." 

He says it so casually that you almost don't catch it. 

"...What?" 

"Okay..." he tries to backtrack. "I don't mean I'm visualizing your ass in the thong. Just an ass. Like a generic woman ass in--" 

"You're a virgin?" You cut him off.

The pillow fell from your grasp as you stared at him.

His whole body went tense.

The laugh had vanished from his face. He looked away from you, staring at the water-stained patch on the ceiling. He swallowed hard enough that you could see the muscles in his throat work.

"Uh... yeah." It comes out as a resigned whisper almost. Like, for once, he has nothing in his wordsmith arsenal to deflect.

You were too quiet.

And then your face did a weird thing that you couldn't quite control. Your eyebrows shot up and your lips parted and it wasn't bad. It wasn't mocking or judgmental.

It was just... shocked.

"Really?"

And for some reason, the simple, unadorned disbelief in your voice seemed to be exactly the wrong thing to say.

"Jesus, what, is that so hard to believe?" The words came out sharp, stung. He pushed himself up on one elbow, creating a sudden, unwelcome distance between you. "The freak, the dungeon master, the guy who sells drugs to kids isn't exactly a girl's fantasy. Don't tell me you're surprised."

"No! Eddie that's not what I meant at all!" You quickly try to sit up, while still keeping covered as well, but the blanket bunches weirdly around your waist and you feel even more exposed than before. "It's just... you're so..."

"So what?" He was genuinely agitated now, the vulnerable admission curdling into something defensive and angry.

"So... confident," you finished quietly. "You're always so... loud. And you command a room. And you're funny. And... I don't know. I just assumed..."

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. The anger seemed to drain out of him as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a deep-seated exhaustion.

"Being able to work a room doesn't mean you know what the hell to do when you're alone in a dark one with someone," he said, the words barely audible.

Silence crashed back into the room. This was heavier, weighted with things unsaid. You reached out, your fingers hovering just above the space between you, unsure if touching him would make it better or worse.

"And, let's be honest, if a girl is alone with me in a dark room, she's more likely to piss herself with the worry I'm going to sacrifice her to Satan, than be wet in any other way."

You scrunch your nose up at his verbiage. 

"Okay, one: ew. Two? Not true. Three?" You took a breath, deciding to throw caution to the wind. "I'm alone with you in a dark room. Piss free."

He blinked. "Thats different. You're not like, a girl." 

It was, in fact, now his turn to say the exact wrong thing. The tension that had just begun to dissolve returned twofold.

Your jaw set. "Right. I'm not. My mistake."

He scrambled, his words tripping over each other. "No, that's not what I-- Fuck. I mean, you're you. You're my friend. It's not... it's not like that. It's safe."

"Wow. Safe. That's every girl's dream. To be the safe, unfuckable friend."

You flopped back onto the pillow, turning your back to him with a huff. You pulled the blanket up to your chin, a thin, flimsy shield. You could feel the heat of anger and embarrassment prickling at your skin.

"Woah, woah, that's not what I meant either! I'm just... bad at this," he pleaded, his voice a strained whisper. The mattress shifted as he moved closer, a careful, hesitant movement. You could feel the warmth of his hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite touching. "I've never talked about this before. I mean, you know damn well none of the Hellfire guys are getting any. And I'm pretty sure they think I'm some kind of dark lord of getting laid. It's just... a lie. A story I tell. It's easier than the truth."

You stayed silent, staring at the ugly floral pattern on the wall. You could hear his breathing, ragged and uneven.

"And you're not... you're not unfuckable," he said, the words so quiet you almost had to strain to hear them. "You're... very fucka- I mean, you're... you know. You're great."

The clumsy, earnest correction almost made you smile. Almost.

"Look at me," he murmured. "Please?"

Slowly, you rolled back over.

His face was a mess of conflicting emotions in the dim light. The defensive sneer was gone, replaced by something more vulnerable.

"'Great' is what a teacher puts on your paper when you get a B+." You say, your voice small.

He let out a shaky breath, a sound that was half-laugh, half-despair. "Okay. You're right. You're not 'great' like a B+." He searched for the right words, his gaze flicking between your eyes. "You're... you're the solo in 'Master of Puppets'. You're the part of a song that's so good it makes you pull the car over. You're... the kind of thing that makes a guy want to learn guitar in the first place."

Your breath caught. That was not what you were expecting.

"Eddie..."

"No, I mean it," he pushed on, a desperate urgency in his tone now. "And being around you is... it's easy. Too easy. And then I get in my head about it. About saying the wrong thing. About being a disappointment. So I deflect. I make stupid jokes. I turn myself into the D&D nerd or the Satanist freak or--" 

"I'm a virgin too." The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, a quiet confession that hung in the air between you.

The torrent of words from Eddie stopped. His jaw went slack. He stared at you, wide-eyed, as if you'd just confessed to being a secret agent.

"What?" he finally managed to breathe out. "I thought you lost it to that guy from the photography club."

"Tyler?" You couldn't help the small, humorless laugh that escaped. "No. We went on, like, three dates. He tried to stick his tongue down my throat in the back of the movie theater and then practically begged for a handjob in the parking lot. It was... underwhelming."

Eddie was still just staring, processing.

"Shit. Well, now I can tell you that I really hated that guy. For more reasons than just his terrible haircut."

A real smile finally touched your lips at that. "His haircut was pretty bad."

The silence that followed was different. It wasn't heavy or awkward. It was... quiet. A shared space.

"I didn't tell you because I was embarrassed," you admitted, your gaze fixed on a loose thread on the pillowcase. "I figured you like... I don't know, banged girls in your van after shows or something. I felt... left behind. Like everyone was growing up and doing all this stuff and I was just... still me."

"Sweetheart," he said, his voice soft. "I'm far from the van-banging king. I'm the guy who is currently panicking because he's shirtless in a bed with a girl in a thong and doesn't know the social protocol for what to do with his hands."

"So you admit I'm a girl now?" you teased, a glimmer of your usual self returning.

His eyes softened, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. "I've unfortunately been way too aware of that distinction for a while now."

"Unfortunately?" You raise a playful eyebrow.

"Because it was a lot easier to think of you as just... you. My friend. My partner in crime. The person I could talk to about whether Kirk Hammett was a better guitarist than Slash without getting a blank stare. Thinking of you as a girl? A girl I'm in bed with? That's... terrifying."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest that has nothing to do with the flimsy blanket. "Why terrifying?"

"Because I'm bad at this!" he exclaimed, gesturing vaguely between you. "This entire conversation is a testament to that! I say 'safe' and you hear 'unfuckable.' I say 'girl' and I sound like a caveman. The margin for error here is huge. And the thought of messing this up... with you..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Messing what up?" you whispered.

His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, and back again. The room suddenly felt a thousand degrees hotter. He swallowed, and the motion was so deliberate, so loaded with unspoken meaning, it made your breath hitch.

"You know what. Don't make me say it," he murmured, his voice raspy.

He was so close now. The dip in the mattress had eliminated all but the slimmest of gaps between you. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.

"I think I want you to say it," you breathed back. 

"Not going to." His smile was back, but it was different now. Shyer. More hesitant. But no less real. "I've said enough stupid things for one night."

Instead of explaining more, he started to lean in.

Slowly. Giving you every opportunity to pull away, to turn back to the wall, to put a stop to it.

But you didn't stop it. 

Not when his hand came up to cradle your face. 

Not when he used his thumb to gently trace your jawline, the rough callus on his finger a pleasant rasp against your skin.

Not when he finally, finally closed the last remaining distance between you and his lips met yours.

It wasn't a perfect kiss. It was a little clumsy at first, a misalignment of angles that ended in a soft, wet press against the corner of your mouth.

You giggled a little, ready to say something cheeky, but he didn't give you the chance. He tilted his head and tried again.

And the second one was perfect.

It was soft and tentative, the taste of a gas station slushie. The sigh he let out against your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief, settled right in your core. 

His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. The kiss deepened, a slow, gentle exploration that sent shivers down your spine.

You found your own courage then, your hand coming up to rest on the warm skin of his chest. He let out a soft hum of encouragement, and you let your fingers trail over the lines of his tattoos, the dark ink a stark contrast to his skin.

"Touch all you want." He murmurs against your lips before pressing another quick kiss to your lips and pulling back just enough to look at you.

His eyes were dark in the dim light, pupils blown wide. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched your own.

"Okay." You say quietly, letting your hand wander.

"Okay," he repeated, a dazed sort of smile on his face. "Okay."

He was still looking at you, a deep searching look that seemed to be trying to memorize every detail of your face.

"You're staring."

"Can't help it," he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Your hands are all over him now, touching anything they can reach. His shoulders, his biceps, the small of his back. And he was doing the same. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the soft skin of your thighs above the line of the thong.

He froze for a second when his fingers brushed against the string of your underwear.

You hold back a small laugh as your hand travels to grab his ass a little, the soft cotton of his briefs giving way to the firm muscle beneath.

"Hey!" He yelped, jumping a little.

"You said I could touch all I wanted." You say with a sly grin. "Don't be shy."

He stared at you for a second before a slow grin spread across his face. "Yeah, okay. Fair's fair."

His hands grew bolder then, sliding down to cup the fat of your ass, pulling you flush against him. The thin fabric of your thong and his briefs was the only thing separating you.

He kisses you harder this time, a hungry, desperate kiss that stole the air from your lungs. His hips rocked against yours, a slow, deliberate friction that had you gasping into his mouth.

He was hard. You could feel him. 

"Eddie," you breathed out, his name a plea on your lips.

"That okay?" His voice soft as his lips travel over your jaw and down your neck. "How I'm touching you?"

You could only nod, words failing you. He seemed to take that as an invitation to continue. He nipped at the sensitive skin of your throat, making you whimper. His hands were still on your ass, kneading the flesh, pulling you closer as he rolls his hips against yours.

You were the one to reach for the hem of your shirt.

He pulls away, breathless.

"Wait. You sure?" He's searching your face again, looking for any sign of hesitation. "You don't have to."

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks. "Do you... not want to see me?" The words were small, laced with an insecurity you hated.

He looked like you'd just slapped him.

"No! God, no." He shook his head, a look of pure panic on his face. "That's not... I mean, I do. I really, really do. I just... I don't want you to think you have to. Because of... all this."

He gestures to his erection and then to the two of you in the bed. "He's kind of an idiot, and he has terrible ideas about timing."

"I kinda like his timing." You said, your hands back on his chest. "And I want to." You slowly lift the shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor with your jeans.

Eddie went completely still, his eyes wide, fixed on your chest.

"I knew you didn't wear a bra. I could tell," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "When you were jumping during the concert."

"Really?" You couldn't help but feel a little pleased.

"Oh yeah." He reached out a hesitant hand, like he was afraid you might disappear. "I was trying very hard to be a gentleman and not stare. But I failed. Miserably."

You let out a soft laugh as his fingers finally made contact, tracing the curve of your breast. His thumb was quick to find your nipple, brushing over it in a way that sent a jolt of pure pleasure straight to your core.

"Look at these pretty things." He murmured as he leaned down to take one in his mouth.

The feel of his tongue, hot and wet, against your sensitive skin was enough to make you arch your back, a gasp torn from your lips. He used his free hand to grip you ass hard, pulling you on top of him while his lips still wrapped around your nipple.

You were straddling him now, your knees on either side of his hips. The thin fabric of your thong and his briefs was soaked, the friction of him against you, even through the layers of clothes, was intoxicating.

You couldn't help the way your hips started to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that had you both gasping for breath.

"Can't believe you're wet for me," he said, his voice laced with a kind of awestruck disbelief. He lifted you up and adjusted you to where he could feel you better, a small moan leaving his lips at the contact.

"Can't believe you're this big," you shot back, more of a sigh than a statement. 

"Yeah? You like that?" The words were a low growl against your skin as he lavished your other nipple with attention.

"Mhm..." You could only manage a small hum, your mind going hazy with pleasure.

He's so hard. So hard that it's almost painful. You needed to feel him. All of him. You started to reach for the waistband of his briefs, but he stopped you, his hand covering yours.

"Hey, no." His breath hitched. "Not yet. Let me... let me do something for you first."

Before you could ask what he meant, he was shifting you, maneuvering you until you were on your back and he was settled between your thighs. He pushed your legs apart with a gentle pressure of his hands. And then he was leaning down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his breath warm against your skin.

You could only nod, your throat too tight to speak. He moved higher, pressing a trail of open-mouthed kisses up your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you desperately wanted him.

"You really want to?" Your own surprise at the question was evident.

"I've been dreaming about this," he admitted, his voice a raw, honest confession. "For a long, long time."

And then he was there, his tongue sliding against the fabric of your thong. The wet heat of him through the thin lace was almost enough to send you over the edge.

"Oh god... no wonder girls like this in pornos." Your legs start to shake a little as your hands find their way into his hair.

"You watch pornos?" He looks up at you from between your legs, a slow grin spreading across his face. "My dirty girl."

He didn't wait for an answer, just hooked his fingers into the sides of your thong and pulled it down your legs. He tossed it over his shoulder, and it landed somewhere in the vicinity of your discarded shirt.

"I feel like I'm supposed to pray to this," he said, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Like a holy relic."

You let out a shaky laugh. "D&D references aren't exactly what I'm looking for right now, Eddie."

"No? So you don't like my DM voice? 'You enter a beautiful, damp cavern... the walls are slick with moisture...'" He was  on you then, his tongue finally, finally making contact with your pussy. The feeling was so intense, so overwhelming, you couldn't help but cry out.

His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open for him as he explored you with a desperate, hungry curiosity.

"Guide me," he mumbled against your folds. "I don't know what you like. Tell me."

"Your... your tongue," you gasped out. "On my clit. When I... touch myself I just focus there... "

He hummed in acknowledgement, and then he was following your directions, his tongue finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with a slow, deliberate pressure. He was a quick study, and it wasn't long before you were writhing beneath him, your hands fisted in his hair, your hips bucking against his face.

"Mmm, feels so much better than my fingers." You whined, the pleasure coiling tight in your belly. He was good. So, so good. Better than you had ever imagined. And you had imagined this. A lot.

He pulled back for a second, his chin shining with your arousal. "Show me how you do it," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Show me what you like."

You hesitated for a beat, the vulnerability of the request hitting you. But then you looked at him, at the open, eager expression on his face, and you couldn't deny him anything.

You reached down between your legs, your fingers finding your clit easily. You started to rub slow circles, the motion practiced, familiar.

"God..." He groans. "You ever think about me? When you do this?"

Your fingers stutter. You look down at him, at the hope and the lust warring in his eyes.

"Only since last year," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "When you wore that ripped t-shirt to the fair. I could see your... happy trail..." 

He just stared, completely floored.

"Fucking Christ..." He pinched his eyes shut as he palmed himself through his boxers before he dived back in with a new enthusiasm.

He watched you for a moment, and then he joined in, his tongue prodding your entrance and licking at your fingers as you pleasured yourself. It was a messy, clumsy, and incredibly erotic sight.

"Fuck, Eddie, I'm so close," you moaned, your hips moving in a frantic rhythm against his tongue and your own hand.

He redoubled his efforts, nudging your hands away with his nose and sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. It was the final push you needed, and you came with a cry, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

He didn't stop, not right away. He kept licking you, his tongue gentle now, soothing you through the aftershocks. It was as if he just loved your taste, greedy for more. Finally, he pulled back, a look of pure, unadulterated pride on his face.

He crawled up your body and kissed you then, a messy kiss that tasted of your release.

"Damn, I'm gonna get addicted to that," he murmured against your lips.

You just hummed in response, your body still buzzing with pleasure. You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, a demanding presence.

"Let me..." you started, your hands trailing down his chest to the waistband of his briefs. "Let me return the favor."

"Yeah?" His eyebrows raise.

You answered by tugging the briefs down, freeing him. He kicked them off the rest of the way, and then he was completely naked, the dim light of the motel room casting him in a warm glow. He was beautiful.

He knelt between your legs, giving you a perfect view. He was long and thick, the head flushed a dark pink, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.

"I've never seen a real one in person," you confessed, your voice filled with awe.

He flushed a little, a rosy blush spreading across his chest. "Well, it's not going to win any awards. It's pretty standard issue."

"It's bigger than my dildo," you blurted out, then immediately regretted it.

Eddie's head tilted, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. "You have a dildo?" He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm learning a lot about your sexy habits tonight."

"I'm a virgin, not a nun." You said defensively, a call back to his confession earlier.

"I know. I'm not judging. I'm celebrating." He kissed you again, a quick, hard press of his lips. "Now, were you about to do something?"

You reached out and wrapped your hand around him. He was hot and hard, the smooth skin a stark contrast to how rigid he was. He let out a sharp hiss of breath, his hips jerking forward.

You started to stroke him, twisting your wrist on the upstroke, the way you'd read about in a magazine.

"Jesus, that's... yeah," he groaned, his head falling back. "Just like that."

You watched him, mesmerized by the way his face contorted with pleasure. The way he was so open and unashamed of it.

"You know, when you said the thing about your... toy," he said, his breath hitching as you ran your thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. "Am I really bigger?"

You smiled, a genuine, sly smile. "Considerably."

"Fuck." He seemed genuinely pleased by this information. "That's... good to know. For my ego."

He watched you for a few more moments, your hand working him with a steady rhythm. Then he reached down, stilling your movements.

"Okay, stop," he breathed, his voice strained. "I'm not going to last if you keep doing that."

You looked up at him, a question in your eyes.

"I want..." He swallowed hard. "I wanna be inside you."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning.

"We won't be virgins anymore." You say, soft and immediately feeling stupid for it. Of course he knew that.

His expression softened. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. "I know." He was so close, you could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your chest.

"I want that," you said, your voice firm. "With you."

He let out a long, shuddering breath, as if he'd been holding it for an eternity.

"Is it weird I'm nervous? I feel like that's weird for a guy." He admitted.

"It's not weird." You promised. "I don't think nerves are gendered."

He kissed you then, a slow, deep kiss that was full of all the things he couldn't seem to say. All the want and the hope and the fear. He only broke the kiss, to reach over the other side of the bed and fumbled in the pocket of his discarded jeans.

"I swear I keep this in my wallet all the time. Not because I was expecting... well this." He said as he pulled out a little foil square.

The crinkle of the wrapper was the only sound in the room. He tore it open with shaky fingers and rolled the condom on with an efficiency that belied his earlier fumbling.

He settled back over you, his elbows on either side of your head, caging you in.

"I can't believe I'm going to have sex with you." You whisper, looking into those consuming brown eyes, your fingers tracing the dimples that start to form when he smiles down at you. 

"Me either," he said, and there was such a raw, honest wonder in his voice that it made your chest ache. "If I'm being totally honest? I'm pretty sure this is a lucid dream I'm having after eating all that bad gas station pizza."

You laughed, a bright, happy sound that filled the small room.

"It's real." You promised.

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "Okay."

He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your wet folds. He paused, looking at you one last time, giving you a final chance to change your mind.

You answered by wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He pushed a little inside you with a slow, steady pressure.

It was a strange, unfamiliar sensation. A stretching, aching fullness that bordered on pain. You couldn't help the small whimper that escaped your lips.

He stopped immediately, his whole body tensing. "You okay? Am I hurting you?"

"Are you all the way in?" You asked, your breath hitching.

He shook his head. "Not even close. You okay?"

You nod. "It's a lot. Keep going."

He pushed a little deeper, a slow, inch-by-inch invasion that made you feel like your body was being remade to fit him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and he kissed up your neck and over your face. Each new press of his lips a welcome distraction from the dull ache between your legs.

He finally was all the way in, his hips flush against yours. He stilled, giving you a moment to adjust.

"Okay." You breathe out.

"You okay?" He repeated against your lips, breathless from his own pleasure. 

"Yeah just... don't move too much yet."

"You feel so... incredible. It's..." He trails off as he shifts a bit, pulling just out a little and pushing back in.

You both groan. The pain started to fade then, replaced by a different kind of ache. A deep, throbbing need.

"Okay," you breathed, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Okay, you can move."

He started to move then, a slow, gentle rocking motion that was worlds away from the frantic rutting from earlier. Each thrust was a hesitant exploration.

You moved with him, your hips rising to meet his, your body learning the rhythm of his.

"Sweetheart..." It came out as a mix of a groan and a whine, you've never heard him sound sexier.

He started to move faster, a little harder, his control starting to fray. He was panting against your neck, his breath hot and damp. His hands were everywhere, on your breasts, your hips, your ass. 

"Eddie... talk to me..." You whine as he hits a spot deep inside you that made you see stars.

"What do you want me to say?" he gasped, his hips snapping against yours.

"Anything... dirty talk... something... my ears..."

He let out a shaky laugh, a sound that was half-arousal, half-nervousness before leaning down into your ear. "You feel so good. So tight. All I've thought about for the last year is what it would feel like to be inside you."

You moaned. You felt your pussy clench around him, your body responding to the dirty words. He pulled back to watch your face, a look of pure, unadulterated lust on his face.

"Yeah? Want me to keep going? Tell you how I've jacked off to the thought of your tits?"

You could only nod, your words lost in a haze of pleasure.

"Or maybe it was your ass. In those tight jeans you wear. God, the things I wanted to do to you." He punctuated the words with a particularly hard thrust that made you cry out. "Wanna kiss you until you're dripping for me. And I did tonight. Dripping all over my tongue."

His words were filthier than you ever would have imagined, and it was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"You're so wet for me. You're taking my cock so well." He groans, his forehead resting against yours. "You're all I want. Just... you."

The last words were a raw, honest confession that went straight to your heart. You were the one to kiss him then, a desperate, messy kiss that was all teeth and tongue and need.

"Touch yourself again," he practically begged against your lips. "Please, I love seeing it." He didn't want to finish before you did. And he also liked watching.

You didn't hesitate, your hand snaking down between your bodies to find your clit. You started to rub in tight, fast circles, the dual stimulation of him inside you and your fingers on your clit almost too much to bear.

"Its too good, Eddie." You whine, a high pitched desperate sound he's never heard you make.

"Let go," he commanded, his voice rough and hoarse. "Let me feel your pussy wreck me."

His words were the final push you needed. You came with a strangled cry, your body arching off the bed, your inner walls clamping down on him. The force of your orgasm was enough to send him over the edge too, and with a hoarse shout of your name, he came, his hips pistoning into you as he emptied himself into the condom.

He collapsed next to you, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat. The room was silent, save for the sound of your ragged breaths and the ancient motel air conditioner.

After a long moment, he propped himself up on an elbow and looked at you, a slow, dazed smile spreading across his face.

"If you don't want to be my girlfriend after this, I think I might actually die."

You laugh, reaching up to push a damp curl away from his forehead. "Well, we can't have that."

He leaned down and kissed you, a soft, sweet kiss that was a world away from the frantic, hungry kisses from before.

"So... is that a yes?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Are you going to go easier on me during Hellfire?" You counter.

"Never." He grins. "You have to earn your honor just like everyone else."

"Then yes," you said, and the word felt like a promise. "Yes, I'll be your girlfriend."

He looked so happy you thought your heart might burst. He kissed you again, and again, and again, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

"Gonna 'kiss me till I'm dripping'?" You tease, your fingers tracing the lines of his collarbones.

"Very funny. Give me ten minutes and another slice of that gas station pizza," he mumbled against your skin, making you laugh.

He eventually got up to dispose of the condom, and you took the opportunity to look at him. Really look at him. The long, lean lines of his body, the scattering of tattoos, the way his hair curled in all directions. He was yours.

He came back to the bed and pulled you into his arms, your head resting on his chest. You could feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

"I'm never going to get tired of this," he said, his voice a soft rumble in his chest. "Of you."

You tilted your head up to look at him. "Me neither."

You lay like that for a while, a comfortable, easy silence settling over you. The events of the night replayed in your mind, not just the concert or the sex, but everything beautiful that had happened in this small, ugly motel room.

[whore4romance]

Enough to make a grown woman cry bro this is beautiful I normally don’t care for longer fics really but this one just kept pulling me in I couldn’t put it down🥰💕

[callsignhare]

Now imagine Ghost getting captured during an op and ending up in an intense interrogation.

Maybe torture session would be more accurate. He gets beaten, starved, even electrocuted. But he never breaks. He's too loyal to his team, and he fully trusts them to get him out of that hell hole.

There's also you. His poor, innocent little wifey sitting at home, probably worried sick. It infuriates him more than anything that he's being kept away from you. He'd take a thousand more beatings as long as he got to assure you everything will be alright.

Softly staring or toying with his wedding ring is the only way to keep himself sane in between bouts of the mistreatment. He imagines how good it will feel when he gets back to you, how you'll hold onto him with all your strength. He thinks about your scent, the texture of your skin, the silhouette of your body.

After a week and a half with no progress on the side of his captors, it seems they're getting more desperate. All it really takes is Ghost being the slightest bit unsubtle one time when he brushes the ring on his finger for an idea to arise.

He refuses to let it show outwardly, but he's just about ready to break down sobbing and/or kill everyone within a mile radius, as his captor casually chats about the ring.

Got a little lady at home? She must miss you so bad. How about we pay her a visit? Get you two reacquainted?

The man sits down in front of him, slowly pulling out a knife. His expression is gleeful, which can't mean anything good for Ghost.

He tries with all his might to wiggle away as his captor moves his ring a little further up his finger, although he doesn't take it off fully. This isn't about the ring, it's about the entire finger.

Ghost nearly bites through his tongue as his ring finger is sliced off with a knife that's dull enough to make it take a while. He watches in tears as suddenly he's not wearing his ring anymore. The anchor of his sanity, the blessing you'd given him that beautiful day, gone just like that. He watches in despair as his detached finger gets picked up like a coin off the street, a small satisfaction to the man he swear to tear limb from limb the moment he gets out of his restraints.

But it couldn't just stop there. No, that would be too merciful. As if it's nothing, the process gets repeated on his other ring finger as well. For the first time since his childhood, Simon considers begging. Losing the finger he held your ring on was one thing, to lose even the chance to move it to the other one is downright cruel. Even if he logically knows there is much worse physical trauma they could inflict on him, this is mentally the most painful. It feels like breaking his vows, ones he took as, if not more, seriously than any op he'd ever been on.

The rest of his stay in that bunker is a blur. Without the physical reminder of his home, he feels like there isn't much time left for him. Either they'll finally fully break him physically or he will surely fall apart mentally. Every time he tries to reach out for his ring, he feels bile rise in his throat. Add to that the growing anxiety that they are going to find you and take you there too, and he isn't able to get any rest anymore in between visits from the monster who did this to him.

The day the Taskforce finds him feels like nothing but a dream. In a haze, they untie him, Price kindly pulling a balaclava over his bared face. It should feel like a homecoming, back in the security of privacy, but he's still too out of it to care. Regardless, a gun gets pressed into his hands and he knows what he must do.

He doesn't let himself escape until he finds the man responsible for the brunt of his pain. He shoots him in the shoulder, disarming the fucker so he can get what he wants.

Where is my ring?

Ghost is lucky enough that the guy still has it in his vest, simply forgotten in there as if it isn't even worth a nickel.

He stares at it for a while once it's back in his possession, nearly breaking down all over again as he realizes he doesn't know what to do with it now. Against the rumbling within his stomach that tells him it's wrong, he deposits it on his pointer finger instead. It's not a perfect fit anymore, but it's solid enough that it won't just slide off.

He shoots the guy in the knees for good measure, leaving him there to bleed out surrounded by the corpses of his teammates. It would be satisfying to do more, but Ghost finds it's not even worth it. It won't change anything.

He collapses the moment they reach the heli and doesn't wake back up until three days later, confined to a shitty hospital bed as they keep an eye on his well being. He's still a tad dizzy when he awakens, but not enough to not instantly recognize you where you're sitting by his side.

You all but leap into his arms when you notice he's awake and at last Simon can feel himself letting go of his suppressed emotions. With the little strength he has, he pulls you right on top of himself, sobbing into your shoulder as if this is all a dream that could vanish at any moment.

He doesn't notice he's apologizing until you pull back, shushing him with a soft smile. Still, he doesn't stop, wanting to make it clear that he would have rather died than been without that ring for even a second.

He finally stops when you, very softly, punch him in the chest. You're crying too, trying to explain how you couldn't give less of a fuck about a piece of metal as long as he came back home to you alive. You cup his face, telling him all the ways in which you missed him, in which you needed him, while he was gone.

You lay there together until you both tire yourself out from all the crying and love declarations.

[whore4romance]

Holy shit dude this is art! The emotions I felt reading this I felt like I was there watching this and that’s honestly very rare for me to do so I thought I’d reblog so everyone has a chance to read this amazing piece🥰

[planetary-corpse]

You and Simon have been dating for years now.

Your love life is amazing, the sex, even better.

He’s rough, and dominating, making you feel small and stupid in the best ways possible.

Allowing your thoughts to go quiet.

Tonight was a perfect night.

Well it was…

You lay in bed, your legs still shaking from the nth orgasm you had that night.

Your clothes are thrown, left forgotten somewhere in the corner of your shared room.

You’re completely alone.

Only for one reason.

Simon’s downstairs, grabbing you a glass of water after such a scene.

Tonight… he was rougher than usual.

Touching you with harsh hands, and speaking with mean words.

A look in his eye that you’ve never seen before.

Something that looked too closely to the way he would look at any other stranger.

It wasn’t much.

Just enough to make you wonder.

Enough to let thoughts spiral.

Enough to remember every command.

Every ache of your worn out body.

Your arms are littered in Simon’s fingerprints.

Bite marks throbbing on your shoulder and neck.

Your ass bright red from spankings.

You slowly roll over onto your side trying to relieve yourself of the sting.

It does little to help.

A small sound leaving your lips.

Did he mean it, when he called you a whore?

A piece of ass only meant to fuck?

Pathetic..?

Tears began to welt in your eyes before you knew what was happening. Your gaze fixed onto the wall.

The puddle forming under your cheek starts slow.

Quiet.

Simon walks back in, naked as the day he was born when his eyes find you.

He stops dead in his tracks.

You’re curled up on yourself, looking like a ghost.

You hear his steps quicken.

The glass clinks as it’s placed down.

His heart is racing in his chest as he approaches.

“Luvie…?”

His call is a whisper.

Your eyes slowly find his.

Cheeks beaten red, blotchy with tears.

His stomach drops.

“Y/n… talk to me.”

He sits down beside you, eyes scanning over your shaking form.

He knows something is wrong but doesn’t know what.

He didn’t do anything different tonight, not to his memory.

His hand lifts but hesitates, dropping back to his side.

“Are you okay.. did I hurt you?”

His voice wavers with concern.

Fear.

You can’t answer, your throat tightening at his worry.

Unable to meet his eyes, suddenly feeling guilty at your tears.

Your thoughts eat at you.

Were you being stupid?

Overdramatic?

Your mouth opens and only a broken sound comes out.

Simon reaches for his shirt sitting only a foot away, pulling it over your head.

You allow it, slipping your hands through the sleeves.

It’s big, like a dress on you.

Your eyes are still down in your lap.

He leans in, gently pulling your hair from your shirt without a word.

The gesture allows you to breathe.

Giving you some sense of security.

“M’ here luvie.. you can tell me anything.”

He whispers, his hand gently patting down your hair, soft like you’ll disappear if he touches you with too much pressure.

He’s close, but not suffocating you.

Giving you space to breathe, to process.

You’re quiet for a long moment. Leaning into the warmth of his hand as a comfort.

“Simon… you were.. really mean.”

You manage to get out, unable to look at him.

You pause the word feeling wrong on your tongue.

“Different..”

You choose instead.

He feels his blood run cold at your tone. So small, so unlike your bright self.

He begins to overthink, replaying everything he said, how he touched you.

His hand freezes on you for just a moment.

“My baby...”

His tone makes your eyes snap over to him.

His hand moves again, slowly moving down your cheek.

“I am so sorry… I never meant to hurt you..”

Even if he doesn’t fully understand, he knows enough.

“I was too rough on you..”

You wince as he gently caresses the inflamed skin he was once so rough to.

“May I.. hold you?”

His words come out small, hesitant to ask for more than he should.

You nod with a small sniffle.

He doesn’t wait a second.

Picking you up under your legs, pulling you into his warm chest.

His chin rests on top of your head as you breathe into him.

Your shoulders shaking with attempts to keep your cries in.

“It’s okay… let it out.”

He coos to you, his hand rubbing circles on your back. Big, slow motions. Warm and heavy on your clothed back.

Trying to apologize in every touch.

Every twitch of his fingers.

You breathe deeply, feeling like every pass of his hand only breaks the dam inside you further, until you just can’t take it.

You sob into him, loud and ugly.

Hiding your face into him as your entire body shakes.

He holds you tightly.

So tight, like he wants to pull you inside of him.

His heart pounding with worry.

God never again.

“M’ sorry… m’so sorry—“

You slur into his chest like a mantra.

His heart breaks a little.

He pulls you closer if that’s possible, murmuring in your hair.

“Shh..shh.. don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

He replies, calm and soft.

His hands going to your scalp, gently massaging.

You’re close enough you can hear his heartbeat.

It’s fast.

Despite such, he continues.

“Breathe for me luv.. breathe.”

He coaches… You listen.

He rests his cheek on your head, taking a breath of your hair, reeling in you.

Holding you together.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing.. you should never feel like this.. not with me.”

So gently, like you’re made of porcelain, he tilts your head up, collecting your tears.

“You are everything to me, my world, my entire heart. I thought you wanted to feel small under me…”

He pauses kissing your temple.

“If you don’t want that, it’ll never happen again.”

You shake your head, cheek moving against his palm.

You take his hand in yours, feelings swirling in your chest.

“I.. I do want that.. I like it when you’re mean.. sometimes..”

you speak softly, your eyes red rimmed, meeting his for a glimpse.

He waits…

Thinking…

You’re keeping something in, and he can see it.

“Then.. what’s got you like this..?”

He responds, his tone patient. Only for you.

His fingers tangling in your hair.

You pause, closing your eyes as you gather courage.

“I.. felt so alone.”

You whisper back to him.

His heart lurches at your tone.

His arms wrap around your shoulders.

His breath soft against the back of your head.

When he speaks again it’s hesitant. Careful.

“M’.. sorry dovie.. how can I help you now?”

You lean into him, more than grateful for his comfort.

“Love me..”

You whisper back, your eyes closing, a small frown on your lips.

He doesn’t respond verbally.

Taking the signs he leans in, kissing so softly over the bite mark he left on your shoulder.

Again, at the bruises on your arms.

Your fingertips.

Palm, wrist.

Loving you.

Fingers carefully moving against your sides, finding your sore hips.

Rubbing, massaging.

His hands pull you back into him. Whispering words of affection.

“My pretty baby.. always so good for me.. yeah?”

He asks, his hands pausing.

His honey eyes soften when they find yours.

“Say it, pretty… for me?”

His voice is low but so careful, in a way that makes your thoughts go quiet as you repeat his words.

“I was good… for you.”

you nod, feeling a tightness in your chest, a burn in your nose.

He holds you softly, his big hands moving down your thighs.

“I love you.”

He whispers into your skin.

Tears roll down your cheeks again.

This time, not out of pain, or insecurity.

But the way he loves you.

So sweetly kissing at every mark, every bruise, every affliction to your skin.

He shifts, pulling your back to his chest.

His hand wrapping around your jaw to make you look up at him.

His eyes serious, tone low.

“I love you, more than anything.”

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re never alone with me. I’m here with you, always. More than just sex. More than any scene.”

He promises you.

His rough but controlled, keeping eye contact.

He ends with a kiss to your wet cheek.

You nod up at him.

Your heart warming in your chest.

He wraps his arms around your middle, resting into you.

“Let me draw you a bath.. we can soak together… how does that sound luv..?”

He asks, barely a whisper.

You smile so softly..

“I.. I’d really like that, Si.”

[whore4romance]

I just want to be loved unconditionally despite my overthinking😭

[anunsociablebear]

There's no such thing as too much when it comes to you, my little doll. your fears aren't too much to deal with and your attitude will never push me away. your clinginess could never annoy me and your devotion could never be overbearing. when i say i want all that you are, i meant it.

give it all to me and let me love you anyways.

[whore4romance]

*swoon*🥰