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hongism · 1 year

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BOUNCY. - j. yunho, c. jongho (m)

➼ genre; smut ➼ pairing; yunho x fem!reader x jongho ➼ au; outlaw/mechanics!2ho, dystopian futurism, lore accurate ateez ➼ warnings; explicit smut, some terribly unfunny mechanic jokes i’m really sorry ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 4.9k

‘Two for the price of one!’ the sign outside the shop had read, and well, you’ve never been one to pass up on a good deal.

part of the outlaw miniseries.

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➼ smut warnings; piv, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, fingering, manual stimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, hair pulling, choking, sloppy seconds, creampie, pet names: sugar, sweets, dear & baby, dirty talk, breeding kink, name calling: bitch & slut, voyeurism & exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, dom yunho, sub reader, slight bimbofication, spit play, size kink, praise kink

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You pull up to Outlaw Customs, the repair shop that’s become something of a second home for your car, two minutes before closing. If it were anywhere else — and anyone else running the place — you would never dream of being such a terrible customer, but since you know both men inside well enough to have a working relationship outside of this little business they run, you aren’t worried about causing any issues. And, well, if you do, Yunho will surely let you know in his own snarky way.

The garage door is still wide open, with Yunho on full display at the mouth of it as he works on the vehicle that’s always parked front and center. As you cross the threshold into the garage, your eyes catch on a sign propped up outside that you hadn’t seen the last time you were here. Two for the price of one on any repairs! A scoff slips out of you as you eye it, and that noise is what pulls Yunho’s focus from his work to you.

“You didn’t tell me you were running a deal,” you whine, drawing a laugh from the man before you.

“We still gotta make money somehow, sugar!” He nods his head towards the other side of the car, where another familiar face sits on the run-down couch you gave to them when they first opened up shop down the street from your apartment complex. It was something of a trade and an icebreaker: you needed a cracked headlight patched up, and they needed some furniture to fill out the garage and make it more homey for any customers who would come and go. Jongho gets up when you come over though, simply to move from the couch to the desk chair right beside it, and you take the spot where he was just sat.

“What’ll it be this time, sweets?” Jongho arches a brow at you in question and leans back in the chair. He exudes the same natural attractive confidence that he always has, and it shines through in the way he’s sitting with his legs splayed out and how one hand rests on his upper thigh while the other closes into a loose fist against the surface of the desk. He’s changed up his hair since you were last here too, now accentuated with white highlights that frame his head nicely. Your staring doesn’t go unnoticed, however, and he clears his throat gently when you fail to respond after several seconds.

“Oh, um, I’m in desperate need of a new tire. Back left. I think I hit a nail on the road or something, she’s been causing me trouble for weeks now.”

“And you didn’t come in sooner?”

You draw your lips into a firm ‘o’. “I started having issues two days after you demanded to do my oil change! Which I could have done myself really, but now — I can’t see what’s causing the issue, and no matter how many times I pump the damn thing, it still has shit air pressure. Besides, if you wanted to see me sooner, you don’t have to wait around for me to have another car issue to do so.”

Jongho shifts to find something on the desk. The tips of his ears are stained red, and that color bleeds down to his neck. “Yunho is the one who demanded to do the oil change though,” he mumbles, pulling out a clipboard with a blank sheet of paper attached to it. “I’ll go take a look and do a quick inspection to see if anything stands out.”

“Keys are on the dash!” you call after him before he slips out and leaves you somewhat alone with Yunho. Said man is laughing to himself as discreetly as he can manage but says nothing in favor of continuing his fiddling at the car. “Were you really the one to demand that oil change?”

“Technically no. But I did say that if he wanted an excuse to pull you over here then he could offer to do it for you.”

“Despite knowing I always do it myself?” you inquire as you push up from the couch. Your hands come to rest on your hips, chin tilting to match the attitude in your stance, and Yunho’s tongue pokes between his lips. His eyes move over your body in a quick series of glances before he knocks the round of his wrench against the headlight in front of him as though it’s a hammer.

“Um—” he fights to clear his throat but once he starts blushing, it’s impossible to miss against his pale skin. You step closer to where he’s crouched and squat down next to him once you deem yourself close enough — that being within touching distance, that is, where your shoulder can brush against his any time he tries to move even a hair.

“What are you working on?”

Again Yunho’s gaze finds you; this time, he lets it trail over your face first before going any lower, and you grant him a little smile for the bit of unnecessary chivalry.

“You’re too pretty to dirty your hands on me, sugar.”

“You say that every time,” you argue. You never get tired of admiring his side profile, but right now it comes with the added bonus that it watching his throat bob as he swallows hard around nothing but saliva and air.

“You don’t wanna make sure Jongho’s not changing your oil without permission again?” The roll of your eyes is far from subtle by any means, and the dramatization of the gesture brings a snort of laughter out of the man next to you.

“There are other inspections you can do, right? Since I’m a regular here and all.”

“Are you really in need of new tires, dear? From where I’m sitting, it seems like we aren’t the only ones who try to find excuses ‘round these parts.”

Leaning away, you put a hand over your chest and scoff. “The audacity of this man! Jongho, did you hear that?” He’s moving back into the garage as you call out to him, slapping the clipboard against the outside of his thigh. You only get a laugh out of him which seems to you like he agrees with Yunho. He lowers the garage door once safely out of the way and moves back to his seat at the desk. “See, he didn’t say he didn’t find anything.”

“He also didn’t say he did find something, sugar.”

“And, did he?” you prompt, eyes narrowing on Jongho’s back. Even though he can’t see you, he gives you the answer you want to hear with a quiet hum of affirmation, and you flick your chin back to Yunho to send him a smug little grin. “Besides, is there any harm in wanting a good deal?”

“That depends.” Yunho’s voice drawls a little, and he presses the heels of his hands against his thighs to help propel him into a standing position. The wrench in his hand gets tossed back to the cart nearby, bringing an echoing clatter to fill the garage with noise as your eyes lock. “Two for the price of one is a big deal after all.”

“And?” You stand slowly in contrast to how eager Yunho was to stand upright, but he watches your every move with rapt attention. In this game, it’s hard to tell which one of you is stalking the other — both playing the part of a predator so well that it’s indistinguishable. In your humble opinion, Yunho’s resolve is cracking much faster than yours.

“And it comes with lots of nice add-ons but they can be a lot to handle.”

“I never pass up on a good deal though,” you murmur through a pout, deigning to look down to the floor and back up to meet Yunho’s gaze through fluttering lashes. “I like handing big loads too.”

“Oh my god.” Jongho’s voice and the following groan cut through the building tension. “Quit making gross innuendos and just fuck! Making me sit here and agonize through that shit, disgusting.” Your face draws into something close to a scowl, one that matches his expression when you turn to look at him. In a move of childish vengeance, you stick your tongue out at him.

“Let us have our fun!”

“Yeah, yeah, have your fun and fuck.”

“Not joining?” Yunho asks, hand running over the curve of your hip already.

“I’ll sit back and watch you get your fill first then have seconds later. You always feel best after he’s thoroughly used you, sweets.” Your expression is somewhere between bewilderment and a smile, eyes following him as he moves back to the couch and throws himself down to the cushions facing you and Yunho. “What? He leaves you good and loose for me.”

“Jongho.” Your tone is breaching the edge of chastisement, but the words you plan to continue with are knocked out of you in a soft oof as Yunho turns you towards the car and suddenly bends you over the hood without warning.

“He’s right, isn’t he? I do open you up quite nicely.” You brace your hands against the hood, pushing up just enough to send a look back at Yunho over your shoulder. He’s already moved back some, however, and redirected his attention to slipping his fingers between the band of your pants and the skin underneath. “May I, sugar?”

“Go on then,” comes your whispered response as you settle more comfortably against the hood.

“You look pretty splayed out against our gem, baby.” Your view of Jongho is entirely skewed like this, but you watch him as he speaks. Though still fully clothed, you get quite the eyeful of his crotch with the way he’s sitting in that same damned position that makes you want to crawl between his legs and suck him dry.

“Right where she belongs.” Yunho’s fingers are hot against your sex, cupping you through your underwear now that your pants are down to your ankles. He snaps the flat of his hand to the same spot, and the action draws a shiver out of you along with a breathy whine. “Are you up for subbing tonight, y/n?”

“Yes sir.”

“So good and I barely had to lift a finger,” Yunho coos down at you. Once again his fingers trail over the line of your lips and push fabric against your cunt, not enough to give you any sort of true stimulation but it makes your clit throb with want. “Still remember our safeword?”

“Bluebird.”

“There’s my good girl.” Yunho slaps his palm against your mound harder to accentuate his words. You let out a moan that catches you off-guard, but Yunho doesn’t allow you time to adjust to the new sensations. “Count for me, sugar.”

“How many do you think she deserves tonight?” From your perspective, you can see Jongho’s hand move in slow circles against the front of his pants.

“Hm, fifteen to start? She was mouthing off quite a lot with me earlier.” A chilling rush of adrenaline pushes through your body, a whine hanging at your lips and threatening to interrupt their conversation, but you bite it back by sinking your teeth into your lower lip. Jongho catches your slight blunder before you have the chance to hide it.

“Oh? I think she wants to say something, Yun.”

“What is it, sugar? You can count that high still, right? After all my cock isn’t in you yet. Your little head should be perfectly intact still.” Yunho slides a hand down your back and finds a resting place at your tailbone. He takes the fabric of your shirt into his palm before bunching it into his fist and yanking your body along the hood of the car. “Not a dumb cockslut yet, baby, come on and answer the question.”

“I-I can, yeah, I can count that high, sir.”

“Good girl. You sound nice and desperate already. Maybe you shouldn’t wait so long to come see us anymore, hm?”

“I won’t,” you whisper. Yunho’s hand comes down on your ass, slapping against the bare skin exposed by your panties, and the sting comes immediately. “I’ll come sooner next time.” Yunho clicks his tongue though. Your gaze is locked onto Jongho, however, and focused on following his movements as he pulls his pants down his thighs and lets his thick cock spring out fully erect and leaking at the tip already. Yunho tightens his grip on you. The pressure on your body increases tenfold, making it hard to breathe under the weight atop you. You feel hot breath cascading over your ear as Yunho inserts himself into your personal space.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten how to fuckin’ count, sugar,” he hisses into the shell of your ear. His tone is so wildly different than the one he uses in casual conversation — biting and scathing to the point of muddling your thoughts with desire. Nothing quite compares to sex with an angry Yunho, though you rarely can rile him up to that point and even now you don’t have him like that, just the barebones of annoyance that tease something more.

“N-No! One, one, I’m sorry sir.”

“If he’s so distracting, I can send you over to him with no prep, dear.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m — I’m focused, I promise. Please continue?” His response comes in the form of two more slaps over the same spot as the first one, sharp and pointed to make the skin beneath him heat up further. “Three…”

“Now that I’ve got your attention, make sure I keep it, sweetheart.”

There’s no real need for that reminder in your mind because once he starts building a steady rhythm and delivering the spanks to your ass with mere seconds between each one, you have no choice but to focus on him. Jongho is still before you, a sight unfolding gloriously as he strokes at his length with lazy little jerks and no intention of bringing himself much pleasure beyond that. Even Yunho goes quiet in his ministrations behind you, leaving the air to be filled with the sounds of his hand on your skin and whatever broken number you choke out after each one. You want to twist and writhe under him, to alleviate some of the burn that’s so present on your backside, but each time you try to so much as shift an inch, Yunho delivers an extra slap to your cunt. Well-placed and effective too — so close to your clit that it makes your knees buckle and you fall back into the position Yunho wants you in to carry out his task. The first ounce of reprieve comes at eleven, right when you’ve settled to push through the pleasurable punishment to the end.

“You know, sugar, you’re taking this so well that I’m wondering if we should increase the number. You aren’t nearly red enough yet, and we picked an odd number. I can’t show equal love to both sides like that.”

“Twenty?” Jongho chimes in, smile twisting as you shake your head. “Thirty?”

“Twenty is fine, I—” you inhale sharply at the sensation of Yunho running his hand along your skin. His touch is cold now, a welcome balm to the heat that emanates from the spot he’s just been hitting so ruthlessly. Your voice is so shaky that you have to swallow to contain the tremble before continuing. “It’s b-been a bit since we did this, I’m not u-used to it.”

Yunho remains quiet as he rubs his thumb over your warm skin in soothing circles for several more seconds. “One more, baby. Then you’ll be done for tonight.” He’s merciful but not entirely gracious because the last sharp slap he delivers to you feels ten times worse than all the others before, and you roll your head to push it into the hood as you cry out at the impact. He catches you as your knees buckle under you, preventing you from sliding straight down to the floor, and as you’re scrambling to regain your footing, he hooks two fingers under your underwear band. When he yanks at the elastic, it snaps against your body hard enough to make you hiss, and it burns a bit when they slide over your sensitive skin.

“Didn’t she do well, Yun?”

You crack an eye open to look over at the man on the couch and make direct eye contact with Jongho to find his gaze far softer than it was minutes ago.

“Of course she did. I expect nothing less from our pretty lady, dear. And—” Yunho pushes two fingers between your folds and dips right into your hole, bypassing all the arousal that’s begun to leak out of you “—she’s sopping wet to boot. Perfect.” The praise makes your body sing, and Yunho rewards your easy obedience by easing his fingers in and out of you with little resistance thanks to that wetness he mentioned. “You still on the pill?”

“Y-Yeah, as always. Haven’t missed a day.”

“Then I can cum in you?”

“Yes… yes sir.”

Yunho groans, and he moves his hand up from the small of your back to feel at the back of your head. He takes a handful of hair into his hold and grips tight enough to pull your head up from the car hood, but it’s not too terrible that you feel any sort of dramatic pain from the act.

“Gonna breed you fuckin’ full of cum then,” he growls, leaning into your space and knocking his forehead against your temple. “Maybe so well that that damn pill won’t work? If I fuck it into you hard enough then your body won’t have a choice but to take my seed.” A loud moan tumbles from your lips at his words. The hand you have propping your weight up wobbles, and just before your elbow locks, Yunho releases you and grabs for your hips with both hands. You’re close to complaining about the sudden departure of his fingers when he nudges the tip of his cock against your folds, sliding along the wetness in a crude form of lubrication.

“Fuck me, won’t you?” you plead quietly. You hope that if nothing else, the look on your face will convince him to get on with things, but it must be a combination of everything — the heady arousal in the air, your tone and words, even the sight of Jongho jacking off to the two of you only a few feet away. Yunho sinks deep into your cunt then; he buries the full length of his cock deep inside you, stretching you open further until it feels like you can feel him in your stomach. Your body trembles and drops forward as you press your free hand to your abdomen like it’ll help you feel him better. “God, you’re so fucking big, Yun.”

“All the better to breed you with,” he says before planting a hand between your shoulder blades and urging you all the way down once more. Jongho is squeezing the base of his cock with his other hand now, likely to keep himself from cumming too early, and Yunho is notorious for two things: his short refractory period and how long he can go without orgasm no matter what kind of stimulation he’s under.

The initial drag of his cock inside you feels like heaven, and when he thrusts back against your thighs, he does so with such force that your insides churn.

“Is she tight?”

“Insanely,” Yunho responds through gritted teeth. You try to lift your head to look back at his face, eager to see how broken his expression is right now, but he stops you in your tracks. Again, fingers threaded through your hair and locking in close to your scalp to give him the best grip that won’t hurt you too terribly much. He yanks you hard with the next thrust, and it brings your head up at an angle that stretches you hard enough to make your muscles burn with the effort of accommodating to it. “Barely been two weeks and you’re this tight again, sugar, your pussy is fuckin’ insane.”

You would laugh at the absurdity of his comment if you could, but in your current state, the only noise that can escape you are choppy moans. They’re the kind that sounds like they could come straight from an amateur porno, and despite the garage being closed, it doesn’t offer that much privacy. Anyone who walks by will suddenly become privy to what sounds like a home movie being filmed behind the metal door.

“Didn’t expect her to be this tight, fuck, I might cum early.”

You can’t warn Yunho of the same for yourself: between his thrusts, the full weight of his balls slap against your pussy from the sheer force behind how hard he’s fucking you, and the steady rhythm is just enough to stimulate your clit even without head-on contact. He knows your body well, however, and how to play you like a fucking fiddle, so when your walls start pulsing around the thickness of his cock, he shifts the angle and drives his tip so deep into you that you see stars behind your eyelids.

“Fuck, sweets,” Jongho exhales under his breath. Your vision is blurry when you open your eyes, but it snaps back to black a moment later when the orgasm hits you all of a sudden.

“Fuck, fuck, f-fuck!”

“That’s it, sugar,” Yunho coos from behind you, and his hand relaxes to run down to the back of your neck. He presses the pads of his fingers into the flesh there, poking and prodding at the muscles that have suddenly gone tense in the tsunami of sensations sweeping over you, but his thrusts don’t let up even as your walls squeeze hard around his length. Yunho fucks you hard and fast through the brunt of your orgasm. When your body finally relaxes and the waves die down to let you swim in the aftermath of it, he’s still driving his dick along your walls and knocking against your more sensitive spots. “Should I breed you now, dear? Fuck you nice and full of cum then send you to sit on Jongho’s cock?”

Your mouth hangs open enough to let saliva out of it and onto the car, yet it smears across your face when you lose the will to steady yourself against Yunho’s pace.

“Pl-please, sir.”

Yunho lays himself over you and spreads his hands to sit on either side of your head. His hips still against your backside. The fuzz in your brain nearly drowns out the feeling of cum pumping into you, without a doubt filling you to the brim. He’s still in the throes of recovery when you nudge Yunho off and out of you. You would stay longer with him inside, to feel that warmth and fullness for some time longer, but your body moves on its own agenda with a pulsing desire lingering in your gut. Despite the weakness in your muscles, you walk over to the couch where Jongho waits patiently and quietly. His gaze is heavy on you when you drop your hands to his shoulders.

“Baby…”

“Don’t stop her now, babe,” Yunho interjects. You don’t spare him a glance over your shoulder or anything like it — the movements of your body are methodical and calculated, a firm straddle over his hips and spread legs before you reach down to put your hand next to his against the length of his cock. Together, you guide him into your used cunt, pushing him in alongside the cum threatening to drip out of your body. A sigh of relief leaves your lips once he’s securely inside you.

“Feel good?” you whisper close to his face. Jongho’s cheeks are flushed, his pupils blown own so wide that you can barely see the color of his irises, and his lips glisten with spit. You can’t help yourself, you decide. He has the same thought in his mind because he’s the one to kiss you rather than the other way around, lips finding each other in a fit of passion that makes your chest burn.

“I want more,” he mutters into your mouth.

“Greedy.” You lift yourself up from his lap some, enough to let his cock nearly pull all the way out of you, then sink back down with a spine-curling pleasure that makes you throw your head back and moan to the ceiling. Yunho’s form enters your line of sight, and his hand finds the base of your throat. He stands behind you, chin tilted to his chest so that he can stare directly down at you. He’s handsome beyond belief even at this awfully skewed and awkward angle.

“Open,” he commands while tapping along the column of your throat. Your lips part completely to allow him access to whatever it is he wants from you.

Jongho’s firm and strong hands squeeze at your waist at the same moment. He takes the control from your hands, and you hand it over without complaint to let him work your cunt along his length as he sees fit and to chase his pleasure in full. Yunho hooks his thumb on the back of your teeth. It effectively holds you open and steady for the moment he decides to spit down into your mouth. The warmth on your tongue makes you wince, but then Yunho is withdrawing his thumb and pushing up against your chin.

“Close and swallow,” he says in what’s likely to be his last act of dominance for the night. Your eyes remain firmly set on his face as you do so — slow yet deliberate so that he can see your obedience in its full glory. Your reward is the sweetest gift. He lays a kiss to your forehead and taps your cheek gently. “Good girl.”

You right yourself enough to look down at Jongho, sending your focus to the lover beneath you. He lets you take his face between your hands without saying a word, but the second you lean in for a kiss, he bites out his thoughts.

“You take dick like a bitch in heat, sweets.”

“Y-You’re the one—” your voice sounds about as wrecked as you feel “—fucking me dumb.” Jongho slides his hands along the lines of your body until he reaches your ass, where the skin is still sensitive and burning from Yunho’s earlier punishment. He palms the flesh harshly enough to make you cry out. “Want you inside too.”

“One wasn’t enough? How much cum do you need?”

“She’s a proper cumslut, really Jongho. You know this.” It’s unfair that Yunho sounds totally recovered and unbothered by the rough sex you just shared; meanwhile, you’re thoroughly wrecked and still going through the motions, working towards another impending orgasm on Jongho’s cock.

“Close?” he asks with a lilting tease hanging off his tone. You push yourself against him as best you can, close enough to knock your forehead into his.

“I bet you’ll cum first, big boy. Your needy dick is begging to breed me.”

Jongho’s nostrils flare at the accusation, but it’s an accurate one with the way his haphazard thrusts are becoming more and more staggered. Nothing inspires Jongho quite like a small competition though, even if it encourages him to play dirty and reach around to your front. He plunges a hand down alongside where his cock meets your body. Your bubbling complaints about his dirty tactics fall short at the mouth of your next orgasm, and he all but steals the air from your lungs with a few little twists of his fingers on your clit. He cums with you immediately after — but after nonetheless, as you’re certain he’ll note later on. Your body sags atop his even as he drives his length into you a few more times for good measure and to milk himself for all he’s worth, adding another load to what Yunho’s already left in you.

Said man makes another appearance too, with bottles of water in hand as he lowers himself to the couch cushions right beside you and Jongho. You take one of the presented bottles with a quiet murmur of thanks, easing up from your slumped position to take several greedy sips in an effort to soothe your poor throat.

“By the way,” Jongho tilts his head in Yunho’s direction. A moment passes that’s full of silent anticipation, and it’s only when Yunho’s brows start to furrow that Jongho finishes his thought. “Her tires are fine.”

The incredulous look you get from Yunho makes the ruse well worth it, and the small flare of anger that crosses his eyes briefly only serves to make you want to tease him further.

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#ateez smut #ateez x reader #yunho smut #yunho x reader #jongho smut #jongho x reader #ateez fic #ateez ff #ateez fanfic #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #yunho oneshot #jongho oneshot #caly.writes #fic: outlaw series

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trashogram · 3 months

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He Chose You (P. 5)

Lucifer/Reader — Lucifer wants you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for the smut. FINALLY

(Hope none of y’all were planning to actually get off though).

“You want a… baby?”

Lucifer looked as stunned as you felt. He reminded you of a spooked deer — frozen and wide-eyed as he waited for imminent death. Or more aptly a dying fish as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

“… To hang out with?”

Lucifer found himself in your apartment for the second time, milling about beside your coffee table. He internally scolded himself for fidgeting and shifting from one foot to the other, but it was either that or burn a hole in your head with his hopeful gaze.

“No!” He let out a pathetic laugh. “Well, yes, b-but obviously not just that! I know there’s more to it than just ‘hanging out’.”

“I'm not stupid.” He chortled again before glancing at you. “… I’m not that stupid.”

The King had the uneasy feeling that you might see right through him now; find that inkling of excitement still germinating in his breast, and change your mind. Or worse, you’d withdraw even more and he’d have to feel that dreadful, terrible, no good shame.

He had practically skipped through the halls of his castle (unbeknownst to you) with the contract held tightly between his claws. But as soon as he entered your fireplace, the excitement had curdled like milk. It was replaced by that shame when he looked at you and saw your ashen face.

“Obviously you wouldn’t be doing this for free!” Lucifer gesticulated wildly. “You, you said you wanted to travel right? Right! If you agree, you’d get to travel wherever you want, whenever you want, no strings attached!”

“A-and also! No more costs, period! All your bills and expenses paid forever, in perpetuity, beyond the grave! Capitalism is a bitch? No, capitalism WAS a bitch!”

“No, no! Capitalism will be YOUR BITCH!”

Your resigned countenance combined with the memory of his pitch made Lucifer flinch.

——

You were never very good in a crisis. Or under a severe amount of pressure… or a moderate amount, in all sincerity.

But you’d have thought, even with the prospect of homelessness looming over your head, that you’d have drawn the line at making a Deal with the Devil to avoid it.

Or at least you would’ve taken more than the time it took to draw up a legal contract to accept your fate.

That time maxed out to 6 days.

The scroll unfurled before you. It radiated an ethereal golden light, and lined with a litany of official statements occasionally broken up by blank spaces meant for a (second) signature.

Lucifer Morningstar was signed here and there, in the same glittery calligraphy as was on his business card.

‘This contract must be interpreted by the Governances of Heaven [Heofon, Himmel, Kem, ἄκμων, آسمان, अश्मन्] and any litigations associated with Hell [Hel, Hallju, Kel]…’

‘… By this contract, Party A agrees to carry the Seed of Party B, hereafter known as “Father”, to the extent of natural gestation as governed by the Law of Nature…’

‘… This union shall be recognized only within the parameters listed and not heretofore or after…’

The legal jargon was giving you a headache. You scrubbed a hand down your face, determined to at least read through it all and, if you couldn’t pick out tiny discrepancies, at least find any giant red flags.

(Even if you’d already reserved the excuse that it was easy to be tricked by the Devil when the Devil was insanely good at presenting himself as a theatrical little man who wore his heart on his suit sleeve).

Then again, would it not just be easier to sign away your life without regard to the consequences?

Lucifer twitched when you groaned on your seat at the table. “Problem?”

You rose slowly from your hunched position to make eye contact. “… My pen isn’t working.”

You demonstrated by scribbling randomly on the sticky notepad beside his scroll. Lucifer responded instantly, left hand flexing in the air and, with a flashy poof, snatching a fancy pen out of thin air.

“You can keep it” He said, grinning as you accepted it with a sour look.

“Thanks… show-off.” You began scribbling your name in half-assed cursive on every blank line in sight.

The grin on Lucifer’s face became borderline manic as soon as you’d crossed your ‘t’s and dotted your ‘i’s. His teeth glinted in the light from your cheap-ass lamp and it made you wince as you handed the rolled up document back to him.

“Um, can we maybe skip the kissing stuff?” You asked. “I don’t really want to cut my tongue open.”

His wounded expression tugged rather annoyingly at your heart.

“Sorry.”

The smile he gave your mumbled apology was strained at best. “No, no I understand. The fangs were daunting to me when I first got them, too.”

You cocked your head, thoughts materializing like the web of a spider.

“That’s actually something we should talk about.” You voiced your thoughts. “Are we compatible? Down there?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean — you don’t have teeth down there, too… right?” You asked. “Or some kind of eldritch horror miasma that I can’t touch lest I fall into a coma from ecstasy? Or a tentacle?”

“No!” Lucifer looked mortified. “Wh-what is wrong with you humans?!”

“I’m sorry! I’m just asking!” You cried.

You continued when his expression stayed stagnant. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you but I’m about to become intimately acquainted with… it, and I think I should be prepared!”

Your hellish companion stood, eyes closed, hands folded over his mouth as if in prayer. He breathed in slowly, then out.

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry it’s… it’s been a while since I’ve been with a human.” He reasoned. “It’s good to ask questions. It’s—that’s a good one. Do you have any more?”

That made you pause. There were millions of things you could ask the King of Hell and yet not one thing could properly formulate in your brain.

“Um, I need a second to think about it.” You muttered. “What about you? My setup is pretty basic? I guess? I have a womb. At least I did, at my last physical a year and a half ago.”

Lucifer’s lips twitched upward in a half-smile and there was an answering flutter from your stomach. “I know.”

Your eyebrows shot up and he immediately started babbling. “I mean! I know because the contract went through! The ink would’ve turned red… or disappeared… To be honest, I don't know. I haven’t made a deal in a long time, ha ha. But I remember something happens when there’s a technical issue!”

“Ah,” You felt better with that explanation.

Kind of.

“I thought of a question, actually. Sorry.” You shrugged sheepishly. “It’s probably in the contract but…”

You swallowed down your trepidation. “… I won’t die, right?”

Suddenly unable to look him in the eye, you faced the floor and missed the way Lucifer’s face fell.

“Barring the normal risks that come with being pregnant, nothing else is gonna happen, right? Or if it does, it won’t be agonizing?” You asked quietly.

A moment of silence passed before the ex-Angel’s fingers curled under your chin. Your head rose and you saw Lucifer's eyes soften from something sharper and more determined.

“I will do everything in my power to protect you and the baby.” He said firmly. “Nothing terrible will happen to either of you. I swear.”

It was strange, the effect his words had on you. The jittery feeling in your chest slowly disappeared, and the tears forming in your eyes didn’t fall.

“Okay.” You nodded with a barely there, watery smile.

——

“I’m gonna turn off the lights, ok?” You said over your shoulder.

Lucifer was undoing the last of the buttons of his dress shirt, vest and overcoat already laid neatly over your desk. He met your gaze, eyes bright.

“Of course.” His close-lipped smile struck you, but you flipped the light switch before you could think on it.

A lack of light did very little to suppress Lucifer. He seemed to glow like the star of his namesake, flourishing in the dark and hard to miss. You simply hoped, as you pulled at your sleeves, his shine wouldn’t illuminate the terrain of your body.

Cold air hit your skin, goosebumps rose along your bare arms and shoulders, but you persisted. When everything was shucked save for your underwear, you moved to your bed and realized Lucifer was still standing at the baseboard.

With arms crossed, you assumed the same position at the side of the bed. “Um?”

“Ladies first!” He chimed, as if reading your mind.

You sighed, then slowly climbed onto the mattress and awkwardly pulled the comforter from under your butt. You settled and patted a spot in front of you.

Hesitantly, Lucifer accepted the invitation, and he was sitting next to you before you could blink.

No going back now.

You shifted in your spot uneasily. Fuck, it had been a long time since you had sex.

How did you start this shit again?

No kissing — per your own request. You had half a mind to take it back while you sat there floundering, trying not to let the tangible awkwardness break your resolve entirely.

You could do this. For a lifetime of no work, no bills, no cares.

You could do this.

A bit of movement in the dark caught your eye. You glanced down and realized that Lucifer was twiddling his thumbs waiting for you.

The laugh came bubbling from your throat before you could stop it. Reaching out, you grabbed one of his hands and tugged him forward.

You could see his throat constrict as he swallowed and smiled questioningly. “What?”

Lucifer yelped when you laid back, taking him with you.

——

“Ah! F-fu — Slow down!” You scolded, words muffled as you were repeatedly pushed down into the pillows.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, you just,” Every word was punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips against the flesh of your ass. “Feel. So. Fucking. Good.”

Lucifer moaned loudly as he continued to lose himself in the sensation. You could only groan, irritation building as your partner refused to give you even the most basic attention. The frustration peaked quickly, then unraveled as his pleasured moans and squeaks caused your stomach to somersault over and over again.

You clenched around his cock when he whined, thrusting into you so deeply you felt the base of him stretching your hole that much wider.

Well, fuck you for finding the sound of a masculine voice cracking the hottest thing in all of creation.

But it was actually getting you there, so what were you complaining for?

Eyes closed, you focused on the feeling, trying to jump off that precipice with only penetration. It reminded you of when you were a teen, awkwardly feeling around down there. Of trying to find the appeal in your fingers inside of somewhere so sensitive against the fear of hurting yourself. All while you worked yourself up with your own imagination.

In a perfect world, you would’ve moved on from that stage of life with no repeat performances. Hopefully, it could still be salvag—

You gripped the pillows that hadn’t tumbled off the juddering mattress when Lucifer’s claws dug into your hips. He pulled you as close as humanly possible with a strangled yelp, shivering, shuddering, stammering incoherence as warmth flooded your insides.

Fuck’s sake.

——

You were disappointed, but not surprised. All you could do after the fact was bury yourself in the covers and watch Lucifer catch his breath beside you.

Not finishing aside, exhaustion from the entire ordeal made you indolent and your thoughts hazy. You studied your partner as he calmed down, clearly trying not to be too close to you now that the deed was done.

Lucifer’s hair was in disarray, the space between his eyes and across his cheeks rosy like the blots parallel to his smile.

“Hey.”

Lucifer looked at you innocently, waiting. You could physically feel your walls crumbling down despite yourself.

“Come here.” You murmured, hand sliding beneath the covers to touch that poreless skin.

Damn you and your soft heart.

‘Actually…’ You had Lucifer in your arms, his body still warm. Once he was in your grasp, the King melted against you.

He looked a little afraid as you tilted him up by the chin to look at you. The Devil had surprisingly soulful eyes, questioning whatever you had in store.

The tiny thought that he was being way too vulnerable drew a taut, uncomfortable feeling your chest.

“Kiss me.”

Lucifer blinked in rapid succession — surprise, wonder, confusion and hope bloom all at once on his unusual face.

It made you laugh in the quiet, comfortable darkness of your room before you yourself leaned in and met his lips with your own. The line of Lucifer’s mouth trembled, but he reciprocated with only minor hesitation.

* Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1,

Please let me know I missed tagging you!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar

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bimbo-baggins86 · 3 months

Text

Just A Fantasy?: Sam Monroe

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CW: 18+ MDNI!!, porn with no plot, smut, masturbation, use of pet names, oral (m receiving), slight dacryphilia, degradation, throat fucking <3<3<3

A/N: For the lovely anon who said I should write more Sam Monroe smut…hope you enjoy <3 //not proofread\\

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Sam’s eyes are screwed shut, his plump bottom lip pulled between his teeth, the labret piercing clicking against them as he fists his dick with feverish desperation. It gets more difficult for him to contain the whimpers and groans threatening to spill out, causing him to bite down harder on his lip.

“Fuck..fuck..c’mon please..please..” He whimpers pleadingly to the mental image of you, his best friend, that he’s conjured up. The porn pulled up in his browser isn’t spurring him on like it usually does.

“Sam? Sam!”

“Yeah baby…y-yeah..just like that..” He grunts, tugging his cock faster, chasing his climax. He’s right there..right there..

“Oh my god! Sam!”

His eyes shoot open in surprise as you walk through his bedroom door, but it’s that extra little jolt he seemingly needed, hot cum spurting out with a loud groan. It dribbles all down his hand, some of it getting on his shirt since his trajectory changed with the surprise. Apparently the calls of his name weren’t just all a fantasy.

Sam’s face instantly goes beet red with embarrassment as he sees you standing there staring at him wide eyed. It’s silent. Minus the over acting moans still coming from his laptop speakers. Quickly he pauses it and slams it shut before reaching for a tissue to clean himself off and tuck himself away. “Sorry,” He mumbles, “you weren’t supposed to see that.” He’d rather you scold him than stay silent. He risks taking a peek at you. Your expression is unreadable to him.

A few more moments of silence pass before he can’t take it. “Say something at least. Please.”

“What were you thinking about?” You ask.

His eyes snap up to your’s immediately. Thats definitely nowhere close to what he expected to hear from you. He had numerous ideas and that didn’t even come close. He knows he’s taking a risk if he answers honestly but you just walked in on him humping his hand like a bitch in heat so all shame is out the window for now. And the fact you haven’t left running for the hills is a good sign.

“You.” His voice nearly cracks with the admission.

The grin that makes its way onto your lips is enough to make his dick twitch again.

“Really?” You ask softly, stepping closer towards him.

He swallows thickly, his eyes trailing over you for a moment before landing back on your face. He nods his head. “Really.”

He has to be hallucinating or maybe he passed out from embarrassment and this is all just a dream because he watches you close the distance between you both and drop to your knees in front of him.

“You could have just asked for my help..” You murmur, eyes admiring the outline in his pants. You look back up to his, “Think you can cum one more time?”

His heart nearly stops. Did he hear you correctly? He doesn’t trust his voice right now so he just nods, his breaths coming out shaky. “Mhm..”

There’s that grin again. He feels like he could explode just watching you pull his dick back out of his pants. He watches how you gaze at it like you’re in awe or something. He whimpers pathetically, wanting to feel your touch finally, now that you’re so close. He strokes your jaw with his thumb gently, “Please baby,” He croaks out, not able to wait any longer now that what he’s wanted for so long is being dangled in front of him.

He watches as you spit into your dominate hand before you delicately wrap it around his thick shaft. His eyelids flutter at the feel. Your pumps start slow and almost torturous drawing it out while pulling more mewls from him. When your hand starts to move faster, his head falls back to rest on his desk chair earning a satisfied groan.

Sam jolts when he feels you run your tongue along the underside of his length over the prominent vein, all the way to the tip, swirling the muscle around it. “Fuck baby,” He breathes sharply through his teeth.

You smile up at him, your tongue still teasing his cock. The sight of you on your knees in front of him is something he’s dreamed about countless times. He makes sure to burn the image into his memory just in case he never gets this again.

He lets out a choked moan as you wrap your lips around his tip, teasing the slit. “..need more..please..” He begs.

You oblige and start to slowly envelope him into your warm mouth. He lets his head rest against the back of the chair once again, letting out a hiss of air.

The pleasure is ripped away just as quickly as he got it though. He shoots forward frustrated, whining. “You’re such a fucking tease.” He growls out.

Before you have time to react he threads his ringed fingers through your hair and forces your mouth down around him, bucking his hips forward at the same time to make you gag around him. “..fuck..” He grunts, your nose is buried in his pubic hair.

His large hands keep your head in place as he continues to snap his hips up into your mouth, bullying your throat. Your drool dribbles out and down his shaft catching in the curly hair at the base. The sound of you gagging on his cock only encourages him further, along with the tears he can see catching in your eyelashes.

“Shouldn’t be such a tease baby,” He grunts, his hips not stopping their assault, “..fuck..I know you can take it though..”

Your hands find their way to his thighs, bracing yourself, nails digging into the flesh. The tears slip down your cheeks, ruining your makeup.

“‘M right there…’nd you’re gonna take it all..” His movements grow sloppier as he reaches climax. “Fuck baby,” He moans right before pulling your head down so his cock is buried in the back of throat, draining his cum right down it. The way it flexes as you gag milks every last drop from him.

“Shit..” he breathes out, pulling you off his overly sensitive length, whimpering. He admires the mess he made of your makeup while caressing your face sweetly with a shaky hand, a stark contrast to his actions seconds ago.

“Was that okay?” You ask, looking almost angelic to him even with the clear evidence of what you just did on your face.

He can’t help but chuckle at your question and he nods his head. “You really have to ask that?” He holds up one of his hands, showing how it’s trembling.

You beam proudly up at him. Sam strokes your bottom lip affectionately with his thumb before leaning forward and capturing them in a kiss, tasting himself on you. It’s safe to say you two are no longer just friends.

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#sam monroe smut #sam monroe imagine #sam monroe hayden christensen #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe #sam monroe life as a house

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glimmeringtwilight · 17 days

Text

Gilded Cage (Part Three)

ok. i'm not going to try to come up with a clever name for this one, this is just. part three. please send an ask or a DM if I missed any CW's! been a while.

Pairing(s): Dottore/Reader, Pantalone/Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: NSFW, drugging (painkillers and other ment), rough sex, biting, threats of mutilation (mild. but it's Dottore), yandere themes, noncon/dubcon, AFAB reader, overstimulation, humiliation

Dottore has been on edge lately.

You can tell. You can see it in his jaw when he’s sedating you as you lie on the operating table, eyes burning and dark as he stares through you at something presumably only he can see. You can see it in the way his hand sometimes twitches slightly– which bodes terribly for you– as he makes a small incision into your thigh, or your stomach, or your arm.

Most of the time, you think he just cuts into you simply because he can. Because he likes to watch the blood welling from the wound, dripping down your skin. He’s been doing it a lot more lately, sometimes forgetting to sedate you, sometimes forgetting to give you something for the pain, sometimes cutting too deep.

It feels like there’s a storm brewing that you can’t see; curtains drawn so you can’t look out the window and see the magnitude, brace yourself for wind or rain.

His clones seem to be affected by it, too; usually it’s only ever the younger clones of his that lash out, but even the supposedly older ones are starting to show signs of agitation. You haven’t seen the same test subject twice in what feels like weeks. All of them seem to enter and leave the lab only once– something that should horrify you more than it does, whenever you watch them wheeling the covered bodies past.

It’s this way for weeks. Dottore stalks around his lab like a harbinger of death, practically oozing poison and malice despite the deceptively calm mask he dons.

You find out what it is that’s been agitating him when he opens the door to your cell one morning. Not a clone. Not the occasional trembling Fatuus. Him. His eyes burn into you. You can’t make out the emotion in them, but the complete coolness in his expression makes your stomach sink. You wonder, briefly, if he’s going to finally kill you– would that be a mercy, at this point? Killing you? Perhaps not. Knowing him, he’d draw it out. Make it hurt.

Still, despite the terror that curls its fingers around your throat, you follow him quietly out of the cell and into the lab, staring at the back of his head as you walk and wishing you could read minds so you could at least brace yourself for whatever this is.

The two of you enter the lab and you finally realize what it is that’s crawled under Dottore’s skin, sat at the desk in the corner as though he’s not terribly out of place in the sterile environment.

Pantalone sits comfortably in one of the chairs near the desk Dottore rarely seems to use, smiling as though he’s received a warm welcome and a parade. Dottore, meanwhile, looks palpably annoyed as he strides past the banker and takes a seat behind the desk, motioning for you to follow.

It’s… Intensely uncomfortable, to say the least. You rarely find yourself sitting at Dottore’s desk, considering the doctor usually prefers to be conducting experiments rather than sitting and compiling data; he usually delegates that to his clones, who bitch and moan about the boring task.

So sitting in a chair, next to the two men who’ve each held you captive at different points, as Dottore practically radiates anger… You don’t know what to do. You fold your hands in your lap, avoiding looking at either one, even as you can feel the two of them just… staring.

You feel like you’re under a microscope, worse than any other time before when you’d been laid out on the operating table under Dottore’s invasive prodding.

Pantalone speaks first, breaking the charged silence.

“I take it you don’t mind if I verify that this one’s real,” He says, rising from his chair and smiling at the way Dottore visibly bristles. “After all, I’m paying for this, aren’t I? I deserve that much.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about you, and the demeaning way in which he’s referring to you as though you’re some object that might be counterfeit is both unnerving and irritating. You’re careful not to let it show on your face as Pantalone approaches you.

“What-” You start to ask, but you’re swiftly interrupted by gloved fingers prying open your mouth, prodding around in search of something that isn’t there. You feel them press down on your tongue, ghost over molars, then press against the back of your throat until you gag.

Somewhat satisfied, the banker pulls his fingers from your mouth and grips your chin firmly with a now-damp glove, turning your head this way and that and ignoring the obvious discomfort painted on your features as the action smears drool on your skin. What is he doing?

You shoot a glance towards Dottore, who is still just watching. He’s obviously pissed– you can see a vein popping in his forehead, belaying his anger on his otherwise blank face.

Pantalone lets go of your chin in favor of grabbing you by the arms, pulling you up from your chair and motioning for you to spin around in a circle. You do, though you’re still confused, unsure of what’s happening as the banker seems to be appraising you like a precious gem. It’s a different type of poking and prodding than Dottore’s usual tests and checkups, but it’s invasive nonetheless. It’s doubly unsettling that this is the first time you’ve seen the banker without his usual smarmy smile.

Hands find your shoulders and stop you again, and you bristle when they trace the curve of your spine, exposed thanks to the open back of the hospital gown. You feel them stop, tap something just to the left of one of your vertebrae, and Pantalone spins you back around to face him, clearly pleased.

You try not to flinch when he takes a lock of your hair in his hands– it’s gotten so long since you’d been brought back to the lab– and brings it closer to his face. His nose crinkles, palpable disgust on his features, and he mutters something about “that vile soap he makes you use”– likely referring to Dottore– before turning around to face the man in question.

“Are you done ogling?” Dottore asks, his tone clipped. You can’t see him around the banker, but you’re sure he still looks as pissed as before.

Pantalone tilts his head slightly, smiling, then glances over his shoulder at you. “Perhaps not yet, but I’m satisfied enough for now. You’ll get the funding for your little… project, and I expect to see this one at my doorstep every other month from now on.”

Every other month? You frown. Is this some sort of… custody arrangement that the two men worked out? You don’t know if you want to laugh or not at the absurdity of it all; like you’re the unfortunate child of two divorced bastards, except this is much, much worse.

“Fine,” Dottore grits out, in a tone that suggests it’s anything but. He gets up to shoo the banker out of his lab, but Pantalone merely tuts and makes his way back over to where you’re standing, confused, and rests one hand heavily on your shoulder.

“One month starting today, of course,” Pantalone continues, “It’s only fair, after all, when you’ve been hoarding my poor pet this whole time. I have to make up for lost time, after all.”

He delivers those words with a smile that only seems to irritate Dottore further, red eyes boring holes into him as Dottore visibly seems to be contemplating murder. Pantalone speaks up again before he does anything, however, offering a hollow consolation: “Of course, I’m not cruel. How about a farewell? A parting gift, to… tide you over while they’re gone?”

You don’t like the sound of that, and Dottore seems to pick up on the banker’s suggestion as you’re spun around once more and ushered towards the exam table you’ve become intimately familiar with for the last several months.

For this supposedly being Dottore’s “parting gift,” Pantalone is awfully remiss to keep his hands– and commentary– to himself.

“Ah, what a cute noise that was,” You hear him coo, a finger tapping your nose with just enough force to startle you so you flinch, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit rough though, Doctor?”

“Quiet.”

You jostle against the table, gripping the edge of it for support as hips snap into yours with bruising force. Dottore’s fingers are gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises– that’s probably the point, honestly; he’s fucking you like he intends for you to feel it for the entire month you’ll be absent.

Pantalone’s comments aren’t helping things either; despite the banker’s comment about roughness, it only seems to have encouraged the doctor to go even harder.

Thankfully, you were given something for the pain, but not from Dottore. Pantalone had pressed a pill into your gasping mouth when Dottore had started, telling you that you were going to need it, and though swallowing was a struggle, you’re glad he did.

Dull pain and sharp pleasure mingle together, and you’ve long since lost track of the orgasms that have been dragged out of you. You’re starting to numb, honestly, overstimulation bleeding into pain, and you gasp into the table with every sharp thrust into you.

“Tsk– don’t pass out now,” Pantalone chides, fingers curling around your jaw and biting into your cheeks when your eyes threaten to flutter shut, and Dottore snarls something about cutting your spinal cord if you do; something you sincerely hope is an empty threat, given the black spots dancing in your vision. “You still have another thirty minutes to go.”

You don’t remember there being a timer set, much less a time limit, but you certainly know you can’t last that much longer. Your knees have already long since given out, and Dottore had to hoist you up further onto the table so he could continue, leaving your feet dangling a few inches above the ground.

You feel weight against your back, heat, smothering you as Dottore leans down to sink his teeth into your shoulder as he spills inside you once more, and you shudder through another weak orgasm in response, your eyes rolling back and your vision blacking out for several long moments.

Pantalone shakes you back awake before you can slip too far, and you sob as Dottore starts to move again. You already know that you won’t be able to walk for the next few days, if not for the next week.

Tears blur your vision, the world spinning around you as a gloved hand comes to rest against your head, petting you in what’s likely intended as a comforting gesture but only seems to frazzle you further, overwhelmed and overstimulated as you are.

It must be Pantalone, because Dottore lets out an irritated noise, sinking his teeth into your skin to leave a new mark as he resumes the harsh pace he’d set earlier. Another hand, this one not gloved, curls around your throat to dig two fingers into your racing pulse as he tries to engrave himself into your flesh through means slightly less violent than cutting you open.

You can barely keep track of who’s doing what– your vision is too blurred and you’re too far gone to fully piece together a coherent thought before it and the breath are knocked out of you by another snap of Dottore’s hips. One of them reaches down to rub circles into sensitive nerves, and you sob as another climax is ripped unwillingly out of you.

You black out for longer this time, shaken awake once more by Pantalone. He’s cooing something at you that you can’t make out, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the sound of Dottore’s ragged breaths mixing in with your own.

It feels like you’re burning up, shivering weakly under Dottore’s crushing weight as the man seems to be pouring every ounce of frustration into his thrusts, and darkness encroaches on the corners of your vision with every movement.

Another shuddering orgasm. You twitch weakly through it, your body registering the sensation more than your mind does.

The world seems to tip, swaying like a vessel rocked by choppy waves before finally capsizing. Your vision goes, and you’re pulled into a sea of static.

It smells like lilacs.

It’s the first thing you notice when you slowly come to, a stark contrast to the smell of bleach and copper that you’ve become accustomed to. You’re also dressed in some proper clothes– or rather, ”proper,” compared to the usual paper-thin hospital gowns you’ve worn since being brought back to the lab.

Opening your eyes, you’re greeted with the familiar luxuries you remember seeing when you were last in Pantalone’s care, and the sight would nearly be a relief if consciousness didn’t bring with it the unbearable ache in every inch of your body. There’s a budding headache building behind your temples, stinging pains from various bites and bruises littering your skin like brands.

It aches most between your legs, but there’s an ache in your thighs and your stomach like you’d pulled every muscle within; you probably did, honestly, but you try to push back the memory invading your thoughts and you sit up in bed.

“You’re awake,” A silky voice drawls from behind you just as you sit up, and you turn around to see Pantalone sitting in an armchair in the corner, one leg folded over the other as he reads a book. He doesn’t look up as he addresses you; he just pats his knee, indicating he expects you to come to him. You’re not sure you can walk…

Climbing out of the soft bed hurts, various muscles protesting the movement, and you’re not surprised when your knees give out on you the second you rest your weight on your feet. Pantalone simpers at you from where he sits, amused, but he makes no move to help you stand up or walk. He just pats his thigh again, smiling at you.

“I can’t walk,” Even talking hurts, evidenced by the crackling of your voice when you speak.

“Then crawl.”

He says it so simply, as though you should have already known the answer. Your ears burn with humiliation. You don’t move.

“Don’t make me punish you on your first day back,” He says, setting his book down so he can properly address you. His tone is disappointed, but you don’t miss the way the bastard’s smile widens at the idea.

Pantalone’s punishments aren’t nearly as severe as Dottore’s are, at least in terms of pain. Rather than physical punishments, he seems to prefer humiliation. You’re tempted to try your luck, but… everything hurts. You don’t want him to decide you haven’t earned the privilege of clothes– or find something equally humiliating and degrading– on top of the pain you’re already in.

Crawling hurts. Every muscle protests the movement, yet again, but you force yourself to ignore the aches, to ignore the humiliation burning beneath your skin at being made to crawl over to him.

When you finally reach him you sit up unsteadily so you can climb into his lap, but you’re surprised when he stops you by pressing a gloved hand firmly against your head to keep you planted on your knees in front of him.

Instead of addressing your confusion, Pantalone merely smiles and takes hold of your wrist, raising your arm to inspect the scars and bruises littering your skin from the months spent under Dottore’s care. His face twists with disgust, shifting into faux sympathy when he addresses you again, “Poor thing. Look what he’s done to you…”

His free hand comes to rest on his knee as he straightens up, uncrossing his legs, and you hear a steady tap tap tap as he drums his index finger against his knee thoughtfully. “Aren’t you glad I’ve brought you back from that wretched place?”

It’s a leading question. You know he expects you to answer correctly, and you get the sense he’s leading into something; a demand. “...Yes.”

“I knew you would be.” He says, dropping your wrist and leaning back comfortably in the armchair. He looks down at you, clearly pleased with the position you’re in. He props one elbow against the arm of the chair, resting his head in his hand as he smiles down at you. “Why don’t you be a good pet and show me just how appreciative you are?”

The implication isn’t lost on you, but whatever hope you’d had that he might mean something else is dashed as he spreads his legs slightly further apart to make room for you between them, and you don’t miss the growing bulge in his dress pants.

Your hands are numb as you reach for his belt, and you barely flinch when his hand rests heavily against the back of your hand as you take him into your mouth.

One cage for another. You’re not even sure you’re relieved, because every part of you still aches from the reminders Dottore had left you with.

His hand presses against the back of your head, guiding you to take him further into your mouth, and you struggle to breathe around his length. You nearly gag as he pushes you down further, pushing back in resistance, and Pantalone clicks his tongue in disappointment but thankfully, lets up. Maybe he doesn’t want to ruin his pants.

“I’ll get you something for the scarring,” He murmurs, fingers curling in your hair as you bob your head up and down his length. “And those garish bruises.”

Whether it’s an insult towards you or Dottore, you’re not sure. You try not to focus on it, instead focusing on the task at hand. You lave your tongue along the base of his shaft, earning a small shiver and a heady sigh from him.

He’s silent for a few minutes as you continue to pleasure him, but you feel him boring holes into the top of your head. You don’t look up at him; you don’t want to. You’re trying to get this over with, and hoping that his silence means you’re doing well.

The hand on the top of your head leaves, and you flinch when you feel him trace his fingers over one of the scabbed over bites left by Dottore, nearly biting down in surprise. You swallow, suppress the urge, resuming your pace even as he traces the outline of every bite left littered along your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders.

Pantalone straightens up a little, pressing his hand against the back of your head again to force you to take more than you already can. This time, he doesn’t relent when you push back, just holding his hand still until you stop whimpering and you manage to swallow back the urge to gag.

“Hush.” He tells you in response to your muffled noises, groaning quietly at the way your throat vibrates around his cock.

You eventually relax, eventually get used to the feeling, and he lets you pull back slightly before he’s pressing down again, repeating until tears are spilling down your cheeks as you struggle not to reflexively bite down each time you gag slightly around his length.

“How would you feel about something… permanent?” He asks, and his fingers are tracing the bites again. You try to pull back to answer, but his other hand stops you and he rocks his hips lazily into your mouth. A rhetorical, then; he doesn’t care for your answer.

You try to blink back your tears as you resume the pace you’d set, sucking lightly on his cock as his hand curls into your hair. It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying as his hand keeps threatening to force you down farther than you can take, and you’re focusing on stamping down the swelling nausea.

“Something- hm-” He hums, and you can tell he’s getting close now, with the way his breathing is starting to deepen, his hand tightening its hold on your hair- “something tasteful. Not like those eyesores he leaves you. A collar is- fuck- too… too easy to remove.”

You don’t like where this is going, but humming your dissent only earns you a pleasured hiss and a rumble of praise spilling from his lips before he’s curling his fingers around the back of your neck.

It’s the only warning you get before he shoves your head down, holding you there as cum spills into your mouth and down your throat. It takes everything in you to relax your jaw, and you pull back gasping and sputtering the second he relents.

By the time your vision clears and you blink back the tears spilling from your eyes, he’s already tucked himself back into his pants and is just watching you struggle to catch your breath. He doesn’t even comment on the mess of cum and drool that spilled from your lips onto the floor.

It takes you a second to realize he’s not staring at you, but rather at the marks left on your skin.

After a minute of tense silence, he smiles again, patting his lap this time in invitation for you to sit, and you ignore the familiar sting of humiliation as you obey. Again, one of his hands curls around the nape of your neck, tracing some pattern into your skin.

“Right here,” He murmurs, though he doesn’t elaborate when your brows pinch together in confusion.

It takes you a second to realize he’s tracing invisible letters across your nape, then another few to realize it’s his name that he’s tracing into your skin.

Something tells you that Dottore isn't going to be pleased to see you again at the end of the month.

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squichymochi · 3 months

Text

Another piece I wrote this week, inspired by a Facebook post where Alastor and Lucifer mistakenly exchange their cups. Unfortunately, I can’t recall who posted it, so if anyone knows, please let me know so I can give proper credit.

Disclaimer: In this oneshot, the reader is pregnant and in an established relationship with Lucifer.

Warning: This story contains swear words, mentions of blood, and other typical elements found in Hazbin Hotel.

Lucifer x (pregnant) Reader

Word Count: 1.348

“Welcome back, Y/N!” Charlie's voice rang out with genuine excitement as you entered the Hazbin Hotel, your husband Lucifer following closely. Her embrace was careful yet warm, mindful of your growing belly. Standing beside her, Alastor, ever the gentleman, gracefully took your hand and pressed a kiss to its back, his voice tinged with light static, “Welcome back, my queen.”

A protective growl from Lucifer, now guiding his hand to the small of your back, broke the moment. “Excuse us, Alastor. Perhaps you can assist with our luggage?” Lucifer's tone was edged with possessiveness, the nickname ‘red hot chili pepper’ tumbling from his lips hinting at Alastors appearance.

You noticed the discomfort in Charlie's eyes and the twitch in Alastor's smile – a sign of his annoyance. Taking Lucifer's hand, you tried to ease the tension, “Sweetheart, there's no need for this. Everything’s fine.”

Just as the atmosphere thickened with unspoken rivalry, Angel Dust breezed through the door, his arrival a welcome distraction. “Is this my favorite bitch I see right there?!” His words, were a relief.

Laughing, you rushed into Angel's embrace, grateful for the break in tension. “Freedom looks good on you, hun,” you said with a smile on your lips. Husk joined, wrapping an arm around Angel and a wing around your group. Angel blushed at the affection. “I owe it all to you guys,” Angel replied, hugging both of you with a big smile on his face.

As you indulged in the warmth of friendship, a slight rumble could be heard coming from your belly. Alastor’s voice suddenly intruded, “Are you hungry, my dear?” He was close, his concern evident while he was patting your head with a big smile. “Sorry, the little one’s always starving,” you chuckled.

Lucifer, ever protective, was quick to draw you away, his eyes sparkling with a mix of love and competitive spirit. “How about pancakes, sweetheart?” he suggested, just as your stomach rumbled again in agreement.

The mention of pancakes brightened your mood, but Alastor's offer of jambalaya caught your attention too, stirring a craving for something more.

With your best puppy dog eyes, you proposed, “Why not both?”

Lucifer’s laughter filled the room, his demeanor softening at your request. “Anything for you, darling.”

he murmured, his voice a tender caress. Gently, he cupped your cheek, his touch a whisper against your skin. Then, bending down, he planted a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead.

Straightening up, he turned towards Alastor, his demeanor shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by something darker. “Bring it on, bitch,” he declared, his voice now laced with determination and a slight growl and his middle fingers raised.

The atmosphere in the room shifted palpably as Lucifer rolled up his sleeves. His gaze locked with Alastor’s in a silent standoff, electricity crackling in the air between them. “Mhhh, if you reach the ingredients that is”, Alastor chuckled, while Lucifer bristled. They moved in unison towards the kitchen.

"Uhm, should we intervene?" Charlie inquired, a hint of nervous amusement in her voice as she absentmindedly scratched her head.

"Nope, let's just enjoy the culinary showdown and the feast that follows," you responded with a huge grin, gently caressing your growing belly.

The group migrated to the kitchen, where both Lucifer and Alastor were already in full swing. Alastor manifested a knife, making it dance in the air with a showman's flair before diving into his cooking. On the other side, Lucifer confidently whisked pancake batter, his gaze occasionally drifting to you with a loving grin and gentle eyes.

"This will be quite the spectacle," Angel Dust remarked, casually handing you a cup. Before you could take a sip, Lucifer swiftly exchanged it for another drink. "Hey! It wasn't alcoholic, short king my ass" Angel protested and flipped the king of hell off, playfully showing his annoyance at Lucifer with a gentle smile.

You chuckled, appreciating Lucifer's overprotective nature, and took a sip. Watching Lucifer, a sense of warmth filled you. He was everything you could have hoped for: loving, nurturing, and profoundly understanding. Your journey together, from your unexpected meeting to the miraculous pregnancy, felt like a surreal dream.

When you first arrived in Hell, you were a mere sinner, carrying the weight of your earthly transgressions. Your closest companion, Angel Dust, who had succumbed to an overdose, was the first familiar face you encountered. Your shared past in the living world was full of highs and lows, but he has always been your best friend. When he died it was only natural for you to find and kill his drug dealer. This however sealed your fate in hell as a mere sinner. Despite this, you remained by Angel Dust’s side even in the depths of Hell.

One crucial day however your paths diverged when he tragically sold his soul to Valentino, blinded by the promise of love. It was a painful parting, marked by hurt and misunderstanding. Both of you hurting yourselves with words which teared your souls and hearts apart.

Years passed until Charlie and Vaggie’s intervention led to your reconciliation. You were the first hotel guest, which wasn’t too surprising as you were more interested in art then what hell could offer you and the girls gave you an art room as well as infinite amounts of supplies. So no, this was no hard decision for you.

Meeting Lucifer was an unexpected turn in your infernal journey. Initially, you were unimpressed by the King of Hell. Yet, it was in the art room of the hotel, your sanctuary of creativity, where Lucifer showed you his true nature, his heart. Conversations about dreams and the wonders of the living world ignited a spark between you. You showed him that Hell, for all its despair, held beauty and marvels. Gradually, he began to see the world, and eventually, you, in a new light. Which reminded you of the day he was talking with one of his own creations. It was a cute little duckling he was cradling when mumbling “depression did not only take it but indeed got fucked by me!” At this sight you knew that this man, was the one and only for you.

The day he proposed, Hell itself seemed to shift on its axis. His love granted you freedoms previously unimagined, including the ability to leave the Pride Ring. More astonishing was the revelation of your pregnancy, a miracle in a realm where such a blessing seemed impossible.

As you thought about your past — from your days as a sinner to your surprising romance with Lucifer — the kitchen's atmosphere shifted. The two engrossed in their cooking battle, began to sing and hence fight for dominance, eliciting a giggle from you and the others.

Soon, both jambalaya and pancakes were served before you, with Lucifer and Alastor eagerly awaiting your judgement. You decided to combine the two, much to their shock, creating a unique taco-like creation. The room erupted in laughter at their stunned expressions.

As you sighed happily chewing on your newly invented dish, Lucifer and Alastor simultaneously reached for their cup, only to spit them out in shock. "What in the heavens?" Alastor exclaimed, his usual grin faltering just a bit as he inspected his drink. "Are these... boba ducks?" he asked, bewildered, his eye twitching, the static completely missing within his voice. Your husband on the other hand had his whole head under the running faucet, spitting out Alastor’s drink. “Why the hell are you drinking blood?!”, he screamed with dread in his voice and wet hair.

Your laughter was uncontrollable, watching them grapple with the unexpected drink mix-up. The earlier tension dissolved, replaced by a warm, communal atmosphere as everyone joined in the meal. With your husband's arm wrapped lovingly around you and his gentle caresses, you leaned against him, overwhelmed with gratitude for this second chance at family and love.

As you looked into Angel’s eyes who was in Husk’s arms you could see it too. The love you had with your husband slowly growing between them and nothing could have made you happier.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin fanfic #oneshot #drabble #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer x y/n #hazbin lucifer #hazbin alastor

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mccardswife · 4 months

Text

You are enough

heyy! this is my first one shot so it is not the best but feel free to give any tips!

arsenal wfc x teen!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, bruise, angst, sh, a few cuss words, suicidal thoughts, protective awfc and fluff in the end. Please remind me if I have forgotten some! (don't read if you get triggered)

(not proofread so if any mistakes give me a heads up)

word count: 2144

enjoy!

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

Being a 16 year old professional football player is not the easiest thing in the world. Yes, you do what you love everyday but it has its up and downs. I signed for arsenal 3 months ago but I had no idea it would be that difficult. I don't feel like I belong here, all the girls on the team are truly amazing don't get me wrong, but it is so hard living up to the standards. Especially when I am me, just me and only me. I don't feel enough

After my alarm went signaling me to get ready for another day of training, the thought of going to training today dreaded me, and it has for weeks. Silence, I lay in my bed in silence just thinking of all the bad things that can happen today. If you are wondering where my parents are, the truth is. I live alone, yes, alone as a 16 year old in England. My parents has never supported me playing footy, not even when I was little. They wanted me to have a career that was meant for "girls" and not "boys", but that sounded bizarre. Football is for everyone, but they don't seem get that into their head. My parents kicked me out when they found out I signed for Arsenal, we lived in London, but since I got kicked out I had to get an apartment for myself. It was pretty hard but my best friend helped me and I am so grateful thankful for her. I have not told the team about me living alone for 6 months, they would go all protective and wanting to know why but I can't tell them, not yet. I don't want to be judged. Saying to the girls that I got kicked out of home, even thinking about it makes me feel so embarrassed and ashamed of myself.

I lay in bed, in pain. Physically and emotionally. Last night, after I was out grocery shopping I took the metro home as always, when a man probably doubled my age walked over to me. I then realized that it was my father, he dragged me into a corner and asked me if I still was into all that "football shit". I got furious and started whisper shout at him, turned out that was not the best idea. He started going about me being a disgrace to the family, not only the family but the world, that no one is ever going to love me for playing football, and then he punched me right in my cheek. I felt thrilling pain in my face, but he grabbed my wrists hard and said in my face "You useless bitch, no one cares about you and never will".

That sentence goes through my mind over and over again. I was almost impossible to fall asleep last night, because of the pain I was in both physically and emotionally. What my father told me, got to my head and I was thinking. Maybe he was right, I am a disgrace, no one will ever love me, maybe if it would be better if I just disappeared.

Well, well. Got to get up for training and stop thinking. Seriously y/n, get your shit together...

I walked downstairs to the bathroom and got dressed and tried to cover the bruise on my cheek that now has gotten all blue, yellow and purple. It was really painful and very difficult but totally worth it when I was done and I literally could not see a damn thing. Then I did the same to the bruises on my wrists and after I tried to cover up the dark bags under my eyes but that was a bit more of a job.

Suddenly I got the urge, the painful urge. I took the hidden blade from the mirror cabinet and drawed lines on my right arm. One, two, three, four.

Then I looked at the clock. Shit, I thought. The training starts in two hours and we have breakfast together in the dining room an hour before. The metro usually took 30 minutes, I packed my bag in a hurry and left.

When I walked in to the facility I heard two voices yelling my name behind me. Lotte and Alessia walked quickly over to me. "You excited for training?" Alessia asked you. "Yes totally" I said in a lie, I think they saw that I lied because it did not look like they believed me at all. "What about you Less and Lotte?" you said to try getting the attention away from you. It seemed that it worked because they said in sync "Yes". Less and Lotte looked at each other and we giggled.

When we walked in to the dining room, everyone was there. I tried to brush off all the looks I got. Why does everyone look so suspicious today...

"Come here Y/n, sit with us", Leah said after I served myself food. Leah sat with Katie, Kim, Lia, Caitlin, Steph, Beth, Viv and Kyra. I walked nervously over to them and sat down in the seat beside Beth. They started talking and I just sat there quietly eating my food being in my thoughts until Viv said "Y/n, you've been quiet, are you good". They looked at me concerned, "Me? Yes of course Im good, just sat thinking about the upcoming training today". I lied straight through my teeth. "Okay, if you're sure. but you can talk to us though", Caitlin said. I just said a quietly thank you, and then we walked to the locker room and got ready for training.

We started doing some light jog then got into some training drills. I was already sweating, it was surprisingly very sunny outside today and I wore a long sleeve training jersey because of my scars. "Aren't you hot in that", said Jen to me. I just simply shrugged her off saying no.

I was so exhausted, my body is so tired and I really want to lay down. When we had water break I just laid down on the grass. Sweating, I rubbed my face because I was so tired.

Beth and Viv walked over worriedly, they have become my unofficial parents after my transfer to Arsenal. They looked shocked when they saw me. "What" I said in a panicked voice. "Why do you have a big black bruise on your cheek?" Beth said, "And on your wrists?" Viv said. "Is something going on at home?" Viv asked with a knowing look. "No, no of course not, why would you assume that".

After training everyone looked worried and concerned, my passes and shots got sloppier and sloppier, I was hurting more and more. When I was about to leave, Kim, Katie, Leah and Jen cornered me. With Beth and Viv looking guilty behind. They brought me into a private room and they started telling me what Beth and Viv told me. Then all of a sudden Kim said "You know, all the team has been worried and concerned for a while, I can't remember how many times the girls have repeatedly come and talked to me". I looked at her ashamed. "Why do you have bruised?" Katie asked, "I just fell" I said, the lie obvious.

I started scratching because my scars got really itchy, I really wanted to just disappear right there and then. Then Leah grabbed my right wrist softly and pulled up my sleeve, the last thing before I broke down was gasps from the girls. I started trying to make up excuses but none of them were having it, "come with us" said Beth, "We will bring you to the medical room and then we want you to tell us everything". I desperately did not want to but I knew it was no chance of me getting out of this.

When we got to the medical room they put me on one of the beds. My scars were infected, that is why they itched so damn much. Jen was cleaning up my bruises while Kim cleaned up my scars. I know the people who worked here could do it but I did not want them right now, it is bad enough that now the whole team knows.

Leah then said in her stern but soft captain voice "Now tell us everything". I tried to tell her that it was nothing. What Katie said broke me "Please babe, we only want to help you. We know it has been hard for you but please". Then I broke down again, full on shaking and crying. Desperately gasping for air.

I started telling them everything, how my parents are and that they has never supported me once for the choices I have made, that I don't feel like I belong here because I am only me... When I spit out the truth about me living alone for 3 months because my parents kicked me out and that they were abusing me for years before, I saw tears in all of the girls faces. It was a heartbreaking sight. I told them how I ran into my father last night and what he did and said to me and I started sobbing again and saying silently to myself "It is true, what he said. I am a reckless disgrace full kid".

"You are enough y/nn, I promise you babe" Viv said. All of the others agree but I could not help believing my fathers words. "Actually me and Beth have been thinking for a while, we have a spare room and big enough place for 3, and you are like our kid. I am being for real, we love you as our own family. All the team does, but we wondered if you wanted to come live with us?" Viv asked me. I was hesitant and I think Beth saw that because she said "We are not taking no for an answer". I felt a smile creep up on my face and as desperate I was trying to hide it all the others saw and started smiling too. I said to Meadema, "thank you moms". I realized what I said "shit fuck, sorry I did not mean to".

"Y/nn it is okay, you have no idea how glad that made us, you are like our kid" Beth and Viv said.

After a while of me telling them about my thoughts, how I have been feeling for the last weeks, they decided to get me into therapy. We have a therapist at the facility so we agreed to be going to her twice a week. "I am grateful for all of you, I really am but I just feel like a bother" I said quietly.

"No babe stop" Jen said, Katie walked over to me, she took her hands on my head and said "You are enough, a hundred times enough". "You are like a younger sister to me, it breaks me to see you like this, not only me but all of us. We and all the team loves you. You are the baby of the team."

"We will always protect you, and we will get your so called parents locked up." Kim said to me. "Not Viv and Beth but the other parents" Jen said in a playful tone.

"That I understand" I said with a smile of my face.

Leah asked me if she could tell the other girls and the Gaffer, she needed to anyway but it was nice she asked me. I said yes then she walked outside.

A few minutes later they all came in. Kyra, being kind of like my annoying twin ran over to me and hanged on for me for dear life in a bear hug. I started explaining to them a bit more, and reassured them that it was not their fault but my manipulative parents.

I also said that I called Viv and Beth mum and that I am moving in with them and Lessi and Laura said at the same time "about damn time". All the team broke out in laughter.

"I am sorry for not telling you but I feel a thousand times better now after telling you, I have been scared and not felt at home here for a while but telling you and knowing that I can count on you girls will help me. The whole team is kind of like my family I never got and I can't ask for more than that. I am so grateful for all of you, and I love you"

"We love you too y/nn", Leah said with the softest most heartwarming smile ever. "You are our family, blood or not you will always be family" Kim said reassuring.

"Always," Katie said

"And you are enough" the team said lovingly.

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ozzgin · 4 months

Note

I can't get your yakuza headcanons out of my mind, Daitou's got me in a chokehold and I'm not complaining, like--

in regards to that doodle you made to show height difference between reader and the boys [I love your art btw (●♡∀♡)] - I can't picture myself in reader's style, I'm currently going through my goth phase in my 20s lmao; picture a big bitch with tattoos and messy hair who's listening to nothing but 2000s hits and screamo bands - so I'd like to request a headcanon of how Daitou would react to a gender-neutral reader like this :D I also like to incorporate the idea of them once being in a famous band that he's a fan of! (sorry if this seems like a lot, I have a huge imagination hehe)

but if he's more into the cute and helpless type, I'll just walk my ass out the door and yeehaw my way into another yandere's arms ✌😔

That's on me for not drawing the reader inserts as cartoonish cinder blocks :') In truth I'm a little bit embarrassed seeing how many likes that doodle has gotten, it was something I put together in a hurry and the clothing was meant to be baggy, shapeless, with not too many folds for the sake of simplicity. I myself am more of a pilgrim goth, just to emphasize the randomness of the choice.

Drawing reader inserts always leaves me a little anxious. If I use a light shade of gray, will people think I'm excluding poc? Will plus sized readers feel like they've been disregarded? What about masculine readers? As someone who's demiromantic I always struggle taking appearance or gender into consideration, because to me it has no influence whatsoever. Which is hard to express when you want to offer blank slate visuals as an extra to the story.

What I'm trying to say is that all of my characters would like you for who you are. Sure, they find your looks cute, but it's not the defining reason. Maybe you have similar traits to them, maybe you're the complete opposite and they find it intriguing. You could be a buff man and Daitou would be just as grateful to have someone who isn't afraid of him. I usually stick to a female reader for bigger stories to avoid messing it up long term, but in the grand scheme of things it makes no difference. I always imagine reader to be a shapeless blob that provides the dialogue I need for the story mood. There's no concrete preference or type for any of my OCs. I mean, ideally you'd like them back and not hang them upside down above a BBQ pit but I feel these are sensible requirements (?).

And now for the actual headcanons since my ramble is over.

First encounter is comically awkward but for reasons you’re unaware of yet. You’re obviously used to people staring at you (more so in a country like Japan), so you were expecting the curious glance every now and then. On the other hand, being under scrutiny, from a man even more unusual looking than you at that, is odd. Mildly uncomfortable. You’re shifting yourself from one leg to another, hoping to be done with the introductions soon.

On his end, Daitou is anxiously fidgeting and trying his best to focus. He’s seen this face before and he can’t shake off the familiar feeling. Where the hell…He obviously can’t downright gawk at you, and he isn’t sure how to politely formulate a question. After several sheepish peeks, it finally dawns on him: weren’t you part of that band he really likes? No, what would the chances be? Then again, how many people out there would look exactly like you? Is it rude to ask? He has no idea. He resumes his mumbled description of the apartment and hands you the papers to be signed.

Back at his place, he finally digs through his merch and sprawls out the available clues. “I didn’t know you were into this kind of music”, Kazuya comments as he looks over the man’s shoulder. He’d come over to ask about the new tenant. “I’m pretty sure it’s them.” He concludes, confidently placing his index over a CD cover. “Huh? Who? The tenant?” Kazuya holds back his chuckle. “Why would a celebrity show up for a shady apartment offer? You’re tripping, man.”

“I’m sorry, this is getting ridiculous.” You finally exclaim, annoyed by the persistent stares of the now two men facing you. You’re standing in front of the apartment building, arms crossed, huffing at the tall scarred man and his blonde friend. “No, I’m sure of it. Even the tattoo is the same.” Daitou turns to whisper to Kazuya, oblivious to your complaints. In turn, Kazuya lightly elbows him, mouthing something about being rude. “Just ask them, man.” He adds, this time louder. “Ask me what??” You groan. “W-were you…um…in this band by any chance?” Daitou manages to blurt out, searching his pocket for the CD case and ceremoniously laying it under your eyes.

Ah. It finally clicks and you exhale, relieved. You confirm their suspicions and show them some backstage photos to solidify your claim. You ask Daitou if he wants an autograph or something, then swiftly scribble your signature on a piece of paper and hand it out to him. He holds it with a wide, childish grin. “You’re a weird one, you know? You could’ve just asked. I guess I didn’t expect to find a fan in the wild, especially here.” Daitou carefully folds the souvenir, eyes lidded with nostalgia. “Oh yes, it’s great. Drowns out the screams.”

#yandere yakuza #yakuza x reader #daitou

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cherry-cola-on-ice · 9 months

Note

Can you write a story that has Thomas Hewitt getting jealous at a guy flirting with his S/O please love your work🙏🙏🙏🙏

Jealousy Jealousy

It shouldn't bug him so much. Especially after all this time.

It wasn't your fault after all. Anyone with eyes could see how beautiful you were. Everything about you was crafted by some higher being, sculpted from the stars and the skies. And you were so sweet, so kind. You brought a smile to even Uncle Monty's face.

And most of all, he knew you loved him. He repeatedly told himself, saying it over and over again in his head like his own personal mantra. As long as you loved him, he didn't need anything else.

Thomas's eyebrows furrowed as you laughed at the joke. He couldn't tell you jokes. But this stranger could. This handsome, younger man with perfect teeth and perfect hair. He looked like one of those men on the front of the harlequin novels Hoyt steals out of suitcases.

You laughed again, head thrown back. God, you were perfect. Too perfect for him. This stranger was the type of man you deserved.

From the back room of the gas station, Thomas shifted his weight nervously. He knew he should have left you at the house. It was a bad idea, just like Hoyt said. You brought to much attention to yourself. Unknowingly and unwittingly, of course. Never your intention.

But you had a magnetic power around you, drawing people in.

Your soft eyes were what made him fall in love with you. When his family first found you, hiding out in their barn, crying your eyes out, he felt a pang in his heart that was new to him. You looked scared and you were alone. Everyone else had left you, all meeting their ends by his chainsaw.

He asked you why you didn't struggle and you always shrugged "I guess they were never really my friends to begin with. They tried to leave me for dead. "

And he didn't question it at first. After all, it all brought you to him. You were his now.

But-

You should hate him. You should fight him. You shouldn't be able to stand the sight of him. You were better off with this man, this stranger who could give you the life you deserved. The overwhelming feeling of despair hit him like a shot to the stomach.

But then you turned to him. And smiled. That sweet smile, the one that lit up a room and light up his life. And it was directed at him. It was his smile.

And for a moment, all was right in the world. You chose him.

But then-

"So, I gotta wonder... What's a sweet thing like you doing in a shit hole like this?"

From afar, Thomas could see you bristle, your demeanor change from jovial to defense "What's that supposed to mean? There's nothing wrong with here."

The stranger laughed "Yeah, it's cute in tetanus shot kinda way. But nowhere such a hot piece of ass such as you should be. "

Thomas ought to punt this creep straight into a grinder. His fist balled up and he began stalking towards him-

Except you beat him to the punch. Quite literally.

The stranger fell to the floor, holding his bloody nose. Whimpering. Thomas was surprised, he didn't think this guy would go down that easily. The man wasn't as tall as him, but he was still a sizable man. And you floored him.

Looking back to you, he watched as you shook your hand out, cursing under your breath "Fucking hell, dude! Your face made out of concrete?!?"

"YOU BROKE MY NOSE, YOU BITCH!"

"Yeah, and I'll do it again if you don't get your ass outta here!"

The man, holding his bleeding nose, lifted himself off the ground, shooting daggers at you. Instinctively, Thomas placed his body between the two of you, glaring back at him.

The stranger, though looking absolutely terrified, feigned confidence and scoffed as he walked by. You grabbed Thomas's arm, shouting as the stranger left the store "Yeah! Get out here, you-"

Thomas spun you around, grabbing your face in his hands. He looked you over, looking for any signs of harms. You scrunched your nose "I'm fine, Thomas!"

Thomas huffed, pulling you close to him. You laughed in his arms, standing up on your tip toes to press a kiss to his mask. Thomas looked down at you, taking in the lovestruck look in your eyes.

Yeah, he had nothing to worry about.

#slasher x reader #slashers x reader #thomas hewitt headcanon #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x y/n #the texas chainsaw massacre #tcm the beginning #slasher headcanons

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odxrilove · 6 months

Text

☆ SEVENTEEN AS PEOPLE AT SCHOOL

genre: highschool!au/uni!au

warnings: none

a/n: is this my official tumblr comeback ?? 😮

back to masterlist!

☆ SEUNGCHEOL

the leader of the “jocks”. he's the guy you see walking around school with his varsity jacket on– even if it’s in the middle of the summer. he’s the literal definition of the hallway crush, whispers and giggles being a regular thing he hears when he walks through the school hallways, hand swiping through his pretty hair. he often sits on the wooden tables outside instead of the benches whenever he and his friends have their little weekly hangout-meeting. always has a lollipop in his mouth and says it’s for the girls but really, he just likes sweets.

☆ JEONGHAN

the king of debates. if you sign up for debate class, don’t think you’re ever going to win if you’re up against jeonghan. he’s the reason why so many people left debate class mid year but the teacher is so impressed by him that she can’t force herself to kick him out. he’s also widely known for being the mastermind behind his high school’s senior prank. besides his maniac pranks and his broad knowledge of law, he’s actually pretty fun to be around and some girls who have had the pleasure to go on dates with him describe him as an angel– even after getting ghosted.

☆ JOSHUA

the class president. he’s a close friend of jeonghan and thus, winning the class pres’ election was easy peasy. he only presented himself as a joke but started taking it seriously 7 months in when the school planned to cancel the annual pajama day. he acts normal but he’s truly just as insane as his large group of friends. the grumpy math teacher is his next door neighbor and he once gave her leftover cookies and since then, he’s been her favorite student– and the only student she smiles at.

☆ JUN

the cat defender. falls easily asleep in class and is often woken up by his classmates after the bell rang. someone once drew a cat on a wall in the gym hall with a marker a few years back and when jun transferred to the school, his name mysteriously appeared under the cat drawing. in his second year, he got detention for a whole month after bringing a kitten to school and hiding it in his bag every day for two weeks straight– he was only caught because the cat meowed during a test and none of his classmates wanted to fake meow to help the poor guy out.

☆ HOSHI

the school’s dance machine. when the school speakers play music, you’ll always find him bobbing his head to the beat. he gets his notebook confiscated weekly because he prefers to write down possible dance movements and new choreography ideas than math equations and english vocabulary. he has a pretty big following on social media after a video of him freestyling at the school’s talent show blew up. he now uses his popularity to freely make dance covers at school, students avoiding him in the hallways when he’s swinging his legs and arms around.

☆ WONWOO

the school library’s only visitor. ok, maybe that’s a bit exaggerated but he’s definitely the only one going there willingly! the library stinks and there’s no wifi, plus some rumors are going around saying that the room at the back the of the library is the go-to place to fuck, and lastly, the librarian is a bitch– except towards wonwoo, of course. besides him being the librarian’s favorite, he once got asked to prom by a senior when he was a junior and every two months or so, someone brings it up and everyone goes crazy over it again. to be honest, if he wasn't so focused on his video games and books he would see how many people stare at him with heart eyes.

☆ WOOZI

the normal kid. what else can i say, he's just a regular guy. he goes to school wearing his silly baggy outfits and doesn't leave the house without his headphones on. he meets up with his friends and has lunch with them. he isn’t quiet but he isn’t talkative either, only partaking in his friends’ silly little conversations when he deems necessary. he gets normal grades and enjoys his silly music class the most. he’s on the school’s swimming team and won a few silly prizes during competitions. he’s been the subject of affection from a few girls since the start of school and he’s been on a date once. really, he’s just a silly little guy living his silly little life– what’s there to hate?

☆ SEOKMIN

the theatre kid. you either hate him or love him, there’s no in between– fortunately, no one really hates seokmin. he’s a loud student, his laugh often resonating through the entire cafeteria. he’s always been part of the cast for the school musicals, landing the lead role in his first year, something that had never ever happened before. the only kisses he’s had were during rehearsals or actual performances but he knows he has a large group of fans so nobody can really tease him for it. one of the school’s old students still has one-sided beef with him because seokmin ‘stole’ his role.

☆ MINGYU

the popular kid. he’s part of every club on campus, and has a hard time juggling football practice with the weekly sessions of the photography club. in his second year he decided he wanted to be an architect and since then he always complains about the school’s awful floor plan. people in the art club always go to him when they need a model because he has the Looks and actually knows how to pose. he’s actually very fun and the epitome of your rich friendly student who deserves to be crowned prom king. he’s known around school for mowing the lawns of his neighbors for free, shirtless.

☆ MINGHAO

the fashion police. there’s no better way to define minghao, as his judgmental faces have become an obsession for people on campus. he loves clothes and the fact he’s hoarding a drawer in his roommate’s closet further proves it. there's’ not one day that goes by where minghao doesn’t eat with his outfit, nails painted and sunglasses on his head– even in the winter. if you have to dress up for something, going to minghao’s dorm for help is the best solution. he’s rather honest, not hiding his disgust or love for people’s outfits. he was actually voted prom king (mingyu ending second) and was happy the crown fit the aesthetic of his suit. besides being an absolute bitch when it comes to clothing, his soft laugh does ease people’s nerves more often than not.

☆ SEUNGKWAN

the gossiper. or in better words, the head of the journalism club who’s in charge of the weekly school newspaper and news forum on the school’s official website. seungkwan is, with no doubt, respected by all. truthfully, he’s a good student, so teachers often let him write in his journal for new articles during class. there’s one unofficial rule though– you have secrets? do not share them with him. you can, however, ask him about other people’s business, and as long as you give him something in return, he’s glad to talk your ears off. you’re safe if you’re his friend though, because there isn’t someone as loyal as seungkwan walking down the school hallways.

☆ VERNON

the skater enthusiast. he always walks around wearing big weird hoodies, holding onto his skate and if it's one of those days, a beanie and some funky shoes complete the outfit. his skate is like an extension of his hand but does he know how to skate though? absolutely not. his friends now have multiple bandaid and first aid kits in their lockers because vernon never bothers to buy any but spends most of his lunch breaks trying to learn new tricks– and subsequently failing. he’s a sweet kid but a bit of an airhead, often bumping into people and staring at the people talking at him until he realizes the reason he couldn’t hear them was because he still had his headphones on.

☆ DINO

the school’s unofficial cheerleader’s cheerleader. it was truly a tragic day when the cheerleading squad’s manager got fired for fraud– not because of the money (duh) but because of the now lost cheerleaders. dino used to do gymnastics when he was young so in his eyes, he was their last hope. he was a god at planning cheerleading practices and events and in less than a year, the squad managed to win back their spot as number one during the cheerleading season. the school’s reputation was restored and suddenly all the teachers loved him. dying his hair blonde during a celebration party was the last straw for many– his locker would be full of confession letters the weeks following.

taglist: @0x1lovebot @fairybinie @blaqpinksthetic @odetoyeonjun @pockyandme @soobin-chois @soobisms @junityy @kaimal @laylasbunbunny @jaeyunverse @enhacolor @honglynights @starry-mins @bibinnieposts @yoonzin0 @raevyng @hoeforcheol @pearlygraysky @4xiaojun @viscade @amxlia-stars

please do not copy, repost or steal any of my work. all content belongs to @odxrilove

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2knightt · 1 year

Note

IM SORRY, I KNOW U GOT A REQUEST ON THIS SO MUCH ALREADY BUT…

Your motherly!reader fics are so good 😭! can you pleasee do another? platonic with the gang!! no romance 🥰 thank youu ❤️❤️❤️ your work is amazing btw!

the gang x motherly!reader

!warnings!

1.i did headcanons i hope thats okay😭

2.fem!reader

3.swearing and a small mention of violence.

Johnny Cade ;

like i’ve said before in other fics, he loves you so much.

honestly, you might be one of his favourite people!

when he walks down the street and he just so happens to see a cute flower, he picks it and gives it to you!

when he first met you, he refused to see you when he was injured in anyway. he thought you’d think he was weak and never see him again.

but as time went on, and you showed that you genuinely cared for him, he showed more of his vulnerable side.

johnny likes it when you patch him up now!

he thinks it’s calming, relaxing, and a, ‘nice change of things rather than lettin’ mother nature cure it.’

when he unknowingly/accidentally vents to you about his home life, he does get embarrassed.

he didn’t want you knowing, but when you hugged him real tight and told him sweet nothings?? he teared up ngl.

johnny wishes you could’ve been his mom.

when or if you have kids, johnny wishes they don’t take the, ‘how was your day?’ and the, ‘how’s school going?’ for granted.

because to johnny cade, that would be his perfect fairytale.

having someone as sweet as you to turn his life around, makes him excited to see tomorrow.

Dallas Winston ;

another bitch with mommy issues who is glad to have you.

mrs.curtis was definitely the mother he never had but always wanted and when she died, he was devastated.

but when you came along and started being that mother he missed??? he was both annoyed and over the moon.

he didn’t like that every time you bailed him out of jail, he got an ear full. however, he did like to know verbally that someone cared about him

he doesn’t show you any sort of affection, but he will tell you how he feels when drunk.

“thank you, so much y/n. i-i don’t know where i’d be without you.”

for mothers day, he doesn’t do anything special.

BUT—you didn’t hear this from me, before the clock hits 12, expect to hear like a cute little knock at your door, and open it to see a single flower on the ground with a pack of cigarettes.

dally ran off before you or anyone else could see him.

even though he didn’t sign his name, you knew it was from him. so, next time you see him, say thank you.

Ponyboy Curtis ;

he’s like a toddler around you???

ponyboy definitely pretends to be like, your own bodyguard.

but really, who’s scared of ponyboy?

he tries though!

when he watches a movie and some character reminds him of you, expect that to be the first thing he tells you.

“ya know, when i went to the drive in, you really reminded of this one character.”

“oh? why’s that?”

“well because-“

and now you have to sit there and listen to him.

he’ll draw for you so much :(.

if you tell him your favourite flower, he WILL give you a drawing of it the next day. he’ll stay up all night if he has too!

Sodapop Curtis ;

he’s literally your #2 fan. first place goes to johnny.

he’s your biggest hypeman??? omg???

“gee, y/n! you’re lookin’ real fancy!! gonna get all the guys, eh?”

when ponyboy and darry argue and he just can’t take it anymore, he calls you and asks to come over.

and of course, you say yes everytime.

so please, PLEASE, just let him cry into your arms!!!!

when he’s done, he’ll try to go home but i’m begging you to tell him he’s welcomed to stay the night.

and if he does stay? ponyboy will be at your doorstep too.

he’ll share his famous chocolate cake with you!! he’ll make sure steve doesn’t touch it.

“STEVE THAT WAS FOR Y/N! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”

“OH SHIT SHIT SHIT! WE MAKE MAKE ONE TOGETHER! THE MORE PEOPLE THE FASTER THE CAKE WILL BAKE RIGHT?!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE A SCIENTIST??”

Darry Curtis ;

he is so thankful for you i legit can’t stress that enough.

you keep the gang in check, you keep ponyboy happy, and you help him around the house. what more could he ask for?

you legit force darry to relax while you look after the gang to make sure nothing bad happens.

“we’ll be fine, darry. go to bed, your dark circles are gettin’ darker by the minute.”

“yeah super-man! we’ll be fine with y/n!”

“yeah!!”

“fine, but if she wakes me up to tell me about any of you, so god help me.”

if you welcome him home with a newspaper and his favourite cup of coffee after a long day at work, he might ask you to move in.

Steve Randle ;

steve pretends that he doesn’t like you that much.

but he really does. like, the second he hears some soc threaten or insult you? he’s after them.

shit, he might be chasin’ after them in two-bits car while two-bit yells at the person.

he will legit go to war for you if you asked him nicely.

he will rant to you about cars if you let him😭.

he’ll rant to you about anything, honestly.

“and then the old bastard asked for a refund! the ‘no refunds’ sign was right on the door! how could that old bat not see it?!”

“steve! don’t call people that, but yes, it was very rude of that man to do that too you.”

“RIGHT?!”

Two-bit Matthews ;

he forces you to relax and watch mickey mouse with him.

he says it’s for your own good but when really, he just wants to spend time with you without the gang interrupting.

“guys! you’re stressing her out with all your STUPID questions! c’mon, y/n, mickey mouse is calling our names. can’t you hear it?”

“or maybe its the booze you had at 10AM.”

“i will sock you in your fucking throat steve.”

he plays with your hair…he finds it fun!

please tell him how to do some styles so he can go home and impress his little sister :(.

he offers you beer every once and awhile just so he can say he got you to loosen up.

“so y/n…you want some?”

“oh! no thank you, two. you know i don’t drink.”

he calls you mom in a joking way, ya dig?

“momm! steve called me a dumbass!”

“steve, be nice! apologize.”

“what the fuck?!”

author notes ;

1. i like totally rushed near the end LMFAO.

2. i never thought you bitches would eat motherly!reader up like this??

3.are you guys okay??

4.THANK U SWEETHEART OMFG??

5.i think theres no romance??

may 15th, 2023. 6:39PM

#2knightt #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #dallas x reader #dallas winston x reader #johnny x reader #johnny cade x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #steve x reader #steve randle x reader #two bit x reader #two bit matthews x reader #platonic the outsiders #motherly!reader

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eyesthatroll · 1 year

Text

how many drinks? | luke hughes

pairing; lh43 x fem!reader

warnings(s); none really, fluff? lowercase intended, not edited. also written in like 15 minutes so kinda bad (might rewrite/re-edit it at a later date idk)

word count; 0.6k (blurb!)

summary; luke approaches reader at wedding reception

"do you want to dance?" you lift your gaze from the game of candy crush that you were currently enthralled in.

a tall brunette is staring back at you. he looks down at you expectantly, rolling on the heels of his feet. "do i know you?"

the boys cheeks tinge pink, and he runs a hand through his slightly curly hair before speaking again. "n-no, i just, i don't know. you look bored."

his awkwardness brings a smile to your face. you ponder his offer for a moment, the song 'skin' by dijon playing through the speakers.

the dance floor had a few couples on it, the other guests scattered around the room, eating cake or loitering near the bar.

you flip your phone screen side down, and chug the rest of your drink. "sure pretty boy, let's dance."

you lift your hand up, and he take it in his, easily pulling you out of your chair. he leads you to a small corner of the dance floor.

your arms rest on his shoulders, hands crossed behind his neck. his hands finding home on the small of your back.

"i never got your name." you state, the two of you swaying softly.

"luke." he answers sheepishly, seemingly embarrassed that he hadn't already told you his name.

"so, which side are you here for, luke?" you asked, your fingers beginning to absentmindedly play with the hair that coiled at the nape of his neck.

"oh, um, the groom. he's on my team."

you brows raised in confusion. "i didn't know you were a player for the devils, not sure i've seen you on the ice. though, i've only watched maybe a few games so i could be completely wrong"

"i haven't-well not yet, at least. i just signed my contract a few weeks ago." he says.

"that's exciting," you begin. "leaving college, i presume?" you're not sure if your questions are too personal, but luke makes no moves to ward them off.

luke gives you a bittersweet, close lipped smile. "yeah."

"that's got to be hard, leaving your friends?"

he tilts his head, thinking a moment. "i mean, yeah, but i'll still see them. plus, i have jacky, and the rest of team-they've been pretty nice and welcoming."

you nod in understanding. "so jacky, she your girlfriend?"

" oh god no!" luke sputters, his cheeks painted crimson again. "that's my brother-jack. he plays for the devils, too."

your eyes widen, and you kick yourself internally for your assumption. why would he of asked you to dance if he was in a relationship?

" 'm sorry, i shouldn't have assumed." you apologize, shaking your head slightly to yourself.

"no, it's all good! i'm single, by the way."

"professional hockey player gets no bitches?" you tease, feeling more comfortable with him by the moment.

he lets out a breathy laugh, his hands tightening around your waist. "i think i do okay with..the ladies." he trails off.

you mouth an 'okay', and dramatically nod your head.

"just looking for the right girl, i guess." he finishes.

"that's understandable." you agree.

"and you?"

"looking for the right girl?"

you laugh at your own joke.

"no-no, i mean, beautiful girl like yourself must have..suitors."

luke's face contorts into one reminiscent of pain.

you followed suit, cringing at his choice of words. "suitors?"

you laugh at him shamelessly, a big bellied laugh that draws attention to the two of you on the floor, not that either of you noticed, too engrossed in your own world.

luke pulls you closer to him, burying his head in your shoulder. "stop laughing."

—

mari speaks! again, like mentioned in the preface, wrote this super quickly so not edited/kinda bad but i might re-do it or make a part 2 idk. also, luke’s playing in his first playoff game tmro so make sure to wish babyboy some luck <3

#luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes imagines #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #nj devils #new jersey devils #umich boys #umich hockey #hockey #nhl

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samantha-rae-velcher · 10 months

Text

The club

Reggie Kray x Fem reader

Requested by: anon

Warnings: Angst, swearing, smut, fluff, use of a weapon, threats of death, Reggie because Why tf not.

A/n: 18+ NSFW if you don't like the warnings please don't read!

___

Y/n sat there on her couch thinking about the last few months, Reggie and her had gotten married 6 and a half months ago and here she is feel lost and unappreciated. He barely comes home, and when he does he goes straight to bed. Sometimes he doesn't even say "I love you."

Y/n was done with being ignored. She was done with Ronnie talking down to her like she was nothing, this had to stop and it had to stop now. She grabbed her coat, making sure she had her two daggers. Y/n marched out of the apartment, down the street, and halfway across town to the club. It was empty all except for, Reg, Ron, Teddy, and a few other men she didn't recognize.

"Reg." Y/n said from across the room.

"Be with you in a minute, love."

"Reggie, please. We need to talk."

"Yeah, well I'm in a meeting." The tone in his voice was some what aggressive, she couldn't tell if it was directed at her or not.

Y/n didn't care at this point, she trudged up to them. Pushing past the hurd of men, surprising Reg with her boldness.

"Nah, right now. You've been ignoring me for weeks, if not months. You stay out late doing god knows what, your brother always looks at me like he wants me to die. Strange men show up at the house, I'm constantly being watched by the police, and when you do finally speak to me it's "I'm in a meeting."

"Jesus, Reg. You gonna let her talk to you like that?" One of the men asked. "I think you should take her home and put this sluts mouth to good use."

Before Reg could do or say anything, Y/n grabbed the man by the back of the neck, and bashed his head off the bar. He stumbled back and went to take out his gun, but she kicked him in his stomach causing him to collide with a bar stool and fall on his ass.

She pulled him up by this tie, holding her dagger to his neck.

"What did you just call me?" She growled.

The man grit his teeth when Y/n pressed the blade harder against his neck, drawing blood.

"You dumb American bitch."

Reg watched as Y/n pressed her dagger into the man's side, his cries filled the club and probably reached the ears of nearby cops. The man laid on the floor whimpering as he attempted to stand.

"You ever call me that again and I'll kill you in the most painful way possible, are we clear?"

This new side of Y/n had the front of Reggie's pants tighten, his heart raced as he watched Y/n's eyes fallow the man while he ran out of the club.

"That's the kind of people you spend your time with?" She asked. "Him over me?"

"Y/n I-."

"You what? You promise to be better? You promise that things will change? You promise you promise you promise? Well guess what! I promise you this Reginald Kray, I promise you that when you get home, I won't be there."

She slid her wedding ring off her finger and set it down on the bar, swiftly leaving the club.

Reg picked up the ring, he felt like he had been stabbed in the heart. He loves Y/n with everything he is, he never wanted to hurt her.

"Well, sometime it just ain't ment to be." Ron's voice came from behind him.

"Shut the fuck up Ron."

Reg turned, putting the ring in his pocket. He bolted out of the club, looking up and down the street for any sign of Y/n.

When he entered their apartment, she was in their bedroom packing a suitcase. He entered and closed it as she turned back to the dresser.

"You're not going anywhere, luv." He whispered.

Y/n snatched a blouse out of a drawer, walked back over to her case, pushed his hand away and set it inside. Reg watched as she locked it and left the room, she set it by the door and went to grab her gun off the table next to the couch, but he swiped it up first.

"I said you're not going anywhere."

"Try and fuckin stop me, Reg."

With that, he dropped the gun onto the couch, made his way over to her and took her arm in his grasp. Reg pulled Y/n back to the bedroom and pushed her onto the bed, she sat back as he removed his shirt and tie. Reginald pulled her over, crashing his lips to hers. Y/n tried to pull away but his hand came up to the back of her neck, keeping her in place.

"You're not leaving me, Y/n." He growled. "I won't let you."

___

"Do you think he's gonna hurt her?" Teddy asked, checking his watch for the 8th time since Reg left.

Ron looked over at him and shook his head.

"My brother? No. He loves that girl too much."

Ted checked his watch again and began tapping his foot.

"Now I know you care about the girl, just stop tapping your fuckin foot." Ron said, pointing his cigar at him.

___

"So fuckin beautiful." Reg moaned as he rutted into Y/n, holding her arms down against bed.

"R-Reg please...I'm gonna cum."

He smirked and slowly brought his fingers down against her clit, rubbing tight circles, making her legs tremble and her head fall back against the pillows.

"I-ahh..." She cried out.

"Good girl, that's it cum for me."

Reg picked up his pace, his thrusts angled perfectly so he hit her G-spot each time. His hand wrapped around her neck and gently squeezed, making Y/n close her eyes.

"You like that, huh?" He asked. "You like it when your gangster uses you?"

Reg pressed his head into the pillow, with one last thrust he coated her walls. He rolled over and pulled Y/n into his side, both out of breath, they snuggled together enjoying each others warmth.

"I don't know if I can get Ron to apologize, but I most certainly try." He whispered.

"Ron is Ron, if he hates my guts...let him. He can be a stuck up crazy man all he wants."

"He cares for you."

"Bullshit."

THE END ❤️

I hope you enjoyed

Reblogs are welcome 🤗

#fyp #foryou #fanfic #foryoupage #x reader #smut #requested #reginald kray #tom hardy smut #tom hardy fanfiction #reggie kray #reggie kray x reader #reggie kray x fem reader #reg Kray #tom hardy x reader

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as-is-above-so-below · 11 months

Text

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 9

summary: post-mission drinks and another flashback :) call sign: Freyja warning: NSFW, MDNI. Canon typical violence mentioned. Note: WE'RE BACK AGAIN! I'm super proud of this chapter (it may be my longest!) so I hope y'all like it :') Some of you may recognize a scene in the flashback from the original MW franchise, and you would be correct! I used that as a loose outline for a little Ghost/Freyja (pre-call sign) moment A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @halfmoth-halfman for being the best betas and @peachesofteal for always spitballing. Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

Freyja checked on Arthur in his crib one final time, confirming that the little baby was still sound asleep, before closing the door to her bedroom with his monitor in hand. After arriving home following the gala mission, Freyja relieved Gaz of his babysitting duties and finished putting her son to bed while Simon took the first shower. They quickly swapped out so he could check on Joan and she could wash her makeup off.

As she came down, Soap was already sitting on the opposite end of the couch as Gaz, a glass with a hefty pour of amber liquid in hand. His mohawk was damp, indicating he must have showered in their guest bath. Her husband was leaning back in their oversized armchair, dressed in sweats and a black tee. God, if their friends weren’t there…

Freyja positioned herself between his open legs and leaned down, hands resting on either side of Simon’s head, to briefly press their lips together.

He inhaled softly through his nose and brushed his thumb against her bare thigh. “Mmm,” he hummed, then broke off the kiss. “Hi, love.”

“Hi…” She shifted down to join him, bent legs draped across his lap as she cozied up. “How’s Joan?”

Simon reached his open hand around her knees until it came to rest on her outer thigh. “Sound asleep. Gaz did a good job-”

“Make out!” Soap interrupted, smiling into his glass as he downed his drink. “I’ll give ye a hundred pounds.”

Her husband sent the sergeant a pointed look accompanied by a signature eye roll.

“No.”

“Awe, c’mon!” Johnny whined, head thrown back. “Ah’ve never seen ye winch for real!”

“I’m not a whore,” Freyja started, raising a brow at Simon. “But a hundred pounds is a hundred pounds. I’ve fucked you in public for less.”

He chuckled softly at that, starting to rub her freshly moisturized leg, drawing circles with his fingertips. “You fuck me in public for free,” Simon pointed out with a long, lingering kiss on her cheek. The motion sent shivers up her spine that she purposefully chose to ignore.

“CLAM UP!”

“You’re the one who asked me to make out with my husband, you perv!” Freyja cried, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. Simon still had his nose buried by her ear, his deep timber chuckling softly in her ear. Jesus Christ.

“Because I’m sad and horny and miss my boys!”

Roach and Kӧnig were gone on a mission for two weeks. Two weeks without sex had Soap that pent up?

“Soap, I think you have a problem.”

“And why would I indulge you after the performance you put on tonight?” Simon asked, his touch slowly creeping further and further up her leg. Between her and the chair, his opposite hand settled nicely against the snap of her back.

Valid point. The groping and kissing had been a lot.

“I’m sorry! Ah was just tryin’ tae do you both a favor!”

“Nah, she won’t do it.” Gaz crossed his ankle over his knee, wearing a boyish grin and egging her on. Per usual, for Kyle Garrick. “I know for a FACT he tops. No way Ghost is a bottom bitch.”

“Occasionally.” His nose traced the shell of her ear, and his fingers dipped under her pajama shorts. After their meeting in the gala bathroom, if he kept going on the path he was on–

“He whimpers, too.”

“Liar!”

“You two are insuffer–”

Simon Riley was an expert in many areas, including but not limited to shutting his wife up; firm, dominant kisses usually did the trick. And if they wanted a show…

His free hand left her back to gently cup her cheek, in stark contrast to the tongue prying her surprised lips open and lapping into her mouth. Freyja’s eyes fluttered closed, and she let herself melt into his touch, following his lead. She kissed him back with equal fervor, nibbling at his plush lower lip and lacing her fingers through the hair at his nape. It never ceased to amaze her how easily the man under her could turn her into a puddle, soft and pliable in the palm of his hand.

At least thirty seconds of swapping spit had passed by the time Simon’s hand pushed her bottoms up a bit. What they were doing could barely be called a kiss, treading more on the side of a sloppy makeout session. He pawed at her ass, fingers digging into the stretch-mark-ridden flesh before dragging Freyja into his lap, guiding her to straddle him. Just as she sank her weight onto his hard crotch for some release–

“Oooh, steamy.”

Simon pried himself off her, restraining the urge to moan as Freyja moved down his neck and choked, “Sergeants, see yourself out.”

“Cannae drive, mate! We’re hammered, and it’s just gettin’ good-”

“Then go upstairs,” he all but growled, using his hands to roll her hips against his. The quiet moan against his shoulder wasn’t lost on him. “Cause I’m gonna fuck my wife. Plug your ears while you’re at it.”

Kyle, the intelligent man he was, popped off the couch with a salute and marched upstairs. He had seen what he needed to see and wasn’t keen on watching live-action porn.

“Why cannae you go upstairs?”

Freyja sat back to give herself enough room to grab the hem of her husband’s shirt and yank it up his torso. Her chest was heaving with gentle pants, Simon looking up at her with that cocky smirk of his in response to her desperation. What did he expect, for her not to be horned up after getting tossed around in that bathroom?

“M’goin’!”

“Wise choice.”

The couple kept themselves quiet, allowing adequate time for their guests to get to a safe distance. Another well-placed grind of her damp shorts against his hard cock pulled a sharp sound from the lieutenant, and he hurriedly finished ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it across the room. Freyja couldn’t help the proud smile that pulled at her lips, her chest warming up at the power she held over him.

Several years ago

The lieutenant’s arrival in England was unceremonious. Laswell brought her through to John Price’s office and introduced the two. Strong energy radiated off of him, the presence of a skilled leader. He wouldn’t be difficult to work with; hopefully, she could use her time there to learn a thing or two from the captain that she could use on her track up the ranks. The trio went on a tour around the base, where she met Gary Sanderson – callsign “Roach” – who she became fast friends with due to her affinity for British Sign Language.

Then there was Ghost.

John didn’t offer anything other than the man’s callsign. She found it hard to believe someone of his stature could be likened to anything resembling a ghost, but she had seen crazier things during her service. The black ski mask with a skull print was a choice, but not dissimilar to the black gater she sported at the time.

In the days following her arrival, the lieutenant did her best to bond with her new team members, even though the arrangement was temporary. Roach wasn’t a problem, and even their superior made an effort to get to know her and her ambitions, even her personal life.

“No call sign?” Price asked, having already read over the file Kate had sent over.

She shrugged noncommittally. “I haven’t found one that fits me yet. I just go by whatever designation I have for the mission.”

“Bravo-one it is.”

Ghost, on the other hand–

The sergeant proved her first impression wrong. How did the giant of a man manage to disappear whenever she entered a room? However, Ghost didn’t always vanish, and she couldn’t figure out a pattern. It was as though he was intentionally steering clear of her presence, but only in certain situations.

She would be correct.

One of the first things the team did was head to the gym to familiarize themselves with the others’ techniques and skills in combat. With Price, Roach, and Ghost already knowing each others’ affinities, that left the lieutenant to showcase hers. Price wanted to give her a challenge, to see how she would handle someone who clearly overpowered her. Ghost was the obvious choice, at six-foot-four and change and two-hundred-plus pounds.

She won the first round, although barely. She was good, and Ghost hadn’t dared underestimate her before stepping into the ring. She’d somehow wrenched herself out of his grip and onto his shoulders, with her thighs locked around his neck effectively enough for him to tap at her hip. Ghost won the second, taking more time than he would have liked to pin the lieutenant on her back, securing her hands above her head and holding her down with his body weight.

He could take the damned heavy breathing and mischievous eyes staring up at him through her lashes. But when “Good job, Sergeant” slipped past her lips and planted itself firmly in his brain, he leaped off the woman as if she was on fire. His cargos did a good enough job concealing the raging hard-on he sported during the rest of the evaluation, but they didn’t ease Ghost’s suffering as he had to stand there and avoid her occasional glances.

While the newcomer was learning the ropes of the base and making friends, Ghost was preoccupied. He was putting in a considerable effort to not think about her; the mask covering the lower half of her face, her pretty eyes above that black mask, her chest in the tight shirt she arrived in–

Pull yourself together.

He was doing well for a while. Ghost made it six whole hours without popping another boner. Then there was the interrogation.

That night, Roach and Price picked up a cartel member from the cell they were trying to locate. The captain paired Bravo-one, her temporary call sign, and Ghost on the interrogation. Hard to avoid me now, huh? she thought to herself as they approached the room, Ghost pausing just before the door. She wasn’t exactly sure what she had done to make him so avoidant, but she couldn’t be bothered much then. They had a job to do.

With a hand on the knob, the man with the skull plate looked over his shoulder at her. “If you’d like to do the talking–”

“No, thank you.”

Ghost raised a brow under his mask, watching her roll up her sleeves.

“No?”

“I can be persuasive.”

She ignored the expression she couldn’t quite place and waved her hand, directing him to open the door. “After you, Sergeant.”

The pair split off, Ghost immediately going to their captive’s chair, the other hovering by the duffel bag in the corner, packed with various tools and weapons. The one she picked up and inspected for any dents or abnormalities made Ghost’s brain twitch. Well, maybe not his brain–

“And who’s the looker?” the stranger asked, licking his lips. “You’d be prettier if you took the mask off, baby.”

“That’s my lieutenant,” Ghost replied, leaning on one of the metal chair’s arms. “She’s here to make sure you tell me what I want to know.”

“And what exactly would you like to know, Sergeant?”

“Easy question.” He leaned down into the dealer’s bubble, close to his ear. “I just want your boss’s location.”

The man whistled lowly, shaking his head as he clicked his tongue. “Now, that, I can’t do,” he said with a shrug. “Unfortunately for you, this routine won’t work for me. The bad cop smacks me around; the good cop comes in with an offer to save the day – been there, done that. Maybe if you sweeten the deal with that lovely piece of–”

“You’re mistaken,” Bravo-one interrupted his monologue, stepping away from the corner and further into their witness’s line of sight. “He’s not the bad cop.” She bent to his level and brought the torch between them before flicking the flame on. Their prisoner’s stoic face quickly soured, and he thrashed against his restraints, making every attempt to escape the blue flame. “I am.”

Ghost found many things attractive, but he wasn’t aware that watching a woman he had just met torture a grown man and make him beg for life (and eventually, his death) would make him so painfully hard. He tried to blow off steam in the gym a few hours later (after jerking off in the shower, fucking minx), but was yet again met with the sight of his partner. Her hair was still damp from a post-mission shower, leaving a wet spot on the back of her t-shirt. This time, however, she had perched herself outside Price’s quarters. She leaned against the open door frame, chatting quietly, in nothing but a t-shirt and incredibly short shorts. Short enough, that the delicious crease where her ass met her thigh was prominently displayed.

Abort, abort, abort–

It was like the man had blacked out until he was safely in the confines of his quarters, back pressed against the now-locked door. He was a panting, flushed wreck under his mask, which he swiftly pulled off and tossed onto his dresser. Every endeavor to catch his breath or slow his heartbeat went nowhere. He decided cracking his skull against the solid wood door might jumpstart his system again and divert his thoughts away from the lieutenant.

Needless to say, that did nothing to appease the throbbing sensation between his legs.

“Bloody hell…”

Nothing a quick wank couldn’t fix. Again.

Price invited her to a local military bar with the rest of the crew, the usual spot for those who stayed on base on a Thursday night. It didn’t take her long to change and hitch a ride with their captain, donning a simple open-knit sweater with a bralette underneath and dark blue jeans. Once they arrived, she immediately noticed Ghost sitting at the end of the u-shaped countertop, tucked against the wall with his hood over his head. She took her time floating around the bar, shaking hands and conversing happily with various privates and soldiers that weren’t on their assignment. The damp air in the space, combined with her breath, made her mask cling to her face; this was a common occurrence, one the soldier had learned to put up with.

Ghost made no effort to approach her, but she wasn’t blind; his eyes followed her constantly. Whether he was being intentionally conspicuous or not, she didn’t know. After their little sparring match (that left a puddle in her underwear), she thought she had felt something shift. Even though she’d only known the man a few hours then, something about the sergeant piqued her interest. His commanding aura, powerful stance, laid-back yet driven attitude–

Or, his monstrous size and muscles. Those were always a plus.

When Ghost had fled from the training facilities, leaving her on the floor, she raised her arms and let them smack against the mat underneath her.

“He’s a tricky lad to get to know. You’ll get there,” Price had said, insisting that his adverse reaction was nothing personal.

Regardless, he wasn’t making a move, and the constant avoidance wasn’t floating her boat.

So, she allowed Roach to pull her to the cozy dance floor on the other side of the bar. Her eyes wrinkled with the wide smile under her mask as she danced with the silent soldier, chest to chest, periodically spinning under his arm. They laughed and danced like carefree fools; she had been nervous about crossing the pond to a new country, partnering up with strangers for such a vital mission. It wasn’t the same as a deployment or going to various countries with her usual team. The cartel could keep her in England for weeks if not months. Most of the people so far had made her feel welcome.

Most.

Still, she allowed her eyes to fall on the one soul who had made it seem like she didn’t belong – on that mission, on base, in the military in the first place–

And found the portion of his face not covered by his balaclava examining her. Ghost was damn good at concealing his emotions; in the few days she’d been graced with knowing him, she couldn’t figure out his thoughts three-quarters of the time. But at that moment, it almost seemed like fury mixed with a…certain softness?

His gaze shifted to her dance partner and darkened, no longer holding what she thought she had seen just a second before. Ghost held their eye contact while he downed his drink and slammed the heavy glass on the counter. Finally, he stormed to the exit with his hands stuffed into his pockets. She watched him shoulder the emergency door, which apparently had no alarms attached to it, and disappear outside. It was like a silent command to follow. Or maybe a warning, a huge, neon red sign blinking ‘BEWARE! DANGER!’ at her.

However, she had never been known for playing things safe.

“Roach,” she said over the music, slowing her movements. “I need some air. Don’t wait up.”

He simply smiled and bobbed his head before signing, “Sure! I’ll see you back on base tomorrow?”

“Try not to take it too rough tonight,” she signed back with a wink, patting him on the shoulder.

“I make no promises!”

Roach wouldn’t have a hard time finding someone to go home with, that much she was sure about. Even as she weaved through the crowd, she scoped a soldier still in their fatigues heading in her companion’s direction. Lucky bastard, she thought, trying not to let her envy for Gary’s ability to draw men in get the better of her. I’d give anything to scratch that itch right about now. But she was determined. Determined to confront Ghost about his attitude toward her, his superior, and end it. She quickly stepped to the door, hoping to catch the sergeant before he went back to base–

And collided with said sergeant's chest as she went to push the door out.

“Lieutenant.”

The lieutenant recovered smoothly, stepping back to put some space between them. “Sergeant,” she said, nodding to him. “Can I speak to you outside for a moment?”

He stared for a beat before silently stepping back and holding the door open as she stepped out. The cool, refreshing air flowed through the wide knit of her sweater, offering solace from the hot, stiff air, inside the building. The back exit led to a quiet parking lot; all they could hear was the soft buzz of the street light above, Thursday night traffic in the distance, and the muted music from the speakers inside.

They stood side by side in silence for a while, him with his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket again, her arms crossed over her chest. The bar was further away from the city, making the clear, starry sky more visible without the smog and city lights. It would be peaceful if not for her whirring thoughts and the intoxicating musk and whisky wafting from the man next to her. Maybe she’d find someone to go back to the barracks with later.

She wasn’t expecting Ghost to be a regular Chatty Cathy, but the silence was unbearable. “Did I do something to upset you, Sergeant?” she asked, not looking up at him.

“No, ma’am.”

God, she wanted to throttle him. “Then why are you avoiding me?” She took the silence that followed as confirmation of her suspicions, which only fueled her fire more. “We’re supposed to be a team; you and I are partners. The whole won’t function with you icing me out.”

Another pause as Ghost contemplated his response. Her sneaker scuffed against the pavement as she shifted her stance, choosing to spread her weight equally instead of leaning to one side. It made her feel taller, and she needed all the help she could get next to the absolute unit beside her.

“You’re distracting.”

“Distra-” She looked up at him then, baffled, and saw him still facing forward. But she did notice his jaw tightened underneath the mask. Distracting? That’s not–

Oh.

“Rather cozy with the little insect.”

She couldn’t help it, honest. At first, she snorted, but her recovery wasn’t as swift as the chuckle rolled into barrelling laughter. “R-Rather…insecure for such a…big man!” she wheezed, hunching over with her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

Ghost asked, “Something funny?” which only made matters worse and threw her into another fit of giggles and snorts. Very ladylike. After close to a minute, she managed to compose herself enough to suck in a deep breath of oxygen.

“You’re jealous?” she questioned, straightening her back again. “Oh, that’s…that’s hilarious.”

“I’m not.”

Liar.

“You’ve been pining after me this whole time, and you–” The giggling started again, but under enough control that she could still speak. “Ghost, Roach is fucking gay.”

Ghost’s eyes snapped over to her at that, although he couldn’t find the words for a smart response. Several things he had noticed about Roach suddenly made sense. He’d been working with Roach for months by that point. How hadn’t he put two and two together?

“You’d have a better chance of getting him to fuck you than me.”

Before he could stop it, his mouth spoke quicker than his mind could keep up with. “Oh, I’m not a bottom, love.”

Now, that certainly wasn’t a response she prepared for. Was it a good idea to proposition someone of a lower rank as a contractor?

Probably not.

If she was wrong and he wasn’t interested, he could report her and get her demoted if not discharged entirely. But if she’s right, and someone else catches them, that would at least count towards a demerit, a permanent stain on both of their records.

But again, you know what they say about her and risks…

“You sure about that?” she hummed, keeping her gaze forward and arms crossed.

Ghost raised an eyebrow and gave her a once over with his side-eye, eyes following her every curve, from her feet up to her exposed shoulder where her sweater had slipped and the open holes to her bare skin underneath. He forced his sight forward like a good soldier, clenching his fists tightly in his pocket to help restrain himself. “I don’t make a habit of fuckin’ my superiors, ma’am,” he offered, head tipped back towards the open sky.

“Who said you’d be doing the fucking, soldier?”

His skin reacted immediately, burning hot under the black fabric. He chanced another look at her without turning his head and saw her looking back through pretty lashes. If there were a definition for “fuck me eyes” in the dictionary with a picture next to it, the eyes he was currently staring into would be there. He had done so well, circumventing any temptation from a superior officer. The military was all he had; if he was discharged, he would have nowhere else to go. The ghost didn’t even have an apartment off-base, always staying in the barracks, save for times when Price dragged him to his house and forced him to stay there.

He had been so diligent and successfully dodged her at every opportunity, dodged her kind advances of friendship, even sat across the room during the few briefings they’d had together to keep physical distance between him and his problem. But with every passing second of peering down into those eyes, the rest of her face concealed by a mask not unlike his own – he felt his impulses surging forward and self-control slipping away.

The man sighed deeply and dropped his head with his eyes closed. “Bollocks.” Ghost placed a hand on her lower back while the other pulled his belt open, the leather slipping through the metal clasp, buckle clinking as he guided her towards Price’s vehicle.

Ever the gentleman, Ghost popped the door open and stepped to the side, allowing her space to climb in first. She couldn’t be bothered with concealing the giddy, satisfied look as she perched herself on the seat and tugged him between her legs by his waistband.

“Don’t give me that look.”

Mischief twinkled in the irises staring back at him, and suddenly the black mask he’d grown accustomed to disappear, showcasing a smile to match. “What look, Sergeant?” she questioned, her voice pitched lower than usual and her touch slipping into his pants and squeezing. Hard. A gloved hand smacked into the frame of the vehicle, supporting his body through the sudden tremor that jerked his hips forward.

Fuck.

She did manage to learn a few things about Ghost in that SUV. Those facts are as follows:

He was much more religious about keeping his mask on than she was with hers

Whimperer

He somehow was able to be soft while also fucking her stupid?

That tongue of his was good for more than quick whit

When Ghost came inside her, his thighs shaking and convulsing as her warm walls milked him dry, she gave them both a minute to gather their senses before rolling her hips again, earning a pathetic whine.

“Come on, Sergeant,” she panted, pulling his head up from her shoulder by short curls at the nape of his neck. “You can do better than that. Make me come again? Please?”

She had known him for two days and already had him on his knees for her. That theme would be consistent in their relationship going forward.

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