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erwinsvow · 1 year ago

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knocked up too young and wearing a glittery diamond ring on your left hand, you had settled nicely into the role of mrs. cameron. it wasn’t tough, not a hard position to play in the slightest—rafe, or rather your husband—made everything nice and easy for you.

it seemed like it was his biggest desire come true, making sure you and his little girl were taken care of. he liked it actually, more than he admitted, knowing the two of you were fast asleep in bed when he left for work in the morning, doing nothing but relaxing throughout the day.

in fact, he had decided the second you had tearfully confessed that you were pregnant that this was the sort of life you were meant for, the kind of life he was going to give you. you were so scared, he can remember it like it was yesterday—your watery eyes and wet cheeks, the way your hands shook when you pulled out the test to show him.

“i-i-i’m so sorry, i, i thought the pills were enough, everyone says it’s enough-” you were stammering and crying your way into exhausation, something he definitely didn’t like.

“s’okay, kid. nothin’ to cry about.” he was formulating his plan already, being proactive in all matters, thinking ahead to marriage licenses and car seats while you stared down at the positive stick in your palm.

“you’re.. you’re not mad, rafe?” the way you look at him, the world stops spinning. why would he be mad?

“hey, s’done,” he says, hands on your shoulders to steady you, bringing you to the edge of the bed to take a seat. he takes the pregnancy test from your hands, looking down at it himself. “it already happened. can’t take it back. no point in cryin’ over it.”

when you look up with even more tears in your eyes, he’s half convinced he’s said the wrong thing—but it doesn’t faze him, he keeps going.

“hey, hey. what, you thought i wouldn’t take care of you? this is my kid too.”

“i know, i just, i thought you wouldn’t be okay.. with it. having it.” that’s the first and only time he got stern with you through this whole pregnancy.

“hey, don’t talk like that. this is our baby. there’s no question ‘bout havin’ it.” you nod up at him, tears drying as you steady yourself, regain a little composure knowing rafe’s not mad about this little accident. “y’okay now?” you nod again. “good, call your parents. tell ‘em we’re getting married soon.”

“wh-rafe!”

but, like how most things were with rafe, he called the shots and you listened. the two of you got married shortly after, before you were even showing. anyone who even attempted to comment on the hastiness of everything shut up the second rafe stared at them.

you’d be a liar to say you didn’t like it, a fool if you didn’t appreciate how rafe was to you.

he stepped up in every way, better than you could have even tried to put together in your imagination. a place was purchased and had slowly started to become home, with a crib that rafe assembled by himself—though it had taken hours and ended up with the instruction papers all crumbled up in a corner—and baby proofed cabinets and sockets. you laugh watching rafe try to install the baby gate on the staircase.

“you know that’s for when they start crawling, right?” you giggle, a hand on your very pregnant belly.

“shut up. m’being proactive. gonna have no time once she actually gets here and we’re runnin’ around changing diapers and makin’ formula and shit.”

you’re only a touch surprised with how well-versed he is with all the baby stuff, though you appreciate it more and more since you’re still a little confused and overwhelmed. he makes it all easy, from the pregnancy cravings he runs around to find for you to the pretty pink walls in the nursery. he even satisfies all your other cravings, like around month six when there was nothing you wanted more than rafe's dick in every position you could think of.

when his daughter actually comes into the world, the two of you are a mess of emotions and thoughts, but there’s only one rafe really cares about. when can he give you another one?

it doesn’t take long for him to start trying again—trying to convince you that the two of you can handle two, that little kids need siblings their age. the baby’s only six months old but he’s convinced it’ll be better to have them all young at the same time rather than waiting—at least that’s the line he feeds you.

“no, rafe, they’re gonna be like irish twins. it’s so embarassing,” you say next to him in bed, staring up at your husband.

“what’s that?”

“when you have two babies that aren’t even a year apart.”

“oh. that’s a thing? good, at least there’s a name for it. i’ll get you a book on it, since that’s what we’re doin’.”

and try as you might, even you can’t resist rafe for long, not when he’s taking such good care of you and just wants to give you another baby with his blue eyes and your pretty hair. you end up in the same position that got you into this whole situation—your knees folded to your chest and eyes rolling back while rafe slams into you.

“don’t worry, baby,” he breathes into your ear, low and quiet since the baby’s sleeping in the other room. “i’ll get y’knocked up again. won’t have to think about a thing in this world except my kids.”

it’s a shame you get pregnant so quickly—rafe was so fun when his only thought revolved around fucking you full of his cum.

“well, s’not gonna be irish twins. too far apart,” rafe says, looking at the photos from the doctor’s appointment.

“no, it’s just regular twins.” you don’t think you’ve ever seen rafe so happy.

#lol <3 this has been in the drafts for SO LONG #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #what should we call her #wifey reader

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zuzuelectricbugaloo · 2 months ago

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Tête-à-Tête: Quatre

Rating: Teen

Synopsis: The conclusion to Epic and Nightmare's discussion in Ccino's cafe. There are no true winners in this game. Only players.

CW: None

Word Count: 2, 986

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, Bonus, of A Guardian, A Scientist, and A Parley

Nightmare’s form shimmered. For centuries, he’d loathed many, many beings. The villagers who had tormented hi—who had tormented this body’s previous owner, Dream, for abandoning him for refusing to die and stay dead so Nightmare could be at peace remain victorious over the Multiverse. But there was no other being he hated more in this moment than Epic.

His eye was a pointed slit, his stare venomous as he hissed at Epic.

“You, you, you — !”

“Me, me, me?” Epic’s sockets crinkled into upturned crescents in his impish grin. “The years catching up to ya, NootNoot? Don’t tell me you’ve gone senile and forgotten who I am already.”

Scorning his taunt, Nightmare snapped, “How could you have beaten me?! I staunchly played this game within our agreed margins, yet you have done nothing but babble egregious abuses of vernacular with your ingratiating gobbledygook!”

“Yet ‘ere I am, le winner, and u le salty tsundere tentai bitchboi.”

“Why are you like this?!”

“We don’t have time f’r all dat, trust.”

Nightmare emphatically waved his hands in aggravated motions in the air. “See? This! All you do is spout nonsensical or culturally popular contrived absurdity,” Nightmare continued to rant, steamrolling over Epic’s unbothered responses. “You didn’t break my mind, you merely exasperated it!”

“A’ight bruh,” Epic leaned forward. He propped his chin in his hands as he settled his eyes on Nightmare’s seething complexion. “Then I’ll tell it like it is in a way you’d understand.”

Nightmare huffed. “Finally. Now, I —”

“You lost to me not because I’m inherently cleverer than you, or more powerful.” Epic shook his head. “No, you lost, Nightmare, because you’re a liar.”

Bewilderment fluttered across Nightmare’s face. He blinked away his bafflement and rolled his eye. “Oh boo-hoo. What of it? As if you aren’t a charlatan yourself. I see you, Epic. I feed on your thoughts, the secrets you hide, and the repressed darkness masked within.”

An attempt at regaining the control he’d lost, the fallen guardian circled the gnarled agony in the man before him like a shark that scented blood in the water.

Nightmare’s smile was wide and ugly in its contempt, the jagged smirk splintering his viscous skull in half in rows of lethally pointed teeth. “Tell me, humorist. Are your beloved companions aware of the rot festering inside you? How you drown, unending, swallowed by midnight terrors and self-reparation—?”

“I won’t feed you anymore.” Unrepentantly, Epic cut off the other’s tangent. His Eye blazed in its obsidian prison, rattling angrily and cracking his vertical scar in violent fuchsia sparks. “You asked, and now I’m telling you why you lost.”

The game had been played, but the king had yet to fall.

Piece by piece, the players made their moves.

Decisions, weight heavy, carried by butterfly wings, fell, drowned in the sands of time.

“You hold yourself up as this all-powerful, big bad villain.” It reminded Epic of someone else in his past. Of a creator determined to keep his world relevant and above all others, no matter the cost. Even when it ended up costing him everything that he held dear.

Epic loathed Gester and all he’d done to him, to Packs, to everyone he cared about, and his universe. But a part of him would always be a little boy wanting nothing more than his father to love him for who he was.

“You’ve given yourself all kinds of epitaphs.” One by one, the titles fell. “The ‘King of Negativity’, the ‘Lord of Darkness’, the ‘Fallen Guardian’.”

Great power resided in a name. Merely word(s) or sounds, a name was what a being was. After all, why else would the fae seek out ownership of true names but to possess the identity of a person, all that they were, and all they would ever be?

“Everything evil and wrong and horrible in the world, in the entire multiverse, that’s you.”

The creature that haunts the night. Evil incarnate. Bitter misfortune and moonlight given form. Slayer of Nim.

He was called by many, many names.

And they were all that he was.

“How does the saying go? Every lie carries a grain of truth?”

A game was never truly over until the story had ended.

And this story was not yet done. “You’ve done awful things that you don’t regret, and I don’t doubt that every day, you hurt and kill others not only to feed on negativity, but because you enjoy their suffering.”

“Oh, come off your priggish, sanctimonious rambles. I see your Soul, Epic. I feel your LV. Your hands are not free of red.”

The insult rolls off Epic like water off a duck’s back. He rolled his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. “I’m not perfect. And I’m definitely no saint.” Epic admitted. “And neither are you. No one is, not even Dream.”

Ah, yes. Him. The one who feeds on positivity.

Dream.

One name, and his Soul burned.

No matter where he went or how far he traveled, the past clung to him like tar, seeped deep into his bones, bleeding into his Soul. A stain he could never wash away.

Memories and emotions that weren’t his refused to unlatch from this body. A parasite clinging determinedly to a host to drain him of all sense of self and reality.

Tentacles writhed, blade-sharp teeth gnashing and spewing hissed, searing vitriol. “Always, always. It’s about him. Sunshine incarnate, everything good and pure and loved for simply being. The world is full of fools worshiping an idiot idol who’s more cherub than angel.”

Ever contrary to his nature, his emotions swirled in his cold, black heart; a tumultuous vortex of loathing and love amusement. He wanted Dream deceased and the hundredth Apple his. He wanted—

—his brother back

—to be his friend

—get this dead guardian’s life out of his mind

—to be at peace again.

As if he could read his thoughts, Epic wondered aloud, “Are you really who you say you are, Nightmare?”

His veins iced over. Nightmare’s tentacles twitched behind him, squirming apprehensively despite his cool and aloof demeanor. “What else would I be?” He sneered.

“Are you really the demon that killed Nim? The parasite in the apple of corruption? The one who’d slain the guardian of negativity now wears his corpse as your vessel?”

Declarations of facts as falsities were his forte, but this conversation had lost much of its earlier amusement. Manipulating emotions to morph reality into illusion was only as entertaining as his prey made it.

“It appears you already have your answer.” The bloodstained holes in Epic’s sweater exposed his bones within, displaying parts of his ribs in a lecherous display. Not a scar or fracture remained from Nightmare’s earlier assault, as though nothing had transpired at all. A pity. What fun was there in invoking suffering if the fruits of his labor weren’t present?

Strangely, Nightmare swore he glimpsed precise, neat grooves etched into parts of his ribs near where a Soul would reside.

Of course, the annoying pest that he was, Epic was resolute. He carried on, querying inanely about matters his pathetic mind couldn’t possibly comprehend, taking Nightmare’s attention away from his bones.

“Why do you have Nightmare’s memories?”

“It’s his body, is it not?”

How many times has he been through this interrogation? Goodness, it was like he was battling Dream all over again.

Boo-hoo-hoo, your mother and brother are dead, what of it? Who he is will never undo the irreparable strings of fate sewn into their Souls and strewn in the stars.

“Why do you hate when someone is bullied and defend them?”

A startled, near-hysterical laugh escaped Nightmare’s maw before he could restrain it. “HA! A mere whimsical entertainment here and there? Really? And you fancy that an act of heroics and not me feeding on delayed negativity? And here I thought you weren’t nearly as delusional as Dream.”

“Why don’t you hurt Ccino?”

Nightmare had tried to, in the past. The depressed skeleton was an excellent food source. He’d be all too easy a target, to take him and break him as he had to Killer, to Cross, to the others.

But then there was that call. *That single call.

He should’ve put the phone down.

Why hadn’t he put the phone down?

“This healing journey of mine made me wonder…If someone like me could heal…can’t you?”

Despite the laughable claim, Killer’s voice, even now, echoed in his mind.

Heal? From what? Killer’s fragmented mind must have splintered beyond repair.

Still, those words pierced through him, dug into his bones, and wormed into his Soul, eating at the rotten apple within.

Killer wasn’t only his most prized killing machine of torture. They’d had a way of speaking, their tongue silken and as sharp as their blades. Cutting someone down to their heart and ripping it out of their chest, watching it beat out their darkest secrets and true self with eyes as dark as the Void as the heart bled out, revealing truths that they had not been willing to admit.

“Not that it matters to me anyway, cause there’s nothing I hope for more than seeing you burn in Hell.”

A click of a dial tone had been the only sound in the room.

Until a tentacle slammed a hole in the wall.

He didn’t care. So what if Killer had abandoned him cut ties? Nightmare didn’t need him. He didn’t need, didn’t want anyone.

The call echoed in his mind.

Words lingered in the air, a tension-riddled haze that even he, an empath, couldn’t decipher. “Maybe I’m wrong,” Epic admitted. “Maybe you are everything awful and wrong with the multiverse wrapped up in one octopus-shaped package.”

Epic’s phalanges were like the rest of him. Contradictory, multi-faceted. They were long and graceful, idly tapping against the tablecloth in soft, mindful bops. Yet they were also thick and sturdy from years of labor. “Maybe you are just a parasite possessing the body and mind of a skeleton.”

“Maybe you really do hate Dream, and want him dead to have his Apple as yours to rule the Multiverse.”

“Maybe you aren’t capable of anything good, of genuine connection.”

“Maybe this, maybe that, maybe nothing at all. Do you often search for meaning in a bottomless abyss? I know the Void owns you; I hadn’t realized its hold on you was this pervasive.” Nightmare jeered.

Damn, it hadn’t worked. The other man still stared at him. Nightmare’s tentacles flicked irritably.

Epic’s snow-white and violet eyes peered into his being. “Then why did you answer when Killer called?”

“Why did you accept Dream’s birthday gift?”

“Why do you continue to visit Ccino?”

Why was this bastard so annoyingly conversant?

“Centuries of age lead to one intimately familiar with boredom. All these inquiries to glimpse for hidden meaning are futile acts of foolishness. Whatever your objective is here, it’s as foolish and naive as Dream’s beloved Stars.”

Nightmare’s viscous features softened into a mockery of empathy; the light in his eye was mean and piteous. “My actions are idle flights of fancy for entertainment or satiation of curiosity. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Sounds rather hedonistic.” He couldn’t help the derisive snort that escaped him.

“We agree on this one thing, then.”

Epic’s eyes focused on him intensely for another moment. He sighed, exhaling softly as his eyes closed. His sockets were an interesting shade of mauve. Excess mana due to perpetual exhaustion, perhaps? Or a purposeful accessory to emphasize his eyelights? “Guess that’s it, then.”

“I suppose so.” Nightmare watched Epic tap and twist his phalanges, procuring gold coins from nowhere, and dexterously danced them across his sleek digits, the sight nagging at him. Why was that familiar…?

Ah.

An odd feeling centered in his chest. It was a skillful trick Killer had been quite good at, he recalled. It appeared Killer had grown quite close to the rainbow pest’s group of miscreants.

Something twisted in his Soul.

Epic set the coins down. The metal’s sheen glittered under the phosphorescent lights. “So, I won our little talk fair and square.”

Nightmare’s features curdled in distaste. “Questionable.” Although he had to admit…“Moments of absurdity aside, this has been an. Interesting. Change of pace,” he conceded.

“And you’ll uphold our agreement?” Nightmare rolled his eye. His tentacles waved dismissively.

“Yes yes, I’ll spend all of eternity struggling to not socialize with your oh so dear companions.” He droned sarcastically. “Truly one of the most formidable acts of life.”

“And?”

Nightmare’s eye twitched. “And you will have your favor, whatever nonsense it may be.”

Satisfied, Epic nodded. “Thank you.”

“Fuck off.”

Epic chuckled at his admittedly crude reply. Nightmare usually forwent vulgarity, finding it a rather adulterated form of wit. However, there were moments he found it necessary to properly articulate certain sentiments.

The skeleton pushed his chair back and stood, placing his hands in his coat pockets. “Glad we agree. Oh, and Nightmare?”

“What n—”

Fractures upon a surface as the laws of nature were effortlessly shattered. Reality bent itself into an unending spiral as magic sparked through the air. The skeleton vanished, and Nightmare stilled when he felt a presence colder than death behind his back, and the scent of flora and baked goods flooded his nasal aperture.

“If you ever, ever hurt Killer again,” Epic warned, his breath mists of ice that sent shivers down Nightmare’s spine. “Or try to lay a hand on Cross,”

The shadows flickered, warping light and dark in a gnarled web of perception. So much so that Nightmare swore he saw a myriad of eyes within the spots of darkness narrowing in on him.

“I’ll make you wish I could kill you.”

Game over.

There are no winners or losers in life. There were only players.

Nightmare’s metaphysical lungs paused around an obsolete breath. Reality snapped back into place, Epic reappearing before him as though nothing were amiss. He winked, his violet Eye dripping fuchsia. When Nightmare blinked, his scarred socket was closed.

“‘Til next time,” Epic offered a two-finger salute. He spun on his heel, his coat fluttering behind him as he sauntered off. “Do be a stranger.” Soft chimes of the bell signaled his departure as the cafe’s door closed soundlessly behind him.

And they had played their match.

…

It was a numb, disconcerting sort of quiet; everything seemed duller, less vibrant, less loud, now that Epic was gone. The creatures inhabiting the cafe continued to scurry about without a care in the world, and their caretaker reappeared, quietly picking up Epic’s coins and empty cup.

Ccino’s mouth opened and closed as he observed him. Something in the entity’s gaze must have stolen whatever words he held away, because his maw closed in a quiet click.

Nightmare surprised both of them when he spoke. “Epic is a fool.”

The man had attempted to say anything, reach for any excuse he could in a blatant attempt to rattle Nightmare. But he was not rattled. He would not be undone by a bastard who spouted drivel as easily as breathing.

To think Epic entertained the nonsensical notion that Nightmare was anything other than the parasite, or that he had the emotional capacity, nay, the desire to care for others. What utter balderdash.

Ha! As if.

His claws curled around his cup. He stared into his drink, letting his thoughts wander as he gazed at the maroon surface.

As if he were anything other than darkness, than the evil that poisoned the hearts and Souls of—

A skeleton stared back.

The crescent moon engraved on their golden crown glinted forbodingly. There was no warmth in their gaze. They were missing half of their skull — it was caved in from a rock from the villagers — and their eye held more venomous hatred than Epic’s had when he’d threatened Cross.

Slowly, their mouth parted. Blood poured out as they mouthed a single word.

“Nightmare.”

The cup smashed onto the floor.

🙜………❅………🙜

Epic changed his sweater. He paused to take in his reflection in the mirror as he recalled the day’s events. “Hopefully something useful came out of it,” he murmured to himself. He summoned a Blaster and handed the creature the ruined sweater. Dutifully, they opened their mouth, tossing it into the air before swallowing it whole with a pleased, audible gulp.

Epic patted them on their skull. “Thank you.” They purred, nuzzling into Epic’s touch before vanishing back to their dimension.

Now that that was taken care of, he searched his drawers for a new sweater. He stopped, realizing he probably ought to take a shower first. He didn’t want to join the others and worry Cross or trigger Killer if they recognized Nightmare’s scent on him.

He hoped he made at least some kind of difference. That even if he hadn’t gotten through to Nightmare, hopefully he’d made himself the primary if not exclusive focus of Nightmare’s animosity. His friends have been through so much because of Nightmare. This was the least he could do.

It was all he could do.

He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift off, wondering if it had all been worth it. If going through another day was worth it. The showerhead poured scalding water, steaming the bathroom as it bathed his icy bones.

He thought of Killer curled up against Color and their cats, peacefully asleep. He thought of Delta tinkering away at his latest engineering project, excitedly yammering away in their shared native tongue. He thought of Color, the confused scrunch his face makes as his flames flickered with his firelights’ Souls. He thought of Cross, his dearest friend, how his smile lit up the world around him and sparkled like the brightest stars.

Despite the uncanny cold in his marrow, in his mana, roses bloomed in his Soul. No matter how tired or cold he was, his love for his friends kept him warm. And that was enough.

#my writing #epic sans #nightmare sans #ccino sans

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krahk · 1 year ago

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Blood for Ruin

Part One : Part Two : Part Three : Part Four : Part Five : Part Six : Part Seven

Master list

Alastor x OFC/Reader V(No use of Y/N)

Part Eight

(Or, Alastor and reader have a serious, non-physical church appropriate conversation in the woods that results in no action whatsoever and this author is a liar)

Minors DNI, 18+ below

“-just like her lack of tits?” Well, what a sentence to get you back into a conversation. You clued into the group in the sitting room, the corner having had most of your attention since Alastor had joined. Waking up this morning alone wasn’t a real surprise, but there was a small part of you that was more than a little disappointed he didn’t stick around. Then again, if he did, what the hell would that situation have played out? So, as expected, you got out of bed, dressed yourself and joined everyone downstairs for the morning discussion.

Vaggie had tried to convince everyone that Charlie was alright, just ‘thinking’ upstairs, however it was no secret that with only a month to go, the hotel was fractured. You kept zoning in and out of all the talking, mind constantly drifting to the night prior. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Alastor fade rapidly into shadows and you cursed yourself for not paying attention to what caused him to leave in such a rush - and with such a maniacal look on his face to boot.

The imaginary pressure of awkwardness having left the room with Alastor, you finally joined in and said your piece about what was happening before the air felt sucked out of your chest. Something hurt - bad - and it caught you by surprise. There was a massive force building inside of you, and you managed to escape the room without any protest from the paranoid residents. You hauled yourself into the little library, the deceptive metal sign still up from Lucifer's visit, and you kneeled down on the ground while the pressure continued. Suddenly the room was growing in shadows, and you could see a bright green haze illuminate the space.

The light appeared to be coming from your hands, but the room's static that was increasing in spades had no known origin. Your head was filled with loud static and intense pressure, and somewhere in the background you heard Vaggie yell out ‘No!’ Before it sounded like a herd of elephants running upstairs. You had been lowered to all fours now, your head slack on your shoulders, hands and knees pressed into the ground. After what had felt like the fasted working Tylenol your body’s tense state lessened. What the actual fuck was that all about?

You took your time settling your nerves, a full body shiver taking over you. It felt like your skin wanted to crawl off of itself, like you stuck a fork in a light socket or you were an over changed battery. The pressure that was sticking around felt as if it were moving around your own soul. It felt like you were almost seasick without the nausea. It was a strange sensation overall. Outside of the library you could hear a string of angry Spanish, and Angel calling out your name. You opened the door and poked your head out, answering his call.

Vaggie had continued out the hotel's main door, slamming it behind her. You made eye contact with the tall demon and both of you were quite perplexed at whatever was happening. Angel shrugged, answering the silent question, “Charlie and Alastor left in a hurry and Vaggie is either tailing after them or doing her own thing - I dunno, my Spanish ain’t too impressive. I only know sexual words and curse words.”

You frowned, “Why did Charlie and Alastor leave? Did they say where they were going?” You leaned on the door frame to give Angel your full attention.

“Alastor n’Charlie made a deal, toots.” He said, almost grimly as his face cringed.

A deal? Was that always a bad thing? Come to think of it, you didn’t really know too much about demon deals, even though you had been here for a couple of months. Staying in the hotel was contributing to your naivety of Hell. You were still unsure how hell politics worked with Overlords, the ‘Royal’ family of Hell, and the other Lords like Sloth or Gluttony. Not to mention the mystical god-like beings that reigned in their own manner, generally staying away from the Pride district as Sinners were not able to leave this realm at all. You nodded at Angel’s statement, and made a mental note to read up on deals in hell. Some things still embarrassed you to have to ask. As the youngest person in the group in every sense you found yourself constantly asking questions that were very second nature to everyone else.

”Oof. I gotta…I gotta call Cherri or something. I’m gonna grab a bottle, sit my skinny ass in bed and hope I forget what’s coming…” Angel spun on his heel to walk towards the bar and waved at you without looking back. A soft goodbye left your lips as a habit, but the library door was closing behind you before you finished the 2-syllable word. You hustled over to a particular section that you had reorganised what felt like ages ago - Demonology…Sinners & You…What to Expect when Eternal Damnation sets in - Hmm. You hadn’t really looked too hard at the titles before but some of them were pretty ridiculous, even for hell.

“I need a book on Deals, what would that even be called?” You questioned no one in particular out loud. In your peripherals you noticed a bright green-yellow light pulsing from a shelf. Frowning, you approached it with slight hesitation, squinting through the light and noticed it was coming from a book. The book was named “Demons, Deals, and Divine Intervention : Getting the Most out of Your Soul Pacts.” - Okay, a little on the nose. Why did the book glow?

“Did you glow because I talked out loud?” Nothing. Then what…Maybe it was the way you structured the question? You threw out a couple of silly questions with no other lights appearing. Weird. This hotel was getting stranger by the day. “I need to know how you glowed, is this normal?” Another light appeared, highlighting a book in a stack that was still being worked through. You dug through the pile and read the title through the cracked and well read book as best as you could:

“Voodoo & You! A guide on Gris-gris, Summoning, and Souls.”

Hmmm. Interesting. You tried another question with the same lead - “I need a place to sit.” Scraping across the floor had you turned around to notice your preferred sofa chair moving towards you, seemingly pulled by large shadows. They wisped away once the chair was in place near you but you felt as if they might have been lingering around.

What. The fuck.

You stuttered for a second, concerned at the new development - “Wuh-what? Why is this happening?” The brightest glow yet appeared. This one came from a book that was rather large, and made you groan not only because of the lame title, but because your evening just became a complete write-off.

“An idiot's Guide to the Occult: A Phenomenon.”

Fuck.

No more questions, Idiot. You thought as you sat down and opened the first title.

Half a day and a pot of coffee later, you felt pretty well-read on ‘deals’. Charlie and Alastor were still not back from whatever quest they were, neither Angel nor Vaggie had come downstairs, and Husk was never a bit seeker for conversation so getting through the books took no time at all. Your only company were the shadows that took shape on the walls, smiles occasionally present. It reminded you of the first one you saw back in your motel room before you died.

Deals were made on a sinner soul. Hellborn, The Lords of the Rings, and the Goetia were not involved in selling or generally ‘buying’ souls. Souls were a form of currency, and Overlords were such because of the high quantity of souls acquired. The more deals one makes, the stronger they become. If a soul has a higher value, for instance if one Overlord gains another Overlord's soul the power is increased even more so. If one consumes a soul, the power is exponentially increased. Which from what you recalled, was what Alastor did. So it made sense to you why he was so powerful , because you had been told he did just that when he arrived in Hell.

The only thing you were having difficulty with was understanding where exactly you fit in with all this deal nonsense. Technically Alastor and yourself had made a deal about not speaking on your situation, but no further. But that did not involve a transfer in souls. He had mentioned that the two of you were akin to ‘soulmates’, as whatever awry magic you accidentally manipulated linking the two of you together. And if the soul link the two of you had did not have glowing objects and lingering, tangible shadows handing you things before today.

Could it be that whatever deal Alastor had made with Charlie had increased his power so much that there was a spillover onto you? You had been allowing the shadows to wrap around your legs and shoulders, occasionally playing with your hair. It wasn’t much of a bother, however it was more the fact you didn’t quite know how to get rid of them. Suddenly the door slammed open and Angel burst in, tossing something at you. you dropped your book on the floor and caught the item, a hammer.

“Jesus Angel! A hammer?” You exclaimed.

“Arm ya’self toots, we’re renovating.” He said with an enormous smile. A couple of Pentious’ egg boys had gathered around the tall man's legs chattering about reinforcement and boss’ plans, etc. They generally spoke nonsense as it was but this was more confusing than usual.

Unfortunately for you Angel didn’t give you much time to recover and grabbed you by an arm to drag you out into what could only be described as disorganised chaos. Windows were being boarded up, Pentious was strategically bracing the walls and furniture - honestly it was so chaotic it was hard to focus on a single thing.

Angel broke it down to you that Vaggie was on a mission to deal with Carmilla Carmine, some weapons overlord, Charlie and Alastor had gone to recruit sinners to defend the hotel and in that interim Angel had managed to gather the remain hotel tenants to build defences of the hotel so the others had something promising to return home to. And that was, in fact, how they found the group.

Trying their best against all odds, prepared to defend the only home they had.

____

Later in the evening, chewing on your cuticles as you stared at your bedroom door, you tried to work up the courage to deal with the knowledge you had and ask Alastor about the deal he had made with Charlie. Would it be worth telling him? the idea of telling him that with every deal he made was possibly pouring over into you scared you. Not just because of Alastors pride, but you had no idea how to handle the changes. Even now, with the simple addition of these strange shadows you couldn’t control them. Or the glowing aid that appeared when you asked a question the right way.

You had a lingering suspicion that you could also detect lies as well - earlier Pentious told you he had no feelings for Cherri and the static sensation that ran over your tongue caught you off guard. It happened again when his egg boys told a few known half truths. Everyone else had headed to their rooms before you could prove this theory but again - this was just another thing that had you on edge.

Deciding that if he found out later that you held information from him would be far scarier than just facing it head on, you decided to pay the demon a visit. Barefoot, you crossed over the hall and hovered for a moment before knocking softly on the door, shadows through the crack near the floor flickering at the sound. The door cracked open and your new shadow friends seemed to merge with the shadows that erupted from Alastors room. Still creaking open, you peered in through the open door. Expecting to see Alastor inside, but other than the crackling fireplace and the soft music coming from one of the many present radios, he wasn’t there.

Your eyes drifted over to the strange forest landscape, the bayou-like bog habitat seemed eerier than usual. There was a hazy mist present, and you could hear the ambient sounds from the shadows within the forest. Present but unseen.

“A-Alastor?” A chill had overcome you despite the fire roaring close by, and you shivered away the first feeling of being scared. Crossing the threshold lightly, you glanced all around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him somewhere. When you got about 4 steps in, the fire went out, enveloping you in darkness. The shadowy figures around you grew to the ceiling, eyes and mouths present and illuminated.

Scared stiff, you froze in place for a moment before taking a step back. One step and the door slammed shut. You could hear something new coming from the bayou, and it seemed like there was a growing glow from deep within it, pulsing like a heartbeat might. In the depths you could almost hear your name, softly making its way to your ears. Shadows licked at your arms and legs, causing you to shake slightly. You still walked backwards to the door, blindly grabbing for the handle when your back hit the wall. The handle wouldn’t turn and you made a noise of distress.

Suddenly, you heard laughter. Deep and dark, emanating from the trees. It was distorted from static and the creaking of branches and leaves crunching started to get closer and closer. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark slightly, and a figure was almost visible coming out of the tree line. Long, contorted limbs, a massively arched back, tentacles sprouting from it. A large, demented head sat upon a thin, stretched neck and in its massively large toothed mouth was a dead deer. Blood dripped from the lips of this creature, and the only reason you could tell that was the blood, like the eyes of the creature, glowed a steady red colour.

The beast was breathing heavily, and when the eyes locked on you, fainting seemed close by. Your breathing started to stutter, and your eyes welled up with tears. The demon beast dropped the deer, bright red saliva pooling out of its mouth onto the ground, and it began to approach you. The handle in your grip was still not turning, and your free hand began to lift as to prevent the beast from inching closer. A loud hum started to grow in your skull as the gap closed between you. You shut your eyes, a tear falling down your face to fall off your chin as you started to duck your head into your shoulder, hoping whatever was coming wouldn’t hurt.

Suddenly there was a hand on your chin, a thumb wiping away your tear. The hum had stopped, and the strange noise you heard from the forest had stopped. The only thing you could hear now was your beating heart. Your eyes flickered open, shooting over to catch eyes with Alastor. Dressed with a closed lip smile, his eyes were heavy lidded and softly glowing red. You stared in awe, confused, and Alastors thumb continued to rub the edge of your chin, using his fingers to move your head and face him more head on. Thumb grazing your lips, he used it to pull your bottom lip down, cold air drying out the small amount of naked gums. You instinctively tried to lick away the dry sensation and your tongue nicked the edge of his finger, causing him to grip your chin harder.

You attempted to utter his name, but as you started he pressed your lips closed with his thumb as he hummed a sound to keep you silent. His hand freed your chin, and he turned his hand to graze your cheek with his knuckles, and you leaned into his hand when he reached the side of your eyes, and your eyelids fluttered closed, and you made a soft sound of approval. He wasn’t usually gentle, or fond of touching, so the way he was behaving now made your bones melt. You had stopped shaking from fear, but your body still had a massive chill as you started to feel a familiar burn in your stomach.

Suddenly a soft kiss was placed upon your lips, and for a few moments you were unsure of what to do - your eyes had remained closed. Alastor bit your bottom lip in encouragement and you met him with a similar voracity. Very quickly it was if the two of you were trying to consume one another. His hands had drifted to your waist, yours to his jacket, pulling him in close. He was pulling you in return, lifting you up against the wall to have your face closer to his own.

As he lifted you slightly, you wrapped your legs around his waist, the two of you almost trying to become one person with the force you were placing on one another. The sucking sounds of hot, wet mouths meeting and periodic gasps for air had both of your blood burning. He started to roll slightly against your core, and you moaned in return, breaking the kiss and hitting your head against the wall. He started kissing your neck, sucking and biting his way around as he ground against you, eliciting more cries of pleasure from you. Your hands were in his hair now, and your nails raked against the part of his ear that met his scalp, resulting in a moaning growl from the demon, who responded with a bite to your shoulder that had you groaning his name and jerking your hips in tandem with his.

You could feel him smile against your neck, and he pulled back suddenly, causing you to look at him. A thin line of saliva connected the two of you together, and the lustful gaze he was giving you shot an electric sensation down your body. He pulled you away from the wall and spun your bodies around, lips back on yours as he walked with frantic purpose. When he finally stopped he started to bend down, and your ass made connection with the ground as he laid the two of you down onto the grassy marshland that was in his bedroom.

Crickets could be heard again, and the air was no longer chilly, the mist wrapping around the both of you and blanketing you in a subtle warmth. Your legs unravelled around Alastor, your feet coming to either side of him as your knees were bent, enveloping him in your person. His arms were bent at the elbow, and he rested on them as a hand played with one of your ears and the other had a knuckle rubbing your chin, nearly overstimulating you with contact.

At some moment, he raised up and was kneeling in between your legs, having made his jacket disappear in a flash of black shadows, and he was reaching for your top, grabbing the bottom hem of it and dragging it up until you raised yourself up slightly to allow him to pull it off of you. His eyes feasted on your body, your breasts still hiding behind your bra. His thin smile stretched further up his face as a finger went from your navel to your bra, and before you could utter a complaint about him using his claws to sever the middle of your bra, breaking it, his lips were back on yours working in tandem with the hand that was now firmly gripping a naked breast. You moaned in his mouth and he took advantage of your opening, his tongue fiercely fighting against yours.

At this point your pleasure had built so intensely you could nearly feel your eyes build with tears, desperate for more. His hands alternated to either breast, making sure to spread the sensation out evenly, pinching a nipple to have it pebble between his fingers as his tongue dominated your own. Somewhere along the line you attempted to unbutton his shirt, but getting caught up on his bow tie almost immediately. You broke your kiss to utter a firm, “Off.” As you pulled at the fabric around his neck. He chuckled darkly, as he replied with a crisp “Yes dear”, chuckling at your immediate frown at his terrible pun.

He swiftly removed the offending article, and unbuttoned his top two buttons of his shirt before moving his hands out of the way when you started to reach up to finish the job. Lips united once more, he was soon shrugging out of his shirt as your hands went from his shoulders to his waist and back up again. Revelling in the sensation you got from his skin, which was slightly furred - just barely, he gave a stuttered groan as you raked your nails down his back at the sides of his ribs.

His teeth grazed from your neck to your shoulder as the both of you roamed hands freely over one another, revelling in the sensations the two of you were giving one another. Your hands drifted to his belt, and he froze for a moment, mouth hesitating above your collarbone, and a quick glance had you notice the slight tension in his face. He rested his forehead on you, controlling his breathing, and he raised himself up on his hinds to take over where your hands had started. You pulled back, letting him gather control over the situation and he pulled his belt out from their loops, casting it aside. He popped the button off his trousers, and like true 30s fashion, they were without a zipper - simply built with a wide waistline to accommodate wear.

Trousers loose, he directed his hands to your own pyjama bottoms, and fingered the top of them gently. Your hips raised, and the pair of you worked to shimmy them off, you folding your knees to your chest quickly to pull them off your legs before putting them back on either side of him. Clad only in a modest pair of black underwear, Alastor visibly fed on your form, the hunger in his eyes unlike anything you had seen from him before. Arms coming up to cover your breasts from shyness, he dipped down to interrupt your action with a kiss to your sternum that lingered. The hum he gave rumbled on your chest and you released a soft sigh at the tender action. His hands swept over your body, as if memorising it by touch. You yanked at his waistband of his pants and grumbled something about it being unfair he was more clothed, and he responded by gracefully removing his pants and whatever undergarments he was wearing with minor lack of contact between the two of you.

Looking down it was clear he was painfully hard, the throbbing in your head and blood understanding the cause. His tip was glossy with pre-cum, and as he rested above you again, with his hands coming to rest on the ground on either side of your shoulders, the hard length ran against the inner section of your thigh, making you gasp in response. A snarky grin flashed upon his face, barely visible with the lurking soft light as if moonlight was kissing the two of you.

His eyes were bright red at the iris, his pupils blown out. One hand drifted back to your panties, finger folding in between the skin and hemline, and you silently consented with a nod, raising yourself onto your elbows to meet his lips in a chaste kiss. He responded by tearing off the underwear in a swift pull, the tension causing a moment of pain that was replaced with the ferocity of his desire in a kiss.

Pain forgotten, the two of you again attempted to devour one another, the push and pull sensations that the two of you had been resisting for the better part of a month coming to an impasse. His knee moved your own over, and he grabbed your other leg to hoist up and put on his shoulder. Now he was in the prime position to enter you without interference. His tip settled outside your wet cunt and prodded slightly, earning another moan from you. He hissed at the sensation, and your eyes connected again, nearly pleading for permission. You nodded again, but he softly responded -

“Out loud, chère.” Filter free and French had you sighing a soft “Yes,” much to his pleasure.

He entered slowly, the friction of the stretch causing both of you to groan harmoniously. Inch by inch, he took his time, his intense focus clear on his face. You winced at one moment, but urged him to continue when he hesitated. Both new to this experience, taking it slow was no issue. You were eager to take your time having your body clearly worshipped by him, and he was ready to finally consume another human in such a manner. The connection that the two of you shared had complicated his life massively, but he couldn’t remember why he was ever angry about it. The sensations that you were giving him were otherworldly, and the irony that he could perhaps taste a bit of heaven after nearly a century of being in hell made him inhale sharply to withhold a chuckle of laughter.

Below him you were shifting to help with comfort, and he responded by following your body’s lead and moving his own hips. Before long, he managed to fully hilt himself within your willing pussy. He pulled out an inch before jutting back in, causing you to groan in pleasure. He did it again, intent on memorising the face you were making in response to his actions, as it was definitely a face he had not been responsible for before. Your hips attempted to roll, or shift, to meet him and start a new tempo. The throbbing nature of his cock picking up speed, pumping slowly at first before both of you snapped like an elastic band and feverishly met one another, was causing a familiar buildup of burning pleasure within both of your bodies.

His movements became more desperate, and your hands connected with his body however you could reach with the position you were in.

“Alastor,” you started breathlessly, “I’m s-soo, close, I need-” You reached down to your clit, eager to assist with the endgame, but one hand of his swatted at your own and replaced it, his thumb pressing down hard and starting a quick circle around it. You slammed your head into the ground, letting out a strangled wail of pleasure, and started to knead your breasts in tandem with his movements. The two of you for a moment were the only beings in hell, completely oblivious to any goals, or responsibilities expected from the two of you - the only mission at this moment was to come together, in this strange bayou environment, completing this ancient ritual between two restless souls.

A few sharp pumps paired with his thumb picking up speed on your clit had him slamming into your cunt as you lost control and came to orgasm, him meeting your own with a quick uncontrolled jerking of his hips, both of you riding it out together. His hot release was filling you up, and your inner walls were clenching around him, sucking out the final moments of his orgasm. He moved your leg back to the ground and collapsed beside you, pulling out during the movement, and the emptiness was immediate and almost upsetting. You were unsure if it was just the normal action of sex or the unbreaking bond the two of you shared that made you feel like a whole person with him inside of you, but you missed his presence internally already.

Both of you laid in silence, the air hitting your sweaty bodies and reminding you that whatever just happened had, in fact, just happened. You were both getting control of your breathing, and you shivered at the loss of adrenaline and movement, teeth slightly clattering. You laughed sharply at your embarrassing sounds, and covered your face with your hands, apologising for the noise.

He chuckled in response, and came to embrace you, pulling you close to him, enveloping you within himself and holding your head to his chest where you could meet his rapid heartbeat. He covered the two of you with a blanket conjured from who cared where, and the two of you laid comfortably within each other's arms on the bayou earth, breathing together until sleep overtook you.

Whatever you came to him for could wait, not that you could remember anyway. This evening certainly took a strange turn for the better, for neither of you had felt such a sense of completeness since you arrived. Both were eager to revel in it before everything went to shit.

___________

Guess how many times I read this to make sure it wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. So many.

Be prepared, the next chapter is like 7k of just smutty goodness because I figured I owed it to everyone.

Taglist:

@queermaxwooo @drawings-by-meh @sirens-and-moonflowers @looking1016 @mo-0-o @blakeaha @mutifandomkid @ministarheaven @nightingale0603 @loadedwafflefries @rizzscary @bishiglomper @vividachromatic @fluffy-koalala @mkaella @readergirlstuff @xalygatorx @phisen @rukkshevahna @hazbin-hoetel @white-00-7 @iheartalastor @littlebluefishtail @little-slyvixen @bishiglomper @catticora @alastorssimp @midorichoco @garfieldthomas @spottypug

#alastor #alastor smut #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor x ofc #alastorxreader #alastor x you #soulmates trope #hazbin #alastorxyou

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waterdeep-weavemoss · 1 year ago

Note

🎵 + Gale, but a specific version of him, like professor, god, student, etc., your choice! 💜

ooooh thank you love! let's go with god!gale... 💜

Emperor's New Clothes by Panic! At the Disco, specifically for:

'Mortal kings are ruling castles / welcome to my world of fun / liars settle into sockets / flip the switch and watch them run.'

#mine #god!gale #asks

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pure-garbage · 11 months ago

Text

Careful What You Wish For! The Student Becomes The Master

"Well, Lana sweetest? How was the meal?" Sanji prompted enthusiastically. The straw hats' voracious appetites had all been sated and the clean-up was over. All the cook could think about was collecting the reward he'd been promised.

"As good as ever, Sanji," Lana praised him. "I don't know where Luffy found you, but I certainly can't complain about five star food for every meal. So, you ready for that back rub?"

Sanji took a deep breath, exhaling smoke as he prepared himself.

"Lana sweetest, believe me... I was born ready."

"Come on, then. Make yourself comfortable," she gestured to the couch. "Feel free to lose the shirt."

Sanji gulped, doing so hastily and settling down on his stomach. His heart pounded as he let his eyes slide shut.

'I may die today... if my heart doesn't leap right out of my chest with glee, Marimo will surely cut me down... but heaven is worth dying for. As long as death waits to take me until after I've felt Lana's sweet touch on my body, I'll go happily into the next world.'

Weight and warmth overcame Sanji, sliding over his hips. He was already breathing hard, anticipation nearly bringing him to sweat.

"Ready?" Lana asked. Sanji frowned a little. Her voice was off to... his side?

"Oh yeah."

Zoro's voice. Sanji's eyes grew wide with alarm as he realized it was coming from behind and above. The loud cracking of knuckles came next.

"Um... Lana? Sweetest?"

She pulled up a chair and settled down, filing her nails delicately and flashing Sanji a sly smile.

"Just relax, Sanji," she implored him. "My pupil's going to take good care of you."

Sanji started trembling. He twisted his neck to meet Zoro's gleefully deranged gaze. The swordsman's grin was crazed, spiteful light glinting in his dark eyes.

"Yeah, cook. Relax."

'This... this can't be happening!'

"Face down... wouldn't want you to strain something," Zoro instructed smugly. He pushed Sanji's head down as he spoke.

"Hey, I didn't sign up for- Ah!"

Zoro set in without warning or mercy, drawing cracks, pops and startled cries from Sanji. The cook spasmed under his rough ministrations, cigarette falling from his open mouth as he gasped and panted.

"Check the pressure," Lana reminded Zoro without taking her eyes off her nails.

"Oh, yeah. Whaddya say, curly brows? Harder? Softer?" Zoro teased viciously.

"I- I... ugh!"

"Sounds like you're doing good," Lana smiled, shooting a wink at Zoro as he continued.

The strong, calloused hands of his crewmate weren't what Sanji wanted, but he was forced to admit to himself that the massage did feel pretty damn good. That fact only made him feel worse about the whole humiliating situation.

"Well, well, so tense, cook... I thought I told you... to relax!"

"Gaaaaahh!"

Luffy made an appearance while stars danced across Sanji's vision.

"Hey you guys," he greeted them. "Zoro, what're you torturing Sanji for?"

"Not torture, Lana corrected him. I taught Zoro my legendary back rub technique."

"Legendary, huh?"

Sanji seized his opportunity, vying for escape as Zoro's thumbs sank unacceptably low on his back.

"L-Luffy! Hey! You're still hungry, right? That's why you're here! You must need me to make you a snack! Ah! Hey, moss-for-brains, that's too-"

"Too hard? Got it. I'll be gentle with you, don't worry," Zoro snickered.

Sanji was actually going to tell him his hands were way to close to his ass, but a series of soft pops silence him except for the breathless cries of relief he was helpless against.

"Actually, I'm full, but thanks for checking!" Luffy grinned.

Sanji's jaw dropped.

'What the hell his this, armageddon? What sick joke is the universe playing on me today?!'

"Liar, you're always hungry!" Sanji fumed. "Oh... ugh! Ah, s-stupid swordsman!"

"What's that, buddy? Harder? I gotcha."

"Uhhhhhnnn!"

Sanji's eyes rolled back in their sockets as Zoro dug his elbow into the muscle under his shoulder blade, circling slow and firm.

"Don't forget to breathe," Zoro chuckled.

"Uh... huh, ugh, ohhh!"

"Wow, does it really feel that good, Sanji?" Luffy asked, crouching to put himself on eye level with his quivering cook.

"I- I don't- can't- this wasn't- ugh! Ah! Aahhhh!"

"Its the most relaxing, invigorating thing that'll ever happen to your body," Lana assured Luffy.

"Sounds fun! I wanna go next!"

"Next? Lana can get you right now. Right, Lana?" Zoro checked, features brimming with mischief.

"Sure can. Luffy, wanna use the bed since the couch is taken?"

"N- Gaaaaahhh!" Sanji cried out indignantly at the miscarriage of justice he was watching unfold.

"Sure!" Luffy agreed.

"Take good care of the captain, Lana," Zoro called after them, grinning demonically. He was unbearably pleased with himself. "I'll make sure our dear cook gets everything. He. Deserves."

Zoro punctuated his words with firm presses that smushed the air out of Sanji and cracked large sections of vertebrae.

"Aah! Aah! Oh god! W-w-why?!" Sanji all but sobbed. "What did I do wrong for the gods to punish me like this?! Please, I repent! I want out of this hell! Uhhhh!"

"There's no god that can help you now, curly brows," Zoro cackled, bearing down over him with intense, smothering malicious presence. His fingers dug deep into the prone cook's shoulders as he savored the sounds he was forcing from his mortified shipmate. "Now... just lay there and take it like a good boy!"

"You bastard! You think this is funny?! Aah!"

"This is hilarious!"

_______________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

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== First Chapter ==

#fanfic #oc #one piece #roronoa zoro #sandbox adventures #pure garbage #luffy #sanji

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