#this should have a fucking body horror tag is what it needs

[animentality]

This guy is making ai women and acting like...uh...real women...are... "over."

Right. Right.

I also want to point how fucking racist and demeaning this shit is.

Why don't you rot in hell, you sweaty incel ass loser.

Also women are not seething over this, lol.

Hentai and erotic art has existed since the beginning of human time.

[myriadeyed]

“It’s obviously valid to be bugkin but you also can’t just expect people to get over it when they have a genuine fear!”

I’m afraid of dogs.

Dogs put me extremely on edge. I avoid them while outside and if one’s in a room with me I’ll try to leave or else start to panic. Especially medium-sized and larger breeds. Mere images of dogs may not give me a panic attack, I will admit that, it's not a phobia. But if you want to talk hypocrisy, if you're opening up that discussion:

Hey dog therians, dog otherhearted folks and clinical cynanthropes, what if everywhere you went, the unspoken attitude of the alterhuman community was—

Don’t post dog photos or talk about being a dog in the main alterhuman tags. Don’t talk about your shifts, your instincts, or your kind in the main tags. If you’re a CZ, don’t talk so openly about your biological reality. It’s extremely triggering for people with cynophobia. The idea of physically being or becoming a dog grosses them out to briefly think about, so try not to discuss your literal existence. If you must, at least trigger tag yourself with #tw dogs or #tw dog mention so people can stay safe by censoring things that will hurt their mental health. It’s okay if you’re dogkin but in my DNI I'm going to write something like, don’t follow me if your blog hosts too many graphic close-up images of dogs doing dog things, even if you censor them. Don’t add dog photos to open posts in the alterhuman tags, you have no idea who might be sent into a panic attack by images of yourself so you should play it safe and only put them on your own posts. And stop being so offended by people who comment on posts about pet dogs or dog facts saying they want to bleach their eyes or kill it with fire, they can’t help having a phobia.

Not great, is it? Fortunately, and I do genuinely mean that, this is a sentiment you will only see once, on this post, completely satirically. Except it’s just a real sentiment for bug therians/hearted and other invertebrate alterhumans. Of course what I said was satire. But if it pissed you off when you thought it might not be, please, contemplate on that reaction, really spend some time on it.

Also, if you're wondering what I mean by "other invertebrate alterhumans", (and I'm sorry for how heated I got when I was writing this part last night even after editing it down)

You know I’m a bug zoanthrope too, not just a bird? And see above if you're wondering why I never said shit about it, just said I was a centipede therian and even then said I was just questioning and didn't really talk much about it. Am I allowed to talk about it without tagging it #tw body horror, even though I obviously don’t fucking find my own body to be horror? Can I talk about it without tagging it #tw bugs like just the very thing that I am needs to be censored for people's well-being? I'm sorry if I come across judgmental. Offline I constantly interact with people saying they’re a nature lover but centipedes are the only thing on Earth that they still hate. And I have to come online knowing that any of those people could be bloggers in the alterhuman tags and it’s my responsibility to tiptoe around them. “Because centipedes are scary and disgusting.” Because I’m scary and disgusting. My brain is not capable of hearing a difference and I can’t change that. It is so much my reality that it's the same emotional mix of anger and anxiety and hurt that would be (has been, lol) triggered by someone ranting about how much they hate Jews or trans people to me.

[belovedmusings]

"You could never burden me."

18+ Explicit Smut 🚫Minors DNI🚫

Your boyfriend Choso and you have been dating for over half a year now, and you haven’t gone past kissing. He’s very pent up and wants to take it further, but he’s afraid to make you uncomfortable by ‘bothering’ you with his needs, so he just deals with it himself. One day, you catch him masturbating at his place when you try to surprise him by visiting earlier than you were supposed to.

Relevant tags: masturbation, mutual masturbation, established relationship, shy Choso, respectful Choso, gentle reader, soft dom reader (and I mean very very soft), AFAB reader, penetration, riding, slightly submissive Choso (but not overboard with it), no use of “y/n”, creampie, unprotected sex

Recommended music while reading: BABYDOLL (Ari Abdul), Streets (Doja Cat), and I Wanna Be Yours (Arctic Monkeys)

Read below the cut:

You’ve been excited to visit Choso all day long. You woke up giddy, as if it was Christmas morning, and were in high spirits all day. No man has ever been as perfect to you as Choso has been the entire time you’ve been together, and as a result, you are head over heels in love with him.

Eight months into the relationship and you are going strong together, though all you have done with each other intimacy-wise is kiss. It doesn’t bother you, in fact, it’s a nice change of pace from the other men you’ve dated in the past. He’s the sweetest man in the world and you wouldn’t trade him for the world, so as long as he wants to wait to be intimate, you will.

With that said, you silently hope that tonight is the night you two do something together. He’s planned a horror movie date with you for the Halloween season, and as such, you plan to wear something extremely comfortable yet subtly revealing. Shorts that hug your legs and hips nicely, a little shorter than can be considered modest, and a tank top with thin straps underneath one of his hoodies that he’d gladly let you steal.

You agreed that you’d be over at four to start the marathon, but now that it’s barely three, you’re sitting around restlessly, wanting to be in the presence of your boyfriend already. Neither of you have anything going on today, so after debating for a few minutes, you decide to just leave now. He won’t mind; he loves being around you, and he’s always very obvious about it too.

A fifteen minute drive later, you’re at his doorstep, and you knock.

When there’s no response for a full minute, you think he must be in the shower, something that’s happened a few times before. Luckily, you have his spare key, so you just let yourself in, kicking your shoes off and placing your bag down.

You look around and find his living room and kitchen to be empty. You don’t hear the shower running down the hall, so curiously, you close and lock the door, making your way up his hallway towards his bedroom. Maybe he’s napping? He does get sleepy very easily. With that thought, you elect not to call out to him.

As you approach the door, you can hear panting in the contours of his voice. You pause, raising a brow. Is he working out?

“Fuck,” his voice breathes out, a groan leaving his lips, “oh god, oh god…”

He is not working out.

You’ve never heard his voice like this before but it isn’t hard to tell what he’s doing behind his cracked door, the wet sounds complimenting his voice contributing to the fact.

You wonder for a moment if you should leave him be. You’re technically intruding on a private moment, but he just sounds so good, you can’t help but be rooted to your spot.

“Oh fuck,” his deep voice suddenly climbs in pitch, your name coming right after, and it hurtles arousal right into you, body heating up as you realize he’s touching himself and thinking of you.

You feel heat start to throb between your own legs and decide, fueled by lust and hormones, that you need to make your presence known.

“Choso?” You call out softly, pushing the door open.

Your boyfriend, who is laid out on his bed, topless and with his sweatpants and boxers pushed down to the tops of his thighs, instantly stops, his flushed face turning an even darker shade of crimson as he realizes he’s been caught.

“Shit,” he curses, grabbing a pillow and covering himself up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was four yet and I—”

“No, don’t apologize,” you shake your head, entering the room and closing the door behind you. “I came early. I just…wanted to see you.”

He breathes out slowly, shoulders tense. “I…I’m sorry you walked in on this.”

“I’m not,” you say honestly, “Unless…you want me to leave. I can. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Stay,” He says, seeming to surprise himself at the haste. He looks even more embarrassed, averting his gaze. “If you want, that is. I don’t want you to think this is all I want from you.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest as you cross the room to his bed, sitting down beside him. You reach out and place your hand on his, which is still holding the pillow over his lap. Your eyes meet his, and you smile sincerely at him.

“Choso, we’ve been together long enough for me to know this isn’t all you want from me,” you say, “Is that why you haven’t tried to take things further?”

He sucks in a breath and sheepishly nods his head. “Yeah. It is, honestly. I just don’t want to lose you, and I want you to know how much I care about you. Even if we never did this, I wouldn’t want you any less.”

“That’s sweet,” you reply, kissing his cheek. You can practically see the butterflies it gives him, and it makes you fall even more in love. “You’re always so considerate of me, Choso. I promise you that I want this as much as you do. I mean, I really want you.”

The dark-haired man’s face relaxes into a small smile, and he takes your hand in his, squeezing gently. “We don’t have to right now. We have the date we planned and—”

You interrupt his words by pressing your lips to his, cupping his face. He instantly melts into it, reciprocating and wrapping his arms around your waist. The leverage isn’t ideal since the pillow’s in the way, so you grab it and toss it to the foot of the bed, exposing his erection to the cool air.

He gasps when you waste no time and wrap your hand around it, kiss becoming more passionate, and you use the lube he’d already spread on his shaft to make your strokes smoother.

Choso makes a soft noise at the back of his throat and pulls out of the kiss, looking at you with lidded eyes.

"I don't want to burden you," He says in a thin voice. You shake your head, pecking the corner of his mouth, and then planting a second one on his Cupid's bow.

"You could never burden me," you tell him honestly. You've been waiting for this since your first heated kiss months ago, or maybe even since you laid eyes on him long before that. "I want this, Choso. Really. Let me take care of you?"

He breathes in slowly, searching your eyes for reservations that simply aren't there. When he doesn't find them, he relents, nodding timidly.

"Please," He says in his smooth, deep voice, and that's all you need to reinstate your touches, sliding your hand up and down his length with intent. His eyes flutter shut as he gives in, leaning his head back to enjoy your affection.

As you work his cock to pull soft moans from his throat, you feel his hands slide up under the hoodie you’re wearing, massaging at your sides timidly.

“You can touch me,” you pull away to say, “I promise I want it.”

He nods blearily, chasing your lips with his, and so you give him what he wants, slipping your tongue into his mouth and kissing him even harder than before.

“Mmf,” he groans, rolling his hips up into your hand, and the movement as you start to throb in your own shorts, touches on his length becoming more bold.

One of his hands leaves your waist to travel down, finding your waistbands. You roll your tongue over his and he grunts, gaining some confidence and slipping his hand down, fingertips ghosting over your core a second later.

It elicits a moan from you and you spread your legs wider, allowing his hand lower, letting him reach the pool of wetness that has gathered.

“Mmm, fuck,” he breathes, pulling out of the kiss as he feels you, turned on because of him. He circles his fingers over your bud slowly, massaging it at the same pace that you have on his cock.

Your heart is pounding in your ribcage the more he touches you, pleasure shooting through your system like sparks before a fire. You grind against his hand and emboldened, he slides back down and pushes two digits into your entrance, filling you up with their thickness.

“Fuck, Choso,” you exhale, pulling back to look into his lidded eyes. The sight makes your heart flutter in your chest wildly, having never seen a more beautiful sight. “My god, you’re hot.”

That has his eyes widening and his face gets red again. That isn’t all that happens, though. You feel him twitch in your grasp, and you immediately realize the compliment turned him on.

That knowledge will be used to its full advantage.

“You’re touching me so well, honey,” you murmur to him, cupping his face with your free hand. “I wanted this so bad.”

He swallows hard and leans into your palm, eyes fluttering closed as you circle your thumb around his tip. His eyebrows draw up and his lips part, a small, shaky gasp leaving his mouth.

Curiosity and lust drive you to press your thumb to his bottom lip, running it along the expanse for a moment as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. He keeps his mouth open pliantly, yet when you push the pad of your thumb onto his tongue, he moans louder than he previously ever had, wrapping the wet muscle around it and closing his lips instinctively.

Fuck. Now he’s sucking on your finger like it’s a candy, and it’s doing wonders for the both of you. His eyes open again and this time they hold desperation, unlocking something inside of you that you never knew existed.

“Baby,” you say breathlessly, “I wanna ride you.”

That pleading look intensifies and he nods eagerly, desire hitting you right in the gut. He pulls his hand from your shorts as you take yours from his body to reposition yourself, getting off of the bed to push your bottoms down hurriedly. He does the same, throwing his over the edge of the bed as you climb back on and straddle his legs.

You take a moment to admire his naked form, palms sliding down his muscular chest appreciatively as his grip finds your hips underneath his hoodie.

When your eyes land on his angrily stiff erection, you’re reminded of the ache in your own core, and wanting to finally end the long dry spell you two have been experiencing, you hold his length steady and line up, sinking down onto it.

He moans at the feeling, laying back against his pillows, tightening his hold on you as you bottom out, size big enough to brush your cervix when your pelvises touch.

“Fuck,” you sigh, “You feel really fucking good.”

His face pinkens at the praise and it stirs up fondness in your ribcage, balancing your touch on his chest so that you can start moving. You give him a few experimental grinds, relishing in the soft groans it elicits from him.

As soon as you start properly riding him, bouncing on top of him at a fixed pace, he starts to writhe beneath you, mouth open and eyebrows drawn up, labored pants escaping from him. The veins on his neck are exposed like this and the sight as you leaning down to kiss along the expanse, enjoying the shudders it earns from him.

“Baby,” he groans, starting to move his hips in time with yours. You mewl at the added pressure, speeding up. “Oh, oh fuck…”

“Better than your hand?” You can’t resist teasing him, and he laughs breathily, nodding.

“Way…way better,” he confirms, and you chuckle, raising back up to meet his eyes. The chocolate irises are clouded with lust and you love that look on him. He’s stoic by default, only cracking soft smiles here and there, emoting only when an intense emotion strikes him, so to see him overwhelmed with pleasure is an absolute treat.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, and his eyes avert to the side, face going from pink to crimson. You touch his cheek again, unable to resist, and as you had before, you touch his mouth with your thumb, tightening around him as he starts suckling on it again.

You push it in further, forcing him to take more, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat akin to a whine, sending shockwaves down your spine.

“Fuck,” you hear yourself breathe, starting to ride him faster, the springs of the mattress creaking with the effort to sustain your movements. He groans, lips parting as he takes in puffs of air at a desperate pace, chest rising and falling rapidly.

His dark, lined eyes lock onto yours and that’s when you notice drool running out of the corner of his mouth.

Like this, he looks so wrecked and it’s doing things to you. You didn’t think he’d be this pliant in bed but it’s such a turn on, relinquishing control to you with all of the trust in the world.

“You’re so perfect,” you praise, and you feel him twitch inside of you. He grabs your ass and starts moving you on top of him, adding a force to his thrusts that wasn’t there before, and it punches a moan out of you.

Okay. Now he has some control and it’s the hottest thing in the world.

“Choso,” you moan, hands finding his chest again as he takes over, manhandling you up and down his cock, angling you just right so that— “Oh, fuck baby, right there…”

“Yes,” he groans, pistoning right where you need him, your body moving at his whim. It’s heavenly, how gentle his eyes look at you contrasted with the filthy way he’s fucking you, and it pushes you further and further towards the edge. The symphony of wet sounds, the bed creaking, the headboard tapping against the wall, and his own grunts and groans only adds, and before you know it, it takes over completely. You fall over the edge and throw your head back, a loud cry of his name tearing out of your mouth as you cum on his cock.

“Choso!”

He gasps sharply as you tighten on him, and triggered by your climax, he tumbles over the edge as well, pushing you down onto him fully and raising his hips up to spill deep inside. The sensation has you shivering, and you lean down over him, taking him into a messy kiss that starts desperate, but as you regain composure, morphs into something tender and sweet.

When you finally pull back, he greets you with a lazy smile, looking completely boneless and satisfied. You imagine you look exactly the same—you certainly feel that way.

“Hi, by the way,” you say, and he laughs, shaking his head before laying his forehead on your collarbone.

“Hi,” is his amused reply, and you stamp a kiss on his forehead.

“Ready for this movie date?” You ask, and he sighs softly.

“I am,” he replies, looking up at you. “Let’s clean up first.”

“Okay, but let’s wait to shower ‘til later,” you tell him. At the curious look on his face, you simply grin. “I have a feeling we’ll end up back here sooner rather than later.”

The bashful flush it bestows upon his face is entirely worth it.

___

A/N: I need a boyfriend like Choso so bad y’all my god

[gigabyte-flare]

Insatiable (Part 2)

Part 1

Summary: Your collages should have listened to you.

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: yandere plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Extreme violence and gore, biting, dubcon, forced breeding, gross las plagas-y things, death, mentions of un-aliving. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

A/N: Huge shout out to @chanif-art who's artwork continues to inspire me and this story. I am completely blown away with how well part 1 was received. Thank you to everyone who's liked, reblogged, commented and even simply read it. I didn't do a tag list for this one because I think well over 50 people asked and I completely lost track. Anyway, I hope this meets your expectations! I was listening to Little Girl Gone while writing this... for some reason it just fits plagas!Leon.

“Honey, I’ve changed so much since I last saw ya.”

You open your eyes, finding yourself inside Leon’s cell. You dart your head around, looking frantically when you realize you’re chained to the chair, the same chair Leon had previously been chained to. You hear Leon chuckle, a low chilling sound as he walks up from behind you, taking long, slow strides. He turns to face you, you notice the black veins sprawling his body have gotten darker, his eyes more red. He grins as he kneels down to be at eye level with you, his four canine teeth noticeably sharp. He runs his tongue along his teeth.

“There you are, sweetheart. I didn’t think you’d wake up,” Leon says with a purr. 

Your eyes are wide, taking labored deep breaths before you attempt to struggle. Leon laughs, shaking his head.

“That won’t do you any good I’m afraid, but don’t worry, I’ll get you out of those chains so we can have some play time.”

Leon stands back up, walking back behind you. You hear him break the chains apart with his bare hands. You waste no time bolting out of the chair and to the door. No matter how much you pull, the door won’t budge. You turn around to find Leon standing directly behind you. He grabs you by the waist pulling you to him. You flail your arms at him, trying to fight him off. Out of the corner of your eye you see Bryan on the other side of the clear panel holding a clipboard, taking notes.

“Bryan?! Get me out of here! I’m trapped in here with him, please! He’s going to hurt me!”

Bryan lifts his head, shaking it, “the data you’ll provide from this is too valuable to pass up I’m afraid. We need to know if he’s capable of procreating with a un-infected human and what the offspring will look like.”

“WHAT?!” you scream, “Bryan have you lost your mind?!”

Completely ignoring your pleas, Bryan continues, “remember what we agreed on, Leon. You are not to infect her with the plaga until she gives birth. After that, you can do with her as you please.”

“I remember the agreement, you fucking prick,” Leon growls next to your ear before he licks your earlobe. 

“NO I DID NOT AGREE TO THIS BRYAN, YOU LET ME OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!” you continue to scream as you try to fight Leon off.

Leon, however, is much more powerful than you; he bites into your shoulder and makes short work of pinning you to the floor, his hands gripping your jeans and ripping them off you, leaving you with your pair of lace panties. You attempt to crawl across the floor towards Bryan, but Leon drags you back by your hips. Leon flips you over to face him, caging you with his body. He simply stares down at you, his smile wide. You watch as drool drips from his face onto your shirt, which he promptly rips apart to reveal your matching bra to him.

“Aren’t you just delicious to look at?” Leon says, licking his lips before locking his lips onto yours in a hungry kiss. 

To your horror, you’re returning his kiss, his hands grasping to both of your breasts. He pulls away after a couple minutes, sitting on his haunches as he pushes your legs apart, noting the dark spot that is now on your panties.

“Oh? You don’t want this? Then tell me why you’re so fucking wet, sweetheart?”

Leaning forward, he grabs your panties with his teeth, dragging them off you before tossing them aside. He then begins undoing the belt on his pants; before long he is pulling his hardening cock from his pants. He wastes no time climbing back on top of you, pushing himself inside you balls deep with ease. 

When the head of his cock kisses your cervix, your eyes roll into the back of your head as you let out a soft moan. Leon growls, thrusting into you with an insatiable ferocity, causing you to grip his arms, scratching into them with your nails. You felt like he was fucking you for an eternity when he let’s out another growl, pressing into you as deep as he could possibly go. You feel your cunt clamp around his cock, milking his cum into your body.

Leon stares back down at you, his eyes and grin wide as he laughs maniacally.

You wake up screaming, covered in sweat and tears streaming down your face. You take deep breaths, laying your hand on your chest to ground yourself.

It was just a nightmare.

Once you get yourself calm, you climb out of bed and go into the kitchen of your apartment, making yourself coffee and some toast for breakfast. Afterwards, you get ready for work and head out the door. On your way, you decide to stop at the pharmacy. Walking the aisles, you find the feminine hygiene products, grabbing an ovulation test off the shelf and paying for it. Once you get to HQ, you trap yourself into one of the bathroom stalls, taking the test and waiting for the results. You watch in horror as a little smiley face shows up on the little screen, confirming your hypothesis.

You collect yourself before briskly walking into Bryan’s office. You don’t knock, you simply push the door open aggressively, startling both Bryan and the researcher he’s meeting with, you think his name is Pierce.

“I am not going back down there, Bryan,” you say sternly. 

Pierce shifts uncomfortably in his seat before standing up to leave, “I’ll go check on the camera feed downstairs.”

You and Bryan stare at each other as the door swings shut. Bryan rubs his eyes.

“Not this again, I’m sorry but I need you to go down there, you’re still the only one Leon talks to. Is this about what happened yesterday? I assure you, we have taken extra precautions to ensure that doesn’t happen again.”

You stomp up to Bryan’s desk, slamming the positive ovulation test onto the desk. Bryan looks down at the test before looking at you and raising an eyebrow.

“The fuck is this?” he asks.

“I’m ovulating, this is why Leon keeps saying I smell good and wants to practically throw himself on me whenever I’m down there.”

“That’s absurd.”

“Can you think of a logical explanation, then? I’m all ears.”

“This is not up for debate, you are going to continue working with Leon; that’s an order!”

Suddenly, the lights go dim before red emergency lights come on followed by a loud, screeching alarm.

“What the hell?!” Bryan exclaims, looking around confused.

You’ve never heard this alarm during your entire time at D.S.O., you rack your brain around what it could mean when suddenly, Pierce bursts into the office.

“Pierce! What the hell is going on out there?!” Bryan asks.

“Kennedy’s escaped, sir!”

Leon opens his eyes and lifts his head, looking around his cell. Deep down he was seething in rage; he had gotten so close to getting out of this chair and having his way with you. Now, his chair had reinforced steel plating welded to it and they strapped a god damn muzzle onto his face. He could see he now had two men with guns guarding the door at all times. 

Fucking beautiful.

He tested the chains again, but found they had been tightened recently, angering him even more. He couldn’t stop thinking about you and hoped he would see you today. He hated the thought of you seeing him like this, but he desperately wanted to see you and inhale your sweet, sweet scent.

Out of nowhere, an excruciating pain jolts down Leon’s spine, causing him to cry out and writhe in his chair. His four canine teeth grow sharper, his fingers turning black and now taking on a claw-like appearance and a new, sharp appendage was peaking out of his lower back. The guards turned around to look at Leon. They immediately unlock the door and come into this cell to check on him. Leon stops writhing, slumping over in his chair, pretending to be passed out. One guard stays by the door, facing away from them while the other comes over to check on Leon, checking the chains to make sure they’re in place.

Unbeknownst to the guard closest to Leon, Leon’s new tail was extending from his back, coming around from behind the guard. It was very similar to a scorpion’s tail, but instead of a barb on the end, it looked like a blade. Within an instant, Leon’s tail wraps around the guard’s neck, snapping it instantly as four claw-like appendages burst from Leon’s back, breaking the chains holding his arms in place. Hearing the other guard fall to the floor the other guard turns around only to be faced with Leon, who is now up out of his chair and walking towards him, ripping the muzzle off his face, flashing a maniacal grin at the guard. The guard goes to shoot Leon but Leon is much faster, his tail whipping forward and impaling the man in the chest before flinging him aside. 

Leon strides out of his cell, looking down the hallway to see a pair of researchers coming down the hallway. Upon seeing Leon out of his cell, they start shouting at each other and turn to run in the opposite direction. Leon smiles, breaking into a sprint. He leaps, pinning one researcher to the ground with his body while his tail grabs the other by the waist, lifting him into the air.

“Where is she?!” Leon asks with a growl to the researcher he has pinned to the floor.

“Where’s who?!” the researcher stutters.

“Don’t play dumb with me! Where is she?!”

“Up-Upstairs! In Br-Bryan’s office!”

Leon’s mouth clamps down onto the researcher's neck, ripping out his throat as his tail squeezes the other until his spine snaps, falling to the floor as Leon lets him go. At that moment, all the lights dim before red emergency lights come on. Leon breaks back into a sprint to the elevator however, it was not working no matter how many buttons he pushed. He uses his tale to rip a hole into the ceiling, leaping up into it and climbing the elevator shaft. 

Once he reaches the top, he pries the elevator door open, swinging down, landing gracefully in the hallway. People are scrambling to get away from him, bumping and tripping over each other to run down the hallway. Leon’s red eyes scan the area, however, he sees no sign of you. More guards with guns show up, firing at him. His tale whips forward, deflecting their bullets with ease as he lunges forward. He impales one operative with his tail while his hand thrusts through the chest of another, gripping the man’s still beating heart in his claws before crushing it.

“Take her and get out of here!” he hears a man yell from down the hallway.

Leon’s attention is immediately drawn to the man that yelled, immediately recognizing him as Bryan. At one time, he liked the man, a brilliant scientist. Too bad he has to die. Leon watches as Bryan pulls out a pistol, firing shots at him. Again. Leon’s tail and back claws deflect the shots as he stands face to face with Bryan, his tail whipping around and decapitating the man with ease. He brings his tail’s blade to his lips, licking off the blood as he proceeds to walk down the hallway towards the entrance of HQ. 

A researcher is leading you out the front door, shoving you through the door with his back turned to Leon. He’s about to head out himself before Leon’s tail goes straight through his chest. Leon hears the man’s death gurgles as he flings him behind him, his body falling about 20 feet away with a loud thud. 

And there you are, cowering in the entry vestibule, your eyes locked on him, looking up and down his body. Leon straightens out his posture in hopes of making himself alluring to you, his tail whipping back and forth while his back claws flex. 

“Do you actually think you can escape me?” Leon coos, watching as you press your back as hard as you can into the glass doors as he comes closer.

“You never will, my love.” he continues with a grin, licking his sharp canines.

You stumble out of the door, bolting into the street and running as fast as you can to your car.

“I will find you.”

Part 3

[digital-domain]

hypothetically…

A fucked up mahito drabble (is there any other kind?)

Word Count: 1300

Synopsis: after you witness him killing for the first time, mahito reassures you in a way that makes you feel much, much worse.

“If I was gonna kill you…it wouldn’t be like that. It would be much more personal.”

Content Tags: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. DARK CONTENT. noncon. description of gore/dead body, blood, dacryphillia, hypothetical description of reader being murdered during sex (does not actually happen), fear kink, reader is scared out of her damn mind, biting (accompanied by more blood!), mahito implies that he would be down to fuck a corpse

When you see him kill for the first time, you break down into tears. You’re not sure what pushes you over the edge: the explosion of flesh and blood that spatters the floor of the sewer as you peer around the corner, or the gleeful smile that spreads wide across his face as he looks down at the remains of his work. When you follow his gaze, you can see chunks of skin, bone, sinew - the limbs are still intact, their tattered edges dripping with fresh blood, but the entire torso is blown to bits. You heard the screams moments ago…now, you regret following them.

It takes him a minute to notice you standing there. You know that you should take the opportunity to run back to the place where he left you, to pretend that you didn’t see, but your sheer horror pins you in place. When he does see you, he rushes to your side, and smushes your face between his hands to kiss you. His palms are wet - you don’t want to think about why. “Aww. You came to watch! How sweet.” When he notices your expression, he cocks his head. “There’s nothin’ to cry about, cutie. I’m just having fun.”

You sniff, and do your best to wipe your tears away. “Most people wouldn’t call that fun.”

“Not a person, sweetheart,” he reminds you. He hasn’t stopped smiling for a second, and his grin broadens as he stares down at your face. “You’ve got fear in your eyes…it’s lovely. And so strong that I can smell it on you, too.” He inhales deeply, and his tongue darts over his lips. “You really that scared?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?” His eyes stretch unnaturally wide, glowing in the dim light. “Why?”

Your hands shake, a black haze encroaching on the corners of your vision. “I don’t know…”

“That’s a lie!” He jabs a finger between your eyes, and pouts. “I don’t like it when you lie to me. You know that.”

There’s a good reason for you to keep your thoughts to yourself. He’ll find them entertaining…and that’s never a good thing. But if he already knows that you’re not being honest, it’s safer to tell him now. Before he decides that he needs to force the truth out of you. “I’m scared because…if you did that to them…” You shudder, and choke back a sob. “How do I know you won’t do it to me?”

“Ohhh.” He laughs, and slings his arm around your waist, kissing you gently on the top of your head. “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You know better than to feel completely relieved. But for the moment, you think you’re safe - until he opens his mouth again.

“If I was gonna kill you…” he muses. “It wouldn’t be like that. It would be much more personal.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. You feel weak at the knees - he follows you as you sink to the ground and takes a seat against the wall, spreading his legs and dragging you between them, pressing your back against his chest. He wraps his arms tightly around your waist, and rests his head on your shoulder. “You’re such a pretty, pretty thing…” he murmurs. “You deserve a very special death.” His tongue slides up your neck, breath hot and dank against your bare skin. “I like you alive, for now. But hypothetically…if I did decide to kill you…” He squeezes you, hard, forcing the air from your lungs. “Yeah. I know exactly what I’d do.”

You stiffen in his arms, every one of your senses painfully sharp. Almost as sharp as the fingernails digging into your sides.

“I’d fuck you before I did it,” he declares, his voice bristling with excitement. “I’d put you on your back so I could see your face. I’d put my hand around your neck, and at the moment you came…” He pauses. “Hmm. Would you prefer me to strangle you, or slit your throat?”

Fuck. You knew he was deranged…but this is worse than anything he’s said to you before. Magnitudes worse. An unintelligible whimper is the only response you can manage.

“If you don’t have a preference, I think I’d prefer slicing you open. I like blood.” He grabs your jaw, wrenches your face towards him, stares intently into your fear-stricken eyes. “Not too much blood, though. I’d be gentle with you. Much gentler than I was with him.”

You follow the line of his hand to the mutilated corpse lying just feet away. You can smell it, the stink of blood and guts and death worming its way into your throat, churning the bile in the depths of your stomach.

“I’d be so sweet…I’d only rip you as much as I had to.” He turns you around and pulls you close, smiling as a fresh wave of tears streams down your face. “So pretty,” he hums. “I’d want you to still be pretty when you died, so I’d be very careful.” You try to hide your face, but his hand latches onto your jaw, freezing you in place as he kisses you roughly on the lips. His other hand plunges between your legs, and clamps down on your inner thigh. “Don’t worry,” he assures you. “I’m not gonna do it now. Maybe not ever.”

Maybe. He’s so casual about it - about holding your life in his hands.

Without warning, he shoves you onto your back, wriggling on top of you and trapping you against the floor before you can push him away. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, and sinks his teeth into your neck, only pulling back once he breaks your skin - after watching your blood trickle out for a few seconds, he darts forward and laps it up, sticking out his tongue to show you the red stain before he kisses you again, leaving a rancid, metallic taste in your mouth.

He guides your hand under his body, pressing it between his legs. He’s hard. As desperately as you try to escape, he won’t let go of your wrist - he makes you touch him, grinding shamelessly against your unwilling hand.

His face hovers over yours, so close that you’re compelled to cross your eyes. “I learned something interesting the other day,” he whispers. “Can I tell it to you?”

He wants you to say yes - but you can’t bring yourself to speak. It’s all you can do to nod your head. You can feel your pulse thudding desperately in your ears, and in your palm.

“I learned,” he says, “that bodies stay nice and warm for at least ten minutes after they die. Especially on the inside.” He giggles. “I guess it takes a long time for all those squishy guts to dry out.”

You squirm instinctively, repulsed by the image that flashes through your head.

“You know what that means, right?”

“No…”

He grins terribly, and presses his lips to you ear. “It means,” he whispers, “that even if I did kill you…even after you went limp in my arms…I’d still have a little more time.”

Your mouth falls open, emitting a gasp that only makes him press harder into your hand.

“Shhh.” He presses his nose into your shoulder, his cheek rubbing against the fresh wound still leaking blood down your neck. “I told you…I’m not gonna do it today.” He raises his face as you thrash beneath him, watching your eyelids flicker, your face contorted with fear. “If I did…I wouldn’t get to hear all the pretty sounds you’re about to make.”

[hellishjoel]

scream queen

6.6k / pairing: ghostface!joel miller x f!reader

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summary: A stalker outside your window at night forces you to beg for your life in more ways than one. You do what it takes because you're a survivor. And you kind of like the mask on. A/N: please heed these warnings, as they can be triggering for some individuals. No one is forcing you to read this, and if it sounds unappealing, please keep scrolling. This is far different from what I usually post, but I’m feeling spooky and have rewatched the entire Scream franchise in 72 hours. Indented chat means ghostface’s voice changer is on. Thank you to Emmie @hyzer34 for the FREAKING AMAZING ghostface!joel edits! 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), horror, dark ghostface!joel, dubious consent (dubcon via manipulation/guilt/survival), reader has a boyfriend (what a drag) so I guess cheating/infidelity, swearing, taunting/stalker behavior, masked anonymous individual, strip show to save a life, male masturbation, threat of violence/death, begging for life, manhandling, spanking, rough oral (face fucking)(m!receiving), pet names, praise kink, degradation kink, clit smacking (?), life-threatening knifeplay, unprotected sex (p in v), the mask stays on ladies, plot twist ending? very barely edited heads-up

You gasp shakily as his hand carefully caresses your tit, thumb featherlight over your nipple, before he cups and lightly squeezes your juicy flesh.�� You swallow down a lump and cower before him. You’re afraid for when he goes lower what he might find, how your slick is dampening your thighs, and your clit is pulsating for him. You need him. It’s sick, gross, disgusting, but you need him.  “Please, Mr.,” you trail off, unsure of what to call him.  “Ghostface.” He aids, and you quickly nod as your lips part. Your worst fear is coming true as his calloused hand and rough fingertips guide themselves further down the soft skin of your stomach and to your panties.  “Please, Mr. Ghostface, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” You can’t help but feel tears welling in your eyes once more.  The masked man sighs and slowly shakes his head in shame.  “I don’t think it’s about what I want to do to you. But what you want me to do to you.”

It was a quiet fall evening. You sat on your boyfriend’s couch, ankles crossed along the extent of the cushions as you leafed through what was available on different streaming services. You wanted something spooky for Halloween but not something that would over-excite your imagination while alone. You’re wearing the same thing he left you in, red panties and an oversized black tee you had snagged from his closet. 

You figure your boyfriend should be home soon, so you start a bag of popcorn in the microwave. You sit up on the counter and kick your feet gently against the cabinets as you watch the time tick down, listening to each pop as it slowly rattles up its pace. 

Your phone’s ring catches your attention back in the living room. You assume it’s your boyfriend as you hop off the counter and swipe it from the arm of the chair. 

Unknown Caller

With a roll of your eyes, your tongue rutting out against your cheek, you deny the call. Probably a wrong number or an asshole troll since Halloween was nearing. You’re about to turn back to the kitchen, hearing the popcorn bag rattling with intensity when your phone goes off again. 

Stopped in your tracks, you watch your phone buzz with uncertainty as the screen flashes with the Unknown Caller tag once more. 

All of a sudden, the air is tight in your lungs, and your body is riddled with goosebumps. Now you were annoyed. You slid across the call button and pushed the phone to your ear. 

“You have the wrong number. Stop fucking calling me.”  You jam the blaring red end call button before huffing and returning to your popcorn. 

The timer slowly counts down, but each pop from the bag makes you jump. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… 

Your body jolts as you hear something pound against the windows, throwing yourself back against the counter with wide eyes. 

“What the fuck!” You gasp as you rotate your head, searching from open window to open window where the banging was coming from. But there was nothing. No one. Your heart rate is slowly increasing, you can feel it jumping in your wrist and your neck.

Your feet quickly skid across the room, locking the house’s back door before running back towards the front entrance, flicking the lock in place. Even if it was nothing, at least you were safe. 

Standing still in the entryway, you observed the home to be dead quiet. Your fears were still nesting on your shoulders, that you weren’t alone. 

Your phone rings again, causing you to jump from the silence you had grown used to. With a distasteful grimace, you glance around as you walk towards your phone. You accept the call with hesitancy.  

“Who is this?” You ask, already maneuvering around the house and shutting all the curtains and blinds in your wake. “Whoever the hell you are, just stop fucking calling me.”  You try not to let the panic that’s sitting in your throat be exposed over the phone. Whoever has called you hasn’t spoken yet. 

“Hello?” You ask, pausing in the kitchen as you finish your rounds around the first floor. 

“Now that is how you answer a phone call.” The voice isn’t familiar, it’s almost… animatronic? It didn’t sound like a person, but the languidness of their voice was all too human. It was low, primal. 

Now, you’ve seen these movies before, you weren’t an idiot, and you weren’t going to be one tonight. 

“What are you going to ask me? What’s my favorite scary movie?” You taunt, yanking the microwave door open and retrieving the piping hot bag of popcorn from inside, sucking in a harsh breath as your fingertips branded red from the heat. 

The voice on the line laughs. It’s almost sinister, not at all comforting. You’re not even sure why you’re entertaining this jackass who’s calling you when all they’ve done so far is giggle at your expense. 

“How did you even get this number, you fucking troll?” You probe, frowning as you squeeze your phone between your cheek and shoulder as you pry open the popcorn bag. Of course, it bursts, sending a few pieces scattered around the kitchen. You simply roll your eyes and sigh at the inconvenience. 

“Why don’t you be a good girl and clean up the mess you made?” 

You squat down to pick up the kernels you dropped, only realizing the extent of what the voice said a moment later. Your eyes widen, and your chest surges with panic. You look around, but all the windows are closed and covered. Was that just a lucky guess, or is someone watching you? 

Out of instinct, you reach for the knife block on the kitchen counter and yank out the biggest one. The blade gleams silver in the light, and you realize how exposed you are. 

You set down the knife on the counter and quickly move around the house, shutting off the lights and concealing you in a dim darkness. 

“What happened to the show? Why did the curtain close?” The low, sinister voice asks, and you whimper quietly in your hand to conceal your fear. “I liked watching you walk around,” he pauses, and all you can hear is your heart pounding, “in those red little panties.” 

You hate to admit that this flicks a nasty switch in you, chased and taunted, talked down to by an unknown figure. As much as you’re scared, a small churning begins low in your tummy, and you clench your thighs tighter together. 

With a shaky breath, you nibble on your lower lip and slowly move towards the front windows. You slowly peek them open, seeing nothing but your reflection and darkness. 

“Can you see me?” You ask nervously, licking at your lower lip. 

“Ahhh, there she is.” The voice praises, forcing you to swallow a lump down your throat. “Push those curtains open all the way. Want to see all of you.” You shiver, and the pooling in your panties only becomes more urgent. Someone’s watching you, and they like what they see. 

Following the anonymous caller’s instructions, you slowly push open the curtains, your body backlist by a dim light still on in the kitchen. The voice hums in appreciation. 

You blame it on your state of panic for not thinking clearly or logically for that manner. This creep wanted you, you could hear the slight desperation clinging to their voice. 

“Promise me you won’t fuckin’ harm me, and I-I’ll put on a show for you. Isn’t that what you want? You said you liked my panties.” You breathily point out, opting to put the phone on speakerphone and setting it down on the bench in front of the now curtain-drawn windows. 

The voice on the other line hums, pondering your offer. A shiver rolls over your spine as you subconsciously cross your arms in front of your body, scared and nerve-wracked. 

“You have a gorgeous body. Let me see it. All of it.” The voice echoes within the quiet home, and you blink back the fear that is resting heavily on your chest. You take in a shaky breath and do as you are told. 

Your hands go to the hem of your top, about to lazily toss it off when you are tsk tsk-ed at. You frown and quickly pull the t-shirt back down. 

“Not like that!” The voice barks, angry and condescending, making you whimper. The voice pauses and takes a breath. “Slower.” 

“Slower..” you whisper back, hearing the voice hum. You still couldn’t see outside, merely darkness and your reflection. You were fucking terrified, but if this was what they wanted, just maybe they’d let you be. 

You try again. Your hands slowly start at the sides of your neck, pretty and dainty fingers cascading down to your clavicle. You push one hand into the hair at the back of your neck, lightly ruffling the strands while the other skims lower to more dangerous territory. 

The heel of your palm skirts down the front of your shirt until your fingers flitter over the hem of your panties. 

It feels stupid what you’re doing, but it makes you feel alive. Your heart has never beat faster. You’ve never turned on a complete stranger, stalker, even. You were in control of the show here. 

You’re not exactly sure what to look at in the window, so you admire the reflection. You hum sweetly as you hook your thumbs into the tops of your panties. You loop them around, from front to back, stopping at the sides and lightly pushing down to show glimpses of your hips. 

The breathing on the other end shuffles. It almost makes you stop. 

“This turn you on?” You ask. “Does this make you have your hand around your cock?” You ask into the phone, smiling lightly as you turn around, lifting up the shirt from covering your ass, giving them a peek-a-boo of you from the back. 

The evil voice echoes a laugh. “How did you know?” 

Being correct makes you all the more turned on. “How could you not?” 

I mean, look at you. You looked gorgeous and confident, silhouetted by the light, awed by a strange man. You can hear them jerking it on the line, murmuring little grunts to try and not get ahead of themselves. The show had just begun. 

With your back turned to the window still, you cross your arms over your threshold, retrieve your shirt, and lift it up and off of you. Your hair cascades and dances around your back and shoulders. You felt bare, cold. Part of you wished they would come inside and warm you up. 

You peer over your shoulder, hearing the approving grunt on speakerphone. You bit on your thumbnail, looking through the glass with big doe eyes. 

“You’re not so innocent, pretty girl. Let me see you.” 

Now, with your body to show, you felt a bit more nervous. Your fingertips twitched, and you felt shaky on your legs. You did as the voice asked, turning to face the window. Your arms are crossed, covering your bare breasts meekly. 

That’s when you see him. A masked man standing a fair distance away out your window. It quickens your pulse and surges you with adrenaline. 

Yet you don’t run. You don’t hide. 

Your eyes flitter down to their hand shuffling up and down the extent of their cock. The sight alone, even in the dark, being able to see his impressive length was enough to make you let out a needy whimper.

“I-I don’t know about this,” you whimper, your head falling a bit shamefully. It’s like your head caught up with your foolish actions. 

“I’m warning you. Put down your fucking arms.” 

You let out a shaky breath and wince at the voice, tears simmering on your waterline. You put yourself in this position, you can’t believe you thought this would work. 

You slowly drop your hands to your sides, exposing your breasts. And how embarrassing they were, taut and at peaks. They were flush with color, begging for attention. You interlocked your fingers behind your back and chewed on your bottom lip, shyly looking down at the floor as you clamped your thighs tightly together. 

“You’re a real beautiful girl,” the voice grunted, flattering you with attention. “Why don’t you let me in.” 

The demand didn’t frighten you like maybe it should have. Frankly, you were turned on to the point where it nearly hurt. You didn’t know who this mystery person was or what their intentions were, but they were getting off to seeing you exposed, scared, and alone. 

“Come on,” the voice continues. You hear shuffling, and when you look up, the masked man outside your window is gone. You move closer and peer outside, but it’s quiet. Empty. 

“Let me take care of you, sweet girl.” 

Breaths fans out hastily from your nostrils, panicked as you looked around slowly from the front entrance to the back. 

The doorbell rings, and it makes you jump nonetheless. 

You bite down on your bottom lip as you retrieve your phone and slowly cross to the door in just your socks and underwear. Your forearm covers your breasts. Your hand rests on the handle, but you have a hard time willing yourself to open it. 

The doorbell rings again, another jump through your bones, but this time, it implores you to swing the door open. And there he was. 

He was tall, you had to crane your neck to look up. Your lips part, doe eyes taking in how close he is, stepping back in shock at his appearance. Broad shoulders cloaked by a black hooded robe. It was tattered, lined with rips and tears at the seams that draped from his arms. He also wore large, black, combat boots. The scariest thing of all was the mask. It was white with black eyes and a sloped open black mouth. 

Whoever was behind the mask was fit. Their toned body could be discovered even behind the robust black robe. He wore black gloves, too. You don’t realize that as you’re taking him in, the protective arm you had concealing your breasts has since lowered. 

“Scary night to be alone, isn’t it?” The voice is still animatronic as the masked man’s head tilts and observes you through the black cloth eye holes. 

You nod your head, its pace quick. 

“Invite me in. Don’t want you to catch a chill.” 

It was disturbing to admit how stupid you felt letting this freakshow stalker into your boyfriend’s home, but in a really weird and taboo way, you found the anonymity of the man attractive. You saw his cock while he stood outside, his large hand stroking over himself at the sight of your body. You figure he must have put the gloves back on once he wanted to come inside. 

As if he could read your mind, the masked man stepped inside with his tall stature looming over yours. He slowly plucked off one of his gloves, and you see his flesh. 

You watch him carefully as he brings his hand to cup your cheek. You flinch at first, but there is truly nothing to be frightened of. He strokes away a dry, panicked tear from earlier. You can’t help but let out a shaky, wavering whimper. He touches you with such delicacy but hides behind a mask that scares you to your core. 

“Just as I thought,” His animatronic voice echoed, his hand dropping to your hair that fell around your face and sweeping it behind your shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

Your hair was no longer concealing your breasts. You gasp shakily as his hand carefully caresses your tit, thumb featherlight over your nipple, before he cups and lightly squeezes your juicy flesh. 

You swallow down a lump and cower before him. You’re afraid for when he goes lower what he might find, how your slick is dampening your thighs, and your clit is pulsating for him. You need him. It’s sick, gross, disgusting, but you need him. 

“Please, Mr.,” you trail off, unsure of what to call him. 

“Ghostface.” He aids, and you quickly nod as your lips part. Your worst fear is coming true as his calloused hand and rough fingertips guide themselves further down the soft skin of your stomach and to your panties. 

“Please, Mr. Ghostface, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.” You can’t help but feel tears welling in your eyes once more. 

The masked man sighs and slowly shakes his head in shame. 

“I don’t think it’s about what I want to do to you. But what you want me to do to you.” He aggressively cups your sex, feeling his fingers squish with the soaked material of your red panties. You whimper and clutch his arm, biting back whimpery moans that you’re so desperate to let out. You were secretly begging to be touched. Your thighs clamp around the man’s hand. 

He deviously chuckles. “This is all for me, sweet girl?” 

The man walks you backward until your back is flushed to the wall. You’re still holding his arm in place between your thighs. His fingers add pressure to your bundle of nerves. You lightly grind your hips down into his fingers and let out an embarrassed little moan. 

“Y-Yes.” Admitting in defeat made your stomach churn. “But I want to hear your voice.” You whisper, unsure if you can even make demands in your position right now. 

Ghostface sighs weakly but plucks something out from under his mask. It looks sort of like a smaller walkie-talkie. It was a voice changer. Your eyes flitter to the eyes of his mask. It was black, empty. Finally, you would hear his true voice, and you prayed it was as sexy as he looked. 

“Is this what you wanted to hear, darlin’?” 

You lightly gasp at the southern drawl, deep and guttural, musk-filled and leaving you in a tailspin. His voice was hot, causing a pool of your white-hot heat to leak once more into your panties. You finally nod to his question and let your hands skim across the man’s front. He was toned, like you imagined, with hardened plains and a toughened, thick torso under his black cloak. 

“You’re comin’ with me.” The voice growls. He leans down and scoops you up, throwing you over his shoulder as you gasp and whimper, feeling him trail you up the stairs. His black combat boots echo loudly through the stairwell. He’s so strong. How he knows the layout of the house scares you and implores you. It’s like he knows you, and you may know him. 

He takes you to the master bedroom, the one you share with your boyfriend. Fuck, your boyfriend. A naughty sin to cheat, a naughty sin to like it. It’s hard to picture him right now with the man above you captivating your full attention. 

Your breasts jiggle when he throws you back onto the mattress. You scramble further up it, putting a safe distance between you and Ghostface. He grips you at your ankles and pulls you to him in an eager yank. A cry escapes your throat, but it’s just because you’re nervous. You saw how big he was in his hand outside, and now, soon, you’d hope he would be inside of you. 

“Please,” you whimper, and Ghostface tilts his head. “I-I..” you trail off and shake your head, embarrassment and shame pumping through your veins. 

“You, what? Spit it out, pretty girl.” The voice says as he slowly takes off the hooded robe. He wears black pants and a black t-shirt under it but keeps the mask on. You like the mask on. 

“I… I need you, Mr. Ghostface, please,” you whimper. Since he pulled you by your ankles back to the edge of the bed, your centers lightly graze one another. You make it a point to grind your hips eagerly into his, smearing the front of his pants with your slick. 

The masked man hums in appreciation. You feel his hardened length concealed by his pants. Whimpers leave your mouth as you sit up and reach forward, unbuttoning the black pants with shaky hands. You unzip him and yank him free of his confines. You nearly freeze at his length, prominent veins lining up and down his cock from his pink tip to his swollen balls. 

“You wanna live tonight, baby girl?” The low southern voice asks. You quickly nod, big, desperate eyes wanting to fill his every carnal need. 

“Then get on your fucking knees, m’gonna fuck your throat.” 

He’s aggressive as he pulls you down onto the floor by your hair. You scream out of instinct, but the heat on your scalp brings needy relief. 

You quickly scramble properly to your knees and shuffle your hand over him. One hand isn’t enough, so you add your second. He’s so large and girthy. Fucking your mouth would hurt so good. You hope you’re a slobbering mess for him once he’s done with you. 

“Did I say your hands?” You frown and slowly stop, shaking your head. “I said your throat, want your fucking throat, you little slut.” 

You whimper and force yourself to put your hands behind your back, your breasts perking out more as you spit over him, watching it glide down his shaft and spill onto your shaking thighs. You lick your lips and wrap your mouth around his sensitive tip. 

The masked man seethes through his teeth. He takes off both gloves and knots his fingers into your hair. You’re intimidated by his size, anyone would be, so you try to relax your throat and let him sink further and further in. 

Your eyes go wide as he rams himself down your throat impatiently. Your hands instinctively fly up to his thighs, smacking at them and clutching desperately, trying to explain with a lack of words that you’re choking on him. You cry out, but his cock muffles you. 

“M’not a patient man, I’m warning you now.” 

You clench your teary eyes closed and sniffle, trying your best to swallow around him and breathe through your nose. Your black mascara tears turns him on, and he twitches in your mouth. 

With a shaky breath, you try again. You have to start slow at first, but you remember how impatient he is. You slick his cock with your spit, trying to work up his shaft inch by inch. 

“Open your mouth up, nice and wide for me.” The sight of his mask makes you twitch, but you do as he says and drop your jaw for him. You even go as far as to stick out your tongue for him. 

“Wow,” he admires, as both of his hands wind up into your hair and carve out sections of your hair to create ponytails in his fists. “Such a good girl f’me.” 

His praise makes you purr, bringing your hands up to your front as you massage over the squishy flesh of your tits. 

You let out a low mewl as he stuffs your mouth again, stuffing your face with his cock. It takes a few moments, but you gradually learn how to accommodate him. He hits the back of your throat repeatedly, and he likes it when you choke around him. You try to see him through your teary eyes, whimpering around his cock. 

The masked man’s grip on your hair tightens as he pulls you into his cock and holds you there, balls flushed to your mouth as they smack against your chin. He groans, long and low, holding you down as his cock suffocates your throat. You swallow around him, tasting drops of precum, whimpering around him as you struggle to breathe. Despite it causing you to choke even more around him, you stick out as much of your tongue as you can and teasingly lick at his balls. 

He sucks in harshly through his teeth and moans, gripping the ponytails even tighter, making your scalp sear in pain. But it was all worth it because he was so goddamn big in your throat. You hoped he would split your pussy. 

With a harsh yank, the masked man rips you from his cock. You instantly cough and gag, trying to swallow around the excessive puddles of saliva grouping in the back of your throat and now dripping out of your mouth. You looked like a disgusting mess.

You plant your hands on the floor and drop your head, looking like a dog as you shakily regain your breathing. You slowly look up, seeing his hardened cock slap up against his toned stomach, dripping with your slobber. 

You meekly wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and stand up, your legs shaking beneath you. With as much courage as you can muster, you reach for Ghostface’s hand and slowly pull it to your center as you sit on the edge of the bed. 

“Please,” you beg in a meek whisper, swallowing the messy amount of existing saliva and precum down your throat as you blink through black, mucky, mascara tears. Your eyes flutter as his long, meaty fingers slowly circle around your clit through your panties. It’s jaw-dropping, stomach-fluttering madness. It’s like he knows you like the back of your hand. “Please, fuck me.” You whisper desperately, pulling him slowly towards the direction of the bed. Towards you. 

You don’t feel any more safe with him, but you like the excitement of feeling on the fence. Would he be rough or gentle with you? Call you his sweet girl or his little slut? The edging of unsureness and torrid manipulation has forced white hot heat to pool into your core, and you sure as hell spoiled these red panties enough. 

The masked man drops his gaze to your mound. His hands reach up to the sides of your hips. 

It’s slow and desperate at first, he almost fools you. Ghostface weakly chuckles before he begins to rip the measly material from your lower half. You yelp out as it causes your body to get tugged around. Your panties are now a mess of threads on the floor. You whimper desperately, clamping your thighs closed on instinct despite wanting the opposite. 

Ghostface grabs your ankles and forcibly parts your legs, turning his head slowly as he watches your glistening core. 

“Y-You could have a taste, y’know, if you take off the mask.” You offer, your heart pounding in your chest. You loosely hook your leg around his hip and pull him closer. Ghostface plants his hands on either side of your head, hovering over you as his heavy breath puffs through the mask. 

Ghostface pulls one hand away to his side and shucks something off his belt. You gasp and flinch your eyes closed as a large knife glimmers in the moon’s light. 

“You think I’m going to show you my face, you stupid bitch? Huh?” He taunts you, wielding the knife closer and closer to your throat as you cry out, but clamp your legs tighter around his waist and pull your centers together. You can feel his fat cock sliding up and down your exposed folds. You’re so needy, and it’s repulsive. 

He sickeningly laughs, jutting the tip of his knife against the underside of your chin. It hurts, it stings, and you hope it leaves a mark from him so you can look at it later when you replay this night in your mind. You hope he spares you so you can think endlessly about him. 

“I-I want you to keep the mask on.” You purr nervously, your hand drifting down your stomach towards your exposed mound. 

Ghostface chuckles, low and demonic. “You want me to fuck you with the mask on?”  He asks slowly, trilled with curiosity. 

It fills you with a pit of guilt and shame in your stomach. But you slowly nod. You were willing to risk everything, your boyfriend, your safety, your life, just to ensure this man filled you to the brim like you know he could. 

“Please do. Fuck me, Mr. Ghostface.” You beg. Though you can’t see, you imagine him smirking behind his mask, looking at you with a sense of intrigue and disgust. How could you be so twisted? 

“My pleasure.” He says goadingly, ripping the hold you had on the sheets and yanking you closer to the edge of the bed. You cry out as he forcibly spreads your legs with his body and slaps his cock against your aching center. You’re so sensitive from waiting, you needed to have him this very second. 

A smirk twitched on your lips, but you forced yourself to bite it down, shakily moaning as Ghostface tucks away his knife and wraps his large hand around his cock, lining up his tip to your dripping center. You flinch every time he purposely flicks your anxious bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, your hand clutching his bicep greedily. “Please, need to feel you inside of me.” You whimper. 

Ghostface reaches up and smears his hand down your face, your cheeks smudged with your mucky tears as you whine like a little brat. For your insolence, he strikes you across the face before nastily grabbing you by your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. 

“Bein’ a real fuckin’ brat for a stranger’s dick, such a fucking hungry cock slut, aren’t you?” He degraded you to your very core, soiling his cock in your gushing slick. You were pretty sure that if he even just breathed over your mound, you would come. 

Ghostface enjoys your desperate whimpers for his dick. He’s more than happy to deliver. He angles his tip to your entrance and notches himself inside. Your gasp surges his adrenaline as he parts you egregiously. 

You hook your hands on the underside of your legs, keeping yourself wide and spread for the masked man above you. Inch by inch, you feel your head lose focus, your mind floating as you see stars that consume your vision. 

The moans you give him are heavenly, he thinks he’s never heard a more beautiful thing. He’s a sadist watching you take his cock, knowing it hurts, knowing you’re forcing yourself open for him, knowing how much you’re drunk off it. He just can’t help himself to wait. 

Air is knocked from your lungs when Ghostface decides he’s, again, not a patient man. He fucks the last few inches into you and hard, pushing you to your limits and filling you to the brim. 

Your head is thrown back as you scream in shock, never having been fucked by someone who feels so good. You sob as your walls flutter around him, attempting to accommodate the size in such a short amount of time.

“Yes! Jesus Christ- Fuck!” You moan out, to which Ghostface chuckles lowly. 

“Take me so well,” he’s trying to breathe through being squeezed so tightly by your walls, even he finds it difficult. “Such a pretty girl, just needs to be fucked to keep her- shit - her goddamn mouth shut.” The man growls behind the mask and starts to fuck you at an earth-shattering pace. 

You cry out in shock, gripping Ghostface at his biceps and whimpering at how strong he is. He pulls himself nearly all the way out of you before he flushes his hips right back to you, slapping your ass cheeks with his clothed thighs. That’s when he really begins to rail you. 

You see stars, still adjusting to his size, your slick pooling around him with excitement. You hazily smile, fucked dumb by a stranger, filled to the brim as you stare at the ceiling. Your visions jumps up and down as Ghostface pounds you senselessly. The bedframe rattles and the legs skirt against the hardwood floors. 

Impatient whines from you fill the room as he pulls himself from your pussy, moaning out for him needily. He manhandles you, grabbing your hips forcefully and flipping you over onto your stomach. 

“Ass up, let’s go.” He commands. 

You were still in a funk, head wiped empty of any palpable information. You whimpered as you tried to move but at the pace of a snail. 

His impatient hands grip you tightly at your hips, forcing a broken yelp from your throat as he pulls you up to bend over, shoving your face into the mattress and angling your ass up for him to use. 

“Yes, please use me,” you whimper desperately, reaching your hands back and parting your ass cheeks for him. “Finish inside me, use me as your cum dumpster.” Where was this language coming from?! This wasn’t you, you didn’t sound or look like you. He was turning you into someone new, someone satisfied by his anonymity. You’d never know who was fucking you senseless, and it might drive you mad until you find out, if you ever will, that is. 

Your thoughts are squashed from your mind as a harsh slap followed by a greedy grip is splayed across your ass. A yelp is pulled from your throat, instincts telling you to flinch away and protect yourself. 

“Ah-ah,” the man teases, his angry fingers creating bruises on your hips as he pulls you back to the edge of the bed to be his little sex servant. “Good girls take what they are given, so take it,” Ghostface says as he smacks your other cheek, reddening them both, jiggling the flesh much to his appeal. 

His large palms seared his prints into your ass, gripping your ass and pulling you to his cock. He lines himself up, and you take him again. 

You don’t understand unless it’s happening to you, how it feels like you’re floating in space, fucked numb but also feeling like you’re on pins and needles. It’s indescribable to enjoy being fucked by a stranger, but it’s happening, and it’s happening to you. 

He penetrates you, parting your walls, making himself a home inside you. You squeeze around him, and he moans. It satisfies you so intensely.   

“Beg for me,” he mutters through the mask, grunting with each thrust. He must be close.

“P-Please, keep fucking me so good, please Mr. Ghostface-”

“No!” He strikes your pretty ass again, hard, and your warm flesh singes with heat. You whimper, imagining how red, angry, and large his handprint looks stamped on your ass. 

“Want you to beg... for your life.” His voice had turned as cold as stone, ridged with a sadist tone that left goosebumps bubbling on the surface of your skin. A scared feeling sunk into the pit of your stomach. You swallowed a lump down your throat and shyly peeked around your shoulder to take him in. 

“P-Please… I want to live,” you whimper, your hands fisting the sheets as Ghostface slowly picks back up the paces of his thrusts. He’s turned on by this. 

“Oh my- please, I know you d-don’t know me, but I’m good, l-look how good I’m being for you,” you begin to cry as he fucks you harder, your ass clapping aggressively against his thighs and the grip he has on your hips intensifies. 

He loves fucking you until you cry. Such a sadist. 

Ghostface gives a few last gut-twisting thrusts, and his tip kisses your cervix repeatedly. He’s so large you can feel him in your tummy. His hand reaches around your hip, and the other stays gripping your ass while he spanks your clit lightly with his fingers. 

“Fuck!” You cry out, beginning to throw your ass back into him, creating your own unique rhythm together. You’re so sensitive, and you’re coming before you can even fully register it. 

“Mr. Ghostface, please,” you whimper. “I-I’m coming so fu-ucking hard,” you mewl for him, your thighs twitching along with your walls that squeeze around him, begging to milk him for his seed. 

Ghostface’s thick and angry cock twitches inside of you, desperate to fill your needy hole with his sperm. He grunts and pants into the mask, filling his own body with a heat that makes him sweat. He pounds himself into you until you’re flattened against the mattress, begging for release, begging to live. 

There’s something about your obedience that he gives into, his cock twitching deep inside the warm comfort of your walls and between your beautiful ass cheeks. He pulls out and pants, handling his cock as he paints your ass white. 

The warm droplets of come make you twitch, but it’s so hot to be painted white by the man who praised you and degraded you all night long. 

You’re a heap of nothing strewn about the mattress. You can’t seem to calm your shaky breath. You lay there limp, unable to move, unable to think. All you can think about is the man behind the mask and how irate and perverted he is. And how much you fell into his trap. 

Shame twisted your guts enough, forcing you to get up and turn around and face your stalker. But when you turned back, he was gone. How long were you not paying attention? 

You quickly retrieved your robe, forcing yourself to walk despite your legs feeling like liquid gelatin. Checking room to room, you survey your boyfriend's home and are left empty-handed. It’s like he was never here. 

From the top of the stairs, you hear the door open and close.

“Honey?” Your heart sinks, hearing your boyfriend kick off his shoes on the mat. 

Rushing down the stairs, you collapse into his arms and cry out of guilt. You tell him everything. Everything besides the show in front of the windows and getting fucked by Ghostface in his own bed. There’s more to leave out than to leave in, but the short story is that you were taunted over the phone by a masked man, scared to death, and begged for your life. 

His first reaction was to call the police, and despite how much you hesitated, you let him. Two nice offers responded to the call. They sat you two down separately and asked you what had happened. You were wrapped in a blanket and your robe, shaking in disappointment. 

It was scary, lying to the cops, withholding all of the truth. Making sure not to overshare any details. You also didn’t want to give away that you liked it. To the bone, you liked it. 

You were hunted like prey tonight, used, fucked hard until you couldn’t breathe. Left in the dark, feeling a little crazy if it even happened in the first place. But you could feel him still inside of you, stretched and still leaking between your thighs. You tugged your robe tighter, smiling weakly at the officer as he closed his notebook. 

“We’ll figure out what we can ma’am. For now, keep everything locked up. I wouldn’t leave the house alone.” You wipe away the mucky mascara on your cheeks and sigh, nodding as you walk with the officer to the door. 

His badge read J. Miller. He was older, stippled with grey hair within his dark curly locks. He had an aquiline nose and plumish-rose lips. His broad chest strikes something somewhat familiar to you. He glances behind you at the officer who is still asking your boyfriend a few questions. 

Officer Miller sighed, looking over the door frame curiously. 

“Said you locked the doors?”

You hesitate but nod compliantly. 

His pointer finger shapes over the lock, then the entry metal hinge. “No forced entry.” He notes, looking at you curiously. 

You evade his eye contact and conceal yourself tighter in your blanket and robe. “I.. I don’t know how he got in.” Your eyes find the floor, planting themselves there as you stare at Officer Miller’s familiar black police boots. 

He hums curiously, looking over you slowly. 

“You’re tellin’ me everythin’ that happen to you tonight?” 

Your doe eyes go wide, your head snapping up to Officer Miller’s. “I-I promise, please, Officer Miller-” 

He holds up a hand to cut you off, and you weakly stand there with your lips parted. Then he starts to nod and slowly smile. “That’s a good girl.” 

It strikes you like a bolt of lightning, fear and curiosity consume you. You hear footsteps behind you, the other officer, and your boyfriend, who collects his arm around your shoulders. 

Officer Miller watches you with a glint of intrigue but nothing more. His eyes shift to your boyfriend’s arm protectively wrapped around you. It makes him twitch up a stomach-twisting smile before he turns to his fellow officer. 

“Got everything you need?” Officer Miller asks, tucking his thumbs into the front of his belt while he observes the other officer’s notepad. The officer nods and places his small notebook and pen in his breast pocket. 

“Got everything we need. You two stay safe.” 

The other officer ducks out first and nods curtly, Officer J. Miller stands there a moment longer. 

“Happy Halloween.” He said with a sickening smile. “Be sure to lock the door behind me.” 

You gulp as you look over Officer Miller meekly before he disappears outside and into the night. Where he belonged.   

---

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[v4voracity]

TOO CLOSE - SELF AWARE COD CHARACTERS X READER

⥇❥"Reader" is described as "feminine leaning" or "feminine sounding"; however, they/them and it/its pronouns are used and no bodily adjectives are used in this part because reader is only described as "that person" or "the voice". Let me know if I should make an alternate post(s) slightly adjusted for masculine or androgynous description, and if I missed any content warning tags. I plan on making a masculine version for this one due to someone's request, currently deciding if I should just slightly re-write to change descriptions or fully-rewrite it :)

  ⥇❥Word Count: 3940, excluding warnings and text above the cut.

⥇❥CONTENT WARNING FOR:

↪ body horror(?) ↪ usual “Darkfic” stuff,  ↪ yandere tendencies ↪ Angst™ ↪ possible OOC characters ↪ american author writing (mostly) british people

I totally plan on continuing this drabble with another part so some of the warnings aren't quite apparent yet teehee <3

Link to main masterlist - Link to TOO CLOSE sub-list

You have been warned, scroll at your own risk.

There was always that nagging feeling that Ghost was being watched, paranoia which he had long since grown accustomed to. But, there were always times he felt it… heighten, where this…  this strange sense of dejá vu seemed to take root in his mind. Sometimes, he felt like his movements weren't his own despite it being his will that moved those joints.

It occurred often after he joined the military, and occasionally, when in the quiet of his thoughts, he could hear something. At first, he thought it was a teammate coming through his comms, yet “the voice” wasn't familiar. 

He remembered when he first heard it. 

A quiet voice saying something he didn’t quite catch. He sighed, heavy and annoyed at himself, focusing a bit more on the radio firmly strapped to his chest as he pressed a button with a familiar practiced ease. Despite the fact he laid prone on the ground, hidden amongst foliage he had no trouble reaching it and speaking up. It was… slightly embarrassing that he lost focus and needed to repeat instructions, but he’d rather face slight embarrassment over fumbling an important mission because he didn’t want to ask for them to repeat what was said. Not that Simon “Ghost” Riley was afraid of dying. As a soldier he honestly felt more fearful that he’d fuck up a mission and get yelled at by a superior. That he’d hurt people he was trying to protect. That he’d prove that nagging voice in the back of his head right, the annoying doubtful little shit always lingering despite his confidence that had grown with experience. 

Regardless, he didn’t care to debate with himself about yet another experience that would keep him up at night, wallowing in his bed thinking about everything he could’ve done differently. “Say again?” He asked, cautious to remain quiet and hidden, yet gravely tone firm and clear enough for the other side of his line to hear. Yet no one on the other side of the line said anything previously, voicing their confusion when he asked them to repeat something never said.

Yet no other soul was around the precarious position he perched himself, his scope aimed at distant enemies. He even briefly glanced around, surveying his surroundings for possible danger, anyone, anything. Then “the voice” came through again, energetic and excited— far too unprofessional for how serious that mission was. ‘A recruit,’ he would’ve thought if not for the fact nobody else acknowledged it.

However, once the mission ended, that strange feeling faded, and “the voice” didn't appear again… 

…Until a few months later, on another mission.

The uncomfortable feeling of being watched, the almost foreign feeling of his own body, and “the voice” returned. His skin crawled.

 As if something had forcefully crept beneath it, lifting the skin and making itself comfortable in his body. Claiming it for itself as it burrowed deep into the muscular fiber, into his organs, and flowed in his veins in place of blood. It felt… parasitic and invasive. It disturbed him greatly how the feeling came and went suddenly without cause. Leaving him as it wished and then showing up without warning, without his permission. How it happened to him regardless of how steeled his nerves were. Of how experienced he became.

And, as he would soon find, no matter how intensely he looked around, nobody else was present. Yet “the voice”, which he had to strain to even remotely understand, seemed to respond as if they could see him based on the few words he could catch. 

“HOLY SHIT! He looks so cool, dude! Look at his fuckin’ rifle, his gear! This was so worth the wait. He’s got a new mask too! I’m so glad they brought him back, ugh, literally my favorite poster boy of the whole franchise.”

And if Ghost focused a little bit more, he'd notice it didn't quite sound right, as if it wasn't speaking aloud. “The voice” didn't echo around the room when he was inside, didn't echo through the air when he was outside, nor did it have the crackle of the radio. It was simply muffled, like if someone talked from a room over.

“...Uh, yeah, it was totally worth the fifty-freakin-bucks. Rent can wait, my war criminal pookies can’t! …Yes I know they’re probably not actual war criminals. Yeah, I KNOW they’re… man, you’re no fun. Let me simp in peace.”

Ghost knew he hadn't exactly been the… most sound of mind, but he truly began to worry he might have been hallucinating. “The voice” had been following him for an increasingly long amount of time at this point, and he mostly tuned it out. He recently found himself in a new group though, which led to a disturbing realization that he wasn’t fully insane. His worries about that were swiped away when Soap (his new sergeant who was a little too talkative for his own good, in Ghost’s opinion) ever-so-casually asked about “the voice” he overheard during the mission, which he couldn't quite recognize. Everyone in the helicopter was surprised on the ride back, anxiously discussing that faint voice they'd all heard— had been hearing on and off during missions. It gave Ghost a whole new fear.

It was no secret that a majority of the people in base and on missions with them were men, so that distinctly feminine voice being hard to pinpoint caused a new worry among the team. The potential breach of their communication network. The topic came up as an innocent question from Soap about who “the voice” was before everyone realized they all heard that voice, contradictory in how it sounded so near yet so far, so clear yet it hurt their heads to try and process what was said, clouding their minds in a haze if they tried focusing on it for too long.

It was a clear cause for concern. 

Their task force, Task Force 141, a highly-qualified team, who frequently had taken on missions even some of the most seasoned veterans would find difficult.

Their task force, carefully hand-picked from all corners and crevices of the globe, skills compared, packed like a puzzle to cover all fronts. Their identities and information taken apart and put back together, their secrets in the open to the prying eyes of Captain Price as he was given the authority to form a team. Personalities scrutinized against one another to ensure the utmost efficiency and dynamic interactions between teammates.

Their taskforce, the best of the best, highly efficient, a well oiled machine crafted with the utmost caution for the most risky, dirty, and sometimes immoral missions that most wouldn't be able to stomach. All for the betterment of the world and for the protection of their homes and countries.

And yet they couldn't find a single trail, not a single damn clue, about this… voice. "That voice" that came and went almost exclusively on missions, too. There were very, very few cases where it breached outside of missions. Truthfully, Ghost didn't know what he found worse. That the team heard it outside of missions where they didn't have radio communication, simply just out and about, or that it had breached past the sanctity of the missions, crossing into the supposed safe zone of their respective bases, homes, and private lives. Passing the line that they usually hide behind for comfort after rough missions, the place they went to lick their wounds, to reload their guns, and to confide in each other. And this thing, brash and bold came through, kicking that metaphorical line in the sand and bouncing past their defenses without repercussions.

It started in instances where they could ignore it. 

Where it could've been just their mind playing tricks or someone who sounded similar.

At first it was Soap, running around the track and hearing it faintly. He could've mistaken it for the music blaring through his ears if it wasn't for the fact he knew the lyrics by heart, and the singer sounded nothing like "that voice".

“Whoa, Soap cutscene. We’re being fed today. Get your bowls 'n spoons.”

He could’ve sworn he even heard a ‘clank’ of glass or something. It was worse when he realized his earbuds didn't block out “the voice” anymore than usual. It was always somewhat muffled and incoherent unless he focused, even in the quiet. Yet the earbuds in his ears didn't alter it at all. He took a longer shower than usual that day, trying to let the cold water shock him enough to forget what he heard while thoughts ran wild in his head… It ended with him being slightly late to an important team meeting and getting assigned some training as punishment. He chose to keep why he was late a secret, not wanting to startle anyone about “the voice” or sound crazy.

Then it was Gaz. Friendly, slightly more inexperienced than the rest, Gaz. Gaz was on temporary time off, having accidentally pulled a muscle in his arm. He was simply walking through the streets of a nearby town where he had rented a flat. He rarely actually used the thing, since he spent most of his time at base and it was more convenient to use the barracks. Nevertheless, he still found himself in the quaint little town, going for groceries to stock his apartment's fridge. He was weaving through the streets when he heard that odd and unrestrained laugh, snorting and uncaring if it's an embarrassing laugh. 

“Gaz… my pookie-wookie, my cutie-patootie, my absolute ray of sunshine… WHOMST THE FUCK IS DRESSING YOU LIKE THAT?!”

He probably looked like a madman with how frantically he looked around, suddenly stiffened and still as some people complained behind him from how abruptly he stopped, causing them to bump into him. Yet nothing conclusive, he couldn’t even figure out the direction it came from, much less find out who it came from. He didn’t bother talking about it, only loosely mentioning it later when it came up in a discussion.

After that it was Price and Laswell. The two of them standing in a surprisingly mundane office in the base, not expecting much when that bold-fucking-voice echoed through both of their ears. Something about being a homewrecker? They… didn’t know. 

“Laswell!!! Man I wish they had her appear more often, she’s so cool… I’d totally marry her if she didn’t have a wife… What do you mean you’d become a homewrecker in seconds? Have some fuckin’ respect for the woman. Besides I thought you liked Price? He’s… single? I think?”

But it forced both of them to lose their casual mood from before, because they both heard it and neither of them knew what to think about the fact that they were hearing it outside of missions now. That… that was very bad.

The last straw was when Ghost was handing spare masks to the team when there's a faint comment about it. He can't quite hear it, can't quite wrap his mind around what's being said. No one ever seems to make out the words; at least not fully. As if there's a barricade between them and “the voice”. A veil yet to be ripped away to reveal the person underneath. A blockade made to infuriate them and taunt their attempts.

“How many do you think he has?”

A small silence follows the initial voice, as if waiting for a response, then followed with a giggle. A response unheard to his ears, to anyone’s ears. The others tense, hearing "the voice", but no one comments on it at the moment. They had a mission to get to. But they all knew they needed to do something when they got back.

“They probably do smell. They’re out there hiding in grass, getting bloody and sweaty, sometimes deployed for a month, so they definitely stink.”

And yet nothing came of that either. The only thing that changed is that they were all aware of this voice that seemed to follow them. That only their taskforce ever seemed to hear or acknowledge it. That "the voice" came from everywhere and nowhere all at once, sounding as if it was being broadcasted directly to their brains. No trace of this thing only they could perceive, and they started coming to conclusions that were less than rational; because rational thought hadn’t gotten them anywhere thus far. Gaz suggested it might’ve been a ghost, to which Price corrected that it must be a demon rather than a ghost, Soap suggested it was some weird matrix shit, then Laswell tried to convince everyone it was some weird shared delusion. They couldn’t settle on any theories. Ghost didn’t need an explanation. Or at least, he tried convincing himself that, tried telling himself he just needed this thing gone.

These abrupt drop-ins by “the voice” went on for a long while. Something they regrettably got used to. Something they let fester and become a part of them, even if they didn't know it. “That voice” ingrained into their brains, the elated giggles, the annoyed groans, the triumphant cheers, the frequent queries, answers to questions they never heard, stupid comments, everything in-between... 

Ghost didn't notice at first. Time went on, the Task Force's missions increasing after they bombed General Ghorbrani during an arms deal Ghost intercepted. Things were escalating into a silent war the general populace wouldn’t notice, and likely never know about, kept quiet and under wraps to keep the waters calm. The voice lingering on every damn mission, somehow with all of them at once even if they were in different corners of the globe. 

Then he had a wave of realization wash over him.

It was an easy mission compared to the previous few. An easy in-and-out. Just him and Soap, watching a building from afar. Biding their time. He felt anxious, a long gone twitch in his fingers resurfacing as he felt his fingers become clammy beneath his gloves. 

He had to stay calm, stay cool. He was ‘Ghost’ right now, a walking dead-man without weakness. He was strong. This mission was easy. 

This was no time to be antsy. Patience, he reminded himself. It was just him coming down from the high of adrenaline of the previous missions, all fast paced and requiring frequent combat. That's what he tried to tell himself, when that bloody Scotsman casually began chattering over the radio.

Jokes, bad ones, yet jokes he shared an enthusiasm for with Soap nonetheless. Ghost could tell there was a slight edge to his voice as he spoke though, equally antsy. He may have been somewhat distant but he was perceptive. Picked up on behaviors in others. Read them and their emotions. It was necessary in his job, and he was sure Soap probably picked up on his nervousness as well, as he was smart, even if he sometimes seemed a little air-headed and brash at times.

"No laughs from 'that person' today?" Soap feigned offense. Then they both realized. They were anxious from the lack of that person. “The voice”. They obviously didn't know who it was or their name, but everyone on the force knew who was being referred to when someone said 'that person' or “the voice”.

 It felt laughable that they were startled by some incorporeal voice not being there. If anything, they should be grateful they were spared its presence. Yet they weren’t. Ghost laid in his bed that night, sleepless, a common occurrence for him. But tonight instead of the nightmares that played when he closed his eyes, he just… contemplated. Brooding.

It was a few nights later when he came to terms with it. He knew some things were wrong with him, hell, most soldiers had something wrong with them if they worked as long as he did. But, he found himself.. weirdly fine with it. It seemed some of his teammates felt the same way as he did, and others did not. Soap made jokes out of it, unafraid around other Task Force members to refer to “the voice”, sometimes speaking directly at it, most of the time not getting much in terms of responses. There was only really one time he could make out something from “the voice” in response to one of Soap’s direct words towards it.

“That line… didn't play last time I played this one.”

It was probably one of the only things he could make the full sentence out of, and it seems everyone else on the team heard it fairly clearly as well. “...‘That line?’” Price repeated, quizzical. Referring to it like a game. 

“Must… Must be an easter egg.” A nervous laugh followed. 

The next time he found himself on a mission with that strange feeling, as if he weren’t himself, as if something else willed his way… There was almost complete silence. Unusual, a first for that sinking feeling to be there without any noise. He noticed after the missions were over that only when he had that uncomfortable feeling was "the voice" responsive. 

“Not talkative today?” He asked, not really to anything in particular and not expecting any sort of response. He could almost intuitively tell whatever “the voice” was, was there. He was again alone for this mission and that probably was what gave him the confidence to actually speak to it. He wasn’t worried about anyone hearing him and sounding crazy. And the response? Well, it was hard to hear, almost inaudible to him, but he heard a small gasp, and a shaky breath afterwards. 

…That was probably the first time the weird feeling left his body mid-mission. As if it was the one unsettled when every time it appeared, he and his teammates felt out of control, a passenger in their own body, hazed and moving as if puppets. Hearing a voice that lacked a body, floating around and seemingly coming from nowhere. It had no echo, no substance or matter, as if the sound didn't vibrate through the air.

And it was a while before he, or anyone, heard that lovely— 

…“The voice” again. He was careful not to directly reference it. Them.

Ghost thought about it some more, and found himself talking to Gaz one night at the pub, Soap hammered, currently in the bathroom while Price tried to help him to get stable enough to get to the rented car so the four of them could return to base. “Maybe Soap wasn’t too far off with the Matrix idea.” Gaz idly swirled his cup, almost devoid of liquid and only really clinking the ice in it around. He wasn’t really talking to Ghost in particular, more-so rambling to the air and himself due to him being tipsy.

Ghost leaned back in the booth, his mask barely lifted enough to allow him to drink a bourbon he’d been nursing half the night. Didn’t want a hangover the next day, he’d already be in a bad mood since he had recruits to train and they were often stupid and infuriating. “Yeah? How so?” 

Gaz, who seemed to not really mean anything when he initially spoke, sat up straighter, more zoned in on the conversation upon seeing his Lieutenant had taken an interest in what he was saying. “I was thinking about some of the things I’ve heard, that the others have heard, and just… the reactions in general. And that feeling… I don’t know if you get it but—”

“Like you’re possessed.” He interjected, knowing what he meant. Gaz’s eyes widened slightly. While they all knew about “the voice”, it seems none of them knew that weird feeling was shared. The feeling of being possessed, watched, almost like they were prey, not highly experienced military men capable of defending themselves and others. He nodded and drank the rest of his bourbon, setting it down on the table and looking back to Gaz, tucking his mask back down over his face.

“It’s just like… Like they’re playing a game. Controlling us. The reactions… It's like when you complete an objective or something. And it’d explain the feeling, like we’re controlled. Plus with how they reacted to Soap that one time, I could see it.”

“See it? The hell you seein’?” He didn't want to believe his life was a game. But Gaz made some good points. Ghost… No, Simon didn't play many games. He’d played a few party games with his team during off-time, Price convincing them that Mario-Kart was in fact a good team-bonding activity and absolutely necessary. But his off time wasn’t usually spent playing games, it just wasn’t something he could relax enough to do, never able to get calm enough to focus solely on said game.

“Imagine you’re playing a game—”

“Hard to imagine.” He barks, slightly sorry at the tone, though he wouldn’t correct himself.

Gaz sighs and continues. “Okay, imagine that it's team bonding night, and we’re playing Mario Party. Imagine everyone having a good time, laughing, chatting, playing the game, when Mario turns directly to the screen and acknowledges you. Like, unprompted, never happened before when you’ve played the game hundreds of times before? You’d probably be a little freaked out if you knew it wasn't the type of game to do something like that.”

Price interrupts, Soap slung over his shoulder and motions for them to head out to the car after he pays for the tab. Once everyone is in the car, Gaz continues.

“It’s just, the shit they said made me think about it. ‘That line’, ‘last time I played this one’, hell, them directly talking about us talking to them as an ‘easter egg’ makes it seem pretty clear to me.” Price glanced over, raising a brow at Gaz, who was sitting in the front passenger as He drove. Ghost was unfortunately stuck with a very clingy Soap in the back seat. “It’s clear whatever they were referencing is similar to a game, one they’ve played before. “

“You talking about ‘that person’? ‘The voice’?” Price sighs, slightly exasperated at the topic. He wasn’t quite convinced about "the voice" being real. He was still slightly in denial, but his slight intoxication must’ve allowed him to continue listening to the topic, not shutting down Gaz’s line of thought quite yet.

“You see what I mean though? If you were playing a game and the character you were playing just randomly acknowledges you out of nowhere, suddenly fucking sentient, you’d probably be scared shitless, especially if they’re a normal civilian.” Price hums, and Ghost blinks slowly, taking the information in and moving away from partaking in the conversation. The reaction was pretty akin to the one from when he was alone and spoke to “the voice”.

“Who’d wanna play a game involving the shite we do? We’re a bunch of soldiers doing unsavory work, I doubt that’s entertaining.” Price shakes his head, gripping the wheel a little tighter, his knuckles slightly turning white before he relaxes his hand with a sigh.

“Maybe not to us since it’s real-life. But think about it like this, a ton of people watch horror movies or slasher films. It’s not that they enjoy watching people die or get scared, but it’s like… an adrenaline thing. And you know when ‘that person’ appears most? On missions.”

This time, nobody responded. Gaz didn’t bother continuing either, already having made his point clear. An uncomfortable air settled in the car, not even forgotten the next day, even Soap somehow was capable of remembering the conversation despite the fact his head was reeling and his stomach turning in the backseat of the car.

This time they had settled on a theory.

[macabr3-barbi3]

dream a little dream (of me) - chapter 3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54459367/chapters/140496796

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4

You were bound to break a term of the deal eventually, right?

we've hit chapter 3! I got a huge influx of people interested and loving this story and I finally got the inspiration and drive to bang the next chapter out for everyone 🤭 there's going to be more coming, I do as the brain commands lol

A big shoutout to @fraugwinska for being like my number 1 hype person on this fic, you are a godsend 💕

And for those who asked to be tagged when the new chapter went up! @spottypug @dennsfz @bishiglomper @ivebeenthearchersstuff

Same tags as chapter 1/2 plus a couple new ones: Dream Sex, Dreamsharing, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Rough Sex, Dreamwalking, blowjobs, 'punishment' wink wink, minor injuries, let me know if I missed anything lol

I love comments and feedback, I would love to know what you think ❤️ enjoy!

The shock on Husk’s face at seeing you inside Alastor’s room when the door flies open a few days after the camping trip is matched only by yours- the horror you’re sure is written in your expression at the pool of blood accumulating under Alastor’s body where Angel Dust is supporting him with an arm around his waist, a smoking gash across his middle.

“The fuck are you doing in here?”

“What the fuck happened?”

You speak at the same time, voices overlapping as Husk shoves the door to the room further open to make room for Angel to drag Alastor inside. He’s also coated in blood down one side, likely having been supporting Alastor’s weight from the other side to drag him up the stairs.

Alastor’s eyes are clenched shut, smile more like a grimace as he snarls at Angel Dust trying to get his feet underneath himself. “I do not need any assistance, spider, release me-”

“Sure, Smiles, tell me all about it. Ya can’t even fuckin’ stand up without ya gangly ass legs collapsin’, how else were we supposed to get ya here?” Angel has also just noticed your presence in the room as you rush over, pleased smirk taking over his features. “I fuckin’ told you there was somethin’ goin’ on with them, Husk!”

“Shut the hell up, Angel,” Husk mutters, grabbing Alastor by the ankles and helping the other demon get him to the bed, despite Alastor fighting like a wild cat the whole time. You follow closely, hovering anxiously next to the mattress. They drop him unceremoniously, causing him to hiss in pain before the wound starts gushing again. “You,” Husk says, fluffy finger pointed in your face. “You stay here with him. Make sure he doesn’t fuckin’ bleed out or anything. Angel, you go tell Charlie and Vaggie what happened. I’ll get the med kit.”

“Wait, Husk” you say as he and Angel both step away, and there’s a hard grip on your wrist from Alastor when you start to follow them. “Just one sec,” you tell the demon- a great idea, with how known he was for his patience and understanding- and pull out of his grasp, hurrying after the other two. You catch Husk at the door, Angel taking off to find Charlie. “What happened to him?”

“Got into it with Vox, what else? Those fuckin’ overlord meetings are just trouble waitin’ to happen if you ask me, never would’ve caught my ass at one of them.” He runs a frustrated hand down his face. “We couldn’t get much out of his besides that, figured it would be best to get him to his room before anyone else saw him stumblin’ around the lobby.”

“Fuck.” You glance over at him, splayed across the mattress, an arm over his eyes. “Can’t he heal on his own? I thought regeneration was all the rage down here.”

“He’s been fucked since that battle with Adam- angelic steel right to the chest, did something to his body and he doesn’t heal as quick anymore. Some stitches should get him right for at least a little while.” A dark eye watches you from Husk’s peripheral. “I don’t know what you’re doing gettin’ all buddy-buddy with him but you watch yourself. We’re not all fuckin’ stupid- somethin’s up, we saw the goddamn vampire bite on your neck after camping-”

“Are there vampires in Hell?”

“Not the goddamn point. The point is be careful and don’t fuck anyone else over in the process of whatever the hell you two’re doing.” He points back into the bedroom. “Now go stand guard or whatever you do until I can stitch him up.” Husk is off then, jogging in the opposite direction that Angel had gone. You leave the door unlocked and cracked so he can get back in when he returns and go back to Alastor’s side in the bed.

His face is sweaty, eyes still clenched shut in pain, but one of his ears perks back up when he hears you come closer. “Pay no mind to those idiots,” he mutters. “I will be perfectly fine in a matter of hours. Do not let them back in.” He waves a hand lazily, the door slamming shut with a bang.

“Yeah the smoking hole in your chest gives me a lot of confidence to that. I’m not going to stop them from helping you.” You hesitate only a second before reaching out to his shirt buttons. “Let me- you’ll need this off for Husk to stitch you up.” He’s uncharacteristically quiet as you undo the buttons and slide the shirt sideways as carefully as possible to clear some space for the cat to work. You brush against his ribs and there’s a sharp inhale, Alastor’s nostrils flaring and claws digging into the sheets.

There’s a knock at the door and when you move to go open it there’s again a hand wrapped around your wrist. “Stay,” Alastor says, looking like it pains him to say it. A strip of shadow darts across the room to open the door in your stead, Husk coming back through the frame and raising an eyebrow at the sight of you still seated beside the demon.

“Charlie and Vaggie know what happened and will check on you tomorrow. Angel went to shower. Let’s get this fuckin’ over with.” He settles on the other side of you, and Alastor releases his grip on your hand to clench them into the bedsheets as Husk starts to drag the needle through his skin.

A good bit of swear words and a loosely wrapped bandage later, Alastor is patched up and passed out on his mattress. “Where did you learn to do stitches?”

“I don’t know, not really. Winged it. Just knew he wouldn’ want anyone else to see him like he is now. Vulnerable; weak. Benefit to him to have me under his thumb, I can’t run my fuckin’ mouth or use it against him.” He eyes you. “I assume you have no problem stayin’ to monitor him? With the stitches he should be good to go by mornin’ but you’ll want to watch him through the night.”

You could revive your old sleep habits and keep awake through one evening. “Yeah, I can stay. And Husk, it’s really not what you’re thinking-”

“Don’t care. Not my business. Make sure he doesn’t die- who fuckin’ knows what happens to my soul if that happens.” Husk gathers his materials and leaves the room, making sure to close and lock the door behind him.

You wander the room for a while trying to find a way to entertain yourself. He only has a couple books in the room- ones you’ve already read before- and despite your interest in the bayou dimension you don’t want to wander too far away from him. Eventually you pick a book and drag the armchair over to the bed, settling in and keeping an eye on the movements of his chest. He seems to be doing well, despite being weak and injured, no blood yet seeping through the bandages on his chest.

You do so well for a while without getting tired before the siren song of sleep starts to pull at your eyelids. You combat it as best you can- you pace the room, do push ups and jumping jacks, try counting backwards from one thousand. It doesn’t help, and you find yourself curled up in the armchair next to the bed, eyes drifting shut and not opening again.

When the world of Alastor’s dreams comes to fruition, you’re once again just in his bedroom, the only difference being a slightly darker tone to the light. His eyebrows raise when he sees you. “Well! Fancy meeting you here, darling.”

“I’m sorry, I was trying to stay awake out there to keep an eye on you-”

He waves you down. “No worries, dear. I told you before the stitches that I would be fine, that remains true. I cannot fault you for falling asleep on duty when you’ve not been accustomed to staying awake during the evenings any longer.”

A sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I was-”

“Ah ah ah,” he interrupts, and with a shifting shadow he stands before you, trailing a finger down your throat. “That is not to say that I’m not upset with you for something else.” He circles you, eyes lidded and smile teasing. “Need I remind you again of the terms of our deal?”

“What?” Something slips around your wrist, almost like the feeling of Alastor’s fingers but softer, and you glance down to see one of his shadows. His meaning dawns on you. “Wait, Alastor, I didn’t- I’m not here on purpose, I-”

“Ahhh but that wasn’t a condition, was it? It is only allowed with my permission , dear, and I must say I can’t recall giving that to you!” Another shadow wraps itself around your thighs, buckling your legs and bringing you to your knees; he runs a hand gently along the top of your head, tipping your head up to meet his gaze. “I’m afraid discipline is in order.” With a wave of his finger Alastor’s armchair is behind him, settling into it as his tentacles make themselves at home across your body, holding you in place where you now sit on your knees, Alastor’s hand still cupped under your chin. “I think a spanking will do.”

Your body jerks where you’re held. “I’m not a child.”

“This may seem a bit tame,” he admits, expression pensive, “but sometimes the classics can be rather effective! Here’s the plan-” The tentacles shift, bending you at the waist so your chin rests nearly on Alastor’s knee. “You’ve done rather well so far so I won’t be cruel . I think ten strikes should be sufficient. You’ll count them aloud, and should you miss one we will start over. How does that sound fair?”

“Alastor-”

The first strike is over your clothing, Alastor cocking his head when you try to move away from the faint sting of it. “Surely you know how to count, dearest.” Your clothes seem to melt off your body, goosebumps erupting on your skin at the chill in the air. When you don’t respond he sighs, his smile almost condescending. “Oh well; I suppose it can’t be helped. We begin again.”

The tentacle strikes again, a sharp snap that has you hissing through your teeth. Not knowing what else you can do, you decide to just submit- how bad can ten simple swats with a tentacle really hurt? “One,” you mutter, and Alastor’s eyes light up now that you’re willing to play his game.

He cups his hand around the back of your head, and you tilt into his palm. “Perfect. Good girl. Go ahead.”

A gentle whoosh through the air, and another blow to the soft skin of your ass. “T- two,” you say, gritting your teeth against the vague ache. It’s not terribly painful; it’s more the humiliation of it than anything else, but not being able to see it coming contributes to the sting. “Fuck!” Another that you didn’t anticipate. “Three.”

Alastor uses the light pressure of his hand to tilt your head to meet his eyes. “Perhaps I’m just old fashioned,” he says softly, “but I don’t believe ‘fuck’ is a number. Start again.”

You feel the sting of frustrated tears. “Alastor, please.”

He brushes them away with a claw. “Come now, darling, no need for that. You can count to ten, can’t you? Why, it’s easy as can be and then we can be done with this business.”

So he makes you start again- and now for a third time when you can’t stop the whine in your throat from distorting the ‘eight’ into a broken groan. The spanks hadn’t been really painful before but as the punishment continued and the same spots were struck over and over you had become sore, and every new blow stung and ached like nothing else.

And yet- maybe its the position, or the utter helplessness of what’s happening with Alastor in control but there’s that familiar burn in your core, slick arousal from your cunt slipping down your thighs and out of sight of the demon before you.

Your eyes had drifted closed at some point, neck eventually losing the strength to hold itself up and pressing into the fabric of Alastor’s trousers. When he makes a curious humming noise you let your lashes flutter back open. His eyes are dark, pupils blown and his smile dangerous as he looks down at you with lidded eyes. “You know, if you’re having such trouble counting I may have a better use for that lovely mouth of yours, darling.” A brief respite from the tentacles, at least, as he repositions you with his hands to bring your face to the erection that’s grown in his lap. “This isn’t my punishment, after all; I don’t see why I should have to suffer now. How’s this- I’ll count for you, and you keep your mouth otherwise occupied, hm?”

You don’t bother trying to speak, instead just nodding in his gentle hold. He smiles, a little softer then, another quietly uttered “good girl” before he’s undoing his pants and pulling his cock out, presenting it to you and slowly guiding it into your waiting mouth.

He’s not demanding about it, lets you take your time in getting your lips wrapped around the head, fingers brushing delicately through your hair. The position isn’t perfect, and not having use of your hands is a bit of a nuisance but you can move your head enough to take some of his length into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. You swipe your tongue along what you can reach of the underside of him and he hisses above you, pulling you back with a soft fisting of your hair until you can only reach the tip.

“We’ll continue now, my dear. Be mindful of your teeth, please.” And he slides back in with a simultaneous strike of one of the tentacles. “One.”

Somehow the childish punishment is easier to take with Alastor’s cock in your mouth. You still jerk in the hold of the tentacles when you’re hit, but your whimpers and cries of pain are muffled, the vibrations of it serving a greater purpose now in bringing Alastor pleasure. You make it to seven before a particular hard spank jolts you forward, prick shoving harder into your mouth and hitting the back of your throat. The constriction that happens when you inadvertently gag a bit makes a harsh moan tumble out of Alastor’s mouth, his fingers tightening their grip in your hair. “Fuck-”

You pull off enough to speak, lips brushing the tip as you do. “Thought ‘fuck’ wasn’t a number.”

“Wretched, delightful thing,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “You raise a valid point, but I think we’ve drawn this out long enough- you’ve learned your lesson?” A nod from you, lips once again covering him and tongue swirling around the head. “Lovely,” he sighs. “Then we’ll make this last bit quick.”

He shifts forward in the armchair, enough that he’s now fully inside of your mouth and each lazy thrust of his hips bumps the back of your throat. He gives himself time to savor the feeling of you sucking and licking at him, throat constricting each time he bottoms out, in between swats from the tentacles. “Eight. Nine. Ten.” Your hands are released from their restraints, and rather than bringing them to your throbbing clit like you desperately want to, cunt drenched and ready for something more, you instead bring them to Alastor’s lap, repositioning yourself to better choke on his length. You let your teary eyes drift up to his face, his eyes lidded where he stares down at you, smile tight and tense. “Wonderfully done, sweetheart. I need only a moment more- may I?” He fists his hands in your hair on either side of your head and you let your mouth go slack, allowing him to thrust in and back out at his own leisure.

You can feel under your hands the flexing of the muscles in his forearm and wish that he would take off his goddamn shirt- get undressed in one of these dreams, just something so you weren’t the only one exposed and vulnerable.

“Magic in dreams doesn’t count, I rather think; it seems that you can do it as well.”

You think about what Alastor had said while camping- how your pants had simply vanished with a thought, the mere desire. You’d never really tried much with your dream powers. You just showed up and tried not to be spotted whenever you were in one, or got the information you were looking for and left. It hadn’t occurred to you until Alastor had said something that you might be able to do more , to use the power for something else.

So while Alastor grows more desperate in his race to completion, fucking your mouth with renewed fervor, you concentrate on the buttons of his shirt. You don’t want to alert him to what you’re trying to do- he’d probably take offense to the fact that you aren’t as wholly engrossed in letting him use your mouth as he likes, might even start the whole punishment over again after he came. So you let your vocal chords do as they please while he ruts into the hole you’ve provided for him, soft moans and whimpers to distract him a bit.

The top button twists, and slowly, silently, pulls itself from the hole it was fastened into. A slight shift of your eyes and the second one follows.

The mere possibilities of what you could do with this information makes you moan, long and low and vibrating hard around Alastor’s cock. Already close, the sensation makes him buck his hips hard, spewing curses as he spends himself in the warm and wet heat of your mouth. You’ve hardly had a chance to swallow- the taste and feeling not awful but just a little strange- before he’s yanking you up from the floor, pulling you into his lap and crushing his lips to yours. His hands come to rest on your thighs, traveling slowly upwards until he meets the welts that his tentacles have left on your skin. You hiss into his mouth at the sting of it, and he kisses you gently while massaging the sensitive skin. You distract yourself with popping another button on his shirt, a motion that goes unnoticed by Alastor in favor of switching between kissing you and watching your face while he touches you.

The rush of it eventually slows and stops, content to just sit there together for a bit with him unaware of the 6 buttons you had managed to get undone. Unlike the other times you’ve met in his dreams you aren’t simply shoved out this time- Alastor wakes up slowly and groggily, like anyone else would, and you open your eyes at the same time. He spots you in the armchair and moves to the side, clearing up a space beside him. “Come over here, dear,” he says, and you’re helpless to disobey. 

Sitting up in the armchair you become aware of two things- that the welts and likely bruises from the tentacles had carried over into real life, as did the slick arousal and throbbing need in your cunt, suddenly desperate to be filled with Alastor- not just in a dream but here, now.

You stand from the chair and to the demon’s surprise, slip your bottoms and panties off before climbing into the bed and settling yourself against his side. He turns to face you, face twisting in slight pain when the wound on his chest shifts, but he trails his fingers down the slope of your neck, over the curve of your hip, finally dipping between your legs and feeling how wet you’ve become from allowing him to be in control of you. “We may have to find a new punishment for you, dearest, if this is how you react to this method.”

“Please, Alastor,” you say, reaching a hand down to his lap and pleased to find that while he’s been spent in the dream, his erection here in the real world is eager to go again. You slip your fingers under the band of his trousers, circle them around his cock with a light squeeze. “Please, I need it- not in the dream but here, real . Please?”

His breath catches in his throat, hot exhale against your face. “I- I am injured, darling, I cannot perform as I do in my mind-”

“You don’t have to.” You’re already shifting, getting up on your knees and settling over his lap, slotting his hard, hot length against your dripping folds. “I’ll do it- you don’t have to do anything. I- I just need to cum, please?”

He cups your face in his hand like he had in the dream. “How could I possibly deny you anything?” He assists you in positioning yourself on his cock, a soft “careful, dear” as you start to sink down.

Jesus fuck. The dreams had done nothing to prepare you for the feeling in real life as you’re speared on his cock, your body making room for him with the delicious slide down until you’re seated in his lap completely. You’re full of him in every sense; your cunt stuffed, mind racing with thoughts of Alastor, vision blocked by anything but the sight of his eyes wide as he watches you take him in, his claws digging into the skin of your hips. It’s so, so much better than it is in the dreams- it’s tangible , a real memory that you can hold onto from your mind, not remnants of something in Alastor’s head. This was yours. Something he’s giving you because you asked for it, begged him for it and he obliged.

You raise up on your knees, already shaky from the slow descent, and make it halfway before Alastor shifts his hips and hits the bundle of nerves inside you. You bite back the moan that wants to escape, glaring at him halfheartedly. “I said I would do it.”

“You’re certainly taking your time, darling. Just thought I could offer some assistance.” He gives you a positively lecherous smile. “I suppose if you won’t allow me to move this should suffice.” He lets one hand slide off your hip to rub at your clit with his thumb, the other tightening its grip on you.

“I’ll- I’ll allow it,” you choke out, a little miffed that the subtle shift of his hips was enough to get him right where you needed him. You ride him gently, mindful of his injury, and the pleasure crests, so close to breaking you that your legs are cramping. “God, Alastor, please-”

“What do you need, beautiful?” You have only a moment to process the word before he’s moving, an arm wrapping around your middle and turning the pair of you over, rutting his cock into you with a speed and pressure that makes you dizzy. His smile is dazed looking down at you, watching your cunt swallow him and reveling in the wet noises that emerge from where you’re joined. “You’re so close, darling, I can feel it- your pleasure is mine. Every time you reach that peak, when you cum on my cock, it will only ever be me. ”

He shifts again, brings his knees up closer to get deeper inside of you. “Fuck, Alastor, my god-”

“I like the sound of that,” he purrs, bending down to trail his tongue up your throat. “I want to be everything to you. Would you allow me that privilege? To claim you, to own you in every way that you’d let me, in any dimension.”

Your head whips back and forth on the pillow, the edge so close your vision is dark. “Please, please, please,” you’re mumbling, “Alastor please, I’m gonna-”

The tension snaps before you can finish your sentence, a wailing cry falling from your lips as you clench and shake and cum under him, around him. It’s so different from when it happens in Alastor’s dreams- it echoes in every part of your body, your head spinning and fingers tightening in his shirt so hard that you fear you’ll rip the fabric. His name spills from you in waves with your release, and his eyes are dark as his thrusts intensify, chasing his orgasm with the resolve of a man possessed.

“Yours, all yours,” you mumble against his lips when his face comes close enough to catch his mouth. “All of me.”

He snarls and his hips stutter, snapping hard against yours. “So much- so much better,” he gasps through the tightening of your pussy on his length. “So perfect- mine -” With a harsh growl he spends himself a second time for the night, into the wet silken grip of your body. He thrusts gently through the wave of it before he collapses in a heap against you, breathing heavily into your ear.

“You’re so- lovely,” he mumbles. “Giving, for a demon. One would think that you would simply take- I would, were it me with your powers. But you’re just…” He trails off, head against your shoulder and breath slow. 

You bring a hand up to trail down his back. “I meant it,” you whisper, swallowing your nerves. “If you- if you would have me, I would be yours. For as long as you want. Forever.”

He remains silent.

Fuck. You hope you haven’t overstepped some boundary. “Alastor?” He doesn’t move, or show any indication that he’s heard you. “Hey, are you okay?” You push at his shoulder with no response, so you double down and push harder, tumbling him off of you.

“Mother fucker.” The bandages wrapped around his chest are stained with red, more than when you had begun- the demon had torn his stitches open when he flipped the pair of you around to take control back, after you specifically told him you would handle your orgasms yourself. “Idiot,” you hiss at his slacken face, but you still brush his hair back from his sweaty forehead before pulling your bottoms back on and rushing down the hall to find Husk, ignoring the sting of the welts on your rear the whole way.

[steviewashere]

Something's Wrong

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Graphic Depictions of Supernatural Gore? (Like...describing shit crawling and bubbling out of somebody's mouth. Like when Will puked the demodog fetus thing into the sink.), Canon-Typical Violence, Steve Literally Gets Burned by a Hot Poking Iron (I have no other way to warn of you this but that's the canon-typical violence) Tags: Post-Season 4, Vecna is Not Defeated, But Everybody is Alive, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Possessed Steve Harrington, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Has No Idea What's Happening, Scared Eddie Munson, Everybody is Scared, (But Especially Eddie), Badass Joyce Byers, Boys Crying, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington's Friendship, Supernatural Stuff For @steddieangstyaugust Day 27 Prompt: "I thought we agreed it was over."

❄️——————❄️ The body on the coffee table may be his boyfriend, but it’s not him.

That’s what Eddie understands in the chaos. As he stands between doorways—to the hallway, and to the living room of the Harrington’s home. He can only watch. Look on in complete horror and half part devastation. How hadn’t he picked up on the new odd behavior from Steve before this, he isn’t sure.

Steve had become sort of…erratic. Sensing things before they could even occur. Looking off into distances; short and long, it didn’t matter. Angry, but Steve is always angry about something—it’s his natural state, practically: angry at Dustin, at Family Video customers, at Eddie when he just wants to sleep and Eddie won’t shut up, so on and so forth. He swore the lights would sometimes flicker when Steve would enter a room. “Faulty lightbulbs,” is what he always said, “I’ll get my parents to buy new ones the next time they head out to the store.” Were they ever near dead to begin with? Or was Steve compensating for this?

All it was was a simple sentence, “Keep it cold.” At the insistence that the fireplace be lit. That the thermostat be turned up a few notches. For the few open windows to be shut. It made everybody in the room look; everybody being everybody. It was Christmas, it was cold, and they were celebrating being in the warmth of each other. Of wanting and needing each other’s company. And at the mention of Steve’s new upsetting behavior, everybody decided—piled on—that maybe they should do their annual Christmas gathering at the Harrington’s; “Maybe his parents are out of town,” Dustin suggested. “They always are this time of year,” Max bitterly followed up.

So, they compromised. They’d keep it cold. No fireplace. Shut a few windows. Turn the thermostat up just one notch. Steve seemed settled. For a little bit, he seemed alright.

Then, Will reached behind him. Hand on the back of his neck. Wide eyes noticeably directed at only Steve. Which, Eddie found barely weird—maybe Will was nervous or overly excited or even sheepish about being in the presence of Steve; an adult crush, Eddie figured, that’s not that weird. But Will had opened his mouth, demanded of all of them, “Make it as hot as you possibly can in here. Something’s wrong.”

Steve had protested. Screaming, quite literally. Moving hastily and trying to get people away from the fireplace, from the windows, and the thermostat. Somebody even stood guard at the freezer.

Eddie wasn’t sure what was happening at-fucking-all. He stayed out of the way, when the kids told him firmly to move. When Joyce made eye contact with him, teary and protective. When Robin dragged him out by his shoulders to the hallway, whispered so low under her breath he had to strain to hear her, “I need you to not watch, okay? You’re going to hate us for what we’re about to do.” He was more confused, but he obeyed. Like a startled, starving, stray dog—he obeyed.

After that, things happened too fast to really catalogue. He heard things being shoved out of the way, but his eyes were set on the stairs—not the room behind him. Saw Hopper come rushing past him, shoving his way into the living room. Then, something slammed hard onto the surface of something—and Eddie was too curious for his own good, too scared.

He turned back around. Spotting the source of the slamming, Steve’s body laying on the coffee table. He’s shirtless and his muscles are straining, trying to fight against the people holding him down. Robin and Jonathan on Steve’s arms. Nancy was pinning down Steve’s right leg, Max and Lucas on the other. Dustin was holding one of his hands, despite the danger of being clawed at. And Mike was trying to keep Steve’s head in one spot, failing, but this was no time to tease. Will and El were watching something on Steve’s torso. And following the line of sight, it was to an odd swirl of dark, blue-black veins in the center of Steve’s chest—almost like it was ready to grow more, if need be. It was hard to watch, but he couldn’t look away.

And now, he’s staring at his boyfriend writhe and yell and practically howl at the people around him. The noises he was making weren’t the pained grunts that Eddie was used to, when Steve would pull something too hard in his back, when he’d strain the scars on his sides, or even when he’d get a basketball to the side of his head from Lucas. No, the sounds leaving Steve’s wide open, spit-burbling, red mouth were animalistic. Like roaring. Something tortured, that’s for sure.

Eddie wonders if this is what he sounded like under Starcourt. If he screamed like this, thrashing and wailing—that’s it, he’s wailing—for somebody to come save him. But he wasn’t sure, this sounded more like fighting. As if Steve was protesting this utterly and completely. As if he…wanted this. His stomach churns violently at the thought.

It was like watching a real life exorcism. That’s the only “real life” thing Eddie can compare it to. At any moment, he was expecting Steve—possessed, that’s what he realizes—to start floating from the surface of the table, to scratch names in people’s backs, and to start peeling the wallpaper with his voice alone. He’d prefer the exorcism to whatever was about to happen.

Joyce was armed and ready with one of the poking irons for the fireplace. It was obviously hot, glowing orange, and dangerous. She demanded of the people holding down Steve’s arms, “Move. But hold on tight. He’s not going to like this.”

Not going to like what, Eddie could only ask himself. His lips were sealed shut with terror, if that was a possible thing. With half-formed words and lost trains of thought and stuttered gasps. But he couldn’t look away.

She raises the poking iron over her shoulder. And at Hopper’s nod, she brings it down in one fell swoop. Straight to the center of Steve’s chest where that swirl of veins is. She presses it into his skin, not enough to sear through the muscles and bones, but enough that a scar will surely be left there. At the pressure of the hot iron, Steve then snarls. He yelps and shifts, kicking with the heels of his socked feet—Eddie tries not to think about how he’s wearing a pair of goofy mismatched polka dot socks, that he’s not just some kid despite his age, that he isn’t this thing—trying to get away and trying to fight and trying to keep himself protected. Eddie almost wants to lunge forward and help Steve, get him away from whatever the fuck they’re doing to him; “You’re crazy, Ms. Byers,” he wants to say, “the town was right about you, you’ve fucking lost it.” Because who does this? Who’s first instinct is something so violent and cruel as this?

But then, just as he gains feeling to his jelly legs, something in Steve’s mouth pools over. In the corners of his lips is a disgusting sludge of black and grey, thick like mucus, and staining his pale cheeks. He’s pale, Eddie notices right then and there, paler than me, even.

In slow motion, something begins to wriggle and crawl out of Steve’s black stained mouth. A little…creature. Some sort of symbiotic thing, having lived inside of him, having fed off of whatever chill Steve was allowing it. It was half-xenomorph, half-deformed fetus. A mass so terrible, so ugly, and so fucking disgusting—Eddie thought he may just puke.

Steve coughs around it. His wide eyes shedding steady tears. His body finally losing its momentum to fight. He begins to relax, to slump against the surface of his own coffee table. And as the thing begins to crawl away, Eddie distantly—over the ringing in his ears and the churn of his stomach and the sweat on his palms—hears Dustin yell, “Kill it! Somebody step on it! Something! Do something!”

It’s Hopper who smashes the alien thing with his heavy foot. The thing squelches, squeals, and chitters all at once as its life ends. And when the foot is pulled away, shiny mucus-like fluid sticking in strings between the floor and the sole of Hopper’s bare foot, the thing is nothing. It’s just sludge. It’s…dead, at least Eddie is to understand that.

Somebody’s at his side in short seconds. Shaking his arm, petting the side of his face, and jostling his shoulders. Like they’re waking him up, so he blinks. Blinks again. Blinks harder until it’s Robin’s freckled, dimmed-eyed, sour face that comes into his sight again. “What,” he asks half-conscious, “what the fuck was that? What was any of that?” He’s partially aware that his voice is shrilling, squeaking like he’s going through puberty all over again. But Robin doesn’t seem to care at all.

She takes a deep breath through her nose, to which Eddie follows suit, and releases it through her mouth. Her hands are firm, pushing down on his shoulders, thumbs running soothingly on his t-shirt. Robin opens her mouth to speak, floundering for a few seconds as she tries and fails to come up with words.

“Vecna,” he hears Will say, “it was fucking Vecna.” And it must be. It must be reality, if Joyce isn’t telling her kid to watch his language. If Eddie’s looking over Robin’s shoulder, spotting Dustin wiping Steve’s face with reverence and care, Joyce clinging to her little family, the others clinging to one another. Mike even looks affronted, cautious, terrified—and that’s the kid that’s usually one hair away from snapping at Steve at any given second. He looks like he might start crying. And Eddie feels that way, too.

“Vecna?” He hears his own voice warble, warp, and squeak. “I thought we agreed it was over?” Eddie mumbles. He looks back to Robin, the both of them shaking and sweating and ready to cry. “I thought we agreed it was over,” he states again, raising his voice.

“We’re okay,” Robin says, trying to soothe, “it’s okay, Eddie. We’re going to get him. We got this shit early, we know what we’re doing.”

He looks over her shoulder again, unable to believe any of that. But then Steve looks to him. His eyes wide, stressed, and too frightened. He’s never seen Steve truly afraid before, not really at least, it always seemed like things were okay. Like Steve could face a hundred grizzly bears and come out on top, barely a scratch, confident as ever. Then, though, Steve bursts into tears. His weak body angling away from Dustin’s wad of tissues to his face, hands reaching out for Eddie and Robin—like he’s a kid asking for cuddles—and he just wails. Not the yelling kind of wailing, but the hysterical sobbing kind of wailing.

It’s without another thought that he drags Robin by her elbow, back into the living room, crowding around other people. That it’s without another thought that he lets Steve pull them in close and fast, even sitting up on the old coffee table. That Eddie lets Steve bury his still stained face into the center of his pristine Hellfire Club t-shirt and just cry.

“You’re okay,” Robin rasps and whispers, “you’re with us, we’ve got you.” Steve only sniffles and cries louder in response. Her left hand goes to the back of his head. Tangling fingers into his sweaty rat’s nest, dully scratching fingernails on his scalp, and petting him to the base of his skull and back up again. The other hand, she places between Eddie’s shoulder blades. Huddled in close like some mismatched family, but knowing of the others all the same.

Eddie lays a heavy arm over Steve’s shoulders, the skin touching his forearm just barely room temperature—like it’s still working to make up for all the cold. And he doesn’t have words to say, none at all that would be helpful. He has nothing to make up for for whatever the fuck just happened in front of his eyes. There’s no connection in his brain that forms even half a thought as to what he just witnessed.

But in the face of something like this, he’s learned to ask questions later.

It’s time to plan. And it’s time to end this.

❄️——————❄️

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Blast to the past

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 15

Prompt: Time travel

Rated: T

CW: Mild blood and gore; Mild horror; Monsters

Tags: Steve Harrington whump; Magic; Time travel (duh); Royal Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington needs a break

Notes: Some days, you get up, think of nothing bad, and you check your phone and your artist buddy @house-of-the-moving-image has sent you the most incredible mini comic in the world and the brainworms go crazy and you bash out 990 words in a weird fugue. We mayyy have been screaming about this to each other a bit too excessively. It may have grown a back story. I may wanna write 100k of this. Help.

“Oh, Steven, let's go to Europe, they said,” Steve grouses. “There’s culture and shit, they said. We can visit the castles. It’ll be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, they said.” 

Well, it damn well is turning out to be one hell of an experience! 

His side is on fire, his ankle stings with every step he hobbles, and he’s starting to bleed through his clothes. Just what he needs! Leave a warm, coppery trail to lead these things right to him. 

While he drags himself down the dark corridor, he wonders if he can sue. The guides did warn against leaving the travel group, on the one hand. 

On the other, they should probably have detailed the possible consequences. Like getting lost in the ruins and being chased by monsters with rotting grey skin and maws full of fangs, and fucking claws that slice through clothes and skin like a knife through butter.

This kind of shit never happens in Hawkins. He’s never going on holiday with his parents again.

Something behind him clatters. When he whips around, the shadows at the end of the corridor move. He hears snarls and sniffing, the tick of claws against stone. They’re coming closer. 

“Shit,” Steve swears, forces himself to go faster, using one hand against the wall for support. “Shit, shit, shit, c’mon!” 

He doesn’t even know where he’s going, just that he needs to get away if he doesn’t want to be monster fodder. 

His fingers catch on something. 

There’s … a narrow doorway in the wall, half hidden by a tangle of thick vines. A sliver of silver light is falling through it. 

“What the-” 

Something behind him shrieks triumphantly. 

Steve doesn’t think for another second, just ducks through the doorway. 

He finds himself in a cavernous room, moonlight trickling in through arched windows. Right in the middle, on a dais, is a throne carved from solid stone. On it is a tall, hooded figure. 

Except that isn’t true. As his eyes adjust to the light, he realizes that the throne is covered in what looks like an old shroud, tattered and torn with age and vaguely human-shaped. It’s overgrown by more vines, like it has been here for a very long time. 

And that is the moment the monsters slam into the doorway behind him. 

He yelps and stumbles further into the room, trips on the first steps of the dais and lands square on his ass. The monsters snarl and snap at him, and for a blissful second, he thinks they won’t fit through the doorway. 

But then the first distorts its body like a snake’s jaw and squeezes through. Steve watches in horror as they trickle inside, surrounding the dais like a pack of feral dogs. One of them swipes at him with its claw, and he instinctively shuffles up the stairs, backwards and on all fours. The monster lunges after him-

-and hesitates at the foot of the dais.

Like it’s afraid, like there’s some invisible barrier. 

It’s only now that he realizes the steps are inlaid with an intricate pattern of symbols, shining in the moonlight like liquid silver. The monsters try to get at him, but every time they touch the symbols, they recoil as if burned. 

“Ha!” Steve’s mouth tugs into a hysterical grin. “Can’t cross, huh? Well, too bad, you ugly-” 

The largest of the monsters steps over the barrier. A sizzle of silver sparks runs over its form as it does and it jowls like an injured cat, but it still advances. Steve swears and skitters further back, until his back hits something solid. The throne. 

The creatures are moving slowly, like something is physically holding them back, but they are gaining on him inch by inch. There’s no escape, except … 

Steve clambers onto the throne with clumsy limbs. The shroud is cold and brittle under his hands and the vines tear into his bleeding skin, but it’s the only place he can still go. If the monsters are afraid of the dais, maybe the throne will be enough to deter them. Maybe he’ll be safe here, maybe he can wait until help arrives, maybe- 

And then it happens. 

A sound booms through the silence, rattles his bones. A sound like the chime of a clock. 

Then another. 

And another. 

Steve yelps and covers his ears, screws his eyes shut. The light of the sigils on the ground seems blinding all of a sudden. 

The creatures howl. 

And then everything goes quiet. 

Steve waits with baited breath for the feeling of claws tearing at his legs, but nothing happens. The snarls and growls are gone. 

Instead, birdsong fills his ears. The faint sound of footsteps and voices, hooves on cobblestone and the clang of metal against metal. Instead of dust and decay, the room suddenly smells like wood and smoke and forest. The light shining through his eyelids isn’t silver anymore, but golden. 

“Fuck,” Steve breathes. “The hell was all that?” 

“Oh, those?” somebody chuckles. Somebody very close by. “Those were wraiths. Scary little fuckers, aren’t they?” 

Steve swears his heart misses a beat. Because upon closer inspection, the roughness of the vines and shroud against his skin is gone. Instead, there’s a body under his, a hand running idly down his side, all the way down to his ass. He’s sitting in someone’s lap. 

Steve snaps his eyes open. There’s a guy looking back at him, a guy with a shit-eating grin set in a handsome, dimpled face, framed by a spill of dark curls. There’s a crown on his head. 

“Now what I’d like to know,” says the guy, and gives Steve’s ass a hearty squeeze. “Is what I did to deserve getting a pretty little thing like you dropped in my lap. Not that I’m complaining.” 

Steve does what any sensible person would do in his situation. 

He faints. 

And that’s his first encounter with King Edward the Banished. 

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

[mintkookiess]

It's just practice!

How about practicing confessing with your best friend? Wonder how that turns out ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ"

Hehe enjoy!

Love,

Mint

Summary: You decided to practice confessing to someone with your bestie Miles... except he's actually the one you wanted to confess to, but he didn't need to know that.

Tags: Miles Morales x reader, confessions, fluff, HUGSSS

Word count: 1.4k

"I'm sorry... what?!" Miles exclaimed with a look of horror on his face. You were both chilling by his dorm during lunch break. Ganke had classes so it was just the two of you. Your lips carried a tiny pout as you slap his leg as a way of pleading. "Come on, I just want to practice confessing to someone."

The poor boy had cheeks so red you'd think he was a strawberry. It didn't help that he had freckles. "Why do you gotta practice on me? Go talk to a wall or something." You rolled your eyes in annoyance, "Just let me talk, then tell me how it is okay? You don't even have to say anything, just listen."

Miles sighed, finally giving in. He removed his headphones, letting them sit by his neck. His brown eyes looked at you while he also had a pout that mirrored yours. "Fine."

The two of you then sat on his bed with crossed legs, facing each other. Your heart slowly started to bang against your chest, as if it wants to just jump out of your body.

I mean, who in the right fucking mind would practice confessing on someone, and that someone is the someone you actually wanted to confess to for real.

Your mind is just flabbergasted at what you’re trying to pull here. For a few seconds, there was an awkward silence between you two and you just wished he’d say something.

But stupid you told him to just shut up and listen to you “confess”, right?

So look who’s quiet now.

Your fingers were laced with each other like a braid as your thumbs mindlessly fiddled together. Miles just stared at you cautiously, waiting for you to say something, anything.

It was always never quiet between the two of you, so it’s quite unusual that neither of you were speaking.

And who’s fault is that?

This is so fucking stupid.

You swore that you’d take your feelings for Miles to the grave because you were so convinced that he was way out of your league. I mean, he was Spiderman always out there saving the city, but you were just a normal person, going through life like everybody else. Except for the fact that you’re Spiderman’s best friend.

Okay, maybe you were a bit more special than the rest.

But definitely not the smartest.

Sweat started to decorate your forehead like you just had a one hour full blown workout, your thigh slightly shaking in nervousness. You realize this though, making you slap your thigh with your hand. The loud smack made you both jolt in surprise.

“Well come on go on with it.” Miles urged, almost whined even. His face was getting redder by the minute, his almost faded freckles seemed to stand out even more that you could practically count them if you looked.

Holy shit I did not think this through.

“Okay okay um,” You started. Your eyes trailed sideways to his desk, feeling all your nerves quaking underneath your skin.

Oh my god I can’t do this.

”I actually… Have something in my mind that’s been bothering me for a while now.” You mumbled. You were trying so hard to distract yourself while looking at his desk, like counting how many colored pens were there, or how many erasers did this dude actually have.

Too many apparently.

Who the fuck needs that much erasers?!

“I— think you should be looking at the person you’re confessing to so it seems uh… genuine you know?” Miles said, trying to alleviate the awkward ass tension in the room.

You shook your head to snap yourself out of it, before staring right back at him. “Right sorry sorry.” You laughed, before running your fingers through your hair.

Let’s take this more seriously.

Besides, he’d never know… right?

You exhaled deeply, “Anyways, I… actually like you.”

“I’ve liked you for a while now, and I knew I just had to tell you just so I could get it off my chest. Moreover, I just didn’t want to ruin what we’ve got, and I didn’t wish for this to happen. But unfortunately, I’ve come to fall for you.” Your eyes stayed on his the entire time, and every sentence was like a blow on Miles’ heart. But you did say that he had to listen to this practice confession of yours.

He just couldn’t help but feel sad at the fact that you were practicing the whole confession thing and not actually being genuine about your words.

But holy fuck he wished you were directing it towards him.

His mind was getting a bit fuzzy at the thought of you saying these exact words to him. Miles has quite an active imagination, and he just suddenly sees the two of you sitting in some romantic spot like a park or a rooftop with a perfect view of the sunset.

Wait stop it Miles... You have to focus.

"—and I'm just hoping you feel the same way." You finished. You let out the breath you didn't you know you were holding as you surveyed Miles for feedback.

"So? Did that seem natural or? Was it too sappy or does it need like a joke in between or something?"

Miles stared right back at you for a hot second before snapping back to reality. "Oh... right, right yes. It was um... great yeah." He nodded mindlessly before the two of you fell back into the same awkward silence.

You groaned loudly, your head falling into your hands as you rubbed your face violently in frustration. Maybe you should just tell him? Honestly all you gotta do is say—

"It's actually not a practice." You found yourself blurting out while your hands were still covering your face. Since your voice was a bit muffled, Miles scrunched his eyebrows together at you. "What?"

You sighed, removing your hands slowly to reveal your insanely flushed cheeks which not gonna lie made Miles' heart skip a beat like some corny ass romance movie.

"It's... actually not a practice." You repeated, hanging your head low while your eyes were staring up at him, trying to gauge his reaction to your words.

Miles was a bit um... out of it from all the shit you just said and he was still trying to process that you were just practicing. So when you said those words, he gasped loudly, suddenly sitting up straight that his head bumped the bunk bed above him.

"Oh crap!" He exclaimed, placing a hand over the area that got hit as he crouched down. You jumped in surprise, taken aback by what just happened. "Miles! Oh my god are you okay?"

You were quick to place your hands on his hair, not exactly knowing what you could do in that situation, but at least you were trying, no?

"Can—Can you say that again?" He stuttered, still trying to massage his head. Miles was kinda thankful that his torso was laying on the bed so you couldn't see his face. "It um... I wasn't practicing actually, I genuinely like you Miles." You mumbled, now caressing his hair.

He slowly sat up, and you saw how there were actual tears running down his eyes, making your eyes widen in shock. "Miles?! Why are you crying! Did you hit your head that hard? Does it hurt? Are you going to have a concussion? What—"

You were interrupted though when Miles suddenly lunged at you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. "I-I like you too." He whispered. Now it was your turn to freeze, mind going blank as you try to process and see if you actually heard him right.

"You... like me too?" You whispered back, gently wrapping your arms around him as well to return the hug. You felt him nod against your shoulder, which made your breath hitch.

"He likes me too..."

Miles laughed as he pulled back. His hands went up to caress your cheeks before he rested his lips on your forehead. "Yeah, and just so you know, that wasn't a practice either."

"What?"

"Just making sure you know. Like, I wasn't practicing accepting your feelings or telling you that I like you too right? You got that, right? I mean it would be awkward if you thought I was playing along and practicing and—"

"Miles shut up I get it."

Fin.

More of my Miles content here babes!

(if yall wanna be on my taglist feel free to let me know!)

[wannab-urs]

Outtakes - Monsterfucking

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Here's a list of fics I've read where either the Pedro boy, the reader, or everyone involved is a monster of some sort.

Summaries and tags are, in most cases, provided by the author - please be sure to read them as some of these fics may have content you do not wish to read.

Pedro boys currently included are: Joel Miller, Ezra, Din Djarin, Dave York, Marcus Pike, Dieter Bravo, Jack Daniels, Frankie Morales, Oberyn Martell, Max Phillips, and Tim Rockford.

updated 5/24/2024

Demon

Met the Devil Last Night

Joel one shot by @pedgito

I made a joke about wanting to screw dirt-covered Joel even if he was deep in the trenches of hell and...well, yeah. This is pure filth and nothing else. Porn with minuscule plot, if you will

fem!reader, demon!joel, no specific age gap since dude is a literal demon, but reader is early 20s and I picture Joel to be his younger self (around 36), mentions of su*cidal ideations, this all a completely made up concept pls don't come for me about rituals, ect i will cry. virgin!reader, reader's father is a priest and horrible (just a total douche)/mother isn't alive, spitting, oral, unprotected piv, blood drinking, competency kink, innocence kink, mutual masturbation

In Every Lifetime

Ezra series by @xdaddysprincessxx

It’s fall of 1974 in your quiet small town of Chesterfield when everything falls apart. Or is it the beginning?

Reader is mid to late 20s, witchcraft, tarot, yes the witchy things depicted in this is real witchcraft things, use of Latin

Common Courtesies

Din one shot by @juletheghoul

Pride and Prejudice vibes but Mr. Darcy is a sex demon

**pussy-eating** language, age-gap (legal, reader is of age) dirty talk, supernatural elements, sexist society, sexist comments from readers father

Solum

Dave York one shot by @ezrasbirdie

Are you lost?" Your heart seizes with fear at the deep rumbling voice, head jerking to look in the direction it came from. It’s too dark. You can’t see anything. "Who’s—who’s there?" You ask, hoping you sound braver than you feel. "You didn’t answer my question,” it said. “Are you lost?' You swallow. You shouldn’t be here. You’ve never stepped foot in this building before today. You have no business here. But lost? No. You’re exactly where you set out to be.

SMUT, dubious consent [reader wants to be with him, but he's a demon so you know—it's a little influenced]—dead dove, this is horror and Dave York is an actual demon who kills people, graphic violence, body horror, a dash of blood kink, oral sex

Sell My Soul For You

Marcus P one shot by @absurdthirst

During girls night out, you accidentally dial your boyfriend, Marcus Pike. He hears you complain about how vanilla your sex life is and that you need to him to be more dominant. Marcus proves he’s willing to do anything to please you, even if the cost is his soul.

Angst, hurt feelings, demon possession, dominant!Marcus, oral (male and female receiving), face fucking, spanking, pussy slapping, spitting, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, bondage/handcuffs, anal play, double penetration (fingers and cock), soft aftercare.

Incubus

Crawling Back to You

Dieter one shot by @prolix-yuy

Have you no idea that you're in deep?

religious corruption kink, bastardizing prayers, brief drug use, mentions of alcohol consumption, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, breaking a hymen, descriptions of blood, biting and drawing blood, pheromone incubus anatomy, size difference/kink like whoa, monster transformation, monster fucking, PiV sex, wildly unrealistic sex, kind of dubious consent in the way that she has no idea what she's getting into so Dieter checks in A LOT, consent is sexy and monsters especially should ask for it, Reader has no idea what she's doing when it comes to summoning an incubus.

Dream Within a Dream

Ezra one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Your dreams have become the escape from your draining life. When you discover you are not alone in your dreamworld, will all the aspects lacking in your waking life be fulfilled by your handsome companion?

dream fucking, loss of virginity, depictions and deviations of supernatural lore, erotic gore

Cryptid

Mothman Fever

Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters

You and your friends head to Point Pleasant, West Virginia in late September for the Mothman Festival. And that’s where you meet Joel Miller, a fellow Mothman enthusiast. But once you spend some time alone with him you realize that he’s not who he says he is.

Smut, canon divergence, semi-public sex, alcohol, no outbreak, pet names (luna), oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, PiV sex, sex pollen, dubcon, monsterfucking

Oh, Honey

Joel series by @lincolndjarin

you’ve been given a gift. a fresh start in a brand new place, the sleepy little town of Honey, WV. a distant aunt has passed away and left you a little plot of land and her camper, the stars must be aligning for you because the local mortician is looking for an assistant and you’re desperate for the work experience. your new employer even offers to set you up with her brother-in-law! things are looking up, you’ve got a brand new home, a new town, a hot date, (and thanks to a series of bear attacks that started immediately after your arrival) you have more than enough work to keep you busy!

Soulmates AU, eventual smut, teratophilia, graphic descriptions of violence, explicit descriptions of menstruation, graphic descriptions of the mortuary process, horror, depictions of extreme fear, body horror, graphic depictions of death, eldritch horror. this is a monster fucker fic, proceed accordingly

Sanguine

ˆEzra one shot by marisferasiop

since being turned as a boy into- whatever liminal state of cryptid he is now- Ezra has walked this earth ageless and alone, never finding his place or a partner for long. He interrupts your meal in the city one evening, and brings you home to strike up a deal; feed from him, alone, and keep one another safe from discovery. The fact that he finds his purpose under the soft graze of your teeth and home between your thighs is a nice side effect.

lots of blood, smut, soft yearning sweet boy Ezra, mapuche mythology and monsters, schmoop. Ezra is a subby little sap in this.

Tentacles

MDKT Sex Pollen

Joel one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings

Your patrol with Joel goes a little sideways

Dead Dove Do Not Eat/DDDNI, noncon/heavy dubcon, body horror, tentacles, mouth r*pe, double/triple penetration, bondage, non-consensual bondage, choking, deep throating, pheromones, sex pollen, tentacles, mind fuck/mind break, brainwashing, guilt, trauma, trauma bonding. Let me know if I missed anything.

Taungsdays, am I right?

Din one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings

You awaken to find yourself and Din in an alien position.

Smut, dubcon/noncon, pheromones, tentacle sex, bondage, mind-fuck, alien sex, unprotected PiV, anal sex, double penetration, dirty talk

The Stranger the Better

Dieter one shot by @seventeenpins

Dieter gets tentacles. That's the fic.

uhhhh this one has a whole lot: importantly--TENTACLES!, lots of viscous body fluids, slight dubcon due to tentacles with a mind of their own??, buckets of cum, piv, tiv 👀, dieter is a switch, sex parasite, anal, masturbation, body horror, idk they're freaks and it's great, reader has a vulva but gendered language is not used

Dragon

Promise

Ezra one shot by @criticallyacclaimedstranger

You are taken from you village by a dragon, and he has an obscene proposition for you.

Human/Monster Romance, Monsterfucking, initial dubcon (sort of a damned if you do damned if you don't deal), dragon fucks reader, Breeding, Oviposition, Stomach Bulge, PIV Sex, Loss of Virginity, Painful Sex, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, dragon!ezra is really good with his tongue, Squirting, All's well that ends well though, seriously I don't know how to warn for this fic guys, dragon biology is weird, DON'T LOOK AT ME! Light Bondage, drugging, pet names

Werewolf

Bad Moon Rising

Jack series by @wardenparker

When a handsome stranger called Jack shows up on your struggling ranch looking for work, you’re more than happy to take him in - and into your bed, as well.Death of a parent, loss of a spouse, general family drama.

Vaginal sex, oral sex, rough sex, Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy is basically a life motto here, Gunshot wound, first aid things, blood mention, raw meat mention. Vaginal sex, oral sex, rough sex, so much cum, size kink, squirting, anal play/ass eating, monster fucking.

Shifter

SNAFU

Frankie series by @theywhowriteandknowthings

You’ve done this thousands of times, brought new teams to heel, be it in Britain, Japan, Korea, yet the States are always the hardest to wrangle, the mixture of over-hyped masculinity, the general military bravado, whatever it was, you always ran into trouble. But nothing has ever come close to the new Shifter Charlie Team, and boy, are you in for the biggest challenge of your life.

Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shifter AU, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, eventual Frankie x reader, former Jason x Reader, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Military, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, Pack Dynamics, Pack Cuddles, Pack Building, Strong Female Characters, strong female lead

Alien

Kudzu

Ezra one shot by @beskarberry

a familiar stranger shows up at the doorstep of your infirmary with unfamiliar wounds. You're no doctor, but masquerading as one makes you the only one in the position to save his life. Can you win out against his extraterrestrial illness, or will his new abilities stake a claim in you as well?

NON-CON/DUB-CON, human/alien hybridization, forced breeding/impregnation/birth, rough/feral sex, sex pollen, body worship, cervix penetration, cum inflation, knotting, a wisp of a/b/o. Nonsexual: wound care and dressing, hurt/comfort, a little whumpish, shootouts, blood, dumb jokes, cheesy ending

Jizz Fingers

various boys series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

An intergalactic creampie love story.

Smut, alternate universe, aliens, crack fic, penetrative vaginal sex, creampie

Mermaid

Rises the Moon

Joel one shot by @psychedelic-ink

As the man responsible for operating the lighthouse, Joel lives a solitary life on the isolated coast. He has no complaints, enjoying the hauntingly beautiful songs that echo from the sea at night. One stormy night, he rescues a mysterious mermaid tangled in a fishing net. As you recover in the lighthouse, the two form an unlikely bond and find comfort in each other's company.

mention of joel from time to time visiting a brothel, loneliness, mermaid anatomy things, oral (fem receiving), piv, touch starved!joel and reader, mild breeding kink, squirting

Swamp Creature

Beneath the Mire

Ezra one shot by @bonezone44

You're a human-turned-swamp monster and a man crashes into your corner of the bayou.

DDDNE, Non-con somnophilia. Blowjob. Unprotected p-in-v.

Vampire

Sated

Joel one shot by @softlyspector

Joel just wants you to eat well

love as being consumed, blood drinking, smut from start to finish (piv, f!receiving oral, fingering), Joel's praise kink, talk of eating, consuming, drinking, hunger, etc, vampires you get it.

Attraction Spell

Joel one shot by @jksprincess10

Vampire Joel finds witchy reader in her shop asks her for a love spell

DDDNE, noncon/dubcon, stalking, blood play, using blood as lube, ambiguous ending, unprotected p in v, fingering, praise kink, choking, pain kink, rough sex, minimal editing.

Bleed for me

Din series by @saradika

When it's revealed that the Mand'alor is seeking a companion, you find yourself among those hoping to be chosen. A life of luxury in exchange for your blood seems a fair trade - even if you're hiding a closely-kept secret. One that would certainly put your life in danger.

vampires, alternate universe, canon divergence, blood/drinking blood, shared memories, angst, death/violence, biting, body worship, possessive!pleasure!dom!din, implied aphrodisiacs, mind meld, praise kink, oral, piv, marking

The Special One

Joel one shot by @toxicanonymity

You meet a handsome stranger on a night out with friends. The last thing you're expecting is to be chained up in his basement.

Smut, age gap, alcohol, drugging and kidnapping, chains/restraints, blood and its consumption, oral sex (female receiving), period cunnilingus, dubcon, held in captivity, reader can menstruate, male masturbation, vampire!Joel, alternate universe, dark!Joel

Vampire!Dieter

Dieter one shot by @chronically-ghosted

Interview with a vampire, gatsby style

flirting, a bit of blood, maybe dubcon due to The Thrall but i think it's safe to say we all want It from vampire!dieter, unbeta-ed because i needed to write something or someone was going to die

vamp but it's you

Everyone at this party's a vampire

Dieter one shot by @idolatrybarbie

"you look so pretty like this."

briefly discussed necrophilia, innuendo, heavy petting

Sanguine

Ezra one shot by @marisferasiop

since being turned as a boy into- whatever liminal state of cryptid he is now- Ezra has walked this earth ageless and alone, never finding his place or a partner for long. He interrupts your meal in the city one evening, and brings you home to strike up a deal; feed from him, alone, and keep one another safe from discovery. The fact that he finds his purpose under the soft graze of your teeth and home between your thighs is a nice side effect.

lots of blood, smut, soft yearning sweet boy Ezra, mapuche mythology and monsters, schmoop. Ezra is a subby little sap in this.

vamp but it's everyone

a court of fangs and foxgloves

Oberyn/Max P one shot @psychedelic-ink

After you left the court and hence Oberyn, no one is eager to forgive you for your betrayal. Especially those closest to you.

Smut, MMF threesome/orgy, voyeurism, mlm dynamics, Dom/sub dynamics, sub!Max, switch!reader, dom!Oberyn, rimming, ass play, anal sex, penetrative vaginal sex, biting, mentions of blood, vampirism

I Bite Back

One shot by me

Max Phillips is seemingly always in command, always domineering, always on top… except when he’s with you.

Dom!Reader, Bratty Sub!Max, pegging… duh. This is technically monsterfucking also lmao. Aftercare is implied because I'm implying it here, I didn't write that in. Oh also vamp!reader if you want but I don't really make that explicit

Red Right Hand

one shot by me

You and Max have dinner and then you get freaky. It’s almost too much for poor little Maxxie to handle.

Pure porn, pwp, Blood drinking (they’re both vampires), minor character death (your victim lol), murder… obviously. sub!Max, Dom!reader, unprotected PiV (they’re vampires, you are not), uhhh blasphemy probably, face riding, cum eating, Max’s vamp face, oral m! and f!receiving, overstimulation m!receiving, multiple male orgasms, refractory period nonexistent due to vampire fuckery, ass play m!receiving, praise kink, use of pet names/titles (Mistress for reader/ baby boy, pet, Maxxie, and one surprise for Max), aftercare, no use of y/n.

Only Lovers Left Alive

Joel Series by @atinylittlepain

He offers her another option between life and death. How could she refuse?

Smut, dubcon, gore, blood and bloodplay, dark themes, cowboy!vampire!Joel, set in the past, alternate universe

vamp but it's max phillips

With Cherries on Top

series by @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa

After countless late nights and giving up important things in your life for a job and a man that refuses to promote you, your family begs you to quit when you break it to them that you have to miss your grandmother’s 85th birthday. Max Phillips may have left the country an American citizen but he came back an undead vampire, meaning his status in the States is no longer valid. In order to not get deported to Romania, he tells immigration that the two of you are getting married and he strikes a deal to make it worth your while.

Smut, language, adult themes, sexual innuendos, workplace harassment, family issues, angst, hurt/comfort, manipulation

A Little Lipstick Never Hurts

Reader/Max/Dieter series by @max--phillips

Max tries to skip his morning inspection, but gets caught breaking one of the rules you set for him anyway. A punishment is in order. / Max realizes a fantasy, and you enlist Dieter Bravo to help you deliver. / You receive a very hot video from your boyfriends while you are at work. The making of said video requires Max to break some rules you'd previously set out for him. He and Dieter make it up to you very easily.

Forced Feminization, but it's consensual, Femdom, Chastity Device 24/7, D/s dynamic, Sex Toys, BDSM, reader referred to as Mistress and Ma'am, Impact Play, Riding Crop, Bondage, Anal Fingering, Pegging, Butt Plugs, Degradation, Deepthroating, face fucking, gagging, spit, ruined orgasm, Nipple Clamps, Cum Play, Cum Eating, Oral Sex, Aftercare, there is NO misgendering, Max's ass does get referred to as his pussy and his dick his clit, but that's as far as that goes, MMF, threesome, PIV, double penetration, cock cages, ball gag, choking, max is a vampire, blow jobs, sex tapes, cum swapping, rule negotiations, fluff

Reflective

series by @prolix-yuy

His management style is effective AND refreshing. And as his executive assistant, you’re partially to thank. But as your professional relationship blurs, are you getting too close to the middle manager monster of nightmares?

horror elements and themes, graphic descriptions of blood including drinking, background character un-death, violence, fingering (f-receiving), vomiting (not descriptive), descriptions of a panic attack, a dabble of sleazy coworkers, playing fast and loose with vampire lore. mirror shenanigans, fingering (f-receiving), oral sex (f-receiving), PiV sex (don’t be a fool wrap your tool), playing fast and loose with vampire lore.

Lust for a vampire

one shot by @idolatrybarbie

A lot of oddballs and strange characters visit a vampire strip club in a tourist town on the border. Max Phillips is unlike any of them.

Smut, mentioned drug use, background sex work, dubcon, supernatural stalking, blood, pussy slapping, orgasm denial, spit, physical altercation, vaginal fingering, pet names (sweet thing, honey, sweetheart)

The Impaler

Tim Rockford/Max/Reader one shot by @kiwisbell

Chief Detective Tim Rockford makes a breakthrough in New York City’s latest serial killer case. The mysterious culprit is in the mood to share more than information.

vampires, gothic architecture, slightly dubious consent, implied mind alteration/control, murder, death, blood, threesome, lots of biting, spanking, spitroasting, masturbation, DVP, fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap ur vampire dicks pls), wife sharing, free use kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), exchanging fluids, spitting, disgusting and filthy, max using cringey nicknames for reader’s pussy but it’s charming bc it’s max, handcuffs, light bondage, hair pulling

I cannot get you close enough

one shot by @leslie-lyman

“You have to invite me in, sweetheart.” Oh. Right. Vampire. “Come in, please,” you say demurely, and Max’s smile widens as he steps over the threshold into your apartment. He reaches for you again immediately, kicking your door closed and pulling you close. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Such a polite little Omega.”

A/B/O dynamics; one small scene of men being creepy and threatening towards reader (but, perhaps surprisingly, one of those men is not Max); extremely self-indulgent Halloween costumes on the part of your author; a bit of angst; fEeLiNgS; absolutely way too much plot and character backstory for what was supposed to just be porn; Alpha!Max is his own warning; heat sex; biting; blood-drinking; breeding kink; many, many creampies; Max has an absolutely filthy mouth; look, it’s heat sex with Max, it probably (hopefully?) entails exactly what you think it does

All Mouth

one shot by @idolatrybarbie

max phillips and prompt no. nine— "you look so pretty like this." with a twist!

reader is not American/not an "American vampire", porn with mild plot, pet names (honey, baby, sweetie, Maxxie), all the usual vampire genre warnings, including but not limited to - graphic blood and gore, cannibalism, mention of scars, horror themes, love as consumption, smut - mommy kink, degradation (max gets called a slut), cock slapping, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, handjob, alcohol mention, fluff.

It Will Come Back

Max Phillips one shot by @beskarandblasters

Against your better judgment, you let Max drink your blood.

reader is able-bodied, blood sucking, unhealthy dynamic between Max and reader, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (baby), dark ending kinda???, idk maybe a little out of character for him but fuck it we ball, no use of y/n

Crawl

one shot by @proxima-writes

Gym owner Max Phillips offers to let you use the sauna. In return, he uses your mouth.

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), no use of y/n, able bodied reader, dirty talk, crawling, oral (m receiving), no aftercare, semi-public sex.

Happy Reading!

[spacebarbarianweird]

When Old Scars Hurt

Synopsis: It's been two years and relationships between Astarion and Tiriel are being rocky.

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Tags: fluff, conversation about relationships.

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

His back hurts and burns. Astarion is so sure his scars are open, he lets out a muffled cry.

No, it can't be. It's not real.

Scars can't bleed.

But why does it hurt so much?

Astarion sits on the floor and presses his knees against his chest trying to calm himself down. But no mental exercises help him.

The pain is only getting worse.

There is a disgusting autumn outside. The winds howl promising misery and despair and, to the less fortunate, death in the cold winter. It’s dark, but he doesn’t want to go out. 

Astarion needs to feel warm hands on his back.

He gets up and enters the room they’ve rented with Tiriel. She is fast asleep in her bed, face pressed against the pillow. Astarion can see the upper half of her back and he can count all her freckles in the pitch-black room.

His beloved.

His partner.

His love.

His friend.

His Tiriel.

He shouldn't wake her up. Half-elves don't inherit the sleepless nature of their elven ancestors and have to spend a third of their lives in slumber.

So Astarion just sits there listening to her heartbeat and breathing. For two years, it has been his favorite sound. Just a quiet thump-thump-thump which has become the synonym of comfort and safety to him.

She offers him warmth. She offers him blood. She offers him herself.

Astarion shivers.

And he hurts her in return.

A quarrel. Those nasty words Astarion wishes he never said. Pain in Tiriel's eyes as if he had punched her. Silence. She left for the room they'd rented and fell asleep, tired and exhausted. And he stayed outside with his own thoughts and anger.

Idiot, she will abandon you. She will leave you all alone because she has her mortality and you don't.

Some parts of him wanted to apologize, to crawl back, to beg for forgiveness. Old habits refused to die out.

So he didn't. He let her go away to sleep while he stayed with his bitterness. 

What if Tiriel doesn't want him anymore? What if she wakes up, looks straight into his eyes, and says "It's over, I can't keep up with your meltdowns anymore. I don't have your immortality and can't spend my years on you. Goodbye."

He can picture her stern face. The coldness in her eyes. 

Astarion shakes his head. The rational part of him is sure Tiriel won't break up with him over his occasional rudeness. She knows him. She knows that sometimes it's stronger than him.

Suddenly, he realizes she isn't asleep anymore.

Tiriel moves a bit, inviting him to join her. His undead heart would skip a bit if he were alive.

He gets under the blanket and the warmth preserved by the thick layer of fabric makes him feel like a kitten cradled in its mother's arms.

"Tiriel, can I ask you something?" he whispers.

Tiriel sighs.

"Yes, I still love you. No, I don’t want to break up with you. Yes, you made the right choice not to ascend. No, I am not angry with you. It was rude but you weren’t in the mood for touching – I should have realized it."

The grip of darkness lets him go. He is still sorry for yelling at her – she just touched his bite mark at the wrong moment – but the guilt is slowly fading away.

"Thank you."

She smiles and places her hands over his scars and the pain lets his body go.

"Was it a nightmare?" Tiriel asks.

"No... Just a hallucination."

"It's all right, it's in the past." Her fingertips draw invisible pictures on his shoulders.

"Two hundred years," he mutters. "Two fucking hundred years. No one has any idea how long it truly is."

Tiriel doesn't say anything. At first, when they just got together, Asatrion tried to busy himself in these moments, he always tried to talk to make sure the silence didn't deafen him, but the more years passed, the more he learned to enjoy the silence.

Silence isn't dangerous.

Silence isn't scary.

It doesn't automatically bring horrors.

“Tiriel?”

“Hm?”

“You really aren't angry, are you? Tell me the truth.”

Tiriel elbows up a bit and forces him to lie on her right side.

“Astarion. Love. You hurt me. It was a mean to say. I know why you act like that sometimes. That’s all. I didn’t expect you to be that angry when I touched your neck, that’s true.” 

“I am sorry.” 

She caresses his jawline forcing him to close his eyes like a content cat. 

“Do you think you will want to stay with me, Tiriel? Year later, ten years later. Let's be honest, you aren’t immortal like me. What if I am a waste of time?”

“You aren't.”

“You don't know that. Tiriel, I am much older than you and, although my life has been all fear and misery, it doesn't mean I didn't live it. You are thirty-eight. You have a century and a half of life ahead. You were raised by humans, and you think that you have all eternity. You don't.”

Tiriel sits up. “So what? Do you want me to leave you?”

“Tiriel, I want you to be happy, you deserve to be happy.”

“And I am! Astarion I was on my own my whole life and no one cared for me! No one loved me! You were the first one! You don't believe in gods and destiny but I do believe we were made for each other. Stop. I am happy with you. And I can tolerate the downsides that come along. 

“I will make you miserable. My hands are cold, I can’t warm you unless I drink a profane amount of blood. I draw your blood, making you weak and dizzy.”

She lies back and tugs him as close as she can, intertwining her body with his. Astarion suddenly realizes that she is almost as strong as him and, should he want to break the embrace, he will have to make an effort.

“What if you want a child? A family? I can’t give you that.”

Tiriel looks up at him. “Honestly, Astarion, you claim to know mortals so well but fail to understand that being pregnant with an unwanted child from an unloved man is the ultimate nightmare for a woman. If I ever want to get pregnant, I want it to be yours.”

Astarion grabs her arms if she is about to disappear. 

“That's it. We aren't going anywhere from each other. I don't want anyone else. You probably don’t either. You are my Astarion. My friend, my heart, and my husband. I don’t need and want anyone else. No matter how warm their hands are.”

Astarion looks into her eyes. She means it, he realizes. She truly, honestly means it. Even now, two years later, when their relationship is rocky.

And she considers him her husband. 

He kisses her forehead. 

“I love you, my wife.”

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids @ednaaa-04 @dajeong

[elliespassagerprincess]

I’m not sure if you do horror but can you do a horror one like scream themed or any horror movie

Scream for me - part 1 (ellie williams x reader)

This will be a three part series, part two will be released soon!

Pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

Requests are always open feel free to leave one!

Warnings: murder, stalking, mentions of violence, body mutilation

Summary: Not killing the pretty girl was the best mistake she ever made

(if you want me to add you to a tag list just leave a comment and I'll add you)

Fuck

Why was she standing still? Why wasn’t she moving? Why was she hesitating?

Everyone in Jackson was terrified. The brutal murders happening around town might be the reason for that.

The first victim a beautiful blonde girl; Jamie Smith was found on a cold Saturday morning. Head decapitated, with over 20 stab wounds. No one knew why someone would kill such an innocent girl. After the first murder a second victim appeared: Jacob Hill. His genitalia mutilated, his tongue missing and once again over 20 stab wounds. And soon another victim then another and another. And soon the death count went from 2 to over 15 people. No one was safe. Whoever this murderer was, was thirsty for blood. And she’d kill anyone to quenched that thirst.

But here she stood over you sleeping body.

Why wasn’t she attacking you? In all honesty she doesn’t know. She doesn’t fucking know who you were. But that’s the thing she never knew her victims. It makes killing easier.

 But why couldn’t she hurt you?

She ruthless, borderline satanic. But yet as she looked at you while you slept she felt her dark thoughts go silent.  You were pretty. The face of an angel. The face of pure innocence. She couldn’t harm such a pretty thing like you.

So the famous Ghostface (that’s what everyone calls this murderer) went home. And she questioned herself.

Why didn’t she fucking kill you?

She removed her mask, the autumn brown hair falling out of the loose bun she placed it in.

“stupid fucking hair” Ellie muttered out of frustration. Her hair was so fucking short she couldn’t even tie a proper ponytail. She quickly removed the gloves, and placed her favorite knife back in it’s case. She swiftly removed the all black outfit she wore, and she was left in red boxers and a black sports bra. Ellie laid down on her bed, and she let out a sigh.

She didn’t kill anyone tonight. That was weird. She always kills people when she goes out. Her not killing you ruined her current killing streak.

“Fuck” she muttered and closed her eyes trying to fall asleep. The more she tried the less the felt sleepy. Her thoughts consumed her. With her past victims, Joel, the police and you.

 Who were you?

Ellie had to know. Even if it fucking kills her.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Ellie waited. She waited for the alarm to sound.

Since the killings, Jackson has had a curfew. Everyone should be in the house before night fall, doors locked. Everyone was terrified. No one could figure out who Ghostface was. A question many asked because they hated living in fear. But Ellie liked it. She liked having people scared of her. She liked knowing the reason people were forced to stay inside was because of her. She got a sick kick out of it.

The alarm sounded and she waited for one hour, because the police patrol that one hour hoping to catch her. No one can. No one will.

At exactly 11:00pm Ellie went out. Not to kill. But to find out who that pretty girl was. She knew she couldn’t kill you. The way her body reacted at the sight of you made it impossible. But she needed to know who you were.

It didn’t take long for Ellie to find your house again. Your curtains closed and windows locked. 

“Fuck” she muttered under her breathe when she couldn’t get in “fuck you pretty girl” she cursed. Ellie ran to the other side of the house and she thanked the gods that there was a window open.

She squeezed through the small window, “shit” she cursed out loudly when she felt her foot land in cold water. She landed in the toilet cringing at how it made her socks feel. She quickly got out not caring if she made your floor wet and she went back to the bedroom.

When she entered she was hit with a strong vanilla smell she thought she could faint at how strong the smell is. “jesus fucking christ” she cursed. And she stood there, trying to get used to the smell.

And that’s when she saw once again you lay there sleeping. Blissfully unaware that Ghostface was standing above you for the second time. You looked peaceful, it looked like you didn’t have a worry in the world but your messy room said otherwise. Clothes everywhere, books scattered across the floor.

“She’s probably in college” Ellie thought when she saw all the texts books.

 pretty and smart. Her favorite.

Her eyes landed on a wall filled with polaroid’s. Her mouth fell agape when she saw you. Awake. You were even prettier than she imagined. She was mesmerized by you. Her thoughts were quickly disturbed when she saw a picture of you and a girl. Ellie frowned.

Who was she?  Why were you with her? Why do you look so happy? She was going to fucking kill-

‘Woah Ellie calm down’ she thought to herself. She didn’t even know your fucking name.

She quickly grabbed the polaroid of you smiling. You wore a blue and white sundress, you looked beautiful. She smiled down at the picture, stuffing it into her pocket.

She made a quick mental note of that girl she saw in the picture with you. Ellie was going to find her. She was going to know who the fuck that girl was.

 She stayed in your room. The entire night. She watched you sleep, she cleaned up a little and she left with the polaroid.

In the days to come Ellie has gone insane. Every time she went out to kill some, she took that polaroid with her. That fucking picture of the pretty girl who’s name she doesn’t know. Every time she stabbed someone, every time the blade pierced someone’s skin she imagined you whispering;

“do it again” “kill them”

She doesn’t even know what you sound like, but fuck the way she imagines it has her dripping. She hoped to hear your voice one day.

She kissed that picture every time she went out, she slept with it under her pillow. She had it in her pocket 24/7.

And in the passing nights, she went back to your house every time. She watched you sleep, she cleaned up a little, she got mad at that picture of you and that girl who she still hasn’t found. You’ve consumed her life and she doesn’t even fucking know your name.

Tonight was like no other for Ellie, she murdered an old man. She did her classic 20 stab wound method then she set him on fire. It was something new. Something entertaining. This will definitely get a kick out of the community she thought. She went home and showered trying to clean off all the blood so that she doesn’t get your room messy. She kissed the polaroid, put it into her pocket and she left.

She left to you. Once again she hopped through the bathroom window. And she ran straight to your room, as she cleaned she accidently knocked the lamp off your bedside table. And she heard a whimper from behind her.

‘Fuck” she breathed. She slowly turned around to see you sitting, knees to your chin, fear in your eyes. This was the first time Ellie is seeing you awake, and she wanted to do nothing more but to grab you and kiss you.

“Who are you?” the pretty girl whispered

What the fuck was Ellie going to do?

part 2

Authors note: sorry for just disappearing, I was in a really bad space mentally, but I’m back now! I hope you enjoyed, and trust me this story is going to get darker in the next part. Remember to always be kind! Requests are always open, feel free to leave one! And if you wanna be in the tag list just leave a comment !

Yours truly,

Zia <3

[halogalopaghost]

Hey idk who needs to hear this, but tagging disfigurement/serious injury/etc etc as "body horror" Is Bad and I'm gonna need you guys to stop doing that immediately please. Tag as "gore", "injury", hell you can even tag "disfigurement", but injuries and/or physical appearances within the realm of physical possibility should not be tagged "body horror".

What you need to understand is that "body horror" is a fictitious concept. It's when something has too many eyes, too many ribs, a head that moves 360°, joints that bend backward, etc. Body horror is NOT a missing limb; burns or burn scarring; broken bones; disfigured, missing, or otherwise atypical of facial features; congenital disorders; surgical scars, etc.

When asking yourself if you should tag body horror, consider this: is it something that can happen to a real human person? If the answer is yes, don't tag body horror.

People with physical disabilities and atypical features suffer enough othering and stigma as-is; let's not talk about actual people like scary horror creatures, yeah?

EDIT: sighs. Ya'll have the reading comprehension of a fucking bonobo. I AM HYPERMOBILE, I know joints sometimes move a little funky. That's kind of the point here, no? If the mobility is within the range of an actual human then don't tag it body horror! Doug Jones DNI (joke)

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Howdy! In honor of Let Papyrus Say Fuck Day, I've decided to put together a little collection of fics that should be more Papyrus focused!

What Are Friends For by IchikiWindGryphon (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

Undyne and Papyrus are the best of friends. But when Undyne learns Papyrus's greatest secret, it pushes their relationship to the brink. Things only get worse as she learns of the skeleton brothers' traumatic past, and the horrors of Dr. W.D. Gaster.

We Need to Talk by batter_sempai (General Audiences, Incomplete)

Something is bothering Frisk. Because of a deal they made in the past, a familiar voice keeps haunting them, telling them to murder those close to them and threatening to take over their body. For a while, only Flowey knows what is happening to them, but their struggle to keep in control is noticed by Papyrus, who offers to help them. All three of them soon find themselves isolated, as Papyrus attempts to communicate to the Fallen Child possessing Frisk, in order to protect his brother and to prevent another genocide run from occurring.

Flowey Is Not a Good Life Coach by unrestedjade (Mature, Complete)

Flowey gets bored and decides to change up one of his runs. Papyrus presents an interesting project, for the moment.

You Can't Make An Emotionally-Developed Papyrus Omelette Without Breaking A Few Limit-Eggs by KachiggaTHUNDER (Teen And Up, Complete)

Papyrus faces everything with a positive attitude, and never gives up once he's been asked to do something. As nice as that is in theory, it can lead to problems in practice. Problems such as strained friendships, personal doubts and damage to one's personal possessions. Still, no problem can make the Great Papyrus give up! ...Probably.

Two Sides of the Same Coin by AceFace98 (Teen And Up, Complete)

Papyrus lived his whole life in a single room, with only the “Mental Evaluation” days to look forward to (he called them “Long Boring Test” days, which was much more accurate). He never really minded his life, he didn’t know anything else. The doctors were all really nice to him, and he had everything he could possibly want. Expect, maybe, he wished he wasn’t so lonely. But when his wish comes true, everything else comes crashing down around him. Another skeleton child breaks into his room, carrying a backpack full of supplies and plans of escape. Papyrus tags along with him, mostly not to loose the closest thing he’s ever had to a friend, and he finds out quickly that he’s grossly unprepared for the outside world. But friends stick together, especially when they might be...brothers?

The Deep End Yessica (Teen And Up, Complete)

There must have been a mistake. He doesn’t belong here. Life is great. Monsters are free, the surface is wonderful and things couldn’t be better. So the fact that Papyrus still wants to die, isn’t really a problem, is it?

Blue Heart by Rogue_Mutt (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

In the Underfell Universe, Papyrus continues to uphold his duties as a member of the Royal Guard Militia alongside his brother Sans. When he accepts an assignment from Undyne to collect taxes from Snowdin, he is then ambushed before he can make the delivery. After being brutally attacked, he gains the respect from king Asgore Dreemurr himself, who offers Papyrus to become an official member of his grim guard. Papyrus will come to understand the rules of this Kill or be killed world as he comes to question exactly what he is willing to do to keep he and his brother alive and well.

Forgettable by Peepasaurus (Teen And Up, Complete)

After the world went dark, everyone lost a few memories. But some forgot more than others. Papyrus couldn't decipher what was real or an illusion. What was a nightmare or a memory. What it meant to keep hearing the words, 'I am here'.

Oh, Brother by peachyelixer (Teen And Up, Complete)

Papyrus had always seen himself as the stronger brother. Of course - why wouldn’t he when his lazy brother, Sans, spends 90% of the day sleeping in his room and the other 10% doing god-knows-what? But when the secrets of time-lines and what Sans has been keeping on his shoulders are revealed, Papyrus makes a promise both to himself and to his brother that Sans wouldn’t fight this battle on his own anymore. Papyrus was going to help his older brother, no matter what.

How To Be A Big Brother by kaliawai512 (General Audiences, Complete)

Frisk is upset. Papyrus doesn't know why. They're on the surface, everyone is safe and they all have a brand new life together. But Frisk has been sitting in the corner during the day and waking up screaming in the middle of the night. They are very, very upset, and Papyrus wants to help. He just doesn't know how. But he does know how someone helped him when he was young, and maybe, just maybe, he can do the same thing himself. Maybe he can be as great a big brother as his own was to him. (Secret Santa gift for Peanutable - happy holidays!!)