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just-dreaming-marvel · 2 months ago

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Love That Burns ~ 10

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,645ish

Summary: You continue to struggle with Logan's reappearance.

Warnings: talk of nightmares, emotional

Notes: This is a shorter chapter. Hope you still enjoy it. Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

Jean called you down to the lab. When you got there, x-ray’s of Logan’s were lining the walls and screens. Charles, Scoot, and Ororo were already sitting in front of the screens. You pulled up a chair behind them, studying the x-ray’s. You had seen Jam—Logan’s metal claws briefly and you knew that Stryker had a big part of that but Logan was never able to explain himself to you.

“The metal is an alloy called adamantium,” Jean explained. “Supposedly indestructible. It’s been surgically grafted to his entire skeleton.”

“How could he have survived a procedure like that?” Ororo wondered.

“His mutation. He has uncharted regenerative capability which enables him to heal rapidly. This also makes his age impossible to determine. He could very well be older than you, Professor. And you, Y/N.”

“He’s turning 169 this year,” you mumbled.

Everyone’s heads snapped in your direction.

“And you know that, how?” Scott asked.

You shook your head. “He’s— He was—I can’t… I’m not ready.”

“Who did this to him?”

“He doesn’t know,” answered Jean, trying to get the pressure off of you. “Nor does he remember anything about his life before it happened.”

“Anything?” You squeaked, a tear slipping down your cheek. “He doesn’t remember anything?”

“Y/N,” Charles called, trying to ground your emotions. “Perhaps it’s time to explain.”

“No. I’m not ready.”

He maneuvered his chair over to you. “I know. But we all deserve to know the truth about who Logan… who James is. Including him.”

You took a shaky deep breath. “His name is James Logan Howlett. He was born in 1832. I meant him in 1972 when he joined William Stryker’s team, which I was already a part of.” You looked up, trying not to let more tears fall. “He saved me from that team… we ran away. Started a life… we… we fell in love.” Your voice cracked and you quickly stood up. “I’m sorry… I can’t do this.”

You rushed out of the lab before anyone could stop you.

~~~

You needed food. You also felt like you needed to finally talk some more about your past with Logan. It had felt like a weight being lifted from you, making your realize you shouldn’t carrying this on your own. Exiting your room, you heard voices in the room next door.

“Where’s your room?” It was Logan.

“With Scott,” Jean replied, “down the hall.” You moved closer to the room.

“Is that your gift? Putting up with that guy?”

“Actually, I’m telekinetic. I can move things with my mind.”

“Really? What kinds of things?” You heard the closet doors slam shut.

“All kinds of things. I also have a telepathic ability.”

“What, like your professor?”

“Nowhere near that powerful. But he’s teaching me to develop it.”

“I”m sure he is.” You peeked around the corner as saw Logan move closer to Jean. “So read my mind.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Come on. You afraid you might like it?”

Logan’s flirting with Jean stung you. You glanced to your side as you heard footsteps, only to see Scott joining you.

“I doubt it,” Jean replied to Logan.

You watched as Jean raised her hands on either side of Logan’s head. She closed her eyes and entered his mind. Almost as soon as she started, she gasped and opened her eyes. Logan grabbed her hands to steady them.

“What do you see?” He asked.

Jean noticed you and Scott in the doorway. “Y/N!” She greeted. “Scott!” Jean pulled her hands away from Logan. “Goodnight, Logan.”

Logan turned, making eye contact with you. His breath caught as a brief image of you smiling flashed before his eyes. Jean walked past Scott and over to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you down the hall.

“Jean?” You said, confused.

“I saw you,” Jean stated, stopping in front of her and Scott’s room.

“What?”

“I saw you in his mind. You’re in there. His memories of you are in there.”

“Don’t…” you shook your head. “Don’t give me hope, Jean. I don’t want it.” You turned away and looked at the door that Scott had just closed.

“The ring is yours, isn't it?” Your head fell, hands coming up to cover your face. “The engagement ring with his dog tags.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Y/N.” Jean quickly went around and hugged you. You melted into her with tears.

“I thought he was dead, Jean… for twenty-two years, I believed he was dead…” Scott came up from behind, resting a caring hand on your back. “He doesn’t remember me,” you sobbed. “I love him and he doesn’t even know who I am.”

Jean and Scott moved you into their bedroom as your cries worsened. Neither of them noticed Logan peering out of his room. He could hear someone crying. When he noticed it was you, he only grew more curious. But before Logan could hear what you were crying about, you were led into another bedroom. There hadn't been a time in his twenty-two years of memory, where Logan’s heart ached like it did now. None of this was making any sense to him. Who were you? And what were you keeping from him?

~~~

Eventually, you ended up in your own bed. Crying should have worn you out, but you couldn’t sleep. Not with Logan in the next room over, having a nightmare. You bit your lip as you struggled to not rush over there. You didn’t want to overwhelm him. But his grunting, moaning, and cries were tearing you apart. Suddenly, you heard the familiar release of his claws and his screams.

“Help me!” Logan shouted. “Somebody, help!”

You were out of bed and into the next room before you knew it. You stood in the doorway to see Marie—or Rogue—the girl who came in with Logan, touching his face. Logan was greying, struggling to breathe. From what you had heard, Rogue was not supposed to touch others, as it could be dangerous. Rogue pulled away before you could stop her. Logan fell to the ground, trembling. You were quick to rush over to Logan’s side, placing his head in your lap to steady him.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

Scott, Jean, and Ororo rushed into the room. Jean and Scott quickly joined you on the floor with Logan.

“It was an accident,” Rogue said to Ororo as students gathered in the doorway.

Scott, Jean, and Ororo rushed in and joined you on the floor with Logan.

“Jean, will he be okay?” You asked, trying to bury the emotions within you but clearly failing.

“His mutation is kicking in,” Jean explained as she looked him over. “He just needs rest. Scott, help me get him on the bed.”

You watched as Scott and Jean worked together to lift Logan—and his metal skeleton—onto the bed. Jean carefully got him situated before you stood up.

“We should all get some rest,” Jean stated.

You shook your head. “I’m not leaving,” you said, pulling up at chair to the side of Logan’s bed. “Not until I know he’s alright.”

“Y/N—“ Scott tried, only to be stopped by Jean.

Scott sighed and the two of the left to go get the students who woke up back to bed. You sat on the chair, staring at Logan. He was your James in looks, but everything else was different. Including his personality. The years and memory loss had turned him into a rough man with walls up to protect himself. You suspected that he was also claiming it was to protect everyone around him as well.

~~~

“Logan?” Charles called, feeling the man lying on the bed begin to wake.

“What happened?” Logan wondered, looking at where Charles was beside him. “Is she all right?”

“She’s be all right.”

“What did she do to me?”

“When Rogue touches someone, she takes their energy, their life force. In the case of mutants, she absorbs their gifts for a while. In your case, your ability to heal.”

“I feel like she almost killed me.”

“If she’d held out any longer, she could have.”

Logan nodded, trying to place his thoughts together. He nightmare that he was in the midst of before Rogue came in was a familiar one. The flashes of the experiment they did on him. But there were some different scenes this time. Flashes of you. You crying. You laughing. You just talking to him. Turning his head, Logan finally realized that you were curled up in a chair, sound asleep. He looked at you with furrowed brows. Something inside of him hated seeing you asleep on the chair. You should be in a bed.

“She refused to leave your side,” Charles told him.

“Who is she?” Logan repeated the question from hours before. “I think… I think I knew her… Jean jumped into my brain and I think she did something. I keep seeing Y/N’s face.”

Charles sighed. “I suggest you talk to Y/N in the morning. She is the only one able to explain things.”

“Can you at least tell me how long Y/N’s been here?”

“Twenty-two years.”

Logan’s eyes snapped back to look at you. There was something you were hiding. Between the time frame being the same and your face appearing in his mind, Logan knew that you were some part of his past. You had answers to questions that Logan had been searching for.

“Thanks, Professor,” Logan said, sitting up. “I’ll watch her.”

Charles nodded, heading for the door. He glanced back and saw Logan out of bed, heading for you. Charles watched as Logan picked you up and gently set you on the bed, tucking you in before taking his place in your chair. The Professor couldn’t help but smile as he left the room. There was some hope for you two after all.

next chapter >

#logan howlet x reader #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x mutant reader #logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x female!reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #james logan howlett #wolverine fanfiction #the wolverine #wolverine #wolverine x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Retrogradation

Warnings: non/dubcon, coercion and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Part of Roo’s Pajama Party (October 7-8)

Prompt: Retrogradation - a backward movement. (List of prompts here) + this look

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. I hope you enjoy this one and have a lovely weekend.

This isn’t how you saw things going. Nothing ever really goes how you expect. You think you’d be used to it by now. That after all the disappointment, you would give up hope. You tried that too but it still hurts.

You pull the blanket over the couch. You don’t anticipate a good sleep. The springs are broken and squeaky and the cushions not quite thick enough to pad the jabbing metal. You can’t complain, it’s somewhere to lay your head. That morning, you didn’t have even that.

You try to fluff up the slightly dingy pillow. You just as sad for your brother as for yourself. This isn’t anyway to live. Thin walls, noisy neighbours, and that constant stale smell that doesn’t go away. Even so, you won’t spurn his kindness. It’s all you have.

You can at least be grateful for the solitude. He left about an hour ago, said he’d be back in a few hours. You didn’t ask why. He’s an adult and you’re sure he has more to worry about than his errant sister.

Before you can recline, footsteps make their way steadily down the hall. You stop and listen, watching the crack beneath door. For a moment, you think it’s just your brother but the knock that follows assures you otherwise. He wouldn’t do that.

Hm. Maybe you should ignore it. If it’s his friend, they might assume that he’s not there. They knock again. It would be rude to not answer. What if it’s an emergency?

You get up and cross to the door. You pause for just a moment as you think about how short your pajamas are. How the top is a bit too loose so that the top button hangs a bit lower than it should. They won’t think about that.

You open the door and choke on your voice. You’re so stunned to see Mr. Smith there, you’re certain you’re dreaming. You must have fallen asleep and not even realised. You stare as his lashes flick to mirror your surprise.

“Eh, think I might have the wrong place,” he says. “Sorry, love.”

“That’s quite alright. It’s... do you remember me, Mr. Smith?”

“Oh, yes, I do recall,” his cheek twitches, “you moved on from the kiosk, yes?”

“I moved to the home store, sir,” you explain. He was a regular down at the south end location when you worked at the small coffee pop-up near the train station. “How are you doing?”

He looks back and forth evasively and fixes his glasses, “very good, love. As ever.” He turns back to you. “And you...” his eyes wander up the splintering door frame, “suppose serving medium roast to the masses doesn’t pay much.”

“It’s money. This... I’m...” you’re suddenly very self-conscious. Having to say it aloud is harder than you expect. “My brother’s letting me stay over. Just until I find a new place.”

“Oi? What happened then?” He asks with a tweaked brow.

“Evicted. They’re upgrading my flat to let at a higher price.”

“Hm, I don’t think that’s very legal.”

“I didn’t either,” you shrug. “Anyhow, I hope you find whoever you’re looking for.”

“Me too. Say, I know it’s not your neighbourhood but you wouldn’t happen to know where I might find a lad by the name of Alex?”

“Alex?” You echo and add your last name. “That’s my brother. How do you know him?”

His blue eyes flicker and he takes a deep breath. His cheek ticks again. He smooths his hand over his slicked back hair.

“Is he in?” He asks.

“Not at the moment. Can I help? I can tell him you stopped by.” You offer.

“Mm, well, it’s rather urgent. Any way you can tell me where he is?”

You frown, “I can give him a call but I don’t know where he’s off to.”

“That’ll do then.”

There’s a solemnness to his agreement. He hardly seems happy about your solution. It is rather late. You suppose he doesn’t want to be waiting around all night.

“Would you like to wait inside?” You ask.

His cheek dimples and gives a single nod, “alright then.”

You step back as he enters. You spin in search of your phone as the door clicks shut gently. You scoop up your phone and filter through for your brother’s number. You tap call and put the phone to your ear. Your keenly aware of Mr. Smith pacing by the door. It must be urgent with how restless he is.

No pick up. You try a second time to the same end. You leave a voice mail then text for good measure. You shrug as you face Mr. Smith.

“Sorry, sir, he’s not pickin’ up. Should I tell him you stopped by?”

“Mm, you think he’ll be back soon?”

“Well, he left a bit ago. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. If you want to stick around, I guess you can.”

“Sorry if I'm imposing. I don’t mean to.”

“No, it’s fine. Not my place,” you go to the couch and fold up the blanket and stack it on the pillow. You turn back to him once more. “Would you like a cuppa? I think Alex’as at least a few bags in the cupboard.”

“Thank you but I’m alright,” he waves you off. “Your brother... you’re close to him?”

“Erm, he’s my brother. We’ve not been very chummy since we were kids,” you shrug. You notice how his eyes flit around the room. You squint. “Are you looking for something?”

His blue eyes meet yours. His jaw ticks and a dire shadow fills his eyes. You squirm.

“You’ve any idea what business your brother’s mixed up with?” He asks.

You swallow and shake your head, “he works down at the garage, I think.”

“Oh, does he? And he lives here? Known some mechanics in my day, they take home a decent pay,” he says. “Yet he’s livin’ in a slum like this.”

“Well, er, I...” a trickle flows down your spine. “Mr. Smith, why are you looking for me brother?”

His eyes drop and he tilts his head. He sighs. He tucks his hands into his pockets before he looks at your again.

“He’s taken something from me.”

You stare at him. His tone, his posture, his very gaze, you know what he truly means. Alex has stolen from him. But what?

“Well, why don’t we have a look around and see if we can find it--” you suggest.

“That won’t do. It isn’t the sort of thing you just give back and call it even,” he says dully. His demeanour shifts with his timbre. He steps closer and you shy away. “And I’m not the sort to let that sort of thing go.”

You know Alex lies. You know better than to buy into his stories but you wanted to believe. You wanted to hope. Still, even after all is lost, you really, truly wanted it all to turn out.

“Oh,” you swallow.

“You see, he’s crossed me. I’m not a man to be crossed and this isn’t it about getting back what he stole. It’s about the principle of it all. About teaching him a lesson,” he comes close until you have nowhere to go. Until he is right in front of you and the couch is against your legs. “I really wish you hadn’t have been here, sweetheart.”

Your mouth falls open. His words are like a punch in the gut. You expect worse than that by the gleam in his eyes.

“Mr. Smith, please, you don’t have to--”

“You don’t get it. It’s not up to me,” he grabs you by the neck and you cry out.

You bat your lashes at him as your eyes glisten. You don’t fight. You can’t. No matter what you do, you lose. Whether it’s him, your landlord, or life in general.

He pushes you until you sit. His grip tightens for an instant than eases. He inhales through his nose so it flares out.

“Will you listen?” He asks. You lower your eyes and nod. He sees right through you. He already knows you’re weak. “Alright then, don’t pull nothing.”

He rescinds his hand. Your skin tingles where his fingers had dug in. He reaches to your top button, undoing it with both hands. You shudder and let out a squeak. He continues down the shirt and lets go. The fabric opens around your naked torso.

Your bottom lip quivers as you stare at the tailored weave of his pants. He brushes his fingertips along your hairline and down your cheek. You lock up as his touch continues down your neck and wanders along your chest. He fondles your naked tits as your top slumps down your shoulders.

“Get up.”

You stand as he backs up. He grabs your upper arms and turns you with him. He takes your place on the couch. He sits back and braces his thighs.

“Finish it. Everything off.”

You nod and keep your head down. You shrug off the shirt and untie your shorts. You shimmy them down and kick them away.

Your eyes are drawn up by his movement. You waver as you notice his open fly. He strokes himself above the rich brown fabric of his pants. You press your hands to your stomach and shudder.

“Get on me,” he orders.

You sway and dare to bring your eyes up to his face. You don’t understand. Mr. Smith was always so polite. He always tipped and wished you a good day. Why would he do this?

“Bad luck, that’s all it is,” he assures you. “Isn’t my fault, eh? Blame your thief of a brother.”

You gulp and step up. You bend and grab his shoulders. You feel as if you might collapse at any moment. He latches onto your hip with one hand and guides you down. You ease yourself down and wince as his tip brushes between your folds. You whimper.

He lines up with your entrance and pushes you down. You stretch around him as you whine. Your voice grows louder and louder with each inch. Your tears leak out and you puff through your teeth. You’re set alight by the shame that underlines your pain. You won’t even resist. Like everything in life, you just let it happen.

He takes your hand and lifts it to his cheek. He leans his jaw into your palm so his beard tickles you. He holds you like that as he rocks your hips. You roll against him, following his motion as you weep softly. He groans and bites his lip.

You hang your head as you give yourself over to him. You snivel as your core swirls with heat and your skin speckles hotly. You bring your free hand up to wipe your nose.

“Sir, does this—will this--” you can barely speak or think, “my brother...”

He growls and pulls your hand further, hooking your arm around his neck as he forces you closer.

“I’m still going to break his fucking hands,” he snarls. “But I think I’ll keep you too. Show him what it’s like to lose something.”

You sob and nod. He runs his hand away from yours and up your arm. He nudges your chin up as he keeps your hips moving.

He groans and grunts through shallow breaths, “don’t be sad, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you. Better than this heap.”

#raymond smith #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #the gentlemen #pajama party #sleepover #drabble

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sui-imi · 1 year ago

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[EXTREMELY LOUD METAL PIPE NOISE]

#undereats!sans #roo #imi art #meme #he loves it btw #like he genuinely loves the sound of metal pipe falling it sends him into hysterics #he's so silly #(i find it funny too)#undertale au

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holylulusworld · 5 months ago

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My annoying sexy neighbor

Title: My annoying sexy neighbor

Written for @buckybarnesbingo (Round 6)

Card: B004

Square Filled: C3: free space - Neighbor AU

Ship/Main Pairing: Neighbor!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Major Tags/Triggers/Warnings: voyeurism, daydreaming, objectification of Bucky Barnes and his metal arm, a lil fingering, light/implied smut (unprotected)

Summary: Summer is extra hot this year.

Word Count: 1,3k+

Written for week 4 of @buckybarnesevents: Free Week

Prompt filled for: 2023 @buckybarnesbingo (expired): B2: “Get off my lawn”

Prompt filled for: @sebastianstanbingo: Square 2: “I bet all our neighbors can hear you.”

Prompt filled for: Navy and Roo’s slumber party presents bingo @the-slumberparty (expired): crush

You hate him. You can’t even describe how much you hate him.

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky to his friends. The worst neighbor ever.

It’s his fault you hate him.

Not because he’s a bad neighbor. No. He’s friendly, a little cocky maybe, but very helpful. If you’d have to describe his character, you’d say he’s a kind guy with a good sense of humor. Bucky offers to mow your lawn, help you with your trashcan, or fix your fence.

You hate him because he slowly makes your resolve crumble to never fall for a man again. Especially not the hot kind of man. You know, the kind of man wanting you to fling your panties across the room and suck him off without even knowing his name.

He makes your life so much harder. Before he moved in across the street, you came home from work and had time to relax. Sometimes you indulged in watching the rerun of old shows.

Now you must race home to not miss him working out, bringing out the trashcan, or mowing the lawn. Whatever Bucky does, he does it shirtless. You get lucky if he wears more than the shortest shorts you ever saw on a man.

If only you could say “Get off my lawn” and forget about him. But you have this stupid crush on your sexy neighbor.

Just like today. You raced home, almost running your trashcan over when parking your car because he was mowing his lawn while shaking his ass.

That bastard dared to wave at you and call you a pretty doll! How dare that man to tease you with his perfect abs on full display!

Sweat was running down his chest, and he did the worst thing possible.

Bucky killed the engine of his mower, jogged toward you, and emptied a bottle of water over his head. Water ran down his body and you had no other choice but to watch it wander down to his shorts. Fucking tight shorts… The fabric left little to nothing to your imagination. “That” was on full display, and you could tell, it was big.

“Hey, doll,” the fucker grinned as your eyes were glued to his artificial arm. A beautiful piece of technology. He once told you it was custom-made, and that he can feel everything, even though, it’s not made of skin, flesh, and bones. “How was work?”

“Boring and…hot,” you swallowed thickly. Your throat was suddenly too dry, and your panties soaked.

“Hot?” He laughed at your predicament. Bucky didn’t miss the way your eyes roamed his body. He had hoped that today was the day you finally broke. “If you are hot,” he stepped closer to run his metal index finger over your cheek, “you can come over and cool off in my pool. I just cleaned it.”

“I-I,” you would kill to swim, but being around Bucky in only your swimsuit was something you tried to avoid. He invited you over more than once to cool off.

“We can order food,” he smirked at you, already grabbing your hand. “Come on, doll. Don’t make me beg. I don’t want to swim alone. We can have a pool party.”

You considered his words. For a second you wanted to chicken out and come up with an excuse. “I promise to wear swim shorts.”

“Okay,” you finally said, defeated by your neediness. “Let me get the trashcan inside and have a shower. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Let me handle the trashcan,” he flashed you a smile. “I’ll be waiting for you after I took care of it and put the mower away. I can mow the rest of my lawn tomorrow.”

You took your time and checked your appearance in the mirror more than once. It wasn’t in your plans to draw too much attention toward you. So, you wore a light summer dress over your swimsuit and hastily made a salad to have an excuse to visit Bucky. The ladies in the neighborhood love to gossip.

“Doll,” before you got the chance to knock Bucky opened the front door. He glanced at the salad but said nothing. “No food before swimming.”

“It’s for…uh…later,” you stammered, still unsure if it was a good idea to come to Bucky’s place. “If we get hungry after swimming.”

“I will order food, doll,” he purred and shamelessly wrapped his metal arm around your shoulders. You shuddered at the sensation of the cool metal against your heated skin. “You’ll get all you desire.”

Bucky had no clue that your heartbeat quickened, and you felt like your legs were about to give in as he guided you through his house. “Oh gosh! I forgot a towel,” you tried to talk yourself out of this bad idea.

“Doll, I got more than enough towels,” he pecked your cheek. “I got all you’ll need before, during, and after your swim.” Bucky flashed you this irresistible smirk again. “How about you get comfortable, and I put the salad in the fridge and change into my swim shorts.”

“Sure,” you almost whined when he dropped his metal arm from around your shoulders to leave your side. He threw a look over his shoulder to look at you right when you turned around yourself to glance at his wide back and ass.

“Go ahead, Y/N. Get comfortable,” he chuckled and walked a little faster to reach the kitchen and change clothing. Bucky couldn’t wait to get in the pool with you.

You looked down at your body to check on your swimsuit. Just like Bucky suggested, you got into the water to cool off. Or maybe to hide that you soaked your swimsuit.

“I see you already got comfortable,” Bucky winked at you before he jumped into the pool, splashing water in your face. You shrieked and giggled because he grabbed you by your waist to press you against the pool wall. He smirked when you shuddered in his embrace. “Let’s get you even more comfortable.”

His lips claimed yours before you could ask him if you saw right. You moved your hand between your bodies to feel him up. “Doll, you’re naughty,” he purred against your lips.

“You are the naughty one, wearing no swim shorts, Mr. Barnes,” you smirked while stroking his cock. “You invited me for a swim and come here, wearing nothing but a smirk.”

“Baby, tell me you’re not wet and we can swim or,” he kissed you again, greedily shoving his tongue inside your mouth. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do this to you?”

“No,” you dropped your hand from his cock to wrap your arms around his neck. “Do you know how long I wanted to do this to you?” You slung your legs around his waistline to slowly grind against him.

“Fuck…baby…”

“Louder!” You rubbed yourself against his aching cock, making your sexy neighbor groan loudly. “Louder!!”

“Fuck! I wanna fuck you!” He wildly jerked his hips.

“I bet all our neighbors can hear you,” you teased, all the while rolling your hips. “What about you show me how much you want to fuck me?”

He hastily shoved your swimsuit aside, exposing your cunt to his greedy fingers. “You know that you’re mine from now on. None of the other lonely guys can have you.”

Bucky worked your swollen bud with skilled fingers. Of course, the bastard knew how to make you even more desperate for his cock.

“Bucky,” you whined and whimpered. “Please.”

He silenced your moans with his lips, sealing your fate while replacing his fingers with something better. Bucky slipped inside, ignoring that you groaned against his lips because of the wide stretch.

You held onto him and slung your legs tighter around his waistline for dear life.

“I bet all our neighbors can hear you,” he groaned against your lips. “How about we give them a good reason to talk about us from tomorrow on?”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#hotbuckysummer2024 #bucky barnes events #buckybarnesbingo2024 #sebstanbingo #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #neighbor au #smut

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kaylopolis · 5 months ago

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Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Fourteen

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power…

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

There is a very important message after the end of the chapter. I will repost it because I know not everyone reads the messages hidden within this post!

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Fourteen - Picking a Fight

Content Warning: MINORS DNI!!!!! Mentions of abuse, Smut (let me know if I missed any!)

Alastor was sitting in the Doomsday District when he felt his magic surge. The demon had found a half-destroyed bench to sit upon, the metal twisted upon itself from one of his previous meltdowns. With his head in his hands, Alastor sat and contemplated the past few days - days? Or had it been weeks, months, since you kissed him in Louisiana? His sense of time had no meaning anymore.

“Hello, old pal,” a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Vox stood before the Radio Demon, a slick smile on his face as he surveyed the mess with which he had found him in. That was satisfaction enough for the media demon.

Alastor ran his hands through his hair - not to fix it, but to relieve the anger itching beneath his skin. Jumping right from helplessness to anger - he was so easily riled up these days, finding it harder and harder to contain his wrath. He had thought ripping up the Doomsday District would somehow help relieve that, like a slow release of propane from a gas tank about to be set on fire but it hadn’t. He should know better, the last time you had a hold on his emotions he tried the same thing, but to no avail.

“I am not in the mood for one of our little quips today. Go on home -“

And then he felt it. The magic beneath his skin surged, his green aura pulsed, only, it wasn’t his magic which emanated from his skin.

It was blue. It was your magic.

Alarm sparked panic in his chest. This wasn’t a coincidence.

“Yeah, I thought you’d say something like that,” Vox continued, completely unaware of the magic surging through Alastor’s veins.

It smelled of Jasmine.

Fuck.

The media demon flips his phone around to show a picture of you, unconscious and tied to a chair. Vox smirked at the realization growing on Alastor’s face.

He didn’t know it at the time, but Velvette had constructed two false images, including one of you.

“Checkmate,” Vox gloated. “This is how this is going to go-“

Before Vox had a chance to complete his rehearsed speech, Alastor had exploded in a wave of rage - a ball of living fire - except these flames were blue.

____________________________________________

For Alastor, everything changed the second you broke that seal. In that moment, he felt how much power you had. It radiated deep within his bones - even his soul felt it.

You carried a power so potent even Zestial would cower at your feet and - as much as Alastor hated to admit it - even he found himself unnerved around the original Overlord.

Roo. Here you were right in front of him the whole time. Raw power, hidden behind perfect teeth and red lips.

All he had to do was reach out and take it.

And then you leaned over him, had the audacity to leave yourself open. Alastor felt his body move before his mind did, his fingers itching for the handle of Velvette’s blade.

For you, you had proven you would do whatever it takes for power - Hell, you killed Eve for it. And now you had to live with the consequences. Alastor? He hadn’t crossed that line yet - he had no memories of guilt which screamed “No stop! Don’t do this!”

He had the memories of you, however.

Of annoyance.

Of desire.

Of lust.

Of fear.

Of worry.

Of happiness.

Emotions Alastor had not felt in such a long time…

So, why was it so easy to palm that blade and stab it straight into your belly?

Because Alastor was hungry. Like the cannibalistic murderer he is, Alastor has been chasing power long before he died - even so far as selling his soul for a drop more. And when you broke that seal and gave him but a taste of what ran through your veins, it pushed him past hungry, past starvation, the demon was dying and you were the only source of food for miles.

It blinded him - the power consumed his mind completely, directing him towards one prerogative - kill.

You expected this. Why? Because you did the same to Eve. Because you saw it in your father’s eyes every time he beat you.

The allure of power drowns its victim like a ship at sea in a storm.

You’ve seen that barely contained anger in Al before. The warning signs have always been there. How he tried to hold himself back when he’s around you, his demonic form slipping in and out when he sees something that he wants.

It wasn’t Alastor who sank that blade into your belly - it was the hunger for power, the Radio Demon within.

After all, who hasn’t been tempted by power and chaos?

“Absolutely beautiful,” Alastor had said.

Absolutely beautiful…

Absolutely beautiful?

Was he talking about you or the power…?

You broke the kiss. “Ha!” You laughed, the steel hilt deep in your belly. You didn’t even move, didn’t even flinch when Alastor stabbed you. “Oh, Mr. Alastor,” you sang, running your fingers through his bangs.

The demon sat back in his chair, absolutely confused. You’d die of shock seeing such an emotion on his face if you weren’t in the current situation the two of you had unfortunately found yourselves in.

How did Alastor phrase your deal? “A mutual agreement. We stay out of each other’s way, yet seek out the other when we can benefit equally.”

It was a verbal contract - not a written one. So, technically, the exact details weren’t drawn out. The magic was privy to the contractees’ interpretations, and magic works in funny ways.

Remember the dream the night you had your midnight meeting? Remember how Alastor attacked you and you defended yourself with your flames? Remember how it burned his clothes but didn’t hurt him.

That’s where it all began.

Anytime you had summoned your magic or Alastor had summoned his, it not only didn’t hurt you, but it empowered you.

You have stood in his static, have been enshrouded in his magic, and yet you came out unscathed. So why should a blade in his hand, hurt you? How was that any different?

You took the greatest gamble of your life, leaning over Alastor while he sat in that chair, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, knowing that there was a possibility that he could actually kill you. But you’re deal - it wasn’t just a quid-pro-quo, you help me out, I help you out. No, it was more than that…

… Alastor couldn’t harm you.

Which meant he couldn’t kill you.

And so you took the gamble.

You smirked, knowing your red lips did nothing but taunt the demon, “Quid-pro-quo,” You laughed. Grasping the blade, you slid it easily from your belly. You showed him the steel, absent of your blood. At most, the blade merely ripped your leather.

You laugh, “You shook on it.”

A huge fucking gamble, and it had paid off.

You take the blade and stab it directly into his right thigh. The demon didn’t even feel it. Batting your eyelashes, you turn your head like you sometimes see him do when asking a question, “Remember?”

Confusion turns to anger. And for the first time, you are met with a full-fledged Alastor in demonic form. The demon rips the blade from his leg and growls, his ears flattened against his head in irritation.

Oh, you were about to get the fight you have been dying for.

A tentacle wraps itself around your middle and flings you backward across the dirt. Landing on your back, you quickly jump to your feet, preparing for a possible second attack.

Alastor slowly rises from his chair, the knife slipping into his Void, and summons his microphone. He slams the cane against the ground, green sparks exploding from where it makes contact with the dirt before black tentacles emerge from his back.

The demon smiles, his lips threaded with green stitching. His sclera turn black, his antlers elongate, and prongs multiply atop his head. A green glow surrounds the Radio Demon as his body contorts in a series of cracks. Then Alastor begins to grow, the power with which he has gathered now physically represented by his size.

“Ha, ha, ha,” the demon chuckles, his laugh echoing as if through a broken radio. “Let’s begin.”

And then his tentacles lunge, the black tendrils encased in Alastor’s green static. You spin, taking flight. You fly right past the demon, weaving through his flurry of tentacles as you head for Pentagram City.

Alastor is hot on your tail the entire time, and just as you reach the edge, a tentacle wraps itself around your leg and flings you into a nearby abandoned building. Brick and metal come crashing down upon you as the building collapses, pinning you beneath it.

But it doesn’t slow you down. Summoning your blue flame, you set the rubble alight, and, like a newborn phoenix, you rise from the ashes. Only to be attacked by an army of… shadow demons?

Tiny doll-like creatures sewn together from black fabric lunge for your feet. Pulling your sword from the Void, you strike, but the blade does not cut them. Instead, they merely bounce off, like a ball hitting a baseball bat.

What the fuck are these things!?

One jumps for your leg, giggling as it attempts to sink its teeth into your flesh. Although you know it can't hurt you, you still instinctively jump out of its reach, using your wings to gain height. Luckily, the dolls can’t fly, and you watch as they jump beneath you, their arms outstretched as they lick their lips.

Cannibal dolls?

A growl warns you of Alastor’s next attack. You look up fast enough to see a literal car crash into you, the horn breaking as it slams into you. You land, the crumbled car crushing you as you roll down the street. Your wings take most of the impact, shielding your skin from the asphalt. Coming to a stop, you push yourself to your feet, the magic of the Book of Knowledge still surging through your veins. Standing, you face a demonic Alastor, his tentacles, as if legs, running down the street straight for you.

He’s made himself a target, blind with rage, drunk on the pursuit of power. It would be all too easy to summon the power you stole from Eve and turn it against the Radio Demon. You had never used it before, but there was no time like the present to learn.

Yet, as you stood, watching Alastor barrel straight for you, you hesitated.

No. Not because you couldn’t technically hurt him, but because you didn’t want to even try. Something within your chest twisted, stopping you.

You’ve been keening for a fight with him, but… but you couldn’t do it.

Instead, you stood your ground, focusing on the magic thrumming through your veins, and forced the power from the Book of Knowledge back behind its lock. The words disappeared from your skin as Alastor raised his staff.

A clang rang out as metal hit metal, your sword against his microphone. The demon was relentless, his strikes never letting up as he backed you down the street. All you could do was block, your heart not having it in you to strike back. Screams rang out as Sinners finally understood what was going on and fled in fear.

A crazed look in his eye, the demon continued to hack, his strikes sloppy, his weight thrown into every thrust. Technique-wise, he was no match for a skilled warrior such as yourself. You could have easily had him on his ass if you wanted to - but you didn’t.

A tentacle wrapped around your ankle, and as Alastor swiped at you with his staff, he pulled. You landed face first, a smack against concrete, rolling just in time to dodge the blow which was aimed directly at your face. As you rolled, you climbed to your feet and flung yourself out of reach of his next physical attack in one big beat of your wings.

The demon threw his microphone forward, just as he had done every time his tentacles came soaring for you. You readied yourself, prepared for the attack, but his tentacles remained still. The demon looked confused, so he did it again, but again, nothing happened.

He looked at his feet.

Oh, he wasn’t trying to attack you with his tentacles but with his shadow. The demon was commanding Rolf to attack you.

The shadow swirled at his feet, and frowned. Rolf actually frowned and then shook his head in refusal.

Ooooohh, and Alastor was not happy about that.

“Aaaaah!” The Radio Demon screamed as he slammed his staff down.

The ground cracked and broke in half, creating a chasm beneath your feet. You jumped just in time, but not fast enough to miss the Hellfire that was released from the earth. The green flames consumed you as you flew skyward, but, like all of Alastor’s other attacks, it did nothing to you. Soaring, you stopped as you reached the rooftops and got a better understanding of where you were.

You were on the edge of the Magne District and the Bordertown - in other words, you were blocks away from Alastor’s radio tower. As you caught sight of the iron structure, you felt that thing twist in your chest again. So many memories…

Again, the demon went after you, his tentacles propelling him to the rooftop of the building you soared over. His eye twitched, his smile constrained. And as he sent the next round of attacks your way, you felt your will to fight begin to fade. You didn’t dodge as quickly. You didn’t fly with as much vigor.

He wasn’t going to stop. Alastor wasn’t going to stop…

You’re not sure why you did it; perhaps some part of you was still holding on, but you led him right to the radio tower.

Landing on the balcony, you slipped your sword into the Void and waited as Alastor made his way up. The demon came to a stop at the other end of the landing, the lights of Pentagram City your backdrop. You put your wings away, your demon form slipping from you until you were just standing in your ripped leather gear.

There was a gleam in Alastor’s eye as he surveyed you. He thought he had you. God, he looked absolutely mad. You dodged as he swung, staying easily out of his reach as if it were a training exercise. Jesus, you could do this but not dance?

You looked into his eyes as he attacked you, seeing nothing but steel, a raging fire that had consumed him completely.

And that’s when you realized… Despite the contract you had made ensuring your safety, Alastor was still trying to kill you.

And your heart shattered. Your steps faltered, giving Alastor the opportunity to knock you to the ground. You didn’t even try to fight him as he climbed atop you, straddling your waist. The demon pulled Velvette’s blade from the Void, forgoing his microphone completely.

And you let him.

The Radio Demon held the edge to your throat, his entire body seething in anger and frustration at the object of all of his desires just out of reach. So close, yet so far.

“You want this more than you want me…” You whispered.

His mask slipped ever so slightly, his movements freezing as you spoke.

You gritted your teeth, “Fine. Alastor. You want it so badly, enough to kill me for it, then take it. Fucking, take it.”

You were so stupid. How could you think Alastor would be any different? Everyone in your life you’ve ever cared about ends up disappointing you…

“Alastor Hartfelt, I, Mikaela Morningstar, release you from our contract.”

SNAP!

The connection between you was severed.

And almost immediately, you felt warmth on your neck, the edge of the blade digging into your flesh just enough to draw golden blood. Alastor’s eyes were instantly drawn to it. The demon gasped. Something behind his gaze shifted at the realization of what you had just done.

“... And that’s when I decided she was not worthy of your death,” you repeated the words Alastor spoke to you after he saved you from Vox and Velvette, a moment in time when your death had nearly broken him. “No one was. If anyone was going to draw your last breath from these lips, it was going to be me.”

The demon met your gaze, his crazed smile faltering, the fire in his eyes sputtering.

“Make do on that promise, Radio Demon.” Your voice cracked as the tears streamed down the corners of your eyes. “You’d be doing me a fucking favor.”

A favor… because you’d rather be dead than live with the fact that Alastor would kill you for something so trivial as power.

He made you care about him. The way he rescued you from Velvette and Vox, how he dotted over you as you healed. He was killing himself with worry when you collapsed the second time. He made jambalaya from his mother’s recipe and spent hours sitting with you on this balcony, watching the City lights. He was worried when you didn’t eat, running straight to you when he heard. He kissed you as it rained, whispering promises in your ear. The demon danced with you in Mardi Gras, bought you a fucking donut, for crying out loud, and told you things about his mother that he never told anyone else.

Alastor made you fucking care about him, and now he was ripping out your heart and stabbing it with an Angelic blade - literally and metaphorically.

So yes, he’d be doing you a fucking favor because Alastor was killing you either way - slitting your throat was just the much less painful option.

You closed your eyes and waited for death…

You had taken so many lives, and yet you had never thought about your own. You never imagined how you might die because, up until recently, you didn’t know you could.

God, you didn’t know death could be this fucking painful.

Yet, you welcomed it. There was no afterlife for you to look forward to, which was a blessing. You didn’t have to live with this weight anymore, this burden of existence, of the trauma and torture you have been put through. Finally, you could just cease to be…

____________________________________________

The moment the golden blood trickled from your neck, Alastor’s mind flashed to the night you killed Val.

The demon had stalked you from the shadows, having heard the explosion all the way from the Doomsday District. He watched from the darkness as you burned Valentino from the inside out, absolutely mesmerized.

And then Velvette ran her blade across your chest, and golden liquid spewed from the wound onto the concrete. Alastor had never moved so fast in his life. In a blur, he summoned a tentacle and threw a car at Velvette and Vox, stopping them only momentarily but long enough. Then he was at your feet.

SNAP! The golden liquid disappeared, and Ralph shadowed you to the Nothing.

Alastor’s heart rammed so hard against his chest he could hear nothing else, think nothing else as he collected you in his arms. The Radio Demon had never really known true fear before, even as he died he wasn’t afraid. Such a foreign feeling… He didn’t know how to process it. It left his mind blank, his lungs devoid of air, his body aimless as he forced himself to move.

And then you were on his bed, your golden blood pouring into his red satin sheets. Rolf acted on his own, immediately taking off for Cannibal Town without Alastor even having to command him. The demon collapsed to his knees at the edge of the bed, forcing his claws to untie the dark cloak around your neck, but his damn fingers wouldn’t work! He was shaking so much…

“Oh, my stars!” Rosie melted from the floor, curlers in her hair and wrapped in a pink bathrobe. “Alastor, what is…” She caught sight of you on the bed and the Overlord in full panic next to you.

Alastor turned to her, desperation swimming in his eyes as he managed to utter two words, “Help me.”

____________________________________________

“Alastor,” Rosie set a steaming cup of tea before him - chai - but Alastor didn’t move to drink it. He couldn’t even pick up the cup. It reminded him too much of the coffee you made him, how you flavored it with chai leaves. It reminded him too much of you. Of the beautiful woman held together by nothing but thread in the next room.

Rosie lay a hand on his arm, moving slowly so as not to startle the demon. He had calmed down immensely but was still shaken up. “Tell me what happened.”

“She went after Valentino,” He swallowed dryly.

“Sweetheart, that’s not what I’m asking. I can see the destruction of the Tower from your window. I’m asking what happened to you. I’ve never seen you like that before.” The demon prodded carefully.

Rosie had asked about you before - attempting to pry information from Alastor. It’s not that she was spying on you. She didn’t need to do that. You told her everything. She wanted to know what Alastor thought of you. A matchmaker from the very beginning - from the moment you stepped foot into her Emporium and ran right into Alastor.

Alastor looked down at the cup, the leaves of tea swimming around the steaming liquid. “I don’t know. All I know is… It hurt… I hurt…”

Rosie cooed, “And why do you think that is?”

Alastor was speechless. Nothing coming to mind. He honestly didn’t understand what was happening to him. Why he was feeling the way that he was feeling. He’s never felt so utterly helpless and honestly couldn’t understand why.

“Darling, let me ask you, cannibal to cannibal, what is the most important organ in the body?” Rosie smiled, her teeth wickedly sharp.

Of course, Alastor picked the brain - so iconic and representative of his character.

Rosie giggled. “Oh no, I think my late husband is evidence enough of that. No, dear, it’s the heart. Something so vital that keeps us alive, and yet one tiny little nick and you bleed out and die. And dying hurts, let me tell you.” She shrugged, sipping her tea.

Rosie let Alastor stew on this for a moment before clearly spelling it out for the Overlord. “You are hurting because the Vees went after your heart.”

____________________________________________

CLANG!

Your eyes fluttered open to find Alastor looking back at you, tears in eyes of his own. His chin trembled as he cupped your cheeks. Alastor had dropped the blade, the steel clattering between the cracks in the balcony flooring before falling to the street below.

The demon’s forehead came to rest on your own as his demonic form receded, his green aura fading. “... a drop more might break me.” His voice shook, his words absent of his radio static, his Louisiana accent slipping through. “Rarely am I wrong about something.” He chuckled through a sob. “I just didn’t think it would be by my hand.”

“Alastor…?” You searched his eyes for an explanation.

“My darling.” A breath. “Ma cherie.” Another. “Mon couer.” Another. “My heart.”

Alastor’s eyes were glassy. “One cannot live without their heart.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

Was he saying what you think he was saying?

“You choose me?” You asked, hope sparking in your chest.

The demon smiles softly. “I choose you, mon couer. I choose you…”

You smiled as you grabbed Alastor by his shirt and pulled him in. Your mouths crashed together.

You can taste the relief on his lips, the solace evident with each swipe of his tongue. Finally, you could allow yourself to simply enjoy the taste of him. Finally, you could simply not think and only feel - no longer weighed down by the troubles plaguing your mind every time he grew close to you.

He knew your name.

He knew your secret.

He knew your power.

He knew everything.

And he had chosen you.

Nothing held the two of you back now, not emotionally or physically.

Alastor broke the kiss, already panting, his chest heaving as it matched yours, “How are your injuries?” His eyes roamed you, searching for active bleeding.

You smirked, “I’m in perfect health thanks to you,” you pulled the collar of your leather gear aside to reveal the injury Velvette gave you, the skin now pink and scarred over.

Alastor ran a finger across the mark, making you shiver beneath him.

You had much to figure out today, but it could wait.

The demon smiled, “Good,” he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I believe I made some promises to you that I intend to keep.��

Alastor dipped lower, and you gasped as his tongue connected with your skin. Alastor traced the outline of the cut on your neck. His forked tongue lapped the golden liquid, not letting a single drop escape. When his lips were wet and sweet with your blood, he leaned back far enough only for you to see his eyes, his pupils blown, “You’re mine,” he breathed.

Your body shuddered in what might have been a sob, a cry in joy as his lips found yours.

Finally. Fucking, finally.

You expected the kiss to be gentle - soft - a kiss that could take its time. After all, you had plenty of that now. But Alastor had warned you - he was not gentle. You moaned into his mouth, the iron tang of your blood on your lips as he crashed into you. The kiss was powerful, threatening to drown you in him completely.

The demon scooped you up in one fluid motion before you were shadowed into his bedroom and placed on red silk sheets.

The demon had his jacket off, never breaking your connection, before crawling up on you. The demon pushed you back, laying you out on the platter of red, his own personal feast. He pressed himself into you, one leg between your thighs, and you instinctively arched as his warmth soaked into your bones, as he hardened against you.

Alastor broke the kiss to run his tongue up your cheek, licking the golden liquid that had bled from your now-healed cheek. The demon moaned, his dick throbbing in his pants in response. You took the opportunity to find the buttons of his red suit jacket, popping open the three buttons before diving into the ones on his collared shirt.

There was something so intimate about undressing him. You could - if you had wanted to - magicked the clothes away, but where was the fun in that? There were layers to Alastor’s outfit, layers you wanted to peel back one by one; it was a privilege to do so. In a way, you felt like you had earned that privilege, and you were going to take advantage of every moment of it.

Al pulled back, surveying your face. He ran a hand through your silver locks as they splayed out across his sheets, pushing it aside from your neck where bruises once decorated your skin. His eyes lit up, almost as if they were screaming, mine, all mine, before his lips found your neck.

Oh, if you thought his kisses were intense before, it was nothing compared to now. Alastor held nothing back, his canines nipping at your skin till he drew blood. The pain was a beautiful burn that made your head dizzy. His tongue licked away the gold, soothing the erotic pain pooling in your core. You gasped as his hands found your hips and tugged.

He wanted your clothes off.

SNAP!

Your leathers disappeared, leaving behind nothing but your bra and underwear. The armor didn’t have zippers or ties, it wasn’t meant to be slipped on and off, but you wanted Alastor to undress you. You wanted to feel his claws as they scraped across your skin and slid your underwear down your legs…

Alastors hand found the waistband of your underwear. The demon chuckled against your neck, after stealing a glance. “Such a naughty little thing.”

You may have changed into your favorite pair of undergarments, a dangerous matching set of silk. All in red, just for him.

Alastor bit your neck, hard, not a full on bite, but a nibble that made you gasp. You arched up into him, his knee between your thighs. With one hand thrusted into your hair, the other went to your bra, to cup the swell of your breast.

The demon had perfectly sized hands, your breasts a matching handful. You cried out as he squeezed. Goosebumps rise on your skin as the demon’s mouth travels south, his lips trailing to the swell of your breasts. His claws scraped across your skin, finding the strap of the garment and slowly lowered it over your shoulder. You arched, prompting him to slide both hands behind your back as he smiled up at you, his eyes promising to do terribly wonderful things to you.

Then your bra was off, and his mouth was on your breast, and he sucked, his tongue flicking your nipple. You plunged your fingers into his hair, wrapping them around his locks. Your finger lightly brushed his ears, and the demon growled, his mouth on your breast, his hips bucking instinctively.

Alastor pulled back despite your bark of protest - that turned into a gasp as the demon backed off the bed, wrapped his arms around your hips, and tugged. He yanked you to the edge before violently ripping off your underwear.

Your cheeks heated as Alastor kneels before you, his face mere inches from your heat as he hooks your legs over his shoulders.

He was kneeling. The all and powerful Alastor Hartfelt was on his knees for you. No one would ever believe you…

And then he sinks two fingers inside you, all the way up to his first knuckle. You cry out, your breath stuck in your throat as your nails dig into his sheets. He slides his fingers out slowly, then shoves in hard again, practically pushing you back up the bed.

“Oh, my - Al!”

Alastor cuts you off with his mouth, his tongue licking your clit and setting you on fire. Instinctively, your toes curl, and your body pulls in on itself, but Alastor’s claw digs into the meat of your hip, keeping you spread open as he thrusts his fingers in again, his mouth feasting on your juices.

Digging your nails in tighter, you swear you rip the fabric, trying to hold on.

The demon chuckles as your next gasp turns into a moan. God, it was like Alastor was punishing you, dominating you, a relentless force pent on overpowering you in every sense of the word.

You swore you'd never bow before another again, never let another command you, but for Alastor, you'd gladly fall to your knees if he asked.

The pressure was starting to build. Fuck, the last time this happened, you leveled a building.

“Alastor,” you choked out.

But the demon didn’t stop, didn’t even come up for air. Alastor pulls his fingers almost all the way out before thrusting them fully in.

“Al-”

The demon glares at you, a gleam in his eye. He wanted to push you over the edge and was not going to stop, no matter what.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

He picks up the pace, his fingers constantly roaming in and out, his mouth working in tandem quickly working you up towards your climax.

Your head is gone now, your breathes in gasps with each pump of his fingers, each swipe of his tongue. The demon bites down on your clit between his upper teeth and lower lip. A wave of pain has you teetering.

“Al!” You scream as, on the last thrust, Alastor curls his fingers, hitting that wonderful bundle of nerves that has you flying over the edge. You arch up as spasms overcome your body, as Alastor continues to pump and continues to ride you through your high.

Be damned if you burned this place to the ground. It was worth it.

Your inner walls clench around his fingers, your entire body tensing up. Heat floods through you as you pant, breathless and dizzy.

Alastor doesn’t stop until your back finds the sheets again, until your twitching has slowed, and your breathing has normalized.

This entire thing feels like a dream as Alastor stands, untucks his shirt, and takes off his belt.

“No,” you squeak out, your body and mind numb with pleasure.

Alastor freezes.

“I want to,” you practically beg, reaching out a hand.

The demon chuckles, his face in his hands.

Wait.

You sit up, your mind sobering as you whip your gaze across the room. “It’s not on fire?”

Alastor’s smile kicks up in a sideways grin, “It’s not.”

You shoot him a questioning look. You don’t know how this is happening, but you know Alastor had something to do with it. A rune? Some sort of mark in his Voodoo?

The demon answers your question with a chuckle as he climbs atop you. Alastor’s arms frame your face, his smile lighting up yours as he towers over you. His locks were like a halo of red around his face, his antlers a few prongs larger than you remember.

You’re so captivated by a half shirtless Alastor towering over you that you completely forget what you were supposed to do.

He pauses, his breath hot on your lips, “well?”

Well? Oh! Yes.

Hesitantly, your fingers find his belt as you continue what he had started. Your heart is ramming against your chest, your hands suddenly very sweaty. Get it together. He’s made you orgasm twice now. You’re sitting beneath him, in his bed, wearing nothing. Why were you so nervous?

You paused at the button of his pants.

“Al, I… I’ve never…” You met his gaze and hoped your eyes communicated the rest of what you were trying to say.

His cheeks turned pink, “We move at your pace, mon couer.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He was giving you time for your mind to catch up with the rest of you.

First, thing’s first…

You force your fingers to move again and help him slide his shirt off. And then you don’t want to stop touching him. Alastor was so soft, the short fur along his torso and arms like the down coat of a fawn. It was longer around his chest, producing a fluff you were already making plans for. To spend your night sleeping on his chest…

You traced his scars, each old and grey, marking his beautiful ashen skin. Then you found the mark over his chest, the run of Transformare just over his heart. You traced the outline of it.

“My favorite one,” he smiled.

And that gave you the bravery to continue on. You shot up, your lips crashing into his as your fingers undid the button of his pants and began to tug down. Alastor laid you back out as he pulled off his pants and underwear in one swoop.

You gasped as the demon pressed onto you, his cock perfectly lining up with your folds. The demon ground his hips against you, coating his shaft in your juices, hitting your throbbing clit. Your mouth went dry at the sheer size of him. You wanted him, wanted every glorious inch of him in you.

And then you're drowning again as he kisses you, his thrusts harder and faster as he grinds atop you, Alastor the ocean wave which was pulling you deeper and deeper. And you gladly drowned. He rocks back on his hips, stealing the heat of his cock before he lines himself up, his tip pressing against your opening, and pauses.

He was waiting for you.

In response, you wrapped your legs around his thin waist. They sat perfectly at the crest of his hips, almost as if they were made for you, for this. The demon growled as you kissed him, and you laughed.

And then he slid in. And in. And in. Until his hips were flush with yours. Your nails dug into the muscle of his back, making the demon growl.

Jesus, he had your eyes watering; it was like your body forgot how to breathe. He stilled, letting you adjust.

“Are you alright?” Alastor was out of breath, his voice raspy and absent of static, as his forehead found yours, clearly bombarded with the same wave of emotions you had been.

You nod as you pull him down on top of you. You wanted to feel Alastor, to feel his warmth, to feel his chest heaving against yours, to feel the muscles in his abbs as he thrusts into you. You have been starved for touch for so long that you have become desperate - desperate and greedy.

The demon moved slowly, pulling out slightly before pressing back in. His hips stuttered, “Satan,” he choked. “You’re tight.”

Again, he pulled back, then thrust in. The demon fisted one hand in your hair, the other coming to rest behind your thigh, giving himself leverage as he moved.

And as Alastor moved, his forehead on yours as you kissed, your breath building as you huffed through your noses, it became easier. It became pleasurable. It became faster, deeper.

It made you hungry for more.

“Fuck me,” you breathe between moans. “Fuck me, Alastor.”

A fire sparks in his eyes as his hands sink to your ass. The demon has your legs wrapped around him, and off the bed, your back pressed against the wood head rest as he fills you. Every inch, every hard ridge. Alastor’s teeth find your bottom lip, and he bites down as he slams into you with enough force, that the bed shakes.

Your moan is on the edge of a scream as blood fills your mouth. Alastor’s tongue laps at your lips, at your tongue, devouring the tangy liquid flooding your mouth and dribbling down your chin. The cannibal is determined not to waste a single drop as he feasts. You wrap your arms around his neck and hang on for dear life, your nails digging into his skin, just exciting him even more.

There is nothing gentle about the Radio Demon - no wonder he wanted to wait, no wonder he held himself back all those nights ago. He surely would have split you in two had you begged him to try.

But it would have been so worth it.

Your veins sang beneath your skin with the build of your climax, your heart beating in time with Alastor’s.

The demon released a hand to find your clit, circling as he thrusts. Immediately, you’re toeing the edge, your moans choked screams, as Alastor picks up the pace, sweat licking your bodies.

Alastor’s claws dig into the meat of your hip as pulls you down on him with every thrust, as he buries himself over and over again, the tip of his cock brushing the entrance of your cervix. You’re there, you’re at the edge…

“I’m close!” You breathe, every edge of you burning with pleasure. You’re so wet, you’re dripping down his balls as he sinks into you.

Not yet. No. You want to linger. You want to savor this. Every second of it.

And then Alastor’s lips find your neck, and he bites. The pain sends you over the edge, and you scream as the orgasm tears through your body. Alastor continues to pound into you, hard and fast, drawing out your pleasure. The demon grows harder, more frenzied with his movements, and then he’s roaring as he slams into you to the hilt, spilling inside you.

Alastor growls as his dick throbs against your clenching inner walls, milking him of every last drop. And then Alastor slows as he collapses into you, his head resting on your shoulder as he slowly thrusts in and out, his body spasming with pleasure.

And then there is silence, interrupted only by your panting breaths.

When your souls finally return to your bodies, you take Alastor’s face in yours. The dreamy, drunk look on his face has your heart soaring. No one has ever seen Alastor like that. You’ve earned the privilege to see him like this.

Alastor rocks in and out of you in slow, languid thrusts, like he’s savoring the feeling of you wrapped around him.

“Mon couer,” he breathes before he kisses you, long and slow.

You giggle, just as high as him, “mine.”

The demon freezes, giving you a look as if he didn’t hear you right.

“I choose you, too, Alastor. You’re mine.” You beam before kissing him. His mouth is unmoving for a second before he kisses you back. The demon digs his hips into you, sinking his head in till it hits your cervix - you swear to God!

The demon lays you back down on the bed.

“I’m yours,” he smiles against your lips, and then he swallows your gasp as he thrusts again. “I’m yours, mon couer, only yours.”

Alastor’s mouth trails down your jaw, across the bruises forming on your throat. You moan when his tongue finds the bite, the mark he used to claim you, the soreness that now represents everything. The demon uses his tongue to outline the mark, the golden blood now clotting.

With the taste of you on his lips, the demon was growing hard again, his dick throbbing inside of you as he stroked slowly.

This time is different. This time Alastor is slow, his fingers bunching in your hair but not tearing, his lips kissing you deeply, his mouth drunk on your taste. You breathed Alastor in as your tongue lazily played with his, as your hips moved in time with his strokes.

This wasn’t just him claiming you. This was Alastor promising you. This was him pledging to be yours and only yours, to be all the things he was scared of being, to devote his very being in honor of you.

And you could feel it. You could feel his growing desire. It wasn’t just in the pounding of his heart or the way his breath quickened as it mixed with yours but somehow sank into your bones.

If your magic could be summoned as it had whenever Alastor’s lips were on yours, the colors of your magic would be singing right now. Their masterpiece a demonstration of the vow he was making you.

You let your hands wander over every hard ridge of him. Outlining his pecs, the defined abbs on his torso, the strength in his shoulders. To his cut jawline and soft hair. You played with his locks as Alastor continued to thrust in you, your quick breaths turning to moans.

It was slow, it was passionate, it was intense.

Alastor breaks the kiss to decorate your neck, marking his territory, the bruises proof that this was real. Your gaze falls to where the two of you are connected, his shaft pulling away with both of your juices, turning his dick white with cum.

Oh, God the way he filled you with his cum…

You clench around him at the memory of the feeling, making the demon’s hips stutter, eliciting a growl that vibrates from his chest through yours.

You can’t help but smile as you kiss him. The power you had over him, over his body…

Alastor responds by thrusting harder.

CRACK!

The bed breaks, and the next thing you know, the two of you are rolling off the side. Alastor takes the brunt of the fall, pulling you into him as his back smacks against the wooden floor.

“Al, are you -?”

The demon interrupts your question with a laugh. It was so genuine and absent of his usual radio static that it catches you off guard before you’re laughing right along with him.

And then the two of you realize something: you were on top.

You blink at each other a moment, registering what this means, but Alastor doesn’t make an attempt to move you. Instead, he grabs your hips and guides you up and down his cock. It’s awkward at first - you’ve literally never done this before - but you eventually find a rhythm that has the two of you moaning all over again.

Regardless of the position, Alastor was still in control, which was a relief - your lack of experience was frankly embarrassing.

You dig your fingers into his fluff, using it as leverage as you bounce up and down. You can feel the wetness pooling out of you and dribbling down his cock.

From this position you could fully appreciate Alastor, disheveled and overwhelmed by you. His chest is heaving, his hips bucking up into you, deepening the muscles on his torso.

God, it was a beautiful sight.

The demon reaches up and wraps his fist in your hair before using it to pull your lips down to his. His claws dig into your other hip as his thrusts quicken, as he pounds into you.

And then he’s spilling into you all over again, his warm seed filling you and then sliding down his cock. The orgasm surprises you, overtaking your body without warning.

God, the feeling of being filled was enough to drive you over the edge.

You collapsed on Alastor, your face in the fluff of his chest as he thrust, your orgasm milking every ounce of his seed.

And when his hips finally slowed, Alastor collapsed fully, his hands coming to rest in your hair and on your back. The two of you lay there for a long time, not minding the mess you had just made, your minds and bodies too numb to fully comprehend anything but the aftershock of pleasure.

You breathed him in, letting his scent of forest and musk prolong your ecstasy. The room danced in the flavor of warm vanilla, evidence of what you had just done wafting out the slightly ajar back door. The curtains were down, so no one could see in.

When Alastor somehow found the ability to move again, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Mon couer?”

“Hmm?” You hummed, dreamily snaking your head up to meet his half-lidded gaze through your curtain of hair. You were sleepy and oh-so-content. You could fall asleep right there on the floor and sleep for days if he let you.

“How about a bath?” As if on cue, the sound of a faucet turning creaked from the bathroom. Running water could be heard echoing through the tile walls.

You giggled, nodding.

Slowly, Alastor pulled out of you. You whimpered at the sudden empty feeling, the loss of warmth that was purely Alastor filling your core. It was a feeling you were instantly missing.

The demon carried you to the tub, now steaming and filled with bubbles. He gently sat you in before climbing in behind you, letting you lay against him as he washed you.

The fluff on his chest was like a pillow as you lay there, drowning in the scent of his shampoo. It was like being on sensory overload, except the only sense was Alastor.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Alastor took his time massaging your limbs, easing the tension from your muscles. He inspected every healed cut and new scar he had never seen before until he was satisfied that you were fine and really and truly in one piece. He even took the time to wash your hair, his claws scraping against your scalp as he scrubbed. You hummed in delight, bringing a genuine smile to Alastor’s face.

The wash was more cathartic for Alastor than it was for you. For him, he needed this. After you almost died, he needed to see you be strong again. He needed to see you at your highest before he could heal from seeing you at your lowest. And, as if to solidify it in his brain that this wasn’t a dream, and you were really and truly alive, he needed to inspect you himself - and he also did get satisfaction at seeing the new marks which he had left on your body. The slowly darkening bruises and bites he had left behind…

The narcissist…

When he finished with you, he washed himself. You were practically asleep when he finished - although he did do his best not to disturb you as much as he could. The demon slowly slid out from behind you to grab you a towel. It took some coaxing, but he finally got you to stand on your own as he wrapped you in the soft cotton.

When you returned to bed, you found it perfectly made, with fresh sheets and fluffed pillows. The foot on his bed frame had snapped during your endeavors, but Alastor had it repaired while you bathed. You’d sleep soundly in a level bed tonight.

Soft jazz clicked on as Alastor tucked you in before sliding in himself. You curled into the demon, who had crawled into bed with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, immediately seeking his warmth.

Alastor rarely slept, but today was an exception…

With your head on his chest, your feet tangled in his, and his arms wrapped around you, you felt complete.

And the two of you dozed off into slumber to the words of Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable.”

Okay, Hoteliers, why did I do this? Why not have Alastor never attack Mikaela in the first place? Why didn’t he just drop the knife and kiss her, and then I write a chapter filled with some seriously overdo smut? Because there was still one thing about Alastor that had not been challenged yet - in the fanfic and in canon. Yes, Alastor had fallen for the reader, but there was still this giant thing hanging over their heads that they did not address, which needed to be hit upon in order for the two of them to finally accept their feelings for each other. What would Alastor do if something/someone he loved more than power stood in the way of him achieving it? You, as Mikaela, already made that decision when you killed Eve - you’d do anything. Yet, deep down, you knew you couldn’t do it to Alastor - you, as the reader, had decided that without me even having to write it. You were literally screaming in the comments about it as you read chapter thirteen.

Yet Alastor had never been asked that question. So we needed to see what he would do. Given the opportunity, he needed to be forced to choose, and he needed to see that that choice would have consequences. That's why I needed Alastor to stab you, to go after you, to draw blood. Why go to such lengths? Because Alastor is a stubborn, stubborn man, and changing him would not be an easy thing to do, especially when it is something so central to his character. I mean, he's a cannibalistic murderer; how much more literal does Viv need to get about his desire to consume power? Being forced to choose was not only about you but about him as well. In the writing business, we call it ~character development~.

So no, I couldn't simply have Alastor drop the knife and whisk you away into a fairytale. This moment, this part of Alastor, posed an obstacle for me: a giant wall preventing me from continuing on. I needed Alastor to grow, to unlock that part of himself that let you in, choose you over everything else, and for him to accept that.

Don't worry, we still have more to go - they still have to learn why they are both at the Hotel, what their involvements are with Lilith, and what Mikaela’s big endgame actually is, but that stuff is trivial compared to their cannibalistic desire for power - especially considering Mikaela is Roo, the embodiment of it. I mean, that’s how this fanfic all started, right? “Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love. Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent than the one derived from fear…” And I think it’s important to remember that because it will be a theme through to the end of this fic.

<3 Stay smutty Hoteliers - smut is coming next chapter. You’ve earned it ;)

-> Chapter Fifteen

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages

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