#the devil | half-way hotel

[the-rewriter13]

Hazbin Hotel Rewrite, part 2: The Devil

Whoo boy, here we go.

(First: a heads up, I am going off of Christan angelology & some Christian beliefs (not because I'm Christian but because that's the one I decided to do, no other reason lol))

So as previously mentioned in my brief post about the Seven Deadly Sins (7DS), Children/Show Sins & The Devil/AntiChrist, there is infact a character known as The Devil/AntiChrist (yes the capital letters are needed).

So who is this guy?

The fallen angel, once beloved of God, ruler of Hell, the 7DS in full form.

Now onto the details:

First off, I'm not naming him Lucifer nor having him BE Lucifer specifically because I wanted a more unique idea to form the basis of the 7DS. His original, Heaven born name is lost to time, spoken no longer by any angel, seraphim, opony or demon ect nor by The Devil & God himself. It's lost, gone. So he was named The Devil by those who heard tales of temptation and forbidden desires. Later the name AntiChrist was spoken once the human incarnation of God was born.

The Devil is the 7DS combined, as stated. Thus created by the casting out of AntiChrist, shattered into pieces to limit the power he would have, this was done to keep The Devil from bringing down vengeance upon Heaven, for now. However, there is an answer to his problems as God was merciful, benevolent as believed by Heaven and the followers on Earth, the solstices, special days of the calendar that were implemented as times when the 7DS would come together, focused only on the goal of reforming into their correct form.

As stated in part 1; there is a surge of power. This rocks the foundations of Hell as The Devil begins to reform, however so far there have been nothing but unsuccessful attempts (more on that later (look for the ☆²)), so normally there will be a mighty howl of rage cast towards the Heavens and heard throughout Hell.

And since the demons/hell-born have little to no concept of the human world (Earth), they have not called them the solstices us mortals know. Once translated into common tounge, the days translate to: the day of Reformation/Retribution. (The name stands for both solstices (p.s: the name may change depending if I think of a better one).

Meanwhile in Heaven during the day of Retribution/Reformation, the foundations are merely gently rattled, nothing but a tremor is felt. Even so, some of the population await the swift wrath of the outcast with prayers on their lips and fear in their hearts.

Earth however feels practically nothing, perhaps if humans had more advanced technologies they would feel it, why? Because Earth shall become the battleground, after The Millennial Reign of Christ, once The Devil is set free before being cast into the lake of fire with his followers therefore, Earth shall not need worry until The Devil reforms and rises after The Millennial Reign of Christ.

Now onto the physical body of The Devil.

As he's an combination of all 7DS as one I picture white scars upon where they reconnect. His physique is one of towering stature with a muscled body, however there still lingers the angelic gracefullness he once possessed when he was a seraphim. Since he was once a seraphim, The Devil has 6 wings as they do. However unlike the seraphim, four of his wings do not cover his face & feet (a pair for each). Rather they are free and revealing those features, a further sign that The Devil is no longer a favoured of God. These wings are black (as depicted) and they shall carry him up from Hell to Heaven for his vengeance once he is fully reformed.

☆¹ Now onto his Reformation & why they fail. The combining of the 7DS. It happens every summer/winter solstice aka Reformation/Retribution day in Hell. The 7DS meet in Pride, traverse long pathways known only to them, winding to dark corners where the fire burns hotter. And they shall see the 'sky' a large shatter in Hell's 'sky' one secluded to the cavern, one that is reminiscent of Heaven. Here is where the former seraphim was cast down to the fire and brimstone.

All 7 would form a circle, drawing an old rune between them, one in the language of Heaven (more on languages in a different post, stay tuned). They then shall begin to chant in the language of Heaven, known only to them, Lilith & Charlie, calling on powers of old. Then of course the power surge hits as in the middle of the rune, The Devil begins to take shape.

☆² Once formed, if the Millennial Reign of Christ is not over, the scars will begin to gush golden ichor, he shall split at the seams. Become unravelled and pour out his life and soul, screaming in agony and rage. Until the 7DS reform as themselves, aching from the arduous endeavour to try and keep the true form. However, the reason the Reformation takes place every year (or pretty much every year), is because due to being sealed away until the Millennial Reign of Christ is over, the 7DS/The Devil have no outside information aside from the hellborn & sinners. Sure they can send messengers/influences above to Earth but that doesn't mean they know everything that goes on above.

Should the Millennial Reign of Christ be over then the scars shall fade to just white, no longer glowing and The Devil shall soar with all 6 wings through the shatter of the cavern, breaking the seal and setting himself free. Then shall come the battle.

[phantasm-ae]

Sort of part 2 of my Mrs. Price drabble. I hope u like it🥺

cw: afab reader x captain price, soft fluff, afab reader x soap, afab reader x ghost, afab reader x gaz

HEADCANON: Forced to crash in Price’s place momentarily. The team meets you — Mrs. Price again — much to Price’s annoyance. Treating his house now like a sleepover den

PAIRING: John Price x reader, slight Poly141 x reader

something something, the team forced to reroute their entire mission due to an intel mix-up. Having to lay low for a few weeks somewhere in this woodland retreat of a lodge for the meantime.

But it wasn't entirely that bad. Fuck no.

Not when they rest of the team realized that they could technically crash at Price's own place for the time being. A quaint little countryside cabin with a roaring fireplace, creaky wooden floors, a tiny plant nursery at the front, and the comforting smell of pine that lingered in the air. But most importantly of course -- You. Mrs. John Fucking Price at the center of it all.

Price didn’t seem thrilled at first. Fuck that. He already hated how Soap practically salivated at the thought of his wife ever since they met her in that dingy pub. Cheeky bastard grinning like a schoolboy everytime he mentioned her and her famous lemon drizzle cakes.

But Christ on earth, they didn't exactly have a choice at the moment. So. Reluctant. Waning. Frustrated and annoyed. Muttering about how his place was hardly a “luxury hotel,” but once the team started packing their things with the energy of schoolboys on a field trip, he relented. And, honestly, who could blame them? They were tired, dirty, and living on dry rations; a warm bed and a roof over their heads was like a damn vacation.

So here they were. Standing in front of their little cottage abode. Walls mossy, wood comforting, and air remote. Quaint and tangling ivy around the roof. The marshy nook like something out of a storybook.

And as soon as the door opened, the familiar, warm scent of you greeted them. Wood, fresh herbs, mint, and a lingering hint of something that made the whole place feel more like home. Price's wife, sweet sweet perfect Mrs. Price, was already waiting when they arrived

"Oh my darlings. Its glad to see your faces again", she greeted them. Voice soft and smile warm. Price, absolutely knackered, immediately felt a wave of relief at the sight of her.

Long hair up in her usual hairdo, apron tied around her waist, and despite the chaos outside, she looked perfectly put-together in a way that made him feel all of a sudden like maybe he was the one who didn’t belong in the mess they’d become.

She looked absolutely angelic. Vision of druidic calm. Heaven sent and sacred. Hera in crochet and bunny slippers.

Price stood taller, more rigid at her side -- already bracing for what he knew was coming.

"Come in, come in," she beamed, ushering them all in like they were visiting nephews rather than elite soldiers who could snap necks before breakfast. "Shoes off at the door, please. I just mopped."

They all shuffled inside with relief, shaking off the dust from their clothes as if they’d finally arrived at some kind of sanctuary. Gaz obeying immediately, kicking off his boots like a schoolboy caught tracking mud, while Soap practically tripped over himself trying to get them off any faster.

"I made stew," she called from the kitchen, already halfway down the hall with her apron strings bouncing behind her. "And bread. Oh -- and Johnny, I baked that lemon drizzle you like."

Soap nearly wept.

“Marry me, Mrs. Price,” he shouted after her, only half-joking.

Price whipped around, face like thunder. “Johnny—”

“Jokin'! Jokin'!” Soap raised his hands in surrender, grinning like the devil himself. “Ye already bagged the best lass on earth, I know. Just sayin' -- luck bastard ye are"

Gaz leaned in, whispering to Ghost, “Swear to God, it’s like visiting your nan’s. All we need is a jigsaw puzzle and some knitted socks.”

Ghost didn’t answer. Didn't need to. Massive hulking posture already loosening and starting to mellow. Halfway through removing his gloves and looking -- dare anyone say it -- peaceful.

Later that night. Cozied up in Price's living room. Her crocheted throw blankets and mismatched cushions cradling their weighty and coarse bodies like they weren't seasoned and elite killers but a bunch of children in a sleepover at their gran's. Bellies full. Air serene and leisurely, watching some old movie Mrs. Price put on.

She'd even brought out bloody hot chocolate (with marshmallows, of course), and Ghost -- Ghost with his towering frame, permanent scowl, but now brushed blonde hair that strangely smelt like that eucalyptus oil that you recommended him -- had accepted his mug with two hands like it was holy.

Sitting on the edge of the floral couch. Cupping the mug in both gloved hands like it was a sacred relic. Taking a cautious sip before letting out the softest grunt of approval anyone had ever heard from him.

Soap nearly dropped his own cup laughing. "That good, Ghost?"

Ghost didn’t look up. “Shut up.” But he took another sip.

Gaz, already wrapped in one of the knit blankets she’d handed out like party favors, leaned over with a grin. “I think I just saw you smile, mate. Terrifying.”

“She’s a bleedin' marvel, so she is,” Soap whispered behind his mug. “Bit o' witchcraft in that cocoa.”

"This should be a regular thing," Gaz mumbled, curling up farther into one of her handmade quilts with a contented sigh. "Every end of the quarter. Team regroup with Mrs. Price."

“Quarterly sleepovers, aye?” Soap echoed, raising his mug.

“Aye. With lemon drizzle cake and that stew. Jesus.”

Ghost hummed, shockingly agreeing, “Better than the barracks.”

John Price, sitting stiffly in his armchair like he’d rather be interrogating someone in a bunker, glared at them over his mug.

“No,” he said flatly.

Mrs. Price, from the kitchen, called out without missing a beat, “Oh I don’t mind, dear.”

“No, they’re not,” Price barked from the hallway, already regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

But no one was listening anymore.

masterlist

[nottswitch]

i miss drummer!mattheo

꒰ drummer!mattheo gets an ‘i miss you’ text from you ꒱

cw: 18+ mdni, masturbation (m), nudes, cursing, mentions of smoking

a/n: you just sent this, and i immediately got the idea. missed writing for this chaotic slutty man too, so i hope you enjoy this little thing i came up with !! <3

⋆˚꩜｡

if mattheo cared, it would have been embarrassing, how quickly you can turn him on with a simple ‘i miss you’ while he’s all alone on tour, in a dimly lit hotel room. but he didn’t. the guys were all off somewhere with girls that usually clung to the band after the show; not him, though. perched on a windowsill, letting the smoke from his cigarette drift away into the crack in the window, he stared at the city laid out below.

paris. beautiful, brightly lit, alive. but he didn’t feel like he was. touring had been delightful, truly – deafening crowds every evening, his muscles pleasantly aching after two hours spent behind his drum set. but in the silence of the night, when the only sound around him was his own breathing, he missed you too. a lot.

he stared at the screen for a few seconds before his fingers quickly found the keyboard.

‘ft now?’

‘sorry babe, i’m with the girls :( still miss you tho!’

fuck. mattheo groaned, tightly clutching the phone until his knuckles turned white. he was already anticipating the call, he was already half-hard under his sweats… before he fathomed the idea of not being able to see you tonight, another notification came in. not expecting much, he opened the text, and next thing he knew, he was staring at your beautiful body, the one he’d been craving like a madman lately… completely naked.

‘have fun babe! love you’

you little tease. what an absolute devil you were, but god, he was ready to sin for you any time. barely able to type out a ‘love you more’, mattheo carelessly threw the unfinished cigarette into the window and moved to the bed, impatiently tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. his cock throbbed in his hand as he practically threw himself onto the mattress, his hungry eyes zeroed in on your naked chest. those tits, fuck… he wished nothing more than to have one in his mouth right now, and the other one against his palm.

mattheo started stroking himself, and he duly tried to go slow at first, wanting to savour the moment of pretend closeness. but with the way your tits were pressed together just right, and the skin of your neck looked so damn inviting, just begging for him to bite into it… he knew he wouldn’t be able to last. his hips rutted into his fist, his cock easily gliding back and forth with his precum nearly dripping all over his fingers. ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous what you could do to him even from miles away, but god, it felt better and better each time.

mattheo gripped his length tighter as a loud moan escaped his lips. he couldn’t care less about the room next door, where his temporary neighbours could probably hear everything he was doing to himself. he only cared about your hips and waist, all bare and on display for him on the screen of his phone. he imagined coming back from the tour, finding you waiting for him in your bed, looking exactly like you did in the picture. he would push you back, press his heated body flush against yours and just take, take, take until the only word you remembered would be his name. he’d make you scream and cry from pleasure, he’d mark you up wherever his lips and hands could reach, he’d–

“ahh, fuuuck!!!”

he couldn’t hold back the sound, it simply tore from deep in his chest as he came, thick spurts of his release landing on his abs, his sides, dripping onto the hotel sheets. mattheo laid there for a moment, catching his laboured breath, his mind still reeling from the fantasies he was so absorbed in just seconds ago. finally, he found some strength in him to lift up his hand and snap a picture of his body, white cum covering his stomach, his still stiff and flushed cock resting in the mess he made of himself.

‘had fun, darling. can’t wait to come back’

au. more.

[scoutswritingcorner]

hi... may i introduce to you the concept of winged!reader spreading their wings once hitting orgasm while having sex with alastor and alastor just wants to fuck winged!reader all over again

- 🪽

Levitating

Alastor x GN! Reader

TW:Gender neutral Afab Reader. 18+ This is not intended for minors. This is straight up the devils tango with our favorite deer man. Biting, Blood.

A/N: I GOT YOU WING ANON- I GOT YOU! Also I’m like super sorry if this is bad- I haven’t written smut for a male character and I’m hoping I’m doing your request justice.

The night went off without a hitch, your husband taking you out to the fanciest restaurant in all of hell. The dinner was amazing and you would be lying if you said hadn't been a little intoxicated from the wine he had treated you both too. But nothing too much to make you unable to walk back to the hotel with your darling husband. But now? You were very much intoxicated off of him and him alone. He was as much your world as you were his. 

His hands resting on your hips guiding you to rut against the strained tent in his pants, causing you to gasp out in surprise as his teeth dug into your shoulder as you slowly stripped for him. Your wings expanding- fluttering at the feeling of his sharp teeth sinking into your flesh, his tongue pressing against where he bit down lapping up the blood. His half lidded eyes glancing up at you before he moved to kiss up your neck, hands moving to rub at the point where your wings met your back causing you to let out a loud whine. Your hands are moving to rub at his chest, fiddling with the top button of his shirt. “You taste divine, Darling” He purred out as his claws ripped your clothes off easily. 

“Al-” You whispered as he waved a hand to ease your worries, “I’ll buy you some more, Cher~” You huffed and whined kissing his jaw as he moved to kiss down your chest. Fingers intertwining in his hair as he nipped and occasionally bit down leaving a trail of bloody bites and kisses. His hands wrapping around the back of your thighs giving them a gentle squeeze as his sharp claws started to leave behind thin trails of blood from where they dug into you. “Can I unbutton your shirt?” You whispered as he nodded and let out a low grunt. In a swift motion you easily unbuttoned his shirt allowing it to hang open as he removed his hands from your thighs.

~~~

Soft grunts and moans echoed throughout your bedroom as Alastor helped you bounce against his lap, face flushed as you clung to the chair that he was sitting in. His name was spilling out of your mouth like a prayer between moans and whimpers. Your hands shakily cupping his face as you pulled him into a kiss, a smirk gracing his lips before he bit down on your lip easily drawing blood. “Gonna break this fucking armchair.” You whined out causing him to let out a low chuckle moving you faster against him.

Your moans become louder by the second, knuckles turning white from how hard you were gripping the armchair. Alastor grunted as he threw his head back, chest heaving with every breath he took as he dug his clawed fingers into your hips. Slowly opening his eyes as you arched your back wings fluttering behind you. Reaching behind his head to hold onto the back of the armchair being extra careful not to hit his ears as you kissed his cheek, whimpering for him as he started to pound up into your cunt. Your walls eagerly squeezed his cock as you tried to milk him for all he had. Leaning into his body, hiding your face into his shoulder begging him for more. 

Oh how could he deny his favorite songbird especially when they were singing his name like this? Panting, he let out a low growl as he bared his teeth in a wild smile his tail wagging, “Oh fuck Al-” you grunted out wings starting to twitch in anticipation as he pushed all the way into your cunt, leaving you stuffed full with his cum as your wings suddenly expanded as you released around him. A loud moan of his name escaped your lips as a few stray feathers fell onto the armchair around you both, shielding the display of you both. 

You kept your hands resting on the armchair as you panted heavily. Unaware of how your husband stared at you, oh that was new for him to see. He liked it and he wanted to see it more. You were going to have a long night ahead of you.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Kinktober Day 21: Monsterfucking

Summary: You thought making your boyfriend jealous would end in your favor, and some would say it did. Lucifer full of jealously and adrenalive, fucking you feverntly into his mattress while in demon form sounds pretty good to you too. Warnings: P in V Sex, fingering, jealousy, possesiveness, sub/dom dynamics, mosterfucking, demon forms, etc. MDNI, 18+. You're responsible for your own media consumption. Kinktober Mention of the Day: @minkdelovely

Lucifer found himself in a rare mood—one that was neither light nor playful nor duck involved. He watched from the corner of the Hotel bar as Alastor, the Radio Demon, his sworn enemy, leaned in close to you, his laughter echoing with static in the air. Alastor’s sharp smile glinted like polished teeth, his voice smooth and teasing. "Oh, Y/N, darling! You are truly a marvel!," he said, his tone dripping with mischief. 

Lucifer felt a twitch in his chest—a heat rising that was unfamiliar, yet unmistakable. Jealousy clawed at him, gnawing at his calm demeanor. How dare Alastor flirt so brazenly with his girlfriend? You giggled, a sound that felt like shards of glass in Lucifer's mind, and he clenched his jaw. That cute little giggle should be directed towards him and him alone. 

"You know," Alastor continued, seemingly oblivious to the dark aura gathering around Lucifer, "I’ve always said a girl like you deserves a little excitement. Lucifer can be rather… dull sometimes." 

The air crackled with tension, the mood shifting as Lucifer’s form began to shimmer, dark red eyes glowing and sending waves of red smoke swirling around him. His eyes glowed like embers, the familiar contours of his demon form creeping into view with his wings unfurling; towering and fierce. Jealously was a little green devil that he hated but by Hells, he wasn’t the sin of Pride to just not let his girlfriend been sullied by that god-forsaken mortal right in front of him. 

“Alastor,” Lucifer said, his voice low and dangerous, “why don’t you find someone else to amuse yourself with? I’m sure there are plenty of other souls in Hell who would appreciate your… charm.” 

You turned to Lucifer, and what started as confusion morfed into a mix of excitement and immediate arousal flooding your pants. You loved seeing this side of him, the protective, possessive nature that emerged when he felt threatened. “Lucifer, dear, we are just talking” you said lightly, but your smile held a hint of mischief. “Alastor’s just teasing.”

“Oh, but Lucifer,” Alastor chirped, unfazed, “you must admit, a little attention never hurt anyone, mhm?”

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor summoned a crackling radio transmission, playing a chaotic tune that seemed to mock the situation. The sound danced through the air, and he leaned even closer to you, an unabashedly charming smile gracing his features. Lucifer's patience wore thin, and with a growl, he stepped forward, his demon form radiating dark energy. “I don’t recall inviting you to play games with my girlfriend, Alastor,” he said, his voice a smooth, dangerous whisper.

You, caught between the two powerful demons, found the situation thrilling. The tension sparked in the air, making your heart race. “Lucifer, maybe we should just let Alastor have his fun?” you suggested, half-teasing, eyes sparkling with excitement. If all went according to you and Alastor’s plan, this was headed right where you wanted…Lucifer's glare turned from Alastor to you confusion and frustration mixing with something deeper—desire.

 “You think this is fun?” he asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice.

“Not in the way you think,” you replied, stepping closer, gaze unwavering. “But I do think it’s… hot when you get all worked up.” You ran a finger down the lapels of his suit jacket, his horns shrinking slightly at the touch and wings softening. 

With a deep breath, Lucifer glanced at you, then back to Alastor, his voice steady but filled with an intensity that made you heart skip. “Just remember, Alastor, there are consequences for crossing me.” With a sudden snap, both you and your demon boyfriend were teleported away from the red and cackling radio demon into the sanctuary that was Lucifer’s room. The door’s lock rang out with a defined click and soon towering before you, Lucifer’s bright red and angry eyes bored into yours. 

“Mind explaining what that was about?” His tone was laced with frustration but you could tell what was underneath, confusion, fear, and adrenaline. A soft smirk came to grace your features as you sauntered toward him, hands laying gracefully on his chest. Your fingers came to trace one of his horns delicately, reveling in the shiver that past through he body beneath your touch. 

“I may have entreated Alastor to help me rile you up.” Your voice was nothing short of confident, as if you plan had come to fruition. Which it had. Lucifer’s eyes shone with confusion, his eyes momentarily flashing back to their beautiful original color as his lips formed a small pout. 

“You wanted me to be annoyed?’

“Not annoyed, per se. More…jealous and wanting to fuck me while you are big and powerful.”

Now that was a statement if he had ever heard one. Did he hear you right, were his ears decieving him? By Heaven, he hoped not. A ravenous sneer bloomed on Lucifer’s face, his eyes and body once again resuming his full demonic state. With a flash of white and red, the King of Hell pinned you against the headboard of his mattress. Your hands now sat pinned and body pliant to the whims and wishes of the fully demonic figure that hovered above you. And Hells, did it make you horny. Heart racing, body quivering with anticipation, every nerve seemed to sparkle with desire at the scene that played out before you. 

“So you want me to fuck you, ducky? Want me to throw you around like the little slut you are?” With quick and rapid nods, he had his answer as you writhed below him. He could smell you, how soaked you were. That damp spot on your pants did little to hide salaciousness of your thoughts and needs. Bringing a clawed finger to rip down the waistband of your pants, the fabric tore at the seams off your skin. Choking back a breath at the flash of cool air that rushed towards your panty-clad cunt, you shiver with delight as he ran a knuckle across your slit. 

“Oh, you really want this don’t you? Have barely touched you and you’re already a mess for me.” A lewd mewl passes your lips as Lucifer peeled the panties off your body, the fabric came off with an agonizing of squish of heavy damp slick. Wasting no time on formal foreplay, your body clearly ready and willing, Lucifer sank two fingers into your weeping pussy and started to scissor you wide. Plunging his large and deft fingers in and out of you, your body became lost in the erotic rapture of your senses. 

You could feel his touch everywhere. One hand digging into your hips, his mouth leaving sloppy kisses on the valley of your neck, and the other hand knuckle deep inside you in such a way you felt you mind explode. The feeling of fullness was almost an impossible feeling to describe, an ardent need as close as you could think. There he towered over you, the soft outline of his toned chest peaking through the few buttons that had come undone from his top in the frenzy of fervent activity that was occuring. His face was laced with a carnal grin, clearly lost in the rhasposdy that was playing out. He looked so angelic like this, despite his forminable appearance. Eyes shinning with ectasy, lips parted and panting, ripe for you to slip your tongue into if you weren’t getting fingered till you saw stars. He was the stars of Heaven to your mortal form, gazing upon his power and gracefullness as you laid bare and ready to worship the alter of his every desire. How faiithfully you would serve, dutifully his Hellish preist. 

The thoughts swam in your head, imagining all the ways you based and mortal soul could only but be of service to the King that hovered before you. But your Heavenly escapdes were quickly brought down the sinful indulgence of the present as Lucifer curled his fingers up into you, massaging that perfect point on the front wall of your cunt racking your body with pleasure. 

“So sweet for me, such a precious little whore. You wanted to get fucked by the big bad King of Hell? Well, your wish is my command.”

Removing his fingers with a swift motion, leaving you no reprieve, he sunk his heady and heavy cock into you with one deft motion. Both of you moaning both at the sight and feeling, the delicious yet somewhat burning friction that both of you so desperately craved. Slowly thrusting, taking his time to draw out every noise, he relished in the sight below him. All laid out and pretty, moaning and writhing in pleasure all because of him, his power. How you had planned all of this just for him. You were truly such a loyal little sinner, so obedient and ready for him. After Lillith, he thought his life was crumbling, ready to end his own immortal exsistence. But there you came, waltzing into his life like you owned his soul and now here you were, eager and willing for him in every way he never thought possible. The thoughts alone nearly had Lucifer busting inside you, mumbling incoherently as he picked up the pace, driving deeper, the walls of your cunt squeezing onto him for dear life. The added weight and pace was becoming nearly too much. 

“Go on Ducky. Tell me….tell me how good I feel….”

“Fuck, good, so fucking good—” Sobs of pleasure racked your body, cute and plush face stained with streak of tears that Lucifer bent down to lick gently off your face. You can feel your release barreling towards you with a unrecognized speed. Maybe it was all the build up of this moment; how long you had imagined this very thing or maybe it is just that good, you’ll never know. But Lucifer knows your body like it’s his and it is. Where to drive, the right spot to hit every time that had the pressure building and building till you felt the coil in your stomach snap as you cry you lover’s name. 

Gasping for air, you peeked your head up as you calmed down, only to see Lucifer’s eyes completely dialated and black; staring at the way your body soaked up his seed. He did not move, admiring the full indent in your stomach as your body greedily swallowed his cock and cum, Heavens, he prayed it would take. 

“So ducky, feel like riling me up again anytime soon?”

[lina-lovebug]

I'd Fight The Devil

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, FINALE

Background: The future heir of Hell is on the way! Alastor has his doubts about being a good father and Lucifer is losing his mind.

_ _ _

(Y/N) Morningstar is due any day now!

That dreaded due date was getting closer and closer and honestly, Alastor didn't know how to handle it.

Of course, he was happy when he found out that his beloved was pregnant. From what he knew, sinners couldn't reproduce! But from a brief (while crying) explanation from Lucifer, (Y/N) is extremely fertile and this could continue happening or just be a one time thing.

Honestly, it broke Alastor seeing her miserable. Her swollen hoofs, going days without sleep because of their spawn kicking up a storm, and not to mention the crying. It didn't bother him that she became much needier, as he was happy to give her all the hoof rubs and cravings she desired.

Alastor felt bad because he hears her confide in Charlie, "honestly, I'm not sure I want to do this again. It feels like my body doesn't belong to me."

He's heard that some pregnant women feel that way, but the way her voice broke when she said it.

He'd never touch her again if she asked.

"Need anything, mon cher?" Alastor asked as she waddled to the bathroom.

"No, but thank you," She smiled. He had been so attentive and it made this pregnancy a bit more enjoyable.

(Y/N) hated herself. Not because she hated their child, no, but because she hated how she felt. She hated that she wasn't enjoying her pregnancy like so many other mothers, and hated how she felt like a prisoner in her own body.

But today: she'd be free.

"ALASTOR!"

A scream awoke the half asleep Radio Demon and he instantly appeared by her side, "what happened?! Are you okay?!"

"I think my water broke last nigh-ah! I'm having contractions!"

The baby was coming.

THE FUCKING BABY WAS COMING.

He instantly got them to the hospital, all while waking up the entire hotel. Vaggie shook Charlie awake, Husker threw a bottle at Angel Dust, and Niffty was frantically killing any bug she saw.

"MY BABY! WHERE'S MY LITTLE PUMPKIN?!"

Lucifer was panicking more than Alastor.

"Oh, my sweet pumpkin!" Lucifer ran to her side as she groaned at the contractions, her horns peaking in and out every time pain lashed through her body.

"Dad, it hurts."

"Where are the scrubs?! I need-!"

"Dad, isn't it the father who's supposed to get scrubs?" Charlie questioned nervously.

"But my baby needs me!"

"What I need is everyone to get the fuck out!" (Y/N) screamed, completely overwhelmed by all of it. Charlie dragged their dad out of the room, and Alastor stayed.

"I'm sorry," She began to cry, feeling horrible about yelling at him.

"You have nothing to apologize for, my sweet girl," His radio voice broke momentarily as he held her hand, "all this pain will be over and we can finally hold our child."

"I already feel like such a bad mom," She cried, "I'm supposed to love being pregnant, but I fucking hate it."

His heart ached for his sweet love. She was in constant pain but hated herself for it.

"I'd never lay another hand on you if it meant you'd never feel like this again," He confessed.

"I'll cut off anyone's hands who touch you."

She smiled at that, "I think. . .I think I'm done after this little one. Definitely need to find out if I can stop being so fertile."

But just as things were calming down, her hand tightened his, and another wave of contractions came. It continued like this for an hour, and with a few more pushes, their child was born.

And even though Lucifer tried breaking into the room, he kept away for a little while longer.

"It's a girl?" Alastor asked.

"Yes. Congratulations!"

"Oh, she's so precious," (Y/N) looked at their daughter, now resting in her arms. She had two small deer horns poking out of her soft head, a ruffle of red hair to go along with it.

"I will give you all the demon meat you desire," Alastor felt satisfied when he looked at his daughter, and felt a pang of happiness within him.

"I think I know what her name is, Alastor," she had been snooping around and found a name from his past, which would make her future husband all the more joyful.

"And what's that, my dear?"

"Manon," His smile faltered.

It was his mother's name.

He looked upon his daughter as she handed him over, her eyes opening to see the Radio Demon - her father.

"It's perfect," He smiled.

"Manon Morningstar."

When Alastor looked at her, all his doubts faded. He remembered how his mother doted on him, loving him and always being his number one supporter and just new that he would do the same for her.

"Can we come in?" Charlie asked carefully with Lucifer peaking in.

(Y/N) nodded and in came Vaggie, Charlie and Lucifer. Lucifer held two giant bouquets of roses, setting them on a table.

"Oh, she's adorable!" Charlie grinned.

"Would you like to hold her?" (Y/N) asked, and her sister happily accepted. The small demon wasn't fussy about being in her arms, just staring with curious eyes.

"Vaggie?"

Her eyes widened, "oh? Me? Uh, I mean, I don't know, I've never-"

"You'll be fine," before she could contest any further, Vaggie was holding Manon. Manon babbled at her, spit dribbling from her mouth as her hand reached up and pulled her hair.

"Okay! My turn!" Lucifer snatched his granddaughter away, staring at the baby with a happy-go-lucky smile.

"Oh you're so precious! I think you'll love duck's! In fact, it's your first toy," He squeaked a small rubber duck with wings in her face, and she began to cry.

"No, no, no, no! Please don't hate me! I love you!"

"I think mommy needs some rest, and Manon is hungry," Alastor scooped back his daughter, and Vaggie dragged Lucifer out as he cried over the fact that he is convinced his granddaughter hates him.

"She's perfect," (Y/N) sighed as she begun to feed upon her, and Alastor gave them both a kiss on their foreheads.

"You're perfect."

[azzibuckets]

sweet [part two]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: wrote and posted this in a car and i’m about to throw up w nausea so tread lightly

word count: 1.6k

masterlist

Azzi doesn’t want to admit it, but Ella is lovely.

When she’d stepped into the bar and met her for the first time, she’d half hoped that she’d be a clingy asshole that she could justify hating. But Ella is beautiful, with curly dark hair and full lips and gold studded ears. And she’s sweet, her voice gentle, and she gushes about how pretty Azzi is. So she can only tack on a pained smile, compliment Ella on her outfit, and hug Paige and tell her she did good.

Now, after seeing Ella so many times, they could almost be called friends. Azzi didn’t have to ask Paige when she’d told her about their history - she could see it in the way Ella had become a little more distant, wary of the two of them together, but she was always sweet as ever. And Azzi couldn’t help but think about how perfect - how perfect for Paige - she was.

Lately she’d fallen in a routine: go to games, congratulate her teammates on their win, and head back to her apartment or hotel room to sulk about her life while they did pressers and celebrated. But now, Azzi is determined to erase all thoughts of her irritatingly hot best friend from her mind. She’s snuggled into her bedsheets, prepared to rewatch Frozen for the twentieth time when she hears a knock on the door. Expecting it to be another Ubereats driver that Paige has been sending more and more frequently, she’s more than a little surprised when she sees the devil herself standing at the door.

“Surprise,” Paige says dryly, holding up a bag of takeout before pushing past Azzi.

“Well, come on in,” Azzi says sarcastically. “Didn’t know you took up a side job.”

“If the only way to contact you is through delivering food, then yeah, I will.“ Paige sets the bag down on a counter a little harder than she needs to. Her hair is freshly wet and down around her shoulders, water still dripping down her hoodie. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, and although her eyebrows are pinched together in annoyance, the sight of her still makes Azzi shudder with want.

“Tell me how we’re teammates, we live down the hall from each other, I see you at every practice and game, and yet it’s impossible for me to get you to talk to me.” Paige questions, a fiery look in her eyes.

Ignoring the older girl, Azzi starts ruffling through the bag. Paige sighs irritatedly, running a hand through her hair, and Azzi knows the older girl well enough to know that she’s close to her last straw. “What’re you even doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be doing press right now?” Azzi redirects.

Paige yanks her sweater off, causing her shirt to ride up and expose the soft skin of her abs. Azzi swallows and looks away. “They’ll be fine without me.”

“Maybe normally.” Azzi unwraps the foil on a taco. “But you just dropped a 30 piece and I’m pretty sure the reporters are dying to hear from their little star.”

“I couldn’t give less of a fuck about the reporters,” Paige shoots back bitterly.

“What about your girlfriend?”

Paige’s eyes narrow. “What about her?”

“You don’t wanna go and celebrate her? With our team?”

Paige shrugs.

Azzi scoffs. “You’re so full of bullshit.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“You dropped thirty points.”

“Yeah, you mentioned.”

“See, this is the fucking issue.” Azzi throws her hands up, exasperated. “Normally you’d be all up in my ass about it, gloating.”

“You’re mad I’m not an asshole who preens about her performance in front of someone that can’t even play?” Paige scratches her head, and Azzi almost laughs at how comedic the situation is.

“You’re missing the point!” Azzi’s voice rises, and she fights to keep it in control. “You should be out there getting drunk off your ass with our friends and your girlfriend, but you’re over here, trying to take care of me.” Azzi knows Paige loves celebrating after a win, especially after a performance like tonight’s. Her best friend thrives in the company of others. And although there’s a small part of her that softens at the fact that Paige clearly rushed here to be here after one of the best games of her life, the part of her that loves Paige more than anything in the world - the biggest part of her - is angry that the older girl felt the need to come here and join Azzi’s pity party, to act nonchalant about her performance when she deserves to be surrounded by praise.

“You’re mad at me for caring about you? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” When Azzi refuses to even look at her, Paige takes a step closer, reaching for her hand. “Can you just stop being so unselfish for once? Let me help you.”

“I don’t need you, Paige.” The wounded look in her best friend’s eyes makes Azzi correct herself. “I don’t need you to pity me.”

“You took care of me when I was injured last year! How is this any different?”

“God, you just don’t understand.”

Paige rests her hands on the counter. “I can’t do this. Not with you.“ She closes her eyes momentarily, and when she opens them Azzi expects her to storm out of the room. But instead, her eyes soften. “Can we just watch a movie or something? We don’t have to talk.”

Azzi falls silent.

“Do you want me to go? Because if you don’t want me here then I’ll leave.” Paige pauses. “But I want to be here. I want to be with you.”

“Okay,” Azzi relents. Paige bites back a smile, and Azzi rolls her eyes fondly.

Azzi lies down on the couch, curling herself into Paige’s side. The older girl’s hands slip under her shirt, moving across her back in a way that feels heavenly. Her eyes flutter shut, and she’s almost asleep when Paige’s phone rings and she slides out from beneath her, gently covering Azzi with the blanket before shutting herself in the other room.

She can barely make out the words, but she can hear from the softening of Paige’s tone and her giggling that she’s talking to Ella.

When Paige comes out, there’s hesitation before she walks over to Azzi on the couch. She hears the sound of Paige breathing heavily for a few moments before she feels a hand on her jaw, the brush of lips on her temple. “I love you,” she hears Paige murmur, so quiet she can barely catch it, before the door shuts and there’s silence.

••

“Azzi?”

Azzi picks up her cup of coffee. “Oh hey, Ella.”

Ella grins at her, the intensity of her smile a little disarming. “Thought that was you! Fancy running into you here.”

Azzi smiles politely.

“Well, hey, I know this is kind of an awkward time, but I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Ella fidgets with her fingers.

A band of discomfort spreads across Azzi’s chest. “Go for it,” Azzi says hesitantly.

“Well, O know you and Paige have been friends for a while.” Ella blushes. “I just, I can’t help but ask - there’s nothing going on between you two right?”

Azzi is a little relieved when she opens her mouth to speak but Ella raises a hand to cut her off. She wasn’t sure what she would’ve said anyways. “I don’t wanna be that girl. I know how important you are to Paige. But she just talks about you sometimes - or even just looks at you and - and I just can’t help but wonder?”

God. “Ella. You don’t have anything to worry about. Me and Paige are just friends. That’s-” Azzi forced a smile. “That’s all we’ll ever be. Okay?” She doesn’t say that if it were up to me, it’d be different. She doesn’t say that it’s unfair how this girl has Paige already wrapped around her finger when I’ve been in love with Paige since I was 16. But she doesn’t.

Ella nods, clearly relieved. She squeezes Azzi’s arm. Azzi wants to tell her to take it off. “If you don’t mind,” Ella continues. “I have another favor to ask.” She takes a furtive look around before stepping closer. “A little bit of space would be nice,” she says under her breath.

“Space?”

Ella nods. “You know how new relationships can be. They’re kind of rocky. And besides, Paige has been stressed with leading the team and the shit going on with her family.”

“I know that.” Azzi’s voice is cold now. She shifts Ella’s hand off her.

Ella smiles again, and this time it doesn’t seem as sweet. “Paige cares about you. A lot. But it’s taking kind of a mental toll on her, balancing all of these things and you at once.” Her eyes flick to Azzi’s crutches.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m not saying you’re a burden. But I’m saying that Paige is always worrying about if you’ve eaten, how your knee is doing, and all that shit. Maybe giving Paige space would help her be, I don’t know, a little less stressed?”

When Azzi stares at her without a response, Ella steps back with a shrug. “I don’t mean any harm. I’m just looking out for my girlfriend.” Ella stresses the my, and Azzi doesn’t miss the way she eyes her as she says it.

She inhales slowly. “Okay.” And as much as she doesn’t want to believe Ella, how could she not? She sees how happy Paige is when she runs to her after games. Ella, as much as Azzi hates her now, gives Paige the support she needs. And she’s not wrong - this has been the most difficult season for the senior yet, having to lead a team of mostly injured players and underclassmen when no one believes in them. And the way Paige had left yesterday night, not even halfway through the movie….as much as Paige refused to admit it, she didn’t want to be tied down by Azzi. Fuck. Had I been hurting her this entire time?

“So…space?”

“I can do that.”

“Great! Thank you, Azzi. I knew you’d understand.” Ella flashes a smile before looking at the menu. “Do you think Paige prefers matcha or cold brew?”

Paige hates matcha. She thinks it tastes like grass.

“Definitely matcha.”

[mclager]

Devil's roll the dice (angel's roll their eyes) | Landoscar X reader

English is not my first language, take it easy

Warnings: Stupidity (in a cool way), drunken marriage, Landoscar having a crush on eachother and being little bitches about it, drunk sex, m/m/f, mentions of Elvis Presley covers

Face claim: girls of pinterest under the "white dress" search

🃏

Ynrkv

Liked by Lando, oscarpiastri and others

Ynrkv Only white dresses for Las Vegas, I hope I don't have to say anything else!

View all comments

User81 someone is getting married this weekend!

Lando I will say it for you

→ Ynrkv Thank you very much 🙏🏼

Oscarpiastri Why Lando get a cool picture and I got whatever this is?

→ ynrkv You look cute, shut up

→ Oscarpiastri @/Lando I hate you

→ Lando You don't

🃏

"Is Lando responsable for this?" Oscar stopped in front of me and showed me my newest post on Instagram. Specifically the first photo on the slide.

"Yeah." I said still laying on the couch in his driver's room. "Did you like it?"

Osc locked his phone and put it in his pocket.

"I did, half of the grid did too." He he said a bit too irritaded, and I chuckled.

"By half of the grid you say Lando?" Oscar rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him, starting to pack up his things.

"And it matters?" He wasn't in a good mood, the race wasn't the best, so this, what is a normal thing, became a little bit bigger than it should.

"Lando is always flirting, it's nothing new."

"I don't like it." He said closing his backpack passive - aggressively.

"He flirts with you too, should I be mad?"

"Don't be crazy, he doesn't."

"He does, I'm not crazy." I got up. "We're in Vegas, let's drink the bad fellings away."

"I want to sleep."

"You don't, you want to cry to sleep, is different. Now please, can we go have a drink?" Oscar nodded. "Thank you."

He kissed me and out we went. We debated where to go, but in the end the hotel had a great bar, so we went there, no thoughts, just a cosmopolitan and a expresso martini on hand. It was conforting, just me and Oscar talking about silly things, but a couple drinks in I saw Lando walk in, comicly trying to get away from a blonde girl that was following him like a lost puppy. I chuckled and Oscar looked too.

"This girl again? Jesus." Oscar made the same face he did when he was talking about the picture and Lando flirting with me.

"Go help your mate." Osc shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

"Last time I did that she started crying." I laughed and shook my head.

"Babe, you have dealt with worse, go help, Lando." He rolled his eyes, but I could see he was glad to go fuck that girls happiness up. Oscar walked to Lando, and without even say hi, he pulled the man away from the girl. She tried to say something, but Oscar can get a bit intimidating when he wants to, which is not often, and strangely only happens in situations when Lando and Myself are needing help with something. The girl looked around and her eyes stopped on me, so I waved to the girl, I don't think she liked it.

"Got a girl problem?" I asked Lando as he aprocched me with Oscar by his side.

"Problem is a cute word, she is worst. She is everywhere, I can't anymore. Thanks for the help." He looked at Oscar that nodded.

"To celebrate, let's do shots?" Before anyone answered I was ordering the shots.

"I like her." Lando said to Oscar.

"She is my girlfriend, Norris."

"And? I never said I didn't liked you." Lando was tipsy, and it was visible, but so were we. I turned to look at Oscar that was blushing.

"Why are you all red, love?" I tease him, he always denied when I asked if he had a crush on a man ever in his life, but everytime Lando looked at him with his flirty eyes, the man was blushing like a little girl.

"Shut up." The shots were now in front of us.

1, 2, 3, 4 at the fifth round of shots we decided to go somewhere else, since Las Vegas has too many places to just be stuck in one hotel bar. First, Lando used his famous F1 driver badge, and Oscar's too just for good mesure, to get us inside a club, and it worked. The place was crowded, but it had good music and I love to dance.

"Good pick!" I yelled trought the loud music to Lando and he nodded.

"I know." He didn't yell like me, he got way too close to say it in my ear. I looked at Oscar that just looked at Lando, not one sign of jealousy, so I let it slide.

"Let's dance." I pulled Oscar by his hand to the dance floor, when I looked at him I saw he pulling Lando like I did with him.

The lights on the dance floor were blinding me, the smell of sweat and alchool were strong, but the song is too good to not enjoy it. I started to dance, Oscar did too. I don't know what happened, but between one song and the other, I was being pressed in between the two men, Oscar's face was so closed to mine, and Lando's body even closer to mine.

This was overstimulating all my senses, but god, it was good. Oscar's hands were on my hips, and I was sure of it, so it was clear that the other pair on my hips were Lando's. I never thought that this could happen without Oscar getting mad or too jealous, but it was happening and I wasn't mad at all. His face was sundenly on my neck, this was going too far, but Oscar was just looking.

We had to let go of eachother when we saw a girl in the distance pull out her phone to film us. So we got to go to the next location. We walked for some minutes and we were at a chapel one of those that you get married by a Elvis. I was ready to walk away from it because I didn't thought anything of it, but Oscar stopped.

"Love?" He called me and I looked at him.

"Yeah?" He looked at the little chapel and back at me.

"Do you want to marry me?" I look at him confused.

"What?"

"Do you want to marry me?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, come on." Lando looked at us.

"Please, go get married." I nodded.

"Let's do this." We runned in, and again, Oscar and Lando did all the complicated stuff and I just needed to say yes to Elvis, as it played love me tender in the background. Lando was the best person to have with us in this moment. Then we got back to the hotel and drank more.

It was almost six a.m when we were walking into Oscar's room.

"Don't break anything, Lando." Oscar said closing the door. I took of my heels and went to drink water.

"Why me? That's crazy."

"You're the liability, not me or my wife." Lando threw himself on the bed.

"Me? Oh fuck you, I'm not a liability, I'm fine." I gave a bottle of water to Lan and other to Oscar before hugging my husband.

"Yes, you're. Thank you, love."

"Thank you, darling."

"You're both welcome." Lando opened the water bottle and spilled all over himself. Oscar looked at Lando, and Lando looked at Oscar.

"I know what you're going to say, so don't." He got up and took off his shirt trying to dry his pants.

"As I said, liability." I sat on the bed and looked at them.

"At least you didn't wet the bed."

"But everything else is fucking wet." Oscar looked at me and smirked.

"Everything? Are you sure?"

"Oscar!" I threw a pillow on him.

"I just asked if he was sure."

"Pervert." Lando said laughing. Oscar lay down on by my side and hugged my waist.

"What? You two are perverts, I'm just saying, not everything is wet. The bed is fine, the floor is fine, you're the only thing that's wet."

"Sure." Lando said throwing his shirt on the floor.

"Take it off." Oscar said to Lando.

"What?"

"You want to be all wet fine, if don't, take it off, it's fine."

"Can I?" Lando asked me and I nodded.

"Sure." As he was taking his pants off, Oscar put his face on my neck leaving little kisses and soft bites. This man knows what he is doing.

"Can you two stop?" Lando was way hotter in his boxers, I have to give him that.

"Stop what? I'm just hugging my wife, can't I?"

"Osc... You're not just hugging her." He sat by my side rolling his eyes.

"No?" He pushed his hips against mine, Oscar was really excited about what was going on in his mind.

"Love, what are your plans?"

"I don't have any plans."

"Can you control your boyfriend, darling?"

"Oh, he's past the control part. I'm sorry." Oscar sighed.

"You two are boring. Sometimes I forget that all Lando can do is bad flirting."

"I'm really good at flirting, and I can do a lot more than that."

"Prove it." I turned to look at Oscar, completely in shock.

"How? You want me to do what? Kiss your wife? Kiss you?" He joked, little did he knew that was exactly what Oscar wanted.

"Are you thinking about it, Oscar?" I asked and he nodded.

"Any cons?" I shook my head.

"Go ahead."

"Oh god, you really mean that don't you?" Lando asked.

"What? Do you think I would let you grind on my girl just because I'm nice?" Oscar sat on the bed. "Are you going to say now you don't like the idea? If you don't, it's fine too..."

Before the end of his thought, Lan pulled Oscar and kissed him. Everything is happening too fast, or my head is too slow because of the alcohol, either way everything looks like a wet dream.

"That's what I'm talking about." Oscar said against Lando's lips. The unclothed state of Lando didn't help his case, he was getting hard by the second.

"I fucking knew you had a crush on eachother." I whispered more to me then to them, but they heard it, of course they did. Oscar chuckled letting Lando go.

"Sorry for lying."

"Well, sure, yes, sorry. Can we skip to the part fun? We can discuss about your man being canonically bi later."

"You're more needy than her after a race weekend, this will be fun."

"I'm not needy." I sat up.

"Sure, show Lando how not needy you're." I rolled my eyes jokingly and kissed Lando, and it was as good as I thought it would be.

Oscar unzipped my dress pulling it down, Lando's hands went to my hips in my naked skin, Oscar's hands also came in contact with my skin, less shy than Lando's. Oscar was quick to slide his hand on to Lando's body too, who pulled him into the kiss.

My hands went to Lando's boxer and Oscar's pants, both men incredibly hard. Lando moaned into the kiss making Oscar smile as he helped me get into his pants.

"You moan like a little bitch did you know that?" Oscar examined Lando's face trying to see if he was aligned with him, and the second moan coming out of him said a big yes to that.

"Now I know." I got down to take him on my mouth while I kept Oscar on my hand. "For fuck's sake." He gripped my hair pulling me against him.

"She's great." I heard Oscar saying, and if I needed to bet, I bet he was smiling.

"Yes." I looked up seeing Lando's face he wasn't able to answer more than that anyway. Oscar slapped my ass before sliding his fingers on my folds making me moan against Lando, and he gripped my hair even harder.

"Not only his clothes are wet, I see." He put on of his fingers inside me and moved a couple times before taking it off making me whine at the loss. "Lando?"

"hm?"

"Do you want to feel her?" He nodded eagerly, with his free hand he put one of his fingers in me, being followed by one of Oscar's. I took my mouth of Lando and moaned. They moved in an unison, driving me fucking crazy, just the thought of them fingering me could break me.

"Fuck, can someone fuck me already?"

"As I said, needy." I hate when he is right, but right now I hate to not have anyone inside of me. He took his fingers of me, sucking my juices off his finger, before he grabbed my face making me look at him. "Do you want to be fuck my Lando?"

"Yes, please!"

"Will you be a good girl for him?" I nodded.

"Yes, I will." Oscar smiled.

"Ok, then." He looked over to Lando. "She is yours, be good and make my girl come before you do."

"Yes, sir." Lando said without thinking, but quickly took it back. "I mean, Osc."

"No, no, I like that, keep it up." I couldn't see Lando's reaction to Oscar, but I could feel the tip of his cock brushing on my pussy. I looked at Oscar as Lando buried himself in me, like Osc likes to say: Moaning like a little bitch.

"Lando, you feel so good." I whined.

"You feel even better." He groaned. I saw Oscar getting closer to my face and I opened my mouth, he didn't think twice before starting to fuck my mouth, as hard as he could. My eyes where watering, I was drooling everywhere, but Oscar was looking at me like I was the prettiest girl he ever saw. It made me clench around Lando, who gripped onto my hips for dear life.

As harder as Lando fucked my pussy, Oscar did as well to my mouth, I never felt as full as right now. I could get used to it. Oscar pulled Lando to a kiss, they looked so good together I could put it on the Louvre and if I did, people would stop looking at the Mona Lisa. I moaned against Oscar, and tightened around Lando.

"Fuck, darling." Lando moaned.

"Do you want to come?" Oscar asked me and I nodded, he took his dick off my mouth and said on my ear. "Then do it as loud as you can."

"And as quickly as you can, because I'm almost there too. If you take longer I'll cum inside you." It wasn't a threat, or a promise, it was a concerned statement, but the thought of him cumming inside me just made me go over the edge, I screamed, both of their names, feeling every inch of me trembling almost falling against the bed. Oscar chuckled.

"I think she liked the idea." Oscar looked at my face and back at Lando. "You can if you want." He didn't have to say it twice, as soon as Oscar finished his sentence I felt Lando coming undone inside me.

"Fuck." He moaned and Oscar pulled my hair to make me look at him.

"Open up." I opened my mouth as he came partially inside of it. Lando pushed me against him to lick my chin clean of Oscar's seed, as he was still inside me. We kissed, then Oscar joined.

"Is this one of those things that doesn't leave Vegas?" Lando asked as he helped me to lay down on the bed.

"I would love if it did left Vegas." Oscar said as he got up, going to the bathroom. I hugged Lando's waist and nodded agreeing with Osc.

"You will sleep with us tonight, right?" I asked Lando, he looked at Oscar who just sat by my side and started to clean me up with a wet towel.

"You heard the queen." Oscar answered jokingly.

"If you insist."

"I do." I said closing my eyes, they started to talk about something, but I slept so quickly I couldn't understand what it was.

I woke up with the sun on my face, cursing myself for not closing the blinds properly. I opened my eyes to see Oscar sleeping like an angel, but I could feel the heaviness of someone else's arms on my waist. I turned around to see Lando drooling on the pillow. I smiled. It wasn't a dream, it was real.

I pause. I look at my hand.

All of it was real.

I was really wearing a wedding ring that matches Oscar's, and I can't really believe that our first action as a married couple was bring Lando in. It wasn't a bad idea.

"Good morning." I heard Oscar and I turned to see him.

"Good morning." He kissed me and looked passed my shoulder to see Lando. He smiled.

"Sorry for keeping it a secret from you." He whispered to not bother the sleepyhead.

"It was not very well kept, but I'll forgive you for denying it when I asked." I brushed his hair off his face. "Don't lie to me again."

"I won't." He paused. "Did you enjoy it?" I nodded.

"Very much, you?"

"Very much." We smiled.

"By the way, why you decided to get married drunk in Vegas?"

"Because I love you." He looked at Lando, as if that I love you was him too, and I didn't mind.

"I hope that nobody in PR gets even close to discover this."

"If they do I'll simply confirm that I'm the luckiest man alive."

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Midnight Rain

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Midnight | Word Count: 1062 | Rating: T | CW: Alcohol, Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Famous Corroded Coffin, Post Break-Up, Eddie's Going Through It, Gareth's a Good Best Friend, Angst, Hopeful Open Ending

Eddie's sprawled on the couch of the fancy hotel, in a room overlooking the city, literally at the top. He tilts back the bottle, downing it. The show tonight was great, another sold out arena. The crowd, the lights, the whole show, electric. 

But now it's midnight, and he's alone as the rain pelts against the floor to ceiling windows.

When they walked back into the hotel, there was a group of friends in the lobby, coming in from their night out, still in their fancy clothes, celebrating a birthday. Soaking wet, but happy.

Singing to Steve. 

A Steve, not his Steve, not that he has any Steve these days.

Just the mention of someone that shares his name was enough to send Eddie into a spiral. It's hard to reflect back on his mistakes. On the life that he gave away. Steve Harrington. Sunshine personified, while Eddie's a storm cloud, midnight rain.

He's haunted.

Eddie decided to chase that fame, while Steve stayed the same. Comfortable where he was, while Eddie could only chase more pain. He was damaged after that spring break, damaged after his mother's death, damaged after it all. His whole life. It's all he knew. He didn't deserve anything better. He wanted to punish himself, then, and forever.

He deserved the pain of the music business meat grinder chewing him up and spitting him out.

Except it didn't. 

They made it. The tide turned. Something good, finally. He got just what he wanted. 

And he's tried to tell himself that it was worth it. Most days he believes it.

Then, he thinks of Steve Harrington.

But Eddie knows Steve never thinks of him, except maybe when he's on MTV, right in his face.

Eddie tries not to think of him either, except for midnights like this. When he's slid into the regret, the sorrow, the pain that he might have sold his soul to the devil, losing the best thing he ever had in the process.

Hawkins was a wasteland. A prison. And Eddie had to go. 

But Steve thought it was home, and wanted to stay. Wanted a life, a family. The house, the two-car garage, the kids. 

Eddie wanted to make a name for himself.

And he fucking did. Eddie Munson is a household name, a brand.

Eddie, himself though. He's hollowed out. The spark, gone.

The door opens, closes, and Gareth is tossing his jacket on the chair. 

"You should have seen her tits–" he starts, then stops, when he sees Eddie, his tone changing immediately, "What happened? Eddie? Talk to me."

"I broke his heart 'cause he was nice," Eddie slurs. 

"Goddamnit," Gareth says, sitting down next to Eddie, prying the little bottle from the mini bar from his hand. There's a half dozen more scattered across the coffee table, already empty.

A menagerie of liquors that are now mixed together, churning in his stomach.

The band can afford it.

But he's not sure he can. 

"I left you alone for an hour," Gareth accuses, but it's not harsh. It's sad. 

"I left him alone for a decade," Eddie counters, scrubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. But he didn't. Steve's not alone. No way. Luckily, these nights are few and far between, but when they steamroll him, it's like he's been hit by a truck.

The last time it was that Christmas card pinned to Wayne's fridge. Steve, a girlfriend and dog. No babies. No ring. Not yet. But smiling wide, looking perfect. Happy.

Wayne hadn't realized what it would do to him. Wayne's never mentioned Steve again, not ever, and if he's still on the Harrington holiday card list, Eddie will never know about it.

"Steve Harrington is fine," Gareth says, as if that's reassuring. Eddie isn't worried that Steve isn't fine. He knows he is. Knows he landed on his feet, is happy out there, somewhere. Probably with his bride, his dog, and now kids. A whole happy life.

There's no other option.

Eddie's unbearable loss was someone else's infinite gain.

"I'm not," Eddie says, reaching for one of the unopened bottles, and Gareth snags it first. 

"You're not what?" 

"Fine." 

"You are fine. Go to bed, it'll be better in the morning," Gareth says, pulling him up off his ass, and stripping him down to his underwear, forcing him onto his side in the bed.

Not his bed, never his own bed. The last time he had one of those, Steve was next him.

At least this one is comfortable, and he nuzzles into the pillow, his stubble scratching against the soft pillowcase.

Gareth's standing there looking at him. 

"'m fine, go." 

"I just need a shower. Then I'll bunk in with you tonight. Go to sleep. I'll be right back."

Eddie nods, and it feels like seconds later when the bed dips. The mattress shifts with the weight of Gareth. 

Gareth slings his arm over Eddie's back, being the big spoon. His wet hair tickling the back of Eddie's neck.

"You're not doing this anymore," Gareth says, and Eddie doesn't have it in him to argue, so he just goes back to sleep.

Eddie has a hangover from hell. His head is throbbing and he refuses to open his eyes for the longest time. Just laying there, regretting last night. Regretting a lot of things. But last night especially.

He hates when he gets that way. Steve is long gone. There's no taking that back. He ruined them, and he has to live with it. 

When he finally swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hanging his head, eyes downcast, he sees that there's a note on the nightstand. Gareth's familiar handwriting scrawled across the hotel stationary:

He said to call him.  S.H. - 765-555-0385

Eddie looks up, and Gareth's on the couch, staring at him. Cup of coffee resting on his knee, his foot braced against the edge of the coffee table. The same table that's now clean, no traces of his bender last night.

"You talked to him?" Eddie croaks, voice dry and scratchy.

Gareth nods. 

"He's…he's still…?" Eddie questions, not even sure of the rest of the question he was starting to ask. He has too many.

Gareth nods again.

Eddie picks up the paper, clutching it tight in his fist.

And he finally feels something he hasn't in years:

Hope.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

Notes: Inspired by the Taylor Swift song Midnight Rain.

[yoonjae20]

A series of snapshots of how the public views Danny’s return [Bruce/Danny; Spirit Halloween]

I can't believe it's been already 5 days since I last written something. University has kept me so busy.

Anyway — on to the next part! I tried something different for the first half, I hope it's not too jarring. I thought it would be fun to have a sort of outside view of how the public see Danny and Bruce.

Read on ao3. Masterpost.

Previous. Next.

“Did you guys see the interview Lois Lane did with Bruce Wayne and his husband?” 

“I was so shocked when I heard the news. They do look cute together though!”

“I still can't believe that the most eligible bachelor of Gotham had been married all along! It does explain why he never dated anyone.”

“I know right! But they must be super private for it to only come out now.”

“Actually they said in the interview that his husband was busy with other affairs outside the country.”

“Don’t you think it almost makes it sound like he’s a royalty from a far away land? He was so serious when he said he needed to take care of his duties and responsibilities.”

“No way you are believing that conspiracy theory. There’s a thread that debunked it already. Apparently he’s from some no name city in the Midwest.”

“I did think he had an accent I couldn’t place. Did you watch the clip of the interview where Lois Lane asked who proposed first?”

“Wait, what? I can’t believe I missed that, I hadn’t had time to watch the full interview!”

“Me neither.”

“Here let me pull it up.”

“-So who proposed first?”

Danny and Bruce look at each other for a moment and the latter groans at the expression his husband wears.

“Please not, love.”

“But it’s such an adorable story!” 

“Now I’m only more curious,” Lois chuckles. 

“Well we were quite drunk that day to be honest,” Danny laughs. “It was almost midnight when we decided we needed a hotel. Unfortunately all rooms were booked other than a Love Suite.”

Lois leans forward, eager to hear more.

“The receptionist said they don’t have a room for us both unless we are a couple-“

Bruce buries his face into his hands.

“And Bruce said and I quote ‘Actually we are fiancées.’ I don’t know if the receptionist or Bruce was more flustered when we woke up in the morning.”

“Wow!” Lois exclaims. “I never thought I’d see the day where Bruce is embarrassed.”

Bruce still doesn’t look up from where he hides his face. 

“Yeah he couldn’t look me in the eyes for the entire following day,” Danny snickers. “I actually asked him when the wedding would be while we were eating breakfast. He almost choked on his food!” 

The clips ends and the girls giggle.

“And still people believe Bruce Wayne isn’t a huge himbo.” 

“I do wonder how his youngest came to be. Did he cheat while his husband was away on business?”

One of the girls opens her mouth but before she can share her opinion the other interrupts.

“If you tell me you believe the rumors he’s a clone too then I’m gonna hit you, Sarah.” 

“I’m just saying that we never saw his mother in public!” 

A loudspeaker announces the next stop.

“Come on, we’ll have to hurry to get the bus.”

Their voices fade as they leave the subway. 

“Huh, isn’t that Bruce Wayne’s husband? Who is that next to him?”

“I think that’s Jason Todd, you know the one who died and came back a few years ago? Apparently he was in witness protection or something.”

“Wow, I almost didn’t recognize him. They look so familiar with each other.”

They watch as the older man cackles as he throws fries in his mouth while the younger scowls and playfully punches the man’s forearm. 

“Yeah I heard that now that he is back in Gotham he has been on several outings with the rest of Bruce’s kids.”

“Even with his youngest?”

“Yeah they went to the zoo. With his oldest son he visited him at work I think. He also went to his daughter’s performance. I’m not sure if he did something with the Drake boy.”

“Talking about the devil…”

The door to the Batburger opens, Tim Drake as well as the rest of Bruce Wayne’s brood following him. The older man cheerfully greets them, ruffling the hair of Tim as he sits down next to him. Soon their happy chatter fills the fast food restaurant and the ones watching them move on to other topics. 

“I was skeptical but they do make a good pair.”

Bruce Wayne and his husband are greeting their guests for the charity with matching suits and beaming smiles. Bruce leans to whisper something in the man’s ear and he nods. He politely excuses himself before he hurries out of the room with a champagne glass in hand. 

“Indeed. I’m a bit surprised how well adjusted his husband is, considering I can’t recall ever seeing him at a gala.”

Bruce watches the man go with a genuine smile before he turns back to the people surrounding him.

“That brings me back to when Mr. Wayne first returned to Gotham. I can’t help but feel he looks more at ease now.”

“I know what you mean. He’s mellowed out a lot over the years. To think he had a secret lover he had been hiding all this time…”

“And he seems to be getting along with his kids too. Talking about them-”

Damian Wayne approaches his father, telling him something. Bruce hums before he excuses himself and his son as they go in the direction his husband had gone too. The two high society members quickly forgot about the strangeness of it. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tim Drake so serious.”

“To think that Mr. Wayne would have died without his husband there- It sickens me.”

“The fact that his son has to hold the press conference must mean his injuries are even worse than speculated.”

“I heard that he might need to relearn to walk too.”

“His husband looked furious when the reporters swarmed them once they arrived at the scene — honestly I would be too.”

“They have no shame.”

“I wouldn’t want to be them or the Clown now.”

“I can’t believe Red Robin and Signal let him slip away. Where were Batman and Robin anyway?”

“I have no idea either. And here I thought Batman favors Mr. Wayne and his family.”

“It did seem that way. If the Clown washes up dead, I’m betting on Mr. Wayne’s husband.”

“One can only hope.”

Danny opens the door with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Those damn vultures. If he had known how annoying they would be, he would have convinced Bruce to go live with him in the Infinite Realms — although he knows that despite their love for each other, his need for revenge had outweighed everything else once he finished his travels across the world. 

He shakes his head and steps in the room, eyes trailing to the bed — Bruce should be still out on pain medications-

“Bruce!” Danny chides when he sees the man struggling to stand up from where he is seated on his bed. “What are you doing?”

He hurries to the man’s side and helps him back into the bed as he groans.

“What happened?”

Danny frowns as he sits down the chair next to his bedside. It pains him to see Bruce so obviously weak, face drenched in sweat — if he finds that Clown, he’ll-

“There was a Rogue attack during the charity gala,” Danny explains as he pushes away the dark thoughts — he can plan with Jason later. He is sure the boy will take him up on the offer. “Don’t you remember?”

“What about the target?”

Danny sighs as he leans back, eyes tired — he hadn’t slept a single wink since the incident, but leave it to Bruce to be concerned about anything other than his own health.

“Tim and Cass managed to detain them. We got surprised before you and Damian could change into your costumes.”

Danny knits his eyebrows together as Bruce raises a hand to his temple, obviously straining his memory to recall what happened. 

“You should rest, darling,” Danny leans forward and puts his hands over the man’s left hand. “My ectoplasm sped up things, but you were quite hurt. I'll tell the kids that you are awake.”

He moves to stand but Bruce grasps his wrist before he can move from his spot. It’s feather light — nothing like the reliable, strong grip Bruce normally has. Danny gnaws at his lips as he waits for Bruce to compose himself. 

“Stay,” he says, voice exhausted before he murmurs, “please.”

If this were any other circumstances Danny would have snorted at the man’s display of rather lacking emotional vulnerability, but this is also the first time in many years that he has seen the man seriously hurt and had been powerless to prevent it even though he had been right there. The comfort Bruce is seeking right now — it’s also something Danny needs. To make sure the man is still alive. 

The man scoots over as Danny climbs in the hospital bed and pulls him closer once Danny makes himself comfortable. Danny falls asleep to the rhythmic, slow sound of the man’s heartbeat.

Danny wakes up to hushed voices talking. He keeps his eyes closed as he becomes aware of his surroundings.There’s a hand in his hair and he can hear the rumble of Bruce’s chest as he speaks-

“-He looks too exhausted.”

“You should have seen him when he brought you to the ambulance,” Jason chuckles. “I thought he was gonna bite the next reporter that shoved themselves in his way.”

“We can be glad Daniel was there Father,” Damian says before he hesitates. “I don’t think I would have been able..:”

He trails off and the atmosphere turns somber. 

“Has there been a press conference yet?” Bruce asks as he shifts to hold Danny a bit closer.

“Yes, Tim took care of it,” Jason says. “He and Dick will come by tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Danny can feel Bruce nodding. “Go return to the manor, it’s getting late and I’m sure Alfred won’t appreciate you coming home after curfew.” 

Danny doesn’t need to open his eyes to know Jason is probably rolling his eyes.

“You say as if all your kids aren’t running around as vigilantes at night,” Jason says. “Besides I’m going to one of my safe houses for the night.”

Bruce grunts, displeased and Jason sighs. 

“Fine I’ll go to the manor,” he gives in. “But only because these are special circumstances.”

Bruce lets out a hum, now obviously pleased.

“Should we wake Danny?”

“No, Iet him sleep,” Bruce says, before a bit of amusement slips into his tone. “I’m sure the nurse will let it be once she recognizes him as Bruce Wayne’s husband.”

Jason scoffs, but doesn’t protest. Damian says goodbye to his father before both of them leave. It’s several minutes later that Bruce chuckles.

“I know that you are awake.”

Danny opens one eye, peaking at Bruce who is looking at him with a soft smile. He’s propped up against the headboard and Danny is relieved to see him looking better than when he stepped in the room a few hours ago. 

Danny sits up and raises an eyebrow.

“My breathing?” he asks and Bruce snorts. 

“It doesn’t need a Detective to notice that you suddenly started breathing again although you didn’t while you were asleep.”

Danny huffs out a breath — that tell is the only reason why Danny can never deceive the man. 

“I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation,” Danny says as he leans against the man.

Bruce frowns as he tucks Danny into his side.

“Have they-”

“They all have been very accepting and lovely Bruce,” Danny interrupts. “You have good kids. I just feel bad that I have been monopolizing their attention. After all, you are their father even if some of them try to deny it.”

“You are now too,” Bruce says, surprising Danny, “if you want.”

Danny smiles as he answers, “I know. But that’s up to them.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone who can refuse you.”

Danny snorts.

“You are just biased, darling.”

Bruce shrugs, expression content. 

“Guilty as charged.”

Danny laughs as he shakes his head. 

Yeah, they’ll be fine — no matter what others might think about them. (And if he has to kill a Clown for that to happen, he will gladly do so.)

[midascrow]

Lucifer x GN!Reader

A Fan of the Devil?

———————//————

synopsis: Charlie’s father is introduced to the hotels “Gardener”, and comes to find out that they’re a fallen soul from above. He’s also surprised to learn that they’re a fan of his.

warnings: religious pressure(?)

an: Part 1? If this is well received ofc. This is told from Lucifer’s perspective and therefore his view and inner thoughts regarding what’s going on around him. I also threw in the idea that he’s bad with names cuz that feels very accurate to me lol

—————————————————————-

He hadn’t expected his daughter’s friends to be so….eccentric, upon meeting them. Of course he knew Charlie’s heart bled gold for any sinner around, but he thought-, more so he hoped that she would keep somewhat better company.

Especially in the revelation of this “RaDiO DEmOn”.

Baggie- Mag- Vaggie, was alright he supposed. She loves his daughter, perhaps just as much as he does,that much he was sure. And while he was a bit disheartened by having not known of their relationship prior, he was still content and moved by the way the two leaned towards each others embrace as they spoke.

His heart ached. Just a bit.

“Are they up in their room again?”

“I think they’re in the Garden again, hon.”

Garden? The hotel had a garden?

“Oh! Oh maybe we could-“

“I don’t know…you know how they can be about us going in there..”

“Pshhhh! I’m sure it’ll be fine Vaggie! Plus remember how they always talked about meeting him??”

Meeting who? Who’s meeting who??

Was there some kind of owl in here?

“Dad!”

“Ah!”

Charlie blinked down at her father in an awkward beam, watching his red eyes dart around nervously, for a moment or two. “Who?!-“ His throat dried and swelled in embarrassment, cracking his voice as he fixed his pride with a dust off his hat. “Uhm…Yes? Char?” Nailed it. Totally. Very cool and suave of you big boss.

His daughter smiled, a crease in her brow before she clasped his arm and tugged him forward, away from the peering eyes of the others and down a long corridor. “There’s someone- Well-there’s someone who’s been dying to meet you! Yknow ever since they arrived here it’s just be non stop-“

Someone wanted to meet him? Why??

Surely they were a weirdo.

His grimace must’ve given him away, because Vaggie, who he hadnt noticed following them till the moment of, gave a small hum, to cut through her girlfriends words.

“They were a bit of a fanatic on earth apparently.”

He dead panned.

“A cultist.”

“No.”

“A satanist?”

“That’s not even what satanists do!”

“…..”

“….A banker-“

“Just-!….Wait and you’ll see.”

He fell silent at that, a frown pulled onto his pale lips as his feet dragged him towards wherever they were headed.

He was a bit stumped when they came upon two large doors, both decorated in shimmering glass mozaics, depicting two dividing scenes. An Angel; hands carefully cupped around a beautifully red apple, kneeled down towards the other mural, was depicted on the right. And on the Left, in the same position, with the same red apple, a demon.

He shifted uncomfortably.

“Wow Honey! I uh- Didn’t know this door even existed! It’s very cool, yes yes very cool- now let’s head back to the-!” He called nervously, a half witted laugh leaving his sharp tooth smile as Charlie nodded vigorously, shiney eyes aglow as she took hold of the golden handles of the ornate doors, pulling them open with a mighty huff as a golden light spilled from inside.

It was startling to say the least, fact proven by how Lucifer felt his wings practically shoot from his back in defense, feathers cascading down in time with the petals and leaves that followed an imaginary breeze through the threshold.

His ears strained to hear the quiet sound of rushing water and leaves shaking, birds chirping and insects buzzing quietly somewhere in the back.

His skin warmed. Not in the way it naturally did from hells weather, but as if the sun was beaming down on his skin for the first time in eons. Of course, he knew it was fake. But it was so close.

“Oh- shit! Charlie!” A voice barked beyond the golden glow of the garden, a figure stepping out from the shadows of a large bush, covered in leaves and flowers as they stumbled clumsily through, racing towards the door and slamming it shut, completely ignorant to the king beside their hip, who’s gaze pierced them in silent wonder.

He hadn’t felt that in a while.

“What did I tell you about coming in unannounced! You could throw off the entire ecosystem! The slightest temperature shift might make one of the flowers wilt or one of the fruits shrivel! At least warn me before-“

“Ahem.”

The sinner paused, shoulders jumping stiffly as they froze, finger pointed towards Charlie rudely from their rant before their gaze shifted to the side.

He heard the way their breath hitched, and his chest puffed slightly in pride, wings fluttering just slightly.

“Hello there.” He was being cheeky, he knew that, though his smile felt a tad too genuine, caused by the sheer awe that glimmered across the sinners face at the sight of him. “Lucifer Morningstar, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet.”

He couldn’t find it in himself to dislike that look. He was the avatar of pride after all.

And a small part of him took a rather large enjoyment in the stuttering and stumbling of the sinner before him.

“Y-Your highness! Oh my gosh-“ He grinned “I wasn’t expecting your company- I would’ve dressed more- well I-“ Vaggie coughed from the side, redirecting their attention as they picked the stray foliage form their hair and clothes in a frenzy, towards the garden around them.

With a startled gasp they quickly stepped to the side, nearly tumbling in their haste as they held their arm out, presenting the garden to the king. “It’s..it’s an honor to meet you Sir.” Your voice was steadier, but still thick with anxiety that stuck like molasses to your tongue.

He watched your hand tremble, just slightly. Like his.

His wings fluttered again. A warm feeling bursting through his chest and into his eyes, giving them that shine that reflected the faux golden glow of the sun in the large green room. “The pleasures all mine, My dear. Do you mind explaining what it is you have-.…here”

His smile faltered, gaze stuck on the tree that stood tall and proud in the center of the spacious garden. Its leaves and branches stretched far, each adorned by beautiful red..apples, that hung and shimmered in the light. He expected the familiar ache of guilt to swarm his heart, but was surprised when he found himself breathless instead.

“I hope it’s..somewhat accurate. I’ve only seen recreations of course, never the real thing..” Your voice was a bit muffled in his mind.

He felt you step cautiously beside him, as he continued to gaze reverently at the scene before him. Shadows and memories danced past his eyes and through the patches of sun that decorated the floor. He swore he could hear quiet calls and whispers mix with the rustling leaves.

“You made this?” It wasn’t really a question.

Plants weren’t common in hell. Especially none such as this. They simply couldn’t grow in the rotted soil that spread across his kingdom. And there was simply no pure water to be found that could sustain them. So how-

“I might’ve take a few things before I fell.” You laughed shyly, cheeks warmed under the sun and the intense gaze of the King that snapped towards you.

Lucifer finally got a proper look at you. At your eyes and your features. Your afflictions. There was no denying you were a human soul. It was clear as day and still beat deep in your being. But..

“You were in heaven?” He gasped, eyes wide, mouth agape as he turned fully towards you, the grip on his cane tight as he scanned over the few demonic markings that lined your body, and the big golden X that flashed across your entire being. For only his eyes to see.

A virtuous soul cast out? Was that even possible? To turn away a true, virtuous soul, one of the few who had made it into heavens gate from their life on earth-

“It’s safe to say I didn’t truly agree with heavens teachings. It was too…polished.” There was an easy going smile that matched your tone, as you let your eyes wander towards the tree that wisely outshined every other plant in the garden. You continued.

“Heaven wasn’t my first choice. Frankly I didnt believe in it to begin with. But my folks were..somewhat of zealots. They wanted the best for me, I know that. But I missed…” You paused, seemingly thoughtful as Lucifer watched you with rapt attention, you both becoming ignorant to the two lovers that slipped out.

Charlie smiled softly to herself. Her dad needed this.

“I missed the free will that their religion took away from me.” Your gaze was knowing, almost wise like the tree when it peered back into his own, and Lucifer swore he felt something crack. Something lift from his shoulders and pulled his wings away, letting them spread proudly, in a way he hadn’t felt or experienced in years. Possibly ever.

“You know….I always enjoyed the story of you they told on earth.” Lucifer grimaced again, the vision of you dimming for a moment as he glanced away.

“Is that so? I’m sure they’re singing my praises.” It was a dry laugh, his hands gesturing in a faux confidence, but his lips quirked when he heard your muffled one.

“No, many aren’t. Most seem to align themselves with Heavens view…” You hummed thoughtfully and stepped forwards into the soft grass that peaked through the cracks of brimstone. Lucifer followed, instinctively. He felt leashed by your presence, though not necessarily in a bad way.

“Though there are plenty, who think a little more like me. There’s many versions of your story. I always knew that the original couldn’t be the full story. Too..one sided. Time on earth taught me that there was always a second side. Someone’s else thoughts-, perspective. Falling only confirmed that.”

You words tangled with your fingers that fluttered across the branches of a close bush, caressing a small flower that curled into your touch. “The first thing I did was look for the story. Of the garden. I wanted to replicate it, though admittedly there was never much detail to go off!”

You laughed again and the sound was quickly becoming a favorite of his. It was gentle..understanding. It almost hurt.

“And when I read the story..it was different. More romantic for sure.” You flushed softly, cheeks warm again as you recalled the way the story of Lucifer and Lilith warmed your soul. “But..more honest. Heart breaking even. I couldn’t believe how horrible it was must’ve been…and never knowing how amazing your gift was..” you turned to him again, your gaze so earnest and true that it made him step back.

Lucifer couldn’t deny the warmth in his own cheeks. You were pretty..pretty? That felt mundane. You practically glowed in the garden. And while it wasn’t a perfect representation of what Eden had been, it was better.

Eden had always been..one dimensional. It lacked the depth and feeling that Lucifer had hoped to give humanity. It was gorgeous, there was no denying that. But it wasn’t real.

This…This, is what he had hoped for the garden to be. Alive. Truly alive.

And…you brought it life…because of him? It didn’t feel right in a way. Having spent so many years locked away by himself and mourning the sin and ruin he had created from his own selfish wish.

Selfish? Had it been selfish? At the time, when he had done it, it didn’t feel selfish. He wanted humanity to live. To be alive! Truly, and honestly alive.

And you were so Alive. You were dead here in hell and yet you were breathing life into this gorgeous scene because you chose to. You chose to fall too. You chose to be in hell.

Because of him? Because of his…gift?

It was ironic almost. Laughable even.

Your lips pursed, a worried sweat on your brow as you lost that roaring confidence that bled into your words prior. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to preach or anything-“ He stopped you.

“So-.…you’re a fan?” His lips screwed into a wobbly smile, embarrassment creeping up his neck at his less then poetic comment, though the laugh you graced him with almost made the shame worth it.

“You could say that. I personally think I hold the title of number one fan, but you know beggars can’t be choosers I suppose.” You gestured animatedly, a small smirk on your lips as you professed your..favor towards the king, and he gleamed.

“Well!” His hands flew to his suit, straightening it out and letting his chest puff out from its slumped frame. “May I know the name of my, alleged, number one fan?” His words were coy, smug as he gestured to you with a flourish that he had shown to the other residents. (Of course till you had so rudely stunned him to silence)

The smile you gifted him was holy.

“(Y/N)…Your highness.” Your bow was playful, a little awkward and strained, but it made him laugh.

“(Y/n), hm? I’ll be sure to remember that.” His throat cleared briefly, “I…hope you wouldn’t mind me stopping by sometime again soon..I’d like to hear a bit more about your garden.” He liked the way you looked at him in this moment. Disbelieving but so hopeful. Like he was something, someone to gaze at in such a way.

“I’d be honored.”

Maybe you had a fan of your own now, as well.

———————☆

[the-rewriter13]

The Devil & The Seven Deadly Sins

Part 1: The Premises

the premises of the Seven Deadly Sins, Children/Show Sins & The Devil

Part 2: The Devil

The Devil in detail

Part 3: The Seven Deadly Sins

1. Beezlebub 2. Asmodeus

[bit3mebabyx]

Honeymoon Suite

🐚while out of town on a surveillance mission for the DEA, you stupidly left Javi to book the hotel room. aka the classic one bed trope. 🐚

warnings: 18+, slowburn (i’ll be real half the fic is the both of you pretending to be asleep), co-workers to lovers, teasing/ flirting, Javi being the perv/ sleaze we all know he is, cannon violence lightly mentioned, afab reader, fem reader, no smut really (yet?), whole lotta sexual tension though

authors notes: first post on this account (ew). first time writing for a pedro character, but my obsession has been reborn and is overwhelming me.

The motel was the kind of place that charged by the hour and didn’t bother to change the sheets. Javier dropped the keys onto the dresser and glanced around with a raised brow. “Charming,” he muttered, tugging the curtains shut. “Really went all out on this one.”

You crossed your arms, backpack slung over one shoulder. “You booked it.”

He looked over his shoulder at you, smirking. “Didn’t realize we’d be getting the honeymoon suite.”

Your stomach dropped slightly when your eyes landed on the single, sad old mattress in the middle of the room. One bed. Of course. What a pervert. “There’s only one bed,” you said flatly.

“Wow. Thanks for the update, Agent Obvious.” He winked, peeling off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair.

You gave him a sharp look, trying not to let his easy charm get to you. “Don’t get any ideas, Peña.”

“Oh, I already had a few,” he said smoothly. “But don’t worry, I’m a gentleman. I’ll take the side closest to the door—so if someone comes in shooting, I get hit first.”

“A real gentleman would take the floor.” you commented. His eyes drifting to where you were pointing and scoffed. “How romantic,” you deadpanned.

Javi just grinned, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the wall, watching as you dug around in your bag. His eyes didn’t leave you. You felt them, the way they skimmed your legs, your waist, your mouth. He always looked at you like that. Like he was waiting for the game to begin.

“You gonna stare all night or actually do some work?” you asked, tossing your gear on the table.

He took a slow drag. “Depends what kinda work you’re offering, cariño.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw stars. “God, you’re exhausting.”

“You love it.”

With a huff, you grabbed your pajamas and locked yourself in the bathroom. You wished you'd packed an oversized shirt and long pajama shorts, something boring and forgettable. Instead, you picked out your regular sleeping attire, a tank top that barely covered the curve of your breasts and shorts that clung too tight to your thighs. Great.

You debated staying in the bathroom all night, but that would be giving him too much satisfaction. You were a federal agent, for Christ’s sake. You could handle one Javier Peña and his stupid perfect mouth.

You opened the door and stepped out casually, pretending not to notice his eyes immediately zoning in on your tits.

“Well, well,” he said, tongue resting behind his teeth. “Didn’t know this was a sleepover and a show.”

You snorted, trying to brush it off. “They were the only clean clothes I had left.”

Javi tilted his head, smirking like the devil himself. “Sure. You accidentally packed the outfit that guarantees no man within ten feet of you gets any sleep. Very believable.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, crossing the room quickly and slipping under the covers.

He soon followed after returning from the bathroom, the mattress dipping as he laid down next to you. So close. Warm. You could smell his aftershave and cigarettes, barely masked by the minty toothpaste. You could feel him.

“Just so you know,” you said, trying to sound breezy, “if you try anything, I’m a better shot than you.”

He let out a low chuckle and turned on his side to face you. “Duly noted. But I’m more interested in where you're hiding a gun in this little outfit.” His eyes floating down to your form barely covered by the thin sheet acting as a blanket.

“Stop it.”

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, voice like molasses, “you need to relax, you've been flustered since the minute we walked in here.”

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. Not with your pulse hammering like this and your body way too aware of his.

The silence stretched.

“You snore?” he asked eventually.

“Only when I’m sleeping next to assholes.”

“Guess I’ll find out in a few hours.”

It was nearly pitch black except for the glow of the motel sign leaking through the thin curtains. The hum of the air conditioner rattled in the background, but all you could really focus on was the man lying inches away.

You hadn’t moved much. Neither had he.

You were both pretending to be asleep.

And failing.

Javi let out a breath. “You always sleep this stiff or is it just ‘cause you’re in bed with me?”

You scoffed, facing away. “It’s because I’m thinking about all the diseases in this mattress.”

He shifted closer—close enough that the heat of his body bled onto your back. “Sure it’s not because of the tiny shorts and that tank top that keeps riding up every time you breathe?”

“Peña,” you warned, trying to pull the blanket up higher.

“Mhm?”

“I will throw you out this window.” You quipped.

“In those shorts?” he teased, voice low and scratchy. “That’d be quite the view.”

You whipped around, ready to snap, but your face ended up inches from his. His nose almost brushing yours. That cocky smile just barely visible in the dark. His hand slid under his head lazily, showing off the veins in his forearm. Completely relaxed. Like he wasn’t taunting you on purpose.

“Admit it,” he murmured, his breath brushing your lips. “You wore that just to mess with me.”

You blinked, then tried to retort. “I—I didn’t. It's hot in Columbia. I just—”

Javi chuckled. “You always this good at lying?”

You hated how warm your face felt. Hated the knot in your lower stomach even more “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes on your mouth, “but I’m right.”

There was a long, heavy pause. You could practically hear both your heartbeats.

Then, with a smirk, he reached out—just one finger, brushing the hem of your tank top where it had ridden up, grazing your waist. Barely touching. Still smug.

“You should get some sleep,” he said, pulling back like he hadn’t just flipped your entire nervous system inside out. “Big day of surveillance tomorrow. Long hours. Hot sun. And if you keep wiggling in those shorts, I’m gonna have to get creative with how I handle the tension.”

You stared at him, open-mouthed.

He grinned like the devil he was.

“Night.”

You were still lying there, hours later, eyes wide open, pulse doing sprints.

He hadn’t said a word since his “creative tension” comment, just settled in beside you like he hadn’t casually set you on fire and walked away from the wreckage. And the worst part?

You hadn’t moved, Turned, yes. Not away.

If anything, you’d shifted closer without even realizing it. Just a little. Just enough that your leg brushed his. Javi noticed, of course he did.

“Still awake?” His voice was rough now, a little sleep laced. Lower.

You didn’t answer.

“You’re no good at pretending to sleep, cariño.”

He moved closer again—slower this time—and your bodies aligned like they’d done it before. He was so close. Too close. The kind of close that left no confusion.

“What do you want, Peña?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.

He reached out, knuckles grazing your cheek. “Right now?”

You hummed, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

“I want you to admit you didn’t just wear this to sleep,” he said, fingers sliding down to toy with the hem of your tank again. “I want you to say you wanted to drive me crazy.”

You swallowed. “And if I did?”

His hand paused. “Then I’d tell you it worked.”

There was a long moment where the silence stretched thin.

You turned around, the retort that had taken too long for you to come up with died when he kissed you. It wasn’t gentle, nor slow. It was hot, impatient, domineering all tongue and teeth and the kind of pull that had been building for months. You grabbed his shirt like it was anchoring you to earth, and he groaned against your mouth when your legs tangled together.

“You’re such a cocky asshole,” you breathed between kisses, gasping when his hand slipped beneath your top, spreading fire across your skin.

“You like that about me,” he muttered, lips trailing down your neck. “You like this.”

You did. God, you did.

And the way he touched you—like he’d been memorizing every curve since day one, like he’d waited for this—was making your head spin.

“You’re not gonna be able to look me in the eye tomorrow,” he teased, fingers skating towards your breast.

You bit his lip, just hard enough to make him growl. “We’ll see who breaks first.”

He smiled against your skin, already tasting victory.

[bratbarzal]

On My Side (NH13)

Pairing: Nico "I think the hockey gods were on my side" Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy

WC: 6k

part of the On Your Side universe

*This is a bonus chapter set after the ending of the overall fic, and can be read as a standalone if you haven't read the fic, but if you want to understand their dynamic and Poppy's personality a little more, you should!!!

Description: 18+ MDNI, Nico comes home to Poppy after scoring his first ever career hat-trick for the Devils. Way more fluff than smut but Nico is down bad as always.

A/N: You're all a bunch of enablers and that's all I have to say on the matter!!! Hope this fills the void while I continue to struggle with chapter ten lmao there is mention of Baby Cheeto in here but no spoilers for her name. Nico calls her Bug as a nickname, like _____-Bug, Chäferli (little bug) or just Bug for short, but it isn't her actual name. I can't use Cheeto forever lmao. I was literally trying to think of a title and remembered he said the words "on my side" WHAT IF I TOLD YOU HE'S A MASTERMIND he's an oys!truther if I ever saw one! Painfully obsessed with Poppy if you ask me. Also the way Cheeto would rock the heck out of this it's so cute I had to share

Nico Hischier likes to think he’s a patient man.

Finally scoring his first career hat-trick after 8 years in the NHL, after 476 games played with the Devils, would be the ultimate testament to that.

Doing so in the first ever game with his daughter in attendance - on home turf, his mother and Poppy holding her up in the family suite during warm-ups in her little Devils teddy sleeper that he can only just make out from down on the ice, but has his rampant heart beating out of his chest all the same - has him thinking that maybe, after all those years, after all those games, the stars had been aligning for him the whole time. 

And it was that sort of patience he had tried to tune into since the end of the second period, when he knew Poppy had left early to try skip traffic and get their little girl home safe for bed.

It’s what he tries to channel in the aftermath of the game, swarmed by reporters in the locker room, trying to remain polite and professional, not rushing them through their questions or giving half-assed answers - knowing he owes a lot more than that to the organisation that has allowed him to get this far. Trying to save just a speck of energy to give when he finally gets home, collapsing into the warm embrace of the girls he knows are waiting patiently for him.

It’s what he holds onto when he has to take a detour on his way home, dropping his mom off at her hotel and trying not to visibly squirm in his seat as she regales him with stories of how his daughter had captured the hearts of everyone she encountered, swallowing down the slight jealousy that he hadn’t been there to see it and clinging to the fact that he had his own success elsewhere in the night - success that played second fiddle in his own mother’s eyes to the experience of sharing her granddaughter’s first ever game with her, an experience he had to endure twice as she called his father from his car, deep chuckles ringing through the speakers as he tried to get a word in edge ways beyond her excitement.

It’s what has him shaking with anticipation as he almost skips down the hall to their apartment, mustering up the rest of his energy to walk into their home without the weight of the world on his shoulders, leaving any doubt, any insecurity, any lingering self-deprecation at the door so he can bask in this moment with the two hearts that are shaped entirely to fit him into them.

And it’s what has him shaking off whatever disappointment tries to creep in when he sees his little girl asleep in Poppy’s arms, knowing whatever tiny part of her he will ever get will always be enough - even if her big, glassy eyes aren’t looking up at him, even if he doesn’t come home to one of those heart-stopping beaming smiles she has started to give to him whenever he enters the room - her being here, sleeping safely in the arms of her beautiful mother, and him getting to come home to whatever version of them he can, is more than he could ever ask for.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the hat-trick hero.” Poppy’s soft voice carries to him as he makes his way over, dropping his bag on the floor and keys on the counter, heading straight to where she is now standing and pressing a kiss to her waiting lips. “Hi, handsome.”

“She didn’t wanna say goodnight to her daddy, huh?” He tries not to sound too dejected - he’s supposed to be on a high, after all - but after half an hour of his mother unintentionally bragging about all the attention she had been giving to her Gromi all night, he can’t help the slight sag of his shoulders - especially knowing that she’s going to be spending the morning with his mom tomorrow, too.

“Sorry, baby, we watched a little of you on the TV and then she got hangry,” Nico finds himself hypnotised by her still figure, enamoured with the way she exudes sheer calmness. The smile that creeps up on his lips seems to do so by muscle memory - a dopey kind of smile he’s probably had plastered on his face since she came into the world kicking and screaming 2 months ago, a smile permanently etched into his features from probably even before that. “I promise I tried to keep her up, she literally fell asleep on my boob.” Poppy whispers, watching with warm, glittery eyes as Nico takes in the sight of his two favourite people in front of him - Poppy already changed into one of his shirts, settled for the night, and his baby girl all cosy in her little teddy bear onesie, pacifier bobbing between her plush little lips.

“Look at her hat,” he pouts, running a finger along the folded seam of the way-too-big beanie Poppy has perched on top of her head, the knit fabric falling just short of her closed eyes. “That’s adorable.”

“Your mom put it on her before we left,” Poppy chuckles lightly, “Wanted to keep it on until you got home, we had to celebrate the hatty properly.” Her brows raise as if gesturing to the bill of the cap on her own head, one of his, he’s sure - no doubt stolen from their closet as soon as she got home.

“My little good luck charm,” he leans down to press a kiss to her cheek before he lifts himself back up and bends toward Poppy, “Gonna have to start coming to all the games.”

“I’ll let you break the news to her when she wakes up,” she hums as he presses his lips to hers, “She has a very low tolerance for everybody telling her to smile and getting all up in her space, been grouchy all night.”

“Just like Mami, huh, bug?”

“Oh, you think you’ve got jokes now?” Poppy scoffs as she steps back, ready to take their daughter to bed.  “Score your first hatty and you think you’re funny?”

“Always been funny, babe,” he smirks, flicking at the cap sat on her head before he takes it off, flipping it to place on top of his own and following her down the hall. “I’ll prove it to you when I get her first laugh.”

“She’ll be laughing at you, not with you.”

“Better than nothing.”

Nico sits on the edge of their bed as Poppy reaches into the crib to retrieve the sleeping bag in there before she lays it down beside him. He does the work unzipping and readying it for her to place their daughter inside while she rocks her still-sleeping body, and the two of them work in tandem to get her inside before zipping her back up, with Nico softly pulling the beanie from her head and watching her fluffy hair fan out in its absence. 

He runs a gentle hand over her head to smooth it down as Poppy lifts her, and leans into where she offers her up for a kiss before she puts her in the crib. Nico watches with a soft smile etched into his features, the familiarity of it all spreading warmth throughout his chest, his favourite part of every day being this - sharing a goodnight routine in the comfortable quiet, the two loves of his life safe and happy within arms reach.

None of it feels new or daunting anymore, just easy - and despite the constant warnings of it not always being this way, Nico just wants to feel it to its fullest extent; sheer happiness and serenity. 

Poppy returns to the front of him, and he instinctively spreads his legs to accommodate her, palms laying flat against his chest and his hands falling to her hips. She just looks at him for a good few seconds, eyes shimmering with admiration, lips tugged between teeth and a head tilted as her expression flickers into something more intense. 

Her hands travel down his arms, wordlessly, until she grasps at his wrists and pulls him to stand, leaning up to press a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth. “C’mon,” she whispers while her lips are still against his skin, “Wanna celebrate you.”

As if getting to come home to her isn’t celebration enough.

He follows her back through the hall with their hands clasped together, arms stretched between them so he can watch the hem of his shirt ride up against the backs of her soft thighs, and he starts to feel his throat go dry.

He thinks of all those mornings they would spend in the kitchen together in the summer, his shirts a little tighter around her pregnant belly, riding up against her curves and leaving very little to the imagination when she’d wear just his t-shirt and nothing else.

She’s wearing panties now, he can tell, could see the bottom of them peaking out when she’d leaned over to put their daughter in her crib. But he doesn’t mind inching them off, quite likes the slow pace of unwrapping her like a gift - a well-deserved present for all his hard efforts on the ice.

It’s where his fingers find themselves almost immediately when she stops just short of the couch, spinning and practically launching herself into his waiting arms. He can’t help but chuckle as they collide, large arms wrapping around her frame as she melts into him, hands gripping either side of his jaw to pull him down in a clash of teeth and tongues. He palms at her ass as she presses her hips forward, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties and wriggling under them until his knuckles are covered by the fabric, squeezing at the flesh until she groans into his open mouth. 

He feels deft fingers working between them to rid him of his own clothes, clumsily popping open the buttons of his jacket before working their way up his chest, slipping into the arms and helping him shrug it off. The weight of it drops to the floor with a heavy thud, and when her hands return to his chest for the next item of clothing to be removed, she pushes him back with an exaggerated huff.

“Baby, how many layers do you need?”

“You in some kind of rush, or something?” He chuckles, chasing her lips with a crane of his neck, getting a quick kiss in before she pushes him back again with palms laid flat on his broad chest.

“Your daughter has some sort of radar for when we’re within 2 inches of each other,” she says as her hands slide down, the feel of them through the extra layers he has on still present as she travels past the hard ridges of his abdomen. She grasps tight at the bottom of his hoody, and he lends a hand to tugging it up and over his head, throwing that to the floor, too. “We gotta get a move on before she wakes up,”

“My daughter?” He scoffs, removing his undershirt while she’s distracted, relishing the feeling of a heavy gaze on his chest once it’s fully revealed to her hungry eyes. “She’s really given you such a hard time that you’re disowning her?”

“She isn’t letting me have a hard time at all, that’s the problem.” Her hands reach back out seemingly of their own volition, fingers fanning out across his skin as her stare glides down, the weight of it sliding down his skin to the point he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. 

“That was weak for you.” He teases.

“I’m out of practice,” she pouts, closing the distance once more and pressing her lips to the slightly stubbled skin of his jaw, nipping at the flesh as her ministrations travel across his features, his jaw, his neck, the spot just below his ear, where she mutters, “Wanna show you how proud I am of you,”

“Oh yeah?” He asks as she works at the button of his pants, pushing until they pool at his feet and he can kick them off.

“Mmhm,” she moves her kisses back to his waiting lips, “Been waiting to get my hands on you all night.”

“Been waiting to get my hands on you all day,” he mutters back, bending to lift her with hands gripping her ass, “Been thinking about you teasing me in the kitchen this morning,” he starts heading for the couch, mind spinning as she continues kissing him - thinking of all the plans she had been making for the two of them while his mom takes Little Bug out in the morning, finally giving them some much needed, uninterrupted time to themselves. Plans of wasting the morning away between the sheets, sharing showers, having no responsibilities other than paying attention to one another. “Thinking about having you all to myself tomorrow."

“You gonna let me give you a preview?” 

He chuckles as he falls back onto the couch, all grace thrown out the window as they sink into the cushions, her still holding onto him and now straddling his lap, lips stretched into a blissful smile as he looks up at her.

She presses them straight to his, and he can’t bring himself to mind the way their teeth clash at her eagerness, hips grinding down onto his as she settles onto her knees.

He could spend forever kissing her like this, sensual and sloppy, the slight scratch of her nails against the sides of his neck and his grip on her thighs guiding her movements straight onto the aching growth between his legs.

He bucks up to meet her, and their lips part with a wet smack as she groans. 

"Bet you can’t wait for me to shave, eh?” he smiles as he swipes a thumb across the space between her nose and lip, the skin red raw from the scratch of his moustache.

“You know damn well I’d ban you from ever touching a razor again if I could.” She says, breathlessly, slowly thrusting down onto him.

“Tell that to your little red muzzy, you’re giving Luke a run for his money,”

“Hey,” she swats at his chest in feigned outrage, “The kid tried his best!” 

“No more talk about Hughes when you’re sat on my lap,”

“You brought him up!”

“Thought I was getting a preview,” he groans as he shuffles, reaching between them to slip a hand between her legs, tucking his fingers beneath her panties and swiping against her heat. “Jesus, Poppy.”

“Told you I’ve been thinking about you all night,” she pecks at his lips again, raising her hips a little to give him further access to slide his fingers through the almost excessive wetness that’s near enough soaked through her panties. 

He prods at her entrance, two fingers slipping straight in until she’s gasping against his cheek in sheer bliss. His digits move with ease, working his way up to his knuckles as he drinks up her pleasured moans, his chin tilting until their open mouths just press together without kissing, panting against one another as he works her up. 

He pushes the fabric of his shirt up her thighs with his other hand, exposing his handiwork to hungry eyes so he can see the way she glistens between her legs - can see the way his fingers slide in an out of her.

She takes his shirt off, throwing it beside them on the couch so she can see too, looking down for only a moment before she’s throwing her head back.

He’s so hard just watching her that it’s almost painful - straining against the seams of his briefs until they’re tenting beneath her. And she must notice, nimble fingers working him out until he’s thick and hot and heavy in her palm, gripping around him in with her thumb swiping at his tip, hips shuffling until his fingers slip out of her heat and she can move on her knees to hover above his waiting cock. 

He takes a hold of himself while her hands raise to steady herself on his shoulders, and he waits with bated breath as she lowers herself, sinking past her entrance until he’s sheathed entirely, tight, wet walls wrapped around him in a long-awaited embrace.

Their moans fall out in sync, both of them stilling, the only movements between them being the soft rise and fall of panting chests. 

It’s a minute before she starts to rock her hips, leaning back down to distract herself from whatever unease needs to fade away with the press of her lips to his - tongue swiping at his, sucking and nipping at the muscle as she works herself to the point where she can lift herself up a little.

“Fuck me,” he whines out in an elongated groan as she sinks down on him again, tight and slick and warm, and he feels tension in every cell in his body, strung taut to the point where he feels like he could snap entirely in any given moment.

“I’m working on it,” she pouts, “Think I overestimated my talents here,”

“Think you’re very talented,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her jaw as he lays large hands on the dip of her waist, fingers tickling into the arch of her back so her movements are a little smoother, a little more fluid. “So good to me, yeah? Just need a hand.”

He guides her hips into a steady rhythm - up, down, forward, back - until she’s rocking onto him in a mind numbing pace. 

God, he thinks, this is heaven.

It’s been so long since he’s had her like this. Probably all the way back in Switzerland in the summer, and he thinks a lot about this situation mirrors that - trying to stay quiet, trying to feel as much of each other as they possibly can without drawing attention from sleeping parties one room over. 

He remembers thinking, all those months ago, that it wouldn’t be possible to love Poppy any more than he did, then - that he couldn’t possibly feel more for her than he did when he shared that part of his world, and she had embraced it with open arms. She had blended straight into his family, had adapted herself to his routine, had brought new life and colour to what he had always considered vibrant, anyway, but she had changed the meaning of it all.

But she had done the same to life in Jersey. 

Long gone were any feelings of homesickness he used to get - especially around this time of the year. Fully immersed now into his season, summer seeming too far from his reach that he started to forget what home felt like. But not anymore.

Home is Poppy. Home is their baby girl sleeping soundly in the next room. It’s playing one of the greatest games of his career so far, meeting milestones he had been reaching for for so long, standing in the centre of the arena he has built his career in, hearing the rapturous cheers of fans chanting his name, and driving back knowing the love garnered there could never possibly compare to the love waiting for him in his apartment.

He brings her face down with a palm splayed gently across her jaw, fingers reaching back to tickle at the nape of her neck and thumb swiping tenderly at her soft cheekbone, until their mouths collide. He shifts his hips to meet her ministrations, finding a rhythm that has her gasping into his mouth, enough that his tongue can slip past the seam of her lips and press against hers - hot and fervid and eager.

He wonders as the pressure builds if this passion will ever wither. If this need to profess his love for her will ever wain away, if he’ll ever be casual about the way in which she has become the entire centre of his universe.

He hopes not. 

He hopes when he’s 80, he looks over at her and his heart still hammers in his chest. He hopes his mouth struggles to make sense of all the ways in which his brain tries to convey what she means to him - hopes he still stutters around his sentences and feels weak to the very base of his spine at the mere thought of her. 

In fact, he doesn’t hope at all.

He knows he will.

“You feel so good,” Poppy mutters into his mouth, panting against his swollen lips, “I’ve missed this so much.”

“Yeah?” He thrusts up, “You missed being full of me?”

He’s missed this far out look in her eyes, glassed over and almost gone as she nods in response - they haven’t really been able to get to this stage with their quick fumbles and rushed hookups in the last 2 weeks since she got the all clear from her doctor for them to start being intimate again. Sure, they had developed other methods over those first 6 weeks, making good use of hands and mouths in whatever limited time they could find together, but nothing compares to this.

To being attached at every point like they are one.

“You gonna come for me?”

He still remembers her tells, fluttering lashes, trembling thighs, stuttered breaths all combined with the spine tingling way in which she tightens around him, and he manages to time it so they come together, one final burst of energy used to lift his hips just as she sinks down, body slumping into tremors that wrack through the both of them.

He holds her in place for a second, large hands pushing his shirt up her back as he starts to rub circles into her flesh, soothing her back into a softened consciousness - hazy and frazzled but still in tune with every movement he makes. 

Her nose presses into the expanse of his neck, lips pecking at all the sensitive spots she can seek out as they both try to catch their breaths - and he realises she was probably right before, they haven’t had time like this for a while now. 

Still, he’ll take what he can get.

She lifts her hips just enough for him to slip out, and reaches to the small table at the side of the couch where she has miraculously stashed a pack of baby wipes. She takes two out, using one to clean the both of them before she bundles it into the clean one and discards of it back onto the table to be disposed when she eventually gets the feeling back in her legs.

And it’s as soon as Poppy’s legs give way and she collapses into him that they both hear it - a soft wail carrying through the monitor behind the couch. Cries filling the space around them and bursting their bubble with an almighty pop!

“Told you,” Poppy mumbles into his neck, skin sticky with a soft sheen of sweat. “Won’t even let me get a hatty of my own,”

Nico scoffs, snorting out a loud chuckle that shakes where she rests on his chest, and despite her feigned irritation, she feels her cheeks puff out into a soft, unbreakable grin. “Like you’d have lasted 3 rounds.”

“What happened to me being very talented?” She pouts, mustering whatever strength she has left to push herself up, swinging a leg back over and moving to stand, only for him to grasp back at her, pulling her until her back falls into the plush of the couch.

“Talented, Poppy, not super human,” he chuckles, standing from the cushions and tucking himself back into his briefs. “I’ve got her.”

“It’s probably wind, I changed and fed her before she went down.”

He presses one last kiss to Poppy’s head before heavy feet carry him down the hall toward their bedroom, where their daughter’s crib is temporarily positioned until she starts to sleep a little further through the night. He doesn’t bother flicking the light on as he enters, able to follow his muscle memory straight over to where she is without tripping over his own feet, and he lifts her as soon as he can, cooing at her as she cries into his chest.

“I’ve got you, Chäferli,” he mutters as he rocks her gently, large hand completely encompassing where he can feel her back through her sleeping bag. “Daddy’s here,”

He reaches over to shut off the monitor before he ambles over to his and Poppy’s bed, sitting with his daughter still clutched to his chest, little hiccups coming out as his hand tries to work up her wind. 

“Got yourself all worked up, huh?” He asks, so deep into his routine of talking to her about anything and everything that he no longer second guesses it. “My little bug, you’re okay.”

It takes a good few minutes to calm her down, to the point that Nico thinks she might even be hungry and he’ll have to call Poppy in, wiggling a finger between her lips to see if she latches on, but he continues to pat and rub at her back until she burps, and her cries turn into little coos, that turn into soft pants with wide, sparkling eyes staring up at him in wonder. 

He looks down at her in the same way, dark eyes flitting across her every feature. Across the soft but thick head of hair, the crazy long eyelashes, the puffy lips and the little button nose. 

She looks so much like Poppy that he feels his chest ache every time he looks at her - but it’s a good kind of ache, a longing and content kind of ache, that only aches to remind him of everything he stands to lose if he doesn’t work hard enough to keep it.

“Gromi told me you were charming everybody at daddy’s work,” he tells her with a soft smile, the pad of his finger pressing at the tip of her nose. “Says she’s gonna have to show you off around the city on her own tomorrow.”

Tiny fingers reach up to clasp around his, holding on and clutching with a grip he’s sure wasn’t so firm that morning when he had said his goodbyes. 

“Careful, bug,” he tells her, “You hold Papi’s hand too long and he won’t let you go.”

Wide eyes gleam back at him, and he watches in awe as they start to crinkle in the corners. 

He becomes all too aware of the hammering of his heart, and lays her beside him on the bed in fears that the echoing thud of it beating against his chest might disturb her. He curls up beside her, making sure she’s flat as he gets himself comfortable, and just lays there for a good few minutes, watching her as she watches him.

There isn’t a feeling in the world that compares to this, he thinks. He could score a hundred hat-tricks, have a million people chanting his name, and it won’t come close to how adored he feels in this moment, how proud he feels to have played any part in making a little human so perfect and beautiful.

He leans forward, kissing softly at her puffy cheek, careful not to press too hard that she feels the scratch of his moustache, and he relishes the little squeal of what he hopes is delight she gives in return. 

Poppy gives it 20 minutes before she decides to venture through to their bedroom, having cleaned up and busied herself sterilising bottles so they’re ready for Katja to come pick up in the morning. It’s been a rare occurrence lately that Nico has had his one-on-one time with their daughter, him being so busy with training and their trip to Florida - and he wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t fess up to the ways in which it gets him down, but she knows he feels like he’s missing a lot. 

She changes so much day to day - discovers so much about the world around her - and as much as Poppy tries to save things for him to see on his own, tries to find the balance between sharing the little moments she gets with him and letting him experience them for himself, she knows there’s nothing she can do to keep that nagging voice at bay.

He’s always been that way, unable to completely silence the thoughts that tell him no matter what he does, it isn’t enough. 

He’d even done it tonight - his first career hat-trick, him being the first Swiss-born player to score a natural hat-trick, a stadium filled with fans chanting his name, dominating a team the Devils hadn’t beat at home in close to 10 years - and it hadn’t been his best performance. 

She would gladly spend the rest of her life convincing him he’s good enough, she thinks. 

Her and their little Bug being the ones who get to welcome him home after a night like tonight? She doesn’t know what she did in a past life to get the Gods on her side like this, but she’d do it again a thousand times over.

As her feet pad softly down the hall toward their room, she listens out for the soft voice she usually has the pleasure of eavesdropping on when she thinks he doesn’t know she’s hovering on the other side of the door. A soft voice that tells their little girl exaggerated stories from his day about her uncles, about his games, about whatever he got up to while he was away and what he brought back for her from his travels. But this time, it’s quiet - the peaceful kind of quiet that wraps around her like a blanket, tranquil and warming as she pushes the door open and steps into the room.

Nico is curled up on his side of the bed, on top of the covers, and his arm is draped gently over their daughter’s sleeping bag, their faces inches apart as soft snores fall from their parted lips. She inches closer as quiet as she can manage, leaning over them and taking in their similar profiles - the gentle slope of their mirrored noses, dark lashes framing closed eyes that are turning darker to match her daddy’s day by day.

If anyone had told the Poppy of last November that this is where she would be now - that this is where she’d be with Nico - she never in a million years would have believed it. 

He has transformed her life in such little time that she can barely remember the before. Can barely remember a night she fell asleep in any other bed, by any other side, or woke up to anyone else. Can barely remember feeling anything close to this kind of happiness, this kind of content.

It’s like he’s introduced her to a whole new level of feelings. Ones she struggles to describe, like there’s no word in the English language that could possibly convey what he means to her.

Maybe his language has a word for it. Something that she’s never heard before, but just sounds right. Like she knew it somewhere much deeper than her brain allowed her access. She’ll have to ask him, tomorrow - when they finally have a morning to themselves and she can work up the energy to crawl out from under the sheets with him.

A part of her wishes she could take a snapshot of this moment - could send it back in time to the Poppy who never thought this kind of life would ever find her. The Poppy who was drifting, coasting, floating, afraid of landing on her own two feet and having to drag them for the rest of time through unfamiliar territories. The Poppy who pushed down her ever expanding adoration for the man currently cuddled up to their entire life in the bed they share, who convinced herself he could never possibly feel the same way, and wasted years of her life when she could have had this.

But another part of her thinks, what’s the point?

She has him, now. 

She’ll have him forever.

She allows herself to watch for a minute as they take deep breaths in sync, all the post-game tension in Nico’s body long melted away, before she quietly shuffles over to the bathroom to get herself ready for bed. 

She manages to make her way back over in the dark without stumbling, by some miracle, and reaches over to pick her baby girl up without interrupting her sleep, standing beside her crib and rocking her a little just to make sure she’s still fully drifted off - relishing the feeling of soft puffs of air falling into her neck as she cradles her.

Nico must wake at the loss of contact, instincts kicking in immediately when he can no longer feel the little body that had been resting under his protective arm, and when Poppy looks back over, she can see the reflective glint in his eyes as he watches her - soft and adoring and tooth-achingly sweet. 

Instead of putting her down, she bounces gently on her feet back over to Nico’s side of the bed, sitting beside him as he shuffles up, and the two of them just watch their daughter as she sleeps. 

For all the times they have been warned that this bliss is temporary, that it’s just a phase, Poppy can’t see it ending for as long as Nico looks at her like this. Like he has the entire world sat in front of him. 

“She was smiling at me before,” he whispers as he repositions himself, legs spread so that Poppy can sit between them. “Was trying to get her to calm down, and she was just looking straight at me with those big sparkly eyes and she smiled right at me.”

“She was doing it a little when we got home, earlier.” Poppy whispers back, hoping he doesn’t mind her raining on his parade a little to tell this story, “We just caught your interview on TV after the game, and there was this close up of you, and she smiled so big, Nico. She never smiles like that for anybody.”

“That’s ‘cause you snitch on her and tell everyone it’s gas.”

“I don’t want anyone else thinking they’re special.”

“But I am?” He asks, reaching to swipe the back of his finger softly against her cheek, the soft moonlight sifting into the room reflecting off of the ring on his finger, the quick glimmer enough to catch Poppy’s eye, to distract her so much that she can only hum in response, lips curving into a tender smile. 

“Yeah,” she breathes, the tranquility of the room a stark contrast to the way her heart erupts into thunderous applause for him - akin to that of the stadium full of fans earlier that night. Thousands of voices chanting his name, singing his praises, cheering him on for all the glory he brought to their night. He brings that to Poppy, tenfold, every day. “You’re really special.”

He leans over their sleeping daughter to press a loving kiss to Poppy’s lips, careful not to disturb the little angel between them, and Poppy kisses him straight back, fervent but fleeting.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” she mutters into his mouth, careful not to invest too much of herself into another moment they’ll swiftly get interrupted from. 

“You gonna show me in the morning?” He mumbles back, their lips still touching, noses pressed together, his hand still cradling her face. She nods, and he feels her cheeks round into his palm. “Gonna give me that hatty you promised?”

“Gonna give you whatever you want.”

“Another baby, Frau?”

She scoffs, swallowing down the fizzing feeling at the back of her throat the nickname. 

“Ask me again after your next hat-trick.” 

[teamintwithice]

DEVILHUNTER!READER. Part 1.

-> Masterlist

"Hah...welcome to your own prison."

Y/n smiled slyly as the Devil, Madolrift, picked up the book they had intentionally hidden in their body. As soon as he steps away from them, Kellian's ability activates and traps Madolrift inside the book.

Everyone in the overworld must have reached the final steps.

It's over...Mother, I've saved the civilians!

Dying like this is not so bad, right?

Y/n closed their eyes, feeling the blood drain from their body, the embrace of death tightening around them. Then their consciousness gradually sank into darkness.

That afternoon, the sunset was red in a corner of SorrowLand.

"The patient is showing signs of waking up!"

"Call the doctor!"

In a daze, you heard a flurry of voices around you, and Y/n noticed the strong smell of disinfectant filling the air.

No way... saved again?

Their body ached all over. Y/n kept their eyes closed, feigning unconsciousness, ignoring the nurses and doctors bustling in and out. They didn’t want to face anyone—not the scolding, not the pity. Especially not Vivian. He’d give them an earful for getting injured like this. They had always been able to hide their injuries successfully, but this time they were caught red-handed. They knew they would be nagged for months.

Their mind was sluggish, drifting in and out of sleep, and before they knew it, they had fallen into a deep slumber again.

The next time they woke up, the hospital room no longer reeked of disinfectant. Except for the machines and IV tubes surrounding the bed, the place resembled a luxury hotel room.

Sitting up, they blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings.

This wasn’t one of the headquarters' rooms. Their family had its own private facility. And the government? If they’d stepped in, Y/n would be locked up in a lab by now, not lying comfortably in a VIP recovery room.

As for the other organizations, don't even mention saving them. If Y/N L/n dies, they'll pop champagne to celebrate.

What a weird thing...who saved me?

Y/n propped themselves up, then froze.

The arm that met their gaze was wrapped in white bandages—but it was tiny. A child’s arm.

They blinked, then turned toward the window, searching for a reflection.

Staring back at them in the glass was a black-haired child wrapped head to toe in gauze, with wide E/C eyes. The name on the hospital gown read: Y/n Drapètes.

Does time run backwards?

No. At this age, Y/n was still playing the role of the Drapètes family's obedient young heir. Puppeteered by the elders. But at least then, they’d eaten well, dressed well, and didn’t want to die yet.

A six-year-old shouldn’t be covered in wounds like these.

Their eyes drifted to the array of medical tools nearby.

Something was very wrong.

At six, they should’ve been safe under their mother's wing, alongside their twin, Orion—not lying half-dead in a hospital bed.

Click

The sound of the door opening drew Y/n's attention back.

"Y/n! You're awake!"

A ginger-haired man with a signature moustache hurried into the room. His face was lined with worry.

Commissioner James Gordon. His face was full of worry and concern, and Y/n’s memory stirred. Gordon had been a pretty close friend of their mother's before she was massacred along with the rest of the main family, and they had never met him until the massacre happened and they were sent to live in Gotham with their 'father', wait- don't tell me?! "You were badly injured Y/n- I thought we wouldn't be able to save you..."

Y/n said nothing; they just stared at him in silence. There wasn’t enough information yet. Acting rashly could be dangerous.

James Gordon studied the last living member of the Drapétes family. Their body was small, thin, and wrapped in bandages. Pale skin. Black hair hanging limply over wide, warily shining eyes. Like a stray that was afraid of someone entering its territory when it bristled up. The last time he saw the child was when the Drapètes family held a birthday party to celebrate the child's fifth birthday. That night, he received news that the child had been murdered by an assassin targeting the Drapètes family, and a few days later, he attended the funeral. Who would have thought that the family would fake your own death and use you as a lab subject? A witch clan playing politics always ends badly. But to implant a cursed spirit into their own bloodline? Those people deserved to die.

Many things were running through his head; Gordon still tried to smile and started talking nonsense to the child he had just met for the first time as if to comfort them.

“Don’t remember me? It’s Uncle James,” he said gently. “I used to carry you around, back when you were little. Look at you now—already six!”

Y/n remained silent, only blinking slowly.

"You don’t remember anything?" he asked, watching their expression. "Do you know why you’re here?"

Y/n shook their head, quiet and obedient. Gordon instinctively reached to ruffle their hair—

Unfortunately, Y/n avoided him. Gordon raised his eyebrows slightly, but seeing the child's fleeting look of fear, he didn't pursue the matter. When kids go through such things, even if they don't remember anything, their bodies still react conditioned, which is normal.

“The Drapètes estate burned down,” he said quietly. “You were the only survivor.”

"....Oh...."

Y/n’s reply was flat. A mere acknowledgement. The family massacre was the main reason why they were sent to Wayne Manor after all.

Gordon was not surprised to feel the rejection from the kid. But he could not understand why this child with no magical power had become a test subject for those people.

From the moment he walked in, he knew—this child was different. They wore emotions like a costume. He’d seen many traumatized children, but this one… this one was empty.

A failed experiment, maybe. The records were mostly destroyed, but even the fragments painted a grim picture. It made him sick.

Perhaps the government initially turned a blind eye to their research, and only when they felt their position was in danger did they start to take action.

Gordon looked at the poor child who probably didn't know that because of the magical experiment on their body, the government had decided to order their death sentence.

Y/n was the first person he ever saved from execution. After all, the kid didn't show any fluctuations in their magical power even when the scientist tried to stimulate them. He couldn't stand to see those bastards bully a poor child.

"Sorry," Y/n said suddenly. Their voice was soft, but steady. "But don’t call me Y/n Drapètes."

Every time that name was mentioned, they felt sick.

They looked up. Eyes deep and unreadable.

Gordon raised an eyebrow.

Lost memory but still rejects their identity? Well... they were forced to do experiments anyway. It's not strange to have psychological trauma. Besides, even he wouldn't want to accept that kind of family, a good thing that they're a Wayne now.

"Alright then," he said gently. "What should I call you?"

Y/n gave a faint smile.

"Y/n L/n."

Taglist: @isabellamorettosworld; @yhin-gg; @simpingpandas; @blackhood1229; @aaaaailo

[taintandviolent]

Devil's Favours - James March x Reader

summary & wordcount: 4.9K! originally chosen as the party favour for James' Devil's Night celebration, reader is quickly snatched away by James March, who would rather have his own fun with her than let the others kill her.

w a r n i n g s: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! dark fic, dub-con, slight non-con, conflicted reader, sexual confusion, mild gore & blood, graphic descriptions, violence, aggression, bodily fluids, mentions of other real serial killers, smut, rough sex,overstimulation, body worship (reader with greek goddess body type), murder, reader death.

a/n: sorry for this, I'm mentally unwell. not beta read, so if it's horrid and clunky, I'm sorry!!! also, I think this is the last taglist I'll be doing, RIP. It's just such a pain in the rear end, and half the time, it doesn't even work.

full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! /

After a long day of travelling, sleep was the only thing on your mind. That said, you were in desperate need of a bath, something relaxing. This was, afterall, a vacation. You twisted the ceramic knob on the hot water, and stuck your hand under it. With a hiss, you withdrew your hand – usually, water took a minute to reach temperature. This one? Scalding hot within a few seconds. Dangerously so. You twisted the knob on the cold side, evening them out until they’d reached a less skin-melting combination, and shed your clothes. You’d only been in there for thirty minutes or so before someone began rapping their knuckles against your door. Persistently. Very persistently.

“Just a minute!” you called from the bathroom, hoping your voice travelled. You reached for one of the towels – meticulously embroidered with the hotel’s logo – and wrapped it hurriedly around your torso. “Hang on!” 

Quickly rummaging around in your suitcase and swearing under your breath that you had packed more, you searched for something to wear. Feeling pressured and running out of time, you settled on a cream coloured silk slip. Hardly modest with your plenteous figure, but the knocking continued and that seemed more important than decency. You hurried to the door, yanking it open with an air of annoyance. The vexation melted away when you were met with a man who looked more like he belonged on a silver screen than he did standing in front of you.

“Good evening.” He said, dipping his head down in a courteous display.

“…Can I help you?”

His lips stayed together, but curved into a subtle smirk. Though it was an unintentional pick; he’d chosen well; your delectable form was as if it was carved by Gods themselves. The look in your eyes told him that you were so alive, so vivacious that any bloodshed that would happen would be akin to art. His eyes were immediately lost on you, exploring your body and face with a fervid fascination. Feeling exposed, you pulled at the silken straps, bringing the neckline of the nightgown higher up on your body. Your cleavage protested, the fabric puckering across the voluminosity of your breasts. 

All this time, he’d been silent, and you arched an expectant brow, wondering just what it was that you were to help him with. This man was… peculiar. From his fancy dressage to the articulate, over-pronounced way he spoke, his idiosyncrasies both alarmed and fascinated you. 

“Indeed,” he affirmed. He’d made his decision; you were the one for the night. And he’d have you, whether you came willingly or not.

“My name is James March — I’m the owner of this impressive hotel in which you now stand.” He paused, expectantly as if that was enough for you to throw your arms up and consent to whatever he was asking. When you didn’t, he added: “I need you to come with me. Urgently.”

You squinted, scanning his motivations. A warm, gentle smile stretched across his lips, framed by his pencil thin mustache. His hand rose, fingers uncurling in front of you. There was something unnervingly come-hither about his gaze. Would he have introduced himself with malicious intentions? Surely not — that could lead to identifying him later on. But he could’ve given you a fake name, perhaps…

Unable to resist his passé seduction and against (likely) better judgement, your hand floated up into his, resting delicately against his palm. His fingers closed around yours, lingering a moment before guiding you out of your room, allowing the heavy door to swing shut behind you. He began leading you briskly down the hallway.

“I forgot my key, wait I –” 

“Worry not, my dear. We’ll have another made for you, should you need it.” 

Should I need it? You thought. Why wouldn’t I need it? Of course I’ll need my key, I’m walking down the hallway in nothing but a nightgown. 

You trodded barefoot down the halls, listening to the sounds as you passed them. The hotel, you noticed, creaked and breathed with a life of its own. Whether the rooms were occupied wasn’t known, but they sounded as if they were.  

As soon as you two got to a door, only a few down from your own, he reached for the handle and instantly, as soon as he did; something felt wrong. Something felt… sinister and the feeling took over like a gelatinous sludge. You tried to yank your hand away but James sternly jerked you the opposite way — back towards him. With a throaty growl, he wrapped both arms around your torso, holding you fast in a steel grip so that try as you might, you couldn’t dislodge yourself from his grasp. His strength proved too much for your feeble, sleepy muscles.

After shouldering the door open, James carried you inside. In a moment of panicked clarity, you tried to peek around and identify anything you could. The stern way that his hand was plastered on your forehead, holding it against his shoulder, you could really only see the ornate ceiling above you.

You took a deep breath, fighting back the tears that burned at the corners of your eyes. This was it. You’d gone this far in life without being mugged, raped, or killed… today was the day it would change. Your track record would end. Abruptly. Terrifyingly. Your chest shuddered with an uneven, hysterical breath. At least he was handsome. No, shut up. That’s not the kind of thought you want to be thinking. 

Suddenly, your body dropped forward and you were spun around harshly, his grip still tight on the fleshy meat of your arms. Then, as though he was a lover and not your soon-to-be-murderer, he eased your back against a wooden chair with one hand, delicately, suddenly concerned with hurting you, like you were some kind of easily-bruised fruit.

“Good girl, sit there.”

At his praising words, your core twinged, tightening. No, no. Stop it. Clenching your teeth, you quashed the thought before it went any further.

His right hand snatched something from a nearby table before holding it proudly, stretching it out for you to see; rope. Unconsciously, your head began shaking back and forth. As the realisation sunk in, your heart rate picked up, thudding against your ribcage.

“N-no, no… no please.”

With the rope still in hand, James got to one knee in a familiar pose. His lightless eyes floated up to yours, staring into them deeply. Now in front of you, his cock twitched within his trousers, a carnal instinct tugging like an incessant child. He brushed the pads of his fingers along the smooth curves of your knees, your calves, your ankles… 

Damn. You – obviously – were a woman with needs, so his feather-light touch awoke something deep within your core again. This time though, it didn’t take you reversing the arousal. The shiny tip of his shoe knocked your feet apart, lining them up with the legs of the chair. She clenched harder.

“What are you doing?” You asked, tensely. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He paused to answer, straightening up. “Securing you, my dear. A struggle is inevitable.”

“What!? Inevitable for what?!”

He didn’t answer. Hastily working, his large but nimble hands wrapped the rope around the smallest part of your ankles, knotting the rope against the chair. Your wrists came next, and those were tied much tighter; the fibres of the rope ground against your soft skin, already causing a burning friction.

With a sudden, powerful pull at the bindings, testing their security, James was finished. He was confident in his knotting, you wouldn’t get away. Humming to himself, he dragged the chair through an archway, into another, much larger room. You were facing a table – it was ornately set with a large contraption in the middle. You recognised it as an absinthe fountain, the bright green liquid in the container seemed to glow. You didn’t want to be a part of whatever this was, even as attractive as that man was.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, I just… I want to go back to my room. Let me go.”

“Let you go?” James echoed in a mockingly high tone. He seemed offended that you’d even desire such a thing. It was a pleasure — a privilege — to be invited to his dinners. “No…. You’re staying with me. Right here.”

He pat your thigh  before moving to the head of the table. For the first time since you’d been brought in, you took a moment to look around, to take in your surroundings instead of him. Immediately, you whimpered in disbelief — met with such a visual that you almost immediately thought you were hallucinating. You blinked away the tears and sniffed, pressing your lips tightly together. 

It was truly bone-chilling to see all of the worst eyes on you. The eyes that had seen the most foul crimes and atrocities in human history were now looking at you; the bound beauty with her sweat-soaked strands of hair stuck to your forehead and fear in your eyes. John Wayne Gacy, Richard Ramirez, Jeffrey Dahmer….

“She’s shakin’ like a god damn leaf!” Aileen Wuornos howled, before finishing off the rest of her beer. She slammed it on the table, the clatter made you jump. She doesn’t want me, you thought. I’m not her enemy. Still, you knew that you’d been sat at a table full of people — true monsters — who even if they didn’t want to kill you, they’d take great pleasure in watching you writhe in agony as the others stole your last breath from your lungs.

Though they were all equally terrifying, you were most horrified by Richard. He sat directly next to James, picking absently at his nails. His sunken, snake eyes followed every move you made; watching you with a hunger that made your skin crawl. Considering the circumstances, it was laughable to say that one made you feel unsafer than the others — but he did. Logically, how he preyed upon women must’ve played into your distaste for him. He held your gaze, peering into your thoughts with a vicious lack of consent, as he behaved with every woman he came in contact with. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve waited long enough, Jimmy — can we kill her?” He said, sucking something out of his rotting teeth. He made a move as though he was going to get up.

You snapped your head to James, brows knit together in pleading. The visual surprised you. He, like the rest of the dinner party, had been staring at you, but instead of the feral, blood hungry gaze you expected, his eyes had gone glassy. He sucked his cheeks in, deep in thought. Beneath the dark fabric of his dress pants, heat blanketed his groin. You captivated him; the way your precious little eyes flitted back and forth in terror like a deer, the way your pulse thrummed in your neck, beating like a drum. He wanted you for his own — and only his own. Keeping his motives hidden, James stood up, smoothing out the fabric of his suit jacket. 

“No,” he crooned. “No, we can’t. I’m afraid I’ve had a change of heart… this one… belongs to me.”

You jerked your head in confusion, while grumbles of disappointment bounced off the walls. Ramirez said something sickening and Gacy let out a horrible, guttural chuckle. You strained against the rope, somehow trying to put more distance between you and them. James sliced his hand through the air to silence them both.

“Miss Wuornos,” he abruptly purred. “Go find us a dashing young man keen to join our party!”

“Ohohoh…. Lil’ ol’ me? Find a man? I’m gonna’ be frolickin’ in the fuckin’ daisy fields with this one. Be back!”

“Pl-please.” You begged. Your lips parted, allowing desperate promises to fall from between them. You wouldn’t tell anyone, you’d never come back here, you wouldn’t remember anything, you promised, you would never speak a word of this to anyone… You looked to James, who regarded you affectionately, but patronisingly, his lower lip jutted out in a faux-pout. He’d heard all this before, and it was of no concern to him. He’d made up his mind. It was his god damned birthday and he was going to have you all to himself.

Your begging fell on seemingly deaf ears, nobody bothered to entertain you. Your teary, burning eyes flitted to Ramirez, who was smiling his ugly, decaying smile at you, leaning forward in his seat. “I dunno’, she promises, Jimmy… maybe we should let her go.”

You shivered, grinding your wrists against the rope. Anger blanketed you. “Fuck off, weirdo.”

“Who you callin’ weirdo, bitch?”

“YOU!” You barked, straining. “I can smell your rancid breath from here. Had to kill all those women just because none of them would ever come within ten fucking feet of you!”

“Now, now… manners. She’s a lively one, isn’t she?” His mouth bent in a proud smirk, James looked to Richard, who was still bristling from the comment. He really wanted to kill you. Delighted at the fact that James had seemingly given you immunity, you wiggled happily in your chair, fighting the urge to stick your tongue out. You didn’t want to test him, though, and so you remained silent, watching instead. 

Silence was broken as the door opened. With a little thrashing, almost as desperate as your own had been, Aileen shoved a man — couldn’t have been more than 30 — inside. It didn’t take her long to find someone. In fact, it was like she opened the door, spotted him meandering by and dragged him back inside.

The guy noticed you first. Second, he noticed that you were tied to the chair so tightly that red marks on your wrists and ankles had begun to develop. Thirdly, he noticed the others, his eyes drifting slowly and visibly disturbed by who sat at the table. 

“Woah… what the fuck is this?” He asked.

“A good fuckin’ time is what it is.” One of them said. You didn’t care which. Blisteringly hot tears streamed down your face, stinging your cheeks. What were the stages of grief? You felt like you were cycling through them in rapid succession.

“Fucking let me go!” You howled, thrashing your torso back and forth, which did little to relieve anything. With a distressed expression plastered upon his face, the guy looked from you to the other guests and back, before nervously putting his hands up, taking one step back towards the door. “Hey, is she okay?”

“N—!“ James was suddenly behind you, cupping his hand over your mouth, pressing the tips of his fingers hard into your cheek flesh. His lips moved quickly, whispering hotly into your ear. “Hush now, don’t spoil the surprise for him. Let him find out on his own.”

“She’s fine, the hors d’oeuvres didn’t agree with her.” Aileen barked, towing the guy towards the table. She shoved him down into the only unoccupied seat.

“Dinner… is served.” James said. 

In unison, they all stood up. The sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor echoed in your head. Like syncronised swimmers, they all descended upon him, armed with whatever weapon they’d chosen. You hadn’t known the guy, but he had enough sympathy for you to make you cry at what was happening to him. He’d had a life, family… feelings. None of which mattered to him anymore, or perhaps that’s exactly what he was thinking about. Perhaps your entire life really did flash before your eyes before you died. 

You let out a scream that burned on its way out. It ached and tore and ripped its way up your windpipe as the shrill, bloodcurdling sound filled the room. It was louder than his, and louder than the sounds that were currently coming from the gaping, gargling hole in his throat.

Gacy moved from his side, allowing you a brief glimpse. Torn flesh hung from his shoulders and blood had almost completely covered the front of his body. You closed your eyes and turned your head away, rolling your lips inward and biting down. It was fucked up, and you weren't going to absorb any more of it.

“Sweet dreams, my little pet.” James said, in front of you. You turned your head towards the sound, but were met with blackness. 

A dull throbbing on the side of your head was what eventually pulled you awake, forcing your cinder-block weighted lids to peel apart. You looked around; an odd, minimally decorated room. Dark. Your head wobbled as you turned it left, then right, met with the same visual — your arms suspended high above your head, and rope again, at your wrists. You licked your lips and tasted metal. In your blurred vision, you noticed red flecked along your breasts. The ache on the side of your head was more than just an ache, it seemed.

Your consciousness ebbed, fading in and out. Sleep was comforting, the idea of it cradling you in its arms like a baby. You wanted so badly to sleep… just for a moment. Somewhere inside, you heard authoritative voices, advising against sleep. Concussions… sleep… sleep is bad… keep the individual conscious. And so you fought against the cool, towering shadow, turning your head away from nothing in particular. You couldn’t hear anything outside of your own laboured breathing, and the creak of the rope every time you decided to move. Nothing. Not even the muted voices of the monsters. 

Time meant nothing, you lost track of how long you’d been hanging there when you’d finally heard the creak of a heavy door. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly before wrenching them open. You weren’t sure if the crushing weight you felt was the looming weight of death as it shrouded you, or merely the physical strain of your body being suspended for hours. You knew people could eventually die from suspension. Their lungs caved in or something. The tips of your toes barely touched the floor, your big toe grazing the cold, concrete floor every time your body swayed softly.

With your head hanging between your shoulders, your muscles quivered as you lifted it, just in time to see the door in front of you shut. James, standing in front of it, reached for a black leather apron that hung on a hook. Before slipping it over his head, he flashed you a charming smile, pleased to see that you hadn’t expired yet. Reaching behind him to tie it around his waist, he approached you. The light from the wall sconces reflected against the fabric dully.

“Ah, there you are.” He crooned. 

You intended a scream, but could do nothing but whimper. You swallowed repeatedly, a feeble attempt to wet your dried out throat. James drug a single finger along your soft jawline, trailing it down your neck, and along your collarbone. You were drenched in sweat, streaks of it descending your face and neck.

The sudden ferocity in which he gripped your face made it sting, his thumb and forefinger digging into the bone of your jaw. He quirked a brow. You opened your mouth and although your throat was already raw, you finally screamed. You screamed again, angrily, and held his cold, black gaze. Your ragged shrieks filled the room over and over again as you tried, desperately, to wrench your hands free from the ropes.

Regrettable, James thought as his soulless eyes hungrily took in your form as it quivered and thrashed around. You were built like a Greek goddess, soft curves in all the right places, begging to be touched, worshipped.

“Aaaah,” He exhaled, frustratedly.  “You’re almost too pretty to kill.”

“Then — DON’T! Fucking let me GO! AaaarhhhH!” You yanked at the ropes again, thrashing around until a deep pain in your shoulder began to burn. You cried out, letting your body go slack. 

With a deep breath, you mustered up all your strength again, finding every drop of it within your tired body, and leaned forward to scream directly in his face. The result? He was wholly unphased by your screams. If anything, it seemed like he enjoyed them. Each one sounded a little more desperate than the last, and it only fuelled him further.

You decide to try a new, last-ditch tactic. Sore mouth contorting into a scowl, you gathered a mouthful of saliva and blood, hot and irony on your tongue and lunged forward, spitting it at him. The glob hit him square in the face, dripping slowly down towards his jaw.

“What, is it hard to focus?” You croaked. Your words were slurred, messy with the pain of the head wound.  “Didn’t think you’d want to fuck me as bad as you do, huh?”

James’ dark eyes narrowed, the muscles underneath twitching faintly. He had in fact picked you, and therefore had to accept all of your fiery little quips as they came – but that one… that one had caught him off guard. 

“You…” You narrowed your eyes, the fibres of the rope squeaking as you leaned towards him, your lips inches from his face. “…want to fuck me so bad, you can’t think. Look at you. You think your apron hides it?”

With brows raised, James glanced at his groin. Had he really been betrayed by his own body, so early on? Though he felt the warmth and stiffness increasing between his legs, there was no visual indication. James calmly brought his hand to his face, collecting the bloodied spit on his fingertips. With a reticent gaze, he brought them down between your legs, harshly knuckling the nightgown out of the way.

He smeared them roughly on your cunt. Your own fluids. The ones that you had just spit at him. Not only that, but he proceeded to tease your sensitive nerves with his fingers, pulling a confused gasp from your throat. Part of you had been bluffing, you weren’t entirely sure that he had wanted you —

James pulled back an inch to look at you again. Aside from your luscious body, your complexion was mottled with exhaustion, lips dry with fear, hair frazzled and bloody on one side. To him, it was a horrific sculpture of divinity. One that he had created in such little time with such little effort. The perfect, ample curves of your breasts were dotted with crimson, having dripped from the gash on your head. They jiggled delicately with each desolate shake you gave.

With his free hand, he took hold of your round, plush hips, his thumb working the softness like dough. He swung you towards him, pressing the pillowy tops of your thighs to his groin. Quickly, he identified a growing obsession with your body.

He loved it. All of it. In fact, he hadn’t seen a body as marvellously breathtaking as yours since his wife’s. Of course, it had been many years since he’d seen hers in any such manner, so the flames that licked at his desire were deprived, hungry ones. His mouth found yours, lips crushing against yours. His tongue, hot and strong, slipped in and beckoned yours to engage in an erotic dance.

He pulled your body closer, pressing it tightly against his. Though constricted by his trousers, you felt the bulging heat beneath his apron, and rubbed your thigh against it, teasing him. He groaned deeply in response, bucking his hips against you to force friction. After a few moments, James broke the kiss, panting heavily over your tender, swollen lips.

“Pl-please… don’t kill me… please…”

The back of his hand whipped across your mouth, hitting you so hard that the world sparkled when you opened your eyes again. Your face burned with the contact.

“Enough of that now! Say it again, and I’ll do just that!”

The harshness in his voice stunned you. Up until that point, he’d been using his syrupy, serenading voice — the one he had used to charm you into coming with him. Now, he bellowed, an unexpected violence. Silence hung heavy between you as he waited, baited you to beg for life once more. You didn’t speak again, but your sobs continued. 

Finally, his hand dropped between your legs again. Your clit ached, burned with the way his fingers fondled it, but he didn’t stop. Your poor, exhausted body trembled beneath his touch, doing all it could to express arousal. Salty droplets streamed from your hairline into your eyes, stinging as they absorbed.

“Would you rather die?” he asked, suddenly. 

“Wh-what? N-no… I d-don’t want to die…”

“That’s not what I meant, my little ember. I meant… would you rather die than be pleasured? I, of course, can arrange that.”  

You hesitated a moment, but finally, shook your head. 

At this thoughtful confession, James angled forward, plunging a single finger inside of you, past the knuckle. The digit wiggled inside of you briefly, before sliding back out slowly. He held it up for you both to see. “Oh,” he growled.  

His finger was generously coated in clear slick. Your body had betrayed you. 

Wordlessly, he untied the apron, tossing it carelessly to the side – it hit the floor with a heavy flop. Then, those same nimble fingers began unbuttoning and unzipping, until they gripped his rigidness, pumping it slowly for further stimulation. His chest heaved with wanton, desiring breaths as he stared at you, hanging there, with your warm, ample body for his taking. James lined his dick up with your leaking slit, and pulled you harshly onto his cock, showing no mercy for how exhausted your body was. 

Your cunt swallowed his cock whole, hungrily and desperately. His head fell back between his shoulders, a throaty groan coming from his open mouth. He began thrusting, slow at first. The ease of thrusting fascinated him; your body hung limp on the ropes and all James had to do was tug you forward, tug you in the direction he wanted you to go. 

“You know, I’ve never taken a woman like this before - suspended in the air,” he said, breathily. “Exquisite.” 

You mewled in response, snot dripping from your nose. 

Soon, the room was filled with wet, slick thrusting and the thudding sound of his torso as it met yours. You came repeatedly, coating his thick, pale cock in fluids you didn’t even know your body could make. At one point, during a particularly vicious thrusting, a warm, watery liquid splashed down over your thighs. You screamed like he was killing you, though he felt better than any man you’d ever been with, pleasuring you in ways that left you feeling breathless.

Still, your body persisted with its aches. So far, you’d been successful in appealing to his sexual nature, and decided to try again.

“….please…. Let me down… I’ll… d-do anything you wa—

Suddenly, he backed up, pulling the head from your cunt with a slick pop. You panted; fragile, pitiful breaths, barely enough energy to lift your gaze. With his rigid cock bouncing in front of him, James untied your hands, allowing your heavy, enervated body to fall into his arms. You couldn’t help but cry into his shoulder as he carried you to some sort of surface, laying you carefully down atop it. Some streak of mercy had captured him, and you mouthed words of gratitude. Your entire body buzzed with relief, your muscles aching in a funny, tingling way.

James wasted no time in fucking you again; the tip was nearly scarlet, hungry for release. His hand compressed on your soft stomach, pressing down into it to increase the pressure of his cock as it drove deeper and deeper inside of you.

“You know how this ends, my dear.” When he spoke, it sounded far away. But you did. You knew. There was never any end to this besides the one that you’d envisioned fearfully. He leaned to the side, retrieving a small, but very, very sharp blade from a nearby metal table. You watched numbly as James lifted the knife above your neck.

His hips pumped rhythmically, bringing you both closer to the fiery edge of ecstasy. Pulsing veins massaging your silklike insides, and another orgasm galloped towards you. Your body quivered, cold sweats taking over. 

James whipped the knife across your perfectly warm neck, and instinctively, your hands went to the laceration. Bright crimson gushed out from the spaces between your fingers, and you felt a gushy warmth press against your digits. The inner workings of your throat, you realized. The gore of your own body, pressing back against you in its heat. James laid one hand over yours, seemingly just to feel the blood as it spurted. With a deep, guttural moan, his cock twitched inside you just before it released, coating your insides.

She gasped, a wet gurgle. The light left her eyes, gradually, but beautifully. The pulses of blood eventually ebbed to a dull trickle. As his thrusts slowed, he expelled a long sigh – killing both excited him and depressed him. On one hand; it brought exhilaration, delight and sheer unadulterated arousal. On the other however, you only truly got to do it once. Certainly, you could kill a ghost a million times over, but the effect wasn’t the same.

For a moment, James’ expression contorted into one of regret; when you returned in your new spectral form, you’d likely not want to spend time with him. Yet another woman who loathed his presence roaming the hallways, avoiding him. But perhaps, he still wouldn’t mind having you stuck with him for all eternity, if only to gaze upon your perfect form whenever you’d let him. With matching wounds, at that. A true romantic.

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