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r3starttt · 1 month ago

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GHOSTFACE ELLIE

PAIRING: Ellie x reader

SUMMARY: Quiet girl turns out to be a psycho <3

CW: phone sex. guided masturbation. fingering. knife play.

AN: as always @clairoscharm thanks for reading my stuff and supporting my delusional ass AND total creds to this for the dialogue

TAGLIST | KINKTOBER: @s4pphic-myth @levilvrr @girlkisser168 @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworlddd @softlikesilk-chiffon @grey-jedi12 @slut4ellienabby @roos4lm4 @elliezlils11utt @1-800-fantasy @ellieswifee232 @rob1nbuckl3ys @abbys-muscles | ELLIE'S TAGLIST: @ilovetaylorrr @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @elliesmistress @aouiaa @chlobearsworld @crispers @bruhhtsukjf @twopeoplee

Lying in bed, the glow of your phone the only light in the room, you scroll mindlessly, your limbs heavy with the dull ache of hours spent in the same position. A pillow is wedged between your legs, more out of habit than comfort, and the phone in your hand holds you captive in an endless loop. It’s been five hours, maybe more.

Your attention flits from one post to another until, once again, you land on her. That girl. The one you’ve been following for months now. She’s pretty, but not in an obvious way. She wears glasses, those chunky ones that somehow make her even more intriguing, and her wardrobe is an exercise in minimalism: basic tees, old Converse, jeans that have seen better days. Yet, it suits her. She doesn’t need anything more.

She’s intelligent, too. You’ve seen it in the rare moments she speaks up in class, offering insight that stands in stark contrast to the usual drivel from the self-assured brunette at the front of the room, whose every comment is met with the weary nod of a teacher who’s simply given up.

But not her. She’s different. She only speaks when she has something worth saying.

You’ve never really spoken to the girl you’re watching now, the quiet one, the one with the pins on her backpack that match all your obsessions. But you’ve heard her, overheard her really—laughing with her small group of friends, a sound that’s more music than noise. And that laugh, paired with her intelligent, effortless aura, keeps you coming back to her profile. You scroll through her feed again, trying to piece together more of who she is. But it’s hopeless, really.

You know better than to hope.

You’ve overheard her laughing with her friends, and once—just once—you caught a snippet of conversation that seemed to be about someone like you. They joked about how a person like you would be the perfect way for her to "get out of her comfort zone," before she rolled her eyes and tossed a gummy at her friend, who ate it off the floor with a grin. The image of that moment clings to you, taunting. Maybe if you were the kind of person who ate floor gummies, maybe if you filled your pink backpack with pins and trinkets like hers, she’d notice you. Maybe then you wouldn’t seem so insignificant.

But it’s a foolish thought, really. All of it becomes irrelevant when you see her newest post, a fleeting story—her hair, damp and messy, clinging to her face, and an oversized red shirt, soaked through in the same vibrant hue. The image is imperfect but mesmerizing. Did she mean to post it? Probably not, because just as you finish taking a screenshot, Instagram glitches, and the story vanishes, no longer available to view.

"Fuck," you mutter under your breath, a single word of frustration, though it’s nothing compared to the soft whimpers and low murmurs that follow as you shove your hand between your legs. That same position you were in a few minutes ago now doing the opposite, relaxing your stiffened body into something comfortable and private. Something that gets interrupted by your phone vibrating in a disturbing tone.

Your eyes open, your mouth closes and the finger teasing your clit quickly abandons its place to rest over your stomach. The sudden sound taking your breath with the vibrations. The pad of your thumb slid over the screen, hanging the call without even glancing to look at the number. Whoever it was should be able to use their fucking fingers and type whatever message they needed you to know at ten pm on a Friday.

The agitation slowly faded into that anxious palpitation in your heart, your body catching your needs again as the wet under your panties grew again. You took your time, sliding your shirt over your head, the small shorts being tossed somewhere in the floor and your panties and bra resting at the edge of the nightstand next to you beside your phone.

She was in your mind- creepy, but it'll be enough for your horny brain to work into making you cum. And truly it was working amazing, circling at your clit, caressing your own skin in hopes to trick yourself it was someone else. Your thighs clenching whenever you were too harsh on yourself. Nipples hard between the pads of your fingers. Your mouth opening the slightest to catch your breath at the somehow pretty sound of your wet.

But the vibrations appeared again. A disturbing sound that made you anxious.

With a groan you turned yourself on the side, managing to grab at the phone with wet still on your hands. Who cared anyway.

The phone buzzed in your hand, the screen flashing with an unknown number. You hesitated for a second, half-expecting it to be a wrong number or maybe some random perv dialing at the worst possible time. Or maybe it was just some grumpy old person calling the wrong number altogether—some mundane accident that you could dismiss with a quick tap.

But then, through the crackling line, your name came through, distorted and warped, like someone speaking through an old, broken radio. Your brow furrowed, confusion setting in immediately.

"Who’s this?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. Had you been too careless? Maybe given your number to someone you didn’t remember in class?

"Long time, huh? Didn’t think you’d answer," the voice replied, dripping with mockery. The eerie, disembodied tone was layered with heavy breathing, the kind that made your skin crawl.

You sat up straighter, fingers gripping the phone tighter. Your confusion only deepened, your eyebrows knitting together in suspicion. "Who is this?" you repeated, but instead of an answer, the voice laughed, a low, unsettling sound that rattled your nerves.

"Don’t be so impatient," they teased.

A heavy silence followed, stretching on far too long. Your heart started to race as the seconds ticked by, tension building until you almost hung up. Just as your thumb hovered over the screen, ready to end the call, the voice cut back in, calm and unnervingly intimate.

"I think you left the door open."

Your eyes immediately shot to your bedroom door, closed just like you’d left it. But something about the way they said it made you second-guess yourself. You suddenly wanted to throw the blankets off, get dressed, and rush downstairs to check every door, every window. You always locked up before bed—double-checking, even—but now that doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind.

"You know," the voice continued, smooth and casual, "you shouldn’t leave it unlocked. Makes it too easy for someone…"

Your pulse hammered in your ears, and a cold chill settled deep in your stomach. Every word felt like a creeping shadow, something lurking just out of view. You tried to force yourself to move, to shake off the growing panic, but their next words stopped you cold.

"I wouldn’t do that," they said, a twisted hint of amusement in their tone. "I’ve been watching you."

A wave of nausea rolled over you as the realization hit. This wasn’t a prank. This wasn’t some random caller. Whoever they were, they knew too much—things they shouldn’t know.

Your mind raced, heart pounding as you scanned the room, trying to process what was happening. "Who the hell are you?" you managed to stammer out, your voice shaking, but they ignored the question entirely, continuing as if the conversation was on their terms.

"How long do you think you have left?"

The playful edge was gone now, replaced with something colder, more deliberate. The words cut through the air like knives, sharp and precise. Whoever this was, they weren’t guessing—they knew something you didn’t, and it left a sick feeling crawling up your spine.

"I don’t—" you began, your voice faltering under the weight of the moment, but the distorted voice on the other end silenced you. "Go lay down again," they whispered, the words almost affectionate, but twisted in a way that sent every nerve in your body on high alert. "Come on, if you're good enough maybe I'll have pity. You're good at causing that." They definitely knew you.

You hesitated but obeyed their every command. Each step against the cold floor of your room sending a shiver up your warmth body, a thin layer of sweat growing on your forehead at the silence between the line. "There we go." He mocked you.

"See? wasn't so hard to obbey." You heard their slow, heavy breathing, each breath dragging out in an unsettling, deliberate rhythm. It was shallow, almost raspy, like they were too close to the phone. "Come on, lay down." His tone was quieter, almost a mumble. You did as they ordered, adjusting yourself in almost the same comfortable position you were in, before this creepy guy called to entertain himself tonight.

"You're shy now?" he chuckled. Your body reacted before you could even process, trying to make this have any sense. Your eyes wandered all over the dark in your room, there was absolutely nothing. Not a window half open or the courtains allowing much inside view, the door was closed too. "Spread your legs, yeah... just like that. Now, put your hands over your thighs- no, lower... yeah, closer." His every command was followed. The tip of your fingers caressed the inside of your thighs, sliding your hand up and down, over your knee and then down until you got too close to your pussy, the wet growing shamelessly fast. He didn't really put any more rules, his breathing increasing withint every touch you applied over your body. growing into it eventually.

"Good, good girl"

Your hands stopped in the inside of your thighs, gripping at your own flesh at the mix of fear, shame- mostly wanting her to just come inside and finish the main plan she'd had on her brain when you answered her call. "Don't stop now, you were doing so good..." Her voice had a fake pity on it, mocking you. "Move them over your stomach, come on."

But you didn't.

"I know you wanted this." Ellie whispered, it was the closes her tone got to that robotic distortion you've heard before. "You were whining my name."

Your breathing was unsteady, your stomach tightening in everything but pleasure.

"Let me hear you again."

Your hand slid between your legs, hesitant on the show you were about to give her. She must be able to see, right? somehow.

You rubbed small circles on your throbbing clit, scissoring your folds to make it last longer. "Fuck- good girl.... just like that." Your lips parted open, allowing the front teeth to show up a little. Whines coming in the warmth of your breath before her name started to slip in between. You were ridiculously wet. each touch on your pussy loud and explicit. Profanity elicting out of you withing every touch over you nipples, down your stomach and against your pussy. She didn't have to ask, you'd do anything for her, anytime.

"Fucking pretty girl... hear that. So wet for me." Her voice was almost a whimper. there was no shame and fuck if she was here. actually seeing it in front of her eyes. She'd be on her knees for you, offering to help, to touch, to clean. "Yeah... fuck- please-" her breath was loud, a cruel trick to make yourself think she was close.

"Wanna cum?" you nodded as if she could see. she had to see. "Stop- stop." the tone was firm and you had nothing to do but whine at it, rubbing your clit one last time. You did leave your hand there, just needed any sorth of pressure between your wet pussy.

The call ended. And you desperately abandoned your body to pick up the phone and call again. The tone would ring and ring until it didn't, was it a joke?

The back of your head crashed against the messy pillow behind you, catching your breath for the millionth time this hour. There was a mess consuming you. The fear and uncomfortable of being seen by her, as creepy as it could be, it made you wet. She was a craving you would kill to suffice anytime and you've got her so close. Even if she was cruel, if this was a joke to laugh at you, you'd still do it again.

Your eyes drifted to the end of the bed, glancing at your naked body before crawling to pick up your clothes. You made it to the mere edge of the mattress, stretching to pick at your shirt and maybe at your shorts too.

The door cracked slightly, letting in some light from the hallway. But no one came in, there was no sound, no step, no loud greeting. "Dressing already?" your attention turned to meet at the strange mask covered person- her. The black robe adorning her body, way too loose. Her boots were so loud against the floor, almost as loud as the sound form the door when she slapped it closed. You were drooling.

"Eager?" Her knees folded slightly, getting to your height. You heard the shine of her blade, watching it just a few seconds later beneath your chin. "Put that back." Her head tilted to the side, you could barely see her through the dark circles covering her eyes. It took you a while until you put the shirt back to where it was, tossed somewhere you'd think about later.

The cold of the blade dig the slightest into your neck as you turned back around. Her other hand was quick to get rid of the mask, allowing you to have the prettiest sight. There was no actual reaction but a whimper that had to brush through your lips as you sensed her lips over yours. It was sloppy and gross and desperate, all while the mere tip of the knife cut between your breasts, digging hard enough to let the blood drip down your stomach, stopping the second your back hit your matress. It eventually stained the pretty blankets beneath.

She slid under your neck, nibbling and sucking at the skin while her knife rested flat against the fat of your thighs. Her legs crawled to trap you in between, leaving enough space for your legs to spread a little, enough to fit her hand in your pussy, really. Which didn't take long, craving to hear your voice this close, right next to her ear again. "Fuck baby, so fucking wet for me?" you nodded, already a disturbing mess at the feeling of her hand cupping at your cunt, slapping at it.

Her digits got trapped the second she landed on your clit, not paying too much attention as she could only care about tasting you, licking at your skin and sucking at the trail of blood under your breasts. Leaving her name stained on your tender withint every kiss and sucking and touch.

"Lemme hear you, come on." She slid her digits with ease, thrusting in and out of your wet pussy. You clenched at her, cupping the back of her neck- up her hair, and forcing her to kiss you, needing to savor her for once. She was whining, as wet as you beneath that tough costume.

"Fuck- just like that baby? yeah? gonna cum for me..." There was a sloppy kiss between each word. Quiet whines and moans pressed against your skin to overlap the wet of her thrusts on your pussy. "Ellie- Fuck- els...." she chuckled at your words. Her quiet ego being fed at the sight of you, so fucked for her. "My good girl, mhm?" her weight felt too heavy, and her kissed too overwhelming. But she was fucking you good, way better than what you've imagined.

The knot on your stomach grew bigger with every praise, every squeal of her fingers against your pussy, every moan she'd let out and the vibration you'll get on your skin.

But the knife cut deeper this time, just as you'd open your mouth to have the orgasm you've been denied for so long. You saw her eyes, her flushed cheeks and those freckles you'd admired from afar in hopes to someday see them this close.

The warmth on your stomach now growing- drenching on the sides of your body. But fuck it was a good sight to see, what she'd been craving for a while now. Your pretty whine and her hand drenched in your wet not transformed into pure horror and pain.

"Good girl, yeah baby. I know" your hands wandered anywhere, not even thinking on defending but holding her, pressing her closer to you. Have her one last time. "I know."

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adoregojo · 9 months ago

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secret admirer.

hihihihihihihihi, i cannot believe i actually slept for two days in a row? wth? and also that i never did this kind of posts? im such a lazy bum mb yall, I promise I'll write a real fic soon. summary: bllk characters as your secret admirers: isagi, bachira, chigiri, reo. how they fell, what do they do, how did they confess.

isagi.y

him. just him.

you once held his shirt collar to stop him from planting flatly on the floor.

and when you walked away, you walked with his heart in your palms.

yea, just like that

but honestly, isagi himself didn't knew he was such a big sap inside

and the moment he realised you two shared a few classes was the second he almost kneeled and thanked the sky itself for this.

an absolute swoon from looking at your side profile.

he once was long gone within the abyss of daydreaming about you, he genuinely just couldn't look away.

then got called out by the teacher for being too distracted.

definitely prayed that you didn't see that.

writes your name unintentionally in his notebook.

gets so embarrassed about it later and rips the paper.

still dose it again the next day and almost ripped the whole book apart form cringing at himself.

he once was musing over you too much to the point that your name slipped out unwittingly on the dinner table.

his parents couldn't stop teasing him about it, wondering when they would see you walking down their house door.

leaves love notes in your locker almost everyday.

it's something short and simple like: "you look pretty today."

then when he goes home he'll realize how dumb that was because you literally look the prettiest everyday.

dumb, dumby.

takes time to make the first move though.

he just feels like you're way, farther away from his reach.

it's okay, he still considers himself lucky to be one of those who got admire you.

he just hoped you saw him behind all of them, even if it was a glance.

chigiri.h

omgg pretty boyyy

despite chigiri being a confident and self-reliant, the trigger words of his old injury was like a pulling a pin of a grenade to his still-raw sorrowness. something that'll always haunt him.

and what dose he dare to say when they were nothing but truthful? like a salt to his wounds, he tends to just take it and suck it up, or at least try to ignore it for his sake.

but everything flipped when you stood up for him.

from that moment on. chigiri knew that he was far a goner.

out of everyone here he's definitely the most romantic one.

reads all your favourite books and analysis it.

probably named a cat after you.

like isagi he writes love letters for you.

just a little too poetic..

it it's short then it's something like: "loving you is like breathing." or "i hope your days are filled with the same joy you give me with your existence only."

but mostly is: "my definition of love, i see the true meaning of living behind your hue of life. you shall lighten my soul with your existence alone, i was born to see you shin each day, witnessing you is a blessing from heaven itself. the day that i stop seeing you as the owner of the stars is the day my body shall vanish, yet my soul will know it way back to you. from your only and one your admirer."

what a lovesick clown.

he might be a smooth talker on the outside, but trust me the butterflies of sentimental keeps on swirling in his stomach on the sight of you.

told his mother and sister about you.

it was his biggest regrets.

because the next day his sister shouted your name in a demand for you to spend the night for the 'meeting of the future in law'.

he had to physically drag her back to the car, freaking embarrassing.

couldn't meet your eyes for a while after that.

wants to hold your hand.

like, really badly.

it's just that feeling your skin against his cold, pristine hands must've feel like the loveliest, cosiest thing.

the thoughts alone are making him go crazy.

he confessed first, just couldn't help himself.

he just hoped if you would go to the end of the world alongside with him.

bachira.m

the sunshine boy himself.

the definition of fell first AND fell harder.

it all started when the class was ordered to work as duo for a project, something he always despised.

you may say that because bachira was definitely not having the word 'smart' in his book, you'd be right actually.

but mainly since no one really wanted to group up with him.

it was embarrassing, to just sit there and wait to be picked was putting him under the lights that pointed him out as the most pitiful creature in the room.

then you pocked him on the shoulder, and asked him if he wanted to be your partner.

and when he didn't see the sarcasm reeking from you, he knew he tripped hard, and couldn't find it anywhere in his feet to back him up.

it was strange, bachira never had a company, let alone a crush.

but the signs were there, and were painfully vulnerable.

painted you in art class multiple times; you with a smile, you reading a book, you sniffing a sunflower.

maybe also you and him... holding hands or hugging...

stares at your face a way, way too long.

he tells himself it's to crave your features better and detailed.

even he doesn't believe that however.

he draws your eyes a lot.

his second favourite colour is your eyes hue.

he was never the best at writing romantic poems, and his hand writing is just........

so he insisted gets you a gift!

which is a rock.

yes you heard me, rock.

he would even paint a little face with a smile on it and leave it on your desk by the end of the day.

almost went bald from joy when you had it hanging as a small march on your bag.

and when you had a bad day, that goes unnoticed by him.

so imagine your surprise when you would find two pairs of rocks, one kissing the other who had a sad expression on it face.

that somehow that foster a blissful smile on your face. like that little action extinct any remains of the past negative you carried.

and bachira was more than happy to be the reason for your happiness.

definitely rambles about you to his mom.

and his monster.

he once ha a dream about you two smooching.

cried when he woke up because he wanted it to be real more than anything.

you two confessed first, at the same time.

and boy was he dancing on cloud nine at it.

he almost smooch you that moment and then.

reo.m

it's mister perfect everyone, cheer.

you fell first, he fell harder.

no, literally. you fell. tripped flat on the floor.

and somehow, that made the reo mikage heart move.

?????????

love at first (fall??) sight.

he definitely leaves a trail of gifts for you everywhere.

your chair, desk, locker, bag.

he switches between chocolate and flowers to letters and perfumes, necklaces, etc..

you say how he picked them?

easy, see something that reminds him of you, he buys.

and it's pretty foolish since he sees you in almost everything.

reo is convinced that you're within everything that shins beautifully.

he actually paid the teachers to let him be in the same classroom as you.

paid even more to get a seat next to you.

rip to whoever was sitting next to you.

he once heard that a guy was bothering you.

the next day the guy was the talking of school because he suddenly moved out of town due to his dad losing his job.

hm, must be karma then.

has a shrine of you.

but you didn't hear that from me.

talks about you none stop to nagi and ba-ya.

genuinely sobbed when he imagined you with someone else.

has a flight under your name.

made a makeshift doll of you so he can practice his confessions on.

had a mental breakdown of the idea of you rejecting him.

reo can the most horrible, miserable day to a human kind to live.

then he sees you smiling

BOOM

he's all happy and smiling again, also a little giddy.

you once greeted him good morning, the next day he was planing what ring would suit you the most.

had two planes to write on the sky: 'will you go out with me?' and your name next to it in a shade of a heart.

now, you definitely cannot reject that. (Please don't)

have a nice day everyone.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #isagi x reader #bachira x reader #reo x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #chigiri x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #bachira meguru x reader #reo mikage x reader

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larrylimericks · 1 month ago

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19Oct24

No matter how mad the word made us, It always held hope — a “hiatus.”

I’m sad for so many reasons — the fundamental sadness of death, and at such a young age; having to process the mortality of someone so extraordinary it seems they should transcend a fate as ordinary as dying; aching for his family and friends; angry that he had to navigate such a cruel world, one that continues to disrespect him in death. Yes, Liam was damaged and in turn damaged others; he had demons to face and amends to make — I like to think he would have, given a chance. His talent was so immense, and there was so much more to come. I believe he would have found a way to redemption, and then had such a beautiful renaissance.

The joy of being a 1D fan has always been policed and mocked. We’ve so frequently been laughed at, dismissed for the intensity of our love for the band. And now, the world wants to do the same with our grief, questioning its legitimacy, trivializing our feelings. But this loss is real. And this grief is valid.

And the grief of losing Liam is compounded by the grief of losing so much else. He wasn’t just a celebrity. They weren’t just a boyband. He was an integral part of an integral part of our formative years — no matter how old we were when we found them. So many of us are the people we are in part because of the people they are. Were. We’ve lost a beloved one, we’ve lost innocence, we’ve lost inspiration, we’ve lost a piece of our foundation.

We’ve lost hope.

It used to frustrate me, in retrospect, that they called it a “hiatus.” It felt dishonest — like a gentle lie to let us down easy. Why couldn’t they just say it was over? That being a boy band has a built-in shelf life, and it was time to explore solo careers. But now I understand the kindness in that word. For hope springs eternal, and it didn’t matter if it never came. All that matters was that it might. And “hiatus” wasn’t just for us; it held their optimism too. Especially Liam’s. It left the door open, even if only a crack, for the possibility of something more.

It’s been a remarkable gift to watch each one find his own path and his own voice. But when they announced a hiatus in 2015, they planted a seed of hope that someday we’d see the unrivaled magic of those boys on stage together again — the greatest team the world has ever seen. Maybe Zayn would join, probably not. Maybe it would’ve been a one-off thing for charity or a special anniversary. Maybe it would be in their 50s when the allure of easy money from a reunion tour was too tempting to resist. But surely, eventually, 1D would reunite in some capacity. I was excited to see how their once frenetic energy and youthful antics would meld with the mature solo artists they’ve become.

That hope sustained us through 18 months and eventually eight years, but now the hiatus is over. I would have happily clowned for every remaining day of my life than know this new certainty brought by the finality of Liam’s death. Maybe, someday, there will be a memorial performance. Maybe we’ll see three or four out of five come together to honor him — and what a poignant testament it will be that Liam was what could bring them together. Or maybe it will never feel right to them to take the stage without him, and that, too, will make all the sense in the world.

I wish I had an uplifting ending for this post. I don’t. I wake up and my first thought is “Liam isn’t here anymore,” and then I go about my day with that relentless realization lurking around the corner of every mundane task I do.

I haven’t been able to listen to their music yet. It’s a cruel trick that the thing that always brought comfort is now a trigger for grief. But I hope that will soon change. That, at some point, I’ll put on WMYB, get choked up at “You’re insecure” and second-guess my readiness. But then jump to History, and find solace in the lyrics that are currently rattling around my brain but aren’t ready to be heard yet: “This is not the end, this is not the end” … “We can live forever.”

❯❯❯❯

#rest in peace liam #liam payne #tw liam's death #trying to process the sad thoughts #don't read if your own sad thoughts are too much atm #i've moved from shock to sorrow and now to denial #none of it feels real #tw death

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deebris · 3 months ago

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The Misteryous Visitor 6

Batfamily x batsis (platonic!)

Synopsis: Being alone with Damian after so many years didn't lead to the ideal conversation you two should have had, but every little word seemed to have helped you two get closer at least a little bit. However, the chaotic turbulence of the night returned when your mother decided to leave.

Warnings: Family discussion; mention of kidnapping; maternal possessiveness;

Word count: 4k

Note: I wanted to post this and part 7 together, because they are the last two, but it didn't turn out as planned. I hope you like it.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Damian walked to the end of the hallway and turned right, heading toward the living room. His only goal at the moment was to find you and try to prepare you for the catastrophic revelation he knew would come at some point. He was already tired of seeing you so unaware of everything; you weren’t an idiot and didn’t deserve to be treated like one.

But it seemed he didn’t have to try too hard because as soon as he turned the corner and walked a few meters, he abruptly stopped upon seeing that you hadn’t disappeared. In fact, you were there, sitting on the floor next to an old portrait of Martha, your grandmother, curled up as if just waiting for someone to come and get you. Someone who wasn’t your brother, apparently.

“There you are.” He took a few steps back and made no effort to crouch to your level; instead, he stood staring at you with a reproachful look that made you pull your legs even tighter to your chest. “Get up, quickly. The floor is for rats.”

He was trying to ignore the tension, but you were giving him the silent treatment, which made him uncomfortable, though he would never admit it to himself. You had done this to him many times before, but it was always over silly reasons, so he never minded.

You also could never hold a grudge for long, and when you were younger, within an hour, you would have forgotten any disagreement between the two of you and would then come to annoy him again. But now you were older, it wasn’t a tantrum anymore, and the reason was much more complex than any other. You weren’t ignoring him because you were simply irritated, and he feared it was different now.

Damian couldn’t ignore the irritation he felt seeing how ashamed of yourself you seemed since he first saw you. He hated that trait of your personality, always very aware of everything and everyone around you, though it was contradictory to your incredible ability to do unthinkable nonsense.

From where you both were, he still had a view of the bedroom door. The boy couldn’t help but glance over there, curious about what kind of discussion your parents were having. At the same time, he was contemplating various ways to say something or maybe try to fix the awkwardness between you two now, but your guilty voice caught him off guard:

“I didn’t mean to cause harm.” You sounded hoarse, and you two stared at each other, and unlike his sharp eyes, yours were wavering. He gave you a hard expression, but not because of the aversion you thought he had for you, but out of confusion.

It was a pity that Damian’s feelings weren’t easy to read, so you thought he was angry because that night you found out Bruce was someone very important to your brother now. “I didn’t mean to hurt Mr. Wayne. I really don’t know what I did to make him like this. I’m sorry.”

So you thought you had done something wrong to make your father that way, Damian concluded. He hadn’t reflected on how you might feel that way, and fighting against his own callous nature, he made an effort to relax his posture and crouched down in front of you. Damian didn’t dare sit the same way you were, balancing on his toes and leaning his torso forward.

“It wasn’t anything you did.” You’re not sure, but you risk saying this was the first time you heard your brother so soft in your entire life. Damian had always been very loud and was almost always yelling or offending someone, but now, combined with the gravity his voice had gained with puberty, it was tender.

He was going to say something else, but suddenly a strange noise sounded. It was muffled, but it seemed like something had fallen, and you both could feel the ground vibrate. It came from the bedroom, which made you become alert. You started to get up, worried, but your brother’s firm hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“It must have been nothing. Don’t worry about them.” The tenderness had been replaced by harshness, but it wasn’t directed at you.

Sliding your back against the wall again, you rested your chin on your knees while admiring your own shoes, and just like always, you couldn’t maintain your silent treatment with Damian for long:

“I think I bothered Mr. Wayne by coming here. Mom will be mad at me for this later, I know she will.” You were obviously nervous, seeking refuge in Damian as you always did when you had to face her. Your mother didn’t have a good relationship with Batman, and now having to deal with you for disturbing his evening would make her furious. The little relief you felt earlier had vanished, suspecting she had only been affectionate before not to show Bruce.

“Mom is mad all the time.” He tried to calm you down. It would be unbelievable for someone who knows Talia only through her assassin image to hear such a thing. She was a cold and calculating woman, but you both knew when she was upset. She didn’t express it in a conventional way, and Damian had already gotten used to it. Your mother’s mood didn’t concern him much, but it was still scary for you.

“You were mad…” Your statement made him sigh because it was true. A few minutes ago, he had reacted that way, but there was context he couldn’t immediately explain to you. “Maybe I can apologize to him? If he forgives me, I promise I won’t do it again, and then mom-”

“Y/n.” Your brother cut off your frantic speech sharply; you were almost hyperventilating. “No one is mad at you.” He said it as a statement, leaving no room for you to contest him.

“He was calm.” you started to ramble, picking at the fabric of your clothes with your nail. “He read something he took out of his pocket and started feeling sick, I was trying to help…”

Damian frowned. He had seen Dick give a small piece of paper to his father downstairs. That idiot wouldn’t have been stupid enough to write on it that you were his daughter, right? What a wonderful way to tell something like that.

“Idiot.” Your brother muttered aloud without meaning to, feeling immense anger at the thought that Dick had done that. And only after he blurted out the word did he realize you were still beside him, listening. “Not you.” He tried to explain hastily, still with a furious expression on his face.

It was strange for him to talk to you that way. He had called you an idiot many times during childhood, and you used to call each other much worse things, as siblings do. But your relationship now was delicate, like a strand of cotton candy, since that intimacy you once had was lost.

“By the way, Bruce is just stressed about Strange.” Damian analyzed your reaction at the mention of the name. To you, Strange was just another enemy of Batman, never suspecting that the man who appeared at your house years ago could somehow be him.

The League of Assassins had many enemies scattered across the globe; at that time, you thought it was just another one of them. You also never asked or wanted to talk about it, which was unusual for how chatty you could be sometimes. For you, Hugo Strange and the person who kidnapped you back then had no connection.

“There must have been something about our investigation there. I’m sure it was Dick who gave him that card. You didn’t do anything.” He said.

Your heart returned to its normal rhythm, but it grew heavy again as you understood the facts. Damian was blaming Dick for that thing Bruce was holding onto, but it was you who had given it to him in the first place. Bruce became distressed when you mentioned the gift and quickly pulled it out of his pocket. That must have been the object Strange gave you.

“Dami.” He heard the nickname leave your lips, and a flicker of hope hit him. There was still a certain closeness between you there. “I was the one who brought the card here; it’s not Dick’s fault. Strange gave it to me to give to Mr. Wayne.”

Damian abruptly stood up, returning to an upright posture. “Strange did what?” Neither Tim, Dick, nor Jason had mentioned this. They said they were telling the whole story, but none of them mentioned any kind of message. Was that why Tim had been acting so strange when he arrived? He remembers seeing him throw a box in the trash and getting all nervous when Damian got irritated and asked what it was. “Was it a small gift box, by any chance?”

“Yes, the same size as the card.” You made a square with your thumbs and index fingers, trying to show the shape of the object. “Just like this. But Mr. Wayne didn’t let me read it; I acted badly by trying to see what was in there too. I shouldn’t have been nosy.”

So Bruce didn’t let you know on purpose? Maybe he just didn’t want you to find out this way. He should have told you. Damian was about to open his lips to take the initiative, but the sound of someone approaching stopped him.

Alfred paused for a moment, finding it odd to see the two of you here. He had returned to make sure you were okay once more and then leave you alone until later in the day. “Master Damian,” He said the boy’s name as a form of acknowledgment, “I thought you were asleep.” The butler added, addressing both of you.

“Alfred!” You got up and walked over to him, who rested a hand on your head expectantly. He saw the way you looked hesitantly at your brother, seeking some kind of approval before returning your attention to him once more. “Something bad happened to Mr. Wayne; he wasn’t well.”

Alfred's eyes widened, looking at Damian for an explanation or just confirmation that it was true. He was obviously tense and speechless for a moment but quickly composed himself.

“What happened, dear?” He asked, and once again you sought your brother’s approval, who took the initiative to explain in your place.

“He…” Damian began, trying to find a way to say it. “Bruce discovered something about Strange.” He said with a suspicious tone and the butler quickly understood the underlying implications.

“Where is he?” Alfred asked, worried.

Damian wasn’t planning to answer, knowing Alfred’s aversion to Talia, but you jumped in: “He and my Mom are talking.”

The butler was obviously displeased and furrowed his brow. He had planned to tell Bruce privately about his supposed daughter, but apparently, things had moved ahead of him. But Alfred knew Bruce well and understood that despite his instability, he would handle things as rationally as possible. Or at least he hoped so.

It was unsettling how a simple night so suddenly turned into yet another Wayne family drama.

“Well,” he sighed, “It seems it’s too early for breakfast, but also too late to go back to sleep.” He gave your hair a gentle tousle with the hand that still rested there, and you appreciated it. Indeed, the sky was already beginning to lighten. “How about some tea to start the day, miss? Or maybe coffee?”

“That’s fine.” You said, accepting that he would guide you through the mansion once more, but stopped when you realized your brother wasn’t making an effort to follow. “Damian, aren’t you coming?”

Your hopeful tone made him huff and approach to follow you. “Let’s go then.” He joined you, heading downstairs.

Damian was deeply irritated by how easily you let your emotions come and go. To him, it was inconceivable that you weren’t resentful, even hating him, as he had presumed you would be just moments ago. The way you let your emotions dissipate so easily bothered him, and he couldn’t understand how you could forgive so simply.

This behavior had always been the target of Damian’s criticism, as he didn’t have the same ease with forgiveness. What ate him up inside, however, was the certainty that even if you found out everything he and Talia had done, you would still be able to forgive them.

Damian suspected that this readiness to forgive came from a lack of options. Throughout your life, you had only him and your mother, and breaking away from either of them would be devastating. Perhaps that was Talia’s greatest fear; even if she tried to convince herself that she kept you hidden for your own good, away from the League and Batman, Damian knew that deep down, she wanted to ensure a safe harbor, someone who would always be emotionally supportive.

Although you might appear to be an very naive girl, your morals were unwavering. And incredibly, Talia managed to keep you loyal to her. Both of them knew that you secretly hated criminals and dreamed of a perfect justice that would never exist, at least not in Gotham City.

Damian knew that his mother’s real fear was that you would find someone else beyond her, people with whom you could connect, not out of obligation or lack of other options, but because you genuinely wanted to. This emotional dependency, nurtured by Talia, made you more spoiled than Damian, who in turn always confronted Talia with stubbornness and resistance.

“Do you like any fruit?” Pennyworth asked you, who were with your arms crossed on the counter, while your brother sat at the end of the table, just keeping watch over your figure.

“All of them.” You replied, and Alfred laughed contentedly. It was nice to hear something like that, especially as he opened the kitchen cupboard and saw the colorful cereals inside, all from Tim’s never-ending stash of treats.

“Master Damian?” The butler asked the boy.

“No, thank you.” He declined with a grimace.

You watched with curiosity as Alfred grabbed a bunch of colorful fruits and began cutting them. There was some kind of dough resting in a container nearby, which you noticed when he moved a cloth to check, and it smelled so good. It was comforting to see him there in the kitchen, even doing something as simple as cutting fruits.

Talia was a very busy woman, and cooking definitely didn’t suit her elegant demeanor. Housework was not part of her routine, so you often ended up eating at expensive restaurants. That’s why every move Alfred made captured your attention, and he noticed.

“Do you want to help me, miss?” He asked, intrigued.

“Can I?” You asked back, already moving to stand next to him with excitement. The butler nodded and instructed you to wash your hands in the sink on the other side of the kitchen.

You were distractedly scrubbing soap on your hands and far enough not to hear Damian whisper: “Bruce isn’t going to let Mom take her home.”

Alfred looked up, not at all surprised by the news. “Does your sister know, Master Damian?” He kept his voice at the same low tone as the boy’s.

“No, Pennyworth. That’s why I’m telling you.” Damian checked to see if you were still far, seeing you drying your hands and hurrying: “When they both come out of that room and Mom leaves, she’s going to make a fuss.”

“What should I do?” You came back, interrupting their conversation and asking for instructions.

Alfred set you the task of removing the stems from the strawberries until a noise from upstairs alerted all three of you. It sounded like glass, and it didn’t take long to hear Talia’s voice calling for the butler, who moved to go to her.

“I’m leaving,” Talia said with a firmness that disguised well the inner turmoil she was facing behind her attitude.

You were stunned, and a rising panic took hold of you. Alfred hadn’t noticed you had followed him until you heard: “I’m going to get my shoes and coat.” You declared. Your mind was spinning with the idea that your mother was angry with you, seeing how she was acting.

Talia turned slightly to you, but the look she gave was impassive. “You’re not coming,” she said. The coldness in her voice wasn’t unfamiliar but struck deep in your chest. “You’re going to stay here with your brother.”

“But…” You tried to process what was happening, needing to look at Damian next to you for a moment until reality hit you back. “Why?” You asked with a trembling breath, already approaching her and grabbing your mother’s hand in desperation.

“For heaven’s sake, Y/n. Isn’t this what you wanted?” She rolled her eyes and looked at you with impatience. “You and Damian will get to spend time together again.”

“But what about you, Mom? Why can’t we all be together?” You clung to her hand even tighter, trying to keep her there forever, but all you received in return was the look she gave when you upset her.

“I’ll send your things with someone. Be obedient.” She said, but her real desire was for you to be rebellious, especially towards Bruce. Your mother crouched to your height and pinched your cheeks with her hands while whispering so the other two wouldn’t hear: “But remember, you’re mine daughter, understand? Your mother will always be here for you. I’ll get in touch.” She gave you a strong kiss, leaving a perfect lipstick mark, and grabbed the coat that was already in Alfred’s hands with haste.

“I want to go with you!” Talia felt your arms around her waist and sighed.

“You're old enough to be acting like this, Y/n. Let go.” She tried to wriggle free on her own, but your grip was so strong that her fingers barely moved. “Y/n, enough!” She shouted genuinely furious, and you jumped back in fear. The sight made her wilt, but she still suppressed it and opened the door.

You were in shock, never imagining that your actions could have led to this. It was as if she hated you for it, and you felt a pressure on your forehead, unsure if it was from the anger you felt at how your mother treated you or from the desperation.

“Don’t go after her,” Damian ordered, knowing you would do it anyway, which is why he held you in place.

You couldn’t accept it. The idea of being left behind, the feeling of being rejected by the only family you knew, was overwhelming. “Mom!” You shouted, struggling to free yourself from Damian’s grip in fury, the sadness totaly replaced by a burning rage. “Don’t leave! I’m sorry for disobeying! I didn’t mean to do anything wrong!” you screamed. “Why are you like this with me?!” You shouted louder, not caring about making a scene.

Talia’s feet were already buried in the snow, trying to hide the pain she felt, but your muffled voice didn’t help. The sound of the door closing was like a final blow, and her heart sank even further. She didn’t care whether Bruce was right or not; she hated him like hell now.

You were sobbing and gasping, the pain of rejection still present in your chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disobey. I didn’t want you to leave…” You murmured lower, feeling your throat ache.

As she took more steps towards her own car, her thoughts raced. She knew that sooner or later you would need to know the truth, and deep down, she wished the news had come from her.

She tried to keep her mind clear during the brief walk to the car, passing by a snow-covered tree where ravens had gathered to rest. She was so distracted for a few seconds that when she felt an arm pull her back, she instinctively threw the stranger away, who hit the trunk and caused the birds to start flying erratically while cawing discordantly.

“What the hell is this!” She shouted furiously, shocking the boy who immediately began to apologize while getting up, feeling pain.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Scare me?!” She was outraged by his assumption. As if she would be scared by a kid like him. “And which of Bruce’s little pests are you?”

“My name is Tim.” The boy assumed a serious tone now, abandoning the polite courtesy he had before.

“And are you going to stand there like an idiot, or are you going to tell me what you want?”

Despite her hurry, Tim stared at her and looked back, checking if there was anyone outside the mansion and taking a few seconds to do so. Talia’s arrogant look didn’t intimidate him, and he spoke firmly:

“A few years ago, in that alley…” The phrase made her eyes widen, but she still took a deep breath to compose herself. “It was you.”

Talia never thought she would have the opportunity to face that boy again after that day. When Strange fled, she followed him and caught up with him. She remembers how she grabbed the man by the collar when she didn’t see you there. After wringing the truth out of that pathetic man, Talia had to let him go as she rushed desperately to where you were, but not before leaving a beaten face as a gift. But that night, that boy... Tim, had heard your call for help.

“So, you were the Robin.” She let out a curious laugh, looking Tim up and down. “And so what if it was me?”

“You tricked me. Pretended to be a helpless person.” He frowned while narrowing his eyes at her. “I remember the little girl I saved; it was her.” Tim turned his face towards the mansion again, as if to point at you.

“You just had the luck of arriving before me. And what did you expect me to do? Tell you who I was?” She took her gloves out of her pocket and began putting them on. “Do you think you could have caught me, kid?” She laughed sarcastically this time, belittling him.

“You could have told me the truth. You had the opportunity to tell Bruce about Hugo Strange all this time. We could have protected her.” Tim’s eyes moved around, trying to process. “After I left there, Bruce and I continued on patrol and found him passed out. If we had known who he really was, he might be in jail now.”

“Spare me your laments, kid. She’s going to stay here, isn’t she? So what else do you want?” Talia said, and Tim wasn’t surprised by the information. He had already assessed the scene while waiting to approach her outside. He had jumped through the bedroom window, having not been able to sleep after recognizing your face.

Tim remained silent. It seemed that Talia had a very concrete idea about everything, and it made no sense to try to circle her with assumptions about how things could have been. He couldn’t help but feel foolish, realizing that you had been so close to him at some point, and he couldn’t do anything for Bruce since he didn’t know.

“Listen.” Talia’s surprisingly soft voice caught him off guard. “Thank you for helping, even though I didn’t exactly need it.” Despite trying to be understanding, she couldn’t help but emphasize. “She means everything to me, you understand? Put some sense into your father, or I’ll find a way to take her back, and I promise you’ll never see her again.”

Tim swallowed hard at the mention of Bruce but snorted indifferently soon after. “He’s not as bad as he seems.”

“I noticed.” She murmured with irony and turned to walk away, with Tim not interrupting her this time. The boy watched her go to the car, but suddenly she stopped at the gate. She ran her fingers over the electronic lock, and suddenly some loose wires became visible. Tim found it strange, and Talia looked at him with a smile, which even from a distance, he could see.

“I think you’re going to need someone to fix this.” She shouted for him to hear, and for a moment, Tim thought if she had done it, but only now did he wonder how you had gotten past the front gate. It seems that your innocent face hid some skills. “Don’t pamper her, and tell your father and Pennyworth not to let her eat too much sugar.” She let the wires go while grumbling, slamming the car door, and driving away.

Tag list:

@lafrone @sylum @mileskisser @belowbreadcrumbs @riddle-me-im-sirius @rafa-the-beautiful @shehrazadekey @fairuzwhat @bedeater @arianapjs @idonthaveanameforthisacc @azulawayne @nciolisa @lovelywritersgarden @spideybv28 @faimmm @cherry-peach-flavored @godknows-shetried @randomrosie01 @whatsupstark @paastaboi @m3ntally-unstable @masterradd-28 @justanormalpersin @6000-fandoms @fennecspage @homan-oid @fluffy-strawberries @animegirlfromvietnam @tamsyien @ari-sama21 @kataraluvr @boatempollstriper @lokisgoodboy @enjisthings @thereeallink @lumalesa-kadichizho @fyodorssimp1 @shintax-error @lara20aral @sulatsadark @notahappystan @nebuluma @thetiredtoad0-0 @tmt-alexis @anuttellaa @strawberrymangoes @lorastone-000 @starryhiraeth @worldussysblog @urminebutidontwantyou @herondale-lightworm @nyra-42 @ohnoivefallen @an-introverted-nishinoyasimp @ellie-x0xo @blkmystery @formula-space @sparks0918 @cosmicqueenieb @rukia-uchiha-98 @leeleecats @camilo-uwu @phoenixgurl030 @rosegardenpatsu @nickey-diano @wpdarlingpan @xxrougefangxx

@m4chine-girl @kellyyn02 @urminebutidontwantyou

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xalygatorx · 15 days ago

Text

A Case of the Slumps | Alastor x Depressed!GN!Reader

Summary: It seems you've brought your brain chemistry down to Hell with you. Figures.

Warnings/Tags: Hurt/Comfort, depression and related symptoms/thoughts (obvi), cinnamon roll Charlie, Angel gives you a Xanax but you don't take it, platonic Alastor with a hint of possible unspoken romantic feelings, unexplained cause of death, present tense for some reason, reader is gender neutral

A/N: Crosspost of a recent oneshot from my AO3 because I figured if I'm in a slump, someone else probably is too. x

Sometimes it was a thought. Sometimes it was the time of year or the weather, when Hell's crimson sky was kept dark for long periods of time by an uptick of brimstone in the atmosphere or the lingering storm clouds after an acidic downpour. Sometimes it was a memory. A song. A smell.

Sometimes it was seemingly nothing at all.

Just like when you were alive, your now-dead brain hasn't lost its particular quality of liking to work against itself. It's impossible to say whether it's a continued chemical imbalance—that'd be likely right? If demons can do drugs, then clearly there's still something to brain chemistry in Hell—or if death took a snapshot of your self and your mind as they were in life.

It doesn't really matter what it is either because it still affects you just the same. And because you haven't had a depressive episode yet post-mortem, you haven't done any of the legwork you had to do in life on your own to figure out what's "wrong" with you, who might hear you and listen, and what medication(s) works.

So when it does hit, it hits like a tidal wave no one else can see. The wave itself, anyway—everyone can see you drowning.

That first slump isn't kind enough to hit in the morning when you can sleep in—or rather stare with dead eyes at the wall, bundled under your duvet and blankets as you put off the day passing by around you. No, that first slump hits in the middle of one of Charlie's exercises, one that you were enthusiastic about participating in just an hour ago. What happened?

You know. This feeling is an old friend you'd hoped to never meet again.

Charlie doesn't though, not right away. After you excuse yourself by means of referencing a stomachache you only kind of have—and only from the emptiness pooling in your gut and humming in your chest—she catches up to you in the hallway.

"Hey!" she chirps, leaning around to look at you when you stop but don't turn around. If anything, you curl further into yourself. She doesn't notice though—the only ones who would notice your change are the ones who know to look for it. Charlie, bless her heart, doesn't have that earthly world experience yet. "Do you want us to wait up for you or…?"

"Oh, uh, no," you stammer out, yearning for a big hoodie to comfortably drown in or a cup of tea, the idea of which sounds lovely but you don't even like tea. Everything that would normally feel like a treat sounds stressful or unappetizing, leaving you uncertain about what exactly you're meant to be doing. That's when the lethargy hits hardest. "I don't feel well, so I'm just gonna rest for a while."

Charlie's brow scrunches. You can tell she's about to argue that you'll never get into Heaven if you don't stick to the exercises and something akin to a sudden flash of anger roils in your chest, kicking the dead gray weight of apathy in the teeth. Because how dare she question your commitment, your hopes, your dreams, because you're walking away this one time?

But if this is like life, if this can happen again now, how many more times will it happen? Is it over for you?

Something clicks behind her eyes though as she watches your face. You don't know this, of course, but she's seen the same look on Vaggie's face before. Primarily right after they found each other—Vaggie also fell into a pit of her own pain and trauma, a victim of her new normal until the new normal became preferable.

And, on those days, Vaggie didn't always want to be with Charlie. At some point, Charlie had to learn that it often had nothing to do with her when that happened, too. It helped her understand her father better, too, in the end. She'd needed to reach out to him, but she'd had to let Vaggie come to her when she was ready. Both were valid approaches for different people.

She decides to trust that you'll make it clear to her what you need when you're ready.

"Okay," she says and her kind voice spears your anger with guilt, killing it instantly. You were always good at that, weren't you? Pushing away the people who care. "You have my number. You have everyone's number—well, everyone with a phone anyway. Just let us know if you need something. Anything. Okay?"

You clench your teeth to hold back the burn of tears working its way up your throat. "Okay. Thanks, Charlie," you say and it comes out as sincerely as you mean it, which is good. At least something's gone right today.

"Would you like a hug?" Charlie offers, starting to hold out her arms and then hesitating when she wonders if that could feel like she was pressuring you.

You think about it and decide it's worth a try. "Sure," you say and you step into her arms. She runs even hotter than the other sinners you've met, being Hellborn. It's like cozying up just a couple inches too close to a fireplace, but it doesn't burn. She just feels like the hearth in the place that's swiftly become your home.

She doesn't let go before you're ready, but the second she feels you shift to step back, she lets her arms drop. She gives you a little wave before scampering back down the hall to resume the exercise in the lobby, leaving you to resume your trek to the elevator.

Once you're in the elevator and you've tapped the button for your floor, you fall back against the wall of the lift and run your hands down your face, sighing into your palms.

What you wouldn't give for an on-paper, calculable test that you could fill out and hand to a doctor or psychologist or someone who could tell you with complete certainty what's wrong with your brain and how to fix or endure it. Not only so you could feel better, but so you wouldn't be such a burden to your new friends, your found family. What good were you like this?

(The reality is that the group downstairs is mildly concerned, but otherwise just fine. Charlie can manage the exercise through sheer optimism alone and she has enough bandwidth to do that and be available to you as your friend whenever you need something.

A couple of the others noticed your deflated exit, perhaps because they've once been through similar episodes, and are either just hoping you feel better or trying to come up with some nice gesture to make whenever they see you next. Everything you're worried about or sure you've messed up is a product of your dopamine-deficient brain.)

You pass Angel in the hall on your way to your room as he's heading out for work and he, of course, knows that look. He just hasn't seen it on you before. He offers you a many-armed hug and what he tells you is a Xanax, telling you to text him if you need anything or just want to talk and he'll check on you whenever he's freed from the studio next.

You appreciate his offers and agree to all of it, except the unwrapped, unlabeled pill, which you get rid of once you're in your room. You trust Angel, but you're too paranoid about making whatever you're feeling worse. You barely knew how to deal with it in life, what's it going to be like in Hell?

A stretched-out old hoodie is procured from your closet and you tug it on, smoothing your hair back down as you amble toward the bed. You burrow under the blankets and try to sleep, but of course it doesn't come. You're not tired, after all. You're not even sad. There's just nothing where there's meant to be something, anything in your chest.

Hours pass and, even though you're not helping yourself by lying curled on your side and staring at the wall, you're listless. You can't talk yourself into getting up or getting something to eat. It's even hard to convince yourself to look at your phone, maybe because you've heard it buzz a few times with texts likely asking how you're doing. You don't want to answer them until it's a good answer. Until you can say you're doing better. Anything else is a disappointment, surely, for all involved.

Someone's knuckles rapping against your door makes you jolt, but you sink back into that unsteady feeling of mentally treading water instead of answering. They'll go away if they think you're sleeping. It's probably Charlie anyway, maybe checking on you ahead of dinner. Was it really almost dinnertime?

That was enough to motivate you to extract one arm from beneath the duvet, extend your hand to your phone, and tap the screen to wake it up. It was after dinner. Time was a construct and someone was still at the door, knocking more sharply now.

You bundle your arm back under the bedding, keeping your back to the door. Charlie wasn't that hard of a knocker, so maybe she'd sent Vaggie up to check on you? Husk tended to pound on doors with the side of his fist (and not come near any potentially weepy situation with a ten-foot pole), so it probably wasn't him. It might be Angel, you supposed. Short studio session, if so. Perhaps Pen, but the source of the noise was too high up to be Niffty. She'd barge on in anyway…

"My dear, I can hear you moving around in there, you know," the Radio Demon's voice informs you through the door and your heart nearly stops a second time.

Not Alastor, you sigh inwardly, covering your face in your hands again and trying not to groan lest he hear that, too.

It wasn't that you disliked Alastor. In fact, that wasn't the case at all. You'd been a bit scared of him at first, sure, when you'd initially crossed the threshold of the Hazbin Hotel and who could blame you? He was an imposing figure, someone you'd heard of within days of falling into Hell despite his seven-year sabbatical from the Pentagram.

He was also a prominent public figure from his radio show. That was how you'd first tried to get to know him a little better—you'd started tuning into his broadcasts, getting better at predicting the shrill screams of the souls he tore apart just before they blared through your speakers. You still missed them on occasion and would violently jolt upward from wherever you were sitting or lying while listening, floundering for the volume dial and usually finding it well after you needed it.

Alastor had spotted you do exactly that once during a prerecorded broadcast and, after he'd run the gambit of jokes he could make at your expense, the barrier that had existed between you two since your arrival started to come down. And while the jarring screams hadn't stopped, your radio's volume would inexplicably drop on its own ahead of them from then on. You couldn't come up with any explanation for this that didn't include Alastor's influence, but what may have been a kindness on the Radio Demon's part was directly rivaled by his then-new penchant for bursting out of the speakers in a swirl of shadow to scare you, himself, and ask you for feedback on the day's stories.

Those interruptions had become short bouts of small talk in the hall, a couple of cooperative efforts to cook the crew a delicious dinner, him holding doors for you whenever you happened to be traversing the hotel in the same direction… Little things. Lots of little things that had ended up with you considering him a friend, but who knew how he felt. He probably just thought you were amusing. What made it even worse was that you were beginning to suspect the extra pitter-patter of your heart whenever he showed up was no longer adrenaline anticipating him scaring you, but butterflies.

You poor thing. You weren't sure you could've picked a more surefire way to make a fool of yourself.

"I'm not decent," you finally say in an attempt to deter him, wincing a little at the hoarse quality of your voice. You'd only cried a little during your time in your room that day, but you'd cried hard. Partially in an effort to exorcise some of the bad feelings you were harboring, but it hadn't helped much.

"Well! Under all those blankets, I wouldn't even know, now would I!"

You squeak as you startle so much from hearing his staticky voice right behind your head that you end up in a heap on the floor between the wall and your bed.

By the time you untangle yourself from the duvet and pop your head out of the heap, he's maneuvered himself to the edge of the mattress and is peering over it while lying on his barely existent stomach. A thin, but amused smile curls his lips as his legs idly kick behind him like he's a high school girl at a sleepover.

"Was that necessary?" you ask, any amount of riling up he'd done with his sudden entrance falling away from you as your slump saps it of its vigor in one go.

Alastor's brows rise into his fringe, clearly a little caught off-guard. You can understand why—you usually either laugh or, if he gets you badly enough, clutch your chest and scold him for nearly causing your second death via a heart attack.

He tilts his head at you as his eyes narrow and you can't tell if he's confused or zeroing in on his prey. Honestly, in your current condition, you can't get yourself to care. Maybe he'll put you out of your misery for your cheek.

"Mm, I deemed it so," Alastor says, his luminous red eyes blinking down at you as he leans forward ever-so slightly. He's clearly on edge and you digest this as a display of annoyance, but he's concerned (and doesn't like that he's concerned). He's never seen you like this. "Are you ill, cher? It's quite unlike you to miss dinner."

"In a matter of speaking," you allow as you stand up, brush yourself off, and gather up your duvet into a large wad in your arms. You maneuver it back onto the bed and into a sort of nest you can return to, careful not to jostle or accidentally touch Alastor as he remains partially prone across the foot of the bed and watches you work. Mindful of how little he likely knows about mental health, given his time period, you explain in a few words, "My brain is sick."

He blinks, not sure what to make of what you've said. "Your…brain?" he repeats uncertainly. "How so?" Alastor also deems himself "sick in the head," but he's fairly certain that his brand of insanity isn't what you're referring to in yourself.

You nestle into the duvet, missing how his eyes soften a touch at how small you look right now. You take a deep breath and let it huff out as you force yourself to look at him. If he just wants to torment you a bit, this will expedite him getting it out of his system so you can go back to your staring contest with the wall. If he's not just here to make fun of you…well, then that would be surprising.

"I have depression," you finally admit and you wonder when the last time was that you said those words out loud. Even in life, it was a rare moment when you'd be met with someone who was worth explaining yourself to—most people either didn't understand because they'd never been through it themselves or because they didn't want to understand. Over time, you'd just given up trying to be honest about your struggles because being demeaned or invalidated for them just made you feel worse.

"A what now?" Alastor asks, cocking one brow as he turns to lie on his side with his head propped against one hand. His fluffy ears twitch a little but stay upright, alert, and turned in your direction.

"It's a mood, uh…ailment," you explain, thinking he might not know what a "disorder" is either. You're not familiar enough with what terms people would've used to refer to mental health in his time, so you're overcareful with the words you choose. "My brain chemistry wasn't right in life—my body didn't produce enough of the chemicals that make us feel happy, so I'd get into really bad slumps. Exhausted, sad, sometimes just numb slumps. Apparently that came down here with me, too."

"So…you're in a 'slump'?" he repeats slowly, testing the word you'd used on his tongue.

In moments like this, you find him unbearably cute—from his twitchy ears made restless by the rate of his thoughts to his wide, considering eyes as he tries to absorb what you're telling him. He's a very good listener when he's not in the middle of a bit.

"Yes," you tell him and he relaxes slightly at the confirmation. "I feel dead inside, honestly. Which is funny to say now that I'm actually dead, but it's just… I just don't feel much of anything. Or I do and it just feels empty and hollow. That's kind of worse than feeling sad."

He hums and offers, "A smile is our greatest weapon, dear. We've discussed this."

"Not against this, it's not," you sigh, just waiting now for him to get frustrated or bored with you. "I'm not trying to be difficult, Al, I swear. It's just… I can't fake what I'm feeling. I've tried! I wish I could mask half as well as you can, but it's hard. It takes energy I just don't have in times like this."

Alastor evaluates you with a glance and asks, "Then what is your weapon of choice against these…slumps?"

You tug against the seam of the duvet wrapped around you, all nervous fidgeting. "I never really figured anything out," you admit and it feels like a failure. It feels like because you can't offer him a solution to your problem, your problem must not be a problem. You remember so many exasperated faces looking back at you at times you'd admit the very same. He just looks at you though, clearly thinking. "Sometimes just waiting for it to pass was the answer. I was on medication for it at one point, but it never helped very much. I know I need to eat, but I just feel a bit nauseous when I think about food."

"Then food should be on the docket, certainly, but perhaps not just yet," he muses, sitting up as he continues to regard you. "What else?"

You throw your hands up helplessly. "I'm not sure. I'm sorry," you say. "Maybe I need to go hug Charlie again or something, that didn't fix anything earlier, but it didn't hurt."

Alastor scoffs. "Is my comfort not up to your standards, dear?" he needles you, his tone confident even as his smile wavers slightly.

You blink and shake your head even as you scramble to try and understand what he's implying. "Of course not," you quickly say. "I just… You don't have to do that kind of stuff, you know? I know it's uncomfortable for you and I'd never want to make you uncomfortable."

He chuckles and a mischievous smirk overtakes his features as he leans in and pulls you toward him via the duvet, taking an indulgent look at the blush reddening your face before he tightens the blanket cocoon around you and adds his arms to the equation after. You get the hint not to take your arms out and touch him and you're not even sure you could if you wanted to. You're frozen in place, comically close to a deer in headlights, and you can feel the heat inflaming your cheeks.

It's nice to feel something for the moment.

"Um… Alastor?" you ask, stopped from looking up at him when his pointed chin settles against the crown of your head. "You… Why?"

"Why, what?" he asks, but it's just to put off answering and you have some inkling that this might be the case despite his casual tone.

"Why are you doing this?" you ask, embarrassed by how vulnerable you sound to yourself.

"I can't have you sat here in one of your 'slumps' by yourself, darling," he mused, one of his hands absently tracing over your back.

It takes a lot for you to not lean into the touch, but you're terrified of scaring him off. You're also terrified of overthinking this though, especially as he settles in around you, his larger body usually used to intimidate and tower over others making you feel oddly safe. Then again, even in his most antagonistic moments with you, have you ever felt in danger?

"Why not?" you ask softly.

"You ask a surprising number of questions over something so simple as this," Alastor notes and his words cause a puff of warm breath to stir your hair. You shiver a little and he chuckles.

"But it's not simple for you," you murmur, letting yourself relax a bit as he impatiently tugs you closer to fit you against his chest. He's certainly not as gentle as Charlie, but you imagine he's far less practiced in this sort of thing than she is. It hits you harder because you know he's trying. And perhaps because you—silly, silly you—have a tragic little crush on the Radio Demon. "And… Well, I appreciate it. That's all."

Alastor hums and admits, "It's simpler than expected. And not unwelcome." You feel his chin shift against your crown, like he might be looking down at you, as he asks, "Is it helpful? Or is dear Charlotte's attention still preferable?"

You have to bite your lips a little to keep from smirking—that sort of tone can only indicate that he's jealous. Once again, you find him unbearably cute and it'll likely one day lead to your second untimely demise once he realizes how you feel.

"Yes, it's helpful. And preferable," you confess and you can almost feel his chest puff with pride. "This is really nice. Thank you."

"You're most welcome, dear," he says, glancing down and watching you cave to fatigue and fall asleep as he feels your weight settle further into his chest.

Alastor chuckles and gives you time to fully settle into a more restful state before he shifts your body around and situates you on your bed. He'd first considered staying, but figures having something for you to eat at the ready when you wake is a better use of his time. At least that's the reason he gives himself to go.

The truth is he can't remember the last time he honest to goodness comforted someone. There's a tickle in the back of his brain, a voice asking if he's losing his edge. Asking if you'll see him now as less than he is, which (in his mind) is a sadistic, cannibalistic overlord and nothing more.

He can't deny though that he's savoring the lingering warmth from your body on his coat. And, as much as he doesn't understand these "slumps" or the depression you referenced, he didn't like seeing you look so sad.

And he supposes if he must occasionally soften his sharp edges a bit to help keep his favorite guest present and smiling, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #asexual alastor #soft alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #cw depression #cw mental health

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livinahey · 1 year ago

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Random astro obs bcs y not

Warning ⚠️ mentions of abuse and trauma

scorpio luminaries & luminaries aspect to pluto (especially harsh aspect) almost be always know when something/someone is gonna do no good to you. If they warn you ab something then just follow them. Bcs what they say is scarily often end up being true

Also, if from the first meet these natives STRONGLY dislike you even though you didnt do anything then yeah.... Youre the problem lol. No matter if youre everyone crush, everyone sweetheart, or whatever is that. Again, like I said before, they seems to always know when something/someone is not good

These natives can also scared of themselves bcs of this

I think we admire ppl who have our mars sign as their sun sign

Sag sun with water moon women makes the loyal partner 🥺🤧 be it business partner, in friendship, or as a lover. Don't leave them.

When you see mars square pluto native gets bad mood or even angry.... RUN

Bcs they can be so violent at that time and you dont want to see that

Same goes to cap moon 💀

Women with moon square bml (black moon lilith) always have the best glow ups ✨✨🤧 im so proud (and bit jealous lol) of you dear

Mercury in leo degrees (5, 17, 29) being sooooo charming. They be say "hi" only and you already weak(???) lol

Leo venus 🤝 cant go a day without boasting what they love, be it their hobbies, their job, their loved ones, their pet, or even the place where they live lol. So passionate

I'm not surprised if theyre the one that have many posts on their social media account

Ppl with big 6 at 6 degrees (virgo degree) can be seen as villain

Moon conjunct jupiter synastry: when the moon person getting humiliated/disrespect, the jupiter person be defending the moon person. Also, the moon person can have soft spot for the jupiter person

Natal aspects to sun i like are sun conjunct mars and sun-pluto any major aspects. The word "sexy" is literally made for them lol.

TW ABUSE

women with cap or cancer mars plsssss check again the man you choose to date or even marry. Bcs i often see these women end up experience being abused severely by their man in their relationship. Men often being intimidated by these women yet still wanna date them. These women do dating man that seems cool and amazing or even adorable person outside BUT UNFORTUNATELY it turns out that the man are the worst person ever. At worst case, the man's family dislike these women due to jealousy towards them. No matter how bad these women get treated by the man, the man's family will still defend the man and treated these women as if theyre the problem 💔

Also, these women can dealing with fucking crazy men that cannot accept being rejected by them atleast once in their life. Scary af

Gemini moon/mars are naturally funny without even trying ✋😭

Sag/pisces rising 🤝 always have ppl crushing over them and even become worshipping them

Libra rising are so beautiful and it seems unbelievable

Cancer rising and their terrible mood swing 🤕 yet still look like the most calm and unbothered person ever

Mercury-bml aspects culture is having what they say being questioned. And if they have sun-uranus aspects too then.... Good luck trying to understand them 🥴

Mercury-bml aspects is underrated funny placements imo. They be say questionable thing but idk i find it funny tho 😩

Scorpio rising and having traumatic experience/memories when they young that seems keep haunting them even until they become old :(

Also they often get disappointed by their family :( they can give all their family members a mountain of gold, being so kind to them to the point they forgetting their own needs and this scorpio rising still getting unappreciated & bad treatment. PLS APPRECIATE SCORPIO RISING IN UR LIFE !!❤‍🩹🫂 they are one of sincere people that often attracts evil eye that doesnt wanna see them being success

Whats with earth rising and having this disgusted/judging look 🥲

They can look at you normally and you will feel that theyre judging you even if they arent

Sag rising and leo rising 🤝 having beef with eachother

Same goes to taurus sun x gemini sun

Cap sun x virgo sun friendship be the weird yet funny pair

Every leo placement always have virgo placement in their life

They can have love-hate relationship with eachother tho lol.

And the same goes to every cap placement that always have aries placement in their life

You either love the opposite sex that has the same mars sign as you OR going "mehh" of them

Earth rising 🤝 secured financially. Maybe you never catched them worry ab not having money to save their life

Hey thank you for reading this so far!! I do these obs not bcs I wanna gain followers or what but bcs I found these things give me joy hehe ✌🏻 english isnt my first language so apologize for any grammar mistakes. be safe out there!! 🫂✨

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sabsturned · 4 months ago

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M. Sturniolo - Three Doors Down

SEE PINNED POST FOR NAVIGATION

comment on this post to be added to my taglist :-)

pairing: matt x fem!reader

contains: angst, mentions of a drinking and smoking parent, crying

summary: you and matt used to be best friends. you were closer to him than anyone else you know, and you’ve always secretly had a crush on him. the day you told him, you guys stopped talking. tonight was prom night, and you had no guys or even friends to go with. all you could do was sit in the corner and watch him dance with his girlfriend, sofia.

a/n: first fic!!! i’m rlly excited about this one. it’s based off of the song ‘three doors down’ by joy. this was my shit in 2022 and i don’t get why it wasn’t talked about more. ALSO I HAVE A QUESTION: what are anons??? also please leave requests for fics!! i’m literally out of ideas. THATS IT!! enjoy the fic :))

key: matt y/n sofia

and i’m in the corner

dying of boredom

catching light from the shine

of his girlfriend’s tiara

me and matt were best friends. me and the boy three doors down. i mean, the best word to describe us was inseparable. we hung out all the time—at school, at home, over the weekends, at parties—everywhere i went, he went, and everywhere he went, i went.

it started when we were both eight years old. i was trying to avoid my mom at all costs because when she drank, she got mean. i went outside, picking all the small white flowers out of the ground. maybe if i gave my mom flowers, she would cheer up, and she wouldn’t hurt me. at least that’s what i thought.

i picked a yellow dandelion, adding it to my bouquet of flowers when i saw a boy around my age riding on a skateboard. he was riding it on circles in his driveway. suddenly the only thing my eyes were looking at was his curly brunette hair. his eyes were a beautiful color of blue. not as deep as an ocean, but not as light as the sky. all i knew was that they were perfect and they consumed me. his cheeks were a shade of red, probably because of the humidity. i’ll never forget the way he looked at me for the first time; the way his eyes lit up, the way his smile widened, showing off the dimple on his left cheek, the way the world around us faded.

his hand slowly moved up, waving at me. my smile grew. i waved back.

whenever my mom started drinking, i just went outside, where he was every afternoon on his skateboard. he tried teaching me to ride it, but i wasn’t very good. we played in his backyard with his brothers and their dog, trevor. sometimes they brought out their sprinkler on a really hot day, and we all just played like kids. i would give anything to be a kid with them again.

when we were in the same homeroom for third grade, we were both ecstatic. we were always partners in group work, always played together at recess, always ate together at lunch. everybody always made fun of us, and assumed we were dating or something. but we didn’t care.

everything was perfect. up until eighth grade. ever since me and matt met, i’ve always kind of liked him. i never really had the courage to tell him, up until the day before our eighth grade dance.

i confessed my feelings for him. i didn’t say much really. i just told him i liked him and asked if he wanted to go on a date. but i don’t think he felt the same.

he said he was busy.

all contact was cut after that. no more late night calls, no more weekend sleepovers, no more study sessions after school.

and it’s all my fault. i ruined everything. if i wouldn’t have said all of that, we wouldn’t have been here. we would have still been friends. we would have gone to prom together. we would have been falling asleep on call together. we would have still been as inseparable as we were when we were kids.

all of this was my fault.

now i’m at prom. the speakers blasted a pop song i don’t know the name of. all of the kids in the room were dancing, jumping around, making out in the bathroom, but i was sitting in the corner.

i would have gone home, but i was trying to avoid being near my mom at all costs. so i was just there, dying of boredom.

i caught a glimpse of her tiara. the plastic gems glistened in the dim light of the room. how was sofia able to wear cheap plastic on her head and still manage to look absolutely beautiful.

i’m so jealous of sofia. she’s a cheerleader. she’s skinny, she’s pretty, she won prom queen, and worst of all, she was matt’s girlfriend. we have had some interactions before, and i hate talking about her negatively because she is so incredibly sweet. like i’ve never met a popular girl so nice. it made it harder to hate her the way i wanted to.

her silky straight hair ran down her back, and her wide smile could light up a whole room. her dress was fabulous too. it was a really pretty shade of lavender, and it was sparkly. it complimented her figure so well. i mean, she looked like an absolute goddess.

her hands were wrapped around matt’s neck as they danced to the slow music playing. it hurt so bad. i should be over matt by now, i mean, it’s been four years. but i wasn’t over him. i wasn’t over his curly brunette hair, his beautiful blue eyes, the dimple that appeared on his left cheek whenever he would smile. i wasn’t over our late night phone calls, our weekend sleepovers, our study sessions after school. i wasn’t over him. and i never would be.

watching them dance together made me sick. the eye contact, how touchy they were. i decided to go get some punch to distract myself. i wanted to go home so bad, but a broken heart was less noticeable than the burn mark of a cigarette.

the loud music drowned out the sound of the punch splashing into the red cup. i turned around to go back to the corner i was sitting in, when a tall figure bumped into me. thankfully, i didn’t spill any punch on my dress.

“oh, sorry. i should have been watching where i was-“ my breathing stopped when i realized who i had just bumped into. his curly brunette hair, his beautiful blue eyes. matt.

“that’s alright-“ he stopped talking when he saw me. “oh, um, hey.” he said, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“hi.” i responded.

“you look.. amazing.” he complimented.

“oh, thanks. you too.”

“are you having fun?” no. not when she’s the one you’re dancing with. not when i’m still thinking about you even after all these years.

“yeah, just hanging out with my friends. a night to remember.” i lied.

“yeah.” he laughed.

there was a moment of silence where we just looked at each other. the first time i’ve looked in his beautiful blue eyes in years. the first time we’ve had an interaction in years.

“hey baby, they’re playing my favorite, c’mon!” sofia ran over, grabbing chris by the arm, giving me a small wave before dragging him back to the dance floor.

“nice seeing you y/n.” he voiced, before him and sofia continued dancing together.

i tried to say something back, but nothing came out. i forgot how to speak, i forgot how to breathe. before i knew it, the tears were already falling out of my eyes.

i needed to leave. thankfully, i only live a few blocks from the school, so i could just walk home. the only thing i could think about was how i just needed to be anywhere else but this school.

i shoved open the doors, walking out into the cold rain. it was pouring outside. normally, i really liked rain. me and matt used to lay in the rain together. it’s where we had our most meaningful conversations, and shared our deepest thoughts. but i wasn’t enjoying it right now. every drop felt like cupid pulling an arrow out of me. i rushed home as quick as i possibly could, the rain soaking my hair, and the tears rushing down my face. i actually couldn’t even tell if i was crying anymore. the rain made it hard to tell.

i was able to sneak past my mom so she wouldn’t see i went out. i ran up the stairs and into my room, quietly shutting the door behind me. i let out loud sobs into my hands, my rain soaked body dripping rain into a puddle beneath me. i looked up and saw the picture we made in fourth grade art class together, my sobs growing louder. i looked next to it. a signed baseball from a game we went to together sat on the shelf, along with a scrapbook of our seventh grade summer. suddenly, my room was filled with memories of us. i need to destroy it all.

i took the canvas off of the wall, grabbing my scissors and stabbing it until you couldn’t see the picture anymore. i took the scrapbook off of the shelf, ripping out the pages, cutting them into small pieces. i grabbed the baseball, opened my window, and threw it. i didn’t see where it landed. i was just glad it was out of my sight. i ripped the cards and gifts he made me for my birthdays, and christmas, and valentine’s day, ripping and cutting them up. then the stuffed bear he got me. my favorite animal. i cut that open, ripping out the stuffing. until nothing else was left. i sighed, my sobs growing louder.

i looked down and noticed my heels, stained with punch. the rain should have washed it off. the punch reminded me of him. i must have missed when it fell out of my cup and onto my shoes. i kicked them off, throwing them under my bed.

i looked down at my dress, noticing the color of it. it was the same shade of blue as his eyes. his beautiful blue eyes. i groaned out loud, ripping my dress off and throwing it in my closet. everything reminded me of him. the clothes i wore when we hung out, the sheets we laid in, the desk he sat at while we talked for hours, the rug we sat on when we played board games, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, the window, everything. it was like he was a memory that i couldn’t get rid of.

but maybe this is how it’s supposed to be. maybe we aren’t meant to have late night phone calls. maybe we aren’t meant to have weekend sleepovers. maybe we aren’t meant to have study sessions after school. maybe we just aren’t meant to be. maybe he belongs with sofia. maybe we aren’t supposed to be together, me and the boy three doors down.

angst is one of my favorite things to write. it’s so therapeutic to me. so i hope you enjoyed this and please give me your feedback in the comments! :D

- thanks for reading!! with love, sabrina 🤍🎀

taglist:: @muchloveforhacker @saartjuhh @anonymousmfs @mylove4lana @chrissfavhoe @sturniolo101 @h3arts4harry @hereforthwtripletsfr @pepsixchris @ch3rrywine-reposts @amaliarosewood @gwennybenny @memea32221 @urfavstromboli

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simp4pedropascal75 · 8 months ago

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"Everywhere." (dbf!joel x reader)

summary: Before beginning to work in your new job, you decided to visit your dad in Texas for the whole summer break. What you didn't know is, that you would meet your teenager's crush, your dad's best friend, again. Joel fucking Miller.

words: 5.4k

trigger warnings: dbf!Joel, age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel is in his early 40s), no!outbreak!Joel, some mentions of y/n, a little bit angst, 18+, smut (f!nger!ng, praising, s3x, ect.)

a/n: well, it's been a while since I posted. I hope you're all doing well and I hope you'll enjoy this new ff. <3

(sorry for spelling mistakes, english is still not my first language)

-------------------♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹❀♡-------------------

It has been two months now since you have this special affair. Every time you sneak over to him, your breath quickens, and butterflies fly around in your stomach when you’re getting nearer to him.

Every time you lay in bed alone, you feel his hands and his kisses all over you.

Every time you think of him, thinking of every night you two had… you can't bear the ache between your legs.

But it is not just the sex…

Every time you’re with him, you forget all your worries and fears.

Every time you're with him, he makes you feel safe.

He makes you feel loved.

He makes you feel alive.

When you think of all this, it is just perfect.

But it's not.

No one can know.

No one can know that you sneak out mostly every night to go to him.

No one can know how you feel about him.

No one can see.

It has to be a secret.

When you’re not alone, you just have to act like your just neighbours…

Even if you are neighbours.

It’s not easy. It’s hard.

But even if the fear of having to end everything doesn’t let you go… it doesn’t keep you from doing it.

Maybe someday, you can let everybody see.

See that you love him.

But that’s all just in your head. You love him, you really do, but… it’s complicated.

You don’t know if he really feels the same way about you do.

But there’s one thing you really know.

You’re in love with Joel Miller.

Yes, the Joel Miller who’s nearly twenty years older than you.

The Joel Miller who’s you’re neighbour and has known you since you’re a teenager.

The Joel Miller you’ve watched doing work in his garden.

The Joel Miller with these beautiful eyes and strong arms.

And… the Joel Miller who’s unfortunately your dad’s best friend.

You were 14 when you moved to Texas with your dad. It was shortly after your mom and dad’s divorce. He got the legal custody of you. And you were kind of relieved that you didn’t have to live with your mother. Sometimes in the past, she got pretty impulsive towards you and your parents just kept fighting. But you still have some contact with her.

So, it was good to begin all over again. You went to a new school, made some friends and all kinds of that stuff. Your dad also found a new job and got along with the neighbors, especially Joel Miller.

They got along pretty well, since they were both a single dad with one daughter.

But all besides that, you never really knew him. You waved him when you saw him outside.

When he was over at, your dad's house you simply said hello. You never really wanted to talk to your dads' friends.

But everything changed when you became older. You remember how your dad asked you to look after Joel 8 years old daughter Sarah and you didn’t say no to that. It was a good way of earning some money of your own.

So, you’re started with 18 to babysit Joel's daughter. And that’s when you started getting a slight crush on him. You noticed over time that you feel different with him than with the two or three boys in your age, you dated in the past. Over the two years you’ve started getting an immense crush on him, but it was hopeless. It was just a dream fantasy of him and you getting together since he was that older than you. Just a teenager’s crush.

At the end of 19 you left for college in Louisiana and told yourself to grow up. You studied philosophy and even if it wasn’t always so easy, you finished from college and then even got a job as a professor in another university to teach philosophy.

But before you started working in your new job, there was a long summer break. And after all the learning and writing exams, you deserved it the most.

You decided to visit your dad in Texas and stay there for the whole break because you didn’t see him often for the past years. You also wanted to spend your 26th birthday with him and in your second hometown.

You pulled over your car in the driveway and parked. As you got out of the car, your dad already walked towards you. “Oh, there’s my girl!”, he smiled happily and hugged you tightly. “It’s so good to be back home!”, you said. Your dad and you small talked for a bit while he was getting out your luggage out of the car. Suddenly, you heard a very familiar voice.

“Hey buddy”, you heard, and you turned around. You saw them talking and then saw who he was.

“Hey, you still remember …?”, your dad says but you already finished the sentence in your thoughts.

Joel.

When he stands in front of you, you freeze. He looks even hotter than before…

How can someone look that good in his 40s?

You cleared your throat. “Yea- of course”, you responded. Your heart begins to race. “Umm- How’s Sarah?”, you asked firmly. “She’s doing really well. She’s on a vacation with some of her school friends for the whole summer break. But she would be so happy to see you”, you remembered him replying with his texan accent.

And that’s how everything started. You saw him way more often and talked to him when he was at your dad’s house. He made you laugh and feel safe. Every time he was just near you, you couldn’t think rationally. The first weeks after your arrival, you spend a lot of time with Joel since there was a lot going on your dad’s work.

Every morning after breakfast you went over to his house and you two played UNO, chess or simple board games. He showed you around the neighbourhood and told you everything you’ve missed while your away. You noticed that during the time you spent together, he looked at you in a different way. You thought you’re just being delusional, but he acted differently towards you, but differently good.

You often caught him staring at you, every time he called you “darling” or “princess”, you got goosebumps and when you teased him, which you loved, he got so nervous.

There was just this tension between you two.

And one day, it just happened. You were at his house and put on your shoes to go home because it was already kind of late and you wanted to get home before your dad did.

Joel was sitting on the couch, watching football. “You’re sure you got everything?”, he asked you while looking at the TV. “Yea- I think so”, you replied and put on your jacket. You put your hands in your pockets and noticed that you forgot your keys. They were lying next to Joel on the other side of the couch.

You smirked, walked over to him and bend right over his lap to grab your keys. “ ‘just need to grab my keys…”, you mumbled and felt his whole body getting tense. “I know what you’re doing...”, you remember him mumbling under his breath.

“I’m not doing anything, old man”, you chuckled, grabbed your keys and walked towards the door. He stood up and you thought he would open the door for you, like he always did, like a gentleman. But now he was just standing there.

“Well, I wish you a good night, then”, you smiled and opened the door half way, until he closed it. He pushed you against it and the next second you felt his lips on yours. You froze and the butterflies in your belly got crazy. Your heart was racing but you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back.

And that’s how this whole affair thing started.

Nearly every night you sneaked out to him, like today.

You’re in his bedroom and the only thing you can hear is heavy breathing, moans and skin clapping together. “Joel-“, you breath out while you’re lying on your stomach, and he’s fucking you from behind.

His one hand grabbing your waist and the other hand pulling your hair back, makes your eyes roll back. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight-“, he groans and thrusting into you even deeper.

You squeeze your eyes together, slowly feeling that very familiar feeling in your lower stomach. “Joel, I’m gonna-“, he cuts you off.

“No, not now. I wanna look at you-“, he gasps, and you suddenly feel an emptiness in you, as he pulls out.

“Joel-“, you whine, and he flips you around on your back. “Shh, you can take it”, he breathes. He leans over you and kisses you passionately. His tongue explores your mouth, and you still can taste yourself in his mouth from him eating you out earlier.

His hand slides over your belly, grabbing your breast and squeezing them harshly while his other hand spreads your legs. He breaks the kiss, and you gasp for air. You look right into his eyes… his beautiful eyes.

He rubs his tip over your wet pussy, teasing you. “Fuck Joel- I cant-“, you whimper and bite your lower lip. “You can…”, he whispers and pushes his hard dick into you.

You moan satisfied as the emptiness fades away. He begins thrusting into you while his hand is slowly wrapping around your neck.

“You’re such a good girl…”, he groans and pushing your waist into the mattress. It doesn’t take you long for you to feel that familiar feeling again. Joel feels it too.

Between your loud moans and breaths, you want to say it, but he places his lips on yours. “I know, baby… me too”, he breaths. Everything gets tense in your body.

You chuckle slightly, but your chuckle fades quickly, by feeling him directly hitting your g-spot. Your moans get louder and you roll back your eyes.

“Look at me…”, he slightly growls by being just concentrated on you. You feel his dick twitching inside of you. You pull yourself together and look at him. His strong arms, six-pack shining in the moonlight that comes through the window.

“My beautiful girl…”, he moans, and that’s it

“Cum for me.”, and you do. You cum all over his dick which leaves you breathless. You look at him, while he continues thrusting into you two more times, until you see his mouth opening and feeling him filling you right up.

You come fresh out of the shower wearing comfy shorts and a white tank top. You put your towel dried hair up in a bun and walk downstairs to the kitchen. You hear the shower still running upstairs, since Joel is still in there.

You walk to the fridge and open it. You get out a beer for Joel and an ice cream for you. You close the fridge and walk to the living room, placing the cold beer on the table and take a quick look at the clock.

12pm

While eating your ice cream, you look at Joels house plants, which just nearly survived because of you. You chuckle sightly and begin watering them.

“they would already be dead if I didn’t had you“, you hear Joels voice say behind you.

“I know”, you reply quietly and concentrated on the plants. You hear Joel sit down on the couch and open his beer. As you keep watering the plants, you see Joel searching for the TV remote.

“it is literally right next to you”, you sigh and let out a chuckle. You put the watering can away and jump on the couch next to him. His stare is fixed on the TV while he drinks his beer. You rest your head on his shoulder and he puts his hand on your thigh, caressing it.

“Joel”, you mumble and keep watching TV.

“Hm..?”, he hums.

“Í have been thinking about… well, how this all will go on, when the summer break ends..”, you whisper cautious, watching his reaction directly.

All you hear is a sigh from him while he takes a sip from his beer. “go on?”, he replies focused on the TV. You gulp, moving away from him and sitting up.

“well yes- how will this thing go on?”, you ask more seriously, pointing on him and you. “or don’t you want it goes on?”, you mumble, feeling your heart getting heavier.

“‘never really thought about it-“´, he replies with a sound like he doesn’t really give a shit, he’s just concentrated on his TV. You scoff and get up. You grab your bag pack and walk to the entrance, slipping into your shoes.

“wait-“, Joel sighs and you hear him get up. “that’s not what I meant”, he mumbles and rubs his forehead while watching you.

“well, I think its really clear what you mean and think”, you scoff again and grab your jacket. “look- I never really thought about it”, he grabs your hand and pulls you towards him.

“I don’t know what you expect from me-“, he mumbles. Your heart gets heavier again, and you shake your hand, while you can't believe what’s really going on.

“what I expect you to-“, you stop and take a deep breath, “I’ll go, my dad will come back from work soon”, you whisper and get your hand out of his grip.

Opening the door. “good night, Joel”, you mumble and walk to your house. The last thing you hear from Joel was a loud sigh, and then the closing of the door.

——

You’re laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling. The bright sunlight was shining through the window. You think about last night and sigh.

‘Did he really never thought about it…?’, you think to yourself.

You stand up and walk over to your desk. You look in the mirror, noticing some hickeys on your neck.

Your mind plays back last night, his lips pressed on your neck, while his fingers are buried inside of you. How he- “y/n, would you come down please?”, you hear your dad calling from downstairs, ripping you out of your thoughts.

“Yes!”, you reply and sigh. You quickly grab your cute summer dress out of your closet and quickly make yourself ready in the bathroom, covering up all these hickeys. While you run downstairs, you put your hair up in a messy bun. “What is it, dad?”, you ask loudly and walk into the kitchen.

“You remember how I talked about these grill party’s, every neighbour does for the neighbourhood? Today its my turn”, you hear him talking out of the living room, while you grab yourself a coke. “yeah, what about it?”, you ask, making your way into the living room.

“well, I need your help in organising, Joel isn’t enough, you know”, he laughs, and you freeze in the doorway, looking at Joel who’s sitting next to your dad on the couch.

“Joel is helping us since we’ll help him next week when he has to do the grill party”, your dad says, looking with a smirk to Joel. You don’t answer.

“hey? Did you hear what I said, lazy head?”, your dad laughs while Joel looks at you. “yea- um sorry. I heard you”, you mumble as you pull yourself together and clear your throat. “I mean, yea, I can help you. What should I do?”, you ask, trying to ignore Joel and just looking at your dad.

“well, while I get everything prepared here, you and Joel can get groceries shopping”, he suggests and takes a look at Joel, looking for a reply.

“Sure”, Joel replies and gives him a pat on his back. “I mean-“, you get cut off. “We’re already on our way”, Joel says and gets up, grabbing his cars keys which are laying on the couch. You scoff, shaking your head. “Come on”, Joel calls and opens the door.

“bye dad”, you mumble quietly and grab your shoes, putting them on and walking through the door, towards his car.

“Thanks for asking me”, you whisper annoyed and open the car door and take a seat.

“You’re welcome, darling”, Joel replies and gets in the front seat and starts the engine. As he begins driving, you let the window down and close your eyes, relaxing under the warm breeze on your face.

“how did you sleep?”, Joel suddenly asks, trying to smalltalk and you chuckle. “you’re really bad at small talk, you know that? But I didn’t sleep well, no”, you reply and watch the kid's playing soccer as you pass by a house.

“look, because of yesterday-“, Joel begins talking but then stops. He rubs his forehead and takes a deep breath.

“I-“, he tries. “we’re there”, you cut him off and directly as he parks you get out of the car.

You have no nerves for this now.

You two arrive back at your home, and take out the whole groceries, placing them on the kitchen counter.

“thanks you two”, your dad says as he walks past you, kind of stressed. “I’ll be back in a minute, I need to go over to Veronica”, he shouts since he’s already out of the door. Veronica is one of your neighbours, she’s a really nice old lady.

You look over to Joel next to you, who just finished taking out all the groceries. You suddenly feel his hands on your waist, turning you around and pressing you against the kitchen counter.

You let out a sigh. “Joel-“, you mumble and try to get out of his grip. “Look at me”, he says clearly and stern.

“Come on, now-“, you whine and he pushes you against the counter even more. “I said, look at me”, he stated. You roll your eyes and look up to him. “what?”, you whisper annoyingly.

The next thing you feel are his lips pressed on yours. You try to resist, but your body replies to him by opening your mouth, allowing his tounge to explore yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you.

“I’m sorry…”, he breathes as you pause the kiss. “I’m sorry about yesterday.. of course I want all this to keep going, but- it’s just difficult”, he mumbles and presses his lips on yours again.

“I know…”, you murmur against his lips.

“we’ll figure something out…”, he whispers as he stops the kiss again and caresses your cheek.

You let out a slight smile and nod. You look right into his eyes and that’s when this desire kicks in again. You immediately slam your lips on his again, grabbing onto his shirt. You grab his hand, placing it on your clothed breast. He squeezes it harshly, rubbing with his fingers in circles around your nipple.

You whimper into the kiss, feeling this ache between your legs again. You grab his hand, leading it down your stomach, but he stops. “We can’t- your dad.”, he points out and stops.

“he’s not there yet- I need you…”, you whisper desperately into his ear.

Joel hesitates. “fuck…”, he hisses under his breath. That’s when his hand slips under your dress, pushing away your panties and sliding two fingers into your wet pussy. You let out a satisfied moan and let your head fall back.

“You need to be quick, baby”, he mumbles into your ear while he grabs your waist with his other hand, so he can support you in standing. His fingers slide in and out, searching after your soft spot. As he finds this spot, your moans get louder and your legs weaker.

“fuck, joel…”, you breath out, squeezing your eyes together as you feel your climax building up in your lower stomach. “come on, baby..”, he whispers into your ear while he hits this exact spot with his fingers. You hear the door unlock. As he feels you’re cumming, he covers your mouth with his hand.

“cum for me, sweetheart…”, he demands as he hits this spot one last time and you cum with a loud moan, which his hand muffles.

“I’m back”, you two hear your dad call and hear his steps getting nearer the kitchen. He pulls his fingers out of you, releases you out of his grip and licks off his fingers. You pull down your dress again and that’s when your dad comes in.

“everything okay?”, he asks with a smile and you nod, still out of breath.

“yea”, you reply and give him a forced smile back.

‘That was close’, you think to yourself.

“Well then, let’s make everything ready for tonight”, he chuckles and walks out of the kitchen. You take a glance at Joel, who’s still a little shocked since you two almost got caught. You go on tiptoes and place a kiss on his cheek. You take the groceries and carry them out to the garden, with Joel looking after you.

You hear so many laughters coming out of the garden while you’re in the kitchen to grab some drinks for outside. The whole garden was full, since almost the whole neighbourhood was there.

You go out, with all the drinks in your hand, placing them on the table. You take a glass of water and give it to Veronica, the old lady, which as your neighbour.

“thank you, sweetheart”, she says with a kind smile. You look around, and see everyone chatting, drinking or eating. Your stare falls on Joel, who was talking and laughing with your dad while they are standing at the grill.

‘He would never really approve of you and Joel, would he?’

You sigh.

But you remember Joel words…

“We’ll figure something out“

And that’s how the next following weeks kept going. You keep sneaking over to him at night. But your dad often noticed or saw you going out when he came home late from work, and then you always had to come up with some random excuse.

You slowly noticed that your dad has got quiet of sceptical and tried to talk about you once because you always go out late. But you’re a adult. And you really couldn’t care, all you could care about was him.

Joel Miller.

It was midnight and you and Joel are laying in his bed. You lay in his arms while he’s running his fingers through your hair. Your breath was still fast, 5 minutes ago he fucked the shit out of you.

You feel so safe and comfortable in his arms, but thinking about that you have to go back to Louisiana… You let out a sigh and hug him tightly.

“you’re okay?”, you hear Joel mumbling. You nod slowly, “yea”

Joel knows exactly what’s on your mind. “tell me, when you could go anywhere you want on this earth, where would it be?”, he asks and looks down at you.

You chuckle slightly. “I don’t know… I always wanted to see the northern lights”, you reply.

“why are you asking?”, you ask confused and sit up, pulling the blanket over your body.

“maybe I can take you there someday”, he mumbles and gives you a slight smirk.

You roll your eyes. “yea sure…”, you mumble.

“somewhere else too?”, he raises his eyebrows and sits up too.

“come on joel, don’t play with me”, you hit him playfully. “no, I mean it”, he grabs your waist and pulls you onto his lap.

“something else?”, he asks again.

“hmm… maybe- the maldives… I was never on the maldives”, you whisper.

“noted.”, he mumbles and pretends to write it down. You giggle. “somewhere else?”, he asks again with a smile.

God, how you love his smile.

“really? You don’t even have that much money, old man”, you chuckle as he grabs you by your waist again and pushes you in the mattress while leaning over you.

“i don’t care, i’ll take you wherever you wanna go.”, he whispers and looks right into your eyes. Your thoughts about you leaving immediately vanish and you give him a smile. He presses his lips on yours.

“everywhere?”, you mumble into his kiss while your heart was pounding like crazy.

He nods. “everywhere.”,

He replies and places kisses on your neck, while he slowly moves down your stomach. You bite your lip, looking at him how he disappears under the blanket between your legs. You let out a soft moan as you feel his lips pressed against your clit and give yourself totally to him.

You put on your shoes while the sun starts to come out slowly. “i’ll come back tonight, then”, you mumble tired and go on tiptoes to place a kiss on Joel’s lips. He hums against your lips in agreement.

“I thought about showing you how to play guitar…”, he whispers while his lips can’t leave yours. You let out a chuckle, “okay…”.

You grab your jacket and open the door. “see you then”, you smile and walk out the door.

You’re in town alone. You’re walking around the shopping centre to get some ingredients for your birthday cake. You’ll get 26 years old in 4 days.

Old, you think.

While you were grocery shopping, Joel was knocking at the door of your dads house.

Your dad opens the door. “Hey buddy, what do you need?”, he asks and leans against the doorframe.

“I need to borrow this toolkit of yours, ‘need to repair something”, Joel says and clears his throat. “Yea sure, come in”, your dad smiles and walks with him into the living room. “Wait here”, he says and after some minutes he comes back with the toolkit and hands it over to Joel.

“Thanks, buddy”, Joel replies and gives him a pat on your dads back.

Joel makes his way to the exit. “Hey um, I wanted to ask you something”, your dad stops Joel. He turns around and raises his eyebrows. “sure, what is it?”, Joel replies.

“well um- I noticed y/n sneaking around at night and coming home super tired- I mean, I know she’s a grown up, but she’s still my daughter. I’m just a little concerned , since we usually talk about almost everything“, your dad says and Joel gulps.

“do you know anything? You know, since you two spend some time together while I was working, I’m really grateful for that, buddy”, your dad continues, and Joel pulls himself together.

“sure- no thing, but I know nothing, sorry”, Joel mumbles and shrugs his shoulders. “okay… yea, I just don’t want her to get in trouble or anything, not that she sneaks around with some creep or something“, your dad laughs.

Joel let’s out a fake laugh too while a wave of guilt runs over his whole body.

“you’ll tell me, when you know something, right? Since we’re buddies?”, your dad asks and places his hand on Joel’s shoulder.

“Sure”, Joel replies and takes a deep breath.

“I’ll have to get going then”, he clears his throat again and your dad nods.

“sure, good luck with the toolkit”, your dad smiles and waves at him while Joel walks over the street to his house.

It was 10pm and you walk over Joel’s house with these butterflies in your stomach going crazy again and knock on the door. He opens it.

“Hey”, you say with a smile and go on tiptoes to give him a kiss, but he turns his head. You look at him confused.

“You’re okay?”, you chuckle and stand in front him, waiting for him to answer. He lets out a sigh and rubs his forehead.

“fuck…”, he mumbles under his breath while you raise one eyebrow.

“look- this can’t go on”, he finally speaks out and your heart literally drops.

“w-wait what?”, you stutter in shock and can’t believe this is real right now.

“this won’t and can’t work out.”, he points at you and him.

“what the fuck, joel. Yesterday, you talked with me that you would take me everywhere on this world- and now, you’re like- ending it?”, you repeat everything to make it yourself clear what’s happening right now.

“Look- this was a huge mistake. It’s just too complicated and-“, you cut him off.

“You said, we’ll figure something out“, you get louder and more upset while everything around you gets hotter and your eyes wetter.

“well- unfortunately we can’t. It can’t go on like this, y/n. you need to find someone else”, he mumbles stern.

“find someone else?!”, you repeat and can’t believe every word what’s coming out of his mouth.

“what the actual fuck… I thought you loved me-“, you nearly shout and a tear runs down your cheek.

“love you? I never loved you-“, he suddenly says out loud without thinking. And that’s when your whole world stands still. You stare at him with tears in your eyes.

“fuck you, joel.”, you hiss and slap him right into the face.

Then you just turn around and walk over to your house again, trying to control the emotions which are running through your whole body right now. You quickly wipe your tears away and go into your room, not looking back.

And just like that, everything ended.

It has been four days now since Joel ended this special affair.

You didn’t sneak over to him anymore, but your breath still quickens, and butterflies fly around in your stomach when you see him, but this time, with a sharp pain right into your stomach.

Every time you lay in bed alone, you feel his hands and his kisses all over you.

Every time you think of him, thinking of every night you two had… you can't bear the ache between your legs.

But it was not just the sex…

Every time you were with him, you forgot all your worries and fears.

Every time you were with him, he made you feel safe.

He made you feel loved.

He made you feel alive.

When you think of all this, it was just perfect.

But it wasn’t.

No one could’ve known.

No one could’ve known that you sneaked out mostly every night to go to him.

No one can know how you still feel about him.

No one can see.

It had to be a secret.

When you’re not alone, you just have to act like your just neighbours, what you now just are.

It’s still not easy. It’s hard.

But now that the fear of having to end everything came true… it keeps you from doing it.

Now it’s just a fantasy that maybe someday, you can let everybody see.

See that you love him.

But that’s all just in your head. You love him, you really do, but… it’s more than complicated.

You know that he doesn’t really feel the same way about you do.

But there’s one thing you really know.

You’re in love with Joel Miller.

Yes, the Joel Miller who’s nearly twenty years older than you.

The Joel Miller who’s you’re neighbour and has known you since you’re a teenager.

The Joel Miller you’ve watched doing work in his garden.

The Joel Miller with these beautiful eyes and strong arms.

The Joel Miller who’s unfortunately your dad’s best friend.

And… The Joel Miller who broke your heart in thousand pieces.

You sit in front your birthday cake. Your dad nearly invited the whole neighborhood and now everyone waits for you to blow out your candles. You know Joel’s here too and you feel his eyes on you. That’s when the sharp pain kicks in again.

You look up from your cake and see him leaned against the doorframe of the living room.

‘You’ll regret it, Joel’, you think to yourself.

Then you look on your candles again and blow them out.

“Happy fucking birthday to me”

404 notes · View notes

almostfoxglove · 5 months ago

Text

I'LL CARRY IT

written for my angst challenge

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Javier x f!Reader

Word Count: 5.9k

you can read on ao3 too, if you like!

SUMMARY: Your childhood best friend returns to Laredo a celebrated hero. When he shows up at your bar shackled by grief, you drag him home for the night. CW: Heavy alcohol consumption and brief reference to the death of a parent. A fair bit of yearning.

Takes place somewhere in S3E1 after the wedding but before Javier returns to Colombia.

part II | series masterlist | masterlist

12:00 A.M.

At first you mistake it for a good thing. Last shift before your weekend, two hours to go, and the long-gone local hero back in his hometown smoking a cigarette at your bar. Your break over, you slink from the backroom into the riotous din of The Last Man Standing—one of Laredo’s many dives—to reclaim your post behind the bar. Place is a hellhole as often as it is crowded and tonight’s no different, and yet you’re halfway to a smirk. Pleased to see an old friend.

He hasn’t looked up, hasn’t seen you yet, so you busy yourself with the guy who flags you down to order the second he spots you. Fine by you, the guy tips well the later it gets and it’s already after midnight, and regardless, you don’t mind having an excuse to observe The Javier Peña, DEA agent extraordinaire, at a distance. Top button undone, cigarette vanishing in his hand, eyes glued to the ring-stained bartop as smoke shivers out between his lips. Quite the celebrity now. Been home three weeks if the rumors are true but you’ve yet to see him. You figured he’d call, but he didn’t—not that you’re surprised.

Eight years feels like nothing now. Maybe he’s a hero to everyone else, but to you Javier looks exactly the same as he has his whole life—all that’s changed is the depth of his misery. How he doesn’t look up for anything or anyone, except to shrug off the occasional shoulder clap from some drunk stranger.

When you’ve served the guy his drink and collected your tip—30%, thank you sir—you shake the nerves loose from your shoulders and slide up, glass in hand.

“Well shit,” you say when you’re in front of him, and Javier slowly lifts his eyes. You smile, all rogue. No shake to your voice at all as you pour a whiskey blind. “This the part when I ask for an autograph?”

Javier’s dark brow dips in the middle and you might as well be twenty-eight again. Twenty-one. Eighteen. Eleven. All the ages you’ve been with him in all the years you’ve known him. Because this, right here—that little furrow that looks like a frown if you’re not looking close enough—is exactly how he’s always been. How he’s always looked at you after time spent away.

Sure, there’s never been this much away . This much radio silence. The kind of parting that comes with getting older, getting further—something you once would’ve sworn only happens to everyone else. You’ve made your peace with it. Wished him well from the wrong side of the hemisphere. You’ve had lives of your own.

Seems he can still cut a tiny hole in your chest when he withholds a smile.

Javier spears smoke from the corner of his mouth as you slip his empty glass behind the bar and replace it with the fresh pour, watching as he nods in a tired, humorless way. “Not signing shit for you,” he gruffs, and snubs his filter into the crystal ashtray beside his glass.

One-two-three-four-five others sit beside it, ashed in their grave.

So he feels about as bad as he looks.

“Awful snappy for a man hoggin’ a barstool,” you reply.

The corner of his mouth flinches but doesn’t pull. He picks up his glass, eyes sagging away from you. “Nice to see you too,” Javier concedes.

1:00 A.M.

Friday means it’s crazy, means the rest of your shift slingshots by, and most of the night someone else is working Javier’s side of the bar so you lose track of his drinks. The windows of the bar have fogged, giving the world beyond a kind of eerie glow.

You do your best to watch him, holding in your stomach a knot of newborn worry, but there’s always someone shouting for another drink. Now and then you catch some guy in a cap lumbering up to him to boast loudly of his pride, and though it’s microscopic—invisible maybe to everyone else—you see the way Javier shrinks in on himself. Folds.

The smoking, too, goes on. You sweep past him on your way to a booth in the corner, tray of shots balanced in hand, and accidentally inhale a sour cloud as he blows it out. You try to stifle your cough as you reach the table, doling out the silver glasses slick with tequila. On your way back to the bar, Javier catches your eye and snuffs the spent cigarette with an apologetic look. Pendant lights sway in his eyes like fireflies. You shake your head like he’s being silly, squeeze his shoulder briefly as you pass, and the roar of his body beneath your palm blazes like a campfire. The kind of heat that blackens everything to char.

You think he’s had four drinks, maybe five, but not for sure.

2:00 A.M.

Only the drunks remain to kick out into the bog of late-summer, all that humidity that ruins your hair. You like most of ‘em. Most swagger out with a slurred night, sweetheart as you usher them safely into their cabs. Then all that’s left is your childhood sweetheart slumped over at the bar. Dated for two weeks in sixth grade—broke up over god knows what, probably him stealing your favorite gel pens—and were inseparable ever after. The second that kid sloped into your classroom, all gangly limbs attached loose as rubber bands and dark curls drifting vagrantly into his eyes, you just knew. Didn’t know how, didn’t know why—but you knew that boy would be home, and he was for years.

Look at him now. Passed out drunk, lips parted, cheek squished flat beside his empty glass. His cigarette flares from his limp hand beside his face. You shoo off your coworker with a friendly gnight before slipping the cigarette from Javier’s fingers to crush in the crystal tray with its brothers.

You go about cleaning up around him. He doesn’t wake for anything—not even when you have to count all the coins in the till for the night—which also, is new. Javier’s always slept like shit, even when you were kids and there wasn’t much to sweat over. Woke up if someone in the other room dared to breathe too deeply.

Guess a bathtub’s worth of whiskey will take anybody out.

When it’s time to go, you slip your hand up his spine to rest between his shoulder blades. “Alright, cariño,” you say softly. “Time to go home.”

Javier stirs, but only barely. A grunt, a shallow breath, a flutter in his lashes. You pat his back firmly, not harshly, but enough that he sniffs and grunts again, awake.

“Blue’s still up there,” he mumbles with his eyes closed.

Grinning, you lift your face to the ceiling fan overhead—one of two dozen in this place, none of which run and all of which droop with a rainbow of bras tossed into the rafters. Above you now sways the strap of a pale blue bra mildewed with dust. Would’ve been your twenty-first when you shot that up there, and it’s never fallen.

“I’m a decent shot,” you say.

Now he grins, just half his lips, but a real one all the same. “I remember.”

“Course you do, I was better than you.”

At your teasing, the grin snaps clean off his face and his real frown replaces it. “No’anymorre,” he slurs.

Your heart plummets. You can see, now, the bruised darkness beneath his closed eyes as you rub a small circle in the middle of his back. If you were already home you’d pull him into your arms, but he can’t rot on this stool all night. In your silence, Javier cracks one eye at you. “Can’t drive,” he groans.

“No shit,” you say, forcing a soft grin, and he mumbles some gibberish that sounds like it’s supposed to be Spanish. “Come on, work with me here.”

His eye shuts again as he grimaces, face still smushed against the bartop. His hair’s a mess so you comb it back, but the fucker still won’t budge. Rolling your eyes, you lift his arm and drape it over your shoulders to help him off the stool, his body warm and pliant. More solid than you remember him being before. Layers of slender muscle built up like the rings of a tree.

When he rises, gravity lurches and you stagger under his weight, catching yourself against the bar.

“Careful now,” you warn him playfully.

Javier turns his face towards yours, close enough in this awkward position that his nose presses against your cheek. He reeks of smoke and shitty whiskey. A little of sweat. You’d mock him for it if he were anywhere within a hundred miles of sober, but he’s a lost cause for now. Your arm fits snug around his waist. To his credit, he makes an effort to stay on his feet. Turns his head down to watch his boots as you walk him outside like he’s focusing intently on putting one foot in front of the other. You pinch his side and he hmphs at you.

“Could’a just called, you know,” you say as you walk him to your car. The street is all empty parking spots and shuddered windows and packs of thirsty mosquitos, cicada song chirping densely in the air. Your car sleeps down the block alone, black as the sky and in need of a wash, green-strung beads hanging in a loop from the rearview mirror inside.

“Wanted t’ seeyou,” Javier says.

You nudge your head against his cheek gently. “I missed you too,” you say.

As you drive, streetlamps stripe past the windows. Brick buildings sit squat and lightless, bodegas shackled for the night, and a wilful trash bag balloons with a passing breeze, blowing across the road with a quiet, swimming grace. In the passenger seat, Javier slumps against the door, temple pressed to the half-open window. You think he’s asleep until he licks his bottom lip.

“Saw Lorraine,” he mumbles, those dark eyes closed away, like he can hardly keep himself awake.

You turn back to watch the empty road. Stop at the stop signs just for show. No one’s out here but you at this hour—Laredo is a ghost town.

“Heard Danny was gettin’ married,” you reply.

Javier exhales profoundly: slow, labored, loud. He’s always been a pouty drunk, but this is something else. “You weren’t there,” he says.

“Had to work.”

“Liar.”

You roll your eyes even though he isn’t looking at you to see. He’ll feel it. Always does. Drumming your fingertips against the steering wheel, you fight back a smirk. “Fucked one of the groomsmen last year,” you admit. “Didn’t feel like havin’ a reunion.”

When you glance at him again, Javier has opened his eyes a sliver to smirk at you, the corner of his mouth pulled into his dimpled cheek. “Julien?”

You frown at the road. “Mateo.”

“Shit,” mumbles Javier, still smirking.

“Somethin’ like that,” you agree.

At the next red light his eyes are closed again and despite the fact that he’s, what, thirty six now? Javier looks like a child to you. Spine hunched, torso sunken. Shoulders broader than ever but curled in on themselves, like if he only had the room he’d be small as a seed. Fetal and miserable. A thousand years older on the inside than anyone should ever have to be.

“Starin’ a’me,” he scolds, his words slumping into each other.

You huff quietly, caught. “Shut up,” you say. “Just remindin’ myself what you look like. Think you got uglier.”

He growls darkly, unamused.

As you turn at the next light, the green-beaded rosary sways from the rearview mirror. If he had his eyes open Javier would recognize it. His mother’s—passed to you before she died. You aren’t one for praying but you’ll die with it in your hands, you think. That’s the kind of person she was to you. Eternal.

Beside you, Javier mutters something unintelligible, his breath fogging the window.

“Hm?”

“Seein’ anyone yet?” he repeats, and shifts to loll his head back against the seatrest.

You gasp softly, feigning offense. “Yet? Ouch, baby,” you tease.

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he grumbles.

“I know,” you say, as you turn into the suburbs. Quiet starter homes lurk in the dark, kids’ bicycles lying like skeletons in their yellowing lawns. “I’m being mean.”

“I like y’mean,” Javier replies, and finally opens his eyes as if he can sense you’re getting close to home, even though he’s never seen this place. He stares through the windshield glazed and distant, and you try not to stare like you’re concerned. He looks destroyed, you think. Obliterated. Sure, you’ve kept up with the news. Devoured everything you could about the quest to tackle Escobar, terrified Javier’s name would appear in the black ink that stained your fingers, reporting he was dead. That he’d be another casualty, and you’d not have said goodbye.

You know you’ve got no clue what really happened down there. That you never will. But you can see it choking him, hanging from his neck like a noose that’s just biding its time before it pulls.

“Nah, it’s just me,” you say, dragging your eyes off him again. “Think the two weeks we dated was about the closest I ever came to love.”

You’re joking, all foxish grin, but Javier doesn’t laugh. He just stares into the middle distance looking like a ghost. “Sixteen,” he mumbles.

“What?” you say.

He sighs. “Was sixteen days,” he annunciates, and your heart sputters.

Then his face folds in on itself suddenly; he pales, then greens. “Gonna b’sick,” he says.

3:00 A.M.

“Christ, you got heavy,” you groan, hobbling slanted up your porch steps. Though more alert, Javier is no less useless in walking, and though he mumbles shame-riddled sorrys he can’t much help you here. You hold him tightly to you, fingers pinching into his hip as he leans, hot as a furnace against your side in the worst of summer. You don’t care.

It doesn’t matter that it’s been eight years. It could be forty, and if Javier showed up on your doorstep ready to fall, your response would only ever be give it to me. I’ll carry it.

He grunts as you prop him against the side of your house to fish out your keys. “All muscle,” he teases, voice deep and coarse.

“Glad you haven’t shed your ego,” you snark.

You give the door a shove as the lock turns. Javier tips his face up to look at the sliver of moon left out to wink from the sky as if he’s saying a prayer. He reeks of sick—his shirt stained in one spot on his chest where he failed to aim away from himself—and while he stares up at the dark rash of night you work open the buttons of his shirt to take it off. Despite puking in your car, he’s still too lost to the world to notice your hands until you’re halfway down. Maybe in another life you’d be staring at his chest as you uncover it. The broad slopes of muscle, his stomach, the dark path of hair trailing towards his jeans. But in this life, you aren’t that to each other. You don’t get to be.

“Cariño,” Javier says, and one of his hands covers yours as you pinch the last button. Looking down at you now, concerned through hazy eyes. Summer hangs wetly in the air; his curls lay damp against his skin, licking his temples, the nape of his neck.

You shrug his hand off yours, offering a small grin. “Gotta get this in the wash, Javi,” you tell him. “Not allowed to get in my bed smelling like puke.”

Cicadas sing from their trees. Your house, small as it may be, is a welcoming place. All red bricks and white shutters. The swing on the porch sways behind Javier, giving the occasional squeak. You shuck his button-up off his shoulders and ball it in your hands before catching his eye. “Can I trust you to stay upright while I put this in the wash?” you ask, one eyebrow arched.

He scowls, all pouty bottom lip—trying to make you laugh, even now. You huff as if exhausted, sarcastic and a little pleased. He’s in there, the person you’ve loved. Somewhere buried.

When the laundry is running you find him on your porch swing, horizontal. One bare arm dangling off the seat, his eyes closed again. Skin that’s usually golden washed silver by moonlight. In this heat there’s no reason for you to cover him but still you feel the nagging urge. Even with you here with him, you hate the thought of anyone coming out onto their porches or lawns to see him like this—out of control. You rouse him just enough to lift his head so you can sit at the end of the swing, then lay his head in your lap. He hums. A low, gravelly sound of pleasure. Glad to feel you beneath him in this small way.

“M’sorry, baby,” Javier murmurs groggily, nuzzling his cheek against your leg as you stroke the hair away from his face again. He’s flushed, damp and sweaty, and even with the shirt gone could use a shower but you’d never say so. At this point, you’ve seen him in every state—sunny and terrible and everything in between—and don’t fear any of them. Don’t hate any of them. Never could, because all of them are him, so how could you.

“Cleaned up your puke before,” you reply. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen.”

He sighs, and with no small effort rolls himself onto his back with a grunt—the swing sways with the movement, rocking you both. Then once more, this time to his other side to face you. You chuckle softly as he settles, one of his arms reaching behind you to wrap around your hips, and for a while you drift back and forth with the porch light off and the moon’s claw cutting through the dark.

It’d be something close to heaven if it weren’t for his pain.

“Wanted to call you,” Javier sighs, after a long while of cricketing quiet. “After—”

Nothing.

You wait.

The rest of whatever he was going to say dissolves, never follows. Never becomes something for you to hold, to know, to carry. He keeps all the weight.

“Could’ve,” you say, hand in his hair again, how he always used to like. Even when you were kids he always wanted to be touched. His head in your lap, your hand in his hair to scare off his bad dreams. You could never tell a soul without destroying him—and you never wanted to. The way you were for each other was just that: for each other. Everyone knew you were close, inseparable at school. But the depth of that bond was a secret no one had to know. How his body needed to be close to yours to settle, to breathe, sometimes to sleep.

Javier’s nose scrunches as he fights off some stabbing thought. You stroke your thumb across his temple, trying to get him to look at you, but he won’t.

“Tell me,” you whisper.

Two words you never say. A question you never ask. He’s so far past drunk he’s practically a child—maybe it’s wrong to ask him like this—but you’d do anything to relieve even one ounce of this suffering.

Eventually, he exhales deeply, breath warm against your hip. Behind you, you feel his hand stroke your back, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “Thought you’d hate me,” he mumbles.

Your heart splinters. Every cell in your body wants to pull him against you, pull him into you, swallow the ache. “Should know better than that by now,” you say.

The shoulder he isn’t laying on bobs with what must be a shrug. “Been a while.”

“Been a long time,” you agree. Not angry, not bitter, not blaming—it’s been a long time. It’s nothing to you now but a fact. Seeing him again has erased the nag of your neglected longing.

With a gruff, Javier’s arm tightens around your back and he pulls himself closer, his forehead nuzzling your hip bone. “Feels like a’undred years,” he says, his voice hoarse and broken.

There isn’t anything you can do but card your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with featherlight nails. You let your head fall back against the brick of your house. Exhausted, but you won’t sleep. You’ll stay awake with him all night if he needs it, if he asks you. Even if he doesn’t.

4:00 A.M.

“No more water,” he begs. “Please.”

In your kitchen, just the stove light on, he’s sobering. Not sober —but he can stand up on his own. Leaning back against your counter, both hands outstretched to rest upon the laminate. Cool light splits his face in half—one bright and weary, one lost to shadow. You roll your eyes and hold one hand out to accept his water glass which he passes you with a grateful sigh.

You listen to the harsh rush of water draining into the kitchen sink—a stark disruption to the eerie quiet of the middle of the night in which it feels like you and Javier are the only people left on earth.

Behind you, Javier groans, watching the glass fill again.

“It’s for the nightstand, baby,” you assure him as you pass it back.

He pouts at it, arms drooping at his sides. Trying again. Digging for your laugh. With expectant eyes you pick up his hand and cup it around the glass, and when you let go and he doesn’t drop it you let a smile creep slowly across your face. Satisfied, he straightens a little, swaying slightly, and nods. He looks down at the floor, his bare feet, and his face blues. Darkens like he’s remembering.

You lay the palm of your hand over the center of his chest and beneath it Javier’s heart throbs steadily. His lungs expand. His blood moves. Alive—whether he feels it or not—and a comfort to you.

Though you’ve lived in this house only three years and Javier’s never once seen or stepped foot in it, he trails through the narrow halls to your bedroom like he knows it well. Sloppy footsteps, yes, and always with you behind him braced to catch any sudden fall, but he makes it in the end. Water sloshes over the lip of his glass as he sets it down. Then—still in his jeans, which hug his thighs so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t try to peel them off—he crawls into your bed, on top of the duvet. In the doorway you pause to watch him and get a vision of another life in which he does this every night, at ease in your home because it’s his home too.

It is a terrible thought, weak and troubling. It’ll burrow if you let it, so you kick it away. While you strip free of your work clothes, you watch him in the small mirror above your dresser; his head flops into your pillows, cheek smushed, eyes sliding closed. Those dark lashes, those parted lips. Always exactly the same. He doesn’t even glance in your direction—he doesn’t need to peek at your body. He’s seen you before. You him.

“Was Mateo worse than me,” he asks from the bed, like he’s read your mind. No surprise. For years, you would’ve sworn he could.

You blush, though he’s not looking. “Javi,” you say softly.

“Sorry,” he sighs.

In a t-shirt, you pad around the other side of the bed to crawl over the covers and curl onto your side to face him, one hand beneath your cheek. “Sex in college is supposed to be bad,” you tell him, grinning.

His brows pinch together, bracketing his forehead. “Shouldn’t've been with you,” he mumbles.

Yes, he’s how you remember. Ever chasing some rabbit hole to plummet down to avoid the cavern to which he’ll give no name. He’s got one hand buried under his pillow—how easy it is to think of your things as his—and the other lies between you, limp. You take it in your own, pull it to your lips, and press them to his knuckles. “We were kids,” you say, sure to smile against the back of his hand so he’ll feel it.

He huffs. “Drunk.”

“That too.”

“Better now, I swear.”

You laugh. Can’t help it. Silver light from the moon puddles over you, illuminating half his face, the curve of his shoulder, the slope of his arm. Even miserable, probably in a blackout, one foot hanging sadly off the edge of the mattress, Javier is someone who draws laughter out of you with ease, same as when you were kids. You kiss the back of his hand again, still grinning, and watch the frown dissolve from his face. He’s always been beautiful in a way that never seemed fair, but you think it might be getting worse with age. No one should look so good in this state, but there he is.

“Sure hope so, baby,” you tease.

Now he cracks one dark eye to squint at you, the corner of his mouth loosening, curling into his cheek. Then there’s that dimple. Your heart patters. You’ve missed him. “Could show you,” Javier smirks.

You roll your eyes. “You aren’t showin’ me shit right now.”

His bottom pink pops again, pouting as he broods, yanking another chuckle from you while he murmurs something you miss. Something that ends with good though.

“Hm?” you say.

“You smell good though,” Javier murmurs, and though soft you hear it this time. That almost whine.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, and like magic, he laughs. Smile lines crinkle beside his eyes, nose scrunching. Beautiful. It is, you think, the best of him—how he looks when he actually laughs. It takes over his face.

As you both settle, he scooches closer on the bed, squeaking the mattress. You feel the warm plume of his breath whisper over your face as he sighs. He has, it seems, only a match of levity at a time. It sparkles, flares, and smokes out too quickly.

It isn’t a frown that replaces it, but despair. “Gonna feel like shit tomorrow,” he mutters, no louder than a whisper. No need to speak any louder when you’re lying this close. Your lips press to his knuckles again and this time he squeezes your hand, the muscles in his forearm briefly tensing. Freckles dot his bicep like stars.

“You feel like shit right now,” you whisper in reply.

Javier nods, face folding like he wants to cry. But he almost never does, not even in front of you.

5:00 A.M.

You drift into brief tides of sleep with the warmth of him around you, his face in the crook of your neck. For most of your life, you’ve chalked up the ease with which you touch each other to an echo of your childhoods—a time in which touch is given often and without judgment. There has never been hesitation between you, not in this way. Even now, eight years since the last time you saw him, Javier slots against you in a way that just feels right—new, broader shoulders and all.

His slow, deep breaths warm your neck, your collarbone. You couldn’t wiggle out of his arms if you tried, and though it’s warm even with the window open, even with both of you on top of the covers, you don’t want to. Eight years is a long time to go without this.

When he stirs with a tortured groan, you nudge your lips against his forehead. “S’okay,” you mumble, and the whine that snakes out of him rattles your chest and slices clean through your heart. Wrapping a hand around the back of his head, fingers threading through curls, you pull him closer, and his arms tighten around your waist.

Maybe it should feel wrong when Javier nuzzles into your neck to kiss you softly beneath the jaw, but it doesn’t.

“Baby—” he croaks, and you hush him, petting his hair.

You don’t want him to say it. You never say it. If he says it now, it’ll ruin you.

“I know, Javi,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes closed so tight you see a rain of stars. “I know.”

“Y’ never let me say it,” he mumbles against your throat, his breath fogging your skin.

“You don’t need to,” you say.

“Wanted to, you know,” he replies, his voice so gentle you feel it pass from his chest to yours in a shallow tremor.

You chuckle softly from the darkness behind your eyes, like opening them will break the spell. “Oh yeah? When?”

He shrugs, his body loose and boneless. The heat of him is making you sweat.

“The whole time,” Javier mumbles, and you wish suddenly that he weren’t so close because he must hear the sudden racing of your heart. “Pensé que me casaría contigo.”

If he didn’t hear its racing, you think, there’s no way he misses when it stops. Your Spanish is mediocre at best but you catch fragments, piece it together. I thought I’d marry you.

Your forehead wrinkles as a sudden urge to cry slams into you, shattering your bones. At least you manage to pat his back teasingly, feigning coolness, steadiness. Pretending he hasn’t toppled you.

“Think you’re confusing me and Lorraine, cariño,” you tease quietly, hopeful that the wetness in your eyes doesn’t taint your voice.

Silence stretches like an elastic threatening a snap, a sting, a burn. But Javier exhales in a way that feels like he’s asleep again, like all of this is just nonsense cooked up in some drunken dream. Soon sleep is dragging at you sweetly, loosening your limbs again. You grow heavy, face slack, your limbs indistinguishable from his. When he whispers again you hardly hear it and the words don’t stick. You’ll forget them when you next wake for real. But he says them all the same.

“Not confusin’ you with anybody.”

Then you’re gone, sucked away. Asleep.

6:00 A.M.

The yellow morning leaks through your bedroom. You wake to a glint in your eyes: sunlight reflecting off a picture frame on your dresser. You and Javier twenty years ago dressed for junior prom, hidden now by the blinding. Squinting, you groan a soft mph sound as you wake, desperate to bury yourself in sleep again.

In your brief slumber the two of you have remained braided—two strands of clinging ivy. Against you, Javier groans, humming tiredly against your throat, and you feel his hand slip up the hem of your shirt again, his palm flat over your spine.

Half asleep, you let him.

Half asleep, you let yourself remember.

You’re twenty five again. Just a few years out of college, both of you home for the summer. Out in the long grass in Chucho’s yard, you stretch yourselves out to sunbathe in the Texas summer, watching bumblebees laze drowsily between blooming thistles. Beside you, Javier lies on his back with both hands cradled beneath his head while you read, those yellow aviators over his eyes.

“Could get a place together,” he says. So casual, so simply.

Looking up from your book, you see the pink collar of sunburn around his neck and grin to yourself. “We’d get sick of each other,” you lie.

Javier only shrugs, unaware, you think, that you spent all of college in love with him. In freshman year, you’d stumbled home together after a party and he’d kissed you against your front door, waking you from what you realized then had been a lifetime of slumber. You’d never considered kissing him before, but all of a sudden it was obvious. You thought this is what your lips should have been doing all this time.

But it never happened again. The sex was awkward, clumsy—you’d only done it once before—and you told yourself that’s why he never tried again. You never tried either. Now it’s a joke you tell each other, trying to make the other person blush.

The thought of sharing an apartment with him sends a river of panic through your veins. It would kill you to watch him bring Lorraine home. To hear him fuck someone else through the wall. It's bad enough watching her starry eyes whenever he walks into a room. Bad enough watching him kiss her, hands pressed to the small of her back.

“If you say so,” he says, looking not one bit disappointed.

Half asleep, you let yourself dream you said yes.

7:00 A.M.

You don’t know who leans in—if you tilt your head down or if Javier tilts his up, if it starts in your sleep—only that when you next stir the morning is darkening to gold and orange. Panels of windowed sunlight crawl slowly across your legs, and you are kissing.

Javier’s lips melt against yours. It’s nothing like when you were kids. Eighteen and nervous wrecks, your teeth always getting in the way.

It’s different now. You know how to kiss each other like you’ve had the practice, like it hasn’t been almost two decades since last you tried. Pliant and sleepy, his tongue licking gently into your mouth. His mustache scratches sweetly against your skin. When a breathy sound whimpers from you, he cups your jaw, his other arm locking snug around your waist. There’s no rush to it, no progression. You don’t strip down and fuck—both of you content with only this: the soft murmurs you breathe into each other. The lifetime of wanting in every kiss.

Because you have wanted him, you realize. Not just in college, but before then and every day since. Maybe from the first day he walked into your sixth grade class and felt like home. Even these last eight years when you’d accepted that he was gone from your life for good, your friendship having reached the end of its life, you wanted him.

He grunts when you nibble gently at his bottom lip, and you smile. Then he moans. And it’s perfect, somehow, like he’s dug around in the cabinets of your mind to know exactly how you want to be kissed. Deeply, patiently. All tongue and breath and yielding lips, your hands in his hair, the fire of him enveloping you.

You say nothing; you talk with your touch.

He stripes his tongue along your bottom lip: I’m sorry.

You tug at his curls: I’m sorry.

He kisses the corners of your mouth: I’m sorry.

You lick the hinge of his jaw: I’m sorry.

His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek: I’m sorry. I’m falling asleep.

You tilt your head to better taste him: I don’t want to fall asleep.

But you do. The tide drags you out, your body molten, exhausted, hypnotized. Your lips still touching as you fall into a dream.

8:00 A.M.

When next you open your eyes, you’ve rolled towards the window and the weight and warmth of his arms is gone. You don’t bother turning over. Don’t bother reaching for him.

You know the bed will be empty on his side, cold.

335 notes · View notes

owliellder · 1 year ago

Text

All Pent Up

MDNI 18+

Puppy Hybrid! Leon Kennedy x afab! Reader

Word count: 3.85k

Warnings: Porn w/ plot, unprotected p in v (stay safe), no use of y/n, spanking, crying, slight ass-play.

Description: After a long night at work, you come home to a very pent up Leon. A trip to the park to help with that energy turns a little sour.

Tags: Submissive! Leon, neck biting/marking, begging, cunnilingus, knotting, mommy kink, fluff, near illegal amounts of praise AND aftercare, a lovely creampie to end the morning

Not proofread. I am once again sat here bored at work. More self indulgence since I work the same kind of job aforementioned in this lmao.

Also VERY much inspired by @abp0rns art of puppy Leon, specifically the two I put below the crop. Please check out their art they gotta be one of my favorite doodlers out there.

Edit: cross posted onto Ao3 if it's easier for you to read there (cause it is for me)

It had been an incredibly boring night at work for you. Working graveyard at a gatehouse meant you did practically nothing. Easy money, sure, but you can only watch so many movies and doodle so much before it becomes redundant.

The only thing keeping you going was making sure your puppy, Leon, stayed happy and comfortable. You'd found him at the shelter a few months back, and though you never considered yourself to be a hybrid kinda person, Leon was just too damn cute at that shelter.

After adopting the hybrid, you quickly fell into a nice afterwork routine; come home, get jumped by Leon, make breakfast while he asked a plethora of questions about your night and made sure you knew just how much he missed you by licking and slobbering all over you. He was the sweetest boy, but man was he excitable.

Some mornings, you'd come home a bit more awake than others. It was random and you're not sure what made that so, but today was apparently one of those days.

"-sosososo glad you're home, mommy! I've been so lonely and bored without you!" Leon happily talked on after you'd walked through the door, his golden fur covered tail thumping loudly against the back of the couch. You remained quiet as you let him ramble, reaching up to pet through his messy bedhead with a smile. "I chewed on my toys, broke one of the squeakers though, but you've gotten me plenty of other toys for me to play with!! I really like this fluffy red pig you got me-!"

He continued to talk loudly about everything he did after you left for work only 8 hours prior, running around to grab and show you his chewed up toy and his favorite toy, tail continuing to wag avidly all the while.

"Alright, alright.. settle down, Leon.." You spoke up, cutting off his talk about laying in your bed so you could take a moment to shed your work clothes in favor of some more comfortable lounge wear; an old, faded graphic tee and a pair of soft sweatpants.

The hybrid followed you throughout the apartment while continuing to ramble, albeit a lot quieter now. Clearly Leon had a lot of energy this morning, which wasn't unusual by any means, but since you weren't all that tired this morning you decided that a trip to the dog park would be a good way for him to get some much needed exercise and enrichment.

After making breakfast, you dressed your puppy in a cozy outfit since it was always little chilly in the mornings where you lived, damn cold desert. You only had to reach for the leash for him to start jumping and yapping enthusiastically, making it rather difficult to hook it onto his collar.

You decided to stay in your comfy clothes, seeing as it would keep you warm enough until the sun warmed the air outside.

"Do you think Chris will be there?! Can you text his owner?? Who else is gonna be there?! I can smell the park from here!-" Leon rambled excitedly as he tugged you along to the park, smelling every bush and tree the two of you passed thoroughly. His tail never stopped wagging, those soft floppy ears perked forwards as he moved his head every which way, focusing in on every movement and sound while beelining to the park. He knew the way there, the leash was just to make sure you didn't get lost.

The air was cool the, sun beginning to warm you up. It was starting to bring out your exhaustion, but you wanted Leon to get at least half an hour of playtime in so he wouldn't bug you while you slept later. The thought alone made it easy for you to power through that brain fog that threatened to settle in.

You and Leon walked across the street once the tall chainlink fence that bordered the dog park was in view, the Golden Retriever hybrid practically dragging you to the other side of the street as his excitement grew. There were always other hybrids out early in the morning, the cool mornings were nicer for walks compared to the hot afternoons, at least in your opinion.

Leon was rubbing himself along the side of the fence, sniffing with a large goofy smile on his face. He had playmates that were normally here around this time, namely Chris, a German Shepard hybrid. Though Chris was a little bigger than Leon, they always played nicely, never having gotten into any sort of scuffle.

Chris was quick to notice Leon, running up to the fence so he could sniff him. They rapidly got each other riled up, so the moment you made it to the gate you unhooked the leash from Leon's collar. This wasn't so he didn't get choked out when he launched into the park, no, it was because the last time you forgot to unhook his leash first, you were yanked face first into soggy grass and mud.

The second you unlatched the gate, Leon pushed it open. He sprinted into the grassy park, Chris not far behind before tackling the smaller hybrid with a playful growl. The two roughhoused, chased each other, and played tug-of-war with a stick Chris had found.

You decided to sit on a bench not too far from where the boys played, looking up from your phone every minute or so to make sure their play didn't turn ugly.

Only 30 minutes had gone by before- "Mommy! Mommy!" Leon shouted from across the park, prompting you to look up from your phone. It only took a moment for your eyes to nearly bulge out of your head when you spotted a now brown Leon. His tail wagged, slapping loudly against the thick puddle of mud he was laying sideways in. "Looklooklook! Chris and I found a ball!" he yelled with a grin, Chris holding up the muddy ball high in the air so you could see it.

You sat there dumbfounded for a brief moment before letting your head fall back, breathing in and letting out a deep sigh as your eyes closed. You tilted your head forwards again, letting your eyes open slowly as your annoyance showed clear on your face.

Your puppy could see your expression change even from where he was, his ears drooping more than they were as the mud had weighed them down a bit. Seems like playtime was over.

Chris' owner wasn't all that happy either, walking over to the filthy hybrids only a few seconds sooner than you did. You pulled Leon from the mud by the collar since he seemed a bit stuck, glaring weakly at the now cowering puppy.

"Leon is always getting Chris into some sort of mess." Chris' owner huffed out, clearly irritated with the situation. You frowned, running your free hand over your face with a soft sigh. "I'm sorry, Leon just seems to really like the mud lately. I can't help that Chris follows, but I'll try to keep Leon from the mud." You didn't really care for someone implying your Golden Retriever puppy was a bad dog, but the idea of confrontation mixed with your ever-growing exhaustion was enough to have you just let it go.

After apologizing again, you let Leon shake off the excess mud from his body before hooking the leash to his collar once more, beginning to pull him towards the gate. He was very resistant to leaving, whining and whimpering something fierce. "I'm sorry! ImsorryImsorry! Please I'll be good! Let me stay a little longer mommy! Please I'm sorry! Mommy!"

As pitiful as he sounded, you now had to squeeze a thorough bath in for the hybrid before you were even able to think about sleeping. You continued to drag him along as he fought against you, crying out softly as you finally got him through the gate, closing it before he could run back through.

Your exhaustion was making you irritable, and having to fight to get Leon back home was enough to make you angry. It got even worse when he growled at you.

You stopped walking, the entrance to your apartment building only a few feet away. Turning around to face him, he immediately shrunk down at your furious glare. "Bad boy, Leon." Your voice was harsh, yet also so calm, it scared him. He hated being a bad boy, he never wanted to hear those words together again.

After you started walking again, he followed obediently, staying silent all the way into your apartment. He stood stiffly by the front door once you closed it, watching you stomp away. The puppy was on the verge of tears, his muddy tail tucked between his legs and his ears flat against his head.

Leon's bottom lip trembled the longer he couldn't see you, his ears twitching a bit as he picked up on the sound of the bath faucet turning on. His hands were clasped in front of his legs, head down in shame.

"Leon!" You called out from the bathroom, your tone still laced with irritation, he could definitely tell that much. The hybrid quickly shuffled to the bathroom, trying his best not to get clumps of dried up mud on the carpet along the way.

Leon stood in the bathroom doorway before you gently dragged him in, making silent work of his clothes that were absolutely caked in mud. He knew what to do afterwards, quietly seating himself in the bath, shoulders slumped. The bath was silent except for Leon's weak attempts to apologize, his voice faltering every time once he looked at your face. Your eyebrows were furrowed and you just looked so disinterested.

After the bath, you shooed the puppy off with a towel draped over his shoulders, lazily washing off his collar in the dirty bath water before unplugging the tub.

Leon sat in the living room, drying himself off as best as he could with the towel. Even after, he shook himself off on instinct, the towel left discarded on the floor. He had sat himself on the couch, still slouched with a strong pout on his face.

He knew he was in trouble. His stomach sank when you walked out and stood in front of him with that same irritated look. You then walked and sat next to him on the left. "Lay across my lap, Leon."

The Golden Retriever hybrid whimpered, though he did as he was told, laying himself so his abdomen was laying on your lap, his tail still tucked between his legs. He yipped when you grabbed the base of his damp tail with your left hand, roughly untucking it so you could get a clear view of his ass. "Look at me, Leon."

He turned his head and tilted it back slightly so he could look up at you, his eyes sad and watery. He didn't have anything to say for himself. "You growled at me. You've never growled at me before." You sounded upset, and you were. You didn't want to punish your sweet boy, but him growling at you for something so insignificant deeply bothered you.

Sighing, you pulled his tail up away from his ass even further, grip tightening on it as you felt him try and tuck it back between his legs again. Wordlessly, you drew your other hand back, a sharp smack along with a cry from Leon ringing out in the quiet apartment. You hated having to do this, but he needed to learn.

A few harsh spanks later and the hybrid's ass was bright red and sore, tears spilling down his face as he sobbed out barely comprehensible apologizes in between loud cries every time you brought your hand down on his tender behind. His hands gripped the couch cushion tightly, those pitiful sobs of his tugging at your heart.

Once you feel Leon'd learned his lesson, you gently ran your hand along both his ass cheeks, soothing the hot and red skin while your other hand caressed the base of his tail. You waited until his crying quieted to talk to him again, listening to him sniffle wetly as you let go of his tail to wipe away his snot and tears.

"Okay, okay... there you go, sweet boy. All done. I'm all done..." you whispered to the whimpering puppy hybrid in your lap, shifting your body sideways so he could climb up and lay his head against your chest. You combed your fingers through his hair with one hand while the other stroked the side of his face, clearing the few stray tears that continued to fall.

Leon buried his face into your chest, hiccuping out muffled apologies as he brought his hands up to wrap around you. "I'm sorry mommy. So-.. sososo sorry... Didn't mean to, mommy..."

As he trembled against you, you couldn't help but feel terrible for punishing him that way. He'd never been bad before, the punishment really shouldn't have been so harsh..

You waited until he quieted to speak up again, tilting your head to the side slightly so you could see his face a little better. "...you took that so well, Leon. Such a good boy for mommy, huh?" Despite the suggestive undertone, you made sure to talk softly, careful not to upset the delicate puppy on your chest.

He lifted his head up slightly, nodding weakly as his eyes turned glassy once more. "Please.. I'll-I'll be a good boy for you m-mommy. I'm sorry- I'm so so sorry mommy- I didn't mean to growl- ImsorryImsorryIm-"

You shushed him, running your hand from the side of his face up through his hair as he began to cry again. "You're a good boy, Leon. I forgive you, baby.."

All Leon wanted to do was make this right. He never wanted to be a bad boy again. He hated the way you spoke to him, the way you had looked at him. It was so scary, he wasn't a bad boy, no, he wasn't.

His mind was flooded with everything he could possibly do to make it up to you, tears falling onto your shirt as he pulled himself up off of you. He crawled backwards and sat back on his haunches, giving you a wary look as he tucked his fingers under the waistband of your sweatpants.

"Oh, Leon, sweetheart, you don't have to-" "Please..." Leon's meek voice cut you off, making you pause for a moment before nodding with a smile. His hands trembled as he pulled your sweatpants down, taking your panties with them. The hybrid hiccuped again before bringing his head down between your thighs, putting your legs over his shoulders as he cautiously placed his hands onto the points of your hips

It only took a second before he shoved his face into your cunt, whimpering at your smell and taste as he licked between your folds. You gasped, feeling his tongue eagerly lap up your slick as it leaked out of you, his low whimpers vibrating deliciously against you. "Leon~... oh~.. easy, boy..."

You reached a hand down to gently stroke his hair, attempting to get the puppy hybrid to calm down a bit still. He was obviously so eager to please, though he was still shaken up by the punishment; tears falling from his eyes, quiet sobs muffled by your pussy, eyes closed, and cheeks flushed a beautiful pink. His tail had started to wag again and you were relieved to see it sway slowly. You just wanted to see your puppy happy and excitable again like he always was.

Leon continued to lap at your cunt, keeping himself firmly buried in it. His breathing was a bit shaky but you just let him do what he needed to do, reaching your hand to the right a bit so you could stroke one of his soft floppy ears. He sighed at the feeling, his tail wagging a little faster.

"That's a good boy, Leon~... god- such a good boy for his mommy.." You praised the hybrid as he worked his mouth on you, the praise causing him to whine into your cunt. His eyes peaked open, looking up at you as small tears fell from them. "Good boy~..." You ran your hand down to stroke your thumb between his eyes, prompting him to close them again with a sigh.

Your words encouraged him further, sucking at your clit when his tongue wasn't buried inside of you. The puppy hybrid licked all around, making sure none of your sweet slick was left to waste. He eased his grip on your hips, partially worried he would hurt you, but mostly cause he adored the way you writhed when you drew close to your orgasm. He relished in how you pulled his head impossibly closer, practically grinding against his face, using him. What a good boy he was.

Leon was in heaven when you came, whimpering into your cunt as you gushed against his face. He made sure to lick up everything he could, even dipping down to your ass for a minute, tongue flat against the puckered hole. He'd be mad if he saw the couch got some of your juices.

After a moment, he pulled his head away, resting the side of his slick covered face against your thigh as he looked up at you with those puppy-dog eyes that you just couldn't resist. You knew what he wanted, and who were you to deny him?

"My good boy wanna fuck his mommy? Show his mommy what a good boy he is?" You whispered, to which he eagerly nodded in response, his ears perking up. You could hear his tail thump lazily against the back cushion of the couch, all the while watching him lick his lips. "I-I'll be a good boy for mommy. I'm a good boy-..good boy for mommy.." he mumbled quietly, hoisting himself up onto his haunches again after carefully laying your legs down off his shoulders. His thick cock was leaking pre-cum, flushed red at the tip while his knot was fully swollen. It was hard to look away.

Leon continued to mumble to himself, almost like he was trying to convince himself that he was a good boy. His breathing was still shaky as he watched you flip over, your ass up in the air while you rested your elbows on the armrest of the couch.

The poor thing was practically drooling at the sight of you, frozen in place, just staring at your glistening pussy. Your voice snapped him out of his trance, a hushed "Pretty boy..." causing him to lurch forward and mount you without further hesitation.

You cried out as he shoved his cock into you halfway, stopping only to grab the skin right above your collarbone with his teeth. He made sure he was positioned properly, shifting slightly before pushing his throbbing dick all the way. He whined at the way your slick walls gripped him, his knot pressed firmly against the outside of your cunt.

Leon's teeth broke skin as he began to piston in and out of you. He was drooling, whimpering, moaning, and his tail was wagging so fast. He loved the way his mommy felt, gripping his so tightly, sucking his thick cock in.

His let go of your skin to lick at gently, which was a stark contrast to his fast and rough thrusts. "So sorry mommy- sososo sorry.. never growl at you again- ah~..! I-I'll be mommy's good-.. good boy.."

The hybrid panted next to your ear, reaching his hands up and under your loose shirt to grip and massage your breasts. His fingers pinched and tugged at your sensitive nipples, causing you to moan loudly. You could feel every bit of his cock as he slammed it into you over and over again, the tip kissing your cervix which made you hiss at the slight pain it caused.

"Gonna- hnghh~.. gonna fill mommy up.. gonna be mommy's best boy again..." Leon whined, tilting his head to the side so he could nip at your neck, kissing and licking under your jaw. He sucked numerous hickeys down your neck, making quick work of the other side as well. He wanted you to remember how good he was for you, how much he was willing to do to make things better, what a good boy he was for you.

It didn't take long for him to near his own orgasm, his chin resting over your shoulder as his hands had worked their way back to your hips. He was so close; the sounds of your moans, the sinful way your pussy squelched with slick as he fucked into you, your smell, the lingering taste of you on his tongue, everything was just so overwhelming.

The puppy hybrid didn't have the words to give you warning, only a long drawn out whine as his hips stuttered forward, knot stretching you open. You came again from the feeling, barely being able to clench around his knot. It was just so big.

With his cum pumping into you, you could only groan pleasantly at the feeling of being so full, his knot having basically plugged you to the point that none of it could escape.

You could partially register Leon running his hands up and down your body, anywhere he could reach in his position, bunching up your shirt in the process. His large hands felt nice, helping you come down from your high. He was whispering something, you couldn't make out what, but it was probably the same thing he'd been spewing before.

After Leon was able to pull out of you, you made sure to reassure him over and over that he was your good boy, and he'd always be your good boy.

You made him a little snack once you'd cleaned yourself and him up, seeing as the park and your at-home playtime had influenced his appetite quite a bit. You loved to see him happy again; those beautiful blue eyes crinkled with a smile as that fluffy tail of his wagged.

Your body finally realized how tired it was once more, your brain catching up with that as well. You waved Leon, who was elated to follow you, into your room, practically bounding in like a deer. He begged to lay the way you two did on the couch, and again, who were you to deny him?

You laid back, head on your pillow as Leon nestled himself on top of you. He laid his head on your chest, turning his head to the left as he rested his arms on either side of you, his hands just barely tucked up under your pillow after pulling the blankets up over the both of you.

"You're the greatest boy anyone could ask for, Leon. Always taking such good care of me.." you whispered as his eyes closed, his tail going from a lazy wag to a stop as he fell asleep.

"I love you, my sweet boy.."

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