#I HAVE SHELVES AND CUPBOARDS AND STUFF

[mimikyvvnz]

guys is it bad that i kinda want smth like this. like a little pink one. at least

hey Americans?

what the fuck is this? this isn't real right. it's made up for tv like those metal lockers

[tleeaves]

The chronic back pain I get because I don't have a desk to work at is mad. I feel like an old woman. I'll be graduating this degree with a piece of paper and a walking stick.

[knightdykes]

oh my god... I get it. I'm legitimately a real adult.

[kykyonthemoon]

How to function your very tall boyfriend

Having troubles reaching things that are too high for you? Don't fret. That's what having a really tall boyfriend for.

A request by Sora.

🌻 Character x F!Reader Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel and Caleb (first time writing for Caleb <3)

Tags: soft, sweet, lovers, established relationship. This fic is for short girlies like me out there <3

Masterlist

Request a fic

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

You stood on tiptoe, reaching the full length of your arm towards the row of shelves in front of you. A finger touched the box but you still couldn't get it. You looked around the archives, looking for the help of a ladder, chair, or anything. Then, the door opened, and you saw Xavier's face peeking inside.

Without waiting for him to speak, you waved to your savior. You looked at him, then pointed to the box located at the highest position on the shelf. 

"You want me to get it down for you?"

You gave him a nod. And, with a gust of wind, he appeared right next to you.

Your hair was still hanging over your face from the breeze that had just passed. When you recovered consciousness, you noticed that the box you required was in Xavier's hands.

“Wooooooooow!”

That was all you could say. Your eyes widened and looked at him, mixed with admiration and gratitude.

Xavier maintained a somewhat tired expression on his face. He handed you the package and said in a calm tone:

“Do you need anything else?”

Your gaze was still locked on Xavier. As usual, he was already quite attractive, but when he rushed to your side and grabbed stuff for you in the blink of an eye, his coolness grew tremendously in proportion to your heartbeat.

"I need… that one!"

You pointed your finger at another row of shelves. In truth, you already had everything you needed for the mission, but watching more of Xavier using his skills in bringing everything from a higher place down for you wouldn't hurt.

"Okay."

As soon as he finished speaking, Xavier dashed to the shelf before returning to your side. All in a blink of an eye!

"That one too!" You pointed your finger in another way. "This one! That one! Two up there!…”

In only a few minutes, all the boxes stacked on high shelves were brought down and placed around you to form a wall made of cardboard.

"Woooooooow! "Xavier, you're so cool!"

You couldn't help but blurt out, causing the skin on his face below his blue eyes to grow scarlet. He came closer, put the last box in your hand and said:

“I've taken down all the things from higher shelves for you. Isn't it time I received my reward?”

Caught off guard when he suddenly leaned closer, you blushed a little in reply:

“Y-You… What do you want then…?…”

Xavier smiled mysteriously. He turned sideways and pointed at his cheek.

“You already know.”

Embarrassed, you placed a quick kiss on it. Xavier seemed unsatisfied.

“You really don't need all of these boxes, right? I heard that Jena will cut off the bonuses if she catches anyone tampering with the team's records. I can assist you clean up, but the prize must be more than this."

You chuckled. You'd become accustomed to his solicitation tactics.

"Please help me then. I assure you'll be pleased with the latter prize." After that, you lifted up his chin and gave Xavier an even deeper kiss on the opposite cheek.

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

You were used to visiting Zayne's house every weekend or on days off. Even when he was not home, you still liked to be there waiting for his return. You had a habit of eating snacks, especially sweets. So you brought a lot of things to his house to eat together. And always, he kept them nicely organized in the refrigerator or cupboards over the stove.

But sometimes, he put them out of your reach. At moments like that, you called out his name from the kitchen.

“Doctor Zayne. Doctor Zayne. Doctor Zayneeeee.”

He appeared soon after. On the bridge of his nose was still a pair of reading glasses. He carefully adjusted it and sighed.

“What do you need this time?”

“That jar of fruit gummies.” You pointed at it.

“I'm not your ladder.” Despite his grumbling, Zayne still took it down for you. With his height, it did not appear to be a problem at all.

"Thank you." You said. “I don't want to bother you. Why did you have to put my snacks so high up there?”

“I put it away so some sweet-loving worm doesn't eat too much.”

“I'm not a worm.” You replied, pouting. Zayne patted your head.

"Alright. Would you like anything else?"

Zayne kept telling you not to eat too many snacks, but he still took them all down. He separated them into parts and placed them on a large plate. The rest was put away to make sure you did not consume too much.

Knowing he was concerned about your health, you didn't ask for anything else but ate all of the treats he brought out. However, it was only when Zayne was away that you could properly appreciate his caring nature. Outside your snack cupboard was a letter with Zayne's handwritten words, which you took forever to read. It turned out he had moved your food to another place within your reach. Inside that cabinet was a candy tray with a lid. Zayne had prepared everything for you, with one additional note: Don't eat too much.

You burst out laughing. In response to his concern, you decided to rearrange his working space. Because he had left in a hurry to go to the hospital that day, his books were still not put away. That night, you caught him walking back and forth in front of his bookshelf, his expression rather serious.

“Did you rearrange the bookshelf?”

"Yes."

You replied. He placed his both hands on the bookshelf in front of him, skimming through the book titles printed on the spine. The book he had been reading in the morning was nowhere to be seen. Rather, you slithered right into the gap between his arms, making him turn to face you.

The sudden close distance made him a bit surprised. However, he maintained his composure and gazed down at you. The book he was looking for was in your hand. He smiled:

"What's wrong? You couldn't put it back since you found its place to be too high?"

You said with a pout, "If that's the case, then I won't give it to you."

You hid the book behind your back. WWho would have imagined that Dr. Zayne would boldly lean down, one arm around your waist to draw you in, while the other hand taking the book away from you.

You could hear his heartbeat matching yours as he pressed his body against you to return that book to its proper place on the shelf. He looked down at you, who was extremely confused. You asked:

“Aren't you going to read it?”

"No. I'm preoccupied with something else.”

He leaned down again, and kissed you.

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

Your favorite store had just been redecorated, and the items you needed had been moved elsewhere. Most of them were within your reach, but some decorations with lights were located high up. You turned around to look for help, but the store staff was already busy with another customer. So you looked in the other direction, where you found Rafayel staring at some little decorative fish bowls.

“Rafayel. Please help me get this thing.”

Rafayel turned to face whichever way your finger was pointing. He would waste no effort to reach the lamp you needed. He placed his hand on a spherical night lamp.

"Is this the one?"

"Not that one. The one in purple.”

His hand went to another. "This?"

“Nooooo. I said the purple one…”

"This one has purple in it." Rafayel put his hand on a purple lamp, but it wasn't what you wanted.

“Rafayel. The purple one. In the shape of a jellyfish."

“Hmm…” Rafayel pretended not to see what you described, even though it was right in front of him. "All I see is a seahorse and a whale."

He's definitely teasing you. You scowled:

“I'm not joking with you, Rafayel. Get the jellyfish lamp!”

“Are you sure?” He reposed the question with great seriousness. “This jellyfish is so ugly and painful to look at that my eyes automatically ignore it.”

You puffed your cheeks and said each word clearly: “Take. That. Jellyfish. Lamp!"

"Okay." Rafayel gave a shrug. At last, his hand found the precise object you wanted. He lifted it. But instead of placing it in your eagerly outstretched palms, he put it on a higher shelf.

“Rafayel!” YYou yelled out of rage. He grinned from ear to ear.

“Here, you told me to take it, so I took it. You didn't mention that I had to give it to you"

“You!… Argghhh!…”

You were so furious that you failed to speak. You stood on your tiptoes and jumped up, trying to grab the item, but Rafayel raised the object entirely.

“Give it to me! Give it to me!” You danced in a circle around Rafayel, who was clutching the jellyfish lamp like a trophy. All eyes in the store turned to both of you. You stopped. Your face was red, both from anger and embarrassment.

You looked at Rafayel, who was teasing you with that handsome but punchable face. Then, like a light bulb had just turned on in your head, you thought of a way to "repress" him.

Your hands stretched out. Rafayel thought you were aiming for the lamp so he raised it even higher. But it was his collar you were after. He wasn't on guard so you pulled him down so easily, so close. Until your lips touch his delicate ones.

Rafayel rolled his eyes. He was so surprised. Taking advantage of the situation when his arm was gradually falling, you immediately grabbed the jellyfish lamp and stepped back, holding it triumphantly in your arms.

“Ha! I snatched it from you!”

Rafayel was in disbelief. He had earlobes the color of ripe tomatoes. With one hand softly brushing his lips, he turned to face you.

“You… cheated.” He said, "In that case, you can snatch me too!"

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

It had been a long time since both Caleb and you had a chance to go home to visit Grandma. A family meal was inevitable. He took you to the supermarket near your house to shop and prepare dinner.

Caleb knew too much about your taste. You simply followed him and let him select nearly everything. But when you were walking by the snack shelves, your gaze unintentionally paused at the top row, where there was a particular kind of cookie that you and Caleb used to enjoy together as children.

After noticing your halt, Caleb turned to face you.

“Oh, they still sell this?” He spoke up.

“I want to buy it!” You told him. One hand reached up but you couldn't get the snacks. You heard Caleb laughing hysterically next to you. You folded your arms and pouted: "What are you laughing at?" Why don't you get it for me?"

"I assumed you could handle anything on your own since you're already an adult." Caleb made a joke. “Remember when we were kids? Every time you couldn't reach something, you ran to me and tugged my arm?”

You reminisced about your childhood days. Whenever you needed to get something from a high place, the first person you called was Caleb. He would bend down so you could climb on his shoulders and then carry you like that until you got what you wanted.

“Yeah. I remember." You replied. “But why— Ouch!”

Caleb suddenly bent down, wrapped his muscular arms around your thighs and lifted you up.

“Caleb?! What are you doing?!" Your arms wrapped around Caleb's neck, holding on tight as if your life depended on this. You looked down at Caleb's grinning face. He responded:

“I'm helping you get your cookies.”

“N-Not like this!…” You blushed. You had grown up and no longer the innocent little girl you used to be. Being lifted up by him like this made you extremely timid. “People… People are looking at us…”

“Ignore them.” Caleb paid no attention to his surroundings. “Just look at me.”

You felt the heat radiating from your cheeks. Caleb didn't stop there, he asked you:

"Ready?"

"Huh?"

Without waiting for your response, he spun around so fast in that posture, which made you scream suddenly. You leaned entirely on Caleb, counting on him to keep you both balanced. He continued to rotate a few more times, before becoming lightheaded himself. Then he came to a complete halt and rested his back against the shelf.

You both burst into laughter. Laughing until your stomach muscles start to hurt. But Caleb still didn't let you go. He breathed heavily and said:

“I just remembered. Besides helping you get things from high places, I also helped you climb that wall when you snuck out without Gran knowing!"

“It was completely your idea!” You pinched his nose. “After that, both of us got grounded by Grandma.”

"Sorry." Caleb chuckled. “Shall I make it up to you with cookies?”

“Then help me up a little higher.” You uttered it out with joy. “Let's buy all the cookies here!”

[isak-dot-gov]

Compact and efficient

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Short!reader

Word count: 1044

Based on this request.

My masterlist :)

...............................................

Living with Paige Bueckers had its perks—she was kind, funny, and always up for an adventure. There was never a dull moment when she was around, whether it was spontaneous road trips, surprise date nights, or even something as simple as cozy movie marathons on the couch. But one of the unexpected challenges of dating someone much taller than you was...reaching things.

You would think that after all this time, you’d have gotten used to it. You’d have figured out some clever system or bought a stool specifically for this kind of thing. But no, there you were again, standing on your tiptoes in the kitchen, straining to grab a mug from the top shelf. Your fingers brushed against the handle, but it remained just out of reach.

You huffed in frustration, glaring at the cupboard as if it were the one responsible for your vertically challenged situation. Why did everything have to be placed so high up? And why did Paige insist on putting things away in the hardest-to-reach places? You weren’t sure if it was intentional or if her long limbs just made her oblivious to your struggle, but either way, it was maddening.

Just as you were about to give up and make do with a different mug—the purple one that you didn’t really like, but could actually reach—you heard a familiar laugh behind you.

“Need some help, short stuff?” Paige’s voice was filled with amusement as she leaned against the doorway with that signature smirk on her face.

You turned around and shot her a playful glare, crossing your arms in mock annoyance. “You know, not everyone can be a giant like you.”

Paige walked over, her tall frame effortlessly filling the small kitchen. She didn’t even have to stretch as she reached up, grabbing the mug from the shelf with one hand and handing it to you with a mockingly exaggerated bow. “Your mug, milady,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. This was a regular occurrence between you two—Paige teasing you about your height, and you pretending to be annoyed, even though you secretly loved the attention. There was something endearing about the way she always came to your rescue, even if she never let you forget it afterward.

“Thanks,” you muttered, taking the mug from her. “One of these days, I’ll figure out how to do this on my own.”

“Sure you will,” she said with a wink, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her side. Her warmth was comforting, and you couldn’t help but relax against her. “But until then, I’ll be here to rescue you from all those high shelves.”

You leaned into her, enjoying the closeness, the way her arm felt like a protective shield around you. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” Paige said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Her lips lingered there for a moment, and you felt a shiver of warmth spread through you. “Teasing you is one of my favourite things.”

You groaned, but the smile on your face betrayed you. “I should’ve known what I was getting into when I started dating a basketball player.”

“Hey, you knew what you signed up for,” Paige said with a laugh. “It’s not my fault you’re so tiny.”

“Tiny?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow as you turned to look up at her. “I prefer ‘compact and efficient.’”

“Uh-huh, whatever you say.” She chuckled, giving you a playful squeeze before letting you go. Her hands lingered on your hips for a moment longer than necessary, making your heart skip a beat. “Anyway, what do you need the mug for? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea,” you said, turning back to the counter. You tried to focus on preparing the tea, but Paige’s presence behind you was impossible to ignore. Even when she wasn’t trying, she had a way of commanding the space around her. “Want to join me?”

Paige smiled, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms as she watched you. “Sure, why not? I’ll even reach for the sugar for you, if you ask nicely.”

You threw a kitchen towel at her, and she dodged it effortlessly, her laughter filling the small kitchen. Despite her teasing, you knew that Paige loved taking care of you in her own way. Whether it was reaching things on the top shelf, holding your hand in a crowded place, or just being there when you needed her, she always had your back.

As you poured the hot water into the mugs, you glanced over at her, feeling a surge of affection for the woman who had become such a huge part of your life—literally and figuratively. It wasn’t just her height that made her presence so big. It was the way she filled every room with her energy, the way she made you feel safe, loved, and never alone.

“Thanks, P,” you said after a moment, your tone softer now.

She tilted her head, her teasing expression melting into something more tender. “For what?”

“For always being there when I need you,” you said, glancing up at her with a small smile. “Even if you make fun of me for it.”

Paige’s grin softened into a warm smile as she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into a hug. She rested her chin on top of your head, and for a moment, the world outside the kitchen seemed to disappear. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

“Always, babe,” she whispered, her voice low and comforting. “I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes, sinking into the embrace. In moments like these, it didn’t matter that she teased you about your height or that you sometimes struggled to reach things. What mattered was that she was there—always, without fail, making sure you were okay, making sure you knew you were loved.

As you stood there in her arms, you realised that while being shorter than your girlfriend might have its challenges, it also came with a whole lot of love, laughter, and—yes—teasing. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

........................................................

[wosoamazing]

Diabetes

Summary: You join arsenal and move in with Beth and Viv, you're nervous how everything will go, but ultimately it was perfect

Warnings: Diabetes, Hypoglycaemia, Glucagon shot, let me know if anything else.

A/N: Just a bit of a cute fluffy fic, I tried to get everything right medically but IDK if it is perfect. I hope you like it. If I did get something wrong let me know. Also as always happy to do part 2s if requested but pls add some detail on what you want to see.

You were originally going to move in with Leah however the Medical Team said it would be best for you to live with two people, so you moved in with Beth and Viv, you were very nervous as to how they would perceive you, and whether they would be accommodating of your diabetes or not. You knew the medical team had discussions with them and that the club had forced them to do the emergency training for really bad lows and highs, what you didn't know was that they asked the club if they could find them some more training courses, they had done just about everyone single one, from how to use a Dexcom and an Omnipod as these were the devices you used, to how to live everyday life with diabetes. 

So when you turned up to their house you were very surprised to see some snacks sitting out on the bench, each with a piece of paper next to them, with the amount of carbs in them. They had really gone out of their way to help you settle in and make your life easier.

“Um, we have something to show you.” Beth said, kind of hesitant, you followed them over to a cupboard, “Um, it might be a little silly but this is for you,” she said as she opened the cupboard. It was empty other than some shelves, and draws, some organisation baskets, a mini fridge and a basket full of lollies. “There are some juices in there, we didn’t know what flavour you liked so we bought a pack of each, if you don’t like a flavour that's okay, we also got you these, they are all 15g of Carbs each, um but we can buy anything else you want or prefer, and um we thought you could put all of your supplies in here so they are organised and there is even a label maker so we can label the draws and stuff if you want oh and this is for you I suppose.” She said as she picked up a phone, it was a brand new iPhone 15 “it's more for the club, they were originally going to by you a android but we told them you wouldn't use it so yeah, the idea is we connect it to you sensors as like an additional device, so that everyone has access to your levels, so like at night we will keep it beside our bed so if anything happens we are alerted and during games the medical staff will have it and during training I think Kelly is mainly going to have it.” you nodded knowing you couldn't speak, the kindness of both women, and seeing how much they more cared and were going to 100% help you caused you to become emotional you felt a single tear roll down your face, causing the pair to panic lightly “You could have a cupboard somewhere else if you wanted or we could show you, your bedroom, it's pretty bare but we had plans to take you shopping so you could decorate it and make it your own,” another tear roll down your face, “are you okay, did I say something wrong? Did I do something wrong?” you shook your head “th-thank you” Beth pulled you in for a hug “it's nothing really” but it was something it was everything, it was perfect. You spent your day moving in. 

You set up the cupboard first, you drew a plan of where everything was going to go, detailing it before everything started to get put into the cupboard. Your plan worked very well and the cupboard was very organised and practical. Viv thought it was quite cute, she was going to like this side of you very much. Once you had set up the cupboard you got to go shopping, first you went to the homemaker centre, buying some bedspreads, pillows, and decorations from multiple different shops, to make more room in the car you had to do a pit stop at home, chucking it sll through the front door, before heading back out for lunch, it was the first time Beth and Viv had experienced eating out with Diabetes, well even just eating and diabetes. You were very well practised at it, and helped Beth and Viv learn, showing them how you did everything, you taught them how to estimate carbs, but that differently needed practise on their end, you also showed how you can either your phone or your pod controller to set up the insulin delivery and you even pricked their fingers to test their levels for fun, you liked how they weren’t over cautious about it and how they weren’t treating you differently, and also the fact that they didn’t see it as annoying, really you just liked everything about them. You then went to IKEA to get a desk, a chest of drawers and some other items for your bedroom. Once you got home you set up your room, you were putting your clothes away when you were interrupted by Beth and Viv calling you down for dinner.

“Stuffed capsicums!” You yelled as you walked into the kitchen.

“Inside voice,” “Vivvy, it’s cute, your parents told us they were one of your favourites and we thought after the lunch we had today they would be a good choice, how many do you want?”

“Two please, thank you,” “you’re welcome, if you want we can sit on the couch and watch a movie.” you nodded your head before making your way over to the couch.

-

“Come in,” Viv said after you knocked on the door, her face dropped when you opened the door and she saw your red puffy eyes, and tear stained cheeks. You had been crying because you were so relieved and happy, and you wanted to thank them again.

“Kleintje, is everything okay?” Viv asked, causing Beth to pop her head out of the bathroom mid teeth brushing, the sight of you caused her to quickly move back to the bathroom rinsing out her mouth before pulling you in for a hug.

“T-thank you, for everything, it was perfect, you didn’t have to do any of it”

“Of course Kleintje,” Viv walked over to the two of you joining in the hug.

“We want you to feel welcomed and comfortable, it is now your house too. But please if you need us for anything at all you can come wake us up, our door is always open.” 

“Figuratively, not literally” you giggled slightly at Viv’s comment.

“Let's all go to sleep. Hey. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow” Beth said.

_____

Your second day was a training day, you Beth and Viv arrived early, as you had a few meetings, the first one was with Jonas and Kelly, about everything but also your diabetes, then the medics and some other people, Beth and Viv came with you to all of them. As you sat in the tactical session, you sipped on your apple juice popper as you listened intently, trying to ignore Beth and Steph’s talking, you were one to think tactics were a major part of the game, something else Viv would come to like. You then had a short gym session and then it was lunch, everyone was wondering what it was going to be, you already knew but decided not to tell them, you had been given the menu for the week, to select some things that you would want, so that they could make up a plate for you, ensuring they could tell you the exact amount of carbs. You walked in to find your plate sitting on the bench next to all the other food, it was a chicken burger, on wholemeal bread rather than a burger bun, you also had some snacks. There was a piece of paper next to it that had your name on it and the amount of carbs in each item, including each item of the burger. You picked up your plate and walked over to Beth, who pointed to the table she usually sat at, so you sat down there, waiting for her and others to join you, Kelly soon walked in with your kit, which you accidentally forgot at the meeting, you took it from her gratefully and she told you what would be happening in training so you had some idea of how much you needed to adjust your insulin. You picked up your phone and checked to see what it said your sugars were at, your phone said your sugars were at 90 which was perfect considering your target range was between 80-100, you were unzipping your kit when some of the team came to sit down, Beth sat next to you, Steph, Katie, and Caitlin also sat down. You pulled out your lancing device and pricked your finger, using your metre to confirm your reading before putting the units you needed for the burger into your pod controller.

“Do you mind us asking?” Katie questioned what you were doing.

“Um, I have diabetes, I was diagnosed when I was two, but it means that I have to manually control my blood sugars. My body doesn't do it at all, so I have to calculate the insulin I need for when I eat," "Right,” she nodded her head.

____

You had a few hiccups with your diabetes since living with Beth and Viv, but nothing major, however that was going to change. It was the 60th minute and you felt your body start shaking, the medics hadn’t called a paused or called you over and even thought you felt funny at half time your levels were normal, if anything slightly high, but you knew you were low, not only was your body shaking, but your brain hurt and felt foggy, you were also struggling to not fall over. You knew you needed to get off the pitch soon, before you passed out. A corner gave you the perfect opportunity to tell Beth you were low, you walked up to her, she looked at you confused and concerned.

“L-Low” you managed to say to Beth before you collapsed forward on her, she lowered you to the ground and the ref immediately blew the whistle, the medical team was on the pitch immediately, players from both teams were starting to form a huddle around you, trying to protect you from the media.

-

They were checking your sugars, as Beth got a Glucagon shot ready, she was ready to go when she got the nod of approval from the medics. Beth injected the shot into you and you were immediately rolled onto your side by the medics, waking up just moments later, in a panicked state, sitting up. 

“It’s okay, you passed out from being low, we had to give you a Glucagon, but it’s okay, you’re going to be okay.” Beth said as she rubbed your back.

“S-sta-stay?” you managed to get out eyes wide open with fear.

“Go with her, I’ll tell Jonas,” Beth nodded.

Viv met you and Beth in the medical room, she sat on a chair while Beth sat on the bed with you, you were given some gummy bears as well as an apple juice popper, to try and elevate your levels, you were still shaky and sweaty but your vision was completely clear and the medics and paramedics cleared you, which meant you didn't have to go to the hospital, but Beth and Viv had very strict instructions to take you to the hospital if certain things happened, such as seizures, loss of consciousness and others. 

“Do you want to go home now Kleintje?” you nodded as you ate a gummy bear.

_____

You were very nervous for your first camp, for how the staff would handle your diabetes but more so the team. The last game you played for Arsenal was the one you passed out during. You visited your endo after that incident and he had recommended putting tape over your sensor and pod when you played. The sensor had slightly pulled out during your arsenal game and so it wasn't actually reading your blood sugar.

It was your first training session and Beth had helped you, with the supervision of the medical team, put tape around your arms covering your sensor and pod, it was so you could get used to the feeling of it before your first game. You weren't required to have tape over your sensor and pod during training as you had frequent breaks which you could be checked during.

-

As you warmed up with Lauren Esme and Niamh, Ella and Alessia walked over to you.

“Why do you have tape on your arms?”  Ella asked. “Ella you can't just ask that” Mary said as she walked over with Beth, who had overhead the question, so she stood behind you placing her hands on your shoulders. “You don't have to tell them.” Beth whispered in your ear, you did want to tell them but you weren't sure you wanted to tell them right now.

“Oh um,” you were saved by Sarina calling the team over. While Sarina talked one of the medics came over to you, she handed you the phone and you saw your reading, being nodding and sticking your hand out to her, hoping that somehow in the non contact warm up the sensor had moved and that reading wasn't true, as if it was you most likely weren't going to get to do training this morning. You were handed a small container filled with 6 sour worms which told you the reading was true, you opened the container and started to eat them while Sarina kept talking.

“Why don’t we get sour worms?” Ella whined.

“Because you’re not special enough.” you inform her, causing everyone to break out into laughter.

“I like her,” Millie said as she high fived you. Sarina ignored all the commotion, she was obviously used to it and just continued talking. “Y/N could I just talk to you quickly?” she said as you and the girls started to disperse, you nodded and walked over to her.

“Sorry Sarina. I didn’t mean to-” “No, that's not what I wanted to speak about but I appreciate the apology. I wanted to talk to you about telling the girls, is it something you would like to do?”

“Um, yeah I think, I just don’t know how to tell them and like I don't want them to think of me differently”

“That's okay, I think sooner rather than later would be better, maybe today during dinner? During the announcements. Becky could help you, or even Beth or anyone you wanted, I could even just tell them and we wouldn't need to discuss it if you wanted.”

[whorekneecentral]

Cocoa

Pierre Gasly x Fem!Reader

Warnings: soft boyfriend!pierre, reader is insistent on this one thing, the couch is getting some action, thigh riding, penetrative sex (P in V), choking.

Word Count: 1,638

Author's Note: don't get upset, pierre lowkey gives me the ick so this is my public serve act of the month - writing him :)

merry smutmas series

--

You have your boyfriend drive all around the city until you find the one thing you were looking for. When you finally find it, you decide you want something else.

The noise pulls him away from the simulator, Pierre could hear your grumbling as he made his way to the kitchen. "Mon amour, que se passe-t-il ? Qu'est-ce que tu cherches?" (My love, what's going on? What are you looking for?) He asked as he leant on the wall, arms folded over his chest.

Your back was to the man, "I'm fine." You tell him, sitting on the counter as you dug through the cupboards.

"Is something missing?" He walks over, standing by the counter as he watches you shuffle things around.

"I had this cocoa powder," you shut the door, shifting on the cold marble to face him. "It was in a red tin, I can't remember the name of it but I swear I left it in there."

Pierre's brows furrow, head tilted to the side. "You're sure you left it in there? And you didn't use it all?"

"No, I know I left it in there." You tell him, hopping off of the counter. Your boyfriend shrugs, "I could take you to the store to look some more, if you wanted."

"Okay," you nodded, "let's go."

He looks over at you, watching as you grab your coat. "Oh, now?" He points to the door and you nod, "yeah, come on."

Pierre smiles, shaking his head as he grabs his own coat and his car keys. Only you'd have him running around to look for cocoa powder. Knowing you, it had to be the specific brand you were looking for otherwise you wouldn't buy it.

You were particular like that - part of why Pierre loved you so much.

There you were, walking up and down every single aisle in the store, Pierre following behind you with the shopping cart. You had yet to find what you were looking for but your boyfriend managed to fill the cart up halfway with some bits and pieces he needed.

You were in the aisle with coffee, tea and other things like that. "What was it called again?" He asked, looking up and down the shelves.

"I have no idea," you admit, scanning the shelves for a red tin. Pierre hums, picking up something red. "Was it this?" He shows you, leaning on the handle of the shopping cart.

Looking over, you reach for the tin to get a better look at it. You read the label, looking at the picture. "No," you shook your head, "but I remember it had a picture of a reindeer on it, with some trees or something like that."

Pierre nods, "okay." He takes the tin from you, putting it back on the shelf. You look around some more and Pierre follows you into another aisle before you eventually call it quits and cash out.

Despite not finding the cocoa powder, you still ended up with a trunk full of stuff.

You two checked a few other stores, making your way from one end of the city to the other and you still did not find the thing you were looking for. You had gone as far as googling 'hot cocoa powder with reindeer and trees on packaging', scouring amazon, asking the workers in the store and no one had any idea what you meant or what you were looking for.

After coming out of the last store, you get back into the car - exhausted and you have given up. "Do you want to check anywhere else?" He asked you, looking over to you and you shook your head.

"I give up, Pierre." You sigh, making him chuckle. "But can you stop at the corner shop? I want a Red Bull.. oh and a Kit Kat."

Pierre smiles, "sure, love."

The man drives you towards the corner store, parking right outside before running into the store to pick up what you wanted. He returns a few minutes later, putting the bag into the back with the rest of the stuff before you head home.

Pierre brings the stuff into the house and you unpack it; that had been your deal since you moved in.

You find yourself putting away the stuff from the store, putting whatever had to go into the fridge, into the fridge before putting the rest of the stuff where it needed to go. There's one bag left, the one from the corner store.

Opening it, you take out the Kit Kat and then the Red Bull, but there's something else in the bag. A red tin with a picture of a reindeer in front of some trees.

It was the hot cocoa powder you were looking for.

You set the tin on the counter, running into the living room towards your boyfriend who sat on the couch. Pierre's caught off guard when you jump on him, sending him back on the couch. The man laughs, his arms around you as you sit on top of him.

"You found it!" You smile at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Figured I'd surprise you." He smiles, rubbing your hip. "I take it, it's the right one?"

"Yeah," you nod, leaning down to kiss him. Your hand rests on his jaw, Pierre's other hand finds your lower back, pulling you flat against him. His head tilts to the side when he feels your lips moving down to his neck.

"Wait," he says, pulling you back a bit. "Don't you want the hot-"

"I'm loving on you and you're stopping me to ask about hot chocolate?" You laughed, looking at your boyfriend like he was crazy.

He nods, "yeah you're right, that's wrong of me. Sorry." The man laughs, pulling you back in for a kiss.

His hands find your hips and you shift onto his thigh. He lifts his leg, the sudden change causes you to slide forward, rubbing against the fabric under you. 

You rocked back and forth on his thigh as he kissed you, the two of you only separating for a moment to take your shirt off. Your hands made quick work on undoing the zipper on his hoodie, giving up halfway and pulling on it until he managed to take it off.

The sound that left your mouth was like heaven on earth to him.

Pierre smiles, looking up at you sitting on his thigh. “What was that?” He teased and you shrug, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your cheeks are red as you look away. 

His eyes fixed on you, his hands guide you back and forth, slowly moving you faster with each push and pull. “So pretty,” he coos, pushing your hair back off your shoulders.

You nod, pushing down on his thigh a little harder. Your hands on his shoulder, nails digging into the back of them. That was gonna leave a mark.

Pierre flips you two over so you're laying on your back, under him. You look up at him, confused. “Wha- why’d you stop?” 

Your boyfriend pulls your leggings off, tossing it behind him somewhere and you giggle. "Oh," you look at him, watching him as he pushes his own pants down.

Your legs are up on his shoulders when the man leans down to kiss you, pushing into you. Your hips jut towards him, body betraying you. His arm wrapped around your legs, holding them in place when he pushes in a little more, letting you take all of him. 

Pierre can already feel you clench around him, “relax,” he tells you, a hand rubbing your thigh.  

You nod, chest rising and falling with each passing second, your boyfriend's hips dug into the back of your thighs. He watches as your face twists in pleasure, your own hand wrapped around his bicep and your nails dig into him.

"God-" you cut yourself off with a moan, the tip of his cock brushing against the one spot you really wanted it too. "That, do that again." You looked up at him and Pierre was certain he wasn't going to last much longer.

Hair framing your face, the light reflecting off of your skin, the way your back arched and your chest pressed to his.

Pierre thought he had died and gone to heaven; you were an angel on earth.

He leans down to kiss you again, muffling your moans in the process. His lips against yours when he speaks; "just like that baby, c'mon."

“Gonna cum-” you barely get out between strangled moans. Pierre moves one of his hands, letting it wrap around your throat. 

You were so close, on the edge of cumming. His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing your clit, rubbing on it and his thrusts were the same as before

Your hand wraps around his wrist, he squeezes at your neck a little harder, your legs dropping from his shoulders to back around his waist. Between him fucking you and his fingers on your clit; you were seeing stars right now, vision blurry and your head tossed back, his name fell from your lips like a prayer. 

Pierre laid flat against you now, his face buried in your neck. Your hand rubbing along his bare, skin sticky and warm. "Babe," you whispered, the man moving around a bit.

"Hm?"

"Can you go warm up some milk for me?" You asked and Pierre laughs, his chest vibrating against yours. "Yeah, baby. Sure." He gets up, putting his boxers on before walking to the kitchen.

You watch from the couch, smiling to yourself as he fills a pot with some milk and sets it on the stove. Wrapping the throw blanket around yourself, you walk to the kitchen and hug your boyfriend from the side. He leans, his arm wrapped around you when he kisses your head.

"You're the best," you tell him, smiling at him. "I know," he says and you laugh, smacking him on the side.

--

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[safination]

Partners in Death…and Life

Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself

| Part 1: Radio's Not Dead |Part 3: Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should be Trusted| Masterlist | ao3 Parings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationship, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm still trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) Reader is in hell for a reason.

Summary: After a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping... *checks notes*... the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason. Hello, I’m back :D This was supposed to be published yesterday, but I got busy. Anyway, thank you for all the likes so far. It motivated me to really finish this chapter. Also once again, I have everything planned out, it really is just a matter of writing it down. *Updated 28/02/2024 Just added some stuff that I thought made sense*

Flick . . .

Flick . . .

Flick . . .

Lights flicker above you with a slight buzz. You drape an arm over your eyes when the gleam of the bulb blind you. The hardwood floors chill your skin, but it’s the sensation of casual loose clothing on your back that warrants your exhale in peace. Just a second. You just need a moment on these hard and chilling floors to ground you . . . just . . . one . . . single . . . moment to . . .

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

A stray feather pricks into your arm. The vane tickles, but the barb digs your skin. You’ve called this body ‘ yours ’ far longer than your human one, yet the feathers that grow on your skin still astound you. You twirl it around your fingers, and wave it in the air like a wand—it’s a proper animalistic feather.

Your nose scrunches into a hard scowl, and you jump up, stomping into the kitchen toward that untouched coffee mug on your counter. Grabbing it, you splash the contents down the sink, letting it flush down the drain. The sponge is rough against your hands as you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub and you scrub a̵̯͒n̴̤͝d̶̫͌ ̶͚̇y̶̤̎o̷͔̓u̶̢͐ ̸̓͜s̵̪͗c̸͎͂r̷̀ͅṳ̴̎b̸͖̀ ầ̷̩̯͍̙̳̍͗͘ń̵̰̞̰̕d̴͇̻̮̫̝̓̎̈́ ̶̡̬̬̮̺͗͒́̌͑y̴̙̘̻͇̿̉̐͆ǫ̷͉̟̍̅̑̏ŭ̸̖͓ͅ ̴̛̝͇̭̥̌́́̂s̸̠̑̽̏́c̷̥̺̃̾̊r̶̲̯̈́̈̄͆͊u̵̼̝͕̼̇̍̈́͘b̶͍͖͖̐̾͝.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You rinse the mug, slamming the cupboard door shut when you drop it next to your own clean one. Fingers run through your feather-hair . . . hair-feather, or your ‘ whatever that grows on your scalp’. Some questions you’ve stopped asking.

An audible grumble . . . well, uhhhhh . . . grumbles from where your stomach is placed in this body, and you munch on your lips to keep the inhumane screech from erupting into the kitchen and breaking all kinds of glassware and little knickknacks that Alastor filled your home with. (These days, the old trinkets collect dust on your shelves. There haven’t been any new ones in years.)

Chopping Hell’s equivalent of carrots calms you. (It’s honestly the use of some type of razor-sharp object that calms you. You’d prefer a different razor-sharp object, but a sharp knife is a sharp knife, no matter the size.) You chop until there’s enough food to make a proper and decent meal that your stomach will accept.

You crash on the couch, dinner secured on a plate, and flip the television switch. Light flashes into the room when you do.

Ad about some impish business—Not interested.

‘Yeah, I fucked your sister, So what?’ — Boring.

Cooking Venison with Vox— Lame.

Settling on the lifestyle network, you munch on your food. Some poor slimy creature flashes across the screen, and it's her home that will be remodeled because of . . . something . You’re not sure what that something was. You don’t care enough to find out.

The sounds from the television swap with the silence of your living-room as you take each bite. It’s one of the sadder habits you’ve picked up since purchasing this noisy picture box. Your eyes wander to that half-filled coat rack, while your ears listen in on the show and that woman did not just say that pink would go with brown . Only your singular coat drapes on the hinge, when this particular design was made to hold two.

A commercial plays for some-thing called the Hazbin Hotel.

Your eyes are stitched to the screen until the final note of the song plays, and a different advertisement takes its spot. You take a sip of your drink.  Just ą̷̖̯͈͂ ̷̡̧͚̤̩͎̙͇̞͓̟͈̤̝͉͉͉̘̉͐̓́̆́̇̍̐̿̈̄͜͜͜͝͝s̶̨̢̛̥̣̻̱̰̬̩̹̥̞̟̳̝͔͓͙̗̗͕̟͇̆̉̿į̴̡̢̠͇̱̤͔̙͎͕͛̑̓̒̀̔͆̓͂̃̚͘͘͠ṗ̶̡̢̨̳͙̦̮͍͓̻͎̲̪̲͕͛̔̐́̐̈́̒̒̉̎͛̆̈́̈́̉̔̑̃̕ͅ.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale

Exhale

You blink, and you find your keys locking your front door.  Already, your legs are trekking down the garden stones. A flower snarls at you as the gate locks with a click.

Another blink.

Huh . . . you’re on the bus .

The sign says it’s headed into the city. Living on the outskirts has always been beneficial for you. Not today, though. Today, the one-hour commute makes your feathers bristle. You read the barely eligible address scribbled on the note, and pat your hair, smoothing the flared feathers sticking out. It seems . . .

Hmmmmm.

It seems you did not think this through. How . . . how are you going to get to the hotel?

Tagatha calls you a fossil for using one of those flippy telephones. You considered purchasing those fancy telephones with the lights and screens, and loud robotic voices telling you where to turn left, but learning to use a flip-phone brought enough stress for two lifetimes. You’ll happily stay a fossil.

Turns out, you don’t even need the address.

The Hazbin Hotel sticks out. It’s a humongous building with its name written across what you call the sky in blinding neon lights. Your vision zooms in, and you see that the hotel rests on a giant hill at the other edge of the city. Three large neon-lit arrows point to a crudely attached radio tower. Below it, a wooden ship hangs to the side. Circus light bulbs flicker with electricity.

The Hazbin Hotel is an eyesore – it’s exactly what Alastor prefers.

You reach the dinged-up metal gate on the bottom of the hill and reset your hand on the rusted latch. Trekking through the city took a lot, and you were already here. So, why are your legs frozen to the cement? Why does your heartbeat thump in your ears?

“Excuuussseeeee me.”

A snake towers over you. It’s your first time seeing such a slithery specimen as large as him. His hat rests on his hold, and it blinks at you. His hair . . . or was that skin . . . puffs out with two red sets of eyes.

“Can I help you?” you say, warily. Sinners are in hell for a reason.

“Yessssh,” he says, his tongue slithering out. His flaps stick out, all four eyes staring right into your own. “I’d like to be a guessst at this hotel!”

You glance at the eye-sore that’s called a hotel. “I don’t work here.”

His flaps droop. The snake takes a deep breath, and slides the gate open, slithering in with determination in his . . . er . . . snake body.

You follow in silence.

The snake matches your pace. “Will you be a guest at this establishment as well?” he asks you. “Or were you given the same sssssuper secret mission?” Just like before, his tongue slithers out—what a funny little odd man.

Bangs grab your attention. When you focus your vision, you see an inky shadow servant striking a nail into broken wood. “Not at all,” you say slowly. “I’m just here to visit someone.”

His flaps open, and three pairs of eyes and a hat meet yours. “I am the great Sir Pentious!” he says with a proud hand on his puffed-up chest. “Inventor. Architect of destruction. Villain extraordinaire!”

You give him your name “ . . . Doctor.”

“It is only the coward who attacks a battler of health.” His flaps droop as he sinks into himself. “You cannot be my rival, I’m afraid.”

“I guess that makes you brave,” you say, humming. The decorations for the hotel are rather dull. Drawn on the middle of the hill, a giant pentagram is etched on the ground. The flowers dwindle on the cliff edge, and do little to combat the grayness surrounding you. “What a shame to hear—I rather love good rivalries.”

The eyes on Sir Pentious’ hat brighten at the same time his own do as well. “Ssssso do I!”

One of the inky shadow servants waves at you.

You wave back.

Light streams from the glass doors. You blink a few times, adjusting to the sudden change of brightness. Circus-themed stained glass decorate the front entrance. One of the less tacky – but still tacky – designs of this hotel. Sir Pentious taps the glass with the tips of his finger, clinking with each tap, and his eyes water in excitement. His nose crinkles when he takes a deep breath. You weren’t aware he even owned a nose. Sir Pentious fiddles with the flap of his hat, and bangs on the door.

Your smile strains after a minute of banging.

A young lady with long, white hair creaks the door open. You recognize her from the commercial.

Sir Pentious’ flap open and close with each word as he says, “Why, hello, my dear –”

A punch to the face is his reply.

“Oh dear!” you screech. Sir Pentious drops to the ground, and you kneel next to him, a steady hand on his slimy shoulders. “Have you no manners?”

This insolent girl points her spear and stomps a foot on Sir Pentious. She snarls, and her glare hardens.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sir Pentious’ tongue slithers out as he holds a peace-sign. “I come in peacccccceeeee”

“What are you doing here?” Her spear inches closer.

“Vaggies,” another voice calls out. A blonde with a red pantsuit and a bowtie pokes her head, eyes in a squint. O-oh! You know this lady from the commercial. The Princess of Hell . . . Cady . . .Char . . . Charlie Morningstar! “What’s the problem?” Charlie’s eyes widen when she spots you and Sir Pentious, an honest smile drawn on her face. “Oh, hello again! And hello to you as well!”

“Can you please tell this insolent girl to get her food off this gentleman,” you spit, tilting your nose into the air. Your feathers sharpen when you bristle. “And your weapon away from my face .”

Vaggie takes her foot off Sir Pentious. She holds the spear close, but it’s away from your face.

Sir Pentious straightens into a stand, and the group prattles on.

No one bothers to help you. A huff escapes, and you brush the dirt off your skirt. Absolutely no manners. Insolent and ill-mannered.  Would Alastor stay in such a place?

You’ve never laid an eye on someone as unique as this Vaggie. Her hair patterns are similar to wings. It’s almost unheard of to see such a prominent ‘ x ’. Her flared eyelashes resemble a bird. It strikes you silly. Almost everyone in hell resembles a human body with animal characteristics hidden somewhere. This insolent girl doesn’t appear to have any of that – only miniscule feathers made to appear native to Hell.

“Absolutely!” Charlie exclaims to who you think is Angel Dust. (The porn-star, not the drug. Obviously.) Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile on his face. There’s a squeak every time he bobs his head. That hat of his looks nervous.  “This place is about second chances and who deserves one more than this . . . slithery . . .slippery . . . special little man.” Charlie takes a peek at you. “Oh, and this feathery . . .sheddy . . . and round-eyed woman.”

You do not shed.

You smile at Charlie, and give her your name, “ . . . and I expect it to be used.”

Angel Dust whips to Vaggie. “Aren’t you supposed to protect this place?” he says and turns to you. “How are we even sure we can trust this lady – no offense, toots.”

“None taken,” you say, dryly.

Charlie’s eyes water when she turns to Vaggie, who easily relents with a sigh.

You’re thrust through the apple and circus-themed doors, squinting at the chandelier. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the design—it reminds you of those old rolled films. Charlie leads you and Sir Pentious further down the hall, all but pushing you in. Vaggie and Angel Dust lag a few steps behind.

Charlie waves her arms to go into an enthusiastic point. “So, this is our bar,” she says. Husk drops his drink, a scowl on his face, “and the bartender. This is the curtain, and this is the new wall after Sir Pentious broke the last one. And this is—”

Vaggie calms her down.

The bar clashes with the red wallpaper of the hotel. It’s almost as if someone just dropped it there, and etched it to the very wall. The wood is firm underneath your touch and feels exactly like what wood should feel.

You turn towards the bar and take your seat. Husk focuses on his drink. “Hello,” you say with a gentle voice that should not be mistaken for kindness. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

Husk chokes and splatter out his drink, but you only smile at him. He coughs and his ears droop low. “Yes . . .,” he starts. “Good to see you as well.”

“There’s no need to be nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

You run your finger across the skeleton wrapped around the bar post. A memory tickles your brain. This is one of the many specimens you owned. It took one whole month to strip the muscle off its tight hold on the bones, and another month just to clean, bleach, and wire together. The heads above the bar sign were a gift to you, and the skeletons were your gift back.

The neural spine pokes your finger as you tap each one. “I see you’ve set up shop here.”

Husk scowls, taking another swig of his drink. “Not much of a choice.”

“And tell me,” you start, “how long have you been here?”

Husk doesn’t answer you.

Charlie calls your name, and waves you over. “Over here,” she says pointing to where Niffty plays with some kind of one-eyes cat, “we have our maid—Niffty!”

Niffty hops on Sir Pentious. “The bad boy is back!” she exclaims, pulling him closer, eyes wide and shaking. A bead of sweat drops from Sir Pentious’ hat. “Never leave me again.”

“We’re about 80% sure she’s harmless . . .” Charlie prattles on.

“Hello, Niffty.” You smile at her.

She jumps off Sir Pentious, landing with a small ‘ humph’ , and strides to you with her pointy short legs. She calls out your name.

You squat, meeting her eye. “It’s great to see you again—Is Alastor forcing you here?”

Her eyes shine with an innocent type of glee. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She claps her hands. “I get to chase all the bugs here.” Nifftly leans closer to you, giggling. “Can I be strapped to your table again? I love it when you slice me open.”

“Maybe next ti—”

Charlie grabs your arm, hauling you forward. “Oh! Uh, Alastor! Our gracious facility manager! You've met our newest guest Sir Pentious . . .hehe . . .,” she tells him. Charlie keeps pulling you, only stopping when you stand before a grand staircase. “These two will be our special wonderful guests!”

Alastor does little to show you what he feels, there’s just that same empty grin.

He bought a new coat, you note. This new one has white streaks on the new collar and less stripes. Guess some things were more important than others.

You slip out of Charlie’s tight grasp. “I think you’re mistaken, my dear,” you say. “I’m not a guest— just a visitor.”

You hold your husband’s gaze and greet him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“It’s good to see you,” you say, a smile drawn on your lips. “How are you doing on this wonderful morning?”

Alastor turns to you, drops an item into his grocery basket, and blinks. “I am amazing!” he says. He grabs your hand with his gloved ones and shakes it. His hands are warmer than you expect them to be. “Alastor. Pleasure to meet you. Quite the pleasure.”

You chuckle at him. “Yes, I’m aware of who you are.”

“Oh, how lovely!” He waves his fingers. “ are you on of my many fans?” His smile strains, and there, you see it, on the corner of his cheek. His nose flares and his smile takes the appearance of a snarl. Maybe it was the other way around.

“A bit,” you admit, adjusting your hold on the basket. “How are your stitches, Sir?”

His eyes widen—brown eyes, you note. “The good doctor!”

“I think you mean the good nurse.”

“Oh yes, yes,” he hums and inches the basket away from your gaze. “I’ve been taking my medicine, and replacing my dressing every three days, just like you said.”

“Good—that’s great to hear. No more accidents?”

“None!” He laughs. “And if one does happen, I’ll be sure to present you with an injury that is only hours old.”

A giggle slips through your lips. “That’s even better to hear,” you say. You clear your throat, tightening the hold on your basket. “I’d hate to take even more of your time. I’ll let you go on with your day.”

A firm grip on the basket handles keeps your feet planted on the glossy floor of the general store. “Not so fast, my dear. I think you still owe me,” he says. Your teeth bare into what you hope is a polite smile. “You promised to show me your marvelous embroidery the next time we meet! You’re not the type of lady to go back on your word now, are you?

“You sure do know how to put such ladies into a tight spot.”

Alastor laughs, breathy and light. “I assure you; I don’t mean to. I tend to get very excited about art

“Well, with you holding my integrity hostage, and the addition of such lovely enthusiasm, I find myself having trouble refusing.” You reach into your purse and pull out a clean handkerchief. “Sadly, I wasn’t expecting the general storm to be an art gallery, so this will have to do.”

And there it is again, that same breathy and light laughter. “They really do have everything in here

Alastor takes your handkerchief with steady enthusiasm, studying each stitch carefully. It’s one of your simpler designs—tiny flower bouquets scattered across the fabric. Your eyes are drawn to the contents of his basket: rope, strong acids, latex gloves, rolls of plastic wrap, and other such interesting items.

“You have such beautiful handiwork.”

“You can keep it if you wish,” you tell him. “I have thousands back home, and I’m always weak to such flattering compliments— a real boost to my ego.”

“Splendid!” Alastor slips the handkerchief into his coat. “I love receiving gifts from fans.”

You smile at him to hide your frown. You are not some fan-girl. “Of course.”

Alastor is following you.

The conversation ended several beats of silence ago, but he trails behind your every step. You skip the aisle where they sell produce, stop to grab some eggs, ask the butcher for 50g of chicken liver, and smile back when he smiles back. You sigh and lead Alastor to the end of the general store, and into an aisle.

You snatch a glass bottle of chemicals off the shelf—they really do have everything here. “Going for a hunt soon?” you ask, and read the label.

His smile brightens as he says, “Why yes! There was this wonderful prey that I spotted the other day, and I’m just dying to have his head hanging on my wall.”

You offer him the bottle. “You have a lovely coat. It would be a shame for it to be ruined by stains,” you say. “This always does the trick when dealing with the redder parts of my job.”

He takes the bottle from you.

“Take this as well,” you say and reach into your basket. “It’s the last bottle of 12% hydrogen peroxide in this store, but you need it more than I do. A ratio of fifty-fifty of this and a bit of hair developer in a bucket of water should brighten up your bones. Just let it soak for a day. Oh . . . and just in case, those two chemicals are safe to mix. You should avoid doing so, but an accident wouldn’t hurt you.”

Alastor offers his basket, and you drop the bottle along with the other hazardous substances. “You sound certain.”

“That is because I am.”

Fate has granted you a humorous shopping companion, and you decide to stop fighting it. Alastor follows you to the bread aisle.

You point to the top shelf. “Can you . . . ?”

He drops the bread into your basket, and stares at you with what you think is curious tenacity.

“My father works as a butcher,” you say, sighing. “He prides himself on catching the venison he sells. We don’t believe in wasting a precious body, so we use it until there is nothing left to give. He came back from his own hunt and wanted to add another antler to his display

Alastor hums. “Won’t you need these then?”

“There’s still a bit leftover sitting in his workshop. I just came to get an extra bottle.”

Alastor continues to follow.  “Do you often aid your father in his work?”

“Not as frequent as when I was a teen, but I still aid him when I have the time to do so,” you say. “It’s how I got to be so normal around a knife —the sharp ones are the best, they cut right through the skin, and with enough force, the bones as well. I keep a little collection of bones at home.”

“Such interesting hobbies you have.”

You pick up two coffee bags and hum. “Thank you.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him and reach out to straighten it. Alastor jerks away and spins to reach into the shelf behind you. “I rather detest owing favors, and you have done me two,” he says, offering you an entirely different brand of coffee beans. “I suggest you try this one. It’s flavors are far richer.”

You offer your basket and Alastor drops it right in.

You eye his basket once more. “Will that be all you’re purchasing?”

He nods, smiling at you.

You smile back.

Well, isn’t this just lovely? Well-dressed gentlemen really are your favorite.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Charlie whips her head, mouth wide as she stares at you and then at Alastor. Angel Dust has an arm on his hips, his brows furrowed and mouth quirked to the side an awkward but rather cute frown. Sir Pentious’ hat squints at you with what you assume is confusion—you can’t really tell. Sir Pentious’s tongue sticks out of his bewildered and crooked frown.

“Oh! How nice,” Charlie says after a beat. “So, you two know each other?”

“Partners,” you say

“Friends,” Alastor says

Your smile strains as you say, “To be called a friend by the Radio Demon is quite the honor.” Alastor wipes his monocle with a proud puff.

Angel Dust whistles, leaning on the railing with the first set of arms crossed, and the second propped on his hip. “Didn’t think Freak would be the type to have friends.”

“Neither did I!” You say with a loud laugh. “Well, that’s what I am – a f̵̼̎r̴͔̃i̶̦̍e̶͕͠ṋ̸̀d̶͚̋ .” You smoothen your puffed-up feathers. “Apologies.”

More introductions are done. Charlie insists on giving Sir Pentious his first lesson on apology. It goes about as well as you think.

Charlie winces a bit “Ooooookay,” she says and inhales to plaster a huge smile. “Why don’t we . . . uh . . . take a look at the kitchen!”

Angel Dust takes one look at Charlie’s enthusiasm, winces, and says he’s getting a drink.

Charlie’s death grip on Sir Pentious stays firm as you trudge to the kitchen. She stalls at every painting to explain its history, and introduces every crack on the wall, showing it off with an enthusiastic glee. Even the water-stained wallpaper gets its own special moment during the tour. (Where is that ill-mannered girl when you need her?)

You lag a few steps behind. “Alastor . . .”, you say as a greeting.

Alastor matches your pace, using his microphone as a cane. With the very tip of his fingers, he plucks a stray feather off your hair with a coy smile that reaches from ear to ear. “I’m sure you’ve been wondering how I’ve been fairing these last few years,” he says, spinning that microphone of his and waving his hand like some kind of street performer.

“Has it really been that long?”

“Yes, I know I’ve been absent for some time,” he starts. “It’s nothing serious; I assure you. It’s nothing I cannot handle as well.”

 “My goodness, and here I thought you were occupied at work.” Your teeth flash when you smile. “But in any case, it’s quite . . .kind of you to soothe what little worry this friend might have for you.” Alastor and his microphone laugh at you, but you hum with satisfaction when his eyes narrow into a glare.

Charlie and Sir Pentious wave their hands, calling you from across the hall, and you hasten your steps.

The kitchen intimidates you. So many large and metallic machines. You’re sure it would be a living hell should you ever need to operate such an unorthodox set of appliances. Copper-red tables fill the space, and similar colored cabinets stick to the wall. Such peculiar stoves they have in this establishment. There seems to be no space for the gas tank, nor a gas burner, just some flat glass with weird markings. You prefer the appliances stashed at your home.

“This . . .,” Charlie starts, winding her arms to a point, “ . . . is the kitchen!”

Sir Pentious’ flaps extend, his arms rocking with excitement. “Such lovely metallic inventions.” He slithers to counter with a dip that appears to mimic some kind of skin. There’s some type of yellow liquid. “This bubbly torture deviccceeee is my favorite.”

“Uhhhhhh, I love that you love the kitchen appliance,” she says with an honestly gentle smile. “But that’s actually an oil fryer.” Charlie crosses her arm into a big ‘ x ’. “But no torturing is done here, no siree.”

“What a peculiar shape for an oil fryer to be,” you say, taking a look. Alastor glances over your shoulder to take a peek as well. “And there’s so much metal around—did you run out of paint, perhaps?”

Charlie frowns, her shoulder dropping low. “I’d love to add different colors to the machine, but Vaggie says it would take up too much money and time.”

Her frown lasts a second before she’s smiling again.

 “ Oh oh oh! You should take a look around. See if there’s anything you might want to add.” Charlie drags you towards one of the cabinets at the back. “We each have a shelf dedicated to our own snacks, but I always love to leave cookies on the communal snack pantry.”

Charlie prattles on, introducing each section of the cabinet. You watch Alastor warily when he shows his teeth. He wiggles his fingers across the air, reaching towards the shelf where Charlie just mentioned Vaggie storing her personal snacks. You slam the cabinet door before he reaches them.

Soft static fills the kitchen air.

“Go on,” Charlie urges. “Take a look around – I know some species of Sinners have specific dietary needs.” She props a hand on her chin. “Like Angel! He can’t seem to be able to have any milk—I wonder why? But he just keeps drinking it anyway for some reason.”

Does the Princess of Hell not know what Lactose Intolerance is? Maybe because she’s never lived as a human . It’s quite humorous, you suppose. A hell-born trying to guide a human, with little to no insight about humanity. Could this be the reason why she’s so naively optimistic?

Sir Pentious’ smile widens, and so does his flap. “You’re . . . giving . . . me permission to poke around?”

“Er . . . yes?”

You open a random cabinet door, and huh . . .

On the shelf, towards the back, you have the same set of spices in your own kitchen. One of the bottles here has its label stained and fraying at the edges. Another bottle is nearing empty, and the corner of the cap has been chipped off. There was a time, when your own set of spices was stained with oil, and its label frayed because of the constant picking to the edges.

Yesterday, you threw out a set of unopened bottles of spices, its seal still clinging to the caps and brimming with unused flavor, and replaced it with the same set of sealed spices. It’s a waste of your money to keep throwing out something that you never use, but . . . but . . . you find it in your grocery basket every single time .

Alastor closes the cabinet with a gentle click.

Your smile fades, and he holds your gaze.

“You are shedding all over my kitchen floors.” Alastor presents you with a bundle of your feathers bunched up on his palm. His grin mocks you.

You turn away, heading where Charlie and Sir Pentious converse. You do not shed.

Alastor pops out of your shadow, towering over you as he inches closer. “Long day?” he says with a hum, that smile still on his face. “You don’t usually start molting until the mid-summer.”

“Oh yes,” you say with a hum, that frown still on your face. “This day has been quite long. How very generous of you to check up on this friend of yours.”

He holds the feathers he’s collected, examining them with a careful eye. “With this rate, you’ll be able to gift a whole pillow.”

Your frown deepens. “Lovely,” you murmur. “I’ll make sure to do so.”

Alastor twirls his microphone and lands it with a soft thunk. He studies you for a second. “Rosie’s last husband got eaten by a shark,” he says. “Not even a loan shark—just a proper dead shark. She swore vengeance on the creature for taking a bite before she had a chance to.”

“ What?” you say, and you can’t help but chuckle. “Is that what happened to him? She would be so vague about it when I ask.”

Alastor draws a line along his face, mimicking a smile with his fingers. “Much better, indeed.”

Charlie insists on showing the view from the top of the Hotel. Her arms cross around your own as she chatters about everyone and everything. It’s refreshing to meet a soul as honest as hers.

The elevator ride is painfully slow. The music strains your ears, and this battered metal death box jerks with every floor.

Sir Pentious and his hat scowl at the ‘ absolutely inferior ssssmmelting of this handle, Charlie’ and ‘ this piss poor wiring. The endsss are not aligned to the proper sssssafety guidelineeeesss’ or something. Charlie listens in on every word, nodding to indicate that she hears each and everyone. It makes you smile. Alastor picks at your stray feathers with the tip of his fingers, preening the areas you have difficulty reaching.

Moments too late, the elevator doors open with that heavenly ding.

“The view up here is helltastically a-mazing! ” Charlie informs the group. “Alastor, you often hide up here or inside the radio tower. It’s really good, right?”

Alastor switches his hold on the microphone, swinging to catch it. “Quite helltastic indeed!” he says. “ I get to see the whole city underneath my very feet.”

Sir Pentious nods. “I, too, would love to sssseee the city underneath me!”

Alastor swings a door open, gesturing for the group to enter like a gentleman.  Charlie whispers an audible ‘awww’ at the sight and saunters right in. Sir Pentious follows along, slithering behind her.

He shuts the door when you take a step forward, separating you from Charlie and Sir Pentious.

There’s still that never-ending smile on his lips as Alastor strides to the other end of the hallway, playing with his microphone. You follow behind in silence. Alastor opens a different door, and this time, you step through.

Alastor closes the door, leaving you and him together, alone, on this flimsy balcony. He beams at you, taking a step forward—

You slap him.

Radio static glitches from his microphone. There, on the corner of his cheek, you see the strain in his smile. His eyes harden into a glare, his nostrils flare, and his smile takes on the appearance of a snarl.

The air around you starts to gray with static. Symbols carve themselves into the space.

You slap him again, staring down at him.

“Is that all you came to do?” Alastor says to you with a low snarl, but the symbols dissolve and his antlers shrink.

You turn towards the view, propping a hand on your chin. “Such harsh words for a friend,” you say with a sarcastic smile. “It’s a wonder why you don’t have more with such a dazzling personality. At any rate, it’ll be impossible to find yourself a wife.”

His eyes twitch, and Alastor strikes the ground with his microphone. “Well, consider it an honor,” he says, inching closer, mimicking your smile. “Not many can say such words to me, much less be able to strike my flesh

“Maybe they should—someone certainly has to.”

Alastor still has a smile—he always has a smile. You watch as his eyes morph into radio dials, and the absolute audacity of that man to look at you like that.

Your feathers sharpen and crack at the sight. “D̷̝̈́o̷̞͊n̷̟̂'̷̗̏ť̵͔ ̴̱̀f̷̳̓u̴͍̓c̷̛͕ḳ̵͝ ̴̲̽w̸̞̑í̵̞t̴̼̐ḥ̷͝ ̵̫͌m̸̻̔e̸̡͘!— you never have, so don’t start. Don’t test me—not today, my deerest,” you say, hissing at him. 

“What is it that you want, exactly?” he says, glancing down at you. “Unless you are a child, I expect you to use your words.”

“You know I’m not just some friend — you do not allow yourself to make such connections. We’re partners,” you tell him, and you don’t know why you remind him when he should already know. Was it in fear that he forgot? “But you left without as much as a word.”

“Was it that I left? Or was it that I left you?” Alastor says with casualty as if to show you such dismissal, and oh . . . yes, your husband can be a cruel man, indeed. Time and sweet smiles made you forget.

You rub your hands on your face, taking one deep breath. “I want what I deserve—an explanation,” you say. “That’s all I need as your wife.”

It’s his silence that makes you turn away. 

“I see.” Your face falls. “Perhaps, it was a mistake to seek you out. A fool’s errand.”

You study the sinners below. The whole city really can be seen from underneath your very feet. (You ignore the trembling of your fists. You’re a doctor, for fucks sake. Your hands don’t tremble . . . at least, they never have before.) 

Hesitant, but gentle touches pick at your feathers. Alastor preens you with warm hands. “You are not a fool, my love,” he says. “I would not be yours if such were the case.”

You harden your heart for you cannot let this man see the cracks. “This is not what I wish to hear,” you say, voice steady.

Alastor does not answer you.

“Will you just stay silent every time?”

“Yes.”

Finally, you meet his gaze. You hold it as much as he holds yours. “ There is not a thing in this world that you do not do without reason,” you say slowly. “However,  I’m not sure if your silence is because you cannot or if it’s because you will not explain yourself to me. Which is it?”

There is nothing on his face that you can read, just a small steady smile that tells you nothing. “I will not.”

“I know you, my deerest, and I know that you’ve never once led me astray.” Your grip on the railing tightens painfully. This day has been long. “Then all I need is your word that you will return to me with that smile of yours when you’ve accomplished what you need to do.”

Alastor smiles at you, twirling his microphone. “We can even shake on it.”

You shake your head. “This is not a deal,” you say. “This is your wife demanding that you do so.”

“Then it shall be done,” Alastor says, inching close enough for his warmth to spread.  He turns to you and pokes his cheeks to indicate a smile. "You look much more radiant with one."

You bare your teeth at him, giving a dry smile. “Much better?”

“Indeed.”

You study the sinners below once more, but this time your hands stay steady next to Alastor’s own. Well, Charlie was correct, the view is helltastic. The entertainment district blinds you, but only for a second. And when you sharpen your vision, you can faintly make out acid clouds forming on the outskirts of the city. You should have grabbed an umbrella on your way out.

“I heard you on the radio today,” you say.

He glances at you, his smile widening ever so slightly with smugness. “And you came all this way for me?”

“Well, that is what good friends do for each other.”

Alastor points his nose to the air with a huff.

“I only jest, my deerest,” you say, chuckling at him. “ I came all the way here to see if I’ve been widowed a second time, or just dumped like a common rag.”

“Is that so?”Alastor hums with dissatisfaction. “I’m sure you mentioned something about not noticing such a long disappearance.”

You hold his gaze, inching your hand to cup his cheek. You stop inches above his skin, and your palm hovers enough for Alastor to feel the warmness you hold on your hands. “Don’t pout, my deer,” you tell him, softly, oh so very soft as you caress the air. “Of course, I noticed your absence.” 

You clap your hands together with the brightest and most innocent smile you can muster.

“But if I told you that, my deerest,” you start, “I feared that big head of yours would implode if I fed your ego.”

Alastor laughs, and his real voice bleeds in as he does. “That humor of yours has been my most wonderful companion all these years.”

You smile with satisfaction. “My, my, you make such fine compliments.”

His smile relaxes. “I do, indeed!”

“Just as you say that my humor makes a fine companion,” you say as you laugh, bright and heavy, “that smile of yours has been mine.”

A knock breaks the moment.

The door swings open, slow and hesitant. Charlie pokes her head, and her hair droops to the sideways. Behind her, Sir Pentious waves at you. You wave back.

“Oooooooohhhh . . . yikes,” Charlie says, shrinking deeper into the door. “Am I interrupting? I could just go an—”

“Not at all my dear,” you say. “Come right in. You have such a lovely view, and things like this are better when shared.”

Charlie swings the door wider, sauntering right in, and grabs your hand, squeezing it. “You could live here as well!” she says. Behind her, Sir Pentious nods with the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. “We accept everyone.”

You flicker your gaze to Alastor. “I already have a home,” you find yourself saying. “And this place is far too close to the city. So much honking and blasting aren’t good for my ears.”

Charlie pouts, but she doesn’t press you.

The view is better when shared. Charlie points at every detail and explains everything you see. The sky darkens to a red, and too soon, it’s time to leave.

There’s a warm, but firm, hand resting on your back when you walk out the door, down the hall, and into the elevator. Alastor keeps his hands steady, even when you reach the common room.

Vaggie is the first to greet your group—well, it’s more appropriate to say she greets Charlie, and you just happen to be there. There’s a bag by her feet. “I was able to find the costumes you need for the exercise,” she says. “Even the giant lollipop is here.”

Charlie squeals. “ Thank you thank you thank you! ” Her excited gaze filters to you. “I have this wonderful game in mind, and then we could fo a bit of some of that good ol’ roleplay.” Angel Dust quirks a smile from the couch. “You should totally sta—”

“I’m afraid not,” Alastor says, drumming his fingers on his microphone. “I think it’s time for our visitor to head home. She’s had quite a long day.”

“Oh, of course. No worries!” Charlie says, giving you a bright smile—a real genuine and honest smile. “Feel free to come by anytime. The Hazbin Hotel’s doors will always be open should you change your mind.”

Vaggie scratches her face. “Before you go, I want to apologize for this afternoon,” she says. “It wasn’t right of me to be so hostile—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, my dear. I understand,” you say quickly, ignoring the static behind you. “You were protecting something you cared about. I find great value in those who do.”

Vaggie smiles, and maybe she’s not too bad after all. “Thank you.”

From the couch, Angel Dust props his legs and waves at you. “And you’re welcome to open these doors any day.”

Alastor leads you to the door. You wave back at Niffty and Sir Pentious, whose eyes water as he frowns. Alastor’s hand stays firm as you trudge down the hill, past the rusted gate, into the city, and to the correct bust stop.

“You sure know how to find the most interesting groups of people, my deer,” you say. “Charlie and that hotel of hers are wonderful.”

Alastor adjusts his monocle. “Well, you know me. I see potential, and I follow it wherever it leads.”

“Should I be worried?” you say, chuckling. “The last time you saw potential, it ended with us married.”

“Not at all, my love.”

“You should continue to stay at the hotel,” you find yourself saying. “There’s just something about it—I think you’ll pick up quite a lot from your time there.”

His bowtie is crooked. You point to inform him, and reach out to straighten it. Alastor inches closer. The fabric is smooth underneath your touch. There’s stray lint on the shoulder of his coat, and you brush it away. You grab his lapes and adjust its fit, smoothing the fabric beneath your fingers.

“Much better?” he asks.

“Indeed,” you say softly.

“I will see you soon,” he says, and you hear the unspoken promise and question hidden beneath his words.

“Good.”

Alastor tilts your chin with the tips of fingers. (And oh . . . oh . His gloves are off, and his hands are warmer than ever) He presses his lips on your cheek.

That blasted bus arrives too soon. You step inside, but turn to your husband and say, “Next time, when you disappear for several years, I expect to be informed and not just left with a vague note,” you say with a huff. “And when you return, I also expect to be the first to be informed.”

“Of course.”

“See to it that you keep your word.”

The bus door closes, and you take your seat. You smile to yourself and lean back on the crusty bus fabric. Patting your pocket, you take out a single gold band, slipping it on your finger.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

That habit of recklessness in moments of excitement was something your father hoped you’d grow out of. Thinking things through never really was one of your many strengths when such an exhilarating opportunity presents itself.

You scold yourself for not double-checking for gloves. Measure twice, cut one, and all that. But no matter, you’ll push through as always, clawing and digging to unearth the treasure left behind.

Your scalpel fits into your palms. Throughout this Earth, no . . . not just Earth, but Heaven and Hell as well, nothing will ever be as perfect.

You sigh, breathy and exhilarated, and begin.

‘First, do no harm’

But this . . . this does not harm a single living being.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part: |Not Everything You Hear From The Radio Should Be Trusted| If you guys know who Octavia and Stolas are, that's what I imagine when I think about the reader's hair. Also, maybe some of you noticed, but I'm very relaxed when it comes to formatting my writing. Its why I use quite a lot of ellipses and em dashes and utilize italics and spaces. But the one thing I was very strict about was not to use the word, "miss". So there are no "You miss..." and "I miss..." But the words are there and spoken beneath actions and thoughts, hidden and unspoken, but known. My inbox is always open because I'd like to know what your favorite unspoken "I miss you" is/are. I have my own favorite ones as well.

[valdomarx]

It begins, innocently enough, with a carton of orange juice.

Roy has never cared for the stuff, but Jamie is round at his house at 6am every morning after training, and he loves it. Roy figures he might as well make breakfast for them both while they're there, so the next time he's at the supermarket he picks up a carton and shoves it into the fridge.

And there's really no point in Jamie going home to shower before team training, is there? That would be a waste of everyone's time, so he showers at Roy's. Soon enough Roy's bathroom is full of expensive hair conditioner and elaborate skincare products and the inevitable cans of Lynx which start to crowd his shelves, but whatever.

And then Jamie starts turning up for weekly Lust Conquers All watch parties, and it's not quite clear how that happened. Roy wouldn't admit it on pain of death, but he likes having an excuse to watch the show and having someone to bitch about the terrible contestants and the unfair eliminations with.

And Jamie is right there, so it would be rude not to offer him dinner, wouldn't it? Roy likes to cook, and it's just as easy to cook for two as for one. Then suddenly Roy's kitchen cupboards are full of Jamie's favourite brands of soy sauce and Tabasco and rice cakes, but that's okay because at least now Roy can keep an eye on his diet.

And when Jamie is round and it's getting late and they've got 4am training tomorrow, he might as well stay the night. So what was Roy's guest room becomes Jamie's room. And if, on occasion, when they're both knackered from a hard match and ready to pass out, Jamie collapses into Roy's bed, tucked up next to him, snuffling and cuddly and infuriatingly, wonderfully Jamie, then that's no one's business but theirs.

Roy keeps finding bright orange joggers and graffiti-covered hoodies in his laundry pile, but Jamie still complains of having nothing to wear, so Roy tosses him one of his old Chelsea shirts. Then somehow Roy's entire cupboard full of old kits becomes Jamie's wardrobe, and Roy gets kind of used to waking up to find Jamie in the kitchen, making coffee, with KENT printed across his back.

At some point it's been weeks since Jamie was at his place, and Roy caved ages ago and gave Jamie his own set of keys, and it would be odd, frankly, for him not to be here, in Roy's space, sprawling on Roy's sofa and eating Roy's leftovers, and dropping his feet into Roy's lap with that ridiculous grin that makes the corners of Roy's mouth twitch upwards involuntarily.

"Marry me." Roy blurts it out, some instinct rising up directly from the very centre of his chest and exiting via his mouth with no input whatsoever from his brain.

"The fuck?" Jamie blinks at him, slowly, like he's approaching a wounded animal.

"Oh." Roy thinks fast. "It's a joke. Because you're always here, right, and we spend all this time together, and we're practically married." He forces what he hopes is a jovial smile. "Haha?"

Jamie gives him an odd look. "Riiiight."

Roy fiddles with the TV remote, then glances over at Jamie, then looks away again, then looks back. Jamie is still staring at him, a look of utter bafflement on his face. "I mean." Roy's leg bounces anxiously. "Unless... ?"

[youaintnothinbuta]

If I start to drive you nuts with requests please tell me to stop. 😂 the last story was so cute though, just perfect in fact. Could I request an Elvis x reader where the reader is a home baker and maybe she keeps making different stuff for Elvis to try? Like 70s Elvis? I hope you’re having a good week so far. Blessings to you my friend. ☺️🙏

“Just a little bit more.” — Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: fluffy drabble of reader baking and Elvis enjoying her creations and being all cute :)) A/N: I am now craving apple crumble so bad

Pairing: Elvis Presley or Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

Word count: 732

Warnings: none! Fluffy Drabble. Hopefully no typos hehe <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Graceland’s kitchen had become your favorite place lately. You’d always liked baking, but recently it had turned into quite the passion. The countertops were perpetually dusted with flour, the air always filled with the aroma of freshly baked goods, and the shelves were lined with jars of sugar, spices, and all sorts of ingredients you’d started experimenting with. You knew the Memphis mafia would all be coming over (as they usually were) and you were eager to whip up a nice treat for them— apple crumble. The cinnamon and sugar-coated apples were bubbling away in the oven, the crumble topping turning a perfect golden brown.

As you worked, you hummed softly to yourself, the kitchen warm and inviting. The timer rang, you slipped on an oven mitt, carefully pulling the dish from the oven and setting it on the stove. You couldn’t help but smile, satisfied with how it looked. You grabbed a fork, scooping up a small portion, blowing on it before tasting. The apples were tender, the topping was crisp, and the flavors melded together perfectly.

“Elvis!” you called out, your voice carrying through the house.

In the living room, Elvis had been sitting with a few of his friends, joking around, playing the piano, enjoying the afternoon.

At the sound of your voice, he excused himself with a grin and made his way to the kitchen. You didn’t notice him at first as you were pulling plates from the cupboard, but you felt him step behind you, his arms slipping around your waist.

“Hi, sugar,” he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply. “Smells nice,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

You leaned back into him, smiling. “Here, try some.” You turned in his arms, holding up the fork. Elvis took the bite, his eyes closing as he savored the taste. He hummed in approval, and you could see the enjoyment on his face.

“That’s real good, darlin’,” he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

You smiled at his praise, feeling a swell of pride. “I’m glad you like it.”

He reached for another forkful, but you playfully swatted his hand away.

“Hey now, wait until everyone else has a chance to try it!” you laughed, but handed him another small piece anyway. “Just a little bit more.”

Elvis chuckled, taking the bite and nodding in approval. “I ain’t gonna be able to move on stage if ya keep feeding me like this.”

You laughed, reaching up to run your fingers through his dark hair. “Nonsense, Elvis.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. The warmth of his affection made you melt into him, the two of you enjoying the quiet moment in the kitchen.

“How ‘bout we bring some of this out to the guys?” You suggested.

“They’d love that,” he agreed. You grabbed a knife to slice the crumble into portions. Elvis grabbed the plates you’d gotten out, and you followed him back to the living room.

As you served up the apple crumble, the room filled with appreciative murmurs and compliments. Elvis sat beside you on the couch, his hand resting on your knee, and you could feel the pride in his touch. He was always so admiring of the way you went out of your way to look after everyone, a trait you and he both shared.

“This is really somethin’,” Joe said, taking a bite. “You’ve got a real talent here.”

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling a bit bashful under the praise. “I just enjoy it, that’s all.”

Elvis squeezed your knee gently, his smile full of pride. “She’s bein’ modest. She’s been keepin’ us all spoiled.”

“Can I take the recipe home to Pat?” Red asked, finishing his slice.

“Of course,” you said, your smile widening.

After everyone had finished, the conversation shifted back to whatever they’d been discussing before, but Elvis stayed close by your side, his arm draped comfortably around your shoulders. You leaned into him, enjoying the easy companionship of the moment.

“I love you,” he whispered in your ear.

“I love you too,” you mumbled.

Later, after everyone had gone, and the house had quieted down, you and Elvis found yourselves back in the kitchen, cleaning up the remnants of the evening. You were washing the dishes, and he was drying, the two of you working in comfortable silence.

[you-call-it-obsession]

In my little view of Elias, his house is pretty empty. It's got generic furniture, and sure it all looks pretty expensive, but it's so...boring. There isn't any decoration, barely anything in the drawers, cupboards just have non-perishables and the type.

His office, however, is a different story. It's an absolute junk shop in there. Walls lined with shelves, stuffed with so many objects, odds and ends, some new but most old. It's all meticulously cleaned -- god forbid his things get dusty! -- but god, some of those things look like they might crumble to dust if anyone touches them. It's...well, if I'm being honest, it's a mess. Sure, Elias has a system and knows where everything is, but anyone else? Not a chance.

Because I think he's awfully sentimental -- I mean, he kept the bones of the man he loved and let die in his office. This man does not throw away anything -- so after 200 years, a lot of junk has accumulated. And if you asked him, he would not call it junk. Everything has its own story and reason for being there but Elias, do you really need twelve packs of playing cards? Yes- yes I know they're all different, and they're from different people, but those two are identical. You don't need to keep both of them

And he cannot keep his stuff anywhere else. He's like a dragon with his little hoard, he needs it all with him. And I love the idea that he has a secret room behind his office with even more stuff, and a bed and little kitchenette and such. He feels safer in the Institute, you know? And he doesn't want to leave for too long or it might be attacked in his absence. So he sleeps and eats and lives there, most of the time. And let me tell you, he was delighted when Jon started doing the same, after accepting the role of Head Archivist.

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 12

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Nothing but fluff, baby.

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta!

___________

The New England winters tended to hone its inhabitants like an axe against a grindstone, sloughing off the weaker bits until you were left with only the hardest, sharpest edges of the soul. 

The anticipated nor’easter was due to hit sometime in the next few days. Local newscasters said it was likely to be severe. Currently, it was the calm before the storm. The weather was still, like all the substance had been sucked out of the air so the storm could dump it out again once it hit. 

On the ground, gray-stained slush clung to sidewalks and frozen lawns, still leftover from last week’s snowfall. The bitter December air stung at your nostrils and turned the tip of your nose red, and Noah Davis’s hot breath drifted out of his open mouth in billowing clouds as he looked down at you from where he stood in his door frame. 

It was early morning—three days after you’d spoken with Nick. The western edge of town had all but cleared out, having been comprised mostly of students, who had all gone home for the month-long winter break. 

Noah sniffed, blinking down at you and you cleared your throat. 

“I, um…I have your stuff.” 

You held out the clothes he’d let you borrow, freshly washed and folded, stacked neatly in a pile on top of your mittens. 

Noah stepped to the side and gestured for you to enter, which you did, apprehensively. Something about being in his space felt off-limits to you, yet he welcomed you in without hesitation. 

Briefly, you surveyed the space before you. A worn sofa and two overstuffed armchairs surrounded a stained coffee table littered with empty beer cans, paper plates, and ashtrays with the spent butts of cigarettes and, you suspected, joints. 

The mess was contained to the coffee table, however. The rest of the living room was fairly clean. A large-screen TV sat atop a dark glass stand. An array of gaming consoles and controllers decorated the shelves below it. It was off, and you could see a shadow of your reflection in the black glass of the screen. 

Noah cleared his throat and you spun around to look at him. He regarded you with intention, surveying you up and down, but his face didn’t betray whatever information he gathered from the act.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked. 

“I’m good,” you said, and immediately regretted it because it wasn’t until after you spoke that you realized how dry your throat had become. “Water, actually.” 

He let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle, moving to the open-concept kitchen space to fetch a glass out of the cupboard. “Have a seat,” he called over to you without looking. 

You took a seat on the brown tweed couch, shrugging off your coat and removing your mittens, and bundled them into a neat pile on your lap. 

The acrid smell of stale cigarettes stung the inside of your nose and you discreetly nudged the ash tray across the coffee table. 

Noah appeared at the other side of the table, a glass of water clasped in his outstretched arm and you took it gratefully, working hard not to look at him too much. 

Though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him since your one and only sexual experience, it was still a shock to your system. Noah stood in front of you, looking regrettably Jesus-like with his long hair cascading down his shoulders. His clothes were unassuming—gray hoodie and black jeans, but they fit him effortlessly well. 

He took his seat on the armchair to your left, legs about six inches too long to fit comfortably between the chair and the end of the coffee table. He rubbed his shins, friction offering more warmth than the sputtering vents and the furnace that whined in protest. Even your ancient dorm with its concrete brick walls could stay warmer than the drafty rental Noah and the band called home. 

You noticed a distinct absence of sound or movement in the house. 

“Just you today?” you asked. 

“Folio and Ruffilo went home for the holidays,” he said, settling back into his chair and sipping from a mug of black coffee. 

You didn’t need to ask why he wasn’t doing the same—with all the baggage he carried from his family, you’d be surprised if they even exchanged Christmas cards. 

You bounced your knee, knowing there was a conversation to be had, but not wanting to approach it. 

“I’m surprised you’re still in town,” he remarked. 

This time you chanced a look at him. The coffee mug obscured part of his face, but his eyes still held the same intensity they always had. 

“My parents are on a missions trip in Africa,” you said. 

He quirked his head to the side, forehead wrinkling in confusion, and something about the crease between his eyebrows had you looking away again, too overstimulated by your own attraction to him. This was going to be harder than you thought. 

“What’s a mission trip?” he asked. 

“Missions trip,” you corrected. “It’s where groups of people go and build schools and stuff in small towns that don’t have enough resources.” You said this into your glass of water, thankful for something you could anchor your focus on. 

“That’s pretty sick, actually.” 

“Yeah,” you said, taking a sip to quell the tightness in your throat. “Yeah, I mean, it’s all sort of religiously-motivated though. The real reason is to spread Christianity.” 

You almost felt his face twist with displeasure. Glancing over at him confirmed it. He didn’t say anything though. He didn’t need to. You understood what that look was about and you felt the same. 

A few awkward moments passed while you tried to think of anything you could say that wasn’t the one thing you came here to say. 

“How were your finals?” Noah asked, coming to your rescue. 

“Good,” you answered too quickly in a rush of air. You cleared your throat and forced your next words to come out at a more conversational pace. “They were good. I think I passed all of them.” 

If Noah noticed anything off about your energy, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled. “I’m not surprised.” 

You gave him a questioning look. 

“You’re really smart,” he explained, setting his coffee on the table in front of him, sans coaster, “and you seem like the type of person to study hard.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair while he said it, resting his chin on the palm of his other hand. 

You smiled back because he’d clocked you. “Does that make me boring?” you asked, finally relaxing into the usual back-and-forth of your conversations with Noah. 

His smile grew wider, and you were stuck by just how sharp the corners of his mouth were. “I don’t think it does. I mean, if that was all there was to you, it might, but you have more layers than that.” 

“Like an ogre,” you said. 

His face fell and he blinked, waiting for you to explain. 

“From Shrek.” 

“Get out.” 

Your composure cracked, and through the fissure erupted a fit of giggles, surface tension finally breaking into something warm and homey. Noah snickered and at last, the shields were down—both of you disarmed and ready for what lay ahead. 

It took several moments for the energy in the room to settle where it needed to be. When it finally did, you regarded Noah with your full attention for the first time since arriving. 

He looked tired. The light bags that usually hung around just under his eyes had deepened into something sadder. Patchy stubble dotted his chin and upper lip, and his hair looked stringy and unwashed. 

“So,” he began, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. 

“So,” you parroted. 

In the span of a few seconds, the air around you folded in on itself and grew twice as thick—dense with unspoken sentiments and the possibilities for what could come out of this conversation. 

He fixed you with a serious look, assessing your demeanor before speaking again. You’d been on the other end of that look before, but every time it happened, it struck you just how large and intimidating Noah’s presence was. 

“Should we talk about it?” he asked. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning back in your seat. When you opened them again, you were staring at the ceiling. “No….” 

You heard Noah huff a laugh through his nostrils. That was good. At least he was amused by your discomfort. Without lowering your head, you shifted your eyes over in his direction. He smiled at you, and it took the edge off. 

“I promise I won’t make this any harder than it has to be.” You appreciated the gentle tone he took—a nurse soothing his patient before administering a shot. 

You said nothing, but no longer protested. He took it as his cue to go on. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

You exhaled deep. “I know,” you replied, unable to look anywhere but your hands. His apology didn’t make you feel any better about what happened. It was more for him. 

“I know you know,” he said. “But I want to explain why.” 

It was already too much. You squeezed your eyes shut and blinked them back open. You hated everything about this situation. “Why you ghosted?” 

“Why I’m sorry,” he said. 

You looked at him with trepidation. He had your attention, but you were still wary and unsure if you wanted to hear what he was about to say. You almost hated yourself for being stupid enough to give him the chance to apologize. 

If he got it wrong it would feel like reopening a wound. 

He took a deep breath. Somewhere behind his eyes, an unnamed heaviness settled in and you had to look away. The last thing you wanted to do was empathize with the man who hurt you.  

“I’m not the best communicator,” he began slowly. 

“Ya’ think?” You couldn’t stop the sarcasm from slipping out. His face went from soft and patient to something more frustrated.  

“Sorry,” you muttered. 

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat before he resumed. “Things like honesty and vulnerability? They were weaknesses in my book for a long time. I could go into detail about why, but that’s not really important.

“What’s important now is that you know that I’m trying. I understand that I fucked up. I hate that I did it. I wish I wasn’t that person, but it’s a shortcoming that I’m learning to deal with.” 

“I also hate that you fucked up,” you said, matter-of-factly. You didn’t say it to hurt him, but it was true, and it was important to you that you no longer filtered your thoughts to protect his feelings. 

Noah, being Noah, saw the humor in your statement and huffed. “Your honesty is refreshing. If not a little cold,” he said. A half-smile painted his face and God, if you didn’t want to slap it off him so that you’d no longer have to look at it. 

Letting his face fall neutral again, he continued. “You’re not the first important person that I’ve hurt because of this,” he said. “But hurting you did force me to pay attention to how that feels, and I don’t like it. I’m tired of being an asshole, and I think, moving forward, I want to be more honest. Not just with you, but with myself. I think I’ve been fooling myself for a long time about what’s important to me, and I’m starting to realize those things don’t make me happy.” 

You resisted the urge to ask him what things he was talking about. You wanted to break out of the habit of giving him more attention than he’d earned. That had always been a problem for you with men, and you suspected it was what got you into this mess in the first place. 

You could see on his face that he almost expected you to ask him more, and when you didn’t, he faltered for a moment. “Good,” you said with a nod. 

He deflated, but ultimately melted into a smile. “Thanks,” he said. You could tell he meant it, and holy bricks, did that have you softening more for him against your will. 

A warmth blossomed between the two of you, slowly at first, but it grew with each passing moment. You could feel it in your bones, and despite your best intentions, you caught yourself smiling. 

You didn’t want Noah to have this pull over you. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved that he’d done a good job with his apology, or resentful because it would have been so much easier to write him off had he failed. 

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” you asked, ready to be done with the conversation for the time being and beyond grateful it hadn’t stemmed into more intimate territory—you didn’t think you could handle that. 

“How are you?” he asked. “I feel like so much has happened since we last talked.” 

“Ha!” you said. “You could say that again.” 

Noah leaned back in his chair, shifting his weight to make himself more comfortable. “Tell me about it. Do you want to get some food? I’d love to catch up.” 

“Maybe another time,” you said, with only the slightest twinge of regret. It was for the best. “I’ve got laundry to do.” 

It was a lie. You had nothing to do, but as much as you wanted to spend more time with him, your intuition was telling you to go, and you’d promised yourself you’d start listening more. Something inside of you wasn’t ready to be alone with him for much longer. 

“I understand,” he said, voice dipping in enthusiasm, but clearly respectful of your boundaries. “What about tomorrow?” 

You didn’t have an excuse ready—the knee-jerk denial didn’t kick in at the idea. Perhaps that was a sign? 

“I…I can’t commit for sure, but I’ll think about it.” 

He seemed satisfied with your answer, offering a smile that was a little too sincere for you to handle and you had to get out of the room before you lost all sense of self. 

“Okay. See you around,” you said quickly, shuffling to grab your backpack and swing it around onto your shoulder while nearly tripping over the coffee table on your way to the door. 

Noah didn’t chase you—you knew he was going to give you whatever space you needed in order to be ready for him. 

And that might have been what scared you most. 

------------

The tip of Noah’s nose almost touched the mirror with how close he was leaning over the bathroom sink. He’d been dealing with a very stubborn ingrown hair in a painful spot right under his nostrils. It was angry and red, but it hadn’t quite come to a head yet. 

Perfect. Just what he needed. 

He leaned back to get a better macro view of himself. The spot was definitely visible, but he was more than likely fixating on the small flaw. He couldn’t help it though—he was nervous. 

Letting his gaze drift over the rest of his face, he noticed he’d missed a spot while shaving. Fetching his razor from the shelf in his bathroom cabinet, he ran it under water and brought it to his face, moving it slowly around his jaw. 

Fuck! 

He nicked the skin. 

At first there was nothing, but then red began to seep out from the tiny cut and Noah had to grab a tissue and dab at the small drop of blood that had gathered around the wound. 

Steadying himself with a deep breath, he grasped at the porcelain sink with both hands before facing the mirror once again. 

This was stupid. He was stupid. You were just someone he liked. There was no reason for him to be so on edge. This wasn’t even a real date, you were just meeting up for coffee. 

Exhaling slowly through his nostrils, he brought the razor to his face once again, this time successfully removing the hair he missed. He finished up with moisturizer, giving one last menacing look at the angry red zit above his upper lip and recognized that it was a lost cause. There was nothing he could do about it now. 

He reached for the bottle of spiced oil he usually wore and then thought better of it. This was a special occasion. He had a small sample bottle of designer cologne tucked away in the back of his sock drawer. Normally he wasn’t the type to reach for expensive brand names, but he was nineteen at the time and he liked the way it smelled, so he shoplifted it from an outlet mall that wasn’t smart enough to keep their shit in locked displays.  

Noah smiled bitterly at the memory. He’d done a lot of stupid shit in his youth. He supposed he was still in his youth, because hardly four months had passed since his last petty crime—the one that had led him to meet you. 

He understood why he did it all. But lately the desire to act out wasn’t there, and he didn’t know why. 

Perhaps these days, there was a greater incentive to earn his joy. He no longer needed to steal it. 

Dabbing a small amount of the cologne on his pulse points, he stuffed it back in the drawer and shut it away. He could reflect on his shifting morality later. Right now, he needed to figure out what he was going to wear. 

________

Noah exhaled into his palms, warm breath serving to heat up the red, frozen extremities. It was a short walk to your dorm, but the air was bitingly cold and the snow was already ankle-deep. The storm was due to hit sometime within the next 24 hours, but he still had some time before the sidewalks grew too treacherous to walk. He wore the nicest outerwear he owned—a black pea coat and pair of black leather boots, but they were no match for the harsh December cold. 

He raised his hand and rapped three times on your dorm. 

He heard momentary shuffling on the other side before you opened the door in a flurry. The first thing he noticed was the light dusting of pink across your cheeks and the way your chest heaved with labored breathing. Try as he did to keep his eyes focused on your face, he let them drop for only a moment to take in the sight of you in your plain white top and faded denim jeans. 

You looked clean, comfortable, and unassuming, and for some unknown reason, it did things to Noah. 

“Hi,” you breathed and all at once, the moisture in Noah’s mouth evaporated, leaving a dry, scaly desert in its place. One hundred percent of his brain power was devoted to taking in the sight of you until it was satisfied that it had catalogued every inch of your presence. 

“Hi,” he said once his speech returned. His voice came out softer than intended. 

“You ready?” you asked, grabbing your coat from the back of the door. He tried to peek inside your dorm room—wanted badly to glean any additional knowledge of who you were when you weren’t with him, but you didn’t afford him the chance, stepping out and shutting the door behind you in one swift motion. 

“Yeah,” he replied, and then he didn’t say anything else because he’d apparently never had a single conversation in his life and had no idea how to begin one. 

You and Noah walked in silence, boots leaving two pairs of footprints in the snow. You wrapped your arms around you as you walked, and Noah noticed you wore mittens instead of gloves. He liked it. He liked that you wore mittens instead of gloves and it stuck out to him because he couldn’t remember ever liking any article of clothing worn by a woman that wasn’t about what wasn’t covered.

You observed the surroundings while Noah observed you, every once in a while commenting on a specific tree or building you liked, pointing to it with a mittened hand and Noah briefly wondered if there was a limit to how much time he could observe you being yourself before he got bored. He hoped he’d never reach it.  

“What’s up with you today?” you asked as the two of you rounded the corner that led to the coffee shop. “You’re quiet.” 

“Sorry,” he said casually. “Would you like me to talk more?” 

It wasn’t sarcastic, but a genuine question, asked in the way a server would if they found out their customer didn’t enjoy the meal. Did you want him to bring something more appetizing to the table? 

“No,” you said, looking down at your boots. “I just…want to know what’s on your mind.” 

The only thing on his mind was how physically aware of you he was. To ease the tension that had been pulling on his bones, he took a step closer to you. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch you in some way—grab your hand or throw his arm around you or something—but he refrained.  “Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Just vibing.” 

You rolled your eyes, sighing as the two of you reached the entrance to the coffee shop and you pulled on the large brass door handle, gesturing for him to enter first. “Well, I take back what I said earlier then,” you said. “I do want you to talk more. I’m doing all the heavy lifting.” 

Noah smiled, tickled by how unapologetically honest you were. He liked this version of you. Not that he didn’t like every version of you he’s had the privilege of knowing, but something was different. You were less eager to please him. Almost like you wielded the sharper parts of your personality as a weapon, testing to see if its sting would scare him away. 

It wouldn’t. 

“What do you want to do after you graduate?” he asked as the two of you made your way to the counter. 

“Just jumping right in, then? No warmup?” you asked. Noah shrugged. “Grande cinnamon vanilla latte, please.” you said to the barista. 

“Medium black coffee,” said Noah. 

Noah was reminded of the first time the two of you went to this café together. You were wearing the same rubber boots and Noah was doing his best to flirt with you. He smiled to himself and pulled out his card to pay. You let him without protesting. Good. You knew you deserved it. 

“I’m not sure anymore, to be honest,” you said as the two of you slid over to the pickup window. “I used to think I would work at the church my dad owned. Be office personnel or something.” 

“That doesn’t seem like you,” Noah observed. 

You shrugged. “It was the obvious choice at the time. My parents both believe I belong in the ministry in some regard.” 

“Would you be a pastor one day?” Noah asked.

You let out a loud, bitter laugh. “I don’t think our church would ever be ready for female leadership. It’s so old-school.”

Noah frowned. He didn’t like hearing that. In his opinion, you’d make a much better pastor than any other religious person he’s met. You actually practiced what you preached. 

“So what do you think you’ll do instead?” he asked, trying to shift the subject away from religion. He got the feeling that those wounds were still fresh for you. 

You shrugged. “To be honest, I haven’t put much thought into it. I know I should, but so much has changed in the last few weeks—I’m still kind of wrapping my head around it.” 

“I get it,” he said, reaching to pick up the drink orders that had arrived. You led the way over to a small two-person table in corner of the otherwise empty café. Noah followed dutifully, trying his best to express with every single movement how completely present he was here with you. He was sure you didn’t notice, but that wasn’t the point. For him, it was about the intention. 

“You do?” you asked, sitting down. Noah sat across from you and indulged in a moment of unapologetic eye contact. 

“Mhmm,” he nodded. “I mean, not that I’m experiencing it or anything, but I know that when it comes to big decisions like that, I need a clear head. If there’s too much stuff going on in my life at one time, I don’t have the headspace to think about it.” 

Some of the tension in your shoulders slackened—not by much, but he was so hyper-aware of you by that point that he couldn’t miss it. He wanted to think it was because of him. 

Rather than responding, you sipped at your latte, closing your eyes and savoring it. He took another indulgent moment—this time, to observe how your face responded to the small moment of pleasure. It was almost sexual, he noticed, the way you tucked your lips between your teeth and smiled. He appreciated that this moment was clearly for you, but that you allowed him to witness it. 

His mind drifted, picturing himself drawing that same response from you with his touch. A hot coil tugged just behind his navel. Saliva pooled on his tongue and his thumb twitched with the urge to reach out and tug your bottom lip away from where it sat tucked under your teeth—until he caught himself. Lusting after you felt forbidden in a way he hadn’t allowed lust to feel since middle school. 

Noah sipped at his coffee, eyes trained on you until you were finished squeezing all the serotonin out of the taste. It was bitter, but in a good way—like he needed a palate cleanser to shock his system after the sickening sweetness of the last few moments. 

“What about you?” you asked eventually. “Are you planning to stay at your job?” 

“No,” he said. “The job is there to pay the bills while I try to find something else.” 

It had become apparent that he’d have to find something else sooner rather than later. As much as the piece work gave him time to think, all of the repetitive motion was taking its toll on his body. He came home at the end of every shift with back pain on his left side and he’d been having to spend more and more time in the gym evening it out. 

“What would something else be?” you asked, eyes trained on him and his neck grew warm under the intense observation. 

“I want my music to take off, if possible,” he said. “I’ve been working on a lot of new stuff. Actually, I’d love to show you sometime if you want.” 

“What kind of stuff?” you asked before taking another slow sip. 

“Different from what I usually write. More experimental. I like it, but I haven’t shown the band, so I’m not sure what they’ll think.” 

You nodded slowly, mulling something over in your head and Noah waited patiently while you found your words. 

“I think…,” you began. “I think I’d be okay with hearing it. If you wanted to share, that is.” 

Noah blinked a few times. “I mean, yeah. I’d love to share it with you, but why the hesitation?” 

You smiled bashfully, full lips still wrapped around the edge of your cup. “It’s hard to explain. And it sounds mean.” 

“Please humor me,” said Noah in earnest. He liked when you were mean. You deserved to be mean. He had a sneaking suspicion that you’d only ever been overly nice in the past and the more you dropped the façade and stopped worrying about being polite, the more he enjoyed your company. 

You licked your lips, staring down into your mug and smiled to yourself again. “I’m trying to be careful with how much attention I’m giving to men these days.” 

“Oh.” The word escaped in a breath from Noah’s parted lips. His eyebrows lifted up towards his hairline and he had to take a minute to digest this bit of information. 

Something that felt a lot like jealousy flared up in his stomach and he had to examine it. He didn’t like it, whatever it was. It felt hot, slimy, and thick, and it sat just below his ribs. 

“Other men too?” He couldn’t help but ask for clarification. Perhaps he was showing his cards by bringing it up, but he didn’t care. 

The way the corner of your mouth lifted in response to his question let him know that you caught on to the implications of his question. “If there were other men, yes.” 

“So there are no other men,” he stated, feeling a flicker of hope rise up in his chest. 

“They’ve all gone home for Christmas break.” The teasing smile never left your lips as you said it. 

Fine. You could play your cards close to the chest if you wanted. He was fine with that. Whatever. 

He liked it though. Underneath the frustration, he liked this version of you: empowered, a little bitchy, tongue like a whip, lashing him in penance for his sins. The sick, masochistic side of him wanted more. Needed more. [4] 

He took a deep breath to help him refocus. “So why the newfound caution? Not that I’m against it, it’s probably a good idea. But why?” 

You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking if he really wanted to get into it, and he did, so he held your gaze until you decided to grace him with the truth. 

“I think I’ve given men a lot of unearned attention. It’s come back to bite me many times over. I’m trying to learn my lesson this time.” 

Noah nodded. He knew he was one of the reasons. He was prepared to hear that. But then… 

“What other times have you done that?” 

You tilted your chin down, narrowing your eyes in skepticism. “You mean aside from you?” you asked. 

He couldn’t help but smile, appreciating how resistant he was growing to the sting of your candor. You weren’t afraid to let him know just how much he’d messed up. 

He nodded. 

Your eyes flicked up to the ceiling while you thought. You sucked on your teeth while your gaze drifted across the room, picturing invisible figures from your past and the moments they’ve wronged you. 

“My dad, for one.” 

He was hoping you’d say that one. 

“How?” Noah scooted forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table between the two of you. Part of him was eager to know how his fuckup had fared in comparison to other men in your life.

“Even just listening to him preach every single Sunday. Sometimes the sermons would be worthwhile, but a lot of them were just him spouting his opinions on how people should behave. I don’t like that he has the platform he has. He doesn’t deserve it.” 

Your face had morphed into a scowl as you talked. Noah could see the resentment you held for your father and he wished there was something he could do—some word of comfort he could offer, but he knew it wasn’t his place, considering. 

“Isaac, too,” you said, and Noah rejoiced internally. He’d been hoping you’d say that even more.

“What did he do?” Noah asked, training his face and voice to appear calm and unbiased. 

“Oh my god,” you said, setting your cup down in front of you and clasping your hands together with a newfound focus. “I forgot you don’t even know!” 

“Know what?” 

“Isaac donated the proceeds of the showcase to a pro-life organization.” 

Noah had to force himself to swallow the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “What?!” 

You launched into the story, telling him all about how you’d been lured into participating because he’d said he wanted to donate the proceeds to charity, and how he’d been respectful the entire time, despite knowing how you felt about the subject. How he didn’t tell you about it beforehand because he knew you’d protest, so he went and did it behind your back, and how you didn’t find out until right before you were supposed to go on stage and sing. 

“Which I rocked, by the way, and you totally should have been there to see it,” you said, crossing your arm and fixing him with a scowl. 

“Something came up. I’ll have to make it up to you somehow,” he said. He didn’t have the heart to tell you he’d gone, but was too much of a coward to go inside the sanctuary. 

“Yeah, I know. That Something apparently lives in my dorm and had a lot to say.” 

Noah’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?” 

Apparently he’d struck a nerve. Within the span of a second, you were back to being closed off from him, arms folded across your chest and chin jutting out while you stared out the window. He probably deserved that. 

“I forget her name. Madison or whatever,” you said. 

Internally, his body hissed at him. He forgot he’d been trying to use Madison as a distraction. He hated that he’d done it, but at the time it felt necessary. He wasn’t sure how he could explain that to you, though. 

“So yeah,” you said. “I’m done with men for a while,” you said, still staring out the window and bouncing the leg that was crossed over the other. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I should have been there. It was…not my best hour.” 

He could tell you wanted more of an explanation, but weren’t about to beg for one. He’d tell you what really happened eventually…just not yet. 

 “What can I do to earn your favor?” he asked. 

“Be worth my time.” You said it without missing a beat and Noah had to hold back a snort. He was not expecting such a no-holds-barred answer from you and it hit him like a bucket of…not exactly ice water, but something warmer. Kinder. You were giving him the information he needed, unafraid of whether or not it would hurt his feelings. God, there was something about that he couldn’t get enough of. 

“Noted,” he said. “Still, I can’t believe Isaac did that.” 

“Yeah, well…,” you trailed off, mouth still pulled down into a frown. A few beats passed where neither of you said anything, and in the silence, Noah realized what he had to do.

He drained the rest of his coffee, then stood up and collected his things. 

“I should get you home then,” he said. 

Your face morphed into one of surprise. “What?” Noah wished he could take a photo of how you looked right then. Lips parted in bewilderment. Eyebrows pulled together in confusion. It was cute. 

“Your time is precious,” he said. “I don’t want to take up more than I’m worth.” 

“That’s not…are you serious?” you asked, turning to face him. He was already setting his empty mug in the dirty dish bin at the end of the counter. He turned back to face you and nodded to the door, gesturing for you to follow. 

You dumped the remainder of your latte into your mouth and stood, shoving your arms into your coat and hurrying to catch up. “What’s the rush?” you asked. 

“Trying to respect your time,” he said, smiling to himself as you struggled to match his pace. 

“Noah,” you said firmly, grabbing his arm and turning him around to face you. You didn’t say anything else but studied him with your jaw set firm. 

He stared back, face calm, but unyielding. The wind picked up, blowing a few strands of hair across your face. The skin at the back of his neck stood on end in the cold. His nose began to run, and he sniffed it back. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked. In the back of his mind, he registered your hand still wrapped around his arm. 

“I just got back into your good graces,” he admitted. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”  “Overstay? Noah, we’ve only been hanging out for an hour.” 

“I know,” he said, resisting the urge to pull you in closer. “It was an hour I wasn’t sure I’d get.  I’m grateful for that.” 

“Okay,” you said, looking off to the side when the eye contact grew too intense. “So, what’s the problem?” 

Noah searched for the right words, trying to describe what until now had only been a vague emotion that hadn’t quite surfaced. 

“The problem is that I will always want more than I’ve earned,” he said, softly, like he was only just now admitting this to himself. “An hour is already more than I deserve. Any more, and I’d get spoiled. But I would love the opportunity to earn your company again soon.” 

You processed what he said for a few beats and then rolled your eyes, lips stretching into a begrudging smile and if Noah had the ability to freeze time, he’d use it right then and there to study every inch of your face. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you said, sighing and hooking your arm through his. You allowed him to walk you back to your dorm. 

“Maybe,” he said, enjoying the pressure of your elbow against his. “Hopefully a harmless one.” 

“Is this love bombing?” you asked, short legs still struggling to keep up with his long ones. “Are you love bombing me?” 

“I hope not,” he said. “That would be really fucked up if that were the case.” 

“It would make you a terrible person,” you agreed. “You better not be love bombing me.” 

“I’ll watch out for that,” he said, smiling to himself. “What counts as love bombing in your book?” 

You grinned, as if this was a special interest of yours and you’d been waiting for someone to ask you that exact question. 

“Showering me with compliments, for one,” you began. 

“Noted. You look terrible today.” 

“Ha!” you said, nearly skipping with energy and warmth bloomed in Noah’s body at the thought he’d made you happy. 

“To be honest, I don’t exactly know,” you said. “I think people who love bomb have this skill about them–where they can pay close attention to a person, pick up on what they want or need, and then give it to them. But it doesn’t come from a good place, and they can’t sustain that energy. They do it until they get what they want, and then they leave.” 

Noah’s stomach twisted, the warmth that had previously inhabited it sucked away in a vacuum, leaving only tightness. 

He’d done that before. Many times. Fuck. 

As the two of you walked back to your dorm, Noah’s conscious weighed heavy on him. You continued talking about red flags, but Noah’s ability to actively listen was compromised with the weight of his guilt. 

He had a habit of justifying his past actions to himself–if women were naive enough to fall for simple flattery, they deserved it, he told himself. 

His stomach rocked again and he felt like he was going to be sick. 

He couldn’t change his past. He was well-aware he’d done things he wasn’t proud of, but he could change how he was going to act moving forward. 

This time, he was determined to get it right. 

“I guess this is where I leave you,” he said, unhooking his arm from yours. 

You stared at the door longingly, and Noah hoped that meant that you weren’t ready to leave. 

“You want to do this again sometime?” you asked, turning to him. 

Noah nodded, swallowing the sinking feeling in his chest for now. He could process everything when he got back to his apartment. “This or whatever else. Whatever works best for you.” 

“It can’t all be about me, you know,” you said. Your hand rested on the door knob, keys dangling uselessly from your fingers. 

“I know,” he said.  

Your face grew serious as you studied Noah, looking like you were still trying to figure out if he was for real. 

“Why are you doing all this?” you asked. 

Noah didn’t have an answer at the ready for you, so he simply shrugged. “Feel like it.” 

You continued to regard him. He couldn’t help when his eyes dropped to your lips—full and flushed with pink from the cold. He had a feeling he was letting his cards show, but he didn’t have much incentive to keep them hidden from you anyway. 

He brought his eyes back up to meet yours and caught the second your eyes flicked back up from his own lips. When you realized you were caught, you averted your gaze to your shoes. Noah did the same. 

“I, uh. I should get going,” he said, reaching to rub at a spot on the back of his neck. 

“Yeah,” you said, side-stepping away to break some of the tension that had been building for the last thirty seconds. You fiddled with your keys, finding the right one and using it to unlock your door, but made no move to enter. 

This was the hardest part. He didn’t want to leave. From what he could pick up, you didn’t want him to. But it was important that he did. He knew it. He wasn’t going to fuck this up by being impatient again. 

Just when he was about to say his final goodbye, you beat him to it. 

“See ya,” you said. And then in one swift motion, you grabbed the lapel of his coat, pulled him down, stood up on your toes and gave him a peck on the cheek. 

Before he even registered what had happened, you’d unlocked your door and disappeared behind it. 

It took all of Noah’s willpower not to follow you.  _______ All rights reserved to @doomhands-jr, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

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[russellsppttemplates]

towards the end of your pregnancy, mick starts getting ready for the baby to arrive (installing the car seat, building furniture…) while you’re also nesting

Cw: reader's pregnant

You finished folding the last bodysuit you took from the dryer, closing the drawer and getting up to get yourself a snack from the kitchen. Mick had an interview over the phone, so he had to let you out of his sight, something he only did when he absolutely had to, no matter how many times you assured you would be fine.

"Something sweet, baby girl?", you asked as you rubbed your bump, looking at the snack cupboard before finding one of your favourite homemade biscuits your mother had dropped off a couple of days before. When you turned to the sink to wash your hands and look for your husband, you heard noise coming from the garage, following it until you saw Mick looking at instructions.

"Everything okay?", you asked, making your presence known as he looked up, smiling when he saw you standing there.

"Yes, just installing the ISOFIX for the carseat", he said as he moved to do so while you appreciated his handsome face as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing and what he read on the instructions, "I got it, I got it... I got it!", he said as he tested the apparatus, seemingly well enough since it did what it was supposed to.

"I was thinking of building the inside of the wardrobe, how does that sound?", he said as he tidied what he did, putting things back in the box and storing it in the room adjacent to the garage.

"That would be really nice, actually. I can finally put her dresses and coats in the hangers, thank you", you said, taking his hand and letting him take you to the nursery.

"You filled the drawers already?", he asked as he took all of the different pieces from the box, organising them by section, "I did, and before you come at me, my butt was sat on the chair so I wasn't putting too much strain on my body", you winked.

"How about we get this butt on there again?", he said, teasingly tapping your butt before he pushed the rocking chair so you could sit by him. Sitting down, you puckered your lips so he could kiss you before he started putting on the little pieces that would hold the shelves and the rails. "Don't put those too high, please", you requested, "I'll have to ask for your help every time I need to get something from there", you blushed.

"Then you'll come and get me so I can help", he reasoned, "or we could store things here than we won't use too often, like bedding and curtains? Spare stuff that's bigger", he wondered, "yes, that sounds good", you smiled, envisioning the whole lay-out.

"Do you think this is good here?", Mick asked you, showing you the position he wanted to put the rail on, "I don't know, I have to test it out", you mumbled, getting up and grabbing one of the hangers along with a winter coat you had left by the crib.

Mick took the opportunity to watch you waddle around the room, gathering the things you needed, not being able to contain the smile on his lips when he thought about you carrying his baby girl.

"Stop looking at me like that", you mumbled, feeling watched, "what? I can't look at my gorgeous, pregnant wife?", he wiggled his eyebrows, making room for you so you could test out your movements. His hands went to your waist, rubbing the skin under your t-shirt, "it's fine, but maybe a little bit closer to the wall, so no one hits their head on the hangers, and by no one, I mean you, because my head doesn't touch there", you snickered, setting the clothes and the hangers on the shelf before looking up at him, "can't have this handsome face bruised", you smiled, kissing his lips and enjoying the way his hands were massaging your hips and back, "how about I finish this here and we can go update the pregnancy book?", he mentioned the scrapbook you were creating ao you could document every step of the pregnancy, "sounds good to me, and to her too, it seems", you chuckled as you felt her kicks, your husband's hands moving to your bump, "Hi, babygirl, mama and papa are making sure everything is ready for when you join us".

(Thank you for your submission ✨️)

[dimorphodon-x]

“There are extra cubes for Nova in the fridge and a few hard metal treats in the cupboard,” Thunderclash recounted everything, “but, are you sure-?”

“Don’t worry, Thunders,” Starhawk smiled and reached for his larger, blockier hand. The large bot slightly jumped at the surprisingly solid grip, “I’ve gotten better at interacting with physical objects. I can take care of Novabird if he needs anything.”

A small squeak escaped Thunderclash as the ghost reached up and gave the brim of his helm a quick cold kiss, “you go out and have a nice date with Roddy, ok?”

“Uh-uh huh,” Thunderclash dumbly nodded and stepped back towards the door, “t-take care.”

“Have fun,” Hawk waved the large mech off, watching him leave with the smaller flame colored mech.

Now alone, the ghostly flier went to check on the sparkling. Novabird was still sleeping, and hopefully would for a few hours. Though at the same time, Hawk wished he could play with his son now that it was just the two of them. Nova couldn’t see him, but the way the little guy laughed and squealed in delight as his toys seemingly flew over his head brought the phantom much joy.

Though playtime with Nova was often short as Rodimus would quickly investigate what all the commotion was, and Starhawk would have to hurriedly put the toys back down before he opened the door.

Oh well, there was other stuff a ghost could do to pass the time. Like a bit of tidying up.

He couldn’t do any deep cleaning of course, that would be too conspicuous. Instead Hawk went about doing small tasks, like straightening pictures, or picking up small bits of unnoticed garbage and tossing them into the bin.

Such small chores were quickly finished and Starhawk went to sit on the couch in the living room. Thunderclash had left a datapad on one of the arms for Starhawk to read through to pass the time. 

The ghostly jet was about half an hour into his reading when a sound caught his attention. Small rattling and then a door being forced open a few moments after.

Someone was breaking in.

Immediately Starhawk rushed to investigate. Walls were no obstacle as he just phased through them to get to Rodimus and Thunderclash’s bedroom. The window had been opened and the intruder (or even intruders) entered the home from there. He could hear them going through some of the items in the hallway closet.

Panic setting in, Hawk rushed for Novabird’s room. There were two intruders. He didn’t recognize them, but that didn’t matter. They were making their way to the sparkling’s room.

“Frag, frag!” Hawk hissed. Nova’s door didn’t have a lock and he couldn’t yet pick up heavy items like shelves to block it. He looked at the sleeping sparkling in the crib. He doubted he could pick him up to move him to a safe hiding spot, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

The phantom’s fingers curled under Novabird, slightly lifting him up. Nova’s face scrunched up at the cold hands trying to pick him up and grunted unhappily.

“Shh shh! Stay quiet little Nova,” Hawk pleaded. His fingers were starting to phase through the little body, “oh please oh please oh please-!”

“Oh, what do we have here?”

No!

Starhawk gasped as his fingers gave, and Novabird plopped back into his cushioned crib. The short drop startled the sparkling awake and he shrieked. The two intruders hissed at the sudden cry.

“Uhg, noisy little thing,” the shorter of them snarled, rubbing at their audial. Their partner merely hummed and approached the crib. Starhawk instinctively shielded his crying son with his frame, yet the stranger could not see him.

“Go away, go away!”

“This is Rodimus’ kid, right?” Hawk gagged as a hand went right through his head as the stranger held a digit out to the sparkling. Novabird grabbed the intruder’s finger, still crying but starting to calm down.

“Yeah. What of it?” Short One joined their partner next to the crib, but kept their hands on their hips, “nasty little vermin.”

Starhawk growled at the comment and tried to swat the other mech’s hand away from his son.

“Rodimus is a Prime, right?” Creepy One smiled down at Novabird, wiggling their captured finger, “and Primes have money, right?”

“I guess. Thunderclash at least has money. I think.”

Starhawk did not like where this seemed to be going.

“And I’m sure little guy’s parents love him lots,” Creepy’s smile widened, “enough to pay lots of money to get their bundle of joy back home safe and sound.”

Shorty’s eyes widened and their grin mirrored Creepy’s, “oh, I gotcha. Much easier than stealing junk.”

Hawk’s vision went red.

“Do noT TOUCH HIM!”

The duo recoiled in surprise, and Novabird screamed again.

“What was that?” Shorty looked around, “you heard that too, right?”

“I didn’t hear it,” Creepy frowned, “but I felt something.”

The phantom lunged at Creepy, talons extended as he slashed at the mech’s chest. The intruder yelped as lines appeared in his paint.

“GET OUT!” Hawk snarled, Shorty shrinking back at his voice.

“Who’s there?” They whimpered pathetically, looking around, “show yourself!”

Creepy jumped forward and scooped Novabird up from his crib, holding the screaming sparkling up, “don’t try anything stupid, or the kid gets it!”

The room shook with a furious growl and the shadows seemed to grow larger and darker, crawling towards the intruders. In the darkness, they could just make out the shape of a mangled jet, and a pair of yellow eyes glaring at them.

Novabird shrieked as he squirmed in the stranger’s rough hands, trying to pry their fingers off of him.

“PUT HIM BACK.”

“Who… what are you?” Shorty hid behind their larger partner. The figure grew more distorted as the room again trembled with the phantom’s rage. The two backed towards the door anxiously.

“PUT. HIM. BACK.”

A black hand shot out and shut the door before the two could escape. Shorty wailed and all but collapsed to their knees in fear, while Creepy barred their teeth and stood defiantly.

“It’s a demon!” They hissed, eyes wide. They held Novabird up like a shield, “a messenger of Unicron!”

“I’ll show you demon,” Hawk snarled, broad wings flaring and engulfing the room completely in his rage.

Creepy was unable to see anything, not even the sparkling they were holding right in front of them. It felt like cold hands snatched the child away, and they could hear Shorty screaming and crying and begging for mercy.

“This isn’t real,” they whispered, “you can’t hurt us, you’re not real!”

“Not real?”

Moonlight returned to the room and the black figure was standing at the crib, the sparkling tucked in and sleeping soundly, despite having been crying only a moment ago.

Creepy glanced at their cowering partner, then to the phantom, their spark pounding behind their scratched chest plates.

“Not real?” The phantom repeated, eyes narrowing, “you’re stupid.”

The intruder frowned, stepping back, though their heel hit the wall.

Hawk stepped around Nova’s crib, his frame solid yet flowy like fire as he approached Creepy, “enough of my spark wants to stay behind to guard my family from the likes of you vermin. I’ve picked up a few tricks here and there, but there’s one thing I really want to test out on you tonight.”

“What?” Creepy pressed themself against the wall as cold hands grabbed his shoulders, “what are you-?”

“I’m experimenting,” Starhawk smiled as his frame dissipated, almost appearing to sink into Creepy’s chassis.

Shorty hesitantly lowered their arms and looked up at their partner, seeing their frame seize up and their eyes go white.

“H-hey. What’s wrong?”

Creepy blinked, their eyes dimming to yellow, and turned to look down at the cowering mech.

“Nothing is wrong,” they smiled, seeming oddly pleased with themself, “I’m just glad this worked.”

“What are you talking about? Hey!” Shorty yelped as Creepy grabbed their arm and yanked them up, restraining them in a tight hug, “what are you doing??”

“I’m going to make sure you both pay for this,” Hawk hissed, “I can’t believe you two, breaking into someone’s home and plotting to kidnap their child? Barbaric.”

“Y-you’re-?” 

“Roddy’s late husband,” the possessed mech smiled as they exited the baby’s room and made their way to the living room, “and that sparkling is my son.”

Shorty let out a strained whine as Creepy sat down on the couch with them still in their arms, “this is crazy. What are you gonna do to us?”

“Call my boyfriend,” Hawk answered simply.

Shorty made a face.

“Thunderclash,” the phantom clarified, then went silent as he seemingly made his call.

…

Thunderclash and Rodimus burst frantically into their home, but froze as soon as they saw the pair of intruders seated on their couch. The larger was stiff as a board, one arm wrapped around the other mech, and the other hand clasped over their mouth to keep them quiet.

“I… what is this?” Rodimus looked up at Thunderclash, who merely shrugged.

“Go check on Novabird, Rodimus. I can take care of these two.”

The speedster didn’t need to be told twice as he ran for Nova’s room. Thunderclash cautiously approached the couch, eying the strangers warily.

“…Starhawk?”

He nearly jumped when the bigger mech turned their head to look at him, and smiled.

“Hey Thunders. How was the date?”

“It… was fine. Until I got the call.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves. Shame these two idiots had to cut it short,” Starhawk frowned and glared at the trembling mech in his arms, “now, could you please restrain them? I’m actually really fraggin tired and it’s getting harder to move in this body. It’s also really gross in here and I want out.”

“Oh! Of course!” Thunderclash hurried to grab some tape and rope from the supply closet and was able to quickly tie up the intruders' wrists and ankles, freeing the phantom from having to possess one of them and then calling the police to arrest them.

It didn’t take long for the cops to show up and take the trembling pair away. The short one kept on blabbering on about something regarding shadows and spirits, but no one was paying any attention. Certainly not Thunderclash anyway.

With the thieves turned almost kidnappers taken care of, Thunderclash was able to join Rodimus in Novabird’s room. The speedframe had scooped the bitty out of his crib and was pacing back and forth, holding him close to his chest and muttering to the confused and sleepy sparkling. Thunderclash frowned as he watched Rodimus fret and carefully approached.

“How’s Nova?”

Rodimus stopped his pacing and swallowed. His voice cracked as he responded, “he’s okay. He’s unharmed.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Thunderclash sighed as he stepped closer. Rodimus shuddered and all but collapsed into the larger mech’s arm, “whoa!”

“We could’ve lost him, Thunders!” He gasped, “those bastards could’ve taken him away and we’d never see him again!”

Thunderclash hugged the smaller mech closer, glancing down at Novabird. The little bitty was staring back up at him with large blue eyes, confused and curious. The thought of returning to an empty crib made his lines run cold, “but he’s here, Rodimus. He’s here and he’s safe and no one will ever harm him.”

“We never should’ve left him alone,” Rodimus buried his face against Thunder’s neck, “never again, never never never…”

Thunderclash opened his mouth. He wanted to tell him that Nova hadn’t been left alone, that he was being guarded at all times. He caught sight of Hawk’s ghost, watching them from the other end of the room. His figure was faded and most of his features looked half remembered.

“I don’t think he’d believe you,” Starhawk’s wings drooped as he shook his head, “and it might only hurt him to know anyway.”

Thunderclash shut his mouth with a frown. Alright. Maybe another time then.

[ernmark]

There's this feeling that apparently is all too common-- that there's something rotting inside of you, that if you say too much or let people get too close they'll be able to smell it on you, or see the wrongness just under the surface. For me it probably comes from some unholy cocktail of mental illness, religious trauma, and some fucked up relationships, but the source of it is different for everyone.

I've tried that method of just telling myself that the rot isn't there-- but that feels all too much like lighting scented candles and hoping nobody will smell the potatoes liquefying in the cupboard.

So. New angle: the rot is there. So what do you do with things that are rotting?

You have to acknowledge that it's there, and take it out of your cupboard and wipe down the shelves so it stops fucking up the rest of your food. And then you chuck it into the compost.

Because this is my metaphor, and I know how to compost.

The thing is, you can't just chuck stuff in a pile and leave it. You have to give it enough space that it can settle and move-- and enough to expose it to rain and sun and air. You add coffee grounds and garden clippings and fallen leaves so that it's not all just one thing stewing in its own juices. You let the worms and the beetles get in there-- the things that know their way around rotting things-- and let them break it down into smaller and smaller pieces.

You give it time.

And eventually it stops being rot and becomes fuel for something else to grow.

[fandomwritingbit]

The scarf fic was amazing! Short but gold. I absolutly loved it and I think it has huge potential for a series or a longer fic. Pervy william is what I *need* rn, seriously requesting a continuation;-;

Thanks for this request, it was much too nice to revisit prevy Will. Here's a little continuation, I might get around to some corruption smut in the future ;)

Lost Property - pt. 1 here

William Afton x fem reader

“Bugger.” You say to yourself as you lift up the few garments on the coat hook in search of your scarf. How can you have lost it already? “Bleeding ridiculous…” You mutter: it’s not there. Some fucker has probably swiped it, though to be fair you should know better than to leave anything unattended here, people’s belongings have a nasty habit of just ‘going walkies’ when not under lock and key. 

You’re feeling pretty defeated until the thought strikes you that maybe somebody handed it in to the office. It’s at least worth a check. And so, not before putting your stuff in a locker, you take a breath and knock on your boss’s office door. 

There’s a pause before his gruff and impatient voice lets you know that someone is in. “Yeah. Come in.” And you do.

“Hey Mr Afton…” You smile at him as you usually would. Not the kind of faux-bright grin you give customers but a more special self-deprecating one, reserved purely for colleagues. He actually smiles back, though it’s slow to spread across his face.

You are just a pleasure to see, especially wearing the same skirt as last time, the one that’s a couple of inches too short and delightfully skin-tight. The skirt that he thought about when he made the rota, always putting you on the shifts that he was supervising just so he can see how good you look in it.   

“You alright, y/n?” He grins, eyes eventually finding their way to your face, the cool gaze making your face hot. 

“Uh not too bad- I just wanted to ask if any scarves have been handed in? I left one here the other day and it’s not on the hook.” 

…

Oh dear. He might have known this would happen. Your scarf certainly wasn’t handed in, in fact he knows precisely where it is and you definitely aren’t getting it back any time soon. Hell, no one’s having it, lest they pry it out of his cold, dead, horny, hands. 

He sniggers briefly and you feel left out of some joke. “No, there’s nothing in here.” He prides himself on how naturally that leaves his tongue, because it’s not technically a lie. Then the most devilish idea appears in his mind. “... But I’m not sure about lost property, you could look there.” 

And where is that, Mr Afton? 

“Right. I haven’t looked in there before, where is it?” 

The grin on your boss’s face becomes particularly wolfish and you swear his eyes sparkle. “Here, love. I’ll show you.”  

~

After a short walk, spent behind your boss trying not to be put off by the way he towers over you, he shows you into a small room, little more than a cupboard. There’s shelves up the wall with boxes and baskets and shit, and on the floor a large clear bin full of clothes. He holds the door for you and stands aside to let you in. You throw him a polite smile over your shoulder, expecting him to leave you to it. But when you turn your back and crouch down to open the bin, you don’t hear any footsteps behind you. And turning around only confirms his lean frame still in the doorway.

You brush it off as maybe he just wants to be out of the office for a bit, and start rifling through the fabrics, looking for the distinctive light blue silky texture of your scarf. But with the amount of stuff in here it’s going to take a while. 

William leans against the frame, taking in your perfect form, sitting there on your feet. That skirt stretched thin around all the best parts of you. This is the best idea he’s had in a while and he isn’t going to let it go to waste. So he pulls his phone out from the front pocket of his trousers, careful to keep flicking his gaze on you, and opens his camera to start taking a few photos of you down on your knees.  Knowing how grateful he’ll be to himself later, when he has the opportunity to act on the stiffening of his cock just from the sight of you. It’s hard for him not to touch himself right now, but he’s not that careless, a sweet thing like you would need breaking in.

“I don’t think it’s here… fuck’s sake.” You mutter the last part, though when you turn and see your boss with an amused expression, you apologise automatically. 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He chuckles, watching you stand to your feet. He pauses as he considers whether to say the next part. “It’s a shame about your scarf though, it looked lovely on you.”

You smile, a little dazed by that comment. It was unexpected to say the least, especially from such a handsome and scary man as Mr Afton, and especially when he said it like that. You’re suddenly very aware of how you were just on your knees in front of him and it makes blood rush to your face. Then it occurs to you that you’ve been quiet for a fair while, so you rush a response, “Uh thanks- my friend is gonna kill me, she only gave me it two weeks ago.” Embarrassment doubles after you’ve finished babbling, god you need to get out of this small room. 

He just laughs, finally moving out the way enough to let you out, revelling in how such a little complement made you so flustered. “I’ll keep an eye out for you, but if it’s been nicked there’s not a lot we can do.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine honestly. I just wanted to have a look.” Right now you just feel silly, like you’ve wasted his time. You just want to get out on the floor and start your shift away from the eyes of this attractive man. And mercifully he lets you go, not without walking you back down the corridors with a large and intimidating hand on your lower back, the gesture now making your hands sweaty.    

It’s only when you’re gone and he’s back in his office that he adjusts himself in his trousers, not a stitch of guilt at the fact that just having you alone made him hard. And the knowledge of those photos made him throb. 

You poor, cute little thing, he’s going to ruin you.