#I tried to make him as haggard as I could

[mechanicalapathy]

[tojisun]

!! suggestive (and mini smut) - minors dni; bimbo (fem)!reader has simon wrapped around her pinky (we luv to see it!); the squad’s here too; hinted age difference (30s v. 20s)

when they ask him where you two met, simon always tries his best to tamp down the smile threatening to grace his lips before clearing his throat and answering, "in the ER."

the questions that follow are always repetitive: 'what, why?', 'what happened?', 'how did things even go from there?' the last one is often paraphrased into some other versions, but the sentiment remains – people always get surprised, reduced into awkward stumbling because how could you even segue into a romantic relationship from having met in the ER?

well, simon thinks, it's actually quite fucking simple.

it was three in the morning and simon was in the lobby, waiting to be called in, when he saw you walk in: you clutched your broken heeled shoes in your hands, your beautiful legs were bearing injuries and cuts, and your hair was a wild mess. then, you ambled towards a baffled triage nurse.

"hi!" simon recalls your melodic voice echo, sounding too hyper even when you looked all banged up. "can i use y'r restroom? we got kicked outta the club."

simon was so focused on you that he didn't even notice the pack of girls following behind you, all of them looking just as haggard and bruised up. one of your friends was actually worryingly injured, so it’s no shock when the nurse rushed towards her, slightly panicked and confused before steering your friend away, leaving you there in the lobby.

then, you turned around, frowning at having been ignored, and it gave simon the best vantage point of finally seeing your face. he swears his heart stuttered in his chest, his lungs constricting, because holy shit, you are beautiful.

"then the rest is history," simon ends, pulling you close to him. any closer and you would have ended on his lap – something he preferred, anyway – but johnny continues to stare at the two of you with a slack jaw, his eyes almost bulging out in confusion so simon tries to keep it civil.

you giggle, and simon watches as the rest of the squad snap their eyes on you, as though expecting you to grace them with a better explanation. but simon knows that you probably don't even know what's going on, having been busy tapping away on your phone, your acrylics making distinct clacks as they hit the screen.

"i love the history channel," you singsong, batting your eyelashes as you give them a dimpled smile. "simmy-" simon almost coos at the nickname you gave him, "and i looove watching the penguins."

simon presses a kiss on the top of your head, ignoring the bewildered looks his squad is shooting him.

"that's the 'animal planet', love. not the history channel," simon corrects gently, rubbing his hand down your side.

"oh!" you say, unbothered by your mistake. "okay!"

and that was that.

"what the fuck," simon hears johnny wheeze out only to up making choking noises when kyle elbows him. simon ignores them, choosing to watch as you turn back to your phone, mass-retweeting a series of post made by the magazine catalogue that you've been following.

cute.

---------

"fuck," simon hisses, feeling the sharp edge of the kitchen knife slicing through the first layer of his skin. he watches the blood bead, trickling down his finger, and simon wipes it before it can stain the pristine green – "sage!" you tutted to him once – countertops.

"si?" you ask, padding towards the kitchen at the clamour. he feels you press yourself to his side, your perky tits nuzzling his robust muscles. "what's goin- y'r bleeding!"

he grunts, frowning at himself for having made you worry. he moves to reassure you that he's okay, but you're already tugging him out of the kitchen, your smaller hand wrapped around his thicker wrist.

god, he loves seeing the size difference.

you're wearing his military shirt, the material sliding down your body beautifully, before pooling just above your perky ass. simon unabashedly stares at the way your ass jiggles – hidden underneath the tiniest booty shorts he knows you own – his throat bone dry and his sweats filling up all of a sudden.

he barely realizes that you two are in the bathroom until you're steering him towards the edge of the bathtub before twisting to fish the emergency kit from the floor cabinets. simon almost groans at the perfect shape that your ass makes when you bend over, feeling himself throb with raging desire.

you pull out a pink emergency kit and skitter towards him again, slotting yourself between his spread legs. simon raises his hand – the uninjured one – to grasp at your waist, sliding it down to your hips, before giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"it's nothin' fatal, sweet'art," simon mumbles, thumbing your hipbone as he tries to comfort you.

you're still pouting at him when you say, "sure, i guess. but lemme help you?"

and who is simon to say no to that?

"of course, love."

he lets out a quiet chuckle when you press your glossed lips on his forehead, unbothered even when your lips leave a sticky stamp on his skin.

he watches you disinfect his wound with a strawberry-scented sanitizer before wrapping a pink adhesive bandage around it. his worries about having his open wound disinfected by a glittery sanitizer fade away when you picked his hand up to place a kiss on his now-bandaged finger.

glitter-induced infections no longer matter. not when simon's getting nursed to full health by such a pretty girl.

he licks the back of his teeth, clenching his jaw, and thinks, you deserve a reward, don't you, sweetness?

---------

johnny blanches when he sees the bandage around simon's finger. "LT, what in fuck's name is that?"

his loud voice snags the attention of garrick and their captain who ambled their way towards him upon hearing the commotion. garrick chokes on nothing when he sees the pink bandage that simon's sporting.

"bandage," simon replies, pride heavy in his voice. "from my girl."

johnny whirls and shoots a pointed look towards kyle and john. kyle is the one who breaks the silence.

"…are they safe for use?"

"what's the cat even bandaging?" johnny adds.

simon huffs, flicking his finger up to give the squad a better view. "firstly, this is 'hello kitty'. secondly, you questionin' my girl’s ability to care for me?"

john coughs, looking away, kyle arches a brow at him like the answer should be obvious, and johnny gulps loudly, before mumbling, "...yes."

simon sniffs, unable to blame them. "yeah, well, don't."

the squad is still quiet. waiting.

simon finally gives in and replies, "i checked. they're safe for use."

he rolls his eyes at their dramatic sigh.

"that's good to hear," john says before clapping his hands together once, urging them to disperse.

simon grumbles all the way back to his room.

---------

simon loves his pretty, dumb girlfriend to death.

he loves seeing you dolled up – skimpy dresses made of silk material paired with heels that could honestly stab someone to death. he also loves seeing you in nothing but his ratty jumpers – loose black sweaters stopping just after your crotch and the sleeves falling past your fingers.

but nothing tops seeing you naked and crying for him.

nothing could ever top this – your legs folded close to your chest, your ankles hooked on his shoulders, your pretty make up running as tears trickle from the corners of your eyes and flood your cheeks.

he thrusts his fingers in your cunt again, breathless when it punches out another slick gush of your squirt, drenching you two even more. you squeal, body locking, your hips lifting from the bed. simon has to press down on your belly to keep you stable.

"siii!" you cry out, thrashing on his hold, but simon just kisses your leg as he continues to fuck his fingers in you.

"shh," simon murmurs, feeling so choked up at the sight you make. "one more for me, yeah?"

you moan out a reply, a garbled mixture of 'yes' and his name, before wrapping your hands around his arms, your acrylics digging into his skin. simon doesn't even register the pain, still too caught up at fingering you to feel the way you're clawing him.

still too caught up at how perfect you are for him.

(later, when he checks the mirror and sees the angry red welts, simon purrs at the sight of them. because simon loves being marked by you, doesn't matter how, as long as he has bearings of your pleasure. pleasure he gave you.)

---------

simon receives a video message from you. it’s nothing long or conspicuous, but simon still chokes when he finally gets to watch it.

because in the video, you’re wearing simon’s old varsity shirt on top of your university cheer uniform.

“look!” you chirp, twirling for him. “found this in the closet!”

simon slams his captain’s door open and demands a vacation leave.

---------

the lieutenant has a new tattoo and johnny doesn't know what the actual shit it's supposed to be.

it looks like a wriggly blob of a... cloud? a cotton ball? candy floss?

it was still a somewhat fresh tattoo so simon never truly shows it off – johnny doesn't even know if it's worthy of being shown off – until one night at a bar, simon rolls up the sleeves of his jumper and leans to the squad to point at the blob.

"lookit," he slurs, tipsy and just a touch giddy.

finally, johnny cheers to himself before reaching forward to poke just beside the scribble.

"what's it?"

"mittens," their lieutenant croons, smiling down at his skin like a weirdo.

johnny has seen enough mittens to know that whatever that fucking squiggle is isn't mittens.

"uhm," kyle says, thankfully thinking along the same lines as johnny. "is it?"

"yeah," simon says wistfully, drunken in a lovesick way. "s'my girl's cat. she drew it f'r me."

oh. well, fuck. now that's just too cute.

wait.

"that's a drawing of a cat?" johnny rasps out, choking on his spit before turning to study the tattoo again.

it's still a fucking blob.

christ.

[delphi-shield]

:// sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ / ʙɪʟʟʏ.ʙᴜᴛᴄʜᴇʀ

Billy Butcher x Reader smut, hurt/no comfort wc: ~5.2k mdni read on ao3 digging the worms out of my brain real quick since i finally caught up with the boys. idk i think i worked through something personal with this, so like, that's a win for me.

summary: Butcher knows better than to be fucking around with you, but there's 50 quid in it for him if he gets you to call him 'daddy'. Easy money.

content: s4 spoilers, dubcon, butcher's pov, an exorbitant amount of kessler in the first half, age gap, general sleazy behavior, handjob, finger fucking, piv, pussy slapping, some just the tip action, blowjob, mentions of titfucking, degradation, general objectification, public sex, not proofread.

“Makes you realize men have nipples too.”

The bar is packed for a Wednesday night, but Butcher already knows exactly what Kessler is talking about. You’re a ditch lily, sitting tall in this shithole. He turns his head away, pretends he doesn't see the way you lick up a trail of spilled cosmopolitan from the side of your glass, pink tongue parting your lips, eyes half-shut. 

Fucking typical. Kessler could sniff out daddy issues and sadness from a mile away, and he was lethal at half that distance. He could have them wrapped around his finger in the time it took Butcher to take a piss.

His eyes linger. A thing like you doesn't belong in a dump like this. This is the sort of place girls like you stumble into at 1 AM, survey the crowd through the haze of cigarette smoke, and wobble right back out onto the streets, take your chances with the elements rather than the haggard, unfriendly crowd that hunches over their drinks.

Butcher likes Midwest 10's. Begs Kessler to stop ogling barely legal co-eds, says he's not some sleazy cunt in a John Hughes film. He can lie all he wants. If it makes him hard, it makes Butcher hard. 

He glances sidelong at your face. You've got this Christmas-light bright smile that makes his dick jerk. Kessler’s more than under his skin. He’s in his veins, in the same blood that raises his cock up like a goddamn bicycle pump when you lean over the bar, arms squeezing your tits together.

"You could probably fuck 'em." Kessler tips his head to the side, eyes locked on your cleavage. His eyes narrow, lips pursed, evaluating your chest and charting a course for his dick to travel.

"Shut up."

"Huh?"

Fuck. Your tip your head to the side from two seats away, brows pinched together. Cute, in a lost little lamb kind of way.

Butcher's eyes cut to Kessler. He's cocked it all up now. The sly, punchable grin on Kessler’s face turns him back to his drink. He drains his glass and gestures for another. If he doesn’t look at you, if he keeps drinking, this all goes away.

"Nothin'. Don't you worry about it, love."

That should be the end of it, but you’ve clearly got something wrong with you. You fiddle with your purse, pluck up your courage, and drop yourself onto the barstool next to him. Whether you’ve got no sense of self-preservation or you’re just that damn oblivious, he doesn’t intend to get to know you well enough to find out. Butcher's strained smile doesn't do much to smooth the worry lines away.

Kessler chuckles, leans back and props his elbows up on the bar. Cunt just wants to watch him squirm.

"No," Kessler corrects, drawing the word out. "I want you to get some pussy."

His eyes dart over to Kessler, looming over you, hands ghosting up your arms to squeeze your shoulders. He blinks rapidly, rubs at his face, tries to play it off like he's nervous or tired or whatever the fuck but when he looks down, there's your tits again. Butcher lolls his head back to the ceiling. Laugh it up, you fuckin’ cunt.

And Kessler does. Makes a show of slapping his hand on his thigh, head knocked back, grinning toothily.

He tries to ignore you, but you’re straddling that stool next to him in your little skirt and ordering another cosmo. This isn’t the kind of bar for cocktails, and he knows without even seeing the bartender’s eye roll that he hates you.

It's none of his business. He ought to keep himself sat there drowning in his drink ‘til last call and past that, make them throw him out on the street, give him a reason to swing first. It's a better idea than messing with you.

The bartender drops your drink off in front of you and turns before the words ‘thank you’ leave your glossy lips. Another sickly pink cocktail with a dried out lime dropped on top. Butcher can’t help himself. He’s got a soft spot for the clueless.

“Cheery bloke, isn't he?” He says, casting a sidelong glance at the bartender. He taps a finger against the bartop, inclines his head toward your cocktail. “That the only drink you know the name of?”

Your cheeks warm. You hide it behind a hand, turning your face away from him to laugh.

“What? No. I just think they taste good.”

Kessler snorts. “That’s a fat load of shit.”

Butcher agrees. His mouth twists into a half-hearted smile. He slides his glass over to you. 

“Try it,” he insists.

There’s hardly a passing thought for your own safety. You look between his scotch and his face and seem to decide it’s safe to take drinks from strange old fucks in bars. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, warm and soft - sticky. You must be more sloshed than you look, must keep spilling your drinks. Hell, for all he knows, maybe this place does make the best cosmo in the city. Maybe the bartender just hates your ass because you keep making a mess.

You don’t even ask what he’s drinking. (Maybe this is all a grift, he thinks. Kessler’s at his ear, chuckling - she ain’t bright enough for that.) You lift his glass and leave your lipstick behind.

“Oh my god.” You sputter, pound a fist against your chest. It makes your tits bounce. Fucking miracle your shirt is containing those things. “That tastes like ass.”

“That is the highest quality scotch this bar serves.”

“It tastes like someone put a cigarette out in a glass of whiskey.”

“It’s a shit bar.”

You laugh, head tipped back, nose scrunched - the works. You’re too tipsy for it to be on purpose. Being cute comes naturally to you. Must be how you’ve made it this far.

You pass his drink back and scoot your cosmo closer to you, spilling it as the glass skips over the pock-marked countertop. Butcher snorts, dabs it up for you with his sleeve. He’s starting to think his theory about the cosmopolitans might hold true.

“Well, here, a trade’s a trade.” He takes your drink by the stem (fucking amazed they even have martini glasses in this place) and pounds back a mouthful.

It isn’t that bad, but he makes a show of scrunching his nose and shaking his head. He slides your drink back over to you and mirrors the way you had clung to your drink.

“You’re kidding,” you laugh. “It’s better than yours. I don’t know how you drink that.”

“I’ll keep my liquid ashtray, thanks.”

Your eyes are all lit up when you smile, but it emphasizes the raw edges, the puffiness that lingers. Rough night for you, by the looks of it. Not like he’s having much of a better one.

There’s no harm in it. No harm in showing you what a proper drink tastes like, broadening your horizons and helping you both forget what a shit hand you’ve been dealt. He buys you a drink on the condition that you try something that isn’t a cosmopolitan. You can hardly stomach a whiskey and coke. He orders you a fernet and coke for shits and giggles, expects you to spit it out like all the rest, barks out a laugh when you declare it’s tasty, notes of lavender drawing you in. Notes of lavender - Christ, what fucking suburb did you pop out of? 

He introduces you to more drinks, leans closer with each empty glass. You're new here, you tell him. You tell him your name, too, not that he remembers. Got stood up on some shitty date. He knows it’s got to be shitty because what idiot in his right mind would take you here, of all places?

By the time he orders you both shots of Rumple Minze, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. Your hand splays against his chest, head leaning against him. You lift his shot to his lips for him and he’s too drunk to find it childish and irritating. He downs it and does the same for you, watches you extend that pretty neck to drink it down.

“I’ll get you a cab,” he slurs, rocking unsteadily to his feet.

“I already called an Uber.”

Jesus. It’s a struggle not to roll his eyes. Fucking kids. Allergic to one night stands, couldn’t take a hint to save their life. Even Kessler is on his side, his head thunking against the bartop.

It's for the best, he thinks, trying to curb his disappointment. He's got shit to do. Ryan to worry about. Kessler's a right cunt, pushing him to you. He hasn't got the time to be fucking about. This entire thing had been a waste of time, too busy trying to get his dick wet to make the most of what he’s got left.

Butcher stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat, steps back, ready to split and stumble his way back home. He nods quick and sharp, tight-lipped smile to keep his frustration locked behind his teeth.

You show him your phone, make him squint to see what he’s supposed to be looking at. “My Uber is still a couple minutes away, so…”

Kessler picks his head up from the bar. He's a bloodhound for pussy. He picks up the leading edge in your voice before Butcher’s even done parsing your words.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Kessler drones. “You can’t even get it up, can you?”

“I’m damn well going to try.”

“What?” You laugh, swaying on your feet.

Butcher wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side. “Nothin’. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll keep you company. Make sure no nasties try to get you.”

The cold outside is bracing. You wrap your arms tight around yourself and this time Butcher’s too drunk to pretend he isn't staring at the way your tits press together.

It’s your idea. Really. The way you look up at him, the way your lips stay parted while the pair of you pace the sidewalk. You wrap your hand around his bicep and squeeze, eyes drifting slowly to the side, to the alleyway just a few strides away.

See? It’s your idea, honest. He drags you behind a dumpster, pins you to the wall of the alley, and shoves his tongue down your throat, yeah, but you moan so fucking loud and drag him closer. It takes longer than he'd like for your hand to stop massaging his chest and start fondling his cock, but you're a sweet girl - don't seem the type to do this too often. Need some guidance.

Butcher lays his hand atop yours, wraps your fingers tighter around his bulge. Your breath hitches, your eyes flicking down to your hand, mouth popped open - got this sweet, vacant little look in your eye.

He'd bet real money you go dumb for cock.

“$50 says you can get her to call you ‘daddy’,” Kessler pipes up, leaning against the wall next to you. He tips a cigarette into his mouth, cups a hand around to light it, and Butcher swears the light from his zippo gleam in your eyes. He doesn’t doubt it. Seems cruel, though, especially when he can’t remember your name.

“What was your name again?”

It takes a bit for you to get dick off your mind and fish around for your name. You mumble, make him lean in close and tilt his head to get you to say it again, clearer.

You're the obedient sort. Pick up on cues so easy. Don't even make him ask for it again. He pats your cheek, smirk creasing his face.

By your side, Kessler flashes a crisp $50. He plucks it taut, fans himself with it, makes a real show of being a dick while you try to take Butcher's out of his pants.

At the end of the day, 50 quid is 50 quid.

“How ‘bout you ask daddy for permission, sweetheart?”

Your mouth moves wordlessly.

“Please?”

He clicks his tongue. “That’s real polite. But it ain’t what I asked for, is it?”

“Can I please play with your cock, daddy?”

“Better.”

Kessler slips the fifty into Butcher’s coat pocket while you fumble with his belt and free him from his pants. You lay his cock in the seam of your hands, cupping him like he’s a gift on two legs. You stroke him reverently, look up at him with big, thoughtless lamb eyes.

Your heart’s in it, but you’re too reserved for his taste. He grips your hand in his and guides you down his cock, shows you when to squeeze, when to twist your wrist, how to flick your thumb over the slit of his tip.

He can never make it last when he drinks. Should have warned you before he came on your pretty skirt, but you’ve got a natural talent for stroking dick. He keeps his groan locked up tight. It rattles through his chest and he leans into you, crushing you against the wall of the alley. His hips stutter and rut into your hand, still wrapped around him, coaxing every drop from his tip. You still toy with him while he tries to catch his breath. He’s got to push away from you with a mumbled “Christ, all right, that’s enough.”

It’s like he’s taking your favorite toy away. You pout up at him, hand still molded for his cock by your side, by the skirt his ruined with his cum. He almost gets an apology out, but you drag a finger through his mess and bring it to your lips, make a show of licking it up.

His chest aches. He isn’t sure if it’s the tumor or his heart desperately trying to pump enough blood down to his dick to get him up again.

Butcher crams two fingers into his mouth and scrapes the dirt from beneath his nails with his teeth. The rest is a blur. He knows that he kicks your feet apart, traces your slit through your panties before he pushes them to the side and finger fucks you until your head snaps back against the wall. It’s quick, messy - leaves his forearm soaked. He’s not so sure that was real, but he’s too drunk to figure it out, too gone ask.

He tucks himself back into his pants. You set your panties back in place, skirt still hiked up to your ribs. You slip a little lower down the wall, panting. He stops you before you can slip all the way down, pats your cunt, and tugs your skirt back into place.

“Let’s get you a cab, eh?”

That’s the last thing he remembers clearly. You’d missed your Uber, had to take a cab with him anyway. He remembers you leaning against him, tucked up against his side, hand stroking his chest. He’d pet your hair - soft as lamb’s wool - and whispered nonsense against your head just to get a laugh out of you. After you get out, the whole thing’s blank.

When Butcher wakes up at 2 PM the next day, choking on his own vomit, he can't find the 50 quid. He turns his jacket inside out searching for it. A scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it falls from his jacket pocket. He doesn’t spare it more than a glance and keeps digging for his wallet.

Lambs lose their appeal after the flying cunts nearly bit his cock off.

That farm had been dirty business. Wicked stuff, the kind that doesn't wash off. This work always has been, but this time the blood doesn't come out from under his fingernails. He tastes bile every time he breathes. The copper twang of blood trickling down the back of his throat is the only chaser he gets anymore.

He doesn't think of you often. He knows it'd break your little heart to hear it, have you looking up at him with those ‘fuck me, I'm sad’ eyes and that little girl pout that makes him feel every bit the lech he is. You’re a sweet thing. Vacant, just like him. It didn’t take long to piece that together.

You’re easy and malleable, quick to fit yourself around him in whatever way he demands. He liked that about you at first.

But when he calls on you at three in the morning for a quick lay and you answer the door in a full face of make-up, hair done and wearing the sort of nightgown that no one actually sleeps in, all he feels is distaste.

You let him crowd you against your couch (a neutral color, no blanket in sight, your living room just as blank as the rest of you) without so much as a ‘hello’. You hook a leg over his hip. No panties, he realizes, eyes locked on your drippy cunt, already flushed. Been touching yourself to the thought of this. He warms a little at the thought.

Butcher wedges his knee between your leg and grinds. Any warmth you’d kindled with wet pussy dissipates the moment you moan so goddamn loud, the sound hollow and plastic. He keeps his leg still, flexes his thigh for you to grind on. His jaw tightens. He nearly shoves his fingers in your mouth to keep you from making those stupid fucking noises.

You let him twist you up however he wants, more a posable toy than a person. He pushes you further along the couch until your back arches awkwardly against the arm. You don't protest. Of course you don't.

His thick fingers trail down your slit, part your slick folds for his inspection. He sways back on his haunches, admires the pretty way he's got you arranged, pinned open on his fingers for him.

He brings his hand down sharply on pussy once, twice - and the third time directly to your clit is just because you kept making that annoying fucking noise. That nasally, porn-star whine that drills him between the eyes and makes his hard-on flag. The way you twitch and jerk at each hit might be genuine but that fucking noise drives him up a wall. Christ, there's got to be something about you that's real.

Pussy’s real. Can’t fake that, he thinks.

“Stay right there,” he says, a bite to his voice when you try to shift against him again. If you could just lay there and take it - is that so much to ask for?

He guides himself to you, hips rocking experimentally. You suck his head in and his chin dips to his chest. He groans deep. It turns to a growl when you raise your hips. He lays his forearm against you, pressing you down - and that moan might have been real.

“Can't you do fucking anything right?” He snaps. His hips push forward, bullying himself deeper into you. You suck a breath through your teeth, your hand bracing against his forearm. “I told you to stay right there.”

A spark of indignation flickers in your eyes, flash-fire flushed out by the same pitiful little lamb wool you pull back over your eyes. Makes you look all downy, plush and fuckable - he's fished more respectable shits from the toilet.

You’re a good girl for a few more shallow thrusts, lay there just like he wants while he works himself to the hilt. He finds his rhythm sloppily, one knee propped on the couch, the other foot planted on the floor. Your tits bounce with every thrust and he’s stupid enough to take his hands off of you, trust you not to move while he gropes at your breast.

Immediately you rise to your elbows, try to arch your back deeper. He’s positive you’re trying to mimic some video, down to the exact angle of your spine, but your heart isn’t in it. His cock butts against your walls, shallower than before, the pleasure that had been tearing through his blood coming to a screeching halt. He hisses through his teeth, grinding out his frustration.

“Don't –” his shoves you back down, hand flattening against your cheek and pushing your face into the couch. Feels fucking awful any other position. “–fucking move. Don't fucking move. Trying to cum. Goddammit.”

Your hands curl into fists by your head. You hide your face, press it deeper into the cushion and he presses your face deeper to help you. The noise you make is pitiful, but at least it's real.

Fucking hell. Now he’s completely out of it. You’ve gone and fucked up pussy for him. He didn’t think that was possible. He can’t find the angle he needs, can’t get back to that gummy spot that make his vision blur.

He pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, ignoring the little whine you make. You don’t raise your hips - god forbid you take a fucking hint - so he sits you up for him and wedges his dick back in. It only takes a few thrusts for him to realize this is worse. Tighter, dry, chafing his dick like goddamn sandpaper.

“Your cunt shrivel up or something? Feels fucking terrible.”

He snatches your wrist, pulls your arm back at an angle that makes you cry out, and fills your palm with lube. Can't even get wet on your own. Fucking Christ, he's got to do everything for you. Even has to curl your fingers around his cock, drag your hand back and forth until you final get the big, swinging fucking hint and jerk him off.

He meant to stuff himself back into your cunt, but at this point your hand will do. Six one way, half a dozen the other. At least your hand doesn't chafe.

You’re silent now. Small mercies. The only sounds are the slick of your palm working him over and his labored breaths. Your hand is clumsy at this angle, but he’s not going to risk letting you move and fuck it all up again.

Once he’s close, he drops your hand and flips you onto your back again. A big hand presses your knees apart, opens you up for him. You're still so pliable, even if the sheen is gone from your cunt. You try to fix your hair. If he notices the tears brimming your eyes, he doesn't say anything.

He lines himself back up with your cunt, dragging himself through your folds. Your knees knock closer with each pass of his bright red tip over your clit. He taps it once with his cock, expecting another produced moan to rattle the walls, but you only whimper, your thighs trying to close around him.

Butcher smirks. He pumps himself into you, keeps himself shallow - just the tip past your puffy lips. 

You whimper, try to shuffle down and take more of him. Butcher’s hand grips your face, squishing your cheeks so hard it stings.

“Don't you fucking move,” he grits out. You used to take instruction so well. Now you've gotten all up in your own head. Nobody likes an uppity bitch, he ought to make you see that.

What he really ought to do is make you get down there and jerk him off. Your hand is still slicked, but you'd probably piss yourself at the chance. Instead, he pushes your knees damn near up to your ears and barks for you to hold your own legs. Your hands curl around the backs of your knees. There you go. Figuring it out again.

His hand strokes his dick quick and hard, one hand dedicated to keeping himself just inside you. It doesn't take long for him to cum. It’s a slow burn that seeps up through his belly, lattices up his ribs and congeals in his chest, makes him ache and cave over your body while his hips sputter. He squeezes himself dry, pumps his cum into your pussy until it flows past his tip and seeps down onto your couch. 

Butcher lingers over you, catching his breath. He’s already gone soft, his cock dropped out of you. He sits back against the opposite arm of the couch, splays himself out while you curl up.

Something burns in his chest - remorse, maybe. You’re all curled up against your couch, cheek cushioned on your arm - won’t look at him, don’t paw at him or lean against his side, don’t even reach to clean yourself up.

His head knocks back to the ceiling. He can’t be bothered to pull answers out of you. He reaches for the tissue box on your coffee table, plucks a handful, and cleans himself off.

He tosses the box back to the coffee table and shoves his boots back on, barely taking the time to lace them up properly. He scoops he coat up from where you’d shucked it onto the floor, buttons himself back up, and you still haven’t moved. His eyes linger on you for a moment, brow set low.

Can’t be bothered, he reminds himself. He runs a hand through his hair and makes for your door, boots thunking heavily against your floors.

“Can I see you again?”

You’ve managed to pick your head up when he glances back at you. You sound so desperate it's pitiful. His lip curls. He runs a hand over his head, looks anywhere but you.

Christ, even your apartment is blank and devoid of personality. He hadn't noticed it before, too consumed with the need to get between your thighs. He shrugs, and gives you a lifeless smile.

“We'll see.”

Butcher closes your door behind him and hurries down the hall. He turns the corner to see Kessler’s cheshire grin greeting him in the dark of your stairwell.

He ought to get right with you before his time comes. He isn't proud of the way things ended. Butcher’s a right bastard, but he isn't blind; he'd seen the look on your face, the hopeful shine in your eyes dulling when he'd left you there without so much as a ‘cheers, love, thanks for the rub’.

He doesn't bother texting you. He's already posted up outside your apartment. Giving you a heads up would only give him time to pussy out.

Besides, you're home. He knows it. You’re piss-easy to track. Home to work, work to home, same route, same time. It will be easy to knock on your door, get his closure, and slip out of your life for the last time.

It should be easy. He’s had harder conversations with people who meant more to him but he keeps staring at your door, trying to will himself to knock. He’s not that weak yet. He can still raise his hand.

Butcher turns to leave just as you open the door. His shoulders tense when you call out to him.

“Billy?” You blurt out. There’s genuine surprise there.

“I just thought I’d –” He turns to catch a glimpse of you and it sends him headlong into silence.

You look a right mess. No face isn’t done up, an oversized t-shirt draping off your shoulders. Your pajama pants are fluffy, snowflake print - tackiest thing he’s seen in a while. 

You duck your head down, trying to catch his eye. 

“You okay?” You hook your thumb over your shoulder. “Want to come in?”

He doesn’t. Not even a little. He wants to rip the band-aid off, forget he ever met you and let you get on with your life - whatever it is you do. But you step to the side and fix him with a weak little smile that he thinks might be real, and his feet take him in through the door.

It’s a nice place in the daytime, he realizes. Natural sunlight, open floorplan, your shelves crowded with plants and knick-knacks he’s never seen. You offer him a drink, laugh when he says water and fall quiet when he insists.

You hand him his drink and collapse onto your couch. Your legs kick up onto your coffee table, and for the first time he realizes your socks are fuzzy, too. He looks around, scans you from head to toe. Is this the right place? He keeps picking at his nails, trying to free the grime from under them.

Once you realize he’s baffled, you’re merciful enough to start the small talk. It’s awkward and stilted - his fault, his answers halting and quick. You give him grace, sip on your drink. Your laughs never quite reach your eyes, but you scoot closer to him on the couch anyway.

“Why are you really here, Billy?” Your hand settles on his thigh and curls inward.

It’s not how he wanted this to go, but he doesn’t stop you from sliding your hand higher while he chokes on his words. You’ve got his belt undone by the time he manages to string a sentence together.

“I've been a right cunt to you.”

“Mhm.”

“You don't got to put up with it, yeah?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Got your whole life right ahead of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Fucking Christ, could you give him more than a noise? A few moments ago you’d held a conversation with him.

His irritation is snuffed out by your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock and sucking hard. Your hand pumps his shaft, twisting your wrist on the way back up. Good God, you learn quick.

Butcher could spoil you rotten if he had the time. He could get you whatever you wanted - if ever you wanted for anything. He cups a hand over the back of your head, encouraging, not guiding.

You’re methodical. You let your hand work what your mouth won’t reach, fondle his balls with the other one. It’s clinical. You’ve committed the moves to memory, when to swirl your tongue, hollow your cheeks, when to moan around him, when to look up at him with those tears straining at your waterline.

He finishes quick, his chest heaving. You pass him his water while you reach for a tissue box. He drains it and nearly misses you spitting his cum into a tissue, wadding it up and tossing it into the bin.

“I haven’t got much time left,” he says, breathless.

Your brow creases. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your lips swollen. “What?”

“I’ve got this –” he gestures nebulously with a hand, like he’s trying to pluck the right words out of the air. “– thing. In my brain, see? Inoperable. So, if I up and vanish on you, it ain’t personal.”

You stay silent, stone faced. He wishes you’d say something. Even one of the irritating platitudes people like to parrot would be better than this. Your eyes harden. You purse your lips, breathe deep, and stand from the couch.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Billy. It was good to see you.”

Butcher’s still trying to catch his breath. He tucks himself back into his pants, a mess he’ll clean up later, and rises unsteadily. You don’t reach out to help. He makes another nebulous gesture towards you, his hand quivering.

“You want me to..?”

“Nah. Don’t strain yourself.”

He stuffs himself back into his coat, watching your eyes linger - maybe realizing for the first time how much slighter he’s looking. Butcher pats your cheek gently as he passes by.

You don’t ask to see him again. For your sake, he hopes this is the last time.

[ohraicodoll]

DESPERATELY NEED FERAL READER WITH EP 8 WITH AN INJURED JOEL AND KIDNAPPED ELLIE…….. I KNOW OUR CRAZY QUEEN WOULD KILL EVERYONE ♥️♥️♥️♥️

Yall asked for it lol

Violent Delights Joel Miller x f!Reader The Last of Us 6.7k Words/ 3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: They took her kid and she was getting her back. Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and torture

She woke up with a start, having drifted off unknowingly after trying to keep watch, a sense of disorientation as she tried to figure out where she was and what was happening. The basement. They were still in the basement, the cold leeching any warmth from the walls and floors, the haggard breathing of her companion her only company. It’d been over 48 hours since she last slept, since Joel was hurt and they’d had to drag him into the house and patch him up. He wasn’t in good shape. Joel was so close to death’s door, it terrified her. They were so close to losing him and she had never felt more helpless.

She could still hear his pained groans, the glazed and blank look in his eyes, as she put pressure on the bleeding hole in his stomach just a couple days before. “Don’t you dare die, Joel. You still have to make shit up to me and you can’t do that dead. You can’t leave us again.” He’d tried to tell them to leave him. To go back to Tommy’s and leave him behind, the stubborn asshole. But Ellie managed to find the first aid kit and they’d sewn up the hole, wrapping it best they could with the little supplies they had. She knew it wasn’t enough. There could be shards left from the baseball bat, they weren’t the cleanest, nothing was sterile. She didn’t even know if something internal had been damaged. But it was all they could do. They’d been so focused on getting to Colorado they’d been using their food storage rather than hunting over the past week. Now it was biting them in the ass, their supplies dwindled. She’d managed to briefly go out and hunt down a rabbit, but game seemed scarce and leaving meant leaving Ellie and Joel alone. Without Joel, it was hard to sleep, look after Ellie, look after him and keep him stable, look after the fucking horses, and hunt. She was overwhelmed. So sleep went out the window. She took watch when Ellie was asleep, went and tried to hunt and scavenge the nearby houses when she was awake, and kept an eye on Joel in between taking care of the two horses in the garage. But at some point she’d fallen asleep finally, fallen deep and hard enough that she hadn’t noticed Ellie slipping the rifle from her hands and leaving the two adults alone.  A small scribbled note was placed on her lap on a piece of what looked like newspaper, “Be back soon -E.” She scrambled to her feet, looking around and cursed herself. Joel was still breathing steadily but his brow was covered with sweat from the infection he was staving off. Both their packs were against the wall but Ellie’s was gone and the panic that took hold was like a lightning bolt. It stole the breath from her lungs. Ellie was gone, Ellie was gone, Ellie was gone- it was a racing thought that circulated over and over again. Her main purpose, main job, and she’d fucking fallen asleep.

Her heart jumped further at hearing footsteps above her head, the slight creak and shift in the old wood, a door slamming…then it all came out in deep relief as she recognized the light shuffling.

Ellie raced down the steps, cheeks pink from cold and wind, and breath huffing out in a rush as she entered the basement.

She grabbed the girl immediately, shaking her by the shoulders with the vestiges of panic still in her blood, “Where did you go, Ellie? You weren’t supposed to leave!”

The teenager paused, eyes frantic and a little wild, but a tough set to her lips as she shook her head, “I went hunting and you needed sleep! I had to, but look! I got Joel medicine!” Ellie took the bottles out of their wrap, quickly moving away from her and kneeling down to Joel, beginning to lift up his shirt before she could even get a good look at what she had. The wound was ugly and discolored and she could hear him groan at the small touches. Her mind was still caught up in the panic of discovering the girl was gone and she quickly snatched the bottles away before the syringe was inserted. “Where did you get this?” she asked, turning it over in her hands. Penicillin. Two whole bottles of penicillin, practically liquid gold in their world, and Ellie had managed to get it while she slept. The teen looked nervous and tried to snatch it back, but she was quick even if she was exhausted and pulled her hand away, “Please, can we give it to him first and then I’ll explain?” Her eyes were so big for her face, cheeks pink. Her desperation to help Joel was evident. Ellie knew how bad he was doing and believed she held the cure to it all in her hands. She could only sigh and hand it back over, instructing her to give just a fourth of the bottle and to tap the syringe. Joel would probably have a heart attack if he knew she was letting the kid give it to him, but she knew Ellie had to do this herself. It was her win and she had to feel like she was the one saving him so she let her. But then they both stared, her knowledge only getting them that far. “Where the fuck am I suppose to put this?” Ellie cursed, looking at the wound and Joel’s arm, eyes switching between hers and his closed ones, “Fuck, how are we supposed to do this?” She cursed herself. Her medical knowledge was mediocre. Stitching, cleaning wounds, pulling out bullets, the basics they needed. Infections and medicine she had no clue about, “Just give it to him in his stomach. As long as it enters his blood stream, it should be fine.” At least, that’s what she thought. Ellie winced and inserted the needle, Joel giving out pained groans as it sunk into the sensitive area. They both watched the plunger empty the contents and then she pulled it out, trying to clean the needle the best she could. They only had one syringe and would have to reuse it. “And now we wait,” the teen commented and looked at his face as if at any second he would be magically better. He would wake up and smile and tell her good job. But he didn’t, staying silent on the small makeshift bed. “No, now you tell me where you went and how you got that,” she bit out, sitting on the other side of Joel to face her. Ellie winced and looked down at the small glass bottles in her hand, “You needed to sleep and we needed food. I know you think you can take care of all of us, but you can’t and I wanted to help by trying to hunt.” “That’s not your responsibility-” “It doesn’t matter. I wanted to help,” Ellie cut her off but then sighed, “And I did manage to actually get a deer…but I ran into these guys...” Instantly, she was on high alert, eyes searching everything that was visible and checking her for any wounds, “You ran into people and you’re barely telling me!” “I know!” the young girl argued back, hand resting on top of Joel’s, “They found my deer before me and said they were from a group with starving women and children. They offered to trade for half the deer and said they had medicine. I did everything I was supposed to! Got them to drop their guns, unloaded their rifles, and had them back away. One went to get the medicine and I kept the gun on the other.”

“So you gave them half the deer and they gave you the medicine then just let you go?” she asked and clenched and unclenched her fists. Ellie wouldn’t look so nervous if  that was the whole story and she wasn’t nearly tired enough to have been dragging half a deer carcass back. Shrugging, Ellie grimaced and refused to meet her eyes, “That was the deal…but they knew who we were. The people that attacked us at the university belonged to their group and this guy started talking about how one of theirs had been killed by a crazy man with two girls. He knows that was Joel. I don’t know why he let me go, but I think they’re looking for us.” With a curse, she quickly stood, hands on her hips and pacing in a tight circle, “Fuck. Fuck. And they didn’t come after you?”

“No, I think they let me go because I was a kid.” She doubted that. People rarely were that charitable, even to children in this world. Especially a child with a gun and an attitude like Ellie’s. The unspoken words were there though. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t come for her and Joel though. Ellie may be deemed innocent but the two of them were problems and only one of them was in commission currently. But what could they do? They couldn’t move Joel in his state. They couldn’t leave him behind either. They were stuck. “Okay. Maybe if they let you go they don’t plan on coming. Maybe they think both of us are injured if you were out on your own and won’t come,” she lied comfortingly and tried to speak the words into existence, knowing the kid was probably feeling guilty and needed some hope. They needed rest, needed to breathe for a second, and panicking now wouldn’t help.  It took a while to relax enough to let the adrenaline fade away.

Ellie laid down, exhausted, tucking into Joel’s side as she had the past couple nights and resting her head on his shoulder. He subconsciously leaned into her, still alive for now. Her heart ached at the sight, the way they held each other in their own ways. She didn’t have the strength to get after the girl more or uproot them out of precaution. They were all exhausted and Ellie had somehow managed to bring hope even if there was a cost.

She sat down by the stairs, flipped her knife between her fingers to keep her awake and focused, and watched the two sleep with her heart in her throat.

The men would come. Now that they knew they were in the area, they would come and they were stuck in this spot until Joel was better. There was no way they could get him on a horse and move him now without undoing all the healing he’d done. A thousand scenarios went through her head, sleep now a distant memory in the face of the panic and anxiety plaguing her. How was she supposed to fight off a group and keep them both safe?

She couldn’t. That was the reality of the situation.

The thought hit her over and over again like a blow to the chest, the knife turning between her fingers. _________________________________________ Morning came and she could see Ellie’s disappointment that the medicine hadn’t instantly woken Joel up and made him all better. To ease her mind, they gave him another dose, trying to make the bottles last before shoving the remainder in their bags. They were out of food, the rabbit she had caught two days ago long gone without a way to store it. Joel still wasn’t eating or drinking and she worried that even if they got the infection under control, his body wouldn’t be strong enough to get better. Things were bad. The possibility of Joel dying was a constant chime in her head. It felt like a mockery that he had left and came back only to be almost taken from them permanently. She was angry. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that took the hit. It had been meant for her but he’d pushed her out the way as the bat swung, breaking on the tree, and then tackled the guy. If it had been her, Joel would know what to do. He could take care of them both or at least would have the strength to leave her behind if necessary. She wasn’t sure she could. She was failing him. Failing them both. The basement was suffocating, pressing in on her, and she took the opportunity to go tend to the horses, leaving the girl and her unconscious companion to the pressing weight of disappointment. Her body was beginning to ache from the lack of sleep and food, joints protesting her movement, but she reached down and scooped snow into the small metal bucket for them to get some water. Soon the horses would starve too or be too weak to carry them. Death was creeping up on them. Looking over the neighborhood they were held up in, she sighed at the obvious foot steps leading up through the streets before beginning to methodically cover what she could. Ellie knew better than to leave a trail but she guessed in her hurry to get the medicine back to Joel and get away from the men she had forgotten. And as birds took off in a rush further down the road towards the wooded outskirts, she froze and her heart thundered in her ears. 

She felt fear run through her as her thoughts from the night resurfaced and became reality, a living nightmare. They were coming. They had waited for daylight to search them out and were coming now. She knew it, could feel it, and they were out of time. Quickly covering what she could and making false tracks from the other houses, she ran back inside and flew down the stairs to the basement taking two at a time. No time, there was no time.  Ellie startled at her rushed appearance and the way she flew across the room to the rifle and her own pack, “What’s happening?”

“Those men you saw are coming,” she huffed out, grabbing the rifle and checking it was loaded before looking around the room as if she could find the answer there.

Turning to Joel, Ellie began to shake his shoulders as if he were merely sleeping and not borderline in a coma, “Fuck. Joel! You have to wake up, Joel. Joel, wake up! Wake the fuck up, Joel!” But he only gasped, pained whimpers leaving his lips, eyelids fluttering.

She bent down and grabbed Ellie by the shoulders, forcing her to look into her eyes, “Ellie, I need you to listen to me. I need you to take the horse and run.”

“What? No, what about-”

“You run and I’ll follow behind and try to pick them off,” she interrupted, voice adamant, “They’re going to search every house and they will find us eventually. I can’t hold them off like this. I need to know you’re good first and if we’re away from here then it will take the focus off Joel.”

“You want me to go without you?” Ellie’s eyes were wide with fear and her heart ached at the sight, but there was no time.

“I’ll find you,” she promised and dug her fingers tightly into her shoulders as if she could sink the words into her skin, “I will. But you have to go now. We’ll block the entrance to down here, give Joel some time.”

Ellie pressed her lips together and nodded, running to grab her backpack and last minute grabbed one of the larger knives they had. Running back over to Joel, the teen knelt down and placed it on his chest, forcing his hand to grab it. She let her while grabbing the rest of her stuff and placed Joel’s pack into a small cubby under the steps to make it less noticeable.

“Okay, look at me,” Ellie whispered to him while he only groaned in reply, “There are men coming, okay? I’m gonna lead them away from you, Red is going to help get rid of them. But if anybody makes it down here, you fucking kill them. You got it?”

“Ellie, hurry,” she bit out, peeking out the small window along the top of the wall. “Joel, do not fall asleep,” the teenager pleaded desperately, squeezing his hand around the knife. She could see his eyes partially open, see his lips trying to move and his fingers twitching trying to grasp the knife. But Ellie finally got up quickly and rushed up the stairs. She went to follow after her and paused, staring back at the unconscious man on the floor. A part of her whispered that this could be the last time she saw him alive. One or both of them could be dead if this didn’t go right. Heart in her throat, she ran back to him and kneeled, kissing his forehead and grasping his hand. “Stay alive for us, please, Joel,” she whispered, squeezing the hand around the knife, but getting back up and running up the stairs. She tried not to look back. Both of them moved the tall kitchen cabinet over the door entryway to the basement, trying to shuffle things around to not make the spot obvious before heading to the garage. They got both horses out, grabbing what she needed from hers and sending silent apologies to Tommy before forcing it to gallop away in the opposite direction with a sharp smack. The other she saved for Ellie to ride, closing the garage door behind them. They’d figure out transportation later when they were out of this mess, but they needed the guys off their trail and two different horse tracks would help. With quick hands, she helped Ellie climb up onto its back. 

Shakily, she bit out, “You ride hard and fast and loud. They’re going to come after you but if you go fast they won’t catch you and I’ll hit them from behind. They only know for sure about you right now. Do not look back, Ellie. I’ll find you once it’s safe, I promise.” Ellie was shaking but tried to put on a brave face, nodding and holding onto the reins. She wanted to hug the girl, tell her it was going to be okay, but she wouldn’t lie to her. Not now. The men were close, she knew that. She patted the rear of the horse and nodded a final goodbye, beckoning her to go forward. Her heart screamed to not let her go, that it was safer with her than alone, but they were backed into a corner and she had no choice. They wouldn’t win in a shootout and losing meant Ellie would die. So she watched as the girl rode away down the street away from her, turning until she was completely out of sight, and tried not to flinch at the gunshots that came soon after and the yells of men. She tried to shut off the part of her that wanted to panic, to react and worry. That wasn’t the part she needed to listen to at the moment. Running as far as she could, crossing over fences and staying against the walls of the house, she followed the sound of loud hoof beats and chased after them as they chased after Ellie. Her ears caught on one of them screaming that she was to be left alive, but that didn’t ease the worry in her. Being captured alive wasn’t always a good thing. One of the slower men chasing Ellie fell the furthest behind, wheezing in the cold and trying to clamber in the dense snow. Her own knife in hand, she ran and jumped onto his back, using both their weight to send them forward onto his front behind the cover of some of the shrubs. 

He hadn’t been expecting to be attacked from behind and it took him a moment to try and struggle, to lift his face out of the snow to breathe, and she took advantage of that by stabbing deep into the back of his neck. He groaned, the sound muffled, and she pulled the blade out and sunk it in again and again with a growl. The snow was staining red around them. He stopped moving. One down. She stood and took off, the cold biting into her lungs and stealing her breath. The terrain was hard and the one kill had put her farther behind the group, forcing her to cut across more backyards to catch up, but she could only hope Ellie had done what she asked and was out of range. She could catch the rest of them once they scattered. But then a gunshot rang out close by. The sound of a horse’s cry ripped through her, tore her soul to shreds, and she knew if she lived beyond the day she would hear that sound forever in her nightmares.

She ran. She left all care of stealth behind and ran fast and hard, dodging trees and fallen branches and then ran faster when another gun shot rang out. The chest felt like it was being cleaved open by the panic, fear gripping her tightly. They wouldn’t have shot her. They wouldn’t have killed her. She was a kid, they wouldn’t-

And then she watched from the trees as the group surrounded Ellie who was on the ground, her horse unmoving not far away, and a tall skinny man picked her up and began to walk away with her. She raised the rifle, looking down the scope, and cursed as the men separated and began to head back into the neighborhood. No doubt to continue their search for Joel and her.

She could see Ellie’s face through the scope, the loll of her head, but she was gripped too closely to the man’s body. He was walking further and further away. Two sides of her screamed. Leaving to go after them meant abandoning Joel, but staying behind meant leaving Ellie. She wanted to press the trigger, shoot, but knew it was too risky with Ellie in the man’s arms. She could so easily accidentally kill the girl if she was one inch off and her hands were too shaky from exhaustion to be precise. Only some of the group was going back, the others looking like they were continuing to scout the area.

She knew what she had to do, what Joel would tell her to do, but the reality of it felt impossible. If they found Joel, he’d die for sure. But she wasn’t sure she could live with leaving Ellie.

The men with the girl were getting farther away and a choice had to be made.

So she swallowed the sob in her throat and let the rage she felt consume her completely, push her forward, and followed behind the group to where they would take her kid.  __________________________ It was getting harder and harder to follow along as the wind began to kick up a notch. She needed to see where they were taking Ellie, but she was tired and the cold was sinking in, her body struggling to keep going. And as they entered the town, it was getting difficult to avoid being seen. Too many buildings, too many open areas, and she didn’t know who could be watching. She knew they had entered one of the nearby buildings, but wasn’t sure which. The clock was ticking in her mind, Ellie’s life on one hand and Joel’s on the other. What good was she if she couldn’t save her people? Blood crusted on her fingers as she entered the first of the buildings quietly, finding a back entrance. It was dark but she could hear voices nearby as she found herself in some kind of storage room, the cold still reaching her through the walls. She wasn’t used to carrying the rifle. It had always been Joel’s weapon thanks to its weight, her preferring knives or a small pistol or even a bow when she could find one. So when she crouched down to ease her way over to the swinging door leading further inside, she winced when it thudded and scraped against the floor, the sound so loud in her ears. The voices paused and she froze, eyes wide and watching the door. There was shuffling and she quickly backed away into a darkened corner, pulling her knife out. Steps came closer and she held her breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The door swung open and she could see a man enter, beard a little rough and looking a little ragged, cheeks red from the cold. He frowned, looking around, gaze shifting over what he could. He turned to look at the back door, back facing her, and only then did she realize she had tracked snow inside and it hadn’t quite melted. Lunging, she stuck the blade deep into his lower back with all her might and threw her arm around his neck, choking him hard. A cry of pain tried to leave his lips, breath cut off, and he struggled wildly. She twisted the knife, feeling blood coat her hand. “Where is the girl?” she hissed, jerking the blade deeper. He sobbed and made pathetic mewling sounds of pain, voice wispy from lack of air, “Please, I don’t know-” She twisted, hearing the squelch of flesh tearing, “The teenage girl your buddy grabbed, where is she?” The distinct smell of piss lingered in the air and he sobbed out, “I don’t know! Oh god.” Steps were coming close again and she growled, keeping her grip on the knife buried in his body and shifting her arm away from his neck to hold the back of his collar. He wheezed in air, blood starting to bubble from his lips. The door burst open and the distinct sound of a gun rising echoed in the tiny room, only to pause as she held the man in front of her like a shield, mostly hidden by his body. “Howard-” A woman’s voice. All the people who had attacked them had been men. 

She wouldn’t have the information she needed. With a growl of frustration, she shoved the body at her, letting his dead weight hit her and trap the woman against the wall. She let out a startled cry and the delay gave her just enough time to unholster her pistol and shoot her in the head. The numbness that was a twin to her rage had sunk into her skin, blanketing her all over. She’d search the buildings, one by one, and kill whoever she had to to find her kid. She didn’t care. Stepping over the bodies, she moved into the area they had been in before she drew their attention and paused, icy horror filling her. A leg was in the process of being cut apart, small chunks set aside and being wrapped up as if to store for later. It was a kitchen, most likely used to prepare food for stage, large makeshift smokers and pits along the back unused. The ticking clock in her mind sped up as the reality of what she’d uncovered hit her. Cannibals. These people that had taken Ellie were cannibals. A strong hit to her back sent her stumbling forward and clattering to her knees. She grunted and scrambled forward as a stomp missed her, hitting the ground instead. There’d been someone still in the room and she’d been too distracted to notice. 

Rolling onto her back, gun still in her hand, she aimed and managed to shoot the knee out of her assailant as he raised a butcher knife. He crumpled to the ground with a cry and she got to her feet slowly, gun raised and trained on him. 

The guy was younger, but thin and haggard looking. His bravado hadn’t fully left him though as he stared her down, anger in his eyes, “You fucking bitch. You blew out my fucking knee.” He tried to get up but she aimed at his head, making him freeze. “I’ll shoot the other one too if you don’t shut up and tell me where the girl you kidnapped is,” she snarled, adrenaline helping to keep the firearm steady on him. His nose wrinkled and he spit at her, brow furrowed.

Stubborn. Younger guys were so stubborn.

She pulled the trigger and watched his other knee explode as the bullet met his target. The man screamed and she quickly knelt down, shoving her hand over his mouth and placing the still warm barrel against his forehead. Tears leaked out his eyes, making little dirt tracks through the grime on his skin.

“Where the fuck is she?” she screamed into his face and the sound was almost inhuman, gravel and fury warping it almost into a howl.

But he only shook his head, eyes defiant. Frustrated, she stood, looking at the meat cleaver in his hand and the human leg on the table. She didn’t have time for this. Ellie was out there and the situation was worse than she thought. Not even meeting his eyes, she raised the gun and shot him in the head. He wasn’t going to give her any information.

She raced back outside through the back door she had entered, heart in her throat and a panicked scream wanting to leave her lips.

The storm was picking up as an idea hit her. If she searched each building, there was no guarantee she’d find someone with information in time. She had to draw their attention. Maybe lure them out. They had wanted Ellie alive for the moment. If she could distract them, it may buy her time.

Chewing her lip, she kneeled behind the building and swung her pack around to dig through it. Her hand wrapped around a small glass bottle that had been carefully secured in the middle of her clothes and yanked it out along with one of her old shirts. They’d been saving it for emergencies, using it to sterilize what they could, but she needed it for something else now. Her face stung from the cold wind and her hands shook, but she managed to tear cloth and shove it into the liquor bottle, saturating the fabric, before she put her pack back on and stood.

Time to make a big fucking distraction.

Blocking the wind with her hands, she lit a match and watched as the tip of the cloth burned bright with flames.

With a snarl, she tossed the molotov through the window of the next building, ducking down and watching as the flames exploded inside. Screams and shouts followed, telling her there had been people inside, and she waited for more voices to join them. Someone would investigate or come outside.

Like clockwork, a man rushed out into the cold and she gripped her bloody knife at the familiar face. One of the men that had come back with Ellie. He cursed and ran through the snow, yelling that he was going to grab the fire extinguisher next door while the others scrambled to put the flames out. She followed, quiet, lava flowing through her and teeth bared. She couldn’t even feel the cold anymore. 

The wind blocked any sound she made as she rushed after him into the alley and lunged, shoving him into the cold brick wall with a loud crack. She growled and grabbed his hair, gripping it tightly and smashing it into the bricks once then twice. He tried to push away and turn, but she kneed him hard in the spine, driving him to his knees. “Where is the girl?” she snarled into his ear, knife to his throat. Blood poured down an open wound on his forehead, one eye blinded by red, as he finally took in who had grabbed him, “fuck you,” “Wrong answer,” she yanked his hair and slammed it into the wall again. When he went to raise his hand to fight her, she stabbed the blade through his hand and into the ground. His screams were carried away by the wind and snow, the shouts of his group telling her they were still distracted by the fire. “The girl your group grabbed,” the words were all razors and broken glass, almost the sound of an animal snarl, “Where did you take her?” He sneered at her, trying to put on a strong front through the pain, “That bitch is probably soup by now.” She stepped on the knife, the blade so far in his hand the hilt was pressing against the back, “I can make this last a fucking lifetime. Your choice. Where-” “Please, don’t-” Frustrated, she ripped the knife out and placed the tip just inside his mouth, “Last chance. Where is she?” The tip clinked against his teeth and he hung his mouth open to avoid being cut, his beard a mess of blood and spit and green eyes wide with fear finally. She tried not to feel satisfaction as seeing that, understanding setting in for him. He lifted his bloody hand and tried to point across the street, stuttering out, “Steakhouse. The fucking steakhouse. David has her in there.” She looked at him, eye swollen, and blood coating the front of his face, clearly terrified.

Slowly, she took the blade away, watching his lips wobble with sobs and slight relief. Then she slit his throat, continuing to move behind the buildings even as his blood sprayed out and soaked her clothes and his pleas gurgled and quieted.

The steakhouse was a few more buildings down across the street, “Todd’s Steakhouse” still written on the sign out front. The storm was a blizzard now, sharp stinging snow hitting her skin and turning the blood on her into patches of ice. There were yells, panicked screams, and she wondered if they had found the bodies. If they had found the blood and chaos she had left in her wake.

But with a destination in sight, she had let her guard down and she cursed herself later on for it. Arms wrapped around her torso, crushing the rifle into her back, and she kicked at the air as she was dragged back against a brick wall.

“You fucking bitch!” Screamed into her ear and she was tossed to the ground, teeth clattering from the impact.

A kick landed in her stomach and she grunted, the air leaving her lungs, but she had enough sense to grab onto the leg and cling to it. The move caught the man off balance and he tripped, falling to the ground next to her. Her blade was somewhere in the snow and she struggled to dig around for it, sharp steel nicking her fingers as she found it only to be thrown onto her back.

The man climbed on top of her, straddling her waist, his weight so heavy and her pack on her back making the move crushing. She grit her teeth and bucked, thrashing to try and get him off of her. But he only grinned, pulling back and decking her in the face. Stars lit up behind her eyes, a high pitch ringing all she could hear as pain exploded through her head.

He pulled back to punch again and her fingers found the cold metal in the snow. She wrapped her hand around it, feeling the sharp steel cut into her palm as she grabbed it by the blade instead of the hilt, and stabbed it into his lower throat. She didn’t stop, only switching to pull it out by its handle this time, and stabbed again and again, blood reigning down onto her.

With a howl, she shoved him off of her and sent a final stab into his face, snow soaking into her and pain a radiating heat. Everything hurt and it was an effort to get up and roll onto her side, staring at the decimated body next to her. 

She spit blood on him and stood. There was smoke coming from all around her, the fire having caught from the molotov and moving on building to building. Across the way, smoke could be seen from the steakhouse and she swallowed her pain, letting adrenaline carry her to the front doors. Her hands shook as she tried the handles, pulling again and again but they stayed locked and shut. Growling, she threw her shoulder into it. She was so close. She had found the place and was so close and a locked fucking door was all that was keeping her away. Her breathing was quick and frantic as she looked over the front and tried to reason that there had to be a back door or an employee entrance. Her hands skimmed the wall to try and keep upright, knowing soon the exhaustion and pain would take over, but she tried to push it back. Ellie had to be close. She needed to keep going a little bit further and then she’d get her kid and they’d go get Joel. 

Her steps stumbled and she pushed off the wall, screaming at herself to stay steady. There, she could see the back door. Plain and wooden, easy enough to shoot the lock off and get inside. With shaky fingers, she unhooked the rifle from her shoulder, the weight of it almost unbearable, and took two shots to get the lock blown off. Her legs were shaky as she climbed the few steps and opened the door, smoke pouring out. She coughed and tried to wave it away, stepping inside and feeling the heat. She had taken only a few steps into the building and stopped, hearing a familiar voice. “Red?” Relief flooded her, eyes instantly filling with tears, as Ellie emerged from the smoke not too far in front of her. Ellie was there, hair a mess and half tumbling out of her ponytail, blood splattered and smeared all over her face and clothes. It took her a while to realize she was standing there, actually standing there, watching as the girl stumbled forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. 

Smoke and fire was all around them, but she couldn’t care because she had Ellie and they were both alive and safe now. With shaky hands, she managed to direct them back out of the building and into the cold, fresh air. Her promise rang in her ears and she whispered them out loud as she clung to the girl, “I found you. I found you. I’ll always find you.” And she had, but not quick enough. She knew that something awful had happened, that Ellie was now one step closer to being what her and Joel were. The tough exterior had crumbled away and all that was left was a shocked girl who’d had a piece of her soul cleaved away. Her nose was busted and she knew that look in her eyes, the horror and pain at doing something ugly but necessary. Ellie’s lips were shaking as she looked her over and she was so focused on the girl she almost didn’t see Joel coming around the corner. Joel, standing and whole and alive, coming towards them like Ellie was a gravity well pulling both of them towards her. His eyes met hers and the relief was bright, even if she was dripping in blood. But Ellie hadn’t noticed the shift in attention, hadn’t heard his steps, and when he went to grab her she bucked and thrashed in his arms in sheer desperation. So much like her, a wild animal fighting not to be caged. Her heart tore apart, shredded to pieces, at the painful screams then broken sobs as she realized who was holding on to her. 

Joel only kept whispering, “It’s me, it’s me, I’m here.” “He- I-” she stuttered, eyes glazed and searching both of theirs. Joel held on with all his might, trying to ease her, gentle words soothing. And the girl crumbled, falling into his arms and clinging to him tightly as much as he was clinging to her. His eyes met hers and she let the exhaustion hit her and carry her towards them, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around them both. All three of them, blood soaked, finally home with each other.

______________ Feral Reader Taglist: @alouise20 @faceache111

[philistiniphagottini]

Double the Fun

Based on this poll for Valentine's Day. Thanks for indulging me, this was lots of fun. I hope to do more stuff like this in the future. Enjoy~

cw. smut, threesome, double penetration, rough and soft, swearing, fem! reader, MDNI

nsfw below the cut

"Look at you, little sparrow" Jing Yuan cooed with a rasp of your name dancing on his parted lips. "Taking my cock all the way to the hilt."

You wedged your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on the bruised skin as a pleasant tingle raced down your spine. Your blood simmered in your veins as you steadied yourself in Jing Yuan’s lap, hands splayed across his chest as his thunderous heartbeat danced beneath your fingertips. You felt the weight of centuries etched into his skin under the curious touch of your fingers, the hard, rigid contours of his body completely contrasted against your smooth and soft curves. You could feel Jing Yuan’s thick cock seated inside your creamy walls, pulsing with every subtle grind of your hips as your greedy pussy tried to swallow more of him.

You let go of your kiss swollen lips, a harsh gasp abruptly wrenched from your mouth as scarred hands curled around your hips, your pulse racing frantically in your ears when another warm body pressed against your back. Black nails threatened to bite your skin as Blade rubbed his swollen length along the cleft of your ass cheeks, tip oozing pre-cum and staining your boiling skin. A smile played on Jing Yuan’s lips as he watched you with lidded eyes, his golden gaze smouldering like embers.

"Now, are you going to be a good girl and take another?" he mused, a lilt to his voice as a warm chuckle breezed past his lips.

You nodded along to his words, your breathing stuttering when you felt Blade’s hot breath puff against your skin, your body wracked with a violent shiver as every hair on the nape of your neck stood up in anticipation. You dare not move as Jing Yuan’s body sunk further into the plethora of fluffy pillows supporting his back, content to sit back and enjoy the show that was about to begin. A sweet moan stirred in your chest as Blade’s fingers spread your puffy lips apart, the sight of your arousal dribbling down the sides of Jing Yuan’s cock making him growl.

"Are you ready for me?" he murmured against the shell of your ear, voice only loud enough for you to hear him.

You nodded, long eyelashes fluttering over your burning cheeks as the heat turned the tips of your ears hot.

"I’m ready" you reassured, taking a deep breath and trying to prepare yourself for what was to come.

But no matter how many times you had done this before, or how many times you would steel your resolve, the next part never failed to take your breath away. You stifled the whimper that tried to crawl out of your throat as Blade’s tongue swiped across the shell of your ear, sharp canines tugging on the lobe as he lined himself up with your sopping entrance. His grip on your body tightened, keeping you still as he pushed forward. You felt Jing Yuan’s reassuring hands on your waist as your body jolted forward from the sudden pressure, a loud and haggard gasp spilling from your mouth as Blade pierced your centre. Your body pitched forward, arms snaking around Jing Yuan’s neck and face buried in his pillowy chest as you clung to him for comfort. Your body naturally tried to pull away from the burning discomfort between your thighs but both pairs of hands rocked you back when you shied away. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you struggled to breathe, lungs pinching in your chest as a wet sob threatened to tear from your throat. It didn’t matter how slow Blade was pushing in, or how much lube coated his slicked cock; it still stung like a bitch.

"Shh, little sparrow, it’s alright" Jing Yuan soothed, rubbing his thumbs in soothing circles across your soft stomach. "Be brave."

You sniffled loudly, hands weaving through Jing Yuan’s thick mane of hair and tugging harshly at the roots. He continued to smile and whisper reassurances as Blade grunted behind you, struggling to fit more than half of his dick in you as your pussy kept clenching around him. His black nails raked down your soft thighs as he panted, rough tongue tasting the perspiration that clung to your skin. The obscene noises coming from between your legs made your knees shake, body threatening to completely collapse against Jing Yuan as your head grew dizzy, heat tickling the base of your spine and coiling rapidly in the pit of your stomach. You gasped harshly as Jing Yuan’s thumb pressed against your swollen clit, rubbing the tightly packed bundle in soothing circles to ease the tension from your muscles.

"Such a good girl" Jing Yuan praised. "You’re taking him so well."

You mewled softly, his words and the thumb swirling around the hot little button at the top of your pussy a pleasant distraction from the discomfort. Blade grunted as another inch slipped into you, your hot walls pulsing and clenching as Jing Yuan continued to toy with your clit. The praises he whispered to you made Blade’s ears itch, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his teeth were set on edge. His crimson gaze flickered over your shoulder.

"Quit babying her" Blade hissed through his teeth. "She’s a big girl. She can take it."

Blade smoothed his hand along the curve of your spine, your back bowing under his touch as a pleased moan rumbled in your chest. Jing Yuan ignored the harsh glare that Blade was currently levelling him, choosing to focus on you as his hand lovingly traced the bump in your stomach. You managed to catch your breath when Blade was finally fully sheathed inside of you, the tips of your fingers feeling numb as they slowly slipped from Jing Yuan’s fluffy hair.

"Ahh, so full" you whined.

Your toes curled into the soles of your feet as every white-hot nerve in your body tingled like a live wire. Having both of their thick cocks crowding you and dragging against your sensitive walls almost made the threads of your sanity snap right then and there. It felt like your insides were turning to mush around the shapes of their cocks, the butterflies in your stomach refusing to settle as the pleasure of the experience was slowly starting to make your discomfort dissipate. Blade had been courteous to allow you a moment to gain your bearings. But it would only last for that brief moment.

You swallowed the budding saliva on your tongue, almost choking on your next gasp of air as Blade pulled his cock halfway out of your tight pussy only to slam back in. Your body swayed forward; arms tight around Jing Yuan’s neck as you raked your nails along his sturdy back, nails leaving behind welts in his pale flesh. A pleased purr rumbled in his chest as he pinched your clit, enjoying the squeal of delight you gave him for his actions. Beads of your combined slick dribbled down the insides of your quaking thighs, the smell of sex heavy in the stuffy air permeating your bedroom. The mattress gently bounced from your combined weight, the springs creaking in protest as you were rocked back and forth on both Jing Yuan’s and Blade’s cock. Jing Yuan found he didn’t have to move, the friction between both you and Blade moving in tandem enough to keep the arousal burning hot in his veins like an untamed wildfire. His soft noises of approval were drowned out by the utter filth that slipped from your tongue unabashed, a mix of his name and Blade’s somewhere among the incoherent gibberish you were spewing.

"Shit" Blade grunted under his breath. "How are you still so fucking tight?"

You moaned loudly as Blade’s fingers weaved into your hair, tugging harshly as he pulled your body off Jing Yuan and forced it back into his own embrace. An arm snaked around your torso; his grip iron tight to prevent you from escaping his clutches so easily. Your arms flailed uselessly, scratching at the arm locked around your waist as you desperately scrambled to find something to hold onto to keep yourself grounded. Blade pulled on your hair again, a loud groan tumbling from your parted lips as he turned your head and captured your lips in a searing kiss. You moaned hotly; eyes fluttering shut when his tongue licked at the seam of your lips before exploring the wet cavern of your mouth. Your tongues tied as the harsh snap of his hips increased, digging into the soft flesh of your succulent ass cheeks as he rutted up into you like an animal in heat. The hypnotic sway of your breasts caught Jing Yuan’s attention and he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. You inhaled sharply as his hands pawed at your chest, squeezing your breasts together as his fingers pinched the rosy tips of your pert nipples. Your desperate mewls and whines were swallowed by Blade as he devoured every sensual noise, the coil in your gut suddenly reaching breaking point as your orgasm quickly took a hold of you.

You weren’t sure how many that marked tonight as the coil unfurled and you drenched the sweat-soaked sheets beneath your tangled bodies. You lost count after the fifth one. The bliss that burned through your veins and dribbled from your core like liquid ecstasy made your head feel giddy and left your body feeling weightless for a few blissful moments. Blade and Jing Yuan both groaned in unison at the feeling of your spasming walls squeezing them tight, the sensitive heads of their cocks rubbing over each other as your pussy nearly suffocated them. Your eyes peeled open once more as you parted from the kiss with a heavy gasp, a string of saliva breaking when Blade rubbed his thumb across your trembling bottom lip. His gaze flicked over to Jing Yuan once more, a smirk lighting up his features at how entranced the general looked with the way your orgasmic bliss made your skin glow with an otherworldly beauty, his cheeks tinting a rosy shade as he breathed your name through parched lips. Blade’s hand slipped down your throat as he grasped it, not hard enough to choke but heavy enough for you to feel the constant reminder. He tipped your head back towards Jing Yuan, your eyes just as dazed as your mind as you stared down at him.

"You like this, don’t you General?" Blade goaded; his appointed title almost spat from his mouth like poison. "You like watching your little sparrow getting fucked dumb by me?"

Blade’s crimson eyes danced with mirth as you whined from his touch, his teeth piercing your skin to leave behind his mark. The entire time he bit into your neck, he maintained the eye contact with Jing Yuan, daring him to say something and get a rise out of the almighty general. But he was to be left disappointed as Jing Yuan gave him a lazy stare, smile still curling his lips as he hummed softly in response.

"I cannot deny it. The sight is enchanting."

Blade tutted under his breath when Jing Yuan didn’t take his bait. Blade yanked on your hair once more, wisps of your hair curling around his fingertips as pain prickled the back of your scalp and your hips shuddered. You couldn’t keep up with the Stellaron Hunter’s pace anymore as your thighs burned from the strain, hips losing their rhythm as your intense orgasm still lingered in your system. The smouldering flames in your stomach were worked back into a spark as Jing Yuan cradled the back of your neck in the warm palm of his hand, his rich voice dripping into your ears like warm honey. The mixture of pleasure and pain from both men had a beautiful concoction brewing in the pit of your stomach. You hummed low in your throat as Blade pushed his chest against your back, allowing you to feel the deep scars on his well-defined torso sliding across your sensitive skin. Your nerves prickled with burning heat once more as Blade’s tongue lapped at your neck, tracing over the old and fresh marks he had blessed upon your flesh. His nose brushed under the soft skin of your ear as he took a deep breath, your intoxicating scent curling in his lungs and sending his senses into a frenzy. You weren’t sure who’s hands belonged to who at this point, losing track of what body part was rubbing against you as you drowned in the feeling of their addictive touches and caress. You were just trying your hardest to keep your eyes uncrossed and stop them from rolling into the back of your head.

"So General, I pose another question" Blade said as his fingers danced along your torso.

You shuddered in his grasp, his unrelenting pace never once easing as his cock bullied your insides, pressing against your soft spots until you squealed with delight and your eyes grew glossy from unshed tears. You squeaked as his hand traced over the prominent bump in your stomach where they were both moving intimately beneath your skin. He traced circles into your soft stomach, squeezing your irresistible pudge in his large hands as he smiled wickedly at the other man.

"Who’s going to have the honour of filling her womb first?"

Jing Yuan hummed in thought. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against the pretty pearl of your clit, the bundle of nerves glistening like morning dew as it twitched from his touch. He found it hard to tear his gaze away from where your bodies were joined in fervid rapture, pearls of slick dripping down the soft insides of your thighs and tempting him to steal a taste. His gaze travelled over to your face, watching your expression contort and twist with unadulterated bliss as you writhed on top of him. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, a soft whimper tickling the back of your throat as he wiped away the constellation of tears clinging to your lashes.

"Who indeed?" Jing Yuan mused in response. "Tell me, little sparrow, who do you want filling your cute little pussy first?"

A hot flush made your spine tingle. Their intense gazes were focused on you and you struggled to think with the way Blade’s cock splitting you open emptied your pretty little head of every single thought. You couldn’t shrink up into a ball and hide from them. A disgruntled noise stirred in your throat as you huffed loudly, cheeks puffed up as a small pout tugged at your plump lips.

"That’s not fair" you griped, swallowing a moan as Blade nudged his cock deeper into you. "You know I-I want both of you."

Jing Yuan smiled in response, cooing sweetly as he lovingly pat your thigh. Blade buried his face in the crook of your neck as he hid his soft smile, parted lips dragging across your throat.

"What a greedy Princess you are" Blade whispered, hot breath making your pussy throb.

The knot winding deep in the pit of your stomach grew tighter and tighter with each passing moment, your next encroaching pleasure high promising to tear into your body with needle like teeth without remorse nor surrender. Your body tipped forward as stars wavered in your vision, hands pressed against Jing Yuan’s abdomen as you struggled to keep your body aloft. The muscles in Jing Yuan’s stomach jumped under your gentle touch as you rubbed your hands along his searing flesh, nails scratching along the thin white lines in his body from countless battles. A dopey smile stretched across Jing Yuan’s lips, eyes shimmering under the dim lighting. What a precious little thing you were.

He was starting to get closer. He could tell Blade was as well by the incessant cant of his hips and the way his cock was starting to throb periodically against his own. A warm hum rumbled deep in his chest, the sound almost akin to the purr of a cat as he ran his hands up and down your body. Blade’s question played on his mind as a devious idea tickled the back of his head. Like hell Blade was getting the honour of messing up your womb first. He held no ill will towards the other man, but Jing Yuan found himself quite greedy in any situation that involved you. The general was a patient man, choosing the best opportunity to make his move and strike when the hunter least expected it. It came when Blade’s eyes were unfocused, mind to preoccupied with the way your tight hole was fluttering around him and drooling on his cock that he could barely perceive anything other than the torturous rapture of your sumptuous body.

Jing Yuan’s strong hands curled around your hips as he suddenly yanked you forward. You yelped as you collapsed against his warm chest, breasts pushed against his sturdy muscles as the stifling heat of his body almost suffocated you. The unexpected movement caused Blade to tip forward, his cock slipping most of the way out of your drenched pussy as he slammed his hands beside Jing Yuan’s hips to prevent himself from crushing you. He cursed low under his breath as he was knocked out of his stupor, his orgasm almost ruined as Jing Yuan thrust his cock deep in your pussy, the fat head smothered against your cervix as he came with a hoarse cry of your name. Your voice was muffled into his skin as he buried himself deep, balls tight and cock kicking with every spurt of his hot seed as your insides were painted with thick ropes of white.

When Blade finally gathered his bearings and realised what had just happened, he was livid. He threw Jing Yuan a filthy look, his fangs bared as a low growl reverberated deep in his throat.

"Jing Yuan…you fucking bastard."

Jing Yuan cocked his head and had the audacity to smile at him. But the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. Jing Yuan knew exactly what he had done. His golden gaze was burning brightly with a satisfied victory. Before Blade could bare his teeth again your soft mewls caught his attention, his seething rage slowly quelled by the sound of your melodious voice. You hummed in pleasure as Jing Yuan filled you to the brim, his hips bumping against yours as he filled you with another heavy load of his seed. The warmth made your abdomen tingle, your own orgasm lingering in the background as your body throbbed for release, desperate for another heady rush that left you boneless and satisfied. Jing Yuan’s lips brushed against your forehead, beads of sweat dotting your brow as you squirmed.

"You did so well" Jing Yuan praised, lips a soothing balm against your skin. "Such a good girl. My cute little sparrow."

You squirmed in his grasp, turning your head as your gaze sought the man behind.

"Bladie, wanna feel you too" you slurred with a breathy whine. "Wanna feel your cum in me."

Blade could put aside his gripe for the moment when you called to him, your eyes pleading with him in such a way that buried under his skin and made his cold heart ache. His scarred hands reached for your hips once more, fingers sinking into the plush skin as he buried his cock all the way into you once more. There was a rush of juices as he thrust forward, the wet slide making him groan. His eyes narrowed sharply as Jing Yuan twisted his fingers in your hair, gathering it in a bundle and sweeping it off the back of your neck to expose more of your skin. Blade attempted to bite Jing Yuan’s fingers when they lingered close to his mouth, prompting an airy chuckle from the general. He did not say anything, choosing instead to keep your mouth occupied with the insistent press of his lips and allow Blade to seek what he wanted without further interruption.

Blade quickly fell back into the brutal pace he had worked himself up to earlier, falling back into the frenzy of wet skin slapping against skin as your pleased voice made his ears ring. You sucked on Jing Yuan’s tongue as you felt Blade lick a long stripe over the back of your neck, teeth following the hot press of his mouth as your pulse wavered. Your eyes fluttered and you whined loudly as Jing Yuan tasted the shape of your mouth, your body jolting forward when Blade sank his teeth into the back of your neck. He dug his fangs in until pinpricks of blood bubbled to the surface, the ferrous bite of your blood making his stomach twist tight as a feral snarl was muffled into your skin. The head of his cock was pushing against your cervix, occupying the space where Jing Yuan had been only a moment prior. You raked your nails along Jing Yuan’s skin as you felt Blade’s cock throbbing inside your soused walls, your pussy clenching tight as you went over the edge a few scant seconds after Blade.

You drooled around Jing Yuan’s tongue as Blade pumped his thick seed into you, the explosion of heat intensifying the ache in your stomach as the hot coil inside you shattered into a million pieces. Both men groaned as your pussy spasmed, your sweet nectar gushing from your core and staining their skin with thin threads of translucent liquid. Jing Yuan parted from your lips with a loud pop, cooing softly and talking you through your intense rush as your body trembled like a leaf in the wind, your orgasm snapping the last threads of strength in your weary body. The push of Blade’s hips ceased with one last final grunt, his harsh grip easing as your pussy swallowed every last drop of his spend. You went limp; exhaustion settled deep into your bones as every part of your body burned with a pleasant ache. You doubt you would be able to walk properly in the morning, bruises already forming over your bruises as you struggled to properly catch your breath. It took another few moments for all of you to collectively calm down, nerves still highly strung and bodies still burning from the lingering fumes of your pleasure high.

You whined when Jing Yuan pulled his softening cock out of you, quickly followed by Blade as you mourned the loss of warmth. Jing Yuan hushed you softly, running his hand along the ridges of your spine to soothe the tremors wracking your body.

"Such a good girl for us" Jing Yuan praised. "Wouldn’t you agree, Blade?"

Blade hummed in agreement, fingers scooping up the mixture of essence that dribbled from your gushing pussy and stuffing it back into the hole he had been so passionately fucking. You squirmed from the feeling as he bumped his nose into your soft cheek, chest pressed against your back as he rested his chin on your shoulder. You turned your head in his direction as his lips brushed over your burning skin, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

"Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

His concern made your heart flutter, warmth stirring in your chest as you offered him a bashful smile. You weakly tangled your hair in his long, ebony locks, feeling the rhythm of his heart pressed against your back as his clammy skin stuck to yours. He peered at you through his dark bangs, crimson eyes searching your face for any signs of discomfort.

"I’m okay" you reassured. "Just the usual kind of sore."

Jing Yuan chuckled, fingers massaging the back of your scalp as a warm purr stirred in his chest.

"Perhaps our little sparrow would like to bathe? What do you say? Up to being pampered now?"

You hummed in agreement, stretching your body like a lazy cat. "Are you going to join us this time, Bladie?"

Your voice sounded hopeful. The Stellaron hunter usually declined your offer, preferring to partake in a post sex cigarette and wash when both you and Jing Yuan were finished. That, unfortunately, meant he sometimes missed out. 

"…Just to make sure he doesn’t start something without me."

"Are you referring to me? I would never" Jing Yuan replied, voice feigning hurt.

Blade bared his teeth as he growled.

"Boys" you warned.

"I’m going to kill you and I’ll make it look like an accident" Blade hissed through his teeth.

Jing Yuan had been threatened so many times by Blade that the words simply rolled off of him like water from a duck’s back. You had no doubt the general probably considered it pillow talk at this point.

"Considering the general swings around a weapon that weighs thirteen tonnes, he could probably punt you across Scalegorge with a flick of his wrist" you piped up, trying your best to contain your giggles.

It didn’t work as Jing Yuan ghosted his fingers across your ribs and coaxed the laughter out of you.

"When did you get so chatty?" Blade asked, teeth sinking into the soft pudge of your cheek and pulling on the skin until you squealed.

"You clearly didn’t fuck out her brains hard enough" Jing Yuan mused with a soft chortle.

Before Blade could retort you dug your fingers between Jing Yuan’s ribs and forced a dry wheeze from his parched throat.

"Boys, behave!"

Stuck between one the IPC’s most wanted criminals and a renowned General of the Xianzhou Alliance. You had your work cut out for you.

[see-arcane]

Jonathan is escaping just as the beginnings of brain fever and far worse things are roiling in him. Making him more ill and haggard as he traverses the Carpathians in search of a train. Running, burning, withering. Dying.

The closer he gets to death, the more he can feel Dracula's poison trying to overtake him. It's a trap waiting to spring. He knows it. Dracula knows it. Just as the Count knows the Brides let him slip away--

Ah, well, their loss. It seems you are to be mine alone after all, my friend.

--and dreams little visions his way when Jonathan dares to sleep.

Flashes of dark water and mist. Men screaming like sheep before the butcher. Slaughtered with less mercy than any farmer ever showed his livestock before being discarded like trash.

What loss are they, my friend? I have tasted the finer things. A sweet English vintage; I shall savor more of the same in time. But these? Bah! I have seen a thousand of their paltry kind come and go. I would no sooner cherish their meal than you would swoon over a cut of shoe leather. What difference is it if I play with this coarse fare? You shall learn the same habits in time.

"No. No, no, I won't, I can't. I have to go home. I have to get to her. My life is there. My life is her."

What home is that, my friend? Who is she?

He does not answer. He cannot answer. His head is all fire, burning holes through mind and memory. No, God, he must know! He must remember! He has come all this way, he must know where he's going and who is there! His nightmares fill with as much saccharine sympathy as cutting laughter. The most sincere comment he receives in the mire of it is a single reassurance:

You will recall it all, my friend. Sickness makes no mark upon us. You will know. You will be well. Some night, in this year or the next, perhaps we can go and meet her together. In the meantime, cease your struggling. I can feel your fatigue, poor boy. Put down your head. Stop running. Let it take you. Let it help you. Rest.

"No."

Rest.

"No!"

Rest.

"No, no, no--,"

He stuffs himself with berries and a hare and handfuls from a river. A ferryman takes pity--he thinks? a river, he remembers a River, the Ferryman telling him where to go, how soon the sun will rise, he doesn't know, his head, his chest, everything burning, dying--and a blur passes between himself and the train station. He was loud there. Did he scream? Sob? Bare his teeth? They shoo him away with a ticket.

(Sharp. Why do his teeth feel so sharp? Why is he so thirsty when the fluttering shapes of the nuns keep forcing water down his throat?)

(Quiet now. He cannot get through the walls here. Ha. Could not even open his journal if he tried! The crucifix is wrapped around it! Ha!)

(Stings to hold. Why? God, God, please, not now, don't don't don't, please do not do this, the nuns, they think him mad! They are of faith, but they do not believe! They do not know! They won't understand what he is when they put him in the cemetery they won't know what they invited in unawares they won't know until he is up and out of the dirt and oh O God the Cross and the Son will not save them not entirely not when he feasted on an entire mountain range of the faithful whose prayer saved no one and soon he will not need their necks only whatever meat his teeth can reach and no no no no no no no no no no no NO NO NO NO--)

Something is different.

A white light twinkling in the red inferno. He knows it. It has brushed him more than once. She found him in the graveyard, weeping over the stones of his parents. How did she know then that he was there? He'd never told her.

Her.

Her who?

(Love. Darling. Soul. I know this. I know...)

Even if he cannot pierce the veil of a holy place, her presence can. It fires through his eyes--he is caught mid-kiss, the girl's head is hanging down, familiar sunny locks, who..?--and into Jonathan Harker's.

Jonathan Harker. Yes. Yes, that sounds right. And she is...

Running to him, to the nodding girl, a wisp under the moonlight coming to throw herself into danger for the sake of another, as ever and ever amen, she is--

"Mina."

"Pardon?" asks the attendant refilling his pitcher. She watches him carefully. "Did you say something young herr?"

"Mina. Mina Murray." His bloodshot eyes roll to the window. It faces the west. It faces her. Within him, something blessedly cool turns over, quelling an irate blaze. "I should like to write to her."

"I can speak with Sister Agatha about this. Who is Mina Murray, if I may ask?"

"My fiancee. And my name is Jonathan Harker. We live in Exeter." He offers a weak smile. One without sharp teeth. "My apologies for taking so long to remember it."

[qtboni]

╰﹒ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 !

PAIRING: Ooc!Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

OVERVIEW: He lashes out on you + very dismissive over your efforts for him :((

C/W: Angst, no comfort (see p2 for comfort!), mentions of toxic behavior (bcz words), offensive languages, depictions of mental health struggles (anxiety, but js tiny amount). [ fanart credits : ave661 on tumblr ]

W/C: 1.1k bubs

Simon had been going through a lot lately, and you could tell it was taking a toll on him. He had been working overtime at work, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes every time he came home.

You want to do something special for him, something to lift his spirits up.

The air was charged with anticipation as Simon stepped through the door, making you want to burst out of happiness.

You had been eagerly awaiting his arrival, eager to show him what you'd been working on all day. You had been so excited to do something special for him, and you had gone the extra mile to make this night perfect!

The air, still thick with tension, Simon walked through the hallway. He'd had a long, hard day at work, and the last thing he wanted was to deal with anything else.

Price had been nagging him more than usual on the mission. Simon was tired and just wanted to rest, but Price's constant barrage of questions and commands was starting to get on his nerves.

He tried his best to keep his cool, but he couldn't help feeling a little bit frustrated. Despite his best efforts, he managed to keep his emotions in check and focus on the task at hand.

After the mission was over, Simon was relieved to finally have a moment to himself. He just wanted to rest and have a good night, but there you were, being a nuisance to him.

You could see the weariness in his eyes, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He shrugged off your attempts to engage him, not wanting to deal with the small talk.

As Simon dropped his collection of his military wears in the near cabinet, you approached him, your heart still pounding with excitement.

"Simon," you said, your voice trembling and a cheeky smile forming on your lips. "I've been working on a special surprise for you all day. I made your favorite snacks, decorated the living room, and even picked out a movie I know you'll love! I just wanted to make tonight special."

Simon looked up at you, his expression unreadable. "What?" he asked, his tone sharp and exhaustion palpable in his voice.

Despite his attitude, you pushed forward, eager to show him the cozy living room setup you'd created.

"Ta da!" you exclaimed, gesturing to the cozy space. "I wanted to make our movie night extra special tonight, so I went all out."

You'd decorated it with fairy lights, set out the popcorn and drinks, and made sure the couch was nice and toasty with a mountain of blankets.

"I just wanted to do something special for you," you added, your voice light and upbeat.

Simon's expression fell. He looked at the setup as if it were an annoyance, and you felt your feelings going down the drain.

You tried to hide your disappointment though and put on a cheerful smile, but it was hard to hide the hurt in your eyes. "What's wrong?" you asked hesitantly.

Simon shook his head, and for the first time, you saw the signs of his stress and turmoil. His lips were thin, his brow furrowed, and you could tell that he was struggling just to keep it all together.

"I can't take on one more thing right now," he said, his voice rising with frustration. "I'm exhausted. I can't deal with this right now."

You felt a lump form in your throat as you realized the full extent of your mistake.

"I..."

Your heart sank.

You couldn't believe you hadn't realized how tired he looked, how haggard and stressed. You had been so caught up in your excitement that you had missed the signs, the signals that he couldn't take on any more.

You had been so eager to do something nice for him, and in doing so, you had only added to his burden.

A tense silence fell over the room, and you could feel the tension rising between you. You wanted to comfort him, to make things right, but you didn't know how.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to do something nice for you."

As you stood there in silence, your heart racing and tears swimming in your eyes, he finally spoke.

"Well, don't," he snapped, his irritation evident in his tone. "I can take care of myself. And I didn't ask for any of these."

You watch as he points to the decorated living room. Your efforts. Your hopes of having a good night of movies with him.

You felt the tears spill over and course down your cheeks.

"I didn't mean to make things worse for you," you said, your voice trembling. "I just wanted to do something nice for you, to lift your spirits. I didn't realize..."

Simon sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I appreciate the effort, really I do. It's just..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. "Can you just stop being a bother? I can't take on anything else right now. I'm already stretched so thin, and I can't..."

You felt your chest tighten at his words.

You had always known that Simon was a hard worker, but you had never truly appreciated the toll it took on him. You had always been there to support him, to lift him up when he was feeling low, and you had always assumed that he would do the same for you.

At that moment, you realized that you had been asking too much of him. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your voice barely above a whisper, you managed to say, "I... I understand. I shouldn't have pushed you like that."

You could feel the hurt in your chest, like a physical pain that made it hard to breathe.

“Stop being a bother.”

The tears were already falling down your face, and your heart ached with the weight of your mistakes. It was just a reminder of how much you loved him and how desperately you wanted to be with him.

Simon didn't utter another word, just nodded his head, but his silence spoke volumes. An oppressive and heavy sense of unease permeated the air, leaving no doubt that there was nothing else to be said.

You stood there, feeling numb and defeated as you watched him leave to the bedroom.

You had learned a difficult lesson that night, and one that you would never forget. The road to happiness was not always smooth, and sometimes, even the people we love the most can hurt us without meaning to.

Tears filled your eyes over and over again as you realized how much your effort was taken for granted.

In that moment, you didn't understand why he was being so cruel to you, especially when you had put so much thought into making him happy.

All you wanted was to see Simon smile.

A/N: okay.. well.. he was an ass.. HELP simon pookie why would u do this to us? :(( we even made you popcorns and and even bought you your favorite drinks :(( we had to even ask ur best bud soap what kind of movies you like :(( we did so much for you :(( but it's okay ig. . . as long as you can have your rest. . . and well. . . goodnight :((

lmk if you guys need a part 2 cuz i be crying in my sleep

EDIT! part 2 is posted !!

[lila-lou]

✨In my time of dying✨

Summary: Dean is in a coma while you wait for him to wake up. My version of S2 E1 - “In My Time of Dying”.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angst, hurt, some fluff

Word Count: 4193

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The car crash’s aftermath was a blur of smoke, shattered glass, and the sharp smell of gasoline. You were thrown against the side of the Impala, your head hitting the window hard enough to black out for a few moments. When you came to, everything was chaos. Dean was slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious, with blood trickling down his forehead.

Your heart pounded as you struggled to unbuckle yourself.

You had been with the Winchesters ever since Dean saved you from that vampire nest. You owed them your life, but more than that, you had fallen for Dean. His bravery, his fierce loyalty to his family, and the way he always managed to keep a sense of humor even in the darkest times had all won you over. But you had never dared to tell him. You were younger, and you thought he saw you as just a kid sister, someone to protect.

Finally free of your seatbelt, you reached over to check Dean’s pulse. It was there, faint but steady. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived.

The next thing you knew, you were being pulled from the wreckage by emergency responders, the world a whirlwind of flashing lights and urgent voices.

The hospital room was sterile and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth and chaos that usually surrounded the Winchesters. Machines beeped rhythmically, marking the passage of time in a way that felt both too fast and excruciatingly slow. You sat in a stiff chair by Dean’s bedside, your own injuries throbbing dully, but they were a distant concern. The nurses had tried to convince you to get some rest, to let them look at your bruised ribs and the cuts on your face, but you had refused. All that mattered was Dean.

It had been 24 hours since the crash. Sam had managed to get some rest, his tall frame awkwardly draped over a couple of chairs in the waiting room. John was still in critical condition, but stable. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave Dean’s side, not even for a moment. Every rise and fall of his chest was a lifeline, a fragile connection that kept you tethered to hope.

You gently held Dean’s hand, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. His face was pale, the bruises stark against his usually vibrant complexion. You traced the lines of his knuckles, trying to memorize every detail, as if the act could somehow anchor him to this world.

“Dean”, you whispered, your voice cracking. “You have to wake up. We need you. I need you”.

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them away. You had to be strong, for him, for Sam, for everyone. Dean had always been the one to keep it together, the rock that everyone leaned on. Now it was your turn to be strong for him.

A soft knock on the door drew your attention. Sam stood there, looking haggard and worried. He gave you a small, tired smile as he stepped into the room.

“Hey”, he said quietly. “How’s he doing?”.

You shook your head slightly. “No change. But he’s strong, Sam. He’ll pull through”.

Sam nodded, coming to stand beside you. He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “You need to rest too, (Y/N). You’re hurt, and you won’t be any good to Dean or anyone if you collapse”.

You looked up at him, seeing the same pain and worry reflected in his eyes. “I can’t leave him, Sam. Not yet”.

Sam sighed, but he didn’t argue. He knew how stubborn you could be, especially when it came to Dean. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat down next to you, his presence a comforting weight in the silent room.

The hours passed slowly, each minute feeling like an eternity. You and Sam kept vigil by Dean’s side, your concern for him making the time both crawl and fly by. Each beep of the machines felt like a countdown.

A nurse entered the room, her expression professional and calm. She approached Dean’s bed with a clipboard, preparing to check his vitals. You watched her every move, your eyes sharp, your body tense with anticipation. When she adjusted Dean’s IV line a bit too roughly, you snapped.

“Careful!”, you barked, your voice sharp with worry. “He’s not some sack of potatoes you can just fucking toss around”.

The nurse looked up, startled, and Sam placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to soothe you. “Hey, it’s okay, (Y/N). She’s just doing her job”.

You shook your head, unwilling to relent. “I know, but she needs to be gentler. He’s been through enough”.

The nurse nodded apologetically, her movements becoming more deliberate and gentle. “I´m sorry. I’ll be more careful”.

Sam squeezed your shoulder again, this time more firmly. “We all want the best for Dean. Getting angry won’t help him”.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions inside you. “I know. I just… I can’t stand seeing him like this, Sam. He looks so vulnerable”.

Sam nodded, understanding all too well. “I get it. But we have to trust that they’re doing everything they can to help him”.

You looked at Dean’s peaceful face, feeling a wave of helplessness wash over you. “He has to wake up, Sam. He just has to”.

The hours stretched into an agonizing blur. Sam had gone to check on John, leaving you alone with Dean. The hospital had fallen into a hushed silence, the kind that only seemed to amplify the constant beeping of the machines. Another nurse quietly entered the room, placing a tray with a sandwich and a cup of coffee on the small table by the bed.

“You need to eat something”, she said gently. “You’ve been here a long time”.

You glanced at the food, but the thought of eating made your stomach churn. “Thank you”, you replied softly, but you didn’t touch the tray. The nurse gave you a sympathetic look before leaving you alone again.

It had been 26 hours since the crash. Two days of holding onto hope, two days of watching Dean lie motionless, his life hanging by a thread. Deep down, a gnawing fear had taken root, a voice whispering that he might not make it. You tried to push it away, but it was relentless, growing louder with each passing hour.

Your mind, exhausted and frayed, began to play tricks on you. Shadows seemed to move in the corners of your vision, and you found yourself jumping at the slightest sound. The room felt colder, the walls closing in, suffocating you with their sterile emptiness.

You moved closer to Dean, your tears blurring the sight of his bruised face. “Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please, you have to wake up".

Your hand clutched his, holding on as if your touch alone could anchor him to life. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dean. You mean everything to me. More than you’ll ever know”.

Your sobs echoed softly in the stillness of the room, your shoulders shaking with the weight of your grief. “You’re all I have left, Dean”, you cried, your voice breaking. “You and Sam… You’re my family. But with you, it’s something different. You’ve become my life”.

You clutched his hand tighter, as if by sheer will you could bring him back. “I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t wake up. I need you to be okay. Please, Dean. You have to come back to us. To me”.

Unbeknownst to you, on the other side, Dean’s spirit watched you, his heart aching at the sight of your despair. He had been wandering the hospital, trying to make sense of his situation, when he found himself drawn back to his own room. Seeing you like this, so broken and vulnerable, was a pain far worse than any physical injury.

Dean moved closer, his ghostly form feeling an overwhelming need to comfort you. “I’m here, (Y/N)”, he whispered, even though he knew by now that you couldn’t hear him. “I’m right here”.

He reached out, his fingers passing through yours, unable to offer the comfort he so desperately wanted to give. He had heard your every word, felt your every tear, and it tore him apart knowing he couldn’t reach you.

The hospital room blurred around him, the lines between the physical and the spiritual world becoming increasingly thin. Dean could feel a presence beside him, familiar and yet unknown. Turning, he saw the Reaper again, her serene expression betraying no emotion.

“I told you already, no!”, Dean growled, his voice echoing in the surreal space. “I can’t leave her. I can’t leave them”.

The Reaper looked at him with understanding but also a firmness that hinted at the inevitability of her role. “Dean, it’s not about what you want. It’s about the natural order. You’ve done your part. It’s time to move on”.

“No!”, Dean shouted, the desperation in his voice matching the intensity of his emotions. “You don’t understand. They need me. She needs me. I won’t abandon them”.

The Reaper’s eyes softened, a glimmer of sympathy flickering in her gaze. “It’s not easy, Dean. The bonds of love and family are strong, but death is a part of life. You can’t fight it forever”.

Dean’s spirit trembled with rage and sorrow, the weight of his love for you and Sam anchoring him to the living world. “I can’t leave her like this. Not after everything. I promised to protect them. To protect her”.

The Reaper sighed, a hint of weariness in her otherwise ethereal demeanor. “Sometimes, even the strongest promises must be broken".

Just then, in the physical world, Sam quietly entered the room. His eyes widened as he saw you slumped over Dean’s hand, tears streaming down your face. The sight of you crying broke his heart, but he knew you needed help too.

“(Y/N)”, Sam said softly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You need to let the doctors check you out. You’ve been here for hours, and you’re hurt”.

You shook your head stubbornly, not taking your eyes off Dean’s face. “I’m not leaving him, Sam. I can’t”.

Sam knelt beside you, his voice gentle but firm. “Dean wouldn’t want you to suffer like this. You’re hurt. You need to take care of yourself too”.

Your tears flowed more freely now, the pain in your heart almost unbearable. “He’s all I have, Sam. I can’t lose him”.

Sam wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a comforting hug. “I know. I know how much he means to you. But he’d want you to be okay. We need to be strong for him”.

As Sam’s words sank in, you nodded slowly, allowing him to help you to your feet. The room seemed to spin slightly as you stood, your injuries and exhaustion taking their toll. Sam kept a steadying arm around you as he guided you towards the door.

Before leaving, you glanced back at Dean one more time, your heart aching with worry.

Hours later, you sat once again by Dean’s side, bandages now adorning your bruised ribs and cuts. The nurses had managed to patch you up, but despite their best efforts to get you to eat or rest, you refused. Your mind was solely focused on Dean, watching his every breath, willing him to stay with you.

Sam had taken shifts with you, ensuring you were never alone, but now it was just you and Dean again.

Dean’s face was still pale, the bruises stark against his skin. You gently traced the back of his hand with your fingers, your touch light and careful. Despite the stillness, there was an undercurrent of unease, as if something dark was looming just beyond the walls of the hospital.

While you kept vigil, Sam was with John, trying to coax him back to consciousness, but there was a growing fear in both of you that time was running out. You didn’t know it, but something was stirring within John, something that would change everything.

More hours passed, and exhaustion weighed heavily on you, but you refused to leave Dean’s side. Suddenly, you noticed a change in the air. It felt colder, more oppressive. You shivered, though you didn’t know why. Across the hospital, in John’s room, a far more sinister event was unfolding.

John, weakened but resolute, lay in his hospital bed, staring at the ceiling with a grim determination. He knew what he had to do, the price he was about to pay. He could feel the presence of the demon, Azazel, the very one responsible for so much of his family’s pain.

“Azazel”, John whispered, his voice barely audible, but strong enough to cut through the silence.

The demon appeared, its eyes gleaming with a malevolent joy, as if it had been waiting for this moment. “John. I was wondering when you’d come calling”.

John’s eyes were hard, his resolve unshakable. “I want to make a deal”.

Azazel smiled, a cold, predatory smile that sent chills down John’s spine. “I’m listening”.

“I want you to save Dean. Bring him back. Fully. And in exchange…”, John’s voice faltered, but only for a moment. “I’ll give you the Colt. And my soul”.

The demon’s eyes flickered with interest, but it was cunning, calculating. “That’s a hefty price you’re offering, John. But are you sure? You know what this means”.

John nodded, the weight of his decision clear in his expression. “I know. Just save my son”.

Azazel stepped closer, his presence dark and overwhelming. “You know, John, you could have just walked away, left the boy to die. But that’s not your style, is it? Always the martyr”.

John’s jaw clenched, his eyes never wavering. “Just do it”.

Azazel grinned, pleased with the outcome. “As you wish”. He leaned in closer, his voice a sinister whisper. “But remember, when you’re gone, I’ll still be out there. And nothing you do can stop me from coming after Sam. Not even you”.

John’s heart tightened at the thought, but he forced himself to stay focused. “Just save Dean. I’ll handle the rest”.

The demon reached out, and with a single touch, John felt his life slipping away. A cold darkness enveloped him as Azazel claimed his soul, but in those final moments, he clung to the knowledge that he had saved his son.

Back in Dean’s room, you felt an inexplicable shift in the atmosphere. Dean’s hand twitched in yours, his breathing growing stronger, more stable. You gasped, leaning forward as his eyes fluttered open, confusion and pain flickering in his gaze.

As Dean’s eyes slowly fluttered open, a wave of emotions crashed over you, so intense that it nearly took your breath away. You had been holding everything in, trying to be strong, but the sight of him awake, alive, was more than you could bear.

Tears filled your eyes, blurring your vision, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the fact that Dean was here, that he had come back to you. A choked sob escaped your lips, and before you knew it, you were throwing your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling with overwhelming relief. “You’re okay. You’re really okay”.

Dean, still groggy and disoriented, could only manage a weak smile as he felt your arms around him. The tube in his throat made it difficult for him to respond, but the way his hand reached up to weakly pat your back showed that he understood your relief.

But you were holding on so tightly, pouring out all the fear and worry you had been bottling up, that you didn’t realize how hard you were squeezing him. Dean’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he made a small noise, trying to get your attention.

“(Y/N)…can’t…breathe…”, Dean tried to say, but his voice was muffled and weak against the tube.

Realizing that you were practically smothering him, you quickly pulled back, your eyes wide with a mix of shock and embarrassment. “Oh shit, I’m sorry!”, you blurted out, immediately loosening your grip but keeping your hands gently on his shoulders.

Half an hour later, after the doctor had checked on Dean and confirmed that he was indeed stable, the room felt lighter, filled with a sense of relief that had been absent for too long. You sat close to Dean, still holding onto his hand as if afraid to let go, while Sam hovered nearby, watching his brother closely.

Dean, though still a bit pale and obviously tired, seemed more like his old self with each passing minute. His humor was coming back, and he was starting to grow impatient with the confines of the hospital bed. Finally, he decided he had had enough.

“I’m getting out of here”, Dean declared, his voice still a little raspy but strong with determination.

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Dean, you were just in a coma. Are you sure you’re okay to be moving around?”.

Dean rolled his eyes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m fine, Sam. The doctor said I’m stable, and I’m not sticking around here any longer than I have to”.

You shared a look with Sam, both of you equally concerned but also understanding that Dean was never one to stay down for long. “Dean, maybe you should take it easy”, you suggested, though you could already tell by the determined glint in his eye that he wasn’t going to listen.

Ignoring your concern, Dean stood up slowly, testing his balance. He wobbled for a second, and you instinctively reached out to steady him, but he waved you off with a grin. “See? I’m good”, he said confidently, though the effort was clearly taxing.

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible, you know that?”.

Dean shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

He reached for his clothes, which had been folded neatly on a chair beside the bed. As he turned around to grab them, you and Sam both couldn’t help but burst into soft laughter. His hospital gown had ridden up, revealing a rather undignified view of his backside.

“Dean, your… uh… gown’s not exactly covering everything”, you said between fits of laughter, your previous tension finally breaking into something lighter.

Dean froze, then looked over his shoulder, realizing the situation. “Seriously?”, he muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly, though he quickly recovered and shot you both a mock glare. “You guys enjoying the view?”.

Sam was practically doubled over with laughter now, the stress of the past few days melting away in the ridiculousness of the moment. “Oh man, Dean, you really know how to make an exit”.

You tried to stifle your giggles as you stepped forward to help him, holding the back of the gown closed while he reached for his jeans. “Come on, let’s get you dressed before you traumatize anyone else”.

Dean huffed in mock indignation as he quickly pulled on his clothes, the familiar routine grounding him back into reality.

As Dean finished pulling on his jeans, Sam, still chuckling, muttered, “I’m gonna grab some coffee. Dean, you look like you could use one too”.

Dean smirked, giving Sam a nod. “Yeah, I could use a good cup of coffee”.

Sam glanced at you both before heading towards the door. “I’ll be right back”, he said, then stepped out, leaving you and Dean alone in the quiet room.

You turned back to Dean, ready to help him gather the rest of his things, but the moment you reached for his bag, Dean’s hand shot out, grasping your wrist a bit more firmly than usual. The unexpected touch made you pause, and you looked up to find him staring at you with an intensity that took your breath away.

“(Y/N)”, Dean started, his voice softer now, filled with something deeper than his usual bravado. You could see the tension in his eyes, the way his thoughts seemed to be racing as he stood just inches away from you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the room suddenly feeling smaller, as if the space between you was charged with electricity. Dean had always been close to you, but this was different. There was something raw and unguarded in the way he was looking at you, something that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could say anything, before you could even fully process what was happening, Dean moved. He pulled you closer, his grip on your waist firm, while his other hand came up to gently cup your face. You barely had time to react before his lips were on yours.

The kiss was sudden, but it was everything you had imagined it would be—warm, intense, and filled with all the unspoken emotions that had been simmering between you for so long. Dean kissed you with a passion that left no room for doubt, his lips moving against yours as if he was trying to pour everything he felt into that one, breathtaking moment.

You melted into his touch, your hands resting weakly against his chest as your heart clenched with a mix of overwhelming emotions. Every thought, every fear, every doubt you’d had over the past hours seemed to dissolve in that moment, replaced by the warmth of Dean’s embrace and the fervor in his kiss.

Time seemed to stop as you lost yourself in him, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. His hands, rough yet gentle, held you close, grounding you in the reality of the moment. This was real. Dean was here, and he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

After what felt like an eternity, he slowly broke the kiss, his breathing heavy as he pressed his forehead against yours. His hands remained on your waist and face, anchoring you to him, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“I’ve wanted to do that for the last 48 hours”, Dean murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You opened your eyes, finding his gaze locked on yours, filled with a mixture of relief, longing, and something deeper that made your heart swell. “Dean…”, you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve wanted this for so much longer”.

He closed his eyes briefly, as if letting the weight of your words sink in, before opening them again, his expression softening. “I know”, he admitted, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. “Me too… I was just too damn stubborn to admit it”.

A small, tearful laugh escaped you, and you leaned into his touch, feeling the tension of the past few days finally start to ease. “I was scared, Dean. Scared that I’d never get to tell you how I feel. That I’d lose you before I ever got the chance”.

Dean shook his head slightly, his forehead still pressed against yours. “You’re not gonna lose me”, he promised, his voice full of conviction. “Not now, not ever. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere”.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time they were tears of happiness, of relief. You brought your hands up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms.

He pulled you into another kiss, this one slower, more tender, as if he was savoring every second of it. And you kissed him back, pouring all your love, all your fears, and all your hopes into it. This was a new beginning for both of you, a step into something that had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to be realized.

When you finally broke apart, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Dean wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his chin resting on the top of your head. For a moment, you both just stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading into insignificance.

Dean smiled down at you, his eyes filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter, before he spoke up again. "How´s dad?".

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny

[ghcstao3]

marine biologist/diver!ghost x selkie!soap au Thoughts

marine biologist ghost who, whenever he has spare time, will go diving with some colleagues to collect trash from the ocean—because maybe it doesn’t make a huge, immediate impact, but it still means something is being done.

then one day while diving, ghost is accompanied by a seal. at first it only observes, and ghost is plenty happy to admire from afar, but then the seal is cozying up to him. it latches onto his leg, nudges him with its snout—even directs ghost and his group to trash that’s otherwise pretty well hidden, wedged beneath coral and rocks and sand.

it saddens ghost, just a little, when the sky starts getting dark and they have to head back. he doesn’t want to abandon his new friend—it’s rare they have wildlife hang around for this long—but unfortunately it’s not safe to wait any longer before going home.

but then the next time they’re able to go diving, the seal is there again. it plays at the same routine, helping out and goofing around, sticking dutifully by ghost’s side even when there’s others along with him. and time after time, it’s the same thing. no matter where the group is, the seal somehow always finds him. they end up lending it the nickname soap, after the odd amount of empty bottles of cleaning products the seal seems to locate for them.

it’s maybe a few months later that soap doesn’t show up, and it’s an instant cause for concern; there’s no reason soap should be missing. they’re in a similar area that the seal likely frequents, there’s no reason for soap to have moved or be huddled away with other seals to have pups.

the group worries, but there’s nothing they can do but theorize and assume as they carry out their regular chore. it’s only a once-off, by this point. maybe soap just didn’t feel like coming out to play just this one time.

but it happens again and again. soap doesn’t appear once, and it has the group of scientists worried sick. but without a tracker, or even a real idea of where soap might frequent when he’s not helping the group, there’s nothing they can do.

they return to shore later than usual one night. it’s completely dark by the time they dock, and ghost waves everyone ahead to go home because they’re all tired, he can manage clean-up by himself.

ghost is just about finished packing up when he sees the figure at the end of the dock. the marina is like a ghost town otherwise, nothing but the sound of turning waves and boats gentle bumping up against the port. ghost approaches slowly, not knowing what other business one could possibly have at the water this late.

“you lost, mate?” ghost wonders cautiously.

the figure steps closer, silver moonlight revealing some of his features. the man looks about ghost’s age, maybe younger—only it’s hard to tell with the haggard look on his face, as he nervously wrings his fingers and avoids ghost’s gaze.

“i’m… sorry i haven’t been around,” he apologizes, and ghost frowns. “someone… someone took my coat.”

ghost’s brow furrows. “i don’t… your coat? i’m not sure i underst—“

“my coat,” the man affirms. “i need it to swim. which is why i haven’t been able to help lately.”

not certain how it’s possible, ghost grows even more confused. he doesn’t get it—a coat to swim? being able to help? nothing makes sense.

“you’ve lost me,” ghost says, shaking his head. “wish i could help, but—“

as ghost tries to push past, the man seizes his arm. he peers up at ghost pleadingly, and while ghost had wanted to conclude the man was drunk or high or something—he hesitates, seeing that look.

“have you ever heard of selkies?” the man asks, an edge of desperation in his voice.

ghost shrugs. “sure i have.” he’s hardly well-versed in mythical creatures, but he knows the gist.

the man doesn’t say anything—just continues to look at ghost with those sad eyes, a plea for understanding like an explanation couldn’t be spoken aloud. so ghost thinks on it a moment.

the coat, the inability to swim without it. not helping out and not being there starting to sound like a reference to soap. to the seal.

ghost’s eyebrows nearly raise to his hairline in disbelief.

“you’re not really saying you’re soap, are you?”

maybe-soap frowns. “who’s that?”

right. “i mean the seal that’s been following our diving trips,” ghost clarifies. “and you’re saying… because your coat is gone—“

“taken,” soap corrects, “i couldn’t go. i wanted to find you, but i didn’t know how, and… and…”

soap looks frazzled, like his brain has disconnected from his mouth and hands in empty gestures in words trying to convey what he’s thinking.

ghost tentatively sets his crate of gear on the wooden planks of the dock before placing his hands on either one of soap’s shoulders. maybe the story isn’t all there, and maybe there’s still doubt in ghost’s head about any of it being the truth—but ultimately, ghost believes the man. believes it’s soap.

slowly, ghost says, “calm down, and tell me how i can help. we’ll get your coat back, yeah?”

soap offers him a shy, watery smile—but a smile nonetheless. he nods and begins to tell ghost everything.

it doesn’t take long before they’re hatching a plan to win back soap’s freedom.

[therealslimshady]

Constantly wondering what went down when Laois was in the army, and the new omake about his and Falin's time in the caravan is only making my questions grow. Like one would assume that his shaggy appearance after he deserted is the classic tried and true "I finally don't have to shave and cut my hair anymore I'm free" move, except in the omake he looks less shaggy and more haggard and depressed, and it's only when Falin decides to join him that you see him slowly start to put himself together and 'upgrade' to shaggy.

Like the only thing we know about his time in the army (beyond the incredibly vague 'he felt like he didn't fit in so he decided to desert') is from the panel where the winged lion says that laios loves monsters because "monsters kill humans", and in the background you can see someone holding him in place while someone else whales on him. Like hello?? That's not "oh I didn't think I fit in" that's literally getting the shit beat out of you!!! Ms. Ryoko Kui???? Could you please elaborate??? I'm begging you???

Also Falin is so real, if I saw my brother for the first time in eight years and he was like "hey I was just in the area and decided to stop by for a couple minutes" and he looked like THAT i would also immediately quit school and insist on traveling with him. Like bro what happened to you 😭

[mosaickiwi]

yoohoo!!! @nabi004 and @mialuna4 and that one anon!!! sick angel request!!! many thanks for the love <3

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

~A Sick Angel~

“Can you please—”

“No.”

The past few minutes had been like talking to a brick wall. [REDACTED] hadn't let you move an inch from the bed since you’d woken up in an agonizing daze.

Sure, you felt like complete shit, maybe a little on the side of a fever. And the moment you sat up you wanted to scream. But it was manageable. If you tried, you'd be able to make it through a day at the library. 

Blue eyes quickly narrowed, as if they knew exactly what you were thinking. It was frustrating how stubborn they could be when he wanted to.

You attempted to frown at your companion. Nothing really changed about your haggard expression—thanks to your face and entire body feeling like dead weight—but your tone worked well enough. “I need to go to work today.”

“Not happening,” he insisted as he reached up to your forehead.

You closed your eyes for just a second. His cold palm against your brow was too heavenly to ignore. “I don't want to let Elanor down. Today's really important for her,” you croaked.

They didn't bother to hide the momentary disgust in their tone at the mention of your coworker. “She wouldn't want y’working either, Angel.” As if to prove his point, they tapped away on your phone. He'd been holding it hostage behind his back. 

Only a minute later, it dinged with a response and he finally held it out to you. Elanor had sent a polite and elaborate text as always. You read through it while he continued to run both of their cold hands over your heated face like two makeshift ice packs.

Good morning, [REDACTED]. At least I assume so from how brief that message was? Thank you for letting me know Y/N is ill! I'm sure they must be worried about missing today's event but we can handle it just fine! And I’m happy to take some pictures for them! Please take good care of them and give my well wishes. Regards, Elanor.

You raised an eyebrow and scrolled back up to the paltry message he'd sent her.

sick no work

Somehow, it was probably the nicest thing they'd ever managed to send any of your friends. You looked back up at him with what was meant to be a pout. “Okay then.”

With instant trust in your word, he stood up to leave the room. He soon returned with his arms full. A cold compress, medicine, some drinks, and anything else they thought you might need. You lightly rolled your neck and resigned to your fate as a patient when he sat next to you. The medicine and drink he offered were swallowed without fuss on your part, then you laid down. The throbbing pain already seemed to calm as you did.

The compress stayed at his side instead of being placed on your forehead like you thought. You felt their hand on your cheek yet again, a more noticeable chill to his rough skin this time.

“Just in case it feels too cold f’you,” he explained before you even asked.

It felt perfect, so you didn't mind at all. You practically purred in relief at the gentle circles they rubbed. You tiredly looked up to him as you complained, if only to tease them, “I'm a little disappointed you didn't bring out the nurse outfit.”

“‘Course you are.” His eyes lit up with mischief, a knowing smile cut across his lips to match your playful one. “I'll make it up t’you when y'feel better, yeah?” Their thumb slowly traced back and forth from one corner of your mouth to the other.

“Germs, you weirdo,” you reminded him. Though you didn't bother to shake off his hand, weak as you were. “You’ll get sick.”

“Y’worried about me, love? Cute. But I promise ‘M not gonna catch whatever you have that easy.” They leaned down to kiss your flushed temple, eventually settling propped up on one arm to lay as close as possible beside you. Faintly warm breath tickled the top of your head until you drifted back to sleep under their watchful gaze.

[1-helluva-hazbin]

Hello! can you see a girl reader who wants to be perfect in everything (in appearance, in weight and in work) and cries if someone bypasses her? characters: adam or lucifer :)

I’m so excited for the ask! I’m happy to try and oblique. I’m not certain I 100% understand your ask so if what I’ve written isn’t what you meant, send in another ask! Thank you for your patience while I got to this as well! Both scenarios for both characters are going to be written with established relationships (friendship bordering on romantic for Adam, a romantic relationship for Lucifer). Both stories were only quickly proofread.

Trigger Warnings for Lucifer's story: suicide, self harm, self depreciation

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.  ✶✶ Adam ✶✶  .˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳. Adam x fem!reader

Song that fits the vibe: Sleep Token - DYWTYLM

Adam was used to seeing women cry; usually tears of joy from having their brains fucked out by the dickmaster himself or subsequently tears of sorrow when he made it clear he didn’t want them and their clingy bullshit around long term. Regardless, they were a pretty regular thing for him to have to deal with.

In the time he had gotten to known you, which was decently long since he tended to get bored of the winners, he hadn’t ever seen you shed a tear. Even when you both had initially met and he had said some rude ass shit to you, you gave him grace. You were much like Emily in the sense that you were usually a bundle of joy full of understanding, forgiveness, love for all, blah-blah-blah.

Only you were hotter. WAY hotter.

In his books you were the hottest winner he had ever seen and based on how you acted, you knew you were good looking. You acted sheepish and tried to downplay any compliments you got but he noticed the way you glowed when you got them. You fed off of it. Taking pride in your appearance. You were always dressing to the nines, going through every known self care routine, and working out; even though you didn’t need to in heaven. You had it down to a science at this point with all of it seemingly coming so effortlessly to you.

Even the work you had taken up to help out the angels who needed it was easy for you. You only ever needed instructions once and you could repeat it back flawlessly performing it with ease.

The only more impressive thing besides being the most flawless being of all the heavenly creatures was that you, of all the winners out there, had impressed HIM. Besides killing sinners and fighting, you might even rank higher than Lute for badass bitches. He wouldn’t admit that openly of course. Lute would be pissed. Plus, that would make it seem like he liked you too much and he wouldn’t want to blow up your ego. He wouldn’t want to have to eat his own words down the line.

Yet, one day as Adam had rounded the corner, after a long boring ass meeting with the counsel, and he saw you standing in the vacant hallway with your head down and fists clenched. What the fuck were you doing? He started to ask until he noticed that though your hair covered your gorgeous face, he could see the tears falling to the ground. Your shoulders shaking slightly as you tried to quell the downpour.

The moment he got his barings, he started marching over to you. “Who the FUCK do I have to kill?” Your head whipped up, your eyes puffy and cheeks red. Somehow the tears that littered the marble floor hadn’t disturbed the perfect makeup you had dawned. 

“A-Adam?” you gasp out, suddenly trying to dab dry your face with the back of your hands. “Tell me who made you cry and I’ll fucking slaughter them.” Adam growled out. As he neared you, his approach slowed but the moment you were within arms reach his hands shot out to gently grab your face. His thumbs lightly rubbing away the tears while trying not to fuck with your make up. His eyes roamed your face, taking in how haggard you look, before locking eyes with you, “Give me a name sugartits. I’ll show ‘em not to mess with THE Adam’s friend.”

The intensity Adam was emitting was a little intimidating and yet, the way he was holding your face was so tender. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch as you brought your hands up to cover his. Tears started to well in your eyes again as you took a shaky breath.

He started to simultaneously panic and get wildly more pissed off the moment it looked like you were going to start crying again. His only tell that he was internally raging was that his eyebrows furrowed more, until you brought his hands down away from your face. You held onto them though as you lightly pressed them to your chest, right above your plush bust.

This was the first time you had ever considered talking about this with anyone. Usually you could hold yourself together long enough to get to your room before you fell apart but, today it had all been too much. The fear was overwhelming. The fear of being replaced. Of being tossed aside. You had done everything perfectly. They all had said so. They had sung your praises since you had come and yet now, their attentions had turned elsewhere. How was it that people could suddenly turn their affections to someone else when you had done it all right? You desperately needed the validation; the vindication. You had done it all right, hadn’t you? Where had you gone wrong? What did you DO wrong? How could you fix this?

You look up to Adam with your misty doe eyes. His gauze tightly fixated on you. He was an honest person. Unkindly sometimes but, he was honest. If anyone was going to tell you how you had fucked up and how you could fix it, Adam would.

“It-It…it’s just…” your breathing is shaky so you take a moment before continuing. “I feel…I feel like I messed up and I don’t know how to fix it. There’s…there’s a new winner. She’s really kind, smart, funny, and so pretty. She’s…” you choke up for a moment thinking about all the ways she’s attractive in the ways you aren’t, “SO pretty… and helpful. She’s so fast at everything she does. I…I…”

“Okay sugartits you’ve lost me. Why were you crying over some new winner?” he asked, utterly bewildered.

You tear your hands away from him as your eyes well up again. You shouldn’t have expected him to understand. “EVERYONE wants her help… I haven’t been able to help anyone out since shortly after she ascended and I feel so…so useless. She’s replacing me… I’m… I’m replaceable… how? I thought I did everything right? She’s so much better than me-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The words stunned you into silence and halted your spiral, just as the tears had started flowing again. “You really think some dumb bitch is going to walk up in here and take YOUR place?” he scoffed rolling his whole head, “Yeah fucking right. I give it a week tops before she fucks up. As if some rando new winner can take YOUR place. They’ll be crawling back to you asking for your help. BEGGING for your help. You being the goody two-shoe you are though will forgive them for being stupid and will go back to being #1 at whatever boring paperwork they have you doing.”

“But…why would they just… What did I do wrong?” you ask with a hoarse voice his explanation not making sense.

“Do wrong?” He gasped out, “You couldn’t do a damn thing wrong in your life if you tried. They’re just being fucking dumb. You’re better than every other winners out there and when they realize that you need to rub it in their face. Make them LOATH the day they thought they could replace you. Until they pull their heads out of their asses I’m sure I got some stuff you could help me with.”

He reached out and wiped away the tears again. The aching in your heart eased slightly knowing he wholeheartedly believed what he was saying and, for the moment, his conviction was enough for you. Not that it completely quelled your feelings but, you were able to manage them far better knowing you were still wanted in someone’s world.

His eyes lit up, “You know, you could come to meetings with me and take notes or whatever. Give me the cliffnotes. That shit is SO boring. I’m sure your notes will be better than the official ones they write up anyways and I don’t have to read that shit.”

You smile laughing softly, “I can definitely do that.”

He returned the smile, his thumbs lightly caressed your cheeks, before withdrawing his hands. His whole demeanor instantly reverting back to his usual cocky self. “Damn am I good at giving advice out or what? Just another way I’m FUCKING amazing. You know what, I deserve some goddamn ribs.” he hooted as he turned and started waltzing off.

Seconds later he turned and looked back realizing you were still standing there in a daze, “Come on sugartits I ain’t got all day!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

♱𐕣 𖤐 𐕣♱  ☽𖤐☾ Lucifer ☽𖤐☾  ♱𐕣 𖤐 𐕣♱ Lucifer x fem!reader

Song that fits the vibe: She’s An Actor - Austin Giorgio

Trigger warning: suicide, self harm, self depreciation 

You would have thought by now you would be used to being compared to other people. 

Used to aiming for perfection, without ever truly achieving it.

In life you had been constantly used as a pedestal; your sister, friends, co-works. It had never felt like you could claim the recognition you wanted despite having done everything right. 

The perfect GPA in school with extracurriculars to the point you only got a few hours of sleep. Yet your sister’s athletic achievements in swim and cheer had always meant more to your parents. 

The modeling career that you had gotten into, with your best friend following suit only for her to have gotten a contract a year before you. She had even attributed it to your help during a renowned shoot. An unintentional wound that drove you to the edge of your sanity; studying every fashion magazine, the extreme exercising, dieting, any pills that might help and you could get your hands on. 

Then once you finally caught your own break, getting a contract with a big modeling firm, constantly being included in the creme dela crop of models. The never ending critiques of what outfit looked good on which body for x, y, z reasons. Even if you were chosen more than every other model in the company for being the most ideal woman to show off the reveried outfits of the season, you were nothing more than a manikin. Replaced at the drop of hat the moment you couldn’t do it.

You couldn’t stop yourself though. You had to do it all. You had to do it flawlessly. You were a failure if you didn’t.

Yet, somehow it was never good enough.  Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t. Even in death, the out you brought about convinced it would be your sweet release, hadn’t ended the torment.  You had only condemned yourself further.  The epitome of failure.

Why couldn’t you even die right?

How had you ever attracted Lucifer’s attention?

As you stood in the the hotel lobby, the Hazbin Hotel gala fundraiser in full swing with all the top sinners and hellborns mingling and enjoying the free event, you felt eyes scrutinizing you. 

Your corset was cinched as tightly as it would go, reducing your waist dramatically, though giving you a somewhat nice hourglass shape. The mermaid style, galaxy themed dress had a sweetheart neckline and off the shoulder straps. It was a deep hue of royal purple on top before gradually fading to black starting at the hips as it descended your figure with gold and silver stars across the entirety of it, fit your figure snuggly and played off of Lucifer's pristine white and gold tux, his bowtie and pocket square the same royal purple. All your assets were perfectly held within the outfit, with tasteful peeks of skin showing beneath the chiffon overlay at your sides and a silt from just above the knee down. A golden snake choker with its head seated in your jugular notch, accenting your bust.

Lucifer hadn’t left your side since the event started. He had a hand incessantly lingering on your lower back as you both navigated the sea of people. You weren’t sure if the constant touch was for him or for you, but it helped steady you as you held yourself together by a thread. Every person you met was better than you in one way or another; status, poise, brand name outfit, professional makeup.

There was no hesitation with each new face in identifying any and every advantage or feature they had that you lacked. Another chip off your shoulder.

The socialite veneer seamlessly masking the degradation you were inflicting. The practiced saccharine smile never leaving your lips. Well timed laughs. A slight head tilt here to show your interest followed by a slight nod. The only honest part of your act was the high praise you sang regarding Charlie and her truly stunning optimism and strong willed determination.

You could feel the scrutiny lightening the longer the night went on. Some people even reapproached you and Lucifer to continue talking. Prior feigned politeness making way to many of the hellborns attempting political fanangling. Both you and Lucifer’s attempts to redirect the conversation back to the point of the party thwarted or outmaneuvered. Eventually, the conversations fell outside of your ability to participate. You had become an adornment.

You were so tired, so heavy.

Following a particularly trying bird guest whose smarmy quips were particularly taxing you excused yourself from the conversation, missing Lucifer’s panicked glance as you moved away. You just needed a break. 

Just a quick one.

You looked yourself over in the mirror. Fixing any stray hairs. Correcting any smudges of lipstick or eyeliner. You noted the contour along your nose could have been darker to thin your fat nose. You’d need a tighter corset as well should you need to attend another party like this.

You backed up to further evaluate yourself.

The prettiest you can be and still you are disgusting.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you took a slow deep breath. No. No you looked good. This would be something you could wear for a shoot. You just needed to change a few small things. Maybe a couple things. Possibly one bit thing. All the comparisons throughout the night flooded your mind, a tsunami. If only you could change everything about yourself. All the things you lacked. All the things you needed to be. Nothing you could ever achieve.

You choked out a sob. Your hands crawling up your arms as you hugged yourself tightly. You dug your claws into your flesh. Stop this. You couldn’t break down now. The gala wasn’t over just yet. You squeezed your arms tighter, not realizing your claws had broken skin. The failed attempt to reel yourself in breaking you further. Failure. Why couldn’t you hold yourself together for a night? You hunched over as now silent tears hit the floor.

A knock sounded at the door.

You held your breath, eyes wide as you stood there. A breath in through the nose and out through the mouth. “One moment please! I’m almost finished!” you call, your voice taking on a melodic tone. 

There was a pause. “Open the door sweetheart.”

Lucifer. You didn’t reply. Didn’t move. Didn’t breath. He knew you only used that voice when you were hiding a breakdown. It didn’t help that the bathroom was your go to place. “My sun, please?”

You crumbled.

The moment the door was unlocked he was in the bathroom with you. His small, lithe body slipping in and closing the door behind him. A soft smile greeting you despite the puffy eyes and tear streaks staining your made face.

“I’m ready when you are.” he whispered.

Your eyes widen and you’re frantic at the thought of being the cause of the king of hell leaving. Look at you fucking something else up tonight. Before you could say anything, a portal appeared behind Lucifer. He gently took your hands before he stepped back. He didn’t pull you though. 

You stared at him; his gentle smile, soft eyes, adorable cheek marks. The tears started flowing again and your hands squeezed his. You stepped into his room in the hotel several floors up from where you both had been, the portal closing behind you.

A glittery red mist engulfing the both of you before disappearing in seconds. Both of you in the dark blue rubber duckie pajamas he had created for your 1 month anniversary however long ago. His a short sleeve shirt with loose fitting pants and yours a spaghetti strap dress that flowed down to your knees. The gashes on your arms cleaned and bandaged up. Your hair down and make up gone. Across the room, your galaxy dress and his heavenly white suit and usual hat hung up on hangers.

“Thank you…” you whisper, trying to wipe away the endless tears that were still flowing down your face. He pulled your hands away from your face and lightly kissed you. He led the way over to the bed, both of you quickly climbing in. You cuddled into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. You closed your eyes. Listening to his heartbeat and steady breathing. One of his hand of claws raking through your hair. A rosy cheek pressed to the top of your head.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” He asked in a whisper. Your hands clutched his shirt. Embarrassed you couldn’t keep yourself. He turned his head to kiss your hair. “You don’t have to tonight. It’s been a long day. Tomorrow though?”

You don’t want to. You don’t want to face the feelings, to face him. Admit to him the truth that nothing you did was ever truly good enough. That you were a failure and tonight was further proof.

You backed up to tell him it was nothing. That you just got overwhelmed and were tired. To hide away this ugliness. 

The look of concern caught you off guard though. He was unmasked. Vulnerable. Asking for you to be the same. He had been open about answering everything you had ever asked him, why couldn’t you do the same?

You couldn’t fail him. You could be a failure in every other way but not for him. You couldn’t fail him. Wouldn’t. 

Slowly, you nod and echo, “Tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He returned his cheek to the top of your head squeezing you into him with both arms. His tail manifesting and wrapping itself around your closest lower leg. “I love you.”

You burrowed into his side again, your own arms securing him to you. You smiled, feeling his tail. “I love you too. Thank you, my star.”

Both of you quickly succumbed to sleep wrapped in each other’s embrace.

Neither of you believing you deserved the the other.

[denim-mixtapes]

Nothin' but a Good Time - [1/?]

Wealthy!Steve Harrington x Fem!Stripper!Reader Rating: Eventually E, this chapter contains no smut yet but mentions drug and alcohol use and strip clubs. Words: 3.7k

AO3

It's 1996 and Steve Harrington has found himself, somehow, with the fancy office job and lush apartment and more than enough disposable income to spend on booze and drugs and one night stands to distract himself from how much he HATES his scummy corporate law job and too-big, too-empty apartment. You, after years of saving, begging cheapskates and creeps for tips as a waitress by day and dancing for bigger tips from bigger creeps after dark, finally afford yourself the opportunity to move into the fancy downtown apartment of your dreams. When you move in next door to Steve Harrington, there's no way of knowing if you've just met the next great love(r) of your life or the biggest pain in your ass you'll ever know. It's entirely possible that it could be both.

November, 1996 – Steve

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

A faint rhythm builds from behind the door of Steve Harrington’s office, slow, steady, louder and louder until eventually the sound is muffled and interrupted by a low groan. 

“Fuck!”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Just outside the door, his secretary is left aghast, wondering when she missed the arrival of this midday rendezvous and exactly when Harrington had become so daring. Sure, she’s seen her fair share of interns and lower level assistants escorted into his office after late stressful nights or the occasional holiday party, but he’s never been so brave as to interrupt the work day for a bit of afternoon delight. The kid may be a little dense sometimes, but he isn’t that dumb. 

Usually Harrington is by the book, strictly on schedule and often working through lunch to stay on the boss’ good side. So the fact that he’s running late to a meeting in favor of a roll in the hay, well, she is shocked to say the least. 

Corralling all of her bravery into one swift motion, she knocks on the door and is surprised to hear his, “come in,” right away. Maybe a little haggard and hushed in one breath, but immediate nonetheless. Needless to say, the stout woman is nervous about what she’ll find on the other side of the door when she opens it. 

What she finds, however, is nothing more than a slightly rumpled version of Steve Harrington. Tie undone, sleeves of his collared shirt shoved up to the elbows, and his glasses placed gingerly on the desk beside him. His hair is a riot from where he was just repeatedly banging his forehead against the desk, sporting a wide swath of plump red skin above his eyebrows as evidence of the act. No, she hadn’t walked in on anything indecent, only the culmination of stress and burnout on her young boss. 

“Sorry for the noise, Linda,” he breathes, scrubbing a palm over one tired eye and down his cheek. “I just– there’s no elaborate explanation here. It’s just been a day.” He types something quickly into the computer before him and then presses the power button on the boxy monitor, turning to give her his full attention with his hands folded on the desk in front of him. “What can I do for you?”

She mirrors his posture, fingers laced together but hanging limp at her midsection, “I was just wondering if I should call Mr. Greene and inform him you won’t be able to make it to the 3 o’clock partner meeting.”  

Eyeing the clock on the wall beside him, Steve’s eyes widen to saucers and his chair scrapes loudly against hardwood floor as he stands up in a haste, collecting paperwork and wayward supplies into his briefcase as he does. “Shit.” His brows knit in a gesture of apology for his language, but Linda simply chuckles and steps out of his way. “Sorry, sorry! Thank you, Lin!” 

—

No matter how hard he tries to act the part of a corporate bigwig asshole, Steve is convinced he may never get the hang of it. If he were to be honest, he isn’t entirely sure how he made it this far. Truthfully, he’s hanging on by the skin of his teeth and the Harrington name. 

After a year of hopping from minimum wage job to minimum wage job, he finally broke down and listened to his father’s demands. Just get the damn degree, Steven, he’d said, I have a job all ready to be laid at your feet, all you have to do is pull your head out of your ass and get the degree. So he did. He sucked it up, used the influence of his family name and a bit more of the Harrington fortune to attend the most prestigious law school he never would have been able to get into with his academic record alone. When he graduated, as promised, he was offered a position just above entry level with a 401k and a more than generous benefits package. He wasn’t sure how many strings his father had to pull or how much bribing it took, but he landed this cushy job that got him out of his childhood home and into an apartment of his own, something that he’s sure benefited not only himself, but also the parents who were clearly sick of putting him up well past 18. Over the better half of the last decade, he took ‘Fake it till you make it’ to heart and managed to charm his way up the corporate ladder, and now here he is: pushing thirty with a private corner office, the title of junior partner, representing corporations he didn’t care much for and working under senior lawyers he liked even less…but this job pays more than generously. It affords him luxuries like the latest new apartment with more square footage than he knows what to do with and the city view from his living room window. It affords him as many trips out to Massachusetts to visit Robin and Nancy as he’d like, stunning suits and flashy watches he never could have dreamed of affording when he worked at Family video and refused his family fortune. And then there’s the extravagant gifts for said family that make up for his absence at Christmas dinner.

This job is draining, but it’s purchased his peace, in a way, so he does what he has to do to make it worth it.

Lately, what he has to do to make it worth it is party until he forgets how much he hates it. 

If he had to recall the names of everyone in his apartment at this moment, he would fail. There’s faces he recognizes, sure, people from work and their friends he’s seen at many other parties. Clark from down the hall, who always manages to have the best coke, is in the corner making friends, and Eddie is around here somewhere peddling his own stash…but between the thumping bass and raucous laughter and the blur of lights, there’s about 25 to 30 other people he doesn’t recognize. When a bottle is thrust into his periphery, he gladly takes a swig, drowning the worry of strangers in his apartment and the stress from the day at work with amber liquor. 

Clark beckons him over to the mirrored coffee table where he’s set up shop, offering a rolled twenty with one hand and clapping Steve’s shoulder in a shallow gesture of friendship.

Fuck it, it’s Friday. 

November, 1996 – You

Dropping one last box at the foot of the doorman’s desk, you sigh and brush cardboard dust from your hands. The two men from the moving company just went upstairs with the last of your large furniture and are set to take off when they return to ground level, having only been paid through 11 AM. So you managed to unload the back of your car and the rest of the boxes from the moving truck into the lobby, promising the doorman – whose name you swear you’ll memorize soon – that it will all be out of the way momentarily. He graciously offered to make sure nobody messed with it in the meantime. 

It’s hard to even wrap your head around the fact that you’re moving into an apartment with a doorman in the heart of the city at all, let alone one within walking distance of your diner waitress job, and close enough to a bus route to the club where you danced. You’ll have to remember to pay your grandma a visit in her new nursing home and thank her for keeping her rent-controlled lease and illegally subletting it to you. Just another thing to add to your overflowing calendar. 

When you make it up to your shiny new apartment on the ninth floor, you say your goodbyes to the movers who are on their way out, sign the appropriate paperwork for them, and drop off your armload of boxes before heading back down. 

It takes quite a few trips on your own, but after another half hour, you exit the elevator in the lobby to see only three boxes remain and heave another sigh of relief. The end is in sight, and by the grace of whichever God is looking out for you, you might even be able to sneak in a nap before work tonight. You bend over to pick up one of the last few boxes of your belongings and suddenly feel the all too familiar prickling heat of someone’s intense stare. Rolling your shoulders, you let go of the cardboard handles and stand to turn and face whoever is continuing to stare.

Behind you, leaning one hip against the front desk, is exactly the kind of man you would expect to live in a building like this. Slightly older than you, but not by much, tall and lean, but the sleeves of his tight white tee shirt show off the perfect sculpt of his bicep. The man is etched in sleep, draped in it like the blankets he surely just crawled out of, the fluffy length of his hair sticking out in every direction, pushed up and out of his face by round wire-framed glasses. He smiles in a way that feels friendly, but has the sly kind of charm behind it that makes you want to shy from it. 

“You know,” he says, grinning wide, “I know I had a hard time waking up today, but something tells me I might still be dreaming, pretty thing like you moving into my building.” 

You want to scoff at his comment, knowing exactly how you must look right now. Sweat drying on your skin, messy bun practically falling out of its hold, sporting a plain black tank top and a pair of your ex’s old basketball shorts rolled at the waist. You manage to hold back the scoff, but do roll your eyes with a soft smile at your new neighbor. “Cute, you use that line often?” 

His sharp jaw ticks, but his smile softens around a friendly laugh as he rubs tiredly at one eye. “Can’t say I do,” then, dropping the hand in favor of offering it to you to shake, “I’m Steve, need a hand with these?” 

Accepting his secondary offer and shaking his hand, you smile in return and introduce yourself, but decline the first. “Thank you, but I’m sure you were headed somewhere. Don’t let me keep you from your plans.” 

“Nonsense.” When he shakes his head, there’s a pinch to his forehead, eyes slamming shut at the motion, but he recovers quickly and hides the pain. This man is clearly fighting a monster hangover, and yet he insists. “I was just going to pick up some coffee. It can wait.” Without waiting for you to agree, he takes the smallest box and stacks it atop another, picking them both up and tacking on, “lead the way.” 

You decide there’s no arguing with him, so you grab the last remaining box and head back to the elevator, punching the 9 button once inside. 

“No way,” he says in disbelief, “ninth floor?” 

“Mhm,” you mumble softly, “9C.” 

Your eyes are drawn to the crinkle around his eyes when he laughs again despite the dark circles below, the two moles just below his cheekbone that dance when he smiles. Damn it, he really is pretty. 

“I’m in 9B, right next door! You’re moving into Ms. Ruth’s old place?” 

There’s practically a lightbulb above your head when you make the connection, and in comical time with it, the elevator dings, signaling your arrival. “Oh, so you’re the Steve Grandma warned me about!”

All color drains from his face. “W-what did she say?” 

Steve follows you down the hall to your front door, and you can’t help but giggle at his change in demeanor. Both of you set the boxes down just inside your front room and you turn to him with a hand on your hip. “Just that you’re too handsome for your own good and a habitual flirt. Both of which I’m finding to be true already.” 

“Oh, well,” not only does his color return, but his cheeks pink noticeably. He gives a small nod that tips his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and sends a tuft of hair curling into his face – he couldn’t have choreographed it better if he tried. With an exaggerated wink, he continues, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.” 

You scoff, “sure, sure,” and lightly push his shoulder out toward the hallway. “Thanks for your help.” 

He strides down the hall back to the elevator and points at his own front door as he passes it. “Anytime…and you know where to find me if you need anything. You know, cup of sugar, little company. Whatever.” 

With a shake of your head and the elevator doors closing around him, you punctuate, “bye, Steve.” 

—

Later the same night, in the dressing room before your shift, you’re practically glowing from the long afternoon nap you allowed yourself in place of unpacking. You did your makeup at home – never really did care to leave your expensive products in the locker room, no matter how much you trust the other girls –  so all you have left to do is get changed. There’s a lounge just outside the locker rooms for the dancers and bar staff. It isn’t much, a cracked and peeling old leather couch, a few folding chairs around a card table, and a kitchenette for snacks and drinks, but it serves its purpose. After changing into your first outfit of the night, a bedazzled fishnet body suit over a metallic hot pink matching set, you practically bounce into the lounge and land gracefully on one end of the couch, heels in hand. 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” comes a sleepy voice from the kitchenette where Eddie Munson, club security, resident dealer, and occasional fill-in DJ, makes his routine evening coffee. 

“Didn’t you hear?” One of the other dancers, Charity – though you’re not sure her real name, stage names only even back here, that’s the rule – asks, draping herself onto the other end of the couch. She pokes at your thigh with the toe of her heel and scrunches her button nose in your direction. “Honey here is fancy now, moved into that luxurious new apartment of hers today.” 

“It’s true,” you boast with a dramatic lean into the couch, lazing, a cat to sunbathe under the fluorescent lights and clutching at pretend pearls, “I am one with the fat cats, now.” 

“The fat cats living off their granny’s handouts, maybe,” Says Felicity, the club manager, through a playful snort as she enters the room. 

You concede, “yeah fine, I could never afford this place if it wasn’t for her subletting it to me, but it’s all a part of my master plan.” 

Eddie settles into one of the folding chairs, propping his feet up on the armrest of the couch beside you. “Master plan? Do go on.” 

“You know,” you swat at the heavy, thick-soled boots before leaning forward to don your shoes and look up at him over your shoulder flirtatiously, “find a rich, hot man who can afford to live in the building and make him fall in love with me.” 

“Solid plan, how’s that working out for you so far?” Charity laughs playfully. 

It’s quiet for a moment as you contemplate the question. You were joking, of course, but when she asked the first thought that came to mind was of your interaction with Steve. It could be nothing, after all Grandma Ruth did warn you that her next door neighbor is a major flirt and for all you know that’s how he interacts with every woman he meets – maybe even every man, you don’t judge. On the other hand, it could be something. You never know.

“Well, actually there was this guy–” 

You’re interrupted by one of the bartenders leaning in the doorway. “Eddie, we’re about to open, need you at the door!” 

On his way out the door, Eddie twists his mess of curls up into a bunch atop his head and as a goodbye, says, “fill me in later, ladies, duty calls.”

—

The next time you see Steve, it’s under wildly different circumstances. For him, anyway. 

You’re still sweaty and worn out after a long morning shift at the diner and the walk home under blazing July sun. Your fifties-style uniform wrinkled and stained with sticky syrup and dried milkshake from the bratty kid who “accidentally” dumped it on you in passing. Your apron is slung over your arm carelessly and you have just let your hair loose from its scrunchie when you entered the building so you have no idea how wild it actually looks. 

Steve, however, is nothing short of stunning when you run into him at the mailboxes. He’s sporting a navy blue suit that fits him so well it must be tailored, still slightly disheveled at the end of his workday but clean cut and endlessly handsome despite it. There’s a dusting of five o’clock shadow along his sharp jaw, and his glasses are perched low on the tip of his nose as he sorts through the small stack of bills before tucking them into the inside pocket of his blazer. When he looks up and meets your eye, he visibly brightens.

“Well hi, neighbor,“ he greets with a warm grin dimpling his cheeks. He leans with one arm above your head against the wall of mailboxes and looks softly down his nose at you. “How’re you settling in?” 

Shifting the strap of your bag up higher onto your shoulder, you try to cover up the stains, once again shying under his attention. You’re more than used to attention from men, used to their intense stares and acute observation, but only when you have prepared for it. When your makeup is done to perfection and you’re fresh and clean as a whistle. Not now. Not smelling of fryer grease and pancakes and the sweat of a hard day’s work, with melted makeup and dried mascara flakes accentuating the bags under your eyes. You finally answer, “alright I guess. I’ve been working a lot lately so there hasn’t been much time for settling, but I’ll get there eventually.” 

He scrutinizes your outfit with a playful sneer. “I can imagine how hard it is, having to commute back to the fifties every time you have a shift.” He reaches out to untuck the collar of your dress that folded itself inward on your walk, smoothing it down with a caress of the thumb. “This suits you, by the way. ‘S cute.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, swatting his arm away with the apron in hand. “It pays the bills and I’m good at it. I wouldn’t have chosen it, otherwise.” 

Without ceremony, you both start walking to the elevator, step in step as if this was routine, as if you’ve been doing together for years. He presses the elevator button and shakes his head as you wait for the doors to open. “Does it, though?”

Swallowing your offense, you give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?” 

Together you step into the elevators, and Steve holds out an arm to make sure the doors don’t close on you as you pass through. An unnecessary gesture, as the doors don’t close if they detect motion, but it’s appreciated nonetheless. 

“Not that I’m judging, because I am not, I just find it a little hard to believe that you can afford this place as just a waitress. What else have you got up your sleeve?” 

The elevator once again signals your arrival with an overhead ding, and you just shrug as you brush past him toward your door. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

—

Working two jobs to keep up with your discounted rent is tough. You’ve never been ashamed of either job, both of them honest work and both of them something you’re good at and damn proud of, but there’s no denying that it’s tough sometimes. 

The late hours at the club, though not every day, followed by an early wakeup call for the breakfast shift at the diner often called for little to no sleep, trudging into the building well past three AM with only enough time to shower and fall into bed for two hours before the alarm went off again at 5:30. But you made it work. Naps in the middle of the day and strategically planning which days you went into the club, you always made it work. Which means on the off nights you choose not to go into the club, you value your time and the opportunity to go to bed before midnight. 

It’s a rare Saturday night that you choose to stay home a few weeks after your move. Usually Fridays and Saturdays are your biggest tip nights so it’s rare that you skip, but it had been a particularly rough day at the diner and you have to go in even earlier than usual tomorrow to cover the overnight server’s vacation, so you decide it isn’t worth the added stress. You’ll just take a nice relaxing bath, maybe watch a movie on cable, and get to bed early.

Only, ever since Steve got home, there’s been a constant flow of people outside your front door, trailing from the elevator to Steve’s, some knocking, some letting themselves right in with a slam of the front door, most of them shouting. Their voices echoed off the walls and floated through the crack under your door. You wrote it off as a simple get-together and hoped it would die down soon, but to no such luck. The swell of voices and bass heavy music and generic party ambiance only grew louder as the night went on, and here you are. 

It’s two AM, your alarm is supposed to go off in just over an hour, and you’re wide awake, no, kept awake by the thumping of the party music on the other side of your shared wall and the boisterous laughter of Steve’s guests. 

You try not to be annoyed, really. Sure, it’s well past midnight, but it’s also Saturday, and you’re no square. Obviously people can have a good time and enjoy their weekend, but God, it’s so hard to not let the noise get to you, your anger bubbling just under your skin the longer the ruckus keeps you awake. 

Angrily shoving a pillow over your face, clamping it around your ears, you make note to say something to Steve the next time you see him. 

[lazybutsmexy]

NOOO NO NO NO TAKE IT BACK APOLOGY W TEARS RN IM SOBBING CRYING DON'T DO THIS TO ME THIS IS A PERSONAL ATTACK(it was delicious, scrumptious wow i love seeing sadness) MAKE IT BETTER OW OW BRING THEM BACK(it was so good i love your writing eating it up yumyumyum) I crave more of them all being platonic (HURT/COMFORT?!??!) plsplspls begging for crumbs in tears ill do anything

Hmmm... I am a slut for hurt/comfort myself...

Task Force + affectionate reader Pt. 3

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Warnings: HURT/COMFORT, bit of cursing.

The people who smile the most are often the saddest. The people who share the most love often don't feel any towards themselves.

Or: it's your team's turn to show affection

It was one of those days.

One of those days where you didn't have the energy to care about yourself. You were able to keep up with your little routines around base, somehow. But it was dimmed, a matte finish to what was once all shiny and sparkly.

Because it was one of those days.

You always became like this after taking leave for longer than two days. You'd visit your family during that time - or rather, they would come to you as soon as they realized you were at your place downtown and not the barracks - and bombard you with anything they set their minds to.

No matter how grueling your missions were, your family always managed to make you feel even more drained during leave. Their constant demands and mental games, the guilt-tripping and manipulation, always made you feel as if you were walking on eggshells around them.

Tracking down and dismantling human trafficking rings seemed like a walk in the park compared to dealing with them.

You personally tried your best to keep your personal problems away from your work, greeting everyone around you with the same cheery tone, and going about your little routine with the others as usual.

But they had started to notice how your smile didn't reach your eyes, and how you seemed unable to shake off the frown in your brows.

And to avoid unwanted questions that you were too ashamed to answer, you simply chose to distance yourself.

Price shared a look with Ghost, who stood across the room from him, and he shared the same concern in his eyes as they watched you walk into the debrief room

you sat yourself at the back, whereas you'd usually choose to sit in the middle of your team

they immediately knew what was going to happen, you were about to start isolating yourself.

they were having none of that.

Price had always kept a close eye on the family relations of his team members.

it was a security measure, after all, to make sure that not only they weren't targeted by dangerous people, but also to make sure they were no connected in any way to their missions.

but in your case it was different, he monitored your family to make sure they never stayed close to you for too long.

it seemed it hadn't been enough this time, and he saw your haggard state as the consequence of that failure.

he would definitely fix that

he began talking to both Laswell and his superiors to get you one of the smaller houses within base

even though you were unmarried and didn't have any children, he knew it would be impossible for those pesky family members to get close to your home without permission

your parents had managed to talk your landlord into giving them access to your apartment - that would not happen under Price's watch

he would actually blacklist them if he had the chance to do so

he wouldn't let you know he was trying to get you a house, at first - he didn't want you to feel like a burden

but he was not exactly subtle when he began asking what colors you preferred on your walls, if you minded only having a shower head or if you preferred a bathtub, etc

Soap wasn't subtle at all, oh no

boy got you hooked in a one-arm hug for as long as you'd let him

that could be a few minutes or all day long, he didn't mind one bit

endlessly squeezed and smooched on your hairline whenever he caught you lost in thought

definitely the one to (lovingly) manhandle you into a blanket burrito and snuggle you into his lap to watch movies

surprisingly a great cook, he would go all out and cook you whatever your comfort food was

it didn't matter if it was 3 AM

you would be fed, and you could almost taste the love he poured in it

definitely wore a 'kiss the cook' apron to make you giggle and try to get a smooch from you

Gaz is the king of self care

you would not let your skincare/hair routine go under his watch

he would do it for you if you didn't have the energy to do so

he would just sit you on the toilet and he'd take care of all the steps of your skincare routine

if he didn't have all the steps memorized, he definitely had a bulletpoint list of specific instructions to guide himself

same with your hair - trust this man with your hair, you won't regret it, ever

this man had magic hands for scalp massages fight me if you disagree

if you aren't comfortable being nude in front of him, he would simply put a chair in front of the sink like a makeshift hair wash basin and work like that

if you were comfortable being nude in front of him, he would make it into a full-body wash

after working with your hair, he would scrub your body down

every now and then he would massage your tired muscles while telling you how much he appreciated you as both his teammate and his friend

after shower cuddles were a must

you would very likely doze off in his arms while he held you impossibly close to him

Ghost didn't see himself as a person capable of comforting others

but all doubts flew through the window the moment he saw your downcast gaze and a tired hunch of your shoulders

at this point in time, you had become about 80% of the team's moral incentive

of course he knew it was quite unfair to dump all of that on you, he supposed you would have your down days too

but you were part of a team, and no one fought alone - be it terrorist organizations or their own inner demons

he would work alongside Price to get you a new living place

any person trying to ask you stupid and/or unwanted questions would find themselves at the other end of one of his famous death glares

or at the aim of his fist

when you approached him to pat him on the shoulder like always, pretending that everything was all right, he placed his own hand on your shoulder

he looked into your eyes and spoke to you with such sincerity that you were shaken to the core

"...You know that you are just as deserving of love as everyone else, right?"

moments later, you were clutching his middle, with your face buried in his chest while he hugged you tightly

he didn't mind that his shirt felt a little wetter with your tears

he focused on stroking your hair and rubbing your back, while glaring at anyone who dared to look at you questioningly

he would let you hug him until your arms fell off if that's what you needed

more cuddles!!

...he wouldn't mind it too much either if Soap and Gaz joined in a cuddle pile - he pretended to be annoyed, but he thought it felt nice

imagine how much nicer it would feel for you :)

[thelov3lybookworm]

White Roses And Lies.

Summary: Rhysand and Y/n realise they might not make it to starfall. They make the most of what they have to celebrate.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: im convinced rhysie poo is going to murder me because all the fics i have ever written for him are sad 😇

Anyways, this is a lil smth for the third prompt for @starfallweek

(also you can all fault @thehighladywrites for making me hurt rhysie poo because she picked him to be hurt)

Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

Y/n glanced up from where she was picking chamomile from the wild bushes in her backyard, her eyes squinting to make out the shape materialising out of nowhere.

"Rhys? Is that you?"

No sooner had the words left her lips that he appeared fully, stumbling forward.

A wide smile split her lips, and she moved too, just happy to see her lover.

It was just one moment before the two of them were wrapped in each other's embrace, but it was enough for Y/n to realise that he did not have the big smile he usually had on when he met Y/n.

He looked haggard, like he hadn't slept or eaten in decades, but what scared Y/n more was the fact that those were tear stains on his cheeks.

He crushed her to his chest, his arms wrapped so tight around her it was hard to breathe. Concerned, Y/n tried to push away from Rhys.

He wouldn't let go.

"They're hunting us." Rhys spoke directly into Y/n ear, pressing his face into her hair.

Y/n froze, her struggle to breathe now forgotten.

"W-what?"

If possible, he pulled her even closer. "My father. He told his courtiers to hunt us. You and me."

All of a sudden, it all clicked for Y/n.

She didn't even bother to pull away from him and ask for an explanation then. She just wrapped her arms around him, and let her head rest on his shoulder, under his jaw.

After all, she knew low born fae and high fae, especially a high lord's heir, were never supposed to even talk, let alone be involved.

She'd always known it was all a moment's bliss, but who could have faulted her for having hope?

"We were always doomed." She mumbled into the expensive fabric of his shirt, a tear escaping her left eye and staining the fine material.

She felt Rhys shaking his head against her, and her heart clenched when a torturous sob ripped out of him.

"Why Y/n?" He questioned, his voice wobbling and choked with tears. "Why us?"

She said nothing, because there was nothing to say. She simply rubbed his back, and let him cry.

"Why couldn't we have been an example that the class system was bullshit? Why could I not have had a better father? Why could I not have been born as a lower fae-"

"Rhys."

"Why did he find out about it? Why-"

"Rhys-"

"Why hasn't he fucking died yet? Why-"

"RHYS!"

He stopped then, stiffening a little.

"Rhys please." Y/n's voice broke, and he finally loosened his hold on her. She quickly drew in a deep breath, her first full one since Rhys had showed up, and looked up at him.

She did not let go of him, but leaned back so she could see him better.

"Its starfall." She smiled a little as she spoke, but apparently that was the wrong thing to say, as another tear escaped those eyes that had captivated her since the moment hers had met them.

"Exactly. I was planning on sneaking away to meet you once the stars started making the journey, and he found me. He broke my mental walls, and he found out."

Y/n swallowed, looking around for anything to help her. She found a flower staring back at her.

A white rose.

The white rose he had gifted her once he had started courting her, one she had decided to plant.

Quietly, she untangled herself from Rhys and walked over to study it. He followed her like she knew he would.

"Do you remember when you first gave me this rose?"

A smile bloomed on his face just like everytime she reminded him of that day. "I can never forget it."

Her face split too at the sight of his happy face. "Me neither."

He stared a the flower a moment longer, then turned to her, the look on his face knowing. "You're trying to distract me, aren't you?"

She grinned sheepishly. "I mean, whatever works, right?"

He laughed, the sound wet and full of sorrow, yet so full of joy as he sat back, his arms coming to rest on his raised knees.

"Y/n... I hope you know I love you. That no matter what tomorrow holds for us, whether they do hunt us down, I will love you forever. Even when I'm nothing but bones and dust in the wind, I'll be yours."

Y/n had to look away at that in order to stop herself from breaking down.

"I do. I love you too Rhys, more than you can know. More than words are capable of expressing."

Rhys glanced up, towards the clear sky, just as a star shot past.

His eyes lit up. "Look!"

Y/n followed his gaze, nodding and laughing at the childlike glee in his voice.

"Starfall has begun." Y/n mumbled, laying her head on his shoulder.

Suddenly, his demeanour changed. "This could be our last starfall."

Y/n sighed. "So let's enjoy it Rhys."

She knew he had a retort at the tip of his tongue, so she pulled away, meeting his eyes as she began pushing him to the dirt so he would lay down.

"It's our last starfall Rhys, so let us enjoy it." She stared at his eyes intensely to make sure he understood. "Hmm?"

He nodded, and she smiled again, laying down next to him, uncaring that her clothes were getting dirty as she lay her head on his chest.

His heartbeat was calm, so at odds with the erratic rhythm it had beat when he arrived.

And so, there, in the middle of nowhere, on the hard ground in front of Y/n's small hut, under the star filled sky, Y/n got lost in the soft sounds of Rhys's breathing.

And sure, those were the sounds of warriors and fae males who served the high lord coming closer, and those were definitely the barks of the hunting hounds, but here, nothing existed other than Y/n and her lover.

Not an heir, not a high born fae. Not a low born fae, not the scum stuck under the boot of the higher ups.

Just him, and her.

And as she felt his presence in her mind, grabbing hold of her conscious, she smiled and closed her eyes- the white rose twinkling in the light like an enchantment her last sight, a testament to their love- content and satisfied despite the unexpected and quick end to their story.

Go to sleep my love. I'll be there when you wake up.

Y/n didn't point out that she knew it was a lie, for right now, that was all she needed as she lost herself.

Lost herself in the sound of his voice in her mind, his scent in her lungs and his love in her heart.

•○🌑○•

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[aayakashii]

Can I have a 11❤️ and 12❤️ fluffy fic for Ed please?

Also a 40❤️ and 41❤️ smutty fix for Leo?

Thank you! 😊

I had to choose between the Ed or Leo drabble, and since I had other similar Leo requests, I chose him, sorry 😭 I promise I'll write some fluff for Ed eventually (๑•́ ᎔ ก̀๑) and thank you for liking my writing!! It means the world to me <3

35❤️ A kiss against a wall

40❤️ An impulsive kiss

41❤️ A kiss out of spite

Warning: spicy and kinda dubcon (?) Nothing that explicit, but still: MDNI.

Leo was sucking on a blueberry lollipop. Loudly. His lips puckered as he pulled it out of his mouth with a loud and aggravating pop. He then held it right in front of your lips.

“Lick it” he said, flatly, his face portraying no emotion. You could see how his tongue was stained blue and so were the insides of his lips.

You glared at him.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” you hissed, wishing you could throw daggers through your eyes and into his acid yellow irises.

He had you uncomfortably pinned against the wall of his room, his thigh forcefully shoved between your legs and one arm planted right beside your head.

He was close. Way too close for comfort. You could smell his designer cologne and look into the pores on his face – all perfectly closed and moisturized. His sweet breath fanned your own cheeks and you knew you looked like his absolute opposite: sweaty, flustered and haggard. Your heart beat fast inside your ribcage, but at least you knew it wasn't because you were excited at this development.

No. You just were fucking angry.

Leo shrugged.

“You've been avoiding me all day on purpose. Like, ignoring my dms and all. I had to grab your attention somehow, duh.” he wiggled the lollipop in front of you again “Come ooon. Lick it.”

You shifted in your position, but Leo barely budged. Goddamn the stupid strength of these ghouls, you thought.

You tried turning your head away from him, but he followed your movement anyway, head tilting to the side as he forced himself to stay under your gaze. He batted his eyelashes as he managed to make eye contact with you again.

You groaned.

“Of course I'm ignoring you. I'm not a masochist that's going to accept all your insults.”

He pouted, putting the lollipop inside his mouth again to give it a harsh suck – purposefully making an extremely grating and embarrassing sound.

You knew what he was doing, but you refused to let him have the satisfaction of flustering you.

“You used to be such a good pet, you know” he shook his head, feigning hurt “You used to accept everything I said with a nod and an ‘okay’. Where's my old and nicer Honor Roll?”

You laughed bitterly.

“Even I have my limits, Leo. I'm not going to give all my time and energy to some wannabe playboy influencer who can't do anything but be fake and mean.”

That seemed to have peeved him a bit more than you were expecting. You swallowed hard as you watched his gaze become bitterly cold. He pushed his thigh further against you.

“I said. Fucking lick it.” he murmured through gritted teeth, pushing the lollipop inside your mouth once you gasped at the friction of his thigh between your legs.

You hesitantly closed your lips, the artificial blueberry taste quickly coating your mouth as he rubbed it against your tongue.

“Suck it.” he began pushing the candy further into your mouth and you quickly complied, afraid he'd push too far just to make you gag.

You sucked the lollipop and a smirk slowly tugged the corner of Leo's mouth upwards. He patted your head once the hard candy was out of your mouth with a pop as well.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, breathlessly, while he stuck out his tongue, making a show of putting the candy, now coated with your saliva, back inside his mouth.

You grimaced when he hummed loudly. It was awful, having to admit to yourself that this little stunt of his was arousing you, as you felt an uncomfortable heat pool in your groin.

However, as you looked down, you realized how Leo was anything but unaffected as well – the tent in his pants was very much visible, and you gasped.

He grinned maniacally, extremely pleased at how you had noticed the bulge in his pants. Quickly, he pressed his hips against yours and grinded shamelessly, moaning pornographically right next to your ear.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to ground yourself so you wouldn't fall straight into his trap just because you got excited, of all things. You wouldn't allow this humiliation.

“Open your eyes” he mumbled breathlessly with the candy still inside his mouth “I have to have your eyes on me, otherwise none of this will be worth it” he completed, and you had a feeling he wasn't just talking about humping you like some horny teenager.

You breathed deeply as he kept on grinding against your core slowly, further awakening an unwanted pleasure in you.

“You hate me, Leo” you whispered against his cheek while he rested his forehead against your shoulder.

He giggled.

“And I love hating you” he raised his head, mumbling his words against the corner of your lips before taking the lollipop out of his mouth to place a kiss on your cheek.

“Fuck you.” you growled.

“I would like you to help me do that.” Leo moaned, as if your hatred towards him brought him great pleasure.

Without actually putting much thought into your actions, you snatched the lollipop out of his hand, placing it against your lips and pushing it against his.

Leo's eyes widened as your tongue swirled against the candy and prodded against his own lips. A satisfied chuckle resounded inside his chest once he understood what you were doing, and he quickly followed your movements.

You felt filthy as you kissed Leo, sharing the lollipop between your tongue and his. You two sucked and licked the candy, drool stained blue running down to your chins, and Leo whined against your mouth.

Like a whore, you thought.

You broke the kiss first, eyeing how his lips were fully stained blue, and you thought that yours probably looked the same. As you threw the accursed lollipop in the trash nearby, the realization finally hit you.

Brilliant. Now that both of you had blueberry coloring all over your mouths, anyone who looked at you would probably guess something might have happened between you two.

You rolled your eyes and groaned, slapping your hand against your forehead as you realized you, indeed, ended up falling straight into his trap, no matter how much you tried to avoid it.

He smiled devilishly, grabbing your hand and placing it against his painfully hard bulge. You bit your lip, stifling whatever aggravating noise could come out of your mouth.

“Now that it's come to this, you could just stay and fuck me like you said you would, hm?” he pleaded, all brightly doe eyed and feigned innocence.

“I never said that.” you spat.

“No?” he placed a finger on his chin, pensive “Funny, I could swear you said ‘Fuck you’.”

You widened your eyes at his nonsensical words. You opened your mouth to protest, but then immediately closed it, with a sigh.

There was simply no way to go against Leo when he wanted something and he knew that, if the wicked grin plastered on his face was anything but a sign.

He grabbed your hands and pulled you towards his bed.

“Next time, Honor Roll, you better think twice before ignoring me.” he declared, and you begrudgingly agreed. You had learned it the hardest way.