#I will offer security to your pink angel though

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

She throws one shot of her with no clothes and the pose and lighting I am looking for

*smashes reblog without even realizing what I am reblooming"

[ddejavvu]

mei mei mei- I’m in the hospital and the only thing keeping my hospital anxiety at bay is the idea of one of the cm boys using their badge to sneak into my room and give me some soft serve ice cream and cuddles nendn

sweetheart i hope you're doing alright! ily bunches <33

--

You're roused from your sleep not by nurses prattling on, or the incessant beeping from the machines surrounding you, but by a soft, gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Y/N," A voice- Spencer's voice - comes from right beside your ear, ever-soothing and quiet, "Y/N, angel, wake up."

You fight through your medication-induced haziness, blinking blearily at him, "What? Spencer, you're- you're here."

"I'm here," He nods with a grin, his cheeks tinged slightly pink from the chill outside, "Can you sit up, sweetheart? I brought you ice cream."

"What?"

"Ice cream," He reaches into the oversized puffer jacket he's wearing, pulling out a brown paper bag that had somehow remained perfectly hidden beneath the bulk of the coat, "But we have to eat it fast, or it'll melt. Or- uh, a doctor will catch us."

"You-" Your brows furrow as he helps you adjust your bed, pressing buttons on the remote until it raises to sitting-height, "Did you sneak in here?"

"No, I told them that I was a doctor," He admits, lowering himself into a metal-legged chair by your bedside and unwrapping the cups of ice cream, "Which isn't a lie. But I didn't give the nurse much time to look at my badge before telling her I was in a hurry. So I think she's calling security on me."

"Spencer!" You gush, laughing even though your throat is partially dry from grogginess. He pops the top off of your container, hurrying to jam a spoon inside and hold it up to your mouth before you can admonish him.

You swallow the sweet treat as he indulges in his own, and he speaks through a mouthful with a sloppy grin, "You can't lecture me. I brought you ice cream."

"You're gonna get in trouble," You weakly counter, but he offers you another spoonful instead of acknowledging your reprimand, "What if they kick you out and you can't come visit me ever again?"

"I'll climb through the window." Spencer shrugs, answering like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"I'm on the second floor," You raise a brow at him, intrigued, "I don't suppose you can climb walls like Spider-Man?"

"I don't need spider powers," Spencer scoffs, eyes wary as he watches a nurse rush past your door, "Morgan'll let me stand on his shoulders, angel."

[itsnevercasual]

Look Into His Angel Eyes

pairing: harry styles x zoologist!youtuber!reader

summary: harry takes his niece to the san diego zoo, and you just so happen to take care of the animal she’s obsessed with. koalas.

warnings: zero knowledge of zoology LMAO, not edited, a few curse words

—

harry had expected a lot more fuss when he went to a very famous, very popular zoo. he expected at least someone — one person! — to notice him or recognize him.

nobody had even given him a second glass.

those kids movies were right. change your har (put on a beanie) and wear sunglasses (because even if it was a little chilly, it was bright), and you were a whole different person!

well, until gemma’s little girl, rosie, who was usually a gem and the best kid ever, started crying. over what, you may ask?

she demanded they find the koalas.

granted, she was only five, but.. he was still worried people would see him and recognize him.

when he had graciously offered to drive rosie to san diego to go to the zoo because gemma simply didn’t have the time, he forgot it was a public, normal people zoo.

so, he asked someone where the koalas were (and then four more people after that on the way there, all of which informed him that he better hurry if he wanted to catch the koala talk, which was supposedly a big hit for some reason), and made his way to the other side of the zoo.

who the hell made this place so big?

—

you’d been living in san diego for five years, since you were eighteen. you’d been working with the koalas at the san diego zoo for that same amount of time.

18 and fresh out of high school, you moved far, far away from your horrible hometown and even more horrible people, and went to san diego to both go to college for zoology and work your dream job.

well, technically, it was an internship at first, but still!

like most little girls, you were obsessed with animals. however, instead of dogs or some other basic animal (though, koalas are still pretty basic, you suppose), you were obsessed with koalas. and then, it never went away.

your mother tried anything to talk you out of it, into a safer career path, she’d say. more secure.

well, fuck secure because you were about to go talk to little kids who were just like you when you were younger and feed a baby koala.

you had also started a successful side career as a youtuber. you made regular videos like vlogs and hauls and whatnot, and also educational videos about koalas. some of your vlogs were at work, such as today.

“so.. we have jess here to record as i do a koala talk. and.. it is officially 1:30, so let’s go!” you exclaim, handing your coworker, jess, the camera.

you pushed open the door (more like gate) and walked out. there was a fairly large crowd today, including the cutest little girl with a pink dress on right in the front row.

you set the crate (don’t yell, it’s a big crate. and it’s simply to take them from their exhibit to the talk area, which is a distance of maybe 50 feet) down on the wooden table.

the talk area was pretty much their enclosure, but instead of a glass wall, it was open and the kids could see better.

you opened the crate and slowly coaxed the bears out. you’d only brought two today. mila, and her baby charlotte (you always called her charlie, though).

once they were out and climbing on the branches, you turned to the crowd.

“hi, guys! my name is y/n, and i’m basically in charge of the koalas here! who here has been to one of my talks before?”

a few hands raise.

“good! well, today, we have a new guest… who remembers what was happening with mila last talk? was anyone there?”

one little boy raised his hand.

“yes, the.. little boy in a blue shirt?”

“jackson!” he told you.

“jackson, sorry. what was going on with mila? for everyone who doesn’t know, mila is that big one right there.”

“she was— she had a baby in her tummy.”

“she did!” you respond enthusiastically. “and a few months ago.. four months ago, actually, she had her baby! who wants to meet her?”

all the little kids screamed me! me! me!

you laughed, “alright, let me grab her.”

you walked over to mila, petting her head as you slowly took charlie away.

“hey, mila.. can i take her real quick?” you ask as if she can hear you, before speaking to the crowd. “mila and i have a special bond, if you ask me. she had her baby right around the time i had mine. so we are both new mothers,” you laugh. “but, anyway! i’ve been with mila since she got here, so she really trusts me. which is why i can easily just..”

you grabbed charlie off of mila, and put her on her shoulder like you did your baby.

“so, everyone, this is charlotte, but i call her charlie! now, i have a very special job for one of you.. but i need someone who will be very careful, because charlie is still a delicate baby.. can anyone hold her for me while i feed her?”

and finally, the adorable little girl interacted. she started jumping and raised her hand.

you walked over to the fence separating you from the crowd, crouching to be eye level with her. “and who might you be?”

“rosie!” she responded. and oh, she had a baby voice and she was british.

“rosie! well, do you think you can hold her for me?”

“yes! yes, please!”

“alright, we’ll get you and dad back here—“

“ehm.. uncle..” her uncle, not father, responded in a british accent.

“oh, sorry! you and your uncle back here. and what’s your name, rosie’s uncle?”

he hesitated, before— “harry.”

your brain slowly put two and two together as you glanced at his tattoos.

harry styles.

“oh, i see,” you respond, “well, let’s get you guys back here!”

you opened the gate they were thankfully standing right in front of, and they walked into the talking area before you shut the gate.

you led rosie to the center, crouching down to her again.

“alright, we’re gonna do this in a funny way. can you stick out your arm for me?”

she did.

“i’m gonna put charlie on your arm, alright? she’s gonna wrap herself around it, and her claws might scratch you, but it’s fine, yeah?”

“yes, ma’am!”

“aw, you’re so polite. alright.. charlie incoming!”

you slowly adjusted charlie to curl around rosie’s arm.

“it tickles!” she squeals with a laugh.

“yeah?” both you and harry — harry styles — respond at the same time.

“alright, i’m gonna grab her bottle! stay here!”

you ran over to grab it, and while you were shaking it so it was ready, you felt something wrap around your leg.

“hi, mila!” you exclaim to the koala wrapped around you.

you carefully walk back over.

“i’m gonna feed her for a minute, and then i’ll let you and your uncle try, yeah?”

“okay!”

you started feeding charlie as you spoke again.

“so, the reason we feed charlie instead of having her feed from her momma, who is clinging to my leg, is because charlie was born a little early and needs a little more nutrients!”

you talked a little more about koalas and their behavior before rosie wanted to feed her. and after a few minutes of that, you glanced to harry.

“you wanna give it a go?”

“sure, why not,” he shrugs.

“charlie seems pretty cozy.. so, i’ll give you mila. she’s a little heavy, though.”

you bent over and took mila off your leg, handing her over to harry.

“hold her like a baby on your hip.. it’s kinda like a.. odd hug! a koala hug, if you will. i’ll grab her bottle.”

you ran over, and when harry began feeding her after you returned, he asked a question.

“so.. why do y’feed mila? i know charlie’s a baby and all, but..”

“that’s a very good question! so, mila is getting a little old, and she was also brought to us injured. that, paired with giving birth four months ago, we just have to give her some more electrolytes… her bottle is actually just white gatorade. we tried green, but she hates it. she’s very picky.”

“well, that’s cause y’gave her green.”

“hey! who has the degree here? yeah, shush.”

“yes, ma’am,” he laughed.

—

once the talk was over, you told rosie and harry to stay back.

you let charlie and mila climb about the branches while you spoke to them.

“i just want to make sure you both are alright with being in a video.. also, you need to wash your hands.. jess should be back with the sanitizer soon.”

“can i ask what video?”

“oh! right, sorry. i’m a youtuber, and i sometimes film my talks to publish and whatnot. i’ll blur your faces, of course. i blur everyone in the crowd’s faces for privacy reasons, but i figured you’d be.. more.. concerned about that than most.”

“you know?”

“i mean.. voice is a giveaway.. i also follow gemma’s instagram, so i recognized rosie,” you shrug. “but anyways, you’re good with the video?”

“yeah, of course.”

you then turned to rosie to answer her bajillion questions about koalas until jess came back with the hand sanitizer.

“so, just use a lot of this, and you’ll be good,” you explain, putting a few pumps into each of their hands.

once they were all clean of koala germs, you told them they were free to go.

rosie ran forward, but harry lingered.

“thank you,”

“oh, yeah. of course. i figured you wouldn’t want koala germs—“

“no, i mean thanks for giving rosie that opportunity.”

“oh! of course. i love seeing little kids who love them as much as me.”

“she’s bloody obsessed with the things.”

“mm, yeah. they’re easy to love. word of advice, don’t shoot her love for them down. it doesn’t exactly work. i mean.. look at me,” you laugh.

“i will keep that in mind,” he smilez. “what was your name again?”

“y/n.. y/n l/n.”

—

a/n: enjoy

[redvexillum]

Dear @crackrodent, You are lucky you're in the Voxtek Server, otherwise I would have never even contemplated even doing any of your crack-ass request. I still have like three or four just...STARING at me. Anyways, just know, I fucking love you - that's why I wrote... whatever...this...is...LOL 💖🤣

TAGS/WARNINGS: m/m, an♡l s♡x, val and adam is a shitty person, this whole s♡x scene is just dripping with egotistical/selfish energy

The room was thick with the scent of lust, sweet and heavy, mixing with the low rumble of some B-class actor’s baritone grunts as the sounds of ecstasy filled the air. Valentino watched the scene, his eyes half-lidded with wariness, while the curling pink smoke lazily drifted from his pipe. He reclined in his lavish chair, legs casually crossed, looking every bit the kingpin of indulgence, though his thoughts were far from mere indulgence.  

To the masses, his films were nothing more than a means to an end – titillation, pleasure without thought. They saw breasts, ass, or a cock, and they were content to let their hands do the work.  

But to Valentino, it was more than just base gratification. He prided himself on the art of seduction, on the way his camera captured more than the mere act – it captured the hunger, the raw, primal allure that only comes when the soul plunges into depravity. It wasn’t about a cock thrusting into some disposable body; no, it was about the allure, the sensuality that teased the darkest corners of desire.  

It was visceral.  

It was untamed.  

It was...art.  

Hell had a way of putting things in perspective, he mused, his red eyes narrowing as he listened to the rhythmic slap of skin on skin echoing from the scene before him. Angel, his star, was caught in the throes of a double penetration, his body trembling as two hound sinners took him from both ends.  

Valentino’s cock twitched at the sight, though a hint of boredom tugged at his mind. He had seen it all before – each performance blending into the next, the same screams, the same positions, the same predictable rhythms.  

His tastes had evolved, elevated even. Valentino no longer craved the mundane. He was hunting for something more – a masterpiece, something so provocative, so unique, it would etch his name into Hell’s lore forever.  

Rumours whispered of a new sinner in Hell, a figure of legend. Adam, the first man, now among the damned. The possibilities danced in Valentino’s mind, his fingers absently stroking the sharp angle of his chin as he schemed.  

Adam.  

The original sinner.  

His mere presence in Hell was an opportunity. Valentino had filmed countless renditions of Adam and Eve in the Garden, but none of them ever quite captured the essence. The actors never looked quite right, never felt as human as he wanted them to be.  

But Adam – the Adam – was still strikingly human despite the horns curling from his forehead, a fallen figure, and one that could bring Valentino the fame and recognition he craved.  

A slow, satisfied grin stretched across Valentino’s face. If he could secure Adam as his star before anyone else, it would be the scandal, the sensation, the art that Hell needed. His fame would soar, his reputation cemented.  

More than that – it would be a film that redefined what it meant to push the boundaries of Hell’s darkest pleasures. The thought made his pulse quicken, a wicked excitement pooling low in his gut.  

It didn’t take much to strike a deal with Adam, much to Valentino’s amusement. The former first man had spiralled into debauchery, spending his days in strip clubs, guzzling alcohol like it was his lifeblood, and sinking into a haze of orgies that numbed him to his fall.  

Valentino approached him with an offer – a lifetime of booze, pussies, and endless pleasures at Val’s clubs – all for the price of filming one pornographic movie with him.  

Adam, still swaying slightly from the buzz of liquor, looked him up and down with a lazy grin. The former first man took his time, his gaze dragging over Valentino’s tailored suit, over his angular frame. “I’ll do it,” Adam said, his voice thick with amusement, “but on one condition. You’ll be the one getting fucked, and you’re gonna call me the Dick Master while I’m deep inside you.” 

Val’s sharp smile faltered for a split second, the words hanging awkwardly in the air. It was a ridiculous title, at first, something laughable – but then Adam continued, explaining in his slurred tone that as the original man, the first, all man descended from him, and therefore, all dicks too. That every cock had its origin in his.  

The logic was so absurd that Valentino found himself nodding. It made a twisted sort of sense in the ridiculousness that was Hell.  

“Fine,” Valentino agreed, his voice smooth, hiding his distaste behind a mask of professional composure. It was a deal, after all, and if getting Adam on camera meant this ridiculous stipulation, then so be it.  

Val chuckled to himself. He probably could’ve gotten away with offering the drunken fool a week’s worth of indulgence, and Adam still would have signed the deal. But now, Valentino had him, and soon, he’d have his next masterpiece.  

This wasn’t just about capturing flesh; it was about capturing the very essence of sin – the fall, the lust, the corruption of the first man.  

And that, Valentino thought as his grin widened, was art.  

The studio was lit, bright spotlights casting a glow over the bed, the set already prepped for what should have been a masterpiece. But as Adam stood there, naked, scratching his hairy belly and letting out a loud belch that echoed in the studio, Valentino’s eye twitched. He hadn’t expected this.  

The man in front of him was far from the statuesque figure he had imagined. Instead, Adam was a thick, pear-shaped figure with a pelt of dark hair covering his chest, belly, and ass.  

Val’s lips curled in disdain as he took in the sight. He had pictured something more – refined. Perhaps like Angel Dust, with his graceful, slender frame and seductive charm. But this...this was far from the sensual art he had envisioned. Adam had bulk, hair, and an unimpressive aura that radiated laziness.  

His eyes drifted lower, to the man’s tight-fitting white underwear, which clung awkwardly to his hips and had a tear at the waistband. Val sighed. Perhaps he’d been cheated in this deal instead, his dreams of an artistic masterpiece slipping further away. The whole setup reeked of disappointment. He could already feel this film relegating itself to the bargain bin. 

“Well,” Val said, his voice dripping with reluctant acceptance, “a deal’s a deal.” He stripped out of his suit, letting the fabric fall from his lanky frame. His skin glistened under the harsh lights; every angle of his slender body sharply defined as he stood bare before Adam. His eyes were calculating, already planning to edit every unsexy moment of this disaster. “Alright, Dick Master,” he drawled, sarcasm oozing from his tone, “time to fulfill your end of the bargain.” 

Adam grinned, wide and shameless, as he dropped his torn underwear, kicking it off lazily before standing there, completely nude. “You’re not exactly my type,” he commented, his eyes roving over Val’s body with a shrug, “but hey, free booze and sex for eternity? Can’t say no to that.” 

Val raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering to Adam’s cock, which was now hanging heavy between his legs, still flaccid but sizable enough to warrant some attention. Perhaps there was some redeeming factor here after all. He bit back the retort that this bumbling idiot wasn’t his type either. The sooner they get this over with, the better. Val’s eyes drifted back down to Adam’s cock – the only potential upside to this wasteful exchange.  

Adam stepped closer, his presence larger than life as he loomed over Val, their bodies almost touching. “You ready for my huge, fat cock?” Adam taunted, his voice a low growl as he stroked himself lazily, the thick shaft hardening and curving upward as it grew longer and thicker in his grip. “Gonna make your ass my little bitch.” 

Valentino let out a small, unimpressed sigh, rolling his eyes at the bravado. He reached for the lube, slicking it over his hands. “Right,” he muttered dryly, “let’s get this over with.” His mind was already distancing itself, calculating every angle, every edit he’d need to make to salvage something remotely watchable from this.  

His lips twitched into a smirk, despite himself, as Adam’s cock finally stood fully erect. At least that was impressive. Val’s own cock gave a faint twitch of approval, anticipation coiling low in his belly.  

“So,” Adam began, his tone casual as his thick fingers stroked his cock, now hard and throbbing. “You just need me to fuck you till I cum, yeah?” 

Val nodded, lifting his arms in mock enthusiasm, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he mimed air quotes. “That’s right. And I will, of course, refer to you as Dick Master throughout the entire ordeal.” His words came out sharp, biting with humour and disdain, but his body was responding to the heat of Adam’s presence, the sheer size of him towering over his lithe form.  

It wasn’t the art Valentino had envisioned, but for now, it was enough.  

Adam’s cock stood hard and ready, twitching with eagerness. “That’s right, don’t forget it,” he sneered, his voice rough with anticipation. The space between them seemed to shrink instantly as he moved closer, his presence overwhelming. Before Val could even call “action,” Adam had his hands on him, dragging him toward the bed with a strength that startled him.  

For a fallen angel stripped of his power, Adam’s force was unexpected. Valentino grunted, his body twisting as Adam shoved him onto the plush mattress, his hands sinking into the soft cover as his knees dropped low. The shift was sudden, and the moment he tried to retort, he felt it – the hot, throbbing tip of Adam’s cock pressing insistently against his entrance.  

No foreplay. Typical, Val thought bitterly. He barely suppressed a growl, his voice sharp as he barked, “Get me the fucking lube!” One of the crew tossed a bottle onto the bed, and Val grabbed it, glaring over his shoulder at Adam. “Here. Dick Master, the lube,” he spat, holding it out.  

Adam, with a smug grin, tilted his head, the light catching his curling horns. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement, enjoying Val’s irritation. “Say please,” Adam teased, his voice dripping with mock superiority, his fat tip nudging harder against Valentino’s tight ass. “And maybe I’ll consider it.” 

The burn of Adam’s cock pushing at him without any preparation sent a flash of pain through Valentino. His fingers dug into the mattress as he considered for a split second snapping this fool’s neck, but he resisted.  

Adam might be a fallen man, a drunk, but Valentino had witnessed his power. Better not to test him now – especially like this. His jaw clenched behind his smile. “Please,” he forced out, his voice edged with venom, his eyes flashing behind his pink sunglasses.  

The sharp click of the lube opening made Val’s breath hitch. Finally. But instead of applying it properly, Adam unceremoniously dumped the cold gel over Valentino’s ass, the slick liquid trailing between his cheeks in a way that made him flinch. Before he could protest, Adam surged forward, and the thick length of him was buried deep in Valentino in one brutal thrust.  

Valentino’s breath left him in a harsh gasp, his body tensing as he tried to adjust to the size of him. He hadn’t expected this. The stretch, the heat – it was overwhelming. “Oh, fuck,” he moaned, his head dropping low, instinctively raising his hips higher to take more.  

Adam huffed from above, his breath ragged with exertion. “Shit, look at how tight your fucking ass is,” he growled, his hips snapping forward again, slamming into Valentino without mercy. His balls slapped against Valentino’s; the sound obscene in the otherwise quiet room. “Come on, call my name,” he demanded, each thrust deeper and more relentless than the last.  

The force of the fucking pushed Valentino’s body down into the mattress, his face pressed into the sheets, his mouth open in shock and pleasure. Every stroke hit him perfectly, driving into his prostate with precision. He had no choice but to submit, his body overwhelmed by pleasure. “Oh fuck, Dick Master,” he moaned, his voice muffled as his ass clenched around Adam’s cock, drawing him in deeper. His second pair of arms reached back, spreading his cheeks wide in surrender. “Fucking dump your hot cum in me, Dick Master!” 

Valentino couldn’t believe it. This man, who had one been grand, reduced to a drunken, debauched sinner, was fucking him with a raw, feral intensity. Valentino’s own cock was dripping, leaking pre-cum onto the sheets as his body began to tremble, the orgasm building inside him. He was so close, so fucking close, his cock twitching uncontrollably with every rough thrust.  

“Oh fuck, yea, tighten that ass for me,” Adam groaned, his hands pried Valentino's finger off his ass before his large hand smacked Valentino’s ass hard, sending a burst of heat and pain through him. The sharp sting only added to the pleasure, his cheeks burning under Adam’s touch.  

Had Adam been anyone else, Valentino would have killed him by now, the indignity too great to suffer. But here he was, moaning like a common whore, his body betraying him as his hips bucked back, asking for more.  

He reached down with one hand, desperate, jerking his own cock in time with Adam’s brutal pace. The need for release consumed him, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as Adam continued to pound into him, his body on fire with the sheer intensity of it all.  

Adam’s rough hand came down again, a sharp smack echoing in the room as he slapped Valentino’s ass hard, sending a burst of heat through his skin. “Fucking call my name, bitch.” Adam growled, his hips driving forward with reckless abandon, his heavy balls slapping against Valentino’s own with every thrust.  

Valentino was a mess of sensations, his voice strained as he moaned loudly, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in his core. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” he panted, his hands working frantically over his own cock, chasing that edge, his release just unreachable. “Dick Master, Dick Master,” he chanted, the words spilling from his lips in between gasps. The sound of their bodies slamming together filled the room, wet and messy as the intensity grew, Adam’s cock throbbing deep inside him.  

Valentino could feel it – the way Adam’s cock pulsed within his walls, the heat of his skin against Valentino’s own. Adam’s strong, meaty hands gripped Valentino’s waist, nearly bruising as he yanked him back, his growl animalistic, primal.  

With a final, powerful thrust, Adam slammed into Val, his hips crashing against him as he came, hot spurts of cum flooding Valentino’s insides. The sensation sent Valentino over the edge, and with a low, guttural moan, his own orgasm hit, thick ropes of cum splashing across the sheets in waves of release.  

As Adam pulled out, Valentino’s body quivered, his muscles slack and trembling. A gush of thick cum spilled from his ass, leaking onto the bed, mixing with the mess of his own release. He was panting; his cock still throbbed, the haze of his orgasm lingering in the warmth of his body. 

Flipping onto his back, Valentino let his eyes flutter closed for a moment, basking in the aftermath of it all. His lips curled into a grin as he looked up at Adam, mischief and hunger still lingering in his gaze. “Oh, Dick Master,” Val purred, his voice low and teasing. “How about a second round?” 

But Adam, now limp, simply sniffed dismissively. His cock hung loose, semen still dripping from the tip, as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Sorry, dude,” he said with a shrug, barely looking down at Val. “But I’m more of a tits and ass man myself, and you’re lacking in all that department.” 

Val’s eyes widened, shock overtaking his features. He stared up at Adam, his body still buzzing from the aftermath of their encounter, his ass still twitching from being thoroughly fucked. Did this man – just reject me? Valentino?

Adam, oblivious to the tension, barked out toward the studio, his voice loud and demanding. “Now, where’s the free booze and sexy ladies over here!”  

Val lay frozen on the bed, his muscles stiffening as the reality of what just happened sank in.  

Adam, the first man.  

Adam, the Dick Master.  

Adam, the first sinner in all of Hell to reject Valentino.  

“Enjoy your drinks while you can, Dick Master,” Valentino muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a sinister smile. His fury simmered into a dark, twisted resolve. He would make Adam pay – oh, he’d get his revenge. But it wouldn’t be quick, nor would it be simple.  

Valentino was an artist, after all.  

Adam may have been the first man to reject him, but Valentino would make sure that he would be the last.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[worldly-diversity]

@questionablemuses ○ 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕝 𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕧𝕠𝕩 ○

          ⤷  『  Angel lifts his head & only groans when he sees Vox. "Please, don't tell Val I'm here." He sounded absolutely wasted, his color paler than normal & his eyes not entirely focusing. "This was the closest place I could crash fer awhile. I'm not even staying here that long."

He gazes tiredly up at the other overlord, wincing slightly. "I'll do anythin' you want. Just don't rat me out."  』

Periodic cursory camera inspections had informed him that Angel had left the studio and Val had ascended the tower. Being finished with his own work for the time being he thusly intended to head up himself and enjoy the evening with his fellows, mayhap even plot some more mayhem for them to execute.

Instead, the recent scan informed him of something out of the ordinary— Pink fur collapsed over a table. In the private section of Vox' own tower. What the actual fuck. Surely the little prick knows Vox has no sympathy towards him? Yet he's hiding in Vox' area rather than going back to that tacky project of a hotel the princess is working on.

It's child's play to observe the security footage as he turns around and begins the leisurely walk back to his own section. Guess Angel had been having bad enough of a day he'd barely made it out of the tower and had assumed, correctly, that going outside in this state would make him easy pickings for whoever wanted to have a go at him.

Whether putting himself at Vox' not so tender mercies was a step up from that, however…

His shoes click on the polished floor, hands clasped idly behind his back as he takes in the spider demon's appearance and approaches him. The intent was to scold him, maybe coerce him into a mild concession or two depending on how the conversation went, and then delivering him back to Val because it was a surefire way to fix the moth's mood when he got pissy. Just give him what he wants and poof— No more temper tantrum.

What Angel actually offers him without even being prompted however— Oh the options! The little fool is actually giving Vox a stupid amount of power over him right now and all of it is fuelled by the fear of what Valentino was going to do to him if he found out Angel tried to leave in a state like that.

Where even had he found the booze to look this drunk? Then again, it could be the drugs too, he's well aware that Val likes to supply him in order to keep him malleable and attached even beyond the ties of the contract. A contract that offered the arachnid an unprecedented amount of freedom compared to others who were foolish enough to feed an overlord's power.

Now, how to proceed…

Stepping forward he slips his clawed fingers under Angel's jaw, a slightly sharp simulation of cupping his cheek which he uses to assess the other's state. Well and truly fucked up, probably in more ways than one considering what Val got up to in that studio of his.

"You sure know how to get yourself into trouble, huh Anthony?" He mused, a sardonic smirk on his screen which was only kept minimal by his exerted self-control. Angel was offering himself for the promise of safety for just a little longer. Just a little more— Always more. That's just how these types are, but he can work with that.

Clawed fingers caressed the spider's cheek with far more gentleness than Vox ever cared to express towards the spider. Surely Angel knew that Vox disliked him? More specifically, Angel had taken to causing trouble for Valentino with his defiance, his backtalk, staying at the princess' hotel as though he could ever be redeemed when Valentino had a tight grip on his soul.

You can't let defiance like that go— Really, you can't. All it serves to do is undermine your power and reputation when people see that you let a slut like Angel get away with such disobedience and disrespect and do nothing about it. And it is nothing, for all that he's sure Angel's increased working hours beg to differ. It's not public though, and therein lies the crux of the matter.

Angel needs to fall into line, and he needs to look like he wants to be there. Nothing less will satisfy.

He lets go of Angel's cheek to instead walk around the table and take a chair beside him. Not across— Specifically not across. If he's going to pull this off he needs to let Angel think he can rely on him, that he's safe, that Vox feels for him. He doesn't, which is beside the point.

"I'm sure we can come to an agreement. It's not just anyone who can manage to slip past my security in this kind of a state, you know." He speaks in a measured tone, inflecting mild amusement and keeping the sharpest edges off his face and out of his voice. With any luck, there'll be two pairs of chains adorning him after tonight.

"You're afraid of him." Vox lays out matter-of-factly. It is a fact, after all, but he figures the demon might as well try to deny it. There's a good question, actually. Would Angel be honest with him, or would he try to hide behind his bravado? An easy thing to pop when you know where to press, but this would work more smoothly if Angel didn't put up such pointless resistance.

"I know what that's like." He murmurs gently after a brief lull in their exchange. Go on, believe it— He's not engaging his eye, not yet. It's much too soon, he needs to coax Angel over the edge first. "He's violent, always has been. Such pretty promises, yet once you're in too deep there's no way out, is there? And no one to protect you."

"I'm an overlord myself, there's not much he can do to me now—" He chuckled out a self-deprecating scoff. "Well, that's not to say I haven't had to replace the screen a couple times in the years I've known him though."

Drawing in your target audience with sensationalism is fun, but getting under their skin through something they can relate to is a thrill in and of itself. It's so much more personal, and he can't wait to see Angel's expression once the realisation hits, but by then it'll be far too late.

"You're just one of his toys though, he's not likely to hold back with you. And it's getting worse, isn't it?" He murmured, leaning forward, offering sympathy. None of this would work on Angel if he were sober, but he's not. Vox is going to take advantage as well as he can. "So what if we can help each other, hm?"

Come on little spider, take the bait~

"Val's an important part of this thing we're building. But he's impulsive, reckless, his anger can blind him to the simplest things— Like not going after you in public." He inclines his head in perhaps a slightly too subtle admission that he'd helped, at least possibly too subtle now that Angel had fucked himself up to this degree. "I need him to calm the fuck down, and you need him to stop hurting you, don't you?"

"I can make him stop." Vox reached out to Angel then, brushing a bit of fur out of Angel's eyes to sharpen his focus and at the same time associate him with more gentle treatment. Vox had never yelled at Angel, nor hurt him. He intended to reinforce that image, encouraging Angel to trust him.

"But I need your cooperation in this, Anthony. I can't calm him down if you run off wherever whenever. We have an image to maintain; you can do whatever you want within those constraints, and I'll keep Val off of you. All you need to do is follow my guidance."

His hand, which had pulled back after brushing the other's fur aside, approached once again. This time held level, palm slightly up in an entirely dishonest display of honesty and openness. Go on, shake my hand.

"Do we have a deal?"

[kimageddon]

Sins of the Father - 3:7

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Maul x Nightsister OC (Zaiya Valessa) - Modern/Crime AU -

Word count: Approx 4000 Contains/Warnings: Dangerous situations, intoxication, drunken behaviour, foul language, lewd comments, attempted assault, attempted sexual assault, violence, blood. Chapter Summary: Fives and Zaiya enact their plan to get more information of Mayor Palpatine by talking to District Attorney Nute Gunray. Notes: I'm trying out a new header... trying to see how I like it. Let me know what you think! (more notes at the end)

Beauty in Danger

Zaiya currently sat in Five’s car, staring across the parking lot at the little, dimly lit door of the club. She could hear the bass from where she sat and her gut churned with trepidation. She didn’t like this, but she had a job to do. 

Her current outfit consisted of knee-high platform books in a soft pink, and a similarly coloured outfit that was essentially a halter bikini covered in sequins, a skirt that was just strings of rhinestones hanging from an equally sparkly belt. She’d managed to get long fingerless gloves that covered her burns, and of course bright colourful neon makeup that obscured a lot of her features. Topping it all off was a black bob wig. 

She was covered in a large trench coat Beth had provided her. The older woman had offered a few tips, though she didn’t ask what the outfit was for, and Zaiya didn’t tell. She was glad she’d listened to Beth’s advice; it was damn freezing out here. 

She was adjusting the earpiece that the wig was able to hide, hopefully it could record some of what she heard. Unfortunately it wasn’t able to serve as communication, just a microphone.

“So you’ve just gotta go and knock on the door, ask for Lydia. She should be able to get you settled,” Fives explained, he was shifting in his seat, uncomfortably. There was a long pause. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“You’ve said that five times now,” she said, looking at him pointedly. He sighed and scratched at his goatee. “And as I have said, this is the best way to get the information from him.” 

“It could be dangerous,” he grimaced.

“This whole operation was your idea…!” 

“I know!” he groaned. “But here… now… it’s… Z I don’t want you to get hurt.” She looked at him, his big brown eyes, so soulful and genuine. She chuckled, he looked like a puppy. 

“You’re adorable, Fives,” she smirked, “and I appreciate that you’re worried about me.” She reached out and laid a hand over his. “This is a good plan, and I’m a big girl, I can look after myself.” She squeezed his hand gently, “besides, you said you’re gonna keep an eye on me right?” Zaiya flashed him a reassuring smile. He nodded seriously.

“Yeah, I’ll be a patron and keep an eye on the booths, I can’t do much, but I will be nearby.” He squeezed her hand back. “I haven’t heard about him being rough but you never really know with powerful people.” 

“I’ll be fine, now, you head in and I will too, I’ll send a text when I can meet up again outside if I can’t signal you beforehand.” With one last worried look, Fives nodded and they stepped out of the car. 

“Oh, what name were you going with again?” he asked, as he headed for the front of the club. Zaiya chuckled again. 

“Angel.” 

══════════════════

Inside was loud and sweaty and she was sure she’d get a headache if she was here for too long. Zaiya was quickly introduced to the Club Mother, a no-nonsense but kind-faced woman who looked after the girls. Apparently her official job was Entertainment Manager, but she was more or less the emotional support for a lot of the long time workers. 

She had been getting a tour of the place, introduced to all the girls on that night and some of the security and staff. 

It seemed there was a little story for everyone, but Zaiya volunteered little information and kept quiet for now. Her next move was to find a way to get the target’s attention. 

His name was Nute Gunray and he was the DA of the City of Coruscant. A thin Neimoidian, wiry in build with an angular yet flat face and those two creepy and watery eyes. He always seemed to look unnerved in all of the surveillance pictures Zaiya had taken when she’d had the chance to tail him. She knew his face, and the type of luxurious suits he wore… she had to make sure he noticed her. She’d taken note of his type, and had seen the way he appeared to moon over his human secretary, and her black bob. Hence this particular wig. 

It was unlikely she’d even dance on her first night, according to Lydia, so Zaiya had a backup plan. From what she overheard from the staff when she’d asked about him, he often got his own way when he was here. 

“Watch out for him,” one of the girls, going by the name Candi, said. “He seems to think he owns the place, he can sometimes get grabby.” 

“I thought the rule was no touching?” Zaiya asked in a sweet little voice that was nothing like her natural cadence. 

“Yeah… usually, but someone starts throwing wads of cash around? And people put up with a lot more than they usually would,” Candi scoffed. 

“Great…” she said apprehensively. She did need to get him in a private booth but she didn’t like the idea of being touched. 

The things she did for this mission of hers.

As she suspected, her task for the evening was to serve drinks, and watch the other girls while she got used to the place. She had a tray and at one point sauntered past Fives. 

“What can I get you, handsome?” she asked in her false falsetto. 

“Yeah, uhm just a-- whoa…!” he had begun answering before he looked up, and finally got an eyeful of her outfit. Suddenly he didn’t know where to look and stared at his hands. 

“Don’t make it obvious, idiot,” she scoffed at him. 

“I know but I… I can’t.. Look at you like that,” he muttered under his breath. “It feels… disrespectful.” 

“That’s very sweet but right now, you don’t know me and you can’t look like some innocent schoolboy, got it?” she hissed between a fake smile. 

“Yes ma’am,” he replied diligently and looked up, looking only at her face this time but he managed to make himself seem more relaxed. “It’s so much easier to flirt with you when you have clothes on.” He said, seemingly pained. 

“Oh, were you flirting with me before? I didn’t notice,” she said with a little smirk and he laughed. He also visibly relaxed more. Good, she didn’t want him to get kicked out for acting weird… but also it was a relief to see. He really was a good man. 

She took an order for him, or pretended to while he quietly whispered to her about Gunray’s whereabouts. 

“Far booth in the back corner, that seems to be the VIP booth.” 

“Of course,” she mumbled, barely moving her lips. “Least traffic, most hidden… let’s see if I can get any drink orders in that direction.” Suddenly she smiled wide and spoke in that high voice again, “okay thanks honey! Let me get that drink for you!” she said brightly and turned away. 

She kept her eyes sharp, despite the stupid coy smile she had to wear. She would be hard to recognise as it was in this dim light, but the neon makeup helped… and moreso, the fact that no one was really looking at her face. That did make things a little easier. 

Her walk was more of a strut like that of the other girls and she did her best to imitate the other dancers and waitresses in order to blend in. She was utterly uncomfortable. So exposed and the looks she was getting… ugh, it was like going into battle without her usual armour. 

Undercover jobs were the worst. 

As it happened, after she placed Fives’ order, there was a commotion toward the back of the room and she heard raised voices. Zaiya took the opportunity and made her way over. 

Apparently one of the girls had spilled a man’s drink and he was cussing them out, and telling them to bring another. Sure enough, the ill-tempered patron was Gunray himself. As it happened, one of the other girls was passing by with a collection of drinks on her tray, and she was distracted by the commotion. One of the drinks, a short glass with ice and rosemary sprig, looked very similar to what she could see was left of the spilled one. 

Taking the moment, she swiped the drink and placed it on her own tray while the girl was distracted and Zaiya made her way through the people and to Gunray’s side. 

“Here you are sir,” she said breathlessly. 

“...and if you were any kind of--” He spun on her and opened his mouth to swear at her presumably… but he stopped. Eyes wide and mouth open. “Pamela?” he breathed. The name of his secretary. She tilted her head quizzically as though she didn’t know and he shook his head. “No, sorry no, I thought you were someone else.” 

“I’m sorry sir,” she said sympathetically. “Is this the right drink…?” She looked up at him, doe-eyed and he suddenly seemed a touch shy. 

“Y-yes…” he took the glass, brushing her fingers with his, his gaze drunkenly unfocused. “What is your name?” 

“I’m Angel,” she said with a sweet smile. He let out a breath and gestured for her to follow. 

“Angel… well why don’t you sit with me?” he asked. She glanced between him and two other girls who were nearby, they just urged her on, not wanting to deal with the man. She made an apologetic face, as though it were not at all by design. 

Timidly, Zaiya approached and perched on the edge of the table, brushing the gaudy and uncomfortable rhinestone-string skirt aside. Most of her tattoos had been covered up by makeup but she didn’t want to risk rubbing up against anything, she didn’t want anything recognisable while she was here. 

“Stunning…” She heard him mutter, “shame about your makeup…” 

“My makeup?” she asked, “you don’t like it?” She made a slightly sad expression. 

“It’s very pretty…” he slurred, looking up at her face, “but I’ll bet you look even prettier without it.” She giggled and it almost caused her to gag, having to fake a ridiculous noise. “Ohh you even laugh pretty…” he said with a grin, his eyes roving her hungrily and leaned in, his hands hovering near her knees. 

“You said I look like someone?” she asked, countering his lecherous advance. 

“Oh… my secretary… She has hair like yours.” Gunray smirked and took a sip of his drink. 

“I guess you like working with her then…?” Zaiya said with another innocent smile. 

“With her yes… though I don’t think she’d be as much fun as you--” he moved to touch her ankle again. 

“What do you do?” she asked abruptly and he fixed her with an unfocused stare. 

“You don’t know  who I am?” he asked with a frown. Zaiya let out a soft huff of annoyance. 

“The other girls won’t tell me! Like it’s some sort of game on the newbie, but I do know you’re very important,” she poked her tongue between her teeth and adjusted his tie a little. 

“Ah, well if you’re new, that explains it. I--” he began, puffing his chest out a little, “and the District Attorney for the City of Coruscant.” He said it like he was some kind of celebrity title. As required, Zaiya acted like he’d just said he was a movie star, her expression one of amazement. 

“Wow! Really?!” she gasped, “that’s so impressive! Are you running for re-election?” He let out a dirty chuckle.

“More’n a pretty face, aren’t you?” he preened with a slight slur to his words, looking like the cat that got the cream. 

“Well I’m no fancy lawyer, but I get by,” she said with a sweet smile. “Do you like being the big man in the courtroom?” 

“There are a few special privileges that come with the position,” he bragged, “when one doesn’t have to put up with the idiots running the show…” he scoffed. Zaiya’s ears perked up. 

“You mean your boss doesn’t appreciate you?” Sure enough, Gunray took the bait.

“He acts like he’s de biiiig man, but he has me doing his work for him…” his words started to slur even more and Zaiya realised she had to get what she could out of him now before he got too wasted to make sense. 

“Oh so… you should be in this election then?” she asked with a tilt of his head. 

“Haaah! It should be me on those ffffuckin’ billboards!” he laughed. “I could do it… I know where all de pies are…” he tickled her ankle, “and what fingers go in dem…” he began to walk his fingers up her bare leg that was crossed over the other. 

“You’re not supposed to touch, remember?” Zaiya told him playfully. 

“Heh… baby, I’ve gotta speeeecial room in d’ back. Come wit’ me and I’ll make it worth it…” he grinned and squeezed her calf. 

This was a predicament. She’d be alone back there, she could get him to talk… but he certainly didn’t just want to talk… she would have to be careful. 

“Alright then,” she purred and led him by the hand to the hallway that led to the back rooms and private dance booths. As she passed, she spotted Fives, who was watching her like a hawk and flashed him a look before almost dragging Gunray along with her. 

He pointed out the right room and to her disdain it was a room with a private bar, a dance pole and a long couch. Gunray immediately sprawled out on it and petted his thigh, beckoning her over. 

“You really must work hard,” she said softly, brushing the side of his angled cheek with the back of her forefinger as she circled him. To her disgust, he moaned softly and adjusted himself. 

“Oh I do baby, I really do, and I play hard…” 

“Of course,” she replied, “I’m sure the burden of everything you know must be so difficult for you. I heard our office is under a lot of stress with the whole bomb thing.”

“Oh fuck… ‘s a shit show…” That seemed to be the ticket, and it distracted him a bit. “Can’ even believe the amount of-- There's so mush of that ssssshit I have to route out an’ questions that can’ be asked. Only specific people are allowed to ‘nvestigate…”

“Do you know who did it?” Zaiya asked curiously. 

“No…! I am not permitted… just that I ‘gotta “take care of it”, make sure it “looks right” and that the “righ’ people are in the righ’ place”... ‘s if I fuckin’ don’t have enough to deal with…!” he spat and Zaiya hoped the microphone in her ear was picking all this up. 

“Mayor Palpatine asked you to do that?” she asked innocently. 

“‘S like I’m his errand boy…” Gunray groaned. 

“Do you have to do that often?” she probed. He looked over at her with unfocused eyes. “I just mean that it seems like a lot of work for you.” He seemed to accept that and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Yeaaahhh… ‘s ridiculous. Th’s a baddun… I can’ even see all th’ files,” he drawled, blinking slowly. “This’s bad as that girl a few years back --y’know thass how I became DA?” 

Now this was interesting. She sauntered over to the bar area, making him a very watered down drink, but he must have been sloshed to be talking so much. 

“What case was that?” she asked. 

“Awh… yanno th’ one, Pam… that girl in the alley… Lollie or some’ding?”

“Lola Organa?” she blurted before realising. 

“Yeeeahhh! God… I really impressed th’ boss then… made sure nothin’ could tie it back… the boss… then the kid.” Gunray rolled his eyes dramatically. 

“What kid?” Zaiya asked cautiously, handing him his drink. He took a huge mouthful immediately. 

“I dunno… some kid… creepy lookin’ zabrak… had to make sure…” His words were slurring more now and Zaiya leaned over Gunray and shook him a little. 

“What Zabrak?” she asked, leaning over his face. It morphed into a drunken smile. 

“Aw Pam… fuck baby, wanna marry you…” Zaiya rolled her eyes. 

“Tell me about the Zabrak,” she insisted a little more firmly. 

“Mmm you don’t need no Zabrak, baby, c’mere.” He tugged on her arm and it pulled her off balance, she half fell across his chest and then his hands were all over her. “Fuck Pam, I’ve wanted you so long…” he groaned and she tried to push his hands back and he caressed her face and groped at her chest. 

“No, no Lola… tell me about Lola!” she insisted, pushing his hands down and away, but he wasn’t able to be distracted this time, and his hands and touches became more insistent and firmer. 

“She was jus’ some office girl, baby, I had nuthin’ ‘t do with her… I jus’ made sure that some of the evidence… didn’ turn up…” he shrugged as he gripped her arms just above her elbow, his fingers digging into her skin. 

“What evidence?!” she hissed, pulling her arms away, “let go…!” 

“Baby… you gotta sit still… you can’t tease me like that and not play…” She jerked as his hand groped her breast and instinctively lashed out, smacking him across the face. 

There was a moment of silence as the two of them realised what had just happened. She thought for a second he was going to calm down -- until his half-closed fiststruck her in the cheek. She’d been able to pull back slightly but her reaction from this angle wasn’t enough to avoid the blow. 

She scrambled to get back off him but his hands were already at her throat. 

“Lil bitch!” he shouted in a drunken rage. “Think you can tease me all th’ fuckin’ time an…” he devolved into incoherent babbling as he leaned his weight on her throat, his other hand fumbling with his belt. 

Fuck! This had gotten out of control, and she had to get a hold of the situation. She clawed at his arm, and his face, though it seemed to make him angrier, her legs squirmed, pinned beneath him, but she wasn’t about to stop trying to kick him. He might be slowed and drunk but he was far bigger and stronger than she was. 

Rage flashed in her eyes as she swung her knee up with all her might, a hoarse scream escaping her. Her vision was starting to blur and fade.

BANG

The door burst open, and while Gunray was doubled over from the pain of her kick, two big hands yanked the lawyer back off Zaiya. She was on her feet in a second and swinging kicks at the prick’s face, unable to really see anything, until those hands pulled her back. 

Gunray was puking and bloody in the corner, and Zaiya looked up at the intruder. 

“Fives…?!” she rasped, trying to get her breath back. 

“We gotta go,” he warned. 

“I need more time--” her voice was a whisper at this point. 

“We have none! The cops were called and we can’t be here!” He grasped her shoulders gently. His eyes roamed her face and he looked horrified. She realised his hit must have left a mark… she was sure she had a split lip though she hadn’t had time to assess it. 

Zaiya cursed under her breath, she was right, if she was caught here, they’d charge her, or worse. She couldn’t risk processing or contact with the cops. She gestured for Fives to follow her as she headed to the door. 

“What happened?” she heard a woman’s voice ask, one of the other girls had come over and she was sure more were coming. Zaiya hid her face as though she were crying and almost ran further down the hall to the back room, where her bag and coat were. 

She caused a bit of a commotion when she burst into the changing area… or rather, Fives did, but in his black shirt, coat and jeans, he looked like one of the bouncers. She rushed to grab her things, hearing Lydia’s voice calling for answers.

No time. 

Zaiya and Fives darted out the back door, racing to his car as Fives threw her coat around her shoulders. Zaiya was in the process of tearing the wig off so she was immediately less recognisable to those inside. 

“Take me back to my place,” she insisted as they reached the car, her voice still raspy. 

“No, no way, you need a doctor--” 

“A first aid kit, maybe. Which I have.” They slid into their seats and Fives turned the key. 

“You still need--”

“To get changed.” She looked at him pointedly. His mouth formed a grim line and he sighed. 

“Fine, then I’ll take you to see someone privately.” He was insistent, but she was grateful. She nodded and he finally put the car in gear, driving off as the police cars pulled into the far side of the parking lot. 

══════════════════

The blond man stared off in the direction of the departing car, a cigarette to his lips. 

“Did you hear what they were saying?” he asked the big man beside him. 

“No, I couldn’t make it out,” he shook his head. “I wasn’t sure it was her at first, but when she took the wig off…” The older man turned, his suit neat and tailored, though this one was in the new colours of red and black. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his expensive loafers. 

“You recognised her?” he asked slowly. 

“Yes, Almec, sir.” The younger man replied. 

“Well who was it, Saxon?” Almec asked impatiently. 

“Someone the boss is really gonna want to know about.” Gar Saxon replied grimly. He wasn’t looking forward to this. 

══════════════════

Listen, Angel, to these words

Please let them reach you and be heard

There is a chance to take it back

To turn around and find the track

There is agony and doubt

Can you find your own way out?

The Devil sneers and laughs at you

This is what you feel you must do

You banished your love so long ago 

I wish you could see that there's more to show

Angel

Why do you walk this way?

Is there nothing I can say?

To turn you from the path of hate?

I need to know if you’re okay

I can’t reach you where you go

Oh Fallen Angel 

I can’t reach you where you go

══════════════════

Mother’s Letter - 3

Do you remember the fire? 

You were about seven I think, still so young. I am sure you remember it, though, you may not know what really happened to lead to it. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know as much as I do. But I swore I would tell you the truth. 

It was in the summer, your father and I gifted you that little rancor toy for your birthday that year, the one with the yellow ribbon. 

You loved it, I am glad to say. 

Father Sidious, after years of complete control, was beginning to lose it, the people of Dathomir were angry, frightened, and he was becoming increasingly paranoid. Even with two more sons, he did not relax. Tensions were building, and he had begun to give long sermons, hours on end that would speak of loyalty, of doing anything for his ‘cause’. He seemed to think that if we banded under his banner, he could make his ‘Empire’ and we would all reach salvation. It made so much sense at the time. 

We would be called out at all hours, not permitted to eat or sleep. We would be given tests of faith. Drink the wine he had provided us and prove to him we were still loyal. He would tell us the end was coming… but it never did. After hours of waiting, waiting to leave this world to ascend to his ‘Empire’ he would tell us we passed another test, and we could yet live in the glory of his presence another day. 

We grew weaker, in body and resolve, there were fewer of us every month. I tried to shield you from it, I hope you don’t remember --for your sake.

Notes:

It seems that I am a little late again this week... yikes. Well at least I make up for it with a good chapter!

The end of Chapter 3 hits with a bit of drama! What's going to happen?! Will anyone find her? Will Saxon tell Maul? What will Maul think of it?? Also... Gunray is gross. I'm sorry you all had to read that nastiness. But also not sorry cos welcome to the underworld!

Next fortnight, we begin chapter 4 and Zaiya, Fives and Fox will have to go over everything they have and figure out the next stage of the plan.

As always I really appreciate your comments and feedback, it really helps me with motivation, knowing what you guys like and what is interesting!

I hope you are all doing well, I think you're all awesome and I appreciate all of you for reading!

Until next time!

----

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[salimanderwrites]

Geto x Reader x Gojo| non con, mind break

Geto x Reader x Gojo

Warnings: Labrat!fem!reader, Handler!Gojo, mad scientist! Geto, Non con, coercion, Geto calls reader bug, oral, pussy spank, dehumanization by Geto, cheek licking, degradation, mind break, unprotected sex,

18+ Minors DNI

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He stood over you, watching you shiver on the thin cot. Heaving shoulders as he breathed in the cold air and tch’ing when you reached toward him. Before, you thought it was a sign of disdain, a reminder that you were nothing more than an ant here trying not to be stepped on. Now you recognize Gojo’s frustration would never be toward you. He sits on the edge of your sorry excuse for a bed and eagerly takes you in his arms. It’s depraved to cling so vehemently to him. Snuggle into his neck and siphon every ounce of warmth he offers, but you lost your sense of shame long ago.

“Weather’s getting cold.” He reports, stroking your hair. “Leaves are falling, I got your favorite chamomile tea stocked up.” You nod gratefully, voice too exhausted. Gojo sighs, another day where he watches helplessly as you battle your illness. Dr.Geto was a meticulous man, but slowly the glow has faded from your skin. Your eyes droop and you no longer share with him your book reviews. He fought to be able to keep bringing them to you and try to keep some brightness. After all, he was just hired muscle that had morphed into something else.

“I’ll talk to Dr.Geto about getting you some more blankets. And maybe a better mattress?” You nod and continue clinging to his dark uniform, playing with the button on the right side of his chest. “Talk to me, Angel.”

You pause. How many times had you told him to stop using that name? Does he not get it, does he still not know?

“Satoru, you can’t.”

“I know. I was just worried.” It’s happened far too many times. This look of his where if you slipped even a moment he would dive in like an eagle stalking its prey. He would gorge himself on you and the only thing protecting you was Geto’s rules and the little blinking light in the corner of your room.

“It’s time.” Gojo stands and walks over to the closet and next to it types in the room code. The doors open and you stagger toward it. One more day. Just get through it.  

Gojo comes to your side and supports you as you make the short trek to the lab. Geto was working, scanning a document and eyeing a vial in gloved hands. Gojo helps you onto the exam chair, secures the cuffs on your wrists and gives you your morning pills. He watches you with the same maddening focus as you swallow.

“Let’s see what we have today.” Geto says, walking over. Gojo backs away and goes to leave. “No, no. You stay here today for the exam.” It strikes you vaguely as unusual. He washes his hands and puts on a new pair of gloves.

Take your vitals, check your eyes, your throat and write everything he notices in a leather bound journal. He gives you a thick pink liquid to drink and not ask questions. It blurs together, slows him down, and speeds up the shivers on your skin.

“Your report.” He says into the empty space. It’s not meant for you, he never addresses you during the exam. Gojo straightens, turning away from you and your bored eyes.

“Nothing unusual. Her room was colder. I’m requesting more blankets and a new mattress.” Gojo’s voice was clear and assertive despite Geto’s seeming disinterest. He hums and adjusts the chair to lay flat.

“Alright little bug, it’s time for your treatment.” You no longer flinch. It’s been too many weeks or months. Whichever. Your face burns as Geto runs his hands over your body, fondles your breasts. It’s not harsh, but he’s detached. This was just an extension of a medical procedure. Part of the treatment to keep you docile.

His hands find the hem of your gown and ease up your thighs. Pulling down your underwear, he discards it in the hazard bin. Your face burns and tears bubble up.

“I thought we were past this.” Geto’s disappointment was never easy. At the beginning, if he didn’t like how you orgasmed, he would do it again and again. Holding various toys and vibrators, and after every time he whipped out that horrible notebook.

You were crying because Gojo, the one person who cared whether you finished your meal, was leering at you. Even though you knew, he'd made it so obvious, it still hurt.

Geto brings out a small vibrator and lube. He spreads the gel and draws circles to make sure you wouldn’t reject whatever he did to you. Turning it on, he lays it directly on your clit and you keen at the sudden vibrations. All the while Gojo drinks it in, guilt heavy in his stomach. Unable to look away and you want to scream at him.

“She wants blankets. A new mattress. Why don’t you make her earn it?” Geto’s eyes shone, a cruel smile on his lips because here you were, helpless. He needs more data and it was only through introducing a new variable that he would get it. “Come here and touch her.”

“Sir, with all due respect, that is outside my responsibilities-,”

“Don’t lie. It’s so obvious you’re pathetic. Come here or you’ll never get another chance.” It’s like metal crushing, squeezing the life out of you as he approaches. You struggle for a fleeting moment against your cuffs. Try to close your legs, but his hands find your thighs and caress them.

It’s just the way you thought, greedy. His hands inch closer. He takes the vibrator and practically throws it on the  side table before licking at your slit. Searching and tearing past the lube to taste you.

“I-” You gasp and Gojo slows down, lazily licking circles on your clit. “Please Gojo, don’t.”

“Hush. You already know that this is necessary and good. Why fight what’s helping you.” Geto coos in your ear. His lips attaching to your neck and his gloved hand coming down to fondle your breast. While he does it only to stimulate you, Gojo wants everything.

He sucks and licks and moans into you. Desperate for every last drop, you can’t help your laboring breaths or the sounds that escape every time he sucks just right.

“Very good.” Geto leans back and grabs his journal, you faintly hear the scratch of the pen.

Geto walks back over, interrupts Gojo, who obediently, though, hesitant, lifts his head away. He caresses you and suddenly slaps your pussy. You yelp and Geto raises to write. Gojo licks to soothe the sting. He rubs his on your clit and then begins to ease a finger inside. At the same time Geto slips to fingers in your mouth, stroking your tongue and quieting your objection. He wears that awful grin and watches Gojo as though you weren’t there.

“Fuck her.” Geto’s words clang against your ears. Gojo pauses and looks thoughtful. He looks up at you, strokes your thigh almost to ask. “Just relax and enjoy it. This is a present for you. I will get my results either way.” Once again your deranged doctor whispered in your ear, his tongue trailing up your cheek in an obscene gesture.

It takes Gojo little time to undo his pants and Geto fully steps away to watch the spectacle.

“Satoru…” You whine, not knowing exactly what to say. If you refuse, you’ll be punished and Gojo might be as well. You might hate this, hate his desire, but you still needed your handler.

“You don’t have to be scared. I’ll take care of you like I always do.” He begins dragging his cock across your slit, slowly pushing inside. It’s uncomfortable and you tug against your restraints until Gojo slows down and goes back to rubbing your clit. Both actions make it easier as he enters again and a warmth curdles in your lower stomach. It travels up your body with every thrust and grunt from Gojo until you feel it in your mind. A seeping sweetness squeezing out any thought except Gojo. His movements squelch and thump against you, a wave of bliss melting over you. This was all you wanted. The only thing you’ve ever desired.

“More. More. Please.” You whine as Gojo chuckles and starts going harder. Filling you so deliciously you start crying, he lifts your thighs up to your chest to get a better view, and a deeper angle. Now you’re soaring. Was there even a moment when you denied yourself of this?

When you cum it’s with a wail, your pulse bouncing and not a care in the world. You barely feel Gojo until the cum is dripping out of you. You feel the high as he slips out, as he zips up his pants, and as Geto comes over to stroke your hair and gaze into your thoughtless eyes.

“Is she alright?” Gojo’s voice echoes in your head, somewhere far and dreamy.

“She’ll get her blankets and her mattress.” Geto says feeling your pulse. “In fact, we’re moving her to a new room for the next phase of the experiment.”

“Experiment? Her illness–”

“Subjects don’t ask questions.” The same dangerous gleam in Geto’s eyes settles on Gojo. “We have plenty more data to collect.”

[howlingday]

"Why is it always the big ones?"

Jaune chuckled as he watched Spruce Willow deliver his line with perfection. "Invasion on Another World" was a smash hit at the box office earlier in the year, and he was glad to be rewatching it in his living room with his girlfriend. He was enthralled seeing for the second time.

Nora, not so much. For her, the action scenes paled compared to her real life, while the romantic subplot was so cheesy and forced, it might as well have been smashed into her popcorn, and the villain's motive was so obviously influenced by current event, that if you slapped a mustache on him, you could point out at least four different real world people.

But it would all be worth it, because tonight was the night. She could feel it in her bones. It didn't work the last few dates, but it would be different this time. Tonight, Nora was getting laid.

Nora leaned into Jaune, and felt him place an arm around her shoulder. Smiling to herself, she rested her hand on his thigh and began to rub. She heard Jaune's breath hitch, meaning she was doing good. It was time to move in.

"Hey, Jaune?" He nervously gulped and looked to her. She pressed her lips to his, slipping her tongue into his mouth. Everything was going according to plan.

"Mm!" Jaune pulled away, putting his hands up defensively. "Uh, c-can we just watch the movie right now, Nora?"

"Uh, y-yeah, sure." Nora returned to her previous sitting position, leaning into Jaune. He placed his hand on her shoulder, but it was different this time. Where once was a firm, yet secure grip, was a limp sausage for a hand.

'Swing and a miss, Nora,' she sighs to herself, 'again.'

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

"Agh!" Jaune grunted as Pyrrha cried out. He panted, looking at the sweaty angel beneath him. "Was... Was that good?"

"Very good." Pyrrha cooed as she stroked his cheek.

"I'm sorry if I was, uh, too fast." Jaune apologized. "I'm not used to this kind of thing, and I got a little-"

Pyrrha kissed him. A wave of relief washed over and through Jaune. She playfully rolled him to his side, next to her, and stroked his hair.

"I'm not used to this, either." She smiled, pulling herself closer to Jaune. "But, nothing a little practice can't help," he hand glided down his chest, her middle finger kissing his bare skin on the way to her destination, "right?"

Jaune gasped at the sudden interaction. He then gave a chuckle. He kissed her, his hands returning his affection for her. He pulled and groped and slid and teased, until Pyrrha had to stop her teasing to enjoy what was given to her. She shuddered and gasped, before rolling on top of Jaune.

"Your foreplay is really good, though." She giggled. "Where did you learn that?"

"Uh, the Schnee-net?" Jaune awkwardly chuckled.

"Mm, well, research is half of what makes good technique." She lined herself to Jaune's member. "And the other half is practice."

As the two engaged each other again, Jaune was glad for the "practice" his partner was giving him, but he didn't want this to be just practice. For him, this was a prelude of things to come, because in his eyes, Pyrrha Nikos would be his first and last woman he'd have sex with.

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

Nora walked into her apartment, her head hung low in defeat. She tossed her purse to the side and passed Ren, who was on the couch watching TV.

"So, how was your date?" Nora gave a mumble in return. "Dinner go well?" Another mumble. "Was the movie boring?" Mumbles.

Nora had shuffled into her bedroom, full of pink and fluff, as well as metal posters for bands like Sküll and Rage'N'Rock. She changed into her pajamas, grumbling at Ren's question. She returned to the living room, where she plopped down onto the couch.

"No sex again?"

"Yeah." Nora sighs. This had been a common discussion for the two of them since Nora's first attempt over a month ago."I just... I don't know what it is."

"Have you tried asking him?" Ren offered.

"I don't want to rush him into this." Nora shook her head. "I know I can be impulsive and hard-headed and, uh..."

"Brash? Hasty? Unable to sit still for more than two minutes?"

"Yeah, but not with this." Nora shook her head. "Not with him. After everything we've been through, he shouldn't have to explain himself."

"No, but if there's no communication, then you can't work together on solving the problem, or even see if there is a problem." Ren reached to coffee table, and sipped his tea. "Of course, this is none of my business."

"Maybe you're right, Ren." She chuckles. "You always are."

"It is as much a blessing as it is a curse." Ren smiled. "Now, I believe I was watching some classic animation."

"Your boobie hentai?"

"It has a few nudity scenes, but nothing sexual." Ren argued. "It's not smut. It's art."

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

Nora watched as Spruce Willow, once again, gave another cheesy line before his big action scene. She rolled her eyes at the concept, for what felt like the millionth time. Just smash the monster and be done with it. One-liners were for people insecure with themselves, and she would fight anyone for it.

Speaking of blonds with self-esteem issues, Nora glanced at her boyfriend, who had a wide grin on his face. He looked so happy, it gave her pause to consider her actions. She smiled and leaned into him, and almost like clockwork, Jaune put his arm around her shoulder.

Changing her usual route, she reached a hand up and rubbed his chest. His breath hitched and he glanced down at her. Her fingers glided down his chest to his sturdy abdomen, and he had to resist the urge to giggle, lest she decide to tickle him. He lost many a tickle fight against her, seeing as she had no tickle spots.

Her fingers lifted from his navel, and her eyes rose to meet his. She gently placed her palm right over his groin. His smile fell.

"Uh, N-Nora, can we watch the movie first?" Jaune nervously asked.

"Um, actually, can we pause first?" Nora replied, removing her hand and pulling away from him. "I need to ask you something."

"Uh, sure." He picked up the remote and paused it. "What, uh, what's up?"

"It's about... us," Nora answered, "and about being together. Like, together-together together."

"Uh-huh?" Jaune cautiously nodded.

It was now or never. She let out a heavy sigh. "Do you... want to have sex?" She threw up her hands defensively. "And if you don't that's totally okay!" She swallowed a lump in her throat, lowering her hand to her lap, resting them on her thighs. "But... after the first few dates of trying and getting nothing, I just gotta ask. Is... Is it me, or are you just not ready? Again, you don't have to answer!"

"I..." Jaune gulped, trying to look away. "I just, uh..."

Nora placed her hand over his, surprising him at the suddenly tender gesture. Nora was always sweet to him, especially after they started dating. True, she liked to rough-house and was brutally honest to a fault, but beyond that was a kind and loving spirit he couldn't help but love. Her eyes seemed to glisten in the buzzing light, a face full of concern. He didn't want to say something he'd regret, but Nora deserved the truth.

"Well," Jaune gulp, "I'm... scared."

"Scared?" Nora repeated. "Scared of what? Sex?"

"Kind of." He scratches his cheek. "It's... complicated."

"I like complicated." Nora smiled.

"You like everything, Nora." Jaune chuckled.

"Yeah," she giggled, then sighed, "and that includes you. So, why are you scared of sex?"

"Well, I'm not so much scared of sex, as I am scared of... disappointment."

"Pfft!" Nora raspberried. "You think I'm that bad in bed?"

"No! No!" Jaune laughed. "It's... It's more about me." He looked down at his feet. "I've only ever been with one person, and even then, we only had sex a few times. I... I was awful. Terrible at it. But she always pushed me to try harder."

"It was Pyrrha, right?" Nora asked.

"Yeah."

"I knew it!" Nora smirked. "I thought your sword was a little harder after you two started training," she wagged her eye-brows, "and I'm not just talkin' 'bout the one in the shield, either." She nudged his arm with an elbow, and they both laughed.

"I guess I was a little more confident." He chuckled. "But after the Fall, I started doubting myself. I kept thinking how I wouldn't be able to meet anyone else's expectations. I mean, I loved Pyrrha, but even I knew when she was just being nice. She only said I was good because she loved me."

"And you had a big cock and good keep it up for about five minutes." Jaune whirled his flushed face at Nora. "What? Girls talk, Jaune."

"Right, right." Jaune shook his head, him somehow forgetting his septuplicate sororital upbringing. "But that's why I'm... I'm just not ready yet."

"Alright," Nora shrugged, leaning into Jaune. "I won't force you if you aren't ready to. For now, it's just date nights with no sex and vety meh action movies."

"Meh action movies?!" Jaune gasped. "You said you liked these movies!"

"No," Nora looked up, a cheeky smile on her lips, "I said I love movie nights with you. I never said anything about the movies." She giggled, and he laughed in return. "Oh, and Jaune? I'm sorry for pushing you. I know I'm not the best at holding back, but I'm glad that you were able to open up to me."

"No problem." Jaune pecked her lips. "After all, I love you, Nora. Ready for more 'meh action'?"

"You're not gonna let that go, are you?" Nora sighed.

"Nope!" Jaune chuckled. He played the movie, and the action resumed.

However, neither parties were focused on the entertainment on the screen. Instead, they sat silent as heat filled their faces. Neither of the two dared look at each other. Inside their heads, alarms blared.

'I just told her I love her!'

'He just told me loves me!'

[imagine-darksiders]

A gentle touch.

[Strife/Reader]

Summary: Set three years after humanity is resurrected. Strife shows up unannounced in your bedroom in the middle of the night, which would have been rude enough without him getting blood all over your cream-coloured carpet.

Tags: Blood, injury, PTSD, knife, protective Strife, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, sharing a bed ;), bandages and cleaning wounds, how not to administer first aid.

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You have the apocalypse to thank for turning you into such a light-sleeper. 

Even though the nights of sleeping with one eye open are far behind you and Earth is back on the road to a long and arduous recovery, you'll still jolt awake if your unconscious mind hears something scuttle beneath the floorboards of your freshly-restored home, and God forbid a tree branch should happen to scratch at the bedroom window...

Waking up with the feeling that your heart is three beats from bursting right out of your chest is exhausting, to say the least. And it isn't just you who suffers from the onset of hyper-vigilance.

It was a decidedly cruel consequence that the resurrected humans were able to recall their lives before the end of the world. Crueller still, they woke up to remember exactly how and where they eventually kicked the bucket, and of course, nobody knew that a significant chunk of time had passed at all since the end of the world and its rebirth.

They thought they were still in danger.

In one moment, all they knew was immense and excruciating pain, and then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, they woke up again, screaming and writhing in the echoes of phantom pain that had occurred almost a century ago.

Three years down the line since ‘The Great Waking,’ and there isn’t a human alive who could claim that they’ve slept through an uninterrupted night.

------

The alarm clock on your bedside table has just ticked over to read '2:36am' when your eyes suddenly snap open and you fling yourself upright in bed, your spine ramrod straight and your ears ringing with a sharp, tinny note.

It isn’t a nightmare that wakes you. At least, not this time.

Worse.

It’s a sound.

An out-of-the-ordinary sound that isn't in keeping with the normal ambiance of your bedroom.

But where...? 

....It's coming from your window.

Tired eyes swivel to the curtains whilst your hand immediately flies out to blindly fumble with the drawer of your bedside table. Once your fingers find the cold, metal handle, you rip it open and plunge your hand inside, rummaging around until you feel the reassuring grip of your most precious possession.

Your trusty bread knife. Serrated edge, nine inch blade, perfect for cutting slices of toast in the morning and for tearing through the toughened hide of a hungry demon.

Peace between the Universe’s species had been declared once humanity was fully introduced to the connected realms, a decision that suited a vast majority of Creation. Hell, however, had offered up a fair amount of opposition to the notion before eventually conceding and agreeing – albeit begrudgingly – to honour the peace treaty alongside angels, makers, undead and the rest.

Even demon-kind knew not to incur the wrath of humanity's strongest and most ferocious protectors, the Horsemen.

But... there are always exceptions to the rule. Some demons just... hadn't gotten the memo.

It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had tried to make an assassination attempt on humanity’s envoy.

Heart in your throat, you grasp the knife securely in your dominant hand and peer through the darkness towards the window. 

Only a sliver of moonlight peeps through a tiny gap in the curtains. In another blink, the light suddenly disappears, and you know better than to assume that the moon has simply ducked behind a cloud. 

Something is standing at your window, blocking out the light.

You think you might actually be sick when you hear the sound again, claws scraping on wood – a sound you know all too well – well enough to send your head spinning into a panic.

Swallowing back the nausea in your throat, you brace yourself, instincts flicking between running for the door and knowing never to turn your back on a demon.

Sadly, the decision is swiftly taken out of your hands. Through the darkness and the deafening roar of blood rushing through your ears, you can make out the distinct sound of your window sliding slowly open.

The knife is a comforting weight in your hand. But it’s less than useless if you don’t calm down and try to remember the lessons that Death has taught you. If the eldest Horseman were here, he’d probably have berated you seven ways to Sunday by now for freezing up and missing an opportunity to better prepare yourself for an attack.

A dark silhouette pushes the fluttering fabric of your curtains aside and pulls itself halfway into your bedroom. 

Whatever it is, it’s big.

Breath catching in your throat, you clasp a handful of your duvet and get ready to fling it at the intruder as a distraction, hoping that it’ll be enough to buy you a precious few seconds to gain the upper hand. You've learned that humans are inherently weaker than demons, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned from Death, it’s that strength isn’t necessarily the deciding factor in any battle. You still have your wits. You only hope the demon has less.

Two luminous, golden eyes turn in your direction and you press yourself backwards into the headboard.

Several seconds drag by in perfect silence.

Then... 

“Hey.”

And just like, that tension leaves your body like a balloon deflating of air and you heave the loudest sigh you can muster, dropping the bread knife into your lap.

“Damn it, Strife! You about gave me a heart attack!”

With a 'whump,' you flop back against your pillows and take a second to breathe whilst one of the Four Horsemen drags himself the rest of the way through your bedroom window.

Strife.

It's only Strife...

Whilst certainly a dangerous being in his own right, you know you have nothing to fear from the Horseman who had all but appointed himself as your friend three, long years ago, all in an attempt to irritate his brother, Death, of course.

At least, at first.

Death was the one who pulled you from the dying Earth and preserved your life-force as you journeyed together on a quest to resurrect humanity, but after he made the jump to introduce you to his 'little' siblings, it had been Strife who'd taken a particular shine to you, and it had everything to do with a compatible, if terrible sense of humour.

That first meeting sparked what was sure to be an interesting friendship between the pair of you.

-----

“So, my brother went and got himself a human, huh?” Strife had teased, pointedly ignoring the withering look he received from Death to add, “Gotta say, I'm impressed, Kid. Didn't think anyone would have the inclination to willingly travel with my brother. But then, I guess...” He trailed off and you could almost see the smirk growing under his mask. “Deathperate times and all that, huh?”

At once, his siblings all groaned out varying noises of disapproval. Fury, the loudest, cocked her hip and shot Strife a frosty glower. “You are singlehandedly ruining our reputation, brother."

“She's right, you know,” you spoke up, trying not to flinch when all eyes snapped onto you once more, “That pun was pretty deadful.”

The brief, startled second of silence was soon blasted apart when Strife threw his head back and barked out a triumphant laugh, while Death slowly turned to look at you, utterly betrayed.

“Ha!” Strife's eyes positively gleamed with mischief, “You're right, human. Guess I should'a considered the reapercussions of a joke like that, huh?”

“I ought to have known introducing you two would be a mistake,” the eldest Horseman grumbled, earning a sympathetic look from War.

“Sorry, Death,” you said with a perfectly straight face, “You want us to get out of your scythe so you don’t have to look at us anymore?”

Strife had howled.

Death, however, merely heaved a long-suffering sigh. Fury's eyes all but rolled into the back of her skull and War just stood there, struggling to keep his lips from twitching at their corners.

And you had looked around at all of them, a little proud and blissfully unaware of what you'd just unwittingly signed yourself up for.

You'd had Strife's attention from that day on.

-----

Shaking off the fond memory, you tiredly will your mind back to the matter at hand.

You reach across your bed and drop the knife back into the drawer before leaning down and skirting your fingers over the wall in search of a switch. The next moment, there's a 'click!' and the room is illuminated by clustered fairy lights that you've draped around your ceiling, forcing you to squint blearily against the intrusion of light as Strife hauls his leg into your room.

“Honestly. How many times have I told you to use the door?”

“S'locked,” he grunts.

You're in the midst of rubbing your eyes to try and stimulate a little life back into your bones, so you miss the way he stumbles a few steps away from the wall and presses a gauntleted hand to his abdomen. 

“Yeah, it’s locked because it's-” You take a quick glance at the clock next to you. “-Two thirty in the morning! Strife, I’m supposed to be up at six to meet Ulthane! What do you need so badly that you'd-... Hey.. Are.. are you okay?”

At last taking a long, hard look, it suddenly occurs to you that the Horseman is... not entirely himself.

He's hunched over, his shoulders pulled in around his neck and his chest rising and falling in long, languid motions. The tattered cowl he wears around his neck hangs loose around his collarbones and it faces the very real threat of slipping off to the floor. At last, your eyes drop to the hand that's clamped over the left side of his abdomen and you blurt out a startled gasp.

In the paltry, pink glow of your fairy lights, you spot an unmistakably crimson liquid dribbling between his fingers, starkly contrasted against the steel-grey colour of his armour.

The next few seconds pass in a blur as you frantically begin kicking off your duvet and scramble out of bed, flying across the room to the Horseman's side.

“Strife! What'd you do!?”

“Oh, that's real sweet,” the Nephilim chuckles wryly whilst he collapses back against the wall and slides down it with a strained grunt, “Why're you – ung... assuming it's something I did?”

Without missing a beat, you snap, “This would hardly be the first time you got hurt because you're a wise-cracking jokester with a big mouth! Now tell me who you pissed off?!”

You drop onto your knees next to him and reach out, fingers hovering tentatively above his stomach. With your focus directed away from his helm, Strife doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes dart from left to right before they settle back on the top of your head.

“Ah, it was... just some demon, caught me slackin', that's all,” he shrugs, letting you carefully grasp his wrist and lift it away from his torso.

At once, fresh blood gushes from a deep gouge cut into in the dark, leather under-skin he wears beneath his cuirass and you yelp, slapping a hand over your mouth in abject horror.

The sound draws Strife's gaze to you and once he spots the shocked despair on your face, he gives himself a mental kick.

He hadn't meant to... He... doesn't like it when you’re scared because of him.

"Hey, no, no – I'm okay!” he rushes to reassure you, “Don't worry about this. I've had worse!”

“That's not the point, Strife!” you argue, dropping his wrist and carding your hands through your hair, “You're hurt now! And I don't – there's so much blood, and you-” Cutting yourself off, you squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply through your nose, willing your pulse to ease so that you can rationally address this situation. 

Another lesson Death had taught you - stay calm in a crisis. Panic kills.

Releasing a long, hard breath, you peel your eyes open again and nod, jaw set. “Okay. All right. I need to.. I need water. A-and I need to see the wound.”

The interrogation can come after you've dealt with... this.

“There's a bowl and flannel in my bathroom,” you announce, getting to your unsteady feet and gesturing towards Strife's cuirass, “Think you can get that off so I can have a look?”

Huffing out a breath of laughter, the Horseman winks at you suggestively and drawls, “An' here I was doin' things the hard way to get your attention. You know, you didn't have to wait till I got myself gutted before you asked me to take my armour off in your chambers.”

A wise-cracking flirt with a big mouth.

As exasperating as he is though, you don't mind it in the slightest.

This is your usual rapport, after all. A friendly back and forth interlaced with the occasional, flirtatious comment. At first, Strife had only initiated it because it drove an over-protective Death up the wall. The eldest Horseman had almost threatened to 'remove Strife's libido' until you'd up and flirted right back, distressing the old reaper even further.

It's funny. It's innocent. But right now, it's reassuring, if only somewhat, that Strife is behaving just like his shameless, old self.

Besides, you can give back as much as you get.

“Well, I had to wait for a good enough excuse,” you retort, “Couldn't come on too strong and risk scaring you off, now could I?”

In response, Strife just chuckles fondly and watches you turn and speed away to your ensuite, oblivious to the warm, soft glow radiating from his eyes.

In less than a minute, you're briskly striding back into the room, a dripping flannel in one hand and a bowl in the other, and he suddenly remembers that you'd asked him to remove his cuirass.

Mission failed.

But you don't even bat an eyelid to find it still in place, assuming that the Horseman can't get at the catches on the sides in his current state. 

In one, smooth motion, you drop down beside him once more and set the cloth and bowl nearby. “Here, let me help..”

The Horseman's pulse sputters when your tiny fingers reach around his torso and fumble with the buckles and straps that keep his armour securely in place. It doesn't pass his notice that your hands are trembling.

“Hey,” he calls, catching your eye for a moment before you go right back to fiddling with the cuirass, “This is nothin’, you know that, right?”

You only press your lips together and hum, clearly skeptical.

You're working fast and in almost no time at all, the straps have been released and you carefully take the Nephilim's broad shoulder, giving it a tug, guiding him to lean away from the walls so that you can start to peel the bulky armour off.

“Nng, hang on,” he mutters.

Reluctantly, you sit back to let him tug his chest piece loose before he simply drops it onto the carpet next to his legs with a dull 'clang.'

Exposed to the soft glow of your lights, your eyes are instantly drawn to the gaping wound that stretches in a horizontal line across the left side of his abdomen. It seems that something really has tried - and nearly succeeded - to gut him. Several inches long and goodness knows how deep, even against the iron-grey colour of his skin, the gash is alarmingly obvious and the blood far, far too noticeable for your liking. It still comes as something of a shock to learn that the Horsemen, barring Death, can actually bleed.

Wordlessly, you pick up the flannel and wring it out into the bowl of water, wondering if he'll mind that you didn't wait for the tap to get warm before you soaked it. It shouldn't surprise you that the Horseman doesn't protest or even flinch when you gently press the wet cloth to the bloodied skin around his wound, nowhere near the gash itself, not until you've cleared away some of the mess around it and determined its real depth.

You don't notice that his eyelids flutter closed once you press the cloth to his skin, nor do you see when their golden light fluctuates in contentment as the fingertips of your other hand press gently to his stomach, the pressure barely enough for him to feel, but enough to keep you steady whilst you daub at his drying blood.

It takes a formidable effort to suppress the shudder that nearly races up his spine. This is the first time he's felt your skin against his without a single piece of armour standing between you.

Creator, you're so soft! Just like he always imagined you would be.

“Jeezus, Strife,” you whistle, abruptly snatching his focus away from the soothing strokes of your silky fingers,“You've made a real mess of yourself. Why on Earth didn't you just go straight to Death? I thought he was the best healer in your family.”

The warm skin underneath your fingertips jumps as the Horseman puffs out a quick laugh, gazing dopily at your temple whilst you wipe at the edges of his wound with small, careful touches. 

“He is,” Strife readily agrees, “But the moody bastard wouldn't be nearly as gentle with me as you are.”

You blow an unimpressed huff from your nose and glance up at him in time to catch his lazy wink. “I can always press harder if you like?”

“Nah.” The Horseman settles himself more heavily against the wall, knocking his skull back against it and mumbling, “Just keep touchin' me all gentle like that. S'nice...”

Quite abruptly, the chatty Nephilim goes silent and the glow from his eyes that had illuminated your face only moments ago suddenly disappears.

“Strife?”

He doesn't respond.

“Hey, Cowboy! Don't you fall asleep on me, you hear?”

There's a long stretch of silence, then, “Won't,” he mumbles, cracking one eyelid open to peer down at you.

Harrumphing, you promptly turn back to the gash in his stomach and wipe the last of the dried blood off his skin, still far from clean, but at the very least, better than it had been.

“Right,” you declare, pulling away to stand up and drawing a decidedly petulant whine from the Horseman on your bedroom floor. “I'm gonna go get the first aid kit from downstairs.”

There’s a shift in his expression and something that hinges on alarm suddenly whistles through his blood.

“I won’t be long,” you promise, "Be right – Hey, woah! What're you doing!?”

Darting forwards, you hastily place your hands on each of Strife's broad shoulders, trying to push him back down as he grabs the window sill behind him and begins hauling himself up to his feet.

“What's it look like ‘m doing?” he answers gruffly, slouching forwards as if the weight of his own head is too much to keep aloft, “Comin’ with you”

Sputtering out a few, incredulous noises, you try to make him see sense. “I’ll bring the first aid kit to you! You need to rest! It's bad enough that you already climbed in through my second storey window!”

But Strife, stubborn as a mule and much, much stronger than you, isn't deterred by your protests. Grunting, he curls one arm over his stomach and takes a step forwards, ducking beneath your light fixture and standing to his full, imposing height.

Even with three years of companionship behind you, you’re still frequently taken aback at how effortlessly the Horseman can make you feel small and fragile when you stand close to him.

Knowing full well that you’ll never be able to force him down again, you allow your hands to slip from his shoulders and fall against your sides like lead weights. You aren’t sure why he’s suddenly so hellbent on following you, downstairs, of all places, but you don’t dwell on it, especially given that you’re far more preoccupied with the fresh blood that has already begun trickling out of his wound to replace the stains you’ve painstakingly cleaned away.

Puffing out your cheeks, you raise a hand and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Strife, please sit down?” You aren’t so proud that you won’t resort to begging, tired as you are and exasperated with his obstinate behaviour. “I’m worried about you...”

All at once, the Horseman stiffens. ‘Oh, now she’s fighting dirty,’ he muses to himself.

Gradually, you lift your eyes to meet his and try your very best to glare up at him, pinning him down with all the stern authority you can muster. For several, slow heartbeats, the Nephilim peers right back at you and you’re almost certain that you’ll lose this battle of wills, which is why it comes as such a shock when his fiery gaze falters, wavering slightly before it promptly drops to the floor near your feet.

It's... rare for Strife to be looked at by someone who isn't ashamed to show that they worry about him.

But the way you're looking at him now? Hell, the way you've been looking at him since he clambered through your bedroom window? You're practically broadcasting your concern.

Strife just... isn't used to seeing that. So he glances down instead, finding the fibres of your carpet particularly exhilarating tonight. Slowly, begrudgingly, he sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, heavy enough that the frame creaks and groans under the weight of a fully grown Nephilim and he has to hold back a contented sigh at the softness beneath his legs.

From the corner of an eye, he can see that your jaw is hanging ajar and remains so until you give yourself a little shake and throw him a satisfied nod. “Thank you,” you huff before turning on your heel and striding purposefully from the room.

Strife listens raptly to your footsteps disappearing down the staircase, unaware that his hands have curled into tight fists around your duvet.

'It's fine,' he assuages the insistent voice at the back of his head, 'She's fine.'

He took care of the threat. That demon asshole isn't coming after his friend.

You’re only downstairs. He can already hear you pushing open the door to your little kitchen whilst the rest of his senses remain trained on the sounds and smells of the night.

It isn't as though something bad might happen just because his eyes aren't fixed upon you...

Frankly, he thinks he’s being more than generous to allow a full, Earth minute to pass as he taps his heel impatiently against the side of your bed.

Didn’t you say you’d be right back?

...

“Fuck it...”

-------

Perhaps, in hindsight, keeping your first aid kit on the top of the fridge hadn’t been one of your brightest ideas, given that you need a chair to reach it. Then again, securing immediate access to bandages and plasters hadn’t exactly been on the forefront of your mind when you were rebuilding your old home from the ruins it had been left in.

With a grunt, you drop your rickety kitchen chair next to the fridge and clamber up onto the seat. “I have got to find a better place for you,” you grumble at an apathetic first aid kit that sits gathering dust near the wall. Stretching your arm out, you manage to snag it by the handle and drag it towards you-

“The hell're you doing!?”

The violent jolt that shoots through you like lightening nearly sends you toppling off the chair. You let out a yelp, just barely catching yourself on the fridge with your free hand before you whip about to see none other than Strife silhouetted in the kitchen doorway.

“Wh- the hell are you doing!?” you retort, knitting your brows into a frown and clutching the first aid kit against your heaving chest, “Why aren’t you upstairs?”

The Horseman’s glowing eyes are fixed unsettlingly on the chair beneath your feet and rather than answer the question, he ducks under the doorframe and thunders towards you in a few, short strides, leaving you with no time to protest before he suddenly sweeps you up off the chair and into his arms, caging you against a solid chest.

At once, you begin to struggle. “Strife! Your wound! Put me down, you'll hurt yourself!”

But the Nephilim is hardly paying attention. His glare lingers on the flimsy, wooden chair legs for a moment before he flicks his gaze towards the large window above your sink, noting with no small degree of distaste that it isn't even shut.

It’s like you’re inviting danger in.

If you had any idea of the fate he and his siblings are currently trying to protect you from, you might just try a little harder to take better care of yourself.

“Hey!” you continue to protest against his hold but manage to refrain from jostling about too much, mindful of his injury. “For god's sake! What's gotten into you?!”

He offers little more than a noncommittal grunt in response and begins trailing back towards the staircase, casting brief glances at the french doors leading out onto your patio.

'Structural weakness,' he registers, 'Perfect point of entry for anything smaller than a Trauma...'

Shaking his head, he turns sideways to fit you through the kitchen door and takes the stairs up to your room.

After a second, he lowers his eyes to meet yours and finds himself meeting a highly unimpressed scowl. “What?” he asks, the very picture of innocence.

Raising your brows, you snap, “Don't you 'what' me! The hell is all this about? I told you to stay put!”

“You were takin' too long,” he shrugs.

“Too long!?” Indignant, you flick your wrist and rap the first aid kit against his collar bone, “I was gone a minute, max! If you were so worried about me taking too long to fix you up, then why are you moving around and making your injury worse!?”

The light of Strife's golden gaze dims and he turns his head away, staring up towards the top of the stairs and your bedroom door beyond. “S'not me m' worried about,” he mumbles.

It's such an about-face from his usual demeanour that you can do little but blink dumbly up at him and fall still against his chest, your mouth hanging agape.

In silence, the Horseman ducks through the door into your room and sidles over to the bed where, hesitantly, he lowers you down until you're sitting safely on the edge.

In the next moment however, just as Strife drops heavily onto the bed next to you, you slip away and settle on the floor instead, placing the first aid kit beside his boots and fumbling with the latches.

Despite blowing out a rough grumble of disapproval that sounds entirely too much like War for his liking, he lets you go.

Chewing on your lip, you stare at the contents for a moment before snatching up a pack of antiseptic wipes, tearing one out and bringing it up to his stomach.

“You want to tell me why you just exacerbated your injury to rescue me from my kitchen chair?” you ask him, adding as an afterthought, “This might sting a bit..”

When he doesn't reply, you glance up and quirk a brow at the underside of his chin, only to catch him peering back at you from behind heavy-lidded eyes. Then, with a weary sigh, he sags forwards and raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking sheepish, of all things.

Unable to dispel your frown, you blindly begin brushing the wipe underneath his bleeding wound.

He doesn't even wince.

Strife tips his helm towards the bedroom window and slumps further backwards into your mattress, seeming so entirely out of place amidst the colourful duvet cover and frilly cushions.

“Okay,” he mutters, “I uh, I got a confession to make.”

Interest piqued, you make an acknowledging sound at the back of your throat and return your attention to his abdomen.

“Death didn't want us to tell you about this,” he continues quietly whilst you toss the now ruined wipe over your shoulder and pull out a fresh one, “And, to be honest, neither did I. We didn't want you to have to worry, y'know?”

You don't know. And you nearly ask him what you should be worrying about, but you soon let your mouth fall shut and settle for humming curiously instead, trusting that he'll tell you soon enough anyway.

There's a long pause, during which you find the courage to bring your fingers close to the edges of his wound and immediately have to withhold a gag when the motion sends another spout of blood oozing from the cut and dribbling down your wrist.

After a moment, Strife huffs and forges ahead, “Course, War and Fury did want to tell you-”

He's stalling, you realise belatedly.

“-War thinks you have every right to know. And Fury said there's nothin' for you to worry about anyway, cause we've got your back.”

“Fury said that?” you ask distractedly, dropping the wipe and rummaging around for a gauze pad. In response, Strife exhales, a tiny, hidden smile creeping onto his lips. “Fury says a lot of stuff about you that you don't know about.”

Gently, you unroll the gauze and press it against his wound. “Wow, you sure that's your sister?  Sounds like she might've been body snatched.”

“Ha!” The Horseman suddenly throws his head back. “Well, if she has been replaced, I sure as shit ain't going lookin' for the original. This Fury is... she's...”

He pauses, tipping his head in thought before eventually settling on, “She's learning.”

You blow out a long, impressed whistle and he nods his agreement, adding, “Yeah, s'weird for all of us too.”

The room lapses into silence once again as you stretch the gauze across Strife's abdomen and mutter, “Hold this,” before your hands are retreating and the Horseman's slide down to keep the bandage in place.

Reaching into the box once more, you take some bandages and begin to unfurl them gingerly over the top of the gauze. “Not hurting you, am I?”

You miss the soft expression he aims at the top of your head. “Never.”

You're more than aware that he probably won't tell you you've hurt him even if you were to stick your fingers in the wound twist them.

“Sooo~....?” you prompt.

Peering down at you, Strife cocks his head to one side and echoes, “Soooo?”

“What did Fury and War think I should know?”

“Oh. Right...” His reluctance is as painfully obvious as a slap to the face but you're slightly more focused on plunging your hand back into the first aid kit and rooting around for a roll of adhesive tape.

He observes you for a moment, growing more and more certain that despite your curiosity, you aren’t actually paying a great deal of attention to his words. Quite abruptly, he asks, “You listening?”

Emitting little more than a vague hum, you finally snag the tape and run your fingernail along the smooth surface, searching for the ever-elusive end.

“You sure?” Strife grunts skeptically, “Kid, this is kind of important.”

Without missing a beat, you nod your chin towards his injury and reply, “Yeah, well, you're kind of important too, buddy.”

Oh.

Oh, that's...

Strife wracks his brain, trying to pluck an appropriate response from amidst his tumbling thoughts. Part of him wants to scoff – of course he's important! He's Strife! The best, damn marksman who ever walked the realms of existence.

But then, there's another part of him that lurks deep behind the walls of hubris and brass he's been building meticulously for centuries, and it gives a little leap at the sound of your words, delighted beyond measure.

Averting his gaze, Strife lets out a chuckle. “You're getting soft.”

“Ah, I've always been soft.”

His heart thrums. “Wasn't talkin' about you, kid.”

You shoot him a smirk as you stick a piece of tape over the bandages covering his injury. “Well, if you're talking about yourself, then you're wrong again. You aren't getting soft. You've always been soft.”

The Horseman mutters something incoherent, but it's his distinct lack of an articulate response that speaks volumes to your ears.

The slight pressure of your fingers as they prod at the tape with tentative care leaves him mourning the centuries he's gone without knowing such a gentle touch. Rolling his eyes down to you, his smile droops and he sighs, sagging forwards to rest his elbows on his knees just as you attempt to place another strip of tape.

“Strife!” you complain, leaning back, “I need to put more tape on!”

He merely blinks at you languidly and says, “Later. I want you concentratin' on me right now.”

“I've been concentrating on you all night,” you huff, though you eventually concede and sit back on your haunches, peering up at the Horseman expectantly.

Studying your face for another moment, he breathes a long sigh and gestures to his stomach. "I told you a demon did this..."

“Uh huh...”

Solemnly, Strife continues, “So more specifically, it was a Shadow Caster. Been on her trail for a couple of weeks now. Finally caught up with her on some farmlands west of the city...” 

“Okay?” you nod, digesting the information, “And why were you on her trail?”

He hesitates, flicking his eyes between you and the window a few times before he quietly admits, “She was comin’ after one of my friends...”

“Who?”

The look he throws you is so pointed, you suddenly feel like a fool for missing the obvious.

“Ah.” Understanding, you slowly nod your head.

“Yup.”

“But, she's dead now, right?” You gesture to his wound. “You came straight here after killing her.”

Strife's eyes darken further and each time they try to land on your face, they seem to slide right off again and drop to the carpet. “Uh, yeah. She's dead.”

You heave a sigh. “She wasn't the only one who's after me.”

“... No..”

“I see.” Inhaling long and slow through your nose, you tip your head back and slap your hands on your thighs, rubbing at them anxiously as you gaze around the room. “So, do we know how many there are?”

The Horseman eyes you for several, silent seconds. Eventually though, he speaks up. “Got wind of a small group of about four of 'em. Demons mostly, one undead. You and I've got a mutual... uh, friend, who's been keeping his ears to the ground, and he reckons they’re aiming to provoke another war between Hell and Earth by killin' the human envoy.”

“Wow. Talk about sore losers,” you scoff humourlessly, “So, who is this mutual friend?”

Some of the tension bleeds out of Strife's posture once he notices that you haven't immediately flown into a panic. “C'mon kid,” he snorts, “You know I can't expose my source. He doesn't want you know that he cares about you. Thinks you might start askin' for discounts if you thought he was getting' soft.”

“Discounts, huh?” Your lips quirk up at their edges and Strife smacks a palm over his mask in mock distress.

“Ah, hell, I gave it away, didn't I?”

“I bet his name rhymes with Shmulgrim, doesn't it?” you laugh.

Chuckling, Strife leans back on his hands again and replies, “Hey, you came to that conclusion on your own. Technically, I never told you who my source was.”

With the atmosphere in your bedroom gradually becoming lighter and lighter, you follow the Horseman's lead and relax backwards onto your hands, stealing a surreptitious glance at the bandages adhered to his torso.

It's no longer as surprising as it used to be that Vulgrim is invested in the well-being of his 'valuable asset.' The Horsemen are perhaps his best clients, hence the vested interest in keeping himself in their good graces by looking out for their human ward.

Shaking your head with a knowing smirk, you push yourself up onto your feet and glance down at yourself, brushing off your pyjama shorts, only to grimace when your hands do nothing but smear Strife's blood all over the fabric.

“Sorry... for the mess.”

You raise your head at the sound of the Horseman's voice and find him glowering down at the stains he's dripped onto your carpet, his eyes hooded and glum.

Heaving a sigh that you hope conveys both exasperation and affection, you reach out and place your comparatively tiny hand on his shoulder to give the pauldron a reassuring squeeze, drawing his gaze back up to your face. “I don't care about the mess, Strife” you tell him matter-of-factly, “The carpet's just here to stop my feet getting cold in the morning. You're my best friend.”

Ever so slowly, his luminous eyes grow wide with wonder and he lets his jaw drop open to speak, but before he manages to utter a soft, 'what?' you give his shoulder a friendly jostle and add, “So long as you're okay, pal, that's the main thing. Now...”

Trailing off, you move back around the bed and let your fingers slide off the Horseman's arm, stepping up to the bedside table containing your pyjamas, oblivious to how swiftly and easily you've just swept the rug out from underneath Strife's feet. He twists himself around on your mattress to watch you, his eyes as wide as than dinner plates.

Did you mean to say... best?

He – well, he always knew that you considered him a friend! Hell, he'd even go so far as to say the two of you are close friends.

But best?

Best implies that there's nobody – nobody – that you hold in higher regard than him...

'How did I miss that!?' his psyche all but screams at him, 'When the Hell did I get so important!?”

You aren't even looking at him, too busy rummaging through your drawers, as if you have no idea that you've just pulled his heart right out of his chest and now you have it cradled in the palms of your hands.

You could crush the life out of him with hardly a word.

“So, you never did say!” you call out to him as you duck into your ensuite bathroom and flick the light on, hiding yourself from view whilst you change, “How does the master of marksmanship get tagged by a Shadowcaster in the first place? You’re not usually the type to get up close and personal. That’s more War’s thing, right?”

All at once, the threats that demon witch had made against you ring like klaxons in Strife’s head and he has to make a conscious effort to ignore his instinct to leap off the bed and barge into the bathroom just to be sure you’re safe. He hears the shuffling of fabric against skin as you pull off the bloodied shorts and begin to pull on the new ones.

Grinding his teeth, he spits out, “She just.. got me mad, is all. Made me wanna have the satisfaction of wringing her neck with my bare hands instead of filling her with bullets.”

“Wait, seriously?” Your silhouette suddenly appears in the bathroom doorway and and strife glances up, briefly enraptured by the halo of light glowing at your back. A fellow human might have likened you to an angel. Strife, however, knows that none of the feathery bastards could hold a candle to you. 

Garbed in clean shorts that smell distinctly of you, and not copper, you step out into your bedroom. “How’d a demon manage to make you mad? You’re like, the champ of not getting mad. It’s like your superpower.”

“Yeah, well..” he mutters, turning his helm away, “This time, she went too far.”

You’re quiet as you flop down onto the bed next to him, your eyes flicking between his downturned head to the fists that are clenched like vices at his sides, metal claws gripping fistfuls of your duvet so tightly, you’re worried he might end up poking holes in the cover.

Whatever had been said to him must have been bad if he’s this riled up.

Biting your lip, you let out a pensive hum and lean backwards, your fingers brushing over a soft lump near the headboard. At once, your eyes grow wide and your lips stretch into a sly grin as your hand closes over something fluffy and familiar.

Strife is still busy stewing when he’s suddenly brought out of his thoughts by a face that’s shoved promptly into his line of sight. He blinks, drawing his head away to properly see what you’re holding up in front of him.

He can’t contain a chuckle once he realises that it’s none other than your old, toy horse, dangling in front of him with its little, black ears flopping forwards to cover a pair of button eyes.

Allowing a smile to grace the edge of his mouth, the Horseman wordlessly relaxes his grasp on your duvet in favour of reaching out to gently take the soft toy out of your hands, lowering it down into his lap.

“I thought David Hasselhoof might make you feel better,” you tell him, bumping your shoulder against his companionably.

The Nephilim simply smiles, stroking his palm over the horse’s fuzzy mane.

“Hey, Strife?” 

“Mmm?”

You fiddle with your fingernail for a moment, dropping your eyes to the bed and taking a breath before you ask, “What did the demon say that made you so angry?”

It isn’t as though you want to pry. But having your friend turn up at your house in the dead of night with his stomach torn open warrants a couple of questions, in your honest opinion.

The Horseman’s brows knit together underneath his helm and he shifts slightly, twisting away from you further until you can’t even see the lights of his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost dare to say that he looks shy. An impossibility, frankly.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle, a far cry from the normal, strident tone you’re used to hearing. “She, uh, she might’ve made a couple of threats about you.. Bad ones.” 

You wait for him to elaborate, but for some time, he doesn’t utter another word, prompting you to ask, “And?”

You very nearly reel backwards into your headboard when Strife whips around to face you. “And?!” he echoes, incredulous, “The Hell d’you mean ‘and?’ Isn’t that enough of a reason?!”

Taken aback, you lift your hands in a placating gesture and stammer, “Woah! I - I just meant... Well, it’s not like I haven’t been threatened before? Just seems like a weird thing for you to get so angry about.”

Without warning, the enormous Nephilim lurches to his feet, the cuddly horse left to tumble, forgotten out of his lap. “Did you not hear me?” he snaps, “She. Threatened. You!”

“A-and that... made you mad?”

“Did - Of course it did!” he all but howls, his voice cracking as it raises in pitch, “She made me listen to all the god damn, sick things she wanted to do to you when she found you! She said - she said, I’d never see you again!” Roughly, he drags his clawed fingertips through his spiky, black hair and exclaims, “Next thing I know, I’m droppin’ Redemption and Mercy, I’ve got her heart in my fist and I’m... I’m...” 

He trails off, knocked out of stride by his own admission. You remain silent, pressed up against your head board with the blankets clutched to your chest.

When he notices you staring up at him, small and wary amongst the sheets, the frustration saps from him like water circling the drain. “So... so yeah,” he huffs, his shoulders slumping and a great wave of shame crashing over him, “I got a little mad! I got a little pissed off. Cause I didn’t like hearin’ someone say they were gonna hurt my friend.”

And with that, he just... deflates, not unlike a punctured tyre. All the hot air inside him is dispelled with every heave of his mighty chest whilst he peers down at you, feeling the weight of your stare upon him. 

Guilt leaves a sour taste in his mouth, rancid and acidic.

You look so.. 

...scared.

Sometimes Strife forgets that to you, he’s an unassailable figure from biblical legend, a bringer of the end days and an ancient gunman with a body count higher than there are grains of sand on the earth. Of course you’re going to be scared of him when he’s raising his voice at you and towering over you like this. And all because he’d had the life scared out of him in the first place.

“I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to -” The words die on his lips and he sighs, defeatedly casting his eye over towards your bedroom window. He doesn’t want to leave you, not without knowing that his siblings have dealt with the remaining threats to your life. But... “I’ll just.. I’ll go.”

Turning his back on you, the Horseman bends to retrieve his discarded cuirass and takes a step towards the window, but a voice, thin as the cobwebs in the corner of your room, stops him in his tracks.

“Strife.” 

The Horseman doesn’t move. he just stares at the darkness through your curtains.

Minutes pass without another word said between you. He remains stubbornly silent, hardly daring to breathe let alone respond to his name, until eventually, he hears a soft huff and rustling behind him.

Footsteps pad across the room and your scent grows stronger as you draw near, wafting over him like an intoxicating aroma before your hand places itself into his palm and he instinctively curls his fingers around it, shuddering at the feel of your soft skin pressed like silk against his roughened hide.

Your tiny, fragile hand... Creator, he really is just a beast standing next to you, isn’t he? The last time he felt this monstrous was..

No. Strife abruptly slams the shutters of his mind down around any thoughts of the Animus. Now is not the time to let dredge up old memories.

Luckily, your voice breaks through the haze and keeps him grounded. “Come on, big guy. Stay here, please?"

“You want me to stay?” he chokes out a laugh, “Even after I scared you?”

“Scared me? What?” It’s your turn to sound confused. “You didn’t scare me Strife, you shocked me. I’ve never seen you this serious before.” 

The Horseman half turns to face you, giving you a glimpse of his warm, golden eyes. “And, I’ve never had a best friend before.” he admits slowly, hearing a soft intake of breath behind him.

“Wait?... I’m your best friend?”

With your hand still in his, Strife steps around slowly to face you, shooting you a quizzical glance. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I don’t exactly have a plethora of friends to choose from, so the competition isn’t that fie- Oof!”

He’s violently interrupted by a soft, squishy body colliding with his. 

You fling your arms around the stunned Horseman’s waist and bury your face into his chest, momentarily forgetting about his injury. Strife, meanwhile, has to employ every molecule of willpower he owns to refrain from flinching, fearing that you’ll let go if he does. He can’t ignore how high his heart just jumped at the feeling of you pressed against him, nor the way his soul soars after realising that you still trust him enough to get this close. 

It’s something that both he and his siblings are all having to get used to, these impromptu hugs. 

Fury had almost flipped you over her shoulder and onto the ground the first time you came at her with your arms open wide, assuming you were going in for an attack. 

War had pulled the most remarkable face, a mixture of alarm and wary delight that caused Strife to keel over in hysterics when you threw your arms around his broad stomach.

Death... Well, Strife hadn’t been around to witness your first hug with his oldest brother, but he imagines it must have been like hugging a block of cold stone.

And Strife? Well, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the first hug you gave him. It was so tight and comfortable, and for all of a moment, the only things that existed were the two of you. Inside the binding circle of your arms, his troubles couldn’t touch him, the anguish of his sins took a backseat and he became convinced that he could live happily and peacefully until the end of time trapped in your silent embrace.

The sentiment hasn’t dulled with frequency either. Every hug he receives is as powerful and intoxicating as the last. 

This one is no different. 

Strife's large, thickset arms carefully raise to your delicate back and shoulders, where he simply folds himself around you, pushing the nose of his helm into your soft, messy hair and drawing in a long, deep breath, earning your snort of amusement.

“You a big fan of coconut, then?”

“Is that what that smell is?” he mumbles, feeling the world settle around him as his eyes slip shut, “S'different from last time...”

“...Setting aside the fact that you remember what my hair smelled like last time we hugged.. I ran out of apple shampoo.”

“Mmm.” He trails off, humming into your hair, a sound that rumbles straight through you and leaves the top of your head tingling.

It takes your brain another few seconds to recall the injury on his torso.

“Oh, shit,” you hiss, leaning back and instantly finding your progress blocked by the Horseman's sturdy forearms. “I'm sorry, I didn't think -”

“- Eh, s'fine,” he cuts you off.

“It's not! I forgot, you need to be resting it!”

Strife grumbles his displeasure when you suddenly become very wriggly. “Strife, let go. You should be resting, not standing.”

Cracking one eye open, he roves his gaze over towards your bed. “Resting, huh? …. Not a bad idea.”

Without warning, he stoops down, and for the second time tonight, you find yourself suddenly swept up off your feet, bleating out a garbled squawk of alarm. “Stop picking me up! You'll start bleeding again!”

Smirking to himself, the Horseman takes two, loping steps towards your bed and lowers you down amongst the folds of the duvet, taking great pleasure in crawling over the top of you to get to the other side, armour and all. It isn't the first time he's rested in your bed, usually following a long night of playing your video games and catching up on all the human things he's been missing out on, and it likely won't be the last.

The bed springs creak despondently as he lifts his corner of the duvet and flops heavily onto his side next to you, grinning at the unimpressed glare you're shooting him.

“I like your bed,” he announces, burrowing himself deeper beneath the duvet, “You got a lot of pillows. And-”

His hand rustles beneath the covers for a moment before he winks... and slowly draws out David Hasselhoof, wiggling him back and forth in front of your eyes. “There's room for a threesome.”

“Oh my god. Goodnight, Strife!” Your lips quiver until you give in and crack a genuine smile, grabbing a pillow and whapping it softly down onto his helm. You get no resistance from the Horseman at all in retaliation. He merely lays there with his head hidden, black tufts of hair sticking out from behind your pillow as his shoulders bounce around a throaty chuckle.

Leaving him where he is, you roll over, turn off the fairy lights and plunge your bedroom into cozy, unassailable darkness.

A thick silence falls over the two of you, and the back of your neck begins to prickle, sensing without a shadow of a doubt that the Horseman's eyes are open and watching you. Sure enough, you peel your eyelids apart and find that your far wall is faintly illuminated by the golden light that emanates from his gaze.

Rolling your eyes, you resign yourself to a long night of fighting for your covers and kicking a wriggling Horseman back over onto his own side of the bed. And yet... if it's him, if it's Strife, it most likely won’t bother you in the slightest.

The alarm clock on your bedside table steadily ticks over to the three o'clock mark and you finally feel sleep crawl up behind your eyes. Just as you think you might nod off, however, the bed shakes ever so slightly, and behind you, there's the sound of shuffling sheets. It stops just as suddenly as it starts and you snort, chalking it up to a certain, restless Horseman trying to get used to the human-sized bed.

Several more minutes pass.

The shuffling starts up again, then it stops.

The same thing happens again a few more minutes later and your eyes snap open when something cool and solid nudges gently into the back of your head and you hear a quiet sniff before the whole bed shudders as the enormous Horseman laying upon it releases a monstrously low rumble of contentment.

-----

Strife leaves his helm right behind you all night, not that you'd know until the morning however, when you jerk awake to your bedroom door suddenly slamming open and Death thundering inside. He takes one look at his brother laying at your back and promptly begins a lecture that you're fairly certain will be the favoured topic of neighbourhood gossip for some time to come.

[weareallstardustfallen]

[FILE: FALLEN ANGEL ET AL VS. SHOCKWAVE ET AL]

[CLEARANCE LEVEL: B]

[OPEN? Y / N]

a/n: part 1 of my hbg superhero au - mirrored on ao3 - art by @proximacb​

Mission Summary:

Subject 02 (“Fallen Angel”) was forcibly removed from Site 03 by former employee 44-C (name redacted) at approximately 0110 on 2 April 2169, eight hours after 44-C turned in his resignation, with an unidentified accomplice. In the process, 44-C absconded with a significant amount of equipment, as of yet unrecovered and in use by 44-C as the vigilante “Prism.” Site 03 was largely destroyed; whether this was by Subject 02 or 44-C remains unclear, as most security cameras failed at the time of the blast.

Bounty hunter Shockwave (abilities: manipulation of technology and electricity, see file: SHOCKWAVE) and his colleagues Sundew (abilities: creation and manipulation of acids and poisons, see file: SUNDEW) and Ursa (abilities: bear shifter, see file: URSA) were selected as well-suited to combat Subject 02, employee 44-C, and their unidentified accomplice. Shockwave was contacted on 27 September 2169 and offered the standard rates for such a job; upon accepting, he was provided with the details of the assignment, sans sensitive information.

On 15 October 2169 the fugitives were located, and the bounty hunters engaged; despite being uniquely suited to their opponents, Ursa was blindsided by the third criminal, revealed to be the elusive vigilante Siren. Due to Ursa being threatened and Siren’s abilities, both Shockwave and Sundew stood down, and the fugitives escaped.

Upon their return, Shockwave and his colleagues turned in their resignation and rejected further incentive to return to their work. They have since been blacklisted and added to the tracking list, and are not recommended as a further option for similar jobs.

---

[Image: A photo of a bright orange post-it note, with text written by hand in dark green ink. The writing reads, “Fuck your offers, fuck your money, and go fuck yourself. This shit ain’t worth Ursa’s soul and never will be.” The note is signed, “Bounty Hunter Lads.”]

---

FILE: Wanted Poster #06

[Image: A young man with brown hair, round glasses, and purple eyes with gold pupils, looking at the camera with a serious, somewhat dazed expression. A gold smudge is visible near his hairline, and golden feathers are visible near the edges of the frame.]

Description:

White male with brown hair and bright purple eyes, approx. 18-25, 5’6-5’8, large golden wings approx. 15 ft in span. Suspect is to be considered extremely dangerous and should not be approached.

Any sightings are to be reported by calling the phone number below.

---

[Image: A low-quality image of vigilante Prism taken from a social media post. Prism is standing on the edge of a rooftop, lit dimly by the city lights from below and the blue and pink fluorescent highlights on his suit, and though his opaque helmet doesn’t show his face he appears to be looking down over the city. Next to him, further back, is a shape that might be a second person, though the quality of the image makes it impossible to tell.]

---

[Video: Footage taken from Shockwave’s helmet cam, 10/15/69 22:04:37]

The video opens with harsh breathing, and Prism is in view, the neon lights on his suit dimming and brightening in a cyclical pattern. His movements look stiff and jerky, and sparks scatter off of his armor, making his fingers twitch uncontrollably.

“What did you do to me?”

“Like it?” Shockwave’s voice says from behind the camera. “Very pretty suit you’ve got there, by the way. Where’d you find it?”

“I made it,” Prism says, and twists his head with difficulty to look over his shoulder. “Angel? Angel!”

The camera follows the motion to show Fallen Angel, on his knees with his wings spread limply on the ground, unnaturally pale and panting. He shudders periodically, pain contorting his expression. Behind him, Sundew sways on his feet, bleeding from at least three places and clutching his arm as the last of the acid dissolves back into his skin.

Prism shouts again, straining against his suit, and Shockwave grunts from behind the camera as the electronics creak. He looks back at Prism, and his hand rises into frame as he moves it and Prism’s arms move to grip each other behind his back, gauntlets locking, despite his struggling.

“Angel!” Prism yells. “Get the fuck away from him, Sundew!”

Fallen Angel looks up, expression blurry and confused. “F- Prism,” he says slowly.

Shockwave looks away from them both, towards empty space. He makes a noise of confusion and looks up at Sundew, who takes a deep breath and lifts a hand with a questioning look on his face.

Shockwave nods.

Sundew’s fingertips glow green, but before he can act another voice shouts, “Stop!”

Shockwave spins to see two figures: one, Ursa in human form, shivering with a terrified expression. The camera jolts as if he’s attempted to step forwards, but the second figure repeats, “Stop,” and he goes still.

The second figure, a young man with curly hair in a disheveled suit, lifts a dark fur pelt in one hand and a knife in the other. When he presses the knife to the fur, Ursa jolts like a puppet on a string.

“Alright, boys,” the man says, and grins, desperate and sharp. “Let’s negotiate, shall we?”

---

[Video: Footage taken from Shockwave’s helmet cam, 10/15/69 22:10:54]

“What the fuck was that,” Sundew hisses over the sound of their footsteps on pavement; Shockwave looks over at him, close enough from the way Sundew’s arm is draped over his shoulders for the camera to pick up on the sweat beading on his face.

“That was fucking Siren, dumbass,” Shockwave says.

“He almost-”

“We know what he almost did,” Shockwave interrupts, and looks back towards Ursa, who is in human form and stumbling unsteadily despite Shockwave’s hand on his arm, keeping him close and at the same pace as they run. He’s clutching the pelt tightly, and looks like he’s in shock.

“Are you alright?” Sundew asks, and Ursa looks up, but doesn’t nod or shake his head. “Hey. Reign, you okay?”

Ursa stumbles, but doesn’t fall, and their pace slows. “Yeah,” he says, after several seconds of silence.

“We can’t do that again,” Shockwave says quietly to Sundew, who shakes his head.

“Yeah, no shit.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Ursa says. “I- why did I give it to him? Why, why did I-”

“It’s okay,” Shockwave says. “Not your fault, alright? We didn’t know Siren was gonna be there. The money isn’t worth that kind of risk, so we’ll tell the agency to fuck off and we’ll be fine.”

Ursa nods.

“Did we make enemies we can’t handle?” Sundew whispers, quiet enough that Shockwave hears, but Ursa doesn’t. Shockwave shakes his head minutely, and pulls Ursa close enough to set his hand on his opposite shoulder, rather than his arm.

“We’ll figure it out,” Shockwave says. Sundew sighs, and Ursa holds the pelt tighter.

The recording ends.

---

FILE: SIREN

Known associates: Fallen Angel, Prism

Abilities: Mind control (unconfirmed)

Appearance: White male with curly brown hair, approximately 18-25 years of age. Has most frequently been seen wearing a suit with no tie and several buttons undone.

Notes: There is little information on Siren to be found. He is suspected to be Prism’s accomplice in the attack on Site 03, and most criminal reports describe the two working together. He is described as being friendly and easygoing, convincing others to do or say things they would normally never consider. He is never or rarely seen on the streets with Fallen Angel and Prism, but is feared amongst the pair’s enemies and most of the criminal underworld.

[Image: A blurry still of security camera footage, showing a young man matching Siren’s description, flashing a warm smile at the person tied up in front of him.]

[le4ftea]

BNHA Boys Scenario in Amoung us.

Fluff, Imposter x crewmate, protecting, sacrifice,blood warning,gore,Gender neutral reader, some sad parts,kisses or hugs(depending on who it is.),villian like I guess,yandere.

I'm in love with Amoung us. Honestly. So this is many bnha/mha boys if they were the Imposter, and you were a crewmate. I'll take request for more characters but for now I'll just do the dekusquad.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Izuku Midoriya

Midoriya had killed two people already. Smirking down at Kaminari's corpse, blood pooling out of him as he whimpered in pain.

He jumped into the medbay vent and vented out into electrical.

Without realizing that you were fixing wires in there.

You gasped at his sudden presence and blood splatter on his helmet.

Your hands trembling, you slowly wipe the splash of blood from his view.

The gentleness you showed him was very unexpected do to the law of finding out someone was not a crewmate. He thought you would run away trying to tell everyone he was an imposter.

His heart jumped in awe, wanting to keep you safe from any harm.

He hugged you in a comforting way, holding tight to you as if you would slip at any given moment.

You both walked with one another, hand in hand. You did your task but also made sure it was near someone, so he could kill them.

He would always giggle gently when you would help him clean up, washing his gear and making sure his health was fine.

He was in love with you. Never wanting to harm you or leave you.

Until he did.

Oh how stupid he was, he left you in reactor for a second. To kill someone in security.

Only to come back with you being held by the neck, half your body on the floor.

The second imposter killed you with no mercy.

Momo turned to face Midoriya, only to be shot in the stomach.

Rage filling his heart and eye sight going red. He was cold.

His bones ached and his heart throbbed, the pain was the most painful thing in the world.

He gently picked up your upper half and crests it with the softest touch, his body shaking with sadness.

Whimpers and sobs echoed in the room.

"Its okay...I'm here now. You are safe, I promise." He whispered to your lifeless body, your face still caring in a way.

Another gun shot was heard as there was a safe atmosphere to the ship.

Midoriya floated above his body with tears still falling.

Until...

"Izu-kun?" A familiar voice, the one he loved hearing in each given day.

He quickly turned to see you floating with grace and beauty.

He choked on his words as a giddy smile jumped to his face.

He instantly grabbed you into a tight embrace, laughing and crying into your ghostly form.

Now no one could hurt Both of you now.

Tenya Iida

All the crewmates had turned in different directions. Yet Iida seemed to be lost at first, yet you thought that he was just new and needed help.

You tapped his forearm and asked the buff boy if he wanted to stick with you.

He seemed to hesitate but accept your kind offer.

You both had went everywhere and did your task that was assigned to you, you were about to ask Iida where his next task was until.

The lights went out, you gasped not moving from your spot.

Then a splash of blood was heard from beside you, you yelped and called for Iida.

Lights go on and the only thing you saw was a man covered in blood, but not just any man.

Tenya Iida.

He stood there staring, waiting to see what you would do.

Hearing voices coming closer, you panick and grab his wrist.

Pulling him away from the body.

He closes the door in security, looking back at you, who is standing at the far end of the room.

He locked you in between him and the wall as he takes off his helmet, he then takes yours off.

Before you can speak he devours your lips with his own, a blush spreading a cross your face.

The kiss was gently tender, a kiss that was only found in a fairy tale.

Making it so much harder to hate him.

After that you had covered for him and people believed he was innocent, the angel of everyone.

Yet, a pink suited female found you two very sus.

Uraraka had called an emergency meeting.

"(L/N) is the most sus. They are always with Iida who is CLEAR and somehow is always close to the body. It must be them." She pointed to you. Eyes blazing with fire.

You opened your mouth until, others started to see her point. Finding you to be the imposter.

Iida was trying to clear your name but all of them said "they are just using you to keep themselves alive." Hurting his heart with every word.

The one person he found to love more then anything in the world was taking blame for his killings and his mindless murder.

Tears started to show in his eyes, he saw how quiet you were being and took all the blame.

You finally looked up to all of them as they voted your name, you smiled gently.

A pained smile that everyone could see.

"You're right. It was ME." You were tied up by Kirishima and Bakugou and taken to the ejector.

Iida ran to stop them but it was too late.

They had pressed the eject button and you flew out of the ship into a dark pit of nothing, to die in cold space alone.

Iida banged at the window as you floated farther and farther away.

He cried and cried as the others watched him break. Until the notification of what you were, came up.

"(L/N) was not the Imposter."

Everyone turned to glare at Uraraka.

Especially iida.

His eyes were stabbing knifes into her stupid life filled body.

Uraraka was voted off and many others as iida killed with no mercy for they had killed you with no mercy.

He wiped his knife on his cloths as he looked at a photograph of you smiling with him, eating some instant noodles.

He smiled warmly to you.

"I'll be with you soon Darling. But these idiots must pay for killing you."

Shoto Todoroki

He had stood at the card swipe for hours, trying to do it but not being able too.

Getting frustrated with every beep of the machine, he groaned to himself.

Suddenly he heard someone coming, finally he had a chance to kill. He got himself ready to kill whoever walked though the door until.

He saw you skipping into admin. The happy aura around you just made him curious, he watched you swipe the card once and get the green light.

You smiled to yourself and started to walk out until you saw the boy.

"Todoroki? What are you doing just watching me? Its kinda creepy bro." You giggled nervously.

He cracked a smile and asked if you would like to stay with him, claiming he would protect you with his life.

You both walked around the ship and did the tasks together.

Todoroki always slightly behind you, killing people secretly. Thinking that you didn't know he had killed many.

You had gotten use to him stabbing people, because the Todoroki you knew was a kind and loving man.

And he only loved you.

Todoroki had messed up though.

He had killed infront of another crewmate, Bakugou.

He had killed Kirishima but did not see Bakugou who was fualing the top engine.

"You. I knew it was you icy hot bastard. Now you're going to die in space." Bakugou spat, getting ready to report the body.

BAAM

A gun shot ripped through Bakugous head.(sorry bakubro)

Todoroki stood there in shock as you had stolen a gun and killed a fellow crewmate.

"Y-You knew...?" He whispered.

Giggling softly, you nodded.

Running past the bodies and hugging him. You clinged your helmets together.

Pulling away and looking into his love stuck eyes.

"Now let's finish them off."

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

I hope that was good lol, you can request any Haikyuu,Bnha/mha, and demon slayer content and I'll do my best.

[lordabovehelpme]

AHHHHHHH LORDY CONGRATS ON 600 THIS IS AMAZING!!!!! Can I get a #10 (hello/goodbye kiss) with either Din Djarin or Javi Peña please??

And again CONGRATSSSSSS I’m so proud! You deserve it and so much more 💛 - @remmysbounty

A/n: Hello my dear! (@remmysbounty) Thank you so much!! I am so happy that you found my little blog and have been with me for this long! I love you!!

I went with Javi for this one because I feel like I don't write enough for him, so please enjoy this small blurb! :)

10. A hello/goodbye kiss that is given without thinking (Javier Peña x reader)

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

He gets up before the sun does. Before the busy chatter of people walking down the streets, before the birds rise and start their melody and matching harmonies.

There is a serene calmness in these mornings that he’s come to both love and despise. He loves the silence of the world, something so different from the world he works in. But he hates how he has to leave you.

His limbs entangle with your own, your breath coming out soft and slow as you rest your head on his chest. He could, and has, spent hours looking at you. His hand tenderly caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, his fingertips barely kissing along your shoulder and back, running up and down your spine.

He loves how you are able to push every thought out of his mind, plaguing it with visions of you instead. Offering him so much comfort and solace, yet you don’t even know it.

The bright red numbers on the alarm clock remind him though, that his time is limited. He frowns at them, willing time to stop for even a second more. But alas, he knows better than to hope.

His neck strains as he stretches it to lean down and press a kiss to the top of your head. In your sleep, a small smile plays on your face and you snuggle further into his side.

A smile of his own gathers on his features. “You’re not making this any easier Hermosa.” He whispers the words, not expecting a response besides your gentle snores.

But, he forces himself to slowly untangle himself. Carefully, he lifts your arms from around his waist, and he has to stop, taking your hand into his own and raising it to his lips, pressing a loving kiss to the skin.

Then he shifts his legs out, smiling wider at how they were so happily curled between his own. And finally, he slowly and softly lifts your head, taking extra time and care to move it from his naked chest to your unused pillow.

You murmur something, words that bleed together in a pathetic attempt to plead with him. His heart constricts as your hand lazily reaches out to search for him.

He lets it find him and wrap around his shoulder. “I know, I don’t want to go either.” Leaning down, he presses another kiss to your head, this time right on your exposed cheek. He pulls back just enough to properly look at you. You’re so pretty.

Going against the bells in his head that scream at him to pull you back into his arms and never let go, he turns away to the bathroom. And even as he puts toothpaste on his toothbrush, his eyes stay on your form. And even as he starts to brush his teeth, the foam building in the corners of his lips, his eyes don’t stray.

He leans against the doorframe, watching as your chest rises and falls. His soul reaches out to you, like a magnet drawn to metal, it urges him to take step after step to reach you.

Once dressed and showered, he sits on the edge of the bed. The sunlight barely peaks over the horizon, casting warm pink and orange onto your form. His hand runs along your cheek, basking in the security of having you in his bed, in his hold, in his heart.

It’s beautiful, you’re beautiful. The warm glow of the morning light enhances your features, your hair laying natural and a little messy. Birdsong starts to echo through the window, mixing so angelically with your quiet breaths.

His eyes snap to the clock, catching the new numbers for only a second before they cry out to land on you again. It’s already a few minutes past the time he needs to be out the door, but he can’t tear himself away. The inner turmoil that nearly tears him apart each morning.

Finally, he works up the confidence to stand and walk towards the door. But he can only make it a few steps before turning around and walking right back over to your side.

He leans down and in a desperate manner, cups your face and presses his lips to your own. Your own smile against his and your arms rise to wrap around his neck. He doesn’t passionately tug at your lips or, for lack of better words, suck your face off. He just holds his to your own, pouring as much love and zeal as he can into it.

When he pulls away, your eyelids drag open, hands staying wrapped around his neck, and your eyelashes fluttering; his heart skips a beat... or a few.

“Off to work?”

He nods, still flummoxed in the natural beauty of your morning voice and soft expressions.

You gently sigh, leaning up to catch his lips in another kiss. An even softer kiss this time, but not holding any less emotion. When you pull back, he chases your lips, caught in an airy trance and wrapped in your spell.

A soft giggle falls from your mouth at the sight of his still close-eyed and all sappy, a huge juxtaposition to his usual approach.

One of your hands falls from around his neck, to cup his cheek and run your thumb along his cheekbone. “Be safe.”

He lets out a sigh, one that’s full of pain. “I know.” But he stretches forward to catch one last kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” It took him so long to say the three words to you, but now they fall from his lips wherever they can. “Come home to me.”

He pulls away, standing and slowly walking to the door, his hand still holding yours until he drifts too far. Then it falls to his side and he opens the door, eyes still locked on your form.

“I will.”

Neither of you says goodbye, both silently deciding that the words hold too much significance. It might be a silly little superstition that the two of you give too much power too, but it eases the departures a little. A hope that if you don’t say them, you won’t lose one another, that you’ll always come back.

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

I hope you liked it!!! This is a part of my 600 follower celebration. You can check out the prompt list here! Go ahead and request away!!!

[urmindisastreamofcolors]

Greta Van Fleet One Shots: How You Meet

T/W: Mentions of a car wreck

Josh: 

It was an unexpected turn of events, but Josh liked to refer to it as universal intervention. Every morning you walked ten minutes down the street to your favorite coffee shop to get something heavily caffeinated before holing yourself up in your art studio for the rest of the day. This morning activity had gone past routine a long time ago and had quickly become ritual. You had found out that walk was a great way for you to start your day for sculpting with clay. 

One rainy fall morning right before Halloween, you were surprised to see four young guys milling around the coffee shop seeming to enjoy the atmosphere while they discussed various pieces of art from local artists lining the walls. A few of the pieces of photography were yours from when you visited the Grand Canyon a couple summers ago, but since then, your attention had been focused on pottery. 

After a steaming latte was firmly secured in your hand and a hefty tip left for the baristas, you began to make your way back to the door as you planned out your day mentally. Before you could grab the door handle, one of the shorter guys from the group with curly hair quickly held the door for you with a breathtaking smile. You hadn’t been into photography in years, but you would’ve died on the spot to have captured that grin on camera. 

You offered your thanks quickly as you your face was suddenly on fire. He had to of known you were staring, but what you didn’t know was the he had been staring since you entered the coffee shop. 

“Hey! Wait! What’s your name,” the young man called after you as you stepped outside onto the sidewalk. The morning light made him squint his deep brown eyes as he stared at you, waiting on an answer. 

“I’m y/n,” you answered shyly as you pushed a stray piece of hair out of your face and nearly slapped yourself when you realized you totally forgot to ask his. Before you could open your mouth, he had already beat you the punch and leaned back against the building with his arms crossed and a confident grin on his face. 

“So, y/n....do you come here often?”  

Danny:

The music was so loud that you were sure your head would burst. You could feel the beat of the music in your the center of your chest as you sipped on your drink. Your friend, y/f/n, was friends with a drummer for a pretty famous band and they extended an invitation to their house party to kick off their new album release. While you though Greta Van Fleet was a weird name for a rock n’ roll band, you did like their music.

Bob Seger blared through the house as you continued the search for your friend. The body heat from the crowd was coming off in waves and making you feel dizzy. You were just ready to leave, but you couldn’t leave your friend behind. A tap on your shoulder had you turning quickly coming face to face with a tall guy with long black hair who offered you a friendly smile.

“Hey! I’m Danny. I’m friend’s with y/f/n too! She’s been looking all over for you,” he yelled over the music as he pointed in the direction of your friend who was jumping up and down trying to get your attention. You and Danny laughed as some random guy with long hair and a pink shirt started doing the same thing to make fun of her. 

“That’s Sam. He’s my best friend. It’s getting to be a bit much in here, so we’re all going to step out for a few minutes if you would like to join. Unfortunately, I don’t know everyone here tonight and I don’t want to leave you by yourself,” Danny yelled over the music with a kind look on his face. 

“Yeah! That would be great! I was actually getting a bit overwhelmed, so I’m glad you’re here dude,” you shouted back as you placed your hand in the crook of his offered elbow. As you two made your way to the edge of the room where your friends were waiting, people stumbled over each other to get your way and were yelling and patting Danny on the back. A sudden realization ran through body as you felt your eyes widen at the idea that this was the Danny from Greta Van Fleet.

Sam: 

You and Ronnie had been best friends for as long as you two could remember which meant her brothers annoyed you as much as they did her. Throughout your high school years, you honestly didn’t have a crush on any of them but found their friendship to be as irreplaceable as Ronnie’s. 

Once they made their big debut, you didn’t see them often and you and Ronnie both attended different colleges. In fact, you had a once in a lifetime opportunity to study abroad and couldn’t pass it up.The miles between you and Ronnie didn’t matter and you talked every single day and normally face-timed too. Any updates on the boys came from her or Karen. You did miss hanging out in the garage on the weekends and playing pranks, but as the days turned into years, you didn’t think much more of it. 

Finally, you were able to go home for a much needed visit after your year abroad and apparently, Ronnie and the boys would be home at the same time too. Quickly, you all made plans to hang out at the first possible moment and you were jittery with excitement on your flight back to US. 

After taking a couple days to catch up on some much needed rest, you were finally able to go hang out at the Kiszka house. When you got there, you didn’t even knock on the door and waltzed straight into the living room like you had always done. Ronnie and the boys were sprawled all over the furniture with the exception of Danny who always preferred the floor. Hearing your entrance, Ronnie let out a scream as she lept over the back of the couch and literally sent you sprawling to the ground with her on top of you. 

“Okay-Ronnie-Ronnie! Let go of my neck! I can’t breathe,” you croaked out as the only Kiszka girl finally loosened her death grip and helped you up. All the boys got up next to give you a quick hug, but you noticed one missing. 

“Where’s Sammy,” you asked as your heard his feet hitting the steps on his way down. With a huge grin, he made his way over to get a hug, but you felt yourself swallow quickly as you willed yourself not to blush. Little Sammy had apparently grown up on tour and Sam was the one approaching you with his arms outstretched. Giving you a tight squeeze, you could smell his shampoo from his long hair and willed your heart to slow down. 

You had never had a crush on any of Ronnie’s brothers, but that had quickly changed in less than a minute. 

Jake:

The radio was still playing as you hung upside down in your car. Your seat belt was the only thing holding you in place. You could taste the blood in your mouth and salty tears and blood ran into your hairline. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins as you scanned your surroundings and tried to remember how you ended up in the current situation, but nothing immediately came to mind which made you cry harder. You were sobbing when you could hear voices drifting through the shattered windshield. 

Despite the pain in your ribs and the tightness of the seat belt, you let out a blood curdling screech that ended in hiccups and sobs. A few moments later, you heard hurried footsteps and gravel crunching..

“Josh! Call 911!”

“Damn! How are we going to get her out? Should we move her?”

“I don’t know! Did anyone get that license plate? She was ran off the road!”

The voices blurred together and your eyes felt heavy. They began to flutter shut when a guy with long hair and a worried expression stuck his head in your car from the busted passenger side window. 

“Hey! Stay awake! I know you’re tired, but you have to stay awake. What’s your name,” he asked gently as he wiggled into the car and grabbed on of your hands. The calluses were a drastic difference to your soft palms and he absentmindedly ran his thumb over the back of your hand. 

“Y/n. It’s y/n,” you stuttered out. 

“It’s nice to meet you. Help’s on the way, okay? I’m Jacob, but I go by Jake. I wish we had met in better circumstances, but you have super pretty eyes,” he said with a soft smile. 

“I’m scared, Jake,” you said as a new flood of tears ran into your hairline. 

“I know. I’m going to stay right here. You’re not alone. I promise,” Jake said with sincerity as he continued to comfort you. 

On the verge of bleeding out, you honestly were wondering if he wasn’t your guardian angel. 

[letsloveimagines]

Title: Forever

Pairing: Corpse Husband x female!reader

Requested by: Anonymous

Request: How about one where Corpse proposes? With flowers and everything! Like he went out of his comfort zone to propose to you in public because he felt like you deserved it!

Word Count: 2225

Warnings: luff and some swearing

Note: The images doesn’t belong to me, all the credits go to the respective creators. I only made the collage. Also, I will not make anything to make Corpse uncomfortable, if he ends saying he doesn’t like fanfiction about him, I will delete this.

                                                           ♦⋅☆⋅♦

The little black box, with that important thing hidden inside, weighed in the pocket of his dark jeans as he headed for her condo. Corpse's breathing was fast, his hands were shaking immensely, and his heart was beating fast, so fast that it seemed to want to escape his chest.

He strode, always faster than anyone, avoiding people who came in the opposite direction as far away as possible. The further away the better.

Swallowing hard feeling a lump in his throat, Corpse looked at the sky, which at that moment was a sea of red, orange and yellow, indicating that it would not be long before dark and for the moon to replace the sun.

Grabbing his phone and watching the time, he quickened his pace even more, playing with the rings on his long fingers and feeling his back cold with the nervous sweat.

He was ready, however, and he was sure that Y/N was the one. Since that day they met at the small cafe, he knew she was his forever. That day Corpse had risked going out for the first time in a very long time, trying to win even though he knew he would never really be able, at least not as he almost did now with her. That red-haired employee looked at him bored - certainly tired and dissatisfied with his own life, but who wasn’t? - his deep voice stuttering nervously as he tried to place the order. He succeeded there, and the minutes that it took the employee to complete it were truly terrifying. He said a small thank you, handed over the money, and in the moment he took the cup his hands were shaking so much that he thought he was going to drop it. Everyone was looking at him, Corpse was able to feel their gaze and there was nothing he wanted to do but disappear from there. But then an angel came up to him, gently touched his hands assuring him that everything was fine, and offering him a big, beautiful smile that made him dreamy for the rest of the day. Cliché he had the notion of that, but so incredibly good that remembering it makes him feel butterflies in his belly.

The memory was long enough to reach its destination, and the nerves tripled at the moment he saw the condominium of white and brown buildings. He was quick to send a message to let her know that he was already there, and it didn't take long to receive one in exchange of her saying she was going down as fast as she could.

Corpse took a deep breath, leaning against the wall with the white paint a little chipped and in need of a new coat of paint, and reached into his pocket feeling the velvet box stroking his fingerprints. It was still there, safe and heavy with all hopes for a bright future.

"Hey, love." Y/N’s sweet voice sounded nearby, along with the sound of her elegant footsteps.

"Hey, babe.." Corpse greeted pulling the mask away slightly - he couldn't get out without it, even on that very important day - and kissed his girlfriend's black-colored lips (she started to like seeing herself in black since they were together). It was a gentle kiss but full of longing and security, and especially full love. Her lips tasted like blackberries, which he loved, and the black lipstick helped to highlight the beautiful features of her face that only left him even more enchanted. How he was lucky enough to have someone so wonderful in his shitty life? This was something that Corpse questioned every day…

Y/N's eyes were bright when they pulled away and she smiled sweetly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I missed you."

"As did I, baby. Where do you want to go?"

"I thought it would be good for us to take a little walk."

"Are you sure? We can stay home if you want to, or if you don’t feel comfortable." Oh, how he loved her. Y/N was so understanding and attentive, and if she was another girl, she would have left his sorry ass a long time ago. And yes, Corpse was uncomfortable being on the outside, in plain sight, but it was something he wanted to do for her.

"I'm sure, let's go. It will be dark soon."

Y/N was quick to get to his left side, interlacing their fingers when they joined hands, Corpse's bigger hand practically swallowing hers.

Without further ado they began to walk calmly, Corpse remembering to slow down knowing that it would be difficult for his girlfriend to keep up with his hurried pace.

"I was thinking that we could go to dinner at that restaurant that you like." He informed her. It was a small and quiet restaurant, and they had been there before. It had gone well and without any problem. That was how he wanted it that night.

"Sure, I'd love it as long as it's okay with you." Y/N looked at him again with an uncertain look.

Corpse stroked her small hand. "I'll be fine as long as I'm with you."

The pink tone on her cheeks and the passionate smile with which she presented him made it all worthwhile.

On the way to the restaurant they talked about their days. Y/N told him how it had been a little busy day (she was a graphic designer) and she had already finished the cover of a fantasy book, and given it to the writer when he decided he wanted to change something at the last minute. She managed to do so, but not without feeling that she would tear her hair out in frustration. Corpse pulled her closer to him and assured her that everything was fine, that she was great at what she did and that better days would come.

He was telling her about the two-hour stream playing with the friends he had made, and the music he was writing, when they finally arrived.

They went in, asked for a table further away and without much trouble went to sit in their seats, with the menu on the wooden table waiting for them. There was no need to look though, whenever they went there they asked for the same thing, so that's what they did. She ordered spaghetti bolognese and for him just a vegetable soup with chicken. To accompany, they ordered a small bottle of wine. Corpse's left leg swung quickly, while discreetly touching his pocket.

"Is everything alright, baby?" She asked at the same time that the food was being served.

"Yes, don't worry."

Y/N didn’t stop looking at him with concern, but she did not insist. While they ate they were talking about nothing and everything, enjoying the feeling of being in public in what had been a long time. The restaurant was almost empty, with just another couple at a distant table with their backs to them, which made him more comfortable. It was small with the floor, tables and chairs all in wood, with brick walls with a rustic effect, and small iron lamps lighting the place almost lovingly.

Time passed and Corpse's nervousness only grew. They ate and drank wine, enjoyed dessert, and were happy and smiling.

Corpse was helping Y/N to put on the black leather jacket - her outfit consisted of comfortable shoes, red pants and a cute black tank top, as well as the delicate shamrock necklace he had given her on their one year anniversary -, when she questioned him curiously. "We are going home now?

"Let's go out for a little while." The beautiful girl's surprised look did not escape him, even he was surprised that he was succeeding to do that.

They left the restaurant after paying and ventured into the city, holding hands and full of soft words. Every now and then, Y/N would lift his hand to her lips and give a small kiss on the skin full of protruding veins.

The stars shone in the middle of the night, the moon was full and round, high and illuminating the path to the park. There were wooden benches every few meters, tall street lamps peeking out near the trees and the round lake by the children's swing. Y/N used to go there in her childhood.

They sat on the grass by the lake, their feet immersed in the cold water that reflected the moon. They were silent for a moment, completely at peace watching the couple of swans swimming nearby, gently cutting the water and with their long white necks almost intertwined.

It was now. Now was the moment.

"Y / N…"

"Yes, Corpse?" She looked at him with the stars shining in her eyes, and leaving him speechless.

Corpse’s heart sped up, blood pounded in his ears and his hands trembled when he opened his coat and removed the flower he had protected in the inner pocket. The black rose was in perfect condition, sparkling with the small silver particles that embellished the petals.

He handed it over to Y/N, who accepted her happily with a smile almost as big as his love for her.

"Oh, babe, it's beautiful! Thank you so much."

He smiled shyly, with extremely sweaty palms, and watched as the girl in front of him admired the flower, without knowing that she was also being admired by him.

"I do not deserve you." He said at last, immediately regretting it seeing her smile fading.

"What are you saying?"

"I-"

"Babe, you’re really scaring me right now. What's going on?" Y/N's gentle hands came to his face, taking off his mask (which was fine by him because he trusted her absurdly, and they were alone), and caressed the skin of his cheeks with concern.

"Let me talk before I turn myself into a coward once again. I don't deserve you, I have a full sense of that, you're too good for me and kinder than anyone will ever be. I'm not a religious person, my life didn't allow me to be , but since we’re together I pray every day that you would not wake up one day, and realize that it’s not me who you want by your side."

"It will never happen, you are everything I ever wanted." She whispered.

"I am not... but you are what I always desired." He smiled. "You take my problems when you shouldn't, you help me and you take care of me. I can talk to you about everything because I know my secrets with you are safe. You support me when I doubt myself, and you do it all without asking for anything in return. "

"I just want your love."

Corpse kissed her, feeling the soft brush of her lips against his. Just a simple kiss from her was enough to calm him down for good. "You already have it." He assured her, then touched the velvet box and took it out of his pocket. Y/N's shocked sigh filled the air, and she raised her hands to her mouth. "And I know that I will never be enough, that I will never be good enough... But I will try. From sunrise to bedtime I swear to love you and try to make you happy every day. And if one day I don't, I know that I wasted the best thing I have in my fucking life... "

The tears overflowed from her eyes, sliding down her face in rivers of happiness. "Corpse…"

Corpse opened the box showing her what he had been hiding for several months. It was a simple ring - too simple for her in the boy's opinion, but that was how she liked it - made of silver with an oval diamond in the middle, flanked by two smaller ones in square shape, and many smaller ones around it, embellishing the circle.

"Y/N…" He sighed deeply, more sure than ever in his life, even though trying to control his anxiety. "Do you want to marry me?"

The girl threw herself at him, hugging him tightly and crying in his chest. "Yes, yes! Of course I do! Of course I want to marry you."

He laughed happily and deeply, smiling so much that he thought the corners of his lips must reach his ears. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her perfume and murmuring how much he loved her... But mainly thanking her for loving him.

After a few minutes of laughter and sobbing, Y / N walked away with red, wet cheeks and slightly swollen eyes, but looking more beautiful than ever.

"How long…?"

"Much too long." Gently he took her hand and stuck the engagement ring on her left ring finger, where it glowed as if it belonged there. "I should have done this a long time ago."

"It's beautiful." Y/N said in admiration. "I love you."

"Not more than I love you."

They shared another kiss, this one longer than the others, and left their foreheads gently touching each other, with their eyes closed and wanting to record the moment forever in their memory.

"Thank you." He whispered.

"I’m the one who should be thanking you…"

"I knew you were forever. I've known it since that day at the cafe."

"Yes…" Y/N agreed. "Forever."

                                                           ♦⋅☆⋅♦ Tag List: @breathygasps @unicornblood4ever @jay-jay-love @mintchip17 

[pandaluc]

Warm Weekends

In which after a busy week, you get to spend your weekend together with your Genshin lover

Characters included: Lisa, Diluc x g!n s/o reader

Warnings: mentions of drinking, did not proof-read

Lisa

8:30 am... You are woken by your girlfriend, Lisa, the very well-known librarian in Mondstadt. "Good morning cutie~" she tells you with a smile on her face. Just by that moment, you felt so lucky to have Lisa as your lover. You decided to spend a few minutes tugging yourself on her chest, your arms hugging her close to you. You cherish these moments a lot, and so does she. Her head on top of yours, sometimes kissing the crown of your head. One of her arms are rubbing your back, and the other playing with your hair which feels so soothing.

9:00 am... The both of you stand up, together fixing your bed. She would comb your hair, and you comb hers. Doing so, you shower each other with compliments as well as some flirting here and there.

9:15 am... You and your lover make your way to the kitchen and start to cook breakfast. Lisa is a vegetarian so the both of you decided to make Satisfying Salad to eat this morning. After cooking, you then will offer Lisa a seat on the table. "How romantic of you, dear". While eating, the both of you discuss about how your week was. After eating, you would wash the dishes while Lisa cleans the table up and store left-overs if there are any.

9:53 am... You then take a bath with Lisa. Nothing suggestive happens. The baths you do with her are simply sweet and relaxing - it makes the both of you feel at peace. She would wash your hair, you would help her soap her back. Both of you would compliment each other about your looks. You love taking baths with her because she makes you feel accepted, secure and safe. Baths with her are indeed fun. After taking a bath, the both of you will then brush your teeth, comb your hair, and put on clothes together. Sometimes, you get to choose what she wears for the day. Today, you decided to wear a couple shirt with her. It is rare after all to see Lisa in a simple, comfortable clothing

10:34 am... You and Lisa make your way to the library, not to do work in the weekend but rather to have a library date. The both of you love to read, and well, if you did not love to read before, she definitely influenced you to do so. While reading, you both would discuss about history and theories about Teyvat and Celestia. Both of you found it fun.

1:43 pm... After reading and contemplating about the world, both of you go to Sara's Good Hunter and order some food. For today's late lunch, you ate Vegetarian Abalone with her. Some people would stare at the both of you, not to creep the couple out or anything but rather because you two look so good and cute together. At first, you were uncomfortable with the stares. But later on, you got used to it and came to the realization that you are just indeed so lucky to have Lisa as your future wife.

2:39 pm... After eating, Lisa decided that the both of you could take a walk outside Mondstadt to perhaps reconnect with nature. You and Lisa then go outside Mondstadt to travel. The both of you would go pick up flowers to give each other, admire lakes or waterfalls and go on top of a mountain to do some sightseeing. While gathering Cecilias, and some big leaves and strings, you then make a boquet to give to your lover on a mountain peak as the sun sets. It is simple, yet romantic. Very romantic. Lisa then somewhat felt bad because she did not have such gift to give to you even if you assured her that it is alright. As a result, she simply took a Windwheel Aster, cut some part of the stem, and put it on your ear.

7:22 pm... You both went back to the comfort of your home, and made Radish Veggie Soup to eat as your dinner. You and Lisa were exhausted from your date. Even so, you wish that Lisa enjoyed the date as much as you did. While her wish was to spend more time with you like this, instead of being busy doing librarian things and helping the Acting Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius even if she is not part of the Knights.

8:13 pm... You both wash up, wore your pajamas and prepared yourselves to sleep. Hugging each other, and talking about your day as you and Lisa drift to sleep.

"Thank you for today, darling. I really appreciate it. If only we get to spend more times like this together... I hope we do so in the future before our time comes. I enjoy your company so much, dear. Thank you. Good night."

Diluc

7:30 am... You woke up before Diluc did, giving you a chance to admire his beautiful face. Him being at peace, not worrying about anything, made you happy. After all, you rarely get a chance to see him like this. You planned to cook him breakfast, and so tried to get out of bed to make your way to the kitchen...well, tried. Diluc is a light sleeper so no matter how careful you were, your lover woke up because of your motions. You apologized and told him to continue sleeping. You continued to get out of your bed but Diluc wrapped his arms tightly onto you, pulling you back to bed with him. "It's alright... but please stay on bed a bit longer with me."

8:30 am... You ended up sleeping with him for an hour longer. It was hard for you to resist his morning voice, and his peaceful look asking you to stay. After falling back to sleep, you then woke up just to see your boyfriend's loving eyes admiring you while his fingers stroking your hair. "Good morning, dear", he says. You can't help but gently smile, realizing how lucky you are today to be able to spend a morning with the love of your life.

8:40 am... After a few minutes of cuddling (just like the touch starved the both of you are), you then decide to start cooking as Diluc fixes your bed. You decided to cook a dish named "Pile 'em up". The maids in Dawn Winery told you that they could cook breakfast for you and Diluc instead. But you insisted that you can do the cooking for today. This dish you are cooking is a dish that Diluc recently taught you, and so apparently is Diluc's specialty. It was special for you. It had a very nice smell, therefore, your partner recognized the dish your cooking. He then went to the kitchen, and hugged you from behind. His eyes staring at the dish, satisfied at your work.

9:11 am... You and Diluc ate breakfast together while talking about work and basically asking each other's life so far. Diluc would tell you stories about his batman Darknight Hero duties while you compliment him about his determination and hard-work. Mornings like this are very appreciated by you and your lover. It's a shame that in most days, Diluc would be working while you are eating alone at this hour.

9:43 am... After eating, you both took a bath. Unlike Lisa, you and Diluc doesn't really take baths together. As we know, Diluc is quite a reserved person. Don't get him wrong, he would like to take a bath with you...but is afraid to ask you about it since he does not want you to be uncomfortable. Poor boy, taking a bath with him is also one of your desires.

10:22 am... You often finish taking a bath before Diluc does. What do you expect? A man like him won't allow himself to go out with a single slightest dirt in his being. While waiting for him to finish, you comb your hair and wear your clothes. And once Diluc finishes taking a bath, you make him sit on a chair in front of a mirror to comb his hair in which you can't help but think what shampoo and hair care does this man use.

10:53 am... It may be a weekend, but the world sadly does not stop time and duties for the both of you. Though Charles often handles Angel's Share, he was given a day-off by Diluc because of Charles' personal matters. Since it is quite rare to have a day where you and Diluc can be together, you decide to go help Diluc in his tavern. Diluc was opposed with this idea at first because drunkards can really be a hassle, but you pleaded way too much that your lover can't just refuse anymore... look at the power you hold. You and Diluc then walk to Angel's Share, people staring and some one (to be specific, Donna.) death glaring at you with tears. You didn't mind anyways. Having Diluc as your boyfriend is a huge flex after all.

11:20 am... The two of you arrive in the tavern, cleaning it before opening. You can't help but stare at Diluc as the both of you wipe the tables. Diluc notices, and exchanged glances with you. He slightly smiles and walk up to you, putting his arm on your back. Pulling you to a kiss on the forehead.

11:30 am... Angel's Share opens. Since it was still morning, only two people came. Whenever these two drunk people gets too close and touchy with you, Diluc would realize and see your face full of discomfort. Diluc would then glare at them, enough to scare them and stop.

12:40 pm... You and Diluc close the doors of Angel's Share for a lunch break. You go to Sara to order food, as Diluc stays in the tavern cleaning the mess the drunk people made. You come back to the tavern with food as you lock the door. The two of you, then, eat on the counter. Everything about Diluc is truly admirable, so you can't help stare at him as he eats. Lucky you, he thinks the same of you. He adores it so much when you eat, especially when you try to cut the meat and struggle.

1:21 pm... You unlock the doors in the tavern, and start to receive customers. It may be an afternoon, but it is a weekend and Diluc is planning to close the tavern earlier today. Diluc starts to mix up drinks, while you take customers' orders and clean tables. Customers that are rude won't be avoided, they are drunk after all. If they get too rude, especially to you, Diluc would make up an excuse to kick them out. While cleaning tables, you'd catch Diluc staring at you. Whenever Diluc realizes that you notice his stairs, he quickly looks down at the glass he is cleaning with a faint pink blush on his face. how cute. This is basically your date. It's not the often romantic dinner dates, but you still appreciate and have fun. Knowing more about Diluc's life is good after all. Besides, you get breaks from time to time so you still get to sit on one of the chairs near the counter and talk to Diluc, maybe even giving him a peck on the lips when you are being called by one of the customers.

6:31 pm... There was only one customer left. Before the night approaches and more people attempt to come in and drink, Diluc quickly kicks the customer out and lock the tavern doors. You help Diluc clean up the tavern. He is the type to give back hugs, so you often receive them as you wipe tables, him kissing the top of your head. After the whole clean-up, the both of you walk back to your lover's mansion.

7:13 pm... You and your boyfriend were greeted by the maids with a fancy dinner set on the dining table. You and Diluc freshen up first, and then together headed to the table. While eating, he'd ask about how was your day. He would also ask you if there were customers who were mean to you or attempted to flirt with you. He trusts you, but in the end, he doesn't want to see the love of his life in a not-so-good condition. He wants you to feel safe and secure around him, and he succeeds on doing so. He wants the best for you. He is always there for you. And he always makes you feel that.

7:49 pm... After eating, Diluc and you wash up before going to bed. You were glad because today, you are able to sleep early with Diluc. Not having to wait for him to come at 3am due to his darknight duties. After being washed up, the both of you lay in bed. It won't be considered as sleeping with Diluc if there are no cuddling sessions for lots of minutes. Asking about if you need or want anything, and if there is something you want to get rid off your chest...what a perfect man. Sometimes, he would be the big spoon. Sometimes, he would be the small spoon. The both of you take turns. After conversations and cuddles, you eventually fall asleep as Diluc watches you sleeping, kissing your forehead and saying...

"Good night darling. I promise to protect and cherish you all my life. Thank you for bringing light to my world. I love you."

[damianosismyking]

Roommate

READ IT ON AO3.

Damen and Laurent first met when Laurent was sixteen years old.

He arrived at Damen's apartment too late for it to be considered appropriate or polite on any day, but the fact it was Sunday made everything worse.

Damen had been announcing his vacant room for the best part of the past three months since Nikandros moved out to live with his girlfriend but the response he’s gotten so far was underwhelming, to say the least. It made sense to him: his apartment was too far away from the university for it to be comfortable or spark real interest among tired, overloaded, low-income students with huge debts and likely no car. He had thought, though, that it would spark some interest. It was a constant theme in the conversations he had with Nikandros these days – which always ended up with Nikandros telling him he should just learn how to live with himself anyway, and Damen telling him there was no way he’d do it.

Still, Damen was less than thrilled to be surprised after a long day of sitting in front of thousands of books and twice as many academic papers gathering the ‘solid foundation’ his thesis lacked – in Professor Haemon’s words – by an unsolicited visitor. Damen’s eyes burned, his head pounded, and he longed for nothing more than to open a beer and mindlessly watch the documentary about whales that was on. A call to his intercom had different plans.

It felt like his brain had melted down his ears for when the doorman informed him that his friend, Laurent, whom he never met, had come to talk to him about his rental room, Damen allowed said guy up without a thought to the risks it entailed until after the call was cut.

Damen was left to hope there wasn’t a gun involved and whoever the man was, Damen could take him on a hand-to-hand fight if it came to it.

A kid showed up. Pink across the face, the only uncovered part of him. A few strands of blond hair escaped his beany, moving along the puff of his breath. He strutted inside uninvited the second Damen saw to the door, with the highest nose Damen has ever seen and scorn that did not match his angelic features.

Lazily, the kid – Laurent, his name – said, “I saw you need a new roommate.”

“And you are?”

“Your new roommate.”

“I meant –” Laurent went ahead and took off his coat, as well as his beany, that he tossed over Damen’s diner table. His blond hair shoulder-length and seemingly soft directly under the light, framed his face in waves. It gave him an almost feminine quality, if not for the sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw. “I meant have we met before?”

“No. But we have now. I’m Laurent.” He held out his hand. Damen shook it. “And you are Damianos. I go to U.M., you go to U.M. You have a room to rent, I have interest in renting a room. See? We are practically best friends already.”

He sported a young prince demeanor with long, pale fingers laced in front of his body. It was fitting, like the thought of such person being raised in a castle surrounded by luxury and used to having his way his whole life simply made sense. As for his expression: there was none. Laurent’s eyes were a rich blue but carried no warmth in them, unyielding. His gaze never averted Damen’s. It felt like staring at a blank wall.

Damen crossed his arms over his chest, unsure what to do with his hands and everything that currently unfolded in front of him. The carelessness in Laurent’s composure, or maybe the sheer audacity of him, rubbed Damen the wrong way. Under the incisive glare, Damen resisted a shiver.

Damen said, “You notice it’s almost 11 P.M. on a Sunday, don’t you, best friend?”

Laurent leaned against the dining table as though it belonged to him. Would it be acceptable to bodily drag Laurent out of the apartment after being the one to give him the pass to come up in the first place? Laurent appeared painfully young too, so that might be aggravating.

“You put on your flyer you were open to visitation anytime,” Laurent retorted. It started to bother Damen how rarely he blinked. Blank wall.

“I also put on my flyer my contact info to prevent strangers from appearing unannounced at my doorstep,” Damen paused. “On a Sunday. At night.”

“And yet here I am. Your security is horrible by the way, you should probably complain about that to the apartment manager,” Laurent drawled. That alone disqualified him to the vacancy, let aside the fact he passed for a spoiled high schooler with no hint of courtesy.

“So? Aren’t you going to interview me? I make a terrific roommate. I know how to cook and keep a house clean; I stay out of everyone’s business and in change expect everyone out of mine. I’m the most pleasant company you can get around that campus, I guarantee.”

Laurent waited and as he did so, he grabbed one of the decorative glass balls from a bowl on the table and rolled it between his hands mindlessly. When Damen gave no response, he continued, “I’m a bit of a genius, so that might interest you in case you need help with schoolwork or anything else.”

Damen stared at him. It was impossible the kid wouldn’t take the hint. All he had to do was look around, at the scattered materials, Damen’s sleeping clothes, the beer sweating the couch’s fabric, the clock marking 11 p.m. Laurent made a show of standing spitefully where he wasn’t welcomed and it either didn’t bother him or he purposefully ignored it.

“I’m also a good fuck. In case that might interest you.”

It startled Damen out of his enraged disbelief. Not that he magically came up with something to say. “I’m – I – don’t… You’re missing the point.”

“And what is that?”

“I have no idea who the fuck you are, and honestly, you’re not causing a great impression so far.”

“That comes with time.” Laurent waved him off. He wandered around the living room, accessing the quality of his surroundings. Ran a hand over Damen’s TV stand, grabbed portraits to analyze from up close, shuffled through a stack of magazines, opened the window to take a look at the view, and finally settled on the couch where he bounced, testing. Grabbed the remote, shifted through channels. Damen let it unfold only partially out of astonishment – part of him also wondered how far Laurent would go.

“It’s your turn,” Laurent said eerily, like haunted wind coming through the window.

“My turn to what?”

“Introduce yourself, of course. How am I supposed to know you’re not a pervert?” he added, plainly. “Already have enough of those in my life.”

Damen was baffled. It took him a second to find his voice. “I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

Laurent turned to him, pale brows arched. “But you didn’t interview me yet.”

“I don’t intend to. Please leave. Now.” Damen marched to the door to hold it open.

“But –” Laurent stood. Damen could almost see the engines in his mind turning. “Look. I can offer you a blowjob to change your mind. Anything more than that only if you promise I can stay.”

“What are – I do not want to have sex with you,” Damen said, exasperated. Why was this happening to him? Was this what he got after working so hard?

“Why not?” Laurent spoke as if something was out of sorts. “Let me guess, you are straight. I promise you won’t note the difference, it’s like any girl’s mouth when it’s on your cock. I’m highly skilled.”

Damen opened the door wider and gestured. “Out.”

Laurent crossed his arms and made no motion to leave. Very deliberately he leaned against the armrest. “I don’t have a gag reflex, I can take you all the way in,” he spoke with an empty face, “and I swallow, don’t spit.” At the end, he smirked mildly.

Damen flinched. “I will call security.”

“No? Okay.” Laurent leaned on his hands, propping his shoulders up. “Money’s no issue. I can offer you two months of rent in advance.”

“I need you to get the hell out before I make you,” Damen spelled out.

“Fine. Three. But this is my final offer, you have to give me something to work with here.” For how playful Laurent’s words rang, he maintained his monotone. His face couldn’t be more uninterested, without the slightest semblant of shyness.

Damen didn’t respond. Again, he gestured the outside.

Laurent sighed, as if it was Damen tiring him, not the other way around. Perhaps the biggest absurd among all others. Damen might be virtually opposed to hitting kids, but Laurent just might be the exception.

Laurent did not pick up any of his belongings, as required. Rather, he walked to Damen confidently, if slightly bored. The sway of his hips seemed very deliberate as he tied his hair on a ponytail, eyes never dropping Damen’s. His eyes carried deeper richness to the blue of his irises from this close, but somehow were even colder. He stopped few inches away from Damen. If they were the same height, their noses would bump, but as Damen had at least one foot of advantage to him, Laurent’s breath tickled his collar bone.

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, Laurent dropped to his knees, reaching for the ties on Damen’s sweatpants.

“What the fuck.” Damen slapped Laurent’s hands away. Laurent swayed taken aback and retreated, confused. “Stand up,” Damen demanded, “Stand!” at the verge of yelling.

Damen’s stomach had sunk to his feet. Other than the cameras in the corridor, there were no witnesses to what happened. Laurent remained where he was, sitting back on his heels and giving Damen huge icy eyes, through obscenely long lashes as blond as his hair, blooming cheeks, and beautifully plump pink lips. “Please, get up and leave. I won’t ask again.”

Laurent felt the wall behind him to help himself up. “I want to stay.” His voice was no longer a drawl then. It had a hint of raw desperation that had not been there before.

Damen shook his head. “That’s too bad kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he barked, words lacking the previous indifference. “Let me stay.”

“No.”

“Please.”

A beat passed. A long ‘hear-the-ticks-on-the-clock-slow-down’ kind of beat. Laurent’s stance remained mighty and unshakable, searching Damen’s face.

“How old are you?” Damen asked and again when Laurent refused to respond.

As Damen pressed further, he finally said, through gritted teeth, “Sixteen.” In spite of the aversion for the word, Laurent expression was challenging, daring Damen to say anything about it.

Damen did. “Sixteen. You can’t just get to a stranger’s house, impose on them, and expect to be welcomed,” he said, “that’s not how these things work. Kid.”

Laurent went paler a shade, previously rosy cheeks suddenly drawn out of color. His feet kicked the carpet, and his sole focus was on that. “Do you understand? You can’t walk into strangers’ houses, period. And if you wanted a real shot at getting the room you should have called me and scheduled a date to come and talk to me at a normal hour on a normal day like everyone else. And probably have your parents to call me too, considering. Now, please get out of my apartment.”

It took him a minute, but Laurent finally listened to reason and gathered his stuff. On his way out, though, as Damen already breathed relieved that this unnerving event was over (and began to formulate in mind the text he was going to send Nikandros), Laurent stopped again, white as a sheet, barely a foot away from the door Damen had been holding open for too long.

“Let me stay.”

Neither Laurent’s voice nor his posture were anything of what they had been. It was like watching him come undone. His shoulders tensed and his feet were dragging rather than pacing. “I have the money. You won’t even know I’m here. Please.” Damen shook his head sluggishly. Laurent looked out the door and then slowly cast his eyes back to Damen. “Tonight then. I can pay you for the stay and I’ll be gone in the morning before you know it.”

Damen’s resolve faltered, then cracked, then crumbled. It finally occurred to him, “Why did you come here?”

Laurent frowned. “Your flyer…”

“No.” Laurent knew what Damen really asked.

Laurent bit his bottom lip for a long time, then straightened up. “I have nowhere else to go.” His face, though he attempted to remain composed, betrayed him. His bottom lip trembled discreetly.

“You were kicked out?” No response. Damen ran a hand over his face. His grip on the door slacked. “Damn you. Don’t you have… friends? Any family you can run to? Come to a stranger’s apartment… do you have any idea what could happen to you? You’re sixteen.” Laurent stared at him, silent. For a moment, he seemed about to speak but words died on his lips. “How do I know you aren't here to rob me? Or jump me when I’m asleep? Are your cronies waiting for you sign downstairs?”

Laurent said nothing. He balled his fists and waited as if he knew that Damen already changed his mind. It was not like Damen could do anything else anyway. It’s not like he would be able to cast out a homeless kid. Even a kid like Laurent.

Damen scratched his head and slammed the door behind him, eyes closed with a long, heavy sigh. He cursed under his breath. “Just tonight,” Damen said, though he knew he was lying. “You will have to find someplace else tomorrow.”

“Right. Thank you,” Laurent said.

They stared at each other for a moment. Damen, awkward with arms crossed over his chest and Laurent twirling his beany in his hands. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Well then. The bathroom is at the end of the corridor, there are clean towels in the cabinet, and other stuff you might need.” Another awkward moment passed. “Let me show you to your room. The room. Not your room. Where you’ll stay tonight.”

Again, in a low voice, Laurent thanked him.