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graywaynewriter · 3 months ago

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NSFW aphabet for Dick?👀👀

Warning: the following headcannons contain 18+ content. Include describes in nsfw acts and details and some language. Read at your own discretions ⚠️

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I definitely see him as someone who’s very attentive when it comes to aftercare. And I can include anything from making you something to eat, or running you a shower, or just putting on your favorite movie afterwards, but he is very detailed oriented so I think, depending on how the sex ones also determine What he provides as aftercare just based on what you would usually ask for

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

We have all seen Dick Grayson’s ass before. There is no doubt that this man focuses on his glutes more than anything. However, I will say that he also really likes his back. Of course, this is based on any concept, art or comic book panels that I have seen and what I think has the most detailed and most muscle mass on it.

On you, I think he is definitely a boob, kind of guy, but also a stomach guy. My stomach I mean it’s something that he can touch, caress, hold, squeeze, kiss, rest his head on. He can give you so much affection on this area of course it’s probably one of his number one things to go for. On top of that whenever you decide to ride him, he hold onto one of two things your stomach/waist area and he just kind of caresses the skin and he holds you in place. Or of course, he will be sucking and kissing and looking on your boobs as well.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think he is too loving and too nice to come on your body, so he will either do it in a condom or inside of you. Whichever one you guys are going for he’ll do. Now unless you specifically ask him to finish somewhere on your body he won’t do it, but he does prefer to come inside of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He is a panty, stealer and sniffer. Sometimes you’ll be over at his place or sometimes he’ll be over at your place. Whatever underwear left unattended that has already been worn by you. He’ll snatch up so fast. And eventually, if he does have a night alone, he will rub one out while his nose is deep in your panties

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

At this point in life Dick has heard a good handful of experience. Of course, have you seen this man? He’s had a couple women in his bed so he definitely knows what he’s doing. And yes, he knows where the clit is.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He either has you and doggy, on top, or missionary. But remember this man is strong so he will also just take you standing and him holding you up.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Although he doesn’t do it as often he does crack a joke or too, or make some kind of pun. Because sometimes you guys just passionately go at it other times it’s slow and you take your time and that’s most likely when he would crack a joke or a pun or laugh because of some kind of noise that happened

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Judging by the fact that he has to wear spandex I think he keeps himself well groomed. He keeps it either short or shaved completely. However, after seeing it a couple times completely bald he just leaves a short cut on it instead of completely bald.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Grayson either fucks or he makes love to you. Of course, whichever one is most appropriate in the moment, but when he is romantic, you truly feel it. The way he speaks to softly the way he literally makes love to you in the softest, most gentle way possible. He’ll even like candles and litter the room with rose petals. He’ll even go as far as to making your favorite dish for dinner. He may have burned to the first time, but that’s why he bought back up.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

So like I said before he does sniff your panties when he jerks himself off. I do think he’s too used to having sex with you and would prefer that. I want to say he does it on nights that he just goes home after a long patrols or a long mission and if he’s in the mood, he’ll just go right at it. And that is why you once found a pair of your undies underneath his pillow when you had slept over.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding kink

Some very light choking

Hair pulling

And I do think he has a thing for hearing you beg him to do what you want him to do to you

Semi public sex

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Obviously in his bed or your bed/your shared bed. Of course you guys have had some public moments where you may have been on the roof top of the building and it was a lot hotter than you both anticipated.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Literally just looking at you. There was once a time where he had gotten up and you were in the kitchen making breakfast wearing a pair of his boxers and one of his shorts. He said they stared at you for about two minutes before he went over, turned off the stove and carried you back to the room.

However, if you are training with him and somehow get him pinned underneath you, he also gets a hard on for reasons he cannot explain

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He definitely does not want to inflict pain on you. Well, he may spank you. He doesn’t do it to the point where your flesh will turn red. Definitely no cheating, or anything where he causes physical harm to you or discomfort.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He likes receiving and he also likes giving. However, he does turn things into a competition so when you did try to 69, he desperately was trying to make you finish before he did.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on the situation, but he can go either way. But his preferred one is slow and sensual because not only does a few more intimate, but he can also just hear you beg him to give it to you harder or faster.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t mind a quickie, but as said above, he does prefer something more sensual and slow, but he isn’t opposed to it if it’s what you want or if it’s what he means

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

It would take a lot of convincing from your side for him to do something risky. Like how you had once had sex on top of a building and he was worried that Batman was going to fly overhead in one of his expensive machines and see you guys.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can more or less grow for two or three rounds. Or one very long round

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has and you were the one to find it. And he’s hrs a pocket pussy 😭. But he is open to using toys when he’s with you if that’s what you’d like

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

On a scale of 1-10, he is a 7.5. Because when he teases he prolongs it 😭

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

More of a groaner but! If he’s really getting into it he does have pretty moans, not too loud but if someone was in the next room while it goes rough, they’d definitely hear it

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He gets super hard just off dirty talk and when you use THAT voice.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Hes about 7.5 inches, about medium girth, light pink tip. He has a slight upward curve

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It really does depend on how much is in his plate during the day/week but on a normal day he’s got a decent sex drive

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Takes about an hour

#dick grayson smut #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson #dc comics #nightwing x reader #nightwing smut

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wlntrsldler · 11 months ago

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bad for business | luke castellan

warnings: loser!luke agenda is strong with this one, insecure!luke because of reader's judgmental siblings but they get over it later on, suggestive content but nothing explicit, luke being happy and in love (we need more of this; i'm pointing the finger at myself, i need to write happy luke fics) aphrodite!reader x luke, in an alternate universe where the betrayal didn't happen

based on bad for business by sabrina carpenter

i. he's good for my heart, but he's bad for business.

"she's probably going to dump him soon, anyway."

"she's just doing it for the tradition, obviously."

"she's too good for him."

sometimes luke just wanted to tell them to shut up, but he's already on thin ice with-- well, everyone at camp. they weren't a fan of the smell of cigarettes that lingered on his clothes, or the ugly scar on his face (this, wasn't his fault though. if anything, they should hate his fucking dad for giving him the quest in the first place), or the fact that he's somehow dating the most popular, gorgeous, and brilliant girl at camp.

you, y/n y/l/n, the favorite daughter of aphrodite. at first luke thought that you'd be just like the rest of the aphrodite girls (he's not one to perpetuate stereotypes, being the victim of it all his life, but the aphrodite kids always turned their noses up at him so he didn't feel too bad dishing it out), but then you smiled at him with your pretty, pink lips and luke knew he was a goner. he didn't stand a chance (not like he fought it too hard anyway)

you made an effort to remember his name, say hello to him when you passed by him, and you even went as far as asking him for his opinion on things.

"what do you think of this strategy, luke?" you asked, staring at him directly. the entire blue team was arguing loudly (luke thought their strategy fucking sucked and was a sure way for the ares cabin to, once again, demolish all of you, but he was going to keep that to himself) before your soft voice broke the noise. everyone stopped in their tracks because why the hell were you talking to him? asking him for his opinion?

he blinked, even looking behind him in case there was some other kid named luke that he didn't know about. when he finally realized that you were talking to him, he managed to stutter out that the plan was fine. you looked at him skeptically, penetrating the persona he put up with everyone, but decided not to push him anymore and simply nodded.

when the red team, led by the ares cabin, of course, handed your asses to you on a silver platter, you found luke at dinner and sat directly in front of him. chris, who was just as starstruck as luke that you were sitting with them, immediately scrambled off his seat and mumbled some half-hearted excuse to leave the two of you alone.

"so, spill," you said, planting your tray of food on the table. "what did you really think of the strategy?"

your conversation went from strategy to your life to his life to everything and anything until you two were the last two people left. he was glad when people finally got tired of gawking at you and him. (many in disbelief, all in jealousy that you decided to sit with him) you didn't seem to mind the stares, though, luke figured it was because you were used to it. it was hard not to stare at you.

luke thought that dinner was just a glitch in the matrix, that it was just some weird anomaly that would never happen again. he was just thankful that it happened; but then the next day, your perfectly manicured hand knocked on the hermes cabin door and you stood in front of luke with a timid smile on your face to ask him to train you in sword fighting.

luke got dressed at record speed. chris woke up after the third time luke hit his head under his bed when he was trying to find a semi-decent shirt to wear to your sparring session (maybe one that didn't smell too much like cigarettes). chris sat up on his bed, eyebrow quirked, with a teasing smile on his face.

as luke was racing out the door, he looked at chris, "don't start.''

chris threw his head back laughing, "i didn't say anything."

luke threw a pillow at chris with an oomph before rushing out to meet you.

the training sessions slowly morphed into sitting next to each other daily during meals, then into hanging out at campfires, until it got to the point when there wouldn't be a second of free time where the two of you wouldn't be together. luke could feel your siblings shooting daggers at him whenever he was alone, like a warning to stay away from you, but it's not like he was the one initiating things.

sure, he would follow you around the ends of the world if you asked (or even if you didn't, let's be honest here) but luke didn't want to test his luck so he just went with the flow. sometimes, he just wanted to talk to your siblings to set the record straight.

"look, i'm just as fucking confused as you are," he would say, "i don't know why she's hanging out with me either."

as much as he enjoyed your moments together, a piece of him still worried that you were just being nice. maybe you were this way with everyone. maybe he just likes you so much that he's making up these scenarios in his head.

he tried to talk to chris about it, but that proved to be the wrong decision because it's not like the boy had any experience either; he was pining over clarisse. the blind leading the blind, truly.

and then one day, while you and luke were sitting beside the water, after a long day of training, you looked over at him with an unreadable expression.

panicked, luke immediately straightened his back and twisted his body to face you. he wanted to reach for your hand to comfort you, but decided against it. he didn't want to make you uncomfortable. he cleared his throat, "what's wrong?"

"why haven't you asked me out?"

you would've thought percy summoned a cold wave to crash into luke with the way he was sitting there frozen. luke was looking at you blankly, like his brain was short-circuiting. it was a habit of his to blink and tilt his head to the side whenever he was shocked.

"huh?"

you were frowning now, "do you not like me? i'm sorry, i guess i was just reading the situation wrong."

"woah, pause," luke leaned in closer, inspecting your face to see if there was a punchline about to drop like it was a gotcha! moment and all of your siblings would come out from behind the trees to laugh at him. he found no sign of such a thing. "do you like me?"

"luke, i've been so obvious," there was a hint of embarrassment in your voice and luke wanted to kiss it away. your cheeks were dusted with the lightest shade of red as you chewed on your bottom lip. "i thought maybe you liked me too, but i guess it was all in my head. i'm sorry-- forget i even said anything."

"yeah, i don't want to forget it," luke shook his head, now stumbling over his words. his brain was working again, sort of. "i like you, too. like really like you. sorry, you just caught me off guard for a sec."

"you do?"

"gods, i really really do."

you beamed at him and luke was so thankful that he was sitting because his knees would've buckled at your reaction and humiliated himself by falling face-first in the water if he was standing. he was especially thankful that he was sitting when you climbed onto his lap to make out with him until both of your lips were bruised.

ii. i'm mad for you, it's sad but true, and you know it. you're on my mind, you stole my life and it's showing.

word traveled fast after that. when you walked into breakfast with luke's arm around your waist, the whispers started. luke thought the staring before was bad, but this was on a new level. he felt the other aphrodite kids following his every move, poison in their eyes.

when you sat next to luke, impossibly close to him, chris' eyebrows rose in glee. he motioned to the both of you with his spoon, flicking drops of milk with the motion, "what's going on here?"

"i'm luke's girlfriend now."

luke nearly choked on the apple he was eating when he heard the words leave your lips. yes, he knew that you were dating now (his pathetically hoarse voice saying, "will you be my girlfriend?" after the hours-long makeout session the night before haunted his dreams last night; he wanted to keep his cool so bad, but it just wasn't possible when you were sitting on his lap, all pretty with your thighs on either side of his, lips glossy with his saliva instead of your typical lipgloss), but it was the first time he heard you refer to yourself as his girlfriend. his girlfriend.

"nice," chris raised his hand up for a high-five, which luke was about to complete, but chris pulled his hand away, "not for you, dude."

you giggled and high-fived chris, making luke look between the two of you in bewilderment.

"what the fuck was that?" luke asked. when did you and chris get close?

"this is embarrassing," you started, looking down at your plate of food. you were dragging your spoon across the blob of oatmeal, "but i talked to chris about you last week because i was so sad that you haven't made a move yet. i just wanted to hear his opinion on things in case i was just being stupid."

"why didn't you tell me this?"

"i tried!" chris argued, laughing a bit when luke's face turned red, "plus, i didn't want to tell you that me and y/n had a conversation because i had faith that you'd make a move! i obviously bet on the wrong horse, though, because y/n made the move."

"oh my gods, i'm a loser." luke groaned, tossing the apple on his tray. he lost his appetite. "you mean we could've been together this entire time?"

you placed a hand on his thigh, making him turn his attention to you. you gave him a comforting smile that he quickly reciprocated. you gave his thigh a soft squeeze, "it's okay, luke. we can make up for lost time."

luke smirked at you, "tonight?"

"dude, i'm trying to fucking eat."

luke threw up the middle finger to chris' face before connecting your lips.

to luke's surprise, your relationship didn't really change much after putting a label on it. (the changes that did occur were that now he can kiss you freely, which he was thankful for, and that you were even more touchy with him, which he was extremely thankful for because he loved having you next to him at all times. he was so smitten with you.) he realized then how blind he'd been the entire time because you were so very obvious about your feelings for him, he was just too stuck in his own head to notice it.

he started being outwardly affectionate with you, gaining more confidence while he was on your arm. his favorite thing to do was to wrap his arms around your torso and bury his face into the crook of your neck. he loved hearing you erupt in giggles when his curls tickled your skin. he was drunk on you and you didn't mind one bit.

you even said that you were more attached to him than he was to you (he looked at you like you had three heads because it couldn't have been further from the truth.)

he took you on little picnic dates and made you jewelry that you wore proudly, and you wore his clothes (he would be lying if he said that his heart didn't skip a beat when you walked out of the aphrodite cabin sporting his hermes sweater) but above all, luke loved the way he could talk to you about everything. he told you about his mom, his dad, his doubts and his insecurities, and you listened. you would sit there, hands in his hair, while he laid on your chest. he didn't know the last time he felt safe, but with you, he always did.

iii. all of my friends think i've gone crazy, but they don't know me like my baby.

luke tried to ignore the fact that there were running bets from campers about how long you two would last, but it was getting to him. he'd heard it all; a week, two weeks, three months. he fought the urge to roll his eyes when he heard the jingling of drachmas being passed around when you and him were seen together after someone lost their bet.

it's been two months but people still believed that you two were going to break up soon. the idea of it made luke feel sick. he couldn't imagine a life without being yours anymore. truth be told, he was wholly yours the minute he met you, but after every kiss, every hug, every second with you, he was just falling deeper in love with you.

it was a little scary.

"hiya, baby," you greeted him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

you started calling him the pet name a few days into dating and luke actually whimpered when you did it the first time. you loved getting these reactions from luke and his little sounds (both innocent and not-so-innocent) only spurred you on. when he's with you, luke turned into this mush, always wanting to be held by you or touching you in some way.

"hi," he mumbled, leaning up to place a quick kiss on your lips.

you hummed happily before resting your hands on his back, "baby, you're tense. are you okay?"

"yeah," luke replied, but his furrowed eyebrows said differently.

"no you're not," you walked in front of him, wrapping your arms around his torso, "what's going on?"

luke sighed, "everyone thinks we're gonna break up-- or more specifically, everyone thinks you're gonna break up with me."

"do you believe that i'll break up with you?" you frowned, loosening your hold on him. "did i do something that made you think that?"

"no, no," he said, quickly. he pulled you closer to him, not wanting you to let go of him. "i just-- i dunno. everyone says i'm not good enough for you, and i know i'm not, and it's getting to my head a little bit."

you looked up at him, removing your hands from around him to reach for his face. you brought his face down closer to yours to pepper kisses all over it; his cheeks, his lips, his scar, his jaw. "i think you're perfect."

"you have to say that 'cause you're my girlfriend," he playfully rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop a goofy smile from forming on his face due to your kisses.

"yeah, i am your girlfriend," you reminded him, placing a longer kiss on his lips now. your lips moved together, making luke's hands wander to your lower back to push you closer to him. you pulled away, breathless, "listen to your girlfriend, baby. i'm not going anywhere so don't worry your pretty little head about it."

there were still moments when the voices of the other campers bounced around in luke's head, but you were always there to quiet them with your reassurance and your love for him.

eventually, people stopped talking about you and luke and accepted that you two weren't breaking up anytime soon (they were about six months too late, in luke's opinion). he even managed to win over your siblings later on (kind of; they still don't talk to him unless they have to but they smile at him now, but luke isn't picky; a win is a win)

luke was happy and in love and it was all thanks to you.

#frances writes #frances song fics #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson #pjo fanfic #pjo series

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solarmorrigan · 3 months ago

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Movie Nights

For the @steddie-spooktober day 25 prompt: Frankenstein Friday Rated: T | Words: 1514 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, outsider POV, I know the movie is over 90 years old but I didn't actually watch it myself until a month ago, so just in case there's anyone else out there who hasn't seen it, Frankenstein (1931) spoilers Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Part 3 of the Good Neighbors series

Gladys can appreciate new things. Books, television, music – the little joys to be found in new discoveries are what make life worth living. She isn’t as set in her ways as some people her age can be, but she does have her favorites.

She loves her mysteries and her thrillers above all else; the likes of Agatha Christie, Elizabeth Peters, and Arthur Conan Doyle line her shelves. She’s dipped into the genre of spies and intrigue, digging into Ian Fleming and John Le Carré. She’s even been known to appreciate a good horror film now and then.

Emphasis on “good.”

“So this is what passes for horror these days?” Gladys asks as a young man on the TV screen is sucked down into his bed, only to be spat back out as an absolute geyser of blood.

Eddie chuckles, glancing up from the screen. “Not your cup of tea?”

Gladys leans on the back of the couch, resting her arms there. She’d only come over to the boys’ apartment to see if they had a spare baking dish she could borrow; they certainly hadn’t invited her in to critique their choice of entertainment. But all the same–

“I just think they should try a little harder to really scare people. These days, it’s all shock and gore. All they have to do is shower people in blood and call it a day,” Gladys says. “I remember a time when they put real effort in.”

“Back in your day?” Eddie teases, grinning at her.

Gladys tsks, cuffing him upside the head – not hard, barely more than a tap, but he still falls sideways onto the couch with a gasp, clutching his head, and then rolls right off and onto the floor with a thump. Gladys rolls her eyes, but doesn’t bother to hide her smile at his antics.

“Hey, will this work for–” Steve exits the kitchen, a glass baking dish in his hands, and stops as his attention is almost immediately diverted to Eddie. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Gladys attacked me,” Eddie replies.

“Oh. Good for her,” Steve decides, holding up the dish again. “Will this work for you?”

“That would be fine,” Gladys says, accepting it as Steve passes it over.

“She also thinks my movie is trash,” Eddie says brightly as he levers himself back up onto the couch.

“I did not say it was trash,” Gladys says. “At worst, I said it was cheap.”

“Okay, but that’s not better,” Eddie says.

“I’m not a huge fan, either,” Steve leans in to stage whisper to Gladys, “but it makes him happy.”

“Yeah, yeah, everyone’s a critic.” Eddie rolls his eyes, then leans back a bit so he can look up at Gladys. “What would you call a good horror movie, if not the genius of Wes Craven?”

Gladys purses her lips, thinking for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen the classics? Dracula, The Creature from the Black Lagoon?”

Eddie lets out a thoughtful little noise, shaking his head. “Can’t say I have.”

“Well, you ought to. You’ll see where it all began, then,” Gladys says.

“And I get the feeling you’d enjoy showing us,” Eddie says, wiggling his eyebrows up at Gladys.

“’Us’? Who’s ‘us’? When did I get roped into this?” Steve asks, and Eddie reaches out to take one of his hands.

“We’re a package deal, baby, everyone knows that,” Eddie says.

“No one around here but Gladys knows that,” Steve reminds him.

“Everyone important knows that,” Eddie amends. “Anyway, what do you say, Gladys? Feel like educating a couple of horror philistines such as ourselves?”

“Well,” Gladys says slowly, “I’m sure I could come up with something.”

This is how she ends up in her armchair the following Friday night, the boys both sitting on the loveseat, all watching as the audience is warned of the frightening nature of the upcoming film playing out on the television.

“Now, this wasn’t Universal’s first horror film, and it wasn’t even the first movie adaptation of Frankenstein,” Gladys says when the opening credits come on, “but it is a bit iconic. I thought you might get a kick out of it.”

“But is it scary?” Eddie teases.

“Well, I don’t know about scary, but maybe a bit shocking. Look at it this way:” Gladys says, “it was 1931. Graverobbing and murder might seem mundane to you, but we weren’t quite as desensitized to seeing it on the screen back then.”

Steve glances over at her. “Do you remember when this came out?”

“Oh, barely.” Gladys wiggles her hand back and forth in a so-so gesture. “I certainly didn’t go to see it in the theater, I was only six or seven at the time.”

“Still, that’s pretty cool,” Steve says, and Gladys favors him with a smile.

If they aren’t altogether horrified by the movie, the boys are at least engaged, keeping up a running commentary that has even Gladys laughing. (“He had that coming,” Steve says when the monster finally catches Frankenstein’s assistant. “Yep. Rest in pieces, Fritz,” Eddie adds.) However, as they reach the midway point, the father onscreen bidding his daughter to go play with her cat while he works, Steve shifts uneasily in his seat.

“Wait, they’re not going to do anything to the cat, are they?” he asks, cutting a worried glance at Gladys.

As if the thought hadn’t occurred to him until Steve voiced it, Eddie sits up straight in his own seat. “Gladys,” he says, pointing an accusing finger at the screen, “you’re not showing us a movie where they kill a cat, are you?”

One brow raised, Gladys regards the pair of them. “You’re worried about the cat, but not the child?”

Steve scoffs. “It’s 1931, they’re not gonna kill a kid,” he says, while Eddie nods in agreement.

Both brows raised now, Gladys only gives them a little “hm,” and turns back to the screen. With some suspicion, Eddie and Steve do the same, watching as the scene unfolds.

“Oh, shit,” Steve says, taken aback as the monster tosses the little girl into the lake.

“Damn. Guess we should’ve worried about the kid, after all,” Eddie says.

“You have to have some idea of how this movie ends,” Gladys says, shaking her head. “Did you really think they’d form an angry mob over a dead cat?”

“I would,” Eddie declares, then looks down at Steve, who at some point in the last half hour had ended up tucked into Eddie’s side (when, Gladys isn’t sure, but it’s sweet; it’s a pleasant feeling knowing how comfortable the two of them are here). “Steve, would you form an angry mob with me if someone killed our cat?”

“We don’t have a cat,” Steve says.

“That’s not the point,” Eddie insists, and Steve relents.

“I would come with you if only to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed,” he decides.

“I’ll take it,” Eddie says with a shrug.

The rest of the movie plays out on the screen – the forming of the mob, the confrontation with the monster, the burning windmill, and, at last, the peaceful conclusion.

“Wait,” Eddie says, brows furrowed as he watches the end credits play, “that’s it? That’s how it ends? A toast to the house of Frankenstein, the end?”

“Yes…” Gladys says slowly. “Why? How should it end?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about a little restitution for the guy whose daughter got murdered?” Eddie demands, shooting up out of his seat so quickly that Steve has no time to brace himself and falls sideways onto the loveseat with a little ‘oof.’ “How about a little accountability? I mean, seriously, this is just typical; some rich, entitled asshole plays around with things he can’t control, creates a problem he refuses to solve, and the poor end up being the ones to pay the price!”

“Now you’ve got him started,” Steve mutters to Gladys as he sits himself back up.

“Is there any way to get him to stop?” Gladys asks, though she’s a little fascinated with the theatrical way Eddie throws himself around the living room as he rants.

“Uh.” Steve glances over at Eddie and back away again, and there actually seems to be a little color rising in his cheeks. “Not, um…”

“Take him home first, if you’re planning to do something like that,” Gladys says primly, only to lose the fight to her laughter when Steve looks over at her, aghast.

“I wouldn’t–!” he protests indignantly, his face going redder.

“Are you guys even listening to me?” Eddie demands, turning back to face the pair of them.

Gladys declines to answer, asking instead, “Eddie, dear, how did you like the movie?”

“Oh. Aside from the ending, it was great.” Eddie drops back onto the loveseat, reaching out absently to tug Steve back over to his side. “What else ya got?”

“Well,” Gladys says, picking through the stack of tapes she’d managed to dig up at the video store. “If you like entitled rich people, let’s see how you feel about Dracula.”

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie-spooktober #Gladys is back for a special Halloween episode #also #I am not a cultural historian #I am making broad generalizations based on surface knowledge #I just wanted write a fun fic let me live #solar wrote #eddiesteve

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httpsserene · 7 months ago

Note

Your works are literally my all time favorites 💕 since your requests are open, I was thinking of requesting something with Daniel. I personally wear braces and have always been insecure about them. Since Daniel is known for having a great smile, he notices the reader covers her smile etc. Some reassurances lead to Daniel facefucking the reader and giving her a facial to show her how much her braces turn him on . Him making her smile and taking a picture with his come all over 🙊

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 2𝕶 𝕾𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 | 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖊𝖑 𝕽𝖎𝖈𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖔 𝕰𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐒𝐚𝐲, "𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞!"

Summary: The day she gets her braces off will be the best day of her life. Maybe all the years she dealt with insults, underhanded compliments, and men who wouldn’t date her because of them, would be worth it when she sees her perfectly straight teeth. Of course, it sucks that she has insecurities stemming from her braces; her boyfriend, Daniel, says that they “add to her beauty.” If she believed him, she probably wouldn’t hide her mouth behind her hand when she grins or laughs. Don’t worry—Daniel has an idea of how to make that smile of hers…shine. Pairing: daniel ricciardo x fem!poc/black!reader (her skintone is described as brown and she has curly hair) Content Warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. insecure!reader. reader has braces. dom/sub undertones. oral sex (male receiving). face fucking. mention of humilation (very tiny). exhibitionism? illicit photos. facial. no beta we die like men. Word Count: 2.6k words.

Author's Note: writing oral sex is hard. especially for men, i don't know why. anyways, i still think i cooked a little too hard. i feel embarrassed for what y'all are about to read. happy reading xxx

prev 2k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻

The sound of the dishwasher quietly whirring fills the kitchen, muted by the running faucet as you hand wash a stainless steel pan. The skillet cleans easily and you set it to dry in the dish rack, remembering to shut the faucet off. You shake your hands dry before opening the cabinet beneath the sink to grab the disinfectant spray. Gently, you press the cabinet door shut before spinning around and stepping softly to the microwave mounted above your stovetop. The clock on the microwave reads 4:32 PM. You scrunch your nose in displeasure—you and Daniel were just supposed to take a quick nap after the two of you had brunch, but as usual with naps, four hours passed as soon as you shut your eyes. The late afternoon sunlight had filled your bedroom and roused you from your sleep; you had drawn the blinds open that morning and forgot to shut them, thankfully, or you may have slept well into the evening. Daniel, however, remained asleep. He wasn’t bothered by the warm, hazy sunlight since his face was tucked away in the crook of your neck—and you allowed him to continue sleeping, mindfully pulling the blinds closed before tiptoeing out of the bedroom to clean your kitchen.

You know his sleep hasn’t been the most restful or restorative recently, seeing how disgruntled and groggy he is every morning before he has a sip of coffee. Off-handedly, Daniel had mentioned how he’d been struggling to readjust to timezones recently, and jetlag hadn’t been any kinder to him either. So, you decided to let him sleep a little more, hoping a longer nap might give him a little more energy for the rest of the day—and, with your newfound free time, you could finally deep clean the kitchen without any Daniel Ricciardo-sized distractions. You get halfway through wiping the interior of the microwave clean before you hear your boyfriend start to make his way out of the bedroom to find you.

You shake your head softly as Daniel pauses at the edge of the kitchen, clearly still half-asleep as he pouts at you. He rubs at his eyes, standing there in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants (that you only allow him to wear inside the apartment), that do very little to hide the obvious—not that you were looking, anyway. You laugh and your hand reflexively rises to cover the spread of your smile; you ignore the slight ache of your gums from freshly tightened braces and you press your lips together, schooling them into a closed-mouth smile before beckoning Daniel forward to give you a hug. He buffers for a second, brain still waking, and suddenly starts ambling towards you, pressing a brief kiss to your cheek then moving to wrap his arms around your waist and nuzzling his head into your curls, humming sweetly as he does so. You giggle into his chest, bringing your hands up to scratch along his tanned back gently, loving the feel of his warmed skin against your body.

“Had a nice nap?” You murmur into his chest.

Daniel squeezes you tighter and grumbles, “It would’ve been nicer if you didn’t leave me to clean our kitchen.”

“I wouldn’t have had to get up if you just let me clean it this morning like I was trying to do,” Daniel groans, releasing you as you start to rant, “but, for some reason, you like to interrupt me when I’m trying to be productive—like you’re doing right now.”

“I just woke up! I can’t hug you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—I’m saying that it’s just really peculiar that this exact same behavior is what interrupted me this morning.”

Daniel pulls away and blinks at you before smirking faintly, “That is so weird.”

You narrow your eyes and purse your lips at him, “Mhm.”

Daniel grins big and wide, batting his eyelashes at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him, “Don’t play cute now–that’s childish. We’ve discussed this before, Danny.”

He shrugs his shoulders and then leans down to press light kisses all across your face, “I’m sorry—can you—forgive me?”

A smile starts to spread across your lips and consequently, your hand moves to cover it–but Daniel catches it with a frown.

“Why do you always hide your smile? In every photo you take; you’re looking away from the camera, or hiding your face, or covering your smile. You never show your teeth when you smile, giggle, or laugh—and I don’t understand why,” Daniel blurts out.

You freeze. You weren’t expecting an analysis of your body language from what seems to be a random outburst, but the points Daniel used…it’s clear he’s been thinking about this for a while.

“Umm, well I just don’t like my smile,” you offer quietly, with a dismissive wave of your hand.

You try to turn around to go back to cleaning, but Daniel grabs your hand, stopping you. He gestures to the Polaroids you guys have hung up on the wall of the kitchen. The two of you bring the same Polaroid camera on every date and take a photo. The bottom of the photos are labeled with the date and what activity you guys were doing or what restaurant you guys were eating at. You’re covering your smile in some of them but, you are not showing your teeth in any of them.

“Even when I make you laugh, you never let me see your smile,” Daniel thinks out loud, his thumb rubbing across the back of your hand soothingly.

“Well, it’s not you,” you start, shifting your hand to squeeze his gently, “If that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just—well I do hate my smile.”

Daniel’s mouth drops open, but you rush to continue.

“It’s not just the smile though. What I really hate, are my braces. I mean—I disliked my gapped and crooked teeth, which people made fun of me for—and then I decided to get braces. And people continue to make fun of me for them. I don’t know, maybe being a grown woman with braces is weird but, I at least thought other adults my age weren’t immature enough to make fun of me for them,” you swallow, shakily.

“I cover my smile and hide my face because it’s easier to not let people see my braces than let them tease me for them, you know. And now, I guess, after a year and a half of having them—it’s just become second nature not to allow anybody to see them,” you finish.

Daniel shakes his head disbelievingly, “I think you are the most attractive woman in the world, with the braces. I will hate the day you get them off because I won’t be able to choose what color your rubber bands are anymore. But; I always ask you to smile for me so I can see them, and you always do it without complaining, though?”

“Yes, Daniel,” you stress, “because you ask me to see them, and I know that you like them. Or at least, you pretend to be a good actor if you don’t.”

He scoffs, “I don’t know, I probably wouldn’t buy you ice cream after every single orthodontist appointment if I hated your braces. It would be a waste of money,” you hit his shoulder in annoyance.

“What?” Daniel exclaims, “Do you know how much richer I would be if I didn’t date you because of your braces.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” you retort, light-heartedly, “You’re a millionaire, get over it.”

Daniel laughs and you consciously make an effort to smile freely, the metal glint of your brackets shimmering under the afternoon Monte Carlo sunlight. He raises his hand to hold your jaw, his thumb brushing along the brown skin of your jawline then ghosting over your bottom lip, and his smile softens at the sight of yours.

“All I see is a really pretty woman, with a really pretty smile, and pretty braces. The light blue looks very pretty on you, baby.”

“Whatever you say, Danny,” you say, your tone impassive.

Daniel cocks his head, bothered, and his smile fades.

“What—you think I’m lying?”

Shifting your weight, you drop your gaze unable to meet the rising intensity in his eyes. You try to move your jaw out of his grasp but his hold tightens—firm. He doesn’t apply any more force than he needs to, it’s enough to have your eyes snapping back to meet his and stutter through an answer.

“I-I didn’t say that,” you murmur, “I meant that I personally don’t think they’re pretty.”

“Ok,” Daniel nods, “Kneel.”

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, “What?”

And then you notice his pupils are dilated, his breathing is heavy—and naturally, you glance downwards. What was previously obviously seen in his gray sweatpants is now unignorable. When you quickly glance back up towards Daniel to see if you’re on the same wavelength, he doesn’t repeat himself. You lick your lips anxiously before delicately dropping to your knees.

Daniel hums in approval and moves his left hand to tuck a stray curl behind your ear.

“Are you going to let me show you how much I like your braces?”

You nod up at him eagerly yet your eyes focus on the bulge in your eyeline. Daniel laughs throatily, his left hand slipping to the nape of your neck, fisting in your hair to tilt your head further back.

His right hand slowly unties the drawstring of his sweatpants, and he coos down at you, “Can you show me your pretty smile first?”

The brown skin of your cheeks flushes, and a tiny wave of embarrassment drifts down your spine but it doesn’t stop the smile from stretching across your lips. One of the bottom brackets scrapes against your inner cheek however the brief flare of pain is easily forgotten as Daniel drags his gray sweats down just enough to expose his dick. Your smile stays present as you lean forward to nuzzle along his length, pressing light kisses and teasingly flicking your tongue across his slit when you reach the head.

Daniel hisses softly, taking the hand that isn’t tangled in the lengths of your hair to press into the curve of your dimples, “Shit—I’m going to fuck your mouth, yeah?”

Humming, you sit back, tucking your feet underneath yourself to rest on them, and you nod, dropping your mouth open to let your tongue roll out as you look up at Daniel with blurred eyes. He bites his bottom lip before grabbing his cock to gently rub it against your tongue, grunting softly at the smooth, wet friction. Eagerly, you rush forward, swallowing him down with ease—you don’t understand why he’s wasting time teasing both him and you; he’s trained the gag reflex out of you for a reason, there’s no need to babysit.

He moans out in shock, letting you get away with a few deep bobs of your head, relishing in the way he can still feel your throat fighting the intrusion. You’re too caught up in making sure your lips stay curled over your teeth ignoring the feeling of your brackets pressing hard along the inside of your mouth along with your aching gums. Still, pain only adds to the pleasure clearly, if the wetness gathering in your panties is an indicator. Then, Daniel reminds you who’s in charge. He finds enough strength to halt the bobbing of your head and uses the grip he has on your scalp to hold you down at the base of his cock.

“Fuck,” he pants out, “I forget how much of a slut you are for something in your mouth every time we do this,” he feels you swallow around him, and moves his hand to trace around the seam of your lips, spreading the spit gathered there across your cheek, “If you want me to stop, pinch my thigh, okay?”

Your verbal assent is muffled but you nod as much as his unyielding grip allows, gently soothing your hands across his thighs to further reassure him. He releases his fist from your hair, to gently brush the curls matted against your forehead out of your face; he knows you hate the feeling of hair getting in your way when giving head. One-handed, he gathers your curls into a ponytail, holding you steady as he shallowly pulls out just enough to allow you to take a shuddering breath before thrusting forward. He feels more than he hears your delighted hum, taking it as a sign to pick up the pace.

Daniel begins to fuck into your mouth in earnest, his cock knocking against the back of your throat repeatedly, your cheeks hollowed in such a manner that it truly feels like you're sucking him down. He’s unable to control his noises and watching you continue to hold eye contact with him as he forcefully uses your mouth is only pushing him closer to the edge quicker than he would like. He’s struggling to keep his own eyes open to look at you as euphoria overwhelms him, but damn, he’d hate to miss a single second of how pretty you look trying to not choke on his cock. Daniel stops pulling completely out of your mouth to switch to making shallow jerks of his hips, focusing on reaching as deep in your throat as he can—he wants you to taste him tomorrow, he wants you to feel the phantom weight of his cock down your throat as you go to work, he wants you to fluster when your coworkers ask if you’re feeling alright when they hear the rasp to your voice and the crackle that sounds every few words you speak. To match the change of his rhythm, you skillfully begin to swallow when he thrusts into your throat, fighting off your gag reflex as best as you can. Daniel laughs choppily at the tears that fall from your waterline and maybe that does mean that he’s a sick man, since that’s what pushes him over the edge.

He abruptly pulls from the cage of your mouth, wrapping his hand around his dick, and orders you breathlessly, “Smile.” You comply without hesitation.

At the sight of the light blue rubber bands Daniel picked out for you to wear, he doesn’t even need to stroke himself to completion. He spills with a groan and a call of your name. His cum paints your teeth along the metal of your braces—there’s enough of it to even hide some of the color—and the last spurt hits across your nose and runs over your cheek to paint your jawline.

He’s orgasmed so hard his legs are shaking but he manages to stumble through a few steps to grab the Polaroid camera resting on the counter. He angles your face so it’s bathed in the late afternoon light, pausing when the sun hits perfectly to make your braces glimmer where they are not covered in his cum.

He grasps your jaw, squeezing at your cheeks making sure your fucked out face (braces, cum, and smile) is the focus of the photo, and that the ‘3’ tattoo on his pinky finger is visible as well from the viewfinder of the camera.

And right as he steadies the camera, he coos down at you, “Say, ‘Cheese!’”

(The photo is labeled “Shiny Smile.” It doesn’t join the photo wall but, it finds a home in your wallet to remind you just how pretty you are with your braces.)

2k special taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems @lorarri @inloveallthetime @barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @mindless-rock @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz @vetteltea @tallrock35 @riveristhebest1 @iloveyou3000morgan @smartstupyd @spideybv28 @lh383 @hiireadstuff @namgification @gg-trini @whatamidoingwithmylife-random @multi-fandom-rando @dreamingofautopia @megatrilss1885 @nanamilkbread @userlandonorris @starfusionsworld @hangmandruigandmav @itsmiamalfoy @ineedafictionalman @everythingabby101 @valent1na-ferrari @dark-night-sky-99 @svinzlec @angelfreckless @sweatrevenge5436-blog @bokutos-babyowl @oliviah-25

#f1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #f1 smut #daniel ricciardo smut #f1 x black!reader #f1 x female reader #daniel ricciardo x black!reader #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 x you #formula 1 x black!reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #serene’s chapters.#httpss :// 2k special #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: dr.

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bluecollarmcandtf · 1 year ago

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Am I Acting Weird?

Part II

I've been jogging on this treadmill for over an hour now. Cardio sucks, and I hate this old unventilated gym! When I joined the football team, I did it for the parties and cheerleaders! I just wanted to drink with the cool guys and get laid. I still do, but I haven't had a drop of alcohol in weeks. I can't even remember the last girl I hooked up with!

I used to think it was weird that I was suddenly working out all the time. It was like my entire personality had changed overnight.

I know it's not weird now. Max, my younger brother, told me so. I have to keep working out until I become the quarterback of the football team. Then I have to bulk up and train even more, so I can become a professional footballer. That's my new goal in life, and I can't wait for my little bro to be able to brag about being related to a pro athlete.

Sure, I never really wanted to play football professionally. If it were up to me, I'd be out drinking with my buds, but it's not up to me.

That's not weird right?

I shake my head and slow my aching legs. Droplets of sweat run down my face as I work to control my breathing. My whole body is sore from the conditioning. It doesn't help that this is my third workout of the day. Between my morning weight session, afternoon field practice, and this, I am totally whipped.

I stagger over to grab my workout gear. My night isn't over. I still have to bulk my stomach up for tomorrow.

With a frustrated sigh, I stomp out of the gym and march directly into the diner next door. I nod to the greasy cook behind the counter. I've become a regular here, so he knows me pretty well.

"The usual?" he grunts with a toothy grin.

I nod and sink into a booth.

Max, my little brother, got tired of me eating at the house. Apparently, it took our father too long to cook my bulking meals. Max has me eat here after my workouts, and I completely agree. Max shouldn't have to share our dad with me. He deserved to have someone at home cooking whenever he wanted to eat.

"Four burgers, fries, and a soda," the cook snickers as he slaps the tray in front of me, "A growing boy needs extra protein."

I grimace and turn away from the chef. His breath alone is enough to make me lose my appetite, but I take a big bite and swallow. I won't gain mass if I'm not consuming mass, and I obviously need to get bigger.

I've broken out into a second sweat by the time I'm done. Forcing myself to up, I have to adjust to my bloated waist. You'd think I'd get used to a packed stomach, but I always feel uncomfortable for the rest of the night.

I let out a belch and carry the dirty dishes to the back. It always feels weird strolling into an employees-only area like this, but it's part of how I get my meals for free. You see, the cook let's is nice as long as I take care of two things.

The dishes are the first thing.

"Leave the dishes," I hear his husky voice behind me, "I never wash 'em anyways."

I drop the dishes and turn the sink off, holding my gut as it growls in pain. My belly might ache, but I've got one more thing to do.

The cook watches me expectantly. He licks his chapped lips, and grabs at the bulge under his apron, between his two trunks of legs. He's already fishing the thing out. I know what he wants, so I drop to the floor. This has become just another part of my daily routine.

It's how I thank the chef.

I don't know how this became a habit, because I absolutely do not enjoy it! The man is filthy, and a man! I'm not gay! I like women, but I have to eat a lot to bulk up and Max liked the idea of me eating for free. It's not weird!

I let him manhandle me a bit, gripping my head and pulling my hair. The cook gets off faster if he roughs me up a little. He usually only lasts a few minutes, but it's the longest few minutes of the day.

It's not sex. It's just a transaction!

"Oh, yeah!" he growls with his eyes squeezed shut, "Yeah, boy! Fuck!"

I whip my head off his hairy crotch and jump to my feet. I spit into a napkin and wipe my mouth quickly. I know from experience that I won't be able to get the taste of sweat and meat out of my mouth until I brush my teeth thoroughly at home.

My part is finally done here, so I just want to leave!

"Can't wait to see you tomorrow morning, jocky boy!" he laughs, but I've already stormed out, marching down the street to my house. I'm trying not to think about how I'll be seeing him in a few hours for breakfast.

"Hey dad," I mumble, stepping inside.

"Boy," he answers dismissively, not even looking up from his work. As usual, he's wearing his home uniform: a suit and white gloves. I have a similar outfit for when I'm hanging around the house, but dad gets a lot more use out of his now that I'm constantly bulking up. Max is really the only one who seems to dress casually around here anymore.

I guess that makes him the weird one.

"What are you doing?" I ask, trying to start up a conversation.

"What's it look like, boy?" he answers gruffly, "I'm cleaning up after Max and his guests. Now, either get your uniform on and help or get out of my way."

His attitude makes me cringe a bit. Dad and I used to be really tight. We used to bond over sports and craft beer, but he doesn't really care about anything besides Max anymore.

I don't think he's gone to any of my games for the last few months. He's always cooking or cleaning for Max. I wish I understood. We used to tease Max all the time together, but now he gets angry anytime I try and bond with him. Like, it's totally normal and right for Max to be his new favorite, but I wish we could still chat every now and then.

"Sorry," I mutter.

My father ignores me and heads off to the kitchen in a rush. He looks erratic, and I can tell he's just as exhausted as I am. He's made it a habit of working extra hours at the office everyday. It's so he can bring home the biggest paycheck he can earn every week, but I know is affecting his sleep.

"Where is Max?" I ask.

My dad frowns, tersely responding, "Max took his guests to a movie in my car. The house needs to be clean and snacks need to be ready for when Max gets back."

"Oh," I sigh, "Are his friends staying over again? I'd stay up with you and help serve them, but Max said I should be getting nine hours of sleep every night."

"Go to bed, boy. I'll handle it," he states firmly, putting the final touches on the silver platter.

With that, my father picks up the tray of assorted snacks and walks them out into the living room. There he takes his place by the door and stands in his usual position. It's where he normally waits to welcome Max home everyday. Father and I know that someone like Max shouldn't have to put their own coat away or take off their own shoes.

"Alright, dad, see you tomorrow."

He doesn't answer. He's already standing still as a statue and probably won't move until Max gets back. Hopefully, my little brother won't keep him up too late.

Sleep won't be hard for me to find. I can barely keep my eyes open, and I pass out as soon as I fall on my bed. The rest of the night is a deep and dreamless void, while my stomach processes all the food I ate.

When I wake up, I find dad like this...

"Dad? Dad!" I give his shoulder a nudge.

He jumps to life, jerking his eyes around the trashed living room.

"Did you fall asleep standing up?"

"Maybe," he answers with shock, "Max had me holding everyone's coats while they enjoyed some beer. They must have moved to the bed while I drifted off."

"Aren't they a little young for beer?"

"Max and his guests are welcome to my alcohol whenever they want it!" he snaps back at me.

"Geez, ok."

"You have a workout you need to get to, boy," he barks, "And I'm going to have to hurry if I'm going to clean up this mess before work."

I stare at my father as he scrambles to clean up the living room once again. He looks even more exhausted and disheveled than last night. Hopefully, he would be able to clean everything up with enough time to shower and shave. I know that all of the household stuff is his responsibility, but sometimes it seems like too much.

With a shrug, I turn and step out of the door. My day is going to be the same miserable routine as the last. I'm not looking forward to any of it, but that's not weird. Like Max said, I'll just keep my head down, and power through.

#hypno story #mind control #gay ai art #servant

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littlemisslipbalm · 1 year ago

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Demonology: Me & My Dog

Series Summary: A new demon has come to Nashville. Josh and Jake's ways of life have been thrown off by her arrival. The angel and demon have lived with an understanding of one another, but with Y/N stirring up trouble and asking questions, they're forced to work out a new normal. And why is she so powerful for a human turned demon anyway, that's unusual, right?

Jake Kiszka x f!reader and Josh Kiszka x f!reader

A/N: This will be at least three parts! This first part is more about Josh and the reader, the second will be more Jake and then we will see with part 3 what is to happen. Please let me know what you think with comments and reblogs and messages to my inbox!! I want to talk about this bc I have been so excited to share it!!

Word Count: 5.4k | Warnings: alcohol consumption, strong language, allusions to sex - minor descriptions of sex but not descriptive smut (still 18+!!), dubious comprehension of angel/demon mythology, like this is fiction fr so if it does not make sense i am sorry but idc (but am also open to suggestions thx)

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Part 1: My & My Dog

When being told to stir up some trouble on Earth, Y/N was more annoyed that she had to go back at all than excited that she was moving up in the ranks. Afterall, she’d only died 50 years ago. It was already time to go back? She thought she had eternity down here.

From what she’d heard from other members of the underworld, it’d just gotten worse since she’d left. Prior to 1976 had been a riot for her (1976 was not her favorite, but dying usually wasn’t in people’s top ten greatest moments), but now it sounds worse than Hell itself.

Still, like a good little demon soldier, she trudged through the dim back rooms to find the dull office that would provide her with the necessary documents to take a corporeal form and inhabit the physical sphere for an extended period of time.

“Can I bring my dog?” She asks, kicking at a piece of garbage on the floor. It littered the entire ground around her feet.

“Dog?” The servant of hell inquired.

“Chupacabra,” She corrects.

“Sure,” Their eyes raise from filling out the paperwork to the little animal beside her. “Extra form you need to both sign. Says he’ll suck the blood of at least five animals per earthly week while he’s there. We don’t do ESAs here.”

“Fab,” She sighed in relief and scratched behind the ears of her dog that she had re-encountered shortly after arriving in Hell.

The chupacabra placed his paw in some mysterious blood that had formed in the pewter catch-all dish sitting beside the papers and then pushed it onto the form. Signed, sealed and soon to be delivered. They were getting out of Hell.

When she materialized on Earth, she wasn’t sure where she was exactly. The home office didn’t give that information, you just had to figure it out yourself. She had been hoping for her hometown of Los Angeles or another major city center she’d never been to before. Maybe London or Tokyo would be a fun change of pace.

After walking what felt like 20 miles, but was probably half of that given that she wasn’t used to physical legs anymore, she came upon a sign as to where she was. A mural to be exact.

It had only been woods and fields for the first half, but then there were more buildings. Coffee shops, bagel shops and something that was called a ‘Vape’ shops. Everything advertised themselves as historic music sites. But it wasn’t until 1504 Demonbreun St. that she fully ascertained she was in the heart of Nashville, Tennessee.

“Welcome to Nashville”

“Fuck yeah,” She smiled. A friend back in the day had been from here and told her about it a few times. It wasn’t a major capital city or home, but it was a city alright. And where there was nightlife, she was sure there could be trouble.

She spent the rest of the day checking around her surroundings. Finding the place Hell had given her to lodge in. It wasn’t much but she remembered earthly delights and planned to spruce it up, give it a vibe. She wrote a note on the wall with a deep red pen she had brought with her a list of items she needed. Couch, rug, bed, posters, an electric guitar and lots of wine and clothes. The ink dripped down the wall and she smiled, swiping at it and placing it to her lips.

She passed the rest of the daylight hours with great displeasure for the living people around her who barely seemed to notice her. Not that she looked any different than them, but it just bothered her that no one was as friendly as when she’d last been here. No one bothered to say ‘hello’, all they did was stare or talk into their rectangular devices she had realized were portable telephones half way through the day.

Broadway St. seemed to be the place Y/N thought she’d find the most possible trouble. It was lit up like the Sunset and if it weren’t for all the horribly dressed people surrounding her, she would’ve felt right at home.

At one of the bars, she got free shots from the bartender with a flash of her eyes. From the regular dark brown iris, they flashed an entire eternal glassy black. He smiled dreamily in the abyss and walked away after she winked at him. She swung back the shots and made her way to the dance floor.

Raising her hands above her head, she began to dance. Her black lace dress hugged her curves and shifted with her. Her silver jewelry glinted dangerously as she moved. The lights in the bar shifted to stay red instead of the flashing multi-colors that had bothered her when she entered. She moved her hips to the music and slowly it transformed from a poppy song she didn’t know to Led Zeppelin.

Robert Plant’s voice got everyone dancing the way they should and the vapes transformed into cigarettes and she smiled to herself feeling alive for the first time in a long time. Maybe being back wasn’t so bad. She drank more and danced more and saw people getting drunk and making out in corners and thought debauchery worked as trouble. Job done for the day.

She relaxed into the sway of the music, writhing around like a snake as her skin grew dewey with perspiration. A tug at her arm brought her out of her euphoric state. All night she had made sure no one would bother her, but whoever this was didn’t seem to follow her rules.

She opened her eyes, fully black once more as she stared at who was holding her wrist. She tugged back but his hold was secure. He pulled her to the side of the dancefloor, a space conveniently opening up.

“Get your hands off me! What the fuck, man?”

“You can’t be here,” He spoke calmly.

She narrowed her eyes at him. He had on a white plain t-shirt and light wash jeans, with opalescent beads hanging around his neck. His eyes were an oddly familiar light brown. His hair was shaved on the sides, creating a sort of mullet that she mildly appreciated if he hadn’t been so rude as to pull her away from her fun. That mullet exposed the golden earrings in his pointy ears.

There was something different about him. None of it was in his physical form but she felt it, vibrating and extending around him. As if he had invisible light passing around and through him even in the dark dingy bar lighting.

“Says who?” She finally tugged her arm free from his hold and crossed her arms across her chest, pressing her breasts up in the process.

His eyes flicker to the movement before pressing his lips into a thin line “Says me.”

She rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “And you are?”

“Joshua. I protect this town," he says. He wrings his hands around the gold bracelets on his wrists. “You can’t come into these bars and just mess with everything about them. It’s wrong.”

“Yes I can, Josh,” She smirks. “I’m a demon as you clearly already can tell. I can do whatever I want.”

“Oh my God,” Josh sighs, exasperated already. “There’s already a demon here.” He knew the other one quite well and was at least able to keep him in check. A newcomer would mean more work.

She shrugged. “Not my problem, angel. Hell sent me up here, guess they’re not happy with the other one’s performance.”

She moved to go back to the bar for another drink when Josh looked like he was a million miles away. He’d really killed her buzz. Josh’s mentioning of another demon made her stop and ask as an afterthought: “What’s this other demon’s name?”

“Jacob–er, uh, Jake,” Josh corrects himself. He hadn’t gone by Jacob since, well, since before, even if Josh wished he could just call him Jacob.

“Groovy.” Her smile is wicked, her lips painted a red so deep it resembled dried blood. “Displeasure meeting you, angel. Come find me if you ever want to have a real good time.” She kissed his cheek before disappearing behind a group of people.

Two weeks later, Y/N was seated on a bench in the park with her legs kicked up. She looked like she was a dead body–which more or less, she was, but the way she was sitting was unusual for someone who was supposedly alive. Her dog was perched unnaturally along the backrest, soaking in the sun he had missed. They looked out of place.

She had come out in the midday to see if she could start any fights in the park. She’d quickly learned that malfunctions with their little handheld phones really upset the modern humans so she liked to mess with wifi and electrical connections every odd day or so just to keep up the no-good work.

Her black RayBans covered her eyes as they surveyed the green grass for potential targets for a bit of a row. She sat as far away from the people as possible, so she had enhanced her vision as if using a zoom function. But soon something white blocked her vision.

“Angel,” She practically growled. Her dog actually growled, sitting up.

“Mind if I sit,” Josh asks pleasantly, eyeing the dog with caution. It looked like a normal dog, but a clip in his right ear and a strange red shimmer in his eyes made Josh think there might be something hellish about him.

She took her feet off the bench and pushed her sunglasses up off of her face. “Finally want a taste of what you’re missing?”

“No,” he states flatly. His eyes were still wandering between the creature and the demon. She was dressed in all black, typical. The dog was between cream and the lightest brown he’d ever seen, atypical. “Is this your dog?”

“Yeah.” She smiles softly for the first time. Her hand goes to pet him between his ears and down his small snout. “He was waiting for me in Hell back’n the day. They made him a chupacabra for me as a ‘Welcome to Hell’ present.”

Josh’s eyes widened in surprise. What had she done in life to receive a present in Hell? “They like you down there?”

“Eh…I think I’m just a descendant of many a troublemaker. They knew I’d be an asset, especially when I arrived so early.”

Her dog slipped into her lap. For a moment, he shifted as he stared at Josh. Big ruby eyes glowered at him, all his hair was gone, leaving something more resembling a pale soft dog-rat. Disturbing and wretched, nonetheless. He wrinkled his nose at Josh.

Josh tried to smile, feeling awkward. Jake had insisted he find this demon Josh had encountered, needing more information about whether he was really in trouble or if it was procedural. Why Jake wouldn’t do it himself, Josh never got as many answers as questions he asked.

“Do either of you have names?”

She grinned. “Is this twenty questions? Why so interested in me?”

“Just want to get to know my opposition,” Josh says lightly, praying for her to feel extra kind today. Afterall, she was a demon who was originally human and it was only a little while ago from what she seemed to like. He was pretty sure she’d only been down in Hell for 50-60 years, that was barely a human lifetime—and yet it was longer than hers. Far less than Jake. Maybe he could neutralize her, get her to see the bright side.

“His name is Rune, now, but it used to be Rori.” She rubs over the dog’s hair, happy that he was softer on Earth. “He responds to both��for me. Not sure what he should be called now we’re back.”

Josh waited patiently. The breeze was cooler than usual and looking at her, he had to assume it was her as well. She seemed far too powerful for a run-of-the-mill demon who used to be human. But she also seemed extremely unlikely to answer his questions if he got too personal.

With her eyes uncovered, Josh watched them move around as she thought about something. It was almost like she was tracking something or doing some long form math equation in her head. Like she didn’t know what her name was and was looking for the answer.

“Mine…well, now you can call me Sal.” She winks and Josh straightens in his seat, feeling strange. “Gonna write about me in your diary now, Joshua?”

Josh pretends to laugh with a clipped “ha ha.” She smirked again, sliding closer to Josh on the bench. Rori grew annoyed and hopped off her lap, slinking off to climb a tree in hopes of finding a squirrel. Sal extended a delicate hand to Josh’s shoulder, beginning to play with the fabric of his shirt. He smiled tightly, not having anywhere to go if he wanted more answers.

“You said you arrived early?” Josh’s voice is high as he feels her touch moving down his arm. Thankfully, being an angel kept him from feeling her entire influence, but her physical touch was enough to feel something…unholy. He didn’t want to imagine her abilities on mortals. “What did you mean?”

“You’re fun,” She beamed. “If I show you some tricks I picked up in Hell, will you show me something?”

“It depends what you want to see,” Josh tries to be diplomatic.

Her head throws back in laughter. “Not that. No, I want you to want me to see that.” Her hand wanders to his wrist and toys with the bracelet before slinking to his thigh. Her voice was low and sultry, lips pressed to his ear. “Desperately.”

Josh was starting to feel like he might have to leave. His breathing had turned shallow and he couldn’t stop staring at the carnelian stone hanging between her breasts. Her hand’s touch left him and she laughed again bringing him out of his reverie.

“Hell, you’re pretty cute…I was a 27 club member.” She shrugged, turning away from Josh to stare out at the people again. “Had my heyday in the late 60s/early 70s and went out the same way I lived. Fast.”

Josh thought about the 60s and the 70s. He’d admit those decades were a bit of a guilty pleasure for him. Nashville had been fun, not as crowded. He watched her again, seeing her eyes narrow looking at the couples and the groups of friends.

“You weren’t from here?”

“LA. Broadway’s kinda like the Sunset Strip, just a bit more loser-y…NashVegas, just like Liv said.”

Josh was about to protest, but refrained, letting her reminisce. She did miss her friends from back then. They’d gotten up to so much trouble. Sometimes too much.

“Best of times, worst of times kind of thing y’a dig?” She tapped the heel of her boot like she was trying to shake off something unpleasant. “Just glad I had my dog for most of the time. He followed me everywhere and everyone’d let ‘im in because he was such a doll. Died ‘bout three years ‘fore me.”

The more she spoke the more her accent of a bygone era of California popped up. Josh couldn’t deny how sweet she sounded when she spoke about that thing, demonic as the pair of them were.

“How long’ve you’ve been up–er, down here?” She asked, barely realizing she had to correct for him.

Josh cast his eyes to the sky, thinking. “Since the beginning. That’s like, 8000 human years, I believe.”

“Get the fuck outta town!” She exclaimed, jumping in her seat to face him. Her eyes were alight with hellfire. “You’re a proper angel then?”

Josh chuckled. “They don’t really take new hires upstairs, I’m afraid. Only very special occasions. It doesn’t happen much these days.”

She regarded him for a moment, inventorizing him again now that she deemed him far more interesting than before. “Yeah, I was on a special list when I came down. Only a few others in my line, everyone else had to wait in this huge waiting room. It was…repulsive and I’ve been in the alley behind the Whisky.”

Josh tilted his head, looking over her once more. He felt like he should know her, but he couldn’t understand from where. She looked so familiar. Her hair seemed to shift every so often and he couldn’t be sure if it was the light or mood dependent. He didn’t prod at her mentioning the special treatment in Hell, didn’t want to alert her to the fact, that from what he knew, that was extremely rare.

“Have you told your demon friend about me yet?” She asked.

“He’s not my friend,” Josh responds automatically.

Her eyebrows raise as she turns her head back to him, scanning him for understanding. A killer upon its prey.

“Secret lover?” She guesses.

Josh can’t hide his face of disgust. “Jesus! No!”

“Homophobic?” She asks with a look of distaste. Not being for the gays was so not groovy. Half the musicians she hung out with back in the day were gay. And she wasn’t one for choosing when it came to sexuality.

“No!” Josh cries. “I am more than an ally to that cause, not that angels really have sexualities…it’s just.” He sighs, rubbing at his neck confusion. “He was, is–I don’t know, my twin.”

“Oh!” She beams, eyes once again lighting up in intrigue. She enjoyed learning things, it helped for using it against people at the end of the day. “So he’s also a proper demon. Fell and all that.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me.” He sounded pained, as if he was reliving the entire thing.

“Wow…” She blows out a breath. “That must be funky.”

She continued when Josh said nothing. “Y’know ‘cause he’s your brother but also he’s–” She finished her statement by sticking her pointer fingers through her hair and wiggling them around.

“Yes, I am aware.” Josh shakes his head.

She stood up and stretched her arms over her head, revealing her stomach below the flowy lace top she was wearing. “Great catch up, I guess, angel. Wanna trade tricks later? I’ve already worked through most of the main bars here and I’m getting bored.” Nothing was keeping her interest, since every place she had to transform into her liking.

“You want to hang out with me? You want to hang out with an angel?”

She grinned, turning around herself once before dropping her arms and stalking back towards Josh, standing directly in front of him. She leaned over him, watching him straighten his neck and swallow thickly. His eyes flickered from her face to the carnelian again.

“Everyone else is too easy around here. I need a challenge.” Her lips were right in front of his. “You seem like the perfect remedy for a wayward soul like me.”

Josh wasn’t exactly sure why he agreed to meet the demon at some speakeasy she said she needed to try. He wasn’t fully sold on calling her ‘Sal’, something about it felt off to him. She didn’t even really seem to care for it either. Jake, he knew, was vehement that he wished to be called Jake.

Jake was probably why he had come to the back door of a pizza joint that was actually the door to the underground speakeasy. He’d asked for more information on her. When Josh had inquired why Jake couldn’t just do it himself, his twin finally fessed up that he was actually not currently in Nashville at all. Leaving the heavy lifting to Josh, like always.

Begrudgingly, Josh entered another bar with plans to meet a demon. Heaven forgive him. It was smokey inside the brick-walled cavern. Small candles lit the tabletops and narrow bar top. A small dance floor was packed as people danced slowly to a jazz band. In the corner of the room, he saw her hair almost glowing in the dark and he made his way over.

She was dressed in a black pantsuit, with no undershirt, just a black lace bra and her same necklace. Rori wasn’t present, from what Josh could see, but based on their conversation earlier he had a feeling the demon dog was around, lurking.

She groaned when she saw what Josh was wearing.

“Angel, man, do you have any other clothes besides that?” She shook her head in disappointment.

“Of course I do,” Josh huffed, looking down at his clothes not understanding what was wrong with them.

“Change.”

“I can’t perform miracles just to change my outfit. That’s wrong.”

“That’s wrong, it’s wrong,” She parrots what she thought was becoming Josh’s mantra. “God, Heaven sounds so stifling.” She rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers with impatience.

In an instant, Josh was dressed in a red velvet jumpsuit with sequins around the neckline. His arms were on full display, muscles bulging while the velvet hugged his torso and lengthened his height. He smooths at his hair and feels something come off his skin. On his hand, he sees glitter. He looks at her again and then down at his new clothes. She was eyeing the bulge veering to his right thigh.

“Much better.” She grins.

Josh rolls his hand in front of him quickly, almost like a benediction, and once again his outfit has changed. Now, he was in a cream and grey jumpsuit that was far less flashy of his own with his favorite sigil emblazoned on the chest. He left the glitter and sat down.

Her unamused look makes Josh feel a little hot with shame.

“A little miracle to make sure I don’t look like a demon can be forgiven.”

“You looked foxy but whatever.” She rolls her eyes and flicks a hand at the table, producing a bottle of red wine for both of them. “You drink, surely. C’mon, don’t act like your demon brother hasn’t corrupted a few of those precious angel feathers.”

Josh can’t help the smile that falls over his face. Not sure what was so endearing about her at this moment. The romantic jazz might have something to do with it. He loved jazz. He takes the drink gratefully and they sip in companionable silence. She was subdued.

With one bottle down, they start a second and this is when she offers to show Josh a trick if he’ll show her something again. He shrugs in compliance, feeling well on his way to drunk.

“But won’t the other people in here see?” He adds.

“No, they all know to mind their own business. Plus, it’s dark in here.” She winks and suddenly Josh is staring at only her head.

He can seriously only see her head and neck. She moves closer to him and now Josh is certain, she’s made her body disappear. She was a dishonest-to-god floating head. Her head glowed gold for a moment as she twirled in a complete 360 to really show herself off. Josh’s eyes were as wide as possible trying not to cry out in amazement. Then the rest of her body reappeared, straddling Josh’s lap. With her arms draped over his shoulder, her all black soulless eyes gazed into Josh’s, practically paralyzing him with her fiery warmth and intensity.

“So what do you think, angel?”

“I, uh,” Josh stuttered. He placed his hands firmly on her hips and moved her off of him. “That’s impressive. What’s it good for?”

“S just fun,” She shrugged, undetered by Josh removing her from his lap. “Let’s dance and then you can show me your wings or something.”

Josh didn’t have time to protest, as she grabbed his wrist with one hand and their second bottle of pinot noir in the other.

She took a swig before letting it float in the air beside them. Her body swiveled around the dance floor, placing herself in Josh’s arms as he swayed respectfully. She sighed and sunk into the movement, drinking from the bottle every so often. When the song changed, she turned to face Josh, handing the wine to him. He drank obediently, which she felt was a triumph.

Hands draped over his shoulders again, she pressed her body against his. He was strong, she could feel his toned stomach. Her regular eyes met his and she tipped her nose against his. He looked stoicly back at her, determined to be friendly but not fall into the trap she was so clearly laying for him.

“You’ve got so many defenses up,” She whispers. “Why not do what you want for once? Loosen up. Indulge.”

Josh smiles down at her and moves his lips to her ear. Polite as ever, he speaks soothingly. “I am having a lovely time with you, Sal.”

She groans, pressing his hands to her hips again, where the curve of her ass was. “I can gaurantee you’ve never had what I’m offering you…”

Josh smiles knowingly, unconvinced. “I’m afraid I’m above your temptations. Is seduction your main area of expertise?”

She glares at him, but there’s a glint in her eye. She loved the chase. The difficulty.

“Debauchery in general, but with how many people wanted to have sex with me in my first life I have a specialization in seduction and desire.”

He shrugs, moving his hands to a respectful place on her waist. His touch is light, but she feels the pressure of his thumbs pushing at the exposed skin. She smirks and snakes her lips up to his ear.

The gold hoop glints and she flicks her tongue over it. “I could just show you what you’re missing. If you’d allow me to put it in your mind, we wouldn’t actually do it. You’d be in complete control. Halo intact. C’mon just a few images…it’ll be informative.”

Josh sighs as the tug of her teeth on his earring. She was bad. Terribly good at her job. He understood why she was here. Jake wasn’t even in town. Damn him. If he did his job a little better, Josh wouldn’t be contemplating allowing a demon into even a small recess of his mind. But, Jesus, did he want to just see it. If it wasn’t real, it wasn’t really a sin to indulge.

She stares at him, waiting for his response. Her hands run over his shoulders and chest. The music swells and Josh’s hands tighten on her waist as he looks up to the ceiling, praying for forgiveness.

“For educational purposes,” He starts and she grins. “I will allow you to show me how you do your job. So that I may be able to thwart your wrongdoings better.”

“It’s just a little sex,” She licks her lips. “Igniting passion in people makes more babies for you to teach heavenly values or whatever. God likes sex, Josh.” Her voice is sickening, it was like she was dripping in a delicious scent that Josh can’t get out of his head. Twisting his values and her intentions into something evil that somehow made wicked sense.

He’s been careful to only open up a small piece he knows he can close, but he almost loses his footing when he finally feels her stinging lips on his. She licks into his mouth and he’s about to protest before the images begin to flow through his mind.

‘Good thing your brother doesn’t have to transfer information like this, huh?’ Sal says within Josh’s mind.

Guiltily, he feels himself laughing. Though his physical body is still locking lips with her.

The room she brings him to in his mind is dark, a red lamp in the corner where two bodies are rolling around. Sighs of ecstasy filling his ears. The smell of sex hanging in his nose.

‘You’re really missing out, angel. Could show you the best thing life, and death, has to offer.’ Her voice is softer in his mind.

The scene changes. He’s staring up at her above him. Her hips are working over him steadily as her naked breasts bounce in front of him, her necklace is the glowing light now. Her voice is sinful as she moans praises for Josh. How good he feels, how big he is, how strong he is. The scene changes and he’s driving into her with her legs over his shoulders, she’s smiling sweetly up at him with her mouth open, repeating his name like a prayer. It shifts and she’s pressed face down in the grey silk pillows, her body spread out for him as he grunts and growls, thrusting ceremoniously into her as she screams for him to keep going. It’s melodic, every bodily sound and the scene of their physical bodies uniting is hypnotic. Like it was pre-ordained that he would fit so well inside her. He feels euphoric as it shifts once more. She is back on top, his hips press up into her as she grinds down. Their faces are pressed together as Josh holds her body close to him. Arms enveloping her fragile frame. The room is quiet as they are pressed skin to skin, her lips meeting his gently. Sharp gasps escape their trembling lips.

‘Okay, enough,’ Josh pushes away from the scene, feeling both aroused and confused.

In the speakeasy, she pulls back from the kiss with a wipe of her lips. She runs her hands through her hair as she watches Josh. She had shown him every one of his fantasies, placing herself at the center of them. They weren’t particularly raunchy, it was all about connection to him and for once she didn’t tease.

“I like you, Joshua,” She says, truthfully, allowing him to pull their bodies a little apart.

He was flustered and confused and embarrassed, but he also didn’t want to run. She had kept her word, shown him a few things and left. He didn’t fully understand the words she had just spoken.

He shakes his head, an awkward smile on his lips there on accident, and she stares at him wistfully.

“I haven’t had someone in my mind in a very long time.”

“It’s okay,” She soothes. “You really are an angel. Maybe on this earthly plane for too long since you clearly have carnal desires, but they were sweet. Every man’s mind I’ve looked into had vile and cruel desires…” She paused, looking past Josh. “Even in my first life, all the men I knew wanted to hurt the women they supposedly loved.”

Josh’s eyebrows shot up in shock.

“The closest you got to dirty was having me in do–”

“Okay!” Josh cut her off. “I think it’s time to call it a night.” He turned and walked swiftly through the crowd, parting easily for him–definitely not a misuse of his miracles.

“Fine,” She grinned wickedly and whistled for Rori, sauntering after Josh.

Back on the street, it could’ve been daytime with all the lights compared to the speakeasy. She squinted her eyes in distaste, thriving in the dark and wishing she had brought her sunglasses.

Josh was turned away from her so she tapped on his shoulder, wanting his attention. Wanting to see him again. He turned slowly and the look on his cherubic face was troubled. She frowned, about to ask what got his wings in a twist.

A shadow stepped into Josh’s light. His hair was long and messy, in need of a wash. His silver jewelry shined heavy on his tanned chest. His black button up was almost completely open exposing his torso and he held a wide-brimmed black hat loosely in one hand and a guitar case more carefully in the other. His eyes flashed yellow when he spotted Y/N.

She straightened her posture under his gaze and gave him a defiant look. Rori growled, but stayed behind her legs.

Jake ran his tongue over his bottom lip, taking in the woman shaped devil before him. “You must be the new demon in town.”

She tilted her head at him and looked between Josh and Jake. “And you must be your brother’s keeper.”

He took a menacing step closer, narrowing his eyes at his angel of a brother before returning his gaze to her. “Something like that. Now, farewell…or don’t, I don’t care.”

She opened her mouth to speak again but no sound came out.

His eyes flashed again as he turned on his heel and said tersely, a command, “Josh.”

The pair disappeared into fog that had appeared as suddenly as the older demon along the nighttime sidewalk and then she watched it dissipate moments later, leaving no trace of the creatures. The men. The angel and the demon.

to be continued... join the taglist

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sierracolorstheworldofwords · 2 months ago

Text

The lonely king: Chapter five

You yawned for a third time in a row, much to his chagrin. Leaning against the doorframe of an old guest room, he watched you scrub the floor. You always did the floor last, just like you always opened the windows to air the room first.

“I would like to ask you something,” he said.

You looked up, “Yes, your majesty?”

“Will you stay with me? You are a wonderful maid! I will pay you well, and you’ll have your own room within the castle.”

Your eyes widened as you stopped scrubbing. He looked at your hands and frowned. You always got messy, but surely, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?

“Well?” he asked, “What’s your answer?”

“I– well.. There’s a catch, isn’t there? There always is, in stories.”

He rolled his eyes when you dipped your brush into the bucket again, returning to your work.

“That’s not an answer!” he stomped his foot, and then stomped to the window and flopped down onto the sill, “Why are you cleaning this room, anyway? It’s old and dusty!”

You rolled your eyes, “You’re going to have guests, remember?”

“I will?”

“Yes!”

You sent him that majestic glare again, before reaching into your pocket and pulling out a small book. You flipped through it, and revealed a decorated calendar for the month. His lips quivered as he took in the winter themed stickers. Was it strange that he adored your writing? You pointed to a section circled in red.

“Two kinds are coming to talk to you about trade agreements tomorrow! Honestly! I’m not always going to be here to keep track of this for you, your majesty! I have so much to do, and then after this, I have a closing shift! I never get a day off!”

You threw the notebook on the floor and glared at it. Then, you picked it up and stuffed it back into your pocket. He rested his chin in his hands as he watched you.

“I have so much to do before I leave! I have to clean this floor and clean the chicken coup and the throne room, then the kitchen and the bathrooms and–” He tilted his head, watching you.

Your heart raced. There was so much to do. Messes at home, piled in the corners and dishes that lingered in the sink. Dried up food and plants that needed watering, credit card bills that needed paying.

At your other job?

God, your other job.

The one where no one stocked anything and customers always complained. No one cleaned their messes and everyone talked shit about each other. It was like roller skating on ice with shaking knees as you asked yourself, did I just hear a crack?

The worst part?

You didn’t have anyone to complain to. Which sounded silly and even ungrateful, but you couldn’t help it. If you hadn’t been born they way you were, or if you just sucked up the abuse, then you could go home and vent to your parents. Even if they’d tell you that you were lucky. Even if you didn’t feel lucky.

The Goblin King squatted down next to you, “Are you alright?”

Did he ask that, or were you going crazy? You didn’t hear him right– he never asked questions like those, and for some reason, it was getting really hard to breathe. For some reason, your stomach clenched. This was it. This was your life– two dead end jobs that led to nowhere and an existence where nothing mattered. No one was going to help you, not your parents, not your coworkers, and certainly not the Goblin King!

With that, you blinked away the tears.

“Human?” he asked.

“Yes, your highness?”

“Stop scrubbing!”

You shook your head and went back to scrubbing the floor, wishing you had something stronger than soap.

“I demand you to stop foolishly scrubbing that floor! Whatever that is won't come off, you know. It looks like someone spilled wine there and let it dry.”

You cut him a look and sniffed. You then moved onto another section of the floor. You didn't have time for tricks.

He growled, “Must I repeat myself?”

You wiped your eyes and continued your work.

“You're being very rude!”

You turned to him, “I'm multitasking, your majesty.”

“You should accept my offer! I know you heard me!”

“To stay here and work for you forever?”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing!”

You rolled your eyes.

“Human.”

“Yes, sire?”

“Is it so bad to stay here?”

His voice sounded so small. So fragile. You sighed. Would it be so bad? There was enough to keep you busy, day by day, but that was the problem. There was nothing to look forward to except the expanse of eternity. You saw it, in your mind’s eye, stretching on and on, morphing from a black road into a starless sky.

“I wouldn’t say that, your majesty, but I doubt you’d truly want me to stay. I’m a lot to handle. I also already have goals that I want to achieve, and being in your permanent hire would only interfere with them.”

“I'm sure I could give you what you seek!”

The house you dreamed of crumbled away, and fell into a dark, churning sea.

“Not all the things I seek can be given, your majesty.”

He made a noise.

“And while I appreciated the offer, I cannot accept it, not because you're not being generous, but–”

“Quiet!”

“Yes, your highness,” you whispered.

“To think! I offer you a life better than the squalor you live in! To think, I use my precious time in order to speak to you! And you, a mere human, have the gall to spit in my face with excuses?”

You hunched your shoulders and bit your lip, holding your hands within your lap.

“What are you? A mere pathetic, horrid little thing? How dare you reject my kindness? How dare you–” he stopped, glaring down at you, before he noticed you rubbing your eyes. “I–” now, he froze too, shoulders shaking, “Oh, you horrid little creature! Don't cry!”

You looked up at him, and your lip warbled as you stumbled on what to say, but before you could murmur a word, he stomped out of the room, and slammed the door behind him.

The day passed in an anxious haze. You left notes on his majesty’s desk, so he wouldn’t screw up, and you had the kitchen staff prepare ingredients for the next day’s guests, along with double cleaning whatever you could.

Then, finally, you came to the last hour. Usually, the last room you cleaned was the throneroom. Should you clean the throne room?

You couldn’t leave a job undone.

With that, you grabbed your supplies and made your way there.

Only to find the Goblin King sitting on his throne. You gulped.

His stark eyes met yours and froze you to the spot. His hand tapped against his thigh and his leg bounced as he stared at you.

It'd taken everything for you to not cry earlier. It’d taken everything for you to not cry throughout the day. You knew his type well– too prideful to apologize.

You turned away, put down the cleaning supplies and started to sweep. Why was he watching you? Were you finally in danger? His majesty could be as cruel as he could be kind, just as all the Folk could, but then again, you lived in a world where if you walked down the street holding hands with someone of the same gender, you could be killed for it.

So it couldn’t hurt to risk it, could it? Your life?

“....I should not have yelled at you,” he said.

You stopped.

He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Don't feel too bad about it, your highness. You're not the first to have yelled at me.”

He frowned and crossed his arms, “That does not make it right. I– I made you cry.”

“Plenty of people have done that.” you gripped the broom tighter, shrugging it off, “Especially my parents.”

The words just slipped out, like an eel dashing across your tongue, and you frowned. You laughed bitterly.

“So I'm not as sensitive as a goblin, so I handle it, you know. It was a nice offer, and–”

“I made you cry,” he said again, his voice soft, yet commanding, “And you want to make excuses for it?”

You couldn't help but stare at him. His majesty was a confusing creature– both a coddled little boy and a grown man. His subjects loved him dearly, yet he always seemed to be preoccupied with finding something else, with wanting more. Did he know what you’d give for a speck of the love he was so ungrateful for? Did he know what you’d do for the guaranteed safety he took for granted? Yet, you weren’t a king, you were human. You’d have to carve your life yourself, even if you ended up scarred and calloused hands.

“It's alright, your highness. I wasn't cordial enough regarding your offer, because it's a very generous one, but you don't need to worry about me.”

You stopped, biting your lip. The folk were tricky, and that book of fairytales didn't exactly help you, but you knew how to be careful. How to say the right words.

“I appreciate your offer, but I'll have to decline. I fear that if I were to accept it, the goblins would be upset.”

He scowled, “I'd command them not to be!”

“And, furthermore, I fear that you'd grow bored of me. I'm not very entertaining.”

“And the goblins are?”

“Plus, I would be a financial strain– humans need constant food, water and shelter. That's disregarding medical emergencies. I doubt a goblin could be a doctor.”

He sucked his teeth and sighed, before lighting up.

“Don't you want gifts? Whatever you desire?”

“What I desire cannot be given, your highness, and I hate to be rude, but I have to clean the throne room before I go.”

He groaned, “You should stay with me!”

“I'm not a goblin, sire. I'm human, and I won’t last. I doubt you'd want to deal with a funeral, would you?”

“Well, no, but–”

“Exactly. Humans are a lot of work, sir.”

Jareth didn't have anything to say to that. Though, he couldn't help but glower at you as you smiled and began to sweep once more.

He wasn't giving up that easily.

You lay on the floor very dramatically. Your hair splayed out behind you and your arms rested on your stomach as you closed your eyes. He peered down at you, waiting.

Whatever was the matter?

Surely, it was because you rejected his offer yesterday. Well, he'd ask again. Especially because you looked as if you were dying.

“Will you stay with me?”

You gave no reply. Instead, you opened your eyes and looked at him with a gaze that made his heart squeeze. Then, finally, like a miracle, you groaned.

“Oh! You're alive!”

You groaned again.

“You are!” He cried jubilee, circling you, “Now! You can get back to work, or better yet, say yes!”

Once more, that glare froze him in place. Held him captive. What was he to do, with that gaze?

“Don't glare at me!”

In response, you stuck out your tongue and crossed your arms. He gasped.

“You horrid little creature!” he cried, “sticking your tongue out at me! How could you?”

You scowled– oh, he adored that!

“You can be..” you started, lips forming into a tight line, “You can be such a meanie!”

He laughed loudly, “Meanie?!”

“You're so mean!”

“Mean?”

“Mean!”

He threw back his head, cackling even more. See? You always surprised him, clever thing! Even if he was still miffed, he couldn’t help it as he wiped away an imaginary tear.

“Are you done insulting me?” he asked softly, looking down at you with a sort of strange smile, “Or, are you going to accept my offer? There is a solution to your mortality, love.”

You stayed silent. He clucked his tongue before kneeling down to pinch your cheek. Your gaze turned towards him, and his heart pinched as he noticed the bags beneath your eyes.

“You know,” you said, “I think you should ask me what the matter is first.”

He raised a brow at that, tilting his head, before deciding to indulge you, “Whatever is the matter?”

You shrugged, “I know I shouldn't tell you this, but I'm exhausted.”

“I could tell.”

You cut him a look.

He smiled and remained silent, even if his heart pounded within his chest.

“I doubt you'd understand,” you murmured.

“I could try,” he replied, sitting on his knees next to you.

For some silly reason, his cheeks flushed even more. Perhaps, because you looked as if you couldn't believe he'd want to listen. Under other circumstances he wouldn't have afforded a mere human such a luxury, but how could he not return the kindness you always gave so freely?

Always listening, always offering advice, conversation..

Why wouldn’t you just stay? Just stay here, with him, forever! Be here, and wear pretty things within a gilded cage and always listen! Wasn’t that better than that godforsaken place you called home?

“Work has been stressful, nobody really helps me. And.. my rent went up again, along with everything else.”

“Stay with me, then!”

“Your majesty–”

“You'd have a job! That's what you want, isn't it?”

You looked at him and frowned. How could a creature like him, who didn't have to cower within the shadows understand what you wanted? How could a creature covered head to toe in magic ever understand your want for mundanity? It would be nice to have a partner, and to just wake up to the sound of breakfast. The both of you would have nice jobs, and live in a nice house!

You’d grow old together, and one day, die together.

His majesty would never understand that. To him, it was all a game. There were winners, losers and people weren’t people, but pawns. You'd seen how he could be whenever there was a runner within his labyrinth, yet he never seemed to turn those cruelties to you.

So, what did that mean? Why were you complaining to him now?

Probably because of the other day, when he gave you that kind, compassionate look that made your insides melt like butter. In all your life, no one had ever looked at you like that. No one.

“Well?” he persisted, “Isn’t it.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I want a life!” you whispered, “A house where i don't have to worry about my rent going up every month or my landlord deciding to randomly kick me out! A life where I can afford a car and not have to take the damn bus everyday! Where I can buy nice groceries instead of cheap junk!”

“Why on earth would you want all of that?”

“I knew you wouldn't understand.”

“I can get you whatever you want! Your own house, and you wouldn't need one of those metal carriages! I could take you anywhere you want to go! I am a very powerful creature, mortal. You mustn't forget that.”

You knew a threat when it was presented to you. You also weren’t a fool. You'd read enough stories to know that the folk were not to be messed with. You had to be gentle in this rejection.

“Your majesty, why do you want me to stay?”

He glanced down at you, and his gaze reminded you of a judgemental cat on a high perch.

“Well, why wouldn't I want you to stay?”

You fiddled with your hands and looked down at your bitten, skin-picked nails. It was hard not to pick. It felt soothing, in a way. You fingered your hair and noticed the frizz.

“I'm not the prettiest, your majesty, and I know you'd get tired of looking at me pretty quickly. That's why it'd be better to keep me as a temporary employee.”

“That's silly! You're under my permanent hire! Furthermore, I'm a wonderful boss. Watch. I demand you go home and take the day's payment!”

“What? Your Majesty, I can't do–”

“Yes. You can. Consider.. why, consider it a gift, from yours truly!”

He shoved a bagful of jewels into your arms. You gave him an exasperated look, before plopping the pile back into his arms.

“It's rude to deny a gift–”

“But this isn't a gift. You said I could consider it one, but I don't, because this is supposed to be my payment for thirteen hours of work. So thus, I cannot take it.”

“So I ought to pay you more for your work! What an astute observation!” he leaned over and pinched your cheek, before finally stuffing your arms with more treasure.

“Your Majesty–!”

With the snap of his fingers, he summoned a familiar clock and spun a finger in the air. The hand on the clock began to spin, before a gong rang. It landed upon the thirteenth hour, and when it did, he smiled.

“There. Now it's been a full day. You are free to leave, and here–” more things appeared from the air, and he added it to your pile with a smirk, “For your hard work.”

You crossed your arms, eyeing the pile warily, “What's the catch?”

“Catch?”

“Gifts come with conditions, don't they?”

“So do rewards, but those aren't obvious, are they?”

You bit your lip. Your stomach grumbled. You hadn't been able to buy groceries. Saving for a house and all the responsibilities that came with it was nearly impossible, but it had to be worth it.

It had to.

You’d move to a place that was more accepting. You’d live in a nice neighborhood in an old house with a circle window in the attic and French windows in the front. You’d have an English garden in the yard, and grow your own lavender and vegetables. If you closed your eyes, you could see it– the bright sun shining on the leaves of the trees, rippling on the pond filled with ducks and koi fish. Lily pads floated on its surface, and ducktails gathered around the edges. Within your home, there’d be no yelling. Within your home, there’d be no horror. A goldfish would swim in a tank, and there’d be a library, filled with your favorite books, and on Sundays, you’d go to the park and chat with friends.

You could feel it, that life, brimming against your fingertips.

You made your choices. You avoided the cliches– never eating or drinking anything offered, never saying thank you. Never accepting gifts.

Was this a gift?

You stared at the Goblin King, at his lithe and long features, at the fingers that were too long to be human, and the ears that peeked from his long, blond mane. Today, he wore a shirt made from strands of silver, with black boots encrusted with diamonds to match. From head to toe, he glittered like a star, even his gloves were bedazzled.

He’d never known of work till his hands went numb. None of the folk did.

“Come now,” he cooed, “what have you got to lose, taking this?”

“Can you guarantee that there will be no negative consequences to accepting this?”

“You did it the other day, didn’t you?”

“That was a fair exchange.” His eyes flickered with an obscene glow as he leaned over you, “Was it?”

“Yes, because while you only hired me to clean around the castle, I managed the goblins and got them to ensure that your trade negotiation went well. Along with leaving a list of talking points. It wasn’t the first time I’d done that, either. So, I think I ought to consider this a long overdue raise, and that you should guarantee that there will be no negative consequences in accepting it, especially if you want me to keep working here. Which, I think you do, don’t you?”

You flashed him a smile, and oddly enough, his cheeks turned into a shade of bright pink. It was cute. In another life, he would’ve been your type.

“Fine! I guarantee that there will be no negative consequences to accepting this gift!”

“I will accept this raise, your majesty, and I’m more than grateful for it.”

With that, you bowed and ran off before you could change your mind.

The Goblin King couldn't help but watch you.

Really, what else was he supposed to do? He was being patient! Even if it was hard!

How many times had he asked you, anyway? Two! Well, he'd ask again.

You couldn't reject him a third time– especially when you were covered in dirt from rooting around in the garden. You turned towards him, and a wind came through, blowing your hair. The sun shone, and caught it, casting a halo around you. You were the most beautiful thing in that garden, even if your cheeks were smudged with dirt and your clothes covered in it.

He scowled as you gave him a little wave. His scowl worsened when you turned to a goblin, talking to the little creature as if it were nothing.

You even gave it a little pat on the head before returning to your work. He, of course, continued to stare. Until you turned back to stare at him.

He'd give you one more chance to accept his offer.

Then, of course, he’d resort to other means.

#fan fiction #jareth the goblin king #labyrinth 1986 #my writing #x reader #goblin king #jareth x reader #fan fic #goblin king x reader #reader insert #fae #fae folk

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ladyofrings · 3 months ago

Text

Threads of Legacy

Halbrand finds a meaningful piece of Lothiens past I decided to switch this part out with the one the ever so lovely @/carleywithasea has written - Who is sadly not on tumblr. TW: Mention of death, sadness, melancholy, war

-> My Masterlist

In the morning, Halbrand wakes first. He has no work to do, there are no dishes to clean, and while he knows he should make breakfast, his gaze lingers on Lothien. Her hairpin rests on the table beside her bed, her tanged locks free. The little beauty mark just under her lips begs for a kiss, but he refrains.

He will still have control and as well as he knows Lothien, he knows that he’s only aware of the last two or three hundred years of her life. He knows nothing of her family, how she grew up, what her goals are, what she wants in her long life or half the things she’s experienced.

With that in mind he goes through the room he’s been given. He’s long ignored the trunks there. He sorts through some books in elvish, some drawings, what looks like a diary of herbs, then finds a tapestry that’s been lovingly rolled.

Halbrand takes it in his hands and walks to the living room. He spreads it over the table and starts looking at the family tree that has been carefully woven into the fabric. Every small detail, every flourish proves how important this is.

Two names stand out to him, two he can’t look away from. They’re familiar for some reason or another. Aranwen and Calion. Halbrand softly follows their union to Lothien. The last of the line. There are others along the lines of Aranwen and Calion – siblings, but with no children to show.

Lothien is the last, the only heir, the only legacy yet she serves a minor role to another. Halbrand’s brow furrows until he hears a soft creak behind him. He glances over his shoulder and sees Lothien there in a robe and nothing more. Her hair is fluffy and inviting, but her eyes catch on the tapestry.

Halbrand expects Lothien to be angry, or at least annoyed, but a quiet resignation fills her eyes as she looks past him to the tapestry. She takes a step forward.

“I found this,” Halbrand says softly. For the first time he feels a pang of something he can’t place. Yet his voice is filled with apology and curiosity, only one of those is familiar. He keeps his eyes on her. “I did not mean to pry ... it’s beautiful.”

Lothien stands beside him and she strokes over Aranwen’s name. Only when her finger curl does Halbrand realize that it was a near touch, not a real one. She takes a breath, one tinged with something bittersweet.

“It’s not prying, dear Halbrand,” she murmurs. “It’s a piece of my past.”

“Your family,” he agrees.

“Yes,” she answers, simple and straight forward.

Halbrand watches, expecting more, but she only watches the tapestry, as if it’s alive with memories he’ll never have access to. Her throat bobs. Halbrand puts a hand on her hip, gently stroking her as he touches Calion’s name. Perhaps he brings her less pain.

“Your father must have been someone important,” he murmurs.

She sucks her bottom lip.

“They’re both gone,” she whispers.

“If you don’t wish to speak about them, you have no reason to,” he says, glancing from her to the tapestry.

He feels pain, something sharp and unforgiving.

“I lost them both in the same war ... when Noldor fell,” she continues.

Halbrand focuses on the names. He remembers that war. Morgoth gave an order and it was to be followed without question. All who stood in the way were killed and ... Sauron himself fought, even if under another name. While Sauron may not have delivered a killing blow to either of Lothien’s parents, Halbrand is sure that those fingers are still speckled with blood.

And so play a part in Lothien’s deep rooted heartache.

“Your parents were warriors?” Halbrand asks, not looking at Lothien.

She moves closer to him. “My father was. He was so involved in the first age, stayed in Noldor despite the separation from Valinor. He was brave, dutiful. They called him the “Son of Light”.”

“Lothien,” Halbrand says gently.

“He never left his men, would never abandon a fight because he’d only go with just cause. He ... he fell upon the battlefield after surviving so many. If he survived in Berleriand, it seemed impossible that he wouldn’t come home and teach me more about honor, courage, responsibility to others. So many stories, so many swords for me to see.”

She looks at Halbrand, meeting his gaze. She smiles as her eyes water. “He was a wonderful father.”

“And ... your mother?” Halbrand asks slowly.

Lothien sighs and looks back at her mother’s name. “I hated when they didn’t put their images here. Someone could have done it. I don’t have anything to show you of them.”

Halbrand lifts her chin and studies her eyes. “I’m sure I see them both right now, their legacy is right here in front of me.”

A tear rolls over her cheek and she presses her forehead to Halbrand’s chest for a moment. Before he can stroke through her hair, she looks at her mother’s name, just above Halbrand’s fingertips.

“She was ... astounding. A noble woman who wasn’t content with simply feeling peace – she wanted to share it with all. She put so many others first. She avoided political conflicts and devoted herself to arts, to bringing passion to life. Everyone will talk about her grace and wisdom, her way with languages, diplomacy, how peaceful she was, how she helped heal the body and the mind. Peace in turmoil.”

“She sounds extraordinary,” Halbrand agrees.

Lothien leans closer to the tapestry and covers her own name. “I didn’t do anything. I was young, yes, but I ran when she told me. I wanted to stay. How could I leave my mother? How could I allow her to sacrifice herself for others rather than to beg her to come with me, to force her?”

“People are defined by their choices as adults, not children, Lothien,” Halbrand soothes, feeling out of his depth.

What is he doing in this conversation other than rehashing old pain? Other than dragging buried pain to the surface.

“She never would have left. I know that. She never went into battle, but she refused to abandon those who could not flee. The injured, the sick, the elderly ... she was sure that she could save more than one person and by sending me away, she was able to save more. I heard later that dozens left thanks to her sacrifice. She soothed the frightened, inspired others to fight, met the carnage head on ... even when the enemy broke through the defenses, even when they were running through the town.”

Memories of wars fought, lost, and won, the untamable violence that ripped through homes and people, burning, bloodshed, swords, spears, arrows, so many tools all meant for destruction and destruction alone. He’d been involved, but can’t imagine greeting that kind of violence.

“They said my mother sang ancient songs to ease everyone’s fear, to distract them as the orcs broke through and overran the settlement. She could have fled. She could have caught up to me, but she chose to shield a group of children and elders who were too week to escape. She managed to hide them, but .. but I can’t help but wonder if I’d been there ... if there would have been a way to save her,” Lothien finishes.

“Fate is not for the weak of heart. Your mother’s heart was strong and so is yours,” Halbrand whispers. He cups her face between his hands. “I have seen her compassion in you. I’ve seen your father’s sense of duty. They are ... with you still.”

He’s not sure if what he’s saying is right, but it’s all he can muster. He’s never tried to comfort someone else, never felt the need, but seeing Lothien so lost bothers him. He cannot fight the ghosts of her past, so all he can do is allow her to feel it.

Lothien hugs him tightly and for a moment, Halbrand freezes. He gently strokes her back after a pause and kisses her forehead. “I’ll make breakfast and we shall spend the day together. Help teach me how to court you, so I may learn your happier memories.”

He would rather replace them all, but this moment ...

“This is a happy memory,” Lothien murmurs against him. “I haven’t talked about them in so long. Keeping them a secret seems like keeping them from having any legacy at all.”

“You are their legacy,” Halbrand whispers to her. “You’re their memory along with every life they touched.”

She nods and he holds her, resolves to hold her as long as she needs. He will be her pillar of strength when she is a drift in the sea of her melancholy. He will provide what she needs, wrap himself around her, make her his. Owning her means owning and understanding her pain, her past, and ensuring her future.

She will not know this pain again.

#the rings of power #rings of power #halbrand #oc x halbrand #oc x canon #my oc #elf #Lothien

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