#I’ve been meaning to do this for so long it’s fine

[raestromboli]

plug!chris helps you with a certain predicament. ♡

there’s a pout embedded on your glossed lips as chris closes the door behind you, not noticing how he stares you down with confusion and a slight humorless expression.

“a’ight, the fuck you called me for? i was busy.” chris grumbles. his words are slightly mumbled since a joint rests against the corner of his lips. blue eyes trail over your body while you plop down onto his couch with a furious stupor, brows furrowed and your arms crossed under your chest.

“i can’t cum!” is all you whine out. your pout only curls deeper when all chris does is side eye you, lips parted in surprise. he doesn’t respond immediately—just eyes you down like you told him something extremely stupid.

“. . . i don’t get how that’s my fuckin’ problem.” his brows raise expectedly while his voice narrows down into something you’d typically use when talking to a child that’s teetering over the edge of throwing a fit. chris doesn’t really seem to care anyway, because he sits back down onto the couch next to you and resumes counting the wad of cash that lays on the table in front of him.

you huff, uncrossing your arms and showcasing your hands to the boy next to you. chris lets out a begrudgingly sigh as he inspects your hands. by all means, they look perfectly normal—a little on the smaller side—but he had taught you how to reach those special spots with those short fingers, so what the fuck do you mean you can’t cum?

“i can’t read minds, kid. you look fully capable of makin’ y’erself cum.”

you stare at him through your lashes, “my nails, chris.”

chris just glances at your long, square acrylics, and it hits him. a dry chuckle falls from his lips as he then watches you cower a little in embarrassment.

“you serious? came all the way over here ‘cause those nails ain’t doin’ it for you?”

you timidly shrug when you feel your cheeks heat up, “i’ve been trying, but it doesn’t feel good. ‘need you to make me cum.” a relieved sigh falls out your lips when chris puts his cash down, pinching the joint from his lips and passing it to you.

“jesus—fine. hold this, and take your pants off.” and you do exactly what he says, but not without squealing excitedly and kissing his cheek. it surprises you a little when chris gets off the couch and gets on his knees, grabbing you by the thighs and tugging you closer to his face. you gasp under your breath at the sudden aggression and you grow to be embarrassed when he roughly spreads your legs apart. a sick grin spreads along his pretty face when he spots the comically large wet spot staining your pink panties.

“chriiisss.” you grumble quietly, huffing and puffing impatiently before he gets sick of hearing it and decides to shut you up by wrapping his large hand around your wrist, guiding the joint to your lips. your lips envelope it begrudgingly and you take a hit.

“shut the fuck up for a sec’, a’ight?” he sasses. his low eyes are dead set on your clothed pussy as he hooks a finger around your panties, sliding to the side to showcase your sensitive mess. god, he could never get used to such a pretty sight. your hole constantly leaks and chris is eager to lick you clean, tongue lolled out completely as he dives right in.

you couldn’t even speak—this was exactly what you needed. chris becomes an animal once he gets his mouth on you; whimpering and groaning against your soaked pussy like he was on drugs. the bottom half of his face is already glossy when he comes back for air, glancing up at you with hooded eyes and a small smirk when he sees how completely fucked out you are. you whimper when chris spits onto your cunt, your free hand flying down to grip onto his soft hair before he licks his saliva up with a groan. his plush lips wrap around your clit and sucks on it gently, making you pant and gurgle out his name while the joint sits lazily on the corner of your mouth.

and his head was always so sloppy, you could literally feel how his saliva mixed with your arousal drips down onto the couch. chris is practically drooling onto your cunt as he alternates with flicking his flat tongue across your puffy clit and suctioning his lips around it with a guttural whine each time. his large hands splay flat on your thighs to prevent you from closing around his head, and his biceps flex when you start thrashing and grabbing onto his wrist helplessly.

the vibrations from chris moaning directly into your cunt made your hole clench around nothing—momentarily pulling a choked cry out of you. he guides his tongue lower to collect the creamy nectar that pools at your hole, obscene squelches bouncing off the walls when the tip of nose bumps against your clit. it’s then that the coil in your stomach tightens, broken whines of the boy’s name falling past in your lips in warning.

“mmph—ch-chris . .” you keen lowly, fisting the boy’s locks as your lips parted to let out little ah’s. chris hummed in response and continued to play with your nub. he pulled away for a second to glance up at you, smirking with his lip tucked in his teeth.

“ya’ happy now, kid?” he rasps, maintaining eye contact with you while he kitty licks your throbbing clit. you let out whimpers every time the tip of his tongue catches onto your pussy, nodding wordlessly, “good.”

and when chris directs his attention back onto your cute cunt, you knew you weren’t going to last any longer. he sticks his tongue out and begins to lick a thick stripe from your drooling hole to your little nub where he wraps his lips around, grunting boyishly. suddenly, your fist tightens around his hair and all you can do is whimper helplessly. your hips buck up, thighs straining as you attempt to close around his head, but his large hands stop you from doing so.

your orgasm hits you like a train—you barely have any time to warn chris when your stomach tightens, your poor pussy sensitizing within seconds. whimpering noisily, you try to push his head away, but he doesn’t let up. no, instead, he takes a hand to grab onto your wrist, pining it to your thigh. you earn a glare in which you pout, hips bucking frantically as you cum. all you can see is white. you let out strings of chris chris chris like a mantra as he repeatedly swipes his tongue over your pussy, dipping down to lick your sweet cum.

and even when you come down from your high, he doesn’t stop. you have to use your free hand to push chris away, whining that you’re too sensitive. luckily, he listens and comes up for air, panting loudly as he licks his lips clean. his eyes look even lower than when he was smoking on that joint that sits prettily on your lips, and he rises up to sit down next to you, you following suit which leads you to straddle his lap. he looks at you, lips parted and pussy drunk, and snatches the joint from you to take a deep hit.

“ya’ satisfied?” chris asks, quite unimpressed as if he wasn’t going ham on your pussy just seconds ago. you smile nonetheless, taking account of the rough denim poking your bare mound as you place a kiss on his stubbly jaw.

“can you fuck me now?” you hum, a little giggly when you see the face chris makes at you.

“y’er doin’ all the work, kid,” he shrugs, “supplier’s comin’ in ten and i gotta count the rest of this cash, so hurry the fuck up . . .”

notes: can we bring back dealer!chris i barely see fics ab my man anymore💔💔

[your-unfriendlyghost]

So I’ve been working on a group project at school with this group of three girls. (They’re like already an established friend group, I just joined because my friends wanted to do I project about video games and honestly I’m a video game hater) Now that’s all fine and whatever- I have a lotta friends who are girls so I figured there was nothing too different here. But istg these girls keep telling me stuff that “girls do/like” that I have never heard of?? I’d wonder if they’re fucking with me, except that they’re so earnest about it that it doesn’t seem like a joke 😭

For example, they told me a bit ago that “You boys don’t understand how much scent matters when it comes to girls liking you.” And at first that made sense- I mean yeah duh hygiene is important. Showering is important too. Fine. But when I said that, they all shook their heads.

“No,” one of them clarified matter-of-factly, “we mean like base scents. Your natural scent.”

So I was confused, obviously, because I have never heard of this??

Apparently what they meant was that everyone’s got a distinct scent, and that -allegedly- girls can tell what it is. I was still confused. Like ik about natural body scent and whatever but I didn’t think it smelled like anything in particular except for like…sweat, yk? But no, apparently it’s very complex and well-known and “You don’t get it because you’re a man. See look, Lyn smells like mango and fruit. This is an example of a ‘heavier’ scent. People with heavier scents tend to be attracted to people with heavier scents too. Smell her wrist.”

It smelled like wrist. I am so confused.

“Now Casper, you smell like cinnamon and warm spices. That’s pretty good. You should use spicy and woodsy-smelling colognes so that it combines well.”

I smelled my wrist- it smelled like wrist, not cinnamon. And “combines well” ?? Huh?? Genuinely, is this like a thing people actually notice that I just…haven’t heard of?? I really doubt they’re bullshitting it because they went really in depth and seem to really believe it- are they just living in a parallel universe where that’s common knowledge??

I mean this is just one of many similar instances. Some others include “Girls like guys who have long hair and think all guys with short hair are ugly. Not you tho Casper because you have wavy short hair and that’s different!” and “Girls don’t feel pain as strongly as guys do, which is the biological tradeoff for not building muscle as fast” and “Men know they have problems but don’t fix them. Women usually don’t know when they have problems, but when they do, they try to fix them.” To most of these I’ve said some variation of “What?” or “huh?” or “I’m pretty sure that’s just y’all specifically,” but they usually say it’s true and like. Well-known?! Idk I think they’re gaslighting me and/or maybe themselves?? Or am I just really unaware or something??

[pixeltwix]

-Unrelated McGucket Ramblings

Because my mental illness is metal illnessing my brain has been having a wonderful time combining interests. Specifically gravity falls and the Odyssey of all things?

The parallels between Fiddleford, Emma May, and Tate -& Odysseus, Penelope, and Telemachus is driving me bonkers. EVERYTIME I hear songs like ‘There Are Other Ways’, ‘I’m Just A Man’, and ‘Love in Paradise’ I can so vividly see Fiddleford so ardently longing for home, for his wife, for his son, but something or some event keeps pulling him back every single time he has a mind to just go home. I can’t help but let my head make the connections and rewire silly lyrics to fit closer together than I already feel they are.

‘Back at home my wife awaits for me, she’s my everything, my Emma May. And she’s all my power, all my power, but it’s been (x) long years. Oh (x) long years since I have seen my wife, and now the god of (chaos) is out to end my life-“

Additionally while I do not see Emma May as Calypso to any degree, her few lines in ‘Love in Paradise’ stuck out so hard to me if it was outside of the context of Calypso & Odysseus’s no good very bad situation. Just the-

“It will be fine dear, come back inside dear, love of my life come back to paradise. I know your life’s been hard, I’ll stay inside your heart. I love you my dear, I love our time here, life would be so much worse if you had died. Please stay away from harm, stay in my open arms.”

Is SO POST FIRST PORTAL TESTING FIDDLEFORD CODED- when Emma May finally comes up for herself to check on him in Gravity Falls and sees his condition. I refuse to believe for a moment that she didn’t at least try to understand what was going on before fearing for her and her sons life. Finding her husband most likely stumbling around like he doesn’t even know himself or where he is, trying to soothe and bring him back to her. And at first it seems like it’s working, like he’s slowly piecing together what she’s putting down, but then he’s sparking, spiraling again. She tries a final time to coax him from whatever whirl of madness he’s gotten himself into, but it never gets better. In fact it keeps getting worse. But just the vISUAL ALONE of her with that part of the song trying to bring him away from harm all the while he’s still deeply haunted with the ‘all I hear are screams’. AHHH-

Additionally the narrative of Penelope stalling her suitors for YEARS because she’s hoping, praying, that her husband is still alive, still out there somewhere. That maybe just maybe he’ll come home. I am screAMING and pointing at the Emma May core of it all. I’ve been meaning to develop elderly FiddEm dynamic be it platonic for the sake of recovery, but my biggest thing with her design is despite after all these years she sTILL carries aspects of her husband with her. Be it wearing his old specs he left at home or still keeping her floral motif with her brooch. She still loves him deep down- she always will, and she’s always gonna mourn the life that could’ve been if Bill hadn’t been involved, but still. Keeping him as apart of her even if she ‘hated’ him for so long kept her going.

Also idk plus just the-

‘Hell no, I could kill you where you stand. I’m no pet, I’m a married man.’

Is silly to me because I know it would be very ooc for Fiddleford to have THAT much bite even if he is capable of ‘lashing out’. Regardless it’s still amusing brain movie content to envision-

If I didn’t already have so many other ideas on hand I’d draw this all myself, but raaaaa so many other concepts I wanna draw first :(

[tinkaaabutt]

she likes a boy.. caitlyn.kiramman

The city hums with life, the warm glow of lanterns casting Piltover in golden hues. Caitlyn Kiramman leans against the cool stone of the balcony, her sharp blue eyes tracing the skyline. You’re beside her, your voice animated as you recount some story from earlier that day—about him.

You don’t notice how quiet Caitlyn has grown, nor the way her fingers tighten on the railing whenever you say his name.

“…and then he just smiled like that,” you say, laughing softly. “You know what I mean? Like… really smiled.”

Caitlyn forces a small chuckle, but her chest feels heavy. She knows that smile, the one you’ve described before—gentle, disarming, the kind that makes your eyes light up when you talk about him.

“He seems… nice,” she says carefully.

You glance at her, brow raised. “Nice? That’s all you’ve got? You haven’t even met him yet.”

She shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’m sure he’s… fine.”

You laugh, a sound Caitlyn usually treasures but now finds slightly painful. “You sound so suspicious! He’s not a criminal, Cait.”

“Good to know,” she says dryly, though her lips twitch into a smile despite herself.

The conversation lulls, and you both look out at the city. Caitlyn can’t stop the thoughts tumbling through her mind—the way you always speak so freely with her, how your laughter feels like sunshine on a cold day, and how, for a moment, she’d let herself think you might feel the same.

But you like him.

“Do you think it’s stupid?” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence.

Caitlyn blinks, startled. “What?”

“Liking someone so much,” you say, your tone softer now. “Like… I barely know him. What if I’m just being ridiculous?”

Her throat tightens. She wants to say yes—that it’s silly, fleeting, and that he could never know you like she does. But instead, she swallows the words and forces herself to meet your gaze.

“It’s not ridiculous,” she says quietly. “You deserve to feel that way about someone.”

Your smile is shy, tinged with a vulnerability Caitlyn isn’t used to seeing in you. “Thanks, Cait. That means a lot.”

She nods, her composure steady even as her heart aches.

For a while, neither of you speak. The city’s sounds fill the space between you, and Caitlyn wonders if this is how it will always be. You’ll tell her about the boy you like, and she’ll nod, offering support while burying her own feelings deeper and deeper.

When you glance at her again, there’s a flicker of concern in your eyes. “Hey, you okay? You’ve been kind of… quiet tonight.”

Caitlyn hesitates, the words threatening to spill out: No, I’m not okay. I like you. I’ve liked you for so long, and now you’re falling for someone else.

But instead, she pastes on a small, practiced smile. “I’m fine. Just tired, I suppose.”

You don’t look entirely convinced, but you nod. “Maybe you should get some rest. I should probably head home anyway.”

She walks you to the door, her usual politeness masking the turmoil inside her. When you turn back to wave, your smile bright and easy, it takes everything in Caitlyn not to reach out, not to say something that could ruin everything.

“Goodnight, Caitlyn,” you say.

“Goodnight,” she replies, her voice steady.

The door closes behind you, and Caitlyn leans against it, letting out a shaky breath.

You like a boy. And Caitlyn knows she should be happy for you—truly, she does. But as she stands alone in the empty hallway, she can’t help but wish that boy could be her instead.

End.

[scrollonso]

White Lie — Pedroscar

"Hey, Osc," Pedro began, his tone unusually somber as he perched on the edge of the couch. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, betraying the nerves he was trying to hide. Aleix had sent him a video earlier — a video of a British guy pranking his girlfriend by telling her he wanted to break up — Aleix said he'd done it on Daniil so now Pedro should do it on Oscar.

Oscar glanced up from his book — his Spanish language book — his brow furrowing at the uncharacteristic seriousness in Pedro’s voice. "What’s wrong, love?" he asked, his tone calm but tinged with concern. He set the book aside carefully, giving Pedro his full attention.

Pedro hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to summon the courage to go through with it — he had no problem riding a death machine as a career but thid horrified him. His hands trembled slightly, and he dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly to steady himself. "I... I think we need to talk," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar’s frown deepened, his head tilting slightly as he studied Pedro’s face. "Okay," he said cautiously. "What is it?"

Pedro’s gaze darted away, unable to hold Oscar’s steady eyes any longer. He looked down at his hands, twisting them nervously in his lap. "I’ve been thinking a lot lately," he began, his voice faltering. "And... I uhm, I don't think this is working out anymore."

The words hung heavily in the air, the weight of them immediately shifting the atmosphere in the room. Oscar froze, his usually bright expression clouding over. He didn’t say anything at first, but Pedro noticed the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants.

"What do you mean?" Oscar asked finally, his voice carefully even but quieter than usual.

Pedro swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it harder to speak. He pushed through, though every word felt like a knife twisting deeper into his own chest. "I mean us," he said, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. "I feel like... we’ve been drifting apart. And I don’t think I can do this anymore."

Oscar’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. His expression shifted ever so slightly, the faintest flicker of hurt crossing his features before he quickly masked it. "Drifting apart?" he echoed, his tone neutral but tinged with disbelief. "Since when? I didn’t realize you felt that way."

Pedro’s stomach twisted, guilt clawing at him as he watched Oscar struggle to process his words. "It’s not you," Pedro said quickly, forcing himself to meet Oscar’s gaze even as his resolve began to crumble. "You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just... I don’t know. I feel like something’s changed, and I don’t want to keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."

Oscar nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he looked down at his hands. He was quiet for a long moment, his chest rising and falling steadily as he tried to collect his thoughts. "I see," he said finally, his voice soft but steady.

Pedro’s heart ached at the sight of him — Oscar, always so composed, trying to hold himself together even now. The temptation to abandon the whole act was overwhelming, but he didn’t. Not yet. "I just think this is the best thing for both of us," Pedro added, the words barely audible as they left his mouth.

Oscar’s hands curled into fists in his lap, and he nodded again, though this time the movement was stiffer. "If that’s how you feel," he said, his voice faltering slightly.

Pedro hesitated, watching Oscar carefully. He could see the cracks starting to form in his facade — the slight tremble in his hands, the way his lower lip quivered ever so slightly. Still, Oscar held it together, though Pedro could tell it was taking everything he had.

"Are you sure about this?" Oscar asked quietly, his voice laced with vulnerability despite his best efforts to stay calm.

Pedro’s heart sank further, and for a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to respond. This had gone too far. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Oscar the truth, but before he could, Oscar’s composure finally broke.

He let out a choked sob, his chest heaving as he buried his face in his hands. The sound was raw, broken, and filled with anguish, and it pierced straight through Pedro’s heart — what had he just done? Tears began to spill freely down Oscar’s cheeks, slipping through the cracks between his fingers as his entire body trembled violently. His breathing grew erratic, shallow gasps cutting through his cries as the weight of Pedro’s words hit him like a sledgehammer.

"Why?" Oscar finally managed to sob, his voice cracking with the force of his emotions. His hands fell from his face, revealing red-rimmed eyes brimming with tears and a look of sheer devastation. "Why would you do this?" His words dissolved into incoherent sobs, his chest shaking as he fought to breathe through the torrent of emotions overtaking him.

Pedro sat frozen, horrified at the sight in front of him. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected — not even close. He thought Oscar might get upset, maybe even cry a little, but this? This was heartbreak, pure and agonizing, and Pedro felt the full weight of his mistake crashing down on him.

"Oscar," Pedro breathed, his voice shaky and filled with regret. He reached out hesitantly, unsure if Oscar would even let him near after what he’d said. But when Oscar didn’t pull away, Pedro wrapped his arms tightly around him, pulling his shaking form close.

"Osc," Pedro said again, more urgently this time, his own voice thick with emotion. "It’s not real. It’s not real! It’s a prank, cariño. I swear, it’s not real!"

Oscar didn’t seem to register the words at first, his sobs growing louder as he clung desperately to Pedro’s Red Bull branded shirt. His fingers curled into the fabric, holding on as if letting go would shatter him completely. "I love you," he choked out between cries, his voice barely audible. His words came in fragments, broken by gasps for air. "I don’t want to lose you, Pedro. Please... don’t do this."

Pedro’s stomach twisted, guilt and shame colliding in a sickening wave as he pressed his lips to Oscar’s temple. "You’re not losing me," he murmured, his own voice trembling as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "You’re never losing me. I’m so sorry, Oscar. It was a stupid, horrible prank, and I swear I’ll never do anything like this again."

Oscar pulled back slightly, his face streaked with tears and his lips trembling as he tried to form words. But another sob wracked his body before he could speak, and Pedro cradled his face in his hands, wiping at the tears with his thumbs.

"It’s okay," Pedro whispered, peppering kisses across Oscar’s forehead, his cheeks, and the tip of his nose. "I’m here. I love you so much, and I’ll spend forever making this up to you. Just... please, don’t cry like this. I can’t stand it."

Oscar sniffled, his breathing still uneven as he looked up at Pedro through tear-blurred eyes. "That was so mean," he said shakily, his voice breaking on the last word.

Pedro nodded, his heart aching at the sound of Oscar’s broken voice. "I know," he admitted softly. "I was a complete idiot. I thought it would be funny, but I didn’t think about how it would hurt you. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Anything, Osc."

Oscar let out a shaky laugh, though fresh tears still glistened in his eyes. He swiped at his face with trembling hands, a flush creeping up his cheeks as the intensity of his reaction began to sink in. "I can’t believe I cried that hard," he muttered, his voice thick and embarrassed. "You're a fucking cunt, you know that?"

Pedro’s lips curved into a soft, apologetic smile as he pulled Oscar close again. "You cried because you care," he murmured, stroking his hair gently. "And that means everything to me. I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll never take that for granted again."

Oscar relaxed slightly in Pedro’s arms, though the occasional shudder still wracked his body. "You better not," he said quietly, his voice still hoarse but steadier now. "Because next time, I’m making you cry."

Pedro let out a soft laugh, relief flooding through him as Oscar’s words carried a hint of his usual playful spirit. "Fair enough," he replied, pressing another kiss to Oscar’s forehead. "But for now, just let me hold you. Please."

Oscar nodded, closing his eyes as he rested his head against Pedro’s chest. The sound of Pedro’s heartbeat beneath his ear was steady, soothing, and slowly, the storm inside him began to calm. "I love you," he whispered, the words barely audible.

Pedro’s arms tightened around him, his lips brushing against Oscar’s hair — he was definitely going to be yelling at Aleix later. "I love you too," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "More than anything in the world."

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ lawstudent!jimin ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist

friends to lovers / post break-up (oc is going thru a break-up)

uni au (law students)

fluff

//

it feels like jin has been yapping in your ear forever. if not forever, at least a good 15 minutes has passed since this horrific mock trial finished. you’re still here—taking his shit. 

truth be told, it isn’t really shit. he’s not trying to be mean, he’s being himself—critical in the most gentle way possible. but on days like today, it’s difficult for you to differentiate the gentleness and criticism in his words. 

“___, what i’m saying is… next time, if you’re going to wing it—commit to it. it was too obvious,” jin sighs, watching as you stuff your papers into your bag. “jimin had you cornered by the second argument. prep more, and you’ll do fine for the next one—”

“right,” you mumble. “noted. got it. thanks jin. sorry about today.”

you force a tight smile. jin looks at you, not buying it… but he nods and heads off, leaving you alone in the empty classroom.

except, you’re not alone. 

“it’s no fun if you suck, you know.”

you glance up to see jimin leaning casually against one of the desks. he’s loosening his tie as he approaches you. there’s a smug expression on his face, yet there’s a softness in the way he looks at you.

“not in the mood,” you huff, going back to packing and not bothering to spend another second looking at him. “everyone knows it was an off day for me. i’ll be more fun for you next week.”

jimin chuckles, shifting his weight. “okay but—seriously, you went all in on the wrong precedent. if you’d just tied it back to—”

“jimin,” you snap, finally turning on him. your voice comes out sharper than you mean it to be. “i said i’m not in the mood.”

the air stills as he processes the deliverance of your sentance. his smirk quickly fades and is replaced by something more cautious—more caring. 

jimin raises his hands, palms up. “okay, shit. fuck. what’s going on with you?”

you bite your lip hard, but it doesn’t stop the tears that suddenly spill over. 

you and jimin are decent friends. you’ve gone to enough events with him to feel comfortable and have ran in the same circles every now and then. you two are familiar with your personal lives but not in great detail… maybe that’s why you admit the truth instead of brushing it off. out of everyone you know, jimin is the least likely to be nosy and opinionated about what is going on. 

“i—namjoon and i broke up,” you blurt out, your voice breaking. “and this stupid trial, and jin’s feedback, and—i don’t know, it’s just too much right now.”

jimin’s eyes widen, and for a second, he looks completely out of his depth. but then he steps closer, his hand hovering near your back before he finally pats it, awkward but sincere.

“hey,” he says softly. “that must suck. i’m sorry, ___.”

his words… pull you. 

so simple, yet so heavy. before you can stop yourself, you let out a sob. then, another and another… until you’re completely crying and suddenly he has his arms wrapped around your face is buried in his chest. for a split moment, it feels like he holds you so tight that if he lets go—you’d crumble without him. 

“i’ve got you,” he murmurs, one hand rubbing small circles on your back. “let it out. it’s okay. i’m here.”

his words hand in the air as your heart continues to ache. 

you don’t know how long you stay like that, clutching at his shirt as the weight of everything pours out of you but eventually, your sobs quiet. eventually, you pull back and wipe your face with the sleeve of your button up. 

you two stay silent for a moment. only the sound of you catching your breath and the classroom vents humming fills the space. 

then, with a small tilt of his head, jimin asks, “soju?”

you let out a light laugh, shaking your head. 

“we broke up this morning… am i really going to get drunk now? it’s hardly past lunch.”

he smiles, the corners of his mouth lifting in that soft, familiar way that makes your chest ache a little less. “it’s almost 4pm. lunch passed. it’s dinner time.”

“seriously?”

he nods and nods towards the door. “come on. soju on me.”

without another word, jimin reaches over and finishes packing up for you. you watch and listen quietly as he begins to talk about the best meal pairings with soju. he makes you laugh a little more too.

as the two of you leave the classroom, your bag slung over his shoulder, jimin’s mind begins to race. he feels bad about your breakup—of course, he does—but fuck. 

finally. 

namjoon’s a good guy and all and you didn’t deserve to get hurt—but again. 

finally.

jimin has liked you for so long and has been unable to do anything about it because his timing was off. so, he figured he’d wait it out. you and nam joon were a good pair—but something was missing. passion? yearning? love? something like that… 

not to worry—jimin has a feeling he’ll bring those things to the table along with the soju.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

can i pretty pls request a fluffy nash oneshot 🙏🏻

one with banter somewhat similar to how he and libby talk 🙏🏻 (in the tiny moments we get of them 💔)

thank you so much for this request!! I know it was requested a while ago, so sorry it’s taken me this long. I gave it a go, but I don’t think I hit the nail right on the head with what you requested, sorry!!

title: comfort from a cowboy

pairing: nash hawthorne x reader

synopsis: you had a not-so-nice interview and nash comforts you

warnings:

a/n: for @kit4strophe 💖💖

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast

My head rests against the hard wall behind me and I’ve been sat on the floor for so long my bum has gone numb. But I can’t be bothered to get up and move, I don’t have enough energy.

I replay the interview - or should I call it an interrogation - that had happened just a few hours earlier. It’s been on a sort of loop in my brain for a while now. The same blood boiling questions over and over and over. I never want to go through that again.

I hear my door open which is odd because when it’s shut usual no one bothers me, they know better than to. I don’t open my eyes immediately. I play a little game with myself, a silent game - ‘who is at the door’. Jameson? Unlikely. Grayson? Almost a definite no. Alisa? Don’t see it happening. Xander? A possibility. Nash? I doubted it. Avery? Wouldn’t be surprised. Oren? Only if there’s an emergency. Libby? Most likely.

I open my eyes and to my surprise my guess is annoyingly wrong. Usually I’m quite good at guessing games but I supposed today was an exception. Maybe it’s because there’s so much on my mind.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, scrunching up my nose at the sight of a certain texan cowboy motorcyclist.

“Careful,” he warns, the corners of his lips turning up in the slightest way, as he saunters in and sits down beside me, “you almost look happy to see me.”

“What are you doing here?” I repeat, not really in the mood for his games or anyone’s games for that matter.

“Sitting beside you,” he replies simply.

I narrow my eyes and shoot him a look, “don’t be cryptic.”

“You asked,” Nash shrugs, acting so laid back he was nearly horizontal.

“Why are you here?” I rephrase sharply, a tone he couldn’t ignore or twist or make light of.

“To make sure you’re alright,” he answers me earnestly, something in his deep hazel eyes that resembled concern.

“Well I’m fine, there we go,” I say shortly, “end of story, goodbye, the door is to your left.”

I close my eyes again and tilt my head back to rest on the wall, assuming he’d leave at my finalisation.

“I’m very aware of where the door is,” he drawls, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to use it.”

I internally scream in frustration and then open my eyes to meet his.

“Look I’m not in the mood for socialising right now,” I explain, trying hard not to sound too angry and defensive otherwise me might keep prying.

Nash is understanding. If I told him this, maybe he’d understand a kindly leave me be.

“You don’t have to socialise with me,” he says calmly, the soothing quality of his voice making it almost impossible for me to be mad at him.

“Fine,” I snap, standing up and perching myself on the end of my bed.

I won’t socialise. He can sit there bored out of his mind for all I care, in fact I hope he does. I lay back on the bed my head hitting the mattress with a soft thud. I want to sleep and rid myself of being such a prisoner to my own thoughts but for some reason I can’t bring myself to. And I know that reason is called Nash Hawthorne.

“Say something,” I groan sitting up.

If we have the conversation he so clearly wants, then he would leave, then I could sleep. Simple.

“What?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Just say something,” I exasperate, “the silence is killing me.”

A small smirk plays on his lips, “what happened to no socialising?”

“Just shut up and stay something,” I nearly yell.

“That phrase is one confusing oxymoron,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re a moron,” I reply, snarkily.

He laughs at me. It was a real laugh, not a pity one. His eyes are lit up and the smile fills his face. It is a pretty laugh, I think that’s what annoys me the most. I liked it.

“Tell me something,” I press on, “anything.”

He pauses for a minute. And then another. And then another. Until the pause is so long I wonder if he’s going to talk at all. Slowly he makes his way beside me again and looks deep into my eyes like he can read them.

“You don’t like all this,” he begins, “you didn’t ask for it, you wish you could go back to your old life but feel selfish and guilty to wish that because people would die to be in your situation.”

I try not to betray my shock but I’m awful at hiding my thoughts and feelings. My face probably says it all. Part of me is angry. He shouldn’t know this. I shouldn’t be this easy to read. It’s not fair. The other part is touched that someone care this much.

I fold my arms protectively across my chest and raise my eyebrows, “and who are you to tell me that?”

“An observer,” he says, almost gently.

“Stop observing me,” I tell him, “I’m not a project.”

“Oh I would never dream of considering you a project,” he replies, his voice deep in the back of his throat.

I move in closer, pinning him with an accusing look, “then what do you consider me?”

“Hold your horses, darlin’, I’m asking the questions here,” Nash grins, something about the way the light sparkles in his eyes gets under my skin.

“Says who? And don’t call me darling,” I tell him bluntly.

“Says me,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

He doesn’t add a darlin’ on the end and part of me respects him for that. If I’d been talking to anyone else they probably would’ve tried to piss me off even more. But Nash isn’t like that, he never has been.

“Well I don’t care what you have to say,” I quip.

“I never asked you to care,” he replies, his voice reminding me of a waveless sea.

I glance at him and find his eyes are already on me, I exhale slowly and ask him one more time, “why are you here?”

“To make sure you’re okay,” he answers in an instant. No double meanings, no puzzles, no avoidance, just a straight answer. But it takes me by surprise just as much.

I try to cover my true feelings, “why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I saw it,” Nash tells me softly, apology decadently laced through his eyes.

He was referring to the interview of course. I didn’t know he watched mine like I watched his.

“I told you not to watch,” I scowl.

“I’m not very good at listening,” he shrugs.

“Clearly,” I roll my eyes, playing with the fabric of my jumper sleeve to avoid looking at him.

“So are you okay?” he asks, again his voice stole that gentle tone that made my heart melt into mush.

“I’m fine,” I reply, keeping my tone cold and hard.

Of course I’m not fine. I am anything but fine. But saying you’re fine is so much easier than talking through the hard parts, the truth. And sometimes if you pretend it’s fine for long enough you can trick yourself into believing it too.

“I know what happened,” he reminds me with a tenderness that made my limbs ache to curl against his body.

“And I’m fine,” I say sharply, still in denial, still trying to be too stubborn for my own good.

“Well now you’ve told me twice it makes it all the more real,” he barks out a laugh.

I roll my eyes.

“Why do you care so much anyway,” I scoff.

“You’re important.”

The answer is lightning fast, almost like a reaction. It doesn’t have to be thought about, pondered or even considered. It’s just engraved into his brain as the thing that feels more natural, the most ‘right’ to reply with.

“What?”

“You’re important and I care that you’re okay,” he says.

I don’t know what mix of emotions hit my chest, I just know they hit with an impact that knocks all the air out of my lungs. He cares. I’m important to him. He wants to know I’m okay.

“What are you hiding under that cowboy hat?”

He almost chokes on his own spit in surprise. Then gain composure and leans back, raising an eyebrow, “you’re changing the subject?”

“Answer my question,” I demand, narrowing my eyes.

“What do you mean what am I hiding under my cowboy hat?” he muses with a sweet small smile.

“Well you have it on 24/7,” I explain, “so I presume you’re hiding something.”

“Just because something is covered up doesn’t mean it’s hiding something,” he says ,”and it goes both ways, just because something looks normal doesn’t mean it’s not hiding something.”

I have a feeling he’s not talking about cowboy hats anymore.

“I did what I had to do,” I reply.

“Stayed silent?” he asked.

“It was better,” I press on.

A flicker of rage flashes through his face, “people don’t get to talk to you like that.”

“I know,” I yell back.

“Then why did you let them,” he asks me, annoying not raising his voice to escalate the situation.

I fancy a good yelling match in this moment with all the anger built up inside of me, he can see that and he isn’t giving in. I can’t tell if I like him more for doing that or not.

“Not every battle is worth fighting,” I snap back, “you should know that better than anyone.”

“I do,” he replies, almost cautiously, “but some are.”

“If people see you’ll fight everything you throw at them they will use that against you,” I tell him, “if you act unbothered in the first place you can surprise them one day and fight back.”

“You’re a tactical thinker,” Nash comments.

“Who cares what I am?” I reply.

His voice softens with every feature of his face, “I care.”

And there it is again. That mix of emotions with impact just hurling towards my chest. I never know what to say, it steals all my words before I get to say them. So silence consumes us, as if we’re two eskimos dead in the snow, the frostbite gnawing at our frozen bodies.

“You don’t have to act tough in front of me darlin, I can see right through you,” he murmurs, so softly I wonder why I didn’t just melt on the spot.

“Don’t call me darling,” I snap, avoiding his eyes.

I’m worried if I look into them I’ll tell him everything. And I can’t risk pouring everything out, not when I’ve hidden it so well for this long.

“I’m here,” he says desperately.

I feel as his hand clasps around mine, giving it two squeezes. Reassurance. My heart pounds in my chest. I want to tell him, I want to be free of my problems, I want someone to help me. But I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.

“I know,” I pause for a long while and he lets me, “it’s just hard.”

My voice cracks at the last word. After being so steady for so long it was bound to happen at some point.

“I know,” he says delicately, “believe me, I know.”

I let one tear slip down my cheek but as it rolls down, for my dignity he pretends not to notice. Always a gentleman.!

“I hate people,” I whisper, “they really suck.”

It was all I could manage without completely breaking down.

“I hate people too,” he agrees. I let him put an arm around me and I hesitantly lean into his chest.

I make a strangled laughing sound, “we should start a club.”

He sighs and quietly asks, “do you want to leave this place?”

“No,” I hesitate slightly, “and yes, but I’m not going to.”

“Is that what you really want?” Nash asks earnestly, a kind look in his eyes that is rare to find in any human being.

“Yeah, for now,” I nod.

“Good,” he says, “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“You’d miss me if I was gone?” I look up to him and raise my eyebrows.

“Of course,” he replies, “you’re one of us, your family now.”

I smile, my cheeks warming up to tint a rosy colour. I sniff as I let him wipe my final tear away with the soft pad of him thumb. There’s a moment that we lock eyes and neither of us dare look away. We both are very still. It’s like time isn’t moving.

When his thumb finally leaves my cheek all I can think about is how I want his touch there again. It’s like I need it now. Like how a drug addict craves a needle in their arm. The absence of that feeling of his skin on mine is horrible.

“Besides who will I have to call me a moron if you go away,” he jokes, tilting his cowboy hat towards me.

“You are pure cheek Nash Hawthorne,” I poke my tongue out.

“I’ve heard that one before in many different contexts,” he smirks with a wink.

Who knew Nash Hawthorne looked so good when he winked?

I gape in shock, “who knew you could make crude jokes!?”

“I may be the eldest and most responsible but who do you think taught everything to Jamie?” he asks.

“I’d never thought of that before,” I reply.

He shrugs in a very Nash kind of way, “welcome to the inner workings of being a Hawthorne.”

“Should I be flattered to be so privy to such important information?” I grin batting my eyelashes at him.

He moves in, “that depends on how much you value it.”

Our faces are inches apart. I feel something in my chest. Aside from my heart racing, there’s a feeling deep within my heart. It’s warm and tingly and tender. It’s sweet but bitter at the same time, and yet I still crave it.

“Let’s make a deal,” he whispers, our noses so close they could be touching.

“Is this a Hawthorne kind of deal?” I question in a murmur.

“Well what other kind of deal would it be,” Nash says, pulling back a little disappointing me slightly.

Still, I raise an eyebrow and cock my head to the side telling him to continue

“You don’t put up your wall anymore and you talk to me about your problems,” he proposes.

“A deal has two sides Hawthorne,” I remind him.

“Indeed it does,” he nods, “so name your price.”

“You learn when to shut up,” I say.

“What?”

“When I say I’m not in the mood for socialising understand it and move on,” I reply.

I wouldn’t be having the conversation if he’d just left me alone to start with. Not that I’m complaining, this conversation is rapidly becoming my favourite yet, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Deal.”

We take each others hands and with a firm shake the deal is bound.

“Starts today,” Nash adds, “now.”

“Perfect,” I smile mischievously, “then I think you should stop talking.”

“See I don’t think I-“

“Shhhh,” I shush him.

“But-“

“Shut up.”

“Mouth is shut!” he exclaims trying not to laugh.

“Forever?” I challenge.

“Can’t keep me quiet for that long darlin’,” he drawls.

“I can try,” I reply.

“You’re setting yourself up for failure,” he sing songs.

I put my finger on his lips and this time physically he can’t suppress him smile.

“How does failure taste?” I murmur.

“Like something you’ll enjoy,” he counters, talking against my fingertips. I can’t help but grin.

“Wanna get out of here for a bit, get some fresh air?” he asks me.

“Do I,” I sigh, dropping my hand from his mouth, relieved he finally asked

“Come on darlin’,” Nash says.

I don’t tell him not to call me darling. In fact it’s growing on me. He holds my hands, they’re warm against my cold palms and gently pulls me off of the bed.

“Where are we going?” I stand up, tilting my head to the side in question.

He flashes me a grin, “how do you feel about motorcycle rides?”

I did my research girl 🤭🤭 a little reread of tig never hurt anyone and the libby/nash content is too cute!! I feel like I didn’t really capture the right kind of banter because it was more sensitive so maybe I’ll do another one with more banter, so sorry about that xx hope you enjoyed anywaysss and thanks for your request

[darcydarlingdabbles]

The Static Between Us~

RadioApple + Static 🍃Voyerism 🍃Omega!Alastor /Alpha!Lucifer

🍃Explicit🍃Vox Cucking ~ 4.8k

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! Thanks for 160 follows, 2.5k likes on Tumblr...and holy shit 27k reads on Ao3!!! Have some crack/smut to celebrate with me XD

🍃🍃🍃

The sleek drone hummed almost imperceptibly as Vox guided it through Hell's smog-choked skies.

His screen flickered with anticipation, cyan teeth bared in a grin as the newly remodeled Hazbin Hotel came into view.

"Let's see what you're up to, old pal," Vox purred, his clawed fingers dancing across the controls.

The drone glided silently over the hotel's new rooftop gardens, a stark contrast of lush greenery against Hell's desolate landscape.

Vox's pupils contracted as he spotted his targets.

Alastor and Lucifer were strolling among the foliage.

Alastor's crimson hair gleamed in the hellish light, his ever-present smile a mask of amusement as he kept his hands folded neatly at the small of his back.

Beside him, Lucifer's smaller frame radiated power—as much as it echoed frustration with every gesture of his blackened hands. .

“What do we have here?" Vox mused, zooming in on the pair. "A lover's quarrel?"

He strained to hear their conversation, cursing the limitations of even his most advanced technology. He reached for a dial, tunning away.

"Just wait," Vox muttered, his screen crackling. "One of these days, I'll catch you slipping, Alastor. And when I do…" He trailed off, lost in visions of finally besting his rival.

Alastor's body language spoke volumes, however—the tilt of his antlers, the sharp gestures of his gloved hands. Classic Radio Demon needling.

"I'm telling you, the color scheme is fine!" Lucifer's shrill voice carried through the audio feed. "The pink would be perfectly fine if you weren’t always covering it in blood splatters!"

Alastor's static-laced chuckle grated on Vox's nerves.

"My dear, I believe you're overthinking this. The sinners won't care about aesthetics when they're being tortured."

“Alastor,” Lucifer huffed, rubbing at his temples with the long fingers of his right hand. “They’re not being tormented, they’re being redeemed.”

“I fail to see the distinction.” The Radio Demon said brightly.

Alastor’s permanent grin was etched onto his face as always, but his usually relaxed posture was now tense. His ears flicking constantly with irritation.

Next to him, Lucifer's normally suave demeanor was replaced with an obvious groan of frustration.

They were a pressure cooker about to pop.

As he watched, a pang of something uncomfortably close to jealousy twisted in Vox's gut. He pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on the potential for chaos unfolding before him.

Vox's screen flickered with desire and disdain as he manipulated the drone's camera, panning slowly down Alastor's lithe form.

Even fully clothed from neck to wrist to ankle, the Radio Demon's silhouette was maddeningly seductive. The crimson pinstripe suit hugged Alastor's slim waist, flaring slightly at his hips before tapering down long legs.

Hiding the soft curves of an omega’s body beneath sharp angles and layers of fine fabric.

"Damn you," Vox muttered, his teeth gritting in frustration. "Why do you have to look so good?"

He zoomed in, capturing the subtle sway of Alastor's hips as he walked.

The Radio Demon's backside was pert, perfectly small in his mind. He imagined gripping those hips, claiming that body, making the omega writhe—until his circuits buzzed with want.

The TV demon's fingers twitched and Vox refocused on the conversation unfolding before him.

"And the plumbing is atrocious," Alastor's voice crackled through the feed. "Really, sire, one would think the King of Hell could conjure better pipes."

Lucifer's face tinged gold with a flush. "Don't push me, Alastor. You’ve treading on thin ice."

Vox leaned closer. What was that supposed to mean?

“Treading?” Alastor's grin widened. "My dear, I’ve been tap-dancing on it." He leaned down to the angel’s level. “You’ve simply failed to crack, yet.”

"Last warning," Lucifer growled. "Red light. Quit while you’re behind."

Red light? What kind of threat was that?

On screen, Alastor's ear twitched, his head tilting in a coquettish manner that Vox had never seen before.

There was something in Lucifer's posture, a coiled tension that spoke of barely restrained power.

Alastor's laugh rang out, sharp and challenging. "Make me, your majesty.”

“You asked for it!”

Lucifer's hands shot out, grasping Alastor by the lapels of his precious coat and slamming him against the gnarled trunk of a nearby tree. The impact sent a shower of crimson leaves cascading around them.

"Oh my," Alastor purred, his voice crackling with static. "How terrifying, I’m simply shaking in my boots."

Vox's screen glimmered with excitement, his grin stretching wider than should be possible on his digital face. "Come on, old man," he urged. "Put that pompous asshole in his place."

Lucifer's grip tightened, his knuckles like ash against the deep red of Alastor's coat. "You never know when to stop pushing, do you?" the fallen angel growled, his face inches from Alastor's perpetual, petulant smile.

"Where would be the fun in that?" the omega replied, his tone light and teasing despite his precarious position. "Besides, I do so enjoy seeing your feathers all…ruffled."

Vox's brow furrowed in confusion. He had expected Alastor to fight back, to summon his shadows or at least attempt to break free.

Instead, the Radio Demon seemed almost…relieved?

As he was being tossed around by the devil himself.

On the screen, Lucifer leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that Vox had to strain to hear. "Are you sure you're prepared for the consequences, Bambi?"

Alastor's eyes glinted with mischief, his grin widening impossibly. "Oh, I'm counting on them."

Lucifer yanked Alastor down by his lapels, crushing their lips together in a fierce kiss. The action was so sudden and shocking that Vox's digital eyes widening in disbelief.

"What the actual hell?" the TV demon sputtered, his voice glitching as he processed the scene before him.

The kiss was rough, brutal, and anything but loving. Lucifer's hand snaked up to grip Alastor's hair, tugging it sharply as he deepened the kiss. For a moment, the omega seemed to melt into it, his usual rigid posture softening.

But then, just as quickly, Alastor's hands flew up to Lucifer's chest, shoving hard against the angel.

It was like pushing against a stone wall—Lucifer didn't budge an inch, but he did pull back, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Is that all?" Alastor taunted, his voice husky and slightly breathless. "I expected more from the mighty King."

Lucifer's eyes flashed lethally, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Oh, you want more?"

The angel gripped Alastor's shoulders and forced him down. Until the Radio Demon's knees hit the ground with a dull thud.

Vox's excitement intensified, a thrill running through his circuits. "Now that's more like it," he chuckled darkly. "Look at the high and mighty Radio Demon now, on his knees where he belongs."

He watched the devil grab for the demon’s hands in one of his. Lucifer's grip tightened on Alastor's wrists, pinning them roughly against the gnarled bark of the tree.

The fallen angel leaned in, capturing Alastor's lips in another searing kiss. Alastor's eyes widened momentarily before fluttering shut, a soft hum emanating from his throat.

Vox's screen flared in disbelief.

"Since when do you put up with so much mouth to mouth?" he muttered, his voice tinged.

With one hand still restraining Alastor's arms, Lucifer's other hand deftly popped open the buttons of the demon’s shirt collar. "Such a needy little omega," Lucifer purred, his breath hot against Alastor's ear.

"Needy? Al? " Vox scoffed, rolling his digital eyes. “As if.”

Lucifer's lips curled into a smirk. "If you need attention so badly, Bambi, you could just ask."

Alastor's permanent grin widened, an impish glint in his eyes.

"Now where," he drawled, "would be the fun in that?"

Lucifer's hand shot up, gripping one of the Radio Demon’s antlers and yanking his head back. The deer let out a startled gasp, exposing the pallid column of his throat.

Lucifer's gaze fixed on the spot where Alastor's mating gland lay hidden beneath his skin.

"Is he going to…?" Vox leaned forward, his circuits humming with anticipation, half-expecting Lucifer to tear into Alastor's throat for his insolence.

Lucifer's mouth descended on Alastor's exposed neck, lips latching onto the sensitive mating gland.

Vox watched intently, still expecting gore, when suddenly Alastor's ears drooped and a sound escaped him that the TV demon had never heard before—a deep, throaty sigh.

"What the hell?" Vox muttered.

Alastor's eyes fluttered closed, his usual sharp grin melting into an expression of blissful surrender. Another moan vibrated through the air, sending a jolt of surprise through Vox's circuits.

Vox's digital jaw dropped.

He had never, in all their encounters, heard Alastor make a sound like that.

Nights spent tangled in silk sheets, Alastor's lithe body beneath him, cool and unresponsive. The Radio Demon's smile fixed in place, eyes half-lidded with boredom rather than interest. Vox had always assumed Alastor was simply cold, uninterested in physical intimacy beyond using it as a tool for manipulation.

But this... this was different. Alastor's usual rigid control was crumbling, his body arching into Lucifer's touch.

Another moan escaped him, lower this time, almost a purr.

"Since when do you make noises like that, you smug bastard?" Vox muttered, his voice glitching.

He zoomed in closer, drinking in every detail.

Alastor's chest heaved with each ragged breath, a flush creeping up his neck to stain his greyish cheeks. His ears, usually perked and alert, were drooped in capitulation.

And his eyes…Vox had never seen them so dark, pupils blown wide with unmistakable desire.

Lucifer's hand slid lower, teasing at the waistband of Alastor's trousers. The Radio Demon's hips bucked forward, seeking more contact.

A whimper—an actual fucking whimper—fell from Alastor's lips.

Vox's circuits buzzed with arousal and indignation. He remembered countless nights of trying to coax even the slightest reaction from Alastor.

The Radio Demon had always lay there, occasionally offering a sarcastic quip or rolling his eyes.

At best, he'd been a pillow princess. At worst, a corpse in bed.

Vox's gaze snapped back to the screen, drawn by another breathy sound from Alastor. He cursed under his breath, realizing he'd missed a crucial moment while lost in his own thoughts.

"Thank Satan for recording," he muttered, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. Wincing when he realized he was thanking one of the men on the screen.

Vox shook the idea off.

The Radio Demon’s usual sharp tongue seemed to have deserted him, replaced by breathy gasps and needy whines. When Lucifer nipped at his collarbone, Alastor threw his head back with a keening cry that sent shockwaves through Vox's system.

It was so fucking over the top that—the tv demon seized on the realization with both clawed hand hands.

Alastor…had to be acting. Overacting.

He was the manipulative little dandy from Vox’s bed—it must be Lucifer’s ego that needed all this porn star shit.

"You little minx," Vox snarled. "You were holding out on me all this time?"

He watched, transfixed, as Lucifer's hand dipped lower, disappearing between Alastor's legs.

The Radio Demon's reaction was immediate and intense. His back arched off the tree. His antlers scraped against the bark, leaving gouges in the wood.

Lucifer had Alastor pinned against the tree, the Radio Demon's coat and shirt pulled open to reveal a torso marred with a myriad of scars.

Vox's receivers flickered, desire and resentment coursing through him at the sight.

"Not as untouchable as you pretended to be," Vox sneered, watching Lucifer's hand disappear beneath the waistband of Alastor's slacks.

Vox scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Good luck with that, sire. Our prudish deer boy never—"

His words died in his throat as Alastor's head fell back against the tree, a low, staticky moan escaping him.

Vox's circuits nearly short-circuited at the sight.

"He always smacked my hand away if I even tried to get him off!"

Realization dawned on Vox as he watched the way the devil’s wrist moved. He wasn’t stroking at the omega’s cock—he was shoving those fingers inside Alastor.

"Good luck getting him wet, old man," Vox scoffed, his voice laced with bitterness. "Our dear Radio Demon's about as responsive as a dead battery."

Alastor's voice, dripping with disdain, echoed in his mind. "Such an unpleasant chore. But if it'll shut you up for five minutes…”

"Just another performance to stroke a more powerful ego, eh, Alastor?” Vox's grip tightened on the control panel.

The deer demon always seemed to prefer the fighting over the fucking—before and after.

On the screen, Lucifer slowly withdrew his hand from between Alastor's legs.

Vox leaned forward, anticipating the look of bored arrogance on the Radio Demon's face.

Only to see the glisten of omega slick on the fallen angel’s fingers.

Alastor's ears flattened against his head, a rare display of embarrassment that sent a jolt through Vox's system. He watched, transfixed, as Lucifer brought those fingers to his mouth, cleaning them with slow, deliberate swipes of his forked tongue.

Alastor's voice crackled through the drone's speakers, impatient and breathy. "Enough teasing, you insufferable alpha. Hurry up and fuck me already."

Vox's screen quivered violently, a chaotic swirl of jealousy, anger, and a perverse fascination he couldn't ever shake when it came to Alastor.

"Hurry up and get it over with," he mimicked in a mocking tone. "At least that’s familiar."

Lucifer's hands moved to Alastor's trousers, fingers deftly working at the fastenings.

In a sudden flourish, the fallen angel's magnificent white wings unfurled, their span impressive even through the drone's limited view. The feathers, tipped with crimson, created a shimmering curtain around the couple.

"Oh, come on!" Vox groaned to the sky at being denied his peep show.

To his surprise—and Lucifer's—Alastor's voice rang out, clear and commanding despite its underlying breathiness.

"Put those away, would you?" Alastor purred, his grin sharp and hungry. "I want to get my legs around you properly, darling."

Vox's screen crackled with static, his own shocked expression reflected back at him. Since when did Alastor ask for anything in bed?

Lucifer hesitated, confusion evident in the tilt of his head. "But I thought you'd prefer some privacy, my wicked little doe."

Alastor's laugh was dark and rich, sending an involuntary shiver down Vox's non-existent spine. "Privacy? In Hell? How delightfully naïve."

His clawed hands traced down Lucifer's chest. "Now, be a good alpha and do as you're told."

“You’re gonna pay for that one, too, Bambi.” Lucifer's eyes glowed as his own horns extending from his disheveled blonde hair.

“With interest, Darling.” Alastor purred, his voice a static-laced croon.

With a bemused smile, Lucifer complied, his wings folding back and disappearing from view.

Vox found himself leaning even closer to his monitors, arousal and bitter envy coursing through his circuitry.

The rough bark of the ancient tree scraped against Alastor's back, his shirt just hanging off his shoulders, as Lucifer pressed him firmly against its trunk. The radio demon's fingers dug into the wood, leaving deep gouges as his long legs parted, wrapping around Lucifer's smaller frame.

His hooves brushed the ground, but the archangel's supernatural strength kept him effortlessly pinned.

A sharp gasp escaped Alastor as Lucifer snapped his hips forward—the alpha obviously burying his cock inside the omega.

The warbly moan that followed sent ripples of interference across Vox's screens.

"Fuck," Alastor managed, his smile taking on a strained quality. "I suppose that's one way to compensate for your stature."

Lucifer stilled immediately, his brow furrowing. "Are you alright, Al? We can stop if—"

Alastor's laugh crackled through the air. "Don't you dare, you infuriating cherub. I was merely making an observation."

Vox seethed silently, the barbed compliment stinging more than he cared to admit. He'd never elicited such…enthusiasm from the Radio Demon.

"An observation, hmm?" Lucifer's voice was low, dangerous. "Perhaps I should give you more to pay attention to."

Alastor's grin widened impossibly, his head tilting at an unnatural angle as he met Lucifer's blazing gaze.

To Vox's utter astonishment, a sound unlike any he'd ever heard from the Radio Demon escaped those sharp-toothed jaws—a cloying, submissive omega croon.

"Alpha," Alastor purred, his voice dripping with honeyed venom. "Don't keep me waiting. Show me what that divine strength can do."

Lucifer's eyes narrowed, a wicked grin spreading across his angelic features. "As you wish."

With a growl that shook the very foundations of Hell, Lucifer began to move.

The ancient tree groaned in protest as he slammed Alastor against it, setting a brutal, punishing pace that had the Radio Demon gasping and clawing at the bark.

Vox writhed in his control room. His screen flickered wildly as he watched, certain that at any moment Alastor would start his usual routine—taunting, teasing, urging the alpha to hurry up and finish.

But the cutting remarks never came.

Alastor remained uncharacteristically hushed, not silent, save for the tuneless gasps and moans that escaped him with each thrust.

"This can't be real," Vox muttered, his voice tinged with static. "He's faking it. He has to be."

Vox's screen crackled with incredulity as he devoured Alastor's reactions.

The Radio Demon's perpetual smirk had vanished, replaced by open-mouthed gasps of pleasure.

Each thrust from Lucifer was met with unbridled enthusiasm, Alastor's lithe body bowing to meet the smaller alpha's powerful movements.

"Inconceivable," Vox hissed, his digital eyes narrowing. "Since when does the great Radio Demon submit and simper like a common whore?"

But the evidence was undeniable.

Alastor's crimson eyes were half-lidded, his antlers scraping against the tree bark as he threw his head back in abandon.

Lucifer's hand snaked between their bodies, his fingers curling around Alastor’s hard prick.

Vox leaned forward, a cruel chuckle escaping him. "Good luck with that, old man. The prude never wants to—"

His words died as Alastor not only allowed Lucifer's touch but seemed to revel in it. The omega's arms draped around Lucifer's shoulders, pulling him closer.

"That's it, darling," Alastor purred, his voice rough with need. "Don't stop."

Vox's screen flashed violently.

Alastor's composure crumbled entirely, his usual theatrical flair replaced by raw, primal need. His claws dug into Lucifer's back, slicing the fabric of the vest the devil wore.

"Alpha," Alastor implored, his voice crackling with static.

Lucifer growled, a sound that sent shivers through both Alastor and the watching Vox.

He captured Alastor's lips in a bruising kiss, hips snapping. Blood red leaves began falling from the tree with every tremble.

Vox's screen wavered erratically, mirroring his inner turmoil.

"This can't be real," he muttered. "It's another one of his tricks. It has to be."

As Lucifer and Alastor's coupling intensified, the air around them crackled with demonic energy.

The fallen leaves at their feet began to smolder, wisps of smoke curling upward.

Alastor's usual composure shattered completely, his carefully cultivated image crumbling under the onslaught.

"Alpha, please."

Lucifer's eyes glowed with hellfire as he growled, "Such a needy little doe. Is this what you wanted all along?"

He punctuated his words with particularly brutal thrusts, each one drawing a keening whine from the Radio Demon. Alastor's legs tightened around Lucifer's waist, trembling down to his red hooves.

Alastor's ears flattened against his head, a whimper escaping him.

"Alpha, please," he chanted, the words dripping with submission. "My alpha."

Lucifer captured Alastor's lips in a searing kiss, swallowing the Radio Demon's moans.

His hand moved faster on Alastor's cock, thumb swiping over the sensitive head with each stroke. Alastor's hips bucked wildly, caught between the dual sensations of Lucifer's hand and his relentless cock.

The tree behind them groaned, its trunk beginning to splinter under the force of their fucking. Cracks spread through the bark, mirroring the fractures in Alastor's usual mask of control.

His radio dials eyes spun wildly, tuning in and out of different frequencies as pleasure overwhelmed his senses.

"Lucifer," Alastor gasped, his voice breaking.

"Come for me, Bambi," Lucifer commanded, his voice resonating with unearthly power. "Show me how good I make you feel."

With a final, brutal thrust, Lucifer buried himself to the hilt inside Alastor.

The Radio Demon threw his head back as a cry of pure, unadulterated pleasure tore from his throat.

Lucifer stilled against him, grabbing the splintered tree trunk as his hips stuttered and finally stilled.

Vox's screen dimmed, a hollow ache spreading through him.

In all their time together, he had never seen Alastor so…content to surrender. And so satisfied with having done so.

They clung to each other, riding out the waves of pleasure.

Vox watched, transfixed, as Lucifer peppered Alastor's face with gentle kisses.

Soft laughter broke the silence, the tangled lovers falling to the soft grass and leaves at the base of the tree, arms still wrapped around each other.

Alastor's smile, for once, reached his eyes. “You will not hear the end of it if you ruined my coat.”

"You're incorrigible," Lucifer murmured, nuzzling the omega’s cheek.

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

The omega shifted, a small frown crossing his features.

"Well, this is a predicament," he mused, his radio-static voice tinged with amusement.

Lucifer chuckled, his golden hair falling across his forehead, until the Radio Demon’s hands started to right it.

“Hope you don’t need to be anywhere else, Bambi.” The angel chuckled, settling Alastor more comfortably into his lap. “Cause we’re gonna be stuck for a while.”

The realization hit Vox like a surge of electricity.

Alastor had allowed Lucifer to knot him.

The same Alastor who had always used his shadow powers to escape being tied down to Vox.

Resentment, hot and searing, mingled with a deep-seated anger that made his screen crackle—a painful truth began to crystallize.

"He never…not once…" Vox muttered, his voice distorting.

Alastor's fingers intertwined with Lucifer's. His gaze drifted to a fallen magnolia blossom near his hooved feet. With an elegant motion, he plucked it from the ground, his perpetual grin fixed in place, even as the delicate petals withered and browned at his touch.

Melancholy just flashed over that smile, but both alphas caught it.

Lucifer's eyes softened, sliding his other hand into Alastor's.

A warm, golden glow emanated from their joined fingers, enveloping the wilted flower.

Alastor watched, fascinated, as life surged back into the blossom.

Its petals unfurled, pristine and luminous, more vibrant than before.

"How curious," he mused, his radio-tinged voice barely above a whisper. "Your touch brings life, while mine—"

"Dont," Lucifer interrupted gently, tucking the rejuvenated flower into the lapel of Alastor’s coat. "We balance each out."

A genuine smile, softer than his usual manic grin, tugged at Alastor's lips. "I suppose we do, don't we?"

Suddenly, Alastor's head snapped towards the stealthy drone, his radio-dial eyes locking onto the camera.

His lips didn’t move, but that unmistakable voice crackled through the speakers around Vox.

"Enjoying the show, old friend?"

Vox sputtered. "How did you—"

On the screens, Alastor’s grin sharpened, turning wicked as his pupils began to spin.

Vox's face blue-screened with panic.

The air crackled with electromagnetic energy as Alastor's power surged.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you? It's rude to spy."

Vox's meticulously crafted surveillance network disintegrated in an instant, leaving only snow and static in its wake.

"No, no, no!" he snarled, his voice distorting with digital feedback. His fingers flew across the console, desperately trying to salvage the feed. "You smug, Bambi, bastard!"

The screens before him erupted in a cacophony of pixelated chaos.

The footage was gone, corrupted, irretrievable for blackmail. Or Vox’s private collection.

He slammed his fists on the console. "Damn you, Alastor!" His scream reverberated off the metal walls.

Back in the garden, Alastor's smirk widened, a mix of triumph and mischief dancing in his eyes. He savored the moment of Vox's frustration cast across the radio waves.

Then, the omega nestled closer to Lucifer.

His ex could have a tantalizing little show, but the afterglow…that was just for his alpha, and himself.

Alastor turned his attention back to Lucifer, a contented sigh escaping him as he settled more comfortably in the fallen angel's lap.

The knot tying them together pulsed gently, sending pleasant aftershocks through both their bodies.

"Now then," Alastor purred, his voice a low, staticky rumble. "Where were we?"

Lucifer's arms tightened around the Radio Demon, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Alastor's head. His fingers threaded through the soft red hair, careful to avoid the sensitive bases of Alastor's antlers.

"Right about here, I believe," Lucifer murmured, drawing Alastor into a slow, languid kiss.

Gone was the fire of before, replaced by sweetness and affection.

Alastor's lips parted with a soft sigh, allowing Lucifer's forked tongue to slip inside. The fallen angel tasted of brimstone and honey, an intoxicating combination that had Alastor melting further into his embrace.

When they finally broke apart, a dazed smile playing on Alastor’s lips.

Lucifer chuckled, pressing a series of feather-light kisses along the demon’s jaw.

"You're beautiful like this," Lucifer murmured against Alastor's skin. "

A faint blush colored Alastor's cheeks. "Flattery will get you everywhere, darling," he quipped, but there was no real bite to his words.

A faint buzzing filled the air as the drone, now useless, plummeted from the sky. It crashed behind the hotel with a satisfying crunch.

Lucifer, still knotted deeply inside Alastor, jerked around. "What was that?"

Alastor's grin never faltered. "Oh, nothing to worry about, darling," he purred, his voice a silky blend of amusement and innocence. "Just another one of those pesky flying cameras being zapped by your magnificent barrier."

Alastor shifted slightly on the fallen angel’s lap, drawing Lucifer’s attention back to him.

The garden around them was a vibrant tapestry of hellish flora, the air thick with the heady scent of sulfur and sweet blossoms. Alastor's ears twitched, picking up the faint rustle of leaves and distant screams of the damned.

"Now then," Alastor purred, his voice carrying the crackle of radio static, "I believe it's time for a little…privacy, don't you think?" His crimson eyes glinted with mischief as he gazed at Lucifer. "You can bring out those magnificent wings of yours, darling."

Lucifer's lips curled into a smirk, a mixture of amusement and affection dancing in his eyes.

"Oh? And here I thought you enjoyed putting on a show, scandolizing the plants and all."

Despite his teasing words, he unfurled his six majestic archangel wings, their pearlescent feathers catching the eerie light of Hell.

Then, they were wrapping around them both in a cocoon of soft white feathers. The air grew warmer, filled with the scent of alpha contentment and omega bliss.

“Now, why would I ever want to share you?” Alastor hummed, cupping Lucifer’s face close to him.

As the wings enveloped them both, creating a cocoon of ethereal beauty, Alastor felt a rare moment of true contentment wash over him.

The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them in this intimate sanctuary.

Lucifer's voice, low and rich, broke the silence. "You know, Alastor, if you're needing attention, you can simply ask for it. No need for all this…taunting and provoking."

Alastor chuckled, the sound a mix of static and genuine mirth.

"Oh, but my dear Lucifer," he responded, his grin widening impossibly, "where would be the fun in that?"

That was the thrill of their little game, the push and pull that made their relationship so deliciously unpredictable.

"Besides," Alastor thought to himself, tracing a finger along Lucifer's jawline, "half the enjoyment is in the chase, isn't it?"

Alastor shifted, a mischievous glint in his radio-dial eyes. He rolled his hips experimentally, relishing the sensation of Lucifer's knot still buried deep inside his ass. An unmelodic moan escaped his lips, mixing with the ambient sounds of the garden.

Lucifer's hand shot out, gripping Alastor's hip where fawn spots adorned his skin.

"Easy there," he warned, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. "If you're aiming for another round in our room, you might want to pace yourself."

The Radio Demon's permanent grin widened. "Why would I take it easy on someone with infernal stamina?" he purred, leaning in close. "After all, aren't you the one who boasted about your…endurance?"

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, a challenge in his eyes. “ I thought you might be, done, for the night."

"Oh, mon cher," Alastor chuckled, his voice dipping into a lower register. "I just needed to break the seal, so to speak." He closed the distance between them, capturing Lucifer's lips in a searing kiss. As they parted, Alastor's expression softened ever so slightly. " When we return to our room…well, I might be persuaded to show a sweeter side."

Lucifer's eyes widened a fraction, recognizing the rarity of Alastor's offer.

The Radio Demon leaned in, his breath ghosting over Lucifer's ear as he whispered, "That side of me is just for you, after all."

[niymue]

i tried so hard to fight it but im just actually so disappointed with veilguard.

as a video game, its fine! the gameplay is fun and it’s visually stunning. but as a dragon age game it’s… not good. even if we somehow ignore all the massive world breaking lore inconsistencies, it’s supposed to be a story heavy RPG. but it’s so shallow, so surface level. there are so many issues with so many of the decisions the devs or ea or whoever made leading to the final state of this game and it’s actually so sad.

I feel like im grieving what could’ve been, making new saves in hopes it’ll somehow be better this time around, and it just isn’t.

[alaskan-wallflower]

lowkey glad i got my wisdom teeth out now because im getting used to barely eating and i know once school starts im gonna have to start getting back in the rhythm of one meal a day because i don’t do lunch (vent in the tags mb)

[abnormalpsychology]

thrilling sequel to my poll from back in January

[mars-ipan]

i miss weed

[starrytalking]

Honestly realising it is completely fine to not want a romantic relationship not only because I just don’t want to but also because I don’t want the commitment and want to freely make decisions for my life just how I want to live it felt really nice :)

[steampunk-raven]

ugh I’m almost certainly not sleeping tonight

[mutalune]

on one hand I am very glad that ketamine therapy has been helpful for my severe depression and anxiety and ptsd and whatever else is going on up there, and I’m grateful that it’s available to me as part of my treatment plan

on the other hand I’m not a huge fan of the payment for that help being a 50/50 chance every time of having a bad trip that unlocks some deep scary part of my psyche and then having to address all of that in therapy until the next trip

[newpartnerincrime]