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some-bunniii · 8 months

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Lucifer protecting an artist reader

・❥ You left the hotel that day to go shopping, and you came back with blood splattered across your clothes

x: 13k words?!! this is why the wait was long y’all 😭😭 i spoil you too much

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood, SMUT!!

“Uno!”

“Damnit, Husk! Why’d you got to do me like that for?!” Angel Dust hissed, clenching the cards in his hand tightly as he stared at the freshly placed ‘Wild +4’ on the table in front of him.

“You askin’ a gambler to play a game of cards and still expect princess treatment? Please.” Husk rolled his eyes before taking a sip from his glass of brandy.

“I know your games, Kitty. You could’a played that on Charlie when the order was reversed but saved it just for me didn’t ya?”

“Whatever you say, the color is green anyway.”

Angel Dust huffed in annoyance as he placed the extra cards in his deck, muttering something under his breath. Besides him, Vaggie placed down a green card of her own, her eyes squinted with a look of concentration, calculating her next move.

You were sitting a few chairs over, on the other side of the table. Besides you was Charlie, leaned back in her chair, only three cards left in her hand. She would be the last person to go before it was Husk’s turn once more.

When they had invited you to play some cards, you were expecting something like Blackjack or Poker, not UNO.

You were shocked they even had something like this in Hell, but in truth, it could become a very bloodthirsty game rather quickly. Not to mention, it was a cult classic, and it made sense for even the residents of such a place to still hold nostalgia for it even after their death.

Charlie had proclaimed it was a great bonding session while also helping to teach valuable skills like patience and communication. As being part of the staff, it was mandatory for you.

It had only been a few days since Lucifer kissed you on that rooftop, and your cheeks still heated everytime you thought about it.

Looking back down at the cards in your hand, you analyzed your possible moves. You had a good amount of cards still left in your deck, but the one you had been eyeballing was a green ‘+2’. Maybe that single card could help turn the tides, and someone other than Husk would win for once.

The spot besides Vaggie was empty, a small hand of cards laid face-down on the table in front of the chair. It was Sir. Pentious’ turn, but he was nowhere in sight.

“How long has Snake Boy been in the bathroom? Somebody better go check up on him.”

“Give him a few more minutes, I think it was the Mexican we had earlier coming back to haunt him.”

“Well if he doesn’t hurry, we’re gonna replace him with Niff.”

You ignored the other’s conversation, instead pivoting slightly in Charlie’s direction. You had a plan, but it would only work with the assistance of the demon princess.

“Pssst, Charlie!” You whispered, using a hand to shield your words from the rest of the players.

“Yes?” She inquired, leaning closer to you. KeeKee lifted her head from Charlie’s lap, and you gave her a quick scratch between her ears.

“Do you have a ‘+2’?”

“Maybeeee,” Charlie answered, her eyes scanning her cards before landing back on you, “Why?”

“If I put one of mine down, stack it with yours. That way Husk gets four!”

Charlie looked over at Husk, who was sitting with his chest puffed, and a single card in his paws as he eyed the winners pot. Which was a couple of mints, a large candy bar, three dollars, and a coupon for a discount on movie tickets.

There was a bag of a mysterious white powder in the mix that Angel Dust had placed earlier, but it was gone now. You assumed that Charlie had probably swiped it so she could burn it later.

Charlie turned back to you, her mouth downturned.

“But that’s so meannnn,” She whimpered, her eyes glistening, “Husk has worked so hard to get down to that!”

“It’s UNO, Charlie! It’s not a game for the weak. Husk only has one card and I swear if you let him win, i’ll- i’ll… I won’t paint your nails tonight!”

Charlie grimaced, grief written across her face as she contemplated the incredibly tough decision she had to make.

“Hey, you two stop plotting over there!” Vaggie glared in your direction, her arms crossed “Pretty sure that counts as cheating!”

“We were just talking about the weather!” Charlie quickly responded, before nervously biting her lip.

It was then Sir. Pentious arrived, apologizing profusely before returning to his seat and picking his deck back up. He analyzed his cards for a moment, before quickly placing down another green.

‘Damnit’, you cursed internally, ‘The color hasn’t changed, now it’s really up to Charlie.’

It was finally your turn, and slowly pulling out the ‘+2’ from your hand, you placed it on the table. You hit Charlie with a hard stare, silently threatening her with the loss of a manicure.

You two had been spending more time together recently, ever since she appeared at your friend’s art studio, leaving you to wrangle in a practically nude Lucifer for the duration of your class.

After that, you were no longer worried about whether Charlie was unsupportive of your relationship with Lucifer. It was clear she wanted the best for her father, and his mood had been improving with you around.

Sometimes, while you were sketching out new ideas for your next project, she’d knock quietly at your door, asking for your assistance in matters pertaining to the rest of the residents in the hotel.

“I just wish Angel Dust would try harder to drop the heavy drugs,” She had moaned to you one day, sitting on your bed as she clutched a stuffed animal of yours to her chest, “I mean the drinking? Whatever, for now. I’m sure those in Heaven probably do the same. But, Cocaine?”

She exhaled a large breath and averted her gaze, her lips pursed as she continued.

“I messed up big time when I tried to put my foot down for his sake back at the filming studio. Now i’m just.. scared to say anything about it, I don’t want to re-ignite any fire between us.”

You had nodded along while listening to her words, your fingers tapping against the wooden easel as you contemplated.

“Maybe you should try sitting him down and having a heart-to-heart with him?” You suggested gently, putting down your pencil.

“Express your concerns and offer your support. With the business he’s in and the.. culture that surrounds it, I have no doubt those closest to him are only continuing to perpetuate his, erm, activities.”

She regarded your words for a moment, staring down at her shoes as she let that sink in.

“You could even take it a step farther and invite him to different groups or classes. There are many places around the city that do things like pottery, poetry, even shitty horse riding lessons. Maybe if he found something of interest, it would help in replacing those bad habits.”

Slowly, Charlie’s head started to nod, and she met your gaze with fresh determination.

“You’re right! It’s time for me to step up and be his support beam. If I can’t get him to make better choices, then what’s the point of the hotel? I’m sure the others will agree to help!”

She crossed the room, and gave you a large bear hug. She squeezed the breath out of your lungs, but you only returned the hug, eager to show her your support.

Quickly, like she had done something wrong, she pulled her arms back to her sides and stepped back, creating a gap between the two of you. Nervously, she twisted a piece of her hair around her finger and bit her lip.

“To be honest, I really enjoy talking to you about this kind of stuff. You just have this aura that makes me want to spill all my secrets, just like I used to with my mom...”

Those last few words that left Charlie’s lips were in a whisper. Your eyes widened at that. Did she regard you as a semi-parental figure now that you’ve slowly slipped into the Morningstar family?

Her mother was a tough subject for her, since she had no idea where Lilith had scurried off to during these last seven years. All she had was the dream that her mom had left in her absence, and the will to enlighten the lost souls of Hell.

You never would imagine replacing Lilith, for either Charlie or Lucifer. She was the Queen of Hell, their rock during the beginning of Hell’s creation. It was only natural she still held a piece of their hearts.

Slowly, you reached out, and gingerly took her hand. You squeezed it, a silent gesture of comfort.

“I’m just glad I can be your support beam,” You had conceded, “you’re doing such a great job with the hotel. Your ideas deserve to be heard, deserve to be tried. I’m really proud of you for taking such a large step, and i’m glad to be along for the journey with you.”

It was then that Charlie’s breath hitched, her cheeks turned a faint shade of red, and her eyes began to glisten.

You rushed forward quickly as her lips began to quiver, and pulled her into another warm embrace. She melted into it, leaning into your chest as you heard quiet sniffles originating from the princess.

“That is just so refreshing to hear, you have no idea.” She answered after a moment, before standing up straight and taking a step back. Rubbing the short trail of tears away, she sent you a warm smile before waving farewell and disappearing out of your room.

Days like that continued, where she’d ask for your advice or share the latest gossip around the hotel.

“Jesus, Charlie. What’s got you so twisted? Play a card!” Angel Dust’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. Blinking a few times, you twisted your head in Charlie’s direction to see what the fuss was about.

She sat there in her chair, the cards slightly trembling in her hands, as she was faced with an uncomfortable decision. You swore you saw a bead of sweat trickle down her forehead, like she was deciding the fate of Husk’s life instead of the number of cards in his paws.

“I.. I just- Oh! I just can’t do it!” Charlie sobbed, before hastily pulling two more cards into her hand from the small deck on the table.

You groaned, slapping a hand to your forehead. Damnit, you should have known better.

There was a chorus of groans intermixed with yours as Husker let out a loud, boisterous laugh. Slamming his final card on the table, he quickly reached out and pulled the winner’s pot towards him.

He plucked out a mint with his claws before throwing it in his mouth, sucking on it loudly, letting everyone hear the tastes of victory.

“Yeah, yeah. Y’dont gotta rub it in.” Angel Dust muttered, before standing up and stretching his arms. After a few pops of his joints, he sighed, pulling out his phone. He grimaced as he read the words on the screen.

“It looks like Val needs me in the studio, I better run.”

The group of friends began to clean up the table, shuffling cards before placing the deck back into the small box. Watching him leave, a pang of sympathy hit you. You couldn’t imagine being stuck in a contract, let alone as volatile as his.

You didn’t miss the mirrored look Husk gave as he too watched Angel Dust walk through the doors.

Rising from your seat, you stepped away from the group. Checking the clock, you realized you still had enough time to go on your resupply run before it got too dark out. You had your money on you already, so it was just a matter of writing up a quick list and walking out the door.

Walking up to the front desk right next to the hotel entrance, you rummaged through the drawers before pulling out a small notepad.

Placing it on the desk, you reached over and grabbed the pen from its respective holder. You began scribbling down different items you needed to gather:

Acrylic paint

Cleaning sponge

Extra palette knife

Laundry detergent

Catnip

Nail poli-

“Greetingsss!”

You jumped, the pen you were holding clattering back onto the desk. Spinning, your eyes land on the tall snake-demon resident, his fangs extended in an imitation of a smile.

“Sir. Pentious! You can’t sneak up on me like that!.” You exclaimed, exhaling a large breath to calm your nerves.

His hood drooped slightly, guilt crossed his face at your fright.

“Oh dear, i’m terribly sssorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to speak to you, only for a moment.”

You perked at his words. You didn’t know much about Sir. Pentious, he rarely had the courage to have a full conversation with you. He reminded you more of a mouse, then a snake. Always very polite, careful not to push others' buttons, and with a bit of anxiety. It humored you that he used to be a bad person, he was so sweet!

“Of course! What is it you need?”

“Well..” He started, rubbing his hands in a self-soothing motion, “There is ssomeone I would like to pursue romantically, and, well, I wasss hoping you could help me in courting her?”

“Oh, well- I’d love to but I'm not exactly qualified for that.” You laughed, surprise written on your face. That was not what you were expecting him to ask.

“Of courssse you are! You managed to establish an intimate relationsship with His Majesty, the ruler of Hell!”

Your eyes widened. That’s why he wants your opinion? Sure, you did manage to bag the most powerful being in the realm. Someone regarded as cold and narcissistic by outsiders, but not to you. He was more than just his power and his fame when it came to what you loved about the fallen angel.

“Well, yes. That’s definitely true. But, it wasn’t really the conventional way. Lucifer is a.. colorful character.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember that art class I hosted a few months ago? Yeah, he was laying practically butt-naked on a couch in front of me the entire duration.”

“Oh dear.. perhapss you are right.”

You contemplated his question, though. There had to be something you could give him that would help. Perhaps, to gift her something unique. That would prove his interest.

“Well.. what does she like?”

“Pardon?”

“Does she have any hobbies or interests? You are a very talented inventor, and some people really enjoy hand-made gifts. That tells them you care about them enough that you’ll sweat a little to make them happy!”

“Oh, why yesss! She is interested in blowing things up with her grenades!” Sir. Pentious squinted in concentration as he considered your words. His eyes widened as a lightbulb went off in his head.

“Thatsss it! I will design her grenades that do a better job at blowing stuff up!”

“Okay, I wasn’t really thinking tha-”

“Oh, thank you! You are such a good lissstener, I must come to you more often for advice!” Sir. Pentious took your hand in glee, shaking it vigorously as he continued, “I will ssstart working on it right away! She will be head over heels for me now!”

You smiled warmly at him as he spoke. Though you weren’t expecting him to choose a dangerous weapon as a gift for whoever he was trying to court, at least you managed to help him in his endeavor.

“I’m happy you’ve found a solution! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go do some shopping.” You turned away from him slightly, scribbling down the remaining item on the notepad.

“Oh, what are you getting?”

“Just some art supplies and a few other minuscule items over on the East Side,” you responded, “I should be back in a couple of hours.”

“Oh, my! It’sss getting very dangerous over there recently! Are you sure you want to go?”

You lifted your head at his words. That side of the city was dangerous now? Isn’t that where Angel Dust’s studio is?

“What do you mean, Sir. Pentious?”

“A large group of thugs have moved in, causing all sssorts of chaos! It’s not safe to go out alone in that area right now..”

You pondered his words. You didn’t regard yourself as a master of any kind of combat, and you weren't exactly afraid of the mention of gang-members, but, gang-members from Hell? Those were the worst of the worst.

It’s not like you could ask anyone to join you. Alastor was who-knew-where, Sir. Pentious was going to some kind of annual inventor show soon, and Charlie and Vaggie were off for ‘date night’. You were pretty sure Husk was confined to the hotel unless someone with authority could give him the go.

Lucifer was busy at some kind of meeting with the other six Deadly Sins. You never pried him on that part of his job, he hated going so you assumed he hated talking about it. He wouldn’t be done for awhile.

‘Guess i’ll just wait fo-‘

“You ssshould take my Egg Bois!” Sir. Pentious’ words broke you out of your thoughts. Those little egg demons that followed him around everywhere? They were cute.. but could they really protect you?

“What?”

“I cannot take them with me tonight, and they are trained for all kindsss of combat! They will protect you against any threat.”

“Oh, that’s really sweet of you, but I don’t know if-“

“Nonsssense! I insisst! A payment for helping me today.”

You bowed your head slightly in defeat. You weren’t too thrilled about having to babysit a bunch of eggs, but you trusted Sir. Pentious. If he said his boiz could protect you, then you’d believe it.

“Alright, fine.”

✧༺🤍༻∞

“Your eyes are so pretty!”

“Thank you.”

“Uh, Not-Boss? I have to pee!”

“That’s why I asked if you had to go before we left, Frank, now you’ll have to hold it in.”

“Can we stop for ice cream?”

“After shopping.”

“Yay!”

It was only when you arrived at the East Side Market did you realize how badly you needed a car. That way, your ear wouldn’t have been talked off for so long.

It wasn’t too bad, really. They were very obedient, never straying from your side as you traveled across the city. They told jokes that were so bad, you laughed at how much they made you cringe. They had very good manners too, always saying ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you’.

Just one more street to cross, before you’d be at the art supply shop. Your little group neared the busy intersection, the light still green for the cars that sped by. Halting at the curb, you looked down at the Egg Bois before addressing them.

“Alright, everyone. Let’s hold hands while we cross. Here, Frank, come over to the right and take my hand.”

Frank sidled up to you, reaching up to grab on to your pinky. His entire hand wrapped around the single digit, and you wondered how exactly these guys had black belts in martial arts.

As the ‘Walk’ signal blinked, you strode across the road. Squeezing past other pedestrians as they walked besides you, your eyes always glancing down to make sure the bois were safe.

Walking past a few more shops, your feet rested in front of a large, pink building. A paintbrush and palette imprinted on its front door. Turning towards the Egg Bois, you bent down to address them.

“Alright, i’ll only be in there for a few minutes. Guard the door, please.”

The cluster of eggs saluted you, their features serious.

“You got it, Not-Boss!”

Giving them a quick farewell nod, you walked through the open door. Disappearing from their sight.

Inside, you zig-zagged through the aisles. Each was one specific to a different art form. There was a row that held webs of colorful yarn, and you saw shades you honestly didn’t even know existed.

You reached the aisle containing the paint supplies, your hand skimming across the shelves as you searched for a palette knife. You needed a smaller sized one, that way your accuracy in texturing feathers would improve.

Recently, you found your paintings were filled with more and more waterfowl and angels. It was a repetitive pattern that only refined your abilities on recreating such ethereal scapes.

Before, your work exhibited many sexual themes. It wasn’t that much of a bother, you were making good money and still doing what you loved. But, damn, did it get mundane. How many tits were you going to be forced to see in your lifetime?

When Charlie welcomed you to the hotel, it was like a breath of fresh air. Finally, you could crack your knuckles to get your creative juices flowing. It really brought back a ton of nostalgia too, from your time living on Earth.

Placing a few more items into your basket as you walked, you began to head for the cashier. Hopefully, the Egg Bois were doing okay an-

Bzzt Bzzt

Your eyes shot to the phone in your possession. It vibrated softly as it buzzed, and you quickly reached for the phone. Someone was calling you. Without even looking at the name, you tapped the green button, and held the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Darling~”

Your cheeks heated just hearing Lucifer’s voice on the other end, the familiar velvet tone like music to your ears. A smile formed on your lips as you stopped in your tracks.

“Hello, Handsome. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just got done with that meeting with the Sins. Thank god.”

“Was it bad?”

“It was the usual. Satan can’t control his cowboys from causing trouble outside his Ring, and Leviathan just complains about everyone else getting special treatment,” Lucifer cleared his throat, before continuing, “so, I was wondering what you were up to. Working hard?”

“I’m out shopping right now, actually.” You replied. You heard shuffling on the other end, like Lucifer had stood up.

“Oh, really? Let me guess.. your resupply run?”

“Bingo.” You smiled. He was catching on to more and more of your routines as time went on.

“Well,” His tone turned playful, you could practically hear the smirk on his lips, “lucky for you, i'm also out.”

“Really?” You questioned, with a raised eyebrow.

“Yep, and actually-”

Lucifer’s voice turned to static, and you pulled the speaker an inch away from your ear. Was there a bad signal? You didn’t have enough time to think about that, before his voice returned crystal clear on the other end.

“-I think I see you right now!”

What?

“What?”

“Wow, is that a new outfit you’re wearing? It looks good!”

Slowly, you turned to the direction of the large storefront windows. Your eyes scanned the streets, looking for any signs of the fallen angel. It wasn’t until you scooted slightly over, to look past the large poster covering your view, did you spot the glint of pale blonde hair.

Your mouth dropped. Standing across the street, looking directly at you, was Lucifer. He didn’t sport the usual overcoat and hat, instead he wore his casual red-and-white striped waistcoat, the sleeves of his undershirt rolled up to partially expose his forearms.

He also wore a pair of black sunglasses, which you found kind of odd. You’ve never seen him with any kind of eyewear before today. Noticing your gaze, he waved to you, slightly bouncing on his toes.

You quickly tapped your screen to end the call, rushing toward the check-out counter. You kept taking glances at Lucifer through the windows, your smile widening everytime your gaze traveled down his frame.

The cashier handed you the receipt, and you hurriedly ran out the door. You skidded to a halt at the curb, just as Lucifer crossed the street. He sidled up beside you, grinning warmly.

“I’m really happy to see you, but aren’t you worried you’ll get, like, mobbed or something out here? It’s pretty busy today. Don’t most demons recognize you?” You asked.

Lucifer nodded his head, before tapping the sunglasses on his face. You wondered how they held to his face so well. Magic?

“That’s what these are for, they mask my appearance to everyone but you. And, now that I mention it..” Lucifer trailed off, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pair of sunglasses, “here, I bought these for you.”

He extended his arm, holding the sunglasses towards you. Reaching out, you gingerly pull them from his grasp, turning them over in your hands. There are words etched into the side of one the arms, and your eyes widened as you read the brand.

“These are Ray-Burn sunglasses! How much did you spend on these?” You questioned him. Ray-Burn was a very high-end retailer, and they were a luxury you could never have afforded. Lucifer only shrugged, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t check, I just thought they’d look great on you.”

Heat creeped onto your cheeks at his response. Your finger caressing the glasses as you processed his words. You had been checking out this specific pair quite some time, they were stylish and bold.

“A work of art,” You had joked to Lucifer once, “They always come out with such pretty designs, one day i’ll get my hands on one.”

He must have kept your promise for you, and that made your heart flutter. Except, for the fact he didn’t need to do that. You would have loved any pair if Lucifer was the one giving it to you.

“Why didn’t you just make one, instead of spending money on me?”

“Because, you were eyeing this specific pair. While I have no doubt one of my versions would have looked fantastic on you. I can’t argue with your choice of style. Now put those bad boys on.”

Carefully, you slipped them on your face. You adjusted them slightly, centering them before releasing your grip. You blinked, the light hitting your eyes was much softer now, which was actually quite refreshing.

Lucifer whistled flirtatiously at you, “You look ravishing. Now, what about me?”

He twisted his body and lifted his head up, posing like he was a cover girl in a magazine. Puckering his lips, he lifted his brows at you. Waiting for your response.

Stupidly gorgeous, you thought, ogling him.

“Perfect.”

“That’s right.” He agreed, nodding his head.

It was then that five eggs rolled into view. They bounced into one another, before standing on their legs. They looked up at you, before saluting.

Lucifer recoiled at the sight of them, stepping behind you slightly.

“What the hell are those things?” He whispered in your ear.

“My bodyguards!” You proclaimed with a smirk, pivoting to face him. Placing your hands on your hips, you eyed your temporary entourage.

“Ohhhh, I get it. Paint a few portraits and suddenly your top dog, hm?”

“Obviously. The Envy Ring has eyes on me 24/7.” You tried to hold in a laugh.

Lucifer smiled, before pulling you besides him. “Well, it’s a good thing I have you all to myself now.”

He leaned forward, lips puckered for a kiss. Eyes widening, you quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, side-eyeing the multiple onlookers.

“Not in front of the little guys, they're too young to fill their heads with such things.”

You felt air hit your palm as he sighed at your response, before pulling away. He turned his head toward the Egg Bois with a slight glare, and Frank walked forward.

“Is this guy bothering you, Not-Boss? Want us to rough him up for you?” He raised his fists, giving the air a quick punch to display his combat prowess.

“Excuse me?” Lucifer raised an eyebrow. You realized he was probably not used to lower demons like the Egg Bois speaking to him in such a manner. Even in a disguise.

“I don’t think he knows he’s talking to the big bad boss of Hell.” you teased, amusement glinting in your eyes.

Frank’s eyes widened, he jumped back. It made both you and Lucifer reel back in surprise at the egg’s frightened reaction.

“Boss of Hell? You mean like Lucifer?!”

The Egg Bois behind him looked amongst themselves, fear flickering across their face. They whispered to each other, you could only make out a few words like ‘kill’ and ‘torture’.

“Haven’t you heard?” Frank continued, “He steals souls and drinks the blood of babies!”

“Oh, he does more than just that,” Lucifer started, stalking toward the egg-demon menacingly, “he roasts them alive to eat, and anyone of similar size!”

The egg boi trembled, his little legs starting to shake as he listened to Lucifer’s words.

“Oh, golly..” He whispered with a quivering lip.

Sending Lucifer a glare, you not-so-gently elbowed him in the side.

“What are you doing?” You whispered. Was he trying to make the little guy crack?

“Just keeping up my image, can’t have anyone thinking the almighty ruler of Hell fancies taking his lover for strolls down the markets!”

You shot him another glare and Lucifer sent an apologetic smile. He slowly knelt down to Frank’s height, patting him on the top of his shell. “Don’t worry, little guy. I heard he prefers pancakes over scrambled eggs.”

Frank’s frown waned a tiny bit, his legs stilled as the panic subsided. The other eggs behind him visibly relaxed as well.

“And, who could ever eat a wittle adowable face like yours,” Lucifer cooed sweetly, rubbing the sides of Frank’s shell like he was trying to squeeze his cheeks, who giggled at the touch. Lucifer stood up, a smirk gracing his lips.

“Well, now that I'm here. That means you don’t need any bodyguards. Say goodbye!” He turned to you, snapping his fingers. Your eyes widened as the Egg Bois vanished in a flash of golden waves. You felt bad you didn’t get to say goodbye.

“You know, I did promise them ice cream.”

Lucifer waved his hand in a brushing motion, “we’ll stop and get them some on the way back.”

You both continued to walk down the street, glancing into different shops as you set your eyes on something unique. Lucifer filled the time by continuing his rant of the other Sins. You listened intently, your knowledge of other powerful demons— apart from alastor, wasn’t very vast. He also mentioned wanting to find a gift for Charlie, and that got you scanning every display window on the street.

It wasn’t until the two of you stopped at a storefront and peeked through the glass display did you see something of interest. Across the hidden barrier, was a mannequin with feminine features, sporting a rather stunning red tuxedo with gold lapels.

“I think Charlie would like that,” You smiled, turning to Lucifer, “she was mentioning a need for a wardrobe upgrade, and it would show you care about her passion with the hotel since she’d wear it for work.”

Lucifer pondered your words for a moment. He cared about his daughter deeply, but his relationship with her was still in the works. Her interests were still foreign to him, and he struggled with coming up with gifts for her, despite acts of service being his love language. Slowly, he nodded.

“What size does she wear? Oh, I guess it doesn’t matter. I can just adjust it for her. Are you coming in?”

“I’ll wait out here, see if there’s anywhere else we can stop.” You replied. Lucifer nodded, before pulling open the front door and slipping inside.

You turned, scooching as close to the wall as to not impede on the flow of pedestrian traffic. Your eyes scanned the other stores. Wait, didn’t you still need nail polish? What stores around here would sell tha-

Bzzt Bzzt

Your phone vibrated again. Raising your eyebrows, you checked the name this time. The words on the phone read ‘Charlie’ and you quickly answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hi! I’m sorry to bother you, but are you still shopping?” Charlie asked, her tone strange to you. Worried, perhaps.

“Yes, I am. I’m almost done though, why, what’s up?”

“It’s Angel Dust,” She spoke quickly, “the last time I talked to him he stopped at a bar at the edge of the East Side Market hours ago, and now he won’t answer any of my messages. I’m just worried about him.”

“Well, I’m at the East Side Market now. I can check up on him, if you want, maybe even drag him back to the hotel.”

“Really?” Charlie said, her tone lifting at your words, “Oh, thank you! That would be great, please let me know what happens..”

You promised her you would, before hanging up. Just as you set the phone down, Lucifer exited the store. He held a large pink bag in his hands as he strolled towards you.

“Alright, where to next?”

You turned to him, arms crossed. “Angel Dust is somewhere around here no doubt blackout drunk, and I have to go make sure he’s okay. It’s the club right down the street here, will you come with me?”

Sensing the urgency in your tone, Lucifer nodded. He laced your fingers with his before speaking, “if that’s what you want, of course.”

Quickly, you pulled him down the street. A large, dark building came into view. To be honest, if the figure of a stripper wasn’t etched into its sign, you wouldn’t have guessed it was a club. It looked like a run down industrial building, but the heavy vibrations from the music inside told you otherwise. A large crowd of people were standing up front, some held cigarettes or beers in their hands as they chatted waiting to enter. You couldn’t see a bouncer, maybe it was going to be easier than you thought to get in.

“I think this time, it’s your turn to go in alone,” Lucifer stopped at the doors, turning to you, “this crowd is a little too big for my liking..”

“That’s fine. I shouldn’t be long, i’ll be down here in a few minutes.” Your lips brushed his cheek before you reluctantly pulled your hand from his grip. Maneuvering through the crowd, trying not to bump into too many stumbling drunks, you stopped at the door. With a quick glance at your surroundings and Lucifer, you pulled open the large door and slipped inside.

Flashing multi-color lights hit your eyes as they lit up your frame from the other end of the dark hallway. Shadowy figures passed your peripheral vision as they danced. Round tables were stacked with empty drinks, with groups of partiers standing around them as they chatted and laughed.

The music was loud too, drowning out your thoughts so all that was left was the single mission: Find Angel Dust.

Quickly, you crossed the room, your feet stopping at the bar. You turned your head, scanning for any signs of bright pink fuzz. You found none, and your eyes instead landed on a staircase. There were multiple floors to this place? Hopefully, Angel Dust wouldn’t be far away.

A man at the bar winked at you, and you quickly turned away, hurriedly making your way to the stairs. You lept over multiple steps, until your feet touched a hard, wood floor. This area was definitely built for those that wanted to forget whatever shitty day they had come from.

Strippers danced around large poles on top of platforms connected to each corner of the room. A wall lined with doors, labeled rather indiscreetly as ‘sex’ rooms, caught your eye. He couldn’t be in there, could he?

“Y’know, my fur gets pinker the more you touch, toots. Ever seen a spider change color?”

Your head snapped to that familiar voice. Angel Dust leaned against a wall, near the open doors of a large balcony. It was a dark corner of the room, and you would have missed it if not for hearing his voice. He looked really drunk, and you contemplated whether you were actually going to be able to get him out of here. There were multiple large demons around him, leaned in as they listened to Angel talk. They kept glancing at each other, before turning their attention back to the spider-demon.

You didn’t like the look of them, their faces weren’t friendly and the scars across their skin made you nervous. It wasn’t until one adjusted their position slightly, did you see the gleam of a small dagger attached to their waist belt. You tensed, were these the thugs Sir. Pentious had mentioned?

“Why don’t you let us take you somewhere nice. eh?” One of them started, scooching closer to Angel Dust, “get some more drinks in your system, relax, whatcha say?”

You didn’t like where the conversation was going as you eavesdropped. You hurriedly crossed the room, throwing your hands up in the air as you walked towards them.

“Angel! There you are, i’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Hot cakesss,” Angel Dust slurred in surprise as he turned away from the men and met your eyes, “What are you doing here? This ain’t your type’a place.”

“That’s because i’m here to get you home, buddy. Come on, you’ve had a rough day, doesn’t a warm bed sound nice?”

Angel nodded to that, before turning away from the group of feral-eyed men. He held a small shot glass in his hand as he stumbled up to you, holding it out for you to take.

“Hereee, have a drink.”

You shook your head, “No, I shouldn’t, we need to-“

“Cmonnn Hot Cakes, we’re at a club! I ain’t going until you drink.”

You eyed him, before your gaze snapped to the liquor in his hand. That’s right, it was Angel Dust you were trying to drag home. You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, especially with the fact he was almost eight feet tall. With a sigh, you took the shot glass and lifted it to your lips. You threw your head back, downing the contents in one go.

It burned as it traveled down your throat, but slowly, the flavor hit your senses, and you blinked your eyes. You felt.. different, already. You looked at Angel, before setting the glass down on a nearby table. “This was actually kinda good, what is it?”

“Amrita.”

“What?”

“A sex potion. Y’know, makes your juicy parts tingle, and gets ya craving for a strong man to come satisfy your desires. It works, I promise.”

Your mouth opened, and then it closed. No way did Angel Dust just give you a libido booster. You put a hand to your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut. Was one shot going to do much? Were you going to become a mess right next to Angel? Fuck, you should have resisted that temptation.

You wrapped your fingers around Angel’s forearm, pulling him towards the staircase. “Let’s go, Angel, we don’t have time for games.”

He wasn’t able to take a step forward before one of the large onlookers pushed forward between the two of you. His head and body resembled that of a Great White Shark. His cold eyes sent a shiver down your spine, and you took a step back to widen the distance.

“Where are you two heading off to in such a hurry? You interrupted us earlier, friend. Us and the spider were just chatting about him joining us for the night. Isn’t that right?” The man turned to Angel, who only nodded absentmindedly. He mumbled something about never having any ‘real’ fun, whatever that meant.

“My friend here is too drunk to make any kind of decisions by himself,” You replied sternly, hoping your nerves weren’t trickling into your voice, “He needs to go home and rest, now if you’ll excuse me..”

The man put a hand up as you moved forward, halting you in your tracks. “Your friend here is a big boy. He can make his own choices, and he chose to come with us.”

You shot him a glare, before looking past him to see the group of demons slowly converge on Angel, who was looking at you with a mixed expression. As if actually deliberating whether to take your hand and leave this noisy place.

“Ow! Watch it, meathead!” Angel snapped as one roughly grabbed his wrist. Pulling him away from you, towards a closed door on the other end of the room.

In a flit of rage at their man-handling, you surged forward, yanking at the thug’s wrist, trying to get him to release Angel. “Hey, let him go! I already told you-”

The words died in your throat as you felt rough hands wrap around your arms, and the sharp pain in your back as you were slammed into the wall. Your eyes snapped up, meeting the shark-faced demon’s cruel gaze and he glared intently at you.

“And I already told you he’s coming with us. Why don’t you take your little ass back downstairs to where the party is, before I make you.”

You struggled against his grip, but this guy was strong, and your strength was dwindling with every second you fought against him. “Let go of me!” You snapped.

“We should take them with us,” One of the thugs called from behind him as he pulled Angel farther away from you, “don’t want to risk them stirring up trouble.”

Your eyes widened in fear, and your gaze landed back on the demon locking you in place. He looked at his comrade, for a moment, before turning his head to face you. His lips upturned in a vicious grin.

“Well, what do you think about that, Hot Cakes?” He asked, his grip still tight around your arms, “want to join us for a little fun? Come on, i’m sure you’ll like it. Especially with that drink in your system.”

Oh no, this was bad. Really, bad. You had no chance against these guys, if only you could get Lucifer’s attention..

Suddenly, you were jerked forward, the man’s harsh grip dragging you along towards whatever lay beyond those sex rooms. You struggled, twisting in his grip. “Let go of me!” You begged.

The heavy bass of the song as it spilled out of the loud-speakers only drowned out your cries. How the hell was everyone so drunk and caught up in their own world that they didn’t notice you being forcefully removed from the scene? The demon just ignored you, and as you crossed in front of the open doorway to the balcony, your breath quickened. Your arm reeled back instinctually, fueled by the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“I said, let me go!” You screamed, clocking the shark-faced demon right in the jaw. He reeled back, a curse falling from his lips. His head snapped down to you, before he closed the distance, his chest bumping with yours. You felt your feet lift off the ground for a moment as he shoved you backwards. Your back hit the railing of the balcony, and you stumbled for a moment, trying not to fall backwards.

The demon pulled you forward by your top, his hot breath hitting your face. His eyes a darkened shade as he fumed before you. “You think you’re top shit, huh? Think you can hit me and get away with it?” He snarled.

Slightly turning your head to look below you, you realized the balcony was facing the back of the club. There was no one in sight, but you could hear the faint noises from the crowd in the distance. Was Lucifer still at the front door, waiting for you?

Your heartbeat quickened as you locked eyes with him, slowly, you felt him push you forward. Your body leaning farther and farther over the railing, you struggled against him once more. The only thing keeping you from tumbling over was his steel grip on your top. A pang of regret flashed through your mind. Fuck, you were dead.

“Enjoy your night, Hot Cakes.” He chuckled darkly, before his hand opened, releasing your clothing, and your balance faltered.

“No!” Angel Dust yelled from behind you, his eyes wide in fear as your body flipped over the railing. The man turned away from you, stalking back into the club. The balcony doors slamming shut behind him. You flailed helplessly, letting out a scream as you fell.

As you plummeted, panic surged through your veins, every instinct screaming for survival. The wind whipped past your ears, drowning out all other sound except for the pounding of your heart. In that terrifying moment of free fall, you wished desperately for something, anything, to save you from the impending impact.

At that moment, for the first time in your life, you prayed. You prayed that if not you, at least Angel Dust would make it out alive and unscathed.

‘Please, don’t let Lucifer find my body’ You begged, as the ground rushed up to meet you.

Just as suddenly as the fall had begun, it halted. Your body jerked to a stop midair, suspended in an inexplicable stasis. Confusion clouded your mind as you blinked. What just happened?

A soft chuckle resonated beneath you, and slowly, you turned your head to see Lucifer. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he extended his arms, a subtle shimmer of golden magic enveloping your form.

With a gentle motion, he guided you down, easing your descent until you landed softly in his embrace. As you caught your breath, relief washed over you.

“When you told me you’d be down in a moment, I didn’t think that meant leaping off the second story.” Lucifer teased.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You buried your face in the crook of his shoulder, trembling slightly. If it wasn’t for him, you’d be a splatter on the ground.

Inhaling his scent, you softened against him as that familiar smell of apple cinnamon and roses. Fuck, he smelled so good. Your face heating up as you breathed deeply, your thighs beginning to ache. Did he always smell so.. mouth-watering? It made you want to lean over and take a bite, would he taste as good too? He’d probably let you, if you aske-

Wait. What were you doing?! SAVE ANGEL.

Your brain screamed at you, pulling you harshly back into reality. Was this that drink making you all mushy? Damn, it really was a potion.

You shook your head, ridding yourself of the fog in your mind as you stared up at him. Quickly, scrambling out of his grip. You took his arm, a pleading look in your eyes.

“You need to help! Angel Dust is up there, and he got taken by a gang or something! They tried to take me too, but I fought back. The-they threw me off the balcony!” The words tumbled out of your mouth in one breath, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. You couldn’t imagine what could be happening up there, you didn’t want to.

Lucifer frowned, and you swore you saw his pupils dilate behind the shades.

“Who threw you off the balcony?” He growled.

“The men up there, come on, we need to hurry!” You turned, but not before you felt hands wrapping around your midsection. You heard soft rustling from behind you, and upon turning your head, took in the sight of Lucifer’s large wings extended widely.

“Let’s take the shortcut, hm?” He said, before you both were in the air with a single flap of his wings. You quickly looked around, what if someone saw him like this? It's not everyday a demon saw angel wings, and multiple of them for that matter. Hopefully, they’ll just blame it on their drunken stupor.

Lucifer lifted you up the railing, and you slowly maneuvered out of his grip, your feet hitting the metal landing. He gracefully lowered himself next to you, his wings furling before disappearing into his back.

Slowly cracking the balcony door open, you both peeked from the doorway. Your head snapped to each side of the room, no Angel. You scanned the chairs situated around the stripper stages, no Angel.

It wasn’t until your gaze landed on an adjacent room, near a hallway directly to your right, did your eyes narrow.

“See those guys over there? That’s them. There are a lot more now though. I don’t know where they took Angel, he could be behind that door at the end of the hall.” You whispered to Lucifer, who’s gaze intensified as he analyzed the group.

Tip-toeing back into the building, you stopped short at the corner. Just around the bend, you’d come face to face with your attackers.

“I can take them, no sweat.” Lucifer replied, full confidence in his tone. You didn’t doubt it, but could he fight them without risking Angel Dust’s life?

“Okay, but I need to check the other rooms,” You replied hurriedly, “There are multiple, um, private rooms up here. He could be in any of them. I need to find him, before it’s too late!”

You were about to turn away before you felt Lucifer’s grip on your wrist, preventing you from moving. Your gaze met his, but you couldn’t see what he was feeling behind the shades masking his eyes. The slight tinge of fear laced in his voice gave you a clue, though.

“You should wait,” He spoke soft, but firmly, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You shook your head at him, your gaze scanning the large crowd, before turning back with panicked eyes.

“It’s Angel Dust who’ll get hurt if I don’t find him quickly.” Your breath quickening with every second not searching for your friend.

Leaning forward, you grazed his lips with a quick kiss, “I promise, i’ll be alright.”

He looked at you for another moment, as if contemplating whether to force you to stay in the safety of his presence. He didn’t though, instead letting out an exhale of breath.

“Fine. I’ll distract them for you then, and try not to make too big of a scene,” Lucifer adjusted his sunglasses, before continuing, “but, if I don’t see you back here in ten minutes, there won’t be a club to come back to.” He threatened.

You sent him a reassuring smile, his protective nature making your heart flutter. There was no time for swooning now, though, you had a spider-demon to save.

“Oh, and take this. You know how to use one of these, right?”

You looked down at the object in his other hand, your eyes widening at the sight of a small pistol.

“Enough.” Was your only answer as you took it from his grip, adjusting it between your fingers. You weren’t going to ask him where it came from, instead just sending him a silent thanks as you turned away.

Quickly, you slid your wrist out of his grip, and hurried off. Lucifer watched you leave, your form melting into the rest of the partierers on the dance floor.

His gaze lingered on the spot where you had disappeared, before he turned towards the group of demons across the room.

They stood in a huddle, snickering between themselves near the entrance to a mysterious back room. Lucifer cleared his throat, and their heads snapped to him.

The dark corner they were standing in partially masked their features, but that bloodthirsty glint in their eyes was unmistakable.

“So, tell me,” Lucifer began, no hint of emotion in his tone, “Which one of you douchebags has a kink for throwing people off of balconies?”

“Who the fuck are you?” A tall, shark-faced man demanded harshly.

“Oh, you know…” Lucifer responded, a slight growl dripping from his voice, “Just a concerned citizen.”

“If you don’t slither back to whatever shit-hole you came out of, Shorty, i’m gonna make sure your last memory is my dagger between your eyes!”

“Oh, I’ll remember you, alright,” Lucifer chuckled darkly, rolling up his sleeves as he stalked forward, the tips of his horns protruding from his head, “As the latest bottom-feeder who thought he could fuck with the devil.”

The group of demons regarded him with a confused expression for a moment, their gaze bouncing between each other in silent questioning. Unsure about the stranger’s lack of fear.

The shark-demon turned to face them, his frown deepening as he watched them stand there like children waiting for Mommy’s instruction.

“Well? What the hell are you waiting for!? Kill him!”

Brandishing their close-combat weapons, five demons charged at Lucifer. Their menacing frames towering over the smaller man.

“Finally,” Lucifer grinned wickedly, before rolling his shoulders, “Some fun!”

Fingertips igniting with a golden flame, he surged forward, meeting the oncoming demons halfway. The closest one gripped their axe tightly, before pulling it behind them. In a blink of an eye, they swung their arms forward.

The axe sliced through the air, aimed right at Lucifer's throat. It didn’t connect, as he gracefully leaned backwards, pupils dilating as he watched the weapon whisk right above his hair.

“Missed me!” He yelled playfully, before dodging another swing of a blade. A throwing knife whizzed right past his ear as he evaded the attack. It hit the chest of a demon charging behind him, who fell with a loud thump, their body twitched for a moment, before stilling.

“Missed me again! Wow, you guys suck at this!”

“How is this guy so fast?!” One of the gang-members yelled incredulously, before chucking another throwing knife in Lucifer’s direction.

He melted into the shadows of the room and the knife hit the opposite wall, embedding into the cracked paint. The group twisted their heads around the area, eyes scanning for the vanishing stranger.

“You look tired!” Lucifer grinned behind one of the thugs, who pivoted with a yelp of surprise at his appearance. The mace in their hand beginning to rise for an attack.

“Why don't you—” Lucifer snarled and reeled back an arm, an enclosed fist at the end of it. He swung it forward and it connected with the larger demon’s stomach, a strangled gasp escaping their lips.

“—Sit down!”

With a flash of golden light, the demon shot backward. He flew through the air, his back smashing into the window on the opposite wall. He sailed right through it, letting out a shriek as he plummeted towards the ground.

The scene halted for a moment. Multiple wide eyes snapping from Lucifer to the large, broken window that their comrade had just exited. Pieces of glass scattered across the room were the only remnants of the crime.

“Holy shit..” one muttered quietly in shock, fear etched onto his features. He dropped the weapon in his hand, and scurried off towards the staircase leading out of the club.

“That’s called karma, bitch!” Lucifer laughed. He stood in the same position he had punched the guy, casually brushing off a few specks of dirt from his sleeves. Adjusting his sunglasses once more, he surveyed the rest of the demons.

“Who’s next?” he grinned.

The gang-members exchanged nervous glances. Some withdrew a few steps, a few tightened their grip on their weapon with calculating glares. None made the first move.

“Alright then,” Lucifer hummed, “Guess i’ll just have to pick.”

Snapping his fingers, a whip appeared in his hand. A long, thin wire coated in golden flames dragged across the floor. Scorch marks trailed behind as he slowly stalked forward. With another burst of magic, the room filled with thick, gray fog. To any demon that would walk into the room, they’d probably just think it was the fog machine acting up.

“Eeny..” He started.

Right as the bass dropped, and the floor vibrated beneath his feet, Lucifer cracked the whip. It shot forward, slashing one demon right in the throat. Blood spurted from the gash, and with a few gurgled screams, the demon face-planted onto the floor.

The room went into a panic, as the gang-members frantically searched for the way out of the dense fog. One ran straight into a wall, knocking him unconscious as he slid down the side of it.

“Meeny..”

The music drowned out the whip once more as it curled around the foot of a wolf-built demon, with a harsh tug, the demon clawed for something to grab before he was thrown out the now-broken window. He screams echoing in a mirrored symphony of the last.

“Miny..”

The whip evaporated from Lucifer’s hand, as he charged an unsuspecting gang-member. They pivoted in his direction, right as he wrapped his hands around their throat. Golden tendrils seeped from under Lucifer’s sleeves, and curled tightly the demon’s neck. With a snap of his wrist, the thug’s head twisted an un-natural angle, and he fell backwards.

Landing softly in front of the body, Lucifer’s eyes narrowed on the area in front of him. The fog cleared, and the only one left standing was the leader of the gang. His eyes were dark, his teeth bared as his gaze traveled across the broken bodies of his comrades. His rage was going to be the death of him.

“I’m tired of this shit. Let’s finish this, Pipsqueak!” The Shark-demon roared. Reaching behind him, the gang leader carefully pulled a large, silver machete from the sheath strapped to his back.

This one was rather different, though. It was laced with shimmering white etchings, that pooled at the tip of the blade.

Angelic steel.

Lucifer only grinned widely at the sight. Before planting his feet firmly into the ground, the demon would regret thinking he had the upper hand. He should have ran when he had the chance.

In a flash, Lucifer’s wings unfurled. Bathing the room in a red glow as the tips of his flight feathers grazed the opposite walls. The shark-demon’s eyes widened, his stance faltered for a moment, but the grip of the blade tightened.

“Moe.” Was all Lucifer uttered, and with a large beat of his wings, shot straight for the demon. With a battle cry, the leader raised the machete high, ready to slash at the fallen angel.

At the last second, Lucifer ducked, curling his wings around himself as he evaded the blade and slammed right into the shark’s chest. The heavy blow knocked the demon backwards, and the weapon flew from his grip.

Reaching out an arm, Lucifer snatched it, turning it on its user. With a downward swipe, he planted the blade right into the fucker’s heart. The demon’s knees hit the floor, as blood dripped from his mouth, the life fading from his eyes.

“This is to make sure you keep your filthy hands off what doesn’t belong to you,” he snarled in the demon’s ear, “know you died simply because your mama’s manners never rubbed off on you.”

Lucifer stood there for a moment, on the dead man’s corpse. His breath heavy as the thick scent of blood and pain filled his nostrils. He may have descended from the Heavens, but ruling a place like this for so long can really turn a guy feral when it comes to protecting the ones he loves most.

With his wings disappearing back into his frame, Lucifer turned towards the closed door. With a flick of his wrist, it slammed open, and he took a step inside.

It was empty, stacks of cash laid strewn on the table before him. Bottles of empty liquor sat on the small bar across the room. It seemed like a hideout for the gang, but Lucifer deathly was aware of the silence. There was no Angel Dust, which meant..

A moment of panic overtook him as he backtracked out of the room, his eyes feverishly searching for you. Were you okay? Did they hurt you? It had been long enough, you should have been back by now. He bolted out of the hallway, pushing through the crowd of drunken partiers.

He needed to find you, before it was too late.

✧༺🤍༻∞

Your feet skidded to a halt in front of the first private room. The line of doors sat in an adjacent room to the dance floor, away from the prying eyes of club-goers. The sign on the door indicated it to you as it was occupied. You took a deep breath, before gripping the handle.

You yanked open the door, taking in the unwanted sight of two demons naked on the bed. Their heads snapped up, eyes wide at your intrusion.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!!” You screamed to them, covering your eyes.

“It’s okay, Sugar. You can join us if you want!” One yelled at you flirtatiously.

“No thanks!” You replied as you scurried away, your gaze already zone in on the next room. Jiggling the handle, you found it locked tightly.

You placed an ear to the door, straining for any sounds. Angel was in one of these rooms and you’d make sure he’d come out unscathed.

“Get the fuck off me, you murderer!” You heard a familiar, muffled voice yell behind the door.

Fear gripped at your heart as you recognized his cry. Your head whipped to the bar closest to you, searching for something you could use to break through. Besides the shelf of bottles was a fire extinguisher, bolted to the wall.

You rushed forward, scanning the area for any signs of the bartender, before grasping the handle tightly. Using all your strength, you pulled it towards you. It snapped off its hinges and caused you to stumble backwards from the force, clutching it to your chest.

Your head snapped back to the door and you crossed the room. You lifted the fire extinguisher above your head, and waited. Just as the beat dropped, and the speakers filled the room with deafening bass, you smashed the red canister against the handle.

It flew off, skidding across the floor. You dropped the extinguisher, before picking the pistol back up. Lifting your leg, you used all your strength to kick the door open, revealing the scene inside. The scene before you was chilling—Angel, bound to the bed with his clothes slightly torn, struggling against a demon holding him down. Without hesitation, you raised the pistol, aiming it at the demon's head.

"Let him go," you commanded, your voice trembling with fury and determination.

The demon’s eyes widened at the weapon aimed at his face, before quickly reaching his hands in the air to surrender. “Let’s watch where you point that thing, now.” He joked darkly.

"Get the fuck out." you snarled, your voice low and threatening. You weren’t sure whether you had the strength to actually pull the trigger, nor did you want to further traumatize Angel Dust.

The demon backed up to the wall slowly, tip-toeing around you as you turned on your heels to continue facing him, the gun never leaving it’s sight of the man. After reaching the door, he quickly fled with his tail between his legs.

Breathing heavily, you rushed to Angel's side, helping him stand. "We need to get out of here," you said urgently, glancing around for any other threats.

Angel Dust’s eyes widened at the sight of you, his mouth opened in shock. “I-I thought they killed you!” He sputtered, gripping your arms tightly as his hands came free from the bindings. He looked like he was about to burst into tears.

It was then that another figure barreled into the room, eyes wide and panic in their voice as they called out for you. You turned sharply, gun drawn once more, aimed right at.. Lucifer’s face. This time without the sunglasses blocking those pretty eyes of his.

Your shaking hands loosened around the gun at the realization, and it dropped to the floor at your feet.

You rushed forward, wrapping your arms around him. He was okay! Of course he was, but that didn’t mean your mind wasn’t racing with worry for his sake. It was the other way around too, as Lucifer returned the hug ten fold. You could feel his rapid breath against your neck as he melted slightly into you. The worry fading from his eyes, as he gave you once over for any injuries.

“About time, you dick!” Angel muttered besides you, rubbing his wrists where the rope marks were no doubt beginning to bruise beneath his fuzzy. He seemed offley sober now, unlike you, who’s mind was still a bit fuzzy from the Amrita.

Releasing Lucifer slowly, you stood up, turning back to Angel Dust. He was relatively untouched, it seems you made it just in time.

“Those thugs are taken care of,” Lucifer began, his pupils still dilated to slits as he hissed out the words, “they won’t bother you anymore, although, i’d recommend you stay away from this place from now on.”

Angel Dust nodded besides you, “Y’dont gotta tell me twice. Now, how about we use some of that sick teleportation magic of yours and get the fuck outta here?”

“That sounds really nice, right about now.” You breathed, a faint smiling appearing on your lips.

You turned towards Lucifer, but a shadowy figure behind him caught your attention. In the doorway, a demon bleeding profusely from his side glared daggers into Lucifer’s back. Raising an arm, you caught the sight of a silver-tipped pistol lifting to aim right at his head.

“Watch out!” You screamed. Instinctually, you shoved Lucifer aside, positioning yourself between the gun and your love. Lucifer’s head snapped in your direction, and his eyes widened as they turned a midnight-red.

“Wait, no-!”

Lucifer started, pulling you close to him, right as the thug pulled the trigger. You heard the sickly pop as the gun fired and squeezed your eyes shut.

You saw a flash of golden light behind your eyelids, and felt your feet lifted off the ground. You felt a cool breeze hit your face, with the familiar feeling of floating midair. Were you being teleported?

Suddenly, your back hit the hardwood floor of your room in the hotel and your head bounced on the ground. Pain seared through your body as you landed harshly, and you were knocked unconscious.

Lucifer’s face appeared before yours, his eyes searching for signs of life. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared down at your motionless form. Panic clawed at his insides, threatening to consume him entirely. He reached out trembling hands, fingers shaking as they brushed against your cheek, desperately searching for any hint of warmth. Did the bullet hit you? If it was truly an angelic weapon, there was no chance to save you.

"No," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "Please, no."

Your eyes flew open, and you shot up from the ground, gasping. Taking in the sight of your atelier, with its canvases strewn across your room, you turned to face Lucifer. Relief flooded his entire being as he watched you awaken.

A wide smile spread across his face, breaking through the darkness that had threatened to engulf him moments before. "You're alive," he breathed, his voice filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. He scanned your body for any blood or injury, and found none.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. "I thought I lost you," he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. "But you're here. You're safe."

“Angel Dust?” You asked hoarsely.

“Fine. I dropped him in the lobby.”

He held you for a moment longer, before pushing you back. Your breath hitched, watching him. His teeth were bared, his eyes still dark as he regarded you.

“What were you thinking? Trying to save me?”

“What was I supposed to do?! Let the bullet hit you?”

“Yes!” He snapped, before he closed his eyes, and his features softened. He hung his head, averting his gaze.

“Your life is much more important than a few holes in my body. I would gladly lay down my life for you or Charlie, I don’t care about the circumstances.”

You wanted to retort, tell him how stupid he is for saying such things. Instead, you sidled up to him. Your knees gently grazed his own, and you took his hand.

“And what about you, hm? Do you think your wellbeing doesn’t matter? You may be a super powerful fallen angel, but you’re still my super powerful angel. You can’t just run off and die and think nobody is going to care.”

Lucifer hummed softly, his head tilting at your words. A smile formed on his lips as he listened. He hadn’t heard anyone speak to him like that in a very long time.

You took in the sight of the most powerful being in the realm. His hair disheveled with sweat beading down his forehead, as the soft red glow from the window lit up his features. You sat there, drinking in his presence. He looked absolutely beautiful, breathtaking even. Watching him practically come apart at the very thought of seeing your lifeless body, it awakened something in you. The driving urge to claim him, once and for all. To make him yours, forever.

The thought of him defending you, in a way no one ever has before, made you horny. A primitive urge that’s sat dormant since you were first born.

Is this how the lioness on TV felt when she watched her man tear into a pack of hyenas to protect her and her cubs? Maybe, you were finally understanding it.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, or that damn drink playing with your head, but the heat that slowly crept from between your thighs was unmistakable.

You wanted him so fucking badly.

“What?” Lucifer’s eyes snapped up to you, surprise written on his face.

Shit, did he hear that?

“.. I want you, Lucifer,” You whispered, “I want your heart, your mind.. and your body.”

He tensed, and you hoped he understood what you were implying. But it wasn’t long before you felt strong hands pushing you backwards. You laid back slightly, using your arms to support your upper body. Lucifer kneeled in front of you, his pupils practically invisible as he pulled off his shirt.

You sent him a sultry smirk, before Lucifer closed the distance, climbing on top of you. Gripping at your top, he pulled it from your frame, leaving you bare-chested as well. His eyes traveled down your nude body, as if he was memorizing every crevice and line in your skin.

You felt a slight bulge in his pants as he kneeled above you, and you bucked your hips. Hearing a hiss of pleasure escape him.

You leaned forward, taking his lips in a passionate kiss. You wrapped your arms around him, using his weight to keep you upright as your teeth grazed his lip. Lucifer broke from your mouth, trailing quick pecks down to your throat. He placed a wet sloppy kiss in the crook of your neck, and your eyes rolled back with pleasure.

You moaned as his lips trailed down father, in the valley of your chest, and down to your waist. Gripping your lower garments, he tugged them free. You sat back, legs spread as you allowed him to do as he wished.

He stopped suddenly, and looked up at you with those pretty yellow eyes of his.

"Are you sure about thi-" He started to say softly, but you cut him off.

"I’ve never been more sure." you said, your hands caressing the side of his face.

He smirked before picking you up, which was no effort, considering the angelic strength he held. He laid you gently on the dining table and trailed kisses down your body once more. The only piece of clothing you had left was the one that covered your nether regions.

"Oh, Luci," you moaned as he slowly took off your underwear. He kissed the inside of your thighs, teasing you before pulling away. You glared at him, and he sent you a smirk, before taking your mouth in another kiss.

“You’re mine,” He muttered, lapping at your collarbone, “no demon, angel, or any other being in creation will ever come between us. Not a single soul will ever wish you harm and lay their filthy hands on you again.”

You felt his erect manhood pressing against your entrance. You hadn’t realized he had fully removed his clothes until you felt his nakedness against you.

"Oh, fuck," you moaned. You jerked your hips against his, teasing his tip into you. He shuddered for a moment, before stilling.

You bit your lip and gave him a sultry grin. That was all the encouragement he needed; with a single, long thrust, he surged inside you, burying himself to the hilt.

Desperate to have him closer, you hooked your legs around his back and pressed your heels against his ass.

“More.” You moaned, and he obliged, thrusting again. Your legs trembled at the sensation.

You felt a growl— or maybe a purr— resonate from his chest. Your audible sounds of pleasure only further spurred the intensity of his thrusts, as he slammed into you harder and harder.

You screamed his name loudly as you came, bliss blooming across your body. He didn't wait for you to come down from you high as he continued his thrusting. With him in control of you now, he was hitting your insides from an incredibly pleasurable angle, and even before your first climax ended, you felt another one rising within.

You tightened your thighs around his back as you came again, your walls flexing around his cock and gripping it so tightly you could feel it pulsing inside you. You both stilled for a moment, and you felt him starting to lean against you.

Except, you weren’t quite done yet. Now, it was your turn.

Sitting up straight, you moved your leg forward and pushed him backwards with your toes. He stumbled and limply sank into the chair behind him, his hair coated to his face with sweat, his half-lidded eyes watching you intensely.

Your feet hit the cold floor, a rather refreshing feeling from the burning within you, as you sauntered over to him. Taking a finger, you let it graze the underside of his chin, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

“You’re such a good boy,” You whispered, your voice like honey to Lucifer’s ears, “always doing what you’re told. Never fussing. Good boys deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

You swore you heard him whimper, and that surprised you. The big boss of hell, coming undone beneath you before you even began. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you lowered yourself.

You slowly sank onto his length, your ass meeting his thighs as you accepted all of him. Slowly, you grinded your hips, and he whimpered again. It was a musical sound, and it made you desperate to hear what else could come from that pretty mouth of his.

Using your legs to strengthen your movements, you bounced atop him. Every smack of your ass against his skin sent you deeper into ecstasy. Leaning your head down, you bit his shoulder as another wave of pleasure hit you. He moaned beneath you, and you bit him again, lapping at the teeth marks left in your wake.

You felt his breath hitch as you came down with more intensity, his own climax nearing. You increased your pace, and felt his waist lifting to meet you as you descended upon him again. His grip around your midsection tightened, his claws digging in your skin as he threw his head back, a moan of pleasure escaping his lips.

Heat blossomed from your stomach and you let out a breathless gasp as you reached your own climax. Your body trembling from the intensity, as you collapsed into his arms.

Breathing hard, you both sat there for a moment, before you lifted up your head and used your hand to push his curls back that were plastered to his face. You wanted to see those pretty eyes of his in their full glory. The look he gave you was of such adoration you wanted to cry.

Have you ever felt this loved before?

“Stay with me tonight, won’t you?” You pleaded with doe-eyes. He smiled, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of his skin turning you to liquid against his touch.

“Anything for you,” He whispered into your ear.

His wings unfurled, and you felt them curl around your naked body. Your eyes began to close, and Lucifer’s gentle hums lulled you into a state of blissful sleep as you sank further into his chest.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I hope that wasn’t too long of a fic, but in my defense i need it that long for my writing 😩 This part had me studying over on wattpad to get the smut accurate lmaoooo

lmk what you think!!

Tag list: @ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @loslox @sukxma @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @laurenlaurie @lxkeee

#lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #hellaverse #hazbin hotel #lucifer x reader

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misswynters · 2 months

Text

As the Tides Turn

Aeron Bracken x fem!reader x Davos/Benjicot Blackwood

[warnings: mdni (18+), kissing, cunilingus, blowjob, implied anal?, double penetration, riding, breeding, pronebone, rough sex, creampie, aeron & benji makeout(mxm), mating press, reverse cowgirl, degrading, praising, aftercare, fingering, barely any plot, threesome

[word count: 4.1k

[a/n: i said it was going to be short drabble, but it took a turn for the better. also let me know if i missed something. there could very well be misspellings and such, so caution!

similar | Weirwood Whispers | Surrender |

Tensions were heavy at Raventree Hall, the ancestral seat of House Blackwood. The grand castle, surrounded by ancient weirwoods, was a place of mystery and power. Tonight, it was also a place of passion and conflict. You had been caught in a whirlwind of emotions ever since arriving at the castle. Your presence had not gone unnoticed by Davos Blackwood and Aeron Bracken, two men whose rivalry was legendary. The animosity between the houses of Blackwood and Bracken was as old as the trees that surrounded the castle, but tonight, that rivalry took on a new, more personal dimension.

It had started innocently enough, with shared glances and lingering touches. You had first met with Davos, sharing a moment of passion together. Then came Aeron who only had the goal of giving you what you needed. Aeron had been the first to approach you since then, his charm and roguish smile making it easy to fall into his arms. The night had deepened, and one thing led to another until you found yourself in his chambers, the heat of his body pressing against yours.

Aeron's hands roamed your body with a hunger that matched your own. His lips found yours, and the kiss quickly became a battle for dominance.

Just as you were losing yourself in the moment, the door to Aeron's chamber burst open. Davos stood in the doorway, his eyes dark with fury. He had known something was amiss, but seeing you with Aeron ignited a rage within him that he struggled to contain.

"What in the Seven Hells is going on here?" Davos' voice was a low growl, filled with anger and betrayal.

You and Aeron froze, the reality of the situation crashing down upon you. He moved to shield you, but Davos was already striding into the room, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Aeron, you bastard," Davos spat, his eyes locked onto his rival. "How dare you touch them!"

Aeron, ever the provocateur, met Davos’ gaze with a defiant smile. "They came to me willingly, Blackwood. Can you say the same?"

Davos’ temper flared, and he lunged at Aeron, pulling him away from you and slamming him against the wall. He looked into his eyes with an unknown amount of tension. The two men grappled, their struggle a physical manifestation of the centuries-old enmity between their houses.

"Enough!" you cried, your voice cutting through the tension. "It’s always this fighting.”

Both men paused, their eyes turning to you. You stood there, vulnerable yet strong, a force that drew them both despite their hatred for each other. "Davos," you said, your voice softer now, "Aeron and I... we love each other, but it doesn't change how I feel about you."

Davos’ anger faltered, replaced by a deep hurt. He released Aeron, who staggered back, rubbing his jaw where Benjicot had struck him.

"You know…you don't have to choose," Aeron said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "We can share them." The suggestion hung in the air, charged with a forbidden allure. Davos’ eyes flicked between you and Aeron, his jealousy warring with his desire.

"Can you accept that?" you asked Davos, stepping closer to him. "Can you share me?"

Davos’ jaw clenched, but he nodded. "If it's what you want."

You looked at both men, your heart pounding in your chest. "Then, come to me." Slowly, tentatively, they approached you. Aeron was the first to touch you, his hands sliding over your bare skin, igniting a fire that had only been momentarily extinguished. Davos followed, his touch more hesitant but no less passionate.

The three of you moved together, a tangle of limbs and desire. Aeron kissed you deeply, his hands guiding you near the bed, while Davos’ lips trailed down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

The sensation of both men touching you, their hands exploring every inch of your body, was overwhelming. You moaned softly, the sound spurring them on. Aeron positioned himself behind you, his hands on your hips, while Davos moved in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours.

"You are mine," Aeron murmured against your ear, his voice thick with desire. "Tonight."

“Ours.” Davos corrected, his anger now a distant memory.

Their words sent a shiver down your spine, and you surrendered to the moment. Aeron's hands were firm and demanding, guiding you back against him, while Davos’ touch was gentle, almost reverent.

Aerons began to lift the hem of your nightgown, finding the sweet spot that was craving to be touched. He started to tease you, moving his fingers everywhere except inside. You whined in bliss. As you were trying to find his hand, the boy in front of you grabbed it. Stopping you from doing anything.

“Nuh-uh sweetheart, what do you think you are doing?” Davos was glaring at you as his eyes darkened with a smirk in his face. “We will take our time with you.” He then began his attack on your nape and Aeron continued his teasing.

After a few moments, Davos took your hand and guided you towards the bed. Aeron took a seat at the center of it, with his back against the headboard. You soon found yourself on top of Aeron, straddling him as you slowly moved your clothed hips with a slow pace. The clothes began have yet to get discarded, yet you could very evidently feel him. Davos, on the other hand started to untie the knots of your flimsy night gown, taking it off your body and tossed it on the floor. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements as he thrusts his hips towards you with need. You could feel his hardness laying against your ass. The two men were desperate to get inside of you, however they were trying to take their time. As you started to relief aeron from his trousers, you began to kiss his neck. A small moan could be heard as you finally took his tip into your hand.

Aeron then fully removed his trousers and tossed them aside, his hands falling back to your hips. “Need you…” he panted heavily against your ear. as your chests touched. The heat between you was intense, every touch, every kiss, a testament to the desire you both felt.

Davos stopped his actions and watched, his eyes dark with a mix of jealousy and desire. His breathing grew heavier as he observed you and Aeron, the sight of you lost in pleasure stirring something primal within him. He couldn't deny the pull any longer, already removing his trousers as well.

With a deep breath, Davos joined you both in the act as he came closer. He positioned himself behind you once more, his hands sliding up your back and over your shoulders, grounding you with his touch. The warmth of his body pressed against yours as his lips found the nape of your neck once again, kissing and biting it gently. The dark haired boy began to slowly push your chest towards Aeron’s, making the both you lay on the bed. Davos continued to press his hand as it trailed down your spine until it laid on the curve of your back. His hips finally started to move against your other sweet spot, with a slight tease. Though he had yet to push his cock into you.

The sensation of being between the two men was overwhelming. Aeron's grinding movements beneath you became more rapid, his grip tightening on your hips. He started to move you upwards so he can thrust his cock into you from below. His hands started to spread you cheeks to give Davos a better view of his cock thrusting inside of you, a teasing smile creeping up on his lips.

Davos hands roamed your body, caressing your skin as he pressed himself against you, his arousal evident. "You're so beautiful," Davos murmured against your ear, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and desire. "We want to make you feel everything. Every part of us."

Aeron's hands moved to your breasts, teasing your sensitive nipples as he thrusted harder. The combined sensations were too much, and you cried out, your body trembling with pleasure.

Davos hand slid down to your pussy, his fingers joining inside of you as Aeron's movements began to intensify. You gasped, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. The two men worked in perfect harmony, their hands and bodies bringing you closer to the edge.

With a final, desperate cry, you came, your body shaking with the force of your release. Aeron followed soon after, his grip on your hips tightening as he shot his cum into you. Davos’ touch was the last to leave you, his fingers trailing down your spine as he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“It’s my turn with them,” He said as he sat up on his knees and he watched you needlessly. “Alone. Now move.” He stood there glaring at Aeron to move, and he did. He pulled you away from his body as Davos grabbed you by the waist. Picking you up like you were light as a feather.

Davos took his turn with you, his strength and urgency making it clear how deeply he desired you. He placed you down back in the bed, making you face the hot mattress. You were now underneath him, his body pressing into yours with a passionate intensity. His hands explored every inch of your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched. He pushed his tip between your folds with a antagonising motion, that left you gasping for air. He was trying to remain calm, urging himself not to let go of his slow pace.

However Davos movements became more intense, his hips gaining momentum and started to pound against yours with a delicious rhythm. His hands moved to your breasts, teasing and kneading them as he buried his face in your hair, his breath hot against your neck. His kisses grew more fervent, his teeth grazing your skin as he moved lower, his hands exploring every inch of your body. Davos’ hand went down towards your folds playing with you once again. Pushing two fingers inside which left them already soaking, thanks to your first orgasm. His fingers continued this rapid pace, the squelching noises combined with your moans and his grunts, could be heard across the room. As the sensations were almost too much to bear, you cried out, your body trembling with the intensity of your pleasure.

Aeron on the other hand was relieving himself to his view. Although he couldn’t bare at the thought of sharing you with his rival, Davos, he couldn’t help but feel aroused.

You were starting to get tired as he impossibly picked up the pace, which was making a white ring develop around the base of his cock. Pushing the cum that aeron released earlier, further inside. He grasp onto your hair and pushed you deeply against the mattress as he almost pulled out and pushed himself in. The noises got louder and so did your moans, gripping the sheets with intense pleasure until your knuckles turned white. “Don’t let go just yet” he whispered, focusing on making sure you had the most pleasurable experience.

You hummed in response, too cock drunk to say a word. Davos plunged his hips into you after fully pulling out, splitting you open on his thick cock. He started to coo at your adorable attempts to trying to squirm away from his staggering thrusts. "Poor princess, are you regretting your decision…”

You hummed at his words without thinking, spit pooling in your mouth from being fucked so good that you couldn't even remember to swallow anymore. “N-no” you moaned.

He pushed your head into the mattress, as he treated your body like his personal fleshlight. The dark haired man groaned at how wet you were and the squelching sounds your cunt made. It was so filthy that it got him throbbing more and more inside of you.

“Look at this Aeron,” the boy chuckled as he spread your ass cheeks to reveal how wet you were. “Wish this was you, huh.” he grunted, voice trembling from how soft and wet your walls were around his cock. Davos slowed down as he sat in his knees, looking back at Aeron to see why he wasn’t responding.

“Are you seriously going to just stand there, pleasuring yourself like a horny bastard.” he spoke as he caressed your back as your breath began to calm.

“You said it was your turn,” Aeron rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You blackwood cunt.”

Filling with rage once again, Davos pulled out of you making your walls contract harshly. He got off the bed and walked over towards the blonde, menacingly staring at him.

He took his hand and took a grasp of Aeron’s blond locks, yanking his head against his. “Say it again” He dared staring into his eyes, with a gazed look. The boy gulped nervously as he looked at him. One thing lead to another and they both leaned in for a feverishly long kiss. Luckily, you got to catch your breathe before they were reminded that you were there.

They both pulled out from their kiss, panting and grasping for air. “Your turn, but i can’t promise to keep my hands to myself.” Davos pushed aeron by his waist towards you, following closely behind.

“Come here, ___” The raven-haired boy commanded, and you did. You walked up to them looking at their hunger-filled eyes.

Aeron reached out, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face before leaning in to capture your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His mouth moved against yours with a demanding urgency, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer. He continued kissing you as he sat on the bed, at the same spot as earlier.

Behind you, Davos watched, his gaze filled with a mix of jealousy and longing. His presence was a steady, comforting force, contrasting sharply with Aeron's intense passion.

Davos stepped closer, his fingers lightly grazing your arm before moving to your waist, his touch sending shivers of anticipation through your body.

Aeron's kisses grew more fervent, his lips and tongue exploring yours with an insatiable need. His broad shoulders and powerful frame pressed against you, enveloping you in his warmth. The rugged knight's hands roamed your back, pulling you tightly against him as he deepened the kiss.

The sensation of being kissed so passionately by Aeron while Davos’ skilled fingers explored your body was amazingly satisfying. You moaned softly into Aeron's mouth, your body arching into their combined touch. The noble knight's fingers moved higher, brushing against your folds, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips.

Aeron's kisses became more urgent, his teeth grazing your lower lip as he devoured you with a fierce intensity.

The handsome rogue's hands gripped your waist, holding you steady as Davos’ fingers found your cunt. He curled his fingers inside you, pressing against that spot that made you see stars, while his thumb circled your sensitive nub. Aeron's lips found your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, "Do you like this? Do you like being touched by both of us?"

You could only moan in response, your body trembling with the intensity of your pleasure. The passionate knight's kisses trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he marked you as his.

You straddled Aeron, the Bracken Lord, with your back facing him. His broad shoulders tensed beneath you as you positioned yourself over him. The fierce lover's hands gripped your hips, guiding you into place. The sensation of him filling you was intense, and you let out a soft moan as you settled your folds between his cock.

Aeron's hands moved to your waist, steadying you as you began to move. His touch was both firm and gentle, guiding your hips as you rocked back and forth. His breathing grew heavier, matching the pace of your movements.

Davos’ eyes were fixed on yours, a look of pure hunger in his gaze. In front of you, he watched intently. The noble knight's presence was a grounding force as he stood by, his eyes never leaving the two of you. As you began to ride Aeron with a steady rhythm, Davos stepped closer to Aeron, his hands finding the blonde’s face. With a mix of desire and possessiveness, he drew Aeron's lips to his, engaging in a deep, passionate kiss.

The room was filled with the sounds of your soft moans, your cunt squelching, Aeron's heavy breaths, and the quiet whispers of their exchanged kisses. As you continued to ride Aeron, your body moving in a rhythm that drove you both wild, you could feel Aeron's hands gripping you tighter, his touch becoming more insistent.

The kiss between him and Davos was passionate, their lips and tongues exploring each other with a deep hunger. Aeron's eyes occasionally flickered to you, filled with a raw intensity that only heightened your pleasure. You leaned forward, resting your hands on his thighs for a better angle. Davos hands roamed over Aeron's chest, his touch both tender and possessive.

Aeron's thrusts upward met your downward motions, creating a rhythm that drove you both to the brink of ecstasy. The Bracken Lord's lips remained locked with Davos, their kiss a blend of passion and urgency.

You could feel yourself reaching your peak, the combined force of Aeron's thrusts and Davos’ kiss creating a whirlwind of pleasure. Aeron's grip on your hips was unwavering, his hips becoming more frantic as he neared his release. He was moaning against his lips.

The raven-haired lord's hands moved to your hips, guiding you down onto the bed. You lay back propped up on your elbows, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and desire. Aeron positioned himself between your legs, his eyes locked onto yours as he lowered himself down. The fierce lover's touch was gentle yet insistent, his fingers finding your cunt and slipping inside, preparing you for what was to come.

Davos, the noble knight, moved behind you, his hands caressing your shoulders. His touch was a soothing balm, grounding you as Aeron's fingers worked their magic. The handsome rogue's touch was expert, each movement driving you wild with need. You moaned softly, your body arching into his touch, your core aching for more.

Aeron's eyes met Davos, a silent agreement passing between them. The Bracken Lord removed his fingers, positioning himself at your entrance. He entered your wet folds slowly, his broad shoulders tensing as he slid easily inside, his eyes never leaving yours. The sensation was intense, your body adjusting to his size as he filled you completely. He then settled your legs on his shoulders, drawing you closer to him and lifting you up.

Behind you, Davos positioned himself, his hands gripping your hips as he prepared to join Aeron.

The stalwart defender's touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers caressing your skin as he positioned himself alongside Aeron. You felt a moment of tension, your body tensing in anticipation before Davos began to push inside, slowly and carefully as Aeron pulled out. They both took turns with your folds, pushing each others cum back inside you.

࣪⠀⊹ ˑ ִ ֗ ࣪⠀⊹ ˑ ִ ֗

You have completely lost track of how long the three of you have been fucking. You had countless orgasms and the two rivals were sure taking their time with you. After taking a good break, the tension began to rise again. Sooner or later, Aeron moved with a rhythm as your breasts bounced with each thrust that began to get harder than the last. His eyes never left yours, the connection between you deep and unbreakable. He pulled your hips down harder against his every time you tried to pull away, your orgasm coming near for the fourth time. Davos helped him by snapping your hips downwards.

“I need to make sure you are ready for later, so you might feel a bit full,” “But you can take it, right?”

You nodded as your head hanged from Aeron’s shoulders. Davos began to push over digits against your other hole. The way you were hugging his finger was going to drive him crazy. He bite his lip trying to refrain from moaning. “Fucking shut,” he exclaimed to himself. “You are tighter than before”

࣪⠀⊹ ˑ ִ ֗ ࣪⠀⊹ ˑ ִ ֗

His dark eyes were intense, filled with a mix of hunger and determination as he prepared to take you. You laid back on the bed, your body eagerly anticipating the sensation of his touch.

Meanwhile, Aeron, the Bracken Lord, was already settled behind you. His hands gripped your shoulders as you laid there before him, your lips wrapped around his throbbing cock. The fierce lover's hands tangled in your hair, guiding your movements as you worked to please him.

Davos approached with a firm but gentle hand, lifting your legs and positioning them to touch your chest. The Black Knight's hands were rough but skilled as he guided you into place, his touch eliciting a soft gasp from you. You felt the anticipation building as he aligned himself with your folds, his eyes locked on yours as he prepared to claim you.

The feeling of Davos's thick cock pressing against you was delicious. You let out a soft moan, the sound muffled by Aeron's length as you continued to suck him with a steady rhythm. Davos's hands gripped your hips firmly as he slowly pushed inside, his movements deliberate and controlled. As he filled you, you could feel the heat of his body against yours, his rugged frame creating a stark contrast to Aeron's more refined presence. The Black Knight's thrusts were deep and powerful, each one driving you closer to the edge.

Aeron's hands gripped your hair tighter, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he watched you pleasuring him. His fingers occasionally brushed against your skin, heightening the pleasure of his own experience. The Bracken Lord's moans and groans mingled with Davos's grunts and your own soft cries of pleasure, creating a symphony of sounds that filled the room.

The intensity of Davos's thrusts only heightened the pleasure you were receiving from Aeron. Each powerful push of the Blackwood’s hips against thighs sent waves of sensation through you, causing you to moan around Aeron's cock. Bracken Lord's grip on your hair was a mix of control and tenderness, guiding you with a firm yet gentle hand.

As Davos's pace grew more urgent, his breathing becoming more ragged, you felt the knot in your stomach feeling tighter. The combination of Aeron's cock in your mouth and Davos's powerful thrusts felt delicious, creating a crescendo of pleasure that left you gasping for breath.

Aeron's groans grew louder, his grip on your hair tightening as he neared his release. Davos, too, was reaching his release as his thrusts became more erratic. With a final, powerful thrust, he groaned deeply, his body shuddering with the force of his release. The sensation of his climax filling you was intense, a mixture of pleasure and satisfaction that left you breathless. He stayed in that position as you continued to suck off aeron.

“Now be a good princess and keep all of this cum inside you, ok” The raven haired man said as he leaned towards your ear. He pushed his cock out from inside you. The mixture of his cum, your own and the remnants of Aeron, began to leak out. The blonde man kneeling in front of you groaned at the sight.

At the same time, Aeron's length twitched in your mouth as he found his own release, his groans muffled by the pleasure you were giving him. His grip on your hair relaxed as he let out a long, satisfied sigh.

The room was filled with the sounds of aeron thrusting his cock into your mouth. Davos's hands gently stroked your thighs as he slowly pushed his finger inside you, his touch tender and soothing. Aeron's hands caressed your face, his touch soft and affectionate as he pulled you away from him.

a/n: half of the time i couldn’t take myself seriously when writing this…lol

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @starkluvrr @pearldaisy @pantheonofbeauty @hueanhdang @thornsandtulips

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd smut #aeron bracken x reader #aeron bracken #davos blackwood #davos x reader #benjicot blackwood smut #benjicot x reader #benjicot blackwood #davos x aeron

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yueebby · 5 months

Note

Ok so this is a random and weird scenario i thought of after watching some INTERESTING videos on YouTube, I know but I just need to tell someone(it involves lovesick!Gojo- and no this isn’t a request, more like a rant😭)

imagine- it’s summer and all the second year students are sweating and want something cool to eat. Satoru randomly brings in a watermelon and challenges the others to try and open it without any cursed energy or a knife, just pure raw strength. Nobody can do it except him and he laughs a bit before reader crushes the watermelon between her thighs and opens it just like that…IDK Y I THOUGHT OF THIS AND IDK HOW HE WOULD REACT TO THAT BUT I IMAGINE HE WOULD BE RED IN THE FACE AND LIKE ‘me next🙋‍♂️’ IM SRY IM AWARE THIS IS VERY WEIRD😭😭

2:35pm — gojo satoru

synopsis. a certain challenge makes gojo go feral for you

contents. fluff, CRACK, lovesick!gojo, he is (highkey) a pervert, everyone in jujutsu tech is sick of him

“The one and only Gojo Satoru is here to save the day~” The familiar drawl of a sing-song voice calls over the sound of the dingy fan that you and Shoko were huddling in front of. Both of you were sprawled on a tatami mat with the door wide hoping, hoping to catch a gust of wind.

The grin adorned on his face didn't falter when his only response was three annoyed groans.

“It is way too hot for your antics Gojo,” You look up from the fan to half heartedly glare at the white haired boy in front of you. He stares at you, blue eyes slightly wider than usual before he gulps. You brush it off, knowing that you probably looked like a mess, considering you had just finished training in the sweltering Tokyo heat.

Your usual uniform is long gone, replaced with the dress shirt that you wear below it. Even with the undershirt and your skirt, you’re still suffering from the particularly hot day, skin glowing in the sun as a silent testament.

Gojo is forcibly kicked out of his trance upon Suguru harshly bumping shoulders with him.

“Show them what we got,” Suguru’s smooth voice says. Your eyes follow down to whatever he was referring to.

Without any difficulty, Satoru holds up a large watermelon proudly. Your mouth nearly waters at the sight of the large green fruit. How refreshing!

“Ah you didn’t have to go through the trouble after your mission, Suguru!” You leap from your spot, a bright smile painting itself on your face.

The pleased look on Satoru’s face turns sour. “I was the one that brought the watermelon?” He lifts the large fruit, flexing the muscles that were showcased from his dress shirt being cuffed up to his forearms.

“I should be the one getting the thanks, it was my idea to get it in the first place,” Shoko wraps an arm around your shoulder.

The taller boys in front of you look sheepishly away under her stern gaze.

You wrap an affectionate arm around her, “You’d make a good wife one day Shoko.”

Gojo’s jaw drops incredulously, leaning closer into your face, “What about me? [Name]! Wouldn’t I be a good doting husband too?”

You lean away, flustered at his sudden confrontation. His intense blue orbs never leave your face, expectantly waiting for an answer.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Shoko snorts, shielding you from his heavy gaze. “Anyways, how are we going to cut this thing? You brought a knife didn’t you?”

…

There is a long silence shared between the four of you.

You think you see an irk mark appear on Suguru’s forehead.

“I clearly told you to bring a knife from the kitchen,” Suguru snaps his head to his white haired counterpart.

“Must’ve slipped my mind, heh,” Satoru whistles. “We can just break it ourselves, no?”

TEN MINUTES LATER—

“Ready,” Satoru’s smile grows wide. “Go!”

You watch expectantly as Shoko’s hand descends onto the watermelon in a swift chop. To your shock, the watermelon stays unharmed despite the legs of the wooden table below it creaking loudly.

“Wha–?” She furrowed her eyebrows.

Satoru shrugs, “Better stop smoking and start training. You’re falling behind~”

You and Geto have to hold Shoko back from lunging at the smug white haired bastard.

“Next challenger, step up!” Satoru announces.

Fueled with hunger and the desire to get your hands on the juicy watermelon that awaits, you sit down on the cement floor of the school with the watermelon in your lap.

You gently place the fruit in between your thighs, inhaling slowly.

Squish!

The watermelon breaks in half with a crunch.

“Oh,” You blink in shock, surprised that your plan managed to work. “I did it.”

Your joy is short lived when you realize that your legs are sticky as a result of the juices of the fruit. A sheepish smile makes its way onto your lips.

“Gah–?!” Gojo chokes on air as he watches your thighs glisten with the sunlight. Though his mouth is agape, no words seem to escape. He’s nearly certain that the heat rushing throughout his body is not from the sun.

Shoko whistles, squatting down to eye level with your thigh to assess the damage done. She gives your thigh a good squeeze, “Nice legs.”

You’re too flustered to hear Gojo growl from just a couple of feet away at Shoko’s shameless attempt at flirting.

“My face next.”

extras:

- the only reason why satoru forgot to get a knife was because he was practically skipping to you once he got through the gates of jujutsu tech. suguru was nice enough to spare these details from you.

- despite all sorcerers being able to detect cursed energy, gojo satoru is pretty exceptional, being able to mask his cursed energy usage. that, and you were too tired to even notice it. (he lightly coated the watermelon right when each person went up to break it. suguru noticed immediately, but wanted to see how the prank would play out).

#was i sober writing this? errrrr #kt.fantasies—!#gojo x reader #jjk fluff

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minhosbitterriver · 1 month

Text

📷 STILL FRAMES ( stray kids )

❛ After fainting during a photography class outing, you're tenderly cared for by a seemingly cold classmate, Seungmin, leading to an unexpected and heartwarming connection between the two of you.

𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.5k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 30 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was written and completed a few months ago, but I recently found it and decided to share it with you guys! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Descriptions of being overheated, anxiety, and fainting, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

The summer sun blazed with an intensity that bordered on cruelty, its golden rays casting a relentless furnace upon the cityscape. The air shimmered with the heat, every street and alley seemingly wincing under the oppressive glare. The heavens above were a fierce, unyielding expanse of cerulean, devoid of mercy or shade.

Amidst this searing trial, you navigated the urban labyrinth, your every step a testament to perseverance. Your digital camera, a faithful companion clutched in your hand, was your shield against the unrelenting heat. It was your instrument for capturing moments of beauty amid the starkness of summer’s tyranny.

As you trailed behind your classmates, each one a silhouette against the blistering backdrop, your gaze flitted with restless anticipation. You wandered through the city streets, your eyes seeking fragments of inspiration to breathe life into your assignment. The buildings rose around you like silent, stoic sentinels, their facades glistening with a harsh, metallic sheen. In the shimmering distance, you hoped for the elusive spark that would transform the mundane into something extraordinary.

The chatter of your classmates had long faded into a mere whisper, a distant hum that barely registered in the periphery of your consciousness. Conversations ebbed and flowed like an unremarkable current, a symphony of voices blending into a soft, indistinguishable murmur. Yet, this isolation was not an anomaly but a chosen retreat, a familiar haven you embraced with quiet contentment.

Surrounded by the bustling dynamics of camaraderie and friendship, you stood apart, an island of introspection amidst a sea of social engagement. It wasn't that you were unfriendly or aloof; your laughter often mingled with theirs, your voice joining the chorus of shared jokes and light-hearted banter before and after the structured rhythm of class. But when the subject turned to the art that captivated your soul, a transformation occurred.

Photography, to you, was not just a hobby but a profound and passionate pursuit. It demanded your full attention, a devotion that bordered on reverence. Your camera was not merely a tool but an extension of your vision, a conduit through which you sought to capture the world’s hidden beauty. The play of light and shadow, the fleeting expressions on faces, the intricate details of everyday objects—all of these were fragments of a larger, more intricate tapestry that you sought to weave with each click of the shutter.

In those moments, the world around you faded into soft focus, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your art. The bonds of friendship, though cherished, were momentarily set aside, replaced by a singular concentration that sharpened your senses and heightened your awareness. This solitary journey through the realm of photography was your sanctuary, a place where you found solace and inspiration in equal measure.

The only other person in this class who might share your penchant for solitude was Kim Seungmin. He, too, seemed to navigate the world with an air of quiet detachment. Yet, there were differences in how each of you manifested this introversion. While you made a concerted effort to connect with those around you—engaging in brief conversations and sharing moments of camaraderie when class was not in session—Seungmin was an enigma, a shadow that flitted away the moment the lecture ended.

Seungmin's presence in the classroom was a paradox of visibility and invisibility. He was always the first to arrive, slipping into the room with the quiet grace of dawn's first light. Despite his punctuality, he maintained a palpable distance from the rest of the group, an invisible barrier that set him apart. His demeanor, while not unfriendly, exuded a clear message of preference for solitude.

During the lulls and intermissions, when the classroom would usually be filled with animated discussions and the laughter of budding friendships, Seungmin could be found in a corner, absorbed in his own world. His fingers danced nimbly over his camera, adjusting settings, capturing candid moments, or meticulously reviewing his shots. At other times, he would be engrossed in his phone, the screen's glow reflecting the deep concentration etched on his face.

To you, Seungmin was a mystery, a puzzle wrapped in layers of quiet introspection. There was a certain allure in his aloofness, a silent invitation to unravel the story behind his reserved exterior. Yet, you never dared to cross the unspoken boundary that he had set. His solitary nature, so akin to your own, commanded a respect that you were unwilling to breach.

Seungmin remained a figure of curiosity, a fellow traveler on the path of photographic artistry who chose a parallel yet distinctly separate route. His quiet presence was a reminder of the myriad ways one could navigate the delicate dance between isolation and connection.

Despite his reserved and enigmatic demeanor, Seungmin possessed a rare and extraordinary talent for photography. His artistry behind the lens was nothing short of breathtaking, a fact that did not go unnoticed by anyone, least of all the professor. At the conclusion of each class, a ritual unfolded: the professor would meticulously review everyone's photographs, sifting through the myriad of images to select the ones that stood out the most. Without fail, Seungmin's work consistently earned a place among the top five, a testament to his remarkable skill.

Each of Seungmin's photographs was a revelation, an abstract masterpiece that captured the world through a uniquely creative lens. His ability to see beyond the ordinary and delve into the depths of the abstract added a layer of profound beauty to his images. Where others might see a simple street scene or a mundane object, Seungmin uncovered hidden dimensions and intricate patterns, transforming the mundane into the extraordinary.

His compositions were a symphony of light and shadow, each frame meticulously crafted to evoke emotion and provoke thought. There was an unmistakable depth to his work, a silent narrative that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. The interplay of colors, the juxtaposition of textures, and the harmony of forms all coalesced into visual poetry, each photograph a verse in the grand tapestry of his artistic vision.

The professor, a seasoned connoisseur of photographic art, often marveled at Seungmin's ability to convey such profound beauty through his images. His praise, though sparing, was always effusive when it came to Seungmin's work. "A true artist," he would often muse, holding up one of Seungmin's photos for the class to admire. "His eye for detail and his innovative approach are truly remarkable."

Seungmin's talent was unmistakable, a beacon of brilliance that shone through the veil of his quiet, self-imposed solitude. Each photograph was a testament to his exceptional ability to capture the essence of the world around him, a gift that set him apart and elevated him to the ranks of the truly gifted. In his hands, the camera became not just a tool but a portal to a realm of infinite beauty and wonder.

The dryness in your mouth abruptly pulled you from the intricate web of thoughts weaving around your enigmatic classmate, who now lingered at the back of the group, his camera poised to capture yet another fleeting moment. The parched sensation nagged at you, growing more insistent with each passing second. You reluctantly tore your gaze away from Seungmin, reaching into your backpack in search of your water bottle.

As your fingers fumbled through the contents of your bag, your eyes remained vigilant, scanning your surroundings to ensure you wouldn’t stumble over any unexpected obstacles. The bustling city around you was a blur of movement and color, but you couldn’t afford to let your guard down, not even for a moment.

Finally, your hand closed around the cool plastic of your water bottle. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. Your heart skipped a beat when you unscrewed the cap and peered inside, only to find a single, solitary sip left. The realization that your meager supply of water was almost depleted sent a ripple of anxiety through your chest. The class was far from over, and the sweltering heat showed no signs of relenting.

A wave of apprehension washed over you, prickling at your chest like tiny, invisible needles. You finished the last sip, the tepid water doing little to quench your thirst, and tried to steady your racing thoughts. With a shaky breath, you reassured yourself that you could endure the remaining time. Surely, there would be a place nearby where you could refill your bottle.

Determined not to let the anxiety take hold, you pressed on, reminding yourself that the city was vast and filled with countless opportunities. Somewhere among the winding streets and towering buildings, an oasis of hydration awaited. All you had to do was stay focused and keep an eye out for that small but vital reprieve.

The merciless sun, as if sensing your growing anxiety, seemed to blaze even hotter, its relentless rays wrapping you in a suffocating embrace. Beads of sweat clung to your skin in a sticky shimmer, making each movement feel laborious and sluggish. Despite the discomfort, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. Your eyes roamed the cityscape, seeking inspiration amidst the familiar charm of the urban sprawl.

You recalled the instructions given by your professor before the class set out on this journey. Find something that has two textures that contrast each other, and find a way to make them complement each other in your photo. It seemed a simple enough directive, especially considering the rich tapestry of your surroundings. Yet, the sun's unyielding assault made concentration an arduous endeavor.

As you navigated the bustling streets, your gaze flitted over the varied textures that adorned the city. Rough, weathered brick walls stood in stark contrast to the sleek, reflective surfaces of modern glass buildings. The interplay between the old and the new, the rugged and the refined, offered endless possibilities for your photographic assignment. But the oppressive heat made it difficult to hold onto any coherent thought for long.

The thirst that had been barely quenched earlier resurfaced with a vengeance, its gnawing intensity magnified by the knowledge that your water bottle was now empty. Your mouth felt as dry as the arid pavement beneath your feet, and each swallow seemed to scrape against a parched throat. Anxiety prickled at the edges of your consciousness, threatening to overwhelm your resolve.

You scanned the area for potential sources of relief, hoping to spot a fountain, a café, or any place where you could refill your bottle. The city, though familiar, seemed an endless expanse under the punishing sun. Every step felt heavier, the weight of your camera pressing down on you like a leaden reminder of your mission.

Yet, amidst the discomfort and the thirst, you remained determined. You sought the contrasting textures your professor had described, letting your eyes linger on the juxtaposition of smooth marble and rough concrete, or the way a delicate flower pushed through a crack in the asphalt. There was beauty to be found here, even in the harshest of conditions.

With a deep breath, you resolved to keep going, trusting that your perseverance would lead you to both the perfect shot and the much-needed water. The city, with all its contrasts and complexities, held the promise of discovery, if only you could endure a little longer.

"It’s so hot," you vaguely heard a classmate complain, her voice barely cutting through the heavy, sweltering air as she fanned herself with a weary hand. The others nodded in weary agreement, their faces etched with the shared misery of enduring the relentless sun. "We should all go for some ice cream after this," she suggested, a hint of hope sparking briefly in her eyes.

The idea of ice cream, cool and refreshing, was undeniably appealing. Yet, you didn’t dare voice your thoughts. The fear of worsening your situation held your tongue, a silent specter of anxiety that kept you from speaking up. As you glanced around at your classmates, their faces blurred by the heat, a flicker of desperation ignited within you.

You tried to remember if you had informed anyone about your fainting spells, but your mind drew a blank. The memories were elusive, slipping through your mental grasp like water through a sieve. The thought of revealing your vulnerability gnawed at you, and although you knew you should at least ask if anyone had spare water, your anxiety clung to you like a vice, rendering you silent at a moment when you needed help the most.

The world around you seemed to shimmer and waver in the oppressive heat, the vibrant colors of the city dulled by the haze of your growing discomfort. Your throat felt like sandpaper, each breath a laborious effort. The idea of speaking up, of asking for something as simple as water, felt insurmountable. Your classmates, though kind and considerate, seemed distant and unreachable in your moment of need.

Silent, you continued to endure, your thoughts a turbulent mix of desperation and fear. The sun beat down with unwavering intensity, each ray a reminder of your growing thirst and vulnerability. You scanned the faces around you, searching for a flicker of understanding, a sign that someone might notice your distress without you having to voice it.

But no such sign came. The conversations continued, the suggestions of ice cream and relief from the heat weaving through the group like a distant promise. You swallowed dryly, your silence a heavy burden, and resolved to press on. The city held the promise of respite somewhere, and you clung to the hope that you could find it before your strength gave out.

The more you pushed forward, the more acutely aware you became of the blood coursing through your veins. It was as if each heartbeat reverberated in your ears, amplifying the sense of impending dizziness. The city's vibrant energy seemed to swirl around you, the once steady ground beneath your feet now an unpredictable, undulating surface.

As the sensation of spinning grew more intense, you reluctantly allowed yourself to fall behind the group. You sought refuge against the cool, reassuring solidity of a nearby building, leaning against its weathered facade. Taking deep breaths, you tried to steady yourself, inhaling the warm, sun-baked air and exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm the storm within.

Your classmates, absorbed in their own artistic quests, continued on without noticing your absence. This anonymity, usually a comfort in your solitary pursuits, now only served to heighten your anxiety. You couldn't blame them for their oversight; it was common for someone to linger behind, captivated by a potential photograph. Still, the reality of being unnoticed in your moment of need felt like an invisible weight pressing down on your chest.

You closed your eyes briefly, trying to focus on the rhythm of your breathing, hoping it would anchor you in the present moment. The sounds of the city buzzed around you—distant conversations, the hum of traffic, the occasional birdcall—creating a cacophony that both grounded and overwhelmed you.

Opening your eyes, you glanced at the receding forms of your classmates, their laughter and chatter fading into the background. The distance between you and them felt insurmountable, not just in physical space but in the gulf of your unspoken struggle. You pressed your back more firmly against the building, feeling the rough texture of the brick through your thin shirt, a small reminder of the world outside your internal chaos.

You knew you needed to rejoin the group, to press on and complete the assignment, but the dizziness and rising anxiety made the thought of moving almost unbearable. You considered calling out, asking for help, but the words stuck in your throat, trapped by the fear of appearing weak or needy. Instead, you remained silent, hoping that your moment of respite would be enough to regain your composure.

Your body shivered uncontrollably despite the oppressive heat, a strange and unsettling contrast that heightened your sense of unease. The world around you seemed to blur and waver, your vision losing focus at an alarming pace. Each step felt like wading through thick, invisible molasses, and even the simplest movement became a Herculean effort. Despite this, you managed to lower yourself to the sidewalk, the rough pavement a harsh but necessary support.

You concentrate on your breathing, each inhale and exhale a desperate attempt to anchor yourself in the here and now. Yet, the ringing in your ears grew louder, a piercing sound that drowned out the city's ambient noise. It was a familiar, dreaded precursor to the fainting spell you knew was imminent, a relentless force poised to take control.

In the midst of this growing chaos, a voice pierced through the din, a lifeline in the swirling haze. "Hey, are you okay?" someone asked, their concern clear even through your muddled senses. The effort to lift your head and identify the speaker was beyond you; the world had narrowed to a tunnel of indistinct shapes and sounds.

You tried to respond, to assure them or perhaps to call for help, but your words dissolved into a string of incoherent babbles. Your tongue felt thick and uncooperative, your mind struggling to form coherent thoughts as the darkness edged closer. The last thing you registered was the overwhelming sense of vulnerability, the realization that your body was betraying you in this critical moment.

As the blackness enveloped your consciousness, you felt a profound disconnect from the world around you. The sounds, the heat, the distant figure of your classmate—all faded into a void, leaving you suspended in an abyss of nothingness. The struggle to stay present, to remain in control, slipped through your grasp like sand through your fingers.

In this void, time ceased to have meaning. Seconds or minutes, it was impossible to tell how long you lingered in that state of unconsciousness. The city, with its vibrant life and relentless sun, continued on without you, a stark reminder of your fragile existence.

When you finally awoke, it felt as though you were emerging from a dense fog, your mind struggling to piece together the fragmented reality around you. The disorientation was palpable, each moment stretching as your senses slowly reconnected with the world. Your head rested on someone’s lap, and though he was turned away, his presence was both unfamiliar and comforting in your vulnerable state.

Sounds began to filter through the haze, grounding you further. The low, urgent tone of the voice above you became clearer, barking orders with a mix of authority and concern. "Get some water!" Though you couldn't see who he was addressing, the urgency in his commands cut through the remnants of your confusion.

As your awareness sharpened, you noticed your arms were held aloft above your head. This small detail triggered a memory from your past, a practice you had shared with others in case your lips ever turned blue—a sign of your body’s desperate need for oxygen. The position was meant to untie the invisible knot in your lungs, allowing air to flow more freely and ease your breathing.

With this realization, a wave of gratitude washed over you. Even in your disoriented state, you recognized the significance of this gesture. The person cradling your head had either known or intuitively understood what to do, providing a lifeline in your moment of need.

You tried to speak, to express your thanks or perhaps to reassure the person helping you, but your voice was weak and unsteady. The effort drained you, and you opted to focus on your breathing, each inhale and exhale a conscious act of reclaiming control over your body.

It wasn’t until a groan escaped your lips that the person holding you turned to face you. Instantly, your face flushed with a deep wave of embarrassment upon recognizing him—it was Seungmin. The reassuring smile he sent your way was a beautifully rare sight, and for a fleeting moment, you felt your heart skip a beat. His lips moved, forming words that your still-dazed mind struggled to comprehend.

You blinked up at him, trying to focus, but the words eluded you. Noticing your confusion, Seungmin pursed his lips and turned to someone out of your line of sight. Almost immediately, a cold bottle of water with a straw was handed to him. He settled it gently by your head, positioning the straw so you could drink. The sensation of the cool water on your parched throat was heavenly, and you drank greedily, almost draining the bottle before you realized it.

Seungmin chuckled softly at your eagerness, the sound light and comforting. You felt your cheeks heat up again and averted your gaze, unable to meet his eyes. Despite your embarrassment, the relief from the water was undeniable. Your head cleared a bit more, the world coming into sharper focus.

Seungmin continued to watch over you, his expression a blend of concern and gentle amusement. His presence, usually so distant and enigmatic, now felt unexpectedly comforting. The awkwardness of the situation didn’t diminish the warmth of his care, and you felt a small surge of gratitude.

As you finished the last of the water, Seungmin reached out to steady the bottle, his fingers brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt through you, but it was grounding, a reminder that you were not alone. He murmured something softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. Though the exact words were still lost to you, the intent was clear—he was there for you.

Gradually, the ringing in your ears subsided, and your breathing steadied. You risked a glance back at Seungmin, who was now focused entirely on you, his eyes full of quiet resolve. The vulnerability of the moment hung between you, unspoken but deeply felt.

You tried to muster a smile, a small token of thanks. Seungmin's eyes softened, and he returned the smile, a silent understanding passing between you. In that moment, the barriers of his usual aloofness seemed to fall away, revealing a depth of kindness that you hadn’t seen before.

Gradually, your hearing began to reawaken, stitching itself back together with your muddled senses. The familiar symphony of the bustling city—a cacophony of distant car horns, murmured conversations, and the steady hum of urban life—slowly emerged from the background noise, anchoring you to the present moment.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Seungmin’s voice cut through the haze, his tone edged with concern as he noticed your growing awareness. You managed a shaky nod, your head still spinning slightly. His brows were knitted together in a deep frown, a tangible expression of his worry.

“Can you sit up, or do you need to stay down a little longer?” he asked gently. “There’s no rush. Please, stay there if you’re still feeling dizzy.”

With a quiet determination, you placed your hands onto the pavement, the rough texture grounding you as you clumsily pushed yourself away from him. Seungmin’s steadying presence guided you with careful hands, helping you to lean against the same building you had previously sought solace from before losing consciousness. You groaned softly, closing your eyes to escape the persistent whirl of the world around you. When you reopened them, the dizziness had ebbed, though remnants of the earlier chaos lingered at the edges of your vision.

In front of you stood a middle-aged man, his apron stained with grease and his hands clasped together in a gesture of concern. His eyes were fixed on Seungmin, waiting for instructions, his face etched with worry for your well-being. The weight of his concern was palpable, and it added another layer to the unfolding scene.

Seungmin exhaled deeply, a sigh that seemed to release the tension of the moment. He settled himself beside you, his posture relaxed yet attentive. He wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them close to his chest, and his gaze remained focused on you with an almost protective intensity.

The ambient noise of the city continued to swirl around you, but in this small, sheltered space, it felt as though time had slowed. Seungmin’s presence was a steady anchor amidst the chaos, his concern a quiet reassurance that you were not alone. The man in the greasy apron lingered nearby, ready to assist at a moment’s notice, his worried gaze shifting between you and Seungmin.

The world slowly regained its equilibrium, the spinning sensation giving way to a more stable awareness. The tenderness of the pavement beneath you and the warmth of Seungmin’s concern combined to create a cocoon of comfort, allowing you to regain your composure and begin to piece together the events of the past moments.

“How are you feeling?” The middle-aged man’s voice was gentle, his eyes darting between you and Seungmin with a mixture of concern and kindness. “You should eat something. Come inside—whatever you get is on the house.”

A fresh wave of embarrassment washed over you, coloring your cheeks a deep red. You felt a pang of guilt for having worried such a considerate stranger. Just as you were about to politely decline the generous offer, Seungmin’s voice intervened with a firm yet caring tone.

“I agree, Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying a note of unwavering resolve. “You need to eat something after fainting like that. Let’s go inside.”

Seungmin’s tone left no room for argument, the decisiveness of his words compelling you to acquiesce. You sighed softly, nodding in acceptance. The man’s face lit up with a wide grin, clearly pleased by your agreement. With a quick, eager step, he rushed into the restaurant behind you.

Seungmin rose swiftly, brushing off any imaginary dust from his clothes with a swift motion. He extended his hands towards you, his expression one of quiet encouragement. You hesitated for a moment, then grasped his warm hands. The touch was gentle, and a subtle tingle spread through your fingers, a physical reminder of his comforting presence.

Though you felt more stable now, Seungmin’s hands remained hovering near your waist, a silent gesture of support as you made your way inside the restaurant. His protective stance was reassuring, a steadying force guiding you through the threshold.

The restaurant’s interior greeted you with a comforting embrace—a cool respite from the heat outside. The space was warmly lit, with the soft hum of conversation and the tantalizing aroma of food creating a cozy ambiance.

The tantalizing aroma of Korean comfort foods wafted through the air, weaving its way into your senses and causing your stomach to rumble in eager response. Each fragrant note of sizzling meats, simmering stews, and freshly steamed vegetables seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace, making you profoundly grateful for both the man's generous offer and Seungmin's insistence.

Seungmin guided you with gentle assurance to a table nestled at the far end of the restaurant, where the hum of conversation was softer and the space felt more intimate. The dim lighting at this secluded spot cast a gentle glow, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort. He carefully pulled out your chair, his movements measured and considerate, and nudged you forward slightly to ensure you were settled. With a courteous smile, he then made his way around the table, taking his own seat directly across from you.

His smile was a touch awkward, a charming contrast to the seriousness he had shown earlier. He glanced around the room, searching for the man who had so kindly attended to you, only to spot him approaching with a welcoming presence. The man carried a bottle of water and two menus, the promise of nourishment and choice clearly reflected in his hands.

As he reached the table, he placed the items before you with a friendly nod. You accepted the bottle and menus with a grateful bow and a warm smile, your heart swelling with appreciation for his kindness. The bottle of water was cool to the touch, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the restaurant, while the menus promised a delightful array of dishes.

Seungmin’s gaze softened as he watched you, his concern now mingled with a gentle sense of relief. The atmosphere around you seemed to ease, the initial tension giving way to a shared moment of calm. As you began to peruse the menus, the delicious scents and the comfort of the setting enveloped you, making you feel more at ease and ready to enjoy the simple pleasures of a meal with someone who had shown such unexpected care.

The air between you was thick with awkwardness, a palpable sense of uncertainty hanging in the space after such an intensely personal moment. You busied yourself by fixating on the vibrant images on the menu, using them as a comforting distraction from the lingering embarrassment. Each picture of steaming bowls of soup and colorful plates of food seemed to blur together, a vivid kaleidoscope that kept your eyes occupied and your mind from dwelling on the recent upheaval.

After a period of shared silence, you both placed your orders, the clatter of menus and the murmur of your choices filling the brief lull. There was no longer any barrier between you and the reality of the situation. With a deep breath, you gathered your courage and, in a voice softer than you intended, you managed to say, “Thank you.” Your eyes remained firmly fixed on the table, refusing to meet his gaze, as your cheeks and ears flamed with a blush of sincere embarrassment. Even though you couldn’t see him, you could almost feel his warm, understanding smile directed at you.

“You don’t have to thank me at all,” Seungmin replied, his voice infused with genuine sincerity. “I hope you don’t mind, but I texted the professor to let him know what happened, so he’s aware we won’t be finishing the class with everyone else today.” His words were a pleasant surprise, causing your eyes to widen slightly as you briefly met his gentle gaze. The kindness of his gesture momentarily pierced through your discomfort, but you quickly looked away, your shyness reasserting its hold.

In response to his concern, you offered a grateful nod and a shy smile, the simplest acknowledgments of his thoughtfulness. The question he posed next was gentle, yet it carried an undercurrent of genuine concern. “Do you pass out often?”

At his question, you let out a soft, resigned sigh, the sound almost like a whisper of the weariness you felt. “Sometimes,” you began, your voice barely more than a murmur. “It’s been happening since I was a child, though no one seems to know why. I’ve been checked for things like epilepsy, but they haven’t found anything.” The words felt heavy on your tongue, each syllable revealing a fragment of a long-standing uncertainty.

Seungmin’s gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes filled with a deep, attentive concern as he absorbed each word with tender care. His silence was a soothing balm, a quiet testament to his empathy. As you recalled the moment he had lifted your arms, a question escaped you almost impulsively: “How did you know to lift my arms?”

His initial reaction was one of surprise, his eyes widening as he blinked at your sudden inquiry. But the astonishment quickly softened into a shy, almost hesitant smile. “Oh,” he began, his voice gentle. “My mother also had fainting spells, usually when it was too hot or if she had an injury.” His revelation was accompanied by a look of nostalgia, a subtle hint of the personal connection he felt to the subject.

You were taken aback once more by this shared experience. “Your mother sounds a lot like me,” you responded, your tone light but tinged with genuine reflection. “I also faint for similar reasons—when I’m overheated or emotionally overwhelmed.”

A serene silence settled between you as Seungmin gave a thoughtful nod, his eyes drifting into a distant gaze that spoke of deep, unspoken reflections. The quietude was a gentle cocoon, wrapping around both of you as he lost himself in the labyrinth of his thoughts.

You turned your gaze to the window beside you, your eyes tracing the hurried figures moving briskly down the bustling street. Each passerby was a blur of motion and color, a stark contrast to the stillness enveloping your corner of the restaurant. The scene outside seemed almost surreal, a vivid tapestry of urban life against the backdrop of your subdued conversation.

Soon, the soft clinking of dishes announced the return of the man from behind the counter. He placed your meals before you with a warm, welcoming smile, the steam rising from the dishes creating a fragrant mist that made your mouth water in eager anticipation. You bowed in gratitude, your appreciation for the meal palpable in your respectful gesture.

With a mixture of impatience and hunger, you watched him take his first bite, his expression shifting to one of satisfied pleasure. Unable to resist any longer, you dove into your own meal, an involuntary sigh of delight escaping your lips as the flavors danced on your palate. Each bite was a revelation, the taste a symphony of comfort and culinary excellence.

In moments like these, the silence between you and Seungmin felt less like an awkward void and more like a shared, unspoken agreement. The simple act of enjoying a meal together, coupled with the mutual understanding forged through your earlier conversation, made the quiet a soothing presence rather than an uncomfortable gap. The gentle hum of the restaurant’s ambiance and the shared pleasure of the food created a cocoon of calm, transforming the once-unbearable silence into a space of peaceful companionship.

As the last morsels of your meal were savored, a lull settled between you, allowing your mind to finally formulate a conversation starter. You swallowed your bite with a mix of anticipation and nervousness before glancing up at Seungmin. His features were softened in concentration, his gentle demeanor captivating as he focused on the last remnants of his dish.

“So,” you began tentatively, your voice betraying a hint of shyness, “how did you get into photography?” The simple question was laden with curiosity and the desire to connect, and as his eyes met yours, you felt a shiver run down your spine.

Seungmin’s initial silence was a quiet contemplative pause, his gaze tracing the lines of your face with a thoughtful intensity before he began to speak. “My grandfather passed away from Alzheimer’s,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. The weight of his words seemed to settle heavily in the space between you, and your heart tightened with a pang of empathy.

He continued, his tone imbued with a delicate sadness. “He always spoke so fondly of my grandmother, who died before I was born. He used to thank her for her love of photography because it helped him hold onto who he was and the life he lived for a long time. To keep his memories vivid, I started taking pictures of everything around me. I had them developed so he could have tangible memories to hold onto—hundreds of photos of myself, my parents, my cousins, but also of the places I cherished: my room, his house, my house…simple, everyday moments that mattered to him.”

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with the significance of his words. You struggled to find the right response, your mind racing to articulate the depth of your feelings. Seungmin’s smile was tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia as he turned his focus back to his meal, leaving you in a space filled with reflection.

After a few moments, you finally found your voice, your tone warm and sincere. “That’s incredibly sweet, Seungmin. I think it was very noble of you to do that for your grandfather.” His response was a soft grin, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink as he swallowed. The sight of his smile, so genuine and heartfelt, made your heart swell with an emotion that was both tender and profound.

In that moment, Seungmin’s vulnerability and kindness transformed your perception of him. The image of his earlier aloofness seemed to fade into a distant memory, replaced by a newfound appreciation for the depth of his character. His quiet grace and the meaningful gesture he shared painted him in a more beautiful light, revealing layers of compassion that drew you closer to him.

As the last remnants of your meal were savored, Seungmin turned his attention to you with a curious gleam in his eyes. “What about you? How did you get into photography?” he inquired, his voice gentle and inviting. You had finished your meal shortly after him, the shared silence now ripe for deeper conversation.

You gave a shy shrug, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I fear my story is not as sweet as yours,” you began, your tone light yet introspective. Seungmin’s playful roll of his eyes and encouraging nod urged you to continue, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Well,” you continued, your gaze drifting as you recall your past, “my mother always bought magazines whenever she went grocery shopping, so our house was filled with stacks and stacks of them.” A nostalgic smile crossed your face as you painted a picture of your childhood. “I remember being a child, endlessly flipping through those magazines whenever boredom set in. I would get lost in the pages, captivated by the photographs. They seemed to tell stories of their own, each image a window into a world I found enchanting.”

Your voice grew softer, imbued with a gentle warmth as you shared how that fascination evolved. “One day, I decided to try my hand at capturing my own moments, inspired by those images I loved so much. What started as a simple curiosity quickly became a cherished hobby. The camera became a means for me to explore and create, and somehow, it just stuck with me.”

As you finished, you looked up to find Seungmin’s eyes still fixed on you, his expression a blend of interest and appreciation. The connection you felt through the shared conversation seemed to deepen, the personal stories weaving a tapestry of understanding and mutual respect. In the dim light of the restaurant, the simple act of sharing your paths through photography brought a new layer of intimacy to your budding friendship, making the quiet moments between you all the more meaningful.

“I think it’s cute,” Seungmin remarked with a lighthearted chuckle, the sound warm and genuine. The unexpected compliment made your cheeks flush with a delicate shade of pink, a mix of surprise and shyness coloring your reaction.

“You’re a good photographer, by the way,” he added, his eyes twinkling with sincere praise.

The words hung in the air like a soft melody, but you couldn’t help but scoff, rolling your eyes in an exaggerated manner. “I’ve made it to the professor’s top five favorites only twice since I joined his class last year. You’re always the one receiving accolades for your work, which, I must admit, are truly remarkable.”

Seungmin’s gaze remained steady, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I think it’s a bit unfair for you to view it that way,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm. “The whole idea of being in someone’s top five is a flawed measure of talent. It’s based on one person’s subjective preferences and doesn’t truly reflect our abilities. While I’m grateful for the recognition, I’ve seen your photos and always found them to be exceptional.”

He continued, his words flowing with thoughtful consideration. “You have a remarkable skill for capturing unique subjects in their most authentic form. It’s a talent to reveal their essence so clearly, especially within the constraints of our assignments. It’s something I find quite impressive and not easy to achieve.”

The sincerity in Seungmin’s voice, combined with his unwavering gaze, made your heart swell with a mix of gratitude and admiration. The conversation took on a new layer of depth, as his words not only offered comfort but also illuminated a newfound appreciation for your own work. In the softly lit restaurant, amidst the lingering aroma of your meal, his encouragement created a warm and supportive atmosphere, allowing you to see your art through a more appreciative lens.

A warm blush spread across your cheeks, a vivid response to the cascade of compliments from Seungmin. The praise seemed to flutter around you like soft, golden leaves in the breeze, making your face flush a deep crimson. Seeking refuge from the intensity of the moment, you allowed your gaze to wander towards the window, where the sun was gently descending, casting a golden hue over the city.

“Oh,” you began, your voice tinged with an innocent attempt to redirect the conversation. “How long have we been here? The sun is setting.” The urgency in your tone was barely concealed, and Seungmin, following your gaze, glanced out with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. His eyes widened slightly as he noticed the fading light and chuckled softly.

“I should probably start heading home,” you continued, a note of unease threading through your voice. “I don’t like walking home alone at night.” The admission was laced with a quiet vulnerability, and as you spoke, you could feel the familiar pang of anxiety gnawing at you.

Seungmin’s head turned sharply towards you, his expression shifting to one of genuine concern. “I’ll walk you home,” he said, his voice carrying a warmth and sincerity that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. “It’s no problem at all.”

A playful back-and-forth ensued as you and Seungmin debated the offer of him walking you home. Despite your initial reluctance, a sense of acceptance settled over you, allowing you to concede to his persistent kindness. You attempted to settle the bill for your meal, but the generous man from earlier refused with a warm, unwavering smile. Even when Seungmin stepped in to offer payment, the man remained steadfast in his refusal. In the end, you both left a generous tip, a token of your gratitude for his exceptional kindness.

With the bill settled and the evening stretching out before you, you and Seungmin began your walk towards your apartment building. The path was bathed in the soft, fading light of dusk, casting long shadows and a serene glow over the city streets. As you strolled side by side, the conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and lighthearted banter.

The initial stiffness gradually melted away, replaced by a growing sense of ease and camaraderie. It was genuinely delightful to witness this side of Seungmin—a side that seemed to elude the confines of your shared photography class. His laughter, his thoughtful insights, and the warmth of his presence revealed a depth of character that was both refreshing and endearing.

In the gentle embrace of the evening, as the city lights began to twinkle like distant stars, the walk became more than just a journey home. It was a moment of genuine connection, a rare and cherished glimpse into Seungmin’s world, which felt like an honor to experience.

Eventually, you find yourself standing before the gleaming glass doors that lead into the lobby of your apartment building. The weight of the day’s end settles upon you, a bittersweet twinge in your chest as you come to terms with the departure of this unexpectedly pleasant companionship. The evening air, cool and gently perfumed with the scent of blooming night flowers, wraps around you both as you pause at the threshold.

Seungmin, his hands casually tucked into the front pockets of his jacket, rocks back and forth on his heels. The motion, coupled with his contemplative gaze, creates a picture of relaxed anticipation. His presence, so close to yours, carries a sense of warmth and quiet intimacy.

“This is me,” you murmur, your voice a soft whisper, blending with the stillness of the evening. You turn to face him fully, a mixture of gratitude and reluctance in your eyes. “Thank you again for taking care of me earlier. I’m really happy you were there.”

His response is a smile—genuine and radiant—that lights up his features and seems to fill the space between you with a comforting glow. Your heart swells at the sight, an involuntary smile curving your lips in return. Seungmin’s eyes hold a tender seriousness as he speaks. “Please take it easy, rest all that you can,” he advises, his concern palpable in his tone.

You nod in agreement, the sincerity of his words resonate deeply with you. The air between you feels charged with unspoken sentiments, a silent understanding blossoming amidst the dimming light. “It was really nice to spend time with you,” he continues, his admission eliciting a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.

“I had a really nice time with you too,” you reply, your voice imbued with genuine warmth. “Maybe we can do it again sometime soon—without me having to pass out for it.”

At your light-hearted comment, Seungmin laughs—a sound that is both musical and contagious. The laughter bubbles up between you, mingling with the evening air, and you find yourself laughing along, the shared moment creating a lingering sense of joy.

As you part ways, the memory of his smile and the warmth of his laughter accompany you, leaving a soft, lingering glow in your heart that makes the end of this day feel less like a farewell and more like a promise of things to come.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

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the-modern-typewriter · 8 months

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Hi, I love your writing! Are you still taking requests? What about a villain finding out his fav hero is actually an robot?

The hero went missing briefly and in their reunion his systems start to panic, the villain attempt to help? And finds out there is grey metal under his mask? Not skin?

"Oh," the villain said, soft. "Oh, I see."

"See what?" The hero stayed turned away, head bowed, frantically trying to shield his face. "Don't look at me. Just - what are you doing here?"

"I came to rescue you."

"R-rescue me?"

The villain stepped closer into the hero's cell. Heat radiated off the hero's back and, well. The villain pressed a finger to the back of the hero's neck; where the skin had burnt away, revealing the cold grey of metal and circuitry.

The hero gasped and whirled.

His face was - well, it was fried from the few short days he'd spent missing, captured. Where his enemies had tried to bruise him, bleed him, there were caved in spaces that revealed yet more metal. The hint of a perfect silver skull. Veins which throbbed with electricity instead of blood. Even one of the hero's eyes were gone, replaced by the startling blue of a machine staring back. Well, they were always blue but...so muffled, before, compared to what the villain looked at then.

The two of them stared at each other.

"You can't tell anyone," the hero said.

"I always thought you were too impossibly good to be true," the villain replied. "Too flawless."

"Don't," the hero whispered.

The villain took the hero's jaw, carefully, tenderly, in their hands. "Look what a mess they've made of you. I'll kill them for it."

The hero closed the one eye that he could. He trembled, so exquisitely life-like, so exquisitely alive, in the villain's palms.

"They must have been so angry when they found out what you were," the villain said. He let his finger stroke over the ruined curve of the hero's cheek. "I'm glad I got here before they destroyed you completely."

"Why? What are you going to do with me?"

The hero took a step back.

The villain let him go, for now, studying him with fresh eyes. More and more puzzle pieces clicked into place. "Do with you?"

"I'm not human."

"You're beautiful."

"I'm not - if people know -"

"I've never heard you talk like that before. System overload?"

The hero shook his head. Something sparked. "You're d-dodging the question."

"Well," the villain said, evenly. "I was going to take you out of here. Clean up your wounds at my place. That sort of thing. I could probably makeshift the kind of specialist support you currently need in my lab, but I imagine you have a much better set up at home. So I guess I'm taking you home. If that's okay with you."

"Home," the hero echoed. He stood frozen.

"Home."

"You're not mad? Mad? Mad?" The hero managed to jerk to a halt. He heaved a ragged, shuddering breath.

"No."

"I'm not human. You came to rescue a human. Human." The hero shoved a hand over his mouth. The tremors were more forceful than before.

If the villain touched him again, he would be fever hot, wouldn't he?

The villain shrugged.

"I don't understand," the hero said.

"Unsurprising. You're not running at full capacity right now, are you? So shall we pick this up again when you're out of here? And feeling a bit better? It would be tragic if I came all this way just for you to overheat in front of me."

The hero stared some more. The blue eye contracted and expanded, whirring noiselessly. The villain wished he knew what kind of diagnostics the hero was running. How it all worked. He wanted to know everything.

His brain, such as it was, must surely be the most gorgeous thing.

He'd always wanted to know how the hero ticked but this...oh, this. He held out a hand and smiled.

"It's a relief, actually," the villain said. "I'm not mad. Now. Let's get you back in your mask, shall we?"

By the time the repairs were done, it was impossible to tell. It was extraordinary. Giddying. A love letter to the best that people could be.

And the hero looked shattered by the truth of it.

#villains and heroes #heroes and villains #writing #story #ficlet #robot #android #writeblr #villains #heroes #robot hero

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transform4u · 28 days

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I just want to listen to music, but the only song on my phone is "traditionalfather.mp3". Is this some kind of virus?

You pop your headphones into your phone with a satisfying snapppp—a sound like a promise of sonic adventure. The familiar connection is made, and you swipe open Spotify, eager to dive into your music library. But as you scroll through your playlists, a perplexing situation unfolds: the only track available is ominously titled “traditionalfather.mp3.” Your curiosity is piqued. What could this mysterious file hold?

You hit play, and the initial burst of static is like a digital storm—crackling, buzzing, and threatening to drown out any semblance of melody. You’re about to pull the plug when, through the static haze, a clear voice begins to emerge. It’s a voice that commands attention, soothing and authoritative. Scripture starts to flow from the speakers, each verse imbued with a quiet, powerful resonance.

The static gradually fades into a structured podcast, shifting from the sacred words of scripture to a more grounded conversation. The host speaks with conviction:

“Welcome to our podcast on traditional Christian family values. Today, we’re exploring the importance of instilling respect, love, and faith within our families. It’s crucial that we embody these values ourselves—children learn not just from what we say, but from what we do. Our actions should reflect our commitment to these principles, creating a nurturing environment where faith and values can thrive…”

As you listen, something incredible begins to happen. You start to feel a tingling sensation as if the podcast’s message is manifesting itself physically. You grow taller, your height stretching in a way that feels both natural and empowering. Your clothes, once casual and relaxed, gradually shift into more conservative attire—each piece becoming more fitted and refined, mirroring your evolving sense of purpose.

Your body undergoes a dramatic transformation. Muscles begin to swell and firm up, each muscle expanding with a newfound vigor. Your biceps swell with solid strength, your chest broadens into a powerful shield, and your abs tighten into a defined six-pack. The fat that once clung to your frame evaporates, replaced by lean, sculpted muscle. Each muscle’s expansion is accompanied by a rush of energy, transforming you into a picture of strength and capability.

The heat in your body intensifies, radiating like an internal furnace. It’s not uncomfortable but invigorating, filling you with a potent sense of vitality. As the transformation continues, your skin develops a rich, golden tan, enhancing your muscular definition and overall presence.

With these physical changes come a surge in your work ethic. The drive to embody traditional Christian values translates into a newfound determination and discipline. You feel a powerful connection to the ideals you’re embracing, ready to lead with both strength and purpose. You hear the breathy moans from the beautiful woman next to you, her voice dripping with desire. "Oh, Michael. Let's make another kid," she whispers, her eyes locked on yours with primal lust. You feel a rush of hetroseuxality coursing through your veins as you gaze at her, your cross necklace sliding against your chest. All thoughts of ethics and morality fade away, replaced only by the overwhelming urge to claim your wife as your own.

You run your hands over her curves, feeling the soft fabric of her lacy bra and panties. She's your property, your possession, and you intend to use her for your pleasure. You flip her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head as you hover over her. She looks up at you with a mix of fear and excitement, knowing that she's at your mercy.

"Daddy's going to breed you now," you growl, your voice low and commanding. She whimpers in response, her body trembling with anticipation. You rip off her flimsy undergarments, exposing her most intimate areas to your hungry gaze. She's wet and ready for you, her body aching to be filled by your manhood.

Without warning, you thrust into her, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight, wet heat. She cries out in pleasure, her walls clenching around you as you begin to move. You set a brutal pace, pounding into her with animalistic fervor. She's just a vessel for your seed, a receptacle for your pleasure.

"Take it, you little slut," you snarl, your hips slamming against hers with each powerful thrust. She moans and writhes beneath you, lost in a haze of ecstasy. You feel like a king, a conqueror, as you use your wife for your own gratification. This is what it means to be a man, to take what you want without hesitation or remorse.

As you near your climax, you flip her over, forcing her onto her hands and knees. You mount her from behind like a beast in heat, grunting and growling as you rut into her. She pushes back against you, desperate for your seed, craving the feeling of being bred like an animal.

"Fuck, I'm going to cum," you groan, your balls tightening as your orgasm approaches. With a final, brutal thrust, you bury yourself deep inside her, flooding her womb with your potent seed. She screams in ecstasy, her body shaking with the force of her own climax. You collapse on top of her, both of you panting and sweating in the aftermath of your primal coupling.

You feel a sense of satisfaction, of power, as you lie there with your wife. You've claimed her, marked her, made her yours in the most primal way possible. This is what it means to be a man, to take what you want and to use it for your own pleasure. And you'll do it again and again, until she's swollen with your child, a living testament to your virility and dominance.

#male tf #gay to straight #transformation #jock tf #ask #short tf #short snap

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novaursa · 18 days

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Heyyyy me again! Mybe some cute father reader! And mom whoever you want!

Fires of Rook's Rest

- Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest you return to Dragonstone; to your family.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is brother-husband to Rhaenyra and is bonded with Silverwing.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The wind howls in your ears as you guide Silverwing through the thick clouds, the salty sting of the sea below mingling with the smoke that still clings to you. Your muscles ache with the strain of battle, and the burns and cuts that mar your body pulse with each movement, though you have grown accustomed to the pain. It is the price of victory, however fleeting. Behind you, the flames of Rook’s Rest still burn in your mind’s eye, the screams of men and the clash of steel echoing like ghosts as you think of your half-brother, Aegon, brought low by your hand. Aemond was there too, his one good eye burning with rage as you narrowly escaped his wrath.

But now, Dragonstone looms ahead, a shadowed fortress nestled in the mist of the sea. It is home. A haven amidst the storm of war. The sight of it stirs something deep within you, though your body threatens to give way under the weight of exhaustion. You press on, guiding Silverwing with a firm hand as you descend toward the familiar cliffs, where the black stone walls rise like jagged teeth from the earth.

As you near the landing courtyard, you see movement below. Waiting. A small cluster of figures, their bright hair glinting like pale fire in the twilight. The children. Your children. Your heart clenches, a wave of warmth overtaking the cold, hollow feeling that has filled you since the battle.

Baelon is the first you notice, standing tall despite his young age, his serious face a reflection of your own as he watches you approach. Beside him, Aenys fidgets, eyes wide and filled with awe as always, eager to see Silverwing up close. And there, clutching the hem of her nursemaid’s skirts, is Visenya, her silver-gold curls tumbling down her back. She is the smallest, yet her presence is as fierce as any dragon.

And then, there is her.

Rhaenyra. Your sister. Your wife. She stands apart from the children, her gown billowing in the wind as the light of the setting sun catches the red of your house's colors. Her eyes are fixed on you, sharp and searching, though her lips curve into the faintest hint of a smile—one reserved only for you.

Silverwing lands with a thud, shaking the stones beneath you, and you slide from her back, your legs barely steady beneath you as you land. The pain in your side flares, but you push it away. There is no room for weakness here. Not in front of them. You straighten, your eyes meeting Rhaenyra’s as she steps forward, her face a mask of composure though you see the worry in her eyes.

“You’ve returned,” she says softly, her voice low and intimate, meant only for you.

“Aye,” you rasp, your throat dry from the heat of battle, “though not unscathed.”

Her eyes flicker over the burns that mar your arm, the blood that stains your tunic where Aemond’s sword nearly found its mark. For a moment, you see the flicker of fear in her, but it is quickly replaced with something harder. She is a Targaryen, as are you. This is the cost of the crown you both seek to protect.

Before you can speak again, Baelon rushes forward, his youthful vigor uncontained as he reaches for you, his arms wrapping around your waist despite your wounds. “Father,” he breathes, his voice tight with the worry he tries to hide. “You won, didn’t you?”

You smile down at him, resting a hand on his silver hair. “We won a battle, yes, but the war is not done.” Your voice is firm, though you soften it for him. Baelon is old enough to understand, but still, you wish to shield him from the harsher truths of war.

Aenys, ever curious, steps forward, eyes wide as he peers up at you. “Did Silverwing burn them all, father? Did you see Uncle Aegon fall?” There is excitement in his tone, the thrill of the tales he has been told of dragons and war, but you see Rhaenyra’s sharp gaze land on him, warning him silently.

You crouch down, grimacing as pain shoots through your side, but you manage a weary smile. “Silverwing fought fiercely, and yes, your uncle Aegon was brought down. But war is not a story, Aenys. There is little glory in the bloodshed.”

Visenya, shy and quiet, takes a hesitant step forward, her wide violet eyes fixed on you. She says nothing, but you see the concern in her expression, the way she looks at the burns on your hands. She is only five, yet already wise enough to sense the weight of what you carry.

You reach out to her, and she steps into your arms, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of your tunic. “I’m here,” you murmur to her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, her curls soft against your lips. “I’ll always come back.”

Rhaenyra moves forward then, her hand resting on your arm as she looks between you and the children. “Let’s us go inside,” she says softly, but her voice leaves no room for argument. “You need rest. The children have been waiting long enough.”

You nod, allowing her to lead you toward the doors of the keep, your steps heavy but your heart lighter for their presence. As you pass through the archway, you glance down at your children, each of them a reminder of what you fight for.

For them. For her.

And as long as you have them, you will endure.

#house of the dragon #hotd x male reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd rhaenyra #hotd #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x male reader

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grillpartshub-blog · 2 months

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Replace Kit for BBQ Gas Grills Set of 4 Including Stainless Steel Heat Shield and Burners Fits Compatible Models: BBQ Pro 146.23676310, 146.23770310, 640-05057345-0, Kenmore 146.10016510, 146.16197210, 146.16197211, 146.46366610, 146.23673310 Gas Models. BUY TODAY!!

#BBQ Pro 146.2367631 #BBQ Pro Repair Kit #Kenmore 146.16132110 #Kenmore BBQ Parts #Kenmore Grill Parts #Kenmore Repair Kit #Kenmore Replacement Kit #Steel Burner #Steel Heat Shield

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a-aexotic · 6 months

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𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡, chapter 1

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ! 3.5k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ! familial issues, underage drinking, tension (between literally every LOL), blair/serena hating each other, you/blair and you/serena being besties lol, a lotta winfrey lore

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ! ahhhh im super excited, as always please lmk your thoughts !!

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PRESENT DAY.

Hey, Upper East Siders, Gossip Girl here, and I have the most surprising news ever. Y/N Winfrey spotted back in town after she disappeared for almost 6 months. But where has she been all this time? Sources tell me she's been living it up in the City of Love, Paris. Oh la la! But what brings our darling Y/N back to the Big Apple after all this time? Could it be a scandalous affair, a family feud, or perhaps a fashionable rendezvous with the elite of Parisian society?

Rumors are swirling as to the reason behind Y/N's sudden return. Some say she's back to reclaim her rightful place among Manhattan's elite, while others speculate that she's returned to stir up trouble in the already turbulent waters of Upper East Side.

But what of Y/N's infamous entourage? Will her loyal subjects, Nate, Isabell, Kati and Blair, welcome her back with open arms, or will there be whispers of betrayal and backstabbing among the ranks of Manhattan's elite?

Will she pick up right where she left off, ruling the social scene with her signature grace? Or has her time away changed her in ways we can't even imagine? So grab your designer handbags and your most scandalous gossip, Upper East Siders, because things are about to heat up in the city that never sleeps. XOXO, Gossip Girl.

As the sleek black limousine rolled to a stop in front of the towering building, the door swung open with a soft whoosh, revealing the figure of Y/N Winfrey stepping out into the cool Manhattan air.

With a flick of your hair, you cast a cool gaze towards your old home, a grand penthouse that stood as a testament to the wealth and power of the Winfrey family. The familiar sight of the elegant facade stirred a flurry of emotions within you, memories both bitter and sweet flooding your mind as you took in your old home.

You were too focused on the old home to hear your mother come up from behind you, putting a hand on her shoulder as she examined the home as well. She hadn't been there since the divorce, which was almost a decade ago.

"I know you're nervous, Y/N. But don't let any of them get to you, okay?" Her voice rang in your ears as you nodded slowly. You weren't sure who she was referring to; your father's new family or your old friends. Or maybe, all of the above.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I won't."

With a reassuring squeeze of your mother's hand, you gathered your resolve and stepped forward, ready to face whatever awaited you within the walls of your old home.

Your new family met you with open arms and it felt strange to be back home, the same home you'd left; except, everything inside had changed. There were no more pictures of you anywhere, they were all replaced with wedding photos or pictures of your new stepsister, Charlene. It made your stomach twist in disgust, you couldn't believe your father had a brand-new, shiny family. The perfect family he'd prayed for, you were almost happy for him. Almost.

"So how was Paris, Y/N? Did you like it?" Josie's voice brought you back to real life. You turned your gaze up to meet hers, a tight smile on your lips. You were sat in the living room of the penthouse, alongside your mother and stepmother.

"It was... fun," you reply carefully, your tone neutral. You couldn't bring yourself to admit just how much you missed Paris, how it had felt more like home than this place ever did. Instead, you plastered on a facade of indifference, hoping to shield yourself. "It's too bad that we left."

Your mother let out a light laugh as she glanced back at you. "We'll be back as soon as we can. I just missed New York so much and I'm so happy to be back." What she didn't mention was that the only reason she was back was for her business, she wanted to open more shops in Manhattan.

"Yeah, it's nice to be back," you replied, forcing a smile. Despite your mother's attempt to lighten the mood, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of your stomach.

Josie, your stepmother, chimed in, her voice cheerful. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm sure you'll adjust to being back in no time. Especially with Eleanor's party tonight, you'll be attending that... right?"

"Yes, yes she will." Your mother answered for you. You knew that your mother wanted to reintroduce you back into Manhattan society but you didn't even have time to adjust back into New York time, you were jetlagged.

You didn't want to even think about why you even left in the first place. When you decided to leave, you promised that when you'd come back, you'd leave it in the past. You'd leave him in the past.

Nate. The mere thought of him sent a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the heartache you had endured before leaving for Paris. You had promised yourself that you would never allow him back into your life, that you would move on and leave the past where it belonged.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed as your mother and stepmother continued to discuss the details of the upcoming event, their voices fading into the background as your mind wandered back to memories you had long tried to forget.

──౨ৎ──

"And if they ask you about the business, what do you say?" Your mother quizzed you as she put on lipgloss, looking into the mirror of the hallway of the building that Blair's penthouse resided in.

You tore your gaze away from your own reflection to meet your mother's eyes, a sense of unease creeping into your stomach. "I'll say that things are going well," you replied, your tone carefully neutral. "That we're expanding and looking for new opportunities in Manhattan."

Your mother nodded in approval, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Good," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Just remember to keep it vague. We're a family, and we need to show the world that we're strong, no matter what."

You forced a smile, though the weight of your mother's words hung heavy in the air. The facade of unity was fragile, and you knew that beneath the surface, tensions simmered, threatening to boil over at any moment.

Your mother finally finished her lip gloss, focusing now solely on you. "Remember, confidence is key. You're representing not just yourself, but our entire family."

"Got it." You answered, the words coming out as more of a reassurance to yourself than to her.

Her words echoed in your mind as you followed her towards Blair's penthouse, the anticipation of Eleanor's party looming ever closer. The elevator dinged and the door opened, revealing the glamorous penthouse of the Waldorf's. Your mother's hand found yours as she squeezed it, reassuring as you two walked back into Manhattan's elite society.

"Priscilla Winfrey! You made it!"

Your mother's head turned to meet Eleanor, a charming smile enveloping her lips as she walked toward her.

"Oh, and is that Y/N?" Eleanor gasped as she studied you, taking every little detail in. "You look absolutely stunning, sweetheart. You're starting to look more and more like your mother every passing day."

"Thank you, Ms. Waldorf," you replied graciously, offering her a polite smile. Despite the compliment, you couldn't shake the sense of unease that gnawed at you.

Eleanor's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before she turned her attention back to your mother, engaging her in conversation. Left momentarily alone, you scanned the room, taking in the familiar faces that surrounded you.

Your eyes landed on your old friend group, all seated on the couch. A sense of nostalgia hit you as you examined their faces, all the nights you'd spent partying with them playing in your head. Isabell, Kati and Chuck sat as they spoke, talking about God knows what.

You couldn't help but wonder where Blair was, it was her party and she wasn't with her friends. And of course, Nate.

Chuck's eyes finally met yours, a wide smirk on his lips as his eyes fell on your body before back to your eyes. But before you could go up to them, you heard an excited squeal behind you.

"Y/N!"

You recognize that voice anywhere; it was Blair. She enveloped you in a tight hug, her excitement palpable as she pulled back to study your face. "Oh my God, it's been too long." she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling but there was something you couldn't quite place. "You look amazing, as always."

You were nervous, it had been so long since you'd seen your old best friend. Your stomach twisted in guilt as you gave her a tight smile, her hands squeezing yours. "Thank you, Blair. You looked stunning but I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that."

Blair's smile faltered for just a moment before she regained her composure, a flash of something unreadable passing through her eyes. "Thank you, Y/N," she replied, her tone warm but tinged with an undercurrent of tension. "I'm just glad you're here. Like, really here."

You and Blair had been close since you were kids, your families being close since the beginning of time, basically. Your mothers were best friends in school and now, you are too. Before you left Paris, you told Blair and Serena and made sure to give them calls whenever you could. But soon, Serena stopped answering your calls and according to Blair, she just disappeared to a boarding school in Connecticut.

Blair still didn't know the real reason you fled to Paris and that gulit chipped at you everyday, even more now as you saw her lips curve into a rare genuine smile.

"I've missed you, Blair," you replied, your voice tinged with sincerity. "It's good to be back."

"It's good to have you back, Y/N." Blair gave your hand a squeeze before she spoke again. "Excuse me for two seconds, I have to go to the bathroom."

"Of course, Blair," you replied, offering her a reassuring smile as she excused herself.

You let out a sigh before turning your focus back to your mom, who was now in a conversation with a person you weren't sure you knew the name of. You knew you couldn't bother her right now, she was networking.

With a resigned sigh, you resigned yourself to the role of observer, content to blend into the background as your mother worked her magic in the world of Manhattan's elite. It wasn't the first time you had found yourself sidelined in favor of your mother's professional pursuits, and you knew it wouldn't be the last.

You couldn't blame her, though. After the divorce, her career had become more than just a family business—it had become her lifeline, it was the only thing she still had.

You remembered the days that followed your parents' separation, the way your mother had thrown herself into her work with a fervor bordering on obsession. It had been her way of coping, her way of escaping the pain and heartache that had threatened to consume her. You didn't blame her, her high school sweetheart had left her for a woman almost half her age, closer in age with her daughter than her.

You found the drinks table quickly, grabbing a glass of champagne and taking a sip of it. As you lifted the glass to your lips, the cool and crisp taste of the champagne washed over your tongue, distracting you from the emotions swirling within you. With a sigh of contentment, you leaned against the table, letting the hum of conversation and laughter wash over you.

As you scanned the room, your eyes fell on a familiar brunette. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized who it was; the person you'd been wanting to escape since you left for Paris. His bright blue eyes met yours and you felt a rush of conflicting emotions flood through you. It was Nate, your once-close friend, the one person who had been a constant presence in your life before everything changed.

His gaze held surprise as he caught sight of you across the room, and for a moment, you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him. You were frozen, unable to move as he approached you.

You couldn't escape him now.

Nate's lips curved into a smile as he took you in, with all your glory. "Y/N, you're back. It's, uh... good to see you."

"Yeah, you too." You responded, giving him a short answer.

Nate's smile faltered slightly at your response, a flicker of disappointment flashing across his features before he quickly masked it. "So, uh... how have you been?" he asked, his tone cautious as though treading on uncertain ground.

"I've been good. And you?"

"Me too. I'm happy you're back." He looked down at the glass of champagne as he let out a chuckle. "I'm glad you still have that taste of champagne, some things just never change."

You couldn't help but smile at Nate's attempt to lighten the mood, the tension between you easing ever so slightly. "Yeah, some things never change," you agreed, a hint of warmth creeping into your voice.

"Nate!" Blair's voice echoed as she came up to the two of you, grabbing his arm. "You don't mind if I steal him for a second, Y/N."

You and Nate exchanged looks before you tore your eyes from him and back to Blair, a forced smile playing on your lips. "Of course not, he's all yours." In more ways than one, you thought to yourself as the two walked away, leaving you alone once again.

Before you could relish in being alone again, your mother's voice rang behind you. "Y/N! Blair! Look who's back."

You turned to meet the blonde you'd once called your best friend. Serena. Her gaze held excitement as she found yours, you began walking toward and engulfing her in a big embrace.

You didn't know why she left for Connecticut but you knew she would tell you and Blair eventually. You, Serena and Blair had always been close and tight-knit, no matter the circumstances.

Serena pulled out of the hug and put her hands on your shoulders as she studied your face, a grin on her face. "You're glowing, Y/N."

"Says you. How did you get even more blonde since I've seen you?" You teased as she let out a laugh.

Serena's laughter echoed through the hallway, a sound that filled you with a sense of warmth and familiarity. Despite the time that had passed since you had last seen each other, it felt as though no time had passed at all.

"I've been spending way too much time in the sun," Serena admitted with a playful grin, her blue eyes sparkling. "But enough about me, tell me everything. How was Paris? Did you meet any cute French boys?"

You chuckled at Serena's teasing. "Paris was amazing," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you recalled your time. "And as for French boys, well, let's just say they definitely live up to the hype."

Serena laughed, nudging you playfully with her elbow. "I knew it!"

"Serena?"

You both turned to face Blair, a unreadable expression on her face before she quickly masked it with excitement. She pulled her into a tight hug but you could feel the tension, what the hell did you miss when you were Paris?

"So good to see you, how are you?" Blair pulled out of the hug as she looked in between you.

"Oh, look! The girls are back together, my heart is gonna burst." Eleanor gasped as she observed the scene in front of her, oblivious to the tension in the room. "Are you staying for dinner, I'll set a place next to Y/N and Blair!"

"Yeah, um, there's somewhere I have to go." Serena looked in between you, a guilty expression on her face.

"You're leaving?" Blair's voice sounded hurt as she looked back at Serena.

"Yeah... I don't feel well, I-I just wanted to come and say hi. I'll see you guys at school tomorrow." Serena responded as she slowly began to back up, before she turned away.

Blair's expression dropped immediately back to a bitter expression, looking back to you. "At least you're staying. Who needs Serena anyway?" She whispered the last part as she turned away and began walking away.

You began following behind her, "What did I miss?"

"What do you mean?"

You caught up to Blair and you two began walking toward the couch. "I mean... with you and S?"

"Serena." She corrected. "And nothing except all you know. She left without saying a word, to none of us." Blair sounded bitter but you knew deep down, she was just hurt.

"Well, maybe something happened."

"With what?" Chuck joined the conversation as Blair glared at him. You could feel Chuck's gaze on your dress as he smirked.

"Mind your business, Chuck." Blair spoke as she rolled her eyes.

You caught Chuck's gaze, his smirk igniting a spark of annoyance within you. "Chuck, it's not polite to stare," you retorted, your tone sharp as you shot him a pointed look. Some things never do change, you thought.

Chuck's smirk widened at your words, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Forgive me, I couldn't help but admire the view," he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You did some growing up in Paris, I could tell." His eyes were focused on your dress as you scoffed.

"Paris does wonders for a person," you replied dryly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

──౨ৎ──

"I'm pregnant! Surprise, Y/N!" Josie shouted as your father pulled her in closer, your jaw slowly falling. She's... what? Your fork clattered against the plate, the sound echoing in the tense silence that followed Josie's announcement. Pregnant? The word echoed in your mind, disbelief and shock washing over you in waves.

Your head was pounding, you got home around 12:30 last night because the party lasted a little longer than expected. You were just trying to enjoy your breakfast before school, but then they drop this bombshell on you.

"Wh-what?" You finally managed to stammer out, your eyes wide with disbelief as you looked at Josie. "How does, uh, Charlene feel about it?"

Charlene was Josie's daughter from her previous relationship, she was about two years younger than you and... well, you couldn't stand her.

"You can ask her yourself!" Josie's gaze moved behind you and you turned to face Charlene. Speak of the devil.

Charlene's lips curved into a smile, though there was a flicker of something else in her eyes. "Super excited. I mean, I can't wait to be an older sister."

There was awkward silence before you got up from the dining table, clearing your throat. "Well... I have to get ready for school. This was really nice."

You got up and began walking up the stairs, ignoring their stares. You wanted to stay with your mom but she was staying at The Palace and your father insisted you stayed with them and his shiny new family.

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#gossip girl x you #gossip girl x reader #gossip girl #nate archibald x you #nate archibald x reader #nate archibald #blair waldorf #serena van der woodsen #chuck bass #x reader

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the-kr8tor · 4 months

Text

What is Normal for the Spider is Chaos to the Fly

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.7 k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW violence and gore, CW blood, TW death, CW guns, CW food mention.

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CHAPTER 3 >>> CHAPTER 4

Eyes closed, you breathe in the fresh spring breeze, the first of many this season. Pollen makes your nose itch, bees buzz around the field of flowers, yellow dots kissing the soft petals. A babbling brook sits near you, perfect spherical rocks worn down by the waters makes you want to skip them across the transparent clean water where fish lie and swim right under the currents.

The bright sun above shines down on you, its light fighting through your eyelids and through the canopy of the oak tree. Its strong trunk provides the perfect back rest, the wood is stable and protective of your relaxed form. Like the softest carpet, the green grass below is splayed under you. Blades of grass and wildflowers swaying amidst the wind just like how your lashes flutter with every soft blow of the cool air.

“Why'd you stop?” Hobie asks from below. You crack open your eyes to see his lopsided smile, jade eyes crinkling in the corners. His head is resting on your lap, fingers absentmindedly playing a tune on the beaten up guitar on his chest. There's flowers in his hair, courtesy of you. “C’mon, lovie, I was just starting to fall asleep.”

You chuckle, and he smiles wider. The sun bathes you in its glow, a halo of light around your head, a heavenly sight for a mere mortal. “You're spoiled you know.” You realize your fingers are in his hair, soft fingertips paused on his skin. Your vision goes blurry, with a blink, everything shifts back. “So spoiled.”

“Says the one who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth.” He says it with no ounce of malice.

“How'd you know about spoony?” You joke, he laughs, a sound better than anything you've ever heard of. “How was work?”

“Lonesome, you didn't come by.” You tilt your head, lips pursing into a soft smile. “Do I still smell like gunpowder to you?”

“No, you smell like flowers.”

“Is it too late to say that I'm allergic to ‘em?”

You giggle, “No you're not. You haven't even sneezed.” Grabbing a daisy from his hair to wiggle it under his nose, his face scrunches up comedically, and then he fakes a sneeze. The loudness of it startles the birds nesting by the branches, wings fluttering rapidly further away.

“Good job, you scared the birds.” You look down at him, hand inching closer to the daisy ring you've made a while ago.

“What? I can't sneeze?” His eyes are glued to you, the sun paints a pretty picture of his viridescent eyes shining in the light.

With a deep inhale, you take his hand away from the guitar, slipping the flower ring you've been itching to place on his finger. Hobie seems to freeze up either in your touch or the sight of the makeshift ring. You show him your hand, an identical white flower whose stems are wrapped gingerly around your middle finger.

“Ta dah.” You say shyly. The tightness around your chest clenches at his silence. “I'll take it off, I'm sorry. I thought—”

Hobie quickly reaches up to shield the ring away from you, “No, don't—it’s brilliant. Thank you.” You beam at him as he intertwines his fingers around your own, the rings in full display. “Suits me, I think. But it looks better on you.” You inhale, the comfortable warmth is replaced by icy air. Everything shifts.

The breeze is colder now, the grass is frozen under your feet, frost clinging to each blade. The canopy is no more, only dark angled branches with tiny leaves hang off the precious oak tree. A puff of smoke billows out of your dry lips, Hobie hugs you closer, hand rubbing up and down your arm, body heat shielding you from frost bite.

“Cold?”

“Yes, very.” You shiver, and he holds you closer. “This sunset better be worth it, Hobie, I had to put down a really good botanical book for this.” You say, cheek pressed atop his chest, breath warming his neck. You'd choose him over any book.

“First sunset of the season, love. It's worth it, I promise.” Without a second thought, he takes his coat off to place it over your shivering shoulders. You huddle closer, wrapping yourself around him. Sharing your warmth.

Blue slowly ebbs away as he pulls you closer. The clouds part ways for red and orange, pink splashes across the sky, a watercolour painting that leaves you gasping for air. Or was it his lips upon yours for the first time that has you heaving for air?

Hobie kisses you with the gentleness only a lover could provide, yet with the tentativeness of someone who isn't sure you'd kiss back. The pads of his fingers brush along your jaw, ghosting over your flustered flesh. With a sigh and a pull on his jacket collar, you kiss back. Lips pecking the corner of his own, clouds of smoke mixing in, hands warm on your searing cheeks— he slowly leads you towards the same oak tree. Your back hits the wood with an almost silent thump, his hand protecting the back of your head. Eyes closed, you memorize his lips by kiss alone. Your hands knead at his nape, he shivers not from the cold.

“I'm in love with you.” He says it confidently, like he's been saying it to himself for years. He feels like he has.

“I've been waiting to hear you say that.” Your eyes meet his own in a dance. Eyes flicking down to his lips, jade eyes looking between your blown out eyes and your quivering lips. “I've been in love with you. For a really long time.” You feel his lips open, mouthing the three words back against your own. It's barely above a whisper but you know that he'll scream it if you asked.

A flash of his warm hands around your own, a glimpse of a knife carving yours and his initials on the wood that you both call home. A muffled promise lingers in your ears, soft, just like his lips on yours.

You open your eyes and you see him above you. Hobie pinches your nose with a laugh, calloused fingertips squeezing lovingly at you, emerald eyes swimming with affection. The warm air passes by, humidity stuck in your nose. The sweat of your brow is quickly wiped away by him.

“Stop sayin' that, yeah?” You don't remember what you said. “You're bloody gorgeous, she doesn't know real beauty even if it hits her powdered arse.”

“Hobie!” You laugh, hands planted on his hips, the fabric of his shirt is hitched up for easy access. “She's still my aunt, and my legal guardian.”

“Unfortunately.”

Your smile agrees with him, but if you say it out loud you're afraid that the ground will swallow you alive and Hobie will be ripped away from you.

“It's a nice day today, you plannin’ on gropin’ me the whole afternoon?”

“Yep!” You look down at where his hands are placed, palms cupping you right above your ribs. “You planning on doing the same to me?”

“Say otherwise and I'll take my hands away from you—”

“No!” You say quickly before he could finish.

Hobie guffaws loudly, face leaning closer to yours. You close your eyes, expecting the expected. Instead, his head falls on the crook of your neck, blowing warm air into your skin.

Your laughs echoes around the clearing, fading into the sound of leaves crunching under your footsteps.

Orange leaves fall down on you like rain, a puff of breeze settles in your muscles, rattling your bones. Despite the cold, you inch your way closer to him, his smile beckons you over, grassy spring coloured eyes lighting up at the mere sight of you. His back resting on the strong oak tree that carries both your names.

“You know, we could always meet up at your place now that you're the up and coming associate.” You hold your hand out towards him, his fingers slide on your palm so naturally that you think you're made for eachother. “We can stop sneaking around now thanks to you.”

Hobie feels like he can finally breathe once he has his hands on you. He twists your wrist gently, leaning down, he presses a quick kiss on your pulse, eyes meeting your own. Years of being together, and he still makes your heart race.

Warm lips on your skin, he pecks it again for good measure before leaning away and pulling you closer. His hands are around your hip, while you wrap yours over his shoulders. “We could. But even after all my hard work, your aunt still doesn't—won't approve of us together. I'm me and you're you, love. What would they say when they see their heiress skulkin’ around the harbour, hm?”

“They won't say anything because I'm good at skulking around.”

“Or they'd say you're hurtin' your prospects of a good husband.”

“Fuck them! You and my garden are all I need.”

He calls your name solemnly, “we have to face the fact that—”

“What? That I'll be stuck in a loveless marriage in the near future?” You shake your head. “I refuse.” A humourless laugh breaks through.

“Good thing you said that or this will be awkward.” Hobie takes out a pair of gold rings from his pocket, it shimmers in the sunset, cold metal upon his warm trembling hands. “It took me a hundred days to save up for them, they're scraps from the factory. All melted together to make a pair.”

“Y–you're stealing from us now?” You could barely finish your joking sentence with the sob fighting to escape your throat.

Hobie laughs, a breathy one that has you mentally making up another joke just to hear it again. “Been at it since they hired me.” He hands you one, not sliding it down your finger, no, he places it right in the middle of your palm. “Remember those daisy rings you made years ago?” You nod, eyes brimming with tears. “I've made ‘em real this time. But the next one would be pure gold, none of the mixed ones I've melted with it.” He bounces on the balls of his feet as you glance at the gold ring that is a hodgepodge of different shades of yellow gold. Some seem to be darker, some lighter. “You deserve real ones.”

“You could make me a ring out of grass and wood, and I'll still wear it everyday.” Taking the ring, you slide it into your middle finger, a promise, he says in your ears, a promise, you repeat against his lips as you slip his own ring around his finger. A promise you both carved out into the tree and into your hearts, a promise that you'd carve out into your skin if you could.

The smell of burning wood wakes you up with a start, You've woken up with tears trapped in your eyelashes.

Your eyes open to a boiling pot of brown liquid. It's familiar, awfully so that you've hated it, it reminds you of someone you'd rather not remember. Looking up at the sky that is darkened to a pale blue, turning the orange and green plains into its royal colour— The roaring open fire is the only bright thing in sight, a yellow glow amidst all the bitter blue.

The amber flames screams among the dead silence and the vast emptiness, ‘Someone’s here! Someone’s alive over here!’ yet, you don't feel like you are.

You cough from the cold, throat itching from dryness. Lifting your hands up to tug the blanket further up, you now notice the deep crescent moons left on your palms. Some even bled through the night, dried blood decorating the lines on your palms and under your fingernails.

“You're awake. Good.” Hobie's voice hits you like a carriage, sleep ridden mind still hazy. For a second you thought that you're still dreaming of him. But his solid form and smoke from his cigarette resting on a stone says he's real. Your mind can't dream of something so tethered to reality like this. “You want some?” He rattles the now empty tin cup, brown liquid dripping from the rim to the ground below.

“You're offering me a cup?”

He furrows his pierced brows. “‘course, there's plenty.”

“No, thank you. Do you have something to eat instead? Or water?” Sitting up, you wipe the sleep off your eyes. Your joints hurt, stomach gurgling, and ankle aching. You hate it here, he's the only one that's making everything bearable even though he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else than be with you. It still hurts, thinking that he does.

“Yeah.” Standing up with a groan, it seems like sleep didn't agree with him either. There's bags under his eyes, worsened by the shadow from the brim of his hat. Taking something from his pack on Buckeye, who still slumbers quietly, he holds out a canteen and a piece of dried meat wrapped in cloth. “‘ere.” The familiar scar on the back of your hand has him reeling away. He remembers the day you got it, he remembers how his hand trembled as he stitches your hand back together.

“Thank you.” You say, stiffly smiling. He nods, returning back to his seat.

Breakfast went over fast, with dawn turning into morning, and the crisp air warming down, you take the blanket off your shoulders. Bucky trotts on the road, coyotes chirp on your left and a tumbleweed passes by on your right. It feels like you and Hobie are the only people on the road, or even in the whole world.

You clear your throat, attempting to break the quiet after riding for hours in absolute silence. “So…are you an outlaw? A mercenary for hire, or even a trapper?”

“‘m one of those things, yes.”

“So mysterious. You know you're still an open book to me.” Looking over your shoulder, he grabs your chin to make you look away and to keep your eyes on the dirt road. To which you laugh at. “Yep, still an open book.” It's true that you still know him for the man that he was, but there's missing pieces of him in your mind. You intend to dive to find the pieces so you could piece together who he is today. Before you go home, before you part forever again.

“How would you know?” Hobie tamps down a smile even though you won't be able to see it. “Maybe I've changed in those five years.”

“Oh you have.” You'd know. “But I can still see through you. I know you, Hobart Brown. Or did you also change your name too?”

“It's Larry now.”

“You serious?” Looking behind, you see him sporting a smirk. A smile spreads across your lips at his playfulness, a semblance of the Hobie you once knew.

“For example?” He asks, something he might regret. “What do you see through me?”

“Well, you put this big bad façade up because it's what everyone expects you to be. But in truth, it's so you could survive here. I bet it's working well since you're still here breathing.”

“I don't care what anybody thinks, Y/N.”

“I know that too. But you still do it because you don't want them talking to you, coming close to you. I remember how hard it was to even get you to speak to me.”

“I was a kid, we were children, and I was new in town.”

“I got you to talk though. Still proud of myself that I got to see the real you.” You puff out your chest. “This place is just like our old town, you know. Harsher, yes, but this time you don't bother to try, not like last time.” Your voice lowers into a murmur. He knows why he doesn't bother, because there's no one out here that could get him out of his walled up shell just like you did. There's no one like you. “I still know you, after all these years. Even if you think I don't, or at least the version of you that you left me with.” The sky gets darker, grey clouds floating next to white fluffy ones, and you still remember how he held you the first time you shared a bed. “You've changed and I confess that I barely know this side of you. I don't know what happened to you in those five years but could you let me try to get to know you again? Just like last time?”

The clouds above darken his green eyes, something passes by them, something that has his hands gripping tighter around the reins.

“It's goin’ to rain.” Is all he could say. “We should hurry and find shelter, there's a shortcut I know.”

You inhale the sharp familiar smell of petrichor, letting it settle in your lungs, letting it drown you, letting it seep through your skin so you can focus on it rather than the flatness of his voice that lacks what you're used to.

“Sure,” you swallow thickly, nails digging into your hemp bindings instead of your flesh.

Hobie clicks his tongue thrice, a sharp almost whistle, and out runs Bucky faster on the sandy lonesome road. Hooves thudding like the rumble of the heavens above, a lightning storm races behind you, sparks of light flashing and clashing on the mountainous rocks of the west.

“Hold on,” Hobie whispers close to the shell of your ear, goosebumps spreading through you like poison ivy on skin. He leans forward, leather clad body shielding you from the harsh howling winds that approaches quickly. “This storm's comin' in fast.”

Wind whips your cheeks, cool air making you narrow your eyes into slits to protect it from the dusty debris. A silhouette of a person appears at the end of the road, you feel Hobie stiffen up from the suspicious man. Arms cage you in, the mysterious man's shadow gets closer and closer as Bucky whines and halts to a stop. Hobie hides your hands with his own, a small act that brings your mind a minute of peace.

“State your business.” Hobie says in a practiced tone, commanding like the one he used with the man who snatched you.

The old man walks with a twisted cane, a makeshift one made from an old branch. His eyes are dull and almost silver, blue rings around his irises, eyebrows thick and white, beard bushy and hair almost gone. Right behind him lies a dip in the road, a chasm from where you sat, a deep gorge from what you surmise. Right next to the road sits a dingy solemn cabin, roof looking like it's about to collapse under its own weight, hinges creaking, window shutters opening and closing harshly from the wind. A border collie barks at you, mismatched eyes unwavering, warning you of something to come.

“Just ‘ere to warn you, son.” The old stranger trembles, either from the cold or from his bad leg. “Anyone who come ‘ver down that road doesn't come out unscathed.” He wipes his face with the sleeve of his yellowed shirt. “Just tryin' be a good samaritan.”

“Yeah? Penance for the war then?” You give Hobie a look. He glances over to you in return.

“I was on yer side, son. I won't be out ‘ere warnin’ you and the missus if I wasn't now eh?”

“Thank you for the warning.” You pipe up, the brief silence has made the whole situation more awkward. “We'll try another route then—”

“No,” Hobie stands his ground, “just like she said, thank you for the warnin’ but that's the closest route to Strawberry.”

The man takes his hat off even with the intense shaking of his hand. He then places it on his chest like he's already mourning you. “Safe travels. Don't say I didn't warn ya.” With a whistle, the dog runs over to him before helping him walk home.

“Wait!” The man stops in his tracks, even the dog turns around to face you. “A storm's coming, you'll be cold. Here.” Sliding your hands away from Hobie's, you take the blanket from your lap.

“My eyes are bad but do I see you givin' me your coat?” He smiles toothily.

“Y/N—” Hobie warns.

“Yes, but it's a blanket, not a coat.” The man chuckles deeply, cheeks red and warm.

He whistles again, and the dog walks over to you. “Give it ‘ere to ol' Nellie.” The dog wags her tail, tongue lolling.

“Hi, Nellie,” you giggle as you lean down to place the fabric in her mouth. “Take good care of it. Good girl.” Hobie's hand is holding your waist, single handedly preventing you from falling over.

He remembers your kindness, how you don't falter when you see someone you can help. You're unequivocally kindhearted, a stark contrast to himself, and what he has become in those five years he wasn't by your side. He remembers how much he loved and longed for you. He needs to know who sent the letter on his behalf, but it can wait, maybe he'll thank them when he does find them.

You don't notice him look at you with the same expression he had years ago.

With a happy wag of her tail, Nellie skips over to her owner, handing him your blanket. “Thank you, miss, you've got a kind soul.” There's warmth in your chest, nodding towards the man. “You take care now. And you.” He looks over your companion. “Better watch her back and protect her kind soul eh?”

“Get inside, don't want you gettin' my blanket drenched.”

A laugh billows out as he waves you away. Entering his humble abode with a loud bang of his door.

“I think we should listen to him.” You say above the winds.

“We'll be fine,” Hobie's voice is softer. “I've been ‘ere before. Just listen to me, yeah?” He kicks gently, and Bucky takes his cue to run in the same direction again.

“If I listened to you back there then the poor man would've shivered from the cold.”

“And now you'll be the one shivering from the cold.”

“He needed it more than I did.” You almost scoff as you hold on tighter around the horn of the saddle while Bucky trudges downward on the slope and into the gorge.

“Don't expect me to get you a new one.”

Now you scoff. “Then don't.” Yet, your chest clenches from his words.

Buckeye finally slows down halfway through the gorge. Hobie inhales deeply, jade eyes flicking above the rocks. The walls seem to close in on you, fifty foot tall walls of ancient stone looming over you. A stream runs along the path, murky brown water splashing with every movement.

“Why'd you slow down—?” Your eyes widen at the moving figures above. “There's people up there.” You whisper as you watch them observe you. The bows on their back gather your attention, eyes piercing through you than the sharpest of arrows. Hobie suddenly grabs your chin, still gentle but with a sense of urgency this time. He turns your head towards the road, rough leather sliding from your chin to your hands.

“Keep your eyes on the road. And keep your mouth shut.”

“Will they let us pass?”

“Yes.” He says immediately.

“Do you know them?”

“Yes, now keep quiet.” Tipping the brim of hat in respect, you do as you're told. “Or they'll be the one askin' me questions. And we don't have time for friendly banter.”

When he says those words, you hear a whisper of his name from above, then a bout of laughter echoing downwards. Subtly looking over your shoulder, you see him crack a small smile.

You turn back towards the road, a soft morose smile on your lips from how much you've missed from his life. You want to know what happened to him in those five years, to be told stories of his adventures under the campfire. To be part of those stories once more, not whatever you're in with him. An afterthought, a burden.

You're starting to feel all the love he once gave you was just from your mind. Made up by you, dreamt and imagined.

—

The cave you've found shelter in is perfect. It's big enough to house you and Hobie, even Bucky rests inside, dry and happy while his dark eyes follow you— as if trying to keep an eye out for you. The cave protects you from the hammering rain outside and from the lightning that pierces the clouds. You lean on the rocky mouth of the cave, hands reaching outside to cup the rain and feel the sharp water droplets drench your skin. Lifting your head up, you watch the sky. The storm has no end in sight, yet, there’s a bit of light passing through the grey, a ray of sunshine that brings hope, blue peeking in between the dark clouds.

Water splashes against your flesh, cleaning the tiny gashes and dried blood that you're not sure is all from your body. The rope that binds you is soaked, weighing heavy around your wrists like steel bracelets.

Wind howling, lightning cutting through the sky like a bullet through skin— You don't feel his heavy gaze on you.

The roaring fire behind you provides warmth just like the man tending to it. And like the fire he's tending, he realizes that his affection for you still burns him inside out no matter how he tries to snuff it out.

The fire crackles, you watch your shadow dance with the flame's movements. You still don't feel his heavy stare on your back.

With a forced smile, an idea pops in your head. You let the water on your palms fall, flicking away the droplets, making your own patch of rain.

“I've got a proposition.”

“Come eat, smelly” You both speak at the same time, amusement flashes behind his precious emerald eyes that's illuminated by the embers.

"I don't smell." You laugh in between, loving the fact that he seems to be in a better mood. Sniffing at yourself, you scrunch up your nose from the smell. "That much. You're not any better.”

Hobie shakes his head, hiding the curl of his lips with the brim of his hat. He places a can of peaches in your direction. “We'll be in Strawberry by late afternoon. There's an inn there where we can rest and bathe.”

Sitting down next to him but still giving him enough space, you tuck your legs under you, wiggling your hands in front of him.

“Can you untie me now? I'm not going to run, Hobie. Where will I go?”

“Tell me about your so-called proposition.” Hobie raises a brow, teeth biting down and clenched around the leather before fully yanking his glove off. You suddenly feel hot when he unties your hands without another word.

There's no identical ring around his finger. Your happiness is snatched away at the sight of his empty finger. What was once a promise is now gone from his flesh that you used to trace with your own hands.

Clearing your throat, you watch the shadows on the cave walls flicker behind him. “W–we take the scenic route. I want to see the sights the new world has to offer. Before returning.” You don't even want to call it home anymore.

“The new world? You sound like a grandma.”

“You saying ‘state your business’ wasn't any better, grandpa.”

Hobie's eyes meet your own, green eyes aglow. A remnant of the Hobie five years ago. You could get used to this, his warm gaze that soothes you from the inside out, something that you never took for granted before but never thought you'd miss dearly. You welcome it back with open arms. Even if it was brief.

A flash of bright lightning hits outside your cave, startling you, free hand placed on your quaking chest.

“It's just lightning, love.” A freudian slip, a term of endearment that travels you both back in time. Now that he said it once more, he finds that it still fits you like a warm hug on a cold winter's day, or a first kiss, one of many.

Slowly turning your head, your lips tremble, eyes watering from a silent cry. You try to reach for him, but he deflects your touch by twisting around on his seat, taking a swig from his canteen. The only one that he has.

Quietly eating, your insides are yelling for you to hold him close, to be near him, to hug him until the screaming stops. You can't satiate the feeling, it bites at your bones, chewing, eating at you, going hungry, starving. You stand up, leaving the can of peaches on the ground, returning to the mouth of the cave so the feeling will ravage you alone once again like it always has for the past five years. You've survived this long, but there's barely anything left of you now— a husk, barely a speck, so you cry and cry, sobs muffled by the rain.

You don't feel his gaze on you. He feels the same gnawing feeling in his belly, crawling up to his chest, eating what's left of his heart like a vulture that carries all his grief and guilt.

—

You're back on the road again, the ground is wet and muddy. Clay and grass sticking to Bucky's hooves as he trudges along the soil. You purposely don't remind him about the missing rope around your wrist. Loving the freedom the lack of it brings, you brush your fingers through Buckeye’s hair; dark wavy tresses that reminds you of fine silk.

“You take good care of him.”

“You said that already.”

“I know, I'm just saying it again for emphasis. I hope you're taking care of yourself too.”

You feel him shift in his seat, fatigue rattling his bones that's exacerbated by the rocking movement.

“Do you feel alright?” You ask, looking over your shoulder. His eyebrows are furrowed, sweat dribbling from his forehead.

“‘m fine.”

“You don't look fine. Riding bareback this long hurts, we can switch places—”

“It would be better if you had your own horse.” Hobie groans, stretching his shoulders. Buckeye seems to notice the conversation, huffing and staring back at his rider. “‘m not replacing you, Bucky. Not yet anyway.”

The dark horse neighs, a high pitched sound that makes you laugh. “He was not happy with that.”

“He's not happy with anythin'” Hobie shakes his head at the horse, you're amused by the whole situation. “Picky eater, always demanding sugar cubes instead of a carrot or an apple. Fuckin' spoiled.” Bucky neighs again, louder this time, clearly annoyed.

“Just like his rider.” You giggle, Hobie stifles a roll of his eyes, a ghost of a smile on his pierced lips. “Careful with your comments or he might buck you off and have me as his rider instead.”

Hobie's amusement fades, his eyes hardens, a sight that has your heart thrumming loudly, a sight that you're very familiar with back at home.

“I‘m sorry— I–I didn't mean to.” You frantically apologize, shaking your head, hand reaching for his own, palm hovering over his gloves.

“Look ahead.” He gestures forward. “Nothin' to apologize for, love.”

“Are you sure?” You can't seem to slow down your breathing.

Hobie notices, blinking, he tentatively takes your hand in his. Squeezing once, jade eyes searching your hurt face. Guilt passes through him.

He should've come back for you.

“Yes,” he swallows thickly, slowing down Bucky's steps. “Breathe for me, yeah?” You nod, inhaling and exhaling. “Good, keep doin' that.” Inhale, exhale, “atta girl. Now listen to me, I need you to hold on tight, and do what I say.”

“What's wrong?” Did you do something wrong again? You hold on tight just like he asked.

“Eyes up front, sweetheart.” The floodgates open, he can't stop himself from calling you those honeyed names. And you can't stop looking at him. With a gentle hold to your chin, he carefully moves it forward. You see five people waving you over further down the road. They're accompanied by a broken down carriage, three wheels missing, no oxen in sight, just a few horses hitched near them.

They call you over, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh thank God!” You hear them say, their forms getting closer and closer.

“They need help.” You say, Hobie's hand around the reins tightens.

“And we're not goin' to give it to ‘em.”

“What? Why?”

“That's bait, we're not fallin’ for it.” His eyes don't leave the strangers’ hands.

“Bait—? They genuinely look like they need help.”

“We're close to town, and they have horses. They could've gone over there instead of flagging down an armed stranger.”

“I'm not armed.”

“Yes, but I am.” With a swift kick, Hobie guides Buckeye to a mad dash. Your back hits his chest from the sudden momentum. A dull ache on your spine, a tingling sensation on his ribs.

Buckeye passes by the broken carriage, leaving dust in their eyes. “C’mon, Bucky! Get us out of ‘ere, boy!”

Wind in your eyes, you look behind, your heart falls in your stomach when you see them follow immediately on their horses, guns drawn, aiming at Hobie.

“Oh fuck!” A bullet whizzes past your head, missing you by just a few inches. You feel it's hot searing metal fly past, “they're shooting at us! Why the fuck—!”

Hobie twists, with one hand on the reins, and the other on his gun, he shoots down one man with precision. The bullet hits its mark, right in his heart. A fountain of crimson splashes from his wounded body, his feet still strapped in the stirrups, flinging the now lifeless body around like a window shutter in a storm.

Hobie shoots again, a horse falls, another bullet, and one gets iron in their gullet. And another and another, one on the leg and one on the shoulder, but they still ride on. Until Hobie's gun clicks, its chamber now empty, in slow motion, you see the remaining survivors use the opportunity to aim at Hobie's head. With quick thinking, you twist uncomfortably, body stretching behind to grab the hunting rifle strapped on Bucky's back. Within a second, you sit upright with the barrel pointing at them.

Hobie sees it all happen while he frantically reloads. His gun jams from carelessness, heart beating like a snare drum, fingers frantically trying to fix it. The sun is in his eyes as he sees you cock your head over his shoulder, the long barrel of the rifle is placed atop his leather jacket, finger itching to press the trigger.

“Duck.” Your voice is calm as Hobie follows through your command, the firing pin ignites, sparks fly, the smell of gunpowder permeates the air, bullet whizzing and hitting your mark— Right in between the eyes.

Gore explodes from what used to be a head, then a scream from the remaining target. Hobie steers Bucky, whilst you fight. Fight for him, and for yourself.

Pulling the bolt handle, without missing a beat you release the shell with a clink of metal. The remaining man looks at his dead companion in horror, still riding on next to him, now missing a head. Just like they did, you use the opportunity to reload, hand reaching for Hobie's gun belt, taking what you need, reloading with an expert hand. You pull the bolt to place the bullet, pushing it in, you aim once again. At the same time, the man screams, aiming at you. But you're faster.

Inhale. You shoot, hand steady, eyes focused.

A wet squelch can be heard, then a body thuds harshly on the ground as a horse neighs, crying and trotting wildly. You finally exhale. Hobie reins Bucky in, hooves digging in, he stops.

“Holy shit.” Hobie stares at you with a growing smile, cheeks aflame, not from the adrenaline nor the fight. “You can shoot.”

“You taught me.” Your eyes doesn't leave the violence you left behind.

“Yeah, but not like that!” He laughs in disbelief. His heart hammers in his chest, and he remembers all the times he held your hand in his while he teaches you the basics.

“What do you think I've been doing since you left?” You swallow thickly, nerves catching up, hands trembling around the rifle. “My books can only take me so far until I've read the entire library.”

Hobie holds your cheek, face concerned, thumb running along the tear you don't notice slide down your cheek. “Can you look at me, lovie?”

Slowly but surely, you turn your head. “We manufacture guns, Hobie, it's important for me to learn.”

“I know, but shootin’ it at people is different.” He would know, he worked at the same place. “Are you alright?”

“Now you ask me that?” You hand him the rifle, breath shuddering. “Can we go now, please?”

Hobie could only nod, hand itching to hold you again.

—

You finally reach Strawberry, it has a sweet sounding name but it's anything but sweet. The streets are thick with mud, the smell is much better than the other town but it still makes your nose itch. The place is situated on the foot of a mountain, the air is cooler with heavy winds persisting. Rows and rows of establishments lie along the road, a saloon with a balcony on your right, a doctor's office on your left. Convenient, you think.

A brothel sits next to the saloon, women gathered around on the porch, smiling and hollering at the people who pass by. Hobie garners their attention, (who wouldn't be?) despite riding with you on the same horse. He doesn't give them any attention, a disappointment on their part. His eyes are too busy looking over your profile and the inn that's situated on the hill.

You flick your eyes over to him, as if he has a sixth sense, he stares back. “What?”

“Nothing.” You whisper.

Hobie hides a small smile over your shoulder. He stops Buckeye at the front of the inn, hopping off, he hitches his horse first before giving you a hand, surprising you.

Without a second thought, you take his outstretched hand, bare against his leather clad one. You land carefully on the soft ground, cringing at the wet squelch of mud on your shoes.

“I need a bath,” you stomp over towards the porch and out of the mud. Hobie's hand finally leaves your side once you step foot on the steady planks. “And a nice bed.”

“That's why we're ‘ere.” He says while he takes his pack from Bucky's back. Giving the horse a pet and a much deserved sugarcube. He whispers something to the horse, to which Bucky neighs in reply. Stepping on the porch right next to you, the dark horse nods at his rider.

You laugh at them. “What'd you tell him?”

“I promised him a place at the stable so he could get a proper rest. ‘m gonna take him once you're inside.”

“Are you gonna leave me here?” Panic sets in your stomach.

Hobie furrows his brows, “no, ‘course not.” I'd never do that. He thinks, but he already did, years ago. “C’mon.”

Bucky neighs to you this time, tail swishing behind him. “G’night, Buck.” You give him a small wave. “You did a good job today.”

Entering the inn, the smell of pine and something fruity catches your nose. Its walls are all wooden, lined with old photos and animal furs. There's a fireplace in the common area where a couple of people sit and chat by the fire. The place is cozy, it's the first time you feel like you can finally have a nice comfortable place to sleep in since you landed in America.

Hobie knocks on the reception desk, leaning on the table, clearly tired and weary. Whilst you try not to think about what you did earlier, you roam your eyes everywhere in an attempt to push all the thoughts away, to kick the gore you saw, and the act that you've executed far far away from you. Your hand trembles at the sight of a deer head hanging on the wall. Then you remember the man whose head you blasted to pieces. Heart beating faster, breath stuck in your throat, Hobie suddenly takes your hand— squeezing, reminding you to breathe.

Before he could comfort you further, a middle aged man appears behind the desk. Shoulders broad, mustache well maintained and curled at the ends. Blue eyes wide and full of wisdom.

“Welcome to Strawberry inn.” He says in a comfortable yet deep tone. His eyes flick towards your intertwined hands, lips smiling faintly. “The name's Finn, room for one?”

Hobie clears his throat, taking his hand back on his side. “Yes, two beds.”

“Ah, a conservative couple eh?”

“Sure,” Hobie acts, nodding along.

“Name?”

“Larry Smith. And baths for the missus and I.”

Finn nods, showing him a sign on his desk. “three dollars for a regular one, five for a deluxe bath.”

“Deluxe?” You ask, curious.

Hobie beats Finn to the punch by explaining it himself. “It's when a woman helps you scrub down.”

You blink twice in quick succession. “Oh.” Cheeks warm, you awkwardly bounce on your feet. “A–are you going to take the deluxe one, Ho–Larry?”

“I might.” He says with a smirk, eyes shining.

“Okay.” You crane your neck towards Finn, “what's our room number?” Your tone inches towards something that has Hobie amused.

“Uh, three—” You're already snatching the keys from him and then quickly speed walking up the stairs. You turn to the right, Finn calls after you. “Left side, ma’am.” Frustrated, you walk the other way. He then turns towards Hobie with a shake of his head. “Happy wife, happy life, english. Don't tease her like that or you'll end up sleeping in the stables.”

Hobie bites his tongue so he couldn't laugh. “I know that now, thanks, mate.”

—

You feel nice, nicer than you should be after what you did. There's a pebble inside you that keeps growing and growing in the pit of your stomach right next to the boulder that has resided there for years. You have no idea what is, but you want it gone just like how you disappear under the tepid water of the tub.

Hobie has laid out clothes for you, it sits on the chair in the corner. A white work shirt that smells like him and a pair of clean socks. Your skirt hangs on the doorway, days worth of dirt and dust clinging to it. The walls are thin, you hear the hinges squeak in the next room, the arguing couple above; and a child's cry from below. The water laps at your chin, now cold and icy on your slowly freezing skin. Like muscle memory, you hold your hand up, the jagged long scar across the back of your hand has you tracing the remnants of the injury— what he used to do to remind you that he's there, that you're safe. But when he left, when he disappeared into the night, leaving you to the horrid predetermined life, you had to do it yourself. You had to carry yourself everyday with the heavy boulder in your heart, surviving each day without him, hurting, rotting in that damned empty mansion you never asked for.

You thought you could finally take the boulder out of you and place it down once and for all when you saw him. it's still there, weighing you down like a hundred ton steel of grief and longing. You don't resent him for what he did, running away, leaving you when the night before he promised you sweet words, words of freedom, words of an escape. No, you don't hate him. Yes, there's days where you would curse his name, but it never lasts. It never does, even now. You still love him even when he doesn't feel the same way anymore.

Your eyes prick from all the unshed tears, everything makes you cry nowadays, even the old lonesome man you met on the road brought a tear to your melancholy eyes. But you can't seem to find the courage to cry in front of him, to let him see your salty tears flow out of you like a raging river of sorrow. And moreso, you're afraid, afraid of home, afraid of what's waiting for you at the end of the road. Whether it be a coyote with its maw opening to lunge at your neck. Or a rattlesnake ready to strike silently at your open wound.

You're not afraid of him, you're afraid to lose him again to the coyotes and rattlesnakes.

Lifting both hands, you watch the blood that collects within the lines of your palms. Rubies ebbing into your life line, your love lines, and into your death— you'd carry the life you've taken until you're six feet underground, decaying, milky bones turning to dust, food for the worms. And yet, the blood in your hands would stay there, even when your hands are eaten by the soil, brought back to where you once came.

Hobie's right, this place changes you. Molds you into something that can survive its harsh environment, just like the plants you once read about. And just like the coiling vines, the flowers that wait and bite their prey; the leaves that kill when cut— you intend to survive the harshness of it all.

With a deep inhale, you leave the metal tub. Water splashes across the floor as you stand up, the even colder air leaves goosebumps in its wake. You dry yourself and dress like an automaton, movements rigid, eyes blank.

Opening the door with a creak, you're met with Hobie standing in the hallway, just across from you. His hand still lingers around the doorknob, viridescent eyes blinking slowly at you.

For a second that felt like hours, you watched each other. How his eyes flick over your form and over his work shirt that you wear. How water still clings to his chest, soaking parts of his white shirt. And how his finger twitches around the doorknob whilst steam escapes from the slits in the doorway. He observes you with vigilant eyes, how your lips are slightly parted, chest breathing heavily. And how much your legs are begging to run towards him, feet pointed in his direction, heels lifted up slightly, but you don't. You don't run to him, instead, you toss him the keys to the room before he could ask for it himself. He catches it with ease.

“You're closer to the room.” Walking closer, you rub your arms for warmth.

Hobie sniffs, hand wiping a stray droplet from his forehead, pack slung over his shoulder. He unlocks the door that's a few steps away, with a click, he opens it for you.

“You look like you're about to pass out.”

You push past him, trying to smile, but you fail. “I feel like I will in a second—” pausing by the doorway, you sharply inhale. “You asked for two beds right?”

“Yeah— fucker.” Hobie clicks his tongue at the sight of the single bed standing in the room. “I'll go get our rooms changed.”

“I'm fucking tired, Hobs.” You lumber your way towards the inviting bed, too tired to even check the room and its sparse décor. “Complain tomorrow. It's not like we haven't shared a bed before.”

“That was different—”

“How is it any different?” Shucking off your shoes, you blink at him through tired eyes. “It's just sleeping next to each other. We were doing anything but that back then.”

He curses breathlessly under his breath. “Fine, don't hog the blanket.”

“Don't kick in your sleep.” You smile for the first time since you pulled the trigger. Slithering inside the warm covers, you lay your head on the lumpy pillows. Heaven to you after sleeping but nothing on the ground or hay for the past few weeks.

“I don't kick in my sleep.” Hobie does the same, laying next to you, giving you enough space in between. “You're the one who kicks in your sleep. Like a fuckin' donkey.”

You lay on your side, inching closer to him. “Please, I'm more of a mustang, not a donkey.”

“Back then you were more like the rider than a horse.” He jokes with a smug smile across his lips.

Your cheeks are aflame, laugh creeping up your throat. The heaviness in your chest subsides, the blood in your hands thins. “You wanna bet?”

Hobie's joking expression is replaced by something else. Flustered, amused, and a mix of an emotion that he has only felt for you. “Fuckin' hell, love.” He turns away from you, lest he lets his thoughts get to him. “Good night, you fuckin' minx.” He hears you laugh, immediately he wants to turn back around and meet you face to face, just like before. But he doesn't.

You're met with his back. The feeling comes back, like a cockroach that wouldn't die even with how much you try to stomp on it. It was foolish to think that he'd love you forever. It was foolish to think that he'd greet you with open arms after years of being apart. How foolish, they'd always whisper to you, naive, and stupid, always standing on the edge of the crowd, eyes always looking for something, someone. Someone that lays before you now.

“Good night, Hobie.” He mouths your next words like clockwork. “Only dream of good things.” You refrain from doing the next thing, a kiss for sweet dreams, a whisper of the three words to remind him of you in the dreamworld.

Hobie silently wishes you did.

Soon enough, soft snores can be heard from behind him. Peeking over his shoulder, he makes sure you're asleep before quietly standing up. Sheets rustling, he tiptoes over the noisy planks, breathing silent. Hobie takes a chair from the corner, propping it under the doorknob, shaking the chair, he makes sure that it's locked up tightly. He can never be sure with the simple singular lock on the door.

Once he's sure that it will hold up, he takes his gun from the hanging gun belt, checking the chamber, he keeps it on the waistband of his trousers. After checking all the windows and the fireplace, he finally joins you back in bed. Gun placed on the bedside, ready to be used just in case. Laying on his side, he faces you, observing how the moon shines just across your face. You look peaceful, relaxed, and he remembers how much he has missed you. Like an impossible itch. A craving that cannot be satiated. Incurable, until you're within reach.

His tired eyes stare at the glaring scar across the back of your hand. Hobie remembers how you got the scar on your hand, it was warm that day, searing hot whilst you ran into the woods frantically to meet him. As a result of your unmindful actions, a sharp branch takes a chunk of your skin; leaving him to sew it close for you. He reminisces of how your face contorts to pain with every suture, and how you grip his shoulder to tamp down your screams. He wasn't careful, or even thinking about how it would scar, he just wanted to get it over with so you'd stop hurting. He held you for hours after, held you more after your great aunt saw the damage. She called you broken that day.

He blinks and he's back to the present. He can never go back. You can never go back. So he inches his hand closer to yours, pinky brushing along your skin. Finally, he curls his pinky finger around your ring finger. Linking his life line to yours. Just like he always does to the identical hidden ring around his neck. Your scar peers from the side, a reminder that everything that happened before was real. That all those saccharin touches and words were flesh and blood. He wishes he could go back, to take you away the moment she called you broken.

In his sleep he dreams of you.

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letsnotperceive · 4 months

Text

Simon Riley and Intimacy

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18+/MDNI ✧.* GNReader ✧.* (2,040wc)

“This has left him with the ultimate juxtaposition; the innate desire to not allow close proximity to the remaining soft, vulnerable parts of his soul, and yet the desire to claw his fingers into those he cares about to shield them from the very heat that’s ruined him.”

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Simon Riley would have never considered himself a caring person, would never bother to bat an eye at someone else’s dilemmas in most scenarios. His mind is a worn and withered place in which he has created an apathetic mask over his thoughts. One that mirrors the very bit of fabric that covers the marred surface of his face—haphazardly stitched, rough around the edges. If you tried to take it apart and understand its inner workings, it would unravel in your hands in a way that would leave you wondering how it was staying together in the first place.

This is, seemingly, a coping mechanism developed over years of being hardened by the lengths to which he's been dragged through hell and back. The flames have hardened his exterior and charred his heart in a way that's somehow left it both cauterized yet raw. Sifting through all the soot will display that something is still pounding against his ribcage, still defining that he’s not completely a ghost.

This has left him with the ultimate juxtaposition; the innate desire to not allow close proximity to the remaining soft, vulnerable parts of his soul, and yet the desire to claw his fingers into those he cares about to shield them from the very heat that’s ruined him.

He's not a saccharine lover, not able to produce a syrupy, sweet display of flowery love language. But you have managed to turn him into a man whose shell has been slowly eroded over time while he has come to concede that not everyone needs to be held at arm's length. There are things worth stowing in his heart despite the vulnerability of letting something reside in such a resting place. But it’s like constantly having a hovering finger over the trigger of a firearm; one wrong move can shatter you. In a way, he doesn't trust himself to keep you whole in the palm of his hand.

Not that there is a sadistic streak that would ever flare in his brain around you; oh no, rather, he'd assume any pain in the universe if it meant you didn't have to harbor it. Even when things have been accumulating, weighing on his broad shoulders that are used to bearing guns and injured teammates and the burdens of a world that has beaten him down with a cruelty that would make the devil wince, he would carry your burdens too. You fuel that singed heart in his chest that would otherwise want to tenaciously depend on spite and adrenaline.

Perhaps that's the reason Simon keeps you so carefully concealed from the life he lives when the mask is pulled over his face. From the person that he becomes when his identity is stripped and replaced with Ghost. Of course, there would be no conceivable way for him to never indulge you in a sparing sample of the nature of his career when it houses so much of his attention and livelihood. But he prefers to keep as much as he can from tainting you. From turning your mind into the same somber chamber that his has become to house what he’s witnessed, what he’s done.

The feeling of relief as he steps over the threshold of the building that houses you is like a breath of air after being submerged underwater for far too long. He doesn’t care where he could end up; no place satisfies his desire for home like wherever it is that you happen to be. There’s a pair of fluffy house slippers near the door; he kicks his boots off beside them. An odd little pair of soft and welcoming ones next to his own, tired and worn. The mask is long gone by now, discarded before he even reached the driveway—here he’s never anyone but Simon to you.

It’s late, far too late; he doesn’t even bother taking the time to check the clock. He knows you are going to be awake regardless, up waiting to catch a glimpse of him, and he will give you your scolding for it in the morning. For now, he makes his way down the hall, hand wrapping around the doorknob to a bedroom that lately houses two. A split second of hesitation runs over him, just enough for that sinking sensation to crawl back up through his mind. That feeling that maybe he shouldn’t, that he should go sink into the couch and keep his filthy, wretched hands that just spent so many lives away from you.

His presence and uncertainty must both be palpable to you, even from behind the door, because he hears a soft call of his name. No, you need him; you need him just as much as he needs you. The weight of the past few weeks can reside with Ghost for now, so he can just be Simon. He turns the knob and opens the door with an echoing creak, swearing under his breath and making a mental note of his new project for the morning involving a bottle of WD-40. Damned this house seems to be, even with an angel waiting just a few steps away.

You can barely hear his footsteps across the hardwood, but the bed frame creaks and the mattress dips under his weight. He manages to settle down between the valley of your legs, his large hands pawing at the plush of your thighs to make room for his frame. You scoff lightly at the way he's grumbling due to the sheer inconvenience it causes him when wasting those precious milliseconds getting into a proper position—though there’s no real heat or annoyance behind the action, because you know he’s just grouchy by nature. He’s been waiting to indulge in your sweetness for far too long now, with an ache so strong it makes his teeth hurt. Like the overgrown, frustrated mutt he is, he sinks them into your skin to soothe the sensation.

“Simon!” You yelp, a sharp little cry that’s mostly born from shock.

“Hmph,” he grunts in return, ever so eloquently.

“Scared of’a nip now, are we darlin’?”

Though it’s enough to make him feel a bit of shame for hurting his sweet thing. He presses his slightly chapped lips against the ruddy imprint his teeth left behind, a wordless apology you will never hear. He doesn’t like wasting time and is impatient to a fault if he doesn’t have an explicit command to hold out any longer. Before there is time to scold him—if you could even find the words to do so—he’s got his fingers curled around the elastic waistband of your sleep shorts and is tearing them away as if they were a personal offense.

Trying to keep him away from his love, that slip of fabric, ain’t it? He hears the satisfying snap of the stitching coming undone down the leg as he rips, chuckling as they get tossed to the side haphazardly.

That’ll teach ‘em.

You seem to have found your voice then, just in time to defend the pair of pajamas. They were nice and new-

(“Sorry, doll. Ya’ know I’ll getcha new ones.")

Gentle simply isn’t the name of his game. Though he can try, and try he might when he’s so afraid of crushing your lively little soul in his calloused, bloodstained hand. It just doesn’t come to him naturally, the way he tends to want to grab your hips and hold you flush to him. But at this moment, he dips his head down until his forehead meets the smooth span of your abdomen, resting there for a moment. Simon’s breathing tickles against your skin, a slow and steady pattern that’s a far cry from all the adrenaline that’s been pumping through him. Your hands gain purchase within the locks of his cropped hair that you can catch between your fingers. His voice is rumbly, a deep growl from low in his throat.

“Missed ya’.”

It’s about as close to singing praises from the heavens as he can offer you, and you greedily drink in every last minimal word he gets out. If he had the capability of belief, he’d be thanking any higher power out there that he’s returned home to what must be the only blessing he was ever offered. Your hands want to wander, want to run down his chest, then lower, and lower—

But he stops you with a silent shake of his head before your desires are executed.

“Just you tonight, luv.”

You know better than to question it—the way he may give but then pull back with intimacy. Some nights he can relish the way you roll those hips on top of him, low moans permitted to spill from his mouth and a tight grip on the back of his oversized t-shirt you tend to be wearing. Others end in a lit cigarette and an hour alone on the porch, scarred figure illuminated by the flame as he tries to wave off your concern. Lost in his mind due to the unwilling thoughts that want to follow any bit of bliss he tries to chase. It’s easier to let him slip and slink through your fingers as he pleases, letting him warm up to you like a feral creature who’s slowly been domesticated.

Delicate, delicate, delicate. He tries to run his thumbs in gentle circles over your body while fighting the urge to press down just hard enough that it will make little purple marks bloom like flowers against your skin, to prove that blood still runs warm through your veins. He doesn’t do it; you deserve to be treated delicately. It earns you a kiss for every intrusive thought he has over the matter, and he’s rewarded in turn with every breathy noise you make from them.

Simon is a man who’s been starved, has been depleted of his life source up until now. The way he ravishes you seems to fit the gnawing hunger he feels accordingly. His actions are desperate and unrefined following the very first taste of your sweetness on his lips. He licks a stripe against you to hear the way you squeal and see how your legs will twitch and shake for him.

“Pretty, pretty,“ he murmurs, not afraid to speak with his mouth full of his favorite meal. What a gift to be engulfed by your beauty when he spends so much time involved in all that’s corrupted and vile.

“And it’s just f’me?”

All of you, that’s what’s for him. Every square inch of your very being, and then whatever else he can find to clutch onto, too. If you give it to him, he’ll slowly return such an offering, piece by piece of the inner workings of such a complicated and complex mind, fragments of that hidden heart being unearthed.

“Yes!” You sob, a choked noise that’s reflective of how long he’s situated himself in this very position, never feeling that he’s had his fill. “Yes, yes, yes-!”

Wave after wave after wave of pleasure, he will give it all to you if you ask. He cramps a few of his thick, calloused fingers inside your warmth, crooking them with expertise gained from attentiveness to what’s *just for him*. He croons as you spill once more, not letting any of your nectar go to waste with a low chuckle at your overstimulated gasps.

There isn’t anything he wants in return as you pant for breath and flush ruddy with exertion—or so he claims. But you know him better than that, guiding his head to lie against your chest. The quick beats of your heart lull him to concede, and the way your hands soothe over his shoulder blades and tattooed bicep certainly doesn’t deter him either. He wants a hand through his hair and your nails lightly raking against his back and you certainly know how to deliver. Making sure to take caution over the raised scar tissue of his marred skin. Those get traced delicately, as if you are connecting stars to create new constellations.

“Bath?” You mumble, the word feeling heavy on your tongue as exhaustion dares to finally try and seep into your bones.

And, well, he wouldn’t say no to that, either.

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Thanks for all the support on my first post! Still learning how to format and improve. TBH I only write when I’m not feeling well or sleep deprived or intoxicated so hopefully this is decent enough lol

Also this was my first attempt w/ writing anything x reader or gender neutral specific so if I did anything wrong plz lmk. Okay thanks byeee

#call of duty #cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #ghost #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon riley x you

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savorypink · 5 months

Text

buckle bunny

you've taken a liking to someone next door.

contains smut. + cowboy!alex.

It’s not wrong, right?

It’s just looking—observing. You aren’t hurting anyone. Well, the potential relationship with your neighbour could damage a few things. Ugh, that word. Potential. It makes your stomach swirl with nausea; potential.

You want something more permanent than ‘potential’. Right now, it seems farfetched, almost out of your grasp. But until permanence occurs, you can at least enjoy the view.

You draw back the curtains to your window, the mobile home adjacent to yours now in vision.

He’s home today.

The plastic encasing your popsicle bursts opens with a soft ‘pop’, though the emptiness of your trailer makes it seem louder than usual. The bitter Red 40 hits your tongue before the tart cherry flavour washes it away. It reminds you of something. You recall the fleeting feeling of your heart drumming against your chest the first time you did this—your bitter Red 40.

Then relief covers you in warmth like a blanket, but your stomach still churns, partly in butterflies, the other…disgust? It isn’t your fault. Alex is just that excellent of a specimen. Your microscope will forever fix on him.

It’s like watching a sculpture in motion. But your time in the museum has well passed. Alex is dripping sweat from the damp hair shielding his face to his lean, sun-kissed arms. He isn’t too bulky but shows no signs of fragility, either. Rugged. Masculine. Sharp edges you don’t mind cutting yourself on. Replace the dumbbell in his hand with your neck, and it could leave an attractive bruise. Your body and brain melt at the thought while your thighs come together pathetically. He could crush you like a bug.

Your lips fall agape as you watch him curl the dumbbell for another repetition. As he curls the dumbbell, your grip on the popsicle grows tighter, mirroring the contracting muscles in his arms. Your peep show is beginning to feel like a workout, with the underarms of your shirt dampening and soreness in your knees from digging them harshly into the mattress.

Your chest burns a fiery red hot as if he’s placed a boot there. Your feeble wheezing congests your ears while the savoury sound of your bones snapping sends a jolt of heat through your core. He could crush you like a bug. He could crush you like a bug.

A pink tongue laps away at the sweat forming across his upper lip. Bumps and edges your body wants to get familiar with. You’d look good on him, and you don’t doubt that, but he’d look delectable between your folds. Your ache could use easing, and he could be your painkiller.

The weight gradually comes up his chest for what you presume is his final set of curls. The strain on his sweaty face softens once the dumbbell is at his side again. With what you think is a hearty grunt, he sets the weight at his feet. His large, gloved hands sit at his hips as he triumphs over the weight. You catch him trying to fight the smirk threatening to paint his features, but eventually, he caves. Shit-eating. Sexy. Belittling.

He’s such a man.

His chocolate eyes study the ceiling, dizzy with power. When his eyes tear away from above, they meet the window beside him.

The window you’re across from.

Your heart falls from where it once was and into your churning guts. This is real, is it? The hot guy from next door watching you is merely a vision trick. Correct? Closing your curtains makes you as cowardly as it does guilty; you remain statue-esque under his gaze regardless. The heat rushing to your neck and face tells you it’s terrible, but something else tells you to embrace it.

Alex drinks in your stunned state, amused. It’s almost a repeat of the same grin from when his workout finished. Smug. Proud that he’s gained an audience of you. Only you. He reaches for the string of his blinds before swiftly closing them, your beloved show ending on a cliffhanger.

The reality of what happened has yet to smack you in the face. Your mattress hasn’t swallowed you yet. Your underwear is still uncomfortably wet. The trailer is empty; no camera crew tells you you’ve been Punk’d. The quiet is deafening, but a buzz in your pocket quickly follows before allowing you to wallow in your silent shame.

It’s from your neighbour.

Change your shirt.

You look down at the splotches of red and blue staining your work polo. A warm, sticky puddle of popsicle soaks your skirt’s denim, dying your thighs and fingertips. Groaning, you leave the bed and gather nearby tissues to blot away the pesky Red 40 and Blue 1 splattering your skirt. Before you can angrily toss the empty popsicle in the garbage, you read the text on the stick’s end.

How do you warm up a frozen cowboy?

Yee-thaw!

—

“You still tryin’ to fuck that old dude next door?”

Your head comes up from your magazine to look at your friend. “He’s not old.”

She waits for your protest but smiles when you respond with silence. “Then that means yes.”

The trailer park folk are friendly; it’s something that comes with living in the South. You’ve shaken hands and exchanged hellos, but your only real friend sits beside you. Two trailers away and a bit gossipy, though you felt comfortable updating her on your staring rituals. She ensured your secret was safe with her; surprisingly, she’s incredibly supportive of your efforts. Or lack thereof.

“You two would make excellent babies.”

The summer sun isn’t responsible for the heat rushing to your face. You roll up the magazine and smack her thighs, but her infectious giggling alleviates your embarrassment.

“I don’t just want to fuck him,” the lawn chair squeaks as your back sinks further into the plastic. “Do you think he likes to cuddle? We can cuddle.”

“Naked, probably.” She sighs, about to leave her chair. “Want me to find out for you?”

You hold her wrist in a vice grip. “Don’t.”

She snatches her wrist from you, returning to your side. “You’re strong. You’ve been flicking the bean much more since Al’s been here, huh?”

You shield the magazine over your flushing face. Your friend isn’t wrong. “Leave. Please.”

“You have his number. Send him some nudes or something.” You allow her to get up this time, peeking at her through the glossy pages. “It’ll be more fun than watching him smoke.”

Her flip-flops clap along the pavement as she leaves. Groaning, you toss the magazine at your feet. You hate it when she’s right.

Nudes are a bit extreme, but you’ve made your interest clear. It’s not that Alex isn’t entirely interested, either. If you remember correctly, he quite literally smiled when he caught you. In some roundabout way, Alex opened Pandora’s Box between you two and left the rest in your hands. Your phone can be used to communicate. Did you know this? Alex practically gave you an opening. Enter the door.

Alex is having a cigarette. Double-denim clad. Large silver belt buckle around his hips. His worn hat sits beside him on the stairs leading to his trailer. He’s returned from the ranch. You recognise the exhaustion from your prior viewings. In sunlight, his dark circles are prominent, and so are the tan lines along the collar of his shirt.

A single bead of sweat trickles down his neck, glimmering in the sun before disappearing into the valley of his chest. Your toes curl into your flip-flops as your core tightens around your slick walls.

Stop staring. Stop staring. Stop staring.

Does he even know you’re alive over there?

You admire and envy his blase. He could sit in front of you and not say anything, let alone give you a glance. Instead, he taps away at the keyboard on his phone, one letter at a time. Looking absolutely adorable in the process. It definitely shows his age, but your heart flips and bends all the same.

His nonchalance might be a blessing in disguise. He can’t see the imaginary hearts floating above your head.

What does his search history look like? Who is he texting? Does he prefer Candy Crush or Bejeweled?

Your dumb questions halt once you hear his door shut. The loneliness isn’t as deafening as the night prior. You’ve gotten used to it. In fact, you’d call it a loop of the day before, the way your phone buzzes again.

The next show is tonight at 12. Dress to impress.

You’re alive. And Alex is aware.

Confirmed. See you then.

—

11:59.

Time doesn’t move the way you want it. 60 seconds shouldn’t feel like forever, but tonight, it does. You’re in your usual spot by the window, waiting for something to happen. But rather than silence, it’s your heart hammering your eardrums. Instead of just sitting there, your fingers twiddle with the lace hem of your nightgown. A lump sits in your throat, sour and hot, and you find it hard to swallow with each tick of the clock.

Where is he?

Could you blame him if he bailed? Not entirely. This is weird; strangers don’t wait by the window for one another. They don’t invite the other to watch them either—you don’t know him. Close the curtains. You can have a good cry about it later.

12:00.

Alex opens the blinds.

The towel wrapped around his hips is oddly thick. You want to kick yourself for letting your eyes land there first. He must’ve noticed. Alex is going for the towel. You ball up your nightgown and wiggle in your seat; your heart is the only echo in your ears.

Thwip!

There’s another towel underneath.

The air feels less thick as you laugh, the bricks on your shoulders tumbling to the ground. His lightheartedness is endearing; it makes your palms less sweaty. It’s a quality lacking in the boys your age: pure charm. You wonder what else he can do to fuzzy your chest. Make you laugh. Make you feel wanted. The skin on your arms raises at the thought. Butterflies flap wildly around in your belly. He could be yours.

Your phone lights up.

Show me something.

You’re unsure of what he means for a moment, but your body understands it clearly. You slip the nightgown straps down your arms, wincing as the cold air hits your bare skin. The blood rushes precisely where Alex wants it, frigid air and arousal stiffening your nipples. Your glazed eyes notice an inviting and prominent dent in the towel.

Another text.

Beautiful.

Wetness damps the pillow underneath you, and shamelessly, you rut against it. Your fingers swirl your nipples in circles, closing in on them with a hard pinch as Alex finally removes the towel. The strong arms you watched him work hard for get their chance to shine. He spits into his hand and begins pumping, almost in tune with your twist on your breasts. His fists, hefty, veiny, and what you’d picture as calloused, nearly eclipse his cock.

Already leaking out of the fat head, looking heavy in his hands, you don’t doubt he can fill you to the brim. You wouldn’t have it any other way. Your bodies demand to collide; the hunger between you two is almost never-ending.

You get a firm grip on the pillow and start grinding. A breeze wicks away the sweat forming on your brow, and you grind harder, the fabric painfully rubbing at your unnerving ache. Alex has an idea of what you’re doing and what you’re doing it with, and he knows it should be him instead.

Captivated with your breasts dancing and your slack jaw, he can’t tell if his new speed is out of anger or lust. You’ll be so good to him. Good for him. You’re worth the trouble.

A heat rises in your belly as your hips follow his hand’s maddening pace. The friction between your core and the pillow hurt all so good. Your folds will probably be a puffy, burning mess afterwards, but Alex makes it worthwhile. His body shines with sweat, defining his v-line and biceps, glowing him in the dark. He mouths what you think is your name but finishes with an audible “Oh.”

White stripes spurt out of his cock and onto his knuckles and bedsheets, but his movements continue as he waits for your arrival. You mewl and rock against the pillow until your legs tire. You hold your tongue when the heat in your stomach rushes through you, but you’ve made him aware of what you need.

The ceiling looks as if it’s made of stars with your head thrown back as you ride out your bliss, though you feel your movements becoming desperate again. When you dip your head back, Alex closes the blinds, leaving you alone again. The wet spot in the pillow grows cold quickly, and you prepare for silence again.

Until your phone goes off.

You wish it was your hand, don’t you?

You type out your message, hitting send with your eyes shut.

You wish you were the pillow, don’t you?

—

Ask him for a cup of sugar.

You’ve had dumber ideas.

It seems innocent enough. It’s more tasteful than just showing up and asking Alex: “What are we?” You even went out of your way to buy ingredients for a cookie recipe, knowing that a bag of sugar exists in your cupboard. Typically, you would hate lying, but this one could have an enormous payoff. Maybe you’ll finally figure out if he likes to cuddle. Your teeth ache at the sweetness of it all.

His door seems more menacing up close. It’s easier for you to turn heel, return to your house and act like the past few days never happened. You’d be better off that way. But the actions from your home are what lead you here. You’ll have to face that silence if you go back. Your skin will ache from unfulfillment, touch-starved and bone dry. Desires will continue to pound in your ears, and you’ll have no one to share them with. It’ll be you like it’s always been. You’re bored of it.

You knock firmly on the door, your heart halting as his footsteps approach.

The door swings open to reveal Alex draped in worn pyjamas and an equally worn shirt. Warmth wells in his eyes at your form. He smiles. “Hi.”

“It’s you.” Your voice is barely a whisper.

“In the flesh.”

“Can I…do you have sugar? I need a cup.”

He moves out of the way of the door, the scent of air conditioning pungent. “Come. Can’t have you waiting out here.”

You could pinch yourself a million times, but this will still be your reality. This isn’t a dream. You’re here. He gestures for you to sit at the kitchen table, and you sit statue-esque with your hands in your lap. Nervousness and curiosity keep your eyes bouncing from one thing to another.

The TV is playing some western on low volume. Kung-fu movies on VHS sit in a quiet corner. Playboys and painkillers sit on the end table next to the yellow couch, guitar picks scattered in the mix. There are no family photos; he wears no ring. There isn’t a life you could ruin. You can breathe a little easier. The silence still has you wheezing, though.

“Your spice cabinet is pretty full for a white guy.”

Alex closes the cupboard, turning to you with furrowed brows. “Thank you?”

All the blood in your body goes to your face. “Uh-huh.”

It might be best if you didn’t say anything.

He sets the sugar in front of you and then pulls out the chair across from you. “What other activities do you like besides peeping?”

It feels like more of an interrogation than an ice-breaker. You twiddle your thumbs. “Baking. Daydreaming. Long walks on the beach.” You force the last part, needing to be lighthearted; your arms can’t hold something this heavy.

“You like cowboys?”

You’re not picky, but you like this cowpoke specifically. “They’re fine, I guess.”

He clutches at his shirt dramatically, letting his head fall back. Acting as if you’ve shot him at point-blank range. He’d be as good as an actor as a lover.

“Woman, you wound me.”

You giggle, and he yearns to hear more of your laughter. “There’s a ranch not too far out from here.” Alex begins. “It’s where I work. Beautiful. All the acres you could want. The family’s filthy rich, too. I can sneak you in if you want. Teach you how to ride—a horse.”

The invitation is enticing and as charming as he is. It’s got those butterflies flapping about in your stomach. Without a thought, you slide out of your flip-flops and let your skin graze his ankle. Gooseflesh forms immediately at your contact.

“What else can you teach me?”

When your toe hits his calf, he takes your ankle. “We can get a head start on riding. You pick the place.”

His hands feel the way you pictured them. Calloused and rough—the hands of a working man. You look around the trailer. The couch is inviting. The kitchen counter won’t work. You’ve seen his bedroom, and your presence makes sense, but a question slithers into your head when your eyes meet again. What’s wrong with right here?

Alex releases your leg, allowing you to stand before him - albeit a nervous wreck. He embraces you regardless, the same calloused hands seemingly lightweight around your hips, grazing the bone with his thumbs. His nose pokes at your own, and Alex nudges it cutely, wanting your approval for a kiss. He doesn’t need to ask, but you tilt your head, and you two collide.

Finally.

It’s better than what you pictured. The fizz of Coke on his skilled tongue, his beard etching burns into your skin. Your failure to catch up with your tongue makes him clutch you tighter, the seams of your sundress nearly coming apart in his grasp. He bucks into your clothed core, and you mewl, returning the gesture with movements of your own.

A hand finds your breasts and squeezes possessively, another pathetic moan leaving your mouth. He drinks your sounds like water, rewarding you with noises from his gut. You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulder, but to your dismay, it breaks the kiss. Alex pulls back with a grimace, hissing through his teeth painfully. Your heart drops into your gut immediately.

“What…happened?” Concern shrills your voice.” Did I do something?”

He kisses you in assurance that he’s fine, albeit timidly. It has you second-guessing if he’s truly at his best. “I had a fall on the ranch. It’s unimportant.”

You begin tracing shapes along his shirt. “It’s important to me,” your lips curl into a pout, and you can feel his legs tremble. “I don’t wanna hurt you, Alex.”

His hand palms the lacy material of your panties, already sticky and damp to the touch. “You couldn’t hurt me even. Not even if I begged for it.”

You grind against the ridges and lines of his hand, but softly enough to reduce any damage you could do to his arm. His palm is hot under your core, and the lace of your underwear begins to burn at your ache. Your wetness spills out of his fingers in excess, adding to the stains you already stamped on his pants with your needy grinding. You claw at the waistband of his pyjamas, his bulge more prominent than before.

“Can I…? Please?” Your fingertips hook the elastic.

Alex withdraws his hand, pulling your panties to the side. “Take what’s yours.”

You slide him out of his pyjamas and boxers hurriedly. Your core tightens around itself as the tip already leaks precum. With a teasing finger, you smear the substance along his slit, another hiss leaves his lips, but it’s not out of pain. Alex retaliates by sliding two fingers into your leaking core, grinning when your finger spasms.

“Tight.” His fingers scruff the spongey part of your bits. You moan. “You’re gonna be so good for me. I know it.”

The wet squelching sound at the expense of your core is louder than your heart in your ears. Alex’s fingers curve and swirl, pumping mercilessly in and out of you. The moment heat pools in your lower belly is when his fingers withdraw from you. You whine.

“Don’t whine.” Alex lazily drags his tip along your folds before slipping inside you. “I got ‘cha.”

The bulbous tip is enough burning on its own, effective in stretching you out and making your toes curl painfully inward. With Alex fully seated inside you, your core is scorching, the burn is too harsh, and it is too delightful to ignore. Instead of his shoulders, your hands grip the neckline of his shirt, looking up at him with watery lenses.

“Like I said, I got you.” Alex guides up his cock, stilling at the base, then resuming, bringing you all the way to the tip. Your hot slick runs down each thick, lengthy inch of his cock, your wall’s usual grip uncomfortably wet and slippery. Alex has your hips coming down at a moderate pace, and you’re sure his shoulder is to blame. You try not to apply too much weight but let your head rest there, pressing kisses.

He wants more of you, and it’ll hurt him to do it, but he brings you down faster on his cock. His shoulder screams in agony, groaning in lust and in pain. He needs you to talk him through it. You’ll make it more bearable.

“No boyfriend, right?” He pants in your ear. “Besides your pillow, I mean.”

If he weren’t already in pain, you’d hit him. “Leave him out of this. He’s just a friend. Promise. Mmm, so good, Al. Close.”

You feel him twitch inside you. “Can’t wait to meet ’im.”

Another hotness spills from you again, but it’s stickier than you’d produce. Alex spills into your walls with a primal grunt. Everything but his hands go limp as he paints your core a hot, gluey white, his bouncing off your body slowing down.

Unlike that time in your room, his name comes out of your mouth with confidence as you succumb to the burning heat in your belly, clutching him tightly as your vision turns to pink haze. Both of your pants bounce off the walls of the trailer, the scent of sex breezing away from the air conditioning.

Alex shifts the chair, giving you room to stand. Your footing is shaky on the way up, your knees nearly buckling as you rise from his lap. He brings your underwear back to its original position, plugging the release and threatening to slip out of you. He gives your core an affirming smack, smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress.

You twiddle your thumbs and watch as he tucks himself back into his pants, the silence you know all too well blanketing the room.

“...So?”

“So.” Alex drums his fingers against the table.

You give two clammy thumbs up. “We’re good?”

“More than good.”

You take the cup of sugar, grinning. “Cool. Um, do you like cookies? I’ll bring you some when they’re done.”

He takes your hand and grazes your knuckles, kissing them tenderly. “You don’t need cookies to come see me. Visit anytime. You know where I stay.”

You'll be back. Cookies or not.

Guaranteed.

#mickey is typing…#alex turner fanfic #alex turner smut #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #yeehaw!alex

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