#Starlight and Whiskey

[starlight-and-whiskey]

More People than Ghosts Chapter List.

First OFC fic in a long time. Also posted on AO3. 18+ . TW for abuse, SA and PTSD.

Battered and bruised, when Eleanor escaped the infamous Blackthorne gang, she didn't expect to fall into the arms of Arthur Morgan. But can you ever truly leave your past behind?

OFC/Arthur Morgan.

Part 1 : More People than Ghosts Part 2 : A Hard Road Part 3: On the Wind Part 4: The Wolves Are Here Part 5: A Fool's Game Part 6: Where To Find Me Part 7: Love Me Like You Used To Part 8: A Second Storm

[xxwhiskeyxx]

You Don't Separate a Giant and Their Treasure

So as we all know, our dear Aether had to stay and do the ministry’s taxes. But what we didn’t know is he is mated to Mountain and Swiss. Another thing to note is that: Earth ghouls are quite territorial and incredibly possessive over their mates, and on top of all that, poor Mountain has separation anxiety due to his former pack being ripped away from him and just his normal attachment style.

So poor Mountain is forced to be away from his mate for months. Not coming back for nearly 7 months, of course, Aether had come to visit in brief intervals when he was able to and stayed for a few days here and there while Ghost was on the road because otherwise Mountain would’ve destroyed (another) tour bus with his pacing and anxious chewing but it wasn’t near enough for the Giant

Poor Swiss had to keep their mate as calm as possible when he’d cry during anxiety attacks over being separated from Aether and almost destroying Swiss during sex from his frustration and anxiety. FaceTiming and calling didn’t help much either. But as soon as they're back…Seestor is gonna learn just why you don’t separate an Earth giant and his mate

So I came up with this while I'm forced to participate in a work readiness class for job training. I hope you guys enjoy it, if you'd like a part 2 with the smut section feel free to ask! I just didn't feel I could do it justice just yet

-Love Whiskey

After so many months of touring, Ghost was finally returning home to the abbey. All of the ghouls were excited to get home, but no one was more excited than their drummer. Practically bouncing off the walls of the tour bus, Swiss had to get a right hand on his mate’s waist and tug him into his lap, distracting him with a kiss, to get him to sit still when Copia had given him a pleading look. “Easy Sunflower, we’ll see our Starlight soon, and we all know you’re excited. But Pops needs you to sit down, he doesn’t want you to get hurt from this shitty ass driveway and its potholes. Can you be a good boy and sit with me for these last few minutes, please?” Swiss coos, petting his mate’s hair.

Mountain whines pathetically but stays still, accepting Swiss’ kisses and snuggling into his neck. “Miss him…” he mumbles sadly, tail wrapping tightly around Swiss’ calf. Dewdrop and Rain look at each other knowingly, Phantom looking confused, “Is he talking about Aether?” he whispers to Cirrus. She nods, “Mountain and Swiss are his mates, Mountain doesn’t handle being away from either of them well, so this tour has been hard on him” she explains, “That’s why he came to visit sometimes, did you not notice just how clingy Mount was with him those days…and how Copia made sure we were all placed far away from their room?” Cumulus adds, giggling

Before long, they’re pulling into the abbey loading dock. The moment the bus is parked, Mountain is off like a rocket, bounding down the stairs and taking off through the crowd, darting around siblings and crew members alike. The other ghouls just shake their heads and laugh, Swiss giving him a head start before following, “Do make sure he doesn’t break our poor Aether!” Copia calls after him, a smile in his voice. Turning and giving a mock salute, Swiss takes off after his mate.

The Earth ghoul is running around the abbey, desperately to catch his mate’s scent, that identifiable mix of Bourbon, Lavender, and Ozone. He runs all the way from the loading dock to the library, down to the infirmary before he catches even a whiff. His head shoots up when he catches a sliver of lavender coming from the hallway leading down to their den, ‘I’m a fucking idiot’ he thinks to himself before shooting down the stairs.

Mountain follows the scent until he comes to a stop in front of his room, the scent is strongest here, slowly opening the door, he finds what he was looking for. Aether is sprawled in his bed, asleep on his stomach with his face buried in one of Mountain’s hoodies while snuggling Swiss’ pillow.

Butterflies erupt in the ghoul’s stomach as he creeps forward, not wanting to disturb his mate’s slumber. Ever so slowly and carefully, he slips into the bed behind Aether, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist as he drags him close and buries his face in his neck. Mountain’s breath is shaky as he takes that first inhale of his mate straight from the source

The smaller ghoul whines as he’s moved, stretching slightly as he tries to squirm to get comfortable. But after a moment, mauve eyes blink open at the scent of Evergreen, Warm Freshly tilled Soil, Morning Dew, Daphne & Winter Beauty flowers. Turning slightly, he spots the familiar mop of brown waves before there’s a soft whine. Aether’s stomach clenches as he fully turns over, “Hi Clover, did you just get back?” he asks softly, adjusting so Mountain can stay where he is. The drummer nods, “Wanted to see you…missed you so much” he mumbles, now trailing kisses along the skin in front of him until he finds his mark, gently nibbling the scar, having noticed just how bare Aether’s skin is which is something he has to change, now.

Aether sighs, running his fingers through the soft hair, “Missed you too, been too long.. Oh fuck…” he trails off as that hot mouth latches to the sensitive skin under his ear. Claws digging into plush hips, Mountain bullies Aether onto his back so he can hover over him protectively as he begins to mark the soft skin. His possessiveness rears its ugly head as he smells some random siblings scents on his mate, he knows it's probably from the infirmary but someone touched HIS Aether

The Quintessence ghoul can do nothing but let his mate mark him however he wants, not that he’d ever stop him, his only complaint is just how..intense Mountain gets. His entire throat will be completely covered in bruises, bitemarks, and hickeys by the time the giant is satisfied. “Fuck baby, you..you couldn’t wait even a few, mmmm, minutes, gotta make sure to remark what’s yours? Oh!” Mountain’s only response is to sink his fangs into the crook of his neck, growling deep in his throat. “Mine…My mate, my starlight, my treasure” he hisses in his ear

Swiss finally catch up after a few minutes, following the thumping sounds and loud moans. Sneakily peeking inside Mountain’s room, he sees Mount with a kneeling Aether who he has pinned to the headboard, fingers buried and pumping into the already sloppy-sounding hole, mouth latched to his throat, and oh…he has Aether’s face pressed right next to the vent that connects his room to rest of the abbey, specifically Sister Imperator's. This is how Mountain shows her why you don’t separate a ghoul from their mate

[theoczone]

[tame-the-lion-writes]

[price] see the world

There are times when you look at Price and dream. He could be doing nothing but grabbing a cup of coffee in the morning, or skimming through the pages of a book by the fireplace, and you'd imagine so much more. You're happy with life as-is, of course, but these little snapshots of life are cut apart and stringed together in your mind as part of a bigger picture. The idea that after he retires, you leave the city and buy a cottage--and maybe a truck that always has a tent stowed away in its bed.

You think he'd fit cabin life. You imagine how untrimmed his beard would get, because he's no longer stuck in a rigid routine; that he'd forget to cut it, and cast extra scratches on your cheek with unabashed kisses. You think of the smell of apples and cinnamon, because you love feeding your man--and book nooks by the front window, where you can see him chopping wood in the front yard. Wrapped up in flannel and comfy cotton that stretches across his broad shoulders, and the belly that keeps growing thanks to your cooking. You imagine tip-toeing barefoot on the wood floor that he's sanded down by hand to keep your skin smooth.

You also imagine he'd love camping. Sitting in the middle of the woods under dark skies and starlight, illuminated only by the fire. A hot cast iron pan over the flames, filled to the brim with cut steak and seasoned potatoes. Then crispy marshmallows, roasted gold; chocolate dribbling down his chin. Mixed in with the leftovers of dark honey whiskey. In the daze, you imagine curling up to him under a sleeping bag, nuzzling into the roughness of his jowls. The smell of dirt and pine and him--and waking up to crisp air and golden sunrise.

"You've been staring," he notes one day, looking up from his evening read as you draw your fingers through his hair. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Mm," you hum, slipping over his strong thigh so you can perch yourself in his lap. "Too many to share."

A calloused hand steadies itself across your lower back out of instinct. Thick fingers curling over your hip. Firm pressure, yet gentle. Like the paw of a bear grown lax and padded with fat; ready for torpor. Ready for winter.

"I'll always have time for you, love. So tell me."

"Just wanna see the world with you, John. So many places to be."

So much of him to be with. So much of you you'd give.

[bohemianblasphemy]

💭 Butcher gets into a bar fight w/ some pro-supe dudes. Then he comes to reader's place and lets her treat his wounds but her touch makes him all horny and smut ensues… 💭

I. LOVE. THIS. SO. MUCH.

Cigarette smoke and spilt alcohol lingered in the dingy bar downtown. Butcher inhaled the air as he waltzed toward the unoccupied bar stool, ordering his usual whiskey.

Downing his drink in one swallow his attention shifted to the obnoxious voices of arrogant Homelander fanboys- sitting at the bar across the room, covered head to toe in his merchandise. They boasted - verbally bashing Starlight and her large group of supporters, as if Homelander was the pinnacle of innocence.

Butcher grumbled to himself as he tried to drown out their infernal yapping, ordering another two rounds of whiskey and downing it all at once like before.

Soon enough the irritation of the fanboys got to Billy- their praises for Homelander getting to him. With a grunt, he steps off the bar stool, storming up to Homelanders ass kissers.

“You lot think you’re so invincible don’t ya?” He mocks, being met with protests from the wimpy crowd. One guy in particular deciding it was a good idea to get up in Butchers face, only to be met with a heavy fist to his nose.

The guy fell back, knocked out cold as chaos unfolded. Fists were thrown and bottles broken over heads as Butcher showed no mercy toward the group, a cocktail of adrenaline and alcohol fueling him.

But as the fight went on Billy took a couple of hits, knowing that once the adrenaline dissipated they were gonna sting.

After the dust settled Butcher stumbled outside, feeling victorious yet battered from the brawl- but he knew the best person to go to for a free patch up.

You.

A heavy handed knock on your apartment door interrupted your mindless scrolling on Netflix, a knock that you’ve heard many times before.

Unlocking the door you were met with a battered and bruised butcher, cuts adorning his cheeks and brow.

Ushering him inside, you turn to grab your first aid kit from your cupboard.

“What happened to you this time?” you sighed, this not being the first time he’d turned up at your doorstep so you could play nurse on him. He sat on your couch with a grunt.

“Friendly sparring is all, nothin’ much.” he smirked.

“You have glass in your hair- seems to be anything but friendly.” Picking out the small pieces of beer bottle glass from his dark locks. After picking out the remnants you could see, your hands reached for the anti septic wipes you prepared on from the kit raising your hand to his brow.

“It’s gonna sting a little…” you softly dabbed the cut, earning a pained grunt from butcher as he flinched away.

“You gotta hold still or it’ll hurt more…” returning your hand to dab lightly on the small wounds on his face.

Placing a palm on his cheek, you held his head in place. Butcher freezes as he felt your palm on his cheek, the warm skin making him shiver.

You turned to grab some small bandaids, to cover the cuts much to butchers dismay of the loss of contact from your hand.

“You’ve gotta be more careful…”

“People need to stop pissing me off then.” he chuckled, feeling you place the small pieces of plaster on his face.

Your hands then took his as you sat on the couch beside him, studying the bloodied knuckles- unsure if it was his blood or someone else’s. Taking another wipe you took his hand, running it over the sensitive skin.

As you took care of his lesions, the tension between you two thickened. His eyes never left you as you wrapped a bandage around his hand, tying it securely around his wrist.

Your eyes flicked up to his, meeting his intense gaze- His hand still in yours, lingering in your touch which he’s craved for the longest time. Butterflies formed in each of your stomachs as you both felt mutual desire.

He swallowed hard, looking at you with a hint of vulnerability but quickly shook it off and looked at you smirking.

“You gonna kiss it better for me?”

You brought his hand to your lips, kissing it gently. He seemed suprised, even though he was partially joking.

Pulling away you looked at him, his pupils blown with insatiable appetite. Your hand pet his, heart beating in your throat.

“Billy…” you whispered, your eyes flickering between his eyes and lips as you both inched closer to each other.

“You’re bloody intoxicating ya know that?” he grumbled- his lips just ghosting yours, his breath warm against your face. “the way ya touchin’ me, it’s a dangerous game doll…”

Billy’s other hand cups your cheek, his thumb running along your jaw before pulling you in, his lips enveloped yours. You melted against him, crawling to sit on his lap, as gently as possible. His hands sat on your hips, feeling you softly grind across his hardening cock.

“fuck i need ya, please…” he pleaded, his tone seemingly desperate.

Smirking you stood up, unbuttoning your pants as he did the same for himself- his belt snapping quickly off his jeans as he pulled them down, enough so he could get his cock free from restraint.

He watches you like a hawk, his digits stroking his hard cock as you bottoms and underwear dropped at your feet.

“You have no idea, how long i’ve wanted you.” You whispered, climbing on his lap carefully. You hand snaked to his length, teasing him by dragging his tip along your cunt.

Grunts erupted from his mouth as your taunting actions made him impatient.

“you’re killing me, doll…”

You chuckled softly, but you couldn’t wait any longer as you sunk down on him, both of you sighing from the contact.

Your hips gyrated against his, your soft moans filling his ears. Billy’s hands landed on your ass cheeks, grabbing at them and pulling you down, driving deeper into you.

You locked lips with him once more, your hands reaching up to pull at his black hair- grunts falling from his mouth and vibrating against yours, he removed one of his hands to rub your clit vigorously, sending pulses of fiery desire through your body.

It wasn’t long before you both were pushed to the edge, your orgasms crashing through you like a storm mixed in - his thrusts become sloppy as he came deep inside you with a loud grunt, the both of you pulled away panting as you too a breath.

Pressing your forehead against his, you started to smile which made him chuckle.

“fuckin’ hell, you’re a hell of a nurse…” he made you laugh, before giving you a small peck on the lips, holding you in his embrace.

[azrielsdove]

Jealousy, Jealousy: Lucien x Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+

***

He had no claim to you, no reason to be so jealous as he watched you with the Shadowsinger. The way you threw your head back in laughter, holding onto his arm. The way he looked at you, like you were the brightest star in the universe. Which, to be fair, you were. Lucien couldn’t deny it.

He wanted you. He’d been obsessing over you for a century now, since the first time you visited the Spring Court. Rhysand had sent you, his emissary, to meet with Lucien. He took one look at you and knew it was over for him.

And now he was mated to someone else. Told by the cauldron that Elain was the one made for him, the one he was made for. Lucien felt that had to be wrong. How could it be true, when he still only had eyes for you? He tried with Elain, he was kind, cordial. It didn’t help that she wanted nothing to do with him.

He watched as Azriel pulled you onto his lap, his fingers trailing up and down your thigh. He watched as you whispered something in his ear, ending it with a kiss to his skin. His hand tightened on his glass, the whiskey burning wonderfully as he sipped it. He felt the fire under his skin, knowing he was ready to burst into flames. It should be his lap you were sitting on, his fingers running up your exposed leg.

Lucien was aware that he was staring, that it was obvious to anyone who looked at him what was wrong. He was past the point of caring. He had wanted you for so long, so long, and was now forced to watch you choose another.

Of course, he had his chance with you many moons ago. Before Amarantha, before the war, before Elain. Her name ran around his head like a curse. He took another drink, becoming lost in his memories.

“Lucien!” You gasped, splashing the water back at him. On your latest visit to the Spring Court he had decided to take you to the pool of starlight. He knew you would appreciate its beauty, especially being from the Night Court. Your eyes had lit up in a most delightful way, Lucien’s heart beating fast at the sight. You wasted no time stripping down to your underclothes, dipping into the stars.

Lucien followed quickly after, pulling his shirt and trousers off. He laughed as you watched the liquid drip through your fingers, a joy he’d never seen shining on your face. If he wasn’t in love with you before, he certainly was now.

He swam up behind you, splashing the water onto you. He melted at your laughter when you turned, splashing back at him. He couldn’t help himself, swimming closer to you. His arms hesitantly wrapped around your waist, his fingers tingling at the feel of you under them.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, nose brushing your cheek. You sucked in a sharp breath, a quiet “Yes,” coming in response. His hands had cautiously traveled up and down your skin, pulling you ever closer. Your hands had trailed down his chest, memorizing the feel of him.

Lucien couldn’t stop himself when he pressed a kiss to your neck, arms tensing at your answering moan. He had waited so long for this, so long to touch you. He pulled back enough to look into your eyes, wanting to see you. You looked back with flushed cheeks, mouth slightly parted. “Lu,” you said, gaze flicking down to his lips, “Are you going to kiss me?”

He was. He cupped the back of your neck, angling your head up to his. He leaned down, lips millimeters from yours when a sharp laugh pulled the two of you out of the moment. Lucien looked towards the sound, ready to murder whoever it was.

Tamlin.

“Is this what you do, emissary’s? Use your positions to whore about?” You pulled away from Lucien as though he had burned you, your face pale. He was going to kill Tam, and the look he shot him conveyed that. Lucien swam to the edge, pulling himself out of the pool to stand in front of his High Lord.

“What bother is it to you, Tamlin?” He asked, voice cold. He watched as his friend rolled his eyes, looking back over to you.

“How can you trust that she’s not just using you to find private information? You know how the Night Court is, she’s probably Rhysands own fuck piece sent here to seduce you.” Tamlins words struck Lucien exactly how he intended, anger coursing through him.

“We haven’t spoken about you or this Court. Not everything revolves around you.” Lucien shot back, fists clenching.

Tamlin laughed. “It does when your job is to report about my court to her. I want her gone, and I don’t want her coming back.” He turned to address you. “Tell your High Lord to send someone else next time.”

Then he was gone.

Lucien spun back to face you, apology all over his face. You were already out of the pool, hastily pulling your clothes on. “I should go.” you said, refusing to look at him. Lucien called your name, but you had already winnowed away. He was left standing there by the edge of the pool, feeling the way you slipped through his fingers.

The memory burned in his mind, fresh anger coming to the surface. His gaze flitted back to you and the Shadowsinger, feeling painfully hot as you leaned down to kiss him. He watched his hand thread up into your hair, the other grip onto your thigh. He heard the breathy moans you were giving him, so similar to that day in the pool of starlight.

Lucien couldn’t take this anymore. He stood abruptly, not caring to speak to anyone. He turned and left the room, heading to the kitchen to find something stronger to drink.

***

READER POV

You reached your tipping point when you watched Elain spend another holiday ignoring her mate. You had wanted Lucien since the first time you met him, knowing he was the most handsome male you would ever see. Unfortunately you were there to do a job, not jump his bones.

You enjoyed the way the two of you created a friendship overtime, toeing the line between friends and more. That day in the starlight pool you thought all your dreams were coming true, you finally were going to taste him.

Until Tamlin had ruined everything.

You left before Lucien could say anything, mortified beyond belief. Rhys started sending Azriel after that, since you were basically banned from the Spring Court. Lucien came to the Hewn City from time to time, and you always made sure to be there. Not that the two of you ever got a chance to talk, but it was nice to just see he was okay.

You remembered the pain in your heart at seeing the fresh scar on his face when he came to warn Rhys about Amarantha. You could still feel the anger the coursed through you, the rage that made you want to go Under the Mountain and kill her yourself.

It was shortly after that Rhysand was trapped down there with her. The 49 years after were some of the worst you and your friends had ever experienced. You knew you were lucky, stuck protecting Velaris. Though it didn’t dull the ache in your heart, the worry for Rhys and Lucien. You knew Amarantha wanted Tamlin, and that he had declined her. You had already seen what she did to Lucien once, not wanting to know what else she was willing to do.

You wanted to ask Rhys about him when he came back, but it wasn’t the right time. It never was. You kept your concerns for the Autumn Court son hidden, too much going on to voice them. When you found out he and Tamlin had cursed Feyre and her sisters, you felt like you were being split in two.

No, you had thought, locked away in your room. Lucien would never do that. You were crushed when Rhys showed you his memories of the night, showed you Lucien standing next to Tamlin. You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces when he fell to his knees, gasping that Elain was his mate. You cried yourself to sleep that night, and many nights after.

Now it had been some years since those events, and Elain still acted like Lucien was dirt on the ground. You could tell she desired Azriel, your closest friend. This hatched your plan for the coming Solstice.

You had approached Azriel some days before the party, giving him your idea. You were thrilled when he instantly agreed, eyes flickering with the same wicked excitement as yours. If Lucien and Elain wouldn’t admit their feelings for the two of you, you would simply make them so jealous they had to.

That’s what lead you here, sliding yourself on Azriels lap. You loved your friend, but you had never seen him in this way. That’s what made this plan so good, so perfect. You knew you could fuck Azriel and still be in love with Lucien. Not that this would go that far, you didn’t think.

You allowed Azriels fingers to trail up and down your thigh, not hiding the warmth inside you at his touch. You leaned down to whisper in his ear; “Do you see the way he’s looking at us?”, kissing the spot when you were done. Azriel smiled up to you, knowing Elain was looking much the same.

You began to kiss up and down his neck, his hand gripping the top of your thigh. You couldn’t deny that his little groans filled you with heat, but you so desperately wished they were Lucien’s. You made your way up to his lips, allowing his hand to come up into your hair and deepen the kiss. You couldn’t help the initial moan that escaped as his tongue skillfully massaged yours, it having been so long since you were touched like this. Azriel raked his nails across your thigh, a silent Do that again. You allowed more moans to fall from you, realizing it must be driving Lucien insane.

You stopped when you heard the unmistakable sound of someone storming out of the room. You pulled from Azriel, pleased when you saw Lucien was missing. “Mission success, it seems.” You murmured to him, glancing over to an extremely uncomfortable Elain. “You better go help your girl.” You teased, sliding off his lap. He caught your hand, pressing a ‘thank you’ to your knuckles. You smiled, turning to chase after an undoubtedly heated Lucien.

***

You found him in the kitchen, shooting back whatever hard liquor he had found. “Something wrong, Lucien?”, you asked coyly. He whipped around to look at you, shock on his face. You moved closer to him, gaze heavy. “Jealous, perhaps?”, you said, placing a hand on his chest. You could feel his rapid heartbeat under your fingers.

“What are you doing?” He asked gruffly, setting the shot glass down behind him. “You know I can’t be with you, Elain-“.

You cut him off. “Enough with her. Has she even looked at you in the last year?” You couldn’t help the upset tone of your voice. “You need someone who wants you.” You dropped your hand to his belt, pulling his hips flush to yours. “Someone who has always wanted you.”

You watch the internal battle he is having, ever too good of a man. You know he doesn’t want to betray Elain, but is it truly betraying her if she acts like he doesn’t exist? You had waited for him for so many years, cared for him. You would give him a happy life, a life full of love and light. What does Elain have to offer?

Your other hand comes up to trace his arms, traveling up to his neck. You stand on your toes, pressing a barely there kiss to his skin. “Lu,” you cooed, kissing his neck again. “You are too beautiful to be lonely any longer.” You bit down at the end of the words, tongue soothing the mark.

That caused him to lose the war in his mind.

He grabbed your waist, spinning you around to set you on the counter behind him. He knocked your knees apart, stepping between your legs as his hands dropped to pull you tight against him. The heat in your belly tightened when you felt his hard length against you.

“I have waited too long to do this.” He muttered before finally pressing his lips to yours. You opened your mouth to him immediately, years of desire pouring out of you. He brought a hand up to cup your face, taking his time as he kissed you. You tangled one hand in those perfect red strands, wrapping them around your fingers. This felt right, you felt whole.

Lucien increased the heat of the kiss, the hand on your thigh rubbing circles on the skin. You needed him, needed him like you needed air to live. You ground your hips against his, relishing in the soft groan he released. “Do that again,” he spoke against your lips, “and I will fuck you right here, where anyone can see.”

You moaned at his words, not wasting a second as you pushed your hips against him again. The hand on your face moved to your throat, pressing hard enough to cut off oxygen. Lightning shot through you at the heat of it all, at the dominant look in his eyes. “You asked for it.” He growled, the hand on your thigh sliding under your skirt and tracing you over the delicate underwear you had one. You arched into his touch, a soft moan falling from you.

Lucien grinned, pushing his fingers under the lace covering you. He slid them through the wetness pooled there, the evidence of your desire. “Dirty girl,” he purred, dipping his fingertips inside of you. “How many times have you dreamt of me touching you like this?” You whined at his touch and his words, trying to push your hips down onto his fingers. He pulled away at that, tutting at you. “Oh, pretty girl. I have waited decades to have my hands on you. Let me play.”

You snapped at the pure seduction coming from his mouth, fisting his shirt as you dragged his lips back to yours. You kissed him hard, begging for his touch back. He wasted no time in sliding his fingers back to you, bringing them up to circle your clit. You cried out into this kiss, the heat in you building. You felt him smile against your lips as one finger slid inside you. You moaned at the feeling of him, his finger exploring you. “More, Lucien.” You gasped out, other hand coming up to grab onto his back. He obeyed, pushing a second finger into you and curling them deliciously. Moan after moan fell from your lips as he worked you, his thumb coming up to rub you. His tongue was punishing on yours, the years of longing speeding your orgasm up. “Oh, Lu, I’m gonna-“ You mumbled against him, clenching as the pleasure washed over you. Cries fell from you while he pushed you through it, prolonging the feeling as much as possible. You dug your nails into his skin, struggling to remember how to breathe.

He slowed his movements, pulling his fingers from you. He dragged them up to your mouth, tapping your lips. “Suck.” He commanded, pupils blown wide as you obediently pulled his fingers into your mouth. You sucked the taste of you off of them, keeping eye contact the whole time. You licked up his fingers, showing him what you could do to another body part of his. He groaned, throwing his head back as he took his fingers from your mouth. He leaned down to place a kiss to your perfect lips, whispering “Next time” against them.

Lucien dragged you off the counter, flipping you to face it. He put your hands flat on the marble in front of you, kissing behind your ear. “Hands stay here while I fuck you.”

You could have came again at those words alone.

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, trying to turn to see him. He grabbed the back of your head, turning you back to the counter. “Patience.” He said, the pain of his hand gripping your hair turning to pleasure. You pushed your ass against him, desperate for him. He chuckled before sliding the tip of him through your wetness. Gods, he felt huge. “Are you ready, my perfect girl?” He asked, waiting for your permission. You nodded quickly, a strained “Yes, please” coming out.

You gasped as he pushed the first few inches in, scratching your nails against the polished marble in front of you. He stretched you in a most delicious way, leaving you begging for more. “Lu, please. More.” you whined out, moaning as he pushed in farther. You thought he must be in by now, back arching when he went even deeper. He was going to destroy you.

Lucien bottomed out, staying still for a moment. You cried out, “Move, Lucien. Please.” He pulled you up by your hair, the other hand coming to push on your stomach to keep you close. He pulled out all the way, thrusting his full length back in in one move. You gave a scream, hand falling to hold onto the arm in front of you. Lucien growled in your ear, lost in the pleasure of being inside you.

He fucked into you hard, eating up the moans and cries you let out. His hand slid down to circle your clit again, brining your orgasm closer. “I want you to come with me, my love.” He whispered into your hair, kissing any part of you he could reach. You gave a moan of agreement, feeling seconds away from finishing again. “Wait until I say.” He commanded, quickening his movements on you. You felt ready to snap, fighting hard to keep your orgasm at bay. You whimpered at the effort, body clenching tight around Lucien. His groan in your ear let you know he was close, his thrusts beginning to become sloppy. “Now, love.” He whispered, the fingers on you unrelenting. You came with a scream of his name, feeling him spill into you moments later. His fingers rode you through your high, stopping once you were shaking with overstimulation.

You stood there for a moment, the two of you breathing heavy. Lucien slowly pulled out, you already feeling empty now that he was gone. He moved your underwear back to cover you, straightening your skirts. You turned to face him, fixing his pants back. He looked down at you, eyes connecting with yours. You had a million things to say, forgetting all of them as you stared at him.

He leaned down, kissing you softly. “I’ve loved you for a hundred years.” He whispered, your heart soaring. You smiled up at him, bringing him close. “As have I.” You confessed, happy to not have to hide anymore after so long.

A quiet cough sounded from the entry to the kitchen, catching you attention. You peered over Lucien’s shoulder to see Azriel, a cheeky smirk on his face. He definitely heard all of it. “So I take it our plan worked, then?”

Lucien turned to you, a question in his eyes. You twirled a piece of his hair between his fingers, explaining that you were messing with Azriel to make him jealous. His hands tightened on your waist, the ghost of a smile visible on his lips. He nodded when you were done, turning back to the male in the doorway.

“Thanks for making me realize what a fool I have been,” Lucien began, “but if you touch her like that again, I will snap your arm in half.”

***

i loveeeee some good jealousy !!! please keep leaving feedback and sending requests. i hope you guys enjoyed this one <3

[fr0stf4ll]

Forge of Starlight - Part 15

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 7.2k

warning; smut :)))

notes; Hey everyone, I hope that you have enjoyed the story so far. Unfortunately we are getting close to the end, the next part is the last one before the epilogue of the story :(((( I really love reading your comments so please do not hesitate to write literally anything ! I was also wondering if you would enjoy a bonus part, taking place when Feyre and her sisters are in the night court ( so like 200 year after the story) ? bisous bisous <333

here is the link for part 14 or part 16

---

Cassian lounged on one of the sofas in the Townhouse living room, idly swirling a glass of whiskey as he stared at the ceiling. He sighed heavily, his wings draped over the back of the couch, as he glanced over at Mor, who was curled up in a chair with a book.

“Well,” Cassian began, a smirk playing on his lips, “it’s been three weeks, I think.”

Mor looked up from her book, raising an eyebrow. “Three weeks since what?”

Cassian chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. “Three weeks since Azriel vanished into Y/N’s apartment and hasn’t shown his face around here.”

Mor rolled her eyes, setting her book down on the arm of the chair. “When I told Az not to come home, I didn’t think he would take it that seriously.”

Cassian laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that filled the room. “You know our dear brother, Mor. When it comes to Y/N, he’s always been a bit… intense.”

Mor shook her head, but there was a fond smile on her lips. “I think it’s time we remind him that he’s not a prisoner in her apartment. What do you say we go pay them a visit?”

Cassian grinned, setting his glass down on the table. “I’m in. Let’s go rescue them from their self-imposed isolation.”

With that, they both stood up and made their way out of the Townhouse, the cool air of Velaris refreshing after the warmth of the living room. As they approached your apartment, Cassian exchanged a knowing glance with Mor, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Cassian knocked on the door, a little louder than necessary, and the two of them waited. There was a moment of silence before the door creaked open, revealing you standing there in a nightgown that looked like it had seen better days. Your hair was tousled, and your neck was covered in hickeys, evidence of the past few weeks spent in Azriel’s company.

“Hello, everyone,” you greeted them, your voice a little groggy from sleep.

Cassian’s eyes widened, and he let out a bark of laughter. “It’s been three weeks, guys. Three weeks!”

Before you could respond, Azriel appeared behind you, looking just as disheveled, if not more so. He was wearing nothing but his underwear, his chest and neck also adorned with a series of hickeys. His expression was a mix of irritation and exhaustion as he took in the sight of Mor and Cassian standing at the door.

Azriel scowled at Cassian. “And it’s not enough,” he grumbled, before reaching past you and slamming the door shut in their faces.

Cassian and Mor burst into laughter, leaning against each other for support. Inside, they could hear you scolding Azriel, your voice muffled but clearly annoyed.

“Azriel, get back here!” you snapped, your tone exasperated.

Cassian shook his head, still chuckling. “Azriel needs to stop being so horny all the time.”

The door opened again, and you stood there with an exasperated expression, though there was a hint of a smile on your lips. “Sorry about that,” you said, stepping aside to let them in. “Come on in.”

Cassian grinned as he entered, opening his arms to hug you. “It’s good to see you, Y/N—”

Before he could finish, Azriel reappeared, his eyes narrowed as he saw Cassian approaching you. Without warning, he delivered a swift, powerful punch to Cassian’s jaw, sending him stumbling back.

“Hands off,” Azriel growled, his voice deadly serious, his eyes flashing with a protective fury that left no room for doubt—he wasn’t joking.

Cassian rubbed his jaw, wincing at the impact, but his eyes gleamed with a mixture of surprise and a bit of respect. “Alright, alright, Az. Point taken.”

You stepped between them, placing a hand on Azriel’s chest as you shot him a stern look. “Az, that’s enough. He’s just being friendly.”

Azriel’s gaze softened slightly as he looked down at you, his jaw still clenched. “He needs to know his place.”

Mor sighed, stepping forward to place a hand on Cassian’s arm. “Let’s not start a fight in the middle of Y/N’s living room, okay?”

You shook your head, laughing at the scene in front of you. “Az, go put some pants on,” you said, pushing him gently towards the bedroom.

Azriel grumbled something under his breath but complied, disappearing down the hallway to find something more appropriate to wear. Meanwhile, you led Mor and Cassian into the living room, where you started preparing tea for everyone.

As the water boiled, Mor leaned against the counter, watching you with an amused expression. “So, I take it things have been… intense?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You could say that. But it’s been good. Really good.”

Cassian, now nursing a sore jaw from Azriel’s earlier punch, grinned as he sat down at the table. “It’s good to see you both so happy. Even if Az has apparently decided to take his obsession with you to a whole new level.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a warmth in your expression. “He’s just… dedicated.”

Mor smirked. “That’s one way to put it.”

Azriel returned, now dressed in a pair of pants, though his protective stance was still evident as he sat down next to you, his hand resting on your thigh. His eyes flicked over to Cassian, making sure there were no lingering thoughts of challenging his claim.

The four of you spent the next hour catching up, the tension between Azriel and Cassian easing into a playful, if still slightly cautious, banter. Mor teased you both relentlessly, but there was an underlying warmth in her words that made it clear she was happy for you.

As you all sipped your tea, the conversation flowed easily, laughter filling the room. And though Azriel’s protective nature was still on full display, it was clear that he was content, happy even, to share this part of his life with the people he cared about most.

As you leaned into his side, feeling the warmth of his presence, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that this was just the beginning of a new chapter—one filled with love, friendship, and a healthy dose of Azriel’s fierce loyalty.

Life slowly began to return to a semblance of normalcy, or at least as normal as it could be after the whirlwind of emotions and events that had taken place over the past few weeks. You found yourself diving more deeply into your work with Rhysand, focusing on strengthening the relationships between the Night Court and the other courts, as well as various factions across the continent. It was a role that came naturally to you, given your extensive network and experience, and it allowed you to channel your energy into something productive, something that helped you heal.

Every morning, you would rise early and head to the Townhouse or the House of Wind, where Rhysand would be waiting with a new project or a new challenge. The two of you would pour over maps, letters, and contracts, discussing strategies and potential alliances. You found solace in the work, in the familiar rhythms of negotiation and diplomacy. It was a way to anchor yourself, to find purpose in the aftermath of loss.

But the smithy—the heart of your old life—remained cold and silent. The forge, once alive with the heat of fire and the rhythmic clang of metal on metal, now stood still. The tools were neatly arranged, untouched, waiting for the day when you would be ready to pick them up again. The weapons that lined the walls were dusted and polished, but they hung there like silent sentinels, reminders of a time when the shop was bustling with activity, with Alexander’s laughter echoing through the space.

You couldn’t bring yourself to light the forge just yet. The memories of Alex and Sellan were too fresh, too raw. The thought of stepping into the workshop without them there, without their voices and their presence, was more than you could bear. So, the smithy remained closed, its windows darkened, the door locked. A sign hung outside, simple and straightforward: “Closed for now. Come back soon.”

The villagers of Velaris understood, of course. Many had known Alex and had been touched by his enthusiasm and charm. They respected your need for time, for space, and they waited patiently for the day when the forge would come alive again.

In the meantime, your apartment became your sanctuary. It was where you spent your evenings, often in the company of Azriel. He had practically moved in, spending all of his nights and any free time he had with you. His presence was a comfort, a constant reminder that you were not alone. He had become your anchor, the one who held you together when the grief threatened to pull you under.

Azriel was careful not to push you, not to force you into anything you weren’t ready for. He was there when you needed him, whether it was for a quiet evening of reading by the fire, a late-night walk along the Sidra, or simply holding you as you drifted off to sleep. He seemed to understand that you needed time to heal, that the process couldn’t be rushed.

But even with the quiet comfort of Azriel’s presence, there were moments when the weight of your grief felt too heavy to bear. The nights were the hardest. Despite Azriel’s warmth beside you, there were times when you would wake in the middle of the night, your heart aching with the loss of Alex, with the memories of the life you had once led.

On those nights, Azriel would wake with you, sensing your distress even in his sleep. He would pull you close, his wings wrapping around you like a shield, and he would murmur words of comfort, his voice a soothing balm against the pain. In those moments, you would cling to him, finding strength in his unwavering support.

The apartment itself had undergone a transformation. Where once it had been a place of work and rest, it was now a place of healing. You had cleared out much of the old clutter, making space for new memories, new beginnings. The walls, once adorned with the tools of your trade, now held framed maps of the courts, gifts from Rhysand and Mor as a way of marking your new role in the Night Court’s diplomacy. The swords that had once been your pride and joy were now carefully arranged in a display case, a tribute to the craft that you still loved, even if you couldn’t bring yourself to practice it just yet.

And then there were the small touches of Azriel’s presence—his favorite books on your shelves, his jacket draped over the back of a chair, his boots by the door. It was as if he had always been there, a natural extension of your life, of your home.

The two of you settled into a routine, one that was both comforting and new. Azriel would leave early in the mornings for his duties as the Night Court’s spymaster, but he would always return to you in the evenings, bringing with him a quiet strength that helped you through the day. You would cook dinner together, often laughing at his attempts to assist in the kitchen, and then spend the rest of the night curled up together, talking about your day, sharing stories from the past, or simply enjoying each other’s company in silence.

Despite the new roles and the changes in your life, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The smithy, cold and quiet, was a constant reminder of the life you had left behind, of the boy who had been taken from you too soon. You knew that one day, you would have to face it, to open the doors and light the forge once more. But for now, you allowed yourself the time to grieve, to heal, and to find your way back to the craft that had once brought you so much joy.

And through it all, Azriel was there, a steady presence in the storm, his love for you unwavering. You knew that no matter how long it took, he would be by your side, helping you find your way back to the light.

——

You sat in the meeting room at the House of Wind, the soft murmur of conversation filling the space as you gathered with Rhysand and some members of the Inner Circle. The view from the large windows was breathtaking, the rolling mountains and the sparkling Sidra river below a constant reminder of the beauty and power of the Night Court. But today, your focus was on the task at hand—the next step in your work to strengthen the alliances between the courts.

For the past few weeks, you had been exchanging letters with Helion, the High Lord of the Day Court. The two of you had been discussing potential alliances, trade agreements, and exchanges of knowledge that could benefit both courts. Helion had always been a keen negotiator, and your conversations had been both challenging and rewarding, the two of you sparring with words as you hammered out the details of a possible agreement.

Today, you were to discuss the final details with Rhysand and the others before making your way to Helion’s court to solidify the arrangement. As you sipped your tea, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. This was a significant step, not just for the Night Court, but for you personally. It was your first major diplomatic mission since you had taken on this role, and you were determined to see it through successfully.

Rhysand, seated at the head of the table, smiled warmly at you as he called the meeting to order. “Y/N, I want to start by saying how impressed we all are with the work you’ve done so far. Helion is not an easy man to negotiate with, but you’ve managed to make remarkable progress. I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re grateful to have you on our side.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the others—Mor, Cassian, and Amren—all of whom had been kept in the loop about your ongoing discussions with Helion.

“Thank you, Rhys,” you replied, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “But it’s not over yet. Helion is… well, he’s Helion. He’s charming and brilliant, but he’s also as stubborn as they come. We’ve agreed on most of the terms, but I’ll need to be there in person to finalize everything.”

Amren raised an eyebrow, her sharp gaze fixed on you. “And you’re prepared for that? Helion can be… persuasive when he wants to be.”

You nodded, understanding the weight behind her words. Helion’s reputation as a flirt was well-known, but you had handled his charm well enough during your correspondence. “I’m ready. We’ve built a good rapport, and I’m confident we can come to an agreement that benefits both courts.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “And what exactly are we looking at in terms of this alliance? What’s Helion bringing to the table?”

You took a deep breath, ready to present the details. “Helion has proposed a mutual exchange of resources and knowledge. The Day Court is known for its vast libraries and magical artifacts, some of which they’re willing to share in exchange for our expertise in certain areas—specifically, some of the innovations we’ve developed in the Night Court. There’s also talk of a joint military training exercise between our forces and theirs, which could help strengthen both our defenses.”

Cassian nodded, his expression thoughtful. “A joint training exercise could be beneficial, especially with the state of things between the other courts. We could learn a lot from each other.”

Mor chimed in, a knowing smile on her face. “And let’s not forget the cultural exchange. Helion has expressed interest in visiting more often, perhaps even hosting some of our artists and scholars in his court.”

You nodded. “Exactly. It’s not just about trade and military might—it’s about fostering a deeper connection between our people. That’s something Helion values as much as we do.”

Rhysand steepled his fingers, his expression one of deep consideration. “It sounds like you’ve covered all the bases, Y/N. But I want to make sure you’re comfortable with this. Helion can be unpredictable, and we don’t want to put you in a situation where you feel out of your depth.”

You met Rhysand’s gaze, appreciating his concern. “I’m confident, Rhys. I’ve been through worse negotiations in my time, and I know how to handle Helion. Besides, this is important—for both our courts. I’m ready.”

There was a moment of silence as Rhysand considered your words. Finally, he nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “Very well. We’ll make the necessary arrangements for your trip to the Day Court. And don’t worry—you’ll have all the support you need.”

Azriel, who had been sitting quietly beside you, his presence a comforting anchor throughout the meeting, finally spoke up. “I’ll accompany Y/N to the Day Court. It’s best if she has someone there who knows how to navigate Helion’s court, and I can ensure her safety.”

You shot Azriel a grateful look, knowing that his presence would not only offer protection but also give you an added layer of confidence. “Thank you, Az. I’d appreciate that.”

Rhysand’s smile widened slightly as he glanced between the two of you, clearly approving of Azriel’s suggestion. “Perfect. You’ll both leave in a few days, once the final details are settled.”

As the meeting wrapped up, the others began discussing the logistical aspects of the trip—travel plans, security measures, and what to expect once you arrived at the Day Court. But your mind was already turning to the task ahead, to the negotiations that awaited you.

When the meeting finally concluded, Rhysand placed a hand on your shoulder, his expression serious. “You’ve got this, Y/N. I have complete faith in you. Helion will find that the Night Court doesn’t back down easily.”

You smiled, the weight of the responsibility settling comfortably on your shoulders. “I won’t let you down, Rhys. We’ll make this alliance happen.”

With that, you and Azriel left the House of Wind, ready to prepare for your journey to the Day Court. As you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation—a feeling that this trip would mark a new chapter in your life, one where you were no longer just the blacksmith who had lost so much, but someone who was ready to forge new paths, to create new alliances, and to find strength in the bonds you were building.

The morning of your departure was crisp and clear, the kind of day that promised good weather for travel. You stood outside the House of Wind, waiting for Azriel to join you. The anticipation of the journey ahead filled you with a mix of excitement and a touch of nervousness. This was your first diplomatic mission in your new role, and though you were confident in your abilities, there was always an element of the unknown when dealing with someone as formidable as Helion.

Azriel arrived shortly, dressed in his usual black attire, his wings tucked neatly behind him. His presence was reassuring, a steady anchor amidst the swirling thoughts in your mind. He carried your travel pack easily, slinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

“Ready?” he asked, his gaze softening as it met yours.

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

With a final glance at the House of Wind, the two of you took to the skies, Azriel’s powerful wings beating steadily as he carried you across the lands toward the Day Court. The flight was long, but the scenery was breathtaking—rolling hills, dense forests, and sparkling rivers spread out beneath you, a patchwork of Prythian’s diverse landscapes.

As you neared the borders of the Day Court, the air grew warmer, the sunlight more intense. The transition between courts was marked by a change in the landscape, with the lush green of the Night Court giving way to the golden fields and vibrant flowers that characterized Helion’s domain. The Day Court was known for its perpetual sunshine, a stark contrast to the shadows and mystery of the Night Court.

When you finally arrived, the grandeur of the Day Court’s palace took your breath away. It was a sprawling structure of gleaming white marble, with towering columns and wide terraces that overlooked gardens bursting with color. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the sound of laughter and music drifted from the open windows. It was a place of light and life, a perfect reflection of the High Lord who ruled it.

Azriel landed gracefully on one of the palace’s terraces, setting you down gently before folding his wings behind him. A pair of Day Court guards approached, their golden armor glinting in the sunlight.

“Lady Y/N, Lord Azriel,” one of the guards said with a respectful bow. “Lord Helion is expecting you. Please, follow us.”

You exchanged a glance with Azriel before following the guards into the palace. The interior was just as magnificent as the exterior, with sunlight streaming through large windows, casting intricate patterns on the polished floors. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of history and legend, and the air was filled with the scent of citrus and jasmine.

The guards led you to a grand hall where Helion was waiting, seated on a large, ornate chair that was less a throne and more a comfortable seat for a man who enjoyed his luxuries. He rose as you entered, a broad smile spreading across his handsome face.

“Y/N, Azriel,” Helion greeted, his voice warm and welcoming. “It’s a pleasure to see you both. Welcome to the Day Court.”

You inclined your head in respect, but before you could say anything, Helion was already crossing the room with that easy, confident stride of his. He took your hands in his, his golden eyes shining with genuine warmth. “Y/N, it feels oddly right seeing you here as an emissary rather than delivering weapons. Although, I must say, your craftsmanship still impresses me every time I hold one of your creations.”

You smiled, appreciating the compliment and the familiarity. “Thank you, Helion. It’s a different role, but one I’m finding I enjoy more than I expected.”

Helion’s smile widened, and he gestured for you and Azriel to sit. “Indeed. You seem well-suited to it. I always knew there was more to you than just a talented blacksmith.”

Azriel, ever vigilant, took a seat beside you, his gaze never wavering from Helion. The High Lord of the Day Court seemed to notice Azriel’s protective demeanor, and a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, but he said nothing of it.

The negotiations that followed were intense but cordial. Helion was every bit the shrewd negotiator you had expected, his mind sharp as he navigated the terms of the proposed alliance. You discussed the mutual exchange of resources, with Helion offering access to the Day Court’s extensive libraries and magical artifacts in exchange for some of the Night Court’s innovations and expertise.

The joint military training exercises were also a point of discussion, with Helion expressing interest in strengthening the ties between your forces. He saw the benefit of learning from each other, particularly in a time when the other courts were constantly shifting their alliances and power dynamics.

“You’ll find that the Day Court’s warriors are formidable,” Helion said with a glint in his eye. “But there’s always room for improvement. I believe our forces could learn much from each other.”

Cassian’s earlier thoughts echoed in your mind as you nodded. “I agree. A strong alliance between our courts, both militarily and culturally, would benefit us all.”

The conversation then shifted to the cultural exchange, with Helion suggesting visits between the courts’ scholars, artists, and musicians. He seemed genuinely excited at the prospect of bringing more art and culture into his court, and the idea of fostering deeper connections between your people resonated with him.

“We have much to offer each other,” Helion mused, leaning back in his chair. “Not just in terms of knowledge and power, but in understanding and friendship. That’s something we can’t put a price on.”

As the day wore on, the negotiations continued, with both sides making concessions and adjustments. Helion was a skilled negotiator, but so were you, and by the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, you felt confident that you had laid the groundwork for a strong and mutually beneficial alliance.

Helion stood, signaling the end of the formal discussions. “I believe we’ve made excellent progress today, Y/N. We’ll finalize the details tomorrow, but for now, I’d like to invite you both to join me for dinner. We can continue our discussions in a more relaxed setting.”

You exchanged a glance with Azriel, who gave you a small nod. “We’d be honored, Lord Helion,” you replied.

Helion’s smile was genuine as he led you both toward a dining hall, where a feast had been prepared. The atmosphere was lighter, the tension of the negotiations giving way to a more casual and friendly tone. Helion was a gracious host, ensuring that you and Azriel were comfortable and well taken care of.

As the evening progressed, you found yourself enjoying Helion’s company more than you had anticipated. He was charming, yes, but there was also a depth to him, a genuine interest in building something lasting between your courts. The more you spoke with him, the more you realized that this alliance was not just a matter of convenience, but a step toward something greater—a bond that could bring lasting peace and prosperity to both the Night and Day Courts.

As the night drew to a close, Helion raised his glass in a toast. “To new beginnings,” he said, his gaze lingering on you. “May this be the start of a fruitful partnership between our courts.”

You raised your glass in return, feeling a sense of accomplishment and hope for the future. “To new beginnings,” you echoed, your voice firm with conviction.

The night had settled peacefully over the Day Court, and you and Azriel found yourselves in the room Helion had graciously provided for your stay. The space was luxurious yet comfortable, with a large bed draped in soft linens and a balcony that offered a breathtaking view of the golden fields and the distant, twinkling lights of the Day Court’s palace grounds.

You stood on the balcony, leaning against the railing as you took in the view. The air was warm, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of jasmine and citrus. The stars above were bright, unobstructed by clouds, and the moon cast a silver glow over the landscape.

Azriel joined you, his presence quiet and calming as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you gently against his side. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as you both admired the serene beauty of the night.

“It’s beautiful here,” you murmured, your voice soft in the stillness. “So different from the Night Court, but beautiful in its own way.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze sweeping over the horizon. “It is. Helion’s court has its own kind of magic, a warmth and light that’s unique. But…” He paused, glancing down at you with a small smile. “I think I still prefer the shadows and stars of our home.”

You smiled, understanding exactly what he meant. “There’s something about the Night Court that feels… like home. Even after all this time.”

Azriel’s hand gently caressed your back, his touch soothing. “It is home. For both of us.”

The two of you stood in comfortable silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s presence and the peaceful night. The events of the day—the negotiations, the formalities—seemed distant now, as if they belonged to another world. Here, on this balcony, it was just the two of you, away from the pressures and responsibilities that came with your roles.

After a few moments, Azriel broke the silence. “You handled today exceptionally well, Y/N. Helion’s not an easy person to negotiate with, but you held your own.”

You turned your head slightly to look up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thank you, Az. I have to admit, it was challenging, but… it felt good. It felt like I was doing something important, something that mattered.”

He nodded, his gaze filled with admiration. “You were. And you did it with such grace and strength. I’m proud of you.”

The sincerity in his voice warmed your heart, and you reached up to place a hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly against his skin. “I couldn’t have done it without you by my side.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll always be by your side, no matter what.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for the male who had become such an integral part of your life. “I know. And I’m grateful for that.”

Another comfortable silence settled between you, the two of you simply basking in the tranquility of the moment. The bond between you thrummed with a quiet contentment, a reminder of the connection you shared, one that went beyond words or actions.

After a while, you turned to face Azriel fully, your hands resting on his chest as you looked up at him. “Do you ever think about the future, Az? About what it might hold for us?”

He looked down at you, his expression thoughtful. “I do. More than I ever used to.”

“And?” you prompted, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“And I see us together,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “I see us building a life together, one where we’re both happy, where we continue to support each other and face whatever challenges come our way.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart flutter, and you found yourself leaning up to kiss him softly. “That’s exactly what I see too,” you whispered against his lips.

Azriel smiled against your mouth before deepening the kiss, his hands sliding up to cup your face. The kiss was tender, filled with love and promise, a reflection of the bond you shared. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, but the contentment in your hearts was undeniable.

“Let’s go inside,” you suggested, your voice soft as you took his hand.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you both, the atmosphere shifted, thickening with anticipation. The quiet intimacy of the room, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, only served to heighten the tension that had been building between you all evening. You could feel the heat radiating from Azriel as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible.

His eyes, usually calm and calculating, were dark with desire as they locked onto yours. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t need words to respond. The way you reached for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, said everything you needed to say. With a swift movement, you pulled him closer, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was a clash of tongues and teeth, a desperate need that had been simmering under the surface, now unleashed.

Azriel’s hands found your waist, tugging you against him as if he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between your bodies. The kiss deepened, grew hungrier, more insistent, as if you both were starved for each other. You could feel the hard planes of his chest beneath your fingers as you slid them under his shirt, craving the feel of his skin.

He broke the kiss just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, discarding it carelessly onto the floor. The sight of him, all toned muscle and shadow-kissed skin, made your breath hitch. Before you could fully take him in, his lips were on yours again, his hands roaming over your body with a possessive need.

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and laying you down with a gentleness that belied the fire burning in his eyes. He followed you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress as his lips trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone. Every brush of his lips against your skin sent sparks of pleasure through you, making you arch into him. He laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours as he hovered over you, his body heat radiating against your skin. The look in his eyes was intense, filled with a hunger that matched your own.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispered, his voice rough as he leaned down to kiss along your jawline, trailing down to the sensitive skin of your neck.

You gasped softly at the sensation, your fingers tangling in his dark hair. “I think I’m starting to get the idea.”

Azriel’s hands were everywhere—pushing up your shirt, skimming over your bare skin, as he made quick work of undressing you. Soon, your clothes joined his on the floor, leaving you both bare to each other, every inch of skin tingling with anticipation.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes devouring every inch of you. He hovered above you, his hands framing your face as he kissed you deeply, passionately, his body pressing you down into the soft bed. The feel of him against you, hard and ready, made you ache with need.

Your hands roamed over his body, tracing the lines of his muscles, the scars that marked his skin, each one telling a story of battles fought and won. But right now, all that mattered was this moment, the feel of him, the way he made you feel—desired, cherished, needed.

Azriel’s lips found yours again, his kiss searing and demanding. He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “Tell me what you want, Y/N.”

You gasped as his fingers brushed between your thighs, teasing but not giving you what you desperately craved. “You, Azriel. I want you.”

His eyes darkened with a feral hunger at your words, and with a groan, he positioned himself at your entrance. The anticipation made your heart race, your body tense with need.

Azriel entered you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch of him. The sensation was overwhelming, the way he filled you completely, making you feel whole in a way you hadn’t even realized you needed. You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as you arched up to meet him, craving more.

He started moving, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm that made you dizzy with pleasure. Each thrust was deep, controlled, sending waves of sensation through your entire body. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, needing more, needing everything he could give.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his voice strained as he fought to maintain control. But you could feel it—the tension coiling within him, the same tension that was building within you, ready to snap at any moment.

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands as you pulled him down for a kiss. It was a messy, desperate kiss, filled with all the emotions you couldn’t put into words. His thrusts became harder, faster, as if he was losing himself in you, in the sensation, in the bond that tied you together.

“Azriel,” you gasped, your voice a breathless plea as you felt your climax approaching, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. “I’m close…”

“Me too,” he rasped, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he drove into you with a fierce, unrelenting need.

The tension snapped, and your climax washed over you in a wave of pleasure so intense it left you trembling. You cried out his name, your body clenching around him as you rode out the aftershocks of your release.

Azriel followed you over the edge moments later, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he buried himself deep inside you, his release flooding through him. He held you close, his body shuddering against yours as he found his own pleasure in you.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The only sounds were your ragged breaths and the pounding of your hearts, beating in sync. Azriel stayed buried inside you, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath.

When he finally moved, it was to kiss you again—soft, tender, filled with all the love he had for you. He rolled to his side, pulling you with him so that you were curled against his chest, his arms wrapped around you protectively.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, his fingers brushing through your hair.

You nodded, feeling a contentment settle over you as you snuggled closer to him. “I’m perfect, Az.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest as you looked up at him, seeing the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh? Is that so?”

The room was still filled with the heady scent of sex, the warmth of your shared pleasure lingering in the air as you lay curled up against Azriel’s chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, a satisfied hum vibrating from him as he pressed soft kisses to the top of your head. The bond between you thrummed with a deep sense of contentment, but beneath it, there was still a simmering heat, a desire that hadn’t quite been quenched.

You felt it too—a restless need that made you shift against him, your skin tingling with anticipation. Azriel must have sensed the change in you, because his fingers stilled, and he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “What are you thinking?”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you pushed yourself up, straddling his hips as you looked down at him, a wicked smile playing on your lips. The way his eyes darkened in response, the way his hands automatically came to rest on your thighs, told you everything you needed to know—he wanted this as much as you did.

Slowly, you rolled your hips against him, feeling his length harden beneath you as you moved. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you bit your lip to stifle a moan. Azriel’s grip on your thighs tightened, his gaze locked on yours, a silent plea for more.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he growled, his voice rough with desire.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a teasing kiss. “Then I guess I’ll just have to make it worth it,” you whispered against his mouth.

With that, you reached between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance. The sensation of him pressing against you, hard and ready, made your breath hitch, and you couldn’t resist teasing him a little more, rubbing the head of his cock against your wetness, making him groan in frustration.

“Y/N…” he warned, his voice strained as he fought to keep control.

You smiled, a little triumphant, before you finally sank down onto him, taking him in inch by inch. The feeling of him stretching you, filling you so completely, made your head spin with pleasure. You moaned, your hands braced against his chest as you took a moment to adjust to the fullness of him inside you.

Azriel’s hands moved to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he tried to hold himself still, letting you set the pace. But you could feel the tension in him, the way he was struggling not to thrust up into you, to let you take your time. It was heady, knowing how much control you had in this moment, and it only fueled your desire.

Slowly, you began to move, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through both of you. Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his head falling back against the pillows as a low groan rumbled from his chest.

“You feel so good,” he rasped, his voice tight with restraint as he let you ride him at your own pace. “Gods, Y/N…”

You smiled at the praise, the sound of his voice, the way he looked beneath you—completely undone—making you feel powerful, beautiful, desired. You leaned forward, pressing your hands against his chest for leverage as you began to move faster, the friction between your bodies sparking something wild and uncontrollable within you.

Azriel’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his control slipping as he started to meet your movements with upward thrusts of his own. The change in angle made him hit deeper, harder, and you gasped at the intense pleasure that radiated through you with each thrust.

Your rhythm grew faster, more desperate, as you chased the pleasure building inside you. The feeling of Azriel beneath you, his body strong and solid, his cock filling you so perfectly, was almost too much to bear. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment.

Azriel opened his eyes, the dark intensity in his gaze locking onto yours as he thrust up into you, meeting your movements with a ferocity that made you cry out his name. “Y/N… I’m so close.”

You gasped, your movements becoming erratic as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of release. The tension inside you snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing with pleasure as you cried out, your nails digging into Azriel’s chest.

Azriel followed you over the edge, a guttural moan escaping his lips as he found his release, his hands gripping you tightly as he buried himself deep inside you, filling you with his warmth.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and the pounding of your hearts in the quiet aftermath. You collapsed against Azriel’s chest, both of you spent and sated, the bond between you humming with contentment.

Azriel wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both caught your breath. The connection between you felt deeper, more intimate, after what you’d just shared, and as you lay there in the quiet of the night, you couldn’t help but smile.

“I love you,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your lips.

Azriel’s arms tightened around you, his voice a soft whisper in the darkness. “And I love you, Y/N. More than anything.”

You stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, savoring the warmth and comfort of being together. And as you drifted off to sleep in Azriel’s arms, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by a love that was as strong as the night itself.

---

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[bratbutcute]

A sparkle in the night

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pair: Alastor and Vox. A bit platonic, a bit romantic, could be read in different ways.

Disclaimer: Nothing other than it’s a SFW tickle fic. They are also slightly ooc but tbh we don’t really know since I’m describing a moment that happened before the series takes place sooooo… who knows (but honestly, Alastor is much too sweet to be canon).

Also I had fun with some fonts I found online, I don’t know if that is a problem so if you find difficulties reading please tell me and I’ll change it!

Vox is stressed and wants to reminisce old times, old friends, old feelings.

I got the idea for this from this fic by @starlight-write. I wanted to explore Alastor and Vox’s relationship before whatever happened between them.

I hope you all enjoy it!

~~~

Hell had changed a lot since Vox first arrived. He had met many Overlords who now weren’t ‘alive’ anymore, killed by Angels or by other sinners. He had seen Hell change its geography, different shops rising and then succumbing to nefarious fate.

He had met friends along the way, and he had lost them too.

Vox had learnt that the afterlife was just as complicated and confusing as his past life: people were hard to read, it was hard to understand their needs and, honesty, he wasn’t very good at accommodating them. Of course it was easy to solve people problems work wise (most of the times he was the one creating a fake problem and giving the public a new product as a solution), but when it came to personal business he couldn’t just hypnotise everyone. Well he could but…

He was alone in his personal room, monitors all over him, phones and computers all around him. Even if he was alone he was constantly under the spotlight. He knew he had to prove he was stronger. That he wasn’t scared of anything or anyone.

That’s how he would spend the majority of his afterlife: surrounded by his constant eyes, recording every movement he himself ever made.

So that’s why he felt so excited when he turned off every single monitor except for the bigger one in front of him. He shut down every camera or microphone around him. Unrecorded. Unregistered moments.

A shiver ran down his spine.

After seeing that ghost of his past back again after seven years of absence he had to see something. Something that was his and his only.

What he was looking for was an old memory, one that he had to update digitally from his old headset.

Everything was meticulously categorised so it didn’t take long before he found what he was looking for.

The video started.

And he was almost 45 years younger, he had a different - and much heavier - headset and an ‘old pal’ next to him.

They were in the middle of an animated conversation in a remote bar in the pride ring. Everybody was keeping their distance from them and the moody bartender kept sending them drink after drink.

«Television is much more than photography you radio obsessed demon. Television is alive, it’s thrilling!» Vox exclaimed standing up and stomping his foot on the chair in front of him. Alastor looked at the action with little to no reaction, his usual smile plastered on his face.

«You, young man, are as loud as a cow at the slaughterhouse. That is in no way an Overlord behaviour.» he said squeezing his shoulder and inviting Vox to sit again.

Vox blinked in confusion - and slight worry because of the metaphor - before pouting as a scolded child. He got himself back on the high stools next to the counter dangling his feet.

Alastor poured another whiskey in his glass.

«I admire your enthusiasm, but you have to understand that Hell is different from Earth. You cannot show demons your… moving pictures and expect them to simply follow you. You need to plan. To be strategic. Logical.» he offered the drink to Vox, who looked at the goldish liquid with skepticism.

Alastor’s smile grew bigger. «A peace offer?». Vox sighed and gulped it down in one shot, much to Alastor’s disapproval.

«I think you’re complicating your life too much! I can hypnotise people!» he pointed at his eyes as the pupil changed, but Alastor was unfazed.

«It doesn’t work on me.»

«Yeah I still have to understand why…» he sighed as his head started to spin. His face became a bit foggy, just for a moment.

That made Alastor grin wider. «Is the strong and powerful aspiring Overlord feeling a bit dizzy?»

«Fuck you I am not. You’re just-» he looked down at his empty glass and grabbed the bottle to refill it. «I am an Overlord! ‘M not aspiring to be anything you pompous-» but he was cut off by Alastor cupping Vox’s hands with his and helping him pour the drink. Vox’s heart skipped a beat as his antennas sparkled.

«You were saying?» he hummed, fully aware of what he was doing.

«Fuck you.»

Alastor’s smiled softened «Charming.» and Vox smiled back, rolling his eyes.

They had these kind of conversations every time they hang out. They would go to a bar and sit far away from everyone, start bickering, try to get a deal one from the other only to call it even and repeat this cycle every few days. Vox kept convincing himself that these encounters weren’t a big deal but things like that, like that genuine smile, made him doubt that.

Vox drank his whiskey quickly, just to see Alastor’s ear flicker in dismay, a gesture Vox had learnt to recognise over the years.

He took the bottle and refilled his and Alastor’s empty glass.

«You do not understand what it means to be an Overlord just as much as you do not understand how to enjoy your drink.» Alastor said turning on his stool and leaning with his back on the counter.

«AH! Alcohol gets you drunk. That’s the big meaning behind it.»

Vox was about to chug down his whiskey when he felt something brushing over his side. As he yelped Alastor snickered, trying to camouflage it with a cough.

«AÆl- he glitched - what are you doing?»

«As you can see I am not doing anything.» he said raising his hands to prove his point. Vox straightened his back, looking at his surroundings in confusion.

His fogged brain was trying to process whether there was a threat or not. He felt electricity build up in his body.

As he raised his glass, he felt it again, something brushing his side, just lightly, but, when he turned, his eyes could only scan thin air.

«What is going on?» he mumbled putting the drink down.

Alastor didn’t answer, but he was having fun. Vox could see it by that stupid tail of his that was slightly wagging.

If it was his doing… oh no.

The tendrils came out of nowhere and wrapped around his torso, caressing his stomach and sides slowly.

Vox felt electricity between his fingers and in his antennas. He clamped his mouth shut with his hands, slightly kicking his feet.

«Is everything alright Vox?» Vox shook his head, little sparkles all around him. That fucker…

One of those tentacles circled around the center of his tummy, caressing the blue skin. He could feel the tip lightly scratching the sensitive area, making his body tremble.

It was so agonisingly slow. The gesture felt both sweet and mean, as if it were Alastor’s fingers toying with him.

Then he increased the pace.

Vox’s face started trembling, the image of his expression danced on the screen for a moment, deforming his flat features. Alastor came closer to his prey, enjoying every second.

«Maybe it would be better if you just let yourself…-» the tentacles that were around his stomach changed direction and dug in his hips «…Laugh.»

Vox giggles sparkled, as static electricity vibrated around him. He tried so hard to contain himself, but once the first chuckle was out he could not stop.

«AHAHAHAHL nohohoho.»

«No? But I’m not doing anything my dear! I think you had one too many of these.» he said sliding away the man’s drink, saving it from being destroyed.

«Yohohou knohow dæ-ámňņ well what you’re dohohoing.» Vox managed to say while trying to push his tentacles away.

«Of course I do.» he got closer, more tentacles coming from all around him. Vox felt his heart pounding in his chest, his face a mixture of fear and excitement. A stupid wobbly smile was plastered on his screen.

«And you’re enjoying every single second.» had Vox been a little less drunk he would have probably tried to retort, but all he could do was stare at Alastor’s tendrils.

Two of them wrapped around his wrists, raising his hands.

«Oh noho don’t y҉̗͚͚̯̋̏̍̑O̸͎͕̒̽͐̏U҉͓̦̰̘̌́̏̾͆ DARE ALASTOR!» the tentacles danced in front of him, circling around his underarms. Two of them were near his sides, and no matter how hard he tried to pull at his restraints he couldn’t free himself.

«Oh how I like seeing you like this.» Alastor sighed «So helpless.»

«Ahahahahahl Ihihi ha-hatehehe yohohor stupid gahames.» he protested. He was still sat on his absurdly high stool, his feet trying to touch the floor to push himself back. But there was nowhere to run.

Every demon in the place had already fled, believing that the Radio Demon had found his new victim. Well they weren’t completely wrong.

«Do not lie to me.» Alastor caressed Vox’s screen with a single finger, and fake sweat flashed on his face. «You love my games. And besides, a powerful Overlord like you should laugh at the face of danger.» that actually made Vox titter.

Anything said by Alastor made him laugh.

«Let me see your smile.»

All of the tentacles attacked at the same time, some caressing his skin, some scratching at the fabric of his clothes. They were under his arms, on his stomach, meaningly attacking his hips.

The laugh that left his throat gave Alastor goosebumps. It was loud, the loudest he had ever heard from him and it was so… carefree.

All the sense of control, the pressure of becoming a powerful Overlord, the high standards the man held on himself all crumbled down. And he was just helplessly laughing in front of his friend, eyes closed, not afraid to be hurt.

Unfortunately for him he was definitely too sensitive though and the moment a tendril flicked his antenna he started to glitch.

«NOHOHOHOHŒĦØ-»

A spark of electricity made the entire place blackout for a moment, before the lights came back on. Alastor looked at the display of power both amazed and awed.

The man was really strong.

«Be careful my friend-» Alastor’s voice came from much closer than before «We wouldn’t want you to short circuit would we?»

He decided to give him a little break.

The moment the tendrils freed him, Vox turned his back and held the counter with both of his hands, looking for stability.

He could not stop the giggles and titters leaving his body, feeling even drunken than before even though the alcohol was starting to wear off.

However, before Vox could stop laughing, a single tentacle snuck under the his shirt, through his sleeve, slowly and gently caressing his underarm with its tip. The small movement was driving Vox mad.

He collapsed on the counter, laughter now pouring out of him. His feet were kicking the air. The free arm was pounding on the surface, not lucid enough to try to free himself.

He let his head rest on the table, the screen tilted toward Alastor.

«Yohohouh bihihihitch.» he giggled before trying to pry away a new tendril that was slipping under his shirt, targeting his stomach.

His feet kicked harder and quicker as he started to hiccup. «Ihi- IHĮĦĮ- chahaæn’ț.» his voice changed and distorted.

Alastor drank another glass, closing his eyes and enjoying the flavour.

«Sooo» he stood up next to the giggling mess. «Do we wanna make a deal?» he asked making his tentacles stop their torture and back away.

Vox took a few seconds to compose himself before lifting his head and facing the other demon.

Giggles were still stuck in his throat, threatening to leave his body at every word. «A deahal?» he straightened his back and fixed his shirt, now turning his entire body towards the friend.

«I’m not selling my soul for some T̵̲̫̈́̉͗̂͆-tickles. You can’t be that stupid.»

«I am not, my friend. And for once I do not care for your soul! Oh no no no! I would like…-» he let the anticipation roll on Vox’s nerves as he approached him with twitching fingers. «-for you to never drink whiskey in such an inconsiderate way. You either taste your liquor or you don’t drink at all. You do not gobble your alcohol. You understand that young man don’t you?» and as he pronounced the last sentence, he started tracing invisible circles on Vox’s sides.

Vox closed his eyes and the giggle that escaped his lips was a mixture of ticklish agony and amusement.

«Are you finding my request funny?» his fingers danced on his sides.

«Oh c’mohohn Ahahal.» he kicked his feet again, very careful not to hit the demon in front of him. «Ihiht is fuhuhucking hilariohohohus.» he managed to say.

Alastor was not amused.

«Well if you think this is hilarious I cannot imagine what you’d think of t̷̥̲͎͇̤̒̈́̔h̵̳̪̰͋̊ȉ̵̭̦̰̊̉̒s̶͈͉͙͕̥̅̚.» as his voice distorted he drilled his thumbs in Vox’s hips, scratching slightly under his clothes.

Vox’s face became black for a few seconds, before returning to his loud self, pounding with his free hands on Alastor’s chest.

«Such a sweet sound.»

«Ḍ̷̙̙̪̏́̏̒͊e҈̫̓̓̈ͅĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҉̤̩͙̏̿ĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҉̤̩͙̏̿ĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҉̤̩͙̏̿l̸̳͓͔͇̗̋͌̈ ḍ̶̣͎͍͇̐̂̉̿̎e̷͎̘͌̈a҈̫͎͆̏̇l̵͉͚͓̃̄ ḍ̶̣͎͍͇̐̂̉̿̎e̷͎̘͌̈e҈̫̓̓̈ͅĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀e҈̫̓̓̈ͅĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҈̫͎͆̏̇l̵͉͚͓̃̄.» his glitched and distorted voice came so soft to Alasto’s ear.

Alastor stopped with a chuckle.

«You enjoyed it.» he said before stepping away.

«Oh well don’t think I didn’t notice your tail wagging.» the tv demon whispered with a smile on his face.

Alastor turned himself, hiding his back and his stupid soft tail, a small blush colouring his cheeks.

Vox laughed again, a genuine laugh, and then grabbed his own glass. The older man way eyeing him, fingers ready to summon his power once more.

Vox drank slowly, feeling the warmth of the alcohol. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste.

Alastor smiled at him, the genuine smile reserved to these late night, where the alcohol in their veins made their heads lighter and their words easier to leave their lips.

The words Alastor pronounced forty-five years ago echoed in the empty room. They sounded sincere, no filter altering them, just honesty and liquor on his tongue.

«You’re like a sparkle in the night Vox. You make this dark world brighter with your smile. Remember that»

Vox closed his eyes and let out a sight. He hugged himself for a moment and let those words sink in, burning his soul.

He allowed himself to feel this way for a few seconds, before turning everything off and straightening his jacket.

He had to go now.

He needed to find out what that pompous old prick was planning.

~~~

I feel like I’ve been working on this fics for a month, but it’s actually been a couple of weeks.

I loved exploring Vox and Alastor’s dynamic and showing Alastor being kind of a mentor for Vox.

Initially Valentino had a part in this fic, but in the end his role got cut off, but who knows! I might explore their relationship and how it affected Vox and Alastor in future fics! In this universe (yeah, the one I created pretty much for this single tickle fic) Al and Vox originally had a strong relationship, something between platonic and romantic, that got ruined when Vox met Valentino and started hanging out with him (Even though I strongly believe that in the serie Vox was the one that fell in love and Alastor was just trying to get something out of him and eventually got tired of Vox and left him)

The first scene felt really like when Hamilton and Burr go drink together at the beginning of the musical ahahahaha.

I don’t know when will I publish the new fic, it will take me a long time before I am able to write so much again.

Let me know what you think guys 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[tofics]

Broken - Chapter 6

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: A year has passed since Joel and Ellie have returned to Jackson when he finds you on patrol, half frozen and half burning up. Jackson takes you in and nurses you back to health, welcoming you as the newest member of their community. The more time passes, Joel realizes that you and him have more in common than he likes… Until one day, everything changes and you get a gift that he’ll never get.

Word Count: 3433 words

This chapter is very dark. Reader discretion is advised.

Warnings: violence (knife at throat, choking through knee on chest), clear intentions of killing, blood, clear mention of SA (usage of the r-word), panic attack, throwing up, cursing.

Chapter 6 - Nightmare Knocking On Your Door

"YOU." Spit flies from your lips as you scream into the man's face, foaming at your mouth. The knife you're pressing into his throat is already drawing blood, the blade pressed against the skin so tightly that it's being split open by the sharp edge. It's taking every ounce of strength in you not to slice him open right there and then.

You barely register his female companion crying out and staggering towards you before she's pulled out of your view. Then someone drops to their knees besides you. "Whoa whoa whoa, hey, why don't we put the knife away?" Tommy's voice is gentle, clearly meant to ease you down, but you only hiss in response, never taking your eyes off your prey.

You've waited so long for this moment.

You dreamt of it so many times; so many versions where the outcome is always the same: you, taking his life.

One Hour Earlier

Springtime in Jackson is nothing but beautiful.

Joel and you returned to Jackson a week earlier. Although your mission was unfruitful, you still came carrying gifts and trinkets. None of the ranches you hit up had any cows to offer, but a few of them still had quite a bit of resources scattered around to loot from.

Betsy received two relatively in-shape backpacks that you found, filled with all kinds of knick-knacks that can be helpful out in the wild.

The Tipsy Bison got a fresh batch of whiskey, found stashed away in what was presumably a 'man-cave' a long time ago.

The chalk, skipping ropes and board game you found went to the school where they're received with joy and excitement.

The thing you were most excited about though was a stash of Savage Starlight comics that you found in an abandoned library. When Joel told you about Ellie's love for them, there was no question that they'd be coming with you, weight be damned.

Ellie was ecstatic and wrapped you in a bear hug that made you all fuzzy and hurting inside at the same time. Despite the hurt, you hugged her right back.

Everyone else was grateful for their deliveries as well.

You've come to love this little town, there's no doubt about it. This place is as close to the old world as it comes, if someone put a spin on it and cranked up the equality setting. Everyone chips in, everyone gets something out of it. It actually fucking works.

It's always bustling, no matter the season, but now that the colors are changing from white and gray and brown to blue skies and green and specks of color here and there, provided by the odd early flower, it's almost something out of a fairytale. Some days you're convinced Snow White will come around a corner with a bunch of forest animals trailing behind her.

That's not to say life is easy. You're not delusional about the world outside of the town's walls, it's still an apocalyptic shit-show out there, run by raiders and infected. But it's out there and you're in here. In a community that looks out for its members. With a roof over your head, food in your stomach, and a warm bed to sleep in at night. That in itself is already more than you allowed yourself to dream of for the past twenty years.

And yet, somehow, as if you weren't already lucky enough, there's Joel and Ellie.

Ellie with her infectious smile and silly jokes and ruthless honesty that seems way beyond her years and Joel with his... Joelness. The quiet exterior that hides more than you could've ever thought and somehow got lucky enough to become privy to.

Your life is bordering on being too good to be true. That, you're certain of.

And yet you can't help but smile, all the damn time.

It's like not only Jackson is thawing out, but so are you. Something that was buried deep inside of you is slowly resurfacing, breathing more color and life back into you with every day that passes. It's the most wonderful and scariest feeling you've come across yet.

You're on your way to the stalls, admiring Jackson's spring attire when you hear the commotion near the gates. One of the guards is shouting something unintelligible, closely followed by the tell-tale sound of the gates slowly being opened.

This is strange for two reasons. One, it's too early for patrol to return - unless something happened. Two, the guards wouldn't be yelling to open the gates for patrol - unless something happened.

Joel's on patrol this morning.

Apple still in hand, your feet turn the opposite direction from the stalls. You're running by the time you arrive at the small plaza in front of the gates.

Please, please, don't let anything have happened to him.

You're not the only person the guard's shouts attracted. A small crowd has formed in front of the gates, obscuring them from your view. People at the front are muttering, but you can't tell by their tone whether what they're seeing is good or bad.

Please, not Joel. Please.

Your pulse drums in your ears as you push through the rows of bystanders.

Not him. Anyone but him.

He is the first thing you see when you stumble out of the crowd, up on his horse and alive, thank God. Your eyes roam over his body to check for injuries, but you can't find any. Instead, your eyes stop on the hands wrapped around Joel's waist from behind.

What the...?

Your gaze flits over to the second horse that's carrying Jeff. He appears to be healthy too, thankfully, but there is also a pair of arms wrapped around his waist.

"Who'd they bring in?," a voice sounds from your right, and it finally clicks.

Oh. They brought new people.

It's crazy how quickly you can go from being the new one to being one of the people in the face of strangers. A multitude of thoughts run through your head in the few seconds it takes for the information to register in your brain, ranging from 'Thank God Joel's okay' to 'I wonder whether they'll fit in', never once considering the fact that you're now on the opposite side of where you were a few months ago when Joel brought you in on that very same horse.

To the left of you, Tommy weaves through the people watching the action unfold and walks up to Joel's horse. They exchange a few words and you see Tommy nodding, first to Joel, then to Jeff.

"I guess that means they get to stay. For now," the woman next to you mutters. "For now?" You raise an eyebrow at her. "What does that mean?" She turns to you with a mocking expression that quickly fades when she realizes that it's you. "Oh. Yeah, guess you wouldn't know. Council's gonna decide whether they're a good fit or not. If not..." She shrugs, the implication of the words unspoken hanging heavy in the air between you.

It's never occurred to you before, but of course a place like Jackson would have a system in place that decides whether or not people are a good fit for them. Just because nothing was ever explicitly brought up to you doesn't mean that you never went through a screening process yourself.

Joel's passenger is revealed to be a very pregnant woman when he slides off his horse with ease. How she was even able to hold on to him with a belly of that size between them is beyond you, but it also answers any question about why Jeff and Joel decided to bring them in.

You watch as Joel and Tommy awkwardly help her come off the horse. "Phew, looks like she's about to pop any minute now," the woman to your side comments, and you couldn't agree more.

She is lucky they found her when they did, you think as the woman puts her hands on her lower back for support, visibly stiff from the ride and the extra weight she is lugging around.

Opposite of the little trio Jeff jumps down from his four-legged companion and extends a hand out to his own passenger. His help is accepted and - thump - the second stranger sets their feet on Jackson's ground. Jeff pets them on the back and smiles, and although you're too far away to properly hear him, you can practically read the words on his lips: Welcome to Jackson.

From the frame of the person, you assume it's a man, likely the second half of DNA that's currently cooking in the woman's belly. He reaches for Jeff's hand and envelopes it in both of his. "Thank you, man, I don't know what we would have done without you."

A sizzling pain shoots through your body and immobilizes you.

You know that voice.

It's haunted you in your dreams for years.

You'd recognize it anywhere.

Jeff and the man move towards the other half of the arrival party and you watch, frozen in place, as the back of the head turns into a side-profile until you're staring into his face.

Him.

The face of the one person you hate most in this world.

The face of the monster that is responsible for your pain. For her pain.

The apple in your hand falls to the ground and lands with a soft thud, but you barely register it. Time seems to stand still as your eyes lock on him, that face you'll never be able to forget.

Bile is working its way up your throat and filling your mouth with the sour and bitter taste of pure, unfiltered hatred. Your vision blurs and refocuses multiple times, his face going in and out of focus as if your brain is doing repeated double-takes, unable to process what you're seeing.

Every single muscle in your body is on fire, screaming a thousand silent cries that are only matched by the high-pitched ringing in your ears, so loud and deafening that no other sound comes through.

I will kill you.

The sentence is so loud and so clear in your mind that it snaps your body back into reality and time resumes.

In front of you, they're being welcomed, hands are shaken and pats on the shoulders are given out. "Wanna bet on when she pops?," you hear from your right but don't waste a single glance.

Your eyes are locked on your target.

You watch in trance - or like a predator stalking their prey? - as the pregnant woman and her accompanying monster are welcomed with open arms into your community, your safe-space until he turns to Joel and shakes his hand.

"No. NO!," you screech and everyone turns towards you, but your legs are already carrying you forward, your hands finding the knife that you keep tucked in your belt on their own accord as you beeline for the source of all your misery.

You see him doing the mental math of placing you. The initial confusion, the recognition that wipes the smile from his face, and finally, the fear that spreads in his eyes.

Good. Fear me, for I will be your death.

Tommy, who is closest to you, tries to step into your path. "Hey, what's goin' o-," is how far he gets before you push him to the side and lunge forward.

He goes down hard, despite his large statue, your knife at his throat.

"YOU." Spit flies from your lips as you scream into the man's face, foaming at your mouth. Your knife is already drawing blood, the blade pressed against the skin so tightly that it's being split open by its sharp edge. It's taking every ounce of strength in you not to slice him open right there and then.

You barely register his female companion crying out and staggering towards you before she's pulled out of your view. Then someone drops to their knees besides you. "Whoa whoa whoa, hey, why don't we put the knife away?" Tommy's voice is gentle, clearly meant to ease you down, but you only hiss in response, never taking your eyes off your prey.

You've waited so long for this moment.

You dreamt of it so many times; so many versions where the outcome is always the same: you, taking his life.

Tommy is still talking to you, urging and soothing words mixing into a slurry background noise. You briefly make out Joel's name being called, but you block it all out, a tight wall coming down in your mind to shut it all out. Nothing and no one will take this from you.

"Not fighting back now, hm?," you pant and lick your lips. Your eyes flit back and forth between his, soaking up the fear in them like dry ground on a rainy day. "What, fight's gone out of you that quick?"

He doesn't reply, he just stares back at you, something unreadable behind the panic in his eyes.

"Fight back, you coward." You press the knife harder into his skin, drawing more blood. He winces but doesn't draw back, nor does he make any attempt to fight you off.

After what he did? After what he put her through?

Here he is, at your mercy, and he won't even attempt to fight back?

It makes you furious.

"I said fight BACK," you roar and shake him, fist buried into his jacket. He thumps back into the ground and his head comes down hard, but his hands remain stoically at his side, not moving an inch besides the fists his fingers have curled into.

Instead, he opens his mouth for the first time.

"I'm sorry." The words come out in a hoarse whisper.

It's so far from what you ever could have imagined him saying in a moment like this that for just a second, you're taken aback.

Then an even deadlier rage overtakes you.

You pull him up by his collar until your nose meets his nose. You stare into his eyes, making sure he truly sees you as you speak your next words.

"You don't get to say that to me," you hiss out between clenched teeth. "Not to me, when you should have said it to her, you fucking piece of shit!"

You slam him back to the ground and add a knee to his chest, pressing him into the dirt. It delights you, the way he's struggling to breathe under your weight. The fear in his eyes slowly grows into panic with every hitched breath he tries to take.

"Give me one good reason why I should let you live," you snarl.

He's panting now, wincing when you add more pressure on the blade at his throat.

"One good reason for why I shouldn't slice you open right here, right now."

The woman he came with screams at your words. It's shrill and piercing and filled with so much fear for him that you can only shoot her a quick look of pure disdain. How could she be worried about the life of a monster?

He holds your gaze and you can see it in his eyes, that slow shift from panic to begging, and you can't help but laugh. "Pah!" You spit onto the ground next to him. "That's what I thought."

You raise your knife to deliver the final cut that will take his life when he suddenly speaks again.

"She's alive," he sputters and heaves for air.

You freeze in your spot, knife hanging mid-air.

"Say that again." Your voice is low, threatening. He eyes the blade, then quickly looks back to you.

"She's alive."

You lick your lips as your eyes feverishly move back and forth between his, trying to detect signs of the lie you're sure you're being told.

"Hey," a low voice says next to you, the first one to get through to you since you've tackled this monster to the ground. "Hey," Joel repeats and you feel a gentle hand on your back, but you don't move, don't look away from the scum in front of you, frozen in action.

"What's going on?" Joel's voice is as gentle as the hand on your back, but you know him well enough by now to hear the concern in his voice, try as he might to conceal it.

He waits for your response, his hand burning on your back like hot iron. A few moments pass as the thoughts race through your brain.

"Why should I believe you?," you finally spit out.

His response is as simple as it is logical. "What do I have to lose?" His voice is raspy from the lack of air in his lungs. "Why should I lie to you, when you would kill me anyway?"

Your breathing is almost as labored as his. Your pulse is drumming in your ears, drowning out your thoughts and making it hard to think. Next to you, Joel says your name.

"Location." It's a clear order from your lips.

"I don't know." The words are barely out of his mouth when you respond with a croaky laugh, ramming him into the ground once more.

"You filthy piece of shit, of course you don't. Because you're lying." You raise your knife again, but then your arm is obstructed, caught mid-way by a strong hand.

"Joel, let go," you hiss but he doesn't budge, just shakes his head. "Not like this. Not here." He cocks his head at the crowd that's gathered around you and you realize everyone's eyes on you for the first time.

No. No, this is all wrong.

"You don't know what he did," you cry out, suddenly desperate to make him understand that you have to do this, that no matter what, you can't let him just walk away, not after what he did to her.

"You'll tell me. He won't get away." Joel's free hand gently wraps around the knife in your hand. "Ain't that right, Tommy?"

Your vision is starting to swim at the bottom as tears are flooding your eyes. Joel's gaze stays locked on yours, his eyes communicating more to you than his words ever could in this moment.

Trust me, they're saying, and despite every instinct in you screaming at you, you feel your hand releasing the knife.

"I got you."

Joel's eyes never leave yours, not when he gives the knife to Tommy, not when he gets up and lifts you with him, not when both his hands wrap around your elbows and lead you away from the scene, from the crowd, from him.

"Tell me what I need to know."

You're behind the town hall, just far enough to be out of sight and earshot of what's happening in front of the gates. Joel's hands are still on you, though whether he's keeping them there to keep you here or to steady you, you're not sure.

He's watching you intently, waiting for you to offer up an explanation, but the words are getting stuck in your throat, too thick and heavy and laced with pain to come out.

A sob breaks through your panicked breaths and you tug on your arms, wishing to be loose so you can pace about, but Joel won't let you.

"Tell me, babygirl. Tell me what I need to know." His voice matches the urgency in his eyes and another shrieky sob escapes you.

"He did that to her," you finally press out, a whispery shriek that cuts through your chest like a hot knife through butter.

"Did what, baby?" Joel coaxes you, his voice soft but serious, concern etched into his eyebrows.

Tears are running down your cheeks as images of the worst moment in your life flicker across your vision, the monster's grin taunting you like a horror mask as he's hunched over her, his hands digging into the flesh on her hips like she's not made of flesh but of dough.

The bile comes up so quickly that all you can do is turn your head to the side before it shoots out of your mouth. You vomit into the bushes, one of Joel's hand rubbing your back while the other holds your hair, soothing sounds coming from his lips that do little to stop your stomach from emptying all its contents into the green foliage.

You let yourself slide to the ground when there's nothing left to vomit up anymore, breaths heavy and sharp in your ravaged throat.

"He raped her, Joel. He raped my babygirl. Right in front of my eyes."

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

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[impval]

i wanna ruin our friendship

Queen Maeve x fem! healer reader

Blood, bones, organs, all of that. You could cut through a body without a second thought, and you do, because it was the only way to heal. Vought loves to market you as the shy healer who gets easily flustered, but behind closed doors, there is nothing shy about you.

You and Maeve had known each other for years. Ever since she had first been assigned to The Seven, you had been the one to tend to her injuries after missions. Her usual cynical humour mixed with your own just perfectly.

Healers is nice and humble? No. You'd confront idiots even if they were Supers. There were times when Maeve had to physically stop you from arguing with someone - a Supe, a human, even another member of the Seven. You were so brave, it almost made her jealous.

It's surprising, how caring Maeve can be.

She tries so hard to make you take care of yourself - bringing you healthy food, asking you to go to sleep, arguing with you because of your constant caffeine intake. Deep down, Maeve is the softest person you've ever met. She just doesn't show it to anyone else.

She was your friend. Your best friend.

The soft hum of conversations and light laughter filled the room, mixing with the sound of the musicians playing in the corner.

It was a typical Vought party, flashy and over the top, but also strangely artificial in a way. Everyone was dressed to impress, the elite of society all gathering together under the guise of celebrating some meaningless event.

It was a strange situation - here you were, a healer, someone who devoted whole life to saving and helping... drinking whiskey and surrounded by a egotistical assholes who didn't look twice at the collateral damage. The party was loud and obnoxious, and the two of you did best to stay out of it, hiding away in a secluded corner.

Maeve downs another mouthful, wiping a alcohol from her lips with her sleeve. She glances sideways at you, raising a hand to wave at a bartender. Maeve's mouth quirks a half-smile. "You know, you probably know more about everyone's bodies here than I do."

Maeve had a reputation: she'd sleep with pretty much anyone and discard them just as quickly.

She watches with an amused smile as you take the glass and throw it back like it was nothing. "Gross." you give her a smirk. "Even Starlight?"

You'd always like to tease her about the 'mentor and student' thing that she had with Starlight. Hell, you even joked about her motherly instincts kicking in. And you loved to read the fan fiction that the shippers made, laughing at just how close it got to reality sometimes.

The other Supers avoided the medical wing like the plague, but for Maeve it was like a second home, somewhere she could relax, and just be herself. Most of the time, she'd just lounge around, watching you work - sometimes helping you if you needed an extra pair of hands or support.

"Please stop reading that stuff. It's ridiculous." she'd mutters, shaking her head.

"Hey, hey, this is mercy compared to what I could tease you about," you'd joke, gesturing with your hands. "There's some crazy stuff on here about you and Starlight, you know."

Maeve saw how precise your hands were. How soft and careful they were. She thought about how, if you touched her - really touched her - what it would feel like. She'd spend hours in the medical room simply watching you work. Seeing the way you poured yourself into your work and she knew that your hands only ever gave. But all her touch ever did was take.

But Maeve soon diverts her attention back to the glass in her hand, taking a long, desperate swig of whiskey.

"All better than Homelander."

Well, fair.

The alcohol is beginning to have a noticeable effect on her; her eyes are a softer shade, her movements are a little more carefree, her tongue is a little looser.

When the bartender moves to pour her another drink, you shake your head. "I don't even want to look at your liver. And I definetly don't want to treat it either."

It was always a strange sensation to hear you use that commanding voice. You looked so soft and harmless, it was easy to forget how much power you actually had.

Maeve sighs, putting down her empty glass and watching as the bartender walks away. A part of her is tempted to reach out for the bottle and pour herself another, but she resists the urge. You're right, of course. You've seen the condition of her liver during check ups. You heal her all the time.

"Are you going to force me to be sober all night now then?" Maeve took out a cigarettes, lighting it with a practiced motion. It was almost hypnotic the way she smoked - a small moment of art in the midst of the conversation.

"I just don't want you to whine about Elena all night. Again." You didn't want to discuss Elena at all. If you had a masochistic side, you'd have joined the closed parties for Supes.

For fuck sake, you'd had your fair share of dealing with all kinds of injuries.

Maeve blew smoke right in your face, bitch. "I don't do it that often, don't be dramatic."

But the look on your face clearly indicates the bullshit you think that is. And she knows it. "Okay, okay, maybe I do it a little bit often. But it's just..." she sighed heavily.

Maeve's mind drifts to Elena, and how that relationship ended. Homelander's interference, her own emotional baggage. It was a painful memory.

Well, you could understand where Elena was coming from - Maeve was complex, guarded, and could be so fucking hard to reach at times. But a small, petty part of you couldn't help but think to yourself -

I could have treated Maeve better

"You know, maybe you should just try dating someone else." you posed the question half-jokingly, pretending as if it wasn't a big deal to you. Just a friendly teasing.

The music in the background playing a familiar tune that you recognized from TikTok.

You never made any moves, though. How could you? Maeve was built like a Greek statue. And let's not even talk about your athletic abilities. The last time you played sports was back in high school, and you spent most of your time on the bench because of your asthma. So, she was out of your league.

"Oh, yeah, like it's fucking easy," Maeve mutters, rolling her eyes. "And who, exactly, do you suggest I date then? You got any suggestions, matchmaker?"

Your's smirk only grows, oh, its so fun to tease Maeve. "What about Starlight?"

Maeve rolls her eyes once again, her expression a mix of annoyance and amusement.

"Starlight? You read way too much fanfics. She's more like a little sister to me." she says, shaking her head. "Besides, Homelander would throw a fit if I even suggested that."

Gods, day when this fucker die will be the best day in your life. Bonus, if you see it yourself. "Exactly. Just imagine look at his face!"

You can't help but grin as you picture Homelander's face in your mind - that twisted, angry look he gets whenever something doesn't go his way. It's almost satisfying to imagine, to see that childish look as he throws a tantrum like a manchild he is.

"Okay, maybe it's a little satisfying to imagine." Maeve smirks, extinguishing her cigarette in the ashtray. It's a familiar sight - that smile, the way she looks at you.

And as usual, it makes your heart flutter just a little bit faster.

It was fun to imagine, a little rebellious fantasy between the two of you. But it was just that - a fantasy. Maeve knew that she could never truly do something so reckless and put Starlight's life at risk like that.

She sighs, shaking her head. "Besides, I don't think Starlight would be interested anyway. She's too young for me and straight," she says, jokingly.

What a shame. You lean closer, all soft and playful. "Oh, so you thought about it. Did fanfics set you on the right path?"

Maeve opens her mouth to protest, but shuts it again, knowing that she's been caught. "Once," she says, her tone defensive. "I read it once."

She would never admit it, but Maeve's late nights were spent scrolling through her phone as she read countless fanfics about her and you. The ones that portrayed it like it was a cliché romance movie, where everything was perfect. She would berate herself afterwards, scolding herself and calling herself pathetic for even thinking such things. But Maeve found herself doing it again and again.

You throw your head back and laugh, and Maeve can't help but stare at you. She loves the sound of your voice, the way you laugh so freely and unashamedly. It's a beautiful sight.

Maeve knows that she can't have it all. She's too broken for that. Too damaged. Too much.

Homelander's presence is a constant reminder of that.

So she'll have to settle for these small, quiet moments. The evenings she spent in the medical wing, the conversations at the bar, the brief moments of warmth and laughter.

It's not enough, but it's all she thinks she deserves.

"Having a good time, lovebirds?"

Oh, for fuck sake, just die already..

Maeve stiffens at the sound of Homelander’s voice behind her, her eyes narrowing as he approaches with a fake smile plastered on his face.

Homelander can see the way that the both of you stiffen - both of you, but especially you, and he smirks at the reaction. It's a familiar one, and it never ceases to amuse him, but you? You're a little different.

He looks you up and down, tilting his head to one side as if he's examining you. "Hey, I've wanted to talk to you for ages now," he says, leaning against the bar on your right. "You're the healer, right?"

Maeve glances at you out of the corner of her eyes, watching your expression sour at the sound of his voice. She sympathises - she's seen you patch up his collateral damage up close and personal more than once. And she knows how much that psycho pisses you off.

A part of her would pay good money to see your reaction if Homelander ever showed up in your medical wing, begging for healing.

Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen. But if it does, you gladly let him die.

"You could have talked to me sooner if you had come to the medical wing at least once." you remain calm and composed. Cold, even.

That seems to take him off guard - not that he shows it - but you can tell by the way his eyes narrow that he wasn't expecting that response. "I don't need to go there," he says, leaning forward. "I'm invincible, remember? Nothing can hurt me."

But before you can open your mouth, the smug bastard interrupts you. "I've noticed that you two spend a lot of time together. Is there someone you're hiding from us, Maeve? A little girlfriend, maybe?"

Your eyes meet Maeve's for a brief moment, the look in them clear: don't rise to the bait.

Homelander's smirk only grows when he sees you look at each other, but Maeve's jaw tightens. She knows he's trying to get a reaction out of her, and it's taking all her willpower not to give it to him.

"So?" she replies, her tone nonchalant. "We're coworkers. We're allowed to be friends."

Homelander looks between the two of you once again, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He's caught onto the fact that the two of you spend a lot of time together, and he wants to know why.

"A coworkers?" he repeats, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're telling me… that there's nothing going on between the two of you?"

"Are you a shipper or something?" you bare your teath at smile.

The music changes, transitioning to a more romantic tune that's more fitting for couples. Couples that are twirling and fucking dancing.

Homelander made sure that Maeve remained alone. A supe as strong as her? The Queen Maeve? There was no way he'd allow her to be with someone he wasn't in complete control of. You hated him.

"I just want what's best for her," a sickly-sweet smile on his face, but eyes narrow again as he sees your lips twitch.

He has no clue that you're scaning him with your power right now. You get a glimpse of his internal structure, noticing how he's built entirely differently from regular humans, even from others Supes. His organs. His muscles. He's been built to be as durable as possible. And then you notice...

Enlarged prostate. Not fatal, sadly, but still, someone gets old? You struggle to hold your amused smirk in check as you see it, a small little imperfection in his perfect form.

You weren't afraid of Homelander. Fuck, you wouldn't bat an eye at facing him. The only reason why you hadn't really seen him in all this time was because Maeve had begged you to stay away. She knew better than anyone that your sharp tongue would get you killed, and so you'd remained out of the way.

But now Maeve can see the look on your face, she's witnessed it many times before. She knows you're on the verge of saying something you probably shouldn't, something snarky, and stupid.

Homelander opens his mouth again to speak, but Maeve beats him to it.

"May I have this dance?"

The music is loud, and the whole room is watching as Maeve holds her hand out to you, asking you a question that you never thought she'd ask.

Everything stops.

Your eyes widen in shock - the Queen Maeve, wanting to dance? It's rare enough to see her interacting with someone else outside her little group, but dancing? With you, of all people?

She looks so bold, so confident that, for a moment, you find yourself frozen. Even her hand trembles, giving away her anxiety, but she keeps her hand extended in invitation to you.

Homelander looks dumbfounded, his arrogant smirk faltering as Maeve stands up. He wasn't expecting that response; he'd thought she'd been drinking too much, or that she'd simply roll her eyes and tell him to get lost.

But she didn't.

Even Maeve is surprised by her own boldness. She's always been impulsive and spontaneous, especially when it comes to you, but dancing? At a Vought party, right in front of Homelander, no less?

For once, you're stunned into silence. You were used to danger - you'd healed people in life-or-death situations, you'd argued with Supers who could kill you in an instant. And you find that you can't do anything but nod, your mouth suddenly dry as you reach out to accept her hand.

She can feel your heart racing in your chest, the beat matching the thump, thump, thump of her own. But none of that is as important as the look in your eyes - and the effect it's having on you.

What Maeve's just done is a big deal. She never wanted to appear too close to you in public. Sitting together at the bar, or in the hospital wing was one thing, but this was entirely different.

Maeve puts her hand around your waist and leads you gently onto the dance floor, the music filling the room and blocking out the noise of the crowd, leaving the two of you in your own private little sphere.

"You always say I'm the reckless fool," you point out, a nervous smirk tugging at your lips. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

You know what her body looks like, every inch of it. You've seen scars, old and new, and all her muscles and every bit of skin. So this shouldn't be something special.

But it is.

Despite how calm she tries to look, you know Maeve well enough to see curses going through her mind, but your friend is too damn stubborn to give in now. So she just glares at you, the hint of a frown on her lips, as the two of you start dancing.

The lighting is dim enough to give the room a hazy, romantic feel. There's a faint scent of alcohol on Maeve's breath and her armor feels cool against your skin as she grips your hips, pressing you up against her. You force yourself to look into her eyes as she stares back at you.

"I didn't know you could dance" It's as if all of your usual walls and boundaries have gone. She doesn't think she's ever seen you look so flustered. So exposed.

The look in your eyes was almost too much for Maeve. They were filled with a mixture of emotions, but most of all, there was a look of deep, painful longing. She hadn't allowed herself to think of this before, not with you. You were her friend, the one part of her life that wasn't touched by pain.

With your eyes fixed on hers, Maeve pulls you closer into her arms, moving your hips along to the music. Your faces are almost touching, if she moved just slightly, she'd be able to kiss you.

No one has ever touched you like that. Not just in a romantic sense, but with such tenderness and care, as if you were the most precious thing in the world. You've caught Maeve looking at you before, and you've seen the looks she's given you - but you always dismissed it, thinking that it was just a friend thing.

Maybe it's the circumstances. So much is going wrong that she's tired, so tired -

And you're there. You always have been.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Maeve says in response, her voice almost a murmur, her breath fanning over your skin.

This isn't her being friendly. Or a joke. Or a laugh.

No... this is Maeve being brave - being braver than she's ever been.

"Sounds like a challenge." such a cliché, friends to lovers.

But she wants to touch and hold and kiss you. Maeve can't believe she's thinking these things right now, here of all places.

She imagines what the feel of your lips against hers would be like- what your skin would feel like against her scarred, calloused hands. She imagines the way she'd kiss your neck, your shoulder, your-

No. These thoughts needs to stop. Before they go too far, before they get dangerous. Homelander's presence reminds her: she cares for you, a lot. But is it worth it if she can lose you? Lose her little safe bubble?

Everyone is terrified of Homelander, including her, but here you were, looking into her eyes with an expression of adoration. But here you are - not scared and dancing with her like there's no one else on the world but the two of you.

Being a healer meant witnessing everything. Every act of horror, every wrong thing supers do - it's all there for you to see, no matter how much you wish you could erase it. There was never a trace of fear in you, no matter who you were standing up to.

Maeve hadn't allowed herself to have any deep connections because she was afraid of heartbreak, of grief, but there was a voice in the back of her head, repeating over and over: Don't be a coward. Be brave.

The song comes to an end, but neither of you move to pull away from one another. You're still pressed up against Maeve, your chest almost flat against hers. She's staring down at you, her eyes searching yours as she tries to figure out what you're feeling.

There's no going back now - not with cameras flashing, people whispering - is this Ashley swears at background? - and your heart beating so hard, it feels as if it's in your throat. But even if Maeve decided to laugh this off, to turn it into a joke (girls being pals, right?), the Internet would still explode with photos of this dance between the two of you.

And this... this actually helped her to be braver than she's ever been before.

With your heart hammering so violently in your chest, you barely register the words she whispers in your ear, but the meaning isn't lost on you.

She doesn't want to be a coward. Doesn't want to be terrified of Homelander.

If you agree, that is. With her. With this.

And god, you want this. You've fantasised this scene a thousand times; Maeve confessing her feelings, telling you that she wants to be more than friends, but it's real now.

Everything else - the noise of the party, the cameras, Homelander's fury - it all fades into the background as you kiss her.

It's gentle and soft, chaste, but it still makes her head spin. You're kissing her, in front of a room full of people, and you're doing it like it's the simplest thing in the world.

People are talking, whispering and looking, Ashley is probably gonna lose the more of her hair after this (you'll have to give her an heal in compensation), and Homelander is no doubt furious, but none of that matters.

There's nothing in her mind, but you - the feel of your body in her arms, the taste of your lips, and the way your heart beats against her chest.

It's wonderful to finally be brave.

[starlight-and-whiskey]

More People than Ghosts: Ch7 - Love Me Like You Used To.

I had an immense amount of fun writing this chapter. As always, I got back into writing after a couple of published books many moons ago, and realised it's not so easy to fall back into. It's very much not like riding a bike! Anywho, I hope you enjoy! 18+ and as always with this fic, TW for SA and physical abuse. Crack on and let me know what you think!

"Love me like you used to do way back when 'Fore the rug was pulled beneath your feet And you fell back in the saddle Left time standing still And put all your troubles right on me"

Like You Used To - Watchhouse

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Love Me Like You Used To One of Dutch’s better plans had been the party. The way he figured it, spirits were in dire need of lifting, not least of them Eleanor’s, and if there was one way to ensure that – it was a party. Eleanor reckoned she’d seen nothing like it before. The camp brimming with laughter and music and joy, set against the most perfect blanket of stars. Each mesmerising constellation above them starkly burned against the black of night, which relented only against the crackling golden hue of the campfire, each pop of embers dancing in the air and drifting upwards as if to join to stars.

As the night wore on, Eleanor mused in her whiskey laden haze that she hadn’t smiled this much in a lifetime. Almost 6 months with this ragtag bunch had rejuvenated her in a way she never thought possible. In the time before – before the capture and the horror and the degradation - the mere word of outlaws would have sent shivers careening down her spine. After her capture, the word was enough to make her heart stop beating right there in her chest.

Yet here she was now, tears rolling down her cheeks in laughter as she sang along with Karen’s uncouth songs, accompanied by the joyful twang of Uncle’s banjo echoing upwards into the cool night air. Engaging in a lively debate with Hosea about the latest book she’d borrowed from him. The older man’s eyes lighting up as he recommended the next book she should read, before rambling on to ruin the plot anyway. Humming sweetly as she bounced Jack on her knee and marvelled at how big he was getting; his pudgy fingers gripping at hers as Abigail chuckled softly next to them, a proud mother. Grinning and shaking hands as she won another hand of poker against Bill, eliciting a sullen pout as she scraped her winnings from the table.

A conwoman, a swindler, a thief, a murderer. And then there was the man who was all the things that had once petrified her rolled into one. Arthur. She found her eyes flicking across to him often during the evening, drinking in the way his thumb hooked subtly in his gun belt as he leaned against a wagon. The way his face lit up with joyous laughter, softly illuminated in the orange glow of flickering firelight. The way his full lips curved around the mouth of a whiskey bottle or the end of a cigarette.

*** The hour was getting late, with a few of the older hats already retreating to bed. Eleanor bid goodnight to Abigail as she left, glancing around the party from her now solitary spot on the log by the fire and taking a long drink from the bottle of whiskey in her hand, her heart brimming with pure content. Once again, she caught her eyes subconsciously finding Arthur as he stood talking with Bill and Dutch.

When her eyes next flicked to Arthur, it wasn’t his hulking figure she saw half drunkenly staggering over. It was Bill’s.

"I seen you looking over here all night,” Bill slurred with an attempted wink, a thumb tucked in his belt. A sloppy smile was plastered on his face as he straightened his back, attempting to appear debonair even as he swayed slightly on the spot. He carefully removed his hat and tucked it behind his back, brushing back his long hair from his receding hairline, in a way he hoped would be endearing. "Now why would that be?"

Eleanor blushed heavily, opening her mouth to respond but finding no words. From behind Bill’s hulking frame, a familiar hand landed on his shoulder.

“What’cha doin’, Bill? Get outta here. Stop bothering the woman”, came Arthur’s gravelly drawl almost playfully, remnants of laughter tingeing his voice. “Hey, I ain’t botherin’ her none! Ain’t my fault the lady were lookin’ at me like-“ “The lady weren’t lookin’ at you”, Arthur cut him off, a playful smile on his lips. Confusion misted over Bill’s face for a moment as his drunken brain struggled to catch up. Eleanor could practically hear the cogs whirring as she felt the subtle heat of an embarrassed blush flooding right from her collarbones, up and across her cheeks. Bill’s eyes narrowed to a thoughtful squint as he looked from Arthur to Eleanor, and back to Arthur. “But-“, he stumbled, even as Arthur gave him a knowing nod, eyes wide as if trying to coax the realisation from his drunken gangmate. After a long moment, the penny dropped. Bill flicked his eyes to Eleanor with an almost embarrassed, apologetic expression, quickly turning his eyes back down to ground and shrugging Arthur’s hand roughly off his shoulder. “Course it’s Morgan…” he grumbled, turning on his heels and stalking back over to the whiskey crate. Arthur shook his head and chuckled, locking eyes with a rather sheepish looking Eleanor. Another of Bill’s slurred grumbles echoed through the night air, “It’s aaaalways Morgan!” Eleanor held Arthur’s gaze for the briefest of moments before dissolving into a fit of laughter.

Without so much as a word, Arthur unceremoniously dropped himself down in front of her, propping an elbow on the log beside her as he sprawled across the grass by her feet, his back to her as he faced the fire. “Oh”, Eleanor laughed, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I feel just awful now! Poor guy.” “Ah, don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it”, Arthur chuckled back, taking a deep pull from the whiskey bottle. “My hero”, Eleanor feigned a swoon, the bravado of alcohol buzzing warm and soothing through her veins against the backdrop of Javier’s guitar. “Savin’ me from Blackthornes and Bill Williamson!”

Arthur gave a throaty chuckle, leaning his head back against her leg as he admired the campfire’s glow, the feeling of its radiating warmth. “I meant what I said before”, she continued, her voice lowered and serious. “You didn’t have to do that for me…” “Sure I did. You don’t want Bill hangin’ round ya like flies round shit”, Arthur smiled. “You know what I mean”, Eleanor chuckled, playfully tapping Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur let out a soft sigh through his nose, fingers picking at the label of the whiskey bottle in his hands. “Yeah”, he said softly, his voice barely a whisper as he brought the bottle to his lips. “Yeah, I did have to.”

With a grin that threatened to split open her cheeks; Eleanor unsteadily leaned forward and plucked the black leather hat straight from Arthur’s head with deft fingers. Whipping round in surprise, a subtle smile broke out on his lips as he watched her plonk it on her head, flashing him a proud drunken beam. A rumbling chuckle broke out in Arthur’s chest at the way the rim of the too-large hat fell down over her eyes, casting her cheeks in shadow.

Reaching over through hearty laughter, Arthur pulled the brim up, revealing sparkling eyes dancing with the flames of the fire and found his breath catching in his throat. His laughter ebbed and faded, leaving him staring at her, a soft and sweet smile lingering on his lips at the sight of her. The alcohol induced hue blossoming across her cheeks. That wide toothy grin. The woman before him stood in stark contrast to the broken girl he’d found not too many months ago. Those gaunt cheeks now full and rosy. Her eyes, once wide with fear, now brimmed with tears of uncontainable laughter. Her lips, once chapped and bloodied, now full and lush and grinning. Just as the hubbub of the party began to fade into the background over the hammering of his heart, Arthur caught himself, clearing his throat and swiftly retracting his hand from the brim of his hat to turn back to absently fiddle with the neck of his beer bottle.

Eleanor pushed herself forward, landing with a rough thump on the ground next to Arthur, whiskey bottle held high. Another chuckle echoed through his chest. “You havin’ a good time, darling?” he laughed. “Yeah”, she nodded with a broad smile. “Yeah, I think I am.” Nudging Arthur with the brim of his hat, Eleanor gestured for him to take it back. Instead, Arthur just shook his head, pushing up the brim of it once again so it settled a little further back. “Nah. Looks better on you right now.” Eleanor grasped the rim in her fingers, offering a mock-hat tip.

As her head lolled against his shoulder, Arthur tensed, his arm resting loosely on the log behind her. “Why you so good to me, Arthur?” she asked softly, eyes fixed on the embers of the fire as they crackled and popped, sparking upwards before slowly fading and dying. Arthur hesitated, the words he wanted to say sticking in his throat. Taking a long pull from the whiskey bottle, he wove his arm around her shoulder in lieu of words, squeezing Eleanor tight to his side as his calloused hand rubbed nervously up and down her arm. When she reached up to tangle their fingers together, he didn’t resist, stomach churning. Arthur found himself uncharacteristically nervous. Put a gun in his hand and give him a direction to aim and he could pull that trigger without so much as a second thought, but this…

“Folk’ll see, ya know?” he said softly, already feeling the eyes boring into them, the whispered giggles and knowing glances that must be there through the darkness, not to mention the glare from Bill. “Come walk with me somewhere quiet then?” “Sure”, he replied and wet his bottom lip, his voice a cracked whisper. Arthur groaned as he rose, wincing at the pain shooting through his chest. Nevertheless, he held a hand out for her anyway, easing her off the floor.

****

Out by the trees at the edge of camp, they stopped. Here, almost on this very spot, Arthur’d once held Eleanor’s frail body as she’d stumbled in pain and fear, clad in the ragged remains of a night slip. Bloodied. Bruised. Broken. It seemed incomprehensible to him that the very same woman was now pressed into his arms, all supple flesh and doe eyed, brimming with life.

Her soft palm laid over his hammering heart, she plucked the hat from her head, reaching up on tiptoes to replace it on Arthur’s.

"This is where we met", Arthur said quietly, his hands landing on the curve of her hips.

“Yeah”, she whispered, her hands sliding inside that old brown hunting jacket. “It is.”

The absence of the campfire brought an icy cold that prickled against their skin, serving to sober them quicker than either would have liked. With trembling fingers, Arthur reached up to absently twirl a lock of her fallen hair between his fingers and wondered what it would feel like to run his hands through it, to feel it soft and silky beneath his calloused palm. Eleanor drew a shaking breath, a futile attempt to steady her racing heart, as she grasped his hand in hers, bringing it to cup her face.

When Arthur’s fingers spread willingly across her cheek, Eleanor’s breath caught in her throat as she leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as she savoured the moment. The soft warmth of his roughened fingers as they grazed her soft skin, gently nudging her face upwards. The distant melody from Javier’s guitar barely carried on the breeze to their secluded spot.

They moved closer in the charged air, the space between them vanishing until their lips were only a few inches apart. She could feel the warmth of his breath, the gentle pressure of his hand against her skin. “I think you might just be the kindest, best man I ever met.” “I ain’t, darlin’”, Arthur whispered back against the still night. “You ain’t them.” “No”, Arthur shook his head, his eyes all soft and crinkled at the edges as they flitted between hers. “I ain’t them.”

"What I feel for you, Arthur… I thought it was just ‘cause of how we met. ‘Cause of what happened. I thought it weren’t nothing”, Eleanor whispered, her words a soft puff of whiskey laden breath against his lips. “…but it’s ain’t nothing. It’s everything." His fingers tightened around her waist, the fingers against her cheek clenching a little as she pushed herself up on her toes, one arm snaking around his waist under his jacket while the other braced against his broad shoulder. The air between them grew thicker by the second with anticipation until Arthur was sure you could have damn near sliced right through it. “It’s goddamn everything.” The hand on her cheek slid effortlessly to tangle in the fallen curls at the nape of her neck as their lips finally met. Arthur's lips were warm and firm, moving with a deliberate slowness that spoke of restraint, of savouring every second. The smoky sweetness of lingering whiskey. The pillow soft silkiness of her lips.

Arthur found the emotions he’d tried to bury bubbling to the surface, pulling her closer only to find her mouth soft and yielding as he captured her bottom lip with his own. The perfect bubble they had created suddenly became pierced by a harsh shout from John, echoing from the edge of camp. Something about a card game. Hurry up and piss would ya? Whilst every fibre of their being yearned to ignore the shouts, Arthur still groaned against her lips. Their foreheads fell together, the flat of Eleanor’s palm braced against Arthur’s broad chest. “Go on”, she whispered. “Don’t reckon I wanna.” “He won’t stop”, she smiled, already committing the scent of him to memory. Campfire smoke and tobacco and whiskey. Arthur audibly groaned, his warm hand brushing back her hair. Pushing herself up, Eleanor pressed a long, sweet kiss to his lips.

"Good night, Arthur." As Arthur watched her stroll back towards her tent, the fallen curls of her hair dancing in the subtle breeze, he couldn’t help but conjure up every which way to smother John Marston.

[xxwhiskeyxx]

Ok! As we all know, I’ve had a bad time posting consistently. But I’ve gotten some inspo to fill some asks!

Two lovely anons asked for a pt 2 of Giant and his Treasure and a scene of what poor Swissy went through during their tour! So have these little teasers because whiskey loves you

Pt 2:

Swiss is knocked breathless as he’s mounted and immediately pounded, hips slamming brutally into the ceramic edge, no doubt leaving bruises, as Mountain takes what’s his. Hand fisting into the still braided dreads, the much larger ghoul forces Swiss to arch his back even further, little pathetic, “uh uh uh”s are the only words able to leave the Multi’s mouth as his prostate and hole are ravaged

Pt 3

Aether continues to babbles as he’s drilled into, his hole trying to suck Mountain’s cock back in with obscene squelches with each thrust, slick is dripping down his thick thighs with each harsh thrust, the fat of his ass and thighs are rippling with each thrust

[violettduchess]

A/N: My first Ikevil fic! I loved Harry's route and figured why not ease into writing him by starting with a kiss 💋

Harrison x Reader

WC: 500

Note: I only tagged people who have previously asked to be tagged in everything. If you want to specifically be tagged in Ikemen Villains fics/headcanons, please let me know!

You might think that if you found a man reading by firelight, settled into an expensive leather Ottoman the color of burnished copper, he would be drinking whiskey. Or maybe wine. A rich Irish single malt or perhaps layered, velvety Merlot.

But not your Harry.

He’s drinking strawberry milk. 

The sight of it has laughter bubbling out of you, a soft, almost musical sound and he looks up, his wintergreen eyes suddenly bright as he watches you set down your evening clutch and approach him. The missive he was reading slips from his long fingers, flutters down onto the thick burgundy carpet. There are other, far more important matters that require his attention now.

He reaches for you, strong hands gripping the line of your waist as you boldly straddle his lap, your voluminous maroon skirt spreading across him like a blossoming flower. His smile is slow and unhurried when you lean down, touching your forehead to his. You lock your fingers behind his neck, breathing in the familiar, tangy scent of mint.

“They kept you out far too late,” he murmurs, his voice enveloping you like the softest of cashmere.

“I’m here now,” you answer, falling into the pastel tenderness of his gaze, struck for the hundredth time by just how beautiful he is. You glance over at the glass of pale pink milk he’s set down on the end table. “How’s your nightcap?” You’re teasing him and he loves it.

Gently pulling you closer, his eyes flutter closed like a butterfly closing its brilliant wings. “C’mere and have a taste.”

His lips are sweet, like strawberries kissed by summer sunshine. His palms slide down to feel the curve of your hip through your skirt, his grip tightening, pulling you closer still. Your hands unlock and you wrap both arms fully around him, melting into the hard planes of his body. He kisses you slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, a hedonist indulging himself in the most heady of pleasures. He savors each kiss, languid and almost lazy in the movement of his lips, the slide of his tongue against yours. 

“Harry…” His name, that cherished and precious word, is a whisper, a twinkle of starlight in the night. Twin tendrils of the softest affection and the brightest desire are twined around it. He drops his head, burying his face into the warm curve of your neck, pressing his lips against the place where your heart is drumming just for him. He doesn’t need to open his eyes because in your arms, there is nothing but truth. He feels it in the way your fingers push their way through his tawny hair. He hears it in the stuttering breath that escapes you. He tastes it on your lips and smells it on your skin.

He rises, effortlessly lifting you into his arms, holding you close against his chest as his long legs swallow the distance to your bedroom. You cling to him, press a kiss to his cheek as he carries you, not caring where you’re going. 

After all, in his arms, you are always home.

Taglist: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage

@redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey

@mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight

@ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics

@justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating

@portrait-ninja @starlitmanor-network

[vampirebloodie]

Midnight Date | Billy Butcher x Reader

Summary: Billy just wanted to threaten you, but a fight leads to the two of you having a hot date at midnight.

Warnings: Smut 18+, creampie, unprotected sex, hair pulling, fight before sex.

"It's her."

Billy said throwing a picture on the table where the other boys were standing around watching everything attentively. The photo showed you distracted inside a store in ordinary clothes, without your superhero uniform.

"And who is this?"

Hughie asked confused, he knew all The Seven but not you.

"She was invited to join the seven but refused, Starlight took her place as a second option. She is more powerful than Homelander."

M.M explained.

"What? More powerful than Homelander?"

Hughie asked in surprise and Billy rolled his eyes.

"That's right, kid. She doesn't like the spotlight so she lives an ordinary life during the day and becomes a superhero at night."

M.M patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm going to have a little chat with her, i'm sure she'll join us."

Billy said and Kimiko started gesturing to Frenchie.

“This will be before or after he threatened to kill her?”

----------

You heard the sound of the bell ringing, indicating that someone had opened the door to the bar where you worked, you were cleaning the tables, ready to close.

"We're almost closing."

You warned without looking at whoever was entering, you didn't worry, after all, you had superpowers and knew very well how and when to use them.

"I just want a shot of whiskey, i've had a rough night."

You looked at the man, he had a big beard and a closed expression. So you just walked to the back of the counter, taking a bottle of whiskey, he leaned on the wood and took the glass watching you fill it with the liquid.

"We all have a rough night sometimes."

You just said, sighing.

"A supe's night really must be difficult, right?"

He asked, downing the drink, you looked at him, trying to hide your surprised expression.

"What?"

"You heard me very well, doll."

He smirks.

"I..."

You remained silent thinking, then you pushed him, your strength making him fly against the other side of the restaurant and fall on the tables and chairs, knocking over everything, you ran towards the emergency exit going into an alley, until your body was pushed against the floor and a hand grabbed your hair making you groan in pain, you recognized the pair of shoes in front of you and it was the same man. Then you saw him take a gun out of his pocket and put the cold barrel of it against your chin.

"Try something funny and i ll blow your brains out, even if i have to shoot 300 times to kill you."

He threatened and you swallowed, scared.

"What do you want with me?"

"Talk. First, why didn't you accept the invitation to be part of the seven?"

He asked and you laughed.

"I don't join with corrupt people."

He was a little surprised by your answer.

"So you know very well about the corruption cases involving Vought. What is your relationship with Homelander?"

"What? What relationship? Homelander hates me me since i was a child and he was a teenager, he always hated the fact that there was someone more powerful than him and who could one day join the seven. They wanted me to take his place as leader. "

You explained part of your story with the superhero, but there were many other things to be told about you and him, nothing romantic of course, you hated each other and almost killed each other every time you met. in the tower or elsewhere.

"What about Vought?"

"Why don't you ask them, do i look like i work at Vought?"

You responded roughly and the grip on your hair tightened, you moaned again.

"Doll, doll...Cooperate with me."

He said in the form of a warning and you reluctantly decided to start talking.

"Vought has been watching me for a long time, i think it's a miracle that they haven't kidnapped me yet to keep me in a maximum security prison."

"And they're watching us now?"

He asked.

"Why don't you ask yourself that, William Butcher? Vought has been chasing you longer than I have."

You suggested and he smirks.

"So you know me? That's great! Now tell me how."

He pulled you by your arms, lifting you up and pushing you against the wall, making your back hit the cold bricks. Your faces were almost glued to each other.

"It would be weird if i didn't know you. The supe killer and Homelander's biggest hater, tsk tsk."

"You know i kill supes... And you're a sup..."

He said in a hinting tone and you smirks.

"You will not kill me."

"How are you so sure?"

"Vought would know and intensify their pursuit of you. And when they caught you, you would beg them to kill you as quickly as possible instead of torturing."

You said smiling, his strong hands grabbed your neck, squeezing it. You felt the lack of air becoming more and more present there, your face starting to take on a reddish color, in an act of defense you kicked him in the middle of his legs, making Billy howl in pain and let go of you. The two of you got into a physical fight, without using your powers to kill him knowing that he was still needed by Vought, you found yourself defenseless fighting a man who was much bigger and stronger than you. Before you could give up the fight and run away once again he grabbed your wrists, cornering you against the wall again, his free hand grabbed your chin making you look straight into his eyes, his eyes contained pure anger, while yours contained fear and despair.

"I'd love to destroy that pretty face of yours, but you're too pretty to be hurt."

He said and smirked, you blinked a few times trying not to believe that he was actually flirting with you at a time like that.

"Are you..... flirting with me?"

The moment you say those words a surge of joy floods through your body. Your words are like a call for him to give in to his urges. Without another moment of hesitation he grabs the back of your neck and pulls you close to him. He kisses you passionately, his grip around your neck only becoming stronger.

Butcher''s grip tightens even further as he kisses you back, his tongue forcing itself into your mouth. He pulls you on top of him, the strength in his grip showing just how firmly he has you held. As he kisses you he moves his hands down to your hips, squeezing them firmly.

"We keep just.... kissing?"

You asked a little shy and he laughs.

"Oh doll, if you want more, you just need to say."

He caressed your cheek, you bit your lip and your hand went to his jacket, opening it, revealing a hawaiian-style flowered shirt, which made you hold back your laughter a little and he raised his eyebrow.

"That's style love. Something you don't have in that uniform"

He said referring to his uniform which was showing a little due to his coat being a little open.

"Fuck it"

In one movement, you took off your coat and tore your uniform, leaving your breasts exposed to Butcher. Butcher groans at the sudden motion and leans forward again, this time placing his hands around your body. He stares into your eyes again, this time much more intensely. His voice becomes almost like a grunt as he begins to speak again.

"This is going to get so much more intense..."

He continues to hold you tightly, his breathing becoming more rapid and the tone of his voice slowly changing to a more husky tone.

"I'm going to make it so intense that you'll be a drooling mess by the end of it.."

"I would say that i dare you."

"You will desire not to say this."

The way you reply seems to only increase his desire, his grasp on your body tightening. He stares deeply into your eyes before bringing his mouth to your neck, just before he bites down he whispers one word.

"Mine."

You grab his strong arms and his hands go to your chest, squeezing them hard making you moan, he turns you onto your back, your cheek pressed against the wall as his hand grabs your hair.

"No foreplay today, doll, but next time i promise to enjoy it more."

"So there will be a next one?"

You asked anxiously and he smirked, he pulled down your leggings, leaving your panties showing, which were soon torn, you were startled and just saw him putting the fabric inside his pants pocket, a trail of your juice due to excitement staining your thighs. inside leaving them sticky and sticky. He opened his pants and your eyes widened seeing the size of his member, it was bigger and much thicker than any you had ever seen in your life, he seemed to have enjoyed your surprised reaction, you bit your lip feeling the head of his cock caressing your wet folds before pushing himself completely inside you, you held back a scream.

Billy grabbed your waist as he hit you hard and brutally and you only knew how to moan, he grabbed one of your legs and lifted it, thrusting himself deeper inside you, his balls hitting you hard and his grunts were the most exciting melody you've heard in a while. You never imagined being in a position like that, having sex with a probable enemy in a dark alley right after he had threatened to kill you. His hands grabbed your hair, pulling your head back, your bodies glued together.

“O-oh god! Please please!”

You screamed clenching your inner walls around him, Butcher groaned feeling you squeezing his cock with your pussy. The two of you were already close to full climax.

"Do you want to cum, doll? Hm?"

He asked kissing your neck, you were completely melted by his touches, drunk on his cock, your eyes rolling back and you fighting to keep them open.

"Y-yes!!! Please, Butcher, please...."

You begged, almost crying with pleasure, he smiled and thrust himself into you even harder, if that was possible, his dick hitting your G-spot over and over again without stopping.

"Cum."

He said, his thick and rough fingers starting to massage your clit, your legs starting to shake being held open by his other hand that still pinned your leg open to the wall, you felt that familiar feeling of your stomach tightening and your head spinning. Screaming you melted on top of Butcher and seconds later you felt his hot liquid fill you, your liquid and his liquid mixing into one, running down your thighs. You were a mess, your hair was messy, your makeup was smudged and there were several marks on your body from the grip of his hands. Your legs weakened and you almost fell to the ground, but he caught you beforehand.

"Good girl, i got you."

"What are we gonna do now?"

You asked catching your breath and wiping the sweat from your forehead.

"Now, doll, you gonna help me to kill Homelander."

[mustainegf]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: sometimes what bridges the gap between friends and lovers, is the ocean.

based on the song forwards beckon rebound, by Adrianne Lenker

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ¹⁹⁸⁵

❝ Over the Dead Sea ❞

It was night. The sapphire sky was a promise, and felt nearly close enough to touch. The full moon was bright, lighting his handsome face. Before us lay the Pacific, endless, like the world's biggest secret. I fell back onto the sand, its grains skittering under my palms, and watched James skip a rock across the water, his ripples creasing its tab skinned surface.

“You can't just sit there like that,” he slurred, whiskey evident on his breath, as he trudged over toward me, a big grin on his face. And I couldn't not smile back. There was just something sweet about James when he was this way. Reckless and alive.

"Oh yeah?" I teased, squinting up at him. "What are you gonna do about it?”

Without warning, he took my hand and tugged me to my feet, both of us stumbling in the process. We laughed. They sound carried out over the waters. We giggled in starlight and sea spray, and I swear nobody knew the world like we did.

"Let's swim," James said suddenly, his blue eyes almost glowing in the night.

"Are you serious? It's freezing out there!" I protested, though I was already unzipping my leather jacket—his leather jacket—and kicking off my boots.

"Come on, don't be a wimp!" he baited, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the sand. I couldn't help but stare for a second at how his body was so sweetly tanned, lean, not something the regular person would consider special. But I did. He caught me looking and raised an eyebrow, smirking. "What? Afraid of a little water?"

"Fat chance," I snorted, promptly shedding my soft clothes down to my bra and panties and racing toward the water with him. The cold hit me as I plunged into the water, but all it did was make me feel even more alive. James wasn't behind me for long, and soon we were thrashing about in the water like some kind of children, laughing so hard it actually hurt a bit.

The waves pushed us together, then pulled us apart, and we kept finding our way to each other, clinging to one another for warmth. At one point, he grabbed me around the waist, lifting me up and spinning me around until I was dizzy.

"You're crazy!" I shouted, my breath coming out in white puffs as I tried to catch it.

"You love it!" he hollered back, his grin still not once leaving his face.

And maybe I did. Maybe I did love the way we were friends, and acted like a lot more than friends. It was a dangerous kind of love. But then and there, the stars watching over, I didn't care.

We finally emerged from the water, crawling and soaked, but still giggling like kids. We collapsed on the sand, lying side by side.

"Keep you company over the dead sea…" James murmured.I turned my head to him, still chuckling slightly. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the stars. "I don't know. Just something I heard once. Sounds cool though, doesn't it?”

"Yeah," I agreed softly, though I wasn't sure I understood it either. But it did sound cool, and there was something about the way he said it that made it feel like a secret meant just for me.

His hand connected with mine in the sand, and I squeezed it softly, his skin coarse against my own. Normally, friends don’t do this. Friends don’t hold hands, half naked on the beach. But James and I aren’t regular friends.

❝ Villain & Violent

Infant & innocent ❞

A few days later from that night at the beach, James and I were at his place. The bedroom air is thick with the smoke of his cigarette and pieces of whatever song he'd been working on earlier. The candles placed around him, their flames licking like ghosts in the dark. We sat on the floor, and an old piece of vinyl spun lazily on the turntable in the corner.

We hadn't spoken of the beach, how we'd gripped to each other in the cold water.

He sat opposite me, his back against the wall, staring into the flickering light of the candle in front of him. I said nothing as I watched him, just watching, understanding.

There was something in the way he looked. The world knew James Hetfield as this fierce, scary singer of Metallica. But here, in these hush seconds, he was different. It would seem that the flames of the candle melted away the layers of armor he usually wore.

I had seen him like this before, many times actually, but. The world saw that villain side to him, that persona that he wore, never really letting anyone in too close. But here, without an audience, without the stage lights, he was just Jamie from school; the boy who loved with all his heart.

Gentle. Sweet even.

The way he fidgeted with the edge of the blanket draped over his lap told of a tender man. James learned to put up walls, hiding that he was one of the shyest people you’d ever met. He was innocent, human, just a boy at heart.

Suddenly, James looked at me, his mouth staying shut.

He smiled.

And so did I.

❝ Stabbing stars through my back ❞

Days soon burned into weeks, and this tiny gap between us began to grow. We hung out, we drank, and still laughed together, but it was all a little different now. I didn't know what to do with it.

We had gone to some party or another, but smoke and noise couldn’t snap me into reality, just watching him from across the room. He was talking to some girl, his arm was casually slung around her shoulders, but his eyes weren't on her. They were on me.

We locked gazes, and we were alone again, both on that beach with ocean at our feet.

But then he would turn away, turn back to this girl with this huge, fake smile on his face, and something inside of me gives up. I turned and left the party without saying any goodbyes, clicking the door shut behind me.

I walked a long while, the city blurring in and around me, until I found myself standing in the only logical place.

The beach.

I just stood there a lot longer than I should have. I didn't know what I was doing there, didn't know what I was waiting for. But then I heard footsteps behind me, and I knew.

❝ Pulling your face close ❞

James was standing several feet away, his hands jammed in the pockets of his leather jacket, the same one he’d wrapped me with just weeks ago. We didn't say anything. We just stood like that.

"I thought I'd find you here.”

I nodded, not because it was all I had to offer, but I didn’t trust myself to open my mouth.

He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and I could hear just how serious he was. "I've been an asshole. I didn't know how to deal with… with this."

"With what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He repeated, his hand motioning between us. "Whatever this is.. It scares the shit out of me."

I swallowed hard, throat tight. "Yeah... I know."

He ran a hand through his long hair, biting out a frustrated sigh. "You're my best friend, and I..I didn't want to lose you. That’s all…”

"You didn't lose me, James," I assured him, taking one step closer and tucking his long hair away from his face.

He stared at me. "I don't want to go back," he whispered. "Don’t just be my friend from highschool."

"I know…" I whispered, reaching my hand out to take his. "James…."

He looked down at our clasped hands, then back up at me, the corner of his mouth softening. "Did you know I love you?”

We stood there for a second, and his words melted my heart like warm golden honey. Without consciously thinking about it, I leaned in and kissed him. Though hesitant at first, our lips were quick to become acquainted. He was warm, tasted like strawberry, and his hands cupped my cheek like he was lost.

When we finally broke, our foreheads leaned against each others. “I love you too…” I mumbled, gently caressing his cheek with the pad of my thumb.

"I'm not afraid of you now," I whispered.

"I'm not afraid of you either," he murmured back.

He pulled far enough to see my face. "Come on," he said suddenly, a smile tugging his mouth up.

"What?" I asked.

"Swim with me," he said, that smile overtaking him, the smile I’d fallen for.

I laughed at that. "You're crazy."

"Dead serious," he said, already yanking off his jacket and booting his feet clear of his boots.

Who am I to deny him?

This time, we stripped all the way down, without any threat of fear. It was not the physicality, not about sex. It was trust, peeling away those layers we'd wrapped ourselves in, about being vulnerable and real with each other in a way

we'd never been before.

I admired his body, bare for me to see for the first time, and mine for him.

We ran into the water together, the cold biting our skin. We were laughing again, the sound of it shooting out over the ocean. We swam out until we couldn't feel the sand beneath our feet, until the world was just water and confession, alone together.

We floated there, side by side, the waves rocking us gently, like we were babies in our mothers arms.

“James?” I whispered, leaning my naked back against his wet chest and gazing up.

“Yes?”

“Can I sleep in bed with you tonight?”

“Always.”

It all started here, and both arms cradle me now.

[redwinterroses]

(part one)

Oakville was, according to Tango, not the closest sign of civilization—which was fantastic, because by Jimmy’s reckoning it would have taken them weeks to cover what the train had in a few hours. Such was the wonder of modern technology.

“We’re only a few hours—maybe five? Maybe five hours out from Eureka.” Tango said, pulling a compass out of his pocket and checking their heading. “Not much of a place, but they’ve got a communicator station and horses. And whiskey.” He sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a drink right now.”

A drink. Jimmy was suddenly aware of the cottony dryness of his mouth—and they’d barely been walking an hour. The sun was down, the night air was cool, but he was already thirsty.

“We, ah—” he half-tripped over a rock. “It’s really dark. Are we going to stop for the night?”

Tango waggled the compass at him, the silver rim catching the starlight. “Moonrise in less than an hour, it’ll be plenty light.” He slipped the compass back into his vest pocket and shrugged. “Anyway, it won’t stop the Greysides boys. They’ll bring lanterns though, we’ll see ‘em coming.”

Somehow, that wasn’t comforting. In the distance, a wolf howled, and Jimmy shivered.

“Normally,” he said, trying to shape his voice in a conversational tone. “Normally, this would be the point where I’d build a dirt hut and wait out the night.”

Tango flashed him a grin that Jimmy could hardly see. “What, you afraid of a little mob action?”

“Considering I’m being tracked, can’t risk my gun, and don’t have so much as an iron sword?” Jimmy grimaced, thinking wistfully of the two shulkers of gear in his carpetbag. Abandoned on the traincar, loot for pillagers. “Yeah, I’d say I’m not exactly looking forward to running into anything.”

Tango gave a little chuff of a laugh, and there was a rustling sound as he dug into the side pocket of his satchel. Because of course he had his satchel.

“There ya go, greenhorn,” he said, and held out a faintly-glowing diamond sword, hilt-first for Jimmy to take.

“What?” Reflexively, Jimmy reached for the weapon, his fingers closing around the hilt before he could consider it. Tango let go of the blade and shrugged, slinging his satchel back to rest on his hip. 

“Can’t have my traveling buddy unarmed,” he said. “Bad look, for an experienced trail boss like myself.”

There was something in the way he said “experienced,” some note of sarcastic self-mockery, that Jimmy did not care for.

“When you say experienced,” he said, holding the gifted sword low to the ground and letting the gleam of enchantment dimly light his way. “Exactly how many—”

“Hey, will you look at that?” Tango interrupted him. He pointed into the distance, and Jimmy squinted.

“Lights?” he ventured, though if that was torchlight it looked almost indistinguishable from yellow-tinted stars.

“That’ll be Eureka,” Tango said. “We’ll get there well before dawn, if we don’t run into too much trouble on the way.”

Jimmy opened his mouth to go back to the question about Tango’s trail experience, but stopped himself. No reason to push for the fellow’s backstory—it wasn’t as if he was eager to share his own.

“Right,” he said. “Right, then. What trouble is out here? Creepers? Zombies?”

“Not too many undead,” Tango said. He rested his hand on the hilt of his own sword as they walked. “Husks, mainly, with this heat, unless you go underground, which I don’t advise. But yeah—creepers are a big nuisance in these parts. Them and the endermen—frontier mob griefing is the worst. I keep tellin’ folks we need to lobby to get an anti-griefing patch out here, but—” he shrugged. “You know how frontier people are. Obsessed with keeping things vanilla. You want luxury mods, go back to spawn.”

Jimmy made a noncommittal sound. 

“I’m not talkin’ like, full-on spawn blacklists or anything,” Tango continued, tromping along. “People want that, they can do things the hard way. I’m just sayin’—”

“Look out!” Jimmy saw the creeper just before it rose up out of the scrub, its eyes flashing a warning.

Tango swore and leaped nearly a block in the air, dodging away from the creature. 

It settled back, glaring at them balefully from its nest of brush and grass, and Jimmy eyed it with wary caution.

“It’s smaller than the ones back home,” he said doubtfully.

“Ehhh—” Tango’s voice was tight with concern, and Jimmy looked away from the creeper to find the man staring over his shoulder. “That’s… that’s cuz that one’s a baby.”

Jimmy froze.

“The… there’s a big one behind me, isn’t there.” He swallowed, and a hint of burning gunpowder drifted past his nose.

Tango nodded. 

Something hissed lowly behind him. A warning—the only one he was likely to get. 

He bolted. Behind him, he heard Tango’s startled yelp, and then following feet. 

“Is it chasing us?” Jimmy shouted.

“Keep running!”

Jimmy chanced a look over his shoulder.

It was a bull creeper—easily twice as big as the feral creatures he was used to back spawnward, its pelt dun-colored and mottled with green to camouflage it in the scrubby grasses. It charged after them, its eyes flickering with anger, hissing as it ran.

“Holy—” Jimmy tripped, caught himself, and kept running, eyes back on the ground in front of him.

“Get to that rock pillar!” 

In front of them, one of the strange, spiky landforms jutted up out of the dark landscape. They were at the base of it in a moment, ducking around the back, momentarily out of the creeper’s line of sight.

“Climb!” Tango ordered. 

Scrabbling up the steep side of the rock, they managed to drag themselves onto the top just as the creeper reached the base. It hissed furiously, but they were out of its reach—and blast radius—and it could do nothing but pace below them, its stubby legs not made for climbing. Thank void.

Jimmy flopped on his back on the narrow ledge, feeling his gun digging into his hip and not caring enough to move. His chest heaved as he panted for air, and cold sweat trickled down his ribs.

He closed his eyes against the stars, hating everything in that moment. Hating the stupid night sky, hating the ridiculously huge creeper below—seriously, since when did they get that big?—and most of all: hating that once again he’d managed to pull someone else into his mess.

“Alright,” he managed, swallowing hard. “Alright—look. You gotta get out of here.”

Tango, crouched on the edge of the rock, making faces at the creeper as he caught his breath, waved a dismissive hand. “It’ll lose interest and wander off eventually,” he said.

Jimmy pushed himself up with one arm. “No, seriously,” he said. “I mean it. I’ll keep its attention—you sneak off the back and head for Eureka. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not leaving you on a rock in the middle of the wasteland, pal,” Tango said, with a baffled laugh. “Like—I mean, no offense. But you’re greener than beans, and I’m at least half the reason you’re not on a train right now anyway.”

The creeper was snuffling around the base of the tower, and Jimmy had the sudden horrible notion that it might figure out how to climb. Or Tango would fall off the edge. Or Jimmy would trip and knock him right into the creeper’s paws.

He glanced down at the sword. “Sharpness?” he asked, squinting at the runes carved into the blade.

“Obviously.” Tango turned away from the creeper and gave him an evaluating look that was far too sharp for Jimmy’s liking. “It’s just a creeper, James, it’s not like it’s gonna—” his foot slipped on a pebble and he flailed his arms for balance.

In an instant, Jimmy shot forward and snatched at Tango’s arm, yanking him down toward the middle of the stone platform. Tango fell to one knee, yelping in surprise and pain. 

“Hey!” he exclaimed, yanking his arm out of Jimmy’s grasp. “What was that—”

Before Jimmy could second-guess himself, or even stop for half a heartbeat to consider why he actually cared—why he still cared, after all this time—he rolled off the rock toward the creeper.

He landed with a thud on its sloping back, and the thing gave a startled HISS that buzzed in his bones, the smell of sulfur flooding the air. With a shout, Jimmy gripped the sword in both hands and drove the blade into the back of the creeper’s head, exactly where the spine met the skull. The point of the sword—enchanted as it was—met little resistance, driving straight into the creature’s brain.

The hiss turned to a crackling gurgle, and the monster went limp underneath him.

Jimmy staggered away, catching himself against the base of the stone pillar, letting the sword fall to the ground with a flat clang. 

He heard scrabbling above him, and looked up to see Tango half-climbing, half-falling down the cliff. 

“What kind of damn heroics are you trying to pull?” the other man demanded, his derby knocked askew and a look of baffled fury on his face. “That thing would have detonated in your face! You’re lucky you—”

“Not lucky,” Jimmy cut him off, exhausted. 

“—didn’t hit… what?”

The adrenaline jitter in Jimmy’s arms—what, the third rush of the night? I’m going to sleep for a week—felt like it was going to shake his skin right off his bones. 

“Not lucky,” he repeated, spitting out the word.

He stared past Tango at the dead creeper. Already, it was starting to curl in on itself, desiccating in the wasteland heat. By tomorrow night, it would be nothing but a pile of super-flammable ash. 

Tango paused. “Not… not lucky?” He tilted back his derby and peered down at Jimmy's face, rant kicked off its rails. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jimmy cursed every unlucky star he’d been born under, and double that for Sausage. For a long moment, he considered not answering. Nothing, nevermind, he could say. Let's just get to town.

In for a penny...

“I can’t die,” he said, meeting Tango’s eye. “And I don’t expect you to believe that, but the fact is: people around me die. Constantly. Never me, though.” 

A bitter laugh crept out of his throat. “If I hadn’t got that creeper…” He shook his head. “I dunno. It would have got you somehow. Or you’d have fallen and broken your neck. Or the pillagers would have appeared before we got down. Any number of things. You’re not safe until you’re away from me.”

Tango took this in. Jimmy could see him weighing the words—and probably dismissing them—but all he said was:

“Why?”

With a shrug, Jimmy pushed himself up, and retrieved the sword from the dirt. He wiped the point on a knob of scrub brush. “You saved my bacon on that train, I think,” he said. “That’s enough to tie us.”

He held out the sword to Tango. “Look—you go ahead. I’ll just… I dunno. Camp here for the night, I guess. You get far enough away, for long enough, the curse seems to… disengage. You’ll be fine.”

Tango didn’t take the sword. He looked at it, then looked at Jimmy.

“You know I don’t believe a word of this, right?” he said.

Jimmy’s heart sank, but he wasn’t surprised. “Yeah,” he said. “I figured.”

“Great.” Tango glanced over his shoulder toward where the lights of Eureka flickered in the distance. “Let’s… let’s just get you to town,” he said. “Get some water in you.”

Get a horse, Jimmy added internally. Hit the road. Put a thousand blocks between me and here.

“Right,” was all he said aloud. “Water.”

Tango kicked the creeper’s shriveling carcass and started toward Eureka, and Jimmy followed behind, still holding the enchanted sword. 

I should have just chanced the train.