#also: its been more than a year and shes still on the radio

[yelenasbraid]

the view between villages pt. 3 — joe burrow

mini series summary — it’s been years since you’ve seen your high school & college best friend, joe burrow. you went to high school together, went to ohio state together, but separated when joe transferred. distance wasn’t kind to you, and the total difference in careers stretched you further apart. when you reunite with him unexpectedly, you’re not sure you have an explanation. you’re not sure if he’ll take your explanation. little do you know he’s been ready and he’s been willing.

chapter summary — you and joe catch up, but not without the lovely company of anxiety.

warnings — fem!reader, some angst, fluff, this is LONG sorry!

songs that inspired this part — the edge by sydney ross mitchell, the roads by jonah kagan

note — been a little mia so sorry about that! life has been crazy but i’m hoping with the break coming up i can enjoy some much needed time off. here’s part 3 of the view between villages! hope you enjoy!

YOU’RE PACING, running around your room trying to piece together some semblance of an outfit. yours and joe’s catch-up day was here and you weren’t at all prepared. you spent the better part of the last 24 hours stressing, your anxiety trying to convince you that going would further ruin what you could have with joe. your rapid heartbeat and freak-out over what to wear diminished that.

you settled on something cute, but cozy. something that you were confident in, but also allowed you to breathe whenever you’d eat. your hands shook as you did your hair, your palms sweaty as you tried to steady the curling iron. it slipped, burning part of your finger. you hissed, slamming the iron down on the counter while you ran your finger under cold water.

“he’s probably not stressing about this like i am,” you grumbled as you dried your finger off, rummaging around for a bandage. you didn’t know that joe was feeling a very similar way, that his mind was racing and that he couldn’t wait to see you. his nerves ate him alive, creating a problem when it came to choosing an outfit.

joe rummaged through his closet, trying to find something that he could wear. it was a picnic, so something he didn’t mind getting dirty. which was nothing. he ran a shaky hand through his hair; he hasn’t felt this nervous for something since prom junior year of high school.

flashback

“joey, honey, you look great,” robin patted joe’s chest as he observed himself in the mirror. the suit he had on fit him, hugging his muscles and his stature better than he could have thought. yet, he still felt like he was gonna be sick.

it was the night of prom, and you were his date.

the thought of you, fitted in a beautiful dress, makeup done, and looking dolled up, it made him nervous. it made his hands shake. it made his heart slam against his chest. how did he manage to snag you as his date to prom?

“thanks, mom,” he exhaled, picking at his sleeves and flicking his eyes over his outfit. he didn’t wear suits. he didn’t like them. yet he was in one.

“you should get going, you don’t want to be late,” his mom patted his shoulder, “and don’t be nervous, remember, she’s your best friend,” she reminded him. joe nodded his head, saying the over and over in his mind. you were his best friend. that’s all. nothing more, right?

end of flashback

he settled on jeans and a t-shirt, completing the look with some white sneakers. it was nothing fancy, but it was also put together. he didn’t look like he rolled out of bed. as he fiddled with the final touches in the mirror, his mind drew back to you. you were his constant during school. you were always there, even when he wasn’t a good friend. you picked him up, but one question sat with him: why did you leave? why did you go radio silent? as he stood there, mind wondering down twisting roads, a haunting thought fogged his mind: why didn’t he reach out? why did he go radio silent?

could this be his fault?

he shook his head, attempting to banish the anxiety that spread its fingers over his mind, wrapping its tail around his legs. it was time, that’s what it was. time caused you two to distance yourselves. joe convinced himself of that, but he found himself convincing himself of another statement: he missed you. terribly, achingly so.

“get yourself together, joe,” he muttered to himself, walking out of his home. he stepped into his car, starting his drive to your place. his hands wrung the steering wheel, stressing over the tiniest of things. what were you going to talk about? was it going to be easy? were you going to be ready when he got there? his mind rattled off thoughts and before he knew it, he’d pulled up to your apartment. he parked, got out, and walked to your door. he knocked, stepping back. a few silent, agonizing moments went by before the door opened. his breath caught, and you weren’t wearing anything particularly fancy. you just answered the door.

“i’m almost ready i just have to find my keys…” you trailed off, leaving the door open as you walked back into your apartment. your mind was also scrambled. you’d misplaced your keys, lost your phone twice in your bed, and not to mention the burn on your finger from your stupid godforsaken-

“found em!” you called as you snagged the keys from the counter. your stomach was eating you alive. the nerves were tightly wound up, making your stomach seem to vibrate.

“you pick where we’re eating,” joe told you as you locked your door.

“you know i’m indecisive, joey,” you breathed as you walked with him to his car. oh, he knew. it was why he already had a place picked out.

“there’s this really good place downtown, i think it sells pizza?” he teased, and he watched your face brighten. he was still nervous, his hands sweating from the rapid heartbeat in his chest.

“can we go?”

“uh, yeah,” he answered as he opened your door for you. with a blush on your cheeks, you thanked him as you stepped into the car. it was definitely an upgrade from what he had in high school. well, anything was an upgrade from the car he had in high school.

—

pizza was picked up, as well as some drinks, and you drove to the park by joe’s house. it wasn’t a quiet drive, but not in a bad way.

“no, no that was the winter soldier. i’m telling you they did something to him,” you argued. this conversation started awkwardly by joe asking you if you were still into marvel movies. you said you were, and it turned into you talking about the newly released thunderbolts trailer.

“why would they do that? they spent all that time deconstructing what HYDRA did to him just to say, ‘yeah just scrap all of that let’s do it again!’ i don’t think so,” joe argued back.

“i really hope you’re right because if they do anything to bucky,” you clicked your tongue as you finished your sentence. joe understood, and he chuckled. he missed these conversations. the easy ones, the ones where he could be himself and no one would judge him. he couldn’t be the nerd he was on national television. he couldn’t theorize in depth about aliens on national television. he could with you though.

“we know you’re storming the big man’s house,” he teased, turning into the park. you laughed, and it felt natural. there was one issue that sat between you, and you both knew it. the reason for the years of silence. the fear that he wouldn’t accept your explanation. the fear that you wouldn’t have any sort of reasoning. it settled deep within both of your chests, and nothing would be completely normal until it came out.

joe parked the car, turning it off before stepping out and getting your door for you. you got out, and helped joe bring your supplies to an empty place on the grass. the sun was just beginning to set, casting beautiful hues of purple, orange, and yellow into the sky. you missed how joe was looking at you, seeing the sunset reflected on your face, how your eyes were pools of warmth form the sun. time may have ravaged your soul, but you were still as beautiful as the day you parted ways.

you turned, your eyes meeting his. a blush crept up his neck and reached his cheeks and ears. blushing like school children, you decided to focus on setting up the picnic. you flicked out the blanket, spreading it out on the soft grass below you. joe set down the pizzas, the napkins, and the drinks. you both sat down, opening the pizza boxes, inhaling the comforting aroma of pizza.

“i knew i forgot something,” joe muttered, flicking through the pile of things on your picnic blanket. you watched with curiosity, and then it dawned on you.

“did you forget the plates?” you asked him, a smile creeping up on your face. blushes of embarrassment tinted joe’s ears red. how could he be so stupid? he forgot the very thing to hold the pizza he bought.

“yeah…” he trailed off. he wanted it to be perfect. he didn’t want anything to be out of place or missing. he felt that if he did, it reflected badly on him. it usually did when it came to games. people blamed him for a lot of mistakes, even when he didn’t make them. he carried that weight, and he was used to it.

“it’s not a big deal,” you shrugged, grabbing a napkin, “plates are for losers anyways,” you grab a slice and cradle it in a napkin. you watched as joe’s shoulders sagged, relief flooding his features. you didn’t know all that went on, or the emotions he felt this season, but there was one thing you did know: joe was a perfectionist. he needed everything to be perfect, and he struggled with that in college. you could see him still struggling with it now.

joe grabbed a napkin, placing a slice on it. he appreciated how you read him. that without saying much, or anything at all, you picked up on things. you filled a hole in his chest, your warmth rooting down into the depths of his soul, reminding him of who he was. you were the rock he stood on, the hand who pulled him out of the darkness, the safety net that caught him when he fell. his chest constricted as the realization dawned on him.

he was still madly and utterly in love with you.

—

it was dark before you left the park. you spent hours there, catching up on everything. from his football career to his family, from your graduation to promotion at work. talking to joe filled you with such joy, a feeling you haven’t felt in a long time you’ve realized. you meshed well with him, your ideas and beliefs parallel to one another. he was still the boy you were best friends with, the boy who had a star wars themed bedroom and watched spongebob on the weekends. he was still joey, just with more muscle and a lot taller.

you gathered your things and the remaining pizza slices, climbing back into the car. the car ride back to your apartment was silent, and the urge to grab his hand was overwhelming. your eyes watched as one hand rested on the steering wheel while the other rested on his thigh. you just caught up after 6 years, grabbing his hand didn’t make sense. no matter how badly you wanted to feel his fingers locked with yours.

his fingers drummed against the steering wheel, his eyes lazily scanning the road ahead of him. he glanced over at you, watching as you turned your fingers over in your lap.

“what happened to your finger?” he asked, seeing the angry, red mark after passing under a streetlight.

“i burnt it doing my hair earlier, it’s no big deal,” you shrugged, but the throbbing in said finger was a big deal. it was worse now that you weren’t completely distracted. with a rush of confidence, fueled by adrenaline, he grabbed your hand. his hands were surprisingly soft, but you could feel the hard skin that’s built up over the years. his hands were warm, and it was the distraction you needed from the throbbing in your finger. you smiled to yourself, feeling your cheeks warm as you held joe’s hand. this had to be a movie.

he pulled into your apartment, throwing the car into park.

“take the pizza,” he told you as he helped you out of the car.

“what? no, i can’t do that,”

“yes, i insist,” he shoved the box into your hands with a smile, only making you smile and roll your eyes. he walked with you up to your apartment, watching as you fiddled with your keys. you didn’t want to leave. you wanted to stay with him, keep talking to him and just be with him. you didn’t realize how healing it was to just sit with him.

“i had fun,” you started, smiling up at him.

“i did too,” he agreed, shoving his hands into his pockets, “we need to do this again,”

“we definitely do,” you agreed. silence sat between you, but so did tension. it strengthened with every passing second, but you weren’t going to do anything about it.

“well, i’ve got to get some sleep. got work early in the morning,” you awkwardly sighed, fitting your key into the lock.

“yeah, me too,” he agreed.

“night, joey,” you smiled as you turned the lock. his heart thumped against his chest, his hands shaking in his pockets.

“y/n, wait,” he called, softly grabbing your arm and turning you to face him. you expected him to say something, but he didn’t. instead you were met with his lips on yours. bliss erupted in your stomach, fluttering away as his lips melded against yours. kissing him back was like second nature, but your heart thumped so hard in your chest you thought you were going to be sick.

he pulled away, cheeks rosy and eyes sparkling. he watched you, his stomach churning and his heart aching. what the hell did he just do? he kissed you, but why? he was in love with you.

“i…i’m sorry i don’t know what got into me-”

“it’s ok,” you soothed, trying to calm your fraying nerves, “i um, yeah it’s ok, promise,” you awkwardly stumbled your way through the words, the words that were failing to come to you. you just kissed joe burrow, your best friend who you haven’t spoken to in 6 years prior to this, and you liked it. you wanted him to kiss you again. you wanted him to touch every single inch of your body and it terrified you.

“ok,”

“goodnight, joe,” you smiled, watching as he walked off. he was shaking, his legs like jello as he made his way back to the car. he sat there for a minute, his breath shaking as he turned the car on. he’s always wanted to kiss you, and he did, but should he have? should he have waited? his chest tightened, but he shook it off. no, no you said it was ok, so it was.

you stumbled into your apartment once he was out of sight, and you pressed your back against the door. you panted, thoughts consumed with the taste and feel of joe’s lips on yours. you locked the door and disappeared into your bedroom, shutting your door behind you.

neither of you were getting any sleep that night.

tags: @joeyfranchise @wickedfun9

[hirschkuh-im-traum]

Night visitor

the plot is: something weird happens on Halloween night, and you know you're not alone in the dark bedroom anymore. But when you think that everything was just a bad dream, the man, whose name you know not only through hearsay, pays you a visit.

words ≈ 7.k

warnings: demon!alastor x human!reader, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, p in v sex, voice kink or kinda, rough sex, mirror sex, multiple orgasm, tentakles, bondage, biting, a lil blood, a little angsty in the end but in a fluffy way idk

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

In a flea market you were told it was broken, but nevertheless you bought this old cathedral radio. You didn't ask why a woman was selling broken devices but she didn't ask you either why you bought ones. You hoped to make a bluetooth speaker from it, it would look just nice on your bedside table.

At home you wiped the radio with alcohol to remove the layer of oil and dust that formed for several decades on the wooden surface. When you’d done the smooth dark wooden corpus shone in the dull light of autumn sun, pouring from the window, as you twirled it in your hands. With a brush you dusted the speakers then, next you polished the curves forming the symmetrical pattern, and after all you wiped the radio again with a soft cloth to move away the remains of substance you used for cleaning.

Now the radio was like a new, with the exception of some thin scratches here and there. But you even liked them. They remembered that this thing had been used before. Someone kept it in their home, someone tuned the waves, someone ran a fingertip along the carved patterns, someone put their ear closer, listening to the music when in the dead of night they couldn't sleep but didn’t want to wake up anyone in the house. Being kept at someone's house the thing had become its soul. That's why you loved to shop in flea markets. This radio looked like it actually had a soul, a timeless one.

* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *

A loud noise pulled you out from your dream. Something was rustling. Somewhere from the right, from your back. But you didn't worry, taking it as a part from half a dream, until you heard a man's voice. That second you jumped up in your bed, turning around, hiding half of your body behind a blanket. You lived alone, who could it be?

A radio dial was shining with soft amber light across the room. The smooth and deep voice was speaking from the speakers, but you couldn't understand a word, for his voice was swallowing with static, but even so you could say it was a pleasurable tone, if only the cold fear hadn't paralysed you. How could it be possible? The appliance was broken long ago, not only the woman in the market told you that, but you also checked it by yourself in the daylight. It was broken. Completely. Just a beautiful shell with nothing useful inside.

And still it worked.

For several seconds or minutes, you couldn't say for sure, you were looking in the direction of the radio, listening to whatever the host was saying. Gradually fear was replaced with curiosity and you left your bed. The chill embraced your bare shoulders, the cold parquet kissed your feet as you went closer to the mysterious radio. Maybe it was a dream?

Your fingers found a round regulator and you turned to the right, making the sound louder.

“...better lock your doors and windows, dear listeners. The number of murders has increased this year and we don't want to add to that list, do we?”

‘Murders? What murders? What is he talking about?’

“The Bayou Butcher has a distinctive pattern: although the bodies were mutilated in various ways, the brutality and... sophistication of the Butcher are apparent to the naked eye.”

Your eyes widened. First the broken radio came back to life in the dead of night, and then the radio host was speaking about a serial killer who died more than eighty years ago?! What was going on?

“So do go and check your locks, and do not go out this or any other night. Keep your safe, dear.”

You switched off the radio. You had enough. That was ridiculous, and you went back to your bed.

But you couldn't fall asleep. You were thinking about the radio broadcast that sounded like it was from the past. You knew about the Bayou Butcher. Of course you knew. Not only because you were New Orleans born and bred, and not only because you were a fan of true crime podcasts, and not only because the forest you lived next to was rumoured to be the forest, but also because this very murderer killed one of your relatives. It was a long time ago, but never was forgotten.

Your great grandmother, when she was alive, often told you this story, how one day she and her little sisters received news of the death of their brother, the only one who maintained the family but also the one who tormented it, how he was found on the bank of a swamp, all maimed and almost dragged off to the water by an alligator. She confessed to you how they were glad of the death of their tyrant and how incredibly quickly they were able to get back on their feet, something their brother had convinced them they would never be able to do without the help of a man.

It appeared that your family was connected with the Bayou Butcher himself in the most direct way. And as you were lying in bed, thinking how your ancestry found their salvation in the killing of their relative, you remembered another detail of the killer. His personality was found out only after his death. And it shocked the whole state for the murderer appeared to be the famous radio host.

“I told you to go and check the locks, my dear.”

Immediately you jumped from your bed and by the low laughter of the radio host you rushed for the enter door. Just one thought was swirling in your mind: It was him.

You ran down a long corridor, a single dark tunnel that led from the street straight into your bedroom. You pushed the handle and the door didn't open, but you turned the lock again. From your bedroom you could hear the old jazz playing. The piano and trumpet accompanied a male voice but you couldn't understand a word, just felt it wasn't something good. An old creepy song written for celebration of Halloween seemed to you a requiem. You looked outside through the window, and hardly had you discerned the tree trunks through a night haze when two red lights flashed among them. You gasped and stepped back as you realised it was a pair of eyes peering right at you. And you ran back to your bedroom, not paying attention to a still playing radio, and jumped into your bed, like a child seeking shelter under a blanket. You didn't take your wide open eyes from the little light of the radio dial on the other side of the room.

“My, my, what a frightening song that was! And what a haunting melody, must be stuck in my head for days.” The man was speaking in a cheerful tone, you could actually hear his smile. He spoke to the audience, not just to you personally, as he had done a few minutes earlier. You couldn't understand why and how he did it. It seemed like one minute you were listening to an ordinary midnight broadcast and the next minute the radio host was speaking especially for you. You heard it in his tone.

“Past midnight,” He pronounced almost solemnly, “Finally we've crossed the day boundary and stepped onto the macabre path of All Saints’ Eve.” Shivers ran down your spine, as the sound of the voice from the past, from the times when you weren't even born, flowed into your ears. He was speaking about Halloween, about how traditions of Christianity were forgotten and now people preferred to throw a spooky party instead of going to church, and he was speaking how much he enjoyed it. Nothing scary was in his speech anymore, just something especially charming was about his voice, low, velvety, and dark. No wonder he was so popular during his time. Listening to his broadcast for just a few minutes — the biggest part of which you were frightened to death — you could already call yourself his fan. And no wonder that even when his actual nature was revealed, some people still loved him, being unable to break the spell he once put on them.

An immoral thought creeped into your mind, what would you let the owner of such a voice do to you? The question wasn't immoral in its nature, but the answer, you were afraid to think of, was.

“And now I say goodbye to all of you. Something startling awaits you tonight.” The broadcast was over, but a new song didn't take its place, only a crackling of the atmospherics remained.

You sat in your bed, waiting for something without knowing what exactly. Maybe his voice would speak again — a weird message from the past. Or maybe he would speak to you.

The buzzing became louder, more and more louder, it became unpleasantly to hear, and when you were ready to leave your bed and switched the radio off again, the loud knock on the front door was heard by you. It's harsh, demanding, supernatural sound made you scream in fright. And then you heard the voice,

“So what do you think, my dear? In my opinion, it's a wonderful show, you can't find a better one!” Suddenly the bed no longer seemed like a safe shelter. The shadows around seemed to emerge from the darkness, became tangible and surrounded you. The night-lamp on your bedside table, that served as the only source of light for all this time, burnt out, immersing you in deeper darkness, where only a pale moon slightly illuminated your room. Your body began to tremble as the shadows approached you, and you felt the cold radiating from them.

You heard somebody trying to open the front door, but the lock didn't give in. And then the voice came from the speakers,

“Ah, you're a good girl, and did as you were told… Through the times, haha!”

So you did heard the broadcast from the 30’s. But the owner of the same voice was standing behind your door. You felt like you were losing your mind. You wished you could lose it already, then you wouldn't try to comprehend what was happening, then you wouldn't feel fear anymore.

You gazed through the room and the corridor at the entrance door. Since the knock was heard you were sure you saw a silhouette behind the cloudy glass. Its head hid above the glass, which was at eye level, so you saw only its thin figure. Obviously, it didn't belong to a human. The figure bent down, and two red sparkles shone through the opaque glass, making you gasp.

“Unfortunately, the locks can't stop me.” He spoke with a fake regret. And then you heard the click of the unlocked door, and slowly the door was opened.

In the doorframe was standing he. An eldritch silhouette with long limbs, tall and slender. He had to bend down to step inside your dwelling through the door frame, which was too small for his large body. And as he was stepping inside, you saw antlers atop his head and hair standing straight on his crown as the other couple of horns. Maybe they were animal ears? The door shut behind him without him even touching it, and he began to approach your room.

“You may be wondering why and how I am here but, my dear, I assure you that it doesn't matter.” The clatter of his shoes echoed through the darkness of the corridor as he smoothly headed closer. His every step stressed the words, coming from the radio, deepening their meaning. But all you could see was bright red eyes looking hungrily in your direction. “Let's just say, that sheer boredom brought me here, into your house, to find entertainment for myself.”

He stopped before the threshold of your bedroom, tilting his head to the side. The moonlight illuminated his large figure. The man, the devil, was dressed in all red and his suit was slightly torn on the hem. Between the lapels of his frock coat the two black lines drew an inverted cross on his crimson shirt. His skin was pale grey, hair red as the eyes, and he was smiling. A wide, lip closed smile across his whole face was uncanny and eerie. And as the next words fell from his lips, you understood his voice had the same static echo as from the device.

“Will you entertain me, my dear?” The sharp edges of his yellow fangs flashed dangerously in the moonlight, making you gulp the air.

You didn't realise that in an attempt to discern the sinister loom approaching you, you had moved to the edge of your bed and now were standing on your fours, clutching your fingers around the metal footboard. And now you couldn't make a move, being hypnotised by the creature in front of you. He looked like the most dangerous thing on earth and hell, but something in him lured you. Riveting your attention to him. The red eyes travelled all over your figure, and he smirked as if enjoying your submissive position.

Suddenly one word escaped your mouth, you didn't even realise it, until his expression changed into a pleasant surprise.

“Alastor.”

“Ohh, how nice it is when your name is remembered almost centuries later!” He made a step forward, now he was actually in your room, “A fan of my broadcast? Or misdeeds?”

Finally your fingers let go of the footbroad, that was now warm after your touch, and you sat with your back straight and the hands on your knees, looking up at the man in front of your bed. Still you looked like you couldn't wait to take everything he could give to you, and take it obediently.

“I-I don't understand..?”

“Now now, dear. Didn't I tell you the questions are unnecessary?” But seeing your wide eyes where the horror and disbelief had mixed, he decided to reveal some mysteries for you. Perhaps, it would help you to cast aside doubts that would interfere with what he was about to suggest. All your thoughts had to be focused on him, and not on causes and consequences.

“I returned to my hometown on this night because it is the only night of the year when the dead are allowed to visit the living. I came here because, whether it was a coincidence or not, you settled next to my house. And in fact on the territory that once belonged to me.” He looked up as if thinking over something. A mischievous smile appeared on his face, “Mayhap it still belongs to me, after all, my story was terrifying, who in the world would want to live where the most brutal serial killer operated?” And his gaze fell on you. His smile turned sharper and you felt something similar to shame. The red touched your cheeks and you lowered your gaze. “Huh, I just came home to mark what's mine.”

The fear and surprise in your eyes, where Alastor could still see the traces of tears after his performance, were delightful. He liked how you didn't move, didn't try to escape, and he didn't know whether it was your willingness to accept fate, whatever it may be, or your anticipation of what would happen next. Either way he loved it. Your eyes watched his every move, as he leaned to you, as he hid a strand of your hair behind your ear, as he climbed into your bed on his fours. You watched it all, holding your breath, while your heart was beating frantically in your chest.

“Let's begin, my darling.”

Alastor slowly lay you on your back and propped himself on his hands above you. His eyes didn't leave your face when his right hand reached to his bowtie to untie it and let the black ribbons hang loosely around his neck. He slowly then undid several top buttons, as if he was preparing for an activity that would make him breathe harder. You swallowed in foretaste.

“Now, my dear,” He leaned closer, now propping himself above you on his elbow, his other hand travelled down to your thighs. You smelt sulphur and something burnt, but then the scent of moss and conifer comforted your nose. It was a strange aroma, but you inhaled little more when he leaned down to whisper in your ear,

“Lie still and you won't be hurt.” And when you felt the light touch of his fingertips on your skin, you screamed, remembering the bright red claws reflecting the moonlight when he was undoing his shirt. His hands were of deep black colour, but the fingers were red just as his long sharp claws, curving as little moons on his fingertips.

“Shh, dear! It's not my intention to hurt you. Moreover, I am here for the opposite reason. So be a good girl as you are and lie still.”

His breath burnt the skin on the shell of your ear, his husky voice with a slightly chiding tone ignited something within you. Alastor put his whole palm on your thigh, and you understood how huge he was. You were sure if he squeezed your leg more his fingers would curl around you. His touch was warm, commending, and you didn't resist when he pressed your leg to the mattress.

“Good.” The way he prolonged the word made the wetness between your legs more felt. How insane you were if he could make you feel like this with just one word, one touch, one threat.

His fingers slowly travelled up, so ever slightly grazing your skin, causing a soft breath out from you, as he reached higher and higher. And finally he touched your labia, with a smile on his face he found out that you were already soaked. His two fingers easily slid to and fro, keeping your most sensitive part between his fore- and middle fingers. The little bud of nerves stuck out between his claws, his smooth movements were delicious but not enough to please the organ properly. He slowly burnt up your desire, making you slightly moan at the teasing caress.

“Darling,” He purred, “I didn't expect you would be so welcoming. Good for me, huh?”

“Ahh… Alastor, please…”

“Already begging? Good!” He cast a look at your entrance, which was pinkish and glistening after his stimulation, and almost held his breath at your beauty. He admired how you clenched around nothing, wanting and needing him, and watched how you were dripping with the juice that had to be so sweet from a charming thing like you. You blushed in shame when Alastor licked his lips with his gaze fixed to your entrance.

“Remember my advice?” He suddenly looked up at you.

“I must lie still,” You murmured.

“A very good girl!” He praised you with a soft smile and closed eyes, as if absolutely satisfied with your obedience. And he started with one finger, curling it as he slowly dipped inside, carefully, not to hurt you as he had promised. He felt how warm you were there, how tight, so deliciously tight, and he added another finger.

You couldn't deny that you were scared when you felt his fingers inside, and you even felt the claws, but somehow they didn't scratch you. He slowly slid deeper past the rings of your trembling muscles, keeping his crimson eyes fixed on your face, and you felt the intimacy you hadn't felt with anyone before. You felt him gradually reaching with his long fingers the parts you had hardly ever touched, and you threw your head back, moaning out his name in the growing pleasure.

“Yes, that's my girl,” There was something special in the way you pronounced his name, he had noticed it the first time he heard your voice. He wanted to hear it again and again. Your soft voice made his name sound like a dangerous charm able to captivate the speaker, and your moans even sweetened it more. Just so delicious.

As his digits went to their base in your core, his palm pressed on your clit, and you were quivering in needy anticipation under him, Alastor started to move back and forward, slightly increasing the pace.

“Ah, ah, ah, huh-uh!” He pushed in tenderly and yet with force, causing louder and louder moans from you; the squelch sounds accompanied your heavy breathing and whines, but you still felt like it wasn't enough. No, it was good, better than with anyone or yourself, but you wanted to feel him. Your head swirled as if you were in a carousel when you imagined what he could do not just with his fingers, but with that bloody red tongue he had stuck from his slightly open mouth, or with that growing knoll on his groin.

His palm began to slap on your pussy as he increased the pace, the slaps fell directly on your clit, bringing you even more pleasure blended with pain. Fucking you with his fingers, he leaned to your face. He wanted to feel your breath fanning his face as you were whining in bliss, curling on his palm. Alastor didn't realise he had stuck out his tongue in a type of hunger unknown to him before. Saliva dripped down on your chest. This sigh of a ravenous predator above you awoke a strange desire in you. You lifted your head, catching his tongue between your lips in a sucking kiss. The fingers inside you twitched, pushing on the very spot, but you didn't let go of his muscle. You went as far as you could, until his lips covered yours in a messy kiss, and you sent your moan right into his mouth. You whimpered because of overstimulation, while Alastor's tongue was intertwining with yours in the most dirty kiss you'd ever received. Your teeth clashed against Alastor’s, you felt that you were hurt by his fangs and blood ran down your chin, staining Alastor's lips. Alastor licked everything clean and kissed again before you had time to take a breath, and again his tongue embraced yours and explored your oral, while he fucked you harder and harder with his fingers. It seemed that with your mindless kiss you lit up something voracious in him.

Suddenly you felt a cold emptiness in your core — Alastor had retracted his fingers. He let go of your lips, sweet by nature and bitter with your blood, and stared down at you, waiting for you to rest a little.

His half lidded eyes and lips stained red only made the blood in your veins flow faster.

He smiled widely at you, and your heart skipped a beat, but you yelped when his hands appeared under your knees and he harshly parted your legs, bending them and pressing to the mattress. He lowered his head with an open mouth and lolled out his tongue. The bright red lights of his eyes never left your face. When his wet muscle touched your core you couldn't suppress a sensual moan. His tongue adroitly worked with your heat, rewarding your every moan and plea with a longer lick, with a deeper suck at your clit, with a sweeter kiss on your folds, turning you into a quivering mess beneath his mouth and palms. You held on the antlers on his crown, which were growing bigger right under your fingers, and moved your hips to press yourself closer to him, to give more of yourself to him. You stuttered his name, feeling that Alastor was bringing you closer to your release; his own growls against your skin, sounds of kisses and love bites became louder, muffling that was left from the pleas of your conscience. You'd been ignoring its voice since Alastor stepped into your room, and now completely forgot about it.

“Agh, I'm- mmm!” You arched your back, and Alastor pressed your body closer to his mouth to not miss a single droplet of your sweetness that wrapped his whole mouth as you came.

When your tremor ended and Alastor swallowed everything, he gently laid you on the sheets. Alastor's hands reached to your waist and you held your breath when you felt them on your stomach. You looked at the demon, he licked his lips clean and whispered,

“You look so beautiful in this nightgown, darling,” He purred, caressing the silk of your black clothes. You could feel his warmth through the thin fabric, “But I'm sure… You'd look even better without it.”

Barely had you time to stop him, when he ripped the silk on your body with one harsh move, you gasped at the impassioned act. Your body now was in full display for his longing look. His eyes travelled slowly from your face to neck, bosom, belly and pussy, then with the same thrilling retard he looked back to your lips and then eyes.

“Yes… That's much better.” He purred in low, the static in his voice made the words sound velvety, you wished they’d envelop you whole.

Alastor took off his coat and undid two more buttons on his shirt. You saw the scars on his chest and the fur of the same hue as his skin. And then he undid the belt.

But before you could view his shaft enough, you felt how something squeezed your limbs and then you were forcefully changed in the position. You found yourself, standing on your fours in your bed and looking at the other wall of your room. There wasn't Alastor in front of you.

“You were making such beautiful noises for me, darling. I wonder what other sounds you can make.” You felt his hands on your waist and how he moved your hips back. The touch thrilled you, filled you with both such familiar fear and excitement. Something cool slowly wrapped your legs, moved higher to your thighs, sending shivers of cold and intrigue all over your body. The strange cold appendage ringed around your waist and when you tried to look back to understand what it was, it squeezed you tighter and you were forced to keep your first pose.

“Ah ah ah, darling!” Alastor's cheerful voice chid you, before suddenly got lower, much lower than you'd heard him that night. Something too dangerous hid in his voice when he said, “Don't move.”

Alastor had a perfect view of you, propping yourself on your palms and knees. The moonlight blanketed your soft skin as a veil, bringing something supernatural to your mortal frame. The shadow of him and you were beautiful black spots on the white sheets.

Alastor brought his one hand to your hips, his other hand was stroking his already hard organ. You heard his soft inhalings, heard the movements of his hand, and you impatiently rubbed your thighs when he put his hand on your ass.

You opened your mouth, when Alastor pressed his tip to your slit and moved slowly up and down, moistening with his precum your already wet folds. He bit his lip when he just hardly pressed his cock to your cunt, you were so desperately needed him, and when he entered, he couldn’t help moaning slightly. Your soft walls immediately clenched around him, your pussy greedily swallowed his cock in as he was slipping deeply. He moved slowly, slightly retracting back but never leaving you and then thrusting forward again. He gave you time to get used to his size, after all, you were so small next to him.

The room filled with your quiet whines and the sound 'mmm' blended with buzzing static, that caressed your hearing every time Alastor pushed in you. The gentleness he was acting with almost drove you insane. You breathed deeply and loudly, with his every new shove he went deeper, but not once you felt his stomach pressing to you. And you were waiting until he would fill you with every inch of him. The wait filled you with fear of his size but also a lustful impatience. And when you were about to let his name fall from your lips to show him how much you wanted and needed, he stopped.

Alastor watched the connection between you and him, he saw how your elbows bent and your leaned forward, taking a little more of him in you. You then carefully began to move your hips back and forward again and again. He watched your pussy swallowing him but being unable to take everything without the help.

And when Alastor made you sure that now you were leading, he smiled wider and harshly thrusted forward, burying his whole length in you. You threw your head back, seeing stars, and Alastor began to thrust in a new, fast rhythm. The sounds of skin against skin now echoed in the room, the perfect accompaniment to your lascivious moans.

“That's right… Make it louder for me...” He growled and you obeyed, letting the salacious screams fall from your lips. Oh, you were sure you could be heard from the outside. And then you felt him so deep, as if he reached where nobody ever destined to be. It felt as if he destroyed the concept of emptiness itself, filling you up completely with him. It felt like you became one in sharing pleasure. The touch to the sweetest spot inside your body immediately brought you to the edge, your muscles tensed, the forceful thrusts in and out made you see stars again.

“Oh God! Ah-h, ah!”

Alastor felt his own release approaching. Everything in you was perfect: your skin, your voice, the sounds your body was making at his contact, the way you were embracing him inside you. Everything, but the choice of your words during a fuck.

“Don't be ridiculous, darling!” And he pushed you on his shaft, causing a pitiful whimper from you, “It's not god who's with you right now.” He leaned down and pressed his body to your back, his palms covered yours. You felt his hot breath behind the shell of your ear, as he whispered darkly, “You knew my name even before I stepped inside. Now, use it.”

Alastor made the tentacles around your waist wrap tighter and pressed you sharply to his body, preventing you from any move. If Alastor now crossed his eyes in bliss, your pleasure changed into pain. His strong hands firmly held your hips, the claws digged into your skin and spilt blood down your legs. The cold things now wrapped around your arms, and you finally saw that they were as if shadowed and yet so strong. You were completely immobilised.

“Ah, fuh-ck!” You cried out. The trace of your pleasure hadn't passed yet, and you desperated the release.

“Hmm, that's not what I asked you.” And he shoved in, his hips slapped against your ass, he growled, feeling as your walls squeezed him. “Ohh… Well?”

“A-alstor… Alastor,” You slightly lifted your head, trying to look back at the man, the demon, behind you. He was smiling down at you, lust radiated from his eyes. The hunger he was looking at you with, though he already was having you, turned your mind fuzzy. You felt his heartbeat against your back, felt his breath in your hair, his cock twitching in you. “Alastor…” You moaned once again.

“Good.” You closed your eyes when you felt a kiss in the nape of your neck. “Now let us see your face.”

You harshly opened your eyes at the sudden creaking sound, and your blood froze when you saw how the mirror from the corner of your room moved to the bed as if somebody was pushing it from behind. But there was only darkness. With a loud rasp against the floor the mirror moved closer until it stopped in front of you, and you saw yourself and Alastor above you. His wide grin with razor-like fangs was too close to your ear, the red eyes shone brightly from under half closed lids, the antlers on his head grew widely and you hardly imagined how he could still hold his head up and not collapse under the weight of that bone crown. Then your gaze lowered to your hands, covered with Alastor's huge palms and embraced with strange long tentacles. Your eyes traced up the reflection and you understand that these long shadows grew right from the demon's back.

Alastor's grin turned sharper when he noticed surprise on your face and followed the direction of your look. It seemed his dark appendages attracted your attention. The tendrils let go of your stomach and creeped to your breasts that erotically dangled. A soft moan escaped your lips when the cold tips titillated your hard nipples. They lightly caressed the sensitive skin. In the reflection you saw how your lips parted, the tongue seductively lolled out.

“Don't we look beautiful together?” Alastor murmured against your skin. He still slowly thrusted in you, his member twitched so deliciously in you.

“Mmh.”

“Use your words, dear.” His eyes didn't leave your face in the mirror, his burning look only ignited your desire.

“Y-yes… We do.”

“And what about this? Do you like it?” You saw how your expression changed, a moan escaped your lips, for the shadows slipped down to your slit and nestled themselves between the folds. Smoothly they swirled around your clit, patted and pushed on it. Alastor intertwined his fingers with yours, shoving himself in you. He idly pushed past the tight ring of your muscles and didn't stop until his shaft was fully inside; the fur that was around his cock tickled your higher hole.

“It seemed to me that you looked frightened when you saw my appendages, so I decided to change your mind on the matter.”

He increased the pace, intensified the thrusts. Skin slapped against skin, while the tendrils adroitly worked with your tender nub. Everything was too much for you, your heart was beating in a madly rhythm as if it was about to break through your chest, you were dizzy with such hard breathing, and soon you cummed on his cock still thrusting you mercilessly in and out.

“Yes…” Alastor growled and licked the sweat from your temples, “That's quite the view. Look at us, dear!” And you looked up, barely seeing with your teary eyes anything but the red eyes flashing over you.

“Ah, A-alastohh…” You cried out. You were so overstimulated, but he still was fucking you, and your clit was still being licked and patting by the shadows. Alastor felt he was losing control — the heavenly pleasure you were giving him aroused the devilish side of him. He felt you trembling under him, heard your pitiful mewls, but he couldn't help abusing your tight cunt more and more. You were just so perfect for him.

When his vision turned black for his eyes had turned into dials, the weight of his antlers pressed too much, and he felt how he was growing in size, Alastor closed his eyes. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, made himself to slow down the animalostic pace he was fucking you with. He concentrated on the way you whispered his name. The silk sweet sound of your voice. Alastor peppered your crown, nape and shoulders with kisses, he slightly sucked on your skin then and there, sometimes bit through your skin, but mostly just covered your trembling form with hot kisses. You in your turn felt another wave of orgasm coming closer. His sudden gentleness made you weak, you bent down under him, and the changed angle let him dig a little deeper. You rolled your eyes back, swooned with another orgasm he gave you.

Alastor opened his now red eyes when he felt you changing your pose and screamed out his name. He made one, two, three smooth movements in and out before he came in you, burying his cock deeply, pressing your ass firmly to his pelvis. He painted your walls white with a low growl, while you were moaning out his name. After that both of you collapsed on the mattress, fagged out but drunk with pleasure none of you had ever felt before.

Alastor's arms held you close, though there was no power in the embrace, just a wordless sentence that he was next to you and you belonged to him. His breath accompanied with the rustle of static tickled the skin on your temple. His member was still inside you, you felt how it became weak but he didn't retract and you were glad for this. You didn't want him to leave. You wanted Alastor to stay with you. For this night, and the next day. For several days and nights. Forever. But the night seemed to be passing too quickly, you would curse it for this, but unfortunately this very night brought you the best lover in your life. And you only thanked it.

Alastor moved closer, his cock slipped out of you and you felt how his fluid slowly dripped out of your cunt, painting the sheets under your bodies. He turned you on your side so your nose was buried in his chest. He still was in his shirt that was sweaty now, nevertheless you buried your nose in his furred chest, inhaling the scent of burnt wood and conifers. You put your hands on his back, your legs on his hips and pressed yourself to him — not an inch had to separate you.

Alastor chuckled and left a peck on your crown. His clawed hands, which hours ago you were sure could tear you apart, now gently caressed your back. He could admire the little work he did there, the love bites were visible and they would remain for several days more. On your thighs he left the same marks. Stepping in the world of the living, he didn't expect he would find something fascinating, but there he was with a precious captivating little thing in his arms. You.

A clawed red finger lifted your chin up. You looked into the red eyes that dimly illuminated his and your faces. The thin but soft lips crushed on yours in a tender, deep kiss. His hands caressed your hip, kept your head in place for him to shower your face with kisses.

“You know, my dear,” He said, parting his lips from yours, “I didn't really have a chance to introduce myself, there was no need, you knew me. But! You never told me your name.”

The thrill poured down your back. The realisation you gave yourself to the man you knew as a serial killer, a brutal one, had to bring the colour of shame on your cheeks. But it didn't. Maybe something was wrong with you, you didn't care. His smile was too luring, the touches were too irresistible, the voice was too tempting. You were happy to be with him, happy that not only this night bounded you together, but even the past of your family. Maybe it was fate, you thought proudly.

You said to him your name and he repeated it, as if savouring each consonant and vowel and the way they supplemented each other. For sure your name had never seemed to you so beautiful as in the moment it fell from Alastor's lips.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl, hm?”

You chuckled at the compliment. When you looked up at the man again the room seemed lighter. It wasn’t the sunrise, was it? But the worried look Alastor cast at the window and the greyish light filling the room told you otherwise.

“I'm very sorry to leave, dearest.” He murmured and sat up. You followed him. The singing of the earliest morning birds reached your hearing. Alastor snapped his fingers, the clothes in perfect condition appeared on him, as well as your silk nightgown. All the traces of passionate night had dissolved, only the love bites and scratches of his claws were still on you. You even felt his seed still filling you, though the stains on the sheets had disappeared.

“Don't you say goodbye,” You frowned. The tears of regret filled your eyes.

Alastor turned to you with a surprised smile,

“I'm not saying goodbye to you,” Alastor said your name and looked all over you. His smile he never dropped for this night turned sad. The crimson eyes looked softly in yours. He cupped your cheek, his thumb wiped away the tear falling from the corner of your eye, “We'll meet again, darling.”

The kiss he gave you was heavenly and bittersweet. His lips brushed against yours gingerly, as if it was the first time and he wasn't sure you would turn away. You bit on his lower lip, you were angry with him leaving you and with the morning taking him away from you. Your tongue slipped into his mouth to start a slow last dance with him. You collected the quiet moans he gave you, buried your hands in his so soft hair. But Alastor also wasn't ready to let go. He tried to remember all your curves with his hands that were running all over your body now. He swallowed the noises escaping your mouth.

He parted his lips from yours, palms cupped your face gently. And then his devilish smirk returned to him. The eyes gleamed with danger under the first sunbeams falling on his face, colouring his eyes with brighter and deeper hue of red. His toothy smile and passionate gaze gave bravery to you, and you smiled back as he said,

“See you in hell, love.”

When he dissolved through the shadows, the cathedral radio on your dresser switched on by itself. A jazz yet melancholic melody filled the room. The rhythm was the same as of your heart, the same rhythm Alastor started in you, every time giving you a kiss.

*. ⋆ ✧.·:·.* ☽ ･ ｡ﾟ･ ☾ *.·:·.✧ *. ⋆

author's note: can you believe that i'm writing again???? somehow to post again feels even scarier than when i posted my first work haha

[vivwritesfics]

The Bad Luck Boy

This is the story of the bad luck boy and the two people he loved.

2.3K

LeStappen x reader

This is the story of the Bad Luck Boy.

The Bad Luck Boy was a nice boy. He was polite and sweet, making those around him smile.

The Bad Luck Boy was a hard working boy. His career was his everything. Well, almost his everything.

The Bad Luck Boy was a handsome boy. Everybody knew it, including his teammate and his biggest rival.

Y/N L/N had known the Bad Luck Boy since her karting days. They raced each other, pushing each other off the track. Together, they moved into Formula Three. Together, they moved into Formula 2. When Charles won the F2 championship, he graduated up into Formula One, while Y/N was still stuck in F2.

She herself won the championship in 2018 and, by 2019, she was racing alongside Kimi Räikkönen in Alfa Romeo Racing. Two years later, after proving herself and scoring a podium in the Alfa Romeo car, Y/N L/N was offered the second seat in Ferrari.

When they were kids, Y/N and the Bad Luck Boy raced in karts alongside Max Emilian Verstappen. Max had always been an aggressive driver, but Y/N loved the challenge. Unlike with Charles, she didn't move through her career with him, instead following in his footsteps. When Y/N moved up into F1, Max was already racing at the front of the grid; she only really got to race against him when he pitted.

The Bad Luck Boy loved his job. His job treated him like shit, though. Y/N herself struggled weekend after weekend in the SF-23, but there was nothing worse than watching the Bad Luck Boy struggle in it.

The SF-23 got Y/N around the track at least in seventh, but the Bad Luck Boy was barely making it around the track. There was one race where Y/N didn't even make it onto the track, unable to start because of the car. But watching Charles wrestle with it, hearing him on the radio, was painful enough.

The Bad Luck Boy had one thing going for him. He was in love. Better than that, he was in love with two people. His teammate and his rival.

Yes, the Bad Luck Boy had some good luck. He loved two people and those two people loved him. But it wasn't without its complications.

Y/N stood beside Max as he drank his can of Red Bull, further down the paddock, Charles was completing an interview. "Shouldn't you be down there with him?" Max asked, offering her a sip of his drink.

Y/N shook her head, refusing the drink. "Unless we're doing our challenges or media duties, I'm staying away from him," she answered him. "I can't be shouting his name across the paddock or saving him seats for the drivers parade." Her tone was somewhat bitter as she kept her eyes on the pavement.

Letting out a laugh, Max finished his drink. "Oh, come on. It's not that mad. You're standing with me now, and nothings happening."

"Because I'm not your teammate, Max. Nobody thinks there's anything going on between us, but also because they're convinced I'm trying my absolute hardest to sleep with Charles. I've seen the edits of the two of you, grabbing each others waists with blushing smiles, but I don't get to do that. If I go near Charles, I'll be called a slut and accused of trying to distract him from the race. You don't understand how badly I want to kiss the both of you but I can't."

"Kiss me, then," answered Max.

Y/N stared up at him, her eyebrows furrowed. "All this winning has gone to your head because you're losing it," he said and shook her head.

"No, I'm serious. If you kiss me and everybody thinks we're going steady, they'll leave you alone about Charles."

"And then I'll be accused of sleeping with you because you're winning."

It really was a complicated situation. Y/N could be seen to be close with Max, but nobody thought they were romantically involved. But they were wrong and Y/N loved Max more than anything.

But she also loved Charles. Her teammate. The man she was being accused of sleeping with. Which wasn't strictly a lie. But it was more than just sleeping with him, she was in love with him too.

Max let out a sigh, but he placed his arm around her, anyway. "I'll blow you a kiss when I lap you later," he said and walked away.

Their relationship was rather... depressing. They could only be together when they were alone and that was heart breaking enough. Y/N watched Max walk away, walk back to the Red Bull hospitality unit.

Letting out a breath, she strode forward, walking towards her teammate. She passed him, and Charles' eyes moved across from the interviewer, looking at her. Y/N smiled, a smile that was surely captured by cameras, and continued on, making her way towards her drivers room.

As soon as Y/N got into her drivers room, she threw herself down onto the sofa.

Y/N loved her job, she loved being a driver. But it was getting harder and harder. If driving in the SF-23 wasn't bad enough, she had to avoid one of her boyfriends at all cost. One of them she could only briefly talk to. It really fucking hurt.

***

For once the Bad Luck Boy was having some good luck. He was at the front of the grid, fighting with Max and Lando.

Y/N, though? She was struggling.

The car wasn't handling well. She'd had an okay qualifying the day before, landing her in P5. After a good start she'd ended up in P3, driving with her boyfriends. If things kept up like this, they'd all be on the podium together.

But then Y/N had ended up with a shit pit stop. They'd called her in without having the tires ready and completely fucked up her race.

Y/N managed to complete two laps after that until the car began to malfunction. The hydraulics failed and she ended up in the wall.

Nothing serious, just a lot of frustration. "Fuck, shit, fuck!" Y/N shouted into the radio as she climbed out of her car.

And then it was Charles' turn. In the next race he had engine failure.

And then Y/N had engine failure.

All of that, on top of keeping their relationship a secret, Y/N was struggling. She was really, really struggling.

It was a whispered secret, something she said to Max and Charles in the late hours of the morning, when all three of them were half asleep.

While Charles and Max slept somewhat soundly, with Charles in the middle (most of the time. It was either him or Y/N. Max insisted on sleeping to the outside of the bed, closest to the door), Y/N thought. She thought a lot, about their relationship, about whether the stress was really worth it.

As soon as these thoughts came, they left. Y/N had shaken them away by the time she woke up.

She hoped they didn't know anything, but, of course, they did. Max and Charles were all too aware. They knew exactly how she was feeling, and it hurt.

Max wanted to say something, he wanted to talk to her, but Charles wouldn't. "Max, she loves us," he said. "She's with us, and she loves us."

And, of course, Y/N really did love them. She still does. But she'd been pulling away.

Where they'd used to spend all weekend every weekend together, Y/N was suddenly sleeping in her own room without the boys snuggled up against her.

The turning point was the Mexican grand prix. The race was going well; Max was P1, with Charles and Y/N racing close behind. When all three of them managed to cross the finish line, they were ecstatic. Maybe the Bad Luck Boy didn't have that much bad luck after all.

They couldn't keep their smiles from their faces as they spray the champagne over each other. It was something of an amazing night for the three of them. They celebrated and spent the evening together, sharing a bed and each other.

But then things started going down hill again.

Y/N used to stay in Monaco. She used to spend all of her time between races going between Max's apartment and Charles'. But lately she'd been returning to her own home in Switzerland.

Max was at a breaking point. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't sit around feeling anxious because of how distant his girlfriend was being. Charles felt the same, which was somewhat comforting. They needed to do something, they needed to speak to her.

Max was going to do it, Max was going to speak to her, but Charles wouldn't let him. As much as he tried not to be, Max was aggressive, and Charles couldn't see things ending well if he was the one to speak.

So, Charles took the reins. He attempted to cook them dinner (with Max and Y/N having to help a lot), and sat her down at the table.

Dinner was peaceful. It wasn't how things used to be between them, but it was peaceful. Still, it didn't feel as though Y/N was all there, and that left a horrible feeling in the pit of Max's stomach.

After dinner, Max began clearing things away as Charles took a hold of Y/N's hands. They were soft in his own, and he ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "You know Max and I love you, right?" He asked, staring into her eyes with his lovely green ones. "You know that Max and I would do anything for you, right?"

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Y/N nodded her head. She knew. Her boys were amazing, the most amazing people she knew.

"Then tell us what's going on, please."

She sucked in a deep breath and pulled her gaze away from Charles. "I love the two of you," she said. "But I hate having to hide us. I hate the comments I get whenever I'm pictured with either one of you. I hate that I can't kiss either of you when any of us end up on the podium. I hate that we can't go on traditional dates and we can't hold hands when we're walking through the paddock," she admitted.

Nodding his head, Charles leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I understand, chérie. Maybe we should think about coming out with our relationship publicly."

As Y/N and Charles had been speaking, Max had been busy doing the dishes. He loved mundane little things like this, something he didn't often do. As he listened, he shook his head. That wasn't the whole issue, not at all. It might have been a large part of it, but Max knew it wasn't the whole story.

With the towel over his shoulder, he walked into the room and leaned against the door. "Spit it out," he said to his girlfriend, his voice with a particular edge. Charles sent a glare in his direction.

"Fine," Y/N said shortly and let out a huff. "I love driving for Ferrari, but the car is dogshit. Charles, imagine how many more times we could have joined Max on the podium this year if the car wasn't a pile of crap. We could have actually beaten him! The car, with everything else I listed, has pushed me to my breaking point," she whispered and pressed Charles' hand to her forehead.

Max let out a laugh. The bastard actually laughed! He pushed away from the wall and walked over to his partners. "Schat, you're ridiculous," he said and pulled Charles hand away. "I want nothing more than to kiss you when I'm on the podium. Charlie and I want to take you out on dates and hold your hand. If we were doing that, would you feel better about how terrible the SF-23 is?"

Y/N nodded her head. "Can someone please kiss me?"

The three of them attended the next grand prix together. They walked through the paddock, hand in hand in hand. Everybody seemed to be silent as they came past. Cameras flashed, but they didn't care.

Walking past the Red Bull hospitality unit, Y/N and Charles kissed Max goodbye and kept going, on to the Ferrari hospitality.

The gossip surrounding the three of them went on for weeks until Y/N, Max and Charles posted their announcements.

maxverstappen1

liked by username, charles_leclerc, y/nl/n95 and 199,453 others

maxverstappen1 She's a princess

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danielricciardo finally! Sick of pretending I don't know y/nl/n95 but you didn't know? danielricciardo didn't I?

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen 1, y/nl/n95 and 188,329 others

charles_leclerc my kind of race weekend

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pierregasley congratulations to you three! y/nl/n95 thanks pierrrrre gasllllley! (i officially prefer you to daniel) danielricciardo hey!

y/nl/n95

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 193,457 others

y/nl/n95 losers

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maxverstappen1 that's not very nice charles_leclerc but she won't share the moments where she games with us y/nl/n95 i don't game because I'm not (guess what) a loser like you two

By the end of this story you would have realised that the Bad Luck Boy wasn't so unlucky after all. He had two people who loved him more than anything and, finally, he could show the world he loved them.

[r0se1111]

Can't stop thinking about being Ford's assistant and you're there when Stan shows up and the portal mess happens... you just lost your best friend, and sure his brother might be a bit weird but dammit you are not leaving this weird little town until Ford is back! So you and Stan work together and live together trying to get him back... you eventually agree with his whole "Mystery Shack" business and fall into a sort of strange but comfortable domesticity.

You teach him about interdimensional physics and quantum engineering, and he teaches you how to be a better liar and how to mark up prices just enough that people don't complain. The two of you get greasy meals at midnight in grimy 24/7 diners after hours of trying to decipher Ford's journals... you take long car rides listening to the fuzzy radio... you watch shitty TV together and who really minds if his arm finds its way around your shoulder, or if his hand wanders a little too close to your thigh to be considered platonic. It's really not a big deal you tell yourself, if you find his over-the-top 'Mr. Mystery' act more endearing than annoying, and if the wall between your two rooms seems a bit too thick some nights.

And well, it's just natural that you two get married a few years down the line because "Mr. Mystery needs a Mrs. Mystery... just think of all the merchandise we could sell!" and if Stan blushes when he sees you in your thrifted white dress on the way to the local courthouse- well he's never seen me dressed up, that's all- and if the rings you exchange are definitely more than you two can really afford but no less meaningful, you don't blink an eye.

It's not until 30 years later and the twins have come into your life, between Mabel's puppies-and-rainbows attitude towards love, more specifically the love she swears to see between you and Stan, as well as watching the man bond in an almost fatherly way to Dipper (who reminds you so much of Ford it hurts sometimes) that you begin to reevaluate your guys' relationship. The little touches, the playful flirting, the hours spent in each other's company. What once was a marriage of convenience, a relationship which you could swear was just two good friends, now is subject to your critical review as you shakily realize. Shit. I'm in love.

Before you can figure out how to tell your husband of 30 years you're in love with him, ta-da Ford is back! He's shocked to find that his brash brother and quiet assistant are now married, and after watching your interactions for a few days assumes it is a marriage of love. It's not until you ramble to him in a panic that you "have feelings for Stan and probably have since you'd first met him but we only got married for practicality and he probably doesn't see me like that and we just flirt for fun and he's your brother what do I do??"that Ford sighs heavily and in true annoying brother fashion, forces the two of you to confront each other.

I bet you didn't see this coming reader, but ofc Stan returns your feelings with a sort of blinking awe. He's torn between a sort of excited "I've still got it" and a sheepish "It took us 30 years of MARRIAGE to realize we like-like each other Jesus Christ..." But your relationship had already been so couple-y that the two of you adjust easily.

ALSO also... since Stan faked his death and took Ford's identity technically you're married to Ford... he very graciously divorces you (sorry Ford girlies... it's just for this imagine </3) and you and Stan have an Actual Wedding where you two are Officially In Love. Same little courthouse, same too-expensive rings, but different because now you are surrounded by family and friends as you happily enter officially married life. Sigh... idiots in love <3

[eddieandbird]

Irresponsible—

Your neighbor, Eddie, introduces you to his cat.

tags/warnings: fluff | 1.4k words | genderless reader | cat/pet mention

———

With a flick of your keys in the ignition, you switch off your car, continuing to hum the song that was recently played on the radio. You got out, then shut the car door with your hip. You were going to head inside the house, but your steps were halted by the sound of a high-pitched whistle.

“Hey, kid!” A low voice called out to you from across the street.

Eddie stood there in his driveway leaning up against his van. He slowly waved and clapped his hands together as he pushed himself off the van door.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” His head gestured toward his trailer, beckoning you to come over.

You raised a brow and then approached him, your arms folded across your chest. You had been Eddie’s neighbor for a couple of years and you’d hardly said a thing to each other, even in the hallway at school.

“Yeah, sure. What’s up, Munson?” You nodded, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Is that orange cat yours?” Eddie pointed back to your porch.

Sure enough there your cat was, stretched out and laying on the front steps. You pouted at the little guy, thinking he looked so sweet taking in the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

“Oh yeah, that’s Arthur,” You chuckled. “Why?”

“I got something you might wanna see,”

You followed Eddie up to the trailer door and waited at the bottom step. He quickly dipped inside and returned with a cat in his arms, its body mostly tucked into his denim vest.

“This little girl is Scarlet,” He smiled wryly as he showed her off.

“Hi Scarlet,” You gasped softly as you leaned in to pet her head. You could feel your heart melting as you looked at her, the black ball of fluff she was with two giant green eyes peering from out of the fur. Eddie chuckled as he watched you interact with Scarlet, her tail flicking happily from the attention. He hadn’t seen her be this responsive in a couple of days, but he chopped it up to her seeing someone other than him and Wayne.

“She’s a real sweetheart,” he murmured, giving her head scratches. The cat glanced at you with big curious eyes then returned to her owner.

“She looks like trouble,”

“More like a headache,” Eddie smirked. “She keeps me up at night, I tell ya.”

“Yeah, Arthur is quite the menace too. As you can see, he prefers patrolling the house rather than staying inside in his comfy cat bed I spent way too much money on,” You shook your head, pointing back to him with your thumb.

“Yeah about that…” Eddie’s words were hesitant and elongated. “That’s actually why I wanted you to meet Scarlet. She likes wandering outside a lot too, but recently I noticed she’s been all weird and clinging to my side and well-”

Eddie held Scarlet up before him, letting her feet dangle underneath her. The position of the animal revealed that she wasn’t simply abnormally fluffy as you thought, but her belly was also extended.

“Oh, no fucking way,” Your voice was strained with shock.

Eddie awkwardly nodded, his gaze shifting between you and Scarlet. He gently pushed her belly to show how just round it was. You pinched the bridge of your nose in response.

“Yep,” He beamed, a hint of amusement in his voice. “She’s pregnant.” He then shifted her in his arms so she could lay back down comfortably.

“She hasn’t been eating as much lately either,” he went on. “I think she’s due any day now.”

“Jesus Christ,” You scoffed, shaking your head.

Your head whipped back to glare at your cat who was peacefully snoozing away, his head resting on the stair railing. It was ridiculous to be annoyed with him for this, but you found yourself a bit disgruntled anyway.

“Arthur, you slut!” You yelled as if he was able to feel shame. You sighed after your fit of laughter died down. “Listen, I really apologize for my irresponsible cat,”

A light flush dusted your cheeks as you held them in shock and horror. You knew this was a thing that all animals did, but you still could not believe that this had happened to you and a neighbor. Eddie smirked at your flustered state, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Hey, it takes two, you know,” he lifted Scarlet to his face and kissed the top of her head.

“It’s not just your cat that’s an irresponsible dumbass.”

He set Scarlet back down on the ground and she quickly sauntered over to rub against your legs, purring softly. You crouched down to run your fingers through her dark hair, a wry smile playing on your lips.

“What are we going to do, Scarlet, huh? We can’t have a dozen mini black and orange devils running around here. You guys will take over the whole trailer park,” You babbled, sighing when you felt her rubbing up against your calf.

“We can’t keep them all, right?” You asked him with a suspicious squint. You needed him to agree with you.

Eddie seemed like a guy with a good head on his shoulders, but you also knew he had a reputation for creating trouble himself. It was almost concerning how many times you would peek out your front window and see him stomping out a fire or falling off of his roof.

To your relief, Eddie gave a disapproving look, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

“Hell no, we can’t keep them all,” he declared.

He leaned back against the wall of the trailer, rocking his cat back and forth.

“As much as I love my little demon-” He began with a huff. “The idea of having a bunch of kittens running around? Sounds like a nightmare. That’s way too much chaos, even for me.”

He scratched the back of his neck. It was as if Scarlet knew she was being talked about as she trotted her way back inside the trailer.

“You got that right. We barely have a grip on the cats we have now,” You zoned out for a moment, picturing the scene and shivering at the thought. “I guess we gotta figure out what to do with the kittens before Scarlet pops. What do people even do when their cats are pregnant?”

Eddie shrugged, his mind suddenly blank.

“Dunno,” he said, then gave himself a small whack to the head. “I knew I should’ve picked up a book from the vet or something. All I’ve done is feed her extra and give her extra cuddles.”

He frowned, clearly frustrated. You found it kind of endearing that he joined you in your turmoil. The situation was as humorous as it was vexing.

“What about you, kid?” He raised a curious brow. “Any suggestions?”

You shrugged back, a frown creeping up on your mouth. “Well first, I’m taking Arthur to get fixed. I had no idea he wasn’t. He was a stray I took in at my last place,”

Guilt fell heavy on your mind as you recalled lying to your parents about where you actually found Arthur. You had told them it was given to you by an old friend, but really you found him sniffing around some dumpsters at the mall.

“Maybe we can ask around town if anyone is interested in newborn kittens?” You looked up at him, scratching your forehead.

Eddie nodded along as you spoke, mulling over the idea of giving away the kittens. He had a soft spot for animals but knew that keeping them all just wasn’t an option.

“That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “Let’s put up some flyers or something. See if we can find good homes for them.”

“Sounds good to me,” You nodded.

“Awesome. I’ll grab some supplies tomorrow. You wanna come over and make the flyers with me?” Eddie asked, looking hopeful with his wide eyes and raised brows.

Your mouth hung open in shock for a second. “Yeah? Yeah. Tomorrow. I’ll definitely stop by,”

Your voice was breathy, sounding completely foreign to you. You cleared your throat. Eddie perked up at your agreement, a boyish grin slowly spreading across his face.

“Cool,” he said in a tone that tried to mask his excitement. “Just come over whenever. I’m pretty much free all day after school.”

He tilted his head, observing you closely. Your sudden change in demeanor didn’t go unnoticed, but he chose not to comment on it. Instead, he smiled slyly.

“Looking forward to it, kid.”

“Me too,”

[akilahia]

Thinking about IHNMAIMS in pretty much all of its forms.

Specifically Ted and Ellen. Obviously in the Game their relationship is very different from the short story/comic/radio drama, with Ted being in love with Ellen(although it’s evident it’s because she is the only woman left alive). In the game he shows devotion to her, he is willing to push past his usual methods of flirtation and find other ways to get what he needs.

But in the other adaptions his feelings towards Ellen are mixed. I think his unique backstory with being so dependent on women to live a happier and more lavish life style, significantly effect how he views Ellen beyond AM’s tampering

Throughout the short story Ted constantly thinks ill of Ellen. Even though prior to being placed in this hell, she had only had sex twice before. But she is the last woman alive on earth. The video game(while following a different plot line(still one that is extremely tragic and literally made me cry)) expresses that even before Ellen’s assualr she had little to no interest in sex. She would never have had sex with the four men if it weren’t for

1. AM

2. Being the Last women alive

3. AM’s deliberate tampering

In a world where characters like Benny have been so permanently physically marked as a form of torture by AM, something like sex, is not as extreme in comparison(at least from Ted’s perspective). However to be the last woman alive, with minimal interest in sex, to be tampered with in such a way, is such a horrific form of torture.

I’m going to shift a way from this for a second to talk about Ted’s backstory for the video game. I understand that the videogame makes changes in terms of backstory for some of the characters(like Benny), so we can’t claim Ted’s backstory for the game is even remotely close to whatever it might have been for the short story. However, I still think can provide interesting context to his behavior towards Ellen.

Starting off, he really isn’t the cool rich guy that he played himself off to be when life was still normal. He never came from money, he was poor and he was forced to work and couldn’t go to school. However he was good looking which is resulted in older woman being attracted to him. And when he was NINETEEN, one older woman gave him her husband’s money and offered him the chance to travel and live in luxury.

Now this probably isn’t important, or was even taken into consideration by the game makers, but I was curious as to what the possible age gap between this older woman and Ted could be. The were together for 5 years, then she died

She died specifically of an aneurysm, which according to Google typically happens between the ages of 30 to 60. There is all this stuff with the Cold War and ww3 and I was going to try to do all this math with it but it’s too late for that and not relevant to the point I’m trying to make. But I’m just going to do some simple mental math and estimate that it might have been late 60’s or early 70’s when the older woman and Ted first got into a relationship. As I’m assuming everything went to shit in 1995 since that’s when the game came out, and 25 years had passed after he met the woman. Also this makes sense as Ted’s grandfather sold the farm due to the Great Depression, since most people married and had kids young, I’m going to be generous and say grandpa was 30 in 1929, and Ted’s mother or father was 9, then 10-12 years later Ted was born. Then 19 years later it would be about the 60’s or 70’s.

I am going to presume that the older woman had been married to her husband for at least 15 years. So it might have been 50’s at the earliest possibility. And the average age people married at then was when they were in their 20’s. So when she met Ted she was AT THE EARLIEST 35. Making her at least 16 years older than Ted when the first got together. But also worth noting that they do specifically mention older. So if we look on the higher side of the typical ages for aneurisms she could have been 55 when they first met(as the 5 years would pass making her 60) so she could have been 36 years older than him.

This seriously isn’t relevant to the actual point I’m trying to make with Ellen and Ted but I got sucked in. I guess I just wanted to highlight that Ted did not have the power in this relationship, he was young and poor, while she was old and rich, and I can imagine how that kind of relationship would impact him.

The next thing I want to note is the use of the word ‘lover’.

Though it can be used in a strictly romantic non intimate sense, I think it is used in the sexual way here.

Especially with the provided context of two different definitions of the word ‘lover’ both highlighting it’s connotations with sexual relationships

Furthermore, Ted’s relationship with the older woman is essentially just a sugar baby relationship. She is letting him experience things he never could have without her money. She teaches him how to act as a socialite and gets him used to the high life.

In connection to the sexual elements above, there was a video I wanted to link here but I can’t find it anywhere anymore. It was a YouTube video with a bunch of sugar babies discussing their experiences. And one woman confides that you really won’t make much money if you are in a platonic or non intimate romantic relationship with your sugar parent. If you want to make money and live richly, you have to preform sexual favors.

Now it’s hard to say if this was the only relationship with an older woman that Ted had been in. But regardless of whether it was one woman or a billion, using his body in order to get something that he wants has become an important asset to Ted; As seen in the castle with the maid and the witch. His love for Ellen(in the video game) helps him break past this fatal flaw of his, despite AM’s obvious temptations to make him fail.

Even if this stuff was in anyone’s minds when they wrote Ted’s backstory but I think it’s extremely important to note, especially as we return to my main point.

As stated before, Ted views Ellen negatively due to her promiscuity, despite the desire(felt really gross typing this word in this context) being placed in her as a form of torture by AM. She also is a woman, and Ted’s life has been spent around using and being used by women, so definitely lots of conflicting stuff there. Additionally Ted’s experiences with sexual relations are shown to be based in being transactional.

When he agrees with Ellen to go to the caves to get the food, she rewards him by being intimate with him to show her gratitude. Ted sees it as her ‘using him.’ (From the Radio Drama, I was going to post the clip but I could only post one video in a tumblr post apparently)

In the comic, after this encounter he questions her motivations. What she got out of it, once again thinking transactionally. But her response

“Does there have to be a reason”

Really gets to me. Especially after looking at all this intertextual context. Thinking about video game Ted’s backstory with book Ted’s thoughts and behaviors, he is shown to always think there is some kind of catch. No one is doing something without getting something in return, especially if that thing is kindness.

Ted is so intensely paranoid(as seen in all versions). I think by pairing up the backstory for the game with the short story/comic/radio drama it’s evident to see how heavily affected he is by it.

He thinks he has been tormented less by AM, making him paranoid of the others, contributing towards his behavior towards Ellen. Yet despite everything from the past and all of AM’s tampering, he still finds comfort with Ellen. Her unfaltering kindness manages to reach him even when he dismisses it as a farce. She doesn’t hate him or the others for how they’ve treated her, she still wants to help them. He still cares for her and the others. But he is filled with so much fear. He even apologizes to her.

I feel like at that point in the Radio drama marks a shift. Ted has made a realization about AM and it’s a lot for him, but Ellen is there for him. It’s a genuinely sincere act of kindness from her where she doesn’t ask or expect anything in return. They have some kind of connection. Once again blending the different versions, I think that this moment between them comes together in the end when they kill the other victims together. They don’t speak to each other, they just do it quickly and he kills her. And here he doesn’t refer to her by any degrading names. In the comic he holds her. Like how in the radio drama she held him.

Overall I just wanted to point out how well all these versions really mix to provide so much more behind each character. The backstories for the video game allow the reader to understand book Ted’s actions and relationships from a new angle.

The is was super duper major mess of a ramble. It’s now 3 am and I have a migraine, so I’m done for tonight. I might clean this up another time or make another post about Video game Ted with context to his backstory since I didn’t include the events from the video game in here.

Once again these are just my thoughts and beliefs on how I think the video game backstory for Ted provides interesting context for Book Ted. I know that both stories play out differently and both Ted’s act differently so please don’t get angry if you disagree with the message of stuff I said

mini sequel post about video game Ted

[colourstreakgryffin]

hii i really like your righting and i have a story idea ok its a hazbin hotel one.

so like alastor leave child reader for 7 years and like she/he/they feel abandoned and he(alstor) said he would go then come back like for a few hours, but a few hours turns unto days then days turnd to a year then 1 year turnd to 7. so now hes back but your with... vox(or Valentino just one of then u can pick)?

so now they feel abandoned and are like vox or Valentino tells them in a toxic way that they should stay with them

like i just need that drama. like i need drama to happen here!

so i would just love it if u did. and i think i have so ok ideas. so if u like this i could like come up with more! but for now this is all i got and it would mean a lot if u did this

Oooh. Right. It’s been some time since I written some juicy spicy draaammma~! I like it. It may not be that long but it’s still good. A great way to tease you all with a potential cliffhanger~! Hehe 🩷

Alastor- Abandonment Issues

That door will never open, will it…? It’s been this way for such a long time. You can’t remember when the bright red deer featured Overlord called your father would regularly arrive home. Now, that doesn’t exist. You almost forgot his name… it’s been so long

You were just a mere young child, a sweet little one that Alastor devoted his whole soul too and loved more than anything

One day, a normal day, he had to announce he was going away for a few hours to your face. Of course. It took some convincing and kisses and nuzzling for him to get you to let him go but you eventually came around and wave goodbye to your beloved father, as he proclaimed with his fancy radio-tuned voice he’d return in a flash

And you wish you never did

He said a few hours… it’s been longer than a few hours. You suspected he’d be back the next morning but he wasn’t. Rosie, Alastor’s most trusted friend, picked you up that morning since she learnt you were alone through her many eyes around Pentagram City and she took care of you. As much as you appreciate and respect Ms. Rosie for all she’s done for you… you want your father

He never came back. He never fulfilled his promise. He lied. He lied to your face and didn’t even have the decency to send you a letter

It’s been years. Though, the time felt like it flew by under Rosie’s loving care. The hours ticked over to days, those days ticked over to months, those months ticked over to years and now. You’ve reached the final stretch, seven years after the day your father just disappeared into the shadows with no semblance of communication or truth

Now. Apparently, he’s back… and you don’t want to talk to him. He lied to your face, why should you even give him the time of day?

Rosie is the one who mainly cared for you but she also let you go to Vox a number of times, the technology Overlord, when he offered to assist as he had learnt you didn’t have the Radio Demon anymore and he saw the perfect opportunity to finally beat the Deer once and for all

Rosie cared deeply for your safety and happiness so she entrusted Vox for his own power, blind to what Vox would end up doing to your perception of Alastor as he ensured to ruin it beyond repair by subtly manipulating you

“I am so sorry about him, love. Why don’t you come with me? I promise. I’ll give you everything you want and I won’t leave you”

Right from the start, Vox would love-bomb, in the most toxic but clouded way possible. Sweetly coo, express how frustrating it is to know a beautiful star like you was abandoned by your own parent and he questioned out loud how Alastor could do such a vile thing. This simple act, this sugar coating on your nose from the dastardly TV-head, was almost more than enough for you to start resenting your own father

Vox played your new father for the years he helped care for you, with the full intent to make Alastor’s most precious love turn on him and he succeeded so well, he couldn’t believe it. He raised you, joint with Rosie and he’s internally jumping for joy everytime you proclaim how mad or upset you are with Alastor for what he did

Not aware that Alastor wasn’t trying to leave you, he tried to talk to you but he couldn’t… his deal held him back. He didn’t want to tell you. He just… he was trying to protect you

Alastor immediately catches wind of what Vox did to you, almost the moment he is back in the City. That… that sly businessman shaped his precious baby deer to behave like a hateful spiteful beast at the mention of him. He couldn’t believe his baby… hates him. He didn’t mean for this, he couldn’t even take it. Almost nobody suspects that Alastor would express his regret and sorrow in public but he does

Just at the discovery that you don’t love him anymore but hate him with your guts, his little sunshine that’s almost fully grown now. You’ve become the right hand to his worst rival, you remember little about him and you love HIM more… that hurts more than any deal he’s stuck in, could

Alastor caught on the disturbing sight and it made him what to claw his eyes out in disbelief. Arriving up at the Overlord building for a meeting about some particular angelic issues, his sight and his brain not coming to terms with the fact you’re snuggling Vox’s lap and giving him love and affection like you’re HIS child whilst Vox reciprocates every drop you give him

But Alastor knew better… Vox is using you to get back at him, the ultimate revenge

His dual Transatlantic accent and radio tune dropping, his real voice… weak and tired from all he’s done these seven years with his soul-crushing deal and now defeated from the fact he’s lost you to the worst Sinner in Hell. His smile had actually faltered for possibly the first time ever, he just… he couldn’t pretend to smile at what he is seeing

Alastor speaks up the best he can, catching you and Vox’s attention in a smooth snap with his fluffy tall deer ears openly drawn back, clear pain in his crimson red eyes and lacing his tone but he doesn’t move from his spot at the entrance of this meeting room, clutching his microphone-staff hard enough for it to break in half, holding back the urge to rip apart Vox for this

It’s almost enough to make your heart pity him… almost

“G… Gris-Gris…?”

[nescaveckwriter]

Hey, lovely! 🥰

So I'll put the request here too to make it easier for you to answer: can I request a fic from you where Dean falls asleep on Y/N's shoulder when they're hanging out with her family like that dream I told you about 🥹 something sweet and fluffy, and maybe she'll later tease Dean, but just a little 😆🤭

Love you and thank you! 🤍☀️

❤️. Awww @k-slla 🐞... I really hope this is what you had in mind, Oh goodness 🤭 its such a cute request 🥰 and I love you too 💕... Also I'm going to tag @artyandink for my first post on the #Jensenathon and then @anyfandomgoesbingo for my fist square ('Game Night, will be in bold') 🤭🥰 hopefully y'all like this . 🥰🤭🐞

Warnings: I'm going to say 18+ only ya know just for precaution 😅 but honestly there's none, just fluffy and sweetness.

Words: 1015

A little fun !! 🤭❤️❤️

He's hand runs over his freckled face, it's been a rough couple of days, he's been struggling more to sleep, than in a while, everything weighing so heavily on his shoulders, so when I came running towards him, big smile plastered on my face, almost excitedly jumping up and down, like a two year old, "Dean! Babe?" His green eyes stare into mine, and I feel butterflies swirling around again, "Sweetheart? Don't you seem all excited!" 

Laughing "I am, it's been awhile since we had a fun time" giving him a Bambi-like glaze "so, my parents invited us to Game night, please can we go?" 

He couldn't keep the smile from tugging at the corners of his perfect plum lips, "That sounds like fun sweetheart"

 "Really?" I yelped.

He pulls me into one of those breath stopping hugs, tugging his head into the crook of my neck , the hot air of his breath tickling against my skin , while he whispers "your the only bit of light in this world you know that?" I just hugged him back, unsure how to reply, the emotion welling up in my eyes, so instead of saying a single word, I held him tight, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, just lightly running my fingers, in his hair. I'm not sure how long we held each other in that heartfelt embrace but without saying a single word, it spoke of love, trust, peace, maybe the only sense of peace we had in our lives.

Blasting the radio loudly, playing Dean's favourite Led Zeppelin songs, on the drive over to my parents house, we got out, in a quite cheerful mood, well I could still see the heaviness in those emerald green orbs of his, but I made a quick promise to myself that, I'll do anything in my power, to make sure he has a little fun and relaxes a bit. So without further due, I grabbed his hand, which in return he held the beer and some of the snacks. We rang the doorbell and got welcomed as if we were long lost. We walked in and the living room, spoke of fun with the board games all stacked up, there was wine, and beer, finger foods, it spelled laughter and fun.

 As the night got started and we were teamed up together we laughed and shared stories throughout the games. When Dean ate all the pie and some other snacks, me and my mom went into the kitchen, to get some more snacks. When she smiled looked at me and said, "Sweetie,you look so happy are you?" 

My eyes glistened, "Mom! I'm not happy, I'm overjoyed, I simply adore Dean, I love him more than anything in this world" soft tears rolled down my mom's cheeks, "Sweetie I'm so happy for you, he looks like a good man" I nod, "He is mom, he has his problems but when it comes to me, he treats me like a queen". And with that we walked back to where Dean and the rest of my family were sitting. He gave me that smirk, of his, the one that made my knees weak, and I smile back, he pats the seat next to him, and I gladly obliged, he placed a sweet kiss on my cheek, I placed my hand on his thigh, giving him a slight squeeze, after my father cleared his throat he said we should maybe play a card game, and so we started.

The rest of the night was filled with laughter, an accusation of cheating every now and again, but it was all playful, and light hearted fun, and as the night went on, everyone taking turns, when it came to Dean's turn, I felt his head resting on my shoulder, and when I looked down, I saw his eyes were closed, the man fell asleep in the middle of room filled with people. I didn't have the heart to wake him up, or even stir a little, so I took the beer out of his hand, and the left over cards and sat it down with mine, mouthing to my parents that we are done playing for the night so I just watched them play further on, until one for one got up and either went home or to bed, leaving me and Dean in the living room, his head still on my shoulder. It didn't take long for my eyelids to fall close, my head gently rested against him.

The night turned into early morning sunrays lighting up the room, my eyes fluttering open only to be met by his forest green orbs, his voice gruffly "Sweetheart when.. what... How?" Smiling, I look at him, my own voice a little croaky from the sleep, "No! Apparently we're so boring and not good company at all, you fell asleep while we were playing cards" 

Dean looked shocked and ashamed "Sweetheart it's not that, it's, I'm so sorry okay, I don't..." I pressed a finger on his lips , "Shhh, babe I'm joking, I know you were tired" A smile tugs at his plum lips, "really you had to make me feel bad didn't you?" Shrugging my shoulders, chuckling a bit "I couldn't help myself, sorry my love" he looks at me as if he's looking into soul, "I love you, you know that right?" Nodding about to answer but before I could, he's lips crashed against mine in a searing kiss, his fingers tangled in my hair, I couldn't hold the small moan escaping my lips, the grin on Dean's lips was unmistakable, he shifted slightly, gently guiding me to lay on the couch, I giggled, whispering "My parents'' pressing his finger against my lips, "shhh sweetheart, we don't want to wake them up do we?" with that he captures my lips in a passionate kiss, after a little while, he pulls back, hoarsely whispers "I like game night!"  planting yet another kiss, in that moment I knew, I Will always love this green eyed man, even if he falls asleep mid family events.

@jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @angelbabyyy99 @cevansbaby-dove @bookishtheaterlover7 @cutedisneygrl

[dev-solovey]

Reading up on the history of American Idiot (album) and realizing exactly how revolutionary it was and I just have to yell about it for a hot second

So, before they started working on American Idiot, the band was having problems and they were thinking they were going to break up. But for a couple of reasons, they switched directions, most notably because they all felt strongly about the Iraq War and how it was manufactured by greed and warmongering from the Bush administration, which was amplified by the news media. I read a quote from Billie Joe Armstrong where he talked about how the news media was becoming "more of a reality show" than it was news, and he couldn't have been more right. In fact, that problem got worse, and now we're living in an era of rampant misinformation where everything is politicized to a point where just supporting human rights for marginalized people is considered controversial. The song American Idiot came out in 2004, and when Donald Trump first visited the UK at the beginning of his presidency, it was the top played song on every UK radio station, 12 years after it was released. Most things would be culturally irrelevant at that point.

When creating the album American Idiot, a lot of thought went into it - they had a very specific message in mind, and their goal was to send that message to youth. This is because they realized at some point that their fanbase was a bunch of teenagers, and even though they hadn't necessarily intended it that way, they suddenly had a platform with the youth of America and they decided they ought to do something good with it. The drummer, Tré Cool, said something along the lines of "I've never really liked the idea of preaching to kids, but I realized we don't really have a choice at this point." And I love that so much because like, so many people who get rich and famous just become completely out of touch, and when they get a platform, it's very easy to exploit that platform, influence them with terrible ideas, or encourage them to act in terrible ways for self-serving reasons (ex: JK Rowling, Andrew Tate, Dream, Logan Paul, Onision, etc etc). Green Day refused to allow themselves to get to that point. They know the platform they had gave them power and they made an active choice early on to be responsible with it. And a lot of that moral code comes from the fact that they came up in the DIY punk scene in Oakland, which held its members to a very high standard of ethics, a code that they still follow even after they were disowned by that scene when they signed on with a major record label in 1994.

The song American Idiot has a message of "this mass media hysteria is manufactured bullshit, don't fall for it," and it is not subtle about that message. It punches you right in the face. I remember being 12 years old and listening to it and thinking, "yeah, I don't want to be an American idiot." And now, at the age of 28, I am a staunch leftist who is firmly against the atrocities the US government commits, and I feel strongly about stopping misinformation. So I can say with absolute certainty that they succeeded.

I also get like, really upset when people say that American Idiot is the album where they sold out, because that's objectively not true, both for the reasons I've provided above, and also because of the song Wake Me Up When September Ends. Not a lot of people know the story behind this song, but it's actually a song that Billie Joe wrote about the experience of his dad dying of cancer when he was 10 years old. The story, as he tells it, is that when he came home from school, his mom gave him the news, and being (understandably!) upset, started crying, ran to his room and slammed the door. When she knocked on the door to try and talk to him, he shouted "wake me up when September ends!!" in response. It took him decades to be able to write this song, and it shows because it's the perfect grief song, having been played at benefits for 9/11, hurricane Katrina, and so on. The first time I heard that song it reduced me to tears, because you can hear the intense sadness in it. A "sellout" would never write a song like that!! (Side note: maybe stop tweeting at Green Day to wake up every October 1st, it's super tone deaf given the subject matter,,,)

Anyway, I think I'm done being autistic about Green Day (that's a lie, they'll forever be my special interest), so TL;DR:

Thank you, Green Day, for creating a generation of leftists who aren't about the bullshit

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part three

authors note: hi! its me again. i had some free time and most of this chapter was completed, sans gaps and editing, so i figured why not?

thank you everyone for all of the kind words, like im still so floored just how many people like the random shit that comes from my head!!!

also, some tags don't seem to work for some reason, like when i type it, the hyperlink doesn't appear so super sorry to those impacted by that!!!

warnings: angsttttt, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

word count: 4.2k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wonderingfashion

You were sixteen years old the first time you drank alcohol. Truly, a result of peer pressure. Alcohol never seemed as amazing as your friends tried to preach it to be, not with the amount of hair you’d held back while your friends retched their entire days consumption in toilet bowls. 

Just didn’t seem all that appealing.

And then it was homecoming, and your school won the game, qualifying them for state. The whole town was in celebration, but no one was as lit as the football team. And, of course, dating the quarterback at the time and as cheer captain, your presence was damn near a requirement. High school politics and all.

So, you, Amir, and your closest friends spent the night house hopping, partying at one place for a little while before moving on to the next. And at some point, at some stop, you’d been convinced to try a beer. Honestly, it was disgusting as fuck, but a small part of you didn’t want to be the one prude of your group, so you downed it. And then another. Followed by another. Which preceded one more. 

And by the end of the night, you truly were white girl wasted.

You thank God that you had good friends at the time who made sure you made it home safely, because you absolutely did black out. Amir did too, hence him not being the one responsible for your care.

When you woke up that morning, the first thing you did was dart to the bathroom where you emptied your guts. The second? Panic. You were terrified of your mother finding out that not only had you engaged in underage drinking, literally violating the damn law, but you’d gotten so wasted that you blacked out. It was incredibly stupid and highly dangerous. Your chest tightened and stomach coiled at how she would react if and when she realized what you’d done.

That was the most scared and nervous you’ve ever been in your entire life.

Well, up until now.

Because all you can focus, think, and obsess about is the fact that Joe will be in your state, in your town, in your damn apartment in a matter of hours. He’d text you in the middle of the night a screenshot of his flight information indicating an arrival time much earlier than you were hoping for. 

Dread swept over as you sent him a message asking if he would stay at the same hotel he usually used when visiting, not that it got much use. He typically stayed with you during his visits. But, you offered to meet him there instead, feeling more comfortable if you were out of this setting, not in your apartment that had some type of reminder of Callie in damn near every room.

It took longer than you liked for him to respond, and his answer only served to increase your anxiety and trigger some anger.

No. I’m coming to you.

That was it, no explanation to your follow up texts which you know he read cause bastard had his read receipts on. Just radio silence.

That pissed you off even more, because why the hell was he ignoring you? Wasn’t he about to come talk to you about something anyway?

Oh.

Your stomach tightens. Not knowing what the hell he wants is driving you insane. You know why you reached out to him, but why did he seem so keen on speaking to you? It’d been nearly five years, what could have happened to trigger this sudden desire to reconnect?

And why the hell did he respond so quickly to your initial message? Truthfully, you expected no response whatever, convinced that he’d probably changed numbers after his massive increase in fame. Or, for him to at least hit you with the ‘who is this’? But, he didn’t, he called you and immediately knew who you were.

A tiny gasp leaves your mouth. That must have meant he still had your number saved, the same way you still have his in your contact list.

You….you don’t know what to make of that, don’t know what to make of it at all.

“Mommy, why am I spending the night with Aunt Mariah?”

Callie’s soft voice temporarily eases you from your panic, granted it also makes you aware of how she’s clearly unhappy about this. You know why too. Sundays are always your ‘special days,’ where you spend the entire day together doing the most random of things from baking, to playing game, to random dance parties that sometimes result in neighbors politely asking you to keep the noise down. It’s a tradition, and this is the first time since starting said tradition that it won’t be happening. 

Closing up her drawer where you were just digging for some pajamas for her, you move to sit next to her on her bed. Her head is down as she plays with the stuffed animal in her arms. “I’m sorry, baby. I know this is our day, but mommy just has some business she has to take care of.”

She keeps her head down, voice low. “Can’t you do it tomorrow?

Fuck. You hate disappointing her. “I wish, baby, but it can’t wait.” More like he won’t wait. You’re not sure what you would have proposed regarding a time to discuss, well, Callie, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the next damn day. “Hey, how about this? Why don’t you and I stay home tomorrow and have a special special day on Monday?”

At that, her head lifts, eyes sparkling with renewed excitement. “Really?”

“Yup. Mommy can take some time off, and you can miss a day of school. It won’t kill us.” You rarely ever take time off as it is, mostly because a teacher’s salary isn’t anything to write home about. You have to work your ass off to keep a roof over your and Callie’s head. But also….you’re not even sure what frame of mind you’re going to be in following this meeting with Joe, so better safe than sorry. “But only if we can watch The Lion King first.”

Clearly pleased with this compromise, she offers you her pink finger. “Deal!”

You two seal the deal with a pinky swear as you hold her into your side and sigh heavily. You wish that you two could stay like this forever. “I love you, Callie. Okay? Always remember that.”

________

“He’s what?”

You anxiously chew on the nasty ass protein bar Mariah offered you after you realized you’d barely had anything to eat today. It was a part of the latest dietary plan she was following, probably something she found from one of those weird ass dieting groups she was a member of on Facebook.

You loved Mariah, dearly, but as you two grew older, especially after having her baby boy, Micah, she’d become increasingly insecure about her body. Always the smaller, thinner, more athletic of the two, you knew that she struggled with how much weight she’d put on over the years, especially when her plan to drop the baby weight didn’t pan out. You're not sure she’s lost any of it, to be honest. 

It wasn’t even a massive weight gain, and truthfully, you thought curves suited her well. But, it didn’t matter what you thought. What mattered was how she felt, which wasn’t the best, despite your best efforts to build up her confidence.

“He’s coming into town,” you finally answer, debating if you should offer her the rest of this grass in bar form. Why the hell is it so damn grainy?

“Today? He’s coming into town today?” You nod. “I’m sorry, I must have missed a couple chapters.”

“More like volumes,” you murmurs, sourly. It’s a great opportunity for you to set aside the dirt bar and explain to her everything she’d missed, from Callie’s initial inquiry to your calling him, to him sending you an itinerary for a flight arriving in roughly three hours at this point.

“Holy shit,” she whispers, careful of her volume despite Micah and Callie being occupied in the living room watching Bluey. “What are you going to do? What are you going to say to him? This is….this is bad, girl.”

“You think I don’t know that?” You lay your head against her kitchen island and force yourself to take three, big, deep breaths. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

You hear her exhale. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious, Mo. I—” You lift your head and try your best not to cry. Tears won’t do anything to help the situation. “I don’t know what he wants, but it’s obvious he’s angry with me already, and I can’t imagine when I tell him about Callie that he’s gonna feel any better.”

“You think he’ll be upset?”

“Of course, he will.”

“No, not that. I mean, yeah definitely, about that. But, I mean, you know….that you kept her.” It takes a minute for you to process what she’s asking, and it’s a question you hadn’t thought about in some time.

You’d been so consumed about how upset he would probably be that you kept Callie hidden from him that you hadn’t considered the alternative. What if he was more upset she even existed in the first place?

The thought alone takes you to a dark place. Feelings of rejection and abandonment that you yourself experienced and probably haven’t fully processed. Feelings you swore with your life you’d always protect Callie from. 

And always will.

“Then he’ll continue to not be a part of her life.” Your voice is sound and resolute. Mariah also recognizes that all too familiar look of determination that fills your face. 

“But what will you tell her then?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.” A motto, a mantra, an oath. You’ve hit hard times before and always pulled through. This will be no different. Whatever's needed to keep your daughter from the trauma you experienced, you’ll do. No matter what.

Mariah knows better than to try to reason with you right now, not that there’s a ton of that needed. As a mother herself, she fully understands the intrinsic desire and borderline need to protect your child. She just also knows that you can be stubborn, and when you put your mind to something, nothing and no one can change it.

She just wonders how that’s going to bode over with whatever is about to go down.

You finish off the conversation with thanking her again for her last minute availability. You know you could have asked your mom as well, but she would have had questions, questions you don’t have the answers for nor the desire to explain just what’s happening.

Hell, you don’t even fully know what’s happening. 

As the time gets closer, you realize you need to get home and straighten up. Maybe vacuum or some shit. 

“Will you call me before I go to bed?”

“Of course, I will, mama.” You push back some of her hair, hating to see her sad again. She’s wearing that pout that you just realized is similar to Joe when he scowls. Shoving that from your head, you add, “and don’t forget about our big day tomorrow.”

That seems to win you a small smile, enough to make you feel less shitty about ditching her, even if it’s completely beyond your control. “It’s gonna be so much fun!”

“You bet your butt it is, kiddo!” You bring her in for another hug, holding her close and tight. “I love you, Callie Bear.”

“I love you too, mama.” 

Callie expressing her love for you is the soundtrack in your head as you drive home and even as you move around your apartment, dusting and vacuuming. You even clean the baseboard, something you’re sure you haven’t done since you first moved in when you were 22. 

You even make the controversial decision to leave up the photos of Callie or both you and Callie together in the living room and don’t really do much to move aside the indicators that a child lives here. Like her toy bucket near the TV or pink kiddy cups lined up near the kitchen sink. 

It doesn’t make much sense to you to hide these things when the sole reason you even reached out is to make him aware of why those things are there and who they belong to. You’ve stopped letting yourself try to figure out why he wants to speak to you or why he’s upset, realizing it was only making your anxiety ten times worse to the point where you felt like you were going to vomit.

Recognizing you have some time before he arrives, you decide to take a shower that’s much longer than necessary and will probably have you upset at yourself when you get your next water bill. 

But, it’s a nice distraction. Being fresh, clean, and moisturized is always a nice pick me up. Granted, you find it almost silly as you struggle to figure out what to wear. It’s Joe. Not Beyonce. Also, your outfit should be the last thing on your mind, as you eventually settle on a graphic shirt and some shorts. 

And realizing you have nothing else to do, you plop down on the sofa and wait. Wait for whatever the hell is about to happen once you open that door. Strangely enough, your anxiety seems to be settling. Granted, you wonder if that’s being replaced with denial, because you’re also starting to tell yourself that it won’t be that bad.

It may not be, but that’s not a good hill to die on. Preferred but not reliable. 

Needing another distraction, you scroll aimlessly through your Instagram, liking a few posts of friends, family, and former classmates from both high school and college. It’s interesting seeing how everyone ventured down different paths, some homemakers, some business execs, and of course the aspiring musicians aka unemployed. 

And then there was you, the small town teacher raising her secret love child of a WWE superstar in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. 

Your stomach twisting and turning tells you the anxiety is returning, but it doesn’t have as much time to heighten because the doorbell rings.

He’s here.

There’s this irritating yet quiet ringing in your ears and anchor on your chest, both of which make it harder to untangle your limbs and move off the sofa. It’s like watching yourself slowly make your way to the door, the tremble in your hand noticeable as you undo the lock and start to turn the knob. 

I love you too, mama.

Callie’s sweet, reassuring voice floods into your head providing the sweet relief needed to return from dissociation and snap back to reality. Eyes shutting, you take another deep breath and carefully swing the door open.

Truth be told, you weren’t quite sure what you expected to feel upon seeing Joe again, not sure what you should feel. This was a reunion, but only in name. Nothing about him being at your doorstep was warm and inviting. That much is obvious by his stoic, unreadable facial expression, which isn’t entirely out of character. Contrary and both similar to his current heel portrayal, Joe has always been more on the quiet side, not as easy to read. More open and warm once you get to know him.

You’d found that out firsthand.

Taking in his countenance, you can’t avoid observing the rest of him. He’s somehow even bigger than the last time you saw him in person, almost taking up your doorway, rippling muscles on full display in the plain, black fitted shirt he wears. His hair is pulled back as usual, clean line up, and beard fuller than you remembered him liking it. He’s aged, obviously, but well. Very well.

Heat rising to your cheeks, you step to the side, allowing him inside. You hate how you close your eyes as you inhale his scent.

He always did smell so damn good.

The physical distractions dissipate when he’s inside, the door locked, and it’s just the two of you. 

You notice almost immediately how he seems to be intent on keeping his back toward you, playing it off by taking in your apartment. Not that much, if anything, has changed. He can’t be that damn interested. 

It was painfully clear that Joe was already frustrated with you just by his texts, but his anger is even more palpable in person, borderline suffocating. 

Just what the hell did you do to upset him so much?

Clearing your throat and crossing your arms over, you decide that someone needs to say something because this silent shit is not working for you.

But then Joe angles his body, still not looking toward you but something else. And that’s when your anxiety starts up all over again.

You watch him, intently, as he walks over to the side table near the sofa, the one that has pictures on it. 

Pictures of Callie. 

He picks one up, and you’ve never been so still in your life. It’s torture, not seeing how he’s looking, unable to read his facials, clueless to what he must be thinking. He’s quiet for too long, so you decide to bite the bullet and say something. 

“I—”

“Is she mine?”

Waves. Heavy, plunging waves of emotions splash at you with a ferocity that nearly floors you. His question, so simple, isn’t what you expected to leave his mouth. It’s posed so quietly, lowly, emotion evident but not enough for you to know which one. Anger? Sadness? Confusion?

It stumps you, and for a second, you try to convince yourself that he doesn’t mean what you deep down know what he means. 

“What–what are you talking about?”

He curses quietly, and you hear him say your name before he asks again in a dangerously calm voice, “is she mine?”

You recognize this tone, the tone he takes when he’s trying his best to tame his temper, but there’s no guarantee that he can. And that in and of itself is not a good sign, Joe rarely ever gets mad. He’s irritatingly adept at maintaining his composure in all situations. 

Except this one.

You just want to take a nap, take a break from all of this. Everything seems to be happening so fast, too fast. It wasn’t even 24 hours ago that Callie first asked about her father, and now the man is standing in front of you asking you to confirm she is his daughter. You’re so confused about everything. How could he tell so easily? You always said and thought she favored him, but did she favor him enough for him to take one look at her and know she’s his daughter?

That doesn’t even seem possible nor plausible. 

You have so many questions, but there’s no need in delaying the inevitable.

Rip the Band-Aid off.

“Yes.” 

It’s at that moment he finally decides to turn around, and you can see the moment it happens, the moment the floodgate of emotions rush through him like a tsunami. He’s shocked. He’s confused. He’s angry.

“How did you find out?” Putting the pieces together is a slow progress, but one that’s progressing nonetheless. He clearly came here with that question prepared and ready to launch. He knew about Callie, knew when you texted him, knew when he decided to call. Knew before he even walked in and saw a picture of her.

He just needed you to confirm as such. 

That seems to be the wrong question, because anger is suddenly more prominent, both vocally and physically. “You’re seriously asking me how the fuck I found out I have a daughter?” Any attempt to control his anger is out the door, replaced with visceral emotions. “No, the real question is why the fuck you didn’t tell me I have a child?”

You’re not sure what it is, the emotionality of it all, the fact that you’re face to face with the man you’ve worked so hard over the years to get over, or even just the fact that he’s speaking to you this way. Maybe all of it. Regardless, you’re not about to just take it lying down. “First of all, watch your tone. You’re not going to talk to me any kind of way. Second of all, you are married, Joe. What was I supposed to do? Send you and your wife copies of the sonogram?”

“Don't put this on that,” he dismisses, swiftly and curtly. “Jadah has nothing to do with you telling me I'm a father. Don't you think I had a fucking right to know?”

“Of course you had a right.” He did. He does. You won’t deny him that, but it’s also not as cut and dry as he’s making it out to be. “But—”

“There’s no but, Y/N!” He cuts you off, and you have to take another deep breath. This time though, it’s not to lessen anxiety. It’s to calm your own anger that’s rising. Who the hell does he think he is to speak to you this way? Like you’re some damn child. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Are you going to actually listen to me, or are you just going to keep yelling? Cause I don’t respond to disrespect, Joe. You know this.”

He actually smiles, smiles at your words. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? I’m disrespecting you? You keep my child from me, and I’m disrespecting you?” He scoffs and looks up at the ceiling, probably to settle himself. “Did you know when you ended things between us?"

The surprising questions just keep on rolling. “What?”

“I swear to God.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “Did you know you were pregnant when you told me to leave? Is that why you did it? So I wouldn’t find out?”

This time, you’re the one scoffing, trying to rationalize how he could even think to ask you this. “Seriously, Joe? I told you why I ended things.”

“Yeah, well, you’re clearly not the most honest fucking person, so I don’t even know what to believe anymore.” 

You hate the fact that his words don’t further anger you but instead sadden you. You see how he’s looking at you, with a level of disdain and disgust. It’s such an unfamiliar experience, an unwanted one. “So, I’m a liar now?” It should have come out much stronger, firmer, showing him that you’re not putting up with his bullshit. Instead, it’s a damn near whisper.

He looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, like he doesn’t get what you’re not getting about this. “What do you call what you did?”

Your head is starting to hurt. This is going exactly how you feared it would go. 

Bad.

It’s all becoming too much, your voice weighed down with the emotions of it all. You feel like you’re on the verge of tears, and you hate that. You won’t let him see you cry. “We’re not….we’re not getting anywhere here, Joe. I think—”

“You should get a lawyer.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

He runs both hands over his face, the heaviness of this conversation clearly weighing on him as well. “We need to figure out some type of custody arrangement, and I don’t think us handling it with each other is a good idea—”

“Custody?” The room is starting to blur again, items moving wayward and sideways. The ringing in your ears is also returning. “What—you—you want to take her from me?” You need to sit down, your legs feeling like they’re ready to give out at any moment. Take her. He wants to take her from you. Unable to control yourself, you snap, “she doesn’t even know you!”

He matches your tone and volume precisely, clearly unwilling to back down. “Exactly, I’m her father, and she doesn’t know me because of you!”

You can barely believe the words coming out his mouth, incapable of processing that he’s actually standing here threatening to take your child from you. This has gone from bad to worse in a matter of seconds. “So, you think taking her away from me is the way to get to know her?”

His volume levels down a bit, and you could have sworn you saw a glimpse of sympathy. “I don’t want to take her away from you, Y/N. I just can’t trust you to not keep her away from me.”

This is disastrous. You never could you have envisioned this conversation playing out the way it is. Desperate, you move over to him, needing him to see you, to hear you, really hear you. “You’re here now, aren’t you? Isn’t that enough?” 

His answer surprises you with its austerity. He’s so angry. “No, because it took almost five fucking years for you to call me in the first damn place.”

He moves away from you, obviously headed for the door. He has nothing else to say. Your head is throbbing, vision still murky, but you manage to rush past him, obstructing his leave. “Joe….wait.”

You’ve never felt so small, so desperate, so helpless in your life. It’s reminiscent of the last conversation you had with him five years prior, that same boulder on your chest, bigger now. Much bigger. 

“Please.” You’re not even trying to hold in the tears anymore. That’s not even important. Not in the slightest. This is your child.  “Please don’t take her away from me. She’s my baby, Joe. She—she’s never even been without me before.”

He looks at you, and you can see it now. Finally see it. Finally see past all of the hurtful threats, the dismissiveness, the refusal to hear you out. He’s not angry. He’s hurt. “And she’s never been with me.” He moves past you, but not before one last statement. “Maybe now you’ll know how I feel.”

________

just curious, ya'll think joe trippin? personally, i'm team callie cause both reader and joe are wrong in one way or another but im also biased so ignore me.

[117luv]

THE PARENT TRAP — LHS | CHAPTER 6

synopsis: jungwon and ni-ki met each other at a summer camp and found out they were fraternal twins. this leads to events where the two ex-lovers, heeseung and yn, are reunited after 14 years by their children.

genre: exes to lovers, smau, fluff

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, poor attempts in humor, grammatical errors, marriage, pregnancy, parenthood, miscommunication

taglist: CLOSED!

a/n: hi my loves! apologies since it took LONGER than my usual sched for updates which is average of 2 days, it just i have many things in mind and im having a minor writer's block hence the slow update but rest assured my update sched will be consistent since its my final week of school T.T ne ways enjoy n love ya <3

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Having dinner with your ex is an awkward event, especially if it's your own kid who asked for the event to take place. Yn can't say no to her son, whom she hasn't been with for almost 15 years; it's the least she can do for him. As she got ready, the boys waited for her downstairs as they watched a show on the TV. A doorbell rang just after she went downstairs. She opened the door and met the eyes of the man who is not only the father of her children but also the guy she still deeply loves and cares about despite being apart for more than a decade. They got in his car and drove to the restaurant. The car ride was filled with the boys playfully teasing each other as she looked at the rear mirror. She was met with a scene she didn't think could be possible after all these years. Her twin sons are playfully bantering as Heeseung hums to the tune of the song playing on the radio. It felt like a family enjoying the weekend and having dinner together. A complete family she had wished she could have fought for in the past.

They stepped into the restaurant and sat at their table. The boys were busy looking at the menu while the two tried to avoid each other's glances. As the waiter got their orders and, after awhile, came out with their food. They peacefully ate while the boys shared stories while they were in the camp. She can see that the boys indeed have a bond with each other despite being apart for such a long time. It pains her that this could have been their reality if things had turned out okay. It was time for dessert, and Heeseung excused himself to go to the restroom, which she quickly followed as she instructed the boys to wait for them. As she found him, she quickly grabbed his arm and asked him if she could talk to him in a private area.

"What do you want us to talk about?" he asked. "I think we should tell them; I can't bear waiting any longer to see them not know about their situation, she responded. Heeseung gave her a reassuring smile and said, "Okay, if that's what you want, then we can tell them. They deserve to know about it." — "Thank you. We should wait and tell them when we arrive in my place since we are still in public, to which he nodded and agreed. They got back to the table, and the boys were just talking as they saw their parents. She told them that her and Ni-ki's dad would tell them about something. The ride back was silent as the boys felt nervous for what was about to happen.

"So, what do the both of you want to tell us?" Jungwon asked as they all sat on the sofa. "Okay, me and Heeseung have been hiding something. I know this might come as a surprise and if you two are angry or feel betrayed by the both of us, its completely understandable. Jungwon and Ni-ki, the both of two are twins. Ni-ki, I understand if you feel hatred towards me. I been nothing but an useless mom to you. I failed to give you the right to experience to have a mother. I as your mother would like to apologize deeply. I know my apology doesn't make up for the 15 years but I hope you know that I always have you in my mind. I prayed everyday that you and your dad are safe. That you're eating well and growing into a respectfully man. I'm always proud of you and I'm grateful to be your mother." as she spoke Ni-ki cant help his eyes to tear up. He finally found his mom, the woman for whom he had longed for a long time. He can finally have someone he can call 'Mom', or someone who will shower him with affection. The day had come, and he was the happiest he had been for the longest time. "Can I hug you?" he spoke to her, and she opened her arms as the boy hugged his mom. "I've been wishing to feel your hug for the longest time. Whatever reason you and dad have, you can just explain to us next time. I just want to hug right now. Also, does this mean I can call you 'Mom' and taste your meals?" the boy finally looked at his mom, who shared the same tearful eyes as she looked at him: "Yes, Sweetheart. You can call me 'Mom, and I will cook you anything that your heart desires. Anything for my baby." as she placed a kiss on his forehead.

As the scene unfolds in front of Jungwon. He can't help but look at Heeseung, who is sitting near him. His dad is within arms reach; he can't believe he can finally meet him. He got up and hugged him tightly. "I can't believe I can finally hug you, Dad, he said while the older male hugged him tighter. "Me too, Kid. Me and your mom want to apologize about everything. The both of you don't deserve this but we can't undo the past anymore. Let me make for years I wasn't there for the both of you." Heeseung replied, "Thank you for telling us. As Ni-ki said, just explain to us next time. I want to be with you, I really want to be close to you." he said as Heeseung caressed his hair and placed a kiss on top of his head while hugging him. The day ended on a good note. There were many emotions poured out, and the four of them hugged together. The family is finally complete.

taglist [CLOSED] : @yangwaa @emikisses @yohanabanana @arizejkt19 @skuwu-blog @beatr2x @svarcq @softiehee @enhastolemyheart @deobitifull @emxshu @bucketofhiros @lost-leopard-beanie @soobin-my-beloved @azurez @flwrshee @beomgyusonlywife @lalalalawon @yanagisprettygf @astrae4 @myjaeyunn @sesame-street-lol @yumilovesloona @jhopesucker @omgjwon @yoonjunshi @wannatinyus @yeahhemmings- @coupscheri @aefolrin @neozon3nha @mevalemadrws @wonyoungsvirus @ilvsoup @dneltrise @chirokookie @noascats @sxftiell @onionzzzs @nokacchan @i-yeseo @02zluvbot @iamliacamila @nicholasluvbot @ilovewonyo @ddazed-lhs @tobiosbbyghorl @youmenotyummy @minhoie @enhaz1

[beansmack2021]

Can I request yandere 🦌 Alastor 🦌 x reader where its like phantom of the opera or phantom of the radio? Alastor sometimes haunts his old radio station in his free time and falls in love with the intern reader and her voice and she mostly just gets everyone's coffee but he wants to hear her voice on the radio so he uses his "skills" to push her up the ranks from weather girl to co-host then after a while of being co-host she gets real popular and the radio host starts to flirt with her so Alastor drags her to hell to be his personal co-host and at first the reader is scared and confused but later accepts it and likes him?

The Point of No Return

Amazing request! I love the idea behind this and hope I did it justice.

TW: Mentions of murder, creepy man, Alastor being scary

He wasn't sure when he started coming back to his old radio tower. He wasn't sure when he started slinking into the shadows and making his way up from hell to observe the living. He knew why he kept coming back though.

She was beautiful. She had shiny (h/c) hair, big (e/c) eyes, and freckles that dotted her face the way the stars dotted the sky. Everything about her was beautiful. Everything about her was gentle. She walked on the balls of her feet. She barely made a peep when she entered a room. She also went unacknowledged, but boy, were Alastor's eyes on her.

The first time he heard her speak, his dead heart stopped again. Her voice was soft, floaty. He never wanted her to stop speaking. He would've listened to her for hours, but unfortunately, she isn't the one broadcasting her sweet sound to the world.

Some cranky old man had taken over as New Orleans most prominent radio host. He ordered her around a lot. She was sent on coffee runs. She took notes, and she'd try to pitch her ideas, but often went unheard. If he were still alive, if the station was still his, he'd let her take over for him any time she so wished. She wouldn't be a mere intern, she'd be his cohost. They'd be partners. Alastor's face grew even redder.

Her voice was just too calming, too smooth. She needed to move up in the world. He could help her. She may not know him, but he knew her. He knew that she deserved a much higher position than the one she had. He could take care of that for her.

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

Y/N wasn't expecting to get called into the station so early. She wasn't expecting her boss's panicked frenzy as he told her that her coworker, Dave, was found dead in his car that morning and that she needed to come in and take over his position for an indefinite amount of time.

She scurried into the office, a cup of coffee in her hand, plopped down at her new desk, and was immediately set to working on sorting through different stories that her station's host could report to the public.

They all seemed to be about the same thing. Copycat killers, all of whom followed in the footsteps of the Killer of the Bayou, sprouted up everywhere. He'd been dead for nearly 20 years. His name was Alastor, but other than that, the only thing she knew about him was that his story gave her the creeps.

She briefly wondered if one of the copycats killed Dave. Suddenly chilled to the bone, Y/N noticed the sun moved to hide behind the clouds for a moment before the station got brighter once more.

The police hadn't done an autopsy yet. Anything could have happened to Dave. She'd probably pick out the report for it that their radio host would read during the morning and afternoon news.

She was right. Just days later, she had to find the least gruesome report, and hesitated as she handed it over to Henry, their radio host. Dave was murdered, there was no question of that. He'd been strangled, but there were no finger prints, no rope fibers, no shoe prints in the mud by his car. It was like the killer ghosted through his murder without a trace.

She shivered. Was it cold in the station?

"Thanks, doll."

He sniffed once, wiping his snot with the back of his hand. She grimaced, tried to cover it with a smile, and politely nodded.

"Say, you got a real pretty voice. Would you maybe wanna use it? Jane's retiring soon. She did the weather. Glad to see her go, she was kind of a drag."

Y/N didn't want to be excited about the offer because Henry was awfully... unhygienic. She didn't want him to get any ideas with her either. Still, she couldn't stop the light from dancing its way into her eyes. She nodded eagerly, excited to finally get her chance to have their listeners hear her voice.

Each day, she'd come in and tell the people who tuned into their station that it'd be sunny, or rainy, or windy, or snowy. Each day, she slowly spent more and more time on the air. Eventually, Henry decided that she'd simply be promoted to his cohost.

She was appreciative, but apparently not nearly as appreciative as he would've liked. Henry got flirty. He'd compliment her clothes, her hair, and her shoes. He'd tell her how smart she was. At some point, the seemingly harmless compliments turned into him hitting on her.

"You've got a sexy voice, babe."

"Oh, um. Thank you, but please don't call me babe."

He took that pretty personally.

"Listen here, you little tease. I'm the reason you have this job. You wouldn't be anybody without me. So why don't you be a good girl and keep your mouth shut."

He got closer and closer to her, and louder with each step. But just before he'd reached her, a large crack appeared in the floor. Tendrils of shadow slithered out of the crack, and a horrific looking man rose from the gaping red crevice.

"I believe the nice woman said "please". Now, I'd like you to say sorry."

The man was terrifying, with a short red bob, black eyes with glowing red pupils, large antlers growing from his head, and what appeared to be deer ears. Everything about him seemed very pointy.

"What the-?" Henry screamed.

"Nope, those aren't the words I was looking for."

The shadowy tendrils that preceded the man shot out at Henry, wrapping themselves around his throat and pulling him from his feet, into the air. The man turned to face Y/N, a smile stretching the width of his face. His antlers shrunk down and when he blink, his sclera turned red. "Hello, my dear. I'm here to take you away."

"Where are we going?" Y/N trembled. The man's face looked very familiar, but she couldn't quite place a name to it.

"Hell, of course."

Hell? As in, the Bible's Hell? Y/N felt her heart stop.

"Who are you?"

His grin got even bigger. "Oh, I'm sure you recognize me, dear. You've been staring at my portrait for months."

She racked her brain, when an image from one of the papers she'd skimmed through flashed in her mind. Her blood ran cold. "Alastor. You're Alastor."

"Bingo! Now, let's go. I have somewhere to be tonight."

He grabbed her hand, and the two were forced through the ground. She screamed, and the noise was silenced as the crack in the floor sealed itself shut behind them.

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Twelve

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

SUPRISE, YOU GET TWO CHAPTERS TODAY! Chapter Thirteen is also up! Posted a bit early because I was too excited!

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Twelve- The Kidnapping

Content Warning: MINORS DNI!!!! (let me know if I missed any!)

“It’s been twenty fuckin' minutes!” Velvette kicked at the air. “How much longer do I have to fuckin' wait!?” 

The brat demon’s words echoed throughout the night. Pentagram City waited sixty floors below, V Tower being the tallest building around. The roof and top few floors were newly rebuilt, complete with a penthouse beneath Velvette’s feet and a rooftop designed for entertaining. 

Alastor sat tied to a chair, surrounded by a platform that overlooked three sides of the tower. Velvette had wanted a pool, so she got one, along with a hot tub and a poolside bar. It was designed with Sinstagram in mind. Of course, the layout is aesthetically pleasing for one with a proclivity for photos and videos. It also created a great place to stage a kidnapping with numerous installed cameras - courtesy of Voxtek Technologies - that captured every angle. 

The brat demon was rearing to go the moment she hit send on the video, including a live link to watch the battle about to go down, but what she didn’t expect was for you to take so damn long! 

The demon groaned in his chair.

“Oh, shut it,” Velvette rolled her eyes. Cell phone in hand, the brat had stationed herself in a lounge chair, attempting to appear nonchalant while she waited. At about three minutes passed she double-checked that she actually posted the video.  At about five, she was growing impatient. At ten, she could no longer sit still and took to pacing in her new boots - her outfit was meticulously designed for this fight because, of course, it was. At fifteen, she became angry. At about twenty, she was royally pissed off. 

“How dare I be made to wait!!” She turned to Alastor, beaten and bruised - the demon hung his head, slipping back and forth from consciousness. “You were supposed to be fuckin' valuable! You…!”

“Angel Detected! Angel Detected! Angel Detected! Angel Detected!” Velvette’s notification screen lit up with alerts. 

Voxtek’s Angelic security was now online, and its perimeter expanded out five blocks from V Tower - it was two, but after you attacked, they decided they needed a bit more warning time from incoming threats. 

Quickly, Velvette typed out a text before finding her place before Alastor. The Overlord was ready.

In a cloud of black smoke, you came flying down from above, landing in an explosion of shadow. The smoke curled away from your feet, invading the freshly placed tile of the rooftop. It lopped over the edges, across the pool, even going as far as Velvette’s feet before dissipating. 

The female Vee took a step back, out of reach of your dark magic. Clutching the knife, she pointed it in your direction, “About fuckin’ time! Do you know how long I have been waiting here!?” 

You didn’t respond. 

“Well!?”

You didn’t move, continuing to stare down the Overlord with your glowing yellow eyes. 

Velvette stomped her foot, “You have nothing to say!?” 

More silence. 

The demon stomped forward, her arms balled into fists at her sides. With tears in her eyes, she screamed, “You murdered my best friend and destroyed my home for no fuckin' reason, and you have nothing to say to me!?” 

Silence as the tension was building. Vox’s cameras zoomed in on you as if waiting for an answer. After a long moment, you held your hand up and…

… started violently coughing? 

You bent over at the waist, your hands on your knees as you coughed as hard as you could. 

“Holy shit. I’m… I’m… So sorry.” A voice choked out,, little puffs of black smoke escaped the hood as they talked. “I was holding my breath for as long as I could, but the smoke was… too much!” 

Velvette took a step back, thoroughly confused- that was not the voice she remembered you having. She grabbed her phone and scanned you using the Soul Scanner app Vox downloaded onto it. 

“Lucifer Morningstar,” the lady’s voice read out.

“What!?” She shrieked, taking a step back. The demon flipped to another app and pushed a button. 

There was a shriek from behind her.

Velvette spun to find you collapsed on the ground, nearly out of reach of Alastor’s chair. In your leather gear, your silver hair braided back into a twist that reached halfway down your back, the watch Vox had given you morphed. The metal bit into the flesh of your wrist, hooks preventing it from being removed. The metal contraption had delivered an electric shock so powerful, it dropped you where you stood. 

Velvette’s gaze shot between you and Lucifer, who had since thrown his hood back so he could breathe. 

“Oh, sorry…” Lucifer cringed, eyes red from the smoke.

____________________________________________ 

(20 minutes earlier)

You resisted the urge to smack your face. “Okay, let’s try this one more time. Fire.” You summoned your flame.

“Fire.” Lucifer did the same. 

“Smother.” You clapped your hands together, the flames extinguishing, allowing smoke to pool from between your fingers. 

“Smother.” Lucifer did the same, but instead of a wave of smoke, the King produced merely a trickle. “Hey, I got it!” The Angel beamed, jumping up and down like a proud child.

It had only taken like fifty fucking tries but sure… He did it. 

“Okay,” you huffed. “Now, do that while you're flying and while you’re standing there. I usually always have a little bit milling about for aesthetic purposes, so if you don’t do it, it'll be weird.” 

“Right, and no talking?” He frowned a little.

“No talking.” 

“But I have such good comebacks prepared,” the King pouted. 

“No.” You handed him your cloak. “Keep the hood up; she doesn’t know it’s you, so she won’t be able to see under the cloak at any point in time.”

Lucifer threw the black fabric around his neck, tying the strings together. “You don’t ever suffocate in this?” 

You looked at him dumb. “Smoke is heavy. It naturally wants to flow down and away. Let it do its thing, and you’ll be fine.”

The King pulled the hood up, “And no talking?” He prodded again. 

“The second you open your mouth, Velvette will know it’s not me. Just stay quiet till I can get to Alastor, okay?”

“Fine!” The King whined. 

God, you did not miss his childlike attitude. Okay, moving on, “Angel, what ya’ got for me?”

____________________________________________

(Now)

Move!

You forced yourself to your feet, scrambling for Alastor. While Lucifer distracted Velvette, you were to sneak in from the other direction and attempt to untie Alastor before she noticed. You tried, before you left the safety of your hiding place, to use the connection you fostered with Alastor to somehow send him some of your energy - if that's even how this connection worked. The demon tried something similar with you the day you couldn't eat anything. He came scrambling home and used his magic to calm the bubbles in your chest and infuse your blood with life. It worked then, but it wasn't working now.

Alastor remained slumped forward in the chair, his face unreadable as you tried to reach out. You released a tentacle of magic from your core, but when it slithered over to the Radio Demon, it couldn't feel him. He was still breathing, still moving, but his magic felt absent.

Which terrified you.

If you could just get to him, maybe you could forcefully push some of your magic into him. Actually, you didn’t even need to get that far, you just needed to reach Rolf, you just needed to reach his shadow. 

Mere steps from Alastor, Velvette hit the button on her phone again, sending a wave of electricity rocking through your body. You dropped like a stone, hitting the tile with a smack, your cheek cracking open on impact. 

The female Vee spun, preparing to take on Lucifer, but the Angel had fled, leaving your black cloak in a pile on the ground where he once stood. You were on your own. 

“There you are!” She cackled. The female Vee kneeled beside you, your body refusing to move as the electricity slowly ran its course. Goddammit, the wound on your torso burned. “Awww,” She pouted. “Little Thestral finally came out to play.”

Fuck. 

“What? Didn’t think we’d figure it out? Ha!” She cackled. “Remember this?” The demon scanned your face with her camera.

The woman’s voice rang out, “Unknown.”

A memory surfaced of you and the remaining Vees battling it out at the base of V Tower. Vox scanned you during the fight, just as he had during your date. Both times, the woman called you “Unknown.”

Vox and Velvette have known it was you for weeks. Vox knew it was you today when he came to visit the Hotel and even when he was getting updates from Charlie. That’s why he wasn’t mad about you disappearing. That’s why he approached you again. He wasn’t apologizing. He was tricking you to get the watch on your wrist. 

The Vees knew and were probably stalking you for weeks. Hence why they’ve been so quiet. They’ve been lying in wait, watching, waiting to see where your weaknesses lie. 

And they found it: Alastor. 

You knew the Radio Demon wasn’t sloppy. He didn’t make mistakes, and he didn’t miss any of the bystanders who saw the fight go down that day. What he wasn’t expecting - what neither of you was expecting - was Velvette and Vox being smart. 

“Fuck you,” you gritted, your jaw stiff and tongue heavy. You spat, temporarily blinding Velvette with spit, and then punched her right in the nose. The demon fell back, blood spraying from her face, as you clumsily attempted to go for Alastor once more.

If you could just touch him… 

“AH!” You jumped as another wave of electricity ran up your arm. Your body went stiff as you collapsed and landed THROUGH Alastor. 

And then the demon DISAPPEARED. 

“Ha, ha!” Velvette cackled, her finger still on the button as you convulsed at her feet. Fuck, your jaw clenched so tightly that a molar cracked. Your eyes threatened to roll back into your head before Velvette finally let you go.

What the fuck was going on?

“Did you like that? My idea, actually.” She clicked a button, and the image of Alastor reappeared next to you.

The demon was in the same position - his head slumped forward, his hair covering his face. He barely moved save for a moan here and there and the occasional rise of his chest to show he was breathing.

“You can’t capture Alastor’s image. He’s made that bloody impossible. So why not re-create him?” 

You noticed the twitch in Alastor’s form then - it was a hologram. No wonder your magic didn't connect with anything. Nothing was there but light manipulated to look like Alastor.

If he wasn't here, then...

“Where is he?” You demanded, your words slurring with the effort it took to move your mouth. The last hit was harder than the ones before, each compounding on top of the other to create greater damage than one shock could do alone. 

Velvette checked her phone screen, “Dead.” 

You didn’t even humor her with a fake laugh or a dumb look. “Don’t give me the bullshit, Velvette. Where is he?” Life came back to your fingers, their movement stiff and constrained. You forced them to move, hoping it would speed up the process somehow. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Velvette stood.

“Aww, do you really think I’m pretty?” You gritted. 

Velvette considered the thought. “Well, the black dress didn't make me want to barf..."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks..."

Spinning, Velvette called out, “Crim!" 

Wait, Crim?

No one answered.

Velvette looked confused. “Crim!” She called out again, but nothing happened.  

“Where the fuck did he…”

“Change of plans. Sweetheart,” Angel appeared at the edge of the landing above you, a giant piece of metal in hand. It kind of looked like a futuristic looking… bazooka? The spider demon kicked a tied and gagged Crim to the edge of the railing.

Hell, yes.

Velvette jumped back, putting ample space between you. You took the opportunity to force life into your body, attempting to push yourself into a seated position. 

“The bad boys are tied up,” Nifty poked her head out from behind the bar, dragging a shark demon out into the open by his fin. 

“Sorry!” Charlie and Vaggie appeared from behind the hot tub. Characteristically, the Princess apologized as a shark demon fell over, smacking his face against the tile. 

DING! Husk and Pentious appeared in the elevator, kicking three sharks to their knees, guns aimed at the back of their heads - Carmilla Carmine weapons. 

____________________________________________

(15 minutes ago)

“Angel, what ya’ got for me?” You trudged over to the spider demon, who had a hodgepodge of handwritten notes before him. 

“Confirmed with Odette, Velvette ain’t just using Crim as a third party to buy the weapons, she hired ‘em, like you suspected.” Angel ran his hands over his notes as he talked. “But get this, she ain’t just buying guns, she’s goin’ afta big stuff.” 

Angel handed you a paper. “An electric bazooka?” You scrunched your nose in confusion. 

Carmilla never told you about anything like this. 

“Vox apparently hired some of their engineers, been workin' on it for a while.” Angel crossed his arms and leaned back against the bar. "We’re walkin' into a trap." 

“So, we just bluff,” Husk appeared behind the bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. 

“What?” You ask, grabbing the whiskey in his hand and trading it for water.

Husk stares you down but ultimately accepts the change without a fight. “Bluff, like in Poker,” He takes a swig. “Play like you got a good hand, even when you got a shit one. Make the other person fold before you lose and take the pot. It’s basic card skills.”

“Huh,” you thought, “that actually might work.”

“Hmm,” Angel pondered. “Ambush the ambush. Sounds kinda hot!”

Husk rolled his eyes. 

“Lucifer!” You yelled. The King jumped, clearly in deep conversation with Vaggie. “I have another idea.”

____________________________________________

(Now)

“Fuck yeah!” Lucifer flew over the edge of the building and dropped a pile of gang members onto the tile roof. “You just got fucked!”

“Dad!” Charlie groaned. “It’s ‘fucked up.” 

“Oh…” He cringed. 

Velvette’s team was surrounded. 

You knew it was only a matter of time before Velvette figured out it wasn’t you beneath the cloak. All she had to do was check her phone. So, if you somehow got caught while Lucifer was distracting Velvette, he was to sneak away and help Husk fly the rest of the team to the top few floors. Quietly and quickly, they’d take out the Crimson Mafia gang - thus ambushing the ambushers. 

Ignoring the pain in your torso, you pushed yourself to your feet. Your newly healed muscles screamed.

“It was over before it even started, Velvette. Where’s Alastor?” You demanded. 

“No!” She screamed. “It isn’t over.” She swiped something on her phone. “I had wanted to take my time killing you, but this will have to do.” 

Fuck, she was going to electrocute you to death. 

“No!” Charlie screamed. 

BOOM! 

In a panic, Angel did what anyone in his position would have done: he aimed the cannon and fired. A ball of electricity, larger than yourself, erupted from the barrel and was headed straight for Velvette. 

BEEP! BUZZ! BEEP! BUZZ! 

The watch around your wrist vibrated. And, because Vox had accounted for this, the projectile changed direction and headed straight for you. You had moments to dodge before it exploded beneath your feet, flinging you backward into the bar. Bottles of alcohol exploded, glass dug into your skin, and wood splintered around you as you smashed through the structure and went rolling toward the edge of the building.

The rooftop plunged into chaos as the Crim mafia gang took the opportunity to fight back. The world was a blur as you came to a stop, your mind spinning, your body stiff and immovable as your muscles convulsed. You must have bit your tongue because your mouth tasted of iron.  

“Ah!” Velvette screamed. The demon jumped atop you as the sound of bullets filled the air. “Fuckin’ bitch!” She pulled out the knife, preparing to slash your throat. 

But Nifty was faster. The small demon jumped atop Velvette’s hair and pulled. “Bad girl!” She screamed. 

The demon fell off you as the two of them tossled. 

Move! You need to move! You flooded your veins with magic but the fire did not burn life back into your body. 

Fuck. 

Think. Think. Think! If not fire, then… Wait! 

"…shut down the whole grid!" Angel's words echoed in your mind. "All of Pentagram City was plunged into fuckin' darkness!"

If this technology was partially developed by Vox, maybe it had some similarities to his magic system.

Digging down deep, you grabbed that connection and pulled. Green static erupted over your skin, loosening your muscles and lessening the convulsions overtaking your body.

It was working! 

You pulled harder, allowing the magic to explode from within you. The static breathed new life into your body, even going as far as stitching your healing muscles into strong fiber throughout your torso. You soon found yourself able to move, your body in even better health than before Velvette gutted you weeks ago. Moving onto your hands and knees, you sucked down a mouthful of air, your body finally your own again. 

Jesus H. Christ, do not get hit by another one of those!

Nifty managed to get ahold of Velvette’s phone and tossed it over the side. 

“No!” The demon crawled to the edge, screaming in vain as the cell phone plunged to the streets below. 

You grabbed the Overlord by the collar of her shirt and lugged her to her feet. Your yellow eyes shined as the green magic enveloped your form. You could see the confusion in Velvette’s eyes, confusion at the control you now had over the magic which didn’t belong to you.

“Tell me or the next thing that drops sixty stories is you,” you could feel the power boiling, Alastor’s magic festering. 

His magic was angry and so were you. 

“You wouldn’t dare, bitch,” Velvette dug her nails into your forearm, her nails piercing your skin where the leather was thinnest.

“Try me,” the magic surged, pulsed as if fueled by the anger. 

At the other end of the line you felt something push back, like a surge of magic calling out to you. While Velvette considered her options, you pushed back and felt something similar to a door open. 

A heart beat. A breath. It was Alastor calling out to you in the same way you had tried to do before you left the Hotel for V Tower. 

He was alive and he was angry. You might not know where he is, but he felt okay physically. Just extremely pissed off. 

The static boiled, growing in power as a green aura emanated from you. You felt the shadows beneath your feet move, swirling about your ankles in anticipation of the murder you were about to commit. 

“Velvette,” you garnered her attention, your voice almost sounding static-y, “last chance,” you swung her body over the edge, her feet dangling off the roof. 

The fight behind her eyes shifted, “No.” she smiled.

CLICK! 

You didn’t have to turn around to know the barrel end of a gun was pressed to the back of your head. You didn’t have to look to know it was Crim who wielded it.

“Put the boss lady down, gently,” the Mafia Boss commanded. 

The static sizzled across your skin as you felt your demon form break through. Horns grew from your head, a sharp tail uncurled from your backside, and the sclera of your eyes turned red. 

The fangs in your mouth sharpened as you smiled. You had a better idea. 

You grabbed Velvette around the middle and jumped. 

You summoned your wings as you fell, but unlike the last time you found yourself falling from this building, you didn’t aim for the cement. Instead, you pulled up at the last second - much to Velvette’s terror - and threw the Overlord onto the ground. Not enough to break anything, but enough to rough her up a bit. 

You needed Velvette alive and put together enough to give you the information you needed - for now. 

Spinning, you prepared to ascend the Tower to solve your little Crim problem when two large booms echoed throughout the streets. 

Someone had fired two shots, honed in for your bracelet. If you were a gambling Angel you’d put your money on Crim.

Velvette cackled as you took flight, aiming for Heaven’s Clocktower. You watched the two balls of electricity bank as you turned, following you in circles about the plaza. 

Shit, these things could maneuver… but how well? 

You got an idea. 

The Entertainment District has the largest buildings in town and as such you often found yourself flying through what felt like a maze night after night. It was the perfect place to lose the two missiles on your tail. 

The first one was easy to lose. Heading from the Clocktower, you aimed for the first large building you came across. Banking hard right, you cut the turn so sharp your wing brushed the glass of the building. Taking a complete 180• turn, you headed right back for the Clocktower as the first ball exploded into the side of the glass building. 

Shards rained down like acid behind you, showering the streets below. 

The second one wasn’t so easily deterred, almost as if it had learned from the first. It didn’t sit as closely on your tail, and thus had more time to maneuver as you took the turns. 

Soon it became obvious, the thing wasn’t going to quit. Fuck. You were hyperventilating, your face drenched in sweat, your wings cramping with the effort. You hadn’t flown in battle in what…? Since before the Age of Man? Your skit with the Leviathans maybe… at least your torso was holding up. Whatever Alastor’s static had done, it healed you, leaving behind nothing but a scar.

Fuck, what to do what to do!? 

You craned your neck over your wing to catch a glimpse of the ball of blue electricity and that’s when you noticed the trail of green static following you across the sky. The sparks danced over your feathers and dissipated as they fell, like the trail on a shooting star. It was beautiful. 

Alastor’s magic: the one person Vox’s electricity can’t take down. 

Shit. Okay. Flight wasn’t working, so maybe it was time for fight. 

You dug across the connection, throwing open the door to find an entire well of magic you didn’t know was there. Yet this magic was warm, smelled of the deep forest after rain, tasted of rye in your mouth… You took hold of this magic and used it to fuel the static drifting off your wings. 

You had one shot at this, better make it count.

You soared skyward, till you were higher than V Tower. Then you fell. You spun so the ball of electricity was in front of you, your back to Pentagram City below. Grabbing hold of Alastor’s magic, you created a ball of magic of your own, composed entirely of Alastor’s static. 

Then you threw it forward. It collided with the ball of blue energy and exploded in the sky, raining down blue and green sparks across the sky. 

“Yes!” You cheered, safely making your way to the ground. You landed on the edge of Cannibal Town and the Entertainment District. 

“Holy shit, that actually worked!” You laughed in disbelief. “Now for this piece of shit.” You concentrated the magic in your wrist and fried the watch. “Fuck you, Vox!” You ripped the watch off, gritting in pain as the hooks sliced through your skin.

The metal fell to the ground with a thud. Alastor’s static concentrated on your wrist, the green dancing across your wound. You watched the skin restitch itself and settle into a set of fresh scars.

Was this Alastor’s doing or some sort of acceleration of your blood’s natural healing abilities? Did Alastor’s magic amplify it somehow?

So many questions… Hopefully Alastor had answers because this was so weird. Sharing his magic…? What did that mean?

“Oh - !” There was a tug behind your navel so strong it knocked you back a step.

What the fuck was that? 

Another tug, this one even stronger. You braced yourself as orange and mint flooded your nostrils. 

The third tug knocked you onto your ass, but it was the feeling the card gave you that finally helped you to understand - Alastor was using his obsidian calling card to summon you and he had used his own blood. 

Which meant two things: 1. Alastor was desperate and 2. You knew where to find him. 

Without so much a second thought you took off heading for the Entertainment District. 

You landed at the base of V Tower the same moment a blur of black and blue went whizzing past you. Briefly, you registered the flying blurb as Vox - no, wait, he wasn’t flying. Vox had been thrown. 

The media demon went slamming into a bloodied Velvette, the two of them went flying across the cement before coming to a stop in a pile of blood, broken bones, and wire. 

Before you had a chance to register what was going on, a portal opened up about twenty feet away from you. The Hotel team came flooding out, weapons raised, prepared for a fight, but paused when they saw something behind you. 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Alastor?” You breathed, your entire body going rigid as you turned and…

A body slammed into you, warm and familiar. Alastor threaded his fingers through your hair, the other coming to rest at your back as he pulled you into him. His lips came crashing down on yours before you got a proper look at the demon. 

It took your mind a moment to register what was going on, a moment before you were up on your toes, your arms around his neck, your body melting into him. 

God, he tasted like blood and rye. His scent woeing you in a sea of iron and rain. Alastor was a wall of steel, holding you so fiercely - as if you might disappear in his arms. 

The shadows about his feet danced - Rolf was okay too. 

The demon came up for air, but he didn’t back away. Alastor kept his forehead on yours, his grip tightening around you, as he spoke, “Mon couer.”

My heart.

He didn’t have to say anything more. You understood. You were a perfect mirror image to the things he had been feeling and to the relief you both now expressed.

He was okay. Alastor was okay. 

“What happened?” Was all you could manage to say before your voice broke and the ugly tears fell. “I thought they had you. I thought…”

“Shhhh,” Alastor shushed your tears, using his thumb to wipe away the water from your cheek. “I know.” 

“Velvette was going to…”

“I understand,” he kissed your forehead. 

“I didn’t know what else to do...” You choked. You grabbed onto the lapels of his now destroyed jacket. “Please, Alastor… Don’t leave me.”

The demon smiled softly, your face in his hands, “Never again.”

He embraced you, his chin resting on the top of your head as he held you. 

Charlie approached you slowly, hesitant to ruin the moment but also so, so worried. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“Perfectly fine, Princess. Seems Vox found it pertinent to occupy my time in the Doomsday District.”

A memory flashed in your mind…

“Well hello there little pet, where’s your master?”

“Like Hell I would tell you anything!”

“So he’s still making chaos in the Doomsday District then? That answers that question…”

Fucking Vox.

“Is she okay?” Charlie asked. You could hear the emotion in her voice.

The demon smiled into your hair.

Then, Alastor did something that would shock you for years to come, he opened an arm and invited her in. The Princess wrapped her arms around the two of you and soon, so did the rest of the Hotel Natives - minus Lucifer. The King had been standing there dumbfounded the moment Alastor kissed you. 

Wow, he really did not like him. 

“This isn’t over!” Vox yelled. He was bloodied and bruised, as was Velvette who was helping him limp over to your little cuddle fest. 

Alastor had some fun while you were fighting the electricity across Pentagram City.

“Hmmm,” Alastor hummed. The group disbanded, taking a step behind you and the Overlord. “That is where you are wrong, old pal.” 

The Radio Demon persona slammed back into place. He summoned his cane and twirled, before resting his hands atop it. Although he was in complete disarray, there was still an elegance which he held that Vox did not.

You made a mental note of the lack of shark demons coming to the Overlords’ rescue. Crim probably realized they were losing and hightailed it out of there. No worries, you’d pay the imp a visit later…

“Kill them?” You asked Alastor.

Alastor’s eyes lit up in amusement. “No, death is too good for them. The punishment is far more fun if they have to live with their humiliation.” The demon smiled, his lips curling at the edge. 

“So then,” You looked to Alastor for permission. You wanted to show off for him, if he’d let you. “Unplug him?” 

The demon tipped his head back and laughed, “After you, ma cherie.” 

You took a step forward and summoned Alastor’s magic. Green waves of static licked your form as you dug deep into that well. 

“Hey, Vox,” you smiled. 

The demon stopped, his eyes bouncing from yours to Alastor’s. The demon’s screen glitched. “You're dating him now!?” 

You rolled your eyes, “Vox, we never dated. We went on one date and it was horrible.” 

Another glitch. “What!?” 

“Are you two seriously going to talk about this now?” Velvette groaned. 

“I was miserable. You’re a lousy date.” He was buffering, his screen going staticy as you felt Alastor’s magic reacting to Vox’s weaknesses. 

“And, you’re a terrible kisser,” you smiled. 

Vox shoved off Velvette and took a few wobbly steps forward. You were pretty sure his ankle was broken. “Now listen here, you little…”

“Uh-ah-ah!” You tutted. “I wasn’t done.” You closed the gap, and leaned in to whisper something in Vox’s ear. 

The media demon exploded, his screen shifting from lost signal to his face to static to random colors. He fell backward into Velvette, who barely managed to catch him. 

The cameras around you exploded, light bulbs popped, and storefront windows cracked. 

And soon, the entirety of Pentagram City was plunged into darkness. 

“Rolf,” you summoned the shadow. “Will you please take out the trash?” 

The shadow smiled at you, his horns curling, before he whisked Velvette and a short-circuiting Vox off into the night. 

And it was finally over. 

Alastor came up behind you and ran his hand through the static - it tickled, actually. The demon was absolutely mesmerized. “You are beautiful in red, ma cherie,” He cupped your chin, his thumb running across your lower lip. “But green suits you far better than I could have imagined.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“I told him…”

Alastor used his thumb to stop your lips, his eyes darkening. “I know what you said, ma cherie.”

Rolf swirled at your feet. The little snoop was eavesdropping.

Your face turned red. “Vox got a little close on our date. Not my fault that I could feel everything.”

Vox was all over you when he kissed you… It wasn’t long, but it was enough to know…

“Is it true?” Alastor’s eyes couldn’t leave your lips, his mind transfixed on their shape, their feel, the way they moved when you talked.

Ha! There’s the narcissist in him.

“Yes, Alastor,” you smirked. “You are much bigger.”

The static pulsed, reacting to the delight spreading across Alastor’s face, but you forced it down, forced the magic back behind its door. Now was not the time nor the place to get carried away. Especially considering you practically leveled a building the last time you and Alastor... got into it.

Actually, now was time for something else - a conversation you were dreading.

“Alastor,” you collected his hand in yours, “I need… I want to tell you everything.” 

“Let’s get you cleaned up first, shall we?” Alastor smiled, holding out his elbow for you to take. 

The demon wasn’t done with your previous conversation. “I want to hear more about what you think of me.” He smirked, his grin lopsided. That look always meant trouble. “And perhaps discover how you look dressed only in my static.”

Jesus… Did you - via standing up to Vox using Alastor’s magic and utterly humiliating the media demon - inadvertently turn Alastor on? You sniffed. Vanilla, Alastor smelled of warm vanilla… Your face was pink before, but now it was bright red.

This was an opportunity you were not going to let slip away. You wrapped your arm in his…

“Mikaela?” Lucifer took a step forward interrupting the moment.  

Your entire body went still. 

Vaggie did a double take, “Wait. Mikaela as in Mikaela Morningstar, the Archangel?”

Your arm. Velvette scratched your arm - she cut the rune Stolas drew onto your arm! 

Slowly, you turned to face Lucifer - your brother. The Angel took a few steps forward, his confusion turning to hurt. 

“Mikaela.” He frowned. There was so much sadness reflected in those eyes it made your throat swell with emotion. 

“Lulu, I’m so sorry,” your voice broke. 

“Wait, hold up.” Angel raised an arm. “When yous told me ya were a head honcho in Heaven, I just figured you were an Angel manager or some shit, but the General of God’s armies? That doesn’t make any sense. I thought Michael was a dude?” 

“No,” Charlie stepped in, her face one of disbelief. She’s never technically met any of her father’s family and yet here you were all along. “Humans changed it.”

“Changed it?” Angel shook his head. “How do you fuckin’ change the fact that he is a she!?”

“Humans are patriarchal assholes,” Vaggie butted in, one arm wrapped around Charlie - whether to hold her back or comfort her, you didn’t know. Either way, the Ex-Exorcist was thoroughly irritated. “Can’t handle a woman being in a position of power, not to mention a warrior - the fucking warrior.” 

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Angel agreed. 

“What are you doing here?” Lucifer asked. The King didn’t dare step closer. If anything, he moved in front of Charlie. 

Did he think you were going to hurt her? You would never!

“Dad…” Your voice broke just by saying his name. “... sent me to Earth to take care of something. It went… wrong.” 

Fuck how do you explain!?

“I couldn’t - can’t - go back.” You corrected yourself. Your eyes flit between him and Charlie. “I am not here to hurt her.” Your vision blurred with silent tears. “I would never hurt her, Lucifer.” 

Your brother’s face changed, his eyes hardening. He stood at his full height, an arm held out to prevent Charlie from stepping forward or say anything. 

“You can smell deceit, Lucifer.” You both could - family trait. “You know I’m not lying.” 

Lucifer swallowed dryly, but he didn’t say anything. His gaze fell to his feet, the gears behind his eyes turning. He was deciding what to do about you. 

“I had nowhere else to go.” You continued. 

“Dad?” Charlie tested the waters. 

“Don’t, Charlie,” He snapped. “Just don’t.” The Angel, unsure of how exactly to react, how to think, or how to feel about you, turned and started walking away. 

Your heart broke at the sight of him walking down the street alone, abandoning you, just as you abandoned him. You took a step forward to go after him, but Charlie beat you to it. 

“Dad!” She called out as she ran after him. The two of them disappeared around the corner, heading for the Hotel. 

You looked to the group, but their eyes were on Alastor as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “If you’ll excuse us. I believe Mikaela and I have some catching up to do.”

Fuck. 

Husk shot you a look, his eyes asking if he should say something, if he should step in - ever the protective father figure that he was. You shook your head and let Rolf shadow you away. 

____________________________________________

“Are you okay?” The demon asked as you appeared in the Nothing. Pentagram City was a dot in the distance, a glowing presence on the edge of a sea of black dirt. 

You wrapped your arms around your middle, attempting to metaphorically and physically keep yourself together. 

Fuck, you didn’t care about how you were doing. You cared about how Lucifer was doing. The way he just walked away like that… He turned his back on you just as you did him. God, how could you live with yourself? 

“Sit,” Alastor commanded, his voice oddly absent of static. He summoned a chair from the Void and forced you into it, pushing down on your shoulders. 

You were numb - that was the best way to explain it. Your body and feelings were numb. 

Alastor knelt before you, one hand on your knee as he attempted to catch your eye. You couldn’t help but draw a parallel to the memory you shared on the balcony after you were injured. He attempted to comfort you then just as he was now, but the difference was he held so many questions in his gaze. 

No more running. 

“It’s a long story,” you scoffed, still in disbelief. 

Alastor’s face remained neutral, his emotions unreadable. “I have all the time in the world.”

Surprise! You get two chapters today! Go! Go! Go!

-> Link to Chapter Thirteen

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto

[missmarveledsblog]

Bet on it ( Bradley Bradshaw x reader ) PART THREE

Summary : it the night of the gala an awkward start til the two break the silence that leaves them going down memory lane to simplier time with the ice breaking and thawing bradley starts to realise somethings like how good his name sound coming from her lips , how beautiful she truly is and the two get closer and closer

warnings : goofy , fluffy fun , allusions to smut rooster is older than reader by like 8 or something years so aging him up in og top gun timeline

previous part

It was odd , it was awkward as hell and a silent car ride as the both went to talk,opening  their mouths and yet closed a second later . going from enemies and friends wasn’t so clear cut like in the movie where they were instant besties . sure they didn’t squabble or insult each other much as before still few slip ups here and there .  now she kind wish its like in the movies anything would be better than this and when she tried to kill the silence words failed her . she also felt old feeling coming to the surface which she could only hate more for the timing .  she never hated him , never truly  a part of her always loved the man.  a drunken confession to jake  after a particularly bad time between the two that night . she confided in what happened all the years ago maybe it was dramatic reaction from her side but he did truly hurt her and now she was  questioning if he really knew that  , something they could talk about some other time she wasn’t going to make an already awkward moment even worse . it didn’t help how good he looked not that he wasn’t hotter than the fucking sun before but rooster in  three piece suit should of been a crime how good he looked and even more happy she wasn’t driving or they would be heading to a hospital instead of a hospital charity gala . 

Why couldn’t he talk , He of all people  having trouble speaking when all he did was talk . it was like bagman not having an ego and yet the woman currently sitting in the passenger seat of his bronco had him either silent or a blubbering mee  . the same woman who made his blood pressure rising had it rising or a whole different reason .  “ say something jesus anything” he cursed himself internally. 

“ music” he asked quickly to which she just gave a polite nod to . “ least it was something “ he mentally wondering how it was so bad , how it was like this to the point they couldn’t even talk to each other without the rest of their friends around , tapping his finger on the wheel as he listened to the music pretending he wasn’t cringing inside then it came on the radio a song from their childhood , a regular in the hard deck . 

“ you shake my nerves and your rattle my brain” that voice it wasn’t him , 

“ too much love drives a man  insane” she could sing since well , he remember she and his father did but a three year old rendition of twinkle twinkle like star. 

“You broke my will , but what a thrill “ he joined turning to see her smiling . 

“ GOODNESS GRACIOUS GREAT BALLS OF FIRE “ they screamed before bursting into a fit of laughter ,

“ erm excuse me mini mitchell why the hell have i not heard you sing before” he asked. 

“ well you hated me so i wasn’t gonna sing you a lullaby now was i “ she snorted. 

“ i disliked you never hated you but i regret all that really wish i could change it all if i could we could be touring america singing jerry lee lewis” he winked.

“ as much as i love your rendition nothing will ever beat your dad’s  what i’d give to hear him singing it again” she smiled softly .  

“ nah what i would love is his and your version of twinkle twinkle little star , i mean you both made that a ballet” he chuckled. 

“ we did rock that one , but i think our rewrite of bingo was better “ she snorted. 

“ oh yeah the one where you made bingo like a twenty letter word and some numbers in there too “he mused yet playful lilt to his tone. 

“ hey i was exploring art through music and i was also a toddler all words were big back then “ she mock offense .

“ hey now your taking me up wrong i am a fan and so was my dad as he was able to follow along  he was your biggest fan “ . 

“ and my dad is your biggest fan we lucked out on the godfather train huh ? …. Well sort of “ she grimace realizing how it came out. 

“ hey your dad’s  maverick i might be an orphan godchild soon with how he take risks  “ he grinned was her laughter always this way and why did he wanna hear more of it .

“ my dad is maverick that man is gonna outlive us all” 

 the venue was bigger than she though it was bigger event than she thought . in a way it was better it meant more fund for her department , more resources,  more bed. 

“ im not going to get tackle when we walk in her am” he joked . 

“ i mean beth might … nah you should be fine i'll tell them  it was a misunderstanding or something” . 

“ beth the lady i talk to cause if so i  will use you as a shield” . 

“ chivalry isn't dead after all” she smirked . 

just as she went to get out of the car only for him to run like hell to her side opening the door even held her hand as she got out the full gentlemen treatment  seemed to be on the cards as  they walked in the entrance. to say he was  nervous seeing the same security guard eyeing him up til she smile and shook her head signaling is all is good .  the security guard made him nervous but the glare on beth face  well  had him standing behind  y/n when the woman made her way over. 

“ sweet pea blink twice if you need help “ she whispered.  

“ most wonderfully divine miss beth its ok  we sorted it out , bradley this is the wonderfully divine beth most skill nurse beth this is bradley bradshaw master of piano and super hornet jets” y/n stood pulling   him forward and yet it wasn't the nervous  it wasn’t fear of this southern woman who had a sweet  nurturing smile but looks to kill , it was fact it was first time she said his name his actual name , not his callsign or surname but his name . it felt good it felt better then good it made things inside him stir and a dopey grin to form on his face . she got him up in this gala smiling like he was dopey from the snow white and the seven dwarves all because she said his name and this was not good this was not what he thought would happen so early on to the bet ,   he needed to and yet couldn’t squash feeling erupting inside himself that honestly made him feel shit.

Through out the night he stood taller , smiled wider  everytime she introduced him to a coworker or  shit he hope newer people would come in just to do it all again.  Laughing and joking around with her coworkers , the pride that shouldn’t have been there yet burst out of him when they praise her on the good work , how she impacted the patients  or just what an honor it was to know or see her do her thing . 

“ i swear she is only doc i’ve seen that would sing along to the messed up nursery rhymes and not bat a lid and kids love her “ beth cooed as he listened to her coworkers gushing about her. 

“ or trying to get people to come visit the kids she got people dressed as superhero’s last time ” marcus a fellow doctor asked. 

“ hey happy patients happy doctor “ she shrugged taking a sip of her drink . 

“ we should say it to your dad get the dagger squad to come” bradley  clapped excitedly. 

“ the staff and kids would be happy “ beth winked . “ not you i’m still on fence about you pretty boy “ .

“ hey deserved but i hope if her dad says yes i can win you over “ he batted his lashes at the woman as she tried to keep her stance . 

“ what am i missing?” marcus asked. 

“ well we didn’t get along for a while but now we’re cool rooster has redeemed himself tonight “ she swirled the class and yet it he suddenly felt a sting at the fact is wasn’t his name. 

“ so when did you become a couple “ the man  asked excitedly only for both to choke on the liquid in there mouth. 

“ no no no ha no we’re just friend  , buddies “ she laughed grabbing napkins 

“ yeah friends what she said i mean come on girl like her with dude like me “ bradley chuckled til he seen her face drop and the hurt on it . “ i didn’t mean it like that i mean you are wow beautiful .. oh my god am i having a stroke tonight or something”  he groaned. 

“ i think what baby eyes is trying to say is your too good for him and if it not well it what we know”beth god he could kiss that woman if she didn’t scare the hell out of him . 

“ exactly what i meant i didn’t mean i was better or hotter than you “ he stumbled stuttering over his words.

“ boy just shh not making it better.. Now take her to dance that dress is too good to be sitting here all night ” the woman hushed. 

“ yes ma’am … would you wanna dance with me i think my feet work better than mouth “ he turned as she gave a little yes .  now he really did hope his feet worked better than his mouth  or was he going to make more of a fool of himself. 

Hand on hers as she place the other on his shoulder and his other hand to her hip .  gentle swaying he could do as that much it wasn’t too complicated and yet he felt his heart beating hard in his chest he was nearly expecting to see it on his shirt and then she looked up at him and his knees almost buckled  .  he never wanted her to look at him any other way than that , never wanted to hear rooster coming out of her mouth , then he tried to think of the past something to get his head in the game, he couldn’t lose his resolve so quick  a month into the bet he needed to think of how he felt back then the way he felt when it all started . his motivation to keeping strong and yet he couldn’t  the rational part of him was coming to effect and he decided one night to not think of it , one night to think of everything but enjoy the moment at hand. 

As guest filtered out and some memories of her bosses she never wanted to member they stood out of the venue and chill air of night hit . when she saw bradley bradshaw at her door she didn’t think she would have one of the best nights of her life . she never thought feeling she buried so deep would  break and come back in ten fold  . it was crazy , borderline insane to how she felt by end of night and that was it she didn’t want the night to end  , she didn’t want to say goodbye and things to go back to normal . she hated it  knowing it was stupid to think this way fucking hell they just started being some what friends the last month.  The shiver down her body and then she felt the warm weight of his jacket on  her shoulders and his hand out to lead her back to the car .  the whole timeshe willed herself to stop to think clearly to think of how he hurt her all those years ago when she felt like this first.  But she couldn’t all logic and reason quashed by the beat of her heart . . she fell harder than she ever did. Pulling her up outside of her apartment she should of said goodnight leave the good to stay good in that moment . 

“ you wanna come in for a drink” was all it took for another shift to happen a new direction to run it course and what she would find out the worst idea she’s ever had . 

Nervous of being in a small space together , nervous of new but old feeling coming back and nervous  to the  doubt of everything and anything.   Few beers and glasses of wine took the worry , the nerves and the caution away . relax and giddy finding a trip down memory lane filling in the spots of being apart . she told him about med school how hard and crazy it was especially giving she was youngest of her class , old boyfriends and friends . he told her of  collage  still a little sore spot not going to the naval academy but she wasn’t so happy with her dad for that either . then how surreal it was following in the footsteps of his dad and pete mitchell both daunting and exciting . more drink flowing as they laughed and joked around about the good side of memory lane .  

“ i can’t believe we missed out on so much huh ?” she sighed sadly . 

“ we really did , least we friends now right or did my stupid mouth and bad dancing scare you away?”he teased. 

“ you know bad dancing and mouth aside tonight has been so fun , really i mean you haven’t fully won beth over but you have won me over bradshaw”  she beamed up at him . 

“ please call me bradley i like it better when you say it i mean anyone else no eww but when it’s you makes me happy when you say name “ he leaned forward she felt herself pulled like a magnetic force . 

“ bradley “ she whispered and just like that all resolved went out the window  and something snapped as two crashed against one another clash of teeth and tongues , hunger and adorations . stars aligning , fireworks , sunshine and fucking rainbows . a kiss and a fear of what was to come next . 

A blinding light and a thumping headache . a personal jackhammer living in the confine of she sat up  and the sun making it harder to open her eyes  feeling around for her phone til her hand hit something that makes the hangover the least of her problems  as she force her eyes open and see a sleeping rooster naked in her bed . buzzing of her phone on the floor as she dove make sure not to waking the sleeping pilot  crawling out the room not ready to deal with what happened just yet as she hit the  little green icon . 

“ hey darling did ya have fun with chicken ?” 

“ more than i should of “ she gulped .

part 4

taglist : @djs8891 @peachmartini @shanimallina87 @kawaiiskeletondragonbanana @paisleebubbles

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

BOOM! (1/3)

Part 1: The Cowgirl & The Oilman

Stunning, wonderful, perfect art by @lya-dustin

My submission for the 2024 @hotd-bigbang

1928. Targaryen's, the foremost business conglomerate in Europe, is seeking to establish a foothold in the United States - and the mass of wealth and resources it offers. Viserys Targaryen has dispatched each member of his family to a different city to oversee the company's expansion into various new industries. His second son, Aemond, has chosen Dallas, Texas as his destination to take advantage of the continued prosperity of the oil boom. But getting Targaryen Oil & Petroleum off the ground may be harder than he anticipated, all thanks to the determined efforts of a single, stubborn, spellbinding cowgirl.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Nameless Female Character

Warnings: Language, Aemond is a cunt but so is the OC so it evens out?

-

The birds did not chirp. No squirrels were scuttling around, and no deer creeping through the undergrowth as they emerged from their dens. Even the cicadas were quiet, observing the mournful procession below them.

A beat-up truck hauling a rickety trailer kicked up dirt as it drove away. East, she knew. In a few miles, it would turn south. Then, there would be paved roads. Traffic lights. Other cars with roaring engines and blaring horns. Civilization.

Around these parts, ‘civilization’ meant one thing: Dallas.

The family inside the truck, the Cordrys, had been able to afford a new two-story house with the money the oil company gave them. They even had enough left over to buy a second if they wanted. But they wanted to stay together – family is family, after all. Instead, they would send Buck, their eldest son, to the university that opened in Dallas some years ago. He hadn’t yet decided whether to be a preacher or a lawyer.

The young woman watching them leave from atop a nearby hill dearly hoped he would be a preacher. Buck was always good with words, which would suit either profession, but he was also kind. She had never met a lawyer herself, to her knowledge. But given that it was a lawyer who negotiated the deal for the Cordrys to sell their ranch, she decided she didn’t like lawyers.

Lawyers had come for her home, too. Vermillion Ranch apparently sat on very valuable land, not that her ancestors knew it when they first settled there over 100 years ago. All they knew was that it was the prettiest piece of land for miles and miles. Still was.

Her Papa loved that land so much that when the lawyers came to buy it from them, he’d chased them off with his shotgun. He hadn’t been so proud or happy in years, but it cost him, leaving him so exhausted that he hardly got out of bed for a week. So, when the lawyers came back, she’d taken up the shotgun and did the scaring herself.

They hadn’t been back in a while, but she knew they’d try again soon.

She would never let them have the land, even if they offered her all the gold in Fort Knox.

Loral, her beloved horse, knickered as she chewed at the shoulder of her shirt, breaking her from her thoughts just in time to see the Cordrys’ car fading in the distance, little more than a smudge of dirt against the sunset as they passed by a half-built oil derrick.

“Come on, girl,” she said, patting Loral’s neck. “Let’s go home.”

-

Within minutes of stepping off the Gay Abandon in what locals called the “Free State of Galveston,” Aemond Targaryen decided he hated Texas. 

From what little he had seen of the United States, he could confidently say he hated most of the country, with only a few notable exceptions. But this place? With its cacophony of warring jazz music and industrial clanging, undercut by overloud radios and the people shouting to be heard. With the skyline jumbled with shoddily rebuilt slums, sprawling stone factories and warehouses, and brightly painted beachside resorts teeming with people that would look much better suited to Los Angeles or Miami. With the stench, a horrid combination of fish, brine, booze, and oil.

Perhaps “loathe” was a better word than hate for this city.

At least he didn’t have to stay long. 

A car was already waiting for him at the dock to take him to the train that would deliver him to Dallas. The moment the chauffeur was back in his seat, he opened the glove box to reveal an amber bottle of ‘moonshine,’ which he then offered to Aemond in a truly incomprehensible accent. How the man hadn’t already been arrested for so blatantly defying prohibition, he didn’t know.

Yet another reason to hate America - the continued illegality of alcohol.

Though he’d yet to find a city where liquor couldn’t be found with even the mildest of efforts, he still refused to indulge. He could not risk arrest just for the brief escape a good glass of wine offered. There was too much riding on his new task.

Targaryen Oil & Petroleum Inc.

As of now, it was only a packet of legal documents and an office somewhere in Dallas that Aemond hadn’t yet laid eyes on. But given a year or two and no small amount of hard work, it would be one of the most profitable ventures in the history of Targaryen & Sons. After all, it had by far the best potential of any of the other new projects. Texas was at the heart of the booming oil industry, and as the world’s demand for electricity, cars, aeroplanes, and more grew exponentially, so would the market for so-called “black gold.”  

Much of the state's southern half had already been claimed, but the north had begun showing new promise. All Aemond had to do was buy a few hundred thousand acres of land from the farmers there and start drilling.

He would win, he had no doubt.

Not that it was truly a competition. Or at least, his father had not called it such. Still, how could it be anything but? The old man sent each of his children and two eldest grandchildren to the New World with one task: make money - lots of it.

Aemond’s elder brother, Aegon, had purchased a film studio in Los Angeles to invest in the new talking pictures. His sister, Helaena, was in New York, where she bought some magazine about nature, or geography, or something similar. His younger brother, Daeron, had gone to a city called Detroit to manufacture automobiles for racing. Viserys’ grandsons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, followed Aegon to Los Angeles to pursue aviation engineering and radio broadcasting, respectively.

All respectable prospects, but not nearly as lucrative as oil was. In truth, the only competition Aemond faced was from his elder half-sister. Rhaenyra had also gone to New York to start an investment bank. She would surely do well, especially with the support from her husband’s shipping empire. But Aemond knew she would soon lose interest and pass her responsibilities onto someone else so she could indulge her own interests - namely parties and men.

Targaryen Oil & Petroleum would prevail in the end, and Aemond could return home as the heir apparent to Targaryen & Sons.

All he had to do was spend a year or two in this hellhole.

-

“You have gotta settle down, girl,” she grumbled as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with her Momma’s old handkerchief. She glared at the massive mare who had been giving her nothing but trouble for the past six months, holding tight to her leads, only letting go when the new stall door was closed and double-latched. “Lumber’s expensive. We don’t have the money to keep this up, and we’re all outta spares.”

There were seven stalls in the horse barn. Only two were occupied, and only those two still had doors. The mare had broken five of them. Not to escape the barn or the ranch. No, she never went anywhere. She did it just because she was cranky, and she could. The cowgirl also suspected that the horse was somehow amused by it.

“But you like making me suffer too much for that, don’t you?” An exaggerated shake of the mare’s huge head certainly seemed like a gleeful yes. She sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

With the horses tended, she made her way to the house to fix lunch for her and Daddy before riding out to meet the herd. She was only halfway across the yard when she heard a far-away engine growing louder and louder. It couldn’t be neighbor - they were all gone now. That only left a few options, and none she was too pleased about.

Each step up to the porch creaked as she climbed toward the house. Maybe she could use some of the salvageable wood from the latest destroyed stall door to replace them, even if the color wouldn’t match. Paint was just as pricey as lumber. 

“Daddy! You up?” She only poked her head through the door, not wanting to get barn muck inside the house. Momma's strict rules still applied, at least to her. “Daddy!”

His grumble sounded an awful lot like the cranky mare’s. “I’m up! How can I not be with all yer hollerin’?”

“It’s almost lunch, Daddy. You need to be up!”

“Fine, fine. I’m up!” He tried to snark back more, but it quickly became wracking coughs. Daddy was sounding real bad again, and even if it wasn’t the usual day, maybe it was Doc Spooner in that car coming to check on him.

The car had gotten close enough that she could start to make out its shape within the cloud of dust it kicked up. A shiny bumper and bright green paint. Not a car she recognized. “Hey, Daddy, is the doctor comin’ today?”

“Not today, hun. It’s Tuesday, ‘member?”

“How ‘bout Pastor John?”

“He’s down in Waco for the rest of the month! Why you askin’ anyway?”

Then who the hell was in that car? She had an inkling, but she was sure the last time Daddy got the shotgun out would be the last time they’d be bothered about this. “Car’s coming up the drive. You wanna handle it?”

She hoped he would. But to her disappointment, he shouted back, “Too damn tired! You take this one, hun.”

So, she shut the door and leaned against it, watching that shiny green car pull into the ranch proper. Chickens scattered away from it, even though they weren’t anywhere near its path. The goats and sheep meandered to the edge of the yard, not wanting to be disturbed but unwilling to wander too far for fear that one of the dogs would come after them. Meanwhile, the dogs barked ferociously at the mechanical intruder but didn’t so much as stand from where they rested in the shade of the house—lazy good-for-nothin’s.

The car finally stopped. It was even fancier than the cars the other lawyers came in, with brass polished to look like gold on bits that were usually chrome. If it wasn’t absolutely coated in dust, she might even like it. A man in what looked to be a green police uniform came out the driver’s door. Very fancy, then, if the lawyer wasn’t driving himself. 

When he emerged from the back seat of the car, the man nearly took her breath away.

He was tall and thin as a beanpole. But he didn’t seem delicate. Maybe that had more to do with his suit - deep blue pinstripes with what surely must be padding in the shoulders. Most of it was likely due to the sour expression on his handsome face. Not handsome like farmhands or cowboys were handsome - gruff and rugged - but like how movie stars were handsome - softer and refined.

Or at least, he would have been if he weren’t sunburnt to all hell and sweating like a whore in church.

This man was not from around here, and as far as she was concerned, he could fuck right off. Of course, he didn’t. He just walked right up the porch and took off his hat, revealing his slicked silver hair.

“Who are you?”

He raised a brow as he looked her over, head to toe. Judging by the slight sneer pulling at the corner of his mouth, he wasn’t impressed with what he saw. “My name is Aemond Targaryen.” Lord, he even talked fancy, with a soft, pretty voice and some kind of accent she’d never heard before. Though his sharp tone left something wanting. “May I ask for your name, miss?”

“No.” Handsome as he was, it didn’t change that she wanted him gone as soon as possible.  “What do you want?”

His nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. “As I said, my name is Aemond Targaryen, proprietor of Targaryen Oil & Petroleum. Have you heard of our business?”

She certainly had. Not only had it snatched up the land from most of the farmers and ranchers in the area, but it had also started buying land from other oil companies, too. Undoubtedly the worst of all of ‘em. And Mr. Targaryen himself was now standing on her porch, looking down at her as if she was a piece of shit on his shoe. She clenched her jaw to stop it from dropping open and pointedly stayed silent.

“Well, we are relatively new.” He glanced off to the side, his distaste for everything around him as clear as day. “As the name “Oil & Petroleum” implies, we are in the oil business. I’m - ”

“No shit.”

He looked at her like she’d just shot him. “Pardon me?”

“I said, ‘no shit.’” She gave him her best, over-sweet smile.

“Yes, well…” His hat creaked as he clenched it in his fist, his jaw so tight she half expected it to snap. “Our petroleum geologists - very smart people who study oil - have determined, or found, that there is a large deposit beneath this land,  meaning that there is a lot of oil deep underground. Oil is used to power electricity, cars, and many other things, so it would be very good for everyone if we could get the oil out of the ground. We do this by drilling. Do you understand me so far?”

Uppity bastard. Did he really think she was so dumb she needed all this explained? “Oh, I understand you just fine.”

“Very good,” he praised, as if she were a child who’d taken her first steps. “Now, to be allowed to drill for oil, you must -”

“I’m not selling my land.”

The last dregs of false politeness faded from his voice. “I’m sorry?” 

“I am not selling my land.  Not to you or anyone else.” Even if it meant her only neighbors would be oil derricks and lawyers circling like vultures.

“You haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

“Don’t need to.”

“Miss, based on the value of the land and the oil under it, I am willing to pay you forty dollars per acre.” He stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to keep looking him in the eye. Very pretty eyes, even if they were filled with frustration. “Given the size of your property, that comes out to over forty thousand dollars. Do you know how much money that is?”

She shrugged as she crossed her arms, raising her brows in mock awe. “Sounds like forty thousand dollars.”

“I -” He shook his head, so visibly exasperated that she had to stifle a laugh. With his skin as red as it was, he looked like an angry tomato. “That is a life-changing amount of money, surely.”

“I don’t want my life to change.” Other things, sure. Of course, she would love it if her neighbors came back or if she didn’t have to listen to the grinding of metal from one of the derricks whenever she was on the west side of the property, but those were just minor annoyances. 

“You could go wherever you want, do whatever you want, yet you would rather stay here?” 

Looking him dead in the eyes, she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head.

“Something funny ‘bout that?”

It took him a moment to reply. “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to offer -”

“I understand you completely, Mr. Targaryen. You ain’t the first lawyer to come try to convince me and my Daddy to sell.”

Perhaps it was a mistake to mention her daddy. As soon as she did, Mr. Targaryen’s exasperation disappeared, and he was once more calm and smug. Still looked like a tomato, though. “Your father is here? May I -”

“No, you may not.” She pushed away from the door to block him from moving closer. No way in hell was she letting this ass anywhere near her daddy. “I promise he wants to talk to you even less than I do. Now shut up and listen.”

To her surprise and satisfaction, he did.

“You really think everyone else sold their land but me because the lawyers never came my way? Oh, they came my way. Over and over again until Daddy got so fed up, he took his shotgun off the mantle. They all stopped comin’ pretty soon after that. You are, in fact, the eleventh lawyer to come here and try and buy my land. Surprising, ain’t it? I can count higher than ten. I also know how oil drilling works. I s’pose you didn’t notice when you were drivin’ out here, but there are oil fields all around me.”

She stepped toward him, throwing an arm out to point to the nearest one, its steel towers rising from the earth like black weeds. Mr. Targaryen barely glanced at it, his eyes remaining on her as he stepped back, maintaining the distance between them. 

“So I know exactly what you’re gonna say to try to convince me to hand over the deed, and I’ll tell ya right now, it’s not gonna work.” When she took another step forward, he did the same. So she did it again and again, until one more step would send him tumbling into the dirt. “So get off my porch, get off my property, and go straight to hell with your forty-thousand dollars. This land is worth at least 90 bucks an acre, and you goddamn know it.”

She didn’t wait for his reaction before turning and storming into the house, regardless of Momma’s rules, the door banging shut behind her. But she stayed just inside the house, her back pressed against the door as she waited for him to leave.

It was a while before she heard the porch steps creaking again, and longer still before a car engine hummed to life and drove away. He’d hung around, for whatever reason.

Daddy was waiting for her when she went to the kitchen, his handkerchief already tucked into the collar of his shirt. “Who was that man you were yellin’ at, hun? Gotta be either a lover or a lawyer for you to get that mad.”

“Lawyer,” she answered. “A new one. Wanted to buy the land.”

“He give you a good offer?”

She laughed as she opened the icebox to grab the meatloaf from last night that would fill their sandwiches today. “Lowest one yet. Think he thought I was dumb enough to not know the value of my own land.”

“It’s still my land for a little bit longer, girl. Don’t go getting ahead of yourself.” She knew he was joking, but it still stung. He’d been doing that a lot recently, making light of the fact that the doctor had told them he couldn’t be cured and would likely be dead within a year.

“Don’t talk like that, Daddy. Please?” 

“I know. I’m sorry, hun,” he sighed. The jokes helped him feel better somehow, she knew. But they made her feel so much worse. “Now come on, you woke me up for lunch, so where is it?”

-

Aemond was once more in the back of his car, dust obscuring the view as he returned to that ranch – Vermillion, according to the faded sign on the side of one of the barns.

After his last visit, he’d pored over every paper in the Targaryen Oil & Petroleum offices, searching for a way to alter his plan without having to acquire the land. It was possible, but it would slow down development and cost him far more than he’d initially planned to invest. Purchasing the land at the price that stubborn cowgirl claimed the land was worth was the frugal option.

Or at least, that’s how he justified the decision with his investors and executives. It certainly factored into his decision to return, but was far from his central motivation.

The cowgirl had pushed back at him, and he refused to concede to a half-wit hick with illusions of superiority. If she wanted to be stubborn, so would he.

So, he once more stepped into the rocky, dirty, foul-smelling yard surrounding the dilapidated farmhouse. Ranch house? Either way, it should have long since been condemned. The wood paneling was saggy and greying, the roof messily patched, and the steps onto the porch groaning like a rusted wheel. And when he pounded his fist on the front door, he half-expected it to fall off the hinges.

Miraculously, it didn’t. But neither did it open.

Instead, a remarkably gruff voice called from inside, “Who’s there?”

Thank God, it wasn’t the cowgirl. She had mentioned a father, who might be far more amenable to selling, but she had also mentioned something about a shotgun that made him hesitate before calling back. “My name is Aemond Targaryen. Do you have a moment to speak?”

There was no answer other than the sound of shuffling feet and something pounding on the floor.

Then, the door opened to reveal a massive man, his years of hard labor evident in the width of his shoulders and stern set of his brow. This was the kind of cowboy who inspired the legends that had spread around the world. But he was also undeniably weak and ill. His skin was thin and sallow, his broad shoulders slumped, and his eyes sunken and shadowed with fatigue. He leaned heavily on a wooden cane, a compass fixed to its head, and its wood mottled yellow and brown and charred in spots. Aemond did not doubt that if he took the cane away, the man would collapse.

Still, the cowgirl had talked about this man scaring away other oilmen with a shotgun, and he didn’t want to risk the same fate.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, dipping his head. He’d allowed himself to be too terse with the girl. Perhaps a more genial approach would help him find success with her father. “I’m very pleased to meet you. May I ask for your name?”

“No.” The word was deep and rasping, followed by a wet cough. “You the man that pissed off my little girl couple days ago?”

Aemond gave a strained smile. “I did have the… pleasure of speaking to your daughter, yes. My apologies if I left her angry following our conversation. I’m afraid I have not yet become used to the heat here and allowed it to affect my mood.”

“I’m not the one you should be sayin’ sorry to.” The man thumped his cane a few times, then turned away.

Damn it, not again. “Sir, I – ”

“She’s in the horse barn,” he called over his shoulder. “Go bother her. I’m too old for your bullshit.”

-

When she’d heard an engine outside, she assumed it was Doc Spooner coming to check on her Daddy, even if it was a little earlier than normal. It wasn’t until the door to the barn opened that she knew it was someone even more unpleasant than the grumpy old Doc.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” She asked Mr. Aemond Targaryen as he walked into the barn, nose wrinkling in disgust. This time, it was justified – she was in the middle of mucking the stables, a shovel full of shit in her hands.

He forced a smile. “First, I wanted to apologize for my behavior the last time I saw you. I offended you, and I deeply regret it.”

If he hadn’t seemed so genuine, she might have just flung her newest load of shit in his face. Instead, she dumped it into the wheelbarrow beside her before putting her shovel down. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other.

Her Momma’s voice echoed in her head: a little kindness goes a long way, hun. But why should she be kind to a slimy, good-for-nothing oilman who was probably only saying sorry to butter her up so she’d sell him the ranch? Still, Momma’s angel was firmly planted on her shoulder, and she’d never been able to say no to her.

“I’m sorry too,” she sighed, crossing her arms. She felt like a scolded schoolgirl again. “You were rude first, but it was tacky of me to be rude back.”

Again, silence fell in the barn, only broken by an impatient grumble from the old mare. Mr. Targaryen immediately turned to her, his eyes going wide at the sight. “Who is this?”

“The Jacksons just called her Ol’ Gal,” she explained, stepping forward to try to stroke the horse’s nose. “I’ve been doing the same.”

He just hummed as he came closer, looking at the mare like she was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “The Jacksons… they owned Live Oak, yes?”

Ah, so he’d been the one to buy it. She missed that place. The Jacksons always hosted the nicest picnics. Mrs. Abbie Jackson made the tastiest green bean casserole in the county. “Yeah, that was them. When they sold, no one wanted to take Ol’ Gal. Too old ‘n too ornery. They were gonna take her to auction, but I knew the only folk that would buy her then wouldn’t treat her right, so I offered to take her.”

“That was very kind of you,” he murmured, stepping closer to her stall. Somehow, the mare didn’t startle or even stamp her hooves.

“I don’t think she’d agree with you. She’s been madder than a whole nest of hornets since she got here.” And had cost her five stall doors and a dozen fence posts, not even counting the time it took to care for her when she fought every bit of it. “Hey, I wouldn’t get too close. She’s prone to bitin’.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, not even looking at her.

In all honesty, she wasn’t gonna be too mad if he lost a finger, or at least a couple knuckles. But he would very much mind and, as a lawyer, would probably use the accident to force her to sell Vermillion. “No, really, she’ll – ”

Lean into his hand quite happily, apparently.

“How the hell did you do that?”

He smiled smugly, shrugging as he continued to stroke her snout. “My father keeps horses. I had a fondness for the older ones that were largely ignored in favor of the new acquisitions, and they had a fondness for me.”

“Funny, I thought animals were better judges of character than that,” she mumbled. Oh shit.

His smile was gone, and he dropped his hand from the Ol’ Gal. His eyes, which had seemed to see her as a person, again looked at her like she was the very shit she was shoveling. “Apologizing was not the main purpose of my visit.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” The voice of her Momma was screaming in her ear, begging her to apologize for her unforgivable rude words, but her pride shoved it down, down, down, until all she could hear was the hum of cicadas and the faint swishing of Loral and Ol’ Gal’s tails. “What is it you want, then?”

He crossed his arms behind his back. “After some new research, I’ve determined that my original estimate of the value of your land was, as you said, incorrect. I am now willing to pay you ninety-three dollars an acre, bringing the total value of my offer to more than ninety-six thousand.”

Offering her so much money pissed him off, judging by his clenched jaw and strained voice. It didn’t amuse her as much as it did the first time. Still, she wasn’t going to give in just for more money. “My answer is still no. Hell no. Fuck no. Whatever no you need to go away and never come back.”

Something snapped for him, and he surged forward until their chests were nearly touching. He craned his neck to look down at her, fury burning like the summer sun in his eyes. “You stupid little cowgirl. Are you so stubborn that you’ll tell me no just to what? Feel powerful? Feel like you’re somehow superior to me? It’s a fucking joke.

“I’m offering you the chance to become a person. To live in real, modern civilization.” He laughed, cruel and humorless. “But you’d rather stay here? In a house that will fall apart the next time there’s a strong breeze, and spend your days shoveling shit? My God, you’re hardly better than the animals you keep.”

Oh, how she wished she was a horse, if only so she could trample him under her feet. Or one of her cattle, so she could gore him with her horns. Even if she was one of her dogs, she could shred him apart like he deserved.

But she was just what he said, a stupid, stubborn cowgirl.

She turned away from him, opening Loral’s stall to saddle her as quickly as she could. She needed to get away, or she was going to do something she would regret. Likely hurt him. Possibly cry. Either way, she refused to do it.

“Where are you going?” he asked once she was in the saddle, clutching the reins so hard they dug into her skin.

“I have chores to do.”

He stepped in front of Loral, arms out to try and prevent her from riding off, but Loral sidestepped him with ease. “I’m not leaving until I get my yes.”

“Then I guess you better follow me. Or you can always go sit with the dogs where you belong.”

Without waiting for an answer, she spurred Loral into a gallop and left Aemond Targaryen behind.

-

When the cowgirl and her horse faded into the distance, Aemond screamed. He didn’t care if her father or his driver heard him. He needed to scream. What had he done to piss off God enough that he would put this girl in front of him?

Behind him, the old mare snickered, banging her legs against her stall door.

“How do you endure her?” he asked. God, he really had lost his mind if he would stoop to commiserating with a horse. At least the horse seemed to dislike the cowgirl as much as he did – he had one ally.

If he was going to succeed, perhaps he needed an ally, even an equine one. After all, horses had helped win the Great War, and this girl certainly felt like his personal war. Very well, then.

He had the mare – Ol’ Gal needed a proper name – saddled in mere minutes. Then, he was off, chasing after the most infuriating woman he’d ever met with the determination of a general.

Whatever it took, he was getting his yes.

-

Author's Note: yeehaw motherfuckers

[pentacentric]

I probably think way too much about how very little Sam knew about Mary. How John and Dean gave him almost nothing, to the point that she wasn't even really like a ghost shadowing his life, more like the story of one overheard in bits and pieces over the years. And yet, his whole life from when he can first remember—every bit of motivation or guilt, every point of pride or shame—is built around his mother, this person he isn't allowed to know.

I've written a lot of bits and pieces about it before, but never a standalone. This is actually an excerpt from a longer story, but I modified it some and I think it works on its own, hopefully (he knows about hunting already but that's really the only canon difference).

..........................

When Sam's in fourth grade, and has to write a page about his favorite memory, he asks for Dean's help. All he can seem to dredge up at the moment is just too weird or too farfetched. Things that say far too much about the way they live for a teacher to read.

So he asks Dean what he would write about.

After some teasing about his best memories being of all the times Sam's embarrassed himself (and a well-aimed pink rubber eraser hitting him between the eyes) Dean quiets down and turns thoughtful.

"Well, I dunno what my most favorite memory would be, really. I guess…" He bites his lip, chews on it for a second, gaze directed absently into the distance. "I think it would prob'ly be my first memories? It musta been, like, when I was three and four maybe. They're…of Mom."

"Oh." Sam's chest gets a little tight. He speaks quietly, cautiously. Dean—Dean and Dad both—they don't talk about her much. Sam's seen her picture, the one that Dad keeps in his journal, a few times, but he knows so little about her. Just that she was pretty (beautiful), with a smile that reminds of him of Dean's and wavy blonde hair. "What was she—what are they like?"

Dean smiles, maybe a little sad, but it's more than that. Warm, wistful; gaze still unfocused and distant. "Mostly…happy. Like…bright. She'd sing to me a lot, and, like, I didn't know the songs back then, but, when I hear 'em now, I can hear her voice singing them. Beatles, Beach Boys, Simon and Garfunkel, um…Peter, Paul, and Mary, maybe…" Dean chuffs out a laugh. "I remember Puff the Magic Dragon, at least…I think I even remember Dad teasin' her about how she better sing me some real music, too, not just sissy crap, but, I dunno, maybe I made that up."

Dean pauses, that bittersweet expression on his face, still, and Sam doesn't want him to get lost in it. He also doesn't want to miss this opportunity, if he can help it.

"I dunno. He'd say somethin' like that." Dean spares him half a smile, still somewhere else in his head. "What…what else do you remember? What'd you guys do together?"

"Well, not a whole lot. I guess mostly just the normal stuff you do with a little kid. Like legos, I remember we'd build castles an' fortresses and stuff. I wanted her to build me a car but we didn't have enough black bricks, so she made me a little boat instead. Dad said it looked like a bathtub." He smiles. "Um, she'd dance with me, sometimes. To the radio. Make lunch—I mostly remember sandwiches and Mac n' Cheese. I'd sit in that little seat in the cart when she went to the grocery store, and she'd ask me what was on the list and I'd pretend I could read it and make up dumb stuff."

The silence is longer this time. Sam breathes out, carefully. "What kinda stuff?"

"I dunno. Just silly things, like 'elephant steaks!' Or 'a unicorn!' Or 'poop n' rhubarb pie!'"

"Gross." Sam wrinkles his nose.

Dean grins at that. "I think you're, like, the only kid ever who never found poop and fart jokes funny."

"'Cause they're not."

When Dean laughs, muttering little weirdo, Sam looks around for something harmless to throw at him, pouts.

"Don't worry, Sammy, if anyone wonders why you're so weird I'll just tell them it's 'cause you still poop your pants, and you're kinda sensitive about it an' all."

"Dean."

Sam decides that his pencil is perfectly fine to throw after all and, as a concession, doesn't aim it at his head. Dean grins, not seeming too annoyed by the assault, so Sam decides to push his luck.

"Did Mom think it was funny? Your lists?"

Dean's melancholy little smile is back. "Yeah…yeah, I think she did. She'd always laugh, anyways. An' she had the best laugh. I'd make up stuff that just got more and more ridiculous just so I could keep watchin' her laugh." He sighs, shrugs. "Anyways, yeah…that's Mom. That's what I remember."

It gets quiet after that, and Sam can see Dean's face starting to shutter over as he withdraws. It's rare for Sam to get to see his brother so open and unguarded any more. Over the last few years, Dean's started to change; Sam can tell. Still fun, still charming, still affectionate, at least with Sam (mostly when there's no one else around to catch him being so uncool). But, even though they're not always alike—Dean doesn't usually brood, rarely explodes, and he never gets that kind of burning cold John does when he's focused on something—sometimes now he kinda reminds Sam of Dad. He's been more closed off, the way Dad can be, his deeper emotions pushed farther away, out of Sam's reach. Doesn't show when things get to him, like he used to.

It's actually kind of lonely, sometimes.

"So, what are you gonna write about, Sammy?"

When Sam shrugs, Dean suggests the time they ran out of gas on a back road in central Florida. They'd only walked two miles before an Oscar Myer Wienermobile came barreling down the road, seemingly out of nowhere, and gave them a lift to and from the closest gas station (still a good eight miles away). Sam counters with the night in Montana that Dad got so drunk he started fighting with the motel owner about yetis (Dad coming down hard on the side of 'hoax'). They ended up getting kicked out at two am after Dad had cut down the guy’s “Bigfoot Crossing” sign with an axe. They toss back and forth increasingly ridiculous ideas until they're both laughing so hard they're in literal tears. When John comes back, they can't even stop long enough to answer what's so funny. Dad just smiles, bemused and fond, and shakes his head before heading off to shower.

Sam thinks maybe he can add this afternoon to his Good Memories pile.

In the end, he waits until that evening, before bed, and easily fills up a page-and-a-half about the time, last summer, when Dad was on a hunt out west and he and Dean had spent all afternoon exploring tidal pools in Yaquina Head, Oregon, marveling at the tiny little aquatic worlds they found. He invents an older teenage cousin that tagged along so the teacher won't question why two young kids spent the day alone in a national park.

He gets an A.

From then on, Sam keeps his eyes out in thrift stores for cassettes from the bands Dean mentioned; pockets them when he can to listen to later on the beat-up Walkman knock-off Dean stole for him for his sixth birthday. He likes a lot of it, but he's careful about what he keeps; only his favorites. He stashes them in the bottom of his school bag, in the hollowed-out book that Bobby showed him how to make last year, on a rainy day when Sam got bored with watching old Westerns.

For some reason, he doesn't want Dean to know about them. Doesn't want him to feel like Sam's trying to take something away from him. So he slips them in when he's sitting in the back of the Impala alone, on long trips, and closes his eyes. Lets the albums pour into his ears over the headphones; shuts the rest of the world out. Sgt Pepper's. Pet Sounds. Bookends. He tries to imagine his mom, Mary, singing the songs to him, in a sunny kitchen.

But he can never really pull together a complete image of her; just bits and pieces, blurred-together impressions: yellow hair, the smiling face from the picture (looking kind of flat, like a mask), a flowered dress he'd seen in a shop window. And he doesn't know what her voice sounded like, so it kind of just ends up being a composite of the voices of some of his favorite teachers (along with the mother of a classmate back in Indiana who drove him home once when she spotted him waiting for the rain to stop under the playground slide).

So he gives up on trying to picture her, and, instead, just tries to sink into the music, sees if he can feel what she was feeling when she listened to it. Imagines the conversations they might have: which songs would be her favorites, why she would have liked them, where she was the first time she heard them playing.

When he hears those songs on the radio now, or over the speakers in a restaurant, it makes him feel kind of happy and sad at the same time.

They remind him of her.

(Except for America—for some reason, that one makes him think of Dean.)