#and he’d prefer not to make that body count 4

[yourlocalcon-man]

Character art of my dnd PC because why not.

His name is William Pyrite, he’s the grandson of the goddess of justice, and one of his favorite pass-times is breaking and entering. Your sons are not safe, and neither is your money. Don’t let him into your taverns, his friends will destroy everything. He grew up in the middle of nowhere and is somehow always the most civilized person in the room.

[lo1k-diamonds]

Stellar Behavior 💜 Part 4

“Justice just never sleeps.”

PAIRING: Officer!Yoongi x Mafia (f)reader

SUMMARY: Yoongi makes a decision and gives up on the nicotine gum.

WORD COUNT: 6.8k

GENRE: Gangster AU, Law AU, enemies to lovers, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: corruption, explosions, fire, blood, threats, arguing, handjob, blowjob, riding

A.N. It's so hard to pick a favorite part, but I think this one might be it... Again, infinite thank yous to @moonleeai for helping me around the clock and being an incredible beta! Enjoy 🔥🔥

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Yoongi sighed as he made his way inside his office, dismissing his secretary when she tried to pass him a pile of files waiting for his review. It was the end of another exhausting Friday, and although he appreciated her commitment, she should have long gone home to her family instead of wasting time on this.

Closing the door behind him, he started a sequence of ceremonial steps: he took off his coat and hung it up, loosened his tie, grabbed more nicotine gum from his drawer, and then sat down, chewing it with a long sigh. The wall behind him had his many decorations, including the latest that landed him there.

Working with you was seamless and smooth, and justice was swiftly served. Not only was he able to recover the agent’s body and bring him home with honors, but the dismantling of the whole operation was a huge success. It gave him honors, medals, a ceremony with Seoul’s Mayor, and lastly, a promotion he didn’t even want. 

He heaved a deep breath; he couldn’t say he loved being Superintendent General. He preferred to be hands-on with the cases he and his team worked on, but he had moved too far up: he made decisions, but was too high in rank to see any of them carried out. He had more responsibilities and dreadful meetings that were more about competition between police agencies and politics than what actually mattered. And so for months, he’d been tolerating the bullcrap from all ends — from fellow Superintendent Generals and their chiefs from all over the country, including his boss, politicians, and Senior Superintendents complaining about the workload and the lack of resources as if he wasn’t in that position himself just months prior. It was exhausting and slow, and he kept asking himself what was the point.

But just like any other night, his ritual wasn’t complete if he didn’t open his locked drawer and pulled out a file with your name. Despite being frustrated and sometimes disgusted by the people in positions of power with so little consideration for the workforce or the people they served, there was nothing he could do. Instead, every night, he stared at your file and asked himself what he should do.

That night was engraved into his brain: you made a deal, he relapsed and asked you to let him eat you out, then proceeded to get so lost in you, that he didn’t even recognize himself. But then, you left him alone in your office, and that was when he saw those files.

He had managed to take photos of a few of them before leaving and had since printed them and worked on them. So he knew what they contained – details of money laundering. They depicted monumental amounts, to the likes that he was surprised even existed, but maybe he was just too naive. There were mostly coded names on those files, so he knew you were handling it for others and not just for yourself. It probably ran much deeper than a few bars or the drugs you were now distributing, safely, like you promised.

And that was the issue, wasn’t it? He groaned with himself, settling his face inside his hands. He used to see things as black and white, but the more time passed, the more he realized there was no such thing. Politicians, among other officials, ran the show, and he knew things were happening behind closed doors. You were as bad if not worse than the people you had helped him put away, but you kept your word: you gave him evidence to exonerate Officer Jimin, an alternative to bring the Klysa conglomerate down without ruining the lives of thousands of people, and gave him the address where he could find the agent’s body, not to mention crucial names that once picked, dismantled the net of dealers quite nicely.

So why was he after you? Were you the lesser evil? Were those exceptions to your usual criminal and selfish deeds? Or were you just deceiving him by pretending to play nice?

He didn’t know how you knew so much, but now he knew you laundered money, and he had evidence. Evidence he couldn’t use without disclosing how close he had gotten to you and risking discrediting himself. Evidence that could get him a warrant, even under heavy scrutiny. He could try to bring you down, even if it meant letting his career implode. His former self would have, but now he was hesitating, convincing himself every night that he should pursue this. If those documents existed, then his instincts about you were right all along and other evidence was out there, too. It was just business; you would throw him under the bus if it suited you, too. Right?

He heaved a deep breath and closed the file, deciding to bring it home and muse over it there this time around. The office was empty, and it was a lonesome way until he reached his car in the underground parking lot. He hated not seeing the liveliness of a police station anymore, but that was where he was now.

His phone rang through the car speakers as he drove, and he picked it up at the second beep, “What’s wrong?”

Something had to be for Officer Jung to call him at 1 AM.

“Remember the one you wanted me to keep an eye on?” 

Yoongi hummed as he maneuvered the car at an intersection; he was lucky with every detective and officer he had had the pleasure of working with.

“Just got the code for an explosion and fire at a restaurant downtown that she owns. First responders are on their way. Apparently, she was in the building.”

“Which one?”

His grip stiffened around the steering wheel and in seconds, he was doing a U-turn under the streetlights. There was little on his mind as he drove way past the speed limit, cutting corners and passing cars to get there as quickly as he could.

He stopped his car next to the police barricade and got out with a shudder down his spine. Una mordidita was famous around those parts; it was the best Mexican restaurant, and it was always booked. The building itself was dedicated to the concept, and he knew the different floors could host multiple types of events. 

Yet now, it wasn’t the center of influencer buzz or a ballroom dancing event, but of chaos. Firefighters were trying to get the flames under control as even the red neon sign above the building got charred by the smoke escaping the windows. The white walls were losing their shine, and the wood decorations giving it a more Latin-American vibe had surely seen better days.

The chaos of shouts, siren lights, and people wanting to see what was happening didn’t disturb him; he had worked through similar occurrences, so he understood the professionals’ logic through the disorder. What got him running towards the Firefighter Captain handling the occurrence was something else entirely.

He smacked the Captain’s shoulder and didn’t even let him recover from the shock of seeing Yoongi there. “Is everyone out?”

The Captain regained his bearings swiftly, “Working on it.”

Yoongi knew better than to overstep, but he was unsettled. He turned to the entrance of the restaurant, where people were running down the stairs, accompanied by firefighters. He didn’t recognize a single one, and so he turned to the captain again with a stiffness in his shoulders, “You need to—”

A loud female voice shouted, and he spun to look again. The Captain’s frown was entirely lost on Yoongi when he saw you almost being dragged out of the restaurant and down the stairs by two firefighters. His feet instantly took him to you, finally allowing him to hear what you were saying.

“Un-fucking-believable!! You let it spread to the third floor?! What the fuck are you all doing?! Let me go and do your job!!”

He met you at the bottom of the stairs, noticing your bruises, cuts, and blood dripping down your temple. Your embroidery anglaise white dress fit your curves in what would have been a dreamy view if it wasn’t stained with black and red spots, letting see how you had scrapped your knees too. You were busy trying to get the firefighters to get their hands off, but they couldn’t let you go until you calmed down.

You were frantic, so you only noticed Yoongi when his hands settled on your shoulders and he spun you to face him. Your voice finally vanished as your eyes widened; finally, he could see you were shaken up under all that fierceness.

“Are you hurt?”

His tone was firm, to the point, but you squirmed, “I have to—”

“Are you hurt?” He repeated, not letting you get away.

“I��m fine!”

You tried to turn around, but he didn’t let you. He wrapped an arm around you, signaling the firefighters that he had you, then dragged you away. You squirmed and hit his chest, clawing at his arm and demanding he set you free, but he ignored you.

You thought you’d gouge his eyes out in frustration, but suddenly, he forced you to sit on a street bench across the street. He kneeled before you, but your eyes flew beyond him to the restaurant. The fire, the smoke, the people, the firefighters, and even the wreck at the back that you couldn’t see from there. The explosion had been in the kitchen, surely. You knew before any reports because that’s where you’d do it if you wanted to send a message. Easily passable as an accident, but strong enough to cause all that chaos. You ground your teeth, vexed to your core, and sprang back up. The more those idiots wasted time with—

“Sit down.”

Yoongi’s tone was incontestable as he grabbed your arms and forced you back down, and this time you faced him. He was like an apparition, crouched in front of you with his dark hair, sharp eyes, and composed demeanor that always rattled you so much. He was a sight for sore eyes, and it confused you.

“How are you here?”

“Are you hurt?”

“Did you know about this?!” You asked furiously, your anger fueled by the possibility.

But he was impassive, “Are you hurt?”

“Answer the question!”

“You’re in shock, and I need you to calm down.”

“I am fucking calm!” You roared in his face, almost jumping away. “My restaurant just fucking exploded and is on fire, don’t you fucking talk down to me!”

“I know, so calm down.”

His monotone voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

“I’m fucking calm! I need—”

He gripped your wrist and raised it before your eyes, and you jolted; your fist was shaking.

The anxiety crept up on you, and you sobbed under your breath, instantly looking at him in confusion. You were angry, ready to blow on everyone and everything, but suddenly you wanted to cry. Your fear had stayed at bay, but was ambushing you now.

You gripped his coat as you teared up, mouth opening and closing, but nothing came out. You sucked anxious breaths as you looked around, conflicted between crying and telling him it was all so frightening, and getting up and making everyone work hard to save your business.

Your thoughts must have been clear in your eyes because he held you back, grounding you with enough space to let you breathe and process.

“I know. It’s a lot. I promise everyone is handling it, but you are more important.” He spoke calmly, but not condescendingly, and it only made you shake harder. “Tell me: does anything hurt?”

You pulled in a deep breath and frowned, then shook your head. A small explosion behind him drew your eyes, but he guided your chin gently so you’d face him again.

“I’m going to touch you, and you’re going to tell me if it hurts.”

You were ready to cuss him out, but as soon as he released you, you grabbed onto him desperately. There was nothing in his dark eyes as he looked up again, yet you were so embarrassed you could have died. You didn’t want to hold onto him for dear life like that, but it was stronger than you. Your lips trembled, and you suppressed your cry, unable to explain or control what was happening to you, but he had you.

He leaned into you, tugging you in with his elbows on each side of your legs, “I know, I’m here.”

Your frightened eyes showed him enough to anticipate the moment you let go of him to throw your arms around his neck and squeeze tightly. He could barely breathe, but it was secondary; he embraced you slowly, afraid to hurt you. The adrenaline running through your system changed the way you perceived pain, and he’d never risk harming you. Still, you needed to feel safe, so he held you as hard as he could safely. 

You were shaking, maybe even crying, but rightfully in his arms. Despite the chaos behind him, that was all that mattered.

He waited until you pulled away, sniffling and pulling your long hair back, embarrassed to face him. It told him the first part was over, and that now you’d be able to talk.

“We need to get you checked.”

“No,” you dismissed easily. “I only trust my people, anyway.”

He swallowed his exasperation and tried again, “But at a hospital—”

“No, just take me home.” You got up and faced the mess before you with a hard expression, catching him off guard. He got on his feet quickly, ready to try to convince you to go to the hospital anyway, but you looked at him again, “My people can meet me there, and I have calls to make.”

He observed you, clearly not convinced, but you stood your ground. You didn’t want to ask nor admit you needed him right now to feel safe and be able to look that problem in the eye. You’d soon be yourself again, and that moment of weakness was unforgivable, even more so in front of him. But as you faced him and waited for his response, you closed your fists and tried not to wobble on your heels or cry again. You had a reputation to uphold, people to manage, retaliation to prepare, and maybe your knees hurt a little bit.

“Alright.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist and directed you slowly in another direction, away from it all. In other circumstances, you could have thought about the potential danger of going with him, but you dismissed those thoughts. Yoongi was your cop, even if you hadn’t seen him in months. He was there for you, and there was no judgment in his eyes.

You sat on the shotgun seat of his car and looked at your lap. The time it took him to circle the car was enough for you to chastise yourself for being so gullible.

He sat down next to you and got ready to drive, and you didn’t hesitate to ask, “Did you know about this?”

“About what?”

“About their plan.”

He glanced at you, then got the car moving, “I was driving home when I was notified of what happened and drove straight here.”

You closed your trembling hands over your lap again, uncomfortable with how relieved his words made you. Your eyes settled on the rearview mirror, where all the chaos was being left behind, and you sighed. You couldn’t let that shake you; it was just a place, a business, one of countless others. It didn’t matter that you were there, that it happened so close you were deaf from your right ear, that you could have died, that it was way too close for comfort.

He reached to grab your hand, and you looked at him again. You didn’t know what to call this or how to interpret it, but he was there. Yoongi was right there.

His perfume was all around you, and with the lull of the car, the nightly traffic, and his hand in yours, you managed to close your eyes, work through the adrenaline, and doze off.

You opened your eyes when he squeezed your hand, meeting the gate of your private property in Hannam-dong. His window was down, and your housekeeper was asking who he was.

“It’s me, Sooyong,” you raised your voice just enough.

The gate instantly opened, and you stretched lazily. You weren’t shaking anymore, and your judgment wasn’t clouded either. All in all, those thirty minutes had managed to calm you down. Of course, your knees stung, your head fucking hurt, and you would feel your left side for days since you fell on it during the explosion. But fuck, if you weren’t ready to get down to business ASAP.

You told Yoongi where to go so he could park inside your garage, then left the car swiftly before it was even off. You didn’t wait for him to follow you inside, but knew he would; instead, you handed your coat to Sooyong, nodded at your two security guards, and bent down to greet your two lovely Dobermans: Archer and Gunner.

“The medic will be here shortly, and I already asked for a preliminary report of the damage.”

Sooyong was looking at Yoongi with suspicion, but you ignored it, “Get me a phone, I need to contact Hoon Yeong.”

Your butler bowed and obeyed instantly, but Yoongi wasn’t able to think about what he was hearing. The two big goons didn’t follow Sooyong, and your dogs had turned to Yoongi the second you stopped petting them.

In another circumstance, Yoongi could have felt intimidated or at least uncomfortable by the whole situation, but not tonight. You were still bleeding, slept only ten minutes in the car, and were now getting worked up instead of resting.

So he spoke up, “You need to get checked before anything else.”

It didn’t matter that your men looked ready to beat him up or that your dogs were sniffing him too close for comfort. You glanced at him, “I’m fine.”

Then you turned and left, disappearing further inside the house.

He didn’t hesitate to follow after you, ready to insist on you taking this seriously, but he wasn’t able to. You dismissed your guards with a wave before they could grab Yoongi to drag him out, and were already pressing a phone to your ear.

He looked around your big living room, its white couches, carpets, fancy glass chandeliers falling from elevated ceilings, and matching walls adorned with expensive art. You didn’t just live lavishly; you displayed it, too.

You sat on a couch while you spoke with a hand covering your eyes, and Yoongi moved quickly to dim the lights. You were stubborn, but he wouldn’t make things harder for you.

He waited while you talked, disliking the observant butler in the corner of the room. Yes, Yoongi was listening to everything you said, but you could have easily told him to leave. So instead, he kept your two dogs busy with him and quiet while you made one call after another, holding nothing back.

“Secure all locations, increase the bouncers working tonight, and do random checks. Send someone to La Mordidita to account for all our staff, and Thoma to make a sweep before the firefighters start snooping around. I want to know what can be recovered and who the fuck dared to pull this shit off.”

“And? And the product? The insurance? Yes, indeed. Don’t move it, don’t do anything. Keep me posted.”

“Talk to me, Ulan,” you sighed, fatigued from handling multiple people. “I want to know how the fuck does anyone even plan this, and I don’t hear about it.”

You were pacing around with each call; whatever you were learning was not helping you settle. The medic arrived and asked you to sit to work on your wounds, but you were restless. You were trying to figure out who did it, and it was clear to him by the way you started shouting that your people knew and that something had failed.

The medic tried cleaning your temple wound, mentioning a concussion, but in your temper, you slapped her hand away. That was the moment Yoongi decided to intervene; he got up, waved the medic away, and took over.

You were ready to slap his hand away, too, but froze when your eyes met his. His expression was hard, saying without as much as an eyelash bat that you needed to hang up. 

You huffed your annoyance and quickly redirected your anger, “If you know, then get me something. Those bastards found out about it somehow. Get me the mole, and something that will hurt them just as badly. Weren’t they importing weapons illegally to sell to both North and South? Get me something!”

You ended the call and threw your phone to the other end of the couch.

“The fucking audacity,” you spit between gritted teeth, glaring at Yoongi. He worked fast on the wound on the side of your head, but it still stung.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes, it fucking hurts!”

You exploded and instantly saw the glint in his eyes. Why did he look so dazzling, taunting you like that? He did not react to your outburst whatsoever, so you rolled your eyes.

He started cleaning the cuts on your palms. “Why would they attack your restaurant?”

You gritted your teeth and waved everyone else out of the room, adding a command that guided your darling puppies to their big pillows in the corner of the room. You were annoyed with absolutely everything, and even more with the answer about to fall from your lips, “Because they knew I would go there to secure important goods.”

“Was this personal?”

You smirked bitterly, “Had to be.”

“What were the goods?”

“The product we got last time. Some of it, anyway.”

“How did they find out?”

“A mole, for certain. I moved everything across multiple locations and only disclosed today that a fraction would go to this restaurant for distribution. So unless they can read my fucking mind, they had to learn it from a fucking mole.”

“They could have just followed you if they knew you’d go personally.”

You paused and then chuckled while he prepared the gauze to clean the wounds on your knees. “But they could have attacked any of the venues I was in before, and they didn’t. They had to know what was in this one was worth destroying.” He nodded quietly, seemingly focused on getting your knees clean of debris. You hated the silence and almost growled, “But they have no fucking idea who they’re messing with.”

“No, they don’t.”

His answer was so serene, that it accentuated the silence that echoed the room. He got rid of the bloodied and dirty gauze, looking you over as though he was evaluating if anything else needed pressing attention, and it hit you. “You’re still here.”

He looked at you, “Do you know who did this?”

There was a shift in his tone that made you shudder, “The Russians.”

“Where would it hurt them?”

“Their warehouse downtown.”

“Their boss?”

“Prokhor Evgeni.”

“Where is he?”

“The Evgeni Sports Center in Heungin-dong.”

Yoongi nodded and got up, leaving the same way he got there, and you were dumbfounded.

“Wait!” You got up, and he stopped to look at you. “What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see.”

Some could say that was an abuse of power, but it was too easy.

He realized, as he drove under a sky barely blemished by the rising sun, that when the force wanted to, shit got done in a flash. They said, ‘Where there is a will, there is a way’, and he was in the unique position to have both.

He stopped in a no-parking zone in front of the Evgeni Sports Center in Heungin-dong and made his way lazily up the stairs of the entrance. The big thugs outside didn’t phase him as he asked to speak with Prokhor Evgeni. His tone was dry and blasé, and the men’s reactions were to laugh and joke about it being almost 6 AM. The center was closed to people like him.

“Nothing is ever closed to people like me,” he found himself answering, unmoving.

He saw commotion behind the thugs, where he imagined the security booth was, and instantly relaxed. People like him didn’t have to show identification, his face was enough. He glanced at his watch as he waited, ignoring the quips of the two men, who were increasingly dumbfounded by the situation.

He understood; he would have been stupefied as well. After all, even Superintendent Generals would have security if they wanted to confront the head of a mafia at 6 AM. But as it turned out, Yoongi was feeling beside himself. It was time to start using who he was to get shit done, instead of hiding and praying someone like you could give out a hand. Not this time; it was his turn.

One of the bouncers couldn’t read the room and made a move to touch him, and Yoongi’s eyebrow almost twitched. He just needed one touch to arrest him and get a warrant. Would that be an abuse of power as well?

Fortunately for the small fry, someone from the back called out his name and reprimanded him swiftly in Russian. It was enough for Yoongi to assume everyone was on the same page, and follow when said man — a big, wide fellow with small eyeglasses — waved at him to follow.

Yoongi went up the elevator with the guy in silence, evaluating if anything still needed to be done to wrap this up, but it was just that. And a phone call.

He ignored everything he saw as he walked the corridors, from the men passing him to the gambling hastily hidden by the doors continuously closing in his wake. Finally, he arrived at the office of the big boss, judging by the cigars, wide flat screens showing multiple sports simultaneously, and the big foreigner man with much more white hair than he would have guessed, sitting behind a desk.

“I couldn’t believe it when they told me,” Prokhor Evgeni laughed before the amusement dropped from his face. “But here you are. You must be lost,” he bit the cigar in his mouth, unable to hide his discomfort.

Yoongi stretched his shoulders a little bit and, on cue, his phone rang. He picked it up, “Got it.” 

He put his phone back inside his pocket, looking at Prokhor as if waiting for him to say something, which only annoyed the old thug further.

Yoongi looked around as if he had all the time in the world, “I’ll wait for you to be put in the loop.”

Prokhor smacked his hands on the desk, getting up with a shout that never came out because his phone rang as well. He sat back down, cursing under his breath, and picked it up. His gaze was venomous as he heard the caller, unable to stop Yoongi when he reached for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter lying on the desk.

The mob boss’ cheeks were getting redder and redder, yet Yoongi was unfazed as he lit a cigarette and took a drag that numbed his senses. He almost groaned then, holding it in for such a long time he lost track. How had he ever stayed away?

Prokhor yelled what were probably obscenities before slamming the phone on the desk, but before he could talk, Yoongi breathed, “Justice just never sleeps.” The smoke exited his parted lips slowly, and the mob boss stilled, starting to understand the situation. “We were lucky too,” he smirked, taking another drag. “Your kids still had the same materials used in the explosives in their car. Otherwise, I don’t know. We might have required a warrant to search for more potentially harmful materials. Say in the warehouse downtown where they were found lounging around smoking weed when they were arrested.”

Yoongi suppressed a smirk as he put the cigarette between his lips, and the mob boss was so red he was about to explode. He knew the kids weren’t found near his warehouse, so the implication was clear.

“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?!”

He hissed, but Yoongi only kept smoking placidly, “Just try to poke your head out again.”

In a flash, pure anger became bewilderment in the giant’s blue eyes, “No way.” Yoongi didn’t even blink, so Prokhor scoffed, “Bitch really has the Superintendent General on a leash?”

Yoongi threw the cigarette on the garish carpet, “I like it quiet.”

He turned to leave, but Prokhor got up in a fury again, “I have people too! People who can bite your head off!”

Yoongi turned but kept walking backward, opening his arms in a momentary invitation, before leaving that place without as much as a hair out of place.

It was interesting to consider that Prokhor’s threats could hold true, but Yoongi didn’t feel minimally affected. He got inside his car to drive home and reevaluated his thought process. He and the Firefighter’s Captain had a long history, the Mayor called him for favors, and the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency still operated under his direct scrutiny. It was why puzzling the evidence from the restaurant fire had been so easy, especially given that Thoma had conveniently left the place ready for them. Yoongi assumed; he saw a man in the shadows, between the mess, and minutes later, a firefighter had found something. Interesting how explosions in rich parts of town were such a priority for the city; the division of arson investigation could take years to build a case, but tonight, a couple of hours sufficed. The Mayor saw to that as soon as Yoongi called. And the media would love that swift action, earning everyone brownie points for reelection.

Yoongi parked as he scoffed to himself; he was playing a dangerous game. He eyed his house, wondering if he should feel wary about anything happening to him, but he brushed it off. And if it did? He did what he had to do, and he’d sleep like a rock, knowing he had taken care of everything so you could finally sleep your concussion off.

He got inside his house with the first rays of morning, thanking the universe it was Saturday. But he sighed and didn’t throw his jacket too far, only on the nearest couch, before making his way to the kitchen. He would probably still work—

Something cut the corner at the same time as him but from the kitchen, and his reflex was to pull out his gun instantly, taking a step back. You were tranquil, despite the gun barrel on your face, and his eyes widened in disbelief, “Jesus fuck!”

He could barely believe it was you, with no bandages on your head and now wearing a black dress instead of white, but he still put the gun down. Or would have, but you shoved it away first, then grabbed his head to kiss him.

Instantly, he put the pistol down on a nearby counter, just in time before you pushed him back. He hit a cabinet glass door with your strength and immediately caught you when you threw yourself in his arms, frantically kissing him as if there wouldn’t be a tomorrow.

His initial shock didn’t last when your taste and perfume assured him it was you, and with you, insanity was to be expected. He had nothing against you being in his house, kissing him, or coming to him in general.

But he still tried to hold you back gently so he could ask, “Shouldn’t you— be in bed— resting?”

He spoke between your hungry lips, whenever you gave him a split second, and you laughed, “Take me to bed, then.”

Your sly smile died in a small yelp when he bent down to pick you up in his arms. You held onto him silently while he carried you upstairs to his bedroom, and his ego couldn’t have been more inflated after that whole crazy night. What got him wasn’t that he managed to calm you down, met your dogs, or solved your problem by showing some mob boss how big his cock was, no. What got him hard in a split second was that little yelp and your silence as he carried you effortlessly. He might have had an office job, but he still took the time to go to the gym every day, and fuck if it wasn’t worth it.

When he put you down over the bed, he thought you’d actually want to sleep after such an exhausting night, but he should have known better. You got on your knees on the bed before he could open his mouth and started unbuttoning his shirt. His expression must have given away his thoughts because you didn’t stop, but you didn’t push him either. You waited for a clear indication that you could touch him, but didn’t hesitate to get him naked, opening every button. Then, when you pulled the shirt back over his shoulders, he grabbed your head to kiss you.

Your reaction was instant, rushing to get rid of the shirt and unbuckle his belt as he consumed your mouth eagerly. It was hard not getting distracted, especially by the way he easily pulled on your hair to keep you on your toes, but it only served to melt you. Even when he did it with a level of gentleness, careful about your injuries; something that could easily trigger you and turn you off, but tonight made you so eager to be with him, that you didn’t recognize yourself.

You moaned inside his mouth when he sucked your tongue, dizzy from the blood rushing everywhere all at once. Fortunately, you had made your way inside his pants and could anchor yourself to his cock.

It only made you groan harder as you pumped him; he couldn’t get harder than that, and your wet core would be the perfect match.

His consuming kiss along with his soft touches could have gotten you to settle and let him decide where to take this, but you knew what you wanted and your limits. You needed Yoongi like air to breathe, but you were on painkillers and exhausted. You shouldn’t have driven there in that condition, but couldn’t stop yourself. So, you pushed through his addictive, wild kisses and pulled his pants and underwear down, hinting at him to strip fully.

He did so in a heartbeat, falling over you so quickly you didn’t see it coming. Accommodating him over you between your parted legs was everything you wanted, so you sighed into his returning mouth, clawing at his back so he’d come closer. His lips soon made a detour to your neck, and you were overrun by shivers, almost pleading his name with how much you were dying to feel him.

But as he made his way down to your chest, you pushed through your cloudy, horny judgment. You pushed him by the shoulders and got on top of him, straddling him easily. His head fell over the pillow, dark hair contrasting with the white as his equally dark eyes observed you. They were glistening, hungry, but the hands on your hips were patient, and controlled. Min Yoongi wanted to ravish you, but for you, he’d give you the lead. You almost teased him about it, but there was no time to waste.

You had never seen him naked, so you weren’t shy about looking; quickly, but still. You touched every scar you could see — on his left shoulder, under his ribs, on the side of his waist, wondering how he had gotten injured and if it had hurt. Your lips followed suit, lingering over his skin while you sniffed his scent on your way to an untamed delicacy.

You only nuzzled him for a second before starting to lick his balls greedily, and he groaned, “You don’t have to.”

You smirked, laughing with yourself — as if you’d miss the opportunity. “I want to.”

It would be wrong to say you drove across town in that state to give head to Min Yoongi, but it was close to the truth. In your plans, you spent more time working him up — kissing him, dry humping, maybe even twisting those pretty nipples — before reaching his balls and preparing him to give you cum all night long.

But the fucking concussion and pain and tiredness or whatever. It irritated you, your knees hurt, and your head was spinning, and not necessarily from his luscious scent or your insane lust. So, unfortunately, you had to cut to the chase.

Just licking the tip of his dick wasn’t enough; not for you, and not for him. You wanted the thick mushroom tip between your lips, and the guttural groan he let out once you sucked broke the dam for you.

You licked and drooled all over him, bobbing your head to get him further and further inside you with greed that bordered on obsession. The more your jaw slacked, and his taste flooded your mouth, the more you needed to feel him pressing, invading, reaching inside you. His groans matched your moans, his fists around the sheets mimicked your hands holding his hips, and the desperation of his hips, moving to match your head falling on him, almost fulfilled your need.

Until you realized that wouldn’t do. Your wet cunt was throbbing slick, desperate with your need, and you were selfish. You wanted him to bust his nut down your throat, but fuck; you wanted to ride him more.

The drool that fell all over his hard, red shaft was almost embarrassing, but you didn’t waste time licking it. You got off him to slide your underwear off, your eyes never abandoning his, and so you didn’t miss him looking at you with a glint of despair in his eyes.

“I think I wouldn’t have lasted five more seconds.”

You grinned at his confession and got back on him, throwing your dress around so you could align him with your slit, “Good.” You felt the tip of his cock, and so did he, because he gripped your hips as if to stop you. “You better hold it.”

His dark eyes showed a hint of torture, but you were not sympathetic. You pressed yourself down on him, rolling your hips to get him coated in you, forcibly stretching you, making you keen so ecstatically, that you threw your head back. If his thick cock tucked inside you wasn’t enough, then the groans out of his mouth, with gritted teeth and a frown, in deep concentration, would take the cake. You rolled your hips further, slowly in wide movements, seeing every line in his face contorting or twitching under your sweet torture, his strength slowly leaving him as he fought tooth and nail not to come so soon. 

“Your— Your knees—”

You smirked, oblivious about your bandaged knees at that moment. “Shut up, just let me ride you.”

His nails pierced your skin at the hips around your garter, and you moaned approvingly. Just looking at him, the blood rushed to your cheeks, the temperature rising immediately in a heatwave through your body. Every grunt of his was fuel; you couldn’t stop moving, dragging his thick cock across your walls so it could disappear deep inside you and torture him some more. And you, because the more he resisted, the more you wanted it, and the more it got to you too.

You knew you’d come pathetically quick but didn’t imagine it would be this fast. The pleasure burning through you was so overwhelming and undeniable, that soon you were riding him hungrily, not to torture him, but to come with him. He noticed it somehow because he started helping you, meeting you with short thrusts upwards that set your body on fire. You wanted him so fucking bad that leaning over his chest to kiss him before you came became your final act, and you crashed.

Your mouth pressed to his with a shaky moan from deep inside your chest, and he held the back of your head, keeping you in place. He fucked you through your orgasm, your throbbing so intense around him, it took him seconds to spill inside you; to groan into your mouth as he pressed you down, burying his cock as deep as he could.

Feeling him coming was such a delight, you grinned. The silence was cut by your chuckle seconds later, and even when he bit your cheek, you didn’t come down from cloud nine.

[lesbianangeldust]

Luck of the Draw

Chapter 1 ♤

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Husk × Angel Dust (HuskerDust)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Being drugged, mentions of sexual and physical assault

In the early hours of the morning, the Hazbin Hotel bar is still open, albeit empty, except for the bartender himself. Angel Dust isn't back from work yet, and Husk finds this troubling. He's learned that it's a game of luck predicting which version of Angel will walk through that door - Angel Dust the porn star, or the real Angel. The one he respects, yet can't help holding at arms length. However, when Angel finally shows up, Husk quickly learns that luck is something that people like Angel never get a taste of.

4:28am.

Husk looked down from the gaudy parlour clock to the freshly polished bar with a grimace. Angel should have been back from work by now. Not that he was waiting for him, fuck no. He wasn’t no goddamn baby sitter. He had better things to do than sit around waiting for the kid to waltz in and talk his ear off, demanding some sickly sweet cocktail that took way too much effort to mix for what amounted to booze and fruit juice, and taunt him with his sleazy porno pick-up lines (which, admittedly, he’d been cooling off on lately). Besides, it wasn’t like Husk needed a drinking buddy – he’d drank alone his whole life and all that came after, and he’d be double damned if the flames of Hell were hot enough to melt the thick, icy shell that encased his heart.

He had to admit, though, he had been getting used to the company. It had become an unspoken routine: Angel Dust usually flounced into the hotel sometime after midnight, and the two demons would share a few rounds to see off the day. But a gambling man like Husk never discredits the influence of luck on a situation – not least when fondness has sweetened the pot – and he’d come to realise it was all down to chance which version of Angel Dust would walk through that door. Most nights he’d burst in all toothy smiles and suggestive remarks, his carefully crafted mask barely faltering no matter how many times Husk brushed off the sexual comments. As irritating as he found them, he quickly learned that after a couple of drinks, Angel would mellow out and the mask would slip just enough for the two of them to have a real ass conversation, to just shoot the shit and reminisce, like old friends – real friends. The kind you make in life. Husk even found himself at times wondering if it would really be so terrible for his cold heart to warm a little, if the burn of the whisky and the spark of a newly kindled friendship could thaw him enough to feel the closest thing to affection he was still capable of. This thought was never given the opportunity to bloom into anything more substantial before Husk would stamp it from his mind with vigour, assuring himself it was nothing more than a liquor-fuelled fantasy, tantalising him with the fickle temptress of hope.

The other Angel was a different story. Husk couldn’t help but dread those nights: the nights where Angel would skulk through the door with his head hung low, bruised and bloody, torn clothing just barely clinging to his battered body; the nights where the mask Angel clung to fell to the floor, shattered, useless up against the black eyes and smearing makeup. As openly as Husk despised Angel’s bullshit persona, and although he valued authenticity above all else, seeing behind the curtain like this could be a little too rich for his blood. The sheer stench of shame was overwhelming, and Husk had to hold in his feelings with an iron grip. Angel didn’t need to know how much of a useless idiot he felt, or the anger that burnt him from the inside out every time he thought about the evil bastard that treated Angel like his prize fucking punching bag. Husk was well aware that he didn’t know the half of the abuse that Valentino inflicted upon Angel, and, as shameful as it felt to admit, he’d prefer to keep it that way. His old, decrepit heart didn’t know what to do with the emotions that swelled within him when he dared to wonder how much Angel was forced to put up with, and he was certain no amount of booze could placate him enough to keep his cool if he were ever to find out.

But, all that aside, Husk was a bartender. He was no stranger to pouring drinks for down-on-their-luck losers looking to drown their sorrows. So, when Angel came home looking worse for wear, he would simply do what he did best and pour him his favourite drink, and the two would stew in the heavy silence until Angel loosened up and their usual conversation would trickle into balance, feigning some semblance of normality.

His thoughts were promptly interrupted by the sound of the front door swinging open with an almighty shove, followed by the clumsy scuffle of heels on hardwood and hissy, murmured curses. Husk had been a bartender long enough to recognise the graceless sounds of a drunk bastard, and his eyes narrowed as Angel’s silhouette stumbled up to the bar, seemingly unaware of Husk stood behind it. Sure, he’d seen the kid in all kinds of states. Drunk? Sure. High? As a kite. Sober? You gotta be kidding. But fucked up enough to be tripping over his own feet, mumbling incoherent nonsense? This was new. Even in the depths of whatever he was high on, Angel Dust was sharp as a tack, quick-witted and oh so irritatingly fake. Eternal damnation plus addiction equals one hell of a tolerance, Husk supposed. Of course, his “supposing” was arbitrary – he knew this first fucking hand. So, to see this display from Angel filled him with a sense of unease.

As if on cue, Husk’s ears pricked up as a high pitched yelp, punctuated by a sudden smack to the floor, rang through the empty halls. Peering over the bar, he was greeted with a pitiful sight – Angel sat crumpled in a tangled heap of limbs, massaging the part of his head that had made contact with the floor and clutching a bottle of clear booze to his chest that he appeared to have been protecting during his ungainly fall. His blazer was mostly open, and the few buttons that were done up seemed to be in the wrong places. As he swore under his breath and began dusting off his sleeves, Husk couldn’t help but notice his expression. Irritated, sorrowful. Tired. The performance was nowhere to be found, and as had been the case since the real, raw Angel had started making himself known, Husk was gripped by a familiar, palpable tension. But there was a thread of something different about it, some kind of vulnerability that came with witnessing this particular scene.

That’s when he realised what – who – he was seeing: Angel Dust when no one was watching. When he thought no one was watching. Husk was struck by something akin to wonder, a glimmer of awe at the rarity of what he was witnessing, that was snuffed out instantaneously by the nakedness of it. Angel Dust, the porn star who’s entire afterlife consisted of working the cameras; the demon who, for once, truly believed he was not being watched; and Husk, the unwitting voyeur, the pair of eyes from the darkness that promised the safety of being alone.

“Need a hand?” Husk broke the painful silence. The idea of watching any longer than he already had was nauseating.

Angel’s head snapped up at the shock of realising he wasn’t alone, and his face momentarily flushed from embarrassment of being witnessed in his predicament. Quickly as the embarrassment came, it was gone, replaced by that familiar cockiness Husk knew all too well. He never thought he’d be relieved to see that fake bullshit, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than whatever the fuck that was.

“Nah. I got plenty,” Angel Dust flashed Husk a flirtatious grin as his third set of arms made an appearance to steady him against the floor, one arm still clutching the bottle tightly to his chest. He pushed himself up onto his feet with great unsteadiness, swaying dangerously before he flopped dramatically down onto a stool and planted the bottle on the bar beside him with a careless clunk. Husk whisked it behind the bar in less than a second – there was no way he was letting this kid drink anything else, and besides, Angel was too out of it to even register that the bottle had gone.

“It’s late, y’know. Even for you,” Husk immediately cringed at the domesticity of the words that just came out of his mouth, like a pent-up housewife chastising her deadbeat husband for leaving her home alone all day.

Even with his usual sharpness dulled by the intoxication, Angel was quick to sense Husk’s insecurity. He pounced in his usual manner.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve been waitin’ up for me, Husky,” he teased, his usual sultry tone sullied by slurred words. “I woulda come home sooner – ya only had to ask, babycakes.”

Angel’s flirtation bounced straight off Husk as though he’d barely noticed. He didn’t even look up from the glass he had taken to polishing to distract himself – to give himself something to look at that wasn’t Angel.

“What the hell did you take, Angel? You look-”

“Devastatingly handsome?”

This time Husk looked up from the glass, one eyebrow raised. That stupid, sleazy, shit-eating grin again. God, even in the state he was in, he managed to be the same annoying fuck he always was. The relief of the mask going back up was quickly losing it’s charm.

“You look like shit,” Husk growled. It was true. Angel was slumped over the bar, propped up on one elbow as if it were the only thing keeping him from tumbling right back onto the floor. His eyes were half-lidded and bloodshot, unable to stay focused on Husk even as he’d been shooting him those ridiculous looks, and his face was swollen, puffy and flushed crimson. This wasn’t just alcohol, and it sure as hell wasn’t coke or any of Angel’s usual uppers. The nagging, biting feeling in Husk’s gut grew the longer he went without certainty. Fuck, why the hell did he even care? This was Angel, the kid could handle himself, and Husk would be a damn fool to criticise a sinner for getting high. And yet here he was. Pissed off, unsettled and worst of all: worried about him.

Angel opened his mouth, ready to spout whatever bullshit he had ready to defend himself from the insult, but Husk held up a hand to silence him. Fuck it, if he was going to care about this stupid kid, he wasn’t going to half-ass it. “Don’t try your shit with me. It ain’t gonna fly this time.” He crossed him arms firmly, meeting Angel’s hazy eyes with a steady, piercing stare. “I’ve seen you fucked up every which way, kid, but I ain’t seen you this far gone. So let’s try this again- the fuck did you take?”

“I ain’t took nothin’, Husk,” Angel sighed. There was a softness to his voice, something almost believable. He dropped his head into two of his hands, covering his face as the other set sprawled out across the bar. His voice was slow and thick. “Well, nothin’ I ain’t used to. I went out drinkin’ after work. It was a long shoot, okay?” The softness gave way to irritation, like a child receiving a scolding as he looked up from his hands with a scowl. “What, I need your permission or somethin’? There’s other bars in Hell, ya know.”

“Not ones you get to drink for free at.” Husk retorted, and Angel let out a sharp, cold laugh.

“Oh, please. That’s cute, Husk, but in case ya forgot, I’m kinduva big deal round these parts. You think THE Angel Dust pays for his own drinks?” Angel jabbed a finger at his chest and gestured towards his body with his other arms, threatening to lose his balance and come face to face with the floor for the second time that night.

“So, you’re tellin’ me you got in this mess from boozin’ with lowlifes?” Husk scoffed. “I ain’t tryna insult you, legs, but ain’t that your idea of havin’ a quiet one?”

Angel’s eyes narrowed as he steadied himself on the bar, fingers curling against the hardwood. “Yeah, Husk, and I’ll thank ya to quit it with the third fuckin’ degree already. What, ya jealous I ain’t drinkin’ with you? I’m here now, so pour me one already.”

Husk let out a quiet humph that could almost be considered a laugh, amused at the idea that Angel thought there was any way in Hell he’d give him more alcohol, but pulled a glass out from under the bar all the same. “Kid, I’m just lookin’ out for you,” he said matter-of-factly, refusing to be affected by Angel’s irritation. “Like I said, you look fuckin’ terrible.” He pushed the now-filled glass towards Angel, who scoffed at this remark.

“Please! Ain’t no way, kitty. Besides, you don’t know me. What makes you think-” he stopped dead, raising an eyebrow at the glass in front of him before fixing Husk with a withering glare.

“What the shit is this?”

“Water. Drink it.”

As though a switch had flicked, Angel’s annoyance mutated into his usual choreographed flirtation.

“Aww, Husky! You’re taking care of me!” he crooned, reaching a hand across the bar to heavy-handedly caress one of Husk’s wings, his intoxicated state blunting his usual suaveness when it came to flirting. “Well, how about we take this to your bedroom, baby? Maybe you can... take care of me some more in there.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Husk couldn’t hold in the flurry of rage at being groped by the idiot he was trying to help. He had limited tolerance for Angel’s bullshit on a good day, and this pushed him over the edge. “Even in the fucking mess you’re in, you still won’t give it up?!”

Angel’s eyes were wide but unreadable. Husk steadied himself with a deep breath, fighting the surge of anger that wanted him to tell Angel to drop the fucking act, that he was embarrassing himself with this ridiculous charade. Did that incoherent shithead really think he was the type of guy to take someone this wasted to bed? The anger simmered down as he thought about the types of guys Angel was used to being with, and he let out a deep sigh through still-gritted teeth.

“Let me get one thing clear: I ain’t one of your scumbag drinking buddies who wanna get you all nice and lathered up to do god knows what to ya. And even if I was dumb enough to play into your goddamn games – you’re plastered, kid. I ain’t going nowhere near you.”

Angel rolled his eyes, as if the concern for his wellbeing was boring him. “Husk, you think I ever fucked sober?” he said dryly. “Not in Hell or Earth, sunshine. You don’t do the work I do without somethin’ to take the edge off,” he paused, a flicker of something real gracing his expression as he broke Husk’s gaze. “And hey, some jag off puts a little extra somethin’ in my drink, I ain’t sayin’ no. Free drugs, ain’t it?” His laugh had a shaky edge, less believable.

Husk looked at Angel, dumbfounded. For a moment, he said absolutely nothing, processing this information before blurting out densely, “What, you got spiked?”

Angel scoffed, throwing his hands up in a mocking cheer. “Aaaand he hits the jackpot!” he slurred. “Guess the wise old bartender ain’t so wised up after all. Yes, dumbass, I got spiked.”

“And what, you knew? And drank it anyway?” The hair raised on the back of Husk’s neck.

“Husk, I’ve been in the game a long time,” Angel said flatly. “I can handle it. That shit barely makes a dent anymore. Sonuvabitch knew it to, the way he kept ‘em comin’.” The laugh that followed was jarring, like silk sheets on a spent mattress.

Husk could not fathom a response, but Angel kept going.

“Y’know, he probably paid top dolla for whatever the fuck he was usin’ too,” he laughed idly. “Spent it all on little ol’ me. I’d be flattered if the handsy bastard wasn’t such a goddamn bore. I’ve had better conversations with a brick wall, I’m telling ya.” He spoke about it so casually, as though recalling a funny anecdote. “Probably thought I’d pass out after the first one. Sorry, baby, but I’m a pro. You shoulda prepared more conversation than “hey, you’re the guy from “Three Dicks, One Hole”, can you really do that with your-”

“Angel, are you okay?”

Husk felt his stomach tighten as Angel’s nonchalant facade was shaken by his remark of genuine, honest concern. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t bear to listen to this. He hated how pathetic he felt in these moments, when the weight of Angel’s chains felt almost as heavy as his own.

Angel’s gaze dropped to the glass of water he’d yet to touch, as though shielding himself from the bartender’s penetrating eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that Husk.”

“Like what? Like I’m worried about you?”

“Like ya feel sorry for me. I can handle myself, okay? This is my scene, these are my people. I do what I gotta do.” The grit had returned to his voice, warning Husk to back off.

Husk ignored his instincts and walked out from behind the bar and took the bar stool next to Angel. He wasn’t going to let this slide.

“If that guy hurt you-”

“Christ, Husk! You’re the one that keeps tellin’ me I’m a wreck! My head’s in pieces, I don’t need this right now.” The sharp, warning tone in Angel’s voice finally cracked with a defeated sigh, and he looked down at the bar. He looked so small in this moment, so... not Angel Dust. It was like Husk was seeing a completely different person. Angel didn’t look up from the bar as he spoke.

“If that guy got a piece a’ me, he’d be the latest in a long fuckin’ line of ‘em. Not like I remember anyway.”

He gave Husk a wry smile. “Hey, whatcha don’t know can’t hurt ya, right?”

Jesus. Husk took a deep breath and prepared himself for the usual sick avoidance he felt when Angel was at his most real and raw, but something within him forced a new kind of steadiness. The pain written across Angel’s face was taste Husk usually found all too sour, but this time the bitter flavour was his own. Was he really such a fucking coward? He was a goddamn bartender, he listened to people bitch and moan all day long but being there for a friend was all too much? This kid needed someone, and despite it all, despite everything Husk thought he knew about himself, he cared. And as much as that scared the ever loving shit out of him, he wasn’t going to turn away this time. He was going to follow Angel into that darkness if it meant he would have someone there with him.

Finally, Husk let out a sigh and stood up. “Alright kid, let’s get you to bed.”

“Thought you’d never ask, Husky,” Angel drawled, following suit and standing, only to tumble forward face-first into Husk, who caught him with an air of expectancy. Angel caught Husk’s shoulders as he leaned against the shorter demon, who’s hands were now holding Angel up by the waist in an attempt to steady him. Husk peered up at the sudden look of surprise on the demon’s face. There was that vulnerability, that gleam of something real that darted out from the shadows before Angel inevitably caught on and stuffed it right back down inside. For the first time, Husk decided to savour it, knowing he only had a fraction of a second before The Angel Dust Show resumed.

Only it didn’t.

Angel’s eyes were wide with unexpected emotion. It was hard to describe what Husk was seeing – was it tenderness? Fragility? Fear? He only had a moment to contemplate this cocktail of emotion before Angel’s face was buried into his shoulder, two sets of arms clutching him fiercely in a hug that felt hungry and longing. Despite Husk’s efforts to keep the lanky demon upright, Angel dropped to his knees, his impressive height allowing for him to pull Husk parallel against him in this position while his head remained fixed to the crook of Husk’s neck. Angel clung to Husk like a child to their mother, as though the desperation for soft and gentle affection was suddenly too much for him to bear. Tentative at first, Husk allowed himself to pull Angel a little closer, one hand cradling the back of the demon’s head, thumb brushing against his tangled hair. The frenzied tension of Angel’s grasp and the automatic rigidity that came over Husk when faced with affection both began to subside, and the moment morphed from a frantic, unexpected plea for something tender, into equally unexpected tenderness itself. The lull was thick and heavy, as though draped in velvet, and a sudden awareness of just how close the two demons were gave Husk a hesitant, heady thrill. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held someone like this.

Angel was the one to finally peel back from their embrace, and as he did, Husk felt the cold breeze brush over a wet patch of fur on his shoulder. His stomach twisted in knots as he realised Angel had been crying. The spider demon furiously dragged a gloved forearm across his face, trying fruitlessly to hide the obvious. Husk looked away sheepishly.

“C’mon. Let’s go.”

With that, Husk scooped Angel up into his arms bridal-style and began carrying him towards the stairs. “Christ, you ain’t as dainty as you look, legs.”

Angel let out a yelp of surprise. “Husk, what the hell are ya doing?”

“Getting you to bed. What, you think you can take on the stairs? That’s real funny, kid. You can’t even stand.” Husk’s tone was mocking, but warm.

Angel’s initial shock dissipated. He felt the exhaustion of the day begin to catch up with him as his aching body savoured the blessing of being whisked off his feet. His arms wound around Husk’s neck as he sank his head into his chest. “Alright, alright. Just don’t fuckin’ drop me, dickbag.”

Husk could tell he was trying to sound annoyed, but the slur of the poison and the softness of incoming sleep blunted the sharp edges of his usual tough talk. A smile toyed with the edge of Husk’s lips.

“I ain’t gonna drop ya,” he smirked. “Make no mistake though, you ain’t no small feat. You might be all legs and arms, but you’re still an 8 foot sack a’ potatoes.”

“Fuck you, whiskers,” Angel managed to mumble, followed by a string of incoherent nonsense that his sleep-addled mind mistook for a killer comeback.

Husk smiled, trudging up the stairs with Angel. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” he replied mindlessly. It would be almost cute, the way Angel was falling asleep in his arms, if it weren’t a result of the heavy dose of sedatives finally kicking in. Yeah, that was it, Husk reminded himself. Got nothing to do with the gentle moment they shared, or perhaps a sense of safety he felt in Husk’s arms. It was just the drugs. That was all.

Angel was almost fully passed out by the time Husk reached his door, and he felt himself wince as he watched Angel drifting into unconsciousness and wondered if this perhaps wasn’t the first time he’d passed out tonight. It wasn’t like Husk wasn’t used to the cruel nuances of Hell: he’d seen things – done things – that would stay burned into his mind for as long as he existed down here. But the innocence of the demon sleeping in his arms, the innocence that was taken from him over and over again until he simply signed it away... that cut deep. It made him feel sick. He knew the pain of being a victim of circumstance, of being someone’s unwilling pet. It was a fucking horror show.

“It’s your stop, kid,” Husk spoke softly, rousing the spider demon from his slumber as he stood outside Angel’s door. It was adorned with neon pink lights and cheerful photographs with friends.

Angel looked up, bleary-eyed. “Huh? Oh. Hey, Husky,” he looked around, realising where he was, and began to shuffle in Husk’s arms in an attempt to get down. Husk gave him a stern look.

“Sure you can stand?”

“Oh, yeah. Not that I don’t love ya big strong arms around me, whiskers, but think I can manage the couple steps between the door and the bed, capisce?”

Unconvinced, Husk kept Angel’s arm fastened around his shoulder as he stumbled towards the bed, where Fat Nuggets lay curled up in one of Angel’s fluffy pieces of clothing, unbothered by the kerfuffle.

“There ya go,” Husk groaned, half-launching Angel towards the bed, where he collapsed inelegantly in a heap next to his sleeping pet, who was abruptly awoken by the disturbance and squealed happily at the sight of his mama. Angel chuckled softly as the pig settled into his lap, a sound Husk had never heard him make before, followed by soft cooing as he showered the pig in affection.

“Who’s mama’s special boy? That’s right, you are! Yes, you’re my special lil’ guy, aren’t you Nuggsie? Aren’t you my special lil’ guy?”

It was almost sickeningly cute, Husk thought, although this was promptly interrupted by a flush of embarrassment as he noticed Angel start to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. He looked away hotly. Should he go now? He’d done his part, there was no need for him to be here when he-

“Hey, give me a hand here, will ya?”

Fuck.

Angel was fumbling uselessly with the last button of his blazer, clearly unable to get it to cooperate. After a moment of hesitation that felt far longer than it actually was, Husk sighed and sat down on the bed. His eyes fixed on the button and the button alone with exaggerated intensity, made all the more comical by his flushed cheeks, and with one swift movement the blazer fell open. Husk’s eyes found a spot on the bed to focus on intently and his blush grew darker. Angel cackled.

“Husk, their ain’t a sinner in Hell that hasn’t seen me take my clothes off. Now, quit bein’ a gentleman and grab me that nightshirt, ya prude,” he gave Husk a playful shove as he pointed out his pyjamas.

With a grumble, Husk swung his legs over the bed and leaned to grab the purple oversized shirt hanging off the spider’s vanity. Still averting his gaze, he handed it to Angel, who shrugged off his blazer and pulled the nightshirt over himself clumsily, before shimmying off his miniskirt.

“You need help with the boots?” Husk stuttered out. God, this was awkward. The way that Angel seemed to be lapping up his discomfort like the cat who got the cream made it 10 times worse.

“Nah. I got it. Who woulda known you were such a Prince Charming, Husky? Ain’t ya just my knight in shining armour.” Angel was still slurring but his voice was sweet and sing-songy, drinking in the effect he was having on Husk. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second as Angel started to roll down his boots, and a sudden flicker of bashfulness tinted Angel’s expression.

“Uh, do ya mind? I kinda got a thing about my feet.”

Husk couldn’t even stifle his laugh as he turned away diligently. “You’re kidding. The whole of Hell’s seen every inch of you in every position you could dream of but you’re shy about your feet?”

“Hey. Everyone’s got their hang ups, don’t they?” Angel said huffily, kicking his boots off the rest of the way and pulling the duvet around him. “You can look now. I’m decent.”

“If I turn around and you’re naked, I’m telling Charlie to give us another one of those sexual harassment lectures you love so much.” Husk muttered, relieved as he turned to see Angel cocooned in his duvet, Fat Nuggets wedged contentedly under his chin. His eyes were fluttering, looking ready to pass out. Husk smiled involuntarily, taking one long, last glance at Angel Dust before turning to leave him. “Goodnight, kid.”

Just as Husk reached for the door handle, a hushed voice stopped him dead.

“Husk?”

It was spoken like a question, with a strangled urgency that made Husk spin back around with dizzying intensity. Angel was propped up on his elbows, jump-started awake by a sharp jolt of obvious fear.

“Stay.”

Husk opened his mouth uselessly, having no inkling of a response in mind, but he was swiftly unburdened of this responsibility as Angel spoke again.

“Not... not like that.”

Husk cringed that Angel even felt the need to make that distinction: it was obvious from the demon’s distress that – for once – it wasn’t sex that he was propositioning. He sat forward rigidly, hugging his knees to his chest, eyes fixed downward.

“Just... stay. Please, Husk.” His voice was heart-wrenchingly small as he choked out his final confession.

“I don’t wanna be alone.”

Swallowing down the visceral pain in his gut at yet another unforgiving glimpse of reality and chasing it with a heavy sigh, Husk trudged back over to the demon’s bed and sat down beside him. He spoke gently, but firmly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He could practically feel Angel relax at this affirmation. His eyes closed once more as he slid down against the pillow, nestling into a comfortable position. “Thanks, Husky.” His voice was thick with sleep, a smile just barely teasing the corner of his mouth. To Husk’s surprise, a hand slipped out from beneath the covers and his fingers were interlocked with Angel’s before he could say anything. A shiver of defensiveness ran up his spine at the tenderness of the situation. It was sweet, it was intoxicating, it was inviting. It was unlike anything he’d felt in life or death. Was it worth the risk, allowing himself to acknowledge this softness? To look this sentiment square in the face, knowing it meant he could get chewed up and spat out in more ways than he could imagine? He held his cards close to his chest, he always had, but what good was that if not even he knew what he was holding?

He glanced at the demon next to him and his mind immediately muted, the sight of Angel fast asleep, hand still in his, turning down the volume on his deafening thoughts. He didn’t have to know what this was, what it meant. This was all it had to be for now. This was all that mattered. He gave Angel’s hand a reassuring squeeze as he let himself sink back into the pillows, smiling a little at the sight of his friend sleeping peacefully beside him.

“Goodnight, Angel.”

A/N: This is the first fanfic I've written since I was literally a teenager so I hope this holds up! Hazbin and HuskerDust in particular has me in a chokehold, so naturally I spent more time and effort writing this than I did on any of my uni work this year. There are going to be more chapters of this (god willing) so stay tuned! I'm not on ao3 unfortunately so keep an eye out on here if you're wanting more, I'm a slow writer though so don't expect anything for a while. Hope you enjoyed! 🪩

[teecupangel]

I had this unhinged crossover idea, Desmond getting yeeted into left 4 dead. Consider this like a really, really late Halloween thing.

I hadn't thought too much on how things would play out for Desmond but all I know is he fucking hates it, he's thought he hated being the main target for Abstergo? Oh he's gonna hate the undead despite feeling a bit of sympathy for them.

I mean, the green flu appeared to have started slowly before things spiraled out of control continuing to evolve and further spread, and the next thing people knew, their loved ones were dropping like flies only to rise once more and begin just attacking out of nowhere. Heartbreaking to him but now his fight for survival just got worse, there's no innocents anymore, and survivors who were once kind and generous are now willing to kill other survivors just to stay safe and get supplies.

He did find some of the saferoom wall writing hilarious though, if he found a marker he totally adds his two cents in.

Absolutely hates the special infected, avoiding witches? He can manage that unless some idiot startles her, first encounter he had was not fun- he swore his heart stopped for a second hearing the witch screech. And don't get him started on the hunters, they boggle his mind and make him internally rage. Of all special infected, he's 100,000% certain if he drops and all he'd end up a hunter, and that thought terrifies him above all else.

Like, could you imagine that? Hunter!Desmond would be a freaking menace, and unlike other hunters who aren't all that silent due to his training and bleeding effects, his stealth goes above and beyond what the typical hunter is capable of. Nightmare fuel for sure.

Well, this is obviously a very late Halloween thing because I just answered this today XD

I have fond memories of L4D as it was the game me and my friends would play between classes if we were quite bored. I even play Back 4 Blood with my friend a few months back just to get back to that L4D feel (and also because it was one of the few games we both had that we could play together hahahaha).

Out of all the infected, I prefer being the Hunter so there’s definitely some bias when I say that I agree with you that Desmond would definitely be the worst kind of Hunter.

Made for stealth and speed, compounded by his unique genetics that makes him the closest Isu among the humans if we don’t count the Sages.

He wouldn’t just be a Hunter, he’d be a mutated Hunter.

One might even call him the Apex Hunter.

His vision would stay in a heightened state of Eagle Vision, unaffected by flashbangs or any kind of tools that might impede his visions or other senses.

The heightened state of Eagle Vision meant that not even walls can hide his preys and he has… ‘favorites’, one might say.

The Apex Hunter would prioritize hunting and turning specific humans.

Humans that would turn into Hunters as well, joining him with some kind of strange pack-like intuition.

To the humans, it would seem random and they won’t realize it but the Apex Hunter…

He turns those that glowed bright to him.

Those with higher Isu genes that the rest.

And it is those nightmares that plague Desmond’s sleep.

It makes him fear being infected.

Not that it was easy for him to be infected.

He wore a mask to cover his face and lessen the chance of being hit by blood or any kind of body fluids from those he takes down. He goes to the nearest museum and ransacks their historical weapon and armor displays, going for the chainmail and leather armor instead of a full metal armor. It was as light as he could get it while offering the necessary protections as he sometimes has no choice but to get into close combat with them.

He goes for weapons his Bleeds are familiar with, a hunting bow for stealth kills that wouldn’t alert the hordes, a sword with the nearest weight to what he was familiar with, a hunting dagger that he uses more as a utility tool than anything else and an emergency pistol he got from an undead police officer he took down.

He kept his identity a secret. There was no need to tell everyone he was Desmond Miles, not when he’s not sure yet if Abstergo had already been wiped out or if they’re not behind the scenes, protected by the best security money can buy.

He woke up alone, in a room that had enough clues for him to figure out that he was about to be dissected (or vivisected since he wasn’t dead yet).

No clues on where the Assassins were.

If there were even Assassins left.

All he knew was that he woke up and the world had turned into a post zombie apocalypse.

So he continues to travel, focusing on the rooftops to traverse and only making contact with other survivors when it was necessary (or if his kindness gets the better of him).

He does not give a name.

But his existence is whispered regardless.

The White Hood.

A man clad in a white hoodie with a blank mask that covers his entire face.

You know when you see him because…

His white clothes do not have a speck of blood at all.

[ladamedusoif]

Coming Home (Dave York x F!Wife Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 20

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boys Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist!

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up with my writing.

Pairing: Dave York x F!Wife Reader

Word Count: 2000

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: No use of Y/N; no physical description of the reader; reader is Dave’s wife; loose canon (implied changing to end of Equalizer 2, justice 4 Dave); soft!Dave; oral sex (M and F receiving); facesitting; unprotected PiV sex; mild breeding kink; reader is on birth control (not discussed); dirty talk

A/N: Despite having been in the Pit for some time, this is my first Dave story and, well… things escalated. I’m a sucker for soft!Dave (go read @wildemaven’s gorgeous Holi-Dave stories!!) and for the idea that this man just fucking loves his wife/partner. In this story you can choose to read the wife as Carol, or a second wife - whatever you prefer.

He makes his way through baggage claim quickly, expertly dodging the crowds of people clustered around the carousels looking for their luggage. The airport is decorated for the holidays, but Dave pays no attention to the illuminated Christmas trees atop each baggage belt, nor to the animatronic Santa Claus and elves greeting passengers in the arrivals hall.

Experience has taught him that a carry-on is preferable in most circumstances. Travel light, travel smart, and save valuable time at each end. He takes a strange pride in knowing that he’s back at his car before most of the people on his flight have even begun to identify their bags.

Dave is tired: physically, mentally, emotionally. He has started to wonder how much longer he can do this for: the time apart, the unspoken agreement not to discuss the other side of his work at home, the fact that - while you know the broad contours of what he does beyond the DIA, and probably more details than he’d like - he has to be incredibly careful with what he says, to avoid the possibility of you becoming an accomplice in the eyes of the law.

He starts the car, swings by the drive-thru just on the way out of the airport campus to pick up a coffee and some donuts, and then - finally - gets on the road.

Dave York needs to go home. He needs you.

***

It’s still very early when he pulls into the driveway, the sky as yet untouched by the brightness of the coming day. Dave lets himself in and drops his bag in the hallway, taking off his shoes and treading carefully as he makes his way upstairs, lest he wake the girls.

He gingerly opens the door of your bedroom and tiptoes inside. You are still asleep, your back to the door, nestled into the pillows and duvet. Soft, warm, and safe.

You have always been his safe place, his comfort. He longs for your softness, your warmth, the way he feels like nothing and no one on earth could ever touch him when he’s buried inside you.

Still fully clothed, he climbs into bed beside you and wraps an arm around you from behind, kissing your neck, your shoulders, and the skin of your upper back, exposed by your slip nightdress.

It doesn’t take long before you’re woken by Dave’s mouth seeking out every inch of your upper body. You turn to face him.

“Hi, my love. You’re home. Aren’t you early?”

Dave caresses your waist and hips, dark eyes looking at you with pure longing. “Only by a day. I just wanted to come home as soon as I could.” He leans down and sucks on your neck, making you writhe and whine with pleasure. “I wanted to come home to you.”

You hum with satisfaction and begin to unbutton his shirt, fingers working their way down towards the waistband of his pants. “That so?”

Your husband kisses you deeply, greedily, hard as you undress him, his tongue seeking entrance to your mouth and exploring it like it’s the first time.

He kicks off his dress pants and shucks off his shirt and under vest. You take in the sight of him, wearing only his black boxer briefs: his impossibly broad shoulders, his soft but solid tummy, the strength of his arms and his thighs, his beautiful face.

Your Dave.

The wetness is already starting to pool between your legs.

You straddle him, feeling his hard cock brush against your pussy as you hitch up your chemise. Dave reaches for you, hands gripping your thighs.

“Let me welcome you home properly, Mr York.”

His eyes widen as you peel off your nightdress and fling it into a corner of the room, leaving you completely bare and astride him. You lean forward, trailing your mouth down his chest and tummy. Dave pants and moans with pleasure, hips bucking a little and creating delicious friction against your clit as you work your way down his body.

You palm his cock, still inside his boxers, before carefully tugging them down. His dick springs free: hard, thick, heavy. Perfect.

Dave looks down at you and quirks an eyebrow. “You got plans, Mrs York?”

“Mmmm.” Your tongue flits across your lips, as if you’re admiring a delicious meal. “I got plans. But they’re gonna have to be quiet, Mr York, unless you want two little girls interrupting them.”

Dave chuckles and lowers his voice. And then he feels you. Tongue licking a stripe up the length of his cock, before playfully lapping at the base. The wet plumpness of your lips around the head, gently sucking on his erect cock and swirling your tongue and taking him inch by inch into your mouth as you hollow your cheeks.

“Fuck…fuck. You’re fucking incredible, baby.”

You smile to yourself at his praise. “I like giving my husband head, what can I say?”

Dave lets out a half-chuckle, half-groan as you work his dick with your hand, tipping him closer to the edge. It’s too soon. Too quick. He doesn’t want to come in your mouth, one way or another.

He motions with his head and you release his cock with a parting stroke.

“I need to taste you, baby,” he murmurs, already looking somewhat wrecked. “Get up here. Sit on my face, will you?”

You feel a little uncertain. It’s been a while since you’ve done this - sitting on his face, that is. Dave loves eating your pussy. But this… this is less frequent.

“Are you sure, baby?”

He looks at you in disbelief. “Never been more sure of anything. And do not say anything about your body or your weight. You’re fucking perfect. I need you, need to take you.”

Dave’s eyes are dark with lust, but not without that certain softness only you and the girls ever really see. Your heart swells at the sight and you shift forward to straddle your husband’s face, Dave carefully holding you in position and urging you down so that he can really taste and smell your sex.

“There’s only one condition,” Dave murmurs.

“Oh?”

“You’re going to have to be really quiet for me, too.”

Easier said than done when you have those lips and that tongue taking you apart with enthusiastic precision. Dave grunts and moans softly into your cunt as his mouth forms a tight seal around your folds, tongue flicking across your clit over and over as you grip the headboard with one hand and hold the other firmly across your mouth to stifle your cries.

He breaks away for a moment to slide a couple of fingers inside you before resuming his work, tongue pressing deliciously on your clit while his thick fingers fuck you, finding the sensitive spot he knows will trigger your release.

“C’mon, baby,” he groans, voice muffled between your soft thighs. “You’re so fuckin’ close.”

He can feel your pussy fluttering and tightening around his fingers, feel the wetness running onto his hand as he gets you off. You’re teetering on the edge - and come hard, all over his mouth and nose, screaming his name into the palm of your hand.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Dave purrs as you catch your breath, sitting up to caress and kiss your breasts as he moves you over and off him, onto your back. He grabs handfuls of you as his mouth roams all over your naked body, hips rutting against you and hard cock pressed against your mound. “I missed you. Missed your taste.”

“You going to fuck me, David?” Your voice is hushed, breathless, ragged: still boneless and taken apart, needing him to put you back together.

Dave’s dark eyes sparkle as he reaches down and spreads your legs wide. He gazes at your soaked pussy, puffy and ready for him, and smiles at the sheer mess he’s already made of you.

“I’m going to fuck you hard, babe. You tell me if it’s too much, okay? Just fucking want you. Fucking need you.”

You whine with arousal, affirm his instructions, and he shifts forward, one hand stroking his cock. He parts your folds with the other as he lines himself up to take you for the umpteenth time. Even so, the stretch of him as he enters you always makes you catch your breath a little.

Dave’s broad body hovers over yours as he bottoms out with a hiss, desperately trying not to make too much noise. “Jesus. You…fuck.”

You wrap your arms around his broad back and focus for a moment on the feeling of your husband stretching you, filling you, having you. “What is it, baby?” Your voice is a sultry whisper and it goes straight to Dave’s cock.

He’s barely holding it together. “Your…fuck, your p-pussy.”

“It’s all yours, baby. Feel how tight and wet I am for you - you fuckin’ love that, don’t you?”

“Gonna fuck you now,” Dave whines, unable to hold on any more. He starts slowly but the warm, delicious wetness of your cunt begs him to speed up, to build up to a more intense rhythm.

You forget yourself and whine, prompting him to bring his hand to your mouth. It only serves to stimulate you further as your back arches off the mattress.

“Want to hear you talk to me, babe,” Dave whispers, hips snapping as he fucks you harder and faster. “Quietly. But talk to me. Tell me.”

He loves dirty talk. You’re only too happy to oblige.

“Been missing this dick, baby. Missed you taking me like this - filling me up and fucking me so well.”

Dave���s expression and ragged breathing makes you sceptical he’ll last as long as he usually does. “Fuck. You touch yourself while I was away?”

You bite your lip to hold back a moan. “Yeah, I did,” you whisper, “Made myself come thinking about you, thinking about what you do to me. Thinking about your big cock, stretching me like this.”

He buries himself against your chest to disguise his cry as he fucks you like a man possessed. Your bedroom is taken over by the quiet soundscape of lovemaking: skin on skin, ragged breathing and muffled whines, creaking bed frame, and the lewd sound of your wetness.

“Been thinking the whole time about coming in you,” Dave mutters quietly as he pulls out briefly, turns you into your side, lifts up your leg, and thrusts back into you with ease. “Fucked my fist thinking about it, wishing I was filling you.”

He holds your belly with one hand and grabs your tit with another, bringing his mouth against your neck and shoulder and biting the delicate skin there as you whine into a pillow.

“Come in me, Dave. Fucking fill me up.”

He grunts in your ear as he drops a hand to your clit and traces tight circles over the swollen bud, holding you tight to him as you cry out. “Want to fill you until it takes,” Dave hisses, his rhythm starting to stutter and fall apart as he nears his release. “Fuck you over and over and over, give you another baby.”

You press your face into the mattress as you scream his name, coming undone on his cock.

“You want me to make you a mama again, babe?”

That does it. You come so hard it feels like you might pass out, and the throbbing of your pussy is enough to tip your husband over the edge, too. Dave comes with a moan that’s muffled by the soft skin of your upper back as he cries out your name and fills you with his spend.

***

The sun is up as you tiptoe back to bed from your en-suite bathroom, discarding your light silk robe as you nestle, naked, back into bed beside your beloved.

Dave pulls you close, humming contentedly as you rest your head on his warm chest and idly rub his soft tummy.

“Thank you for coming home early,” you murmur, eyes closing.

He holds you close and kisses your forehead. “I needed to come home,” he whispers. “Needed to get back to you. You’re my home, baby.”

[illuminatedferret]

One-Word Ficlet Prompt #4: Introduce

Word Count: 786

Yin Yu today!

-

Hua Chengzhu didn’t look up when he walked in. He continued reading through the scroll on his desk, hand propping up his chin, looking decidedly bored.

If it were anyone else, Yin Yu would have wondered if he just hadn’t been noticed. But Chengzhu was Chengzhu. And he had already demonstrated a fantastic talent for finding him. So Yin Yu simply stood at attention, waiting.

After a few minutes, his patience was rewarded. Hua Chengzhu sighed and tossed aside his scroll, fixing his gaze upon the banished god before him.

He didn’t look any more invested in Yin Yu than he had the scroll. But Yin Yu didn’t let himself care about that.

“You’re ready, then?” Chengzhu asked.

“Yes, sir,” Yin Yu replied. He had everything he’d been tasked with collecting: a professional, if functional, set of robes (dark, because he didn’t want to stand out), and a mask from Chengzhu’s own collection (a demonic, woeful smile, because, well- it seemed appropriate).

Chengzhu stood.

“With me,” he bid shortly. So of course Yin Yu followed, when he strode out the door into Paradise Manor proper. Yin Yu didn’t know what to expect, but he quickly realized they were headed towards the main entrance to the manor.

Chengzhu paused, briefly, when they reached the front doors to the courtyard.

“I don’t want to do this more than once,” he said firmly, still facing the doors. Immediately, Yin Yu was at attention, ready to memorize whatever was about to happen or -most likely- die trying.

Or just be horrifically humiliated. But, his preference was...

It didn’t matter. After delivering his warning, Chengzhu was in motion again, pulling the doors open in one smooth move before exiting into the entry courtyard of his residence. When Yin Yu followed, only years spent navigating the crushing politics of the heavens kept him from stopping in his tracks.

Butterflies.

Hundreds, maybe thousands, hung shimmering in the air. The sight was so eye-catching that it took a few moments for Yin Yu to realize that wasn’t all there was. While the air of the courtyard was filled with the ethereal bodies of deadly spiritual butterflies, the ground was packed with the messy, unique, teeming bodies of Ghost City’s undead.

And every single one of them was looking at him.

Well. At Hua Chengzhu, perhaps. But the longer they looked, the more they caught notice of him- this unfamiliar masked figure, standing at Chengzhu’s side. And that was...

“...!”

Yin Yu swallowed. But he didn’t try to run.

“Citizens of Ghost City!” Chengzhu said. With the crowd already silenced by the presence of his butterflies, his voice rang loud and clear throughout the courtyard. “I have one thing to say to you, and one thing only.”

Standing behind him, Yin Yu couldn’t see his face, but he could imagine it- a detached yet arrogant look, demanding obedience and attention while making clear just how little he cared to return the favor. Every inch the centuries-old ruler of Ghost City.

And then Yin Yu realized he could see his face. He was looking right at him.

The slightest twitch of Chengzhu’s head towards the crowd had Yin Yu walking forwards until he stood abreast with the Red supreme. His heart began to pound, and his stomach flipped, as every eye in Ghost City truly settled upon him.

“This is your Waning Moon Officer!” Hua Chengzhu pronounced, and Yin Yu’s heart stopped. Their what? “He operates in my service, and you will treat him as an extension of my will! Am I clear?”

The assembled ghosts and demons were quick to shout their affirmations, a cacophonous crescendo just as frenetic as the beating of Yin Yu’s heart. It was only by virtue of his mask that none before him could see how his eyes, wide with shock and disbelief, moved to stare at the man he stood beside. Chengzhu wasn’t looking, himself- he was staring out across the sea of bodies, a vague look of satisfaction upon his face.

Waning Moon Officer...

He’d only been in Chengzhu’s employ for a few short months. Was he really worthy of such a position? To represent Hua Chengzhu, could he truly live up to such a responsibility? 

Finally, Chengzhu looked away from his ghostly citizens, meeting his gaze with a firm look. There was no doubt in his eyes, but neither was there any challenge- simply expectation.

Swallowing thickly, Yin Yu gave his lord a slight nod.

This wasn’t the path he’d planned to walk. But he was here now, being given a second chance after everything he’d already ruined. He would serve as Waning Moon Officer to the best of his capabilities. Or, well-

Most likely, he’d die trying.

[ladylaviniya]

Lassoed In Love

Chapter 2 || Masterlist || Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: Clark drives you home and reveals a dark detail about himself. You have to wonder if it's true...you get hints about how nosey and prejudice the town can be.

Pairing: Farmer!Clark Kent X Teacher!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, (No Sex In This Chapter), Slowburn, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Prison Conviction, Violation of Privacy, Debating Parenting.

Word Count: 3k

Author Notes: Sorry for publishing almost 2hrs late. I have been battling a bad case of influenza and just woke up. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Also, please remember this is a purely fictional story. I like to specify that it's important to believe and trust people who claim to be victims of abuse, just because someone treats you kindly doesn't mean they don't have the potential to harm you too. If anyone tells you they've raped someone or done time for rape even if they weren't guilty, always stay vigilant! Stay safe! Preferably stay away! Lassoed in Love is specifically fiction and Clark Kent's accused convictions are false.

Inspiring Song: "Monster" by Imagine Dragons

“Can you be at my house at six thirty? Or would you rather I come here? I am unsure how late the bus runs or if there’s a taxi service in Smallville.”

You both moved to leave her room, walking down the hall, back to the living room, near the kitchen.

“I’ll come to your house,” Lara suggested, “You’re near the town right? I might need to...I reckon dad’s getting no where with your car. I can see him out there shaking his head.”

Veering into the kitchen, you went to wash your hands in the sink, the blood that had dried over them washed clean away in the soap suds.

“Do you know where Ms. Gwendolyn-Lee lived?”

She thought for a moment, “Oh yea...wait...you look like her a bit.”

“She was my great great aunt. I inherited the house,” You peered out the kitchen window, “Shouldn’t your father be back by now?”

She grit her teeth and sucked in a breath, she stood briefly out of the kitchen to look at the mesh fly screen door. She popped her head back into the kitchen and said calmly, “Here he comes now.”

As he trudged up to the porch, he carefully stomped his muddy boots, scraping off the excess dirt before he swung open the door. His deep navy gaze swept over his daughter, then turned towards you. His eyes widened subtly as he took in the sight of his old flannel shirt on your body, but he refrained from making any comment about it.

“Get your things together,” he instructed. “I managed to hook your car up, got it out of the gulley, but I doubt there’s much to be done, I might suggest it’s scrap metal now.”

His dark face was expressionless, as usual, but you sensed that he’d made up his mind and wouldn’t budge.

Clark looked at his daughter. “Have you said what you wanted to her?”

You nodded and looked to Lara.

“Yes, she did.” Lara met her father’s eyes squarely. “She’s going to tutor me. I’m going to try to get into the military, take a ASVAB test and apply to be a diesel mechanic or even engineer.”

His eyes widened again. Lara appeared nervous with the way her hands balled and unfurled at her sides.

“It’s your choice. Just be sure you’re confident, knowing what you’ll be getting into.”

“I have to try.”

Clark nodded once, his firm gaze indicating the conversation had ended there. You turned to bid farewell to Lara, your gesture was met with her shy wave back. Following her father out onto the dirt path lining the side of the road, you couldn’t help but acknowledge the hint of concern in his words.

There, just off the path stood your car, hooked onto a tow bar at the back of his rusty blue truck, your cars crushed bonnet bearing testament to your recent misadventure.

He had done so much for you, rescuing you from a potentially hazardous situation, providing comfort, and now, he was even helping to tow your car. Additionally, he had kissed you in a manner that left your senses reeling. You couldn’t help but acknowledge that Clark was indeed a formidable individual.

Your cheeks grew hot as you recalled the memory of those searing kisses, their fiery intensity still lingering in your memory. Never in your life had you been so forward with a man, and the thought of your unconventional actions left you feeling both mortified as equally aroused.

You hastily clambered into the passenger seat of the pickup truck, your movements lacking any semblance of grace as you tried to maintain a proper, respectable demeanor. You fidgeted with your hands, clasping them primly in your lap, while your feet remained side-by-side, neatly placed on the floorboard. When Clark rejoined you in the vehicle and settled into the driver’s seat, you bit your lip, but his gaze didn’t so much as flicker in your direction, leaving you to grapple with your own embarrassment.

He casted a sardonic look after turning on the engine. “I can’t just drop you off at some random house lady. Where do you live?”

You realised sheepishly that you had been lost in the memory of Clark’s intimate kisses. You found yourself acutely aware of every movement, as the strong muscular expanse of his thigh shifted against yours, the heat of his skin palpable even through the thick denim of his well-worn jeans. Your noted that you were sitting in the middle of the seat, with very little space between you, it made you feel strangely constricted and breathless. The proximity to him was both overwhelming and exhilarating.

“Down Crow Street first house on the right,” you said hastily, and slid over by the window.

“Ms. Gwendolyn-Lees house?” he murmured.

You nodded.

Clark couldn’t deny that he relished the feeling of your presence beside him, the way your body gently brushed against his arm and leg with every gear change. However, despite the undeniable attraction and comfort he found in your proximity, he didn’t verbalize his appreciation. He acknowledged that things had spiralled out of control earlier, but he made a conscious choice to prevent any further escalation. At present, Lara’s situation occupied his thoughts, and her well-being overshadowed any personal desires or distractions, even for your warm body into his arms.

Clark’s voice dropped to a low, velvety tone that sent a chilling shiver down your spine, as you could discern the undercurrent of menace in his words. He continued, “The Army... it’s a tough climb for a girl, regardless of how much they claim to be feminist-friendly these days. There are those waiting to step on her toes and push her around at every opportunity. I don’t want Lara to getting hurt because you want to play miss goody-two-shoes.”

His eyes may have been solidly on the road, but you could see how they were filled with anguish, confusion and fear all at once. He chewed his pink lips and whispered something under his breath. He was fearsomely protective of his daughter even from you.

Clark’s attempt to intimidate you fell flat as you defiantly turned to face him, your eyes ablaze with defiance. You matched his intense gaze with unwavering determination and challenged his accusations with a spirited fervour.

“Mr. Kent,” you asserted with a resolute lift of your chin, “I never promised Lara that she would be guaranteed a military career upon completion of her studies. She fully acknowledged that fact. However, her academic standing should be more than sufficient for consideration, provided she enrols back into school to earn her diploma and fulfil the necessary credit requirements. That is the offer I made to her: a chance.”

His hands tightened on the wheel.

“And if she doesn’t make it? If she fails?”

“She wants to fix automobiles, Mr. Kent. Even if she isn’t accepted, at least she’ll know she tried, and she’ll have a decent qualifying diploma for the future.”

“So she can do exactly what she would have done without the diploma. You know what I call that? Fancy toilet paper.”

You rolled your eyes and gagged, “Mr. Kent, I believe you may be undermining your daughter’s true potential. She has demonstrated remarkable intellect and maturity for her age. On Monday, I plan to reach out to my network of contacts within the military community for further information on the necessary qualifications and requirements, including AFQT score prerequisites.” You held up a finger and wagged it a little, “Rest assured that I am fully committed to exploring every possible avenue to help your daughter achieve her aspirations.”

Wagging your finger at him? Oh, if you were his women, oh how he would’ve pulled over and belted and fucked you on the bonnet of his pick up, stark and cold in the middle of the afternoon.

He swallowed hard, trying to fight the sudden hard on growing in his jeans. He needed to scare you away. He couldn’t let himself see you again, even if it ruined Lara’s chances.

“The people in town won’t appreciate you tutoring her. They’ll gossip.”

You snorted, gossip? Why should you even care? “Why? Because their incompetence allowed a high achieving student to sliip through their fingers? Just let me handle them, Mr. Kent.”

He sighed long and hard, shaking his head a little. He pursed his lips and fell silent.

With the journey nearing its end, the dirt path road stretched out in front of you, its length having seemed endless moments ago. Clark remained silent as he navigated the remainder of the route, leaving you no choice but to respect the silence that enveloped the vehicle. Your mind raced with thoughts and emotions, a myriad of unresolved issues swirling in the wake of his words. The old house where you resided materialized on the horizon. As the vehicle rolled to a halt, its engine purring to a standstill, the silence persisted, the air thick with unspoken tension and lingering questions.

He quickly turned off his engine and looked up the road at the other houses in the neighbourhood, praying no one would see you both. His hands were still clenching the steering wheel. A deep worrisome sigh left his lips, he broke the silence with a calm warning, “It’s not just about Lara. If you want to ensure your own well-being, I suggest you refrain from speaking to anyone about our encounter. I’ll take the liberty of transporting your car to Frank’s auto repair, see what he can do. However, it would be wise to resist the urge to tell anyone about this, us, meeting.”

“Why?” You said in disbelief.

Clark faced you fully and leant forward slightly as if he was about to tell you a hilariously dirty joke...he smile and said a little too whimsically, “Because lady, I’m an ex-con. I did time for rape.”

The thumping jump your body made against his door while you scrambled for the car handle latch was obvious. He continued to sinister smirk, his brows raised as he waved you goodbye. Your throat felt impossibly dry. Your mind a tad dizzy.

You left the vehicle without uttering a word in response to his bold statement, silently cursing yourself afterward for your lack of a fitting comeback. His words had struck you to your core, leaving you momentarily stunned and unable to react. Rape! The very thought filled you with a deep sense of revulsion and disbelief. Your mind couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that you had kissed him, and the realization left you feeling shaken to the core. Finally, you hastily bid him farewell and informed him that Lara would be arriving at three thirty on Monday, before hastily disappearing into the house. You tried not to feel guilty when you made sure to lock the door behind you. He had helped you after all. He had pulled you out of your own car....but he had also indulged and kissed you. If Lara had not come...would he have....

As the hour ticked by, reality gradually sank in, and you found yourself standing alone in the antiquated kitchen, observing your cat Oz devouring his wet and dry food with relish from its gleaming silver bowl. You couldn’t help but reflect on the man and his outlandish claim, feeling a surge of defiance rising within you. You scoffed outwardly, muttering to yourself, “What complete nonsense! If that man is truly a rapist, I swear I’ll...I’ll...roast you for Thanksgiving, Oz.”

The ginger feline looked remarkably unconcerned. After all, he was just a lazy fat cat. Did he even know what thanksgiving was? You appreciated his lack of reaction, as if it confirmed your judgement being almighty and wise.

The realization that Clark had not unequivocally confessed to rape gave you pause. He had stated that he had served time in prison for rape, a revelation that seemed to open the door to a myriad of ambiguities. The perplexity deepened as you recalled Lara’s accounts of her outcasted and ignored existence. This notion puzzled you as to why Clark would have been granted custody of his daughter if the charges held any truth. Despite the uncertainty surrounding the matter, one thing was certain: your instincts whispered vehemently that Clark was innocent.

The man who had saved you from a life-threatening situation, gently cleansing your wounds with his tender touch and soothing your aching head with the coolness of an ice pack, had also bestowed upon you a kiss filled with a warmth that seeped into your very being. His actions stood in stark contrast to those of a man capable of causing harm to a woman. It was he who had halted the tender exchange of kisses between you, even as you had willingly surrendered yourself to his embrace.

It seemed utterly ridiculous to even entertain the notion that he could be a rapist. True, it may not have taken much restraint on his part to halt the intimate exchange of kisses, given that you weren’t considered conventionally attractive and your inexperience. Yet, as you pondered the matter further, you couldn’t shake the memory of the undeniable physical response of his erection you had felt, a reaction which spoke volumes in its own right. Perhaps he’d simply been deprived of physical outlets for some time and you had unwittingly provided an opportunity, but there was still no hint of violence in his touch.

Perhaps Clark Kent was already aroused and you had unwittingly ignited a flame within him, to you his spark that lit up his desire would remain a mystery to you. Nevertheless, you couldn’t dispute the fact that he had not abused his position or forcibly taken advantage of you. Except...What if he had?

As your heart raced with a powerful, rhythmic beat, an intense warmth pervaded your being. A throbbing, insistent ache manifested deep within you, causing your inner muscles to contract involuntarily. Without even thinking, your hand instinctively sought temporary relief under your skirt before, startled by your own actions, you pulled it away abruptly.

What if, instead of merely halting the kisses, he had taken the initiative to touch, cup, and caress you with his hands and mouth? The mere thought of this sent shivers of desire through you, leaving you feeling as if you were melting in response. Your mind raced with fantasies of his touch, and you found yourself involuntarily pressing your thighs together, desperate for relief from the profound ache that consumed you. A low, involuntary whimper escaped from your lips, startling the cat resting nearby.

The question loomed in the air: would you have actually tried to halt his advances? Could you have summoned the strength to resist the allure of his touch? Or would you now be standing there, your body quivering with excitement as memories of shared passion consumed you instead of simply imagining it? Your body hummed with anticipation, stirred not from a place of true understanding but from the awakening of primal desires.

The intensity of the passion you had experienced had been utterly foreign to you, vastly different from the joyful hum in your bones you held for knowledge and teaching. Discovering that your body was capable of such powerful sensations was a harrowing realization, as you had long believed that you were not one to experience such grand arousal like others bragged about in your age group. You weren’t some kitten in heat, no, you were like a forest fire ready to burn the earth in pursue if the same touch Clark Kent had done to you. Now, your own flesh seemed to whisper secrets that left you feeling betrayed, and your thoughts and emotions danced to an unfamiliar tune. It was as if your very being had been transformed into something unfamiliar and intoxicating. Something wickedly beautiful.

In that moment, it became undeniable. Lust had consumed your very being, a sensation ignited by none other than Clark Kent himself. This realization was both marvellous and mortifying. The potency of your feelings was overwhelming, leaving you both astounded and humiliated by the depth of your desire.

On Monday, you made a hasty lunch break phone call to an old college friend who served in the air force to inquire about the process of making sure Lara’s studies would count towards her diploma. Despite your qualifications, there were still numerous forms to fill out before she could earn the necessary credits via private tutoring. You placed the call from the ancient pay phone in the underused teacher’s lounge, a cramped space that only held three chairs, a table, a mini-fridge, and a coffee maker. Surprisingly, Lana Lang, the eighth grade teacher, popped into the room as you were talking.

“Y/N, are you feeling ill or anything?”

“No, I’m alright.” You stood, “I was making a call.”

“Oh. I just wondered. You’d been in here alone for a while, and I thought you might not be feeling up to hall duty soon.... Who were you calling?”

The query had been posed without a trace of hesitation, reflecting the unfiltered openness characteristic of Smallville’s close-knit community. Lana, a local who had grown up in the heart of the town, had once held the title of prom queen. In this close-knit environment, secrets rarely remained hidden for long, and the exchange of personal information was a common occurrence. You felt unperturbed by Lana’s unabashed curiosity, as you were already accustomed to such directness within the confines of this intimate community, where small towns functioned as extended families. At first you found such things rude and personally invasive.

“An old college friend. I needed some information on teaching requirements.”

Lana’s expression turned to one of alarm as she spoke, “Are you questioning your qualifications? The school board will be absolutely distraught if there’s an issue. You have no idea how difficult it is to find a teacher with the proper credentials willing to move to such a small town. They were at the brink of panic before you agreed to take the job. Without your arrival, the children would be forced to commute over sixty miles each day just to receive an education.”

Or attend homeschooling like Lara Kent.

TO BE CONTINUED....

“Actually, it’s not that,” you quickly explained, seizing the opportunity to delve into your intentions. “I’ve been contemplating the idea of initiating private tutoring, as I believe it might benefit the children.” You deliberately refrained from mentioning Lara Kent, respecting her father’s request for discretion. Relief washed over Lana’s face as she concluded that the situation wasn’t dire.

“Thank goodness it isn’t bad news,” she sighed, waving goodbye and offering a smile before withdrawing her head from the room, her curiosity sufficiently quelled.

You sincerely hoped that Lana wouldn’t mention your plan to Beryl Braverman, the third-to-fifth grade teacher, but you couldn’t deny that the likelihood of secrecy was slim. Information had an uncanny way of propagating swiftly in Smallville, leaving little room for concealment. Lana exuded warmth and humor in her teachings, mirroring your laidback approach. However, Beryl’s strict demeanor and abruptness with students left you feeling unsettled. You had overheard rumblings about Beryl considering an early retirement. Despite her shortcomings, her departure would undeniably upset the local board, as Lana had previously pointed out - it was almost impossible to encourage new teachers to move to Smallville.

    HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[mamamittens]

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 11)

Platonic Whitebeard Crew & Reader-Insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: Yandere behavior (somehow I think I managed to loop Teach into it now too, so congrats, you've charmed a bastard man). If you find yandere content uncomfortable, please do block the tag 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as any relevant variations to 'one piece yandere'.

Do not tolerate this behavior in real life.

Stay safe and have fun!

If my mental math is correct, I should finish this in 4~ish more chapters. So we're nearing the end!

Also, surprisingly sympathetic take on Teach's backstory, didn't know I had it in me. This is assuming the fan theory that he's from a winter island and was with Whitebeard since he was young, btw.

Word Count: 2,099

Teach grinned as his new crew set the sails to leave the small island he’d recruited them from. Dawn was just breaking and he wanted to make good time—just in case he already had tails from his old crew. He wasn’t entirely sure how much of a head start he had given the rush he was in to ensure Thatch didn’t eat the fruit. Decades looking for it and he nearly lost his chance again.

He adjusted your limp body under his arm for a moment, enjoying the palpable feeling of his power increasing from the contact. The shadows seemed to writhe hungrily at his senses, eagerly awaiting his command in a way they simply didn’t without you. You… well, you were a bit of last minute surprise as well. Sure, in theory, he could just take your fruit but he wasn’t confident it would work the same way. And he couldn’t risk wasting it if it didn’t. Besides, you’re the perfect bait.

He has the power. He has the plan. Now he just needs the reputation to become the Pirate King. And what better way than taking down his old crew one at a time? Sowing chaos to fracture them until Oyaji is too weak to stand against him and properly claim rise to his lofty goals as ‘Blackbeard’. Killing Thatch would certainly get someone on his ass, though he was torn between commanders as to who it could be. Izo was sore enough about losing old friends, and Marco may feel responsible as first mate. But Ace—well, he was a spitfire at the best of times and his old commander to boot.

Taking you was sort of like kicking the hornet’s nest. While also becoming even more powerful in a single move. How could he not do it?

The minor issue of ensuring you never have a chance of squirming away was easily solved with a bit of chain. It’s not like you were particularly strong, though you were smart enough to not do anything too risky—which he appreciated really. Though he’d prefer you sticking around willingly if only to not have to carry you every time you fell asleep.

Teach chuckled a little to himself as he returned to his newly minted quarters. You were wearing down pretty fast the longer he was ‘on the run’. No real chance to properly rest or recuperate from what must be a stressful situation—for you at least. If he neglected to feed you every now and then it only helped ensure you were weaker than before. Who knows, he might not even need the chain if this kept up.

Teach set you down on the sparse bed, unhooking his end of the chain to secure it to the latch on the wall. It wasn’t like he was going to use the bed himself. He paused a moment to watch as you curled up against the wall, completely dead to the world.

Heh. Cute.

He didn’t get why Oyaji recruited the way he did. Pretending to be a big family when they were actually just a band of pirates taking what they wanted. Too soft for a man with the strength to do anything he desired. Too many vulnerabilities. But every so often he thought he understood it… a little. Late night parties with lighthearted competition. Long running arguments about inane subject that both parties are a little too invested in to be serious.

Teach reached down and removed your glasses, examining the cracked lens. Bending it in the light to watch it refract as he considered your position. His prisoner and, technically, first mate. Though he wouldn’t be having you fight—not that he’d trust you to fight for him right now. He had the absolute upper hand over you. Chose to stay his hand. Because you had use to him.

He heard you shudder a little and paused, setting the thick glasses down. You were cold—weak body sensitive to the relative chill in the room. Unbidden, he remembered long, cold nights on his home island in the snow. Powerless and unsure if he’d survive to see daylight again.

Until Oyaji found him. A small, frail part of his chest ached at the memory. The sheer relief that he was safe now. His next meal guaranteed at no cost. No more cold, lonely nights. Even now, he calls him that. Oyaji. Despite fully planning to kill him. The idea didn’t conflict in his head. It was simply the way of things. Old replaced by the new. What higher respect could he pay his father-figure than personally ensuring his demise to further his own prospects? To step out of the shadows and get rid of one of the few people alive that can remember the sad, pathetic child in the snow?

Perhaps this strange sense of sentiment was his own, personal weakness. Crafted by a man too weak of heart to truly conquer the seas.

Teach shrugged off his coat, laying it over you gently. Chuckling when you stopped trembling.

He was a pirate. He could indulge in whatever vice he wanted… though perhaps cautiously. It wouldn’t do to deride Oyaji for something he, himself, was guilty of in excess.

He didn’t get why Marco took you. Why Oyaji agreed to take you in. Well, aside from your devil fruit. But the soft glove approach smacked of weakness given your surprisingly stubborn refusal.

But the slow, rolling satisfaction that settled in his chest knowing that he made sure you weren’t cold… he thought he could understand Oyaji a little better now. Why he kept picking up strays everywhere he went so indulgently in the same way he’d sneak sips of good booze when the nurses weren’t looking.

It was a strange, frail sort of pride to partake in. Pride at providing. But Teach learned at Oyaji’s knee to take enjoyment from the little things in life.

Besides, it wasn’t like you could sell him out or take advantage of what scraps he gave you. As long as you behaved, he supposed there was no problem in these small gestures of kindness. So long as you never forgot your place, that is.

--*--

Luffy laughed, loudly and with glee as his older brother teased his crew. He was so proud of the people he’d recruited so far and wanted Ace to see what he did. Those bright, beautiful sparks that drew Luffy like a moth to flame. The spark that Ace himself had since they were children that only grew since they parted. Ace was still hurt, a little broken inside, but it had healed since they last met.

“Why are you here, anyhow?” Nami asked, “I thought Whitebeard mostly stuck to the New World?” Ever inquisitive, Luffy’s smile widened at how clever his navigator was. Ace scowled, tipping his head towards the man he brought with him.

Pineapple. Well, Ace called him ‘Marco’ but obviously Pineapple was better. Tall and blond with bright blue eyes—achingly reminding him of Sabo but different enough that Luffy could barely see the ghost of his other brother.

“We’re tracking down a traitor. He tried to kill one of our own and kidnapped another.” Pineapple scowled with dark eyes. Luffy’s crew was shocked—giving Luffy the impression that this was an even bigger deal than he first thought.

“A nakama-killer? Who?” Ussop asked breathlessly, “What kind of monster would make it out from a Yonko ship after that?!”

“Teach.” Ace hissed in a way that reminded Luffy of the few times he said Bluejam or Celestial Dragon. Fire flickering between his teeth. “He goes by ‘Blackbeard’ now. Promise me if you run into him you won’t fight him, Lu. He nearly killed Thatch. You’re not strong enough to fight him yet.”

Luffy made a noise of surprise, both at Ace’s words and the name.

“Hey, didn’t we already run into him?” Zoro asked, glancing at Luffy for confirmation. Luffy remembered the weird pirate well. Poor taste in food and rude as hell.

“Yeah, we did actually. Weird guy with a weird laugh. With the tired four-eyes.” The two looked at Luffy sharply. “I almost got in a fight with him but he weirded me out.”

“Tired four eyes?” Ace asked with a pissed off expression. Luffy felt a small twinge of guilt for not helping the stranger at the time, but something inside him whispered ‘not yet’.

“Yeah. They were connected with a chain. Thought he had a slave or something but Nami said it wasn’t quite right.” Luffy explained. Nami nodded, tensing slightly as the two looked at her for more answers.

“Well, usually slaves just have the collar. And he didn’t make any demands or order them around. They just had to… follow him. He even yanked them by accident and apologized. Most slave owners don’t bother with that.” Nami huffed.

Luffy pouted. They looked promising. He even felt… weird when they were around. Like he was stronger somehow. His heart like a steel drum in his chest. Like he felt when he was around his nakama. But they lacked a… spark. Like they lost it and Luffy didn’t know how to give it back. Almost tried anyway but his crew stopped him.

He hoped that next time they found that spark again. He’d love to have them on his crew.

Ace nodded.

“We’re getting close, at least. Hopefully we’ll catch up to them soon. Who knows, we might be able to introduce you guys properly!” Ace grinned, the edges a little sharp like he was suggesting dine-in-dashing when they were kids and hunting crocodiles was too much of a hassle. Luffy grinned.

“I wanna meet them again! Hey! Hey! Ace, do you think they’d join my crew?” Luffy cackled when Pineapple and Ace jolted at the question. Ace narrowed his eyes, clicking his tongue with a thin smile.

“Oi! Don’t go stealing from my crew, you little shit!” Ace hooked his arm around Luffy’s neck stretching it out as he gave Luffy a noogie through his hat.

Luffy squirmed, crying out at the unfairness.

“Ack! Aaaaccee~! They look cool. Though really tired! I promise to take good care of them! Ace!” Luffy complained. Arms failing uselessly as Ace kept him pinned in place. “Ace!”

Luffy’s crew watched with wide eyes as Pineapple smirked from his spot against the wall.

Okay, that felt a little like Sabo.

--*--

You looked out at the growing island, Banaro, chain wrapped around your waist so it wouldn’t drag across the deck. You knew that Teach would come over shortly to reattach it to his bracelet. For the past couple of months, he’d given you relative freedom while at sea and restricting your movement once they got close enough to an island. For the most part, you’d been avoiding the crew, which Teach encouraged.

Probably to make sure you didn’t get any outside help, not that you felt confident you would have received any if you’d asked.

The closest chances to escape you’ve noticed was the revolutionary early into your capture with Teach and Straw Hat—surprisingly. Not that you think Teach knew that.

Though the occasional spotting of a sea king was also promising, Teach had them firmly sail in whatever direction was away from potential pods. Kill joy.

Anyway, it wasn’t that Straw Hat was stronger than Teach, he was definitely a bit too green to manage it given Teach’s decades at sea.

But… that devil fruit of his.

It called out to you. Boundless as the horizon. A drumbeat that vibrated your soul. A call to… something. Something just out of your reach. And you had the sense that if you had only known what that ‘something’ was, Straw Hat would have thrown hands the minute he saw you.

The pirate seemingly breathing in sync with his fruit, only held back by how weak he was currently. Which was a strange thing to sense. Usually fruits were just not utilized well. They didn’t typically hold such obvious power that the user simply was unable to access it at that time.

It felt elastic. Snappy and twisting in a way that you found delightful. Made you want to laugh without even hearing what he was saying.

You smiled a little. Strangely optimistic for the first time in a long time.

Pirate King, huh?

… Somehow, you felt as though Straw Hat Luffy would shake the world. And despite being a ex-marine, you looked forward to it.

Hopefully, you’d be in a position to see it for yourself.

[btssmutficslovingfan01]

Day 4: Bukkake | Making Up for Lost Time

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 757

Pairing: OT7!(all members) x Fem!Reader

A/N: Less graphic, plot if you squint? whump maybe? It's cute how much they love their princess, second PPOV 🎃 Stay up to date, check out the master list! 🎃

⇤ Prev | Next ⇥

______________________

Your boyfriends were all in one room, finally. After five long years of being without all of them at once, you had learned to cope. Sex toys, threesomes, even orgies were no fun anymore without them. The only orgies you preferred were ones with them.

“Yoongi, what the fuck?” Jin glared at the man as he moaned while getting a little excited with you. You couldn’t blame the man, his hands were on your tits and once he started he couldn’t stop.

“S-sorry bro,” Yoongi inhaled your scent. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

“We oughta treat her right first. Don’t grab her suddenly. Here, we should at least lie down first.” Jin said, lifting you out of his arms. You held him tightly.

“Jinnie! I can walk by myself.” You pouted as Jin pressed a quick kiss against your lips before lifting you up to the bedroom.

The others followed, Taehyung and Jungkook muttering something about the eiffel tower in korean as you were put down in the bed, able to look at all of your boyfriends in their naked glory.

“It’s been so long. Everyone, gather around.” Namjoon called them to your side. You both shared a smile, as you knew what was coming.

It was customary for them to stroke themselves off and cum on you at least once when they were all together. It was a way they bonded or rekindled the fires of their brotherhood, as Jimin put it once. You thought it was bullshit at first before realizing they were totally serious when they taught you about different things they did as a group.

Including dating you. The sex was a close second, but you just wanted to make each other feel good at the end of the day.

“God…you’re so sexy Y/N.” Taehyung moaned, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Suck my cock, Y/N,” Yoongi impatiently smacked his dick on your cheek, just as you looked up and slowly took it into your mouth. “Good girl.” He added. You moaned, closing your eyes as you loved how sexy he sounded when he praised you. Yoongi was the last to get back to town after his tour with Halsey and you were looking forward to seeing him the most as you hadn’t gotten to see him one-on-one yet, but you did get to see the others in their own time. You enjoyed having this time to bond with them in your own way as their shared partner. They were your boys and you were their girl.

“Your boobs are bigger too,” Jungkook squeezed one of your mounds, causing you to squeal from the sudden action. “Hot.” 

“Stop being so horny, Jungkook,” Jimin scolded. “But you have a point. Did you gain weight, Y/N?” He started stroking his girthy, veiny length a bit more aggressively. You heard the sloshing sounds from them all, but Jimin’s was more noticeable now as he was trying to get you even wetter. “Looks like it all went to your tits.” His elongated crescent eyes glowed with desire.

“Or maybe her thighs…” Hoseok smirked, squeezing your left thigh while stroking his cock in tandem, and you could feel it pressing against your body too. “God, she’s so mommy.” He said with a sigh. His heart shaped smile made your heart melt. His current look was also very different from the last time you saw him. He’d gotten more masculine, somehow. You loved the rugged aesthetic he had going on now, including the way he rubbed his cock over you in addition to touching himself. This was new.

“I like her face.” Jungkook said with a smile.

“Me too.” Jin joined in.

“Me three.” Namjoon said, all of them smirking as their dicks were right above you.

“I’m…I’m gonna cum…” Yoongi moaned as you continued feasting on the cock he gave you before the men seemed to sync up at once.

“Not before me…!” Taehyung groaned.

“Fuck…” Jimin groaned as he squeezed your tits now, slowly swiping his cock over one of your nipples. White juice painted your tits as he came first, followed by fountains of jizz from your other partners.

Yoongi came over and inside your mouth, Jin, Namjoon, and Jungkook on your chest, followed by Jimin as he prolonged his orgasm, Taehyung jerking himself on your stomach, Hoseok on your pussy and inner thighs. It really felt good, especially as Hoseok took the liberty of rubbing your clit with his cock. Just the tip, but luckily it was enough to make you come too.

[thesimulationswarm]

Double Shot, Part 3

Joel Miller x f!reader x Tommy Miller

Pairing: pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!AFAB!reader x Tommy Miller Rating: explicit, 18+ MDNI Summary: A gorgeous man walks into your coffee shop and introduces himself as Tommy Miller. Then his equally gorgeous brother shows up. You can't decide which you like better... but maybe you don't have to. A/N: This will be in four parts, building up to the smut. Hopefully released daily. It's dumb filthy shit I couldn't get out of my head, okay? Then I'll be back to my ongoing serious series. Word count: 2k warnings/tags: drinking, dancing, insecure!Joel followed by dom!Joel, threesome, shameless flirting, sibling rivalry, pwp

This is Part 3 of Double Shot; here are Part 1, Part 2, and Part 4.

Your thigh was pressed tight against Joel’s. It was tantalizing, nearly naked below the hem of your very short dress, rubbing on the denim of his jeans. He would’ve loved to slide his hand along that silky expanse of skin.

But he was sitting in the passenger side of the cab of Tommy’s truck, and your other thigh was pressed just as tightly against Tommy’s.

And the whole situation was fucking weird.

He clearly hadn’t thought things through very carefully when he’d invited himself along on this night out. At the time, his first priority had been screwing with Tommy, throwing him off his game— which he had been quite successful at, he had to say.

His second priority had been getting you into his arms, preferably during a slow song when he could hold you close against his body.

It was only after you’d said yes and he was driving home with an apoplectic Tommy that he started to wonder what the fuck they were doing. Had you really thought this was a neighborly get-together? And how the hell would this three-legged date play out?

He knew it would’ve been a kinder thing if either Tommy or he had brought a date. It would’ve balanced things out, given you a woman to talk to and probably set you at ease. But he damn sure wasn’t going to give in and ask someone else along, and Tommy wasn’t about to either. So here they were, two guys on a date with one girl.

“I can’t believe you’ve never been to the Broken Spoke.” Tommy shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips as he spun the steering wheel lightly. “It’s a bonafide Austin institution.”

You laughed lightly. “I know, I know. I guess I’ve never really been a country kind of gal. But maybe I just needed the right guide.” You turned to look at Tommy as you spoke, your voice husky and playful.

Joel worked his jaw back and forth. He was only too aware of the effect his little brother could have on women. All boyish, easygoing charm. The kind of guy you wanted to just have fun with. And he’d been laying it on thick tonight, goddamnit.

He knew he was being unfair, but he couldn’t help himself— he wanted Tommy to back the fuck off. His brother had no real responsibilities, nothing holding him down. He had every night of the week to hit the town, get plastered, and pick up some pretty young thing. And he did. He didn’t need this the way Joel did.

How long had it been since he’d gotten laid? Too fucking long, he knew that. When you needed to hire a babysitter for every hook-up, sometimes it just didn’t seem worth the trouble.

He knew he should try and jump into the conversation, steer things his way. But he couldn’t bring himself to. He stayed silent, brooding. Watching you smile at Tommy. Watching your beautiful thighs bouncing between the two of them as Tommy took the curves a little too fast.

He was fucking pissed off.

But he was afraid it wasn’t stopping him from getting hard right now. If anything, it was making it worse. He looked out the window, took some deep breaths, and willed his body to behave itself. Last thing he needed was for you to notice the growing bulge in his jeans— or worse, for Tommy to notice.

When Tommy pulled into the parking lot, Joel jumped out of the door and held out a hand to help you down. He was secretly pleased when your high heels wobbled on the crushed granite and you had to grab his arm for balance.

You paused a second, standing with him, and he paused, too. He allowed himself a quick glance, up and down your figure. You were a vision there in the hot Texas night, lit up by sodium lights and red neon, in that slinky little nothing of a dress.

He wanted to strip it off you right there, back you against the truck and tell you exactly what he thought about all your shameless flirting.

But instead he swallowed and laid a steadying hand on the small of your back. “Y’alright there, darlin’?”

You nodded and he guided you into the building, Tommy on your heels.

Joel pushed his way up to the bar. He leaned in front an older guy in fancy cowboy boots and signaled the bartender impatiently. He knew he was probably coming off like an asshole, but he didn’t care. He needed a drink.

What the fuck was going on?

The evening had actually been going pretty good, all things considered. They’d set up at a table and Tommy had fetched everybody beers, and they’d sat watching the dancers and shooting the shit. After a few drinks, Joel felt himself loosening up. Breathing easier, laughing easier. Less worried about this dumb pissing contest with Tommy.

It was strange, but he’d started to actually enjoy himself. He liked hanging out with Tommy, at least most of the time. And he liked hanging out with you, he was learning. You were telling them your best horror stories about trying to get your business off the ground— the rat infestation when you’d first moved into the place, your business partner who never showed up on time for her shifts, the good ol’ boy landlord who doubted two “little ladies” could run a shop without a man around.

Joel joined in with some crazy tales of his own from the contractor world. His story of the time a commune of nudists hired him to build a fenced-in porch had you doubled over in laughter, tears squeezing out of the corners of your eyes.

Then the music had picked up, and Tommy’d asked you for a dance. Joel had sat at the table, nursing another beer, as you whirled in and out of view. You’d warned them you had no idea what you were doing, but Tommy was a strong lead and he was handling you just fine. Joel told himself he didn’t mind, but he was counting down the minutes until he’d get his turn to twirl you around out there.

A few songs later, the two of you stumbled back to take a breather. You all had another round of drinks, and Joel’d had a nice buzz going when he’d pulled you back out on the dance floor. The first song was lively and he made you laugh as he spun you in fast circles. Then the next song was nice and slow, and he slotted you tightly into his arms at last.

Your arms reached up to drape around his neck, the brush of your skin against his electric, and he held his hands against the small of your back. You arched under his touch, closing what little space was left between the two of you and pressing your hips forward into him. Jesus, you were practically grinding on him. He looked down at you, your face flushed from the exertion and the alcohol, chest rising and falling against his.

He leaned his head toward yours, ducking to whisper into your ear. “I can’t stop looking at you, darlin.’ You’re driving me wild.” As the words registered he felt a shiver go through your body. 

“Is that right?” You murmured, voice low and sultry. You laid your head against him, resting your cheek on the soft flannel of his shirt, and he closed his eyes for a minute. He inhaled the delicious scent of your hair.

Then Joel’s eyes drifted open, and he saw something. 

You were still leaning against him, still pressing every inch of your body into his. But you were looking somewhere else, off of the dance floor to where the tables were clustered.

You were staring at Tommy, who was locking eyes with you. 

Tommy was watching you intently, one corner of his mouth curled up suggestively, practically undressing you with his eyes. And you weren’t looking away— not at all.

Joel felt his blood run cold and his body stiffen. When the song ended, he tugged you roughly to the edge of the dance floor, depositing you at the table with Tommy. If he wanted you, he could have you. 

Then he’d stalked off to the bar.

He finally got his whiskey, and threw a handful of bills down for the bartender. He’d already downed half before making it back to the table, finding it empty— you and Tommy no doubt back out dancing. Christ.

He slumped against the hard wood chair, looking down at his hands. In quick succession, he’d felt shocked, humiliated, then angry. And now the wind seemed to have gone out of him. It was what it was, he supposed— he couldn’t control who you liked. But he’d thought for sure there was something going on between him and you…

He sipped at the rest of his whiskey, eyes scanning the honky tonk. There were plenty of other pretty girls in the place tonight, although none caught his attention in quite the same way you did. Against his better judgement, he found himself searching the crowd for you again.

There you were. Dancing with Tommy, just as he’d thought. You were angled away from Joel so that he couldn’t see your face, but he could see Tommy looking down at you, that damn smirk on his face. He could see Tommy’s arms on your back, and he watched as one hand slid down along the silky fabric of your dress, until it rested across the curve of your ass. That cheeky fucking bastard.

You didn’t pull away. In fact, you gave your hips an extra little swish along with the beat, pressing your flesh harder against Tommy’s grasp.

Then you turned your head, craning your neck as though looking for something. Your eyes scanned the tables, and Joel looked up, heart in his throat. He met your eyes, as you swayed there with Tommy’s hands all over you. You looked right at him— and you winked. 

You fucking winked.

Joel felt a deep flush rising and blooming across his face, his chest. He could hear blood rushing in his ears.

He stood, setting his glass down on the table. Barely aware of what he was doing, as he strode resolutely onto the dance floor. As he walked right over to where you stood with Tommy, and laid a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“We gotta problem, Tommy.”

Tommy turned his head to look at Joel, but kept his hands on you. Annoyance flickered across his face. “What’s your problem, Joel?” He snapped back.

“This slutty little thing here,” Joel growled, “was rubbin’ all over me just a few minutes ago. And then I realized, the whole time she was doing it, she’s makin’ eyes at you.” Joel stared at you, his eyes dark and flinty. “And now I see her out here, lettin’ you put your hands all over her body. And you know what she’s doin’? She’s winking at me.”

Tommy’s eyes widened as Joel’s words sunk in. His stare cut from you to Joel and back again, as you looked up at him through your eyelashes, all faux-innocence.

“You know what I think?” Joel still had one hand on Tommy; now he reached down and cupped your face with the other, tilting your jaw upward.

“What’s that, Joel?” Tommy’s voice was low and rough.

“I think you and I are gonna need to teach this naughty girl a lesson.”

A slow smile spread across Tommy’s face. “I think you’re right.” His hands, still wrapped around your body, pulled you even more tightly against him. “As a matter of fact, I think we better get this little freak outta here. Take her someplace we can really get to the bottom of this.”

[charlescoded]

oooooh eby!!!! 5. myster writer/serial killer for lestappen????

i had like 4 different ideas for this and at first i couldn't decide which one to write lmao, but i hope you like it!!! <3 and as a warning: there's some mentions of blood and a dead body

ROMANCE PROMPTS ASK MEME — found here!

“Is he dead?”

Charles rolls his eyes, but Max isn’t looking at him anymore, clearly not expecting an answer. He’s already taken out his notebook and started scribbling into it like a madman. The corpse isn’t going anywhere, obviously, but Max prefers a fresh reference. It would be endearing if wasn’t so annoying.

The pool of blood is still growing and Charles watches as Max steps around to avoid it, crouching down next to the head to note something else down. He frowns at the page.

“What’s the timer at?” He questions abruptly.

“3 minutes and 27 seconds,” Charles says, disgruntled. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at the dead body. “It hasn’t been that long yet, the flow of blood will keep going for a while.”

Max doesn’t reply and Charles presses his lips together in a thin line. He knows his boyfriend wants to be as accurate as he possible can when he’s writing a murder scene for his newest book, he’s a perfectionist like that, and Charles will always indulge him by finding the right victim, but he doesn’t like how Max shuts him out when he gets focused.

He sighs loudly, duly watching Max shuffle around the body. He’s methodical in his craft, passionate to the detail, but all he knows about death is at Charles’ hands. Max’s hands are good at other things, of course, he knows how to work a pen like no one else, and he’s brought Charles to the point of screaming more times than he can count.

Maybe he will do so again later, once they’ve cleaned up and gotten home. Charles bites on the inside of his cheek, watching the curve of Max’s ass as he leans forward. They will, if Max doesn’t disappear into his study, bending Charles over the couch, or maybe Max will press him against the bathroom sink, forced to watch his own reflection get wrecked in the mirror. The fantasy sends a shiver down his spine.

“Timer.” Max says, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Charles grinds his teeth together, thoughts souring. “4 minutes and 39 seconds.” He forces out.

It feels like Max is edging him. But without the promise of eventual satisfaction.

When Max straightens his back, Charles perks up, silently praying for him to be done, but he isn’t. Max simply moves to the other side of the body and Charles deflates again.

He sullenly glances around the room, at the red-stained knife he’d dropped onto the cold concrete floor, at the cut cable ties discarded on the table, the gloves Max had used to examine the then-alive man’s head wound, used only because he doesn’t like to get blood under his nails.

Cleanup will need to be done later, it’s been a long day and he wants to take a hot shower.

“Timer.” Max says again, and Charles groans and rubs at his eyes.

The red numbers glare back at him. “6 minutes, 15 seconds.” When he looks back at Max, blue eyes are focused on him, not the notebook hanging from his loose grip. He flushes slightly. “What?”

Max’s gaze is calculating, dissecting, like he’s trying to figure Charles out. The intensity makes him look insatiable. Like Charles is his pray. His throat goes dry.

No words are spoken out loud as Max approaches him, his movements slow and deliberate, and Charles takes an involuntary step back until his back hits the wall. Their close proximity makes his head spin.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Max is a normal person, a cat owner, a horrible baker, a writer—famous, but ultimately normal—. It’s easy, because Max makes him feel like he’s getting eaten alive, like he’d devour all his flesh, like he’d cut him up into pieces. 

It’s easy to forget that Charles is the one fucked in the head.

“Are you jealous, Charles?” Max asks softly, gaze piercing through his heart.

His face scrunches up, unsure, his back cold against the wall, but he doesn’t like the sound of that. Jealous of a dead body… “Why would I be jealous?” He deflects.

Max’s lips curl upwards. Charles’ chest feels tight. “Because you want attention?” He whispers, reaching up to press the pad of his thumb against Charles’ lower lip. “You’re pouting, baby.”

“I’m not pouting,” He argues, but his face feels red. “You just took your sweet time…”

“You gave me the perfect reference, of course,” Max praises, and his smile turns smug when Charles squirms. “But there’s no need to be jealous, you’re the only one I want.”

Charles’ body betrays him as Max digs his nails into the flesh of his ass, drawing out a gasp. “I know that,” He says, petulant, but he falters when Max pushes his thigh between his legs. “Max…”

“Let me make it up to you, baby.” Max whispers.

He shudders. “I didn’t bring any lube…”

Max’s smile looks feral. He looks ready to devour him. “But I did.”

“Oh!” Charles bites his lip and he forces himself to relax. His heart is still racing in his chest. Max drives him insane, with want, with need, with a thousand thoughts and desires he never dared to share with anyone before he met Max. It’s like he’s stuck in his web, his heart attached to strings, Max his puppet master, making him love love love, and all he can do is whisper, “Please.”

[something-tofightfor]

Nightingale - Part 8

Pairing: Jay Castillo x Female Reader

Word Count: 10,334

Rating: Not Safe For Work. Explicit. There’s lots of things going on here. (including a first for Reader)

Summary: As your relationship with Jay turns from a friendship into more, both of you are wary about taking it too far, too fast - but sometimes, a push from the least expected place is all you need. 

Author’s note:

A literal year later, and here we are. I’m so, so SO sorry that it’s taken so long to get back to these two. We’re back with a literal bang, so I really hope anyone that reads this enjoys it. And if you’ve stuck around while I went off on quite a few tangents with other characters ... thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

There are only a few more parts of this story to come, so hopefully I can knock them out in a more timely fashion. We’ll see. 

Catch up on the first 7 parts here: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he registered was the sound of your quiet breathing. It surprised him - especially after months of sleeping alone in the loft. For a few seconds, Jay was too stunned to speak, the man’s eyes easing open only enough to take in the sight of your head on the pillows next to his. 

He hadn’t known how the previous night would go. And he hadn’t been lying when he’d told you that his motivation behind inviting you over hadn’t been the intention to make things physical. But he would have been lying if he’d tried to convince either of you that he hadn’t wanted it. And I still want it, even though we’ve already… 

Jay took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes and shifting so that he was closer to you. You stayed asleep, and it was another thing that he filed away for future reference - much the same way he’d done with your drink preference, the food that you’d ordered, the TV shows you’d showed interest in, and the way your body responded to his touch. Because it’s all useful. 

He moved his hand beneath the blanket and slid his fingertips up and over your side, keeping his touch light. At that, you did move, but it was only to sigh and shift closer to him, your breathing staying even and deep, even as your eyelids fluttered. 

After eating and watching the tail end of a B-horror movie with your legs tangled together as you laid on opposite ends of the couch, the two of you had made your way back to Jay’s bedroom, stripping off each other’s clothes a second time and then falling back onto the blankets. 

It hadn’t been as frantic that time; the kisses slower and deeper, Jay taking the time to let his lips move over every inch of your body - but you’d stopped him just as he’d used both large hands to push your legs apart, his mouth hovering only a few inches above your core. “Not tonight, Jay.” 

He’d been confused, but hadn’t questioned it, nodding twice and turning his head toward one thigh, mouthing at the skin there. That you hadn’t objected to, and when he’d pulled himself up and onto his knees a few seconds later, you were waiting with another of the multicolored condoms in hand and a small smirk on your face. “I picked purple this time.” 

He’d lasted longer the second round, making you come twice before he’d finished. By that time, it was almost two in the morning, and both of you were thoroughly exhausted. 

You’d forced yourself to get out of the bed and into the shower for a quick rinse, though. Despite nodding off in the few minutes you were gone, Jay did the same when you returned to the bedroom, knowing that he’d appreciate it in the morning. 

Somehow, while he was in the shower, you’d found his extra bedding. And when he climbed into bed next to you, you pulled a clean blanket over your bodies, your eyes remaining shut as you explained that the other one had been ruined. 

Neither of you talked much after that, and it had only taken Jay a few minutes to fall asleep - your back pressed against his bare chest and one of your hands covering his where it was resting on your stomach. 

And she didn’t move too far away while we slept. 

He had no idea what time it was but he didn’t care. He had no appointments that day, and knew that you were off, too. But getting breakfast might be a stretch. He let out another breath, the sound loud in his ears, and then Jay dozed off again - his arm still around you. 

“Hey.” Your voice woke him, Jay’s eyes opening all the way at the sound despite the fact that you were speaking quietly. “Jay, it’s almost eleven.” 

“Is it?” Narrowing his eyes, he groaned as you nodded, your cheek moving against the pillowcase. “Shit.” 

“That’s two days in a row I’ve gotten to sleep in. I’m getting spoiled.” He laughed quietly, stretching out. “Your bed’s comfortable.” 

“It is.” Jay propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you. “I’ve stayed in it all day a hell of a lot more than I like to admit.” He saw something in your expression then, a brief look of questioning, but then it passed as you rolled onto your back, bringing both hands up to your face. 

You covered your mouth as you yawned, humming. “I know you suggested breakfast, but I’m alright if you just want me to head out. I don’t want to take up your whole -”

“Hey.” He said your name, waiting until you were looking at him again to continue. “I’d be more than happy to stay here with you all day today.” Your eyes widened, but you stayed quiet, waiting. “But I am hungry. And I’m sure you are, too.” Blinking a few times, he leaned closer. “And if you’re not, then I need to know your secret, because I worked up one hell of an appetite with you last night.” 

“And this morning.” Pressing your lips together, you rolled back toward him, reaching up to settle your hand on his shoulder. “I am hungry. I just didn’t want you to think that I was trying to make this something that it isn’t.” Not at all. 

“There’s a diner a couple blocks away. Nothing special, but the food’s good. Shouldn’t be too busy now because the early morning crowd will be gone.” He paused, leaning closer. “They have great coffee.” 

That was all it took - your laugh filled the room, the sound genuine. I like the sound of that a lot. “Alright, Jay.” As soon as you agreed, he swooped in, covering your body with his and burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips on the warm skin just above the neckline of your t shirt. “What are you -” But you didn’t move away, instead wrapping your arms around him and letting your hands run slowly over the skin of his back and shoulders, your hold on him tightening as he kissed his way up and toward your mouth. “Good morning.” 

You mumbled the words just before your mouths met, and even though it was a quick kiss and nothing more, when he pulled away, both of you were smiling. “Good morning to you.” He knew that it was stupid - he’d just received the papers detailing the progress in the dissolution of his marriage the day before. But Jay couldn’t push down the happiness he felt at your presence in his bed. The man’s smile grew as he let his gaze wander over your face, one hand rising to let his fingertips trace over your brow. “If we get dressed now, we can be sitting in a booth in twenty minutes.” 

“OK.” Without breaking eye contact, you turned your head to the side and kissed the inside of his wrist, the motion of his hand stilling. “I could definitely use some coffee.” 

— 

Over the next few weeks, you got to know Jay better in a variety of ways. 

You talked occasionally on the phone, though the majority of your conversations happened through text messages or voice notes, the sound of his laugh brightening even the most annoying days at work. 

He’d been to your house, the man stopping over twice at your request for a late dinner after finishing at the shop - the meals turning into lounging on your couch and watching part of a movie or an episode of some random show before moving into your bedroom. You’d spent the night at his loft again, too, sitting back and watching as Jay worked on art in the sunlight that streamed in through the large windows, or under the artificial light from the bulbs he brought out at night. 

You went out for dinner or drinks a few times, meeting at hole-in-the-wall bars that smelled like stale beer, or casual restaurants that gave you a chance to relax and not think too hard for a few hours. 

It was easy with Jay in a way that you hadn’t expected, and even though you’d ended up back in bed with him at the end of the night more often than not, you weren’t in any rush to put a label on what it was that you had between you. 

He kept you updated on the dissolution, Jay surprising you a few times by reading messages that Kat had sent him and asking what you thought they meant. 

That had been a shock, the man’s deep brown eyes locked with yours while he waited to see what you’d say. He was anxious about it - you knew that much - and you were honest with him when you told him that they seemed like nothing more than someone attempting to pass the time while they both waited for the six month period to end. 

Part of you wondered when the other shoe was going to drop; when you’d find out that Jay was hiding something, or when he’d message you and tell you that he and Kat were going to give things another try because they’d both thought long and hard about what they wanted.

But that didn’t happen, and as the days passed, the weeks left until his marriage didn’t exist decreasing in number, you really let your guard down… and so did Jay. 

“I’m thinking about tattooing myself again.” 

You were sitting at the same coffee shop he’d taken you to the morning of your appointment, and though the beach was less busy that day because of the cold, it was still relaxing. 

“Are you?” You took a sip, raising an eyebrow as you swallowed. “What and where?” He finished his drink and pushed the cup to the center of the table, shrugging. 

“My other leg, probably. Knew a guy that tattooed his own chest by looking in a mirror, but I don’t think I could handle that.” What? Ow. “Figured I’d start kind of small, on the top of my thigh, and then see what happens.” You nodded, taking another drink. “And I don’t know what yet. But I don’t think I’m going to cover my entire leg, because two full leg sleeves is -”

“Hot?” You wrinkled your nose, grinning at him. “Would be a pain in the ass to let it heal, but you’re already halfway there, so it’s not like it would be a shock to anyone.” 

He watched you silently for a few seconds and then reached up, running his fingers through his hair. He was letting it grow even longer than it had been in older pictures you’d seen of him, and you liked it. It’s starting to curl around his ears. “You really wouldn’t mind?” Jay sighed, gesturing toward you with the same hand he’d just had in his hair. “I mean, the weather here means I wear shorts a lot, so if I ever met any of your friends, they’d see all of my tattoos.” 

“And?” You didn’t know where he was going with the conversation, but you had a feeling that the easy and casual portion of your friendship was coming to an end. And then … what? “It’s your body. I’m pretty sure the majority of my friends have tattoos, even if they’re smaller. Why would it be a big deal that yours cover more area?”

“Because…” He sighed. “When her family saw ‘em last summer? I know they didn’t like them. Kat wasn’t as bad about it. She was actually pretty cool, but I could tell she..” He sighed, swearing under his breath. “Her reaction to seeing all of them was not the same as yours.” Oh. Oh, that … It made sense - she would have met him fully clothed, and even if he’d told her that he had tattoos, the amount of his body they covered was still shocking. Even though they look great. “It didn’t fit with what the rest of her family expected her to marry into, and I guess … I don’t know. She never really said anything, but the way she looked at me sometimes was…” 

He was twisting the empty cup between his palms, the man’s shoulders slumped. How dare they make him feel that way. You were mad on his behalf, but knew that aside from being straightforward with him, there wasn’t much else for you to offer. 

“First of all, I think they’re sexy, and there’s really no other way for me to say it.” He sucked in a breath at your words, his eyes widening. Yes, I mean it. “But my opinion of your tattoos isn’t what’s important here.” You finished your drink, too, and then stood, tossing the empty cup into the trash before taking a seat next to him. “Even if you and I were dating, Jay, I’d still never make you feel like shit about the ones you already have or tell you not to get one if you wanted it.” You paused, leaning over and nudging his arm with your elbow. “I might ask you more than a few times if you’d thought carefully about it if you decided you wanted to cover your face or neck… but it’s not my choice.” 

“So you wouldn’t like it if I went full Mike Tyson?” He grinned and turned his head toward you. “Or like one of those Internet musicians that looks like a kid’s coloring page?”

“Well if we’re talking a coloring page, Jay, I might be alright with that.” 

You both laughed and you weren’t surprised when he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer and kissing the side of your head. “Thank you.” He murmured the words against your hair, the man sighing deeply. “I’m glad we’re friends.” 

“Yeah, me too.” It was the truth, but it also made you wince, the sound of the word friends coming out of his mouth and cutting through you. I think I want more, but I don’t… he might not be ready and I don’t want to ruin anything. “You’ll have to let me know what you decide.” 

“Oh when I do it, you can come watch if you want.” He stood, reaching a hand out to pull you to your feet. “I’ll be doing it in the shop after hours since I’m booked so far out, so …” The two of you walked back toward Inkwell, side by side though you weren’t touching. “If that’s something you’d be interested in seeing, we can make it happen.” 

“I’ve been thinking about getting another one.” You turned to look at him, watching as Jay’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t look at me like that. I feel sort of … unbalanced. Maybe I need something on my other arm.”

“Got anything in mind?” He winked at you, “I might know someone that could draw up a design for you.” 

“I don’t, actually. But…” You sighed as the two of you reached the sidewalk in front of the shop’s doors, Jay peering inside before returning his attention to you. “When I figure it out, do you think I’ll be able to find an artist to do it? My usual guy just told me that he’s got a full appointment book.” 

“Oh, that hurts.” He opened his mouth in mock irritation, holding his hand up to his chest. “You’d go to someone else after I took such good care of you the first time?” Wrinkling your nose and shrugging, you stayed quiet. “He definitely doesn’t want that to happen.” Jay leaned in and kissed you on the cheek before turning his head so that he could speak into your ear. “I have it on good authority that there’s always room for you on his books…no matter what.” 

You separated then, Jay going inside to prep for his afternoon client - a young father of two that was coming in to get drawings his kids had done tattooed on himself - and you heading for your car. 

Just as you reached it, your phone went off, the screen bright with a message that made you grin. 

Just to be clear: You *are* my friend, but I’ve been thinking of the time we spend together as more than that. If that’s not how you feel, you should let me know.

You waited until you were strapped in and had the heater running to reply, the smile still on your face as you typed. 

I definitely have, too. I just didn’t want to assume. 

 You didn’t expect a response from him but got one a few seconds later, the simplicity of it making your entire body heat as a shiver raced through you. 

Good. 

The single word was accompanied with an emoji blowing a kiss, and even though you wouldn’t have expected it from him, it didn’t shock you. 

Instead of replying, you set your phone down and pulled out of the lot, glancing up and through the front window. You couldn’t see Jay, the man likely sitting in his booth and bent over his desk, drawing out a stencil … but you knew he was there, likely with one side of his mouth lifted into a smirk.

And that was enough. 

— 

You were out a week or so later with him, the two of you strolling hand in hand down the Embarcadero and toward Pier 39. It was chilly, and you were dressed for the weather. Both of you wore hooded sweatshirts and jeans, Jay’s hood pulled up and over his head while yours remained down. 

The plan was to grab dinner at Taco Cantina and then donuts from Trish’s before you took the sweets to go, sitting and watching the sea lions until it was too dark to see anything. You were spending the night at his loft before heading out to Muir Beach the following day. It was the first actual trip you’d planned with him, even though it was only about an hour away and swimming wasn’t an option since it was so cold out. 

Both of you were excited - the man’s bag had already been packed and waiting in his living room when you’d arrived, dropping yours off next to it. And that enthusiasm carried over to the conversation you had while you walked, both of you paying only enough attention to what was going on around you so that you didn’t crash into any of the other people on the pier while you walked. 

That was why you didn’t hear it at first. 

But when someone stopped in front of you, repeating his name, both of you stopped. Jay didn’t let go of your hand - instead, he tightened his grip on it. “Uncle Jay?” The blonde girl blinked, looking between you. “You look different.” Uncle Jay? That must mean … 

“Natalie!” He let out a breath, reaching up with his free hand to push his hood off as the three of you stepped to the side and out of the walking path. “I didn’t realize it was you, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s cool. There’s lots of people out here.” She turned her gaze to you, her expression unchanging. “I’ve never met you before.” 

“I -” You glanced over at the man, taking a short breath. This is going to be awkward. “No, you haven’t.” You introduced yourself, unsure about whether or not to extend your hand for her to shake. Ultimately, you decided not to, keeping your free hand in your hoodie pocket. “Jay tattooed me a few months ago. More than a few, actually, but we became friends, and so…” 

The girl was still looking at you, though her eyes had narrowed slightly in contemplation. Are you going to say anything, Jay? You assumed that the girl was the same one that had told him about Kat’s infidelity, but didn’t know if he wanted her to know that you knew who she was. Because that would mean that … “You look happy.” She looked back at Jay, nodding twice. “Much happier than the last time I saw you, anyway.”

“I am.” He replied immediately, squeezing your hand again. “How are you, Nat? How’s your brother? And your mom?” 

“We’re all OK. Boris got detention a couple times because he’s an idiot, but …” She shrugged. “Everyone’s still acting like we should get a pass because of my dad, so it could have been worse. Christmas break can’t come soon enough.” She fell silent, lips pressed together for a few long moments, and then the girl took a breath, tilting her head to the right. “My mom isn’t home much. I don’t know what she’s doing, but … she’s different, too. Sadder.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He shifted his weight, taking a half step closer to her. “Your mom’s tough, though. It’ll get better.” 

“I know.” Natalie reached up, scratching the side of her head and then pushing hair behind one ear. “Are you and Aunt Kat divorced? I don’t mean to be rude, but she doesn’t … she doesn’t ever talk about you at all, and she’s still seeing that -” 

“We’re on our way.” He sighed. “It’s kind of complicated, because it’s not an actual divorce, kiddo. But in a couple months, it’ll be like we weren’t ever married in the first place.” You felt awkward listening in - like you should have stepped away to give them privacy. But from the way Jay was gripping your hand, he didn’t want that to happen. I’ll stay right here then. So you remained fixed to the spot, trying to control your breathing. “Nat, if you’re thinking that  -”

“Can I see your tattoo?” Natalie’s expression turned into a grin, the girl pointing at you. “Or is it somewhere private?”

“It’s actually on the inside of my arm.” You bit back a laugh. Oh, this girl’s going to be trouble. “I’ve got a long sleeved shirt on under here, so it would be a little hard to …” You glanced down, frowning. “I can show you a picture, though?” Natalie nodded and Jay finally let your hand go so you could reach for your phone. You wasted no time unlocking it and scrolling through the images until you found a good one of the healed tattoo. “Here.” 

Handing the device over, you watched the girl’s eyes light up, a smile overtaking her face. “You can tell he drew this one.” She laughed, pinching the screen to zoom in. “I like it a lot.” 

“I do, too.” You took the phone back when she handed it to you, darkening the screen and slipping it into your back pocket. “Thank you.” She stuffed both hands into her jacket pockets again and took a deep breath, running her tongue over her lower lip. 

“Thank you for not telling her I told you about that guy.” It took you a second but then you realized she meant Ramos - and what she’d shown Jay in the picture and video. “You deserved to know, but she’s… she’s family, and -” 

“No problem.” Jay reached out, squeezing the girl’s shoulder. “I said I wouldn’t tell, Nat. I meant it.” She smiled then, rolling her shoulders back. “Are you here with friends again? This is kind of far from your place.” 

“I’m actually meeting my boyfriend.” She blushed when she said it, the skin of her cheeks noticeably changing color in the early-evening sunshine. “He works at the aquarium. They close at 6, but we’re meeting after. I was just wandering around and waiting for him and I saw you guys walk past the tree.” 

“Boyfriend?” She nodded, her lips twitching. “How long’s that been going on?” You heard it in his voice - the man’s interest more than casual and instead protective in nature. At that, it was you that squeezed his hand harder, your admiration for him rising more than a few notches. They’re not related anymore and he still cares. Kat is such a fucking moron. 

“Two months.” Her smile widened. “I’ve known him longer, though. He was one of the people I met for dinner the last time we saw each other.” He nodded slowly, and you let yourself get caught up in the vision of Jay interrogating an 18 year old, making him promise that he was going to be good to the girl. Because her dad’s gone and she’s got … no one. It made you sad for a moment, but then Jay spoke up again, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

“He better treat you right, kiddo. You have my number if he doesn’t. Just because I’m not your actual uncle anymore doesn’t mean that I’m not around if you need me. You know that, don’t you?” She nodded again and then checked her phone, chewing on her lip as she put it away. 

“I should go. He’s going to be done soon, and we’re going to try and pick out presents for his mom and sister before we see a movie, so..” She paused. “I won’t say anything to Aunt Kat if I see her, even though it would be kind of nice to rub it in her face.” What? Rub what? “Be nice to him, OK? It’s not his fault his jokes aren’t funny.” The three of you laughed at that, Jay letting go of your hand to pull Natalie in for a quick hug. 

“They’re just not funny to you because you don’t understand them.” She stepped back, rolling her eyes. “And I appreciate that. I’m… we’re not hiding anything, but what I’m doing isn’t your aunt’s business anymore.” He put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward his side. “But if you don’t like her, text me after we walk away and let me know, because -” 

You elbowed him hard enough to make him gasp, Jay pushing you away with his opposite hand. Both you and Natalie started laughing, the man’s lower lip pushed out into an exaggerated pout. “It was nice meeting you, Natalie.” You smiled, locking eyes with her. “I hope you have a good date. I’m going to go and feed this one to the sea lions. Don’t tell anyone.”

“You’d have to pay for your own tacos, then.” Jay stepped back to your side, opting to flatten his hand against the center of your back that time. “And nobody wants to do that.” Grumbling, you rolled your eyes as Natalie continued to laugh, her eyes darting between you two. 

“For the record, I like her.” She grinned. “And it’d probably be a better idea if you feed him to the sea lions after dinner. I’ve seen him with tacos before, he’ll be much heavier and he’ll sink straight to the bottom.” 

She turned away soon after that, leaving you and Jay standing under the small awning, focused on the girl’s back as she headed toward the front of the pier. “Well that was unexpected.” He took your hand again, lacing your fingers together. “But that’s Natalie, Marta’s daughter. She’s always kind of butted heads with Kat, but I figured it was just teenage girl stuff. Now… I think it’s more than that.” 

“Maybe she has a crush on you.” You bumped shoulders with him again, that time more gently. “Maybe she’s just pissed that because you and Kat aren’t together, she’s not going to see you at holidays and family stuff anymore.” He scoffed at that, pulling you in the direction of the restaurant before he said anything else. 

“Who knows. But seeing her here … it brings up some interesting things for us to talk about.” It does? “C’mon. Let’s get dinner and then we can talk while I convince you not to sacrifice me to the sea lions.” 

— 

“We didn’t need 36 donuts, Jay!” You laughed as he placed the order, telling the teenager behind the counter to make half cinnamon sugar and half powdered. “We just ate, and -”

“We don’t need 36 right now, but think about how great it’ll be to eat ‘em while we’re driving tomorrow.” He pointed. “And they’re mini donuts, which means that you’ve gotta eat what, five of ‘em to be a whole one?” He was grinning. “So really, I only ordered about seven donuts for the two of us.” 

“You just wanted the bucket.” Putting one hand on your hip, you sighed as they started scooping your dessert into the container. “You’re falling right into the most tourist-trappy bullshit that - “

“Maybe I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have your hands full holding donut bags because I wanted to hold one of them.” He took the bucket by the handle, turning to face you. “You ever think of that?” 

“That’s the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard in my…” Jay raised an eyebrow and the bucket, holding out his other hand. Oh, it wasn’t a line. He meant it. “Alright. You win.” You took his hand again, one side of Jay’s mouth rising in a semi-smirk, but neither of you said anything until you were seated side by side on one of the raised platforms a few minutes later. 

It had gotten chillier, and so your hood was raised like his had been, though Jay hadn’t put his back up after dinner. Staring out over the marina, you sighed. One of us is going to need to say something. Licking your fingers clean after your second donut, you turned your head toward the man sitting next to you. “Dinner was good.” 

“It was.” He had his eyes on the water, focused on the space where the animals were, though you couldn’t see them clearly in the darkness. We can hear ‘em though. “Glad we got a table as fast as we did. It’s busier here tonight than I thought it would be.” 

You agreed, taking a breath - and another donut - and letting your thoughts run. Neither of you had considered that it was the first weekend of December when deciding to grab dinner on the pier, so not only had parking been difficult, but the restaurant had been busy. You’d planned on getting to the viewing area with enough light to watch the animals for a little while, but plans had changed, and even the few minutes you’d spent with Natalie had delayed you further. Not that I mind, but … “You said we needed to talk about  something?” 

You heard a loud splash followed by a few cheers before he replied, but when Jay said your name, you once again turned to look at him, waiting. “Nat earlier … mentioned something I’ve wanted to ask you about for a little while. I didn’t know how to bring it up, though.” Using one thumb, he wiped some sugar from the corner of his mouth before licking it away, the action much more attractive than it had any right to be. “Have you told anyone about this? About … us seeing each other?” 

“Not a lot of people, but yeah. I’ve … told my friend Kenzie and her husband. I’ve talked to a couple people at work and said that we’ve been out a few times. My family knows I’m dating, but … I haven’t mentioned you as my boyfriend or anything like that, because we haven’t talked about it.” Are we going to talk about it now? It feels like we are. “Why?” 

“I’m not interested in seeing anyone else.” He shifted, angling his body so that he could look at you, the man’s knee pressed against your thigh. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, and I’m technically still married, but …” Jay took a breath, running a hand over the top of his head and then used it to flip his hood up, squaring his shoulders at the same time. “How would you feel about that? About us being… together?” 

There were plenty of ways you could have answered - surprise, laughter, a long-winded explanation that you didn’t want him to make an offer he wasn’t ready to make because he thought it was what you wanted. But instead of any of those, you gave the most honest one you could. 

“I’d feel great about that.” Your heart slammed against your ribs as you clasped both hands in your lap, nodding. “I just didn’t know how you felt about it. I didn’t want you to think that -” 

You didn’t get another word out because Jay leaned in, one hand sliding between the material of your hood and the skin of your cheek as he turned your head for a better angle. He kissed you softly, inhaling just before he pressed his mouth to yours. You felt relief in it, the slight curl of the man’s fingers relaxing the longer the kiss continued. 

You didn’t normally like PDA. You hated anything that drew attention to yourself in a crowd, but no part of you wanted to pull away. You didn’t even consider it, instead parting your lips enough to invite him to deepen the kiss if he wanted to. Jay didn’t, though, pulling back with one eyebrow arched. “That’s not a good idea.” He winked. “Wouldn’t want to get carried away.” 

“Oh, it isn’t?” You reached for a napkin, cleaning the sugar from your fingers. “I’ll remember that.”  He snorted back a laugh, Jay’s attention going back to the edge of the pier and the floating docks beyond. 

“Here it isn’t a good idea. At home, though?” Reaching up, he scratched at his cheek, relaxing his shoulders before he looked over at you. “At home’s a different story.” You wondered what would change between you by making it official, and for one fleeting second, you also wondered what people would think if they knew your situation. It’s definitely the messiest thing I’ve ever been a part of, at least on the surface. 

But if they actually knew the man’s history, knew that his marriage had been over almost before it had begun and not by his choice - that the two of you had been only friendly despite your almost immediate attraction to each other, that it had taken physical proof of his pending dissolution for either of you to feel comfortable acting on your feelings, it wouldn’t have been as bad. Not that it’s bad, but just … 

“Hey.” After pulling his hand away, Jay ran his fingers over your knuckles, the frown returning to his face. “Are you alright?” 

“You don’t think this is too soon?” Turning your hand over, you took his, Jay’s palm pressed flat to yours. “Too premature? We’ve been having a good time, but if you just want to keep things the way they have been until everything’s official with you and Kat, I’m … I’m alright with that.” You were - it wasn’t a lie. But I hope he doesn’t walk it back. “I don’t want you to regret jumping right into another …” He squeezed your hand, murmuring your name, and when you met his eyes again, you saw the sincerity in them. 

You saw more than that, too - understanding and compassion, gratitude, a little fear flickering across his handsome features before he nodded twice, never looking away. “The only thing I regret is waiting as long as I did to see what was going to happen after she left. We could have been having this conversation weeks ago instead of now.” 

“You’re worth the wait, Jay.” You meant it, and needed him to believe you. “I’m really glad that Hanna couldn’t do my tattoo.” He smiled at you, the dimple appearing in his cheek. “Or the next one.” Both brows rose as he opened his mouth in surprise, and you wrinkled your nose, the tension broken. 

“The next one? Does that mean you made a decision about what you want?” He wet his lips. “Because ever since you mentioned it, I’ve been thinking about what you -”

“I’ve been thinking about it, too.” Pulling your hand free, you wiped both of them on the tops of your thighs, scanning the darkness over the water. “Weighing my options, you know?” He was still smiling, the man waiting for you to continue. “I figured if I get it done soon, it’ll be completely healed for summer and beach season.” 

“Well when you figure it out, you know where to find me.” Reaching up, Jay used his thumb to rub at one corner of your mouth, the tip of his tongue poking between his lips. “You had a little bit of powdered sugar right there.” The man’s touch was so gentle it often took you by surprise - especially with the way it contrasted with how focused he got in the bedroom sometimes. 

“I do.” You sighed, nodding. “And speaking of, we should probably head back to your place, right? We’re leaving pretty early tomorrow, and it’s getting late.” 

He agreed, and only a few minutes later, the two of you were walking back to where you’d parked, once again hand in hand. He carried the leftover donut bucket, the half-full container swinging next to his hip. “Natalie made a good point earlier. I still haven’t done my Christmas shopping this year. I have no idea what to get my sister, and I should probably make a decision.” 

“Well if you need some ideas, we can talk about it in the car tomorrow.” I still have to figure out what to get him. I didn’t want to assume he’d want a gift from me, but now … Making things official raised the stakes, in your opinion. 

You wouldn’t go overboard, since the relationship was so new, but you wanted to do something special for the man, especially with it being the first holiday that you were together. I’ll figure it out. I always do. “That also reminds me … what do you do for Christmas, Jay? Do you spend it with your sister, or -” 

“Nope.” He sniffed, shaking his head. “She’s got a family of her own, and my grandparents don’t like to do anything day of, so it’s usually just me hanging out and I see everyone either right before or right after. You?” 

“A lot of my family is out of state, so we also do the “pick a time where airfare isn’t four times the normal price” thing. I’ve got a couple relatives here and I rotate between them every year, but it’s nothing huge.” And I’m usually home early anyway.

“Interesting.” You reached your car, unlocking the door for him to put the donuts into the back seat. “Well that makes my next question a little less awkward.” What question? “Would you like to spend the holiday with me?” 

Things were moving quickly - hours earlier, you’d been looking forward to spending a day out of town with your friend. Now, it’s… Leaning against the side of your car, you eyed him, trying to decide how you wanted to play it. Like we have been. “I don’t know, Jay. That depends on how you feel about spending the day in pajamas and eating leftovers and -”

“You’re forgetting one thing.” He held up a finger and then pointed behind you. “We live in San Francisco, and there are plenty of restaurants that are open on Christmas day.” He’s right. I didn’t even think of Chinatown before. Shit. “I see that look in your eyes.” Jay grinned, leaning closer. “Say yes.” 

“Well, since you’re promising food…” Laughing, you reached out and hugged him tightly, nodding. “Yeah, Jay. I’ll spend Christmas with you.” You pulled back, narrowing your eyes. “But only if you agree to get a tree for the loft, even if it’s a small one. Gotta set the mood.” 

“Get in the car and I’ll start setting the mood as soon as we get back.” He smirked when you inhaled sharply at his words. Oh, he’s different now. If this is what he’s like in a relationship, I’m sad we didn’t do this sooner too. “How’s that sound?”

“It sounds great.” You pushed him away from you and then turned to open your door, sliding into the driver’s seat. No, it sounds fucking amazing. 

— 

He hadn’t planned on making things official before running into Natalie. 

But the simplicity of the girl’s line of questioning started the thoughts turning in Jay’s head, even as he stood next to you. You were basically already together - just without the label. You were doing everything that defined a relationship already, and waiting longer wouldn’t change anything. 

So why not? Why not now? He’d paid attention to you at dinner, focused on the way you didn’t seem at all bothered by the thought that Natalie had brought Kat up, or the way that referring to you as his friend just didn’t cut it anymore. 

He didn’t know what your response would be to his line of questioning, but at your admission, he felt the tightness in his chest all but disappear. She was waiting for me. She didn’t want to rush me, and … fuck, I’m lucky. I

He turned his head to the side so that he could look out the window as you drove back to his loft, but he smiled the whole way home - and unless he was mistaken, you did, too. 

There wasn’t much talking as you got ready for bed that night, rechecking that your bags were ready to go in the morning before the two of you headed into the bedroom and bathroom, taking turns. It wasn’t quite a routine - yet - but Jay liked having you in his loft. 

The sight of you lounging in his bed, scrolling through your phone in the light of the bedside lamp made him pause as he stepped through the doorway, and for long seconds, he just watched you, arms crossed over his bare chest, one shoulder resting on the frame. “Are you going to get into bed, or stand there and stare at me all night, Castillo?” Smirking, you peeked up at him. “Not that I mind, but -” 

“I’m looking at you and wondering why you have so many clothes on.” Pushing himself upright and stepping fully into the room, he held one hand out toward you. “First night you stayed here, you had less on when we went to sleep, but ever since …” 

“Maybe I like it when you help me take them off.” You plugged your phone in, flipping it over so the screen faced downward. “That alright with you?” Sitting upright, you swung your legs to the side and over the edge of the bed, flattening your hands on the mattress.

“More than alright.” He crossed the room, stopping in front of you. “And I like it when you return the favor.” You laughed then, reaching for him and tugging at the tied waistband of his pants. He wanted to let you keep going - wanted you to loosen the knot and ease the soft cotton down and over his hips so that he could step out of it and then climb into bed with you. But I want something else more. “Stand up.”

The elastic snapped back into place and you rose to your feet, Jay’s hands immediately going to your waist. “Yeah?” Your arms went around his neck, the edge of one thumb nail dragging over the skin at the back of it. “I’m standing, what -” 

“I know we haven’t been doing this for very long,” he started, both hands pushing beneath the material of the shirt you wore and along your lower back. “So if this is … out of line, I get it.” You nodded, meeting his eyes. “There’s something I wanted to ask you about because I haven’t yet, but -” 

He saw the look in your eyes change in the same moment that you surged forward, your hold on him changing as your lips pressed to his in an almost desperate kiss. She’s afraid? Of what? He kissed you back for a few seconds but before it deepend, he stilled the movement of his hands,  craning his neck backward. “Jay?” It was only a whisper but he heard it, the man wincing at the sound. Shit. 

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey, no, it’s alright.” He raised one hand, cradling your cheek. “What’s wrong?” 

“If you’re going to ask what I think you are, I don’t…” You swore, looking down and shaking your head before you brought it back up. “Fuck, nevermind. Just ask.” He wondered what you were thinking - wondered what had almost spooked you, but instead of continuing to second guess himself, he took a long breath and decided to go for it. 

“All I was going to ask,” he sighed, leaning in and letting his forehead rest against yours. “Was if there was a reason you always tell me no when I try to use my mouth on you.” He’d tried three times in the weeks since you’d started sleeping together - not wanting to press the issue, but at the same time wanting nothing more than to know what you tasted like - what you would look like when he peeked up at you from between your thighs. He wanted to know what it felt like to have your heels digging into his back, your muscles pulsing against his tongue as you came apart. He wanted the chance to explore every inch of your body, if you’d let him. 

“Jay, I -” You breathed the words out, both hands finding purchase on his shoulders. “Fuck, this is …” He hoped that he hadn’t brought up a part of your past you weren’t ready to share - hoped desperately that there wasn’t a memory you’d tried to forget associated with the act. She would have told me. We talked about past relationships, and … “No one’s ever done it before.” 

He froze. What? Of all the things that you could have said, that was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “What?” There’s no way. “Did you just say that no one’s…” 

“I did.” You laughed quietly, nodding. “I figured it was going to come up sometime, especially since you’ve already tried a couple times, but I just…I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.” You sounded nervous and Jay used one finger to tilt your chin upward, urging you to look at him. 

“Don’t apologize. I won’t ask again, I just … you haven’t hesitated when it comes to me, and I’d love to …” His fingers tightened briefly on your hip before they relaxed. “Return the favor. Not that it’s a favor, but…”

You smiled then, just a hint of the one you usually wore, but it being there was a relief. “It was like the first thing you tried, Jay, so I’m not surprised we’re having this conversation.” It was his turn to laugh, Jay’s eyes closing as you ran your hands up and down his arms. “There’s no real reason it hasn’t happened, either. At first, when I was younger, it just felt … weird to think about letting someone do it. I always worried about what the guy would think, or if I was doing something wrong, and then from there I guess I just never dated anyone that wanted it enough to make a big deal about it after I distracted them the first couple times.” 

“And now?” He frowned, tilting his head to one side - and deciding to press his luck. “What do you think about it happening now?” 

“I don’t know.” You sounded nervous and he caught the worry in your eyes again. “It’s just a reflex to me to say no at this point. I don’t …” He wet his lips, nodding. Don’t push. “Is that something you want to do, Jay?” 

No one had ever actually asked him before. With other women - including Kat - it had just happened; they’d been in bed or fooling around, and either he’d ducked his head and taken the initiative, or the woman had guided him into place and they’d gone from there. But that’s not how this is going to go. 

He would have been lying if he’d said that the thought of being the first to put his mouth on you didn’t turn him on, but he knew he couldn’t tell you that. Because it’ll seem like I’m trying to force it. “Very much. But only if you do.” He swallowed, his hands back to their previous positions and roaming over your back and sides, the man’s eyes locked with yours. “I won’t ever push you into anything you don’t want to do. But…” He nodded, letting a smile creep back across his lips. “I want to do it, and I think you’d like it.”

“Do you?” He nodded, his expression solemn. “Hmm.” You dragged your nails over the back of his head, letting out a quiet sigh. “Well then maybe next time… maybe next time you try, I won’t tell you to stop.” 

He didn’t know if that was an invitation or not, but instead of questioning it, Jay just kissed you again, his mouth slotted over yours. You tugged on his hair, the palm of one hand flat against the back of his shoulder, and Jay didn’t waste time before probing at the seam of your lips with the tip of his tongue. 

There was no resistance from you. You opened your mouth to let his tongue stroke along yours, groaning as you tightened your hold on him. Jay swallowed the sound down along with a quiet moan of his own. He slid his hands downward, fingers catching on the waistband of your pajama pants, and when you nodded in agreement, he pushed them all the way down. 

His hands returned to your skin, roaming over your hips and then to the backs of your legs. When Jay spread his fingers wide, gripping as much of you as he could, you finally pulled away with a gasp, your eyes wild. “You’re very handsy tonight.” 

“Are you complaining?” He smirked and squeezed one more time before letting you go. “Get in bed.” You did, Jay leaning over and reaching into the top drawer of his nightstand for one of the condoms there. He’d bought a new box after the first night, not wanting to go through the entire stash of the ones from Monte - and even though you’d given him a hard time about it, Jay knew you were only teasing. 

The t-shirt you wore was long but still didn’t cover everything, and as his eyes raked over you - half propped up on his pillows, your legs stretched out and slightly spread, he took a breath. We just talked about it, so maybe… maybe it’s a good time to… 

He wouldn’t know until he tried, and so after tossing the foil square onto the bed, he climbed in, guiding your legs apart with one hands and then reaching for your shirt as he knelt between them, still in his sweatpants. You raised your arms and let him pull the material off, exposing your entire body to his eyes. And you didn’t hide from him, staring up at the man with a half smile on your lips as you raised your hips, settling into a more comfortable position beneath him. 

It felt different to him - having you in his bed and knowing that you were together, and Jay didn’t want to waste the opportunity to make the first night memorable. He trailed one hand languidly up your body, that thumb swirling around your nipple. Your back arched at the touch - like he knew it would. Without pulling his hand away, Jay leaned down, his other hand slipping behind your head to angle it for a kiss. 

You went for it that time, teeth biting into his lower lip and forcing a quiet yip out of him. But he went along willingly, his hand moving from your chest and then down the center of your body, Jay’s arm twisting so that he could dip his fingers between your legs. He could feel himself, too, the bulging material of his pants pressed against the inside of his forearm, and the pressure was welcome. “You tell me when it’s enough, alright?” Jay whispered the words into your ear, your breath hot against his cheek. “You say stop and I will.” 

“Yeah. Alright.” Dragging your nails up his back, you nodded. “Alright, Jay.” He kissed you again before moving his mouth to your cheek and then down along the side of your neck, teeth grazing the thin skin there before he dipped his tongue into the dip at the base of your throat. You gasped at that, one hand dropping away from him, those fingers curling into the blanket you were laying on. 

He continued to kiss his way down your body, tongue rolling over one peaked nipple before moving to the other, Jay sucking the bud between his lips briefly before working even lower. You squirmed beneath him, even though you made no real move to get away. And she’s not saying anything either, so … 

As he worked his way down, he touched you, too - the tips of two fingers gliding between your legs, though he made no move to push them into you. He wanted to tease you - wanted to work you up, but keep you focused on other things, and so when he scooted back, he ran his knuckles down your side and then over your hip before rotating his hand and pressing his palm flat against your leg.

He stayed bent over you, mouth still on the skin of your abdomen, the hand that wasn’t between your legs kneading the flesh on your hip. Jay stayed honed in on the way you were reacting, his ears attuned to the noises you made and alert for any sign of discomfort or unease. “You’re teasing me.” He glanced up, finding that you were watching him with a small smile on your face. “Don’t think I don’t realize it.: 

“Oh, I know you do.” He winked, looking back down at your body. “I’m counting on it.” At that moment, he slipped one finger into you - pausing only partway in before he withdrew it. The sound of your gasp was exactly what he was going for, and when he repeated the motion, he also kissed his way toward your thigh, mouth hovering over the crease of your hip before he dragged his teeth over it. 

He expected you to call his name out, urging him back up your so that he could kiss you. Instead, you widened the spread of your legs, exposing more of your inner thigh to him - and Jay took advantage. Mouthing at the skin there, Jay sped up the motion of his other hand, the fingers on your leg dimpling the skin as he urged it to the side. When you gasped at the bite of his teeth, the hand you still had on the back of his shoulder pressing down instead of pushing away, Jay smiled. 

Lifting his mouth from you, he returned his attention to the space beneath your belly button, and pressed a single kiss there, lips parted enough so that he could lick between them. He felt your stomach muscles tighten - but you still didn’t tell him to stop, and so Jay turned his head in the opposite direction, attention focused on your previously untouched thigh. 

He switched hands when he did that, smoothly inserting two fingers into you on his next stroke. Let’s see what happens when I do this. Jay’s lips latched onto your skin and he sucked, the gasp he heard from you going straight to the pit of his stomach. Oh, she likes that. Releasing you with a soft pop, Jay moved an inch or so closer to the apex of your thighs before settling his mouth back on your skin. 

That time though, he bit down - just hard enough to make you gasp, both fingers still working slowly in and out of you. Jay moved his mouth again, closing the distance between his lips and his hand, and when he paused, risking a glance up at you, he nearly came right then and there, untouched. 

You were propped up on one elbow, the other hand still on his shoulder, and the way you looked at him made his breath catch in his throat. There was trust in your expression, your lips parted in what he could only interpret as pleasure based on the way your chest was heaving. He bit down on your inner thigh again, flexing his fingers slowly, and you collapsed onto the pillows, your grip on his shoulder tightening again as your hips bucked upward. 

Both fingers slid all the way in, the tips of them curled slightly - and when he heard you moan out his name, Jay smiled against your skin. Alright, here goes nothing. 

There were mere inches between his mouth and his hand, and before you’d even stopped speaking, he closed the distance, keeping his eyes on your face as he tilted his head - and put his mouth on you for the first time. 

It started out with a gentle kiss, the man’s lips landing on your mound and resting there for long enough to give you the option to tell him to stop. When you didn’t, Jay slid them lower, still keeping his eyes on you. He felt you freeze - but when you still didn’t urge him away, instead rocking your hips once more, he took it as a sign and tilted his head down. 

The first taste of you was little more than a tease, the man’s tongue flicking out and over your damp skin twice before he raised his head, not even daring to breathe. He found you staring down at him, your mouth hanging open - but he couldn’t read your expression. Oh, no. No, I - Jay’s hand stilled when he inhaled, his muscles tensing as he readied himself to pull away - but then you spoke, only two words. 

“Stay there.” He could feel you trembling, but the words werre accompanied with a tiny, quick nod… and Jay listened. 

Without breaking eye contact, he lowered his mouth to you again, fingers sliding all the way in as he sealed his mouth over you, lips parted enough that his tongue fit through them to lave against what was beneath them. 

You swore, the sound barely reaching his ears. And when your eyes closed and you relaxed against the blankets, Jay finally closed his eyes, too, the motion of his hand speeding up as he increased the pressure of his lips. 

You moved one leg without his encouragement, hooking it over his shoulder. At the feeling of the added weight, Jay hummed in appreciation, moving backward to soften the arch of his back. As he switched from sucking to dragging his tongue against your skin, you shifted on the bed, hips rocking upward and toward him. She likes it. She wants more, she … 

The thought dizzied him, Jay’s pace increasing as he squeezed the thigh you’d thrown over his shoulder. His touch spurred you on, your leg tensing, and he got his wish  - the heel of your foot digging into his back just to the side of his spine. 

It was his turn to moan at a sudden rush of fluid against his tongue, and without even thinking, he pulled his fingers free, using that thumb to spread you wide open before licking into you. 

“Oh, holy fuck, Jay.” You were louder then, your body lifting from the mattress, and when he slid the hand from your hip to the back of your thigh, urging you to keep it that way, you whimpered, agreeing. 

He’d never heard sounds like the ones you made as you discovered what you’d been missing out on before, but even in his distracted state, he knew he’d never forget them. And I want to keep making her make them. 

Your hand had slipped from his shoulder at some point. But as he focused - tongue moving back and forth before he switched back to long, slow strokes of it over you - it made its way back into his hair. He felt you scraping your nails over his scalp before you gripped the locks; not pulling just holding, and when Jay risked a glance up at you without lifting his mouth, you were smiling. 

It was a lopsided little thing, closer to a smirk than anything else. When he saw it, he finally pulled away and took a deep breath. It gave you plenty of opportunity to see that his mouth and chin were wet, evidence of your arousal coating his skin. See what you’re doing to me? “You alright?” He began to circle his thumb over you, the pad focused on the most sensitive area on your body in an effort to keep you on the edge while he checked in.

“Yes.” Your voice wavered - and so did your lower lip - but when you continued, it was stronger. “You like this, don’t you.” He nodded, taking another breath. “You were right. I do too.” He grinned then, turning his head to kiss the inside of your thigh. When he looked at you again, he raised one brow. 

“Want me to keep going?” He licked his lips, leaning into your touch as you swiped your thumb through his hair. “Or is that enough?” He watched you contemplate the question, and when only moments later, you gave him your answer, it didn’t surprise him - though the challenge in your voice did. 

“Go ahead and finish what you started, Castillo.” 

With a quiet laugh, Jay nodded. But instead of going immediately back to what he was doing, the man urged your other leg over his shoulder, too. It gave him less room to work with, but he didn’t mind -  especially when he heard his name tumble from your mouth a second time, even more breathless than it had been the last. 

I can do that.

— 

tag list reblog coming soon!

[petrichorvidae]

Mushy May Day 4: Wound tending/First aid + Bonus prompt "Shut up I'm taking care of you"

Rating: E for everyone! Word count: 679 Pairings: Alpha/Omega Additional: Minor injuries. Summary: Omega has always been the one to patch Alpha up, and this time will be no different. Here's a link to it on AO3 for those who prefer!

I'm almost fully caught up now with mushy may, and for day 4 we've got something a little shorter but it also comes with this sketch I did of Alpha and Omega for it!

Read below the cut!~

~~~~~~

“So, what happened this time?”

Omega got right to business as he gestured for the Fire ghoul to sit, patting at the edge of the old bed they had been provided with by the abbey for their shared room, an uncomfortable and rickety thing but still miles better than the two of them trying to squeeze into a single like they had to when first summoned whenever they wanted to be together for a night. Alpha kept quiet while taking the offered seat, chewing at a split lip and doing everything he could to act like he hadn’t heard Omega’s question. Omega was always too good at reading people for his own good, and that went tenfold when it came to the likes of Alpha. He had been cleaning up after Alpha’s messes for far too long for something like this to slip past him. He still knew not to push Alpha too much though, and so he gets up from the bed and disappeared into the small bathroom they share, leaving Alpha along for just a moment, and that was all the time it took for the Fire ghoul to hiss out in pain when his body finally started to catch up to just how much it hurt.

Omega came back out from the bathroom, perfect timing as always, and handed Alpha some tablets and a small glass of water. “Painkillers, for the pain.” Omega explained, like they hadn’t been through this song and dance countless times before over the years. His preference for human remedies over some much quicker and more reliable like Quintessence magick was always put into question by Terzo and the others in their pack, and he always had to make up some excuse to justify himself to them, but Omega was always understanding of his aversion. It made sense, after all, Omega was the only living being that he’d told about what he’d been through in the pit, including the reasonings for his strange aversion to Omega’s magick, but Alpha liked to think that it was because Omega just got him, understood him on some entirely different level from anyone else.

Omega disappeared again but returned seconds later with a first-aid kit in hand, another thing he made sure to always have on hand so he could better limit his need to use his Quintessence with Alpha. He placed it on the edge of the bed next to Alpha, before finally giving all of his focus to the injured ghoul before him. With one hand placed on Alpha’s thigh, Omega reaches up with the other, trying to get a good look at the cut on his lip and the bruise on his cheek, but is interrupted by Alpha grabbing at his wrist and holding it mere inches away from his face. “Just… you don’t have to do this y’know… I can handle myself.” Alpha grumbles and tries to dismiss him, but Omega has no plans of leaving his partner.

Omega shakes his head no. “I’m not leaving you, Alpha. How many times have I cleaned you up after a fight? I know you think I’m just doing this ‘because I have to’, but I’m not. I love you, okay? And that’s not going to change.” Before Omega is even finished with what he says Alpha is already sniffling and trying to fight back at the tears threatening to spill. His grasp around Omega’s wrist loosens progressively before just slipping away in its entirety, and Omega is quick in bringing it and his other hand up to cup Alpha’s face in his palms, tilting his head up to look him in the eye, purple and pink meeting with fiery orange.

Omega brings their foreheads together in a loving gesture, horns clacking together gently as they sit there for a moment, sharing their love for one another in simple silence before Omega inevitably breaks it, sitting up and speaking.

“Now, to put it in a way you would…” Alpha’s lip quirks up at that, already knowing what’s coming, “Shut up, I’m taking care of you.”.

~~~~~~

A huge thanks to @forlorn-crows for organizing Mushy May!

[eddiessidegirl]

Small Moment

Summary: Reflecting on your relationship and cuddles with Eddie

Pairing: Caregiver!Eddie x little!reader

Warnings: Standard 18+ for my blog. This is a fluff piece, very self-indulgent. Mentions of CGl dynamic, use of pet names and feelings of insecurity. Let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 775

A/N: I’m sorry it’s short but I like how it turned out, and it’s where my headspace is right now. Please enjoy!

MetalheadMunson is typing…

You wondered what the two of you were going to talk about tonight, your subjects always varied. From music to movies and books and everything else in between. Eddie has messaged you first, noticed you 6 months ago in a subreddit for Hawkins; lamenting about the lack of anywhere good to eat and listen to real music. The two of you clicked instantly, and you’d become fast friends. It didn’t take long before you met in person, the local diner to be exact. From then on you talked day and night, in person and online. You learned he liked anything 80s metal and 90s grunge, Eddie tolerated your Taylor Swift and 80s synth preference, but secretly you think he enjoys it. Both of you love horror movies, many nights spent watching slashers and gory films cuddled up on the couch.

The only thing that had taken awhile for you to tell him is about how you coped with your trauma from childhood by regressing and doing childlike things like coloring, playing with stuffies and sleeping in your cute dinosaur PJs. Eddie came across your mountain of stuffies and the crayons one day after 4 months and asked about it. You’d been scared to tell him, worried he’d think less of you. But he didn’t. In fact he scooped you up and plopped down on your bed demanding you tell him everything. And you did, for 2 hours, he asked genuine questions and said he’d be willing to try, which he did ever so wonderfully.

Your screen dinged, taking you out of your thoughts.

‘Princess?’ This followed a few other messages from Eddie, tell you about a date he had planned and some more concerned ones when you hadn’t replied. ‘Earth to my little one’

You smiled, ‘m’here, sorry Daddy, got distracted…’

‘Need me to come over?’

‘Yes please’

Not 20 minutes later you could hear his van coming down your street. You’d changed into comfy clothes and met him at the door. Opening it before he could knock. His face beaming when he saw you. Large hands cupped your cheeks and placed small kisses on your forehead, nose tip followed by your lips. “Let’s go to the couch, munchkin, you can tell me what’s got my girl all preoccupied.”

Following behind him, you waited for his body to be on the cushion before making your way onto your ‘throne’ aka his lap and nestled in. His face nudged your neck, inclination for you to talk.

“I dunno. Just got in my head a little, thinking about us and how you put up with me and my…little-side” you’d always struggled with your self worth and why a guy like Eddie would wanna be with you. Women in town would kill to be with him. Especially since he was a few years older than your 25, 5 years to be exact, eddie being 30 meant women were throwing themselves at him trying to get the local bassist to settle down. But for some reason he picked you.

“Oh, sweetheart, baby…” he crooned softly, pressing kisses to your cheeks, soothing you by rubbing your forearm, “no, it’s ok I don’t ‘put up with you’. I’m with you because I love you and I wanna take care of you.” He rocked you side to side quietly shushing you, butterflies erupted in your tummy. “As for you being little, it’s what make you, you. You’re special and wonderful and it’s something I cherish about you. You trust me to take care of you.” His long hair tickled your cheeks as he nuzzled your face. “I couldn’t be happier to be your Daddy.”

One more kiss was pressed to your temple, your worries soothed for now. Warmth flooded through you, he always knew exactly what to say when you needed it. Now you had just one thing on your mind, “Daddy, can we watch Onward?”

“Of course, Princess, whatever you want.” With a light squeal and giggle, you settled into his chest, never even making it more than 30 minutes into the movie before you were sleeping in your protectors arms. He on the other hand was engrossed and happy just to be with you

“Of course, Princess, whatever you want.” With a light squeal and giggle, you settled into his chest, never even making it more than 30 minutes into the movie before you were sleeping in your protectors arm. He on the other hand was engrossed and happy just to be with you.

“Of course, Princess, whatever you want.” With a light squeal and giggle, you settled into his chest, never even making it more than 30 minutes into the movie before you were sleeping in your protectors arm. He on the other hand was engrossed and happy just to be with you.

PLEASE SUPPORT WRITERS ON TUMBLR BY COMMENTING, REBLOGGING AND LIKING; ITS HOW WE FIND NEW READERS!🖤

[tenebris-lux]

Content/trigger warnings: talk of self-destructive behavior and suicide.

Does anyone else find the changes in Jonathan … worrying? I think that promise to not tell Mina anything about the case is part of the reason. He can’t vent to her, she can’t encourage him to talk, so he’s starting to obsess, and the obsession is getting dragged out by the wait for the Czarina Catherine.

I’ve also been rereading a paragraph from October 3:

“To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.”

At first glance, one might think, “ohhh, that’s so sweet, he loves her so much….” But it’s not sweet. It’s … bad. Yes, he loves her THAT much. So much that if something were to happen to her, he’d let the same thing happen to himself. Vampires aren’t romantic creatures in this novel—they’re demonic, murdering monsters with no identifying behaviors of the person they used to be. The vampires are predators. They go after children, babies, take blood from people against their will, and sometimes enjoy their victims’ pain. Jonathan has seen this firsthand while helpless and in near-paralyzed states, has nearly been a victim of one. He knows all this. And his statement indicates he’ll willingly do that to other innocent people too if Mina turns.

As the vampire isn’t really who they were when alive, it’s not like it’ll be a comfort to each other if they both turn. For all we know, they might not have the same feelings for each other after they’re both vampires. Dracula lost all interest in Lucy once she turned. Jonathan would probably be Mina’s prime target (if she remembers; Lucy didn’t go after Arthur until he was in front of her, then she threw the child to the ground; and we knew how much he meant to her when she was alive). Harker didn’t promise to stake Mina either, so … he’d just let it happen.

Take out the word “vampire” and put in the word “zombie” or “ghoul”. It’ll amount to the same thing. She’ll bite him, he’ll turn … and then they’ll each hunt for more victims. Maybe together, maybe apart. It won’t be THEM anymore. His entries essentially say, “vampires can increase their numbers by going after their loved ones … fine. I’ll join them if it comes to that.” Become a “Devil of the Pit” like all of them. A “Thing,” as Seward called the vampire that had been Lucy.

So … to me, it sounds more like a suicide promise. He wouldn’t make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone else … he’d just follow suit. Because everything else in the world? It’s not even secondary; it’s inconsequential. Mina dies or turns, he’s not going to allow himself the chance to recover. Hell, if he sticks true to his vow, he might turn on the other guys to prevent them from staking her. And that would be against Mina’s dying wish.

Preferably, he wants the Count dead and out of their lives. Then … well, he’s not thinking about afterwards, because there might not be one.

Looking at his October 4 entry and comparing it to his behavior now, there’s clear deterioration in his psyche:

“For my own part, now that his horrible danger is not face to face with us, it seems almost impossible to believe in it. Even my own terrible experiences in Castle Dracula seem like a long-forgotten dream. Here in the crisp autumn air in the bright sunlight—

Alas! how can I disbelieve! In the midst of my thought my eye fell on the red scar on my poor darling’s white forehead. Whilst that lasts, there can be no disbelief. And afterwards the very memory of it will keep faith crystal clear. Mina and I fear to be idle, so we have been over all the diaries again and again. Somehow, although the reality seems greater each time, the pain and the fear seem less. There is something of a guiding purpose manifest throughout, which is comforting. Mina says they perhaps we are the instruments of ultimate good. It may be! I shall try to think as she does. We have never spoken to each other yet of the future….”

Since then, the very next day in fact, Mina made Jonathan promise to keep her ignorant of the plans to take out the Count.

“‘I promise!’ and as I said it, I felt that from that instant a door had been shut between us.”

Then a few days later, she asked for the assurance that she be taken down should she become a danger to anyone. Harker couldn’t promise that. But he did consent to read her the burial service. And if that fucked up Jack as we heard on the phonograph, what must that have been like for him? But even though she’s not technically dead, they’re keeping distance between them, so … he’s not doing well. His entries after the burial service have some cynical humor in them. Jack said today that Harker’s hands were like ice while they’re all just waiting for news, and he’s sharpening his blade “which he now always carries with him.”

None of these are good signs. The only future he’s thinking of at this point is the Count’s destruction, so that’s what’s defining him now.

Count Dracula may be a ways away, but he’s caused a psychic drain to happen to Harker. Again. And this time, Mina can’t help bring him back to health. He can’t open up to her, and she can’t get herself involved. They can’t balance each other or work together like they’re used to. All they can do … is just see each other. And hurt. And Jonathan’s best outlet right now is sharpening that damn knife.

[hairstevington]

Freaky Friday (Steddie's Version) - chapter 4!!

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Eddie has a conversation with Robin that makes him realize there's a lot more to Steve's life than he originally thought. Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Link to Ao3

Word Count: 3.2K, more chapters to come

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, slow burn, canon universe (more or less) set before season 4, body swap, they are idiots, ANGST, revenge (attempted, see: they are idiots), POV switching

A/N: Omg not updating has been agonizing for me but it's midterm season and I just spent the weekend in NYC where I saw MAYA HAWKE IN CONCERT (!!!) She is amazing we love her, this one's for you Maya <3

“Uhhhh…” Steve didn’t even know where to start with his explanation. He looked around at the students bustling through the halls. “Maybe we should -”

“Drama club room, let’s go.”

Dustin led Steve through the hallways of Hawkins High to the drama club room. Once inside, Steve noticed the way the Hellfire table was arranged, including Eddie’s throne at the end of it. Steve chuckled to himself, thinking it was absurd. He really loves this power trip, doesn’t he?

Curiosity tugged at him, though, and a few moments later he was sitting in said throne to test it out. You know, to see if it was as lush as it looked.

(It was)

“Damn, this thing is cozy,” Steve said, admiring the soft velvet on the arms. 

“Watch it - if Eddie finds out you sat in his chair he’ll totally -”

“Technically I’m not sitting in the chair, he is,” Steve argued. “And he’s allowed to sit here whenever he wants, right? My actual ass is nowhere near this thing. It could be anywhere, actually. Maybe he got me arrested already or something -”

“Jesus, Steve - shut up about the chair and your ass and just tell me what happened already!” Dustin exclaimed, exasperated. “After I left. Then what?”

Steve recounted the story to the best of his ability. The bullies, the power plant, the lightning, the swap. He intentionally left out the shower thing, due to him and Eddie’s agreement. Thankfully, Steve had gotten pretty good at keeping secrets and pretending things never happened. 

“So, yeah. I went to school and he’s been at work now for uhhh -” Steve looked at his watch to double check the time. “Two and a half hours, just about. If he even went to work, I mean. I don’t trust the guy.”

“So you’ve said. Multiple times,” Dustin deadpanned. Steve winced at how much his dislike for Eddie annoyed Dustin, but it’s just the way it was. Eddie was kind of an asshole to Steve. 

“Sorry, I’m trying, man, but he just -”

“I know, it’s fine,” Dustin interrupted him. “Okay, so you swapped bodies. How do we get you to switch back?”

“If we knew that, we would have done it,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes.

“Okay, smartass,” Dustin replied. “So we look into when the next big storm is, and we get you guys back to the plant -”

“Woaaah, woah, woah,” Steve interjected. “You want us to get struck by lightning again? Dude, it like - it really sucked the first time.”

“So you just want to stay like this forever, then?”

“I’m just saying there’s gotta be other options,” Steve pleaded, desperate for Dustin to give him the real answer. The kid was smart. He’d figure something out. Preferably something immediate and painless.

“It’s just a theory,” Dustin replied. “Our first theory. It’s a start , Steve.”

“Fine,” he agreed. “So, we go track down a weatherman and ask him when we'll get lightning again or something?” Dustin sighed, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, then relaxed them.

“No, we don’t track down a weatherman. The weather is on the TV or in the paper, idiot.” Steve’s look of realization - raised eyebrows, mouth in an o-shape, slight nod - was one Dustin had seen several times on Steve’s face. It looked much different on Eddie’s. Foreign. Incorrect. 

Weird. 

“Oh, yeah that makes sense,” he replied.

“We’ll look up the weather later,” Dustin proposed. “But first, we’re going to the video store.”

-

Robin arrived at Family Video at 2:58pm - two minutes ahead of her shift. Eddie had been waiting patiently, adjusting to the boredom of it all, and finding joy in little things to pass the time. Keith had left around 2:30, but nobody had come in since then. He could have left too, but he didn’t. He considered it, but there was a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him to do the right thing. He hated that stupid voice. Eddie always felt like it didn’t matter whether he did the right or wrong thing, he’d always just get the short end of the stick either way. But, as much as he wanted to be the tough-as-nails asshole he presented himself as, and as much as he wanted to ruin Steve’s life, he knew deep down he wasn’t going to do anything. Eddie had ruined his own life. He knew what that felt like already, and he didn’t care to feel that downfall a second time.

So, a new tactic. He was going to be a good person. He was going to try to be a good person, anyway. ‘Kill them with kindness,’ right? He’d already proved that Steve sucked at his job, and that Eddie could do it better. What other ways could Eddie show Steve that he could be some preppy pretty-faced rich kid too, given the right resources? What if Eddie just…stole Steve’s life a little bit? Would that be so terrible? 

“Hey,” Eddie said as Robin entered the store. 

“Hey, Dingus.” She hardly looked at him as she sped past him to the back room. “You owe me for last night. That old guy we hate came in here and made me describe the plot of like ten different movies before settling on one again.” He followed her voice into the back room, where she dropped her backpack. 

“Yikes,” he responded, even though Eddie would have probably been happy doing that, depending on the movies. Robin joined Eddie behind the counter a moment later. 

“Okay, so - wait woah, ” she said once she looked at him for the first time. “Steve, your hair. What happened to it?”

“What do you mean?” Eddie knew exactly what she meant. It was frizzy and huge, with bits and pieces sticking up every which way. He looked like a mad scientist.

“You look like Doc Brown,” she said, echoing Eddie’s thoughts. He smirked. “And you’re smiling about it? Who are you and what have you done with Harrington?” 

For a moment, Eddie thought the jig was up already regarding his identity. He’d barely said anything and she knew by the hair alone. Figures, he thought to himself. 

He assumed she’d keep pestering him about it, but she dropped it immediately, to Eddie’s surprise. She started sorting the return bin, chattering away about her day at school. 

“Oh, yeah. I heard Mrs. Lipton is a total hardass,” Eddie replied after she’d finished complaining about a class policy.

“Steve, you literally had her last year,” Robin countered. “Did you stay out all night again or something?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Eddie said. “Right, yeah. I remember now - Mrs. Lipton’s class. That was torture.”

“It’s probably worse than when we actually got tortured,” Robin remarked, so casually that Eddie thought it must have been a joke. He thought about how Steve and Robin had worked together at the mall, and guessed that was what she was referring to.

“Definitely.” He hoped a generic, non-committal response would suffice. Robin was cool, but sometimes he didn’t know how to talk to her because she was just as sarcastic as Eddie, with far less energy in the delivery. He had no idea when she was serious.

“Although, I just remembered the bonesaw,” she said as she continued to shuffle through tapes. “Actual torture was worse. But only by a little.” She smirked, so Eddie did the same, but holy fucking shit? What?

There wasn’t a single way Eddie could make sense of that, unless it was some weird long-running inside joke. It had to be that. Right?

Right?!

A customer came in, successfully distracting Eddie from his internal monologue for the time being. 

“Hellooo, how can I help you?” he quickly asked, surprising himself at how well he’d adapted to the job. He finished handling the customer, intentionally asking Robin to ring them up so he could peer over her shoulder and double check how she used the system. 

Yeah, he’d been doing it wrong. Ah well. 

The customer left, and Robin sighed, searching for a new topic of conversation. She settled on -

“So, how’s Joanna?” She was leaning back on the counter, without a hint of jealousy on her face. Eddie wondered if she and Steve really were just friends, but he doubted it, for some reason. They seemed close, and kind of perfect for each other. They’d worked two jobs together, had weird inside jokes about torture, were brutally honest with each other…

It didn’t add up. 

“She’s good. Really good,” Eddie answered, having no idea who Joanna was. 

“Better than Maggie?” she asked. Eddie’s eyes widened. He knew Steve got around in high school, but he thought that after graduation he’d cooled things down. Especially after that Scoops Ahoy getup - Eddie hoped that Steve had lost his touch. He’d relished in the thought that Steve had peaked. But nope. 

“I dunno,” Eddie answered, lost in thought. He kept looking at Robin’s reactions. She wasn’t fazed in the slightest talking about Steve’s sexcapades. 

Robin was pretty. She was smart. Funny. Why wasn’t Steve going for her? Eddie couldn’t figure it out. At first he assumed Steve was leading her on, and that she had an unrequited crush on him that he held over her. But it didn’t seem that way, now that he was talking to her. Maybe they’d already had a history? Maybe they’d dated in the past and realized they were better as friends? But WHY -

“Steve, you’re so lucky,” Robin said with a sigh. “You’ve got all these beautiful girls at your fingertips, meanwhile I can’t even muster up the courage to look at Vicki for more than 5 seconds at a time or I feel like I’m gonna faint.” Eddie took in her words slowly, watching her as she hopped onto the counter and played around with the rings on her fingers. Eddie missed his own rings. He would have been fidgeting with them himself if he wasn’t occupying Steve’s ringless hands. “What?” she asked, after noticing him staring at her. Whoops.

“Uh, nothing,” Eddie replied. I wasn’t supposed to hear that. I’m not supposed to know this. He felt immediately guilty knowing Robin had come out to him basically without her consent. The ethics of it all were weird and complicated, but it still felt wrong. As she continued to talk about being put next to Vicki in the marching band and how excited she was for it, Eddie stared into the distance and tried not to let guilt eat away at him until he was hollow inside. 

“You’re acting…weird. Is everything okay?” Her question snapped him out of his own thoughts once again, and he nodded, meekly. “Steve, I know something is wrong. Spill it.”

Eddie wasn’t sure why he directed the conversation where he did. He just figured that, if he was headed to hell anyway, he might as well commit to it. Time for some answers.

“Can we talk about the time we got…uh…tortured?” Robin’s face was curious at first, before it shifted into sincerity. She nodded. 

“Yeah, we can. I just know we usually don’t mention it. Is that what’s going on today? Did you have another nightmare or something?”

God, their friendship was so precious it hurt. A half hour ago, Eddie would have been delighted to learn that Steve Harrington had run to his best friend about nightmares, but now it felt different. 

“Mhm, yeah,” Eddie answered. “The, uh. The bonesaw.” 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Robin replied with guilt on her face. Oh, no. Now I’ve made her feel guilty when I’m the one at fault here. Shit. Balls. Abort!

“Not your fault,” Eddie said quickly. “I promise. Just. That’s a really crazy thing we went through, you know?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” she agreed. “I mean, we’ve been through a lot, you and me. Secret spy messages, evil Russians, giant monsters, girls with superpowers, -” Oh, she’s got to be kidding me. No. That’s not real. No way. “- Dustin calling his girlfriend ‘Suzypoo’,” she finished with a smile. He’d heard about ‘Suzypoo,’ and the name made him cringe every time. Eddie would have laughed, had his entire mind not just been blown. 

Out of everyone at the school, Robin was one of the few who didn’t look down on Eddie. They didn’t talk much - only in passing, really - but she treated him like any other human being. And here, at Family Video, she was being incredibly kind to Steve. Eddie wasn’t sure if she would have treated Eddie the same, and now he desperately wanted to know. 

Here’s the thing about Eddie - once he had a thought, it ached in him until he acted on it. It got him into plenty of trouble, but otherwise he just felt…itchy. 

“Nah, you’re good,” he responded. I have to know. “Hey, so you know Eddie Munson?”

“Uhhh, yeah.” She was keeping up with his rapid switching of conversation topics with ease. “Why do you ask?”

“Just, uh. Just curious. Dustin talks about him all the time, you know.” She nodded in agreement. Eddie continued - he couldn’t seem to stop. “What do you think of the guy?” Robin was still unfazed by this line of questioning, somehow. Eddie felt a desperate urge to keep pressing until he felt resistance. The ache was insatiable.

“I think he’s - I guess I don’t really have an opinion?” 

This shocked Eddie more than anything she’d said so far, including the torture thing somehow. 

“You don’t have an opinion on him?” 

“Yeah,” she confirmed with a shrug. “Like, he’s just a guy. We go to school together. I don’t really know him.” 

Just a guy?! Eddie was offended for some reason. He’d never been referred to as just a guy before. 

“You’re not, like, scared of him or - you don’t think he’s stupid, or a freak, or a druggie, or, like, a future serial killer? You don’t think he’s insane or brainwashing the youth into some kind of satanist cult? None of that?” Those were the kind of descriptors he’d heard his whole six years (and counting!) at Hawkins High. Just a guy? Fuck no. 

“I never really bought into that,” Robin replied. “But it certainly sounds like you did.” She rolled her eyes. Oh my god, this is the coolest chick I’ve ever met. “Come on, Steve. I thought I knocked that bitchy judgmental shit out of you.” Please be my friend and not Harrington’s, I beg you.

“Old habits die hard,” Eddie responded. She still wasn’t fazed. One more question. “Okay, so like - hypothetically…” Robin huffed out a short laugh and turned to Eddie, waiting. “If we had never become friends, and we were all still in high school, who would you rather have been friends with? Me or Eddie?”

“This is about Dustin, isn’t it? Steve, for the last time, you don’t have to feel jealous or threatened by Eddie.” Wait, wait, wait. Hold the goddamn phone. Harrington is jealous of me??? He grinned, which probably made him look crazy, but he didn’t care. Steve, for whatever reason, was jealous of Eddie, and now he could die happy. “Dustin loves you, okay? You’ve saved his life - like, many times. Just because he has another older-brother figure at school doesn’t mean he forgot about you. I promise. ”

Well, that was a lot of information. He’d deal with it later, making a mental note to confront Steve about the torture and the monsters and the girl with superpowers and saving Dustin’s life the next time they saw each other. First, he had to get back to his initial point.

“Answer the question, Robin. Me or Eddie?” He could feel himself pushing his luck, going from annoying and quirky into rightfully suspicious territory. She groaned and rolled her eyes so hard she looked possessed. 

“You are such a dumbass, Steve. A few years ago? Yeah, it probably would have been Eddie just because you were such a douchebag in Click’s class. But then you and I were brought together by the great powers of the universe, - or, Scoops Ahoy and the Russians, I guess - and I found out you’re actually my platonic soulmate, and I’m here with you, dingus. Not Eddie. Can we move on?”

Before Eddie could even process the irony of her comments (and how giddy her answer made him), the front door opened. The pair turned towards it, ready to handle whatever customers were coming in. 

Eddie’s jaw dropped. He knew the people in front of him, and he had to say - he preferred the strangers. He was just getting a taste of this life, and he didn’t want it to end, yet.

“I honestly didn’t expect you actually to still be here,” Eddie watched himself say in the doorway. 

“Okay, what is going on?” Robin asked. “Why wouldn’t Steve still be here? Am I being pranked or something? Steve, you know I hate -”

“That’s not Steve,” Dustin said, pointing at the man beside Robin. Her face contorted into confusion. 

“What?!”

“You know?” Eddie asked Dustin, who nodded. 

“He figured it out,” Steve added. 

“Smart kid,” Eddie acknowledged. 

“I mean, yeah,” Dustin replied. “But Steve is also a really bad actor.”

“Shocking,” Eddie said. Robin pressed her fingers to her temples. 

“If someone doesn’t tell me what’s going on in the next ten seconds I swear to god I will -”

“Eddie and Steve swapped bodies,” Dustin explained, pointing at the two men. 

There was a solid beat of heavy silence. Nobody knew what to say. Eddie finally settled on -

“Uh, yeah. That is in fact what happened.”

He looked at Robin’s astonished face. She didn’t even bother going through the denial phase of all this - if what she’d been saying was true, she probably had just learned to accept all batshit insanity. Then, Eddie realized that must have been why Steve had been so passive about the whole thing the night before. The bodyswap thing was weird and awful, but it wasn’t, you know, torture by Russians.  

“So that’s why you were asking all those questions,” Robin deduced after a minute. “Wow. Wow, okay. But, like - oh my god.” Her expression twisted into pure fear. “Wait, but I told you -”

“I know,” Eddie said, his hands up in surrender. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m not gonna say anything, I promise.”

“What did she tell you?” Dustin asked, curiously. Eddie looked at Steve, who was also frozen. Eddie had to think fast. 

“About, um. The monsters,” he said while flashing reassuring eyes at Robin. She relaxed ever so slightly. 

“Yeah, sorry,” she said once she started breathing again. “I was telling Steve - I mean, I was telling him about - well, about what we went through over the summer, and I just -”

“That’s okay,” Dustin excused immediately. “Eddie isn’t going to tell anyone, right?”

“Cross my heart,” Eddie said, genuinely. Who the hell was he gonna tell, anyway? He briefly caught eyes with Robin once again, who stared at him tentatively. She was back to fidgeting with her rings, eyes darting from Eddie to Dustin to Steve and back again. “Promise.”

Her eyes found Eddie and stayed fixed on him long enough to accept his words as truth. Then, she nodded.

(next chapter)

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