#ball guy x reader

[seokminfilm]

mine / lee seokmin

⭐ pairing lee seokmin x reader warnings non-idol au, fluff, established relationship, suggestive (??), boyfriend seokmin, possessive seokmin SJLKFS, mentions of jealousy, down bad seokmin, LOTS of kissing (it's a lowkey makeout session), pet names: love (reader's), seok (his), mentions of svt members (specifically seungkwan & hoshi) summary in which you see a side of seokmin you never knew existed. lyr's notes possessive seokmin...sorry not sorry FJSKLEJ anyways undercut seokmin is my roman empire 👏 prepare for me to use these pictures for the next 10 fics thank you and good night!! now playing call out my name / the weeknd word count 613 written for @kstrucknet

seokmin's hands roamed your body as you leaned against the counter, staring at him with starstruck eyes as he glowered into yours.

"you don't know what you do to me, love." his voice is heavy as he presses into you, breath tickling your neck as he leans down to brush his lips over your collarbone. seokmin's touch is feather-light on your exposed skin, tracing tiny circles into your body as he studies the way you unravel under him.

soonyoung and seungkwan had habits of making themselves friendly with whoever they were sitting with, and of course, this time had to be you. their hands were on you every few minutes, and when you fell on their shoulders, doubling over in laughter, seokmin felt something inside him break.

seokmin knew his friends were too harmless to do anything to steal you away from him, and also knew both wouldn't do something like that, but seeing you stare up at them with the smile you gave seokmin when you wanted him to devour you made seokmin see stars.

you knew how possessive seokmin was getting, taking note of the hand permanently rested on your lower back and the closeness of seokmin's lips on your ear when he whispered to you. the darkness of his usually honey brown eyes as seungkwan complimented your outfit. the silent urge to want to prove the power he had over everyone in that room.

the lingering feeling of possession was contagious, and it was a surprise to see this darker side of your usual sunshine boyfriend. you didn't remember the last time seokmin had reacted like this.

and so, when seokmin had made an half-assed excuse about how he needed to get you home so you could get your beauty sleep (which wasn't all wrong), and rushed you to the car without saying a word, you knew you had pushed him to his limit.

now, here you were, pressed into the couch as seokmin planted light kisses all over your face. his lips hovered near your mouth, lightly brushing yours as he stared at you through his eyelashes. his nose gently poked your cheek, dragging along your jawline as his kisses trailed up and down your neck.

"you know you're mine, right?" seokmin's voice had softened a little since before, and you nod, arms going around seokmin's neck as you lean into him. "i do."

"all mine? no one else's?" the question in his voice makes your legs go weak, but you nod anyways, smile biting at your lips as you nod. "all yours. no one else's."

"why were you acting like that? letting them touch all over you like that." seokmin had a slight pout to his voice, hand cupping your cheek as his thumb runs over your lips. you let out a small sigh, shaking your head as the words fail to form for a second.

"i wasn't acting like anything. i just...i wanted your attention, seok." you flush a tomato red, and seokmin smiles, a smile that's pure and warm despite the position you two are in.

"all you have to do is ask for my attention, love. i'm all yours. any day, any hour, any moment. just say the words, and i'm yours." seokmin's voice is nothing more than a seductive whisper as he presses another kiss to your trembling lips, promising you everything before he kisses you some more.

and as seokmin lays you down on the couch, bare stomach revealed with seokmin's lavender chapstick staining your warm body, your shallow breath quickening, you realize that he truly meant what he said to you earlier.

you were all his. all his and no one else's.

[xxgoldie]

Do you think Seth has that instinct cats do where he “play bites” or love bites sometimes and if the reader pulls away, again he does what cats do, and his prey drive is activated and he chases after?

I could definitely see that. I feel like Seth, like a lot of Thirens, would suppress a lot of his more animalistic instincts, especially while on the job. But when it's just the two of you, he lets down his guard and sometimes he just gets the urge to bite. Usually when your hand is near his face, like if your arm is round his shoulder or you're petting his hair - he's perfectly content, and then something kicks in and he has to give you a little chomp. While idt his prey drive would be that high, if you move your hand away too fast his head will automatically follow and try to give you another bite before he realises what he's doing. If you make any indication it actually hurt, though, he will Definitely do the cat thing where they immediately apologise by giving you little kisses where they bit you, reminding you you're only playing. and then bite you again.

I also think his cat tendencies come out extra when he's sleepy. If you catch him when he's just woken up you could so get him with a laser pointer. he won't get up and chase it but if you keep it in his arms reach he'll try to catch it. also if you get him a body pillow (PLAIN ONE, I KNOW THIS SITE WELL ENOUGH) he will hold it like a kicker toy and sometimes, especially if he has an intense dream, he'll start actually kicking it in his sleep. like the crazy superspeed scratch-kicking. goofball that he is.

[nonamenonamenon]

book 6 spoilers utc

To Idia Shroud, you're practically a constant in his life, around him almost just as much as Ortho is.

He doesn't know how this happened, nor does he remember how a gloomy introvert like him managed to meet a person like you, but he's glad it did. There's something about the soft blue glow of the computer's light reflecting on your face that makes him reminisce, that makes him stare and get lost in his thoughts.

If you told Idia years ago that he had a friend (debatable) over in his room to hang out, watching anime with him, and cuddling under a blanket with him, he'd have called you ridiculous.

You laugh about a stupid gag in the anime you're watching with him. Idia hasn't been watching for the past 5 minutes, and wants to freak out at how close the two of you are. Before he knew it, you two had gotten this comfortable with each other.

You snuck your way inside his life, inside his little bubble wherein he wallowed and hated himself, and you loved him. Bit by bit, you chipped through the walls that he'd built up for years, crashing down at the slightest prodding by you.

There's no end to the amount of good that Idia sees in you. Some could call him obsessed, or just blind to any of your faults, but in Idia's eyes? You don't have any. Either way, every bit of you is good in his eyes, just like how you see him.

You care for him. You play games with him and indulge him in his interests. You remind him to eat, to sleep, and to take care of himself when things feel too rough. You share the things you love with him, and he's always the first to know whenever anything happens. You loved Ortho, too. You treat him like he's your own younger brother, and Ortho loves you just as much. He remembers when you almost cried out of joy when he told you that Ortho'd be enrolling in NRC as a student.

Idia never thought he craved to be loved this badly. He feels sorta pathetic about it sometimes. He thinks it's kinda lame of him that he got attached so easily to you, and hid the attachment at first in order to avoid being hurt.

He always thought you'd leave him one day.

He's not used to someone sticking around this long, and not getting sick of him, no less. Idia thought, whether it was because of his family's circumstances, something else, or because he thought you'd eventually realize that he's just some annoying loser who can't talk to people without hiding behind a screen, you'd leave him eventually.

Well, here you are, three years later. He's overshared to you about each and every single aspect of his life and past, and you've done the same to him as well. You're all too aware of what a wreck his life is, and the curse upon him, about Ortho, about his old, deluded fantasies of getting to choose his own fate.

You loved him even after he overblotted and crashed out in front of everyone (he's still embarrassed about that, by the way,) and you even took care of him after it.

Even after all of that, you're still here. Without complaint. Without any judgement of what he acts like, or who he is.

To Idia, there's never a more surreal feeling than realizing you're loved. Well, he's only experiencing it now, but it's still jarring. He knows Ortho loves him. And he knows that his family, though annoying at times, loves him too. But people outside of it? No way. There's nobody who'd look at him in a crowd of people and go, "I want this one!" Yet, here you are. Someone who'd do just that.

Idia usually doesn't like losing, or being wrong. Especially when he's believed something so wholeheartedly his entire life. But, now?

He doesn't really mind being proven wrong, just this once.

[dipperscavern]

can I be cheeky and ask for riding jon’s face 🫣🫣🫣

yes… oh yes you absolutely can….. i fell asleep last night to the thought of jon snow canonically being a munch (funny enough) — we’re on the same wavelength anon ! (written w shy!reader in mind)

you’ve heard the talk, heard the different ladies from different statures talk about “the act”, and it’s always a different answer. some say it’s mediocre… others, that it’s their favorite way to feel good, and some, say it’s terrible. you’ve heard stories of men never caring about the woman’s pleasure, and how their only purpose was to give them children. the thought made you shudder.

you, yourself, have never had time. time to freely choose who you trust enough to share that sacred experience with (or even touch yourself). the men at castle black are sworn to celibacy, and even if they would abandon their oath for a night with you, you wouldn’t let them. most of the men at the wall are untrustworthy, and you want more than just a quick fuck. even if these thoughts plague you, you’re too busy with your duties to worry about it. a thing you’ve since long accepted.

until jon snow.

you had been there for jon since his arrival at castle black. never batting an eye at his surname, always trying to make his life a little bit easier. there was also the stolen glances, the soft touches you both passed off as “accidental”, the longing for each other. you both remained as merely “close friends”, until things boiled over and you found solace in each others lips. it didn’t go farther than that, the tentative kiss being soft & exploring, and that was okay with you. you didn’t expect more. until you got more.

sometimes, you hate jon for being so easy to talk to. your shy nature has slowly melted away in his presence, and you find yourself unable to be embarrassed about the questions you ask or answer. your late night talks are what keeps jon sane. he wants to know everything about you, and you both would talk till morning if you could (you have before). the topic often shifts, landing on anything and everything on the planet. even “the act”.

imagine jon’s surprise, when the most beautiful & endearing woman he’s ever met drops her gaze to the floor and bashfully tells him she’s never cum before.

jon short circuits. he asks if you want to. he asks if he can make you. and you say yes.

jon snow is a giver. tasting a woman is a pleasure in itself, and he’d tell you as much if you asked. his mind ran a million miles an hour, thinking about all the ways he could make you feel good. it doesn’t take long before the desire to taste you takes a hold of him, and so he does.

“You’re hovering.”

he’s not wrong. you are. you thought you had heard it all, but the act of sitting on someone’s face has clearly alluded your ears. you’re unsure. you don’t want to hurt him.. suffocating the first man you lay with would have you begging the gods to open the ground and swallow you whole. and it’s not just any man, it’s jon.

the soft glide of jon’s fingers across your thigh bring you out of your head. his hands are cold. they feel nice in contrast to your own skin, nerves lit on fire.

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t.”

“Jon-”

“Do you trust me?”

he’s steadfast in his reassurance. his thumb has been rubbing circles in your hip while you both have been talking. does he do it all on purpose, or is he just this naturally desirable?

“You know I do, but-“

“Good. Sit.”

you still hesitate, and that’s when jon takes matters into his own hands. his hands stop their tracing, and instead grip your thighs, bringing you down himself.

whatever expectations you had are exceeded tenfold. jon eats you out like a man starved. your head spins with the way you can feel his tongue, exploring you and swiping over your clit. it has white hot pleasure shooting up your spine, and your thighs quiver ever so slightly, but jon’s firm grip keeps you in place. he’s confident in his movements, precise and sure in a way that makes you see stars.

jon thinks he’s found the place where he would be content to meet his demise. you taste so good, and the pretty sounds you’re making have blood rushing straight to his cock. jon has always loved the sound of his name on your lips — whether it be small acknowledgments in passing by, or just mentions in mere conversation. but he’s found he much prefers hearing you moan it.

you’re almost embarrassed how quickly he has warmth building up in your belly, pressure building as he gives you the most pleasure you’ve ever had. he’s giving and giving and giving, and you find yourself selfishly taking all of it. he doesn’t slow down, keeping a steady rhythm that makes the cord in your stomach wind impossibly tighter.

“Jon, I’m-!”

you don’t get to finish your sentence, interrupted by the snap of the cord in your stomach that was previously tightening. pleasure overtakes your nerves, flooding your veins and momentarily removing your ability to speak (or think). jon’s tongue doesn’t stop fully, only slowing down to help you ride out your peak.

you catch your breath, feeling jon kiss the inside of your thighs as small aftershocks have you clenching around nothing. you find yourself seeking his touch (as if he hasn’t been constantly on you), your hand running along the surface of your thigh to find his own. he reaches for you, trapping your own smaller hand beneath his own. it’s reassuring, grounding you back to the present after he brought you so far over the edge.

you move to get off, to let him get up & breathe — but he doesn’t release his grip, keeping you in place. you hear him speak.

“Only once?”

[kitkatscabinet]

You were Hal’s girlfriend before Coast City’s destruction, though, girlfriend seems too casual a term for someone you’d planned to spend your life with.

Especially when Hal “allergic to commitment” Jordan had been the one to broach the topic of children together.

But then he’d abandoned you, left you to mourn in the rubble of your city and Guy Gardner has to tell you what’s Hal’s done.

There’s nothing of the arrogant jerk you’d had the misfortune of meeting a handful of times before, even when you pound violently against his chest in a misplaced display of grief and fury.

From then on he never really goes away, and as time passes he checks on you more and more, almost obsessively so, until it feels like you spend more time together then apart.

You can’t even fully blame the alcohol, you’re so lonely, and Guy’s surprisingly… sweet behind it all. He’s let you cry on his shoulder more times than you can count.

Guy’s the one that lets you scream and rage and throw things without judgement because “fuck you Hal, I lost my home too.”

But even worse, why weren’t you enough for him to stay?

You hadn’t intended to fall into bed with him, but once it happened it never really stopped.

There’s no discussion, no awkward “what are we?”, even though the question lingers in the air. You’re lonely and grieving and so is Guy and, well, the sex is fantastic.

And then his clothes find their way into your closet, there’s a toothbrush in the cup next to yours on the bathroom countertop and more often then not you fall asleep wrapped in Guy’s arms to find him still there the next morning.

You’re about to bring it up, really you are, even if you’re terrified to shatter your newly discovered peace, but there’s two little lines glaring up at you from the drug store test you’d bought on a paranoid whim.

There’s two lines and a lot of tears and a lot of vomiting, all of which Guy rubs your back through with running commentary that has you threatening to castrate him. (His dopey grin never dies through all your threats of bodily harm.)

Three months turns to six turns to eight, there’s still no conversation but he’s built a crib and bought more baby supplies and books then you can reasonably keep at your place.

Good thing you’re house hunting together.

He loudly and proudly calls you his girl to anyone that will listen (and to those that don’t want to. “Yes Bats, weep in your loneliness and jealousy.”) and anytime a woman so much as looks in Guy’s direction you nearly claw their eyes out.

(Guy finds this very amusing of course and teases you relentlessly for it. When you point out he does the same it doesn’t have the intended effect of shame you wish it did.)

It’s nine months and you can barely waddle, let alone walk, you’re so close to reaching inside and ripping the little parasite out yourself.

Despite this you think you’re happier than you’ve ever been, (you don’t let yourself think about Hal, about honey brown eyes staring at you lovingly, or whispered words of love and promises that’ll never be realised.).

Everything’s… as perfect as you think they can be, until Guy’s powers unexpectedly go on the fritz and he’s not waking up and fuck you very much John you’re going to the watchtower too.

You’ve already lost so much and you are not about to be removed from the presence of the father of your child.

You can’t decide if it’s the second worst day of your life after coast city or not, but then Guy wakes up, good as new and he’s got his ring back.

Only there’s something very fucking wrong and you’re caught up in your second explosion of the day and the next few hours easily take the cake for the worst of your entire life because by the time you come around Sinestro’s about to kill Kyle and Oliver.

Guy is gone, and you’ve never been more terrified and your panicked sob catches the yellow lantern’s attention and, oh, you’re about to die here.

The blow never lands, because there’s a hauntingly familiar presence acting as your shield. A ghost, adorned in a green uniform that you’d once teasingly traced your hands over many a times before.

Hal is as gorgeous as the day you lost him, even as eyes hidden behind a mask stare at you in disbelief-love-grief-regret-shock-hurt-longing.

All emotions threatening to burst from your own chest, Sinestro forgotten for now as the two of you take in each other’s visage.

It feels an age but in reality is likely only a few seconds, so many questions and words left unsaid before Hal is forced to turn from you once more and focus on the battle at hand, leaving you alone once more as he corrals Sinestro far from your presence.

Oliver’s bleeding out, you can barely breathe and you think it can’t possibly get any worse. The universe, as if deciding you hadn’t already been kicked enough while you were down, decides to play one last cosmic joke on you.

In the form of your water breaking.

[rottenk1sses]

cw: intox kink, dubcon

i have this idea in my head of gently encouraging art to have more and more to drink, well past his usual limit. all the time making designs to push him past his limit in the bedroom as well. taking the opportunity to make him lose control in every sense. eeeeee!!!

i headcanon that art is kind of a lightweight when it comes to hard liquor (can take plenty of beer but loses it when it comes to vodka, gin, rum), so i don’t think you’d even have to do much to get him wasted:)

just get him talking about his upcoming match or a past win of his, and you can easily coax about five or six shots of whateverthefuckyouwant down his throat. like he’s flushed and giggly and gesturing with his hands as he continues to explain something to you, and he’s completely compliant whenever you push the rim of a glass to his soft lips. he’ll gulp it all quickly between sentences, only pausing to scrunch up his nose and wipe his chin with the back of his hand before he’s going back to rambling

and so as soon as he’s in bed, he’s a mess. sensitive all over from the alcohol and slurring so badly that it’s hard to properly understand him. he’s grabbing onto you a little too roughly—unable to regulate how much strength he’s using (so he accidentally uses too much)—but it’s okay because he starts to let out the prettiest cries the second you sink down on his half-flaccid cock. when you kiss him, you can taste the sting of the drinks on his tongue. he’s salivating and panting like a desperate dog while he rocks sloppily up into you, chasing a high that he’ll never quite reach because his brain is too intoxicated to let him orgasm..

the room is spinning too much for him to keep his eyes open comfortably, but he does manage to beg you to please, fuck him harder. he also accidentally calls you patrick once when you wrap a hand around his throat, drunken tears spilling down his cheeks as he raggedly wails and feeds his blunt nails into your soft hips, but it’s nothing a hand over his mouth won’t fix

the next morning he wakes up to a dry mouth, a massive headache, and no solid idea as to why he’s (still) buried inside you

[pxpecxdy]

If we’re talking about Jack Abbot medical play, then I have tho(ugh)ts:

Fertility clinic roleplay where Reader is the “nurse” who needs to get a “sample” from their “patient.”

Gynecology roleplay where Jack needs to help his “patient” to “relax” for their appointment. Which obviously means the use of stirrups, speculums, fingering, vibrators, etc. To relax for what? Up for interpretation. (Sex)

Physical therapy roleplay where Jack stretches you out in more ways than one. Perhaps an innocent massage from the doc turns into something less than professional.

Sports physical roleplay where the Reader is the “nurse” who has to see if Jack is healthy, strong, and virile enough to be on the team.

Should I continue?

Um yes please continue! Also I'm tagging @robbyology because they got this whole thing off the ground and running, if you don't want me to tag you just let me know!!

1. Fertility clinic!!!! How did I not think of that!!!! Sperm donor Jack with reader gushing about how he'll make a great candidate, doctor, smart, strong, handsome, the list goes on. There's no nudie mags and the TV is broken, how ever will Jack be able to get it up, if only there was a hot nurse around him...

2. Okay so my bff told me about how she had to have therapy and this is very much a thing (except the sex it was very professional). Use of vaginal dilators, maybe it's a routine, you're getting better and being able to take larger dilators but one day you forget yours and you're ready to move onto the next size. Which is perfect because that's what Jack's size is.

3. When I first started going to physical therapy, my legs were REALLY bad so my therapist, who was hot, would massage out my thighs, sometimes having me flip over onto my stomach so he could get the backs

4. Need to check his balls. That's it. That's the comment. Need to hold them and feel them. I need his balls.

[xarology]

Poetry - Megatron x Reader 18+ MDNI

is there a fic somewhere where reader is a writer and makes megatron poems… maybe they show it to him sometimes and he’s an avid fan of their work? don’t even get me started on erotic poems!!

Megatron sitting at his throne doing whatever the hell he does on there and then suddenly a message on his datapad! from you! It’s not often you send him messages so this change pulls him out of his boredom real quick

Curiosity peaked, he opens up the large file sent to him. The message contains a variety of poems you wrote throughout the last couple months, dated from the oldest to newest.

He has time to read so why not indulge! The poems are varied in subject and length. Some are often short and sweet, usually inspired by your life on the ship and the cultural differences that come with it.

Some are more lengthier. Your thoughts, ideas, and feelings explored, pieced together more eloquently than you’re able to speak them in person. He cherishes these the most, your feelings reserved for only him to see and that idea makes his spark swell

A subject popping up more frequently in dates, he notices. furious poems about certain bots (starscream) that seem to have it out for you! (he’s storing this information in his processor to bring up the next time he sees starscream)

The last and most recent poem almost makes him slam down his datapad as he begins reading. The first couple words consisting of the filthiest thing he’s ever read—directed at him. Entirely for him.

It’s a lengthy poem too, but never does it have a word without a meaning. It’s an artistic masterpiece and if he wasn’t so inclined to keep you all for himself he would’ve posted of it for all to see (no matter how debaucherous).

The area for his interface paneling hurts, his spike pressurized and pressed against the heating metal. His cooling fans working overtime as he ignores the pop up to open his panel. He wants so badly to pump into his servo and relieve the ache now, but he’d much rather rut you instead.

[timetravellingtelepath]

Just a fun little chapter about Sy-on's jealousy arc (like we all thought would happen) but the real gold nugget is a piece of advice I've not heard before but I sure am gonna use.

If the source of jealousy is one's own lack of self-confidence, it can be a force that spurs you to be better.

I simply love that.

(Chapter thoughts in the tags)

[serenit-teas]

I am tired and delusional but that does not matter, gather round everyone. You all settled? Good and cozy? Okay great.

Hear me and hear me now, I think P would be absolutely tickled if his s/o started calling him little nicknames like ‘Sweet Pea’ or ‘Sweetheart’🥺 It’s the endearment, it’s the thought, it’s in the way that despite how he can rip through normal enemies like wet tissue paper and 1v1 horrors of the nth degree, HE is still regarded with gentleness. He can be fragile, he can be delicate and step out and away from the role that he was forced to play, no longer an ergo harvesting machine. He can just be some guy that really likes music and plays the piano, or the fella that spends his time lounging with the hotel cat.

And that’s really special to him, he deserves to live a kind life full of love and normalcy🥺

[tapewormfound]

The White Room Theory-CH1

pictures aren’t mine

A/N: am i publishing this less than an hour after the prologue? yes.

trigger warnings: Psychological manipulation,Dissociation,Implied captivity,Isolation / sensory deprivation,Unreliable reality,Suicidal ideation (later chapters),Violence (psychological, implied physical),Claustrophobia / existential horror,Obsessive relationships,Possible self-harm themes,Religious undertones (in a disturbing/symbolic context)

genre: Psychological thriller,Surrealism / speculative fiction?Horror,Character study,Dark drama,Canon divergence / AU,Tragedy

Chapter One

False Equilibrium

Time does not pass here, but thought does.

It becomes a slow kind of erosion: memory rubbing against memory until their edges blur. At first, Fyodor tries to sort them — fact from dream, past from intrusion. But after some indeterminate number of days (if “days” still meant anything), he stops. Precision is wasted in a place without contrast.

He remembers how to pray before he remembers his own age.

There is no sound unless Nikolai speaks. The silence is oppressive but precise — not absence, but restraint. Like something enormous breathing just beyond perception.

Today, Nikolai is lying flat on his back, tossing a playing card in the air. Fyodor doesn’t ask where he found it. Questions like that aren’t real here.

���It’s funny,” Nikolai says. “I thought I’d miss things. Sunlight. Cities. Screaming. But honestly? I don’t. Isn’t that horrible?”

Fyodor doesn’t respond. He’s seated against the wall, back straight, hands folded in his lap. Nikolai’s voice reaches him as if through cotton — muffled, too soft, too close.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Nikolai says, still looking at the ceiling. “Plotting? Or finally coming undone?”

“I don’t believe you’re real,” Fyodor says.

Nikolai laughs — short, sharp. “That makes two of us.”

The card flips again, higher this time, and Fyodor watches it twist midair. It’s the joker. Of course.

“You talk too much for a hallucination,” he murmurs.

“And you think too much for a corpse,” Nikolai replies. Then he sits up, quick as breath. The card never lands.

“Want to hear something fun?” he asks.

Fyodor doesn’t answer. Nikolai continues anyway. “What if this place isn’t a prison? What if it’s a mirror? And you’re just too sterile inside to break it?”

Fyodor’s expression doesn’t change. “Then you’d be my reflection.”

Nikolai grins, wide and sudden, like a slit tearing across porcelain.

“Maybe I am.”

[wojcheks]

Stuck — Murdoc x F!Reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: NSFW, enemies to fucking, unhealthy relationships, undercover mission gone wrong, reader works for an unspecified organization, sexual tension, rough treatment, tied up, dub!con (?) (reader wants it but physically can't leave), choking, biting, fingering (f!receiving), PIV, unprotected sex, blood, possessiveness, murdoc is his own warning. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.1k 𝐀/𝐍: first smut i've ever posted!! the david dastmalchian obsession finally got me y'all. while looking for fics of his characters i decided to write my own. i only watched two episodes with this man so i'm pretty sure he's incredibly ooc. hope it's enjoyable regardless! ❤

You were told you’d be working with a wild card during this mission.

They assured you it wouldn’t affect the overall difficulty of the job. In fact, your partner had excellent skills in all the areas useful for achieving your objective. Weapons expert, proficient in hand-to-hand combat, knowledgeable, and calculated in his actions. All good things in your line of work.

What you didn't know was that they assigned you Murdoc.

And that was information that one needed to know prior to running face first into the aforementioned man. Especially during a job that would undoubtedly involve violence. For fuck’s sake, you would tear your handler a new one after this was over and done with.

Your first instinct was to put a fist through the hitman’s face.

A fair assumption was that he was here to derail you or, at the very least, complicate things. It wouldn’t be the first time he showed up simply to cause mayhem and be a thorn in your side.

Snarling, you threw his body against the wall and the assassin’s head hit the concrete with a sickening thud. With a forearm over his throat, you pressed down, immobilizing him.

You could admit that you were being a little too aggressive than necessary about it.

His dark eyes sparked with an unsettling light, something so unthreatened and unalterable about him it made your hair raise. He wasn't intimidated, you could tell. He treated you more like a nuisance to wave away, not an equal.

You felt his throat move against your skin when he swallowed, and it made you wanna press down harder.

“Calm down, sweetheart. The night's just getting started,” Murdoc murmured while leering at you from behind a wall of long eyelashes. They were so pronounced you wondered if he was wearing mascara.

His eyes suddenly grew wider in a mockery of fear, tone climbing to a falsetto, "Oh, dear god, what did I ever do to deserve this treatment?"

His voice grated on your nerves on the best of days, and this was a pretty bad one. A scoff rose up in your throat, but you crushed it before it could escape. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

The clear irritation that lowered your tone into a harsh whisper, however, was unmistakable. A small twitch of his cheek indicated that the hitman found your reaction highly amusing. He made a move as if to raise his hands towards you, but you clamped down on his trachea harder, and he stopped. And as the meaning of your words sunk in, you could almost see the gears start turning behind that smug facade of his.

“Murdoc. Stop thinking of ways to make this more difficult for me, and tell me plainly. What’s going on?” 

A shade of disappointment marred his face before disappearing as quickly as it showed. “Come on, agent, you know me. Where would be the fun in that?”

“Don’t talk to me like we’re friends,” the reprimand barely left your mouth before Murdoc’s fingers wrapped around your elbow and painfully bent it at an angle, removing it from his windpipe with a sharp tug. 

Wide-eyed indignation contorted your face as your places suddenly reversed and Murdoc crushed you into the wall, not holding back either.

You weren’t some dainty, fragile damsel in need of rescue–there was hardened muscle hidden under your evening attire. And yet, Murdoc still overpowered you, both in terms of height and sheer strength.

Your nostrils flared in anger, and you threw your body weight against his grip to dislodge it. 

He made a disapproving sound and let his weight fall on the point of contact between the two of you, driving the sharp parts of his slender fingers into the softness of your neck. You tried to suck in a breath and rasped instead.

“Now, now, you’ll either continue to throw your little tantrum, which won't end well, or start being useful by helping me,” as his words caught up to him, a displeased crease appeared between his brows.

“Although, using the term ‘help’ would be a dire exaggeration. I could be finished here long before you pick yourself up off the floor.”

You knew he was aiming to hurt your ego and rile you up, throwing you off balance around him seemed to be the primary goal. If you lost control and started lashing out against his mockery, the man would undoubtedly win.

He usually attempted it when the two of you ran into each other; it was a path well trodden, with various results.

Admitting it never even crossed your mind, but you were aware, deep down, that he was damn good at it. The words he used were one thing, and as cutting and shrewd in his judgements as he was, sometimes all it took for you to lose it was the damned look on his face. Always so superior and above it all. Like he wasn’t even human.

It drove you nuts.

You geared up for another round of verbal sparring before parsing his meaning. You hissed out the next words; the pressure exerted on your throat proved to be a pretty good deterrent from speaking. “Y-you’re the partner, the informant, that I’m... I’m supposed to be working with?”

Something in your face must have betrayed the distaste stirred up by the idea because Murdoc chuckled and then finally let go of your neck to bow with a flourish. 

You coughed loudly, to get rid of the intrusive feeling of somebody being in control of your breathing. You massaged the bruised flesh where Murdoc’s gloves likely left indentation marks in their wake, then rolled your eyes at his theatrics.

“I don’t think letting your guard down around me is a good idea,” you said dryly when he finally straightened up from the exaggerated pose.

“Oh, sure it is,” another wide grin split his mouth, and you gritted your teeth in muted frustration. “And oh so thrilling, I assure you.”

You didn’t grace that with an answer.

Ten minutes and one barely civil conversation with your HQ later, you and Murdoc walked arm in arm into the towering building.

With only a few minutes to spare, you didn’t even find time to touch up your make-up. Or double check your gun. And as luck would have it, what you were infiltrating was a ball. With dancing included.

You'd groan out loud, but you knew your companion had a biting comment prepared if you so much as blinked wrong. Murdoc seemed thoroughly entertained by the whole debacle and made no effort to hide it, strutting along with all the subtlety of a battering ram.

It was supposed to be his strong suit, being a shadow or whatever, but driving you up the wall must haven taken priority.

In fact, there seemed to exist nothing that made him giddier than getting a reaction out of you, for whatever accursed reason.

“Now, wife,” his lip twitched at the word, “how about we get this party started?”

“How about you never call me that again?”

“And blow our cover? I would never do that to you.”

You glanced towards him. He caught you instantly, his dark piercing gaze dedicated to not letting you get away with anything.

Those dilated pupils peering from beneath half-open eyelids were anything but easy to withstand, but you held your ground. That is, until he gave you a slow once-over, complete with a too-long pause focusing on your cleavage.

“You are infuriating,” you snapped and whipped your head away in the other direction, barely managing not to raise your hand to cover the gap in your clothing.

The man only drew closer and raised his own arm towards you in an inviting (taunting, something inside you whispered) gesture.

“I have my charm. Shall we?”

—

“Would you let go of me, you animal?” While you tried to keep the hissing to a minimum, he wasn't making it easy.

And Murdoc’s hold on you didn’t release, obviously, the words entirely ignored. You expected nothing less.

The leather of his gloves was smooth and firm against your skin, colder than expected, artificial feeling. The sensation was unsettling, a barrier between you that you'd normally welcome with open arms, but something felt different tonight. Instead, you wished he’d take them off, bare skin on bare skin.

The visual had its… appeal.

Even if the man it centered on did not.

You stopped pulling away to not attract more attention from the surrounding people. A couple on your left already began to whisper while unsubtly pointing towards you. Making everyone think that they were witnessing a domestic dispute was a terrible way of staying unnoticed, even Murdoc had to know that. 

He didn’t seem to care about it at all. 

He pulled harder until you had no choice but to step closer towards him. Your palm fell on his chest, breath catching in your throat.

You never really noticed just how much he towered over you when in close quarters, and you wished you still hadn't. Sticking out your chin was a childish move, but having no control over your present movements brought that out in you. 

Where you stood wasn’t a ballroom exactly, but the lofty ceilings and ornate columns lining the walls gave a strong impression of one. Grandiose was one word for it. Over-the-top was another.

Massive mirrors adorned the sides, and you caught a glimpse of your silhouette, partially obscured by the imposing shape of the man gripping your side. You shivered and turned away, oblivious to Murdoc's curious gaze following.

You skimmed the crowd in an attempt to locate the person you were after. It wasn't just to distract from the heat that image caused. Obviously.

“Enjoying yourself?” The singsong lilt of Murdoc’s voice coming from above drew your attention. You reluctantly looked up, ready to chastise him for his pestering; there were things at stake here more important than his pathological need to feel superior.

With languid steps, he swirled you softly to the side, and then pressed you into his chest, his grasp the very opposite of gentle. His fingers were demanding, leaving no room for physical distance.

It felt like a display.

Like he was showing you off.

He had to bend over to reach properly, the tips of his fingers running over the gap in your dress, moving the red material to the side, exposing more skin. You grabbed onto a lapel of his coat, feeling shaken from it.

Some strange stupor fell over you. Staring up at the length of Murdoc’s neck, watching him breathe in and out, the rhythm was almost hypnotic.

You had to dispel it, needed to focus. There was a tremor in your voice, one you hoped he'd take for anger.

“Did you forget why we’re here? It isn’t some fun little outing concocted for your amusement–”

“–I’d beg to differ–”

“–but a mission of significant importance to the security of–”

“–I thought this was a date–”

“–individuals invaluable to not only my organization but society as a whole–”

Murdoc abruptly leaned forward, cutting you off. “Do you even listen to yourself anymore? You’re really starting to sound like a talking head for your little agency, sweetheart, and that’s not very attractive.”

Biting down on a “go fuck yourself”, you turned, lips touching his cheek as you answered. “I don’t recall ever asking for your opinion, Murdoc. I think it’s better if you refrain from sharing it in the future.”

He caught your eyes with an empty smile, a shark showing his teeth. “Zero promises.”

—

You didn’t end up dancing for long before everything went to shit. 

Splitting off from your partner for the night gave you some room to breathe. It also provided a unique opportunity for an assailant to knock you out cold in a deserted hallway.

Later you’d curse yourself for making such a rookie mistake—never split up without letting the other person know—but at the time you weren’t thinking clearly, a little preoccupied with things. You weren’t prepared for it, was the point, and you paid for that mistake dearly.

A sharp acute pain in the back of your skull jolted you awake. There was a building pressure behind your eyes and a pounding headache that turned your stomach.

You felt sick, and that wasn’t a good sign.

One failed attempt to open your eyes later, you realized what must have happened. Your previously done up hair was tangled with a makeshift blindfold, the cloth covering your line of sight. A twin piece wedged into your mouth stopped you from screaming for help.

Trying to push it out with your tongue brought only frustration, alongside a coughing fit.

Too much time couldn’t have passed, right?

You truly loathed the idea, but still dearly hoped that Murdoc was on his way to get you.

If someone told you a few hours ago that you’d ever count on Murdoc for back-up however, you would have laughed at them.

But life has a funny way of fucking with people, and this must've been karma for all the times you talked back to your boss. That's what he'd say, at least.

And with your shitty luck, the hitman was already gone, sporting a martini in some luxurious hotel suite, ogling strippers, or whatever men like him did to relax. Shooting innocents for fun was more likely.

That measly hope was dashed when a small groan reached your ears. A familiar chuckle followed, close nearby.

There was a hand wrapping around your wrist and you scrambled backwards, heart-rate skyrocketing. Trying to get away from the touch proved unsuccessful–your hands were connected to a chain, which was connected to a wall, keeping you firmly in place. 

Deep breaths.

Looking for information was your first priority in a crisis, so you moved a hand over the ground, searching for anything to use. It was smooth but with loose gravel in places, like the coating of an underground parking lot, or more likely, a basement. 

Attempting to calm down the thundering beating of your heart, you leaned back against the firmness, letting long fingers caress the inside of your wrist.

“M–uh–rdoc?” Your attempt at words was muffled and barely audible, but distinct enough.

“The one and only,” the assassin's response came back loud and clear–no obstruction in its way, a luxury you weren't afforded.

For a split second, you entertained the idea that he knocked you out cold and dragged your unconscious body down here to do god knows what. It didn't seem beyond him.

Fingers clamped down on your pulse point, forcefully grabbing your attention. "You're tied up, agent, and I can help you with that, but you'll have to push that ego aside for a moment."

A protest rose in your throat.

“Be a good girl and do as I say, got it?”

With a swallow, you stopped. The near silence of the room made it impossible to tell if the assassin noticed your reaction or not.

You weren't sure how close he was. How much attention he was paying. Dealing with this strange thing that's been chasing you all night was the last thing you wanted to do.

Murdoc's voice was calm and in control, a tone that inspired confidence and trust—emotions you were, as a rule, reluctant to feel towards him. But you had no choice. This was the fastest way to get out of your restraints, so, keeping your worries in check, you nodded assent.

Seemingly able to both move around and see, he hummed his acknowledgement.

“Good girl.”

“Now, scoot over to the right, yeah, just like that, use your legs. Keep going until you hit my side, you're almost there,” he directed, clearly aiming for something.

A stream of soft murmurs of apology filled the air at the pained noises you made when dragging your ankle. Someone clearly bent it at a shitty angle when they were attaching the chain, and you weren't sure if it was twisted or fractured. It fucking hurt though.

The pain must've made you delirious, because Murdoc was not the sort of man to know what an apology even was.

“Now put your leg up, the right one, try to sit up and then turn your body around. God, sweetie, it's been a while since I've seen good old-fashioned chains… not even handcuffs, they have us in chains,” Murdoc's voice ended in a high-pitched giggle, disbelief mixing with mirth at the absurdity of it.

You successfully followed directions and suddenly found yourself sitting on his propped up leg, balancing on it; your dress riding up on either side of your hips from the clumsy movements. Goosebumps rose in the cold air's wake.

Your face heated at the image you must have made, all wobbly and sweaty, desperate for guidance, barely covered up by the torn dress. Everything on display for Murdoc.

It became hard to breathe.

“That's right, just scoot closer, so I can reach you,” the tone of his voice was lower now, not quite a whisper, but close enough to make you shiver.

Keeping balance with arms bent behind you and wrists tied together was not easy. More soft pained noises, more maneuvering into position and you slid down, your ass landing directly on the hitman's lap.

Was that a gun in his pocket–?

“That's perfect, baby, just a little bit closer, so I can get rid of that pesky gag,” he grunted, sounding momentarily caught off-guard. “You do look good in it, though, I have to admit.”

Incapable of hitting him square in the jaw, you resigned yourself to leaning forward instead.

Curious fingers ran through your tangled hair, fingernails catching against your skin in exploratory touches, until finally making their way lower, towards the gag. Moments of fiddling later, the gag was gone and you could speak.

So you did. “What the fuck, Murdoc, are your hands free?”

“Shhh, agent, what if they hear us?” The way his voice caught on a snigger, bereft of any actual worry, threw a gallon of gasoline under the low level rage that's been burning in your chest the whole evening.

“Are you fucking kidding me, you fucker?"

It hurt, just how much he didn't care.

“We could die here, in this stupid basement, surrounded by nothing but trash and bound in some medieval ass chains, because you’d rather play around than do something useful for once!” Your voice grew louder and louder, and being unable to see his no doubt self-satisfied expression made it significantly worse.

“I’m asking you to help me, just once, just this one single time, you asshole. To put my well-being over your own, think of someone else but yourself! And take this stupid blindfold off me–Please–” You were on the verge of begging now, voice breaking on a plea.

A long stretch of nothing followed, disturbed only by your heavy breathing. Then, a light trace of fingertips over your cheekbone. “I didn’t know you trusted me so much, agent.”

“What–?” 

Wet lips crashed into yours and Murdoc grabbed a fistful of your hair, pressing you against him. His smell filled your senses, something sharp and spicy, with an undercurrent of leather. The sound that left you was embarassing.

His palm was so big it encircled the back of your head effortlessly, fingers unkind in their urgency. He jostled your wound and you struggled within his grasp, trying to pull away with a distressed whine. Unable to see, unable to move, your body overcompensated for the lack of senses, making it feel like he was pressing into an exposed nerve. "Mu–urdoc–”

The groan made him pull away, sticky red smeared all over his hand now. He looked at it and chuckled. "Ah, they got you good, sweetheart. Let me make it worse.”

He didn't sound apologetic at all, and stuck his mouth to the underside of your jaw, sucking on the sensitive flesh. Tongue lapping up the saltiness of your skin, he let out a satisfied groan, hand wrapping around your neck to keep you from moving.

You let out another stifled whimper, part of you wanting to pull away from his possessive grip. The other part knew it would leave a mark and craved it more than anything.

Head falling back, your chest rose with laboured breaths, small sounds of exhilaration falling from your mouth. “Fucking hell–Ah–”

His other palm grabbed your breast, kneading it forcefully, wringing more gasps out of you. You felt his lips turn up in gratification against your tender flesh.

“Does that feel good?” His usually airy tone was raspy now, the gruff whisper making you shudder against his torso. “Tell me.”

You couldn't stop it; your hips ground down onto his own, dragging against the growing hardness beneath you. The emptiness inside you was infuriating, and you couldn't even reach down to relieve the pressure. You needed him now.

A loud cry left you when Murdoc bit down punishingly on your throat and gripped your chin between his fingers. He pressed his lips against yours before speaking, as if he couldn't stop himself.

“Fucking tell me, agent. Tell me what I should do with you. So powerless, all tied up, mine to control. I could do anything, so what will it be?”

“Murdoc, please–”

“Please what?” Cold air hit your skin as he pulled the dress up and slapped the back of your thigh, then snapped his fingers twice. “Focus, agent, right here, focus on me.”

This was all wrong; the way his gloved hand rubbed the stinging spot afterwards, his demanding tone, just how wet you could feel yourself becoming the more he touched you. The more he made you his.

“Touch me, please,” the words came out as a whisper, and were met with another chuckle.

“No no no no, sweet girl, that's not good enough. You gotta work for it.”

You couldn't escape, so you lowered your head into his shoulder, hoping to somehow disappear.

“Don't hide.” He yanked the blindfold off and threw it to the side, moving your head up so he could catch your gaze.

Despite everything happening between you, the mercenary looked near unbothered. His hand on your face felt steady, his breathing only slightly elevated, an expression on his face that you could only call triumphant.

It made you burn.

Your lipstick was smeared over his mouth, the red streaks physical proof of the way he crushed your lips together. You wanted to sink your teeth into his flesh and tear, a visceral representation of what he made you feel.

If your hands weren't bound, you'd be shoving them against his chest and running your fingernails down, marking him as yours too.

As it was, you only had your words left.

"Just fuck me, Murdoc, or do you need written instructions?"

The smug smile he sent your way was answer enough.

He grabbed the dark red material of your dress and tore the bottom part in half, a sharp exhale leaving your chest at the action. Then he stroked your ass, roughly stretched it and parted your legs, toying with the muscle.

You felt beyond exposed, a butterfly pinned to a board. Hair in disarray, flimsy panties not enough cover against forceful fingers and the hitman’s searing gaze. Naked planes of skin kept growing more and more red from the pleasure he wrung out of you. His hand reached between your thighs, and you closed your eyes.

He openly stared, drinking you in. Sharp canines peeked from behind his lips, mouth half open in captivation, and the black strands of hair fell over his eyes.

"What a sight you are," Murdoc murmured and palmed you over the thin material, fingers gathering moisture that soaked through it already.

You bit down on your lip and moved against his broad fingers, your muscles straining from keeping upright for so long.

He kept looking at your face and cataloging every little expression that passed over it, his eyes ablaze with a frenzy, an expression that in any other situation would make you shudder in fear.

Hell, it still did.

Impatiently, he pulled the material to the side and easily sank two fingers inside you, moving them in and out with a beckoning movement, rubbing against your clit until you let out a sob.

His wrist grew still for a moment, watching you grow frustrated in his lap, twisted satisfaction burning in his gaze. Then he added another finger, plunging all three as deep as they would go.

“Fuck, Murdoc, you shit–!”

He giggled and shushed you, "Stay still."

"Fucking bastard–"

"You telling me you don’t like this? You're not a whore who gets off on getting finger-fucked by her enemy?"

You wailed as he hit a spot inside you. “Shut the f-fuck–up–” 

“Aw, but you don’t want me to, do you?” He shot forward, pressing his face to yours, hot breath hitting your lips as he continued, “I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers, agent, and then I’m gonna force them down your throat. Would you like that?”

Keening growing louder at the words, you moved your hips faster, panting against him, already nodding your head before realizing.

“I thought so,” the thrusting of his fingers grew quicker and you writhed in his lap, unbothered by what you looked like, only chasing your release with a single-minded determination.

Every once in a while your ass moved over Murdoc’s still clothed cock and he let out a pained-sounding hiss, his grip on your throat growing tighter.

You’d feel victorious if you weren’t so out of it.

Murdoc wrenched his fingers out of you and licked the moisture off, closing his eyes in pleasure. "God, you taste so good. How am I ever supposed to let you go?"

The sudden emptiness made you panic, and you caught his mouth in a kiss, urging him to continue. You could taste the slight saltiness from his fingers, your own flavour.

He pulled away from you with a laugh, then hissed again when you licked the side of his throat.

“Patience, agent, patience.” The grip on your neck disappeared and you heard his zipper open, a relieved exhale following.

The flicking of his wrist kept going for a few more seconds before he pulled out and ripped the flimsy fabric of your underwear off entirely. With an arm around your waist, he steadied you, before pressing the head of his cock forward.

At first, there was a dull sensation of resistance, Murdoc being bigger than you expected. But before you could protest, your cunt gave way, and he slipped in, the fullness and drag on your insides making you tighten around him.

The man rocked into you, his arm pressing your bodies so close together you could feel every laboured breath he took. You wanted to rip off the coat he was wearing, taste the naked skin over his ribs on your tongue.

You barely even noticed the changing gravity as you got pushed into the ground, your back painfully dragging against the rubble.

“I wanna spread your legs and eat you out until all you can think of is getting filled up to the brim,” Murdoc sounded almost delirious now, his hips speeding up, “wanna bury myself in you and keep going until you’re screaming–”

You encircled his waist with your legs, the pain of moving your ankle getting lost in the white noise that filled your head. You wanted him closer, you needed him closer.

Every time he pushed back in you squeezed him harder, wanting the stretch, urging him to thrust faster, squirming when he hit that spot inside you. It was almost too much, waves of pleasure twisting your insides, breathing near impossible.

"You'll feel me for days, agent, won't be able to look in the mirror without remembering my cock deep inside you," he groaned loudly, pulling you up into his lap without stopping the movement of his hips.

He bit down on your collarbone, leaving a red imprint of his teeth behind.

"Wanna mark you, scar you, make it so no one will ever touch you again–"

Your fingernails bit into the palm of your hand, his rasping voice pushing you over the edge. Knowing that you made him sound that way, that you brought out something desperate and reckless, a frenzied stream of litanies, from a man like Murdoc.

That was what did it.

Your legs tensed and clamped over his thighs, and you let out a string of curses. “FuckfuCKFUCK! Please–M-Murdoc, I–!” 

He covered your mouth with his own and swallowed the shrill sounds, kisses turning brutal as you trembled in his arms. First his tongue ran over your teeth, then he bit down on your lower lip until the skin broke, a small stream of red immediately smudging between your lips. The sting sent a pulse down to your cunt, sucking Murdoc's cock in deeper.

He kept thrusting even as you stiffened, insides clenching around him like a vice, and with a short bark of your name he spilled himself on your inner walls.

Your exhausted body was pressed against his chest and you were empty for a moment. No worries, no thoughts. The aftershocks wiped your head clean of everything.

Your torn dress fell off your shoulders, but you didn't notice.

When you came to, your wrists were free, and the two of you were laying side by side on the floor.

Murdoc was staring at you like the cat that swallowed the canary; strands of hair were sticking out of place and a thin sheen of sweat covered his face, making his skin look glossy. It made him look so young, but you knew better.

His fingers kept running over the red imprint on your chest, eyes occasionally glancing at your scratched up wrists. He seemed... content. Some of that ever-present frantic energy looked to be gone.

You exhaled softly, the man's lips grabbing your attention. There was a redness there, lipstick or blood, and you weren’t sure which option was more appealing. Either way, you couldn’t take your eyes off it.

With an unsteady hand, you ran a finger through it, captivated by the sight, and the feeling of warm, malleable flesh.

Murdoc almost seemed human like this.

In a deliberately slow move, he ran his tongue over the tip of your finger and licked the ruddiness off. Grinned again.

God, you wanted to punch that smug look off his face, and you wanted to kiss him until he couldn't breathe.

What a fucking day.

[piccoloswifers]

[fbfh]

Okay okay so as an arachnophobic bitch I've long since had headcanons for alternate pets Sam Monroe would have (all named Lucifer ofc) so here's part 1 because Sam RADIATES snake owner energy to me

Also dw next two will not be snakes lol pt 2 lizard dad!sam, pt 3 rat dad!sam

Snake owner!Sam ft. Lucifer the ball python

Probably got him when he was either a lil baby or still an egg tbh

DEFINITELY got him in secret to piss off his parents

Or possibly used the divorce as a bargaining chip to get a pet that he got to choose

Has a drawer with Lucifer's shedded skins bc they're cool (he also secretly gets nostalgic looking at the smaller/old ones)

Will ABSOLUTELY let you feed him if you want to

But if you're sensitive and/or hyper empathic like I am

(or as Sam affectionally puts it "such a fucking crybaby" he wants to lick the tears off your face)

he has to spend like 20 minutes explaining to you that all Lucifer's food is ethically and humanely sourced, that Lucifer is just a prey animal and it's really no different than any other meat in the freezer

also he only needs to eat about once every two weeks so it's not like some family guy cutaway to a veal farm

You feel better and calm down but still sniffle a little and ask him to thank the mice or rats before the next time he feeds Lucifer

he brushes you off but uh. yeah. he does. you're probably not even in the room when he does it

also at the end of this whole conversation he leaves to grab something and when he comes back in he sees you snuggling Lucifer and kissing his head. You're holding him and he's looking right at you with rapt attention as you babble all sweet and teary, "'s not your fault baby, mommy not mad at you.... such a sweet lil linguini noodle, aren't you?"

Lucifer flicks his tongue out and you giggle cut to "and that was the moment I knew I was going to marry you" speech at your wedding

also yes Sammy does have about a trillion pictures of Lucifer hiding in your hair (however you style it)

edit: FORGOT TO FUCKING MENTION Sam will ABSOLUTELY casually wear Lucifer out with you in public. if you're from a small town you've probably seen/had at least ONE scary looking snake wearing guy just chilling in an empty 7/11 parking lot in flip flops and a limp bizkit shirt with a snake around his shoulders or crawling in and out of his gauges. That's Sam.

best part is this ADDS to his scary dog privileges!! when you go out and he has Lucifer chilling on both of you AND his arm around your shoulder???

NO ONE will even fucking look at you. Which is exactly how Sammy likes it.

more hair textures/styles + Lucifer <3 (I couldn't find a ton but tried to include a good mix. smooches.)

[h4unted-d4rling]

[mc-tums-fog]

Under The Desert Sky

Pairing: Elliott Marston x GN! Reader

Chapter II: When Clusters of Stars Tell Stories

Chapter Summary: Every action has a reaction, that’s what you were taught at a young age. You just never figured your actions would cause Elliott Marston to have this kind of reaction.

Content Warnings For This Chapter: Period-Typical Racism (Mentions against the Aboriginal people and Native Americans)

Notes:

Wrote this chapter immediately after the first, and was proud with it initially. But now I'm not too sure. Did some minor rewrites but still, not too sure. I think that's just me second guessing myself, plus figuring out the exact order of events for the next chapters. I'm trying to trust the process gang.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

It took you about a week since the conversation between you and Elliott to notice a pattern and figure out what the catch was.

No, he didn’t lower your pay. Come payment day you found that it was the same as in the last two weeks. No, the workload hadn’t suddenly increased. It was like the other times, and you had already gotten used to it at this point. No, the men didn’t try their luck with getting back at you somehow. Comments and looks here and there, but it didn’t seem like they were going to carry out anything big. The only notable difference was how Coogan did his best to not talk to you, when he could help it. Not like you were complaining.

But maybe some of those things would have been more preferable. Because when you realize what the catch was, how minor and inconvenient it would be to others, it quickly spiraled your mind with questions that had no answers to them.

Elliott Marston would take any opportunity that he saw fit to interact with you in some way.

The first two days, you paid no mind and thought it was even reasonable. You had gotten into a fight with one of his men after all. You figured this was just his way of making sure it didn’t happen again, or to show you “who was boss”. On these first two days, he was observing you more often than he had previously. Even coming up to you to talk about the work you were doing and going to be doing. This was something he did during the first few days of working for him, where he was directing you, but then he made his men give you orders after some time. If it was just this, you probably would have brushed it off.

But the third and fourth day was when you started to question his behavior. Sure, he’d watch you from afar, come up to speak about the work, same as before. But then there would be a few times throughout the day that he’d just… started talking to you.

At first, you thought he was just mulling to himself aloud. You never really caught into it on the third day, with being focused on your work. It was the fourth when you noted he said something when you walked by him to do another one of your tasks. You paid it no mind. It wasn’t until you had walked past him again a second time that you completely registered that he was talking to you. Not to himself . To you . And only then did you register how irregular that was. In the past, if you happened to walk by him, he wouldn’t say anything. Just a quick look and go back to whatever he was doing. Unless the heat was really getting to you, you never recalled him doing this before.

“I’m sorry, did you need me to do something?” You weren’t exactly kind in your tone like you were previously whenever you asked that question, in case you didn’t hear one of the workers on the ranch talk to you the first time. So, you figured he wanted you to do something, and you didn’t realize since you were so focused.

From his front porch leaning on one of his pillars, he studied you for a moment. Once again wearing that unreadable expression, which was even harder to see under his hat.

“You don’t seem to pay much attention to your surroundings when working.”

You didn’t know what to make of that… statement? It didn’t sound like a question, but you weren’t sure what kind of observation that was, besides an obvious one.

“I pay attention when something or someone needs my attention.” Was all you could offer, wanting to end the conversation soon.

“From what I was told, it seemed like the men didn’t need your attention when talking among themselves earlier this week.”

You didn’t even try to hide your annoyance when he said that.

“I was giving the two Aboriginal women you have on your grounds attention. He only got my full attention after his comments about my family,” You wiped off some of the dirt that had been forming on your clothes. Not like it mattered; they would get dirty again. “Was that all, or may I get back to work?”

Was it a bit stupid and dangerous to give him mouth even after he was gracious with allowing you to stay? Sure. But you couldn’t really give a damn. You wanted to earn your paycheck, and the sooner you could get through the days, the sooner you’d get it.

You expected him to continue on whatever else he had on his mind just to irritate you and regain control of the situation. Instead, he gave a quick, dismissive nod. And so, you left, wanting to put that interaction aside and focus on what you had left to do.

But it didn’t stop with that. From the fourth and fifth day he continued to do this every time you walked by him. He was still doing his previous routine of watching you from afar and coming up to you directly to tell you what to do. But now he would add these small comments if you happened to be nearby while doing your work. It wasn’t even about the fight at that point. He would make comments about anything. The particular gun he carried in his holster that day. Deserters that were still on the loose. The Australian land in general.

You gave curt replies because you just wanted to stay focused on your work. But even with the small amount of replies you did give he would somehow make do and continue on with whatever he was going on about. And not totally wanting to push your luck into waving him off without the risk of your job security, you decided to listen. You figured, if he was the one to initiate the conversation in the first place, then he shouldn’t be mad if hardly any work managed to get done that day. Plus, he was always on his porch when talking, and if the sun was angled right and you were standing in the correct position, the shade would cover you up. So more for your benefit, you listened.

…Admittedly, you found some of his topics interesting to listen to. In some ways that statement on being a student was correct. He sounded intelligent with what he had to say. Whenever he talked about America, he was correct on a number of things. But some areas you knew he wasn’t.

And maybe it was a mistake on your part for the following events that would occur, but you decided to contest the stuff he was wrong about on the fifth day.

“The tribes did uphold those treaty deals.” You said in response to how America would often negotiate treaties among the different tribal groups. “The only reason some of them were broken was because the army kept infesting their lands.”

He must’ve not expected you to say anything at all that weren’t just replies to end the conversation, as he looked at you with just a hint of being surprised.

“Where did you hear that nonsense?”

“That nonsense ,” You gave him a look. “I witnessed. When working on one of the farms in America the owner became close with one of the tribes nearby. They would make trades, giving them crops for some herbal medicine for his animals that got sick.”

You leaned one of those pillars facing more away from Elliott, who had been sitting nearby on a chair.

“The head of that tribe would come and talk about a treaty that had been going on that the military kept breaking. He wanted the farms’ owner to be a witness to one of these meetings, and I came along as I would often be the one making the deliveries to the camp.”

You shook your head as you looked down. You hadn’t noticed that Elliott stopped what he’d been doing, cleaning his gun, and gave his full attention to you.

“Didn’t matter though. The military didn’t listen to our testimonies of our firsthand accounts, where we knew they didn’t break it. They were disrespectful the whole time. The tribe was forced to move once the military took over it. Then the farm went to shit because they couldn’t get the medicine for the animals.”

You thought about the farmer and the tribe’s leader. You hoped they, and their families were doing good while you were down here. It was never easy for you to make connections with other people, with how they treated your parents. But they were one of the few that showed kindness to your troubles.

“The owner of the farm never got help from the military?”

You looked over at Elliott. For once, you could hear just the slightest indication of an emotion that wasn’t stern. He sounded like he cared about whatever happened to him.

You snapped out of that observation and shrugged. “Sometimes they tried to provide some medicine, with the exchange of us giving them some crops. But it didn’t work as well as the herbal medicine, so he stopped dealing with them all together. Didn’t make the army men happy but I don’t think he really cared all that much.”

He looked down, his brows furrowing a bit to the point where you could see a line forming between them. It was an indication he was in thought of the story you told. You noticed how he would often do this, trying to dissect and think about what it was people had said to him, and particularly with you. In a strange way, you found this… respectable, was the best your compliment for him was going to get. Most people don’t take the time to fully process what they or others say to them. Unless it was in the heat of the moment when he was having a quick and rushed discussion, he still took the time to consider what he was going to say, or what others said.

And you realized it wasn’t just in his words that he did this. You realized how he would do this for his actions. The way he moved had a certain precision about it. Even in a frazzled state that you would sometimes see him in there was still somehow an air of thought that surrounded his movements. You could see how he became a ranch owner and a skilled gunslinger; with the few times you saw him using his gun before. It made sense. In his line of work, he couldn’t afford to be careless.

You hadn’t realized how you were staring intently at him mulling this over until one of his men called you over for help getting control over a wild horse they found and wanted to tame. You blinked as you looked over, and quickly rushed from down the porch, wincing a bit as your ribs were still in pain. You must’ve spent too long in the shade because you instantly felt your face heat up as you jogged away from the porch and into the sunlight.

The sixth day followed this similar format, where he would talk to you by his porch when you were nearby. Whenever you did, something about it made you feel like you could challenge him a bit more. And for whatever reason, he allowed it, and would challenge you back. In this back and forth you would learn a few things more about his country and him with yours. He would learn about the city life you had, and he would talk about the ranch life. You didn’t know what to make of these conversations after the first few times.

And you found yourself doing something you hadn’t expected yourself to do at the start of the seventh day.

You made conversation with him first.

It was early enough in the morning, and you were already getting ahead in some areas, thanks to working a bit longer in the evening prior. You put some water on your face and noted Elliott leaving his home to check on his horse. He did this every morning, he never wanted anyone else to take care of his steed, Maverick as he called him.

But as he was walking down the steps and to the stables, you felt like his appearance was off. You couldn’t pinpoint how though. From where you were standing you were a great distance away from him, but even so, you could still tell something wasn’t right. As the sun got a bit higher, casting more light onto the ranch, and onto him, it suddenly hit you.

He wasn’t wearing all black attire. His vest was a deeper shade of a maroon.

You tried to think if he always had a vest like that. With how busy you were with your tasks, you could never really look at him all that much, other than when he was talking to you. Or when you could catch some conversations between him and his men. But at those times you could only recall him wearing something black. Sometimes it was a full black coat with a vest and white button up to contrast it. Other times it was just his black vest and white button up. Rarely did you ever see him without a vest. If he did always have this one, you never noticed until now.

So, you felt like you had to make a comment on it. It was rational to you. Besides, you already had to go and feed the animals that were close by anyway.

When you walked by carrying the scraps for the livestock while he was still tending to his horse, you said something.

“I thought you only dressed like the grim reaper.”

He stopped brushing his horse’s hair and looked over at you. His look of confusion was clear as day. You clarified as you kept feeding the animals.

“I didn’t think you even liked any other color other than black is what I mean.”

He took note of his vest now and seemed to ponder further with what you said.

“I’ve worn this vest before.” He replied.

“Well, I’ve only seen you wear black. I never noticed this vest.”

“Really.”

You didn’t catch how he didn’t frame it as a question, or how thoughtful he sounded. You were more focused on the idea that he could like other things, how implausible that seemed.

“I’m not sure how you could mostly wear black, when the sun is so damn hot.” You said it more to yourself than to him, trying to rationalize a common thought you had about his choice of clothing aloud.

“It’s proper attire that suits my character well.”

“For a funeral maybe.”

You didn’t realize how much you had gone back and forth on this singular topic on something so small. You didn’t even realize that as you were working, he would follow you to finish this conversation. Which delved into a conversation on what you liked to wear, which was whatever was practical, you were never too picky growing up. That led to him rationalizing that his clothing was practical in getting to his weaponry quickly. That led you to asking about what shooting a gun was like, and him explaining how even being an expert he still found himself closing his eyes as a reaction whenever it went off. Which made you think about the times that you did see him use his gun, and he was right.

Throughout the morning it went like this, him following you around with you never phasing in doing your work. At times he would need to leave and would excuse himself. But then he’d get back right to wherever the two of you left off. By midday you didn’t realize how exhausted you were. A bit odd, since you’ve never gotten tired this quickly before. By the afternoon, when it was time to send out letters by one of the workers who were already going into town for a supply run, he let you know the payment you were sending to your family and gave you the leftover percentage to you personally. Noting it was the same, you were going to help the rest of the workers in loading up some crates for their journey. But before you could, Elliott stopped you and told you to get into some shade because the last thing he wanted was to drag another worker out of the sun.

You didn’t realize this was the first time he allowed you to have a break. Because if you did, it would’ve been a bigger deal. But you were exhausted. So, you went to the lodge and crashed out for some time.

Upon waking up, you could see that the sun had started to go down. You tried to get your bearings on why you went to bed earlier than usual when you could hear two men talking outside to each other, as one of the windows was partially open. They seemed like they were in the middle of a conversation when they came near the lodge.

“-y arm must’ve pulled something when carrying the crates,” The voice, you could recognize to be Dobkin, groaned. “Should’ve gotten the rookie to do it.”

You immediately knew he was talking about you. He’d called you that before, with how you were one of the newer workers for the ranch, despite now being here for a couple of months. You were about to ignore it when the other voice, you placed to be O’Flynn, spoke next.

“If you did, you’d be cuttin’ into Mr. Martson’s ‘buddy’ time.” He snickered.

You perked up at that. What did he mean by “buddy time”?

“If the rookie has time to be talking with Mr. Marston, then the rookie can take the time to actually do some work.”

You had been doing work. That’s all you have been doing for these past few months. In your still tired state, you wondered why he would even phrase it like that.

“You think it’s odd too, right? How they talk to each other?” O’Flynn asked. “I mean, that weasel beats the shit out of Coogan, and Mr. Marston doesn’t do anything about it.”

“It’s none of my business what Mr. Marston decides to do.” Dobkin responded back. He groaned again. “Christ this arm. Let’s go find a bottle.”

“All I’m saying is,” O’Flynn said as Dobkin’s footsteps were walking away. “Either Mr. Marston is planning a proper funeral or a wedding.”

Their voices grew distant, and you thought about what they said. You knew O’Flynn was just being a little shit saying that last part. But your conversations with Elliott did give you a pause. You really thought about it for a moment as you laid on the cot, looking up at the ceiling.

The past few days he had been observing you more and interacting with you. He sought you out to talk to you, as if he wanted to. And you realized that didn’t make any sense. Here you are working at his ranch even after beating up a man and not holding back when speaking either. How was it that you were still standing and breathing even? As best as you could with your ribs.

And more importantly, you had engaged with him back. You talked with him. Today you even talked to him first. Why?

You rubbed your eyes, your face not hurting as much when you touched it. It didn’t make sense to you. His behavior toward you and yours to him. You tried to rest further. But as the others would come in and rest as well, as much as you closed your eyes, it was hard to sleep with the lingering questions still in your mind. It had gotten well into the night, but you decided that you couldn’t sleep and put on your work outfit just so you had something warm to be in when outside.

You went back to the spot you were at the last time you gazed at the stars, only you stood up this time, as if it would get you closer to them.

They were still as beautiful as ever. And while they brought you a sense of comfort, they couldn’t answer any of the questions you had. But even if they could, it’s not like they would know what to do in your shoes anyway. They could just be there to listen, and you figured that satisfied you enough. That, and you could simply appreciate their beauty.

It amazed you on what you’d missed out on. It was the one thing you could give Australia credit for. You’ve never seen anything like this. You didn’t even think you would ever see something like this.

You stood there, for how long you weren’t sure, just basking in the starlight. You thought about making this a thing to do every night, just looking at the stars. Though you worried it would end up losing its beauty, if you had too much of one good thing. Suddenly, your ears picked up the precise footsteps coming from behind. You could easily recognize them, and it brought you back to your dilemma and questions.

Like last time, he took the place by your left, only not as towering as he was when you were sitting down like before. Upon leaning his arms on the fence’s wooden planks, he nodded to himself in satisfaction. Then he looked out to where you had been looking, right at the stars.

He didn’t rush to say anything like he had when this first happened. He took the time to let the quiet set back in before he could break it. Which of course, he did eventually.

“You know, I’m not paying you to stargaze.” He spoke.

Of course he had to act like this was above him too.

“I’m not telling you to.” You replied back, not even looking at him.

“You couldn’t tell me what you could get paid for any-” He started to go on before you cut him off. You decided that the only way you were going to get answers to your questions was from him.

“Why have you been trying to talk to me?”

He seemed to act like this was the first time you were blunt with him, as if you hadn’t been talking to him bluntly ever since last week. It annoyed you even more. So you made that clear. 

“Don’t act like you don’t get why this confuses me. You’re smarter than that. I beat up one of your men, I talked back to you when you tried to talk to me about it. And even if this was to just uphold a deal with my cousin, you still go out of your way to try to talk to me when neither of us have any reason to.” 

You finally looked over to him. “Why?”

He didn’t say anything at first. Despite being in the dark, without his hat on, and being about three feet from him, you could make out his face. Once again, he kept studying you and seemed to be contemplating what he was going to say next. He turned his head back to the stars and seemed to be contemplating them as well. Like the answer was up there.

You didn’t sense any heaviness in the silence like the last time you both talked under the stars. You’d almost call it peaceful. At least, there were no warning signs yet of anything dangerous to come. So, you waited. And eventually he spoke.

“My mother used to talk about how the stars told stories.”

You gave him a quizzical look.

He must’ve seen your reaction, because he let out a very light chuckle. You realized then that this was the first time you heard any kind of laughter coming out of him. Or even a broader smile than his cocky smirk he would have on from time to time.

“Sounds completely ridiculous right? But she wasn’t wrong. Certain stars have formations that if you really looked closely enough with the right materials, you could see them. They’re called constellations. Each one relates back to a character in a story rooted in Greek mythology.”

You looked back up to the sky. Personally, you couldn’t see anything distinct about them, besides that they were all beautiful. You saw some clusters that were brighter than others, sure. Nothing that told you a story though.

“I always found that interesting,” He continued. “That if you observed and interacted with the stars long enough, they would tell you a story.”

He looked over at you, causing you to look over to him as well.

“I would like to know yours. And I hope you’d like to know mine.”

It was the first time he said anything like it was an offer, rather than a demand. Like he was giving you a say in the matter. And it was said in the same tone that you briefly caught when claiming that you didn’t have the right to make that judgement about how he wasn’t better than anyone. 

It sounded like sincerity, if you had to give it a name.

You had already thought he knew enough, what he needed to know before hiring you. That your family was in financial trouble, and you were the only one who could work and could do the work well. That was it, the gist of what your cousin said, though including more of the circumstances on why you were the only one working. You didn’t even think he wanted to know more. But you also found yourself more focused on the latter half of what he said. How he hoped you would get to know him.

And you really hadn’t thought you would want to get to know him more. Why would you? You felt like he made his character and who he was pretty clear.

But then again…

You realized just how much you were engaging back with him. The details you remembered about these past conversations between the two of you. You talked to him more within the past week than you had within the past months since you’ve been here.

Did you want to get to know him more?

Something about that question made your heart miss a beat. But you couldn’t explain why.

You looked back up to the stars. Like they would have an answer for you. Something. Anything. You tried to clear your head and with whatever thought popped up, whatever your gut instincts were telling you, you would go with it. You couldn’t see how your choice would screw you over if he was giving you the option.

And so, after taking a moment, that’s what you did. You went with whatever came to your mind first. With the stars being witnesses to it.