#but wasn’t acceptable so ya had to act all

[tothesolarium]

Gay things are afoot in this atomic “utopia”

[kimberly-spirits13]

After Hunt Showers

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader SFW

Synopsis: After Sam denies Dean the first shower after a hunt, you let Dean join you.

Warnings: showering together, some light language, not fully edited (I gotta get to class 😭)

The sound of rain hitting the windows of Baby would have lulled you to sleep on a regular day, however, after all the adrenaline from the hunt you just completed, sleep was nowhere in sight. Some rock song you didn’t quite recognize right now was playing in the background acting like white noise. All you could think about on this ride home was getting into a scalding hot shower and wasting the day’s torments away while you scrubbed all the grime and muck off yourself. You openly cherished the quiet time you got in the shower and the ability of a good shower to keep you sane.  Dean was humming along, drumming his fingers along to the drums on the steering wheel. You looked over to see what Sam was doing and caught Dean’s eyes in the rear view. When your eyes met for the brief encounter, he shot you a wink causing you to blush and roll your eyes in response. You could see the exhaustion in Dean’s eyes and a shade of purple shadowing under them. He looked like a zombie, cursed with the inability to sleep. 

                  “I want first shower tonight, Sammy.” Dean said, reaching over to turn the car off.

                  “What? No way!” Sam turned to face him, “You had first shower last time.” 

                  “Too bad Sammy. Eldest gets first shower” Dean looked at you with a grin, “Back me up on this Y/N.”

                  “I’m not touching that argument with a ten-foot pole.” You put your hands up and laughed, “That’s a two of you problem.” “You could just shower in my room before me.”

                  “No go, I know you’re exhausted.” Dean answered sternly looking back at you. His eyes softened looking at you and a small smile appeared. Dean put a hand on your knee before Sam started arguing again.

                  “I get first shower.” Sam asserted.

                  “Dude, that’s bullshit.” Dean turned back to face him, the look of brotherly annoyance returning across his face again.

                  “Fine. Rock, paper, scissors.” Sam threw his hand on with a fist on the other.

                  Reluctantly, Dean did the same. The two looked sternly at each other, not breaking eye contact. 

                  “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot” Sam chanted.

                  “Damn it!” Dean yelled and threw his head back in defeat, “Best out of three.”

                  “What- dude.” 

                  “Just do it Sammy.” He insisted.

                  The same thing happened again, and Dean accepted his fate. This wasn’t without complaining that Sam showered like a girl and took too much time. He decided that it would be quicker to wait for you to finish showering and then borderline drown himself when you got out. You and Dean walked into your motel room. Ever since you started dating, you slept in a separate room to give Sam some much needed privacy. Dropping your duffel from the car onto the floor next to the bed, you got out a change of clothes and walked into the bathroom to start the shower. It was a moment later when you walked out and saw Dean sitting in a wobbly desk chair, staring up at the ceiling, willing himself to shower when you were done. You felt bad seeing him this way.

                  “Yell at me when you’re done, will ya.” Dean said, closing his eyes and leaning back into the chair.

                  “You look exhausted.” You said, walking over and running your fingers through his hair. 

                  It was still sweaty from running around all night; he needed a shower. Dean sighed deeply and leaned into your touch, nearly falling asleep. 

                  “But I still look beautiful right?” He popped an eye open to see your response and cracked a smile.

                  “I suppose so.” 

                  “Suppose so? That’s just hurtful Y/N/N.” Dean loudly clapped a hand over his chest in feigned offense.

                  You giggled, kissing him to make up for the comment, “Will you ever be able to forgive me?” 

                  “I suppose so.” 

                  You rolled your eyes and started running your fingers through his hair again, causing him to close his eyes again.

                  “Wanna come shower with me? It’ll be quicker.” You asked.

                  “I’d never say no to that, but isn’t the shower kind of your me time?” Dean answered.                 

                  “Yeah, but I’m fine. You don’t look like you’re staying awake much longer anyways.”

                  “So, what you’re saying is, you want Dean time, not me time?” 

                  “I’m saying that I’m pretty sure you’re not going to shower if you don’t now, and I don’t want your stink on me tonight when you have a death grip around me.” You poked the top of his head and smiled, “Now, are you coming or not?”

                  “I’d never miss the chance.”

                  You dropped your towel and stepped inside the shower, letting the steaming hot water hit your face and roll down. Dean followed quickly behind you, and you moved out of the way for him to soak his hair and wash his face once you had done so. Grabbing the shampoo, you lathered the soap into your hair and started rinsing out the blood, dirt, dust, and whatever else was in there. Dean moved out of your way so you could wash the shampoo out. 

                  “You’re beautiful.” He said, running his hands through your hair, now slick with conditioner.

                  “I’m flattered.” You replied, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him pull you into a kiss. Dean yawned loudly while he helped rinse the conditioner out of your hair. You laughed and looked up at him, “Are you going to survive, pretty boy?” 

                  “No.” He yawned again.

                  “Let me rinse your hair.” You said pulling him close and letting his head fall on your shoulder.

                  Dean wrapped his arms around your waist and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of your embrace and your nails massaging the shampoo into his hair. You felt his eye lashes flutter against your shoulder and his breath fanning out against your skin. He had a tight grip around you and didn’t seem to be letting go anytime soon. You moved to reach up and grab the handheld shower head and began rinsing the product out of hair, making sure to avoid getting any soap in his eyes. 

                  “You really should be more intentional about rest, Dean.” You said quietly.

                  “I’m fine.” He answered.

                  “No, you’re not. You’re exhausted.” “I’m not upset with you; I just want you to pay more attention to what you need.”

                  “You’re probably right.” Dean said.

                  “Did I hear that right?” You feigned a gasp.

                  Dean raised his head and shot you a look making you laugh.

                  “How about we sleep in tomorrow?” He asked.

                  “that’s a good start.” You agreed carding your fingers through his dripping hair.

                  After finishing showering, the two of you got dried off. You brushed your teeth next to Dean as he rested his head on your shoulder. When doing your skin routine, he glued himself to you. Again, you felt his breath fanning against your skin and eyelashes fluttering against your neck. His warmth kept you from the chills you typically got after a shower. 

                  “You almost done?” He asked in whisper.

                  “Almost.” You said with a small smile watching him. 

                  Silently, you streaked moisturizer across his forehead when his eyes were closed. He popped an eye open and rubbed the stripe on his face, making it disappear in his skin. 

                  “Very funny.” He breathed out. 

                  “It was.” You laughed and put it away.

                  “You done now?” 

                  “Yea.”

                  Dean pulled you into the bedroom and onto the bed before throwing the covers over the two of you. He let a groan when his head hit the pillow and grabbed for you to come closer to him. He was clingy at night, and tonight was no different. 

                  “Want me to set an alarm?” You asked in a hushed voice.

                  “Hell no.” He laughed, “Sammy will bang on the door when it’s time to go.” 

                  “You’re probably right.” 

                  “I know I’m right.” He poked your side, “Now go to sleep. I love you.” 

                  “Love you too.”

                  You curled into his side and smiled feeling his kiss on the top of your head before soft snores emitted from Dean. Tonight, you were glad to not have your usual “me time”. 

[lovelyjj]

you can use any prompts but can u do reader and jj breaking up, mostly because he can't communicate well and he's to reckless ( maybe you could add something we're he flirts with other girls at bonfires when he's drunk) and she's not all for that ecspecially since they are starting to get older

Break Up

jj maybank x reader

wc: 1.1k

I chose “don’t do this” and “we’re done” from this prompt list! i’m still accepting requests!

warnings: kinda mean jj

a/n: sorry if this sucks

(not my gif)

“JJ I can’t keep doing this,” you voiced.

“Doing what?” JJ asked.

“Putting up with your bullshit,” you responded.

“My bullshit,” JJ laughed.

“Yeah your pulling guns on people bullshit. Stealing from drug dealers, and being reckless.”

“I’m not reckless I’m perfectly fine.”

“JJ, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Don’t do this,” JJ begged.

“You know what whatever i’m leaving.” You stormed out.

You were trying to break up with JJ but you just couldn’t do it. You don’t know if it was his blue eyes looking into your soul or his sad face but you just couldn’t do it. You were putting it off.

——————

The bonfire was electrifying. People were drinking and dancing, and talking it was wild. You we’re having a good time with your friends.

JJ was on his third beer and he wasn’t planning on stoping anytime soon. It was safe to say he was a little drunk. He enjoyed drinking and being drunk, it made everything easier. He could just forget all his problems and let loose.

JJ saw a group of girls by the fire and decided to go up to them. He had liquid courage, therefore went up to them pretty confident.

“Hi ladies,” he spoke.

A tall blonde in a short black dress smiled at him and said “Hello, your JJ Maybank right?”

“Yeah that’s me,” JJ gave her a goofy grin.

“I’ve heard about you.”

“Oh yeah and what have you heard?” JJ asked.

“That your a handsome guy who knows how to have a good time,” she smirked.

“Sounds about right.”

“You have a beautiful smile,” JJ laid on the charm.

JJ continued to flirt with the blonde as he drunkenly slurred compliments at her.

“Don’t look now,” Kiara warned.

“What?” you turned around and saw what she was referring to.

There was JJ in all his glory stroking hair out of some random girls face. You were livid. How dare he in his drunken state think to hit on other girls.

You were about to walk over there when something stopped you. Kiara put a hand on your shoulder holding you back from leaving.

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” she asked.

“Yeah I’m sure.”

You marched up to JJ and demanded answers. You tapped him on his shoulder and he turned around all wide eyed.

“Listen Maybank I don’t know who you think you are, flirting with other girls right in front of my face, but you got another thing coming.”

You were getting older and you didn’t have time for all these games.

“Y/N?” He slurred.

“Yep.”

“I was just talking to some friends, no harm in that right?” JJ asked.

“Wrong. You’re being disloyal and unfaithful,” you hissed.

“How do you know? I’m just having fun.”

“Right well JJ i’m so tired SO tired of having to deal with this!”

“Then go away,” JJ casted you a unimpressed look.

“Maybe I will,” you shouted.

“Go, nobodies stoping you.”

You were pissed at JJ. He was acting like a child. You were not gonna control him, if he wanted to act like that you were gonna let him. But you couldn’t promise you will be by his side through it all.

———————

The day was bright and sunny. The sky holding the sun as it shined on you.

JJ walked into the château littered in bruises on his face. He was dreading the encounter with you because he didn’t want to worry you.

You were sat on the couch with the other pogues when JJ walked in.

“Hey J- Woah what happened? Are you ok?” You were frantic and scared for your boyfriend.

“Relax I’m fine. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“JJ you have- you’re not gonna give me a explanation,” you sighed.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” JJ said through gritted teeth.

“Ya know I would really love it if you could communicate with me sometime,” you frowned.

“Yeah well we don’t always get what we want,” JJ smiled rudely.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Suck it up princess.”

You pushed pass JJ going going out the door and onto the porch. You didn’t know what has gotten into JJ but you hated it.

——————

You and JJ weren’t on the same page. Everything seem to be crashing down. It was a disaster. JJ wasn’t communicating to you at all. All he did was blow you off and dance around your questions.

You stormed up to the château where JJ was currently staying and wanted to talk.

JJ came stumbling outside when he herd your knock and shouting. He wasn’t impressed but he showed up none the less.

“I need to talk to you,” you started off.

“You want to do this here?” JJ questioned.

You sighed, “works for me.”

“Ok what do you need to talk about,” JJ cringed he hated talking.

“I think you know,” you moved your lips inside your mouth forming a line without showing your lips.

“I don’t.”

“Ok well I think we need to have a conversation about us.”

“Which entails…”

“JJ…”

“What? You wanted to talk so let’s talk,” he gritted his teeth.

“Ok look this isn’t working. You don’t treat me right and i’m tired of it.”

“So you’re breaking up with me,” JJ put his tongue to his cheek.

“Yeah I guess I am.”

“I can change,” JJ’s voice broke.

“No JJ I don’t think you can.”

“Please give me another chance,” JJ begged.

“You don’t talk to me, your reckless and you flirt with other girls, I can’t handle it. how am I suppose to compete with them?”

“Sorry I’ve been such a shitty boyfriend.” JJ apologized.

“Well you should of thought about that before.”

“I know I don’t deserve it but if you could find it in your heart to forgive me and make this work, I would be eternally grateful,” JJ expressed with a sense of urgency.

“We’re done.”

“Y/N…”

“Goodbye JJ.”

You turned around to walk away and since you weren’t facing JJ you let a tear slip down your cheek. You didn’t want to do what you just did but you had to. JJ was hurting you, hurting your heart and you couldn’t stand it any longer. You loved him more than anything and not being with him was going to be a challenge.

JJ was your first real love. He was your person for so long until he started being careless and irresponsible. On top of that he didn’t communicate his feelings or give you any idea to what he was thinking which drove you mad.

JJ had his flaws but you loved him desperately regardless. You just couldn’t let him hurt you anymore as much as it hurt you to break up with him. So, as the tears streamed down your cheeks and with a heavy heart you said your last goodbye to JJ.

[aerowolf]

the mercs realize it's your bday and you didn't tell anyone because your family doesn't do birthdays

I’m so sorry this is a mess between British and American english. I have an American parent and a Canadian one so it messed me up lolll

if didn't include a Merc you wanted, feel free to request and I'll try and add them :]

includes: Miss Pauling & offense classes

cute platonic, gn!reader

warnings: n/a, this is basically all fluff

You'd rather not make a big deal of it being your birthday, even though it is you were taught that birthdays aren't a big deal and your family never really did them.

You kind of wish someone would care but you feel guilty about that so you choose not to tell anyone about it

The only one of these who actually knows it's your birthday is Miss Pauling, who’s seen your personnel files

Miss Pauling

She knows it's your birthday, and instead of ignoring it she decides to at least discreetly make it a good day for you

She arrives on base for a routine inspection, clipboard in hand, but once she's done with the main thing, instead of leaving, she comes to your room

"I saw that it's your birthday today. I don't know if you celebrate, or anything, but, uh, I thought you'd like a gift. Maybe."

She hands you a box, inside are some candy bars and a plush of a bear

"I know it's not exactly the nicest thing, and I know it's kinda... stereotypical... but, y'know, I thought you'd like something. So, happy birthday. From me.” She’s really shy about it, you get the feeling she didn’t--probably still doesn’t--really get to celebrate birthdays either. 

She offers you a ride on her motorbike, something nice, on the open road--away from this base for a little while. You accept, taking a seat behind her, enjoying the open air--though it is pretty hot out. You guys talk, just enjoying the time.

She smiles at you as you get back. “Happy birthday. You deserve it.”

You thank her and even give her a hug. It’s nice that you got this for once. 

Scout

He has no idea whatsoever that it’s your birthday. He’s interacting with you like usual, teasing you, just hanging out. You’re happy as you talk that day; he’s always good at making you laugh and smile.

At some point he notices that you’re a little down, as much as you may try to hide it, he can tell. You’re his friend, and even though he might act like he doesn’t care sometimes, you know he does. A lot.

You tell yourself you don’t want anything on your birthday, that it’s easier if no one knows, but secretly, you do.

“Hey, what’s up? C’mon, ya know I can tell when something’s wrong.” 

You tell him it’s nothing. 

“You sure? Really? You’re kinda… I dunno, sadder than usual.” After he asks a few times, you finally come out and tell him. You don’t say much. Just “It’s my birthday.”

“No kiddin’? Well, why didn’t ya tell me?” He comes off pretty strong. You feel kind of apologetic for mentioning it, and look away from him. “Aw, hey. Y’know what--it don’t matter. I’m gonna throw you a party like you ain’t never seen, believe me.”

You try to tell him you don’t want a party--well, you do. Maybe. No you don’t. Well, sure. But not a big one. He’s really sweet and enthusiastic about it. “Someone like you deserves a big birthday--but if you don’t want it, dat’s okay. Ya know, we could just hang out, or somethin’. You n’ me, yeah?” 

You tell him you’d like that a lot. You both find a quiet spot in the base where you can just talk. He messes around, too, and pops in a Tom Jones record. 

He’s a little shy, a little embarrassed, but he even sings happy birthday to you. He just seems glad no one can hear him. He doesn’t have a gift handy for you, but he ends up scribbling you a quick doodle of him telling you happy birthday. It’s misspelt, but the drawing is cute, and you keep it. “I hope ya had a good day. I’m just sorry I didn’t know sooner.” You tell him that it wasn’t his fault, how could he have known? 

After all is done, he gives you an awkward hug. You smile and return it.

Soldier

He’s a little crazy so he’s just hanging around base, today he had the idea to strip and cover himself in honey, so everyone has had to convince him to please not do that, and now he’s just moping around, muttering about how anti patriotic this all is.

You sit next to him and mope as well. Unlike him, no one knows the reason you’re moping. To anyone else’s point of view, you’re just comforting him--for whatever weird reason. But he sees that you’re just as sad as him.

“What’s wrong, maggot? Is there someone who needs to see my fists meet their face?”

You tell him no, no one did anything. You’re a little intimidated by him, and you don’t see much reason to tell him anyways. But it’s nice sitting with a friend. 

“If it’s not a person, then… it must be an object! Give it to me and I will destroy it immediately.” He’s being as sweet as he can, you smile and shake your head.

You sit there for a bit, smiling as you watch the other mercs come and go. Today isn’t a bad day, just a little sad. Later, you plan to find some kind of sweet treat to eat alone.

Soldier stands up, at attention, and points at you. “MAGGOT, AS YOUR SUPERIOR AND SENIOR, I ORDER YOU TO TELL ME WHAT IS WRONG!”

With a sad smile and a chuckle you finally tell him.

“Your birthday?” Soldier seems genuinely surprised. He places a hand on his chin and thinks. “We cannot go without celebrating! This is momentous!”

Although you try to protest, he turns to the base, stating to every other merc, “LISTEN UP! IT IS Y/N’S BIRTHDAY AND WE WILL CELEBRATE!” 

He makes it his personal mission to decorate for a party that very evening, even gets a cake and everything. He makes every other merc sing happy birthday with him. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

You give him a big hug, and he is surprised at first, but proceeds to give a gentle laugh and hug back.

Pyro

You see Pyro colouring with crayons and coloured pencils on their break, and you sit by them. You don’t really understand what they’re saying a lot of the time, but you enjoy hanging out with them. It’s a long period of silence before you join them in colouring. Regardless of your artistic skills, they’re impressed and encourage you, and are very happy when you show them what you’ve been working on. 

After a little while you get kind of bored and sad. You’ve tried to enjoy this day but it’s another bittersweet birthday. You’re happy to hang out with Pyro though, even though they don’t know what day it is.

Pyro notices that you’ve stopped colouring with them, and that you’re looking at the ground instead, messing with the cracks in the floor.

“Huddah hrmmf mmmrph?” You don’t understand what they’re saying exactly, but you smile at them. They seem to be asking what’s wrong, why you stopped, why you seem so sad.

You hesitate for a moment before finally confessing. They seem to mostly understand what you mean, and they lean back, thinking. 

After a few seconds, they stand up and help pull you off the floor. They point to their room, and you follow them. It’s an odd combination of scorch marks, colourful drawings, weapons, and art supplies. They lead you to a wardrobe and pull out a box. 

Surprisingly, you can see that it's fully wrapped. Did they somehow know it was your birthday? Do they keep these gifts on hand for the mercs?

You won’t get an answer, but they excitedly push it out and offer it to you. “Huddah hmmph!” They sound almost like they are smiling behind the mask. You take the box and open it. It’s got crayons, pencils, and… wow, that’s a drawing of you and them.

You smile, almost ready to tear up, and thank them. You give them a hug, and you notice that they’re hugging you back even harder. Maybe they don’t really understand, but this is sweet.

[pennyserenade]

common people | jim o'mahony (the delinquent season) x reader

summary | old enough to know better, but too exhausted by life to really think about it, you have an affair with a man you met on the bus. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | explicit smut, questionable morals, age gap (reader is in her mid to late 20s, jim is in his early 40s), pinv, angst, infidelity, unprotected sex word count | 3.6k+ a/n | this is sadder than i intended it to be, and perhaps less sexy because of it because at the end of the day i fear i'm a thought daughter more than a thot daughter. one day we'll find the balance, girls. just not today. love ya

The line that drew you here – sitting on the bed in your shoddy three bedroom flat with your mouth wrapped around Jim’s fingers – is by no means a straight and narrow one.

It had begun with a glance. You had done it because you wanted to feel seen. Jim had sat on the opposite side of the bus, wearing a puffy winter jacket, his black hair peppered compelling with visible grays, and his face had been indifferent as he watched out the window of the bus. With his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pressed into a pout, he struck you as an interesting subject. You had allowed your eyes to roam over the sharp sculpt of his jaw, and to inspect the enticing dust of freckles along the bridge of his nose, which danced out to the hollow of his cheeks. Then you caught his eyes as he turned his head in your direction. The sweet thrill of being noticed itched up your spine, just the way you were used to it doing.

Jim hadn’t let his face of plain indifference shatter in the wake of being watched, but you knew that he was watching you too, and that was enough. That wasn’t to say he was special. There’d been other people - other men - whom you had engaged in this game of sorts with before. Before Jim, it really meant nothing. You did it with people you didn’t even find all that attractive, just to know you could. There was the power in the act of maintaining eye contact with these people, and you liked the ambiguity that resided in the length of your stares–what it could suggest, or what it could lead to, even though it never had. The only thing that separated Jim from all of them was that he looked back for longer, and in his eyes you saw something more potent.

Sometimes you wonder, the way you, as the other woman, are apt to do, about the way he is different for his wife. Does he gather her in his lap? Does she put her mouth around his fingers and does he hum in delight for her, too? Or is this yours, just as that first shared glance was on the bus?

His fingers sit heavy on your tongue now. They taste of nothing. You arch into his body and his lips form into a smirk that makes you bloom inside with an insidious warmth. This man is someone’s husband, and he is spending a Tuesday afternoon in your bedroom. He is the creature of adulthood that lurks in your barely post-graduation adobe, a shape of security who sometimes brings your flatmates bottles of inexpensive ale and dinner to keep them amiable when his wedding band gleams in their direction. To make matters worse, he is older than you – so much so that you wouldn’t like to tell your mother about it, even if he wasn’t married.

Drawing his wet fingers out of your mouth, Jim trails them down your body, bunching up the fabric of your sleep shorts between his fists like a greedy child. You reach between your bodies and pull the leather out of his belt buckle. The clack of it resounding through your stuffy room makes you feel obscene and naughty. He marvels at the way you take initiative, his blue eyes following the diligent movements of your fingers as they work the belt through the hoops in his pants.

He leans back on the bed for you, and with a soft sigh, he accepts the cold tips of your fingers dancing across the skin of his lower stomach. You linger there, tickling over the hair below his belly button, relishing in the warmth his body has trapped beneath his jumper.

Before you pull the sweater up any higher, he takes your eager hands in his palms. “I didn’t even ask you how your day was yet, you know?” he says, voice airy—too light for how earnest you feel about fucking him.

A coil of frustration winds up inside of you. It must be treason, these small intimacies of his. Not only is he a husband but a father, too: an island of his own; a man with a country to abandon, to betray.

You offer him a placid smile. “It was slow. I was waiting for you.” Your fingers escape his grasp and he winces when they race out to his warm skin again.

“Mine was fine too, thanks,” he laughs, his own fingers gripping onto your hips. You ignore him, in no mood for conversation.

Jim allows you to draw his shirt above his arms. He pulls you closer against him after you do, your body flat against his exposed chest. You can smell the tea you made him on his breath, and feel the lustful fascination he has with you poking against your hip. He may be the most interesting thing that has ever happened to you, and you might be his.

You snake your hand down the front of his jeans, measuring the width of his want, the strength of your appeal. “Fuck,” he hums against your mouth. The deep timbre of his voice runs through you, causing slick to gather between your legs.

Jim opens his mouth for you, licking his tongue against yours as his fingers slide down the slope of your stomach to your clothed cunt. When you draw out a surprised breath, Jim inhales, taking your air before pressing his lips harshly upon yours. One hand curls round the back of your neck, holding you there. There’s a primal aspect to this, some need that existed before the both of you being manifested. His other hand cups your cunt, and he watches with invested interest as you grind down into his palm, desperate for release of any kind.

After a few moments of you grinding above him, Jim retracts his hand from you. Smiling, he takes off your shirt as you undo your bra. It’s a dance you’ve practiced so many times together, and it happens without falter or failure this time. You fist a handful of his salt and pepper hair as his warm tongue traces circles around your freshly exposed nipple.

Moaning softly, you rut against his crotch, trying to relieve the ache that grows between your legs as the warmth of his mouth wets your pert nipple. His tongue begins to trail up, wetting the skin of your chest, and he guides you back on to the bed. Nibbing softly at the skin below your ear, Jim’s hands slip off your shorts. You help, raising up your hips.

He smiles down at you, a soft, gentle thing, and you feel like a co-conspirator–a shameful title, but oddly thrilling all the same.

“Oh, Jim,” you say softly, before he has even touched you. Caging your lip between your teeth, you watch him as he stands on his knees before you, making room between your legs. Your head feels full. He doesn’t even bother with taking off his slacks. With the tip of his cock leaking already, he strokes himself, showing you, allowing you to see what you wanted to all those months ago on that bus: how much he wants you, how much you can be wanted. It is an accident– an incredible error–that you throb at him looking at you lovingly as much as wantonly these days.

You’ve read the reddit forums: women, like you, who know better and do wrong anyway. You’ve read entire threads about the reasons why they do it, and how they cope with it, and most of all, you search out the women who have seen themselves all the way through it. It scares you to think of all the paths this could lead to, when it wasn’t ever meant to lead to anywhere. Will you be the jilted lover in the end? One of the women who talk about how liberating it is to be free from something so private and soul crushing? Or will you end up concocting a story with him like the women who marry their men do? The ones who say they met on vacations or in bars months after the divorces have been filed so as not to be treated cruelly by the public? And could you live being either of those things?

“Missed you so goddamn much,” Jim whispers against your mouth, bracketing your head between his hands. You take his bottom lip between your teeth, kissing him hard, pulling him more closely to your body, as if your desire will eradicate that you want more than just lust from him these days.

He lines himself up to your entrance, his intense eyes watching your face twist up as he inches inside of you slowly. Jim is thick, and a little bigger than the other men you’ve been with in the past. It takes a moment for you to adjust around him, but he gives you it, kissing you tenderly until he‘s bottomed out inside of you. “Gotta be quiet,” he whispers against your lips. He swallows harshly then, as if having to digest his own sounds.

You feel the ghost of his breath against your chest when he hangs it down, watching the way you connect together. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you allow him to go deeper, pleading with him inaudibly to stay inside for longer. His hand pushes strands of your hair away from your face. Sweat begins to gather between your bodies, and he moves inside of you with the care of someone who is used to being discreet.

When the bed begins to creak beneath the sway of his hips, something primal unfurls inside of you. It is evidence that this is real. Evidence he allows - that he encourages - his needy fingers moving down, griping the flesh of your thigh as his cock slides back inside of you with ease. He grunts against your shoulder. “Fuck. Fuck, you’re so wet, darling,” he says. “Wanted me badly?”

You nod, turning to your head to capture his lips. You slide your hand underneath the waistband of his slacks, gripping onto his ass, guiding the movements of his hips as they press into your own. You feel an overwhelming desire for him, a thing bigger than you would like. It is warm, and blinding, and makes you stupid. “Wish you could be inside of me all day,” you say, meaning it.

“Fuck,” he whines. “I want—I want that, too. You’re taking me so good.”

You can feel the increasing ease with which he settles deeper and deeper into your body. “You make me feel so good,” you tell him. Your voice feels like it’s coming from some place deep inside of you, another version, who wants everything and can say it.

“Do I?” he manages to say, eyebrows threading together. He’s not really paying attention to what’s coming out of his mouth no more than you are. His eyes drop, looking at you beneath him, and then his head does too. His mouth wraps around your pebbled nipple, tongue swiping against your chest. He hums: the same satisfied song he sang you when you put your mouth around his fingers.

“Do you fuck her like this?” something inside of you speaks, hungry, desperate, needy. “Your wife?”

Too turned on to stop, or perhaps prepared for this inevitable question of yours, Jim gives an abashed, crooked smile, but does not stop.

“I fuck you like this,” he whispers, his voice low and sultry. It is such a non-answer, clever and just right. His hand comes up and gropes at your breast.

For a moment you imagine it, let the whole idea take place. Some woman you do not know, a faceless but important woman, older and wiser. She wears a wedding band on her left ring finger, and is elegant and caring. He has told you that she likes to go to the theater, and that she is a good mother. She is not the type to cheat. In fact, she is hardly the type to have a husband that cheats, either, but then life can be impossibly cruel, and not what you imagined it might be. Jim pulses inside of her, telling her he loves her, meaning it, probably. When she says she loves his cock inside of her, it doesn’t sound needy or submissive but erotic, demanding, and he asks her for another child, maybe. The things you do to save a marriage.

A man can only have so much, and you’ve never been particularly demanding. You won’t win this. Even here, under him: you want to give him everything, to allow him to tell you what to be and when to be it. His hand curls around your mouth, his head burying in the hollow of your neck. There is the warmth of his tongue against your flushed skin, and the idea that he could leave whatever marks he might like on you, despite the fact that you can’t do the same to him. You’d let him, happily. This he knows.

He does not tell you that he loves you, but instead mutters, “I want to make you feel good.”

In some ways, you have more than his wife does. Maybe what he’s given you has more weight, more truth; maybe it will last indefinitely longer than marriage vows that have been said and broken. You grip onto one of his arms as he pushes inside of you. You tell him, “You are.”

His skin has grown damp and warm beneath your fingers. You run your hands down his back, becoming intimate with the muscle and sinew of his frame as it writhes above yours. He grunts as the movement of his hips become more frantic—shorter and steadier thrusts, the creak of the bed too loud as he settles himself deeply inside of you.

It doesn’t make you feel embarrassed. It doesn’t even make you ashamed. An overwhelming flame of desire engulfs your soul, and all you can focus on is the way he feels: hot, warm, the full length of him stretching you and yet still looking to go deeper and deeper still. His mouth finds your shoulder, and you listen as he pants against the flesh there, stalling an inevitable end. He slows down, and you relish the slow push and pull he does with his hips. You’re sure you’ve never been so wet in your life, and he seems to agree, moaning at the sound of your cunt taking him.

“I want to ride you,” you puff out, brushing your lips against his ear. He nods eagerly in agreement, and you assist in pulling down his slacks until they’re hanging around his ankles.

Deftly, he kicks them off into a dark corner of your room, and then looks up at you, light eyes clouded with lust. “I love when you tell me things like that,” he tells you softly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand finds your breast, his mouth sliding across the column of your throat. “You’re so fucking hot. You gonna cum on my cock?”

He twitches inside you and you kiss him hard on the mouth. “Yes,” you whisper back.

Jim pulls out of you slowly. He sits in the spot next to you on the bed, lifting himself up onto his elbows in anticipation. You straddle him, gripping onto his shoulder for balance. He offers you a tender smile as his fingers grip onto your hip in encouragement. “Take what you want, then,” he nods.

Your fingers wrap around his cock, slick and hot, and his eyes dart down to watch as you line him up to your entrance. As you slide down onto him, Jim closes his eyes, leaning his head back against his shoulder and moaning softly. He looks so beautiful like that: his jaw clenching just beneath the surface of his taut skin, his hair mussed from your hands running through it, his cheeks glowing red from desire.

You press your chest to his and kiss the middle of his throat. His fingers travel over the swell of your ass, and you begin to move your hips for him. “That’s it,” he hums, opening his eyes. You maintain eye contact as you draw up off of him. It is as if you are the only two people in the world, your hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, the head of his cock sitting at your entrance. He lets out a sigh in relief when you slide back onto him. One of his hands reaches up and splays out across the small of your back, guiding you as you move. Your breathing becomes more shallow, and the hazy sensation of an orgasm begins to grow in your pelvis as you grind down into him.

Sensing this, Jim’s lips twitch up into a smirk. “So tight for me,” he mutters. His lips brush against your warm chest. “Fuck, and you’re wet. Not gonna last much longer like this.”

You tuck your face into his neck, panting softly as your hips roll into his. You listen to the soft grunts that fall involuntarily from his lips, and think about him cumming inside of you. He’s done it once before, and you liked it more than you should—it’s another sign of his desire for you to devour.

The orgasm hits you in waves and you gasp, gripping helplessly at his shoulder for purchase. Every limb in your body seems to give into the sensation, until you are reduced to nothing but that warm glow spreading rapidly through you. He kisses along your shoulder, your collarbone, tucking an arm around your back to support you as you slump down onto him.

You feel him twitch dangerously inside of you, and know that if you go for a little longer, he’ll cum too. Gathering the last of your strength, you lift your hips, watching between your bodies as his cock plunges inside of you. His fingers brush against your stomach, and the air between you becomes little more than a shared moan.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warns. He gives you the choice of what to do. You rest your head against his, your noses brushing against each other as you pick up the pace. He cums inside of you with a strangled gasp, and you smile when the hot spurts of his want fill you. His fingers press into your sides, his body stiff beneath you.

For a moment you sit like that, his cock buried impossibly deep inside of you, your fingers intertwined in his hair. Sweat mats his fringe to his forehead in places, and he swallows harshly, his breathing labored. You can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed that you don’t want to part from him as you brush his hair away from his eyes, smiling.

He smiles back, content. All the lust that once filled his eyes is replaced with an affection you consider infinitely more dangerous. You lay against his shoulder and close your eyes. His heart thuds against the cage of his chest and his fingers stroke your back softly.

“I’m sorry for what I asked,” you murmur. The shame finds its way to you.

“It’s s’alright.” His lips brush against your shoulder. “I haven’t fucked her in a long time. Not like that. I’m not saying that just to make you feel better.”

“It doesn’t make me feel any better.” You lift your head off of him, meeting his eyes. “None of this does.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“You’re still in me, for Christ’s sake,” you laugh. He laughs too, and you know that’ll probably be the end of the conversation. A part of you is happy to let it go. You’re not ready to end this, even though you know you should. You don’t feel like the other woman, after all. She was meant to be more clever than this, wasn’t she? You feel like you’ve fallen into something you can’t get out of, something you’re terrified to even approach for what it might say about you.

“Hey,” he nudges his nose along your jaw. “You alright, then?”

“Sure,” you nod. “Stay a little while longer?”

“Yeah, of course.” He pats the hair on your head down, laying back on the pillow behind him. You rise up off of him, but still straddle his thighs. He holds you close, wrapping his arms around your torso. You can feel his cum trickle out of you.

“I like you a lot, if that’s any consolation. More than I should,” he tells you. “Enough to frighten me, really. I never thought I’d be this guy, you know? The cheater, especially with a younger woman. I don’t—you were the first I’ve ever felt anything for, you know?”

You lay your head on his chest again, and let out an amused laugh — though nothing feels particularly amusing. “Jim?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to convince me of anything.”

“Right.” He kisses your temple, staying there for a moment before pulling back and saying, “I’m just saying. I don’t want you to look back on this and think I thought of this as meaning nothing. It’s a big thing for me, too.”

You let out of a soft sigh, tracing up his freckled arms with your finger. “Jim?”

“Yes?”

“Will you fuck me again? I don’t want to talk about this anymore. ”

He laughs softly, kissing below your ear. “Of course,” he responds, his hot breath cascading across your sensitive neck. “Only this time, tell me what you want, love. I want to hear you say it.”

[simplygojo]

Costume Party I - Toji Fushiguro

Author's Note: Hi friends! I hope you guys enjoy this mini series! I allways gotta start these with Toji for some reason...I just think he knows how to fuck if ya know what I mean...anyways, ENJOY!!

The only Kinktober request I am accepting are from my Kinktober Prompt List, thank you <33

Alsoooo Happy Thanksgiving weekend to my fellow Canadians out there, remember to be thankful and to recognize the land we are on.

Pairing: Toji Fushiuro x f!reader

Kinks: Semi-Public Sex, Mirror Kink

Word Count: 1.7K

Kinktober Taglist: @nanamisrighthand; @simplyyyuji; @megumisdivinedogs; @lovleyredheadfairy

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, light choking, fingering, aggressive sex, alcohol use.

The party was already in full swing by the time you arrived.

Music thumped through the walls, loud enough to feel in your chest, and the crowd inside buzzed with excitement and laughter.

You'd barely had time to throw on your costume after rushing home from work, but you knew Toji was waiting for you inside—dressed as a fox, of all things.

You smirked to yourself, adjusting the bunny ears perched on your head and smoothing your hands over the scandalously tight bodysuit you wore.

The outfit was borderline obscene—the kind of thing that left little to the imagination: black, lacy, and hugging every curve.

The fishnets and heels only made it worse—or better, depending on who you asked.

Your heart raced a little as you entered the venue, scanning the room for him. It didn’t take long. Toji stood in the corner, leaning casually against the bar, a drink in hand.

His dark eyes were glued to you the second you walked through the door. His costume wasn’t as elaborate as yours, just a black T-shirt and jeans, with a fox mask pushed up on his head.

But even in something so simple, he looked ridiculously good.

His tall, muscular frame and the sharp lines of his face made him stand out in any crowd.

But it wasn’t his looks that made you grin. It was the way his entire body went rigid the moment his eyes landed on you.

You could see the flicker of shock, the heat that followed as his gaze raked over you, lingering on the curves of your breasts, your hips, and those impossibly long legs wrapped in fishnets.

You saw the exact moment he realized just how hard he was getting, and you bit your lip to hide a smirk as he subtly shifted, trying to adjust himself.

He lifted his drink to his lips, trying to act casual, but his eyes were glued to you, dark and hungry.

You made your way over to him, hips swaying more than necessary, loving the way his jaw clenched as you got closer.

“Nice ears,” you teased, trailing a finger along the fake fox tail hanging off his waistband. “You here to hunt bunnies?”

Toji's nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing in a way that sent a thrill straight to your core.

"You should be careful, princess," he muttered, voice rough.

"Foxes eat bunnies for breakfast."

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his ear.

"Is that a promise?"

His grip on his drink tightened, and you could see the strain in his muscles, how much he was holding back.

It was delicious. And you weren’t done teasing him just yet.

Throughout the night, you made sure to stay close enough for him to watch, but far enough to drive him crazy.

You danced with other people, laughed at the bar, making sure to catch his gaze every time you bent down to adjust your heels or flipped your hair over your shoulder.

Toji’s eyes followed you everywhere, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of his glass, jaw clenched so hard it looked like he might break his teeth.

It wasn’t long before you saw him break.

The last straw was probably when you 'accidentally' brushed up against him, your ass pressing right into his lap as you leaned over the bar.

The way he cursed under his breath, hands clenching at his sides, sent shivers down your spine.

Without a word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you through the crowd, his movements determined, almost rough.

You barely had time to react before he was dragging you into a dimly lit bathroom at the back of the venue, locking the door behind him.

“Toji—” You started, but your words were cut off as he spun you around, pressing your back against the cold tile wall.

His body caged you in, the heat from him radiating through his clothes. The hard line of his erection pressed against your stomach, and you bit back a moan.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me all night?” His voice was low, almost a growl, as he gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Walkin’ around in that tiny little costume, fuckin’ teasing me. Y’think I wouldn’t notice?”

You smirked, hands sliding up his chest.

“Oh, I knew.”

That was all the confirmation he needed.

With a groan, he crashed his lips against yours, kissing you like he was starving.

His hands were rough, needy as they roamed over your body, squeezing your ass, gripping your waist, sliding up to your chest as he shoved the fabric of your bodysuit down to expose your breasts.

You gasped as he bent down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.

His hand slid between your thighs, cupping your heat through the thin fabric, feeling how wet you already were for him.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your skin, pushing your bodysuit aside and slipping a finger into you.

“Already this wet, huh? You really are a little slut for me, aren’t you?”

His words sent a shock of arousal through you, and you bucked your hips, desperate for more.

Toji chuckled darkly, adding another finger, stretching you as he pumped them in and out at a torturous pace.

“Please,” you whimpered, grinding against his hand.

“Please, what?” He murmured against your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear.

“Say it.”

“Fuck me, Toji,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “Just please fuck me.”

The moment the words left your mouth, Toji growled, pulling his finger out and spinning you around to face the mirror hanging above the sink.

His eyes gleamed darkly as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back just enough so you were forced to look at yourself.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust as he pressed his body against yours, his hard cock teasing your entrance.

“You see what you do to me?”

You could barely manage a response, your breath coming in shallow gasps as your eyes met his in the reflection.

The sight of yourself bent over, Toji’s broad frame towering behind you, only heightened the dizzying pleasure coursing through your body.

Without warning, he thrust into you, burying himself deep with one rough motion. You cried out—loud, your eyes fluttering shut, but he wasn’t having it.

“Nuh-uh. Eyes open,” he demanded, tugging your hair harder, forcing your gaze back to the mirror.

“I want you to watch yourself while I ruin you.”

His hips snapped against yours, setting a punishing pace, every thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

Your hands clutched the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white as you struggled to keep upright.

The intensity of the moment—the way he filled you so perfectly, the way his rough grip kept you exactly where he wanted you—had your body shaking.

“Toji—” You gasped, eyes fixated on the image in the mirror, watching the way your body jolted with every thrust.

His cock pounded into you relentlessly, your skin hot, sweat beading along your brow.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hand sliding from your hair to your throat, gripping just tight enough to make your head spin.

“Look at how desperate you are. So fuckin’ wet for me.”

You moaned in response, the sound catching in your throat as he squeezed just a little harder.

The sight of yourself, cheeks flushed, lips parted in helpless pleasure as Toji took you from behind, was almost too much to handle. You could feel him pushing deeper into you, your walls stretching more than they ever had.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door.

For a split second, the reality of where you were crashed over you—a public bathroom, at a party, with Toji fucking you senseless.

The knock came again, harder this time, followed by an impatient voice.

“Hey, someone in there?”

You barely had time to process the interruption before Toji let out a low, dangerous growl.

He didn’t stop his movements, he continued to fuck you just as hard, just as deep, as he glared at the door.

“Fuck off,” he barked, his voice harsh, filled with irritation. “Busy.”

The person outside hesitated, clearly taken aback by his tone, but Toji was already refocused on you, slamming his hips harder into yours.

The knot of pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you as his cock filled you to the hilt with every thrust, your body trembling under the pressure.

His hand slid back to your clit, fingers rubbing tight, teasing circles, bringing you to the edge of oblivion.

“C’mon, baby,” Toji rasped, his breath hot against your ear.

“Cum for me. Show me how much you like watching me fuck you in front of that mirror.”

The words alone were enough to send you spiralling.

Your eyes squeezed shut as the orgasm ripped through you, every muscle tensing, your vision going white with the intensity of it.

Your body clenched around him, and Toji groaned deeply, his grip on your waist tightening as he thrust into you harder, chasing his own release.

With a final, guttural growl, Toji buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came, filling you completely.

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, your body shaking from the aftershocks, Toji’s forehead resting against the back of your neck as you both caught your breath.

“Fuck…” He muttered, a smirk pulling at his lips as he finally loosened his grip on you, pulling out slowly.

His hands lingered on your hips, the possessive touch making your heart race all over again.

You glanced up at the mirror one last time, meeting his dark, satisfied gaze.

“You really do know how to make a scene,” you teased, voice breathless.

Toji chuckled, leaning down to press a rough kiss to the side of your neck.

“You love it.”

[dtfpeta]

Feverish | Ghost x Fem Reader

Tags: sick!simon, sub!simon, dry humping, p in v sex, penetration

Summary: Simon is sick and thinks he knows how to break a fever with the help of his girlfriend

Word count: 1.4k

Read here on ao3! __________

He only had a small cold. Or at least, what was a small cold. And of course he acted like a helpless animal, asking you to feed him, bring him an assortment of medicines, and help him walk to the bathroom where he would then, ask you to bathe him. A cheeky smile that he hardly tried to hide displaying on his face.

You of course, didn’t mind caring for your afflicted boyfriend.

“You can’t take another Benadryl, Simon. You just had one.” Simon always prided himself on his flawless immune system. Now that his body has been compromised by harmful bacteria he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. But thank god he had you. For the past two days all he could do was mumble and groan from the couch. Exasperated “ehhgg’s” and whines of sickness filling the living room as the over 6 foot man struggled to lift his arms, begging for your help with the remote.

That’s why it surprised you to feel the searing warmth of his arms wrap around your waist as you stood in the kitchen. Your working hands coming to a stop on the meal you were preparing.

“Si- You’ve already contaminated our living room! I’ll be damned if I’m next…” You argued while attempting to shrug out of his grasp, finding your efforts ineffective. Over the past couple days you had made a valiant effort to sanitize the house and frequently wash your hands. You know Simon would take care of you if you fell sick, but you also knew that the idea of wallowing in the two of yous illness together was appealing to him as well.

“Mm, needa break this fever-” He murmured while burying his face into the crook of your neck. Laying hot kisses in his wake.

“Then let me make you a cup of tea. Or go take a warm shower don’t-!” His hands began to roam your body. Grasping at the skin of your stomach before moving to knead at your chest.

“Not what I had in mind” His words came out breathless. Whether that was because of his aroused state, his clogged sinuses, or both, you weren’t sure. But the needy grips his calloused hands laid on your body began to have an effect on you.

“You can go a few days can’t you?” Simon responded with an unconcerned hum, a low groan soon leaving the back of his throat as he grabbed your hips. Grinding his half hard erection against the flesh of your ass.

“You’ve been so good t’me. Can you help me some more?” His fingers dug deeper into your flesh, rutting the length of his bulge languidly against your backside. “Please.” He whined.

His hand came up to your neck, his index and thumb taking your chin and turning your face to meet his. It was too late to save yourself when his lips met yours, his tongue greedily working the wet room of your mouth as his hands massaged your breasts.

You sighed into the kiss, accepting the hunger that overtook you as well as the heat that gathered between your thighs. You soon gasped into Simon’s embrace as he was now turning you to face him, one hand resting on the back of your thigh as the other moved behind you. Haphazardly pushing the cutting board to the side so he could swiftly lift to place you on top of the counter. The cold stone of the counter caused you to arch your back as you pushed your chest into Simon, who now hurried to remove your top and bra. Exposing your hard nipples to the cold of the air that had previously worked to cool Simon’s fever, which only proved to be a futile attempt as the crimson on his cheeks only grew.

Simon pulled your waist so his erection could meet your clothed core. His eyes hung low with a fevered lust as you moved your hips to work against him. The both of you moaning as Simon hung his head forward between your chest, releasing sinful whimpers as he urgently rutted into you.

“Need ya’. Now” He demanded. Your brain began to cloud with its own brand of Simon induced fog. He was so desperate that you only wanted to provide for him.

Your boyfriend hooked his fingers around the waistband of your shorts pulling them down alongside your damp underwear to your ankles. Kicking them to the floor as he lowered his boxers and sweatpants, Simon revealed his hard cock, the tip smeared with a bead of pre-cum that you reached to run your fingers against.

He shuddered at the sudden attention from your delicate touch. His body was practically on fire. Having to separate himself from you only caused him to become pent up, needy for any attention that you would provide his weeping cock. Your hand wrapped around his length as you stroked him with expertise. Heavy breaths flooded the room. He placed his hands on the edge of the counter to steady himself as you worked his shaft. Your left hand came to cradle the side of his face. ‘Poor thing’

You twisted your hand around him, your thumb swirling the sensitive skin of his head as you whispered in his ear. “Is this helping you hun?”

His head nodded fiercely against your neck. “Mmm Mhm, thank you-” His delicious whines filled your ears as he began to lightly shake. Your own sex was becoming neglected when your left hand lifted his face so his eyes could meet yours.

“Can I fuck you,” he near but begged. “I can take care of you too.” His lips connected with yours for a passionate kiss. Butterflies spread in the pit of your stomach at his adoration for you. It wasn’t often he got like this but when he did you happily let him succumb to his urges. He parted his mouth from yours, a string of saliva connecting to your now glossy lips, and Simon still pumping himself into your hand. “Make you feel good.” He enticed.

You nodded your head when he took the head of his cock to swipe between your folds. Circling the slickened tip around your swollen clit and dragging it back in between your folds. His hands came to rest softly against your lower waist, thumbs digging into the crest between your thighs and torso. He began to push his length into your hot walls, his eyes closing to keep him from cumming right then and there.

“F-fuck” He sputtered pushing himself deeper into your core.

“Simon, please” Your legs lifted to wrap your calfs around his back. Your heels now digging into his ass to encourage his strokes. Simon got the message and pushed the rest of his cock into your begging cunt. Engulfing him with a boiling heat as you began adjusting to his size. He began to move in and out of you. His eyes locked to yours as he provided your pussy with slow, hard thrusts.

Each slap of his skin against yours elicited a moan from your lips that he returned with animalistic grunts of his own. 2 days too many away from your perfect cunt, and he was never a man of patience.

Your pussy squelched as he dragged the full length of his cock out of you before bottoming out again. His hand moved to the back of your head, bringing you in for a messy kiss while the other moved to your clit. Simon was amazed he had even lasted this long and as his orgasm began to approach its horizon he worked to bring yours to as well. You gasped into the kiss. His hand quickening its assault as his thrusts entered you at a new angle. Simon pistoning his cock against the patch of nerves that lay within your walls, your hold on him beginning to tighten as he talked you through your imminent climax.

“Cum on my cock pretty girl. I know you need it. I need it.” His words came out in a gravel like tone. He couldn’t hold it in any longer when your cunt began to spasm around his shaft, milking his own release from him as the coil in your stomach snapped. You threw your head back, your mouth falling agape as Simon growled against your neck. His hot seed filled you with a satiating intensity.

“So,” your breathing now labored, “So good Si.” Your hand came to massage the back of scalp as he littered your neck with kisses.

It wouldn’t be until another 2 days when he denied his involvement in your oncoming fever. His own having been broken when he suggested a new at home remedy to cure you.

[thedevildompolybunch]

Irresistible Attraction (Mammon X Body Insecure MC) 18+ Fluffy Smut

Sorry this took so long! I kept rewriting it trying to make it perfect! I’m excited to have finally completed it and I hope you like it! Thank you (Unknown if they want to be tagged) for the writing prompt. This has been a labor of love! I learned so much writing this! 

Summary: When Mammon realizes MC is avoiding his sexual advances, he attempts to figure out what’s going on. 

What to Expect: smut, AFAB, fluff, established relationship, unprotected sex, crying, insecurity, negative self talk, polycoded, Mammon is pushy and greedy but means well, MC is wearing pants and a shirt, shallowing, gender neutral, cum on body. 

I’m currently not accepting writing prompts, and plan to in the future once I get my guidelines situated. I was just super in love with the idea! 

Vulgar Language: cunt, pussy, cock, vagina, general swearing such as fuck, shit etc. 

Other ways to read (usually better formatting due to length)

Privatter.net (This version allows you to input your MC’s name and have it inserted into the story. Password: TheGreatMammon)

Archive of Our Own 

Chapter 1: Alone at Last

The unbearable tension that grew between Mammon and you was no longer ignorable. The two of you sat on his sofa making out while some video neither of you planned to watch continued to play. 

Wrapping a hand behind your thigh, he effortlessly hiked you onto his lap to deepen the kiss. The feel of your tongue against his was waning on his already diminishing inhibitions.

“Ya know, this is all your fault human.” 

He broke the kiss, his lips sensually brushing past yours as he began to speak. 

“If ya didn’t go and tease me.” 

His tone was labored with ecstasy as he blamed you for both of your desires. 

“...This nevuh woulda happened.”

And, he was right, it truly did feel that way. Mammon’s sin gave him the insatiable desire to pursue all things that were valuable, and you were one of the greatest jewels. 

With both hands on your hips, he grinded you against the bulge of his pants. The pressure of his cock tempting your already swollen cunt. 

“Ya like that treasure?”

His question begged for your praise and his body demanded it. Rocking harder, he drew moan after moan out of you. The ownership of your current pleasure further enticing the greed that already resided inside him. 

“Fuck…” 

He bit at his bottom lip in an attempt to maintain his composure.

It didn’t work. 

Desperately he clawed into your thighs; steadying you as he rocked you into his wave-like motion.  The peak of each ripple elevating both of your arousals. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. His urges were becoming unmanageable and he would do anything to have more of you.

Leaning back, he caressed your sides, pulling at your shirt in an attempt to remove it. 

“Oh look, I’ve been wanting to see this.” 

Your words were random and they caught him off guard. Pointing over at the tv, you redirected his attention; using the moment to seamlessly adjust your shirt to cover back up.

Mammon looked over, only to see a video that neither of you would have wanted to watch. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what was playing at this point because it was just some random recommendation from Deviltube. Wait…was that an ad?

“Yo, are you serious!?”

Mammon was offended. The last few weeks everything had been more interesting than him, or at least he felt that way, and now you wanted to watch some random ad over fooling around with him? What the fuck was going on? 

“MC, ya got a problem or somethin’?” 

His callout made you freeze. He hadn’t said anything about the way you’ve been acting lately and you hoped it would have remained that way. 

“Like, I know you ain’t tryin' to watch that.” 

He gestured to the ad as it ended. Ugh, what bad timing. You thought to yourself. In all fairness you would have never pointed to the tv if you had known. 

“Sorry, I thought it was something else.”

You attempted to cover up your failing lie, but Mammon didn’t buy it.

“Seriously, what’s goin on?” 

Couldn’t he just let it go? 

“Mammon, I promise; nothing’s up. I just got a little nervous.”

You tried your luck at a half truth, but it seemed that it wasn’t in your cards to outwit him today. 

“That ain’t true, ya been actin’ weird for a bit.”

Been actin’ weird for a bit? Are you kidding me, he noticed? 

Of course he noticed. Mammon noticed most things about you, he loved to. But just this once, couldn’t he just leave it alone? It had nothing to do with him. 

The thoughts in your mind were racing and soon it was hard to find the right words. 

“We don’t gotta do this if ya don’t wanna.” 

That wasn’t it. You did ‘wanna’, you just couldn’t get out of your head long enough for that to happen. 

It had been weeks that you had been rejecting him, with little to no explanations, and he was beginning to wonder if you even liked him at all. 

“Oi! MC! Ya hear me?”

Mammon broke the silence with his worry, snapping his fingers in front of your face in an attempt to help you regain consciousness.

“We don’t gotta do nothin’ if ya..” 

His attempts at comfort only increased your anxiety. 

“N-no, no, that’s not it…Its…”

You began to stutter, quickly trying to find the words to make the conversation end. 

“What, What is it then?”

His fears cut you off, trying to speed up your answers. What did he do wrong? Why were you having so much trouble talking to him? 

“Did somethin’ happen?”

He was asking questions faster than you could answer, and even faster than you could process. 

Overwhelmed, you rushed for the door, Mammon swiftly following behind. 

“HEY! Wait, would ya?!” 

He reached out for your arm. 

“Leave me alone!”

Avoiding his grasp, you ran off; slamming the door behind you. 

💰💰💰💰💰

“And, you didn’t do anything?”

Asmo inquired after Mammon explained what had just happened. 

“What makes ya always think I did somethin’? I’m askin’ for your help, and this is what I get?”

“So, is that a no...or?”

“Asmo, I ain’t bein’ funny. You got that thing with MC tonight, ya gotta figure out what’s up.” 

“I don’t know, what’s in it for me? ♪”

The nerve. That was Mammon’s job. 

“You kiddin’ me? Nothin’, the satisfaction of helpin’ your older brother out.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.”

“I don’t want to hear ya askin’ me for nothin’ ever again then.” 

“Hun, you're the last demon I’d ask for something.”

Mammon let out a groan of frustration. Resorting to his next best plan…guilt. 

“I can’t believe you would treat your older brother like this! After all I’ve done for ya…”

His animated hand motions expressed his annoyance. 

“Like that time I returned your bracelet back to ya instead of sellin’ it.” 

“You were the one who stole it, sweetie.”

“Point bein’, I didn’t sell it! I brought it back to ya! That thing was worth major grimm, I coulda made bank!”

He left out the part where he only returned it because he was caught in the middle of the transaction. 

Asmo rolled his eyes, his next words, putting Mammon out of his misery. 

“Alright, I’ll do it.” 

It took Mammon a moment to realize that Asmo had agreed to his plea. 

“Oh, and how abou...Really?”

“Yeah, why not?” 

Asmo shrugged as if the answer had been easy all along. Because it had. The moment he realized it was something involving you, he knew he was going to say yes. It was just an added bonus to be able to get under Mammon’s skin for a bit. 

Pulling out his phone, he reminded you of your date; reassuring Mammon that he was serious. 

Asmo: “Don’t forget 😉”

MC: “Wouldn’t miss it!”

Chapter 2: Spilling the Tea 

Asmo laid next to you on his bed in nothing more than a robe. The floral smell of his body oil was soothing yet overwhelming. 

“So, these were the earlier designs and I thought they were a bit boring, so I came out with these…”

He opened a velvet lined box that revealed the prototypes of a new ring collection he had been designing for his jewelry line.

“Aren't they just perfect? No need to answer that, I designed them, I know they are! ♡”

Winding down with Asmo was pleasant. He’d always have a warm cup of tea waiting for you, a new beauty product to try…usually several, and he led most of the conversation; leaving you to just sit there and relax as he kept you updated on all things him.

“Oh and that’s not even the best part, the finished ones are each going to have their own unique charm that grants the wearer a different magical effect.” 

He continued to fill you in. 

“...I haven’t figured out all the details yet because I need to run it by Diavolo, and all, but I absolutely think everyone will love this line, I mean, how couldn’t you? ♡” 

Asmo sprung up with enthusiasm at his own bragging.  

“Try one on! I’d bet these would look just stunning on you!”

Pulling a ring out of the box, he slid it onto your finger, holding your hand in his palm to get a better view. 

“aaaannnnd…look at that, I was right.”

He moved your hand around to let the ring shine. 

“That looks absolutely gorgeous on you! ♡ ”

Admiring it for a few more moments, he sensually caressed the tips of your fingers with his thumb. 

“But, that’s not a surprise, everything looks gorgeous on you.”

His words were sweet and complemented by a wink and a smile.

“ Speaking of… ♪” 

 He let go of your hand. 

“That outfit I ordered you last week, It came in this morning, right?”

Removing the ring from your finger, he placed it back into the box. 

“Have you tried it on yet? Do you love it? I bet you look absolutely Devilgramable in it!”

Asmo sat up in excitement at the thought, eagerly awaiting your feedback. 

“I haven’t had time to try it on yet.”

“Awww, really?”

He pouted in disappointment.

“...I wanted to see it.”

Silence filled the air for a moment as Asmo sulked. He really wanted to know what it looked like on you because he was positive it would accentuate your best features. 

“...Oooh! You know what!”

He perked up with enthusiasm, eager to express the thought that had popped into his head. 

“I have a fun idea! Why don’t we try on outfits for each other? I have one I’ve been wanting to show you and I wouldn’t mind seeing how you look in the one I bought!”

Your stomach dropped. That sounded like anything but fun. Because the truth was, you had tried on that outfit; you just hated it. 

The concept was cute, you loved how it looked when Asmo and you saw it on the rack; but after actually seeing it on yourself; you felt that it highlighted all your insecurities. How were you going to tell him that? He was so modelesque, it was intimidating.

“I’d rather not, I’m kind of tired.”

Strange. Asmo thought to himself, noticing the subtle shift in your demeanor. This was similar to what Mammon had described to him earlier. 

“You ok, sweetie?”

He was relieved to finally get the chance to inquire about your problem. It had been on his mind since Mammon had brought it to his attention, and he was finding it unusually difficult to think about only himself.

“Y-Yeah, Yeah, I’m fine.”

Noticing your growing discomfort, he took your hand into his. 

“Hun, you’re not fooling anyone. What’s going on?” 

His thumb caressed over the top of your palm to show his support.

“You told me you loved that outfit in the shop and now it’s like you could care less about it, and a little birdy told me you’ve been avoiding their advances lately.” 

Wow, subtle. Wasn’t anything private in this house? 

“So, Mammon talked to you?”

“He might have said something… ♪”

His fingers played with yours in an attempt to soothe you. 

“Plllleeaaase don’t be mad at me. I just want to be here for you.” 

He pleaded for your forgiveness.

“Come on, you know you can talk to me.”

His tone was warm and his smile was inviting, complimenting his already striking features. Fuck he was beautiful…He was always so beautiful. He could pull off anything he wore and even when he thought he didn’t look good, he did. How could you even begin talking to him about what was going on? What would he think? 

The words once again struggled to find their way out of your mouth as you attempted to confide in him. 

“I-I-I don’t like the way I look.” 

Asmo’s face dropped at the meaning of what you said. His hand gripping yours tighter to show his support. 

“I-I don't know, I just don’t think I look good in most things.”

Your voice cracked as you held back tears, battling the thoughts in your head. You weren’t quite sure how to explain your issue to Asmo the Avatar of Lust; and rightly self proclaimed the avatar of beauty. 

“Like, what would Mammon even think if he saw me naked?”

Tears began to roll down your face as you confessed your fears. 

“Oh sweetie…”

He cupped your face into his hands, guiding your gaze to his to show his sincerity. 

“That you’re the hottest being he’d ever seen.” 

His eyes welled up with tears as he expressed his truth. He could relate to your insecurities; he too felt insecure about his body from time to time. It was constantly a losing game, and it broke his heart to think you were feeling the same. 

“I don’t know how to tell you this lovely, but you’re wrong. You're one of the prettiest beings I’ve laid my eyes on.”

The tears he was holding back, slowly began to drip down his face.

“Before you,  I’ve never met anyone who’s come close to matching my beauty.”

His lips grazed against yours as he resisted the impulse to kiss you; fearing it may tarnish his intentions. 

“And, I’ve been to 3 worlds.”

Pulling you into his comforting embrace, he rubbed his hands up and down your back in an attempt to soothe your stress.

“MC, I’m obsessed with the way you look, almost as much as I’m obsessed with the way I do. I wouldn’t want you to change it for the world. We are easily the hottest couple to walk down the streets of the Devildom and our presence together is unmatched.” 

His voice rang softly into your ear, as he snuggled you tighter into his arms.

“You are so attractive. And I think anyone would be lucky to see you naked.” 

Releasing you from his embrace, he settled down next to you. Guiding your head to rest against his shoulder. 

“Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and I don’t even want to leave the house.”

Taking in a breath of air to stifle the remaining tears he had left; he attempted to connect with you. 

“I don’t always feel pretty either…”

He gently massaged the top of your head, slowly easing you both to sleep. 

“...As shocking as that may seem.”

Leaning back, you both rested on each other in silence; the sweet aroma of tea and perfume comforting your spiraling thoughts. 

💰💰💰💰💰

It was the middle of the night when Asmo was awoken by the buzz of his phone.

“Yo!” 

“Hey!” 

“I know ya seein this!” 

“Asmo!”

“Ya betta not be doin’ anything funny with MC.”

“Ya suppose to be helpin’ me out dontcha forget!”

“Imma just message ya till ya respond.” 

Tiredly Asmo attempted to respond, only to be interrupted by an incoming call from Mammon.

Hitting the reject button before the sound could disrupt your sleep he followed up with a text. 

“Calm down sweetie, I got your answer.”

Chapter 3: Irresistible Attraction 

Sitting up on your bed, you checked your phone…nothing. Mammon hadn’t talked, texted or seen you since that night and you wondered how long it would be until he did. It was unlike him to stay upset with you for this long, usually by now he would have at the very least come up with an excuse to talk to you. 

But, maybe he didn’t want to talk to you anymore.

Maybe Asmo reported back to Mammon like you suspected he would.

And, Maybe Mammon decided that he was done with you. 

Ugh, the thought of that put a pit in your stomach. Closing the messenger app, you switched to Devilgram; hoping the endless scroll would drown out your unwanted thoughts. 

“Are you blind or just stupid!?”

The sound of Mammon’s voice bursting into the room startled you. 

“I hear ya don’t think ya look good?”

He slammed the door behind himself as he made his way towards the bed. 

“I don’t know where ya got that dumb idea from, cause it ain’t true. I mean look at ya…”

His hand gestured in the air to check out your body as he questioned the information as though he got it wrong. 

“...You’re the fuckin hottest.” 

Plopping down at the foot of the bed, he continued. 

“Like, how can ya even think that?”

Mammon was at a loss. He checked you out for a moment to try to imagine what you saw. But he couldn’t, he could never think of you as unattractive. Was your mirror in your room broken or somethin?  

“What? Do ya gotta hear me say it?”

In all honesty, you did. It was hard to say it to yourself sometimes and how did you know Mammon actually did feel that way? Nodding your head yes, your words came out as a whisper. 

“Yeah…” 

It was embarrassing to answer him. But, it was even more embarrassing for him to answer you. 

“Yo, like, really?”

He shifted in his spot to expel anxiety. 

“I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

But he did want to. He just couldn’t get out of his own thoughts long enough to…oh. 

The correlation between your feelings became clear to him. 

Truth be told, Mammon didn’t want to tell you all that stuff, because what were you going to think of him? He can’t be soft and sensitive; he was a demon after all and that wasn’t cool.

But, you not knowing how attractive he found you, that also wasn’t cool. Looking away, he rubbed the back of his neck to soothe his nerves, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. 

“I think ya look pretty amazin’.”

His confession was unpoetic but genuine. 

“Like, really amazin’…” 

He paused nervously between his words. 

“...I can’t stop looking at ya.”

His hands and eyes gestured towards you in an expressive motion that attempted to get you to see what he saw. 

Leaning beside you on the bed, he rested on his arm; as he continued his monologue. 

“Like, ya know those statues we learned about in human world history? The ones that are usually naked and shit?” 

the Greek ones? Confused about where this was going, you continued to listen to Mammon as he attempted to clarify his motives. 

“Yeah, ya make me think of those. Because like, they're pretty and stuff.”

“I remember hearin’ from Lucifer that they were known for their ‘natural beauty’ or some shit and it made me think about how they’re a lot like you.”

His heart rate began to pick up as he went on, his eyes checking out your body.

“I don’t know what to tell ya MC…”

His cock tightened his pants.

“I think ya fuckin’ hot” 

Blush lit up his face as he swallowed the feelings of his arousal; his gaze returning back to yours. 

“Besides, ya betta stop insultin’ me. The Great Mammon doesn’t just stare at anything, ya know?” 

His hand cupped your face; the flat of his thumb sensually rolling over the softness of your lips.

“So, cut it out with this ‘I don’t look pretty,’ trash.”

His words aimed to disprove you as his face leaned closer to yours. 

“Cause ya are pretty…”

He kissed your lips. Pulling away to berate you once more. 

“...Stupid….” 

With his face just a few inches away from yours, his eyes begged asked for another kiss. To which you responded with your lips against his. The validation of your interest re-igniting the weeks of tension that had built up between the two of you. 

Rolling you into the mattress, he slipped his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your moans of ecstasy as they escaped your lips.

Oh how badly he'd been wanting you. And the feeling of your body writhing underneath his told him just how much you wanted him too. 

Steadying himself onto his knees between your legs, he removed his shirt; following it up by sliding yours up and over your breasts; purposely keeping the fabric on to accommodate your comfort. 

He took a moment to admire your body as it laid before him, his hands caressing up and down your shape. 

“I ain’t got a clue what you see, Treasure.”

His words reassured you of his unconditional attraction.

“Because ya body is bangin’” 

Resting his hands on either side of your head, he leaned in; kissing the skin of your neck. 

Small whimpers of desire escaped your lips as he worked his way down the front of your body. The temperature of his labored breaths, only adding to the already tantalizing sensation. 

Your fingers desperately clutched at his hair as he sucked the top of your breasts, leaving small marks of possession. 

Continuously he made his way down, his lips appreciating every part of your body they came across, until he was stopped by the waistband of your pants. 

Biting the fabric, he pulled at the top with his teeth, using his hands to assist him in sliding them over your ass and off your body.

Damn. He thought, as he checked you out. What was it ya didn’t like? 

He growled as he nipped at the skin of your calves, pecking his way back up to your neck. His body pressing up against yours as he leaned in. The bulge of his pant’s applying pressure to your sensitive clit. 

“Yo, ya gotta stop doin’ this to me…” 

You moaned as you felt him twitch. The wetness from your arousal seeping through his pants.

“Ya know it’s hard for a Demon to resist somethin’ like you.” 

Fully succumbing to his sin; he balanced on one arm to release his cock. You whimpered as it rested against your swollen cunt, slowly being rocked by the movement of his returning kiss.

Thrusting his hips, Mammon’s shaft continued to tease your folds. The repeated friction teetering you on the edge.

Fuck! You thought. The ache between your legs was insufferable. And with each sway of his hips it was only getting worse.

Instinctively you pulled him in, grinding back in an attempt to keep it going. Fuck, he felt so good, you were so close, you could just…

The tip of Mammon’s cock slid inside you by mistake; causing you both to let out moans that could be heard from outside of the room. 

Re-orienting himself, he swayed barely an inch into your entrance; stimulating all the sensitive nerves that resided there. Your body trembled as he teased the most shallowest parts of your vagina.

Mammon was greedy in every way, and that included when it came to your pleasure. In this moment; every moan, movement, and gasp that came from you was his, and only his; and nothing tempted his sin more. 

Stepping off the bed, Mammon pulled you to the edge; positioning your legs on either side of his waist to give himself more control. 

His heart raced as he slid himself back into you, both your bodies shaking with euphoria  as he slowly worked himself in and out, gradually increasing his depth. The adrenaline that was rushing through the both of yous was no longer able to be ignored.

Tilting your hips to reach the correct angle, Mammon filled you with his length, growling as his hips met yours. 

You tightened your thighs together as he thrusted deep into you, grinding his curve up against your g-spot. Your pussy twitching around him as he controlled the rhythm of his hips.

Purposely he maintained a speed that was less than you wanted; indulging in the whimpers of your desires. Leaning his hands on the bed, he lost himself in the image of your body, mesmerized by the beauty of your motions below him. 

He was so in love with you, he couldn’t believe it. He’d pleasure you all day if you’d let him, but he knew he couldn’t because eventually your human body would give up. 

Finally giving you what you wanted, he steadied his motion; rocking hard and consistently against your spot. At this point, being aroused was painful.

Please Please Please. You begged in your mind. You couldn't take it any more. Out of breath and dizzy you clawed into his back to try to release some of  your torturous pleasure. 

“Come on, Treasure.” 

Mammon cheered you on through his labored breaths. You both were reaching sexual exhaustion. You had played this game too long.

“Come on, MC.”

He gritted his teeth, carefully keeping the pace of his motion.

“Oh yes, like that.”

You praised him to make sure he would continue.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You were so fucking close!

Wrapping your legs around him you grinded hard onto your g-spot. The deep pressure stimulating your clit. 

“I-I-m, gonna…”

Your moans rang through the room as you came; the warm sensation of your orgasm pushing him dangerously over the edge. 

Pulling out, Mammon wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked; releasing himself onto your stomach. 

“Fuck, I fucking love you treasure.”

His hands once again resided on either side of your head as he caught his breath. Time felt as if it froze as the two of you attempted to center yourself. Mammon’s hair brushing past your face acting as your anchor. 

Stepping out of his pants, Mammon dropped to his forearms to kiss your lips; rubbing his thumbs caringly over the top of your forehead.

“I love you, MC.”

He kissed your lips again. 

“And there ain’t anythin’ in this world that could get me to stop.”

His eyes gazed into yours to show his sincerity. Kissing your lips a few more times, he began to return back to reality. 

He winced as he noticed the cold stickiness of his cum between the two of you. 

Standing up, he looked around the room for a rag, settling on his shirt by the foot of the bed; he cleaned you up and wiped himself off; tossing it to the side when he was done. 

He assisted you under the sheets, following in after you. Laying down, he pulled you onto his chest, wrapping his arm around your back to keep you close. The feeling of your heart beating against his side relaxed him.  

He could have stayed like this forever. He never wanted to leave you. Not now, not ever. The last couple of weeks without you were lonely like he had never known and he was glad to have you back in his arms. 

Mammon may not have understood exactly what made you feel this way, but he was more than happy to remind you how much he loved you time and time again if it would help.

Kissing your forehead, he snuggled you even tighter, falling asleep to the faint sounds of your tired breaths.

Original Prompt (paraphrased):

Mammon and MC are sitting in his room and he tries to do it with her a lot but they keep stopping him. One day he gets mad and asks Asmo for help so Asmo asks Mc what the reason is. They tell him that she feels insecure about her body, and he comforts her and when Asmo tells Mammon about it, he goes to her and makes love to them. 

[angelicsoka]

LAZY (SICKLY) MORNINGS AND MARRIAGE PROPOSALS, q. hughes

word count | 577 words

pairings | quinn hughes x reader

summary | where a common cold turns to the flu leaving quinn and his girlfriend to cancel their plans, leading to a lazy (sickly) valentines morning and a marriage proposal 

warnings | descriptions of vomit and other sickly bodily fluids. not proofread. no use of “y/n”. lowercase intended. this is a work of fiction, i am by no means saying this is how they act in real life.

a/n | i was gonna post this for valentine’s day but never actually got around to writing it lmao, but here it is now!

a groan filled the silent room, followed by someone hurriedly throwing the blanket off of them and running to the bathroom. the sound of heaving could be heard as the other person rolled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom to help. 

quinn rubbed her back with one hand, the other making a makeshift ponytail with her hair as she vomited what little of what remained in her stomach. she sat back against the wall once she had finished, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“you okay?” she shook her head no at quinn’s question, fearful if she spoke she would begin to heave once more. “let me get you some water.” 

she rarely got sick, but when she did it was bad. she gratefully accepted the glass, sipping lightly. it eased the burning in her throat enough for her to speak, “you really shouldn’t be by me, quinny. the team can’t have their captain out sick.” she coughed roughly, trying to clear the flem from her throat.

“i’ve already told you: they can handle a game or two without me. i want to make sure you're okay.” he tried to conceal his own cough as him just clearing his throat, but she knew.

“damnit, i knew you would get sick. i told you!” she tried to come off as angry but she was too tired to portray an emotion she didn’t actually feel. quinn helped her off the ground, the two moseying their way back to bed. she sighed contently when her head hit the soft pillow, shivering slightly as she curled into the blankets. she began to shiver more as quinn got settled, unable to find warmth.

“cold?” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. she moved as close as she physically could, in search of warmth from him. she hummed as she settled in his arms, her boyfriend placing a gentle kiss on her head. “well, this is one way to spend valentine’s day.” 

“don’t remind me.” she muttered, turning slightly to look at him. “i’m sorry i’m sick. i know how hard it was to get that reservation and you got me that nice dress and–” quinn shushed her quietly, placing yet another kiss, this time on her shoulder.

“don’t worry about it.” she turned over fully to face him. “it does have me thinking though.”

“yeah?” quinn smiled softly at her. “about what?”

“about how i want to spend the rest of my life with you, ya know, through sickness and health and all that shit.” she giggled, a hint of confusion on her face. they had talked about marriage and family but she had thought he wasn’t ready.

“what are you saying?” 

“i guess i’m saying– well asking, will you marry me?” she felt the oxygen leave her lungs for a moment, before a smile broke out on her face.

“hell yeah,” she watched him smile widely. “god, i love you.”

“i love you so much, baby, so goddamn much.” quinn leaned in to kiss her, only to be stopped by her placing her finger on his lips.

“you can kiss me after i brush my teeth.” quinn pouted, earning a small giggle before she paled. “fuck.” she rolled out of his grasp, getting up and taking off toward the bathroom once more. it may not have been the most conventional way of proposing but neither party would have it any other way.

[charliedawn]

What if the nurse was bad ?

I thought…What if Nurse Y/N turned out to be a VILLAIN. 😀

Synopsis: There was the rumour of Nurse Y/N going insane and it influenced the slashers to act…differently.

Jason Voorhees

The first one to lose his mind was Jason. He felt it from the start as you became distant and your thoughts darkened. He tried to help you. You were their hope and their light in darkness. He thought he could help, that you would get better. But nothing he did seem to work, and it only made him feel worse and worse as you started growing distant and more insane as time passed. Soon enough, he became more violent himself and some of the nurses noticed his slow return to his old self. And then, he became YOUR monster. He started protecting you and return to his complete muteness and murderous self…He would attack nurses and no word or anything could stop him…And you would simply watch with a smile on your face. The medical board tried to stop you, but it was no use. You were too far gone. At the end, the slashers were back to their old selves and there was nothing to bring you back from the madness that was slowly taking over you.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms was the second to notice your sudden change. You were being more commanding and your eyes no longer held that same kindness he had grown to love. You seemed so cold. But, he still wanted to believe…Brahms still remained your friend until the very end—even when he saw that there was no turning back for you. At the end, he started returning in the walls and make more victims within the hospital. He would drag nurses or random people in his walls and they would never come back. Your own instability echoed within him and the rage and the loss and the suffering returned.

At the end, he dropped to his knees in front of you—his hands covered in blood after you had told him to kill for you. He looked up at you and his eyes held only one question within their depth.

Why ?

Brahms was scared.

Bo Sinclair:

Bo started spacing out at random times. He would get angry for no reason and destroy furniture. At night, he would hold his head and scream as he felt his thoughts turning dark and murderous. He didn’t know why. He had been happy for a few years in St Louis—free from pain. He had just started accepting that things were going to change and he could be happy…but then, he had sensed this sudden unease and unexpected shift. He looked up at you and his eyes widened as he saw you standing there.

"Darlin’. Please…I…" He wanted to ask for your help and held out his hand…but then you smiled. And it wasn’t your usual cheerful or friendly smile. It was a mocking one. A cruel one.

And that’s when he understood and Bo who had never felt anything but pain and suffering and who thought he couldn’t get any worse…was proven wrong. Because nothing hurt more than being offered hope and being deprived of it. In the end, Bo became more dangerous than ever. His rage had no outlet except through violence, and he took it out on anyone who dared cross you. He would protect you, but deep down, he hated what you had become—and what you were turning him back into.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy had always suspected there was a darker side to you. Sure, you acted like the saint of St. Louis, helping out the slashers, showing compassion, and trying to reform them. But Freddy had been around long enough to know that no one was as pure as they seemed. When your shift started, it didn’t take him by surprise—it just confirmed what he’d been thinking all along.

"Heh, I knew it," he cackled, crossing his arms as he watched you lose that last bit of sanity. His grin widened, eyes gleaming with amusement as you stood over the bloodied remains of yet another victim. "You never really believed in all that goody-two-shoes crap, did ya ?"

You turned to him, a slow smile spreading across your face. "I did…for a while. But now I see…why change you for the better, Freddy, when I can turn you into something so far worse ?"

For once, Freddy didn’t have a snappy comeback. The realization hit him hard, the smirk faltering for a brief moment as he looked into your eyes and saw nothing but malice. You weren’t just playing the game—you had flipped the board, and now you were controlling the pieces.

"You twisted bitch," Freddy finally hissed, though there was a hint of admiration in his voice. He didn’t want to admit it, but seeing you this way made him feel…uneasy. Sure, he liked chaos, liked causing pain, but this was different. You weren’t just embracing the madness—you were becoming it.

You laughed harder and Freddy could see your true colours now. He could see…

And yet, even as the realization set in, Freddy found himself drawn to your darkness. After all, who better to lead him back into his worst impulses than you ? You were the monster now, and Freddy ? Well, he was more than happy to follow your lead, no matter where it took him.

Michael Myers

Michael felt it long before anyone else did. The subtle shift in your demeanor, the distant look in your eyes—it wasn’t something he could easily put into words, not that he ever would. He watched you from the shadows, his protective nature shifting into something more possessive, much darker. As you slipped further into madness, he stopped trying to pull you back. He just…followed.

When the first body showed up, Michael stood silently beside you, his knife gleaming in the dim light. You didn’t flinch or recoil at the sight of the blood, instead offering him a wicked smile that sent a chill down his spine. He understood then—you were no longer the guiding force, the light in his darkness. You had become the very thing that pulled him deeper into it.

From that moment on, anyone who tried to "help" you faced Michael’s blade. He would watch you from across the room, eyes cold and distant, but never leaving your side. You were his now, and nothing—not even your madness—would change that.

Pennywise

Pennywise had always seen the potential for chaos in you, even when you were at your most compassionate. So when you started to change, it didn’t come as a shock to him—it was thrilling. "Oh, my little nurse, finally embracing the madness, are we ?" he’d chuckle, floating around you with a twisted grin. He didn’t resist your transformation; instead, he fed off of it.

"Why stop at a few lives ? You and I, we could rule this world, turn everyone’s worst nightmares into reality," Pennywise teased, his voice dripping with excitement. You laughed along, your eyes gleaming with a newfound hunger for destruction.

Together, you unleashed horrors in the hospital and the world would learn to utter your name in fear. And Pennywise ? He reveled in it, proud to have been right about you all along. He became your partner in terror, following your lead as he fed on souls. All mercy and redemption gone…

But, sometimes he would look at you—really look at you—and his eyes would lose their light for just a second…For just a fleeting second, he would look at you and remember who you used to be: the innocent and loved little nurse who made slashers believe in change. And he would feel a tug in his chest.

…He would even come to regret the old you.

Penny

Penny, unlike his brother, was more confused than delighted by your change. He’d always been the more playful one, the lighthearted monster who didn’t take things too seriously. But as you grew colder, more distant, something inside him shifted too. He followed you around like a lost puppy at first, hoping you’d come back to your old self.

When it became clear that wasn’t happening, Penny grew more frantic, trying to win your approval by any means necessary. "See ? I can be bad too !" he’d shout, laughing maniacally as he tore into the nurses that tried to intervene. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t bring back the warmth in your eyes. And that scared him more than anything.

In the end, Penny followed you out of fear and desperation. He didn’t want to lose you, but he also didn’t understand this new version of you. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up. He looked at his brother one night as they were keeping your door and asked:

"Pennywise…Tell me. Are they really…Are they really gone ?"

Pennywise didn’t answer. He knew that his brother wouldn’t like his answer. So, he remained silent and Penny became sad…

He had really hoped to see you again.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent never said a word, but the change in you spoke volumes to him. He had always admired your gentleness, the way you handled things with care and grace. But now, as he watched you descend into madness, something inside him broke. His art became darker, more grotesque, reflecting the growing corruption in your soul.

Vincent would silently stand in your presence, waiting for your orders. He didn’t resist the shift; instead, he internalized it, letting it fuel his own creative darkness. The sculptures he made of the staff you ordered killed were more terrifying than anything he had ever crafted before. But still, there was a sadness in his eyes as he looked at you. He missed the old you, but he could never bring himself to fight against you.

Esther

Esther’s sharp mind was one of the first to notice your change. She watched you closely, her eyes narrowing as she began to see through the cracks in your facade. At first, she tried to manipulate you back to your old self, using her charm and wit. But as time passed, she realized it was no use.

"You think you’re smarter than me, Y/N ?" she sneered one day, her usual mask of sweetness slipping away. "You think you can out-crazy me ? I’ve been playing this game far longer than you."

In the end, Esther didn’t fight you—she adapted. She started playing her own games, twisting the narrative so that your descent into madness worked in her favor. She would help you orchestrate the chaos, but only because she had plans of her own. Esther always had plans.

Father Paul

Father Paul was devastated. As a man of faith, he had always believed in redemption, in the possibility of salvation for anyone, even the most broken souls. But as he watched you fall deeper into madness, he realized that maybe some people were beyond saving.

He would try to reach you, try to remind you of the good you had once done, but it was no use. "This isn’t you, Y/N," he’d say, his voice trembling with emotion. "You can still come back from this."

But you would just laugh, brushing him off as if his words meant nothing. Father Paul, broken by your transformation, withdrew into himself. He began to question his faith, his purpose. And in the end, he too was consumed by the darkness you had unleashed, unable to reconcile the person you had become with the one he had once believed in.

"…I truly believed you were going to save us."

He whispered—his mouth tainted with fresh blood.

Patrick Bateman

Patrick Bateman thrived on control. His routines, his polished appearance, his hollow social niceties—all carefully orchestrated to maintain his perfect image. But as he watched you, Nurse Y/N, descend into madness, he felt something shift, a crack forming in the foundation of his meticulously built world.

"You’ve changed," Patrick remarked, his voice cold and detached, as always.

You turned to him, a knowing smirk playing on your lips. "Change, Patrick ? I’d say I’m finally seeing things clearly."

Patrick tilted his head, his expression unreadable. He stared at you with a calculating gaze, as if you were just another piece of his carefully constructed reality that didn’t fit anymore. "Clarity doesn’t look like insanity," he said, though his tone betrayed no emotion.

You laughed softly, your eyes glinting with something dark. "That’s where you’re wrong. You’re always pretending, Patrick. Pretending to feel something. Pretending to fit in. But deep down, you know you’re like me."

Patrick’s gaze never wavered. He took a step closer, his face a mask of indifference, though your words hit closer to the truth than he would admit. "I’m nothing like you," he said flatly, yet there was a hint of intrigue in his voice.

"Oh, but you are," you whispered, stepping toward him. "You’ve been hiding behind that empty suit for so long, playing the role of the perfect man. But inside, you’re empty. Just like me. We’re both killers, Patrick. The only difference is, I’ve stopped pretending."

He blinked, his face as stoic as ever, but inside, something stirred. There was no rage, no fear, only a cold calculation. He didn’t care about your madness or what you had become. But there was a faint pull, the idea of relinquishing the last shred of his humanity that kept him tethered to this charade of normalcy. He was intrigued by your boldness, by how freely you had let go.

But he remained still, expressionless. "I don’t pretend," he said quietly. "I just don’t care."

You laughed again, this time louder, more manic. "And that’s what makes you dangerous, Patrick. You don’t care. You’ve never cared. But soon enough, you’ll realize how liberating that can be."

Patrick stared at you for a moment longer, no emotion flickering behind his eyes. "Liberating ?" he repeated, as if the word were foreign to him.

"Yes," you said with a smirk, turning away. "Because when you stop pretending, when you embrace what you really are, there’s nothing left to hold you back."

He didn’t respond. There was nothing to say. He’d long since stopped feeling the need to explain himself. Whatever you were becoming, whatever madness had claimed you, it didn’t concern him. You were spiraling out of control, and he would remain steady, detached. Yet, as he watched you walk away, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Because, in the end, chaos or control—it made no difference to him.

Norman Bates

Norman was never the same after witnessing the shift in you. At first, he felt a glimmer of hope in your kindness, a belief that maybe you could help him escape the shadows of his past. But that hope quickly faded as you transformed into something darker. The gentle demeanor he had grown to trust turned icy, and the warmth of your presence became a cold specter haunting him.

"Y/N ?" he ventured one night, his voice trembling. You stood amidst a room filled with remnants of your darker whims, the glint of madness shining in your eyes.

"What happened to you ?" he asked, genuinely confused and hurt. The memory of the compassion you once offered felt like a distant dream.

You tilted your head, a smile playing on your lips, but it lacked warmth. "Oh, Norman, don’t you see ? I’ve always been this way. You just never noticed until now."

Norman's heart sank as he realized that the person he trusted most had turned into a reflection of the very darkness he fought against. "But I thought we could—"

You interrupted, your voice sharp. "Could what ? Change ? Adapt ? Look at what you’ve become, Norman. You’re still clinging to that fragile sense of normalcy. But we both know it’s a façade. You are a monster. You will always be a monster."

In that moment, the realization hit him hard. He had thought you were a beacon, a chance for redemption, but instead, you were leading him down a path of destruction. And as he watched you revel in the chaos you created, he felt his own sanity begin to slip. In the end, he would become your puppet, lost to the madness you had decided to embrace.

BONUS

You jolted awake, gasping for breath, heart pounding as the vivid nightmare clung to your mind. It felt so real—the madness, the blood, the slashers losing control, becoming monsters all over again. You clutched the blanket, eyes darting around the darkened room, disoriented and shaking.

The scream you had let out echoed in the silence of the night, and before you could fully gather your bearings, the door burst open. Jason was the first to appear, his imposing figure standing in the doorway—his machete raised and at the ready. He looked around frantically for any sign of danger—but found none. He moved quickly to your side, his large hand resting awkwardly on your shoulder, trying to offer comfort in the only way he knew how.

Brahms was next, peeking from behind Jason, his eyes wide with worry. He didn't say anything—just stared, his usual playful demeanor replaced with deep concern. He slowly made his way to your side, almost afraid to get too close but desperate to offer comfort. He knelt beside you, his hand shaking slightly as he reached out to touch your arm, his eyes searching yours, as if pleading for reassurance that you were okay.

Michael entered quietly, his presence felt more than seen in the dim light. He didn't rush to you immediately, his pace slow and deliberate. He observed you carefully, and then pulled out his notebook from his pocket, writing something down before showing you: What happened ?

He sat at the edge of the bed, his silent and comforting company grounding you in the moment.

Bo Sinclair appeared not long after, his expression a mix of annoyance and concern, as if he'd been dragged out of a deep sleep but couldn’t help but care. "Darlin', you alright ?" His Southern accent soft, the usual sharpness in his tone dulled by the worry in his eyes. He stood there for a moment, arms crossed, before moving to your side, brushing his hand over your hair. "Was it a nightmare ?"

Vincent slipped in quietly behind his brother, standing in the shadows. He didn’t make a sound, but his presence alone was soothing, as if he was there simply to watch over you in case you needed anything. He gave a small nod, acknowledging that he was there for you.

Freddy was last, strutting in with his usual cocky grin, but even he paused when he saw your trembling form. "Nightmares, huh ? Not my work this time, I swear," he quipped, though his voice lacked its usual venom. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the others crowd around you, before adding, "What kinda monster dreams are getting to you now ?"

But there was a strange softness in his voice, an unspoken understanding. He might have been a nightmare in the past, but seeing you like this—it wasn’t his domain. He wasn't your tormentor. Not anymore.

Jason stayed close, holding your hand gently, as if afraid to hurt you but wanting to let you know he was there. Brahms crawled up on the bed beside you, still staring at you with wide eyes, his head tilting as he kept trying to make sense of your distress. Michael’s calm, steady presence, coupled with the note in his notebook, reminded you that they were all here to protect you. Bo's hand never left your hair, his brother Vincent still watching from the corner, always there but never imposing.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, the warmth of their concern slowly easing the tension in your chest. You could see the lingering fear in their eyes—the slashers who had been transformed from nightmares themselves into...your friends.

"I’m okay," you whispered, though your voice still trembled slightly.

But Freddy, of course, wasn’t one to let it go so easily. "You sure about that, sweetheart ? Looked like hell got a hold of you."

You offered a weak smile, shaking your head. "It was just a bad dream."

Jason squeezed your hand a little tighter, as if to remind you that whatever had happened in your nightmare, this was reality now. And in this reality, they were here for you.

Michael scribbled on his notebook again, holding it up: You’re safe.

And, for the first time since waking up, you believed it. Surrounded by the once fearsome killers, you felt safe. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath…Yes. You were safe. Everything was alright. You would make sure of it…

[dixons-sunshine]

Goat Sucker | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl’s story of the mythical chupacabra back in the early days was believed to be just that—a story. So when you and a few others found yourselves running for your lives from a demonic, dog-like creature, you were beginning to believe that his story could have held some truth.

Era: Prison, pre season four.

Warnings: Swearing, near death, I don’t really know how else to tag this.

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: For week three of @lazyneonrabbitt’s Halloween challenge. I read ‘monster mash’ and my mind went here. I hope I didn’t mess up the theme because I’ll admit, I didn’t fully understand the prompt 😅. I hope this is still okay, though!

You could clearly remember the day you first locked eyes with the love of your life, Daryl Dixon. It had been nearly three weeks into the apocalypse, and everyone had gathered around the campfire to exchange stories about their lives. The Dixon brothers had surprisingly opted to join you all, and of everything you had expected the younger brother to share with the group, the fact that he had encountered a chupacabra had not been on the top of the list at all.

Despite the absolute seriousness the crossbow-wielding archer exuded whilst relaying the ominous tale of his supposed encounter with the mythical ‘goat sucker’, nobody had believed him. Everyone already had to accept that the dead could walk. Accepting that something like a chupacabra could potentially be real was just too much. Everybody had waved him off, and decided that his story was just that—a story.

However, as you, Daryl, Maggie, Glenn, and Rick sprinted through the woods as fast as each of your legs could carry you, something that resembled a dog but just wasn’t one chasing after you, you were beginning to realize that Daryl’s story could potentially hold some truth.

“Fuck!” Glenn exclaimed in a frustrated whisper as your small group pushed forward into the cabin that you all had miraculously stumbled upon whilst running away from the unknown creature. “What the fuck is that?!”

“It’s dead, as soon as I figure out how to kill it,” Rick said, his chest heaving as he tried to recapture his breath. He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees, closing his eyes as he attempted to get his ducks in a row.

“Holy mother of fucking shit,” you mumbled hoarsely as you rushed towards the window, unofficially becoming the lookout to alert the others if you saw that thing. “Did you see the colour of that thing’s eyes?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be paying attention to its eyes,” Maggie started in a sarcastic tone of voice, although you could clearly note the small tremble in her words. “I was more focused on its fangs. Y’know, the same fangs that almost took a chunk from my leg!”

“My eyes were on its backbones,” Glenn whispered in disgust, a shiver rolling over his spine. “What kind of dog looks like that? Acts like that? Is it rabid or something?”

“Nah, it ain’t rabid,” Daryl finally spoke up, instantly gaining everyone’s attention. “Ain’t a dog, neither.”

Rick stepped forward, his blue eyes staring into those of his found brother, desperately seeking his expertise on your current predicament. “You know what that thing is?” When Daryl simply nodded, Rick continued. “What is it?”

Daryl hesitated for a moment. His eyes flickered over to you and Glenn for a split second, before he shook his head and exhaled deeply. “Ya remember that story I told y’all way back when? When we were all gathered ‘round the campfire?”

Recognition dawned on you. “You don’t think—”

“It can’t be,” Glenn cut you off, firmly shaking his head. “They aren’t real. They can’t be.”

Daryl scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, ya got a better explanation for what that thing is, Rhee?”

As Daryl and Glenn bickered back and forth, a quiet scratch on the door captured your attention. Frowning, you pushed yourself away from the window, and slowly made your way over to the door. Your heart was pounding against your ribcage as you approached the door, leaning your ear against the wood to attempt to decipher what had made the noise. You did not want to instantly assume the worst, but every instinct in your body was yelling at you to run, that the not-so-dog was beyond the door, waiting to pounce.

“What are y’all talking about?” Maggie chipped in, confusion lacing her tone of voice. “What is that thing? Or what isn’t it?”

“It ain’t a walker, that’s for damn sure,” Daryl muttered, his steely gaze flickering between Glenn, Maggie and Rick, before resting on you. His eyebrows furrowed as he regarded the terrified look on your face, every sense in his body on high alert. “Y/N? What—”

A loud crash came from the window, shards of glass littering across the floor. A loud yelp escaped Maggie as Glenn pulled her back from the threat that lurked a mere few feet away, and Daryl whipped around with his crossbow raised high. He shot an arrow towards the dog-like creature, the arrow hitting its mark in the creature’s head. However, despite what should have been a lethal shot, the creature was fine. If anything, the shot had simply served to piss the creature off, the dog-monster creeping towards all of you, low growls escaping its mouth as its crimson eyes glared up at all of you.

“Shit!” Daryl cursed loudly as he attempted to reload his crossbow. However, before Daryl’s fingertips could even graze against another arrow, the creature lunged towards him. Daryl fell over onto his back, the monster’s long, rotting fangs trying to bite into the archer, but the younger Dixon brother refused to go out without a fight. Daryl held the creature’s mouth away from him with his hands, but it was clear that he was fighting a battle he was sure to lose in the end.

In a desperate attempt to save Daryl, Glenn, Maggie and Rick each began firing shots towards the monster. You would have joined too, but you quickly realized that your gun was not on your person anymore. You must have dropped it somewhere in the forest while initially running away from the very creature that stood before you. However, you realized that even if you did have your gun on you, it would not have been of any help. Despite the multiple bullets that were being fired into its head, face, stomach, and its back, the creature’s relentless onslaught to take a bite from Daryl did not cease.

The dog-like creature appeared to be unkillable.

You were desperately trying to wrack your brain to find a solution. Daryl would not be able to keep the monster’s fangs away from him much longer. He had already been running on a mere two hours of sleep, and had taken quite the hit while fighting of walkers, so you knew the archer’s resistance was wearing thin.

One after the other, Rick, Glenn and Maggie’s weapons made their uselessness known with resounding clicks that filled the air. You knew that a solution needed to be found, and fast. Daryl’s life depended on it.

Grabbing the nearest object—an iron rod—you rushed forward and began striking the monster with all your might, completely disregarding your own safety. The need to help the archer overtook every ounce of survival instinct in you. You could not let Daryl die. That was out of the question.

Miraculously, the first blow with the iron rod sent the creature flying back. However, you did not stop there. You rushed forward and continued your relentless onslaught on the monster, delivering blow after blow to its body. Admittedly, the small, pained whimper it let out right before its ultimate demise had you feeling sorry for it, but the knowledge that this thing had tried to kill the man you loved drowned out any guilt you felt towards killing it. With one final sickening blow to its head, the creature fell silent, its last breath leaving its body before its death.

The iron rod fell out of your grasp and to the ground below with a loud clank. Your chest was heaving as you looked down at the dog-like monster with wide eyes, fully taking in its appearance. It indeed looked exactly like the archer had described it almost two years prior, and it dawned on you that what Daryl had said rung true; chupacabras exist. You had seen so with your own eyes.

The feeling of someone’s hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality. You raised your head and locked eyes with your partner, his ocean eyes holding a mix of gratitude, disbelief, and a slight mix of fear. He had just looked death right in the face, and only narrowly escaped its clutches.

Completely disregarding the fact that public displays of affection made him uncomfortable, he gathered you into his arms, holding you tightly in his embrace. You did not cry, not about to do so in front of your peers, but Daryl could feel the tremble in your body. You had been afraid for him, for your group, and for yourself. Had you not grabbed that iron rod, you all would have been doomed. Daryl had read somewhere that iron was one of the only things that could hurt and potentially kill a chupacabra, and that theory had proven to be correct.

Exhaling deeply, Daryl shifted his attention towards Glenn, Maggie and Rick. He could clearly note the fear and disbelief on their faces, but that was not his main concern. For almost two years, everyone had laughed at his chupacabra encounter, calling it a lie. Although you did not believe him either, you never outrightly laughed in his face and called him a liar, and he appreciated that.

“See? I told y’all that I saw a chupacabra back then, ya fucks,” he breathed out, before lowering his voice and whispering to you. “Not ya, Sweetheart. That didn’t include you.”

“I know,” you mumbled against his chest, before withdrawing from his embrace and looking up at him. It was only then that you noticed the gash on his shoulder, and you gasped. “Daryl—”

“M’fine,” he cut you off. “I’ll let ya check on it once we get back to the prison, alright?” he reassured you, knowing that you would continue to put up a fight otherwise.

You nodded, choosing to accept that for the time being. “Okay.”

“Well, what the actual hell are we waiting for?” Glenn spoke up, his voice higher pitched than normal to fully show his distress. “Let’s go! I don’t wanna find out if these things travel in packs or something.”

“I agree. Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Rick agreed, already heading towards the door. “Even if that thing was the only one here, those gunshots sure as hell attracted walkers. We need to get going.”

“Okay,” Daryl agreed with a nod, glancing towards you. “Let’s go.”1

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

I saw this

https://youtu.be/LGMIJ-UWnZY

And thought it'd be hilarious for some reactions/headcanons from twisted wonderland characters as reader and a friend or someone drink ridiculous amounts of eggnog (if eggnog isn't good then a similar heavy beverage) while they kinda just act silly. Just absolutely losing their minds as they try to out eggnog their competitor. Whether their competitor/friend is one of the characters from twisted wonderland or just some fellow is up to you. Honestly, i just like how you write and want to read more so it doesn't even have to be twisted wonderland. I'm really not that particular about the fandom or which characters you choose cause i like em all and i just wanna read more of your writing cause it's really good

No pressure of course, it's just a silly little thought

I really appreciate that! 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Drinking Games | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

This whole scenario sounds like the work of a certain idiot-duo

Getting ahold of Twisted Wonderland’s version of eggnog 

Supposedly the grossest thickest most disliked drink they could get their hands on

And then hosting a competition to see who could drink the most of it

“And what do we get if we beat ya?”

“A….full week spent in Ramshackle….Unsupervised!”

“I didn’t agree to that!” 

“That’s…an appealing prize.”

“One I didn’t agree to!”

“I ACCEPT THIS CHALLENGE!”

“I DIDN’T APPROVE OF THIS AT ALL!”

First years only it’s already worrisome because more than likely than not they get real competitive 

And they have a hard time knowing when to stop

“Um do you guys maybe want to…take a break? You’re all looking a little green in the face.”

“BURP! NEVER…Oh I just–I CAN HANDLE ANOTHER.”

“Please…I got this! Slide that cup on over!”

“Y’all abuncha snowflakes can’t handleagallon o’ ‘is if ya tried!”

“This calls for an intense work out…..later. BRAP! Sorry.”

“Ugh…..”

“This stuff is gross Nya! I’d much rather have a big bowl of milk!”

Imagine how much worse it gets when the dormheads find out 

They’ll scold them 

And then turn right around and have too much evidence that they have a higher record than the others

“I’m only showing you if anyone should have such a prize it would go to me.”

“Because you have records that you had 50 cups?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks Riddle but I wasn’t actually going to let anyone stay over.”

“Hmmm I wonder if the more unruly will actually listen to your wishes?”

Sigh ”Don’t remind me! Floyd’s been telling me he’ll move himself in any day now.”

“Tsk. It would probably best to have me over than….just to protect your peace of course.”

It’s best to ‘reward all of them in some way shape or form

Otherwise you’ll just have to get used to being dragged and possibly made the prize of competitions you had no idea was happening 

“Hooray!” 

“Uh hi Lilia you look happy.”

“Of course I am! I won your entire weekend with our wreath making contest.”

“Wait what?!”

“I was thinking we’ll start with a picnic, then we can jam with the band, and then I can go through your closet!”

Usually things won’t get too violent…..usually

[chrollogy]

ii. JUST ME & YOU

miya atsumu x f!reader

── next: iii. Honeyed gaze | series masterlist

synopsis: You spend time with Atsumu exploring the heart of Shizuoka—from the local convenience store, all the way to Sumpu Castle ruins; and while the two of you are alone, Atsumu can’t help but ask a question that’s been weighing his mind.

chapter content warning: college au, fluff!!!, slight angst, implied alcohol use (briefly mentioned), mutual pining (reader & tsumu are so down bad for each other it hurts), miscommunication, requited unrequited love, slow burn, poor depiction of shizuoka city, not beta read.

word count: 3.6k

notes: divider: cafekitsune. hehehehe more tsumu & reader content !!

“Anyone notice the weird tension between those two or is it just me?” Suna shuddered, rubbing his gloved hands together in hopes for extra warmth.

Shizuoka wasn’t graced by deep snowfall but the afternoon temperatures still dipped low enough to have locals dressing thick enough to brave the winter breeze.

The brunette recounted the moment in the hotel lobby where he found the two of you situated side-by-side on the couch, looking rather on edge—the slight bounce of Atsumu’s leg, and the way you nibbled on your bottom lip.

Osamu snickered, cheeks blanketed with a tinge of pink from the iciness of the city,

“Maybe yer jus’ imaginin’ things.”

Clearly it was a sarcastic remark, his tone dripped with irony that it—almost—eerily sounded like Atsumu. For a brief moment, Suna thought so too, and did a quick, discreet glance at his friend just to make sure it was the correct twin. Being a nonchalant character, Suna had developed a habit of looking up from his phone whenever one of the Miya twins spoke just to make sure he wasn’t conversing with the wrong one—the twins loved to play that prank.

“Best not ta interfere whatever is goin’ on between ‘em. They’ll sort it out like mature adults.” Kita spoke up, tucking his hands inside his pocket. Curious as he was at the odd situation between the both of you, he didn’t want to meddle—it was something you and Atsumu had to deal with, alone.

Mature adults, huh.

Two options. Your mind came up with two options to choose from, albeit, not really sensible:

1. Stay holed up in your own room for the whole three hours, and steer absolutely clear from Miya Atsumu, and that weird look on his stupidly handsome face.

Or

2. Leave the shared suite to explore the heart of Shizuoka on your own, leaving him all alone.

But, there was a secret, third option: Face this situation like a mature adult, and act like civilised people for goodness sake.

Your mind scolded you—or was that your heart?

“. . Yeah, guess so.” You awkwardly cleared your throat, tugging at the ends of the fluffy cerulean fabric wrapped around your neck. The room was way too quiet, each mocking tick of the ivory wall clock filling the growing void between you and Atsumu.

“So. .” “Hm . . ?”

The blonde shifted his weight from one leg to the other, caramel gaze never leaving your own.

“What do ya feel like doin’?” He continued, a hint of unsureness in his tone.

Atsumu was rarely unsure but he didn’t know when he had started questioning every single action he did when it came to conversing with you—it almost felt like the blonde was walking on eggshells, not because he was afraid of your reaction but the fact that in his mind, he seemed like he was bothering you even if he knew he wasn’t.

It’s scary to think how one’s mind worked absolute wonders to not only self sabotage but also to re-think one’s actions, especially if it involved love.

The day Miya Atsumu realised his feelings transitioned into something deeper—unlike you—he welcomed it with open arms, and no regrets; as if he was able to foresee what the future held, the blonde knew this would eventually happen, and he accepted it in a heartbeat despite being fully aware of the fact that his feelings may not be reciprocated.

It was a rather quick realisation.

Naturally, whenever Atsumu’s admirers approached after a match to congratulate him, he’d bask in their endless strings of praises, effectively inflating his ego, and pride as a volleyball player. It became second nature to him at this point—hands on hips, honeyed eyes closed, head nodding along to every single word thrown his way.

But after a particular game back in third-year highschool, it didn’t feel the same anymore. Atsumu’s ego, and pride didn’t blossom inside his chest, no sense of accomplishment engulfed his body despite the high praises—inside one ear, and out the other. He didn’t pay attention nor relished it for even a second because all he needed after a tiring game was your validation, and praise.

Atsumu didn’t just need it, he yearned for it, and didn’t dare question what his heart wanted. Instead, he came into terms with the enclosed beast inside his ribcage, the feeling of uncertainty looming behind his back like a fox waiting to pounce.

“Mhm. Not too sure, you?”

You replied, awkwardly stretching your arms above your head, feigning calmness. In reality, your heart pounded like crazy, praying it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear it.

For a split second, Atsumu thought keeping to yourselves might be the best option for now but the idea dissipated as quickly as it formed—he wasn’t about to chicken out. At the end of the day, your friendship came way before he developed these stupid feelings for you.

So he thought of a different idea,

“How ‘bout we explore a bit? Y’ down for that?” Atsumu really hoped that you’d say yes to him—in every sense of the word—because it’d been quite a while since the two of you spent alone time together, and he missed the good old days where feelings didn’t complicate the situation. Not to mention your strange actions as of late, albeit subtle, Atsumu was one to always notice a slight shift in a person’s behaviour—especially when directed towards him.

Oh, he’s noticed the way you slightly held back from conversing or even standing next to him—the hesitancy laced in every action, each a careful, calculated move as if navigating through a field of mines. It raised concern in Atsumu’s mind; what if you somehow found out he loves you more than a friend, and distance was your humble way of showing him you didn’t feel the same?

He hoped that wasn’t the case. Atsumu held onto the fact that maybe you liked him back too, and it was your way of navigating through those feelings. Safe to say, it raised a question in the back of his mind but that was for later.

“Sure. I don’t feel like staying holed in here, anyway.” Liar. That was the first idea you thought of.

Atsumu could almost jump for joy when you agreed but instead, he shot you a warm smile, deliberately ignoring the way his heartbeat picked up as soon as you nodded; he could already imagine the two of you falling into a step along the chilly streets of Shizuoka as the sun slowly dipped into the horizon—hues of oranges, and pinks decorating the winter sky.

Okay, maybe, the first thing you thought of was to help your poor heart, and avoid Atsumu until dinner but that didn’t mean you were immune to him—who were you to turn down the opportunity of getting some alone time with him? As scary as it sounded, you found yourself looking forward to it.

Engulfed by the cold afternoon breeze, you shuddered, burying the bottom half of your face beneath the azure scarf wrapped around your neck as you fell into a step with Atsumu, the hotel’s automatic glass doors closing behind the two of you.

The latter instinctively moved closer at your response to the cold—clothed arm brushing against your own.

You didn’t say anything nor moved away, instead, you let him come closer—raging butterflies in your stomach, and a thundering heartbeat made itself known.

If anything, the small gesture put Atsumu’s heart at ease.

Today’s destination for the next few hours was Sumpu Castle—after some thoughtful decision with Atsumu—paired with a little pitstop to a local convenience for some much needed sweet treat.

Despite the dropping temperatures of the late afternoon, the blonde next to you had made his ice cream cravings known. Truthfully, he’s so lovesick that even walking next to you had his body burning with unspeakable emotions, thus the need for a cold treat.

After returning a polite greeting to the clerk, Atsumu beelined for the self-service ice cream, a hint of urgency laced in every step, determination engraved in his caramel eyes. It made you chuckle a bit, clearly oblivious to the reason.

“You should put more.” You spoke, watching the way the vanilla soft serve swirled onto the paper cup Atsumu held, the other hand carefully pulling onto the lever.

The latter looked over his shoulder, honeyed eyes tinged with slight tease as he found your gaze, “It’s priced by weight, ya know. Why? Ya wanna share this with me?” A slight smirk painted his handsome face, and boy was that enough to render you speechless.

Just the thought of sharing an ice cream with Atsumu made you all warm inside. There may or may not have been an imaginary scene in your mind where the blonde happily gives you a scoop from his own spoon—god, you felt dizzy.

It took all your willpower to keep the corners of your lips in check, making sure they didn’t curl up at his words.

“No, I meant. .” You trailed off, voice dissipating into the thin winter air, wracking one’s brain to find any appropriate sentence that came into mind—one that didn’t peek into the untouched emotions you had for Atsumu.

The blonde let out a velvety laugh, brows shooting up in amusement at your flustered form. Adorable as always. He didn’t say anything else, instead, he turned back around to decorate the ice cold treat with toppings, lightly humming to the faint music of the convenience store.

On the other hand, you stood rooted on the spot—mentally facepalming, unsure as to what even brought about the sentence earlier.

With the awkward situation forgotten, you and Atsumu were en route to Sumpu Castle—of course, he didn’t live it down for the first few minutes, asking if you wanted some ice cream with that teasing look on his face,

“Sure ya don’t want any? Seemed like ya were really eyein’ it back at the store.” You playfully rolled your eyes in response, gaze lingering a little too long on the spoon he held.

As tempting as it sounded, you held yourself back.

The two of you walked along the streets of Shizuoka in silence, occasional hums from the blonde next to you as he relished the saccharine soft serve melting on his tongue.

The only difference now was it wasn’t as awkward as your mind thought it would be—the silence was comfortable.

Blending into the quotidian noises of the city as each step neared the destination; the low hum of cars passing by, distant conversations of the locals, birds singing atop leafless trees—you let it comfortably engulf your senses.

It was silly to think how love blinded you in ways you couldn’t comprehend, most importantly, forgetting the fact that Atsumu was still your close friend. The friend who didn’t hesitate to console you after your first bad grade in university, the friend who listened to all your rants, the friend who accompanied you in the library whenever he had time.

Love had twisted your perception so much to the point where you were almost running away from Atsumu, ignoring your platonic history together. It was silly, really, and this little moment between the two of you made you realise how foolishly blind you’ve been acting.

But then again, it was a double-edged sword. If you let yourself get too comfortable with Atsumu, you’d possibly end up with a broken heart. On the other hand, if you distanced yourself too much, it’d heavily strain the friendship.

Which risk you were willing to take was something you’ve been pondering.

Sounds of Atsumu’s laughter filled your ears, it pulled you out of trance, the city’s noises muted, as if left far, far behind.

“Samu and I didn’t even go ahead with the plan but we got a heck of a scoldin’ from Kita!” You looked to the side, watching as the blonde tipped his head back to let out a hearty laugh, reminiscing the old highschool days. The low afternoon sun casted a golden shadow on his side profile, illuminating his caramel eyes, and flaxen strands.

The citrine glow gently traced Atsumu’s features—from his thick brows, all the way down to his rosy lips, and everything in between. For a brief moment, you envied the winter sun for brazenly kissing every bit of his face before you ever could.

You subtly shook your head, snapping out of it before your gaze fell on the corner of his mouth, a smudge of ice cream lightly coating it.

“You have a bit of ice cream here.”

Atsumu raised his brows, watching you point at the corner of your mouth, a hint of amusement in your gaze.

The former darted out his tongue, lightly licking at the spot in hopes to wipe it away. You watched for a few seconds as he struggled to reach the spot, a small smile forming on your lips—Atsumu looked absolutely silly but you’d have to admit, he was still devastatingly handsome.

Sighing, you grabbed the serviette—that he got from the convenience store—tucked between his fingers, and angled his face before your own, mere inches apart. Both hands absentmindedly cupped Atsumu’s jaw, gaze fixated on his mouth as you carefully wiped the ice cream off his face.

The blonde froze, his jaw taut beneath your hands. You were close, too damn close that you took up his field of view—not that he was complaining. It felt like time slowed down, and he could only hear his short breaths, and thumping heart; Atsumu watched your gaze beneath your lashes, the way your lips pursed in concentration.

As you pulled away, everything suddenly came back to him—the soft murmurs of Shizuoka, the wintry breeze, the cup in his hand.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, a puff of ivory mist clouding his view for a second as he composed himself—or at least tried to. Your searing touch lingered on Atsumu, he could almost blindly trace an outline of your hands from where they were a few seconds ago.

A clear of his throat sliced through the growing silence before he muttered a small ‘Thanks’. You could only nod in response, not trusting your voice.

The rest of the walk turned a bit awkward but thankfully not for long as the castle grounds came into view, earning gasps of awe from the both of you—the ice cream incident long forgotten, and Atsumu’s finished cup thrown in the bin.

The historic ivory walls, and coal-black Kawara tiles was definitely a sight to see—greeted with a wooden bridge situated atop still waters that led to the Higashi Gomon Gate.

After paying for the admission fee, you and Atsumu didn’t hesitate to explore the castle grounds—you were greeted with snippets of Shizuoka’s great history; the statue of the honoured retired shogun, replicas of his armour, and clips & information about the castle’s materials.

Soon, you found yourselves outside, surrounded in vast winter greeneries, a lake situated in the middle of it all. Despite being in the middle of winter, Momijiyama garden was unique for its seasonal displays—endless trees filled with hues of pinks, and reds from camellias decorated the traditional garden.

Atsumu glanced sideways at you, eyes sparkling with awe as you scanned the entirety of the serene place. Your expressions were infectious, a small smile forming on his face as he stared at you longer.

“D’ya want a picture? I don’t mind takin’ some. ‘M no Suna but I’ll try m’best.” The blonde offered, jutting his arms out for your phone.

You hesitated for a bit before giving him the device. Sure, there were no problems when it came to posing for pictures, it was the fact that Atsumu was the one taking them.

The latter positioned himself to get the best possible view of the garden—all of a sudden, you didn’t know how to smile naturally; everything felt stiff, and awkward.

He let out a hearty laugh, honeyed eyes glued to your miniature form on the screen. You looked awkward as hell but Atsumu found it absolutely adorable.

“W-what? Why are you laughing?” You let out a huff before turning away, trying to cover yourself from any more photos, clearly flustered at his sudden reaction.

“Ah, hey, don’t go hidin’ yer face now! I was jus’ tryna make you smile.” Atsumu waved a dismissive hand, a big smile plastered on his handsome face as he kept taking photos.

You shook your head and posed accordingly, ignoring the fact that your heart hammered on your chest, and the way Atsumu’s smile widened in your cooperation—caramel eyes sparkling with adoration.

After a few more clicks, a much needed rest was due. The two of you sat on a bench near the lake—Atsumu scanned the view before him while you mindlessly scrolled on your phone, checking the photos taken mere minutes ago. Most of the photos were of you looking away, clearly camera shy, and stiff but ones that caught your eye were pictures of you smiling at the camera—at Atsumu.

The expressions on your face were genuine, and relaxed. You took a mental note to post those ones later.

The time spent with Atsumu enlightened your heart a bit, it made you realise that he was still your friend despite the way your chest tightened around him—that it was unfair for him to be cluelessly met with distance from your end. After all, you weren’t teenagers anymore.

Something had been weighing heavily in the back of Atsumu’s mind, and he didn’t know how to bring it about. The blonde stared at the mixed hues of green before him, as if looking to the trees would somehow tell him how to start the conversation.

Ah, fuck it. “So, how’s it goin’ with that special someone?”

Looking up from your phone, you furrowed your brows, wracking your brain for context—ah, right. One drunken night, after a particularly dreadful exam, you’d accidentally told Atsumu about having feelings for a certain someone. You thanked the heavens that you didn’t start name-dropping but it got the latter way too curious for your liking—little did he know, that was about him.

“Hm? Ah, you know . . Same old same old.” Your heart raced, wishing he didn’t pry any further. Atsumu noticed the way you fiddled with your fingers, so he remained silent, an invitation to either let the topic drop or carry it on at your own will.

“I do have this crazy idea, though . .”

A whisper, enough for Atsumu to hear. He nodded, all ears, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. “I’ll probably confess to him with rejection in mind. I know he doesn’t have feelings . . Plus, I’m doing myself a favour so I can finally move on.” You let out a puff of ivory mist, heart weighing heavy at the thought of rejection.

Rejection from the very man who sat next to you.

Atsumu slowly nodded, trying his best to comprehend your thoughts. He’s never heard of that before—confessing just to move on from one’s feelings. Usually, when one confessed, they had a relationship in mind. He opened his mouth, not really knowing why or how this question came to be,

“Hypothetically, what if they say they like ya back?” Atsumu angled his torso towards you, a strange glint in his honeyed eyes as he met your gaze—was it desperation? Curiosity? You’d never know.

“Mhm. I don’t know. I don’t even think I’m ready for a relationship.” “So . . yer jus’ gonna confess for the sake of movin’ on? Even if he likes ya back?”

You nod. What a liar.

It was far more complicated, really. Sure, it would’ve been easy to have feelings if it was some random stranger from a lecture but this was Miya Atsumu you were talking about—a close friend you’ve grown to love platonically, and romantically. Just the mere fact of confessing could strain the friendship, so you had to tread very carefully.

Even if it meant selling yourself short.

The possibility of having your feelings reciprocated weren’t exactly zero to none but you also didn’t know if getting into a relationship with Atsumu was something you should be doing. In all honesty, you were scared shitless.

Atsumu nodded once again. He took a mental note of your words, not knowing what to make of it.

The walk to the restaurant was silent—the sun fully dipped into the horizon, leaving hues of blues, and pinks in the winter sky of Shizuoka City. Warm lights slowly filled the darkening streets as locals began heading home, some opting to eat dinner out.

Atsumu seemed to be eerily quiet, and in deep thought for the duration of the walk. You, on the other hand, were busy conversing with Suna on the phone—who had been asking your whereabouts. You chalked it up to tiredness since you all had an early morning, and explored nonstop.

“An’ here I thought ya both got lost on the way.” Osamu waved the two of you over. The three of them stood just outside the restaurant, patiently waiting in the cold. “Ya could’ve jus’ went inside ya know.” Atsumu snickered.

The five of you were ushered to a booth, conversations of today filled your ears as Osamu filled his brother in about the bike tour with occasional photos shown by Suna.

Atsumu was the first to slide into the booth, his gaze met your own for a brief moment. You saw that as an invitation to sit next to him but as you were mere seconds from doing so, he spoke up, patting the wooden bench beneath—ignoring the way you looked at him.

“Suna, come sit ‘ere. I wanna see more of yer photos from the tour.”

Oh.

Sliding next to Kita on the opposite bench—followed by Osamu—you awkwardly cleared your throat, a very weird feeling settling deep in your chest after the odd encounter; your skin prickled in embarrassment.

Surely it was nothing—you hoped it was nothing but somehow, you didn’t believe yourself.

—

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tags: @ushijimaschubbs @tsumudoll @starlitsawamura @littlemiyastars @h3art-ablaz3 @eggyrocks @integers @rrosiitas @food8me @schelamski @honeytwo @nyaaa-cat

© chrollogy 2024 | don’t plagiarise, repost or steal my header.

[lakes-liver]

Legend has been acting very distinctly off, lately.

He’s not injured, Sky knows that much. There wasn’t a time where he’s been separated from the group. Something triggered him, perhaps? The veteran has more than enough baggage to sift through.

Sky really isn’t sure.

Legend hasn’t been the same since… about a week ago? Something of the sort? He’s been quieter, laughter not so loud, snarks not so present. If it were anyone else, Sky wouldn’t be concerned.

But this is Legend he’s talking about. Legend, who shows a prickly front but is soft on the inside. His facade isn’t prickly right now, though, more like a dull point.

Triggers don’t last that long, right? If they didn’t, he would be better by now, at least outwardly. Then again, Sky doesn’t know much (if anything at all) of the “shell-shock” the veteran, the captain, and even Time seem to describe. What he knows is limited, tales from an era long before Skyloft, when the world wasn’t so peaceful. So, maybe there’s a chance it can last this long?

This train of thought does not change the fact that there is still something wrong, and Sky is very much concerned.

Another day passes, and the Chosen Hero watches his friend. A multitude of notes show up.

One: no one else seems to have noticed the problem at hand.

Two: Legend is acting as he usually does (jabs, rolled eyes, etc.) around everyone in their group.

Third: the veteran is only acting oddly around Sky.

Now, this has raised a very important question in Sky’s mind. Did he do something wrong? While he’s never been one to hold silent grudges (except against the goddesses, of course), maybe Sky had done something to be an exception.

He mulls this over throughout the evening, as they set up camp. Physically, he’s busied by setting out his bedroll, as well as some of the others’. Mentally, though, he thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

If the veteran hadn’t been borderline ignoring him, Sky’s sure he’d make a quip about how he shouldn’t think so much.

“It must get difficult thinkin’ so hard, birdbrains,” he’d mock, and Sky would laugh, and all would be well.

But all is not well. And Sky is growing more nervous by the second.

He thinks over every interaction with Legend in the past week. Nothing stands out to him. It started normally, with pokes and jokes and smiles and giggles. Then, like a switch had been flipped, the pink-haired man had become strangely subdued.

Could it have something to do with that? The whole… pink-rabbit, thing? But that was months ago, and this was so much more recent.

“Sky? Ya ‘ere?” Fingers are being snapped in front of his face.

He jumps, looking into the marked face of Twilight. Sky hides it with a flush and a chuckle. “Yes! Sorry, got lost in my thoughts, there” — and here is where the birdbrain comments should go, yet none do — “what did you ask?”

Twi, ever the worrywart, frowns slightly. “I ‘as j’st askin’ ‘bout watch. Doubleshif’s, you an’ Ledge. But, if yer not up for it—”

“No!” Sky is fast to interrupt. “No worries! I’m alright, truly. That sounds wonderful.” He gives the most reassuring smile he can muster, and it’s honest and true, for once.

Twilight’s frown lifts, a bit, and the slightly older man nods and steps away towards Wild and Wind, who are still cooking dinner.

Watch with Legend, huh? Could this be his chance?

A small bit of him warns that things could go very, very, wrong.

Luckily, the bigger part of him tells him that if he doesn’t say anything now he will run out of time to say anything at all.

So, that is that. Watch is set—blech, the middle shift—and Sky walks over to the rest of his friends before he can think any more of the situation.

“Sky!” Wind waves. “Come sit by us!”

‘Us’, in this case, happens to be himself, Wild, and Twilight, none of whom he’s opposed to being near. Thus, he picks his way to a spot on a ground, settling next to Wind. The smaller melts into his side (a common occurrence), and Sky happily accepts a bowl of pumpkin soup.

It’s not the same as from his home, of course, but it’s still soup and there’s still pumpkins. He’s still satisfied by the taste.

“Thank you, Wild,” he says, setting the now-empty bowl beside him.

Wild grins crookedly. “‘Course, Sky, I’m glad you liked. Seconds?”

Sky shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

The sailor, on the other hand, shoots up, mouth completely stuffed. “‘ll take ‘is s’rv’in’!”

“Calm yerself, sailer, others gotta eat,” Twilight chides.

“Meanie.” Wind crosses his arms with a pout. Sky ruffles the top of his head, a fond look surely on his face, and the smaller does not shy away.

He spares a glance to Legend and Hyrule, across the fire. The former is staring, brows furrowed, but looks away as soon as he notices Sky’s gaze. The latter continues chattering away as if nothing happened (and, in their eyes, nothing did happen).

Overall, the fire is warm and his belly is full. His friends sit around him and talk and snort and sigh, contentment filling the air. Sure, they have double watches set up, the tension is high, and they are exhausted, but they are together and they are (physically) healthy. Sky could not ask for much more.

So, Sky turns in for the beginning of his rest. Wind is sprawled next to him, looking like the starfish they all claim to exist.

Three hours later, Time is shaking him awake.

“You’re up, Sky. Four’s already woken Legend,” he whispers.

Sky nods. This is a song they’ve danced to many times.

Seeing him up and aware, the oldest moves to his bedroll with a soft ‘goodnight’. The Skyloftian echoes it in turn, before advancing towards the dying embers and confusing veteran.

At first, the watch is normal. Sky watches one side whilst Legend watches the other. There isn’t much talking—there never is, on the second watch, what with tired eyes and restless heroes—but the bit that is remains light and regular. For a moment, he can almost forget the anxiety that’d been eating him away earlier.

Then, Sky makes a comment that shatters the glass around them.

“Oh c’mon, vet,” he rolls his eyes. “We both know you use those trinkets of yours quite often.”

The chuckle Legend gives sounds forced, and Sky is hit with a pang of guilt. It was meant as a simple jab—nothing more nor less—but it maybe it was too biting?

Sky takes the second to study Legend’s newfound stance. He’s hunched in on himself, hands hugging knees, and despite not being able to see his face, Sky can assume his expression is that of a resigned sort of scowl.

It’s the same reaction he’s seem many times on multiple others. Twilight when scolded by Time; Wild when scolded by Twi; Wind when scolded by Warriors; Hyrule when scolded by Legend. It is not a reaction he expected to receive from their veteran, let alone one to be stemmed from him.

It spikes a whole new pang of worry.

He turns back before Legend can catch his face. “Sorry, Ledge. I like your items a lot. It’s not a problem to use ‘em, you know.”

From the corner of his eye, he catches the tension release, just a little bit. Enough, though, to know he said the right thing. Good.

Legend doesn’t give a response besides a light bump of the shoulders. The watch continues in a not-quite-awkward but not-quite-comfortable silence.

Creeeeak.

Sky’s head is up in an instant, scanning and pausing and reviewing the treeline in front of him. His ears twitch and try to catch every little thing, from the scamper of a mouse to the rustle of the wind. He’s certain Legend is doing the same, on his end.

A beat passes. Two. Three.

Legend’s breath hitches. “Bokoblin. One o’ Wild’s, reckon.”

“The others?” Sky whispers, voice barely making a sound.

“No. It’s just one. On three?”

Sky nods.

One beat. Two.

“Three!” Legend hisses.

Sky springs up, Master Sword poised to strike and shield up to block. Legend follows in a similar manner, clutching the Tempered Sword and some sort of shield. The ‘blin barely reacts before Sky is moving, moving, moving, slashing at the beast with a ferocity he didn’t realize he possessed this late at night.

The monster bleeds black.

Legend notices too, and lets out a soft string of curses before he’s in on the action. They trade blows, one then the other then both at the same time.

The bokoblin does not back down. It swings its own sword at their ankles, then their waists, then their heads. Wide arcs that make it near impossible to get in, despite the fact that the odds are two to one.

Legend pushes and knocks it off balance, and Sky seizes his chance. He steps into the circle, sword going faster than a blink, and stabs through the head. The Master Sword glints on the other side. The beast dissolves into nothing save a gem and some guts.

Sky lets out a cheer and turns to Legend.

Who’s eyes, suspiciously, are blown wide with fear. Did he get hurt? Had Sky missed something during the heat of the battle?

He stumbles forward—wait, stumbles? Sky shouldn’t be stumbling, he didn’t get hurt, just look down—oh. That’s blood. On his tunic. On his stomach.

Shit.

Pain erupts from the area, stabbing and scorching and hot in a way it really should not be, not on a fresh wound, not unless it’s infected—

“Sky? Sky! Stay with me, hero, stay with me.” Legend is frantic and holding his shoulders, lowering him carefully to the ground. Why is he so panicked? It’s not that bad, right?

Another shot of pain rocks his body, and he bites back a scream with practiced expertise.

Nevermind, it is definitely that bad.

Still, though, Legend is upset, and he can’t have that. Legend shouldn’t be upset, not because of him.

“I’m okay,” he gasps. “‘m fine, Ledge, just needa—” a coughing fit fights its way out and he cant stop it.

“You ain’t fine, you needa potion or sum. Hold on fer me, ‘kay? Hold on, ‘ll get Roolie or, or,” Legend stops, stares, and then darts up and away. Sky frowns, because Legend is still stressed and he can tell because his accent is loose and free and that is not something he often does.

He holds on for as long as he can, though. He can hear shouts and people getting up and running and since when did they get so far? What’s even happening? Is someone hurt?

Ow. Right. Sky is hurt.

His stomach doesn’t feel so good. It feels sticky and hot and gross and bad and he doesn’t like it. Maybe a nap will help? Naps usually help when he’s tired, they always have. Maybe he should nap.

Just as his eyes start to fall shut, someone shakes him, yelling and shaking and yelling and shaking. Bright, violet, eyes meet dull sky blue, panicked and calm and panicked and calm and ow ow ow everything hurts so bad.

The violet eyes have a mouth attached, and it keeps opening and closing but he can’t hear anything. Should he be hearing something?

Something cold presses against his stomach and he hisses. It keeps going, pushing and pushing, but the cold becomes warm and soft and comfortable. Sky could nap, like this.

Despite his eyes fluttering shut, someone grabbed and shook him, yet again. He really wishes they’d stop, he’s trying to nap here!

“—descendant!” They say.

…What?

Now significantly more interested, Sky strains his ears to listen closer. Oh, cool, the warm-yet-cold hands gave some of his hearing back. That’s nice.

“I’m—or—dant!”

They’re… huh?

“I’m royal!”

The Chosen Hero blinks. Once, twice, three times. His vision is so blurry he can’t make anything out besides those glaring eyes and disheveled hair.

The pain is subsiding, a little bit, so that’s neat.

What did they mean… royal?

Oh. Oh! Wait! Him and Sun start the royal bloodline of Hyrule, don’t they? This person could be referring to that! Is it a Zelda? Did one of the other Zeldas come? They’re so sweet, all those young women, and it triggers something in him that’s quite enjoyable. Maybe, once this pain quiets down, he can talk to them? That’d be just wonderful.

He closes his eyes again, humming in contentment when the unknown Zelda doesn’t shake him back. The sharp and burning and horrible ache is nothing more than annoying, now, and he’s slept much worse than this. He falls unconscious, unaware to the trembling hero next to him.

What could be minutes or hours or even days later, Sky opens his eyes again. It’s dark out, and stars shine brightly up above. Trees dot the outline of his vision.

He tries to sit up. His lower abdomen protests vehemently, and he has to abandon such efforts. Something between a groan and whine escaped him, despite his feeble attempts to swallow it whole.

“Sky?” Someone asks. “Sky! You’re awake!”

He looks towards the voice, and is pleasantly surprised to see Legend. He made it out of the fight! There’s no visible bandages, or splints, or anything but concerned eyes and a soft face.

Sky musters up the best smile he can. “I’m okay, Ledge.” He pushes up again, and this time makes it as far as propping his weight onto his elbows. His stomach screams, but he’s alright, truly.

“You damn better be,” the vet mutters, but he helps push the chosen hero up the rest of the way. Sky nods his thanks, before scanning their camp.

It’s still the same place they were last time. A small grove in the middle of uncharted woods, somewhere so random that no one knows who’s Hyrule it is or even if it is anyones. There are six sleeping forms and the outline of Wolfie.

There is no Zelda. He distinctly remembers a Zelda being there, after he was injured. Did she leave? He wanted to talk to her.

“Where did she go?” Sky asks, frowning. That’s unfortunate.

Legend raises an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Zelda,” he says, like it’s obvious. “She was here whenever… I got hurt, I guess.”

“Sky,” Legend looks very confused. “There wasn’t ever anyone’s Zelda here. Why would you think so?”

His words are thought out, slower, deeper than the mess he’d been when Sky was injured. That’s good, it means the vet has had time to breathe and calm down since then.

“There wasn’t? But someone mentioned being of royal descent, did they not?” Had he made that entire conversation up? Something of delusion built from blood loss and poison?

Legend’s expression freezes; a blush creeps across his ears. “You, uh, you heard that?”

“Yes?” How could he not? They were shaking and shouting, for Hylia’s sake!

“Oh.”

Sky is growing quickly more confused, and concerned, and he remembers why he was so nervous around Ledge in the first place. Something was wrong—no, something is wrong—and he wants to figure it out.

“Legend? Did something happen? Are you alright?”

The veteran shakes his head. “You got stabbed, Chosen. Scared the hell outta us.”

But that doesn’t answer about the past week or the mysterious person who he’s very very certain said they were related to him.

“I’m sorry,” he starts. Before the other can object, Sky continues. “What about the Zelda, though? Or whoever it was? Someone said they were my descendant, I thought.”

Legend looks anywhere but at Sky’s face. It’s very suspicious. “That, uh, that doesn’t matter. You need rest.”

Sky uses his own arms to keep him up, despite the insistence of the pink-haired hero to get him to lay back down. The more lucid he is, the less the pain matters. It’s nothing, now. He’s done more on less.

“No, wait, Ledge—”

“It was me,” he whispers, and it’s as quick as the pegasus boots he loves so much.

“Hm?”

Legend flushes, continuing to look away. “It was, uh. It was me. I’m your…” he trails off into something incoherent.

Sky raises an inquisitive brow.

“Don’t make me say it,” Legend scowls.

“Say what?”

“You know what!” And Sky really does. He wants to hear Legend admit it for himself, though.

“Stab wound,” he deadpans instead.

Legend huffs and pouts and crosses his arms, scowl deepening, then softening, then deepening again.

A beat passes. No one stirs except for the two exhausted heroes.

“Fable—my Zelda—she’s my sister. I’m the Prince of Hyrule, technically.” Legend brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them, eyes downcast, stance tense and so similar to how it was by the fire, that night.

Everything clicks into place very neatly.

Legend is not upset with Sky. He is worried about Sky, worried he’s been a disappointment, worried that he’s somehow made a mistake. So he cut back on snarks and rolled eyes, on cocked hips and wide gestures, replaced it with something subdued and a (quite frankly horrid) attempt at being something different.

“Can I hug you?” Sky asks, because it’s the only thing he can think of saying.

The veteran—the teenager, really—all but jumps. But, exactly as he hoped he would, the boy uncurls himself just enough to nod and accept the arms barrelling into him.

Sky represses a gasp (ow ow ow, next time, do not fall into someone’s arms with a scabbed stab wound, good Hylia), and squeezes tight, pouring every ounce of care he can in. This is his descendant, his kid, and it’s such a rush of emotions he’s surely going to have to process later but for right now Legend slots perfectly into his arms and all is well.

“You’re not… you’re not mad?” The boy rasps.

Sky uses one hand to comb through unruly hair. Jeez, did this kid brush it at all while he was unconscious? He’s going to have to use the recently acquired dad-card to fix that.

“Why’d I be mad, Ledge?”

From where he’s pressed the other against his chest (how did he never realize Legend was so small? Has he seriously never hugged him before?), Sky can’t see the expression he’s making. He can well assume, though, that’s something along the lines of furrowed brows and pressed lips, confusion evident with a hint of something else.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Legend finally decides on, and Sky almost laughs at how absurd the question is.

He pulls back to look the boy in the eyes. “Legend, you are a wonderful person who has done wonderous things. You have faced atrocities that no person should, and come out stronger, better, and you have done it again and again, because you care for people less fortunate than you.” His descendant’s eyes are blown wide, wide, wide, and the deep black spots are all the more obvious; no wonder he’s so open, right now, there is not a single ounce of sleep in that body. “I know I haven’t known you long, but I am so proud of you regardless, Legend, and I have no words for how happy I am that I am somehow related to you.”

Violet eyes stare into sky blue, expression lax in a way Sky has not seen before, details in the starlight that are old to one but new to the other.

Sky is hit with the fact that he has never looked at the veteran before this. Not hard enough to point out the little things, like the freckles or light scars or baby hairs.

“Oh,” Legend murmurs, casting his gaze downwards and caving in on his own body a bit more. “Okay.”

“Legend,” eyes flick up once more, “I’m being genuine.”

“I know.” A long pause. “I know, it’s just not that simple, I guess. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Ledge.”

Legend’s eyes go wide, wide, wide, once more. “The others can’t know I’m Fable’s brother.”

That is definitely something Sky is going to address at a later date.

For now, he hopes that the glint his eyes get is mischievous and his smirk comes across correctly. “Exactly.”

Legend does not look convinced.

“We’ll be like Twi and the champion were, for a while. Imagine how pissed Wars an’ Wind’ll be trying to figure it out,” Sky says, because while he’s seen hell he’s still just barely twenty and the epitome of a little shit.

(Holy Hylia, he’s going to have to address that later. How do Twilight and Wild do this all day? They’re barely a few years apart!)

Legend stares at him, and then lets out a cackle of a laugh. Real and honest, all because of Sky, and hope blooms in his chest. The other is undoubtedly the hardest nut to crack and Sky is finally getting through, after months of work.

Soon, he starts laughing too. He can’t help it! The vet’s laugh is so contagious, and he’s rocking back on his knees, and Sky is wheezing, and they’re both definitely delirious.

They’re also a bit too loud, because even as their giggles subside, the other Links begin stirring. Hyrule first, the lightest sleeper by far, but Wind and Wild and Wars follow not long after. The chain wake to two grinning brothers, and while they don’t understand it, they’re joining in as well.

Sky’s stomach hurts like a bitch, which is not a word he uses lightly, but he feels happy in an odd sense. A lot has happened—too much—but he can ignore it in favor of a good laugh with his brothers.

[maybe-im-dark]

Feasting without fear

Based on this post

The night was calm, the kitchen lit with the warm glow of dimmed lights and the gentle hum of the fridge. Logan was seated at the small, worn-out table, a generous plate of steak in front of him. The whole setup was domestic, cozy even—something Logan wasn’t used to, and he shifted awkwardly in his seat, unsure if he’d ever really get used to it.

Wade was leaning over the counter, watching Logan with a smirk as he tossed chicken wings onto a plate. Wade had cooked tonight, filling the room with the heady scent of roasted meat and spices. Logan couldn’t deny that it smelled incredible, but his focus was on something else entirely—something as primal as his senses.

Eating had always been complicated for Logan. Before he even had a chance to lift his fork, a nagging thought took over: Act normal. Don’t scare him off. He’d been alone for so long, and he knew what people thought of him. He knew how they’d look if he gnawed on bones, or tore meat apart with his teeth. The sharp claws, the almost feral way he wanted to eat—he’d had that conditioned out of him, slowly and painfully. It was a cost of his life among humans, of trying to keep people from seeing what he really was.

He hadn’t needed to put up with anyone’s reaction for a long time—until Wade. And Wade… he was different. Tonight, as Logan held his fork stiffly, feeling like he was clinging to a pretense that wasn’t even his own, Wade slid the plate of wings across the table and leaned back in his seat with a grin.

“Ya know,” Wade began, eyeing Logan like he was studying him, “you don’t have to hold back on my account. If you feel like digging into that steak with your claws, go right ahead.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, not meeting Wade’s eyes. “Nah, I got it,” he muttered, but the urge was there, gnawing at him. He could picture just picking up the steak and biting right in, the taste richer and better than anything he’d had with a fork. His claws, after all, were just as much a part of him as his hands or teeth. It was what felt right.

Wade didn’t seem to be buying the casual brush-off. “Oh, come on, Logan,” he grinned, picking up a wing and tearing into it with his teeth. “Don’t be shy! I made all this for you, and you deserve to enjoy it. Besides…” He leaned in, lowering his voice with a playful smirk. “Watching you go all feral over a steak? Honestly, kinda does it for me.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he felt something in his chest relax, letting go of the coiled-up tension. He couldn’t deny it anymore. He was exhausted from pretending, from stuffing himself into a mold that didn’t fit. And Wade…Wade just looked so damn comfortable, tearing into his food, grinning at Logan like there was nothing unusual about it.

Without another word, Logan dropped the fork, letting his claws unsheathe with a soft snikt. Wade watched, clearly delighted, as Logan let himself sink into his instincts. He skewered a piece of steak with a claw, lifting it with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times alone, in the dark, when nobody was watching.

“Well, would you look at that,” Wade laughed, eyes sparkling. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. C’mon, Wolvie, dig in!”

Feeling emboldened, Logan took a hearty bite. He tore into it, feeling the savory juices hit his tongue, richer and more satisfying than anything he’d had in ages. He barely heard Wade’s chuckle over the rush of pure relief and pleasure in finally eating without restraint.

Wade leaned in close, watching with undisguised curiosity. “Hey, mind if I…?” he gestured toward Logan’s claws, one hand hovering over his plate.

Logan raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. “You wanna eat off my claws now, huh?”

“Absolutely.” Wade nodded eagerly, leaning forward with a grin.

Logan couldn’t quite believe this was happening, but something about Wade’s absolute lack of judgment, his casual acceptance, made him lower his hand so Wade could lean in, taking the meatball Logan had just speared. It was absurd. But Wade looked so ridiculously happy about it that Logan couldn’t help the warm feeling spreading through him.

And it didn’t stop there. Wade spent the entire meal egging him on, practically cheering every time Logan sank his teeth into the steak, or tore at it with his claws. For the first time in longer than he could remember, Logan let himself go, grabbing chunks of meat and pulling them apart, savoring the taste in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to in years.

It was messy, sure—hands and face streaked with grease, the table scattered with bones and shredded bits of food. And Wade was right there with him, laughing, nodding, making jokes and shoving plates toward him. Logan felt something inside him soften. It was safe. It was okay to just…be.

They ate in contented silence for a while, punctuated only by Wade’s occasional commentary on the “artistry” of Logan’s tearing into the meat. At one point, Wade cleared his own plate, then shoved the bones across the table toward Logan, like some kind of offering. Logan snorted at first, rolling his eyes, but then he accepted it, cracking the bones between his teeth, letting the sound of it fill the room.

When the meal was done, Wade leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Logan with a satisfied grin.

“Well, how’d that feel?” he asked, his voice softening as he looked at Logan with a warmth that was almost unnerving in its intensity.

Logan didn’t have words. He sat back, wiping his hands, trying to find something to say. He settled for a shrug, looking down. “Good. Really… good.” His voice was gruff, but he couldn’t hide the relief, the satisfaction that seeped into his tone.

Wade reached across the table, resting a hand on his forearm. “Good,” he said, his voice light but sincere. “I like seeing you like this. It’s like… I dunno, like you’re actually here with me. Not some guy pretending to be someone he’s not.”

Logan felt his throat tighten, but he forced himself to meet Wade’s gaze, to see the acceptance there.

“Yeah,” he managed, voice rough. “Feels… different. Nice. Been a long time since I’ve had that.”

Wade just grinned, sitting back with a satisfied sigh. “Well, get used to it, Wolvie. ‘Cause we’ve got plenty more meals to share. And you better not hold back on my account. Seriously. If you want to gnaw on the table legs, I’ll still be right here with you.”

Logan chuckled, a low, quiet sound that came from somewhere deep inside. It was strange, this feeling—this contentment, this closeness. He wasn’t used to it, didn’t know if he’d ever get used to it. But for now, as he looked across the table at Wade, he knew one thing for sure.

He’d never felt more at home.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart (Chapter 14) Human Alastor x Married Reader

Chapter Trigger Warnings: None, really- just lowkey shittyness from Laurence.

Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

The smile on Alastor’s face pulled wider as he drove, the world passing by as he hummed along with the rumble of the engine. There were few things that felt as good as watching a plan fall into place. It was plain as day that everything was falling into place. 

There was no denying it, though he was sure at this point you still were denying what you were feeling. Everything about the way you acted around him screamed to him he was already winning his little game. It was in your timid looks, glances to him when you thought he couldn’t see. It may as well have been a sign over your head as your protests and flinching away from him gave way to careful eye contact and quiet acceptance. 

His grin twitched wider as he pictured the way you would flush as his hand dipped lower down your back, not indecently low but certainly a bolder move. It surprised him how quickly you were falling into his trap but he supposed it shouldn’t. You were such a meek thing. The way you reacted, he was near sure that you hadn’t experienced kindness or proper courting in your life. 

Alastor turned the wheel, hardly paying attention to the world he was navigating through. He knew the way nearly as well as he knew the way to his own home. There wasn’t much time, and he needed to get himself straightened out. 

Standing on the sidewalk with you earlier that morning, Alastor had suggested a late lunch, more like an early dinner, shared between two friends. It was a bit of a bolder suggestion, far more than stealing you away for a shared cup of coffee.

He had to push, ever so slightly, but after some performative pushback for the sake of propriety, you folded to his will, just as he knew you would. The plan left you enough time to scurry home and make a good start on the cleaning while Alastor made his way nearly halfway across the city. 

Alastor took his time, straightening his jacket in the dirty mirror under Mimzy’s watchful eye. It wouldn’t kill the woman to clean it but he wasn’t in the mood to nettle his long-time friend over the mess, this time at least. Long fingers picked at his hair, pulling strands this way and that as he tried to convince them to lie just a little flatter. 

He didn’t have enough time to really run all the way home and get himself polished up so he drove to Mimzy’s little flat, near to her speakeasy. It was only fair that he invaded her space. Heaven above knew how often she had helped herself to his home. 

“Things goin good then?” She asked as Alastor ran his fingers through his hair, effectively resetting it to start fresh as she handed him a hot comb. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen him primp, but it was infrequent, at best. Or at least it had been. “Ya know, your hair was good three passes ago, right?”

“Things are going swimmingly,” Alastor confirmed, leaving his hair alone after passing the comb through the strands, letting the heat pull the slight curl straighter. “She’s proving to be great entertainment.” 

“And you’re just playing with her?” Mimzy asked, eyebrow raised as she perched herself against the dresser. It was improper for her to have a man like Alastor in her home, let alone her bedroom, without someone to ensure he didn’t take advantage of her, but she had no fear of him. Alastor held no interest in her, though she had tried to win his romantic affections once, long ago. 

“Of course,” Alastor rolled his eyes as he turned away from his reflection, “All just good fun. Lure her away from dear Laurence for a bit and show her some life. Poor thing is just wilting away. You want a supplier who can’t even take care of his wife? Yet you trust him to keep your deliveries coming?” 

“Well, I can’t have you as a supplier.” Mimzy watched him, a small smile on her face. For someone as smart as Alastor was, he sure could be daft at times and about the strangest things, Mimzy realized. How was he unaware of how much you seemed to be more than just a passing toy to him? 

Oh well, Mimzy decided. It wasn’t like anything could come of this. Maybe Alastor’s need for love, want for romance would awaken with you and he could go on and find himself someone proper. 

Each step was measured as you fought the urge to rush down the sidewalk. That would draw the wrong attention to yourself. It boggled your mind that this was the second time you’ve done this. It was wrong. You shouldn’t be sneaking around behind your husband’s back to spend time with anyone, let alone with another man. 

You turned the corner into the alley, bowl hat pulled low over your face and ugly orange shawl wrapped around your shoulders as you let yourself relax a little more. Each step took you further down the dirty alley, shoes clicking against the stones as you approached a dark figure leaning against the back of a car.

“Hello,” you said, fearlessly. What a thought that was? Someone you could speak fearlessly with, even if just in greeting. Alastor had yet to give you a reason to fear his moods or wait to see if he brought a storm with him. He was simply always calm, even-tempered. 

“I’ve got you something, if you think you can hide it?” You could just see Alastor’s smile in the dark, light reflecting off his teeth and shining in his eyes, highlighting them against the rest of his dim features, hidden in shadows. 

“Oh?” you ran your teeth over your bottom lip, trying to convince your heart to calm as it humped around in your chest. “You didn’t need-” 

“Nonsense,” Alastor said, not offering any other information, instead turning to the trunk behind him and twisting the key already seated in the lock. It popped open with a soft thump that reverberated through the small alley. 

The darkness prevented you from seeing the tarp, folded neatly around a saw and tied together with twine, just as Alastor had been counting on. Even if you saw it, he was sure you had no reason to question whatever story he gave you. Men were known to keep strange things in their trunks, items to help with a breakdown. He could come up with something for cover. 

In the trunk’s front sat a round hatbox, covered in a floral pattern that gave away the high end shop it had come from. Along with it was a bag, paper sporting the same floral pattern. 

“For you,” he stepped aside and motioned for you to look. It was dim in the alley, but you could just make out the pattern on the items sitting toward the front of the trunk. The deeper recesses of the space may as well have been a black void to you. “You can take a better look later, but I thought, if this is going to become a more regular arrangement, this would help you.” 

“What?” your heart pounded in your chest. He wanted this thing to continue, so much so he wanted to help it be easier? What did that mean? Lifting the lid of the box, you found a red bowl hat, perfectly in style, much unlike the one pulled down over your head currently. The ribbon around the band, shiny silk, accented with little roses embroidered onto the felt of the hat. 

“There’s a cape to match. I know coats are a bit more in style, but it’s knit and I’m told that’s still in style.” Alastor hesitated for a moment, taking in the soft expression on your face. “I thought the cape would suit you better.” 

Blood roared in your ears as your vision wavered. Breaths came broken as you tried to will yourself to calm down. When was the last time someone had gifted you anything? It had been flowers. The ones Laurence had given you to replace the ones Alastor gave you. Then the fear began to truly hit, sending a tear running down your now pale cheek. How would you explain this to Laurence? 

“It’s small enough you could tuck it under the steps, or somewhere else if you think he would find it.” Alastor’s hand rested on your shoulder, arm laying across your upper back as he held you almost to his side, the distance between your bodies too small to be proper but too large for you to call it an embrace. “I thought perhaps you could wear them when coming to meet me, instead of something you could be recognized in.” 

“Mr. Moreau,” you patted his chest with the back of your hand before you thought twice about such a bold move. It was too easy to feel that comfortable with him. “You make it sound like sneaking out with you is going to be a regular occurrence.” 

“Would that be a bad thing?” Alastor asked as he slipped the shawl from your shoulders and tossed it into his trunk. “You could use a friend.” 

Friend. Alastor had called himself your friend. That word bounced around in your head as he wrapped the cloak around your shoulders and tossed the hat you had been wearing in the trunk with little care. 

If you were just friends, why did it not feel like that? Why did it feel like more? Why did the idea of it not being more make your heart pain?

“Shall we?” Alastor’s hand took up its place against your back, just a touch lower than you considered proper but where you were becoming accustomed to it resting. 

“No hat?” You asked as he closed the trunk with one hand. 

“You’re already here,” he chuckled as he smiled down at you. “If you wore a hat, I wouldn’t get to see your lovely face.” 

The trunk slammed shut with a solid thunk, sealing away your items. The sound broke you out of the spell you still lingered in, touched by his kindness and the fear of your husband it inspired. 

“Darling,” Alastor stepped in front of you slightly, turning to face you. His knuckle grazed your cheek tenderly, wiping away the trail left by the tear that had escaped. “If you don’t think you can hide then, you don’t have to take them. I wouldn’t want to cause you to go through another… grievous incident.”

“I-” you took a shaking breath, “I think I can. I just- I’m not used to such kindnesses.” 

With a smile, Alastor led you around to the passenger side. He reached around you, opening the door as he let you sit with your admission. 

Finally, he said, “You deserve to be treated with kindness,” as he tucked you into the seat. 

The door closed, leaving you with your thoughts as Alastor walked around the front of the car. It was the first chance you had to process his words without the sight of his warm eyes in the darkness clouding your mind. Reaching up, you let your fingers caress over the bruise around your eye, faded now, more green and yellow than red and purple. It was easier to cover, hidden now under layers of cream and powder. 

He wanted to see your face. Knowing how you looked and what you were hiding, he wanted to see you.

“How long do we have?” Alastor asked as he settled into the driver’s seat, pulling the door closed. The keyring jingled as he slotted the key into the ignition. With a quick turn of his wrist, the engine roared to life. 

“He told me not to wait up,” you answered, only realizing how that could be taken as an invitation to something far more than what you had planned after the words left your lips.

“Good!” Alastor pulled the car forward, out of the other side of the alleyway and onto the street. “Are you hungry? I figured a late lunch and then an early show at the cinema. Hows that sound?” 

“It sounds wonderful,” you told him as he turned onto the city streets. “But I’ll be seen. People will talk.” 

Alastor only looked over at you and winked with a cock of his head. The radio filled the silence, covering for your inability to think of anything to say. As minutes passed, one after another, the city giving way to scenic landscapes. You were torn between watching the land passing by and watching Alastor driving, his long fingers wrapped around the wheel as he navigated with practiced ease. 

“Do you leave the city often?” You finally braved saying. 

He glanced at you, the bright afternoon sun lighting up his eyes as he turned his head. “More often than I probably should.” 

“What’s that mean?” Your voice came softly. It was a struggle to have enough air to breathe when he looked at you that way, let alone talk. 

Alastor shrugged, “I get recognized in the city, more often than I’d like sometimes.”

“That’s a problem Mr. Big Deal Radio Host?” You laughed as he gave you a pointed look that dissolved into the smile he always wore. It felt okay to tease him. It felt safe. 

“It can be,” Alastor was silent for a bit, looking between you and the road. It was clear he wanted to say more. You sat, waiting patiently until he spoke again. Usually you’d wait because it wasn’t a woman’s place to speak over a man, but not this time. As the world passed by outside the window, you waited because you wanted to know what it was he was debating about saying, not wanting to risk scaring away his words. “You know I’m not like you, right? Not from money, but also…” 

“I suspected,” you said simply, “But that’s alright. I don’t mind, you’re kind and a gentleman.” Your voice fell silent for a moment. Alastor debated in that moment clarifying, making it clear it wasn’t just money he referred to but you spoke again before he could. “That’s what matters, not the color of your skin or that of your parents or their parents. What matters is that your mother raised you right.” 

Alastor didn’t speak at first and you feared you had said something wrong. Fingers twisted around each other, taking a bit of your blouse with them. You pushed down the urge to say something, anything, to fill the void seemed to grow within the car. 

“Not everyone thinks that way.” Alastor’s voice broke the silence, shattering the void. “People know me and no one says it because I look close enough to them they can make themselves forget, but it’s the first thing they remember when I make a mistake. Out here,” Alastor tilted his head forward, to the open road and the small town in the distance, “no one knows me. They don’t know or if I mess up, it’s just some unknown guy.” 

“It must be stressful.” You caught yourself as you reached out, wanting to rest your hand on his forearm. Instead, you pulled your hand to your chest and clasped in your other hand. 

Alastor laughed, “It can be. But I manage.” 

“And out here, maybe I can just be some girl, too.” You said, watching his face, “Some girl out with you.” 

“If you want to be.” Alastor’s smile had dimmed with the conversation but now it turned cautiously brighter. 

“And if I do?” The words were hardly more than a whisper as you carefully nudged your toe just a bit further over the line. 

“Guess you’re just some girl out with some guy, then.” 

The diner was small, casual and easy but with Alastor it didn’t feel that way. He pulled your chair out for you as if you were somewhere fancy, scooting you into the table with care. It could have been the highest class restaurant, something Laurence would have taken you on to celebrate your engagement for all the care Alastor was putting into settling you at the table. 

With the red knit cape over your shoulders, you indulged in the fantasy. You smiled warmly at Alastor from across the table as he talked about the radio, what he did in the day and the hours he spent poring over scripts and show plans. 

It made you want to sit and listen to his show. It made you thankful for Laurence’s late nights, allowing you to indulge in upcoming shows. The idea of getting caught and setting Laurence’s rage off was too terrifying to brave listening to Alastor on the radio since meeting the man himself, but now, the way Alastor talked about his work, you wanted to hear the thing he loved to do so much. It would be like hearing it with brand new ears. 

It wasn’t as if you’d never heard his broadcasts in the past. You’d caught them here or there in passing. Though you had enjoyed them, you were always busy tending to your home or your husband, regardless of your desire.

It felt strange to wish to hear the voice of a man, but you were craving Alastor’s voice more and more, the longer you had known him. His love and passion for his chosen profession, you feared it would make your longing all the worse. 

“What do you do when you’re not going about your work?” You asked, setting the napkin aside after dabbing at your face. 

Alastor paused and thought, something you had grown to appreciate about him in the short time you’d known him. “I read,” he finally said, “And hunt, though I fear I seldom have time for either.”

“You’d have more time if you were not sneaking away with a-” you whispered the next words, leaning across the table, “married woman.” 

“But my dear!” Alastor laughed, “I find spending time with,” and his voice lowered to a matching whisper as he leaned across the near empty plates on the table, closing much of the distance between the two of you, “one specific married woman to be rather refreshing.” 

“Oh my,” you covered your mouth in feigned outrage as a smile you wouldn’t have recognized spread across your face, “How scandalous!” 

“The true scandal,” Alastor admitted, wicked grin spreading wider across his face, “Is how she seems to enjoy my company as well.” 

You walked arm in arm with Alastor through the cinema hall as he led you to your theater as a few others milled about. It was a show you’d already seen, but you didn’t mind that at all. You had never seen this show with Alastor and that was what you were eager for. 

Was he the one to whisper through the show? Would he laugh? Would he doze off? 

It was early yet, and the theater was little more than half filled as you took your seats. The darkness felt strangely safe because he was in it with you. No monsters in men’s dress would get you in this darkness. Today, there was nothing to fear. 

No unwanted hands would grip your thigh. No hands would slip under your dress. No one would whisper lewd promises in your ear that would only spark fear. You were safe, respected. 

While you watched the show, some of it at least, mostly you watched Alastor watch the movie. Not at first, but as his arm reached behind you, resting along the back of your seat, you couldn’t help it. Light reflected off his glasses and he chuckled softly at jokes. 

You envied some woman you didn’t know. It was hardly more than the idea of a woman, really. She would come into his life, steal the attention and affection you had no right to lay claim to. She would get to call Alastor hers. 

Was it possible to hate the idea of someone? You thought so, as he turned to look at you, a smile stopping your heart in your chest. 

Friends, you reminded yourself. Just friends. Just a secret and highly improper friendship. You could keep your feelings at that level, right?

Forcing your eyes back to the screen, you tried to ignore the way his thumb would caress your shoulder from where his hand dangled off the backrest of your seat. He was not holding you and yet he came so terribly close to it. You ignored the feeling of his eyes on you as he leaned closer to whisper in your year, his breath washing over your neck and the side of your face as he moved closer. 

“I’m glad you came out with me today,” his voice was soft velvet in your ear, his lips moving against your hair. Your heart was going insane as you chanted in your mind that you were friends. Just friends. Only friends. 

He pressed against the side of your head. Was it a kiss? You weren’t sure. The very idea of it terrified you. There was no way you could brave asking . Your heart pounded in the most delightful way. You could hear him breathe you in for a moment before he pulled away, sitting properly in his seat again with his eyes on the screen. 

Did he know what he did to you? 

Laurence sat in his large office with the blinds drawn closed against the bright spring sunshine. Smoke curled up from the cigar he had no business buying, let alone smoking with the state of things. That didn’t stop him, though. It was alright, he would find a way out of this, he always did. 

There were papers spread in haphazard piles in front of him, red glaring up at him. Canceled, the red screamed. Contracts canceled. Work not yet delivered. Past due notices. Bills unpaid. Threats of legal action. Things were spiraling out of his control, but that was alright. 

He just needed one more good break and he could pull things back together as if he had never broken them. He had always been good at finding opportunities, taking the right risks. He was a master gambler. This was just a string of bad luck, that’s all. Everyone had runs of bad luck but his never lasted long. He would pull out of this, he always did. 

First, he’d finish up work at the office. That was the easy part. Throw together some marketing materials from the crew that was left and have them deliver it with some sob story. If he was lucky, the client would bite it and at least one of these contracts would be settled. 

Then he’d meet up with the guys and play some cards. If he played his game right, he’d come out on top. He had to be careful, not too much on top or they’ll question him. This wasn’t a week where he could rely on lady luck alone to line his pockets. 

Once he had some winnings in his pocket, it would be late enough to run an extra load of goods for his best gal’s brother and collect a little extra money. It wouldn’t be enough to change the trajectory of his finances, but it would be a start. He just needed a fucking start. 

If he had a good night, he’d have enough cash in his pocket to make his first payment to that damned slimy radio fucker. Just the idea of how that man had the fucking nerve to shame him for offering you as collateral, then to turn around and slink around his home as if he owned the place. How fucking dare he get you alone when he was a guest in the home? 

That man was bad news. Laurence felt it in his bones. Nothing good could come from a man who so shamelessly spent time with an unattached spinster like Mimzy but really, why was it surprising? Just look at who his fucking mother was.

A family history of boundary crossing and not knowing one’s goddamn place, that’s all that fucker had going for him. Alastor, the promising radio personality- fuck him. Just another man with dirty blood who didn’t know his fucking place in society. 

What was the world coming to? It was going to hell in a handbasket, that was for fucking sure. First the blurring of racial lines and now women were expected to vote? How would they know what’s best for society? What they know was the best way to get clothes clean, to mop the floors and to bake if they were good at anything at all. 

Laurence took a deep breath, pulling open the desk drawer. Things rattled around from the force. He shoved papers and boxes around, grabbing the vial of tincture he kept hidden in the back of the drawer, safely out of sight. He had purchased his office supply from across the city. Nosey pharmacists couldn’t mind their business and had to question how much his back had to be hurting. 

Fuckers. His back hurt. He needed the drops. That’s all there was to it. Who the fuck were they to question how much pain he was in?

The bitter taste was something he had gotten used to, even come to enjoy, as he emptied half the dropper into his upturned mouth. Swallowing it, he leaned back and waited for the pleasant fog to wrap around his mind and take the pain away. 

He had to figure out a plan, a better plan. Work harder, not smarter. No, that wasn’t right. He had flipped it around as the fog encroached into his mind. Work smarter, not harder. That was it. He had to do that. 

There were empty bottles in the back room, behind the old boxes of scarped marketing materials. Could he use those to somehow make some more green? Yes, that was an idea. How?

He could pick up the load, split it between whatever extra bottles he had and top them all up with water. No one would notice, no one would even dare question Emma’s family about it- that was a great way to get shot. 

He could sell the extra bottles himself and pocket the money. He’d have enough then to make the first payment on that fucking loan. What kind of asshole wants the first payment before the first month had passed, anyway?

Arrogant prick, Laurence thought as he leaned back in his chair, eyes slipping closed. He’d rest his eyes for just a minute, then he’d leave. He had to get on his way to his next meeting or this deal would slip from his fingers, too. 

Rest his eyes for just a few seconds, then the meeting. After the meeting, gambling. Then running the hootch. Then he’d take Emma off somewhere, make her scream his name. Maybe she’d suck his cock. 

That was something he couldn’t get his wife to do for him. Dumb broad had no interest in sex. What man enjoys having to spell out how to please him? Fucking her was like fucking a dead fish. She just laid there and cried. Too sheltered or too dumb to enjoy it- he wasn’t sure which was the case with her. After all these years, he would have thought she’d figure it out, but she was just as bad as the first night. 

Come home. If he was feeling good, maybe he’d fuck his wife, too.

What a night, getting laid twice. 

But first he’d just… 

Rest his eyes…

Just a moment longer…

Then he’d be off to the meeting…

In just a moment… 

Just a moment…

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