#fanfic growing pains

[theveryconfusedartistsart-blog]

Flowey went with Frisk to a college party and he despised this one guy's vibe.

Also, I'm so pleased with Frisk's Mettaton shirt. 🌟

[theveryconfusedartistsart-blog]

Here, they turned on the lights.

(Also, here's Frisk's full outfit because they look so nice in it...)

(What you see before you is a recently taken picture of your favorite gang.)

___

Frisk: "Sooo, we didn't talk about it much, but Mettaton and Muffet threw a big fancy Halloween party, but because Flowey was grounded, he wasn't able to go... and I didn't think that was fair at al;!"

Flowey (sarcastic): "It's not like it was the only big party I've ever cared about going to...,"

Frisk: "YEAH! So, I ditched the party early and snuck back home and we had our own Halloween party in the living room!"

Flowey: "And, as you can see...Chara was with us too,"

[peargreen-jellybean]

too fuckin long, so sorry about that, but enjoy a 3k word count poolverine hurt/comfort ficlet from the prompt idea i posted

my writing skills suck a bit and i wrote this on my phone but i did my best. enjoy

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

Logan’s woken up in alleyways, face down, with clothes torn from a brawl he instigated and the glass bottles he’d fallen onto. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he wakes up slumped over a table in the back of a bar because the owner was too afraid to tell him to leave.

Afraid of his claws or just his name.

The buzz of alcohol never stays long, even with high proof liquor, but the tiredness of a fucked up life still lingers for awhile more after several bottles of booze.

So waking up exhausted isn’t new. It's about the only way he’s woken up for a long time.

And that’s what Logan expects, slowly coming back to consciousness.

Exhaustion. Some hard surface. Hopefully most of his clothes intact.

One eye begrudgingly cracks open.

Yup, definitely a little fucked up. His joints ache deep into the bone and his head is cotton-y.

But… Nothing feels hard or sharp beneath him. In fact, he feels… comfortable.

Huh.

Turning just a bit, he finds his face buried in softness. It smells lived in; skin, spilled food, a hint of… gunpowder? And, after a moment, he hears the soft sound of music- too quiet to be bar music but not muffled enough to be from a building he isn’t inside of.

Huh.

“Mmm.” Using his forearms, Logan props himself up just enough to leave the softness and get a look around him.

Not an alley. Not a bar. Not even a cheap, seedy motel.

A house- er, an apartment more likely. And he’s sprawled, a moment ago face down, on top of an old couch with a blanket over him and pillow under him. Neither the couch nor the general space is all that large, he’s practically spilling off the furniture, but everything feels warm and lived in. Home-y, if a little messy.

There isn’t anyone else here- the living room, a good guess- but noises, once he registers them, coming from an adjacent room says he isn’t alone. The soft music seems to filter through from there as well.

Logan flips himself over, a bit too groggy to be elegant about it, and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The feel of gritty grime on his face, more than he usually gets after a night drowning in alcohol, confuses him.

And then-

His head slumps back into the pillow and he groans. “Fucking hell.”

The TVA. The Time Ripper. The Void.

The red spandex-ed asshole who stole him from his timeline.

… Who, after everything, took him home, here, introduced him to his blind roommate- Althea, if he recalls- and offered him a place to stay and sleep for a while. And, vaguely remembering being too tired to shower, who also gave Logan some clothes to sleep in.

Groaning, only half heartedly after remembering the comforts offered and taken, Logan pulls back the blanket and, likey for the first time, actually checks to see what he’s wearing.

A gray, “I eat cement” T-shirt and blue, rubber duck shorts.

Yeah, that seems about right.

He huffs, but sits up to get his elbows onto his knees and scrub more of the sleep away from his face. Instant regret again. Both he and Wade- battle worn and disgusting- had forgone a shower in favor of just near instantly passing out. He is fucking gross; dirt, blood, and god knows what else covering him in a disgusting layer.

Logan feels a pang of shame for getting onto their couch with this much dirt and sweat coating him- maybe he can wash the blanket and pillowcase as an apology- but a clattering from the room with the music recatches his attention. The volume of whatever song is playing- a woman singing, pleasantly raspy- increases afterward.

Too interested to ignore whatever’s going on, Logan gets up to stand- with only a small groan, thank you- and, after a quick, satisfying stretch, slowly pads over to the doorway. Nothing outright sounds or feels dangerous, but from his experience and especially after the past few days, the need for caution can’t be shaken.

He must still not be fully awake, because the smell hits him only a few creeping steps from the doorway; pepper, eggs, something a bit burnt.

Food.

God, he didn’t realize how hungry he was until now. Even the burning smell is appetizing.

Popping his head in, the sight inside startles him awake completely.

With “I <3 hot dads” shorts, a red apron, and fucking crocs on his feet, Wade shifts around in front of the kitchen counter, swaying to the song he has playing from a radio somewhere. The place is a complete mess of egg shells and plates, but the table has a, rather large, plate of scrambled eggs, another plate of half burnt toast, and an assortment of other breakfast items. The smell of coffee also hangs in the air. And for the first time, maybe since knowing the man- and when he wasn’t unconscious- Wade is happily content not saying a word. He simply turns a toaster, with a fucking butter knife stuck into it, this way and that, and shakes it like he wants information from it.

It’s jarringly warm, and domestic.

Logan is again thrown for a moment.

When was the last time he woke up to clean clothes- even though he himself is gross as hell- the softness of a pillow, to the smell and sight of another person cooking breakfast in a kitchen?

Ever?

That sounds pathetically sad and incorrect, but in the doorway, watching it happen in real time, Logan feels lost and a bit raw.

Lucky for him though, Wade is still an annoying fuck and pulls him from his thoughts.

Like he sensed the presence of the other man half lingering in the doorway, Wade looks back at him and smiles wide. All bright teeth. No mask.

“Well, good morning Peanut! Did ya sleep well? I don't know about you but I think being torn apart and put back together finally got rid of the knot in my back. God, I slept like Al after she goes through waaay too many little baggies.” He motions over to the table with his chin. “I made some eggs and toast if you want. A true triumphant heroes’ breakfast! Hopefully you like them both a bit overdone. And there’s a pot of coffee over there.” He gestures to a machine on the counter now. “You can literally just drink from the pot if you want. Caffeine does not work on me, funnily enough. We don’t have creamer but there’s milk in the fridge and sugar next to the coffee maker…”

Wade goes on to babble about everything and nothing and, while Logan cannot count the number of times he’s wanted to stab the man for not shutting up, he can’t find the want to be actually irritated.

Not in the face of food, and coffee, and just… comfort.

Speaking of…

Logan clears the lump in his throat. “Thanks.” It’s all he can think to say, but he means it, even with the rough rumble of his morning voice.

Which Wade seems to find fascinating.

“Holy shit! How the fuck does your voice get even deeper? God, you would make a killing as a erotic audio book reader. Millions probably.” Wade flashes a flirtatious look before he turns back to the toaster and continues to mumble to himself, or perhaps the broken machine.

Logan huffs, but the call of coffee is stronger than his need for a comeback. The whole pot is grabbed per the offer, the sugar too, and now standing in front of the table he finds himself hesitating. No spots are occupied and nothing says ‘preferred seat’, but Logan can’t help but pause. ‘Make yourself at home’ feels like the unsaid, unfamiliar offer he can’t accept as easily as the coffee.

It feels too easy- another pathetic thought- and he can’t help but feel like he isn’t awake yet, and the reality of a cold, pavement bed will greet him if he gets too comfortable…

“Stupid fucking piece of metal crap!” Wade hisses, followed by the sound of the knife stabbing into the toaster.

Nope, probably not a dream. Logan is not a creative enough person to come up with something like this.

God, so just… sit, you fucking moron.

Picking a chair facing away from the toaster killer, Logan sets the coffee pot down- on a mat he also picked up, he isn’t an asshole- and settles in.

He feels awkward, like a kid at his first sleepover, but the eggs are there in front of him and his stomach is starting to growl. Awkwardness can wait until after a few bites, at least. There’s a lack of something important on the table though. After a quick glance around the plates and cups, and not finding anything, he looks over to Wade who seems to be completely brawling with the toaster now.

Wincing at the sight, and before he can rethink his decision, Logan clears the remaining sleep from his throat and uses that to draw the other man’s attention.

“Do uh, do you got a fork or somethin’?”

“Ah fuck, that’s what I forgot!” Wade sets, or slams really, the toaster down and moves over to a drawer, then rooting through it. “Didn’t run the dishwasher either and all the good forks are in it. Fuck…” He mumbles something else too, but lets out a triumphant ‘ha!’ when he pulls out two forks, one a little more bent than the other.

He skips, almost, over to Logan and presents the utensils. “Here you go Peanut, pick your favorite!”

Grabbing the more bent fork, Logan nods a silent thanks and begins slowly transferring eggs from the larger plate to one of the smaller, empty ones. Wade, satisfied with the choice, simply sets the other fork onto the table and goes back to the counter, and that damn toaster.

But before brawling again, he calls back, “Help yourself to as much as you want Babygirl! You deserve it for all your sexy hero work!”

Logan huffs again but grabs one of the toaster’s victims, once he’s gotten a fair amount of egg, and takes a bite of the slightly over cooked toast and just… enjoys.

The moment is pretty… nice.

Warm food. Morning sun from the window- god, he doesn’t even know that time it is. Wade isn’t quiet, hardly ever is, but he’s not overly inane or loud right now.

It’s all… good.

So… What does it?

An old memory, like deja vu, from another place and time with other people? The still lingering, ghostly sensation of his own body shredding and healing, just below his skin? Wade grumbling at the counter over the broken toaster, like a strange picture of domestic living?

It could be anything, everything.

But all he knows is that it’s twisting into something else. Something darker, and sharper, and cold.

Logan starts to tremble in his seat and the fork in his hand damn near snaps in his grip. The bite of food in his mouth tastes like blood- no, it is blood. He’s bitten into his tongue. His heart is racing, and something is tight in his chest, too tight and still tightening. Crushing.

Air isn’t breathable. His lungs won’t let it in.

Whatever stupid song is playing now is muffled by a white hot pulsing between his ears.

… He knows this.

Panic.

This is panic.

Of all the times to break, after days of one problem after another, pain after pain, this is when it happens? Now? While he’s sitting in Wade fucking Wilson’s kitchen, wearing his worn-soft clothes and eating at his table and listening to some soft song on the radio?

Yes, it is.

Pathetic.

Fucking pathetic.

He can’t focus anywhere anymore- it’s too much, too overwhelming, too fucking stupid to reason with- and burning nausea is creeping up his throat.

He’s spiraling. He’s breaking. And he can’t find the fight to beat himself out of it.

Perhaps that’s the reason he doesn’t hear the increasingly desperate ‘Logan?’s behind him or the quick footsteps moving towards the table.

He does startle, however, at a sudden touch to the side of his skull, making him gasp.

His claws gouge the surface of the table and knock over a half-filled water cup but, remarkably, they don’t thrust into the sudden presence pressing to his side.

It takes a good minute to process the situation, much slower than it usually takes him. But he feels the warmth of another person and the pressure of a hand on his head and his head is bent at an odd angle-

Wade, his mind breathes. This is his scent- gunpowder, spandex, and his own strange, unique smell. The touch to the back of his skull is his hand and the press to his cheek is the exposed skin below his shirt.

He’s cuddling him.

Uh-

And because it’s what he does best, Logan rages.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Logan snaps, and he yanks his head back from the other man’s grasp. Or, at least, he tries to.

“Eeeasy Peanut,” Wade hushes, not relinquishing Logan’s head. It's easy to forget the teasing, ridiculous man is incredibly strong. The battle lasts all of two seconds, and Wade’s stubbornness takes the victory. Logan’s cheek presses back to his hip and stays there under the weight of his hand.

“Easy, easy, easy…” Wade mumbles. He hesitates, only for a moment. “Vanessa did this… when shit got really bad.”

He’s quiet. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. The meaning and weight of the softly spoken words are enough.

There’s a growl starting to rumble in his chest and while he wants to fight against Wade harder- he doesn’t need sentimental crap or, god forbid, pity- Logan takes a breath just long enough to pause here in the moment, and let’s himself feel.

Wade’s hand is cradling his skull and his fingers are threaded through his hair. The weight of them is firm, but not crushing. No, they’re gentle. And they press his cheek and temple into Wade’s side, where the dip of his waist is. Even at the odd angle his neck is bent to, the shape of the dip fits to his face near perfectly and, if obliged to stay here, he would be comfortable. Wade’s body heat- much like his own, running high due to constant cellular regeneration- seeps into him. Into his skin, and then his flesh, and then his bones, settling deep into his chest.

All of it, it… helps.

The revelation startles Logan.

The weight and solidness of Wade is grounding; constant, steady pressure. His warmth slowly relaxes the painful tightness behind Logan’s ribs. Even his smell- showered now, likely before he started cooking, still strange but not unbearable- settles his mind just because it’s there.

Wade… is anchoring him.

Maybe he really should fight this harder, or be annoyed at the coddling, or pissed just because he’s being handled at all, but Logan can’t keep a grip on any of the feelings. He can’t stop the calm that pulls him in and brings him down. It’s so- He’s feels so-

…

… When was the last time he was held?

Not fucked by nameless faces, or hanging on to another person for dear life, or punch near through the stomach- Held.

Was it before- God does it hurt.

… Was it before, when he had his fellow mutant friends and family? Before that?

After?… Definitely not.

Warmth, gentleness, nothing of the kind was what he deserved afterwards. He could never reward himself with something he never showed, and no one offered it to him regardless.

Logan shudders, his breath likely teasing Wade’s skin but, if the other man feels it, he blissfully leaves the fact be.

Wade- warm, solid, annoying as hell Wade- who breaks his train of thought, unaware of it. “Better right? When Vanessa first did this, waaay back in the storyline, I fucking melted like a kid’s ice cream. It’s like the guilty, trauma victim’s morphine.” He pauses, and there’s a grin to his words now. “I also ate her out that first time, but we can wait to do that until the second mental breakdown session, Babygirl.”

Yup. There it is. Asshole.

But Logan just, non-committedly hums, although it's more of a grumble. Yeah, Wade will probably be insufferable after this, smug and a whole new level of too comfortable touching him, but right now, right here, he’s calming.

He’s- something Logan can’t quite name. Or at least, he’s unwilling to.

Call Logan weak, call him pathetic- because he truthfully is, just below the storm in his skin- and like hell does he actually deserve this, but he’s gonna savor it for as long as he possibly can.

Seconds pass, or maybe hours, and the gentle massage of Wade’s fingertips to his scalp continues during it before his hand slides away from Logan’s hair onto his shoulder.

The loss of that contact against his head is disappointing-a private thought- but when Wade shifts like he’s about to move away the disappointment quickly morphs into panic.

He isn’t ready to let go.

He isn’t ready for Wade to leave.

With pure, unthinking action, Logan latches onto the fabric of Wade’s shorts just below the hip he isn’t leaning against. He fists the material into a ball, like he’s afraid the other man will just disappear if he doesn’t hold tight enough.

Like he really is going to wake up, and be alone again with only the memory of coffee and warmth.

Embarrassment quickly reddens his face once he understands what he’s done but, instead of releasing Wade, Logan turns his face into his hip to hide. Clenching his eyes shut for extra precaution.

Weak. Pathetic.

Wade is quiet, his hand hovering above Logan’s shoulder after it was started off but, just as Logan is about to relinquish his hold of the man- he can't bear the unnerving stillness of him- Wade surprises him again.

Quick but gentle, Wade cups the back of Logan’s head and neck, turns ever so slightly to the side, and presses Logan’s forehead to the cushion of his stomach. And just lets the other man stay against him, as he rubs his head and shoulders.

Logan cries a small sound he’s never heard himself make before- something wounded, and relieved, and ragged- but he can’t be bothered to care. Not right now. He releases his death hold on Wade’s shorts and wraps his arms around the other man’s thighs, as flush against him as he can be in their current positions. His hold might be too tight, edging on painful most likely, but Wade doesn’t complain. Doesn’t do anything except this… hold him.

Thank you, thank you, thank you…

“Of course, big guy. Whatever you need.”

Ah, he said that out loud.

… He’ll care about that later. Logan will be pissed, and embarrassed, and in denial at some point, but it’ll all be later. When Wade isn’t cradling him or murmuring soft words. When he isn’t cooking warm food or listening to music on the radio.

When he isn’t making him feel like, for the first time in a long time, he’s allowed to have kindness.

Fucking… Wade.

[1-helluva-hazbin]

Growing Pains

Lucifer x Reader

Content warning: fluff, trust building, slow burn, building communication skills, self improvement, fast proofread (please excuse the errors)

Summary: Lucifer's attempt to bond with you, a newer resident of the hotel, spectacularly backfires. Unable to avoid Lucifer, with an impending sinister catalyst, necessitate a resolution forcing you to work through your avoidance tendencies.

Author Notes: This one shot is on the longer side. Let me know if you think I should have made it 2 chapters or if it works as it is. I also wanted to apologize for the day delay! Yesterday did not go as I had planned.

Word Count: 6183

Thank you for all the love and support you choose to give!

Charlie and Vaggie were sitting and talking in the hotel lobby not too far off from you. Vaggie’s one arm, the one you could see, casually draped over the back of the couch. Her thumb stretched from its resting position, lightly caressing her partner as they talked. A minute affection Charlie didn’t seem to notice in her exuberant excitement. One you couldn’t help but focus on, completely ignoring the book you were looking over. You forced your attention back to the book momentarily before Charlie started laughing. The sound ripped your gaze from the pages back over to the loving couple. Charlie’s hand now on Vaggie’s arm. 

It made the skin on your arm prickle with goosebumps.

“My, my, my, weren’t you ever taught it’s rude to stare?” The accusation startled you from your fixation and you tilted your head to see Lucifer propped from beside you. One eyebrow skyrocketed nearly to his hairline while the over exaggerated smile on his lips seemed to pull painfully tight on his lips as he attempted to playfully exclaim, “It’s almost like you’re plotting something!”

His quip stung, intentionally or not. You had noticed since arriving his method of interacting with other sinners was usually to tease them about sinner-like things; violence, cannibalism, plotting against other people, their drug use. His favorite against you was that you were plotting a scheme, usually against Charlie. Everyone had been slightly wary of you upon your arrival. Charlie had sworn up and down that it would change. That since you always seemed so aloof and standoffish it was just unnerving for some people in the hotel. Including her dad who was trying, in his own way, to connect with all the sinners when he was around. He had a couple thousand years of prejudice to work through but, he was trying!

She had taken to coaching you at every interaction you had with her. Even Vaggie had jumped on board with her encouragement. If one of them said hello and asked how your day was, a simple ‘fine’ wouldn’t suffice. It didn’t encourage bonding! No, you had to elaborate. Tell them what you did that day. Did you learn anything new? What books are you reading? Share with them things about yourself! Ask how their day was. Reference something they previously told you. Have an actual conversation.

 As well intended as they were, it was exhausting. Having gone from almost solitary living for the last century or two -between working in a job where you were almost completely unbothered while living with a single roommate whom you could go days without speaking to- this was a complete 180 and utterly tiring. You didn’t uproot your life to make friends. You had come here to work on redeeming yourself. Get into heaven if it was possible. Which Charlie repeatedly told you included being friendlier, kind, thoughtful, and most importantly selfless. Even if you didn’t necessarily care about everything other people had to say, it was important to still allow them space to be themselves without judgment and make sure they felt heard. That is what would help get you into heaven!

You had noticed as time wore on, begrudgingly so, the tactics she had you practicing had been working. Several of the newer residents had loosened up around you and started conversing with you on a somewhat regular basis. During some of the group exercises where Charlie would tell people to pair up, they had come up to you and suggested you work together. It was just a skill you had let wither that you needed to redevelop. A plant you needed to relocate from shade to sun. 

Whatever analogy you needed to tell yourself you did to prevent yourself from giving up. You came here for redemption after all which meant something needed to change and maybe that was part of it. You wouldn’t have been cast to hell if you had gotten things right.

So as Lucifer loitered beside you, you tried to keep in mind you needed to be better and that this was his way of connecting like Charlie had said. Regardless of how it stung hearing it time and time again. This was just practice. More draining practice. “I’m not plotting anything sir.” you said, closing the book in your hands before setting it down to make sure he knew he had your attention. Now what though? 

You wracked your mind for what to say next. Charlie said to be honest with people. How do you explain to him why exactly you were staring? That you had started craving physical touch again since coming here. That after having gone years without  brushing against anything other than the books you worked with, that having Charlie clasp your hands when she was excited or Angel throwing an completely unwarranted arm over your shoulders when he wanted to use you as a prop for his dramatics, those simple actions had suddenly rekindled your human, well sinner, desire for contact. How pathetic would that make you look? How weak? Then to have been caught fixated on them, desperate to live vicariously momentarily.

“I was just…” you drawled. The idea of telling the truth set your face ablaze in embarrassment. You couldn’t bring yourself to say the truth. You looked over at the couple settling on your answer. “...admiring their relationship.” 

He openly laughed, playing along with his original story, “Mmmmhm. If you say so~~.”

A combination of frustration and disappointment washed over you. Completely incinerating any trace of the embarrassment you have felt over the real reason why you had been staring. Hearing him happily hum as he sauntered over to Charlie not believing an ounce of what you said regardless of your lack of ill will towards the princess. If he was only joking, why was it the same barb over and over? Why were you the one he continuously chose to make that specific joke with? It really didn’t feel like a joke anymore. 

You looked down at your book trying and failing to speedily process your emotions. You heaved yourself up turning to leave. Not wanting to exist in other people’s presence anymore. Too emotionally taxed.

Wrapped up in your own feelings and thoughts you missed Lucifer glancing back at you. You missed the jarred skip of his step as he caught sight of the haggard expression during your momentary unmasking. You missed the fact he stopped walking all together as you slipped from the room.

You quickly found shelter in the sanctity of your room. Recharging the rest of the evening cocooned in the fuzziest blankets you had, that you made sure always smelled of orange and cinnamon, buried in the book you had just gotten. As the evening slipped into night though, you slipped from your room and made your way down the hall needing a small break from the confines of your quarters before heading to sleep. Because despite your exhaustion, you enjoyed a little fresh air before bed.

Living on the second to top floor had its downsides; like being closer to Alastor’s studio or hiking up the seemingly endless number of stairs. You personally felt it had more perks though. One of the best upsides being a small balcony with a cafe styled table and chairs. Later in the evening when a good number of the residents had either retired to their room for the evening or were still out partying, there was a blissful window of time where there was little risk of running into some else. So you would make your way to the balcony and sit looking out over the city.

Disconnected but present.

You pulled one of the chairs next to the railing so the back of the seat was at a 90 degree angle to the railing. Plopping yourself down, you perched yourself in the seat with both feet up. One arm rested on the railing so as you leaned forward, your belly pressing into your legs, your chin and cheek resting on your arm rather than the cool metal. A few adjustments here and there quickly remedied any qualms your body had with the positioning and finally you were nestled in. The final signal of settling a small decompressing huff.

The usual sights and sounds greeted you. Your eyes scanning for any changes or immediate drama to observe from your box seat above the masses. Angel Dust and Husk walking away from the hotel caught your eye. Angel talking with his whole body as Husk just shook his head in amusement. Angel suddenly buckled over laughing before reaching out to place a hand on Husk’s shoulder to steady himself.

The skin on your shoulder prickled and you involuntarily shiver. You look away from them too little too late. The ache for contact instantaneously tearing at you from the inside. The arm wrapped around yourself tightened in a futile attempt to ease the ache, already knowing from experience it wouldn’t work. You buried your face in your arms contemplating just going back to your room to lose yourself in the book that had occupied your warring mind earlier.

A click sounded from behind you making your head shoot up to see a bashful appearing Lucifer holding the door open. He gave a lopsided grin, gingerly pointing to the second seat, “Do you… mind if I join you?” 

You blinked a couple of times, staring at him. Immediately wary of his presence. The lingering silence dragged on, making him shuffle anxiously before you gave permission with a curt nod. You directed your attention back out towards the city despite being hyper aware of him.

A quivering laugh slipped from his lips as he stepped out a little too close for your liking, admittedly the size of the balcony was intended to be intimate, and closed the door behind him as he sat down in the seat across from you. He immediately stretched out, slipping his legs through the railings, putting one elbow on the table between the two of you. “Not a bad view from up here. If you ignore most of the gun shots and ‘fuck you’s’ it can be pretty enjoyable.” He shot a sideways glance over to feel out your reaction at his attempted small talk.

“Yeah it is.”

 The city sounds echoed between the two of you. Distant conversations filling the void that the two beings right there were unable, or unwilling, to fill. He nervously laughed, his fingers drumming on the table. You looked over to him this time. Seeing his eyes flittering from object to object unable to choose 1 thing to look at.

Quickly, his drumming fingers started to grate against your already worn nerves and tired mind. Unable to bare whatever this was any further, you attempted to excuse yourself as you started to stand. “It’s late. I’m heading to-”

“No! Wait! Wait!” he sat up from his faux relaxed pose holding out both hands. “Just… hold on.” he breathed out yet another quivering laugh, the panic shining brightly in his eyes as you bore into him with yours. 

He took a deep breath. He looked away, mentally giving himself a small pep talk before he looked back. “I wanted to talk. About earlier.”

“I’m tired….” you admit as you stood there looking down at him. His nervous grin and hopeful eyes making your resolve to run buckle. “What about earlier?” you ask, easing back into your seat placing both hands of your clasped on the table.

“Thank you.” he said before beginning to explain. “When you were leaving the lobby,” he specified, making a circle motion with one of his hands, “you looked, well, upset.”

“I looked upset.” you repeated.

He slowly nodded. His next words said slowly and carefully, “I was… wondering if it was something I did? Or said?” he paused before further clarifying, “I wanted you to tell me why.”

You scoffed. Perhaps it was the unroofing of a metaphorical wound his joke had made. Perhaps because you were tired. It could have also been a combination or something completely unrelated. Regardless, you were unable to hold back the venomous sarcasm that slipped from you, “Well I can’t imagine why.” Lucifer’s eyes widened, the reaction only egging you on. “It’s like constantly being judged for something you didn’t and wouldn’t do isn’t upsetting.”

Lucifer stared blankly, “What?” 

“Oh you’re plotting against Charlie I see?” your voice lowered in a pathetic attempt to mimic the king. “How many times did you think you’d get away with making the same joke before I realized you clearly meant it? That you’re genuinely suspicious I’m out to hurt Charlie?”

“I didn’t-”

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not out to get her? I like Charlie! She’s kind! She’s thoughtful! Yeah she’s irritatingly persistent but, she needs to be.”

You had started to dig your nails into your own clasped hands in your flurry of emotions unable to reign them in. You took a breath, realizing you needed to step away from this conversation. You stood up just as Lucifer found his voice. “I never meant for it to be an accusation. It was meant to be a joke.” You felt your emotions spike again, your jaw clenching, as he continued, “I saw you staring at them an-”

“Because I’m TOUCH STARVED!” the words were out of your mouth before you could consider what you were saying, “I saw them giving one another affection and was just so envious! I just stared! I didn’t mean to, I-” You glanced up to him to  find a look of confusion, twisting with what you interpreted as disgust, on Lucifer’s face that made your train of thought grind to a halt to reevaluate why his expression was so. Your mind finally processing your admission. “I just…” A hand slowly lifted to lightly cover your mouth, your eyes widening.

“What now?” he asked, the confusion deepening in the expression of his face. A raised eyebrow. A lopsided frown. The slight tilt of his head.

Your face started burning, chest tightening. It instantly became hard to breathe. Panic. You were panicking at the vulnerability you had just bared. Anger melded with embarrassment in the midst of your anxiety. You bristled, launching into an unneeded defense. “You know what, I don’t need to fucking explain myself to you.” You turned, throwing the door to the balcony open, practically running back to your room. Anything he might have said behind you drowned out by your panicked thoughts.

A sleepless night followed. Unable to calm your mind, it ran in circles in your head; justification of your outburst, realizing you completely blew it all out of proportion, getting angry that you had allowed such a vulnerability to air so freely, fear of what Lucifer might do with the information or who he might tell, embarrassment at being so weak, anger at the conversation having happened, before feeling defensive again to repeating the looping train of thought. As the day’s light started to breach the veil of night, only then did you finally slip into unconsciousness utterly spent. 

The next few days were spent dodging Lucifer which was relatively easy since you were simultaneously also attempting to fix your wrecked sleep schedule.  When you were going to sessions though, you did your best to preemptively vacate any areas when you heard Lucifer approaching or avoided areas you knew he would be in. The change in behavior had mostly been easy to truthfully explain to Charlie as well when you boiled down the scenario into the simplest of terms. You had gotten upset about something and had ended up not sleeping well. While she of course wanted to know the whole situation to help you navigate it in any way she could, she was respectful, admittedly a little pouty, when you said it was something you weren’t ready to talk about. Not having to lie to her made you feel a little better since you missed quite a few of her group exercises. 

While many of the residents didn’t care or hadn’t found the change to be too out of place, when paired with your explanation, it didn’t slip the careful eye of Alastor. The first day it had seemed to catch his attention but, by the second day he had taken a keen interest in your antics. When you would try to slip out before Lucifer would come into a room, he would stop you to talk about your participation in the session. Once he told you Charlie wanted to speak with you and then took you into a room where Lucifer and Charlie were talking, only for him to have misheard Charlie’s request. While he framed his actions as innocent and well intended, you had never seen the grin on Alastor’s face as wide as it was. It was unnerving. 

By the fourth day, you weren’t just paranoid about running into Lucifer. Alastor’s newest hobby had seemed to become tormenting you and his questions and conversations had become probing. Feeling out cracks in your story. At one point he had even told you he was all ears for any issues you might have with other residents or guests. 

Having lived through his rise to power, you knew there was no good to come from exposing yourself to such a machiavellian individual. You wouldn’t put it past him to worm a deal out of anyone, even as lowly you. An expendable pawn was still a piece to play and he was one to look at the bigger picture. 

At that point, you garnered enough gumption to face Lucifer. You couldn’t risk getting caught under Alastor’s thumb and the idea of him knowing you were touch starved and how that could be held against you igniting a spike of anxiety. You knew Lucifer and Alastor were not on good terms but, the idea of word getting to Alastor was distressing. You loathed the idea of facing Lucifer but you needed to ensure your blunder remained under wraps. This was for self preservation at this point.

Towards the end of the day, you sequestered yourself to your room to prepare; plan key points you wanted to discuss, how you wanted to phrase things, etc. You knew you couldn't lose your head again, considering how the prior incend had led to the current circumstances. After an hour or so though, you felt ready. 

You made your way to the top floor, taking extra precautions to avoid running into Alastor potentially heading to his studio. Once certain Alastor was not loitering about or following you, you made your way down the hallway towards Lucifer's room. You focused on your breathing as you trekked the hall. Attempting to quell your anxiety and slow your racing heart, to no avail. By the time you reached his door, your pulse was thrumming in your ears and you were certain he would be able to hear it too.

You stood before his door paralyzed. Both hands clenched at your side. Unable to stop the tremble that plagued them. Your eyes locked onto the perfect white presetine door as if trying to bore holes through it. Your breathing uneven. All the words you had practiced having evaporated from your head as you made your way there.

This was a mistake.

You pivot. Hurriedly, retreating.

Halfway back towards the stairs your eyes register Alastor's studio door and the terror that drove you to the point resurface. You halted. Your hands flew to your head in a silent temper tantrum as your mind raced to determine what would be the lesser evil. A sense of urgency gnawing at you considering you were standing dead center in the hallway of a barren floor.

What was worse; not knowing if Lucifer might reveal what you had said, accidentally or intentionally, with everyone including Alastor potentially finding out or turning around and confronting Lucifer?

The first concern was all just a possibility though wasn't it? There was no guarantee that it would happen. Talking to Lucifer wouldn't guarantee that he wouldn't spill your secret either. You let out a soft, maniacal sounding laugh as you took a step forward only to stop again. A possibility that would weigh on you for weeks to months leading to you lurking around the hotel, as you had been, haunting the place. Harrowed by the uncertainty at every turn.

"FFFUuuuucccckkk..." you groaned softly. Your palms sliding down your forehead pressing into your eyes. You needed to confront Lucifer. The realization making your stomach churn. You couldn't continue dodging him and you couldn't outrun the fear. You turned resting your back against the wall, your hands on your knees as you bent over mentally recollecting yourself. You went through what you had gone over before in your room. Reminding yourself of the key points. 

You sighed and brought your palms to your eyes again. Slowly breathed out. Pulling your hands from your eyes, you launched off the wall propelling you back towards Lucifer's room. The momentum only lasting a few steps before freezing again. 

"Heeeey, as entertaining as this pantomiming is, and it's a great performance, I would appreciate getting access to my room sometime tonight."

Your face blanched as a shiver slipped down your spine. You slowly turned to see Lucifer standing behind you. Both hands perched on the apple of his cane and a practiced smile on his lips. One eyebrow raised, almost lost beneath the rim of his hat, as he watched you tentatively turn towards him.

Instantly you straightened yourself and stepped aside. "Good evening." your voice was dry and hoarse. 

"Yup. Good evening." he chirped back, unmoving. Your eyes were locked onto a spot on the floor, your mind utterly blank. As the seconds drew on, his smile tensed as he nervously waited for you to do...something? His fingers drummed on his cane. "Well... if the performance is over I'll be heading to my room. Have a good night!" He looked away awkwardly and started on his way.

A quick glance at his back got the gears in your brain working. What were you doing? He was right there. You were screwing it up. "Wait...wait! Lucifer…" It was soft, but loud enough for him to hear. He slowed and turned looking back. 

"I..." Your eyes meeting made you want to run. The idea of having this conversation replusing you. You pushed off the wall and walked over towards him, fighting the urge to flee. "Are you free? I-...I would like to apologize and talk. About the other day?" Your face felt flushed.

Lucifer shuffled and gently smiled which was unnerving. It was a smile you had only ever seen reserved for Charlie and Vaggie. "Don't you think it's rather late? It would be a little unproductive if we had a repeat of last time."

The comment struck a nerve considering it was earlier in the day than when he had approached you. It must have shown on your face as his smile dropped paired with your response. "That's fine. We can talk tomorrow."

"Unless, you're not tired?" he asked, putting his nervous smile back on and laughing anxiously, "We could have a cup of tea this time. Chamomile perhaps?"

You hesitated but, then nodded. "That would be nice."

He nodded, as he started towards his room onto the spin around. "Ah! You're comfortable talking in my room right? I wouldn't want to make an assumption! We could certainly talk on the balcony again if you prefer!" 

"Uh, somewhere private is preferred so your room is fine." You respond bluntly, his nervous energy deflating. He nodded once more, his grip on his cane as tight as a vice. 

The two of you made your way to his room; him leading with you trailing after. His room was surprisingly clean though you couldn't help but notice a small work area over to the left of the door with two piles of perhaps 50 or so rubber ducks. He had noticed your gaze and eagerly redirected you over towards the windows where he had a little cushioned bench seat perched below. As you settled into the seat, Lucifer got two tea cups ready with a snap of his fingers.

He carried them over to you with practiced care and gingerly handed one off to you before he sat down as well. You took the cup, admiring the beautiful and intricate abstract design on it, before lightly blowing on it and taking a sip. 

"Sooooo..." he drawled, having quickly taken a sip from his cup as well, "before you start, there is something I wanted to bring up if that's alright." Your eyes flick to his, his expression a mask utilizing his usual smile. You nod, making sure he saw before he proceeded,"I need you to explain to me what you meant by 'touch staved'."

You gawked at him. You hadn’t heard what you thought you just heard. “What?”

Lucifer blinked before looking a little frantic and blurting out, “I know what it means! Of course I know what it means. I’m the king of hell. I’m not so wildly out of touch that I don’t!” he laughed looking out the window before taking a sip of his tea, “I’ve also heard it can mean different things to different people. So I want to know what it means. To you! I want to know what it means to you.”

He finally looked back to you taking another sip of his tea, already halfway through his small porcelain cup. Meanwhile, you felt like you were short circuiting sitting across from him. Not only had you spent the last few days fretting and dodging the angel, worrying that he would tell people what you said, but now he was asking you to spell it out for him. Was he….messing with you? You studied him before he gave you a toothy grin coyly purred out, “So?”

It didn’t seem like he was messing with you. Something like this was more Angel Dust’s style of teasing. You mimic Lucifer by taking a sip of your tea for a slight delay. You carefully set the teacup down on the windowsill next to you and place your hands in your lap. “I need you to promise me you’ll never tell anyone.”

“And why would I do that?” He asked. He was messing with you now though you were in no mood for it.

You narrowed your eyes at him and stated as matter of factly as you could despite wanting to spit venom defensively, “I’m not untouchable like you. We’re in HELL. Anything and everything can be used against you by the wrong people. I can’t end up having someone use anything I say here against me.” 

His facade softened and his smile dropped into a frown. He brought the teacup up to his lips and muttered something into the chamomile. “No one is  untouchable…”

You heard him say something but, hadn't been able to make it out so you remained quiet.

“I promise to never tell another soul.” he finally sighed.

“On Charlie’s life?” you asked, knowing he could still share what was said as there was no magic binding him. You needed to know just how serious he was though and Charlie was usually a good indicator. His eyes flashed red and they narrowed at you. You held firm, keeping eye contact and straightening your spine.

“On my life. No reason to bring Charlie into this.” he leaned back, his eyes fading back to their normal golden hue.

You hesitated to accept but relented with a nod. Knowing you had to accept the compromise he offered but, you did feel satisfied that he wouldn’t share what was said. You started thinking about where to begin. As you contemplated, you felt your face heat in embarrassment. He watched, patiently biding his time as he lightly tapped the rim of his teacup with a claw topping it off with more tea.

“For me…” you looked him, locking eyes. The embarrassment clawing through you. The intensity making you panic. Your eyes darted away. Finding a spot on the floor to stare at again so you could think with even a fraction more clarity. “For me it means I… I …miss…touch.”

You glanced up to him, to see the sight raise of an eyebrow. Your mind started churning with worst case scenarios and suddenly your face burned hotter. You looked away again.

“Not sexual!” The words spit out, not wanting any uncomfortable undertones to the conversation. “It’s just… simple touch. Like hugging. Lightly having someone put their hand on my shoulder. Even just bumping into people. Any sort of skin contact makes me want more and afterwards that’s all I want. It takes days for that to calm down and since being here… that’s usually around the time something else happens. It’s a never ending cycle.”

He listened, his face remaining neutral as you spoke and he remained silent for a beat after you finished. You rubbed your arm. Between talking about the topic and your nerves, there was a compulsion to do something with your hands. He broke the silence, “The other day when we had our…falling out, you had been watching Charlie and Vaggie because you saw them touching one another? That is why you mentioned being envious?”

You nodded, closing your eyes as you took a breath in an attempt to calm yourself.

He smiled. His fingers rubbing the edge of his teacup as he gazed into it. He knew those feelings all too well. “That…makes sense.” You open your eyes to look at him, noticing the look on his face. He noticed your movement and looked up to you, giving a lopsided smile.

Lilith had been absent for 7 years.

Your eyes widened at the possibility and dared to pose the question, “You too?”

Lucifer stiffened a moment, took a breath and nodded. “Yes. Even I have those days.”

He took a sip of his tea and looked out the window. You picked yours back up and mimicked his action.

“I’m sorry…” you said after a few minutes of what you felt was relatively comfortable silence. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you the other day. It wasn’t fair. I was tired and already feeling…exposed? Hmm…sensitive is probably a better word…”

“Regardless, I knew I was tired. I should have asked to shelve the conversation once I realized it wasn’t something I couldn’t handle right then and there. I’m also sorry for not actually hearing you out once you started since I didn’t ask to stop. I’d like to try discussing it again if you’re willing.”

You spoke while looking out the window. Seeing him shift his attention to you from your peripherals you keep your eyes trained to elsewhere. After you finished, you turned slightly to look at him from the corner of your eye.

The conversation that followed supplied far better results than the last. He clarified how all of his barbs had been an attempt to be playful since he didn’t know you well but, understood how hearing it over and over had manifested as a passive aggressive accusation on your end. You apologized for having taken it that way and not properly addressed the issue before it started to fester as anger. The compromising being he wouldl stop trying to interact with you in that way with the caveat being if he slipped up or tried something new that you didn’t appreciate, you would address it before resentment could build.

At the end, the both of you  sat on the bench sipping the last of your tea looking out at the city. At some point, Lucifer had opened one of the windows. A light caress of warm wind slipped in scattering goosebumps up your arms despite it not being cold and you brought a hand up to rub them, hoping they rescinded quickly.

Lucifer’s eyes slid to the motion. “So how long has it been since you had, I guess, consistent contact with someone?” 

You blinked, thinking about it. “A couple decades.”

“Decades?” he gasped out. He realized just how loud he had been and he coughed with a smile to cover up his reaction. “I mean. Decades. That’s… awhile.”

“Yeah, well…” uncertain on if he was genuinely surprised at the length of time or found it underwhelming and was being sarcastic, you weren’t entirely sure what to make of his reaction. “Most sinners don’t bother with libraries. The hellborn who do, don’t want to interact with a sinner and avoided me, opting for one of the other hellborns working. So I got left alone most of the time.”

You shrugged your shoulders and turned your attention back out the window. Thinking about it now, it hadn’t bothered you then. You suppose you might have just been ignoring that downside though. It had always been easy to check yourself out emotionally and just get through what needed to be done. Not contemplating what you wanted or what could be. Only focused on what was.

“Has…” you start and then stop, wondering if you should ask. You glance over to him seeing he hadn’t redirected his attention to you. “How long has it been for you?”

“Consistently?” he asked as he pondered the question he had posed to you. “A decade? Maybe a little longer. Lilith and I…” his eyes roamed down to his ring. “We had more downs than ups well before she left but I still got some affection in between when we had a good stretch.

A sad tone had seeped into his voice. He gently rubbed the ring with his middle finger, a sense of melancholy filling the room. You watched. Never having had an extended relationship with someone before, you couldn't pretend to imagine the feelings that lingered. You took a breath and then scooted over on the bench seat pulling him from his thoughts. You extended an open hand to him. He stared. He hesitated before slowly reaching out, his decision wavering for a split second before he placed his hand in yours. 

You gently took hold of his hand and looked back out the window. He was far warmer than you had expected him to be. His skin soft. You sighed softly feeling far less unsettled by the sensation than you had thought, regardless of how intimate the action could be seen. It was mindless for you as your thumb began to lightly caress the back of his hand. Lucifer fidgeted next to you, though he didn’t retract his hand.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you sat there. The sounds of the city echoing off the walls of his room with hell’s consistent warm breeze enveloping the two of you in wave after wave. Each of you basking in the warmth of the other, no matter how little it was. It wasn’t until you noticed Lucifer starting to nod off that you smiled and squeezed his hand.

His eyes fluttered open to find you looking at him with a bemused smile. The softest you had looked at him to date. “You’re tired.” 

“I’m not.” he mumbled, a well timed yawn slipping from his lips. You raised a brow with his response being a ‘tsk’ noise.

You slowly, reluctantly, pull your hand from his before pushing yourself to a stand. A stretch had a few of your joints popping. “Would be an awful idea to fall asleep like that.” 

He stood next to you with a noncommittal hum. As you reached for your cup and saucer, a snap of his fingers dispensed of both his and yours. You nod at him before you look over towards the door and then back to him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. That kind of magic is thoughtless to me.” he said, misinterpreting your meaning.

“I meant for talking things over and spending your evening with me.” 

He burbled out a laugh. “Oh well don’t mention that either. Literally. Don’t mention this to anyone. I have a reputation to uphold. King of hell and all.” he grinned at you with his characteristic saccharine smile.

“An exchange of secrets then?” You asked, entertaining a little bit of his playfulness. 

“Ah, still worried about me spilling the beans?” he asked, walking you to the door. “An exchange then. I won’t share yours if you don’t share mine.”

“Deal.” The response was quick and sharp. He opened the door and you stepped through the threshold, pausing and turning around. “Thank you again. I… enjoyed this. Most of this anyway.”

“My pleasure.” his hand did several circle motions as he performed a mock half bow. 

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics. “Goodnight Lucifer.” you say beginning to head off before you add, “Let me know if you would like to do something like this again. A tea time or something. I’ll make sure to keep it drama free.”

He grinned leaning against his door frame. “I’d enjoy that.”

[scenezfreak]

DO YALL NOT UNDERSTAND COCK SIZES?? HOLY HELL, I see so many of you guys say “his 7 inch cock” or “8 inch cock” or ANY size above that and it’s annoying. REALISTICALLY you’d only be able to take 5 inches on a good day. Maybe 6inches if you’re a fucking pro- 4 inches is quite literally enough to get you off…anything above 6 would literally hurt so bad, your pussy isn’t just an infinite black hole- so js think abt that now…💀

[theveryconfusedartistsart-blog]

I feel as though I should finally talk about this story, if you liked my fanfic Growing Pains 1 & 2 and Susie and a good mystery, then you might likely enjoy this! I know I do!

THE EXPERIMENT CONTINUES

STATUS CONTINUING MONITORING AS NORMAL NEXT UPDATE SOON

[forever-eternal]

Hello.

I have a PJO OC and I must scream into the void about her.

—————————————————

Her name is Zosime, and she is from Sparta (I am changing history this is a fantasy retelling and Sparta was completely wiped out in the Battle of Leuctra here).

Zosime is 16, and a Daughter of Ares. She is Spartan, so Ancient Greek, and she is the only one to survive the Battle of Leuctra without being enslaved (due to intervention from Ares). She is a devoted and loyal daughter, and a proud Spartan, so with no one else left to do it— she digs the graves of her people alone, by hand (they did not have shovels). She digs until her fingers are freezing and bleeding, and continues digging. She buries her people without rest, so they may find their glory in Elysium. Then she collects the remaining shields of Sparta’s warriors and carves the names of her people into them, embedding them into the stone at the bottom of the Gods temples— so that the Gods look down upon her ruined lands and see the people they failed.

Zosime, once she has completed what is can to honor her dead and keep them remembered— not even carving her own name— dies in her father’s temple; from starvation, hypothermia, and overwork.

Ares (i imagine he was a great father until many of his children were abandoned during times of need by the other Gods, and then just decided getting attached and watching them die was not something he enjoyed; he still cares tho, because he seems to give each of his children weapons in PJO) lays her to rest on the altar of his temple, with her xiphos in hand— he made this xiphos for her, a gift upon her birth, so it was hers and life and will be hers in death.

The temple is hidden, ruined, unsafe for mortals to venture in as time passes and weather wears the stone.

Until Camp Half-Blood is founded.

They are a small camp, very small, and whoever is in charge at the time dictates that any Demigod on a quest must return with any Ancient Demigod Relic they find.

They find Zosime’s remains, merely a weathered skeleton.

They find her with her xiphos, made of celestial bronze and still looking new.

They have to shatter the bones to take it, but it should be fine; right?

Wrong.

Demigods, especially Spartans— even the non-Demigod ones—, are buried with their weapons. Those who die with their weapons in their hands are tied to it. If it is removed from their resting place, their Soul returns with it until it is put back.

Zosime has been haunting Camp Half-Blood for centuries; none can see her, none can hear her, but she does her best to keep the other children of her Father safe from those who scorn him— and scorn them in turn.

She is an angry, restless spirit, who none know the name of— for she did not die a ‘Glorious Death’, and was unremembered in the Hall of Heroes.

Percy Jackson comes.

He has his riptide; but he is given another weapon. A spare, if you will.

He is given her xiphos.

And so, as she is tied to the weapon, she is forced to follow him.

Apparently, the one in possession of her xiphos can see and hear her, but no one else.

So Percy now has this very angry Spartan Spirit, a Daughter of Ares, following him on his quest and cursing his choices— but she’s also surprisingly helpful??

He does not have much skill in swords yet, but if he uses the xiphos she can possess him and make his body move how it must to wield it.

And I just imagine Ares, who was furious upon seeing his daughters resting place desecrated, her xiphos— his gift, that he molded with his own hands— stolen. I imagine he gets even worse in behavior after that; not just emotionally distant, but actively ignoring his demigod children’s prayers most of the time.

I imagine how angry he is when he finds Camp Half-Blood took it, without even knowing the name of its wielder, and now it is possession of Poseidon’s Son— who he is NOT a fan of.

I imagine, at the very end, she is allowed to return to rest at some point. And I imagine it gets emotional when Ares has to return to his fallen temple and basically lay his most Loyal and Devoted Daughter to rest again. (Or does he…?)

[suhnshinehaos]

⚘  growing pains

series synopsis : people say that you’ll experience three kinds of love in your lifetime. the first is an idealistic love, the kind that feels straight out of a fairy tale. the second is the hard love, the kind that will leave you with lessons about yourself and the love you want and need to experience. finally, the love you never see coming. this is the story of your three loves. pairing : svt 97 line x gn!reader genre/s : non-idol au, coming of age, angst, fluff, my attempts at humor

act three : the unexpected love

after years studying and working abroad, yn is finally back home to a new job and new faces. all they want now is to focus on nothing else but their career and one of their coworker’s friends, minghao, makes it all the more interesting. 

act three, part four : moving in and moving on (1/2)

previous  ➤  act three, part three (2/2) next  ➤  act three, part four (2/2) growing pains  ➤  masterlist

from reese, with love <3

more hao lore unlocked !! this part is another loaded one so it's split into two... another written part next so i hope you don't mind ;) thank u for the patience and for reading ! i would genuinely love to know what you think! asks, rbs, and replies appreciated ! hope you're all doing well and taking care <3

[roomsofangel]

. . .GROWING PAINS ! ˖ ໋𓈒

synopsis you hated christmas. simple. this year was no different, the only thing changing was the scenery when you decide to let your older brother, yunho convince you to visit your grandmother who neither of you had met but hoped it would do some good. everything was still the same — writer’s block, the winter loneliness, the way yunho won’t stop singing jingle bell rock, yeah, everything was the same. at least, until a certain blonde haired boy made it his mission to melt your iced heart.

genres non idol au. grumpy x sunshine. strangers to lovers. angst, romance, slice of life. found family. opposites attract.

pairing non idol! barista!san x fem!reader

warnings cursing, healing childhood trauma, trauma overall, mentions of family issues, mental health, mentions of toxic relationships, suggestive content with eventual smut, alcohol consumption. will be updated if needed!

status ongoing

started 121923

completed n/a

reblogs & comments are very appreciated and also help out a lot! thank you for reading and giving my work a chance ^_^

. . . # chapters !

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten | to be continued. .

[idontknowreallywhy]

Teeth

This didn’t go the way I expected at all, it was meant to be some Dad!Scott from Scott’s POV but then Allie intervened and so it’s from his now. Haven’t really tried to write a young child’s inner voice before so sorry if it is clunky and out of character and the sentence structure is appalling but… a bit of an experiment…

Also not proof read because work calls… but yolo…

💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️

He woke with a terrified shriek and it hurt!

It hurt!

It hurt really bad!

Something was chomping on his legs and it had big teeth and maybe it was an alligator like in Gordy’s programme or a shark or… or a monster.

He shouted at it to stop and kicked it and kicked it and then realised he was cold now. His covers were gone and he could see by the red glow of his rocket nightlight that there were no gators on his bed. Maybe they were stuck in the covers.

But his legs still hurt so badly from the bites. Maybe some teeth broke off and were still stuck in his legs. He curled up in a ball and hugged them close. They felt normal to his hands but they hurt so much. His nose was all runny like it was crying like his eyeballs were and it was making his face itchy. He sniffed and wiped the tears and snot off with the arm of his pyjamas.

Gordy snuffled and turned over in his sleep and Alan froze. He wished he could climb into his big brother’s bed because Gordy knew all about gators and sharks and stuff and maybe he could make them stop biting. But Gordy had been sad and grumpy and Virgie had said the reason was he was hot and poorly and needed to sleep so the bugs in his ears would die. It sounded confusing and scary and Alan didn’t want bugs in his ears as well as teeth in his leg bones so he tried his hardest to be quiet like a big brave boy.

The invisible teeth gnashed at his legs again and Alan bit down hard on AstroTed’s fluffy arm, unable to stop himself sobbing. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to be eaten. He pushed his knees into his eye sockets and tried to remember the names of the stars Johnny had showed him just before bedtime. There was Jupiter but that was a planet and… and he couldn’t remember the others because his brain was full of OW.

He tipped sideways as a weight made his mattress dip and for a second he was scared he might fall into the water where the toothy things were but then there were strong arms and warm hugs and Scotty’s soft voice telling him it was ok and… and… Scotty. Alan stopped trying to be brave and tried to explain about the teeth but his voice was all jumpy and he couldn’t make the words right. Scotty got it though and Alan sighed as big hands wrapped around his shins and rubbed them firmly like he was brushing the teeth off and making them warm again. It still hurt but it wasn’t as scary because Scotty would make sure he wasn’t eaten. He closed his eyes and pressed his ear to his big brother’s chest and felt the vibrations as Scotty hummed the little tune he always used to make the monsters go away. The one he said Mommy had made for them before she had to go to heaven.

Then the tune stopped and Scotty was whispering and there was Virgie too. He had the bottle of pink medicine and the magic warm bear that could go in the microwave. None of his other bears could do that as it would hurt them but this one was special. Scotty pressed the bear on his legs and Alan accepted a spoon of the tasty medicine and then licked a drip off it off Virgie’s thumb because it was too nice to waste and Virgie laughed quietly before taking it back to the high cupboard in the kitchen.

Scotty didn’t leave though. He leaned down and picked up Alan’s covers and Alan shuffled hurriedly away and perched on his pillow because didn’t he know that’s where the gators were hiding? Scotty was brave and could fight them but Alan wasn’t that brave! But then Scotty was standing holding the covers up high and he shook them hard and showed Alan all around… no gators or monsters or aliens with fangs just colourful space ships and stars and Alan felt a little bit silly for being such a scaredycat.

Scotty didn’t laugh at him for being silly. He never did, unlike Gordon. Scotty only laughed at Alan when Alan was telling a joke and wanted him to laugh. Big brother smiled kindly and explained how Alan’s legs just hurt sometimes because he was growing so fast and maybe it meant he would be as tall as Scotty one day because Scotty’s legs used to do it when he was little too. Alan knew he was doing ‘surprised face’ because Scotty said “it’s true!” Maybe if having hurty bones was helping him be as big as Scotty he didn’t need to be so scared.

Warm bear was helping and Alan’s eyes kept closing. Scotty covered them both up with the covers and hugged him tight and hummed the special song while Alan flew through the blue sky in a rocket plane with his biggest brother standing close behind him.

💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️

[remlionheart]

i have a growing pains playlist for anyone’s who’s interested <3 mostly songs that i’ve listened to while writing it but also a lot of them really resonate with certain parts of the story ⊹₊⟡⋆

[theveryconfusedartistsart-blog]

So I found out that Pixilart existed today and finally got to do what I've been wanting to do for a very long time and went ham.

I can't decide if I want to do teen Frisk's faces next or a full-body Flowey spritething with his potbot.

I have no plans for any of these or anything else I may make, I just really wanted to see older Growing Pains Flowey in the original style, or as original as I could get it.

[theveryconfusedartistsart-blog]

Every now and then I find myself going back to this whole thing (scenario? Storyline?) the whole thing got kind of messy and dramatic, but it was so much fun having these two bark at each other.

And as Monster in the Monster steadily but surely gets closer to its end, I'd honestly love for Az and Flowey to meet one last time, I have an idea of what would happen, the only thing stopping me is that the Flowey blog currently has too many things happening at once, so I'll have to wait it out...(will I still be interested in doing it by then??? Bleh.)

I don't normally do this, but if you've read both fanfics, here's basically what I have in mind...

It'll basically be Az, post-Chapter 20 but pre-Chapter 22, gets tossed into Flowey's bedroom and he panics and attempts to tear a hole into the wall to get back home, but for some reason, he can't, and looks at Flowey- who is staring back at him like "why the hell are YOU here and why are you freaking out?"

Az refuses to tell him why exactly he needs to go back (sppooillerss), he just needs to get home NOW.

They both then realize that they have to answer questions to get back home, and whether they get along or fight is up to how it plays out.

Or...hell, if I stay patient and plan this out accordingly, maybe I'll have post-Chapter 28 Az tossed instead, that'll be much more interesting, but perhaps too spoilery for people who haven't read the fic.

I'm just thinking out loud.

The first question was more of a test of how antagonistic I can expect the conversation to be. It's better than expected, I'll say that much.

So Flowey, now that you've seen the Absolute God of Hyperdeath from an outsider's perspective and seven years of retrospect, does it make you more glad for letting the souls go? Less?

Flowey: "Seeing him makes me overjoyed that I let the souls go, although...I...hate to say it, but I understand why he's still keeping them,"

(Flowey eyes his darker counterpart with heavy thought)

"Although... I'm skeptical of the stranger's story about Frisk's past, there's only ONE way you were able to get everyone near you to absorb all of the souls- plus the human souls, Frisk had to have been there, either way, you were desperate, weren't you?"

Asriel: "'And you think you're 'smart', don't you?' Apparently not with the way you have the audacity to assume and ask me such things,"

Flowey: "Oooooo, did I touch a nerve? Did I make the big bad Godmodder angry?"

Asriel: "I see you're furthering my point, I'm becoming more and more certain that our special 'heart to heart' will end with violence, and your Frisk will be delivered a lovely gift containing your head in a box,"

Flowey: "Mmm, an interesting threat, but you like Frisk too much to go through with that,"

Asriel: "There you go with your assumptions again...,"

[chromatic-lamina]

Growing Pains is a FREE 150+ page Anthology with accompanying illustrations that focuses on how we change as we grow up. Our likes, dislikes, and personality all stem from this crucial point in our life. Have you ever wondered why Blackbeard so desperately craves power? Or why Ace has the self destructive habits that he does? This zine hopes to show an in-depth look at the childhoods of different One Piece characters and how it has affected them into adulthood.

Please check the zine out! Free for Luffy's birthday (or near enough date-wise). Lots of great stories and art pieces. Characters range from Eustass Kid, Killer to King. Would love to know any reactions! @opfandombase

[flameohotwife]

i read growing pains from your kataang explorations series today and i just have to say: WOW! i’ve never felt so much encompassing love in a smut fic before. it was so tender and lovely that i actually felt myself getting emotional!!! you did such an amazing job writing that fic!!!

Anon, I cannot tell you how warm and fuzzy this makes me feel. That fic (and entire series) holds a special place in my heart and it’s been so long since I wrote it that there’s not a lot of engagement on it anymore (natural way of things), so imagine my surprise when I saw this in my inbox! I realize you sent this months ago, and I apologize—I have not been all that engaged in fandom recently, but I still really, really appreciate you reaching out to say that. I also really, really hope that one day I can find the motivation and time to finish that series. I had so much more planned for them.

(I want to add that, while love is certainly not a necessity for smut fic, it would be out of character IMO to read any kataang smut that wasn’t infused with that level of love and care and tenderness. I hope you have since found other similarly—or more—satisfactory smut fics to quench you.)

Thank you so much again for the lovely ask!

[1-helluva-hazbin]

֎Master List֍

One Shots

†Concubine Collection Collection of all one shots Concubine related Lucilith x Reader †Growing Pains Lucifer x Reader †Never Willingly Lucifer x Reader

Stories

†Always Something Underneath Lucifer x Fem!Reader

⤜❥ Chapter One - Hints of Vanilla ⤜❥ Chapter Two - A Taste of Peppermint ⤜❥ Chapter Three - Sips of Chamomile ⤜❥ Chapter Four - Sprig of Thyme

Asks

†The Illusion of Perfection Adam x fem!reader Lucifer x fem!reader