#he either sleeps in front of the tv or in a box

[illum1z]

snow cream

Roommate!Yunho x F!Reader

summary: Six months of living under the same roof, and you barely knew the guy. You both always came and went, to and from your jobs and school, only ever interacting in the kitchen or the living room late at night when you wanted a glass of water or he wanted to watch TV. But when winter rolls around and the snowstorms get heavy, maybe somehow you could warm up to each other…

tags: snowed in, forced proximity(?), attempt at humor, fluff, mutual pining, hand kink (duh), soft mdom, petnames (baby, angel face, pretty girl, slut etc.), Yu LOVES touching you, handjob, nipple sucking, fingering, tension, unprotected sex (BOOOOO), lotus positon, he talks alot, multiple orgasms, aftercare, NOT PROOFREAD

wc: 7.2k

notes: sort of based around a nsfw audio I listened to a couple years ago LMAO.

tracklist: bad liar, poison, intro: singularity

“Reports are flowing in from the NWS about upcoming snowstorms, which are expected to reach record levels; the surrounding area is expecting up to 6 inches. Officials are closing roads and the district schools are shutting down until-”

“Just my luck, huh?” You switched off your phone and rested your head against your steering wheel with an exasperated sigh. You had seen the beginning of the snowfall that week, just light flakes here and there, but they weren't sticking.

But of course mother nature had to give a big fuck you and mess with your plans that weekend with 6 inches of snow. Roads were closing, and so were the stores, so you needed to be in and out before the snowstorm picked up.

You rubbed your temples before switching your car off, getting out, and walking into the grocery store with your original plan in mind.

You had planned to pick up some ingredients for some appetizers you were going to bring to one of your friends' birthdays, but you had frowned when they texted your group chat, saying the party had been cancelled because of snowfall.

That's what led you to the news, deflating your excitement. Instead of being here for groceries, you were here to stock up on supplies. And so was everybody else. The store was packed with people. Mothers are rushing and snatching boxes of cereal off the shelf. Dads are stocking up on batteries and jugs of water. The poor employees were at war with the panicking public. Quickly as you could, you grabbed a cart and picked up some essentials. Batteries. Toilet paper. Bottled water. Some nonperishables. While walking past the home section, you noticed a couple of displays where they were selling large fleece blankets.

You eyed them for a second, debating if you should get one.

Maybe two.

One for you, one for your roommate. Jeong Yunho. 

You had met him on Craigslist whilst looking for roommate listings. You decided community college was best for your budget years ago, but you needed to find somewhere else to live. Soon. Living with your parents is not for the weak.

You spent hours on different websites, desperate to find somewhere close and affordable. Maybe also a roommate who has a low chance of murdering you in your sleep.

You stumbled across the listing one night, hope slowly dwindling at the awful market.

2 bedrooms. 2 baths. 600 per month. Cats are welcome. Email for more information.

Immediately, you jumped on it because there was no way you would be able to find anything cheaper than this, unfortunately. You emailed him all your information. About your job and schedule, and made sure to mention that you would like to bring your cat, Patches. About a week later, you had driven to the house to look around and discuss final plans and agreements. Along with you, you brought your cat so she could become accustomed to the new living space.

The house was cute and quaint, a little grey and white bungalow with a few bushes on either side of the steps that led up to the black door. A decent-sized front yard, neat and green, with a driveway with just enough space for two cars. Perfect. 

When you met the person who posted the listing, you had pulled up to the house, parking your car behind another one already in the driveway. He was on the porch, in the process of carrying some bags inside the house.. When he saw you, he waved for you to follow him inside. He showed you to your room, talked about rent and policies. You both established some privacy rules, and he was petting your cat the entire time. He seemed to take a liking to her immediately. Yunho had you sign some things, and then that was it. Simple, fast, and easy. A few days later, you had moved your stuff in, and from then on, you and Yunho barely interacted.

He said that he’s usually at one of his friends' houses, at work or class, or in his room playing games. This was perfect for you; you enjoyed your privacy, and if you were being honest, you were nervous around Yunho.

He had this boyish charm to him that made your heart flutter; he was tall and spoke to you gently, as if he were too loud, he might scare you. He had dark brown hair that parted in the middle, with bangs that sometimes covered his eyes. And you couldn’t help but feel ashamed that your gaze always drifted to his hands whenever you saw him. Large and slender, the veins prominent like a roadmap.

 He always made sure that you knew where he was going when he went somewhere with a text like “At friends,” or “Out drinking.”

Another thing you had noticed while living with him was that it was like he stole your cat from you. IF you couldn't find your cat anywhere, it was safe to assume she was in Yunho's room. She followed him around the apartment all the time, whenever he sat on the couch to watch TV, she was in his lap. Whenever he was in the kitchen cooking, she was perched on the counter watching intently.

One day, you came home and saw Yunho on the couch with her. Usually, she’d get up and greet you by rubbing her face against your legs. Instead, she stayed put, gave you a curt meow, and that was it.

You walked by the back of the couch and narrowed your eyes at her, mouthing the words “traitor” before retreating to your room.  

You ran your hand over the navy blue fleece blanket that was folded next to a similar white one. Making up your mind, you dropped the blue blanket in your cart as well as the white one. After some more shopping, you checked out and began your drive home, the snow beginning to fall again. 

Your mind wandered back to your roommate again. You're pretty sure he was at a friend's house right now, you just hoped he would make it home safe. Driving home through the snow was certainly a feat. Everyone on the road opted to go under the speed limit in hopes they wouldn't go sliding at a sharp turn. A blanket of white began to accumulate on the ground, and it was growing increasingly difficult to see through the snow swirling in the air.

After a grueling and stressful journey, you returned to the house safely. The yard was a pure, sparkling white, untouched like a fresh, clean blanket. You gathered your bags and stepped out of the car, trudging through the snow as it only continued to climb higher and higher. As you suspected, Yunho’s car wasn’t in the driveway.

You made it inside, the warmth of the heater immediately making you shed your jacket as you dropped the bags on the table. As soon as you did, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out to see a text from Yunho.

“Be home later.” Simple and quick. You thought for a moment whether you should text back. Your fingers began typing, and then you hit send.

“Be safe.” A second later, it buzzed again.

“Will do.”

You felt stupid for the way your heart clenched a little. You could count on three hands how many conversations you’ve had with him that lasted longer than a minute. Words are always fleeting between you two, always too busy for anything more than a good morning or an update on bills. But Yunho always responded to your texts with earnestness, replying fast and confidently. It was never anything deep, but whenever you asked what he wanted for dinner, he always responded with whatever it was he wanted, with a smiley face and a thank you.

He never really engaged in any more conversation than that, but for some reason, you could tell her cared more than he let on.

You put away all the things you bought, deciding to place the blanket you bought for Yunho on the couch so he’d see it when he got home. You cleaned up a little, because if you’re going to be snowed in, at least let the place be neat.

After some light cleaning, you had a shower and decided that for tonight’s dinner, you’d make some chili, so that way you would have leftovers for the upcoming days. Tonight was usually Yunho’s night for meals, but you were feeling froggy.

Connecting your speaker to your phone, you cleaned up your area and put on some music, getting ready to make dinner. You were in your zone, chopping tomatoes and browning the beef. The music flowed from your speaker, and the house was filled with a cozy feeling. You were an avid big light hater, so a few lamps and candles here and there set a soothing ambient lighting. The sun was setting, and the snow was picking up, the wind howling outside.

After another hour or so, dinner was done, and Yunho still wasn’t home. It was 8 pm. He’s usually out past 11, but because of the storm, you had assumed he’d be back earlier. You decided to shoot him a test, for your own mental fortitude. The snow had calmed, gentle snowfall dusting your windows.

“Are you on your way home? I made chili.” Send.

You waited a minute or two. No response. You rested your elbows on the kitchen island, waiting for his reply.

The three bouncing dots appeared at the bottom of your messages, and he was typing.

It stopped for a second, then started up again.

“Can you come outside?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise at such a weird question. You thought he was with his friends. He was typing again.

“Down the street.”

“Stuck in the snow.”

“Please.” 

You were so confused. Quickly, you slipped on your coat and your shoes by the door. You slipped your phone in your pocket and opened your front door. The cold hit your face like a mallet, and immediately your nose started to burn. But it was beautiful outside. Fresh snow everywhere. It was dark outside well into the night, but the snow was so white it was like it provided a little glow of its own. Snowflakes flurried from the sky, landing all over your clothes. You stepped into the front yard, and half of your calf sank completely beneath the surface of the fluff.

You, albeit with some trouble, waded through your front yard and stepped out onto the icy street nearly losing your footing and busting your ass. The neighborhood was silent, not a soul in sight, the end of the street being swallowed in black emptiness. 

But on the other end of the street, a lone car pulled off to the curb, headlights on as the snow swirled around the warm beams of light in a dancing flurry.

Beside it was your roommate, waving at you, bundled in a coat and scarf, grey sweatpants, and a desperate look on his face.

You started to walk towards him, doing your best not to slip and fall. “What the hell is going on?” You exclaim as you walk towards him. His tires were buried in the snow, and his windshield wipers were swaying steadily, clearing the flakes off the glass.

When you were about 6 steps away from reaching him, you began to lose your footing, the ice seeming slicker than before.

“Careful-careful-careful!” Yunho reached his hands forward and took a step in an attempt to catch you, but it was too late. 

“Shit!” your feet slipped from underneath you and after a couple slips and slides fighting to stay up, you ultimately fell directly on your ass, a sharp pain shooting up your tailbone.

You groaned, hand reaching back and rubbing your lower back. Immediately, the wet ice soaked your pants uncomfortably, and you already knew you’d wake up tomorrow with a nasty bruise.

Silence fell as you sat in defeat and mulled your pain, but Yunho was oddly quiet. You raised your eyes to look at him. He had one hand over his mouth. His eyebrows were raised in shock, and his eyes slowly narrowed as he took you in.

“Laugh. I dare you.” You glared at him, wincing at the sharp pain crawling up your tailbone.

“Jeong Yunho, you are a child.” You rolled your eyes as he busted out into a fit of laughter, one hand on his car while the other stayed on his mouth. You turned and got ready to get up so you could hit him.

“N-No wait stop!” he shouted between fits of giggles, his arms coming down and trying to pull you up by your arms, while simultaneously avoiding your violent hands.

“I’m sorry, let me just- hold on- stop trying to hit me (Name)! I'm trying to help you.”

“Well then, stop laughing at me!” His own feet were starting to lose friction on this ice as he felt his body sway as he grabbed you.

“If you don’t stop moving, you’re gonna take us both down!” Yunho tried to manhandle you back up, but unfortunately he lost it and tumbled down right next to you, accidentally yanking you onto your back as he landed on his ass.

“Goddamnit...” Yunho laid back in the snow, seemingly giving up on trying to get either one of you on your feet. You giggled behind your hand as you looked at him, his hair all messy and dusted with snowflakes.

He glanced at you and sighed. “Go ahead. It's only fair.” You took that opportunity to laugh in his face, him lightening up and joining you.

When you both calmed down, you looked behind him at his car. “So what happened, you just got lodged in the snow?”

“Wow, real astute (Name). Did I also mention that it’s snowing outside? How crazy is that?” You moved to smack his shoulder at his smart alecness, but he dodged.

“Stop trying to hit me, and help me move my car.” Bewildered, you watch as he stumbled and tried to stand up, feet slipping here and there as he finally stood upright. Like a baby penguin

“Help you push the car?” You snorted and tried to stand up yourself grunting. “Yeah, that's like not happening. Especially on this ice. You’re just going to have to leave it here until some of the snow melts.” Yunho looked at you like you had just told him something outrageous.

“Are you serious?” He glared at you, noticing how you made no move to come over and start pushing the car. “Insane actually…” he mumbled to himself, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration as he watched the snow fall from the night sky.

“Listen, I made dinner tonight. It's chili. Come home for now, it's cold, and the snow will pick back up again soon. Come inside, and we can worry about this later.” Yunho stopped and seemed to think to himself for a second, before his eyes flicked over to yours.

He looked at you with a surprising gentleness, roving over your face before landing on your lips for a fraction of a second, so fast you didn’t catch it.

“Alright.” He threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, let's go inside. It's okay. We can worry about it later.”

“That's what I said,” you chirped as you turned your back, beginning the slippery journey back to the house.

“I know that's what you said. I was just rephrasing.” Yunho followed behind, shuffling his feet on the ice so he wouldn’t have to pick them up and risk stepping wrong. It was silent on the way back, both of you too focused on not falling again.

You shed your shoes and coat by the door, turning to Yunho and pointing to the rug on the porch.

“Shoes.” You stated. Yunho looked down and removed his shoes, setting them next to yours.

Satisfied you opened the door, you hung your coat on the hanger in the foyer. “I just cleaned the house.” You mumbled to yourself, as if to affirm the reason you made him leave his snow-filled shoes outside.

Yunho followed behind, hanging his own coat and scarf on the rack. You sighed and fell on the couch, groaning in relief at the warmth that surrounded you.

“There’s chili in the kitchen if you want some.” You closed your eyes, basking in the warmth. The pine candle you lit made the house smell so comforting, taking in a deep breath, you heard Yunho’s breath hitch. When you realized he hadn't said anything yet, you peeked open an eye, only to catch him looking away from you.

His arms came up, smoothly directing his gaze down at his hands, fidgeting and playing with his fingers like he was bored.

He was almost caught, your shirt had ridden up when you laid on the couch, exposing your belly and the hem stopping right where your under boob began. Yunho’s brain nearly short-circuited at the sight, wondering what it would feel like to lie to you on his bed and drag his big hands up and down your waist, squeezing and kneading and feeling you…

He blinked, realizing he was much too far in his fantasy, expecting you to be looking at him like he was a pervert. Instead, he caught your eyes glued to his hands like they were the most interesting thing in the world. You blinked once. Twice. Before turning round and snatching up the remote, switching the TV on.

“Like I said, dinner’s in the kitchen. Help yourself.” Quickly gaining your composure like you weren't imagining his fingers inside of you, you switched to a cooking channel and sat on the couch, full attention on the screen.

“What's this?” Yunho tapped the back of the couch. “A blanket?” You didn’t look back at him, too embarrassed to show your face.

“Oh yeah, when I was at the store, I saw they were selling soft blankets, so I got you one.” You shrugged it off. When he didn’t respond, you assumed that he just went to the kitchen to eat.

A few more beats of silence, and you thought you were in the clear from your way too hot roommate, when his gentle, rich voice hit your ears like a truck, and you felt your core clench hard.

“Thank you (Name), you’re such a sweetheart. Thanks for always thinking of me.” 

Like someone just shot you, you whipped your head around to see Yunho holding the blanket in his hands, towering over you, standing behind the couch. His fingers dipping into the soft, navy blue waves of fleece, his lips upturned in a soft smile, and his eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

He was going to kill you. His hair fell in front of his eyes as his hands slowly caressed the blanket he held, his posture was relaxed as his eyes remained fixed on you, and you swear you saw them flick to your lips for a second. 

Your heart stopped and fell to your ass, immediately nervousness took over your body and you felt like a hot mess.

 After a few seconds of silence, Yunho’s smile fell, and his eyebrows knitted, like he was frustrated. He leaned his head back and shoved the blanket in his face, groaning into it.

“Don't… look at me like that.” Yunho’s muffled voice spilled from behind the blanket in his face, and you went rigid. How were you looking at him?

“Well, I don't look at me like that either!” You exclaimed, your voice shaking slightly. Yunho moved the blanket from his face, butting on the back of the couch. His eyes locked with yours again. Every time you looked away, he stepped a little closer, until he was sitting next to you.

“Hey, uh. Back up maybe?” You chided, trying to hide how much of a mess he was able to make of you just by looking at you.

“No.” Yunho challenged, looking at you intently. “Stop looking away and look at me.” So you did, you gazed into his eyes and immediately felt weak. His pupils were BLOWN. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, eyebrows cinched as he stared at you like he was trying to pin you to your spot.

He wasn’t saying anything, but he didn’t look like he was thinking either. He was just staring. You were starting to feel put on the spot, and you were about to make an excuse to go use the bathroom. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Yunho whispered. You nearly choked on your spit, but his hand lifted and dragged his fingertips down the bridge of your nose with feather-light gentleness, along your eyebrow, along your jawline. Like he was mapping out your face.

“Yunho…” You whispered, afraid that if you spoke too loudly, it could shatter the atmosphere. The air was thick, and the wind outside howled as the snow picked up again. The house almost seemed too hot now, and frankly, a snowball to the face wouldn’t be so bad right now. Yunho gnawed on his bottom lip.

“How come you never talk to me?” You suddenly blurted it out, instantly regretting it when it slipped out of your mouth. Yunho, obviously taken aback by your question, paused his touches on your face. He let his hand fall onto his lap and quickly grabbed his hand again, encasing it between your own two.

“What I meant is! Like, why don’t we take or hang out more often? I mean that I would like to, not that you… I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm talking about.” Yunho watched as you stumbled over your words, a smile crossing his face again as he chuckled at your franticness.

“(Name), (Name), stop.” The hand he held in your grasp, gently pulled from you, now holding your wrist. Yunho lowered his head and looked at your hand. Keeping his head down, his eyes lifted to meet yours as his thumb pressed onto the pulse point on the inside of your wrist. His other hand came up to your face, cradling your jaw softly.

Your chest felt like it was going to explode, overwhelmed with how Yunho was so close to you, how he was touching you, how he was looking at you.

“You know, I feel bad. You just thought of me while out shopping and got me a gift, but I don’t have anything for you.” Yunho frowned, dropping his gaze back down to your hand, his fingers tracing lightly up the inside of your arm, drawing circles and stars into your skin.

You shrugged gently, trying to brush it off so you didn't seem like you were expecting something back, because truly you weren’t. You just wanted to get him something.

“It’s nothing, Yu, you don’t have to -“ 

“No, it’s not nothing! Don’t say that.” Yunho squeezed your wrist softly, bringing your arm up and pressing whispers of kisses from your pulse point up your arm, and back down again as he spoke. 

“You’re always so thoughtful. Always checking up on me, making amazing meals for us, looking so pretty all the time.” You swallowed, your face quickly heating up at the praise, and the strain in his voice as he spoke. You struggled to find words to reply to him. You never realized how much he appreciated what you do, and frankly, you didn’t realize how much you did for him. 

“I wanna give you something too.” His eyes flicked up to yours, searching for consent in your eyes. You didn’t say anything. Then you whispered a question, the doubt in your mind creeping into your words.

“Yunho… you don’t have to give me anything-” Before you could continue, he pressed a finger to your lips to stop you from talking.

“Buh buh buh. Stop. This isn’t for you. Well, it is for you, but it's for me too. I want to. I want to take care of you like you take care of me, (Name).” Yunho’s hand landed on your upper thigh, gently kneading it like he was trying to ease the tension, keeping his eyes on yours.

“Is that okay?” The slow, gentle rub on your thigh was comforting, however, not calming in the least. The tendons in his hands flexed as he stroked his hand about the expanse of your leg. He stopped when your thigh tensed, resuming when you opened your mouth to speak.

“Yes.” barely there, in a whisper.

“Words, angel, use them please.” Yunho inched closer to you on the couch, his other hand coming around to cup the back of your neck, bringing your face closer to his, his nose just barely brushing against yours.

His smell enveloped you, his bangs tickled your forehead as his staggering breath fanned against your lips. 

“Yes.” You spoke louder, pressing a soft kiss against his lips, testing the waters. “Please.” You expected Yunho to chase your lips, but instead, he just smiled and leaned back.

“I knew it.” Your heart stopped. What's he doing? 

“All this time since you moved in, I thought maybe I was a pervert.” He lifted his hand and gently pushed against your chest, urging you to lie on your back on the couch, your head on the armrest. He slowly crawled over on top of your body, one leg slotted between your thighs with his knee just barely brushing your core, his hands pressing against the couch by the sides of your head. He brought his face down to yours, space nonexistent between you two as his calm breaths mingled with your nervous ones.

His eyes locked on yours, shamelessly flicking to your lips every few seconds. “You’re always looking at my hands, baby. Do you like them?”

Your breath hitched, and embarrassment crept up your spine. Yeah, he had noticed. This wasn't a new fascination of yours. You had always been drawn to hands in a way, but his specifically. The long, nimble fingers, the prominent veins, and the sheer size of his palm. 

Teasingly, he brought his hand up to your face, twisting his wrist to give you a good view. Slowly, he moved his hand down against your throat, his fingertips brushing against the side of your neck softly, up and down, trailing along your collarbones and between your breasts, down until they reached the hem of your shirt.

You watched with bated breath as he teased the hem of your shirt, rubbing it between his fingers, slightly lifting it and letting it fall back down.

“Want me to take it off for you? Undressing you like a gift, yeah?” A quiet whimper slipped from the back of your throat. His hand slipped under your shirt, flattening his large, warm palm against your stomach and caressing your skin gently.

Agonizingly slow, he dragged his hand up, taking his time mapping out your body, his other hand quietly lifting to cup the back of your neck again, pulling your head up to press your forehead against his. His eyes never left you as you felt his calloused fingertips brush against the underside of your breast, tracing light patterns around your areolas so softly it almost tickled. Your stomach clenched at the touch, letting out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

“You're so soft, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to touch you for so long. Can’t believe you're letting me..” His large hand cupped your breast, softly kneading the mound.

His fingers twilled the hair on the nape of your neck, occasionally squeezing the back of your neck reassuringly, like he wanted you to know that he had you. He's gonna take care of you.

“Can you whine for me, honey? I love your voice.” You didn't need to hear that, as he slipped his hand from under your shirt, lifting the hem until it sat under your chin.

“Arms up.” Breaking from your stupor, you lifted your arms as he dragged your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere in the dim living room. His eyes moved down and locked on your exposed breasts, your nipples hardening in response to the cold.

“There they are. So pretty.” Without warning, his lips crashed with yours, swallowing your whimpers while his hand found your breast again. Messy and slow, his tongue coaxing your lips open for him and slipping into your mouth. He moaned deep into you, his hand massaging your breast roughly as he lost himself in your mouth.

Every buck of his head he tried to push himself closer into you, like he was trying to melt into you, his lips relentless against you, sucking your plush bottom lip and nipping at your tongue teasingly.

Pulling away was hard for him; it almost hurt. He gave himself a moment to take you in. Swollen lips, blown pupils, and frizzy hair. A mess all for him.

His kisses trailed from the back of your ear down your neck and landed around your breasts. Kissing and soothingly running his tongue around them before latching onto your nipple. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, focused on the feeling of his warm mouth enveloping your nipple.

Taking this opportunity, his other hand moved from behind your neck and landed on the waistband of your pants, undoing the buttons before slipping his hand past the waistband of your underwear.

Your eyes shot open again at the feeling of his finger tracing a slow deliberate line up your slit, gathering your wetness. You craned your neck to the side, draping your arm over your mouth and avoiding his hot gaze. Yunho clicked his tongue and with surprising ease let his finger press against your opening, sliding perfectly inside of you, his fingertip brushing against your G-spot softly.

“I’m gonna need you to look at me, baby, I can’t give you what you need if you aren't looking at me.” Your eyebrows furrowed, and you bit your bottom lip, ripping your arm away from your eyes and slowly focusing your eyes on him. And you almost wished you hadn’t.

His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, pupils blown and hair tousled all around his flushed face. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his hand disappearing between your legs, his cheek pressed up against your breast, his tongue lolling against it, tracing lazy patterns around your areola. His eyes took you in, like you were the most stunning thing he had laid eyes on, which was the truth.

His eyelids fluted before his lips wrapped around your nipple again, kissing, licking and sucking as he started dragging his finger inside of you, curling it just right in that way that made your breathing hitch and your eyes roll.

“Yu-, fuck…” He nipped at your nipple, immediately soothing it with his tongue and pulling off of you with a slick pop.

“I’m trying so hard to be respectful…” He ground out the words like talking hurt his throat. You were finding it hard to focus with the attention he was giving your body, perfectly pressing your buttons and winding you up like a toy. Easily slipping another finger inside your cunt, you let a groan out deep from your chest, turning him on impossibly more.

“But baby, fuck you’re making this so hard for me…” He let his mouth wrap around your other nipple, massaging your hip with his free hand as he sloppily licked you up like candy.

“So good- wish I could eat you all day. I do…” he moaned between kisses on your breasts, switching between suckling them and biting. “I do. I really fucking do…”

Yunho’s fingers press inside of you harder, coaxing you closer to your orgasm. Unbeknownst to you, he was grinding his rock hard cock against the cushion of the couch, desperately trying to ease the pain from how hard he was feeling you soak his fingers like a slut. Your eyes watered, and you were finding it hard to breathe as his long fingers reached spots you never could. You thought back on the times you’d sit on your bed, trying so hard to reach an earth-shattering climax, imagining his fingers fucking you instead of your own. Nothing could ever compare to the real thing.

“Fuck baby, cmon get up. On my lap.” Hazily, you watched as he slipped his fingers out of you, sitting on the couch, legs on the ground. Impatiently, his big hands engulfed each side of your waist and lifted your body with ease to sit on his lap. You bent your knees on either side of his thighs, his cock pressed against your wet cunt.

He craned his neck up to look at you, immediately slotting his lips with yours. Working in tandem, his mouth devoured yours, swallowing you up like he needed you to breathe. One hand cupping your neck and pressing you as close as he could, while the other kneaded the flesh of your ass like a stress toy.

Without thinking, eyes closed as you let him fuck your mouth with his tongue, your hand slipped between your intertwined bodies, fishing his dick from out of his pants, hot and heavy in your hand.

His breath stuttered between his kisses, but his lips never left yours as you wrapped your hand around the upper half, your thumb brushing against the slit on his swollen tip.

He bit your lip accidentally at the stimulation, pulling away from your lips finally to look down at your hand wrapped around him.

His breathing quickened, and his hips bucked, chasing more of your touch as you teasingly played with him. You kept your eyes on his face, watching his eyebrows twitch and his eyes shake.

“Baby, you handle me so f-fucking well…” His moans were quiet, but so loud in the silence of your shared home, the snow howling just outside. 

Your grip lowered, squeezing the base before dragging your hand up and down the length of him. His head lifted again, burying his nose in the crook of your neck, pressing desperate and wet open-mouth kisses on your collarbone, his barely contained whimpers falling against your heated skin.

“Off..” he groaned into you, but too lost in the feeling of him throbbing in your hand, you didn’t quite understand.

“H-huh?”

“Off, off- clothes off. ‘S so hot…” He shimmied underneath, shedding his shorts and nearly ripping his shirt off. 

He grabbed the base of his cock, urging you to lift your hips so he could press his tip against you.

“Nice and slow for me, sweet girl, sit on it. Take your time, don’t wanna hurt yourself…” His eyes locked with yours as you complied with his request, slowly letting your hips sink down on him.

When his tip pressed in, that stupid, lazy boyish smile of his spread across his face, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyebrows cinched, focused on feeling you take him in like he was meant for you.

“There you go, slow… good, mmm, good fucking girl (Name.)” Your breath caught as you continued to lower your hips down onto him. Bottoming out with a groan, your hands gripped his shoulder, your nails digging into the blades.

You both sat there for a second, relishing the intimate feeling of just being connected. Your breaths mingled, and your thighs shook, his hands massaging your waist, squeezing your hips every time they slid back down.

When Yunho finally spoke, it was strained and so quiet you almost couldn’t hear it.

“Rock your hips. Grind on me pretty, take what you need from me. Make yourself feel good.” 

You whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut, moving your hands to cradle his head. Cautiously testing the waters, you rolled your hips forward, his tip perfectly dragging against that sweet spot deep in your tummy. The moan you let out was borderline pornographic; nobody had ever been so deep in you, and the fact that it was Yunho was so overwhelming.

“Oh god…” You moaned, pressing your lips into his hair, gasping and whining into the soft locks. His hands gripped your hips and helped you move, pushing and pulling you, moving you back and forth on his cock.

“That's it… fuck, always knew you’d take me so well. Like me all in your guts baby, huh?” You nod against him, your breath hitching when he lifted you so you slid up his cock and back down. Effectivley using your body to fuck himself into you.

“Don't stop, keep rolling those hips, angel, do not stop.” His hand came up and gripped your throat, maneuvering your head down so he could kiss you again, groaning into your mouth as you did into his as he fucked you up and down on his cock, your hips contining to grind. With every thrust and every flick of his tongue, his fat tip constantly dragged against that spongy spot inside of you.

A smug laugh slipped past his lips as he watched how desperate you were to feel good, and he was feeling really good about himself as he watched you lose yourself on him.

“Yeah, ride it, baby, ride it…” He bucked his hips, smiling wider when your back went taught feeling the pressure inside of you, as he continued to fuck himself into you slowly, dragging your pleasure out as much as he could.

“This is all for you, for being so good to me all these months, for always being so fucking s-sweet and taking care of me…” He thrusted harder with every other word, like he was enunciating how much this meant to him.

“Thank you Yu- fuck, you’re so big thank you ngh..” He nipped at your bottom lip, giving your throat one more squeeze before moving his hand back down to your hips and forcing your hips to bounce on him a little faster.

“My pretty baby takes dick so well. I regret not fucking you sooner, coulda’ had this pussy a longgg time ago.”  Yunho let his finger slip to your clit, rubbing in pressurized circles, dragging the sweetest noises from you.

You opened your mouth, trying to speak, but all that came out were strangled moans and staggering breaths. Yunho understood, though, pressing his lips against yours again.

“Cumming baby?” He whispered into your mouth, smiling when you nodded, unable to speak, too busy focusing on your impending orgasm. “Good, let go. Feel it and let go for me.”

Like the obedient slut you were for him, your spine straightened and you gasped, your orgasm hitting you like a fucking train, shotting from your toes and electrifying your body like you had been shocked, up through your stomach to your brain, making you lightheaded.

When he felt you cum, his hips stuttered in you feeling you clench like a vice and began to speed up. “Yeah, yeah, yeah- good girl, let me fuck you through it, let me get you through it.”

And thats exactly what he did, without letting up the pace, Yunho fucked into you without abandon, the slap of skin on skin echoing around the living room, mixing with your broken whines and his concentrated groans as he made you fall apart like shattered glass around his dick.

“T-too much–!’ you cried when he continued to bully inside you, his fingers still not letting up on your overstimulated clit. “Gonna c-cum again, Yunho!”

Yunho felt himself reaching his peak, but he would do anything to get you to cum again. With newfound rigor, he rolled his hips into you rough, meanly kissing you and sucking your tongue like he was searching for water.

“Again, angel, again. You can do it.” He moaned loudly into your mouth, his fingers opting to rub your clit slower, this time pushing upward, the pressure increasing tenfold.

Yunho twitched inside of you, feeling as you toppled over the edge again, the second orgasm so much more intense than the first. You couldn't breath, cumming two times so close together. Your thighs burned, and your head spun, vision blurring for a second.

Yunho groaned loudly, bucking his hips a few final times before spilling himself inside of you, continuing to roll his hips into you, riding both of your climaxes out.

You slumped onto him, hands at your side as you regained your breath, thighs sticky, and your body stuck to his. Yunho kissed along your shoulder, allowing you to regain your senses as he came down from his high as well.

Slowly, when you were finally breathing normal, he grabbed your waist and lifted you off of him, sighing as he watched his cock slip out of you, placing you back on the couch.

“Don’t move, I'm gonna go grab a rag.” Yunho stood up and walked down the hallway towards the bedroom. He came back a few seconds later, wearing a pair of sweatpants and carrying a black t-shirt, a pair of underwear, and a wet rag.

He sat down on the floor and gently grabbed your ankles to move your legs to face him, spreading them so he could clean between your thighs. He wiped the cold rag along your inner thighs and cleaned you well, before slipping the pair of underwear over your ankles and up around your hips.

“Here, put this on, it might get cold in here again since we’re not fucking like rabbits anymore.” You both laughed as he handed you the t-shirt. You brought it up to your face, inhaling. It was his, and it smelled like him. You felt fuzzy as you slipped it over your head, smiling when you looked down at him.

He was gazing up at you with nothing but love in his eyes, his hands rubbing absentmindedly along your calves, soothing your aching muscles and placing gentle kisses on your ankles, and up your leg to your knee.

“How are you feeling (Name)?” He waited for your response, his hand never ceasing the gentle massaging.

“Do I even need to say?” You smiled at him, and he smiled back, moving to sit next to you on the couch.

“Guess not, moaned loud enough to wake the neighbors.” Instinctively, you smacked his shoulder in disbelief before the words settled in.

Your smile fell, and a worried look crossed your face. “Was I actually?” He let out a hoot of laughter at your reaction.

“I was joking but you were pretty damn loud. It's okay though, cuz you sounded so pretty.” Yunho kissed along your neck, smiling when you twitched from the tickling feeling.

Suddenly, you remembered the dinner that was still in the kitchen, and you stood up and made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Come on Yu, I'm fucking starving and you made me forget I made dinner.” Yunho chuckled and stood up, following you to the kitchen to make himself a bowl.

With your food in hand, you sat on the couch together, with you lying between his legs, the back of your head lying against his chest as you ate together. The snow fell quietly, and the TV droned in the background as you basked in each other's presence.

“Does this mean you’ll come out of your man cave more now?” Yunho scowled at you and playfully flicked your forehead.

“Don't get smart with me, young lady…” he paused and smiled. 

“Of course, gotta give my girl the attention she deserves, right?”

[luveline]

hi jade! I remember a while back you wrote a drabble about hotchner!reader having a really bad panic attack and Spencer and Aaron helping her at the hospital, and it gave me a lot of comfort to read it. would you be interested in writing something about Spencer and Aaron taking care of hotchner!reader as she adjusts to her new meds?

—Spencer and your brother, Aaron, take care of you when your new prescription gives unexpected side effects. fem (adopted) 2k

When things got quiet at home, you’d get tense. 

Your apartment is silent. No whir of the heating, no washing machine clatter, no voices. You sit on the couch with your legs pulled up, turned to the armrest with your cheek pressed to the seat's backing. Your phone is in your hand at a low percentage. You’ll get up to charge just as soon as you can remember what you’d wanted to be doing in the first place. 

Spencer was going to call you. He’s sweet, really. You didn’t expect for love to feel easy; you never thought someone could like you without allowances. You’re quiet sometimes, your nerves are shot. You ask for reassurance too much, too often, and you don’t believe them when they’re given. 

You aren’t smart, or funny, or particularly hard-working. 

But Spencer loves you, you’re almost certain. Or maybe he’s just content to be half happy. It wouldn’t surprise you if he called you to break up with you —what use have you been to him lately? You’re tired everyday. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you never want to go out. You can barely make it through the working day. 

Your phone beeps in your hand. 

Outside, it says. If Spencer’s there, please make sure he’s fully dressed.

You manage to smile weakly. Aaron saw Spencer once getting out of the shower, and he was dressed, thank you very much. You hadn’t done anything salacious as he might’ve assumed from the situation, just showered together, but Aaron always lets you know before visiting now. 

Doesn’t ask, by the way, but you don’t actually want him to. He’s like, the only good thing in your life beside Spencer. 

Aaron lets himself in and finds you immediately. “Hey, honey,” he says. 

He slipped into the affectionate older brother role not long after meeting you, and he’s been worse since you were in the hospital. Which is to say, gentler with you. 

He slips a bag of groceries onto the counter. He pans around the room. It’s cleaner than usual here, but none of the lights are on, nor the TV. You can see him notice it. 

“You okay?” he asks, pulling groceries from the bag. He’s brought milk, bread, eggs, and fresh soups from the nice store nearby. “It’s quiet in here.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah? Any wobbles?” 

He’s asking if you’ve had a panic attack or anything like it, but for the last few days you’ve felt veritably numb. “I’m okay,” you say. 

You should bring up your symptoms. Clearly, lexapro either isn’t right for you or the dosage is too much; you’re a zombie these last couple of days. Medications don’t always work straight away, so for a time you’d felt like your script was useless, serving only to make you nauseous, but the sickness has finally gone away. 

He opens the fridge to put away the groceries. He’s sliding the bread into your bread box when he says, “Honey, aren’t you gonna answer that? Your phone?”

You blink down at your phone. Spencer’s contact glows in front of a green background. 

You click answer and pull it to your ear. “Hello?” you ask softly. 

“Hey, angel. How are you feeling today?” 

You clear your throat. “Fine.” 

“I was thinking I’d come over?” 

“You’re outside?” you ask. 

“How’d you know that?” 

“Must be something in the water.”

“I’ll come up now. I brought some things for dinner.” 

You manage your first laugh that dreary day. It’s nearly normal. “Okay. I might not have room.” 

Spencer promises to be up quickly and disconnects the call. You lift your chin to find Aaron already looking at you. “Do I look okay?” you ask. 

“Beautiful, don’t worry.”

“Is this an ambush?” you ask. 

“Not an intentional one. Can I make you something to drink?” 

He’ll make you something you like, you trust. You try to sit properly on the couch before Spencer gets here, rubbing under your eyes, checking there’s nothing on your t-shirt and sweatpants. It might not matter if there were, you know Spencer thinks you’re pretty without makeup or fancy clothes, but he doesn’t necessarily have to be truthful about it. 

“Aaron,” you say, before you can forget, “did… was Jack’s soccer okay?”

He passes you a mug, squeezing your shoulder lovingly. “It was great. I’ll show you the photos.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t go.” 

You were supposed to. Spencer even drove to pick you up, but he got here and your meds weren’t working and your heart was beating wrong, so you stayed home. 

“It’s okay.” Aaron looks like he wants to hug you, but he doesn’t. “Nobody’s mad at you for that.” 

“For other things?” 

“Nothing.” 

Your door opens again. Spencer bursts in with two things, a brown paper bag of groceries and a bouquet of flowers. It’s a pretty huge bouquet, as they go, white and pink flowers, cornflower blue chrysanthemums spotted throughout, the end of his scarf stuck in the flowers and his coat unbuttoned in the struggle. “Hey. Hi, Hotch.” 

“Spencer,” Aaron says, which is strangely warm. 

Spencer shoves the bouquet aside to see you. “Hi, you okay?” 

You force yourself to stand. It’s obvious you’re not feeling right, your head whirring, but you have to make sure he still wants you. “Spencer.” 

He puts the bouquet down. The groceries next. “Angel,” he says, meeting Aaron’s eyes quickly, then back to you, where he smiles sympathetically, “How long have you been feeling like this?” 

You’ve only taken a few steps toward him when he catches you for a hug. It’s nice and polite, but not without tenderness. He doesn’t pull your weight in like he would if you were alone, but he holds your back and sits a quick kiss against your cheek as he pulls away. 

“I don’t really know, a few days?” you suggest. 

“You could’ve told me. Or Hotch, you know?” 

“I know, I was going to, just–” You press your hand to your eyes. “Didn’t really notice it was happening.” 

“Don’t get upset,” Aaron says, coming to join you both in the kitchen. “It’s alright. Spencer isn’t scolding you, he just wants you to know we’re here for you no matter what happens.” 

“I don’t feel like myself,” you say.

“That’s okay,” Aaron furthers, holding you by the shoulder, his hand settling behind the nape of your neck, “we can talk to your doctor again, this isn’t permanent. We’ll talk to them today, if it’s what you need.” 

“I’m sorry. Not many people have such an adverse effect to lexapro, I was hoping you wouldn’t be an exception,” Spencer says. 

To your surprise, Aaron answers for you, “You couldn’t have known. This is just something we’ll have to keep doing together.” 

Someone sits you down. Aaron warms his fancy soups and toasts the bread he brought, making a plate and bowl for each of you without asking. Spencer barely balks. You manage another laugh, for which you’re rewarded with two smiles. 

Aaron can’t stay much longer, having to pick up Jack from Jess’, but he offers to come back. You decline, not wanting Jack to see you feeling as depressed as you are. He promises to call the doctor tonight and leaves in a rush. He must’ve stayed longer than he should’ve. 

Spencer is more forthcoming with soft touches once he’s gone. He didn’t eat much but neither did you, pushing the plates across the coffee table. He’s still wearing his coat. 

Fond, you reach for his chest and begin slipping buttons from the eyelets. “You’re staying, right?” you murmur. 

“If you’ll have me.” 

You open his coat and push it away from his shoulders. He dressed fancy even when he’s not going anywhere, it’s so strange, the button up and the tie and the sweater vest, all of it, but you love it. You run your hand down his vest. He lets his head dip forward. Not for kissing, just to be near. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Just feel wrong.” 

“It’s not really a good idea to stop taking the lexapro now. It’s technically an antidepressant, and your body won’t adjust well.” He holds your waist as you hold his. “But this is weird, huh?” 

“Feels weird.” 

“Short term, uh, I think we should just try and make sure you feel alright today. Is there anything you need?” he’s murmuring, rubbing his thumb into the soft of your stomach. “I can get anything. Or we can do anything.” 

“You don’t have to… worry about me.” 

“Are you kidding?” he asks softly.

“We haven’t been…” You trail your hand to his stomach, where it stays. “I just don’t expect you to deal with this, you didn’t sign up for this.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. I had no idea what I’d find out about you or what you might go through when we first met, but I wanted to find out. I wanted to take care of you then, and I do now,” he says simply.

“It’s not good timing for me to be like this.” 

“Stuff happens all the time. I wouldn’t want to wait for you to be perfect before we met.” He smiles genuinely. “Not that you’re not perfect.” 

“I really feel like I’m not even me.” 

“You’re you,” he says, dipping so close to you that you can’t see his face anymore, just his skin.

You slouch into his chest, coaxed by long, lithe arms cradling you, as kind as anyone’s ever touched you. He smells clean, your nose finding its way to his stiff collar. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You don’t have to be. Nobody wants you to be sorry, okay?” 

It’s a new feeling. Spencer spends the night with you on the couch and doesn’t for a moment seem like it’s something he doesn’t wanna do. You end up laying on his chest, his fingers drawing lines like a meandering figure skater up your back. Twirls and loops, long laps around your spine. When your phone rings, he’s nice enough to click answer and hold it to your ear. 

“Aaron?” you ask sleepily. 

“Hey, honey. I’ll be by tomorrow to take you back to Dr. Chester’s office, alright? If you don’t want to keep taking your lexapro, don’t. But if you can manage it, take another tonight, and we’ll figure out the new plan after your appointment.” 

“Okay,” you say, feeling very small. “Thank you for doing that for me.” 

“I’d do anything. Jack says he loves you, he’s making you a painting of yourself. He’s very good at the colours.” 

“I bet he is,” you say loudly. In the background, you can hear Jack’s pleased little thank you. 

“Do you want to talk a while?” he asks.

“That’s okay, Aaron, I’m half asleep on Spencer right now.” 

“Good, that’s good. Tell him to take good care of you, okay? Or I won’t be happy.” 

Spencer laughs above your head. “When is he ever happy?” he jokes in a whisper. 

“Shh,” you say, giving Spencer a light shove. “He says he will.” You swallow a lump, as you’ve had to do all day, but it isn’t rawness that colours your voice now. “I love you. Thank you for, uh, calling the doctor. Thanks.” 

“I love you too. I’ll leave you to sleep now. I’ll come at eleven, alright?” 

“Alright. See you tomorrow,” you say. 

Your voice is weak. Spencer pulls the phone away and hangs it up, tossing it without force onto the coffee table, before wrapping his arm around you snugly. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” Spencer says. “You’ll see, things aren’t going to be like this forever. It’s statistically impossible.” 

“Ooh,” you croon, pressing your tired face back into his chest, “I love when you talk statistics to me. Tell me more.”

He draws shapes into your back, his voice a murmur as he starts to talk. 

[yvesdoee]

content 𐙚 : when you and babygumi bring a stray into the house 🐈‍⬛

warnings 𐙚 : fem reader, just pure fluff :3 wc : 950

toji doesn't like animals. he made that clear to you when you first asked for a kitten at the early stage of your relationship. he said something about ‘not wanting fur all over his clothes’ and ‘his shoes getting shat on’. so every time you saw a cute cat video on tiktok you had to deal with your cat fever on your own (yeah, it’s like baby fever but with cats). you have long since resigned yourself to the fact that there are not and will not be animals in this house.

then you married and had megumi. you and toji barely had time for yourself, let alone a pet. although megumi grew up and became easier to handle, you decided that he was enough for you.

you and megumi went outside to buy groceries. the weather wasn't hot, but it wasn't cold either, perfect for a walk. you bought everything you needed and were on your way home with nothing to look forward to.

"kitty!" a 4-year-old boy ran up to the curb outside your yard and crouched down. you approached him curiously and saw a small gray street kitten being petted by megumi. you were about to admonish him that this kitten might be flea-ridden or dirty, but you knew that baby had a soft spot for animals and nothing could stop him from petting him. just like you.

little boy cooed at the animal and stroked it gently, and the sight had your heart swelling with affection. he turned to you with a pleading look and you already knew what that meant. you sighed. you should say no. you can't take that responsibility on yourself and your husband without discussing it with him first. you should say no. you should..

but you're not heartless, are you? you can't just leave this poor, defenseless kitten on the street. of course you can’t. your gaze softened as you looked at him. the kitten was obviously starving. he meowed softly at you, as if saying ‘please, keep me’.

a simple grocery shopping trip turned into something more. you took the kitten to the vet, bought cat shampoo, a litter box, food and a couple of toys (megumi insisted). when you brought him home, you bathed him, fed him, and let him sleep in a warm and cozy place. yeah, toji’s gonna be really pissed.

your husband came home from work late at night. he had dirt and dried blood on his clothes, and he looked like he'd give his life for a hot shower and a nice dinner. you and megumi went to meet him.

“hey, sweets.” he kissed your cheek and rubbed your back while you hugged him. “hey, brat.” he crouched down and hugged gumi’s little body as well. toji walked tiredly into the living room, where your new little family member was sleeping peacefully on the couch in front of the tv, and your heart skipped a beat.

oh.

toji stopped in the aisle and just stared at the kitten, who didn't even noticed him.

“what the hell is that thing?”

megumi walked over to the kitten and picked it up in his tiny hands, showing it off toji. “that’s mr. cat.” he announced proudly.

"yes, i see what it is. i’m asking where it came from." (he didn't ask that, but we won't talk about that).

you walked over to toji and put your hand on his chest. "honey, this poor animal was all alone on the street, hungry and lost." you said dramatically. "megs spotted him and wanted to take him home, and i just couldn't say no."

you walked over to your son, who was still holding the kitten, and put your arm around his shoulder. “isn’t that the most heartbreaking story?” you asked, giving him that puppy eyes look that always helped you in getting something. megs also learned it from you, and it didn't make things any easier for toji.

toji sighed. yes, he didn't want any animals in his house, and he hadn't changed his mind. but seeing his wife and son so happy, doting on the kitten, he just couldn't bring himself to say no. and he couldn't just throw it outside, he's not a monster. dammit.

he sighed again, and then tsked some more before he spoke. “..you can keep it, i guess.”

“yay!!” both you and megumi cheered.

“thank you, daddy.” megumi hugged toji’s leg affectionately, and toji’s heart nearly melted, but he keeped his tough guy behaviour.

“yeah, yeah, whatever makes you two happy. now go to sleep, brat, it’s late.”

when megumi went to bed and then you fell asleep too, toji sat down on the couch in front of the tv where mr. cat was lying. he looked at the cat with indifference on his face and rolled his eyes. soon the kitten stretched out and then came over to toji, laying down on his thigh.

toji froze, not knowing what to do. should he put it away? he carefully encircled the kitten's small body with his large palm and tried to pull it away gently, but the kitten clawed hard into the fabric, and toji hissed.

he got over it and let the kitten fall asleep on his leg. he spent quite a long time like that until the cat woke up again and decided he needed to change his sleeping place. toji got up from the couch, stretched, and grumbled his way to your bedroom.

he lay down on your bed, enclosing your sleeping form in a bear hug, as he did every night. he physically rolled his eyes again, thinking about the kitten, and then finally fell asleep. maybe that thing wasn’t that terrible.

a/n : this is my first drabble ever and that’s kinda ahh :3 also english is not my first language, so i apologize for any grammatical flaws !

[moonstruckme]

hi Mae! I've never requested anything before, so forgive me if I'm doing this wrong. Can I request poly!marauders x reader who has a cold? I've just gotten sick and I feel icky, and these type of stories always make me feel better 😅 no worries if you can't, thank you!

Thanks for requesting lovely! You nailed it don't worry <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Your home is suspiciously quiet when Sirius enters. You and James ordinarily beat him there, but there’s no blaring TV or sound of something sizzling in the kitchen, he can’t even hear the shower running upstairs. The only evidence of either of you are your shoes by the front door, yours lined up neatly as they always are and James’ strewn a couple of feet from the doormat (as they always are). 

Sirius kicks his own shoes off, leaving them amongst James’, and starts to go in search of you upstairs. Only, as he passes the couch, he does hear something. A quiet whistling. 

He turns, and there you both are. Slumped where he couldn’t see you from the door, your body laid over James’ and his head propped at a painful-looking angle against the arm of the couch, the both of you covered in blankets. Your breath wheezes in and out of you. 

An unintentional tsking noise comes from Sirius’ mouth as he crouches beside you. He slots a hand underneath James’ neck, trying to alleviate the cruel bend. 

His boyfriend makes a sulky groaning sound. Mile-long lashes (which go sorely unappreciated by their owner, by the way; Sirius would do much better with them) flutter reluctantly as James turns his head towards Sirius. 

“Hello,” Sirius says softly, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight of the other boy’s sleep-glazed eyes. “Are you very comfortable like that?” 

“M’sweltering,” James admits, “but she’s cold.” 

Sirius feels his brows furrow. “I meant your neck, Jamie.” But it is odd that you’d be cold, considering that he’s a bit warm and he has no blankets. You don’t usually get so chilled. “She’s cold?” 

James makes a face that’s half pout, half frown. “She’s ill.” 

Sirius frowns harder, and only then does he realize how unusual it is for you not to have woken while they’re talking right above you like this. He sets the back of a hand to your forehead and finds it scorching. 

“Oh.” The coo drops from his lips almost without his notice. He feels your cheek with his other palm as if that will change things, but it’s the same. “Since when?” 

“She was home when I got here,” says James. “Don’t think she ever made it to work this morning. I gave her some paracetamol.” 

That had to have been hours ago. Sirius is about to ask if James is feverish himself, or what other delusion caused him to nap with you instead of calling him and Remus home, but you start to stir, saving your boyfriend a berating. Sirius’ attention goes to you. 

“Hey, sweetness.” He strokes his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping to wake you gently. “You’re not feeling well?” 

You make an unhappy humming sound Sirius takes to mean No. Sniffle wetly. James grabs a box of tissues from beside him on the floor and offers them to you like it’s a routine.

“When did this start?” 

You blow your nose before replying. It sounds awful, and when you’re done Sirius can see that the tip of your poor nose already looks chapped. “I think it set in overnight,” you croak. James winces at the sound of your voice. 

Sirius strokes your cheek again, doing his best not to look too severe. “And why didn’t you call us, lovely girl?” 

Over the top of your head, James mouths emphatically, She wouldn’t let me. 

You only shrug, burrowing further into your blankets. “No point. Why should you come home just because I’ve got the sniffles?” 

Sirius sighs. He gives your cheek a mean little squeeze, standing and pulling out his phone. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Hush, don’t hurt your throat.” 

You pout, but Sirius is not James, and while he’s far from immune to your sweetheart face, he won’t be swayed by it. Remus picks up on the third ring. 

“Hi, love.” He answers already sounding weary, albeit lovingly so, used to Sirius getting home around this time and calling him impatiently. Remus works too much, Sirius comes home every day itching for a kiss from all three of you; it’s a routine they both love to hate. “I’m just about to wrap up here.” 

“Right, I totally believe you,” Sirius scoffs (affectionately). Remus is always ‘wrapping up’ when Sirius calls, one chapter bleeding into the next until it’s dark and one of you goes to collect him. “I just wanted to let you know that our bird never made it to work today; she’s come down with something.” 

He can practically hear Remus’ frown forming. “She didn’t say?” 

“What do you think?” 

A sigh crackles through the line. “And bad enough that she stayed home, hm?” 

Sirius looks at you, finding your eyes still big and expression pouty. He pouts back. “Yeah, she’s got a wicked fever and whatever it is has turned her nose into a poorly tuned woodwind instrument.” 

Your expression sours. James hides a smile in your hair. “It’s only a cold,” you say. 

“Honestly, Rem, she’s incoherent.” 

Sirius can hear movement on the other end of the line, the quiet snap of his boyfriend’s laptop shutting. “I’m coming. Try to get her to drink something, please?”

He appraises you. You don’t look particularly happy with him. “I’ll try.” 

“Thanks, love. I’ll be there soon.” 

“Alright, drive safe. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” 

“That was so unnecessary,” you complain as soon as he hangs up. 

“Sorry, I can’t understand you when you’re all stuffed up like that,” Sirius replies flippantly, pocketing his phone and crouching in front of you again. “All your consonants sound like ds and bs.” 

He uses his cold hands to his advantage, pressing them to your cheeks and allowing his genuine sympathy to surface in his expression. It wins you over quickly; you tilt your face into his touch. Fever glazed eyes droop indulgently. 

“Now, my lovely snot monster, would you like ice in your water or do you want it plain?” 

Remus bustles in when you’ve halfway drained your cup. Sirius can tell he’s worried because he hardly kicks his shoes into alignment next to each other, not taking the time to bend over and arrange them as neatly as he always does. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says in his most dulcet tone, dropping a kiss on your temple while he feels your fever with his knuckles. “Jamie, you’re not ill too, are you?” 

“No, I’m just here in solidarity,” James assures him from beneath you. “I’m tip-top, promise.” 

Remus nods, his mouth an unhappy line as he appraises the two of you. “I think you need to lose the blankets, dove. We need to get your fever down.” 

“But it’s cold,” you whine. 

“It’s not,” Sirius promises you. “It’s just that you could roast a marshmallow on your forehead right now.” 

“You can still have Jamie,” negotiates Remus, already peeling the blankets off you and balling them up out of reach. 

“S’all you really need,” James says agreeably. You look unsure, but you relax a little when he cuddles you closer. 

“And how about some tea?” Remus palms the side of your face, frowning slightly at the heat while he drags his thumb across your cheek. “It’ll help with your throat and keep you warm, yeah?” 

“Okay, yeah.” You take Remus’ hand, bringing it to your lips. Your eyes are fever bright. “Thanks, Rem. I’m sorry you came home.” 

“Now, what kind of thing is that to say?” Sirius teases. “I, for one, am very glad to have Remus home.” 

You attempt a glare; it’s poorly executed. “I meant I was sorry you called him.” 

“Well, I’m not,” Remus says firmly. Sirius fights the urge to stick his tongue out at you. “You should always call me, sweetheart. Or just any of us, but we can talk about that later.” (Oh, Sirius cannot wait. The scolding he wants to give you would have paled in comparison.) Remus gives your cheek a little pat. “I’m going to make your tea. Try to finish your water before I get back, please.” 

Sirius follows him into the kitchen, pleased to hear you asking James to pass you your water behind him. 

“Hey,” he says, coming up behind Remus at the stove. 

Remus sighs, turning around and looping his arms around Sirius’ shoulders. “Hi.” He rests his chin atop his boyfriend’s head. It’s a welcome weight. “Sorry.” 

“Sorry for what? Don’t be.” Sirius runs a hand up his spine, feeling each knob. “Sorry I worried you on the phone. I was freaked when I found her like this. She’s alright, though.” 

“She’s alright,” Remus agrees. “I just hate to see her so poorly. Her throat sounds awful, poor love.” 

“I hate that she didn’t tell anyone.” Sirius intends to sound a tad bitter, maybe with an edge of teasing, but his voice comes out whiny and wounded. 

Remus kisses his hair silently. He knows Sirius has trouble with the people he loves suffering in silence, even when it comes to things like this. “That, too.” 

“I hope you lecture her into never doing it again.” 

“That’s the hope.” 

“James aided and abetted, too.” 

The faintest traces of a smile in Remus’ voice. “You want me to do something about that, do you?” 

“If you think so.” 

“Mm. I think you just want me to be the bad guy.” 

The kettle starts to whistle, and Sirius steps out from his boyfriend’s arms, pecking him on the cheek as he gets it. “I mean, you’re already so good at it.”

[queen-aluett]

Sleeping in the Shadows - a Shadow Milk x Reader One Shot

au where shadow milk is a sleep paralysis monster, kinda like the boogeyman

You couldn’t sleep.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t sleep.

You had multiple instances of getting out of bed to get a snack, some water, go to the bathroom, or just do whatever. All in that order, over and over. Staring up at your ceiling, you let out a long and loud sigh. Your eyes fluttered a bit then you decided you’d try counting sheep. That always worked, right?

1…

2…

3…

4…

5?

Oh, wait.

You suddenly remembered an old urban legend you heard told multiple times in multiple different ways. It even had an episode about it on an old tv show you used to watch as a kid that was all about scary stories. The story was about a strange cookie called Shadow Milk. Legend has it he’d come for those who couldn’t sleep, and counting sheep was one of the ways to summon him. Depending on how many you counted before you gave up, he’d appear to you and ask you which of the sheep you counted is real, and which one is just an illusion. If you guessed correctly, you’d be rewarded. If not, you’d be dragged either in your closet or under your bed, into his spire, and he’d turn you into his puppet to dance in his twisted shows forever and ever.

Some versions of the story would have him come to those who played card games at sleepovers, in some he’d come to those who were up past their bedtime, which was the version you watched in the tv show. In some you could just summon him by putting a joker card in front of your closet door, telling a good amount of lies and then sliding it under, and of course the game with the sheep would begin, with the amount of lies being the same amount of sheep that were present. Sometimes, instead of sheep, you’d have to answer questions, and if your answer was a lie, his appearance would become more and more terrifying, before he finally took you and made you his puppet. But no need to reminisce on the past, that’s just a little legend anyways. It’s a nice story, but it’s not real at all!

Right?

You smiled remembering that show you used to watch and the one episode that actually managed to scare you, which wasn’t the one about Shadow Milk, oddly enough. Your sweet nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a bleat. You jolted up in terror and looked around, only to see there was nothing there. You calmed your breathing and laid back down. “Maybe I should stop thinking about that, for now, at least.” You mumbled to yourself as you stretched your back in your bed. After a moment of silence, you heard the sound of a music box. Only problem is,

You don’t own a music box.

And you’ve never heard that melody before.

Peeking out over your covers, you were too afraid to even move. You had no idea where that music was coming from, and you did NOT wanna find out anytime soon! You covered yourself up with the blankets and laid under there nice and still, covering your mouth with your hands. A blue glow was coming from outside, but no matter what, you’d never take them off. The music came to a halt after what felt like way longer than the minute it was playing for. You peeked an eye out from your hiding spot, and there was nothing there. You shuffled out of hiding and went back to sleep as normal, convincing yourself you were just sleep deprived.

“Well there you are…~”

What… was that? WHO was that? You opened your eyes, and a man in a blue harlequin outfit sat in front of you on the edge of your bed. He smiled at you and your closet in front of you was full of glowing blue eyes watching you. “There’s no way…” you thought to yourself. “A-are you… n-no… no it can’t be… shadow-“

“Shadow Milk Cookie? The great and powerful? Who else?” You lay there, eyes widened. You could not believe it! The very urban legend himself, right in your house, right at your bed, right now! “Yes, yes, hold your applause. I heard someone can’t sleep. Someone’s been a bad, bad cookie, huh? Good cookies should be put to bed right away, but look at you, all wide awake like it’s nothing!” Your voice was shaky as you replied, “I- I’m sorry, I, I promise I was trying to g-go to sleep but I-“ He interrupted and held a finger up to you, “Shhhhh… I know, Y/N Cookie, I know. Which is why… we’re gonna play a game! Since you know me so so so so so well, I think you know what you’ve got to do, yes?” You nodded “Yeah. I gotta figure out the sheep that’s not fake, got it.” He clapped his hands, “What a smart cookie you are! Oh, you must be a HUGE fan! Let’s see… what number did you count to? Five? Ah yes, Five!” Shadow Milk snapped his fingers, and on cue 5 sheep came out of your closet. You didn’t really want to think about how this was possible, you wanted to focus on figuring it out. “Think reeeeeal hard, Y/N Cookie. You got this!”

You looked real hard at each one, eyes scanning over the herd. Their blue eyes eerily glowed as you tried hard to spot the odd one out, but they all just looked so similar, you had no idea. Your index finger began to tremble as a tear formed from your fear. You really didn’t feel like being turned into a puppet. The idea of being bound to strings and losing all your will was… everything but pleasant. “Awww~ There, there, Y/N Cookie.” He began to pat you on the head, “There’s no need for those crocodile tears! You’ve got all the time in the world! Unless… that is, unless I get too bored waiting!” You swallowed, and went with your gut and made a decision. “That one! That one there!”

“Oh?”

Your finger was pointed to the second sheep in the row. “I-it’s that one. I-I think that one is the real… sh-sheep…” You almost began to hyperventilate. There was no going back now. You looked to Shadow Milk Cookie, who was smiling. He stood there, watching you shiver with anticipation. The silence felt like an eternity till he began to slowly clap his hands and opened his mouth.

“So you HAVE been listening to the whispers of deceit!”

You sighed in relief. “So I… So I got it right?” He nodded his head, “Mmhmm, mmhmm, mmhmm! That’s right! Look at you! Such a good (girl/boy/cookie), doing the homework! I’m so proud of you!” He gave you a pat on the back, which made you flinch a bit. “Well, now that playtime’s over, I think it’s only fair I give you the sweet relief of slumber you crave.” He took a fistful of something out of his pocket, “But rest assured, I will be back, and I cannot wait to play with you again! Now then… Ready, Y/N?” You sighed and laid down on your bed, falling onto the pillow. “Heh! I’ll take that as a “yes” then!” He opened up his hand and blew a shiny blue powder in your direction. The blue dust made you sleepier and sleepier till you couldn’t help but drift off. Shadow Milk Cookie turned to exit from your closet into his Spire of Deceit. He turned his head to get a good look at how peaceful his new playmate looked all bundled up with their head in the dream world.

“I shall see you later~!”

[prosypepper]

deadbeat, pt.2 - toji fushiguro

pt. 1

synopsis: still too stupid and selfish for anything good to happen.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: more angst, sort of comfort from the last part, more fighting, one (1) paragraph describing sex, toji breaks into your house, megumi is your baby, unneeded plot twist at the end, really bad writing again. (18+ mdni!)

notes: i really had not a clue for what to do as a part 2, so i stuck with canon events (kinda). i hope u like it :) please go read part 1 before reading this! it's at the top of the post! much love!!

masterlist

“megumi, stop running away from me!”

 footsteps patter against the grass as your 1-and-a-half-year-old son tries to escape you. you laugh and chase him for a little while before scooping him up in your arms. he babbles and whines, now unable to run freely, but you tell him you need to cook dinner.

a year and some months have passed since toji kicked you out. you haven’t looked back since. you’d bought a house after getting a new job, it has a beautiful back yard and enough space for you and megumi to grow freely.

the only traces of toji left in your life was the dingy wedding ring he bought – that now laid somewhere in your jewelry box – and your son, who looked just like his father. toji’s genes absolutely outshined yours in the boy. however, you were able to look at megumi with more love than anything else in this world, despite what his deadbeat father did to you.

at the end of each day, after megumi goes to sleep, you enjoy spending a few hours to yourself, watching whatever tv drama or reading a book. after you put megumi down for bed, you stay in the room for a few minutes to make sure he falls asleep, safe and sound. and when you make your way back to the living area, a scene is in front of you that stops you in your tracks.

toji.

toji’s sitting on your couch, somehow broken into your house, and he’s looking right into your eyes. you can’t move. you can’t speak. you can only stare at toji as the uncomfortable silence fills the air more and more.

“wh-,” you stutter, anything other than the small noise unable to come from your lips, and you begin to back away slowly.

something had changed with you. since you’d left toji, a certain fear grew in the back of your mind, because toji was a dangerous person, after all. you had prayed things would be left alone, because you and megumi were just fine by yourselves, and toji is the one that told you to get out. the once fearless person you were was no longer there.

and the person that scared you the most was sitting in your living room.

“hey,” toji says, cutting the anticipation in the air, “don’t back away from me.” his words stop you once more.

“toji,” you mutter, saying his name again, something toji had longed for, “why…are you here?” you ask him, shoulders beginning to relax.

“i wanted to see my wife.”

toji’s nerve immediately angers you. you weren’t his wife anymore when he kicked you and his own son out of his house. you weren’t his wife when he cheated on you that night, either. you haven’t been his wife for well over a year. the divorce hadn’t been finalized yet, and you soon know why, when your eyes trail down to the coffee table and see the neat stack of papers you had sent toji months ago.  

“i’m…i’m not your wife anymore, toji,” you sternly tell him, crossing your arms over your chest. the fear you once had quickly fades, now replaced with nothing but anger – the same anger you’ve had for toji since you left his apartment.

“i haven’t signed the papers yet,” toji retorts, “and i won’t.”

rage boils up in your chest at his words. and the audacity he has to break into your house and declare you as his wife pisses you off even more.

“get the hell out of my house, toji,” you demand, pointing a finger towards the door – just as he did to you.

toji only crosses his arms in return. he doesn’t budge.

you stomp over to toji, leaning down and grabbing the collar of his shirt in your fist, “you’re the one that left me, you bastard,” a new strength makes its way into your arm as you tug on his shirt, forcing him to stand up, dragging him towards the entrance of your home, “get the hell out of my house!” you try and throw toji towards the door, and he stumbles over his feet for a second before regaining his balance.

too many emotions are running through you for you to act rationally. tears sting your eyes as you watch toji stand there, looking at the ground, a cold expression across his features. one of his fists is balled up. veins pop out of his arm. you lean against the wall in the walkway leading to your door, slowly sliding down until you’re on the floor. you bring your knees to your chest. tears slide down your cheeks.

toji takes a step toward you and crouches down so he’s on the same level. he reaches a hand out to cup your cheek, it’s the softest he’s touched you in a long time. you want to cower away from his touch, but all the feelings you tried so hard to push deep down — all the anger, all the sorrow, all the hurt, all the love — come rushing back into you at lightning speed.

toji’s dark pupils dilate as you look into them. he gives you once small look of vulnerability, something he hadn’t even done when you were married to him. he takes a thumb to wipe away one of the tears.

he’s sorry.

the words dare not come out of his mouth, but you can see, toji is sorry.

you break.

a small whimper leaves your lips, and you throw yourself into toji, wrapping your arms around his neck. his strong arms engulf you again.

“you…asshole,” you cry into his shoulder, tears coating the fabric of the shirt you almost ripped off of him. there are no smart remarks or retorts from the man, he knows, he just knows how much he hurt you.

the pain he put you through was inevitable.

as you continue your sobbing, a different cry comes out from down the hallway. toji’s head perks up at the wailing. it’s as if your baby knows exactly what is happening.

“it’s megumi,” you sigh into toji’s chest, quickly pushing the man off you. he stands up and helps you stand along with him. toji trails behind you as you enter megumi’s room.

there’s a look of unease on his face as he watches you pick your son up and hush him, whispering sweet words to him and combing his hair with your fingers. toji can see the resemblance to himself, how his child has the same eyes, same nose, same hair, even the same tiny eyebrows. he watches you bounce megumi on your hip, slowly settling the baby’s emotions, making him tired again in the process. as you cradle the almost asleep baby in your arms, you notice toji’s uncomfortable gawking.

“do you want to hold him?” you ask toji, voice still a little uneven when you talk to him. he hesitantly nods his head. you hold the slumbering baby out, coaching toji on the most adequate way to hold the boy.

it’s a sight to see, toji holding his mini-me, bolstering the baby in his arms. toji gives you a proud look, like, “i’m actually doing it!” but of course, his emotions go no further than the look on his face. he is content holding his son in his arms, he could stay that way forever, he thinks. his scarred lips curl into a frown when you tell him he needs to put megumi back down to sleep, but begrudgingly, he hands the boy back to you to settle him in his crib.

you and toji make your way into the kitchen, a much bigger space than what was in his apartment. the conversation you tried to outrun by crying and being angry is no longer able to be looked over. toji is left in the room with you, just you. toji sits in one of the chairs at the small dining table, you lean against the counter, across the room from him. awkward silence takes up the space between you.

“why are you here, toji?” you ask the man, stirring a spoon around in a mug of whichever tea you like best.

toji rests his elbows on the back of the chair, looking everywhere but at you, “i…just wanted to see you and the baby,” he weakly admits, although, you aren’t sure if you can trust his words. inside your heart, you so desperately want him to be telling you the truth, but he hasn’t earned your trust, he hasn’t done anything to do so.

you focus your attention on the cup of tea, still furiously stirring away, as toji gets up from the chair and slowly steps towards you. it feels like hours pass as he walks over, but eventually, he’s close and trapping you against the counter. an unsteady hand sets the mug down behind you, careful not to spill the hot substance on the either of you, and you stare toji right in the eyes, seeing a tiny look of lust.

after all the time that had passed, toji could no longer peel away the emotions he felt for you. he could no longer cover them up, remain cold, and stay mean. he needed you like this. he needed that person that took a chance on him, and he knows that no one else ever will be as courageous as you were when you asked him for his number that day.

toji leans in, and presses his lips to yours, giving you a light kiss that you hadn’t had in so, so long. you close your eyelids at the contact. once again, you wrap your arms around his neck, fully embracing the contact with him – god, you missed him. you missed your husband.

his hands find their way to your waist, he’s feeling you up and down, taking his time to touch all the crevices he remembers so well. intimacy. toji couldn’t find that with anyone else but you. it doesn’t take long for things to lead up, and toji’s carrying you to the bedroom, softly laying you down on the bed as you two rip each other’s clothes off.

toji makes love to you that night. it’s not fucking, or just sex, it’s a deep connection this time, so close, so cherished. more sentimental than all the months he spent with you beforehand. his hands are all over you, his eyes never leave your face, he makes sure it feels the best for you and him. hours and hours pass by, and the whole encounter feels like a moment, a dream, something so unreal that toji thought he could never have.

you fall asleep nestled in toji’s arms, the both of you naked and sweaty, and loved. a satisfying conclusion to the night. he waits for you to doze off first, and he watches the rise and fall of your chest as you so easily fall into a slumber, next to him.

maybe it wouldn’t be a good thing later down the line, maybe allowing him back into your life will end up being a mistake again. you aren’t sure if he will even be there by the time the sun rises. toji isn’t sure this will stay permanent, his thoughts of running away cloud his brain as he watches his wife sleep next to him, so peacefully. he doesn’t know how long he will stay.

but, neither one of you really care.

toji’s eyes shoot open at the familiar sobbing of a baby. he sits straight up, covered in sweat, as if a nightmare had just ensued.

the bed is empty, he’s alone…and he remembers he’s been alone. you’ve been gone, for many months now, gone in a way you’re unable to return from.

it wasn’t a nightmare, no.

it was all a dream.

[bussyyeukie]

Neon Lights and Bloody Fights

(fighter!simon x reader)

part one. part two.

Your head hurt. Like, hurt.

A throbbing rolling behind your forehead for the better part of 4 hours.

Unable to sleep, barely able to find the taste in anything you ate. You sat on your couch, leaned back and legs spread as you held the remote in your hand, eyes staring unfocused at whatever the fuck was on the old screen of the TV.

A sandwich with one bite taken out of it sat on the coffee table in front of you, next to the barely drunk cup of coffee. The drip that had spilled down the side dried, cutting a line down Snoopy's head.

Your shirt big on your frame, and your shorts had ridden up slightly, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Your hair was unbrushed and thrown into a claw clip that had actually started to sag, not exactly doing its job since you had to keep tucking hair behind your ears. Lips bitten raw, the bags under your eyes prominent as you stared blankly at the screen. You weren’t even sure if you had muted it or if you just weren’t listening.

It had been two days.

Since the fight. Since the bet. Since your newfound job with (if you had to guess) criminals.

Two days.

Mr. Price (or John, as he insisted you called him) said to expect a call from him within the week to discuss a meeting about your new position. You had offered him your number but he said it was no need, they already had it.

Your phone was sitting on the cushion next to you. It was a flip phone, nothing too fancy even in that department. Looked like something a dad who only wore cargo shorts would own. Your gaze would wander to it every few minutes, wondering when it would ring. Your feet rubbed against the carpet under them, socks gliding smoothly.

For the weather outside, it wasn’t too cold in your little apartment. But you pride yourself on keeping it cozy.

There were maybe two boxes by your front door. Poorly taped shut.

They were your ex-boyfriends. Well, it was stuff you were debating giving back to him. Not that he wasn’t around to collect it, the fucker’d been loitering outside your work and calling you nonstop to the point where he was using his friends' phones after you blocked him. Which, you didn’t mind blocking them either cause they weren’t exactly your friends, and you didn’t exactly like them.

You were beyond thankful you two didn’t live together. Suddenly grateful he had denied the offer 6 months ago, which you’re pretty positive is because he was cheating on you. But at the time you didn’t want to admit that. 

Letting your head fall back against the couch, huffing out your nose, you thought back to that night.

You haven't seen your ex the rest of the night. Only the next day when you went to his house to collect your things. Honestly you almost forgot why you had gone when you saw his face, it looked like one big mash of black and blue. Both eyes nearly swollen shut, a bandaged gash on his eyebrow, and on his cheek under his eye. A pretty busted lip, a swollen nose, his jaw even looked swollen. He was almost scared to see you, kept looking over your shoulder and flinching.

He had let you in, bracing the whole time like you were going to hit him. Which, admittedly you were going to until you saw the number that Simon and the other guy had done on him.

…Simon.

You glanced back to your phone, then to the ceiling again.

Subconsciously narrowing your eyes, you thought about the hulking man.

The way his shoulders heaved as his breath huffed into the air in front of him. Stance tall and head bent down, shoulders rounded with fists clenched. Blood coloring in the black and white tattoos drinking up the expense of his arm. Sweat dripping from his nose and splashing onto the ground in front of him. He turned to you and his face–

Blank.

“Right,” you sighed, rubbing your face and trailing your hands up to your hair, “he’s faceless…”

He was strange, the opposite of what you’d expected the man to act like. You almost wished he’d just been some cocky asshole so it didn’t confuse you as much.

Something loud happened on the TV that made you jump and look forward. Hair nearly all fallen from the sloppy excuse for an updo. A breath escaped you, jumping again as your phone rang.

The silly, bubbly song falling from the rough speakers–your friend had changed it years ago and you had no clue how to change it, so you were stuck with some preppy pop song–buzzing erratically on the cushion. Your heart was beating out of your chest, stomach turning, face burning red. You watched it buzz for a second. The brief thought of not answering shot through your mind, but you decided against it. There was no way they’d just give up after one call. An unrecognized number on the dingy yellow screen.

Your throat was dry so it didn’t do much good. Swallowing, you grabbed the phone and flipped it open, hesitantly holding it up to your ear.

“Hello?”

Your voice was a little scratchy, but nervously high as it echoed back to you. 

“Ah hello!” the voice on the other end was deep, rough as it struggled through your speakers, “Beautiful mornin’ init?”

You shrugged, “Um, I’m sure it is Sir.”

You hadn’t left your house this morning. It was only about 11 anyway, so it’s not like you were shut in all day.

“Ach what’d I tell ya’ about tha’, John is just fine missy,” a chuckling rang between his words, and the grin on his face was evident through the words.

“Right sir–uh John,” you put a hand to your face, pinching between your brows, “John.”

He chuckled again, deep from his belly, “Don’t worry abou' it, darlin', expect ya' know what this call’ll be abou'?”

You nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see you and felt your cheeks flush, “Yes. T-the job right?”

“Indeed,” there was some shuffling on the other side of the phone, “Meet me at 2 today, I’d like ta' speak abou' this in person, face-ta-face, ya' know, not’a mention there’s someone I wan' you ta' meet!”

Licking your lips you paused your show, a rock on your stomach, “Um, are you sure? I really, I’m not sure if today would work best, I have some things to drop…off, and–”

“No,” the word was so solid, even through the crummy speaker you shut your mouth, “You’ll be 'ere at 2:00pm, dress yerself up proper, an' bring a notepad or some'tin to write on.”

With your elbow on your knee and your head in your hand, staring at the floor under you, nodding, you answered, “O-of course, I’ll see you at 2:00. Where would–where would you like to meet?”

"I’ll send you the address, we’re all very excited to welcome ya' to the team, 'eard some good things,” you heard the door open on the other side of the door, perking up slightly, listening in. You couldn’t hear what the other man had said, but Price sighed, “Gonna 'ave'ta cut our lil' convo short, I expect to see you at 2:00 sharp.”

With that the phone was hung up, your tongue fat and choking in your mouth. You threw your phone down, annoyed. With everything, the whole stupid situation. You should just call the cops. The idea seemed bright in your head for two seconds before it fizzled out.

“No…” you sighed and looked to the clock, 11:50, “That would be dumb…”

Pushing yourself up off the couch you rubbed your face and stretched your back. You hadn’t slept well last night, or the night before. In fact you hadn’t slept the night of the fight, so you weren’t running on too much at the moment. Shuffling your way down the hall to your bedroom, you looked through your closet. Thankful at least that you had some respectable clothing due to your job, throwing a pair of gray pleated slacks and a button up on the bed.. For a moment you wondered if Price would prefer if you wore a skirt. Then you scoffed at yourself.

Wandering to your bathroom, you started a shower, the water creaking to life through your pipes. Typically you’d throw on some music, but for some reason it felt out of place. Like you were supposed to be in silence, in mourning. The water was the only sound in the house.

Your mind wandered back to Simon, surely you’d be seeing him today. 

You thought back to him standing on the mat in the ring, hands practically grasping the metal cage in front of him, shadowed and standing like a titan in front of you. Shorts tight on his thighs, markings decorating his skin, color blossoming on his body. Muscles taut and rippling under his skin.

His face completely darkened, shadowed and black to your vision.

Sticking a hand under the water, you let it sit there for a second, the warmth engulfing it as you yawned. The door to your bathroom opened, it tended to get overrun with steam when you showered. Looking out into your bedroom, and to the clothes laying out on your bed. 

This couldn’t be real, there was no way. It sounded like some…shitty story you’d read on tumblr or something. Your boyfriend bets money he doesn’t have on an underground fight and loses, and now you have to work for the big fighters. What a joke.

You looked to your sink, pursing your lips at the potted plant that sat in it. You reached over and turned on the faucet, letting the pot fill to the brim, then turning it off, poking some holes in the first with your finger, watching the thirsty plant drink up the water.

Taking your hair down you sighed, and started to take off your clothes.

The shower passed quickly. Washing your hair, putting products in, and blow drying it in almost a trance. Standing with your arms crossed in front of your bed, staring at those clothes, skin soft with lotion and goosebumped from standing in the non-steamy air in just underwear and a bra. Lips scrunched and pouted. 

“Just put the damn clothes on,” you muttered, shaking your hair out, “You’re being a baby about this…”

You felt cheated, almost like you’re taking on someone else's punishment. The image of your ex’s face flashing through your head made you freeze up, brows raising a bit. He would probably have a TBI from the way those men–Simon, the name rolled through your head like a tumbleweed again–had dealt with him.

You didn’t want a TBI.

Quickly getting dressed, you tucked the creamy pinstriped button up into the slacks that were a little long while barefoot, you had bought them for heels, and buttoned it to the top, not tight enough on your neck that it left you clawing at it an hour into the day. Huffing dramatically you smacked your bed, looking to the clock. 1:20. 

Feet padding against the hardwood of the hall, leaning over the back of your couch to snatch up your phone. The screen reading one notification, you flipped it open, seeing the address that was sent.

You knew what street it was, about 20 minutes from your house, not too far of a drive. The office was at least a 30 minute drive, though it usually turned into 50 due to traffic and your car needed 10 minutes to heat up or it would crap out at a stop light.

You were relieved that the address wasn’t in the middle of one of the crappier areas. Not that the street was high end, but it wasn’t known for the drug corners or stabbings.

Hurrying to the bathroom, you threw your hair up, a little nicer than earlier, pulling parts of the front out by your ears and around your face. You debated makeup for a second, then decided a little wouldn’t hurt. Rubbing the lipstick onto your lips, nothing shocking, you honestly didn’t want to stick out at all, and bright red lipstick might not have helped that goal.

You grabbed a sweater, a dark piece with a wide square neckline. Stopping just below the waistline of the slacks, Belt sleek under it, you hated when a belt was bulky and obvious under a shirt or a sweater. It made your skin crawl.

You snapped your fingers, “Fuck right, a notepad…”

Looking around your apartment, you grew frantic, not finding anything. 

“How the fuck do I not have a notepad,” messing around in your bedside drawer, you found a thin brown notepad, the kind you flipped open, it was pretty much blank, save for a grocery list on the first page, but you can rip that out later. A pen clipped to it already.

Gazing at the clock, you groaned, 1:30.

Stopping by the door, you grabbed a pair of heeled boots, only about three inches, and not big boots. In fact you weren’t sure they were boots, you’d just always called them that. They might have just been regular shoes. Grabbing a bag, your wallet and phone in your hand, you paused at the door, hand gripping the handle. The metal cool under your touch.

Debating again, if you just ignored them…

Ryans face popped into your head. Broken bones, TBI…right.

With that you jerked open the door. The old thing creaking on its hinges.

The radio played in your car. Nearly silent with how low you had it. It wasn’t very cold out, slightly on the chilly side but there were plenty of people in shorts and t-shirts. 

But you’d also seen people in shorts and t-shirts in snow, so it didn’t really mean all that much.

You’d been sitting in the parking lot for 5 minutes already. You have 5 minutes to walk to the door. You’d driven past it, it was two stores down. You felt a little silly expecting it to be some super obviously sketchy place. But it was just a gym, a boxing gym. The sign was pretty nice, reading 141 with neon lighting around it. It wasn’t crazy fancy, it looked like one of those old school places. 

Your head hit the headrest, you turned off your car, and stepped out, keys clutched in your hand, squinting into the light. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

With a sigh, you rubbed your eyebrows, checking your reflection in the mirror. You looked tired, but not bad. Your lips had regained some moisture since this morning, hopefully you wouldn’t pick at them too much.

Checking the time you sighed, locking your car and quickly jogging to the street, making your way over to the building. Stopping in front of it and swallowing the spit stuck in the back of your throat. There was a big glass door on the wall, pushing it open, a bell dinged, as you tentatively walked in.

There was a front desk, and it led into a very open gym with a boxing ring in the back. Lots of punching bags littered around and some other equipment you didn’t quite understand.

There wasn’t anyone by the front desk. But there were people in the ring, and people in the gym, even though the number was low–two people in the ring and what looked to be a coach there as well. 

You took a few more steps inside, before a loud voice made you tense up.

“Aye, looky ‘ere,” a boisterous Scottish voice rang through the gym, looking to your side you spotted a tall man with a choppily cut mohawk strolling up to you, a bright pink cast on his wrist, almost to his elbow. Lots of signatures of drawings on it. Mostly dicks, the closer he got the more you could see. He was smiling wide and sweating, large basketball shorts and a tank top on. The tank top almost soaked through, sticking to his chest.

The gym reeked of sweat, and cheap cologne.

“Class, lookin’ bonnie ye are,” he stopped just about in front of you, hands on his hips and looked you up and down, “Whit are ye daein' in a place like this?”

You grinned at him nervously, almost looking like you were in pain.

“Um, Price?” you said, clearing your throat, “I have a job interview with Price–John…”

“Oh,” the man perked up, then got a little red in the face, “Sorry, lass, didnae realise ye were that bonnie thing, though it wis jist ma lucky day.”

Chuckling a bit you nodded, “Yeah, I, I think I'm actually late?”

You looked around for a clock.

“Late?”

“I was supposed to meet him at 2:00?”

He scoffed and waved you off, “Nah, he’s late, dinnae worry, come wi’ me, I’ll introduce ye tae the boys till he wraps up whit he wis daein’.”

He hooked an arm around your shoulder, stuffing you in his armpit, which reeked of sweat and strong deodorant. You nearly stumbled as he walked forward, grabbing his arm and trying to pull your head away.

“W-what–ugh, please–” you attempted to free yourself, but that man was strong, and his arms locked up, “At least away from the armpit–”

“You’ll like the boys,” he didn’t seem to have heard what you said, leading you to the back of the gym, around the corner to a more secluded looking boxing ring. Where two men were boxing, “They’re reeaall nice, especially tae the bonnie ones! Haha–real jokers those–”

The sweaty man was rambling about something, but your feet felt like lead as you spotted who was fighting.

Solid hits ringing out into the gym. Both in head padding, and gloves.

You spotted the large man in black shorts, tight on his thighs, hulking figure basking in the overhead light, beautiful ink splattered up his arm, his skin flushed as he moved, shirtless and glowy. Heavy grunts coming from the ring, solid punches landing.

Your feet felt heavy, almost stumbling a bit as the man dragged you closer.

Simon's muscles rippled under his skin as he threw punches, dodging, and light on his feet. Fully focused. Sweat dripped from him, splashing onto the mat under him. The man he was fighting in orange shorts, and a white boxing mask. It was the black man from the fight, you could see his face better through the mask. Eye still a bit bruised, but looking good, his shirt was tight on his body, like a compression shirt gym guys wear. He was much leaner than Simon, you noticed, but he still filled out the shirt.

“Boys!” the scots voice snapped you out of whatever thought process you were in, making you jolt a bit.

The two groaned and slowed down their hits, almost ignoring him.

“Look who I got!”

The pretty boy glanced over and smiled, signalling to Simon to stop, motioning to you with his head. Simon had his back turned to you, shoulders dropping in an irritated state as he turned.

His shoulders rising back up and his muscles tensing, his eyes widening, pink in his cheeks and forehead. He snapped his gaze to the man next to you, brows pinching.

“Oh hey!” voice muffled, the black man chuckled, pulling his head gear off and pulled out his mouth guard. You cringed as spit stuck to it, splattering a bit as he shook it off. He walked over to you two, past Simon–jabbing him in the gut as he passed. Simon grunted and muttered something under his breath, pulling his gloves off, “How ya’ been!”

You gulped, offering a nervous smile, “Um, pretty good…”

The man holding you chuckled, clapping you on the back, relaxing his grip so he wasn’t pulling you into his armpit as much, allowing you to stand to full height. Tucking some hair behind your ear you glanced at the man next to you then to the men in the ring. The pretty man was leaning against the ropes, removing his gloves, turning to say something to Simon. Who was still lingering back, meticulously removing his gloves.

Simon looked at him from under his eyebrows, then to you and the sweaty man.

“Ach, come on, Ghost, be a pal,” the man next to you bellowed, looking down to you, "He’s a wee bit shy, dinnae mind him."

You nodded, “O-ok.”

Your hair was a little ruffled, and your collar was popped on one side now, you didn’t notice Simon watching you.

“I’m Kyle by the way,” the black man held out his hand, as if for a hand shake, the man behind you nudged you forward, your heels clicking on the cement flooring. You smiled and reached up, shaking his hand, “Or Gaz, whichever you prefer.”

“Nice to officially meet you,” you felt incredibly out of place.

The man behind you snapped his fingers, you looked at him curiously, "Ah'm Johnny. Dinnae tell ye earlier, did ah?"

You shook his hand as well. Both men had strong grips, you’d wiped your hand on your pants after Kyle’s handshake, his hand sweaty from the glove. Made your skin crawl a bit as a matter of fact.

Simon walked up next, not leaning on the ropes like Kyle, his gloves and helmet off.

His hair was damp with sweat, cut short and even around his head, curling and waving slightly in places, stuck to his forehead and around his ears. A long scar running up his chin, and one disrupting his peachy lips, making the top lip curl slightly. Another smaller one on the side of his nose, which was strong and defined. Definitely having been broken before, a white scar splitting one of his eyebrows. His jaw was sharp and set, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. The stubble on his chin gone. You were right the night of the fight, his left eye was a bit swollen, a dark ring encompassing it, making his eyes look even more sunken.

Johnny grabbed your shoulder, snapping you out of your staring at Simon. Your face flushing as you realized you were in fact staring. Hoping it wasn’t for too long.

“Tha’s Simon, ah’m sure you knew tha’ though,” he giggled, Simon grunted.

“Yeah I introduce myself,” the words were a bit sharp, and Johnny waved him off.

“I do too!” he retaliated. Putting his hands on his hips.

Simon rolled his eyes and Kyle chuckled.

“Um,” you felt awkward interrupting them, feeling like an outsider, “Do, you know when Mr. Price is going to be back?”

You looked between them all nervously, Simon had his arms crossed in a broad stance, Kyle looked infinitely more relaxed. They both looked to each other and shrugged.

“Hell if I know, he went out to go talk ta’ someone but wouldn’t tell us who,” Kyle said, thinking for a moment, “I hope he brings back food.”

Johnny perked up, “Aye! I’m starved I tell ya’.”

Simon nodded, his gaze still locked on you. It felt more intense without the mask. Like he was sinking his brute hands into you, squeezing through you like wet clay, pushing their way to the center. Boring into you.

You straightened your sweater slightly, “He just left?”

The three nodded. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, checking the time.

2:15.

A snort of laughter rang out. You looked up, expecting something funny. Only to see the three men looking at you.

“What?”

“Wha’ is that?” Kyle pointed to your phone. With a confused look you held it up, “Yeah lass, tha’.”

“My phone?” you looked at it, sure it's a little old but what was wrong with it.

“Thangs a right relic,” Johnny cupped your hand that was holding it, pulling it closer. His hand was warm as it held yours, your brows pinching together as you looked at him.

Missing the way Simon’s lips pressed tight and his scowl grew.

“It’s not that old, come on,” you argued. Looking at the other two, pulling it back to yourself, Putting it away in your pocket.

Kyle grimaced, clicking his tongue, “I don’t know, it’s pretty old…”

You looked to Simon, seeking some sort of…anything as far as support.

He shrugged, a beat of silence, “Things're pretty old, almost as old as Price.”

A ring of laughter echoed through the part of the gym, Johnny clapping his thigh. You smiled as well, giggling to yourself. Simon’s smile was handsome, his teeth surprisingly straight (not perfect but better than you were expecting really), and his lip curled a little funny due to the scaring.

“Wot’s so funny?” a rough voice rang through the gym. You felt your heart jump and you looked back, Johnny doing the same. 

Price was walking up to everyone. Wearing jeans that were worn on his thighs and a tight button up that was rolled up to his elbows, sloppily tucked into his jeans. A tired look on his face and what looked to be an overstuffed planner in his hand. Rings decorating his meaty fingers.

His hair was tousled and shoes clicked on the cement.

“Simon here was just sayin’–”

A thick hand slapped itself onto Kyle's mouth, your eyes widening and a fought down smile making their way onto your face. Simon’s brows pinched tight as he sent a mean look to the pretty man. Whose face was smashed in Simon’s hold.

“Nothin’, sir, mindless chatter,” Johnny grinned.

Price scoffed and put his free hand into his pocket.

“I see you’ve met Johnny,” he gestured with the planner in hand. Eyes crinkling into a soft smile.

“Um, y-yes!” you grinned, holding your hands behind your back.

Price continued walking till he was close to the four of you, glancing up behind your shoulder–to Simon and Kyle presumably.

“Everyone introduce themself?” he looked at you, “Been civil wit’ ya’?”

You nodded, “Yes Mr. Price, everyone’s been kind.”

Johnny clapped you on the back, startling you and jolting your body forward a bit, “See, Cap, she's fine, nae need to worry yer little heid.”

Kyle scoffed, and you swore you heard Simon grumbling behind you. Price shook his head and he walked up, putting a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it.

“You ready for that meetin’ darling?” 

He smelled like strong cologne, ushering you with him, guiding you away from the three men by the ring.

“Yes, I believe so,” you glanced back at them as Price moved his hand to your back, pushing you forward with them. Your eyes meeting Simons, his brown eyes lighting up, his cheeks pink as he huffed. His eyes darting down to Price’s hand then back up to your face, Johnny facing him, saying something you couldn’t quite hear. Simon swung at him.

You looked back at Price who was looking ahead.

He led you both to a door, and inside was an office. Nothing fancy, carpeting, a set of four lockers in the corner, a door in the back that looked a bit more heavy duty than the one you two walked in. A metal desk against the wall with a (dying) potted plant by it, an old looking chair and a little coffee table. A coat rack with jackets and hats on it, and a water cooler in the corner.

It smelled like smoke and old air freshener. 

Price walked up his desk, leaning against it with a heavy sigh, gesturing for you to sit in the chair in front.

“Sit, please, can’t imagine those are comfortable,” he chuckled.

You looked to the chair and sat down, placing your bag at your feet. 

“Thank you–they, they aren’t that bad really, I’m used to wearing them at my job…”

Price perked up like he’d suddenly remembered something, “Yes, you’ll ‘ave to put in your two weeks.”

You blanked, puzzled, “I’m sorry?”

“You won’t 'ave the time to juggle this job an' that one, especially if it's a 9-to-5 gig. You'll be workin' a lot to pay off that debt,” Price rubbed the back of his head, and moved around his desk to sit in the groaning chair.

“I–” you looked at him, “I, can’t quit. I, I need the money sir, I don’t be able to pay rent or my-my car payment, I need to buy food and pay my insurance and–”

Price waved you off, “No worries, hun, we’ll take care of all that. Can’t 'ave our new assistant on the streets hungry, can we?”

You swallowed, “N-no I suppose not…I’ll be paying off that debt I accumulate as well I assume?”

Price laughed, crossing his arms on his desk, “Reckon Simon’d 'ave my 'ead for that!”

You tilted your head, confused, “Why?”

The man waved you off, “He’s a sweet man, wouldn’t stand for indentured servitude, I’m afraid.”

Nodding, you glanced down to your lap, where your hands were clasped tightly, licking your lips nervously.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

“What do you think of them?”

Looking up, you met Price's gaze, his hands folded under his chin. Eyes steady on your own.

“Who?” you paused for a second before pinching your brows together, a little embarrassed, “Oh–yes, them. They are all very nice, and they’ve been very sweet to me…I…”

You rubbed the back of your head, debating if you should bring it up, “I saw what they did to Ryan…probably would’ve done it myself if they hadn’t.”

Price laughed, deep from his belly, spooking you a bit, suddenly embarrassed.

“You should be thankin' Simon for that, 'ad to drag the man off the poor sap!”

Price rubbed his beard and shook his head.

“Oh,” you don’t know why your stomach flipped the way it did, or why your cheeks heated up, “I should thank him sometime.”

“Don’t worry about it, 'e was more than 'appy to do it, darlin',” he rolled back, jerking the top desk of his drawer open. You sat in silence, unsure how to respond to that. Simon sure was weird.

He pulled out a thick manilla envelope full of papers, nearly an inch thick.

He grunted as he placed it onto the desk smiling to himself as he pushed it towards you. The drawer closing with a startling rattle of the desk.

“I’m goin' to need you to fill these papers out and read through 'em by the end of next week, but good news is that’s all the paperwork you’ll 'ave to do for the hirin', mostly just liability stuff an' certain NDA’s,” he explained, you stared at the papers and nodded along, the feeling of your guts tying up. This was a real, dangerous thing. Not just a job interview, this was you tying yourself up with dangerous people.

Blood. Hardened knuckles. Scarred faces. Strong muscles.

You grabbed the folder, holding it in your lap, “Thank you, I’ll make sure it’s done.”

Price nodded, “Just turn it in 'ere when you’re finished. Gimme a call an' I’ll make sure someone’s 'ere to unlock the room for you.”

“Yes Mr. Price,” you gripped the folder.

“So formal,” he muttered, leaning back into his chair, “I’m just goin' to chat with you for a bit, ask a few questions if you don’t mind.”

“Yes sir, that’s no problem,” you smiled sweetly at him. 

He paused for a moment, looking at you, “How long you an' your boyfriend been datin'?”

You gulped, shuffling, “Um, it was just over 2 years…”

“Was?”

“I broke up with him,” you looked to the side, then back to the smiling man, looking very pleased with himself.

“Good! He was a lowlife anyway,” he crossed his arms, “Glad 'e won’t be draggin' you down anymore, you don’t deserve that.”

You blinked, “Th-thank you…”

He spoke like you two were familiar with each other. It was strange.

“Not to sound rude, but, you kind of sound like,” you paused, “Like you know me? I think I’d remember if we’d met before.”

Price laughed again, softer this time, “No, we haven’t met before, don’t worry, but your ex-boyfriend spoke about you a lot, all good things for the most part. Even when 'e didn’t mean 'em to be, they cast you in a good light.”

You scoffed, looking away, of course he would talk shit about you. What did you really expect?

Price’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, “Don’t pay it much mind. Look at 'im now–ah! Don’t worry about fairness, we’ll be visitin' 'im every now an' then to make sure 'e’s been behavin'.”

You nodded, not exactly put off by the idea, “Sounds like something Simon would jump on.”

“See you’re learning already!” he leaned over the desk and clapped your shoulder, jostling you, “You’ll get on fine, won’t be too challengin' of a job.”

You shifted in your seat, it was stuffy in the room, and it was growing hot. Unsure if it actually was or if you were just nervous–very possibly both.

“What would the job be, exactly?”

“Mostly just runnin' errands, keepin' medical papers in check, watchin' over the boys–make sure they don’t get into too much trouble, ya know–keep fight schedules in order, make sure the boys know what that is,” he thought for a moment, muttering to himself, “Ah–you’ll be accompanyin' me to meetin's an' 'elp a little with the tension between some of the fighters… they usually take information better from a pretty thing rather than a grumpy old man.���

You nodded, it was different from your other job, but nothing you couldn’t handle. You’ll just be his personal assistant pretty much.

“As you know Soap’s injured at the moment and –”

“Soap?” you felt your skin clam up when he shot you a look, realizing you’d interrupted him.

“Did he not–” with a sigh he explained, “Johnny is Soap, the loud scott out there, handsy one.”

You nodded, “Oh, sorry Mr. Price, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

He scoffed, waving his hand, “Don’t worry, those boys interrupt more than anyone I know. Get out a paper an' I’ll tell you their 'code' names.”

You rummaged around your bag, pulling out the brown pad and pen, opening it, looking at the large man.

“Soap, is Johnny MacTavish, Ghost would be Simon Riley, Gaz would be Kyle Garrick,” he paused, “I’ll send you a list of some of the other fights from other rings, they fight 'ere occasionally an' vice versa, you’ll need to know that as well. When in the ring, you are only to use those code names, for everyone's safety.”

“Yes sir,” closing the notepad, and placing it on top of the folder, which weighed heavy on your thighs. In fact your shoulders weighted down heavily as well, and your head, pulling at your neck.

Price clapped his hands together, “I believe that covers it for now, feel free to call if you’ve got any questions or anythin'. I’ll get you the boys' numbers as well, in case you need the muscle. Oh–and the ‘gym’ is open from 10:00am–11:00pm, I expect you to be 'ere at 8:00am, but I’ll let you know if that changes on the day.”

You clenched your teeth, he didn’t really expect you to work for over 12 hours did he. Everyday?

“Of course Mr. Price,” you nodded, forcing a sugary smile onto your lips.

“I’ll be payin’ you well, let's say $30 an hour?” he nodded to himself, “Yeah, you can do the math on 'ow long that’ll take you to pay off–probably good to mention that I’ll only pay for the 8 hour day, any time I keep you past that will just be your kind donation to the gym.”

He smiled, soft and sweet like he didn’t just tell you you’d be working for a few hours each day no pay, and you're just going to do it. Not like you could argue. You were already in this mess. 

Pressing our lips together, and then prying them open to flash teeth you nodded and made a noise in the back of your throat, “Yes sir. I’d be glad to.”

“"I’m sure the boys would appreciate it as well,” his chair groaned and creaked. It sounded like your bones were doing the same as you sat there. His gaze was sharp, even with the smile, it’s like he was looking at your thoughts, your inner workings.

Like he knew everything you were going to say before you said it–and he was waiting to get his witty reply out. Ready to bite at whatever managed to slither it’s way out from between your lips.

“You’ll start today, be 'ere for a few hours, learn the ropes,” he grinned wide, “I’m sure you’ll find it very fun, girly.”

Your heart sank.

(Word count: 6098)

tag list:

@msjaeger @jamdoughnuts

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Stay This Simple - A Babylon the Great Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: All the girlies miss Jo.

Chapter Title from Never Grow Up by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 2.6k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Jo have a girls night. Takes place around Chapter 19. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff

Read on A03!

It’s rare that you get the house to yourself. Bobby goes out on solo hunts less and less, the more the seals pick up. And he’ll say it’s because he needs to have all the lore in front of him—you think those two idjits are gonna recognize a seal case when it’s punchin’ them right in the kisser—but you know it’s because he doesn’t want to leave you alone. 

You’re not running. You’d promised Dean you wouldn’t run.

But Bobby’s known you your whole life. And he knows that if you don’t run, you implode. That if the pain starts to rip you to shreds, or the Silver builds out until you’re the tension of the electric wires overhead and the suffocation of the pipes underground, it won’t end well. It’s never ended well.

So if Sam and Dean are home for a few days, he’ll take a case. If they’re not, he’s sitting across from you at the table, or keeping an eye on you from his desk. 

But you’d managed to talk him into taking a quick salt and burn a town over—he’d been glaring at the paper all morning, and all he’d have to do is call you and you’d book it to his side—by promising that you wouldn’t be alone.

You’d have Jo.

“Why don’t y’all have snacks.” She mutters, poking through the pantry, and you frown, leaning over her shoulder. 

“We should. Unless-“ You pull out the empty Scooby Gummy box, and sigh. “Dean.”

“Wha-���

“He’s like a fucking dog.” You bite the corner of your mouth. “I bought these three days ago.”

“You bought him Scooby gummies?”

You can hear the smirk in Jo’s voice. And when you glare at her, it splits into a full grin.

“Awww-“

“Shut up.” You throw the box at her face, and she catches it with a laugh. “There are apples in the fridge.”

“Less Dean ate ‘em.”

You shake your head. “He doesn’t eat apples unless they’re in pie. Sometimes he’ll just like, glare at them.”

You don’t mention how adorable he is when he does it. How his brows furrow, and his lips pout slightly, and you always want to lean over and kiss the tip of his nose, just to see what would happen. If he’d smile, and kiss you fully in return. And maybe like he’d kissed you in the motel, or maybe like at the resort. But you’re not allowed to kiss him first, and even just staring at him for so long is indulging, which isn’t allowed either-

Jo snaps your name. “You listenin’?”

You weren’t. “Uh-“

“We gotta get changed, Star Wars is gonna be on soon.”

You sigh. “Why does it have be Star Wars-“

“Cause that’s what the TVs playin’. And I like it, so stop daydreamin’ about Dean and c’mon.”

She grabs your hand, starting to drag you up the stairs to your room, and you frown.

“I wasn’t daydreaming-“

“Yeah, you were.”

“No-“

She gives you a pointed look over her shoulder. “You were makin’ your Dean face.”

“I do not have a Dean face-“

“Yeah, you do.”

You roll your eyes, letting Jo half shove you into your room. “I am going to stab you-“

“That threat doesn’t work on me,” she hums your name, shoving sleeping clothing into your arms. “I ain’t scared of you, I’ve seen you cry about a butterfly.”

“It was missing a wing.” You mumble, the Silver straining slightly. “It was lonely.” 

“Yeah, I know, I was there.” She shoots you a teasing smile to match her tone. “And demons are afraid of you.” 

“That’s because I do stab them.”

“Yep. But you ain’t gonna stab me.” 

“Touche.” You pull your shirt over your head, grabbing your phone for a quick look. Just in case. 

No calls, two texts. One from Bobby telling you to check the wards before you go to bed, one from Sam saying he and Dean are alive, and probably just dealing with a ghost. 

Probably.

It could be something else. They could need you, Dean could need you, and you’re supposed to be benched to make everything easier, but it won’t be easier if Dean gets hurt, if it’s another seal and Lilith is there to kill him-

“That Dean’s shirt?”

You frown down, and swear under your breath. “Yeah, uh- Yeah. It is.”

“Why’d you have his shirt?” Jo’s grinning at you again, and you shrug like it’s nothing. Like you haven’t been clinging to it for seven years, even when the last threads of Gold in it are thin and faded, and it doesn’t smell like Dean at all. You’re not even sure he knows it’s his shirt. You’ve caught him looking at it, when it’s on the dresser, and there’s always a slight frown on his face. He probably just thinks it’s an odd shirt for you to own, out of place with the rest of your clothing. Too big. Impractical. If he knew, he’d have asked for it back a while ago.

Or he does know, and he can’t figure out how to bring it up. If that’s the case, you’ll have to give it back. It would be breaking the indulging rule, and the not about you rule to keep it. You only have it because it pre-dated the rules, but if Dean-

Better not to think about that. 

You’ve only been getting through the nights without him because the blankets are still coated in Gold, and the knowledge that this shirt was, once, Dean’s makes it like a sheet of armor.

“Yeah,” you sigh. You’ve never been good at lying to Jo. “But he only gave it to me because I was covered in blood.”

“And ya never gave it back?”

“I didn’t see him for a year. And when I did he was with John.”

Jo wrinkles her nose, her lip curling slightly. “Fuckin’ John. Dipshit loser.”

You snort, grabbing the biggest blanket off the bed. “Ass-footed bitch.”

“Pussy-faced baby.”

“Buttcunt.”

Jo snorts. “Good one.”

“Thanks.” You start to push out the door, and she follows with a thoughtful look.

“Dick-headed cockblock?”

You shake your head. “He wasn’t a cockblock-“

“He cockblocked you and Dean.”

“No-“

She scoffs. “Can you look me in the eyes and say you wouldn’t be bangin’ Dean’s dumb ass to heaven and back if John hadn’t told ‘im all those lies about you?”

Fuck. “Dean’s not dumb.”

“So that’s the problem you got with it-“

“Do you want to watch Star Wars or not?”

Jo sticks her tongue out at you, but drops it. 

For about half an hour.

“Y’all would have cute babies.”

You frown at her nails, focused on getting the glitter right. 

Sam and Dean say nails aren’t practical for hunting. They’ve obviously never clawed out the eyeball of a demon with acrylics.

“Who?”

“You and Dean,” Jo drawls your name, and the Spiderweb starts to glow. 

You still have to make your voice bored and neutral. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Sure ya will. And c’mon. They’d get all of Dean’s confidence and your brains, and you’re both pretty. If anythin’, you’d be improvin’ the human race!”

You sigh. “If it’s so important to you, why don’t you just have babies with him?”

She snorts. “First of all, gross. Second, as if he’d even look at anyone but you, Princess-“

“Jo-“

“And c’mon! You would! And they’d be way cuter than those dumb Jedi kids.”

“You know those kids die, right? In like, ten minutes.”

“Cause Anakin’s tryin’ to save his wife! It’s not his fault he’s manipulated!”

“He could’ve just. Used medicine.”

“They were force babies, it wouldn’t have worked. And it ain’t like you wouldn’t do the same for Dean!”

Your brow draws tight. You wouldn’t. Not that. 

But you simply wouldn’t let it come to that. And if it did, there are other things that you would do to save him. And they’re not good things.

“You wanna play the game?” Jo asks, her voice suddenly a little softer. 

She knows where your head went. She knows that you never mean for everything in you to flip that quickly, for the Silver to run right under your skin with barely any morning, but you can’t really control it, either. And she knows to back up, just like you know not to blame her.

Mostly, Jo just knows you.

“Haven’t we exhausted the game?” You run the finishing coat over her nails, and she shakes her head.

“Nope. I came up with new questions.”

“When?”

“Long shift at the Roadhouse.” She shrugs, pulling her hand back with a grin. “Nice.”

“Thanks.” You settle back into the couch, pulling the blanket a little tighter over your body. “Hit me.”

“Okay, high school.” 

You frown at her. “You went to high school-“

Jo snorts. “More than you, but not like, for real. And it’s my scenario, you gotta go first.”

“Fine.” You sigh, dropping your head on her shoulder. “You’d be on a sports team.”

“Wha- No, I wouldn’t-“

“You don’t like sitting still.” You shrug. “And you’re stronger than everyone else. You’d dominate track and field.”

Jo hums, nodding slowly. “Dominate. Yeah, okay. I’ll dominate. You’d be a cheerleader.”

You glare at her, but she pushes on before you can object.

“I’m right. You’re kinda mean, and controlling, and cool.”

“I am not controlling-“

“Dean calls you bossy.”

“Yeah- But- Cheerleader-“

“They’re not all bitches. And you’d hate it, but you’d do it cause you’d be good at it and you’d wanna rub it in people’s faces.”

You scowl, and she’s got you there. “I am not being a cheerleader.”

“Fine, you’re the smart bitch that everyone’s kinda scared of. Or,” Jo grins at you. “You could be both-“

“No-“

“And you and Dean could be the couple where no one’s sure how he got you-“

“Jo.” 

“Right. No Dean talk,” Jo sighs, bumping your knee with her’s. “But I’m right.”

You elbow her, she whines like a wounded dog—she’s faking, you can see it all over her smug face—and you push on. 

“My turn. Uh-“ You pause, trying to come up with something. “Shape-shifting. Into an animal.”

“Oooh, good one. Are there like, lions with wings?”

“Probably, yeah.”

“Okay, you’d be one of those.”

You frown at her. “I’d be a lion with wings?”

Jo nods. “You roar, and you’re magic. I think you’d like flyin’ to. You’d like, rule the world.”

You hum, and take it. There are worse things to be.

Jo’s a dolphin. Cute but violent and quick. And when it’s Jo’s turn again, she has been coming up with things. Likely in preparation for tonight. 

You always play the game, when you have one of your mock sleepovers. It’s derived from when Dean told her about your old habit of sorting people—which you never did that much, but he always grinned and looked so pleased with himself whenever you said what he was—and she started giving you more and more complex scenarios. Then she’d answer it back for you, and it turned into a game. Sometimes the scenarios are just what bender tribe—she’s a waterbender, you’re a firebender—and sometimes they’re if we worked for the mob.

That was one of your favorites. You’d be a stripper that turns into the top gal—Jo watches too many gangster movies—of the city, and Jo would be your right-hand woman. You’ve watched Untouchables with Dean too many times to make the mistakes all those old men made. You’d never get caught.

And it’s always a good game. Distracting. Fun. Jo’s always liked escapism, and you’ve always liked thinking about people, so it fits well. 

You both know it could never be real. 

But it helps.

“Superheroes.”

Jo lets out a dramatic sound of exasperation. “You ask about superheroes every fuckin’ time-“

“I don’t have any other ideas right now! And you have a different answer every time-“

“Cause I forget my first one-“

“Answer the question-“ Your tone drops to a mocking one of her’s and you just manage to scramble back from a punch to the gut. “That’s rude, Joanna-“

“Don’t Joanna me, you ain’t my mom-“

“Don’t Princess me then!”

“I did that like a fuckin’ hour ago! And it shouldn’t be a problem if you don’t love Dean-

You cover her mouth with a glare, and you can see her smile in her eyes. “You’d have water powers. Your turn.”

You release her, and she wrinkles her nose at you. “You always say I’d have water powers.”

“Because you are water.”

“I- What?”

You sigh, dragging a napkin and stray pencil off the coffee table. “Souls are all different elements. Yours kinda looks like…” You trail off, focusing on the paper, and sketch out all the thin, strong and soothing lines of Jo’s blue, starting in her throat and flowing out. It’s crude, but when you pass it to Jo, she takes it with careful hands and smile.

“Is this- Me?”

You nod, rubbing at the scar on your palm. “Your soul, yeah.”

She nods slowly, looking up at you with a curious expression. “Are all souls like this?”

“No, um- You know I’ve said they’re all different colors?”

She hums an agreement, and you sigh.

“Well, they’re sort of like different elements, too. You’re,” you tap the paper. “Water.”

“Oh.” Jo tilts her head at the paper, then looks up to you. “What’s my mom?”

“Also water. But you’re like, ah- A really strong mountain river. And Ellen’s like the ocean.”

“Yeah, okay. Can I- Um-“

“You can ask.”

“Alright. Just don’t wanna push it-“

You shrug, offering her a small smile. “Bobby?”

She nods, glancing back down to her paper, and you take a slow breath.

“Earth. Like- Forest soil. Compact. And I-” Better to just say it before she asks. “I don’t know what Sam and Dean are.”

Jo pauses. “Why?”

“I just- They’re not just an element. It’s like- raw.”

“Huh.” Jo watches you carefully. “What are you?”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

“I- I’m not sure I have a soul-“

“Don’t be insane.” Jo gives you a flat look. “Yeah, you’re all magic and shit, but you probably just got a magic soul.”

“I don’t know what that would look like.”

“Probably sparkly.”

You laugh. “Sparkly?”

“Yeah, you’re like a firework.”

“I- Thanks?”

“You are welcome.” Jo yawns, grabbing her long empty beer bottle and blowing a low note on the top. “Do we gotta clean up?”

“Nah, we’ll do it in the morning.” You shrug, frowning around the slight mess of wrapped and soda cans, lit by the long turned-off TV. “Maybe Dean will get back early, and clean up for us.”

“You just want Dean to get back-“

“I can still make you sleep on the couch.”

“No!” Jo vaults up, bolting for the stairs in half a second and calling over her shoulder. “That’s where Dean beats his meat!”

You snort, thankful that she’s long out of the room. She can’t see your flush. “You know he sleeps in my room-“

“Ha! Got ya to say it!”

She deserves to sleep on the couch. 

You’re still not going to make her. You didn’t store the Gold-stained sheets in the closet and make the bed just to change them back at two in the morning. Jo’s staying with you, and neither of you are going to sleep, but that’s what friends do.

You think. You never really had any, before her.

Doesn’t matter. 

It’s what you and Jo do. Stay up all night then crash in the morning when you can, just because—so rarely—you can.

And as long as you have one friend, have Jo, who you can tell anything and makes you sort of understand Sam and Dean’s weird brother bond, that’s more than enough.

End Note: Made myself sad. Oops.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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[b4tteryaciid]

Ghost likes to bake and cook food.

Its calming for him, no unexpected surprises. Sure he likes the spontaneous unexpectivity that comes with working in the military, but sometimes it becomes too much. When he's been in a contant stage of flight or fight for weeks and his limbs are so tense they're being held together by balls of rubber bands. When he's tired of eating bland and too crunchy and simletaniousy too squishy MREs. Sure he's taught himself to power through and had just been eating not for pleasure, just to keep himself alive but sometimes it gets to be too much. Sometimes the unpredictability and shit lackluster food makes those rubber bands snap. Then he's forced to take leave. When his body becomes so tired and he's been waking through water for months. Becoming increasingly miserable without realizing it that he's banished back to his dusty, unkempt flat by Price.

He knows that if he doesn't occupy himself with something he'll slip back into the depths again and won't come back up without Price dragging him back up. Back out of bed and out the front door. It happened before and he dreads for it to happen again, so he bakes cakes and cookies and complicated sweet treats and cooks big extravagant meals with so much food he could never eat it all himself. He loves the simplicity of it, or, rather, the predictability that comes with it. Reading the instructions on the side of the box or from a mom's blog online. Sometimes he doesn't even need instructions, he just knows what the outcome will be. And even if he doesnt, even if he's just trying something new, he knows he won't get in trouble for it. He knows it won't end up with someone being sent home in a box. He knows he'll just have to throw out the failed attempt and it'll all be okay.

He'd loved cooking from when he was little. Part of it might have been from his sorry excuse of a father forcing his son to make the family dinner because he was too drunk to do it. He didn't like to think of that though, it just made him angry again, but even back then, with everything going on in his life, he still loved the cooking. A part of it might have been that his father couldn't hurt him while he was cooking. Whether it be because he didn't want to disrupt his meal being made or because his son was holding a sharp glistening knife or armed with a sizzling pan, either was plausible. He cooked as much as he could because it kept him happy and he wouldn't be hurt while he did it. He didn't like to dwel on his introduction to cooking much considering why he cooked so much. He'd even taken culinary classes in high school before he ran away and he'd loved them. His culinary teacher saw this scared, violent kid in him and took him under her wing. She was the sweetest woman he'd even met and he hoped she was well. She even held him after school and helped him cook or had him help her clean. She'd even help him with his homework sometimes or she just let him sleep until she had to go home and so did he. She might not of known it, or, maybe she did, she was a smart woman, but she was saving his life. Saving him from his hell at home. She was the main person to thank for his love of the culinary arts, he would tear up thinking about her kindness even to this day.

When he and Johnny had gotten together, even not officially, he'd started making food for him. The entire 141 had bonded at this point and he'd even started making food for Gaz too, and, obviously, Price. One week they'd all managed to snag leave at the same time and Ghost had seazed the opertunity, inviting them all to his flat to spoil them rotten. He knew he was going to cook like a madman and would love people he trusted amd cared for to eat it, so, he made a huge meal. Even made some recipes from everyone's childhoods, learning to make some Scottish dishes and Gaz's favorite stew of his mom's and Prices grandmother's cookies. They'd all feasted and crashed in the living room around the TV with something playing. Soap and Gaz had picked it and he wasn't watching much of it anyways.

Hed gotten so many compliments that night that his face was a deep shade of crimson from them all. He was so thankfull that his stress hobby actually provided some joy to someone other than himself. They'd challange him with making different dishes and would ask him to make things for them sometimes and it made him feel so validated. So what if the 141 regularly scheduled leave together and stayed at Ghosts flat?

[glaucouscherubim]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ "𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒂? 𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖?" ✧.*

𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓱 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓷𝓸 𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼.

She looks like a preppy, she talks like a preppy, she acts.... well who's to say she doesn't act like a preppy. Does this mean she's a preppy? No. If anything, she's an imposter.

More of an Art Clique type though it is more like another Nerd clique that hates the other Nerd Clique. She's more the leader.

Chef for the Harrington House. She does it for kitchen access.

More in dept oc lore dump under

Around the art room, diners, and abandoned garages, you may see some girl wearing an Aquaberry sweater vest smelling like a mixture of rosewood incense and cigarettes. She could either be hosting a paint and sip with virgin drinks, sketching her peers, or smoking cigarettes while squatting down in some alleyway listening to her iPod. Between that, or cooking at the Harrington house.

Seraphina-Jolie Allard, a mouthful therefore she is only called Seraphina or Jolie. The daughter of a Casino owner and the CEO to the jewelry company known as Angel Tears.co, both being made from humble beginnings.

Her mother, known as Marnie Pham-Oswald, was born to a trailer park family before her company was seeded. An ex-cop father who only sat in front of the tv smoking and drinking beers, and a beauty pageant mail-order-bride of a mother. She was more so raised by the people in holding cells; they watched over her, entertained her, told her stories... and taught her slight of hand...

Her father, Andre-Baptiste Allard, was an orphan French runaway... He doesn't talk about his childhood. All is known was that he was first found sleeping in the guest room of a Casino and then suddenly became a janitor. He began pulling his own weight and climbing. Climbing the ladder from janitor, to server, to messenger, to confidant, to right hand, to under boss, and finally, the owner.

The couple raised her to be humble. Wanting to give her the average childhood while paving the way for her in a comfortable life. While teaching her life lessons, they also taught her about alliances. Her father had introduce her before to a few suspicious people about a job. He's taught the trade, as did her mother.

Moving on from her family, we get to her academics. Good grades throughout, exceeding in science and mathematics while wavering in geography.

For her social life, she is generally known as snarky, sarcastic, judgmental, and yet also calm?...

𝗕𝘂𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗲𝘀: She's rude. They hate her and she hates them. In general, they just ignore each other. Can't even be in the same room. 𝗡𝗲𝗿𝗱𝘀: The Art Nerds clique think they're better than the Nerd-Nerds clique. They are literally the same thing except ART burnouts. 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗲𝘀: She acts too poor for their taste but she does box sometimes to stay fit and she cooks good. She's rich enough to be on their ranks but she doesn't act like it. Bif is the closest to her, they just work out together. She leaves Tad to himself... he just has this look in his eyes that she doesn't want to touch. He's going through something... she knows it but she won't ask... 𝗝𝗼𝗰𝗸𝘀: She plays on the softball team. That's it. 𝗚𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘀: They assume she's a preppy. They don't really like her but sort of tolerate her. The two guys she talks to is Ricky and Lefty. Ricky and her met when she needed help, going over to the Auto Repair shop for help on her bike. Ricky was the only one there, she offered to pay him if he taught her how to fix it herself. She met Lefty through him, they became sort of close and smoke together. Movies sometimes, the carnival when it's here. She has a sort of crush on them, more on Ricky even though it is unrequited. 𝗧𝗼𝘄𝗻𝗶𝗲𝘀: They know her as that one girl that just stops at places to sketch or take photos.

Other notes:

Other than boxing and softball, she does ice skate and rollerblade.

She has a zippo with a flower engraved on one side and the words "Purify me" on the other. It's held in her biker shorts under her skirt. In the other pocket she has a small container holding her lipgloss and four cigarettes. She only smokes 4 a month.

She owns a Docomo.

She drives a Kawasaki ninja zx-6r. A hand-me-down from her father's friend's cousin.

Extra links:

Will add links here for other posts regarding this character

[darkhymns-fic]

Disease

Husk yearns for Alastor's attention—but the feeling is overwhelmingly mutual.

That's the thing about jealousy. It's such a disease.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters/Pairing: Alastor/Husk, Vox, Angel Dust Rating: M Word Count: 7,522 Mirror: AO3 Notes: Written for Radiohusk Week, Day 4: Jealousy. This was in collaboration with @indoodlingmadness for their amazing art! (Check it out on bsky and twitter!)

--

1.

-

Half-slouched on the couch in the hotel parlor, Husk swore that the television commercial in front of him was playing on loop. But it was never the exact same, minimal differences here and there, from the background set to the changes in script. There were dozens of different recordings put out on the dot of every hour. Vox’s desperation was so palpable that he could feel it coating his tongue with its slimy texture. Watching this might as well have made his brain bubble and melt within his skull.

The thing was, there really was nothing else good on TV. 

“—And that’s why radio is archaic, boring, and absolutely worthless in today’s modern age!” Vox was holding up another weird stick drawing of the terrifying Radio Demon, somehow getting his smile just right. His desk was shiny, but rattled, the surface of it decorated in claw marks. The neon lights behind him seemed to crack and spark, pulsing in time with Vox’s breathing. Just a few commercials ago, it had been looking new and fresh. “Look at him! You wouldn’t trust that guy in an alleyway!”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the idea,” Husk spoke to the screen, taking a swig of his bottle. In that reception, he saw those antennas spark furiously from that oversized microwave for a head. Televisions were always a two-way deal down here in Hell, and even if the Overlord might have caught his sarcasm just then, he knew he wasn’t the real focus of his ire.

A small crackle that further ruined the reception of the screen. A horrible ruptured feedback that set Husk’s teeth on edge. But his discomfort didn’t match the intensity he saw in Vox’s eyes.

“Oh, Husker. You really should turn such a dreadful thing off. Think of the electricity bill!”

Alastor acted like he hadn’t been watching from afar for the past hour. Husk could tell, just from the very way his fur stood up, from that specific sensation of eyes watching from the shadows. Except, those eyes hadn’t been so directed at him either.

No, just these two Overlords staring at each other from across the room in some weird sickening obsession.

“Don’t you dare shut me off! I know where you sleep!”

“Likewise, old pal!”

When Alastor finally reappeared near the couch Husk sat on, he gave a small wave at the television screen. Another small crackle, one that seemed to make the outdated picture box overheat. Or maybe that was just Vox himself getting all hot and bothered.

Husk rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Was getting bored anyway.” He then reached for the remote that was by his side.

“WAIT I WASN’T DONE–!” Click.

Alastor sighed with a sort of euphoria. “Ah, sometimes, silence can truly be golden.”

“Really? This coming from the guy in love with his own voice.” 

It had only been a few weeks since Vox had tried to get Sir Pentious working as a spy for him, but since that plan had spectacularly failed, the Overlord took things in his own hands. Soon, nearly anything with a screen in the hotel, such as a television set, a phone, and even the fucking fridge because it was using so-called ‘smart technology,’ was filled with the guy’s obnoxious face, shouting the same obscenities over and over to get at Alastor who only passed by such performances. 

Husk was silently grateful to himself that he only moved with the times as far as flip phones and nothing beyond that. He didn’t know what he’d do if he had to wake up to Vox screaming in his ear about Alastor not paying attention to him.

And besides, the Radio Demon was paying attention to him. Even more than usual.

“Ha! Of course anything I say would have some worth, my friend.” Alastor tapped the head of his cane against his palm, sparing another glance to the now dead TV set. “But I truly don’t care what such a low brow television personality has to say about anything!”

Husk took another sip of his drink. The beer tasted more bitter than usual. “That why you didn’t mess with the cameras today?”

And why you let him see you whenever you can?

As he thought this, he let his gaze slide around the room. No, it wasn’t even just the television or the phones that Vox would spy from. A small flash of a camera lens peeked out from the torn wallpaper, another was wedged into a crevice somewhere on the mantelpiece in the parlor. All not so very subtle, not even a little bit. Charlie had wanted to get rid of them, but Alastor had insisted on leaving them in place. She wanted the hotel to be promoted, he reasoned, and now she got it!

But the real reason was because he enjoyed it. His boss liked Vox’s attention.

Husk tightened his grip on the glass bottle. Why was he even thinking about this?

“He can have his little toys if he wants, for there is nothing to hide!” Alastor said with another tinny laugh. “Perhaps he’s seeking a little redemption of his own?”

“You fucking know that’s not the reason,” Husk said, with more venom than he meant to. He couldn’t keep the words in, not with the way they burned his throat. “What do you get out of it?”

At that moment, he wondered if he revealed too much, but his boss simply chuckled before sashaying across the parlor, away from him. Suspicious-looking lights blinked above him, catching his every motion, his every step.

“I’m an entertainer, Husker! At the very least, I can put on a good show!”

“For an audience of one,” Husk countered.

“It doesn’t matter the size of the crowd. One must give it their all!”

He wanted to say something else—to shout something else. But an insistent vibration in his trousers pocket pulled away his attention. He didn’t even see where Alastor went, though likely to where the most screens were.

Husk pulled out the phone, flipped it open. He was greeted to a barrage of text messages in all caps.

[HEY!!11 WHERE’S ALASTOR?! TELL HIM 2 UNBL0CK MY NUMBR! AND 2 GET AN ACTUAL PHONE1!]

With a grimace, Husk gripped the phone until the casing cracked. 

He was so fucking sick of this.

–

Even with the dense crowd at the shaking club, Angel had been able to find Husk—who was predictably sitting right at the bar, already going through his second bottle. Not exactly a hard search.

“Sooo is there a reason ya asked me out here?” Angel said as he pulled up a chair. He was wearing a pink, feathery shawl over his shoulders, completing his outfit with rhinestone-rimmed sunglasses. He leaned over the counter, flicking up his shaded accessories with a finger. “Knew it was only a matter of time before we hit the next level, whiskers.”

Husk gave him a sideways glance, then sighed. His claws tapped against the counter, which continued to vibrate with the beat of some song he never heard of. “I just needed to get out of the hotel. It’s fucking misery.”

Angel gave a cackle, slapping Husk’s shoulder. “Circuits-for-brains getting to you? Baby, it’s way worse in person.”

“I know. I’ve met this guy plenty back then.” It was one of the downsides of being an Overlord—you had to get to know the other Overlords and what territories they held, even if you hated the other’s guts. “He’s somehow gotten worse. Didn’t think that was even possible for that egomaniac!”

Angel already had a cocktail in his hand, sex on the beach style. Husk wondered if he just pulled it out of a purse. “Been meaning to ask ya. Does he and Alastor have some sort of…whatever going on? I know Vox has always been into voyeurism but usually he sort of like, does it to everybody instead of one person.”

Husk waved away the question, scoffing. “Fuck if I should know. They used to be friends or business partners, or whatever.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Ohhh, so they definitely have some kinky shit going on!”

Husk didn’t really want to think about it. So what if Alastor was into what Vox was doing? So what if Husk had to see it? It didn’t matter what his boss was into—there was already a laundry list of awful things Alastor craved that turned Husk’s stomach.

And this was no different.

Before he could even think of ordering another bottle, he felt Angel take his wrist, easily slipping him off the stool. His wings spread out to keep his balance, and his tail brushed against Angel’s right leg in reflex. There was the flash of a white and gold-speckled smile before him.

“Look, sourpuss. You didn’t call me out here just so I can watch you drink yourself into a coma. I already see enough of that at the hotel.” Two more hands grasped Husk’s waist, pulling him into the dance floor. “Let’s have some fun already! Then we can get wasted later!”

“Fine, but if you step on my tail, I’m calling it off.” 

Still, Husk couldn’t help but smile a little bit, because like it or not, Angel was oddly good at cheering him up. The guy could be funny, could be charming when he wasn’t putting on his usual persona, and could take his mind off less pleasant things for at least a little while.

And besides, there were other ways to drown out his feelings besides through booze and sleep. Dancing to the club’s beat was a good start.

That is, until one is reminded.

Hours later, at some point in the night, Husk was more than a little drunk, and Angel was hanging off his shoulders, laughing at some nonsense that fell from his lips in chaotic fashion. “So that whole waterboarding thing is already out because the market is so niche, and Val’s pissed! Now we’re back to student-teacher junk, and he just tells me to look younger for it. Like bitch, I’m ageless already!”

It wasn’t even really that funny, but Husk was laughing, unable to stifle it in his chest. Angel just had a knack for telling work stories, which he’d tell even back at the hotel bar.

But he made the mistake of turning away, just for a moment. He only wanted to lean against a table, and didn’t trust his body to not fall on its ass. So he needed to use his eyes, and he happened to find something in the far off corner.

Laughing shadows, with sharp red eyes and wide smiles. One of them moved forth from a puddle of black on the floor, never minding the trash it maneuvered around—of discarded beer cans, wadded up condom wrappers, and spare change that sparkled in the club’s multicolored lights. The shadow was a small thing, a doll covered in stitches that held together its insides, with a stray green thread leading from its back.

It looked straight at Husk, tilted its head to the right. Then more, and more until the top of its horns were level with its nubby shoulder. It was mouthing something at him, its voice drowned out by the club’s music and the shouts of other sinners having the time of their afterlives.

Even so, Husk heard it. The voice pounded in his skull like a persistent beat.

Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

And then the shadow sunk into the dirty floor, leaving nothing, not even a stain behind.

–

Nothing happened once he and Angel came back to the hotel. No acts of punishment, no pulling of the chain to make him fall to his knees. Husk expected some sort of retribution, for pissing off Alastor for ditching work.

But there were only eyes in his back as he walked back to his room, half-stumbling both from drunkenness and exhaustion—and they weren’t the eyes he expected, or even wanted right now.

In the hallway, Husk saw another camera, one that was perched in the corner. It swiveled, red light blinking. He heard the camera zoom in on him, the electricity sparking inside its metal casing.

With barely a second glance, he threw a card at it, slicing through. It bursted unceremoniously, the light on it growing dark.

Vox’s toys had always been such pieces of trash.

–

The next day, all the cameras in the hotel had disappeared.

Some had been ripped out from their placing within the walls, in the corners of rooms, or wherever else Vox had shown his ugly face on. This included anything with a screen. The television in the parlor was now unequivocally broken, the screen cracked, leaving nothing but static when one tried to turn it on. The ‘smart’ fridge was also completely wrecked, as if it had been torn apart by giant hands. (This also resulted in their food being destroyed, which Husk had to then make a shopping trip for and put it all in a good old icebox). Everyone made sure to hide their phones, but nothing Vox-related was streamed to them besides the occasional malware-infected ad or two.

Even so, Husk still felt eyes in his back. When he worked. When he chatted with others. When he slept.

He knew why. 

A sliver of a shadow that ducked away at the last moment, of burning eyes and short arms. Small bouts of laughter he could barely hear, even in the dead of night. Suddenly, there was intense focus on him. It felt like hands around his neck, keeping him in place, just short of squeezing to cut off his air.

Still, Alastor hadn’t shown up or spoken with him. Instead, the Overlord had locked himself in his radio tower, the ‘ON AIR’ sign always on, blaring in the red-drenched sky.

Yet, when he’d dare turn on the radio in his room—a so-called gift from Alastor, one of old-make, crafted from wood, so that he could contact Husk whenever necessary—and find that dreaded radio station, he couldn’t hear anything. No songs, no screams. Just dead air.

Husk would sometimes sit on his bed, within the dark, waiting. He’d flick a glance to the corners, catch another small shadow doll staring, licking its lips, stifling laughter.

“What do you want?” Husk growled out. “I know it’s fucking you. Is this some new shitty prank of yours? Or are you mad I broke one of those cameras?” A bitter taste poisoning his very insides again. “Come out then and talk to me!”

A small twist of its head, the eyes refracting red light that spilled onto the floor. Another little shake of its body, a smile stretched in a copy of its very master, before it then finally slithered away back into the shadows.

But it didn’t really leave. He could still see the smile. The red eyes. Always in the corners, watching him.

He didn’t understand Alastor’s game anymore.

And he didn’t understand just why he wasn’t hating this as much as he thought he would.

–

Another week passed. Alastor stayed locked in his radio tower. His station only played dead air and nothing else.

The shadow dolls still moved about the hotel, trailing after Husk wherever he went. Even outside, he’d see them crawl along the cracks in the sidewalks, or hang from trees, tracking his every movement. They were rarely subtle now. Always watching.

Yet, there would be nothing else. Just waiting, and waiting for something to happen. To change.

“Still keeping this up,” he once said quietly, polishing a glass at his bar, feeling those eyes again. The little creatures were sentient, and certainly had their own consciousness. But Alastor had always used them to do his bidding, whether that was fixing up a broken wall to trailing down a victim for his next show.

“Can you even see me?” Husk asked next, looking straight at one of those little dolls that was behind a rye bottle on the shelf. This one was slightly larger, with sharp teeth that looked rusted. It was salivating, staring right at him with what looked like a blank gaze. “Or do you just hear me instead?”

Vox was the one with screens, with cameras, with all the voyeuristic tendencies to spy and get every detail he could.

But just as Alastor was a good talker, he was also a good listener. A skilled eavesdropper that didn’t need visuals to get any juicy information he needed. Words and sounds were usually enough for him. Also, he had once told Husk, ‘A great auditory experience will light up the imagination far more than what a picture box could ever do.’

What could Alastor have heard down at the club on that night? There had only been a mess of noise everywhere. No way he would have been able to pick up any sort of conversation.

The doll shifted, tapped its claws against the rye bottle, clinking away at the glass. Its red gaze burned and pulsed. It started to melt away into the darkness.

Husk grabbed at its head before it could leave, wrenching it back up. A glass bottle fell to the floor, spilling out all the rye. But for once in his afterlife, there was something else far more important. 

He dug his claws against its cheeks. It was both soft and slimy at the same time—he could feel the rough fabric that was its skin, the stuffing that poked out from between its stitches. But he could feel something else, something wet and sticky, leaving his hand covered in tar.

“Alastor!” Despite the doll’s wicked teeth, he leaned in close so that nothing could be missed. “Tell me what you want!”

The doll opened its mouth, crying out, before devolving into unhinged laughter. It shook in Husk’s grip like a wriggling insect. If it was trying to say something, he couldn’t understand. Any words were swallowed up by its own laughter, high-pitched and keening.

Then, it stopped. It leaned forward, its red eyes shining bright. “Husker,” it said, its voice an awful mesh of monstrous and electrical, still sounding like it came from some sort of demonic speaker. “Just how obtuse can you be?”

Its red eyes continued to burn, growing hotter, until it engulfed its entire face. Husk felt the flames lick at his fingers, and quickly let go of the doll that had self-immolated in such quickness. It turned to ash before it could even hit the ground.

—

2.

-

Alastor hadn’t left his radio tower because there was something wrong with him.

And it isn’t what everyone would think, of course.

His claws tapped against the metal dials before him, the soundboard of his station buzzing with frequencies to broadcast throughout Pentagram City. Lately, he hadn’t had as much time for his weekly broadcasts, with special Overlord guests to serenade his listeners with their screams of agony and rage. It had been such a popular program, always premiering at 6pm on Friday nights! A perfect lead in to the weekend and truly give his listeners something vital to unwind to. But he had been busy with the hotel, and he wouldn’t give his beloved audience any lackluster performance.

Yet, even so, he would turn on the mic, and let it play absolutely nothing.

He would let it play and play. Saying nothing. Singing nothing. Screaming nothing.

Because he was too preoccupied with listening.

Familiar little steps, along with high-pitched giggling, echoed from his right. He swiftly turned his neck, the bone cracking like kindling. The acoustics of the tower made the sound vibrate, falling along the metal grates, the barred windows, and the red-lit neon sign. In the dim light, he saw one of his precious minions, climbing up the legs of his chair to perch itself on an arm rest.

They were such beautiful, vicious little creatures. Always so eager to please. Always getting him the latest gossip. Always retrieving for him the most suitable guests for his radio program. And, there were few hobbies so relaxing than crafting them himself. A cross stitch for the arms, for the neck, shaping up their little smiles to align so well with his. After all, one must be proud of their own creations.

As the doll’s red eyes started into his, which blazed like the depths of a fireplace, it played back for him something from its open mouth.

“Boss,” spoke a voice, harsh like gravel. “It’s been weeks. Why are you avoiding me?”

Then the doll shut its mouth with a sharp snap, sharp teeth grinding. It snickered, blinking up at its master while its pointed tail wagged.

Alastor considered, tapping his claws against the metal of his station. He would have to make sure his little creatures were more hidden. Husker speaking to him ruined his experience. No, he would just listen in on his dear friend go about his day, speak with the guests, and make sure he had a goodnight’s rest. Simply overseeing, as was part of his own duties as the hotelier. After all, he had to make sure his employees were doing their job.

Darling Niffty could be trusted. But, Husker, on the other hand… he always had such little motivation. He was doing the layabout a favor! He even got rid of those cameras that his friend had complained so much about. There had been no other reason he did such a thing.

None at all.

Then, the doll opened its mouth again, the red eyes pulsing like a heartbeat. Alastor felt the tremor run over his back before he could even comprehend the emotion.

“Hey, whiskers! Talking to yourself again, huh? I ain’t judging.”

Alastor’s smile tightened. That same smile tightened on the doll’s face in perfect mimicry.

That spider was such a distraction for poor, slothful Husker. Yes. That was the problem here. That was why he felt such bile in his throat. Of course. The hotel’s first guest was making Husker the worst he’s ever been.

That was the only thing that made sense.

He quickly closed the doll’s mouth with a thumb. “Enough,” he said, the hum in his mind growing louder. “Such a voice has no place here.”

Yet that accompanying sound was getting much too common lately. It was rather unpleasant to the ears.

Alastor patted the little doll on the head, watching how it leaned into his palm like a pleased cat. Such creations would never disappoint him. He half-regretted bursting one of them into flames before. A lapse in judgment, an indescribable urge to reach out and hurt. Which is not uncommon, for it was something to be nurtured. Yet, not without at least some form of control.

He had done so much listening. He hadn’t broadcasted in a while, or spoke into the mic which was rapidly gathering dust. Just the silence. Not even in the mood for an old comfort song.

There really was something wrong with him.

The doll opened its mouth again, still seeking those pets. It was a mindless action. It had only wanted more of its master’s affection. Then, that harsh and discordant sound that moved through, meshing with the low gravel that he’d come to appreciate the nuances of.

“Ya need me to take you out on the town this time? Being at this bar got you acting like an old geezer more than usual!”

“Ain’t you the one asking out this ‘old geezer’ to begin with?” 

Then, there was a laugh. From Husker.

Alastor couldn’t recall what quite happened after that. The humming had grown louder, shaking within his skull, drowning out conversation and melodies and all other comprehensible things.

He blinked. In his lap were the remnants of cloth and stuffing, along with the unraveling of green threads. Black liquid stained his clothes, dripping onto the floor from those ruined fabrics.

The hold he had on himself was so very, very delicate.

–

Alastor left the radio tower. Just for a moment or two.

It wasn’t enough to just listen anymore.

–

Maybe Husker was jumpier than usual. Still, it only served to heighten the experience.

A quick turn was never enough to catch Alastor. Swift shadows that blended with the dim hallways, with the dark corners of a room. Husker was staring into the darkness, and try as he might, he could not catch the eyes that would follow him.

The dolls, Alastor realized, were just not sufficient.

A fascinating thing about Husker was that all of his tells were shown in every part of him. It was rather amusing that he had ever thought he could keep his secrets. A flick of his ears, a swish of his tail, and the ruffling of his wings. All so telegraphic in their motions. All so easy to read. His downfall as an Overlord might as well have been foretold.

There was a soft rush of nervousness in Husker as he made his way to his room, once again looking to the corners. He even tried to still his breathing. Because after all, he knew he was being listened to.

Husker reached for his hat, slipping it from his head. His fur was ruffled, unkempt. It demanded a comb, a pair of hands to settle such wayward tufts to smoothness. His wings stretched, a loose red feather drifting to the ground, landing rather close to a certain dark corner.

But there was no movement from the dark. Husker was watching, eyes glaring yellow like twin torches.

“Feels like another camera…” he muttered underneath his breath. The end of his tail brushed the carpet. “The hell…’

There was another indescribable urge, one that nearly made Alastor leave from his place within the walls to reach out. More than just the fur, or even the luster of those wings against the soft lamplight. After all, Husker was always so entertaining to have around, and it was more than just his oh-so-sparkling personality.

Maybe a few inches closer, enough to swallow up that feather within a sea of black. Husker had turned away just then to hang his hat on a nearby rack.

But then, there was another shiver, even as Husker slipped off a suspender strap to get ready for bed. A raise of his eyebrow, another flick to the walls of his room. Husker was waiting, piercing through that darkness as much as he could. Oh, he’d always had such sharp eyes. But were they sharp enough?

A strap hung from his trousers, which was now more loosened around his waist. There was a quick flick of his right ear as he tried to pinpoint a sound. Any sound at all.

Then there it was. The dead air that lived in Alastor’s skull, now echoing across the room.

Oh, the control he had over himself was so, so tenuous.

“Wait.” Husker turned, looking towards the radio (and he took such great care of it, Alastor saw, with barely any dust or scuff marks on it) which was turned off. Then he looked around the room again. “You’re here, aren’t you? Like, actually here.”

There was a small tremor in his voice. It would have played beautifully over the radio, of that, Alastor was certain. Yet, he had to admit to himself that somehow such a sound did not translate the expression on Husker’s face. A mix of fear, revulsion, and yet a glint in his eyes. Expectant? Eager?

Husker was waiting.

And although Alastor was typically a very patient man—and one had to be, waiting hours for the perfect opportunity, the perfect moment to deliver his raison d'être—he found himself anxious. How easy it would be to move forward, to reach out and grasp at fur and feathers. It was akin to a hunger that one felt in the pit of one’s stomach, desperate to devour from the inside out.

Husker moved, just slightly, to remove the other suspender strap from his shoulder. His breathing was still rapid, just held inside his throat. Pointed ears flicked again. Every motion drawn out, like a jagged blade over skin, slowly cutting through in its sweet pain. Those golden eyes were hazy, dazed, and he opened his mouth to speak again—

Until, the most obnoxious ringtone he had ever heard broke through the silence. 

Husker seemed to jump several feet in the air, then quickly reached for his pocket, holding up his falling pants with one hand. The melody was inane, inundated with a bass beat that sounded too familiar and like another night when he had caught Husker at his worst.

“Shit! I didn’t—”

But he didn’t have time to hear Husker’s little excuses. The serenity of the moment was over. So he slipped away from the walls, revealing his shape for just a moment before he slipped underneath the closed door. Husker locked eyes with him, but that didn’t matter. He had unfinished business.

–

Out on one of the balconies of the hotel, Angel was looking down to his phone with an impatient frown. He was leaning against the railing, tapping a finger against his waist. “Ugh, did he fall asleep again?”

It was laughably easy to startle him with a simple tap on his shoulder.

“Angel! Fabulous to have caught you here! I thought I missed you!”

If there was a certain tremor in his voice, he was sure to have fully covered it up. One would need sharp ears after all, and he doubted Angel had such things, always deep within his vices to even be aware of the world around him.

Angel backed against the railing, blinking rapidly as Alastor materialized before him. “Holy fuck! You coulda knocked or something!” He breathed hard for a moment, before an odd little smirk stretched his face. “It’s after hours, smiles. Ya looking for a good time? I prefer appointments over walk-ins, so maybe I can pencil you in for a quickie on Tuesday night.”

How charming.

Alastor held his mic cane in both hands behind his back. His fingers ached slightly. Maybe he just hadn’t eaten enough.

Holding himself to the very brink, he moved to wrap a hand around Angel’s shoulders, as if he were an old pal he had run into on the way to dinner.

“Walk with me!”

“Wait, what—”

A swift change of scenery, and soon they were walking the very hotel grounds, up on this stupendous hill that was not at all very accessible-friendly. That fact had always tickled Alastor and how that limited half of the Pride Ring’s residents, but currently, he could find no humor to the situation at hand.

Angel was frozen in place, and Alastor had to dig a few claws into his fluffy shoulder before he had the inkling that he should be walking right now.

“It certainly seems you’ve been taking Charlie’s dear friendship exercises to heart! I think she would love to hear some feedback on how you’ve been using this for your personal life!”

“Uh,” Angel started, then paled when he saw Alastor’s smile as they walked further down the hill. “Well, I, uh—”

“It would seem maybe redemption is in the cards after all! A shame that not everyone can achieve such a lofty goal, and to be quite frank, ha! I still have my doubts. But who knows! You very well could prove me wrong!”

“Did…did I do something? I’m not sure I—”

“And with the addition of my faithful staff, it has helped Charlie’s wacky dream considerably! You could almost call it a handout! I’m sure that’s something you’re quite used to yourself!”

Angel was trying to subtly leave his grip but Alastor kept him in place. For he was not done talking, and he wouldn’t allow Angel to be rude.

“But when one excels, sometimes another starts to make mistakes. Or fall through the cracks as it were! It would be rather shameful if all your progress was worsening another soul’s fortune.”

“Hold on, the hell are you talking about?” At that, Angel suddenly grew an attitude. He frowned at Alastor, slightly looking down at the Radio Demon. Those gaudy shoes of his were indeed good for something. “Are you blaming me for someone else fucking up? I’ve literally just been here and at work the whole time!”

“Haha! A nice little fib, but you can’t pull the wool over these eyes! If Husker’s work performance suffers, I will have to bring my complaints to Charlie and brainstorm a solution. We wouldn’t want to disappoint her now, would we?”

So invested in his own explanations, that certainly made sense to any sane individual, he hadn’t realized he’d let slip his very reasoning for being here.

“Huh? This is about Husk?” Angel was becoming cocky, shrugging off Alastor’s hold on him, uncaring that the action was rough. “Look, I don’t know what dead cannibal carcass crawled up your ass, but if Husk had any problems with me, he’d just fucking tell me. He ain’t like you, smiles.”

Something ruptured—a sound inside his skull. The static sharpening and gouging through his insides, like a rusted ax hacking away at a leg and ruining the meat until it was a sodden mess.

It’s wrong.

Alastor shifted and turned, and made sure to look down at Angel now. Until he was like the small insect that he was, with scrawny, tepid meat on fragile bones that would barely be satisfactory as a midnight snack.

“You don’t know anything.”

Angel stared, the wind of his earlier outburst suddenly deflating him. He stepped back, crushing one of the many plants that decorated the hillside, its lavender petals mingling now with the blood-stained grass.

“W-wait a sec—”

“If you haven’t seen someone at their very lowest, you can’t claim to know them.” A small twist of his neck as he continued to look down, and then he felt that very delicate grip on his instincts start to loosen. “You will never know how it is to hold someone’s very soul in your own hands.”

Yet, before he could even think to do the unspeakable, as he had done numerous times before with no remorse, and certainly it would not start now—especially not now—a melody played through the air.

It came from his radio tower.

Feeling the grin on his face begin to shake, he turned, feeling the pulse of the airwaves beat inside his very bones. The melody came from the soft, low tones of a saxophone. How it glided through the air like honey, or like thick blood that flowed down one’s throats. It was of an old song too, the kind that would only play on his radio programs.

What a curious thing to suddenly calm his violent bout of bloodlust.

With a quick glance to Angel, who had remained frozen in fear, he then reached out a hand to him. The size of his palm could have enveloped Angel twice over, could have crushed him into paste that would take this so-called actor decades to recuperate from.

He patted Angel on the head, the way he’d do for a pet. The other flinched but didn’t dare try to run. Good.

“Let’s not do this again,” Alastor said before he left, vanishing into the dark.

–

There was a certain image that Alastor would like to keep close to him, for it was the same as when he saw Husker on that night, when the gambler would love to entertain his very own guests. After all, he was a showman at heart, a much more natural talent at it than poorly cheating at cards.

He saw it once again in his radio tower, sliding up through the grates and spotting Husker within the sound booth. The saxophone in his arms as he played a resonant melody against the mic, careful to not be too close as to cause feedback. Even without his suit, he was the very picture of that night. He said nothing at all, preferring to hear the end of the song, determined to not interrupt a performance.

But Husker was always one to be a contrarian, for before he could even finish the final verse, he stopped playing. He then removed the strap of the saxophone and threw the instrument to the side with a clatter.

Then, he turned to Alastor, gritting his sharp teeth. “Now can we finally talk?”

A twitch in his eye, but the hands on his mic cane remained calm. Collected. There was nothing wrong. There was something wrong.

Husker’s eyes were digging through him, waiting impatiently. It was so clear by the flicking of his tail and the very low growl in his throat.

Alastor shrugged. “Why, you could have just called on the phone if you wanted to talk, Husker! Or even come over for a visit! I’m only down the hallway!”

Husker paused, then deepened his frown. “Your phone doesn’t work. And I did come by. I knocked.”

“Hm. I didn’t hear anything.”

“Oh fuck off with this.” Husker stomped over to him, his claws scratching against the metal grates. The red highlighted his fur with deeper shades of ebony, lengthening the patterns of his wings. “Just what is going on with you?”

Alastor moved his gaze to the discarded instrument on the ground. To think Husker still took care of it well enough for it to emit such a soulful sound. “Why did you stop playing?” he asked suddenly.

“What? Because I’m not here to put on a show for you! Stop fucking deflecting. It’s annoying.” Husker furrowed his brows. “Did you do something?”

“What an incredibly broad question! I certainly did a little broadcasting, completed my hotel duties, sent a telegram to Charlie, and indulged in some private musings of my own.” Alastor tapped his chin with a sharp finger, definitely not feeling like he was hanging on by a very thin thread. “I also ordered some hors d’oeuvres from dear old Rosie for a light lunch. You can join me!”

“That’s not…” And then, Husker was suddenly being very hesitant, very careful. He looked up at Alastor like he was about to attempt a treacherous climb. “What happened when Angel called me? Can you tell me that?”

Oh, he used to be so good at listening.

But now, all he could hear was the dreaded hum that made his chest feel like it was caving in.

It was a natural progression, to move closer to Husker, even as his friend stepped back. Yet, isn’t this what he was asking for? He’d always been such an indecisive person! Alastor always had to put his foot down and ensure Husker would make the correct choice. The only sensible choice.

Soon enough, Husker stopped moving—the tendrils that wrapped around his legs were certainly helping him with that.

“Husker, dear!” Alastor spoke, and he could hear the odd hollowness in his tone. It lacked the usual punch of his oratory talent. The spark. The drive. This had to be rectified. “I have to confess something, if you don’t mind.”

Saying it was like ripping off a bandaid, or ripping off a limb. Neither could compare.

“It appears I might be jealous.”

His hands delicately wrapped over Husker’s neck, fingers tapping along the fur, pulling at the strap of his bowtie. Husker remained still, watching the dials in Alastor’s eyes click dangerously to the right. Slow and methodical. Inevitable.

“And jealousy can really feel like such a disease.” He leaned forward. “I need the cure.”

There was something wrong with him and the cause of it all was right in front of him.

Angel was an obnoxious pest, but if not for Husker, he would have barely given such a sinner any second thoughts. No. If not for Husker, who had dared let himself wander, get distracted, and slack on the job, he would not be feeling this way. Husker just would not behave.

And then, the very memory of Husker laughing uproariously, his deep tones traveling through Alastor’s skull alongside Angel’s voice, was so very loud. With such sounds, there was the image of his friend underneath the garish club lights, looking away to another, and it sparked another inferno in him. Furious. Outraged. HE SHOULDN’T BE FEELING THIS WAY.

His hands just stopped short of squeezing over Husker’s neck. He towered further, his fingers growing long, and his back hunched. There was only Husker in his vision and nothing else. The shadow tendrils that streamed from his back continued wrapping around Husker’s limbs, locking him from any escape. No, he was not allowed to leave. Not until he fixed this.

Not until he fixed him.

Alastor stared down at the soul before him, his very being craving something he couldn’t truly understand. The weight of his antlers were so heavy, nearly making his neck break. His control was slipping further and further away.

“See what you’ve done to me.”

He expected Husker to resist, to try to run, or even bite at his hands and earn him a mark. If he did any of those things, Alastor would have no choice. He would have to kill him. Eat him. Ensure he could never stray from his path again. Bind him further and further until it could never be undone.

That wasn’t what happened.

Husker continued to look at him, even when Alastor grew, when his body distended, when his face was a veritable nightmare. He always had a face for radio, certainly the kind that most souls could not endure for very long. There were many times Husker had turned away from him, from his carnage and his rage.

Instead, Husker craned his neck up, looking into his eyes which were nothing now but black holes that looked into the abyss. His arms shifted, slightly pulling against the tendrils that were coiled around them—but not to be free. Hands reached out to place them against Alastor’s cheeks, fingers so close to sharp teeth who knew just the right way to tear through flesh efficiently.

Husker still hadn’t turned away, even as Alastor could feel him continue to shake underneath his grip. Fear. It was fear. Except not. It was something else.

“If you need a cure, then just look at me.” A soft furrow of his eyebrows, even as Alastor’s breath moved through his fur. “You want my attention? You got it. I was trying to give it to you all this time.”

Oh. Was that true? It made little sense. Alastor said nothing, staring down at Husker who still saw him as the monster he was, yet would not move.

Then, a soft growl, and Husk’s claws pricked his cheeks. Not deep, but they drew blood. They drew his blood. Noise ruptured around them, even as Alastor remained still. Husk ignored the chaotic sound.

“But you have to do the same for me. You have to pay attention to me. No more peacocking for Vox. It drives me fucking nuts.” Another growl, one that ran down Alastor’s spine. “And you don’t have to lock yourself away just to watch me.”

And there was that same spark in his eyes that Alastor felt inside his chest. The kind that wrung at his organs and made him ache and stumble. So, Husker knew this feeling too.

Hands left Husker’s neck, only to plant themselves on the wall behind him. The slam of his palms on metal earned another shiver in Husker, from his ruffled wings to the waving of his tail.

But those claws were still on Alastor’s face, keeping him in place. Keeping him grounded.

Easy to stay a monster, but Alastor let his body shrink so that he could better press his forehead against Husker’s.

“Vox is a memory,” he said.

“A memory that keeps coming back,” Husker countered. “You play his games too much.”

“Simply to stave off boredom.” The tendrils moved to wrap around Husker’s torso. “You’re not blameless. Always slacking off.”

“You already knew I was a shitty employee. Don’t expect any different.”

“Not what I meant.”

A small ripple of unease, but Husker made him calm by pulling Alastor closer. Those claws rushed through his hair, reaching just at the base of his still heavy antlers.

“I can have friends. You never said I couldn’t. But it won’t be anything more than that.” A pause, Husker’s face so considerate. “I can take a break from it.”

Another pull, until Alastor felt Husker’s breath against his lips. “I’m just fucking tired of not being noticed, boss.”

“Dear friend, you have all my attention,” Alastor said. “So much that you won’t ever have a moment’s peace to yourself.”

Maybe he said that as a warning. To really test Husker’s dedication and loyalty. That is, until Husker kissed him hard, his teeth scratching against both his tongue and gums. It was difficult to reject such enthusiasm, such drive, such…motivation. He could only give it back, tasting the alcohol on Husker’s own tongue.

The antidote must be taken slowly and deeply after all.

[z0mbi3girl444]

WILLIAM AFTON x READER NONCON VI

Your Michael's friend and run into his father, William, on your way out.

THIS STORY INCLUDES RAP3/NONCON. NSFW 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT I WILL BLOCK YOU.

(a recommendation from AlexCharnier on ao3) ☺️❤��

It was a late Saturday night, almost 11 p.m., and you and your new friend Michael were upstairs watching a movie. You had met him in one of your classes at the local community college, and over time, the two of you had grown pretty close. Tonight was your first time at his house, and to your surprise, it was much nicer than you had expected. Michael even had his own TV.

Seated on his bed with a comfortable gap between you, you suddenly realized he had drifted off to sleep. Your eyes widened as you glanced at the clock—it was probably time to head home. Not wanting to wake him, you carefully slipped on your shoes, tiptoeing out of his room and down the stairs.

But the moment you reached the bottom, you froze.

A man stood there, staring at you.

The man was tall and lean, with dark brown hair and striking gray eyes. He looked kind of like Michael, though with a more mature, chiseled edge. You could only assume this was his father. A very handsome father, at that. But something about the way he watched you sent an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. 

For a moment, you fumbled for words, unsure how to break the silence. Then, he smiled—but it wasn’t warm or welcoming. It was something else entirely.

“Well,” he said with a grin as his eyes raked over your form, “Who might you be?”

“Oh,” you let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m no one—just Michael’s friend. Uhm, but I was just leaving, so…”

You forced a polite smile and took a step toward the door, but before you could move past him, he shifted—blocking your path.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. "It's not even midnight yet. I thought you kids were such nightowls nowadays..."

You forced a shrug. "Michael’s asleep, and... I’ve got class tomorrow—"

He cut you off with a chuckle, stepping closer. "It’s Saturday, darling. There’s no need to lie to me."

Your stomach twisted, and you swallowed hard. "I’m sorry," you blurted, voice thinner than you intended. "I just didn’t want to be rude." 

Michael’s father tilted his head, studying you, then let out a slow sigh. "Nonsense," he murmured, finally stepping aside. He even pulled the door open for you. "Go ahead," he said smoothly. "I won’t keep you."

But you caught something in his tone that suggested he meant the opposite.

You took your chance, muttering a quick ‘thank you’ under your breath and then bolting out the door. 

But you didn’t make it far. 

The front door slammed shut behind you, the echo of it still ringing in your ears when you felt a sudden tug—your hood yanked back, jerking you off balance. Before you could react, you were pulled straight into Michael’s dad’s arms.

Your breath hitched, eyes wide with shock.

“Tricked ya,” he murmured, his voice unsettlingly soft against your ear. You struggled, pushing against him, but he was already steering you around the side of the house, where the shadows swallowed you both whole.

"W-Wait, Mr. Afton—!" Your voice trembled, barely more than a gasp.

He let go just long enough to shove you against the wall, his hands braced on either side of you, boxing you in.

"Just call me William," he whispered, his body pressing firmly against yours.

You shook your head violently, heart hammering in your chest. "No—no, this isn't—" Your breath came in short, panicked gasps as you pressed yourself back against the cold wall, desperate to put any sort of distance between you.

William only smirked. “So cute,” he whispered as his right hand seized both your wrists and pinned them above your head. You were utterly powerless now. You couldn’t even get your legs to move; it was as if William’s stare could paralyze you. 

Still—you tried your ultimate best. Your body struggled against him, but you both knew it was utterly futile. 

"Stop fighting it," he growled, his hands roughly yanking at your clothes. "It’s useless."

Tears streamed down your face as his hands slipped under your sweatshirt. "No, please!" you sobbed, "I don't want this!"

But he didn't care. “Fuck, no bra? No nothing?" He chuckled, his hands roughly groping your soft flesh. "Yeah, I bet you've been begging for someone to treat these right."

You shook your head frantically. But even as you protested, you felt a strange sensation building inside you. You knew what it was—it was arousal. The way he handled you, it spurred you on. 

As he yanked your sweats down, his fingers brushed against your inner thigh, and you felt a jolt of electricity shoot through you. "Mmm, is that a moan I hear?" he teased, his fingers moving higher. "You like this, don't you? You like being used like a little slut."

"No!" you cried out, even as your hips bucked against his hand. "I don't! Please, I don't want this!"

His fingers found your most intimate spot, and despite yourself, you let out a gasp of pleasure. He chuckled darkly, rubbing circles around your clit. "Liar," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. 

Yes. You were a liar. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners as he continued to touch you. It felt so good, even though you knew it was wrong. Your hips moved of their own accord, grinding against his hand as he fingered you roughly.

"That's it," he purred, his fingers sliding inside you. "I know that feels good.” 

His words cut through the haze of pleasure, and for a moment, you came back to yourself. "Stop!" you cried out, struggling against him again.  

But he only laughed, his fingers pumping harder, faster. "Too late," he growled. "I can feel how wet you are."

And it was true. Despite your protests, you could feel your arousal growing, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he fucked you with his hand. 

He pulled his fingers out, and you felt a moment of relief. But then he was yanking his own pants down, freeing his throbbing cock. "I'm going to fuck you now," he said coldly. “How does that sound, sweetheart?” He asked, fingers threading through your hair as he settled himself between your legs, running the tip of his pulsating cock through your folds. 

You shook your head frantically, but he was already pushing himself inside you. 

You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your body struggling to accommodate him. But he didn't stop. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his hips slapping against yours. "I bet you've never been fucked like this before." 

His words, his rhythm, his pace all made you want to crumble. You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore—you were loving this. The pleasure was nothing like you had ever felt before. It was wrong, so wrong, but you couldn't help it. Your body responded to his touch like it was made for it, arching up to meet his thrusts even as tears streamed down your face.

"That's it," he panted, his grip on your hips bruising. "Take my cock like the good little whore you are."

William’s words should've sent a jolt of shame through you, but instead, his words only spurred you on, causing your pussy to clench around him, eliciting a soft groan from his lips. 

"Look at you," he sneered, his hands letting go of your wrists and gripping your hips, "You’re not even fighting me anymore.” 

You wanted to deny it, but the truth was right there in the way your body moved beneath his. The way you arched into his thrusts, seeking more. 

He leaned down, his teeth grazing your ear. "You love this, don't you?" he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "You love being used. You love being raped."

His words struck something deep inside you. Your head fell back against the wall, your eyes rolling back into your head as you felt your climax building. 

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He whispered, his hands moving to your thighs, gripping the soft flesh tightly. “Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded, but you were too lost in your own pleasure to register his words. William punished you with a brutal thrust of his hips, his hand latching around your throat, causing your tear filled eyes to widen. “Wrap your fucking legs around me,” he repeated, and without waiting another second, you obeyed. 

William groaned in pleasure as you hooked your legs around him, locking your ankles together. His cold hand remained around your throat, choking you firmly enough to keep you in place, but gentle enough so you weren’t suffocating. The choking sounds only seemed to make William fuck you harder, his darkened eyes piercing right through your wide ones, as if he could read every thought. 

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, making you shudder with pleasure, “I want to feel you come on my cock like the dirty slut you are.”  

His voice alone was enough to make your orgasm hit like a freight train. Your body convulsed around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, making you moan out loud—too loud—but William didn’t stop you. 

He fucked you through it, pounding into you with a brutal intensity that only heightened the ecstasy. "That's it," he growled, his hips moving faster, harder. "Such a good girl for me.” 

Your mind blanked out as the pleasure consumed you, all thoughts of protest and shame forgotten. 

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your hair. “Oh fuck,” he grumbled, his voice muffled against your skin. “You smell divine.” 

His orgasm came not longer after, his hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt inside you. A guttural moan tore from his throat as he flooded your pussy with his cum. He collapsed against you, his sweat-slicked body pressing you into the wall as he struggled to catch his breath.  

"Fucking hell," he panted, nuzzling into your neck. "You took my cock like you were fucking born for it."

His hand slid down to your hip, gripping the tender flesh possessively as he lazily rocked into you, drawing out the last tremors of pleasure. After a few moments, he finally slipped out, his softening cock leaving you feeling deliciously empty and used, and you fell to the ground. Weak and spent. 

He stepped back, admiring the sight of you - your mascara smeared, your hair a tangled mess, your pussy swollen and leaking with his cum. A wicked grin spread across his face. "Such a good little toy," he purred, crouching down to run a finger through the mess between your thighs. "I hope to see you again soon, darling."

He licked his finger in front of you before yanking his pants back up and striding off, leaving you a cum soaked mess.

ao3: z0mbi3girl444

[cntloup]

Fem!Reader fluff, mention of love making, allusion to sex

Part 1 | Part 2

It's a sunday morning. The sun shines through the kitchen window and reaches your profile, seeming like a halo around your head. Your eyebrows are furrowed and your eyes focused on the task at hand. You flip the pancake and feel a pair of big burly arms wrap around your torso from behind, "Good morning, lovie!" he breathes into your ear, his gruff morning voice sending shivers through your body. "Good morning, Si!" you mutter as you turn around to place a kiss on his lips. "You look beautiful today... as you do everyday... you're always beautiful, dove!" he rambles as he peppers kisses on every part of your pretty face, making you giggle. "Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. I made coffee too." "Perfect! Thank you, love." he says as he takes a seat at the table. You place his plate of pancakes with chocolate syrup and a cup of coffee in front of him. He nods gratefully as you seat down. You talk about some new events happening at work and he listens, occasionally asking questions or making sarcastic comments about your annoying coworkers. He stares at you in awe, wondering how he got so lucky. You both spend the rest of the day in each other's arms. He makes love to you, softly cooing praises into your ear as he brings you to a state of pure euphoria. You lazily plump down on the couch watching trash tv and making fun of the awful people on the shows, laughing your asses off. You stare at him in awe, wondering how you got so lucky. He snaps his fingers in front of your face, shaking you out of your trance. "Hey, what is it?" he asks, "You've been acting weird lately!" "What? Nothing, just thinking about... stuff." you ramble nervously. "Is there something wrong?" he questions worriedly. "No! It's just about work. I'm sorry I've been acting weird. You don't have to worry about it." you respond. Thank god he doesn't pry any further and only adds "I'm here if you need me. With anything. And I mean anything. If someone is bothering you-" "No, Si! No one is bothering me. I don't need you to murder anyone either. Just stressing about work. Too much pressure." you lie terribly and he looks at you through narrowed eyes but lets it slide. As night falls, you're curled up in bed together as you both have your books in hands and read peacefully in a comfortable silence. But your focus is on something else. Should you pop the question right now? Do it casually and get it over with. No, he deserves a proper proposal. You finally decide on the latter. "Hey!" his voice rattles you out of your thoughts. "What?" you ask, looking up at him. He's starting to get suspicious. You have to do it sooner than planned. You can’t take it any longer. "I asked if you wanted to sleep." he replies, "I'm starting to get worried, love. Just tell me that you're ok." You cup his cheeks in your hands and whisper "I'm ok, Si. No need to worry." and kiss him as you straddle his lap. You both end up panting heavily and giggling, bodies tangled together by midnight.

It's a saturday night. The moonlight shines through the branches of cherry blossoms and reaches you, standing amidst the trees in the garden, making a dreamy scene. You fidget with the zipper of your jacket and fumble with your fingers nervously as you wait for him. He finally arrives, in a suit, looking handsome as ever. "Hi, lovie." he greets you, kissing your lips lovingly. "Hey, Si." you respond, taking in his beautiful features alight by the moon. You take his hand in yours and guide him to the table. You both take your seats beside each other and start chatting about everything and nothing, unable to take your eyes and hands off each other, as the waiter places your orders in front of you. After dinner, you go silent, grab your purse in your shaky hands and pull out the small black box. His eyes widen and his mouth hangs open as you lock eyes with him. "Simon Riley,... you met me at my worst" you chuckle nervously, "and pulled me out of the dark abyss I was in. You brighten my skies every day and make me laugh with your awful dad jokes" you remark, making him laugh as tears start to well up in both your and his eyes, "Do you want to be a dad? You've already got the jokes down... ok, that's a discussion for another time." You both chuckle again, "Fuck! I'm really terrible at this. I didn't prepare a speech and decided to wing it. I'm so sorry." he nuzzles your cheek, wiping away your tears as he pulls you in for a kiss, reassuring you that it's ok. "I'm forever grateful for everything you've done for me. I love you. Everything about you. Everything that you are. Your light and your darkness. You're the love of my life and I want to spend the rest of my life with you." you continue, "Simon Riley, will you marry me?" you finally ask as you open the box and hold it in front of him. You're both sobbing at this point. "Yes!" he gets the word out and pushes his lips onto yours, kissing you passionately, both your feelings for each other poured into the kiss. You take his hand in yours and put the ring on his finger. "I'm all yours, love." he murmurs against your lips, "And I'm all yours, Si."

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥

[manias-wordcount]

View of Paradise (Satoru Gojo x Reader) PART FOUR

[𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙀 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝙊𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙁𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙊𝙍𝙔 𝘼𝙐]

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗼𝗺𝗴 𝘄𝗲'𝗿𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝘃𝗶𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗵𝗲𝗲

<< 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘃 || 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 || 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 >>

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

The walk back home is uneventful as always. But the way you get to step through the door with your little brother and be treated like heroes is completely worth the silent trek from the diner in the dark.

You’re barely able to shrug off your cardigan and step through the door before Yuuta is shouting “Look what we got!” at your family. He’s more than excited as he takes the boxes of food off of you. And you can’t help but wonder if that excitement is more because cabbage won’t be for dinner tonight or if it’s because of that chocolate bar sitting in his pocket right now. Either way, his smile is wide and childlike and carefree as he hands over the to-go containers to your Mom and the pot of cabbage she’s standing over and tells her exactly which container belongs to whom. It’s as it should be. It’s as you want it to be.

At least for the night.

The floor creaks under your footsteps as you step further into your house. Though house isn’t always an appropriate word for you to use, in your opinion. It’s an old thing. With old, rotting wood that is slowly being replaced and a broken roof that just barely leaks on a good day. Some of the walls weren’t sealed perfectly, so it’s always a surprise when you find a new hole that you swear was sealed up two years ago. And overall, there’s a tilt to the walls too. Your house lives on a slant. Holds itself up at an aggressive angle. A visible lean that always used to make you worried that one day, the house will collapse on your poor dear family. But you’ve survived your coldest winters and your windiest storms in this shack. You have faith in it. Even if it does look like it’s falling apart and slowly coming down with each passing day. But it’s home.

Your home.

And everybody is here right now. Existing happily on the bottom floor of the shack and interacting with each other. There are only three rooms on the bottom floor of your house. Your parent's room, the bathroom, and everything else. The kitchen, the dining room, and the spot in front of the old fatback TV (that only plays the 24/7 news cycle) where your bed-ridden grandparents stay in all day and all night are all together. The upstairs (if you could even call it that), is just a simple loft that you and Yuuta sleep in. It’s cramped, with your modest bed and his nearly squished together. Barely any room for personal items. He’s outgrowing the bed up there too- your old one when you were his age- but he doesn’t say anything about how he’s too tall to lie there without his legs starting to hang off the bottom of the bed. You know deep down inside he probably wishes for more. Wishes for better. But selfishly, you’re happy he doesn’t ask for it. Your family just can’t afford it. They just can’t.

You shake your head suddenly, trying to push the somber thoughts about living this life away in favor of putting a smile on your face and joining your parents and your little brother in the kitchen. Your mother looks at you warmly when she tells you to go wash up. The container with the meatloaf for her and your father is still in her hands, and tears are pricking at her eyes despite her own smile spreading across her lips. Your father sends you a look beneath the permanently tired expression on his face. One that you know all too well, even though they tried to hide it from you your entire life.

It’s relief.

Relief because without this food, they would have gone hungry tonight.

And maybe you would have too. There have been some days you take a hit alongside them as the oldest and one of the family breadwinners. But you try to push that thought in the corner of your mind as you stand over the sink and wash your hands with your little brother. You use the soap and water sparingly. Enough to wash the dirt off your hands and not a second longer before cleaning it on an old towel with fraying edges. Your dad had already cut the hoagies for your grandparents, and your Mom went to fetch some clean plates for them to sit on. Yuuta tries to ask if you need help carrying over your grandparent’s food to their table, but your Grandpa Aibara is quick to cheer you on- asking if you break out some of your waitressing skills and serve them like they’re at your diner right now.

In truth, you’re tired. Your feet ache, and you’re more than ready to strip off this uniform and go to sleep without talking to anyone again until morning. But your Grandpa Aibara looks so cheery and hopeful, despite his graying hair and his unfortunate situation. The rest of your grandparents do too- even the usually grumpy Grandpa Kusakabe seems to be mildly interested in what you do. 

So, for one more time tonight, you put on your most dazzling smile and you up your customer service voice. You take all four plates in your hand- balancing them between fingers and palms and using your wrists and upper arms to keep them stabilized. The faces of your grandparents light up as you bring them food as if they were finally able to rise to their feet after all these years and visit you at your diner. But they can’t. And you don’t know if they ever will. So at the very least, you can be a good granddaughter. You can give them a show.

The TV is on and running a story about the economy as you approach. But the volume is low, and the screen isn’t very bright, so you don’t have to compete much for anyone’s attention. The first person you start off with is Grandma Utahime. She’s the closest to where you were originally standing, and she’s the one who needs the most assistance in the end. You’re very, very slow and very, very careful as you place the plate in her hands. Her tremors have gotten worse, you noticed, now that you’re up close. The scar across the majority of her face that was once healing very nicely has slowed down all its progress. But you still call her ma’am and look at her like she’s still the prettiest woman you’ve ever met as you ensure her fingers are closed firmly around the plate.

Yuuta followed behind you as you brought the food over. And he’s quick to swoop in to help Grandma Utahime hold her plate while she brings the sandwich up to her lips once you step away to serve your next customer. You can see out of the corner of your eyes when the frustration growing on her face takes over completely, and she struggles to feed herself. But when she glances at you and your younger brother, the anger disappears into something a little more exhausted, but grateful.

The next person you serve is Grandpa Aibara. And despite sickness attacking his body non-stop and keeping him in his seat, he’s bouncing and wiggling around in his bed with a bright, bright smile. One that has you widening your smile impossibly wider too. His cheer is infectious, and only ends up growing as you place his half of the meager-looking hoagie into his awaiting arms with a simple “Here you are, sir.” You can tell his mouth is watering as he looks down at the sandwich. It’s nothing special, but it’s not often you’re able to bring this much food back for your family. A lifetime of cabbage will do that to someone. So you’re not even surprised when he leans over on the edge of the bed and delivers a kind kiss to your cheek before he turns his attention back to his food. Not without reaching out and ruffling Yuuta’s hair a little, of course.

As you round the other side of the bed, you’re standing closer to the TV. It draws your eyes for a second as you adjust the food in your hands and approach the next person. But the story on the TV is just as boring as ever. Even so, Grandpa Kusakabe tries to look neutral and distracted by what’s on the screen as you stop in front of him. But you’re able to see past his uninterested look all too well. The twitching of his eager fingers that are trying their hardest not to reach out for the food in your hands gives it all away. So you don’t waste a single second of time before putting the plate of food on his lap

“Thank you, sweetheart,” He mumbles to you, eyes only meeting yours for a second. You smile again. A genuine one, before hitting him with a ‘You’re very welcome, grandpa’ and moving over to the next person. You pretend not to notice his excitement struggling to be contained as he takes a bite out of something that isn’t cabbage for the first time in a long, long time.

You head over to your last grandparent- Grandma Shoko. Around you, your house has erupted in a pleasant bout of noise. Grandpa Aibara is already halfway through his sandwich, even though he just told everyone he intends to savor it. Grandpa Kusakabe is quick to tell him to stop his yammering, which your mother giggles at (beneath a hand that does a very, very, very poor job at hiding it. Yuuta is still with Grandma Utahima, helping her take small bites of her food and keeping her from spilling bits of lettuce and tomatoes onto herself. However, every now and then, she stops eating in favor of shouting at your dad to keep eating his meatloaf and to keep his hands off of yours and Yuta’s fries before she “comes over there.” And your poor little brother can’t help but have his expression teeter between embarrassment, surprise, and laughter at your family’s antics.

Still, you don’t want to leave your last grandparent out of the fun. So you hand over the last plate to a quiet Grandma Shoko who gives you a sweet, motherly look and tells you just how proud she is of you for growing up to be who you are now. The compliment warms your cheeks and causes you to stammer over your words a little bit. But you thank her anyway.

But just as you straighten up from your last food delivery, a sudden noise catches your attention. Out of instinct, you shush everyone loudly. You almost forget for a moment you’re at home and not the diner where you can shush all the other waitresses to hear something and not have it be seen as a sign of disrespect. But you’re not at the diner. You’re at home. And from across the room, you hear your mother scold you lightly. You also hear Grandpa Kusakabe grumbling again. Mentioning something about “kids these days” under his breath. But you don’t really hear him or your mom. You don’t really hear anything. 

Except for the news anchor on the TV’s fuzzy screen running a story with the BREAKING NEWS symbol underneath him. And as your family quiets down with you, they start to hear what you’re hearing. They start to see what you’re seeing. And even though the picture quality is terrible, you’ve spent enough time in front of this TV to read the message that’s being displayed to you right now.

And you’ve spent your entire life wishing for a miracle like this to happen to you too.

~~~ DEAR PEOPLE OF THE WORLD,

I, GOJO SATORU HAVE DECIDED TO ALLOW FIVE CHILDREN TO VISIT MY FACTORY THIS YEAR. THESE LUCKY FIVE WILL BE SHOWN AROUND PERSONALLY BY ME, AND WILL LEARN ALL THE SECRETS AND THE MAGIC OF MY FACTORY

FIVE GOLDEN TICKETS HAVE BEEN HIDDEN UNDERNEATH THE ORDINARY WRAPPING PAPER OF FIVE ORDINARY WONKA BARS. THESE FIVE CANDY BARS MAY BE ANYWHERE - IN ANY SHOP IN ANY STREET IN ANY TOWN IN ANY COUNTRY IN THE WORLD

IN ADDITION, ONE OF THESE CHILDREN SHALL RECEIVE A SPECIAL PRIZE BEYOND ANYTHING YOU COULD EVER IMAGINE. GOOD LUCK TO ALL, AND HAPPY HUNTING!

GOJO SATORU

~~

[stabbyfoxandrew]

mafia front please! they are all once again going through it.

WIP Wednesday (11/27) | Mafia Front Restaurant AU (Part 256)

When Neil's done with his phone he turns it off and crams it under his pillow before padding out to the living room where he finds his friends right where he left them. Jean is passed slick out on Kevin's lap and Kevin is idly playing with his curls, twirling one around a finger with his other hand on Jean's waist. Neil just stands there and observes until Kevin turns his head to look at him over the back of the couch.

How he felt Neil's presence, he doesn't know. But he cocks a dark brow. "Talk to Stuart?"

"Yep."

"What'd he say?"

"Said he'd handle it, sent someone out to look for the guys." Neil says with a shrug. That's about all he can do for now, wait for Stuart's men to drag them out of whatever hole they've been hiding in. He has the urge to put his shoes back on and look for himself, but he won't. Won't leave Jean right now. Or Kevin either, for that matter.

"What happened?" Kevin asks. So Neil leans against the wall and gives him the short version. Kevin doesn't mind short versions, more efficient that way. And this way Neil doesn't have to tell him Jean kissed him. But by the time he's through, Kevin is chewing on his fingernail. "So, the guy had an attitude and you gave it back and he shot at you because you look like your father."

"And Jean got between us."

"Thank god for that." Kevin says with a sigh. "You okay?"

Neil is so taken aback he just stares for a minute. "It didn't hit me."

"I know."

"It should've."

Kevin purses his lips. "Don't say that."

"It's true."

"Come here." Kevin gestures to the tiny bit of space between himself and the couch arm, a fraction of a cushion. Neil obeys, falling into the gap and resisting the urge to lean into Kevin's warmth. He stares down at Jean's face, what he can see of it, and forces himself to breathe. Suddenly Kevin's arm is a heavy reassuring weight over his shoulders, pulling him closer. "I asked if you're okay."

Neil opens his mouth to lie but decides against it. "Not really."

"Me either," Kevin whispers, like it's a big secret. "I wish you two weren't involved with this shit."

"I know."

"It's why I hate being so far away, you know. I feel so fucking... helpless." Kevin admits, voice tinged with anger and something else. When Neil looks up at him, his eyes are shiny. But Kevin blinks a couple times and exhales. "Whenever one of you takes a little too long to answer the phone I just... I wonder if something has happened. Something like this. Something worse. But what am I to do? Ring Lord Moriyama and ask him to send someone to check on my— You guys?"

"I'll answer quicker next time."

"That isn't even close to the point I was making and you're not so obtuse to believe it was." Kevin says with an eye roll. "The point is that you're always in fucking danger here and I hate it."

"It's better than it was at the—"

"That doesn't mean it's fucking good!" Kevin snaps. Then Neil watches as he smooths out his temper and locks it away. Back to the diplomatic, TV ready star he was raised to be. It's fascinating really. Finally he sighs. "It's good in New York. Amazing, even. And my apartment has room for all three of us. You wouldn't have to sleep in that box you call a bedroom."

[nickyrothfan]

What if everyone got super powers?(part 9). Remake

The Roth House. Evening.

Nicky had just finished writing the last line in his notebook when a sharp thud shattered the quiet.

It came from the window.

"Nicky!"

He heard Maritza's voice — hoarse, breathless. The stone had sharpened his hearing, enough for him to catch her words.

He jumped up from the stool, nearly knocking it over, and sprinted downstairs — taking the last few steps in a flip.

He flung the door open.

There she was — Maritza Esposito, panting hard. She pushed past him into the house. He locked the door behind her.

"What happened?" he asked, grabbing her shoulders.

"Crowface... he was following me."

Her voice shook. The fear in her eyes said the rest.

"You led him here?" Nicky's eyes widened.

"What?! No! I lost him... I think..." she shook her head.

Nicky ran to the window, yanked the curtain.

Darkness. No shapes. No one there.

He rushed to his room, opened a drawer, pulled out a flashlight, a screwdriver, and his homemade "detection strip" — a sensor-lined doorframe rig that clicked in response to magnetic anomalies.

Silence.

"Nothing..."

"He was there," Maritza whispered.

"I believe you."

They stayed crouched near the window.

Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. An hour.

No Crowface.

Then — the click of a key in the lock.

Only one other set of keys existed...

Jay and Luanne Roth stepped through the door.

Jay carried a small box — something sweet by the smell. He looked... drained. His eyes had that cartoon bear look — cute, but half-dead from lack of sleep. Gingerbread in his mouth, chocolate rolls in his hands.

Luanne followed him, perfectly composed, laptop and bag balanced neatly. Her eyes immediately found the two teens on the floor.

"Oh... hello, Maritza. Didn't know Nicky invited guests. Nicholas, how many times have I told you to warn me about these visits?" she said, switching smoothly from their guest to her son.

"...Sorry." Nicky shuffled his foot. What could he say?

"Hey, Maritza. You staying the night? Strange Miguel didn't call me..." Jay said cheerfully.

"Evening, Mr. and Mrs. R... um, I just kind of dropped by. Was walking past..." Maritza scratched her arm nervously.

Jay nodded and went upstairs to change.

"You want anything, Maritza? We've got cereal, eggs, some chocolate rolls," Luanne offered as she dropped her bag on the couch.

"I'm... not hungry," Maritza replied quietly.

"Guess the bird decided to fly off..." Nicky whispered to her, thinking Crowface had left.

"Very comforting..." she sighed.

Maritza walked over to the couch and sat down in front of the TV.

Nicky hesitated, then followed his mom into the kitchen.

"Mom... can I ask you a question? About biology?"

Luanne visibly stiffened.

Nicky never asked for help. He always worked alone. Which meant this was serious. And usually, when he asked...

"Hypothetically?" she asked before he could answer.

"Yeah... like, really hypothetically." He tried to sound casual as he sat down.

"I'm listening, Mr. Hypothetical."

"Let's say... a person could regenerate. Like, really fast. Faster than their normal healing rate, which is already like... double the average. Like they get a burn and it heals in minutes. That's good, right?" Nicky tried to make it sound comic-booky.

Maritza glanced over for a second.

She remembered the burns — and how they started healing way too fast.

Luanne studied her son, then calmly poured a glass of water and took a sip.

"What do you think?"

"Well... cells divide. Regeneration's just cells dividing. And cells can't divide forever. There's a limit..."

"Hayflick," Luanne cut in.

"It's called the Hayflick limit. Every cell can only divide a certain number of times. After that, it either dies or enters senescence — basically it gets old and stops functioning."

"...what if the body keeps forcing the cells to divide... even when there's no injury? Like, constantly?" Nicky swallowed. The side effects of the negative energy had already confirmed this nightmare.

"Theoretically? The body would wear itself down. Always on the edge of failure. Could age rapidly. Or..."

She didn't finish.

Nicky nodded. A bit too quickly.

"This is all just a theory... right?"

"Uh... yeah." Nicky buried his face in the gingerbread his dad had left for him — though he didn't feel like eating it.

"And here's my contribution to science: eat this and get ten to twenty minutes of moral regeneration," Jay said, placing another gingerbread next to him.

"I... don't think that's how regeneration works. It's more like—" Nicky began.

"That's not how it works," Luanne cut in. She knew Jay was joking — mostly.

"By the way, Maritza. I called Miguel. He said you should probably head home — by ten. But you can stay a little longer," Jay told her, glancing kindly at the daughter of his best friend (and boss).

"It's okay. I wasn't planning to stay long," Maritza smiled — and Luanne noticed that smile.

"Jay, can I talk to Maritza... alone?" she nudged her husband's arm.

"You? With Maritza?" he asked, amused. But one look at his wife told him — this was serious.

"Yeah. Just... a chat. Woman-to-woman. Or mother-to-daughter. Something like that."

Maritza nodded uncertainly. But for some reason... it made her feel warmer. Like she didn't have to keep her guard up.

"Narf. Didn't you say you had to prep for your biology class?" Jay added.

Nicky slouched.

"Yeah... technically," he lied. Still trying to hide the real reason for his questions.

"Then off you go, professor. Miss Esposito and I will chat here," Jay winked, biting into a chocolate roll.

"Back on sugar-high mode?" Luanne raised an eyebrow. She could always read his moods by the sweets he devoured.

"And you're back in detective mode," Jay muttered, heading into the living room.

Nicky stood up and looked at Maritza.

She looked back — just for a moment. He didn't know what that look meant. But it said, Don't worry. You're okay.

He went upstairs.

His room was still dark, the curtains still closed. But the darkness didn't scare him now.

Downstairs were his parents. And Maritza.

That was enough.

He closed the door behind him.

"Well then... let's talk," Luanne said, gently motioning Maritza to the table and handing her a mug of cocoa.

Maritza sat down.

In Nicky's room:

The desk lamp glowed softly, as if it didn't want to disturb his thoughts.

Nicky sat on the floor, back against the wall. In front of him — an open notebook, pencils, pens, and half a dozen filled pages.

One page: packed with writing.

Another: clean, detailed sketches.

His thoughts poured out faster than he could catch them.

"Negative energy. Side effect — burns. Triggered by negativity. Leads to 'fear' ability.

Skin contact = target enters hallucination, apparently of their worst personal fear (based on Seth and Ruben's reaction)."

He bit his lip.

On the next line:

"Passive buffs without needing full activation.

Physically: +strength, +speed, +endurance, +regen.

BUT: because the energy leaks out often, the body is forced to regenerate constantly.

Like fire burning inside while the skin tries to fix itself mid-burn.

Eventually... cells give out."

He turned the page.

No text. Just drawings.

One sketch — him, consumed by darkness. Jet-black figure. White eyes. Fire inside his body. Mouth twisted — not in anger, but from pressure.

Next to it — another version.

Mint glow, six arms extended like wisps of smoke and light. Face calmer. Eyes blue. But the skin already marked. And he wasn't smiling.

"Positive energy... faster regeneration. Way faster.

But same issue — cells aren't infinite.

Using it = cell division, even without damage."

He wrote more:

• Positive energy abilities:

- Mint arms/hands — strong, long, flexible

- Full control over them, like second body

- Grow too easily = not illusion, actual structural change

"Also seems like using both energies makes me even stronger..."

He mumbled it, unsure — and didn't write that part down.

Pause.

He grabbed a second pencil and sketched a third version — a costume design. His Halloween idea.

Back in the kitchen:

"You don't have to answer, but... you didn't come here for no reason, did you?"

Luanne asked softly.

Maritza gripped the mug. The cocoa had gone cold. She looked at the woman across the table — uncertain.

Yes, she was running from Crowface.

But why hadn't she gone to Ivan?

"No. I... I didn't know where else to go. He was the first person I thought of. Not because it was close. Because... he would understand."

Luanne nodded, then leaned in a little.

"You know... I've seen the way you look at him. Even if you try to hide it — it shows."

Maritza stiffened. Her fingers tightened around the mug.

"I don't—"

"Shh. I'm not the type to dissect feelings with a ruler and a periodic table. I just want you to know... I'm not against it." Luanne lifted her hand gently.

Maritza lowered her eyes.

"What if he... doesn't feel the same?"

"Maybe he doesn't... or maybe he does. Nicholas isn't great with this stuff. Honestly? I thought he might be gay for a while, because of how close he was with Aaron. Still kinda wonder." Luanne smirked.

"I just want him to be okay..." Maritza said quietly.

"That's the start of something important. Thank you... for caring about my son." Luanne reached out and placed her hand over Maritza's.

Maritza blinked. Her shoulders relaxed.

And for the first time in a long while... she felt lighter.

"Thanks... for not yelling. Or kicking me out," she whispered.

"You're not a stranger. You're part of his world. Which means... you're part of our family." Luanne smiled.

Back upstairs:

Nicky flipped to a new page titled:

"Theory"

He began drawing a chart:

Pure chaos (uncontrolled, transparent? — according to Ivan?) 

↓ 

Emotions 

↓ 

• Positive → mint (positive chaos) 

• Negative → black (negative chaos)

"But... in the dream there was a white line. Not transparent. White.

Then it turned blue.

Then it split into violet and turquoise...

which became black and mint."

He scribbled:

• ❓ Could white = my pure chaos, distorted?

• ❓ Could blue = stable balance of positive/negative? Or a controlled version of pure chaos?

(wait... are those the same thing? Need to think about this.)

• ❓ Is controlled chaos even possible? Or just an illusion?

• ❓ What do violet and turquoise mean? Why did they become black and mint?

• ❓ Is violet a stronger form of negative energy?

• ❓ Then is turquoise the full form of positive?

He kept writing...

Until something landed in his window.

"Your window's still broken..."

A voice he knew.

She was tangled in the curtains.

"What do you want, Trinity?" he sighed, letting go of his pen.

"I... wanted to talk."

Bales finally freed herself and looked around his room.

UFO posters. Guitars. Rock-n-roll memorabilia. Self-folding toy robots. Crumpled pages everywhere. Open books.

"If it's about Crowface, leave. I'm not in the mood. And I want nothing to do with it."

"No. I just... wanted to apolo—"

"Don't. Don't even say that word. I told you not to talk to that creep! But you did. And then had the audacity to show up like, 'You're amazing, you're so important to me, blah blah blah.' Enough." Nicky snapped.

"What? N-no... I admit, I messed up. But I didn't have much choice. Crowface blew up my house. Peterson was the only lead. And... I wasn't lying when I said all that. Nicky... you are important to me."

She sat on his bed.

"Not sure I believe that anymore." Nicky looked away.

"You're my best friend. I've never had anyone this close to me before. And... I'm sorry I broke your trust." Bales lowered her gaze.

"Heh..."

Nicky glanced at her. Was he mad? Yeah.

Did he hate her? No. She was too close for that.

"I just wanted to let you know. And... that's it. I don't expect you to forgive me right away. But I'll do what it takes. Good night." She stood up and walked toward the window.

"Wait. Here." He handed her the notebook.

Trinity blinked, surprised.

She looked at the page he'd opened.

"You... drew Omni-Mark from Invincible?" she asked, confused.

"What?! No." He snatched it back.

Yeah. It was Omni-Mark. He'd drawn it earlier.

The costume looked like a blend of Invincible and Omni-Man.

White upper suit, red lower half. White boots with red accents, reversed on the gloves.

A scarlet cape.

Down the center — a deep magenta stripe with a red O.

Black goggles. Spiked hair. Edgy.

"Uh... sorry. That's my Halloween costume sketch. This one—"

He flipped the page and showed her his theories and notes.

Ten minutes later.

Trinity sat silent.

She handed the notebook back.

"You... really think this is all real?"

"The theory part? Maybe not. But the rest? Definitely. I even asked Mom about the biology side. She's the reason I'm decent at it."

"Nicky... this is terrifying. I... didn't know." She looked away.

"Doesn't matter. I'll just avoid using it."

"Nicky. You're human. You'll feel. Emotions will come out.

And they'll hurt you either way... I'm gonna ask Ivan to help."

Her alarm went off.

"Crap— oh my god, it's 10!"

"You should go. Your parents will kill you."

"Yeah... but hey. You're not alone, okay? Me, Enzo, Maritza, Ivan — we're not going anywhere. Promise."

And then — she hugged him. Quick, firm. And then she jumped out the window.

"..."

Nicky sat still, trying to process what just happened.

Right then, his door opened.

"Hey Nicky. I'm heading out, my dad's here. Later." Maritza's voice.

"Uh... later." He waved awkwardly.

But she didn't leave immediately.

She held out her fist.

Nicky hesitated, then bumped it with his own.

"Alright. Goodnight." She ran off.

"You too." He called after her, still spinning from everything.

He turned around.

Back to the notebook...

Okay. Time to do it.

Downstairs, the kitchen buzzed with warm chaos:

Jay stood by the stove, tea in one hand, gingerbread in his mouth — which meant: he was in a good mood.

Luanne typed on her laptop, glasses slipping down her nose, a pen in one hand and a half-eaten Twinkie in the other. Focused.

"Um..." Nicky began.

They both looked up.

"You okay, kiddo?" Jay asked, smiling.

"I... want to show you something."

Nicky laid the notebook open on the table.

There — a bold, colorful sketch of the Halloween costume.

Bright. Brave.

Nothing like the shy kid who always wore the same teal Sharcotron T-shirt, brown shorts, Venetian blue shoes with pastel-grey trim, and Blue Bayoux goggles.

His parents stared.

Three seconds of silence.

Then—

"Whoa." Jay breathed.

"You drew this?" Luanne leaned in. Eyes wide.

Nicky nodded. Shoulders hunched.

"This is... really good. Great proportions. You've got a sense for design." Luanne pulled off her glasses.

"Who is it?" Jay asked through a cautious gingerbread chew.

"Character from Invincible. I... want to wear this for Halloween."

"You're asking us to buy the costume?" Luanne crossed her arms.

"No..." Nicky hesitated.

"I was wondering if... maybe... we could make it? Together?"

He froze.

Long pause.

Jay dropped his mug — thankfully, into the sink.

"You... want us to make it with you?" Luanne asked, stunned.

He nodded slowly.

"You know how to sew... and Dad can draw... and I'll help.

I just..."

"Kid. SON. Come here!" Jay turned and hugged him so suddenly he nearly knocked him over.

"You finally asked for something that isn't 'Don't touch my tools'!" he was ecstatic.

"We'll make you the best costume in all of damn Raven Hills!" Jay shouted.

"First — measurements," Luanne said, flipping pages.

"We'll need two types of fabric: stretchy white and red. Satin for the cape. Felt for the emblem. And goggles."

"And hair gel!" Jay added.

"You're not just a hero — you're a bold hero! Hair goes — WHOOSH!"

He made explosion gestures around his head.

Nicky laughed.

A real, unfiltered laugh.

"Dad, that sounds awful."

"That's why it's perfect." Jay winked.

The next two hours were filled with tape measures, fabric scraps, and an old college cloak.

Luanne checked every seam. Jay color-matched. Nicky cut templates.

At one point, they stood over the draft layout.

Nicky whispered:

"Remember when Aaron and I built that fart synthesizer?"

They froze.

"Yeah... and hooked it to Mrs. Tillman's eco-shop speakers." Jay grinned.

"$5000 fine," Luanne said dryly.

And they all burst out laughing.

Loud. Silly. Together.

Nicky realized he hadn't laughed like this in forever — not politely, not nervously.

Just laughed. With his parents. At home.

Safe.

And he wished — more than anything — for this feeling to last.

…

3 chapters in 1-2 days? That’s crazy.

Yeah, Nicky got a pretty good things happen to him in this one. He deserved that. At least one good evening.(even thought half of his time is like thinking about his powers, that kill him slowly)

And… Maritza officially has crush on Nicky? Who predicted that?