#i hate this fuckin song & dance

[camellcat]

WTFFF I thought thirteen would be my new girl crush love of my life heart eyes wife you-came-after-twelve-you-must-be-better-than-they're-all-saying bbygirl and then I had to sit down and watch as she told a man who (if he were not a murderer, of course) literally every regeneration before her would've LOVED and FULLY SUPPORTED that "the systems aren't the problem. how people use and exploit the system, that's the problem. people like you" </33333 !?!?

[xythlia]

insurance makes me wanna pull my goddamn hair out

[ronanlynchbf]

NO WAY are english fans singing bruce springsteen at this football match......know ur place ✋😐

[charlie-pippin-faraday]

i can never tell whether my job interviews went well or not

i just finished one and i need to take a bath for like 2 and a half hours

[steddieas-shegoes]

pop goes metal

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'alternate universe'

rated t | 964 words | cw: language | tags: famous corroded coffin, pop star steve harrington, flirting, getting together

🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

"No fuckin' way are we working with him," Eddie argues with their manager. "You're always so worried about our image and then you go and have us doing a song with a fuckin' pop artist?"

The manager, Anthony, rolls his eyes. "It'll broaden your fanbase. You know who spends money on shit? Women. You know who likes Steve Harrington? Women."

"Does he even write his own shit?" Gareth asks.

"Does it matter?" Eddie turned to him with a glare. "Even if he writes it, it's not our style."

"Maybe we could at least hear what he's trying to work with us on?" Jeff, always the calming presence, asked towards Anthony.

"He sent over a sample before we sign any agreements."

Eddie sat down in the chair furthest from everyone else, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now, this isn't an official recording. Just what he did on his phone on his tour bus with his acoustic guitar. He arranged the bass already for Frankie, too, but said he's open to whatever Gareth feels is right for the drums." Anthony pressed play on his phone and the room was filled with strumming and a surprisingly raspy voice singing what was clearly a chorus.

Eddie could pretend he hated it, and maybe the guys would agree with him and they'd never have to speak of this again.

He couldn't hide his reaction fast enough, though.

His jaw dropped as he listened to the lyrics, surprised to find that they weren't just about going to a club and dancing or being in love.

Steve's voice broke at the end before there was shuffling and the recording stopped.

Eddie felt everyone's eyes on him. He closed his mouth and looked down at the floor, tapping his fingers against his arm.

"It's not bad," he finally said. "Not sure why he needs us, though."

"Apparently, his brother is a huge fan of you and suggested he try to work with you."

"I think we should do it." Jeff said, a note of finality in his tone that Eddie knew he wouldn't try arguing with.

"Yeah, can't hurt." Frankie shrugged.

"If he's giving me creative freedom on the drums, how can I say no?" Gareth smirked.

"Guess we're working with the pop diva, then."

****

Steve Harrington was nothing like what they expected.

He showed up to their studio in sweats and glasses, holding a tablet and a bottle of Tylenol. They started to introduce themselves as he found a spot on the couch.

"I'm really glad you guys were willing to work with me," he said after he shook everyone's hand.

Eddie stared.

"My uh, my brother, Dustin, he's kinda why I wrote this song and I know it means a lot that you agreed to be on it," Steve continued. "So, thanks. Hopefully it doesn't ruin your vibes or anything."

Eddie felt every wall he built crumbling with every word Steve spoke. God dammit, this man just had to be sincere and hot and talented, didn't he?

"Nah, we're gonna sound great together." Eddie smiled at Steve's wide-eyed look. "You wanna show us the whole song?"

Steve nodded, pulling something up on his phone. Another recording, this one more professional and included an electric guitar.

"Robin was the stand in for the electric while I did bass."

"So you can play bass?" Frankie asked, leaning in.

"Yeah, but my preferred instrument is piano. I just don't do a lot of slow songs. Guitar is what gets the women interested, or so they tell me," Steve smiled awkwardly. "But feel free to change some things up. I'm totally open to suggestions."

But really, it was damn near perfect as it was. Frankie made one tweak during the bridge, but Steve ended up loving it more than the original and told him so with a grin.

"You're a fuckin' genius!" He exclaimed.

Gareth started messing around on the drums while Steve and Eddie worked on the first couple of lines.

"Something still doesn't feel right," Steve mentioned.

"Maybe we change the rhyming pattern?" Eddie suggested. "You've got ABAB. Might work better to do AABB. Some of these words can be moved around to make that work."

Steve stared at the notes app for a moment, then looked back up at Eddie, beaming smile making his eyes squint.

"I could kiss you!" He shouted. As soon as he realized what he said, he blushed, looking back down at the phone. "I mean, thanks. That's a great suggestion."

Eddie searched Steve's face, coming to the conclusion that there was probably a good reason why Steve didn't care about what women liked when it came to his music.

"I have a pretty strict rule about kissing people I work with," Eddie said slowly, quietly so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Yeah, no, that makes sense. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or-"

"But we won't be working with each other for long, right?" Eddie continued, letting his hand rest on Steve's thigh. God, he was muscular.

"Um. No I guess not."

"Rain check, then. Until we've finished our professional relationship." Eddie couldn't believe he was suggesting this. Showing interest in a pop star. What's next? Dating one? Marrying one?

"Are you saying you wanna kiss me, Munson?" Steve suddenly sounded more confident.

"I'm saying we've got work to do before I can get my hands on you." Eddie tapped his thigh before pulling away. "So let's get to it."

"Dude! I got it!" Gareth yelled, interrupting their moment.

"Be right there!" Steve yelled back, not looking away from Eddie. "Might break a record for fastest recording time ever just so I can kiss you," Steve added quietly to Eddie before standing and walking over to Gareth.

"Well, fuck." Eddie sighed, smiling to himself.

[esmedelacroix]

Way Too In Deep

✮⋆˙ in which exboyfriend!toji fushiguro sees you in a club...

cw ! bathroom sex, semi-public sex, mirror sex, daddy kink, spanking, mild degradation kink(lemme know if I missed any im having a brainfart rn)

a/n : ya'll iv'e been doing everything BUT writting✋😭 like. not my usual content and I lowk hate this an might rewrite but lets get whornee!

fic radio 💿🎧🫧 : Deep by Summer Walker

Strobe lights, smoke machines, shitty DJs, and even shittier guys. That's what clubs were to you. But your friends loved clubs so they put you in a short, tight dress that left nothing to the imagination, and a killer pair of heels. They dragged you to the Fallen Angel. How did your friends get you into a popular luxury club? You had no idea.

You were the designated sober friend who would drive everyone home(if they weren't already going home with their one-night stands). Meaning, you were stuck drinking mocktails and flirting with the bartender for the night. You forgot how much you missed clubbing though. The only true meaning you were so pessimistic, was that you hadn't been out since you broke up with your ex-boyfriend two months ago.

Who conveniently entered your line of sight across the room. You weren't going to sit and look like a loser now that he was here. You ordered a shot of tequila and downed it; enjoying the burning sensation in your throat. Luckily one of your favorite songs was playing, and your friends dressed you up like a hooker.

You needed to find a guy to dance with quick. You needed to prove to Toji that you were doing much better than he was. You only had to look at the poor victim you chose for the night and he was already yours. You let the music ignite you and guide your movements. Your back was flush against his as you ran your hands through your hair grinding against him. "My name's Shiu," the guy you were dancing with whispered in your ear.

"Cool, less talking, more touching," you said, guiding his hands to your hips.

"Yes, ma'am," he smirked as his hands tightened around your hips.

Your eyes were fixed on Toji burning holes into the back of his head. When Toji finally noticed you, you stared straight into his eyes as you mouthed the words to the lyrics and whined your hips against Shoe(whatever his name was). Toji looked irritated but impressed by the nerve you had to try and taunt him like that. Exactly what you wanted.

He took to the dance floor with one of his new girls. He spun her around and danced with her the same way you were dancing with Shiu. You could feel his manhood hardening against your ass. You weren't even dancing anymore, you were practically dry-humping on the dance floor. Miguel's eyes stayed fixed on you. Your body. Those eyes. Your sultry expression. Your mouth. Agape.

That set him off. As soon as you knew it, he was marching towards you with a mean scowl on his face. One blink and Toji's larger rough hand was firmly around your wrist dragging you away from Shiu. "Hey let go," you protested from behind with a satisfied smile on your face. Toji didn't answer. He simply grumbled under his breath, dragging you into the single-stall bathroom locking the door behind him.

"Just who do you think you are?" he asked with his hands on his hips.

"I don't know what you mean," you said feigning innocence.

"Really? 'Cause you were practically fuckin' that guy out there," he scoffed inching closer to you until your back crashed against the wall and faces were centimeters apart.

"No. I wasn't," you whined.

"Oh yeah. Don't lie to me baby you were doing it so I would look. I know it," he scoffed.

"Okay, maybe I was. I mean, even so, you wouldn—" you started before being cut off by his lips on yours. He kissed you like he was on his deathbed and you were the elixir of life. You moaned softly into his kiss.

Toji's hands found themselves wandering all over your body. They caressed your soft breasts. Your waist, and your ass. He gave your ass a squeeze. "Tell me you don't want this," he whispered.

You shook your head softly, draping your arms over the nape of his neck. "Give it to me Toji," you sighed in his ear. He could hear the sinister smile in your voice. With that confirmation, he lifted you your legs wrapping around his waist and placing you on the sink. He immediately kissed your neckline and jaw leaving fresh bruises all over the place.

Your fingers ran through his hair and tightened into fists full of his damp tufts of hair every time he sucked on your neck. "Tell me you don't want this baby and I'll stop," he grunted as he kissed down your cleavage.

"You bluffin' Fushiguro?" you smirked. He simply scoffed and let you hop off the sink. He moved you around by your waist so you could look at him through the mirror. "Look at you. You wanted this didn't you?" he smirked.

You smile at him through the mirror. "Maybe I did," you whispered. His rough hands bunched up the hem of your dress to your waist.

"You're still as slutty as ever," he snickered, as he bent you over the sink. Moving your thong aside, his calloused finger made sudden contact with your glossy slit. You let out a breathy moan at the sudden contact.

"How many guys have been in this pussy since we split, hmm?" he asked as he plunged a finger into your dripping sex.

"Lost count," you lied.

"You don't gotta lie to me ma," he grunted.

You hated how well he knew you. You hated how he knew you grinned when you lied. You hated that he knew you weren't over him and that he still owned you whether you liked it or not.

But he wondered if you knew you had the same effect on him. Wondered if you knew the girls were just a ploy to get you to notice him. Wondered if you knew how you occupied his every thought. How you had him in some sort of trance and he couldn't escape you being in his dreams. He didn't mind it though. He secretly loved how you haunted him whenever you were apart.

"I'm not lyin', I've been a bad girl," you breathed out as he managed to make you drip with just one finger.

"You know, if you want me to spank you, baby, all you gotta do is ask," he cooed as he added a second finger pumping in and out of your eager cunt at an agonizing pace.

"Don't try to taunt me. You'll regret it," he continued as he picked up the pace.

You feel little fireworks ignite in your stomach hearing his words. A feeling you missed dearly that only he could give you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he added a third finger. "Mhmm—Toji, t-too much," you whined.

"You like that?" he cooed as he curled his finger up into your spongy sensitive spot.

"Yeah!" you almost squealed, looking away from yourself in the mirror.

"Yeah?" he teased as he roughly gripped your jaw pointing your face towards it.

"Uh huh," you sighed as you felt the heat rush to your face as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Toji was peering into your soul with a nasty smile plastered on his face, watching your body's reactions to his touch. Your body's reactions to his lips on your neck, his other hand fondling your boob through your dress, and his glistening fingers slipping out of your sopping wet cunt.

You whined at the sudden empty feeling. "You're so needy tonight. You miss me baby?" he teased. You pouted at him through the mirror.

You couldn't help but shamelessly rub your ass against his crotch as he took his pants off. He taunted you rubbing his swollen tip against your wet folds. "Want you inside," you whined.

"Ask nicely baby," he groaned.

"Daddy please, need you inside," you moaned.

"Atta giiirl," he purred as he lazily pushed his fat tip into your cunt.

The stretch was better than anything you could've imagined. Your walls fluttered around his cock as he pushed even further into you bottoming out. It took everything in him to not cum right away. He focused on his breathing tilting his head back trying to keep it all in.

You were growing impatient and brattier by the second. You moved your hips fucking into him eliciting a guttural groan. His hands roughly came to your hips bringing your movements to a full halt. "Behave yourself," he grunted as he bent you further over the sink back arching. He fucking into you slowly and all you could do was squeeze your eyes shut trying not to cum.

"Look at me when I fuck you, baby," he grunted as he picked up the pace.

That sensation of tiny explosions in your stomach came back causing your pussy to flutter around him. You were moaning uncontrollably. It was all too much, the stretch, the sweat, the music blasting, the dirty talking, and the finger he roughly lodged in your mouth to shut you up. "M'close Toji, needa cum, please~" you moaned

"You gonna cream on daddy's cock baby?" he cooed rubbing your puffy clit as his thrusts increased in speed.

"Yes, yes! Just l-like that Toji," you gasped.

It was all perfect: his pace, the hand placement, his finger rapidly rubbing at your aching clit. All of it was enough to make you come undone on his fat throbbing cock.

And that you did. Hard. If your knees weren't already weak, they were now. Your legs rapidly convulsed as you creamed around Toji's cock. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head; all you could see was white. Toji kept pumping in and out of your pussy as you came, fucking you through your high.

You were babbling incoherent praises as you came down from your high. "I'm gonna cum baby where do you want it?" he panted as he pulled out, continuing to pump himself trying to imitate the irreplaceable feeling of her pussy.

"Should I cum on those pretty tits?" he grunted smirking as you whimpered nonsense.

"Or maybe this perfect ass?" he suggested as his hips began to buck into his fist.

"Anywhere, anywhere—please just," you whimpered.

"Please what? Use your words, baby," he groaned.

"My face," you shamefully whispered.

"Huh?" Toji teased as you turned around getting on your knees looking up into his emerald green eyes.

"I want you to cum on my face, daddy," you pouted.

"There you go open up for me baby," he groaned as hips stuttered fucking into his fist. You immediately obeyed his command, opening your mouth for him, sticking out your tongue, and looking up at him the way he liked.

"Atta giiirl," he moaned, throwing his head back.

You tasted his salty cum on your tongue and you were hooked again. You were in deep. Way too in deep.

[little-wicked10]

You’re Worse than Me 🥃(Billy Butcher Smut)

Summary: The Boys get dragged out by their girls to go dancing. Ain’t nothing like wrangling a bunch of drunk women to keep them from fighting or fucking in the middle of a club.

Warnings: Smut 18+ (duh), cursing, dirty talk, drinking, fighting, breeding kink, subspace, daddy kink, possessive behavior, Butcher being Butcher, Annie, Kimiko, and oc being drunk party girls lol

Notes: This is basically inspired by a scene in Yellowstone where a woman at a bar tries to hit on Rip and she goes up to Beth to be like “I’m taking your husband home” and Beth beats her ass. Alcohol makes people do dumb shit so that’s also the thought behind this smut.

“Bold Italics” - characters are speaking in Kimiko’s sign language

//

“We’re going out dancing, and you’re coming with us. All of you,” Annie said defiantly.

“Oi! Don’t be bargin’ in ‘ere makin’ demands without so much as a ‘ello,” Butcher shot back as he stared at the three women looking over the rest of them, “What do you birds wanna go dancin’ for?”

“And why do you want us to go?” Hughie added.

“We all need to let off some steam. It’ll be fun and we’re going. You can come with us or we can get hit on by drunk assholes. Your choice,” she stared down her surly boyfriend.

The three women knew that it wouldn’t take Frenchie and Hughie much convincing, MM would come to get his party on, but Butcher was fucking stubborn. He hated clubs. The only thing he hated more was some drunk cunt trying to touch her. His girl.

The room was eerily tense as the two had a silent battle of wills, wondering who would cave first under the other’s glare. Butcher thought he’d win until he saw that terrifying look in her eyes. Last time he saw that look, he slept on the couch for four days with his tail tucked between his legs.

Butcher groaned, throwing his head back as he spun his chair, “Fine!”

He rolled his eyes as he heard her and the other women in the room nearly squeal with delight. Butcher sat up in his chair as she pranced over and sat her pretty self on his lap, kissing his cheek then the corner of his mouth before pressing her lips to his ear, “Thank you, daddy.”

His chuckle was dark. She was such a fucking troublemaker.

//

They were like a bunch of giddy teenage girls as they all crowded in the bathroom doing their hair and makeup. Butcher and MM had taken the liberty of raiding Hughie’s liquor cabinet to pour themselves a whiskey. Hughie noticed while the ladies were on cloud nine to finally be going out, the men seemed more apprehensive.

“Am I uh missing something? Why don’t you wanna go out with them?” Hughie asks as he leans against the kitchen island.

“You kidding? You not know what happens when women go out together?” MM asked.

“If you think we’re bad, kid, wait till those birds get a lil nip of tequila on their tongues,” Butcher finished his glass to punctuate his sentence.

Hughie scoffed a little, “Okay. I’ve been out with Annie like a hundred times. She doesn’t go crazy.”

“That’s when it’s just you and her. It’s when you get a group of ’em together,” MM explained, “They just start feedin’ off each other’s energy.”

“Oh sure, it’s all right as rain and fuckin’ roses until they start drinkin’. Then someone’s favorite song comes on which leads to dancin’ and more drinkin’,” Butcher almost rolled his eyes at the thought.

Frenchie piped in from his seat on the couch, “Wrangling drunk women is like wrangling cats.”

Hughie was skeptical of everything they had said. They were grown women, and Butcher and MM were acting like they were feral animals.

Glancing down the hall, all four of them watched as the three ladies made their appearance. Hughie found himself drooling when he finally saw Annie. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the black dress that hugged her body or how she shined with so much sexual confidence. Not sexy confidence. There was a difference.

“But that right there, my son, is why we men do what we do,” Butcher mumbled to Hughie as he shook the young man’s shoulder, “Because who’s gonna help the lil’ lady out of that tight dress with the tricky zipper later? Ay?”

Butcher’s face did little to mask his dirty thoughts as she stood before him wearing a tight dark red little dress, “Fuckin’ beautiful, pet.”

Her smile was sweet as she wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a loving kiss on his lips, squealing when he roughly grabbed her ass, “Be good, you nasty dog.”

Butcher growled playfully before kissing her again, “Yer one to talk.”

Frenchie saw how unsure Kimiko felt in the light blue dress. While the silent supe tended to wear mainly black, the girls convinced her to try a softer color. Maybe something to match her nails.

“Do you like it? They helped me pick it out,” she gestured towards her dress, “Look! It matches my nails!”

“I love it, mon coeur. You look so gorgeous. So beautiful,” Frenchie sounded a little out of breath as he watched her excitedly showed off her matching dress and nails.

Kimiko smiled brightly as she suddenly took Frenchie’s hand and quickly led the group out the door.

//

Thanks to Frenchie’s connection, they managed to get a private booth for their large party. A mischievous glint passed the girls’ faces when they all saw the stripper pole in the middle of the private area. They were on tequila shot number three when the first signs of the party girls started coming out to play. “Hughie! Take this shot,” Annie giggled excitedly.

Hughie’s eyes glanced around for the glass until he realize Annie was holding the shot between her pushed up tits. Instantly, he turned red and started to sputter a bit, “A-are you sure? Like…um.”

“Don’t be a twat! Get in there, my boy!” Butcher boomed.

“Do it, Petit Hughie!” Frenchie encouraged.

“How do I um…,” Hughie asks flustered.

“Are you seriously asking me how to take this shot?” Annie asked.

“Watch out. Let Daddy show you how it’s done. Grab that shot there, love,” Butcher gestured to the tequila shot sitting out on the table.

She was quick to pick up the glass and nestle it between her cleavage after sitting down on the man’s lap. Butcher instantly buried his face between her tits before resurfacing with his mouth wrapped around the glass, throwing his head back and draining the liquor down his open throat.

“See it’s easy. You got this, baby,” Annie encouraged.

Hughie just shrugged, giving in to peer pressure and taking the shot. They all laughed as Hughie coughed and nearly choked at the feeling of tequila sliding down his throat like a dick.

Butcher greedily groped her bare thigh that sat across his lap when he felt her hips begin to move as her body swayed to the club’s music.

“You gonna dance with me tonight, old man?” her voice was sweet and syrupy.

Butcher chuckled darkly at her attempts to rile him up, “I know this lil’ game, love. You act like you ain’t got the brains you’s was born wit’ til I gotta come round and fuck the sense back in to ya.”

She laughed playfully, “You’re allowed to be a big ass chaos monster on missions. It’s my turn to be a little crazy.”

//

Tequila shot number five was when her and Kimiko took advantage of the stripper pole. Annie and Frenchie threw crumpled dollar bills at them and cheered them on. Butcher and MM simply watched in amusement. The two older men had been around this block before. They’d been young once, and there was nothing better or worse than a sloppy drunk party girl.

“I don’t know how you do it, asshole. But that girl…she’s gonna kill you. Like, actually,” MM admitted to Butcher, “She matches your freak.”

“Better her than the alternative. Rather die chasing that lovely ass than pissin’ in a fuckin’ bedpan waitin’ for the reaper to come and swing me around by me cock,” Butcher scoffed with a little smile.

The two men jerked their heads towards the sound of Frenchie and Annie freaking out. Kimiko had thrown her arms around her friend’s shoulders and planted a kiss to her lips. Her initial reaction was surprise, but the tequila making her brain fuzzy made her kiss back. Goddamnit.

Butcher’s piercing whistle surprised them, “Oi! Behave ya selves!” She pulled away from her friend and rolled her eyes before going back to dancing.

As grown ass women working with a bunch of dick swinging men, it was nice to drink and not give two fucks about anything else. They’d been talking for ages about going out, but there was always too much to do. After passing around a joint at the office one night, the girls conjured up their plan to go let loose and torture their boyfriends.

“He’s such a buzz kill sometimes,” she giggled as she signed to Kimiko, “Good thing he fucks like a beast!”

“More shots! Also you’re a good kisser,” Kimiko giggled.

“What is she saying?” Annie asked.

“She said I’m a good kisser,” she giggled, “And we need more shots!”

Her, Annie, and Kimiko cheered and rushed off to the bar for more drinks before any of the guys could protest. Frenchie moved over to sit closer to Hughie and Butcher who were watching their girlfriends at the bar. They talked and laughed as they waited on their drinks. Hughie noticed how his girlfriend and Butcher’s girlfriend were being flirty with one another, the gap between them getting smaller and smaller.

“Should I be worried?” Hughie suddenly asked.

Butcher barked out a laugh that shook his shoulders, “Not enjoying the show, Hughie? Don’t get a lil’ tickle in ya pickle seein’ your bird tongued down my mine?”

“They are just having fun, Mon Petit Hughie,” Frenchie added, “Women express themselves more through sexuality.

“So we’re just supposed to watch our girlfriends all make out together and not do anything about it?” Hughie asked.

Frenchie, Butcher, and MM laughed hysterically as the young man realized how weird women were when they drank. Out of the corner of his eye, Hughie saw Annie get closer to the other woman’s face. He felt himself choke on his own spit when the blond pressed her lips to the other woman’s. The other men glanced over at what had Hughie so flustered and gave an amused chuckle.

“Fuck that’s a pretty sight, ain’t it?” Butcher smirked as he lit a cigarette.

When the other woman ran her fingers through Annie’s hair, Hughie went to stand up to break up whatever was happening with his girlfriend and her friend. He was stopped by Butcher and Frenchie clapping a hand on his shoulders and forcing him to sit back down, “Just let it play out, son.”

As the experienced, older men expected, the two girls parted with a giggle before taking the shots that been set on the bar. Those girls put on quite a show, driven by alcohol, curiosity, and the need to tease.

“Tequila, my boy. Tequila is a man’s greatest ally and enemy,” Butcher took a drag.

//

He couldn’t remember what number shot she was on, but the way she danced told him it was probably close to, if not over, ten. Her eyes were glazed over and staring into his as she danced with Kimiko under the colorful strobe lights. The way she guided Kimiko’s hips to move with hers to the rhythm of pounding music made him think about how that lovely little minx would be riding him when this was all said and done. Just let her take out the rest of that clear liquor coursing through her body on his.

His sinful thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a wobbly presence sitting down and leaning against him. The smell of vodka and shitty perfume filled his nose when a drunk girl sat next to him.

“Hey. Got a light?” she held out an unlit cigarette.

Butcher reached into his pocket to pull out his lighter. He flipped it open and flicked the flame to life, lighting the girls cigarette before shutting it. He never broke eye contact with his dancing vixen out on the dance floor, but her expression had changed from one of wanting to devour him to an annoyed grimace at the other sloppy party girl treading into her territory.

“What’s a handsome guy like you doing by yourself?” the girl exhaled before turning her body to fully face his, tits almost brushing against his arm.

“Night out with my girl,” Butcher jerked his head towards the dance floor.

“I don’t see her,” he felt her eyes still staring at his profile, her hand coming to rest on his thigh, “Besides, with an accent like, I can be your girl. I can be whatever you want me to be.”

Butcher chuckled before leaning over and pointing, “See that lass over there? The one that looks like she wants to tear yer bloody throat out wit’ her teef? Tha’s mine.”

The overly bleached blonde looked out to the dancing crowd and saw who he’d been talking about. She had stopped dancing and was glaring in their direction, whispering something to Kimiko.

The girl turned back with a smirk, “I’m not scared of her. Let me go talk to her. Woman to woman.”

Butcher raised his thick eyebrows in surprise before picking up his drink, “Your fuckin’ funeral, doll.”

He watched in amusement as the drunk girl strutted her way over to the lioness glaring her down. Frenchie and Hughie sat down on either side of him having returned from the bar. They had clearly noticed the interaction, and Hughie was the first to ask, “What was that?”

“Nuffin’. Just some cunt,” Butcher replied picking up his smoking cigarette from the ashtray.

“Oh shit,” Frenchie suddenly piped in.

They looked up just in time to see Butcher’s girlfriend deck out the blonde girl that had been flirting with him just moments ago. All three men were up on their feet the second the girl hit the floor and proceeded to be kicked by the woman she’d tried to “talk” to.

“Motherfucker!” Butcher growled as he rushed to stop her from ripping a chunk of bleach blonde hair from the poor girl’s head.

The crowd parted as they watched the fight, a couple people pulling out their phones to record. Hughie and Frenchie were quick to push Annie and Kimiko out of the way as Butcher swooped in. Prying her off the poor beaten and bloody girl, Butcher threw her struggling ass over his shoulder and booked it out of the club.

“FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING SKANK! PUT ME DOWN, BUTCHER!”

“OI, OI! LET’S FUCKIN’ GO!” Butcher hollered.

She still yelled profanities and threats as the others led the way out of the club. By the time they reached the outside, Butcher couldn’t help but laugh at the little woman fighting like a badger and cussing like a sailor. He kept laughing as they all ran down the sidewalk towards the van. When they finally slowed down, Annie had fallen onto the side walk giggling with heavy limbs, and Kimiko was being carried in Frenchie’s arms with a satisfied drunk smile.

“This the downside of tequila?” Hughie huffed out trying to pull Annie up off the ground with no success, “This what you were trying to warn me about?”

Butcher panted out a laugh before readjusting the woman on his shoulder, “Aye, it is.”

Hughie suddenly struggled with Annie as the girl was up and grabbing at his clothes and kissing on his neck. “Annie, babe. Babe, we are in public!” Hughie complained as he fought off the small woman’s advances.

“C’mon, Hughie! Let’s be naughty. Take me over to an alley or something,” Annie giggled like crazy as her hands slipped under Hughie’s shirt.

Butcher turned back to see the young lad fighting to keep his lady out of his pants, “Ya alright, lad! Keep ‘er movin’! Soon’a ya get her home, the soon’a she can jump ya cock.”

Butcher heard MM honk the horn from down the street, flashing the headlights as he leaned out the driver’s side window. Butcher began to walk in the van’s direction when he felt her reach down and smack his ass hard.

“Ay!” he popped her ass making her squeal, “MM might be right. You plannin’ on killin’ me, love?”

“Only way to guarantee no one comes after me,” she slurred dreamily, “Is daddy gonna punish me later for being bad?”

Butcher smiled and crinkled his nose, jostling her on his shoulder, “Fuckin’ mess you are.”

//

A grunt left Butcher’s throat as her small hands frantically and expertly unbuckled his belt to start pushing them down. As soon as his jeans and boxers were around his ankles, she shoved him to sit on the edge of the bed as she bunched up the skirt of her tight dress over her ass. She was quick to straddle him and take his hard cock in her hand. Butcher moaned into her mouth as he dug his fingers into her hips, urging her to have a seat. She notched his tip at her entrance before slowly sitting down into his lap. One hand kept his dick steady while the other threaded into the hair at the back of his head for balance.

Both moaned and panted into each other’s mouths when her ass was flush with his thighs, his cock stretching and filling her deliciously.

“F-fuck, pet!” Butcher’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head.

A shiver trickled down her spine making her hips roll. His hands left her hips to trail up her body and pull down the top of her dress, tits spilling out for his hungry mouth and hands to attack. Both hands dug into his hair as his mouth enveloped one of her nipples and her hips began to roll frantically.

“Your cock feels so good, daddy!” she whimpered.

“Couldn’t wait to get me paws on ya after watchin’ ya pretty ass dance all night,” Butcher smirked against her chest, one of his hands releasing her breast to snake up her spine and hold the back of her neck, “You just take what ya want, don’t ya, love?”

She ground down harder making him slam fully against that spongey spot inside her. A whine tore from her throat as she bounced and ground frantically in his lap. Butcher reached up and wrapped his teeth around her earlobe, nibbling and sucking to encourage her on, “Keep usin’ me, pet. Get ya self off on daddy’s cock. There’s a good girl.”

Her needy whines and moans encouraged him to thrust his hips up into hers and help her chase that high. His hands changed their position to grab her hips again and shove his dick as deep inside her as he could. Her eyes rolled back into her head and her mouth fell open as Butcher’s callused hands kept her positioned so the tip of his dick stayed against her g-spot.

“Only cunt tha’s allowed to cum on this cock, this ugly mug, these fingers,” Butcher slurred, “Only cunt I wanna cum in.”

Her nails scratched his scalp, “F-fuck I’d let you live inside me!”

“I know ya would, love. Can feel how much this cunt loves my cock in her. If I had it my way, you’d stay tied to me bed, naked, and full,” Butcher sucked a deep hickey into her neck.

She rested her forehead against his, “You’re mine! This cock is mine! This mouth is mine! Fuck that fucking bitch that asked if I wanted to watch her fuck you!”

“Yer so fuckin’ sexy when yer jealous,” Butcher growled and reached down to rub his rough thumb against her clit, “Cum on me cock, my good girl, then I’ll fuck this cunt so full of me there’s no way it doesn’t take.”

Her body began to poise as her lips frantically met his, wrapping her arms around his neck and desperately chasing her high. As the coil snapped in her abdomen, she cried out into his mouth as she gushed around his large girth. Her body shook as if she’d been electrocuted, and Butcher groaned at the feeling of her cunt squeezing and squirting all over his cock.

“Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. Squirtin’ and gushin’ all over daddy,” he cooed.

“I love you! I love you! Fuck, I fucking love you, Billy!” she cried as her orgasm still rippled through her.

He chuckled darkly as he kept fucking her like a mad man, “Love you too, my little troublemaker.“

“Cum inside me, please!” the desperation was evident in her voice, “Please, baby! Please!”

“My desperate lil’ whore,” Butcher smirked as her cries drove him closer and closer to the edge.

Her hips weakly met this thrusts, letting him use her body like she had used his. She kept gushing around him the more he pounded. Her lips were next to his ear begging and crying for him. Butcher’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he groaned and grabbed her ass roughly.

“Put a baby in me, Billy. I want your baby.”

Good Lord.

He came so hard he saw stars. A sinful moan vibrated out of his chest as she sobbed out something along the lines of ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’. Butcher kept thrusting up into her, whispering praises in his gravely voice. She didn’t know how long they sat there breathing each other’s air, but her post orgasm buzz put her in the syrupy sweet headspace that made her more desperate and pliant

“I want more, please,” she whispered against his lips.

Butcher nipped her bottom lip, “Ain’t stoppin’ till the bed is soaked, pet.”

//

Thank you to @shirley-girly for proof reading this😂💕

[melancholiaincarnate]

wine and peach chapstick

「 in which ᵎᵎ 」 yuji itadori's mean (and quite attractive) uncle comes to pick him up from school (again) and takes you out on a date

「 words ᵎᵎ 」 2454

「 author's note ᵎᵎ 」 hii :3 sorry for the horrendously long wait for part two of this, i was veryyy unhappy with this, (and still am) but fuck it we ball LOL. that being said, requests r open, check my masterlist, and keep on the lookout for something spooky coming soon.....

「 warnings ᵎᵎ 」 sukuna ryomen, mentions of smoking, three or four slight nsfw references

choso looked at sukuna with a raised brow as the other man pulled on his shoes. "where are you going?" he questioned. choso was currently standing by the door, car keys in hand as he looked curiously down at sukuna, who was tying his shoes.

"to pick up the brat. where else would i be going?" sukuna scoffed as he tied his left shoe, then switched to the right, "i swear sometimes y' don't fuckin' think."

"i thought you said you were never going to pick him up again." choso sighed, hanging the keys back up by the door on the key hook that read 'live laugh love'. "you told me yesterday - verbatim, i am only doing this once, i fuckin' hate the kid." choso slipped off his shoes, hanging his jacket back up on the coat rack.

"yeah? well - plans have changed." sukuna shrugged, adjusting his lip piercing with his tongue before running a hand through his hair. "the brat's teacher is actually cute. i like her. i wan' see her again."

"not his teacher," choso's sigh is strained, "sukuna you can't mess around with yuji's teacher." the male pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "what happens if it ends badly? then yu's gonna be caught in the crossfire and -"

"you worry too much." sukuna picked up two helmets, one large and one small (the smaller one adorned with stickers), before stuffing the smaller one in his backpack. "shut up already, will ya? fuckin' - talk too fuckin' much." he didn't give choso a chance to reply before he slammed the door and swung a leg over his motorcycle.

the drive to yuji's preschool was not a far one - which sukuna, in fact, minded. his stomach felt weird and his hands were a little shaky, (and sweaty), and he would've preferred a bit of a longer ride in hopes that whatever this fuckass feeling was would go away.

helmet tucked between his arm and ribs, he entered the daycare, showed id, signed, and walked up the stairs to your classroom. he could hear the sounds of you singing a song with the kids, and when he approached the doorway, he took a deep breath to steady the growing weirdness in his belly.

nervousness was not something that ryomen sukuna felt. ever. but seeing you, singing and dancing and bouncing a small child on your hip, caused his heart rate to spike to one billion - if that was even possible.

he leaned against the doorway for a bit, (so he could collect himself), just watching with a pleased smile on his face, until you noticed him. "oh! mr. sukuna." the entire class turned to look at him and the smile dropped instantly, replacing with a frown. as much as sukuna may like you, he had a reputation to uphold, and that was yuji's mean uncle.

he didn't reply and instead just nodded once. he tried to look as chill as possible - what was wrong with him? why was he trying so hard? anger flared for only a moment in his chest, but it was soothed instantly by your voice telling the kids softly that it was playtime.

"kuna!" yuji shouted, shaking the boy next to him. "kuna came to pick me up again! megumi, look!" sukuna wondered how the raven-haired boy's brains weren't totally shaken up.

"nice." megumi blinked, letting yuji take his excitement out on him. even throughout all the shaking, his expression and tone stayed blank.

"yu, honey, go get your stuff." your voice sent shivers down his spine. he shook it off, watching as you walked to him with nothing but grace.

"good afternoon. it's nice to see you again." you smile. fuck, sukuna was so gone.

his chest burned as he spoke. "hey there, doll. wore this for me?" he leaned off the wall and picked at the hem, to which you rolled your eyes and swat his hand away. "it's nice, i like it. suits ya. makes your ass look fat."

"i didn't wear it for you." lie. you did. "and watch your language around the children." you scolded, squinting at him.

"kuna today i-" yuji bounded up to the two of you, and tried to show him a paper, but sukuna placed a hand on his head to quiet him. "ope-"

"quiet, brat. i'm speaking. we talked about this - you don't talk when i'm talking." he scoffed and yuji frowned as he looked up at sukuna. "go wait by the door. or - go talk to your friends or .. whatever you do here. i don't care - just stay in my sight."

yuji smiled and nodded quickly, heading back to his friends to talk to them before he leaves. you both watch as yuji talks animatedly to megumi and as megumi just listens, and then sukuna turns to you as you speak.

"you speak to him so mean." you comment, handing him the pen. he takes it, but lets his hand brush against yours for longer than it needs to. "he's nothing but a sweetheart!"

"he's a spoiled brat, that's what he is. choso and his father do nothing but spoil him, tch." he scoffs as he signs his name underneath his signature from yesterday. it looks identical. "i could do the same for you, if you'd let me." he's smooth, you notice, and he hands you your pen back with a smirk on his face. "spoil you, treat you right. hey, i bet you never had a man make you-"

"sukuna! the kids!" you swat at his arm, resulting in a laugh from him. "you're lucky you're not bad looking." sukuna feels his chest swell with pride. "i get off at five, if you want to pick me up." you roll your eyes as you place the pen down on the table with a smile.

"i'll be here, doll." sukuna grins widely, brushing a piece of hair away from your face. "hope you're not afraid of a motorcycle. can't drive a car but i've got me a real nice bike." he fails to mention that he is actually banned from driving the itadori/kamo car because he has crashed it five or six or seven too many times.

"mm, i think i'll live." you laugh, right as sukuna barks for yuji to come. yuji does so, waves goodbye to you, and with a wink, sukuna leaves.

"i'll see ya at five sharp, doll."

relief floods his system, and he finds himself smiling as he puts yuji's helmet on, and picks the boy up to put on the motorcycle. the drive home is usual - yuji yapping about his day, (mostly about megumi), while sukuna drives as safely as he can. sure, the kid is a brat, but at the end of the day, sukuna still loves him, and wants nothing but his safety.

"hey, yu!" choso's face lights up - and so does yuji's - as the two brothers see each other. "how was your day?"

"good!" yuji runs over to choso and he picks the boy up fairly easily, and places him on his hip. "it was good! today megumi and i-" sukuna slips off his shoes, and tunes them out, not wanting to hear the same spiel he just barely heard over the wind.

he goes upstairs to his room to freshen up. although you'll be wearing the same dress, he doesn't want to show up in the same outfit, so he changes, wetting his hair and quickly running a brush and some gel through it. he thought he looked pretty good, and his brows furrow when he realizes that he hopes you'd think he looks good too.

five pm rolls around fairly quickly, and you hear the rumble of the motorcycle before you see him. as he swings himself off, you wave slightly and he responds with a head nod. he takes the helmet off as he approaches you.

"hey doll. what happened here?" he places a warm palm on your torso, where splatters of paint decorate your dress.

"ah, maki and mai got into a paint fight.. and i got caught in the crossfire." you sigh, looking down. his hands are big and - god they're attractive. you feel a small heat building in your stomach before you shake it off, and smile. "so - ryomen, was it? it feels too .. formal to call you sukuna outside of my working hours. it's like if you called me miss."

nobody ever called him ryomen. "nobody calls me ryomen." he removes his hand before slinging his backpack off and placing a second helmet into your hands. it's yuji's but he figures you can fit. "if you want to call me ryomen, do as you please. that's fine by me."

"what if i call you ryo?" you grin up at him and he quirks a brow as he rolls his eyes and begins walking back toward his idling motorcycle. "i like ryo better than ryomen."

he won't admit it but he likes the way the nickname rolls off your tongue - sweet like honey. "i don't care. you comin' or not, doll?"

he helps you get on the motorcycle and as your hands wrap around his torso, your fingers itch to run up and down his stomach. you control the urge though. he's fit and you can feel the outline of his abs beneath his tight shirt.

"ready?" sukuna calls, as he revs the bike, "make sure that helmets on tight, y'hear?"

"it's on!" you shout back - and within an instant the two of you are speeding down the road. you can feel his stomach move with laughter as your arms tighten around him instinctually.

at a red light, he turns to face you, a hand coming off the bars to rest on your upper thigh to rub gently. "y'alright?"

"m fine!" you nod, and he laughs again, "how much longer?" you wouldn't admit it, but you were a little afraid at how fast the two of you were going.

"just a bit longer." you feel his chest vibrate as he hums and the motorcycle is off again as soon as the light turns green. you bury your face in his back, inhaling his slight cigarette and the scent of his cologne. he smells good, he's hot, he has a motorcycle, for christ's sake. you fucking scored.

within five minutes, he was parking his bike and helping you off. his hands wrapped around your waist, firm. you seemed to be at a bar in the city. "look at you." he tsks, his hands coming to smooth your hair down. "such a mess." he tucks a hair behind your ear as he finishes. despite his heavy hands, his touch is incredibly gentle.

"thanks, ryo." he huffs at the nickname (his chest is tight with warmth), and retracts his hands, before grabbing yours and leading you into the bar. men call out his name and he barely acknowledges them. as he leads you to the booth, you notice eyes following him, and then eyes curiously peeping at you. some part of yourself wonders how many other girls sukuna has brought here, and if you're just another tally to these other men.

"you're very well known here." you comment, shaking off the thought. he shrugs, lighting up a cigarette. before taking a puff, he offers you, but you shake your head. "i don't smoke."

"been comin' here since i was eighteen." he angles his head, trying to blow the smoke away from you so you don't inhale. your heart warms at the sight. hot and thoughtful? you're sure he's not even a real man.

"eighteen? isn't that underage?" you tease as a man comes by and pats sukuna on the back. "hello." you acknowledge him, and he just raises a brow and keeps walking after sukuna daps him up. another weird look that you decide to shake off.

"you gonna snitch?" sukuna scoffs, as another man approaches the table. this time, the man drops off a tray. on the tray is a bottle of liquor, some cups of ice rimmed with salt, and limes.

"can i get you anything else, sukuna?" the man asks.

"ask her, not me." he blows another puff, again, away from you. "she's runnin' my tab tonight." he nods at you and as the man explains what they have, you take an order of red wine and some cheese fries.

"wine and cheese fries?" sukuna snubs the cigarette out on the tray that was just brought. "the cheese fries i can deal with but - wine? really?"

"i don't drink much!" you protest. sukuna begins to pour himself a cup of liquor, before he stops.

"not gonna drink." he sighs, placing the ice cup back on the tray, "i gotta take ya home. but in exchange, i want some cheese fries. that a deal?" his finger circles the salt rimmed glass and then his finger comes to his mouth to lick off the salt.

you agree with a smile. despite his incredibly rough exterior, sukuna cares. deeply.

the rest of the night goes surprisingly smoothly. while sharing the cheese fries, (and getting cheese on your dress), you get to know more about ryomen, and he gets to know more about you.

after another short motorcycle ride, you and sukuna find yourselves on your doorstep. he decides then that if picking up yuji every day from school was what he needed to do to see you - he'd do it. some part of him had already decided that the minute that he saw you, though.

"well, doll-" he starts, bringing a hand to rub his rough thumb against your lips, "surely you don't expect me to just leave you without a little reward? i took ya out, ya ordered wine, i drove ya home. i deserve a sweet treat, don't i?" his voice is low.

his tongue comes to dart between his lips and wet them, and there's an accompanying smirk. his lips don't touch yours until you nod though, and he tastes oddly sweet. he doesn't taste like cigarettes or the tiny sip of wine he had, but rather like the peach chapstick you'd watch him put on after leaving the bar.

neither of you really want to pull apart but you're both struggling for breath. sukuna's eyes flutter open when you disconnect and he lets out a little rough chuckle.

"if you weren't such a nice girl, i'd take you inside and have my way with you." he sighs, "but unfortunately, you're tolerable."

you laugh, and he shakes his head. "i'll see ya tomorrow, doll. keep yourself safe, hear me?" you nod, and he presses another quick kiss to your lips.

you think that's his way of telling you he likes you.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓵 𝓝°5 ~ 𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓴𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Oh, to be young and in love, in the most romantic era of the notorious 1950s, with one very magical man who never fail to make you swoon with every suave look who offers.

It isn't very often that Husker reminisces his past life - He knows, if he does, he will remember all of the good times, when his heart was gold and trembling with pure emotion - After all, if he recalls the time he was alive, and very much in love, his frozen heart will just shatter to dust once again, with the same infinite anguish he felt once everything was ripped away from his grasp.

A pain so intolerable, that runs so deep - A pain that no amount of alcohol can mend.

He never truly knows whether he wants to remain asleep forever, so that he will never have to face reality again, or if that would be a nightmare, tormenting him for the remaining abyss of eternity...

Or, perhaps he should stay awake, so that memories will stop toppling him over, beginning with a most beautiful reverie, yet always ending with the same night terror he must face every time.

If this is his way of paying for his irredeemable sins, then he is well aware he deserves it, and even more - Yet every smell reminds him of that sweet Chanel N°5 that she used to wear. Every time he closes his eyes, he dreams of the gracious dances he would share with her. Every song he hears, he recalls that angelic voice of hers, and every time he lays abed and stares up at the ceiling, her seraphic visage flashes before him.

"You are drinking again." Angel slumped in one of the stools by the bar, noticing his best friend looking in a far worse state than usual. "Rough day?"

"Rough life." Husk rasped, chugging down a whole bottle of strong spirits.

"Wanna talk about it?" he tried, in vain, to appear sympathetic - The feline demon was far too gone into his own darkness to even think about slurring away his never-ending sorrows.

"I wanna die, that's what I want." he growled, slamming away the bottle into the nearest wall. "Just like this fucking bottle. That's what I fuckin' wanna do - I wanna die, damn it!"

Angel's eyes widened greatly - Yes, life in hell surely was crazy, and especially for demons like the two of them, who sold their souls away because of their own failures, both in life, and now, in hell - But what in the world could it have caused him to get so hopeless that he was unable to fight back the tears glistening in those tortured eyes?

Even someone like him couldn't dare to make light of the situation, or try and crack a joke, let alone taunt or flirt with him. He felt... Pity, for the poor bartender who always listens to others' woes, yet dares naught speak out his own problems.

"Listen... Husk, ergh... I'm not the best at comforting, okay? But... If I can help, you can tell me... And, if not, then... I'll still be here. And maybe try to keep the others away from you. How's that?" Husk didn't quite seem to compute what his friend said, though he robotically nodded his head, as if remote controlled.

Angel remained in that stool for a few hours, watching the winged demon drink bottle after bottle after bottle, yet his sorrows only washed over him tenfold with each shattered glass against a different wall. He wonders what is going through Husk's mind, what he's ruining himself over with each sigh o grip on his fur.

Who would have thought that, of all things possible, Husker's greatest lament was...

"I fucking hate red. Why the fuck are my wings red? Of all the fucking colours in hell, they just had to be red, yeah?" he stammered angrily, pulling at his feathers. "Y'know what? They can't change colour. Tried dyeing 'em, but nothin'. Got so much fuckin' red on me - I wonder if it's Hell's way of punishin' me forever for my fucking sins."

He hates red...? What an odd statement - He truly seems to have a personal vendetta against that colour - But why? It's just a colour, after all, it can do no wrong. "Why... Do you hate red so much...? Angeldust dared to ask.

At first, he was met with a low growl, hostile, yet inoffensive at its core. Then, he heard a most disturbing answer. "That was the colour of my wife's dress when I last went home." Angel's brain shut down completely. To think someone was trusting him with such a vulnerable piece of himself, the very core of their hopelessness, their weakness; In a way, he felt flattered that Husk trusted him so much, yet in another way... He couldn't help but feel borderless pity for his friend. He wishes such a fate to no one... Well, maybe to Valentino.

Angel forced himself to smile softly, placing his hand gingerly over his own, taking away the alcohol from his hand. "What was her name?" Husk looked up with shock, a little startled, right into his dual coloured eyes - He hasn't ever spoken her name out loud, it almost felt like a blasphemy against her purity. Yet... Maybe... "Y/N." he dared whisper.

"Y/N." Angel repeated after him. "A beautiful name for a beautiful lady." Husk nodded his head.

"She was a Princess." he muttered, his sight blurry with tears.

"A Princess? Really? Nobility and all that?" much to his surprise, Husker chuckled.

"Nah, not quite." he rasped. "At heart, she was. Her family was very rich, so she was pampered up. Huge manor, servants, a personal maid, luxury brands, jewellery and perfumes, indulging in any studies and hobbies she liked..."

"How'd you two meet? I don't suppose you were a Prince or something, were you?" Angel tried to joke friendly, encouraging his friend to open up.

"Ha. Far from it." in his hand, a few dices appeared, and he idly played around with them. "I was an ugly dead beat from a working class broken family. Hardly worthy of her attention." he gritted his teeth bitterly. "Got around to finding work at a young age - Gambling, magic, sax player - If I had money to live, anything worked."

"Did you meet at one of your gigs?" Husk nodded his head affirmatively.

"No clue what she saw in me, Angel. She could do so much better." for a split second, he had a dry smirk on his face, before it disappeared again. "I asked her once, what the hell did she see in me - And she said... I played her favourite song. Silly, innit?"

He didn't receive a mocking laugh, much to his surprise - Instead, Angel cooed. He never imagined the jaded demon before him could be so romantic! "What did you play?" Instead of answering, Husk turned around to his bar, and took out another bottle, yet this time, he hummed a familiar tune as he was doing his bartending for two glasses. "Oh, now I get it - You always hum that song when no one's around! I thought you were just bored out of your mind." he let out an amused exhale. "Fly me to the moon... Refined tastes, alright."

"The stars in the sky never sparkles as brightly as those in her eyes when she looked at me." no wonder he never accepted any flirting from anyone - How could anyone match the love he had for Y/N? "If I were a decent man, I'd have told her not to waste her precious time and love on me. Instead, I was a selfish fuck. I stole years of her life... And in the end, I even stole her life. All because I wasn't even half the fucking man I pretended to be."

The conversation soon turned significantly sour. "I was the man - I was supposed to provide for her. Afford all that fucking expensive Chanel N°5, and the Dior dresses, the Chantelle lingerie, and the damn Cartier and Tiffany's jewellery." even someone more modern like Angel knew all those luxury brands, and was even more impressed and shocked that they could so easily afford such high-end items. "I brought her flowers every day and I took her out on brunches every morning, on dates every afternoon, and to soirees every fucking evening. She loved dancing at parties... But I suppose she preferred the moonlight over the chandeliers."

"You must have overworked yourself a bunch to afford all these things. I'm sure she appreciated it." Angel tried to comfort him, earning a nod of agreement.

"She told me she didn't need any gift, except for my presence. Genuine woman, that one. But how could I, in good conscience, go to her parents and ask for her hand in marriage, when I couldn't even afford a half-decent house with a room for each of her hobbies, a drawer for each month outfit, another for her shoes and three more for her bags, jewels and perfumes; and a large flower garden and a fucking rose gazebo and a swan pond with ten different breeds of pedigree dogs." Angel cringed a little, realising the tremendous gap between their living conditions. "I lost myself on the way to greatness. She was making me so euphoric that I just wanted to see her excited every moment of her life. I didn't need to eat or drink, I just needed to see her smile, and I could work again a few more days without rest."

"But then... You collapsed from overworking?" Husker shook his head.

"Worse. I fooled her parents completely, and we planned our wedding." he replied bitterly.

"How is that a bad thing? Isn't the wedding day the happiest day in a couple's life?" Husk sighed, from the deepest part of his soul.

"It was." he said. "I got greedy. I went to loan sharks, took a shit ton of money to make that wedding the most grand event the country saw in a while. Then went on a month-old honey moon around the world." he cursed in a few different languages that Angel couldn't understand, but was sure were some highly offensive and crude words that he would never utter around Y/N. "I don't need to say more, do I?"

Yeah, he needn't continue speaking the descent into madness, alright. Angeldust didn't want to hear that his friend's love story ended up in his soulmate getting murderer by the loan sharks, only for him to end up killing them, and then himself, out of pure rage and sorrow. He didn't want to hear that an innocent woman like Y/N never knew that her husband was broke and took loans, just to try and mimic the lavish lifestyle she grew up with and deserved. He didn't want to hear the broken shriek of anguish, or the streaming river of tears that befell as Husker saw her dead, on the floor, her pearly pink dress dyed a deep crimson from her own blood, and getting even more stained with each strong embrace he held around her shattered body, just like a precious porcelain doll fallen off the shelf.

They only just recently became something akin to 'best friends' from both sides... Yet Angel couldn't bare to hear the tragic end of the story, and he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he felt, having to live his afterlife as a Sinner, for as long as he has, without the woman he loves by his side.

"It's better this way, I guess. At least she finally got rid of me. Wherever she is, she must be living far better, than with a lying fuck like me who couldn't keep it together." the spider demon frowned, watching his friend slump on the bar counter.

"I don't think that's the case." he spoke vehemently. "I don't believe there is any person, of any kind, treasuring her as much as you did." Husk's ears perked up immediately, twitching lightly. "At least on an emotional way, I'd say, you and Y/N were lucky. There's so many people who never experience the love you had, let alone get to meet and marry their soulmate."

"What the fuck would you know?!" he growled, throwing a bottle at his head, only for the demon to dodge.

"... I wish I had fallen in love too, you know?" Husk gritted his teeth, realising the sensitive wound that he unwillingly stabbed open - But it wasn't his foult - He is hurt! He is in pain! "As a human, as a demon... I was like you, sort of. I was so shit at managing my life, that I ended up falling prey to my vices... I needed more and more, and I couldn't resist. I had no ration or logic. I gave in to my so-called 'friend group' and got addicted to drugs... Couldn't get rid of that addiction even after death... And I clinged on the only demon who could give me what I wanted... And now, I can't escape Val, even if I wanted to turn my life around and live the life that I never could." Angel had a wry smile on his face. "Do you really think a drug addict or the most famous porn star of hell would be able to meet his soulmate, without destroying their life in the process also?"

The two remained silent, only hanging their head and sighing. No matter how happy life can be for some... It will never have a chance of turning around for them. It just couldn't be. They are in hell, after all. Even Charlie won't be able to save them and bring them on the path of redemption, no matter how insanely enthusiastic and cheerful she can be... They were still sure to drown.

Somehow, this few hours of vulnerability brought Husk and Angel closer, and although they won't be speaking about it again, it was clear to the residents of the Hazbin Hotel that the two were as close as two demons can get, without the inclusion of vice or extortion.

Things were going well enough for them, even with the new addition of Sir Pentious, the villain turned... Something? It was still not too bad around the hotel. Though unsure of whatever Charlie's plan was, to fight against the purge from the Angels, they were still there to sort-of support whatever dream the Princess of the Pride Circle has.

That is, until the Hotel opened its doors to a brand new resident, a gorgeous demoness dressed elegantly in a dress of pearly pink, adorned with high quality jewellery, and with her long hair done stylishly, and smelling like a fresh day of Spring. She walked in guided by the Radio Demon, of all people, and she was smiling so demurely, completely unafraid of the fiend next to her, yet still reserved and soft.

"No way, is that Chanel N°5?! How'd you get it in here?!" Angel squealed, fangirling over the flowery perfume - But then, it clicked for him. Didn't Husker mention his wife loving this scent the most?

"Oh, you noticed! I am so happy that there are more sensible people - Erh - Demons with refined tastes!" the girl unfolded her laced fan and giggled behind it demurely.

Although she looked even more regal than even the Princess of Hell herself, as they stood next to each other, there was one particular detail that made the new-comer stand out from any other netizen.

With her hands clasped together over her chest, a bright white gold ring, with a most brilliant zircon was shining brighter than even the moon herself.

Whilst the other demons gathered around the seraphic beauty, wanting to have her attention, and even going as far as to have Alastor speak out about this new lady, Husker's breath stopped completely; His brain was going into overdrive, and his heart, he wanted to rip out of his chest.

That ring... That ring, he knew all to well - After all, he bought it himself, when he proposed to Y/N. That voice, the fashion, the mannerism... Even with altered looks, she looked the same. Even in hell, she looked the same. Even with demonic eyes, she looked the same.

She was the most beautiful woman in the universe.

"Y/N, this is Husker, our bartender." Charlie's face was split open by her overly-cheerful grin. "Husk, won't you introduce yourself to Y/N?"

"I'm not a fucking child. I don't need to introduce myself." the man hissed aggressively. "This is fucking stupid, I'm out." without even realising, he shattered the glass in his grasp, before stomping away into his room.

How could that be? Was this a nightmare? Surely, this must be some impersonator demon or something - There's no way an innocent being like Y/N could possibly have ended up in Hell, with a bunch of Sinners, of all thing. Was this his fault also? Did he bring her down with him to hell? Was he never going to be forgiven for all of the shit he's done in his previous life? Did Alastor bring her to the Hotel, so that he could blackmail him even more? Was his empty soul worth so little, in the end?

He was so afraid - Will Y/N be angry once she realises who he is? He couldn't blame her, obviously, he's earned her scorn... Yet why is his heart hurting so bad? He wishes so badly to jump on her and wrap her in his arms and wrings, and never again let her go. Ah, but he looks like a stupid flying cat... He looks ridiculous. There's no way...

...

Perhaps... She should stay with Al...

He has the influence, the money, the fashion sense, the looks, the freedom and privilege, the elegance...

Alastor has everything, and embodies everything that he could never be.

In life, he was selfish, and he didn't let go of her. Perhaps, the only way to apologise and make up for his sins was to let her be cherished by a man capable of doing what he never could.

As he lay awake on the bed, curled up and cursing his whole existence, wanting to sob until his body was all dried up and shriek until his throat was bleeding raw; he wanted to claw his face to velvety ribbons and drown his lungs with all of his blood... As he was succumbing to his self-hatred and spiraling down into the depths of despair, Y/N decided to end the day with some delicious pastries and an aromatic cup of tea in the garden, with her friend, Alastor.

Y/N was idly playing with her ring, looking at the inscription inside of it. 'Y/N ♡ Husker'. How absolutely adorable, she thought, a beautiful smile gracing her features. "He looks... Different. Are you sure it is the same person, Alastor?" her voice showed nervousness.

"Y/N, Y/N, would I lie to you?" he grinned, as always, sipping from his tea. "You should hear him purr. He truly resembles a little kitten."

Y/N looked up into he friend's eyes, a look of intense surprise and borderline intrigue taking over. "Are you being truthful? He... Purrs?" she gasped, quickly slipping her ring back on her finger.

"Yes, my darling. Unconsciously, someone strokes his fur, he gets so very adorable~." Alastor hums, watching the lady before him being so romantically melancholic over a life long gone. "What did you think about today's meeting?"

Y/N sighed, looking up into the sky. "I feel guilty for enjoying the moment I ripped Velvette apart, yet I feel no remorse for killing her. Such an uncouth and vulgar person has no right to behave with such disrespect towards me." Alastor's grin widened significantly. "And... I cannot wait for the next purge. I want to burn Heaven to cinders. Those hypocrites have grown far too arrogant for their own good, and I believe they need to be taught a harsh lesson."

"I see we are on the same wavelength as always, my dear." the demon sipped from his tea. "I am quite glad those arrogant hypocrites turned you away, for such a silly thing like - Vanity - They say. Beautiful women should be allowed to feel that-a-way, not ostracised for being such jewels for one's eyes." ever the charmer with poison dripping from his tongue. "Before I turn in for the evening, I have a gift for you - For friendship's sake." Y/N rose a suspicious eyebrow, watching as he took out a carefully folded picture from his blazer's pocket, and handing it to her. "I am going for a new fitting with Rosie tomorrow, should you wish to join us for a lovely day of self-care." the girl smiled, nodding her head at him in appreciation. "Have a pleasant evening."

Y/N muttered her pleasantries, and waited for Alastor to leave her sight, before unfolding the picture and bursting to tears. She cradled the precious memory to her heart, and sobbed for as long as her heart needed.

What have they done so wrong to deserve this? They were so happy while alive, so what went wrong? Was her opulent life, the reason for their downfall? Did her beloved think she wouldn't love him, if he couldn't match her family's wealth? Were all soulmates made to be torn apart while at their most blissful?

Still, she was grateful that she wasn't accepted into Heaven, for she would have had a most awful afterlife, as opposed to the many Overlord friends she made since she's been sent to Hell after her gruesome death, and the many favours she received from the Lords and Royals who went to Earth to retrieve items of importance for her.

Drying her tears, Y/N walked back inside the hotel, ready to turn in for the night, only to stop in her tracks as soon as she heard a soft sob, followed by a few very familiar curses in a variety of languages that she knew all too well. Her heart clenched as she stepped cautiously towards the foreign room, eavesdropping for any other sound, only to be met with more muffled cries.

Biting her lip, the demoness knocked on the door, only to be cursed harshly and told to fuck off. Y/N gulped, feeling taken aback by being talked in such a way - Though she immediately composed herself, reminding herself that he, too, is hurting, most likely far more than she is.

She excused herself before opening the door and entering. "What fucking part of 'FUCK OFF' don't you FUCKING UNDERSTA---" Husk was livid, getting in a sitting position as he growled with incredible hostility at the one who dared barge in his bedroom so rudely, only to remain speechless as he realised it was the demoness herself, standing with a sympathetic smile on her face. She also seemed to have been crying prior to this. "Oh. It is you." he cleared his throat, getting back on the bed, unable to face her.

"I have missed you dearly." her voice was so soft, so beautiful, so endearing... "I... Cannot believe that I am seeing you again. It seems to me that, no matter how far apart, our souls will forever traverse oceans of time and space, just to embrace each other once more."

She could hear him sniffling, his nails digging deep into the blanket. "You have always been so romantic and poetic." he grumbled, hiding his face in the pillow. "You shouldn't be here."

"You will have to be more specific, my love." she hummed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "Here - In Hell? Or here - In your room? Either way, I would say, I am right where I need to be."

"I don't understand." as if burning with frustration, Husk shot up, looking with self-hatred at the girl. "You did nothing wrong your entire life. You were nothing but a living sunshine. A fucking flower in human form. What the fuck did those angels not agree with, that they cast you to this shit hole?"

"There was a time when you would beat up any man who would curse in my presence." Y/N's adorable giggle made the demon's face flush red. "I am sorry that you are suffering so much, at my expense. I could never repay you for everything you have done for me, while we were alive."

"What the hell are you apologising for anyway? I got you killed, not the other way around - And even if it were that way, it'd've been a blessing in disguise, getting rid of a dead beat worthless fuck like me." he huffed, looking away. "You always were too good for me." the demon had so much to say, so many regrets to yell, so much love to spill... Alas, he remained quiet. "You seemed happy with Al. I wish I could be that, while we were alive." his voice went to soft, it was barely audible. "You should... Stay with him."

"Yes, I am happy being friends with Alastor. He was the one who introduced me to Rosie and Carmilla and Zestial, and I cherish them all dearly, as my like-minded friends." Y/N spoke calmly, reaching her hand to cup her lover's soft cheek. "He also was the one to tell me of your misdemeanours. How you succumbed to your vices; to gambling and alcohol, to the the point that you lost your soul in a deal with him. How pitiful." he was so confused as to where she was trying to get with her words, yet in spite of the anticipation for blames and reproaches, he couldn't help but lean into her warm and gentle touch. "He is the one who helped me become an Overlord, and I took your place. And it is Alastor, and some other friends of mine, who helped retrieve some objects I thought long lost."

"... You still smell like Chanel N°5." his comment made the girl giggle again.

"One of my friends had his little imps go to the human world and rob an entire Chanel store, to bring me all Chanel N°5 perfume bottles." how incredulous, Husk thought, staring at the girl flabbergast, speaking of a clear crime, committed in her name. And then, he started laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of her statement.

"Angel would kill to have a whole room of Chanel N°5." he said, his eyes softening as he put his hand over hers. "Y/N... Knowing that you are doing fine... That you aren't suffering... Or anything that I put you through... It makes me... Content."

"My darling." Y/N called out. "Do you remember the day of our wedding?"

"Of course I do. What's that question?"

With a cheeky grin, she took out the picture from her purse, handing it to her beloved. "Alastor was able to find this. His connections truly are amazing." Husk's eyes were wet with falling tears, and his lips were trembling. "I forgot I had pink roses braided in my hair. I was so busy looking at my handsome husband, that everything around me vanished." Husk's sobbing got even louder. "I wanted to frame this picture first, but I couldn't resist showing it to you first."

"Get out, Y/N! Get out!" his voice was broken and raw, so pained that even her heart shattered. "I am not the man you fell in love with. Why do you think my name is 'Husk'? I am just that - A husk of the man I never was. I am not worth anything. I don't amount to anything. I just gamble money I don't have and drink booze until I pass out. I don't deserve a second chance, and I certainly don't deserve you. I never did. I got you killed, damn it!"

"You think too much, you fool." Y/N cupped his face, bringing him into a gentle kiss - A kiss so loving that it numbed his pain, and hightened his senses, that got his heart pumping again and his lungs screaming for air. "I fell in love with you for good reason, and I intend to remain by your side, loving you." she smiled, wiping his tears with her thumb. "You can try as much as you wish to drive me away, but it will not work. You may succeed in convincing yourself that you are a lesser man, but you cannot do that with me. I know the man before me, and I know I will never leave you."

"Y/N..." the man sniffled, burying his face in her bosom, holding so tightly onto her petite body that he almost feared breaking her.

"There was once a time when you would only call me 'Sweety'." her honeyed giggle sounded so teasing, yet it didn't embarrass him. It served only to make him chuckle.

"There was also a time when I would only call you 'Chanel', if you recall." it almost felt as though they were both alive, and during their honey moon, without a single care in the world, and living a most carefree life.

"That does bring back some very amusing memories." Husk hummed in agreement, feeling melancholic, despite the intense joy surging through his body. Perhaps it was due to the unfamiliarity of this positive feeling, that he felt exhausted, or maybe from his excessive crying and whining. Regardless, he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in his wife's arms, and never leave this blasted room ever again.

"Can you promise me something?" the man asked. "I am selfish still - Even more so as a demon. I am nothing but filth. I didn't deserve you then, and I deserve you even less now. Still... Now that you're here... I can't let you go again. So..."

Though he found himself eating his words, Y/N only smiled, laying down on the bed and taking him down with her, nestling him comfortably into her loving embrace. "Alastor said you purr like a kitten. I would love to hear that, tonight." she hummed, hearing his annoyed snarl. "And every night going forward, for as long as we may live in this afterlife we have." Husk's body became stiff, frozen with shock. "That is what you wanted me to promise, isn't it? That I will never leave you." he didn't respond. "It is within our wedding vows, silly. There is no way I would walk away, after I have just found my soulmate."

"... Even though I look like... This? And I am irredeemably addicted to gambling and drinking, even more so than before... And I have lost my soul to the Radio Demon? I am stuck doing his bidding for eternity... And..." Y/N only hugged him closer.

"No matter what, in sickness and in death, you and I will still be soulbound." his small body was softly trembling with emotion. "I've got you, my darling. Worry not about anything. I have got you." she remained silent for a little while. "But, Husk..." her voice sounded so distant, so... Melancholic. "Do you... Still like me? The way you did before?"

Startled by her words, Husker jolted up, looking at the pitiful visage of his lover. "What... What do you mean...?"

"My skin is pure white, with no colour, except for my make up. My eyes are black where they should be white, and the worst carmine red, where they should be embodying the aspect of nature. Even my hair looks to be an abnormal colour, and no matter how much I try to dye it, it will not retain its original shade." she gulped, looking away from him. "Any shred of normalcy that I have... Is so tiresome, so much work to keep up, the princessy facade that I used to have, that I used to love... That you used to love..." she sighed softly. "Yet even that completely dissolves as soon as I transform in the monstrous form that I fight so hard to keep veiled from the world."

"Y/N." he caressed her soft face, only to notice small particles of powder latching onto his fur. "I'm a fucking furry mammal with wings. I look like a children's plush toy or somethin'. Meanwhile, you look as doll-like as always, and you're afraid I wouldn't like you anymore? How silly." he sighed, leaning to place a kiss on her forehead. For a few seconds, he stopped to ponder over a rather bold move, and in a split second, he retrieved a wooden box from under his bed. "This is my secret. Nobody has to know about this." he spoke, a rosy tint on his cheeks. "Open it."

Carefully, the girl did as instructed, revealing the content of the box. A bunch of letters were preserved there, all of them neatly placed and handwritten with black ink. "Husk..." Y/N felt the air in her lungs dissipating, as she realised all those letters were recreating the exchange of love words from their time alive. "H-How...?"

"I have all our letters memorised." he chuckled lightly. "I... Needed some way of keeping you close... Of remembering you. I am shit at drawing, but I have a good enough memory... So this was the only way of preserving what we had."

"It's been so long... And yet, you... You still remember... All of it? There must be tens, if not, hundreds of them... How...?" the girl was flabbergast, yet melting completely.

"I read them every night before sleep, when alive, and I read them every night now also." those precious teardrop diamonds caressing her cheeks falling down so gracefully.

𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈; 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒; 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝐼 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

His usual raspy voice sounded so romantic as he recited the love poem he wrote to her. A voice that he only reserved for her. A voice that only she would ever know.

𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁; 𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒽𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒; 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

A love so pure and true, bottomless and without boundaries; Husker himself forgot just how endless his emotions could run. He thought himself jaded and cold, having lost his own heart, the second he lost her... Yet now... Perhaps it wasn't as bad as he first thought. Perhaps... Even someone like himself deserves some kind of redemption.

𝐻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝑒. 𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒.

Without her, he wasn't whole. Without her, he is not himself. Without her, he is empty. Without her, his whole life falls apart. Without her, he is nothing but a worthless deadbeat.

𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒢𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑜𝓌, 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

But now, he is not alone anymore - Well, perhaps he never was to begin with, considering he still had Angel and Charlie, to some extent, yet nothing can compare to sweet Y/N's existence by his side. Nothing can heal his aching soul, or revert the damage he did to himself throughout life and afterlife, the way her love for him did.

♡ ~𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼~♡

[ink-n-shadow]

more drunk reader and simon pls 🙈🙈

anything for you, cinnamon 🧎

so i present to you simon with clubber!reader

[ CLUB HOPPER ] 𝜗𝜚 the one where you love going clubbing and simon loves watching you dance

𝜗𝜚 pairing: simon "ghost" riley x clubber!afab!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: slight smut (minors—DNI), strangers being handsy with reader, maybe voyeurism? (if you consider simon watching you grind on other people voyeurism), alcohol consumption, mentions of unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it/get tapped), mentions of cream pie, unedited

simon absolutely hates going out unless it's with you. like the amount of times the guys have had to beg him just to go out to a dive bar with them. but the second it's you, all dressed up and pretty for him, pouting up at him and begging him to come out to the club with you, he's pulling on his work boots and driving you both to the club.

he doesn't even bat an eye when you immediately disappear amongst the club crowd, instead just moving towards his usual corner in the back and nursing a glass of whiskey as he watches you out on the dance floor. his jaw ticks at the way slimey assholes try to paw at your body, dirtied fingers trying to hook into the holes of your tattered outfit and slobbering tongues itching to taste the glittering sweat on your skin.

but simon trusts you—trusts you with his bloody life. so he simply sinks deeper into the plush leather of the club's back booth and finishes off his first round of whiskey, palming at the chub of his hardening cock as he watches you shove off the wandering hands and disappear deeper amongst the crowd of grinding bodies.

simon thinks you've never looked prettier than you do in this moment, hair mussed with sweat and glossed lips stretched into a rather demure smile as you lose yourself in whatever club mix is blasting through the speakers. sure, your lip gloss is slightly smeared and your mascara is beginning to bleed down beneath your bottom eyelashes, but you've never looked more alive, with liquid confidence coursing through your veins and a million other pairs of eyes locked on you.

and it goes on like this for another hour and a half, simon's hungry eyes slovenly following you around the club as you grind against sweaty strangers and down free shots from people who think they'll get lucky and take you home at the end of the night. simon can't help the shit-eating grin that curls up on the corners of his lips at the way you turn them down, holding up the glittering ring on your finger with a drunken smile.

you know it's time to go with your glossy eyes flutter open and find simon's steely ones in the back of the room, the slight twitch of his dirty blond brow a telltale signal to get your fuckin' ass back over here. so like the obedient pet you are, you scamper back up the club staircase to where simon hides in the back of the crowd, eagerly finding your place in his lap and nosing gently at his stubbly jaw.

“is it time t’go already?” you slur out a soft whine into simon’s ear as your arms loop around the back of his neck, molding your much smaller body against his muscled torso. “didn’t even get to request a song yet, si.”

simon's all huffs and muttered words as his large hands grip tightly at the fat of your hips, manhandling you until your clothed cunt is pressing down against his now fully hard cock and grinding you down against it in a slow, messy rhythm.

"y'feel that, pet?" simon snarls against your skin as his teeth sinks easily into your pulse point, sucking in rhythm with your heartbeat and making a fresh bruise bloom just beneath your jaw. " so either 'm throwin' you over my shoulder and fuckin' you raw in the backseat of the truck, or you can go up to the dj booth and request your song with my fuckin' cum runnin' down your thighs. pick your poison."

[averagecygnet-blog]

emma is the villain of tgwdlm

I need to talk about this oh my god

because it's told from the hive's perspective. paul is the protagonist because he is the one who resists them but must ultimately come to accept that they're right. emma is the one who must be beaten through force.

the difference between the hero and the villain is that the hero must change, while the villain cannot. (I'm not speaking in universals here, just generalizations of how the narrative structures work that tgwdlm uses in parody.) the hero and the villain both hold a belief that represents the thematic evil; by the end of the story, the hero must undergo apotheosis, which is to say, ultimate unity with the thematic good. once this is achieved, he can defeat the villain, who represents the thematic evil completely and is incapable of change.

to the hive, "good" is unquestioning conformity to the group's ideals, specifically, singing and dancing in sync with everybody else. "evil" is refusing to sing and dance along when, clearly, you want to.

paul is the perfect protagonist because he resists song and dance, but largely because it makes him uncomfortable. getting out of your comfort zone is necessary for change! it's a good thing to let yourself go through something uncomfortable in order to come out the other side better and stronger for it. (that much is true; however, sometimes discomfort is a legitimate sign that you should stay away from something.) paul has never really tried singing or dancing, and deep down, is afraid that if he tried it, he might like it. exactly the sort of person who can be converted and used as a shining example of the hive's righteousness.

emma must be the villain because her refusal to fall in line is a choice. she can sing, she can dance, she was in brigadoon in high school and she fuckin killed it, she is even taught a whole ass song with choreography by the hive on their first morning in hatchetfield (emma's comment about how they have to sing "all the time, apparently!" and zoey's implied presence at the theater when the meteor hit - because she was with sam, and sam was there - strongly suggests that nora and zoey were zombified all morning and she had no idea). it's stated by hidgens and suggested by nora and zoey that getting a human to sing/dance along with them is supposed to be a sort of mesmerizing tactic that the hive uses to start synchronizing a person to the hive mind, but emma refuses. she sings and she dances, just like they want, but she chooses to actively hate it the whole time, on principle. she can't be convinced; they have to swarm her, surround her on all sides. let it out is meant to win paul to their side; inevitable is just to gloat.

in the bar scene in hidgens' bunker, emma says that she must be the villain to paul's hero because she was in the musical that got him to hate musicals. on the one hand, she had it backwards; she's the villain because according to the hive, the all-encompassing narrative power, he's not supposed to hate musicals. on the other hand, she's kind of right: paul is the protagonist because he is the guy who didn't like musicals, while emma is the villain because she has the capacity to like musicals as well as experience in them, but has chosen to reject them.

who is the hero and who is the villain all depends on who is telling the story. and the hive is telling this story. don't forget that.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 10 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)

Chapter Trigger Warnings: Graphic aftermath of domestic abuse and sadly typical post abuse love bombing

AN: Listen- see those warnings above? I fuckin mean it. If you're not in the right headspace or you need to walk away for a bit, do so. This shouldn't need stating but I will anyway, Laurence is a terrible man and his views are not that of my own.

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

“Honey, I’m home!” Laurence’s voice pulled you from the darkness you had taken shelter in, beating it back with a razor wire wrapped bat. Now it was time to be awake, to perform the song and dance of a wife. The time for rest was done. 

You sat on the floor, at the foot of the stairs, though you had no memory of actually making it down them at any point. There were large black spots in your memory, almost as big as those you blinked from your vision. 

Blinking the eye that still worked, you tried to make your mind work. The cogs in your mind felt rusted, seized, as if they hadn’t turned in years, long abandoned and forgotten. 

The shadows were growing long across the floor as the day came to a close. So much time had been lost, slipping from your fingers. If you were stronger, you would have been able to hold on to the fleeting hours. You hoped Laurence wouldn’t be angry that the cleaning hadn’t been done. 

Dinner. You hadn’t started dinner, had you? You couldn’t remember. Hopefully, you had. Laurence needed to be fed. He worked hard, long hours to provide for you. It was your duty. 

His footsteps were heavy across the warm wood floors he hated so much. Anxiety grew in you with every footfall, but you couldn’t do much more than groan in protest. Standing, you willed yourself but you couldn’t. Everything hurt. It hurt to breathe. 

“Oh, honey,” Laurence knelt by your side, brushing hair out from your face with a tender hand. “What are you doing down here?” 

“I couldn’t,” you croaked out the words, throat raw and dry, “get the washing done.” 

Laurence’s arms hooked under your legs and scooped behind your back. He lifted you, cradling you against his chest as he carried you to the small breakfast nook just inside your kitchen. There was a sweet smell that clung to the neck of his shirt. Floral. You liked it. Where had it come from?

“I brought you dinner,” Laurence said as he settled you onto the padded bench. “I figured you weren’t much for cooking tonight, so I treated us. It took calling in some favors but I’ve got the roast chicken from that diner you love so much.” 

The act of kind consideration touched you more than it should have. A tear rolled down your cheek, leaving a wet trail. It was always like this, after. Laurence would care, after. He was soft, after. Always after. 

You slumped in your seat as Laurence set a glass of water in front of you. He left you alone, heavy steps taking him through the house. He walked through the house as if he hadn’t been the force behind your blood splatter on the stairs. Was that abnormal? Did other wives wake loose hours or days after an argument with their husbands? That’s all that was, right? Just an argument? 

If it had been anything more than an argument, what did that mean? It was better to not think about that. Your hand trembled as you brought the water to your lips, letting the cool liquid pour down your raw throat, washing away the question as you tried to ignore the way your little finger didn’t move quite right, didn’t sit quite right. 

Laurence came back into the kitchen, humming as he carried a ceramic baking dish and set it on the counter. You could count on one hand the number of times he had dished up a meal, but you said nothing as you watched him portion roasted chicken, vegetables, and rice onto plates. 

You remembered back to the dinner you had prepared for Alastor, how the guest helped serve instead of Laurence. You tried to not think about Alastor or of how your husband had embarrassed you, letting a guest serve the meal when you hadn’t been fast enough. You blinked the thoughts away as Laurence settled into the seat next to you. 

Scooping some rice onto the fork, you tried to keep your hand steady while you brought it to your lips. Most of the rice fell off and what didn’t was pushed off by your lips as you struggled to open your mouth. Your jaw hurt. Your lips hurt. It hurt to open your mouth. 

“Honey, let me help you.” Laurence’s hand was soft as he wrapped it around yours. 

He took the fork from you and fed you like you were some small child. You watched passively as he shredded the chicken, feeding stands through lips you struggled to part. Black dots swam in front of your vision, blocking out the view of Laurence cutting the food. Would you fall over? 

You mashed what you could with your tongue, avoiding working your jaw more than you had to. Laurence helped you wash down each small bite with a bit of water. Every time you swallowed a bite, he had another ready for you, not giving you a chance to do more than gasp a breath between bites. Eating was exhausting, and you wanted nothing more than to sleep again. 

“You have to eat,” Laurence said, hand resting on your back as he scooted closer to you. “You need to eat so you can heal.” 

“Yes, Laurence.” It felt like you were speaking through cotton balls as you looked at him. You had to look at Laurence when you talked to him. He didn’t like it when people didn’t look at him when they spoke to him. Fear coursed through you as your eye looked into his bright blue eyes.

His hand came to rest on your face, a touch soft as the way he looked at you, brows knitted together in clear concern. For a moment, you thought his eyes were brown. Warm brown eyes and soft hair and then you blinked. No, it was just Laurence, the man who caused the damage, looking at you with pity and sorrow but not an ounce of guilt. 

“You know I’m sorry, right?” Laurence’s thumb ran over the swelling in your face. “I just, you make me so mad sometimes. I love you so much. The thought that you’d want him instead of me…” 

You said nothing. What was there to say? You didn’t forgive him, but that didn’t matter. It would do no good to tell him that when you faded in and out, it was someone else’s eyes you saw in the place of your husband’s. Another tear fell from your eyes, tracing a messy line down the swelling in your face as you wondered why your mind dared to betray you now. 

“You make me so crazy,” Laurence said, standing up from the bench after he decided you had eaten enough. “It happened because I love you.” 

Laurence disappeared into the living room again before returning. He had a bouquet, large and wrapped in colorful paper. Small blooms surrounded a wide arrangement of a dozen bright red roses, all expertly picked, arranged, and tied together, held in the hands of the man that had ruined your last floral arrangement.

“I got these for you because I love you,” Laurence said, setting them on the table in front of you. 

You picked them up mechanically, looking at them. The corners of your mouth twitched up in a mockery of a smile. It was good enough for him, though usually such a poor performance would earn you the back of his hand. 

Laurence hummed as he took the flowers, unwrapped them and put them in water. 

“Oh, honey-” Laurence rested a large hand on your shoulder. “I’ll be working late for at least the next week. The radio station liked our marketing plan so much they wanted more.”

“That’s wonderful,” you said through swollen lips. Maybe with the success Laurence would let you buy a mechanical washing tub. Having one of those would be mighty helpful right about now. 

“Do you ever tire of fetching Mimzy’s dresses?” Susan asked as she packed up yet another custom dress. She hated working on the woman’s designs. They were off fashion, unique and a proper pain in the ass. 

“Is there something bothering you, Susan?” Alastor leaned on the counter, not taking her bait. “Neighborhood boys got you in a bad mood? Want ol Al to put them in their place again? Or is there actually something on your mind?” 

The woman behind the counter huffed, shoving her brown waves back before running her hands down her face. Her elbows rested on the counter on either side of the bag. 

“Boss bothering you?” Alastor asked as he pulled Mimzy’s bag to him. 

“Not any more than usual,” Susan sighed. “Remember Mrs. Latimer? With the bloody nose?”

“How could I forget you overcharging me for a handkerchief?” Alastor leaned on the counter, arms crossed as they spoke like conspirators. 

“I charged you what the boss wants me to charge everyone.”

“Which is too much,” Alastor countered, smile growing wider.

“You could go somewhere else,” Susan snapped, “And take Mimzy with you.” 

“And miss out on your lovely face?” Alastor chuckled, “I would never. Now what’s got your mood more sour than a lemon and what’s it got to do with Mrs. Latimer?”

“She hasn’t been by to pick up her dress. It was due for pick up three days ago. Ticket’s unpaid too. Boss just loves that. He’s been down my neck about it. Sen’t out a notice, but I’m not sure what he expects me to do about it.” 

“Is that so?”

“I don’t-” Susan sighed, “I don’t talk about what I see or the things I know about people in town. But I repair a lot of torn shoulders for Mrs. Latimer. I’m worried about her.”

“Torn shoulders?” Alastor hummed. 

“Don’t ask me to explain. I won’t.” 

“Let me get her dress,” Alastor was already pulling his wallet back out. “I’ll pay the ticket and bring it to her. I’m sure she’s fine, just under the weather.” 

Alastor had stood across the street from the Latimer home long enough to be sure that the man of the house was not home. He could see that someone was moving around inside before crossing the street. He walked swiftly up the pathway to the front door and rapped his knuckles against the dark blue door.

He waited, listening to the chirping of the birds and the rumble of a car in the distance. When you failed to answer, he knocked again, harder this time. The fluttering of curtains in the window told him someone was peeking out. 

He knew it wasn’t Laurence. Unless you had gotten a pet or had guests, it was you. 

So why did you not answer the door?

“Mrs. Latimer?” Alastor calls for you, thinking twice about using your given name while on the street. “I’ve got a delivery for you. Susan sent me.” 

“Just leave it outside,” your voice muffled too much for just coming through the door, “Thank you.” 

Alastor leaned closer to the door, speaking softer, but still clearly intending for her to hear him. “You’ve not picked up your dress. Susan’s worried for you, as am I.” 

“Susan?” 

“The seamstress from Markin’s tailor?” Alastor offered, bemused that someone could not have an annoyingly close relationship with the woman regardless of if they wanted to or not. Alastor had known her since they were children and it seemed he could never shake her. “I’m not leaving until you open this door. She’ll skin me alive if I don’t tell her I laid eyes on you and verified one of her best customers is indeed safe and sound.”

“I,” you hesitated inside your home, a block of ice wrapped in cloth hanging from your hand. The swelling had gone down, but the ice soothed the pain still. “I can’t, Alastor.” 

“I’m not leaving, so you may as well open this door. I’ll stand here all day if I need to.” Alastor’s lips twitched into a wider smile as he heard the lock on the door and watched the doorknob turn. 

You peeked through the opening. “I’m fine, see? Now-” 

Alastor leaned to the side, giving himself a better view of you. You watched his face drop from the smile he seemed to wear, and you knew in that moment he had seen too much. 

“Fuck,” the word was soft, spoken under his breath and not intended for your ears, but you caught the naked truth of it. 

He saw. 

“Let me in.” His voice was little more than a tense hiss, but it lacked the threat of Laurence’s voice. Alastor didn’t wait for you to decide if you were going to allow him in, though. 

As you readied your words of protest, Alastor looked each way and shoved the door open enough for him to slip inside. The force knocked you to the side, but you had no strength to put up any sort of fight.

This was wrong, you thought as the door squeaked. Improper. You were alone with him, or you would be if he dared to close the door. It stood open, just enough for his frame to have slipped through, though someone could still see. 

He looked at you as if he was seeing someone else. A few heartbeats passed before he shut the front door behind him, sealing you off.

Alone. Laurence would kill you if he had found out, but in the haze and fog of pain, you struggled to care beyond the sharp spike of fear. It was done. 

“Did he do this to you?” Deep shadows settled on Alastor’s face. Rage, an emotion that looked wholly misplaced and yet right at home, settled over his face in place of the smile he usually wore. 

You shrugged, not brave enough to meet his eyes. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Like hell it’s not.” Alastor reached out, fingers ghosting over the dark blue bruises over your eye, “If I had to bet, I’d say it’s likely worse than it looks.” 

“It’s fine.” You needed Alastor to leave, “I’m healing. Please, you need to go.”

“I’m helping you,” Alastor’s lips twitched up into a calm smile, “Because it is my fault, isn’t it?” 

“No! No, not at all.” 

“The flowers were too much of a risk,” Alastor did not outright say sorry, but the words were written on his face. “I’ve patched my fair share of people up.” 

Somehow, you found yourself led through your house as if you were the guest. Alastor’s hand was light against your back, only a slight pressure when you would hesitate. It was hard to hesitate for more than a few moments. The pain and fatigue stole the fight from you. 

Alastor pulled the chair from your workstation toward the center of your kitchen and lightfully pushed you to sit in it. It was surreal seeing him in your space as if it was his once again. 

With a start, you realized how improper this really was. You were alone with a man that was not your husband. What’s worse, you were alone in your home with him and your husband didn’t know. You had no intention of telling Laurence, and that made it all the worse. 

It didn’t matter if nothing happened between you. If Laurence found out Alastor was in his home without a third party to ensure things were proper, you would be branded an adulteress. He could leave you ruined in society. Your family would disown you.

“It’ll be worse if he finds out you came.” 

Alastor seemed to hear your whispered words easily as he put a kettle of water on the stove to warm, though he disregarded them. He opened drawers until he found the kitchen rags instead of responding to your protest. 

You sat quietly as you watched Alastor pick herbs from the little pots that sat in your kitchen window. He put the leaves between two layers of the rag and grabbed your heavy stone rolling pin. Leaning forward to put his weight into it, he rolled it along the cloth until there was a slight green color to the white kitchen cloth. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Something Ma taught me.” You smiled softly at his words. Though he still spoke in that irritatingly perfect transatlantic accent, he called his mother ‘Ma’. “It’ll help prevent infection in your lip.”

You wanted to ask him how he knew about patching up beaten women, why his mother needed to teach him how to prevent infection beyond washing a cut, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to know. He was too kind of a man to have a childhood where a harsh man’s hands left bruises and weeping wounds. 

“When do you expect him back?” Alastor asked as he dipped the folded rag into the steaming water. After squeezing the water out, he took the wrapped chunk of ice from you and re-wrapped it with the damp green tinged cloth. 

“Usually just before dinner,” you answered, “But he said he’s probably going to be working late on the extra work for the station.”

“Extra work for the station?” Alastor scoffed but didn’t elaborate. You didn’t ask, though you wanted to. It wasn’t the place of a woman to insert herself into the affairs of men. 

“I’ll be gone before he’s back. I didn’t park near either. He won’t know.” 

You wanted to trust him. There was no energy left to argue with him about it. 

Alastor took the damp rag that had been wrapped around the ice and dropped it into the kettle. He waited for a moment before fishing the rag out and ringing the water out. How it didn’t burn his hands, you did not know.

“Hold this to your eye.” He tilted your head up with a finger under your chin. The action was strangely intimate. Softly, he pressed the warm cloth against the bruised skin. “After the first two days, heat is better to treat bruises. Helps your body break it down so it’ll fade faster.” 

“I didn’t know that,” you were not sure what to say to Alastor at that moment. Instead, you slowly reached up with your other hand to take the rag from him, folding your fingers over his hand as best you could with your little finger still not working right. 

Alastor noticed your finger, sitting out at an angle from the others as your hand ghosted over his. As he let you take the rag yourself, he leaned forward to get a better look at the finger. 

Your heart beat hard in your chest as his face drew closer to yours. You could see the different shades of brown in his eyes, making them look like freshly tilled soil. He had his attention focused on your hand, but the way his hair had just a little more curl at the root, giving it more volume, captivated yours. His long lashes framed his eyes, such a normal color, and yet you couldn’t look away.

“It looks like your finger is just dislocated.” his words were soft. His breath ghosted over you, bitter coffee rich in it. “It’ll hurt, but if you don’t relocate it, it will just get worse.”

“What’s a little more pain?” You tried to sound brave, but your voice still faltered. 

Alastor nodded before rummaging through your kitchen again. He came back with twine as he fished a small folding pocketknife from his pocket. He dropped another rag into the kettle before taking both the rag and hand over your eye in his hand. 

You marveled at how much bigger his hand was than yours as he plucked the rag from your palm and tossed it into the kettle easily. He held your hand close to his face, using his fingers to feel how the bones sat under your skin. 

“Three.” He said, taking your hand in both of his. 

“Two.” He wrapped his fingers carefully around your pinky. You took a deep breath, clenching your teeth together and held it.

“One.” He pulled your finger out and toward the rest of your hand with a strong, steady pressure. 

It wasn’t slow, and for that you were thankful. Pain swirled in your head as you cried out. And then, with a pop, you could instantly feel relief. The joint throbbed, but the pain was duller now..

You didn’t realize you were swaying until Alastor’s hands on your shoulders steadied you. “Are you alright?”

“Dizzy,” was all you could say, “I’m okay.” 

Alastor nodded, dropping his hands from you but stood, watching you for a few moments longer before fishing a rag out of the hot kettle with tongs. 

“Give your lip a break from the ice,” he directed over his shoulder as he worked water out of the rag using the side of the kettle and the tongs. He clumsily folded it on the counter, pinching the steaming edges of the fabric and flipping them over. 

As he tossed the folded cloth between his hands a few times, you pulled the cloth from your lip. He folded the cloth in his hands one more time before resting it against your bruised eye again, holding it to your darkened skin until your fingers slipped under his hand. 

Then his face was once again too close to yours. Your heart pounded as he looked at your lip closer, directing your head this way and that with a few fingers under your chin. 

Never in your life had you been this close to a man who was not your father or your husband. All it would take was leaning just a little forward and your lips would be on his. Such a silly thought that was. The pain was surely getting to you. 

If someone walked in and saw him holding you like this, they would think he was about to kiss you, and that thought wasn’t so silly. Fear flooded you as your eyes ripped from his to glance at the doorway.

“Don’t worry,” Alastor whispered, “We’ve got plenty of time still.” 

“Why are you helping me?” You asked, dressing gown clutched to your chest as you held the back of your blouse up for Alastor, trying to preserve as much of your modesty as you could. 

He had insisted on checking the rest of your injuries and you don’t know why you agreed. Maybe it would make him leave sooner? Maybe it just felt better to be taken care of. While Laurence had provided a meal, flowers and water, he hadn’t provided any actual care for the injuries themselves. 

“Because no man should lay a hand on his wife.” Alastor spoke around the end of the bandage he had gripped in his teeth. “I don’t enjoy seeing it and I enjoy causing it even less. You deserve better.”

“But it’s what it is. I’m his,” Alastor only hummed at your words, passing the bandage to your side. You took it and wrapped it around your front, passing it back to him on the other side, where he pulled it tight. The pressure around your ribs was comforting, just as he promised it would be. 

You still were not sure it was worth being in such an indecent position with him. He said nothing of the yellow and green bruises you knew were on your back, healing marks from prior times you had disappointed your husband. 

“What are you doing later this week?” Alastor asked, breaking the tense silence that fell between you while he finished wrapping your ribs. “While he is working?” 

“Cleaning,” you weakly shrugged. “Cooking. Healing. Being a wife.”

“And if you took a break from that?” Alastor felt the adrenaline trickle into his system just as it did whenever he took a risk while hunting. Interesting. Unexpected. He filed that reaction away to examine later. 

“What?”

“I’ve spent all afternoon here patching you up. I was supposed to go pick up some curtains.” 

“I’m so sorry!” You sucked in a breath as he tied off the bandages. “I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“I know just the way!” Alastor’s voice returned to the cheer you had grown to associate with him. It had been subdued in the last few hours and you had missed it. Its absence had left you feeling tense. “Why don’t you assist me in making the selection? My home is dearly missing a woman’s touch. We can go next week, so you’ve had a chance to heal.” 

“It wouldn’t be-”

“Proper, sure it would. We’ll be in public and I can assure you that Laurence wouldn’t find out. Just you, me and the rest of the shoppers.” 

“Alright,” you chewed your lip, “If you’re sure he won’t find out… I could assist and then we’ll be even? The debt paid?” 

Next? Masterlist

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[notiddygothgf]

2. Dance With Me

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ Jealous? ❞ ❝ Maybe I am. ❞

★ c.w.: suggestive themes, drinking (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: ik i said id have an uploading schedule but UGH I JUST COULDNT LEAVE THIS OFF WITHOUT AN AKI/READER INTERACTION. this chapter is so deliciously tense im ngl i was ripping my shirt off like a werewolf god i love writing aki. anyway comment! like! interact w me and the story, it might encourage me to write more for u pookies ;)

★ w.c.;6.2k

shameless ; chapter index

THE PARTY WAS ALREADY in full swing by the time you arrived, the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filling the elegant hall. The Public Safety event was more formal than you had expected, with everyone dressed in sleek, sophisticated attire. You smoothed down the black slip dress you had picked up from the mall a few hours before.

Your friend was easy to spot, already a bit tipsy in a black dress shirt and slacks, her laughter echoing above the crowd. She waved you over to the bar, her eyes bright with excitement. As you approached, you noticed a familiar blonde sitting next to him. 

A man with a scar on his face. Kishibe.

That bastard.

"You made it!" Himeno exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a half-hug. "I was starting to think you bailed on me."

"I came for the drinks," you teased with a smile, glancing around the room. "Looks like everyone from Public Safety is here."

"Yeah, it's quite the turnout," Himeno said, taking another sip of her drink. "Come on, let me get you something. What'll it be?"

"Just a glass of wine, thanks," you said, leaning against the bar as Himeno signaled the bartender. You scanned the room, noting the familiar faces of colleagues and higher-ups mingling together, their expressions ranging from relaxed to intensely focused, depending on their conversations.

And then there he was again – over at the other side of the room, chatting it up with a younger-looking guy with orange hair. Your apparent favorite Devil Hunter, clad in a Public Safety suit and slacks. He looked just about as thrilled to be here as you were, eyes dim and uninterested in whatever it was that the other boy was saying. His arms were folded behind his back.

He looked... rather dashing. You could see why Himeno had her eyes on him.

Quickly, you averted your eyes, turning your attention to your old coworker. "Kishibe," You put on your best smile. "How have you been?"

He grinned – it was a little unnerving, as on the rare occasion Kishibe did smile, it usually wasn't a good thing. "Good, kid. You been staying alive?"

"Yeah, I've been living," you replied, accepting the glass of red wine Himeno handed you. There was a brief moment of silence, during which you took your first sip of the crimson liquid in your glass – tart. 

"I fuckin' hate this song," Yoshida said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He propped his chin up on his hand, eyes flitting over to Himeno. "Wanna dance?"

A few Devil Hunters had already found their way to the dance floor, swaying to the beat of the music. Himeno eyed them up precariously. 

"I was gonna wait for Aki to get over here. See if I could get him out there with me," She sighed. The orange cocktail pinched between her fingers swished around as she slid the glass back and forth. "Maybe she'll dance with 'ya?"

"Pass. I just got here," you said, taking a sip of your wine. The rich, fruity flavor was a pleasant distraction from the icky feeling in your gut – the one that had begun to brew when you saw him standing over there.

Himeno smiled, "Here he comes now."

You followed her gaze. Aki had long since left his friend at the edge of the dancefloor, and was now making his way over to the bar with that unreadable, solemn expression he always seemed to have. He was walking your way.

No. Himeno. He was walking towards her, you reminded yourself.

It didn't feel that way, though. Not when he was looking right at you.

Shit. He is walking towards me. You grabbed Kishibe by the sleeve. Suddenly, a dance seemed like a great idea. "You know what? Let's go!"

Kishibe whisked you away from the bar, his grip firm yet gentle. You glanced back at the scene you had left behind. Himeno smiled at Aki, but his eyes seemed to be tailing you.

"Didn't peg you for a dancer," you teased, trying to push thoughts of Aki from your mind as Kishibe led you into the rhythm of the song – and really, it was a terrible song. Some sappy love song from the 80s.

Kishibe smirked, a rare expression on his usually stoic face. "There's a lot you don't know about me," he replied, his voice low. The light seemed to reflect off of his face in such a way that he looked more tired than usual – the years had clearly taken their toll on him.

"Oh, do tell," you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as he twirled you around. "Let's just say I've picked up a few things over the years."

"Color me impressed," You retorted. It was easy to forget the tension when you were laughing, even if it was just for a moment.

"You're not bad yourself," Kishibe admitted, guiding you through the steps with surprising grace.

"Years of practice," you replied with a smile. "Mind your feet around me, though."

Despite the lively atmosphere, you couldn't shake the sensation of Aki's gaze lingering on you. Every spin, every step, you felt it—a tangible thread of tension that kept drawing you back to the bar, to him. Kishibe's presence was a welcome distraction, his steady demeanor and occasional wry comments grounding you, but even then, your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

Before you knew it, the song had ended. You laughed, carefree, light, free, and clapped Kishibe on the shoulder.

"That wasn't so bad, actually," You admitted.

"Thanks for dancin' with me," Kishibe chuckled before straightening up and heading off toward the restrooms. "I'm going to take a leak."

And then he was moving away, moving towards the entrance at the front of the room.

You turned back toward the bar, your eyes scanning the crowd until they found Hayakawa. He hadn't moved, much to your chagrin. He was still there, his eyes fixed on you. The sight of him sent a jolt of anticipation through you, a mix of curiosity and something deeper, something you weren't quite ready to acknowledge. More importantly, Himeno wasn't there.

Making your way back to the bar, you couldn't help but feel the weight of his gaze intensify with each step. The distance between you seemed to shrink, the room around you fading into the background. As you approached, you braced yourself, your heart pounding in your chest.

You had his attention and he most certainly had yours.

You took a seat next to him at the bar. Though, honestly, it wasn't really next to him – you had been sure to allow one empty seat between the both of you. You told yourself it was so that Himeno would have somewhere to sit (next to her eye candy). A more dishonorable part of you felt as if that one empty seat would act as a barrier of sorts, a wall between you and him, between your thoughts and the man who seemed to occupy them.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him tug back his sleeve, glancing down at a watch. Was he waiting for Himeno?

"Where'd she run off to?" You asked, finally breaking the agonizing silence between the two of you.

He turned to you with an unreadable expression, brows furrowed. "Who?"

Who? Is this guy serious? You thought, but chose not to voice said thoughts.

"Himeno," You clarified. 

"Oh," He answered, "The bathroom, I think."

A man of many words.

You cleared your throat, glancing down at your lap for a brief moment before making eye contact with him again – a task that proved to be far more difficult than it would have seemed. "Lieutenant Captain Hayakawa, right?" When he nodded, you extended your hand towards him, introducing yourself by name once more.

"Yes, from the Kyoto sector. I remember you," He deadpanned, as if that much should have been obvious. Clearly, he hadn't forgotten your meeting on the train, and had no interest in pretending as if this was the first time the two of you had ever laid eyes upon one another. "We met on the train. What are you doing here?"

"If you're talking about Tokyo, then I was called in by Makima for backup," You sighed. Absentmindedly, you drummed your fingers against the bar countertop. There was only you, Aki, the bartender, and the other four patrons of said bar there. "If you're talking about here– this party, then I only came because Himeno invited me. The open bar's a plus, too."

"She invited me, too," He replied. He didn't sound too happy that such had occurred.

I know.

You chuckled, "Not a big party guy?"

"Definitely not," He agreed. "You?"

"I used to be, once upon a time," You smiled. "I think it was the drinks that used to liven me up, though. I don't remember parties always being so..." You trailed off, moving your hands as if you were trying to find the right words to say.

"Disappointing?" He finished for you.

"Yeah," You felt yourself laugh a little. "I guess. I feel like they can be overwhelming, sometimes. I'm too sober to party these days."

"Couldn't agree more," He sighed. The bartender – from whom, apparently, the man had already ordered a something-and-coke – placed a glass full of dark brown liquid in front of him. "Can I get you something to drink? We can fix that problem."

You waved him off – how would it look, after all, if you were seen getting drunk on another man's dime when you had a husband waiting for you at home? "Don't spend your money on me, I probably won't be here long."

"What's your vice?" He asked, eyes glinting with something you couldn't place. "Beer? Liquor? Dark or Light?"

You couldn't fight the toothy grin that crawled over your lips, "Wine, if you must know."

"What kind?" He asked.

"Red."

Without wasting another moment, he asked the blond bartender for a glass of Merlot. He uncapped a bottle of red wine. He poured you half of a glass, placing it in front of your trembling hands.

You turned to the young Captain, brow quirked, gripping the stem of the red liquid. 

"You tried it before?" He asked. When you nodded, he continued, a peculiar tone following his words, "I've heard it's pretty tasty."

Tasty. God.

Married woman! Remind him. 

"I have it at dinner with my husband sometimes," You answered easily, taking a calm, calculated sip of the wine. Good,you thought. Mention your husband. That should make him back off. "Pairs well with steak."

"Is he here with you tonight?" He asked.

You felt your eyes widen. "No, he's in Kyoto..." you muttered, taking a few more much-needed chugs of the wine.

He hummed. If he thought something about that, he didn't say anything. "The wine matches your lipstick."

He's looking at my lips.

The empty seat between the two of you felt a little smaller – like his buttery-smooth voice was drawing you in, enticing you to tell him things you knew you shouldn't say. Before you could open your mouth to tell him something along the lines of, "I really should get going now. Bye!", you were interrupted by the one person you really didn't want to see after making goo-goo eyes at Captain Hayakawa.

"Hiya," Himeno greeted the two of you, plopping down on the stool between you and Hayakawa. "What are we talking about over here?"

Hayakawa answered smoothly as the words died on your lips, eyes never once leaving your face. "We were just bonding over a mutual distaste for parties."

She rolled her eyes, throwing an arm around you, "Don't worry. She'll liven up as soon as she gets a few drinks in her system. She used to be the life of the party."

"That's an exaggeration," You shook your head.

"Hardly," She retorted. "Back in the day, she could outdrink anyone, including me."

You took a few more sips of your wine.

Hayakawa pulled his drink up to his mouth, "I find that hard to believe."

"I'm being serious," She reaffirmed. She was about to say something else when a hand on her shoulder interrupted her – it belonged to an older looking man in a black tuxedo. Her eyes widened with recognition.

"Can I steal you away for a moment?" He asked her, voice gruff.

"Of course!" She smiled, bright as always. She turned to you apologetically before rising from her seat,  "Sorry, I'll be back later."

Then it was just the two of you again – you and Hayakawa, whose gaze was so heavy that you felt as if you were suffocating beneath it.

"Can you really outdrink her?" He asked. "She's got a liver of steel."

"Damn right she does!" You laughed – really laughed, this time. "Seven-eight years ago? Yes. Now, I'm not so sure."

Something in his gaze shifted at the sound of it. He leaned closer, inching towards the empty seat, the unspoken line between you and him. "Finish up your wine, then. Let's test that theory."

"Is that a challenge?" You asked him.

"Maybe," Hayakawa said, a faint smirk playing on his lips. The tension between you was thick, almost electric. "What if I don't believe you?"

"I don't know," you hesitated, glancing at your nearly empty wine glass. "I probably should head home soon."

"We'll be fast," he assured, his eyes locked on yours.

"I don't know about that," you replied, looking in the direction Himeno had gone. "Himeno can talk for a while. God knows when she'll be back."

"Forget about her, then," he said, his voice low and smooth, bringing you back to the present – where it was just you and him, only a foot apart, speaking quietly. "Drink with me."

His boldness made your heart flutter. "Right now?" you asked, trying to steady your voice.

"Yes," he said, leaning closer, the smirk still lingering. "Unless you're forfeiting the match?"

He had you there. You couldn't back down from a challenge, not when he was looking at you like... that. 

What would your husband think? A part of you resented him just a little bit for taking you away from that lifestyle, from this, but you were still married. You had to do right by him.

Still, it wasn't like you were actively doing anything wrong. It was just a drink. 

So, deciding to follow through on your mission to 'loosen up a little', you downed the rest of your wine. "Alright," You sighed. "But we're taking tequila shots. I want this to be quick."

"Fine," he agreed, his smirk widening.

You called the blond bartender over again and asked for six shots of tequila. He set down six small glasses, pouring a shot of clear liquid into each of them. He garnished each of the six glasses with a lime wedge. 

You leaned over the empty seat, sliding three of the glasses over to him.

"Here's how I used to do them," you said, placing salt on the back of your hand. "You lick it," you instructed, holding your hand out to him. "And then you take the shot, then suck on the lime."

He hesitated for a moment before leaning in, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt on your skin. The muscle was hot and wet, drawing a line from your knuckles to your wrist. Perhaps it was the warmth of his mouth on your hand, or the way he peered up at you through his half-lidded eyes and lowered lashes so shamelessly. Perhaps it was the wine in your system doing its work already. Either way, you couldn't help the heat that spread over your neck and your face – the stir in your chest that you tried to ignore.

It's just a shot. You quickly salted your own hand and licked it, trying to focus. You clinked glasses with him, and together you downed the shots, immediately sucking on the lime wedges.

Both of you winced at the strong taste, but you couldn't help but laugh at the face he made. You could feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading through you immediately. It could have been that, or the way he was looking at you with those pretty blue eyes of his, but you felt different.

"Not so tough now, huh?" You teased.

He licked the remnants of the lime juice off of his lips.

Oh. Oh. He's dangerous.

"Don't be so sure of yourself. Only one shot down," He replied, reaching for the second shot already. "Two more to go, right?"

This time, when you clinked your glass against his, it felt an awful lot like you were sealing your fate. You tilted your head back, and then the tequila burned its way down your throat – searing hot, like his mouth had felt against the back of your hand, like his eyes had felt on your red-tinted lips. .

The next shots flew by in a blur of laughter. By the time you took your fifth, it was clear that you couldn't hold your liquor as well as you used to. The room felt warmer, the lights a little brighter, and your inhibitions significantly lower. Dangerously lower.

Somewhere along the way, he crossed the unspoken line and moved a seat closer to you. Somewhere along the way, you put your hand on his knee, hunched over, shoulders shaking with laughter – and still, no sign of Himeno.

"That's ridiculous," You said. "All of that for some sliced bread?"

"12 different kinds of jam. Wasted." Hayakawa deadpanned. "That's what I've been trying to tell you, he's fucking ridiculous."

"That's not so bad," You added. (Trying to play the devil's advocate, as always), "Did he clean up after himself, at least?"

"Denji's not so bad with that. Took the fucker long enough," Hayakawa commented. He moved his straw to the side, taking a sip of what was left of his drink (which you had learned was a whiskey and coke after he'd offered you a sip), "The other one..." He added, pausing to frown. "I don't even wanna think about it. It'll ruin my mood, and I only just started to enjoy myself."

Your drunken laughter could have been heard from the fucking moon. "Don't say that. You've been here longer than I have."

He knit his brows together, "Been bored out of my mind all night, until you came around."

Had the world always been so blurry around the edges? "Why's that?" You asked. "You could've gone out on the dancefloor, or something. You only live once."

You really wished you could be sober again – only because it meant that your verbal filter would return, and you would stop being a blubbering idiot.

"Didn't feel like dancing," He replied.

You patted his leg, giggling sarcastically, "Why not?"

"Because," He said, "You were dancing with someone else."

Your face was alight, on fire – you blamed it on the booze. 

"Jealous?" You asked, only partially joking.

You should have known better. You should have stopped drinking about thirty minutes ago. No, better yet; you should have walked away the moment he offered to buy you a drink. You should have done the right thing from the start – turn away from the captivating Devil Hunter and his soft lips against your hand, the desire in his eyes – but you didn't.

"Maybe I am," He replied, voice deep and velvety and – fuck . "You seemed like a good dancer earlier tonight. It's a crime, wasting skills like that on a man like Kishibe."

"So, what, you're saying you wouldn't dance with Himeno but you'd dance with me?" You asked.

"Yeah," He answered with a great deal of certainty. "I guess that's exactly what I'm saying."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback. The man before you was a far cry from the stoic Captain you met on the train. This version of Hayakawa was carefree, almost boyish, and undeniably charming (and drunk).

Still, you were undeniably married, and people talked.

"I'm married, Hayakawa," you hesitated, glancing around. "I shouldn't even be drinking with you right now."

He pouted, a surprisingly endearing expression on his usually composed face. "Dance with me."

"Is that the captain's orders?" You asked with the slightest, breathiest chuckle, the slightest roll of your eyes.

"If that'll make you dance with me, then, yes," He replied, much to your surprise. "Captain's orders."

"Aren't you, like, 20?" You asked. "A little young to be so cocky, don't you think?"

"I'm your superior," He shrugged. 

"I'm not used to being spoken to like that by a man I met once on the train," You retorted. "You may be my superior, but I'm older than you. Have some respect."

He leaned a little closer to you. "If I'm not dancing with you, then I'm getting out of here and going home."

You raised an eyebrow. Wow.

You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't.

Against your better judgment, you sighed, "You better not step on my toes."

"Never," he grinned. "Lead the way."

Despite yourself, you couldn't help but smile. The combination of his charm and the alcohol had eroded your resistance. You took his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours, the contact sending a jolt through you. It was something you hadn't felt in a long time.

You led him to the dance floor.

The music was lively, and the atmosphere was buzzing with energy. You guided him through the steps, your bodies moving in sync. He stumbled a bit at first, but his determination to learn was endearing.

"It's a simple two-step," You told him. Tapping his shoe with the toe of your heel, you replicated the movement for him. "Like this, see? One, two – Left, right."

Hesitantly, he followed your rhythm, swaying to the left, then the right. He tripped over himself the second time around, muttering, "Shit, sorry."

Laughter bubbled up between the two of you as he tried to follow your lead. He was surprisingly light on his feet, and his genuine effort made the experience enjoyable. There was a sense of camaraderie, a shared moment that felt almost... intimate.

The ghost of his touch down the open back of your dress, your spine, over your waist nearly made you gasp. 

His words were a low whisper against the shell of your ear, "Is it okay if I hold you here?"

His hands rested on your waist, firm yet gentle, as he tried to mimic your movements. Every brush of his fingers against your skin gave you chills. The closeness was intoxicating, each movement drawing you nearer to him.

Fucking hell. He was going to be the death of you. It was a big mistake – this whole thing was. You and liquor didn't mix well. Combine that with a devilishly handsome Captain, and...

You could do nothing but nod.

"There you go, you've got it," you said, your voice breathy from the exertion and the intoxicating proximity – his cologne, the scent of him, it was all intoxicating, as matter of fact. "Left, then right, then left. Just like that."

As the song continued, the space between you seemed to shrink even further. You could feel the heat of his body, his breath mingling with yours. Your heart was racing a mile a minute – or was that your head spinning? You couldn't tell.

"Are you having fun?" he asked, his voice low.

"Maybe a little," you admitted, your eyes locking with his.

And there it was again. That invisible magnet that always seemed to pull the two of you together. For a moment, he made it easy to forget about your morals and obligations. It was just you and him and only a few inches of space between your body and his much larger one. 

His hands slid up your sides, settling just below your ribcage. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Me too."

You were gonna pass out. You were gonna pass out and explode all over the dance floor, and he would have to scrape your remains off the floor.

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. 

You tried to lose yourself in the music, focusing on the lively beat and the sensation of Hayakawa's hands guiding you. The rhythm pulsed through your body, each beat a lifeline in the chaotic sea of your emotions. You forced a smile, trying to appear as if you were in the moment with him, but it didn't work. The guilt gnawed at you, every pulse of the music reminding you of the boundary you were too close to crossing.

"I–" you began, your voice barely audible over the music – which wasn't actually all that loud, but sounded like a blaring roar in your mind.

Whatever you were going to say effectively died in your mouth the moment you looked up at him. Those pretty baby blues of his, his plump lips wrapped around something you didn't quite hear.

Every time you closed your eyes, flashes of your husband's face invaded your thoughts. His smile, the way he looked, the quiet moments you shared in the comfort of your home. Each memory was a sharp pang of guilt that contrasted painfully with the thrill you felt in Hayakawa's arms. 

You felt the warmth of Hayakawa's hand on your back, guiding you effortlessly across the dance floor, away from the memories. 

"Hey," He said, "You look a little faint."

You forced a laugh, trying to mask the turmoil inside you. "It's a little hot in here, isn't it?" 

Ignoring the guilt became increasingly difficult as his hand slid up your arm, sending an electric shiver down your spine. The touch was both thrilling and terrifying. You felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering dangerously close to falling. His fingers left a trail of fire on your skin, each touch a reminder of how far you were straying from the person you believed yourself to be.

"Is everything okay?" Hayakawa asked, concern flickering in his eyes. "You seem a little distracted."

You nodded quickly, trying to steady your breathing. "I'm fine," you lied. "Hayakawa, look, I–"

His gaze softened, his thumb brushing gently, almost unnoticeably over the back of your hand. "Aki," he said, his voice sincere. "Call me Aki."

You knew you were drunk, too drunk to be making any rational decisions. You should go home, you told yourself, but his eyes held you captive. Deep and intense, they seemed to see right through you, igniting something inside you that you hadn't felt in a long time. The pull was irresistible, and you found yourself leaning into him, your body betraying your mind.

You hadn't been touched this way – so intimately, yet so respectfully – in years.

"Aki," you breathed, practically reeling in the way the syllables felt as they slipped off your lips – utterly taboo, two sinful tricks of the tongue. "I don't think," You swallowed the guilt down, "We shouldn't be doing this."

Aki's smile was faint, almost altogether absent. "We shouldn't," he said, his voice filled with a determination that made your heart skip a beat, "Do you want me to stop?"

You looked away, trying to regain control. The room spun slightly, the alcohol clouding your senses. You must have drunk too much. Trying to steady yourself, you scanned the room, and then you saw her. 

Himeno stood at the edge of the dance floor. Her cocktail was clenched in her hand, her eyes filled with sadness and betrayal. The sight of her hit you like a punch to the fucking gut – how must this whole thing have looked from her perspective? The image of the man she'd been trying to get with for a year swaying side to side with you, faces only inches apart, dancing around the elephant in the room.

Oh my god. What have I done?

The guilt surged forward, stronger than before. How could you have let it go this far? 

You felt suddenly sick, the weight of your mistake crashing down on you like a fucking anvil. 

This needs to stop, you thought, panic rising in your chest. I'm making a huge mistake. Snap out of it.

You pushed Aki away, your movements abrupt and forceful. His eyes widened in surprise and confusion, a hurt look crossing his face. He opened his mouth to speak, you spoke first – you knew that if you let him utter another peep, he would convince you to stay.

"I feel sick. Excuse me," you blurted out, your voice trembling.

Then, like the coward you were, you turned and fled, your steps unsteady as you wove drunkenly through the crowd. 

The pounding music and the murmur of conversations faded into the background, the room spun around you as you hurried toward the exit, Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. 

I have to leave. Oh my god. I've ruined everything. I have to leave.

Bursting through the door into the lobby you took a deep breath, hoping it would calm the storm inside you. A little calmer now that you had escaped the scene, you marched towards the entrance. You didn't know where you'd left your jacket and, to be frank, you didn't care.

The first gust of wind against your hot face felt like heaven. The night was quiet, save for the quiet traffic noises only a few yards away.

I need to call a taxi.

You knew you had narrowly avoided a disaster, but the guilt and confusion remained, gnawing at you. What had you been thinking? How had you let yourself get so carried away? 

Practically running into the road, you waved your hand around, calling, "Taxi!"

Out of the four or five cabs in the road, of course, nobody stopped. Just when you thought your luck was going to change, the taxi you had originally thought to be headed towards you drove right on past your waving arms.

You huffed out a frustrated sigh, kicking your heels into the gravel. The quiet sounds of the nocturnal city of Tokyo accompanied your misery. I fucked up.

A call of your name a few feet behind you made your stomach do a backflip. Fuck.

You ignored him, wrapping your arms around yourself, rubbing your hands over your skin to soothe the goosebumps all over it. You walked further away from him, to the other side of the curb. 

And, of course, your efforts were entirely in vain. You could hear the dreaded footsteps as they slowed to a stop behind you, then feel the gentle weight of a heavy fabric over your shoulders – a black suit jacket. The notes of his cologne that lingered on the fabric surrounded you – comforted you, blanketed you.

"You're gonna catch a cold out here like that," Aki spoke finally, breaking the silence. His voice was so deep, so melodic, that you almost wished he hadn't. 

"Why are you here?" You asked rather harshly. Your tone was cold, biting, something that seemed a little out of character for you, considering that you were just swaying with him on the dance floor a moment or two ago. "Are you leaving?"

"I should be the one asking you that," He sighed. 

You swallowed, finally turning around to face him head on. He looked desperate, bangs frizzy and hair a little messy, donning a loosened tie around the collar of his partially unbuttoned white shirt. He was so fucking gorgeous that it physically hurt to be this close to him, to have him leaning over to get his face close to yours, his jacket draped over your cold shoulders. 

"Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry if I overstepped," He added. "It wasn't my intention to make you feel uncomfortabl–"

"Stop, just–" You interrupted him. You sounded a little breathless when you said it. "Stop it. Go back inside. Go–" You swallowed, voice trembling only slightly as you finished, "Go back to Himeno."

Although fairly uncertain as to why, you knew you were acting unwise. What was your fucking problem tonight?

His eyes were unwavering pools of passion – ocean waves crashing against the sandy color of his skin, luring you deeper into the abyss. He lifted a perfectly arched brow, uttering innocently, "Why? I want to be where you are."

"Stop it," You hissed. Any minute now someone would step outside for a cigarette and see this whole thing going down. They would hear everything he was saying to you, and with your luck, it would be Himeno. You didn't need to act a fool in front of anyone else tonight.

You finished, "If you're a good man, you'll forget about this whole– this whole thing and just– leave me be." 

Correction. Apparently, Aki was an exception to your previous statement about not acting a fool.

Finally, finally, a cab pulled up to the curb. In fact, it just might have been the first good thing to happen to you that entire evening. You waved it down frantically, rejoicing internally when it didn't drive away. 

A hand on your shoulder physically stopped you from bolting into the cab the way you wished to, "I can't do that."

Desperate to get it through his thick skull, you clipped back, "I'm married!" 

He took a step towards you. You inched backwards.. 

"You weren't acting like it," He retorted. "I can't forget about tonight. I know you felt it, too–"

"Enough!" You finally snapped – you weren't fully aware of how loud you had shouted that word until he looked at you with wide, hurt eyes. With a sigh, you went for the cab door, finishing the conversation without so much as turning around, "Goodnight, Captain Hayakawa."

He's still your superior. Be polite.

You got into the cab and practically slammed the door shut behind you. Adjusting yourself and buckling in, you told the driver, "Hilton Shinjuku, please."

The moustached man hummed, "Of course." The distinct sound of a phone ringing broke into the atmosphere, and he quickly excused himself before taking the call. 

You sighed, laying your head back against the headrest. Fuck. 

Being alone with your thoughts was bad enough, but adding alcohol into the mixture proved to make not flipping the hell out even more difficult. You had fucked up real bad – you couldn't even think straight, let alone think about what consequences awaited you after you sobered up. What would Himeno think of you? What would your husband think of you? Fuck.

Absentmindedly, you toyed with the fabric draped over your shoulders. Wait– Did I forget to give him his fucking jacket back?

The cab driver flipped his phone shut before driving off. "Sorry, for the wait, Ma'am."

The day couldn't have gotten any worse if it tried.

"Shit," You hissed quietly, moreso to yourself than anyone in particular. 

As you flopped back against the backseat of the cab, your fingers brushed up against something in the pocket of his jacket. It felt like a little gum wrapper – a paper sheet, or something like that. Against your better judgment, you pulled it out and unfolded whatever the object was. 

A small paper slip sat in the palm of your hand. One that had a phone number on it.

You looked down at the slip, noticing his handwriting—strong, confident strokes. You rubbed your thumb over the ink, tracing the numbers absentmindedly. 

Fuck, that was smooth. You couldn't help but feel a pang of something—admiration? Attraction? Annoyance?—as you thought about how effortlessly he had slipped the note into his jacket pocket, of all things. What am I supposed to do now?

Throw it out. Burn it. Anything but call it, for certain, you thought.

Still, you couldn't help but cast a subconscious glance out the rear window to where he had been standing – where you knew he probably was still standing.

And, sure as rain, there he was, standing six-foot-something on the edge of the sidewalk, gaze chasing the back of your cab. You could feel the heat of him even after the driver pulled out. You watched as he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick. The flame briefly illuminated his face, highlighting the intensity in his eyes as he took a drag and exhaled slowly, the smoke swirling around him in the cool night air.

He watched you drive off into the night. You watched him watch you until he disappeared behind the sea of cabs and cars that dotted the streets of Tokyo. Then, once you were absolutely sure that he was out of sight, you sank back into the seat, releasing a breath you didn't know you'd been holding in.

A soft chuckle escaped the cab driver, who caught your eye in the rearview mirror. "Rough night?"

You nodded sadly, pressing your cheek against the icy cold window, "You have no idea."

a/n: kekeke MUAHAHAHAAA!! ugh i love him sm. lmk what you all thought!! love u bunches

credits: UNKOWN ATM. I found the cover pic on pinterest unfortch. If you know the artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work!!! This is NOT MY BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGGG. I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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wanna join the taglist? | shameless ; chapter index

[godsiero]

guys, i saw cinderella’s castle live (i would like to thank the stars for aligning) and my spoiler free review is that

- jeff still knows how to write songs about girlhood

- crumb and sir hop a lot are the sweetest lil guys (i expected them to be in it A LOT more)

- ella/bryce consistently serves cvnt, there’s nothing more for me to tell you

- lauren and mariah DELIVERED, i truly think they were just playing themselves (also, dare i say, the return of bugette?)

- angela changed the way i say “ella”

- BRO THE PUPPETS?????????????? the puppets.

- wherever you think the plot is going, you’re wrong

- you might laugh at james tolbert, you might end up hating him after this, i certainly felt both (james tolbert, or any starkid, if you see this you’re an incredible actor and ur character disgusted me to the point of dry heaving, well done)

- the music is giving if a cis man tried to write chappell roan songs, and that is neither here nor there (jeff blim ily this is not a hate comment)

- the way…the audience…was waiting for sir hop a lot and crumb…will DEFINITELY be a highlight of the recording

- as always, lauren devoured the choreography. she is so smart about how she choreographs. it’s one thing to write a returning motif into a score, it’s another talent entirely to place a returning motif into THE DANCE NUMBERS

- kim whalen is kim whalen, what more do you want or expect me to say

- the set was pretty simple, under the circumstances, but the drops, the lights and false pro were STUNNING

- y’all aren’t ready for ella’s ball gown, seriously

- curt, your fight choreography was hilarious and very well done, you stunner. curt is also just as funny as james’ character, but in a different way…if u get me (i was hoping tadius was in it more!)

- for all of my jeff blim girls, gays and theys…he…there’s something about him in this show and idk what it is, but he’s a fuckin rizzler?? like it’s disgusting and foul how good he was. he was like the main dude in a boy band?? yall will need to get a grip before you watch this because…just…if you’ve seen *the picture* combine it with any backstreet boys and/or nsync music video and use your imagination, that was his performance.

it is with the utmost respect that i say they were all so hot and talented and sickening in this idk what more you want to hear! your honor, i love them!

[steddieas-shegoes]

just make the tik tok

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'behind the scenes'

rated t | 880 words | no cw | tags: famous corroded coffin, modern au, frankie is anti-tik tok

📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱

Joining Tik Tok was a mistake.

"I cannot believe you thought having a band Tik Tok would be a good idea," Frankie said to Jeff as they watched Eddie and Gareth doing some stupid dance. "Look at them. They're stupid. You made them more stupid."

"I just thought it was a good way for people to see behind the scenes of the tour. Everyone agreed!" Jeff shook his head as he saw Gareth lose his balance and grab onto Eddie's shoulder to stabilize himself.

"The last one got 300,000 likes. We gained followers who never listened to our stuff before. They may be stupid, but my plan isn't."

Frankie sighed, but didn't argue further. Jeff was right. He just hoped he never had to do any ridiculous dances or trends to keep people interested in their music.

****

"You guys have gained thousands of followers on all platforms since you started being active on Tik Tok. It may be wise for all of you to be on camera," one of the producers of their album suggested.

"Not happening." Frankie shook his head. "They get what they want from those two idiots."

"Hey!" Gareth and Eddie yelled in unison.

Jeff waved them off. "If Frankie doesn't wanna do them, he doesn't have to. We agreed that this was a voluntary thing."

"Yes, we did. But we're seeing growth and there's been a trend of comments asking where he is in some of the videos."

"I'm in some videos," Frankie crossed his arms. "That stage tour one. I was setting up my bass."

"But people wanna see you. They wanna get to know you, feel connected. That's the beauty of this era. We can make fans feel like they're truly a part of the band, which leads them to sharing and buying." One of the managers of the PR team said. "It's good for your brand if you're just as involved as they are."

"I didn't know we needed to have a brand beyond metal band." Frankie rolled his eyes and stood up from the couch he was sitting on. "I'm gonna head to the studio and work on music. Which is our job."

No one tried to stop him.

****

"There's a woman who keeps asking where you are." Eddie shakes his phone in front of Frankie's face. "She thinks you're leaving the band and is begging you to stay."

"Tell her I'm not leaving the band." Frankie sat down at the table on the tour bus with his bottle of beer and the shrimp leftover from catering at their show. "Though the urge is strong when Gareth keeps drinking my beers."

"She's hot," Eddie continued, seemingly ignoring Frankie's words. "You should make a video so she knows you're not going anywhere."

Frankie rolled his eyes. "I'm not doing a fuckin' Tik Tok."

Eddie held the phone out to him, showing him the woman's profile.

She was hot.

And apparently only ever really concerned with where Frankie was. She'd even sent a DM asking if he was okay.

"Fine. How do I make one?" Frankie asked with a sigh.

"Seriously? We beg you for two months to make one and it's a hard no, but one hot girl wants you to be in one and you're ready to become a social media influencer?" Eddie teased.

"As if you didn't make an entire series of videos rating new pop songs because Steve asked you to."

Frankie grabbed Eddie's phone, ignoring his flailing to try to grab it back.

The app was already open, and he found it surprisingly easy to start recording a video.

"Hey everyone. I'm not leaving the band. I just hate social media shit. I'm fine. I'm not mad at anyone. Except Gareth who owes me 83 beers from stealing mine over the last six years. Yes, I've counted." Frankie sees a timer counting down and decides to give an awkward wave with his other hand before stopping the video. "That should be fine, right?"

He didn't wait for Eddie's response before saving and posting it.

"Uh. Usually they look at them before we post." Eddie explained as he took his phone back.

"They can take it down later if they want."

'That's...not really how this shit works, dude."

Frankie shrugged and continued eating his shrimp for a few minutes until Jeff came to sit next to him, calm as ever.

"You made a video." He yawned, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"Yeah."

"It's got 54,000 likes already."

"Can't help that I'm charming."

"It hasn't been that many beers!" Gareth yells from his bunk, half-asleep.

"Your girl messaged," Eddie handed Frankie the phone with a smirk.

Glad you're not going anywhere 💗

"You better get her number, dude." Jeff nudged his arm. "She wants you so bad."

****

Nearly a year later, and more Tik Toks than he ever hoped to be a part of, Frankie smiled down at the VIP section for their sold out show at Madison Square Garden.

Sasha stood there smiling back at him, singing along to all their songs.

After the show, he'd probably be pulled into a stupid video with Eddie or Gareth, but he didn't really complain anymore. Not when those stupid videos were responsible for bringing him his future wife.

[fbfh]

Curiosity is a Wonderful thing ch. 10

wc: 1.8k

genre: slow burn, little angst, childhood best friends to lovers

pairing: slow burn bff!ben x fem daughter of alice!reader, previously audrey x ben, mal x ben???? yikes!

warnings: political lore and descendants world building from yours truly lol, I think that's it??? minor angst???

summary: determined to figure out what's going on with ben, you remember that many paws make light work.

song recs: dirty paws - of monsters and men, hartebeest - yaelokre, a world of my own - kathryn beaumont

a/n: HI HELLO DADDIES HELLO MY DADDIES HI HELLO also I started watching it's always sunny and every goddamn thing out of charlie's mouth is a vocal stim. I can't go more than two seconds without going HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY HEY. LOOK AT ME GIVE ME EYES. COOL YOUR JETS. NOW GET OUTTA HERE. I love him.

ALSO!!!!!!!! happy 23rd b-day to meself!!!! does a little jester dance while I simultaneously give a thumbs down from the king chair, opening a trapped door and throwing my jester self into a deep dark pit full of lions and poorly made iced americanos.

tags @yesv01@magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @dustyinkpages @inejsknifes @tulipmagnoliaisme @ev3ningrain @yokolesbianism lmk if I missed you and I'll add you to the tag list yell at me in the notes /j (also my dearest yokolesbianism!!!!! thank you so fuckin much for the feedback!!!!!! based on your tags I assumed you'd wanna be tagged?? just shoot me an ask or message if this is not the case lol <333)

You haven’t given much thought to anything besides your research since it began, but if you had, you suppose you would notice you’ve been holed up in the library for every hour it’s been open for a few days, at least. Each waking moment has been spent pouring through text after text, desperately seeking anything that could prove useful in answering the question of Ben’s behavior. 

The first few books proved to be utterly useless for anything besides sharpening your researching skills. You slam the most recent book closed and lean back in your chair, letting out a sigh of frustration. As much as you hate to admit it - even to yourself - you must begrudgingly admit that you need help. 

You let out another sigh, and stand up. A good long sigh seems to be your only weapon against the inconsolable frustration burbling within you turmoilously. You stretch your aching legs and arms, hoping your blood hasn’t stopped circulating entirely, and throw the window open. You take in a big, deep breath of spring air. 

The scent of gardenia and hibiscus floats along the breeze and into your chest, and you glance down at the flowering culprits below the window. 

Your mind wanders and races in a blurry stumble. There must be some way for you to get information, to get some extra hands on this without getting anyone else directly involved. You never expected to find yourself facing such a fragile, treacherous situation, much less having to navigate it yourself. Without Ben. 

You rub at your aching head, trying to make heads or snails of all this. Your mind reels in a blurry stupor at the dangerous situation your country has found itself in without even realizing this to be the case. You take another big, deep breath. 

“Alright.” You tell yourself with a note of finality, like perhaps if you say it enough things will be just that. Alright. 

There are two heads to this chimera of a situation you’ve found yourself in. Firstly, you have to figure out how to monitor Ben. His words, his actions, if he suddenly decides to shave his head and run about nude. Whatever it is, you must be the first to know. Perhaps if you find a way to stay on top of whatever his next erratic decisions will be, you can find a way to smooth things over, to fix things before they have a chance to snowball wildly out of control. 

The other thing you must consider - arguably, of more importance - is why? Why is he acting like this? As much as you resist confronting the feeling, you can’t shake the sense that this is some sort of political sabotage. It wouldn’t be the first time Ben was caught in the crossfires of political unrest. There was a very tense 8 days when you were both nearly too young to remember where Ben had been kidnapped by a group of radicalist former henchmen. They were convinced that Chernabog was sending them secret messages, and were responsible for the next villain uprising.

This, of course, was untrue and Ben was returned unscathed. The henchmen were understandably sent to the Isle, and Chernabog’s whereabouts are still unknown. There’s some debate over the nature of his crimes, if he’s truly evil or just appears to be scary. You and your mother know right where you stand on the issue - while he appears terrifying, and has incredible amounts of power, you have yet to find any evidence that he wants to cause harm. 

You understand why Overlandians are so quick to fear what they don’t know, but one cannot control their size nor the strength of their power, so your mother has urged the Auradon government to let sleeping gods lie. Besides, Chernabog hasn’t been around for half a century, and won’t be seen for another half century at least, so it’s really the least of anyone’s worries right now. 

You snap from your train of thought, returning to the matter afoot. You must keep tabs on Ben, and find some explanation for why he could be acting like this. You already have so many bites that are far too big, and you have no clue how you’ll chew your way through this by yourself. You’re about to go back when you see a bluebird sitting on the tree branch outside the window. She preens her feathers, enjoying the warm sunlight dappling through the lush green leaves that partially hide her from view. You lean out of the window, your sleeves rippling in the breeze. 

“Excuse me!” You call out. She chirps inquisitively as you get her attention. 

“I do hate to bother you, but I’m stuck in quite a muddling lurch. It’s all quite convoluted you see, and as much as I hate to admit it, I fear I’ve reached a point where I simply don’t have enough hands to handle it all.”

She quirks her head at you, hopping a little closer and lending an ear as you begin to explain the whole kerfuffle. You try to be as concise and clear as you can, but you take after your mother quite well. You get a little sidetracked here or worked up there, and find yourself rambling a great good deal more than you would have liked to. 

By the time you’re just about through with your explanation, you’ve had to pull out a lacy embroidered handkerchief, then soon after, another one for the bluebird. She’s grown quite invested in your woes, and it feels so good to be able to weep wetly over this with someone who shares your feelings. You try in vain to dry your eyes, and she holds her hankie tightly with her feathers, blowing her beak with a loud noise. 

“So you see, this whole thing is quite unusual. I just don’t know what to do, or how to fix things.” You look at her compassionate face, nodding and chirping in sympathy. 

“Do you think…” You begin, “Do you perhaps have any friends that could keep ears and eyes open for anything odd, or relating to all this? If you could possibly keep an ear to the ground - or sky - and let me know if there’s anything unusual, I would be most grateful.”

She nods, tweeting in agreement before you can even finish your proposal. She fluffs her feathers and wrings out your hankie, sprinkling salty tears onto the walkway below and hangs it up on a  branch to dry out. She salutes you, and you wave at her as she flies off to spread the word. 

“Thank you!” You call after her. She chirps back at you, and you watch her land a few trees over, discussing the topic with some other birds in the branches. You grip the windowsill resolutely. This is good. This was a good plan. Animal communication takes a great deal of work on both ends, so as long as no particularly gossipy stoats or chickadees get a hold of this, you’ll be alright. 

Besides, animals generally tend to prefer gossiping with other animals rather than humans. Overlandians never seem to understand the gravitas of the social politics of the forest. Despite the word traveling fast, you can’t shake the feeling you need more. More eyes, more ears, more furry feet and paws and claws spreading the word. You straighten up abruptly, returning to your table. You scribble a hasty note on a piece of paper, and prop it up against your stacks and stacks of useless - in this instance, anyway - books. 

gone for tea, be back in three 

You’re known for ducking in and out for tea now and again, and you’re sure this will come as no surprise to the librarians. You rush down the steps and out of the library, into the grassy courtyard. It feels like forever since you’ve been outside, and you miss leisurely strolls and reading in the dappled sunlight. But regrettably, now is simply not the time for leisure. You walk around for a few minutes, searching and looking until you see a cat lying on a garden wall, bathing in the sun. 

 “I beg your pardon,” you start, and the cat opens one sleepy eye. You take a breath and begin explaining the situation all over again. You’re pleased to find a little bit of the sting is gone this time. Just a little. Soon you have his full attention, and his tail flicks in sympathetic irritation for you, for having gone through all this. 

“So if you could spread the word to some friends, keep me informed on anything you think might prove useful” You ask hopefully. 

He pretends to consider for a moment, then agrees, hopping down from the wall and arching his back in a big stretch. He scurries off to spread the word as you make your way into the gardens for similar reasons. You traipse through the hedge maze, feeling a momentary solace in becoming lost so quickly. Soon you find just what you’re looking for, and after a similar conversation with a mother rabbit, you allow yourself to return to the library. 

You return to your research with more gumption than you had had before. You feel a sense of reassurance - a much needed one, at that - that all these kind animals and their friends and relations had agreed to help you and your cause. Soon after, nearly every cat and rabbit are doing reconnaissance for you. Dozens of bluebirds follow students and linger by windows in hopes of overhearing something useful. With all these ears to the ground and sky, you lose yourself in your fruitless research once again. 

When the words begin to look jumbled and meaningless (and not in the good way) you know you absolutely must call it a day. You close your books and place them neatly in the return cart, scratching out titles from your list of Potentially Helpful Books in your journal. More and more pages have become dedicated to this heart aching mystery, though you have few clues, and fewer leads. You ruminate on this as you begin to head for your dorm, nearly tripping over a speckled rabbit. 

He thumps his foot loudly to get your attention, and you startle. “Oh, hello,” you say apologetically, crouching down to speak with him. You listen intently to what he tells you, your stomach dropping in the early evening light. 

Ben and Mal are on a date at the enchanted lake as you speak.