#i really don't know what else to say he just would

[kumkaniudaku]

Caught

Summary: When their guest is away, Terry and Patrice will play.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,067

Warnings: Smut (18+ content)

Recommended Reading: Spoiled

Author's Note: Spoiled, Back Up, and Caught all happen on the same linear timeline. Consider them present day events. Hopefully that helps pull things together because you'll need the context later. Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!

"Mommy, the recipe for the hand pies is so good. Thank you for finding it for me." 

"Oh, of course, baby. One day, I gotta get you to help me put all your Nana's recipes in a book or something. I'm tired of digging through all these scraps of paper." 

"I didn't wanna say anything, but that's insane. I can barely read her handwriting." 

Rosalyn scoffed on the other end of the phone line. "You and me both. I have to call Sybil every time or end up making up what I think goes there. I cook. I don't decipher chicken scratch."

Patrice laughed along with her mother as she passed a piping hot meatball over her shoulder to satisfy her taste tester for the night. He hummed his approval of her gift, providing a thumbs up as his rating before returning his hand to her waist and swaying them in time with the slow rhythm of Christmas music playing in the background. 

Christmas Eve brought preparation for the big day on the other side of a wake-up and a smaller get-together to celebrate Imani's and Jesus's birthdays in one evening. Patrice had offered to continue the tradition at her house to accommodate her cousin's request for loud music, liquor, and good, grown folks' fun. In a few short minutes, she and Terry would have a house full of adults gorging themselves on party food and fighting fits of giggles during a drunk game of Taboo. For now, she'd enjoy the calm before the storm with her shadow attached at the hip.

"The cinnamon smell for the apple version was way too strong, though. I almost skipped those altogether." 

Rosalyn responded with a sound of cautious curiosity. "Really? You usually love the smell of cinnamon." 

"Right," Patrice exclaimed. "Maybe I had a bad batch or something. It doesn't taste bad, but it smelled awful."

"Hm." Rosalyn filed the information in her head for a later moment of privacy, preferring not to stress her daughter with the questions buzzing around in the mind of a mother who knew her child better than anyone in the world. Instead, she continued. "Terry, did you like the hand pies?"

"You don't know if Terry is even in here, mama. He could be anywhere in the house," Patrice answered, her face screwed in confusion.

"Child, don't insult me. If you're in the kitchen, Terry is in the kitchen."

She wasn't wrong. A few too many glasses of Patrice's special holiday cocktail mixed with his ever-present desire to feel his wife at all times had Terry sticking to her like glue. Even after she'd given in to each of his kisses and allowed him to taste her the moment Imani stepped out to run a few errands, she still couldn't shake him. Whiskey was in control. Terry was only along for the ride.

He chuckled into the crook of Patrice's neck before confirming his presence. "Yes, ma'am, I loved the pies. Treece made a few on the side for me so I wouldn't have to share." 

"She still got you spoiled, I see."

"Nah, not too bad. You know she gets sweet once a week. I caught her on a good day." 

"Oh, hush."

Patrice's attempt to get out of Terry's grasp came up empty, prompting him to hold her tighter and press wet kisses onto the back of her neck. She was sadly mistaken if she thought she could get away from him that easy while Uncle Nearest was pumping through his veins. 

"Well, let me let you two go," Rosalyn started with a small laugh. "Tell me how the chicken salad turns out. I might throw some together as a little snack for your daddy tomorrow. You know how he gets when he's ready to eat." 

"Mhmm. Just like somebody else I know."

Terry patiently waited for Patrice to wrap up her conversation and safely end the call before resuming his handsy approach to PDA. His hands slid up and down the fabric of her cotton pajama pants, the pair matching his at her request. Full lips attached to her neck, creating a light suction with every open-mouthed kiss. 

His wife rolled her eyes as she loaded a pita chip with dip for his culinary opinion. "You are insatiable, TJ. Taste this." 

He obliged, opening wide as she slid food into his mouth and waited for a response. Instead of a verbal assessment of her work, he kissed her cheek twice to signal his approval, then returned to his shameless groping.

"How long before Imani gets back?" 

"I don't know. Fifteen minutes or so. She only went to grab some more cups and water." 

Terry's eyes flickered to the digital clock on the stove before sliding his hands up Patrice's torso and leaving a trail of kisses on her shoulder. "Think you got a few minutes to get back to what we started?" 

"Haven't you had enough of me yet? We've been going at it every day since New Orleans."

"What you think?"

Having enough of her touch, the feeling of her body against his, or her attention was a foreign concept for Terry. If he could quit his job and be totally devoted to her pleasure, he would do so without a second thought. Fortunately for him, though, extended absences from the slough of office life due to the holidays provided the closest opportunity to spend the whole day in it. 

Patrice smiled to herself as Terry slowly removed the serving spoon from her hand, bringing her delicate palm up to the back of his head. Coarse hair grown into a short tuft of curls and shaped by his barber tickled her fingertips as she closed her eyes, officially caught up in how Terry caressed her with the care afforded to precious works of art. 

A low purr slipped past his lips as his hands slid beneath the hem of her camisole to rub her stomach, filling her ears and mind with filthy sounds and images from earlier in the hour. Had he had enough of her? She wasn't sure she'd had enough of him. 

His fingertips inched higher, further intoxicating Patrice until a full squeeze on both breasts at the same time made her hiss and wince in pain. 

"Easy, baby," she complained as she gently pressed down on his arms to direct him away from the sensitive area. "They're super tender right now. I'm not sure why." 

Lust was quickly replaced by concern as Terry dropped his hands and turned Patrice to face him. "You okay?" 

"I'm fine, Pooh. It's probably the tattoo healing. 

"Yeah, but it shouldn't be making the entire area hurt. Especially not on both sides. Let me look."

"Terry, you never just look."

His attempt to slide the thin straps of her tank top down her arms was quickly cut short as Patrice brushed off his contact to save herself from what she assumed would come next. Her aching was a serious matter. Terry getting a look at her bare tits was not nearly as high on the list. 

Terry softened his eyes in unmistakable sincerity. "I'm serious, Treece. I know what it should look like. Come here."

Patrice didn't protest as Terry led her to the kitchen table. She stood perfectly still until Terry was comfortable in one of the chairs and then placed her between his legs. 

He gingerly pushed her tanktop straps down her arms before bunching the thin fabric at her waist to free her breasts, watching for any sign of discomfort.

"You don't think you're like…sick, do you?" 

"I think it's just tenderness," she quickly retorted, wanting to push the thought of more grave explanations for her discomfort far from her mind.

"Okay, okay. I'm only asking." 

Her brows furrowed as he lifted the right side to get a look at the moment from a charged few days in his family's old stomping grounds. 

A day alone and nothing to do but explore had them wandering into the same shady tattoo parlor where Terry got his first piece for matching ink. Terry opted to tat their wedding date on his ribs after having to be talked down from plastering her name on his neck. Patrice, however, was set on making her first experience one to remember. 

Slanted script crafted from his handwriting spelled Terry's full first name, curving just under the crease of her boob and the spot that he liked to grip in the depths of passion or simply at his leisure. Terry ran his thumb along each letter to check for abrasions or abnormalities. 

He looked up at Patrice to gauge her reaction. "That hurt?" 

"Not really. It's more here," she added, gesturing toward her areola. "Anything rubbing against it is so uncomfortable. I can barely wear a bra." 

"I noticed. They've honestly been looking a little bigger. Do they feel heavy to you?" 

"Not heavy. Mostly…full? They look great, though. I'm not complaining about that part." 

She joked, the attempt sounding silly once it received no reaction past Terry blinking as he used the pad of his thumb to ghost contact over her pebbled nipple to test her pain level. It was challenging to stay present, with a third of her upper half unnecessarily exposed in their kitchen for no real reason. The entire ordeal felt like a farce. Terrence wasn't a doctor, and him holding her titties in his hands like fleshy snowglobes was as much an actual check-up as WWE was real wrestling. 

When she giggled like a teenager learning about sex for the first time, Terry looked up at her with a quizzical expression, and his left eyebrow lifted high. "What's so funny?" 

"You, Doctor Richmond," she laughed. "How can you tell they're bigger? I couldn't even tell until the other day." 

"I spend a lot of time with my girls. I better notice when they change. Been looking at them since I was sixteen." Terry answered, a boyish grin making his cheekbones nearly touch the corner of his eyes. 

"I knew you used to look!" She exclaimed, finally feeling vindicated in her suspicions from childhood. 

"Looking was the least of what I was doing." He shrugged as he gently pushed both breasts together for his own viewing pleasure. He kissed the small crease they made two times over, then looked up at Patrice through long lashes. "Unfortunately, ma'am, I couldn't diagnose you, but I think I have some treatment available if you're interested." 

Patrice bit back a smile to play along. "Oh yeah? How much is this gonna cost? It's the holidays, and I ain't got it." 

"I offer payment plans that we can discuss in that room back there later tonight." 

"I like the sound of that," she answered, previous problems vanishing into thin air as he roped her back into his web of liquor-charged desire. 

"I knew you would," he winked. "Don't move."

Tingles rippled across Patrice's skin while she listened for any indication of Terry's secretive treatment plan. The soft crack and subsequent rush of cool from the freezer created goosebumps on her bare chest, making her nipples jut out proud from the sensation. Next came the cupboard opening and shutting in two seconds time. From the direction, she could tell he was grabbing a glass from over the sink. 

Ice cubes clinked against the cup like little masters of whispers attempting to give Patrice the scoop on what to expect. Terry quietly shut the freezer and took heavy steps back to his seat, smiling at how Patrice truly hadn't moved a muscle in his few minutes away. 

He placed the glass on the table behind him before tugging her hand to guide her closer. "Cold hot therapy. I sprained my knee once, and this got me back up and running in no time. Ice for the cold…" Terry's voice trailed as he plucked a piece of ice from his glass and pressed it to her nipple. He watched her jaw drop with a sharp inhale, intently focused on the way her eyelids fluttered closed at the sudden shock of frozen water. When a single drop began to make a trail down the swell of her breast, he pulled the ice away and brought his mouth closer. "And I'll take care of the hot."

"Oh…my God." 

Whispers of unexpected pleasure sent Terry into a far-off place where he was only concerned with running a flat tongue across supple skin. Patrice rushed to steady herself by bringing her hands to the back of his head, cradling him while he went to work. 

Ice cold. Soothing warmth. Ice cold. Soothing warmth and a light suckle. Again. And again. 

He eyed her like a lion watches prey, taking notes of every little sound and twitch to know that he was fulfilling his job. 

"Good job, baby," Patrice whispered, her head tossed back and praises spoken to the ceiling. "Good fuckin' job."

Terry ran his hands up the back of her thighs to roughly grip her ass. He groaned at the affirmation before pulling away to retrieve more ice. He held a small cube between his teeth to multitask, running it across her left nipple and areola until it had melted enough to fit both in his mouth. 

Was it fixing her tenderness issue? Not really. But Patrice would be damned if his subtle slurping and moaning with her backside firmly in his clutches wasn't sufficiently taking her mind off things. So far off, she'd lost all concept of time and space. 

While Terry pulled Patrice into his lap for a more intensive inspection, Imani entered the house high off the exhilarating freedom that can only come for night drives with a carefully curated playlist blasting from the speakers. Being stateside for the first time in a year was the perfect opportunity to experience one of life's simple pleasures. 

Grocery bags rustled and knocked against the wall as she hummed along to the fragmented lyrics from a song on her Spotify playlist still coursing through her brain. A short pause in her personal concert to lock the door left space to hear a string of curious noises. Muffled half-sentences and a sort of trembling sigh made her quirk an eyebrow. She thought to herself that Terry and Patrice left the television on far too often for a pair of people who claimed to not spend much time in front of the tube, but quickly found that they'd taken to making a scene the old-fashioned way. 

She stood in the open space, a perfectly shaped eyebrow pushed high on her face and an impressed smirk tugging at the right corner of her lip while she watched her baby cousin makeout with Imani's newest family member with a ferocity she didn't know Patrice had in her. 

Patrice held Terry steady by his jaw, slightly hovering over him while she had her way leading a sloppy kiss. When she moved to push his head back toward her chest with a string of words filthy enough to make a pornstar blush, Imani cleared her throat to finally announce her presence.

"Oh shit," Patrice yelped, rushing to tap Terry's back and end his check-up. 

His head popped up to survey the room, then slowly found a home on top of Patrice's once she pressed close enough against his chest to cover her naked breasts. The vibrations from his concealed chortling made Patrice pinch him in frustration. Nothing was funny, at least not to her. 

Imani held her hands up in faux surrender. "No, please. Don't stop on account of me," she laughed. "Y'all were just getting started." 

"We are so sorry, Moanie. This isn't what it looks like. Well, this part is exactly what it looks like, but I promise it didn't start like this. Terry was looking at my boobs to check on my tattoo and -" 

"Girl, you do not have to explain anything to me. This is your house! Honestly, if I had those big ol' mommy titties, I'd want them in somebody's face too. And you got them for free! The girls gotta go under the knife or get pregnant for those. How does it feel to be God's favorite? Terry, can you help me get the water out of the car when you finish?"

Terry looked down at his visibly distressed wife and then back at Imani to save face for the both of them. "Yeah, I got you. Gimme a minute." 

Moanie didn't notice how she'd launched her cousin into an internal spiral as she pranced off to busy herself with getting ready in her room for the week, but Terry did. He carefully sat Patrice up and helped redress her, careful to ease into conversation. 

"You alright?" 

"I had my cycle this month," Patrice rushed out, her gaze far off as Terry lifted her arm to put it back in her camisole strap. "It can't be that. I had my cycle." When her focus returned, her eyes snapped to Terry's for confirmation. "Right? I did, right?"

He nodded, unsure of how to proceed to quell her fear. "You did, baby. But, maybe…"

Sure, it was lighter than usual, but she'd had a cycle. Her body functioned like it did every month, on time and without pomp and circumstance. There was no cause for concern. 

But…maybe. 

Patrice looked down at her belly then back up at Terry, searching for answers in his sympathetic expression. He leaned forward and held her head with both hands to give her a kiss she couldn't return before he spoke. 

"Don't drink tonight. Just in case. We'll figure it out in the morning. Okay?"

"Okay." She whispered back without truly processing the gravity of his instruction. 

Terry slowly lifted Patrice from his lap to fulfill Imani's request for assistance, leaving her to stand perfectly still in the kitchen. She counted backward in her head, retracing her steps and important dates until a headache sent her to take a seat. 

It was just tenderness. It'd go away by morning, and all of this would be a silly story to tell whenever they got together in the spring for their European honeymoon. She'd drink an entire bottle of wine over heaps of pasta, turning the whole situation into a fond memory before raising her hand to call the server for another round. All water under the bridge, right?

But…maybe.

------

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[scrumdidiliyumyum]

Something special |||

Yan!Batfam x Neglected!Reader

Prologue - > Part 1 - > Part 2 - > Part 3

How could he have known that you were with your friends?

You sat there for a while, in the cold car with the sudden realization that that man you had quite literally just met knew something he shouldn't have. Were you overthinking it? Were you just to tired to really comprehend the actual situation, your mind instantly going to something more darker and blaming an innocent man?

Maybe you were paranoid, just maybe. He was a vigilante for goodness sakes. He helps people, saves them. He most likely just assumed that you were out and about, hanging out with buds. There wasn't any need to jump to such big conclusions- to make an innocent man the target of your paranoia.

As you sat there, you tried your best to control your breathing, feeling it go out of control every time the thought of him knowing more than he should've creeped back into your mind. Maybe you really were just going crazy for all you knew.

Your hand shakily reached up to the ignition with the key to start the far, you couldn't think about this right now. Not in the middle of who knows where, alone, in a car. You tried, keyword tried, to push it away, to shoo away the bad thoughts until you were in a safer environment to be allowed to do so.

You drove back to the manor, trying to keep your mind in a happy place. Thinking of things to distract yourself, not noticing the skillfully hidden figure watching your vehicle make its way onto the street.

You slowly made your way towards the manor doors, not wanting to go in. God, why didn't you ask to stay over at a friend's house? If anytime was good, now would be, when your head was working against you and you could've used a friend to help you with it all.

Ah.

Your mind went back to a few certain people as you thought that. As much as you would've loved to, staying at a friend's house when some people were, "keeping an eye out on you," Suddenly disappearing probably wouldn't be the smartest move on your part.

You let out a sigh as you slowly opened the doors, looking around for a minute before making the hike up the stairs and back to your room. You kept looking around, at all the little places you memorized from walking through these halls for years. Something you were hoping would change very soon.

You jumped out of your trance as you felt a hand tap on your shoulder, whipping around and coming face to face with Duke who still had a worried look on his face. You opened your mouth to speak, but closed it as he beat you to it.

"Are you alright? I was worried when you disappeared all of a sudden." You held back to urge to roll your eyes, "yeah I'm fine don't worry. Really, there's no reason to be worried." You stood there awkwardly for a second before slowly turning to make your way back to your room.

Duke suddenly put that to a halt as he said, "hey, you shouldn't stress yourself out so much. I know you wanna work hard, but maybe try to relax, yeah?" You looked back at him, trying to think of what to say.

You would've been mad if it was anyone else, should've been mad nonetheless, but you never really knew Duke. He was always nice, and you both were older, teens when you both had first met. Despite everything, he still treated you the kindest.

So you sighed, before fully turning to face him. You softly smiled at him before saying, "thanks Duke, I'll keep that in mind." You patted his arm before walking back to your room trying to ignore the face he made, just wanting to sleep and prepare yourself for whatever tomorrow intailed.

Man you wished that you were old enough to drink.

You adjusted your uniform, tidying up as best as you could. You were a tad bit nervous, more than usual as today was the day you decided to quit a club. You had to step out of your comfort zone, and maybe it wasn't a big deal to some, but for you it was a really big deal.

All the times you had walked through those halls, hoping for something more from the very people that lived there, it hurt more than everything. And it still didnt hurt any less, but you were gonna make it okay, because you did have people to rely on, people who would be there, who would gladly hang up your photos and take time out of their day to be with you.

You wanted more then everything to start doing stuff you liked, be with people you liked, so that's exactly what you were going to do.

You gathered up the rest of your stray items and set them into your bag. Nervous yes, but overall thrilled to be doing this, patting your self before making your way towards your door to get to school.

You looked at a picture from one of the many photo booths you had run into the night before, hung up on your wall of you, Aryan and Ethan, all smiling, happy and making weird faces.

For the first time in awhile going to school didn't seem to hard.

"I'm sorry, I'm what?"

Your debate teachers face scrunched up slightly as he started to explain, "well, you're out, that's it." He paused before continuing, "technically, isn't that what you wanted? So I don't see the problem." You felt nothing but absolute confusion as he said that, slowly processing his words.

You did amazing, was, were, one of the best debaters, you were always helpful, willing to offer a helping hand to those that needed one, inside and outside the class. So what was the problem? Why were you suddenly cut off the team?

Him sighing and gesturing for you to lean in brought back your attention, "look, kid, to be honest, your amazing. But, this other kid, don't really know his name, started with a D? I don't know, but he waltzed in here, saying how he wanted you off the team, and started going on about you and stuff, something like that."

He scratched his head, "usually, I would just shoo people like that off, but he had a signed paper and everything!" He waved his arms around to emphasize the paper, "look, I'm sorry kid, I figured you knew about it since... well, y'know."

You could feel a huge headache coming on, desperately needing a pill. You paused your thoughts as you took what he said to mind. You stumbled on your words, "I- I'm sorry, Damien?" He nodded his head, getting a grim look on his face, "don't get me wrong, I've dealt with some freaky kids, but that one was definitely pretty freakish."

You were about to make your way into another rant, when you decided to leave it as it is. As much as you wanted to fight him on it, you know it wasn't his fault. You took a breath and forced yourself to calm down and smiled at him politely before taking your stuff and storming off, making turns through the halls towards your car.

You were going to talk to him, yell, whatever. Yes, you were going to quit the club, or a club, but just because didn't mean he had the right to butt in. It was your choice to make, one that seemed to be a good one, one that make you excited until you got there only to find out Damien had gotten you kicked out in the first place.

You and Damien never had a close relationship, always having some sort of rift between the two of you no matter what you did to try and repair it. And for once, for once, you decided you were gonna move on, live your own life, and he decides he doesn't want that?

No.

You weren't gonna just let him decide this. This was for you to decide, and you weren't gonna let him make something that should've been a new chapter into something else as he had done one too many times. You really didn't want that to happen right now, especially when this particular thing was supposed to be a turning point for you.

Maybe you were being dramatic, but in all honesty you couldn't care less. Sure, maybe at the base of it all, what you were really mad at was not just this, but all the other times he was ruined things for you, turning stuff that made you happy into stuff that made you cry and sick everytime it entered your sight, the fact that you were always to weak to put a stop to it.

You just hoped that you would be strong enough to tell him this time.

You slowly made your way towards Damien, having searched for him for a good while. You were filled with anger earlier, but it slowly faded away and out of your body once you noticed Dick standing by him.

You didn't know how to confront him with Dick by your side, at most he wouldn't care, right? You hoped with every fiber in your body that they would push whatever you decided on saying to the deep depths of their minds. As you neared them, the moment they took notice of you, you almost had to double back and go throw up from how nervous you were.

But, you held your ground and continued walking until you were infront of them, trying to hide how harshly you were breathing and the mini panic attack you were having on the inside. "Damien, can I talk to you, somewhere private?" You said with as much confidence you could muster. He stared for a moment before responding, "why? We can talk right here."

The small bite in his tone reminded you exactly why you were in this situation in the first place. Taking a deep breath, "fine. Damien, why did you get me kicked out of my club? It's my club, and you shouldn't have to go behind my back to talk to my teacher." You waited, trying your best to ignore Dick just staring at you.

He rubbed his eyes, sighing, before giving you a fierce look, "look, whether you like it or not, you're my sister. What you do directly effects me and father. And I'd rather not have to deal with you passing out in public, with everyone as a witness."

You scoffed at what he said, " your sister? Well whether you like it or not, it's not for you to decide! What I decide to do with my life outside- actually, inside this manor as well, had absolutely nothing to do with you, or anyone else that lives here."

You breathed harshly out of your nose, trying to keep a cool head but failing miserably. You took in a deep breath before starting another rant, " and y'know what Damien? I passed out once why does everyone think I'm suddenly this super fragile person?" -You barely noticed the way he winced from the pure venom of which you spat his name- "I honestly hate-"

Suddenly Dick covered your mouth, pausing after doing so as if not even meaning to. His eyes jolted around for a bit before settling on whispering, "please don't say stuff like that, okay?" You stared at him, pushing his hand off your mouth. "Say what? That I hate your guts? Is that what the problem is?"

He almost looked surprised at the hatred in your voice, before letting out a sigh, "look, I'm sorry okay? You're probably tired, and just need to go lay down-"

You laughed incredulously, absolutely shocked at his words. Had he even been listening? You decided that you had had enough of his- no, enough of their bullshit. It wasn't your job to cater to their every whim.

You decided then and there to just leave. You rubbed hard at your face, as if to try and rid of the tension and unadulterated anger coursing through your body. Was this whole family crazy? You honestly couldn't care less, you were tired, hungry, and just wanted to be somewhere safe.

You suddenly looked at the two annoyed, "I'm gonna stay at a friend's house tonight. Bye!" Quickly turning around, you started to make your way back down where you had come from. You pushed anything they had said out of your head as you tried to mentally retrace your footsteps back.

Because you had already spaced out, you hadn't noticed Dick speading towards you, completely blocking your path. You jumped at him suddenly invading your view, giving him a questioning look. He looked back at Damien a few times before muttering a quick, 'I'm sorry' and snatching your phone out of your hand.

You looked at him incredulously, at this point really wondering if it was all a dream. Dick stood there, trying to convince you to go to your room. "Look, I'm sorry, can you please go back for now? I promise I'll give it back later I just-" He paused as he looked back at Damien, the both of them having a silent conversation.

Suddenly Damien sighed and spoke up, "go away, I need to talk to Dick." You could feel his stare bore into the back of your head. You scoffed and just left, figuring it wasn't worth the fight. Although you wanted to try and grab it, you tried to soothe yourself with the fact that you still had your computer to contact someone- anyone.

Running Walking away, you could faintly hear Damien start to talk to Dick, 'I thought we told you already-' but you quickly pushed it out of your head. All you could think of at the moment was how pissed you were with those two, what was their problem??

Frankly, any other day you wouldn't have left. It was your phone, and they couldn't just suddenly decide to team up and take it away. But, you didn't care anymore, you were done with having nothing to deal with, then now having to deal with everything.

You tried to soothe yourself with the fact that this time tomorrow you would be out of here.

You walked into your room and slammed the door, sliding down against it trying your best to calm down. For all you knew they could've broken it. You mentally beat yourself up for not just snatching the phone back. The thought of that made you remember something as you sprung up, making your way towards your desk.

Pulling multiple draws open before your eyes finally landed on what you were looking for, you quickly grabbed it out, pushing along the few trinkets that resided on top.

Your laptop.

You needed to message someone, maybe Aryan? Would she even answer? Or maybe Ethan, he might-

.

You paused before quickly turning back towards the desk, once again looking through the drawer that held your laptop. You looked through it multiple times, taking everything out before moving towards other drawers.

After moving everything out, looking once again through the mountain of items that sat om your floor, even going as far as any other desks, drawers, hell, your backpack. Yet no matter where you looked, you couldn't find it. Did someone steal it? Did Aryan- or no, even Miss Honey take it?

Where the hell was your camera?

The dim room was faintly lit up by the big computer screen, shining onto nearby objects and the young man who sat at the desk it resided on. He watched the video, taking in every detail of it. The small giggles that got let out every now and then, the way you threw flour at the other girl in the video, laughing and smiling brightly.

Tim looked over the video, and the many others that were on the sim card over and over again. It was so weird- he never really cared about you, still didn't really. Then what was that aching tug in his heart? but nonetheless, seeing you there, no longer the small kid that he could always sense trailing somewhere behind him, it was weird.

He remembers the first time he met you, you coming up to him with a smile, bandages on your knee, hair wild. It was amusing seeing someone so full of life and color in such a desolate and dark manor. With how sleep deprived he was, he genuinely thought for a second that he went to the wrong manor.

But you weren't little, you weren't the same joy filled kid that he ran into so few times. You were older, and because he didn't know you it was easier to just place you as a faceless nobody.

Well, until you were brought to his attention.

It was like a parasite, the way he slowly heard more and more people talking about you, worrying about you. It honestly didn't make sense. You really weren't special, you had a few quirks here and there, but that was about it. What was so different?

After he ransacked your room, looking through drawers and settling on stealing a camera, he connected it to his computer and looked through the contents. There was a mountain of pictures, ranging from sunsets, to photos with friends, to even the beautiful shimmering ocean.(when did you visit the ocean?)

As much as he hated to admit it, he understood where the rest were coming from. The fact that you hadn't ever touched the dark vigilante life- never having the get your hands dirty from another person's blood, it made you so much different than them.

You were human, something to be treasured, to be kept safe and sound. He couldn't help but think of how different you seemed as of late. In the few times he saw you, he saw a quiet wallflower. But now? Seeing you so of life almost made him... admire you in a way.

The humanity you had, having the ability to be happy and share your love with those around you so freely. He could tell from each picture and video he looked at, the way you talked, looked, it made it so clear that you were someone overflowing with love.

And he longed for you to share it with him as well.

Hey guys...long time no see....

(*´Д`)

I wanted to drop this chapter for christmasss!!! Sorry it isn't Christmas themed though (-。-;) Can you guys tell how readers slowly starting to get more pissed off?? I'm VERY excited to not write a breakdown wink wink Anywaysss I've said this a million times but MERRY CHRISTMAS Or HAPPY HOLIDAYS if you dont celebrate SENDING HUGS AND KISSES TAGLIST : @wizzerreblogs, @darktrashpoetry, @daddyissuesehe, @chericia, @iluvcatzz, @fightmebissh, @fionnalopez-blog, @otterluver05, @kitkatkitmeow, @caged-birdies-blog, @ocean-mochi, @tatsuri-zomushiki, @nickey-diano, @nickey-diano, @cloudserenity, @seleneprince, @degenerates-posts, @definitely-not-sammie, @pix-stuff, @nervousalpacalady, @mys0cksrwet, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lilyalone, @alliwantisadonut, @shadowytravlerlover, @dreamsarenicer, @dhanyasri, @blackbirdsblackberries Thank you for the support 💓 I'm going to bed now (´Д` )

[littlemissaddict]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Nurse!Reader

Merry Christmas everyone 🎄 had this stuck in my head for a little while and it's took even longer to write. Slightly jealous ghost if you squint.

All the nurses knew as soon as they saw Ghost enter the Medics station on base that there was only one nurse he'd see. Some of the long term staff who treated his injuries before she'd arrived on base were thankful they didn't have to work through the glowering stare, the gruff grunts and all-around hardship he'd made there job of tending to him. In fact it was a hardship in itself just convincing him to see a base nurse.

With her though he was different, he sat willing while she tended to his wounds and they've even seen him sit for an hour after arriving back from one deployment so that she was the one to see to him despite other nurses being free.

No one knew why he favoured her and if anyone asked him he would never admit the real reason he took a liking to her was because she snapped at him on their first meeting. He was so used to the other nurses tip toeing around his large form and intimidating presence but she was different, becoming annoyed with his constant squirming as she tried to stitch the cut along his shoulder, that she didn't ever care to ask how he'd gotten.

"Stop moving so I can finish this and get you out of my sight"

If anyone else had said it, he'd have had something to say about it but with her stood there, tiny form next to him with teeth gritted and eyebrows set into a deep frown then he knew that she was different to the other nurses and that he liked. Hence the reason she'd become the only one he'd see.

Since that first meeting though he'd become a lot easier to handle and she hadn't had to snap at him anymore. In fact there was a little more joking around between the two of them.

"You're hurt, why are you always hurt?" She fussed coming back to her station to find him sat on the bed.

"S'my job" he grumbles, surrendering to her soft touch as she inspects his arm.

With a sigh, she turns her head to look up at him, "If it was your job, then wouldn't I see the rest of your unit just as much as I see you?" She phrases it as a question but they both know it doesn't require an answer. "Hell I don't even seen Johnny as much as I see you" She adds, as Johnny maybe a soldier but he's a clumsy fucker sometimes.

At the mention of Johnny's name, Simon tenses, he's a little hurt even though he knows he shouldn't be, but she's never once called him Simon. It's always Ghost or Lt. Yet she's casually dropping Johnny's name as though she always calls him that instead of Soap or sergeant.

She mistakes his tensing for pain in his arm instead of what it is and she let's go of him as he grumbles out, "Simon"

"Sorry?" She replies not sure if she'd quite heard what he said correctly.

"Call me Simon" his voice is as gruff as usual but she could be mistaken when she hears the hint of pleading in his tone.

"Okay but you gotta do one thing for me in return" she's teasing, she'll call him Simon if that's what he wants regardless, but this constantly getting hurt has to stop so maybe she's going to abuse the power she has over him in this moment but it's with his best interest at heart. Simon nods once, slowly before she continues, "You have to stop being so reckless, I know you have a dangerous job, but at least try not to get injured"

Simon sits and stares at her for a minute or so as if considering her words, he is really because not getting injured means he can't come down to medical and that means he won't get to see her as often but getting to hear her call his name is the desire that's currently outweighing everything else. "Fine" he huffs as if she's asking the hardest thing in the world from him.

"Good, now, let's get this arm sorted." She smiles, turning away from him to gather the equipment she needs. It takes her practiced hands barely anytime at all to complete the task at hand and Simon almost resents her for how quickly she works as now he has to leave her.

He thanks her with a grunt as he stands from the medical bed but she stops him before he leaves, "Simon" his name finally drips from her lips like honey and he's putty in her hands, he's very thankful for the mask right now so that she can't see the colour spreading across his cheeks. "You know you don't have to get hurt to come see me, I do enjoy your company" she reveals and he nods, unable to speak.

Oh but when he thinks about it later on when he's alone in his bunk, he realises she doesn't know what she's let herself in for as he plans to be by her side whenever he gets any free time on base.

[starboye]

starring: alexander "konig" kilgore x male reader

request: just thinking about innocent naive reader getting corrupted and not even noticing a single thing because he just want to be a good friend. . .

warnings: smut + angst, yander!konig, kinda obsessive, handjob

konig was such a good friend to you, he would never do anything to hurt such a pretty thing like you and plus you were both best friends so nothing was ever kept a secret between you two, so imagine konigs' face when you announce you have a date with some guy.

watching his face crack into a soft smile and telling you how happy he is for you but behind those eyes he was mad as hell, i mean who does this new guy think he is to try and take you from him, and it gets even worse when you come back from the date the next night and tell konig about how you loved it so much with the biggest smile on your face.

as much as he wants to feel happy for you he just cant imagine anyone else stealing him from you so he makes up a lie "i don't know about him y/n" he blankly making you question him "what do you mean" you ask him "i just have a weird feeling about him" he continues looking at you with the most beautiful eyes "well what if you just get to know him" you try to give an idea but konig pipes up with "you know my gut feeling is usually always right"

and he was kinda right i mean there was that one time you had feeling for this one guy and it turned out he was actually arrested for murder, or at least that's what konig told you (he pulled some strings at the police station and got what he wanted) "well then yeah i guess i can stop seeing him" you say and within seconds konigs arms are wrapped around you and he's thanking you for trusting him.

and queue the constant run of you finding a good guy and konig coercing you to stop seeing them because he has a 'gut feeling' and you trust him, but really he just wants you all to himself, making you depend on him more and more as time goes on by telling you if you ever need help with anything to call him and you do, calling him for even the littlest inconvenience.

whether that be helping you fix something or letting you cry on his shoulder when you get layed of from your job (after he pulled a few more strings and made it seem like you were a bad employee) and offering you a room at his place since you were short on money and couldn't pay your bills.

with you moved in now he can be so much closer to you, sneaking through your things at any chance he could and whats this it seems like you need some new clothes since all yours seem to be gone (he used all of them to jerk off and now they're ruined with his cum) so he takes you to the mall, carrying all your bags as you go to every store getting all the things you want, but hm it seems you need some help trying on those pants why doesn't he help you.

"you sure you're okay with that" you ask him "yeah it's what friends are for" he says helping you but on the jeans that hugged your ass so well, it was no surprise he got a boner, it straining so hard in his pants he just needed some release "fuck baby i need your help" he groans "what's wrong konig" you asked and he moved your hand to the aching bulge in his sweatpants "please just this once" he pleaded and after some consideration you agreed, i mean it was just a one time thing between two friends right.

pulling his pants down his thick cock flops out and you immediately work on fixing it for him, his grip tightening on the top of the dressing room door, your hand rubbing back and forth on his achingly hard boner, this was like his dream, he had thought about this exact thing so much, jerked off to the thought and feel of it but the real things is so much better than he hand.

"fucking shit y/n" he muttered before cumming on your hand, thick load messing up your hand as he let out shuddering breaths, and after that it became a regular thing, konig being all needy and asking you to come help him get off since you did it best (in reality you weren't the best at it but don't worry he'll train you soon enough).

and time after time it seemed you liked it more and more to the enjoyment of konig, maybe just a few more times and you'll tell him how you've had feeling for him to right?

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac

[leftoverghosts]

'til death

art donaldson x cheating wife reader. mentioned you x pat.

"I don’t think I could survive seeing you with someone else."

warnings: nsfw!!! some curse words. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. dom art. smut. art is a munch. finger in butt. cheating reader. more gross than i usually write. not beta read.

nori says: please!! please!! read my warnings! xoxo. i have a few more asks to get through for my xmas game! but besides those (and ones pending from sof) i am closing it!! thank you so much for playing!!! here is a little gift of what i would have selected!

word count: 1,400~

"Tennis Legend Art Donaldson’s Wife Seen Kissing Mysterious Man."

The title elicits a scoff from you, while Art's teary eyes gaze at you as if you've castrated him.

Yes, you kissed Patrick. Yes, things went further than just a kiss. But for some asinine, no-name fucking blogger on Instagram to refer to you as "Art Donaldson's wife" is the real travesty here. That's libel, that's slander.

Your knee throbs with pain.

"Why didn’t you tell me Patrick was in town?" Art weeps, and you drag your eyes back to his face before cringing.

Martyr, martyr, martyr. It’s his favorite role. You want him to be angry, to be calculating like he used to be. You want him to manipulate his way back into your good graces.

"Art," you sigh, "ask me what you really want to know."

“Did you fuck him?” He asks it almost as soon as you finish speaking.

"Twice." You shrug, wanting to wound, longing for the real him to shred through the flesh of the docile facade he's hiding behind and fight with you.

He sucks in a breath, fingers drumming against the table before he...smirks?

"I don’t think I could survive seeing you with someone else. Especially not him.”

“You’re barely surviving as is, Art. Sometimes I feel like if it weren't for your blinking, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between you and a doll. I have to sit you here, change your expression there. Fuck. Who are you?"

He blinks at you. "I am who you made me."

"I want you to be who you used to be."

"If I change, will that make you stop seeing Patrick?"

You pause, confused. "Patrick doesn’t matter to me. He's not the man I chose to marry. But when I'm with him, I can pretend it's the real you again. I like the familiarity of it, like we're back in that hotel room and he fucking listens. Having to explain this is beneath me.”

"Mhmm," Art takes a moment to process your words before getting up and walking around the table to stand beside you. He hovers over you, waiting for you to face him, and when you do, his hand is in your hair, yanking.

Art pulls you out of the chair with little effort. It crashes to the ground with a loud clatter before he kicks it aside. He steps behind you, needing even less effort to press the side of your face against the table's wood grain. His hand grips the back of your neck, firmly holding you in place.

"You don't just want me to listen, you want me to fucking snap, don't you baby? It's not like you to work backwards.” he sneers. “And if anything is beneath you, it’s still sneaking off with Patrick Zweig in your thirties. He’s ranked two hundred,” your skirt is pushed up to your hips, “and seventy fucking fifth.”

Art rarely curses, but you've pushed him over the edge and caused him to reveal that he's been keeping track of Patrick's rank.

This was what you wanted all along.

You start to complain when he rips your expensive pantyhose, but Art silences you with two quick slaps on your ass and rips enough of your underwear to have access to you.

“Shut the fuck up. You’ll use my Amex to buy new ones anyway.” He lets go of your neck and swipes his pointer and middle finger across your wet center like a credit card, squeezing your labia and working at your clit. You can't see his smirk but you can feel it. “Don’t you have any self worth? Or are you that bored with the life I bankroll for you?”

When you don’t answer, he pauses, peering down at you as he restrains himself. His expression is tinged with fear when your eyes meet, as if questioning whether he’s gone too far. Consent has always been important to him; even after five years of marriage, he never touches you without asking for permission.

“I’m okay, Art. You’re doing well.” You reassure him, not lifting up from the table, but turned on by how quickly the apprehension in his eyes transforms into lust.

"Okay." He nods and drops to his knees, "open your legs for me, baby." You oblige eagerly, yearning for his touch. His strong hands grip your soft flesh, spreading you open before him. Your heart races with anticipation as you feel his hot breath against your most intimate area. He teases you with a long, slow lick, his tongue warm and wet as it glides from your clit to your asshole.

A moan escapes your lips as he begins to work you over with his mouth. Art points his tongue and probes at your ass, prodding and swirling around the rim. He alternates between flicking his tongue rapidly across your hole and pressing it inside you, wiggling it deeper.

You're drunk on the vulgar slurping sounds as he laps at you, greedy and insatiable. He sucks and nibbles at your rim, taking you apart piece by piece.

He pulls back to spit thick gobs of saliva over your fluttering hole, the crude act making you clench and shiver. Rivulets run down your crack and over your thighs. He dives back in, sealing his mouth over your entrance and sucking hard, his tongue writhing against your walls.

You cry out and push your ass back into his face, desperate for more. Art’s hands grip your hips as he tongue-fucks your hole with abandon, plunging in and out, swirling around your rim. He devours your ass like a man who has been starved for days, moaning with pure bliss at the taste of you.

Your thighs begin to tremble, overwhelmed by the unrelenting pleasure and his grip is hard enough to bruise as he feasts on you, giving both your holes the attention they crave. He knows just how to please you, taking care of your every need before indulging in his own desires.

You would laugh at how even in his dominant role, he still prioritizes your pleasure first, but the sensations are too exquisite to do anything but feel.

Art works you over with his tongue, bringing you to a shuddering climax before standing and shifting his sweatpants down to free his throbbing erection. He fucks into you and one hand grips your ass cheek while his thumb circles and probes your puckered entrance, slipping inside to the first knuckle.

"Does Patrick fuck you like this?" Art pants heavily as he thrusts into your slick heat. "You think he could afford a woman like you? The jewelry you're wearing right now costs more than that piece of shit's entire car. And he thinks he can put his hands on what belongs to me? Fucking tell me."

"No, never!" You babble incoherently, grasping at the table for purchase as the dual stimulation threatens to overwhelm you. The sensations aren’t new, but this tension is. "I only keep him around because I miss you so much, Art. It's always been you."

“Lying. Fucking. Whore.” he grits out, each word punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips and a twist of his thumb buried in your ass. "You miss someone you were trying to get rid of? But you'll never be rid of me. 'Til death do us part, say it!"

“Til’ death, baby.” You eagerly agree, tears flowing from your eyes pool on the table under your cheek. It feels like a baptism, like you’re coming back to your religion.

“Cum for me. Slut.” He dribbles a little more spit down onto his thumb and quickens the pace of thrusting it in and out of your asshole, matching the rhythm of his cock inside your pussy. “Show me what you did for him in that cheap hotel room.”

He's always vocal during sex, but the degrading words are hitting you in all the right places. Your legs start to tremble and you tighten around him, signs that you're close to orgasm. Just as you think you're about to come, he pulls away, stroking himself until he finishes and ejaculates all over your backside and legs.

“What the hell, Art?” You whine, turning to glare at him. But he shoves the same thumb into your mouth and when you recoil, he laughs. His expression is deadly serious.

"If I catch you with Patrick again, I'll divorce you. Don't test me."

[pomefioredove]

May I please have a sugar cookie, order number 15, with sprinkles & chocolate chips?

I'm super excited I came in time for this event, I adore your blog & am excited to see what comes of this.

(Pardon me as I cross my fingers in hoping to get one of my babygirls or just one of my faves)

—🐈‍⬛

you get one of MY babygirls. praise mana-sama for helping me through requests today

order #15, sugar with sprinkles and chocolate chips

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ unlike yourself

tropes: hurt/comfort, fake dating characters: rook additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, short and sweet, probably ooc

It's strange, you think.

Rook Hunt, the mysterious, distant vicewarden, loved you more in an evening than anyone else had in months.

Only an act. You had to remind yourself of that, every time he squeezed your hand or pulled you closer to him.

Every time he whispered something silly in your ear, every time he kissed the back of your hand. Only an act.

"I could write a thousand poems of you, mon amour, and never become bored of it,"

At some point, you had stopped looking at the others. You had forgotten they were there altogether.

It's only an act.

It felt like a fairytale, glittering, iridescent and silver, yet one that still ended at midnight in rags and pumpkin seeds.

You didn't want to think about that.

That by sunrise, the event would be over, and you would be back to your life. Back to your drafty dorm and secondhand clothes, back to your cold, lonely mornings. Back to yourself.

Back to the person you so hated.

Rook made you feel something unlike yourself. You were someone beautiful to him, someone interesting, someone loveable, someone worth teaching to dance, no matter how many times you stepped on his toes.

He only smiled.

You had asked him to be your date, to lie with you, to act with you, to prove to everyone that you were that someone, so unlike yourself, that you were beautiful and interesting and loveable, and worthy.

It had been your request. Just two hours, you said, and now you selfishly want more. You want years.

You want to make him feel the way he makes you.

"Your eyes are watering," Rook whispers, holding your face and drying your tears with the gentle touch of his gloved thumbs.

"Why are you sad, mon ange?"

You can't tell him. It's only an act. It's only an act. You want him to stay. He can't. He won't.

You can't ask him to stay.

"You are tired," he says, smiling sweetly, his cupid's bow curving. "Let's get you home, Trickster."

He's right, of course.

And you don't want to leave, you don't want to lose something on the velvet steps of the dorm, but you do, for him.

He walks you back to Ramshackle himself. He tucks you in bed and makes you something warm to eat since you both know the silver-plated hors d'oeuvres weren't enough.

You don't want to close your eyes. But he asks you to sleep, and you do, for him.

And so you wake up in your drafty dorm and your secondhand clothes in a bed that isn't really yours, feeling like yourself again.

But today, on this cold morning, he's sitting with you, and it isn't lonely.

"Oh, Trickster," he whispers, leaning over your, holding your face and gazing at you with something like softness.

"You did not have to ask me to stay. The answer is always yes."

And he kisses, again and again, your lips, your cheeks, your nose and head. He kisses that person, the one in rags, the messy one, the lonely one, you. He kisses you. He wants you.

And you think, perhaps this person, this yourself, isn't so bad.

Rook loves them, after all.

[theocddiaries]

Sonic: There's someone at school who's making Tails' life miserable. Shadow: What happened? Sonic: I don't know; he won't tell me. But he's more anxious than I've seen him in a long time. Can you take him to class today, please? Shadow: Why me??? Sonic: Because if I go, I'll lose it. You know me. I don't want to make it worse for him. Shadow: Yeah, you’re right. When that kid's involved, you can’t control yourself… Sonic: Exactly. So, you take him to school today? Shadow: But the kid hates me. Sonic: Please, Shads, it’s just dropping him off and leaving. It’s not that hard. --- Tails: I’m late for class. Shadow: …I know. I can read the time. Tails: Doesn’t look like it, because I’m late for class. Shadow [takes a slow breath]: Alright, I’m sorry, okay? Tails: At least you could write me an excuse. That’s what Sonic does. Shadow: Then you should’ve asked him before I had to drag you out of the house before we would be even more late. Principal: Well, look who’s late. Are you his brother? Tails: Ew, no. Shadow: No, no-- Principal: Honestly, I’m not surprised you’re denying it. Shadow: No, I'm no denying anything, he's really not-- Principal: I’d deny it too, seeing how the kid turned out. All he does is disrupt class and waste his classmates’ time. But what can you expect from a child who was basically feral until he was four? I imagine he’s driving you crazy at home too. [grabs Tails by the hand]: Off to class now-- Shadow [steps in front of them, blocking the way]: No, no. Excuse me, what did you just say about the kid? You know what, instead of going to class, why don’t we go see the principal and get their opinion on your teaching methods? Tails [whispers]: She is the principal. Shadow: Oh… Well, then I’ll say it to your face. Do you think it’s appropriate to insult your students? He’s just a kid. If your self-esteem is so low that you’re personally offended by him being smarter than you and everyone else in this dump of a building, then go to therapy. Don’t give him a complex. The reason we’re late is because you’ve got him so terrified and anxious that he barely wants to come here anymore. Got it? Shadow [grabs Tails by the hand and pulls him close, then picks him up]: And just so you know, if this kid wants to be an aerospace engineer, a mechanical physicist, or invent a whole new career, he’ll do it. Because my brother has the brains for that and more. [walks to the door]. Tails: You know what I want to be when I grow up??? Shadow: Of course I do; you talk about it all the time. Tails: And you called me your brother? Shadow: …Do you want to talk about that or go get some ice cream? Tails: Ice cream. [A while later, they return home] Sonic: Why are you back so early? Tails: Shadow got into it with the principal. Sonic: What? Shadow: I’ll explain later… If the school doesn’t call you to explain first. Sonic: What happened??? Tails: We left after Shadow told her off and left her speechless. It was awesome. [tugs on Sonic’s arm to bring him down to his level]: Can you date Shadow forever, please?? Shadow: That depends on how he takes the fact that I got you kicked out of school. Sonic: You got kicked out?? Tails: In his defense, we walked out. Sonic: Okay, um… Hey, why don’t you go check on the food in the kitchen, and you’ll tell me about it later? Tails [nods and leaves] Sonic [smirking]: So I’m the one who can’t keep it together when the kid’s involved? Shadow: …Shut up.

Part 1

[fushiguruuzzzz]

ALL I WANT 4 CHRISTMAS .ᐟ

What are the jjk & aot boys doing this Christmas season?

Somehow, mistletoe is left in his wake like a trail of breadcrumbs. Nobody knows exactly how he acquired all of this, but as he continues to swerve the advances of anyone else he meets under the green and red decoration, his intent grows more clear. There's also a mysterious bundle of it in his pocket, which he explains as his "just in case" backup. Before you knew it he was taking you by the hand and leading you through the house, much less subtle at scanning the doorways above than he thinks. At first you're oblivious, wondering if someone had spiked his eggnog or something of the sort, but no. When he halts abruptly and you follow his gaze upwards, every oddity of his behaviour makes much more sense.

"Would you look at that? Mistletoe. Wonder how that got there."

You can still feel his proud grin against your lips, even after he kisses you.

⤷ Satoru, Jean

He’s lounging on the sidelines, eyeing you over the rim of his mug as you enjoy the winter day, unaware of his lingering eyes. The hot chocolate sears his tongue, but he can't find it in himself to react. How could he care, when you're laughing across the room? What was so funny? What was so special about those people that prevented you from talking to him? He's got plenty of other people gabbing in his ear, they always end up flocking to him, as odd as it seems. He only feigns interest in their words, but if it were you, he'd hold on to every syllable like they were life's greatest treasure. he'd take note of every shift, of every breath you took. But for now you were across the room and all he could do was stare, frozen in place.

⤷ Suguru, Eren, Toji

Ah, yes. The personification of Christmas, your very own worker elf at your side. Clad in a ridiculously festive sweater and some reindeer antlers, Santa Claus might as well have thrown up on him. You're sure that if it weren't for you, he'd be wrapped in Christmas lights and singing carols on doorsteps. "It's holiday spirit! Don't you like Christmas?" he'd say. He makes you out to be some sort of grump, but you know deep down that he's just a total dork.

⤷ Toge, Yuji, Connie

Your boy isn't one for grand gestures, he never has been. Even around the holiday season, his love is quiet; soft. His chunky sweater wrapped around your shoulders, a steaming mug in your hands because he noticed you were chilly. A batch of sugar cookies made just for you, icing of your favourite colour decorating the tops. A pretty little box with a ribbon tied into a bow (or at least it was supposed to be) atop it, even though you made him promise not to go out of his way more than he already has. He just can't help himself. A photo snapped of you when you're looking particularly docile, just for safe keeping. He looks at his little album of you when you're apart, but he doesn't tell you that part. His affection is a collection of small sweetness, like a box of trinkets filled with the little things you hold dearest to your heart.

⤷ Yuta, Armin

He’s doing all of the sappiest things without even realizing it. Who would expect this big, beefy oaf of a man to be so whipped? “Yeah, those decorations are really pretty. I’d rather look at you, though.” “Sorry for staring, baby. You just look so pretty. If you were the only present under the tree I wouldn’t mind.” He’s buying you reindeer plushies just because they’re cute, and when he gives them to you his eyes shine with something so sweet it’s hard to believe it’s him. So you take them, you accept all of it, every little thing teetering on the fence of cute and corny, because maybe that’s what love does to you.

⤷ Reiner, Choso

You know how I said Toge, Connie, and Yuji are the personification of Christmas? Yeah, he’s the grinch. No, he doesn’t need another candy cane. No, please don’t turn up the radio, if he hears another Mariah Carey song he might implode. It would be easier to hide his disdain if you weren’t so adamant, so pushy for him to “get in the spirits.” Get that damn hat away from him, he tells you he won’t allow himself to be subjected to your childish antics. But when the festive shine in your eyes dulls ever so slightly, when you retreat with a defeated huff, he doesn’t know what changes. He doesn’t understand why, but he knows he doesn’t like it. So he tugs you back with an annoyed huff, grumbling under his breath as he falls victim to your will. He always ends up doing that, somehow. Always ends up at your mercy, even though if it were anyone else he’d have blocked them out long ago.

⤷ Megumi, Levi, Sukuna

He seems like something straight out of a hallmark movie. Okay, maybe he isn’t as cheerful as your picture perfect husband, waltzing around like Buddy the Elf. Maybe he’s got that passive expression on his face, the one that’s just barely grown easier to read over the years you’ve grown to know him. But he’s cooking you meals and massaging your back, he’s sliding you his card over the kitchen counter before he leaves for work and telling you to do something nice for yourself. He doesn’t care, as long as he gets to see the results; see how happy they make you. He trusts you, he trusts that you’re just as his as he is yours, and that means all of his work benefits him just as much as you. Because he gets to see your face light up, see the subtle curl of your lips with every act of service, and knowing he’s the only one is well enough for him.

⤷ Kento, Erwin

a/n — I wrote this randomly at 4am because one of my mutuals asked if I was doing a Christmas special. Yes apparently I am. Also Gojo fit a few of these but I decided on that one :3 I was thinking about doing more fandoms but I’m not 100% confident in my characterizations for hq, hxh (been a HOT minute since I’ve watched), etc. so aot and jjk it is <3 most people are only here for jjk anyway so

[sbcdh]

You know where the word cocaine comes from? Its Quechua. Just the name of the damn plant. I think it was 1971, maybe 72. I dunno- 

Could you start at the beginning?

Huh? Yeah, sure. Course. Uhh. Lets see…

Take your time. 

Woof. Lets see…I started in uhhh, 72. Some tiny little bottle-rocket firm sweatin for talent, head broker was this big red fatass named Ron Spade, hell of a guy, but the place got bought out by Bear Stearns in 73 when the shit really hit the fan. It was a rough time to be on a trade floor. IRS just put out the whole hypnoeconomics thing. Half the big firms were runnin’ around with their hair on fire, the other half felt invincible. Every day was a party. Party party party. 

Was that your first interaction with hypnostimulants? 

I guess. Its funny. First guy to give me quori was a cop. 

You mean an agent of the FDA? 

No no, like an old fashioned NYPD beat cop. Met him in the bathroom at Pink during a bender. Moron was so faded he thought I was his informant. Just gave me a phial. 

And you tried it?

Not right away no. To be honest I thought it was kinda faggy. Sorry. Its just what I thought at the time. The shit was sparkly, you know? What kinda drug comes in phials? Shoulda known something was up. 

Would you say hypnostimulants were popular at the time? 

At the time? Depends what you mean by popular. People didn’t know about that shit yet. You heard stories, dudes shooting up in the woods upstate, gettin found with their eyeballs exploded. It was early days, ya know? But like, that didn’t happen. That was urban legends. You know who was actually fucking around with the early stuff? Accountants. 

Accountants?

Yeah, you know, the bookkeepers. See,  I’m really just a plumber. I move money from one pipe to another pipe. But instead of wrenches and sprockets or whatever, I use charm. Its pretty easy if you ask me. Imagine if you could just tell water where it already wanted to go. You’re water’s best pal. Nah. It was those nerds in the basement, the spreadsheet guys that figured out how to expense shit so the IRS couldn’t get ya. Those were the fuckers who really dove in. 

What got you using regularly? 

Same shit as everyone else. Makes the job easier. 

How so?

You can feel the money in their pocket. Its like, I dunno how to describe it. Its like…Its like, a turd sitting in a hammock. You can feel how the money bends everything around it. You can see it, smell it. You can hear it over the phone. You can’t ignore it. Shit is nuts. You take enough, and its like you can’t see anything else. Or. No. Its like…You see that you don’t need to see anything else. Money is everything. You’re money. I’m money. Its all just rivers of money flowing through everything. 

By 1973 you were a regular user yes?

Regular makes it sound normal. But yeah I know what you mean. “Regular user.”  76 was the sweet spot. The drugs were good, but the regulators hadn’t stepped up yet. You and some buddies could set up in a club bathroom with nothing but a blindfold and a pile. You ever seen a stock floor with a headfull of that fancy government shit? 

Would you like to discuss the raid? 

No. Not really. 

I understand you were the only one in a sub-emmanation state when Hypnoregulators arrived on the scene. 

I don't want to talk about it. 

Very well then, my associate will be happy to take you to prison as per the agreement you signed. 

Alright alright, Christ. 

Please. In your own words. 

From what I understand, you pulled spade outta bed. Got a confession and everything that morning. 9 fuckin AM, and 200 IRS agents come busting in the doors. I was in the bathroom seeing shit. It's marble lined, lots gold filigree. All that jazz. Special made. Listen. I'm serious about the stock floor shit. Whatever you guys have, it's different than what we had back then. I mean, the shit was still cut with cocaine. A stock floor wasn't a stock floor, it was like…

The raid, please. 

I'm getting to it! You gotta know this shit okay? I need you to understand what you goons fuckin wrecked. It was perfect okay? A garden of Eden . Ripe fruit. Everything just works. You don't have to worry about shit. You're a hunter, a killer, the great fuckin god pan, and the floor is your field of delights. It's like being a beating heart, like being struck by lightning. You can feel the sun in your pocket, and how it's all flowing through everything. And then you fucks showed up. 

It was cold. I felt it first. Like I just threw the biggest party, and mom and dad were coming home early. But you know what I saw? You know those Chinese dragon dancers? Or, lions, or whatever they are? You know how there's two guys in the costume? I saw a dragon, a beast with eyes like the sun, teeth dripping gold, a bunch of IRS suits holding its pelt on their shoulders like you carry your baby home. 

Your statement alluded to some additional information. 

Yeah…there was something else… I dunno how to describe it. The fuckin…eyes, like the sun. Thats how you feel when you're on this shit. You're seein’ gold. I looked into the dragons eyes, and it's like, it's like I saw me. Like I was the dragon, and I was looking at me. Or…no. I was the sun. I was looking at myself. It was like, in that moment I knew something. I learned something. 

What exactly is that?

I dunno. It doesn't fit into words. But like. You aren't regulating shit. 

I'm sorry? 

Yeah. All this shit. The dragon. The field. The dancers. It's all just the sun.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

a/n: this is honestly a hot ass mess, and more like an info dump with some loose plot on the side. it's also ridiculously long because i have been wanting to write about this for so long, but i was lowkey too scared too. i also want to say that i don't condone the reader's actions, mean girls aren't cute nor are they funny, it's just for the morally gray plot 😭

i literally cannot stop thinking about what if Spencer Reid had a childhood best friend that was a mean girl.

realistically, i'm aware that spencer looks down on people like that, but for the sake of this au, imagine if the both of you grew up together, and you protected him from bullies and whatnot.

of course you're not a moral person, you're mean and you have a wicked tongue, and you're all around not nice, but spencer loves you.

i'm imagining a typical LA valley girl; that once you both get older, your clothing gets sluttier and you get meaner, while he gets nerdier.

your dynamic i imagine would be a really loose adaptation of the 'mean to everyone else but you' trope.

it's kind of funny to an outsider looking in, because you feel the need to protect your boy genius from people like you.

spencer helps to reel in the bitchy tendencies in you, because you typically lose your cool fast and say whatever's on your mind, which usually comes at a cost of the other person's feelings.

when you guys were younger, he was definitely scared of you.

though you were this chunky girl that should have been bullied right along with him, you were downright worse than what he had to deal with.

the poor boy nearly shit himself when you sat with him at lunch the day after you had saved him from getting his ass kicked.

he was too nervous to say anything, and you've never left him alone since.

now that spencer's older, he figures that your friendship kind of tracks; he always did attract trouble.

the strange part about it was that, yes, you were snappy, but you had never purposely tried to hurt his feelings.

he knows how you get, especially when you go on your tangents or if your buttons had been repeatedly pushed.

you lash out and say things you don't mean, then slink back into his arms with that charming pout on your face, and an apology thick on the tip of your tongue.

spencer sometimes forgets that people kind of fear you because you're sweet on him.

like let's be honest, you're a judgy bitch. no one likes those.

so when he's exposed to that side of you, he gets whiplash.

you took well to the team though, and i only think that's because you can tell how much they mattered to him.

your main thing had always been to try and defend him against people that have ill intentions.

so when see the sheer amount of camaraderie and familial energy that surrounds all of them, you ease up.

but not when they cut him off. that's when you get ugly.

you guys were in separate grades due to spencer jumping ahead, but you still hung out on a daily basis, you had heard his statistical chattering for the majority of your life.

so, you knew it was something he found pleasure in doing, and you'd be damned if someone upset him.

you really did try and bite your tongue! but sometimes morgan's ego was too big for his body, or maybe jj gave him one too many looks for your liking.

luckily spencer can catch the cat-fight bubbling in you from a mile away; he can see the way your eyes narrow first, a disbelieving smile on your face while your exceptionally done nails tap on the nearest surface in irritation.

have you ever seen a cat when its hair stands up on the back of its neck? yeah, that's you.

all it takes is a warm hand on your naked thigh and a small shake of his head to make you huff and cross your arms, the clinking of your bangle bracelets moving along with you.

of course he'll hear all about it on the ride home.

spencer's feelings for you had always been there, but there was a difference between you being his best friend and his lover.

and honestly? that grade school intimidation that he had felt would came back.

because at the end of the day you were you, and he was him.

it was a ridiculous thought, one that you had dismissed when you had confessed to him yourself.

"do you like me back or not, spence?" you had asked out of the blue one day. "because you keep looking at me and not doing anything about it. It's kind of pissing me off."

his wide, shocked eyes met yours, practically tearing his gaze away from the book he had been engrossed in.

"i... do."

"do what?"

"yes, i do like you back."

"good."

dating wasn't all that different than being your friend, he had come to realize.

the only thing that was different was that you were sweeter than ever.

always complimenting him and buying him shit, posting him all over your social media, and even making him your lock screen.

you were so proud to be his partner, that he had forgotten what being loved out loud had felt like.

your relationship came as a shock to no one, of course.

y'all are the epitome opposites attract.

your skimp wear compared to his cardigans, your bite to his soft ask, your scoff to his chuckle.

that's what spencer's come to love. the fact that you guys are so different.

yes, you're a handful, yes you're mean to him sometimes, but like i said before:

he loves you. and that's all that matters.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Trust

"Meet your new mates, cargo! Get breeding!"

I didn't understand the bellowed noises at the time. It was just incoherent gibberish. Heaped on top of what was likely a concussion, mixed with what ever drugs they had pumped me with. Thrown into a cell, roughly, and hitting the ground hard. I couldn't have caught myself if I had wanted too. My limbs, unresponsive and dragging meat, that I could barely FEEL.

Please, god, I had thought. Don't let me be paralyzed. Not on top of everything else.

They'll kill me.

Behind and around me, the weeping cries of sorrow and fear rang out. Screams of violence, born of desperation. Countless races, bound together, suffering in this hell. Newly enslaved. I didn't... I couldn't understand. Shaking and struggling to remain conscious, laying on the blood stained floor. The world swayed violently. It was all I could do, to barely keep from passing out.

It was so cold. The air, the floor, the deep and clawing despair, sinking like knives into my gut. Those furry... things, had grabbed me while I was alone, before I could react. W-would anyone notice? Could anyone DO anything? I wanted to get away from the door. Curl up in a corner and... and cry. But I could not move. Like a doll, dropped thoughtlessly on the floor, I could not... could not move.

Tears I likely could not afford, threatened to choke me.

I... I was scared.

Then, deeper in the hovel that was my new home, movement. The heavy clink of chains. Shifting, slow and careful, followed by the drag of metal. A warm hand. Fingers, calloused but careful, checking my neck. My pulse, for injury perhaps, I couldn't tell. But... god, i could have sobbed in relief. They... they felt human.

How terrible of me. That I was GLAD not to be alone. T-That it was relief, to have another person here. Someone who might know what's going on. What to do. To.. to stick with. I... I should wish it was just me, right? That they captured no one else? But... oh god. O-Oh God, I can't! I'm scared. Please. P-please...

I'm so scared.

The person checking me hummed low and soft. Their voice crackling like an old radio that's been left sitting on a shelf too long, unused. How.. how long has it been? Since they last had anyone to talk too? They sounded male, but.. but I didn't want to presume. Could just have a low voice. Throat injury. Might be Trans. I didn't care, couldn't care. I was pretty sure? We were all we had now.

They... no, He, found nothing alarming enough not to move me. Shifting into view as he gently slipped his arms under me. Enough to pick me up and carry me away from the door. He was... is... pretty handsome.

Okay, REALLY handsome.

Horrifically enough? I could see WHY they grabbed him. Athletic as hell, TV ready, really smart. If you were going to ignore ever bit of decency and morality to ever exsist? Might as well go for the best, I guess. Don't know why they grabbed ME, but I guess? They need a stand in or something? Or my predecessor is dead.

(God, I hope she's dead. The alternative...)

Pretty quickly became apparent, though, that one of the main problems (of so, SO many)? Was we don't actually speak the same language. Which... I mean... Well, shit. That's, putting it mildly, "less then ideal". Being unable to communicate with the only other person nominally on "My Side"? Kinda bad! But, I AM learning. And I am teaching him english! So there's that.

We have nothing but time, after all. It helps distract from the suffering just outside. The weeping and screams. The sounds that must be begging, in alien dialects. All the mercies they do not find.

(Is it terrible? That I am glad I can not understand what they are saying? Their cries for help? I can't help them. It hurts. Helpless to even save my self. God, I'm sorry. Please... I'm... I'm so sorry...)

Food gets shoved in. Lights flipped on. Lights shut off. The timer odd, but probably standard for somewhere. It's like being told to go to sleep halfway through the afternoon. Yanked awake before full nights are done. I struggle to adapt, even a little, following my fellow prisoner's lead. Or, well, trying too. There's a lot of charades at first.

Then, practicing our languages. Taking what naps and cuddling for warmth we can. Harsh lights be damned. It's cold, we're tired, but we have to keep our strength up. Right? Throughout it all, I try to ignore the weird smells they pump in. Still not used to getting random scents blasted at my head from above, from the air vents in the walls.

Day in, day out, rinse and repeate. The weird gasses smells like people have had sex, to be honest. I think? But don't quote me. They might be trying to get us to "mate", like animals, so they can sell our kids. Induce some nonexistent human heat cycle or something. I've kinda started to worry, not gonna lie, about what they'll do... you know, once they finally get frustrated. Figure out, we don't work like that.

Or... more relevantly, might not even be? Compatible?

Cause Azenari is DEFINITELY not a human. They fucked uuuup. Cause if he is? There is some probably serious divergent evolution going on. He did NOT get nabbed from Earth. HE got nabbed from his SHIP(as in, yeah, a fuckin Space Ship). Because HIS people are space faring! The man has pointy ears for fucks sake! Some seriously fangy canines. And while, yeah, seriously kinda cool? No idea if our species are related, or... you know...

So yeah, The Fur Covered Slaver Bastards are apparently Humanoid face blind, on TOP of being just generally terrible. Or dumb! Might be dumb, honestly. Wouldn't put it past them. Banality of evil and all that. But recently? There was a... tension. Something was coming. The Bastards seemed twitchy.

"Not long now, beloved. We're two stops from the extraction ambush." Azenari murmured, from where he was tucked loosely around me as I watch the latest patrol pass, one arm cradling me tight. Even as, with the other hand, he sleepily stroked my back. "You'll look lovely in proper robes. You deserve finery, my love."

I couldn't understand most of the sentence. Normally he simplified for me, since I was still learning. He seemed... pleased? Smug? The more tense and twitchy the Bastards got, the more darkly amused he seemed to become. As though he knew exactly why. As though he was laughing inside.

"My magnificent darling, you'll belong to me in everyway that matters. I'll take safer jobs. No more slave ring stings. I promise."

Oh. I think I got it. Azenari though of me as family! Yeah, that tracked. Trauma bonding and all. I did too. Couldn't help but smile, hugging him back, much to his clear delight. Yeah. We were in this together.

I'm glad I had someone I could trust. The universe was big and I would be pretty much alone without him. All but thrown at his feet and told I was his, Azenari had every chance to hurt me. But he didn't. He was a good man. Solid and stable when everything when frightening, warm and there when I needed to hide.

Really, it was only a matter of time before we would be chatting like old friends!

"You are NEVER going to escape me, beloved."

"I Love You."

[redfoxwritesstuff]

AN: Have a good Christmas Eve if you celebrate, don't forget to put cookies out and most importantly, regardless of if you celebrate or not- Don't go licking any doorknobs!

CW: Public sex, garden sex, drunk sex, oral sex

Summary: You were at the most exclusive holiday party in all of Hell and it should have been a great time. Instead, you were in a dress you didn't feel good in and left by yourself. If you didn't have anyone to spend the party with, you'd make friends with the bartender. One thing lead to another and before you knew it, you were in the most depressed drink off with the King of Hell himself and needing to step outside for some air.

The Pride Manor Christmas party was a thing of legends. Only the highest powers in all of hell, not just the Pride ring, were lucky enough to snag an invitation. That made the sight of you and the other hotel guests stick out like a sore thumb. None of you had clothes nice enough to really fit in with the crowd. 

Charlie was more than eager to dress Vaggie up but it fell to Alastor to do the rest and… his enthusiasm was lackluster at best. The result was a dress that was also lackluster. 

You had tried to make the best of it, but the confidence just wasn’t there. The dress wasn’t ugly but… it didn’t feel like you. It was whatever. You had decided as you made your way to the bar. 

Every single person there was better than you, having a better time than you. Alastor disappeared after jabbing insults with the king, smile and laugh seeming to trail behind him. Vaggie and Charlie had each other. They were wrapped up in their hush hushed whispers, focused on nothing but eachother. Angel Dust was off with Husk, somehow managing to be the life of the party. Niffty was off somewhere, cleaning something. 

And you? You were alone in a dress that didn’t make you feel good enough to even try to socialize. 

The bar would be your friend. You sat down and ordered a shot, wanting to get a buzz going quickly. At least if you were buzzed, you wouldn’t feel so lonely. 

“That’s a strong choice,” the smooth voice of Lucifer came from behind you, startling you as he sat in the seat next to you. 

“Is that a problem, Your Majesty?” You forced a smile on your lips.

“Not for me.” He directed his attention to the bartender, ordering himself one of the same. “You’re not enjoying the party?”

“Oh!” Your smile grew strained. “I- Sure. I just don’t… It’s a lot of people.” 

You downed your shot, catching sight of Lucifer doing the same out of the corner of your eye. You ordered another, only for him to do the same. 

“Yeah.” He sighed, picking up the small glass and rolling it in his fingers. “It’s not actually my thing, but it’s tradition, and who am I to piss on tradition?” 

“You’re the King.” You almost laughed at the thought of the devil himself being hopeless in the face of tradition. “And the devil. Isn’t pissing on tradition your thing?”

“Not really.” He forced a smile, fingers running over the golden ring that had sat for centuries, marking the marriage that he still longed for. “The party was my wi-” he hesitated, cutting the word off before changing what he was going to say. “It was Lilith’s thing. Charlie lives for it every year. I wouldn’t take that from her.” 

“Oh.” You struggled to know what else to say, so instead, you downed your shot. Lucifer downed his right after you. Together, you ordered another. “Are you copying me?” 

“I’m just a man sitting at the bar drinking.” He smiled. “How do I know you’re not trying to copy me?”

You downed your drink as soon as it landed, just to watch Lucifer do the same. “What are you doing?” you finally snapped at him, feeling the heat of the drinks flowing through your veins. “Why are you bothering me?” 

He smiled softly at you. “Why are you not enjoying the party?” 

“Because your party fucking sucks,” you lashed out. It wasn’t your proudest moment. “It sucks and I don’t fucking know anyone here. I dont have anyone to drink with and the cherry on top is I look fucking ugly in my dress.” 

“Another,” Lucifer flagged the bartender, “Make mine double.” 

“Me, too.” You insisted.

“Don’t try to keep up with me, angel.” Lucifer warned, downing first one shot and then the next. 

“Don’t underestimate me,” you challenged and in that moment, you found yourself in what you very much hadn’t expected- a drink off with the king of hell himself. 

Shot after shot went down as your sour mood became a little lighter. The pace slowed as the time between shots was filled with the drunk chatter that was found in bars around the living world and in hell. 

“Oh,” you said as you leaned back, a smile on your warm face. “I think I need to get some air.” 

“Have too much to drink?” Lucifer teased as you stood, swaying on your feet. “Oh, shit.” He rushed off his stool after quickly downing the last of the shots in front of him. 

“I’m okay,” you said as his hand rested on your lower back. “Just need some air. Then I’ll drink you under the table.” 

“Right,” Lucifer said. “Let me help you out?”

“I don’t… I don’t need anyone’s help.” Your words slurred as Lucifer walked with you. “Having help is how I ended up in this ugly dress.” 

“Where are you going?” Lucifer asked as you marched intently off.

“Outside.” You looked over at him as if he was dumb.

“That’s not the way outside,” Lucifer laughed as he guided you in another direction. “There’s a garden this way. Do you want to see it?” 

“Are there ducks?” you asked as you let him lead you on the way, catching him by surprise. “Charlie said you like ducks.” 

“Char talks about me?” Lucifer’s smile brightened and your heart skipped a beat. He was a handsome man when he smiled. 

“Sometimes,” you shrugged as he guided you into the hall, the party fading into the distance as your heels clicked against the stone floors. “She loves you a lot. Like, a lot a lot.” 

“I love her a lot, too.” Lucifer smiled, guiding yo toward the large windows that looked out on an enclosed garden. 

“Oh, wow.” Your breath caught as you looked out on it. 

“Come on,” Lucifer held open the door. “Let’s get you some air.” 

The garden was magical, not just in its beauty but in the cool air that felt so much like that of a summer night in the living world that washed over you. Each breath you took seemed to clear your head as you walked deeper into the garden. Bushes and trees obscured the view from the windows. 

“Why don’t you like your dress?” Lucifer asked, as you walked with wide-eyed glee through his garden. It had been years, decades since he had brought another into the little slice of life he had created in the depths of hell. 

“Oh?” You looked down at yourself, running your fingers over the fabric. “It’s just- it’s not something I’d pick for myself. I- I think it doesn’t, I don’t know.” 

Lucifer laughed, quickly choking the sound off when he caught sight of the tears in your eyes. 

“Oh, no!” He rushed to wipe the tear from your cheek. “I think it looks- you look swimmingly in it. It looks wimming on you. Wimming! Fuck!” 

It was your turn to laugh as Lucifer stomped away from you. You followed, swaying on your feet as he stomped his way to the large tree that was the centerpiece of the garden. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, resting a hand on his back to steady yourself and offer comfort. “I just, I- you’re cute.” 

“You think I’m cute?” Lucifer smiled, turning to face you slowly. “I’m a damned mess and you think I’m cute?”

“Aren’t we all?” you teased. “Damned, I mean. That’s why we’re all here.” 

“Because of me.” 

You shrugged. “I don’t know, man, you seem pretty fuckin normal. You’re cute and goofy and just a dude.” 

“I’m the,” Lucifer swayed a little on his feet as he reached out for you, “I’m the most powerful being down here and you don’t think it’s my fault?” 

“No,” you said, laughing as you leaned against the tree for support. “I think humanity was fucked from the start. We’re fucked, man. Totally fucked up creatures because- you want to know why?” 

“Why?” Lucifer leaned against the tree. “Oh, wise one?” 

“Because you fucked up.” You poked his chest, leaning into him. “You know what we’re taught about you?” 

“What?” Lucifer said, enjoying the fact that you were simply talking to him like a man. 

“That you were the most perfect being. You were the more- the more- fuck, the more perfect than us and you fucked up. If you fucked up, then we were destined to fuck up too, so stop giving yourself so much credit. It’s fucking- you’ve got a big fucking ego.” 

“I’m the sin of pride,” Lucifer’s eyes flicked down to your lips. He knew it was wrong. You were drunk, but that didn’t stop him from hoping you would initiate something. If you did… maybe it wouldn’t be so wrong to follow your lead. 

No, he knew that was wrong. 

“You may be the sin of pride, but I want to commit the sin of lust with you.” You smiled wide, rather proud of your pickup line. Never in a million lifetimes did you think you’d be hitting on the king, the fucking devil himself, but you were. 

“I – you’re drunk.” Lucifer sighed, pulling his eyes away from you. 

“I’m not that drunk.” Your words slurred, but you stood up straight. Well, almost. “And I’m getting soberer by the minute. I haven’t- fuck, you don’t have to fuck me, but can you at least kiss me? I- I don’t know, just- I want to feel… feel maybe just not like this night is wasted?” 

“Wasted?” Lucifer cocked his head to the side. “Only thing wasted is you from trying to out drink-” 

You launched yourself at the king, wrapping your arms around him and knocking his hat from his head. Your lips sealed over his, cutting off his words. For a moment, he stood frozen, holding his hands out to the sides. Soft lips caressed his, melting his resolve. 

You pulled back, a wide grin on your face as you prepared to dance off and rejoin the party. It wasn’t that you felt better about the party or the dress. Lucifer had just made it clear he had no interest in fucking you as you were. If he wouldn’t, you’d find someone who would. 

Lucifer reached out, snagging your wrist before you made it more than a few steps. He pulled you back, wrapping his arms around you. Morals be damned, ethics be damned- it had felt good to be wanted, to be kissed, and he wanted more of that. 

He kissed you with hunger and passion that left you gasping for air. Nimble fingers made quick work of exposing your breasts, taking in the feel of them in his hands. He moaned at the soft points of your nipples, enjoying the way your body responded to the artificial cool air of the garden. 

You moaned as he pinched the pebbled bud. He devoured the sounds you had made, swallowing them as you arched into his body. It took only a few pulls of your fingers through his hair to reduce his neatly combed blond locks into a wild mess, falling in front of his eyes as he peppered your neck and chest in kisses. 

“Do you still want me?” Lucifer asked as he pushed his hips into you, working the hard shaft of his cock against the front of his pants. 

“Fuck,” you gasped, trying to get enough air into your lungs. “Please? I want you.” 

“Turn around,” Lucifer directed. “Put your hands on the tree.” 

“Oh, shit.” Instead of listening, you reached down, palming the hardness in his pants. 

Lucifer made quick work of undoing his pants and freeing his cock, disproportionately large for the shorter man. It shouldn’t have surprised you, not really. He was heaven’s most perfect angel. Of course, he would have a perfectly sized dick. 

You dropped to your knees, eager to wrap your lips around him. He was heavy on your tongue as you took him in your mouth for a moment. The salt of his skin coated your tongue as you ran it up and down the length of his shaft. Soft kisses collected the slick pre-cum that gathered at his tip. 

“Up,” Lucifer groaned out, “We don’t have a whole lot of time before someone will look for me.” 

As soon as you were on your feet, he spun you and pushed you into the tree. Eager hands gathered the skirt of your dress, bunching it up around your waist. Elastic dug into your hips for a moment as he ripped your panties down your legs. 

You bent over, giving the skirts a shelf of your back to rest on and presenting your glistening sex to him.

“Fuck,” Lucifer moaned out as he ran his hot, gold flushed head along your folds. “The sin is how limited our time is.” 

You moaned as he slowly spread your folds over his head, parting your walls. Time was short, but he knew just as well as you that the initial few moments were some of the sweetest of sex. There was little that compared to tight walls gripping him before they relaxed and made way. 

“Shit, you’re so- fuck.” You struggled to get your words out as he bottomed out, seating himself wholly within you. The stretch was nearly too much and yet that was what made it so amazing.

“Thanks,” he chuckled for a moment, letting your walls flutter and adjust to the intrusion. 

In what felt like seconds, Lucifer was pounding into you as your ankles struggled to spread wider, constricted by the tight rings of your panties. Rough bark scraped against your chest, biting into your nipples as you cling to the tree, using it as support. 

Each thrust into you had his balls slapping your clit. The head of his cock speared you again and again, working the coil within you tighter and tighter. You wished you could see him, see anything, but it took everything you had to hold on to the tree as the devil himself railed you. 

“Shit,” you gasped out, head falling back as he kept his relentless pace up. “Just like that.” 

“As you wish,” Lucifer said, cringing slightly at the line but changing nothing about the pace. 

Your cries grew louder and louder, whimpers, whines, swears, curses and praises all fell eagerly from your lips, making the sweetest music he had heard in decades. Fuck, he had forgotten how good it felt to be within someone, how good it felt to make someone feel good. 

“Are you close?” He huffed out each word, cock twitching with the threat of his own finish. 

“So close,” you whined as he wrapped his hand around your throat, pulling you back by the soft grip. The dominating move was all it took to send you over the edge, walls gripping his cock with renewed force. “Oh fuck. Oh god, oh god, oh god.” 

Lucifer laughed in your ear as his cock twitched, swelled, and then shot his essence into you. His thrusts grew sloppy, rhythm failing as he devolved from the arrogant devil into a gasping man, whimpering with pleasure as your walls milked him of what seed he had left. 

You leaned into lucifer as his cock twitched inside you, the last few spurts of cum painting your cervix. His chest rose and fell behind you, jacket buttons digging into the skin of your back. For a few sweet moments, you allowed yourself to indulge in the feeling of being in his arms. 

“We-” Lucifer sighed as your walls rippled around his softening cock, aftershocks of your orgasm whispering promises of more pleasure if he would only spirit you away. “We should get back to the party.” 

“Yeah.” You swallowed, trying to wet your throat, dried out from the gasping breaths. “We should.” 

Lucifer sighed as his cock slipped from the warm embrace of your hole. He straightened his pants, tucking his wet cock back inside. He nearly zipped himself up, focused more on the sight of your ass, skirt still tangled on your waist as you bent down and pulled your panties up. 

The wet gusset, soaked with your slick, smeared up your leg. Slick mixed with the trail of his cum leaking down your thighs. He could only focus on what he was doing when you stood up straight again, pulling the skirts of your dress so they would fall neatly around your legs. 

“Let me walk you back?” Lucifer offered his arm to you. 

After a moment of hesitation, you took it, allowing the king to wrap your arm around his forearm. He led the way out of the garden, pace slow and relaxed. They needed to get back to the party, but he didn’t want to rush away from your undivided attention. 

“I know you don’t like your dress,” Lucifer said as you stepped into the hall. “But I think you look mesmerizing in it. If you want something different, I can make you something else, if you’d like?” 

“I-” You looked down, smoothing your fingers over the fabric. “I don’t know. Alastor conjured it. It would but rude.” 

“Oh,” Lucifer laughed, spinning you into a circle. “That’s all the more reason to make you something you’ll feel as beautiful in as you look right now.” 

“My king,” you teased, resting your hand on his chest. “That’s far too much for your drunk party fuck.” 

Saying the words hurt more than you had expected. You pushed yourself away from him and walking toward the party. Instead of letting him see that for even a second you thought maybe it could be something more than that, you focused on the sway of your hips and the look you gave him over your shoulder, daring him to chase you. 

What you didn’t see when you turned back around was the longing on Lucifer’s face or the way he ran his fingers over his wedding ring. 

Perhaps… this year, for Christmas he would give himself a present…

Perhaps he would gift himself permission to take that ring off and move on. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[curly-my-beloved]

"Stalker Santa"

Curly's fiance saga Christmas Special

happy holidays to everyone except my mother-in-law <3

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

"You know, when you think about it, Santa is kind of a creep."

Curly almost choked on air when he heard you say that, holding onto the step ladder he was currently on as he put decorations on the higher parts of the Christmas tree you both got. It was a really tall one, so tall that even Grant couldn't reach the top of it on his own.

The man gave you a confused, almost terrified, look. Having found himself speechless at your words, he merely gestured with his hand for you to continue.

"Well, you know..."

You hummed, handing him another bauble to decorate the tree. He still seemed confused, but stable enough on the ladder again to resume what the two of you were doing before without falling off.

"He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake... nobody says he doesn't watch everything you do at every step in your life. What if he's perverted and he's-"

"I'm gonna get off the ladder."

Your fiance announced suddenly, cutting you off before you got to Santa Claus rubbing his Rudolph while watching people have sex. You waited for him to come down and let him take the box of decorations from you.

Once he put it aside, he put his hands on your shoulders, squeezing them a little as he gave you a caring, but visibly confused look. Maybe even slightly worried. Or concerned. It was hard to tell, there was a lot going on in his eyes.

"Love. Darling. Sweetheart. My angel."

"Yeah?"

You tilted your head innocently, as if this whole situation wasn't your fault. In your eyes, you were truly guiltless, having done nothing wrong. After all, Santa spying on people was a big issue! Who did that Orwellian bastard think he was?!

"I do not know what started that whole line of thought, but I am begging you not to bring this up when my family arrives, alright?"

"Why not?!"

"They don't need to know about Santa's... tendencies."

You huffed, muttering something about 1984 and censorship. Your mood quickly lifted with a kiss on the cheek and a fond look, which you reciprocated by sticking your tongue out before going to the kitchen to check on the cake in the oven.

Curly huffed softly with an amused spark in his eye as he watched you leave the room. Stalker Santa? Seriously? It made him wonder where he even got some of your ideas from sometimes. It just seemed like the most abstract ideas would pop into your head sometimes and you just couldn't help but share.

Although maybe you were right on this one. After all, how else could Santa leave an ultrasound picture in his gift?

[makabray]

okay so i know that this is something that at least a few other people have already talked about, but if i may put my own two cents in: i feel like mouthwashing as a game is a lot less narratively impactful if you treat curly as an enabler and nothing more. he is not blameless, that is for sure, but to act like he was a willing (or even enthusiastic) accomplice to jimmy's crimes is doing a disservice to both his character and the overall message the plot is trying to convey.

curly's role in the plot isn't to point out that some men will disregard the feelings of women to prioritize their male peers (though that is something that happens, don't get me wrong) as much as it is to highlight that even the best of intentions can lead to absolute ruin. curly cared about anya, he cared about the entire crew, and yet it was this same compassion that he had for jimmy in particular which inevitably lead to their downfall. i really do believe that he thought he was doing the right thing, but because of his personal attachment to jimmy and the larger forces at work (those being late-stage capitalism and rape culture), he couldn't see him for what he really is until it was too late.

it's this kind of "good-intentioned enabling" as i saw someone else put it which makes his role as one of the two player characters so significant. like everything else in the game, the choice to set part of the story from his point of view is entirely deliberate, but i think the reason for this is to encourage the player to reflect on their own place in perpetuating the things that allow this kind of shit to happen. much like curly, you too probably want to believe that kindness and good intentions are enough, but that just isn't always true. sometimes, it's those good intentions that make things so much worse before you can even realize it.

mouthwashing isn't about if curly or anyone else on that ship is a good or bad person, and it's not about if curly or even jimmy deserved their fates, it's about responsibility. it's about the difficulty of knowing what to do and when to do it, and it's about whether or not you, the player, would be able make things right.

after all, if you were told that your best friend had done something terrible, what would you have done about it? would you take responsibility? it's easy to say yes, of course, that you'd do anything. but would you really, before it's too late? and if you couldn't, would you be able to admit that to yourself? to others?

that is what mouthwashing is about.

[mattslilies]

✩ criminologist!reader - lets matt comfort her after seeing a bad scene ✩

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

warnings: general descriptions of human remains/bodily fluid such as blood in context of a crime scene

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

you couldn't sleep. you'd been laying awake in bed for god only knows how many hours, your boyfriend sleeping soundly beside you. he'd fallen asleep ages ago, curled up against your warm body.

you reached for your phone, seeing that the time read 3:56 am.

sighing you put your arm out to put it back onto the nightstand, your heart jumping when you accidentally knocked over matt's phone and water bottle, hearing them clatter to the floor.

swearing under your breath, you immediately got out of bed to pick up both items, as well as putting your own phone back onto the charger.

getting back under the covers, you were just about to thank all the gods that matt was a deep sleeper, when he started shifting next to you.

he rolled over to face you, blinking his eyes open and trying to make sense of the darkness surrounding you both.

"babe?"

"sorry, sorry, just knocked over some stuff off of the nightstand when i was trying to put my phone back." you quickly apologized, hating that you had woken him up.

you didn't want matt to know that you were having trouble sleeping, knowing that it would cause him to worry, and you hated when he did that, despite knowing it came from a caring place inside of him.

"what were you doing on your phone? 's the middle of the night."

you just shrugged, laying back down and resting your head on the pillow.

squinting, matt reached over and flicked on the lamp next to your bed. when the dim light shone on you two, he could very clearly make out the rapidly darkening circles under your eyes from lack of sleep.

"you never went to bed, did you?"

your silence was enough of an answer, and he sighed, but not a disappointed or annoyed sigh, a quiet one, filled with concern.

it wasn't often you had nights you couldn't sleep, or that you saw a case or a scene bad enough to rattle you, but matt had seen you through a few of them, and he knew what this meant.

you didn't often talk about your cases with matt, knowing he didn't stomach them as well as you did, but on nights like these, exceptions were made.

"cmere, baby." he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, and it didn't take much more than that for you to begin crying. sobbing, really, which you would have considered embarrassing around anyone else.

"there was just so much blood, matt. and it wouldn't have bothered me so badly, but it was a kid, and their mom, just laying there. you're not supposed to realize how much blood can come out of a child."

he didn't say much, letting you cry, a hand rubbing your back and another one gently caressing the back of your head.

"and i can't sleep. i can't sleep because i can't get that image out of my head. they should be sleeping, safely, and they're not."

he kissed the top of your head, softly whispering. "i know, i know. it's horrible. i'm so sorry, baby. i'm so sorry you had to see that."

"i love my job, matt, i really do. this one just hit hard."

he gently lifted your face from his chest, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before kissing your lips, and wiping tears away with his thumbs.

"i know you love your job, and you're damn good at it. cases will stick with you, baby, you see horrible things every day. i don't know how you do it, because i wouldn't be able to handle it. it makes you human. i'd be much more concerned if they didn't ever stick with you, although i hate that it gives you trouble sleeping."

you let out a small sigh, enjoying the comforting words and presence of your boyfriend. he really was your rock when you had difficult nights like these, and never failed to make you feel a little bit better. as you laid in his embrace, both the late hour and the exhaustion of crying caught up to you, and you let out a large yawn.

matt smiled down at you, kissing you again, before getting comfortable himself and pulling you against him.

"i've got you, baby, try to rest. it's going to be okay, tomorrow is going to be a better day."

when you closed your eyes for the final time that night, all you saw was peaceful darkness, clouded with love from your boyfriend, and you finally fell asleep.

[slimybeth69]

"i'll be here."

rating: explicit- for drinking and joel's dirty thoughts. This is pure fluff NO SMUT and it's probably kinda corny but I DON'T CARE.

summary: Joel wants to make sure your New Years Eve isn't lonely.

tags: jackson!joel, Joel's POV, no use of y/n, no physical description (just an outfit) fluff, so much fluff, pining, age gap, him being handsome and perfect, mentions of food, drinking, being intoxicated so maybe dub-con (but not really)

w/c: ~3.6k

a/n: the holiday was hard as hell this year and it really didn't feel like christmas at all, so i wrote this for myself because i was sad. i hope any of you all that needed Joel to come and sing you songs and play gui-tar find some comfort in this.

thanks for @creepycorbeaux for reading this over. thanks to @thelastofgala for those beautiful gifs and thanks to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

Joel wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing walking to your house with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and his guitar in the other, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what you had said last night on patrol. 

“Whaddya end up doin’ f’Christmas?” 

The face you make when you look over at him almost makes Joel smirk for a split second. The way your nose scrunches and the corners of your mouth turn down slightly. Like you’re confused and upset with him ,and all he did was ask you a simple question.

Then you respond, “Whachya mean?” 

Joel doesn’t know how to answer that because… what do you mean? Your eyes are still squinted— like there is some sort of distrust in your soul. Like Joel is playing a joke on you right now.

“Uh, well… Ellie and I went to Tommy and Maria’s...” Joel is uncomfortable suddenly; he forgets that not everyone is as lucky as he is to have family here in Jackson. He doesn’t know you nearly well enough, so now he feels like an ass. He shouldn’t be asking you anything like that.

Or anything at all not pertaining to patrol. 

You don’t say anything for a while, you just hold onto the strap of your rifle over your shoulder, and then adjust your grasp on the reins with your other hand. “I just stayed home,” you answer him quietly, almost like you don’t really want him to hear you. “Made myself a nice dinner, read a book and went to bed.” 

That ‘put your foot in your mouth’ feeling creeps into Joel’s stomach and he wants to ask if you’d like to give him a nice rocket to his left jaw. He doesn’t stay quiet for too long, he doesn’t want you sitting in this awkward smog he’s created. “That doesn’t sound t’bad, honestly. Whaddya make?” 

Joel watches you out of the corner of his eye as you once again adjust the reins in your hand, waiting for you to either respond to his question or tell him to shut the fuck up. 

He wishes you would tell him to screw off because he never tries to make small talk, and this is why! He always regrets it!

“Just a venison roast with veggies from the greenhouse.” You finally tell him with a little more life in your voice this time, like you were actually proud of what you cooked yourself. “What did you and Ellie do at Tommy and Maria’s?” 

“Had a few drinks, ate some food. Nothin’ crazy.”

Joel didn’t have the heart to tell you that Tommy and him spent most of the day drinking and reminiscing, laughing about being young, stupid kids. Or that Ellie and Maria baked all day, listening to Christmas music someone had found a while ago. He didn’t wanna subject you to all that, knowing now you were home alone.

Since that night on patrol, Joel can’t get the image of you sitting at home on a holiday all by yourself. 

Probably being sad. 

There isn’t any particular reason why he feels so compelled to come knock on your door, there are plenty of other lonely souls that spend every holiday with no one else around. 

There was just a pull. Something inside of him that said go go go. 

Go to her.

He doesn’t really even know what he’s going to say to you if you decide to open the door for him. Hell, he’s not sure you’re even going to let him in! You’ve only ever gone on two patrols together. Y’all never really talk outside of that, but that’s mostly because he doesn’t see you around.

Not like he’s looking for you, or anything. 

When he knocks, it’s like his heart might hammer right out of his chest. Why is he so nervous? He’s just here to offer you a couple drinks so you don’t have to ring in the new year all alone. 

Ellie was with Dina and the rest of her friends, Tommy and Maria wanted to call it an early night because of the baby, and so Joel had two options: the bar, or sitting at home alone. 

It’s not that Joel didn’t like being alone. He had been alone since Tess, and that was still something he didn’t like to think about too much.

Too much loss for not enough of — whatever they had been. Losing her had almost been the final nail in the coffin, and if it hadn’t been for Ellie -

Don’t think about it.

Now Joel finds himself on your front porch, holding the screen door open with his large frame, and knocking lightly with the ass end of the bottle of whiskey.

From inside he can hear you moving around. His breath hitches in his throat when you finally open up for him. Joel watches your eyes scan him very quickly, taking in the picture in front of you. Your eyes go wide for a second like you don’t understand why he’s here.

Joel Miller on your front porch with a bottle of whiskey and his guitar. 

“Whaddya doin’ here?” 

Joel holds the bottle up for you to inspect closer as you wrap your arms around yourself like you’re trying to hide from him. 

Joel’s never seen you without your winter jacket, hat and gloves. Right now in your house, you have on a blue sweater, a pair of tight elastic tights that Joel wishes he could see you in more often, and the warmest looking socks he has ever seen.

His eyes scan the length of your body again involuntarily. His gaze lingers on your pants once again– so tight and they hug your curves (that Joel didn’t even know you had) in all the right ways.  

“Well, I reckon I came over here hopin’ you had cooked another roast, since it sounded so damn good when you told me ‘bout it on patrol–”

Joel continues his bullshit rambles about why he came over here as you start to smirk, and take a step back so the door can swing open a little wider and he can make his way in.

“The guitar?” You ask as Joel toes off his boots so he doesn’t track snow through your house. He hands you the bottle of whiskey, shifting the guitar between his hands as he takes off his jacket. 

“Figur’d if you wanted to share any of the food you made– I could share the whiskey… maybe play a lil gui-tar for ya.”

The last time he played the guitar for anyone besides Ellie– Sarah was still alive. 

Who is this man?

There was just something about the way you said ‘I just stayed home’. Joel was thinkin’ maybe you didn’t read a book and go to bed. 

Maybe you cried a little, missing whatever you remember from home. 

Joel knows all about that, all about the sleepless nights when you just can’t turn your brain off. You can’t stop thinking about the people that are no more, about how different things are now and how you’d give anything for them to go back to the way they used to be. 

Joel has Ellie and Tommy. Who do you have?

“You’re in luck because I did cook tonight,” you’re smiling at him and he thinks this is the first time he’s ever seen you smile, too. 

So many firsts for Joel, he feels like a teenager as you lead him further into your house - which is clean and smells phenomenally good - and into the kitchen. 

Joel hadn’t expected you to actually offer him food, he didn’t know if you cooked dinners like that for yourself all the time, or only on special occasions. 

You take the guitar from him and pull out a chair at your kitchen table. For a moment he feels like his brain malfunctions and he’s not sure how to react. 

“You can sit,” You’re already in your living room. “I’m just gonna…” Then you trail off. 

When Joel peers around the corner to check on you, you’re very carefully leaning the guitar against the wall, holding your hands out to catch it in case it leans too far one way or the other.

Joel feels heat creeping up his chest and neck as he watches you, slightly bent at the waist. The tightness of your pants— 

Nope.

Once you’re satisfied that the guitar won’t fall, you turn around and smile at him, even though he’s just standing there watching you like an idiot– blushing!

Blushing?

Part of him thinks this was the worst idea he ever had. How could you be doing this to him and you’ve done absolutely nothing? 

He should go home. 

“Sit!” You urge him to take a seat at the table while you basically prance into the kitchen to start serving him a plate. Everything is still sitting on the stove in the pots you cooked in.

You explain that you already ate because you weren’t expecting company. 

Joel almost tells you not to worry about the food, but then what would he do? Play guitar for three hours? Getting drunk and talking all night seems like a terrible idea. 

What the fuck was he thinking? This was the dumbest thing he’s ever done, it really was. 

He shuts his mouth though when you set down a plate of steaming food in front of him. 

“Dig in! I have more than enough if you want a second plate.” 

The way you talk so casually, like you’ve known Joel your whole life while you walk back into the kitchen makes him jealous. 

How are you so nice? Sweet? 

You haven’t even been here for four months and this is the first time either of you have said more than ten words to each other that didn’t have to do with patrol. 

It’s the way your body moves when you walk without all your winter gear on. You sway… almost like you’re floating.

Knock it off, old man. She’s half your age. 

Joel has to squeeze his eyes shut for two seconds until he hears your feet padding back to the table. When he opens them, you’re pushing one of the glasses in his direction.

“You brought the booze, so you have to pour it.” 

The smile on your face makes Joel feel a mix of pride and guilt. 

What are you expecting of him? He can’t give you more than just tonight. He knows that, he hopes you know that too.

Joel opens the bottle and pours each of you a decent, sippable glass.He should have poured himself less. 

Probably should have poured you less.

The food tastes better than Joel’s had in years. He even finds himself asking for seconds, something he rarely does.

You’re making small talk as he eats, asking about his travels and how long he’s been in Jackson. If he likes it here, how old is his daughter.

Joel decides not to tell you that Ellie isn’t really his daughter, because biologically she isn’t, but it hasn’t felt that way in a long time.

As he eats, and you chat, Joel starts to relax a little. Your presence is calming, and he finds himself enjoying your company more than he thought he would. He pours both of you another drink, his regrets of pouring less last time completely forgotten.

The food is gone and you’ve cleared his plate. But the two of you are still sitting at the kitchen table. He’s not sure if it’s the fact that this is another first— seeing you up close like this. In the light of your kitchen Joel can really take in your features; your cheeks when you smile, and the way your eyes light up when you laugh at some dumb joke he tells.

You ask him about his life before the outbreak, and Joel hesitates before giving a very brief summary of his past. He doesn’t like talking about it all, and he avoids bringing Sarah up completely.

Not tonight. Probably not ever.

You listen attentively and ask Joel questions that show you’re actually interested in what he’s saying.

Joel continues to pour the two of your drinks each time your glasses are empty and you never tell him to stop. You suggest moving to the living room where it’s more comfortable, and Joel agrees without hesitation.

Go home. This is going to end badly.

There is a fire going in your fireplace, and Joel can’t sit down until he puts another log or two on, and he has to move some things around to get it going again.

“I can do it myself,” you say from directly behind him, sounding a little offended.

Joel doesn't even look at you when he responds, "I know you can. Just helpin'."

When he finally turns around, you quickly look away. Joel can’t help but smirk and feel that familiar in his lower belly.

Had you been staring at him?

Joel watches as you sink down into the brown leather couch, curling up with your feet underneath you. He settles beside you with just enough distance to be polite.

“What songs do ya’ know?” Your voice is soft and your words are slightly slurred. The alcohol has definitely started to affect you, but Joel doesn’t think you’re that drunk yet.

Joel looks at the clock on your wall and it reads 10:45 PM. He can do this. An hour and fifteen minutes left, then Joel can escape.

Not that he wants to. He has to or something bad is going to happen. Something he regrets. 

Something you might regret. 

But when you ask him about songs, he can’t help but smile. The alcohol is going down too easily, way too easy for both of you.

Joel clears his throat. "Whaddya wanna hear?"

You shrug, your cute blue sweater sliding off one shoulder. Joel has to fight himself to keep his eyes on your face as you mindlessly tug the sweater up. It’s like you didn’t even realize it happened. You kept your eyes on him the entire time.

"Somethin' that makes you happy."

The fact that you’re moving your feet to tuck your toes underneath Joel’s right thigh is sending electric shocks to his brain. He leans and grabs the guitar off the wall– careful to not move too much so he can keep the contact between the two of you. 

Shit. What is he getting himself into?

Joel holds the guitar, fingers tracing the old wooden curves. It's been a while since he's played at all. The strings feel ice cold under his calloused hands.

Joel strum a couple cords, “Know a few songs,” he says, clearing his throat. “Might be a lil rusty though,” he smirks at you and gives you a sideways glance. 

You smile from behind your whiskey glass and Joel feels something shift inside him. Something he hasn't felt in a long time. 

Something dangerous.

Your eyes are glittering in the firelight— different than they had looked in the artificial light of your kitchen. It casts a warm glow across your face, softening the edges that Joel has only ever seen sharp and alert on patrol.

He clears his throat once again and continues to move his fingers along the frets. The first few notes come out slightly off-key, but Joel quickly finds his rhythm. He starts with a Garth Brooks song.

Joel knows he’s not the best at the guitar and he doesn’t play it nearly as often now that Ellie is so busy with her own life. 

You don’t seem to mind, and sometimes Joel misses a chord or messes up completely because he can’t stop glancing over to watch you watching him.

He starts to sing, his voice low and gravelly. It's not a perfect voice - never was - but there's something raw and honest in the way the words tumble out.

… Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots And ruined your black tie affair The last one to know, the last one to show I was the last one you thought you'd see there

You shift slightly, your toes still tucked under his thigh, and Joel catches you watching his hands. Even as he continues to sing. You never take your eyes off of him. Not once.

… 'Cause I've got friends in low places Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases my blues away And I'll be OK Yeah, I'm not big on social graces Think I'll slip on down to the oasis Oh, I've got friends in low places

Joel's voice falters for a moment when he notices the concentration of your gaze. His fingers momentarily stagger on the guitar strings, creating a clashing note that lingers in the air for a moment before he continues.

You don't seem to notice, or care. Your eyes are locked on his hands, watching how they move across the guitar with a kind of reverence that makes Joel's breath catch. 

Joel finishes the song, letting the last chord ring out softly in the quiet room. For a moment, neither of you moves. You're still watching him, your eyes heavy-lidded from the whiskey, but there's something else there too.

Joel’s eyes fall on the clock on your wall and it’s only 11.

He’s completely fucked.

Joel becomes acutely aware of how close you are.

Your toes are still tucked under his leg, and the warmth of your body seeps through the denim of his jeans. Joel swallows hard, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing.

"Another song?" you ask, your voice soft and slightly husky from the whiskey.

Joel clears his throat. "Sure," he manages, repositioning the guitar.

Joel starts strumming again, this time a slower, more mournful tune. His fingers find the familiar chords of an old country ballad, something he used to play for Sarah when she was real little. Before the weight of being a single dad started to apply pressure.

The memories threaten to overtake him, but he forces them down, focusing instead on the way the light flickers across your face. He can feel the heat of your body against his leg, the whiskey making everything feel soft and blurry around the edges. His voice is lower now, almost a whisper, like he's singing just for you.

Joel sings a couple more songs, a few at your request.

"That was really good," you say softly, your eyes meeting his. There's something in your gaze that makes Joel shiver - it’s a weakness, a longing that mirrors something deep inside himself.

When he looks at the clock again it’s 12:30.

“We completely missed new years,” Joel points to the clock and chuckles. He had completely forgotten that’s why he came over here originally. Once the music started, everything else kind of faded away. 

It was just the two of you while the rest of Jackson, and possibly the rest of the world stopped existing in that short time. 

“I was havin’ a good time,” you’re still smiling at him and now he can see how glassy they are from the whiskey. 

“Y’look like y’were havin’ a good time, darlin’.” Joel smiles and starts to stand up from the couch. It’s not until he’s standing directly in front of you realize what’s happening, Joel watches your eyes shift and change. 

Are you panicking?

“Are… were–” you cut yourself off and shake your head, waving a hand at Joel dismissively. “Nevermind. Thank you for coming over.” When you turn to look at him, your eyes are rimmed with a glossy sheen. The whites of your eyes had turned a hazy shade of red.

“S’wrong?” 

You shrug your shoulders, your sweater falling off your shoulder again. You don’t notice and twirl your whiskey glass in your hand slowly. “Nothin’. I had a good time… just sad you gotta go.” 

Joel knows he shouldn’t, but he gently replaces your sweater, his fingers lingering on the warm skin of your collarbone for a moment before he pulls away. “I’m all outta songs, sweetheart.” 

“You don’t wanna stay?”

Joel swallows hard and then cuts you off, “For what?” Joel whispers it and you snap your head up to look at him, almost as astonished as he is. Joel knows that the liquor and the way you had been looking at him all night is a recipe for disaster. 

Make me leave, please. Kick me out. Don’t ask me to stay again because I won’t be able to say no.

You finish the last of your whiskey before setting your glass down on the coffee table in front of your couch. 

“You know what.” 

“I do… but we’ve been drinkin’... ‘n I don’t want ya’ regretti–”

“What is there to regret?” you whisper. Your hand snakes into his and Joel doesn’t pull his away or nothing. “You gotta know more songs.”

Joel sits down beside you again, sighing loudly like this is a giant inconvenience to him, but a part of him knows that this isn’t going to end–

Not at all. 

Once he takes you upstairs, it’s over for the both of you. It’s like he can taste it in the air. 

“One more,” Joel nods his head at you. “Then I’m leavin’.” 

He and you both know that’s not true. 

His fingers find their holds on the neck of the guitar and he looks over at you before he strums the first note. 

You shy away from him, tucking your toes back under his thigh. Joel lifts his leg slightly so you can slip them deeper under his leg. 

There's no stronger wind than the one that blows Down a lonesome railroad line No prettier sight than looking back On a town you left behind There is nothin' that's as real As your face that's on my mind

Joel changes the lyrics just a little, and he doesn’t know if you notice, or even if you know this song. He's not ready to sing about love, not at all.

He confidently sings you the next part though.

Close your eyes I'll be here in the morning Close your eyes I'll be here for a while

hopefully y'all had a better time than I did.

love you all so so much