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thetriumphantpanda · 1 year ago

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Eyes Wide Open | Joel Miller

The Checklist - Exhibitionism

Chapter Summary | You want people to watch you, Joel knows exactly how to help you with that.

Chapter Warnings | Are y'all bored of the porn without plot warning yet? Joel takes you to a sex club, public sex, exhibitionism, Joel gets cocky that people like looking at you getting fucked, unprotected PiV sex, fingering, dirty talk, pet names, aftercare, no use of y/n, no outbreak AU. Disclaimer that I've never been to a sex club so I have no idea if this is accurate, but we move. Please be kind.

Word Count | 3.5K

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Authors Note | Shoutout to @hellishjoel for helping me work through the ideas for this one, and shoutout to my dreams for showing me exactly how it should play out. We're on the downhill stretch of the checklist now but it you're still enjoying this then reblogs and comments are always appreciated, and if you'd like to support me further, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

A reminder that whilst this is part of a wider series, this can be read as a standalone if you wish.

Beautiful divider by @saradika

I no longer have a taglist, to keep up to date with my work, please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs and turn on notifications.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

It’s a Friday night, not particularly late by the time you shut your computer down and sit back in the chair with a sigh. The door to your office clicks shut behind you as you walk through to the bedroom, intent on changing out of your work clothes and into something comfy, ordering pizza and spending the rest of the weekend attached to Joel’s side, but it seems like he’s got other ideas.

He’s sat on the edge of the bed, changed from his work clothes, but still looking casual in his jeans and a flannel, but sitting next to him, laid out so delicately on the sheets, is his favourite lingerie set of yours. Skimpy, all black see-through lace that leaves nothing to the imagination, and your trench coat sat next to him, and then your trusty pair of black heels on the floor. He’s smirking, but there’s an air of something nervous about him tonight, which you can tell from the bouncing of his leg and the way he runs his hand over his face.

“Change into this,” He says quickly, tone clipped as he stands, “I’ll wait downstairs.”

And then he’s gone, his heavy footfall giving him away as he walks down the stairs, leaving you a little dumbfounded. Your hands are already reaching to divest yourself of your clothes though, letting them fall into a pile at the end of the bed as you slip on the black lace. You don’t even bother to check yourself out in the mirror, you don’t care what you look like. All you know is that this little ensemble drives Joel wild, and that’s plenty for you, as you slip the black heels on and tie the coat around your waist with a knot.

Downstairs, Joel is pacing, something he rarely does unless he’s nervous. The keys to his truck are in his hand. He doesn’t even speak to you when he wrenches open the front door and motions with his hand for you to go outside. He doesn’t speak to you on the drive into town either. It’s not until he’s pulled up along a random street, outside of a nondescript building that he opens his mouth, but only when you question him.

“You wanna tell me why we’re sat outside some random building?”

He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you with a little sigh, “This seemed like a good idea at the time, but I ain’t sure you’re gonna like it.”

“Try me, Miller.”

Another sigh, “Well, I’ve been thinkin’ about that list again, about you wantin’ people to watch you, watch us, and this was the only thing I could think of,” You raise an eyebrow at him, “It’s a sex club.”

You can feel the smirk growing across your mouth, “Dare I ask how you found a sex club in Austin?”

He grumbles something incoherent which only adds to your amusement of the whole situation, “We don’t have to go in, I know it’s a lot,” He adds, hand finding your thigh under the split in your coat, “Say the words and I’ll drive us back home, unwrap you and fuck you until you can’t walk, it’s up to you baby.”

You take a moment to think, because there is the low bubble of anxiety settling in your stomach. Sure, the idea of someone watching you, admiring you as you get fucked, has always appealed to you. There’s no reasoning behind it, you don’t really know why, it’s just something you’ve always wanted to try. But that doesn’t make the thought of this any easier - it’s a club full of people who probably do this sort of thing all the time, people who have specific things they like to watch, maybe even specific people and what if you aren’t one of them? But, that warm palm on your thigh makes you feel safe, and even if no-one else watches you, he always does.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting from the inside of a sex club on the outskirts of downtown Austin, but it certainly wasn’t this. The inside is beautifully decorated, plush velvet seating, red drapes that section off certain parts of the club, a floor that isn’t sticky, but immaculately clean instead. You were expecting it to smell too, and it does, but not unpleasant in any way. There’s low music playing, and you can certainly hear some of the other people here already having fun, but it doesn’t embarrass you, only makes you more excited.

At the door, someone had explained how things work - there was no obligation to do anything, but if you did want to engage in anything sexual, you had to use one of alcoves that were curtained off. If you wanted people to watch, leave one of the curtains open, and if you wanted them to join in, all you had to do was invite them to do so, but otherwise, they had to watch, and none of them could get themselves off whilst they watched either - the woman explained there were areas to do that elsewhere.

Joel has a hand on your lower back, guiding you over to the bar - strictly no alcohol for obvious reasons - but the bartender makes you a very nice virgin sex on the beach, which is ironic. Joel sips on a 0% beer as you stand and wait to see who makes the first move. You sit and look around, letting the sounds of other women’s pleasure fill your ears, looking at the other couples who are doing much the same as you and Joel are, apart from the fact that you can’t see any of them secretly trying to rub their thighs together for a little relief.

There’s a moment, a little while later, when one of the sets of curtains is pulled back, and a woman, hand-in-hand with a man, walk out, attached at the hip, looking sweaty and sated. You take hold of Joel’s hand, leaving your half finished drink on the bar, and drag him behind the curtain before anyone else has a chance to take it.

“Keen, are we?” He chuckles, watching closely as you close both curtains behind you for now, turning to him.

“Kiss me.”

He walks over to you, lips pressing gently to yours as his hands take hold of the belt keeping your coat together, hands pulling at the knot to undo it, his palms pushing it from your shoulders to leave you standing in just your underwear.

“You want me to open the curtain?” He asks softly against your mouth.

You nod, trying to chase his mouth as he pulls away a little.

“Words, baby,” He says, “Use them.”

You snake your hand around his neck, pulling him back down to your mouth, “Open it,” You demand, “Let them see.”

Letting him go, you walk slowly over to the couch near the back of the room, sitting down on it, crossing one leg over the other as Joel pulls back one side of the curtain. He turns, walking back toward you as he takes off his shirt, unbuckles his belt and leaves both on the floor with your coat. He gently takes hold of your hand, pulling a little to get you to stand up.

Joel settles on the couch, right where you had been sitting before, widening his legs, tapping the material between them for you to sit, which you do, facing the open curtain as you sit between his thighs.

He splays one hand across the naked skin of your tummy, pulling you closer into him, the bulge in the front of his jeans resting against your lower back, the other cradling the side of your face opposite where his lips are currently tracing down your neck and over your shoulder. You close your eyes, let out a soft sigh of pleasure, as your head tips back against his shoulder.

When you open your eyes, there's a jolt of surprise when you see a few people already standing near the open curtain, already watching you. They’re almost casual with it, stood with their arms crossed or leaning against the wall as Joel trails his hand from your tummy to your thigh, widening his own as he pulls yours further apart.

“They’re looking, Joel.” You whisper softly.

“I know, baby,” He coos into your ear, “Shall we give them a show?”

“Yes please.”

It’s all the encouragement he needs, both of his hands coming around your body to cup your tits through the material of your bra, squeezing gently as his teeth start nipping at the skin of your neck.

“Think we should show them how perfect your tits are?” He whispers, fingers dragging up to the straps to slip them off your shoulders, before he pulls the cups down, settling them under your tits to show them off.

Almost like he knows he’s showing you off, parading you in front of people, he brings his palms to the sides of your breasts, pushes them together as your nipples peak stiff in the cool air of the room.

“I think they like you, honey,” Joel’s voice is in your ear again, “Look how many people want to watch you.”

And he’s right, there are a few more bodies that have joined the small crowd that are watching you, as Joel’s hands cup the weight of your tits, his fingers rolling your nipples, drawing a gasp from your mouth as Joel’s hips rock into your back, hard cock digging into your skin, obviously just as affected by by people watching as you are.

“Joel,” You whine, “I need to you touch me.”

“I am touchin’ you, baby,” He chuckles, “You want my hands somewhere else?”

“Please.”

“Given them your tits, now you wanna show them your pussy?”

“Joel, please.”

His hand moves slowly down the bare skin of your tummy and over the lace of your panties, fingers hovering where he knows you’ll be wet, even you can feel the damp material sticking to you. He hooks one of his fingers into the side of your panties, running it over your slick folds a few times as your hands settle on his denim-clad thighs, fingers digging into them as he gently pulls your panties to the side, exposing your core to the people in front of you.

You can hear hums of approval, some people suck in their breath and it makes you preen. Yes, you think, fucking gasp at me, I'm a goddess and look at what this man does to me. Joel’s palm cups your pussy for a moment, his lips still working softly across your neck and shoulder, the roughness of his beard and the way his teeth nip at you sure to leave marks for days.

Then, he drags his palm up, using two of his fingers to spread the folds of your pussy, really showing you off to everyone in front of you. For the first time, you really look at the crowd, there’s not many, many seven or eight people, all stood with their eyes trained on the most intimate part of you, watching as your cunt glistens and flutters around nothing.

“You know what they’re thinking?” Joel asks, his other palm pulling your thighs apart even more, one finger dipping into your slick cunt, dragging the wetness up so he can circle your clit, “They’re thinking this is the prettiest pussy they’ve ever seen.”

He’s got one hand pressed to your belly, dragging you back against him, the other working those tight, precise circles over your clit. Normally, in the privacy of your own home, he’d take his time, but here, any ounce of patience he has is gone. He wants them to see you, wants to know the beauty he gets all to himself, the pussy he gets to do with as he pleases, and most of all, he wants them to know how he makes you cum, almost like he’s proving himself to these strangers. Look at me, look at the man I am, look how well I know this woman’s body and how quickly I can get her off.

It’s all an intoxicating cocktail that has you hurtling towards the finish line in no time. Your head is tipped back against his shoulder again, back arched and hips rocking in time to the movements of his hand, but your eyes are trained on the people in front of you, flitting from face to face as they watch the way your legs start to shake, the way you can clearly see from the front of their trousers how much this turns them on.

“You gonna show them how pretty you are when you come, baby?” Joel asks, hand abandoning your stomach in preference for wrapping around your throat, he doesn’t squeeze, just holds you there, anchors you to his body as his finger circles one, twice, three times more and throws you over the edge.

Fingers still gripping at his thighs, you cry out, moaning his name as his finger slows a little against you but never stops, “Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, “Let it all out for them.”

When you open your eyes, coming down from the high, body warm with pleasure, shaking as Joel’s fingers sink inside you, not to get you off again, but to make sure you’re ready for him, a few more people have joined the crowd now, clearly hearing your cries of pleasure and wanting to know exactly what the fuss was about. Well, you’ve joined just in time, you think, as Joel manipulates you onto your back, leaning back a little to undo his jeans, but not bothering to stand enough to completely take them off, just pushing them down enough to free his cock.

Whilst he fists himself, hand at the base of his cock, you tilt your head towards the people watching you. You’re not stupid enough to imagine they’re all here for you, there are three women dotted in the crowd, and whilst you can never be sure, much like you aren't sure about the men either, you’d like to think some of them are here for Joel, admiring the broadness of him, the thickness of his cock, wondering, imagining they get the opportunity to feel him doing exactly what he does next, which is to sink his cock slowly into your aching cunt.

You’ve spread your legs as wide as you can manage, palms on the underside of your thighs to hold yourself open to Joel as one of his hands props him up next to your head, the other pushing the leg closest to the crowd down, so your aren’t covering what they’re here to see the most.

He drags his cock out of you, almost fully, before he slams his hips back into yours. Your tits bounce with the force, a surprised yelp leaving your mouth, but God it feels good. You’re looking at each other, Joel’s intense brown eyes looking down at your face, your mouth dropped open in pleasure as he sets the pace, drawing gasps and whines from you each time he pushes his cock back into you.

Letting go of your leg once he’s sure you’re in a position where everyone can watch the way his cock is stretching your cunt, he takes hold of your face in his hand, fingers pressing into the soft skin of your cheeks which makes your lips purse a little. He drags your face away from looking at his own, one cheek laying against the material of the couch, looking at the crowd, you catch one man run a palm over the bulge in his jeans whilst he looks you dead in the eye, but it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, it makes you feel powerful.

You can feel Joel’s nose nuzzling at your other cheek, lips pressed to the sweaty skin, “Look at them, baby,” He demands, “All of them watching you get fucked, you like that?”

All you can manage with his hand on your face is a ‘Mmmhmm’.

“I know you like it,” He breathes, “Know how I can tell?” It’s rhetorical, of course it is, “You’re squeezin’ me so fucking tight, baby, and you’re drippin’, so turned on by all these people who wanna fuck you, huh?”

It’s another ‘mmmhmm’ that he gets in response, but your hips are moving up to meet his now, letting the tip of his cock brush so deep inside of you that you see stars.

“What do you think they want to see most?” He asks, breathless in your ear, “Do you think they want to see me fill you up?” But you shake your head in his hand, “No, you’re right baby,” He agrees, “I think they want to see me cover you, paint my cum all over you.”

You know he’s not going to last much longer. You know him, and you know his signs. The way he gets more vocal in your ear, groaning and panting, and the way his thrusts get heavier, sloppier. You know it, he knows it, and the gaggle of eyes on you mean you’re both hanging on for dear life, Joel trying to hold himself back, wanting just one more from you.

Snaking a hand between your body, you circle your own clit, slick and wet and sensitive from earlier as he finally lets go of your face, holds himself up on both him palms planted on either side of your head, hips slamming into yours, lewd smacking of skin and your combined breathless pants the only thing people can hear over the sounds of whatever other people are doing outside of here.

“That’s it baby,” He encourages lightly, “God, you’re fuckin’ perfect around me, make yourself come and then I’ll give you what you want.”

Like magic, you do, body arching up into his, legs hooking around his lower back as you come for him, moaning his name, looking at only him now as he sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth.

“Hold your legs open baby,” He asks, “Gonna give you what you want, okay?”

You’re boneless, palms pressing against your knees to keep you open as Joel slips his cock from your warmth, one hand furiously fisting at himself, the other keeping his body weight off you. You feel the first rope of warmth hit your stomach before he tosses his head back, calls your name out to the ceiling as he covers you in him. Pools of thick, white seed land across your skin as his hand milks every last drop from his cock, the two of you just watch each other for a moment, the only sounds you can hear are you own breath sucking into your lungs and the sounds of what other people are doing outside of your little oasis.

“You okay?” Joel asks softly, leaning forward to press his warm lips to your forehead.

“I’m good,” You smile, “Really good.”

“Yeah?” He asks, almost surprised as he sits back on his knees, tucking himself back into his jeans.

You run your fingernails over his lower belly, scratching gently as you look at him, “I really liked that.”

When you turn your head a little, the people who had been watching you are already gone, onto the next show, the curtain pulled together to give you both a little privacy. Joel stands, finds a box of tissues on the table next to the couch which he uses to clean you up.

“Did you like it?” You ask, as he readjusts the lace of your under, covering you up.

“Yeah, I did,” He smiles, face cupped in his hands to kiss you, “Liked that they could watch, see how perfect you are, but that you’re only mine.”

You snake your arms around his shoulders, kissing him again, “Can we do this again?” You ask, biting at your lip, almost shy to ask for it.

“Yeah baby,” He smiles, keeping you as close to him as he can as he reaches for his clothes, “You wanna come back here?”

You nod, letting Joel slip your coat back onto you, watching as he ties the knot tight, making sure no-one’s going to see you as you leave, as if some of them hadn’t just watch him rail you to within an inch of your life.

Joel presses a kiss to the tip of your nose as he takes your hand in his, “I’ll bring you back,” He promises, pulling the curtain out of the way so you can make your way on shaky legs out of the club, “But right now, I’m gonna take you home, and we’re going to get in the bath, okay?”

“Okay,” You nod, “Take me home, cowboy.”

532 notes · View notes

idyllic-ghost · 8 months ago

Note

heyyyy

i've been thinking THOUGHTS about uji since nana tour and i just- imagine him coming back home and you're thinking "oh he's gonna be relaxed and pay attention to me now yay!" but he just goes back to work immediately

meanwhile you've seen all the pictures he's sent you from the trip (ALLLL the pictures wink-wonk) and you've been WAITING to finally get to be with him again

basically just, jihoon in his home office late at night and you come in and wait for him to go to bed- when he doesn't you start giving him "come to bed kisses" (wrapping your arms around his shoulders, giving kisses to his cheek and down his neck to whisper "come to bed" against his skin- you know the deal)🫣

title: finally~ pairing: woozi x fem!reader genre: smut, fluff warnings: smut MDNI, sub!jihoon, oral (m receiving), cowgirl, kind of big cock!jihoon, cream pie wordcount: 2.4k taglist: @enhacolor, @shuabby1994, @junhui-recs, @dkakapizzaboy, @just-here-to-read-01, @loviehan, @userjunhuii, @novalpha, @bubblymoon, @aaniag, @d0nghyuck, @fantasy2wonderland, @seunghancore, @woozixo, @niktwazny303, @lllucere, @uniq-tastic, @wonwoospartyhat, @stariightjoyy, @hyneyedfiz, @cali-snow, @pearlygraysky, @crazywittysassy, @yeosayang

a/n: thank you for your request! sorry it took so long to get done, but i hope you enjoy!! (took creative liberties with what you had written, it had to be done)

join my taglist

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send a request in my inbox!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Jihoon was still sitting in front of the screen. Headphones were on, pushing his long locks out of his face, but you could hear a muffled memory over the clicking of his keyboard. You managed to make him stay home, but you should have known he'd isolate himself in his home office. Ever since you installed it, you knew it was a bad idea. He couldn't separate his personal life from his work life, which didn't make it easier.

Even though he had only recently come back from his trip to Italy, you hadn't seen much of him. From all the pictures he had sent, you could tell he was relaxing and having a good time - but instead of bringing that with him, he had left his calm in Tuscany. Which was torture for you, seeing as he had been teasing you all this time; sending pictures of him by the pool or working out - calling you late at night whenever he could find some alone time. Despite his cold exterior, Jihoon wasn't a fan of distance.

You were on the couch in the corner of the room, watching him. You weren't just watching him - you were staring, but Jihoon didn't notice. He was sitting slightly hunched over, his elbow on his desk and his head resting in his hand. His other hand was softly drumming against the table, his head nodding along with the rhythm that his fingers were making. The clock on the wall said 11:34 PM, meaning bedtime - or at least, lying in bed and not necessarily sleeping.

When he started humming, you were done. Jihoon's humming was quiet and smooth, but you were already annoyed. Your shoulders tensed up and you tried to take a deep breath to let it go. The sudden sound got your boyfriend's attention. He looked over at you and moved one of the ear cups of headphones to sit behind his ear.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

Jihoon narrowed his eyes at you. He had been in this situation before and made the mistake of accepting "I'm fine" as a fact. After taking off his headphones, he turned his chair toward you. You looked away from him, trying to escape his steady gaze.

"Are you sure?" he questioned. "You know I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong, baby."

"I just want to go to bed," you admitted and quickly added, "With you."

"Go," he said, "I'll be there soon. I promise."

You were sure that he wasn't lying - but soon for him could mean another few hours. Jihoon lost track of time when he was working. So, you only nodded and stood up. He put his headphones back on and turned back to his computer. You looked toward the door with aversion, your feet naturally walking toward Jihoon's chair instead. Even like this, hunched over and pulling weird faces whenever he didn't like something, he made your knees weak. Maybe it was the black shirt that clung to his arms and over his chest, or the way his hair hung delicately over his features. Either way, you needed him now.

"Jihoon," you murmured as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. "Please."

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling them move as he started smiling. Then you pressed another kiss to his jaw, following the sharp line until you got down to his neck. The hair on his neck stood up as you found the sensitive spot there.

"Come to bed," you mumbled against his skin.

"I'm almost done," he answered, but still turned his head to give you more access.

"You said that thirty minutes ago," you reminded him. "Jihoon, I've barely gotten to be with you since you came back."

Jihoon grumbled something unintelligible before pulling off his headphones and putting them on the table. You let go of his shoulders, letting him stand up from his chair. As soon as he was standing, he went to wrap his arms around you - putting his hand on the back of your head and guiding it to rest in the crook of his neck. His other hand made its way to your back, stroking slow and comforting circles.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I've been trying to catch up on work... I thought I could finish it up quickly to give you more attention later."

"What kind of plan is that?" You snorted.

"... I thought it was smart."

You pushed away slightly from him, allowing you to take a good look at him. His ears were a bit red, but you could tell that it wasn't just from his headphones by the flustered look on his face.

"Please come to bed?" you asked, bringing your hands up to cup his face.

"Okay."

Jihoon kissed one of your palms before letting you go, only long enough to grab your hand to lead you to the bedroom. Anticipation grew from your stomach up to your chest, spreading through the rest of your body. Finally, you'd get him for yourself. He opened the door to the bedroom, guiding you inside before closing the door behind him. You hadn't slept with him since the first night he got back, and it didn't take long for you to fall onto the mattress from exhaustion - Jihoon falling asleep almost immediately from the jet lag. Long story short, it hadn't been as satisfying as it usually was.

Now, as Jihoon is taking his time kissing your bare skin that he is slowly revealing, you could already feel that you'd be much more satisfied tonight. Your fingers ran through his hair, pulling at his locks when his lips found a sensitive spot on your chest. Jihoon groaned against your soft skin, his arms desperately pulling you closer. His lips trailed up your neck and jaw, quickly finding your lips. He left a chaste and sweet kiss on your lips, unfitting from the rest of his actions. When he pulled away, his eyes stayed shut for a moment - as if he had to savor the feeling of your lips, even though he knew very well that he could kiss you whenever he wanted.

"I've missed you," he admitted.

"I've been right here this entire time," you argued.

"I know, I know." He sighed. "I'm stupid."

"No, you're not," you corrected him. "You just have an interesting way of getting work done."

"I have to admit, you're great motivation." He took your hand in his, backing up until the back of his legs hit the side of the bed and he sat down. "But you're distracting too."

You straddled his lap, connecting your lips to his again and wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands instinctively made their way to your ass, groping it and ushering you to grind over his crotch. With only your panties on, you could feel everything against his sweatpants. You moaned into his mouth, days of neglecting your growing lust finally getting an outlet. Hungry hands went to the hem of his shirt and you tried to pull it over his head.

"Eager, are we?" he murmured against your lips before pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it to the side.

"Don't tease me," you whined.

You finally got to feel his bare skin under your fingertips, electricity shooting through your hands to your core. His fingers did work on your bra, unclasping it and tossing it to the side. As soon as he got rid of the material, his lips were on your uncovered tits - sucking bruises on the sensitive skin.

"I need you," you muttered.

In a swift move, Jihoon laid you down on the bed under him. He leaned over you, arms on either side of your head. His hair fell over his face and you reached up to brush it back with your fingers.

"I have to cut my hair." He sighed.

"No, I love it," you said and pulled your fingers through his hair again, it was soft but unruly. "It's pretty."

"It keeps getting in the way..." he argued, deciding to ignore your compliment to save himself from becoming a flustered mess.

"Hair ties exist," you countered.

"I don't have one right now."

"You're going to make me walk around with hair ties on my wrist, aren't you?" You let go of his hair and, with your legs around his waist, managed to flip him over on his back. "No hair tie just means that I get to be on top."

His hair spread out around his head like a dark halo, contrasting well with the white pillow underneath him - his eyes were wide, his pupils were blown out, and his lips were parted slightly. You could study his face for hours. Deciding to put on a show for him, you started grinding over his clothed crotch; you were desperate to take off his pants already. Jihoon's hands found their place on your hips, trying to take control of your movements. You grabbed his hands, moving them to lie over his head.

"Let me do the work, baby," you murmured.

You moved down his body and, to your surprise, his hands stayed where you left them. Carefully, you removed his sweatpants - leaving kisses along his hipbone and right by his happy trail. Goosebumps trailed along his skin as Jihoon shivered. Now that only his underwear was between you and his cock, you could see how hard he had gotten. You pressed a kiss over the fabric before rubbing his clothed cock with your palm. Jihoon went to grab your hair, but you slapped his hands away.

"Keep them above your head," you demanded.

"Okay..." Jihoon's voice was barely above a whisper, weak and shaky.

Your ministrations had already taken a toll on him. You pulled down his underwear, letting his cock slap against his abdomen. Grabbing his shaft, you put the pink tip in your mouth - peering up at him through your lashes. His eyes were shut tight, his mouth in a tight line to hide any noises. One of your hands was still wrapped around his cock, but with the other, you grazed his lower stomach and side.

"I want to hear you, Jihoonie," you chirped. "Please?"

He opened his mouth with a soft gasp as you took him deeper into your mouth. You began bobbing your head up and down his shaft, stroking the part that you couldn't take with your hand. Jihoon squirmed under you, desperately wanting to touch you but not wanting to disappoint you.

"I've missed your mouth..." he soughed.

Your mouth came off his cock with a pop, and you spit on it to keep stroking with your hand. He opened his eyes and looked at you with furrowed brows.

"You should've thought about that before you decided to lock yourself in your office for days," you teased.

"I'm sorry-" He groaned. "I won't do it again..."

"You will," you hummed. "That's okay, though... you always get so sensitive when you've gone a few days without pussy. It's cute."

You let go of him, positioning yourself to straddle his lap again. You watched him, as he struggled to keep his hands above his head. To put him out of his misery, you grabbed his hands again and pushed them against your tits. While he was groping your breasts and pinching your nipples, you grabbed his dick and directed it to your cunt - letting it drag over your dripping slit before finally pushing him inside. It had been a few days since you last took him like this, and without prep, the stretch stung ever so slightly. You moaned as you inched down on his cock, looking on as Jihoon's face contorted in pleasure.

"See?" You let out a breathy laugh. "Already so fucked out."

"... so warm." Jihoon moaned and put his hands on your hips again. "Baby, please..."

"Please what?"

"Move."

You put your hands on his chest, slowly moving your hips up and down while you teased his nipples. His milky skin grew pink under your touch - and you adored the way he squirmed under you. Short gasps mixed with moans came bubbling out of his throat, and he only got louder the faster you moved. His hips started moving against yours, and soon enough he was holding up your hips and fucking up into you.

"Gonna cum..." he whined.

You weren't close, but an idea popped into your mind. You let him keep fucking you, not even trying to stop him as he came inside of you. But, as his movements died down, you didn't let him pull out. Once his limbs were slack, you grabbed his hands pinned them against the bed, and started moving your hips again.

"Too much-"

"You can take it, pretty boy," you hummed. "You want to make me cum, right?"

"Yes, yes..." He groaned.

"Then you'll let me use you... you're already getting hard again, I can feel it," you moaned. "Won't you help me, Jihoonie?"

He nodded furiously, and you let go of his hands. One of his, now free, hands went to rub your clit, while the other rested on your hip. A knot started building up in your stomach. Your breathing grew heavier as you desperately worked towards your high. Jihoon was already sensitive, and your contracting walls didn't help - he was getting close too.

"Cum inside me again, baby," you murmured. "I want you to cum with me."

Your movements grew sloppy, your hips stuttering over his crotch, but Jihoon never stopped rubbing circles on your clit. As the fire pooling in your lower stomach bloomed throughout the rest of your body, you dissolved into pleasure and slumped against your boyfriend's body. You could feel his second load leaking out of your spent hole. The two of you lay there, the only thing that could be heard in the room was your heavy breathing. However, soon enough Jihoon's hands made their way to your back. His palms rubbed slow circles over your skin, making you whine and bury your head deeper into the crook of his neck.

"We should go to the bathroom..." he muttered.

"Do your legs work?"

"... no."

"Neither do mine."

The two of you chuckled, and you managed to move around enough to lie down beside him. You felt so empty without his cock inside you, but you didn't have the energy to do anything about it.

"Thank you for taking me out of work," he hummed.

"Thank you for finally coming to bed."

Jihoon wrapped his strong arms around you, getting to feel his bare skin against yours. The two of you lay there, trying your best not to fall asleep - you'd only regret it when you woke up. However, for just a moment, you let yourself relax in his arms and savor every second of his embrace.

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babiesdreams · 10 months ago

Text

Advent Calendar

Day 21 : Kim Namjoon (RM) . +18

Content Warning: teasing, oral sex, unprotected, serious breeding kink, rough sex, creampie, sub! reader, possesive, degradation, body writing.

"You've asked for this a couple of times" You identify the sound of his voice coming from your right side, though you're not able to see anything with your eyes closed. It had become a habit, everytime you were about to start a heated session, you closed your eyes and breathe deeply. You've always liked to take in every little moment in life. A clicking sound startles you, it repeats when the handcuffs trap one of your wrists.

Though your mind had driven away for a second you convince yourself you need to focus on getting there. They call it the subspace. A place in your mind where you forget about pride and taboos. A place where you were only made for serving, obeying, pleasuring him. "So you can consider this a gift" His deep voice keeps talking. Another handcuff traps your other wrist.

You have no control over what happens next. That's what this is all about. When your eyes finally open, you realize he's already at your feet, looking at you, waiting for you to be ready. His fingers follow the lines of his lips, before getting licked by his tongue. "I'm gonna fuck life into you" He growls just before his fingertips travel through your, already wet, folds.

"Oh look. You're so wet and we haven't even done anything yet" Humilliation. It played an important role in your kinks. Pointing out how easy to turn on you were was just the beginning of it. In your mind, the images of your previous sessions play on repeat. Him writing all over your body degrading words, along with his name, marking you like a property. Or that one time you kissed his feet begging for permission to cum until he let you release yourself.

Shivers take over your body. His hand traps your face against the mattress. His face inches from yours. "What are you replaying in that mind of yours?" He could read your mind. He had to have some sort of power to do it. "I was just remembering times you humilliated me" He hums. "Which ones? It's happened more than a couple." You take a deep breath. His power made you feel weak to his every touch. "When you wrote on my body with a marker and when I kissed your feet asking for permission to cum"

He chuckles. "Do you know why I asked you?" His fingers had started to play with your hair. "No sir" You answer almost inmediately. "You got even more wet just thinking about it" You gulp, full of anticipation. "I'll have to do it to check just how wet you can get" He says while getting up. You follow his figure with your eyes. He searches everywhere, almost as if he was deliveretely trying to make you feel eager.

When he finds your lipstick inside your purse he shouts. "Voila!" His body climbs onto the bed with hunger. "What should I write?" He asks you, you simply look at him clueless. "How do you feel when I use you?" His question makes you twist your body a bit. "Like a slut" You whisper. His grin grows.

"I didn't hear you" Another deep breath. "Like a slut sir!" You shout this time. His fingers guide the lipstick against your skin, writing the word slut on your chest. "Give me more" This time you close your eyes, trying to reach out for your darkest thoughts. "Cunt. Cum dumpster. Toy. Whore. Needy. Bitch" You knew when to stop because he closed the lipstick. Your skin was almost fully covered in red words.

It was embarrassing to feel his fingers against your wetness, the threat linking the digits to your pussy. He spread it all over your folds, your thighs. If he wanted he could cover every inch of your body with it, and you'd still be so embarrassingly wet. His fingertips press against your clit. They make circles over it. Slowly. Peacefully. Every nerve of your body activates with his touch.

His tongue joins shortly after. You can already hear in your head all the times he's told you I wanna taste desperation. It truly was just that. He'd take a couple of seconds to taste you and then stop. "Fuck me" The words escape your mouth without permission, like a moan or a grunt does. "What?" He asks, stopping all his actions. Your eyes fix on his. He looks kind of pissed.

"I'm your cum dumpster tonight sir. I want you inside of me please" He seems to like that better. His fingers search on his pocket, coming out with a condom. You protest loudly. "Don't use it please" He chuckles. His mouth goes up to your ear. "You have to be more especific in your requests" Deep breath

"I want you to fuck me raw, and fill me up. Please" He sits over your waist, putting his weight on his legs to not smash you. His fingers wander down your body. Pinching your nipples when they get there. A groan is your reaction to the sudden stimulation. When his body moves you can clearly feel the bulge against your skin. His pants fly in the air. His tip touches your clit.

His first thrust feels like a rollercoaster filled with pleasure, anticipation, slight pain. You're full with him. In every sense possible. The second thrust though, feels like heaven. Your eyes roll all the way back. You've question to yourself before if it could be possible for you to cum just by listening to him. And with how fast you do now it becomes more and more real.

He ignores the fact that your body is spasming with release. He's only focused on using you. Filling you. There's hunger in every groan he lets out. His hand push against your mouth, keeping you quiet. You must've been really loud for him to do that. The moment you feel his hot cum painting your walls, your second orgasm brushes over your body, like a reharsed coreography.

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

Hii, I wanted to inform you all that I'll be testing a new format with the advent calendar fics, so if you leave a comment, I'll reply portraying the characters of the fic. If you want someone specific to answer you write his name, if you don't I'll choose for you. Have a nice day and comment if you want to test this. If you prefer to test it anonimously you can leave it on my inbox. <3

Advent calendar masterlist

Masterlist

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writeyouin · 11 months ago

Note

How would mtmte Miminus, Thunderclash and Swerve react to the liaison(who has a crush on the bots but the bots are oblivious but maybe like them back) dying their hair their color scheme?(kinda in the style of rainbow hair) Also, I adore you and sorry if I misread any of your rules! 💜 Stay safe!

MTMTE Bots X Reader Headcanons - Oblivious

A/N - I peeked at the vote results early by voting once myself. I have zero patience. So, since it's a mix of headcanons and fics, I'm gonna go through my inbox and do a few asks as headcanons and save the rest for fics. Oh, also I missed out Thunderclash, just 'cos I'm less familiar with him and I haven't read the comics in a while.

Warnings - None.

Rating - T

Minimus Ambus

You work with Minimus a lot, reporting to him on Megatron's behaviour.

He was used to your previous hair colour, red and blue with a few white streaks.

What a coincidence that you should dye it green, black, and blue just as he is becoming more comfortable going about his tasks without the Magnus armour.

"Do you like my new hairstyle?" You ask him, quietly hinting that it's him you really like.

"It's in line with regulation, so it's more than adequate."

Honestly, you didn't know there were hair regulations until Minimus said that. You should have guessed. He is meticulous after all.

You thought you were being direct, but you'll have to be more to the point if you want this boyyo to notice you.

"I thought it would be nice to match you."

You think you can hear Minimus' cooling fans click on.

"Yes, well," He clears his vocaliser. "I am proud to have been a positive influence on you."

He hastily finds an excuse to look away from you, staring pointedly at his beloved paperwork.

It's only when he sees you practising your handwriting to be more in line with his that he thinks he might be feeling something akin to love.

Nope, no, not love. Probably just a spark infection. He'll see Ratchet to make sure his systems are functioning optimally later.

Swerve

Swerve notices the change in your hair and clothes immediately. He always notices the things you do.

Oh wow... Do you even realise that you match his colour scheme now? Probably not. This was likely just a happy accident.

Oh, if Swerve could match you, he would.

He likes to imagine those happy couples on Earth with the same Christmas jumpers on, and you would send a card to everyone you knew. There would be a dog of course, and three children, all in the same outfits, and- did you say hi to him? Primus! He'd been so far off in his fantasy that he'd completely blanked you.

"Do you like dogs?" He asked point blank, forgetting himself momentarily. He's checking for accuracy. If not, he's going to change the fantasy pet to a cat.

"Sure," You grin. "Dogs are cute."

You've got up to the bar now.

"Your hair looks nice," He says after a minute, smiling softly. "I really love you- IT! THE HAIR! Not- Not you. I love your hair. It's nice that we match, 'cos like, orange is a good colour, which is why it's my paint job, so it's good to see you like it too, 'cos you match me- Wait, did that sound arrogant? It did, didn't it!"

Now he's spiralling. He's trying to wave off the embarrassment and he's knocked some energon on you.

"Shoot," You say, though you're not too upset, it's just a mild annoyance. "I don't have any other orange clothes. Guess we won't match any more."

You want to match him? Even when he was such a glitch. Swerve has hearts in his optics.

Okay, he's working up the nerve to ask you out. He's gonna do it. Just give him like a month to build up the courage.

#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #reader #transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #ll #lost light #the lost light #minimus ambus #minimus ambus x reader #ultra magnus #ultra magnus x reader #swerve #swerve x reader #idw transformers #oblivious

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sissylittlefeather · 6 months ago

Text

Suspicious Minds: Part 2

A/N: Here it is! The long-awaited part 2 of my Modern Spy!Elvis fic! Bad news, though. It's gonna need a part 3 😬. There's just so much story to tell!!! Anyway, hope you enjoy it! Let me know your thoughts in the comments. Y'all know I live for your comments.

Need to read part 1? Click here.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, gun violence, espionage, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), 69, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of scars and knife violence

Word count: ~5.4k

"Ah, Agent Presley. You're awake."

******

Elvis breathes a sigh of relief.

"Agent West, you scared the shit out of me." He turns and pushes the door open for you. "You can come out. It's one of the good guys."

You walk tentatively from the room. The agent that sits on the couch is young and chiseled and looks hard, just the opposite of Elvis. Elvis is strong and masculine, but there's a softness to him that makes you feel at home. This man seems dangerous, but Elvis trusts him, so you suppose you should too.

"I see you've acted on your reputation, Presley." He looks between you and Elvis with a sly expression. You blush and look at the floor. Reputation?

"No, this is... it doesn't matter. What do you want, West?"

"The boss sent me to bring you both in. Apparently, you have a new assignment."

"I do?"

"You both do. She's working for us now." He gestures to you offhandedly and you can't help but scoff.

"I am not a spy."

"No, but you're an asset. They'll explain it all back at Headquarters. We need to go." Elvis turns to you and looks at you sadly. You can tell he was looking forward to spending more time in the safe house with you, but it doesn't look like that'll be happening.

"Go pack your things. Don't forget the extra special item." You blush again thinking about the flash drive tucked away in your vibrator. Nodding, you walk back into the room to collect your things. Elvis turns to the other agent.

"I need a shower. Can you watch her? I'll be quick."

"I'll bet you do. Yeah, I'll keep an eye on her." You listen as Elvis walks to the bathroom and closes the door. Once you're packed, you carry your small bag back into the living room where Agent West is sitting in the middle of the couch. You'd have to practically sit on his lap to sit down, so you walk to one of the dining room chairs and sit there instead. He smiles at you, but it's not comforting at all.

"So you fell for his tricks?" You look up at him suddenly, not really interested in discussing what happened between you and Elvis with this man.

"I wouldn't say that he used any. I just like him."

"Mhmm. That's what they all say." He snickers coldly and you could swear he's jealous. Still, something about what he says digs at you. Is this just something Elvis does? Do you really mean nothing to him? It certainly didn't feel that way when he made love to you last night. If you didn't know any better you'd think he was about to tell you that he loved you, as ridiculous as that would be after knowing him for all of 72 hours. Still, it certainly didn't feel like he was just trying to hook up with you. You're about to ask Agent West about Elvis's reputation when he walks out of the bathroom with his hair wet and a towel around his waist.

"I left my clothes in my bag." He walks to a duffel bag that you didn't even know was there and fetches some clothing. You can't take your eyes off of him as he stands there, naked and wet. The other agent watches you and laughs.

"She's hoping you'll drop your towel." Elvis looks at you with hunger in his eyes and you can tell he wishes the other agent wasn't there. West sighs loudly. "Alright, lovebirds, we really need to get out of here."

Elvis finishes dressing and the three of you make your way to Agent West's car. At first, Elvis protests leaving his Stutz behind, but West is insistent that you both ride with him. You slide into the backseat of the SUV with Elvis, but West cuts in.

"Nope. No sex in my backseat. You sit up here with me, girl."

"She has a name."

"It's not important to me." You roll your eyes and move up to the front seat. West pats your knee. "There, isn't this cozy."

You can feel Elvis bristle in the backseat when he touches you. Your whole body shivers and not in a good way. West backs out of the driveway and the three of you make your way to the undisclosed location that is Headquarters.

You're shocked when it's an old antebellum-style plantation home in the country with a crooked sign on the gate that reads "Graceland". It looks old and broken down, but there's a retina scanner at the door that both West and Elvis use. The door pops open and you walk inside a lavishly decorated living room. The two men head for a closet and you look at them suspiciously before stepping in with them.

It's an elevator. And it goes down deep into the earth before the doors slide open to a bustling office that's all white and silver and fluorescent lights. Your mouth pops open but you follow Elvis and West when they get off the elevator and head for an office in the corner. Inside is a very tall woman with fiery red hair cropped close to her head. She has on thick-framed black glasses and a charcoal grey suit that's obviously been tailored to fit her perfectly. She smiles when she sees you behind the two men.

"Hello. I'm Nine. Have a seat." She gestures for you to sit in one of the chairs in front of her desk. Elvis sits in the other chair and she dismisses West, who grumbles and leaves the room. "That man needs to get laid."

Elvis smiles and you follow suit. You're not sure if she was joking, though.

"Can I get you a drink?" She asks, casually walking to a bar area on the side of her office.

"Oh, no, I'm fine."

"Presley?"

"You have my water?" She nods and picks up a green bottle, pouring some water into a glass and handing it to him. Then, she fixes herself some kind of brown liquor and sits behind her desk.

"I'm sure Agent West has informed you that you have a new assignment?" You both nod. "For an agent, he's shockingly bad at keeping his mouth shut."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. But I don't work for you. I'm confused about how I have an assignment?" Without thinking, Elvis reaches out and takes your hand. You can't tell if it's a chastisement or him offering you support.

"It's okay, Presley. It's a valid question. The second you downloaded that information, you joined this conflict. We're assuming you want to be on our side."

"Oh, well, yeah, I guess so. I think?"

"Decide now. We have a jail cell waiting for you if you choose to work against us." Elvis squeezes your hand.

"I mean, yeah. I'll work with you." You nod fervently, hoping they really are the good guys.

"I'm sorry to be harsh, but this is a matter of national security. The company who contracted you works for an enemy government. I'm assuming you'd like to keep America secure."

"Of course."

"Then you work for us. Welcome to Guardian."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Agent Presley, take her and get her properly outfitted. Her code name will be Angel. The Colonel will have your assignment." She gestures for you both to leave her office. Elvis finishes his water and then puts his hand on the small of your back to usher you out of the room. His touch is electric and you long to be back in the safe house with him. This all feels too overwhelming.

He escorts you down again in the elevator to what feels like an armory. A short, fat man in glasses sits at a computer in the middle of the room. Elvis calls to him, resisting the urge to wrap his arm around your waist as he talks.

"Colonel! This is Angel. You have an assignment for us?"

"I do indeed, my boy. Come." You and Elvis make your way over to him. "You are going to take down the company that hired you."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you already know their tech. And you're one of the foremost hackers on the planet. He will be your guard, an escort of sorts, but you will do the heavy lifting to get to the main computer that has access to their database and network. Once there, you will implement this." He holds up a small device. "This wireless transmitter will allow me to infect their system with a virus that will destroy it. Then, you'll come back here and be celebrated as heroes."

"That's it?" You whip your head around to Elvis.

"That's it?! Do you have any idea what it's going to take for us to get to that computer?"

"Honey, I've managed so much worse. This'll be nothing. I've got you." He's desperate to take you in his arms and really comfort you, but he knows he can't while he's in this building. He settles for a hand on your cheek. "I promise. I won't let anything happen to you."

You nod and try not to cry. You're dying to snuggle into Elvis's chest and let him hold you, but you get the feeling that you shouldn't while you're here.

"Ahhhh, my boy, do you have the flash drive?" The Colonel interrupts before you give in to your impulses.

"We do." He takes the bag off of your shoulder and digs in it to retrieve your vibrator. Twisting it open, he slides the flash drive out. The Colonel laughs.

"Thats certainly a creative hiding place. Give it to me. I'll put it in the appropriate place." For the slightest second, Elvis hesitates. He trusts the Colonel, but something about his eager expression is off-putting. Still, he drops the flash drive into his hand and puts the pink vibrator back in your bag. "Now, you said she needs outfitting?"

"Yes! She needs clothes and weapons."

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Honey, nothin', but where will you hide your gun?" You look down at your simple t-shirt and leggings. He's right. There's nowhere to tuck a firearm. Not that that's a thought you've ever had before.

"What am I going to do with a gun?! I don't even know how to shoot one."

"Well, I know where we're headed next. Colonel, can you help her out?"

"I'm on it, my boy." He disappears into the wall for a while and then returns with an outfit for you, complete with tall boots. He hands you the stack and sends you into the wall to change. When you come out, Elvis's mouth drops. Up until now, he's seen you in pajamas and your slummy jeans or leggings and baggy tee. Now, you have on tall black boots, tight black jeans, a low-cut black thermal that's basically painted on and a grey quilted vest. You've pulled your hair into a high ponytail to get it out of your face.

"I feel ridiculous."

"Why? You don't look ridiculous." You take your vest off to reveal a shoulder holster with two handguns and unzip your boot to show him the knife that's tucked there.

"What am I supposed to do with all this?" He walks over to you and tips your chin up to look into his face.

"You protect yourself, honey. On the off chance that I can't, you'll have to. You can do it. I'll show you." You nod and will him to kiss you. You can tell he wants to, but he doesn't.

The Colonel finishes outfitting you with tech and weaponry and you start to wonder if this is how you'll die. Either way, you have no choice, so you follow Elvis out of the dungeon-like room, armed to the teeth.

The next place he takes you is a firing range. There's space for a good number of people to practice at once, but for some reason, you're the only ones in there. He walks you to a booth in the center and then turns towards you. You think he's going to run his arms around your waist, but instead, he reaches into your vest and pulls out the two handguns nestled there on either side of your breasts. His thumbs graze your soft flesh and you both shiver. But, he's all business.

"Come here, baby." He puts one gun on the counter and holds the other one up to you. "Hold it like this. Three fingers down here and your trigger finger up on the side like this. This is the safety. It's on now, but before you shoot it you'll need to turn it off."

He puts the gun in your hand and moves your fingers into the right position. The feeling of his fingers on yours makes you tingle.

"It's already loaded, so you just need to cock it before you pull the trigger. Like this." He puts his hand around yours again and shows you how to use your non-dominant hand to pull the slide back. "Alright, now..."

He presses up behind you and runs his hands down your arms while you hold the gun. You gasp a little when you feel his rock hard erection pushing against your ass.

"Ignore that."

"Oh, okay." You moan softly and lean your head back against his chest. He kisses your cheek and whispers in your ear. "Honey, I'm tryin' to work here, but you're drivin' me crazy."

"I'm driving you crazy?! What's that in your pocket, Agent Presley?" He laughs softly and then kisses your cheek again.

"I'm sorry; we really need to focus, though. You need to know this." You sigh deeply and try to hone in on the gun in your hands.

"Okay."

"Keep both eyes open and look at your target. Pull the trigger." You do and are shocked by how much the gun kicks back and how loud it is.

"Holy fuck!"

"Good. Okay, let's try it again." You tremble a little when it hits you that at some point you might be expected to fire this gun at someone. He has his hands on your hips keeping you steady. When you hold the gun up again, your knuckles are white and your shoulders are up by your ears. "Baby, no, you're too tense. You gotta relax."

"I can't! What if I have to shoot someone? I can't do that. This was a bad idea. I can't-"

"Just breathe, baby."

"I literally cannot relax. I'm so scared, Elvis, I-"

"Shhhh..." He moves his right hand down to your core and starts to make slow circles on your clit over your pants.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm relaxing you."

"Mmmm..." You moan softly as he lifts your shirt and slides his hand under your pants and panties. As tight as they are, he manages to find your clit and drag his finger over and around it. He runs his left hand up under the front of your shirt and bra and squeezes your breast lightly.

"I thought you said we had to work." You whisper.

"I am working. Are you feeling more relaxed, baby?" You nod and whimper. He pushes his middle finger into you and pumps it in and out before he goes back to making circles on your clit. You set the gun down on the counter and brace yourself as he continues to flick over and around your sensitive button.

"Fuck." You moan through gritted teeth as you feel the coil of your orgasm tighten in your hips.

"Come on, baby. Let go. Cum for me." He whispers in your ear as he works you with his hand. He nibbles your earlobe and swirls his tongue on your neck just below your ear.

"Oh, god, Elvis." His name drips off of your tongue as your climax slams into you, washing over and through you with the strength of a rip current. You tremble and pulse as he massages you through your high.

"You feel better, baby?" He whispers in your ear. You turn to face him and pull him into a deep and passionate kiss, tongues moving wildly, as your hands go immediately to his zipper. You've almost got his throbbing cock out of his pants when you hear the door open. "FUCK."

He zips his pants frantically and jumps back away from you. To your dismay, Agent West walks towards you slowly, a cocky smirk on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt again. Nine wants the two of you to adjourn to sleeping quarters. You leave for the mission at 0400." He winks and it makes your skin crawl. "Separate sleeping quarters."

You roll your eyes and he turns to walk away. Elvis looks at you and you can tell he plans to pick up where you left off as soon as West is gone. But just before he gets to the door he turns back to you.

"She wants you to come now." Elvis grumbles and gathers your guns, making sure the safeties are on and sliding them back into your shoulder holster. You follow West out of the shooting range and back to the elevator.

******

Later that night, you find yourself tucked under a quilt in one of the bedrooms of the mansion that sits on top of Guardian Headquarters. You know Elvis is in a bedroom somewhere in the house too and the knowledge that he's so close by is killing you. Not only are you desperate to pick up where you left off in the shooting range, but you've gotten used to sleeping in a bed with Elvis. Lying in this big bed by yourself feels lonely.

What you don't know is that Elvis is sitting on the side of his bed missing you desperately too. He gets up and walks to the door, but stops with his hand on the knob. Giving in now would be a significant violation of his duty to the agency. It was one thing when you were locked together in the safe house with nothing else to do. Here, he has responsibilities to uphold and he needs to let you rest up for the mission. Still, he opens the door and walks into the hallway. It seems like he's not in control of his body as he walks to the door of the room he knows you're in.

He stands outside the door with his hand posed to knock for a minute. Then, he turns abruptly and heads back towards his room. He opens the door and then turns back to the hallway. Before he knows it, he's back at your door.

"No." He shakes his head and paces up and down the hallway a few more times.

Inside your room, you sit up on the edge of the bed and consider trying to find him. You stand up and walk to the door, but you don't open it. Instead, you stand there and think hard about what you're about to do. You know you shouldn't, you can't really, this isn't the time or the place. Still, everything inside you longs to feel him pressed against you.

He paces the hallway, back and forth in front of your door trying to decide what to do. Walking over to your door, he leans with a hand on each side of the frame, head down staring at the floor. You finally decide that you should find him. It's not like you're going to get any sleep without him anyway. So, you open the door slowly.

"Hey, baby." He smiles softly down at you from where he stands in the doorframe.

"I missed you-" You barely get the sentence out before he wraps himself around you, lifting your feet off of the ground and slamming the door shut behind him.

"God, honey, I missed you too." He presses his lips to yours and kisses you passionately. His arms hold you tightly to him. There's a level desperation in the way he kisses you that surprises you, but you love it. His hands roam over your body and he moans into your mouth when he realizes you aren't wearing a bra. He squeezes your breast gently and then slides his hand up under your sweatshirt, letting his thumb drag over your nipple. You walk backwards to the bed, pulling him with you, both of you shedding clothing as you walk. He slides your panties down just as you make it to the edge of the bed, already naked himself. You pump him with your hand and he whimpers softly. As you go to get on your knees, you bump into him trying to do the same thing. You both laugh a little.

"There's a way to do this at the same time. C'mere, baby." He sits on the floor and leans back against the low bed. "Put your legs on either side of my head and then lean forward."

You nod, visualizing what he's describing and climb onto his face. You lean forward with your hands on the floor and he hooks his arms around your thighs to hold you in place. He buries his face in your pussy and starts to move his tongue on your clit. You shudder a bit and then take his cock into your mouth, moving up and down slowly. Trembling with pleasure, you try to focus on licking up and down his shaft, pulling him into your throat deeply and then moving back and forth.

"Goddamn, baby, that's so good." He moans into your clit as he licks over and around it. You groan as you continue to slide his dick in and out of your mouth, your orgasm fast approaching. He whispers again. "Cum baby. Let go and cum."

He licks you furiously with his whole mouth, sucking lightly on your sensitive button and then tightening his tongue to lick over it, hard. You have to stop what you're doing as your climax hits you, rushing from your fingertips to the ends of your toes and back again like a lightning bolt. He continues to tongue you through your release until your legs shake and you fear you might fall over off of him. Instead, he guides you into his lap, facing away from him as you straddle his cock. You sink down onto him, letting him fill you inch by inch. He holds your hips and lets you bounce on him fervently.

"Honey, this view... don't stop." He watches your ass as you slide up and down on him.

"Do you like it, baby?" You coo from your position on his lap.

"Goddamn, yes I do. But I wanna kiss you." You back off of him and turn around to face him. He pulls you into a deep kiss, exploring your mouth with his tongue as he guides you back down onto his lap. You push his dick up into you and begin to grind on him, forcing him deeper and deeper. He groans loudly and leans his head back against the bed. You lean forward and kiss his neck and he grunts. "You sure know how to drive a man crazy, honey."

"Just you, baby." You mumble into his neck.

He wraps his arms around your waist as you move on him, leaning forward to pull your nipple into his mouth. He grunts again and you feel him tense underneath you.

"Come on, baby. Cum for me." You whisper in his ear and he groans as you nibble his earlobe.

"Fuck, I'm gonna-" His hips buck up into you as he explodes and you feel his warm release fill you up. He shudders and pumps into you weakly a couple more times, his head on your shoulder. Finally, he pulls back and cups your face in his hand. "You're incredible. Absolutely amazing. And I- well, I-I..."

You look up at him expectantly.

"You...?"

"Nothing. It's not important." You nod and lean your head on his shoulder.

"I'm so tired. It's been a wild few days."

"I'm sure it has. Come on." He moves from the floor to the center of the bed. "Lemme hold you? Please?"

You crawl into his arms and relax against him, your fingers playing in his chest hair.

"Will you stay here with me tonight?"

"I shouldn't." He looks away from you and loosens his arms around you. You start to pull away.

"I understand-"

"To hell with it." He cuddles closely against you again, letting your skin touch in a way that's both intimate and comforting. You drift off to sleep in this position, finally able to rest in his arms.

******

You've only been asleep for a few hours when the alarm on his watch goes off to tell you to get up and get ready. There's a bathroom in your room, so you make your way towards the shower. To your surprise, Elvis follows you.

"What are you doing?" You smile slyly up at him. You're both still naked from your late night activities.

"Figured we'd save some water and time and just shower together." He leans down and kisses your shoulder.

"It'll save water, but I'm not sure how much time." He laughs.

"Really, we don't have time for anything. I just want to stay with you as much as possible." He doesn't say it, but he knows the end of the mission will mean the end of his time with you and he's not ready for it. The way he feels about you is unlike anything he's ever felt for any woman he's ever encountered before. He's in love with you. There's no other way to describe it.

Your heart swells with his words and you turn and nuzzle into his neck, wrapping your arms around him as he starts the shower. You don't have sex, but pressing your bodies together as the warm water runs over you is as intimate as anything else you've done. And he kisses you all over: on your shoulders, your fingertips, your forehead, your lips, everywhere. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was trying to memorize you with his mouth. You run your hands up and down his body and feel the scars on his skin. Every time you reach a new one, he whispers the injury.

"Knife fight in Beirut. Knife fight in Ukraine. Gunshot in Afghanistan. Stabbing in Mali. Gunshot in Iraq."

"So much hurt." You whisper, kissing the last scar on his shoulder.

"It doesn't hurt anymore." He looks down into your eyes and his blue ones are soft and filled with something that makes your heart pound. It's only been a few days, yes, but you love him more than you've ever loved any man. Could it be that he loves you too?

He leans in and kisses you deeply and there's a pounding on your door.

"Ten minutes, you two." It's West again. You're getting very tired of hearing his voice. Elvis groans and turns the shower off. Once you're out, you get ready quickly, pulling on the outfit the Colonel gave you yesterday and braiding your hair tightly to keep it out of your face. Elvis has on a similar all-black outfit with weapons tucked in various places. The last thing he does is slide on some sunglasses and pull you into a kiss. He's never nervous before missions, but this time he is. He has too much to lose.

******

Before you know it, you have an earpiece with the Colonel's and Agent West's voices in it, telling how to execute the mission and you're being dropped on the roof of a building from a helicopter in the dark. Elvis skillfully guides you through the process and you find a hiding place to sit in while security comes to check out why there was a helicopter. As they file onto the roof, Elvis grabs the door and the two of you head into the building unseen.

"You need to go down two floors to the main computer." West is your navigator through the building and you are infinitely annoyed at his voice in your ear. Elvis nods to you. He has the same earpiece.

"Two floors, Angel, we can do this." You're not sure if he's using your code name or an endearment, but either way you follow him.

He gives you cover as you make your way through the building. Several times, you're stopped by security in the hallway, but Elvis puts them down with his hands or a single silenced gunshot. You hate to admit it, but you're getting used to watching people die.

Eventually, you find the room with the computer you've been looking for. There's not much to it and you're surprised that it just seems to be someone's office. Elvis stands at the door with his gun drawn.

"Do your thing, honey." You nod and walk to the computer. You begin the process of hacking into the system to access the mainframe and be able to plant the Colonel's virus. At one point you get stuck and ask the Colonel a question. He answers smoothly and something inside you sends up a red flag. How does he know the answer? It must be from research about their system. Still, it doesn't sit well with you. That should've confused him too. You look up at Elvis and he raises his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Nothing, I just... nothing." You go back to working on the computer. He hears West's voice in his ear.

"Agent Presley. We've cut off Angel's earpiece. New information has come to us about your partner. She's not working for us. She's a sleeper agent for the enemy. As soon as she gets to the mainframe, she will turn and kill you. You need to put her down first and then plant the virus." His heart stops and his blood runs cold. He turns to the door and whispers.

"What?! That doesn't make any sense! Why would she help us?"

"She's a spy, Elvis. Her mission was to infiltrate Guardian, which she has successfully done. She will pretend to plant the virus, turn and kill you, and then make up some excuse. She's probably already signaled security so that you'll be killed in a crossfire."

"She wouldn't. She's not... we..."

"You think any of that was real? She's been playing on your vulnerability since the beginning. Listen. Do you hear security coming?" He listens and hears boots outside the door. He looks up at you with a mixture of shock, betrayal, and pain. It can't be true. He thinks of that first night in your apartment, how you almost fainted at the sight of blood. But then you didn't. The crying at the safe house to get him to come to you. Was it a ploy to make yourself seem innocent? And in the shower when you touched yourself. That would be an effective seduction tactic. All of a sudden every moment you've had together is tinged with suspicion.

Has it all been part of your mission?

His hand shakes as he raises his gun to point at you. You're engrossed in what you're doing and don't even notice. He could kill you easily.

"Put her down, Agent Presley." He cocks the gun and the sound gets your attention.

"Elvis! What the fuck are you doing?" Your voice is frantic and you raise your hands. Has he been one of the bad guys all along? No, he's killed so many of them, there's no way. But maybe he's been trying to get you to this point the whole time: seducing you, making you trust him, making you love him, all for this moment. The tears slide down your face at the thought that it's all been a lie.

He sees you cry and his heart breaks. Surely, you can't be the enemy. But this could be a tactic too. He steadies his shaking hands and moves the gun to pointing at your forehead.

"Pull the trigger, Presley." It's West again.

"It's the only way, my boy. If you want to live." Now the Colonel is telling him to kill you and he trusts that man far more than Agent West.

"Elvis, please!" Your crying is becoming hysterical as you realize how cold he seems pointing the gun at your head.

"Do it. Now."

Elvis takes a deep breath and moves his finger to the trigger. He's never disobeyed an order before. You scream one last time as he takes a step towards you.

"Elvis!"

**bang**

******

Until Part 3!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb

#elvis presley #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley x y/n #elvis fic #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x you #suspicious minds

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highvern · 11 months ago

Text

Two to Tango

Pairing: Lee Jihoon x reader

Genre: fluff, suggestive

Warnings: n/a

Length: ~1k

Note: i've been getting into writing longer fics (ie. heart of the sea) but decided i needed something short and sweet

read more here

“Jesus Christ, what’s so hard about swaying side to side?”

“You stepping on my foot while I’m trying to do it!”

The argument occurring in apartment 8F could be heard from the elevator at the other end of the hall. Having your headphones in as you walk to the door, you fail to hear your roommate, her boyfriend, and his best friend screaming at one another. Instead, when you open the door and take a glance up, you witness the startling sight of Jihoon with one hand on Soonyoung’s waist, the other cupping Soonyoung’s at the side of their bodies. Soonyoung’s free hand was gingerly resting on Jihoon’s shoulder. They looked about as comfortable as two high schoolers slow dancing at prom in front of their mothers. Mina is circling around them like a lion stalking its prey.

“It’s not my fault you don’t know how to lead!” Soonyoung snaps.

Mina tries to play referee. “Be nice to him, Hosh! He’s learning.”

“Oh, cause you do?” Jihoon responds.

“You asked me for help!”

The slam of the door shutting behind you sends their heads whipping around. Two faces morph into horror, shocked in place unable to move away from one another fast enough. Sooyoung backs straight into the coffee table, cursing as a glass topples to the floor. Mina releases an exasperated puff of breath through her nose before sitting on the couch.

“Oh, please don’t stop on my account.” You smirk, coughing in an attempt to smother the laughter caught in your throat.

“It’s not what it looks li—” Jihoon starts.

“It’s okay, I always thought you two would be a cute couple.” You ponder, and then cock your head to the couch. “Didn’t think you’d want a third though.”

“I have enough on my plate as is.” Mina corrects, looking at her boyfriend with a shake of her own head.

“First, as if.” Soonyoung looks at you in disgust. “Second, he asked me to help him learn to dance.” He turns to Mina before proceeding. “Third, what's that supposed to mean?”

You pay no attention to the argument breaking out between them; instead, you shoot an inquisitive glance at Jihoon. The scarlet tips of his ears give away his embarrassment, along with the awkward shuffle of his feet and his sudden interest in the ceiling fan.

“Well, you all have fun.” You gush as you shuffle down the hallway.

The click of the door shutting has Mina turning on Jihoon in a second.

“You haven’t asked her yet?”

“I’ve been busy!” He defends, annoyance blooming on his tongue.

“How much time does it take to say ‘hey, wanna be my date to Seungcheol’s wedding’?” Soonyoung inquires.

“None, but if I ask like that she’ll definitely say no.”

“That’s how I asked Mina and she said yes.”

“Well she's dating you so we already knew she had low standards.”

“Hey!” The couple object simultaneously.

“I’ll get to it when I get to it.” Jihoon shrugs, a pained sigh leaving his nose.

“Or we can get to it right now! Hey, Y/N!” Soonyoung shouts, breaking towards your room.

“I’ll kill you.” Jihoon threatens in a harsh whisper.

You open the door before Jihoon can pull his friend away, trying to quell the murderous glare on his face.

“What do you want Hosh?”

“What are you doing November 16th?”

“Depends. Why?”

“Our friend is getting married and Jihoon wants to know if you’ll be his date.”

“Oh really? Hmmm,” you pretend to think. “then maybe he should have asked me himself.”

Jihoon can’t speak, pinned in place by your gaze. You’re casual friends, hanging out occasionally when Soonyoung drags him out of his room to socialize. In the past two years Mina and his roommate have been dating, Jihoon knows when you're pissed off but your tone and the heat of your glare tells him you're a little more than that right now.

“Oh come on! Where are you gonna find a better date? He’s handsome, and talented, and nice! Okay well maybe not that nice but—”

Soonyoung’s argument is cut off by Mina snatching his collar, pulling him down the hallway towards her own room with whispered threats as she pulls his hair.

Unfortunately, this leaves you and Jihoon alone at the threshold of your door.

“I–,” he swallows. “I did wanna ask you by the way. But that wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“You’ve been friends with him for how long and still haven’t realized he can’t keep his mouth shut?”

“He means well, he’s just…a lot.”

“So the wedding?”

“If you’re busy don’t worry about it!” Jihoon rushes, hands twisting to brush you off.

“Ask me.”

“What?”

“Ask me to be your date.”

Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, he does as you say.

“Will you be my date?”

“Could use more enthusiasm but yes.” You smile at him, face glowing. “I’ll be your date.”

The scene is cute, twin shy smiles on blushing faces. One of your hands picks at the collar of your shirt, twisting the thin material as you muster your courage to make your next move.

Taking a step backward before turning in the direction of your closet, you ask “Do you wanna help me pick out a dress?”

Watching him over your shoulder, you drum up as much faux nonchalance as possible. You’ve waited months for him to finally make a move. Maybe you’ll send a thank you card to Soonyoung.

“I’m not really a fashion expert, maybe Mina can come and–”

Jihoon trails off when he sees you grab for the bottom of your top, a strip of creamy skin visible above the waistband of your leggings. When he looks at your face in question, you arch an eyebrow.

“I think Mina’s busy.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jihoon nods, shutting the door behind him.

#svthub #seventeen fluff #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt fluff #lee jihoon #jihoon fluff #jihoon scenarios #woozi x reader #svt woozi #🫡 highvern

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darylsdelts · 7 months ago

Text

IT’S A LOT

This is an old Drabble I wrote on wattpad so I thought I’d post on here <3

Darylxfemale!reader

Warnings: anxiety/panic attacks (reader)

Kinda based off personal experience so it might not be relatable to everyone

Today was supposed to be your day off, the day you usually lay around in your home in Alexandria with your boyfriend, Daryl, although he never really lays around. He's one of those people who has to always be doing something or he'll get fidgety, not you though, you'll happily lie in and stay in your pyjamas all day.

That's what you were supposed to be doing today, but no. Rick had knocked on the front door of your and Daryl's shared house at 6am, he had wanted Daryl to go hunting since the group was running low on food.

You had wanted so badly to lay in bed with Daryl for at least two more hours but Daryl had obviously agreed... it was either that or starve so you guess it's fair enough.

However, you insist you go with him, you usually wouldn't since you're not much of a hunter but the night before was a tough one for Daryl, he was upset after opening up to you about something that is quite frankly nobody else's business but yours and his.

Anyway... now you're treading lightly behind Daryl whilst he leads the way through the forest. He's tired and you can tell by the way he's walking, the way he's talking, the way he's breathing, blinking, sighing, and the way he keeps checking you're right behind him. Nobody else would be able to notice though.

You start to think of all the things that nobody, except Daryl, would notice about you.

Back at the quarry, your anxiety was really hard to deal with but no one ever noticed, you never brought it up or hinted at anything. Daryl had clicked onto your habits from the get go though, things you didn't even notice yourself. For example, he said he could tell when you were thinking too much because you'd clench your jaw repeatedly.

Daryl wasn't really familiar with the term "anxiety" even though you reckon he suffers from it more than most people, he would never complain or say anything but you knew.

The last time you had a panic attack was after the prison, when you and Daryl had gotten away. Everything that happened was "a lot", that's the only way you've ever been able to describe the feeling of your anxiety. Daryl tried his best to help but he's never been around someone having a panic attack before and he didn't want to make it worse, he just gently rubbed your back whilst you had to breathe through it.

But that was a few years ago now and you've had a few since then which has allowed Daryl to understand you even better, and he's gotten to read your body language down to a T. There's no hiding anything from him.

As you walk carefully behind Daryl, you feel your body waver for a split second... you convince yourself it's nothing and keep walking.

After a few seconds, a wave of heat comes over you, starting from your head and travelling to your feet. You exhale sharply and rub your palms on your thighs, one of your habits that you didn't notice until Daryl said something.

A third wave comes over you and you start to feel nauseous and the ground feels like it's moving beneath your feet, your tread slows and Daryl notices immediately.

He turns to face you, he looks you up and down and then he slowly walks toward you.

"You good?" His voice is low and gentle, the voice he only uses for you.

"Yeah M'fine" you reply, there's been plenty of times you've managed to pull yourself together and carry on so that's what you're gonna do.

Daryl knows how you are and pushing you for the truth would only annoy you, so he nods and starts to walk more, straining his ears to listen to your breathing instead of animal movement.

You start to realise it's not going away, you get dizzy and faint, you should sit down.

You stop walking and Daryl turns around again, not wasting a second to get to your side, almost pulling you to sit on the ground, he already knows.

You're sat now, staring into space, blinking slow, trying to control your breathing but the nausea stays.

By now, Daryl knows you're fighting a panic attack, all the signs are there, he just doesn't know what triggered it but he also knows that sometimes it could be nothing for you.

From his experience of you, he also knows that it's a hit or miss whether or not physical touch will help or hinder, so he does the same thing he always does, just to check.

He presses the tip of his index finger to yours and when you don't pull away he holds his palm to your palm, you still don't pull away so he takes your wrist and presses your hand to his chest so you can feel his heart beat and his breathing rhythm.

"Breathe like me, sweetheart... you're okay" he keeps his gentle voice as he searches for eye contact which you won't grant him so he doesn't pry.

"Would pressure help you this time, darlin'?" He's assuming you'll say yes, if you're allowing physical affection then that usually means that the pressure will help. The pressure refers to Daryl applying a small amount of pressure to your chest to help ground you.

You don't make eye contact yet but you give a subtle nod, so he knows what to do. He lets go of your wrist so he can move behind you.

He sits so you're between his legs with your back against his chest, he wraps his arms around your chest and holds you to him, his hands putting a small amount of pressure on you.

He kisses the back of your head while whispering to you.

"Yer doin' so good baby, jus' keep on breath in' fer me... that's it, good girl"

His love for you is so evident and you feel it, it helps and your breathing becomes more regular. You whimper very quietly since now the initial panic is over, you feel exhausted. It may not look like much, to anyone else, you just look like you're sat, with your boyfriend hugging you from behind, but inside it feels like so much and Daryl knows that.

"Ya alrigh', sweet girl? Ya feeling a lil better now?"

"Mhm" you reply weakly and your exhaustion is clear.

"We'll stay here for a bit, Mkay?" He lets go from holding around your chest and strokes along your hair line as you start to shift your body so you're facing him.

"Hey beautiful..." he smiles at you and strokes his thumb over your cheek, your eyes are a lil misty and sleepy.

He places his big hand on the back of your head and pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on your head.

You feel so grateful for your gentle man and the fact he knows you so well, you didn't have to say a single thing.

"I love you..." you mumble into his chest.

"I love you more, sweetheart... rest for a bit, I'll protect you" he reassures.

"Can keep going, I'm okay..." you don't want to be the reason you return empty handed.

"Ya ain't swayin' me darlin'... close yer eyes fer me, yeah?"

You groan but do as your told, you know he means it.

"That's it baby, it's all alright"

You feel him gently stroke your hair as you drift into relaxation.

#daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #norman reedus

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mins-fins · 6 months ago

Text

bring it back

&&. you tell donghyuck all the time, but his fists are always so bruised he doesn't listen.

pairing: lee donghyuck x m!reader

genre: weird rejected hybrid thing

warnings: literally fighting, is this relationship safe? idk!!

word count: 1.3k

notes: this spawned while i was reading one of my old old things back from my wp era and i suddenly got inspired.. only reason i chose hyuck is bc hes the first member who came to mind when i thought about writing 😣 im also a little obsessed with him atm.. i sort of left you all with radio silence yesterday, was supposed to post a timestamp but didn't, my apologies isanator nation (like 2 ppl) anw! don't take this too seriously, i don't get into fights and don't know much about fighting, my google search history looks very concerning rn ☺️

"come on! is that really all you got? those hits were weak".

donghyuck sits up defeated, but he doesn't allow for such an expression to cross his face, the last thing he wants to do is look like a sore loser in front of you, though he clearly is with how he got knocked to the ground by a single punch.

he refuses to think about the fact.

you raise an eyebrow at the sight of him catching his breath on the floor, a taunting chuckle leaves your lips, a chuckle donghyuck narrows his eyes at. if you knew sparring meant you'd have to meet donghyuck's piercing glare more than once in the span of five minutes, you would've offered to be his sparring partner much earlier.

you think he looks adorable when he's mad.

"done verbally berating me now?"

"not sure i'll ever be done".

you extend your hand forward, and donghyuck takes it instantly. once you help him to his feet, he gives you a pout, one you press your finger to. "what the hell are you pouting about?" you inquire, and donghyuck's eyes roll.

"you beat me like— five times, y/n".

you scoff lightly, shoving your boyfriends shoulder. "and i'll continue beating you if you don't stop hesitating before every hit" you lean closer to press a kiss to his lips, trying to erase the pout with an act of affection, but he stays pouting.

you snicker as you pinch his cheek, turning on your heel and walking towards your duffel bag on the other side of the room. what can you say? throwing your boyfriend around the room makes a guy thirsty.

donghyuck stares at you for a moment, studying your figure, then groans. "y/n".

"hm?"

you turn back to look over at him, and donghyuck has to stifle his laugh. how is it that you look so harmless right now when you just spent up to almost an hour breaking every bone in his body? he finds it hilarious how quick you can switch tunes. "one more round".

shock gleams in your eyes. "you sure? i thought you were tired.."

donghyuck is quick to shake his head, suddenly filled with an abrupt surge of determination. "yeah, this'll be the last one".

you blink, but you don't seem to mind, because you shrug, dropping your bottle of water and beginning to stretch your arms. "i'm starting to think you like being thrown around, should i note this down as a kink of yours?"

your smile is tormenting,

the good kind though.

"do whatever you want y/n~" donghyuck muses, a sing songy tone of voice accompanying his words. you study his body language for a while, cracking your knuckles. "i'm not letting you win again".

"ah really? you think you're gonna beat me this time?"

"wanna bet?"

you seem to like the sound of that, if the way your eyes light up is any indication. donghyuck's got you, perfect. you scour your mind for ideas, tilting your head as you smile at your boyfriend. "fine then, if you manage to knock me to the ground i'm all yours next week".

donghyuck's eyes widen to a comically huge size. "you serious?"

"slow your roll, baby, i said if you manage to knock me to the ground".

donghyuck clicks his tongue, an acception of the bet you put down. "don't underestimate me so quickly".

"underestimating? i'm just saying what's true, how many times did the sim kid knock you out last week? ten? fifteen? if i didn't know any better, i would've assumed you were weak".

god you're so skilled at this, you know exactly how to hit donghyuck where it hurts, both literally and figuratively. you know exactly what to say, and know exactly how they'll affect him. trash talk is something your so good at, sometimes donghyuck forgets it's all an act.

you know donghyuck can fight better than he actually does, his attempts at punches right now are vastly different to the punches he throws during actual fights. you know he's much stronger than he thinks, but for some reason, he seems to.. soften around you.

it's cute in hindsight, but he's been slacking lately, and you have to get him back on track.

"weak huh?"

"yeah, you going easy on me?"

your posture is relaxed, you don't want to make the first move, your waiting for donghyuck to surge forward and try to hit you. he narrows his eyes, your feet tapping rhythmically onto the floor and your arms crossed. "not a chance".

you chuckle at donghyuck's statement, a chuckle that angers donghyuck. what the actual fuck are you being so cocky about? he wants to wipe that smirk off your face, no, scratch that, he wants to punch that smirk off your face, he's going to make you wish you never said anything.

without saying anything more, donghyuck surges forward, a move you weren't expecting, but one you knew how to deal with already. a right hook, simple, easy to dodge and easy to counteract.

"was that a punch? i bet renjun could throw a better one than that".

donghyuck grits his teeth.

"don't mention renjun".

"oh? am i striking a nerve?"

you are striking a nerve, and donghyuck is about to strike you in the face. he keeps throwing punches, a flurry of hooks left and right, he has to hit you, he will hit you.

you're completely unfazed, the hooks nothing you haven't seen before. you swing your right hand over to parry the hit donghyuck sends you, using your position to your advantage and delivering a punch to his side. it catches him off guard and he winces, reeling back in just the slightest.

you give him no time to adjust, taking his distraction into consideration and surging towards him, a left jab to the side of his stomach. he stumbles back, trying to gather himself as his head spins in dizziness from the hit you delivered.

you let out a small scoff. "come on, hyuck, you have to hit me".

donghyuck grunts, moving forward with a left hook this time. "i'm trying" he grits his teeth, an action that makes you smile. donghyuck gives a small tch at the sight of you smiling, he hates it (that's a lie, he loves it).

you don't even try to hit him back, just continue stepping backward as donghyuck sends hit after hit.

he narrows his eyes, but you just smile again, you're really starting to get annoying. it's then that donghyuck notices something, your legs, he can use that to an advantage of his.

so, without any prior warning, donghyuck punches your lower stomach, a punch you weren't expecting. when you reel back from the hit, he decides to take his chance. an uppercut, a right jab to your side, and a haymaker to the side of your face.

donghyuck doesn't know where all of that came from, but it seems to do the trick, because you have no more strength to continue fighting. you stumble for a moment before falling over, hitting the ground and rolling over as you clutch your stomach.

donghyuck immediately gasps as he sees your state. "holy shi— oh my god! are you okay!?"

you give a tired smile, sending a thumbs up to the air. "i'm alright, that was great, babe".

it's only then that it dawns on donghyuck. "i beat you".

you nod.

donghyuck breathes in and out, he truly can't believe this. "i beat you, holy shit i beat you!"

you chuckle at how excited he sounds, breathless from the blows he delivered to you. "yeah, you did, congrats champ".

donghyuck falls down beside you, flinging his arm over your stomach and moving closer to you. "i get to have you all to myself now".

you raise an eyebrow. "you've always had me all to yourself".

donghyuck giggles. "i know, but i knocked you to the ground this time".

"don't get used to it".

#lee donghyuck #haechan #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #haechan imagines #haechan drabbles #haechan scenarios #lee donghyuck x reader #lee donghyuck x male reader #haechan x reader #haechan x male reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

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marigoos · 9 months ago

Note

I’ve been so ill this past few weeks and been hospitalized because of medical concerns. Found out that I have a tumor and it was already malignant. I have a Stage 2A Cervical Cancer and needs help ASAP. 🥺

GOAL: $1800

Oh this is gonna be so fun. Buckle up, children, time for

✨SCAM EDUCATION✨

Someone you don't know sends you an ask and asks for money

This in itself is an alarm bell. Maybe you're used to it if you're a big account, but if you're a smaller one that alone should make you suspicious af. This user does not follow me nor do I follow them. The only case in which this is acceptable is if you're running a donations blog (you know, the ones who collect people in need and make periodic posts to boost them? Which are way more expert in checking for possible frauds, or so one hopes)

If you scroll down their blog, they're very recent

This is their first ever post, notice the time stamp. If it's still active when you're reading this, you can check yourself.

It's even worse because, while it makes sense for someone very desperate to open accounts on any social media that comes to mind and start begging, you scroll down their blog and their posts are mostly untagged gifs of popular shows and scantily clothed women. Which in itself is not a crime, I often do it too (though I don't go around asking money to strangers) but when you've known for weeks (see pinned post) that you were sick, and your blog is only 5 days old, I would expect at least one post about it other than the pinned one, no? Or even just one single original posts instead of only reblogs and one answered ask to another 6-days-old account

Also I'm not one to judge others' sexual preferences but if you're a mom I would expect at least one of the thirsty posts to be about a man, but oh well. Definitely not enough

Check for others' warnings

There's a whole blog dedicated to listing all the scammers here in Tumblr, but I can't fucking member I should follow them if and when I remember

The fastest way is to search for their PayPal account name. First, though, you have to be CAREFUL about clicking suspicious links - always copy the link and paste it in the url bar to quickly check where it redirects you. In this case I saw It did redirect me to PayPal, and I did load it only because I don't have any PayPal app or credentials saved on my phone, so I don't risk payments or credentials getting sent automatically.

Unfortunately this must be quite recent, because searching for Christine Owaga (this guy^'s PayPal) only got me some Facebook accounts, and I don't remember my password so I'm not gonna check those.

However, since this is an ask on Tumblr, I looked on Tumblr for terms like "scam alert", "scam warning", "donation scam" and so on, and I did find something interesting:

Same exact message several times, more than one account, only one of which is still active.

Then I scrolled a bit more and found this one with a sliiiightly modified text, gonna bet that it's because that was when the victim brought a link to someone with a much bigger collection of receipts lmao just gonna link it here

The PayPal account name is different tbh, which means this dude is at least a bit smarter than an actual bot and knows how to spam semi-efficiently. Kudos!

This is not how a legit ill person should behave. Not even trying to bring some evidence, just leaving a trail of deleted accounts.

Gonna tag everyone I saw reblogging the scammer's pinned post so that they can delete it and maybe warn their followers (assuming they're not bots themselves)

@thecherry95 @back-in-19something @underthewingsofthblackeagle @fantasticcollectorkitten @takineko @razzgamer5 @jacks-ace @windywillows-world @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @comradesmooches @loch-tess-monster @urazayt @boodubious07 @satinfables @rateater69 @irontyphoonobject @blackfairyemoji @dannyfoggings @helloparzival13 @rusalkascave

#scam #scam alert #scam warning #long post #donation scam #donation scams #christine owaga #(only tagging so that it's searchable)#I'm not tagging who reblogged to shame them. so if you're among them and want me to delete your name just tell me #I just wanna be sure you know

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gingerbreadmonsters · 9 months ago

Text

something strange

or: who you gonna call?

gn!reader, warnings for mild innuendo and discussion of death, halloween hijinks except it’s literally spring, oopsie. hello, operator? there’s something weird, and it - well, it’s not looking great… it’s time for yet another weirdo DAMN crew AU! cheers as always to agent of the google docs surveillance state @zozo-01 who keeps figuring out when i’m working on this at 4am, and to all the gang on discord who have tolerated the frankly disturbingly-morbid questions that it’s prompted. please keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle - don't worry, we'll reattach those for you at the end of the ride. dear having a dose of a freaky ghost (or five) in just over 13,600 words.

Every day's a school day, or so you're told.

For most people, that's more of a figurative thing. For you, you've been going to school basically non-stop since you were three years old or something, so it's pretty literal.

It's not necessarily a bad thing, you suppose. Teaching at DAMN is pretty good, the faculty and students are nice enough, and it pays… well, it pays. More than your last job, though that's not really saying much, and enough to afford the mortgage on this new house you've moved into.

It’s weird. You’d heard nothing but terrible things about the housing market in California lately, and Dahlia was no exception - it still isn’t, if you’re honest. Rent is extortionate, but even that barely matters when there’s hardly anything available in the first place.

You'd been so surprised when you'd seen it online. A proper, two-bedroom detached house, with a garden and a garage and everything, going for a lot less than the - admittedly-few - other houses nearby. How had nobody snapped it up already? Pleasantly surprised, you'd called the estate agent to see about putting in an offer, and you'd barely been able to get the words out before she'd set you up with an appointment the next day.

She'd been… cagey, is probably the best way to put it. Reluctant to tell you why it was so cheap. She couldn't stall forever, though - you remember the resigned, slightly apologetic look on her face as she took a deep breath, before plastering on a grin and telling you what was going on.

Now then, she'd said. I know it's unpleasant, but I'm required by law to disclose to you that, within the last three years, a number of previous tenants sadly passed away on the property.

You’d certainly been surprised, but she’d clearly just wanted to get this conversation over with, and just breezed on. As far as we understand, none of the tenants were affiliated with each other, and only two of the deaths were directly caused by an issue with the property - some minor faulty wiring, and one of the older sections of the roof was damaged during a storm and collapsed unexpectedly. It’s since been repaired, though, so no need to worry!

Somehow, the worst part about that sentence wasn’t the news that someone had been crushed to death in the house you were trying to buy, but was instead the cheery smile with which she delivered the news, like she thought you’d be delighted. Are all real estate agents in California like this?

How many, exactly? Were there any before that? you’d asked, and she hadn’t quite been able to hide her grimace. And how did they die? Should I be concerned about the local area?

Unfortunately for her, you’d been reading up on the sorts of laws that estate agents like her have to follow in California. No matter what, they have to tell you if anyone died in the house in the last three years - but if you ask for more information about it, or about any other deaths from before then, they’re legally required to tell you the truth about that as well.

Well, I don’t mean to alarm you… Nervously, she’d clicked away on her computer for a few minutes, before turning back to you. The four tenants before you all passed away on the property - not under suspicious circumstances, of course. Just… you know. These things happen.

Yes, you’d said flatly. Obviously.

Three out of the four were accidental - one was the result of a fall, one was the aforementioned issue with the roof, and I believe the other was due to an electrical fault. The fourth was the most recent - an altercation with an intruder during a break-in - but we’ve been assured by the local police department that this sort of thing is highly unusual for the area, and is very unlikely to happen again.

As she spoke, you’d felt a horrible feeling of resignation settle in your stomach. Of course the one place you can actually afford to buy is the one where tenants keep dying inexplicably.

How old were they, would you say?

Some more clicking, and if her expression had been anything to go by, a spreadsheet that was loading a lot slower than it should. It looks like… yeah, it looks like most were in their mid-twenties, or thereabouts.

Perfect. Of course they were. Were they living alone?

She’d clearly been dreading the question, gritted teeth forced into a smile. I believe so, yes. The implied like you will be hangs heavy in the air between you, and her eyes dart momentarily back to her screen before flicking back to yours.

Great. Everything about it had been great. A new city, a new job, living alone in a literal, actual death trap of a house. What could possibly go wrong?

Well then, you’d said, crossing your fingers behind your back. I have a good feeling about this.

For the first few weeks, things had been more or less normal - you’d been a little on edge, but nothing especially deadly had happened to you. No wardrobes falling on you, no rugs pulled out from underneath you, no invisible gas leaking into your lungs. In fact, it had been a perfectly ordinary house. If you were more suspicious, you might even say it was too ordinary. But that would be a silly thing to say, and you’re not, so you don’t.

Just a normal person, moving into a normal house. What could be simpler?

The start of term is a blur, and all too soon you’re so caught up in the semester that you barely have the energy to drag yourself upstairs to bed when you get home, let alone worry about anything else. Introducing yourself to your new coworkers, meeting your new classes, sorting through lesson plans and worksheets and your stupid fucking institutional login, being reset for the fifth time in as many days because apparently the IT department here is just as overworked and underpaid as anywhere else and if you have to go and beg them to reset your password again you’re going to-

Wait, it’s nearly the end of the semester already? What?

Finals season at DAMN is a particularly vicious mistress, it seems, and you've been going out of your mind trying to stay on top of all your work. One of the other Water Elemental professors went on maternity leave a month into the semester, so you've been forced to take over her class for the rest of the year - and you can safely say that you're never doing this again.

Twice as many lectures, twice as many emails, twice as much chasing students for late assignments. Right now, basically your whole day is taken up with running practicals, and your evenings are nothing but marking, marking, marking.

Yeah. That’s all that happens in the evenings. You don’t have time to think about anything else at all, nothing whatsoever, because there’s nothing else to think about.

You don’t think about the odd sounds from downstairs while you’re trying to sleep, muffled whispers of what could almost be conversation, echoing quietly in the hallway. You don’t think about the fact that you definitely turned the TV off before you left the house, and how it definitely wasn’t turned to the news when you did. You especially don’t think about how the plants in the garden never seem to need watering, or how the shelves never seem to get dusty, or how the curtains in the living room always seem to be open in the morning, even though you’re sure you closed them before you went to bed.

The doors that open and close on their own - well, it’s just a bit draughty, isn’t it? The strange chill in the air that seems to linger in certain places in the house, no matter how much you turn up the heating - well, all these old houses have their quirks, don’t they? That faint, blurry figure that you could have sworn you saw ducking past you in the mirror, disappearing so quickly that it can’t have really been there at all - and when you turn, there’s nothing behind you but air…

Condensation on the mirror before you’ve even had your shower, the sweet scent of a perfume you don’t wear. You’re going out of your mind.

You’ve started spending more time at work, waking up even earlier than before and going home even later. Organising lesson plans, sorting through papers, picking up extra invigilation, desperate to spend as long as you can at the university - anything, to get you out of that house. Practically the only thing you do at home now is sleep, and even that’s not for very long before you’re dashing out the door again in the morning. You’ll get breakfast on the way. Maybe if you’re not there as often, whatever it is will just… go away?

Only that doesn’t happen - if anything, it’s the complete opposite. The whole place feels strangely uneasy now, like the house itself is on edge, watching you. Something in the corner of your eye, the feeling of something breathing that surely shouldn’t be able to. Something tense and creeping in the air, stretching and stretching, ready to snap.

Fitful dreams, sleepless nights, keys jangling in your hand. Is it still paranoia if your house is really haunted?

It all comes to a head on - well, to be honest, you’re not so sure what day it is. Wednesday, maybe? Thursday? Whatever the case, you’ve been running on practically empty for longer than you should have been, and you’re really starting to feel it now.

Head pounding, you shut your eyes as you lean over the coffee maker. One for now, and one in your flask for later - oh, and you’ve run out of energy drinks in your office, so you’ll have to get a few out of the fridge to take with you.

Stressed at work, stressed at home, and barely sleeping in between. You’ve been forced to live on barely anything but coffee and energy drinks for almost a week now, just to keep yourself upright, and you think… um, you think it might be…

Fuck, your head is spinning. Just a minute, and you’ll be fine. It’s fine. Your laptop’s upstairs by your bed, so you’ve just got to grab that, and then you can be off to work. Just - just wait for the walls to stop moving, alright? You’ll only be a second…

The coffee’s slightly too hot as you gulp it down, and you hiss as it burns your tongue, scorching the inside of your mouth - something cold, you want something cold, make it stop it hurts it hurts - cracking, fizzing, oh, that’s nice, it’s cold, it’s cold - wait, what is it?

Oh, that’s bad. You look down at the half-empty can in your hand, lovely and cold from the fridge, condensation dripping slowly down the metal. Oops. That can’t be good for you.

Now that you’ve opened it, you might as well finish it. You won’t be able to carry an open can with you and it’ll go all weird if you just leave it out. What a waste!

Sip by sip, you gradually empty the can. Why does your stomach feel so weird? That’s not fun. Wasn’t there something you were supposed to remember…?

Laptop, you need to get your laptop. Upstairs. Right.

Well, if your heart explodes, your heart explodes. Giggling to yourself as you stumble past the front door and up the stairs, you imagine the look on that stupid estate agent’s face when she realises what’s happened - shit, they’ll have to put the price down even further, won’t they? That’ll be a hell of a hard sell. Yeah, they all died in mysterious accidents, all very strange and creepy, no idea how it happened - oh, except the last one. That one died of coffee disease when their blood turned into caffeine and their brain caught fire. Tragic.

It’s all fine. If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. Smiling, you grab your laptop case from the bedside table, ignoring the way your heart hammers against your ribs like it’s trying to fight its way out of you. Don't even think about it.

Don't think about the way you’re tripping over your own feet as you narrowly miss bumping into the bed, clinging to the doorframe to keep yourself upright. Don't think about the rushing, racing headache that's building in your skull as you drag yourself back down the corridor, that restless pressure in your chest that won't stop growing as you fumble for the bannister. Don't think about the dizzy, blurry world that shudders around you, the strange lightness in your mind as something gives way, the floor that suddenly isn't there beneath you-

STOP!

the horrible sound of your body as it falters and falls, the terrifying space under your feet where the stairs should be

I don't know, they just - I just - oh, God…

the aftertaste of adrenaline flooding through your blood, bitter and strange

Don't just fucking stand there!

as your heart chokes on its own frantic rhythm

Get out of - here, I can do it-

and there's somebody there

What are you even going to do?

and the world goes black

Don't ask.

and everything

disappears.

You don’t wake up for a while.

Shit, your head hurts.

Slowly, you start to feel something on your face, something cold and hard that’s pressing uncomfortably against your cheek. What is that?

You reach up, and - oh. It’s the floor.

Still too lightheaded to sit up, you gradually come back to consciousness in fits and starts, lazy thoughts swimming through your heavy head. You’re lying in the corridor on your side, staring at the skirting board - which is looking a bit grubby, now that you really look at it - and your laptop case is on the floor by the bedroom door a few feet away. The zip is open, and you can see about half of the actual laptop peeking out.

Thankfully, it looks okay. You’re not sure you could deal with having to buy a new one right now, especially with all the work you’ve got to-

Panicked, you jolt upright, one hand coming up to clutch at your skull as it feels like it’s on fire. You’ve got work!

Wait, what’s the time - how late are you? God, you really couldn’t have picked a worse time to fall down the fucking stairs, could you? You’ll have to call the office and tell them what’s happened, that you’re so, so, sorry, that if they can just get someone to cover your second period lecture you should be in by then…

Hold on.

Confused, you look down. Yeah, that’s what you thought - you’re sitting on the floor, sprawled out in the hallway and facing the wall. There’s nothing around you except your laptop case, and your bedroom door is open.

This isn’t right. How are you looking at your upstairs bedroom door, when you’re sure you fell down the stairs?

And that’s only the first thing - now that you really look, of course you’re not downstairs. The stairs go right down by the front door, but there are no shoes on the ground or coats hanging on the wall. Your laptop case must have been open when you dropped it, but the laptop itself is still inside - surely it would have fallen out when it slid down the stairs, or at least be in much worse shape than it is now?

You’re so confused by the whole thing that it doesn’t even occur to you that, besides the throbbing ache in your head, you’re not actually in any pain. Your heart has slowed back down to normal so you don’t feel quite so sick, and you can’t even feel any bruises or soreness from where you must have hit the ground. It’s as if you’d just… decided to lie down.

It doesn’t really matter, though, because you don’t notice it. You slowly pick yourself back up and stagger into your bedroom, reaching for the glass of water that sits on your bedside table, and the telltale fizzle of healing magic that was left on your tongue disappears without a trace.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. The ladies at the front office are very kind when you call to let them know you might be a bit late, but you hadn’t been unconscious for as long as you thought. You only end up missing half of the first period, after all, and even your headache gradually disappears over the course of the day.

The idea of going to the hospital does occur to you - you did lose consciousness, after all - but you decide against it. You feel fine, and it was probably just your body telling you to cut back on the caffeine for a little while. The winning combination of coffee and a can of whatever-it-was probably wasn’t the best idea on an empty stomach.

Ironically, if you had a student who this happened to, you’d probably have dragged them halfway to A&E yourself by now. Funny how that works, isn’t it?

Unfortunately, you can’t pretend that everything’s normal once you’ve finally arrived - your department head comes in at lunchtime to find you ankle deep in a pile of second-year practical write-ups, and all but kicks you out of your office so you can go home early and recover. For my sake, if anything, she says with a grin, although you know she’s only half-joking. Think of my reputation - I can’t let my newest lecturer spend more time here than I do, can I?

It’s certainly very kind of her, probably more so than you deserve, and before you know it you’ve been unceremoniously booted out of the building and onto the quad. Looks like it’s hometime, then.

The bus is warm, but not too crowded, so you’re lucky enough to get a seat by the window. There are worse things to do than watch the world go by on your way back home, and the nice view makes the trip go faster - in no time at all, you’re getting off again.

It’s so bizarre, going home in the middle of the day. Normally it’s long been dark by the time you get back, and everything looks so different in the light that you almost walk straight past your street entirely. Has the house on the opposite side of the road always had those flowers in the front garden? Or has it just always been too dark for you to notice them?

Fishing your keys out of your pocket, you have a horrible feeling that you don’t really know anything about this place. What really happens here in Dahlia? How much of it have you actually seen, that isn’t the inside of a university building?

Unsettled, you unlock the door and step inside, shutting the door behind you with a sigh. Home at last. You’ll have to-

I swear, if you-

Wait, was that the door?

Hold on. What was that sound…?

You listen for a second, but you can’t hear anything unusual. Huh. Must have been nothing.

In any case, now that you’re home, you’re really starting to feel that tiredness creeping in. With a sigh of relief, you toe your shoes off and leave them by the door, before sliding your bag off your shoulder and dropping your keys into th-

There’s no way. It’s, like, lunchtime or something, right?

Okay, this is really starting to get weird now. You could have sworn you heard someone, muffled and ever-so-quiet underneath the noise of your keys falling into the bowl that you normally keep them in.

Is there someone else here? There can’t be, surely. You peer around the hallway, looking for any sign that someone might have broken in, but you don’t see anything weird - although it’s not like you really know what you’d be looking for. The door was locked when you came in, and you know that when you left for work, all the windows were shut and the back door was locked too.

Besides, everyone said this part of the city was pretty safe, didn’t they?

(Okay, so the last tenant did die horribly when someone broke in a few months ago, but something, something, never strikes twice or whatever.)

Your aura flickers as you try to reach out and see if you can feel something there, but there’s nothing at all. No sign of anyone, empowered or otherwise, and nothing out of the ordinary happening with the ambient magic in the house.

To tell the truth, you’d been surprised at how strong it was when you moved in. At least one of the previous tenants must have been magical, and really powerful - this house is full of magic left behind, traces of a forgotten aura, echoing softly in the walls and floors. It happens to most places where empowered people live or work, so it’s not like you’re not used to it, but even so… wow. It’s very strong.

Gingerly, you creep across the hallway and nudge the door to the living room just slightly open, before holding your breath and peeking inside.

And… there’s nothing there.

Just your boring, ordinary living room.

You check all the other rooms just to make sure, but they’re exactly the same. Nothing out of place, everything just as you’d left it. Nothing missing, nothing moved, nothing weird at all. There’s no trace of an intruder, and you’re starting to feel a bit silly, really. Surely you’re just imagining things, right?

Well, that or you’re hearing voices. God, all that caffeine really has fucked you up.

Perhaps a nap might be in order, now that you think about it. Yeah, a nap would be good. You’re getting tired just thinking about it - falling asleep, not having to worry about anything, relaxing after all the bizarre things that have been happening to you today. It sounds wonderful.

Quickly, you change into your pyjamas and get into bed, getting a glass of water from the kitchen before you go upstairs - you briefly consider having a shower beforehand, but you’re too sleepy to bother. Your bed is warm and soft and quiet, and that’s what matters right now.

Oh, it’s so nice. No more headache, no more confusion. The duvet is thick and comfy as you pull it around you, and just like that, you’re asleep almost immediately.

While you’re sleeping, do you dream?

I don’t get it. Why come back so soon?

Maybe it’s a timetabling thing? For finals? Like, an exam got cancelled so they didn’t have to stay? But it really could be anything - it’s always a miserable time for everyone, even the staff, so who even knows what it was…

Yeah, that’s true.

Do you think it’ll be back to normal tomorrow?

We’ll just have to wait and see. Hopefully we don’t get another scare like earlier.

Oh my God, that was fucking terrifying… I thought I was going to have a heart attack! Again!

Is that what happened? I thought it - oh, yeah, I guess it sort of counts. But it’s not like anyone can see us, anyway, so it shouldn’t really matter.

Well… But, like, it’s still kind of stressful though, don’t you think?

A bit, I guess. But you could probably say we’ve had worse.

Yeah. Yeah, that’s fair enough.

…No, you probably don’t.

When you wake up, it’s nighttime, weak moonlight sneaking through the gap in the curtains and falling across the floor. Mm, it’s so nice and warm under the covers. What’s the time? Everything feels weird.

Blearily, you reach for your phone - it’s about eight o’clock. Shit. Has it really been that long? You’d only meant to be asleep for a few hours, not the whole rest of the day…

Ah, whatever. You must have needed it. And anyway, you can’t really be bothered to try and think about work now - whatever you were going to do, you’ll just deal with it tomorrow. Maybe you’ll go downstairs and have a little something for dinner, and then relax a bit more before going to bed properly.

You rub your eyes with one hand as you push yourself up to sitting, swinging your legs over the side of the bed with a groan. Getting up is the worst. The glass of water on your bedside table is nice, though, and you gulp down about half of it while you get used to being upright again.

…Is it just you, or can you hear something coming from the next room?

Nope, nope, you’re not doing this again - it was nothing last time, and it’s probably nothing again. You’re just a little bit on edge. Perfectly understandable. You’re going to get up and go out of your room, and walk over to the stairs. Then you’re going to go down the stairs, and go to the kitchen to make some dinner, and absolutely nothing strange is going to happen while you do it.

With that in mind, you stand up and walk towards the door with a lot more confidence than you feel, although it’s slightly undermined when you have to backtrack a few steps in because you forgot to pick up your phone. But with that in hand, you pull the bedroom door open and step out into the corridor, safe in the knowledge that everything is exactly as it should be-

“Ah!”

It’s not. Oh, fuck, it’s really, really not.

There’s a shadow in the corridor - your breath freezes as you see it, a paralysing chill slicing down your spine. Floorboards creaking quietly, the faintest sound of breathing. Something moving, just inside the doorway to the guest bedroom down the hall.

There’s someone else in the house.

The door is slightly open, letting you see just a tiny bit inside the room, and you stare in shock as you catch a glimpse of a definitely-there, definitely-real hand suddenly reaching out to grasp at the doorframe. Whoever it belongs to, the angle makes it look like they’re leaning against the wall - the hand trembles slightly as it clutches at the wood, clumsy and frantic, nails scratching at the paint.

Terrified, you’re frozen to the floor as the hand slips down a fraction, and the arm it’s attached to knocks the side of the door. The hinges creak faintly as the door slowly swings open, only to reveal-

“Mmm…”

Wait, what?

Okay, you realise that you screwed up with the whole caffeine thing earlier. And you’ve been running yourself ragged for weeks. And you just woke up from a nap. So all in all, you’re probably not operating at full capacity right now. But even so, even with all that going on, you have to admit that you really weren’t expecting to see a couple very enthusiastically making out against the wall of your guest bedroom.

The two of them are utterly lost in each other and totally ignoring you - in fact, it doesn’t even look like they’ve noticed you standing here at all. If your brain could stop bluescreening, you’d almost be offended.

The - um, demon? Is that really a demon? You’ve only ever seen a few from afar, mostly on campus, but the distinctive flavour of magic that soaks into your aura even from here is a dead giveaway - the demon presses himself against the human-looking one as he kisses them, horns knocking softly against the wall above their head as he leans over them. The human clings to his shoulders in return, and you watch as a hand that you now recognise slides down the demon’s chest to tug impatiently at the hem of his shirt.

They’re also both very, very hot. Woah.

(Look, it’s been a while, okay? And anyway, it’s just an observation. An idle, ordinary observation. It’s not your fault that they look… fuck, they look really good. Like, really good.)

The human sighs softly as the demon nudges their head to the side with the tip of his tail, kissing avidly across their jaw and down their throat. Are those fangs? Does he have fangs? Because it certainly looks like it from here - the human’s eyelids flutter as he nips sweetly at their skin, only for their gaze to fall on-

“Mm - mmm!” The human splutters as they finally notice you, eyes going wide and hands clutching frantically at the demon’s back as they try to nudge him away. Is it fear or surprise? “It - baby, baby, there - there’s s-”

“Yeah - mhm, I-”

The demon shushes them breathlessly, chasing their lips with a quiet whine, one arm locking tight around their middle to keep them close as his other hand cups the back of their head, presumably to protect them from hitting their head against the wall. “They can’t see, deviant, ‘s okay-”

“You - mm, fuck! - Gav, they’re right - they’re right there!”

Somewhat belatedly, you realise that you’ve just been kind of standing there and staring at these two - with a start, you stumble backwards a step and drop your gaze to the floorboards in embarrassment. Should you be embarrassed? You’re a little bit embarrassed.

(It’s kind of rude to stare at people who are making out. Although, it’s also kind of rude to break into someone else’s house and start making out against the wall while the owner of the house is trying to sleep in the next room, so maybe you’re even.)

You scramble hastily for words, half-formed syllables spilling out of your mouth, but you have no idea what to say - what can you say in a situation like this? How do you - what do you - where do you even begin?

Luckily, the demon speaks up before you can make too much of a fool of yourself - you notice that he’s stepped slightly in front of the human, tail coiling around their calf in a way that you can only describe as deeply, deliberately possessive. Does he think you’re going to… to do what? Hurt them?

“I suppose we ought to explain…?”

He sounds a bit surprised, which is unexpected, considering that this is the weirdest break-in on Earth, and also that this isn’t his house. Aren’t you the one who should be surprised?

“I think they’re in the living room,” says the human in a total non-sequitur, gently extricating themselves from the demon’s tail and backing away towards the end of the corridor. “I’ll go and get them.”

“No - no, we’ll come down,” the demon calls back to them as they disappear downstairs. “I think our new friend might want to sit down for this.”

You don’t really have a chance to protest, utterly lost in shock - numbly, you follow the demon as he beckons you over, with a smile that looks easy, but you’re sure it’s taking a lot more effort than he’d like.

“My name’s Gavin,” he says conversationally, gesturing towards the stairs. “Nice to meet you.”

He motions again towards the stairs, but you’re too dazed to really get what he means - with a good-natured sigh, he takes a step in front of you and starts walking backwards down the stairs, one hand drifting just slightly above the bannister as the other keeps urging you forwards. “And you might be…?”

Oh - oh, that’s what he wants! You wouldn’t say that the jumble of syllables that falls out of your mouth is exactly your name, but it’s close enough, and he nods in acquiescence.

“Well, then. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

There’s a funny sort of smile in his voice when he says that, but you can’t quite put your finger on what it might be. And anyway, what does he mean by finally?

The demon - Gavin, what a strange name for a demon, you’ll have to remember that - he turns when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, and you see that the door to the living room is open now. You can hear a sort of whispered argument going on in there, between what sounds like two or three people, but you can’t see wh-

“Um, yeah - yeah, I’ll just go and get something from the - fuck! - sorry, sorry, I’m just - oh my God!”

Totally stunned, all you can do is watch as a man comes hurrying out of the living room towards you, talking at lightning speed over his shoulder and almost tripping over Gavin’s tail before the demon whips it out of the way just in time. He stumbles forwards as he tries to get his balance back, grabbing the end of the bannister to keep himself upright - you catch a glimpse of something silver around his neck, tucked into his shirt, before you’re suddenly face-to-face with a very large pair of glasses, and the very flustered-looking man who’s right behind them.

(Oh, for the love of - did anyone break into your house who isn’t ridiculously pretty? What sort of home invader beauty pageant did these people all come from?)

“Shit.”

Both of you stare at each other for a confused second, unblinking, before the strange man jerks backwards away from you, hands fluttering awkwardly in the air as he starts to ramble.

“I mean, um, sorry! Not to, like, call you - not you, obviously - that would be rude, and - and I’m not trying to be rude, it’s just, you know…”

“Smooth,” murmurs Gavin behind him, leaning against the wall and not even trying to hide his grin. “Now do one of those pick-up lines we practised.”

The man shuts his eyes like he’s trying to stave off a headache, taking what’s clearly a blood-pressure-lowering deep breath. “Please, please fuck off.”

Gavin shrugs, blowing him an unapologetic kiss and waving at you with the tip of his tail, before disappearing through the door to the living room with a cackle.

“Whatever you say, Lasky!”

“Oh, not again-!”

He turns to you, almost pleadingly, and he looks so comically weary that you’re not sure whether to laugh or cry. “It’s Lasko, not Lasky, he does this every time and I…”

“It’s - um, it’s alright,” you reply, and give him your nicest smile. “Nice to meet you, Lasko.”

He blinks owlishly at you for a second, like he’s not sure what to say, before smiling back at you. “Nice to… uh, nice to meet you too!”

Idly, you notice that his hand has come up to fiddle with the chain of his necklace, although the actual pendant is hidden under his shirt. It must be pretty sizeable, though, because you can just about see the shape of it through the material - a kind of sphere, or a round-ish chunk of some gemstone, maybe?

“I was just going to get some water for - well, for you, actually, just ‘cause Hux said he thought it might be nice? Like, obviously it’s a lot to get used to, and if you’re holding a drink then you don’t have to, um - you know, when you don’t know what to do with your hands? Or if you don’t know what to say, then you’ve got something to do, and anyway, it’s just kind of nice to… to, uh…”

Lasky - nope, Lasko, it’s Lasko - trails off, apparently only just noticing that he’s blocking the bottom of the stairs, and hurriedly sidesteps out of the way to let you past. “You can go in, by the way! I’ll just be a minute.”

Before you have a chance to say anything, he disappears off towards the kitchen, white ankle socks sliding slightly on the wooden floor, and all you can think is that you’ve never heard of a burglar who took off his shoes when he broke into the house.

Well, you might as well do what he says…?

Timidly, you creep up to the living room door and peer around the doorframe, dreading what you’ll find. These people all seem very nice, but what the hell are they doing here, anyway? Are they going to do something to you? How long have they been planning this? You couldn’t run, even if you tried - if they’ve got a demon on their side, you’d barely be able to get out the front door before they’d catch you again.

Being brave, you’ve got to be brave. Whatever they want, just give it to them, and maybe they’ll go away.

“Hey, uh… you okay?”

You jolt as another man pops into view, leaning into your field of vision from where he’s sitting on the sofa. He waves, and his smile is awfully sweet as he motions for you to come into the room.

“You can stay there if you want, but, like… it’s your house, right?” he laughs, not unkindly. “You can go wherever you like, dude, we won’t stop you.”

He sits back upright from where he was leaning over as you walk nervously into the room, and you notice that there’s another man sitting next to him on the sofa. It’s hard to tell, seeing as they’re sitting down, but this one looks slightly shorter than the first, flicking his dark hair out of his face and fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.

(Fucking hell, they’re literally all so beautiful. Do the cast of Vogue normally spend their free time breaking and entering, or are you just really lucky?)

“Damien,” the shorter man says, standing up and walking around the coffee table with one hand outstretched. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Well, he’s certainly cutting to the chase, isn’t he? Fair enough. You introduce yourself in turn as you shake his hand, but you can’t help but think there’s something… something odd about the feeling of his skin. He’s not cold, per se, but it’s something like that - a strange feeling that runs down your spine like ice water, like your mind can’t place it but your body instinctively knows that something isn’t quite right.

In any case, he sits back down and the man next to him lifts a hand in greeting, looking slightly embarrassed that Damien beat him to the punch.

“Ah, I’m Huxley,” he says, “but Hux is fine, if that’s better for you.”

Damien rolls his eyes with unmistakable fondness, which is a bizarre choice for a home invader. “You can just say which one you prefer, you know. It’s your name.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

Huxley shrugs, and you can tell they’ve had this conversation a thousand times. “I don’t really mind, you know? Like, whichever one you say, I still know what you mean, ‘cause it’s all still me. And anyway, if I changed my mind, I’d just say later.”

He grins, sharp and painfully handsome, and turns his head to look past Damien over to the loveseat, where you belatedly realise Gavin and his human, um, friend from before are sprawled out across the cushions.

“Besides, I feel like there’s worse culprits, y’know?”

Damien drops his head in his hands. “Don’t even get me started on Freelancer.”

Apparently-Freelancer lifts a lazy middle finger in his direction. “It gets the point across, doesn’t it?”

“There’s got to be more to a name than just gets the point across,” he moans. “Just because you happen to be a Freelancer doesn't mean that's all you are.”

They huff, turning their face away haughtily. “It’s a name if I say it's a name.”

“It's literally a nickname! You have a different name! That we know and also call you!”

Freelancer’s eyes narrow wickedly. “Want me to choose a different nickname?”

Gavin lifts his head interestedly from where he’s draped across their lap. “I might have some suggestions-”

“No!” shrieks Damien, and the temperature in the room unexpectedly spikes as he flops backwards against the sofa cushions, decidedly not looking over at the loveseat. “God, no, we already hear enough of those when you’re-”

“Jesus,” Lasko mutters as he comes in through the door behind you, silently passing you a glass of water and motioning for you to sit down in the one empty armchair that's opposite the sofa. “Sorry about them. It happens a lot.”

You nod noncommittally as you sit down, watching it all with a sort of vague detachment as he goes to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Huxley. The three of them are facing you across the coffee table, with Gavin and Freelancer occupying the loveseat on the right, and something about the way they’re all looking at you is strangely… interrogative? Like you’re here for the world’s weirdest job interview or something - like they’re trying to get the measure of you.

It’s quite awkward, to be honest. You take a sip of your water, feeling oddly grateful for Lasko’s foresight about not having to wonder what to do with your hands.

“Okay, look.”

Damien breaks the ice, leaning forward slightly as he looks seriously at you. “This is going to sound kind of - kind of unusual. And we get that. But it’s true, and you deserve to know, so we’ll just… we’ll just say it, I guess.”

He takes a deep breath. Huxley quietly holds out his hand, palm up, and Damien takes it.

“When you bought this place, they told you about the previous owners, right?”

You nod, remembering that uncomfortable meeting with the estate agent. “Yeah.”

“Well, you’re, um…” Damien’s gaze slides to the side, uncomfortable, before returning to you. “You’re looking at them, I’m afraid.”

Sorry, you’re what?

He gives you a second to process that, not that a second is nearly enough, and carries on. “All of us owned this house before you. Whenever they said anything about previous occupants, or ex-tenants, or whatever bullshit word they used - they were talking about us.”

“You’re joking,” you manage to force out, incredulous. “But you - she said you - she said-”

“That we died?” says Gavin, with a grim smile. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“No. No, no - that’s impossible!”

Your mind reels in confusion at this utterly bizarre story, trying to make sense of it all. So what - so they’re all dead, then? Like, ghosts or something? That can’t be right - the closest thing you’ve ever heard of to that were Shades, and they definitely aren’t Shades.

There’s no magic in the world that can reanimate the dead. For as long as humans have had magic, they’ve tried and tried, but it just doesn’t work. So what the hell are these people playing at?

(And anyway, didn’t the woman at the estate agency say there were four ex-tenants? How can there suddenly be five of them?)

You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re joking. This has to be a joke.”

“I said the same thing,” Lasko says mournfully, looking down at the floor. “If it is a joke, it looks like it’s on us.”

“You’re magical, right?”

Freelancer’s voice is quiet, but something about it is strangely urgent. “You can feel other people’s auras, can’t you?”

“Yes…?” you reply, unsure of what they’re getting at. “What about it?”

“We are, too,” they say, and a flame dances to life in their palm. “So shouldn’t you be able to feel us?”

Reflexively, your aura ripples around you as you search for what you know must be right in front of you - they’re doing magic right now, so surely you’ll be able to feel something…?

Nothing. Not them, not anyone else. It’s as if nobody’s there at all - only that insistent thrum of magic that flows through the bones of this house, that you remember thinking was unusually strong. Those noises you couldn’t explain, things in strange places that shouldn’t have been able to move. You’ve never had to water the plants once.

Was this what that feeling was all along? Were they what you were feeling?

You don’t know what to say. This shouldn’t be possible.

“I don’t get it,” you mumble, feeling awfully small and scared. “I don’t - I don’t understand.”

“Then we’ll explain it a different way,” says Huxley, with so much patience that you could almost cry. “Is that cool with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He starts to stand up like he’s going to come over to you, but there’s not really any room on the chair next to you, so he just sort of awkwardly sits back down again. “Okay, we’ll start from the beginning. Lasko?”

Lasko waves, an awkward little half-gesture. “Hi.”

You take another sip of your water - it’s slightly lukewarm now, but it’s still comforting.

“I was - well, I was first,” he says, trembling fingers tugging at his necklace chain again. “I used to work at DAMN, like you, and I ended up renting this place - I remember thinking it was unusually cheap, but I needed somewhere to live, right?”

He laughs, slightly shakily. “I guess it must have been a problem with the electrics, or something, ‘cause I’m sure it wasn’t me. But I was in the, um - I was in the bath, and I remember the lights flickering like there was a storm, or something? It felt odd, like something in the air, and there must have been a power surge…”

A horrible feeling blossoms in the pit of your stomach when you realise what he’s saying - he must see it on your face, shrugging sheepishly. “I don’t really know how it actually happened…? I mean, I think it was a heart attack, or it stopped my heart or something like that, but I - I guess I normally just say I got electrocuted. It’s - uh, I mean, I don’t have to explain it a lot, but it’s easier than saying the whole thing, I think.”

Dimly, you recall the estate agent’s voice in your head. An electrical fault.

“Afterwards, the rental company didn’t want the place anymore,” Lasko says, surprisingly cheerily. “You can’t really blame them, though.”

“I think you can,” grumbles Freelancer. “They did kill you.”

Lasko shrugs. “How were they supposed to know?”

“They sold you a house that zapped you to death!”

“They rented me a house that zapped me to death,” Lasko fires back, waving a hand in Freelancer’s direction as they stick their tongue out at him. “It’s probably different.”

Damien rolls his eyes - you’re getting the distinct impression he does that a lot - and elbows Huxley lightly in the side. “For the love of God, please distract them.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, and turns to you. “I used to be a student at DAMN, and I needed somewhere to live after the semester ended, right? Like, my lease was up, and I didn't really know what I was gonna do - you know what it's like.”

“You were at DAMN?” you ask, surprised. “What were you studying?”

“Oh, uh, Earth Elemental Studies,” Huxley replies, with a melancholy smile. “I had a teaching gig lined up for after graduation, but… you know.”

He gestures down at himself and shrugs. Lasko looks away.

“I ended up renting this place after Lasko had his, uh, accident - they said everything had been fixed, but I guess they didn't get it all…? The weather in Dahlia isn't normally so bad, so I must've just been unlucky with the storm. You know how the ceiling in the kitchen is a different colour to the walls? Like it's been repaired recently?”

Oh, you have a bad feeling about this. “Yeah.”

He grimaces. “It, uh… well, it wasn't like that before I moved in.”

Fucking hell. When she said there has been an issue with the roof she’d been putting it mildly.

Huxley must see your horrified expression, quickly cutting back in. “Don’t worry about it, dude - it didn't hurt that bad, not for long. It was pretty quick, when you think about it.”

“I mean, most people don't like thinking about it at all,” Damien murmurs under his breath. “We’re not exactly in the majority here.”

Huxley tips his head to the side in acquiescence. “It was a while ago. Gotta get over this kind of shit eventually.”

Gavin’s jaw drops. “You're over it?”

“Well, no…” he replies. “But it'll probably happen at some point, yeah?”

Freelancer, half-buried underneath their human-blanket (demon-blanket?) over on the loveseat, blinks in apparent wonder. “Hux, you're my hero.”

Huxley grins. “Don't let Gav hear you saying that.”

“Oh, he's not listening,” they scoff, tipping Gavin’s face up to kiss the tip of his nose. “Are you, darling?”

Gavin shakes his head, eyes closed and wearing a wide, lazy smile. “Didn't hear a thing.”

Damien sighs fondly at their antics, gaze all soft and sticky, before turning back to you. “In any case, I was the next one. Moved in a few weeks after the storm, when they said everything was fixed. When they were telling you about us, did anyone mention a fall?”

You’d been kind of preoccupied by the more unusual deaths, so you don't really remember if the lady did or not, but it sounds about right. “I think so…?”

“Then there's not much more to say.”

He shifts slightly in his seat. “I was rushing, and I slipped - it's my own fault, really. I’d overslept and I thought I was going to be late for a lecture, so I wasn't really looking where I was going. You know how slippery the stairs can get.”

You wince. “They’re pretty bad, yeah.”

“You'd have thought they'd at least put some carpet down or something after I died, but apparently not,” Damien grumbles. “First they had to dig Hux out from under whatever cheap roofing shit they had before, then five minutes later we were all watching some poor contractor scrubbing my goddamned blood out of the floorboards, because it would have been too fucking expensive to replace it all - do they just like having to scrape their tenants off the floor, or something? Because that's what would have happened to you earlier if we hadn't done anything, for fuck’s sake…”

He looks up sharply when he says that, like he's just remembered something. “Oh, um - yeah, that was us. Sorry about that. But also, like, the espresso-Monster thing you drank probably wasn’t the best breakfast.”

This morning. All those things that didn't add up. Falling down the stairs, and landing at the top of them. That was them?

“How did it…” You're not quite sure how to put it. “How did you do it?”

“Oh, you can thank Lasko for that,” he replies. “He managed to slow you down enough that Gavin was able to heal you without anything being too serious.”

You look over at Lasko, nervously waving his hands in front of his face like it’ll ward off any sort of thanks. “It was just luck, that's all! I just, you know - I was in the right place at the right time, and I - well, the whole air thing is kind of easy for me, so it wasn't even that complicated or anything - I mean, not that it wasn't important, obviously, but-”

“Lasko.”

“Yes?”

You smile. “Thank you.”

Nervously, he smiles back, with an charmingly-awkward little thumbs up. “Not, uh, no problem.”

“If you’re trying to join us, you’ll have to try harder than that,” Damien quips, blackly. “Dying like that isn't fun, believe me.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say. “Next time, I’ll just let the caffeine poison me all by itself.”

He nods approvingly, the hint of a held-back smile brightening his handsome face. “See, now you’re getting it.”

Idly, you lift the glass to your mouth, only to realise that - wait, it’s empty? No, it can’t be. When did you drink all of that? How bizarre. Hearing about people dying must be thirsty work. Quietly, you put it down on the coffee table in front of you.

“Freelancer.”

“Mm?” Freelancer looks up, distracted from whatever sweet nothings Gavin seems to be mumbling into their neck. “What?”

Damien tips his head slightly in your direction. “You’re up to bat, I’m afraid.”

“Already? That was quick.” With a little bit of fidgeting, they push themselves up to sit facing you, one hand holding Gavin’s, and the other around his back as he sits sideways with his legs across their lap.

“So, it’s… it’s not the nicest thing,” they say, eyes darting away before sliding back to meet yours. “And it probably isn’t going to make a huge amount of sense, just ‘cause when the - actually, that reminds me - did they say something about a break-in? And - and a trespasser?”

The most recent. Altercation with an intruder. Highly unusual. Shouldn’t happen again.

You look down. “They did, yeah.”

“Well, it’s mostly true,” Freelancer says, “although it’s not the full thing. The unempowered police had to come and investigate, and that was the best they could come up with, so that’s what the estate agent will have told you.”

“Was it magical, then?” you ask, slightly hesitantly.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was,” they reply hesitantly. “I’d only just moved here to come to DAMN. I was humanborn, so I didn’t really know a whole lot about magic, but I had a - well, there was an… uh…”

Nervously, they look at Gavin - he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, and they swallow.

“I heard about DAMN from a friend, so I thought it would be good to come and try and learn some, like, actual magic, right? And Gavin and I met here, just after I moved - it’s kind of a long story, but he ended up basically moving in here as well after a while. So that’s why we - well, that’s how we’re, uh, here. Together.”

Their leg bounces as they tap their heel against the floor, over and over. You’re not getting the feeling that this story is going to end well.

“There was a… a problem,” they mumble, after a little pause. “A friend of ours was being chased by a demon - a different demon, a really strong one, who we didn’t know. He was hurt, so he came here for help - but the demon chasing him followed him here.”

Attacked? By a demon? God, what sort of city is this? If this is the sort of thing that’s happening here, maybe it’s not such a bad thing that you don’t go out much.

Freelancer continues, gaze now fixed firmly on their feet. “He attacked us - and our friend. There was no time to do anything, so we - we did what we could, but…”

Gavin’s tail wraps and unwraps around Freelancer’s wrist, winding around their arm first one way, then the other.

“This demon, he was… powerful,” he says, carefully. “He was old - much older than me, and it wasn’t exactly like we could have seen him coming. We were lucky to do as much as we did.”

Silently, Lasko picks up your glass from the coffee table, and walks out of the living room.

“Our friend got away, at least,” Freelancer says, through what you think is meant to be a smile. “And we did sort-of win - Gavin managed to knock him out, and took him to the Department. He’s probably in a prison somewhere, now.”

So… they won? But then how are they…?

Freelancer must see the question written across your face. “By the time Gavin got him, I’d already, um… you know. The old coffee table in here was pretty heavy, and when it hit me, it was kind of, uh - yeah. It wasn’t great.”

The thought of it turns your blood to ice. They died in here? This room? The same room you’re in right now, where they’re sitting on the loveseat like it’s nothing - this room? How can they even stand to be in here like this, after everything that’s happened?

“I’m - I’m sorry,” you manage to say, painfully aware of how hollow it must sound. “That must have been awful.”

Strangely enough, they shake their head. “Gavin got the worst of it. The rift, when he came back…”

They trail off into silence, and Gavin doesn’t say anything either. Frozen in place, unmoving - like this, they could almost be stone. Alive and undead. Sobbing but never crying, rainwater dripping down the marble.

“When we died, we became… this.”

You look over at Huxley, speaking softly. “We can’t be seen by living people, and we can’t leave this place. Touching objects - like, physical stuff like doors and books and water - it takes more effort, but it’s still okay. We can still do most magic, too, but it’s not as easy as it used to be.”

You nod, slightly confused. Why is he telling you this now…?

“It happens pretty quickly,” he adds, “the whole transformation, resurrection, whatever. But it… well. Yeah.”

“It doesn’t take much to kill a human.”

Gavin’s voice is raw and venomous, glaring at the floor, fangs bared in a bitter snarl.

“Demons last a little bit longer.”

In your mind’s eye, the horrifying scene unfolds. A human body, shattered and bloody, lifted gently from the wreckage and cradled in the fading arms of a dying demon. Gavin, tears streaming down his crumbling face, clutching the corpse of his human lover - no magic left, an immortal being surrendering to an impossible death. Freelancer, imprisoned in the silent space between sleeping and waking, screaming in terror yet doomed to go unheard. Forced to watch as Gavin’s form falters and dissolves, scattered back into the nothingness of stardust.

Of course. Five deaths, four tenants. No body left to bury.

There’s nothing you can say to that. Nothing at all.

Behind you, Lasko comes back in from the kitchen, passing you a refilled glass of water before walking back over to the sofa. It’s freezing cold in your hand, and you can’t help but shiver involuntarily.

“Ow!”

Startled, all of your heads snap towards Lasko - he’s tripped over the stack of papers that you were marking last night, catching himself on the side of the loveseat and accidentally smacking face-first into Gavin’s shoulder. Freelancer jerks backwards out of the way as he hisses in surprise, jolting forwards with the unexpected weight against his back, and Damien bursts into laughter as Lasko stutters his way through a flustered apology, wrenching himself back upright and scurrying off to the sofa to hide behind Huxley.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry! I didn’t see it - I just tripped, and oh, I didn’t mean to hit you - are you okay? Like, I didn’t hurt you, did I? God, I don’t know how I forgot it was there - and your back, are you-”

“If you want to get your hands on me, you can just ask,” Gavin purrs over the top of him, rubbing his shoulder blade where Lasko’s face presumably impacted with the flat spade of his tail. “And yes, I’m fine, thank you. Unless you wanted to kiss it better?”

Lasko’s breath visibly stops, the poor thing, as Gavin fixes him with a smirk so ridiculously charming that you almost can’t tear your eyes away. Fuck, he’s so beautiful, wicked gaze dragging slowly down the length of Lasko’s body, painted claws catching the light as they just barely start to flirt with the hem of Freelancer’s shirt…

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Huxley trying not to laugh as Lasko peeks out from over his shoulder. “Keep it together there, Gav. We’ve got an audience, y’know.”

Lasko buries his face in his hands. “Please, God, don’t-”

“Oh, Hux,” Gavin sighs plaintively, although the impish smile across his face gives him away. “Why do you think I offered?”

A quiet rustle of fabric, and underneath him, Freelancer lets out a long, slow breath that you hadn’t noticed they were holding. You, um… you can’t see the end of Gavin’s tail any more, and you’re not entirely sure if you want to know where it is.

“I’m so sorry,” Damien groans, flinging a stray sofa cushion at Gavin’s head as he gives you an apologetic look, ignoring the confused squawking from the loveseat when it accidentally hits Freelancer in the shoulder and ricochets into Gavin’s face. “You’re all dead to me.”

Huxley pats him on the shoulder. “We’re dead to everyone, babe.”

“Not helping.”

“Love you too.”

“That was so rude!” comes a gasp from your right. Amused, you look over to find an outraged Gavin, holding up the projectile cushion in one clawed hand, eyes narrowed sulkily at Damien for ruining the fun. “Don’t you think, deviant?”

Freelancer nods sagely. “Very rude.”

“He didn’t even let us finish! We could have been doing something entirely innocent.”

“We’re so nice to him, and he’s always so mean to us.”

“Spoiling our fun.”

“Getting in our way.”

“Getting in our bed-”

“Will you two stop it!” Damien hisses, pointing an accusing finger at Gavin when the demon actually hisses back at him. “I wouldn’t have to be rude if you two would stop being so - so… lascivious!”

Freelancer grins, eyes scrunched up into happy little half-moons and arms wrapped possessively around Gavin’s waist. “He thinks we’re lascivious.”

“What about tea?” interrupts Lasko, standing up suddenly and motioning behind his back for you to follow him. “We’ll have tea, that’ll be nice, does anyone want some? Good, okay, we’ll just go and make the - the, um - we’ll just go, won’t be long, back in a minute-”

You’re not sure if ghosts can get high blood pressure, but you say a silent prayer for whatever nightmare must be going on in Damien’s undead arteries. Huxley jokingly salutes the pair of you as you scramble after Lasko - shaky hands all but push you out of the door, and he pulls it swiftly shut behind him with a decisive psychokinetic flourish, muffling the enthusiastic bickering inside.

It's finally quiet again.

Just you and Lasko.

“Is it always like this?”

He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the door, laughing weakly. “Basically, yeah.”

Well. Considering everything that could have gone wrong with finding out that your house is haunted and practically infested with the undead, at least the ghosts that you've got are fun ghosts.

“Kind of you to volunteer my tea for everyone,” you say breezily, motioning for Lasko to follow you into the kitchen and stifling your smile when his face turns to almost comical panic. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Are - are you sure?” He wrings his hands as he trails after you, teeth digging into his bottom lip in a way that really shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Sorry, I just - we’d be there all day otherwise, and I just wanted to distract them for a bit, but I didn’t really think about it, you know, and…”

He takes a slow, deep breath, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. “I mean, uh, thank you.”

The kettle’s empty, so you go to fill it up at the sink while Lasko silently gets some mugs out of the cupboard, along with a handful of teaspoons and some teabags.

Too silently, in fact.

“Tea’s in the right hand drawer, by the way.”

Lasko freezes guiltily as you say it, wrist deep in the box of Earl Grey. “You know. Because I didn’t tell you, so there’s no way you could have known.”

He winces. “Sorry…”

“I mean, it’s not the worst thing you could be looking at.” You’re not actually that angry, all things considered, but it needs to be said. “Do I need a ghost-proof shower curtain, too?”

“What? No - God, no!” he stammers, seemingly horrified by the implication. “I swear none of us would do anything like that - we would never! We have never! No, that’d be - no!”

He shakes his head emphatically, nearly knocking his glasses off in the process. “We don’t go into the bathroom when you’re there, and your bedroom is always off-limits. Promise. You can ask the others.”

“I should hope so.” Next to you, the kettle starts to steam, although it’s not quite hot enough yet. “Am I - wait, you were the first one, right?”

He nods, quietly shuffling through the tea drawer again. “Yeah.”

“Could the others see you… before? Like me?” you ask, walking over to the fridge. “Milk?”

“If that’s okay.”

Without looking, you reach in and grab the carton, before putting it down on the counter next to him. “I just don’t understand. How come I can see you now, but I couldn’t before?”

“That’s what we were talking about before you came in,” he replies. “Hux thinks it’s something to do with this morning - like, that you had some sort of near-death experience? And then that means you can see us, because we’re dead and you were nearly-dead…? I don’t know, it’s a work in progress.”

Wait, so does that mean you actually did poison yourself this morning? Or is he talking about falling down the stairs? Of course you’d accidentally manage to find a way to nearly kick the bucket twice in a single day. What a liability they all must think you are…

“The others couldn’t see like you do,” Lasko continues, oblivious to your spiralling. “Not until they were already gone. You’re the first one who’s been able to see us while you were still - actually, um, that reminds me…”

The kettle clicks, having boiled. He reaches over to get it, but you wave him away, picking it up and moving to fill up the collection of mugs - and, oddly, an entire teapot that you’re sure you’ve never seen before - he’s arranged on the countertop.

“If you wanted to leave now that you’ve heard all of - uh, all of this… well, we wouldn’t be upset. We’re not gonna, like, make you stay here or anything.”

Confused, you frown down at the mug in front of you. “What do you mean?”

“You know, ah…” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him fiddling with his necklace again. “We’re not the luckiest people in the world. None of us lasted very long in this house - and the whole ‘being undead’ thing isn’t really something we understand. Like, why us? What did we ever do? Is it the house? Is it us? Is it, like, destiny or fate or something - because it kind of brings up a whole new set of problems about the existence of life after death - and, you know, are we the only ghosts in the world, and if so then why, or are there others? Does this happen to everyone, and living people just can’t see them? We wouldn’t blame you for wanting to get out before, you know…”

You put the kettle back on the stand. It doesn’t look like he’s going to stop for breath any time soon.

“Not that we’re going to like, do something to you! No, no, that’s - I didn’t mean we were going to kill you or anything - oh, fuck, now it just sounds like we were going to do something and now I’ve put the fucking idea in your head, and now you’re going to be all stressed about it, and, like, ‘is it cursed?’ - and it’s not cursed, I think, but we don’t know for sure because even though curses aren’t a thing like unempowered people say, none of us have been able to figure out if there’s any, uh - any magic that might be like a curse, right?

“Lasko.”

“Just, you know, magic is so unpredictable and there’s so much we don’t know, so maybe it is cursed but we just can’t recognise it because we don’t know what we’re even looking for, and Gavin’s been trying to come up with ideas, but it’s been really difficult ‘cause we didn’t want to use your computer or anything, that’s a huge breach of privacy, right? And - and we can’t leave the house to go and talk to anyone - well, really it’s the property, so we can still go out in the garden and stuff - which reminds me, I was meant to tell you about-”

“Lasko!”

You can practically see the words falling out of his mouth before he cuts himself off, the poor thing. “Mm-hmm?”

“The tea,” you say calmly, stepping back from the counter to give him room. “I don’t know how they like it.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, I’ll, um - I can do that.”

He starts sorting out the different mugs, taking teabags out of some sooner than others, adding milk and sugar and what-have-you, leaving one to the side for you and nervously chattering away.

“I’ll never understand how Gavin and Hux have it so sweet - although, I think Gavin’s like that with everything, you know? He says it’s just because he likes the taste, but Damien told me - um, you shouldn’t say I said this, but he thinks when Gavin gave himself a human form - ‘cause demons don’t have physical bodies normally, right? Well, Damien thinks he accidentally got his body addicted to sugar or something like that, because - oh, I don't know, something, something, pleasure centres or pleasure receptors, whatever - it probably lit up a similar part of his brain to the bit that he associated with eating, and being full - wait, did he say he was an incubus? Because he is, he definitely is - oh, we probably should have mentioned that…”

Slowly, Lasko’s voice settles into the back of your mind as you make your tea, head too full of everything else he’s said to really be listening. It’s not on purpose. You’ve just got a lot to think about.

Yes, he makes a good point about the house, and the strange coincidences that have happened here. Yes, he makes a good point about what might happen to you if you choose to stay. Yes, he makes a good point about how you’ll have to actually accept the undeniable proof of the existence of life after death, and everything that means for your worldview.

Looking up, your eyes are drawn to the faint line where the ceiling and the wall meet, and the two shades of paint that don’t quite match.

Wow. In about an hour, this is going to be a magnificent existential crisis.

But those aren’t problems for now, are they? If you try and deal with all of this at once, you’re fairly sure your head is going to explode just thinking about it. All of this, all of the fucked-up undead weirdness that’s just fallen into your lap out of thin air - all of it can wait.

First, tea.

Lasko seems to have sorted out all the different cups of tea, stirring a final spoonful of sugar into the one second from the right with one hand. Luckily, he’s picked cups that are all different colours, so hopefully it shouldn’t be too hard to stop them getting mixed up.

“That one’s for Hux, then Damien’s is the jasmine, then the middle one is for Freelancer. Gavin’s is the penguin one, and then this one is for me.”

He points at them from left to right, explaining whose they are as you get a tray out of the cupboard and put it down on the counter. You’re just about to start transferring everything onto it when - oh, that’s what’s missing!

Lasko takes over, looking confused as you suddenly turn on your heel and start rifling through the cupboard by the microwave. “Are you… okay?”

“Just a second…” Where are they? You could have sworn they were just… ah, there they are. You’ll have to get some more at the supermarket when you go next. “Do you think they’ll want plates?”

Lasko’s face brightens when he sees what you’re holding, and it belatedly occurs to you that he probably hasn’t eaten much since - well, since everything. If the owner of the house can’t see you, then they’re not going to give you anything, and if you can’t leave the house, you can’t buy anything yourself. If he’s a demon, then maybe Gavin could magic something up, but didn’t Huxley say that doing magic was harder for all of them then it used to be? What’s the limit?

Besides, even if ghosts probably don’t need to eat, that doesn’t mean that they can’t, right? It might not be necessary, but it might still be nice.

“Mm, probably not,” Lasko muses, but he gets a few out of the cupboard anyway as you open the packet of biscuits and put it down on the tray next to Freelancer’s tea. “I don’t think they’ll, uh, last that long.”

He moves the penguin mug slightly to make room for the teapot and an empty cup - oh, that must be the jasmine tea he was talking about. But where did he…?

“Damien used to have one like this.”

Lasko’s voice is quiet, presumably having noticed you staring in confusion at the tray. “It got taken away with all his things when Freelancer moved in, but Gavin made him a new one. The cup, too. It’s not exactly the same, but it’s close enough.”

He looks away, eyes closed. There’s not really anything you can say to that.

“If there’s…”

As you speak, you can hear the faintest sound of laughter from the other room. Presumably they’ve kissed and made up, in what you get the feeling isn’t always an entirely metaphorical sense. “If there’s anything I can get you, then you just need to ask. Anything.”

Lasko smiles down at the tray, and you don’t look at how his eyes are a little bit shinier than they were a minute ago. “Thanks.”

“Come on, then,” you say with a smile, nudging him out of the way and picking up the tray. “It’ll be stone cold in a minute, if we’re not careful.”

Lasko protests, fluttering around beside you as you head back towards the living room, insisting that he doesn’t want to be rude, please please please let him carry it, it was his idea and now you’re doing all the work, oh he’s so sorry - but you don’t let him. It’s a bit heavy, but it’s not that bad, and didn’t one of them say that it’s harder to interact with physical objects now than it was when they were alive? You don’t know exactly how much harder, but you’d feel kind of bad if you made Lasko hold all the stuff when it’s not as easy for him.

Darting ahead of you down the corridor, he opens the living room door for you, and you - well, you were going to put it down on the coffee table in the middle, but it’s not actually there anymore. Instead, it’s been pushed out of the way towards the window, to make space for the sofa to be tilted a little bit more towards the TV.

Lasko, the bastard, takes advantage of your momentary surprise. You’re going to have to ask if he’s an Air Elemental or something, because you feel a suspiciously-timed air current rushing past your arm and almost pushing the tray towards him, letting him lift it deftly out of your hands and carry it over.

Freelancer and Gavin, chastised but utterly unrepentant, appear to have commandeered most of the sofa, along with its previous occupants. Huxley idly strokes his fingers over Gavin’s horns as Freelancer flips through channels on the TV, while Damien, sitting cross-legged on the rug against the front of the sofa, pats the ground next to him when Lasko bends down to put his teapot and cup in front of him.

“Join me. I’ve been exiled.”

“We’ll call the Pope,” Lasko replies thoughtfully, “he might be able to get you excommunicated as well. Two for one.”

Damien raises an eyebrow, just barely failing to resist the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “See, now you’re talking.”

Lasko laughs, standing back up and offering the tray to the others on the sofa. “Clever of you to move the table out of the way,” he notes dryly, as Freelancer goes to take their tea from the tray and recoils at the heat of the ceramic. “Do you want me to leave it over there until it cools down?”

Huxley nods gratefully, taking a biscuit from the packet and batting away Gavin’s tail without even looking when the incubus tries to surreptitiously steal it out of his hand. “Aw, would you? Thanks, dude.”

Now that he says it, that might actually be a good idea - you reach over to get a biscuit for yourself as well, before going round to perch on the arm of the sofa next to Freelancer while Lasko puts the tray down on the coffee table. They seem to have found a programme they like, some cooking competition show you’ve never seen, and pass the remote down to Damien with a satisfied hum so he can put it on the floor next to him.

“Is this a new series?” he asks quietly, head resting against the side of their leg. “I thought you already watched all of them.”

Freelancer shrugs, absentmindedly twirling Gavin’s tail between their fingers as he readjusts his legs across their lap. “We did, yeah. But this one is a good one.”

The rest of the evening passes in something of a blur - warm tea and good company and some truly ridiculous commentary on the TV that has you laughing harder than you think you have in weeks, maybe even months. After the first programme finishes and the next one is starting, Damien seems to remember that you’d never actually had that dinner you were going to make, and drags you into the kitchen to get you something a bit more substantial than a biscuit.

Gavin trails after you, too, sitting himself on the countertop next to the fridge and watching you two cook. It doesn’t seem malicious or mean - rather, his eyes follow you curiously around the room in a way that distinctly reminds you of an intrigued housecat. He seems to have magicked up a lollipop or something to amuse himself with as well, idly moving the stick back and forth in his mouth as the hard sugar clicks against his teeth.

The feline comparison apparently occurs to Damien as well, who, for some reason, quickly moves everything within about a metre of the fridge on the counter out of easy reach. At first you’re surprised, but then you see Gavin’s tail droop in mock-disappointment, hanging limply down in front of the cabinets, and you realise what’s going on.

“Don’t mind him,” he stage-whispers to you as you wait for the stove to heat up. “He’s not so bad. Freelancer just spoils him something rotten.”

Gavin sniffs haughtily, clawed fingers pulling the - apparently heart-shaped - lolly out of his mouth and sticking his red-stained tongue out at Damien. “I am very cute and sexy and worthy of spoiling.”

“What you are is in the way, genius,” Damien replies, deadpan, pointing at the cutlery drawer that Gavin’s legs are currently blocking. “Fork, please.”

You can practically see Gavin vibrating as he tries to hold back the obvious joke, in favour of reaching down and taking a metal fork from the drawer, holding it out in one hand.

“Ah, ah-”

He snatches it back when Damien reaches for it, holding out the lollipop in his other hand instead. “I got you a present.”

Damien eyes it with interest, shiny and red, and you’re not sure if you should still be watching. “What flavour?”

“Cherry.”

Damien thinks about it for a second, before opening his mouth and letting Gavin put the lolly on his tongue. “Mmm. Thanks.”

Gavin smirks lazily, and hands him the fork. “Mwah.”

Neither of them seem embarrassed afterwards, like it was something you weren’t supposed to see, or like they’d forgotten you were there. It’s… kind of pleasant, in an unexpected way. Being around people who are funny, who are friendly, who don’t seem to be uncomfortable around you. You don’t really know anyone like that in Dahlia yet, and you hadn’t realised quite how much you’d missed it until now.

It’s just the same when you go back into the living room to eat, sitting properly on the sofa this time, next to Huxley. All of them just seem so nice - a far cry from the terrifying criminals you’d thought they might have been. Just ordinary, good people. Sweet and kind and silly. The sort of people that you’ve always wanted to be friends with, but that you’ve never been good at finding.

Damien makes a joke about one of the cooking judges on the screen, and Lasko splutters as he laughs and his tea goes down the wrong way. Huxley wraps his arm around Gavin’s waist to pull him closer against his side, and Freelancer follows suit, draping themselves over Gavin’s back and gleefully making themself comfortable on his shoulder.

There’s a lot to think about, that much is clear. The reality of the situation, the fear of what might be waiting for you if you choose to stay - in a very real sense, they might very well be the death of you. But looking around at them, these people, trusting you with their secret and hoping that you’ll keep it for them, you’re struck with a new and frightening question.

Maybe it really is dangerous. Maybe this would be the biggest mistake of your life - the end of your life. But could you do it? Could you walk away now, knowing what you know, and not regret it?

Lasko leans his head against the front of the sofa, turning his head slightly to look up at you, and gives you a tiny, bashful wave with one hand.

You wave back. He smiles, warm light reflecting softly off his glasses, and perhaps the question isn’t quite as frightening as it used to be.

masterlist

this is an original fanwork by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted fluff #redacted gavin #redacted lasko #redacted damien #redacted huxley #redacted freelancer #redacted dear #redacted damn polycule #redacted damn crew #redacted fic #ginger writes #gingerbreadmonsters

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im-ovulating · 2 years ago

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(A/n: this is entirely self indulgent btw (which is ironic bc I /can/ swim but idc I just want an excuse for Luci to hold me okay😭))

(Ironic bc as soon as I started writing this, Milk of the Siren by Melanie Martinez started playing lmao)

(If you don't know, it's basically about getting revenge on men and drowning them)

Word Count: 1,422

Summary: Lucifer finds out MC doesn't know how to swim and decides to change that

Warnings: don't know if this needs to be a warning but: reader can't swim (obvi)

Age Rating: Pg 13

Swimming Lessons: Lucifer x Fem! Reader

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

'I can do this... It's gonna be fine, I'm gonna be fine.'

You're standing at the door to the RAD pool as you try to steel yourself for what's to come.

The House of Lamentation had gone for a beach day a week prior; just taking a day to wind down from exams and student council duties. You had managed to keep your inability to swim a secret for most of the day under the guise of keeping Beel from eating all the snacks.

All good things must come to an end, though. Cue Mammon chasing you down to throw you in the ocean.

All you could do was panic as you desperately tried to keep your head above the waves. Your feet slipping as the sand gave under you, unable to support the weight of your hysteric kicking.

But just as fast as you were thrown in, you're pulled out.

You sputter as you wiped the salty water from your eyes, your arm in someone's vice grip as they yank you to land. Looking to your savior, you're met with am angry Lucifer glaring at your assailant.

"I really should stop expecting you to start acting like the second oldest brother. No matter what punishments you recieve, no matter how many lectures, you never seem to grow up. It's one thing when you cause problems for yourself, it's a completely different problem when you almost kill an exchange student. You're a sorry excuse for an avatar, Mammon."

"Hey!- That's not fair! How's I s'posed to know the human can't swi-"

"Enough! Everybody, start packing. We're going home." The groans and protests are silenced with a cold glare leveled towards them.

One by one the brothers file off to gather everything with the occasional (read: frequent) insult or snide comment to the second born.

After the ordeal was done and everyone was back at the HoL, Lucifer had cornered you in your room.

You were unpacking your beach bag when he came in, door clicking shut behind him.

"You can't swim." He doesn't ask.

"What of it?" You ask, looking over your shoulder at him as you gather your bathing suit and towel to throw in the laundry hamper.

"Why?"

You shrug, moving back to your bag to put away your sunglasses and spf. "I don't know, I just never learned."

Minutes pass in silence as he watches you unpack, the only noise is the ruffling of your bag accompanied with the occasional clack of something dropping.

Eventually he breaks the silence. "Would you like to?"

"Like to what?"

"Would you like to learn to swim?"

You stop to think about it. "Um, I feel like I would just get embarrassed... Most people learn when they're kids and the ones that don't, rarely learn. I mean, can you really imagine me in a pool surrounded by literal children who swim better than me?"

You chuckle at the mental image of yourself with water wings on. "I think I'll pass."

"I was referring to me teaching you." He still hasn't moved from his sentry position as you shuck your now empty bag into your closet.

"Like, alone? With you? In a pool? With water?" No offense to him but you feel like all it would take is one wrong move and you'll have annoyed him to the point of drowning you. You tell him so, earning a rare Lucifer smile.

"You'll be safe." He muses. "I have an inclination that Lord Diavolo wouldn't take too kindly to me killing one of his exchange students. Much less one of his favorite ones."

"Ha ha," you fake. "Funny, though I'm far from his favorite.'

"But I guess I'll trust you."

So here you are, about to potentially enter your very own death chamber.

'Oh, god- It's not going to be fine.' Your heart starts to pick up but before you can fully freak out you hear a voice from inside.

"Are you going to come in or just stare at the door?" Lucifer calls from the other side of the door.

No turning back now. You push the surprisingly heavy door open, revealing an even more surprisingly sized pool. It easily puts an Olympic sized swimming pool to shame. You can scarcely see the bottom even in the so-called shallow end.

Lucifer is already in, arms holding his upper body out of the water as he waits for you to join him. You can't lie, you're having a bit of a struggle to not stare at his toned arms and what you can see of his sculpted chest.

"Come on, the water isn't going to bite."

"Says you," you mutter as you strip to your swimsuit. You pad over to the edge, sitting down to put your legs in first. Taking a deep breath, you push off, keeping a death grip on the siding.

A couple feet separate you from the avatar of pride.

"Okay, now push off and try to pad over to me." He holds out a hand to you.

"I thought you were supposed to be teaching me?" You're trying not to panic or look into the depths beneath you.

"I am. I need to see what you can do before I can help with what you can't." He states, gesturing you towards him.

"If I die, I swear to god, I will haunt you for the rest of your life. If you think Mammon is bad, just you wait until you see what ghost Y/n has in store for you." With one last proclamation of wrath, you shove off, more tossing yourself towards him than paddling over to him, but that's as much as he's getting from you.

As soon as your head submerges, you panic, arms flailing as you try to reach out to Lucifer. You feel his hand grip your forearm as he hauls you back up. It's when you clear your eyes of the awful, chlorinated water that you notice he had moved the both of you further into the pool. There's no way you can reach the siding from here.

"Fucking hell!" You scramble to cling tighter to Lucifer. "I'm gonna die. This is how I die-"

"Calm down," he interrupts. "You are going to die if you don't stop panicking."

He pulls you away from his body, causing your nails to dig further into his skin. "Look at me."

You do. Panting with pupils blown from fear.

"Are you drowning?"

"I-" "Are you?"

You swallow. "No."

"Exactly, and I told you I wouldn't let you; do you think I'm going back on my word not even 5 minutes in?"

"No..."

"Okay then. you said you'd trust me, so do so. Kick your legs lightly. Almost in a pedaling rhythm." He instructs. "We're going to start with keeping you above the surface."

And so, your legs start moving, the force of the water pushing back with each movement is a bit odd, but not too bad.

When you get a good rhythm going Lucifer drops your arms. "Keep kicking and stay calm."

You start to sink a bit but try to stay calm.

"Kick a bit harder."

You start to gain back face-to-water distance and you let yourself get excited.

"I'm doing it!-" In the process of celebrating, you stop kicking.

Just before your head goes under, Lucifer pulls you up yet again.

"What happened to 'keep kicking'?" He asks.

You look up to answer, only to find that his face is way closer than you thought. All too sudden, you're aware of his tight hold around your waist and how your chests press together as your hands rest on his shoulders. Your legs lightly brush against each other as you both kick to stay afloat.

"..."

Neither of you break the silence as your eyes stay locked together.

Are you going insane, or is his face getting closer?

No, it definitely is. Your noses bump as Lucifer tilts to the side. Your eyes are sliding shut and your lips are a hair's width apart when the pool door slams open.

Both of you jump apart as much as you can without him letting you sink. Luke stands at the entrance, staring at you with a look of shock.

"I- I was looking for Beelzebub- He... He ate the last of a cake I made and ran. I- Sorry." With that the angel scurries away, effectively taking the tension with him.

"..."

"I think we're done for the day." Lucifer says.

"Yep. Completely."

#obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc #obey me x reader

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 11 months ago

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"Cut!"

Hi! I was remembering how some of your fics have Roman practicing conversations with the other sides in the Imagination over and over. Now, I tend to be one of those people that is almost always in my head (been mildly dissociating near constantly for almost a year now which uh- probably should get that checked out actually) and a lot of the time when I do stuff I get deja vu even if I've never done something like that before. And it's kinda gotten to the point where I'm not entirely sure if something has actually happened or not sometimes. So I was thinking maybe Roman references a conversation what he'd had with the Imagination!Sides in passing on accident, and everyone is kinda like "Princey wtf are you talking about??" And Roman panics and hides, and the next time he sees the sides he thinks that they don't wanna see him and this is a scene in the Imagination. So he gets really confused when the words he's learned will get the fake sides angry at him just are met with more concern and worry from the real sides. And they're trying to comfort him and he doesn't know what's going on and yells "CUT!" but obviously it doesn't work and now everyone is really worried and Roman can't tell between what's real and what's fake anymore and just. Has a mental breakdown. and then they comfort :D because I cannot leave this poor guy with an unhappy ending. – anon

hiii !!!! idk if you’re taking requests, and if not please ignore me, but if you are, i’m legit in love with how you write rociet with roman angst, and i would love to see more of it !!!!!! thank you !!!!!!!! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: unreality/roman having trouble remembering things and figuring out what's real, self-doubt

Pairings: dlampr, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 4976

It begins so slowly that they don't think anything of it at first. Roman will say something that they don't remember, or he'll reference something that never happened, or he'll forget something that happened just a few days ago as though it happened several months back. Things...escalate, and soon they figure out the problem is far, far worse than they could have ever imagined.

Remus doesn't bother with asking or knocking, he just sinks into Roman's room right over his bed.

There's no yelp or screech, which means Roro's not in the bed, but he does get a surprised little squeak when he turns around from his desk.

"Ro-bro!"

"Re? I thought you were—you went—aren't you feeding Ollie right now?"

Remus frowns, sitting up. "No, that's not for another week. And you're supposed to come with me."

Roman furrows his brow, toying with his pen. "Really? I thought you said…"

He trails off, staring into nothing and Remus's frown deepens, sliding off the bed and walking over. Roman's pen stills, his grip a little too tight, and Remus nudges his shoulder. "Roro?"

It's like someone electrocuted him—Roman clicks and suddenly this wide grin that looks almost painful settles on his face and Remus blinks in surprise. "Sorry, don't know what came over me. Must've been lost in thought."

"Are you—hey!"

Roman leaps up and tackles Remus through the door into the Imagination, summoning his sword and swinging it before Remus has a chance to catch his breath. His morningstar clangs against the blade a moment later and he grins too—he's been waiting for Roman to start one of their fights for ages!

"Come on," Roman taunts, spreading his arms, "or are you just gonna lie there all day?"

"Oh, you asked for it, Roro."

Their sparring shakes the ground, yells and laughs ringing out as their weapons clash over and over and over. Remus throws back his head and howls and the Imagination responds, the sky growing dark and thick with clouds as thunder booms in the distance. Roman's sword grazes his arm and he shoves Remus hard in the chest, knocking him over.

"Do you yield?"

"Never!" He springs back up and they're off again, but Roman keeps dancing out of the way. "How're you so fast? Have you been practicing without me?"

Roman falters and Remus jams his elbow into the soft part of Roman's ribs, knocking him off-balance just enough to swat the sword from his hand. The first raindrops start to fall as Roman lands on his side, Remus's morningstar about to aim for his chest when a leg trips him and suddenly Roman's got his sword back—how did that happen?—and Remus's weapon is flying across the field.

"How the fuck—?"

"Do you yield?"

Remus snarls playfully and jumps up, tackling Roman and knocking his sword away again. Roman responds instantly, grappling across the slowly-muddying field until they end up on their backs, Roman's arm holding Remus in a chokehold as the rain pours down on them.

"Do you yield?"

"Yeah, yeah," Remus gasps, "I fucking yield. Leggo."

Roman chuckles and lets him roll off, landing face first in a mud puddle. His muscles ache but only in the good way and he flops onto his back, smiling breathlessly at the sky.

"That was fucking amazing, Roro," he gasps, "you have been practicing, haven't you?"

"Just trying to keep up with you," comes Roman's answer, just a little too quickly.

Remus doesn't think anything of it.

"Roman?"

"Hm?" Roman looks up from his spot in the corner of the living room, curled around his notebook. "Oh, hey, Padre. Is everything okay?"

Patton tilts his head. "Yeah, kiddo, why wouldn't it be?"

"Sorry, it's just, you know, everyone's been a little tense recently, what with…" Roman makes a vague gesture. "Everything. I shouldn't have assumed, though, I'm sorry."

Before Patton can ask if Roman's okay, Roman's settling his notebook to the side and standing up.

"What can I do for you?"

"I was going to ask if you wanted to help me with dinner?"

An expression flickers across Roman's face, too quick to name, before he's smiling and bowing. "It would be my honor, lead the way."

At least he's alright enough for that. Patton goes over to the kitchen, Roman behind him, and reaches for the large pot at the back of the stove. "I was thinking we could try that new pasta dish that Virgil's been asking about? The one Thomas saw on that YouTube video?"

"The one with all the spices and garlic and stuff?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"I don't remember if we have all the ingredients we need, but I'm definitely down to try." Roman opens a cabinet and starts taking bottles down from the shelf. "We can also definitely tweak the recipe to make sure that we can do the important parts, we just have to be careful that—"

"Uh, Roman?"

Roman pauses, turning to look over his shoulder, still holding a jar. "Yeah?"

"I, uh, I did this last week, I know what spices we have. I figured this out, you don't have to tell me how to do it."

Again, that expression flickers over his face and he quickly sets down the jar and takes a big step away from the counter. "Right, right, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. I just wanted to—no, I'm not gonna make an excuse. I'm sorry, Patton, I'll listen."

"It's fine, kiddo, I know you didn't mean it." Patton holds out the pot. "Can you fill this with water?"

"Of course!"

They start prepping, Patton providing little instructions and Roman carrying them out. He chops the shallots, the green onions, and sets the sausage to the side to be cooked first. By the time they're ready to start the actual cooking, Patton's got the water boiling for the rice noodles when Roman looks over his shoulder.

"Um, what are you doing?"

"Cooking the noodles, that's it."

"But they're—sorry, aren't they supposed to be cooked later?"

"We need them ready to add to the rest of the stuff near the end, kiddo, so they have to be ready."

"But they only take a few minutes." When Patton frowns, just thinking Roman's words over, Roman hastily continues. "Sorry, I'm sure you know that already. Here, I'll, uh, would it be helpful if I got a bowl out to put them in once they're done?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

He catches that expression on Roman's face again, and again it vanishes too quickly for him to ask about, but the rest of the cooking goes off without a hitch. They get a lot of compliments on how good everything tastes and Patton makes sure Roman gets as much of the praise as he does.

"I just listened to you," Roman demurs, "it's really all you."

"It seems not only have you cooked a spectacular dish," Logan observes, "but you've also taught Roman some humility."

Virgil snorts. "'Bout time."

Roman smiles as the rest of them laugh. Patton takes another bite. "This is even better than last time."

"Last time," Roman says quietly, "sorry, can you—when was last time?"

"Sheesh, Princey, how bad is your memory getting? It was just last week?"

"Last week, right."

Patton opens his mouth to ask why Roman still sounds unsure about it, but then Remus throws one of the prawn shells at Janus and he doesn't think about it anymore.

"Easy, now," Roman murmurs, still stroking his hand up and down Virgil's spine, "that's it…you're doing really well, shadow-ling."

Virgil closes his eyes, resting against Roman's solid chest as the last of the panic attack bleeds from his veins. His breathing has yet to even out, but he can start to smell some of Princey's shampoo again, so he takes it as a win. He'll deny it later, but he turns his head to nuzzle into the crook of Roman's neck. Roman doesn't say a single thing, just shifting his grip to hold Virgil more securely in his lap.

"Hey," he says gently when Virgil headbutts his chin, "you here with me, bud?"

"Mmpf."

Roman's chuckle thrums warmly through his head. "I'll take that as a 'sort of.'"

Half of Virgil expects Roman to gently prod him into taking care of himself the rest of the way: getting him water, making him try and eat a little, getting him out of the gross and sweaty clothes into clean ones, even trying to talk him into taking a shower. And he'd do it, putting up his cursory protests, but that would mean that Roman's getting ready to leave and right now, in the last of the panic, he really wants Princey to stay.

He'd deny it if Roman ever asked him, of course, and he'd throttle Janus before he could chirp how much of a lie that was.

But Roman doesn't do that. Instead, he wraps his arms even more gently around Virgil and tucks him half over his shoulder, almost straddling his lap as one of his hands begins to card through his hair. Pressed chest to chest, he has to stifle another hitching gasp as Princey starts humming. It's a low and gentle tune, almost melancholy, and he swears it's some kind of magic as it reaches into the exhausted heap of emotions still swirling in his gut and starts coaxing it out of him.

Yeah, that means he goes back to crying into Princey's shoulder, but it's a softer cry that feels like he might actually feel better when it's over and he has no idea how Roman knows exactly what to do.

He's not gonna question it though.

There's no way the song Princey's humming is as long as he holds him for, so he must be doing it over and over, which just makes Virgil cry more because Roman is choosing to stay with him right now, he's choosing to let Virgil be a puddle of mess on his lap, and he's still running his fingers lightly over Virgil's back and yes, actually, Virgil would like to stay here forever.

When the tears eventually run out and Virgil's just floating there, in a really pleasant haze, he realizes that Roman isn't going to move until Virgil decides he wants to move. Not when he's just shifting so it's easier for Virgil to breathe, and he's still scratching gently along the space between his shoulder blades.

"…Princey?"

"Hm?"

"How'd…how'd you know what to do?"

Roman turns and noses Virgil's hair. "You told me, remember?"

Virgil's tired brain tries to figure out when he gave Roman the step-by-step on how to give him the best, most indulgent comfort ever and draws a blank. "No. I—when'd I do that?"

Roman's hand stutters for a moment, just a moment, but a moment nonetheless. "Maybe I just figured out why it took me so long to realize what you needed, then."

Talking is hard, and so Virgil doesn't do it, but he does think about it.

"It's not that bizarre of an opinion, to be sure, but the way it's phrased speaks more of an incomplete understanding of the topic than they intended."

"No, I see your point. I mean, I know I'm definitely biased and reading sentences like that tends to make me defensive, but I know that, and I'm trying to work on it." Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. "I think it's just hard because when you make such sweeping generalizations that imply that you really don't know what it is you're talking about, it's hard for me to not be super defensive and stuff, does that make sense?"

"It's another area for you to work on—"

"Yeah, I know."

"—but I see your point. If someone doesn't come to the table in good faith, it's difficult to have good faith yourself." Logan sits back, still pondering the opinion piece in front of them. "Though it is clear they lack the same kind of expertise and knowledge that you do."

"I think that's also why it's hard for me—I can list, like, four different examples offhand that would disprove their point, and at least half a dozen more that show the contradictions they've made in the last paragraph alone—like, I'm not alone here, that part contradicts their point about pacing, doesn't it?"

"Not entirely, but yes, it lends an ambiguity to their earlier statement."

"Right." Roman rubs his forehead and flips through his notebook, brow furrowed. "I swear I remember when we talked about academic continuity, I just need to find that page."

Logan frowns. "When we what?"

Roman looks up, brow furrowed. "When we talked about…you know, the importance of making sure your argument—or your point, sorry—carries through your entire piece?"

"I don't recall that conversation."

"You, um—" Roman starts flipping through his notebook, his movements taking on an increasingly frenetic pace— "you brought one of my papers to me that we talked about and you started going through the um, the problems with the layout and we started talking about the importance of—I swear it's in here, I just need to find it."

Logan sits forward, his brow increasingly furrowing as Roman almost tears a page trying to turn it. "Roman, it's—"

"Here." Roman runs his finger down the page, still not meeting Logan's gaze, "we talked about how it's important to have a coherent theme that the reader can follow and how to acknowledge conflicting viewpoints without placing them in a hierarchy."

Logan blinks. That does sound like a conversation that he and Roman would have—one that he believes he'd rather enjoy—but he has no recollection of it. Roman's expression flickers when he says as much, something almost like panic rising in his gaze before it's quickly stifled.

"Well," he says, forcing a smile onto his face, "perhaps I was just reading it back over and imagined what you'd say."

"I quite like this imaginary version of me, then," Logan jokes, "he makes excellent points."

Roman's reaction is not quite a flinch, but his smile squeezes for a moment too long before he nods.

"Would you mind having it again," Logan asks, "for the sake of—?"

"Oh, I couldn't do it justice," Roman says a little too quickly, "but you, um, you can read it? If you want?"

Logan blinks again, surprise coloring his voice. "You'd let me read your notes?"

"…if…if you want to?"

Waiting for Roman to retract that invitation at any moment—he has never seen Roman fiercer than when something touches his notebooks—Logan reaches out and carefully starts to read. The conversation's transcript—or summary—is fascinating. He finds himself almost mourning the fact that this wasn't a conversation he'd actually had. Although some of the comments that he can tell are his are a touch more callous than he'd prefer, he finds himself engrossed in their dialogue until he gets to the latter half.

Roman's handwriting grows sloppy, as it is wont to do when he gets caught up, but there are occasional splotches of discoloration where it looks like something wet.

"Oh, I was drinking something," Roman says offhandedly when Logan asks, "must've spillled."

"I'm surprised you'd drink around your notebooks, you take such care of them."

"Well, you know me."

Before Logan can point out that he does, that's why he's confused, Roman's saying that he's sorry, but he's a little worn out, would Logan mind terribly if they cut this short a bit? Logan shakes his head and watches Roman pick up his notebook, walking out of his room. That moment of panic lingers in his mind and he frowns, wondering why Roman had panicked.

He thinks about that and the drops of liquid that had obscured a line in Roman's handwriting that just said cut.

Janus hears Roman lie over and over again and he's about to break something.

Every time, he has to hold back his visible surprise that one, Roman is lying so readily, and two, that he's getting away with it. The little prince is a better actor than Janus gave him credit for—than any of them gave him credit for, as it's turning out—and the more times it happens, the more Janus thinks that something right under their noses is going terribly, horribly wrong.

The lies aren't big enough for them to be problems on their own, but they stack on top of each other like pebbles until it feels as though Janus blinks one day and there's a wall between Roman and the rest of them that seems insurmountable. And each time another adds to the mass, he thinks about calling it out, but they're never for something so serious as to warrant a full interrogation and the last thing he wants to do is let Roman know he's suspicious of him.

…it sounds much worse than it is.

It's just that if Roman is this good about keeping everyone off his tail right now, with almost no baseline suspicion or cause for concern, he has no desire to see what would happen if Roman was intent on keeping it a secret. And if he is going to succeed in uncovering why Roman feels so fundamentally scared, something Virgil only admitted after Janus had poked and prodded him for far too long, then he needs all of the rest of them on his side too.

His opportunity comes unexpectedly.

They're having a meeting—not a meeting meeting, they're just talking about what they want to do this weekend—and Roman brings up a conversation they'd had about making sure movie nights were comfortable for everyone. Talking about possible triggers beforehand, making sure everyone had equal access to whatever snacks they wanted, even down to making sure everyone behaved considerately while the movie was playing to ensure everyone was having a good time.

A perfectly reasonable thing to bring up, except that conversation never happened.

"What?" Roman looks around. "Are—it did, I swear. We were—we were getting ready to watch the second Venom movie and Remus brought up the body horror and gore that happens and we started talking about—"

He looks around at them all again.

"Do…do none of you remember this?"

"No, kiddo."

"Not really."

"It would be a good conversation to have, but I don't remember this instance of it."

Remus and Janus just shake their heads, Janus keeping his eyes on Roman as he fiddles with his hands.

Don't lie, Roman, please.

"Sorry," Roman says, flashing a bright smile, "must be getting lost in my Imagination again."

Janus narrows his eyes—not technically a lie, but Roman's leaving something out. For a moment, it seems like the conversation will keep flowing and he'll have to wait for a better time to ask Roman what's wrong, but then Patton's speaking up.

"Kiddo?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

Roman laughs. "Yeah, of course, Padre, why wouldn't I be?"

Lie. Janus hisses softly and Roman's head jerks around.

"What's the matter," Logan asks, and Roman jerks again at the gentle tone, "will you talk to us, Roman?"

"You've been acting a little strange for a while now," Patton agrees, taking a step closer, "is everything okay?"

"Yeah, like I said," Roman tries, a smile still sort of on his face, "everything's fine, why are you—"

Janus hisses again as Virgil sits up. "Princey, you don't have to be scared, you can—"

"I'm not scared!"

The stronger lie sears across Janus's tongue as Roman winces at the force of his own shout. He pinches the bridge of his nose. No one dares move for several long seconds. Just when Logan looks like he's about to say something, Roman takes a deep breath and lowers his head.

"I'm sorry," he says in a voice that sounds so mournful it makes Janus's chest ache, "I didn't mean to shout or snap at you. You didn't deserve it, I'm sorry. I think I—I've just been spending too much time in the Imagination again."

As soon as he finishes talking, he braces. Like he's expecting to get hit. He hears Remus make a worried noise next to him, starting to reach out.

"Little one," Logan says gently, "we're not angry with you, there's no need for all of that."

Roman's eyes snap open and at the look of pure confusion on his face, a few more of them let out little sounds. Virgil stands up and Roman turns too quickly to face him.

"Hey, Princey," Virgil soothes, his hands up, "I'm not moving, okay? I'm just worried. You're—I can feel you freaking out a little that's all."

"Sweetheart," Patton calls next and Janus winces at how much Roman's neck keeps snapping back and forth, "sweetheart, it's okay, you're safe, it's gonna be okay."

"Back off a bit, we're crowding him."

All of them—except for Remus—take a step back. Remus edges closer and closer to Roman until he can rest a hand on Roman's shoulder. Roman just trembles and Remus cups the side of his face.

"Hey, Roro. Look at me. Just at me, okay?"

"I don't—this wasn't—"

"Breathe," Remus bids softly, and Roman draws a few gasping breaths.

"This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What wasn't?"

"This—I—I don't—"

Remus opens his mouth to say something else when it morphs into a wordless sound of surprise as Roman sinks out abruptly, leaving him scrabbling at the empty air as the rest of them rush forward.

"What happened?"

"Where'd he go?"

"Did we do something to upset him?"

"What's going on?"

Janus doesn't say anything, still staring at the spot where Roman had been. He thinks about all of the lies he's heard, all of the things Roman hasn't said, and how out of all of the things Roman lied about, he'd never lied about being lost in the Imagination.

A conclusion starts to take shape.

+1.

"No wonder you've been so off, your head hasn't been attached to you since you lost it."

"It's a bad idea to spend so much time in the Imagination, Roman, you know that."

"That sounds really irresponsible, Roman. You should know better."

"Quit hogging the Imagination, I need to use it too."

"Oh, of course you were, Roman, did you honestly think we'd expected anything different?"

"You need to be better disciplined, if you can't get the work done you need to before deciding to go off and play."

"Sheesh, Princey, are you really that selfish?"

"If it's getting so bad that you're having delusions, then you need to stop, kiddo."

"Oh, no, Roman's having trouble understanding what's real again."

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

"You're being dramatic, pull yourself together."

"Your crocodile tears aren't convincing anyone, you know."

"Stop crying, you're not a baby."

"Do you think that if you throw a big or pathetic enough tantrum, it'll get us to spoil you? Grow up."

"Stupid."

"Ridiculous."

"Pathetic."

"Annoying."

"Worthless."

"You can't do anything right."

"You're being ridiculous."

"We should never have relied on you."

"I knew you couldn't handle it."

"We're better off without you."

Roman curls up around his pillow, wedging himself deeper into the corner. He jams his face between it and the wall. He tries to keep his hands out of sight. He counts in his head as he breathes, trying to keep it as even as possible. Eventually it will be over. He just has to last until then. Then he can go to his room and cuddle his plushie dragon and be upset there, out of the way, and hurt all by himself. It's safer that way.

He keeps his breathing nice and steady, letting the hurt course through him. The voices keep going, taunting, mocking, yelling, scolding, until they start to just say his name over and over. Roman, Roman, Roman, Roman—

"Roman!"

Something like a frenzied scream comes from behind him and he turns his face deeper into the wall.

"What the fuck are those things?"

"Shit, how long have those been here?"

"Are they—are they supposed to be us?"

"Yeah, fucked up and cruel versions of us, not on my fucking watch!"

Several wet splats come from behind him and then there are hands on his shoulder, running through his hair, and someone that feels like Remus is murmuring in his ear.

"Hey, Roro, it's over. I destroyed them, they're gone, it's the real us. We're here, we're really here, just—just come out of there, okay?"

Oh. It's this one.

He always finds this one the cruelest, where they lure him in with promises of comfort and safety only to turn on him when he reveals what he's actually upset about. No, thank you, he's hurting just fine on his own.

"Roro, please, come out of there, it's okay, it's all gonna be okay."

"Let me try," he hears Logan's voice say, and then the Remus is moving away and there's another hand on his shoulder, "dear, it's alright. You're going to give yourself neck pain if you stay like that, come here…"

Despite his chest howling at him not to, Roman lets Logan coax him out from the corner. Each word of gentle praise just makes it worse—it's going to hurt so much when they start being mean again.

"Princey—" and there's Virgil— "hey, stay with us, okay? Just focus on us, Pat, do you want to—"

"I got it."

Despite himself, a wounded noise leaves Roman's throat as a blanket gets draped over his shoulders. Careful touches smooth it down, more hands helping to secure it in place, and he just curls up so small under it so he doesn't get used to the warmth.

Just get it over with. Just get it over with. Just get it over with.

"Sweetie," he hears, and flinches at the touch of a smooth hand and a scaled hand on his face.

Wait, what?

Janus never takes his gloves off. Not here. Not like this. They can't—they can't be this cruel to him, not today, not when everything already hurts so much.

"Cut," he manages, "cut."

But the hands don't leave and he looks up to see Janus, actual real Janus looking at him and then he smiles softly and calls him sweetie again, and then Logan is appearing over his shoulder and Patton's adjusting the blanket and Virgil and Remus are keeping watch at the corners of the room and—and—and—

"Come here, sweetie," Janus murmurs and he's falling into his chest and there's a kiss being pressed to his temple and it's warm and soft and—

"Shh, Princey," Virgil says as a thread of panic starts to wind its way around his chest, "it's okay, you're okay," and—

"Come this way a little," Logan coaxes as something soft appears under him, "come lie down, you're alright," and—

"There you are," Patton's voice says as something starts to cuddle him, gently yet firmly and it's so surreal and—

"Oh, Roro," Remus mumbles as his brother's arms wrap firmly around him, "this is real, I promise, I promise we're here with you, everything's gonna be okay, okay? We're here, we're real, you're real, everything's gonna be okay now," and—

—and then Roman doesn't think anymore.

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#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #roman sanders angst #roman angst #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #janus sanders #deciet sanders #sympathetic deceit #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders

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