#just got the update and recoiled

[nerd4music]

oh this desktop setup is hideous, why tf is it so busy. like there is just too much on every side.

[kellystar321]

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[some-bunniii]

My Charming Red Savior [4]

・❥ A friend revealed, and warm feelings.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

x: pronouns are she/her. no use of y/n.

xx: decided to change the saving fem!reader to its AO3 title, so all parts of this fic have been updated for this change as well!

~6.8k words

warnings: depictions of blood/injury

“Did I miss anything?” 

Those were the first words the King of Hell had spoken atop the large patio, as you stood in awe, battered, with dust and debris sticking to your body. You blinked, frozen in place as your eyes scanned over the pearlescent man’s figure, who grinned charmingly across from you. 

He leaned lazily against the gold railing, now partially destroyed from the small explosions that had peppered the front of the hotel. The screams and snarls from below were all but silenced now, except for one or two stragglers who could be seen making a run for it in the distance. But, not before a large, swamp-green tentacle snaked around them, and began beating them into the ground. It wasn’t long before your gaze was back on Lucifer, a million thoughts racing through your head.

It wasn’t until Lucifer’s smile faltered slightly at your silent staring, did he clear his throat, nervously tapping against the apple-tipped cane in his grip. “You look a little shaken up, are you doing good over there?” 

You were about to open your mouth to speak, until your eyes darted to another small, cylindrical object flying right towards Lucifer. You recoiled, throwing your hands in front of your face as it closed in on the fallen angel.

“Watch out!” You cried to him, squeezing your eyes shut as you waited for the familiar boom of the grenade to shake the patio. Lucifer whipped his head around, eyebrows raised as the grenade soared towards him. Lifting his arm, he caught it in his hand before it could hit him in the face, before raising it to get a closer look. 

You splayed your fingers, peeking through the small gap when you realized once more that your heart was still beating. Raising an eyebrow, your face contorted into surprise as your gaze rested on the object in Lucifer’s hand.

The bomb ticked quietly in his palm, slowly increasing in speed as the seconds went by. It vibrated in his grip, and Lucifer only inspected it casually, rolling it between his fingers with interest.

Was he just going to hold it until it exploded? You watched silently with wide eyes, unsure of what exactly was going to happen. If it went off, would the King of Hell even have a scratch on him? Maybe, that was why he seemed so confident holding a bomb in his hands. Watching Lucifer catch it casually in the air a few times only cemented that thought.

The perks of being immortal, you supposed.

“Hm, seems they got the timing off on this one,” Lucifer observed, just as the ticking seemed to increase to every millisecond. Right when you were sure it was about to go off in his palms, Lucifer’s fingers curled around it. It looked like he was squeezing the cylinder like a balloon, as the black, metal surface contorted, shifting from the pressure.

Instead of lighting into a ball of flame, the bomb exploded in a burst of multi-colored confetti. Which sprayed across the patio, a few stray pieces landing on your face as they settled onto the floor. You were silent, in awe at the magical display. Lucifer only grinned at you, a silent boast of his powers as he caught you gawking. He adjusted his collar, still leaning against the railing as he brushed some confetti from his shoulder pads.

Realizing he had noticed your staring, your cheeks began to heat in embarrassment. You lay your eyes for the first time on the most powerful man in Hell and all you can do is stand there and look dumb, get it together! Leaning forward, your head practically hits the cracked tile flooring as you bow.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for my rudeness!” You quickly pipe up, your eyes still locked to the floor as you keep your head down, “Thank you for saving my life, I don’t know if I’d be alive without your intervention.” 

“It was no biggie.” Lucifer shrugged, waving his hand in the air in a sweeping motion, as he brushed off your compliment. He lifted himself from the railing, taking a few steps forward as he began to cross the patio. “Can’t have my daughter’s friends be attacked by a couple of low-life thugs.. again! What kind of a father would that make me?”

You straightened, lifting your head to meet his gaze. Your brows furrowed as the words left his lips, mouth opening slightly as if you were about to question him on his statement.

‘Daughter’. Was he talking about Charlie? Of course, he must be, she looked like a carbon copy of him! But, that would mean… it wasn't an imp that had approached you yesterday morning during your shift. At least, not any normal imp. Does that mean you had been talking to…?

It was in the same instance that Lucifer leaned in closer to you, his eyes squinted in thought as he inspected your face. He placed a finger on his chin in thought, as he regarded you with a curious expression through those soft, yellow eyes of his. 

“Wait a second… do I know you from somewhere?” He questioned finally, raising an eyebrow in anticipation. You smiled as you thought of a response, your hands rubbing together in a soothing motion. Lucifer’s eyes lit up in recognition before you could say anything, and he snapped his finger as connected the dots.

“That's right! You were that sweet worker at the formalwear store yesterday, weren’t you? The one that opened early for me!” He beamed, taking another step closer as your eyes widened at the proximity. 

“Y-yes, that was me, Your Majesty.” You stammered out, cursing yourself so being so godamn nervous. “Except, I wasn’t really aware that you were... well, you?”

“Oh, heh, yeah, my impish disguise. Pretty good, eh?”

Yeah, it was. There wasn’t anything that would have made you guess that imp was actually Lucifer, at least before you had met the man. Except, for the height. That hadn’t seemed to change between the two appearances, as you still had to lower your head to meet his gaze even now.

You took a deep breath, calming your jittering nerves as you again realized who was standing right in front of you. Never once did you think a lowly citizen of Hell like you would be this close to the Lucifer Morningstar! Should you have kneeled instead when you greeted him? What was the proper etiquette for this kind of thing? Alastor would have surely known.

That thought made you lean over slightly to get a peek past the fallen angel’s brimmed hat. Your eyes followed the slender, shadowy forms of tentacles snaking around the last two criminals, who were trying to shoot the large masses.

“Aren’t you, um, going to go help..?” You pointed behind him, and Lucifer turned to follow your finger just as another thug was flung past the large fence that surrounded the hotel. Their squeal of fear faded as they disappeared from view. Static-laced laughter filled the air as the tentacles began to dissipate.

“Nah, I think your… friend down there has it covered.” Lucifer shrugged after a moment, turning back to face you. 

You nodded slowly, taking a deep breath to calm your jittering nerves. Between last night and this, you were about ready to lay in your bed and hibernate for the next three months. Life was exhausting, it seemed. 

“Well, that was fun!” Lucifer smiled, nodding along as he clasped his hands together. “Didn’t think I’d find drug dealers trying to knock down the walls, though. Looks like I really have to up the security around here.”

You nodded along half-heartedly, and watched as he strolled past you towards the door. He only made it a few steps before he halted, and you jumped slightly as he pivoted to face you. He waggled a finger at you, mock suspicion in his gaze as he leaned in. Now that you could get a better look at him, 

“I also was not expecting to find you here, either. Only yesterday, it seemed like you had no idea the hotel even existed. Now, I find you in the raging path of a feral tea table. An odd turn of events, don't you think?”

You smiled, heat creeping onto your cheeks in embarrassment. You probably looked pretty pathetic when Lucifer was saving you, curled in a ball while you accepted your grim fate. You wished you had some kind of badass demon magic, so you didn’t have to be so helpless. Did Alastor ever feel helpless? No, probably not, he seemed so confident in every situation you saw him face.

The way he strolled down the stairs so casually when the thugs had first attacked, made it seem like he had done that kind of thing many times before. But, it seemed like that was true, since you patched up one scuffle on his coat, and were told of his encounter with Sir. Pentious–which you simply couldn't believe would attempt such a thing, now that you’ve met him–a few months prior. 

You wondered what made him and Lucifer struggle to get along, had something happened in the past between them? Maybe, you could get Alastor to budge with that with a little prodding. For now, you were unsure of what to tell the King. How would he react if you said the only reason you were here was because of Alastor? You didn’t want to lose the friendliness you had with Lucifer, it probably wouldn't be fun to be on the King of Hell’s bad side.

Plus, it seemed like Lucifer liked you. Did that have something to do with the fact that he claimed you were a ‘rare gem’ when it came to being a nice person in Hell? He did give you all that money.. which you lost. Maybe, he’d give you some more if you played your cards right.

And, if it was as friends, you wouldn’t mind getting closer to the fallen angel. He was just so funny and charming, you couldn’t imagine the kind of gossip he had to share, and you wouldn't be bothered if he shared it with you.

“Oh, well, beeeecause I was interested in redemption! Ha-ha, yeah. When we talked earlier, your words just struck something in me! So, I took a tour and stayed the night.”

“Really? I inspired you to come to the hotel?” Lucifer asked incredulously, tilting his head thoughtfully at you. He raised an eyebrow, doubt written across his features. 

“That’s right! I mean, you even gave me a bunch of money like it was no big deal. That was very kind of you!” You nodded enthusiastically. That wasn’t exactly a lie, since the conversation with Lucifer yesterday did lead to Alastor revealing more about the hotel, which in turn piqued your interest enough to even consider staying for an extended period.

Slowly, Lucifer's eyes lit at your response, a gleam of happiness that you hadn’t noticed before. He seemed to be standing a little straighter too, as if that was some kind of confidence boost for him. Did Lucifer not… genuinely help people often? Was it something he wished he could do more often?

Seems like ruling a realm full of demons that continually commit the worst atrocities known to mankind would break an angel’s will to want to make a change. 

“I wanted to thank you again for your generosity,” you started, your tone genuine as the glint in Lucifer’s eyes only seemed to grow, “All that money you gave me would have really helped, 

“Would? What happened?” Lucifer inquired, tilting his head curiously.

“Some guy mugged me,” you stated bluntly, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. It felt weird telling people about your most vulnerable moments. You found no enjoyment in retelling any of these scary events, and hopefully, your bad luck would end soon. 

“And they stole everything from you?”

“Yeah…”

Lucifer huffed in annoyance, his teeth baring slightly as he exhaled a hot breath. He couldn’t exactly be surprised, it was Hell. Not to mention, the guy has been neglecting his kingly duties for a while now and has only just started going to meetings for crying out loud.

“Jeez, I’m sorry about that. Here, let me jus–”

“Where did that new girl go? What do you mean you haven’t seen her?” You could hear Vaggie’s voice from downstairs, as the gaping hole in the side of the hotel made it much easier to hear their conversations now.

You heard multiple inaudible responses to the question, before Vaggie’s rose above them with renewed anger.

“She’s still up there?! you’re telling me none of you numbskulls went to get her after that big explosion?”

“₩Ⱨ₳₮?!” You heard a snarl of static at Vaggie’s words.

Tensing, you kept your eyes trained on Lucifer as you strained your ears to eavesdrop on the voices below. It seemed like they were looking for you now, did they even know whether Charlie’s dad was here? 

“Alastor, hold up!” You heard Angel Dust’s call from the bottom of the staircase, which made you pivot to face the closed doors not too far away. Lucifer, who was standing a few steps away from you, looked up curiously as the doors swung open.

Standing there, chest heaving slightly, ears twitching, was Alastor. His eyes instantly landed on you, before quickly scanning over your figure for injuries. Did he just leap up all those stairs? That wasn’t a very short distance by any means. 

His arms were outstretched beside him, as he gripped both doors. Alastor’s claws slightly dug into its wood frame as he observed the smoking, half-burnt balcony with a tight-lipped smile. It wasn’t until his eyes met Lucifer’s–you swore you saw a flicker of surprise cross his gaze–that something seemed to flip like a switch inside the demon, and Alastor straightened instantly, his ears returning to their normal placement as corrected his posture. 

A large, toothy grin appeared on his face, but you didn’t miss the way his gaze darted between you and Lucifer only a few feet apart. His eyelid twitched as Lucifer sent him a deadly grin behind you, the tension in the air thickening to the point where you felt like you’d suffocate even in this open space. 

You only smiled brightly in return, sending Alastor a finger wave as you sidled a step away from the fallen angel beside you. Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed to be having fun as he pivoted slightly to face you. A mischievous glint in his eye as he cocked his head at Alastor, a haughty look on his face.

“Can I help you?” He feigned irritation, an eyebrow quirked as he sent the demon a pointed glance. As if Alastor had just barged in on the two of you deep in discussion, souring the mood. 

Alastor wasn’t able to get a word out when multiple footsteps echoed from behind him, noisily clopping up the long staircase as they bickered amongst themselves. A familiar pink spider popped his head over Alastor’s shoulder, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the pearlescent face beside you. More heads appeared around, their eyes scanning across the balcony as they observed the scene.

“Dad?” Charlie asked, squeezing through the clump of nosy demons, surprise written across her face as she passed Alastor. 

“Honey!” Lucifer beamed, a smile gracing his features as he met his daughter halfway. Charlie extended her arms, ready to accept Lucifer’s large hug as he returned the gesture. He held her for a moment before he released her, backing up a step as the others pushed past Alastor’s figure to get a better place behind the princess.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at that art auction?” Charlie questioned, tilting her head at him. 

“That ended last night.” Lucifer nodded, “Now it’s some kind of celebratory artist-only afterparty, which means even the King of Hell cannot attend, unfortunately. So, I thought I’d drop by. Good timing, it seemed, or else your friend here  would not be standing here any longer.”

Lucifer turned to you, gesturing to the dust and debris hanging to your clothes, as you stood there silently with that same awkward smile. 

“Oh, yeah. She’s interested in being a resident of our hotel, for redemption!” Charlie smiled excitedly, proud to be able to show her father that her dream was slowly expanding. You nodded along, your hands clasped together politely as they discussed you.

“Yes, I heard! We’ve been having a nice discussion these past few minutes, her and I. A real doll, this one is, just like when I met her previously.”

“You two... have met before?” Charlie finally asked, confusion laced in her voice as she looked between the two of you. The demons behind you shot curious glances in your direction, silently waiting for more juicy details.

“She was there when I bought your tuxedo! I was in disguise, though, so nobody saw me as.. well, me. She even opened up early for me, just out of the kindness of her soul!” Lucifer scooted beside you, nudging you in the arm playfully as he spoke. “Guess you could say I owed her a rescue after that considerate gesture.”

“Did you throw a party up here, too?” Vaggie piped up from the doorway, kicking away at a few stray pieces of the colorful confetti that was sprinkled across the floor. Charlie’s eyes were glinting as she processed her father’s words, before glancing down at the new red suit that she was wearing. She looked up at you with renewed interest, a blooming on her face.

“That was all His Majesty, actually,” you finally spoke, lifting a hand to your mouth as you giggled, “It was pretty impressive, to be honest, I’ve never seen a party trick like that before. I thought the confetti was kinda funny.”

You purposely avoided looking at Alastor as you spoke, so his reaction to your praise was a mystery. Lucifer only smiled proudly beside you, your words boosting his ego. 

“Well, that’s not the only trick I’m good at,” Lucifer chuckled. Before he sent you a wink, then a playful smirk that he swept across the small crowd. Their eyes were locked on him, captivated with anticipation for the charming angel to display some of his magical talents.

Except, for Alastor, who only smiled widely, his eyes crinkled in annoyance at the theatrics. You didn’t pay him much mind, instead keeping your attention on Lucifer. During your time in Hell, you hadn’t come into contact with many figures that could harness demonic magic so effortlessly, apart from Alastor.

The King of Hell, however, was on a whole different level, he had pure angelic power. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and you were not going to miss this for anything. However, it seemed your admiration was a little too evident, as you missed Alastor's squinted gaze analyzing your expression.

Lucifer finally rested his gaze on Alastor, who met his eyes,  just as he tapped his cane against the ground, a flurry of golden sparks igniting from the touch. a vortex of golden eaves began to swirl around his cane, before flooding across the destroyed, cracked floor of the balcony. It was like a small ocean pooling at your feet, and it felt like the ground was shifting underneath you. 

Sticking a finger gun towards the split table, Lucifer shot an explosion of magic against its surface, and it crackled with energy. Before you could blink, the two pieces slid together, attaching like Lego pieces back onto their legs. Fresh color adorned the wood, a lovely shade of peach with matching chairs. It settled onto the ground, with not even a scratch from the abuse it had just received.

He aimed a few more magical-loaded digits towards the broken railing, and the spilled flower pots, making pew pew sound effects with his mouth as he did so. 

The balcony began to shift back into even better condition than it originally was, the broken scenery straightening itself back into form. Slowly, the golden waves against your ankles dispersed and were pulled back into Lucifer’s cane.

The large, white marble tile beneath your feet was perfectly sealed, not a single crack upon its surface as it sparkled with a newfound shine. You lifted your leg, surprised finding your figure to be completely dry.

The demons around you stood mesmerized by the display, their eyes glowing and lips puckered in a small o. Alastor only tapped his claws against his cane impatiently. 

“How is that for a party trick?” Lucifer turned to you, sending you a charming grin. 

You were about to open your mouth before Charlie appeared at your side with a happy squeak. Her blonde hair cascaded down your shoulder, the silky strands like feathers against your skin. 

“Thank you for the help, Dad!” Charlie beamed, squeezing her cheeks as she stared lovingly at her father, “it’s so great to see you make new friends, too!”

“And, new clients!” Lucifer boasted, adjusting his bowtie with a grin “Last time we talked, I told her all about the hotel and what it offered. Seems like my salesmanship charm prevails once more.”

“How funny,” Alastor’s voice crackled with static as he strode up beside Charlie, planting himself into the small group’s discussion with a grin,  “but it appears His Majesty is mistaken, for it was I who persuaded our darling belle here to take a chance at redemption.”

“Pfft! You? Please, you couldn’t even convince an angel to redeem themselves. At least, not with that haircut!” Lucifer laughed, and your mouth dropped open, your gaze flicking to Alastor, who seemed to hesitate for a moment in shock at the bold insult. 

Your eyes darted to Charlie. She returned the look, before slapping a hand over her dad’s mouth.

“Okay, moving on!” She replied cheerfully, pinching her dad’s lips closed as she turned towards the staircase. Vaggie shot a glare toward the rest of the onlookers, who began to sadly shrink away.

“I’m afraid Your Majesty is uninformed!” Alastor ignored Charlie, as he walked closer to stand right beside you. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your heartbeat quickening at the realization you were directly in the middle of the two dueling forces. 

“Of what?” Lucifer questioned.

“Why, of our association, of course,” Alastor said sweetly, grasping your arm gently as he gestured to your figure. Heat crept onto your cheeks, as you let him slide in closer to you.

“You two know each other?” Lucifer asked, doubt laced in his face as he shot you a questioning stare. You only averted your gaze, unsure of how to respond to all of the prying eyes.

“Indeed! I’m sure you’re familiar with a charm like this?” Alastor smiled innocently, before gingerly holding out your hand, gesturing to your ring finger. That golden ring glinted in the sunlight, and the small rose-gold engraving of the letter A was on full display. 

Lucifer’s eyes widened after a moment, and his gaze shot to you, then to Alastor, before landing back on the ring. He seemed to reel back slightly as it finally dawned on him, before his face settled into a look that silently grumbled ‘You gotta be kidding me.’

Charlie gasped, clutching her cheeks as she leaned in closer for a better look. The ecstatic look on her face was a complete inverse to her father, who only averted his gaze at the sight. 

You stood with an awkward smile, heat creeping onto your cheeks as you sidled slightly away from Alastor. You did not expect him to be sprinting it back onto these guys, in front of Lucifer no less.

The King only turned to you, disbelief in his features as he sent you a pointed stare.

“You’re telling me you work at a formalwear store, and you picked a guy with this bad of a wardrobe?” He gestured subtly to Alastor’s suit, a grimace on his face as he eyed the demon’s style with contempt.

Alastor only adjusted his bow tie, throwing his hair back as he straightened. He shot you a pointed look too, prodding you with a ‘Are you really going to agree with him?’ stare.

You said nothing, so Alastor only turned to face Lucifer, clasping his hands with a large smile, “I’d take your fashion advice to heart, Your Majesty, but it seems your taste lies at the bottom of a bargain bin, so I must respectfully disagree.”

“Bargain bin?!” Lucifer gasped, a hand shooting up to his chest as he recoiled. A growl rose from the fallen angel’s throat as he opened his mouth to retort, only for Charlie to grab him from behind and pull him away from Alastor.

“I’ll pay you triple the amount from yesterday if you just take that ring off!” Lucifer begged as Charlie dragged him down the steps. “Do you fancy goat horns? I know of someone in the Wrath Ring that is available!”

The father-daughter duo disappeared from view, their voices muffled as you watched the doors slam shut with a crackle of green energy. Turning to face Alastor, you find a smug grin dancing on his lips. You frowned, did this guy really just insult the King of Hell like the man couldn’t stomp him in a moment?

“Your arrogance knows no bounds,” you chastise the demon, waggling your finger as you spoke, “speaking so comfortably with the King in such a condescending manner. He could smite you for that, you know.” 

“Verbal sparring with the monarchy is a favorite pastime of mine, sweetheart! I’m sure our dear king enjoys it just as much as I.” Alastor shrugged, twisting the cane between his claws as he regarded you with playful eyes.

“You are such a pain in my—”

Your words died in your throat when the outline of a dark-red rose was thrust towards you, Alastor’s fingers gently curled around its stem as he held it up for view. 

“For you.” He smiled, his lips curled in a soft grin. 

“Me? But, where did you get this?”

“Some bumbling oaf down there was going to stomp on it, so I stomped him, instead,” Alastor shrugged, extending the rose closer to you as he spoke, “I thought it would be something you’d find interest in. It… reminded me of you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, gaze lowering towards the wine-colored flower. It was beautiful, even with its slightly jagged petals, and the much larger thorns that covered the black stem. 

But, for Hell, it was such a relieving sight. To know that something that presented emotions could exist in such an apathetic, pessimistic environment like the realm around you. Honestly, it didn’t have that many similarities in comparison to Earth’s rose, but its mere resemblance made nostalgia pull at your heartstrings.

Old emotions began to boil inside you, and your throat tightened. Even after all the hardships, you still missed the trees and the smell of real, fresh air. The feeling of the sun against your skin, kissing you with a warmth that always stirred a smile onto your lips. Hearing the morning doves in the early spring morning, their gentle coos echoing through the thin veil of fog that settled onto the dew-filled grass. 

Now, you were stuck here. A dark, dirty realm that gave you its fair share of grief too. A lot in the span of two days, even. But, the good in it, was seeing the genuine smile that greeted you every time Alastor drank in your presence. Like this morning, when you agreed to join him on the patio, and the way his ears seemed to stand even taller when you said yes. 

It was also the fact that Alastor was so intent on presenting this lovely gift to you, that he killed someone just so the rose would survive the chaos, that made you feel so warm and giddy inside.

A smile bloomed across your face, and you gently wrapped your fingers around the stem, right above Alastor’s own. The top of your hand grazed against the softer texture of the rose’s petals, but its sharp thorns nicked at the skin on your fingertips, causing you to grimace slightly. You adjusted your grip slowly, the pain ebbing as you found a comfortable hold.

Your hand brushed Alastor’s as he released his grip, pulling his hand towards him, his gaze traveling to your arm lifting as you inspected the rose closer. All the memories of long, forgotten experiences made years prick at your eyes. 

“I.. don’t know what to say. This is so sweet of you,” you replied softly, eyes still locked on the rose and you gently caressed its petals, “thank you, Alastor.” 

Alastor watched the emotion flood across your face, and for the first time, he didn’t know what to say next. The look on your features made him feel.. strange. 

As if, this was a reaction nobody in Hell has ever given him before, excluding Charlie. It was fear and anger that only ever greeted him. Which he preferred, it made him feel strong, made him feel powerful. 

Your soft, sweet smile, however, was something Alastor could get used to. The way the dimples on your cheeks deepened slightly as your lips curled delicately. As if you too were a rose, your petals softly opening for the new day. 

His gaze still rested on you as the tip of your nose inched closer to the petals, before you inhaled a deep breath.

It smelled surprisingly sweet, but also with a warm, earthy scent. A hint of smokiness underneath the layer of the sugared aroma. It reminded you of a wood-burning stove, or the smell of firewood that clung to your shirt after a night in the wilderness.

But, also… the faint metallic tang of blood. 

Brows furrowing, you pull the flower away, your eyes traveling to the barely visible glistening substance coating part of the stem. It almost mirrored the color of the dark-red petals, and you lifted your gaze to Alastor.

When your eyes traveled up his figure, it was the small trails of red liquid that dripped from his fingertips that made you recoil, a hand to your mouth as you gasped.

“Alastor, you’re bleeding!” The worry in your voice was obvious as you stepped closer to him, trying to get a better look at the small gashes on his skin. He regarded it with indifference, as if it was just a simple bother. You frowned at his reaction, there was no way that didn’t hurt!

He was a sinner, just like you, and almost everyone in the hotel. Mortality was still present in his afterlife, including the sensation of pain. No matter how hard he tried to present himself as a powerful being like Lucifer, he was still just a man who felt the same things you did. If not, with a little different... perspective. 

“It is nothing, do not fret about me, my doe,” Alastor brushed off your words, beginning to pull his hand away from your view. You saw a drop of blood leave the tip of his claw, falling onto the cracks below your feet, “they are just feeble scratches, nothing I, the Radio Demon can’t handl–”

Alastor’s words died in his throat, the last of his sentence coming out in pure static as his pupils dilated on your hand wrapping around his wrist. Your grip was firm, preventing him from shielding the wounds from you, as you tugged his hand closer.

This was the boldest move you had made since the two of you had first met. It was usually Alastor who made the first gesture, who took your hand and touched you softly. As if you were a fragile doll that could crack at the teeniest bit of pressure.

The man was so used to control, having complete say in who touched him—which was never, unless you count Angel Dust whenever he tried riling up the demon—and why. If you were some normal face in the crowd making such a move, he’d probably have torn them apart.

But oh, the warmth from your touch that greeted his cool skin had him yearning for more. That blissful feeling that seemed to bloom from inside his bones, that traveled like a river through his veins, filling him up with a strange, yet awfully familiar feeling.

Like, when his mother would sit him down at the table for dinner, a bowl of hot, steaming Jambalaya in her hands that she made just for him. Anytime she noticed he had a hard day, she’d cook his favorite meal.

As a child, he had eagerly scarfed it down, impatient to fill his stomach with such a treat. When he grew older, however, he learned to slow down and savor the explosion of flavors that tickled his taste buds in every bite. 

He remembered the way the delicacy traveled down his throat, and how it felt like a fire was igniting in his belly. The warmth emanating from your skin reminded him so much of that.

And that smile that always graced your features at the sight of him? Alastor remembered that from somewhere too. His mother’s lips always curved into a soft, gentle grin that would make anyone butter up in their presence.

Your lips seemed to curve just the same, and the demon was sure if the two of you would have met before the afterlife. His mother would have loved to meet you. 

Alastor remained deathly silent, his muscles tense as you splayed out his claws, turning his hand over to have his palm face up. There was dried blood across the smooth skin, which meant he had been bleeding for a while now. 

How hard was Alastor holding the rose during the fight that he cut up his hand like this? If it wasn’t for the bickering between him and Lucifer, you surely would have noticed it earlier.

Your fingers gently brushed against the small cuts, blood still slowly seeping from beneath the demon’s skin. You nudged his wound softly, inspecting it with worry. 

“Does that hurt?” You asked softly with furrowed brows.

“Does it matter?” Alastor scoffed, averting your expectant gaze.

“Yes! It does, actually!” You retorted, before your gaze moved to your outfit with a determined look. Quickly, you reached down, taking a fistful of fabric in your grasp before pulling it hard. With some friction, it began to tear away from the rest of your garment.

Now, you had a large piece of cloth in one hand, and Alastor’s wrist in the other. Reaching forward, you began to cover his cuts tightly against the fabric.

“Must you ruin such a pretty outfit for something so insignificant like my hand?” Alastor inquired, exasperation lacing his voice, “You’re treating it like some kind of battle wound, I am fine, my doe.” 

He didn’t pull away from you, however, as you finished patching up his injury. Inspecting his hand closer, you eyed work for a moment, before you shook your head, dissatisfied. 

“I forbid you from doing any activities for the rest of today until you address your wounds,” you declared, crossing your arms sternly. 

“Forbid?” He inquired, quirking a brow in amusement.

“That’s right! If you don’t take care of your injury, or let me do it for you, then I’ll have no choice but to put my foot down.”

Alastor squinted at you for a moment, that grin masking his thoughts as he regarded you. Was he going to argue? Sweat beaded on your forehead as you anticipated his answer. It wasn’t like you could exactly stop the powerful demon from doing what he wanted, but you also couldn't just let him strain his wound further because of pride.

Alastor didn’t argue. Instead, he simply shrugged, a pleased smile gracing his features. He closed his eyes thoughtfully, before holding a limp hand towards you. 

“Well, if you insist,” he hummed, cracking one eye open to watch you expectantly.

“Really..?” You asked in disbelief, regarding his hand with suspicion.  

“If the lady wishes to fuss over my health, I suppose I could heed her demands,” Alastor responded casually, lifting his hand closer towards you, “and, how could I refuse such a generous offer?”

You smiled playfully before slowly wrapping your fingers around the makeshift gauze, trying to get a good grip around his cuts as you held his hand.

“Is there somewhere I could get medical aid inside? Baindaids, alcohol solution… ibuprofen?”

Did Ibuprofen even exist down here? There had to be something similar at least, the Pride Ring was full of mortals that could still feel pain. Was Alastor in a lot of pain? Even if he was, you probably wouldn't get a straight answer from him. 

Now, you understood why Alastor and Lucifer didn’t like each other. They were just fighting for who was really the embodiment of pride.

“Hm..” Alastor tilted his head in thought, before his ears twitched, and a sly smile graced his lips, “I do believe I know just the place!”

Without a word, he returned your grip and pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched, your chest almost bumping against Alastor’s as he took your other hand. The two of you looked as if you were about to start a waltz, as the demon looked out towards the railing, his chest still facing yours as his smile grew.

“Hang on tight, my dear!” He stated chipperly, and you fastened your grip hastily. The air began to crackle with energy, goosebumps rippling across your skin as static seemed to tickle at your figure. Green smoke pooled at your feet, and that familiar tingling sensation overtook you, just like the first time you were teleported. 

Alastor only pulled you closer right as the smoke blasted up, cold air hitting your face as you were pulled into darkness. The presence of the hand against yours was faint, but at least you weren't alone this time. You kept your eyes squeezed shut, your heart racing as you waited to feel the floor against your feet once more. Then, you felt a thumb brush softly against your knuckles, it circled soothingly across your skin, and you relaxed slightly.

What felt like minutes really only took a couple of seconds, as you felt soft lighting hit your eyelids, and Alastor stir beside you. His hand didn’t leave yours, as he waited for you to join reality.

“Not so bad, hm?” He prodded you slightly, beckoning you back into reality.

Letting your pupils adjust to the light, the familiar wallpaper from the hotel corridor met your vision. Did he really just materialize the two of you across the building? You didn't have any problem walking, but perhaps Alastor was trying to avoid the small crowd that would have met them at the bottom of the patio stairs.

“I feel kind of queasy,” you responded, shaking your head of the fog in the back of your mind.

“After a few times through, it won’t bother you anymore,” Alastor assured.

Trying to get a better estimate of your location, you turned your head to one side of the hall, taking in the sight of a dark, oak door. The familiar numbering made you quirk a brow, tilting your head towards the smiling demon. He met your gaze, a soft, lipped smile on his face.

“We’re going in my room?”

“Not quite..” he hummed, gripping your shoulders and pivoting you to the opposite side. Your eyes widened, gaze locked onto the matching door of Alastor’s room.

You stayed silent, feet frozen in place as you watched him take a few steps, his good hand wrapping around the spherical doorhandle. Slowly, he twisted the knob until it clicked softly. The hinges creaked with age, and the hallway lights began to spill into the darkened room as the crack in the doorway widened.

You couldn’t see anything through the slightly opened entryway, but your heart quickened as the second passed by. Your eyes flicked up to Alastor, who regarded you curiously, his gaze gentle as your nerves began to display on your face. 

“Ladies first!” He beamed, his smile an assurance to your heated skin.

He obviously wanted you to go inside, and part of your brain was nudging you forward with excitement. Alastor was inviting you into his quarters, he was allowing you to take a step inside his world, to get to know him! 

The other part whispered hesitation. What lay behind that door? Surely, more than just medical supplies.

It was as if you wrapped a sheet around the reluctance that was beginning to plague your mind, stuffing it underneath the floorboards of your brain. You weren't going to let your flustered mind get the better of you, and have you miss such an opportunity to get closer to the charming demon.

Exhaling a quiet breath, you banished your nerves into the air. Straightening your back, you sent Alastor a warm smile and took a step forward.

wingman!lucifer anybody? ✋

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[shaisuki]

pleasantries

CONTENT WARNINGS. anxiety + references of cheating + power play

NOTE. yay! updated this one and more to come? seriously i don't know how to continue this.

SYNOPSIS.

chapters one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

you hate overtime. you finally understand what nanami meant when he said it to you one time while he visited you to look after the twins. you remember it was a cold night and he's hanging his coat in a spare chair of your house while the twins were still crawling. their little bodies wrapped around your legs, afraid that you'll leave them but you won't. they're just that clingy and needy to you, their mother. you appreciate nanami when he took the time to look after the twins like they were his own but you thrown that thought away. you made clear that as much as you appreciate nanami when he helps you of raising the twins, it is not his responsibility. it is yours and nanami respected that which you are grateful for.

late nights at this office made you miss the twins and haibara and nanami. you began to wonder what they're doing right now. the twins were surely sleeping after being tucked by their uncle haibara and nanami, you were not so sure. he could just be out and doing his stuff. the unfinished paperworks was sure you were not getting home anytime soon but certain circumstances may push you to finish this tasking paperworks.

your eyes glazed at the screen in front of you. not even the blue light saved you from getting your eyes strained and the impending headache is already building up throughout your skull. a soft hiss leaving your mouth as you blink your eyes and taking your eyes off the screen. you need to take a break, away from this.

“take a break, will you?” a voice popped beside you. playful and concerned the tone is but it almost made your heart crash and your body freeze. a shaky breath escaping your lips. from your reaction it was like a serial killer hunting you had found you and got you cornered with no means of escape. a thousand anamnesis briefly flashed through every corners of your brain. the long buried came surfacing and it took was just his and presence of your former bully now ceo of the company where you work at.

you firmly planted your feet on the floor before using it as a leverage to push the chair you sit to gain a not-so-rude distance to your boss. placing your hands in your lap before clenching it to fist to calm yourself and to stop the small tremors of your hands. might as well to stop your legs from bouncing. “i-i was about to. i'm c-close to finishing.” you stammer. wincing at the way you spoke internally and trying not to cringe.

the dimness of the office floor and the sudden drop of temperature didn't do anything to ease your nervousness and realizing that you were the only one left except with him. the dark glasses he wore did nothing to conceal the color of his eyes and it was lighter with the dimness surrounding both of you. it only brought you bad memories and you don't want to lose composure because of it. “you didn't change. you were always the diligent one. keep doing that and you will might be my favorite employee.” he scoffs at what he said. clearing his throat. “scratch that, you are my favorite.” grabbing a nearby chair for him to sit down and the chair seems to be smaller than it was from the his huge stature made it. he sat and faces you. your knees almost bumping but you recoiled at the closeness.

it didn't escape gojo's gaze at the action. a pang of a pain that he didn't recognize blooms in his heart and he didn't like it. he was sure the building would be empty minus the staffs who maintains the cleanliness in their designated spot. he was wrong. when he stops at your floor to check up on you or think of whatever gift he can leave at your desk, he found you. working tirelessly at whatever work you need to do. thus, a chance was presented to him. it's a chance to get you closer and crack the tough exterior you have. he was redeeming himself to you. however it was difficult seeing how you defend yourself from him. afraid that he'll harm you again but it was past like that. he wasn't his past self and so are you.

“are you not going home?” you ask him. he gave you a quick shake of his head. “i'm not until you're finished.” he reasons. part of it true and a lie. there's no rush to go home when all that awaits for him is the coldness of his penthouse. spacious and designed for his taste. it's devoid of warmth and sayuri wasn't too fond of it and he wasn't with his fiancee. sayuri's spoiled and even with the few hints of her being there, it bothers him. what he needs is someone. someone who can share a home with him and the answer's in front of him.

there's no use arguing to him. he's your boss and you can't say that his presence is unneeded and you did what's best. ignoring him like he didn't exist but it's impossible that he's dead staring at you. watching your every move. waiting for you to fumble and that brings the unnecessary anxiety you have been feeling lately.

since when's the last time he had the chance to look at you like this, gaze at you like you hung the moon and stars and even more than three years had passed since he last saw you, there isn't a bit that you had changed except maybe for the weight that you gained more and the look in your eyes. despite the uncertainty with how things have been for you since you stepped in his company and meeting them two, there's a look of fierceness in them like you're protecting someone and needing the strength to protect them and it's the look he have seen from his mother. a thousand times she did when he needs her. shielding from his father's demanding orders about him being his protege, his heir. the days would come back haunt him if his father had seen as his son. his blood and nothing else but a child of his own.

it's a memory he didn't want to think of, now he took over of his family's legacy. he should be focusing on what's present in front of him and he gladly drowns in your presence. looking at you and memorizing every inch of your features. still in his position he can see that natural eyelashes of yours, the roundness of your eyes and when they look at him, he gets a little weak. gojo would like to brush his nose against to yours. feel the roundness of your cheeks like he did when you slept in a little the morning after he and suguru had ravaged you. takes a glance at your sleeping figure and he didn't realize that he was already admiring you and he would like to kiss you once again. the softness of your lips in his while he takes you fully. it will come a long way before he can do that again. forgiveness isn't a easy thing to do and he regrets it a little bit of how he treated you.

enthralled by the menial tasks you were doing, the beep of the monitor shutting down brought him back. you were packing up and sorting the folders and putting them by the small rack of your desk for tomorrow's use. you didn't wait for him after you've slotted your chair below the space of your desk. walking towards the elevators and he follows suit. pressing the button for ground floor. there's only a ding and then the casual whir of the elevator. none of you dared to break the silence despite gojo's chatty nature. not wanting to make you uncomfortable furthermore and he only looks at the reflection of you both in the elevator doors.

ding!

the elevator stopped before opening its doors. you both stepped out and made way through the exit of the building. the cold night air hits you both. nipping the skin that is left uncovered. the young ceo glanced at his watch before looking at you. “shall i escort you home?” you were quick to dismiss his offer. “no, thank you. i can take myself home.” you say before leaving him in front of the glass doors of his building. you take a pause to your steps. contemplating and you hope you're not going to regret what you're about to say. “thank you for staying with me until i got my work done but please don't make it a habit. i don't want trouble.” you told him. “have a good night.” you slightly bowed as a sign of respect to him, not as a person but as an employee.

you didn't gave him room to reply and you were off. down to the direction of the nearest train station. his car already in front of him before the valet stepped out to give him his keys and before he took off. his blue eyes shimmer behind his dark glasses until he can see no longer of your retreating figure.

the chains make a clanging sound. resonating in the empty room and there's a sharp rattle of the chains mixed with the sound it was making as the sandbag was swung in different directions. it rounded into a circular motion until it was back again to the cause of the movement. steely purple eyes fixated on the poor equipment and anticipating the movement of it coming back to him, his fist collided with it again. followed by more and with a harsh punch, the sandbag broke the chain where it was attached. toppling on the corner with a thud and that was the cue for him to stop. the equipment no longer useful to him.

geto swiped a sweat in his forehead. finding the end of the strip of the cloth wrapped around his hands before pulling it and dumping it to the trash bin. he take a bottled water for him to drink and plopped down the couch. before his lips can taste the water, his phone rang. the caller id flashing in the screen of his phone and geto sighs before swiping to answer the call.

“any progress?” he say without greetings. anticipating the answer on the other end and he hears a shuffle before it was answered. “barely. she's avoiding me. i managed to stay with her after i found out she was staying late.” he can hear the frustrated tone of his friend. “she told me i shouldn't do it. she don't want to be in trouble.” gojo huffs. annoyed how the night ended but at least you talked to him even it was brief. “you are trouble.” suguru chuckles before turning into one of a serious. “it doesn't help you're her boss and you're engaged. they will talk and you know the jealous fits your fiancee have.” gojo rolls his eyes. wiping the fogged mirror he was staring his reflection at. “i know and that means, it's going well with you?” he bites his tongue to stop the sarcastic tone he was about to unleash.

geto thought about it. his past encounters with you and slowly, you were trusting him. it wasn't the result he wanted cause he can be impatient at times and he's dying to feel you once again but progress is still progress. “yeah. she's slowly accepting me.” gojo scoffs and geto hears it. “you want her to open up to you? stop being an entitled asshole to her. show her you're not your past self. being sincere won't cost you anything.” it have and gojo winces at it.

“satoru?” geto hears a feminine voice in the background and he ends the call before he can hear anything else. he thinks of you. he should take you on a date sometimes. one you can't refuse and show you a good time and treat you the way you deserve and see that smile he have been wanting. directed to him and only him. he's the only one that can make you smile and you won't need gojo. he looks at the time. he should be planning to make you his, again.

there's a sudden beep signalling that the call was ended. gojo turned around only to meet his fiancee. standing in the bathroom door. her perfume reeks and her loose waves daintily passed around her shoulders. wearing only a thin nightgown and gojo hides the distaste he have for her. this was an arrangement. both of the families agreed it should be done. sayuri was only her for the night and he can live that. “aren't you going to bed?" her voice too sweet for his tastes. he likes your better. sweet and gentle compared to sayuri's. “just a second.” he says before turning off the light switch and joining her.

“how's your day?”

“the usual.” her fingers came rubbing circles in his chest. she intentionally pulls the straps of her thin nightgown and he wasn't really in the mood and how he can be when all he can think is you. fuck. maybe he can use sayuri and pretend it was you but the delicate features of his fiancee isn't the same as you. a tiny waist and a handful of flesh he can grab. it wasn't enough. he needs you. full and ripe for him to tear apart while you cry his name. he rubs his eyes and looks at sayuri. it would be only temporary. “sayuri?” he call to her. the girl besides him was all ears. “yes?” he would be in trouble if he was to call your name instead of her. “come here.” and without hesitation her lips was on his.

now's the world is getting smaller to you three and you have no excuses of avoiding them. you can endure it. you endured it for the quarter of your whole life, what's the difference if you can do it one more again. now the stakes are higher and you're risking the existence of your children with them. you don't know how it will end but you know you have to protect your twins even it's the last thing you will do.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: double chapters when I know I shouldn't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“We got a suite available, Amalia?” The man, the owner of this casino, Bucky, asks as he approaches the glass counter of the hotel lobby. You barely keep up as your surroundings smear and your head spins. Everything’s happening so fast. 

“Mr. Barnes,” the woman on the other side greets as she nears the slim monitor, “I think we should.” She glances at him, then your sister as she blathers drunkenly in his arms, “having a good night?” 

“Oh, just some friends in the city for a night,” he lies easily, “she got a bit carried away so we’ll let her sleep it off.” 

You chew your lip as you stand just behind him. Your stomach lurches as your eyes wander around the fine decor. It’s all out of your price range. Again, your brain is a beat behind.  

“Doll, would you get that?” He asks as the desk agent holds out a small folder. 

“Oh, yeah, er,” you rush up to take the room keys, “sorry.” 

“No problem, just got my hands full,” he scoffs, “Amalia, have a good night. Hopefully you don’t get anyone too rowdy.” 

“Thank you, sir, you too,” she preens after him as he heads off across the lobby. 

Once more you’re on his heels as he struts toward the elevators. You catch up to him and force the frog from your throat, “uh, sir, Bucky?” You stammer, “I don’t think... I can afford--” 

“Doll, don’t worry about all that. It's on the house,” he stops before the elevator and stares at the golden doors, “I’m not some sort of grifter. I offered, I’m not gonna squeeze ya. What’s the room number?” 

“Er, oh,” you open the little folder, “720.” 

“Right, hit the button,” he nods before him. 

“Sorry,” you cringe again. You’re so behind. It must be so obvious to him how lost you are. Maybe that’s why he noticed you. He feels bad that someone so pathetic could exist. 

You press the up button and the doors open. He nods you ahead of him and you step into the box. The walls are transparent and you can see outside along the river. He gets in and comes to stand parallel with you as you avoid looking through the glass. 

“Seven,” he says. 

You make another mousy noise and tap the button. You recoil, clutching your hands over your chest, and stare at the doors. As the elevator rises, you feel a wave of head rush, and you sway just a little. You gulp and widen your eyes. 

“Not a fan of heights?” He asks as the box stops sharply and the doors ding and open. 

“Not really,” you mutter. 

He waits for you to exit first and you eagerly do. He follows as you look back and forth between the doors, searching out the number to match the folder. 720, right at the end. You fumble and it takes three tries to swipe the card correctly.  

Finally, the door opens and you push it inward, holding it as you flatten yourself to the wall to let him through. He enters without hesitation. For a moment, you wonder what it must be like to be so sure and so comfortable in a place like this. To have this be your normal.

You let go of the door and trail him further inside. The room is huge. Not just one room, but two. The front room is closed off by a pair of doors, painted white with fine spirals etched into the wood. You flit ahead of Bucky to slide them open and reveal the bedroom. He takes your sister to the bed and lays her down as she lets out a bubbly belch. 

“Sorry,” you apologise on her behalf as you hover in the door. 

“She’s her own person,” he stands back, “you need anything, call down to the desk. They’ll be happy to get you whatever. Oh, and, should probably have some water ready for the morning. She’s gonna be feeling this.” 

“Right,” you push your lip out then quickly fix your face, “thank you. I...” 

“Checkouts at eleven but I’ll tell Amalia to mark you down for a late departure,” he comes towards you slowly. 

“Oh, we won’t stay that long,” you assure him and scrape your palms together. 

“Ah, you got somewhere to be? Work? Gonna be a long day after tonight.” 

“No, I... I don’t...” your eyes drift to the wall. Again, you can’t help but admire the ivory paint and the crystal lamp and tall posts of the bed. “I don’t... have a job.” 

“Mm, tough out there,” he says, “just gotta find the right thing, huh?” 

You want to fold into nothing. This man, a millionaire at least, who owns this whole place, is telling you you’ll find something one day. Just like your mom does when you melt down over another rejection. Ugh. 

“Thanks, yeah,” you take a heavy breath. 

“You’re tired,” he surprises you as he caresses your sleeve, “I’m not gonna keep you up. You get some sleep, alright?” 

You nod and reach to scratch your neck, shifting away from his reach. He’s so much bigger than you that for a moment your stomach is crawling, as the thought occurs of how much control he really has. Not just because of who he is. 

“Good night, doll,” he purrs and brushes by you. 

You stay as you are, staring at your sister, muttering to herself. Why does she have to do this? You could be sleeping in your own bed but instead you’re here, burning in shame and pity. You turn as you hear him near the door. 

“Night,” you offer up. 

He stops and turns back, sending you a wink, “there’s a hot tub in here so... might enjoy the room at least.” 

You force a smile though your stress likely makes it more a grimace. He spins and leaves you, the door shutting with a click and releasing you to your self-reproach. You drop your head in your hands and huff. You are leaving the minute your sister wakes up. You never want to see that man again. You just pray he forgets you just as quickly as you want to forget this whole night. 

🃏

You hardly sleep. Your sister’s drunken snoring keeps you from relaxing for more than twenty minutes at a time, not to mention how unsettled you are. You hate sleeping in new places but moreso you hate that even on a night out, after all the assurance that you could just enjoy yourself, that you are once more a burden for someone else. 

You get up just after six. You rub your forehead as you go out into the front room and look over the amenities. There’s a fancy coffee maker with pods and a mini fridge with a glass door. You take out a bottle of water to leave by the bed for Roxie then return to figure out the coffee. You don’t often have any but your head is pounding. 

You sit down and sneer at the bitterness. Did you make it right? You never liked the taste so you can’t tell. You finish the cup if only for the soothing warmth. 

At seven, you get up to check on Roxie again. She’s still out like a light. Come on! You want to go. 

You rinse the mug in the sink as best you can and return it to the shelf. There’s a knock on the door. You flinch and reluctantly tread down to the hall. You peep through the hole as you fix your clothing. You push down the handle slowly to greet the woman with the cart. 

The golden embroidery on her white blouse marks her as an employee and she beams a smile in your direction. It’s too early for that amount of cheer. She has her hands on the cart, angling it towards the door. 

“Morning, miss, breakfast, complements of Mr. Barnes,” she declares, “where can I put it?” 

“Um,” you back up slowly, “inside... uh, by the table, I guess.” 

She rolls the cart in and asks if you need anything else before she leaves. You shake your head. There’s more than enough there for you and Roxie. If she can even stomach any of it. You’ve seen the way she is after her nights out. 

You sit and stare at the buffet of food before you. Fresh fruit, waffles, pancakes, french toast, bacon, eggs... everything and more. Just another favour to feel bad for. 

As you look over it all, you notice a note, nestled between the glasses beside the pitcher of orange juice. You take it. That must be the bill. You unfold it and read the slanted capitals hand-written across the casino-branded page. 

‘Good Morning, Doll,  

Enjoy breakfast on me. 

B. Barnes’ 

Under his name, is a sharp zigzag of the same black ink, a post script below. 

‘PS. If you’re still looking for a job, call me.’ 

You nearly drop the paper. What? You stare at the digits of his phone number and slowly lower your hand to your lap. This can’t be real. Could you really work at a casino? Would you be a dealer? Or maybe you’d be more suited to a cleaner, somewhere you can be out of the way. 

A long groan interrupts your inner turmoil. You fold the paper and tuck it away. It’s something. You’ll have to just figure out later what. 

“Coffee,” Roxie grumbles as she appears in the doorframe, gripping her skull. 

“Oh, uh, sure,” you get up and go to the machine. You grab a random pod and shove it into the top. 

“Where... how’d we get here?” She sits heavily and reaches for a piece of bacon. 

“Um, you... you were really drunk so...” 

“How the hell did you get us a room? Wait. Did we win? Blackjack?” She bites into the greasy strip and moans. “Or... I didn’t sleep with that guy, did I?” 

“Erm,” you frown, thinking for a moment before you realise she must mean that Sam guy. “No...” 

You don’t explain. You don’t know how. Oh yeah, you were such a disaster that the owner noticed and didn’t kick us out. Actually, he let us stay in an overpriced suite because... you don’t know. 

“He must be loaded if he’s handing out hotel rooms,” she scoffs as she continues on in her assumption. You don’t correct her. It doesn’t matter. “Coffee,” she snaps her fingers as the grind quiets. 

You bring her the mug and she adds too many packets of sugar before she tastes it. You hide the paper in your cardigan pocket and search for your purse. You fish your watch out of it and put it around your wrist checking the time. 

“We should head out before nine,” you say. 

“Why?” She scoffs. “Ugh, what’s the bath like in this place? I could use a soak.” 

“Mom’s going to be worried.” 

“Nah, she knows I’ll get you back,” she waves you off and stands.  

She walks slowly, rubbing her temples as she sips from the cup, and examines the hotel room. She dips into the bathroom and the light flicks on. You hear her turning the faucet and shifting things around.  

You play with the zipper of your purse. You reach inside and pull out your phone. You get up to grab the key folder and enter the wifi code into your outdated model. It takes far too long to connect. You type into the search of your browser, ‘Bucky Barnes’. 

Almost at once, an image of the very man who carried Roxie into this room appears. It’s familiar. You tap it and it opens up a local news story. That makes sense. He’s younger, his hair is shorter. You remember when the casino changed hands and was renovated all those years ago. It was big news. 

Hm. Not just rich, famous, at least to a degree. It means he has a lot more going on than two disorderly girls at his casino. He’ll forget. You just hope you can too. 

Roxie comes back in a robe and put her mug on the table, “make me another. I’m gonna try those jets.” 

She spins away and you stare at her empty cup. How can she not care about anything? Does she not realise that she ruined the night? That she made a fool of both of you? No, she just sees shiny things and forgets all about her own behaviour. 

Well, you’re not like her. You don’t like being a burden or asking for things or living on someone else’s affection. You look down and feel along your pocket, the slip of paper firm through the fabric. You could clean a few hotel toilets for a buck. It’s not like you have much else going on. 

[infamous-if]

Dec ✮ 12 ✮ 2024 – update

Part of me hates doing these mostly because it's a whole lotta nothing and me just repeating everything I said the last update (lol) but I do like doing it because I like keeping people updated, even if it's a non-update. I may sound like a broken record (pun not intended) but I know a lot of people don't catch my updates every time so it's nice to just keep people informed yk yk

✮ — Part 2 + rewrite

Fun fact: I had written an entire essay about my excitement for the rewrite and chapter 3 and beyond but it got too long!

It boiled down to me wondering why I'm so excited for this rewrite and realizing it's because I feel comfortable enough to approach it with complete creative freedom. I wrote the first iteration of the demo with the constant worries swimming in my head like "I hope people understand what I'm trying to say here" and "I hope this situation is being read the way I intended for it to be read." And I think I sort of had those thoughts tenfold while writing Part 2. If you paid attention, you can probably see where I was trying to shut down certain discussions in the narrative lmao

Recently I had a tiny epiphany and reminded myself that it's not always about what I intend to write, but what is being understood by each reader. And yes this is basic writing 101 but let me have this moment of clarity okay. Embracing that means I can proceed with Infamous without holding back and sticking to my guns in regards to what I want for this story aka I'm just going to write what I write and like....not worry about the rest you feel (while of course integrating the common critiques and suggestions and improving on the things Infamous falls short in—I am not Shakespeare lmao)

ANYWAY my point is that I'm excited to fix up the demo !!! and just go back to it with complete confidence in myself and write whatever the heck feels right to me (and write the rest of the story lolol) and return with a better story than I have now for everyone!!

✮ — December will be for

planning what I'm going to improve and squeezing that in a reworked outline so it can flow much better narratively.

Outlining Chapter 3 and hopefully have the bare bones first draft drafted up which is mostly just be writing blocks of descriptions

I'm not sure I'll have anything substantial to justify looking for beta testers so soon yet but maybe!

work on my spice writing babey writing/reading spice makes me actually physically recoil but im determined to get better! which reminds me to finish the 6k follower gifts!

And also take a small breather because I am moving!

✮ — Patreon

I've already mentioned this on Patreon and a few times on here, but I do want to reiterate that Patreon content is coming out in bulk this month, in case anyone was wondering why I'm not posting as frequently. The content is still the same in terms of the quantity, it just won't be released every few days! thank you guys for being understanding of that <3

✮ —

My activity has is decreasing little by little due to my move but I do read every question and try to at least answer one question a day. I get quite a few mentions lately so I have to sort through those since I do get tagged in things, but I miss them due to my notifications. Usually I hope for the best and hope tracking the tag puts it on my dashboard <3 im not ignoring anyone!

That's all for now! Hope everyone has a happy December and Happy Holidays!

[okminer07]

A Growing Problem Pt 2

This is a shorter part than I planned to post, but I really wanted to give y'all an update and let you know I'm still working on this. Hopefully 3rd part will come soon.

Lily stepped through the door frame, looking around curiously for him. Clearly, she had been expecting him to be right at the front door to meet her. It didn’t take long however for her eyes to land on Jeremy, the elephant-sized elephant in the room.  

She let out a yelp at the sight of him, her hands immediately dropping the paper bag she had been carrying to fly up and cover her mouth in horror. Her eyes looked ready to pop out of her skull as she looked him over. He looked grimly back at her, panic rising when she backed away a step. 

“Don’t go.” he pleaded, “Please, don’t go.”  

At the sound of his voice, a sort of realization filled Lily’s eyes, “J-Jeremy?”  she looked him over again, still gaping, “Wha- how-”  

“I don’t know.”  

“You're…. You're…” she stepped closer, “You’re huge!”  

“You think I haven’t noticed?!” he bellowed, gesturing down at himself. 

Lily recoiled slightly, “B-but how?” 

“I don’t know! It-it just happened!”  

She held up her hands, “Okay! Could you please try and calm down?” 

“Calm down? Calm down?!” he got off his hands and knees and sat up, “Look at me!”  

Lily’s mouth dropped, backing away. Her raised hands were shaking. 

Jeremy faltered, guilt tugging at his heart at seeing her reaction. He slouched over, “I’m…. I’m sorry.” he looked pleading down at her. God, she looked so diminutive, “I….. I didn’t mean to… I don’t know what’s happening.” 

She lowered her hands, tilting her head, “did you think I would?” 

He waved a hand in exasperation, “I don’t know. Maybe. I just had no idea what to do. Have you ever seen or heard of anything like this?” 

“N-no” she breathed, “I’ve never…..” she stepped closer, scrutinizing him, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”  

As she got closer, Jeremy felt his face heating up. Lily wasn’t tall herself, far from it. It was something people often teased her about. The last time he asked about her height she had told him 4’11, but even that seemed a little generous. Still, it shocked him to see that even sitting he was taller than her. What the hell was this?  

His stomach growled loudly and his whole face went scarlet as Lily jumped back. He clamped a hand over it, looking back at her sheepishly. Why wouldn’t it shut up?!

“I….. I think we should maybe get some food in you.” She looked around the room, her eyes landing on the paper bag on the floor. She snatched it up and dug out a maple bar which she held up to him. He slowly raised his hand and took it, put off by the fact it was the size of a granola bar to him.  

Lily backed away as he ate the whole thing in one bite, “Okay.” she breathed, “Okay, we- we need to get you to a hospital or something.” she began to pace, “The closest one is what? A forty-five-minute drive? Because I really don’t think the clinic is what we need for uh… for this. I saw your Grandma’s truck outside. We could probably fit you in the boot? Yeah, that would work. And then-” 

Jeremy began to tune out her rambling. He licked his fingers clean of any glaze left from the maple bar while he eyed the fridge. 

“But what are they even going to do? Maybe take a look at your pituitary gland? But that would require an MRI and that would-” 

“Hey, Lily?” She paused and looked up at him, “I’m sorry but uh…. Can you grab me something out of the fridge or pantry?”   

She looked to her left and into the kitchen, her eyes landing on the torn-off cabinet door. 

“Did….. did you do that?” 

His cheeks went pink as he nodded. 

“Oh uh…. Sure thing.” 

“Thanks” he murmured as she headed over to the fridge. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. Surely they’d get this all figured out. Hell, there was still even the chance this was all a bad- 

“Ack!” Jeremy flinched. A small bolt of burning pain had shot its way up his spine before it vanished. His hands flew back behind to rub the length of it.

Lily had rounded on him the moment he had shouted, clutching tightly to the carton of milk she had found, “Are you okay?”  

“Yeah. yeah, I think so,” he slapped a hand to his forehead, sighing and shaking his head, “I just thought- AUGHH!” 

That same burning pain erupted within his chest. Jeremy screamed, falling to the floor and clutching his chest as the pain spread. His eyes watered as it made its way to his arms and legs which twisted and convulsed, his hands and heels slamming into the floor as they writhed in agony. He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. All he could think about was this abhorred sensation, this familiar sensation of every fiber of his being ripped apart while his ears were filled with the sickening sound of cracking and his own screams.  

It stopped. Just like before, all the pain disappeared within an instant.   

Jeremy’s chest rapidly rose and fell as he gasped for air, his heart was still beating like he had run a marathon. Beads of sweat trickled down his face. He removed his clammy hand from his chest to wipe his face, rolling over onto his back as he did. The floorboards creaked loudly beneath him. Staring up at the ceiling, he couldn’t help but feel like it looked different, closer.   

Lily, Lily was still here.  

“Lily?” he groaned. He pushed himself to sit up, “Lily? Wha- ack!” The top of his head smacked into something before he fully sat up. Oh no.   

He laid back down and stared up in horror at the ceiling that was definitely much closer. It felt like acid was creeping up his throat as it slowly began to dawn on him. When he had first felt that pain, what had happened? He had shot up a good five feet. Which could only mean…  

Jeremy slowly heaved himself up onto his elbows, shaking as his eyes landed on his own body. His heart plummeted into his stomach as his mouth fell open. What had been his shirt and shorts were now nothing but a few ripped-up scraps that clung loosely to his body. The only thing in tack on him now was somehow his boxers, but even those felt and looked pretty snug. His legs stretched across the room and were mere inches away from the front door. The umbrella stand that stood nearby was barely taller than the barefoot up next to it.    

“No, no no no no no,” he began to backpedal away from the door, his limbs trembling and fumbling around, “T-this isn’t- this isn’t-” he let out a panicked yelp when his hand accidentally came down upon one of the chairs around the dinner table. It instantly snapped and when he wrenched his hand up it was nothing but a broken mess of wood, “This isn’t- not again!”  

He whipped his head around the cramped space, finding it harder and harder to breathe the more he saw. This was insane! This wasn’t happening!   

Jeremy suddenly froze, his eyes landing upon a small figure crumpled on the floor, pressed up against the kitchen cupboards. Lily.   

The look on her face made his stomach churn. All the color had drained from her face, so pale she could have been mistaken for a corpse if she weren’t trembling and her eyes weren’t so alert.   

He looked himself over again, grimacing at the sight before hugging his legs up to himself and burying his head between his knees. “W-what’s happening to me?” his eyes began to water. He inhaled sharply, a tear streaking down his cheek that was quickly followed by another and then another.  

Within seconds, his face became a snot and tear-covered mess as he began to sob. He couldn’t stop himself, and it felt like the only thing he really could do.   

“I-I-I-I’m some sort of freak!” he wailed, voice cracking. He began grabbing at chunks of his hair, nails digging into his scalp deeper and deeper as he bailed his eyes out.  

“Jeremy?”  

He peeked between his legs through blurry eyes. Lily was now standing a few feet away, her hands raised as she inched closer. His eyes widened and he scooted away, shaking his head. 

She continued to come closer, “It’s okay. J-just calm down.” He gulped down another wave of sobs as she approached him, growing more and more unnerved at the sight of her standing before him, barely able to peek over his knees and see his face.  

Her hands came up and he suppressed the shiver that ran through him as they made contact with his face. He struggled to remain frozen while gazing into her soft eyes.  

“Breathe, okay? Just breathe” He did as he was told, averting his gaze and focusing in on his breathing. Gradually, his heart began to slow. It never stopped murmuring, but it at least didn’t feel like it was going to burst out of him, “Jeremy?” He forced himself to look Lily in the eye, his chest tightening at the sight of her so close, “It's… it’s gonna be okay, okay?” He heaved a sigh, she didn’t say that with much confidence. 

“W-what am I supposed to do?”  

[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. xi

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter |

chapter summary: I'm not even gonna be poetic about this: Joel and reader lie to themselves and others about their feelings for 5.6k words. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 5.6k chapter warnings: ANGST. Description of panic attacks/anxiety. Referenced death of family members/romantic partners. Implied bisexual reader. Alcohol consumption, hangovers. smoking. Canon-typical suffering. As always please dm if you have questions. a/n: Wanted to give game Joel a little love with the gif choice, ya feel me? I've been excited to write this chapter for months and I ultimately feel like it flopped so hard, it just did not come together the way I envisioned. It's also my last week of work for awhile I'm honestly feeling very burnt out so I'm in a 'fuck it, i don't have the energy to make it perfect' mood, BUT - It’s a lot of backstory/development that I do think is necessary. Next chapter shit will go down tho so get ready.

**ALSO! I got rid of my taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifs if you would like to be notified when I update my works :) **

-April 10, 2024-

Joel reaches out to clutch the patio railing. His chest is tight, like someone’s stitched his ribs together so they won’t expand fully every time he tries to inhale. Each breath wheezes in and out of him, and his head spins. 

None of this feels real. It can’t be real. And if he’s asleep, he can’t decide if he’s in a dream or a nightmare.

That’s until he hears his name. 

“Joel!” 

Her voice is like a jolt of electricity, shocking his body back into equilibrium. He finds Ellie standing behind him when he looks over his shoulder, Tommy walking up the pathway to the front door, brow furrowed. 

“We literally only got here like one week ago, you can’t die already,” Ellie scolds him, and he knows that the jab is meant to be playful. “Woah, are you okay?” she asks when they lock eyes. 

Joel straightens, squaring up with Tommy, fully prepared to give him a piece of his mind, for throwing him into the deep end with nothing to stay afloat. 

“Who was that?” Ellie is completely oblivious. 

Even if he wanted to answer the question, he still probably couldn’t. It had taken him a moment to even recognize who you were, that’s how long it’s been. And he hadn’t even really gotten a good look. It only clicked when you’d taken off your glasses, and when it’d registered, and then he’d seen the kid next to you, he’d panicked. Joel brushes past Ellie, shoving his brother with one hand in the center of his chest.

“What the hell were you thinking?” 

Tommy recoils at the contact, something pained and confused crossing his expression. “I…. I thought you’d be happy to see that she’s still alive.” 

Joel doesn’t answer, just glowers at him. He’s still unable to make sense of the questions swirling around in his mind, each one seemingly more important than the last. 

Of course it’s good that you're alive. At one point, he had tried to find you. It was after Sarah, after he’d tried to- he can’t even think about how foolish that had been. At the time, the thought of seeing you again was the only thing that provided him with even the slightest bit of hope for the future. But the search had been fruitless. 

After a while, Joel decided that you were dead. It didn’t matter whether or not you were. He’d seen the unspeakable pain humans were capable of inflicting on each other and then when he’d gotten involved with some hunters, became the cause of all that pain. If you were alive…it meant those horrible things were happening to you. You were better off dead. 

It also kept his conscience clear. After he’d done what he had done, he knew if he ever saw you again, he wouldn’t even be able to look you in the eyes. And he was right. You knew a version of him that no longer existed. 

“Joel,” Ellie interjects. He’d nearly forgotten she was there, still lost in his shock and rage. 

“Ellie, go inside,” he quips. 

“Can’t I just-”

“Inside. Right now. ” Joel hasn’t used such an aggressive snarl with her since they first left for the Boston QZ, and he turns to look at her just in time to see her face crumple, before she turns and marches up the stairs. He immediately feels bad, but unfortunately, this is just how things go with every person he cares about these days. He hurts them, then they hurt him, and it equals out, only ending when one of them decides to leave. 

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy scolds, but he doesn’t care. 

“How long?” 

“What?”

“How long have you known she’s alive? That she has a fuckin’.....” Joel feels something get caught in his throat. “...a fuckin’ kid.”

“That’s her nephew,” Tommy says matter-of-factly, as if it was supposed to be obvious. As if Joel wasn’t just grappling with the idea that he had a twenty year old son he’d never known about, and feeling guilty that you’d been alone with him this whole time. “But I guess I can see where you’d think that.” 

Now that you’re on Joel’s mind, he does recall you mentioning your nephew a few times. Maybe you even had a picture of him hanging on your fridge, and he had pegged how you had the same smile. He’s a little embarrassed for jumping to conclusions, but it doesn’t mean he’s done being angry. 

“Shit,” Tommy rubs his beard. “They’ve been here for like three years. It’s been awhile.”

“Three years?” Joel asks, a whole new wave of anger reappearing. “And you didn’t think to fuckin’ tell me all this time?”

“You know the rules. We aren’t allowed to use the radio.” 

“What about when I was here in the winter?” Joel asks stiffly. 

“I just…figured it’d be a shock-

“And why would you think that, Tommy?” Joel raises his voice. 

Tommy holds out his hands, lowering them slightly as if to tell Joel to settle down. Then he nods towards the house. Ellie. “You had a lot going on with that whole situation. I didn’t want to distract you.”

Joel would never admit it, but that was probably a smart decision for Tommy to make. He remembers how uncertain and scared he’d been when he first stopped in Jackson. But Joel still tries to think of a way to keep the argument going, because he doesn’t want to give Tommy any sort of props for how he’s chosen to break this news to him.

“I thought you’d be happy she’s alive, really, I mean you both-”

Joel holds up his hand. “Enough, Tommy. It was so long ago…I barely remember.”

Tommy frowns, gives him a knowing look. “Really?” 

Joel sniffs, crosses his arms. 

“Well, I remember,” Tommy says. “And she was always good to you.”

Joel doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t have anything else to say, and at this point, he just wants Tommy to leave.

“Work through whatever you have to,” Tommy says. “But don’t be an asshole. You should work on that, in general. Or else I’ll have to keep explaining your behavior.”

“Glad I’ve got you looking out for me,” Joel says dryly.  “Don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Fine.” Tommy shakes his head, backs away.

His brother doesn’t say goodbye as he stuffs his hands in his coat pocket and walks down the street. Joel stays in place, alone on the front porch, until his hands relax from the fists they are clenched in and his anger turns to shame. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 19, 2024-

You close the locket and place it back inside the old lunch pail full of tchotchkes and other memorabilia. It’s a fairly empty box, over the years you’ve found that the things you hold onto are either lost or left behind, not unlike the people you’ve met. You swipe away the tears in your eyes. 

Bea had always said it was important to give yourself the space to grieve, to let yourself feel whatever it was that you needed to. It’s advice that you don’t want to take from her right now because you’re pissed at her for being gone. Not that it had been her fault. And also because you know if you don’t stick to a routine it’s very easy to backslide. 

In the bathroom, you hurry to splash cold water on your face, taking a look at yourself in the mirror. Before the outbreak, there was nothing more terrifying than getting old. Now, as you study the new lines and wrinkles on your face, the scar on your bottom lip, the gray strands in your hair, it doesn’t scare you at all. It seemed frivolous that looks were something you’d been so concerned about when you were younger. But you suppose you didn’t have much else to worry about. There was something pretty freeing about being older, that you can be content without being concerned about whether or not someone will find you attractive. And really, getting old means you’re still alive. That’s all that matters. 

You are concerned with the red in the whites of your eyes, but hope they’ll fade by the time you get to Maria’s. 

Grappling with the fact that Joel is still alive has dredged up a lot. Since it had been about a week since your reunion – if you could even call it that – on your front porch, and you’d seen him one other time. The first time, you’d sort of understood why he’d ran off. But you guessed you kind of expected him to come around eventually. He didn’t. 

Just a few days earlier you’d been walking through the town square, and he’d been headed your direction with that teenage girl who Tommy has since told you is named Ellie. She was giggling at something, and Joel even had a slight smile on his face, but when he saw you, it disappeared, and he pulled Ellie to the opposite side of the street. It was clear now that he was intentionally trying to avoid you, which….didn’t feel great. 

That was an understatement. Having Joel back made you realize just how lonely you were. It had taken some time after arriving in Jackson for you to grieve your partner of nearly ten years, so it hadn’t really dawned on you that at some point you might crave a deeper level of intimacy that your friendships couldn’t offer. But you had already had it twice, so you supposed that was better than nothing at all. Plus, your number one priority had been, and always would be making sure Ethan was provided for. 

So what exactly were you expecting from Joel? Not that, of course. But maybe some kind of closure after all those years spent apart. Some kind of acknowledgement of your time spent together. 

When the outbreak first happened, you had spent a lot of time being angry. With Joel and Sarah, the possibility of being normal had been dangled in front of you. You realized you had wanted to be loved after being convinced by your father – and yourself – that you didn’t deserve it. Then, the second you acknowledged that you wanted it anyways, the world had literally ended. It was a little egocentric, but it sort of felt like a sign that your dad had been right all along. Some women aren’t meant to be part of a family.

Of course, Bea had proved that wrong. But losing the people you loved became a pattern. And you even to this day, you alternated between believing that it was the unfortunate reality of life, or that it was your destiny to never get what you wanted. 

Regardless, even if the way Joel is acting has caused you more turmoil than you are willing to admit, you’re not going to follow him around and beg to get back into his good graces. That’s never been your style. 

You’re tidying up the kitchen, getting ready to leave, when Ethan shuffles into the room. It’s nearly noon. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” you say to him as drags his socked feet across the hardwood.

He grumbles his greeting and tilts his head at the bag you’re adjusting over your shoulder, as if to ask where you’re headed.

“I’m going to Maria’s,” you say. “Then I have to meet with Eugene.” 

He makes a noise of affirmation, still half-asleep, and slumps into a kitchen chair. When you look at him closely, you see the dark circles beneath his glassy eyes, his face pale. 

“You alright, honey?” you ask, putting your bag back on the countertop and approaching him. “Do you have a fever?” when you reach to press the back of your hand to his cheek he swats it away weakly. He doesn’t feel warm.

“I’m fine,” he says, crossing his arms on the countertop and burying his face in them. “I just have a headache.”

“Yeah?” you say. “You were out late last night.”

“Derek and I went to the Tipsy Bison,” his voice is muffled. 

Everything clicks into place. “Oh. Were you overserved?” 

He turns his head, but doesn’t lift it. With how long his hair has gotten, most of his face is obscured. “Maybe. But before I get a lecture, don’t worry – I’m never drinking again.”

“I’m not gonna lecture you,” you’re almost offended. “Is this really your first hangover?”

“I mean….probably not. But it’s definitely the worst.” 

“Well now you know your limits,” you say, crossing the room to pour him a glass of water and get some ibuprofen from the long-expired bottle you keep in a cabinet.

“Maybe if we were allowed to drink when we were with Bea, I would’ve learned that sooner.”

You let Ethan’s get his dig in at the last community you’d lived with before Jackson. The more time you’d spent here, the more time he’d had to convince himself that what you’d gotten yourselves into was terrible. Because you had more of a complex perspective on it, it was the one subject you avoided speaking to each other about. 

Ethan is similar to Vincent in that while he’s very sensitive, he also seems to enjoy being an instigator. Of course, spending all of his life fighting to survive in a world that wants him dead has only intensified that. Bea had been good at helping him manage his temper when he was a teenager and it became too much for you to handle. But besides that, he doesn't get into much trouble, so you aren’t going to chastise him. 

“Drink this, and take these.”

He groans, but reaches out for the aspirin and water, nursing it down with small sips. You bite back a smile. The both of you have endured much worse than a hangover, but there’s something cathartic about seeing him experience the plights of a normal twenty-something. 

“Are you hungry?”

“If I eat anything, I think I will vomit,” he lays his head back down. 

You consider asking him if he wants you to stay so you can look after him, but decide that you don’t want to encourage the habit too much. Instead, you reach out and brush a strand of hair off his cheek so you can see him more clearly, and he closes his eyes. “I bet you’ll feel better in a couple hours. Drink water. It’ll help.”

He blinks up at you, seemingly unconvinced. “I saw that guy yesterday. The weird one.” 

“What guy?”

“Tommy’s brother. What’s his name?”

“Joel?” you ask, and pretend that saying his name doesn’t almost make you shiver. 

“Yeah,” he says. “He was with Tommy at the stables. Guess they’re making him a ranger.”

“Hm.”

“I know you knew him before or whatever, but he’s definitely a weirdo. And I’m not just saying that to make you feel better.”

The whatever in his sentence is doing a lot of heavy lifting. You roll your eyes, but not maliciously. “Well, he did just get here.” You definitely don’t owe Joel anything, so you surprise yourself by defending him. 

Ethan almost ignores your response, winces, turns his head back into his arms and grumbles something to the effect of I’m dying. 

“Rest up,” you ruffle his hair and kiss the top of his head, like you’ve been doing since before he could walk, and it’s hard to stop even though sometimes it annoys him. Right now, he doesn’t protest. “I’ll bring you home some soup from the mess hall. Take it easy.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It’s Tommy who lets you in once you arrive at Maria’s. She’s upstairs with the baby, he says, and tells you to wait in the living room, before you hear her frantic voice calling out for him to come help her. 

His footsteps retreat up the stairs, and you hover in the entrance to the living room, your eyes inexplicably drawn to the chalkboard with 

You glance at the little memorial that Tommy had made for Sarah and Kevin, Maria’s son. Even though you’ve seen it a million times at this point, the sight of her name, the date of her passing – the same day as Joel’s birthday – makes your stomach sink. 

That’s when you notice that you’re not alone. Sitting in a chair in the corner is the girl that you’d seen accompanying Joel. You hadn’t actually been properly introduced, you realized, and she’s staring at you like she doesn’t know what to do. She’s a cute kid, a teenager if you had to guess, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. 

Based on how he’s been acting, you can’t imagine what Joel has told her about you. Probably nothing good. So you give her a nod and a small smile, before crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. 

Surprisingly, the bit of sincerity seems to warm her up a little. “I’m Ellie,” she says.

You nod again, and give her your first name. “It’s nice to meet you, Ellie. Sorry I didn’t get the chance the other day.”

She shrugs. “It didn’t seem like that was your fault.”

You let your arms drop to your sides, straighten up. “Did you uh…come to see the baby or something?” 

Ellie shakes her head no. “I’m waiting for Tommy. He’s gonna take me to see the school.” 

“Oh, that’s nice.” 

“Not really,” she says. “I think school is fucking stupid. But everyone says I have to go, because all the other kids in town do, too.”

Ethan was grown when you arrived in Jackson, and you didn’t have children of your own, so it was the one place you didn’t really frequent. “Well, you probably should but….I hear you.”

There’s an almost imperceptible smile that crosses her features. You turn your head back to stare at the staircase, waiting for the sound of Maria’s footsteps, but all you can hear is her and Tommy whispering with frantic energy as they try to put their son down for a nap. 

“You know Joel won’t tell me anything about you,” Ellie’s voice cuts in, and you turn back towards her. “But you knew him before, didn’t you?”

You’re not sure how to take this information, or…how to respond to it. So you keep your response simple. “I mean, we were neighbors.” But even that feels like a lie, and a useless one to tell. Maybe it’s a little petty, but you don’t owe it to Joel to keep his secrets, especially not after he’s treated you so poorly. So you tell her the truth. “I guess he was also…my boyfriend for a little while.”

Ellie seems taken aback by this. “What happened? Did you break his heart or something?”

“No,” you snort. “We got separated before the outbreak.” 

“Oh.” She ponders for a moment. “So then why is he so mad?”

You shrug. “I’ll let you know if I find out.” 

“Well, he’s an asshole. But I bet you already know that,” Ellie says. 

Based on the time you actually spent with Joel, you would’ve never described him that way. So if that’s really how he’s perceived, even by the people who care about him, it makes you a little sad. Losing Sarah must have changed him more than you could imagine. 

You’re already sick of thinking about him so much, so you change the subject to something that’s at least a little lighter. “How did the two of you end up together, anyways?” 

“Long story,” she answers, and you get the sense there’s something she’s holding back. Because you just met, you don’t press her any further. 

“As I’d imagine.” 

You hear boots coming down the stairs, and Tommy rounds the corner, holding a stack of photos. “I’ve been meaning to show these to you, I went home a couple years back…to Joel’s old place and mine. There wasn’t much left, but I found these.”

He passes the pictures to you, and you look down at them. You don’t think much about your old house at all. It was another thing you lost, but almost everyone did, so it didn’t really make you feel special. Still, sometimes you thought of your cozy back patio and your old friend Martini, and had accepted you’d never see them again.

The first photo in the stack is a photo of Joel and Sarah at one of his soccer games. As sweet as the gesture is, you are pretty sure you can only confront so much of your past at once, and with Joel being back in town it’s starting to get suffocating. Also, when you study the picture and realize that your memory has gotten some of Sarah’s features wrong, you’re overwhelmed with guilt. 

Hesitantly, you place the pictures down on the coffee table, and Ellie reaches for them immediately, flipping through him. “Woah,” she says. “He looks so different without all the grey hair,” she flips to a photo of him and Tommy, and glances up at him. “You look pretty much the same.” 

When you agree with her, Tommy grins, playfully tucking a piece of hair behind his ear bashfully before growing serious. “You better not tell him I showed you these.” 

“I won’t,” Ellie assures him. 

“Look at this one.” Tommy pushes another photo across the table towards you, and you peer down to look at it. “He fucking adored you.”

You remember taking the picture vividly while on vacation with Joel and Sarah, and at one point you’d had your own copy framed on your dresser. There are flowers peppered in his hair, and you both look so young, and so happy, and so oblivious, his arms around you, his lips pressed against your cheek. At the time, you really had no idea that everything you knew was about to be destroyed. 

“Nice,” you say flatly, and in an effort to keep from getting emotional, push it back across the table, and retreat to sit in a chair across the room. 

After some time, and some convincing, Tommy and Ellie leave to go on their tour of the school. When the door closes behind them, you swipe the photo from you and Joel off the table and slide it into your back pocket. You tell yourself it’s so Tommy can’t show it to Joel, but really it’s because it’s one of the only memories you have of yourself before the outbreak, when everything felt perfect. 

Just as you back away from the pictures, Maria appears at the bottom of the steps. She looks exhausted, and before either of you can speak, you wrap her in a hug. Partly because it looks like she needs it, but also because you just want to feel close to someone you trust, even if it’s only for a few seconds. “How are you holding up?” you ask. 

“I finally get some peace and I’m using it to work,” she says, leading you into the dining room, where all the paperwork is spread out. Your plan had been to write a new amendment to the town’s constitution, which then had to be approved by the council. 

Maria hadn’t stayed away from her job as the leader of the community for very long after having their son, despite your encouragement for her to take it easy. She had experience with her previous son, Kevin, but you imagined it didn’t make life with a newborn any easier. So you tried to help her out with any chance you got, especially because you knew she’d do the same for you. it was just how things between you worked. She knew even more about you than Tommy did, and you told each other everything. Well, almost everything….

“You should take a nap or something.” 

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “I can write a draft while you sleep and then you and I can do the revisions together. 

She seems reluctant, but after making you swear you’d wake her if the baby starts fussing, she lies down on the couch and you begin working. 

Like your old job, you don’t really like doing this. The only job you have in Jackson that actually excites you is the work you do with Eugene, and going on patrol. But this work makes you feel the most useful. And despite the fact that you had always been skeptical of authority – you believed in her ability to keep things in Jackson running smoothly. 

About an hour later, you’d drawn up the draft and Maria stirs from her nap. The revisions don’t take very long, since you both are usually on the same page, but when you start packing your things up to go, she seems surprised. 

“Are you hanging around until dinner?” 

“No, I have to meet up with Eugene,” you say. “Plus, Ethan’s at home hungover so I told him I’d make him soup. 

“Do you think he’ll be up for dinner tomorrow night?” she asks. “Tommy keeps pestering me.”

“Well he’s still too young for his hangovers to last two days,” you smirk. “So yeah, I think he will.”

“He invited…..Joel, and Ellie,” Maria says hesitantly, watching your face. “Is that okay?”

“I mean….it’s not my dinner party.”

“You can say no. Or not come,” she offers. She hadn’t been there the day you’d seen Joel again for the first time, but it sounds like Tommy has given her the rundown. 

You shrug. As much as you don’t want to admit it, being forced into the same room as Joel is a little exciting. “I’ll go.” 

“Are you doing okay with that?” she asks. “I told Tommy not to surprise you, but he didn’t listen.”

“It’s all fine,” you say, which isn’t entirely a lie. At the end of the day, everything would be fine. The stakes weren’t life and death. When Maria seems unconvinced, you continue. “I mean, it feels like he’s being a little rude…but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Maria lowers her eyes, pauses. “Has Tommy’s ever told you about any of the stuff Joel got him into when they were on their own?”

“Not really,” you say. “But I know they were on bad terms.” 

“I didn’t know you back then,” Maria begins. “So I don’t know what you saw in him, or what he was like. But….I don’t think he’s….I don’t know if it’s worth getting emotionally invested again.”

“Oh, bummer. As you know, reconnecting with an ex is my main priority right now.” you deflect with a smirk, but Maria doesn’t seem as amused.

“Fair,” she says. “But be careful. I saw what he did to his own brother. I don’t want it to happen to you.” 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you assure her. “Whatever he’s done, I’ve dealt with worse.” 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 20, 2024-

When Joel and Ellie arrive at Tommy’s, it’s clear immediately they aren’t the only people that were invited. 

Seeing the life that Tommy had built for himself here – a thriving community, a wife, a son – fills him with a certain level of envy. But mostly….he’s ashamed. Back when they were hunters, Joel was adamant that it was the only way they could survive, despite the horrible things they were doing. The worst part was, Joel really believed it. Now, the nightmares still chasing both of them, he realizes he was wrong. Even if Tommy won’t say it out loud, Joel knows he resents him for those days, how he’d been forced to trade away so much of his humanity. For Joel, violence came easily – shockingly so – an outlet for all his anger after losing Sarah.  But Tommy had always struggled. And even though there will always be love between them, the tension was still there. 

He’s still adjusting to life in Jackson, only leaving the house when Ellie drags him out, and when Tommy trains him to go out on patrol. It’s hard to accept that he’s not on the run anymore after the chaotic nature of the last year. Only Tommy knows his darkest secret, and he intends to keep it that way. 

While Ellie does seem somewhat hesitant to leave him alone, she does seem a lot more enthusiastic about life in Jackson. Joel knows it’s a good thing, and once again, he feels like he’s let her down by not leading by example. 

Tommy greets them both once they step inside, and Joel is polite — something he’s been trying to do more of lately. Maria gives him a tight-lipped smile, one that tells him she’s trying to be civil despite her reservations. God only knows what Tommy has told her about their time together. At least he can understand where she’s coming from. Had they met twenty years ago in Austin, they probably would’ve gotten along. Nowadays, he’s not surprised when people don’t like him, because he hates himself, too. 

But Maria still entertains them with general pleasantries and questions about how they are settling in, despite looking incredibly flustered. Ellie is more apt to answer them then he is, Joel standing by with his thumbs in his belt loops. 

Over their shoulder, Joel sees you, standing in the corner of the front room with your back turned to him, deep in conversation with your nephew. He’s smiling and telling a very animated story, at one point clapping his palms on your shoulders and shaking them violently while you giggle. It makes him think of you and Sarah. Therein lies the problem. He’s become a little more comfortable discussing his past with Ellie, but there’s a limit to what he’s capable of, especially after repressing so much for so long. 

The oven goes off, and Maria excuses herself to the kitchen, inviting Ellie to follow along. Joel and Tommy are left standing in the entryway together.

“You invited her?” Joel asks, not bothering to hide the venom in his voice. 

Tommy steps back, giving him incredulous once-over. “It’s my house, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t know what game you’re trying to-“

Tommy shoves Joel into the dining room before he can finish his thought, out of eyesight from the rest of the people in the house. “I’m not playing games, Joel. She’s family. Maybe not to you, but definitely to Maria and I. And she’s never shown you anything but kindness. So grow the fuck up.” 

Before Joel can think of another objection, the sound of a baby crying cuts through the air. Tommy freezes at the sound, until you call out from the other room. “I got him.” 

“Come on,” he says. “Maybe you can muster up the courage to hold your nephew.” 

He wants to tell Tommy that he’s trying, even if it doesn’t look like it. But it almost feels better to allow himself to be the black sheep. It makes things easier. If he keeps that door closed, he’ll never need to worry about the problems that lie on the other side. Still, he begrudgingly follows his brother in the other room. 

When he enters the front room, you’re holding Maria and Tommy’s son in your arms.  

After Joel had learned that Ethan was your nephew, he was unsurprisingly relieved. What did surprise him, however, is that some small part of himself was disappointed. Sure, if you actually had his child while you were separated it would have been devastating. But before all this, all he had wanted was a future with you, would’ve gladly given you children….really, anything you wanted.

He tries not to let his eyes linger on you too long, lost in the daydream of what could’ve been, but you meet his eyes and give him such a sterile, polite nod that it’s almost painful.

Dinner is uneventful. Joel ends up seated directly across from you, Tommy’s doing, no doubt, but you do a good enough job of engaging in conversation that you don’t spend much time looking in Joel’s direction, and when you do, he doesn’t recognize your expression. It does give him the chance to study you up close, which he hadn’t done yet, and immediately regrets. 

He’s still just as attracted to you as he’d always been. Sure, you’ve aged, but so has he – although you wear it much more gracefully. When Tommy offers to pour some bourbon into Ethan’s glass, he refuses, and for whatever reason, you stifle a laugh, the wrinkles around your eyes more prominent than they used to be. 

After dinner, when the plates have been cleared, you disappear. He can feel himself growing overwhelmed, so he steps outside onto the back patio for some air. You’re sitting on a porch step looking out at the yard, but when he steps outside, you turn.

When you register that it’s him, you return your eyes forward again, and Joel remains silent, even considers walking back inside without a word. But he stays there so long, contemplating, that you’re the first to speak up. 

“You know, if you stay here….at some point, you are gonna have to acknowledge me.” 

Joel knows he’s the antagonist right now. He’s well aware. But he can’t help himself. Despite that, there’s no malice, and no bitterness in your voice. But you are direct. 

And, because he’s never been good at refusing you, he gives you something in return. “I guess I’m just surprised to see you here….” He recalls a conversation you’d had long ago, curled against his chest, staring up at the stars together. “Being a city girl and everything.” 

You turn to look over your shoulder, gaze making him feel warm, a small smile on your face. For a split second, you’re looking at him how you used to, and then it’s gone. “It is sort of a miracle, isn’t it?” 

He ponders this, and you continue. 

“It’s good to see you, Joel,” you say softly. He wonders how you can make general pleasantries sound so sweet, and is surprised at how easily you betray yourself with the words. Though he had noticed a pattern at dinner. You weren’t nearly as guarded as you used to be. He wonders how that’s possible, if you’ve made it this far. 

“You too.”

-

-

-

[muldermuse]

Naughty List (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

Gator comes round to reader’s house on Christmas Eve to get his gift.

This is in the two sinners world.

18+ only!! Smut ahead!!! Fic includes sub!Gator, dom!f!reader, oral (f recieving), mentions of wax play and piv sex, teasing language, use of restraints, dry humping, use of underwear as a gag, mentions of spanking with belt, panty kink????, brief aftercare. Reader fucking loves being mean to Gator hahaha I love her (me).

This is the completed version of this lil ficlet. And apologies, I was going to post it on Xmas day but I was too drunk and merry to edit and write. I’m not 100% with this one but it was fun fun fun. Like all the two sinners stuff is. Thank u all for reading and engaging with the series. ❤️ u all.

Ok seeing Gator on Christmas Day is out of the question. He’s spending the day with Glenda and Roy reciting their favourite psalms and thanking the lord for a bountiful Christmas. Glenda goes all out at Christmas, it’s obviously her favourite holiday and she constantly updates her Facebook with pictures of a content looking Roy and an exhausted looking Gator. No doubt, Glenda will have made him a piece of her artwork and bought him some novelty socks. He’ll smile at her and press a kiss to her cheek but you rejoice in the knowledge that thoughts of your Christmas Eve are running through his head. 

[sent at 13:30] You: got your Christmas present at my house. Door will be unlocked for when you finish at 6. I’ll be upstairs 🎁

[received at 13:42] Gator💩🐍: am i on the nice list?

[sent at 13:43] You: no. See you at 6 💋

***

His Christmas present is you- OBVIOUSLY. But it’s a version of you that Gator only really gets when he begs and even then, you don’t always give it him. He asks for this when you eat his ass or when he’s had a week of getting non stop shit from his daddy or Glenda. 

He wants you to turn him on that much his brain switches off.

He wants you to be in control and dominate him. 

You’re wearing a red lace set with garters and pointy red heels. It’s nearly pitch black by the time Gator arrives. You’ve left one lamp lit downstairs to guide him up but, honestly, he knows the layout of your home like the back of his hand. In the bedroom, your curtains are open with the twinkling of outdoor Christmas lights provide occasional flickers that illuminate your white linen bed sheets. A cinnamon candle is glowing by the door and nearly blows out when Gator enters as dramatic as ever. 

You’re sat at the end of the bed waiting for him and you smirk as you take in his expression- seemingly enthralled by your red look. 

“Crawl to me, baby” your voice is low and by the way Gator drops to his knees without hesitation and a look of relief on his face- you already know how tonight is going to go. 

He’s slow in his movement, keeping eye contact with you as he crawls towards your open legs and stopping a few inches from your panties. His eyes are fixed on the damp spot on your red underwear and his shuddering breaths are filling the room. You run your hands through his slicked back hair as you try not to recoil at the unnatural feeling of brushing your nails through hair gel. 

“Y’wanna taste?” He looks up at you with the most love sick eyes you’ve ever seen, he nods slowly as he brushes his tongue over his bottom lip. You grip his hair in your hand as you push him into your panties, “make me cum with my panties still on baby- y’don’t deserve to taste properly just yet”. He groans as he pushes his face further into your pussy. He’s messy with it and you can feel his spit dripping down between your legs. It feels so good and the knowledge that he’s desperate to please you brings you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Take my panties off and make me cum on your tongue Gator, don’t let me down” you throw your head back on the bed as you feel Gator rip your panties down your legs and throw them across the room. He’s that desperate to make you cum he’s moaning into your pussy as he eats you out and you know he’s palming himself over his cargos. Your back arches as you clamp your thighs around Gator’s head and cry out as you cum. 

He’s pressing hot kisses to your thighs as your pussy clenches around nothing, you can feel your breathing begin to regulate again as you come down from your high. Your hand smoothes over his ruffled hair, “that was so good Gator. You did such a good job…good to know you can do something right”. His smile drops at your final sentence. On trembling legs you head over to your closest to get the box that Gator both wants and dreads. The box is full of sex toys, restraints (some crudely made and some from a hidden sex store in town) and things that you’ve seen at a local store and thought could be fun and sexy. Jax has contributed to the box, he bought some candles and teased you for hours by slowly dropping hot wax over your chest whilst fucking you softly. Gator was devastated when he found out and had begged you to do it to him the next day. You weren’t as gentle and he fucking loved it. 

You can hear him kicking off his boots and unzipping his cargos. 

“Did I tell you to get undressed?”

“No but uh- I thought…”

You softly kiss him, tasting the remnants of your cum on his plush lips. “Don’t think baby, I know how hard that can be for you. Just lie on the bed dressed how you are now- hands above your head”. Your voice is authoritative and Gator never wants to disappoint you when he’s in this headspace. 

As soon as his hands are placed at your headboard, you click pink fluffy handcuffs around them and make sure that they are tight. There’s something about the sight of your local Sheriff tied to your bed with novelty pink handcuffs that you love. You’ve taken a picture before and when you really want to fuck with Gator you’ll send it to him when you know he’s working with his daddy. You look at Gator, a silent check in to make sure he’s okay and he replies with a quick nod. He looks fucked out already, his lower face is red from the lace rubbing against it and his usually perfectly placed hair is disheveled. He looks desperate and that’s exactly how he wants it. You retrieve your panties from the floor and sit over Gators clothed cock. 

“D’you really think you’re on the nice list this year baby? Can you tell me anything nice you’ve done for me?” 

You slowly start to grind against his hard cock. When you look down, you can see a wet spot of his pre cum soaking through his cargos. You can feel him thrust up to try and get some friction to his achingly hard cock. You quickly rise so he gets nothing. 

You grip his cheeks so his lips purse out “this isn’t good boy behaviour, Gator”. You inch closer to his face, “if you move again without my permission, you can fucking crawl home to her and fuck your fist to thoughts of me like some pathetic fucking loser”.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I’m f- I’m so sorry” he can’t think straight. His hands are in tight fists at the top of the bed and the sound of his breath filling the room. In and out. In and out. Probably trying to slow his breathing so he doesn’t cum when you start to grind down on him again. 

The red underwear is quickly pushed towards his face. “Can you smell my cum baby? You were so good at doing that. Y’want another taste?” He nods as the balled up fabric is shoved into his mouth. You watch in awe as his eyes roll back whilst the makeshift gag stifles his moan. Rotating your hips slowly, you start to rock against his hard cock. 

“Y’know when Jenson was round here a few nights ago. He left his belt, he was desperate to get his pants off as soon as he came in the door”. The fabric of Gator’s cargo is beginning to feel damp, you know it’s a mix of his pre cum and your arousal covering his work pants. It feels so good for you so you can imagine Gator’s getting close to cumming. His eyes are locked onto your body, watching your hips steadily swirl against him. “I was thinking I could use his belt on you, maybe could’ve bent you over the bed and used it to spank you”. His eyes screw shut and you can’t help the laugh that slips out. His body is stiff with tension underneath yours. 

“Gator,” you chide, voice high and mocking “are you gonna cum thinking about me using some guys belt on you? Thinkin’ about me punishing you?”. He thrusts up and rather than backing off him you press your pussy harder against him. Rocking your hips back and forth on his cock and hearing him whimper through the lace underwear in his mouth. You lower your lips to his ear as you order him in a whisper to “cum in your pants before I send you back to your girlfriend and daddy”. He thrusts one final time against you and moans loudly as his eyes screw shut. His hands are in tight fists as he pulls off from the headboard and breaks the handcuffs into two pieces. With his now free hand, he pulls your underwear out of his mouth with staggered breath. 

He’s cum in his pants; the already dark fabric now a darker colour around his crotch. His hands are covering his eyes with the broken restraints around his wrists like pink fluffy bracelets. You hear him curse under his breath as his breathing starts to normalise. He’s usually a bit vulnerable when you take control so you’re more affectionate than usual. Normally, after he cums you’re both in a hurry to leave, not wanting to stay in each others vicinity to enjoy the post orgasm bliss. It has to be different when it’s like this and you both silently know it. He sits up on the bed and you get in his lap again, slicking his hair back down and helping him get out of the now broken handcuffs. You press a soft kiss to his forehead and he grips your hip as a wordless thank you. 

Before he leaves, you hand him your panties with the smell of his spit and your orgasm still on the fabric. He smirks as he tucks them into his back pocket. 

On Christmas evening, he sends you a picture of his hard clock with your panties wrapped round it. It immediately turns you on as you can picture the scene. Glenda and Roy will be asleep in their rooms as Gator is fisting his cock with your underwear. His lip will be red from biting with him trying to keep his moans from slipping out. He’ll be thinking of you and it makes you feel fucking great. 

[received at 23:49] Gator🐍💩: [image attached]

[received at 23:49] Gator🐍💩: best Christmas present this year

[morelikeravenbore]

Pandora's Book, part one

🔞 Sebastian Sallow x Book | PART ONE

Unhinged!Sebastian, objectophilia, sexual acts with a (sort of) inanimate object, an exploration of grief and acute loneliness. Seventh year, minor changes to canon.

Warning: explicit content. All characters 18+. Minors do not interact. Reader discretion is advised.

Seeking distraction from his interminable apathy, or a temporary relief from his guilt that didn't resort to obliterating his own memory, the girls he took made him feel good, said pretty things that made him believe, for a while, that he wasn't broken and irredeemable. But then, issues of that nature were likely a job for St Mungos rather than some girl's mouth in the back of a disused classroom, and over time, the thrill of mindlessly fucking his pain away began to dull, and he recoiled from their sweet nothings and gentle affections; like everything else in Sebastian's life, even the flames of desire eventually turned cold, and his escapades became less about feeling better and more about feeling anything.

Still, he couldn't say with any measure of truth that he'd felt anything like this from a book before.

A/N: Erm. I'm not even sure how to introduce this one, but I've had this idea in my head for months now and — well, brain rot. I KNOW it sounds like a crackfic — and it kind of is — but it's also an (unhinged and smutty) exploration of grief. This'll be a multipart story, probably three parts. I'll update as quickly as I can but I'm a turtle writer so please be patient with me. Thanks for reading, fellow unhinged bebes, I luv u.

Word count: 3k

[ao3 | wattpad] ✨ [HL fic masterlist]

The gate is opened, and the night

Rushes across the sky with a shout.

The gate is opened, and the evil

Comes pouring out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ⁺ . ⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

'Oh, shut up, would you?' Sebastian muttered as a particularly vocal book wailed directly in his ear.

Darkness surrounds you... your soul is lost, torn between light and dark, ripped to shreds by your own hand... darkness creeps, ever closer... ever closer...

'Yeah, yeah,' he muttered, pausing just long enough to cast a cursory glance at whichever accursed book was taunting him aloud this time. Ah, of course: Secrets of the Darkest Arts. That one had always been especially antagonistic toward him — even before he'd murdered his uncle. 

Rolling his eyes, he gave the offending book a swift two-fingered prod, sliding it deeper into the dark recesses of the shelf it was chained to. It shuddered with indignation — if a book was capable of such a thing — and cursed him so vehemently in Latin he would've been impressed had it not been calling his dead mother a swine.

Unphased, Sebastian scoffed and kept walking, the sound of his footsteps dampened between towering bookshelves as he made his way deeper into the deathly stillness of the library.

To another, perhaps less traumatised sort of person, the idea of inanimate objects giving voice might've been a bit unsettling, but Sebastian was quite used to books shouting at him by now; having spent more time in the Restricted Section than he suspected even the librarian had, their disembodied voices were sometimes the only interaction he got outside of his N.E.W.T classes — that is, if he didn't count Ominis Gaunt, whose insults were often far worse than anything a Dark Arts book could conjure, and who generally addressed him with an equal amount of spite and derision. In fact, Ominis was partly the reason why Sebastian spent so much time alone with a bunch of talking books to begin with: it was one thing for a book to berate you for all your past mistakes, but quite another when it came from your best friend. 

No, when it came to facing resentment, Sebastian would sooner bear the brunt of it from some gruesome edition of Magick Moste Evile than see it written clearly across another's face. In fact, there'd been a time when the incorporeal voices of those awful books had enticed him, called out to him like a siren song, drawn him in with promises of power and glory the likes of which he'd never dreamed of. And he, driven by his desperation to free his twin sister from the grips of a dark curse, had immersed himself in their age-browned pages so thoroughly he'd begun to hear their voices in his dreams.

But that was then. 

Now, those ghostly whispers, once a comfort to a boy who'd had very little of it in his life, were more like the incessant buzzing of insects, harsh and irritating. He was no longer interested in what secrets they had to offer him: Anne was dead, and nothing in any book would ever bring her back — of that, he was certain.

Stretching up to reach a high shelf, Sebastian slid another misplaced book into its correct place, feeling a sense of pride he seldom felt any more. Being voiceless, this particular book couldn't thank him for his tireless commitment to reorganising the forbidden library, but at least it couldn't offend him, either.

Having nowhere else to go after his classes and homework were done, he'd come to frequent this part of the castle so often that he'd appointed himself as an unofficial librarian of sorts. Judging by the general air of neglect about the place, old Scribner never bothered venturing this deep into the forbidden recesses of the library, so rather than tossing and turning in his bed, Sebastian spent his restless nights bringing some semblance of order to the forsaken space, dusting shelves, repairing book spines, and clearing out the infestations of spiders that'd taken up residence in the darkest corners. It didn't matter if every so often some ancient tome insulted his dead parents or taunted him for his lack of an intact soul, if it was incorrectly catalogued, missing a cover, or simply in need of a good clean, he would diligently set it right again and move on. It was a library, after all, albeit a nefarious one, and it deserved respect.

He was just turning a darkened corner, muttering about the lack of proper organisation and general disregard for the correct cataloguing procedures when something — no, someone — distinctly moaned his name.

Well, that was new.

Sebastian stopped dead in his tracks. In all the time he'd haunted these aisles, he'd never once come across another living soul — at least, none who wasn't made of paper and evil.

Calmly depositing his armful of books onto a nearby desk, he withdrew his wand from his pocket. Not much scared him any more — committing murder and raising the dead made one rather fearless in the face of anything less — but it was apprehension, not fear, that had him casting Homenum Revelio under his breath. This was his peaceful hideaway; he neither wanted to share it nor have it taken away by some meddlesome idiot.

But the spell resounded through the empty library, detecting no living presence besides his own. 

He was alone. 

Strange. Either Sebastian was officially going mad, or the books were becoming more sentient — for all their moaning, whining and idle threats of bodily harm, none had ever addressed him by name before.

He paused, held his breath, strained his ears.

There! — There it was again, a distinctly feminine voice calling out for him. 

s e b a s t i a n... i n e e d y o u...

Swearing under his breath, he followed the spectral call as best he could, his fingers trailing over the dusty shelves as he hurried down the aisle, leaving streaks through the grime that might lead him back should be lose his way.

As desensitised as he was to all thinges evile, some distant part of him wondered whether he might be better off ignoring the call of this one — he was surrounded by evil books, after all, and Sebastian wasn't stupid enough to forget that anything gained from cursed pages demanded something of the reader in return: a sacrifice, some sanity, a little piece of the soul. But the desperation in that voice, the pain — the longing...

'Say it again!'

Whimpering moans, a body squirming beneath his; the cute Ravenclaw had been giving him the eyes for weeks before he'd finally gotten her alone. 

'Say it again, or I won't give you what you want.'

Lustful eyes met his — pretty, but he couldn't recall their colour now; they all looked the same after a while. 

'I need you,' she whined, grinding her hips against his. 'Sebastian, I need you.'

He was sweating by the time he found it; tucked away in a small side chamber he hadn't gotten around to cleaning yet, and half-hidden behind piles of long-forgotten junk, the voice called to him from an innocuous-looking cabinet in the corner. Its glass panels were thick with dust, but the door opened easily, unobstructed by lock or magic.

Inside, the books weren't chained to their shelves or bound shut with leather straps, nor made of flesh or covered in suspicious-looking stains. They were just — books; plain old inanimate books.

All but one.

He wasn't exactly sure what first drew him to it. Instinct, he supposed, for it bore no title to pique his interest, and the cover was dull and plain, free of any macabre embellishments that usually made restricted books so alluring. But when his gaze settled upon it, the sudden, terrible ache at his separation made him sure this was the one.

Mine.

He snatched it up, clutched it to his chest — laboured breaths mingled with his; the book was panting as hard as he was, sweet, breathy whimpers against his chest — and when he felt a second heartbeat thumping against his own, knew he'd sooner die than ever let it go again.

s e b a s t i a n...

'Yes,' he growled, squeezing it tighter, his grip possessive.

i n e e d y o u...

'I know.'

w a i t e d s o l o n g...

Striding over to a small table against the far wall, he cleared a space amongst the ancient clutter and gently laid the precious tome atop it, stroking the cover with the adoring touch of a lover, tender and gentle. How supple it felt beneath his calloused palms, and strangely warm.

'I've got you,' he breathed, reverently tracing the hardcover edges with his thumbs, his eyes glazed and heavy.

p l e a s e, s e b a s t i a n...

'Please what?' He leaned down as if to whisper in an ear that wasn't there, his breath ghosting the surprisingly pristine pages.

t o u c h m e...

Loneliness had a way of changing people; extroverts became withdrawn, optimists turned cynical. But when that loneliness was the direct result of one's own failings, it withered anything pure that had ever bloomed in a person's psyche, leaving only a wasted garden in its place, a bed of rotting roots.

Once a boy of friendly disposition and bright curiosity, Sebastian's innate optimism had slowly eroded away after every loss that'd darkened his life: his parents, his sister, his uncle, each death a blow to his happiness from which he never recovered, rendering him withdrawn and bitter, a tree lopped well before its time. — But though he might’ve been emotionally damaged beyond repair, but there was certainly nothing wrong with his body.

Sebastian was tall for his age, handsome and broad-shouldered as his father had been, his muscular physique and toned forearms the result of several years playing as the Slytherin Beater. He wasn't ignorant to the way girls looked at him, nor oblivious to the effect he had on them when he flexed his arms or ruffled his hair. And despite his melancholy (or perhaps because of it, as one Slytherin girl had told him), he attracted intimate partners with surprising ease.

When he'd lost all sense of himself under the crushing weight of grief, it was sex that made him feel alive again.

Ever the resourceful Slytherin, he used this inherent charm to his full advantage, setting his sights on only the prettiest girls in his year level, the most unavailable, or the ones too shy to meet his gaze. He revelled in their blushes and giggles when he brushed his hand against theirs, their darkened pupils and parted lips when he finally had them pushed up against a wall or straddling his lap, and soon, Sebastian found himself addicted to the taste of soft lips against his hungry mouth, the flush of goosebumps beneath his demanding touch, slick thighs and flushed skin.

Seeking distraction from his interminable apathy, or a temporary relief from his guilt that didn't resort to obliterating his own memory, the girls he took made him feel good, said pretty things that made him believe, for a while, that he wasn't broken and irredeemable. But then, issues of that nature were likely a job for St Mungos rather than some girl's mouth in the back of a disused classroom, and over time, the thrill of mindlessly fucking his pain away began to dull, and he recoiled from their sweet nothings and gentle affections; like everything else in Sebastian's life, even the flames of desire eventually turned cold, and his escapades became less about feeling better and more about feeling anything.

Still, he couldn't say with any measure of truth that he'd felt anything like this from a book before.

Maybe he really had lost his mind.

'Touch you?' He swallowed roughly, fingering the notches of the spine. 'Where?'

s p r e a d m e... t o u c h m e...

With his entire body throbbing with need, Sebastian spread the book open to the middle pages. He ran a slow, measured finger down the length of the inner crease, imagining the soft hollow of a collarbone, the sensitive dip of an inner thigh. But to his immense surprise, his finger did not glide over the smooth paper as he was expecting, but sank in, disappearing into the spine as if he'd breached some concealed opening. Instead of meeting a paper barrier, or even the polished wooden table beneath it, he delved into a strangely wet, yet pleasantly warm depth.

He added another. Sebastian's fingers were thick, but the pages yielded easily to accommodate them, stretching and pulsing around him.

Something inside him roared to life.

'Is this what you want?'

Mingled breath, pretty skin. Snow was falling outside but her body burned against his.

'Yes! Yes, Sebastian, please!'

The resulting moan that fell from the book's lips — pages? — ignited a primal, aching need inside him. Musical and clear, and so deliciously lustful it made his knees tremble, it was the single most beautiful sound Sebastian had ever heard in his life: ethereal and otherworldly, pretty and bright — and yet, somehow, achingly familiar. He slid his fingers deeper, the slip of the unmarred pages like silken bliss against his skin, and when the voice whimpered in approval, he thought of the last girl he'd fucked under the Quidditch stands who'd made very similar noises with his fingers inside her. Sebastian smiled, remembering the way he'd had to hold her up when she came all over his hand, her knees buckling and her mouth agape in a silent scream of bliss.

'Oh, so this what you need, is it?'

Sebastian was grunting now, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he curled his fingers deeper into the pages' soft, wet void.

The empyreal voice only cried out in reply, but the tight, hot opening fluttered around his fingers in that additive way he knew proceeded a mind-shattering orgasm. He smiled again, half-feral with lust as he pawed at his own crotch, roughly stroking the evidence of his depravity that was straining against his breeches.

'I'm going to finger fuck you until you fall to pieces.' He picked up his pace, the veins in his forearm bulging with the exertion of the efforts, his hair falling over his eyes. 'Is that what you want? To be ruined?'

'Sebastian! Sebas— fuck!'

Frantically rocking hips, fingers slippery with desire.

'Do I make you feel good? Do I? — No, look at me when you come!'

Well past the point of no return, Sebastian watched the rhythmic pumping of this fingers with a singular intensity, marveling at the way they slid so easily into the mysterious depths of the book only to come out coated in slick. This was better than any real girl he'd even been with; this was all-encompassing, mind-numbing bliss, each glistening stroke soothing his burdened mind, mending the roots in his ruined garden.

This was magical.

It was some time before a cramp in his hand had Sebastian reluctantly peeling away from the books' lush center— but the pain of their separation was immediate and unbearable. Whimpering, he went immediately for his breeches, his stiff, slippery fingers struggling with his belt and fastenings until, finally, in a half-blind sort of daze, hot and throbbing, he stroked himself with a raw, gutteral cry. The table groaned under his weight as he leaned over it, mimicking the sounds that fell from his ruined throat.

i n e e d y o u...

His hips bucked.

With one knee propped on the table and a pant leg still tangled around one leg, the angle was awkward, uncomfortable, and if he weren't so utterly fucked out of his mind, he might’ve stopped to reconsider, well... everything.

But he couldn't stop. Now now.

Instead, mumbling stupid, unintelligible praises, he managed to angle himself in just the right way to swipe his weeping tip through the deliciously slick cease.

His mind went blank.

There was no warm body to hold onto, no hips to bruise nor neck to sink his teeth into, just an old splintery tabletop and smooth pages — and yet, if he closed his eyes, he could almost envision a trembling, sweat-slicked body beneath him, as warm and needy as any he'd had before.

If somebody were to walk in on him now, hovering half-naked over a book, painfully hard and inarticulate with lust, they'd be hard pressed to make him stop.

At this point, not even a team of Auror's could pry Sebastian cock away from these pages.

They'd have to crucio him to make him stop.

And even then...

Trembling with the effort of holding himself steady, he gingerly probed the spot his fingers had just been enjoying.

He slid in an inch. Then another.

The book shuddered.

His vision blurred.

i n e e d y o u...

'Sebastian, I need you!'

He fell forward, knees buckling, pleading, whimpering — then a voice, maybe his own, maybe the books', let out a garbled, broken cry as he sank into the sweet, tight abyss.

The world narrowed to the euphoric point of connection, and nothing else.

Pleasure, exquisite.

And nothing else.

And nothing else.

[part two coming soon]

[giveafike]

TLDR: Halloween with your boyfriend, Ben!

Word count + info: 4.8k. Dialogue (conversation and azzie commentary throughout).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW but also...lwky PG 13. Suggestive themes, but nothing too NSFW. Mention of a burn injury and gagging in between (in a SFW way) so if that's something to put you off, read cautiously!

Azzie Notes ✚: YAYY halloween post! I couldn't pick what kind of blurb to write so...I wrote a bunch of mini ones! I tried something new, idk if I fw this format or not, you guys lmk honestly how you feel about bulleted posts.

ALSO! Stay safe tonight guys! Idk about you guys but where I'm from, Halloween can get a bit crazy or out of control, so whatever you do tonight, be responsible and sensible for this weekend! And happy Diwali to anyone celebrating - diye jalein aur mithaiyan chalen 🤭 bas khushiyaan hi khushiyaan ho (someone send me ukadiche modak PUHLEASE) 🤍🪔

I'm literally writing this part on the train home from work lmao, I'm gonna get on my laptop and get the big story up too, idk why it didn't upload yday but it's not here in my drafts or scheduled anymore! I'll figure it out tho dw.

Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike)

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Halloween'ing - B.T.S.

It must've been the very first time Ben was home for a holiday that wasn't Christmas or New Year's and God, were you excited.

Sure, losing in Paris sucked but the amount of time you could spend and things you could do together was exhilarating. You were practically buzzing off of the walls with ideas.

Halloween wasn't something you had given much care or notice to since your childhood, but now there was a whole new rush of activities and warmth surrounding the beautiful season, something you welcomed warmly.

how many homemade treats you could make, pumpkin carving with Ben, maybe even dress up together as a couple...

Ben was more eager about the idea of candy (and you in a sexy Halloween costume)

You could drone on and on about how good those Trader Joe Pumpkin Spice cookies were, you never expected yourself to fall for the Pumpkin Spice craze but here you were, talking Ben's ear off.

He rolled his eyes pretending to be nonchalant

even though he'd be reaching for another cookie within a few minutes.

"Just need to check they're not poisoned...are these laced with sumn'?"

A couple of days later, when you and Ben got back from the pumpkin patch, you laid out your carving kit on the island, practically jumping to get stuck in.

Was far from picture-perfect though.

Ben's kryptonite was the damn pumpkin from the get-go.

His shoulders are up to his ears as he leans over his pumpkin, cautiously poking at the hollowed-out insides with a look of pure dread.

You’ve literally provided him with every scooper and tool imaginable, trying to make this as clean as possible, but he’s still staring into the pumpkin like it’s some kind of orange horror show.

He holds his breath, then takes a tentative scoop, immediately gagging at the smell.

“Oh my god…babe, it’s like-” he shudders, hand over his nose, “like mouldy socks and old food had a baby.”

His face scrunches up as he recoils, practically jumping back. “Nah, no way.”

The sight is so absurd you burst into laughter, doubling over as he waves his hands like he’s trying to shake off the memory. "It’s not that bad! See!” you say, holding up a slimy handful of seeds with a wicked grin.

He gags, shuddering and shuts his eyes.

You’re insane if you think this is normal. This pumpkin needs, like, a hazmat suit or something.”

He flinches again, rubbing his nose like he can’t get the smell out of it, even though he hasn’t touched it with his bare hands yet.

He's deadass wearing medical gloves for this.

“Ben,” you gasp between laughs, wiping a tear from your eye. “It’s just a pumpkin. You’re acting like it’s a dead possum or something!”

“Smells like one,” he mutters darkly, gingerly pushing the spoon back toward the orange insides, his hand shaking just enough to make you lose it all over again.

Took maybe like, an hour and a half for him to de-gut the pumpkin

each attempt is met with a new level of melodrama, and by the fourth scoop, you’re clutching your sides, actually having to pause because you can barely breathe from laughing so hard.

He manages to carve out some semblance of a face, albeit a lopsided one with stupid teeth and tiny eyes that look more befuddled than scary.

“See? Told you I could do it,” he says, though his voice is shaky as if he’s barely recovered from a traumatising experience.

Such a diva, oh my god bruh.

You take one look at the pumpkin’s wonky, wide-eyed expression and nearly snort.

It's giving that "dumb ahh pumpkin" TikTok trend.

It’s actually the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen.

“Ben, it’s adorable.”

“S’posed to be scary…”

You glance over at him, lips twitching as you pull out your phone, quietly queuing up that TikTok audio. You hold in your laughter as you film the pumpkin with the distorted “pumpkin!” sound blaring, then pan the camera up to Ben.

The look of stunned betrayal on his face as he realises what you’ve done is absolutely priceless, his jaw dropping before he tries to reach for the phone.

The video catches his reaction in perfect two-second glory, and you both watch it back, his stunned face paired with the ridiculous audio, unable to stop laughing.

As you clean up, (Ben finally taking off his surgical blue gloves and scrubbing his hands away like a surgeon) you set the pumpkins outside and place the tealight candles inside, smiling at your actually scary pumpkin and...

that dumb pumpkin Ben made.

It's cute though, side by side, in its own way.

But you can't spend forever admiring them, it's time to make the snacks for your movie marathon tonight!

It was Ben's idea, he had a list of candy to buy and was on popcorn duty but the real star of the show was gonna be the Halloween classic; candy apples.

You both set up in the kitchen, bowls and ingredients spread out, ready to take on the challenge together.

Ben eyes the setup, grinning and rolling up his sleeves like he’s ready to make a masterpiece, even if you’re still suspicious of his pumpkin-carving skills.

The air is still sweet from the pumpkin guts, but with the sugar and cinnamon in the mix now, the atmosphere feels a bit warmer and cozier.

"Just you watch,” he says, giving you a confident wink. “I can make these apples look better than anything you’d find at a fair.”

It's adorable seeing Ben so confident and yet so easy by your side, almost competitive in his ways but not actually challenging or pushing you.

As you dip the apples one by one into the pot of Ben's hot sugar syrup, the colours come out glossy and bright red.

He might be onto something, these are looking pretty good!

As you both move onto the 4th one, you hear a small sizzle, then a loud, sharp hiss.

“Oh—ow, ow! Damn, that’s hot as fuck!”

You grab his hand immediately, your fingers gently running over the reddening spot on his palm.

“Ben! I told you to be careful! Sugar burns like crazy.”

“I knowwwww, I know,” he whines, wincing.

You lead him over to the sink and run cool water over his hand. You can’t help but smile softly as you fuss over him, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles while the cold water soothes his burn, holding his fingers in your hand as you focus on the pained spot.

“You’re such a disaster in the kitchen, you know that?”

“Hey, I was just…testing the temperature, tha's all.”

You roll your eyes and wrap his hand in a small ice pack for a bit, lingering there in the quiet, the coolness of the ice melting away any sting, until his hand feels better and you’re ready to tackle the apples again.

But no sooner than you start, he picks one up-

idiot

eyeing it as if he’s about to bite down without a second thought.

“BEN, ITS STILL SCALDING PUT IT DOW-”

You grab his wrist moving the semi-hardened apple away before he injures himself more.

"Just testin' your reflexes" he mumbles, laughing a bit.

"Sure."

Ben stepped out to light your pumpkins on the porch doorstep as the sun set, smiling and taking a quick photo, admiring the silly tradition spent together.

The house filled with the scent of caramel, you and Ben settle under a pile of blankets over you both, a bowl of popcorn wedged between your legs, and an assortment of snacks within easy reach for a spooky movie marathon.

He went out for a bit to "go grab something"

only to come back with some stupid clown mask, hiding behind the sofa to startle you.

After you screamed and he apologised with kisses and cuddles (after minutes of laughing and mocking you), you dimmed the lights and settled in, starting with a classic slasher that sets the spooky mood right from the start.

It doesn’t take long for the jump scares to start, and though you brace yourself, there’s one moment that catches you off guard, making you gasp and clutch his arm tightly. Ben laughs, his hand sliding around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“Spooked already?”

“No! Not scared, just…caught off guard.”

Ben nestles his head against yours, finding himself kissing the top of your head, his arm around you as he rubs soothing circles on your arm.

He's doing all that to distract himself from the jumpscares btw.

Bc he's getting just as startled as you, if not more.

He completely zones out while watching and the jumpscares jolt through him, snapping him back to the movie plot, which then scares him even more - like, wdym there's a killer on the loose and he's literally right beside the main character?!?

But comforting you, in its odd way makes him feel comforted and safe too.

He can't help but find himself enthralled in all the silly traditions and festivities around Halloween just because it's by your side.

As the next one rolls in, he glances down at you and peppers kisses along your hairline, his lips warm and gentle.

Though you’re locked in and wrapped up in the tension of the movie, you feel safe and completely at ease in his arms.

Doesn't last long though.

As the hours creep into the deep of night it seems like the movies get spookier, creepier, and more disturbing, and his thumb rubs soft circles on your shoulder whenever a scene begins, almost instinctively comforting you as he whispers soft reassurances.

You can't even listen to what he's saying, your clammy hands gripping his arm as you squeal, failing to tear your eyes away.

"Oh my god, Be- BEN!! OH MY GOD!"

He just covers your eyes with his hand

"Ben, I can't see"

"Good, it's awful, don't watch this scene"

He feels super cool and smart for pulling that move out btw. “Just another day of protecting my girl”

By the time the credits roll on the last film, you’re tucked against him, drowsy, exhausted and a sugar crash hitting you as the remains of the candied apples and popcorn are strewn over the table.

He glances down, his fingers brushing your cheek, and tilts your chin up for a sweet, lingering kiss.

“Still scared?” he asks in a soft voice.

“Maybe a little,"

“Good,” he murmurs, his smile warm. “Means I get to hold you all night."

What an opportunist.

It's the night before Halloween before you know it, the excitement of pumpkin carving, candied apples, and scary movies behind you.

Ben suggests a late-night drive!

"Let's see the decorations, it's a trip down my memory lane"

He's got that :D face going on, how could you even resist?

The air is cool and crisp as you both pile into his car, wrapped in hoodies and each other’s warmth.

Ben reaches over, like he always does, lacing his fingers with yours as he pulls out of the driveway, his thumb brushing soft, slow circles over your hand.

The neighbourhood is dressed for the season, with yards filled with skeletons, giant spiders, and strings of orange and purple lights that flicker in the dark.

Some houses go all out, with life-size ghost projections, speakers, massive jumpscare decorations and fog machines casting an eerie glow across the lawns, while others keep it simple with a row of glowing pumpkins along the steps.

It’s like Halloween magic has taken over, and the streets are a soft blend of shadows and a warm, festive glow amidst the golden leaves scattered all over.

“See that one? That’s where the Johnsons live. They’ve been doin’ that witch since I was like, I dunno, 10? Never changes. Every year, same decorations.”

Ben points out more houses, telling you which ones hand out full-size candy bars, which houses skimped out and which ones used to scare him when he and Emma were kids.

“You’d be one of those kids who scoped out the best houses before Halloween, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely. Me, Emma and my buddies’d race for the full-sized bars, but if we made it to Mr. O’Malley’s house last? He’d run outta candy and give us IOU's for his store instead. That was the jackpot right there,” He laughs, squeezing your hand as he reminisces.

You nod, listening as he goes on, getting lost in the stories, the way his eyes sparkle a bit more with each memory. He talks about the high school haunted houses, how his friends would sneak around, trying to out-scare the actors, and the endless piles of candy that took him weeks to finish.

How Emma wouldn't let him tag along with her and her friends because he was embarrassing her.

His voice softens as he describes the little thrills and mischievous moments, almost as if Halloween itself has this permanent spot in his heart.

He drives slower, letting the headlights illuminate the way as you soak in the charm of it all and the softness of being alone together.

You rest your head against the window, his hand warm in yours, the night stretching on in the glow of the lights and the quiet roads.

“Hard to believe I get to spend it with the love of my life this year,” he says after a while, glancing over with a soft smile, his voice is barely above a whisper.

It's almost like he was saying it to himself, more than to you.

You kiss the back of his hand, holding it there, feeling the warmth of the moment entirely.

As you drive past another house, one with an elaborate ghost setup and an old-fashioned lamp swinging like a haunted porch light, he points, chuckling. “Man, they’d have the best haunted houses. I’d be scared stiff. Now? Not so much.”

"Uh-huh, sure, Ben. I reckon you'd still get scared."

"We can pretend like I’m the brave one.”

“Oh, so you’re brave now?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Only when you’re here,” he says, brushing a soft kiss over your knuckles.

"So cheesy, Shelton"

"And you eat it up every time" he quips back, smiling.

The drive back is peaceful, almost like you’re kids again, wrapped in an innocent kind of wonder and admiration that the holiday brings.

When he finally pulls into his driveway, he parks but doesn’t make a move to get out.

Instead, he rests his head on the seat, just watching you, studying you.

The moonlight catches in his eyes, and he gives you that sweet, sleepy look that’s filled with all the warmth and happiness you could ask for, both of you bathed in the moonlight together.

The next day is Halloween, and no surprise, Ben forgot to mention something:

there's a party...

and he said you're going....

"Ben, what the FUCK are we gonna wear? I don't even have anything remotely close to a costume and-"

"Victoria's Secret model?"

He gets a punch to the arm for that quip. He had that ready and blurted it out wayyyy too quickly.

Once again, he's an opportunist!

Can't fault him! Don't hate the player, hate the game or whatever those finance bros say.

You both end up going to a costume warehouse, which, to no surprise (except Ben's), is practically ransacked and has just a small selection left.

"Wow! These racks and shelves are almost empty!"

"Yeah Ben, it's quite literally Halloween day..."

"Oh, yeah..."

"yep."

By the time you make your way to the ladies' section, Ben’s excitement is borderline overwhelming.

He's tossing costumes in your direction, with each pick, his grin only grows, that voice of his thickening with each comment.

Bet you can't guess what kind of costumes he's looking at!

“Alright, babe, here’s what I’m thinkin’.”

He hands you a bag with a red devil outfit...

...which is basically a glorified bodysuit.

“This, or-wait, wait, wait…”

He reaches back and pulls out a barely-there nurse outfit.

“Maybe this? C’mon, tell me you wouldn’t look hot as hell in it.”

"Oh my god, Catwoman?! Baby...Catwoman! You'd look so fuckin' good as...wait what's this one? Oh! Or, how about a cop? It comes with handcuffs!!!"

He's practically blushing with several skimpy costumes in his arms, a gummy smile wide, and eyes massive like a teenager looking at a Playboy magazine for the first time.

“I was actually thinking… Fiona, from Shrek. The green body paint, prosthetic nose and all.”

His face falls in sheer horror.

He just stands there, slackjawed, like you’ve crushed his biggest dreams.

“Fiona…as in an ogre? He says the word like it’s filthy like he’s never even wanted to say it out loud.

“Yep! I could even add some fake dirt on my body, really make it realistic…”

Ben’s just staring at you, his face still frozen in disbelief. “Naw…nah, you didn’t just say that.”

He waves a hand up and down in front of you like he’s trying to wipe the thought from his mind.

“Babe, we’re supposed to look good, not…swampy.”

With a grin, you roll your eyes and you eventually head toward the dressing room, pulling on the first costume in his pile that he gave you to throw on.

Of course, it's a flirty Snow White costume; a corset with puff sleeves and tiny skirt, knee-high socks and a headband. When you step out, Ben’s mouth drops again, but this time with a grin that spreads across his face.

“See now that is what I’m talkin’ about,” he drawls, sliding a hand around your waist, fingers tracing the fabric. “Got me forgettin’ my own name…”

You roll your eyes, swatting his hand away. “Ben, it’s just Snow White!”

“Just Snow White?” he repeats, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m thinkin’ you’re the finest Snow White.” His fingers drift just a bit too low, making you laugh as you smack his hand away again.

Back in the dressing room, you slip into the next one, a green Tinkerbell dress that’s even shorter and lined with sparkles.

You don’t even have to walk out fully before Ben’s already there, grinning like he’s been waiting for hours.

“Look at you, my lil’ pixie…” He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close, lips brushing your ear. “Darlin’, I don’t think I’m gonna let you wear this one outta my sight.”

“Are you even paying attention to the costumes or are you just looking for excuses?” you tease.

You're trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as his eyes practically undress you on the spot.

“Alright, alright.” He laughs, backing off as you return to the dressing room one more time to pull on the cop outfit.

His eyes roam over every inch, pausing at the handcuffs dangling from your fingers and the baton tucked into your belt, wrapped around your hips.

“Oh, hell yeah,” he mutters, his gaze darkening. He steps up, his hands back on your waist, fingers digging in a little tighter.

“You’re arrestin’ me, right? Pleaseeee say you’re here to arrest me.”

“You need to behave if we're gonna get out of this store with a costume for us,” you say, laughing as he tugs you closer, his eyes glued to the baton you’re tapping on his shoulder.

“Not a chance, babe.” He grins, leaning in. “Now, why don’t I go grab that badge of yours so I can behave just a lil worse…”

You shove him off with a scoff and an eye roll but that smile on your face deceived your annoyed expression.

You had a little plan schemed, all look you’d picked, your surprise masterpiece:

a head-to-toe roach costume with long, wiry legs, little antennae, and bug eyes on top.

You wriggle into the thick styrofoam costume, taking a deep breath before stepping out in all your creepy-crawly glory.

“Benny?” you call in a sing song voice, trying to keep a straight face. “Got the perfect costume.”

He turns, expecting another flirty outfit, and instead just stands there, blinking.

He’s completely silent.

A whole ten seconds pass before he finally clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.

“…Nah, babe,” he says, voice almost pitying. “Nah, this…this just ain’t right. Not right at all.”

You hold up your arms and wiggle the little roach legs at him, the same way you wiggled in the Snow White costume.

“What, it’s not cute?”

“I- baby, look- you know I love you…” he starts, trying and failing to keep from laughing as he waves at you. “But I just can’t- I can’t even look at you right now. That’s straight-up trauma in a costume.” He finally lets out a snort, covering his face with his hands.

Finally, after giving him a good laugh, you change into the last one, the one you’ve both been waiting for.

It’s an angel costume with a touch of elegance: a top made of shimmering gold metal feathers that shine under the store lights, a golden headpiece that makes you look almost ethereal, and long, graceful wings. The skirt flares out in layers of white and gold, making you look like you’ve stepped straight out of a dream.

When you step out, Ben’s quiet, the devilish grin on his face replaced by something a little softer, his breath hitching a bit, his gaze a little more serious as he takes you in.

“Now this,” he says, moving closer, reaching for your hand. “This is somethin’ else, darlin’. You look exactly what you are, an angel.”

“Good enough for Halloween?” you ask, giving a little twirl as the golden wings glint in the light.

“Oh, way better.” He nods, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Cause I’ll be right there as your devil.”

He hands you the bag for his costume, a black shirt, unbuttoned pretty low, black pants, and, of course, dark wings and horns.

“We’re gonna make one hell of a pair.” His gaze drifts over you again, taking in every detail.

“Angel like you with a devil like me might just be our best look yet.”

From the look in his eyes, you know this Halloween party is going to be a night to remember.

He paid for the costumes of course, btw.

Only after making a million innuendos about you being an angel.

"Y'know I thought angels were pure, you can get pretty nasty when you-"

"Shut it."

"Yes, m'darlin' ".

As you approach the house party, the bass thumps in your chest, seeing all sorts of costumes around you, some faces familiar to Ben, childhood friends and college peers alike.

After a few shots, a couple of drinking games and slurred conversations, you and Ben melt into each other in the cramped living room, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, fingers dipping dangerously low.

His other hand slips along the curve of your hip, thumb grazing your bare skin, sending a thrill up your spine.

The dim lights reflect off your golden feathers, casting a halo around you, but Ben’s dark eyes are glued to yours, unrepentant, that devilish grin driving you insane.

How in character!

His lips brush your ear, his breath warm and his words slurred and heavy with a bit too much vodka.

“You’re… somethin' else tonight, y’know that?” he murmurs, words melting into the bass line, his drawl thicker, slow and dragging as he pulls you even closer.

“Got every guy in here starin' at my angel…”

You laugh, tipsy, rolling your eyes. “Pretty sure they’re all lookin’ at you, devil boy.”

He just smiles, his hands sliding lower, pressing you tight against him as he lets out a low laugh. “Naw, they’re jealous,” he mumbles, lips grazing your neck as he speaks. “Cause I’m the only one you’re gettin’ all worked up over…”

You feel the heat rising between you two, the music, the drinks, the dim lights casting everything in a hazy blur.

He pulls you in, tilting your face up, his lips finding yours, messy and rough as if he’s been waiting all night to feel your mouth on his.

His hand cradles your face, fingers slipping into your hair, holding your jaw, tugging you close as he kisses you like he’s been starving for it.

He tastes like dark liquor and something a little sweeter, and when you pull away, you can’t tell if it’s his lips that are wet or yours.

He’s breathing heavily, eyes locked on you, that stupid, sinful grin spreading wider.

“Wanna get outta here?” he whispers, voice barely louder than the music.

You don’t even hesitate, nodding as he takes your hand and tugs you through the crowd, your pulse racing.

His grip is tight, his eyes glinting with that familiar, heated look, and you can’t help but laugh as he leads you out of the house and into the warm Floridian night.

You barely make it to outside, stumbling onto the lawn, before his hands are on you again, pressing you against the trunk of a tree, his mouth crashing into yours. You moan into him, hands running over his chest, feeling the heat radiating off him even through his shirt.

“Oh, Ben…” you breathe, leaning back as he drags his mouth along your neck, nipping and teasing, his laughter low and husky against your skin.

“God, you’re perfect,” he slurs, mouth brushing up the line of your jaw as his hand slides around your waist.

You’re ready for him to take you right then and there, leaves crunching underfoot, your fingers slipping under his shirt, tugging it open just a little further when-

“Wait, wait, wait,” he mutters, pulling back suddenly.

His eyes are wide and hazy, his head perks up as he looks over his shoulder for a moment and blinks, his mouth twisting into a grin as he takes your hand again.

“Hold up. Got an even better idea.”

You blink, trying to catch your breath, utterly dazed. “Wha-…what are you talking about?”

He’s already leading you down the sidewalk, back towards the rows of decorated houses, each porch lit up with Halloween lights and pumpkins.

You stop dead in your tracks, your lips still swollen from his kisses, realising he’s actually serious.

“Ben, you’re not-no way, no shot.” You laugh, almost disbelieving as he walks up the first driveway, holding your hand and looking back with that same goofy smile.

No way.

“Trick or treatin'!” he says, completely earnest, already reaching for the doorbell.

He's looking at you all innocent, like he wasn't being handsy with you just 2 minutes ago.

You stare at him, utterly floored. “Ben, you’re seriously…you’re just gonna go trick-or-treating? Right now? Like this?”

“Hell yeah!” he says, as if this is the most normal thing in the world, shrugging.

“I’m in costume, you’re in costume…what’s stoppin’ us?”

Before you can even answer, the door swings open, revealing an elderly woman with a massive bowl of candy. She takes one look at Ben in his black wings, the gold feathers shining around you, and lets out a cackle of laughter.

“Now, I didn’t expect trick-or-treaters this age tonight!” she says, eyes bright with amusement as she holds the candy out. “You two are just adorable. D'ya need a bag, hun?”

Ben grins, holding his hand out. “Thank you, ma’am. I mean…Halloween’s all about free candy, right?”

His boyish cheeky charm works like a treat, even on the old ones. smh.

With a warm chuckle, she drops a couple of candy bars into his hands before handing him a bag before she waves goodbye.

Ben shoves the candy in, already heading down to the next house, practically skipping with that same childish grin.

“C’mon, m'angel, let’s go score some more!”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you trail along beside him.

The night takes on a new light, the alcohol still buzzing through you both as you hit every house on the block, each one adding more candy to Ben’s rapidly filling bag.

He grabs an empty trick-or-treat bag left on a stoop, offering it to you with a dramatic flourish, and before long, you’re both stumbling from house to house, holding hands and giggling like you’re kids again.

Ben feeds you chocolate in between houses, his eyes soft and a little drowsy, that irresistible grin plastered on his face.

The two of you wander holding hands, his devil horns slightly askew, his shirt still messily half-buttoned as you both talk in low, slurred voices.

Somewhere along the way, you both end up sitting on the curb since your feet hurt.

You both go digging through the bags like kids, surrounded by a mix of Reese’s, Milky Ways, and Twix bars.

“Still thinkin’ you’re too old for trick-or-treatin’?” he teases, popping a Snickers in his mouth.

“Fine,” you admit, laughing, leaning into his side. “Guess I can kinda see the appeal.”

He just grins, sliding his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in as the streetlights flicker above you, pressing soft kisses to your hair.

In the quiet night, surrounded by candy wrappers and the warm glow of Halloween night, you’re perfectly happy, just you, your devil, and a bag full of treats.

There was nothing sweeter than spending Halloween with Ben <33

[defira85]

Chloe update (it's not grim, it's just not entirely happy)

She's doing okayish

She's struggling to walk at the moment. This all started back in the first week of August when we noticed her walking strangely, and she went downhill fast initially with not eating and not sleeping. Then we found the eye infection and we thought, great, that's probably the problem! It's affecting her balance which probably accounts for the funny walk, and an infection means her body is out of whack which explained the not eating and the not sleeping, so she had surgery and lost the eye

She was recovering okay, she's an old lady after all so she wasn't going to bounce back immediately. Sleeping better and eating better, and she started to gain weight back

But then she was clearly still limping, and she started not wanting to put weight on the back right foot at all. Didn't react with pain, didn't flinch or recoil or bite or try to get us to stop prodding and stretching it. Still reacts to stimulus so it's not paralysed. The limp got more pronounced

Then Barney died

She stopped using the leg altogether, she tries to keep it tucked up under her belly all the time. She stopped eating again, the vet said grief response to missing Barney. She stopped pooping, we thought maybe it was all the pain medications cause god knows that happens to me when I'm having bad pain flares

Yesterday she couldn't use the other back leg either. Couldn't stand up, she fell out of her little bed and onto her back and she just lay there like a turtle with her limbs flailing in the air, couldn't get back onto her tummy

The vet got her to poop yesterday, and she was ravenous for dinner AND snacks AND breakfast. She's struggling to use the leg today but she's trying! She's very clearly got energy and she's also very clearly frustrated and angry that she can't mobilise. She wants to walk around! She doesn't want to lie down and wait for death!

But I don't know if I'm just being selfish with her. Yesterday we went to the vet with the full expectation that the vet would look at us and say "I'm really sorry, but there's nothing else we can do. It's time" and so leaving with her in my arms still alive threw my emotional balance right out of whack. I'd spent the drive prepping myself for the conversation. I burst into tears the moment the vet took us into the room.

I don't know what I'm doing! I don't know if, maybe if Barney hadn't left us so abruptly and so painfully, maybe it would've been a different conversation! But I don't know how to cope with the idea of losing both of them so I don't know. I don't know if I'm being selfish. I look at her and I see my little fighter, who never backed down from anything bigger than her, and I see her spirit fighting. Barney was so quiet at the end. I can't believe the vets would send me on a wild goose chase to other specialists if they didn't think it was worth it and it was just prolonging her misery

Anyway. She's got an abdominal scan next Wednesday. If she's safe after that for more extensive sedation we might consider leg and spine x-rays but even if we find something causing her limp, she probably can't handle another extensive surgery. And what would that surgery get her? Another six months of life? Would that be worth it if she's in pain from recovery the whole time? She's so skinny from all the weight she's lost, I can feel her spine and her hips and I hate it

This got long. I'm sorry if you read this far, I needed to get it out and I can't say any of it out loud without immediately bursting into tears

[milkiematcha]

jeno/mark with a spit kink + praise and degrading :ppp

fuckboy!jeno + anon's request<33

"you're so good for me, aren't you? such a good girl." jeno's voice was low, his fingers tangled in your hair. he was so deep down your throat that you half wanted to pull back and catch your breath, but the other half of you was so taken with the way he groaned when your nose touched his pubic bone made you stay. "you looked so pretty when you walked in. you look pretty now, but you don't look like a princess anymore."

a tiny sound of choked confusion left your lips, and he shoved you down farther on his cock. "you look like more of a slut."

he was right. you could feel tears dripping down your cheeks from lack of air and your hands were braced on his thighs, your knees probably already black and blue from the position you were stuck in. and you were so, so desprate that it probably showed on your face.

he'd caught your eye from the moment he'd walked in, smelling vaguely of smoke and having that trademark overconfident glint in his eyes. you'd heard everything, all the rumours of his fuckboy habits, even seen the hickeys scattered on his neck when he showed up to class late. but he was still so alluring, it felt like a gravitational pull surrounded him.

so when he'd handed you a red solo cup, you'd sipped it immediately, expecting beer or at least some mixed drink, but when water touched your tounge you'd recoiled.

"what the fuck?" you'd spat, jerking your head away from the cup. "i thought this was-"

"donghyucks spiked punch?" he finished, smirking in that annoyingly pretty way of his. "no, doll. i want you sober for later."

and now here you were, so needy for him that you would be begging for it if you weren't already choking on him. your thighs were pressed together, pulling a laugh from him when he noticed.

"looks like a whore, acts like a whore..." he was teasing, but his voice was strained and his movements were jerky. "must be a whore."

he pulled back, his fingers digging into your hair to keep you from licking at his cock. you looked so pathetic under him that he couldnt help but caress your cheek, murmuring something that sounded like "good girl" before returning to his harsh movements. his other hand was yanking over his cock, and the hand in your hair just kept pulling tighter and tighter-

"open."

less than a second later he was cumming on your tounge, a strangled moan escaping his lips. you went to swallow, to do what you hoped would make him regard you as a good girl again, but he squeezed at your cheeks, not letting you move even the slightest bit.

he leaned down, just close enough that you could kiss him if you just jerked up a bit, but instead of kissing you like you so badly craved, he spit. it landed on your tounge, and you'd have jerked back if it wasnt for his hand holding your face and his damn satisfied expression.

"swallow, princess. be a good slut." his voice was low and gravelly, so you did it. and you when you opened your mouth after, you got your treasured response.

"good girl."

I WROTE THIS IN MY NOTES APP BECAUSE MY LAPTOP IS UPDATING SO IF ITS NOT VERY GOOD PLEASE FEEL FREE TO REQUEST SOMETHING ELSE/SOMETHING LONGER.

also i didnt know if this meant mark+jeno threesome or mark or jeno so i did just one, but if you meant threesome just send another ask lol. i hope you enjoyed and thank you for the request<33

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Sunshine in the Clouds

This is an incentive request from my dear friend @laffy-taffy-creations. Congrats on finishing your class!

The house was empty, save for Hero’s slumped-over form in the kitchen. This was their third drink of the evening. Funny, they never touched a drop of the stuff before… well, before everything happened. Hero had drawn the curtains, the sunlight outside was too harsh even though it was a cloudy day. They wished it would rain. They had stopped being able to cry weeks ago. Now it was just them and the house.

The TV was on, like it had been for days on end, but Hero had long since tuned it out. Still, they refused to turn it off. If they did that, the silence would be deafening. They hated how quiet it was. They got up and chucked the empty bottle in the trash can, passing a picture of the group. They all looked so happy.

Hero blamed themselves for all of it. They were a Hero for goodness’ sake- they should’ve prevented the murder. Friend had said it wasn’t their fault, but even if that was true, they should’ve seen the signs in Friend at the very least. Why couldn’t they do anything right!? Was this their punishment for not being observant enough? What did they do wrong? Why couldn’t they-

“Breaking news, a fire at [Address] has spread across the entire apartment complex, with many tenants still trapped inside. Firefighters are on the scene. We’ll keep you updated as we learn more.”

Hero sighed. Okay. Let’s get this over with.

…

Hero handed the last child to its mother. Hero was covered in smoke and sweat, and they had a few burns from the fire. Ice covered the entire apartment building where flames had been raging just minutes beforehand.

“Great work, Hero,” the fire brigade captain said warmly.

Hero briefly nodded, then started to make their way through the crowd that had gathered.

“Hero!” a reporter shouted, “where have you been these past few weeks?”

“No comment.”

“Are you heading to the hospital after this?” another asked.

“No comment.”

“Has something happened in your personal life that-”

“I said no comment!” Hero snapped.

As they spoke, a blast of ice erupted from their hands. They crowd recoiled back from the icicles that formed around the crime-fighter. Hero shook their head and stepped over their little fortress. They left, ignoring the cameras that flashed and the buzz of the crowd.

…

Hero flopped on the bed and scrolled through their phone. The doorbell rang just minutes later. Hero grumbled, getting up and answering the door. They hadn’t even changed out of their suit. What did it matter anyway? So what if someone saw them like this?

“Wow, you, uh, you look terrible.”

“Villain,” Hero said flatly, “what do you want?”

“I saw the news,” Villain said, “I was worried about you.”

Hero’s eyes swept over Villain’s figure. In their hand was a backpack, it seemed to be stuffed to the brim.

“So, uh, can I come in?”

Hero looked away, then stepped aside so Villain could enter. Villain thanked them as Hero closed the door.

Villain saw the state of the house. If they were judging, they didn’t give any indication of that.

“Have you eaten today?” Villain asked.

Hero snorted.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one. Have you?”

Hero gestured vaguely to the empty glasses littering the table. Villain nodded, unzipping the backpack and pulling out some TV dinners, soup cans, ramen packets, and basically the easiest meals to make a la microwave.

Villain sat Hero down at the kitchen table, clearing it off and setting a bowl of soup in front of them.

“Eat.”

Hero didn’t want to, but their stomach had other plans. After growling at them, Hero acquiesced and started taking small bites. They only ate half of it before pushing it aside.

Villain looked down at the half-finished meal.

“Fair enough, we’ll work on that,” they said.

Villain took Hero by the hand and led them to the bathroom. A bath had been drawn for them.

“Take your suit off,” Villain said.

“Villain, I’m not going to-”

“I’m not going to do anything frisky,” Villain said, “but if you won’t take care of yourself then I’m going to do it for you. Suit. Off.”

…

Hero sat on the edge of their bed, wrapped in a fluffy towel. Villain came in with Hero’s pajamas, fresh from the dryer. They looked away while Hero got changed. Hero cleared their throat so Villain would know they were dressed.

“Okay. Thank you. You can… you can go now.” Hero said.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” Villain said.

“It doesn’t matter either way,” Hero replied quietly.

Villain sat down next to them.

“I know how-”

“Don’t pretend to know how I’m feeling,” Hero snapped.

Villain held up their hands.

“Alright.” They said, “but you shouldn’t have to grieve by yourself.”

So Hero didn’t grieve by themselves. Villain came by every day to help them live in a world that they didn’t feel like being in. Little by little, piece by piece, they started to inch their way back into the land of the living. The curtains had been opened, and though it was a cloudy day, the sunlight was just starting to peek through.

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Tags:

@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006

[softmick]

Kinktober Day 5 - Gun Play | AO3

[consensual non-consent/roleplay, restraints, gun play, gun insertion, a blood mention, oral and vaginal sex, mild pain, trans Mickey]

The room smells like smoke and a hint of mildew. A flip of the light switch illuminates a gaudy floor lamp in the corner. It hasn’t been updated since the 1980’s. There’s peeling gold-striped wallpaper and cobwebs on the ceiling. He glances to the back, his plan to run for the bathroom dying when he notices it has no door. Or window. The place makes Mickey’s skin crawl. It reminds him of home, or what used to be.

His captor hits the back of his knee and pushes him towards the floor. He falls onto his hands and knees, recoiling at the sticky feel of the stained burgundy carpet.

“What d’you want from me?” He can’t help that it comes out haughty.

The voice above him is calm. “Right now I want your hands behind your back.”

“People in hell want ice water,” Mickey spits.

The gun cocks; there’s no mistaking the sound even if he can’t see it happen.

Mickey places his hands together at the small of his back as the man circles him. Live to fight another day. That should be his fucking motto. Fawn. That could be another.

“Got someone expectin’ me at home,” Mickey tries, softer.

The firm voice prods, “Someone special?”

“My husband.” It comes out quieter than Mickey expects and his voice breaks on the second word.

There’s a heavy pause. In it Mickey can hear cars rushing by just outside the door and a TV in the next room over. The world is still turning — indifferent— despite the predicament he finds himself in, like it always has.

“Guess you shouldn’t drag this out then, hmm?”

Mickey looks up at his captor. His tall frame blocks most of the light, but even so Mickey can see his eyes clearly — only his eyes, the rest of his face is hidden behind a black mask — they give nothing away.

He has to know, asks, “What are you doin’ this for?”

“Because I can,” the man replies evenly with a shrug. Then he moves behind him and zip-ties his wrists.

Mickey supposes it’s an honest answer. Something about him just brings it out in people.

He flexes his fingers experimentally, pulls. There’s no give. It makes him feel lightheaded, makes his heart beat faster. He’s always felt most alive at the edge.

A thumb swipes across his bottom lip. “You looked so pretty across the bar. Gotta real slutty lookin’ mouth. Gonna let me feel it?”

A part of Mickey may be resigned to whatever is about to happen, but it isn’t in his nature to go too quietly. He rears back as much as he can on his knees. “Fuck off.”

The stranger presses the muzzle of the pistol into his temple. “That’s not how this is gonna go. I’ve got the gun, remember?”

Mickey nods because he does remember. He’s painfully aware of who’s holding the gun right now. The gun, his gun, actually. The adrenaline rush he gets on this end of it is a high he loves.

“Good.”

Strong fingers dig into his cheeks and squeeze the tense muscles there against his teeth.

“Open the fuck up.”

Mickey resists, letting the ache build. He isn’t a stranger to pain, even feels a sick satisfaction at how much he can take.

The bruising grip doesn’t let up. It’s a stalemate until the stranger forces the barrel into his mouth. The threaded muzzle scrapes between his lips and the barrel clicks hard into his front teeth. He opens, hoping nothing chips.

The stranger lets go of his jaw to roughly fist the hair at the crown of his head. Mickey’s eyes water from the sting of it.

“Suck.”

A muffled whimper slips out and Mickey moves. He sticks out his tongue and reaches forward, letting the cool barrel move over his tongue until the trigger guard hits his bottom lip. He considers the weight and sucks in a breath as he retreats. Loaded. He repeats the movement twice, before the stranger tugs his head up enough for their eyes to meet. Mickey watches as green eyes narrow at him.

“I didn’t say ‘lick’ it. Hollow those cheeks and fucking suck!”

The shame of being scolded causes heat to bloom on Mickey’s face and that just pisses him off. He squeezes his eyes shut and closes his lips around the barrel. He feels the ridges on the sides slip past his lips. The solidity in his mouth isn’t so bad now that he’s ready for it. He covers his teeth and sucks. He knows exactly what to do, likes it even.

“Yeah, just like that. Knew you could do it.”

The encouragement shouldn’t hit him so hard, but it does. More than the shame. He feels the throb of his pulse traveling south. Mickey keeps an even pace, muzzle to guard, in and out. The metal warms slowly, like Mickey. The fingers in his hair relax and Mickey himself gets lost in the rhythm. At least until he feels a dribble of spit slip out and down his chin.

His eyes shoot open and he comes back to himself. Kneeling in this filthy room like a cheap whore. It’s enough to make his head spin. He pulls back quickly and the front sight scratches against the roof of his mouth. He tastes blood. Copper and steel. He starts to cough and tears slide down his cheeks.

The man is indifferent. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

He fucks the gun in and out of Mickey’s mouth as he tries to catch his breath, but Mickey can’t relax again. He pants around the barrel between weak sucks and the man lets out an exasperated sigh. “If that’s all your mouth can do I’m gonna have to find another hole to fuck.”

Before Mickey’s brain can even process what was said the man hauls Mickey up by his shoulders. Mickey’s booted feet only graze the carpet before he’s bouncing back on to the mattress, arms trapped beneath him. He digs his heels in and tries to push himself back and away, but the man is on him quickly. He grabs Mickey by the waist of his jeans.

“Lets get these off of you, huh?”

Mickey’s stomach flips. He twists his shoulders and tries to sit up. The stranger throws a leg over his stomach and straddles him.

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

If only Mickey had a dime for every time he’d heard that. If only he had a dime for every time it had happened.

He kicks his legs, tries again to get some traction. The move just earns him a firmer press into his stomach as the guy lets his weight rest fully atop Mickey. It forces the breath out of him and keeps his inhales shallow. His arms and his back ache. The stranger doesn’t bother trying to unbutton his pants; he just pulls, forcing them over Mickey’s hips. They make it to the widest part before Mickey feels his boxers start to slide with them. Mickey drives a knee up into the man’s arm, but not hard enough to stop him. He doesn’t want to, really.

He isn’t above begging though. “Please, I’ll suck your cock so good. Just don’t—” But it’s too late.

His jeans and his boxers are pulled down past his knees and the stranger stills and blows out a low whistle.

“Well aren’t you full of surprises!”

Mickey draws his hips back as if he can cover himself. As if he wants to. The pilled fabric on the bed beneath him feels rough against his skin. He focuses his gaze on a watermark on the ceiling.

“Spread your legs.”

The stranger grabs the gun again and presses it into Mickey’s pubic hair. Mickey feels the pressure in his bladder and squirms.

“N-no, please!”

“C’mon, open up.” The man is impatient, excited. “Didn’t know I’d have choices.”

Sweat breaks out across Mickey’s brow and behind his knees. He spreads his legs slowly.

“Don’t move.”

The muzzle slides lower: through the soft shiny hair between Mickey’s legs, over the length of his swelling cock and in between soft pink folds.

The stranger clicks his tongue and pulls the gun away.

“Are you fucking wet?”

Mickey thrashes in vain and gets a slap on each thigh.

“Spread your fucking legs.” It comes out through clenched teeth. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

Mickey sniffles, but obeys. Don’t make it harder than it has to be.

“Now be still.”

Every muscle in Mickey’s groin tenses in anticipation. There’s a dull ache where the ridges in the metal catch at his sensitive opening. He doesn’t dare to even breathe. There’s the faint roar of a laugh track coming from the next room.

The stranger twists his wrist and pushes, a sucking squelch breaks the silence between them as the barrel moves deeper.

“You are wet. Kind of fucked up, huh?”

He is, it is. There’s no way to hide it.

The man leans forward and begins thrusting. Mickey hisses with the pull at first. It’s only a few inches so there’s no escaping the sight or the notches on the bottom of the barrel. There’s no forgetting there’s a man holding a loaded gun inside him, but it doesn’t take long for his slick to spread or for the weight inside stretching him open to make his toes curl.

The guy presses deeper until Mickey feels the his knuckles brush against his cock. He forgets himself with the spark of pleasure that shoots through his core and moans loudly.

“Hard, too? Want it all, don’t ya?

He does, in spite of himself. The man rocks his hand, the ridges of his fingers massaging Mickey’s dick. The barrel inside him moves up and down pressing into his walls. The combination has his eyes rolling back in his head. Hard and soft, wet and metal. He’s gonna fall apart and float away right here.

He braces for his release to crash over him, but the gun and accompanying hand are ripped away. Mickey clenches around nothing, pants. The stranger moves off of Mickey, lifting his legs to kneel behind them. His eyes dart over Mickey’s face, landing on his lips. “You get off on this?”

Mickey bites his lip and shakes his head. It’s harder to admit with the man looking directly at him.

The guy laughs behind his mask. He holds the gun between them and the wet metal gleams.

“This tells a different story.”

He whispers affectionately, “Sick slut.”

“It’s okay,” the man says. “I do, too.”

He lays the gun on Mickey’s stomach and releases his cock from his buttoned fly. It hangs heavy, leaking. He strokes himself a few times before shuffling forward, the head of his cock catching on Mickey’s slick folds.

“My turn.”

“Not there. Please?” he asks between shaky breaths.

“You want me to fuck your ass?”

Mickey nods frantically, “ Yes, please.”

The man cocks a brow. “You sure?”

“Yes!”

“Why? Your husband doesn’t—“

“Only my husband.” Mickey says firmly.

The stranger grabs the back of Mickey’s thigh and shifts closer. He lines himself up with Mickey’s ass hole and begins to push. It’s dry and burns. Mickey looks away and bites his lip. He wills himself to relax, but he can’t. Everything in him recoils. A guttural groan erupts from his throat and his left leg begins to shake uncontrollably.

The man stops pushing forward, but doesn’t pull away. The pain is steady, sharp.

“Maybe I should just fuck the wet one.”

“Don’t! I’ll relax.” Mickey purses his lips and blows out a whoosh of air. “I can relax.”

The man pushes forward and Mickey winces.

The stranger lets out a heavy sigh and spits on his own cock. He pumps himself quickly, spreading the moisture. Then he angles his hips and buries himself in Mickey’s front hole in one strong move.

“Fu-uck!” he cries.

“Ah— don’t!” It’s almost believable.

The stranger laughs again, shaking his head. “Don’t worry this won’t take long.”

His thick cock fills Mickey up. Stretches him perfectly.

The man pounds into him, their thighs slapping together with each powerful thrust.

“So fucking hot, grip me so good.”

Mickey is so wet, so full. So close.

“Please, please, please,” he can hardly think to say anything else, but he needs.

God, he needs more. One of those big hands on his cock. The gun in his mouth.

The man’s hips start to stutter and Mickey feels his dick grow impossibly harder. There isn’t much time left.

“Don’t! Don’t come in me!” He hopes the yet is implied.

That’s what does it. The man moans and buries himself as deeply as he can. He grinds his hips against Mickey as he comes inside of him in three strong bursts.

Mickey clenches around him and lets him have the moment. But only a moment.

“Make me come, Ian.” It’s a demand.

Ian rips the mask off and rests his sweaty head against Mickey’s calf. He nods and grins dopily, but doesn’t move right away.

Mickey is impatient, almost furious with his desire. He can still try his manners. “Please. ‘M so close.”

Ian is breathless, but accommodating.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Your mouth.”

Ian pulls out and pulls Mickey to the edge of the bed and helps him stand. His pants are still trapped around his ankles, but he’s able to spread his feet wide enough to find stability. Ian kisses him wetly and grabs the gun. Then he drops to the floor. He runs the fingers of his left hand up Mickey’s thighs and around to grip his ass. He kneads the taut flesh and looks up through his lashes. His right hand reaches up through Mickey’s legs. The tip of the barrel hits his perineum and slides up between his cheeks, slick where Ian’s cum has leaked out.

Ian smiles devilishly and sticks out his tongue, flicking it over the head of Mickey’s cock. Mickey’s hips buck. He’s too worked up for any teasing and Ian knows it. He draws circles around the head. Mickey pulls against the zip tie and groans.

Ian purses his lips and sucks lightly at the tip. Mickey moans and thrusts forward only for Ian to pull away again.

Mickey whines, unashamed. “Untie my hands.”

Ian ignores him and slides the gun down. Mickey huffs out a breath and Ian bows his head to leave little kitten licks on Mickey’s shaft. It earns him a growl.

“Untie me, Ian!”

Ian resumes licking, tongue flat and soft over Mickey’s length. Sweet tension starts to build. Mickey’s worried it’s gonna take out his knees when he— Ian fucks up with the gun, the textured ridges catching over Mickey’s asshole. Sparks of electricity bloom behind his eyelids. And then Ian pulls away again.

Mickey could kill him. It’s a good thing he isn’t the one with the pistol.

“Let me go, gonna fuck your face.”

Ian pulls him forward. “Do it. Just like this.”

Mickey looks down at him skeptically.

“C’mon, I got you.”

Ian leans in and sucks Mickey into his mouth before stilling and letting Mickey take control.

Mickey pulls out slow and ruts into Ian’s hot mouth, caught between the gun and the sweetest fucking place. The head of his dick slides between soft tight lips to be met with that rougher, swirling tongue. He feels shaky and desperate without his hands to hold onto something, anything. Ian moans around him and the vibration tips him over the edge. Mickey’s cock and cunt twitch, Ian’s and his own cum squeezed out in waves. He feels light headed and heavy limbed.

Ian pulls the gun away and tosses it aside for good. He wraps his long arms around Mickey’s legs and holds them both steady, together. Mickey runs his hands through Ian’s damp hair, petting and soothing. He came so hard he’s well and truly speechless, but Ian doesn’t seem to mind. They stay leaning against one another until their breaths slow.

Finally Ian stands and cuts the tie holding Mickey’s wrists. He massages his hands, then his arms and shoulders. They lie down together, clothes back in place, cuddling close to share kisses and breath.

Mickey can’t sense anything but Ian anymore. The smell of his skin, the taste of his tongue, the warmth of his body. It doesn’t really matter where they are or what they do, as long as they’re together he’s safe and at home.

@gallavichthings

[ladamedusoif]

Hot Chocolate (Marcus Pike x gn!reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 3

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist. FYI: I'm having so much trouble with taglists at the moment that I'm not going to use them for now - if you want to keep updated, turn on notifications for my posts.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 1280 words

Warnings: Implied smut, some heavy making out, Marcus being an adorable foodie romantic art nerd, fluff city. No use of Y/N and no physical descriptions of Reader whatsoever. 

Summary: Snowed in and forced to stay over at your colleague’s Georgetown apartment, Marcus whips up a sweet treat to keep you warm.

“I don’t have much by way of dessert,” Marcus muses from the kitchen, where he’s peering into his fridge. 

You finish gathering the last of the takeout boxes from his dining table and begin cleaning them out at the sink. “You’ve given me a room for the night, Marcus, I don’t need dessert. Hey, where’s your recycling bin?” 

He gestures to a cupboard near the sink and leans back on the counter, thinking. “Actually, would you like some hot chocolate? I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Everything he needs?, you think, wondering what more you could possibly need for hot chocolate beyond some powdered mix and milk. Marshmallows, if you were feeling fancy.

“Sure, sounds good to me.” 

He grins in delight and starts rummaging in a cupboard, emerging with bars of dark chocolate and a jar of ground cinnamon, before delving into the fridge and retrieving milk and heavy cream. A heavy-bottomed saucepan is produced and positioned on the hob as Marcus mutters something about finding his grater.

This isn’t going to be cheap-ass powdered mix, is it.

Alright, full disclosure: if someone hooked you up to a polygraph machine and asked you if you had a teeny tiny harmless little workplace crush on Marcus Pike, you’d have to answer in the affirmative.

And who wouldn’t? He was kind and funny, and smart as hell, quietly undertaking a PhD in art history and cultural policy at Georgetown while continuing to work full-time. He was one of the few people in the team who actually kept up with the art world, regularly seeking you out after a new show opened at the National Gallery to exchange your thoughts on it over coffee in the canteen. 

The fact that he was also really cute didn’t hurt, either. 

When snow and ice blocked the routes out of DC back to your place in Alexandria, leaving you stranded, Marcus immediately suggested that you stay over at his place. See? Kind. 

“I’ll be fine, Marcus, really,” you’d protested, searching for hotel rooms in the city and recoiling when you saw the prices - and the lack of options. “Anyway, isn’t your place a one-bed?”

Marcus shrugged. “I’ve got a big couch, spare blankets and pillows, and I won’t stand by and see you hunkering down here for the night. C’mon. We’ll get takeout - I know a great little Korean place.”

He carefully grates the dark chocolate into a bowl while you whisk most of the cream. 

“Y’know, I really thought you were going to pull out a couple of sachets of Swiss Miss? I should have known better.”

Marcus chuckles to himself and checks the saucepan of milk. “Usually I’m a Swiss Miss kinda guy, I have to admit. But when you have guests, you do the Viennese hot chocolate. I like to make a fuss.”

You hold out the bowl of cream for him to inspect and he nods, eyes crinkling as he smiles at you. You put it down and fold your arms as you watch him work.

“Is it really Viennese, or is that just a name they use to make it sound all fancy?”

He laughs and looks at you in mock horror. “Of course it’s really Viennese! I even had it for the first time in Vienna.” Marcus takes the saucepan off the heat and adds the chocolate along with some sugar, a little cinnamon, and a dash of heavy cream. He begins to whisk the mixture carefully.

“It was one summer when I was a student - I had almost no money, but I did have one of those European Interrail tickets and I tried to see as much great art as I could. Took an overnight train to Vienna to see the Klimts at the Belvedere.” He pauses his whisking to assess the texture, then resumes.

“Like I said, I was down to my last few dollars - or Euros, or whatever the currency was at the time - but the one thing I was gonna do besides see the Klimts was go to a real Viennese café.”

The hot chocolate is frothy now, thick and glossy. Marcus nods in the direction of a cupboard and you open it, finding some mugs.

“So I’m guessing you got to a café.”

He turns off the stove and smiles at the memory. “Sure did. Café Central. It was like something out of a Stefan Zweig novel.” He takes a ladle out of a drawer and proceeds to fill the mugs with the steaming chocolate. “And I had a mug of something a bit like this - but much, much better - and a slice of apple strudel, and it was heaven.”

Marcus finishes off the chocolate by placing a large dollop of whipped cream in each mug, and hands one to you.

“This is…incredible. I don’t think I can ever go back to Swiss Miss.”

Marcus chuckles and sips his chocolate, sitting beside you on the couch. “I’m glad you like it. Perfect drink for a snowed-in night.”

You take another deep draught of the delicious, smooth drink and hum happily to yourself. “And I’m checking out flights to Vienna first chance I get.”

He looks at you intently. “Uh, you’ve… uh…”

You can see a giggle rising in his chest. He can’t suppress it, and he laughs out loud. 

“Why is the thought of me going to Vienna so funny to you?”

Marcus’s expression shifts to one of concern and he quickly shakes his head. “No, that sounds wonderful - you’ll love it - it’s just…” He reaches over and gently rubs the tip of your nose with his thumb, removing a large blob of whipped cream. “You had a little, uh, something.”

“Oh. Oh. I’m sorry.” You look down into your mug, a little embarrassed, but try to lighten the mood. “Feels like we’re in a scene from a cheesy holiday movie, y’know?”

He quirks his head. “How so?”

“Oh, you know. The whole ‘one character has whipped cream or something on their face and the other has to swipe it away and then…’”

You stop short, realising what you were about to say - and becoming very aware of just how close you are to him now.

Marcus’s voice is warm and low. “And then?”

Is he moving closer?

“And then… um. And then they usually, uh…”

He finishes your sentence by leaning in and kissing you, softly, gently at first. Your breath hitches as you feel the softness of his lips on yours. 

He breaks away for a second, staying close. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s…it’s great.” 

He takes your mug and puts it on the coffee table before cradling your face in his big hands and leaning in to kiss you again: a little harder, now, his tongue seeking entry to your mouth as your hands reach for his body and you lean back on the couch. 

You moan and whine with pleasure as you feel Marcus’s hands caressing your body, taste the bittersweetness of the chocolate on his lips and tongue. As he moves his mouth to your neck, sucking and nibbling and licking his way along the sensitive skin, you begin to unbutton his shirt and reach for his belt buckle.

“Marcus?”

He looks up for an instant, hair tousled and eyes as deep and dark and shiny as perfect hot chocolate.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch tonight. You’re keeping me warm in bed.”

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more