#loudspeaker row

[some-bunniii]

Lucifer breaks your deal with Alastor

・❥ Your soul is owned by Alastor, and Lucifer is not pleased about it.

x: OVER 20k words!? strap in ya’ll, it’s a roller coaster.

xx: reader is g/n. no use of y/n. if you want to read it in chapter-form, you can read it over on my ao3 here.

warnings: adult themes, abuse, angst

‘Alright, deep breaths. You’ve got this. You’ve practiced this so much it’s a cakewalk, so just take it easy. You’ll rock it, like always.’

“Oi! Welcome to the show, ya dirty sinners! Didn’t think ya’d see me all the way up here, did’ja?!”

Screams and cheers echoed from the seats below, as the voice of the King of Greed boomed from the loudspeakers. 

"Well, listen up, ya pitiful souls! I've got a craving for some more cash, so I've decided to bring the whole shebang right here to the heart of sin, Pentagram City!"

The cheering erupted once more, the spotlights danced across the sandy pit underneath the large circus tent. On the perimeter were rows and rows of stands, packed with demons nestled against each other.

It was Mammon’s first circus show in the Pride Ring, a very rare sight to see him leave his cozy little ring in general. But, when a good portion of your fans are sinners who can’t leave without being incinerated, then you have to receive them on their home turf.

In the large pit, two lions jumped obediently through hoops, their handlers shouting commands and cracking their whips to further spur the cat’s maneuvers.

Bright green flame danced around the lion’s faces, resembling that of a large mane. Their eyes were soulless, black pits that glimmered in the bright lights as they continued maneuvers through the tight obstacles.

On the edges of the pit, support poles towered above the crowd. Thin wires snaked across them, anchored to large platforms that hung in the air from the pole’s side.

“As ya can see, we’ve got a big show tah’night! Lots of great fuckin’ acts for ya mongrels to eat up. But, before we get to the juicy bits, direct your eyes up to the ceiling to get a look at our first performance!” 

Hundreds of gazes lifted to sky, the spotlights below beaming upward towards a platform at one end of the tent.

Bright, white lights hit your vision, and you squinted your eyes to prevent them from burning to a crisp from the focused beams.

You stood, your bare feet planted firmly against the platform’s white surface. Before you, a tightrope connected your place to another platform in the distance, beckoning you.

A small hoop hung from the ceiling, encircling a small portion of the wire. The trick was that it was too small for you to stand up straight while walking through it, so you’d need to limbo underneath it.

"As you can see, we've got some sorry sap up there that is about to practically walk on thin air! See that hoop over there? They're fixin' to stroll right through it."

Small ooh’s and ahh’s emanated from the crowd, their eyes darting from you to the hoop.

"But hold your horses, folks! That ain't your run-of-the-mill hoop, no sir! That, my friends, is a hoop on fuckin’ fire!!”

Suddenly, the hoop ignited in a burst of green flames, illuminating the area before you. Gulping, you took another deep breath, steadying yourself.

Okay, well, you knew that was gonna happen. You’ve just never actually practiced with the hoop on fire, but it shouldn’t be too hard.. right?

You nodded to yourself, assuring your racing thoughts that everything was gonna be alright.

The skin-tight suit you were wearing sparkled in the spotlight, dazzling the spectators with a red gleam as you hovered right over the edge of the platform, waving to the crowd. 

You had been performing ever since you could remember, and this was just another part of the job. You weren’t a part of Mammon’s original crew though, only being given the opportunity when they arrived at Pentagram City.

You were a Sinner, which meant being confined to the Pride Ring just like the rest. Fortunately, one of Mammon’s acrobats was too sickly to perform, so when you saw the large poster detailing auditions, you jumped at the opportunity to make some extra bucks.

You had arrived at the settled convoy of vehicles and trailers at the outskirts of the city, you were ecstatic. You hadn’t performed in an actual circus in forever, and the make-shift village of performers and equipment was a fresh sight.

Mammon himself was a… colorful character. He was a hard party rocker with a big ego, and most likely had a swear jar at home overflowing with pennies, with how that guy talked.

You hadn’t really met him when you auditioned, but you could definitely hear him. He was loud, practically demanding everyone’s attention even when he wasn’t addressing them. 

You could hear him yelling about an absent performer, annoyance evident in his voice as he berated an assistant.

"What do ya mean he couldn't make it to practice 'cause he lost his voice? He's a bloody mime, mate! What the hell are we payin’ these blokes for!?"

When you had performed for the recruiters—which you were surprised to find wasn’t Mammon, since the guy seemed to stick his nose in everything—you displayed to them your . A few somersaults, a bit of ariel silk action, and the classic, juggling. 

“How good is your balance?” One of them had questioned, their pen tapping softly against the wooden desk, as they considered your skills.

“Good enough, I suppose.” You replied truthfully.

Long story short, you got the gig. Although, when you heard they wanted you to tightrope under a hoop, that was a little surprising. 

Good thing you weren’t afraid of heights, or this would have been a nightmare.

Backing away from the edge, your gaze rested on the hoop aflame in front of you. After Mammon would finish speaking, you’d begin your act.

"But that ain't the only thing heating up tonight, folks."

Wait, what did he mean by that?

“‘Cause the tightrope… is also on fire!!!” 

What?!

The crowd went berserk hearing that. They whooped and hollered, as their twisted little fantasies came true before their eyes.

“Oh, god damnit, Mammon!” You muttered.

When you told them you had a pretty good pain tolerance, that did not mean resistance to fire!

You sighed, it was a little too late to back out now. Plus, you needed the money. Bouncing on your toes, you attempted to hype yourself up.

Exhaling a large breath, your foot lifted from the stand, and slowly reached out towards the tightrope. 

‘Fuck, this is going to hurt.’ you groaned internally, your toe just inches from the wire. You could feel the heat of the fire as it hungrily licked at your feet. 

Right as you were about to place yourself onto the wire, you felt something tugging at the back of your collar. 

It was deathly cold, and you tried to pull away from its touch, but whatever was holding you had a strong grip. A thick green fog-like substance pooled at your feet, and you looked down in confusion as it began to circle around your figure.

You felt the force on your collar harshly pull you backwards, and your feet lifted from the ground. The smoke became so thick in front of you, it was only the bright lights from the spotlights below that gave you any visual. Suddenly, large eyes began to dot your vision, staring directly at you, into your hollow being.

“What the fu-”

Darkness suddenly covered your vision, and you felt like you were floating in mid-air. Though, you couldn’t tell where exactly in the air you were, other than the fact the surface below you had completely vanished.

You tried to peel your eyes open, but whatever had thrusted you into this chilling realm would not let you get a glimpse of your surroundings. It wasn’t until you felt your feet hit firm ground, and a much less intense light hit your eyelids. You opened them slowly, your mouth still partially open.

“-ckkkk?” You finished, your eyes darting from one side of the mysterious room to the other. It looked strange.. to say the least. It was old, a little run down. It screamed tacky. 

You observed the room again, trying to find anything familiar that could gauge your location.

Were you in a hotel lobby? But, why? How? You’ve never been here before, nor did you know anyone who stayed at such a dump.

“Ah, there you are, my friend! What a pleasure to see you!”

You pivoted sharply to face behind you, and your eyes widened in shock at the familiar face.

Standing before you, a large toothy-grin plastered across his face, was Alastor. The owner of your soul, your eternal boss, the Radio Demon, and the butt end of most of your unfunny jokes—which you would never dare say in front of him.

“You!”

Your finger lifted, pointing accusingly at the tall, red demon. He only tilted his head amusingly at you, that smile only growing wider as you frowned.

“Yes, it is I. I’m glad you remember my face, how are you today?” 

“What do you want?” You grumbled, ignoring his question. You crossed your arms before taking a step back. There were others behind him, but it was Alastor you were focused on as you waited for his response.

“Oh, just some charity work. My new friends over here are in need of some more helping hands, so I took it upon myself to volunteer your services!” 

He motioned to the others behind him, and you glanced at the strangers. One of them was a woman with long, platinum-blonde hair, who smiled awkwardly at you with a wave. 

“That’s great!” You replied sarcastically, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “but couldn’t you wait until after my gig? I was about to make some good money!”

Alastor only sidled up to you, before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you against his cheek as if you two were best friends. You wanted to recoil from his touch, but you knew you’d get nothing good out of that action. 

“Oh, I am terribly sorry about that, my friend. But, we do have an agreement, as I'm sure you are well aware. Which means, for the time being, you’ll be living here at the hotel!”

Of course you were aware of the “agreement”, the guy had your soul! 

“What hotel?”

“The Hazbin Hotel! What do you think about the name, hm? I came up with it myself!” 

“It’s kind of lame.” 

“Oh-ho! You are such a charm, my dear! I can always count on you to liven up the room with your jokes.”

You sighed, uncrossing your arms and lowering them to your sides in defeat. You were stuck here, with Alastor, until he no longer needed your presence. As always.

“I still would have appreciated a call beforehand or something.” 

“Take my arrival back in the city as the call, my friend. My return was no doubt discussed by many. You knew I’d acquire your assistance at some point.”

Yes, that’s right. Alastor had been gone a good, what, seven years? It was strange, how he had just disappeared without a word or any kind of clue to his location. Where had he gone? Why was he being so secretive about it?

You didn’t miss him, of course. His absence was a mini vacation for you, a break from endless favors that he deemed you worthy to complete. What a joke.

“Now, why don’t we go and introduce you to all these fantastic fellows, hm?” He spoke, a command deep in his static-laced tone.

You turned back towards the small group of demons, who stood a few feet away silently as the two of you bickered. Standing slightly away from the rest, was a familiar furry face. Husker. He was here too? 

Nudging you forward with his cane, you walked up to the onlookers, who regarded you with a mixed expression. The shorter gray lady stood glaring at you with suspicion, her eyes darting between you and Alastor.

Beside her, was that pretty pale-faced demon in the red tuxedo. She smiled broadly at you, her eyes practically gleaming in excitement at seeing the multiple new faces.

“Hello! My name is Charlie, and this is my hotel! I'm so glad to have you aboard!” 

“..Hi, it’s good to meet you too.”

“Let me introduce you to our crew! Over there is my girlfriend, Vaggie!”

She motioned towards the shorter gray woman, and you looked at her more carefully. She had an X across her eye, barely visible with the long hair she situated across half her face. She still eyed you with suspicion, but her demeanor had softened as Charlie spoke to you.

“And, over there is Angel Dust, our first resident of the hotel!”

“How ya doing, Sugar?” Angel winked at you, as he leaned against the bar counter. Husk stood behind the counter, a thin line on his lips.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with Husker and Niffty, right?” 

You nodded, your gaze meeting Husk’s. His eyes softened just a teeny bit, before he let out a hmph and turned away towards the shelves of bottles against the wall.

Your attention turned back to Charlie, as she began filling you in with the details about the hotel and her plans.

She seemed like a sweet girl, passionate and imaginative. When she described her dreams to you, for the hotel, for the entirety of Hell, you listened carefully.

Sinners.. being redeemed? Going to Heaven? That seemed too good to be true. Unbelievable, almost. Sure, some of the demons down here weren’t too bad, but surely none of them were good enough to actually climb to the pearly gates. 

Charlie seemed… different from other dreamers, though, like she could actually get it to work. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what made you think so. Maybe it was because she was the princess of Hell, and was the second highest on the food chain of this damned place.

You were lucky with how down-to-earth she was, or your bluntness would have probably gotten you smited by now.

In comparison to Charlie, you were a nobody. Well, you were nobody in general. You didn’t own anything of value, not even your soul.

Charlie didn’t act like a princess though. Such as how she spoke to you, and her friends. No command in her tone, no true motives behind layers of smiles and sweetly spoken lies. 

If she was the owner of your soul, maybe life wouldn’t be so bad. She treated everyone fairly, without judgment of who they used to be. Only dreaming of who they could be.

Was the King of Hell the same? How much did Charlie mirror her father, anyway? 

“So.. what can you do?” Charlie broke you from your thoughts, she was turned to you, her gaze meeting yours intently as she waited for you to respond.

“Well, I'm a performer! Mostly aerobatics, but I can dance and other tricks. Oh! I’m also a crowd-pleaser, i’m a really smooth talker.”  

“That’s ssooooo cool! You do that kind of stuff, like, in the circus?”

“Mostly, yes. Any odd jobs I can find looking for my skill set, really. I’m not picky when it comes to money.”

Charlie contemplated your words for a moment, her eyes darting. She’s already got a bartender and a cleaning lady, but where to put you…

“I’m also fantastic at pick-pocketing.” You grinned pridefully at her. It was something you were very good at, and that you had continued to perfect during your time in Hell.

It was also what led you to make that wretched deal with Alastor. 

“Oh.. um, let’s stick with your other skills, hm?” Charlie smiled awkwardly, before she turned her head, and her eyes landed on an empty desk situated near the large entrance doors. 

She perked, her eyes widening in glee as she spun around towards you. 

“That’s it! You can be our new receptionist! You’ll answer calls and greet all our newcomers, and you’ll be in charge of making sure all our guests are well taken care of during their stay.”

Your smile faltered, your gaze resting on the desk behind Charlie before meeting her eyes once more. You chuckled like she had just told you a good joke. Except when your eyes met hers again, she only smiled at you in anticipation.

Wait, was she serious?

“I’m sorry,” you started, lifting your hands up and shaking your head, “but that is not something i’m good at nor-“

“Well I think it’s a splendid idea!” Alastor appeared besides you, his hand resting on your shoulder. His claws dug slightly into your suit, and you whipped your head up, eyeing him with animosity. 

His eyes were squinted, a glare behind that wide grin. ‘Stay in line, or else.’ was his silent command. You scrunched up your nose, ready to argue, but the intellectual part of your brain smacked you upside the head. 

Your shoulders drooped, that frown deepening before you turned to Alastor. You pulled your shoulder from his grip, and looked at Charlie. 

“Fine.”

And, that’s how it was for a time. 

There wasn’t much to do, in all honesty. As the months ticked by, you sat at that desk drowning in boredom. The people at the hotel were lively, but the job? Not so much.

While Alastor was the face, you were the paperwork. Although, he barely acted like it, which meant you took most of the work. 

There were barely any phone calls, any new visitors, anything new at all really. So, you instead filled your days with walking around the hotel, observing the rooms of any renovations that Alastor could make, or you’d write shopping lists for groceries and other miniscule items for the crew, and going out yourself to shop. 

There was that one demon, the snake inventor, that had become a resident during your time working. You had been there, when he attacked Alastor on the hotel’s doorstep. Your mouth agape as you watched him tear a piece of your boss’s suit, waiting for the snake to meet his death.

He didn’t, surprisingly. Instead, he had arrived not too long after apologizing. Which was shocking, and.. eye opening. 

Could Charlie’s dream come true? Alastor spoke of it as if it would turn into nothing but a failure. You had believed him, but now, that doubt was fading from your mind.

Could.. there be a chance for you too? 

You had mentally slapped yourself for that thought. You, redeemed? With no soul, you were trapped here. Only ever being able to watch from the sidelines as those more worthy ascended. 

Thoughts like that only came when you had drank a little too much. Finger mindlessly circling the rim of your wine glass, brow furrowed as you lamented over your poor decisions, you’d sit at the bar in silence late at night.

Nobody bothered you during those times, not even Alastor. No one saw the way your lip began to quiver, the way your vision blurred with tears.

No one noticed the surface of your drink disturbed with a droplet of salty sadness as it mixed with the bitter alcohol. 

‘You don’t deserve to feel sorry for yourself,’ you’d think bitterly, soaked anger spilling down your cheeks, ‘you damned yourself to eternal suffering the moment you shook that demon’s hand.’

Taking the glass, you’d lift it to your lips and empty the rest of the contents. That salty tang still hanging on your tongue when you set the glass back down.

On the worst nights, you’d simply rest your head against the countertop. The cool surface refreshing to your warm cheek, as you curled into yourself, and drifted into a restless sleep.

When you’d wake a few hours later, your blood-shot, tired eyes would open to the sight of a glass of ice-cold water and a migraine pill sitting a few feet away from your face. 

You never saw who catered to your hungover needs, but you had an inkling of a guess.

Lifting your head, you’d blink away the morning fog before sitting up straight with a groan. Slowly, you’d reach out and grab the small capsule and the water, before swallowing both in one large gulp.

Then, it was back to work as always.

Sometimes, you’d actually that phone on your desk would brnnnggg loudly, and you’d leap out of your chair to have a conversation with a fresh new voice. 

“You guys at least provide free Hash, right?” The masculine voice on the other end questioned.

“Sir, this a hotel meant for redemption. Y’know, to Heaven? We don’t have any paraphernalia here.” You grumbled, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration as you listened to the guy.

“Wait.. so you’re saying Heaven doesn’t have joints?”

“I’ve never been up there, obviously. Though I'm sure drugs are a big no-no up there.” 

“Then what the fuck is the point of wanting to go up there?! No weed? No sex toys? Fuck Heaven! Fuck you and your stupid little hotel!” 

“Choke on dick and die!” You snarled, slamming the phone back into place. You leaned back in the chair, fuming silently. The calls never ended well. 

“Good job, you’re really pulling in all those potential residents.” A sarcastic voice piped up near you.

Your head snapped to the bar across the room, your gaze resting on the black and white feline who was busy cleaning glasses on the counter. 

Standing from your spot, you stroll over to the bar, before nestling into one of the bar stools. Placing a hand under your chin, you rested your elbow against the shiny countertop.

“Pour an old friend a drink, won’t you Husk?” You asked sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him. 

His soul was owned by Alastor too, and even if you didn’t know the guy too well, you felt a kinship with him. You both were hollow beings, now.

“We ain’t friends,” the demon grumbled, “I'm just stuck with you and Niffty until I kick the bucket.”

“Okay, Mr. Grumpy-Pants.” You laughed as he reached for your go-to bottle. Same old, adorably-cross Husker. 

He was getting better, though. Happier, even. The night he disappeared to go retrieve Angel Dust, he came back with a bounce in his step. Seemingly more at peace, with whatever happened between the two away from prying eyes.

Once, you swore you heard him humming some old, happy tune while he organized the liquor bottles on the shelf. Husk.. singing? That was something you thought you’d never see.

He had a very good poker face, and half the time you couldn’t tell if the kitty even liked you. He always regarded you like he was behind a closed, see-through door. Getting close to you just enough to see and speak to you, but never enough you could actually reach out and use him for support. Hopefully, he was getting better with that too.

Maybe, with how things were going, he’d let you scratch his chin one day. You always wanted to try it, see if he purred just like they did back on Earth.

“What do you think about the hotel?”  You asked him, as he popped the cap off the bottle with his claw, and began pouring a glass in front of your seat.

“It ain’t too bad,” Husk replied truthfully, “But, it could be better.”

“I agree, I was having a pretty good time out on my own before this. Guess we’ll just have to get used to it, I’m not sure how long Alastor plans to keep us here.”

“You don’t know?” 

You raised an eyebrow at the feline, as you took a sip of your drink. “No, I don’t. Why would you think I do?” 

“Well, I just assumed the two of you would discuss those kind things.”

“You think I talk to Alastor about his deceitful plans with this place?” 

“Why wouldn’t you? I mean, you two are practically the same, with your silver-tongue and all.”

You leaned back, a mixture of surprise and disgust on your face at his words. Husk thought you and Alastor were like, what, best buddies? The demon that owned your soul?

“That’s a fucking lie,” You growled, glaring at him, “I’m not like that douchebag at all. Just because I’m good at talking my way out of tough shit, doesn’t mean I use them to manipulate people into making magical deals that fuck up their entire existence.” 

Using your feet, you pushed your chair back forcefully. It scraped harshly against the wooden floor, as you stood up from the stool. You didn’t even glance at Husk as you sharply turned away, and stomped across the room.

“Thanks for the drink, Asshole.” You called as you turned the corner into a long hallway, towards your room.

You didn’t speak to Husker for a while after that, or go to the bar. Instead, you worked and kept to yourself in your room. It wasn’t until you walked into the lobby one early morning, did you see the feline.

He was standing with the rest of the crew, concern etched across their faces as they circled around a mumbling, erratic Charlie Morningstar. 

“Why isn’t the hotel working?!” You could hear her fume, as she fussed over a large tack board filled with drawings and pictures. 

It wasn’t until about a half an hour later, when Charlie had hung up the phone with her father, did you realize the day was going to get much stranger.

“Alright, guys! My dad is going to be here in one hour, so we have to make this place perfect!” She said, a nervous smile on her lips as she addressed the small crowd.

Everyone tensed, their eyes darting to each other at her words.

Charlie’s dad was coming? Lucifer Morningstar? The King of Hell?!

Suddenly, the room bursted into action. Sir. Pentious slithered to the kitchen, claiming he needed to bake sweets for Lucifer’s arrival. Charlie was practically hyperventilating as Vaggie rubbed her shoulder soothingly. 

“Aw man, I gotta go put on my new perfume!” Angel Dust yelled from the chaos, as he sped away towards his room. Husk continued wiping down the bar countertop, but a little more feverishly now. 

Alastor was the only one seemingly unchanged by the news of the king’s arrival. He only stood there grinning, as the others rushed around him, before beginning to push back his cuticles.

“I’m just going to go… put on some better clothes.” You called, unsure if anyone was even listening as they scrambled about. 

You quickly left the lobby, running to your room to clean yourself up and look presentable. Your mind raced as you did so, recalling all the rumors and gossip you’ve heard over the years.

Was he a cruel king? He couldn’t be, not with how Charlie turned out. But, with her reaction to asking for his help… that was strange. She had never spoken of him before, so it didn’t seem like they were that close.

What was he going to think of you? You’ve never stood before such an important figure, other than Charlie, but that was wayyy different than speaking to the most powerful man in the realm.

You’d just have to make him like you, to avoid any trouble. You needed to charm the King of Hell, just like you’ve done successfully with so many others.

You adjusted your appearance in the mirror, before nodding your head in self-approval. You crossed your room, pulling open the door, and making your way down the stairs. 

When you returned to the lobby, everyone was making last minute preparations. 

Sir. Pentious was busy tidying the cookies on the cooking sheet in front of him. Angel Dust was finishing hanging up the balloons around the room, while Charlie was hyping herself up in the corner.

A large banner with a handwritten message ‘It’s A Boy!’ hung from the ceiling, and you shook your head in embarrassment with a smile.

When you had made it back to the group, there was barely any time to talk before you heard a knock at the front door.

Everyone froze, and Charlie exhaled a large breath of nerves, before crossing the distance towards the door. She pulled it open, and a white hat poked from over her shoulder.

“Charlie!” 

You heard him before you saw him, and he sounded like a burst of sunshine as you watched Charlie get pulled into his bear hug.

She sputtered against his tight grip, before he finally released her. You could see the wide brim hat poking out of her figure, see that silly apple that stuck out from the top of his cane, as they talked for a few more moments.

It wasn’t until Charlie turned to face you and the rest of the crew, did you see Lucifer Morningstar’s face. Your breath hitched, eyes widening as you drank in his figure.

Fuck. He was gorgeous. 

He definitely presented himself like a king, with how he stood with his back straight and head held high. He rested slightly against his cane, his interest piqued at the new faces.

As his gaze swept across the lobby, it briefly landed on you, and your heart fluttered in your chest. God, his eyes were so pretty. They were a soft, muted yellow, like buttercream. 

They held many emotions too, you could see it. There was deep sadness that never left his gaze, as if it followed him like a shadow. It was something you felt followed you too. What was his story? 

Your eyes traced the rest of his appearance, landing next on the golden strands nestled under his hat.

That platinum-blonde hair practically glowed underneath the chandelier lighting, as it curled delicately around his face. It looked so smooth and silky, like the guy had a 10-step hair care routine. It probably smelled amazing too. 

And, those cute little rosy cheek spots on the sides of his mouth, that stood out from his pale skin. If you tilted your head just right, you’d say he looked just like a cockatiel.

But, it was his smile that enraptured you. Not the fake one, that wide, awkward mess across his lips he did as a way to appeal to Charlie.

No, it was instead that warm, genuine grin that lit up his entire face, crinkling the corners of his eyes in a way that made you feel like you were the only person in the room. The smile that only appeared during tender moments, like when his daughter rubbed her cheek against his affectionately. 

You hoped he would start to smile like that more often. 

Charlie had approached your group, introducing Lucifer slowly through your companions. Your heartbeat quickened as they made their way closer to you. 

Taking a deep breath, you clasped your hands together, smiling warmingly at the duo approaching. Charlie stopped, turning to her father as she began to introduce you.

“And thisss is our receptionist! They’re in charge of handling most of our inbound and outbound affairs, and in helping us capture potential residents too!” 

“And I'm doing a fantastic job at that, by the way.” You declared to the two, that smile of yours widening as you edged closer to them. You lifted your arm, extending a hand towards the fallen angel.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.” 

God, could this dude get any more perfect? The closer he got, the warmer you felt your body temperature become, like he was practically the sun itself.

He regarded it for a moment, before hesitantly taking your grip. His hands were soft, but firm. The gold band on his pinkie grazed across your finger, it was cool to the touch, giving you much needed relief to the growing intensity of the heat of his grasp.

His eyes traveled up yours once more, to your eyes as they flickered between your batting lashes, and to your pretty smile that only grew wider as you leaned forward.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He spoke softly with a grin, as he looked you over. His voice was like silk, and you wanted to wrap it around yourself like a sheet. 

A stark difference to Alastor’s, who gave you a headache listening to that static overlay every time the guy opened his mouth.

“This is your first time here, right?”

“Yes, I'm just here to give my daughter the support she needs for her little project.” Lucifer nodded, glancing over to Charlie as he spoke.

“Well, I hope your opinion of the hotel has improved now that you’ve seen it in person.” 

“Oh, believe me, it has.” He assured, that nervous grin disappearing from his face, and you could see a playful smirk slowly blooming on his lips.

That was before his eyes landed on the bar at the other end of the room, his hand left yours as he turned to face it. You pulled your arm back, clenching your hand as his warmth faded from your skin.

“What in the unholy Hell is that?”

You stood up straight, as he walked closer to the bar. Only for Alastor to appear right behind him, a deadly grin on his lips as he strutted forward.

“Just some renovations we’ve had done, adds a little bit of color! Don’t you think?”

You sighed, your lips twisting into a slight frown as you watched the tension in the room escalate with every word Lucifer and Alastor exchanged. It wasn't until Charlie sidled up beside her father, that the drama got good.

“I guess that’s why they call it the Has-Been Hotel, eh?” Lucifer grinned, nudging Charlie with his elbow.

You snorted, your hand coming up to cusp your mouth at the sudden outburst. His dad joke was just so hilariously stupid—not to mention, it was pointed at Alastor, which was bonus points—you couldn’t contain the noise you made.

All eyes turned to you, and you felt sweat beading at your forehead from all the sudden attention.

Alastor still had that large toothy grin, but his eyes were squinted in a glare as his head snapped uneasily towards you. 

It was Lucifer’s gaze that captured your attention, though. He turned in surprise, as if shocked someone actually laughed at his joke. It wasn’t until he saw that the person that laughed was you, did he seem to slightly puff out his chest, a prideful grin dancing on his lips.

Heat flooded your cheeks as he sent you a mischievous wink, before his attention turned back to Alastor as the demon laughed2.

“Yes, Ha-Ha. It was actually my idea, though.” 

“Ha-Ha, well, it’s not very clever!” 

“A-Ha! Fuck you.”

You had stood to the side, as the two demons bickered and fought for Charlie’s attention. The insecurities of both became increasingly obvious to you as time went on.

Alastor, with his uneasiness that someone of much higher stature and power could take his role in the hotel. And, Lucifer, who’s relationship with his daughter was sour enough that the idea of someone replacing his role as a father caused him to short circuit.

Then, when a short, rotund woman bursted through the front doors, dressed like a flapper and fawning over Alastor, you realized even more how today was looking to be a really strange day.

Mimzy, an old friend of Alastor’s from when they were both swinging through the 20’s and 30’s back on Earth. 

You didn’t know her very well, other than she never stopped talking, and in your opinion, had an ego bigger than Alastor’s. But, you’ve been around long enough to know that whenever she came around, it was only to beg Alastor for help when she fucked up.

Your opinion of her only worsened when the wall a few feet away from you blew open less than ten minutes later. 

The chaos that ensued was even worse, as bullets began ripping through the walls of the hotel. Loan Sharks, snarling Mimzy’s name with venom, threw another explosive towards the building. 

When Alastor had suddenly arrived, shifting into his demonic form, you breathed a sigh of relief as he began to decimate the little army outside.

One of them was falling right above your head, and you tried to scramble away. 

Before it could turn you into a stain on the carpet, it suddenly jerked away, smashing into the closest wall instead. Gold sparks faded from around its wooden frame, and you turned your head to see Lucifer at the other end of the room with Charlie, his eyes trailing your form as you beelined for the opposite wall.

Another explosion rocked the lobby again, and you stumbled on your feet. A table skidded quickly across the floor, heading right for you.

The adrenaline pumping through your veins sent your body into overdrive, and you swiftly lean down, lowering your hands to meet the floor. With a powerful push, you launch yourself into a graceful somersault, your body arching elegantly over the crashing obstacle. Time seems to stretch as you execute the maneuver with precision, feeling the rush of wind against your skin as you spin through the air. Your back barely grazing the table’s surface before you landed into a roll. 

You shoot up from the ground, heart racing, a dumbstruck smile blooming across your lips at the realization you were still in one piece.

You were too preoccupied with Sir. Pentious barreling into your side; that you missed the pale face mirroring your  expression, as he watched you clear the table. 

By the time you untangled yourself from the snake demon, the dust had begun to settle in the room. Alastor had killed—or eaten—most of the Loan Sharks, and was now standing on the front lawn, cleaning bits of meat from underneath his nails.

Husk lifted his head slowly from behind the bar, eyes scanning the perimeter for danger. Mimzy crawled out from under the bar stools, before scurrying outside to speak with Alastor.

“Jesus, is everyone okay?” Angel Dust called, while Charlie was helping dust off stray pieces of rubble from Vaggie’s hair.

“HELPPPP!” Came the loud, mousy squeal from above your head. Eyes lifting to the ceiling, you see Niffty clutching a support beam with her life.

“Niffty? How the fuck did’ya get up there?!” Angel Dust yelled back, arms thrown in the air in exasperation.

It had partially dislodged from the ceiling, hanging loosely by one end. Niffty poked her head out from the side, her large eye darting across the room, as she waited for someone to come to her aid.

Your gaze traveled down from the support beam, your eyes landing on a water pipe, broken and sticking out from a large crack in the wall. It hung just perfectly in between you and Niffty, which would allow you to reach her quickly.

If you could just get a boost… aha! Your gaze lands on the partially torn couch that was scooted a few feet across the room from the explosions. If you leapt off its back, you could swing from the broken water pipe and use it to catapult yourself right next to Niffty. 

Lucifer analyzed the ceiling before turning to his daughter, smirking as he slowly lifted his cane.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got thi-“ 

“Hang on, Niff! I’m coming!” Your voice rang through the room, your footsteps echoing as you ran towards the damaged furniture. 

Taking a large leap, your feet hit the backrest of the couch. The muscles in your legs tense as you lower yourself slightly to vault forward and up, your arms shooting above your head as you close in on the pole.

Your fingers wrap around its chilling, metal surface; and with your palms snug against its frame, you swing forward, arching your body so your feet begin to lift above your head. 

You release the pole, your legs high in the air as you lift yourself up. You feel the wooden beam graze to the back of your knee pit, and you curl your legs around its base, hanging upside down.

Tensing all the muscles in your abdomen, you use the momentum to swing your legs around the beam and your butt hits the top of its base. You blink, your heart pounding in your chest as you exhale a sigh of relief.

Damn, that felt good. This was so much better than rotting at a desk all day, you really missed your old job. 

Niffty shot up next to you, wrapping her little arms around your forearm in glee.

“You came to rescue me, you’re my hero!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Just hang on, little lady.” 

You pulled her close, before getting to your feet. You lean over the edge, the only thing catching your eyes that you could use was that water pipe.

Okay, you’ve done a bit of parkour before. Piece of cake. 

You knelt slightly, before leaping from the beam. You stuck on foot out in front of you, and you felt your sole hit the top of the pipe. It was like taking a large step, as you swung your other leg forward and launched yourself with the other. 

Curling your legs, you practically cannonball into the couch. The large, plush cushions swallowed you for a moment, before spitting you back onto your feet in front of it.  

“Holy shit, ya didn’t die!” Angel Dust exhaled a sigh of relief, walking up to you. Niffty fussed in your hold, and you gently lowered her to the ground.

Niffty ran to Angel, who kneeled down to fuss over her for any injuries. You turned from the duo, before you caught sight of another figure coming forward.

“You’re an acrobat, aren’t you?” Lucifer said, a hint of astonishment in his tone as he strolled up to you, his eyes gleaming with interest.

“Yes, well, mostly. But I can do a lot of other things too.” You nodded, smiling bashfully at his facial expression.

“Wow! I mean, heh—boy, I haven’t seen anyone do that perfect of a maneuver in a long time. You looked like a ballerina up there with how strict your form was when you were swinging.”

Did Lucifer just.. compliment you? He knew about aerobics enough to make that kind of judgment on you? Man, this guy just kept getting better and better.

It should have been obvious, though. His silly red-and-white attire had struck you as familiar when you first saw him, and now you realized it was similar to the getup of a Ringmaster.

“Thank you, I've been practicing since I was young. I’ve even done a few circus acts before, and it’s always such a thrill. I'd do it over and over again without getting tired.”

“I think that’s called being an adrenaline junkie.” Lucifer teased, a playful smile on his lips. “But, really, that was good. Impressive, even.”

“Not as impressive as saving me from getting crushed by the ceiling.” 

Lucifer’s eyes widened just a tad, and he nervously adjusted his long collar, his smile turning bashful now.

“Oh, you.. you saw that?”

You nodded, “Yes, I did. Thank you. Also, your magic is just so pretty, they’re like little golden fireworks!”

Before Lucifer could speak, you leaned in closer to him. Your ear just barely grazing the brim of his hat as you smiled.

“And, I just wanted to let you know, I agree with you about the hotel name,” you inched closer to his face, your voice lowering as you spoke with a honeyed tone, “I have no doubt you would come up with a better name, Your Highness.” 

Lucifer tensed, and you thought you could see those red spots on his cheek darkening just a shade. 

He lowered his head slightly after that, his face mostly obscured by the brim of his hat. You couldn’t see what he was doing, but, was that an edge of a smile on his lips?

After a second, Lucifer cleared his throat, before lifting his head again.

“I’m glad we share the same appreciation for aesthetics. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you.” 

“Hey, Dad? Can I, um, speak to you? About the hotel?” Charlie spoke, approaching. A firm look on her face, as if it was rather important.

“Of course, I’ll be right there,” Lucifer nodded, before turning back to you, “Again, a pleasure to meet you. I hope we get to talk again.” 

Then, he did something you never expected, he curtsied. Your eyes widened, the King, showing you such a gesture of respect? All for what, doing a few tricks in the air?

Heat creeped onto your cheeks after that, and you watched him turn away, following after his daughter. Leaving you to stew about your encounter with Lucifer for the rest of the day.

Well, your thoughts on the King of Hell definitely stayed when you awoke the next morning, and the morning after that. 

Your thoughts were still there in that lobby as you sat at your desk one afternoon, your hands organizing a large stack of papers. They had a picture of the Hazbin Hotel on them, along with words that basically screamed ‘Come check us out!’

The plan was to distribute the posters around the city.  Buildings, poles, doorways, anything that could hold a staple was your target. 

You were fiddling around in your drawer, searching for extra staples when you heard it. A gentle rapping against the front doors, which made you lift your head.

There was no one else in the lobby, not even Husk. Slowly, you walked towards the doors, and the silhouette of a hat stuck out from the bottom of the stained glass.

Is that..?

Reaching to the handle, you pull it open, and met the familiar soft, yellow gaze. His lips curved into a smile at your appearance, and he lifted his hand in greeting.

“Oh! Hello, again!” 

Fuck, he was still gorgeous. Definitely an Angel, no doubt about that. His pearlescent skin practically glittered in the red hues of the afternoon light behind him, and you averted your gaze for a moment, trying not to be blinded by his ethereal beauty.

“Your highness? I’m—ahem, well, sorry. I’m just surprised to see you back so soon. What are you doing here?”

“I'm here to see Charlie, of course!” He exclaimed, strolling right past you into the lobby. His eyes scanned the room, resting for a moment disapprovingly on the bar, before landing on the large desk. 

“Is this where you work?” He motioned towards its wooden frame, you sidled up to him, before nodding.

“Yep. Hardly move from there during the day.”

“You sit there all day? Yeesh, that’s terrible.” 

“Mhm. Pretty boring, actually.”

“Well, if you ever want a better career, I’m sure I could find you a job at LuLu World, I’ve got a circus that runs year round there.”

LuLu World? The theme park he owned? You had never been there before, but it always sounded amazing. And, he thought you’d be a great fit there too. He couldn’t have been that impressed by a few of your maneuvers. Maybe, he just needed to go to an actual circus and see the real performers.

“I’d love to, but I'm kind of stuck here.”

“Why?” Lucifer turned to you, an eyebrow raised. 

“Well, um—” 

‘My soul is owned by the demon you have beef with, and I can’t exactly leave without his permission. I also can’t tell you this because I apparently signed an NDA too.’

“—I just want to help people! So, I made a promise that I wouldn’t leave until I made a difference. Y’know, really make an effort to improve this wonderful community!” You responded with fake cheer, clasping your hands together.

Lucifer regarded you for a moment, his fingers fidgeting against the apple on his cane as he thought.

“Oh.. well, that’s generous of you. But, someone with your skill set doesn’t deserve to rot away in a place like this, I’m sure you’d make a difference somewhere more relevant.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me, Your Highness?” You teased, your nails grazing against the desk as you walked past him, before pivoting to face him.

“What? No! Of course not, just—forget I said anything.”  He chuckled nervously, before fussing with his long collar. He seemed to do that often when

Aw, he got all flustered when he thought you were serious. Who knew the embodiment of Pride had such bad self esteem.

“Charlie went out to run some errands, but she should be on her way back, actually. Can I get you anything to drink while you wait?”

“Chamomile Tea, if you have it?”

You nodded, before walking towards the small counter behind your desk. There was a coffee machine, a toaster, and a large, electric kettle. You placed the kettle underneath the small sink, filling it up, before switching it on and setting it down. 

It would take a little time for the water to heat, so you returned to where your visitor awaited.

Lucifer leaned against your desk slightly, his fingers mindlessly tapping at his cane, his eyes staring at the wall. There he goes again, lost in his thoughts. Which he seemed to do quite often.

Would it be rude to wake him from his stupor? You had only just met him, so maybe, don’t push your luck.

You turned your attention back onto the stack of posters, flicking through each one as you counted. You heard Lucifer shuffle beside you, before clearing his throat. 

“What are you doing?”

“Posters for the hotel. I’m going to put them up around the city later today.” You held one out to him, and he took it from your grasp. His fingers grazed yours, and you could feel the warmth seeping into your skin from just that small touch.

When he pulled his hand away, that warmth left you, and you felt that never-ending chill seep back into your bones again. It was something that followed you since you made that deal with Alastor. As if your soul was the sun, and you just got shoved down a long, dark well. 

You could only claw at the edges for so long, letting the blood from your nails drip into the standing water at your feet, before you gave up trying. You’ve been sitting in that well for a long time, allowing time to pass by.

But, for some reason, since you arrived at the hotel, you’ve begun to start digging at the cracks of that well again. Maybe, if you got your claws in deep enough, you’d find that beam of sunlight.

“Hm, the drawings seems.. a little off. Did you do this?” Lucifer dragged you out of your thoughts, as he looked at you expectantly. 

Shaking your head, you chuckled softly. “No, unfortunately, stick figures are my only language in the arts. I think Charlie drew it.”

“Did I say this drawing was off? I lied! Ha-ha, yeah, this is great work.” Lucifer quickly replied, brushing off his earlier comment.

You were going to open your mouth to respond, before you heard the loud whistling of the kettle. You turned, watching the steam pour out of its lid, and quickly ran to fetch it.

You pulled a small tea cup from its stand on the edge of the counter, before filling it full with the water from the kettle.

Reaching towards a small cupboard, your fingers sorted through the different herbal flavors as you looked for one in particular. When your eyes finally caught the light green packaging, you pulled it out.

“Hey, this might seem like an odd question, but do you like caramel?” Lucifer asked from behind you. You turned your head slightly, taking a glance at him. His nails clicked against his cane, fast and nervous as he waited.

“Yes, I do. It’s not my favorite sweet treat, but I've definitely indulged in it a few times.”

Taking a few moments as you spoke, you ripped open the package. Holding the small string in between your thumb and your index finger, you carefully placed the tea bag into the steaming water. 

“Great! I was wondering, well, I mean—you see, I made some caramel apples for Charlie. Except, she hasn’t had one of mine since she was a girl, so I just wanted someone to take a test bite before I presented it to heel

Slowly, you could see the color begin to change as the herbal goodness was dispersed in the cup. You turned to him slowly, eyebrows raised as you regarded him.

“You want me to.. try one of your apples?”

“Yes! That would be great, just to know I still got the gourmet chef in me.” He smiled, lifting up a finger right above his lips, and swirling it in the air. As if twirling a long mustache.

“Your tea, Your Majesty.” You chuckled, bending your head slightly, placing it down on the desk in front of him. When you lifted your head, you were greeted with the sight of a large, light-brown coated apple. 

“It’s not poisoned I promise.” He teased, a lopsided grin on his face as he held the treat out to you, his fingers clasped around the kabob-like stick poking out of the bottom.

Carefully, you lifted your arm, plucking the caramel apple away from his grip. When you had it between your fingers, Lucifer reached down to take the tea cup from the desk, before swirling the mix around slightly. He blew at its surface, and the liquid rippled as steam still rose from it.

He gingerly lifted it to his lips, his pinky lifting away from the handle as he did so. His eyes softened as the herbal flavoring hit his tongue, and his body seemed to relax as warmth bloomed under his skin and the drink traveled down his throat.

‘He drinks with his pinky out? That’s so cute.’ You gushed silently, never did you think the King of Hell would practice such mannerisms. But, in all honesty, he didn’t seem like he should be in Hell at all. Guess that’s what happens, when the highest powers known to man punish you for being you.

His eyes never left you as he drank, as he waited for you to take a bite. You turned the treat in your grip, inspecting it a final time. Carefully, you lifted it to your face, and took a bite of its side.

Lucifer seemed to grimace as your mouth closed against the large chunk of apple. You chewed for a moment, letting your taste buds do the work. Then, your brain short-circuited at the sensations, and your eyes lit up.

“Woa-hu-ho! This is fantastic!” You beamed, and Lucifer’s eyes widened in a look of surprise.

“Really..?”

“Yes! It’s actually really good! I think Charlie is going to love it!” You nodded briskly, taking another bite of delicacy.

“Ha, well. Guess I still got it in me after all this time.” He boasted, chest puffing just slightly at your compliments.

You obliterated that apple in front of him, taking barely a moment to breathe as you scarfed it down. God, his cooking was actually really good. What else could he make?

Lucifer only watched you, a faint smile on his lips as he watched you devour the treat. As if he was fascinated by your sudden primal hunger. 

Your eyes met his and you stopped suddenly, covering your mouth as you continued to chew. Heat flooding your cheeks in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, this is pretty rude of me..”

“No! Not at all, if I had more I'd surely give it to you,” he laughed, setting his almost-empty drink back onto the desk, “and please, call me Lucifer. There’s no need to use such titles in a private setting like this.”

Right as he spoke, the front entrance doors burst open, and Charlie and Vaggie strolled in chattering loudly. They held a few shopping bags in their hands, as they entered the lobby.

Right, so much for privacy. Couldn’t you get five more minutes with the #1 bachelor in the realm?

“Oh, Dad!” Charlie exclaimed, surprise etched on her face at seeing Lucifer standing beside you.

“Charlie!” He beamed, strolling over to her. He encompassed her into another of his signature bear hugs, and she sputtered for breath in his hold.

“Wha—gasp—what are you doing here?”

“I just came by to visit, also to take another peek at some renovations that really need to be done. Among other things.”

“Oh, okay! Let me drop this stuff off by Angel Dust, and we can do that.” Charlie smiled at her father, before turning and crossing the room to another hallway.

Lucifer watched her leave, before turning to you, his eyebrows raised as he spoke, “I assume you’ll still be sitting here the next time I stop by?” 

He wanted to see you again? Your brain couldn’t process that thought when the words left his lips.

“As always.” You smiled warmly at him, as you cleaned up the now-empty cup from the desk. You didn’t say ‘Your Majesty’ this time, but you weren’t sure whether calling your king by his real name was appropriate. At least, not yet.

“Good.” He nodded approvingly, before his back faced you and he walked out of the lobby. Your gaze lingered on the corner he had turned out of view from, before you sighed and returned to work. 

You didn’t notice those sickly red eyes watching you intensely from the shaded corner of the room, as you took a seat back at your desk. 

Days like that continued, where you’d be greeted by the soft knocking against the entrance door. And, when you opened it, you’d meet the handsome, smiling face of Lucifer.

“Good morning, I hope you’re hungry!” He’d state as he strolled past you, always stopping right next to your desk first when he came.

You made sure to save your stomach for the delicacy he always carried with him now. Usually, he’d bring two, one for Charlie, and one for you. 

“I need to make sure she’ll like this one too.” He had explained. You were apparently his official taste tester now, but you never complained.

He’d hold the treat out to you, one eyebrow raised playfully, as he presented the caramel apple like a rose.

“Now with sprinkles!” He’d exclaim as you’d gingerly take it from his grip, your fingers brushing against his. The warmth a welcome feeling to your skin.

You’d sit there, feasting on the apple in your seat as he leaned against the desk. He was very chatty, even when he still held reservations around people in general. It never bothered you, of course. It stopped you from getting so bored while you worked.

“Don’t even get me started on Mammon,” Lucifer groaned, as you told him about your most recent circus acts, “the guy will do anything to put more money in his pocket. Y’know, he thinks we’re best buddies or something, thinks that lets him plagiarize my amusement park.”

“Why don’t you tell him to shut it down?”

“Because it brings in more business,” Lucifer had shrugged, “People go there, expecting a good show, and don’t find one. So, they go to my LuLu World, and bam, they never want to leave!”

You chuckled at the name, ‘LuLu’. Yep, you were definitely speaking to the Sin of Pride, alright.

“What’s so funny?” He had asked, curious at your reaction. You straightened yourself, a lop-sided smile on your lips when you realized he caught your laugh.

“Nothing it’s just.. ‘LuLu World’? There had to be something better you could have called it.”

Lucifer gasped, placing a hand on his heart, feigning hurt. “Woah, woah. First, you say I'm good with names, and now you’re laughing at them? Dirty.” 

“Oh, I'm so sorry. Please, good sir, don’t smite me!” You mocked a pain expression, clasping your hands together in a gesture of begging.

“I will allow you to live for now. Can’t have the hotel going into shambles because you’re not here to keep it running.” Lucifer’s voice deepened as he fixed his posture into a much more royal stance. As if he was speaking to a lowly squire in court.

‘I barely do anything around here, but thanks for the confidence boost.’ you’d answer silently, as you leaned back in your chair, watching his antics with amusement.

You began to anticipate his arrival with excitement. Even pouring his tea beforehand, so when he walked through those doors, you’d place a steaming cup into his palms. You always enjoyed the way his eyes softened when he took his first sip.

Hell, you enjoyed.. everything about him. His smile, his jokes, the care he had for his daughter, even if he had a hard time showing it. He made you smile, which was something you haven’t done willingly in a long time. 

And, his smile? That real, true look of happiness that blossomed on his face? That slowly began to return as well. 

For a few months, everything was dandy. Until, one evening, when Alastor summoned you to his room.

He never did that, and that made you nervous.

You stood at the closed door to his room, your heart pounding in your chest. What did he want? Did you do something wrong? Your thoughts just couldn’t still as you fidgeted nervously.

Slowly, you lifted your knuckles to the door. Before you could even graze the wooden surface, the door swung open. It creaked loudly as it did so, and your breath hitched as you began to glimpse inside.

You poked your head in, your eyes scanning across the room. The decorations were so outdated, it almost made you gag. Skeletons of an alligator hung on the wall, its eyes glowing from the string of lights wrapped around its figure.

A large shelf of books, mostly for cooking, stood out against a small wooden table. A small radio sat snug on the desk, playing a gentle jazz tune. On the opposite side of the room, was where that freaky abyss lay. You had never stepped foot there, the part of the room that simply seemed to dissolve into a dark, swampy land. 

Then, you heard humming. Staticy, soft humming, coming from the left side of the room.

Alastor stood over a bloody cutting board, a large kitchen knife in his hand. He wore an apron that was spattered with blood, his usual overcoat was gone, replaced by a dark red tuxedo underneath and a—surprisingly—clean white dress shirt.

He hummed along in sync with the music wafting from the speaker, as he continued to slice along the large slab of meat on the counter. You couldn’t dare think what the flesh used to be as you slipped through the crack, shutting the door softly behind you.

It didn’t seem like he knew you were standing there awkwardly by the door, but you knew he did. How long was he going to have you wait?

Clearing your throat, you spoke softly, “you wanted to see me, Alastor?”

“Ah, hello there, my friend!” He pivoted sharply, his tone chipper as he smiled at you. The knife was still in his grip, and he swirled it in the air playfully. “How are you doing on this fine, hellish evening?”

“Fine..”

“Wonderful! I called you here today because there is something I’ve wanted to discuss with you for some time. You see, I've taken notice that you and our ever-so charming King of Hell have been growing closer these past few months.”

This is what he wanted to talk about? You fought to not roll your eyes at that. 

“Let me guess, you want me to stop talking to him?”

Alastor giggled at that, a maniacal fit of he-he’s as he forcefully stabbed the knife into the slab of flesh. It stuck out like a grim warning, as he brushed his hands against his apron before removing it entirely. 

“On the contrary,” he spoke as he hung the apron against a dining chair, “I want you to get closer to him.”

You blinked, leaning your head back slightly as you processed his words.

“Wait, what?”

Alastor nodded, confirming that you didn’t just hallucinate that. He slowly walked forward, before placing a hand on your shoulder as he moved behind you.

“You see, I believe it’s in both our best interests to forge a deeper connection with our illustrious King. There are certain… opportunities that may arise from such a relationship.”

“Opportunities? What kind of opportunities are we talking about here?”

“Ah, now that would be telling, wouldn’t it? Let’s just say that there are benefits to being in the King’s inner circle. Power, influence, the chance to shape Hell itself… But I’ve said too much already. Just trust me on this one, my dear.”

Trust Alastor? Ha! That was the first joke he’s ever spoken to you that was actually funny. 

Your thoughts raced as he appeared on your other side, his claw grazing across the back of your neck as he rested his hand on your shoulder once more. 

He wanted you to what, fake your attraction to Lucifer? Wanted you to lie and manipulate him so he’d bend to your will, and carry out Alastor’s evil deeds in the guise of caring for you?

“What makes you think he’d even fall for that? He’s an angel, he’s not stupid.”

Alastor chuckled, patting your shoulder as his grin widened. “Haven’t you noticed the change in his demeanor? The little.. pep in his step? Ever since he met you that first day, he’s only grown more attached to you.”

Was that true? Sure, Lucifer seemed to be getting better, slowly. Seemed to smile more genuine as time went on. But, that couldn’t be because of you! He was reconnecting with his daughter, of course he’d be happier at the hotel.

It didn't matter, in the end. You weren’t going to do that to Lucifer. You weren’t going to ruin the one relationship that was built by trust. The question is, could you resist Alastor?

“What if I don’t want to?” You finally ground out, your firsts clenching at your sides.

Suddenly, you felt a chill around your neck, and you gasped at the sensation. You lifted one hand up, to try and feel whatever was clenching at your throat.

Your fingers wrapped around a green, metal collar that seemed to tighten as the seconds ticked by. Energy sizzled against your fingertips, like static. Eyes widening, you ripped your hand away, your feet moving on instinct to get away from him.

Your back hit the wall roughly, your heart practically beating out of your chest as you watched Alastor slowly stalk towards you. His eyes began to shift, resembling that of radio dials. Those small antlers on his head began to rapidly branch out, growing longer every step he took.

“What if you don’t want to? My, what a foolish question.”

He was just inches from your face, that toothy smile practically ear to ear as he leaned in. Lifting a hand, his claws grazed your collar bone, before traveling up towards the glowing green clasp.

A single claw hooked underneath the metal surface, pushing roughly against your throat as he tugged you harshly forward by it. 

His breath hit your face, and you scrunch your nose from the foul odor. He reeked of death.

“It seems you have forgotten who owns your soul, my dear.” He whispered in your ear. You squeezed your eyes shut, your lip quivering as he spoke.

“If you try to resist, try to fight against your chains. I’ll make sure my radio broadcast is filled with nothing but your dying screams.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the collar only becoming colder as you writhed slightly against his touch.

“I-I’m sorr-“

“You sold your soul to me, don’t forget. If there is anyone to blame for your misfortune, it is you alone.” Alastor hissed, thrusting you even closer to him by your collar. You felt his smile crease brush against your skin, and you shivered.

You were becoming increasingly aware how sickly-yellow his teeth were, compared to Lucifer’s. Disgust began to boil in your belly as you opened your mouth.

“I’ll do it!” You whimpered, your heart pounding, “I’ll do it..”

“Wonderful.” He drawled, before leaning away from you. His claw released your collar, and it dissolved in green fog. You coughed, rubbing your neck, as Alastor took your shoulder and roughly nudged you to the door. 

It opened on its own, and you were pushed through the threshold. 

“I’m glad we could have this little chat,” Alastor’s chipper tone returned, as you stared at him with disgust, “Have a hellish rest of your day, my friend!”

The door slammed shut as he disappeared back into his room. Leaving a rush of angry tears to pool at your feet alone.

Two weeks had passed, since Alastor told you to tug the heartstrings of the King of Hell, to play him right into your fraud-loving palms. Oh, the universe must surely hate you.

You had begun to avoid Lucifer, though. Whenever he was around, catching you at work, you’d continue your silly little chats. You began to memorize the timeframe he’d show up to the hotel, and make some kind of excuse to not be there when he knocked. Either you were out shopping for supplies, or seeing the latest movie. Anything you could think of, you’d leave and force Husker to greet Lucifer.

The guilt of knowing what would happen if Lucifer fell in love with you? It ate you up inside. You hardly slept lately, tossing and turning with terrible nightmares of drowning in that cold, dark, bottomless well. The chains tied to your feet, preventing your escape to the surface.

Would anyone care if you just let yourself sink to the bottom? 

Those thoughts were still on your mind as you did your morning jumping jacks.

You had asked Charlie to use one of her empty storage rooms as a place to practice your acrobatics, which you had started doing every night now. It was any easy escape from your troubles, on the farthest side of the hotel from the lobby, where no one could bother you.

It was a large room, with ceiling-high windows that lit the room with a light red hue. You had convinced Alastor to give you a makeshift gym as a part of your “deal”. If you were going to be forced to be the bad guy, he could at least give you a place to kick ass.

There were multiple gymnastic bars set up at different heights, two balance beams, and a small-scale tightrope. The tightrope was a thick wire connected between two poles across one side of the room, roughly the size of your torso. There was a platform attached to each pole, allowing good foot room on each side of the wire.

Tonight, you were practicing walking on your hands across the balance beam. Sweat dripped from your forehead, and you watched it land onto the leathery cover of the beam beneath you. 

You had made it halfway across, when you heard the door to the room open softly. 

“I didn’t even know there were rooms back here!” An astonished, familiar voice came from the doorway. 

What was Lucifer doing here?!

Your brain short-circuited, and your arms began to wobble beneath you. You lost your balance, and  immediately tumbled off the balance beam with a breathless “Fuck!”

Your side hit the mats below, pain bloomed from your shoulder as you lay there in defeat. You heard a high pitched yelp from behind you, and the sounds of feet pattering against the floor neared.

“You’re not dead, are you?” Lucifer laughed nervously as he kneeled beside you. He reached a hand down to your face, before he hesitated, and instead lifted his cane.

You felt soft poking against your cheek, as he prodded you with the black stick. 

“Stop that.” You grumbled into the mat, stirring slightly from the floor.

“Oh, you’re not dead! What a relief.” He said, exhaling a breath he had been holding. “I’m terribly sorry about that! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You groaned, before lifting yourself up from the mat. You got to your feet, rubbing your shoulder tenderly.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. What are you doing here, though?” 

Lucifer processed your question for a moment, before he suddenly straightened himself up. Head held high, he strutted over to you, before halting. He glanced at you, before he began fussing with his bow-tie nonchalantly.

“Well, I came to find you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because, I wanted to speak with you. And, you’re conveniently always out of the room when I want to do that.”

Shit. Did he notice you were avoiding him? You didn’t think it was that obvious.

Lucifer watched you intensely, analyzing your reaction to his accusatory statement. He had a firm line on his lips, as if your actions didn’t bother him. 

“I’m not avoiding you.” 

“Oh, really?”

“I came here to improve my aerobatics, before you rudely interrupted me.”

“Right, like you need to improve.”

You turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re already good at it, there’s no reason for you to come here every day.”

He turned his head to face you as he spoke, and your eyes caught sight of something wiggling slightly on the top of his head. Is that apple decoration not fully attached to his hat?

Suddenly, you had an idea. A playful smile began to bloom on your lips, as you slowly made your way towards him. 

“Actually, that’s not true. I’m not that good at tightrope walking, I’ve told you that before.”

Right before he turned his head so he could trace your movements, you shot your arm above his hat, your fingers pinching around the small apple stem.

You sharply pivoted, facing him now as you walked backwards towards the tightrope platform. The apple hung behind your back, as you kept his gaze. 

“Buuut, I think I’m much better at it than you.”

“Excuse me?”

You turned to face the platform, moving your arm fluidly and taking the stem between your teeth, before lifting yourself on the white surface. 

Gripping the apple once more, you turn to him slowly, watching his eyes widen as you swing the apple between your fingers for his viewing pleasure.

“Actually, I think I'm better at this whole circus bizz than you. Look! I’m a magician even, would you like to see another trick, Your Majesty?” 

Lucifer stood there in shock, for a few moments. His red pupils darted from the swiped apple to you, before they dilated slightly. Then, he laughed, an audible ‘Ha ha!’ at your words. 

“You think you’re better at the circus than me?” Lucifer asked slowly, a mixture of disbelief and teasing in his tone.

“Without a doubt!” You called, turning to face the wire. Not giving him a second glance, a smug smile formed on your lips.

Lucifer regarded you a moment, before a mischievous grin played on his face. “Well, let’s prove it then.” 

He lifted his cane, before tapping it against the ground twice. Suddenly, you found the platform vibrating underneath your feet. Then, it began to move. You stumbled, and then fell to your knees, gripping the edges as you squeezed your eyes shut.

What the hell was happening?!

The support pole began to rise up, and up, and up, until it barely grazed against the ceiling. Slowly, you opened one eyelid, and then the other. You were still safe, clutching to the platform. The tightrope was still holding, connected to the pole across the room. 

You exhaled a side of relief, before crawling over to the edge. Your eyebrows flew up in surprise as you judged the distance to the ground, you were roughly three stories in the air!

Did.. Lucifer do that? He took “prove it” to a whole new level with this one. 

You got back onto your feet, the apple still in your palm as you placed your other hand against the support beam. Now, where was Lucifer? Did he stick you up here to starve to death?

“Hey.”

You jumped, reeling back from the voice, right towards the edge of the platform.

“Woah—hang on there now!” Lucifer quickly reached out and wrapped his fingers around your wrists, tugging you back to the center of the stand. You blinked, slowing your heart beat, as you stared in surprise.

“Lucifer? How did you get up here?”

“I can fly, remember?” 

That’s right, he did have wings. You just didn’t think he was that fast with them. Lucifer had also completely ditched his hat and overcoat, instead he was in his red and white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to partially expose his forearms. 

His hair was slightly disheveled, no doubt from the flight up here. It wasn’t as slicked back as before, small strands of hair sticking out messily. You thought that was adorable.

Lucifer looked down, before smiling sheepishly and withdrawing his hand from your wrist. He brushed his fingers down your hand, his nails gently grazing against your palms.

This time, you didn’t feel the cool sensation from his gold ring against your skin, as his pinky lifted from your hand.

“Now, are you going to walk across that wire, or are you going to just give me back my apple?”

You met his eyes, his gaze playful as he smirked at you. He took a step closer, and you took a step back. Slowly, your heel hit the wire, and you halted. 

Lucifer watched you expectantly, waiting for you to make a move. He probably assumed you’d turn around to cross the wire, and he’d nab the apple from behind your back.

Too bad for the King of Hell, you could walk on a tightrope backwards. You winked at him, as your feet moved fully onto the wire. You pivoted slightly every so often, your body fluidly leaning back and forth as you adjusted for balance.

Lucifer watched you, admiration in his eyes as you maneuvered your way down the tightrope. You pulled the apple from behind you, teasing it in front of his view.

“The big question is, how do you think you’re going to best me in those heels, Your Majesty?” 

Lucifer glanced down at his knee-high boots, before slowly peeling them off his feet. He placed them neatly to the side, before moving a foot to the wire.

He began to put his weight onto the tightrope, wobbling a little as he adjusted for balance. He definitely did not do this often, and you laughed softly at his failing posture.

Lucifer huffed, glancing at you, who was still moving a reasonable distance away from him. Then, a smirk played on his lips, and you saw forms begin to appear against his back. 

The red feathers of his wing’s underbelly began to glimmer in the light from the large windows behind you, as he slowly opened them to full length.

Six ethereal, majestic wings flapped gracefully behind him. They began to pivot slightly, adjusting for Lucifer’s balance much quicker and with ease.

“That is so dirty!” You laughed at him, shaking your head disapprovingly.

“Looks like I'm going to getcha!” He teased, as he began to take much more confident steps across the wire; his wings flapping softly, boosting his speed.

You took bigger, riskier steps as you closed in on the other platform. Your heartbeat racing from the challenge, adrenaline beginning to pump in your veins.

“What happens if I eat this apple?” You asked, holding up the apple to your nose, before taking a deep sniff. Licking your lips playfully, you glanced back up to Lucifer.

“A tummy ache, I'm afraid. But, hey, I'll trade you a caramel apple for that one.”

Your stomach grumbled at that, and you genuinely licked your lips at his words.

“I might consider that proposition, if you can catch up to me that is.”

You spun on your heel, facing the base of the pole, as you began to increase your pace.

It wasn’t until you felt the wire jerk under your feet, did you begin to wobble. With a hitched breath, you try to regain your balance, but to no avail.

Your foot slips, and you feel your body beginning to lean off too far to the side. Gasping in surprise, you flail your arms hoping to catch anything in your grip to stop your fall.

Right as you begin to free fall, you feel strong arms snake around yours and grip you firmly. 

“Hang on, I got you!” Lucifer practically spoke in your ear as he pulled you forward, back up onto the wire. You breathe heavily, clutching his forearms tightly as you lean in closer, catching your breath.

Large wings flapping stronger now, Lucifer held you close as you both balanced along the same small portion of the tightrope. You felt his hot breath on your face, and realized how close the two of you actually were.

Your chest was practically against his cute little bow-tie, your legs brushing against each other as you balanced on the tiny surface. The steady wing beats of the fallen angel sent wind softly grazing past your ears, cooling the heat that was beginning to creep onto your cheeks.

He was so close, and so fucking gorgeous. Forget what Alastor wanted to do, what you wanted to do was kiss this man silly. For months, you both danced at the edge of each other's hearts. Gifts of affection, words of compassion, the whole shebang. 

Yet, you’ve never looked the King in the eye and told him ‘I want you.’

Was it because you were stubbornly fighting against Alastor’s demands, that you even ignored your own true feelings? Just to spite the powerful cannibal?

Couldn’t you just look at a sexy man in peace, without anyone else watching your every move?

“Are you alright?” Lucifer asked after a moment, pulling you from your ogling.

“You saved me..” You finally breathed, eyes wide and you met his soft gaze.

“Of course I did, why wouldn’t I—”

Lucifer’s words caught in his mouth as you pressed your lips to his. He froze at the touch initially, but it only took a moment for his entire body to soften against yours. 

His hands found his way to your waist, and he pulled you flush against his body. Your fingers reached up, and you began to caress the sides of his face, twirling a few pieces of hair between your pinkies as you deepened the kiss.

The warmth that bloomed from his touch was intoxicating, your entire being craving for more as you leaned even farther into his embrace. 

His hands moved from your waist, until they brushed underneath your shirt. His palms coming up to cup the small of your back as he pressed you closer to him, as if worried you might dissipate into the air and leave him forever.

It was a good thing he had six wings to keep the two of you afloat, or else you would have been a splatter on the mats by now.

You felt Lucifer's teeth graze against your lip, and you had to fight to not bite his lip back. After a few more moments, you pulled away from his face, your breath coming out ragged as you gave him some distance. 

Lucifer blinked a few times, his eyebrows beginning to raise slowly as a dopey smile danced onto his lips.

“I really enjoyed that, but we should probably get on solid ground, don't you think?” He laughed breathlessly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he looked at you adoringly.

You reached up, brushing the few loose strands out of his eyes, before nodding. “That is a good idea.” 

“Well, just hang on.” Lucifer replied with a mischievous grin, and you opened your mouth to question him. Before you could get a word out, you felt him begin to lean backwards, pulling you along with him. 

You yelped and squeezed your eyes shut, as you began to free fall on top of him. Lucifer only hugged you closer, before his wings shot open, slowing your descent. 

Carefully, you peeled your eyelids open to the two of you gliding softly down, as Lucifer circled the pole lazily. Your feet swung in the air, and the wind rushed past your ears. The adrenaline rush causing you to laugh in glee as you felt your feet hit a hard surface.

You both stood there in silence for a few moments, the weight of what just transpired finally settling on top of you. 

Holy shit, you just kissed the King of Hell! From trying to stay as far away from him, to getting as close as physically possible. What a twist.

“Well, now that we’re down here,” Lucifer began slowly, his gaze meeting yours with a playful roll of his eyebrows, “we could continue our previous.. discussion.” 

You almost obliged, until you heard the familiar call of Charlie, as she searched for her father. You tensed in his grip, before pulling away from his hold. A pout formed on Lucifer’s lips at the absence of your touch, before he straightened himself. 

Snapping his fingers, that familiar white overcoat magically materialized onto his figure, along with his wide brim hat. Your eyes landed onto that spot where the missing apple usually was, and then you noticed how empty both your hands were.

“Your apple! I think I dropped it when I almost fell.” You explain apologetically.

“Oh, you mean this apple?”

Lucifer pulled the red, gleaming trophy from beneath his overcoat. He threw it in the air a few times, catching it gracefully. A silent boast as he grinned at you. Your mouth only hung agape, as you scanned the apple for any imperfections.

“There is no way you took that from me! How do I know you didn’t just make that?”

“Woah! Sounds like someone is a sore loser.” Lucifer laughed, before turning towards the door, he kept his gaze on yours as he did so, walking backwards as he talked.

Slowly, you kept pace with him, shaking your head in disbelief at his words. He was just as preoccupied as you, sucking on your face, you couldn’t believe he actually took it from you in the chaos.

“At least we settled the little debate, hm? Seems like i’m better at these kinds of things than you. Just like I said.”

“We’ll definitely come back and test that theory with your wings bound this time.”

“Oh, will we? Is that a challenge?”

Lucifer halted at the doorway, and you stopped a few footsteps away. You batted your eyelashes at him, grinning playfully, “it’s a promise, actually.” 

He grinned at that, before he leaned in closer, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

“So, you haven’t been avoiding me, then?” 

‘Not this again.’ You groaned internally.

“No, I haven’t. I’m sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind lately.” You quickly spoke, an apologetic look on your face. Would he buy your lie?

“And you’ll tell me when something is wrong, right?” 

You cracked him an assuring smile, “of course!” You lied through pearly-white teeth. 

Lucifer nodded approvingly at that, before he glanced out of the room. You both could hear Charlie a hallway or two away, and she seemed frantic to find her father. Lucifer only sighed, before turning to you.

“Looks like I’ll be seeing you real soon, Darling.” He promised, bowing his head slightly to you. You wanted to scold him for that, about lowering his head to someone of lower class, if he did that in public no doubt the citizens of Hell would mock him for it.

But, you weren’t in public. You were alone, with someone you cherished, able to whisper all your secrets, hopes, and dreams to someone you trusted most. If only you could tell him the truth, and not be stuck here drowning in your own lies.

Lucifer gave you one final glance, before he turned away, strolling through the hall away from your room. A happy whistle came from his lips, and you could hear it slowly fading as he moved away.

Backing up, you plopped down on a bench on the side of the room. The recent events hit you like a freight train, and you realized how terribly stupid you were.

How were you supposed to protect Lucifer from whatever plan Alastor had in store for him, if you were going to keep disregarding your brain for your weak little heart? 

Yes, Lucifer was the most powerful being in Hell, far more powerful than that red demon. But, he was also a sad, lonely angel. Who craved affection and attention, which he seemed to want solely from you and Charlie. 

If your life were in danger, would he be stupid and risk his own for you? He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. Your filthy, sinning soulless self wasn’t worth the trouble.

You just wish Lucifer would see that. 

For an hour, you paced the perimeter of the room. Your thoughts clear as you evaluated all the metaphorical cards in your hand. If Husk taught you anything about gambling, it was always to call your opponents bluff before he had a chance to do it to you.

Your feet halted suddenly, your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you stared through the large windows. Your thoughts settling as you watched the waning light.

You weren’t some pushover, some scared little child in need of protection. You weren’t going to let some murderous psychopath take any more control of your life. You were going to call the shots this time, even if that meant being dragged by the throat into that well.

As long as everyone you cared about, even Husker, made it out.

There was only one plan of action you saw ahead. And, it was not going to be the easy route.

“I’m done.” 

Alastor halted, the wall sconces in the hallway illuminating his sharp grin as he heard the words leave your lips. It had been four days since you decided you were going to stand against him.

“Pardon?” The words left his lips slowly, his head cracking in-humanely to one side, his ears twisting to face you. 

“I said I’m done deceiving for you. I’m not going to lie to Lucifer, or anyone else, for any longer.”

Alastor didn’t say anything, his back still turned to you. His claws tapped against his microphone, rhythmic and loud as he processed your words.

“Is that so?” 

“Yes, and I don’t care what you have to say about it. There’s more to the world than power, Alastor.”

You felt something cold tugging against your neck, that familiar, sickening sensation returning to your body. You sucked in a large breath, calming your rapid heartbeat. 

Green illuminated your face as you felt something heavy begin to weigh on your body. Alastor held one of his hands out, before flicking his wrist with a painful pop sound. 

The chain snapped forward from the collar around your throat, snaking around your figure as it wove to Alastor’s palm, its green glow casting eerie shadows against the walls. You struggled against its hold, feeling the cold, metallic links digging into your skin. Alastor's laughter echoed through the hallway, a chilling sound that sent shivers down your spine.

"You dare defy me?" Alastor's voice was low, dangerous. "You forget your place, little puppet."

Panic surged through you as you fought against the chain, but it only tightened its hold, squeezing the air from your lungs. You gasped for breath, your vision blurring as darkness threatened to consume you.

"Perhaps a reminder is in order," Alastor said, his tone dripping with malice. "A lesson in obedience."

“Don’t you have any more tricks in the book than this fucking chain?” You growled between gasps, the back of your head sliding against the floor as you twisted against its metal grasp. “C’mon Al, this is just embarrassing.”

Immediately, his face contorted into a look into a large, crooked smile. His eyes shifted to resemble radio dials, as he harshly yanked you towards him. Your cheek slid across the carpet, and you felt the sting of rug burn bloom across your face.

‘Don’t let him see you scared, don’t let him win.’ You begged yourself internally, as you held your tears back. 

Alastor’s face began to change, his features sharpening drastically, that crooked smile growing all the more larger. His antlers branched farther from his head, gnarling together in twisting designs above his ears. 

Even his hair began to stand on end, as he stalked closer to you. Shadows enveloped the hall, like a fog rolling in. Obscuring the sight of your eventual corpse, as Alastor wrapped the chain around his arm, keeping it taut as he closed in.

“The only embarrassment,” He started, his voice flickering into pure static at his rage, “will be how fast it takes for your s̴͔̓̌̍ç̵̯̮͍͆̿r̷̼̥̿̒̊̐e̸͙̣̯͛̽̒a̷͈̼͗ͅm̵̮͑͛͆s̴̻͊̽̑ to die on your t̸̝͓̆͌͝ö̷̻͚̩̎͊n̸̨̘̭͍̕g̵̱̝͍̈́͛̍ͅû̶̞̼̲͜é̴̺, when I rip your h̷̟̣͚̅̏̔̚͜ë̵̺͙́́a̶͉͙̤͆͋r̶̼̈́͝t̴͙̯̕ out of your throat.”

Archaic symbols danced your vision as Alastor’s entire body seemed to contort into jagged edges, his arms and legs doubling in length, as his hunched back hit the ceiling of the hallway. His crooked neck lowered, his head itching closer. One claw coming out to hook  underneath you collar, pulling you up by the neck. 

“What will our dear King do then, when he finds your mangled body on his front door?” 

You snarled, trying to tear away from his grip. How dare he still try and bring Lucifer into this, even when the fallen angel could pulverize him in an instant. Couldn’t he face you one to one? 

The Radio Demon’s eyes flickered a darker red, and you feel the collar begin to tighten around your throat, squeezing the breath from your airways. You gasped, tears pricking at your eyes as you clawed at your neck in a poor attempt to stop the sensation.

“Alastor? Is everything alright over there?” 

Suddenly, the squeezing at your throat dispersed like fog, as the collar and chain vanished into thin air. You were left on the floor, sputtering for breath, as Alastor quickly pivoted towards the voice. His body instantly shifted back to normal, with quiet pops and clicks as his joints squeezed back into place.

It was Vaggie, coming down the hall, her eye staring suspiciously at his shaded form. 

Clutching your bruising throat, you stumble onto your feet. Your back hits the wall, and you use it for support to catch your breath.

Alastor straightened his suit, his expression morphing into its usual grin as if nothing had happened. “Oh, everything’s just dandy, Vaggie. Just having a delightful little chat with our friend here.” He gestured casually toward you, his tone dripping with false cheerfulness. “Isn’t that right?” He raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with an unknown expression.

“Yeah—cough—sorry, just choked on the water I was drinking.”

“Right. Listen, Alastor, I wanted to talk to you in private. If that’s okay with you.” Vaggie said, gesturing down the hall.

“Of course, it’s always a pleasure speaking with you, my dear!” You didn’t miss the way Alastor’s eye twitched, as if he was not thrilled about having to leave. But, he was deceiving everyone else, too. Which meant he had to play his little part to a T.

“I’m just.. going to go. I’m not feeling so well.” You muttered to the pair, before darting around the corner, out of sight. 

You ran to your room, slamming your door behind you. Your back hit its frame, before slowly sliding down until your bottom hit the carpet. Tears of anger flowed down your cheeks, as you continued to rub your neck.

Fuck. Why were you so powerless?! If only you had even a sliver of magic in you, you could have defied him better. Now, what was Alastor going to do? 

‘What did you expect?’ A part of your mind hissed scoldingly, ‘You just tried to fight the demon that owns your soul, and got your ass handed to you.’

You growled, rising to your feet. Frustration, sadness, pain, everything seeped out of you, and you felt like killing someone in that moment.

“It’s better—”

You picked up a spare shoe from the ground, your nails digging into it as you bared your teeth. Swinging it behind you, you vaulted it towards the opposite wall.

“—than doing nothing at all!” 

You heard glass shattering, and watched shards spill from the mirror above your dresser. You could see your face, partially obscured in its remaining reflection. You could see the slight purple marks around your neck, see the tears spilling from your cheeks.. see that dark look on your features, like you actually would kill somebody.

Reeling back, you placed your knuckles to your lips. Maybe, to stop that lip from quivering so violently. That face in the mirror reminded you of everything you hated about this wretched place.

And, now, you were becoming just like him. You stepped backwards, trying to distance yourself from the reflection, before the back of your legs hit the side of your bed, and you sank into the mattress. You wrapped your arms around your knees, curling into a ball as you sobbed the frustration out of you.

You could still feel the dark magic sizzling against your neck, as if it refused to release you of its hold just yet.

It wasn’t until you heard soft rapping of knuckles against glass did you lift your head. Turning towards the balcony doors, your eyes widen at the sight of the familiar figure standing outside. His silhouette illuminated by the dark red hues of the evening light, as he waved through the frosted glass.

“I see you over there! Can you let me in for a moment?” 

What was Lucifer doing here?! This was terrible timing for him to make an appearance! But, he knows you're there, can see your silhouette through the glass as you sit there on the bed. You sighed, quickly cleaning your face of tears, and taking a few deep breaths.

“Come in.” You called hoarsely, cracking the best smile you could muster.

The glass doors slowly pushed out of them, and Lucifer quietly shimmied through the cracks. He pivoted to face you, a large smile on his lips as he squinted at you through the darkness of your room.

“I’m so glad you’re here, I was just about to leave and then I remembered I never gave you your caramel apple!” 

Lucifer began to stroll forward, your face becoming less obscured in the shadows as he closed in. You tried to shrink away slightly, turning your knees away from him so he couldn’t see them quivering slightly.

“I put a layer of chocolate on it too, and so—wait, why are you crying?” His gaze intensified, as your face finally illuminated in the light.

“I-it’s nothing! I just had something in my eye!” You lied, cracking a wider smile.

“What are those marks on your neck?” Lucifer ignored your excuse, as he stalked closer to you. His eyes constantly scanning your figure looking for any more oddities. 

“Please, Lucifer.. I’m just tired and-”

“What is this?”

Lucifer had asked, his pupils dilated, trained on something against your throat. Something more than the small purple marks.

You began to rub your thumbs together in a soothing motion as you watched him move closer to you. Gulping, you parted your lips to speak.

You didn’t get a chance to say anything, before his hand gingerly lifted towards you. His nail grazed against your collarbone, and heat blossomed underneath your skin from his touch. 

‘Please, just stop here,’ you silently begged, eyes squeezing shut as his finger rested against your figure, ‘don’t ruin this moment by digging any farther.’

Your reaction only spurred him, however. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, his pupils thin slits now as he watched you.

Slowly, his finger trailed upward, skin brushing softly against yours as he traced the invisible force only a powerful demon could see. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, every movement of his only quickening its pace. 

Until his hand stopped, right in the middle of your neck, and you felt a sizzling against your skin. The heat was becoming too much, and you wanted to pull away from his touch. You didn’t, instead, you tensed, deathly still before him.

A soft golden light illuminated from Lucifer’s palm, as his fingers wrapped around an invisible object. A shadow formed in his grip, and he tugged at it, that glow in his palm growing stronger.

Backing away, he yanked a long, thin chain from your figure, as if trying to free you of a parasite that found a home deep in your bones. As he stepped backwards, it only dragged across the floor, still connected to your neck as it lengthened.

A thick, metal collar snuggly encompassed your throat. The chain locked tightly against it, a vivid reminder of your poor decisions.

Lucifer’s palm slid across the cold, metal links. Eldritch magic seeped from its form in the shroud of thick fog. Archaic symbols danced at the edge of your vision as its glow illuminated Lucifer’s unreadable expression.

The chain was a sickly green, its harsh glow an annoyance to his eyes. It was embedded with a dark, chilling magic. Whispers of untold horrors and ancient curses coiling around you, promises of a fate worse than death. 

Lucifer could practically smell it, that red demon's aura as it encircled around your frame. A twisted signature, practically scrawled across your forehead like a stamp of ownership.

Oh, the audacity of a person to take such a kind soul and rip it away from its owner. 

You weren’t some dog to be beckoned at the flick of a wrist. You were so much more than that, you deserved so much more than that. 

Yet here you were, the clasp around your neck like a shadowed hand, softly squeezing the life out of your eyes. He could see it, clear as day.

Small, white horns protruded from his head as he clenched the chain tighter. He tugged it once, twice, as if testing its durability. You leaned back slightly, the chain becoming taught between the two of you.

That collar around your throat kept you locked in place, as you watched him turn the chain in his hands. For a moment, Lucifer’s figure melded into the horrid shadow of your owner, and your eyes widened in fear at your delusion.

You could see it, feel it. Your stomach brushing the stained carpet beneath you with that haunting figure bent in a sickly, twisted angle in front you. That chain wrapped around the radio demon’s hand as he threatened you with terrible acts if you failed to stay in line.

Seeing your face contort into pained anguish only caused him to bare his teeth slightly, the sharp edges glinting in the light.

Seeing it so deeply entwined with your very being only further spurred the king’s anger. It seeped quietly from him, his grip tight against the chains as if trying to snap them with his bare hands.

“Who did this?” He hissed, his gaze boring into yours. He wanted to hear you say that demon’s name, wanted to hear you confirm the truth that was so obvious in front of him. 

You knew he wasn’t angry at you, but still you bowed your head slightly. Averting your gaze from his pleading eyes, shame slowly clawing at your stomach. For a moment, you felt like throwing up. Wanting to rid yourself of the terrible feeling that was seeping into your skin.

You felt like crying, or throwing yourself into his arms. Wanting to melt into his hold, and be told again and again that everything would be alright. That the most powerful man in hell would come to your rescue.

But, deals that bartered in souls are a much more difficult magic to conquer.

Fighting the urge to collapse into his embrace, you steeled yourself. Hands planted against your knees, back straight in a pathetic attempt to have some kind of power in this moment. 

Your eyes sullenly traced across the harsh links of the chain, its form all too familiar by now. Yet, it still caused such grief in your bones no matter how many times you looked upon it over the years.

Slowly, your eyes shifted to meet his gaze. Your lips curved into a frown at his expression, and your predicament.

How were you supposed to tell the love of your life your soul didn’t belong to you? That you were trapped in a deal of your own making? 

Curse that little fine line in your deal that kept your mouth sealed shut, that prevented you from uttering his name.

“I-I..” You desperately tried to speak, to tell him the truth, but that invisible hand that pulled at your tongue forced your silence. Tears pricked at your eyes, the desperation in them evident as your attempts to explain only died behind those pretty lips of yours.

As your mouth shut in frustration, Lucifer’s anger only heightened. His eyes flared into a blood-red glow, a harsh change from that soft yellow radiance you often found yourself lost in.

He pivoted harshly away, his voice contorting into a snarl as he stalked out of the room. His overcoat appeared atop his shoulders, and it swished behind him as he moved. 

Lucifer’s thoughts were too tangled with the images of his claws wrapping around the deal-makers throat to sit there and console you.

The tears that had threatened to spill finally rolled down your cheeks, your lip quivering as your eyes lingered on the doorway he had just exited. His thoughts too mangled with the image of his claws wrapping around the deal-makers throat to sit there and console you.

Placing your face into your hands, you sobbed quietly. 

Oh, how that regret had begun to consume you as you continued to wallow in your self-pity. 

Regret, for thinking that giving away your soul was a simple feat. That somehow, you’d still be happy after the fact. 

Regret, for falling in love when you knew the deal that kept you to that deer demon’s side would never allow you to enjoy such a fleeting emotion. No matter how hard you clawed to Lucifer’s soft embrace, that chain would always be there to drag you back. 

Those soft whispers of affections, of promises you couldn’t keep. Knowing, one day, that constant-smiling demon could play his little games and tear you away from your lover’s hold forever.

Oh, what a lovestruck idiot you are. 

Lucifer’s feet carried him back to the lobby, his eyes glowing as he noticed the cat-demon, Husk, cleaning glasses behind the bar. He sharply turned in his direction, surely, this other being 

“You, bartender.” Lucifer hissed, as he lifted himself up onto the barstool, crossing one leg over the other. Acting as if only wanting to have a friendly chat with the demon. His claws extended slightly, as they tapped impatiently against the countertop. 

Husker looked up from the glass in his hands, his eyes bored and his mouth a thin line as he worked. It wasn’t until he saw Lucifer’s deadly expression did he drop the glass immediately, ears slightly pinned to his head, before straightening his back to address the king.

“I-uh, how can I help you, Your Majesty?” 

Lucifer’s lips upturned into a lopsided grin, those sharp teeth on full display. That’s right, some people have to remember exactly who they are dealing with.

“Where is your master?”

Husk paused, regarding Lucifer for a moment with an eyebrow raised. He was very aware of the tension between the two powerful demons, but he didn’t expect the King of Hell would go looking for Alastor.

“I’m not sure, sir. You could bring it up with Charlie when she gets back, I’m sure she knows more than little ol’ me.” 

Lucifer grimaced slightly at that. Of all the people in the hotel, his daughter was the last one he’d want to bring into this whole debacle.

“There’s got to be something you must know, bartender. He owns your soul too, does he not?”

“What, you think I keep track of the guy or something?” 

“No, but you should,” Lucifer snarled, leaning over the counter, causing Husk to reel back slightly, “it’s clear no one here keeps eyes on that filth, enough to stop him from hurting people in this very hotel.”

Husk seemed to deflate at that. Those long, feathery eyebrows of his lowering slightly as an unreadable expression crossed his face. He set the glass down, before sharply turning away from Lucifer.

“He’s usually in his room, by now,” Husk spoke quietly after a moment, “down the left hall, last door on the right. Ya can’t miss it.”

Lucifer didn’t give thanks, instead he tapped his cane at his side, and golden waves circled around him. In an instant, the King was gone, a few pieces of gold dust landing softly against the barstool. 

“Asshole.” Husk muttered, before popping open a bottle of liquor and lifting it to his lips.

Lucifer opened his eyes to see a large door in front of his face, green symbols glittered against its frame, etched into the wood with practiced precision.

Only Lucifer could see them, though. Only powerful wielders of such a force could see these runes. Magical spells, cast upon the room. Protection, defense, muffling, everything an evil guy could dream of.

Although, the demon’s magic was strange. Unfamiler, even. Seems like he’s been dabbling in a new form of sorcery.

Lucifer stood there, for a few moments. He didn’t knock at the door, or jiggle the handle. The Radio Demon was not the one in control here, so he simply waited impatiently for an answer.

“I know you’re in there, you rat.” Lucifer hissed, the horns poking from his head continuing to rise. “I know you can hear me. Why don’t you do us both a favor and show yourself, or are you too much of a coward now?” 

Slowly, the door to Alastor’s room creaked open. The interior obscured by thick shadows, with soft lights flickering from the edges of the room as Lucifer continued to stand there.

“Your Majesty!” A cheerful voice called from the shadows of the room, and Lucifer bared his teeth at the tone. “What an honor to have someone like you gracing my presence. Please, come in!”

Lifting his head high again, Lucifer took a confident step into the room. He had every right to be, even in the demon’s own abode, the King’s powers were unmatched. 

Lucifer’s lips curled into a sneer at the saccharine greeting. “Save the pleasantries, rat. We both know why I’m here.”

As Lucifer stepped further into the room, the door behind him remained wide open, the light from the hallway illuminating the King’s figure. Alastor’s silhouette still danced within the shadows, the glow of his red eyes illuminating the space as he carefully followed the King’s movements.

“Ah, but do we really, Your Majesty? Enlighten me.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. “You have an uncanny knack to create suffering with everything you touch. Now, you pull the strings of innocent lives. Do you thirst for power that fucking badly, to make a deal for someone’s soul?”

“They made a deal on their own whim,” Alastor retorted, waving his hands in a sweeping motion, brushing off the accusation, “How could I say no to such an offer? I’m a demon, if you can recall.”

The lights in the room began to flicker with renewed life, and Alastor’s sharp grin only made the fallen angel want to tear it from his face.

“Demons like you deserve to be ground into dust.” Lucifer snarled, closing the distance between the two. He lifted his head, meeting Alastor’s piercing gaze. His claws wrapped around the Radio Demon’s black bow tie, and he harshly tugged him down to his eye level.

Alastor stared at the grip with a deathly silence, his face contorting into sharper features, his pupils taking the dialed form once more. 

Energy crackled in the room, a mix of both demon’s powers as the tension only continued to escalate. Alastor didn’t move from the hold, he knew better than to test that fate. 

The lines above Lucifer’s lips scrunching as he stared at the demon with disgust. “You steal the souls of those weaker than you to fill that emptiness in your own, it’s pathetic.”

“Maybe.” Alastor shrugged nonchalantly, before a green spark sizzled against his bow-tie, and it limply fell from his clothing in Lucifer grip. He turned away, stalking towards the cutting board on the counter.

“Don’t walk away from me, you freak. Lest I do everyone in this hotel a favor and remove you from existence right here.”

A dark chuckle bounced against the walls, filling the room as Alastor kept his back to Lucifer. “Ah, but if you kill me, they die too. Souls entwined with each other, you see. Such a dilemma, wouldn’t you say?”

Lucifer gritted his teeth, cursing his oversight. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Alastor’s voice took on a sly tone. “But fear not, Your Majesty. I’m not without mercy. I understand the affection you hold for such a.. charming demon.”

Lucifer’s gaze hardened, suspicion clouding his features. “What do you want?”

“Why don’t we.. make a d̴̻͉̺̆è̴̛͎̟̖̻͐a̵̭̫͆͆̽l̸͓͍̽̆̀̕?” Alastor’s tone crackled with static, as he spun to face the fallen angel. His head tilting curiously to one side, watching Lucifer’s expression.

Lucifer laughed, an audible ha-ha as the words left Alastor’s lips. He twisted his cane between his fingers, his claws leaving small etched lines trailing behind his movements.

“A deal with you? Do you actually expect me to give you my soul?”

Alastor’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, not your soul, silly! It’s nothing too extravagant. Just a little exchange of power. After all, what’s a deal between demons?”

“And, what exactly does this deal entail?”

Alastor paused for a moment, his intense gaze never leaving. “I have.. a few affairs I never got to settle when I died. I’d like to be able to return to that filthy place, whenever and wherever I want.”

“That’s it?” Lucifer asked in disbelief, his head leaning back slightly as he processed the demon’s words. “You want access to the human realm? You’re standing before the King of Hell! Why not simply ask for my title?”

Damnit, Lucifer, is it really the time to get your pride twisted?

“Oh, I couldn’t be bothered to bare such responsibilities of a king. I’d take your strength in a heartbeat though, but we both know you aren’t powerful enough to bless me with such a gift.”

The mockery in Alastor’s tone of the fallen angels' lack of heavenly abilities, spurred Lucifer. Who’s horns were fully out for view now, that small fire licking hungrily between them.

“Well? What is it going to be, Your Majesty?” Alastor hummed, his nails clicking against the countertop. “Do you want their soul or not?”

A demon like Alastor, being granted the ability to leap from the realms? It was much different than giving Amsodueus’ little spawns access via that orange crystal, who didn’t hold the kind of magic the demon before him did. 

What would he do when he was up there? Steal more souls? Go on a slaughter spree? There was no telling with the twisted man before him.

But… it was Heaven’s problem. Wasn’t it? It was them who cast Lucifer away from the place he helped create, and now it was their job to clean up the messes.

“Why would you give me something of such value for something like that?” Lucifer asked after a  moment.

“Because your little lover is a deep pain in my side, always disrespecting and challenging my words. If it wasn’t for that silver tongue of theirs, I’d have killed them ages ago.”

Lucifer growled, golden flames dancing on his fingertips at Alastor’s words. 

“They also don’t have any value. No power, no status, just a beggar on the street when I found them all those years ago. You could say I only made such a deal because I pitied their pathetic existence.”

‘If this guy keeps talking, I might just have to kill him.’

Time stood still in that room for a moment, the ending of the song playing from the radio the only indicator that the realm was still moving around them.

“I’m waiting~” Alastor sung, both demons locking eyes with each other across the room instensly.

As Lucifer weighed the consequences, a firm line set on his lips as he nodded. "Very well, Alastor," he said, extending a hand towards the demon. "We have a deal."

Their hands met in a firm shake, and as their fingers intertwined, a surge of dark energy crackled between them. Wisps of shadow and flame danced around their clasped hands, swirling around the duo.

Alastor was lost in a maniacal fit of laughter, as large eyes and symbols danced around him. That smile on his lips changed, as lines of thread locking his teeth together, as if someone had forcefully stitched that grin in place.

The air itself seemed to tremble with the force of their agreement, and the room pulsed with an otherworldly energy. The very fabric of reality seemed to warp and bend around them as the terms of their pact solidified.

Suddenly, you burst into the room, your eyes widening in fear as you saw the two demon’s hands entwined. You placed a hand to your mouth in shock, as you realized exactly what they were doing.

“Oh, no no no NO!” You cried hoarsely against the loud rushing wind, pushing you against the wall. What kind of deal was Lucifer making?! 

With a final burst of darkness, the pact was sealed, and both demons drew back. Alastor’s eyes gleamed with newfound power. His aura crackled with renewed strength, and the demon’s grin widened with satisfaction.

His eyes landed on you, a twisted smirk on his lips as he vanished in a plume of smoke. The intensity of it causing your eyes to water, and to fall into a fit of coughs.

The echoes of their agreement lingered in the air in a mixture of green and gold sparks of energy. Lucifer stood alone in the room, before he took a step backwards, stumbling slightly as you reached him. 

Taking his arm, you yank him out of the room, into the hallway. You scan over his figure, your heartbeat quickening as you search for any kind of injuries.

“What did you do? You didn’t make a deal for your soul, did you?!” You cried in panic, your hands on both sides of Lucifer’s face as he blinked away the fog from behind his eyes.

“Of course, I didn’t.” Lucifer muttered between your palms, “I simply gave him some power that he can go fuck off with for the rest of eternity.”

“But.. he c-could—oh, why would you do that?! That was so stupi—”

Lucifer quickly wrapped his fingers around your forearms, shaking you gently to get you to look at him. The slits of his pupils trained intently on your look of distraught.

“For you!” He growled, and you slammed your mouth shut. His breath was ragged, his lips downturned into a painful frown as he watched your lip begin to quiver.

“I made a deal to exchange your soul for a little power, because I cannot bare seeing you suffer any longer. Do you get that? I walked into your bedroom, to find you bruised and in tears. Over what, spilled milk?!”

“I can take it, I've been taking it.” You cried, arms shaking as you fidgeted in his hold. Shame clawing at your throat. Why did you have to be so fucking useless when it came to things like this?

“No! Stop that. Stop lying to me! That ‘everything is fine and dandy’, when it’s not. I’m the goddamn King of Hell, and I can’t even protect you because you refuse to let anyone prove that you matter.”

Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut, head leaning into your shoulder as he took a deep breath. Your scent easing his anger slowly as he sunk into your embrace.

“You matter so much to me, you and Charlie. If I have to make a deal with a douchebag like him, to save your soul, then so be it. I don’t care what he takes from me.” 

Tears spilled from your cheeks, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You both fell to your knees, and it was your turn to lean into his embrace. Your shoulders shook as you sobbed into his chest.

You were finally free from that monster. He couldn’t hurt you anymore, couldn’t lay a finger on you without consequence. Yet, your tears were also of sadness. You had tried so hard to prevent this, to prevent Lucifer from being selfless and allowing Alastor to win. 

You felt hands gently rubbing at your back, a soothing motion that quelled your quivering figure slightly. It was so warm, like laying in front of a lively fireplace. You wanted to stay there forever.

You were so tired. The mental exhaustion that had been plaguing your mind all these months finally slamming into you, and you lay there limp against his embrace.

“Please.. please don’t cry. I love you, I love you.” Lucifer whispered softly, his voice cracking as he pulled you deeper into his hold. He kept repeating those words, ‘I love you’, as he placed soft kisses against your forehead.

You felt the soft touch of feathers graze against your ears, and cracked open an eye to see Lucifer’s wings engulfing the both of you. They nestled into you, rubbing against your cheek softly, lulling you into a sleepy daze.

“I’ve got you, I promise.” Lucifer whispered into your ear. “You’re safe, you’re loved, I'm so sorry.” 

You placed a soft kiss to his collarbone, and snuggled deeper into his chest. Thankfully, no one was around to bother the two of you as you sat on the floor in the hall.

Just five minutes. That’s all you needed, five minutes basking in his warmth, in his soft words of affection. Five minutes to promise yourself you’d never let him do something like this again.

And maybe, everything would be alright. 

you guys 😭 i made sure this fic was cooked, damnit!! A little more fast-paced than usual, but I hope you can forgive me for that. i also could not settle on what kind of deal alastor wanted to make, so i blind drew out of a hat. i just wanted to bring in a little drama, and it’s hard when one of them is can be easily bodied haha

i honestly have to stop telling yall how long I think my fics will be bc i said “oh i want this to be as long as artist!reader pt. 4”, yet it’s roughly 6-7k over it someone kill me

let me know what you think 🫶

[Lucifer] taglist: @ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @loslox @sukxma @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @laurenlaurie @lxkeee @jellybellyrulez @catnoirsleftnut @mbruben-stein @mint129106 @froggybich @moonlovers34 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @lil-bexie @lowkeyhottho @wings-of-sapphire @the-tortured-poet @enigmatic-blues @bethleeham @blue122 @cherry-4200 @azullynx @luzzbuzz @for-hearthand-home

[rinhaler]

So Tell Me What You Need

oliver aiku really really likes you ♡

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ yandere!oliver aiku x f!reader

Genre: college!au (++ smut) Notes: thank u 2 @chososdoll for doing gods work with this fic i hated it hehehe Warnings: 18+, serial killer mention, murder mention, weed mention, smoking, stalking ♡, manipulation, dub/noncon, 'just the tip' ♡, coercion, oral (m receiving), cock slapping ♡, facial, creampie ♡, praise, degradation, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, etc.) ♡ Words: 7.2k

The body of a young woman was discovered in the early hours of Thursday morning. It’s the third body in the last five months to be found, and an inside source has revealed that this is thought to be a pattern by one killer. The victims are all female and—

Your heart pounds as you shut off the TV in your front room. It’s the last thing you want to hear as the windows reveal the dark night sky outside. You don’t even see the stars above; the light pollution takes that comfort from you. All you can see is rows of apartments opposite to your own, some lit and some dim. Some with funky colours but most are warm white.

And your face flushes with heat as you notice one of the latter have a couple fucking up against a window before you turn away to face your roommate.

She notes your concern, but chooses to smirk and poke fun anyway.

“Maybe it’s your stalker,” she teases you. “You might be next.”

“That’s not funny.” you sigh, storming off to your room. You wince as you look at the abandoned study materials at your desk. You’ve been putting everything off for weeks, but your coursework and exams are the last thing on your mind.

You find yourself pacing around a little before you eventually decide to sit on the edge of your bed. There’s no way you can possibly sleep after hearing that. And your roommate’s poor joke has only made you more paranoid. So, what is there left to do?

Music might help, you think to yourself as you unlock your phone. You can barely do anything as your fingers begin to tremor while you look through your playlists. You’re interrupted, though, as a call from an unknown number fills your screen.

You mask your fear with anger, grunting as you swing open your bedroom door to yell at your friend.

“Stop it, Lacey! I’m going to have nightmares, I’m serious!” you yell. She looks at you, confused. You hold up your phone to show her the incoming call. But her eyes drop to the coffee table, her own phone discarded on top of it in favour of smoking from her bong.

“Answer it.” she urges you.

And you gulp, nodding, sliding the button across the bottom of the touch screen to take the call. You steel yourself, already knowing what’s coming as soon as you speak. It’s the same thing every single time. You don’t say a word, not for a few seconds. There isn’t a sound from either of you as you sit on the couch while your roommate’s eyes follow you.

“Hello?” you say, meekly.

It begins.

The heavy, repetitive breathing that sends a chill down your spine. She looks concerned, now. It’s the first time she’s been present when you’ve received a call. You’d started to suspect she didn’t believe you.

“Who the fuck is this?” she yells, snatching the phone from your hand. Their breathing stutters, it’s barely noticeable but you both pick up on it. It’s enough to make her hang up. “I— you should stay in my room tonight. W-With me.”

“Are you scared?” you ask her, earnestly. She doesn’t respond, but the fact that she’s packing away her drug paraphernalia is answer enough. “Thank you.” you smile, though you leave the room as you do.

You start scrolling through your contacts on instinct, tossing your phone onto your bed as you find the number you’re searching for and put it on loudspeaker as it dials. It rings and rings, and you start to worry you won’t get through. You undress, taking off your clothes from the day to change into your pyjamas.

“Hey you,” he starts. “S’pretty late, baby. Somethin’ wrong?”

“Oliver…” you start, legs buckling at the sound of his voice as you feel a combination of relief and guilt surge through you. You sniff, the pressure of your fear and other underlying emotions doing their best to overwhelm you. “My— The stalker called. Again.” you tell him, and you’re instantly met with a sympathetic coo.

“Do you want me to come over?” he asks. “Or do you wanna come here? I’ll pick you up, princess, s’not a problem.” he continues. You shake your head despite him not being able to see.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Sorry, I was just freaking out. Nice to hear your voice, though…” you smile a little, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“Alright. Only if you’re sure.” he speaks, clearing his throat. “I miss you, though. You better let me see that pretty face of yours soon.”

“Okay,” your smile widens. Once again nodding knowing he can’t actually see you right now. “Goodnight Oli.”

“Goodnight, gorgeous.”

Sharing a bed with your roommate helped. You didn’t even mind her snoring, it’s not like you’d expected to get much sleep anyway. You got enough to get you through the day, though. Classes went by without incident, and you didn’t feel yourself wavering at lunchtime like you have been recently.

The calls are unpredictable, you’re always on edge. There’s no specific times or days or even how many times he’ll call.

You walk back to your apartment alone. The winter sucks. It’s not particularly cold, but it’s dark when you get to your classes and then it’s dark again when you leave for the day. You feel like you’re going crazy, and you can’t pretend you aren’t scared of being outside alone when it’s so dark out.

A text notification frightens you enough to almost drop your phone. You don’t even remember turning your phone off silent. Though you can’t help but grin when you see who it’s from.

Oli: Wanna hang out tonight?

You: I’m too behind on my coursework ☹

You: Another time? x

Oli: Okay princess x

You take a deep breath, pocketing your phone as you continue your journey to your apartment. The elevator isn’t empty, but you don’t mind. If anything, you feel a little better to be around people. Your music plays softly through your earphones the whole time, and your anxiety finally begins to dissipate.

Although, it comes flooding back when you get to the door of your apartment.

It’s locked.

And, normally, that would be fine. But Lacey always finishes early on Monday’s. And she’s always home before you get here. Your mind instantly flickers to the phone calls. The stalker.

The news report last night.

Little hands tremble as you search pathetically through your tote bag until you find your keys. The metal clings and clangs as you search for the right one; you jump as they fall from your hands. Eventually, though, the right one is in your grasp and you open the door quickly.

There’s no sign of her. She isn’t smoking in the front room like you expect. You open her bedroom door without knocking, only to discover she isn’t there either. Deep breaths are taken in vain. You try to call her, but there’s no answer.

You: Are you okay?? Call me ASAP

Lacey: I’m fine! I’m at the frat hanging out with Eita 😇

“Oh thank God.” you sigh, all but falling to your knees when you read her reply. Instantly, you can’t help but think about what a slut she is when you think about her failing to tell you her plans because she’s decided to sneak off to ‘hang out’ with her toxic friend with benefits.

Your mind is clear, though your heart is still beating a mile a minute.

Oli: You’re really just gonna study all night? X

You: Thinking about ordering a pizza :P x

Oli: I like pizza you know 🙄x

You: Next time! Promise x

It’s crazy. It’s embarrassing, actually, how quickly he can put you at ease. You’ve only known him for a few months, but it feels like you’ve known him forever. You sigh, dreamily, as you recall how he had introduced himself to you and Lacey during welcome week. He had to squeeze in the fact he was the president of the most popular frat on campus.

Even then, he made you blush. Though you couldn’t act on it; you’d had a boyfriend at the time. But you’ve been single for almost as long as you’ve known Oli, since you dumped him a week or two after; when you realised you didn’t love him anymore. And, still, nothing has happened between you and Oliver.

You’re scared, truthfully.

You’re scared because you know he’s experienced and he’s confident. You know girls throw themselves at him and he knows he’s popular. You’re not a virgin, but compared to him you may as well be.

After clearing your throat and shaking your head to dismiss your train of thought, you start looking for food to add to your basket from your favourite pizza place. It’s so hard to choose, as much as you’d love to get everything, you’re basically broke.

Incoming call.

“Please, no.” your voice breaks as you speak out loud.

You shouldn’t answer. The number is private and you already know what’s going to happen. But you’ve tried that before. You’ve tried ignoring them, but they just keep calling until you answer.

You’re frozen, paralysed with fear as you contemplate what to do. Lacey isn’t here to support you this time. She won’t be coming back, either. So, do you really want to answer? Do you really want to deal with how many calls you’ll receive if you don’t?

The burden of dealing with this alone is too much to bear.

But you’ve been left with no other choice.

“H-Hello?” you whimper, eager to get it over with. The breathing starts, and you’re surprised that this time it’s enough to make you cry. And it’s not just a few tears falling. Whoever is on the other end of the call will undoubtedly know what you’ve been reduced to. “Please stop doing this. W-What do you want from me?” you cry.

It's useless, though, the breathing just continues.

“I can’t t-take it anymore, please, p-please…”

“Mmmmpf,” you hear, it’s cracked and strained and it makes you feel sick. You aren’t sure if you’re imagining things, or if this sicko is actually getting off to the sound of your anguish and desperate pleas. “Thank you.” they say, the voice is deep and distorted but it’s clear as day.

Your breath is trapped in your lungs. And for the first time, they hang up.

You just can’t anymore.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t function.

Can’t think.

You can think enough to call Oli, though. Tremoring digits manage to navigate away from the takeout website to bring up your text thread with Oliver once more. And you don’t hesitate to press the call button.

Your eyes are soaked, vision blurry like a smudged camera lens as you look around your barren apartment while you wait for him to pick up.

“Hi gorgeous,” he answers, a seductive lilt in his tone. If you weren’t so worked up, you’d be flustered. You can picture the smirk on his face as he talks, though you aren’t really listening. “What’s up, baby? Calling to brag about that pizza?”

“O-li.” you sniff, voice cracking after each vowel. He’s silent, but you hear him move. Like he’s sitting upright suddenly, ready to spring into action to rescue you. “He c-called. Again, Oli… again—”

“Shit.” he sighs. “Do you want me to—”

“Please… come get me. ‘m so scared, don’t wanna be here a-alone.” you whine.

“I’m on my way.” he tells you. “I won’t be long, baby. I promise. See ya soon, princess.” he finishes, cutting off the line as he rushes to his car.

Your body stiffens as the silence of your apartment hits you once more. You can’t waste time, though. So, you pack. You’re quick about it, too. You fill your biggest bag with toiletries, a change of clothes and sleepwear… and your coursework.

There’s no way you’ll be doing any work tonight, but you can at least pretend you’re functioning like normal. You can’t let this creep dictate your entire life, right? Maybe being with Oliver will actually keep you calm enough to actually get some of your work started.

Oli: I’m outside x

The black night sky makes your heart race as you walk out of your apartment. The winter cold is harsher in the bleak evenings. Your thin sweater isn’t enough to protect you from the air nipping at your skin.

It’s the least of your worries; all you can think about is the fact this stalker of yours could be watching you right now. It could be anyone. Someone from your class, someone you shared the elevator with, your next-door neighbour. The very thought makes your steps quicken. You’re hurrying to the elevator and bashing the button until it arrives. It’s the first time you’ve felt safe since you left your apartment, because you’re alone. But even then, your skin breaks into goosebumps as you look up at the CCTV camera in the corner.

You’ll never feel safe, not really.

You rush down the road when you see Oliver’s car in the distance. He honks, and it’s all you need to run to him. You’re running like an athlete, and it feels more humiliating than it should. You’re sure Oliver understands why you’re frightened; and you’re sure he won’t judge you for sprinting to the car. But, still, it feels pathetic.

You open the door roughly before you practically dive into the passenger seat. He moves out of the way a little as you throw your overnight bag into the back seat.

“Hey, you’re alright now. Yeah? I’ve got you.” he speaks softly, doing what he can to relax you. You almost melt into his touch as he tucks a hair behind your ear. You do, a little, your body almost melds to the plush leather seat. Your head falls backwards onto the head rest, and your lip begins to wobble. “Poor thing…” he sighs.

“D-Drive, please…” you say, voice weak and strained.

He nods, driving off towards the frat house.

“I wouldn’t worry, you know.” he tells you, putting his hand on your thigh as he drives slow and carefully. You don’t object to his advances, in fact, it’s a comfort to feel his warm hand on your bitter flesh. Even his rough thumb stroking your skin is a welcome feeling. “It’s probably your ex, princess.”

“You think so?” you wonder. “I don’t know… he didn’t take the breakup well, but—”

“You never know what people will resort to when they’re heartbroken, baby.” he tells you, uneven eyes focus on you even as he drives. It makes you nervous, but his calm demeanour forces you to ignore it. You trust him, wholly. “Plus, he knows he lost the best thing that’ll happen to him in his pathetic life.”

“… Oli.” you smile, looking down at your knees as you try to avoid his cocksure stare.

He doesn’t say another word for the rest of the journey.

You come face to face with Lacey as you walk through the grandiose double doors. You feel like a guest of honour as you enter the castle that Oliver Aiku reigns over. Everyone is filled with warm smiles and happy faces as you see them. But your expression in return is feeble. You try to smile, but you’re so downtrodden, and Lacey immediately knows why.

She doesn’t even care that you don’t say hello when you run by her on the stairs and hurry to Oliver’s room. Oliver remains at the bottom while he watches you flee.

“She got another call.” he informs your roommate.

“Fuck.” she hisses through her teeth as she looks back up the stairs. Her voice is filled with remorse as she thinks things through. “I shouldn’t have left her alone; I knew she was—”

“S’alright, Lace,” Oliver smiles, his pristine pearly whites instantly put her at ease. “You can’t be with her every second, don’t blame yourself.” his eyes are so warm and full of love, she sees it every time he talks about you. He’s good for you, she thinks. He’s so sweet about you and he’s crazy about you.

“Give her our best.” Eita tells him, putting a hand on Lacey’s shoulder as they descend the stairs. “We’re going to smoke in the garden.”

“Enjoy yourselves, kids.” Oliver smirks, winking at them before chasing after you.

He sees you making yourself comfortable in his room. You’re already undressed, and you don’t care that he can see you. He doesn’t dare look away, either. But you don’t mind. He watches as you put on the mismatched pyjamas you threw into your bag, and he sits beside you on the bed after you collapse backwards onto the mattress.

“I’m gonna change my number,” you whisper. “I should have done that in the first place…”

“Good idea.” he agrees. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his hand rest atop your head, his thumb delicately stroking your forehead again and again. He swears he sees you fall asleep for a second before you scare yourself awake with a too heavy breath. “Should we get you that pizza?”

You nod, lightly.

“I’d like that.”

He’s the perfect gentleman. You’re lucky to know Oli, you think. That’s how you feel anyway, as he watches you in silence while simultaneously encouraging your efforts in getting your schoolwork done.

He was kind, and he was helpful. Telling you that you could take a break or stop all together for the evening when your food arrived. And so, you spent a good while making notes and studying textbooks.

“Atta girl.” he winks at you, teasingly, when you begin to scribble down words onto pages. “I’m proud of you, baby, don’t let that idiot get under your skin.”

“Thanks Oli, I—” you’re cut off by the sound of your phone vibrating. You look over your shoulder and back to the desk you’ve been sitting at for the last 35 minutes. “O-Oli…” you whimper, showing him your phone.

He sets his own phone down on his bedside cabinet as he focuses on yours. It’s them. Oliver takes your phone, eyes furrowed as he debates whether to answer or not - choosing to answer brazenly. He puts it on loudspeaker, if only so you can confirm it is indeed the man who’s been harassing you endlessly.

The breaths are heavy but also stifled. It’s like he’s trying to control himself. He’s trying to be quiet. Oliver looks at you for answers, but you don’t have any for him. You haven’t got a single solitary clue on how to deal with these calls anymore.

Nothing works.

“Keep messing with her, I’ll fuck you up.” he says sternly. He eyes you up to make sure you’re listening to him. He wants you, needs you, to know he’s going to protect you at any cost. “We know who you are, so knock it the fuck off.”

He presses the big red disconnect button and puts your phone down beside you on the desk. He’s a little taken aback when you rush into his arms, your head resting on his firm chest while your arms wrap tightly around his torso. His hand comes down gently on the crown of your head and hear him emit a soft chuckle. You can’t see the small smile etching its way across his face, but you know it’s there.

“I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you, okay?” he assures you. You feel like a different person, with him. It’s like you’re having an out of body experience when you find yourself lunging forward on your tippy toes to place your lips against his. His eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. Not right away, at least. He holds your shoulders after a few seconds go by. “Where did that come from?” he smirks.

“I don’t know, sorry… I just—” you’re interrupted by the sound of the doorbell ringing. You back away a little, smiling. “Saved by the bell.” you joke.

“I’ll go,” he closes the gap between you again, bending down to capture your lips in a soft, chaste kiss once again. “Find a movie or something, anything you want.” he whispers against your skin before parting from you.

You shiver, slightly, after he closes the door behind himself. The rational side of you knows that you’re fine. Nothing bad is going to happen right now. But you can’t help feeling safer with Oli around.

Maybe that’s why you kissed him.

You’re just so grateful to him.

“We should prob’ly go to sleep.”

You nod, agreeing when you see the time tick tick ticking on the plain black clock above his desk. A few hours had passed since the most recent call. You didn’t even pick a movie, you ended up watching some silly gaming videos on YouTube while you ate together.

It was divine.

And you can’t deny the possibility that it tasted better with a smile on your face and good company.

You get under the covers, your body feeling warmer as you watch Oliver circle the bed to turn off the light. He’d decided to forgo wearing anything to cover his chiselled body, and you suspect he did it on purpose.

The room is plunged into darkness until he uses the flashlight on his phone to guide his way back to bed. The mattress sinks behind you as he gets under the covers, and you only just manage to suppress a yelp when he presses his body against yours. You could quite literally dissolve under the pressure.

He smirks against the juncture between your neck and shoulder as he kisses you there, a desperate mewl escaping you in an instant. His hand rests on the curve of your hip, though his thick fingers begin to sink into your malleable flesh. You can’t even bring yourself to protest as you feel him not so subtly nudge his hips into you. And you can feel him.

“Oli… w-we shouldn’t.” you say, softly, the desperation clinging to your tongue gives away your true feelings instantly. You shouldn’t? That’s your opinion, clearly, as a rough hand winds its way around your body and up the baggy unflattering t-shirt you’d decided to wear.

“Are you sure?” he whispers against the hairs standing on end on the back of your neck. Words formulating in your mouth crumble to pieces when he squeezes the supple flesh of your breasts, alternating between them like he’s deciding which is his favourite. He experimentally rolls one of your nipples between his finger and thumb, and he’s mesmerised by the sound you release and the way you back your ass up against his aching length. He offers his own breathy sound in response. It’s almost a gasp. “You like this?” he wonders aloud despite knowing.

And you could cry as you nod.

It’s been so long since you’ve been touched. Since you’ve been loved.

And why should you put your needs on hold just because you’re a little scared?

“What about just the tip, princess?” he mutters, you feel your panties soak through as gravelly words enter your ear canal. He’s that desperate. He needs you that badly that he’s prepared to settle for just the tip. “Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand how much I need you, baby?”

“We r-really shouldn’t…” you tell him.

Even through the material of the top you’re wearing, you feel his rock hard body pressed heavily into your back. His hard-on makes you dizzy, you may as well be drunk from how much the room is spinning as you do all you can to resist.

“But you want to.” he tells you. He moves you onto your back and cages you in. He brushes his bulging sweats into your heat, his head drooping as he feels so close but so far to what he’s always wanted. Since the very moment he set his sights on you, he wanted this. “I can feel you, princess. You can feel me too, yeah?” he asks.

“Y-Yes, Oli… I feel you.”

“So stop fightin’ it.” he commands, though there’s a level of desperation interlaced with his words. He pulls down his sweats and his cock springs free, slapping against his abs and leaving a sticky smear against his tensing muscles. You whimper when he repeatedly taps his cockhead against your clit, even through the layers you’re wearing to cover it. Your toes curl. “Just the tip, sweetheart. C’mon, for me… been waiting so long for this.”

You don’t even answer before he hooks deft fingers into the waistline of your shorts. He leaves your panties, though. And you yelp as his fingers tease the pretty lace covering your drippy folds. He hums, he moans as his fingers run along the clothed length of your slit.

“You’re fucking soaking, baby. You need this cock, please. Let me fuck you. Why are you tryna deny yourself of a good time?”

And with that, you find yourself nodding dumbly.

He growls at your muted answer. It’s all he needs. It’s all he fucking needs and he’s happy his odd coloured eyes even manage to pick up on the gesture even in the dark. Could he have imagined it? He doesn’t know, nor does he care when your legs spread open for him like a flower once he moves your panties aside. The dewiness is cold against the crease of your thigh, but it’s barely noticeable as Oli spits down on your pulsing clit.

“Just the tip, o-okay?” you stutter.

“Mmm,” he answers. He hisses as your tight cunt swallows him, practically sucking in the head of his cock as soon as your entrance feels him. His eyes lose focus for a second and his breathing is erratic.

It’s happening.

It’s really happening.

He almost loses balance, hands settling on your bent knees so he can stabilise himself. You’ve been playing so hard to get for so long. And even you aren’t sure why.

He cups your face as he lowers his body on top of yours. His lips slot against your own as he kisses you passionately, though he breaks it soon enough.

“’m sorry.” he apologises. And you’re confused, only for a moment, before you feel his full-length plunge into your unprepped walls. Your hands fly to his back, nails digging and scratching over beautiful musculature and marking him like he’s yours “You’re fucking tight, baby.” he chuckles, kissing you again as his hips begin to gyrate.

“Oli, I said—”

“Don’t care.” he argues, already knowing what you’re about to say. “You feel too good. So tight f’me, princess. ‘n I’m making you feel good, yeah? Let me fuck you, stop thinking and take it.” he tells you, hips snapping harder to accentuate his point.

“Nngh—!” you moan, your nails still claw and mark at his back. He chuckles, darkly, as you draw blood. He doesn’t care, not in the least. He hadn’t expected you to be like this, but he can’t say he isn’t enjoying it. He kisses your neck as his thrusts get deeper and harsher. You feel his lips curve as you clench around him tighter.

He’s found your spot.

That perfect spot deep inside of your perfect cunt.

Your tight walls that now he’s certain were made for him to fuck. He pulls out, and it’s so brief. But the way you’re whimpering tells him how much of a good girl you are. You’re trained without even needing to cum. You’ve never been fucked so good.

After all of the sex you had with your ex, you didn’t know missionary could feel like this.

Doggy was always your favourite because it was the only time you could really feel anything with him. But this… you can feel him in your fucking throat. Your mind is blank as he pounds into you again and again at an unrelenting pace.

“Who’s making you feel good?” he mumbles into your ear. You feel close to passing out when he nibbles on your earlobe right after. Your cunt clenches and he laughs because he swears if you do that again you might actually break his cock. “Who’s fucking you so good, hm? Tell me who’s making your pretty pussy purr.”

“Y-You!” you gasp. “Oli, please! Please don’t stop.” you wail.

You can’t even feel embarrassed at the thought of anyone hearing you. Not when he’s dangling your first penetrative orgasm right in front of your face like a donkey with a hanging carrot. You mumble his name like it’s a prayer as he batters into your g-spot as if it were his soul reason for living.

“Waited too fuckin’ long for this,” he admits, the scruff of his facial hair scratches your skin as he gives you a filthy, sordid tongue kiss whilst continuing to assault the button deep within that will lead to your eventual ruin. And it’s close. It’s so fucking close and the two of you can feel it. “First time you’ve been fucked properly. That pathetic ex of yours—”

“D-Don’t,” you warn him, having no desire talking about your potential stalker when you’re so close to reaching your peak.

He grabs your face and squeezes until your lips pucker for him. Your eyes widen as he stares into them. You will listen to what he has to say, he’s making damn sure of it.

“Had a perfect pussy right in his face ‘n he didn’t know what to do with her.” he smirks. “No wonder you didn’t want him anymore.”

“Oli,” you sob. “Oli, please.”

“But I can make you cum.” he tells you. He frees your face and holds his hands under the bends of your knees. You feel every breath in your lungs escape as he folds you in half. He can’t help but laugh, not quite at your expense but it feels like that regardless. Only because he’s shocked. He can’t believe such a simple change could have you cumming so quickly for him. “Good girl, that’s it, baby.” he praises you.

“Haah, hah, aaaah! O-Oli! Mmmpf—!” you gasp, creaming around him pathetically as he drills his length in and out of you.

“I’ll make you cum t-that hard. Every fucking time, princess.” he stutters as he nears his own end. He isn’t sure, but he’s almost certain he sees your eyes cross as you cum for him. God you’re such a slut. He can’t believe you’ve been acting so coy and hard to get for so long. You’ll be addicted, now. You won’t be able to get enough now that you’ve experienced what a good fuck can really do for you. “Fuck. Fuuuuu-ck…” he finishes, still thrusting into you.

The warmth you feel coat your insides has your self esteem at an all time high. And you hate how much of a simple-minded girl you really are. As if guys won’t cum in anything they stick their dicks in if given the chance. And, still, you feel so special that Oliver Aiku chose you to be his own personal cum dump for the night.

His sweet words and ability to make you unravel make you feel more meaningful to him than you really are. He kisses you repeatedly before collapsing by your side. His seed dribbles out of your spent cunt and, now, you feel disgusting. But it doesn’t take long for him to catch his breath and move to spoon you again. He puts his softening length back inside, intent on keeping you plugged up with the goal of falling asleep like this.

“T-Thank you… Oli…” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak.

But a sweet kiss on your shoulder is all you needed from him.

“Oliver.” you whisper.

He grunts in response, and that’s all. You consider saying his name again. You consider saying it a little louder this time so he’ll hear you. But instead, you drop it. If anything, it’s probably a blessing. You raise your head a little to check where all of your belongings are. If he’s so out of it that he can’t even respond to his name, you should take the chance to sneak out before anyone can tease you about your antics.

You’re expecting an earful from Lacey. She’ll want to talk about every sordid detail. And, truthfully, you’d rather die. You’re embarrassed. You’re ashamed of yourself for even having sex on your mind when you’re dealing with a stalker.

The thought of the other guys seeing you is filling you with embarrassment, too. You know already without even seeing them that everyone knows what you did. You were so loud, both of you were. And in the moment, you didn’t care. Oliver didn’t either, but he’ll wake up not caring too.

Guys that hadn’t heard you fucking will have definitely been told by now. You’ll be greeted by smirks and torment on your way out of the frat. You should have known this would end up happening. It’s been obvious how much Oliver wanted this for a long time, and you held off, but last night you were weak.

So weak, and now you want to runaway from the scene of the crime.

You’re taken aback as you try and get out of bed but you’re pulled straight back into Oliver’s arms.

“Where’d you think you’re going?” he asks.

Fuck.

As if he couldn’t get any sexier, of course his morning voice is hot. It’s coarse and rugged and you instinctively melt back into his arms. You’ll tell him. You will tell him that you’re leaving. Right after you grind on him a little bit.

Just a little bit.

“I h-have to go,” you lie. “I’ve got things to do, Oli.”

“Mmm, don’t care. Got morning wood, feel it?” he asks. His arm snakes around your body and his palm flattens against your stomach so that your ass is pressed against his erection once again. “Can’t go ‘til you do something about it.”

“Oli I, aah, fu—! N-Not fair…” you mewl as his fingers dip into your panties and his fingers begin to play with your silky clit.

“Suck me off.” he commands, his touches on your clit become lighter and lighter until he stops completely. “I’ll finger you ‘til you’re droolin’ if you suck this cock f’me, princess.” he stuffs his wet fingers into your mouth so you can taste yourself. It catches you off guard, and you sputter around them. But as he continues to finger fuck your face, you begin to mewl around his thick digits. “Good girl, just suck my cock like that.”

He reaches behind his head and throws a pillow to the ground for you. He lifts you so you’re facing him, and can’t quite believe how seamlessly he manages to carry and move you exactly where he wants.

And then you remember, he’s experienced.

He sits on the edge of the bed whilst your legs are wrapped around his waist as you make out. He bites your lip and encourages you to drop to the ground. You nod, reluctantly, worried that you won’t be able to give the performance he’s hoping for.

But regardless, he watches as you move the pillow across the floor and between his feet so you can kneel on it.

You whimper a little as your legs widen as you kneel, feeling last nights ejaculate slowly drip out of you and onto his fresh, pristine pillow. He doesn’t care, though. His dick is soaked from your cunt and his pre. And it’s all you can think about as he lightly slaps it against your nose and lips.

Your jaw loosens and your mouth is a perfect ‘O’ shape for him to slot into. His fingers lace through your hair as he slowly lowers you onto his cock. You hadn’t noticed in the dark, but he’s uncircumcised. You’ve never seen a dick like his before.

Your hand wraps around his length as you take him into your mouth, but you soon pull away again. You can’t believe how much easier it is to work someone with foreskin.

He smirks, seeing the thoughts go through your head. He’s so sensitive and receptive and you’re clueless. He’s practically putty in your hands and yet you think he’s the one in control. You’re so cute and naïve.

He loves girls like you.

“Suck it, princess.” he commands. “S’not a toy, y’know. Suck my dick clean.”

You clear your throat before sinking down onto his length once again, finding a steady rhythm to suck and lick and take him down your throat. He’s average length, but he’s girthy. It’s hard to take, honestly. Compared to your pencil-dicked ex, your eyes are watering and you’re doing anything and everything not to choke or gag.

He sees it, too, he’s got a perfect view as he tugs at your hair to make sure you’re keeping eye contact with him as you suck him dry.

“That’s a good slut,” he smirks through a heavy breath. “Take this dick, jus’ like that…” he continues.

Your thighs squeeze together as he degrades you. You don’t like it, you don’t like that you’ve become a slut after being his princess. But at the same time, you love it. You want to hear it again. So you take him deeper. And deeper.

“Such a dumb girl letting that loser ex of yours stick his dick in you.” he says, licking his lips as he pushes your head lightly. His chest rises and falls rapidly as the pressure of his hand intensifies until your nose brushes against brunette curls, and then squishes against his pubis. “And now he’s stalking you… what do you think he’d do if he knew you were sucking this cock?” he asks, his voice breathy and desperate as his hips start to buck.

You try to pull away, but the barely trying effort of his hand keeping you in place is somehow stronger. He coos as you stutter, struggling to breathe through the desperation.

“Breathe through your nose, stupid.” he tells you. “Good cock makes pretty girls like you real dumb.” he smiles.

He yanks at your hair until you’re fully removed from his cock. Pre and dribble pools from your mouth as you gasp desperately. You want to be mad at him, you want to tell him not to speak to you like that.

But you can’t.

Not when his lips are on yours and you feel yourself getting off from the idea of him tasting himself on your tongue. You’re breathless and out of words when he breaks it momentarily, and the sound of tacky masturbation is like a tidal wave in your ears.

“My pretty little slut, aren’t you?” he asks, kissing you again before you can answer. You can’t answer when your head is so empty. Is that really what you are? It doesn’t matter, you suppose. He’s already decided for you. “God, don’t you have any self-respect? Don’t you think you deserve better than being a stupid slut for me?”

His face contorts as he jerks himself harder and faster. You’re too busy thinking about his question to notice, though. You suck his tip into your mouth before he forces you away. His intimidating glare telling you that he’s looking for an answer this time.

“M-Maybe…” you pout, eyes wet and wide as you wonder aloud. Do you deserve better? Isn’t this all your good for? He’ll keep you safe, at least. He seems to like you more than any other girl on campus. He’s the best fuck you’ve ever had and you’re way more into him than you’d ever let on.

And just the as word leaves your lips, he’s moaning boisterously. Your face painted in white, pearly cum. A showing of just how much worth you have in his eyes. It feels almost endless as he gives you a full facial, hissing as it drips from your eyelash and into your eye.

He scrapes some of it from your face and force feeds it into your mouth.

You’re disgusting, too, because you suck without question.

“Fuck, you’re nasty.” he laughs. He lifts you up from the ground and tosses you onto the bed with little care. You almost want to cry from the stinging sensation you feel in your eye. You should have left when you had the chance. Instead you’re starting off the morning and Oliver Aiku’s cum rag. You don’t feel much better when he throws your shorts at you. “Clean yourself up.”

You try your best, focusing the material around your eye area as you try to do some sort of damage control. You see him tuck his dick into his sweats with your unaffected eye, and he swaggers towards the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“I’ll get you a towel, wait here.” he tells you.

He hastens down the stairs and walks into the kitchen. The frat is bare, he suspects most of the guys must still be in bed. Though as soon as he rounds the corner, he notices Eita sitting at the kitchen table. They share a knowing smirk, silently celebrating the fact that Oliver finally got what he wanted out of you.

Oliver pours himself a bowl of cereal, leaning against the counter as he crunches it between his teeth. Eita looks up from his phone after a few moments of silence and finally speaks.

“Did you fuck her, then? Or—”

“Fucked her stupid. ‘n she sucked me off this morning.” he smirks, slurping the milk on his spoon as he thinks about your pretty face covered in his seed. “All thanks to you, my friend.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eita laughs, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear and igniting it with a lighter from his pocket.

“No no, really, thank you.” he laughs, “I got to be her knight in shining armour when you called her last night. She was so easy to fuck after that.” he grins, holding a fist out for him to bump. Eita chuckles, trading which hand holds his cigarette before returning the gesture.

“You’re such a sick fuck.” Eita laughs, scrolling through his phone. “Look,” he shows his screen to Oliver. He can only laugh when he sees yet another article about the psycho serial killer that has made your anxiety worse than it already would be with a stalker on the loose.

“I’m not the one killing girls, am I?” Oliver comments, “Just scaring one girl with some heavy breathing.” he shrugs.

Even he isn’t twisted enough to think whoever this local serial killer is isn’t completely fucked up. But he can’t deny that it started happening at the perfect time. After he set his plan in motion to be your stalker. After he planted a seed in your mind that he’d always be there for you if you needed him. He’d always protect you no matter what happened, and he wasn’t about to let this stalker get to you.

You fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. You’re even starting to suspect your stupid limp dick ex because he told you to suspect him. Oliver Aiku, the guy who’s always around when you need him most. The guy who’s always just a phone call or text message away. The guy who’s always offered to be by your side and jump in harms way to protect you.

Oliver wasn’t even on your radar.

Perfect Oliver.

Sweet Oliver.

© 2024 rinhaler

[kathlare]

forever & always

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie and Lando reunite in Monaco as she arrives to start a new chapter of her life.

Wordcount: 7.2 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

May 21st, 2025 - Monte Carlo, Monaco

The Nice Côte d’Azur Airport buzzed with the usual afternoon chaos—trolleys squeaking, voices layered over loudspeaker announcements, families arguing over luggage weight limits. But Amelie barely noticed any of it. She stood near baggage claim, five suitcases stacked like a tower beside her, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose, and Björn howling dramatically from his carrier slung over her shoulder. Benny was curled up calmly in his, snoozing like they weren’t in the middle of an international relocation.

She looked around casually, scanning the arrivals area.

And then she saw him.

Or more accurately—he saw her first.

Across the crowd, past a row of confused tourists and a woman dragging three screaming toddlers, Lando Norris bolted. Literally dropped the sunglasses he had been fidgeting with and ran.

—Amelie!—

The shout cracked through the air like thunder, drawing more than a few startled glances from nearby travelers, but she barely noticed. One second, Lando was just a blur in the distance—hoodie half-on, curls bouncing, wearing the most ridiculous grin she’d ever seen—and the next, he was barreling toward her like a damn freight train.

She barely had time to brace herself.

—Oh, my fucking God, Ames.—

He crashed into her with a force that nearly knocked her flat, arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her clean off the ground. Her sunglasses went askew as she squealed, laughing into his shoulder, arms flung around his neck.

—You’re gonna break my spine, Lan.— she giggled, voice muffled in his hoodie.

—I haven’t seen you in years.— he breathed dramatically, already pressing kisses all over her face. Her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, even the corner of her mouth. —Literal decades. I thought I was hallucinating you. Jesus fucking Christ, you’re real. You’re here.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, smiling so wide her cheeks ached. —It’s been a week.—

—A week is too fucking long.—

Lando spun her once like he was in some cheesy rom-com, causing a very offended Björn to screech inside his carrier. Benny stirred in his, stretching like he didn’t just wake up in a European airport.

He finally set her down, but didn’t let go. His hands slid to her face, holding her gently, eyes roaming like he didn’t know where to look first.

Lando leaned in, pressing a kiss just under her jaw, then another at her temple, then right between her eyebrows. —God, I missed you.—

—Missed you too, Lan.—

—No, like... actually. I didn’t sleep properly. I’ve been lying there in our bed like a freak. You weren’t hogging the duvet. It felt wrong.—

Amelie snorted, eyes dancing. —You’re ridiculous.—

—And in love with you.— he said matter-of-factly, arms still wrapped tight around her waist. —But mostly ridiculous.—

—You’re so dramatic. Do you greet all your girlfriends this way?— she teased, nose brushing against his.

He grinned, eyes shining. —Only the ones moving in with me.—

That made something in her chest flutter. The realness of it. The fact that she wasn’t just here for a visit—this was her life now. Their life. In Monaco. With their cats and their chaos and their shared closet space.

—Fuck, I love you.— she murmured, brushing her lips lightly over his.

Lando kissed her slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. Like no one was watching them in the middle of a busy airport.

Then, as if remembering where they were, he stepped back with a sudden gasp and threw a hand over his heart.

—Wait. What the hell did you pack? The entire contents of Los Angeles?—

Amelie laughed, flipping her sunglasses back up onto her head. —I panicked, okay? And Minnie kept saying “bring that, what if it gets cold at night?” and then Alex convinced me I needed three different types of coats. Don’t look at me like that.—

—Five suitcases, Ames.— He glanced at the towering stack. —I genuinely don’t think I even own five suitcases.—

—You’re gonna love unpacking them with me.— she said sweetly.

He groaned, but he was still smiling like an idiot. —You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you.—

She leaned in close, brushing her lips against his cheek. —You are.—

Lando grabbed two of the suitcases and Björn’s carrier like they weighed nothing, ignoring the cat’s angry screech. —You know he’s plotting my death now, right?—

—He plots everyone's death. You’re special because he doesn’t hiss when you enter the room anymore.—

—That's the bar? Seriously? Amazing.—

Amelie trailed beside him, Benny’s carrier slung over her shoulder as he dragged the luggage toward the car park. Her heart felt like it might burst from how stupidly happy she was. Jetlagged and sweaty and overloaded, and yet, everything felt perfect.

—Hey, Ames?— Lando said suddenly as they reached the car.

—Yeah?—

He turned, arms full of suitcases and cat carrier dangling off one wrist, looking at her with that same dumb-in-love expression.

—You know you’re never getting rid of me now, right? Like, it’s done. I’m in this for good. You’re stuck with me.—

She smiled, slow and warm, reaching out to brush his cheek with the backs of her fingers.

—Good.— she whispered. —I’m in this too.—

He kissed her again, and if the kiss was a little too long and way too sweet for an airport parking lot, neither of them cared.

Björn screamed in protest.

—Welcome home, baby.— Lando grinned.

And just like that, she was.

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

liked by lanmelieupdates, ferrarigirlieee, and others

f1wagsdaily: 🚨 SPOTTED: Amelie Dayman at Nice Airport this morning 👀✨ Could she be heading to Monaco ahead of race week? 👑 No official word yet, but the Lanmelie stans are already manifesting a grid appearance 😭❤️

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f1babezzz: she’s on her way to monaco and i just KNOW lando’s about to act right 😭 → lanmelieloverrr: @f1babezzz his girlfriend buff gets activated as soon as she lands

gridgirlie: is that BROWN HAIR under the cap or am i delulu → lanmellife: @gridgirlie if she went brunette again i’m shaving my head in solidarity

wagscentral: monaco gp + amelie = red carpet vibes incoming → lan4life: @wagscentral we’re getting lanmelie yacht pics and i’m not emotionally ready

helmetandheels: imagine flying to monaco just to boost your man’s quali pace → drsdiva: @helmetandheels wag behavior we should all aspire to

lanmelieedits: girl packed like she's moving to monaco permanently 😭 → wagsonwags: @lanmelieedits be fr she’s bringing a different outfit for every hour

ferrarigirlieee: she’s not even there yet and charles already flinching knowing lando gonna turn into loverboy mode → amsdaisy: @ferrarigirlieee protect him at all costs 😭

brunchwiththegrid: nah she got 5 suitcases for 3 days i KNOW a serve is brewing → maxyspov: @brunchwiththegrid the outfits about to outqualify half the grid

lanmelieupdates: THEY’RE GONNA BE IN MONACO TOGETHER AGAIN WE’RE SO BACK → gridgossipqueen: @lanmelieupdates monaco 2024 was for the enemies, 2025 is for the lovers 🫡

amelieswardrobe: i fear the slay this weekend will be historic → chaoticwags: @amelieswardrobe i’m already crying and she hasn’t even posted yet

f1stylequeen: Amelie out here with like 5 suitcases for a weekend stay 😭 what she packing? Her whole closet? → glamgod: @f1stylequeen gotta bring the whole runway to the race track, sis

gridgirly: she landed in nice and immediately raised the airport's average beauty score by 2849% → dramainsector3: @gridgirly they had to delay 3 flights bc pilots got distracted

ameliearchives: if we don’t get a yacht outfit + a cheek kiss on the grid combo this weekend i’m suing → wagwatcher: @ameliearchives AND a story post from her w lando’s tag hidden in the corner i need it all

wagscentral: she’s in her wag era but still giving main character → lanfan97: @wagscentral she’s not a wag she’s THE wag

pitlaneprincess: monaco? amelie? yachts? chaos is coming

lanmelieburner: LANDO’S GONNA BE UNBEARABLE WHEN HE SEES HER → f1dramagf: @lanmelieburner i give him 2 mins before he posts a blurry pic of her with heart emojis

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

By the time they reached the apartment building, Amelie was exhausted. Between the jetlag, wrangling two cats, and the small matter of having packed half of Los Angeles into five suitcases, her body felt like it had run a marathon in platform boots. But none of it mattered—not really. Not with Lando grinning like a madman beside her, not with Monaco glowing gold under the late afternoon sun, and not with every elevator chime bringing her one floor closer to home.

Their home.

That thought alone made her heart thud against her ribs.

Lando had insisted on carrying most of the load—dragging suitcases, managing a howling Björn with one hand and swiping the keycard to the private penthouse elevator with the other. Amelie followed behind, Benny’s carrier slung over her shoulder and her eyes on him the whole way up, amused at the way he muttered loving threats at Björn under his breath.

—One day,— he grumbled, shifting the bag as the cat yowled in protest, —I’m going to win you over, and it’s going to be my greatest achievement.—

—Right after becoming a World Champion and marrying me,— Amelie quipped, voice light.

Lando smirked. —Exactly. Top three life goals. Not necessarily in that order.—

The elevator dinged.

And her stomach flipped.

Because the last time she was here, this place had screamed Lando. Like, in all caps. Bachelor pad levels of Lando. F1 art covering every surface. Helmets displayed like priceless artifacts. Three—three—photos of himself on the same wall. One of which was shirtless.

There’d been a mini-fridge full of Monsters and nothing in the actual kitchen. The vibe was very frat boy with money who got too excited on Etsy.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet ding, and Lando stepped out first, wheeling two suitcases behind him and nudging the door to the penthouse with his shoulder. He turned, grinning boyishly as he gestured dramatically.

—Milady,— he said in a terrible accent, —may I present to you… the humble Norris residence.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, shifting Benny’s carrier on her shoulder. —If I see one more poster of your shirtless self, I’m turning around.—

But he didn’t answer with a comeback this time. He just smiled. That soft, secret smile he saved for moments he cared about. And then he reached for the doorknob, pausing only to say:

—Ready?—

She nodded.

The door swung open.

And holy fuck.

Amelie froze in the doorway.

Her jaw dropped, eyes wide as they slowly scanned the space in front of her. This… this wasn’t what she remembered. It wasn’t even in the same universe.

Gone were the man cave vibes. The F1 shrine. The unused, cold kitchen. The crash of clashing bachelor furniture and stark white walls.

Instead, the space was warm. Thoughtful. Stunning.

Soft golden light poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a glow across warm wood floors and low cream couches that looked stupidly comfortable. Plants—real ones—draped from hanging pots and corners of bookshelves. There was a muted palette of warm neutrals, with soft textures and little bursts of color: burnt orange throw pillows, sage green accents, and a deep navy velvet chair that practically begged for her to curl up with a book.

The dining table wasn’t cluttered with unopened Amazon boxes anymore—it was set with candles in minimalist holders and a vase of fresh flowers.

And the art—God, the art. Tasteful prints now lined the walls. Not a single shirtless photo of Lando in sight. Instead, there were framed photos of them. Her and Lando in blurry Polaroids, one of her laughing with Minnie in Italy, another of him with his arms thrown around Max and George. A shot from one of her concerts. A candid of her in the kitchen, biting into a croissant with powdered sugar on her nose. It felt lived in. Loved.

Amelie stepped inside slowly, stunned into silence.

And then she noticed the kitchen.

She gasped.

—Oh my God.—

The kitchen was gorgeous. Marble counters, brass fixtures, and shelves with neatly labeled glass jars. There were cookbooks—actual cookbooks—and a matcha station that made her knees go weak. And her pastel pink KitchenAid mixer—the one she left behind in LA—was on the counter, next to a fruit bowl and a little post-it with her handwriting on it from months ago.

—Lan…— she whispered.

He dropped the suitcase handles, stepping up behind her. His voice was soft, nervous. —You like it?—

—Like it? I... Lando, it’s perfect. I feel like I just walked into a Pinterest board. Holy shit.—

He laughed, half-relieved. —That’s kind of what I was going for.—

Amelie turned to look at him, heart hammering against her ribs. —You did all this?—

—Well, I supervised,— he said sheepishly. —I might’ve had a little help. Minnie, Lily, Alex, Carmen… even Elysia came out for a weekend. I didn’t really know what the fuck I was doing, but I just— I wanted it to feel like you. Like us.—

She stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes.

—There’s no Monsters fridge.—

He smiled. —Sold it on Facebook Marketplace.—

—The shirtless photos?—

—Burned them in a ritual fire with Alex Albon.—

She snorted, blinking quickly. —You kept the helmets though.—

—Of course. But they’re in the office now. Tamed. You won’t be waking up next to my 2021 crash visor anymore.—

Amelie stepped further into the apartment, drinking in every detail. The rugs, the soft lighting, the framed artwork of Japanese landscapes—one she recognized from the Quadrant shoot. The cats’ new scratching post in the corner, big enough for Björn to conquer like a little tyrant. The record player. Her books on the shelves.

And then she turned the corner and saw the bedroom.

She covered her mouth.

It was everything she didn’t know she’d wanted.

A soft canopy framed the bed, white linen curtains tied back with velvet ribbons. The duvet was fluffy and inviting, topped with pillows in varying shades of cream and dusty rose. A bench sat at the foot of the bed, draped with one of her favorite throws—the one she always stole from Lando’s couch in LA. Fairy lights curled around the curtain rod, and a candle flickered gently on the bedside table.

A stack of her favorite books sat beside it.

Her framed Vogue cover leaned against the wall.

And on the far dresser—next to a ceramic dish filled with her rings and bracelets—stood a picture of them at the lake house in Como. She was wearing one of his hoodies, her hair wet from the water, laughing at something off camera. He was looking at her, not the lens. Just looking.

—Oh, Lan…— she whispered again, her voice cracking.

He stepped into the room behind her, arms loose at his sides. Quiet. Not cocky or smug or teasing—just... waiting. Watching her with soft eyes.

—Do you really like it?— he asked, almost afraid.

Amelie turned to face him fully, blinking through the tears that threatened to spill over. She didn’t just like it. She felt it. In every little choice. Every detail. It was her. It was him. It was them.

She took a slow step forward and pressed both hands to his chest, curling her fingers into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

—You made a home for us,— she murmured.

Lando’s breath hitched. —Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.—

She leaned up and kissed him—softly at first, then again, harder. One hand slid to the back of his neck, the other gripping the front of his hoodie like she couldn’t bear to let him go. And he kissed her back like he’d been waiting for this exact moment since the second she left LA.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Amelie rested her forehead against his.

—You didn’t have to do all this, you know.—

—I wanted to.— His fingers curled around her waist, pulling her even closer. —I just kept thinking... if this is gonna be our place, it needs to feel like you. Not just me and my tragic obsession with carbon fiber and energy drinks.—

Amelie laughed, the sound watery and soft.

—You succeeded. God, Lando… You really fucking succeeded.—

He smiled then. Wide and unguarded, the kind of smile that made her stomach somersault and her knees go a little weak. The kind of smile that told her he would do it all over again in a heartbeat just to see that look on her face.

—Okay,— he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish shrug, —enough standing around looking emotional. We still have, like, a thousand suitcases to unpack. And two very judgmental cats trying to pretend they don’t live here now.—

Almost on cue, a low yowl came from the living room.

Amelie leaned past him to peek.

Björn was sitting on the new cream rug, his fur puffed up and tail twitching like he was planning a full military invasion. Benny had already claimed the velvet chair, curled up like a prince, as if he’d lived there for years.

Almost on cue, a low yowl came from the living room.

Amelie leaned past him to peek.

Björn was sitting on the new cream rug, his fur puffed up and tail twitching like he was planning a full military invasion. Benny had already claimed the velvet chair, curled up like a prince, as if he’d lived there for years.

Lando bent down to Björn’s level, voice gentle and coaxing. —Hey, little dude. This place is new, yeah? You’re gonna be okay. I promise.—

Björn narrowed his eyes but didn’t bolt, just flicked his tail once and settled into a less aggressive posture.

Amelie chuckled, kneeling beside Lando. —Looks like Benny’s already giving the place his royal seal of approval.—

Lando grabbed a suitcase and opened it, handing her some carefully folded clothes. —Let’s get you settled. Then we have exactly two hours to get ready before the F1 movie private screening.—

Amelie sighed but smiled, energized by the love and care poured into every corner of this apartment. —Two hours. No pressure.—

They moved through the rooms in easy rhythm—Lando unpacking shoes while Amelie folded shirts, cat carriers now empty as Benny batted at a dangling fern and Björn tentatively sniffed a new scratching post.

The place wasn’t just a penthouse anymore.

It was home.

And tonight, they’d celebrate it.

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

liked by melieposting, gridgossipgirl, and others

lanmelieupdates: Lando and Amelie were spotted driving around Monaco after the private screening of the F1 movie 😭🎬🚗 not a single paparazzi car could catch them but love sure did.

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amelieupdates: HE LOOKS SO GOOD IT’S UNFAIR 😭 amelie’s taste is elite → queenmelie: @amelieupdates he’s literally her best accessory at this point → sundayswithlan: @amelieupdates i need a pic of them together asap or i will sue

f1hotgirlsummer: monaco lando hits DIFFERENT like he knows the camera’s on → meliezone: @f1hotgirlsummer amelie trained him well what can i say 😌 → pitlaneprincess: @f1hotgirlsummer she really upgraded his entire aura lbr

lanmelieslut69: why is lando there alone??? where’s OUR girl amelie 😭 → mclanmelie: @lanmelieslut69 fr it’s not a red carpet unless she’s there to serve → vroomvroomval: @lanmelieslut69 justice for the plus one 😤

melieposting: lando looks GOOD but the vibes are off without miss amelie there → softgridgirl: @melieposting like he’s smiling but you can tell he’s thinking about her → lanfluffies: @melieposting he's just waiting to FaceTime her after 😭

lanleaks: nah i need an IG story of them in the theater cuddling or what was the point → melieuniverse: @lanleaks bro dropped his gf and still brought couple energy

pitlaneloveletter: he needs her there to complete the power couple formation 😩 → meliehive: @pitlaneloveletter this is like batman without robin → tifosixoxo: @pitlaneloveletter let’s hope she’s flying in secret 👀

lanmelie4eva: lando babe you looked amazing but it’s a little lonely without your girl 😭

melieinmonaco: i’m not saying i need lanmelie red carpet content… but i do → gridgossipgirl: @melieinmonaco they would shut that whole screening DOWN → lanmelieburner: @melieinmonaco we’ve been so well fed lately pls let the streak continue 😭

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

The energy inside the venue buzzed with anticipation, a mixture of engine-rev excitement and Hollywood glitz. Lando stood near the side of the velvet ropes inside the lobby of the private cinema, dressed in his team polo and black trousers, the McLaren logo sitting crisp against the orange fabric. His hands were shoved in his pockets as he spoke with Charles and Alexandra, occasionally glancing at the entrance as more people filtered in.

Charles looked unbothered, chewing on some gum while adjusting the collar of his shirt. Alexandra looked stunning in a silky black dress, hair pinned back in a sleek low bun, diamonds glittering at her ears.

—Where is she?— Alexandra asked with a small smile, nudging Lando’s arm. —Everyone keeps asking me when she’s getting here. You didn’t come with her?—

Lando shrugged, trying to keep it casual, but the truth was he hadn’t seen Amelie in hours. He’d had to do a bunch of press stuff for McLaren earlier in the day—photos, interviews, a roundtable that felt like it’d never end. They were supposed to meet here, and she'd texted a vague “be there soon x” about twenty minutes ago.

—She said she’d meet me here,— he replied, tapping his phone screen for the millionth time, even though there were no new messages. —Probably stuck getting her hair done or something. You know her.—

Charles smirked. —I hope she brings Björn as a plus one. I’d like to see him launch himself at Christian Horner.—

Lando snorted, but before he could respond, the energy in the room shifted.

It was almost imperceptible at first—like the air had thinned or turned warmer. Conversations paused. Heads turned. Whispers spread in waves across the room.

And then the doors opened.

And there she was.

Amelie walked in like she owned the damn city. And maybe she did. Her long dark hair was swept back in a high ponytail. She wore a floor-length brown gown, backless and sleek, with an asymmetrical neckline that showed off her collarbones and a single shoulder. It was elegant and bold, just like her, the fabric catching every light as she moved.

She looked fucking breathtaking.

Lando felt it in his chest, in his gut, in the way every nerve in his body lit up at once. Like the world just tilted slightly to follow her entrance.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, unfazed by the attention, like she was used to it. Which, to be fair, she was. She gave a couple of waves to people she knew, a smile playing on her lips, before her gaze locked onto him.

Lando didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until she was walking over.

—You were just saying you missed her,— Alexandra teased under her breath, and Lando nudged her lightly without breaking his stare.

Amelie reached them with that signature smile of hers—confident and warm and just a little cheeky. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, and when she reached them, Alexandra stepped forward and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

—You look incredible. God, your hair? How is it that shiny? What shampoo do you use? Magic?—

Amelie laughed, voice light. —A mixture of black magic, tears, and overpriced conditioner from Tokyo. You look unreal too, Alex. I almost didn’t recognize Charles with a shirt on.—

Charles grinned. —You wound me.—

But Lando wasn’t listening anymore. She turned to him next, her eyes softening when they met his. He was still stuck in place, watching her like she’d just stepped off a movie screen and into his life. Which, honestly, she kinda had.

—Hi, Lan,— she said, soft, stepping in close.

—Hi, Ames,— he breathed, and then he smiled, unable to help it. —Jesus. You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.—

—That’s the plan,— she whispered back with a wink, before sliding her hand into his.

The warmth of her fingers calmed something tight in his chest. It always did.

They moved slightly to the side as the rest of the crowd continued buzzing behind them, the other drivers posing for photos, teams mingling, more WAGs arriving in clusters. Lando leaned closer, brushing his nose against her temple as he asked:

—Where were you? I was starting to think you bailed.—

Amelie sighed. —Benny didn’t want me to leave. He literally sat on my dress while I was trying to put it on. It was a whole negotiation.—

—So what you’re saying is I’m fighting for your attention with a clingy cat.—

—You’re second in command after him. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.—

He chuckled, eyes scanning her face. —I would’ve preferred staying in tonight. Just us. No media. No chaos. Just… our place.—

She leaned her head on his shoulder for a second. —Me too. But being with you? Even here? Still the better option.—

He kissed the top of her head.

They stood like that for a moment, their hands linked, half-tucked away from the spotlight but still drawing glances from almost everyone in the room. There was something magnetic about them—maybe because people remembered when they were just friends, when it was all jokes and streams and pandemic chaos. Or maybe because they'd always looked at each other like this, even before they could admit why.

Amelie was glowing. Not just because of the dress or the hair or the makeup—but because she was comfortable now. Safe in her own skin in a way she hadn’t always been. There’d been years where food was a battle and mirrors were cruel and life felt like a test she kept failing. But now… now she stood taller. Softer. Stronger. Her recovery wasn’t perfect—he knew that. There were still days where things got hard. But she was better. She was okay. And Lando was proud of her in ways he couldn’t even begin to explain.

—You good?— she asked, tilting her head to look at him.

He nodded, squeezing her hand. —Yeah. Better now that you’re here.—

—You’re such a sap tonight.—

—You love it.—

—Unfortunately for my sanity, yeah, I do.—

He grinned, leaning in close to her ear. —You coming back to mine after this? We can open a bottle, cuddle Benny, pretend Björn doesn’t exist.—

Amelie smiled, amused. —You mean our place?—

He paused, letting the words settle in his chest. Our place.

God, he loved her.

—Yeah. Ours.—

They stayed like that until they were called in to find their seats, still hand-in-hand, still in their own little world despite the cameras and murmurs around them. As the lights dimmed and the F1 logos appeared on screen, Lando turned to look at her one last time.

Her eyes were already on him.

And yeah. He could’ve stayed home tonight.

But there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than next to her.

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

liked by wagswithattitude, sainzyslut, and others

landoarchives: Lando looking fresh as ever in Monaco today for the private screening of the F1 movie 🎬🏁🍿

View all 92,099 comments

lanmeliecarats: he’s literally in his romcom era and i’m just watching it play out in 4k → pitlaneprincess: @lanmeliecarats bro thinks he’s in a Nicholas Sparks movie and honestly? he is

ameliespinklighter: they’re just driving around monaco like a james bond couple… → wifeymelie: @ameliespinklighter lando is so the getaway driver and she’s the mastermind

chaoticwags: this man got p1 in life when she said yes 😭 → norisimp: @chaoticwags i fear he hasn’t stopped smiling since

lanlorenzo: not him doing victory laps with her post-screening 😭 → ameliesbarbie: @lanlorenzo his prize is literally in the passenger seat LMAO

f1gfthings: she probably let him drive just so she could play with the aux 😭

wagswithattitude: lanmelie spotted in monaco is my new religion → melieonpole: @wagswithattitude bible rewritten. commandments updated.

gridgirlboss: lando driving around monaco like he doesn’t got the baddest girl alive in the passenger seat 😭 → lanmeliesmutbrain: @gridgirlboss the way he’s clutching that steering wheel like it’s her thigh LMAO

lanlust: if i was Lando and Amelie said “let’s go for a drive” i would simply black out from happiness → ameliedaydreams: @lanlust you just KNOW he was speeding up every time she laughed

paddockpetty: she’s playing co-pilot, spotify DJ, and main character all at once → f1sundays: @paddockpetty multitasking queen i fear

lanf1rthirst: no one talk to me unless you’re them. or driving through monaco with your soulmate → chaoticwags: @lanf1rthirst they make monaco feel like a cozy lil small town

lanmelie4everrr: this is better than the F1 movie i fear → paddockchronicles: @lanmelie4everrr and we get sequels every week?? we WON

ameliecore: she’s giving "i stole the rich boy’s heart and his mclaren"

sainzyslut: raise your hand if you wanna be in the backseat just vibing while they flirt up front 🙋‍♀️ → throttlechokers: @sainzyslut girl i’ll sit in the trunk if i have to

lanmelieupdates: they’re not even driving... they’re FLOATING. on ✨vibes✨ → norrisnation: @lanmelieupdates lando’s foot isn’t on the gas it’s on the gaslight gatekeep girlboss

meliecore: this is giving honeymoon soft launch and i’m NOT OKAY

ameliescurls: this is the calm before the Monaco chaos and i love it → softlan: @ameliescurls she’s his pre-race meditation and his post-race celebration 😭

wagsupreme: lanmelie doing casual PDA in monaco like the whole world isn’t obsessed with them

tiresoftlove: lando’s biggest win is dating someone hotter than his car 😭 → meliespitcrew: @tiresoftlove the MCL60 could NEVER compete

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

The night air in Monaco was warm and soft, like silk against skin. After the F1 movie screening wrapped, the streets glimmered under gold-tinted lights, casting a cinematic glow over the harbor and the winding hills above. It was the kind of night that felt like it had a heartbeat of its own.

Lando drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting over Amelie’s thigh, the McLaren courtesy car weaving its way up toward the restaurant where the Meshki x Alexandra Saint Mleux event was taking place. She sat beside him in the passenger seat, her brown gown draped elegantly around her legs, heels kicked off for the short drive.

He pulled up a few meters from the venue, just where the crowd hadn't gathered yet but where the lights from the restaurant flickered against the car windows.

—You really have to go?— he murmured, turning toward her.

Amelie smiled, already reaching for her heels. —Lan, I promised Alex I’d show up. You’ll survive an hour without me.—

He leaned closer, lips brushing her shoulder. —I’m not so sure about that.—

She slipped her shoes on, hair still in its perfect ponytail, though a few strands had fallen from the sides with the breeze and the movement. God, she looked unreal. But more than that—she looked happy. Comfortable. Lit up from inside.

He sighed. —If you're not having fun, just call me, okay? I’ll come get you. I mean it. I don't care if it’s been five minutes. I’ll be here.—

Amelie rolled her eyes, a teasing smile tugging at her mouth. —Lan. Relax. It’s not a battlefield. It’s a dinner with girls who know how to contour and say “ciao” without sounding like tourists.—

—That sounds worse than a battlefield,— he deadpanned, and she laughed, leaning in to give him a quick kiss.

—Go home. Cuddle Benny. Try to bond with Björn again. I’ll text you when I’m done.—

—You’re ditching me for beauty gurus. Rude.—

She kissed him again, softer this time. —You’re the one who dropped me off. Enabler behavior.—

Outside, the cameras had started flashing a few paces away, people recognizing the car. Amelie reached for the door handle but glanced at him one last time.

—Have fun with the cats.—

Lando flipped her off.

She just blew him a kiss, grinning as she stepped out into the night.

The second she stood up, the attention shifted. Phones lifted. People whispered. Someone called her name. And still, she didn’t falter—just adjusted her posture, tossed her hair over one shoulder, and walked toward the entrance like she belonged there.

And she did.

Lando watched until she disappeared through the doors, his chest warm and aching in the best way.

The restaurant was candlelit, modern yet romantic, tucked into a quiet corner of Monaco’s old district. The Meshki x Alexandra Saint Mleux banner hung in soft ivory tones near the entrance, the venue transformed with blush-colored roses, silk curtains, and long marble tables set with gold cutlery.

Amelie stepped inside and was immediately greeted by Alexandra, who looked like a dream in a black mesh slip dress, her cheeks flushed with champagne and laughter.

—Finally!— Alex said, pulling her into a hug. —You’re the only person whose entrance rivals mine tonight.—

—Please. You’ve always been the main event,— Amelie teased.

Alexandra grinned and linked their arms, guiding her further inside. The place was gorgeous—elegant but with a soft, lived-in glamour. Candlelight danced off mirrored accents, and soft music played in the background, setting a warm, easy tone. It was the kind of event that felt carefully curated—down to the scent of fresh peonies in the air.

The room was filled with Monaco’s elite and international beauty influencers flown in for the occasion: sleek blowouts, glassy skin, barely-there gowns that cost more than most apartments. Amelie recognized a few faces from Instagram—Rebecca was already by the bar, talking to someone from Vogue Italia, her signature glow and effortless confidence radiating even across the room.

Amelie instinctively straightened her back.

Alex noticed. —You okay?—

Amelie nodded quickly. —Yeah, yeah. Just… not used to this kinda crowd.—

Alex gave her arm a squeeze. —That’s why you’re here with me. And anyway, they’re probably all too intimidated by how annoyingly perfect your ponytail is.—

That made Amelie laugh, and she let herself relax a little.

As they approached the table, Rebecca turned and lit up when she saw her. —You made it! God, you look stunning. I was about to send a search party.—

Amelie kissed her cheek and smiled. —I needed a driver-slash-boyfriend to drop me off. Priorities.—

—Ugh, Lando. He’s obsessed with you. It’s so cute it’s gross,— Rebecca teased, looping her arm through Amelie’s and dragging her toward the champagne cart.

Amelie glanced around as glasses were filled and tiny hors d’oeuvres were passed on crystal trays. There were cameras, yes, and whispers here and there—some people definitely looking at her longer than others, the way people do when someone “famous adjacent” walks into their niche. She felt the weight of it pressing softly on her shoulders. Not cruel, just… curious. A mix of admiration and speculation, some people maybe wondering why she was here at all.

—So,— Alexandra whispered, glancing around with a sly smile, —you’re really moving here? Like, to Monaco proper?—

—Yeah, I’m starting to move in properly soon. I figured it’s about time, right? With everything going on, it just makes sense to have a home base here. Plus, I want to stop playing musical chairs between Monaco, LA, and the circuit.—

Rebecca’s eyes sparkled with excitement. —Oh my god, that’s huge! You have no idea how many times I’ve thought, “Why don’t we have a proper girls’ night here?” This is perfect! We can finally do that.—

Alexandra squeezed Amelie’s hand. —Shopping trips, spa days, fashion events every weekend… The dream. You have no idea how much easier life is when your besties are just a short drive away.—

Amelie laughed, swirling the champagne in her glass. —I can already feel the chaos and the fun coming. I’m definitely going to need some pro guidance on how to survive the Monaco social scene, though.—

Rebecca gave her a knowing smirk. —We’ve got you. Consider us your official welcome committee. And yes, you’ll want to stock up on those little perfume vials—there’s a serious beauty black market for those around here.—

The warmth of their excitement settled around Amelie like a comforting hug. For someone who was still new to this side of glamour—one where she wasn’t performing or hiding behind a persona—it felt good. Real. Like a fresh start without all the pressure.

As the night deepened, Amelie found herself laughing more freely than she had in weeks. The conversations flowed from the latest beauty hacks to the best restaurants in town, with Rebecca sharing funny stories about sneaking around paparazzi to Alexandra teasingly critiquing Amelie’s next potential look for the AMAs.

Occasionally, Amelie caught snippets of sideways glances from some guests—those subtle “checking her out” moments that felt like a silent question: What’s she doing here? Does she belong? But instead of shrinking from it, Amelie met those gazes with a steady calm. She belonged. Tonight was hers.

The night wound down with champagne refills and a spontaneous photo session by the waterfront, the glittering lights of Monaco’s harbor casting a magical backdrop. Alexandra pulled Amelie close.

—This is just the beginning, Ames. You’re officially a local now.—

Amelie smiled, heart full. —Feels like home already. And it’s only the start of the fun.—

Rebecca raised her glass. —To new beginnings, late nights, and the best damn girls’ nights Monaco’s ever seen.—

Amelie clinked her glass with theirs, already imagining all the memories waiting to be made.

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

liked by voguewannabe, lanmeliesupremacy, and others

f1wagsupdates: Spotted ✨ Amelie Dayman & Alexandra Saint Mleux holding it down at the Meshki event in Monaco today — serving looks and stealing hearts 💥🔥

View all 107,881 comments

sleekshadewatch: ames back to brunette? yess queen 🙌 → lanmelie4life: @sleekshadewatch lando be like "finally, my girl’s glow up is complete" 😂

monacostyle: amelie & alex flexin together, iconic duo alert 🔥

chaoticwags: lando locking in p1 just bc he saw her walk in like that 😭 → norisimp: @chaoticwags he’s manifesting podium kisses and i support him

browngirlvibes: brunette ames is the ultimate mood switch 💁🏽‍♀️ → lanmeliefanatic: @browngirlvibes agreed, lando better appreciate the upgrade 😎

voguewannabe: if this is a sign of ames doubling down on lan, i stan 😍 → lanmeliefangirl: @voguewannabe he’s already got her heart, now the whole world too 💘

tracksidevibes: honestly ames in brown hair is peak lanmelie energy 🥹💯 → lanmeliefanatic: @tracksidevibes true that, they’re the ultimate power couple rn

f1wagscentral: brunette Amelie is back and Monaco might not survive 😵‍💫 → lanmelieslutclub: @f1wagscentral LANDO. WON’T. SURVIVE.

lanfan88: brunette era Amelie + Meshki = danger to society → chaoticwags: @lanfan88 lando probably had to sit down after seeing her 💀

meliebaby_: brunette Amelie supremacy is back and i fear for every man on the grid → padockrat: @meliebaby_ esp lando who’s holding onto her like she’s pole position 😭

softwagszn: they said “glam + girlfriend duties” and made it fashion

glamgridgirl: she’s brunette again??? oh lando is NOT making it out alive → lanmeliehearts: @glamgridgirl he’s 100% somewhere in a corner giggling and kicking his feet rn 😭 → f1simpnation: @glamgridgirl this man gonna propose before quali watch 💅

tracksideangel: brunette amelie era unlocked 🔓 world domination imminent → alexazoom: @tracksideangel lando better PRAY she lets him breathe this weekend → pitlanepoet: @tracksideangel man’s grip on her finna get tighter than his tire strategy

lanmeliesupremacy: the wag of all wags is BACK and brunette-coded 😮‍💨 → maxsfuel: @lanmeliesupremacy lando seeing her walk into meshki like “we’re leaving NOW”

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

The apartment was quiet when Amelie returned.

The soft click of the door echoed faintly as she stepped inside, heels in one hand, her clutch tucked under the other arm. She slipped the door shut behind her and paused, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. All the lights in the common areas were off except for the faint glow of the hallway lamp they always left on for ambiance—well, more so Lando didn’t trip over the cats at night.

She padded softly across the polished floor, bare feet silent against the cool marble. Her gown whispered around her legs with each step, her hair slightly undone from the breeze and laughter of the night. There was no sound from the kitchen, no signs of movement from anywhere. She figured he must have gone to bed not long after dropping her off.

With gentle fingers, she twisted open the bedroom door.

And then she stopped.

Her heart swelled instantly.

The room was lit only by the soft, flickering glow of the TV—muted, casting a blue-tinted haze across the bed. Lando was fast asleep on his side of the mattress, arm cradled loosely under his head, curls messy from whatever halfhearted attempt he’d made at drying off after his shower.

Benny was curled tightly against his chest, nestled like a little cinnamon roll of fluff, his head resting over Lando’s heart. At the foot of the bed, Björn was sprawled out on his back, one paw twitching every so often in a dream. The duvet was bunched around Lando’s waist, exposing his bare shoulders and the soft rise and fall of his breathing.

Amelie stood in the doorway for a long second, lips parted slightly, the sight rooting her in place. Her chest ached with the warmth of it.

This. This was home.

She reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone as quietly as she could, holding it up to capture the moment. The flash was off. The frame caught Lando, Benny, and Björn in perfect harmony—peaceful, safe, theirs. She snapped the photo, smiling to herself.

Then, careful not to disturb the trio, she tiptoed into the ensuite. The faint whir of the ceiling fan hummed above her as she began to unwind.

She peeled off the gown slowly, folding it over the stool by the sink, then twisted her hair out of the ponytail, shaking it free with a sigh. The tightness around her scalp eased. She wiped off her makeup, washed her face, brushed her teeth, then changed into one of Lando’s oversized t-shirts from the drawer they’d already half-merged together. She didn’t even check if it was clean. It smelled like him. That was enough.

When she finally crept back into the bedroom, the TV still glowed faintly, playing a re-run of some old F1 documentary they’d half-watched before. Lando hadn’t moved, still curled on his side, Benny now buried deeper against him.

Amelie slid into the bed slowly, easing herself under the covers with the care of someone sneaking into a sacred space. The sheets were cool against her legs, and as she adjusted her body to curl up beside him, the mattress shifted slightly.

Lando stirred.

His brow furrowed faintly as his eyes blinked open, dazed and half-lidded. —Mmmh… Ames?—

She smiled softly, brushing her fingers along his hairline. —Hey. Go back to sleep, baby.—

But he reached for her, instinctively. His hand found her waist beneath the blanket and tugged her closer.

Amelie laughed quietly, then shifted up to gently scoop Benny away from his spot against Lando’s chest. The cat made a faint sound of protest but didn’t wake. She placed him carefully at the foot of the bed next to Björn, who twitched again but didn’t stir.

—Traitors,— she whispered teasingly to them, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Lando’s nose. —Good night, Lan.—

With one hand, she reached over and clicked off the TV. The room was dipped into darkness, only the sound of the distant harbor outside and the steady beat of Lando’s breathing.

He was already halfway asleep again, arms pulling her in without a word.

Amelie settled into him, their legs tangled, her face tucked into the crook of his neck, her body melting into the familiar safety of him.

Their first night in their apartment.

And it felt like forever and always all at once.

[sapphicandgraphic]

Layover

Synopsis: Agatha decides to have some fun with innocent reader during a long layover.

Chapter Summary: After saving you from a creep at the bar, Agatha invites you to the exclusive Astra lounge (1/3)

Series Warnings: Smut, fem reader, age difference, WLW, semi-public sex, edging, mommy issues, overstimulation, slight corruption kink, protective Agatha, non-magical AU

Slinging your backpack over one shoulder, you stepped off the plane in New York with a tired smile on your face. All your other luggage was checked, and you were glad not to have to worry about it as you navigated through the crowd of hurried, weary travelers. The first leg of your trip had gone smoothly and even though you had a long night of travel still ahead of you, there was a spring in your step as you wandered into the terminal.

You’d left California wearing faded Levi jeans and a heather grey tee. Now you wished you had packed your favorite Sherpa-lined trucker jacket. Back home, summer was still in full swing, and your skin had turned golden brown from spending so many weeks surfing. But here it was a bit cooler, the promise of autumn already in the air.

With several hours to kill before your connecting flight, you parked yourself at the first bar you saw and ordered a drink. Then, pulling a tattered paperback out of your bag and flipping through the pages, you found your dogeared spot.

The chatter of people all around you blended with the distant sound of gate changes being announced over the loudspeaker, creating a hypnotic white noise. You found your mind wandering.

After reading the same paragraph a few times in a row, you set the book down with a frustrated sigh. Your brain was fried from the events of the last few days—last-minute packing, double-checking your travel details, saying goodbye to your parents and friends.

Looking around, you noticed with a jolt of surprise that you weren’t alone. A woman was seated at the far end of the bar, half-concealed in shadow and nursing a glass of wine. She wore a fitted houndstooth suit and a pair of black stilettos. You picked up your book again, pretending to thumb the pages. But your eyes were drawn back to her elegant profile, the faint laugh lines around her eyes, the hint of silver threading through her dark hair.

She turned to face you and you felt a blush creeping up the back of your neck, having been caught staring. There was something unnerving about the look on her face, the bright, predatory glint in her dark eyes. You squirmed a little in your seat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

The bartender brought your drink and you thanked him, taking a sip.

Agatha, of course, had noticed you as soon as you walked in. Pretty young thing like you would be hard to miss—long legs, sweet smile, wavy blonde hair. And she felt the exact moment your gaze settled on her, sensed the undisguised interest in your eyes. Glancing at her watch, she saw she still had hours before her gate opened. More than enough time to have a little fun.

Just as she turned to make her move, however, a barrel-chested man stumbled toward you, a lecherous grin on his big, stupid face. Agatha’s eyes narrowed in mistrust, her hackles instantly going up.

“Business or pleasure?”

You spun around, visibly startled at his proximity, and then immediately leaned back. He looked to be in his late forties, with ruddy cheeks and gray stubble. There was a lewd gleam in his beady little eyes that put you on high alert.

“Uh, business,” you said, voice shaking a little.

Something about your answer seemed to amuse the man.

“Ooh, we got a modern woman on our hands!” He hooted, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

Your eyebrows shot up toward your hairline. Before you could respond, he flagged the waiter down for another drink. “Pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be working at all.”

He grinned and threw back the rest of his whiskey in one enormous gulp. You flipped your book open nervously and turned away, hoping he would get the hint. Of course it didn’t deter him from pressing even closer, crowding into your personal space.

“My buddies and I have a little wager going,” he continued, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

You took a shaky breath, looking around for an escape.

“They say you’re jailbait,” he continued in a stage whisper, eyes glued to your chest. “But I think you’re mature enough to come sit with us.”

You froze, a mixture of disgust, humiliation, and adrenaline coursing through your body. The man towered over you, extending a hand toward your hips.

Suddenly, a velvety voice spoke low in your ear. “There you are, pet.”

The woman from the end of the bar had appeared at your side, stepping smoothly between you and your unwanted admirer. She was so close you could see the flecks of purple in her deep blue eyes, could smell the cloud of her perfume—something spicy, like cloves and tobacco.

Her smile was comforting, and she winked to indicate you should play along. “H-hi,” you said uncertainly, some of the tension unspooling in your chest as you smiled back in relief.

“I thought I told you to wait for me in the lounge, my little lamb,” she said, reaching out a gentle hand and gripping your chin between soft fingers. “We need to keep you away from the wolves.”

She held your gaze for a beat then brushed her thumb across your cheek. Everything from the look on her face to the sound of her voice was soothing, commanding, confident. You took a deep breath, instinctively leaning into the palm of her hand as tears of relief clouded your vision.

“Who are you?” the man asked, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.

“Agatha Harkness,” the woman replied, eyes never leaving your face. “The pleasure’s all yours.”

He snorted. “What are you, her mommy?”

“Only when she’s good,” Agatha purred. There was a dark undercurrent to her silky words, almost a promise. You felt yourself being drawn even further into her orbit. “When she misbehaves, I’m her daddy.”

This answer seemed to short-circuit the man’s brain, and he finally fell silent. She wrapped an arm around your waist and placed a few bills on the counter to cover your tab.

“You’re coming with me,” she instructed tenderly, guiding you away from the bar and further into the terminal. Her confidence was so magnetic that it didn’t occur to you to object, melting into the warmth and safety of her body pressed against yours.

She led you down the hallway and through sliding glass doors with the word Astra emblazoned on them. You were stopped briefly at a welcome desk by a greeter, who seemed to recognize Agatha instantly. She flashed a membership card and breezed past him, walking with purpose toward the next set of double doors.

It was like stepping into another world. All sensory traces of the gritty, noisy airport fell away. The gentle sound of running water danced through the air, and soft golden light spilled from recessed alcoves in the walls.

“What is this place?”

Agatha watched you with rapt attention, enjoying the wide-eyed look of astonishment as you took it all in.

“Welcome to the Astra lounge,” she said, unable to keep the self-satisfied smirk off her face. A few other travelers (mostly men in tailored suits) sat in the restaurant or on leather sofas, glancing up as you walked by.

“Let’s grab another drink,” Agatha suggested, pulling you toward the bar. “Since we were so rudely interrupted.”

The bar was located in a quiet alcove, dark and private.

“Ms. Harkness,” the bartender smiled softly as you approached. “Your usual?”

“Two, please,” she nodded. “One for me, and one for my new friend here…”

She trailed off, arching an expectant eyebrow at you. With a little embarrassed shake of your head, you remembered to introduce yourself. Agatha licked her lips, appreciating the adorable look on your face when she flustered you.

“Pretty,” she added, and you preened at the compliment when she repeated your name, almost savoring it.

As the bartender got busy muddling some herbs at the other end of the bar, Agatha pulled out a chair and gestured for you to sit down.

“Thanks,” you said, another rush of gratitude making your head spin. “For this, and for all that back there.”

“He was a pig,” Agatha spat, eyes darkening. “The way he spoke to you…”

You nodded in agreement, a disquieted look passing over your pretty face. Agatha noticed, reaching into your lap and squeezing your hand protectively. “Are you okay, hon?”

Your stomach flipped at the sensation of her long fingers tangling with your own. Combined with the earnest look in her eyes, the caring timbre of her voice, you felt an ache in your chest that reminded you of homesickness…but how could you be homesick for a person, especially one you’d just met?

“Yeah,” you tried to assure her, though your voice wavered slightly as you remembered how aggressive he had been, how boxed in you were, how claustrophobic it all felt. Casting a wary look over your shoulder, you wondered what would have happened if Agatha hadn’t come to your rescue.

“He can’t get in here,” she soothed, seeming to read your mind. She absently stroked the pad of her thumb across your knuckles, intent on coaxing the truth out of you. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

You shook your head.

“Just felt trapped,” you admitted quietly, ashamed at your inability to stick up for yourself in the moment. “I wanted to tell him to l-leave me alone, but I just couldn’t get the words out.”

“Hey,” Agatha said, voice low but fierce as she realized how unfair you were being to yourself. “Look at me.”

You glanced up and she almost forgot what she was going to say. You were so gorgeous, so innocent.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding. For a moment you lapsed into silence, Agatha regarding you carefully.

“I wish I could be like you,” you whispered, so soft that the other woman almost missed it.

“What do you mean?” Agatha mused.

“The way you carry yourself,” you explained. “You’re so strong. And the way you handled that guy, what you said…”

You trailed off, cheeks heating up at the memory of their exchange. What are you, her mommy?

The older woman seemed to realize where your mind had wandered. A wicked smile hooked to the side of her face.

“It was just my way of asserting dominance over that disgusting bottom feeder. Men like that always underestimate women like me—they don’t want to fuck us, and so they have no idea what we’re capable of.”

You shivered at the way Agatha said the word fuck and briefly lost yourself in a fantasy, imagining Agatha’s strong hands slipping beneath your shirt, ghosting over your throat.

Your eyes became glassy, distant. She laid a hand over yours, patiently waiting until you focused on her again. Her face was schooled back into a sincere expression, eyebrows knitted together in worry. “But I hope I didn’t offend you, pet.”

You shook your head, rushing to disabuse Agatha of this notion. “No, of course not!”

Then, after a beat you added hesitantly, “I- I liked it.”

“You did?” A playful smile returned to her face.

You nodded and Agatha hummed in pleasure, basking in your worshipful gaze. She reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear, unable to stop herself.

“Naughty girl,” she murmured.

You felt your cheeks heating up again. Was she flirting with you? Before you could decide, the drinks arrived and the older woman pulled back. Agatha raised her glass in a silent toast and you returned the gesture before taking an eager sip, hoping to settle your nerves. She decided to switch gears.

“How long before your next flight?”

You checked your watch. “About five hours.”

Agatha nodded. “And where are you headed?”

“London,” you answered.

“London,” she repeated, idly tracing the rim of her glass with one finger. “That’s a big trip…all on your own.”

You watched the movement on her hand with feverish focus, observing the fine bones and tendons on display.

“Unless there’s someone…?” Her eyes seemed to darken with jealousy at the mere thought.

You shook your head.

“Really?” She pressed. “No boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

“I don’t really have time for dating,” you explained with a blush. “Between school and my research.”

“You’re a student,” Agatha guessed, like you were a puzzle she was desperate to solve. Her eyes searched your face fondly. “I bet you’re a quick learner.”

The compliment washed over you, settling like a blissful cloud in your chest. You nodded along to her words.

“So many new experiences on the horizon,” she mused. “Promise you’ll take care of yourself, pet.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You need to make time to enjoy life’s little…pleasures,” she urged, a wicked glimmer in her eye. “It can’t be all work and no play.”

“I guess so,” you said, unable to keep the shy little smile off your face. “School has always come first.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “As long as you come first every once in a while.”

You felt the tips of your ears pinken at the innuendo. She was definitely flirting with you.

“After all,” she pressed. “You can’t make a habit of hiding behind books at airport bars, staring at beautiful women.”

You tried your best to look innocent. Agatha grinned.

“Did you get distracted when you saw me, little lamb?” She teased. “See something you liked?”

The nickname made you shiver. Her words were still playful and inviting, but the air between you suddenly felt thick and electric. You weighed your options, considering how to respond. You couldn’t deny the powerful connection you felt with the older woman, the spark in her eye somehow soothing and dangerous.

You exhaled shakily, finally mustering enough courage to meet the other woman’s gaze. A heady mix of lust and longing spurred you onward.

“What if I did?”

Agatha leaned back, lips pursed in approval. Now that she had verbal confirmation of everything you’d been signaling with your body language, she shrugged out of her blazer and lazily unfastened the top two buttons of her shirt.

“I’d say there’s no law against looking.”

Accepting her invitation, you stared openly at everything on display from her delicate collar bones to the gentle swell of her perfect tits, the soft pale flesh just visible at the neckline of her fitted shirt. As you looked, you saw her nipples stiffen beneath the soft fabric, responding to your open, greedy gaze. She parted her legs slightly and you actually felt drool gathering in your mouth. You couldn’t believe something so simple could be so erotic.

“But remember, there’s only so much observation and research can do for you.” She plucked the cocktail straw from her glass and perched it between her full lips. “Eventually you need some…practical experience.”

Her face was set in a neutral mask, but her eyes gave her away. They searched your face, hungry for permission. She was propositioning you…and judging by her dilated pupils, she was just as desperate, just as turned on as you were.

“I’ve - I’ve never…” you trailed off, uncertain how to finish the sentence.

“Oh, pet.” Agatha’s face softened, even as her own arousal intensified at the thought of being your first, your only. She placed her hand on the table. “Do you trust me?”

You nodded, threading your fingers into hers.

“I’ll take such good care of you,” she murmured, her voice raspy. You clenched your legs together, barely suppressing a whine in the back of your throat. Agatha noticed, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she drank in your needy expression. Five hours might not be enough.

“Follow me,” she said.

And like a good little lamb, you obeyed.

Chapter 2

[sayruq]

As Israel continues its raid of the Al-Shifa Medical Complex in Gaza City for the sixth day in a row on 23 March, Gaza's Government Media Office was told by medical staff and displaced trapped inside that the army is threatening them with either destroying the hospital or torturing, interrogating, and executing them. The government media office said in a statement, "There are testimonies from within the Al-Shifa Medical Complex indicating that the occupation army threatened the medical staff inside the hospital buildings and the displaced, that it would bomb those buildings and destroy them over their heads, or that they would go out for torture, investigation, and execution." Al-Shifa Hospital used to be Gaza's largest and most equipped medical facility. Now, it lacks the means to treat patients altogether. Infections are spreading among trapped patients, and nurses are being executed.

AFP spoke to eyewitnesses at the hospital who said that "all men," including the sick and physically disabled, had been abducted by the Israeli army. A woman named Mariam said: "They asked us at around dawn with loudspeakers to go out or they would bomb the building."

The Director General of the Government Information Office, Ismail Al-Thawabta, stated that Israeli forces killed more than 100 people inside the Al-Shifa Complex, including some medical personnel who were executed inside the complex. Thawabta reported that four patients were killed inside the hospital when Israeli forces prevented their treatment. Newly-released detainees and eyewitnesses told Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor earlier this week that Israeli forces executed abductees from the hospital.

[cup1drul3z]

★ — MY BLOODY VALENTINE | Ch 5

3ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋᴇʀ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW: Stalking, Angst, Smut, TOXIC yuri, death, murder, 1980s, mention of blood, depression, homophobia, masturbation, dub-con, size kink if you squint, mommy kink, corruption, virginity, fingering, this shit is dark - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

A/N: something something knife kink something something

The loudspeaker crackled during homeroom. Everyone groaned, assuming it was another “anti-smoking” PSA or announcement about the canceled pep rally.

But this time—

“All students and faculty, please remain in your classrooms until further notice.”

Your stomach twisted immediately.

Whispers broke out across the room.

“Do you think it’s another lockdown drill?”

“No way. They never do those during first period.”

“Is it a bomb threat?”

You didn’t say anything.

You were too busy feeling it again—that pressure in your chest like someone was squeezing your heart between their fingers. You looked out the window and spotted the red-and-blue flashes of police lights flickering just beyond the school’s main entrance.

Then a voice behind you said, low:

“Who was it this time?”

You turned. Vi was sitting two rows back, her expression unreadable.

You shook your head. “I don’t know.”

You hoped that was true.

Mr. Viktor, the guidance counselor. Found in his office. Dead.

No one knew how. No one was saying anything official. But someone claimed they saw a janitor crying. Someone else said there was blood all over the walls.

And someone—you weren’t sure who—mentioned something that made your stomach drop:

“He was talking to a student all week. A girl. Said he was worried about her. That she might be being followed.”

You couldn’t breathe.

Because that had been you.

2 days eariler

You hadn’t even realized you were zoning out again until the soft knock on the classroom door pulled you back.

Your teacher glanced up from the whiteboard, then motioned toward the hallway. “You’re needed in the office.”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Don’t look so guilty,” he said, half-joking.

You stood slowly, heart thudding a little harder than it should. Your legs felt heavy as you walked out into the hall, where the school’s guidance counselor—Mr. Viktor—was waiting.

Late thirties. Wire-rimmed glasses. Always smelled faintly like coffee and old books. His smile was kind, but his eyes? Concerned.

“Come on,” he said gently. “Just want to check in.”

His office was tucked into the corner of the administrative wing, cozy and a little too warm. Posters on the walls. Inspirational quotes. That fake fern he kept forgetting to water. He offered you a seat across from his desk, where a small tray of Halloween candy sat. You didn’t take any.

He gave you a moment to settle in before he spoke.

“I’ve been hearing some things,” he said softly, folding his hands on the desk. “From teachers. From students. And I’ve been noticing things myself.”

You stiffened. “I haven’t done anything.”

“I’m not saying you have,” he said quickly. “You’ve just been… off. Tired. Jumpy. Distracted. And I know that’s not who you usually are.”

You didn’t respond.

“I also noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with Sevika,” he added carefully.

Your throat went tight. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he said slowly. “Not unless you feel like it is.”

You finally looked at him.

His voice lowered. “Has anyone made you feel unsafe lately?”

The words hit like a rock in your chest.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to say no. You wanted to cry, scream, run.

Instead, you whispered, “I’m just tired.”

He gave you a long look.

And maybe he knew then that you weren’t telling the whole truth. But he didn’t push.

“I’m here,” he said finally. “Whenever you want to talk.”

You nodded, stood up.

And left.

That was the last time you saw Mr. Viktor alive.

You didn’t even eat dinner.

You barely said a word to your mom. Just mumbled something about a headache and went straight to your room, shutting the door gently behind you.

The room felt colder than usual. Still. Too still.

You dropped your bag by the door and collapsed onto your bed without bothering to change. The second your body hit the mattress, it felt like the weight of the day pinned you in place.

The news was spreading like wildfire. Mr. Viktor. Dead.

Your phone rang a few times throughout the night

Suicide. No way, he was murdered. You heard about the blood, right?

But you didn’t read them.

You just laid there, staring at the ceiling, blinking slow, shallow breaths. Your chest felt tight and hollow at the same time.

You knew.

You knew this was connected. You knew who did it.

And yet…

You reached for the phone. The old landline on your nightstand. You turned the receiver over in your hand for a long moment before finally punching in the number by memory.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then her voice: smooth, low, like nothing was ever wrong.

“Hey.”

You didn’t even say hello.

“…Do you have any more weed?”

A pause. Then—

“Are you sure?”

Your voice cracked. “Please.”

She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t need to.

“Be there in twenty.”

Click.

You set the phone down and stared at the bear on your wardrobe.

Still. Silent. Watching. Always watching.

And a part of you hated that it made you feel safe.

She moved fast—grabbed the tin, flicked her lighter into her coat pocket, tucked a fresh roll in the container. She already knew what you liked, what you’d need. Already pictured you curled up in your bed, face flushed, waiting for her to make it all go quiet again.

She pulled on her boots, slung the jacket over her shoulder, and made it halfway down the hall when—

“Where the hell are you going?”

She stopped.

Her spine tensed before her eyes even rolled. She turned slow, careful, as if she wasn’t in the mood to break something—yet.

Her father stood near the entryway, arms crossed, one brow lifted.

Still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled up, cigarette tucked behind his ear like always. He wasn’t a big man, but he had a presence. That weight you feel when someone doesn’t need to yell to break you in half.

“You think you can just come and go when you want now?” he asked.

Sevika didn’t answer at first. Just stared at him.

“Your not like other kids” he added, voice lower. “You’re not some dumb teenager trying to sneak out for a party.”

“I’m not sneaking,” she said flatly.

“You don’t have to. We all know where you’re going.”

That was enough to make her jaw twitch.

His eyes narrowed. “She’s got you whipped like a damn dog. I didn’t raise you to chase after girls like you’re some—”

She cut him off, calm and cold.

“You didn’t raise me.”

He stepped forward. “Excuse me?”

“You raised fists,” she said, voice like steel. “Not people.”

The silence that followed felt like a string pulled tight between them.

But Sevika didn’t back down.

And he didn’t push.

Instead, he sneered. “One of these days, she’s gonna see what you really are.”

“I hope so,” Sevika said. “So she’ll stop fighting it.”

Then she walked past him, slammed the door behind her, and disappeared into the dark.

She still had a promise to keep.

And a girl to ruin.

You sat on your bed, legs curled up, your hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over your hands. The lights were low, the room lit only by the soft blue glow of your lava lamp and the flickering streetlight outside.

The phone still rested beside you on the comforter. The call had ended over twenty minutes ago, but your heart was still racing like she might not come.

But she always came.

And sure enough—

Click.

The sound of your window sliding open. Soft. Familiar.

You turned just in time to see her silhouette climb through like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jacket first. Then boots scraping the sill. Then Sevika herself, dropping into your room in one smooth movement, closing the window behind her with a practiced hand.

She didn’t say anything right away.

She didn’t have to.

Her eyes met yours across the dim room—calm, steady, hungry in that quiet, bone-deep way that always made your breath catch.

She dropped her bag beside your desk and walked toward you like she’d done it a hundred times. Like this room belonged to her as much as it did to you.

You watched her in silence.

Then you whispered, “You came.”

Sevika knelt in front of the bed, eye-level with you now, her hand already reaching for yours—slow, deliberate.

“‘Course I did,” she said. “You asked.”

Yesss we’re back in it—tension wrapped in smoke, movement that feels both clumsy and charged. Reader's high is building, everything's hazy and warm, and Sevika’s presence is like gravity—pulling, anchoring, and quietly overwhelming. Let's keep that seductive slowness:

You took the first hit slower this time—learning. It didn’t burn like the last. It moved through you like smoke curling around something soft. You exhaled with a little giggle you didn’t mean to let out, and Sevika’s eyes followed it like it meant something deeper than it was.

She sat cross-legged at the edge of your bed, her jacket tossed onto the floor, sleeves rolled up, joint balanced easily between her fingers like she’d done this a thousand times. Like this was the only place she ever wanted to be.

You reached for the joint again, and she handed it over without hesitation, fingertips brushing yours just a little longer than they needed to.

You inhaled. Exhaled. Laughed again.

And then— You shifted wrong.

Your leg slipped off the mattress and suddenly you were falling—off balance, limbs scrambling—and hit the carpet with a muffled thud.

“Shit—” you gasped, laughing.

Sevika leaned over the edge, smirking. “You good?”

You rolled onto your knees, still giggling, hands pressing into the floor for balance.

Your hoodie had ridden up a little, your hair falling into your face as you pushed it back with slow, high hands.

You looked up at her through your lashes, smile lazy. “That weed’s stronger than last time.”

Sevika placed her feet on the floor, manspreading “Or maybe you’re just letting go more,” she said, her voice dipping low.

Your eyes flicked up to hers.

And in that haze of smoke and heat and everything unspoken between you—

You didn’t want her to stop watching.

Not ever.

You stayed there on your knees, swaying slightly, warm all over—inside and out. The smoke hung in the air between you like a secret neither of you had to speak aloud. The lava lamp behind you cast slow-moving ripples of color across the wall, bathing the room in pulsing red and violet.

Sevika hadn’t moved.

She just watched you from the edge of the bed, head tilted slightly, her expression unreadable—hungry, maybe, but not in the way that scared you. In the way that made your heart stutter.

Then—

Her hand reached out. Slow. Careful.

Like you were something she wasn’t sure she deserved to touch.

Her fingers brushed along your jaw first, then slid to cradle your cheek, her thumb resting lightly under your eye. Her palm was rough, warm, steady against your skin.

You closed your eyes for a second.

You leaned into it.

Then, without thinking—without questioning—you turned your head and pressed a soft kiss to the center of her palm.

Sevika went still.

Her thumb twitched slightly, brushing across your bottom lip like she couldn’t believe what just happened—like she needed to feel it again.

You opened your eyes.

And whispered, barely audible, “You always make me feel safe.”

You didn’t see her jaw tighten.

You didn’t hear the silent, possessive scream that echoed in her chest.

Because all you saw was her hand, still cupping your face.

“Sevika..” you whisper, gripping her wrist

She hums tilting her head. Still manspreading 

Your hand rested on her knee. Leaning more into her palm. “Fuck me” you look up at her with that same innocent look in your eye 

“What?”  her brows furrow. she wanted to, sure. But if this happens she doesn't think she'll ever let you go

“Please” you beg and pout and she just cant resist that face.

Your moan as your face is squished into the mattress. “Fuck-” you whimper 

Sevika chuckled, her strap pounding in and out of your needy cunt, her hand slid down the arch of back. She had you in a face down ass up positon.

You looked up at her through the corner of your eye. A tear sliding down your cheek. She smirked sadistically, leaning down and licking it off

You closed you eyes and leaned into her touch. Back arching more the harder she pounded into you. “God i wish i could get you pregnant. Everyone would know your mine inside and out” sevika whispered into your ear

You hated that the thought of being full of sevikas babies excited you. Ever since she stepped in your life youve decided if she asked, you would give up everything and be her house wife. A part of you knew this women was dangerous, you just didnt want to admit it 

“Fuck-” sevika said pulling out for a second, you whine at the loss and your hole was squeezing around nothing. “What- what are you-” you whimper trying to look at her

She flips you suddenly, you were on your back looking up at her now. She slams back into you, “i needed to see you…” her hands run over the sides of your body. Gripping your hips and pulling you into her with each thrust. “God- i can fucking feel you.” 

Your hands cup either side of her face. “I love you” you whisper out. Her eyes widen as she looks down at you “say it again.” sevikas thrusts slow down for a moment

You smirk biting your bottom lip “i love you” you say again, wrapping your arms around her neck. She speeds up her pace “i love you, i love you,iloveyouiloveyou” your back arches as she bites down on your neck. Marking you as hers. 

Sevika looks at her pocket knife on the floor, an idea popping into her head as she helps you lay back down. She smirks leaning across the bed to grab her knife. She flicks it open, before looking you in the eye as she pressed it into your lower stomach

Blood began to drip down your stomach and stain your sheets. You whine and squirm. “Shhshhh” she presses her hand into your shoulder, eyes flicking down to the symbol shes imprinting on you. Your breath hitches once you realize 

Shes carving her initial into your hip along with a heart around it. “Nobody is gonna fucking mess with you when im around.” She whispers and leans down to lick the wound, cleaning it. 

You were at your locker, swapping out textbooks with Sevika leaning casually beside you—one boot propped against the locker row, hands stuffed into her jacket, like she lived there. Like she belonged beside you.

She didn’t say much—she never really did in the halls. She didn’t have to. Her presence spoke for her.

But then—

“Hey!”

You turned.

Vi.

She strolled up with her usual easy confidence, denim jacket slung over her shoulder, a few band buttons pinned to her backpack. Her grin was warm, a little cocky, like the two of you had some secret no one else did.

Your heart fluttered. You smiled back, already opening your mouth.

“I was gonna introduce you—”

But Sevika had already pushed off the locker.

She turned toward Vi with a slow, predatory step. Eyes narrowed. Smile dangerous.

“Oh, we’ve met,” Sevika said before you could even finish.

Vi’s grin tightened—just slightly.

She tilted her head. “Really? Don’t remember that.”

Sevika stepped closer, close enough to force Vi to stop walking.

“You were talking to her at lunch,” Sevika said, low and smooth. “Under the tree.”

Vi arched a brow, smile sharpening. “You keep tabs on everyone, or just the girls who don’t look scared of you?”

The air snapped between them.

You blinked, caught in the middle.

“Okay,” you said quickly, “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to sit together at lunch—”

But Sevika didn’t look at you.

She was still watching Vi.

Vi didn’t flinch.

And you?

You could feel it in your bones—

This wasn’t the first time Sevika had sized someone up.

But it might be the first time someone looked back and didn’t look away.

The bleachers were packed, but no one was really cheering.

What was supposed to be a pep rally—banners, balloons, clumsy mascot dancing—had been swallowed by grief. The band still played, but softer now. The cheer squad didn’t perform. The principal stood center court behind a rickety podium, microphone crackling every few words as she tried to hold back emotion and hold it together at the same time.

You sat near the middle of the bleachers, arms crossed over your knees, head ducked. Sevika was next to you, her shoulder warm against yours. She hadn’t said a word since they called the assembly.

Not that she needed to.

Her presence was always louder than her voice.

A photo of Viktor sat on an easel at the edge of the court—framed in a halo of wilting white carnations, a few cards taped around the base.

You felt Vi shift behind you a row up. You hadn’t turned around. You couldn’t. Your chest was already too tight.

“And so,” the principal said, voice trembling just slightly, “we honor Mr. Viktor’s memory today. Not just as a counselor, but as a person who saw the good in everyone… especially our students.”

You blinked hard.

Your fingers clenched your hoodie sleeve.

You could feel Sevika’s eyes on you.

She leaned over, close to your ear. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“You okay?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t.

Not even a little.

Down on the court, a moment of silence was announced. The room went still.

And Sevika reached over—

Took your hand.

Held it tightly, possessively, like a vow wrapped in skin.

And behind her, Vi watched. And said nothing. But her jaw was tight.

Because you weren’t crying.

But Vi could tell you wanted to.

And Sevika?

Sevika was smiling.

@glittzygorilla @vxtanne31 @leeidk87 @spinback-kiva @half-of-a-gay @alessabriel @h3rprinc3zz @koralinebox

[moonchild9350]

Lavender Fields-Chapter 1: Different

Summary: you give an insight into your daily life within the lab, a place you've never left after being brought here by humans. life is mundane and repetitive, that is until you meet Hyunjin, your new lab technician.

Pairing: Hyunjin x humanoid!gn!reader

Genre: sci fi au, romance, au, angst, fluff, eventual smut

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning: verbal and brief physical abuse

Notes: welcome to the Lavender Fields series! I am pumped to release this series and embark on this journey with y'all :) I hope you enjoy the first chapter and as always, let me know what you think!

Taglist open-comment or message me to be added! (age must be in bio or pinned)

Series Summary: you, a humanoid from a different planet, was born within a lab here on earth in the near future, your days filled with servitude and testing within the labs to learn more about your kind as your kind are not able to feel emotion. you had nothing to look forward to until you met Hyunjin, a technician assigned to you. you learn much at his hands and invaluable lessons, enlightening your once purposeless life.

If you enjoyed, please consider a like, reblog, or comment as it keeps me motivated ♡

Divider by @cafekitsune

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024).

Series Masterlist

Next

“Time to wake up!”

You open your eyes at the shrill sound of the cheery voice that is speaking over the loudspeaker signaling the start of another day. You sit up, and blink, clearing the sleep from your eyes before swinging your legs out of bed to get up.

The minimalist room is cold, the chill brushing against your skin in the early hours of the morning. You don’t mind, however, as you are made to withstand the cold.

You walk to the door and open it, merging into the crowd of people hurrying down the corridor. You follow the queue, all of you on your way to the the morning room, a place where you prepare for the day. It is quiet, no one around you utters a word, casting an almost eerie silence, with only the pitter patter of bare feet on the floor.

Once at your destination, a lady dressed in blue guides you to a stall, your daily outfit hanging from the partition that blocks off a changing area so you can dress in privacy.

There's a small mirror plastered on the wall, tiny cracks scattered throughout from years of age, but still usable nonetheless. You look at your reflection, your face puffy from sleep and eyes bloodshot. You tossed and turned last night as you kept being awakened by vivid images flashing across your mind leaving you in a panic.

You eyes travel down to the small engraving on the side of your neck that has been there since birth. It blends in perfectly with your skin, the intricate swirls almost looking like a tattoo.

Sighing, you grab the white garment from its hanger and slide it over your head, the scratchy material rubbing against your skin, the feeling almost akin to sandpaper. You don’t mind however, as you can’t tell since you’re not programmed to feel unlike most humans.

Once dressed, the lady fixes your hair, brushing the long strands that travel down your back and land at your tailbone. She ushers you out of the stall once done, ordering you to follow the others in line to your assigned work room.

You arrive in minutes, your desk set up with your task for the day. Today looks like you’re organizing testing supplies as there’s a haphazard pile of tubes, wires, and other things in the center of the desks.

Sitting down, you begin your work, keeping your eyes on your materials that are in front of you. It’s silent in the room as no one says a peep.

Watchers pace the rows with their hands behind their backs, their eyes trained on you and your peers, ensuring the job gets done appropriately.

If you mess up a task, they scold you but it makes no difference. You do not understand the meaning behind the words, not understanding why they scrunch their face up in a scowl, spitting words in your face as to what you did wrong and how useless you are.

The morning passes and you work until your stomach growls, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room. You immediately put down your supplies as there’s the ring of a bell over the intercom, signaling it’s time to make your way to the lab.

You only get food after morning work and going to the lab, the humans claiming it’s a treat, a present for being obedient. That’s why you obeyed, completed your work, and let them experiment on you without complaints.

So is the life here within Biofuture labs.

-- --

You are y/n, from the planet Gevora, which is light years away from planet earth in which you now reside. You resemble the humans here on earth, the only difference being you are emotionless, as they were not needed on your home planet.

Your only home that you’ve ever known is Biofuture labs, a name you’ve seen many times on the doors you pass on a daily basis. You were born here, within the confines of this building, and taken away from your mother at age five, where you were put with the other children from your planet.

You don’t remember much about your mother, but then again you don’t remember much of anything of your past. Only that you are 25 years old and you have the number 032518 inscribed on your arm.

Your days are busy and long here within the lab, the technicians making sure no one is idle. Mornings are spent completing your assigned task, similar to a job, a concept you know of because of a description you read in a book.

Mid to late mornings are spent in the lab, your assigned lab technician running different tests on you, jotting down responses and results.

You’re not sure what they’re testing for, but you’ve noticed they take special interest in you for some reason, as they run extra tests on you, whispering to each other while staring at you all the while.

Today was no different. An orderly leads you to lab five, the typical space you spent every day in for testing. You walk into the empty space, your eyes roaming the area to take in your surroundings.

The walls are a ghostly white and there’s a table with two chairs in the center of the room. There’s nothing else present except for a window on the wall next to the door. However, every time you try to look through it, you only see your reflection.

You walk towards one of the chairs, pull it out, and sit down, placing your hands in your lap. You look at the man across from you and wait for the session to begin.

Your lab tech’s name is Raoul. He’s bald with piercing black eyes that are unsettling to you, the feeling unknown but just doesn’t sit right. He never smiles at you and sometimes he'll scream.

When these events occur, you stare back at him as something bubbles up inside you. It’s a gnawing feeling deep in your gut, that sometimes spreads to other parts of your body. If it goes on long enough, you start to see spots and break out into a sweat, all while your hands start to tremble.

You’re not sure what is happening when that occurs and no one takes the time to explain...not that you ask. One time you discussed the sensation with one of your peers during a free period, away from the prying ears of the technicians. However, after explaining what occurred, they didn’t know what was happening either, as they’ve never felt that way.

You stared into this man’s eyes, hoping that it would be a good session, and not one where he screams as you really don’t want to feel that way again.

“Y/n, are you ready for today’s session?” Raoul asked as he pulls out a stack of cards.

“Yes,” you respond, your gaze flickering down to the cards in his hands.

You watch as he pulls out the first card and holds it up to you. You realize it’s the same test that you’ve completed this whole week, the same cards, the same images. You don’t understand why they keep making you repeat the test. Are you doing something wrong?

“What do you see here y/n?”

You gaze at the image, your eyes roaming the card. You tilt your head to look at it a different angle, trying to get a good grasp of the concept.

It’s a mess of a picture, the picture not clear cut, but if you look at it long enough you can start to make out wings of a maybe an…insect or a bird? You think a moment more before nodding your head, agreeing on your answer.

“A butterfly,” you say plainly, your eyes settling on Raoul again.

He doesn’t respond to your answer, but instead places the card aside just to pick up the next one.

“And here?”

Once more, you stare at the picture, the image strange. This picture has red on the top and bottom of the black image. You remember the feeling you had whenever Raoul screams at you, hurling names that are not yours and sound insulting. This picture reminds you of that in a way, but you can’t put a name to it.

Taking a breath, you respond, “bear with blood on its head and feet.”

You watch Raoul’s eyebrows raise briefly and within a second it’s gone, his face devoid of any reaction. Did you answer wrong? Why is he looking at you like that? Your eyes follow as he puts the card down and picks up another.

And so it goes, card after card as time passes. Your responses are simple, “two people, animal skin, another butterfly, another animal skin, a face.”

At the last three cards, you sit up straighter and your eyes get bigger as something warm flows through you. This is the same reaction you had the previous days of the week. Raoul watches your every move, ensuring he doesn’t miss your reaction.

“A tiger, a person, a crab,” you respond in succession.

You let out a breath as he sets the last card down, the test seeming to be over. Raoul leans forward and stares at you with narrowed eyes. You don’t move but stare back, waiting on the next test.

“You are nothing, you know that?” Raoul says, spittle flying from his mouth.

You cock your head, unsure of what he meant. He lets out a loud laugh at your reaction, his hands coming down to slap the table. You jolt in your seat at the sound, your eyes wide as the hairs stick up on your arms, and little bumps form. You feel your heart beat faster, the thump thump pounding against your skin.

Despite this, you continue to stare at him, watching as he turns red in the face from laughing.

“You don’t even know what you’re feeling! I knew it was too good to be true!”

What you are feeling? What does he mean by the word ‘feeling?’ You watch as Raoul gets up and walks your way, stopping right next to you. He grabs your hair and forces you to look up at him.

You comply without protest, your hands still in your lap.

“You. Are. Nothing.”

He releases your hair with a shove, your hands reaching out for the table to catch yourself from falling. You blink once, twice before an orderly is next to you, ordering you to get up and follow them out of the room. It seems today’s testing is over.

“Dinner will be in a few hours. You will wait in your room until said time,” the orderly saids, glancing at you in her periphery.

You nod and continue to follow her all the way to your room. She unlocks the door and lets you in, closing and locking it once you cross the threshold. You glance at the door before glancing at your room, taking in the few belongings you have.

Your bed sits in the corner, a simple blue blanket placed neatly on top, your pillow fluffed and ready for nighttime. Next to your bed is a pile of an assortment of books that you have acquired over the years. You often sit curled up in the corner reading, filling your head with other worlds and what is in them.

However, your most prized possession is the mural on the wall across from your bed that you have been working on. In different vibrant shades of purple, you have painted lavender flowers. The wall is covered in delicate strokes of the purple stems, accompanied by the brown stalk that anchors it to the ground.

You discovered the flower in one of your books, your eyes lighting up at the picture. You remember touching the page with your fingertips, lightly brushing over the image as you stared at the beautiful colors. After that moment, you worked extra hard to earn favor with some of the orderlies so you could acquire paints.

You were going to recreate the scene so you could go to the place with the flowers, the pretty lavender flowers. That was years ago. The wall was halfway painted in the beauties, causing you to feel warm inside.

Walking further inside, you grabbed your paints and paintbrush and kneeled down to paint, your mind drifting in the mundane task that you have grown accustomed to. Your eyes wandered over the wet paint, as you paid attention to the tiniest detail, wanting to get the picture just right.

Time passed and you painted, lost in the world of lavender, that you didn’t hear the bell outside your door signaling dinner. You jumped when you heard the door open, dropping your paintbrush in the process, the bristles brushing against the hem of your dress, staining it in purple.

“Dinner time, get up,” the orderly said, crossing her arms when she noticed you weren’t ready.

You had no time to put your supplies away so you gently set them down and got up, your knees cracking with the sudden movement. You followed the lady to a hall, and sat down next to one of your peers. Dinner was served and everyone ate in relative silence as there was not much to say when everyone did the same thing day in and day out.

The rest of the afternoon passed with no significance. Settling into bed, you pulled the blanket up to your chin. Yawning, you turned your head to gaze at the mural, your mind drifting to how it would be escape to the field, to smell their scent, and touch their delicate petals.

With these thoughts you drifted off, another day come and gone of your life here within the lab. — — Days passed, which turned into weeks. You were subjected to the same tests again and again. You were yelled at and chastised over and over, the same phrase repeated on a daily basis.

“You are nothing.”

You sat there as you were tossed around, your hair disheveled, your arms pinched, your face spit on as Raoul ran his tests day in and day out. You felt that weird sensation as before, but a new one had started to develop.

On a particular day, you endured the typical testing, but when Raoul repeated the same phrase to you, you felt a pang in your heart, and your eyes clouded over causing your vision to be blurry.

You had no idea what was going on and tried to blink, jumping in your seat as you felt tears fall from your eyes. Raoul stared at you in disbelief. He screamed that you were faking it, that you had no inkling as to what you were feeling.

Feeling. Feeling. Feeling.

You are nothing.

You continued to stare straight ahead as he screamed in your ear, chastising you for things you did not understand. Your hands were trembling, your heart beating rapidly until you heard a loud bang on the window.

Raoul stopped, and straightened up, narrowing his eyes once more at you before exiting the room. You let out a breath, your body sinking in the chair you were sitting on. It was over, or so you would hope.

— — Hyunjin watched as the director banged on the glass of lab five, the vibration causing the glass to rattle. He glared at Raoul as he watched the man release you and walk to the door.

In his four years of working here, he’s never experienced a technician as brutal as Raoul, and it was unfortunate he was assigned to you.

You. The anomaly.

You were different than your peers. Typically your kind does not experience emotions, do not even know what they are. However, you showed promise as a little girl, being subjected to testing from a young age.

His father remembers you and was in awe, watching as you were taken from your mother at the ripe age of five and brought to the room with the other children. You hesitated and held on tighter to your mother’s hand, fear etched in your eyes at the strange people coming to take you away.

His father went on to say it took you a while to adjust, your days spent separated from the other children, as you didn’t want to interact with them. Of course overtime, you forgot your mother, and fell right into the routine of living here in the lab.

You excelled on your testing, the technicians surprised at how your grasped emotional concepts the others have not. You were the only one in the hundreds of Gevorians that lived here that had an inkling of similarity to human kind.

Over the last six months, that uniqueness showed as you had interesting results after taking the Rorschach test over and over. It seemed you could learn to encompass the emotional capacity the others lacked.

Hyunjin took notice and became interested in your progress, wanting to know more about you. He looked through your files, all the way from childhood to adolescence, studied your results and the potential you had to make it in the human world, which is ultimately the labs goal.

He took to watching your sessions, notebook in hand to take notes. Imagine his horror when he saw Raoul abusing you, berating you for not being able to feel. Hyunjin’s heart broke for you in your predicament as he’s sure you were confused, not being able to understand the emotions that were going through you during the sessions.

Eventually, he had had enough as he saw you crying one day as Raoul spat in your face and called you nothing once more. He marched to the director’s office then and there and demanded Raoul be taken off the case and that he be assigned to you instead.

At first the director was hesitant, not sure if he would be able to handle you, but after many reassurances, he was granted the request.

Hyunjin went so far as to ask to have your sessions in different places throughout the building, to see if it’ll help in your journey. He was very persuasive, promising positive outcomes, which was risky, but a risk he was willing to take. He remembered silently cheering when the director granted him that power.

Now, here he was with several other technicians and the director himself, all staring down at Raoul.

“As of today Raoul, you are no longer y/n’s technician. Hyunjin will take over their sessions,” the director said in a commanding tone, his hands placed behind his back challenging any defiance.

“What the fuck! I’m making progress! Can’t you see that!” Raoul screamed.

Hyunjin shook his head in disdain, “How? By abusing y/n? Berating them? How is that going to help you son of a bitch?”

“Hyunjin!” The director said, shock in his eyes. He turned to look back at Raoul, “you are not their technician any longer. That’s final.”

The director turned around and marched out, the other technicians filing behind him. Raoul turned toward Hyunjin furious.

“You think you can handle y/n? Good luck, you won’t make a dent. Don’t come crying to me when the director fires you because you failed in your task.”

Hyunjin wiped the spit from his face and watched Raoul storm away.

He was definitely up for the task, wanting to make sure you could have a fulfilling life. One that was better than the one you lived within these walls.

He turned to stare at you through the two way mirror, watching how you stared straight ahead, waiting for someone to get you. However, he looked closer, and noticed your face was wet, as tears streamed down your face.

You didn’t wipe them, but let them fall down your cheeks, onto your clothes as you most likely had no clue what you were feeling.

He watched as an orderly came to retrieve you, watching as you walked past him, not even giving him a second glance.

He would be successful if it’s the last thing he does. He can’t let a promising, talented person like you rot here within the lab. He will mold you, teach you, and take you under his wing.

And once Hyunjin sets a goal, he follows it through.

He can’t wait for your first session together.

He can’t wait to meet you.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground @frehyun @seungminsbest @nightmarenyxx @linocvp1d @ddroh @redlightsallnight @eastjonowhere @stayjinnie

[lilac-verse]

hi i love ur writing sm! could you write a negan smut fic that’s preapocalypse where the reader is a new teacher or a substitute covering a class at the school negan works at and one afternoon you’re stuck late together?

AFTER HOURS

pairing ; negan smith x fem!reader contains ; smut, inappropriate setting, adultery, coworkers, rough, unprotected, p in v, doggy style, hair pulling. word count ; 3.47k a/n ; i LOVE this idea!!!! tysm for the request anon:) p.s. i havent proofread this yet so ignore any mistakes pls summary ; you find out exactly why the moms are always giggling around mr smith.

The final bell had rung nearly an hour ago, the halls buzzing with students dragging their feet to buses, teachers gathering their bags. But now - nothing. Only the occasional sound of janitors wheeling their squeaky carts in the hallways.

You sat in Mrs Bozzelli's classroom, the desks sat in neat, even rows - twenty-six places where teenage bodies had fidgeted and sighed all day, now nothing more than scratched-up plastic and silence. The clock on the wall ticked so loudly you could feel it in your teeth. You'd meant to leave twenty minutes ago, but severely underestimated how long it'd take to grade her student's papers.

You sighed, deciding to finish grading the other half of the pile at home. Quietly, you packed your tote bag, sliding your lesson plan folder neatly under your arm. All that was left was to lock the door behind you and head home.

Then the loudspeaker crackled.

"ATTENTION STAFF: INITIATE LOCKDOWN PROTOCOL. THIS IS A DRILL. REPEAT, THIS IS A DRILL. PLEASE SECURE YOUR LOCATIONS."

You paused mid-step, one hand on the doorknob.

A drill this late? Unusual, but not impossible. Still, something about the tinny, detached voice sent a ripple up your spine. You waited - half-expecting the principal to follow up with a reassuring announcement or at least a time estimate. Nothing came. Just the fading echo of the intercom and the relentless tick of the clock.

You stayed put for a while: sat on the edge of the desk, played Snake on your flip phone, then you tried to remember what the official protocol was for substitute teachers. Lock the door? Get under the desk? Text someone?

No new emails. No messages. No movement in the hallway.

After fifteen minutes, the stillness stopped feeling temporary. The room felt too quiet - like the silence had settled in a little too comfortably. You stood, walked to the window, peeked out. No students lingering by the buses. No teachers in the parking lot. Just golden light stretching long shadows across the pavement.

You tried the hallway... nothing.

Lockers lined the walls, their doors locked tight, not a sound escaping from behind them. Classroom doors were shut like tombs, the usual chatter and shuffling replaced by an unsettling stillness. No footsteps echoed in the distance, no voices whispered or laughed. Not even the clatter of janitor carts or the squeal of old wheels on tile.

Your heels clicked sharply against the tile floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the hollow corridor.

You passed the science wing, its lights flickering faintly, and the staff lounge, where chairs were pushed back in haphazard angles like someone had left in a hurry. Which wasn't unusual, I mean, who would want to stay at work this long? You sighed once more, stopping in your tracks at the top of the stairwell and scanning the halls.

Then, a soft noise.

A faint thud echoed through the quiet hallway—muffled, but unmistakably there.

Your eyebrows knitted together as you peered down the stairwell, straining to catch the source of the sound.

There it was again. Slow, rhythmic, deliberate. Like a ball bouncing against hardwood floors.

The gym.

Of course.

You made your way down the stairs, each step slower than the last. You knew who you'd find before you even opened the door. He was a constant presence in the building - a shadow behind the bleachers, a smirk in the staff lounge, the subject of too many whispered jokes and flushed PTA meetings.

Negan Smith.

Gym teacher. Charmer. Asshole. Married.

And if the rumours were true, very good at making bad decisions feel like good ones - at least for the night.

You hesitated in front of the gym doors. The soft sound of a bouncing basketball filtered through, steady and unhurried. The kind of rhythm that didn't come from stress. It came from someone enjoying the quiet.

You pushed one door open slowly.

The gym was half-dark, lit only by the high windows catching the last of the sun. Shadows stretched across the floor in wide golden bands. And there he was.

Alone at centre court. Dribbling. Whistling low under his breath.

Sweat clung to the back of his neck. His shirt stuck slightly to his chest. That damn whistle still hung around his neck, like it was part of him.

He turned his head when he heard the door creak. His eyes locked onto yours instantly. For a second, he just stared, clearly thrown by your sudden appearance.

Until smirk pulled at his mouth, slow and crooked, like he'd won the lottery.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice smooth as bourbon and twice as dangerous. "Look who didn't evacuate."

You didn't move from the doorway. Instead, leaning on the frame whilst gazing at him from across the hall.

"Didn't realise we were supposed to," you said, voice dry. "No one sent me the memo."

He spun the ball in his hands. Shrugged. "Guess that makes two of us."

You glanced around the empty gym. "No one else still here?"

Negan's smile widened. "Not that I've seen."

The hardwood floor gleamed beneath the fading sunlight, every scrape and scuff illuminated in stark relief. The scent of old sweat and polished wood hung in the air, oddly comforting in its familiarity.

You stepped fully inside, the door closing softly behind you with a hollow thud. Negan's eyes never left yours as he bounced the ball once more, the rhythm steady and casual, like nothing in the world could rattle him.

"So," you started, adjusting the strap on your tote bag, "how long have you been stuck here?"

He chuckled, low and amused. "Long enough to get bored. And apparently, to find company." His gaze flicked down briefly, then back up, sharp and calculating.

You met his gaze steadily. "Not like I want to be your company, but it's better than nothing."

Negan's smirk deepened, a slow, deliberate grin that hinted at something more dangerous than just playful teasing.

You shifted on your feet, the echo of the basketball thudding softly against the polished floor filling the space between you. Negan dribbled casually, his eyes never leaving yours, as if daring you to make the next move.

"Well, that's honest," he said, voice low, a teasing edge curling his words. "I like honesty. Makes the game more interesting."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but amused despite yourself. "You think this is a game?"

"Everything's a game," he replied with a grin, stepping a little closer. "Especially when the players know how to keep it fun."

You crossed your arms, watching him carefully. "And what if I'm not here to play?"

Negan's grin didn't falter. Instead, it grew wider, that confident glint sparking in his eyes. "Then maybe I'll have to convince you otherwise."

There was a beat of silence, the only sound the soft bounce of the basketball. Then he tossed the ball lightly into the air and caught it again, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

"So," he said, voice dipping a little lower, "what's a woman like you doing all alone after hours? Besides grading papers, I mean."

You shrugged, pretending nonchalance even though your heart skipped a beat. "Just finishing up what the day didn't."

"And here I thought you might be escaping the madness."

"If i was escaping the madness, I definitely wouldn't be here."

Negan's eyes darkened, the air between you thickening with something unspoken. He took another step closer, the space narrowing.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't run too far," he murmured.

You met his gaze, steady and unflinching. You rolled your eyes, but despite yourself, smile curved your lips.

Negan caught the smile, like he'd just scored a small victory. He set the ball down with a deliberate bounce and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, eyes locked on you the whole time.

"You know," he said, voice lower now, almost casual but charged, "most people don't stick around this late. Especially when there's a lockdown drill."

You tilted your head, curious. "Why's that?"

"It can be chaotic," His grin turned slow and lazy. "I mean, chaos can be fun," he said, the light hitting him at a certain angle where you could count the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, and even the roughness of his stubble. "But it's better when you've got someone to share it with."

You felt the heat in the air shift, thickening between you. The sunlight slipping through the windows painted gold on his skin, and damn if it didn't make him look dangerous and tempting all at once.

"Not many people get this kind of quiet after hours," he said. "You know, just you and me. No prying eyes, no interruptions."

"I'm not sure what you want from me."

"Just a little company," he said softly. "Maybe some fun. No promises about what kind, but I can make it worth your while."

You shifted on your feet, heart pounding louder than the bouncing ball. The room felt smaller, the space between you charged, ready to snap.

"You're real pretty," He continued with a charming smile, like a teenage boy trying to win over his girlfriend after an argument.

You rolled your eyes, laughing slightly. "Shut up."

Negan chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, like he'd just been handed the best card in the deck. He licked his bottom lip, before continuing, "Oh, come on. You can't tell me you don't like hearing it."

Silence settled thick between you - not awkward, not exactly. Just charged. The kind of silence that vibrated at the edges. Like the moment before a storm cracks open the sky. You were still, arms crossed, lips pressed tight in what you told yourself was disapproval... but the flush warming your neck said otherwise.

Negan just stood there, eyes on you like he was reading every flicker of doubt across your face and cataloguing it - not to use against you, no. To undress you with it. Slowly. Thoroughly.

The basketball rolled lazily away across the gym floor, forgotten.

He let the quiet stretch for another beat, then broke it with that low, cocky voice - smooth, dirty like the back seat of a car in high school.

"You know," he started, licking his bottom lip slow, "I see you sometimes."

Your eyes narrowed, but he kept going, unfazed. Amused.

"Not to sound like a damn creep - though let's be honest, I probably will - but... you're beautiful."

He took a step forward, just one.

"I mean, you're real fuckin' beautiful."

You didn't speak, not yet. He didn't need you to.

"I watch you walk through that lounge like you're tryin' not to get noticed - all quiet, all polite - and all it does is make me wonder how pretty you'd look... in other circumstances."

Another step. Close enough now that his voice didn't need volume to hit.

"Like," he murmured, leaning in just enough for the words to sink into your skin, "in bed, for example."

Your breath caught - sharp and involuntary - and you hated that he noticed it. Hated more that part of you wanted him to. Your body stayed rooted, but something in your expression faltered - just for a flicker. A blink of heat behind your eyes, a twitch of your jaw like you were chewing on a retort that didn't want to come out clean. Your arms crossed tighter. A defence. A delay.

But your gaze didn't break from his.

Didn't want to.

His smile spread, slow and crooked - the kind that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Not very professional of me, huh?" he added, tilting his head with mock innocence. "Guess I've never been all that great at keeping my hands - or my thoughts - where they're supposed to be."

He waited, eyes locked on yours, letting the tension coil again.

You hated how it made your pulse quicken.

He watched you closely, reading the shift in your posture, the flush creeping just below your collar. Like a predator who knew the exact second his prey decided not to run.

"I see that look," he said, voice low and smooth, "the one you're trying real hard to pretend ain't there."

You scoffed, but it came out too breathless. Too soft. "You're so full of yourself."

"Maybe," he drawled, stepping in close now - close enough that the scent of him hit you: sweat, cedar, something faintly like smoke. "But I'm not wrong."

You could feel the heat rolling off his body, the space between you barely a breath. His eyes searched yours, dark and deliberate.

"Tell me to back off," he said, low and serious this time. "Say the word, and I'll walk my ass right outta this gym."

You didn't. You couldn't.

Instead, you looked at him - really looked - and all that teasing bravado, that lazy charm, it was still there, but underneath it? A raw, pulsing want. And the weight of a hundred quiet glances exchanged across staff meetings and lunch breaks.

Your throat worked to swallow the lump rising there. "I should," you whispered. "I should tell you to back off."

He nodded slowly, eyes flickering between your mouth and your eyes. "Yeah. But you won't."

And he was right.

The last sliver of space between you vanished. One second, there was air. The next, there was only heat and breath and the hard line of his mouth crashing into yours.

His hands found your hips like they belonged there, tugging you forward, anchoring you against him as your tote bag thudded to the floor, forgotten. Your fingers curled in the front of his shirt, clutching fabric like you needed something to hold onto or you'd fall straight through the floor.

The kiss was rough, unscripted, not gentle, not slow. It was heat and tension and the release of every unspoken thing that had built between you.

And when you finally pulled apart, gasping against each other's mouths, your eyes locked again - wild, searching.

He grinned.

"See?" he rasped. "Told you chaos was better with company."

You could only respond with a breathless, disbelieving laugh - part amusement, part surrender - before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him back in, mouth crashing against his with a kind of hunger that surprised even you. There was no hesitation this time, no teasing give-and-take - just heat, fierce and unfiltered, spilling between you like it had been building for months.

His hands slid around your waist, gripping tight, but you were already moving, guiding him backwards with insistence, step by step, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the lower bleachers. He let you lead, a low, pleased growl rumbling in his throat, and you pushed him down before straddling his lap, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck as your mouths found each other again.

He spoke, breathless and muffled between your lips, "Goddamn, baby".

You laughed against his mouth, the sound caught somewhere between disbelief and desire, lips brushing his as you murmured, "Shut up, Negan." But your fingers didn't stop their path through his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp, and the way he groaned into your kiss made your stomach twist tight with want.

His hands roamed your waist, rough palms skimming the fabric of your shirt like he wanted to memorise every curve beneath. You rocked forward instinctively, drawing a sharp breath from him - and that crooked, cocky smile returned.

"You're trouble," he said, voice low and hoarse, like it scraped through something raw. "And I fuckin' love trouble."

You kissed him again before he could say anything else - deeper, slower this time - tasting the heat behind his grin.

Your hips shifted against his just enough to make him tense under you, a short breath dragging through his teeth. "Shit," he whispered, half in warning, half in praise.

Negan's hands tightened slightly at your waist, before his fingers made their way to the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours for a moment, eyes dark and intense, searching yours like he wanted to memorise every flicker of emotion there. Then his lips found yours again, softer this time, slower, as if trying to savour the moment before everything tipped over the edge.

You pressed closer, the weight of his body beneath you grounding and igniting you all at once. Your fingers made their way between you, palming his crotch, and he responded with a low growl that vibrated through his chest into yours.

Reaching behind you, he smoothly undone the clasp on your bra, letting it fall down onto the ground beside you both.

Negan pulled back slowly from the kiss, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a raw, unfiltered intensity that made your breath hitch. "Damn, you're so beautiful," He rasped before picking you up and swapping places.

You leaned back against the cool bleachers, watching as he slowly pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the lean lines of his shoulders and chest. The faint light caught the subtle sheen of sweat on his skin, making him look even more intense.

His eyes locked onto yours, a playful spark lighting up his gaze. Without breaking the moment, he leaned down and his hands slid to the waistband of your pants, fingers curling gently but with purpose.

He tugged lightly, your pants slipping down just enough to ignite a spark deep inside you. His hands were strong and deliberate, each touch carrying weight - a silent promise, a challenge you couldn't ignore. The heat between you thickened, electric and urgent.

Negan's dark eyes locked onto yours, blazing with hunger and something raw, almost possessive. "Bend over," He commanded, causing you to bite your lip slightly before nodding.

You did as you were told, kneeling on the lowest bench and bending over the next.

Facing the bleachers, you waited patiently. The faintest rustle of fabric and the subtle shift of weight behind you were the only sounds breaking the heavy silence. Your breath slowed, heart pounding in your ears, as you waited - every second stretching out, charged with the promise of what was to come.

Then came the warmth of his breath against the back of your neck, startling you into a sharp inhale.

A beat later, his hands found your hips - cold against your warmth, steady and deliberate. The contrast sent a shiver skimming up your spine. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. His touch was a question, a claim, and a warning all at once.

Then, slowly, you turned your head, spotting him and his large length behind you, already hard and glistening with pre-cum.

You bit your lip slightly, and he smiled that same charming smile he was showing off just minutes earlier, before hooking his fingers under the hem of your panties and pulling them down. You gasped, the cold air causing you to realise how wet you really were, before being palmed with the warmth of his hand.

"Goddamn, honey," He murmured, "You're more than ready for me, huh?"

You nodded, already breathless at his teasing touches.

Negan removed his hand, leaving your aching hole abandoned, before slowly aligning himself to your entrance.

Biting your lip, you impatiently pushed back, the feeling of need overwhelming your insides. He groaned at the feeling, his tip rubbing against your entrance, before grabbing onto your hips and slowly pulling you onto him.

You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding, a small moan coming along with it.

Unable to help himself, his grip on your hips tightened and pulled you back harder, your pussy now engulfing his whole cock. You moaned loudly, causing him to bend over you and shove his fingers into your mouth, muffling your moans as he let out shaky breaths.

"Shh..." He whispers into your ear, his voice dripping with that same charming tone, but laced with desire, "You don't want a rogue janitor to catch us, do you?" He pulls out slowly before slamming back into you, causing you to moan around his fingers.

Your pussy squeezes tightly around his cock, and he slams into you again, and again, his pace quickening with each thrust.

He starts to fuck you harder and faster, his hips slapping against your ass, before removing his fingers from your mouth, only to grab a handful of your hair.

You whimper, "Does your wife let you fuck her like this?"

"Hell no," He grunts, his thrusts becoming more and more animalistic.

"Fuck," You moan, your pussy beginning to pulse around his cock, a knot forming in your stomach.

He groans, his hips moving like a jackhammer, "That's right, baby, cum for me."

You moan loudly, before finally releasing, your pussy clenching around his dick like a vice. Negan's eyes roll back as he let's out a loud guttural groan. He buries himself deep inside you and stays there, his cock twitching and pulsing as he fills you up with hot cum.

The gym was silent again, the kind of silence that hummed at the edges. The sun had dipped low enough that only a slant of gold remained across the court, casting long shadows through the high windows.

Your hair was mussed and clinging to your temples with sweat. Negan slowly pulled out of you. His head was tilted back, eyes half-lidded as he caught his breath. For once, he wasn't smirking. He looked... soft. Quiet.

But there it was again that signature, lazy smirk spreading across his face.

[obaex]

four - hockey player!ex!rafe cameron (pt. 2)

summary: with the stakes of your relationship on the line, can rafe pull off the impossible to win you back?

word count: 6k 🫣

a/n: i love you all for the love on this lil' series!! ♡ toxic hockey rafe has me in a chokehold, so i promise this will not be the last you see of him!! apologies in advance, you will basically be attending a full hockey game here, i tried my best to explain all the lingo!

(part one)

The arena was packed even though you were there early, arriving alone because the other girlfriends and wives were always late, which simply wasn't in your DNA.

Your dad was a coach growing up, so you spent countless hours in empty rinks, arenas and stands; his rule for games was that you were in your seat early enough to see the starting lineup and the national anthem, no exceptions. Truth be told you liked being there when the lights went down, when the music amped up, you loved the anticipation of a new game.

You didn't mind sitting in the cold seat, hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate that you got from the same concession stand every time. Hockey players were notoriously superstitious and by extension now you were too; just like they had their pregame rituals, so did you: same parking spot in the VIP lot, same hot chocolate from the same concession stand, same seat in section 106. You were in the lower bowl of the arena, a few rows back from the ice, facing the bench, nearly eye-level with the team.

You let your mind wander and tried not to think about Rafe but it was impossible, this place was Rafe to you; from the feeling of the cold air on your cheeks and fingers, to the damp and crisp smell of the ice and the sounds of the fans and ambient pregame music, all of it was a part of your love story, all of it was him. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt like you thought it would, rather it felt like coming home after a semester at college, foreign but familiar.

You swiped at your phone, a nervous tick, even though you knew there wouldn't be anything there, which was a good thing, Rafe needed to be focused on the game, so you slid your phone into the cupholder next to you and resorted to tapping your heeled foot nervously.

The seats around you filled quickly and sure enough the other girlfriends and wives arrived just as the lights were dimming, offering cheek kisses and sympathetic hugs, well aware of your situation. Your best friend Morgan slid in next to you, pulling you into her side.

"It's selfish, but I'm glad you're here" she said, loud enough to be heard over the music and the announcer as her brown eyes traced your face sympathetically.

"I'm fine" you lied with a forced smile. Totally fine you thought. Not the love of my life who broke my heart then skated over it trying to win me back in the middle of the semifinals.

You decided to keep all of that to yourself, because truthfully it was ridiculous. It was juvenile. And it was never going to happen. And you didn't want it to happen anyway, you reassured yourself. Right?

You shook your head as you turned your attention to the starting lineup as Rafe's name boomed over the loudspeaker, the cheering noticeably louder from the crowd. He was a fan favorite, beloved for his fast and aggressive style of play. He wasn't afraid to two-hand someone when the referee wasn't looking, to stand up for his team, to battle for the puck. He was chippy, gritty, and he's on the first line tonight you thought to yourself, a spot reserved for the very best players, putting them in the best scoring position. But surely that's not in any way related to our deal... you mused.

You stood on your tiptoes to see him over the crowd in front of you. He was standing at center ice under the spotlight, his helmet tucked under his arm as he shuffled side to side on his skates, face unsmiling, focused as he looked between his feet and the empty ice in front of him. Your heart leapt uncontrollably at the sight of him; God he's beautiful you thought as your body hummed in recognition and longing, completely betraying you.

The tension and animosity in the arena were thick. You had faced the opposing team a few times in the regular season and it did not end well.

As in, you'd lost every time.

As in, Rafe left the last game with a five-minute major penalty and a black eye after an all-out brawl.

Now the fans were itching for a rematch and you were simply hoping for everyone to leave in one piece. That was the difference between being a fan and being someone who cared deeply for the boys on the ice, it wasn't a spectacle to you anymore. You watched as Rafe's wingers Nick and Andrew stood beside him, followed by two defensemen and your goalie as the national anthem wrapped up.

Everyone took their seats as the lights came back on and the music came on again too, urging the fans around you to cheer, and for you to resume the incessant tapping of your foot as you leaned forward in your seat, laser focused on the guys lining up for the faceoff.

"Girl, you good?" Morgan asked, taking in your nervous energy.

"Hmm?" you responded distractedly, barely glancing at her. "Yeah, yeah m'fine" you said.

You were always more into the game than the other girls, but that didn't account for the clear tension and anxiety rolling off of you in waves, nor the way you were immaculately dressed, which didn't go unnoticed either.

Rafe skated to center ice, equally sized with the opponent at faceoff as the referee dropped the puck. It had barely clattered to the ice before Rafe had gained possession, shouldering his opponent out of the way and barreling towards the offensive zone with a burst of energy like a gunshot that had the crowd almost immediately back on their feet, pulling you along with them.

"OK, I'm sorry, what is happening here?" Morgan said as she watched him.

He was a man possessed, head down, focused, ignoring his teammates as they called for the puck to set up a play, like he was trying to do it all himself. Like he was trying to score. He flipped the puck towards the goalie, who blocked it and possession shifted as he skated backwards on defense, your heart settling in your chest.

Rafe always played with intensity, but with the way he was playing now, he wouldn't make it through the first period. You thought there would be a reprieve on defense, but he was diving for the puck, playing to steal rather than defending his zone. He looked like a maniac.

Until it worked.

The crowd was back on their feet as he and Nick had a breakaway two-on-one, both of them racing towards the net together with only one defender standing between them and the goalie, the rest of their teammates striding to catch up with them. Nick called for the puck, slapping his stick on the ice, but Rafe deked the defender, faking him out before approaching the goalie and tipping the puck into the small pocket over his shoulder, swishing it effortlessly into the net.

The arena erupted as the goal horn blared and you found yourself jumping up and down, overcome with excitement and emotion. You could physically feel your heart beating. This is totally normal you thought. It's totally fine to score a goal in the first two minutes of the game, on his first shift, against the toughest team in the league.

You watched players pile on him in celebration before they all skated back to the bench, bumping fists with their team before taking a seat on the bench. Your eyes were glued to him, and his were on the jumbotron above center ice, watching his own replay before the coach approached him, grasping his shoulder angrily, and you could imagine why. He had been reckless, he had been lucky. Rafe nodded, but ultimately shook him off and refocused on the resumed play. Players zoomed in front of you and your eyes zipped to follow them before you glanced ever so briefly back at Rafe, who was unmistakably looking at you and smiling.

You swallowed to hide the emotions on your face, not giving him a single inch as you focused on the play.

You loved watching hockey, but it felt different when Rafe was on the ice, like he was a magnet, the only thing you could focus on, and his next shift was no different. He was playing like a madman and within seconds you could hear the coach shouting. Rafe turned up emptyhanded this time and the coach was visibly angry as Rafe skated to the bench, going so far as to yell back at him, which had you holding your breath; you had never seen him do that before.

Nick reached for Rafe's shoulder to calm him down and then they started bickering back and forth. Your attention was now split between the two of them and the action on the ice when you saw Nick physically rear back at something Rafe had said, the motion grabbing your full focus. Nick covered his face with his gloved hands, looking back at Rafe and then repeating the motion before he glanced up at the stands, at you, and shook his head, resigned. Were they talking about you!?! you thought. Had Rafe just told him what's going on?

You were so caught up that you missed the play as the other team scored. The game was tied 1-1. The arena echoed with boos as their bench erupted in cheers. You looked up at the clock: 2 minutes left in the first period.

Rafe and Nick got onto the ice for their last shift and the second the puck dropped, they were off as a duo, Nick's intensity now matching Rafe's own; they were bodying guys, tag-teaming as they raced into the offensive zone. Nick had the puck and passed to Rafe, and almost immediately Rafe was cornered by two extremely large defensemen who pinned him to the boards as they tried to steal the puck. But he wouldn't relent, throwing his elbows and trying to wiggle free, desperate and angry as the buzzer sounded for the end of the period.

And yet they didn't let him go. The crowd started shouting and everyone was on their feet as Rafe dropped his stick, turned and grabbed them both by the front of their jerseys, shoving them as the benches emptied and other players joined in, piling on top of one another until you lost sight of Rafe in a mess of limbs, equipment and jerseys. You were craning to see over the ecstatic fans, egging on the fight as the referees raced to break it up, pulling bodies off of one another until they reached Rafe.

His helmet had come off and as the referees skated him towards the locker room, he was shouting at the opposing team who skated after him, riling each other up before he yanked himself out of the ref's grasp and marched off the ice through the tunnel.

Period 1: Game Tied. 1-1.

You let out a deep sigh before collapsing back in your seat. You took a shaky inhale before exhaling and you felt a set of eyes on you.

You turned to see Morgan looking at you with an eyebrow arched.

"You're really going to sit here and act like you don't know what's going on? I know that boy texts you his every thought."

You opened your mouth, an excuse, a lie ready before she interrupted you.

"-- And I KNOW you didn't block him like you said you were going to, so don't try me. What the hell is going on?"

You bit your lip at that, glancing between her and the ice where the zamboni was running clean lines across the cold surface.

You gave a halfhearted shrug, "You know how much he wants to win, how much this means to him."

She doubled down her glare.

You sighed, avoiding her gaze before looking back to her.

"I made a deal with him" you nearly whispered.

A few of the other girls snuck by you both, causing you to shift in your seats as she leaned in and whisper-shouted at you:

"I'm sorry what!"

"If he scores four goals tonight, I said I'd get back together with him."

"You're joking" she said flatly. "Please tell me you're joking."

You pursed your lips with a small shake of your head.

"The two of you" she said as she let out an exasperated laugh. "Unbelievable. You can't stay away from each other and yet you’re willing to bet the stakes of your relationship on a game. I can't" she said, throwing her hands up in defeat.

She paused, getting serious for a moment.

"Are you sure you even want to get back with him, is that really such a good idea hun?"

"Morgan, he's never going to score four goals, it's like, impossible."

"Are you watching the same game I am?" she said emphatically. "Cause your mans sure is gonna try and you better ask yourself what you're going to do if he does."

There was a whisper of truth to what she was saying. It was probably impossible, but not completely out of reach. And what would you do? Your heart trilled. You would be ecstatic the devil on your shoulder said. You would be screwed said the angel.

Your phone buzzed in the cupholder next to you and swiped it open.

You grasped at your phone. Rafe never had his phone between periods, none of the players did, it was basically sacrilegious. They had just enough time to get treatment, catch their breath, hydrate and listen to their coach and he was on his phone!? You put yours down and tried to rearrange the smile creeping onto your face as you saw the teams rejoining the ice for the second period.

Just like before, Rafe was off like a rocket, but the other team was on to him this time, doubling his defensive coverage, making it nearly impossible for him to skate, let alone make a play. He had put a target on his back with the fight at the end of the first period, so even when he didn't have the puck, you could see the other players go after him, a stick in his skates, a slash at his side, heads turning to chirp at him as they lined up for faceoffs. But he didn't slow down for a moment, battling twice as hard now, coming back to the bench after each shift uncharacteristically exhausted, heaving with his elbows on his knees.

You watched him and felt overcome with emotions as the realization hit you: Rafe wasn't good at expressing himself, he wasn't a 'feelings' person, he didn't always know what to say, which is why sometimes words came better to him over texts when he had more time to think about it. But hockey? Hockey was his language. He couldn't tell you how sorry he was, how much he wanted to fight for this, but he could show you. He could play for you, he was playing for you, putting his body on the line, trying his all-out hardest, not a single person in the arena could deny that as they watched him tonight. He wanted this. Badly. Which meant he wanted you, badly. You felt a flush of warmth in your cheeks that had nothing to do with your lukewarm hot chocolate as you watched him slide up the bench for his next shift.

You looked up at the jumbotron. There were only 12 minutes left in the second period, and the game was still tied at 1-1.

What were you going to do if he scored four goals?

What were you going to do if he didn't? felt like the more pressing question. He was running out of time. If something didn't happen now, he would have one period left to score 3 goals, and that was simply not going to happen. I shouldn't have made the number so high you thought guiltily.

Your eyes glanced back to the ice as he clambered over the boards in the midst of a shift change. He was skating methodically, not slower, but maybe more strategically and you were sure his energy was waning even if it didn't look like it.

Suddenly, Nick picked the puck off an opponent and Rafe raced to skate with him, crossing into the offensive zone with several of their teammates. Nick had a wide open shot, and he brought his stick back for a slapshot before turning at the very last moment and passing to Rafe who had positioned himself near the goalie. The puck banked off his stick and ricocheted into the goal.

You were on your feet again, jumping up and down in Morgan's arms as the boys piled onto each other. The crowd was alive again as the team took a 2-1 lead, 5 minutes left now in the second period.

Morgan looked at you, shaking her head before shouting something you couldn't hear over the crowd. You shook your head back before she leaned in closer.

"Is Nick in on this shit?" she yelled.

You looked at her, confused.

"Why else wouldn't he take that shot? It was wide open."

The idea of Rafe recruiting his best friend and linemate into this made you lightheaded and giddy. As you looked back at the bench, the two of them were shoulder to shoulder, looking right at you and Nick waved, a goofy little smile on his face for the briefest of seconds before his attention returned to the game.

Period 2: Eagles winning. 2-1.

The period ended and you spent the last intermission glued to your seat as everyone around you got up to get food and drinks, your mind spinning.

One period. Twenty minutes left for Rafe to score 2 goals. It was still nearly impossible, but didn't feel as insurmountable as before and you still weren't sure what you wanted the outcome to be. You were staring into middle space, questioning your entire relationship when your phone buzzed again in your cupholder. You swiped it open.

Two hearts.

Two goals.

You smiled widely, rolling your eyes before giggling like a little girl. You wanted to respond, and your fingers lingered over your screen, but he still had no business being on his phone, and what could you possibly say anyway?? "Nevermind!! Let's get back together despite all the shit you put me through!"

Ugh.

The third period was simultaneously the slowest and quickest 20 minutes of your life.

Rafe was battling, and the other team battled back, getting chippier and chippier as the teams exchanged penalties and breakaways, but the score stayed the same. You could feel the crowd's excitement at the prospect of scraping through this game with a one-goal lead; a good enough result to make them happy, but you couldn't deny the disappointment you felt as you were playing an entirely different game.

As time whittled down you felt yourself getting emotional as the odds were stacked against Rafe, stacked against both of you. Ten minutes. Eight. Five. Three. You could feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes as your foot continued to tap, eyes glancing anxiously between Rafe, the bench, the players and the jumbotron that counted down the time unceasingly.

Morgan reached for you, winding her arm around yours and grabbing your hand, a sad smile on her lips. You both knew this wasn't going to happen. There was just no way. You could sense that Rafe could feel it too, he was getting more and more desperate, scrambling after the puck, making sloppy mistakes that made you feel guilty, the most so when the other team scored… tying the game.

And then what felt like the final twist of the knife: with less than 1 minute left, they scored again, capitalizing on the dashed morale of the Eagles to take the lead 3-2. It was like someone sucked the air out of the arena. Rafe was on the ice, on his knees and all of the players looked so defeated.

Fuck fuck fuck was all you could think as they regrouped with their coach to come up with their last play, their last chance to tie the game. You leaned forward, desperately trying to read lips as if you could somehow decipher the plan. The ref blew the whistle and the coach sent guys on the ice, leaving Rafe behind, and your stomach dropped: he wasn't even going to get a chance.

Rafe argued and you could see him yelling and gesturing wildly as the coach yelled back. The ref blew the whistle again and you knew they were dangerously close to getting a delay of game penalty. A ripple of confusion went through the crowd as they watched the argument unfold and you wished you could sink into your seat and disappear.

The coach shouted something that seemed final before Rafe took one look at him, ignored him and skated onto the ice, swapping with Nick who slid onto the bench, head bowed, ashamed, as the coach berated him.

At this point, Rafe had been on the ice way longer than he should have, he was making mistakes, and now he was putting his career, his contract on the line as he stepped up to take the faceoff.

The puck dropped and the battle ensued as the teams fought back and forth. Their team took a shot on goal that had you holding your breath as the time ticked down.

There were less than 20 seconds left as the puck rebounded towards Rafe and he guided it with his stick, taking off down the ice faster than you'd ever seen him skate; in just three strides he had nearly covered the length of the rink, leaving all of the other players trailing behind him as he squared off with the goalie.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!" the crowd shouted.

You were on your feet, grasping Morgan's arm for dear life, certain you were leaving a mark as you continued to hold your breath.

Rafe shot the puck and it hit the goalie's leg pad, but bounded right back to him.

"Three! Two!"

He shot again and the goalie fell forward, but the crowd behind the goalie erupted and the official lit the lamp behind the goal - he had scored.

The puck had slid between the goalie's legs and Rafe exploded with energy, ripping down the ice and jumping into the glass in front of you as his team piled on top of him and the crowd went ballistic as fans threw their hats onto the ice to celebrate his hat trick - three goals scored.

You were jumping and screaming with the other girls, a few tears escaping your eyes in relief and excitement, overwhelmed at the entire situation.

Three goals.

He'd scored three damn goals, a new career record for him. And now they were in overtime.

Period 3: Game tied 3-3. End of regulation play.

"Wait! Wait! What the hell happens now!?" Morgan asked breathless, looking to you as the only girl that knew a thing about the rules.

"Overtime" you huffed, trying to calm yourself. "Another 20 minutes, first team to score wins."

"Was that part of the deal?" she asked.

"It wasn't not part of the deal?" you said. "We didn't really get into specifics" you laughed, rolling your eyes.

You glanced at the bench as both teams hydrated and listened to the coaches. Rafe's teammates were still all over him, smacking his helmet, arms slung around him. The coach said something to him and he put his hands up in surrender as he sat on the bench and his teammates took the ice.

Your eyes were glued to Rafe but unlike before his didn't meet yours and for a second, you didn't know how to take that. You craved that acknowledgement from him, but you also recognized the look on his face; he was totally 100% focused, eyes fixed on the action on the ice. He wants to win you thought. Or maybe his focus was for something else.

Within a few minutes, his line was up and they jumped on the ice. He was playing smart now, conservative, concentrated and gathered, a stark difference from before. He was strong on defense, backing his team up as they played perfectly off of each other, which paid off when Nick stole the puck and shouted as he passed the puck up the boards to Rafe who sprinted after it, just a stride in front of a defender.

"Oh my god" you heard Morgan mutter as everyone stood to their feet and even though the roar of the crowd was deafening, you swore you could hear every scrape of Rafe's skate against the ice, the clatter of the puck as the play moved in slow motion to the beat of your heart.

Another stride and Rafe was alone in the offensive zone, the defender just a hair behind him.

Was this really happening? Was he about to end the game, to score a fourth goal?

Another stride and he was eyeing the goalie, lining up his shot.

He maneuvered his stick and just as he was about to shoot, the defender dove, thrusting his stick in Rafe's path, causing them both to tumble onto the ice and into the goalie, the puck sliding away, abandoned as the refs blew their whistles. No goal.

Rafe was down for only a second before he stood up, grabbed his stick and swung it with full force, snapping it in half over the boards in front of him in rage and frustration, causing the fans behind the glass to jump and spill their beer on each other.

Two of the refs were frantically skating towards him, waving their arms and blowing their whistles, but your eyes drifted to the head referee who was standing next to the officials box, watching a small computer screen, a replay. Almost immediately he nodded, handed back the screen and raised his fisted hands over his head and crossed them and you let out an uncontrollable shout of excitement as you grabbed for Morgan.

"What! Oh my god! What is going on!!?" she shouted back, and all you could do was laugh and shout as you jumped up and down and pointed to the referee.

"You are the ONLY ONE HERE who knows what that means!" she shouted. "What does it mean!!!?"

"A PENALTY SHOT!" you shouted back.

Your eyes shot back to Rafe who had clocked the same thing and was skating back to the bench. The equipment manager handed him a new stick and now the arena was abuzz with the same information as the announcer explained that Rafe would have the chance to score one on one against the goalie, with all of the other players off the ice. A golden opportunity.

The fans were ballistic. You could barely hear yourself think, could barely process your emotions as you struggled onto your tiptoes again to see over the raised hands and jumping fans as Rafe skated methodically to center ice, alone.

He skated back and forth, side to side with crisp turns like a predatory shark before he stopped at center ice, hands on his stick on his knees, eyeing the goalie before his head turned slowly and he looked right at you. Even amidst the chaos, you could see his signature smirk before he refocused and gathered the puck in his stick.

He was going to score.

You just knew it. You knew by the look on his face, by the stride of his skates, by the confidence in his gait.

"He's going to score" you said out loud, quietly, to yourself, a revelation before you turned to Morgan who was solely focused on the scene unfolding on the ice. You tugged on her sleeve, desperate for her to understand the weight of what you had just said.

"He's going to score, Morgan" you said, louder, matter-of-factly.

"Well SHIT I hope so!!!!" she shouted back without looking at you, now completely wrapped up in the game.

She didn't understand.

He was going to score.

And that meant he was going to be yours again.

Your eyes found the ice and you watched as he approached the goalie, goading him out of the goal, faking him out before wrapping the puck around his leg and tipping it upward.

The goalie dove backwards at the last minute and 15,000 fans held their breath as his gloved hand extended, brushing the edge of the puck, causing it to wobble, but without enough force to change the course of fate as the puck swooshed into the net.

The goal lamp lit up.

The goal horn sounded.

And if you thought the arena was loud before, it reached a new level as fans screamed, shouted, jumped up and down and embraced each other.

You felt realization ripple over you, your gaze stuck on the ice. Stuck on the image of the goalie flat on his back, defeated. Stuck to Rafe who had ripped his helmet off, discarded as he let out a roar of victory before getting bombarded by his teammates who piled on him in celebration.

End of OT. Eagles win 4-3.

Morgan yanked you into her by your shoulders, hugging you and jumping up and down, but an unexplainable calm had settled over you, gluing your feet to the ground.

You should be excited, you were, but instead you felt like you were having an out-of-body experience. What the hell had just happened? Rafe had scored four goals, had led his team to the finals. Had he done it for himself? Of course. But wasn't a part of it for you too?

You turned and looked back at the ice, desperate to catch his eye, to talk to him, to figure this out as chaos rained around you. The players skated to center ice with their sticks raised to salute the fans before skating away, Rafe leading them quickly into the tunnel without so much as a look at you. Not even a cheeky smile or a blown kiss, which you used to get after every game. What the fuck.

Morgan shook your shoulder.

"Babes, now what?!" she asked, excited, curious, anxious.

You looked at her, lost. You had no idea. Did you text him? Were you just back together again? How did this work?

The lights dimmed as the announcer drew the crowd back in to introduce the three stars of the game - recognizing the three standout players of the night. The third star was your goalie, who stopped an unimaginable number of shots and you cheered for him as he skated solo onto the ice in a spotlight, taking a spin around the ice before tossing a t-shirt into the crowd to an excited fan.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, your mind incapable of thinking of anything but Rafe. You grabbed your phone. No new texts. The players were all in the locker room by now. Sure, they were partying and celebrating, but if he had time to text you in the middle of the game, couldn't he text you now??

Nick was the second star of the game and you glanced up from your phone to see him doing the familiar skate around the ice, waving to Morgan who blew him a kiss back, but you glanced back at your phone, willing a text to appear, opening and closing your texts, refreshing the app, messing with your wifi. Surely it was the internet connection you thought, now desperate to hear from him.

"Come on Cameron" you murmured to yourself.

"Okay, what is he doing?" you heard Morgan laugh and you looked down to the ice to see Nick still circling around, backwards, forwards, pumping up the crowd who roared around him as he gathered a t-shirt to throw. You were thrilled for him, really, but you resumed your focus on your phone. Should I turn it off and turn it back on again? you thought.

The lights dimmed further and the deep voice of the announcer reverberated, "Ladies and gentlemen, your first star of the game, with an unprecedented four goals, including your game winner--"

"Uhhh YN" you heard Morgan say.

But you were too distracted, too afraid to look away from your phone in case you missed a text coming through.

"--Rafe Cameron!!!" the announcer said, the spotlight shining on the tunnel, and your eyes shot up at the sound of his name, only to find the ice empty.

You felt Morgan tug harshly on your sleeve and when you finally looked back to her your stomach barrel-rolled and your heart shot into your throat.

Standing unmistakably next to her in the aisle was Rafe, still fully suited in his gear and pads, towering over everyone like a giant, his skates traded for his training shoes. Pieces of his hair were clinging to his forehead and his face was rosy with exertion, sweat dripping down his temple in rivulets.

He was smiling confidently at you, and unlike the last time you had seen him in your car, his eyes were unwavering and transfixed on yours, even when the fans around you turned around and noticed he was there, even when phones were whipped out and shouts and cheers went up, he ignored them; he only had eyes for you.

"How--" you started to say, your phone completely forgotten as he started to nudge his way past the people at the end of your row to walk fully into the seats next to you.

"Ohmygod, ohymgod" Morgan was saying as she clambered out of the way of his bulky frame and suddenly he was towering in front of you.

He was breathing heavily; with how quickly he made it up here it was no wonder he had been sprinting off the ice and into the tunnel. His face searched yours, eyes twinkling, flitting over your lips, searching for a sign, a signal, a hint of how you were feeling. And you weren't sure you could have expressed it even if you could form words.

He leaned down next to your ear and you could feel the sweat and the heat radiating off of him.

"That was four" he said, breathless and husky before pulling back, but not as far as before, his nose brushing yours.

The spotlight was sweeping the empty ice, looking for him as the announcer tried awkwardly to fill the air time, wondering where he was.

All you could do was meet his gaze, staring into his crystal blue eyes.

And all you could see was your Rafe.

Sure, he had his issues, but you knew he was sincere, you knew he was trying and you acknowledged that despite everything he was probably the love of your life.

"We didn't agree on overtime goals" you said loudly back at him to be heard over the crowd.

For a moment you could see fear, panic and a hint of hurt cross his face; if you didn't know him as well as you did you wouldn't have seen it, it was nearly indetectable. But he took one look at your sly smile, your blushing cheeks, your eyes rimmed with tears.

"C'mere" he said roughly, ignoring you as his warm and sweaty hands that smelled unmistakably like his gloves grabbed your face and pulled you towards him as his lips enveloped yours, engulfing you, bold, brazen and completely unabashed as he full on made out with you, chaotically, his tongue slipping into your mouth, even when you tried to wiggle away, more out of a sense of decorum than anything as a feeling seeped through every inch of you like he was mending every wound in your body.

He was sweating all over you at this point, but you didn't care. You could feel it dripping on you. You could taste it in his kiss, mixed with the tang of yellow gatorade and your fingers grasped for purchase on his jersey as you tried to balance yourself against the force of him pressing into you.

The crowd around you erupted, as the flash of pictures being taken lit the two of you. He was unrelenting and you could feel yourself flushing as much from his attention as from the heat radiating off of him. It definitely went on longer than it should have, longer than any right-minded couple would have made out in front of thousands of fans before he paused just long enough, his lips still hovering on yours and said through a growl, "You're mine, baby."

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[crescent003]

The Fight That Awaits

Kim Geon Woo Masterlist The buzzing atmosphere of the arena was nearly suffocating, the weight of the crowd’s energy heavy in the air. You sat in the front row, knees pressed together, hands gripping the seat’s edge. Your eyes were fixed on the ring where Kim Geon Woo, the love of your life, was preparing for the match of his life. You could feel the thrum of anticipation from the crowd, the smell of sweat, leather, and the faint tang of blood hanging in the air.

Geon Woo had always been intense, but tonight, it was different. You could tell he was pushing himself further than ever before. The glint of determination in his eyes, the controlled breath as he wrapped his hands, each punch he threw in practice sharper and more deliberate—it made you uneasy.

He glanced at you from across the room for a brief moment, and it was as though time stopped. His eyes softened when they met yours, and you could see the layers of everything he was about to face in that gaze. Despite the weight of the match, despite everything, you were his anchor. That’s why you always came. For him. No matter how hard it was.

You knew what this meant to him—boxing wasn’t just a sport; it was an escape, a release, a way to deal with the darkness that sometimes threatened to consume him. His past had been full of things he could never fully express, and boxing was the one place he could take that pain, wrap it up in every punch, and let it out. But it didn’t make it any easier to watch.

The referee’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you turned to see Geon Woo stepping into the ring, his form cutting through the chaos of the crowd’s noise. There was no hesitation in his movements. No doubt.

You stood, biting your lip, and slowly walked towards the edge of the ring, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck rise with the growing tension.

You’ve got this, you mouthed to him, your voice barely audible over the loudspeakers, but you knew he would hear it. He always did.

Geon Woo gave you a faint, reassuring smile, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, the bell rang.

The first few rounds were a blur. The sound of fists hitting flesh, the blood, the sweat—everything happening in a blur of adrenaline. You could hardly sit still. Your heart was racing with every punch he landed, every movement he made. You stood on your tiptoes, leaning forward, unable to tear your gaze away from him. Each round seemed to last forever, and yet, in the midst of it all, you never doubted his strength.

But the longer the match went on, the more you could feel his exhaustion. His breath came heavier, his movements slower. The other fighter was relentless, and you saw the signs of fatigue start to creep into Geon Woo’s stance. He wasn’t the type to give up, but tonight, something was different. His body was telling him to quit, but his will—his determination—refused to let him.

In the corner, between rounds, you caught a glimpse of his trainer shouting instructions at him, but Geon Woo’s eyes were locked on you. You could see the unsaid words in his expression, the quiet plea for strength.

He needed to win. Not just for the crowd, not just for his pride. But for you. For everything you meant to him.

The bell rang again for the final round, and you could feel your chest tightening with every movement he made. Geon Woo, though battered, pushed forward, landing a devastating punch to his opponent’s ribs. The crowd roared, the tension palpable.

Then, with a sudden burst of power, Geon Woo threw the final blow. His opponent staggered back, but it was enough. The referee stepped in, calling for the match to end.

The crowd erupted, but your world went silent as Geon Woo collapsed to his knees in exhaustion. You rushed down to the ring, ignoring the security guards who tried to stop you. The moment you reached him, you knelt beside him, cupping his face with your hands.

"Geon Woo…" Your voice was soft, but full of concern.

He looked up at you, his lips curling into a tired, but victorious smile. “Told you I’d win,” he murmured, but you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. Blood streaked across his face, but there was a fire in his gaze—a quiet pride. “I did it for you. Always.”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you leaned down to kiss him, the world fading away as you lost yourself in the moment.

No matter the scars, no matter the pain—he was yours, and you were his. Forever

But there was no time to bask in victory. You could see the toll the match had taken on him. His knuckles were bloodied, his face marked with bruises, and his legs… his legs were clearly not holding him up well.

“Geon Woo,” you said, voice tight with emotion. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

He nodded, though it seemed like he could barely stand. His trainer came to help, but you were the one who gently guided him, your hand on his arm as you carefully supported him out of the ring. The crowd had begun to disperse, but you felt like you were in a world of your own—only focused on him.

Back at the Locker Room

The sterile smell of the locker room hit you as you helped Geon Woo sit on the bench. His shoulders were slumped, and his body seemed like it was made of stone. He was hurt, badly. You could see the cuts and bruises littering his skin—proof of just how much he’d given in the ring.

You grabbed the medical kit from the side and began carefully tending to him, your fingers trembling as you wiped the blood from his face. Geon Woo sat still, his gaze on you, but his eyes seemed distant, too tired to really focus on anything.

“Does it hurt?” you asked softly, swiping a wet cloth over the cut on his brow. He winced, but nodded.

“It always does,” he said with a faint chuckle, his voice raw. “But it’s worth it.”

You sighed softly, your heart aching. You hated seeing him like this—so broken, so vulnerable. But he was yours, and you were going to take care of him. No matter what.

You applied the ointment carefully, trying not to make him flinch as you worked. His usual prideful, strong exterior was gone. Right now, he needed you, and you would give him everything.

When you finished, you reached for the towel, gently dabbing his face and neck to wipe away the sweat. His breathing was still ragged, but you noticed his shoulders relaxing under your touch.

“Can I ask you something?” he murmured, his voice softer now, the usual bravado fading into something much more fragile.

“Anything,” you replied, your voice steady as you sat beside him, keeping a close eye on the injuries you couldn’t tend to with a first aid kit.

“Why do you stay?” His eyes met yours then, no longer hiding behind a mask of strength. They were open, vulnerable. His usual walls were down, and he let you in completely. “After everything... after the fighting, after the blood and the pain... why do you keep coming back?”

Your heart tightened, and you placed your hand on his knee. "Because I love you, Geon Woo. And I know you need to do this. You need to fight, to prove something to yourself. But I’ll be here, always. Win or lose, I’m not going anywhere."

He looked down at your hand on his knee, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of emotion—a vulnerability he rarely showed anyone, least of all himself.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve you, but I’m glad you’re here.”

You smiled gently, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “You don’t have to deserve anything. You just have to be you.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. When he opened them again, there was a quiet intensity in his gaze. “I’ll be okay,” he promised, though his voice was still hoarse. “You don’t have to worry.”

But you did. You always would.

You stood, and without a word, went to grab a bottle of water, offering it to him. He took it gratefully, his fingers brushing against yours as he drank, and for a second, the weight of the world seemed to slip away, leaving just the two of you in this moment of fragile peace.

"Let’s get you home," you said softly, moving to help him stand.

Geon Woo hesitated for a moment before standing with your assistance. You supported his weight as he leaned on you, and together, you walked out of the locker room. The world outside was still chaotic, but in this quiet moment, with him by your side, you felt like you could conquer anything.

Back at Home

It was late when you finally got him home. Geon Woo was barely able to stand on his own by the time you reached your apartment. You helped him onto the couch, then went to get a hot compress and some more ice for his swelling, placing it on his face as he lay back, eyes closed, exhaustion heavy in every line of his body.

He looked peaceful for once, his breathing steady as he relaxed, surrounded by the quiet comfort of your home.

You sat beside him, stroking his hair softly, whispering little words of comfort and love as he drifted off to sleep, his body finally allowing itself to rest. The fighting might never truly end, but for tonight, for this moment, he was safe.

And you would always be there to take care of him, through every fight, every victory, every bruise, and every scar.

[thursdaygxrls]

thin ice — two

part one | part two | part three

summary — peter invites her to his hockey game, and shocker, she shows up.

pairing — uni hockey player!peter parker x fem!journalist!reader

disclaimer — i do not own peter parker/marvel. marvel pls don’t sue me for making peter sexier 🙏

warnings — reader is referred to as ‘kitty’ (there’s a reason, i promise), slight one sided enemies to lovers, possible maybe slightly ooc, and very unedited

Stark Memorial Rink was a lot more crowded than she remembered. To be fair, when she was there two days ago, it was during a closed practice. Now it was loud, crowded, and filled with the blaring noise of the patrons and loudspeakers.

“What are our seats again?” MJ asked, hanging off her arm with a big, goofy smile. She was dressed in an Empire State University sweatshirt—‘I have to show my school pride’, she said. Sure, that was the reason.

“Section one hundred ten, Row C, seats four and five,” she replied, her voice near robotic.

“Y’know, you can at least pretend to be excited,” MJ teased. “I’ll buy you a soft pretzel if you act like you’re having fun.”

“Woo-hoo. Yippee. Hooray,” she said monotonously, a small grin curling on her lips.

“Come on,” a whine leaves MJ’s lips, “This is cool! It’s not just any game, this is the tournament—like, national. If they win this, they’ll make it down to eight teams. Eight teams!”

“And your sudden love of hockey spawned on its own, right?” She raised a brow at her friend’s words, “Not because of some sweaty guy who likes to ice skate?”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” MJ mumbled in reply, though her eyes softened a bit, a smile adorning her painted lips. They shuffled through the crowds of people with some struggle, but eventually made it to section one hundred ten.

When she was there days ago, she hadn’t quite paid attention to the format of the seats. The assumption, though, was that they flowed in alphabetical order, making Row Z the one closest to the plexiglass. They slipped towards the steps, ready to descend just a few stairs when they looked down. A big, yellow ‘Z’ was right under their feet. That meant–

“Oh, my God.” Her voice was more like a whisper than anything.

“You said Row C, right?” MJ asked, her eyes glued to the letter.

“Row C,” she confirmed, sucking her teeth. Was it even possible? Okay, sure, this was just a university game, but this game was a big deal. The place was insanely crowded. How could he just give away seats that close to the glass?

“Well, let’s go,” MJ interrupted her train of thought, tugging her arm to follow her. One, two, three, four…they descended lower and lower until the sound of ice scraping along the skates of those practicing was louder than the buzz of the crowd. Their seats gave them a perfect view right behind the net. Purple and black jerseys whizzed by in a flurry of sticks and pucks and ice shaving off the ground. They say for a minute, soaking up the reality of where they were before MJ let out a cough.

“So, Kitty, soft pretzel?” She glanced over with a smile.

“Yeah,” she agreed, already popping up from her seat. Shuffling back to the stairs, her gaze was pulled back to the rink where she caught a flash of a neon purple ‘13’ zipping by the glass. Hazel eyes settled upon her through the brackets of the helmet—but only for one second. One small ounce of time in which their eyes connected like laser beams. And then he was gone again, and so was she.

“I’ll get you a slushie, too, if you do a little cheering,” MJ’s voice pulled her back.

“Extra large?” She raised a brow in return.

“Whatever size you want,” MJ beamed.

By the time they were back to their seats, the game was almost starting. The National Anthem was sung by a local high school talent. The team introductions flew by (MJ, of course, screaming for Harry). When number thirteen, Peter Parker, Empire State Lightning Bolts Team Captain was introduced, the thunder of feet pounding on the floor rang through the stadium. He slid across the ice in an oddly graceful fashion. He was sort of gangly, and the bulk of the uniform provided a strange juxtaposition, but his movements were clean and precise, more like a figure skater than a hockey player.

“Look at that, number thirteen,” MJ giggled into her ear, receiving a smack on the arm for her laughter.

“I have eyes, I can see.” Was her grumbled response.

The game was intense. They were single-round eliminations, meaning that if ESU lost this, they were out of the tournament. Pennbrook, in their glossy green jerseys, were just as vicious. The net in front of them was the home side first, so they were able to see every goal that was blocked, and inevitably the ones that slipped through. What seemed to (begrudgingly) stand out the most, though, was Peter.

He was aggressive. At first, she thought it was just excitement, or anger, or some irrational emotion that sent him flying across the ice and ramming into people. But the face under the helmet was always calm. Cold, even. Every outburst was a precise calculation. Yes, he was combative, but it was never out of his control. Nothing was out of his control, not even when the puck went skidding across the ice on the other side. It took him seconds to cross the rink and swoop in for quick saves. Time seemed to flash by. The buzzer signaled the end of the first period, and the teams skated back to their respective sides.

“It’s not that bad, right?” MJ nudged her, sucking down the last of her blue raspberry slushie.

“I’m definitely viewing something,” she responded in a sarcastic tone. MJ groaned, nudging her as she collected their empty cups and discarded napkins.

“Keep up the good attitude,” she shot back, sticking out her tongue as she went to throw away the trash.

The second period was similar to the first: high tensions, high testosterone. By the third period, the score was 4-5 with Pennbrook taking the lead. It was, of course, only a momentary lead. A play by Harry and Miles tied them up again, and then a swift shot by Zack got them the lead. Pennbrook’s number ‘36’ had been on Peter’s ass nearly the entire game. He was always so close that half of the ice shavings on Peter’s ankles were probably from him. But it hadn’t been anything more than a chase until Peter brought the score up to 7-5.

The movement was quick, but not nearly as unnoticeable as he likely intended. While sliding behind the net, 36’s elbow came up to check Peter. He was probably aiming for his shoulder, but everything just came out wrong: Peter turned his head toward 36, 36’s elbow jabbed at an awkward angle, and the hit ended up slamming into Peter’s face.

Her breath caught in her throat. When he turned back to the plexiglass, blood was dripping down his chin. He’d been clipped just right so that his lip busted against the hard plastic of the mouthguard. Resounding ‘boos’ sounded through the stadium, but the sounds fell deaf on her ears as she watched Peter throw off his glove and swipe the blood from his skin. It was like she could see the gears turning in his head. Hit, blood, fight. He looked to 36, ready to raise his bloodstained fist. Then, for just a second, his eyes flitted to her.

He knew she was there. He knew she was watching. None of the hardness left his eyes, but there was something new there, too. Pride, maybe? Excitement? It lingered in his vision the entire time his eyes were on hers. When his bloodied lips curled into a smirk, she forced herself out of the breathless haze she was caught in. She was only concerned because that was the normal human reaction; you see someone get hurt, you worry. Or you laugh. It wasn’t like she was—

Peter’s fist connected with 36’s cheek. She could hear the hard smack through the glass to Row C. 36 stumbled back on his skates but regained his balance. Before he could deal a blow, refs blowing hopelessly on their whistles swarmed the two, pulling them like two growling dogs. Once again, Peter looked up at her, making sure that she was still watching. When he smiled at her, she could see that his teeth were now coated in blood from the wound on his lip.

“Holy shit!” MJ was squealing, but her voice was lost on the girl next to her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “Yeah, holy shit.”

Neither Peter nor 36 were let back on the ice for the rest of the game. A penalty was dealt to ESU, but any other punishment was still unknown. She watched the rest of the game on high alert, trying to stop her eyes from traveling to the penalty box where Peter was seated. It was hard to view him from her position, but she could see a shock of brown hair every once and a while.

When the game was over, ESU had won 8-7. The crowd roared as the buzzer sounded, and when MJ shot up, she joined her. Adrenaline shot through her as she watched the guys on the rink scream and nearly slam into each other. Her view, though, quickly adjusted to Peter as he fled the penalty box. He slid onto the ice with the same practiced ease he’d used during the game. She could see him say something to Zack as he grabbed him by the shoulders. When his eyes finally landed on her, her pulse thrummed in her ears. He knew she was watching him, and that’s just what he wanted her to do.

“Where y’headed?”

The sound of someone’s voice nearly made her throw her water bottle. She’d only just left Xavier Hall when she was accosted (or rather spoken to) by someone who seemed to appear out of nowhere. Her head whirled around to meet hazel eyes and a busted lip.

“Are you stalking me?” She spat out, her eyes wide.

“Stalking you? Oh, my God, no,” Peter laughed, wincing when his split lip tugged into a smile, “I used to do a little photography for the paper, I know where the meetings are.”

“Right,” she nodded, “But, like, how did you know I would be leaving right now?”

“Lucky guess?” He suggests, cocking his head in a boyish way. She narrowed her eyes, but before she could say anything, he was already speaking again; “Saw you at my game yesterday.”

“It technically wasn’t your game. It was the team’s game. Both teams’ game.” Her voice was pointed as she spoke. When she began walking down the stone pathway that led to a dining hall, Peter followed without question.

“But I was there,” he responded, “And so were you.”

“MJ didn’t want to miss it,” she dismissed his words.

“Oh, yeah, she and Harry are getting pretty serious,” he hummed.

“Mhm,” she replied. She didn’t want to look at him, really. Every time she did, her gaze was drawn to the nasty gash on his lips. Her eyes, however, decided to betray her. She studied it, the way it moved with him, the way it would inevitably split further each time he grinned.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Peter said, almost as if he was reading her mind. Her eyes shot up to meet his.

“Did you get kicked off the team or something?” She asked as if she didn’t already know the answer.

“Hell no,” he laughed, “Just a slap on the wrist. Couldn’t finish out the game, but you already knew that.”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, “I would’ve thought there would’ve been a little more.”

“I’ve never really gotten in a fight–and that wasn’t even a real fight,” he grinned

“So was that just you showing off or something?” Her brows creased.

“Something like that.”

They reached the entrance of the dining hall. Peter, in all his gangliness, was able to swipe his card before her and open the door. His smile just seemed to widen as she eyed him with a generous amount of suspicion.

“Thanks,” she said slowly as she stepped through the door.

“No problem,” he replied, “See you around, Kitty.”

“You can’t call me—”

He was gone before she could finish her sentence. The door fell shut in his absence, and she watched him walk away through the glass. He carried on down the pathway with his hands shoved into his pockets. A groan slipped from her lips when she realized that she was just staring at him. Her body moved into the dining hall, but her mind wandered (unwillingly) to Peter. He was annoying, and cocky, and smiled way too much for someone with a busted lip. Yet, the main thing stuck in her head was his hazel eyes and the way he watched her with them.

a/n — hey babes!! thanks for the love on this series so far. i’m not sure how long it’s gonna be, but i def have some plans, it’s def gonna get smutty at some point. anyways, hope you enjoyed!!

[zayne-s]

G | 753 words

originally written and posted for @steddieholidaydrabbles' 2023 prompt: graduation tags: emma verse, modern au, famous corroded coffin, steddie being over-the-top parents

tagging some of the emma fans: @dangerous-disposition @tboybuck @patchworkgargoyle @steddieas-shegoes @theheadlessphilosopher

@worstsequence @hammity-hammer

“Does she know where we’re sitting?” Eddie asks as they shuffle down the rows of plastic seats, his bulky digital camera hanging around his neck by the strap.

(Eddie wanted to bring their tour photographer, Cody, but Steve had to gently remind him that the school already had one hired. Eddie only sulked for an hour.)

Steve levels him a look. “If she doesn’t see us, then she’ll spot one of these goons and follow the line.” He points over his shoulder to their accompanying party.

Wayne is directly behind him, followed by Robin and Chrissy. Jeff, Gareth, Freak, and the kids shuffle in behind them. As much as Eddie doesn’t like flaunting his celebrity status around, he had to call ahead the week before to request an entire row to be reserved just to fit all of them.

His baby is graduating kindergarten, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t pull out all the stops. They’re even having a little graduation party for her at the house afterwards—a backyard BBQ with everyone and the rest of the tour crew and family who couldn’t make it to the ceremony.

Not long after everyone is seated, Pomp and Circumstance crackles out of the loudspeakers and the kids start to walk down the aisle in pairs. It’s definitely not perfect, some kids take too-eager steps and some stop to hug their parents, but the teachers do their best to guide them.

Steve starts recording with his phone the second they spot Emma, the digital chime of Eddie’s camera shutter clicking away beside him. Her curls are barely tamed in the side pony she asked Eddie to put it in, but it matches the whole ‘rocker’ vibe she’s got going on.

Amongst the sea of summer dresses and pressed toddler slacks, their little girl is wearing her black denim battle vest over a light purple Hannah Montana shirt Steve had gotten at a yard sale, with a pale blue frilly tutu and a pair of silver glitter leggings and her black boots.

She looks nervous, though. Tense. Her shoulders are drawn up and her hands are clasped in front of her. Brown eyes dart this way and that around the room trying to spot a familiar face in the crowd and it breaks Steve’s heart to watch his kid be so anxious. Her teacher said she did great at practice yesterday, but that was without the fifty pairs of eyes on her.

Mike is sitting on the end and she finds him easily, her eyes lighting up in recognition, but there’s still a worried crease between her eyebrows that doesn’t smooth out until she’s locking eyes with her dads. She gives them a tiny wave as she walks by.

They both give her encouraging thumbs up and Eddie wishes he could just snatch her up and run out of the building with her.

They eventually get all the kids filed in and the principal stands behind the podium on the stage to welcome everyone. She goes through the awards first (Emma receives one for reading above her grade level, something that Eddie is very proud of) before the kids line back up to receive their little diplomas.

Halfway through the list, Eddie suddenly elbows Steve. “Shit, I didn’t hear her name, did we miss her?”

His phone is still recording. “Dude, her last name is M, we’re still in the J’s.”

“Oh, right.”

Emma’s class is only about 50 or so kids so it doesn’t really take that long to get to her name, but Steve and Eddie are still vibrating with the anticipation.

“Emma Munson.”

Immediately, their entire entourage is up on their feet and cheering and yelling. It’s way too loud for the cafeteria setting they’re in, and it echos, and you can definitely tell which of them are in the famous metal band.

Emma’s little cheeks turn the same color as her glasses but her grin is big and wide as she holds her certificate in front of her for the picture. Both Steve and Eddie are rapid fire pressing the shutter buttons on their cameras.

Once she’s off the stage, the principal clears her throat. “A reminder to please hold all applause until the end of the ceremony, thank you.” She gives them a not-so-subtle glare over the rims of her own glasses.

Sheepishly, their group sits back down and is quiet once more.

“We’re gonna be worse during her eighth grade graduation, right?” Steve whispers to Eddie.

“Oh, absolutely. She’ll want to kill us afterwards.”

buy me a ☕?

[schoolspiritsfan14]

You Belong with Me 💙🏈📖

Wally Clark x fem reader

Summary: Maddie’s death is all anyone could talk about and since she can talk to one of her living friend’s things have become complicated. It was homecoming and the anniversary of your death; you decide to finally tell Wally how you feel until someone does first. 

The mystery behind Maddie’s death is all anyone could talk about, as you and your friends have agreed to help her solve her death. It was the homecoming game tonight, and it is also the 40-year anniversary of your and Wally’s death. You, Charley, and Rhonda are painting a banner for Wally to relive his glory days.

“I’m going to do it; I’m finally going to tell Wally how I feel tonight.” You say to Charley and Rhonda.

“Finally, chickee about time.” Rhonda said.

“Yeah, maybe now you can not call me chickee since I’m not chickening out anymore?” You ask Rhonda.

“You will always still be chickee, chickee.” She says.

“What made you decide it was finally time?” Charley asks. Charley found out about your feelings for Wally by accident when you were giving him his ‘afterlife ghost tour’. And since then, you and him have been close. All of you have become close I mean what else was there to do, you were dead.

“I don’t know. I think it’s been 41 years and I know I have been annoying you guys for so long about it, it just feels right, and I thought it was fitting I tell him at the homecoming game like I planned too 40 years ago.” You say as nerves fill your body as you were about to tell Wally that you love him. “And then we could go to the homecoming dance together, but it will be different than all the time before because I will have told him how I feel.” You add. 

“This is so exciting!” Charley exclaims as he puts his paint brush down and rushes to give you a hug. “Please tell me everything after- well maybe not everything I don’t need to know all the details about heterosexual sex.” Charley says.

“Charley!” you can’t believe he just said that.

“I’m just telling him I love him in not expecting it to lead to sex.”

“Oh, come on chickee. You haven’t even thought about it leading to you too having sex?” Rhonda questions as she stands up to join you and Charley.

“Well of course I have it’s been 41 years, but I don’t expect it to happen tonight.” You say as Charley and Rhonda look at each other then back to you.

“Sure, whatever you say Hun.” Charley adds as he gets back to painting before Wally walks in to check in on your progress.

“The banner looks great guys.” Wally says as he does his stretches.

“Hey Walls, after you relieve your glory, can I talk to you after?” you ask him nervously.

“This feels like de je vu doesn’t it.” He laughs “Of course you can Darling, I will find you after.” He says as he plants a quick kiss on your head and leaves the gym.

“No backing out now chickee.” Rhonda says.

“You got this Y/N and remember find me later I need details.” Charley adds. 

The game has started and you nervously pace behind the bleachers. Homecoming games were always hard for you, it was the die you died after all, and the day Wally died.

“Take your seats, the 2023 homecoming game is about to start.” You hear the announcer say over the loudspeakers. Crowds flock to the bleachers and you head to your seat as butterflies swarm your stomach. You can do this it’s been 41 years, it’s time to stop doubting yourself. You repeated over and over in your head.

The living football players smash through their banner as Wally heads through the one you and the others were making earlier. He was running around the field and screaming with the crowd. He was such golden retriever. As you look around the stand, you see Rhonda sitting with Mr Martin and Charley a row back writing his letter to Emilio since Maddie promised she would help him since she can talk to her living friend, Simon, which you still don’t know how that is possible, but it helps Maddie trying to solve her own murder.

Still looking around waiting for Wally to finish reliving his glory days, in the crowd you spot your sister Mary and her husband Matthew. “I can’t believe our baby girl is on the cheer team. I wish Y/N was here to witness this.” Mary says to Matthew shovelling some popcorn in her mouth.

“She is right here” Matthew says softly as he places his hand on Mary’s heart. “Are your parents still coming to see Lily?” Matthew adds.

“I think so, you know how hard it’s been since Y/N died here. I'll text Mom to see how far away they are.” She says as reaching to get her phone. You had been so preoccupied with helping Maddie and trying to convince yourself its now a good time to tell Wally, you didn’t even notice Lily was on the field with the cheer team.

Just then, you see your parents for the first time since Mary graduated in 1987. Tears instantly stream down your face, even though they look much older now you could tell who they were. They walked up the bleachers and sat with Mary and Matthew. You just stand there watching them.

Your family was there right there in front of you, and you couldn’t even talk to them. Your heart swells hearing them talk about Lily and other stories of their lives since you died. You were overwhelmed with emotions. You felt joy because you are finally seeing your family but also sadden that you weren’t there with them. There was only one person that you can talk to and that was Wally.

You set off to find him since, since you couldn’t see him on the field anymore. You head to the canteen area, and you see him and Maddie.

“Hey, Wally I was wondering if you would go to the dance with me as a friend? I just don’t know a lot of people yet.” Maddie asks.

“Uh yeah sure.” Wally says as they walk in the other direction. You continue to stand there not moving and staring blankly in the space where they just were standing.

Idiot, you waited too long and now he’s going out with Maddie you thought to yourself. Overcome with so many emotions you run with tears streaming down your face you run as far as your legs will take you without them feeling like they will collapse from beneath you. 

You run to the girl’s toilets where no one else was as you sank to the floor and tucked your knees to your chest and just sob. Seeing your family and then seeing Maddie ask Wally to the dance when you always go together broke your heart.

You don’t know how long you stayed there on the bathroom floor before you decided it was time to leave. Thank goodness for resets no one would able tell you were crying, and your makeup went back to how it was, how it always was. You exit the bathroom not wanting to see or talk to anyone, you head to theatre as you discovered a couch in the storage room. You lift the hatch door about to climb down and you hear Mina yell “What are you doing, you will disturb the play?”

“It’s ok Mina I won’t touch anything.” You shout back as you head down the hatch knowing she won’t remember you down there since she was a looper.  You turn the light on, find an old blanket and a book in one of the boxes as you sank down in the couch wanting to forget the day. 

Part 15 Part 17

TAGLIST: If you want to be added to the taglist let me know

@unholypsychic @lyinginthegingerlocks @manualamadrugada @arsonfish @abstractpenny @lifeiscomposedofnows-blog @97buttons

[stevessecretfantasy2]

A soldier no more.

*I stand at attention, my eyes fixed on the ground as the new government's decree is read out loud. The words echo through the PT yard, where my fellow female soldiers and I are assembled. We are all dressed in our standard-issue military uniforms, but I can sense the weight of our impending fate bearing down on us.*

The loudspeaker crackles to life, and a detached, male voice announces, "By order of the Freeuse Republic, all female personnel are hereby relieved of their military duties. You will be reassigned to... alternative service."

*A murmur of discontent ripples through our ranks, but we remain at attention, unsure of what to expect next. The voice continues, "You will be processed and prepared for your new roles. This will involve a thorough... reorientation."

*Suddenly, the sound of gates opening and the rumble of vehicles can be heard from the adjacent street. A convoy of black trucks, adorned with the emblem of the Freeuse Republic, pulls into the PT yard. Soldiers in the new republic's uniform, all male, pour out of the trucks and surround us.*

One of them steps forward, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "Time to get started, ladies. You're no longer needed as soldiers, but you'll still be serving the republic... in a more traditional capacity."

*The men begin to move among us, their hands reaching out to grab our arms and wrists. We try to struggle, but we're quickly overpowered. They snap cuffs around our wrists, binding us together in pairs. I feel a surge of panic as I'm chained to one of my comrades, our eyes meeting in a moment of shared terror.*

The soldiers start to rip off our uniforms, the fabric tearing as they pull and tug at the seams. I feel a chill run down my spine as my jacket is yanked open, the buttons popping free. My blouse is torn away, leaving me in my bra and pants. Until even they are torn away. The men continue to strip us, their laughter and jeers filling the air.

*I glance around, seeing my fellow soldiers being subjected to the same humiliating treatment. Some of them are crying, others are screaming, but I'm frozen in shock, my mind struggling to comprehend the brutality of our situation.*

As we're stripped naked, the soldiers begin to lead us on a procession through the PT yard. The public, a mix of curious onlookers, has gathered to witness our shame. Whispers, catcalls, and shouted insults assault our ears, adding to our degradation.

*I'm forced to march, chained and naked, as the crowd's gaze roams over my body. The sense of exposure is overwhelming, my skin crawling with shame. This is the Freeuse Republic's idea of "liberation" – reducing us to objects, stripping us of our dignity, and preparing us for a life of servitude.

We're paraded past a row of tables, where officials sit with clipboards and cameras. They're documenting our transformation, every moment of our humiliation captured for posterity. The procession ends at a large, black-painted bus, its doors open like a mouth waiting to swallow us whole.

As we're herded toward the bus, I realize that our journey into slavery has just begun. The Freeuse Republic has other plans for us, plans that will reduce us to mere commodities, objects to be used and discarded. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I'm left to wonder what further indignities await us.

I'm dragged onto the bus, my wrists still bound to my comrade's. We're thrown onto the seats, our naked bodies squished together as the bus fills with more fellow soldiers. The doors close, and the vehicle lurches forward, taking us away from the PT yard and the life we once knew.*

As we drive, the bus stops at various locations, collecting more women. Each new group is added to the growing pool of captives, all of us naked and chained. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, fear, and humiliation.

After what feels like an eternity, the bus finally stops in front of a nondescript building. The doors open, and we're herded out, our chains clinking as we move. We're led into a dimly lit corridor, the walls lined with cells. Each cell has a single bed, restraints, and a collection of sinister-looking equipment.

A figure, dressed in a white coat, steps forward. "Welcome, ladies, to your new home. You'll be staying here for a while, undergoing... reeducation."

The doctor, or whoever he is, begins to explain the process. "You'll be taught to obey, to please, and to serve. Resistance is futile. You'll learn to enjoy your new roles, and those who cooperate will be rewarded."

I'm dragged into a cell, my comrades torn from my side as we're separated and taken to different rooms. I'm left alone, my wrists still bound, as the door closes behind me. The sound of locks clicking into place is deafening, a stark reminder that I'm a prisoner.

The wait is agonizing, my mind racing with thoughts of what's to come. Then, I hear footsteps outside my cell. The door opens, and a man walks in, his eyes scanning my body. He's dressed in simple white scrubs.

I try to struggle as he approaches, but my wrists are still bound. He easily overpowers me, pushing me onto the bed. Face first, the restraints are attached to my wrists and ankles, holding me in place.

The man selects an instrument from the wall. He chooses a large, leather-bound paddle. "This will help you learn to obey," he says, his voice devoid of emotion.

The paddle comes down, striking my buttocks with a loud crack. I scream, the pain intense, as he continues to paddle me. Tears stream down my face, but I'm aware of a growing moisture between my legs. The humiliation and pain are mixing with a twisted, unwanted arousal.

I hear other soldiers undergoing similar treatment. Some begging for mercy, some crying and others… is that moaning?

The man stops, his chest heaving slightly. "You're starting to learn," he says, his eyes locked on mine. "Now, it's time for the next step."

He unzips his pants, revealing his huge erect penis. I try to struggle, but the restraints hold me firm. He climbs onto the bed, his hands grasping my hips as he luls me into a kneeling position and positions himself between my legs.*

I feel his hot breath on my skin, his penis probing my entrance. He pushes in, slowly at first, stretching my pussy wide, but then with increasing urgency. I'm penetrated, my body responding to the invasion despite my mind's revulsion.

The man's thrusts grow more intense, his breathing ragged. He's using me, taking what he wants, as I kneel there, helpless and bound. The sensations are a mix of pain and pleasure, my body betraying me as I'm forced to endure the torture.

As he reaches climax, his body tenses, and he emptied himself inside me. I'm left feeling violated, my mind reeling from the trauma. The man withdraws, zipping his pants, his expression unreadable.

"You're one step closer to being a true servant of the Freeuse Republic," he says, his voice cold. "There's more to come, much more."*

The door closes behind him, leaving me to process the horror of what just happened. I'm a proud soldier, a prisoner, and now, a sex slave. The Freeuse Republic is reshaping me, breaking me, and remodeling me into a tool for their pleasure.

This continues on for what might have been weeks or might have been months. Different implements, different positions, different holes but all reinforcing the same truth i'm no longer a soldier im a slave.

I lie on the bed, my wrists and ankles still bound to it after my last training. The memory of the man's touch, his penetration, and his climax inside me is seared into my mind. I'm trying to come to terms with what's happening, but the door opens again, and another figure enters.

This time, it's a woman, wearing a corset but clearly incharge. She looks at me with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. "You're one of the first batch, aren't you?" she asks, her voice dripping with condescension. "We've been testing the new program, and you're one of the initial subjects."

She walks closer, her eyes scanning my body. "You're going to be part of a special demonstration, a showcase of the Freeuse Republic's new... initiatives. You'll be the star attraction, along with a few of your fellow soldiers."

I'm unbound from the bed, my limbs stiff from the prolonged restraint. The woman hands me a simple white dress, which I'm forced to put on. It's a flimsy thing, barely covering my body, and I can sense her amusement at my discomfort.

We're led out of the cells, a group of us, all dressed in similar attire. The woman explains that we'll be part of a public exhibition, a display of the republic's power and control. We're taken to a large, outdoor Amphitheater, filled with people from all walks of life i see almost all the women are naked and wonder if this is also the work of the Freeuse Republick.

The crowd is rowdy, cheering, and whistling as we're paraded onto the stage. I see cameras, reporters, and dignitaries, all eager to witness the spectacle. The woman takes the microphone, her voice booming through the speakers.

sluts and gentlemen, welcome to the Freeuse Republic's showcase of our new, innovative approach to... social organization. You see before you, a group of former soldiers, reeducated to serve the republic in a more... traditional capacity."

The crowd erupts into applause, and the woman gestures to us. "These women will demonstrate their newly acquired skills, their willingness to obey, and their ability to please. You'll see a live demonstration of our methods, a testament to the republic's commitment to... progress."

I'm dragged to the center of the stage, a single spotlight shining down on me. The woman hands me a simple, leather leash, which I'm forced to hold. A man, dressed in a black uniform, walks up to me, his eyes locked on mine.

He takes the leash from my hand, attaching it around my neck, pulling me close. I feel his hot breath on my skin, his body pressed against mine. The crowd is cheering, urging us on, as he begins to remove my dress, piece by piece.

I'm stripped naked, once more. The dress was only there to humiliate me by striping me once again. my body was exposed to the crowd. The man's hands roam over me, his fingers probing my every inch. I'm mortified, humiliated, and terrified, but I'm also aware of a growing arousal, a twisted response to the public display.

The man's touch ignites a fire within me, a mix of shame and pleasure. He pushes me to my knees, his penis in front of me. I'm forced to take him in my mouth, the crowd cheering as I'm orally penetrated.

The sensation is overwhelming, my mind reeling from the public nature of the act. I'm a soldier, a sex slave, and now, a performer in a twisted, erotic spectacle. The man's climax is met with thunderous applause, the crowd baying for more.

As the demonstration continues, I'm subjected to various forms of torture and penetration. I'm whipped, beaten, and used by multiple men, all while the crowd watches, cheers, and takes photos. My body is a canvas, painted with pain, shame, and pleasure.

The event reaches its climax, literally and figuratively, as I'm penetrated by a group of men, one after the other. The crowd is in a frenzy, the cameras flashing, and the reporters taking notes. I'm lost in a sea of sensations, my mind shattered by the relentless onslaught of humiliation and pleasure.

As the final man withdraws, the crowd erupts into applause, cheering, and whistling. I'm left standing, naked, and exhausted, my body and mind broken. The woman takes the microphone again, her voice booming through the speakers.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes our showcase. The Freeuse Republic is proud to present its new, innovative approach to social organization. These former soldiers have been reeducated, retrained, and remade to serve the republic in a more... traditional capacity."

The crowd cheers, the dignitaries applaud, and the cameras continue to flash. I'm just a small part of a much larger, more sinister machine, a machine that's designed to break, to humiliate, and to enslave. The Freeuse Republic is a monster, a creature that feeds on the shame, pain, and pleasure of its women.

I'm left standing on the stage, my body and mind shattered by the relentless onslaught of humiliation and pleasure. The crowd's cheers, the cameras' flashes, and the reporters' notes all blend together into a cacophony of sound and color. I'm an ex-soldier, a sex slave, and a performer in a twisted, erotic spectacle.

As the days pass, I'm forced to confront the reality of my new life. I'm collared, leashed, and trained to obey. My every move is controlled, my every action dictated. I'm a pet, a plaything, a toy for the republic's elite.

I'm taken to a luxurious mansion, a palace of decadence and depravity. I'm introduced to my new owner, a wealthy and influential man who's eager to add me to his collection. He's a connoisseur of the finer things in life, and I'm just another acquisition, another object art to be displayed and used.

My owner's name is Master Everett, and he's a master of the dark arts. He's a sadist, a masochist, and a voyeur, all rolled into one. He delights in my pain, my fear, and my submission. He's an expert in breaking the human spirit, in reducing his subjects to a state of abject surrender.

As the days turn into weeks, I'm subjected to an escalating series of humiliations and degradations. I'm forced to wear a collar, a leash, and a muzzle. I'm trained to crawl, to beg, and to obey. I'm treated like an animal, and I'm starting to feel like one.

I'm fed from a dog bowl, I'm walked on a leash, and I'm punished for any disobedience. I'm a creature, a beast, a thing to be used and discarded. My mind is broken, my spirit is crushed, and my body is no longer mine.

But despite the extremity of my situation, I'm starting to feel a twisted sense of freedom. I'm no longer bound by the constraints of my old life, my old identity. I'm free to be what I am, a captive soldier, a sex slave, a pet.

I'm free to love my new life, to embrace my new role. I'm free to surrender to my desires, to my fantasies, and to my fears. I'm free to be an animal, to be a creature, to be a thing.

As I look into Master Everett's eyes, I see a glimmer of approval, of appreciation. He sees the change in me, the transformation from a captive soldier to a willing slave. He sees the love, the devotion, and the surrender in my eyes.

And in that moment, I know that I'm his, completely and utterly his. I'm his pet, his plaything, his animal. I'm his to use, to abuse, and to dispose of. And I'm happy, I'm content, I'm at peace.

I’ll spend the rest of my days as an animal, a creature, a thing. I'm collared, leashed, and trained to obey. I'm fed, walked, and punished. And I'm happy, I'm content, I'm at peace.

I'm no longer a soldier, no longer a human being. I'm a pet, a plaything, a toy. And I'm loved, I'm cherished. I love who I am and what I am. an animal, a creature, a thing. As I curl up at Master Everett's feet, my collar and leash still attached, I know that I've finally found my true home. I've found my true self, my true identity. I'm happy, I'm content, I'm at peace.

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

One in Eleven Million (ch.7)

damian wayne x reader x jon kent

(A/N): this is where the real-life experience I took to write this story runs out so please take any and all airplane/airline logistics with a grain of salt. And with that said, enjoy! I want to get the rest of this series out by the end of fall to hopefully have room to post the holiday fics I want to write so look forwards to the coming final chapters. And apologies, this is a short one.

edit: forgot to link the masterlist so here it is!

warnings: airplane travel, turbulence, emergency (not crash) landings, panic

wc: ~750

~~

The next forty five minutes passed in some part conversation and some part Jon showing you dozens of pictures on his phone. He had a few really good ones of Superman (the older one) and some stunning ones overlooking Metropolis. 

“My parents are reporters so they–they know people who take photos like this,” Jon explained to you, crunching on the airplane pretzels he’d reclaimed from Damian.  

You pulled out a few photos of the Gotham skyline to show the boys in turn. Your photos didn’t live up to theirs, but with your not-high-tech phone camera, those were about the best you had. 

A stronger bout of turbulence rocked even you, hands instinctively gripping the hard plastic of the armrests. A quick glance at Damian gave away that he didn’t find it regular either. 

Jon’s “This is weird right?” overlapped with the concerned cries of other passengers. You turned to Damian. 

“It feels more like a train right now than a plane.” 

“I agree. This is irregular at best.” 

You nearly missed the crackle of the loudspeaker from underneath the raised voices of those around you. 

“Ladies and gentleman, there has been a slight issue with one of our regulators. As of now, all passengers and attendants are to remain seated for their safety. Our next step is to make an emergency landing at the Philadelphia airport where there will then be connecting flights to Gotham. If you would rather find an alternate method of transport, let the front desk know as soon as we arrive so any luggage is forwarded to baggage claim.” 

You could barely process the new information over the sudden uproar. 

“This has never happened to you, I assume?” Damian spoke loudly. 

“No, nothing like this. I’d never even had a delay this bad before but this? No it-it’s crazy.” The answer to your question was chiseled into the shaken expression on Damian’s face but you asked anyway. “Either of you?”

Twin shakes of the head confirmed your assumption. 

“It’s not an emergency right? Like I know it’s an emergency landing but not a fall out of the sky kind of emergency right?” Jon’s blue eyes were wide. You shrugged helplessly.

“I want to say they’d tell us if it was but-”

“But they’ve been less than forthcoming so far so why begin now?” Damian finished. 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Exactly.” 

Beside your seat, the emergency exit lights lit up. 

“That doesn’t bode well.” Damian pulled the words out of your brain. “But panicking,” he hissed at the woman lamenting in the row behind you, “will not solve anything.” 

You didn’t think Damian realized Jon was clinging to his hand. You didn’t think he knew he was holding yours.  

“Jon, you’re shaking the floor.” The words came out harsher than you intended. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be-I just-it’s-”

“Sorry I just-” Jon switched from tapping his foot to holding Damian’s left hand in his, focus tuned on his fingers. Damian’s gaze was locked on where his right hand was linked with yours. You pulled away as if his gaze burned you. “I’m never flying commercial again,” Jon finished. 

The laughter that bubbled out of your mouth was more hysterical than you intended. 

Another bout of rough turbulence wracked the plane. You kept your hands to yourself his time, arms crossed against your chest to squeeze at your biceps. 

You barely heard Jon’s whispered cursing underneath the panic rising throughout the rest of the plane.

Damian stayed quiet, but the hand that wasn’t held in Jon’s was tightly clenched. If he wasn’t human, you might have expected there to be holes bored into the head of an older man across the aisle. You wanted to quiet the guy yourself; his catastrophic ranting was only adding into your own anxiety. Instead, you spent a couple minutes making sure all of the stuff in your backpack was tucked away. 

“He does know everyone else can hear him, right?” You asked as you sat up. Both boys chuckled. Jon’s fingers tapped rapidly on his thigh. 

“Alright folks,” the pilot’s voice interrupted the catastrophizing. “We’ve begun the landing process. Please be aware that further turbulence is normal. We should be on the ground soon.”

“How much longer can they call turbulence normal?” Damian ground out. You didn’t have an answer for him. 

[spencer-todd]

Keeping up with the Waynes

(Camera pans around to show the Batgirls in a fight) Cass: On your left!

Kate Kane (Batwoman): SHIT! *knocks guy out* Thanks, Orphan.

Me: This is insane! Where are all these guys coming from?

Harper Row (Bluebird): I have no idea!

Steph: Where are the boys?

(Camera Cuts) (Music playing over Batcave loudspeakers) BACKSTREET'S BACK, ALRIGHT!!! *All the Batboys are in full uniform, standing in front of the Batcomputer, dancing to "Everybody" by the Backstreet Boys.*

(Camera Cuts)

Kate: They are SO dead!