#maybe a part2??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

niwaart · 22 days ago

Text

FAMILY WITHOUT LIGHT

[#part1 #part2 #part3]

Dick panicked, he gripped his phone tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.

《This number is unreachable, please try again later.》

Dick let out a scream of anger and impatience, he had been trying to call Y/N for over 5 hours, just to get an answer. Why did she leave the house?… All this happened when he was in his Nightwing costume doing a normal nighttime mission after tying up criminals, a newspaper with Bruce’s picture caught his attention, Dick wondered what new drama the journalists were talking about this time, as soon as he grabbed the newspaper he felt like the air was being sucked out of him. It took him over a minute to process what was being said…

##Bruce Wayne and Y/N Wayne divorced after more than 15 years.##

No... that's a lie, just another rumor, it can't be true, maybe Bruce doesn't care about Y/N but Y/N wouldn't leave the house... after all he saw her love for Damian and Tim, and how she cared for them... so this is just a rumor... right?....

Dick took the newspaper with him and quickly ran to his apartment... He needed to make sure.. He had to get to his apartment to call Y/N.. She would tell him the truth, reassure him, tell him that everything was okay.... As soon as he got to his apartment window, he opened it and entered after entering the access code. His dog Haley approached him, he gave her a few pats before he reached his phone and called Y/N... But she didn't answer his calls.... He tried and tried and tried... But no answer... Could it be true?... Did Y/N leave the house?... Why?....

He was going to call Bruce but he was mad at him for not stopping Y/N from leaving and that he might be the reason Y/N left. So he decided to call Alfred who immediately answered, "Mr. Dick, how may I help you?" "Hello Alfred... Sorry to bother you now... The thing is... I..." Dick hesitated... He was afraid to hear the answer...

“I just called Y/N and she didn’t answer… so I was wondering if everything was okay…” Dick answered, praying with all his might that there was an excuse other than the divorce… “Oh… Mr. Dick… I don’t know how to tell you this… but… Y/N and Bruce have been divorced for three months now…” Alfred’s answer was like a knife slicing into his chest… well maybe deep down he knew the divorce was real… but… three months ago?… and no one told him?… “How… why?… why the divorce, and why didn’t anyone tell me?” Dick’s voice was muffled, he tried not to cry, he tried to control himself a little… “I’m sorry Mr. Dick… it was such a shock to everyone that I forgot to tell you… as for the divorce, Y/N chose that herself… unfortunately…” Alfred’s voice was filled with pain, making it even harder for Dick to hold back his tears… Y/N had left them… she had left them…

Dick hung up the phone after thanking Alfred and collapsed on the floor crying… His dog Haley was beside him trying to comfort him… But it didn’t work… It took Dick maybe half an hour to calm himself down… He tried to take deep breaths in and out… Then he hugged his dog Haley who had already settled happily in his lap. Dick was sitting on the floor leaning his head on the bed behind him while looking at the ceiling of his apartment. He couldn’t help but remember all the memories with Y/N. Dick may not have said it out loud before, but he considered Y/N as his mother… She always took care of him, he still remembers the first time he came to Wayne Manor after his parents died, he was full of anger and wanted revenge, Bruce was trying to channel his anger in a good way to fight the bad guys, but Y/N allowed him to vent his anger, by crying and getting all his feelings out and not holding them in, he remembers that he was mean to her at first, thinking that she was trying to be his mother, but after a while, it turned out that she was just trying to help him, she helped him decorate his parents' grave, buy new things, and when he fought with Bruce she took his side… and even now she still against Bruce and side with Damian, he loved the stories she told, she helped him and encouraged him to speak his mind and thoughts and not hold them in… even when he had a big fight with Bruce and decided to leave the house to be independent… She called him every night, asking him how he was, and if he tried to lie she would know and ask him to tell the truth, which he actually couldn't resistance, so he was always honest with her, Dick was used to being a leader and a good big brother, everyone depended on him… and Y/N was the one he could count on, she was the light of his life, she was family, until recently she used to call him and check on him, now he knew why she hadn't called in three months… He sighed and looked down to see that Haley was asleep, he picked her up and put her in her bed. Even if Y/N had left the house, she still loved them, he was sure, maybe if he went back to Gotham and talked to her he would understand, yeah, maybe she had left the house, but she wouldn't leave them, she still loved them. He was sure

In Gotham... specifically at Wayne Manor, Tim was suffering from a headache and back pain, he was lying in his bed... well maybe not his bed, but in Y/N's bed and room. His work and the pile of papers were almost competing with the towering mountains... when did paperwork become so stressful and tiring? He didn't remember this ever being a problem for him, he wouldn't lie to himself, he knew that Y/N's departure was the reason for the work to be doubled, the sleep to be less, and the pain to be more, Y/N used to do almost all the work for him, so he could rest, but now he couldn't balance his sleeping time, eating, doing all the work, solving cases, and becoming Red Robin, it was too much, Y/N was managing it so well, she did his work, made sure he ate and drank enough before she literally dragged him from the Batcave to the palace to sleep against his will, she always carried him like a baby, he always wondered how she could carry him so easily, okay he'd admit that when he first came to the palace he was a very skinny baby, but he grew up and became muscular, maybe not like Dick or Jason but he sure wasn't light, anyway that didn't concern him now... The problem here is that he hasn't slept in... two days? He doesn't know, maybe it's been three days... He hates that Y/N used to carry him to his room and stay by his side until he fell asleep, and he hated that she knew that sometimes he pretended to sleep, so she wouldn't leave until Tim was completely asleep... Sometimes Tim couldn't sleep easily, like when there was a mission or a case on his mind but Y/N carried him to his room before he could finish it, so he would complain and sometimes beg Y/N to finish the case, that it wouldn't take long, but Y/N always refused... And he couldn't sleep because of the case that consumed his mind, so Y/N would sometimes tell him stories... And it worked to make him sleep... He wondered if Y/N's stories were real, because they didn't seem imaginary at all, her stories were strangely realistic, to the point that all Tim's attention was only on the story until he fell asleep. And so Tim became forced to sleep because of Y/N, food and water, when he should take a break and when he should finish the case, Y/N was organizing his life, he didn't remember getting tired or exhausted from this organization, on the contrary, he was getting enough sleep and food to renew his energy, and even after he came back from his break he would come back with more energy and his solving of cases was at an amazingly higher rate than before, it was very useful, Y/N was the only one who knew how to organize him amazingly with all the work he had. But Y/N wasn't just organizing his life, she even hid his mistakes. Sometimes he would come back from missions with some wounds. Tim didn't like to say that he was injured, it made him weak, and he didn't want to be weak, but Y/N would discover every wound he had, even if it was hidden. The good thing was that she never told Bruce about the injuries, and if the injuries were serious, she would make an excuse for Tim not to go on the next mission. She would cover up all his failures and mistakes in silence... and he was grateful to her. He still remembered when Damian first came and took the Robin costume from him, she would comfort him and stay by his side and tell him that Robin wasn't the one wearing the costume, Robin was the one who protected the children of this city.

It really helped him… he remembered when he asked her advice about his new costume and name, and she encouraged him… she was proud of him, he saw it in her eyes, and when Batman disappeared and everyone thought he was dead and Dick was about to put him in Arkham, Y/N was the first to protest and the first to hit Dick… well that problem was solved a while ago and Y/N was so mad at Dick, it took Dick over three weeks to try to get her to forgive him… it was funny to Tim. She got mad for him. For him… he missed her… she was his whole life, now he couldn’t sleep or work, even his appetite was gone… he could barely survive on coffee now. That’s why he moved into her room a few weeks after she left, he wouldn’t say he slept well, but at least he did, now her scent, her warmth, even her voice and her look at him were gone. When he moved into her room he had a fight with Damian about it, that was the first and last fight they had since Y/N left. Damian wouldn't like it if Tim was the one taking over Y/N's room, and it was a long, tiring fight, in which Damian gave in for the first time ever, letting Tim sleep in Y/N's room. Tim knew very well why Damian was angry, that he missed Y/N too, Damian had changed dramatically after her departure, he barely spoke inside the house, and even on missions he didn't have the same enthusiasm as usual, and he didn't blame Damian for that, he missed her himself... but he had to thank his position as CEO of WE for that which helped him see Y/N a lot, he had multiple meetings with Y/N's family company under the pretext of resuming relations again, just to see Y/N, and one of the meetings was always cancelled due to circumstances, whether from his side or Y/N's, and the first meeting that finally happened was last night, and after more than three months he saw Y/N again, when she entered the meeting room she automatically patted him on the head and asked him how he was and that his appearance looked bad and he should eat and sleep well... Tim was silent, he felt a lump in his throat, if there weren't other people in the room he would have collapsed and hugged her and asked her to come back, but he remained silent looking down Trying to breathe slowly, after the meeting ended he wanted to catch up with her, and talk to her alone and tell her that he needed her back, he hadn't slept in a long time, but because of some old businessmen that Tim was planning to throw out who blocked his way with some questions, invitations and failed offers that caused Tim to be late to catch up with Y/N, but it's okay, he will have another meeting with her, and he will ask her to go home.

Tim sighed as he tried to sleep for the sixth time and was about to fall asleep this time but the knocking on the door woke him up. He grumbled and cursed under his breath at the person at the door unless that person was Alfred, Tim got up lazily and opened the door to be surprised by Damian standing at the door... "Oh? Damian? What's wrong?" Tim noticed Damian's eyes were puffy from crying, he wasn't surprised, ever since Y/N left Damian had been crying a lot, not that anyone would tell him that was obvious. "I want you to find me two people, they're from my school, and they call Y/N my aunt." Damian said calmly without any arrogance. Tim looked at him in confusion for a while, could it be that Damian was after Y/N now? "And before you say anything I know that you're trying to get Y/N back through the meetings you request from her family's company." Damian continued crossing his arms. Tim tensed for a moment, he didn't know that it was obvious, then sighed in surrender. "Okay, come in."

@itsmadamehydra @sirenetheblogger @insomniaccorner @nommingonfood @supernaturalmarvelfan @moe-moes-stuff @stickyricewithmangosauce @emeraldcutie44 @randomlyappearingartist @type-ink @kittzu @west-c0ast-00 @hjgdhghoe @sweetconnoisseurgardener @bat1212 @wassupbroski55555 @purplelady22 @c4xcocoa

@sillyheartmoonnyx @hearts4mica

@qardasngan @randomlyappearingartist

@pink-jello-fish @kore-of-the-underworld

@00hellohello00 @superstarbucks

@rue-eru @middevil465 @devils-blackrose @crazycaoticsimp

1K notes · View notes

hazelfoureyes · 1 year ago

Text

The Radio Demon Fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 4)

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

7k words of a fever dream, happy Sunday, sinners ✨💦 I really hope you like it 🥺💖

You were back, unexpectedly but welcomed nonetheless. But now Alastor finds himself in a new kind of hell. There was, unfortunately for him, no killing what he felt when he looked at you.

{Warnings/Promises: Smut, Ace spectrum Alastor x FemReader, Alastor has feelings, creampie is the best nighttime snack, Angel is always the good guy, cervix punishment, mating press, Alastor demon form, Antlers go brrrr, drinking to forget, drowning (in cum)((and emotions)), discussions of murder, Alastor gets horny for discussions of murder, kinda breed kink if you squint, I saw a fan image of a hazbin hotel pool and it’s been stuck in my head for days.}

MINORS DNI (ah! Eh! I — stop. I see you. You know I see you, right? Get outta here! 🚨)

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

You were quick to stifle your smile, seeing Alastor standing in front of you with his hand outstretched. Why were you smiling? You were dead. Brutally so. And, You were in hell. But the corners of your mouth kept tugging upward at the sight of the stupid fucking deer demon before you. His own wild smile, eyes half lidded as he looked at you like he knew you.

You took his hand, needing the help standing. He fingers slipped from your palm and came to rub the velvet skin of your—- ears? You smacked his hand away, taking a step back.

The look he gave you, confusion? You weren’t sure, his head cocked to the side, hand lingering a beat longer in the air. He took a step toward you and you took one back.

Alastor laughed, “Quite the welcome, dear.”

You narrowed your eyes, did he know? Did he know you dreamt of him so many nights? That you struggled daily to not see his face behind your eyelids, not hear his lilting voice in your ear?

“Long time no see, Alastor.” You didn’t mean to sound quite so bored when you said it, you weren’t really sure at all what was going on in your head. You didn’t expect to see him so soon, literally immediately upon your death. You didn’t have time to recalibrate the mixed up feelings you had created for yourself over this stranger.

You pined for months to see him again, trying so hard to push the memory of him as deep as you could. So deep, in fact, you found yourself tortured at night with fantasies of his company. Even during the day, your life was altered around him. You couldn’t listen to the radio, the odd static and reverb just forcing him back into your consciousness. You took long forest walks, thinking about hunters and deer. You wore that fucking robe for an embarrassingly long time, remembering being in another world entirely.

Alastor’s face fell, throat closing slightly as he thought he realized what was happening. You didn’t remember the time you’d spent with him. He had been enjoying lazy nights in his room and pleasurable times in the woods with a ghost. He took a step closer, maybe if he— maybe your body would remember? If you just smelled his bed, perhaps you’d stop acting so cold. If he could awaken the impressions he was sure he left on your soul, he could pick up where he left off. A comfortable companion. Kind eyes that only saw him. His name, sweet and low tumbling from your lips.

You hit the wall with your back, making distance from him. He hadn’t hurt you, but you couldn’t be sure what would happen now. Fantasies are no indication of a person’s real self. Your dream romps were just that— dreams. Fiction your mind produced to fill the gap in your life he somehow created in your short time together. Imagination fleshing out this unknown demon you couldn’t stop thinking about.

His hand fell. There was a second his smile dropped, brows knitted. It came and it went, “Well! I best go get Charlie. She is the official welcome committee of the Hazbin Hotel, after all. Follow me.” The door swung open, his long arm gesturing.

Charlie pulled you into a hug, bouncing between “Welcome back!” And “I am so, so sorry you died!” She held your hands in hers, “The hotel has gone through a lot since you left! I have so much to show you. While Alastor has your room b…” her voice carried on, but your mind stayed put. She did jazz hands at every sconce and door frame on the way to the lobby.

You had expected it, your death. You figured there was a 50/50 chance you didn’t make it out of that forest. But that didn’t make this moment any less surreal. You looked down at your body, yours but new. Your hands came to your head, fingers climbing up your skull until you found them. Two soft, tulip petal shaped ears. Were you going to be sick? The room began to spin. Charlie’s voice underwater. Was some detective going to knock on your parent’s door? Carrying a folder with your photo and bad news? Your eyes clenched at the image, your heart ballooning in your chest.

“Maybe she needs to take a rest,” his voice cut through the waters of your confusion, a spear straight to your psyche. His hand slipped up your arm, resting on your back. You shook your head, eyes blinking wildly.

“It’s fine. Please, Charlie, continue your tour.” You took an exaggerated step to your left, out from under his touch. You thought you heard him sigh. Why was he being so kind? The last time you spoke you were staring daggers at him while he carried on about doing exactly what he had promised.

Charlie excitedly presented the lobby to you, the bar, the library. Alastor walked a few feet behind you both, quiet, his shadow dancing down the hallway in front of you. It’s mouth flipping from grin to grimace and back as it watched you nod along to every detail Charlie felt you should know.

The newest addition to the hotel since you left, a large indoor pool on the second to top floor. You lingered there, watching the water reflect pink and red light from the floor to ceiling windows overlooking Pentagram City.

“Almost done! To the left is Dad’s studio. He comes and goes. Ya know, parent stuff.”

You tried to mask your concern for whatever damaged parent-child relationship she was referencing.

“And to the right is Alastor’s radio station.”

You glanced to the demon, standing near the wall, inspecting his nails. “I didn’t know he had a radio station. I just assumed-,” You shrugged, “He just sounded like that.”

Alastor felt his bottom lid of his left eye twitch involuntarily. Why were you speaking like he wasn’t there?

He bit his tongue, literally. He needed time to think, to plan how to handle this situation. Your death was early and therefore unexpected for him, too. Not nearly as surprising, though, as your loss of memory of him.

He knew though, maybe this was for the best. If you were here, if he could see you around the hotel, perhaps that desire to have you near would die down. His shadow shifted behind him before sinking into the floor. Yes, exactly. This was a good thing. His eyes glanced to you, to your little doe features, two ears and a tiny fluff of a tail. His jaw tightened, had you done it on purpose? What did it mean?

”Would you like to see it?” He didn’t recognize his own voice, because he hadn’t realized he was going to say it until it was done.

Yes. “No thank you.” You wanted to run face first into the wall. It felt like your ribs were twisting off your spine. One side lurched up—- touch him. He wants you, he felt so good. Get him alone. The other side pulling down—- fuck him. He owns you, he’s a demon. Stay away from him.

His ears turned back and down, folding into his skull. You tried to keep your face neutral as you stared back at him, breathing teetering on panting. Every time you looked at him you were in danger of spilling your guts.

“Well!” Charlie slid into the tense air between you two, nervous chuckles, “That makes sense! Because Al’s station is super off limits. So. Uhh where was I going with this.” She looked around, “Is the room ready, Al?”

He nodded, leading you both to the elevator and a few floors down.

“This floor is for our more precious residents. Not that every soul isn’t precious! But ya knooow,” she opened your door, “You’ve got Angel, Husk, Niffty, sometimes Cherri Bomb, and Alastor as neighbors!”

Yippee. You get to lie awake knowing the object of your fucked desire is just past an easily smashed wall.

There was a moment where you all three looked at each other. Charlie becoming more and more fidgety as the seconds ticked on.

“Sooo, We should let her rest, like you said, right Alastor?” Charlie began a dramatic walk to the bedroom door, taking big steps with high knees.

You needed to do this and let it be. “Actually, may I have a moment, Alastor?”

Always, Yes. “I suppose I have the time, my dear.” He twirled his microphone stand before settling it behind his back. Charlie wanted to ask you if you were sure, but the tension was rising again. She backed out of the room, pulling the door closed as she went.

Alone. Again. There was a feeling in the air, like you would either fuck or fight. Was it an animal thing? Or was it always there?

“I never got to thank you.”

His stomach turned, he couldn’t bear this again. Please, stop thanking him. Smile straining, struggling to keep it together, he nodded, “Whatever for?”

You had a strange feeling, a familiarity to the conversation. Ah, that was right. Would this end the same way as your dream? With you on your back? “You were — true to your word.” You fiddled with the comforter of the bed, avoiding looking at him. “You were gentle and you got me home safe and sound. I didn’t thank you. I was just so-,”

“Full of misplaced rage?” His head tilted to the left, eyebrows high.

“Just rage, would have been fine. It was an unfair situation that you helped get me out of.”

Alastor watched your face, only sadness to be found. Not a sight he took any pleasure in. “Well you should truly thank Angel Dust. He is the one who brought me to you, desperate to help you. Even offered me his soul! Not that it’s his to give.”

No one had told you. “Oh,” genuine surprise, “Thank you for that. Yeah, I have to thank him. I’d probably still be in Valentino’s—,” the light of the lamp beside the bed flickered, “studio.”

Looking at you, Alastor couldn’t decipher the feeling in his chest. Relief, sure. Shock, yes. But behind that, a strange tugging beneath his sternum. A pain, vague and nebulous floating over his chest. Why did you come back so soon? Why did you die so early? He wanted to ask you so many things, but if you didn’t retain any memory of your time with him, he doubted he would like the answers.

“I’m going to finish my mental breakdown now, thanks for the tour and uh, the information.” Scratching awkwardly at your arm, you went and opened the door. He paused a moment before moving. “I would like to see your radio station, sometime. If you’d want to show me.” He nodded and left. The room felt colder now, deader.

Your night went exactly how you anticipated, lying awake in the plush red blankets of your new home staring at the ceiling. You wondered if you slept, if you’d see him again. Thoughts of the overworld, family, connections. Little fits of rest came but nothing more than 30 minutes here and there.

Alastor paced his room until dawn, an animal in an unlocked cage. When you had appeared, dead and truly in hell, he thought you’d come to see him. He was embarrassed to even think it now, he had believed you wanted to be with him in earnest. As comfortable with his company as he was yours. He cradled his head, again he felt himself succumbing to the enjoyment of others. He had accepted it with you, more so than the rest, and now it was a weapon in your hands. He felt like an idiot. And he hated it. What a fool, to think you’d died to get home to him. A growl rising in his chest. Home. He desperately wanted to see Rosie, to vent the situation and find clarity. But the idea of leaving you alone in the hotel irked him. He couldn’t put his finger on why. Maybe you wouldn’t be here when he returned. He could always summon you with your connection to him, but he wanted you to be there, with him, of your own volition or he didn’t want it at all.

If you’d forgotten entirely, he had two courses of action. To start over, or to let it die.

He looked to his bed, remembering you lying there. Sleeping, peaceful, content. Safe. Alastor turned to the wall, knowing you lied just beyond the wallpaper and sheet rock in your own deathbed, alone. The out of place physical need for you was something he struggled with, but whatever feeling this was — far worse. You were his, yet he couldn’t have you. Couldn’t possess you in the ways he’d grown accustomed to the past year. Starting over felt tedious. But this wasn’t a feeling that would die, he knew that. He could feel that by how deep the roots of his despair sunk into his soul when you looked at him like a stranger.

He didn’t rest that night, and neither did you.

Maybe it was the deal, the connection between you and him, but no matter where you were in the hotel you could feel him. A sixth sense, his presence always on your radar. A small part of your brain power was always on him, focused on the idea of Alastor. You wandered the halls until the others woke, feeling that little string between the two of you. Taut, strong.

When you found Angel that first morning back, you took a seat beside him in the lobby.

“Alastor told me you are why I got help. From Valentino.” You tried your best to maintain eye contact, not getting distracted by his arms.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart. I kinda did it for myself, I wouldn’t have been able to sleep again if I just let it happen. I’m a freak but I ain’t sick in the head like Val.” He locked his phone, turning to you, “So do you always start passin’ out mid-convo or does Charlie’s voice just do something to ya?”

You groaned, “Did she tell you that?”

“Well she panic-sang it, real worried about you. Did you get settled in yesterday?”

“I didn’t sleep, now that you mention it.” Angel laughed, taking you by surprise, “What?”

“Oh I’m sure you didn’t. Not with your co-star next door.” He winked, “I’m sure you’re happy to be here in the flesh.”

“Ugh I forgot about that. Did -,”

“Everyone see it? Yeah you’re a minor celebrity.” You took a throw pillow and screamed into it while he spoke, “But hey! At least you don’t gotta worry about crazy fans. Smiles will keep ‘em at bay.”

“Why would he do anything for me?” Pillow still over your face, you groaned, “I’m just a soul on his roster.”

“Ha I don’t think he treats just any soul the way he’s been treatin’ you. I think Husk would tell me.” Angel kicked his feet, “What a mental image! Does he have pubes? I feel like he does but they’re like, sharp? Like hostile somehow?”

Pillow down, “Ew, Angel! Hostile? How the fuck would I know?”

Angel stopped, wide eyed, “Oh is it a secret? Is that part of the deal?” A sinister giggle, “You can tell ole’ Angel Dust. We’re pals, remember? You technically owe me.” His many fingers poked at your sides, goading you.

You scrunched up your nose, swatting at his hands, “Angel, what are you talking about?”

His smile fell, now side eyeing you, he opened his mouth to ask you to stop playing coy when he heard you all those nights in Alastor’s room when Charlie burst into the lobby.

“I am so sorry! I didn’t tell you about the redemption activities!” She tossed papers onto the coffee table, “Alright, plan Stairway to Heaven!”

Angel sat back, bored the juicy gossip had to wait, your attention fully occupied by Charlie’s sketches.

Alastor watched you from the second floor balcony. Over the next few days he would always be watching, either from the shadows or out in the open. Looking at you, that carnal hunger was gone. He felt no overpowering desire to be surrounded by you. But, now and then, you’d make a small noise or sigh and he would feel a little twitch. A muscle memory reaction to you

Where the need to touch you had faded, he instead found an insatiable hunger to be near you. He had thought it would be better, you at the hotel. But it had become worse. The further you were, the more undone he felt. It baffled him. So, he stayed near. You were almost always within earshot or eye sight. If not, he at least knew where you were. He could focus on the hotel and his plans for Charlie only then.

You never looked at him, it was obviously on purpose. Even when he would take a seat beside you or across from you, you’d manage to glance everywhere but directly at Alastor. By the fourth day, he felt like he was going to snap. It was beginning to feel disrespectful.

That fourth night when you again couldn’t sleep, you found yourself at the edge of the pool. Did people in hell swim? You’d been there for nearly two hours and not a single sinner appeared. It was well past midnight, though.

The entire room was tinged pink, shadows a pretty red. The water itself looked like a sea of rose quartz. You didn’t have a bathing suit. You didn’t have anything now that you thought about it. Nevertheless, you slipped into the water and let yourself float from the edge.

What a familiar feeling, floating. The ceiling shimmered with the water’s ever-moving reflection. Mind reeling back to the green glow casting your shadow on the ceiling of Valentino’s studio. You closed your eyes, you were always sinking it seemed. Sinking out of consciousness, into a another dream, out of the woods and into the bedroom of your captivator. The only times you felt weightless— ah, right. Body held up by shadows, cameras rolling. Under him, beneath the stars, sleeping form disconnected from your mind. It was always with him. You wondered for a second if you could sleep like this. What would happen if you drowned. Could you drown?

The carpet soaked with every step you took, your body sopping wet, clothes heavy with pool water. You were dragging your bare feet to the elevator when you saw a light coming from the ajar door to Alastor’s radio studio.

He was looking over papers, monocle resting on his cheek. Alastor turned to you, taking note of your shoes in your hand and wet hair. Your ears were heavy with water, fine fur drooping with the weight. “You look like a drowned rat, my doe.”

“Don’t call me that,” you wiped your hair from your face, “I can’t sleep.”

You never struggled to sleep in his bed. “What did you do when you couldn’t sleep on earth?”

Your life already felt far in the rearview, either the effects of sleep exhaustion or your time in the underworld, “I slept… really well. Not a sleepless night I can remember.”

Alastor only hummed a response. Because all of your sleepless nights were here, with him.

“Why are you working?”

“Why are you swimming?”

“I just told you.” Your brows knitted, was this a conversation or a riddle.

Ever present smile beamed back at you, “Well then take a guess!”

You stared at him, sitting at his curved desk with all his switches and buttons. Papers here and there. Just smiling at you. “Cool, thanks for the waste of time.” You turned to leave when you heard a low sound coming from his chest.

“Why do you speak to me like that? Avoid me?” He stood, hair sharp and standing at attention, “What have I done to you to deserve your disgust?”

“Nothing! That’s-,” the problem, “I’m just tired. I don’t feel right, like I misplaced something. There’s a nagging feeling, maybe something I forgot in the overworld.”

Alastor closed the gap between you two, “I can assure you everything you need is here.”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah. Of course.” Turning to leave, his clawed hand reached for your wrist. Pulling you back, your wet clothes were now soaking into his suit.

His free hand took your chin and made you look up at him. Alastor’s red and pink eyes stared into yours, grin wider than you remembered seeing it before. You fixed your gaze on the desk behind him. “Look at me.” His voice cracked with a static interference. Your eyes finally came to his, your hand now holding his wrist just below your chin. “Don’t you dare look away.” He saw it, a flash of recognition flit across your now wide eyes. There was a pulse of electricity to your core, your body remembering his voice, those words, like an activation phrase. How did he know? Your thighs rubbed together, feet barely touching the ground as he held you close.

When his lips crashed into yours, you melted for a moment. Your body relaxed into him, a small whine slipping from your mouth to his. But then something in you snapped back, remembering he was a stranger holding your leash. You pulled his hand from your face with ease as your feet came back to the ground. Tugging your wrist free, you opened your mouth to yell at him, nothing but heavy breathing came out. Again, he reduced you to speechlessness. You glanced at his face before turning; he looked wounded.

You thought you heard his shoes shuffling along the carpet as you rushed into the elevator. A bang, a thrash, echoing down the elevator shaft as you descended to your floor.

Did he think because you acquiesced to sex before, somewhat under the pressure of a worse fate, he could just kiss you anytime he wanted? Did he see you as a toy?

Maybe being a toy would be nice. Maybe a good fuck would let you finally sleep. He did hit all the right places, those shadowy appendages never letting a single need go ignored…

You slammed your door shut, angrily peeling off your clothes. No, you weren’t a possession. You weren’t an object to be taken off the shelf at his convenience. No matter how much your body ached for his clawed hands and thin waist, you wouldn’t lower yourself to being under him. Not metaphorically, therefore not physically. You curled onto your bed, naked, body humming for him. Sleep came in pieces, fractured moments of rest.

“You look like shit.” Angel greeted you when the sun finally rose and everyone mulled around the hotel. You waited until you were sure the lobby bar wouldn’t be empty, you didn’t want to run into him alone.

“How do you fucking sleep in this place? All night just screams and moans from the city.” You rested your cheek on the bar, “Husk, something with orange juice that’ll make me forget where I am, please.”

“The moans are my favorite. Speaking of moanin’ in the night-,” Angel was cut off.

“Get used to it. You sold your soul to a psychotic dick. Welcome to the club,” Husk’s tone was harsh, tilting into sardonic as he slid your drink to you.

With a huff, you sat up, “Don’t compare us. You sold your soul. I—,” you searched with your hands for the word, “was guilty of having a colossal cunt of an aunt.” A deep sip of your drink, “Fuck, he only got my soul because he made a deal with a different demon for it. Soul traded in like a used car. I’m the Kia Sorento of hell.”

Husk grumbled, “Yeah well, either way. Might as well get comfortable. We’re here for the long haul.”

Angel put a hand out to shut up Husk, scooting his stool closer to you, “So like— did Mister Wrong-Kinda-Horny have you killed?” His eyes went to your ears and back, “Is that why ya came back a little lady deer? Some kinda sex thing?”

You downed your drink and gestured to Husk to refill your glass, speaking to Angel without looking at him, “Why would he do that?

He grabbed your bar stool and swivelled you to face him, leaning in even closer, “Well, ya know…” his eyebrows raised up and down, ready to finally get the dirty details, “because ya-,”

“My little doe, just who I was looking for.” His sudden appearance startled all three of you. He was ready now, to pin down your fate. Were you going to stay at the hotel permanently or not? With his supervision or without?

“Why does everyone keep interruptin’ me?!” Angel slammed his hand on the bar.

On impulse, your own hand formed a first, “Stop calling me that!”

Alastor laughed, unhinged, a finger wiping a tear from his eye. Still, the attitude with which you spoke to him surprised him, “Oh? Why should I? You are a doe,” his microphone gestured to your head, “And your soul belongs to me. If I remember correctly, so does your body.” His eyes darkened, back bent as he came to your eye level, “But I always have video evidence if you’re unsure of the details.”

You lifted your glass and cocked your arm back to throw it but stopped. Alastor was grinning, something in his stare egging you on. He was loving this. Finally you were paying some attention to him. You were looking right at him.

Setting the glass back down, you left your stool and slipped past him, “Lucky for you, radio demon. It’s all you have anymore.” You had decided you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of saying his name.

Husk sunk beneath the bar, Alastor’s antlers expanding as his eyes became overtaken with black. Angel scrambled over the counter to join the cowering bartender. Alastor whipped around, spine cracking and stretching. You were in the elevator for another quick escape when you turned and saw him gaining on you, his mouth nearly unhinged, teeth sharp and numerous. His body contorted to get his truly demonic face in your eye line, back bending in half to drop his head down, “What did you say?” The air around him seemed to bend and shake, the hiss of a misaligned radio station biting at your skin.

Your finger was shaking as you pressed the ‘close door’ button repeatedly, wetting your lips you found your foothold in anger again, “Fuck you.”

You didn’t recognize the sounds you heard just past the hollow elevator doors. Something between a screech and a wail. Not a sound you’d heard any deer make before.

Shakey knees and legs melting to jelly barely carried you to your room. You collapsed against the door as soon as you entered, locking it. Not that it mattered, you knew that.

A knock shook the wood and made you yelp.

“It’s me!” You recognized Angel’s voice, “Let me in.”

He fell into your room, hair a mess and eyes wide, “I don’t know where he went but he left the hotel. Jesus Christ you have balls of steel.” He fixed his hair, adjusting his chest fluff, “Or are a total idiot.” He saw the tears swelling in your eyes, gears shifting immediately, “Oh shit, sorry. You okay?”

You shook your head no and crumbled to the floor, “I haven’t fucking slept more than three hours a night in like, five fucking days. I’m going crazy.”

“I don’t know why ya’ll are fightin’ but can’t Alastor help you out? Ya’ll are close, maybe a night in his bed will set you straight.”

Your tears streamed down your face, “Angel! What are you talking about?! You keep saying shit like we’re friends. The closest I’ve been to him was in my fucking wet dreams!” You curled into the fetal position on the carpet, exhausted, scared, confused. You’d never seen something as skin-crawling as his full demonic form. But a part of you was mesmerised by the transformation. A sick part of you, you decided.

Angel lied down beside you, facing you, eyes blinking. One of his hands wiped at your tears, “What exactly happened after you went home?”

You sniffled, “I couldn’t get him out of my head. I wore your robe. It smelled like you.”

He laughed, “I wondered where that thing went.”

“I started having these dreams, just—- really fucked dreams of him.”

Angel’s eyes narrowed, “fucked how?”

Your wanted to hide your face but didn’t have the energy to move your arms, “He fucked me in the woods like his life depended on it. Best sex of my life, in my own imagination. Naturally.”

Angel sat up, he didn’t know what to ask first, “best sex?? Sorry- no. Fuck, uh, you had dreams about fucking the Radio Demon? You two never… met up?”

You rolled onto your back, shaking your head, “If he could have visited me, he never did. Trust me, I looked for any sign.”

“Uh huuuuh.” Angel nodded, “Well. His extra weird attitude makes more sense. He’s been super creepy, always just popping’ outta shadows and shit. More than usual.”

Angel looked over you, crying softly on the floor. He considered telling you, but if Alastor hadn’t he figured it was best he stay out of it. Lest he be the one fleeing into elevators.

“Have ya considered actually fucking him?” Angel couldn’t believe he was recommending anyone fuck Alastor, but it seemed like maybe it’d actually do you good.

“Why would I do that?”

Angel looked annoyed, “Because you wanna fuck him?! Get it out of our system?”

“Yes and I sometimes wonder what it would be like to drive into oncoming traffic. We all have the call of the void. He—,” you thought about the kiss, “I feel like it’d just make it worse. I’d want more.”

Angel showed you his phone, “He’s apparently eating sinners in the doom district, so, it’s your call. But maybe a good bang would get you both to chill out.” He scrolled, “Fucking hell. The best sex, of your life? Have you not had much sex or-?”

You crawled up to your bed and plopped your now heavy body down, “Angel.”

“Do you have some weird kink? Is it just really big?”

“Angel!”

“Does he go full demon and his peni-,”

“ANGEL.”

He spun his head around to look at you, “I wanna respect your boundaries but I will actually die again if you don’t explain this shit to me.”

Settling back, you groaned, “I’ve never felt so needed before. He held onto me like he couldn’t breath unless I was under him. But you see him, you’ve been here. Does that sound like him?”

Angel sat beside you, “Honestly didn’t know he knew what sex was until you came here so” he leaned back, two arms holding him up, “You guys are pretty fucked up.” You nodded. “What did he say, when you told him about the dreams?”

“Didn’t really come up.” You rolled your eyes.

He patted your thigh, “Got it. You’re gonna owe me like, a metric shit ton of drugs.” Angel pushed off the bed, waving as he left, “I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

You sat up, staring curiously at where he had just been. Tomorrow? It was only 9am

Angel spent several hours in the lobby, pretending to read and socialize with residents. He jumped from the chaise lounge as soon as he saw Alastor walking into the hotel, “Hey uh, I know you know I think you’re a freaky fuck, but I wanna just say it sucks real bad and I’m sorry.” Alastor didn’t reply or even stop walking, Angel having to jog to keep pace.

“I mean, if my fuck buddy thought our bumpin’ uglies was all just dreams I’d be super fuckin’ bummed too.” Alastor became so still so quickly that Angel nearly fell over trying to stop his momentum. He waved his hand in front of Alastor’s face to make sure he was still conscious, “uhh anyone home in there?”

Alastor’s eyes flicked to dials, residents looking up warily as the power flickered and the space seemed to distort around them, “Explain, quickly.”

“She told me this mornin’! She thinks all those nights you were bangin’ her brains out — which, from one porn star to another, sounded top notch from my room — we’re just horny dreams. She’s all fucked in the head about it.”

Alastor melted into his shadow and slinked down the hall and up the walls, leaving Angel behind, “You all owe me!”

You heard footsteps suddenly advancing on you down the hall. Spinning around, your nose nearly brushed against his, Alastor’s face already down to your level.

He leaned in to you, his mouth hitting against your cheek, “I need to speak to you in my room, dear.” His voice was clearly not asking you.

Your blood ran cold, goosebumps dancing down your neck and arms. “Why would-,”

“Now.” His arms wrapped around your waist, you pushed him away and turned to walk off but stopped. You weren’t in the hallway anymore. A bedroom. With a haughty laugh you turned to spit venom at him for such a dirty trick.

As if expecting it, he cut you off, “They weren’t dreams, my doe. It was astral projection.” He took you by the shoulders and pointed your entire body at the forest scene melting into his room. Had it always been there? You couldn’t remember seeing it before, when you arrived in hell. Just him and his smile.

You felt the blush rise from your toes to your ear tips. Both hands came to your face, desperate to hide your existence from the situation.

You remembered that grassy clearing, the tree line. Peaking in and up, you saw the starry sky you spent so many nights moaning into.

“Why-,” your hands balled into fists, “didn’t you tell me?!” You turned to him, face red. You wanted to shove him, to hit him, but your mother taught you better than to lay hands on someone first. You finished fights, not started them.

Alastor smiled down at you, like he always did, “I thought you had no memory of our-,”

You cut off him off at the head, “visits.”

He laughed, “spirited visits.” Was that a pun? You groaned.

“I, I thought it was just make believe.” The gentle touches, the sweet names whispered into your skin, the way you could taste him even after you woke. The blush burned your cheeks.

Now that you knew, now that your eyes fell on him once again with recognition, he felt you’d actually answer him, “How did you die?”

The question took you by surprise, You thought it was obvious, “I tried to kill a hunter in the woods. Well, I did kill him. But he killed me, too.”

A genuine grin spread across his lips, a cackle, “You killed a man?!” You shouldn’t have been so proud, but he looked so impressed, “Tell me every detail. Who was he to you?” Alastor’s hands came to your arms. You remembered last night, pulse quickening, and walked to his bed. You took a seat on the end, sinking softly into the plush blankets. Your hand ran over the fabric.

“My employee’s father.” The fabric was soft, the threads tiny and tight.

Alastor took a seat beside you, legs crossed, “Oh? And why him?”

A hum, “He was a bad man.”

His hand picked up yours, bringing it to his mouth. There was that loss of blood to his brain, something you effortlessly did to him. “Who says?” His own heart picking up pace. You killed. Was it egotistical to think you inspired such a thing? Did you kill for him?

You watched your fingers tremble under his lips, “What?”

“Who says he was bad?”

Your eyes searched the room for an answer, “I think anyone would agree with me.”

His smile reached his eyes, “So you decided? He probably thought he was quite alright.” He turned your wrist over, mouth pressing to your pulse point. “Did you plan it?” Your scent was familiar but different now. Skin still just as soft. He felt himself salivate. Your spell just as strong in death.

A gulp, all of those walls you struggled to keep standing turned to dust against his smirk. A stranger, a lover. Effortlessly your body shifted into a new gear under his touch. “Yeah, for a week. I waited until I knew he was going to be there. Walked the paths, bought a knife.”

“A knife,” he practically purred, “A favorite. No gun?” He pulled your arm toward him, bringing your whole body into his.

“I wanted something more… personal.”

Alastor buckled slightly, cock jumping in his lap. “You were made to be my undoing. I am sure of it. A cruel joke from heaven to distract me.” His mouth found your neck next, little nips before he chose a place and latched, sucking a bruise easily seen by others.

“This is a really fucked conversation, Alastor.” Your body softened, a small sigh coming before you could consider being embarrassed.

“For a ‘fucked’ situation, my dear.” His nose traced along your jaw. “But one you’ll find I quite enjoy.” He placed your hand on his lap. Did he see the face you made? The stupid grin? Your hand squeezed lightly on the length you felt tenting his pants, earning a moan into your cheek. Real. He was real. In your hands, now. No dreams or projection. No fantasies. No little pink toy. “Bear with me, just a little more. You’ll find my … proclivity for such topics quite important for these kinds activities.”

“You’re sick.” You turned, nose to nose smiling still.

He hummed, his own smile spreading, “desperately so.” Your hand gently traced the shape of him through his pants, “Why did you kill him? As opposed to all the other bad men?”

A question you didn’t feel you could answer, “This topic is having the opposite effect on me…” you squeezed him again.

“Fair enough,” he pushed you back onto the bed, leg going over your body to straddle you, “Then tell me how you felt? A compromise.”

How did you feel? When you killed him? “I felt strong.” He repositioned himself between your legs, “I wasn’t scared. I knew I’d succeed or-,”

“Or?” His breathing now a barely strained pant. Say it. Say it and he’ll let himself go completely.

You focused on the canopy of his bed, a red wine color much like his own coat. “Or I’d end up here, with you.” His head fell, forehead resting on your stomach. You looked down to see his antlers larger than before, no longer cute little prongs. “Alastor?”

He wasn’t an idiot.

Maybe a little roundabout, but you chose him.

Red dribbled from his chin, mind going foggy as eyes went black. His hands rid you of your clothes with delicate cuts, your body lurched up the bed by wide palms.

You chose to come back.

Your hands came down to undo his pants and belt, seeing he probably couldn’t manage himself. As soon as he was free of his clothes, he was rutting into your thigh. “Alastor”, you took his face in both hands, dials flickers to dilated pupils as you got him to focus on you.

“My little doe.”

You came home.

His head came to rest just above yours, wide and sharp antlers just out of reach. His leaking cock finally found your core, Alastor groaning into the blankets to find you already so wet. Your hands gripped his arms, nails breaking skin in anticipation.

Lined up and impatient, he pushed up into you with unmeasured force. You bit onto the flesh of his shoulder, trying to keep yourself from screaming. In those dreamlike visits, he filled you so perfectly, body molding to him. But now, you were stuffed. With one thrust your cervix was bruised and tender. The tiniest pain bled into the eye-rolling pleasure of having him back in you. With heavy breaths he thrust into you with a need you couldn’t ever remember feeling before. He fucked you like he would die without your moans spilling across his chest.

And it was true, feeling your soft cunt clenching him so tightly was a need more than anything else. A ray of light at the bottom of the Mariana’s trench. Impossible, and undeserved. You were everything he wasn't good enough to have, wasn’t clean enough of conscience to hold. An angel clipping a wing to dip into hell, you killed to sink back into his arms. Even if you didn’t say it, not yet. He could feel it in you. He had left a deeper impression on your soul than perhaps you had his. You weren’t just his by way of a deal, you corrupted yourself to his level.

He looked down at you, your eyes already wet and unfocused, mouth hanging open as every breath turned into rhythmic moans. Your soul a fresh snowfall, your adoration for him a drop of blood. His eyes shut, mind focused on where you and him merged now. Friction pulling him forward to his climax.

Your body was trembling, his lower stomach rubbing against your already swollen clit. That soft button just past your entrance wasn’t just being pressed, it was smashed against your walls with his shaft. His head dragging past it. You wanted to speak, to express how good you felt, but your tongue was frozen in your mouth. Every inhale became a gasp, every exhale was now a moan. You felt his body tighten, thrusts become shallow as his large head refused to stray far from your womb. Silently, your hands tore into his shoulders as you gripped through your orgasm. The muscles in your jaw now locked. Your legs came to wrap around his hips and draw him in, thighs convulsing as his pace didn’t stop for you to recover.

With an unmistakable mating press, his cock buried itself in your pussy. Balls deep suddenly made more sense as a phrase. Your cervix stung as his body forced more room for itself in you. The way your walls spasmed around him felt debauched, your body starved for him. Hungry as he had been. Alastor felt your soft cunt drowning in his seed and he groaned into your hair. Already spilling out, he didn’t even consider unsheathing himself from you.

You struggled to slow your heart rate, vision blocked entirely with his own heaving chest. As he softened in you, so did his form. Body reconfiguring above you, antlers now small and uncharacteristically cute.

With regained red eyes, he looked at your face.

“Are you-,” he sighed, “Asleep.” Not a bad future after all, he mused. Watching you sleep.

He considered wiping you down before placing you beneath his blanket, but it seemed like such a waste. Your head on his pillow, he felt everything in his chest settle. Like a puzzle whose pieces were all right but just not flush, his own damned soul settled flat. Everything snuggly in place.

One of his large palms came to rest on your head, a familiar place for him now, “Sleep well, darling doe. I’ll be here when you wake.”

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult: @nonetheartist , fizzled-phoenix , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @fjorjestertealeaf , @pansexual-opera-house , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @roxxie-wolf , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @phobophobular , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @surusurusuru , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1

🎞️ TRDFAHS VHS owners: @leathesimp , @alastors-staff, @howabouticallyou , @myrunawaysweets , @karmakillz , @serendipitous-fernweh , @universal-s1ut , @anuttellaa , @sillyb0nez , @nonamevenus , @fairyv-ice , @nitnat6245 , @alicehasdrowned , @alicebaskervilleposts , @jyoongim , @lunaramune , @christinebloodwrittings , @itszzmoon , @thekanrojimitsuri2 ,

@luna-usagi-chan

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

3K notes · View notes

daisymbin · 4 months ago

Text

look at me! - choi seungcheol

warnings: alcohol, mild menace jeonghan

pairing: seungcheol x reader

genre: friends to lovers, drunken confession

wc: 2.5k

a/n: i've decided to do a drunken confession series for seventeen sooooo let's start with cheol!

read part2 here!

drunken confessions masterlist

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

“oh my god he's lost his fucking mind….” seungkwan mumbles to no one but himself. your panic ridden voice rang over the loud music blasting from the tons and dozens of speakers littered in each and every corner of this club. “ya! choi seungcheol! what are you doing standing on that table! get down here!”

jeonghan steps right next to you as he whips out his phone to start recording his friend, “dont stop him now! this is just getting good! he's standing on a table in a club, throwing a fucking drunken tantrum! this is 100% blackmail material, please.”

“are you out of your mind? he's on a table, DRUNK jeonghan! he's gonna hurt himself!” you shouted over the loud music.

“choi seungcheol did you not hear me? get down here!” now your anger and anxiety has reached new heights, how did he even get up there? “choi seungcheol? why are you calling me by my full name? & no! i wont get down!” seungcheol retorted back firmly, his arms akimbo as he stomped his left foot on the table, “not until you stop dancing with random dudes & start paying attention to me! what about me? why don’t you ever look at me?” the sight of his furrowed eyebrows and pouted lips are all too familiar to you, if it isn't the signature choi seungcheol look.

“what the hell are you talking about? I do look at you! I look at you a lot.” you whispered that last part to no one but yourself only.

“you don't look at me the way I look at you!”

giggles. you heard giggles….from your left. yoon jeonghan… “& now im about to have even more embarrassing blackmail material. sweet future mrs choi, what would I ever do without you & all this blackmail material that you've presented me the opportunity of having?” you rolled your eyes & shake your head disapprovingly, too tired to argue with him.

this time, its seungcheol who is giggling, clearly enjoying the choice of words jeonghan used, “future mrs. choi, huh?" seungcheol wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, making you glare in his direction as you let out a heavy sigh.

you continue keeping your eyes on seungcheol, who's now swaying dangerously on the table. his eyes are glossy, yet somehow focused on you, and your heart does an unsettling flip. his words; slurred and loud, echoing in your head.

“cheol-ah, please get down!” you plead, stepping closer. “you’re going to fall and break your neck!” maybe breaking his neck was an over exaggerating but stil…

your words only seem to frustrate seungcheol even more as he shakes his head, stumbling a little as he shifts his weight, his previous playful demeanor vanishing, “not until… until you… you tell me why!” his voice cracks, frustration dripping from his tone & his eyes threatening to spill tears. “why don’t you see me?”

your breath catches in your throat as you realise, he’s serious. despite the alcohol coursing through his system, this isn’t a joke or just another tantrum. the raw vulnerability in his voice, the weight of the question, hits you harder than the loud bass of the music.

“I do see you,” you mutter under your breath, unsure if he can even hear you through the blaring music and his drunken haze.

seungcheol wobbles on his feet again, his balance precarious. panic seizes your chest. you’re torn between your worry for his safety and the confusion over what he’s saying. why is he suddenly acting like this?

almost as if he could read your mind, seungcheol answers you unknowingly, “I don’t want to just be your friend,” he blurts out suddenly, his voice almost drowned by the music but not enough for you to miss it. “I can’t- i love you…I love you…” he says as he drops his head & fidgets his fingers.

there it is. the confession that shatters the space between you, that suddenly turns the wild, chaotic night into something much heavier. jeonghan, who was still recording, lets out a low whistle.

“well, damn,” he mutters.

your eyes widen at his confession, frozen on the spot as seungcheol stands there, his breathing uneven, chest rising and falling with the weight of his admission. everything else in the club; the music, the people, the lights…it all feels like it fades into the background. It's just you and him.

“cheol-ah..” you start, but the words die in your throat as he stumbles forward again, nearly toppling off the table.

“shit!” you and jeonghan rush to catch him before he takes a nasty fall.

you and jeonghan both rush forward, arms outstretched just as seungcheol loses his balance. you barely manage to catch him, his weight collapsing onto you. his strong frame nearly knocks the breath out of your lungs, and it takes all your strength just to keep him upright.

"seungcheol-ah!" you grunt, trying to steady him as his head lolls against your shoulder. he's mumbling incoherently now, his earlier bravado disappearing into drunken exhaustion.

jeonghan, on the other hand, is laughing so hard he has to clutch his stomach. "oh this is gold," he wheezes, quickly tucking his phone away to help you with seungcheol. "guess we should probably get him out of here before he does something even more embarrassing, huh?"

you nod wordlessly, the weight of seungcheol’s confession still hanging heavy between you. you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, but your mind is scrambling to make sense of everything.

“I love you….I love you…”

his words loop in your head, over and over, louder than the music around you. How long had he been feeling this way? how long had you been blind to it?

jeonghan helps you guide seungcheol towards the exit, his drunken body leaning heavily into yours. “careful, future mrs. choi.” jeonghan teases again, though there’s a hint of softness in his voice now. jeonghan is so not gonna let you live this down, you thought to yourself as you look back at the drunken boy.

you shot jeonghan a look, not quite in the mood for more of his jokes. "not helping, jeonghan."

as you make your way outside, the cool night air hits seungcheol’s face, and he groans, blinking slowly as he tries to make sense of his surroundings. he glances up at you, his eyes a little clearer now but very much still hazy from the alcohol.

"why did you dance with them?" he murmurs softly, the hurt still lingering in his voice. his hand grabs weakly at your arm, as if afraid you'll slip away. "you never look at me…you never look my way…you've never looked at me like that….”your chest tightens again, and for a moment, you can’t find your voice. you didn’t think your casual dancing would mean anything to him.

jeonghan, sensing the shift, gives you both a gentle nudge toward the car. "come on, let’s get him home before he passes out right here."

as you help seungcheol into the backseat, your mind is racing. you sit beside him in the car, his head resting on your shoulder as he starts to drift into a state between dozing off & trying to stay awake. his hand, still loosely holding onto yours, sending a blast of warmth through your body. jeonghan drives in silence, glancing at you occasionally through the rearview mirror, as if waiting to see what you'll do next.

silence envelops the car as you think back on seungcheol's words, they twists in your chest because that couldn’t be further from the truth. you look at him all the time, just never long enough for him to catch you. you can’t bear to.

seungcheol’s hand is still holding yours, his body heavy against your own, “I always look at you,” you mutter under your breath in a soft sigh, though it’s meant for no one but yourself. jeonghan catches it though, he glances at you, eyebrows raised, but doesn’t comment.

seungcheol's alcohol ridden voice only stabs at your heart, because it only makes him sound even more….sad. he leans his head further into your shoulder, his voice quieter now but no less insistent. "you don’t look at me," he slurs, his fingers gripping your arm a little tighter, as if trying to make you understand. "not like you look at them…"

your chest tightens once again, his words hitting you hard. he doesn’t know, does he? he’s never realized that you don’t look at him because it hurts too much, because every time you catch his eye, the feelings you’ve been burying inside of you for so long threaten to spill over.

“I do look at you,” you say, louder this time, though your voice still wavers. you glance over at jeonghan, who’s watching you both intently now through the rearview mirror, jeonghan thinks to himself: do they not realise we’ve reached?

seungcheol pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression muddled by alcohol but the hurt still there, clear as day. “you don’t,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “you never do…I would have known if you did…I'm always looking at you…”

your heart aches at the sight of him; his pouted lips which you've always found so adorable now looks so vulnerable and raw, and suddenly the weight of all the years you’ve spent hiding your feelings feels suffocating. you’ve loved him for so long, much longer than you’d care to admit but you were always too scared to let it show, too scared that if you looked at him the way you wanted to, he’d see it and never feel the same.

“I don’t look at you because I can’t,” you finally admit, the words spilling out before you can stop them. you bite the back of your lower lip, fighting back the lump in your throat. “every time I look at you, it hurts. It hurts because I-” you stop yourself, your hands trembling as you try to steady yourself.

seungcheol blinks slowly in confusion, trying to process what you’re saying. “hurts? why would it…?” his voice trails off, and for a split second, it’s like the pieces are clicking into place in his foggy mind.

you shake your head, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “i’ve always looked at you, seungcheol. but i couldn’t let you see me do it. not the way i wanted to.”

for a moment, everything stands still. the low hum of the engine, the aircon blasting, the soft music from the car radio, they seem to go silent, the world outside seems to blur, and all that exists is the space between you and him. you can see the confusion in his eyes slowly being replaced by something else, something softer; more vulnerable & fragile. hope, perhaps?

he leans in closer, his forehead almost resting against yours yet not touching, his breath warm on your skin. “then why?” he whispers, his voice barely audible, “why didn’t you just… tell me?”

you swallow hard, your throat tightening as you try to find the right words. “because I didn’t think you felt the same,” you say, your voice shaky. “and now i-”

seungcheol’s hand reaches up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he cuts you off. “i’ve been waiting for you to look at me,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly clearer, more sober. “i’ve been waiting for so long.”

your heart skips a beat at his touch, the tenderness in his eyes almost too much to bear. you feel the warmth of his hand against your skin, and it makes you realize just how long you’ve wanted this; wanted him.

jeonghan clears his throat from behind you, his voice breaking the moment. “as much as I love this dramatic confession, we really should get him inside before he passes out for real, plus im tired.” he says with a smirk, though there’s a softness in his tone now. he knows what this moment means.

jeonghan gives a small, knowing smile but keeps quiet & doesn't move still. for once, he doesn’t crack a joke, and you’re grateful for that. you’re not sure how to process everything yet, and the last thing you need is his usual teasing.

seungcheol stirs slightly, his fingers twitching in yours. His head tilts upward, eyes fluttering open, still clouded with drunkenness but more aware than before. “are you…still here?” he mumbles, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“I’m here,” you say softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere.”

he lets out a small, relieved sigh, shifting closer as if seeking more of your warmth. “good,” he mutters, his voice barely a whisper. “don’t leave me.”

your heart leaps at his words. you’ve always been by his side but now, the meaning behind them feels so much heavier. you wonder how long he’s been carrying these feelings, thinking you didn’t care, while you were hiding your own all along.

“alright, lovebirds, let’s get you both inside.” jeonghan says as he shatters the quiet.

you help jeonghan guide seungcheol out of the car, his arm draped over your shoulder again as you half-carry him toward the door. he mumbles something incoherent, his head dipping low against your neck, and you feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at the close proximity.

inside, you carefully lead him to his bed, helping him lie down. his grip on your hand loosens but doesn’t let go entirely, even as his body sinks into the mattress. you sit down beside him, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his face, your heart still pounding in your chest.

as you pull the blanket up over him, seungcheol’s eyes crack open again, just barely. his voice is soft, almost too quiet to hear, but the words make your breath catch. “I meant what I said…earlier,” he whispers, his gaze searching yours, even in his drowsy state. “I love you…”

you swallow hard, your throat tightening as the weight of his confession presses down on you again. you don’t know what to say, your mind swirling with everything you’ve kept hidden for so long.

but instead of words, you lean down and press a soft kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering for a moment. “we’ll talk about this when you’re sober,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “but I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

seungcheol smiles faintly, his hand finally releasing yours as he drifts off to sleep, his breathing deep and steady. you sit there for a while, watching him, your heart full of everything left unsaid.

and for the first time in a forever, you don’t look away.

846 notes · View notes

lexiputellas · 3 days ago

Text

Broken Vows

part2 - mdni

June 12th. Laundry day.

The monstrous, all-consuming, never-ending laundry day.

You remember when laundry was as simple as dropping off a bag of clothes at the dry cleaner and picking it up a few days later, crisp and fresh. That was before. Before life became an endless cycle of dirty socks, misplaced jerseys, and sheets that always seemed to need changing.

You start in Nora’s room. Nora, who is what some might call "spirited" but what you would call an absolute tornado. She plays football, like Alexia, but in terms of clothes, she is nothing like her mother. Alexia is meticulous. Methodical. Everything folded in perfect squares, socks matched like puzzle pieces. Nora? Chaos incarnate. At one point, you even wondered if she had ADHD, but then again, navigating a eight-year-old’s mind is harder than you ever anticipated.

You strip the bed, replace the sheets, and move to Iris’s room.

The moment you step inside, a memory crashes over you. You and Alexia painting the walls, carefully placing the crib, folding tiny baby clothes. You were so pregnant with Iris that you joked about rolling around instead of walking. So big, so round, so full of expectation. But the reality was different. Harder.

You cried while feeding her, your nipples raw and bleeding. Your body didn’t feel like your own, you were right on the edge—so close to falling into postpartum depression that you still wonder if you actually did. Just a breath away from giving up.

But that was then. And today, you refuse to dwell on it.

You move to your bedroom, stripping the sheets, gathering Alexia’s clothes from the bathroom floor. You wash them the way she likes—because, of course, Alexia has a very specific way she likes things done. You are halfway through making the bed when her phone slips off the mattress, landing right on your foot.

Pain explodes up your feet.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you hiss, grabbing your foot before bending down to retrieve the damn thing.

You think about texting one of the girls, letting them know Alexia left her phone at home. But as you glance at the screen, a name catches your eye.

Eva.

There are several messages. You shouldn't look. You know that. You know it’s wrong. But the urge is overwhelming.

Who the fuck is Eva?

Your heart pounds as your fingers hover over the screen. You know Alexia’s passcode. It used to be your birthday, then hers, then Nora’s. You try and it works, the messages open.

It’s not a long conversation. Not pages and pages, just a few days’ worth. But it’s enough.

*Where are you? I’m worried.*

*Did your wife give you a hard time for getting home late?*

You didn’t. You pretended to be asleep when Alexia climbed into bed last night.

*When will I see you again?*

Your stomach twists. Maybe Eva is just a friend. A close one, maybe even a best friend. But deep down, you know. You fucking know. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers move.

You type back, pretending to be Alexia.

*Last night was good.*

You hit send. Your heart is pounding.

It takes barely a moment for Eva to reply.

*Oh, just fine, yeah?* she asks, her words dripping with a quiet, simmering edge of something darker.

*Was it just good when you fucked me against the balcony?* she adds, that sharp edge now unmistakable, laced with a daring smirk you can almost hear.

You freeze. Your pulse spikes, the room spinning around you. The words blur. The world tilts.

Alexia fucked someone else.

Eva.

Eva, who?

Eva, the reason she stopped coming home for dinner?

Eva, the reason she stopped tucking the girls into bed?

Eva, the reason she started giving up on you?

The name pounds inside your skull like a drum, like a fucking rock concert reverberating through your entire being. You can’t breathe. You can’t fucking breathe.

You drop to the floor, staring up at the ceiling, hot tears pricking at your eyes.

Is Eva prettier than you? Does she fuck better than you? Is she hotter? Funnier? Nicer?

You don’t know what to do. You don’t even know how to exist in this moment.

A cry pulls you back.

Iris.

You forgot you left her in her playpen.

You wipe your tears, stand up, and go to her. She snuggles into your arms, warm and safe. You hold her close, pressing your lips against her tiny forehead, and think—What the fuck am I going to do?

———————————————

7 PM. Dinner is ready.

You always wait until 7:30 to see if Alexia is coming home. You text Jana, telling her Alexia left her phone behind. Jana just says, Okay.

Alexia arrives on time. Kit still on, hair in a messy bun, looking every bit like the woman you fell in love with. She comes straight to you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before heading to the girls, lifting them onto the kitchen counter as they sing along to something on the iPad.

She asks where her phone is.

"Upstairs," you say.

She kisses the girls again before heading up.

You had deleted the messages. Every single one. You’re not stupid.

When she comes back, phone in hand, she helps you set the table. You sit next to Iris, feeding her small bites, while Alexia chats with Nora. It feels normal. Eerily normal. Almost like the past.

You eat Dinner. Do the dishes. Put Nora to bed and Alexia tucks in Iris.

After being done you go to your bedroom, with an idea in mind.

Alexia is already there, sitting against the headboard, scrolling through her phone.

"You know what I was thinking?" you say.

She hums without looking up. "Hmm?"

"I got something for you. Want to see it?"

Her head tilts. She looks intrigued.

You haven’t bought or worn lingerie in years. Not since you stopped feeling like the woman who used to leave Alexia breathless. But you still have some—tucked away in the back of your closet, hidden like a past life.

"What it is? Show me," she says.

You step into the bathroom, slipping into the black lace. It hugs every curve, pushes up your breasts, makes you look almost unfamiliar to yourself. You barely recognize yourself.

But when you step out, Alexia does.

She stares.

Not just a glance—she looks at you like she used to, like she’s seeing something she forgot she could have. Like you’ve just stolen the air from her lungs.

Her phone slips from her fingers, forgotten.

You crawl onto her lap, slow, deliberate, feeling the heat radiating from her body the moment your thighs settle over hers.

Her hands move without hesitation—roaming, squeezing, claiming. Her breath is heavier, her fingers digging into your hips, trailing up your sides, gripping your waist like she’s trying to memorize you all over again.

"Fuck, baby," she murmurs, her lips dragging over your throat, her voice thick, ruined. "You look so fucking hot."

Her fingers move lower, tracing the lace, teasing the edge of the fabric. You roll your hips against her, slow and smooth, watching the way her jaw tenses, the way her fingers twitch against your skin.

She groans, low and guttural, her hands sliding up your back, over your shoulders, down your arms—like she needs to touch every inch of you. Her lips trail lower, hot and open-mouthed, sucking bruises into your collarbone, your breast, dragging her teeth over lace-covered skin.

Her hands are on your thighs, spreading you, guiding you against her. You grind down, chasing something desperate, moving against her fingers the second they find you—slick, eager, drowning in want. Her breath hitches as she pushes inside, stretching you, filling you.

Your forehead drops against hers, your breathing uneven, your body trembling. It’s messy. It’s hungry. It’s not enough.

And then—

You lean in, your lips ghosting over the shell of her ear, and whisper—

"Does Eva fuck like I do?"

Everything stops.

Alexia’s hands freeze inside you, her breath catching in her throat.

She pulls back just enough to see your face, her brows furrowing, her eyes flashing with something dark, something uncertain, something dangerously close to breaking.

She looks at you like she doesn’t understand.

Like she doesn’t want to understand.

You smile.

"Yeah, Alexia," you whisper, voice sharp, taunting, twisting the knife. "I’m not fucking blind."

#barcelona x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso x reader

427 notes · View notes