#me grabbing some coat lapels

[andy-clutterbuck]

THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER - 2018

[kitkatscabinet]

MURDER ON THE DANCEFLOOR

requested by anon

pairing: dick grayson x fem! reader

summary: He hands you his drink, a simple, innocent gesture. Twenty minutes later, you're unresponsive in his arms, and what started as a pleasant night evolves into the worst moment of his life.

word count: 5.6k

"I hate these things." Dick grumped, fiddling with his tie for the hundredth time that night.

You reached up to swat his hands away gently. "What, the tie or the gala?"

"Both." He whines, grabbing one of your hands and tangling your fingers with his.

"You say that every time Bruce drags you to one of these, you're such a baby." You mock, leaning in to peck his pouty lips.

His lips twitch with the effort it takes to keep pretending to frown. "You know, I'm starting to think you keep showing up on my arm just because you like watching me suffer."

"You caught me," you grin slyly before adjusting his tie properly, "Or maybe I just like seeing you in a tux."

His breath hitches, adoration painted across his face as he leans closer, "That so? You’re not so bad yourself, y’know. Very distracting."

You rolled your eyes, trying to appear nonchalant, but you couldn't prevent the flutter in your stomach at his attention. It was hardly your first gala together, Dick had seen you dressed up plenty of times before, but everytime he looked at you as if you were a goddess.

He drapes an arm over your shoulder, pulling you snug against his side. "Let’s just get through this thing. Then it’s you, me, some cheap Chinese takeout, and most importantly, no pants."

"Oh, baby, you really know how to treat a woman." You giggled, kissing his jaw and leaving a lipstick stain that he either doesn't notice or doesn't care to wipe off.

The two of you stay like that, standing on the fringes of the room, content to ignore everyone else, until you spot Cass looking longingly at the dancefloor.

"Dick," you nudged him, "you should dance with Cassie."

You can tell he's hesitant to leave you, but Cassie clearly wants to dance and Dick would do anything to make his siblings happy. "Take this?" He holds out the drink he'd been nursing for 10 minutes but had yet to touch.

"Why, Mr Grayson, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk." You joked, gently tugging him closer by the lapels of his jacket.

He grins as you steal a kiss just before lifting the rim of the glass to your lips. "Moscato?" You raise a brow at the choice, your favourite, "You really were planning this."

"I didn't say drink it." He tries to play innocent, but you both know he's been waiting to hand it off to you. You give the liquid a swirl before taking another sip, relishing in the sweet taste as it coats your tongue.

"Now go on, dance with your sister."

Dick’s still smiling when he leans in, brushing your cheek with a kiss. "I’ll be back in a minute."

"I'll count the seconds." You joke, waving him off like a woman seeing her husband off for war, delighting in the way Cassandra lights up as Dick leads her onto the floor.

With Dick gone, Tim sidles up to your side seamlessly, your own sleepy little guard dog as he eyes the other gala goers mistrustfully.

You snort before pulling him into your side, which he readily accepts. Your heart swells with affection for the boy you'd come to view as your own little brother.

You take another drink, trying to stave off your sudden bout of cotton mouth. When that doesn't work, you clear your throat before downing the rest of your glass.

Tim gives you an odd look, but you wave off his concern, "just a little thirsty." You don't admit that your throat is suddenly drier than the Sahara as you take a glass of water from the nearest waiter.

You take slow sips, but no matter what you do, your tongue still feels like paper. Annoying, but not unbearable, an unfortunate side effect you sometimes suffered when drinking.

A few minutes pass, and you start to think something might be wrong when your vision blurs a little. You unconsciously lean slightly against Tim, who startles as he feels the heat emanating from you. Placing the back of his palm against your forehead, before you can stop him. "Jesus, you're hot."

"Careful Timmers, wouldn't wanna make Dick jealous." You joke weakly, fanning yourself with your free hand as the heat crawls down the back of your neck and chest. "Though, it is kind of hot in here."

"I guess." Tim seemed a little unconvinced, pulling out of your grip, only for you to stumble. "Oh wow, I think you might've had a bit too much to drink."

"Hmm, maybe." You agree even if you don't remember having that much. You turn your head, wincing a little as the light reflects harshly from the chandeliers into your eyes.

"Ok, I think it's time we get you home." You nod your head, only to immediately regret it when the world spins a little bit.

"What's this? My little brother is trying to abscond with my girlfriend? Say it ain't so." Dick suddenly appeared, a hint of worry hiding behind his good natured demeanour.

You beam, going to embrace your boyfriend, only to trip when your ankle wobbles. Your heart thumps wildly against your chest, as you lean heavily against Dick's chest.

You don't see the alarmed glances Tim and Dick exchange, keeping your eyes closed to try and abate the odd pressure building up behind them.

Dick says something, hand cupping your jaw as he keeps your head upright, but you don't hear it. His voice is muffled, as if he is trying to speak to you through water.

He seems worried, but you don't understand why; everything's so floaty.

"I'm fine... think I just need to... to" you trail off, losing your train of thought.

"Hey—hey, no, no, no. Stay with me." Dick’s voice cuts through the haze, low and urgent, a stark contrast to the earlier soft teasing you’d shared over stolen kisses and that glass of Moscato.

His hand is warm against your jaw, gently cradling it, thumb brushing your cheek as he keeps your head propped up.

Despite your best efforts, your vision slips in and out of focus. All you can see is Dick's face, so pretty even in his panic. You don't want him to look at you like that, you never want him to be upset, you want him happy, always.

You try to tell him that, but your tongue refuses to cooperate. You don't know why he's so frantic; you're just a little overheated. Your mouth finally opens, but you can't remember what you wanted to say. The thought, whatever it was, slips from your grasp like sand.

Your legs suddenly give out, the new glass of water you'd been clutching slipping from your lax grasp and shattering against the marble floor.

Dick is already moving, catching you before you hit the ground. His arms wrap tightly around you, cushioning your fall.

"Hey, hey—look at me. Look at me, baby."

The sound is distant to your ears, as if from another world entirely. But the commotion grabs the attention of the nearby gala goers, and alarmed whispers reach Bruce's ears from across the room just in time for him to witness his eldest catch you and sink to the floor.

He forgets his charming, genial mask, shoving through scandalised socialites as he runs to reach his son.

Tim's already calling an ambulance, and Damian has appeared suddenly as if from thin air, snarling at anyone attempting to get a closer look.

Dick is hysterical, tears in his eyes as he holds your face in his hands as he tries to get you to respond, but any words he can elicit from you are slurred and confused.

His son doesn't even register his presence until he's kneeling opposite him, clasping a grounding hand on his shoulder. Dick looks up at him, tears sliding down his devastated face. "Bruce, Dad, help her, please!" He begs, voice cracking.

Bruce inhales sharply, the word Dad hitting him like a freight train. Dick hadn’t called him that in months. Years, maybe. It's a word he'd secretly ached to hear for so long, but not like this, not tinted with raw desperation.

Bruce inhales sharply at that, at his son desperately looking at him to fix something they're both powerless to combat.

"She’s going to be okay," Bruce tells him, quietly, as if trying to soothe a wounded animal.

"You can't know that! You can't promise me that!"

Dick looks down at you, taking in the way you gasped raggedly for air, pupils blown wide as you twitch in his grasp.

"Dick." Bruce squeezed his shoulder, grounding him and forcing him back to the present moment. "The ambulance will be here soon. She's still breathing and still has a pulse, she's going to be okay."

"She just... she just collapsed," Dick babbles, as if he hadn't even heard Bruce. "She was fine when I left her, she was, she was fine! But when I got back she couldn't, couldn't breathe - "

"She’s breathing," Bruce murmurs, his hand pressed lightly to your neck. "Pulse is faint, but still there."

"She couldn’t focus. She can’t speak, Bruce." Dick sounds like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. "I don’t... I don’t know what’s happening!"

Bruce doesn’t answer right away. Not because he doesn’t care—God, he cares so much it aches—but because he doesn’t know, and that terrifies him.

Dick is muttering, a mindless stream of thoughts as he clutches you tighter against his chest. "I gave her my drink," he stammers suddenly, as if the memory just struck him. "I didn’t touch it, I just… handed it to her. It was moscato, she likes moscato."

He looks up at Bruce, haunted. "Did I do this? Did I—was it the drink? Or—what if it was something else, what if something's wrong with her heart, or she's sick or something, she was unwell last week. I don't know. I don’t know."

Bruce doesn’t answer right away. Not yet. His mind is already spinning, cataloguing symptoms, possibilities: low blood sugar, dehydration, cardiac event, something neurological. The possibilities were endless.

"We’re going to figure it out," he tells Dick quietly. "Help will be here soon, she'll be ok son."

"She has to be," Dick whimpers, thumb brushing over your cheekbones, and then a little quieter. "She promised me forever."

Bruce watches, his heart in his throat as he watches Dick's hand absentmindedly reach into his pocket for something. Was that... a ring?

That train of thought is abruptly derailed when the paramedics finally arrive.

Dick tries to stay with you as they check your vitals, his hand gripping yours like a vice even as you're lifted onto a stretched and rolled into the back of the ambulance.

One medic tries to gently pull him back, but he doesn’t budge, refusing to leave your side. "I’m staying," he snaps, voice low and dangerous. The paramedic hesitates, glancing at his colleague, who just nods their assent.

"Just stay out of our way," he mutters, but Dick barely hears him, already sinking onto the bench beside the gurney, white-knuckled fingers still wrapped around yours. 

"She was fine," he whispers to no one in particular. "Twenty minutes ago, she was teasing me about getting her drunk. We were laughing."

He can't stop the tears from falling any longer when they attach an oxygen mask, your eyelids fluttering open and closed at random intervals.

"Stay with me, please, baby, just hang in there." He begs you feverishly. Your head lolls toward him, something like recognition flashing in your eyes before it's gone again in a blink. 

"Miss," the second paramedic says suddenly, gently lifting one of your eyelids and shining a small penlight into your eyes. "Miss, can you hear me?"

"Pupils are dilated. Sluggish response," he mutters, more to his partner now. "Could be neurological."

Dick’s stomach drops. "Neurological? Like what, a stroke?"

"We won’t know until we get her stable. It could be toxins. It could be a reaction to something. Could be—" The medic stops himself, shooting Dick a look. "Could be a lot of things."

"She didn’t take anything," Dick says quickly, defensively. "She doesn’t even like taking Tylenol without checking with her doctor first."

"You gave her a drink?" the other medic asks.

Dick nods slowly. "Moscato. Mine. I hadn’t touched it; I was holding it for too long. I didn’t want to waste it—" He swallows. "She was happy. She kissed me. She was fine."

You let out a soft, breathless sound. Not quite a moan. Not quite a word. But it yanks Dick forward like a lifeline, his hand tightening around yours.

"Hey, hey, I’m here," he says urgently. "Babe, can you hear me? Just squeeze my hand, yeah? Just let me know you can hear me."

You don’t respond, you can’t, and Dick nearly starts to sob again. Helpless to do anything but watch and pray to a god he doesn’t believe in, as the paramedics work around him. He rests your clasped hands against his lips, rocking restlessly back and forth as he watches for any change in your condition. 

Your eyes flutter weakly open for half a second, glassy and unfocused, and he leaps to reassure you. "I’ve got you," he whispers, running his free hand gently down your cheek. "I swear, I’ve got you. Just stay with me."

Your fingers twitch—the smallest, weakest movement, but Dick clings to that like a lifeline. His hand tightens around yours, and you suddenly twitch again, your whole body flinching as your eyelids blink rapidly.

"Hey, sweetheart." His voice shakes as he leans forward, cupping your cheek again. "You with me?"

Your eyes are wide open, but they’re not focused, unseeing as you stare right through him before abruptly attempting to recoil. "Don’t touch me!" you gasp, trying to pull your hand away, though he doesn’t let go. "Get off me, get—"

"Hey, hey, it’s me!" Dick says quickly, panic clawing up his throat. "It’s me. It’s Dick, you’re safe, baby, you’re safe."

You’re thrashing now, feeble but undoubtedly panicked. Your pupils are blown wide, nearly swallowing the colour of your irises. 

"There’s someone! He’s behind you, Dick!" you sob suddenly, eyes locked on the corner of the ambulance where no one sits. "He’s watching me, he’s watching me. Stop looking at me—"

"There’s no one there," Dick breathes, helpless. "There’s no one there, I promise, I swear—"

One of the medics leans over. "Hallucinations. She’s panicking, we need to sedate her before she hurts herself."

"No," Dick says reflexively. "She’s scared. She needs to know she’s not alone. She doesn’t like being sedated."

"She can’t hear you right now," the paramedic says gently, already preparing a sedative. "You have to let us do our job."

You scream again, incoherent, like you’re fighting something only you can see. "I’m right here. I’m not leaving," he says, voice trembling. "You’re okay, I’ve got you. There’s no one else here, just me. It’s just me."

But you don’t hear him, head thrashing from side to side, murmuring something over and over, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. His heart splinters.

"Give it to her," he says quietly. "If it’ll help her stop being afraid... do it."

The sedative enters your bloodstream through the IV, and your breathing begins to slow within moments. Your muscles go slack, and your face's tension eases slightly.

Dick swallows hard, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand once more.

"I’m right here," he whispers. "You’re safe now. Whatever you’re seeing… It’s not real. I promise. I won’t let anything hurt you." But the words feel cheap and hollow against his tongue, because he’s already failed to keep you safe. 

His mind's a mess, but Dick’s sure that this whole thing really is his fault. The timeline, the symptoms, you’ve been poisoned, with a glass of wine that had been meant for him. If you die, it’ll be all his fault. If you die, then Dick thinks he might just die with you. 

The thought hits him like a bullet to the chest. He can’t imagine a world where he doesn’t hear your laugh, doesn’t feel your hand reaching for his across crowded rooms, doesn’t get to kiss you goodnight and pretend, just for a moment, that the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

You whimper in his arms, body twitching against the restraints that keep you from hurting yourself. The EMT had told him it was necessary, but it felt like cruelty.

You start to seize right as they get to the hospital, thrashing against your restraints as they wheel you through the ER doors. The paramedics speak rapid fire at the awaiting nurses and doctors, Dick barely hears any of it.

"Sir, you need to stay here—" someone tries to stop him from pushing past the double doors, but Dick shrugs them off with more force than necessary.

"I’m not leaving her!" he shouts, his voice cracking at the last word. His fists are clenched so tightly at his sides that they tremble.

"Mr. Grayson!" An overworked nurse tried to calm him down, and had he been in his right mind Dick would have been appalled at his behaviour.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder, pulling him back and Dick whirls around, snarling in Bruce's face.

"Let them work," Bruce says quietly, yet sternly.

Collapsing into Bruce's awaiting arms, Dick feels like a small child again. Completely helpless. He's sobbing, gasping against Bruce's chest.

The man is silent, aware that nothing he says can make it better, no matter how badly he wants to take away his son's pain. He wishes he could absorb it all and make everything magically better. But he can't, so he remains a pillar of support, holding his son up.

Time doesn’t pass normally in the hospital. Every second feels like an eternity, every tick of the clock on the far wall drawn out like torture. Bruce tries to get him to sit, but Dick refuses, staring at the doors they wheeled you through like it will bring you back.

"Please be okay," he whispers into the silence, his voice barely audible. "Please." He doesn't know who he's begging anymore: you, the doctors, God, or himself.

The hours feel eternal, a torturous, maddening slog as they wait for any sort of news.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everything in a sickly white glow that makes the hospital hallway feel more like a purgatory than a place of healing.

Dick’s been pacing outside the ICU for so long he’s probably worn a hole in the ludicrously expensive shoes. Every nurse who walks by earns a hopeful glance, and every time they pass without stopping, it feels like another knife to the gut.

He’s running on adrenaline and guilt, the phantom image of your limp body in his arms haunting every breath.

Then, finally, footsteps approach, and Dick's nearly manic when someone finally adresses him.

"She’s stable. Still weak, but the anticholinergic treatment’s working. We’ve flushed most of the toxins from her system. You can see her now"

Anticholinergic treatment? That meant... poison.

Dick's already moving before she finishes, murmuring a breathless "Thank you" as he slips past her and into the private room Bruce is undoubtedlybpaying for.

The sight of you hooked up to various machines, IV lines, oxygen monitors, heart rate beeping slow and steady, makes his chest tighten, but at least you’re here. Alive.

He drags a chair up to your bedside and takes your hand, careful not to jostle the IV. It’s warm, but no longer searing like it had been in the ambulance.

"Hey, baby." He murmurs, voice cracking as he brushes his thumb gently across your knuckles.

You don’t respond.

He speaks softly anyway. He promises you’re safe, that everything's fine, that he’s right here, and that his family is already tearing Gotham apart, trying to figure out who did this.

The nurses try to get him to leave when visiting hours are over, but Dick kicks up a such a fuss that he's sure he accidentally scares them. Bruce ends up flashing some money to smooth things over, the benefits of being rich.

He refuses to leave your side; he won't leave you alone when you're so vulnerable. He does his best to stay awake, he needs to be there for you when you wake up, but eventually he succumbs to the exhaustion.

The room is quiet, save for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor and the soft mechanical whir of the machines monitoring your vitals.

Dick sits slouched in the chair beside your hospital bed, one arm resting awkwardly across his chest, the other still holding your hand like a lifeline. His head is bowed forward, chin tucked against his chest, breathing deep and even.

His suit jacket has long since been discarded, his tie loosened, his hair a mess, and dark circles paint shadows beneath his eyes.

You stir slowly, fighting desperately against the lethargy. Your eyelids feel like cement is weighing them down as you attempt to open them.

Your fingers twitch. A slight, barely perceptible movement before you manage to curl them around the hand clasped in yours.

The light is blinding, burning your retinas when you finally manage to pry them open. The world swims, but you push through it, turning your head as you follow the trail of the hand holding yours up to the blurry image of your sleeping boyfriend.

"…Dick?" Your voice is raw, no louder than a whisper. Not enough to stir him from his exhausted slump.

You squeeze his hand weakly, but it’s enough for him to jerk upright, eyes wild with panic, before they lock on yours.

"Hey," you croak, attempting to smile, but your facial muscles won't cooperate.

For a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s not sure he’s really awake. He lets out a shaky, tearful laugh before dragging the chair closer. "You’re awake," he breathes through a sob.

"I… yeah," you rasp, coughing from the dryness of your throat. "Hurts."

"I know love." He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You’ve been out for almost a day. They said you were stable, but, god, I didn’t know if—" His voice cracks on a sob, and you want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him but your sluggish body refuses to obey.

"M'sorry, didn’t wanna scare you."

"No, no, no, honey. Don't apologise, this isn't your fault." He shakes his head, eyes wet with unshed tears. "It's mine—"

"Don’t," you interrupt as sternly as you're able. "Don’t do that. Not your fault. I’m okay. I'm okay."

You start to cough again, and Dick reaches for the cup of water on the bedside, helping you drink slowly through the straw.

He helps you lie back down against the pillows, looking at you with such tenderness you almost cry. "You didn’t leave."

He smiles, a broken, crooked thing, but still shining with so much love. "I never will, never."

And you believe him.

[obeymeluv]

How You Spend the Night Together [Riddle, Leona]

Featuring: Leona, Riddle

Romantic, fluffy blurbs. I know I have other stuff to put out but this just came easier.

I do want to note that I have an ask/fic request from a real user but that'll take more time to research/think/put out so I'm not super sure on a timeline for that yet. Just want to acknowledge that I've seen it. Might answer that one privately.

Had to cut Vil because I have to go to bed early (work in the morning). Leona's was supposed to be fluffy but I'm kind of feeling him out still. Let me know what you think.

As much as he must follow rules, he is also at the mercy of his own habits. Riddle insisted you freshen up in his private bath (perks of being a Housewarden) while he prepped his uniform for tomorrow. It seemed a little unusual--maybe a little creepy--but he had such a scheduled existence that it's comforting. He's pressing down lapels and analyzing the cuffs for lint and stray threads when he hears you humming in the bathroom. Riddle's careful to keep his back to the door, as you have it cracked instead of closed, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about peeking.

Only natural, right? He could never forsake the gift of your friendship, or how it had unexpectedly become more. You were the first unplanned, unscheduled thing in his life and you were wonderful.

Quite the gift.

Much like how Heartslabyul was surely a gift from the Sevens compared to Ramshackle. He didn't think Ace and Deuce would lie about the lack of hot water and such.

Riddle moves to his undershirt, ironing board waiting patiently just in front of the mannequin where the pieces of his uniform come together. He sets it up and begins smoothing it over the shirt. A small smile twists his lips as he hears the water drain. You'd scrimped and saved for some bath products and he's secretly delighted that you smell like strawberry.

He can smell it wafting gently into the room, riding on a kiss of heat.

Ooh he could just--

"You're fixing to burn your shirt," you smother a laugh into the towel, shutting the door to change. Riddle squawks, turning off the heat and flapping the shirt out to save it. Good, no burns, he sighs. You come out in a black and red ensemble and he's touched with pride because he bought those.

Those are his colors on you. And you look lovely.

"Ready for bed?" you watch him put the undershirt on the mannequin, button the vest, and hang the coat. The hanger holding the bottom half of his uniform is hooked on the hollow neck.

"After a small stretch, my rose." Riddle goes into some light stretches, pausing midway towards the ground, bent at the hip, when he realizes you'd already fluffed the pillows and pulled the comforter back.

Something shy and warm flutters in him. It's all very cozy. Riddle muffles a laugh with his arm as he grabs his elbow and leans to the right. You've decided to skip the stretches and root around for the comfiest spot in the bed.

Darling, really.

Satisfied but peering at him curiously, almost calling him, you wait for him. Riddle kisses your forehead as he slides in next to you. "Goodnight, my rose."

"Goodnight, Riddle."

-----

Malleus would usually send a few fireflies into your room or have them blink against the window so you weren't sure who was knocking. It could be Ace or Deuce but they'd give you a heads up at NRC if they were being kicked out for the night. Suspicious, you grabbed a broom from the kitchen on your way to the front door. It wasn't the best plan to swing the door wide open and jab but what were you going to do?

"Really, Herbivore?" Leona scoffs at you, broom handle in an impressive grip. He's got one hand in his pocket, broom handle pointed firmly over his left shoulder. You try to tug it back subconsciously but he doesn't relent, the leather of his glove squeaking around the wood.

"What did you expect me to do?" you ask in the small voice that stirs something in him. He could see your brow wiggle in that 'give me some credit, I'm trying!' way.

It's tough trying to be mean when you're meant to be soft, isn't it?

Soft and his.

"To remember I was coming over to get you, at least." Leona moves past you to jam the broom back in the first corner of the kitchen he laid eyes on. You barely hold back a sneeze as his tail flicks up under your nose when he passes.

"You were being serious?" you lock the door back and follow him into the kitchen. His ear flicks so you know he heard you. Leona was a beastman full of surprises that you were slowly unwrapping as he let you. Behind his lazy facade was a literal genius and someone very interested in infrastructure and architecture. He's giving Ramshackle the side-eye and identifying weak points at the same time.

"Yep," Leona turns away from his assessing and scoops you up, putting you over his shoulder. You give a surprised yelp but he pays no mind, free hand stuffed in his pocket as he climbs the stairs effortlessly. You're comforted by the firm, corded muscle keeping you balanced on his shoulder. "I told you I was going to."

Crewel would often slide you a handful of thaumarks for 'on-site maintenance and collection' of potion ingredients after seeing Sam pay you in similar fashion for the shop and not get any flack from Crowley (not that he paid enough attention to you, in his opinion). While picking different things and updating your 'tips and tricks' notebook, you'd disturbed Leona.

Easy to do.

You were basically done and literally shushed him when he started to complain, saying it was his own fault for staying awake when he could be rolling over and going to sleep. Leona was mildly offended and intrigued. You had a mouth on you, didn't you?

Sometimes he hated that you were pretty, smart, funny, and self-sufficient. How was he supposed to make himself useful? It was hard enough since all of his reflexes revolved around him being a sarcastic ass. "Instead of shushing me, you should listen to my offer." he looked up at you with one eye, the other smashed closed since his face was pressed into his hand.

"Oh? Go on then," you gestured to him, one hand on your hip.

"I give you the money in my wallet and you let me nap. Keep an eye out so no one wakes me up again." he yawned.

That sounded easy and Leona wasn't the type to leave you empty-handed because you WOULD show up and royally screw with his sleep. He knew this, you knew this. "I'll bite. I could use the break," you sighed, flopping down beside him.

Leona was out in less than five minutes but he moved in his sleep. He rolled, growled--all kinds of things! You were surprised to find he wasn't a loud snorer. His hands were very active, often digging in the soil or scratching lines in it and you wondered if he was hunting in his sleep. Maybe fighting or wrestling some meat off of something. With a snort and muddled roar, he rolled over and plonked his head in your lap.

It scared you and you froze.

It was the first time you'd seen him up close, his tanned skin complimented by the rich chocolate of his hair. You'd never noticed the tiny braids scattered throughout, just the bigger one at the side. He had beads and tiny things woven into his hair. They must be from the Sunset Savanna, you thought, pulling the tail of a braid away from the corner of his mouth. His mouth curled in a snarl, relaxing as he snuggled down in your lap.

Your alarm went off twenty minutes later. Leona sat up, his eyes bleary with sleep, and leaned forward just enough to fish his wallet out of his pocket. "Don't look too much into it," Leona was suddenly looking away at anything and everything in the garden, "but that was a good nap. I'd pay for another one later tonight."

Was he blushing?

Your back hit your bed, snapping you out of your thoughts. The money he'd slapped into your hand--A LOT!--was still on your dresser from where you'd emptied your pockets and changed into pajamas. Leona did his best to slide into your bed smoothly but, to be frank, the sheets were shit.

Kind of scratchy. His eyes had already adjusted to the dark and he was pretty sure he saw stitches where you or the ghosts had patched up some holes.

"You don't have to pay people to love you, you know." you tell him quietly. There's uncertainty in your voice, like you didn't know if you should say it. "You do have things people admire, Leona. And it's not the money."

He didn't want to think about that right now. It was nice to hear it though. You had no idea how precious, how rare, you were. A little hidden gem in this sad excuse of a dorm.

"I'm a man of my word, Herbivore." Leona realizes your eyes are still adjusting to the darkness when you try to figure out where he's at and accidentally brush against his right ear. You've got a stunned gentleness about you as you feel your way around his ear, tracing the shape and rubbing circles into the fur cautiously. He inhales the smell of your warm skin against him, tempted to skim his teeth over the soft spot on the inside of your elbow. "Now gimme my nap." Leona pushes his head against your throat until you've settled on your back.

He settles over you like a warm blanket. Leona smells faintly of musk, sun, sandalwood, and something that reminds you of cinnamon. "You gonna sleep in your clothes?" you laugh and it tickles his ears.

"I'll pay you an extra fifty thaumarks to shut it." he yawns. You flick his ear. "Please." he adds.

"Only if you buy me breakfast in the morning." you joke.

I'd buy it forever, Leona snorts and shushes you.

"Get some rest, Leona."

He knew his sleep wouldn't be as deep as when he was in the garden. He'd never slept in Ramshackle and he had to learn the sounds. Keep an ear out to make sure your territory was safe. It wouldn't be the most restful sleep, but it would be the most cherished.

[slyfire]

Leander & Pomegranate Wine

I think this small change in the Touchstarved demo update has a lot of symbolism behind it. Spoilers ahead!

In both the original demo and the updated demo, after MC had been taken back to the Wet Wick, Leander offers MC an alcoholic beverage. If MC accepts, they receive a drink that is supposedly the 'local' specialty.

In the original demo, this drink was 'plum gin'.

In the updated demo, this drink is 'pomegranate wine'.

The pomegranate has a lot of assosiated symbolism: life & death, fertility, and the feminine. If you've been in the TS fandom for a while, then these may sound familiar: Leander has very similar symbolism all over him.

But if you're unaware, here's the rundown:

Leander's belt is in the shape of the 'Triple Moon' pagan symbol, which represents fertility, death, and birth & rebirth. It's also assosiated with Hecate; a Greek Goddess of magic and witchcraft.

His earring contains an ouroboros: a serpant eating it's own tail. This represents the cycle of life, death, and rebirth.

His assosiated flower is the lily, which represents femininity, fertility, and rebirth.

On the lapel on his coat, he has the chain with the alchemical symbol for earth. This represents mother earth and the colour green.

Shout out to @/luckhound & @/astranautic for compiling Leander's symbolism! And of course Wikipedia.

So in general, the pomegranate wine can be see as a continuation of Leander's themes of life, death, and rebirth & the feminine. However, the pomegranate has a very famous Greek myth that really fits this updated demo version of Leander: The Abduction of Persephone.

The gist of this myth is:

Zeus (King of the Cosmos) kidnapped Persephone to be the wife of Hades (God of the dead & King of the Underworld). Persephone's mother, Demeter (Goddess of agriculture), grows angry and forces a constant winter in grief. Beacause of this, Zeus forces Persephone to be sent back to her mother. However, before she departed, Hades gave Persephone a pomegranate seed to eat. Because she has eaten food from the underworld, she is forced to stay there for some time of the year.

(Main sources were Apollodorus & the Homeric Hymn 'To Demeter')

This myth is meant to serve as an aetiology of the seasons in Greek myth, but for us Touchstarved fans, the focus is on how the pomagrante is used as a means of entrapment.

Throughout the demo, not-so-subtly Leander places control and 'entrapment' over the MC.

MC is only able to talk to Leander when they bring up Kuras. Otherwise they wouldn't get past the Adderstone.

When it comes to touching him for the first time, if MC holds back, leander will grab their hand anyways. If MC does touch him, MC's shock makes them pulls back a bit, but Leander 'catches' their wrist before they can pull back.

Insists info on MC's curse remains between the two of them. Also calls it 'our little secret' in Leander's path later on.

Gives MC a room: a room Leander knows more about than MC. I'll note that Leander didn't choose the specific room, but he's likely familar with all of the Wick.

Insists he be the one to buy you a drink (instead of Ais).

Leander to MC: "Then how would you feel about being on a leash?"

MC about Leander: "I feel trapped in the softness of his expression, and the lightness of his touch".

Leander to MC: "I'm a little jealous. Part of me wants to keep you all to myself".

Leander tends to choose where conversations happen (such as suggesting going outside or going upstairs).

Leander locks the door with MC and him inside the bedroom during his path.

Leander to MC: "I won't leave you, and you won't leave me."

Leander to MC (in response to 'what do you want'): "Too many things. But I'll start with you."

I believe this allusion to be intentional; Leander is offering MC something of a pomegranate, MC trusts Leander to consume it, and he will later 'entrap' the MC. This dynamic seems to be the core of his full route.

There's also the matter of Hades being the one to have Persephone eat the pomegranate seed without her understand what it will do to her. I can father two possibe meanings with this.

The first, is that it places Leander in the position of Hades, God of the dead.

The second, is that MC might not know what they're getting into with Leander.

And...that's all I have! Happy demo update y'all.

Shout out to @lord-shitbox for proofreading 🙏

[safination]

Little Things

|Masterlist|

Pairings: Alastor x Reader Warnings: None! TLDR: There are days when Alastor just doesn't want to be touched, and you totally understand that. You're one your best behavior to not touch Alastor. Surely, with such an attentive partner, no misunderstanding will occur.

My inbox is currently accepting requests. Feel free to ask for some stuff. I'm in a mood to write and create, so lend me your ideas and I'll bring them to words. This is a drabble. It's weird not to make full one-shots tbh, but meh, wasn't in the mood to make this a whole one-shot.

It’s the little things, really.

Alastor sits towards the edge of the bar, his stool nudged just a fraction farther than usual.  Charlie leans forward, eyebrows furrowed as she rants about this and that and this and that.

Tentacles slither out the shadows, wrapping themselves around the legs of Alastor’s stool. No one really notices when the tentacles pull him another fraction farther away.

Or, how just this morning, Alastor took time out of his day to grab a bowl, and carefully place the three eggs Niffty asked for.  The bowl slides across the table instead of being placed into her tiny hands.

See? The little things.

Heh . . .

You deserve a pat on the shoulder, honestly. Because what a considerate partner you are! Alastor didn’t even have to mention the slightest discomfort, yet still, you know he’s in ‘no touch!’ mode.

That’s why, for the entire day, you’ve been supporting Alastor’s ‘No-Touch’ day.

The rest of Hell’s day goes something like this:

Alastor asks you to hand him his coat.

And like the considerate partner that you are, you hand it to him. Although, you do have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from helping him wear the thing.

If it were any other day you would wrap it around his shoulders, and hold the back as he slips it around his arm. Then you would trail your fingers across his lapels to adjust its fit. Maybe, even give his bowtie a slight tug.

But you are a very, very, good partner.

So, your hands are kept to yourself, and the coat is placed on the table with a smile.

The devil seems keen on tempting you, but no, you are not giving in. (If you were in the garden, not even the devil himself could make you eat that apple.)

It’s been quite the productive day, and you definitely deserve an award! Not once have you touched Alastor, not have you stepped a foot into his personal space. It’s been difficult if you were being honest, but oh, well.

Maybe you’ll buy yourself a sweet, little treat for being such a considerate partner to Alastor. He’s quite lucky. Very few are as kind as you are, and even less are as attentive to his needs.

Just like right now.

There’s a gaping space between your bodies. It’s an easy thing to place yourself on the edge of the bed, careful not to roll and wrap your arms around Alastor.

Really, an award is in —

Alastor shoots up the bed, his note turned into the air with a scowl. “I refuse to keep playing this childish game,” he says, huffing at you. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to sort it out, but I’ve had enough.”

“Dearest . . .” You blink at him, pushing yourself up to sit as well. “I . . . What?”

His lips twist, and once more he huffs. It reminds you of a buck. “I would rather that you tell me that you’re upset with me instead of doing these ridiculous little things.”

“Ridiculous?”

“Ridiculous and childish!” Alastor points a finger at you, and there’s this petty voice urging you to chomp it off for such an audacity. “Do not confuse me for a fool, dearest. You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“Well, of course, I have!” you say. “You’ve been in a mood since the moment you woke up. The cat almost got its tail bitten for rubbing between your legs.”

Alastor stares at you, an incredulous look on his face. “Ridiculous,” he tells you. “You are, absolutely, ridiculous.”

“I think you mean ‘considerate’.”

He flops back down to the bed, then rolls to you like some fucking child. Alastor keeps rolling until you don’t know whose limbs belong to who. His fingers curl around your shirt as he buries his weight deeper into you.

It’s the little things, remember? Like how you reach out to play with the strands of his hair until you’re finally combing through.

“I thought you were in a mood.”

“I am,” Alastor tells you, and deeper and deeper and deeper he goes. “All day I’ve been wanting nothing but this, yet you were so quick to deny me.”

“Don’t your moods usually require personal space?”

Alastor pulls you even closer, until your personal space becomes his as well. “This belongs to me,” he says. “And I don’t appreciate it being taken away from me.”

[wendichester]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ fire and air,

summary. you've got castiel under some kind of spell. and it's freaky!

pairing. castiel x demon!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 529

Castiel shouldn’t be here.

Shouldn’t be standing in the dim glow of a rundown motel room, watching the way your black eyes flash before fading back to their human hue. Shouldn’t be memorizing the curve of your smirk, the way it tilts like you know a secret he’ll never understand.

And yet—he can’t leave.

“You know,” you hum, tilting your head, “I can hear your thoughts when you look at me like that.”

Castiel stiffens. “That’s not possible.”

You grin. “No, but I wish it was. Bet they’re all righteous and tortured.” You step closer, slow, like you’re testing him, seeing how far you can push before he pulls away. He never does. “You’ve got it bad, angel.”

His jaw clenches. “You are a demon.”

“Mmm.” You press a finger to your lips, feigning deep thought. “And yet, you’re still here.”

The room feels smaller. He can hear the motel sign buzzing outside, the hum of a television through the thin walls. But none of it matters—not when you’re this close, the scent of smoke and something sweet curling around him like temptation itself.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Castiel admits, voice low, strained.

Your smile softens, just a little. “I don’t want anything.” You reach up, fingers ghosting along the lapel of his trench coat. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

He swallows. He should smite you. He should walk away. He should do a thousand things that don’t involve watching your lips part like you’re waiting for him to make a move.

Instead, he stays.

And he falls.

The first time he kisses you, it’s after a fight that wasn’t even yours to begin with.

You hadn’t planned on getting involved—whatever demon had pissed off the Winchester brothers wasn’t your problem. But then you saw one of Hell’s lapdogs get the jump on Castiel, a blade pressed too close to his throat, and something in you snapped.

So you killed it.

Messily.

Now, blood stains your collar, some of it yours, most of it not. Your lip is split, and there’s a bruise forming high on your cheekbone, but you’re grinning like you just won the damn lottery. “That was fun,” you breathe, licking blood from your teeth.

Castiel should be disgusted.

He isn’t.

“You’re reckless,” he murmurs.

You shrug. “And you’re obsessed with fixing things that can’t be fixed.”

He doesn’t realize he’s moved until his hands are cupping your face, his thumbs skimming over the bruises. A flicker of grace would heal them, erase every mark, but you grab his wrists, shaking your head.

“I like them,” you whisper. “Proof that I made it through.”

Castiel’s resolve crumbles. He kisses you before he can think better of it, before he can remind himself of what you are, what he is, what this will cost him.

Your lips are warm, chapped, and tasting of copper and sin. You make a sound against his mouth—something soft and surprised before you melt into him, pressing closer, fingers threading into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp.

And Castiel—who has fought wars and killed gods and carried the weight of Heaven itself—lets himself fall a little deeper.

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[sleeepybeary]

☆ 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐒 ☆

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓: Agatha has never been one for pets. However, upon some particularly lucky night, she seems to allow it just this once.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: poorly written (to my standards anyway), haven't read through it properly, so spelling errors are possible :I

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 950

Having found the heating from your fireplace to be far too smothering as it seemed to flood the entirety of your small house, you had graciously spared ten minutes of your day to abandon the shell of which you were living under to gather some fresh air for your burning lungs.

However, as much as those ten minutes were originally to be at least half an hour, it was drastically shrunken to only a third at the capture of something wrenching.

So, with an oddly shaped stash hidden behind one of the dress coats your girlfriend possessed, you carefully slipped back into your home and made a quick yet cautious shuffle over to the central living space, also known as the last place you saw said girlfriend.

Upon entryway came the attention of Agatha. The woman glanced over her shoulder at you, her jaw pressing into the curve of her collarbone as her eyes ran their length upon you. A small furrow digs deeply between the span of her eyebrows, especially as she takes in your suspicious stance and particularly bulked up appearance to one half of your body.

“What is it, love?” She spoke, shifting to sit up better to meet your gaze properly, her shoulders falling back in a relaxing state.

“I have something I need to show you” You had spoken in a tone that emitted a quiet wisp of caution, your tone faltering to one below your average.

“O.. okay” Agatha had nodded, glancing away momentarily as her brain reached out to soothe a spurt of confusion. “So…?”

“So…” you copied her word, tugging back the lapel to the jacket wrapped gently around the object of your care.

A silk of black heaven came to life, the glistening of a moistened nose pointed outward in a sniffle as whiskers quivered against the contrast of warm air from the freezing world outside.

A cat of all things was what you had obtained.

You observed how Agatha’s facial expressions contorted, how a pensive fog coated the round of her eyes; her jaw tightens. “Why do you have a cat..?”

A timid smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your sights flicking between your girlfriend and the cat. “She needed help, Agatha. She was caught in your lavender, cold and wet from the recent rain”

“This isn't the first time you've tried to spring an animal on me before” Agatha had sighed, her slandered fingers tracing up the slim bridge of her nose before pinching it at the conjunction between her eyes.

“I didn't know the bird had bowel issues… but that's besides the point! Can't you see, this cat needs us!”

“But we don't need it, Y/n”

With a roll of your eyes, you shuffle closer, shifting so you're sitting in a way that almost presses up against Agatha, your elbow just scraping hers. “Stroke her”

“What?”

“I said stroke her” you insisted, motioning your arms forward to bring the fluff ball of an animal up and closer to her reach.

The cat had yet to stir from its peaceful sleep, a slight purring snore audible from up close, even as Agatha had hesitantly placed the open of her palm against its head, her fingers nestling between its drawn up ears.

Monitoring the way Agatha's hand mowed over the lengths of fur in a rhythmic pattern, you began to tilt the cat wrapped in the thicker material towards the woman beside you until she was holding the animal.

Having planted the cat within your girlfriend's arms, you cheekily grinned. “Stay here? I just need to grab a drink”

All Agatha could do was hum, her eyes boring into your own. Her eyes exiled as radiance of boredom, though the flux movement of her hand against the chin to the feline said otherwise.

Taking your time, you stood from the sofa and took a casual waltz to fetch a glass of water from just the room over.

However, soon enough, you had found yourself relaxed against the length of a doorframe. Your glass nestled within the grasp of your fingers and water racing down your throat in an on pour as you took delicate sips at a time.

You stalked from your new self-designated post with a curious gaze, observing and monitoring the way Agatha was interacting with the cat.

Though, minutes pass at a time before the soft of a drowsy meow and a gentle coo meet in a harmony - one that was sure to make home in your memory.

“Y/n?” Agatha had called, shifting slightly to peer through the kitchen doorway, her eyelids wrapping around her eyes in a rampant expression, a half drawn smile appearing in accordance.

“Yes, love?” reciprocating her smile, you moved to stand over her, a hand on her shoulder as your eyes met those of the golden ones in Agatha’s lap.

“Eve”

“Eve?” You furrowed your eyebrows, looking down upon Agatha as if she was having a moment of hysteria. “What's that mean?”

“Like All Hallows’ Eve”

“I'm… not sure I follow you here”

Agatha had rolled her eyes, her thumb and index finger moving to line the curve of the cat's ear. “You want to keep the cat, right? I'm just suggesting a name”

Your lips part slightly, mind finally clocking into place as the figuratively placed light-bulb flickers on. “Oh!” You began, breathing out an airy laugh on the premises of some sort of awkwardness “I mean… if you're letting me keep her, then I wouldn't be opposed to you naming her…”

Agatha shook her head, leaning her head back to look up at you from her seated position, her lips puckered. “Let us seal it with a kiss”

[mountainsandmayhem]

REQUEST Hi it’s me again…. Sorry i have new ideas like every second. I LOVE Joel’s thick jacket he wore when he was in snowy Jackson. I was thinking like Joel holding reader EXTREMELY tight like freaking grizzly bear type strength while they are wrapped into his jacket like a burrito. Maybe they’re sick or just really cold, idk i’m sick rn i’m just talking about myself with Joel at this point 😭. Again sorry I dont know how to shorten my words.

Never apologize!!! Pop in anytime, but only for a point form story or little blurb haha! I’m hoping you mean this jacket….

You felt it before you even open your eyes that morning. An annoying tickle, right at the back of your throat, yet also in your nose and somehow your ear.

Joel’s lips pressed softly to your forehead as you stir awake. “Bye, baby. I’ll see you when I get back from patrol. ” He hovers for a minute before the back of his hand meets your forehead. “You feel a bit warm, but you also have like seven blankets on. I love you.”

“Be safe, my love.” You mumble, keeping your eyes shut tightly as if that will rewind time and you can go back to what you and Joel were doing last night. His hands on your hips as you straddle him. His lips touching every spot they can reach.

As he pulled away you were left with the scent of leather and pine needles.

It must be cold out, you thought to yourself, if he’s wearing his thick coat.

As you peel yourself out of bed you noticed the achy joints that usually go along with the itchy throat. All signs of an oncoming cold, or allergies, but it’s the tail end of fall and your allergies are usually reserved for the spring.

A chill spreads through your sore body once out of bed. I don’t have time to get sick.

As the daylight ticks by, the aching intensifies and the itch becomes a sniffle. By the time you leave your job at the stables, you’re freezing cold and have an annoying little cough that will catch you in surprise fits.

When Joel walks in the door you’re in a pair of his wool socks, 2 pairs of sweat pants, a sweater, one of his button down flannels, a winter hat and have a blanket wrapped around you. Your teeth chatter as you stand by the stove, waiting for your water to boil so you can make some of Maria’s homemade loose leaf tea to help fight off whatever you’ve caught.

“Whoa, it’s hotter than the Texas sun in here,” he proclaims as he takes his boots off, as he unzips his jacket and steps into the kitchen he freezes in his tracks.

“Oh, baby girl,” he coos softly. “Are you ok?”

“No,” you say, your voice muffled from how stuffed up you are.

“Aww honey,” he says softly, pulling you into his arms. On instinct your hands come out of the blanket, reaching into his thick leather coat to wrap around his waist. He pulls you in tightly, and then grabs the lapels of his coat to practically plaster you to him.

“I’m so cold,” a sniffle finishing the statement for you as you try to take in the smell of leather you love so much.

Joel starts the walk the two of you towards the bedroom, every muscle in your body protesting as you go. “Let me get you all tucked in and then I’ll make your tea. You should have asked Maria to send someone for me. I would have came home, baby.”

“Everything hurts,” you pout into his chest.

He gets you in bed and then slips his jacket off, laying it on top of you like a blanket before putting the actual bedspread over you.

“I know, I’m here now. Just rest. I’ll be right back with your tea.”

That’s the last thing you remember until the next morning. When you wake up you’re still wrapped in Joel’s jacket, only you’re on your side, your back pressed tightly to his front. His arm is wrapped around you protectively and you sink back into his warmth. You breathe in through your nose, getting just a hint of that leather and pine, and drift off again.

[keenvictory]

Synopsis: Sometimes the best way to distract a villain is with a little more than a witty chat.

: ̗̀➛ Featured Characters: Chronos x Gn!Reader

̗̀➛ Content Warnings: NSFW, (bottom, but not necessarily sub, reader)

̗̀➛  Additional notes: Me? Obsessed with a beautiful, evil blonde man? Yeah.

Ten minutes. All you had to do was keep him distracted for ten minutes.

You'd seen it clear as day this morning, if he managed to escape this room, a shitty warehouse somewhere in the city center, the hostages would die.

Nevermind that the 'hostages' were all low-level villains that had been bothering you for weeks, they weren't in their costumes, neither the public, nor the media, would know it as anything other then civilian deaths.

You'd already sent the brunt of the force towards the second location, if you could hold his attention for just ten minutes, everything would be okay.

Nobody would die. And more importantly, your reputation would be saved.

Chronos stood in the rooms center, illuminated by a single, shitty bulb.

"Come now, Oracle." He purred through the mask, the metallic tinge making your body tense. "Don't get distracted."

Right. Focus. Nine more minutes.

"I am focused. You're not getting away this time."

He'd grin if he could. You can tell in the way he sets his shoulders, the slight chuckle the mask can't quite filter out.

He takes a step back, shaking his head.

"I hate to disappoint you. But I most certainly am."

Shit. Wrong approach. He can't back away. He can't get away.

You need to lure him in closer.

He turns, angling his body away from you, looking for an escape?

"Wait!"

He stops. Despite it all, he stops to hear you out. Why does he do that?

"What? Hate to see me leave but love to watch me walk away, hm?"

Again with the flirting! Always flirting. It drives you up the wall.

But... maybe... There's nobody around but the two of you...

"You're wearing a coat. What is there for me to see when you leave?"

He tilts his head. You can feel his eyes boring into you.

"I can take it off."

"You wouldn't. Your suit is ridiculously tight. You wouldn't..."

You trail off, floundering, why is this working?!

"I wouldn't show it off for you? Hah! Why do you suppose I designed my suit like this in the first place?"

He drags a hand down his chest, gloved fingers trailing over defined abs. "I don't dress like this for the public, you know."

Eight minutes. Time feels like it's dragging on.

"You dress like that just for me, then? Prove it."

Chronos' hand stops. Shocked? Repulsed?

Then he grabs the jackets lapel, slowly pulling it off his tall frame.

He drops it to the ground next to him unceremoniously.

You swallow.

"How's that for proof?"

He strikes a pose. Lifting his arms to show off his waist. It's a little dorky. A smile creeps up on your face before you have the chance to fight it.

It's a little... something else, too. But you won't think like that. You can't.

"I don't know. Just taking off a jacket doesn't feel very personal. You could do that for anyone."

He takes a step towards you and you have to fight to calm your racing heart. This is good. Just seven more minutes.

"Now, now Oracle. That feels like you're baiting me to take off my mask. And we can't be having that, can we?"

You roll your eyes, he was the one who said it, not you.

"Scared I won't like what I find?"

For once, he doesn't seem to have a witty retort. But he takes another step forward, coming ever closer.

This is good. Great, even! You just need to keep him entertained.

"You know, Chronos. There's a lot more to your suit then just your mask."

That gets his attention. He pauses, motionless.

What catches your eye isn't your fault. It's his fault, really, with his stupid skin-tight suit. And the tent in his pants is so obnoxiously obvious.

You do the polite thing, averting your eyes, not that he can really tell through your mask. Not that he even particularly seems to care.

You'd meant, like, gloves or something! Maybe some of those stupid belts he wraps around his torso.

You didn't mean... well... did you mean... that? It would be... a distraction.

How many minutes do you have left? You've lost count.

After an excruciatingly long pause, he seems to find his tongue again.

"You should watch your words, Oracle. There's... interesting implications there."

You can't help but laugh. What use is there in beating around the bush like that when he's hard as a rock and basically vibrating where he stands.

"Implications? You're one to talk. Your... reaction, down-there, speaks louder than words."

He glances downward, as if he hadn't noticed. Then clenches, and unclenches his fist. An exercise in self-restraint, maybe?

"Ah." Is all he mumbles, before glancing back up at you. He clenches and unclenches his fists again, and then shrugs. "At least we chose a place without any cameras around. If this made a front page story I doubt either of us would live it down."

He leans down to scoop up his coat. How much time has passed? Not enough, surely.

"Leaving so soon?"

He hesitates, one hand nested in the material of his coat.

"You want me to stay?"

For the good of the people, if nothing else.

"Just seems like a... waste."

He straightens up, tilting his head curiously. It's so hard to read him, his expressionless mask not letting anything slip.

Then he places a hand, tentatively, on his belt buckle.

"A waste... of this?"

Are you doing this? To save a handful of hostages who you don't especially care about the safety of at the best of times?

"It's like you said. No cameras."

You're doing this. You hope those fuckers appreciate it.

"You're... serious? If this is your attempts at unmasking me, it's an underhanded tactic."

You shrug, trying to keep it casual despite your racing heart. Your mother can NOT find out about this.

"We can leave the masks on. This is between us, as hero and villain. Not whoever our real selves are."

He stills seems unsure, so you suck in a breath and step towards him, poking a finger against his chest.

In the past, he's dodged so many of your attacks so effortlessly. You almost expect him to breezily step out of your touch, but your finger simply bounces against the muscle.

"You've made plenty of advance at me in the past. I hope they weren't just for show."

He swallows. You're close enough that you can see his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. It makes you feel...

Nothing. It makes you feel nothing. There is no slight shiver that passes through you. No warmth between your thighs. This is work. Not pleasure.

He laughs, warm and metallic, and places a large hand against your waist. It isn't unpleasant. His thumb gliding across the material of your suit.

"There are much better suited places for this then a dingy warehouse, Oracle."

While the idea of fucking against a dirty warehouse floor like a bunch of animals is not exactly appealing, letting him leave the building at all is out of the cards.

"What, you're going to take me back to your place? Yeah right."

"The least I could do is a nice hotel."

Ugh, a hotel would be nice. A comfy bed, room service after, somewhere to sleep off the weirdness of it all and freshen up before the walk of shame home.

The warehouse will have to do. Fucking hostages.

You wrap your fingers around his belt loops, teasingly.

"And if I told you I didn't want to wait?"

He groans, it's a sound you're about to get incredibly familiar with. Future fights with this fucker are definitely going to get interesting.

"Fuck."

He uses his grasp on your waist to tug you closer, pinning your bodies together. Then he pushes his crotch against your side, rolling his hips to grind into you. It can't feel all that good behind several layers of fabric, but you suppose it is pretty skin-tight.

He groans again, right in your ear, loud and unrestrained. It's nicer sounding then the sirens outside, at least.

"You're so needy. All that talk about taking me a hotel when you're the one who couldn't wait."

Chronos whines, masked face buried into your shoulder as he rolls his hips more desperately. If you stood here, sweet-talking him, you're pretty sure you could get him to cum where he stands, right in his suit.

But where's the fun in that? If you're sinking this low, you're at least getting off too.

"If you're just going to stand there and get yourself off, Chronos, I might as well go home."

His needy whines turn into a throaty growl, his gentle grip on your waist becoming delightfully dangerous as you feel his nails catch in the suit's material.

If he rips a hole in your suit he is a dead man.

Thankfully, his grip relaxes. But only for a moment, as slides his other hand around your waist, and lifts you up, carrying you across the room with ease, and urgency.

A shock of cold goes through you as he drops you on a metal container, perched right on the edge so your legs dangle down.

You can hear his heavy breathing through the mask, as he glances down at you, like he's deciding what he wants to do first.

Then, without a word, he sinks to his knees, pushing your legs apart and laughing breathily.

He taps his metal mask, twice.

"No peaking."

You tilt your head up, half out of politeness, half necessity. If you break the rules, nothings stopping him from ripping your mask off at this distance.

"At least when you take off your mask I won't have to listen to your prattling on."

"Still swapping insults at a time like this, Oracle? No matter. I have much better things to do with my mouth."

At the thought of ripping, you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing, then a cool breeze caressing the inner-most curves of your thigh.

This motherfucker.

You don't even have time to gasp, nor raise a very reasonable complaint, before you hear him happily hum.

"I'll pay for it."

Then the click of metal, as you can only assume he pushes his mask up his face, freeing his mouth for... other activities.

You sneak a glance downwards as he buries his head between your thighs, but all you can see is a mop of blonde hair pushed messily back by his shifted mask. Worth a shot.

After that, you don't have the time, nor the mental fortitude to scheme, his tongue working hard to distract you from thoughts of hero's and villains.

It's a fight not to clamp your thighs around his head, an excellent position to squeeze the life out of him, but you're a little distracted. And it's not a great story to sell to the media.

Moans, both yours and his own, bounce off the run-down walls. If anything, his moans are almost louder than yours, moaning passionately against you with every spare breath he manages to take.

Air seems like the last thing on his mind. He'll choke himself out, at this rate. Desperately hungry for you. You decide not to think about it.

Instead you tilt your head back, basking in the rolling, sweeping pleasure of his tongue in all the right spots.

And it builds, and builds, and builds, and sudden the sweet waves you've been leisurely riding feel too close to breaking. You don't gently climb to orgasm as much as you hurtle towards it.

"Chronos, wait I-"

But it's like uttering his name flips an evil switch in his mind, and he burrows closer, hands gripping at your thighs for purchase so desperately his nails drag open little holes in your suit.

The waves break, and all you have the strength to do is slump forward, hands nesting in his hair, grabbing on for dear life, as you ride out your high on his face.

Not that he seems to mind, the way his hips are bucking into thin air, just as desperately.

When he finally pulls away, he manages to keep his face pointed downwards, identity secure, as he wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. Before adjusting the mask back over his face.

Then he stands, looming above you as you sit, still slightly quivering, upon the metal box he set you on.

"I hope you don't think we're done here." He purrs, clicking open his belt with practiced ease.

Thank god for superhero stamina.

He slinks out of his pants, leaving them abandoned in a heap much like his jacket.

He rubs the head of his cock against your bare thigh, trailing pre-cum across your skin. He hisses with pure pleasure, both at the sight and the sensation.

"Hope you don't mind that I'm a little... unprepared. A little lube, a condom or two, could have gone a long way. I'll be more prepared next time."

"You think there's going to be a next time?"

He scoops up the cum on your thighs and slicks his fingers with it, pushing them against your entrance with far too much eagerness.

"Oh Oracle, you'll be weak in the knees at the sight of me after I'm done with you. I can guarantee a next time."

"Mmm... you're so cocky."

He chuckles, nudging the tip of his hard cock against your groin, sliding it against the slick opening as he retracts his fingers.

"I have good reason to be, clearly."

You go to refute, but your mind blanks as he pushes into you. Two inches, then four, then six, then further still, until his hips brush against yours. The moan that escapes him is unholy.

"Fuck. I'm going to be weak in the knees after this." He groans, right into your ear. The metal of his mask is cold as it brushes against your neck.

Absently, you wish his mouth was free to kiss it. From the way he's eyeing it and breathing heavily, you think he does too.

"Are you... in any pain?" He asks, a rare moment of pure consideration.

You adjust yourself, flex your insides to test the depth, the pressure. It's... a lot. Filling, certainly. And you have to bite back a small moan as you really relax against him.

But it doesn't hurt. And after a pause to catch your breath, you nod.

"I'm... good. It's good. Thanks."

"Just good? I'll have to do a better job then that."

He punctuates his sentence with a smooth roll of his hips, the length of his cock gliding out, then filling you up all over again. It's unbearably slow, the temptation to shuffle closer, to wrap your legs around his hips and trap him there, taunts you.

"You'll have... to do a little more... then that." You pant, gripping the sides of the metal container you're perched on for support.

"Oh? You want more?" He purrs, sliding out of you so slowly. And then he pauses, the two of you connected only by the very tip, a twitch away from sliding out entirely.

He's going to say something terrible, isn't he?

"Say please."

You called it.

Your eye twitches. You don't know what's bigger, his ego or his dick.

Definitely his ego.

He's lucky you can't say the same for yourself. You're not above basic manners. But you're not above a little bullying, either.

You lean as close as you can despite the distance, wrapping your arms around his neck, and whisper into his ear.

"Chronos... please just fuck me already."

You can almost hear the thread of tension in his body, snap. The eradication of his self-restraint.

He doesn't have anything witty to say, after that.

His hips snap forward with such strength that you tumble back, losing your grip on him as you lay down flat on the container. The new angle let's him push into you even further, and you both moan in delight.

He looms over you, every thrust punctuated with soft, needy moans.

You reach up, running your hands through his blonde hair. It would easy, to simple pull off his mask, see his real face looking down at you.

Would he be blushing? Smiling? Or would he have a more focused look... Your mind wanders. But it's almost more fun if you don't know.

Instead your fingers grip the strands, pulling slightly as he hits a particularly delicious angle. You both moan in equal surprise and debased pleasure.

There's a moment of pause, as you consider these new found techniques. And then you resume, with twice as much passion as before.

Him chasing that angle over and over, crashing into the spot that makes you shiver and buck your hips up to meet his thrusts. You pulling at his hair, and running your nails down his back, enjoying the throaty groans it elicits each and every time.

It isn't long before the feeling returns, waves of pleasure building and building and building inside you.

"Ah, fuck, I'm gonna cum Chronos-"

You don't even finish the final syllable of his name, before he's crashing his hips into you, warmth flooding you as he cums with a long, growl-like moan.

Your own orgasm follows but a second later, his orgasm hasn't slowed him down, if anything he seems to be chasing the afterglow. The uptick in speed pushing you tumbling over the metaphorical edge.

You both lay there for a moment, breathing heavily. Those ten minutes have to be up by now, right? Time to make a strategic exit to check on the hostages. Well, maybe after you've gotten your breath back.

You shift up, propping yourself up on your elbows. His head is bowed, his cock still buried inside you. But he'll pull out any second now, right?

Then he looks up. Slowly. Despite the mask, you can feel his shit-eating grin.

"I'm not done with you yet, Oracle."

When you stumble out the warehouse, only one lone officer remains on the scene. He gives you a questioning look, and you feel yourself flush, thankful for the mask all over again.

"The hostages are safe, Oracle, thanks for your help. But, uh, you know only had to keep him in there for ten minutes right? It's been..." The officer checks his watch, and then frowns. "Hours. Are you alright?"

You adjust Chronos' cloak, which is wrapped around your middle for privacy.

"It was a tough... fight. But I dealt some serious blows. Managed to snag his coat before he escaped."

"Great work! We could take it in for testing if you'd like."

"Ah, uh, no need! I'll do my own... uh... super testing! See if it triggers a vision.”

It's a terrible excuse. But thankfully, the officer seems stupid. Or maybe tired, it is late. But either way, he nods. And waves you goodbye as he packs himself away into his car.

Now to figure out how to get home without any camera's catching you... indisposed.

The next morning, there's a generous donation to your bank account, from a suspiciously anonymous donor. Enough to cover the expenses of your torn suit, and then some.

It's signed only with a C. Cocky bastard.

[mongoosingisme]

Lil’ bit of Harvey smut under the cut. Enjoy! Or don’t! Totally up to you.

Involved: lab coats, interruptions, and unprofessional behavior in a place of healing.

Word count: ~800

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only, if you would be so kind

Harvey looked good in a lab coat.

You’d noticed it the very first time you met him. You’d stumbled into his office with a gash across your calf. Harvey had been behind the counter, but he'd rushed out as you'd opened the door. His coat had swished around him, adding to the confidence he projected, his authority as he sat you down on a chair, knelt before you, held your legs with gentle hands as he examined the wound.

The whole thing gave you a little thrill, if you were being honest. Absolutely contributed to the crush that blossomed within the first three minutes of being in his presence.

And now that you were "together," now that touching was something you could do, and you didn't feel like a total creep for ogling him while he was just trying to do his job?

Well.

You'd stopped by the clinic with some coffee. Maru was off that day, so Harvey was behind the counter when you walked in. He lit up upon seeing you, smile wide, cheeks a little pink, those adorable crows feet crinkling up behind his glasses. He was wearing his lab coat, crisp and white, his name embroidered on the lapel. He looked so good, so done up and professional with that perfectly knotted tie and ironed dress shirt that you couldn't help it, you had to muss him up a little, grab him by the tie and pull him over the counter to kiss him long and hard and deep.

"Hello to you too," he gasped as you broke apart.

"How long until your next appointment?"

He blinked at you. You could practically see the gears working in his head, trying to keep up. "Um, twenty minutes I think?"

"Perfect," you said, and kissed him again. And he was responding, mouth opening, tongue delving, hand coming up to cup your cheek, coat sleeve falling back to reveal a strong wrist. His other hand came to your arm, pulling, and why the fuck not, you followed it up onto the counter, still kissing, arranged yourself facing him, let him press in between your legs, hand bracing behind you as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“You look nice today,” you gasped as he broke away to drop kisses on your neck.

“So do you.” He was pulling you to the edge of the counter now, pressing the heel of his hand between your legs. “Don’t have much time, sweetheart.”

With Harvey it never took long anyway. His hand was perfect to grind into, firm and steady, and with the way his mouth was moving over your shoulders, leaving open mouthed kisses and small bites behind, it wasn’t long before you were clenching and shuddering beneath him.

And don’t think you didn’t notice that bulge in his pants. Like you weren’t going to slip down to your knees in front of him, take his finger into your mouth as you unbuckled his pants (Yoba, the way he gasped when you swirled your tongue around it). As if this wouldn’t end with his cock between your lips, his hands in your hair, his body rigid in front of you, hips making tiny thrusts as you welcomed him back into your mouth.

The door to the clinic opened.

“Good morning!” You didn’t quite recognize the voice - perhaps it was Pierre, maybe Kent?

“G-good morning!” Given the situation Harvey sounded remarkably calm. You backed up into the space beneath the counter, watched as Harvey’s cock seemed to follow you as he pushed his hips firmly against the board.

“Got any of those muscle treatments? I did something to my shoulder yesterday and it’s killing me.” Pierre, definitely. You pressed your hand over your mouth, trying not to giggle as Harvey completed the transaction, cock bobbing above you, just as hard and red as it was when it was in your mouth.

“Take care,” Harvey said, then deflated dramatically as the clinic door closed. “Sweet Yoba,” he gasped. “That was -“

You didn’t give him a chance to finish, swallowing him back down as if nothing had happened. He groaned, hands coming to rest on the sides of your face, those crisp white sleeves brushing against your cheeks. From there it was simple work to finish him, swallow him down, look up at him with a smile as he softened in your mouth.

“Enjoy the coffee,” you said, rising to your feet and giving him a peck on the cheek.

Harvey made a strangled sound, somewhere between an “uh-huh” and a “thanks.”

You fiddled with his tie, pulled a little askew. “There,” you said. “Perfect.” You left him flushed and stuttering, just in time for his next appointment. And the lab coat? It looked just as good when you found it on your floor the next morning.

Masterlist

[mentality-project]

Carry Me Home

Morpheus x Fem!reader

Pushing your way through the crowded bar, you welcome the brisk night air as you stumble onto the streets of London. Blowing off steam with your favourite coworkers at the end of the week had been much-needed fun, but now you were ready for home. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your favourite scenes from the night replay in your head, your hands burying into your coat pockets to keep warm. You hum to the tune of the song stuck in your head, the crowds thinning out the closer you get to home. You notice the change in atmosphere five minutes later than you should have, the sound of a raven's caw overhead bringing you back to the present moment.

You hear them before you see them, the rowdy laughter and loud explosions of curse words giving away their position. A glance at the reflective shop front across the street tells you there's three men behind you. Fuck. It could be nothing, but even so...you'd rather not find out. Your feet pick up the pace, but despite your best efforts they sound louder. Closer.

The raven's caw pierces the night air once again, causing you to flinch but you don't stop walking until you barrel into a wall of black. Two hands grab the back of your elbows to steady you, your wide-eyed gaze snapping up to your captor. Relief floods your nervous system at the sight of the familiar stern face.

“Morphy-baby~ I need a ride! Would you be a dear and take me home?”

“You are intoxicated.”

“Maybe~”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“More than enough.” You are oblivious to the withering glare Morpheus sends towards the drunken trio of men before whisking you off to your apartment. --- "Whoa, headrush!" you giggle as you stumble in the hallway as the sand dissipates, "Don't think I'll ever get used to that." Morpheus' gentle grip on your forearms helps you still your clumsy feet, your tipsy giggles falling silent as you get lost in the galaxy of his eyes. Your lips curl up in amazement as you grip the lapels of his coat, "You have such pretty eyes, Morphy...", your smile falters as the next unfiltered thought crosses your mind, "it's not fair."

You don't notice the way he huffs through his nose, disgruntled with the unwanted nickname that has been bestowed upon him.

"You are drunk."

"Yes~ I am~!" your singsong voice is shameless.

"You should be in bed." "You're not the boss of me," you pout up at him.

The Dream Lord says your name in that hypnotic voice of his that sounds like a seduction and a warning rolled into one, and just like that, your defiance shrinks away. "But I'm not even...sleepy..." the yawns that interrupt your protest betray you. "Is that so?" Dream's eyes glint with amusement in the darkness. "Okay, okay, fine! I'll go to bed, but only if you carry me." Morpheus stares down at you while you blink up at him. You had never dared to be so petulant with him before. But then again, he had never encountered you drunk. You yelp when he scoops you up into his arms, kicking your heels off as Morpheus heads for the stairs with you in tow. He is carrying you like you're nothing.

"Oh Mylanta~ Morphy~ you're actually carrying me to bed."

"You insisted."

"Well, yeah...but I didn't think you'd actually do it." King of Dreams is silent and you wonder what's going on in there - long-suffering sigh or an internal scream. It's only when he heads for the doorway to your bedroom that you start to squirm in his arms, "Wait, wait!"

Morpheus raises his eyebrow at you, arms still wound tight around your body. You point to the bathroom. "I need the bathroom. Gotta wash my face. Sleeping in makeup is a sin."

The midnight-haired being obliges you as he carries you into the bathroom, setting you down in front of the sink before he perches on the edge of your bathtub to watch you work. You go in on your eyes and lips with a bottle of liquid remover and cotton balls, following up with some facial wipes. You frown at your reflection while you're on your fourth wipe, unable to ignore the nagging in your head that argues that since you've gotten this far, you really ought to wash your face properly. Your hands are slathered in cleansing balm before you realise that you forgot to tie up your hair.

"Hold my hair back, Morph?" Morpheus is silent as he stands behind you to oblige you, and you watch his reflection in the mirror as he smooths your hair back with both hands before gathering your locks in one hand.

"Cheers, dear." you murmur as you rub the melted balm over your face.

You rinse and repeat with cleanser before following up with moisturiser. A few moments of silence pass when you turn to face Morpheus, blinking up at him.

"I need to pee." you announce before shoving the unsuspecting Endless into the hallway and closing the door behind you.

Morpheus has no time to react and you crack the door open like an afterthought as you peer through the gap. "You're still tucking me in, right?"

"Yes."

"Cool."

The door shuts again, soon followed by the sound of the toilet flushing, then running water. The door flings open and Morpheus is greeted with the sight of you brushing your teeth. You mumble around your toothbrush, using your free hand to guide Morpheus' hand to your hair. He gets the gist, because by the time you're standing in front of the mirror, he's holding your hair in a ponytail again. He lets go as you turn to face him.

"I need a shower, but I'm too lazy."

Morpheus lifts his hand and you're captivated by the stardust that swirls around you. When it lifts, you're in your favourite sleepwear and feeling more squeaky-clean than you ever have in your life.

"Did you just -" you cut yourself off as you run your hands along your arms, through your hair and sniff the collar of your shirt, "did you just glamour magic me clean?"

"Yes."

"How amazing." your voice is hushed as you breath out.

"What was that?" you're oblivious to the amusement that tugs at Morpheus' lips.

"How amazing!" you repeat louder, looking up at Morpheus with wide eyes.

"Will you go to bed now?"

"Yes!" you grin as you put your hand on Morpheus' shoulders before you jump up to wrap your limbs around him like a koala, "I'm ready!" The huff of his breath almost sounds like laughter as his hands grip your thighs, turning on his heel to finally carry you to bed. You gasp as he sets you down and pulls the covers over you.

"Ooh, you're tucking me in~"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"I love it." you grin up at Morpheus before patting the spot next to you, "come here, Morph."

Morpheus sits next to you and you shake your head as you pull the blanket out from under him, "No, lie down. I don't want you sitting near my face. What if you fart?"

"(Y/N), I am Endless. Endless do not -"

"Lie down, please!" you smack the bed as you raise your voice, feeling quite pleased with yourself when the Dream Lord complies.

You shimmy over to his body, throwing your leg over his as you lie your head on his shoulder, curling an arm around his chest.

"This feels nice," you smile as you close your eyes.

Morpheus doesn't respond, but a few moments later you feel his hand rise from your shoulder to stroke your hair and it makes you melt into him even more.

"Ohhh...I love you." you mumble into his coat.

"What did you say?"

"I love you. Please don't stop doing that." your eyes refuse to open as you feel yourself drift further and further into sleep with each stroke.

"Sleep well, (Y/N). I will meet you in The Dreaming."

[zayne-li]

Cross posted on AO3, may be edited in the future, it was written very shortly after the game actually came out.

Explicit, MDNI.

Zayne gets injured, MC saves him, and Zayne has very normal feelings about it.

Feelings like: femdom, etc.

"Zayne! Zayne! Can you hear me? Come on, get up, you have to get up, we need to go now!"

The world is fuzzy at the edges, and there's a tinny sort of ringing in his ears, but he hears his hunters voice. She's upset. Why?

Arms stronger than they should be tug at the lapels of his white doctors coat, dragging him up off the concrete, and he blinks hard several times. His head is swimming. 

Zayne groans, deep and low as his awareness slowly returns, able to blearily look around and recall that right, yes, we were at my favorite sweets shop... And then...

"I know it hurts, Zayne, but I really, really need you to get up right now." That's her voice again, and then he can see her. Right in front of him, holding him halfway off the ground. There's blood smeared across her lips, cheek, and eye, and her hair is ashy with dust, no hint of the real color underneath it all. 

It occurs to him that it's concerning he can't recall what exactly has happened. Was it Wanderers? Some sort of accident? A weak cough escapes him as his shoes scrape across the loose pebbles on the road. 

Everything hurts. Like one giant bruise all over his body. But he is slowly regaining his senses. He does have at least that.

All around them is destruction: rubble and dust and shouts for loved ones piercing through the fog. The air smells and tastes metallic as his hunter helps him up onto shaky feet, hoisting one of his arms over her shoulder and wrapping the other around his middle.

"Can you walk? We need to get you to Akso now."

Her pupils are blown, and eyes wild. It's a look he hasn't seen on her before. Despite the pain and danger they are in, there is something about her in this very moment(maybe the blood, the adrenaline, this demeanor he's never seen before) that makes his gut clench.

Ought to dissect that later, he thinks. Then again, perhaps not.

"Akso?" His voice is rough, throat sticky with dust.

"Yes, you broke at least two of your ribs in that explosion, you need medical care, do you understand?" 

His eyes drop down to hers, and he realizes just how much they are touching in this moment. All the way from their feet to her head, becoming a long line of heat down the right side of his body.

What timing, Doctor Li.

"I understand." He confirms to her, and plants his gaze firmly ahead of them, forcing his attention onto the task at hand rather than the way that look in her eyes makes him feel.

--

Weeks later he is still recalling that day, though who can blame him, confined to bed rest as he is? Three broken ribs and a full month of leave from the hospital, it's difficult to find ways to entertain himself. 

Zayne closes his eyes and he sees her covered in sweat, that single minded determination carving deep lines into her face. If she'd had to, she would have dragged his limp body to the doors of the hospital. It was a look that told him, "I'm not losing you too. Not today." It was that look that had given him the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

It aroused him deep in his gut, somewhere he hadn't even known existed. 

It was disturbing, in more ways than one. 

He'd begun to have dreams. 

Dreams of her coming home to his apartment, the door closing with more force than necessary, her dirty boots crossing through the kitchen with purpose. And when she found that purpose, she would have that same look on her face. In some of the dreams she'd still have blood on her face, and she'd lick the droplets away, just as she did while she labored to save his life that day. 

She would grab him by the knot of his tie, stifling his surprise with a bruising kiss, plundering his mouth like a woman starved, using her unexpected strength to push him back against the wall, to cover him with her smaller frame. He would moan into her throat and her lips would curve into a smile against his. 

One night, he wakes around four in the morning after dreaming of his hunters battle lust and he finds himself in an uncomfortable, sticky mess.

Zayne knows he loves her. He has since he was a boy, that has never changed, but through the years, his crush has waxed and waned, but remained fundamentally childlike. It hasn't been until they reconnected this past year that he'd even begun to let his thoughts drift to more unsavory places. And now... Well he determines that this new... Discovery of his remain well and firmly hidden. 

Her presence in his life is too precious to waste with his depraved imagination. 

After all, while he's been bored and cooped up in his apartment, with strict instructions from every person in his life to "Sit and rest, for once!" She has been visiting him almost daily. Usually not for long, as her own work keeps her extraordinarily busy(he supposes he's never noticed just how hard and much she works before, because he himself is often entrenched in his own), but always with an easy smile and some sort of treat for him. Chocolate, or cookies, one afternoon a little fruit tart from a vendor she passed on her way to see him.

Most of the time, it is no challenge for him to recognize that her friendship is far, far too valuable to risk losing. 

Today, she knocks on his door, and when he opens it, he almost forgets. 

She's a mess. 

There's a fairly large, but shallow cut across most of her face, from her cheek down to her chin, her hair is pulled up haphazardly, the leather glove she normally wears is missing, and her clothes, though neat, have small tears across one of her knees, and her shoulder. 

Zayne swallows before he greets her. 

"Difficult day?" 

She exhales a chuckle. "Just a long one, sorry. I was going to go home to clean up, but by then it would have been pretty late, and I was already nearby when I finished, so I thought I'd just uh... Drop in." 

She's sheepish, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand, and Zayne forces himself to look away, making eye contact with the corner of the wall instead. There's a chip in the paint. 

"Really, you needn't trouble yourself on my behalf, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You require rest as well as I." 

What would it feel like, right now, to have her press up against him? Warm. Solid, he thinks. Would she grab him by his jaw? Turn his face this way and that? 

He imagines how she would taste. Salty and metallic, he thinks, especially now. His hunter, shoving him onto his back in his bed, she would be impatient, barely taking the time to undo their pants before sheathing herself on his cock, using her palms on his chest for leverage to fuck herself as she pleased. 

"Yeah, well then we might as well rest together, huh?"

She pulls him from his depraved thoughts.

Zayne realizes that the heat between his legs, if not controlled soon, will become a much larger problem(no pun intended).

"You have quite the knack for turning phrases, you know." His tone stays even, and he turns away, inviting her inside without another word, his excuse being the television in his living room that needs muting. 

"And you never have this much time off. It's kinda fun, really." 

He hears the click of the door shutting, and the turn of the lock. 

"I brought you something, too."

Thud on the kitchen counter. Whatever it is, it sounds hefty. While he pretends to look for his remote, he adjusts himself in his pants, burning with shame for this predicament. 

"What is it this time?" 

"Brownies! Salted caramel flavored. They're my favorite."

She appears quite suddenly in the corner of his vision, and he jumps, feeling his face grow hot. 

"Thoughtful as always." He smiles, and hits the mute button on another story of wanderer attacks. 

His hunter frowns, leaning her body around to get a good look at him. 

"Something's wrong. What's wrong?" Her tone leaves no room for arguments, and Zayne's eyes go a bit wide just for a moment. 

"What makes you think anything is wrong? Other than my broken ribs?" He doesn't realize it, but he imitates her in the way he tilts his head. The mirth in her eyes makes his chest ache. 

"You're blushing, Doctor Zayne." Her tongue pokes out from between her teeth with her smile. 

"Perhaps I'm coming down with a fever." He counters. 

She squints, but moves away, rolling not just her eyes, but her whole head. "Oooh-kay. Then perhaps I should leave, huh? Keep you from spreading your virus all over Linkon?" 

His mouth opens, but he has no immediate response. 

"Uh-huh." She oozes with smugness. 

God he wants her. Whether in his dreams, or right now, either will do. He's wanted her for so long. And now she's so close. Zayne feels his entire chest go tight with longing. He wants everything with her. For her. 

He wants her to be with him always. If he could put a tiny little hunter in his pocket and keep her there he would, just so he could pull her out when he likes to soothe the ache in his soul that she both creates and fills in equal measure.

He wants her just like this, messy and stinking of rain and sweat and blood, he wants her sweetness, her humor, her easy charisma.

And God he wants her to claim him. He wants the battle lust, her fingernails deep in his scalp, the stinging on his back. He wants her to take whatever she likes from him, his body, his soul, his everything. 

"I wasn't blushing. You are mistaken." Somehow he keeps his voice even and calm, though inside he fights to keep from pouncing on her. 

Down, boy.

Recognition flashes across her face. 

And then a flurry of emotions he has trouble naming. Confusion, shock, and something else he can't define, but it reminds him of the day they were in that explosion, and she became someone he didn't know. 

His hunter steps forward, further into his space, and on instinct, Zayne steps back, his swallow loud in the quiet apartment. 

She must see something on his face. Fear, he thinks. And her expression of bewilderment changes as her gaze flickers rapidly across his features, first his eyes, his mouth, the bob in his throat, the fist clenched at his side, and then back to his mouth.

Her movements are slow as she takes another step forward, as if she's afraid to spook him, like one would a wild animal. She grabs the front of his shirt, and he swallows back a whine. 

His hunter sees this too.

"Why haven't you said anything?" 

"You frighten me sometimes."

Do I, Doctor Zayne?" Her eyes are dark, and she pulls him down to her, tilting her head just so, and holds him a hairsbreadth away from her lips.

He can taste her breath. It makes his knees weak. God, if you are there, don't wake me from this dream.

[hazbinhazbinhazbinreblog]

Vox doesn't mean to overhear the conversation. He really doesn't. He's just passing by his daughter's bedroom when Charlie says something that makes him pause.

"…I went to go see Angel at the Porn Studios and ran into Valentino."

"What happened?"

"Well, Valentino offered me a job there—"

Vox slams the door open, his screen displaying a mess of static and a pair ominous, glowing red eyes. "Valentino did what."

Charlie jumps and Vaggie reflexively points her spear at him. "Dad! Uh, how much h did you hear?"

Vox takes a step forward. "I heard the part where you said Valentino offered you a job." His tone is deceptively calm. "Charlie, is that all that happened? Please don't lie."

Charlie averts her eyes guiltily and fiddles with the lapels of her blazer. But once Vaggie lays a comforting hand on her, she takes a deep breath and starts, "Well, I went there to find Angel and ran into him. We talked and then…he grabbed my arm and licked it."

Vox tilts his head curiously—a habit he picked up from Alastor. His screen flashes blood-red for a second. "He grabbed you…and licked your arm." He thinks for a moment before coming to a decision. "Alright then, I'll take care of it."

Charlie nervously watches him straighten up and head out of the room, electricity crackling with each step. "Dad, please be careful!"

Vox looks back at her, his screen fading from static to his usual face.

Charlie looks worried and Vaggie looks pensive. Neither of them look particularly excited about his vague statement.

He smiles reassuringly at the two girls. "I'll be fine, honey. Don't worry about it "

He leaves the room after that.

Alastor, he says through the radio waves. Al, there's something important we have to take care of.

What is it? Alastor replies.

Valentino hit on Charlie and offered her a job, Vox says, straight to the point.

Alastor falls silent in the other end for a moment before responding, I'll be there in five minutes. I need to grab a few things.

Vox smirks and sends out a feeling of appreciation through their connection before he turns into electricity and jumps into a nearby wire.

The world around him is filled with color rushing by and information invading his mind. Time simultaneously slows down and speeds up. Each action takes nanoseconds, reducing the time he needs to find what he's searching for.

With the Pride ring's technology in his grasp, Vox sees everything. He peers through every camera, looking for his business partner. If Valentino isn't spotted, Vox moves on.

Valentino is a slippery bastard, but he has some charm and a general aura that attracts demons whether they're aware of it or not. Vox isn't sure why it doesn't affect him, and if it weren't for Vox co-parenting Charlie with Alastor for years, he thinks he might have fallen for the moth's flirtations and propositions eventually.

The thought of that scares him. He knows what Valentino does to Angel Dust.

He and Alastor are trying to find a sponsored way to break the spider demon's contract with him. They're close now. They just need to find the physical contract.

Lost in his rage and thoughts, Vox nearly misses the bright red of Valentino's coat through one of the various screens in the Porn Studios.

He grits his teeth.

"Valentino."

Vox appears on the largest screen, his face back to the mess of pixels and static.

Valentino merely gives him an unimpressed glance. "What?"

"Did you offer the Princess a job?"

Valentino shrugs, walking up to the screen. "Of course I did. Even if she's a spineless little thing she's still royalty. Demons will pay big bucks for that. If it wasn't for her being Lucifer's daughter I might have snatched her up for myself."

Vox goes quiet. All the screens in the building freeze and black out, except for the one Vox is peering through.

Vox retreats into the data stream, and the screen flickers out.

The next moment, that same screen erupts with a surge of power and blasts Valentino point blank with a concentrated bolt of electricity.

Vox rematerializes in mid-air, grabbing onto Valentino's collar and, with the help of his initial momentum, sends him flying through the front of the studio and out onto the street.

Vox is alight with electricity as he steps towards the fallen moth. His voice starts to echo. "The one nonnegotiable term I had for our partnership was that involving the Princess in anything was off limits. I let you do as you pleased for a good portion of our time in the past because the benefits outweighed some of the costs, but you've crossed a line this time, Valentino."

Valentino spit out a mouthful of blood and sneered at him. "What the fuck? You know, I never understood why you put that clause there. Did you want her all for yourself? I don't mind sloppy seconds if that's true."

Vox fires another bolt at Valentino from his face, this one bigger than the last. Bundles of wires snake around him as parts of his screen shift and move to grow. The wires envelop him fully, and melt together as the mass grows before falling away to reveal Vox's full demon form: a large billboard screen held up by large metallic joints simmering with large sparks of electricity. A deep navy blue suit wraps around his figure, and a single hypnotizing eye amidst black static stares accusingly down at the other Overlord.

"I've tolerated your behavior for the past few decades Valentino. I'm at my limit now. Our partnership is over. You are not welcome here. Now get. Out."

FANFICTION ANON IS BACK AND THIS TIME ITS BADASS

The detail to which you describe things amazes me, it builds up just the right amount of angry tension

Post(s) this is referencing: 1, 2

Edit: fanfiction anon has blessed us with a full version on ao3

[cha-melodius]

Okay, there are a few on this list that would be very interesting but I thought this one could be fun for firstprince! 💜

Thank you for this, friend!

💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss (another one just over my self-imposed limit, oh well lol. I got a few of these purple hearts and so we'll get various iterations. here's a canon divergence one! send me a heart and get a ficlet)

This is not how he thought tonight was going to go.

Not the falling into the cake part. Obviously no one could have predicted that. No, the part that really surprised him was Henry’s reaction in the moment, how the shove that Alex thought was pushing him away was actually Henry putting himself between Alex and the toppling cake. How Henry had curled protectively over the top of him, shielding Alex from the excessive weight and the wooden structure within it.

How, in the heart-stopping silence that followed, he’d stared up at blue, blue eyes—not haughty or irritated but concerned, like Alex was something important to him, something to be protected—with Henry’s body pressed to his from hip to chest, and had the sudden and insane urge to kiss those full, pink lips hovering so close to his.

He didn’t, of course. Then again, maybe it’d have distracted everyone from the cake fiasco.

Now, though—now that they’ve both been shoved in some side room and told to wait here for whatever hell is about to rain down on them, buttercream and cake still coating their tuxes and clumping in their hair and smeared on their skin—now he can’t stop fucking thinking about it.

It doesn’t mean anything, right? It’s just a weird intrusive thought that won’t go away, like the way he wants to lick that streak of buttercream off Henry’s cheek. Everything is so fucked up that he’s having a mental breakdown. That must be the explanation.

“Why’d you do that?” Alex asks instead as he desperately searches for some of the familiar animosity he’s used to when dealing with Henry.

Henry frowns at him. “Do what?”

“Shield me like you were some kind of bodyguard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Henry huffs, looking away as his cheeks turn faintly pink. “If I did, it was subconsciously and I haven’t a clue why.”

Nah, Alex doesn’t believe that for a second. Well, maybe the subconscious part, but Henry absolutely knows why. “Bullshit,” he says, stepping forward into Henry’s space to force Henry to look at him again. “No one puts themselves in harm’s way for someone they hate.”

“I’ve never hated you, Alex,” Henry sighs. “You’re the one who’s always seeking me out to antagonize me. Who can’t leave well enough alone. You’re the one who—”

Something in Alex snaps. Before he knows what he’s doing, he reaches out with both hands to grab Henry by the lapels, crumpling the fine fabric of his tux in his sticky fists, and hauls him in. Crushes their mouths together in a furious kiss that tastes of sugar and regret. Because that’s exactly what Alex feels when it happens, when Henry’s already-open mouth goes further slack in shock, when he realizes he just kissed a prince out of nowhere and is probably gonna get locked up in the Tower of London.

Alex jerks back, though he doesn’t let go of Henry’s lapels. Some kind of self-preservation instinct, probably, to keep Henry from decking him. Henry stares at him, his pink mouth still open and tempting—fuck—as his wide eyes rove all over Alex’s face.

“—who kissed me,” he breathes at last, an odd note of wonder in his voice.

Alex winces. “Fuck, I didn’t mean—”

Then Henry’s hands are in his hair and gripping the back of his neck, dragging Alex back in, and oh. Oh.

Henry’s kissing him back, and he likes it.

[askaalaska-vdeppressed]

I Cannot Breath (So I Must Sing) Ch.4

Alastor x OperaSinger!Reader

Masterlist

Real quick note this is a phantom of the opera crossover a bit and that plays into this chapter slightly

The sound of the latch landing into its groove in the doorframe was deafening as Alastor led Y/n into a room. He was fuming, that rat. That utterly worthless piece of wretched slime. That creature had to go. Alastor was not ignorant enough to believe that situations like what he had just heard through the door never happened. Quite the opposite in fact, he always pitied the poor girls he saw on gentlemen’s laps in clubs. Smiles on their faces but discomfort clear in their eyes. He would grimace at the thought that they would be forced into behind closed doors just to get into the good graces of a man with purported wealth or influence. But knowing something exists in theory is much different than coming face to face with it. Seeing the vague looks of discomfort on stranger's faces from the other side of a room is different than the action being three feet in front of you. The look of distress is so much more potent when you know the eyes behind it.

Alastor was going to need information, because that unnamed gentleman had just jumped to the top of Bayou Butcher’s roster. With a head full of murderous intent, Alastor turned to quiz his companion, only to be stunned out of his anger by the state of the woman before him.

Y/n looked somehow more distraught than she did previously. Her gaze was unfocused, staring off into nothing as she leaned against a wall for support. Her hand clutched at her chest, fingernails leaving indents in her flawless skin in some desperate bid to calm her racing heart. Alastor approached her slowly, arms extended like he was walking toward a wild animal. Y/n’s eyes flitted to Alastor for a moment before a sigh shuttered out of her mouth with a great deal of effort.

“Any other day I would have set him straight but today....” Y/n trailed off. She didn’t need to elaborate further. Alastor knew what she was saying, exhaustion permeated her visage and her eyes looked as if she hadn’t slept at all last night.

Alastor reached out slowly with one hand to maneuver the arm that was clutching her chest away from her before she drew blood. “I take it this never happened to you back home?” Y/n’s gaze was firmly on the floor as Alastor’s other hand came to rest between her shoulder blades, guiding her away from the wall.

“No...at least...not to me” Y/n closed her eyes for a moment before rolling her shoulder and gazing at him. Her eyes were still just as exhausted, though her face and form appeared solid and confident once more.

“What,” Y/n’s voice wavered slightly before she cleared her throat and tried again. “What are you doing here Mr. Altruist?” The smile crept back onto Alastor’s face as he saw the Y/n that gave longue lashings strong enough to shun a nun seep back into the girl in front of him.

“I’m a journalist dear, unfortunately crime scenes are par for the course.”

Y/n scoffed. “Don't tell me you play that wretched game”

“What? Golf? No, I don’t play. Just using its terms.” Alastor saw the color coming back to Y/n’s cheeks as the subject changed. “Though maybe I will pick it up, seeing as the idea bothers you so much” Alastor chuckled slightly to himself, grabbing onto the lapels of his suit coat. “I say I’d look rather strapping in argyle.”

Y/n laughed slightly, “You should, I hear such terrible waterfowl stalk the courses” Y/n walked past Alastor to the door, her arm resting briefly on his shoulder as she thought aloud. “I say you’d look rather strapping being chased by a goose in argyle”

Alastor shook himself for a moment, his brain half a second behind as he heard the door hinges creak. His eyes locking onto Y/n’s retreating form before replying. “But I'd look strapping nonetheless”

Y/n stepped with assuredness as she walked toward the theater’s exit. This whole morning had been an emotional whirlwind and she wanted to both figuratively and literally put it behind her for the moment. The quick long strides of hard soled shoes rang out behind her as Alastor quickly caught up to her and, in one swift motion, grabbed her arm and placed it in the crook of his elbow. Now leading her he asked aloud “So where too for lunch?”

“Pardon” y/n’s eyebrows furrowed as Alastor walked along, easing her out of the building like it was his job.

“Where are we going to lunch?” Alastor repeated the question, still not making any sense to his companion.

“And why would we be going to lunch exactly?” Y/n tried slowing her pace as they exited the building to a side alley. Alastor locked the muscles in his arm forcing her to keep up.

“Why? Well let’s see..” Alastor used his free hand to check his pocket watch “It’s just about noon, so I'd say we’re due for lunch. Do they not eat mid-day meals in France?” Frustration clear on Y/n’s face, she dug her heels into the pathway of the alley. The sudden jerk forcing Alastor to stop and face her.

“Now I have it on good authority that you are smart enough to know what I mean Mr. Altruist” The frown on Y/n’s face deepened the creases near her nose. The weight of exhaustion, frustration and just being plain fed up evident in the tense strain of her shoulders. Alastor heaved a sigh, a hand shot up to press on his temples for a moment before replying.

“Miss Leroux, please understand that I say this not as someone trying to control your life but I simply cannot allow you to be alone at the moment.” Alastor straightened up, arms crossed and legs wide apar. He seemed to take up the space of the alley in mere presence alone. His gaze brought a shadow over the confined space, like it was only the two of them in the whole of the city.

“Not only is it evident to me that you are fatigued beyond what is safe, but I simply do not trust that bag of sleaze inside not to follow you. If he felt comfortable enough to do that in a building swarming with officers, I hasten to think what he would be willing to do if you were alone. So, for Christ’s sake just let me buy you food woman.” Alastor noticed the exhaustion creep back into Y/n. Clearly letting someone lead her like this was something she was unaccustomed to. Unusual for a woman in theater, seeing as taking stage directions seemed like a very core component of the art. Then again Mickey did mention that Y/n had rolled up and changed the production immediately.

Y/n internally fought with herself a moment, fighting the urge to pout like a child as she realized that Alastor had a very fair point. Eventually she gave in, slotting her hand into his arm once more.

“So, where too for lunch?” Alastor picked up once more, his pace much slower now that he and Y/n were in agreeance.

“To be transparent with you, I have yet to eat out anywhere.” Alastor’s eyes widened as he stopped in his tracks to look at Y/n.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? I haven’t found the time okay. Either I’m at rehearsals or practicing my own personal projects at my apartment. Besides I very rarely go out to restaurants back home let alone in another country.” Alastor blinked a few times at Y/n.

“So, you eat like a rabbit and a masochist.” Y/n scoffed and rolled her eyes at Alastor, whose face had lit up in a smile at her exasperation. Y/n began walking once more, tugging him along as her reply. A small quiet settled over them as Alastor lead them to a small cafe that was not too far away. Better to start small with Y/n and American cuisine.

As the rhythmic click of heels and shined shoes wafted into the air around them, Alastor felt compelled to break the silence.

“So why don’t you go out back home? It’s certainly not for financial reasons, is it?” Alastor felt a swell of pride in his chest as a small smile emerged on Y/n’s face as she shook her head gently.

“No, I don’t mean to brag but to be frank I have more money than I know what to do with.” After she said this, Y/n’s smile tensed. She bit her lips slightly as she debated internally with herself. Moments passed in tense quiet as finally Y/n seemed to come to an internal resolution and spoke once more. “It's more I don’t go out because my father wont, or rather can’t go out to eat. So, I just... don’t”

Alastor hummed in contemplation. He wanted to pry further. This was the first time Y/n had talked about anyone in her personal life, and the fact that she hesitated to do so was curious. Even better she was exhausted and her defenses were lower than usual. It’d be easy to get details out of her in this state. However, some poor pathetic shred of his morality was still active enough to make him feel bad for taking advantage of her. She was trusting him right now, more than she probably did with anybody in New Orleans, hell more than she did with anyone in the United States of America.

Perhaps it would be worth it to play the long con with this one.

“So, what you can’t go out without Daddy dearest?” Alastor decided to play it light. He wouldn't pry but if Y/n decided to provide more information on her own, then that would be just splendid!

“I go out with my uncle occasionally.” Y/n stated matter-of-factly. “It's just that he prefers to dine at home as well, so more often than not I join him at his house.”

Alastor hummed. “So you just never go out without one of your male relatives to chaperone then?”

As he posed the question they approached the front of a brightly colored cafe. The wait staff recognized Alastor immediately, leading them up to his normal spot on the balcony. It was perfect people watching position, and secluded away from other diners, bar a few other tables on the balcony that typically remained empty. As they were sat Y/n continued the conversation.

“You jest but you can never be too careful. You may not see it Mr. Altruist-”

“Alastor”

“Hmm” Y/n’s head and brow turned in the same direction and at the same time in a questioning gaze

‘Cute’ Alastor thought, before immediately shutting down that train of thought in its tracks. He didn’t have time for fancies right now. He had work to do. Still though....

“Call me Alastor, I find the formalities a bit stuffy at this point” Y/n paused, looking at him for a moment. Alastor couldn’t help but get a little lost in her gaze. She had that perfect doe-eyed expression that just lured you in. He was sure it was killer on stage, but it was even more enchanting up close, especially when it was focused solely on him.

These thoughts of his were getting dangerous.

Y/n bowed her head and began again. “You may not see it Alastor, but this world is quite a dangerous place, especially for women.”

‘Oh if only she knew’ Alastor thought. 'It's all I see, its why I do my work in the first place.’

“Secondly’ y/n’s tone was softer now. “And I don’t even know why I'm telling you this, but I’m not exactly very well liked at the opera house back home.”

“What? The woman who takes pleasure in verbal demolition isn’t well liked? Color me surprised!” Alastor's sarcastic tone clearly irritated Y/n by the look on her face.

“You know I can just get up and leave right?” Y/n made a halfhearted gesture to get up before Alastor stretched his hand out, motioning for her to stay seated,

“In all seriousness, you - and I don’t even know why I’m telling you this- are rather pleasant company when you aren't on some vitriolic quest for revenge.”

“A genuine complement? Well now I'm surprise colored!” Y/n put her hand up to her chest in mock shock.

“Alright, alright I deserve that.”

As Alastor spoke his regular coffee order and some waters were dropped off at the table along with menus.

“Truely though, you can’t tell me that everyone one of your colleagues is dull enough not to enjoy your company.”

Y/n looked at the menu in her hand, fidgeting with it while slightly curled in on herself.

‘So, there is a chink in the armor after all’ Alastor pondered.

“Y/n?” Alastor's voice was low, just a hint of concern laced in it if you were a keen enough listener

“it's not that per say, its more I don't have time for them.”

Alastor's brows raised, a nod encouraging her to keep going.

“Music has been my whole life as long as I can remember. For Christ's sake I knew how to read and write sheet music before I knew how to read and write my name properly. Finding time to make acquittances was never really a priority for me.”

Y/n’s fidgeting had moved from the menu to her glass. Holding it in both hands she looked down into it, avoiding eye contract.

“Analyzing people. Picking them apart to see what makes them tick I get. That’s easy. But actual connections that result in companionship? On that I am at a total loss.”

Y/n shook her shoulders a bit, returning as best she could to the cold mask that Alastor was realizing hid far more than he gave her credit for.

“Why do you want to know my silly problems anyway? Going to write an expose on how the Paramour’s new song bird has no friends?”

Alastor chuckled low, shaking his head. “No my dear, needless pot stirring is my colleague's department.”

Alastor said he wouldn’t pry but he just couldn’t stop this one little urge.

“It’s it so hard to believe that someone just wants to know you for you? That someone finds you interesting and wants to know more?”

Y/n fixed him once more with that doe-eyed expression, though this time it was much more somber. Like the doe-eyes themselves were a front to distract him not to look any further.

The tension was snapped as a waiter came by to take orders. After he left the subject shifted and conversation was light.

If Alastor were honest with himself, it was probably one of the best lunches he’d had in a long while.

The afternoon flew by, Alastor and Y/n walking about and talking. They weren’t going anywhere in particular, just walking for the sake of motion. The activity distracted Y/n from her hellish morning and Alastor welcomed the fresh air.

His request for a relaxing Sunday had been fulfilled after all.

All too soon Y/n had to be returned home and the facade of a modest two-story brick building came in to view.

“Thank you today Alastor, truly” Y/n spoke tenderly as they made their way up an exterior set of stairs to the apartment above. “Frankly I don’t want to think about how today would have gone if you weren’t here” Y/n turned to him on the landing, a soft smile curling onto her face.

Alastor bowed dramatically, “It was my pleasure Y/n” as he swung back up he noticed Y/n roll her eyes at his theatrics.

She then turned and the tumblers gave way to the key as she unlocked the door.

“Goodnight Alastor, I can’t believe I’m saying this but, I hope to see you again soon.”

Alastor smirked, leaning against the railing of the stairs smugly.

“Well, my dear you know what they say, speak of the devil”

Y/n looked at him from the open doorway, confused thoroughly written on her face.

“Americans” she huffed before heading inside.

Alastor stood there, slightly dumbfounded, slightly perturbed, slightly.... melancholic. He didn’t like where this Y/n situation was landing. She was getting too close to actually making an impression on him. He loathed her, couldn’t stand her and wouldn't have her. Then with a sudden flip of a mental switch now he’s suddenly pining on her stoop like some teenager?

This was going to require some serious thinking on his part.

As the thought crossed his mind, a curtain he hadn't noticed prior moved in the window. A delicate hand pressing a piece of lined paper up to the glass.

Rentrer chez soi

[barefoot-joker]

Highway Robbery Yandere!Striker X Reader

Hey, guys! Long time no read! Today I bring you Yandere!Striker from Helluva Boss! I really fell in love with his character and knew I had to write something for him. I hope I didn't make him to OOC and that you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Warnings: Swearing, Kidnapping, being held gunpoint (Reader), being robbed, being tied up (Reader)

Words: 2,796

I sighed as I fluffed up my dark blue vest. I was feeling a bit tired today, but still ready for the day nonetheless. The sunlight from the morning strobed through the beautiful stained glass windows and the smell of eggs and bacon permeated the kitchen air. Today was going to be a long one with the Goetia family as Stolas would be in meetings and Stella was visiting her brother. Taking the breakfast from its pan, I plated them on intricate blue laced porcelain plates. Satisfied, I grabbed all three and headed to the main dining room. At the head of the table sat the Prince himself, a newspaper open in his hands. Stella sat across from him on the rotary phone, her conversation very loud. Octavia sat in between them, her earbuds in to tune out the world. Going around the table I sat each plate down and then stood off to the side. Pringles came up beside me and read off each royal’s schedule for the day. When he finished he turned to me. “Y/n, I need you to pick up some packages that are ready. I have a set list of where you need to go.”

“Of course, Pringles. I’ll get on it straight away.”

He nodded and the two of us stood by our masters in case we were needed. When breakfast was finally cleared, I went to my room and grabbed my coat. It was quite lovely: a nice heavy dark blue cotton that reached my ankles, gold embellishments detailing celestial bodies across the lapels and upper back. It was a gift from Stolas when I first arrived at the Goetia estate nearly a decade ago. I put it on and exited to the lobby, seeing the Prince and Pringles chatting. They stopped upon seeing me and my fellow servant nodded in my direction. “Your list, my lady.”

He handed me the small piece of parchment and upon skimming through it I noticed most things were for Stella. Stolas was next to hold his hand, a small lumpy brown bag in his talons. “Some money in case things were not paid for.”

He gently sat the bag in my impish hands. “Thank you, Sire.”

I bowed and placed the bag into the pocket of my coat. Bidding the two goodbye, I headed out the door.

Most of my morning and afternoon were spent going into various shops and picking up the desired packages for the Goetia family. I had acquired a large bag full by the time I headed home. However, as I was walking I felt something wrap around my waist. Looking down I saw a lasso and before I could do anything I was tugged into an alleyway. My head slammed against the brick building behind me and I felt the cold tip of a gun against my temple. Looking up in fright, I saw a light red cowboy imp snarling in my direction. His long tail kept flicking back and forth as he dug the weapon into my skin. “Well, well, well. Look what we have ‘ere. Yer far from home aren’t ya, little Goetia peasant.”

I trembled and the rope around my waist felt like it was going tighter. “W-what do you want?”

He smirked, his golden tooth glinting in the light. “I’ve been watchin’ ya all day, just waitin’ for the right moment to strike. Yer masters need their feathers ruffled so give me all ya got!”

Before I could question what he wanted, he attempted to tug the bag from my hands. I gripped tight and tried to hold it back. Within the struggle the bag ripped and everything dumped out. I gasped and the safety of the gun clicked off. “Pick. It. Up. Darlin’.”

The rope around my waist disappeared and I fell to my knees. My arms trembled as I picked everything up and handed it to him. He threw everything into a knapsack hanging off his shoulder before his yellow eyes stared back down at me. “Ya know, that jacket of yours would fetch a pretty price. Give it.”

I sighed but shakily took it off and handed it to the imp. His eyes scanned me once more before they stopped on the silver chain dangling from my neck. “Tryin’ to hide something valuable, princess? I don’t think so!”

He aimed the black gun at my neck and tapped my necklace with the tip. I gasped and clutched it in my hand. “I-I can’t! You can have everything but that! I-It was a gift from a friend!”

“Save the fuckin’ sob story. Hand it over.”

“No!”

He growled, slapped my hand away, and tugged. I gasped when I heard the chain snap and watched as he twirled the locket in his claws. He gave a chuckle as he opened the heart charm when suddenly his face fell. I could swear his face went paler than it already was. His eyes flicked back up to me and roamed my face, his Adam's apple bobbing from his gulp. Suddenly his gun came up and smacked my temple, throwing me to the ground in pain. I grunted and watched my perpetrator run off. Oh Lucifer, what was I going to tell Stolas?

I sighed in defeat and stood, dusting myself off. Silently I made my way back to the Goetia estate.

When I entered the foyer, I did my best to creep past Stolas’ office. However, he looked up and caught me. “Ah, Y/n! You’re back!”

He stood and made his way out the door to me. A smile graced his beak but it fell when he saw the state of me. My hair had become messed up from my fall and there was most likely a bruise forming from where the imp smacked my temple. “Y/n, oh my stars! Are you alright? What happened?!”

He knelt down and lightly brushed his talons across my forehead. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. On my way back I was robbed. An imp held me at gunpoint and took everything. I’m so sorry!”

I started to cry and held my hands up to my eyes. Stolas placed his hands on my shoulders to try and soothe me. “There, there. Everything will be fine.”

“But won’t Stella be mad? There was some expensive stuff he took.”

“No matter. All I care about is that you’re alright. Here, let’s get some ice to tend to that bruise.”

The Prince took me to the kitchen and had me sit as he went to the freezer. He placed some ice into a plastic bag and had me hold it to my temple. “I’m so sorry, Sire. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“It’s no problem at all, Y/n. I’m just glad all you got was a knock on the head. How about you take it easy and I’ll have Pringles get dinner ready.”

“I can help too, your Highness!”

“No please, I insist.”

I sighed. I never understood why Stolas was so nice to me. “Thank you, Sire.”

He nodded and left me to my devices. 

A few mornings later, I got dressed in my white dress shirt, blue vest and black pants. As I was tying my black bowtie I couldn’t help rub the area where my necklace used to be. It really was sentimental. It was basically a promise ring that my friend could afford at the time. With it gone I felt naked. A knock on my door made me get out of my thoughts. “Come in.”

The door opened to reveal Pringles. “Y/n, are you almost ready? His Highness is ready for you to take him to the Harvest Moon Festival.”

“I’ll be done in just a minute, sir.”

He nodded and headed off. I quickly tied my bowtie and made my way to the lobby where my boss stood waiting. “Ah Y/n, how are we feeling today? That bruise is not bothering you too much is it?”

Over the next few days my temple had gotten a sick purple and blue bruise. I was sort of used to it due to Stella’s tantrums but this one stung more. “It’s alright. How are we doing today, Sire?”

“Nervous. I heard my dearest Blitzy will be at the ceremony today and I don’t want to mess up in front of him.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, your Highness. Shall we go?”

He nodded and he teleported us to the Wrath ring. As soon as we got there a crowd had already formed around the stage. I walked behind my master and he gave his little speech. As I scanned the crowd, I froze. Standing next to Blitz was the imp that robbed me, a smug look on his face. I couldn’t believe it. Why the hell was he here? The cowboy spotted me and gave me a tip of his hat. I backed up a bit and as soon as Stolas was done I quickly followed him to his private booth. 

The festival went off without a hitch. Stolas was making heart eyes and swooning everytime Blitz was caught in action. As I watched I couldn’t help but notice the cowboy keep his eyes on me when he could. It almost seemed like he was trying to impress me. Soon it was time for Stolas to announce the winners. The two of us went to the stage and the owl cleared his throat. “As for the winners we have in first place, Striker! And in second place, my darling Blitzy!~”

The two came on stage and I could finally put a name to the face. I didn’t dare to look at him, the flashbacks of the gun on his hip attached to my forehead to vivid. The rest kind of went in a blur. I stood by my master’s side as he greeted each of the imps and chatted. It was only a few minutes into the meet and greet I noticed Blitz and his friends missing. I knew Stolas was wanting to talk to his secret lover so I went to look for him. My legs brought me to a house and I couldn’t help but hear the commotion upstairs. I forced myself up the steps and couldn’t help the gasp that escaped my throat. On the floor lay an unconscious male and female imp, Blitz leaning against the bed with his hand on his arm, and Striker holding a rifle out the window. My eyes widened when I realized that the gun was pointed at Stolas.

I rushed in and attempted to tackle the cowboy, but his tail threw me against the wall. “Well look who decided to join us. If it isn’t little Y/n.”

How did he know my name?

I growled and attempted to stand, but his tail trapped me. “Ya know, I wasn’t expectin’ to see yer face again, but hey, I won’t say no to seein’ yer pretty eyes.”

“Fuck you! If you think your flirting will make me forget your robbery and the fact that you were trying to kill my employer, you’re dead wrong!”

I thrashed against his hold but he just laughed. “Who knew ya could be so feisty! I love it.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Blitz stand before he side tackled Striker to the ground. The rifle went flying to the floor and as the two struggled, I grabbed it. I aimed it right at the nasty little cowboy. He threw Blitz off of him and stood, fluffing his jacket. “Now darlin’, how about ya just hand that gun on over.”

“Listen, fucker. I don’t know who you think you are but I never want to see you again. You come near his Highness and I swear to Lucifer I will kill you!”

He glanced from me to the rifle, his mind seemed to be made up. “Alrighty, sugar. Ya win. I’ll go, but don’t think this is the last time we see each other.”

With that he ran towards the window and hopped out. I dropped the rifle and helped Blitz pick up his friends, us returning to Stolas. We explained the situation and we thought it best to leave. The owl prince apologized to the crowd for leaving so soon and with that we were off.

The rest of the month went by as it usually would. Striker was nowhere to be seen which was good and life at the palace was steady. It was the start of the next month and nightfall had hit. Everyone was already asleep and I had just put on my baggy t-shirt and shorts. I was just about to crawl into bed when I felt a shiver run down my spine. Something felt off. I looked around my room when suddenly a hand wormed its way around my mouth. I tried to scream and fight my assailant but they held me tight and close. “Shh, shh, darlin’. Don’t fight. We’re goin’ somewhere safe, I promise ya. Just close those pretty eyes fer me.”

I couldn’t breathe, I could hardly move. Eventually I succumbed to the darkness.

When I woke up it was slow. I could feel I was lying on something and my arms were slightly lifted. I groaned and looked over to see Striker sitting in a chair nearby. “Yer finally awake! Took ya long enough.”

I tugged on my arms to sit up but they just stayed put. Looking up I saw they were tied to the bedposts. I kept tugging like the rope would give way and that just made Striker laugh. “Strugglin’ ain’t gonna help, sweetheart. I’m an expert at tying knots.”

He gave a wink and I scoffed. “Why am I even here? You got what you wanted when you robbed me blind. What more could I possibly give you?!”

“Do ya really not recognize me, Y/n?”

Striker stood and took off his hat, his white bangs flopping into his eyes. I shook my head. Suddenly something shiny was thrusted into my face and after staring at it for a few minutes I realized it was my necklace. The heart charm was open to reveal a picture of me and my childhood friend Benjamin from when we were kids. My eyes glanced between the photo and Striker and finally I understood.

Striker was Benjamin.

“B-Ben?”

“That’s right, babydoll. Yer best friend is back.”

“B-But I thought you were killed in the extermination! I, I-”

“I almost was but I escaped with an inch of my life. Holy bullets are helpful sometimes, ya know.”

I couldn’t believe it. It had been ten years since I had last seen my best friend. We had gotten separated when the extermination hit Hell and since then I believed him to be dead. “I wasn’t expecting to see ya that day. I probably would have killed ya but I recognized ya as soon as I saw yer necklace. I can’t believe ya kept it all these years.”

“How could I throw away the only piece of my best friend away? Dammit Benjamin, why didn’t you come find me?”

He growled and slammed his hands on either side of my head. “I did! I went to the orphanage in Wrath and they told me that the Goetias picked you up! The fuckin’ Goetias! Why would ya go with them after everything I told ya?!”

“Because I lost hope, that’s why! I thought I had lost my best friend and I knew it was only time before they killed me! I had no choice!”

He let out a rattlesnake hiss and backed away, his eyes full of venom. “How could ya lose hope? I promised I’d always come fer ya, didn’t I? That’s what the fuckin’ jewelry was for! To show my devotion and love fer ya!”

I paused. “L-love?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his snout. “Yes, pumpkin. Love. I was gonna confess but the damn extermination got in the way and the rest is history.”

He glanced up at me before sitting by my side, his tail coming up to caress my cheek. “But now that I have ya, I’m never lettin’ go. Yer never goin’ back to those pompous asses. I won’t allow them to take away everything I cherish again.”

His hands were quick to grab my legs in a death grip. “B-Ben, you’re scaring me.”

“It’s not Ben anymore. It’s Striker.”

He held up my locket and I watched as it twirled in the moonlight of the motel room. “When I gave this to ya I made a promise. And now I’m comin’ to collect. I am a bounty hunter after all.”

With that he leaned forward, and our lips were intertwined.