#nearly killing a man for coming after one of his kids

[tbcanary]

2023 reading list: Green Arrow: The Sound of Violence (2023)

"I was just listening to my favorite sound in the whole world." "Which is?" "Y'know. The sound of family."

(ID under the cut.)

ID: Four animated gifs and two still edited panels from Green Arrow (2001).

1: Connor Hawke and Oliver Queen, both in their respective Green Arrow costumes with quivers and bows at the ready, stand in front of the Star City skyline. The city is cast in faint greens and blues.

2: Mia Dearden approaches Oliver on a rooftop, where he sits with his legs hanging over the edge. A narration bubble reads, "I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, kiddo." Mia slowly fades away to reveal empty sky.

3: Oliver, heavily desaturated and cast in shadow, in front of a blue background. About half of his face is visible. White text reads, "If he dies, so do you." The text is repeated at decreasing opacity across the background.

4: Onomatopoeia, a villain with a black mask and a blue design resembling a bullseye, stands in front of a purple sky. He says, "Blam." Then he fires his gun, lighting everything in bright whites and yellows as a sound effect reads "Blam!" to mimic his speech. As his gun smokes and the light fades, he says, "Onomatopoeia."

5: Dinah Lance, dressed as Black Canary, hugs Oliver from behind. The background is faded images of Oliver fighting people. Narration scrolls over the image. "Now I just..." / "...want..." / "Blood." The "Blood" bubble then shifts to be white text on a dark red background.

6: Onomatopoeia, silhouetted in blue, falls from a great height into a replica of his own mask. He slowly disappears into the black.

/End ID.

[honeyhotteoks]

an innocent man doesn't stand a chance (j.yh)

summary: it's halloween and your boyfriend has a fantasy. he wants to be the masked killer and for you to be the final girl, and he wants you to run.

note: this was written in a feverish haze of ghostface yunho brainrot, you can thank this fanart and this edit for making this one about yunho, but i have to give all credit for the idea to the nsfw audio creator augustinthewinter who's masked hookup audio killed me. also please read the warnings, this one is potentially very triggering.

warnings: ghostface!yunho x final girl!reader, boyfriend!yunho, hard dom!yunho, girlfriend!reader, sub!reader, sadism, masochism, knife play, primal play/chasing, threats of violence, heavy cnc that really looks like noncon because part of the play is that he wants her to struggle and say no BUT there are consent checks explicit throughout, rough sex, fingering, gloves, masks, breath play, impact play, mirrors, finger sucking don't look at me, dry humping, clothed sex, ripping off clothes, size kink, ass play, lots and lots of degredation including use of sl*t/wh*re/fvcktoy/c*cksleeve, yunho is seriously mean in this i'm not kidding, fear, forced orgasm, orgasm denial, creampie, subspace, there's more i'm sure but this one is a doozy. also lots and lots of aftercare!! after a scene like this i had to write detailed aftercare and confirmation of limits, so that's there too! yunho is v sweet when not in the zone.

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: smut and more smut, no plot in sight

word count: 7.9k

The party is in full swing when you arrive. The house bumping with music and every corner decorated for Halloween. You’re late enough that you can just slip in through the back door, and that was the plan from the start. Yunho arrived first, nearly two hours ago, and made excuses for why you were late, for how you might not even make it to the party. No one would see either of you come or go together, so when you both disappeared to play your game no one would ever know. You had come up with the plan in bed, whispered fantasies and what-ifs between the sheets as he rewarded your willingness to try something new with his tongue. 

His fantasy is special, and to do it right you can really only do it on Halloween night. 

You weave through a throng of drunk acquaintances, searching the crowd for him, but it’s not as easy to find him as you thought it would be. You’re not sure how a six foot something Ghostface killer could hide from you in the crowd of your friend’s house party, but no matter how many rooms you check you can’t see him. Nervousness pits inside you as you check your phone and see nothing. He could be caught up with friends, he could be changing his mind, but you can’t tell if you can’t find him. 

Adjusting your very 90s costume, you dart away from the kitchen where a group of your girlfriends are pouring shots and weave your way into the back of the house. Maybe you can call him? Text him? Would that completely ruin the mood of psycho killer stalking? Maybe, but it’s been forty-five minutes and you haven’t so much as seen a sliver of his mask. 

You flick through your phone, checking for any new messages, and then scroll to find Yunho’s contact card in your phone. Your finger hovers over the call button as you lean against the quiet hallway wall, and then in your peripheral vision you see it. 

A dart of black, something looming, and when you finally turn your head, you see him. Ghostface, standing wide and imposing in the hall, blocking any way past him and back out into the party. 

“Spooky,” You sigh, tucking your phone away. 

Silently, Ghostface nods his head. 

The hair on the back of your arms stands up. This is it. 

“What? Are you looking for the bathroom or something?” You take a step or two towards him, leaning into the character you dressed for. 

He shakes his head. 

“Looking for me?” You bite the inside of your lip to keep from smiling. 

Slowly, he nods. 

“Mm,” You raise a brow at him, “what’s the line from that movie? You wanna play psycho killer?” 

His head tilts slightly to the side and he nods once again. 

“And who do I play?” 

He takes a step towards you and you fade back. 

Fear starts to spread through you, even with it all being pretend, you can’t fight the feeling that your subconscious drums up in your gut. 

He takes another step, and then another, and then you’re running. 

Spinning on your heel you push deeper into the house, away from the party and towards a line of doors down the hall. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, your stomach a bundle of nervous trembling knots, and your hands are so slick with sweat you can barely grab the door handle of the basement. It’s not as easy to run as it looks in the movies, especially not in a tight skirt and penny loafers, and you skid down the basement stairs taking them two at a time until you slip forwards and crash down onto your hands and knees. 

You don’t have time to assess the sudden sharp pain as the skin of your palm drags over the concrete floor though, so you scramble up in a flash and in a panic you weave your way deeper into the basement. 

It’s familiar enough to you, your best friend’s parent’s place. You know there’s a tiny half bathroom in the far back corner, a rarely used guest bed against one wall as you descend the stairs, a collection of old video games and movies, and then around the corner to the left more and more basement, more storage, more dusty nooks and crannies to hide. You’re frozen for a split second, trying to decide the best place to go where he won’t find you, but heavy footfalls on the stairs ring in your ears like drum beats and you don’t have time to weigh your options. 

You take off towards the bathroom, fumbling with the door again when you reach it. 

The masked man behind you doesn’t say anything, but you hear him moving. His feet are sure and quick, the heavy fabric of his robes making a whooshing sound as he darts forwards to try and close the space between your bodies. 

A panicked sound leaves your mouth as you tumble into the sink, clocking your hip hard on the porcelain and bracing yourself on the wall. Turning you reach back for the door, if you just get it latched maybe you can give yourself a second to think, to shimmy out of the very small, high set window. Pushing yourself into action you grab the door, he’s so close you can hear his breath, seconds away. Seconds away. 

The door stops abruptly as you throw your body against it, six inches from closing. You push again, but it doesn’t budge, and when you look down it’s clear you’ve lost this game. His heavy black boot is firmly set in the door’s path, and you know there’s no chance for escape. 

He crowds you instantly, leaving you no time to recover, his body pushing into the cramped space of the bathroom and flinging the door backwards into the adjacent wall. You stumble into the sink and he moves right up against you, the firm length of his body pinning yours in place. 

For a moment everything is still, completely and shudderingly still with only the sound of your hitched breathing and thundering heart filling the room. You’re not sure what you should do - beg? Plead? Stay silent and let him do what he wants? 

The masked man’s head tilts to the side as if he’s observing you, something you can’t tell through the ghostly plastic of his mask and dead black eyes. You’re trembling for real, hands shaking as they grip the cool porcelain. Ghostface leans into you, one of his gloved hands reaching for your face, a soft brush against your chin at first that turns to pressure as his fingers slide up your jaw to push you face to the side. It’s like he’s studying you, his hand slipping lower and dragging down your throat. 

Your breath comes faster, stomach tight. 

Ghostface closes his hand around your throat and your eyes widen. He holds you like this for a moment, his other hand locking down over your waist and gripping you tight, pinning you in place. 

When he squeezes, panic bubbles through your body. 

Yunho’s never choked you before. He’s never even suggested it, despite all your little jokes about how nice his hands would look around your neck. It seemed pretty clear to you that within the bounds of your relationship that was one thing he just wasn’t interested in, but whoever has you in the bathroom knows exactly how to hold your throat and where to press. Part of the fun is not knowing who’s beneath the mask, but your body still locks up, and an anxious voice inside you starts to wonder - what if? It’s not as if Ghostface is that rare of a costume choice, you see dozens of them on the street every year. It’s not inconceivable to think that at this party there would be more than one. 

Your heart beats in fluttering fits and starts in your ribcage as your mind turns over this possibility, and then he squeezes. The fight comes back into you full force when you hear him sigh, his hand tightening even more and cutting off your airway. You wriggle in his arms, pushing against his chest and trying to use your hips for leverage, a startled whine ripping from your throat, but fear laces through your body as you shove against him and realize just how immovable he is. 

Ghostface releases your throat, the same gloved hand slipping into the back of your hair to hold you steady. 

“No!” The word tumbles out of your mouth as soon as you can properly make noise again. 

He crowds you more, masked face dipping by your ear, “Shh, shh,” 

You freeze. 

“Safe word?” Yunho’s voice is a balm in your moment of sudden panic, his tone low and hushed. 

“T-treasure,” You manage it, the realization coming back into your body that this isn’t a total and complete stranger, it’s still him. Your fear starts to melt into anticipation. 

He gives you a squeeze, just one gentle pulse with his hand on your hip to communicate that he’s heard you, “Color?” 

You take a second to assess yourself. This game is intense in a way that you’ve never experienced. Yunho had tried to tell you how your body might react to this kind of manufactured fear, how it would play tricks on you, how even if you knew it was him your body would still have the urge to fight and flee. You knew it, but you didn’t really understand it until this moment. 

Yunho’s gloved thumb drags lovingly over your cheek for just a moment, “Color?” 

If he has to ask you a third time he’ll end the scene, you know he will, but the brief flicker of tenderness in his touch reminds you of everything you already know about him. He has you. You’re safe. This is a game. 

“Green,” You finally answer, “I’m green,” 

One more quick pulse to your hip, he’s heard you again. More than that, he’s pleased with you. 

His shoulders straighten as he draws to his full height, his body filling the space of the tiny bathroom and caging you in. You swallow tightly, audible in your ears and then he moves fast. 

His hands around your waist, lifting you up and then shoving you back until you’re sitting on the lip of the porcelain sink, uncomfortably balanced and pushed back flush to the mirrored wall behind you. You yelp when he moves you, hands scrambling for purchase on something, gripping the sleeve of his black cape in desperation. Fear and anticipation pulse through you, but he doesn’t give you a rest to get your bearings. 

He shoves your legs open wide and slots between your thighs and shoves your face to the side until your cheek is squished against the cold mirror, his hand a controlling brace from your jaw to the crown of your head. 

“You look so pretty running from me,” He strokes your face, but this time it’s not loving, it's possessive, it’s pure control. 

You grip the edge of the sink and whimper. 

“Should we play a little game?” He teases, “It’s Halloween, you must like scary movies,” 

Your breath quickens, “Y-yeah,” 

He drops his voice low, in a mimic of the movie, “What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

You’ve heard Yunho do that voice before, lazing on the couch last October when you had yourselves a movie marathon, the day he realized something about your favorite scary movie that turned you on, the day you called him out for being hard during a kill scene. It took a year for you both to work up the courage to actually act on any of those fantasies, but here and now with his mask on and his voice low, you feel that mix of terror and arousal bleeding through your body in a way only he can elicit from you. 

You can’t help the little smile that passes over your lips, “Scream,” 

“Meta,” He teases, pinching you hard on the thigh,  “for every question you get wrong, I’m taking something off you,” 

You swallow hard again. 

He reaches into his black robes and then you see it, shining in the reflection of the mirror and in your hazy peripheral vision. The glint of a real knife is unmistakable, the cool sharp edge of the steel crystal clear and you can’t stop the actual fear that jolts through you. You jerk in his hold, instinct driving you for a split second, and he pushes your face harder into the mirror. 

“Tch,” He makes a disappointed noise with his tongue against his teeth, “the game’s no fun if you don’t play.” 

He won’t hurt you, at least not in ways you don’t already like. You have to trust that. 

Settling yourself with a slow breath you summon the act he wants, find the fear within yourself and let it inform your words to give him what he wants. 

“Please, don’t,” You’re trembling is real, that you know. 

He shifts between your legs, drawing the knife closer, shifting it in his hand so he simply presses the cool flat side of the blade against one of your nipples. You hiss at the sensation, tightness building in your gut. 

“First question,” He drags the knife a little over your nipple, “What movie franchise is Jason from?” 

It’s an actual quiz, of course it is. At least he’s starting off easy. 

“Friday the Thirteenth,” You reply fast. 

“Correct,” He lifts the knife, and with the blade pointed away from you, he pushes up your tight tshirt until it’s bunched above your breasts. 

“I got that right,” You glance down at the way he’s touching you, breaking his own rules already. 

“Just getting a better view,” He insists, and then the cool knife is against your nipple again, only the thin fabric of your bralette between skin and steel. 

Your body is aching in this position, but you can feel the heat off his body, and the heady tone of his voice from under the mask still has you starting to ache in different places. 

“Let’s make this a little harder,” He taps the knife against you and you shiver, “what movie has a group of teenagers being stalked on an island by a killer fisherman?” 

“It’s,” You start to answer but he taps the knife again and you jolt, “fuck, it’s I Know What You Did Last Summer,” 

You watched it with him two weeks ago. You remember it, clear as day. 

“Wrong,” The knife twists, the tip gently skating over the swell of your breast. 

“Wait,” You start but he tips the knife under the center of your bra. 

“I Still Know What You Did Last Summer,” He clarifies the sequel, “they weren’t on an island in the first movie. I thought you liked scary movies,” 

“I,” You press back into the wall as the knife edge kisses your skin, “I… I do,” 

“You’re not very good at this,” He twists the knife and drags the sharp edge out so that it severs your thin bra in half, falling open and revealing your breasts to his wandering eyes. 

A little gasping sound leaves your lips, a desperate noise you try to bite back, but he hears it. 

He hums a soft, amused laugh and suddenly the knife is gone, sheathed and away and he leans into your space again, “You fucking like this, don’t you?” 

“No,” You insist, despite the way your stomach is in tight knots. 

“Did running away get you hot?” His gloved hand skims over your exposed body, “Do psycho killers make you wet?” 

“Fuck,” You whine, “no, no,” 

“Liar,” He whispers, and then he delivers a pointed slap to your thigh, “spread.” 

Your legs widen instinctively at his command, but he doesn’t reward you or praise you like he normally would, this is different. He reaches under the hem of your taut mini skirt, finding the apex of your thighs, and his fingers gently rub up and down from the base of your slit to your clit. A tiny gasp bubbles out of your throat. 

“Are you afraid?” He all but growls. 

Your stomach flips and his hand tightens in your hair, “Y-yes,” 

“Tell me you don’t want this,” He finds the edge of your panties and drags them to one side. 

“I don’t want it,” You answer him, body shaking now. 

“Tell me to stop,” One gloved finger presses into your entrance, the softness of the leather and the warmth of his skin beneath it making you tremble. 

“Stop,” You beg, “please, please, stop,” 

“Why would I?” He slowly pushes inside, stretching you around his finger, “When I know how wet being fucked by a stranger in a mask makes you,” 

A tense thready sound pulls from your throat as he adds a second finger. 

“If you don’t want this,” He pulses his hand once, forcing both fingers deep into your slick channel, “why are you panting like a dog in heat?” 

“N-no,” 

“If you don’t want it,” He whispers, “don’t come.” 

Your eyes shut as his hand starts moving, a steady pulse of his gloved fingers inside your aching cunt, curled just right in the way he knows gets you off fast. A pumping drag against your g-spot, the sound of his heavy breath, the unmistakable sensation of your own wetness making a mess between  your thighs. 

“Looks like you want it to me,” He adds the circle of his thumb against your clit and you jerk in his hold. 

“Stop, fuck,” Your nails dig into his forearm. 

“You don’t want me touching you, but you’re soaking my fingers,” 

“N..No, no,” You babble, heat pooling in your gut. 

“Fight it,” He pumps his fingers faster, drumming against your sweet spot, “don’t come,” 

You hiss sharply, pleasure dropping low in your belly, the sensation of his gloves and his hot hand too much to bear. 

“Moaning like you want it,” He laughs, pulling his hand suddenly out from under your skirt and yanking your head back to center. 

You yelp at the position change and the sudden lack of contact but he doesn’t make you wait for long. 

“Open,” He smacks your cheek lightly. 

Your mouth falls open and he shoves both gloved fingers between your lips. You choke against the suddenness, at the way he presses down on your tongue, blinking to clear the haze from your eyes. 

“Suck.” 

You shiver, your lips closing over his digits, the sharp taste of leather mixed with your fluids assaulting your senses and you can’t fight the moan, the way your eyes drift shut as you swirl your tongue. 

He hums, pleased, “Does it hurt?” He asks. 

His question doesn’t make sense, and you blink your eyes back open to look up at the cool passiveness of his ghostly mask. 

“Pretending you’re not a whore?” He clarifies and your mouth stills over his fingers. He pulls them out, delivering one more pointed slap to your cheek, and dives back down to plunge them back into your aching cunt, “Moaning like that, your nipples rock hard, and this pussy,” 

You choke, a bubble building in your core as he abuses your slick channel again. 

“Clenching around my fingers, sucking me in,” He chuckles, “I can feel you, baby,” 

“Fuck, fuck,” 

“Hold back,” He doubles his efforts between your thighs and you keen, “if you don’t want it, tell me to stop, don’t come,” 

“Stop!” You whine, giving him exactly what he wants, “Please, please,” 

“No,” His thumb rubs fast, his hand practiced at making you fall apart at the seams, “you come, you keep your eyes open, and you come all over my fucking hand,” 

Your breath is fast, heart pounding, and you feel the cord tightening in your belly in a way that makes you want to rub yourself back up into his touch but he has you pinned, stuck, at his mercy just like he wants. 

“Come,” His voice is clear, authoritative, and familiar. Like a trained response, your body releases and cracks open into a desperate orgasm, crumbling in his hands as you pitch forward onto his shoulder and grind your hips down to take the last little bit of what you need from his fingers. 

When his hand stills, you realize you’re still clinging to him and you jerk back, one hand over your mouth as you try to recover your breath. 

He steps back, his hands sliding off you and body slotting out from your thighs. You can’t see Yunho beneath the mask, but you know he’s looking. You can feel his hot gaze sliding over your body and taking in every wet and shaking inch of you. Your body is throbbing with need, but the game isn’t done, he hasn’t even made you touch his cock yet, and you know there’s no way you’re making it out of this basement without that. 

“Tell me again how you don’t like it,” He finally says. 

You shiver. 

“Cat got your slutty little tongue?” He prompts you again, voice hardening. 

You swallow hard, finding your words, “I didn’t like it,” 

“Mhm,” 

“I d-don’t want you to touch me,” You lie. 

“Yeah?” He teases, “Well then run,” 

“W-what?” Your eyes flick up to the impassive plastic of his mask. 

“If you didn’t like it, why are you still sitting there?” He takes a step to the side, clearing your path to the door and you slide off the edge of the sink, your loafers making a click onto the tile floor. 

You swallow hard, eyes darting out to the rest of the basement. 

“Come on,” He teases, and you can hear the sick smile in his voice, “try to get away,” 

You look between him and the room ahead of you again.

He leans forward and you shiver, his gaunt stretched mouth at your ear again, “I can’t fuck you if I can’t catch you,” his gloved fingers yank your top down over your exposed breasts and he chuckles, “better run fast.” 

You spring forwards, adrenaline pumping through your body and blood rushing in your ears. Leaping out of the bathroom he gives you a couple steps to get a head start, but he’s so much bigger than you, his stride so much longer, and he closes the distance with ease as you scramble in mock terror to get to the steps. 

Yunho’s arms close around you, hauling you up off your feet and against his chest, his touch rough and probing as he drags you up into the air. 

“No!” You shriek, “Fuck!”

“You think I’d really let you go?” He laughs, “After that?” 

“Fuck you!” The words bubble up out of your mouth. 

“That’s the idea,” His hand slides down your belly, closing over your cunt and cupping you tightly. 

Your body is reacting before your mind, and you jerk in his hold, kicking back your leg and catching him in the shin with the flat heel of your shoe. 

He groans and wrenches you higher in the air, “Keep struggling,” he pants, “I like it,” 

You twist again, trying to free one of your arms, but he has them pinned tightly to your body, “Get the fuck off me!”

“Not a fucking chance,” He takes two wide steps to the mattress and then tosses you down. 

You collapse onto the bed, the old and rarely used springs creaking under your weight, and your scramble forwards in some kind of an attempt to get your bearings, but he’s on you just as fast. He yanks you back with a hand around your ankle and in a flash he’s on top of you. 

He presses one hand firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned face down to the bed, and then his body weight drops down as he straddles the backs of your thighs. Your hands curl into the bedding beneath you, rough sheets and scratchy camp blankets, nothing soft and soothing to take a moment of comfort in. 

His free hand wanders, searching your body slowly. The sound of the party raging upstairs drowns out any competing noise, but you can still hear his heavy breath against the mask and your pounding heart, the sound of anticipation thick in the air around you. 

Yunho presses his hips forwards and you feel the thick hard length of his cock through his costume nestled against your backside. 

“Look at you,” He palms your ass, “shaking for me,” 

A whimper leaves you as his fingers dig into your back. 

“Do I scare you, baby?” He delivers a harsh slap to the back of your thighs and you yelp, “Are you fucking terrified?” 

Another slap leaves you trembling and you hide your face in the mattress, pressing your eyes shut tight. You love when he touches you like this and he knows it. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from whining, wetness pooling in your core. He wanted you scared, he wanted you fighting, you can’t give in just because his glove on your stinging skin feels like sin. 

He groans, his cock pressing down harder to your ass and you feel both his hands slide from your hips up to your back and back down again until he has a grip on your waist. 

A whimper slips out from between your lips.  

Yunho freezes above you, his thumbs massaging a quick circle into your lower back, “Color?” 

“Green!” Your voice is muffled by the bedding but you know he heard it. 

He groans, pulsing his hips to rut his cock against you again. 

Even between layers of fabric, you can feel the heat of him, throbbing and ready for you. Your mouth waters as you picture it, cockhead leaking precum and Yunho’s familiar hand wrapped around the base as he directs it to your mouth. 

“Little slut,” He chuckles and it pulls you straight out of your mental fantasy, “rubbing that ass on a stranger’s cock,” 

Your stomach clenches, and you twitch under him. 

“That’s fucked up,” He drops his body weight over you, one hand pushing your head to the side as he leans over you, “you’re so fucked up, aren’t you?” 

Your breathing is fast, a thready sound in your throat. 

“Aren’t you?” His voice is low, a shade away from a growl, and he rocks his hips again to rub his cock against you. 

“N-no,” You try to shake your head but his hand tightens against your scalp. 

“Liar,” He keeps grinding against you, his free hand snaking underneath your bodies to grope your breast, “I know a needy whore when I see one,” 

You moan into the sheets as he tweaks your nipple, tears springing to your eyes as he palms you, taking you apart with every touch. 

“Let’s see how you like this,” He pinches your nipple once more and you squeal at the sharp sensation that rockets through your chest, a sharp line down to your clit, and then he slides back and shuffles back to sit up over your thighs. 

He pushes the stiff fabric of your mini skirt up over your ass and then you feel the cold metal again. 

You jerk underneath him, and he tuts softly, the sharp edge of the weapon gently dragging over the curve of your ass cheek. 

“Tell me,” He grips your flesh tightly with one hand, painfully pinching, “do you still like scary movies now that you’re in one?” 

You shake your head, a whimper on your lips when the knife slips under the edge of your panties, “P-please, don’t,” 

He yanks the knife up and splits one side of your panties with a taut snap of fabric, “Please?” He taunts, “Please?”

You sob softly in response. 

“Is ‘please’ all you can say?” He delivers a sharp smack to your exposed ass check and you jerk under him. 

“I can’t,” You shake your head into the sheets, “I can’t,” 

He sighs, and you feel the knife shred the other side of your underwear and then you hear the sound of the blade clattering to the floor. With both hands free he palms your exposed flesh, squeezing you almost painfully and inspecting your exposed body. 

Shivers run through you, and you try to hold yourself still for his touches. 

“Which hole should I fuck first, hmm?” His fingers search you, probe you. 

Your body locks up tightly, a gasp on your lips. You hadn’t discussed that, and you shake your head. 

“Scared?” He ghosts his fingers over your rim. 

“Please,” It’s all you can manage. 

“Beg me,” He presses down with his thumb, “beg me not to fuck your ass if you’re so scared.” 

You scramble in the sheets but he has you stuck, “Please don’t, don’t fuck me like t-that, you’re too big, it’s too,” 

He massages one cheek and hums, “What should I do then?” 

“What?” You crane to look back at him, at the masked man pinning you down. 

“Beg,” He says it like he’s bored, like it’s obvious, “beg me to put it somewhere else, or I will fuck this pretty ass open and make you say thank you.” 

Heat floods your belly, your body a sizzling live wire, and you fall right into step with a heady whine, “Please, fuck my pussy,��� 

“Again,” 

“Fuck my pussy, please, I’m begging you,” Your voice sounds needy and strange even to your own ears, “I need it inside me, g-give it to me please, fuck my pussy, please,” 

“Better,” His hands disappear into his robed costume and then he pushes forwards, his cock finally free and sliding up and down your slit to find your aching entrance. 

“Y-yes,” You drop your head back down to the bed and in one sharp thrust, he pushes his thick length all the way inside you until his hips are flush with your ass. 

Yunho groans, bracing himself with one hand on the back of your neck and the other on the bed beside you, the mattress creaking with every shift, “Needy pussy,” 

“Fuck,” You moan. 

“Greedy,” He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, starting to pick up the pace now in earnest, “gripping my fucking cock like that,” 

All you can do is hold on, bite down on the sheets and let him use you, focus on the sensation of his impossibly hard cock driving in and out and in and out. 

“Are you crying for me? Hmm?” He rolls his hips, the fabric of his costume dragging against you as he fucks into you faster. 

Your eyes are wet, pleasured tears bubbling up and you nod, a tiny sob passing through your lips. 

“Good cocksleeve,” He presses down harder with his hand on your neck, forcing you lower into the mattress. 

Your back arches instinctively, and you whine at the angle change. A few more thrusts and you’ll be done for, you know it. 

“That’s it,” He pants, voice muffled by the mask, “come for me,” 

“C-close,” The words tumble out. 

“Come for me,” He stays steady with his thrusts, pushing your orgasm closer and closer, “come for me, come for me,” 

“Ah!” You fist the sheets, legs starting to shake, “Ah, fuck, fuck!”

“Come on this stranger’s fucking cock,” He grunts, shuddering above you, his fingers digging into your skin and no doubt leaving a bouquet of bruises behind. 

So close to the edge, just a little more will tip you over, and you whine, “Harder,” 

He gasps, forcing his pace to clap harder, deeper, and it only takes two pointed thrusts of his cock into the deepest parts of you to send you careening over the edge. 

“Coming,” You twist beneath him, moaning into your fist, “oh, god,” 

“Fuck,” He curses as your muscles clench and flutter around him, “fuck, oh fuck,” 

Your orgasm has your body locked up and shuddering, but when he pulls free suddenly you gasp into the bedding, “N-no, no, please,” 

He yanks off any scrap of clothing you have on with frantic hands and then rolls you in the sheets so that you’re lying on your back spread open for him. You try to form a sentence, to ask what’s happening but suddenly he’s tearing off his mask and the world slows to a stop. 

Yunho’s sweaty, flushed pink in the cheeks eyes blown wide with need, his plush lips parted and his chest heaving with labored breaths. In a flash he’s stripping off the costume, peeling off his gloves and kicking off his boots. 

“Come here,” He spreads your thighs wider and presses down over you, his cock finding your entrance with ease as he sheaths himself again in one thrust. 

You moan sharply and wrap your arms around his shoulders as he collapses over you. 

“Need you,” He pumps his hips, “have to have you,” 

Pleasure crackles up your body, “Yours,” you nod, “I’m yours,” 

He presses his mouth to yours, kissing you hot and hard, “Fuck,” he groans. 

Yunho gathers you closer, your slick bodies now flush together as he rocks into the warm cradle of your hips, “never heard you moan like that,” 

Your walls clench around him. 

“You wanted me to do this,” He groans between messy kisses, “you wanted to run,” 

You nod, lips pressed together. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” He pumps into you harder, like he’s desperate to get as deep as possible, “my dirty girl,” 

“Oh, fuck,” Your head falls back against the bed, a pleasured moan caught in your throat. 

“My little fucking slut,” He groans, tipping your hips open wider, his hands tight on your skin, “so desperate to come on stranger cock,” 

You whine sharply, nails digging into his back. 

“Say it,” He threads a hand through your hair and tugs your head back up roughly, “say it,” 

“Yes!” You whine, “Yes, I-I need it,” 

His gaze darkens, the cool mask of your dominant returning, and he slaps your cheek sharply, just enough to give you a pointed sting, “Need what?” 

Your brain is soft, fuzzy with pleasure, but the slap focuses you and you blink, “Need to come,” you pant as he thrusts into you, “on a stranger’s cock, need you to… fuck, need you to take it,” 

He nods, lips parting open in pleasure, “That’s right,” 

Your stomach tightens, pressure dropping low in your belly and you can’t stop feeling the way his cock punches into the deepest parts of you over and over again. Your eyes close tight and you hold onto him, one of your hands slipping up to his neck to tangle into his black hair. 

“Oh,” You’re so close, almost there, “Y-Yunho, oh, god,” 

His hips thrust forward once more, burying his cock impossibly deep and then he stops. That’s when you realize your critical mistake. 

“Is my cock so good you forgot your manners?” He says and your eyes fly open. 

You don’t know what to say, you don’t know how to recover, your head is too mixed up to know what’s up and what’s down and you’ve never played a scene where he’s a stranger before. You’re used to your rules, you’re used to calling him sir or daddy or master, but now you feel unmoored. 

“Now you don’t get to come,” He leans back, taking your wrists in his hands and pushing them down flat to the bed. 

You know better than to protest, but you’re sure he can feel you shaking. 

He drops closer, pinning you open with the weight of his body, his head nudging yours to the side, “Maybe you’ve forgotten who’s in control here, baby,” 

Liquid heat spreads through your body and you shake your head just a little. 

“So drunk on cock,” He bites at your ear, “you forgot you don’t want this,” 

Your pussy tightens, and you hear him chuckle. 

“Filthy,” He maneuvers your arms above your head so that he can close both your wrists together in one of his large hands, “fucked up little fucktoy,” 

Your eyes roll back and you fight the urge to move your hips, his words enough to put you on the precipice. 

A sharp slap stings over your exposed breast, your nipple hardening even more and Yunho draws his hips back before slamming forwards, driving you deeper into the squeaking mattress. At the painful stretch, the sharp sting inside, you do cry out. 

“Does it hurt?” He thrusts again, just as hard. 

You struggle under him, a little for play and a little because it does hurt, but you love the way he groans when you please him and you can’t stop, “Y-yes,” 

“Too bad,” His hand claps over your mouth and then he starts to fuck you again for real. 

Pleasure and pain in equal parts spike through your body, a perfect combination to get you right up to the edge of orgasm, but you know you’re not allowed. You moan into his hot hand, the sound feral and taut, tears gathering in your eyes and slipping down your temples into your hairline. 

Yunho slides the hand on your wrists up to clasp your hands together palm to palm, still pinning you to the bed but offering you a line of communication you desperately need in a scene like this. He doesn’t stop, but his eyes find yours in the dim light of the basement and he squeezes your hand once. You squeeze back just once, your silent sign to keep going. 

He keeps driving into you, cursing every time you moan and clench around his thick length, the mask of dominance slipping again as he starts to rut into you with artless, needy thrusts. He’s chasing his own pleasure now, with no regard for your own release. 

“No one’s coming to help you,” He groans, “you’re mine,”

 You can’t hear everything he says, not with your mind spinning so close to a forbidden orgasm and his pants and groans punctuating every few words, but you hear it when he says he’s coming inside you. 

Thrusting deep, he spills himself hot in your belly, hips grinding into yours to milk himself dry as he moans into your ear. The bubble of your own pleasure builds with every rock of his body and you whimper into his hand, tears spilling over as you try not to let it take you. 

Yunho’s hand pulls away from your mouth and suddenly his fingers are rubbing fast and firm on your swollen clit, his cock still buried deep. 

“Ah, n-no, please,” You grip his hand tightly and lock your eyes closed, trying to pull yourself back from the edge, “please,” 

“Fuck,” He groans, overstimulated. 

You’re going to come, there’s no way to hold back if he’s going to torture you like this and you thrash under him, “I can’t,” you’re sobbing in earnest now, “I can’t hold it,” 

“Shit,” He curses sharply, “come, sweetheart, come, I’m so sorry,” 

At his permission, your pleasure rips through you, a hot slice of rapture rocketing up your body. Your ears are ringing, black dots over your vision, and your body wrenches up with tight shakes in a way that only a soul shattering orgasm could do. You vaguely hear your own voice, a babbled string of ‘thank-yous’ and sobs, but it feels like someone else. All you know is warmth, and the deliciousness of earned pleasure. 

When consciousness starts to creep back in, the first thing you feel is Yunho’s gentle hands on your cheeks. He’s murmuring something, but it takes your mind a second to process, and you blink your eyes open slowly to find his face. 

“Hey,” He’s back to soft and warm, your tender lover, “oh, there you are,” 

“Mm,” You manage. 

He looks you over slowly, warm brown eyes flicking over your skin, “Does anything hurt, sweetheart?” 

You shake your head, still boneless and trembling in the scratchy blankets. 

“Hmm?” He nudges you, pushing for a verbal response. 

“I’m okay,” You respond, but your voice is small. 

Yunho, so attuned to you, looks back up and shifts up the bed to meet your eyes, “Feeling floaty?” 

“Mm,” You nod, recognizing distantly that the intensity of your play tonight pushed you right into subspace. 

“Ah,” He smiles warmly, “come here,” 

He gathers you close, arms wrapping around you as he tucks you into his chest and pulls the plaid camp blanket up higher over both of your naked bodies. His skin feels so essential, a necessity like eating or breathing, and you nuzzle into his warm chest. 

“You’re okay,” He soothes you, stroking your back, “you’re safe, you’re safe with me,” 

A heavy breath releases from your chest. 

“That’s it,” He kisses your forehead, “breathe with me, relax with me,” 

Your muscles release one by one. 

“That was just a fantasy,” He soothes you, easing the knotted up feelings in your body with practiced words, “it was just pretend,” 

You nod. 

“Just pretend,” He murmurs, lips tender against your forehead, “none of that was real, nothing I said. I love you, and I will always keep you safe, sweetheart,” 

Your fingers relax, and you realize how firmly you were gripping his arms. 

“There you go,” He murmurs, “I’ve got you,” 

“Yunho?” You manage, your body feeling heavy once again as you start to center. 

He shifts, cupping your cheek as he leans back to get a good look at you, “Right here,” 

“H-hey,” You give him a lazy smile. 

He nods, brushing your cheek with his thumb, “Tell me where you are?” 

“Basement at the party,” You answer. 

“Good,” He nods, “now tell me who you’re with?” 

“You, Yunho,” You reply, practiced now at the routine he uses to help ground you out of the scene and bring you back into reality. 

“Good,” He continues, “tell me three things you can see,” 

You glance around the room, “Old playstation, bicycle,” you look back to him, “your necklace,” 

He smiles as you touch the silver chain around his neck, “Good,” 

You stretch your stiff limbs in his arms and try to snuggle back into his hold but he’s not done yet, especially after a scene that new and that intense. 

“Any pain?” His hands slide over your body. 

“No,” You assure him, “a little sore, but I feel good,” 

He nods, but keeps looking you over anyway. When he turns your hands in his and finds your scratched palms a little line forms between his brows, “What’s this?” 

You look down at the red skin, a few shallow cuts here and there, “I fell,” 

“Fell?” His brow goes high with alarm, “when?” 

“When I was running, I took the stairs too fast,” You tell him honestly, “but it doesn’t hurt, I promise,” 

His fingers trace over the broken skin and he nods, “You promised you’d call the scene if you got hurt,” 

For how rough this man can be with you, for how many times he’s bruised you and made you bleed, he never fails to surprise you at just how tender and soft he is outside of the bedroom. 

“Baby,” You close your fingers over his, “you promised you’d trust me to know my own limits, I’m not hurt, I got a little scrape,” 

His lips close as he considers your words and then he nods, leaning in to kiss each of your palms warmly, “I want to disinfect these at home,” 

“Okay,” You murmur. 

“Anywhere else?” 

“Mm-mm,” You shake your head. 

“But sore?” He confirms.

“A bit,” 

His fingers find your jaw, massaging the muscle there, “When we get home, we’ll run a warm bath. I’ll take care of all your aches, I know I was rough with you,” 

You sigh pleasantly, relaxing into the warmth of his hand and he nods, dipping his face towards yours and capturing your mouth in a soft kiss. 

“You did so perfect for me, sweetheart,” he says softly, voice threaded with emotion, “I’m so… is it too lame to say honored? I… you were so amazing, and you trusted me like that and I,” 

“Yunho,” You smooth back his hair and pull him closer, “I’m alright,” 

His eyes flick over your face, “Yeah?” 

“Yes,” You give him the clarity he needs to know he didn’t hurt you, “you made me feel very safe, even though I was kind of terrified,” 

He stays quiet, like he’s gauging the honesty of your words. 

“Even when I was scared,” You lean in, kissing him quickly, “I knew you wouldn’t take it too far, and you checked in with me. I’m okay, I liked it, I love you,” 

“You didn’t push yourself too hard for me?” He always worries about that, the double edged sword of a submissive who’s desperate to please. 

“No,” You smooth your hand over his cheek, “I liked it alot,”

He nods and snuggles you closer, his fingertips coasting up and down your back softly. He’s quiet for a few minutes, just letting you both come down as easy as you can with thrumming house music upstairs. 

“You liked it?” He finally confirms, carding his fingers through your hair. 

You nod, “A lot,” 

“What I said,” He kisses the top of your head, “during, about you liking it, that was fantasy too, you know that right?” 

You’re quiet, taking in his words. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” He continues softly, “there’s nothing wrong with you for wanting it, all of that was pretend, okay?” 

“I know,” You kiss his chest, nodding against his shoulder. 

“I love you,” He squeezes you, “you know that too, right?” 

You smile, wiggling up in his arms to see his face, “I do,” you kiss him softly, “I love you too,” 

He nods and sighs, “I lost my head a little at the end there,” he admits, “I didn’t communicate well when you needed it, I’m sorry about that.” 

Your brows knit together in confusion. 

“I should have given you permission sooner,” He explains, brushing your cheek with his thumb, “I forgot myself in the scene, I didn’t mean to push you so hard.” 

“Oh,” You smile, “Yunho, I’m alright,” 

“I know you are,” He dips in for a kiss, “but I’m still sorry,” 

“Thank you,” You murmur, pressing your lips back to his, staying warm and still and soft in this moment together, “I know you’ll always take care of me,” 

He nods, his broad hand brushing down your hair. 

“How was the party?” You nudge him a little. 

He smiles, “Fine,” he shrugs, “I was too focused on looking for you, I think everyone thinks something’s up with me.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” You laugh. 

“Mm,” He nods, “and now I disappeared and we made a mess of this basement,” 

“Fuck, I can’t believe you cut my underwear off, how am I supposed to get out of here,” 

“I brought backups,” He grins wide, proud of himself for thinking that far ahead. 

“You’re a genius,” 

“There is a back door out of the basement though, right?” He looks up around the room trying to find one. 

“Yeah,” You reach out, pointing around the back corner, “why?” 

“It’s extremely obvious that you’ve been fucked within an inch of your life,” He presses a quick kiss on your forehead and stretches next to you, so casual about the way he just rearranged your insides, “and I’m not so sure you’re going to walk straight,”

You laugh sharply and shake your head, “Take me home,” 

“Scary movies on the couch?” He squeezes your thigh as he rolls away, searching for his clothes. 

You shiver, “Maybe, that might be too close to home,” 

Nudging your knee he smiles, “Don’t worry, baby, it’s just a movie.”

[hoshigray]

It’s been almost a year, and I still can’t get ex-husband! Toji out of my head…

꯳⃘꤫⃛✿ contents: Toji x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - anal - backshots/doggy style position - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping) - [un]protected sex - creampie - pet names (baby, mama, sweet thing) - Toji loving on your body, even though he shouldn't be - mention of excess cum.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“What’s it look like I’m doin’?”

Tsumiki and Megumi weren’t at the house yet — the children were still busy at school with extracurricular activities. Ex-husband! Toji, the dutiful and responsible adult he is, swore to pick his kids up once the hour hand reaches the sixth hour and the minutes nearly touch the thirtieth number. In the meantime, he stays at your home, where you call up a pizza dinner order for the children to eat after a long day before returning home with their father. However, while the youngsters are away, the black-haired man takes the time to do what he does best: pester you with his company. 

“Like you’re about to stick your dick in my ass.”

“And if I am?” He sneers, teeth peaking under the deft scar of his lips. “Y’re the one that said y’r pussy’s off-limits.”

You lift your brow as your ex-spouse spreads your legs, sitting with his knees atop your bed in your room in your abode. Do you really want to be doing this, letting this brawny man strip you off your bottoms and unzip his jeans to free the erection poking under his boxers? You have to bite your lip to conceal the smirk you share with him, watching him rip the wrapper he pulls out from a pocket and screen his cock with a rubber. 

“And why are we doing this again?” Forest green eyes flick from your lower region to your face, having to suck in the gasp creeping into your neck. 

He scoffs, “Because we’re killin’ time.” Wrong: You were already killing time by reading and replying to emails on your bed, under the impression that this grown man before you could spend his leisure time watching sports highlights or something in your living room. Clearly, Toji had a different proposition. “What, can’t spend a few minutes with ya while the kids are away?”

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Last time you tried to spend a few minutes with me—“ A cold sensation near your entrance has you pucker involuntarily, Toji pushing the covered glans of his cock. “We missed Tsumiki’s soccer game by thirty minutes.”

“Still made it, didn’t we?” 

Had to fight rolling your eyes the second time. “Only one time.” You hit him on the back with your foot when he grins. “One time. And don’t—Mmmph!” Finally, the cockhead is inserted into your hole, stretching it with his girth as he pushes it inch by inch carefully. “…Make a mess, either.”

And you know he heard you perfectly well, a curt nod and a whisper before seizing your lips with his, “Yes, mama.” Sure, he can be a bit of a hard-headed dickhead, but his attentiveness is as strong as a titanium. Therefore, you can instantly trust him — an ex-lover you would depend on and rely on if it could come to it, and of course, you’d do the same for him and his kids. 

…But not as strong as his playful stubbornness as the man drills his raw cock inside your ass. 

“Dahhh!! Ahhh, fuck…God, this ass…!”

“Nnnmm! T-Toji, I said ONE time!!”

You should’ve known it would end up like this — the two of you were already glued to each other from the excess amount of come that coated his dick, burrowing to and fro from the innards of your rear channel. His firm hands grab hold of the flesh of your butt, and you can only grip the sheets beneath you while your face is smooshed to your pillow. 

God, you had a feeling this would happen, knowing that your ex-husband is the type to get all riled up like this and steer off course. Would’ve been best had you put your foot down when you had the chance; however, it’s too late now that you’re mewling under his bow, all desperate from his balls smacking onto your skin. 

“Good God, baby,” he exhales with a smile, massaging your butt in loving kneads, observing how his girth disappears inside you. Fuck, you looked too good, making his whole body itch with want. “Can never get over this sweet ass of y’rs.”

“Tojiiii…!!” His name leaves with shrills; you sense him bending down to your ear, and the added weight of him from behind makes you feel caged and submissive. “Shtoop it, we can’t…! Gotta st—Ooop!”

“Y’don’t want me doin’ that, sweet thing,” he murmurs to your ear, breath hot to your cold helix and lobe. “Can tell ya want this just as much as I do with—shit—how twitchy y’re bein’ right now…And, maybe here…Heh, thought so,” his chuckle, so close to you, has you moan with flat lips after he sneaks a hand in between your thighs to palm your vulva, fingertips teasing the lips of your vagina and feeling it pulse at the touch. “Can tell how excited y’ are fr’ me. Y’re twitchin’ so much, baby.”

“—Mmmff, b-because, you’re making—Hnnmm!!” You nearly wobble at his fingertips swirling circles around your clit, trembles forcing you to quake as he gently pinches and swipes the pearl. While Toji drives his length slowly yet precise, the tip grazing your wall so much you howl cutely. “F-Fuuuck, so good, Toji…right there, right thereee…!”

Toji coos, “Shhh, relax, baby,” kissing your ear as his fingers glide to your folds; you can’t stop spasming, so many senses putting you through an overload! “Right here, sweetheart? Ya want me here?” The tip of his forefinger taunts the opening of your cunt, and you can’t take it anymore!

“Oh fuck, yesss,” you turn over your shoulder to plead. “Please, stick them innn, g-gonna cum, wanna cum on your fingers!!” 

Oh, that dialed Toji’s excitement more than expected, slipping his digit into your slick, and you scream aloud. “There you go, mama…” A free hand grabs your chin so he can claim your lips. You pepper him with kisses enthusiastically, your mouth agape for him to shove his tongue to dance with yours. All the while, his thick finger scrapes around to scratch your texture, and the pace of his pelvis grows staggering. 

With every rushed push and grind is another wiggle inside your chasm, struggling to hold your balance on your palms as the shocks become irresistible with more clamps of your asshole. You release, your body shackling with the wave of pleasure and your nerves keen to the highest point. You can’t stop whimpering, so overstimulated almost to the brink of tears.

And Toji is right there with you, feeling you squeeze him with your holes and whining as he sucks on your tongue and nibbles on it with sportive intent. You felt too good to him, clenching onto him like you could never let go, so it’s no wonder he’s seconds away from climaxing alongside you. Hot groans fill your space, passionate saliva keeping you both stuck as he pumps his load into your fluttering anus once again.

Tense bodies fall into tranquility as the seconds go by, and the trembles subside, smacking lips with each other as if lost in desire. Until you remove away from his scarred mouth with a hum, shamrock eyes hooded like yours before a fit of laughter is shared.

“You done now?” You inquire as noses brush up. 

Toji lifts a brow and looks to the side, faux pondering before smacking a rut to your butt again. “Mm, not really.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Toji!” You move to push him off you, yet you underestimate how easily he can maneuver you to your back. “Go pick the kids up so they can eat and go home!”

“They’re grown enough to wait on me,” he snickers and cages your hands above your head. “As fr’ me, I don’t got another two weeks to wait.”

No bothering hiding your annoyance in your eyes, even if you permit him to kiss you again. “Hopeless as ever.”

He chortles. “Y’re one to talk.”

© HOSHIGRAY2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⊹ dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Capture the Flag

luke castellan x reader

pt 2

A/N: now that i'm writing for other fandoms, feel free to let me know if you only want to be on a hotd taglist. But now, please enjoy the strongest swordsman in camp halfblood

TW: MAJOR SMUT, slight bondage, rough smut, violence, lowkey dark(ish)!luke

word count: 1,699 words

You want Luke Castellan’s head speared on your sword.

It’s like you spend every minute preparing for capture the flag because of him. He spends every last minute of each game cutting down your teammates and stealing your flag, so now it’s time to change the tactic. You ditch your father’s usual battle advice of going for the kill and hope that defence is the best offence for once. You also pray that he will guide your sword anyhow. So there you stand, guarding your flag with two of your most vicious teammates. You dodge the blue team’s first attack that was supposed to draw you off. You may have a short temper but you aren’t stupid. And you’re more than pleased to see the look of surprise on Luke’s face as he approaches.

“Fucking Ares kids.” He grumbles, sword drawn.

“Were you not expecting me, Castellan?” You ask with a vengeful smirk.

He goes right for you. You’re the biggest threat there but he likes to think you’re not even close to his skill level. You would believe that the man plans to cut you down and then your teammates. He always aims for the glory of it all.

“How’s your team gonna get our flag if you’re here?” He asks as he makes the first swing. It’s much better to start off on offence and he’s the one coming at you.

“Who cares. When you’re done, so is your team.” You block him, hating to be on defence but he’s too quick.

“Gods, you didn’t plan ahead of that? There really isn’t anything in that pretty little head of yours, is there? Other than rage of course.”

  You’re a hothead. He knows it. You know it and it doesn’t take much to rile you up. When you’re riled up, you get sloppy. At this point, you don’t care if he guts you, you go for the little fucker’s ankles. You’re actually surprised when he stumbles from blocking your attack. It’s a stupid mistake, especially for him. Though, you aren’t going to let a chance like this slip by. You keep pushing him back, trying to leave him no chance to think in between swings. He trips over a log behind him, the sword falling from his hand. He has no chance now, not on the ground and you won’t be letting him get up.

“Who’s the idiot now?” 

He looks at you as you approach slowly, taunting him. He then grabs his sword and makes a break for it. You’re too shocked to even keep him down.

What the fuck.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke Castellan run from a fight. Not in your 4 years at camp. So you chase after him.

He’s fast, faster than you but you push yourself. He trails away… and away. Then you lose him. 

“Godsdamnit!” You scream into the woods as you jog around where you last saw him. 

You know you can’t stray for long if you’re not fighting Luke so you turn to make your way back to the flag. That’s when he jumps out at you with his sword swinging. You barely have time to block and it puts you off your balance. He swings at you again and again. You fall as you continue to block the merciless strikes. You’re practically holding your sword in the air and hoping for the best. The best doesn’t come as the weapon flies from your hand. He descends on you, straddling your waist as he holds the blade to your throat. He’s smirking.

“You don’t try nearly hard enough.” He says to you. “I know you’re not very clever but hades, my teammates probably already have the flag over the barrier.” 

That’s when you realize how easily you were deceived. Luke didn’t run from you because you bested him; he ran to draw you off. It was a pathetically simple plan and it worked. The heat rises to your cheeks from humiliation. He grabs your two hands and pins them above your head, his grip gentle but also firm.

“I’ll put you in your grave.” You spit out at him.

“Will you now? While I have you essentially restrained?” He’s clearly amused.

You struggle beneath him with all your force but all you manage to do is roll your hips against him, earning a groan from the man. You feel it too, the burning ache between your thighs. You want him. Worse yet, he wants you.

“Let me up.” 

“No. I think you quite like how I have you pinned to the ground.” He smirks.

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re wet.”

He slips a knee between your thighs and rubs it against your clothed pussy. It takes everything in you not to whimper.

“S-Stop.” You stutter out.

“Make me.” He murmurs, continuing to make you grind down on his knee as he leans down and forces you into a hot kiss. You hate how you kiss back, so hungry for him. Your mind is clouded with lust for a moment before you realize the advantage he is giving you. You never technically conceded.

As swiftly as you can, you wrap your free leg around his waist and use your whole strength to throw him off you, startling him enough to free your hands.

“You bitch.” He groans as you jab him in the stomach to try and give yourself enough time to grab your sword but it doesn’t work. He grabs you by the ankle and yanks hard. You slam to the ground right on your stomach. He moves to restrain you by sitting on your thighs so you can’t move your legs and holds your hands behind your back. You clearly didn’t consider how inevitably stronger he is than you.

“Shit.” You whine. His hold isn’t nearly as gentle this time.

“That was a cheap fucking shot.” He says cruelly. He’s pissed now.

“Fuck you. Castellan!” Gods it goes straight to his dick when you call him by his last name. He grips your hair with his free hand and pulls back hard so you have to look at him. You whine again at the sharp pain.

“You just can’t play fair, can you, princess? Maybe I won’t either then.”

 He drops your head and you hear him rustling with something. You realize it’s his belt when you feel the leather against your wrists. He’s binding you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Your voice is full of rage but to him, you just sound petulant. 

 “What you need.” Is his simple answer.

He shifts down so he sits, or rather kneels, with your legs between his. He’s amused by your renewed writhing as an attempt to escape. It is pitiful really. Oh well, he’ll have you writhing for a different reason soon enough.

His fingertips glide across your waist, to your hips and then to your thighs, causing your back to arch upwards slightly, your stomach dipping. He brings his lips down to your ear, his voice is deep and lustful as he says, “Your body seems to know what it wants.”

“I’ll kill you.” You promise.

“Oh, i’m sure you will. But right now, you fucking belong to me.” He yanks on your hair again so you have to look at him and your eyes water from the pain. “I think you like me hurting you.” His other hand slips between your thighs to rub your clit and you let out a strangled moan. “For a girl who is so controlling, it’s interesting how badly you enjoy me manhandling you.”

He yanks your pants down and slips your helmet under your hips so your ass stays high in the air with your chest to the ground.

“This is fucked up.” You say.

“You love it. Your panties are soaked.” And he’s completely right. You’ve never been so turned on before but not a lot of men are as strong and good-looking as Luke Castellan.

He pulls your panties down and groans at the sight of your dripping pussy. He begins to palm himself through his pants and unzips them. “You have about three seconds to tell me if you don’t actually want this.”

You are silent and he chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Before you can even prepare yourself or form a thought, his fat cock is shoved inside of you, splitting you open.

“Ah, Luke!” You moan at the pain and pleasure.

“Gods, this is the tightest little pussy i’ve had.” He begins to fuck in and out of you relentlessly, giving you no time to adjust. “Yeah, you’re good for me now, baby. Such a good little cocksleeve.” He punctuates his last words with hard thrusts, the head of his cock bullying into you each time.

All you can do is repeat his name like a mantra as you get pounded on the forest floor by the strongest swordsman in camp. It’s even worse as he begins to rub your clit again, sending you so close to the edge.

“Never gonna have enough of you after this.” Luke murmurs as he feels you squeezing around him. “My good girl.” 

That’s what sends you tumbling over the edge, bringing Luke with you as you do. He never could’ve kept going, not with the way your walls were squeezing around him. He pulls out almost instantly so he can watch his cum spill out of you. He doesn’t wipe it. He just pulls your panties back on and fixes the both of you up. You’re thoroughly spent, he can tell by the way you pant as he releases your wrists.

“You okay?” He asks as he helps you sit up. He grabs your hands so he can kiss the marks on your wrists. After all you’ve done, that’s the act that makes you blush furiously. 

“Um, yeah.” You breathe out.

“I’ll be nicer next time, I promise. Somebody just had to put you in your place first.” He grins wolfishly.

“Next time?” 

That’s when you hear the horn. The blue team has won again.

He pecks a kiss to your cheek. “Time to claim my kleos.” He says cockily before jogging off to meet his team.

taglist (comment to be added):General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows AU Part 7

Part 6

The door Sam knocks on is in a much nicer building than she expected.

She and Tucker are visiting Danny for dinner - and boy did they both nearly burst with excitement when he shyly extended the invitation - and frankly Sam had expected an apartment building in the Narrows or Park Row.

Danny was a teenage runaway less than a decade ago, for God's sake. Forgive her and Tucker for assuming he'd still be getting his feet under him and scraping by.

This? This is not that.

Sam has half a mind to think Danny is sugaring. He certainly wouldn't have any trouble - the Danny that disappeared from Amity was cute, but small and awkward in that teenage way. The grown up Danny they've been reconnecting with? He's tall, lean and positively gorgeous.

She wouldn't have a problem with that, per say. But the Danny they knew was also too nice for his own good and starved for positive attention. If someone was taking advantage of that Sam would kill them. 

Separation did not quell her instinct to wrap Danny up and protect him from the world, it would seem.

There's a slight commotion after the knock before Danny himself is yanking the door open with a grin that's happy and nervous at the same time.

“Guys! Hey! Come in!”

He ushers them inside with all the energy of an overgrown puppy, something that hasn't changed one bit since they were kids.

Sam shivers a little as they enter, assuming there's an AC unit blowing over the entryway at first. She smiles at Danny's back as he babbles at them.

“I kind of lost track of time, so food isn't actually ready yet, but then I thought - hey! Who cares! We can cook together and it'll be fun! I got all vegan stuff too so we can make a meaty pizza for Tuck and a different one for you, Sam-”

The apartment they walk into is a spacious open floor plan, furniture in blacks and grays. She shivers again. Seriously-

“Your AC on the fritz or something?” Tucker asks, rubbing his arms a little. “It's like fifty degrees in here, man.”

Danny freezes for a second on his way to the kitchen space before turning around and beelining for a wall - the thermostat.

“Shit, sorry! Sit, sit! I knew I was forgetting something,” he grumbles as he flaps a hand towards the black bar stools at the kitchen island and fiddles with the thermostat. “I like the cold, I always have it too low for most people in here. Sorry about that, it'll get better soon.”

Sam and Tucker exchange bewildered looks as they sit at the kitchen island. There's liking it cool, and there's fucking freezing.

“Guess I don't have to ask your favorite season,” Tucker jokes, and Danny offers him an apologetic grin as he lopes back over.

“Yeah, probably a safe guess,” he chuckles on his way to the fridge. “You guys want drinks? I have a homemade sangria if you want. Beer, wine, you name it.”

Tucker opts for a beer. Sam asks for the homemade sangria, curious. Danny pours two glasses and takes an ice cube tray out to pop a couple of ice cubes in.

When the glass is set in front of her - “they're the stemless kind you can't knock over. Cool, right? Look at ‘em wobble, they're just little guys.” - she raises an eyebrow.

The ice cubes are in the shape of little ghosts. Tucker snorts when he sees them, taking the bottle opener Danny offers for his beer.

“Ghosts? Really?”

Danny blinks like he'd forgotten he had a novelty ice cube tray, then grins and shrugs.

“I mean. What else is being from Amity good for if not inside jokes?”

He turns away before she can respond with any form of bewilderment - Danny had been known for disappearing during ghost fights, after all. He was terrified of them. She hadn't expected him to want any reminders of ghosts or his ghost hunter parents.

Sorry - Jack and Maddie.

With two resounding thunks, Danny slaps store bought dough onto his nice dark counters. He at least remembered to leave them out to rise. 

“Alright! While I roll this out, it's time to pick your toppings lady and gent - go wild, go ham. Let me show you my selection.”

He opens the fridge again, pulling out meats and veggies and cheeses abound. Sam notes vegan cheese alternatives in the mix with a warm fondness in her chest. She's stricter about being vegetarian than vegan, but the fact that Danny went that extra little mile? 

Yeah. Yeah, this is still her boy. She missed having two of them. She and Tuck were never meant to be without a Danny, and she can see on Tucker's face that he feels the same way.

Smiling and standing to start looking through the options, Sam sips her sangria. 

It’s delicious, and the little ghost ice cubes smile back up at her like they're as glad as she is to be here.

Masterpost

[cryptidghostgirl]

hii i read your fic with the humanalastor! x reader where they become like partners in crime (i loved it sm)

and got an idea based off of it

what if Alastor dies first and a few years later Alastor and the reader reunite after she goes to the hotel? thought it would be kinda cute :)

A/N ngl I was thinking of doing something like this so I am very happy it is desired by the people as well. Also, we're gonna pretend that the timeline I created wouldn't make her like over a hundred years old when she died, okay? Okay.

Cover Up Pt. 2 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood, nothing graphic. Alastor being a depressed little bitch. Also a lot of dead bird metaphors for lost hope. Please let me know if I forgot anything.

Word Count: 1,971

Part One: Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

When Alastor had died, Y/n had shattered. Their years of holding one another's bloodstained hands had finally drawn to a close. They had a good run, nearly a decade before anyone caught on. His death also came with the added downside of throwing suspicion on Y/n. To say the event changed her life would be an understatement.

When Alastor had first woken up in Hell, he had mourned his loss as if she was the one who had died and not him. The allowance of such a foolish thing was short lived. He quickly realized there was no way Y/n wouldn't end up in Hell as well eventually, with her track record. He refocused his pain, his anguish into making sure he had the perfect world to serve up to her on a platter as soon as she arrived.

As the years ticked on, the little bird fluttering away in his ribcage became more and more despondent. He tried to distract himself by continuing his work, continuing his plans for her. Always for her. It worked to a certain extent but, soon it had been sixty years and she still hadn't made her arrival. It didn't matter how many overlords he killed, how many worthless souls he tortured. There was nothing that could take his mind off that.

Alastor wondered what sort of life Y/n had made for herself after his death. He wondered if she had found love again, held out hope that she hadn't. It was a selfish wish, he knew it. Alastor had always been selfish. It wasn't that he wished for her to be unhappy, just that he knew she was the only person, living or dead, out there for him. There was no hope for Alastor that wasn't Y/n and he wanted her to feel the same way about him. He didn't want to lose, to have been an idiot, to have been the one that loved more. At the same time, he didn't want her to feel that way either. It was complicated and confusing, the twists of his own logic.

Another decade and he began wondering if somehow his beloved wife had gotten into Heaven instead. He knew it was a long shot, after everything she had done but, she had also never killed anyone who didn't deserve it. Maybe there was some exception for women who killed their pursuers, when the pursuers were coming on too intensely or had ulterior motives. He wondered if she'd remarried, if she had kids. If she was still on earth, there would have to be something that was keeping her there and that was the only thing that made sense.

Eighty years, as it turned out, had been all he could take. The bird had died and its corpse had rotted, festering into anger. Not anger at Y/n no, never anger at Y/n but anger at the world, at the system of the afterlife. He became bolder, brasher, more foolish. He got caught in a bad deal.

Coming to the hotel had been a command, yes, but it had also ended up being something of a salvation for the man. In the seven years of his disappearance from the rings of Hell, there had been little to distract him from the growing hole of Y/n's absence. It was a hungry thing, a deep seated want, a controlling desire. The hotel served to fill it. Not completely, but a little. It was better than nothing. Besides, for all her violence, Y/n had always had a way of seeing the best in others, in the world around her. He was certain she would have liked Charlie if she ever got to meet her, certain the hotel would shine in his wife's eyes.

Husk and Nifty were the only two who knew. They had both met him when Alastor's focus had been the creation of a world for Y/n, it was impossible for them not to. They had both noticed how as the years had passed, he had said her name less, how he had become crueler. Not even Charlie had in inkling of an idea that Alastor might be missing something, might be unshakable heartbroken. He hid it well.

Even now as he entered the lobby intent on finding Charlie in order to discuss some of the decor on the upper floors, he made sure his smile was firmly fixed in place. A smile was the strongest weapon a person or demon could have, the strongest disguise. He made sure he was never without one.

"So you just arrived today?" he heard Charlie saying as he began to make his way down the stairs.

He could see her by the door, talking to a demon whom her position obscured from his vision. A new guest. Internally, Alastor sighed. This was throwing a wrench into his plans for the day.

"Yeah I... it's all so confusing here. Wonderful in a way, don't get me wrong but... when I heard about your hotel, it seemed safe."

The unknown demon's voice was soft, it pulled at his heart strings. The corpse of the bird was a puppet at its familiarity. It was a sickening feeling, the dead body of his hope being pulled up and twitched around for another's unknowing amusement. Alastor nearly faltered, hesitating on the last step.

"So are you actually interested in redemption?" Charlie asked, sounding downcast.

"Well, I'm not really sure yet. Is that okay? I mean, I just got here today and... either way, I love the idea of your hotel and I want to help. I could work as a maid? Or I'm a pretty good cook? My husband always said so anyways. I'm sort of trying to find someone too so... What I'm trying to say is that I could work until I've figured it out, if that is alright with you?"

Charlie hummed in thought as Alastor began to cross the room, heading straight for the pair.

"It's a bit unorthodox but, I suppose. We could always use another helping hand."

"Really!?" the stranger exclaimed, "Oh thank you!"

Alastor was over Charlie's shoulder practically now. She shifted on her feet, allowing Alastor to at last see the person she was talking to.

"So, what's your name?"

The demon opened her mouth to speak but, before a word could leave her lips, she was interrupted by a static filled voice. It brought back memories, hurt her heart to hear.

"Y/n."

There was no doubt about it. Even in her new demon form, Alastor knew. It was the curl of her hair, it was the brightness of her eyes, the way she held herself. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"When did you get here?" Charlie asked in confusion as she turned to the side, turning the pair into a group of three all facing one another, "Also, you know her? Oh my gosh, wait. Are you okay? I don't think I've ever seen you not smiling before."

Neither payed the princess any mind, each absorbed in one another's eyes. Y/n took a sutering half step forwards, her mouth slightly open.

"Alastor?"

It was barley more than a whisper. She took another step towards him, then yet another. Lifting her hand, she gently cupped it around his cheek. Instinctively, the Radio Demon leaned into the touch.

"It really is you... isn't it."

Alastor pulled Y/n into his arms, wrapping her in his frame and resting his chin on the top of her head. Y/n was frozen in shock for a moment before she returned the gesture, balling her fists in to the back of his coat.

"Wow. You guys really know each other." Charlie mumbled to herself, eyes wide.

The pair pulled apart, Alastor still holding Y/n's waist as Y/n held his coat. She looked up at him, disbelief etched into her features, her sentiments reflected back to her in Alastor's own face.

"I thought..." he mumbled, raising a hand and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "I thought I'd never see you again."

Y/n laughed tearfully.

"Me too."

"Where have you been? What happened? What... what took you so long?"

"If I had known I was coming to you, I would have died way sooner. I lived, Al. That's what happened. I only just got here today."

"I know, I heard, but what... what kept you?"

Y/n heard the tremor in his voice, the fear. She looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

"Are you jealous?"

Alastor's eyes flicked to the side momentarily. One of his ears twitched. It might have been nearly ninety years since they had last seen one another, they might've looked completely different and had whole lives the other wasn't in, but it felt like they had just seen one another yesterday.

"Oh, you so are!" Y/n teased brightly.

"Y/n."

"Yeah, yeah. It's just dumb is all, especially now I know you've been here all along."

"So tell me."

Y/n had always loved his insistence. It was what kept Alastor to his code, kept him to her, kept him him. She smiled once again.

"Soooo..." Charlie stepped in, her hands behind her back, "Either of you want to explain?"

Both Alastor and Y/n at last turned to look at her. He was smiling again, Charlie noticed. Not the normal ear to ear grin, teeth bared, she was used to. Something smaller, something softer. They released one another, only for Alastor to immediately drape an arm over Y/n's shoulders. It almost seemed like each feared the other would vanish into thin air if they weren't physically touching. She reached a hand up, gently holding his hand where it hung off her shoulder, keeping him to her.

"Charlie, this is my darling, lovely wife."

Y/n shoved him playfully and he smiled down at her.

"You're married!?"

"Yes." Y/n nodded, "We are. Have been for what, like one hundred years now?"

"So what kept you?" Alastor asked again and Y/n sighed.

"You really aren't going to let this go, are you?"

He shook his head. Y/n slipped out from under Alastor's arm, taking both his hands in hers. Her fingers traced his knuckles, the lines of his bones beneath the surface of his skin. Her eyes watched their hands, she sighed.

"After... well, Al, you died burying a body. It was hard for people not to know. I..."

"You got caught? You went to jail?" Alastor interrupted, his smile having fallen once again.

Y/n laughed slightly under her breath.

"No, heart. I stopped my own work but, the whole world knew of yours. I thought that... it was so dumb! I thought that... if I was alive, then so was the real version of you in some way. Not the true crime, vandalized version, but the person I knew."

Alastor lifted her face to his, his hand lingering under her chin.

"You were always secretly quite the romantic, weren't you."

"Oh hush you."

"Make me."

Y/n cheeks suddenly flushed bright red.

"Okay!" Charlie interrupted, laughing nervously, "Okay, well, I'm happy for... this, um, Alastor! Why don't you show Y/n around?"

"With pleasure."

Alastor leaned down, kissing Y/n gently. Her hand was half raised to burry itself in his hair when he pulled away, smirking in response to Y/n's irritated glare. Linking arms with her, he began leading Y/n to the staircase.

"I must say, I rather like this new look of yours." he hummed placidly.

"You're not half bad yourself deer boy, if a little cocky."

"I was always cocky. That's what you liked about me."

"Wrong. It's only one of the things I love about you."

----

Next Part -> Cover Up pt. 3

[helaintoloki]

I am just so obsessed with the idea of Five and Reader's domestic life (without all those doomsday shite) 🫠 so please, if you can, I'd love to read something related to that 🙏🏻

a/n: hi anon sorry for the wait ! i just started the fall semester and haven’t had much time to write but i hope you enjoy this little slice of life -esque fic

warning: basically pure fluff

The dance hall is nearly empty save for the elderly couple rocking back and forth in each other’s arms in front of the stage where the big band plays their last song of the night. Tired busboys and cleanup crew members clear away the tables and sweep up any mess to prepare for the next day of business. Despite the evening coming to a close, you’re in no hurry to leave Five’s arms as he delicately twirls you around the dance floor to one of his favorite songs.

“Ready to call it a night?” He asks with a careful smile after watching your eyes nearly flutter shut for a third time. He knows you well enough to detect when you’ve reached the point of exhaustion, but he also knows you’re not one to ever admit this out of your own volition.

“Tired already, old man?” You counter playfully, but you don’t protest as he begins to lead you off the dance floor and out the doors to your car. Your feet are killing you and you want nothing more than to crawl into bed, and Five is fully aware of your current internal dialogue. He helps you into the car and even slips off your heels for you before taking his place behind the wheel.

“This was nice,” he admits in a soft voice, glancing over at you in the passenger’s seat. Your head is pressed against the cool glass of the window as you watch the city streets pass by, and you let out a gentle hum in response to his comment.

“It’s nice we get to do normal couple things now,” you agree thoughtfully. “No assignments to complete, no world-ending apocalyptic threats to stop, no timelines to fix. Just us getting another chance to relive our twenties again in a world where the moon is still intact.”

“I’m sorry about all that,” Five relents with a tired sigh. If not for him you probably never would have been wrapped up in all that mess in the first place, and he feels partly responsible for the chaotic nature your life had taken on the last few decades.

“Hey,” you call gently, prompting the boy to glance over at your sincere gaze and soft smile, “I wouldn’t change it for the world, you know that. I literally had the chance to, but I decided against it.”

“Don’t remind me,” he scoffs quietly at the memory. The Handler had cornered you once with an enticing deal- a chance to return to your own time in exchange for Five’s whereabouts and his plans to stop the end of the world. She mistakenly underestimated your loyalty to the time traveler, and you had gifted her with a solid right hook in response to her offer. That all felt so long ago to you both now.

The headlights of the car drown your front yard in artificial light as Five finally pulls into the driveway of your humble home. After everything had been set back to normal and the Cleanse had been stopped, you both decided to move out into the suburbs and purchased a lovely little fixer upper in a quiet neighborhood where almost nothing seemed to happen. It was exactly the fresh start you needed, and every time you stepped over the threshold through the front door you felt your heart fill with warmth all over again just like it had the first time Five had carried you inside.

“I think we should get a dog,” you voice aloud for no particular reason as you flip on the lights and shut the door behind you. The house is cozily warm despite your absence, and already you can feel the eagerness rising within you at the thought of crawling into bed.

“A dog?” Five repeats with a raised brow as he hangs his coat on the wall and sets your heels upon the shoe rack next to his own.

“After married people get a house they usually start having kids, or they get a dog,” you explain with a casual wave of your hand as you walk through the hallway and into the kitchen to fix yourself a glass of water. “I think we should get a dog.”

“Not a kid?” Five teases as his fingers playfully poke into your side. You jump at the feeling, and he uses the distraction as an opportunity to steal your glass from you so that he may take a hearty gulp of water before you can protest.

“I don’t think we’re ready for that yet. At least, I’m not. I can hardly handle babysitting Grace and the twins as it is.”

“To be fair, they take after their parents,” Five reminds you with a sarcastic chuckle before handing you your freshly refilled glass of water. “I think our kids would stand a better chance.”

“A Hargreeves child with a y/l/n as their mother?” You retort with a pointed look and uneasy smile. “Not likely. I’d like to remain chaos free for at least another few years before we get to that.”

“I can’t argue with that,” he relents with a sigh before wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. “We’ve had enough chaos to last us a lifetime. The kids can wait.”

“So we’re getting a dog?”

“We’ll get a dog,” Five chuckles with a careful nod as he presses his lips to your cheek.

“Can we name him Mr. Pennycrumb?”

“Mr. Pennycrumb?” Your husband retorts skeptically, pulling away to analyze your facial features in search of any falsehood or mirth. “Where’d you come up with that?”

“I read it in a comic book once,” you offer with a simple shrug as if it’s the most obvious explanation in the world. Despite how much time he’s spent with you, you still always find a way to surprise him when he least expects it. It’s one of the many things he loves about you, and it’s why your relationship has remained so strong after all this time. It’s hard to reach a stalemate when you’re always keeping him on his toes.

“Of course, what was I thinking,” Five hums thoughtfully as he pulls away from your figure and sets your now empty cup in the sink. “Mr. Pennycrumb it is.”

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and turns to leave for the bedroom, but your melodious call of his name has him stopping dead in his tracks. You move forward to loosen his tie for him, an adoring smile on your face as you peer up at him through your lashes and quietly voice, “I love you.”

He grins, his gaze soft with a look that is only reserved for you as he presses his lips to your forehead and gifts you a tender hearted kiss. What he ever did to be lucky enough to have someone like you, he’ll never know, but what he does know is that he’ll gladly spend the rest of his time on this earth making you happy with the life you’ve built together.

“I love you too,” he utters reverently before pulling you into his arms once more for another kiss.

[lvlyghost]

The Things I Never Said: Part 2

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary: upon learning about your pregnancy simon thinks there are things he needs to take care of.

Word Count: 1.2k

Tw: Angst, fluff, hurt with a lot of comfort, banter. The task force is there for you💞 i think that's it✨

A/N: here it is, i never planned a second part so forgive me if it's not as good! Still hope you like it. Already working on a request that's similar to this one🐸✨ thank you so much for all the support. Reblogs and comments are appreciated! Remember english isn't my first language, corrections are welcome🩵

Masterlist✨ | Part 1 | Part 3

Simon pulls you closer to his body, one arm draped over your form and hand resting on your stomach. The storm is raging outside, the thunder startles you every five minutes. You stay there in complete silence as the realization of this whole thing settles in your minds. He wants you to be safe now more than ever that's why when he's reliving the events of the day it hits him. He had thought the worst, that you were abandoning him, that you got tired of him. Simon would never say this to you but losing you would be the end of him. Enraged and with his heart racing he had hopped on his motorcycle. The soft caressing of his fingers stops abruptly, body going rigid behind you. You turn your face in worry.

"Simon?" You call him. You were beginning to fall asleep. "What is it?"

"That fuckin' muppet." He snarls. "I was so caught up in you leaving that I'd forgotten he hit you. That cunt... fucking Christ." He sits. "Let me see." He lifts your shirt just above your belly with gentle hands.

"Love, I'm... it's fine." Simon sucks in a sharp breath as his eyes land on the bruised area of your skin.

"What did the doctor say?" He demands, eyes somber.

"She said i should stay in bed for a few days and to not lift heavy things or you know just... overwork myself."

Simon rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands, disgruntled.

"This is on me... my bloody fault"

"Hey, stop now." You stand up, coming to a sitting position to mirror his stance. "You didn't know." Soft hands fall on both sides of his face. "I should've told you before this happened, if anything this is on me."

"If something happened to you i would never forgive myself, kid. Lie down. You need to rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

-

Simon's been waiting for this day since the incident. You're still at home, recovering from what could've ended with you in a hospital bed and a broken heart.

"You sure about this, Sir?" Gaz asks, worried about what might happen. "It's just training right?"

"Just training." Simon's eyes are set on that bastard. Craning his neck he steps on the sparring mat. As much as he wanted to go find him and kill him he couldn't do such thing. But after the images that flooded his mind made him realize how dangerous it had been. What could potentially have happened the rage within him is boiling his blood. And now he needs somebody to pay the price. Choices have consequences and he nearly had a painful one. If he had insisted just more...

Breathing harshly he looks him in the eye. Poor muppet doesn't know what's coming for him. He stands there confidently, thinking he has a chance against Ghost. Not Simon, the man only she gets the chance to see.

This is Ghost about to fight.

-

For some reason you decided to stop by the local pastry shop and bring something for the task force. You're feeling much better so that's why you're walking down the corridor of the military compound. With a shirt that's nearly too oversized a pair of combat boots and a cap. You figured you could have these outside of the base and enjoy a nice day with your teammates. You missed them already. Since Simon had been reluctant to leave your side, and you loved it that's for sure, but he wouldn't let you do much as simple tasks like washing the dishes or doing the laundry.

Walking past the doors you're greeted with loud cheering and yelling at the two men in the middle of the mat. Your smile quivers until you process the scene in front of you. Not surprised, not worried. He's gonna be just fine. The other poor boy... Price is the first to notice you, approaching you in three long strides. He had decided to stop by and watch, that's how they sort things out.

"Here, let me help you with that." He takes most of the desserts from your hands, scrutinizing your features with slight concern. Your eyes glued to Simon's hulking body. "I'm gonna assume he doesn't know you're here. Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I'm not on duty, Captain."

"I'm not asking as your Captain but as a friend."

You turn to face him with the ghost of a smile on your lips.

"I'm feeling better so I wanted to see you all, maybe we could have these together as soon as Simon is done with his personal grudge."

Price chuckles. Reluctant to see the rest of the fight, you keep talking to John until it comes to an end. More cheers and clapping echoing around the place. You take a quick glance and get a glimpse of the younger soldier limping while he plops down on a near bench, his teammates gathered around him holding a towel out for him to clean up his face. Footsteps approach you and Price, Simon's frowning behind the mask you can tell by the way the corner of his eyes wrinkle.

"Hey little lady!" Soap greets you with a big smile, hugging you tightly. "Heard you got all knocked up!"

"For fucks sake, Johnny!" Gaz scolds him. "Have some more respect for the girl."

Johnny rolls his eyes feigning annoyance letting Kyle hug you too.

"Don't bet mad at him. We all know why he had to do it." He whispers before pulling away.

When Simon joins you, you're aware of what's coming.

"You're out of bed." He points out, blankly.

"It's been almost a week. As long as I don't lift heavy things I'll be alright. Remember?" You speak back. You reach out for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. The rest of the team silently walks away to the outside giving you some privacy. Simon studies you, all of you. There's a spark of worry in his blue eyes that you don't like. "Don't worry about me anymore."

He pulls you closer, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he inhales deeply.

"Is that my shirt, doll?" He asks in a hushed tone. You chuckle, burying your face in his chest.

"I missed you, and it smells like you." Simon prompts you softly to start walking outside and join the rest. "You're not hurt, are you?" You stare up at him.

"Don't you worry about me, he wasn't able to land one single hit, love."

You pull him down kissing over the black balaclava where his lips would be.

"I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for not telling you Simon." You sigh.

"I understand now why you didn't, kid. I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at myself for not making you feel safe enough to tell me. If anything I'm to blame."

"Is there any chance I may touch your belly?" Soap asks as soon as you sit down next to him.

"Yes." You reply with a wide smile.

"No." Simon growls at the same time.

"Jesus! I suppose that naming the child after me is also off the table?"

"Absolutely."

A round of laughs echoing around and along the backyard. Your eyes scanning every person gathered in this very moment. Loyalty, admiration, respect and love.

A family of your own that would soon get a new addition.

"What if it's a beautiful girl?" Gaz interrogates.

Everyone goes silent.

"Fucking hell." Simon whispers.

He's fucked.

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

A knock on the door was not what Danny was expecting that evening. In the two weeks of observation and one week of actually staying with the man, Danny had figured that Dick, for as friendly as he is, did not have many friends. And if he did, they didn't visit him a lot, if at all. So, a knock on the door exactly thirty minutes before Nightwing was set to go out was a suspicious surprise.

He answered it anyway.

On the other side of the door was a kid about his age, an inch or two taller. He had dark hair, pale skin, bright blue eyes, and eyebags dark enough to rival Danny's own. He also smelled faintly of coffee.

"Um," Danny started dumbly. "Hello?"

"I'm looking for Richard Grayson." The kid's accent was stronger than Dick's, putting him as a born and raised Gotham resident. There was also a hint of something that reminded Danny of Sam's parents. This kid comes from money.

"And you are?"

Obviously upset about being stalled, he huffed, "Timothy Drake. Are you going to let me in now?"

How does someone sound so rude and so polite at the same time? Obviously a skill Danny needs to learn. "Why-"

"Who's at the door, Danny?" Dick called from the hallway, making his way closer. He was in his Nightwing costume, minus the mask, but had covered it with a hoodie and sweatpants.

"Tim Drake," Tim introduced himself again, pushing Danny out of the way and entering the apartment to greet Dick with a handshake. "You're Bruce's Wayne's kid, Richard 'Dick' Grayson."

"Yeah, that's-"

"You need to come back and be Robin again."

There was a moment of silence as Danny closed the door softly. Then, "Excuse me?" Dick's smile was strained and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"You need to come back and be Batman's Robin again. You don't have to don the suit, but he needs you." There was a hint of desperation in Tim's voice now. "He's been spiraling since Jason died, and he's starting to hit harder. Most of the guys he beats up end up in the emergency room! Some of them have even died from their injuries! Batman needs your help! He needs a Robin."

Dick was quiet for a moment. "No."

"What?"

"I won't- I can't go back to being Robin. I can't go back to being in that house."

"Why not?"

"I just can't. Now, I don't know how you found me or how you found out who I was, but you need to go back to Gotham, Tim."

"But-"

"Now, Tim. You're parent's are probably freaking out about where you are right now."

Tim didn't say anything for a long moment, he feet rooted in place. Just as Dick turned around to go to the fire escape, he spoke, "My parents don't care where I am." Louder, he said, "Bruce is going to start directly killing people if you don't go back there and help him."

"Why should I help him?" Dick demanded. "He didn't even tell me that my little brother had died! I didn't even get to go to his funeral! And then Bruce had the audacity to punch me in the face and blame me for not being there! I'm not going back to Gotham, I'm not putting on the Robin suit again, and I sure as hell am not going to help Batman. he made it clear that he works alone, so let him." With his peace said, Dick took his hoodie and sweatpants off, donned his domino and escrima sticks, and left through the window fifteen minutes early.

Neither Tim nor Danny said anything for a long few minutes, neither bothering to move. Too many thoughts in each of their heads with no way to properly form words.

Finally, after nearly seven minutes, Danny's voice broke through the air. "I'm sorry he yelled at you."

Tim, having forgotten Danny was there, jumped and turned to face him. "What?"

"He hasn't been the same since Jason died, not that I know what he was like before."

"What do you mean?"

Danny moved into the kitchen, pulling down two cups, filling them with water before offering one to Tim and leading him to sit down on the couch.

"I don't know a lot about the situation, I've only been here for three weeks now, but I know that Dick is still hurting. Nightmares, hallucinations, the works. He's been more violent recently, too, but obviously not as much as Batman has been."

"You, uh, you know?"

"Yeah. Kinda hard not to figure it out while living here, and you coming in today didn't help that." Tim blushed and sipped his water. "Though, like you, I showed up on Dick's doorstep already knowing he's Nightwing."

"Oh? And how well did that pan out for you?"

Danny shrugged. "I offered him help and refused to leave until he accepted it."

Tim laughed. "That's what I did to Bruce!"

They shared a smile. Danny lifted his cup as if to toast. "Here's to a couple of goblins with hero complexes." Tim lifted his cup to join Danny's toast and they both took a drink.

Giggling, the two finished their water in relative quiet, the air around them comfortable.

"Say," Tim asked, putting his cup down on the coffee table, "How old are you?"

"Fourteen. You?"

"Same."

"Cool."

"You're parents know where you are?"

"Nope. I would ask if yours do, but you already answered that."

"Yeah, they aren't really around much. I did tell Alfred I'd be gone, though, so he knows I'm not home."

"Yeah, but does he know you're here?"

"No."

"Hm." A beat. "Who's Alfred?"

Another laugh startled out of Tim. "Bruce's butler. Did Dick tell you nothing?"

Danny shrugged again. "I haven't pushed for answers about anything; I'm not a therapist. I'm just here because he's going to end up killing himself at the rate he's been working himself."

"So is Bruce," Tim admitted softly, "But he's going to end up taking Gotham down with him if no one stops him."

"So what are you going to do?"

He thought for a long minute, weighing options in his mind before saying, "I guess I'll have to be the help he needs me to be."

Danny tilted his head sideways like a dog. "What do you mean?"

Tim squared his shoulders, though he was still hesitant. "Batman needs a Robin, and if Dick isn't going to be that for him, then I guess I'll have to be."

Another beat. "But do you want to be a vigilante?"

"Does it matter if I want to be?" Tim asks, "If I don't then no one will." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Gotham is my home. I can't let Bruce destroy it in his grief."

"I understand." Danny nodded, "But what you want does matter. I know I can't stop you, so I'm not going to try, but I'm going to make you promise me something." He made sure to hold Tim's gaze. "You ask for help when you need it." He held out his hand and waited.

"What?"

"You're phone. Give it to me." Reluctantly, he did so. As soon as the flip phone was in his hand, Danny put his number in it before giving it back. 'You don't have to do this alone, okay, Tim? Promise that you'll call me when you need help, okay? Any time of day, I'll answer."

Tim stared at his now closed phone, the weight grounding him for a moment. "Are you going to be a vigilante to help Nightwing?"

"I already am."

"Huh?"

"It's why I'm here, It's why I know I can't stop you and why I'm making sure you know I'll be here to help you."

Nothing else was said between the boys. Nothing else needed to be said.

Part 7 Part 9

Tag List: @flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581 @blueliac @talia-scar123 @cyber-geist @violet-foxe @currentfandomkick @jaguarthecat @moonchild0924 @tonicmii @bushbees @idekwutoput @justalittleghostkid

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Lucky it's not Worse (part 4)

First part | Masterpost | previous part|

Betad by mossycobblestonewrites! Thank you

------

Batman has had a very hard... time, he wasn't honestly sure exactly how long it had been since Jason died. Since he'd lost his mind to the point the neighbor's child took it upon himself to play adult and keep Batman from falling apart. Of course, Tim had turned out to be a good kid in need of a home, and Bruce was glad to have him now, but that didn't touch his hurt and shame for his behaviour. And then Red Hood showed up.

The new rogue had an absolutely meteoric rise in power in Crime Alley, taking over the drug trade and forming a very organized gang before Bruce even had time to really register the threat. His rise had been bloody and thorough as he brought nearly all of organized crime in Gotham under his heel, with the help of his loyal second in command, Hyena.

Batman had thought that this headache couldn't get any worse, and then he found out who was under the Red Hood. Jason Todd, his son, back from the dead and so deeply changed, so angry about his death, and his life. Bruce... hadn't reacted well, honestly, he understood why Jason wanted to be avenged and they had wanted to avenge him. In the heat of the moment Dick had nearly killed the Joker, and so had Bruce really, if Clark hadn't held him back...

But in the heat of the moment, Bruce hadn't chosen his son. He had hurt Jason, again, to save the Joker, and it hadn't even worked. It had only been a few months later when Hyena had killed the Joker and brought Jason his head. Bruce had watched Jason declare his love for Hyena, before turning on Batman and Robin again. He wanted to help Jason, he really did, but he was afraid it was far too late.

The only thing that was giving him even an ounce of hope was that Red Hood had agreed to meet them tonight. Well, meet him. Bruce had refused to bring Tim and put him in that sort of danger, though he was sure that the third Robin had followed him anyway and was around here somewhere. Batman stood on a roof, waiting for Red Hood to come join him.

There was the sound of an impact beside Bruce and he turned towards it, expecting to see Red Hood and... displeased, to say the least, to see it wasn't him. Hyena stood on the other side of the roof, green eyes practically glowing over the muzzle he wore to hide the lower half of his face.

Bruce didn't know how to feel about Hyena. He knew that in his day-to-day life, the man was known as Fox, but Bruce couldn't find any mention of the name before he showed up in Gotham and started working for Red Hood. He knew Fox was a fake name too, but he couldn't find any hint of the man before he went by it. It was driving Batman crazy especially since Fox was so close to Jason. Was he to blame for the violent methods Jason was using now? A part of Bruce desperately wanted to believe this wasn't really his son's fault, at least not entirely.

"Hyena," Bruce greeted warily. "Where's Red hood, he agreed-"

"He agreed to hear you out," Hyena interrupted, sitting down on the raised edge of the building and crossing one leg over the other. "But something came up, I'm his eyes and ears when he isn't there, and I'm wearing a wire so he can listen in now or later. Whenever he's ready to."

"I don't want to talk to You," Batman growled and Hyena shrugged, posture relaxed and confident. He clearly wasn't intimidated at all by Batman, it was... disconcerting.

"Well then, that's just too bad, because he's not ready to see you until I give the go-ahead that you're not going to hurt him again." Hyena raised his chin defiantly, staring Batman down accusatory. "Since I was the one who stitched his throat back up after you slit it open," He said in an accusing snarl. Bruce suppressed his flinch.

"I'm not going to hurt him," Bruce said softly.

"Oh? You're not?" Hyena asked, cocking his head to the side, "Just going to arrest him and send him to Arkham then? Because he can't possibly know what he's doing? Anyone who doesn't follow your exact morals must be criminally insane!"

"Killing people Is a crime," Bruce said, puffing himself up indignantly and refusing to wilt when met with Hyena's manic laughter.

"It's the only way to stop Some People," he said, pushing himself up again, sauntering a little closer to Bruce. "If you really want us to stop, you know how~, you nearly 'stopped' Red Hood once already."

"I'm not going to hurt him, or you," Bruce said firmly and he could have sworn Hyena looked disappointed.

"Well that's just too bad," he sighed, slumping back a little, "What, exactly did you want then?"

"I wanted to apologize," Bruce said, though it felt like pulling teeth to say as much to Hyena. "And to try and agree to a... truce. From what I've heard things have been better in Crime Alley. If we can come to an agreement-"

"The only agreement we want is for you to agree to stay the hell out of Our territory," Hyena snarled, his eyes flashing an unnatural green, "And out of our business. Red Hood is done with you, you couldn't give him what he needed anyway. You leave us alone, and we'll leave you alone, that's the truce."

"You can't expect us to just allow the crimes you are committing! The drugs, and the murder-"

"They were happening anyway. You could never get a handle on organized crime," Hyena said with a dismissive wave. "If you want any sort of relationship with your son you're going to have to accept what he's Chosen to do with his life. He's making his home a better place, and I for one, support him and Whatever he believes needs to be done."

"Even if it's-"

"Whatever needs to be done," Hyena repeated, staring him down. "There is No limit to what I would do for him."

Bruce found himself at a loss for words. Hyena could be lying, but he looked so sincere and serious. He was probably still enabling Jason's behaviour, but the hope Bruce had that Hyena was the one leading and manipulating Jason was dying a slow death. Another thing was still bothering him though. It was the way Hyena snarled, and the way his eyes glowed. When he laughed it echoed a little too, like there was a modulator but he was pretty sure it wasn't. Something was Off with Hyena.

"So, do you agree to our terms?" Hyena asked after the silence had trailed on for too long.

"I want to see Red Hood," Bruce said instead and Hyena cocked his head to the side again, looking him over.

"I'll see if he'd be willing to meet you," he sighed reluctantly.

"Alone."

"No." The denial was abrupt and immediate. Bruce did Not like it.

"That's not up to you!" Bruce growled in his most threatening 'Batman voice'.

"He is my boyfriend, My Beloved, My World! I will Not let you hurt him again!" Hyena insisted, and there was that echo again as emotion made his voice lose some of its humanity. His eyes were glowing green again as well, this time it was obvious.

Bruce stared back at him consideringly and hummed, nodding slowly. "Alright, I still want to see him," He repeated. “Even if you insist on being there.”

Hyena stared at him, then nodded slowly. "I'll talk to Hood, maybe.” He agreed, though he sounded far from convinced. “Is there anything else?" He asked, clearly exasperated.

"Hm," Bruce sounded a negative, shaking his head slightly.

"Alright, then I've got things to do," Hyena said with an insincere and mocking salute before loping over to the side of the building and vaulting over the edge, returning to Crime Alley.

Bruce only had to wait a couple minutes before he heard a grapple and Robin landed next to him. He sighed softly at Tim, who was entirely unapologetic for coming along without permission.

"So that was weird, huh?" He said with a defiant little grin.

"Hm. I think we need to call Constantine."

-----------

Constantine hated it when the Bats called him. They did it very rarely, and when they did, it meant something had gone horribly wrong. Usually, they should have called him in ages ago, but were either insisting they could handle it themselves or didn't think the problem was supernatural. So when he got a call saying he needed to come to Gotham A.S.A.P, John felt like a bowling ball had been dropped into his gut, and dropped everything to go. As much as he wanted to avoid it, avoidance would just make things worse.

He portalled to the bat cave and immediately felt that something was off, though he didn’t know what it was at first. His supernatural senses were tingling, though not in a way that indicated an imminent threat or anything. He couldn’t be sure of course, but he trusted his gut. 

Batman turned towards him nodding at him in greeting, and beckoned for him to come closer to the giant computer they had in this weird cave. “There is a new masked player in Gotham,” Batman started, and Constantine nodded.

“Red Hood? I’ve heard about him.” He didn’t understand why Batman twitched slightly at the mention.

“Yes, but it’s not him I’m talking about. It’s his partner, known as Hyena. We know almost nothing about him, but we do know he has some sort of meta or magic abilities. We believe he has the potential to be even more of a threat than he first appears, and that he might be the true head of operations for Red Hood’s gang,” Bruce said opening the file on Hyena, showing a young man with black and white hair, a muzzle, and a brown, beige, and red costume that looked to be inspired by Harley Quinn and Catwoman. 

There was something wrong with the man, the way his eyes reflected the light in the still Batman had paused on. Then he hit play and the video showed Hyena looking directly at the camera, his eyes flashed fully green for just a moment before the recording turned to static. That was what the human eye would see at least, Constantine could see the burst of power that had broken the electronics, it was definitely magic. “It didn’t just take out the camera. The street lights and just about every appliance on the block shorted out as well,” Batman explained. 

“Huh, do you have anything of his?” Constantine asked. Batman scowled, shaking his head. That was weird, Bats were usually really good at getting samples from people. Hyena must be really careful with his DNA.

“Alright, I’ll try Scrying then,” Constantine sighed, digging in his pockets for the things he’d need to set up the spell. “Alright, this should show us a bit more about him,” Constantine said as Batman came closer to watch him activate the spell.

But it did not work as it was intended to, in fact, something happened that Constantine had never seen before. The spell blew up. And not just a little, the blast of green energy knocked Constantine back flat on his ass, leaving him gaping at the place the spell circle had been, now a scorched patch on the floor still crackling with vivid green energy. 

“What does that mean?” Batman growled, snapping Constantine out of his daze. 

He leapt up to his feet with an indignant yelp, “What that means, is that Hyena is something you should not be messing with! With that sort of power coming through just a Scrying spell if that thing is keeping to Crime Alley and only killing a few people you’re damn lucky!” He insisted furiously, only to receive a disbelieving hum from Batman.

“You haven’t seen him. The spell could have failed for a different reason,” He stated, as if he knew anything at all about magic!

“Ohh, no! I have done this spell hundreds of times! If it failed, it just wouldn’t have shown anything. It worked, and the amount of power that came through shorted the spell!” Constantine reiterated with growing frustration, pointing accusingly at Batman, “Leave it alone!” 

“Hyena is causing problems in my city, I will not leave it alone. What can you tell me about him? What is he?” Batman asked stubbornly. 

“Absolutely fuck all! The spell has never reacted like that, and I don’t know the energy signature. Besides Powerful, I know nothing about them!” 

“Hm. He and Hood agreed to meet me tonight. You will be coming with me,” Batman decided. It wasn’t a question, but Constantine made an X motion with his hands anyway. 

“Nooo, no no no! Absolutely not! I’m not going anywhere near this!” Constantine denied immediately, but the stubborn set of Batman’s jaw said that he was not getting out of this, not without serious consequences. 

“Hm,” Batman sounded, staring Constantine down, who tried to withstand, truly he did! But, well, the devil he knew was better than the devil he didn’t.

“Fine!” Constantine threw his hands up in the air furiously. “I’ll go, but if we die it’s your fault!”

Next

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐞.𝐦.

PAIRING Vampire Eddie Muson x Female Reader

SUMMARY One eerie night on your way home from work, you nearly run over someone who’s already supposed to be a dead man. As the truth slowly comes to light, an unlikely friendship forms—and begins to grow into something more. [fluff, mild angst, mentions of blood, 7.3k]

A/N There's no shame is coming back a little wrong. Here's to Halloween 2024!

𝙵𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟿

The relentless staccato of the drums reverberating off the walls pulses in time with the headache cruelly settled in the front of your head. It’s no fault of Jim, the young kid beating away for a committed crowd of ten. Rather, it’s the culmination of an entire evening's worth of noise. Of fulfilling countless drink requests for half the thanks.

The Hideout seems to move in a delay as you finish wiping down your portion of the sticky bar. A little further down, your co-worker Alex pours whiskey for an older man with a wild head of silver hair. 

When you’re done, you head to the breakroom, weaving through sweaty bodies on the way. Shift officially over, you gather your belongings with quick hands, moving on autopilot as you so often do nowadays. 

Reprieve only comes after you’ve pushed through the back door and stepped into the night. The air welcomes you with a cool stillness. A stillness that didn’t exist up until a year ago when the ground shook and the heavens turned red for a short period of time. Those who could afford to flee left Hawkins and never looked back. People like you stayed behind. 

There’s been something different about the nighttime since that fateful day. Not only did the darkness deepen, but the nights themselves seemed to stretch longer. As if nothingness itself sought to swallow the town every time the sun made its descent. That reality doesn’t scare you anymore. 

On nights like tonight, there’s an eerie beauty to it all. 

The radio in your car bursts into pop when you start the ignition, but you kill it quickly. Tomorrow, you’d wake up, go to work, and do it all again. 

Under the glow of the remaining streetlights, you cruise your way through a near ghost town. One hand guides the wheel while the other remains propped against your head. There are more boarded windows and abandoned lots than there are signs of life, all memorializing a time that once was but is no more. 

As you turn onto Main Street, a dark flutter of movement catches your attention further ahead. You can’t quite make out what’s on the ground yet, but you slow down as a precaution.

It ends up being a black cat that scurries across the road, disappearing into an alleyway. What you’re not expecting is the figure that carelessly darts in front of you to chase after it. Slamming down on the breaks sends you lurching forward with a gasp. You don’t realize your eyes are squeezed shut until you peel them open, heart pounding in your ears. 

The figure, a man, as you can now make out, is on the ground on the other side of the street. He must’ve tripped over the curb in his haste. Propping himself up on his forearms, he glances in the direction the cat ran in as if debating to continue after it. 

Instead, in an air of defeat, he plops onto his back and stares up at the void-like sky. Alarm bells go off in your head at the possibility of this being some sort of trap, but you crank down your window because too much concern has settled within your ribcage. 

“Are you alright?” you call out to him. “I’m so sorry.” 

He just lies there, shifting ever so slightly.

Conflicted, you chew on your lower lip before finally deciding to get out of the car. The sound of your door snapping shut proceeds your hesitant footsteps as you pad over to him. 

The faint smell of vanilla and stale beer had registered with him the moment you opened your door, but it intensifies as you near, right along with a deeper, more vascular scent. The latter of which intrigues a primal part of him he often fought to suppress. Helplessly, instinctively, he licks over his teeth as the gums above his canines begin to tingle. 

You stop a few feet away as he sits up fully, hair long and disheveled. There’s an intensity to his gaze that isn’t threatening or unkind, just strikingly observant. Like an owl seeing through what you want him to see, straight to the marrow of who you are. 

In daring to look back into his eyes, you notice how they’re as black as the night sky. His face is pale, cheeks are slightly gaunt. 

He can see the moment you discard any notion of him being a threat, realizing how weak and pathetic he must look sitting on the ground. Embarrassment itches down his arms as he averts his gaze to the asphalt of the street. He can’t even pay himself the dignity of standing. 

“I didn’t see you coming.” Your voice is too sweet. “Do you need help? There’s a phone booth over there, I could call someone for you.” 

“I’m alright,” he murmurs. 

“Are you sure?” You study him for any signs of pain. “You’re not hurt, are you?” 

“Never better.” It took a lot more than a good wipeout to hurt him nowadays. 

He looks back up at you in hopes it will make you believe him. That’s when a sense of recognition kindles deep down within you. You repress it because it can’t possibly be him. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The cadence of his voice, though weighed with tiredness, is unmistakably familiar in this moment. 

“Well, alright,” you finally say. 

Walking back to your car and leaving him alone almost feels like a crime. 

•••  

There’s a distanced look in your eyes as you stare up at Robin’s ceiling fan. It’s as still as you are, but the sunken cheeks of the pale stranger spiral around and around in your head. It’s past midnight and dim lamplight paints the room in a soft, yellowed glow. There are posters all over the walls, which are still painted lilac from her childhood. Everything from the album covers of Madonna and Blondie to movies like Psycho and Star Wars. 

The paper of her senior yearbook crinkles gently as she flips through the pages beside you. She stops when she finally gets to the senior portraits, pointing to Edward Munson as you flip onto your stomach to join her in looking. He has long hair, doe eyes, and a boyish grin. You stare at his face for a few quiet seconds, noting how much more alive he looked. Robin’s mouth opens a couple times but no words come out. 

“I swear it was him, Rob.” Your voice cracks a little with the weight of your sincerity. “And he looked like he needed help. Like he may be going through something right now. Something bad. Drugs.” 

Robin abruptly flips the yearbook closed. “He’s gone,” she says with the resolve of someone who’s had enough time to stitch old wounds closed. You can understand that.  

Considering the selfish discrimination that plagued Hawkins back at that time, you’re not even sure if the police department looked all that intensely. Maybe no more than a few echoing calls out into the woods for a couple days straight. They had better things to do than search for a troubled teen from Forest Hills Trailer park. The thought alone is enough to stir a sense of disgust within you, so you can only imagine how Robin feels being he was her friend. 

Eddie got held back and was set to graduate alongside you in eighty-seven but you never crossed paths, only shot the occasional curious glance his way because there always had been something magnetic about him. It wasn’t until Hawkins was rattled with the mysterious shaking that you befriended Robin, Steve, and some of their younger friends. 

They were among the residents who didn’t skip town even though they had the means to.  

Robin’s cheeks have taken on a light flush, so you give her shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sorry to bring this up on a random Saturday night, but it’s all that’s been on my mind,” you admit. “To think that he could be out there on his own, scared to come forward…” you trail off, unsure of where you’re headed. 

Her blue eyes look intently into yours. “You don’t go missing for that long and magically turn up alive… You just don’t.” There’s a practiced steadiness to her voice. 

With Eddie being someone you’d only ever seen in passing, you find yourself wondering why you wish her words were the furthest thing from the truth. 

•••

It’s quiet except for the whir of your bicycle wheels as you pedal back to your house the following morning. It feels like you’re gliding on the wind, bound to float up and away with a mere extension of your arms. The made-up tune you’re humming fades away when a slender black cat stops in the middle of the street about a hundred feet ahead, staring straight at you. It doesn’t startle as you near. 

The feline takes a few curious steps towards you as you dismount your bike, squatting down to make yourself look smaller and less imposing. That’s when you notice the collar around its neck that nearly blends in with its coat aside from the golden nameplate pendant. Luna.

“Hi, Luna,” you coo, holding out your hand. She nuzzles into it. “That’s such a pretty name. You’re a sweet girl, aren’t you?” She lets you scratch behind her ears as she blinks her big green eyes in languid satisfaction. Her fur is soft and clean, clearly from being taken care of.  

“Did you run away from home? Is that what happened?” You take a quick look around even though you’re in the portion of town where the homes are tucked further back into the trees. Nobody seems to be outside looking. 

When you stand, she gazes up at you before trotting away. Only then does it occur to you that she probably knows her way back home. But you can’t shake the possibility that she was the same cat from two nights ago who was running from the dead man. So many pets had been displaced since the Shaking, but that didn’t seem to be the case with her. A small smile pulls at your lips when she looks back at you with a soft mrrow. 

Picking up your bike, you walk closer to her. Upon noticing you’ve begun to follow, Luna starts walking again and you trail after her. 

She eventually diverts off the street and under an A-frame barricade with a sign that reads: Private Property, No Trespassing. Now standing on a dirt road leading into the woods. When you stop, still on the road, she turns back to look at you—mrrrrow.

“I can’t,” you say. 

The sound of an approaching engine startles you. A police car that slows to a stop, rolling the window down to reveal a scrawny officer with an unkempt mustache, smoking a cigarette. He gives you a quick once-over. 

“You a friend of the guy who lives back there?” For someone living in the midwest, he has a thick Southern drawl. And an unfamiliar face, now that you’re thinking about it. Likely a new hire. What was even stranger than those who decided to stay in Hawkins was the handful of people who, for some reason, sought out the town. 

Glancing back at the dirt road, you realize Luna hasn’t moved. The officer lifts his brows in curiosity when your eyes settle back on him. 

“I—yes. I am,” you say. Thankfully, he looks like he believes you. 

“How’s he doing? Chief’s planning a welfare visit within the hour,” he says it like he’s trying to collect pieces of information for a puzzle he’s working out.

“I was actually just going to see him,” you lie. “Is there reason for concern?” 

The officer snorts and shakes his head, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “You tell me. Nobody tells me a goddamn thing in this town,” he says. “I’ll get someone to crack soon enough. You take care of yourself, sweetheart.” With that, he pulls off. Mrrrow—

With a heavy sigh and buzzing nerves, you push your bike around the barricade and allow Luna to lead you down the road in a bouncy, graceful stride. 

•••

Three crisp knocks at the door startles Eddie awake on the couch. One arm is hanging off and brushing against the rug. He blinks a few drowsy times before mustering up the willpower to stand, trudging to go peak out the front window. It’s you and Luna. The way his heartbeat spikes makes him wish that no longer having a heart had been a part of the vampire deal. You’re wearing baggy jeans and a cute oversized cardigan. Your bike is propped along the railing of the porch stairs. 

Nobody was supposed to know about this place aside from a select group. A small part of him is happy to see your face again, but he knows this isn’t good. The fewer people who know about him, the better. Perhaps that was merely a lie he told himself when he managed to escape Upside Down, but it had stuck. And for some reason—whether it be patience, pity, or an odd blend of both—everyone respected his wishes. 

The house Eddie lived in now had been abandoned by a doomsday prepper. A surprisingly decent amount of supplies were left stored away in the basement. Chief Hopper had helped him move in a year ago after he returned from the Upside Down as a changed man. The chief had even found a reliable contact at the Hawkins Blood Bank for the sake of Eddie’s needs. 

As tempting as the urges sometimes were, feeding on live prey wasn’t sustainable. Drinking from blood bags was just as suitable. 

Even when it comes to his friends, they make sure to look out for him as best they can. Offering their company, their support, their laughter. All things considered, he had the stability he needed to get back out in the world and chase after a semblance of normalcy. But he hadn’t, not fully. 

The amount of times he left the house, especially during the day, was far and few between. When he did, it was to go to Steve’s place, or Robin’s, or Dustin’s. 

Now he’d fallen into funk like none other, insisting that nobody bothered him at all. For the first time since turning into a vampire, the desire to start living again was stronger than ever, yet it terrified him to his core. The last thing he wanted to do was for his cursed hands to end up tarnishing whatever good managed to come his way. He wouldn’t be able to bear it, so he figured he’d save himself the disappointment by not trying at all. 

It was killing him. 

When he opens the door, you’re wide-eyed. Luna immediately strolls inside to circle in between his legs, proudly rubbing herself against them. As bad as he wants to scoop her up into his arms in relief, he keeps looking at you. 

“Eddie Munson?” you ask hesitantly.  

He swallows. “Yeah.”  

“I knew that was you back on Friday.” 

Your eyes flick down to Luna, who gratefully peers up. “She was out in the street trying to get help for you,” you say without a doubt. “Animals always know.” There’s a brief flicker of emotion in Eddie’s eyes. 

“I’d been trying to catch her that night.” He sounds ashamed, like he knows you’re right, “She’s never run away before.” A brief moment of silence passes between the two of you. 

“There’s someone coming for a welfare check,” you tell him. “The Chief of Police, I think. An officer stopped and told me.” 

Eddie pales—if that’s even possible. A humorless laugh rises in his throat. “I’m sorry for getting you dragged into this mess—” 

“I wasn’t dragged into anything,” you counter softly, searching his eyes. “It’s called life. Things happen, you meet people, time keeps passing by. 

“Everything happens for a reason.” You offer a small, encouraging smile.

He feels a flutter in his gut that he hasn’t felt in a long time. You’re awfully pretty, and kind, and smell way too divine. 

It’s too far away for you to hear, but in the distance, there’s a rumbling engine and the sound of tires turning onto the dirt road. 

•••

Vampires were supposed to be bound to legends and myths. Not real, and certainly not in Hawkins in the form of a boy whose company you could easily learn to enjoy. Both Eddie and Chief Hopper stare at you, eagerly awaiting your response to the story they just told. It’d practically been an entire oral history of Hawkins’ woes, not solely about Eddie, but about Eleven, demogorgons, the Mind Flayer, and Venca—all underscored by a depraved dimension called the Upside Down. 

All three of you are seated in the charming living room, the sun beginning to set outside. 

“Look,” Hopper says, running a thick hand down his face. “I know this is a lot. I wouldn’t blame you if you ran off and told the whole town.” As he shifts, the buttons over his stomach strain. “But before you do, just take a second and—” 

“I won’t tell,” you promise. “I always knew this town was different. I could feel it,” you admit. “For the first time in my life, I don’t feel crazy anymore.” 

That resonates with Eddie. It was a strange, unforgiving town indeed. 

“But I think you guys already knew that,” you say. “That’s why you even bothered to trust me.” 

Hopper glances at Eddie as if to say I like this one, she’s solid. Eddie likes you too.

The boy straightens up. “And about Robin, Steve, and everybody else… I know they lied to you, but it’s only because I asked them to keep me a secret,” he says. “If you’re upset about that, you have the right to take it out on me.” 

“Not while I’m here,” Hopper quips, pushing himself up from the couch. “If she does a number on you, I refuse to be a witness.” He’s joking, and you’re grateful for the levity that works its way back into the room. 

Eddie purses his lips in amusement, peeking over at you. You smile back.  

“And for the love of God, can you get something in your system? You look like you’re withering away,” Hopper grouses. “I’m gonna swing back around tomorrow, and all those blood bags better be gone.” 

You’re unable to stop yourself from snorting at what your life has suddenly become. If the sparkle in his eyes is any indicator, Eddie didn’t seem to mind your amusement. Not even a little bit, not even at all. 

•••

Gravel crackles beneath a set of tires as a vehicle rolls up out back. You’re too far away to hear, but as Eddie hops out of his van, he can make out chatter and drums emitting from inside. The external lights of The Hideout are blown out, so it’s pitch dark as Eddie rounds to the passenger side to get his acoustic guitar and sling it over his shoulder.

Soon, his hand is meeting the cool handle of the back door, which doesn't budge when he tugs. Two years ago, it would’ve. He was still learning how much time had altered in its wake. So He begins knocking instead. 

Entering through the front would be simple enough, but he wasn’t quite ready for everyone’s eyes to fall on him at once. 

Inside, Samuel, a man with a pirate hook in place of his missing hand, uses the metal prosthetic to push his empty glass closer to you for a refill. Eddie’s unheard knocking persists as you whistle for Alex to fulfill the man’s request in your place. 

“Gotta run to the bathroom,” you say. 

When you make it to the back hallway, the knocking finally registers. Two girls with matching mullets come stumbling out the bathroom hand-in-hand, forcing you to press closer to the wall as you head to answer the door. A voice emerges from the other side as you do. 

“Hello? I’m here to—”

It’s Eddie, blending in with the darkness of the night except for his guitar and milky skin. Although, there’s a bit more life to his complexion now. His curls tumble down onto his shoulders, denser and more defined as if he’d washed his hair recently. He’s no longer wearing baggy clothes, so you can see the true broadness of his shoulders. The undeniable tone of his slim frame. 

Under the weight of your observant gaze, he clears his throat, eyes flicking to the ground. “Sorry. It’s been a while,” he says. “I don’t know what the protocol is for performers anymore.”  

With everything you’ve learned over the past few weeks, you weren’t expecting him here. You’d hung out with him several times since learning he was a vampire, but it was either at his house or somebody else's. Never out and about, and certainly not around other people. 

His shoulders relax when you smile and open the door wider for him to come inside. He smells good as he brushes past you with tentative steps. 

“The green room is still where you remember it,” you call, trailing after him as he heads that way. 

It’s more of a supply room now. There are napkins, utensils, cleaning solutions, the whole lot. A few aux cords and other random pieces of sound equipment remain from back in the day. 

Eddie pads over to a small shelf, filled with old inspection documents and financial forms, and carefully scoots the stack to the right. Curiosity gets the better of you as you go to look over his shoulder. 

He can hear your breaths even though they aren’t loud. The gentle, steady beating of your heart. He can’t pretend it isn’t what he came for. 

Written in permanent marker against the wood of the shelf is a messy cluster of Corroded Coffin signatures dated with the year 1987. The year everything changed. Among the names, is his written in chunky capital letters, devil ears on either end. 

“I never knew that was there,” you say fondly.

He turns around to face you. “We thought we were so cool.” The memory makes him smile. 

A brief moment passes of taking each other in. You break the silence, “If you wanna perform, you can go out when the drums stop. Jim gets up there every evening and eventually wears himself out. I say he’s got another five minutes left in him.”

“Everyone’s got their process,” Eddie jokes. He’s rewarded with the sweet sound of your laugh. You pretend you wouldn’t rather stay hidden in this small, stuffy room and chat the remainder of your shift away. 

Jim stops playing as you predicted, but it isn’t until you’re back at the bar that Eddie emerges. You take the time to actually read what’s painted in white on the dark wood of his guitar: THIS MACHINE SLAYS Dragons. The room immediately goes quiet as he takes a seat on the edge of the stage, commanding it without doing anything at all. He even garners the attention of drunk eyes in their blurry haze. 

Without looking up from the fingerboard, he begins a connected series of languid strums, rings glinting in the low light. 

The melodic notes soon shape into a song. One that’s as somber as it is beautiful. It’s in no way akin to the punk and metal music that usually ricochets off the walls, but there’s no complaints. Everyone is transfixed by the way he simply watches his fingers as he plays. As if his heart isn’t bleeding out before their very eyes and reaching out to theirs. 

Once upon a time, he got a kick out of being rowdy and playing off the audience’s energy. But now, simply being seen and heard was enough. Especially after a period of wandering the dark. 

He’d told himself that this was the week he’d come out of hiding. That he was worth more than living in the shadows where he couldn’t make any mistakes. 

Scattered applause rises when he finishes. Samuel, abruptly slides from his barstool and slaps a few wrinkled dollar bills on the counter for you with his good hand. There’s a tug in your chest when you notice the tears welling in his eyes. 

“Who is that kid anyway?” he asks, swiping beneath them. 

You offer a small smile. “Eddie Munson.”

“I’d pay good money to hear his story,” he says, gathering his jacket from the back of the stool. “Tell your folks I say hello.” With that, he gets up and leaves, disappearing into the night.

Eddie stands from the stage as well. A few people file into his personal space to compliment and thank him for playing, but it doesn’t seem to phase him. He doesn’t flinch or cower away. The smile that eases across his face is so genuine that you can feel yourself being compelled into his orbit as well. 

You remain behind the bar, however. 

“Hey, lady, are you deaf or something?” A man taps his empty beer glass down on the bar in front of you, clearly intoxicated or at least halfway there. “Gimme another.” 

Alex is quick to pick up your slack, sliding up alongside you to give the guy a fresh glass. “Take a chill pill, man,” he says, fixing the guy with a firm look. 

“I’m Eric fucking Rutherford, and she’s on the clock.” He belches after taking a few big gulps. “She can visit la-la land on her own time. Shit, I’m going to go take a piss,” he grumbles. 

Eddie hears the whole exchange even though he wishes he hadn’t. He hears everything nowadays.

You shoot Alex a tired, apologetic smile. What you don’t see is Eddie placing his guitar on the stage and following Eric into the bathroom. 

Another perk of being undead is that nobody scares him anymore. 

“You can clock out early if you want,” Alex insists. “It’s only gonna get crazier.” 

The loud squeak of the hinges pierce through the air as Eddie slips through the bathroom door. Eric gives him a charged glance before unzipping his pants and taking care of his business. Eddie’s heavy boots clunk against the wet tile as he makes his way to the urinal right beside the man, staring down into the dingy ceramic.

“You a fairy or something? All this space and you wanna be right up under me.” Eddie can hear the man’s heartbeat speed up in his chest. Not from fear, fear sounded different. This was more like hopefulness.

Like a secret desire packed down so tight it was begging for a reason to be set free. Upon finishing, Eric zips his pants and gives Eddie another look, “Well, are you?”

Eddie’s jaw ticks as he shadows Eric to the sink. “What does matter to you?” He clocks the wedding band on the man’s ring finger. 

It’s hard to make out a reflection amid all the cracks and scribbled writing on the mirror, but Eric can see Eddie looming behind him like a stone wall. They lock eyes, and there’s something about Eddie’s gaze that makes it hard to look away. The man has no choice but to let down his facade. 

There was an inexplicable force willing him to do so. An inhuman compulsion. Eddie can’t bring himself to feel bad for leveraging an ability he seldom used. 

In a ruse of friendliness, he pulls out a couple sheets of paper towels and hands them to Eric. “Now you’re just stringing me along and playing hard to get,” the man accuses. “There’s a motel right across the street if you wanna drop the act.”

“No thanks,” Eddie says cooly. 

That startles a laugh out of him. “No thanks? Yeah, right—” 

Eric's face pales when dark veins begin to snake beneath Eddie’s eyes. 

Back in the main room, your head snaps up from wiping the bar when Eric bursts out of the bathroom, letting out a string of terrified expletives. He nearly trips over himself as he casts numerous glances over his shoulder, but nobody’s chasing after him. 

Multiple people call out to ask what’s wrong, but he chokes on his breath when he tries to speak. Seeing the intense flush of his face makes your heartbeat pound in your ears like Jim’s drumming. The tempo swells when he locks eyes with you. 

Eddie listens from the bathroom as he splashes his face with cold water. 

“I’m sorry, alright?” Eric forces out. “We’re cool now, okay? No more bad blood.”

You nod, frozen in place at the realization of the only person who could make him this afraid. With the acceptance of your apology, he darts out the front door on shaky legs. 

•••

Not even ten minutes later, you’re scolding Eddie after accepting his offer to drive you home. It’s an invitation you could’ve passed on, if you hadn’t long regretted your decision to bike to work. Eddie’s van smells earthen, with faint undertones of tobacco and the cinnamon car freshener hanging from their rearview. 

He can hear the waver of concern in your voice as you carry on. 

“And what if he tells?” you ask. “What if he recognized you?”  

“He didn’t recognize me. And he won’t tell,” Eddie says, a little too sure for your liking. 

“You don’t know that, Eddie. Jesus.” You slouch back into the passenger seat and go silent for the first time during the entire ride. Only then does guilt begin gnawing at you, relentless nips all over your body. 

Eddie was at least trying to get back out into the world, and here you were scolding him for standing up in your defense. 

You look over to his hands as he drives, the glint of his rings. Eddie has pretty, slender fingers. He can feel you staring, but doesn’t respond because he has no regrets. Not only have his senses been amplified since the Upside Down, but so has his willingness to defend. He’d spent so long running from everyone and everything, as if being a coward was woven into the inner fabric of his being. But not anymore. 

There was an unyielding sense of protectiveness you managed to stir within him. That’s how everything felt when it came to you. He has to fight to ignore how aware he is of you. Your aura, your scent, the way your blood smells sweeter now that it was just the two of you making passage through the night. 

He licks over his teeth and his tingling gums, ignoring the relentless pull of desire. 

Looking out the passenger side window as the town passes by only works for so long. “Hey, Eddie?” you murmur. “I’m sorry for raising my voice. I just worry.” 

You shrink in on yourself when he looks over at you with more fondness than you deserve. “It’s alright,” he says.

A smile finally twitches at his lips when you hold out your pinky. He indulges you, hooking his larger one around yours. 

•••

It’s no surprise he receives an invitation inside your trailer once you’ve arrived. It feels weird being back in the small, othered community that raised him. There were a few occasions he’d come to visit Wayne at night when nobody could see. Other than that, it was the older man who came to him instead. 

The small space is cozy and lived-in. A courtesy of one of your aunt’s who’d fled Hawkins but was willing to rent the place out for cheap. Eddie’s enhanced scent allows him to perceive every note. It’s overwhelming in the best way. He could tune it all out if he wanted, but he’s greedy when it comes to you. 

You head to your bedroom as he takes off his boots by the door, bracing a hand on the wall. With owl-like eyes, watching the sway of your hips in your jeans as you disappear. Then he begins to look around in curiosity. There are numerous pictures of your friends and family. Shelves on the walls that hold different frames, trinkets, and figurines. The layout of the trailer is similar to his Uncle Wayne’s in that the living room and kitchen bleed into each other, but you’ve made a more functional utilization of the space. 

It soon registered that the shuffling sound coming from your room is you attempting to tidy up. A smile tugs at his lips. 

A small squeak escapes you as you turn around from closing a drawer of your dresser. Eddie is leaning in the doorway with an amused look on his face, and you can’t even conjure up an excuse for what you’re doing. 

“Can I come in?” he asks. 

“No,” you huff, a grin threatening to break through. 

A chuckle shakes his chest. “Please?” 

There’s a giddy flutter within you. “You’re banned for life.” 

“For life,” he repeats as he saunters in. “That’s not fair.” 

Your room reminds him of Robin’s, though it’s not as reflective of your more teenage interests. There’s more of a mature refinement that still brims with personality. 

Eddie walks over to your small, somewhat cluttered desk and picks up your journal as your back is turned away. 

When your eyes land on him again, he’s sitting on the foot of your bed, the book flipped open. His gaze is fixed on the first, where your name and the date you started writing in it are scrawled in your handwriting. He’d never be so bold in invading your privacy. He only picked it up to get a rise out of you. As expected, your heart sinks into your feet at the sight. 

“Eddie, no,” you whine, rushing over to swipe it away, completely unaware that you’ve crowded between his legs. He angles it out of your reach with a teasing grin on his face. “It’s not funny, I’m being serious.” Still, a helpless laugh bubbles out of you in betrayal. 

You reach for it again, but this time he falls onto his back, extending his arm above his head. 

Placing one knee on the bed between his spread legs, you lean forward, bracing with one hand as you reach for your journal with the other. Eddie’s breath catches when your chest brushes against his face, warmth flooding his cheeks and pleasantly melting lower and lower. 

In an effort to save himself from doing something stupid, he slips his free hand under your sweater to press his fingers into your skin like he’s playing the piano. A small squeak escapes you before you tumble into the sweetest laughter. 

You scoot further down his body to escape and, in your warm, giggly haze, capture his lips in a kiss that sends both of your heads soaring into the clouds.  

You tell yourself it’s only to get him to stop tickling you, but it’s more than that. It’s a bursting forth of every feeling that reawakened the moment you learned he was still alive. All the lost years come rushing back for their recompense in the intoxicating heat of your kiss. 

Eddie drops the journal in favor of settling both hands on your waist to steady you above him. Even then, he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to carry on like this. A familiar sensation starts up in his gums, and he makes a small sound in the back of his throat that sounds grieved. 

Almost immediately, you pull away, staring down at his spit slicked lips. “Are you okay?” you murmur, studying his face with concern.  

He nods in place of speaking, but when you lean back in to peck his lips, he makes that same sound again, pushing gently at your waist. 

“Hold on,” he breathes. 

Your brows furrow until you get the idea to raise his upper lip with a gentle thumb. For the first time, up close and personal, you see that his fangs have extended. Weakly, he fights against you to close his mouth, but you don’t move your finger. There’s a sense of wonder in your eyes as you study them, pearly and sharp. 

He feels exposed, like he’s an animal receiving an inspection. 

“Alright,” he halfheartedly urges, turning his head away to get you to stop. In doing so, the sharp end of his right fang ends up nicking your thumb. Wincing, you step back to your full height, allowing him to sit up. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. Lemme see?” He raises your hand to assess the damage. It’s nothing major. A trickle of blood runs from the puncture. 

“I’m okay.” 

He doesn’t let go of your hand. Neither has he looked away from the blood. It’d be easy for him to slip your finger into his mouth and suck it off. But he doesn’t, unsure he’d be able to stop. 

That’s when a willing look sparks in your eyes. 

“It’s okay,” you assure, recalling how your own childhood consisted of quickly sucking away the blood from minor cuts and scrapes. It was nothing. You trust him. 

Eddie blinks, conflicted, then presses his lips to the pad of your thumb as if he’s offering a kiss. You feel the wet warmth of his tongue as he pokes it out. Your blood is too good. If he never drank it again, this would be more than enough. All he needed was one taste when it came to you.   

•••

𝙵𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟶

Leaving Hawkins

Come Again Soon 

Passing the sign had almost felt wrong, but the breeze flowing in from the cracked windows didn’t. Neither did the gentle weight of Eddie’s hand resting on your thigh. Even now, as you and Eddie wander your way around a carnival two towns over, the words lingered around the edges of your mind. For a fleeting second, you allow yourself to imagine that the two of you were bound to never return.  

Golden hour paints everything in an ethereal glow. The air smells like pumpkin spice, cider, and straw. Lights from various attractions twinkle and flash like small colorful stars. Laughter and thrilled screams seem to have permanent residency in the air. So much life pulsed all around. More than Hawkins would likely ever see again for a long time. Eddie looks over at you when you squeeze his hand. 

“Doing alright?” you ask quietly. 

He nods. “You?” 

You nod. “I’ve been working up the courage to ask you to go in a photo booth with me.” 

A surprised laugh slips past Eddie’s lips. “What do you mean courage?”

“Last time we went in one together, you said never again,” you mock the sound of his voice, recalling the flustered look on his face. It’d been your fault, your hands had wandered, drawing eyes when you exited the booth. 

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” he says. 

Upon crawling into the next available booth, it’s a tight fit. Your thighs press together, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. Sometimes you couldn’t get close enough. The black curtains hanging on either side surprisingly manage to block out a decent amount of light. With a giddy smile on your face, you cling to Eddie’s free arm as he pays and presses the buttons necessary to advance past the main menu. When it comes time to take your series of photos, a brief sense of panic washes over you.

“Wait, we never planned out our poses.” 

Eddie chuckles as he drapes an arm over your shoulders and kisses your temple. “We can wing it. We’re good at that.”

Turns out he’s right. You can’t stop gushing at the strip of black-and-white pictures once you’re back on the outside. Out of the four, your favorite one is where you’re both smiling into the camera with your head resting on his shoulder. It strikes you then, how fortunate you are to be able to spend moments like this with him. If you could comb through entire dictionaries, ‘easy’ was still the word you’d settle on when it came to Eddie. It was easy to exist alongside him. He was kind in a way you’d never experienced in a relationship. And funny in a quiet sort of way you wouldn’t necessarily expect at first glance.  

“Prettiest girl in the world,” Eddie compliments as you start walking again. “Got me wrapped around your finger.” 

Instead of responding, you hook your arm around his and tuck yourself closer. A brief silence stretches between you, but the sounds of the fairgrounds continue all around like magic. You’ll remember this evening forever. 

“Thank you,” Eddie eventually says, tone thick with sincerity. You don’t ask what he’s referring to because you know it’s not one singular thing.

Even during that melancholic night when you almost hit him with your car, he knew there was something about you he wouldn’t be able to shake for a long time. Had he not seen you again, he still would’ve remembered your face, the sound of your voice, how evident it was that you cared, even in your tiredness. But then Luna led you back to him, and you brought him back to life. You showed him that there was so much worth living for, that it was okay to mess up sometimes. There was nothing to gain when you never took a chance. 

Eventually, you find yourselves in line for the ferris wheel. By the time you reach front, the sun has surrendered its golden glow to a calmer pink hue settling closer to the horizon. The lights from all the rides look particularly nice twinkling in the budding twilight. 

The cart rocks gently as you and Eddie board with care. Once you’re settled and the wheel continues its revolution, everything below no longer seems as grand. The game stands, food booths, kiddie roller coasters, countless fairgoers walking around. There’s a flutter in your gut from the new height, and you welcome it. 

When Eddie interlocks his fingers with yours, you look down at your joint hands, a smile creeping onto your face. Before you know it, you’ve reached the top. You almost expect it to keep going, but it eases to a complete stop, your cart swaying softly with the sudden stillness. 

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says. You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark like they always are, seemingly looking straight into your soul. 

Rather than continuing whatever he was going to say, he cups your face and presses his lips to yours. A pleasant warmth rushes down to your toes as if you weren’t already on top of the world. Eddie is a gentle kisser, always acutely aware of the thirst you stirred within him. One he’d never quite felt before, even when he wasn’t hungry. You’ve learned his cues, when to keep leaning in or pull away. Kissing him is exhilerating in that way. 

You’re too wrapped up in the softness of his lips to pay any mind to the teenagers on the cart behind you attempting to stifle their giggles. 

Nor do you mind the brief stinging sensation of your lower lip catching one of Eddie’s fangs. The indulgent lap of his tongue that occurs in time with the tangy, metallic taste that registers on your own. 

All around, the world carries on. Even lonesome Hawkins where it rests miles away. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Any interaction is greatly appreciated, I promise I see it all.

Feel free to let me know what you think. (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

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[sakumz]

a/n : this man. knows how to drive one crazy hj ------------------------------------------------------

[ m. orter x fem reader ]

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

" mind if I take that seat? " a voice you know all too well says beside you, you look up from stirring your drink to see orter.

" sure, " you said and a veil of awkward silence pours. orter took this as an opportunity to order a drink and another bottle for both of you. thanking him as he pushes up his spectacles.

" you approve of that mash kid? " orter takes a sip of his drink as he awaits your answer.

" he did play my game... as a divine visionary I guess its only fair I keep my end of the bet ? I suppose you can say I've given my full support in that non magic guy. " you cheekily smile.

" I can't believe you made him play hide and seek. were you even trying to make it hard? no less the toy plush you're using is the size of a child. " he points to your bear companion, sitting by your side.

" it had murderous intentions... nearly killed that freckle kid. " you can't help but try not to laugh at the memory, even making your bear turn to face orter.

he wasn't faze, only rubbing his head. ryoh, rayne and kaldo already approve of the boy. with you, that's almost half of the divine visionary approving the boy. maybe he should assassinate him in secret? would that make you cry? you do have a soft spot for people younger than you. sometimes putting shows and playing with random children on the streets whenever he and you are on patrol duty.

" I still can't believe you. " he extends his hand with his wand, pushing your bear away. it fell to the ground and disappeared. your magic probably made it disappear when it touched the ground.

you lean in close, close to kissing orter but you can't help but giggle. he's such a child. was he mad at your approval to mash?

instead of a kiss, you were met with a headbutt.

" what the heck? " you rub both your hands at the wound.

" you're a betrayer. why would I kiss a betrayer of my heart? " he says it so calmly, it did tick you off.

" oh come on, he won... not really fair since the first round, my bear was the hider and he nearly got beaten to a pulp the moment he was found by the red hair and mushroom hair. there wasn't any rules so my bear was allowed to shrink... " you mumbled the last part as orter can't help but remember the first time you made him and the rest of the visionary play your hide and seek game.

everyone was easily found but the second it was your turn to hide your bear. you shrunk it to the size of a coin, hiding it in kaldo's honey. they only found it when kaldo nearly choke at the feeling of something. thank goodness the bear was just illusion like, it disappeared the moment kaldo starts coughing. you summon it in your palm as you present to the rest, the size of the bear and how they've won since no one surrendered. everyone nearly killed you that day.

" what's so funny? " you pout at the sandman when he starts laughing at the memory. he's getting tipsy from the drinks too.

" nothing. I love you so much, betrayer of my heart. " he leans to plant a kiss on your head.

" don't call me that, if you said to kill him. I would've done it. " you kick his leg as he sighs.

" you won't. you won't do things without reasons. you fail to follow rules too, " he flicks your forehead.

he was right, having met him when he was newly announced as a visionary. he knew you quite well. too well sometimes. it's only fair since he's your lover. you sigh before grabbing his cup and putting it away from him.

" well, no matter what, I'd still listen to you. just maybe I do wish this mash kid make a change. the magicless and magic living together doesn't sound all too bad. we're all humans, after all. the status quo doesn't matter to me when life is involved. I've seen my share of bloodshed. change isn't all too bad either, orter. " he can't help but flush a little at your reprimand.

in his head, you were right and wrong. he loves you dearly and would support you. the status quo is something he cherishes to an extent. he feels a kiss to his cheek as he meets your eyes after, one so full of love.

" let's go home, this talk won't change my mind and I won't force it upon you to approve of mash. just don't make things hard for the poor guy, " your words obviously went in and out the other ear. orter was set on ending mash. even the words of his dearest may not be important at the moment.

" you're such a child, " he stirs to which you narrow your eyes at him, one close to a glare.

" says the big baby, I can literally beat you in a fight if I take down your weakness first. " you raise a fist.

" oh yeah, what's the weakness? " he had his hand prompting his face, tilting it to the side as he smiles uncharacteristically.

" your glasses. once it's out of the way, you're done for. " you smile back as your fisted hand made impact to his face, not physically and painfully punching him. just a light tap.

" I thought you'd say you're my weakness. " he was really getting drunk as he giggles to himself.

" what, you're my weakness. " you playfully pout as orter grabs you to give you a hug.

" go home, idiots. " the bartender sighs at your antics. giving him a soft chuckle as you feel orter's weight on you.

he had fallen asleep. you summon one of your plush toys to help pay the bill from your wallet and then a few more to help you carry the man. how you hope he'd forgotten half of what happened tonight and the fact you paid instead of him. he'll definitely make a fuss if he knew, but what's the point of being rich as a divine visionary if you can't spend. he loves you to death just like you love him too. complicated relationship but there's so much love in it. orter enjoys your company and he's forever thankful for your existence.

[kinopio-writes]

Hello! Could you write platonic Dad!Adam headcanons? Thank you,

A/N: Lol. Don’t expect too much out of this guy because…it’s Adam. Heavily focused on him rather than the reader, sorry. Also, I might have gone a little overboard with this one because, uh, this was supposed to be only headcanons as you said, and the not-requested ‘drabble’ ended up being a few scenarios with a one-on-one convo with Adam and Sera at the end. 3rd POV and the reader is referred to as they/it, btw. Enjoy.

Holy sh!t I reread your request again and I don’t know if you meant that the reader is supposed to be the child or fuuuuuuuu—tell me if that’s not what you wanted, I had fun writing this nonetheless.

Words: 727 (not including the bullet points, edited)

Warnings: Very vulgar language, Sex is mentioned, Adam being Adam

———

How Adam would be as a Father (Reader is the child)

• first things first, the only way I can see Adam become a dad was because he accidentally impregnated a chick when she fucking swore that, oh, no, Adam, I’m on birth control. Oh, don’t worry, Adam, you don’t have to finish in my mouth. Oh, no need, Adam, I’ve got it covered. Oh, it’s okay, Adam—yes, this is Adam mocking her

• so imagine his surprise when he found a fucking child at his doorstep crying like a little bitch

• “What the fuck?” was his first reaction

• he’d find a note that said something-something about oh who gives a fuck about her and her sob story about having to leave the child in his care?

• what mattered was—“THAT FUCKING BITCH LIED TO ME!”

• after that whole ordeal, he would sit in his gigantic ass living room, slumping on his couch with arms crossed and grumbling complaints as if he was the child

• the first few weeks he would really just let someone else take care of the kid

• Lute would be the caretaker most of the time since she’s around Adam a lot

• the problem was that she’s an exterminator

• her purpose was to kill sinners and she certainly didn’t have babysitting on her list of skills

• so eventually, the responsibilities would fall back on Adam

• of course, he had attempted to get in contact with the woman

• he came back with nothing

• wait, nothing? Holy shit, he left the baby—

• and, if you’re wondering, I don’t think Heaven has adoption centers or whatnot because everyone is responsible when they’re thinking of having a child

• but, hey, how hard would looking after a child would be?

• probably accidentally dropped the kid once before

• will get mad that he can’t do his guitar solos because they would start to cry even louder

• has probably nearly suffocated it by leaving a pillow in their crib

• doesn’t know how to hold it properly

• eventually got it right by observing some of Heaven’s residents

• thinks he’s the best dad because of it

• speaking of residents, they most likely don’t know that the first man has a child

• dude, you really think he’d be caught dead with a kid?

• nuh-uh

• sometimes forgets he has a kid

• have left it in his—I headcanon—condominium completely unattended sometimes

• so, uh, yeah…not looking good for Adam here

let’s get on with the scenarios, shall we?

———

Adam covered his ears with his silk pillows, trying to muffle the sounds of that brat’s whining.

“Ugh! Shut up, Shut up!” Of course, it didn’t shut up.

He banged his head on the pillow repeatedly, swearing he was going to fucking throw this fucking child off the fuCKING BALCONY IF IT DOESN’T SHUT UP—

He had enough and went over to the crib in the corner of his bedroom, snarling. “Y’know, since your mommy was such a quiet whore you’d expect the brat to act the same. She should’ve been honored that she even got my dick. Mine. And this is how she fucking repays me?” The child in question looked up at their father, their cries coming to an eventual stop as he rambled on and on. “Finally.”

The moment he left their sight, however, they started to cry once more.

“OH MY GOD—”

———

Adam arrived home tired as shit balls.

“Not fucking now, bitch,” he dismissed when they reached for him from their place in the crib as he flopped himself on his king-sized bed. At least it wasn’t crying. Rather, it was babbling and flailing its hands and feet. While it was a nice change, it was still annoying to listen to.

Eventually, he decided to shut it up and lazily dragged himself over to the crib, picking it up in his hands and setting it near his shoulder.

“Ugh, there there. Or whatever.” He idly patted the child’s back, plopping back on his bed.

Surprisingly, the kid soon fell asleep without further complaints, nuzzling into their father’s comfortable robe.

Ugh, rude. It fell asleep before he could bitch about his day as he usually did. Instead, he grumbled his own day to himself, his eyelids growing heavy as time passed by.

Adam later dozed off with the baby in his arms, snoring loudly as his wings wrapped around him and the child in his seldom peaceful slumber.

———

The living room was dark. Heaven’s natural light poured through his open windows and the TV played a movie that was most definitely not suited for young audiences. At least it wasn’t anything sexual. Heaven forbid.

In the midst of the oddly serene environment that is Adam’s residence, holy light flashed from beside his couch and the tall figure of Sera appeared. Adam instantly turned the TV off.

“Adam, pardon my intrusion. You still haven’t submitted your forms and they were due yesterday—” Sera interrupted herself when her eyes landed on the baby next to the first man.

“Sera, what gives? Can’t you see I’m busy? Where’s your sense of privacy? Jeez.”

“Adam, is that a child?” she asked rather accusatorily.

“Ugh, yeah, so what?”

“I didn’t think you would—where’s your wife?” She brushed her hair back behind her shoulder, her brows furrowed. “Um, I figured that after Lilith and Eve—”

“Pshh, you’d think this guy would settle down for anyone? Puh-lease. Imagine a world where you can’t fuck the original dick. Worse than any nightmare you could ever dream of.” Adam averted his gaze as his shoulders tensed up.

“So you care for this child alone? By yourself?” Sera looked more worried than ever, which Adam instantly latched on to.

“Are you doubting me? I started humankind—I know what I’m doing.” He settled his arms on the headrest, legs raising to rest on the coffee table as he gave a lazy shrug.

“How long have you kept this child?”

“What’s with all the questions? Uh, I dunno, more than two months, I guess?”

“What is its name?”

“Oh, uh…” Shit. He didn’t really think about that. He only kept calling it ‘kid’ or ‘brat’. “Adam Jr!” he blurted out the first thing that went through his mind. “Yeah, that’s right, everyone would immediately know that this kid is from me, Adam.”

Sera only narrowed her eyes. “Very well. I’m surprised you managed to keep this hidden from me. The child—”

“Adam Jr.”

“…Adam Jr. seems to be doing fine in your hands. But raising a child is no easy feat, Adam.” She took a deep breath in and closed her eyes momentarily. “We will have our discussion regarding your work tomorrow. Have a good night.”

As the seraphim was engulfed with holy light once more, vanishing as quickly as she came, Adam was left to think if the hassle was really worth this brat.

[nrvcntr]

My Lover is Like

hey remember how i said i'd write that fic about tav coming from a noble background and having a riddle that someone has to answer to date her and no one ever gets it right and then years later she tells gale and he knows immediately? anyway here it is

There are certain scents that bring back memories - warm grass on a summer’s day, fresh linens placed on a bed, and of course, the sickly sticky burn of a bottle of plum fizz, shared among friends. Astarion recoiled after he sniffed the open bottle, his nose scrunched in horror.

“You can’t be serious,” He said.

“You’re being dramatic. It isn’t that bad,” You replied.

You had found a crate full of bottles on your last trek and dragged it back to the campsite, anticipating a heroic welcome at your generous haul. It was nearing sunset and it seemed as good of a time as any to see what the contents of the crate were. Upon cracking the crate open, your eyes lit up at the sight of bottles on bottles of plum fizz. This had been the drink that defined your adolescence as a noble in Baldur’s Gate. It immediately brought back memories of revelry, singing songs next to bonfires, and a young Wyll Ravengard throwing up in the street. You pulled out a bottle and handed it to Astarion, who had reacted like a man who never knew the joys of noble debauchery.

“It smells like it could raise something from the dead and then kill it again,” He said, handing the bottle back to you.

“Look, we used to drink this all the time when we were kids. It’s like a rite of passage among children of nobility in Baldur’s Gate.”

Wyll, overhearing the conversation, came over to see what you were so impassioned about. At the sight of the bottle in your hand, he recoiled like someone had just smacked him upside the head.

“No. Get that thing away!” He shouted, shaking his hands.

“Oh, stop it. I remember you used to beg to play fizzy hands when we were younger,” You said.

“Fizzy hands.” Astarion said flatly, “What sort of braindead activity is fizzy hands?”

You raised your brow to Wyll, who explained that “fizzy hands” was the beloved drinking game of your youth, where a small magical seal was applied to two bottles of plum fizz, which an individual would hold. The seal wouldn’t break until both bottles were consumed.

“Fizzy hands leads to fizzy guts, which leads to…a fizzy mess, in the street. You couldn’t pay me to take a sip of that now.” Wyll said.

You looked around the campsite and gestured to Gale, who had been beginning the preparations for dinner so intently that he hadn’t noticed the failing case you were trying to make in favor of plum fizz.

“It’s nice to know that your taste in wine is nearly as bad as your taste in men,” Astarion mused, causing you to shoot him a farcefully menacing look. Your affections for Gale were no secret, and the two of you had shared an intimate moment in the Weave, but you were unsure of your current status, or even whether he really returned your feelings. You had begun to write it off as a passing fancy, something to daydream about during long days of traveling. Though, there was no hiding how much you enjoyed being around the man, your conversations often dragging well into the night after everyone else had fallen asleep. You had never met anyone else who seemed to understand you the way that Gale did, or whose company you enjoyed nearly half as much.

“You’re a man of taste, and you’re knowledgeable about wine. Can you settle a debate for us?” You asked Gale when he walked over.

“A glass of wine sounds delightful this evening. What’s the topic of debate?” He asked.

“Astarion and Wyll may not be as cultured as you and I. Just tell them about the fine properties of this blend,” You said, trying to communicate ‘please, say this tastes good’ in your expression as you poured a glass and handed it over.

Gale swirled the glass and his eyes widened at the scent. To his credit, he took an honest sip and racked his brain for something kind to say about it. “It has notes of…berry. And cinnamon. And…” He couldn’t do it. “Acid. It tastes like it would eat a hole through a table if you spilled some on it. Do the youth of Baldur’s Gate really ingest this willingly?” He asked.

You threw your hands up.

“Poor taste, the lot of you. It cannot be helped.”

After dinner, Astarion sauntered over to you, two glasses of plum fizz in hand.

“A drink together. Sort of a truce,” He said.

You were suspicious, but took the glass in hand. The spicy, bitter, sweet, and confusing concoction ran down your throat and made your stomach feel hot. Astarion’s glass was already empty, and he poured you both another. By the time you realized that Astarion had been pouring his drinks out to get you to continue drinking, you were drunk enough to begin telling stories of your youth in Baldur’s Gate.

“So, after Wyll threw up in the street -”

“Can you please stop talking about that. I have plenty of embarrassing stories I could tell at your expense, you know. Lock.” Wyll said pointedly.

“Lock?” Shadowheart asked.

You covered your face, feeling a burning sensation creep up your cheeks.

“What none of you realize is that our beloved companion here was once the most eligible bachelorette in Baldur’s Gate nobility. Her family was wealthy and she was beautiful, intelligent, and charming…”

“Whatever happened?” You asked, making yourself laugh.

“However, she never took a partner. Singles of all creeds, genders, and races tried, but no one could get through to her. So, she began to be known as ‘the lock of Baldur’s Gate’. And, what opens a lock but a key? And the key to her heart was to answer a riddle,” Wyll explained with a dramatic flourish.

“A riddle? How droll. That’s a little…presumptuous, don’t you think?” Astarion asked. You shrugged.

“Why a riddle?” Karlach asked.

“I didn’t want to end up with someone who was a complete dunce,” You joked. It was a half-truth, since the whole truth would have disrupted the mood of revelry among your companions.

“Well, do we get to hear it?” Shadowheart asked.

You leaned back and looked at the faces of your companions. Wyll shook his head, having heard this question lamented among the singles of Baldur’s Gate throughout his youth.

“What is loving Taglath like?” You asked, the question rolling off of your tongue like a well-rehearsed line.

“What a stupid question!” Astarion huffed, rolling his eyes. He had no idea what the answer could be.

“Oh, do you know the answer, then? Since it’s so stupid,” You said, unable to wipe the smirk off of your face. It always delighted you to stump someone with the riddle, and it delighted you even more to watch them struggle with it.

“What is loving like?” You repeated, prodding Astarion for the answer.

“Darling, loving you is like poison seeping through my veins,” Astarion said, pretending to be a romantic poet, his hand gripping his chest, “- and it kills me to be parted from you,” He added, taking your hand in his icy cold grasp.

“Very sweet, but no,” You responded.

Everyone laughed, getting a little chuckle out of Astarion’s foolishness.

“Oh come on, it’s not like any of you geniuses know the answer,” Astarion said, raising a brow to the group. He looked around at their curious faces and wonders aloud, “Do you?”

“Uh, I don’t remember my childhood. Much less silly poems,” Shadowheart said, but thought about it for a moment. “Is it like a rose? Something beautiful out of the dirt?”

You shook your head.

“Chk. This is a waste of time,” Lae’zel said..

“C’mon, Lae’zel, what do you think loving is like?” Wyll probed, the githyanki rolling her eyes at him.

Lae’zel replied, “Like a well-won battle, your enemies dead at your feet.” There is a pause before she asked, “Did I answer correctly?”

“No,” You replied.

Karlach wiped her hands on her pants, not waiting to be asked. “You’re barking up the wrong tree if you ask me, solider,” She said, “But I’ll give it a try. Is it like a cool drink of water on a hot night?”

“That’s sweet, Karlach. It’s own little poem, even. But no,” You said.

“Well what’s the answer?” Astarion huffed, getting frustrated at this little display of ignorance.

“Salamander!” Wyll interjected, snapping his fingers like he cracked the code. This made everyone crack up, to his dismay. “No, because - I mean, uh - well, it’s better than corpses!” He insisted. This only made everyone laugh more.

In this revelry, no one even thought to glance at Gale, who had been watching the scene with a bemused little smile on his face.

There was a lull when the laughter died down, the silence of everyone taking a breath after a hearty laugh.

Through the silence, two words cut through the air like a knife directly to your heart.

“The Sun.”

You gasped (a reaction that, in retrospect, embarrassed you with how dramatic it was). You stared at the speaker, Gale’s dark eyes glinting in the firelight. You felt you must have looked ridiculous, your jaw agape.

In all of the years of telling the riddle, no one had ever known the answer. The key to your heart, you joked. But it had been more serious than you ever let on. As each suitor fumbled through wrong answers, it had only solidified your belief that true love would never be yours. That you would eventually have to settle for someone who couldn’t really understand you.

It was like time stopped, the visions of your companions becoming a blur as Gale came into focus.

Gale, meanwhile, appeared to be blissfully unaware that he had just broken your brain (what was left of it, at least).

“That’s…right. How did you know?” You choked out, hardly above a whisper.

“It’s a very clever riddle. See, most would probably assume that the riddle is about the works of Taglath, whom is renowned as an iconic romantic poet. His works adorn his lover with brilliant metaphors that have captured readers since their inception,” Gale explained to the group, lecturing his never-be students.

“That’s probably why Gef Deldus spent one summer immersed in Taglath’s works,” Wyll recalled, chuckling, “He told everyone that he had solved the riddle. He was convinced you would be his bride by the end of the season. What was his answer?” He asked.

“Love is like a poem,” You replied, still dumbfounded by Gale’s answer.

“The education in Baldur’s Gate leaves much to be desired,” Gale snarked, then continued, “What most people don’t know is that Taglath’s most prominent muse was another poet named Alanis. Unfortunately, most of her work has been lost to history. Almost no complete works remain, and only fragments have been collected for publication. But in her most complete work, she compares her lover to the Sun. It’s a gorgeous poem about loving someone who burns brightly and the fears associated with taking a lover of prominence. Loving despite fear,” He said.

You wondered how it was possible that your body felt like it was on fire but also like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on you. Did none of your companions notice that you were going insane? The realization rocked you like an earthquake.

Gale Dekarios was not a passing fancy, someone to think about kissing when the option presented itself. He was neither a daydream nor a wet dream to pass the time at different hours. He was not the greatest friend you had ever had, the person who you most looked forward to speaking to each morning after you woke and each night before you went to bed. The person who you spoke about nothing and everything with, played games with, or just enjoyed a comfortable silence with. He was not your traveling companion, nor even an ally who had risked his life for you as you had done for him. It was impossible for Gale to be any one of those things because he was all of them all at once and so much more.

Oh, fuck, you realized, your knees ready to give way.

You were in love with him.

The sound of your companions laughing and chattering together mixed together and sounded like ocean waves. If anyone turned to ask you anything you probably would have just stared at them blankly. You attempted to take a step toward Gale and the drinks you had earlier in the night went to your head, sending you tumbling forward and onto the ground.

“Looks like the plum fizz kicked in. ‘Key’, maybe you should take the ‘lock’ to bed,” Shadowheart said to Gale.

You thought that if you closed your eyes, maybe the ground would swallow you up and you would never have to look at Gale again. Instead, you felt him help you to your feet, allowing you to lean against him as he walked you to your tent. You were desperate to know what was going through his mind - did he realize the gravity that he answer had?

“Easy now,” Gale said, helping you down onto your bedroll. He treated you gently, helping you to unlace your boots and get settled in under the blanket. You were sick to your stomach at being doted on by him and kept quiet, trying to focus on anything but the way he looked at you. He left for a moment and came back to bring you some water.

“Is there anything you need?” He asked.

You were quiet for a moment, then spoke.

“Gale?”

“Yes?”

“After we had that moment in the Weave…you mentioned that we shouldn’t talk about it then, with the orb being unstable and everything going on,” You said, then allowed yourself to lean into your own intoxication, asking what was truly on your mind. “Was that really the reason? Because if you don’t see me that way, you can tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings.” The words poured out of you too quickly for you to worry about sounding insecure. It was a lie, of course, that it wouldn’t hurt your feelings. Being rejected by Gale would be devastating.

Gale looked thoughtful, then recited the end of Alanis’s fragments of her poem about her lover.

“My lover is like the Sun, Brilliant and bright He eclipses me And yet I yearn

My lover is like the Sun Blinding and unyielding When he touches me I burn”

He placed his hand on your cheek, his gaze looking through you and into your soul. The two of you could say so much without a single word.

“Am I the Sun, or are you?” You asked.

Gale had loved the poem when he read it as a boy, and later thought of it often when he was with Mystra, trying to make sense of the reality of having a goddess for a lover. He had often wondered if he would ever have an identity outside of being Mystra’s chosen, or whether he would forever be tied to the Goddess. And if that was the case, why did the idea of it make him burn with jealousy?

However, the poem had taken on new meaning since he met you. He felt like the Sun, a ball of fire ready to explode in his chest at any moment. As badly as he wanted to hold you close, he knew that doing so would destroy you. Still, he wondered, might it be worth it to burn if he could have one moment of knowing what it was like to be yours entirely?

Or rather, were you the Sun? He was certainly transfixed by you, drawn to your brilliance. You, a mortal who dared to be more brilliant and enticing than his Goddess. Would following you lead him down the path to certain doom - or worse, would getting close to you lead you to your own demise? It was that thought that kept him up at night, wondering if he should escape in the night. To save you from himself, or at least get you as far away from the danger as possible.

Gale contemplated your question.

“I’m not sure,” He finally replied.

“I don’t know, either.”

You placed your hand on Gale’s, your gaze fixed on each other, searching for an answer in each other’s eyes. Neither of you could find it.

However, there was one thing that was clear to both of you: whether through flames of salvation or damnation, you would burn for each other.

[liveontelevision]

Hello hello! If you are still taking requests I've been dying for an Alastor x reader where the reader was married to him when he was alive, and she outlives him quite a while before they reunite in hell, only for him to nearly die again when the angels attack. I love your work!

I've been wanting to do this prompt for a hot minute, sorry it took so long Anon :')

But here's a good long fluffy, angsty, fic to balance out how much of an ass Alastor is in Suffer lol

Curiosity Killed the Cat | Reader x Alastor

What caught your eye first, was how much whiskey he could down before losing his composure. You found yourself in awe, watching this charismatic stranger go round after round, only to end up on the dance floor with more energy than you had when you were sober. Truly a spectacle. Why don't you go tell him that?

"Excuse me-" You say in a sing-song voice, slipping by the stranger to beckon another drink your way. You may or may not have brushed your body against him in some sort of attempt to get his attention. It went unnoticed, but that's alright, that trick didn't usually work on the ones who had one too many drinks.

You decide the next best action is to sit at the seat next to him, despite there being multiple unoccupied stools at the bar. That’s something he has to question, right?

Of course not. You spent far too long trying to get his attention in any way, and he's either humming a song to himself or chatting with the plump, noisy, owner who would come by. They seemed to be close friends.. but she definitely wasn't his type. She looks like one to cause trouble.

You get a good scope of his character. He came in wearing a pristine trenchcoat, shielding an expensive-looking vest and tie combo. But, by now the tie had come undone and was draped across his neck. The heat of the whiskey might've gotten to him, he left his top few buttons precariously opened. You didn't mind that one bit. Next thing you spot; slightly messed hair and smudged glasses- bingo.

"Hey, birdy-" you finally muster some courage to get his attention. "-may I?" You pull out a handkerchief you usually have on hand, in case handsome strangers with glasses need a quick clean. It took you a good half hour to finally speak up, but he's looking you up and down as if you had just walked in. It takes a moment, but you see him finally decide you aren't a threat. He sits silently. Taking another swig of his drink, he looks at you with a smile. Does he want you to.. no harm in trying.

You bite at your lip, hesitantly reach out to his face, and carefully pluck the glasses from the bridge of his nose. He shuts his eyes as you do so. A man hasn't made you blush in quite some time. You decide to blame the drinks. Luckily, you have a task to keep your mind preoccupied. You're carefully swiping any smudges clear from the lenses when you hear his voice for the first time. Or so you thought.

"Mimzy, dear, do tell me who this little kitten here is. A regular?" You're assuming he's speaking about you, he's gesturing in your direction with his empty glass. The owner of the speak-easy, who you now know as Mimzy, trots behind the bar to top off his drink.

"For sure! What do ya say, kid, you're here.. on most weekends, ain't ya?" She turns to you, and you take a moment to confirm. You didn't think she'd notice, you don't come here that often. That's what you tell yourself at least.

"Got an eye on her tonight, Al? Sounds like someone's not goin' home alone~" She teases him with a quick jab, and he's quick to roll his eyes.

"Now now, she's been perched here for quite a while and has barely said a word to me, I doubt she's getting any more than a free drink." He sounds snarky, yet.. familiar..

"Al… as in Alastor? That radio host fellow? Well, I’ll be damned! I wasn't expecting a celebrity such as yourself to frequent little joints like this one." You comment, finally joining the conversation. You hear a throat being cleared dramatically and turn to the owner behind the bar. You laugh nervously.

"Not that- it's still a good bar- I.. Sorry." Good recovery. Your attention is taken to the hand outstretched to you, and you instinctively lean away from it.

"Kitten-" He beckons his hand, and you follow his eyes to his glasses that were still in your grasp. You let yet another nervous laugh and quickly pass them over. He slips them on with a satisfied hum.

"If I remember correctly, Al-" you attempt to mock the nickname you picked up from Mimzy. "- You have a broadcast tomorrow morning, no? You really think drinking like a sailor tonight is the best idea?" You weren’t concerned, really. You wanted to tease him a bit longer.

"Props to you for knowing my schedule." You realize how strange that might've sounded and quickly finish your drink to prevent any more embarrassing thoughts from slipping from your lips. "Are you implying I can't handle my liquor, dear?" He scoffs, beckoning the bartender over. He has them refill your glass.

"I'm sure you can, birdy, but you've been pounding down more drinks than I can count." You respond. You weren't one to flirt effectively. That, or he just happens to see right through your nerves.

"So, you've been counting, hm?" You realize you had outed yourself to watching him all night. You curse yourself quietly, hoping the music filling the room will cover your frustration. "Appreciate the concern, but I promise you, I'm more than capable of doing my job. No matter the circumstances."

While he seemed to be reading you quite easily, you had picked a few things up yourself. For one, he watches everything. And he seems to only drop his intel when he needs to. Or to mock you. And two, he's a bit of a narcissist.. quite an ego on this one. But that could work in your favor tonight.

"Well, fine then. I'll be up bright and early to listen to your broadcast. I doubt you can get through it with a hangover. Especially considering how much you've been drinking."  You state proudly. He lets out a chuckle, and despite how quiet it is, you can't help but appreciate his sultry laugh.

"Is that a challenge, kitten?" He purrs -ha- leaning his chin into his hand and slouching his body towards the bar.

"I mean if it is, there must be stakes." You say it as a matter of fact. "Let's say.. you cover my bill next time if I catch you slip up."

"Hm. Seems fair. You better be listening close, though, I'm very good at what I do." He enunciates his final sentence and it sends a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment, you consider this could be a bad idea.

"And when I win, what will be my prize?" He asks. You let out a little giggle at his cockiness.

"I'll tell you my name." He cocks his head to the side, an intrigue hitting him. Did he really manage to get this far without a proper introduction?

"I see your little detective game going on, I'll give you that. You are quite the observer. But you won't find my name just by looking." You say smugly. That's true for a number of reasons.

"I suppose you did leave that information out, hm?" He let's his eyes drop, as if he was trying to piece it together with what little information he had.

"I must say, you've got me hooked, kitten." He lets out a sigh, leaning back in his chair and finishing off yet another drink.

"Deal?" You hum, holding your hand out to him. He smirks, taking it into his own, not expecting a firm shake, but receiving one. He went on to press a quick kiss to your knuckles.

"Deal."

You went home alone after that night, but it was likely for the best. You were sure you'd see him next time, anyway.

Now that you had to tell him your name.

You thought for sure he'd at least stumble through a sentence, but no. He went through the entire show, even an interview with some big shot, and spoke perfect English. He talked like he'd never had a drop of booze his entire life and got a full night's sleep, which you both knew was far from the truth. You almost dreaded the next encounter, but at least you didn't wager anything too crazy. Sure, he'll see you differently after this, but if this were to go any further - what are you on about? You only met him once and listened to him on the radio occasionally at best. He's a perfect stranger to you. Let's not get too excited.

You find yourself seated in the same spot as before, shrinking into your seat and downing a few drinks to build your courage. You told him your mark. An awkward introduction, first and last name, made you feel like a new student at a children's school. He perks up, which is what you expected.

"Ah! So you're the famed physician! It's almost silly of you to call me a celebrity, you're the talk of the town, kitten." You groan, of course, he recognizes you. Everyone in this damned small town knows your name, your family.

You were one of the first women to complete their studies and practice medicine from your hometown. But to attend such high schooling in this time, your family had to be well off. And you were, in fact, well off. When it came to your love life, men were either disgusted by your pursuit of knowledge or took it like some fetish. You haven't approached anyone for years.. not like this, at least.

"You know, I spoke with your father a few-" You groan at the mention of him, cutting Alastor off mid-sentence.

"Don't be a fool, I heard the little interview on your show.. Can't say that was my favorite broadcast." Alastor had a certain segment where he would chat with some of the richer and more.. stuck up.. men in society. It wasn’t titled as such, you just noticed the trend of guests being pompous and wealthy. And your father was the perfect fit for that.

You didn't know this at the time, but Alastor was suddenly hit with some mixed emotions. There was more than one reason as to why your father was chosen to be on his broadcast. Alastor used his interviews to initiate close ties, and make powerful allies. If they weren't complying how he hoped, he would usually cut ties. Permanently.

Your father was definitely not a reasonable man, in fact, you made it a point to avoid him when you returned home. But did he deserve death?

"I didn't expect just the sight of me walking the streets to be as interesting as it is." You mumbled, leaning forward on the counter and drinking something much stronger than you expected. But the mentions of your father called for a hard hitter.

"You didn't?" He asked bluntly, twirling the liquor in his glass. You hum in agreement. Gossip spreads like wildfire here.

"Well, you've picked up some interesting feats. If you were hoping to go unseen, I would've put some more thought into my rags." He gestured to your clothing. It was definitely of higher quality, but it was something you were used to wearing while attending your school in a high-class city. You felt a bit embarrassed, placing your hands in your lap to subtly hide your body.

"And a beautiful doctor like yourself just 'walking the streets'? Some might be concerned for your safety." You tilt your head to the side at his words. Your confusion makes him smirk.

"I'm sure you're aware, kitten, but there seems to be a killer on the loose." He seems far too excited for the subject at hand, and it's almost noticeable.

"Hm. Guess I shouldn't be going out alone and talking to strange men, should I?" You say with a smile.

"I suppose you shouldn't." He shrugs off your words, getting another drink. You didn't even see him finish the previous one. "Though I must say, I'm glad you did. You've been quite the conversationalist." It's barely flirting, but it seems to leave you blushing a bit.

You went on to chat throughout the night, your drunken rambling turned to complaints about your father, and morbid details about what you'd learned in medical school. Both topics that you didn't realize intrigued Alastor to a personal extent. Later on, the rambles started to become incomprehensible. He decides it would be best for you to leave, considering you were refusing to do so and thoroughly embarrassing yourself in the process.

A giggling, stumbling mess, you were carefully lifted from your seat and brought to your feet with his assistance. He helped you out to the streetside, calling a taxi and bringing you into the backseat gently. He then went ahead and paid the driver, and turned at his heels to head back inside.

As he was reaching for the bar's door, a loud call forced him to turn back to the cab.

"Buddy, she's too sloshed to give me an address. You know where she lives?" Shit. Alastor looks to the bar’s door, then to the cab, where he spots you leaning your head against the window in the backseat. He sighs.

After insisting the driver keep the fair, Alastor brought you back out. He kept you standing with a hand on your lower back, as you gripped onto his shirt, far too small to reach your arm over his towering figure. He was cringing at the sight of his clothes becoming disheveled.

"Alright, kitten, where are you staying? I doubt you'd appreciate me taking you to your family home.." He was talking in a hushed voice, in the hopes that you'd have enough conscious to respond, but knew that likely wasn't the case. He looks around the area as if the answer would be in plain sight. He lets out a sigh of defeat when it clearly wasn't.

"Didn't even get to finish my drink.." He mumbles, pulling you closer to keep you stable enough to walk a few blocks.

There, sat a charming little motel. However, calling it charming was.. optimistic. Your memory, to this day, is in small flashes. Only certain things come to mind when trying to picture what went on.

You remember Alastor talking to the older gentleman at the desk. It seemed like they were acquaintances. Maybe they've done business in the past.

You remember him giving up after finding that the room he booked was on the second floor. Unwilling to deal with the staircase, he hoisted you up quite easily. You definitely remember that. How such a slender man can hold you in his arms with no strain.

You remember the room, it was cleaner than you expected. He seated you on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you to remove your heels. He didn't seem to go much farther than that. He could've removed your entire wardrobe with your state of mind, and you'd be none the wiser. How awful it must be, to live in a world where a man not making a pass, surprises you.

As far as you know, you drifted to sleep almost right after. You're pretty sure he wrapped you in the blankets, and you remember the faint touch of hair being brushed from your face. His hand was far colder than you would have expected.

Being in your occupation, you don't exactly have time to confront all the horrific sights you've seen. So, your body deals with those emotions in other ways. A common occurrence, you were plagued with a number of night terrors. Something seems different in tonight's regularly scheduled program, though. A radio static overwhelms your senses, and any horrifying disfigurations that were taunting you seem to fade into nothing. A yellow grin and glowing red eyes are the last thing you can see.

You woke up the next morning with an excruciating headache, an ache in your stomach, and sore feet. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you barely care about the makeup that you'd smudged beyond repair. You try to recall your dreams, which usually stay vivid in your mind for most of the morning, but.. there's nothing. And despite the killer hangover, you feel more awake than you have in ages.

The panic settled in after you ran your hands across the unfamiliar sheets. With a soft gasp, you observe yourself. Still fully clothed, you spot your heels set next to the door. You look around the room next, and you almost feel relieved, seeing Alastor seated in a lounge chair in the corner of the room. He had his nose in a book. It was better than seeing him lying on the other side of the bed.. wait, was it?

You let out a pathetic little sound, your voice too weak to form any coherent words. He sets the book on his lap, and your sad attempt at a greeting seems to catch his attention.

"Good morning to you, too, kitten. Sleep well?" You were sure he drank as much as last night. If not, more. How dare he look so put together?

"Morning. I-um.. I suppose I did.. I-I hate to ask, but did... did we-" you stammer out, and he quickly holds his hands up in defense.

"Heavens no, dear, I wouldn't dare defile a woman who can't handle her whiskey." You scoff at his insult but still feel disarmed by his reaction.

"So then.. the motel room?" You question. He cocks his head to the side, only now realizing that your memory must've gone from the previous night.

"Ah, so you really can't handle your whiskey.. Well, not to fret, dear. You weren't telling me where you were staying, and Mimzy seemed keen on me taking you elsewhere." In actuality, she was trying to play matchmaker. Thanks for trying, Mimzy.

"I'm sorry for the trouble, Alastor, I hate that you bought a room just for me.. I can pay you back." You sit up, running your hands through your mess of hair and letting out a pained groan.

"I'm sure you can, but I simply can't accept." He stands, tucking the book under his arm and walking to your bedside. You swing your legs over the edge, only to notice how close he seems to hover over you. You look up and realize how statuesque he was. You hadn't seen him in daylight. And his height is much more intimating when he stands.

"It was my pleasure, getting to witness you thoroughly embarrass yourself." He bends at the hips, a taunting smile across his face. You try to recall anything embarrassing you might've done the night before, but you can barely recall a thing. That did little to ease your mind.

"You'll have to tell me about it one day." You grumble, standing with his assistance. He offered to escort you home, and you happily accepted.

The two of you stand on your small porch. It's a quaint duplex you've been renting, you go on about how how the family who lives here travels for the summer and was more than happy to offer their home to such a sweet thing.

"Well, since you insist that I can't handle my liquor, it might be a better idea to find each other.. somewhere other than a joint..." you say sheepishly, your eyes wandering to anywhere but his gaze. When he steps closer, you finally fix your wide eyes on him.

"You don't want me to court you, kitten. You're a lovely, educated, pretty little thing, you'll be wasting your time, unfortunately." He doesn't sound insulting, he says it very truthfully. It only makes you want to see more. To ask him to come in, and stick around awhile. But you're aware he has a broadcast coming up soon. You wonder if he would've stayed by your side if you slept through it.

"I'll be the judge of that. Besides, getting coffee doesn't waste too much time." You decide to stand your ground. You aren't sure why he's refusing if he thinks all that of you. You see him look you up and down, then let out a sigh.

"Hm. I suppose. I'll be back here tomorrow morning since you're so insistent. Just remember I warned you-" He says playfully as he makes his way down the stairs.

"Curiosity killed the cat, my dear!" He calls out before giving another heart-melting smile. You nervously bite your lip and watch him walk off through the cracked door. Like a damned puppy, you couldn't help but watch him walk off. You quickly shut the door, after realizing how hard you were smiling.

-

This was supposed to be for fun. You were just supposed to be some extra company on occasions. And he knew you came with your perks. You were an heir to a decent fortune, it only made sense for him to befriend you. You were knowledgeable and smart, he could definitely benefit from your skills if he needs to do so. There were plenty of ways Alastor could use you if necessary.

But with every little dance, every little coffee, or walk home from the bar, it was making him nervous. Of course, he would never call it that, he's too disgusted by the pangs in his chest he gets around you. Unfiltered, yet still delicate and professional. Incredibly intelligent, yet still makes the silliest mistakes. You were flawed. You came from such a slob of a man, and the fact that you are so kind despite that amazes him more than you realize. You are more than willing to stand for your beliefs. For one of the first times in his life, Alastor admired someone.

He's not sure what conversations led to him agreeing to cook yet another dinner in your home, but here he was; standing at your door with a bag of groceries.

"Oh- you didn't need to do all that, you're always free to use anything in the kitchen." You greet him as he comes inside, where he sets the bag at a nearby counter space. You reach up and pull his trenchcoat off his shoulders, which he willingly surrenders to. It was a little action you took, taking his coat for him when he would stop by. He's come to expect it. You hang it up on the rack nearby.

"Nonsense, I'm sure you have plenty to work with, but I'm following a special recipe tonight." He insisted, already unpacking things, setting up pots and pans, and rolling up his sleeves. He pulled an apron from the bag last, and the sight of him all prepped for cooking leaves you weak in the knees. You want to see this every night. You want him in your kitchen every mealtime. You shake the desires from your head, pushing aside the dreams of domesticity that have been plaguing your mind recently.

"Can I help with anything?" You chime in, peeking around the corner to smile at him through the doorway. He shakes his head.

"If you feel the need to help, you're more than welcome to get the table set, but I am quite in my element here, kitten. So, not to worry." You were mostly listening to him, but one part of you kept your focus on his skillful knife practice, watching him chop vegetables in a nearly professional manner.

"Kitten? The table?" His words and his moving on to something else snapped you from your funk.

"Oh! Of course, yes." You stumble a bit but do as he instructs. It wasn't anything special, but the space was more than enough to give the ambiance of a good date.

Damn, this man could cook. He's cooked for you before, but something you couldn't quite put a finger on left you swooning at the sight of the still-steaming gumbo in front of you.

"Damn, you can cook." You're muttering, between bites. You almost can't taste all its decadence, digging in before letting it fully cool.

"Slow down, dear, we have all night." He says softly, despite bringing a spoonful to his own lips. You catch yourself staring at the sight of him eating beside you, enthralled by his enthusiastic hums.

"So where did this come from? I'm a bit suspicious of the finery if I'm honest." You place your elbows on the table, perching your chin on top of your hands. He scoffs in response.

"How rude. All my meals are of the highest quality. I simply haven't made this in quite a while, I thought tonight would be a good time to do so." He replies.

"A recipe for special occasions, hm? Would you consider this.. a special occasion?" You tease, looking at him with a cocked eyebrow. He looks confused, letting his eyes wander in thought for a moment. Was this a special occasion? Is there any specific reason he wanted to bring his own mother's recipe to some girl he's befriended? He pushes the thought aside, planning on mocking you like usual.

"Any night with you is plenty special, kitten." He hums, popping another spoonful into his mouth. He doesn't see your face turning red, but his oblivious flirting always leaves you flushed.

"In that case, when are you inviting me to your own home? I won't lie and say I'm not curious, Al." You set your finished plate aside and notice his eye twitch. You've been staring at him long enough to notice even his smallest ticks.

"Someday. I've a bit of a mess to go through before considering bringing any guests over." He brushes clean his already pristine top, as you stand and take his empty plate to the kitchen. With a sigh, you take yourself over to the sink to do a quick clean. It's the least you could do after such a lovely meal.

"If you say so." You try your best to sound calm, but you're slightly hurt by his constant rejection of letting you into his personal life. It wasn't all the time, but there were clearly things he refused to talk about. You want nothing more than to know him.

Lost in your mildly upsetting thoughts, you recklessly take one of his knives the wrong way, the blade slicing surprisingly easily down your finger. The shock takes you back more than the actual pain. These are far too nice for everyday cooking.

Letting out a quiet curse, you feel his hand brush over your own, his shadow casting over your entirety. "Such a clutz." You hear, his voice causing you to tense. You let him guide your hand under the water to rinse it, effectively caging you in place.

"Be careful, will you? These are my nicer tools." Interesting way to say it, but you were too focused on the fact that you could feel his breath heating the back of your neck. You simply nod, before turning the water off with your free hand. You turn your body around, leaning your back against the edge of the countertop and effectively facing Alastor. His hands stay planted on either side of you, making it a bit of a tight squeeze. You weren't sure what you were trying to accomplish here, but here you are. Neither of you seem to be moving away, though. He drops his head to look into your eyes. You're lost in them.

You reach your arms upwards, holding them around his neck as best you can, and you feel him willingly lean within your grasp. The moment is heated, you feel his breath against your lips as you pull him impossibly closer. His breath is quick, almost shaky. You've never seen this side of him. You'd never associate Alastor with the term nervous.

Nearly closing the gap, you feel a hand come to your throat and fingers gently holding your jaw. With a quick turn, he places a soft kiss on your cheek. It lingers for a moment, and even if it wasn't what you were expecting, you're gasping beneath his affection. The room seems to cool down for a moment. He steps away silently, pulling his things all together.

You may have made a mistake.

"Oh, Al- I'm sorry I didn't think.. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, i-if that's what happened there." Your words quicken, suddenly becoming anxious that you may have upset him.

"No, don't fret." He waves his hand dismissively, his back still turned to you as he keeps himself busy with a bit of tidying. "I'd be an idiot to not expect that, eventually." He almost sounds insulting, a little cocky.

"Why's that? Are you used to women just throwing themselves at you?" You tease but keep yourself from his eyeline.

"Well, yes- but, you've been especially touchy recently. And you seem to be acting like I make you.. nervous. Fidgety." His little observations leave you a bit embarrassed.

"It's not nervous.. exactly. Never mind that, though.. Does.. that interest you..? At all?" It takes you a while to get the question out and it still comes across shaky. You're response is silence. Fill it.

"H-How about a drink before you head off, hm?" You quickly shuffle to your liquor cart, looking for anything to drown out your essential confession.

"It does." You freeze in place, missing the cup entirely with your first pour. That was an answer neither of you were really expecting. You finally turn to him, seeing that he had looked away just as you did.

"So, that means-" you want him to elaborate. You want to hear him say all the things you've been dreaming of. That he wants to spend his free time with you, hold your hand, and kiss it with more than just a greeting in mind. To call you anything other than kitten. Well.. that last part you didn't mind as much.

"I've not prepared myself for such a conversation, but I.. enjoy your company. And your brains.. and you certainly aren't terrible to look at." He said he didn't prepare himself, and it was pretty obvious. This wasn't his usual taunting, his usually eloquent beats. He's pausing between phrases, to come up with the best words on hand.

"Jee, thanks." You roll your eyes, your smile still shining.

"I suppose you leave me speechless, kitten." You leave a radio host, a man who talks for a living and is quite good at it, speechless. This time, he sees the freshly pink hues across your cheek. He lets out a devious chuckle, one you recognize when he's about to do something you'd consider nefarious. He starts to approach you, his clean shoes clicking against the wooden floors being the only sound. You knew you weren't in danger, but you find yourself walking backward until you hit the table. Continuing to lean away from him, he towers over you, only following your avoidance until you are straining to stand upwards.

"Well?" You let out, your words barely a whisper. "Are you going to kiss me or not?"

That seems to shock him a bit, you see his shoulders tense just slightly. You watch him contemplate his next action. He let his hand snake around your waist, not exactly to pull you closer, but his touch still left you weak. With a soft kiss on your lips, he gave you no time to truly enjoy it.

"I hate to repeat myself, but I warned you, kitten. Curious little things like yourself deserve.. more." After processing his words, you're still melting to his touch despite how fleeting it was. He steps away.

"W-What- No! I thought you said you were interested! And that kiss- W-What were-" You throw a bit of a tantrum, but quickly calm yourself. "I don't understand, help me understand. Please.." You sound a bit defeated. He sighs, clearly pained that this conversation has to continue.

"Hm.. I don't believe I'm able to give you everything you need. But, you deserve everything you need. It's as simple as that." He's pausing between words, and his expression shows that he's still not exactly satisfied with how it came out.

You shrank in place and held your arms, your mind trying to scrap together any little hints to what he means. Maybe something he's mentioned in the past. But as elusive as ever, it still just doesn't make sense to you. He catches a glimpse of your upset appearance, then takes in the rest of your state a bit longer. You can feel his eyes on you, forcing you to nervously bite at your lip.

"Okay. Let's forget all that, then." You said softly, smiling the best you can and waving your hand dismissively. He obviously knows that you wouldn't lose these feelings as quickly as he'd hoped. He'd reassure you, you'll get over it.

But you couldn't. You tried, you did. You went on other dates, considering how many men were throwing themselves at you in the right bars. You kept your distance for a bit but still saw him at Mimzy's bar on the weekends. Despite all your potential suitors, you still only seemed to look forward to those nights with Alastor. You'd go as far as to complain about some unruly men to him. His disgusted reactions were a comfort.

You kept trying to pry his real reasoning as to why he wouldn't be with you. He'd admit to not being trustworthy, which you would always dismiss. He'd go on about the other men that would be a much better fit, and all with good reasoning, but you still wouldn't stop pestering him. Then, after a few too many drinks, he finally let slip his disinterest in intimacy. And from everything he's told you, this seemed different. It wasn't an excuse or an avoidance, it was the truth.

"So, you don't find me physically attractive?" You ask him, swirling your half-empty cup.

"It's not that, I assure you. I'd just prefer to shower you in other affections, I suppose." He seems a bit unfiltered tonight, still avoiding your eyes.

"Other affections, hm? Like what, birdy?" You were already enraptured. But you were kicking yourself for getting your hopes up at all. You can see his immediate regret in his words.

"Kitten-"

"Please? I'm just curious." You say sincerely, placing your hand over top of his. You hesitate for a moment, but he seems to not mind the touch.

"Well.. I'd like to buy you the finest things. Any book you're slightly interested in, any frock that draws your eyes, any accessories that would bring out your natural beauty- you deserve it. I want to keep you proudly on my arm throughout the streets, showing everyone that you belong to me. I'd like to cook you every meal, until the day I die." His drunken rants leave an obvious sparkle in your eyes.

"Well that all sounds lovely to me.." you say softly, twisting and turning his hand until your fingers are comfortably interlocked with his. "Simply put, you're not interested in sex?” He was taken aback by your bold words, looking around as if he were nervous someone would hear. “I’ve read about it before, there’s an interesting essay that describes this sort of phenomenon. I'll have to lend it to you.” Your calmness surprises him.

“Well.. Thank you. That puts an end to that, then. Go on and find a man who can properly bed you.” He tries to act just as calm, but his voice still seems a bit frustrated by the idea. You make an act out of tapping your chin and humming in thought.

“No, I’d much rather spend my time with you.” You say bluntly. He quickly chimes in.

“But, I-”

“Alastor, I’ve never met someone as arrogant as you.” You let out a frustrated groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “If you’ll have me, however you want that is, I’d love nothing more than to spend my days with you.” You speak slowly, almost mockingly, trying to get this damned point across after so long.

He’s still quiet, opening his mouth to respond, then letting his lips shut again. He smiles at you. You couldn't ask for a better response. It was the sweetest smile you've ever seen from him, no sign of teasing or mocking you, no hidden intent, and just slightly bashful. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, in a sweet sign of acceptance.

Things went on after that without a hitch. Mostly. There were some kinks to work out, sure, but you were absolutely head over heels for him. No one’s ever brought you this much joy, and having this more intimate side of him, despite its physicalities, was more than you could ever hope for. He’d finally let you into his home after a while. It was near spotless and he was more than willing to show off the space to you. You wondered why he felt the need to stall this for so long. But you’re together now, hardly anything else matters.

As the summer came to an end, and you had to find somewhere else, you were invited to stay with Alastor. After walking freely around town, as promised, with his arm around yours, gossip spread as it always does. Another talk of the town, two unwed youths in the same place, sharing the same bed assumedly. It made you two snicker at the rumors. Living with him was heaven.

Following through his previous statements, he showered you in compliments, cooked every meal for you, and spent as much of his free time with you as he could. He offered little physical affection, little pecks here and there, and had no issue with sharing his bed. It wasn't long before you popped the question. Neither of you were really interested in the big fancy wedding idea, he was even comprehended by the marriage itself, but if anyone could wear down his nerves, it was you. That being said, Alastor did get you a ring that you were sure cost far too much. He brought up the idea of eloping. A little vacation just for the two of you. It sounded perfect.

“Birdy~ You let out in a sing-song tone, opening the door to your shared home. Every time you’d walk up to the house, you’d slow down, taking in your flawless reality every day. You’d hold your hand out to yourself, looking at the still newly polished ring, then finally entering your perfect home.

Although, it wasn’t perfect today.

You call out his name, no response. You know he should be home, so you peak around corners to no avail. You checked tables and counters, no note to be seen.

After setting down your bag, slipping your heels off, and hanging your coat after your quick search, you head to your room to at least change for the evening. You and Alastor usually go visit Mimzy on these nights, an unspoken routine.

On the way to your room, your tights hit a wet splotch on the floor. With a groan of disgust, you finally realize what you had stepped in.

Blood.

Of course, you’d recognize blood. It trailed from the door in front of you.

Alastor assured you this was his office and showed it to you on occasion. The door was always open when he wasn't home, and although you never felt the need to intrude on his personal space, something was clearly wrong. You swung open the door.

“No.”

You cover your mouth after your quiet refusal. You're silent, unwilling to believe what you're seeing. Your darling husband-to-be, kneeling over a stained and still wet corpse wrapped in canvas. His hands are covered in blood. Actually, his entire body is covered in blood.

How he managed to get in and out of the house without making an entire mess was a thought that managed to cross your mind in your state of shock. You glance up for a second to notice one of the heavy bookshelves pushed aside, a sort of patio doorway leading to the swampy area behind the house.

You look at the door, then to Alastor. Who’s giving you a wide-eyed face that pains your chest.

Say something, Alastor. Say something that’ll make this all okay. You're a deer in headlights.

He notices your eyes dart to the right, then back to him, staring for a moment longer. One thing is on your mind without his reassurance. You’re in danger.

Run.

You book it down the hall, clearly going to the exit. Both your feet soaked in blood at this point are tracking through the house. The moment was such a blur, that you hardly remember how far you got before feeling the pain of hitting the floor. You look down after scrambling onto your back, seeing Alastor’s hand wrap around your ankle.

“Hold on! You’re covered in blood, you’re a mess, just-” He sounds deranged. Who is this man? Surely not the one who’s been treating you so well all this time. He sounds anxious and angry. You’re face is stained with tears as he essentially drags you across the floor briefly, not considering his heightened adrenaline in these moments. You kick. You scream.

“Listen to me!” He grabs you by your arms, giving you a good shake. That seems to calm you down.. or at least quiet you down. You’re staring at him wide-eyed, your breath rapid. He has your attention, yet he’s not sure what to say. A pained expression grows on his face. You’re leaving him speechless, again.

“Let’s.. clean you up.” He scoops you up, and maybe it's the shock that leaves you so lenient. Or maybe it's all the good times blurring what you've witnessed. When you come to, you’re sitting in the bath, Alastor by your side, and running a sponge across your arm, thoroughly staining the water with blood. The sight brings a gasp from your lips, that feels like the first breath you've taken in hours.

“A-Alastor-” You let out weakly, your frightened expression now burned into his mind. “Was that real..?”

“It was-” He lets out a pained sigh, seeing if he could soften the truth. It's not possible. “-It was.” no words can save him from this.

“W-Why..?”

“He was rather unpleasant. A man with too much money, who wasted most of his time on hitting his women staff. He had his chance to make things right, I assure you, this is always the last resort.” That doesn't help for obvious reasons. You pull away from his gentle washing.

“Always? You've done this before?” Your voice squeaks as it comes out. You don't want to know the details. But you can't stop the words from spilling from your lips. He stands and rings the sponge out into the sink, watching the red-tinted water swirl down the drain.

“Yes.”

“How many times have you-” You stop yourself finally. You don't want the answer to that one. You don't want the answer to any of these questions. Unconsciously, your mind still seems to piece together every strange thing he’s done and said to you.

Your half-sentence is replied to with silence. He goes on to finish cleaning you up, helping you in and out of the tub, and drying you as best he can. He wraps you in his own robe and brings you to the bedroom. You’re mortified when you notice him guiding you by your shoulders to avoid the bloody footprints still on the ground.

Some time passes. You sit empty-minded on the edge of the bed, your eyes gazing down into nothing. Alastor leans against the vanity across the small room from you. He runs his hands through his hair, pausing and clenching some strands in his fists before moving on.

“I can..get all your belongings together, find you a place to stay. I’ll do what I can to keep you safe.” He finally says, breaking the silence and your endless train of thought. His offer seems reasonable, but you still feel hurt.

“You want me to leave?” You ask quietly, gripping the edges of the robe and shrinking into yourself. He’s shocked by your response, you can hear it in his voice.

“You want to stay?” He asks in response.

“I.. I love you.” You say weakly. It stings to say it out loud. And even more so to hear it. “Will you hurt me? I-If I go to the police? If I rat you out..?” What are you doing? You can’t ask a murderer that. Your mind is running on fear, especially after what you just said. You feel his hand lightly lift your face to his, flinching slightly considering you hadn't noticed him approaching you.

“I would never hurt you. I’d spend my days rotting in a jail cell if it meant you’re safe..and happy. I love you, kitten.” You aren’t used to seeing this face. It’s almost emotionless. You start to picture this face carrying out his murderous intentions. But there's a crack in his psychopathic mask. There's a hint of softness and anguish at the sight of you.

“I don't.. I don't want to leave.” You take a hold of his hand, still shaking and clearly unsure of your words. You hear a soft hiss leave his lips, clearly trying to conceal his reaction to the unexpected. “I don’t want you to be in jail- or.. I suppose I don't want you to be caught..?” You groan, holding tightly onto his hand. “I’m so confused, Alastor. I want things to be normal. I want to go back to when you cooked for me, and.. And go back to planning- o-our elopement…” You let out weakly. He doesn't respond at first, you force your eyes up to meet his. He looks heartbroken at the sight of you.

“I just want to pretend that none of this happened..Please, stop this. F-for me, please don't do this anymore.” Your voice becomes a whisper. His hesitation only makes it all worse. He responds once he feels your grip on him loosen.

“Okay- okay. I’ll clean up this mess, and- I’ll stop. For you.” You manage to give him a weak smile, before resting your head against his chest. After holding you for a moment he settles you into bed after you had essentially fallen asleep in his arms. He does as promised. Mostly. He cleans up the mess at least.

The next morning, you wake up and hope everything that happened before a nightmare. But, you feel his robe still wrapped around you, then notice Alastor’s side of the bed empty. It's real then. It was too vivid. And if it's real.. Then he’s stopping. Because of you. It’s almost touching.

You go on about your day, and he greets you as if nothing is wrong, making your breakfast as usual. He’s chipper and goes on to chat about his plans for today. He’s pretending that nothing went on. How often has he done this? Convincingly pretend that he didn't take a life less than twelve hours ago?

It takes you a few days. A few months.. years, actually. To accept what he had done. You never forgave him, but you accepted it. You had to go on and enjoy your newly wedded life together, didn't you? Alastor had a broadcast to work on, an audience to appease, and you had to work as a physician, helping locals from within their homes. Besides, he stopped the murders after you caught him that one awful night, didn't he?

Didn't he?

Police are at your door. A nightmare of a sight. You open it, putting on your best face. It wasn't as easy as it used to be, but your smile still convinced the public. Leaning against the open door and batting your lashes you greet them sweetly. your face instantly fell to their words. You almost hoped that he had gotten caught. But he didn't.

He's dead.

“Shot in the woods, ma’am. A hunter mistook him for a deer in the dark.” you'd recall these words later, but for now, your ears were ringing and your mind was absent. You thanked them and shut the door.

You can't recall how loudly you screamed and sobbed, or for how long that went on. You need to be held. You need him to hold you and that only pains you more. You mourned for days, canceling appointments, and not answering any guests who were there to offer empty condolences. You rotted in his home. He was so young. You were both so young, there was so much to look forward to in your future. It's all gone now.

The first place you went to was Mimzy's bar. A few months had passed, and all your good liquor had run out. Plus, a familiar face could be a good change of pace right now.

“Oh, hun!” An immediate greeting at the door, Mimzy brings you to the bar. It's a late night on a workday, it was essentially empty. “I'm so sorry for your loss. Everyone in town is worried bout ya! I'm sure you don't wanna hear this, but how are you doin'?” She was right. You didn't want to hear that. You hated that question.

“Fine.” You say squeakly. It was the first word you had spoken in weeks, you realize. She slides you your drink and you immediately down it. She tops it off just for it to be finished off even faster than the last.

“Slow down, hun.” She says, sliding a glass of water to you next. When you drink it thoughtlessly, the absence of alcohol has you scrunching your nose. “I'm sure this isn't the best time, but.. I got somethin’ for ya.” She disappears into some backroom before reapproaching you and your barely touched glass of water. She places an enveloped letter in your hand. Your name written in neat cursive fills its front and your hands start to shake.

“It's from Al. He wanted me to give this to ya. If he ever.. well, if this ever happened.” as she's speaking, you've already opened it and begun reading.

It was instructions. And a large wad of cash. Above the instructions, A small blurb about how sorry he was, how much he loved you, and prayed that you'd never have to read this. Then a list of how to thoroughly clean and dispose of all evidence in his shed.

“Did you know?” you ask Mimzy, your hands crinkling on each side of the letter. She nods. “He never stopped, did he?” You say in a hushed tone, mainly in disbelief to yourself.

“Well- not exactly, no. he was finishing somethin' up in the forest that one night.” Mimzy talks as if she's practiced this conversation. He must've kept her up to date with all this.

“He told me he would stop. He said he was doing it for me-” You grip at your heart, letting out a shaky breath.

“What important is that he loved ya, right? He was an equal opportunity killer, hun, he only did what he had to. It was for the greater good, ya know?” Mimzy was speaking far too calmly about this. you let out a flurry of curses, shoving the crumpled-up instructions into your purse before standing at the bar.

“You're all fucking psychopaths!” You yell out to the empty bar and leave the building in a huff. 

You needed to leave town. The two people you were closest to were both criminals. And being in this house was only hurting you more. You packed as much as you could, hand hovering over the phone to call for a taxi. You freeze in place. Then see your ring. You look at it for a moment, the light giving it a beautiful shine. With a defeated sigh, you set your bags aside and pull the instructions back out from your purse, straightening it out as best you could.

After finishing a very thorough cleaning, and questioning your actions through it all, you did everything on the list. You burned the letter alongside some other items that he told you to dispose of. You still aren't sure why you did it. He was never caught before and he must have cleaned up his job in the forest before getting shot. Maybe it was for the best. Let his radio persona live on. Let it be the last nice thing you ever do for him. You finally leave that hellhole behind.

-

You went on to live another sixty years, quite a feat if you must admit. You weren't much of a religious person, so passing in your sleep and waking up in the streets of Pentagram City, was a bit of a shock. After accepting the idea of an afterlife, you put the little details together. You were sure after all that went down in your youth, you would end up here. And if you're here, then maybe..

There are more important things right now. Lucky for you, you fell right in the middle of a bustling street. You scramble to your feet and quickly escape the speeding cars. Why were there cars in Hell? Why did it look so much like a big city you would visit at some point, how is it so human? There was so much to question, but you were desperate to find any sort of sanctuary.

You weren't sure why your first thought was to find the nearest bar, but something seemed to bring you in. You're almost disappointed in yourself for stepping into a club decorated as a 20s speakeasy. But it was familiar- nostalgic. A shrill voice draws your attention.

"Oh my stars! Get over here, doll!" The shriek brings your attention to the bar, where a slightly familiar face greets you. “What are ya gawkin’ at? It’s me! Mimzy? Get that tail over here!” Mimzy owns a club even in Hell? You approach her after some more beckoning.

"Long time no see! How long you been in?" She goes on. You observe her appearance as she speaks. She looks almost the same. The red eyes and sharp teeth were definitely new. You realize you hadn't had the chance to take in your own appearance, but clearly, it must've been similar enough for her to recognize you. Still questioning your position, you finally process her words.

"Oh- I just arrived actually. Lucky me to walk straight into your bar, hm?" You lean against the counter as she pours you a drink, a flurry of trauma and nostalgia turns to confusion.

"Wow! You had quite a life after old Al got you outta town, didn't ya?” She teased. You let out a nervous chuckle. Good old Al. You haven't thought about him in years. You were so young, so head over heels for this man you barely knew. You somehow managed to suppress all the bad times as you aged. Mimzy notices your face droop a bit.

"I suppose I did.." a brief smile meets the wedding band still on your hand.

"Well? Finally gonna reunite? Ooh! How romantic! You'll have to update me, sweetie!" Mimzy bats at you, letting out an excited giggle. You quickly shake your head, not processing any other way to respond.

"I-I can't- I mean.. Not after everything he’s done.” Your hands clench at even the thought.

“Sorry to break it to ya, but we’re all for a reason. You got plenty of time to forgive him, with the whole eternal punishment of it all.” Mimzy’s tone drops to a more serious one as if she’s heard that line before. “Not everyone’s lucky enough to rot in Hell with someone they love, you should see what he’s up to!” Her tone seems to immediately switch to something more chipper.

“Still, I uh.. I shouldn't. He’s been dead for so long, I’m sure he’s got some other dame cleaning up his messes.” Excuses. You didn't want to see him, because this is his fault. You're here because you helped clean up his space after his unfortunate death. Even when you had no idea, he relied on you. He trusted you to carry this burden for the rest of your life. Your rage was suppressed when you heard Mimzy's voice chime back in.

"Nope! He's been busy with uh.. his work. Still wears the ring, though~" She hums, tapping her finger to emphasize her words. You look down at your own hand. Why did you still wear yours, again? You never remarried, but mainly because of the trust issues that were instilled in you for the rest of your life. Maybe it wouldn't be a terrible idea..

“N-No, I just cant..” You let out louder than you meant to. Mimzy shrugs off your panic. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare room, would you, Mimzy?”

-

Mimzy did in fact have a spare room. You stayed in one of the ratty rooms about the bar, alongside some of the demons that rented the rooms for their own business. You realized, after finding a mirror, that you were portrayed with some feline features, nothing too disfiguring. Once you saw your new form, Alastor’s voice, every single time he beckoned you with kitten, rang throughout your mind. You couldn't bring yourself to look at yourself for the first few months. This was Hell after all. Eternal punishment can manifest in several ways.

Mimzy was still a clear supporter of Alastor, so she had a radio set up in your room already. No matter how hard you tried, you realize pretty early on that Alastor had some power over the radios that force his broadcasts to be the only thing streaming. You heard it all. The screams of souls being torn apart, his constant gossiping and cruel words making fun of other demons.

But damn, if it didn't feel like living again. Waking up every morning to the sound of his voice on the radio, before you can truly decipher what he’s talking about, it almost feels like a normal life. But then you hear the pain in those demons that he’s mercilessly tearing up. Sometimes, you see Mimzy cheering at the radio like some sports game is being narrated. You try to avoid her when she’s doing that.

Things were comfortable for many years. As comfortable as Hell can be, at least. Alastor became a distant part of your daily routine, you'd hear his broadcasts all the time, but only in addition to the other bustling city noises. It all seemed to cancel out after a while. You worked with Mimzy, picking up at the bar when she had to run off. In exchange, you stayed in that room indefinitely. You two seemed to become friends again, despite your living history. It became clear to you that what happened when you were alive really didn't matter down here. You all made the same degree of mistakes and you all learned that you’re here for the same reasons.

You went through extermination days as best you could, only having one face-to-face interaction. That day, you were already on the verge of death from falling debris and trying to escape a specifically insistent exorcist. She had you cornered. You shut your eyes, wincing at the upcoming angelic weapon you saw her raise at you. Only feeling a slight sting across the bridge of your nose and cheek, you open your eyes to see her flying back towards the portal to heaven. You can't believe you got that lucky. You’re still in disbelief at the entire scenario, but unlike most wounds down here, your face was permanently scarred. It was small, barely noticeable! Mimzy says.

But you knew not everyone had this much luck on extermination day. After noticing the silence on the streets, during the most recent extermination, you nervously left the bar. Everything was empty. The portal had opened closer to that hotel you’d heard of. And the exorcists were going straight to it. You scoffed, walking back into the bar. They’d finish off those demons there quickly, so you still wanted to hide. As you barred yourself up in your room, you remembered Mimzy telling you about her visit to that hotel. About why she visited the hotel. Alastor's there. You try to not panic. It’s been decades, why are you worried about him? Besides you know how powerful he is, you've picked up his whole radio demon shtick from others. He’ll be fine.

Then why are you so restless?

A loud knocking at your door shakes your entire core. You keep yourself hauled up in the corner of your room, covering your ears and squeezing your eyes shut. You still hear a voice call your name from the other side of the door.

“You gotta come see this! The angels are gone!” It's Mimzy. it's far earlier than usual, you were almost worried it was some new tactic they picked up. You crack the door open just slightly, and her small frame pummeled the door open. She paces your room, rambling words that you barely catch, and she shoves her phone to your face. You have to take it from her shaking hands to get a glimpse. It's hard to see, but it's very obviously footage of Alastor fighting Adam. His body is warped through the drone’s camera, and you watch him fade away into nothingness after one blow. There was no audio, You couldn't hear what happened. Considering you weren't familiar with his shadow antics, you had no idea what actually happened to him.

“You gotta find out if he's okay! I can't go back to that hotel, you gotta do it!” she sounds frantic, taking her phone back. “What? Absolutely not! I'm sure he's fine.” You wave your hand dismissively, despite the hesitance in your voice. Everyone's in Hell for the same reasons. Your mind goes back and forth on the possibility of forgiveness.. of mending burned bridges.

“The videos from a few hours ago, those angels are gone! Ooh.. He's just gotta be okay..” You didn't realize how much Mimzy actually appreciated Alastor. Whether it be the protection he offers or their actual friendship, you aren't sure. But she's clearly worried about him. You just aren't ready.

Mimzy spent the next few days begging you to go down there and find him. And you refused every time. She mentioned going to Cannibal Town to visit his "Gal Pal" and even she hadn't heard from him. He's disappeared before, just recently too, You're sure it was just like his last seven-year absence. Even if you were getting a bit worried, you'd never admit it. There were no broadcasts, there was no public trash-talking from the Vees, it was just.. quiet.

“Didn't you love him?” You stare at Mimzy, in disbelief that she just said that.

“Excuse me?” That seemed to strike a nerve. And maybe she meant to do that.

“I remember you two in my bar, you were two peas in a pod! I've never seen him like that with any gal, hun. That's not somethin' that just goes away.” Mimzy takes your hand from across the bar. “Please, go check on him. Maybe it'll be like a final hurrah, but I just gotta know if he's okay.” You look around the room as if someone would offer to go in your place. But she's right. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't missing his broadcasts. You let out a dejected sigh.

“Okay.. okay! Fine.” You huff. An immediate change in attitude, Mimzy lets out an excited exclamation and pours the two of you drinks, to celebrate her pushy victory.

-

You take in a deep breath, looking around the new hotel's exterior. It was much larger than the previous one and more lavish. You hesitate before knocking on the door. A series of whispered voices, then scrambling feet, follow the door opening. It's the princess of Hell. You weren't expecting Alastor to greet you, but you still feel a bit disappointed.

“Hello! Welcome to the Hazbin Ho-” You quickly interrupt.

“No! Nono, sorry.” You laugh Nervously. “I'm not here for the whole.. redemption thing. Is.. uh…” You peek around her shoulder, seeing a few demons you recognize from the commercial, but no Alastor.

“Is the radio demon here..?” You finally ask quietly. Charlie still seems a little hurt from the interruption, but just because you're not interested in redemption doesn't mean she won't try to convince you.

“Alastor? Sure! He's been in his tower since we reopened.. So, he's probably up there.” She explains, pulling you into the building despite your refusal. “I can go get him for you! What's your name? I'll tell him who-”

"That's actually okay! I was sent to check up on him, so.. if he's alive, then that's all I need to hear!” Mimzy will just have to be satisfied with that. You're chickening out. If they're saying he's fine, then that's good enough for you. The longer you're here, the more anxious you're becoming. You're worried he could pop out of nowhere. Which is a legitimate concern apparently. 

“Charlie!” A greeting comes from behind the blonde, and you see a red-clawed hand engulf her shoulder. “Already a new resident? How exciting! What unfortunate sinner has found themselves here as a last resort.. today…” 

You know that voice. Of course, you know that voice. He looks fairly similar to how he did when he was alive, the hair was new. Ditto the antlers. A deer? They turned him into a deer down here? You almost want to laugh. Maybe being in Hell for so long has turned your sense of humor that crude. You're staring with wide eyes. He whispers your name so quietly that all you can really take in is his lips forming the word.

“Hey, Al! She was just looking for you! I think she might be worried, right?” 

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up-

“I.. was! But I see he’s clearly fine now, so! I should get back to Mimzy’s-” 

“Mimzy? You're with that trainwreck?” a low voice comes from the bar, interrupting the conversation. The cat demon behind the counter scoffs at you. “Nice ears.” They fold down involuntarily from embarrassment.

“Kitten.” You immediately turn at the sound of Alastor’s voice, shivers thoroughly covering your body. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but it clamps shut. His eyes widen for a moment, looking around the room to see how almost every resident had gathered to witness the new face. You start to back away to the door.

“This may not have been the best idea.. T-thank you, princess, it was nice meeting you.” with a blink of your eye, Alastor’s arm is around your shoulder. 

“Why of course! Thank you for visiting! I'll escort you out!” His chipper attitude startles you, and you feel almost insulted by his eagerness to have you leave.

“Oh! Well.. come back anytime! Our doors are always open!” You hear Charlie call out as Alastor takes you outside the building. Before you even have a chance to protest, you're suddenly in a recording room. Your mouth is still open ready to scold him, but instead, you examine the dizzying change in scenery. Your eyes finally drop to Alastor, who had taken both your shoulders and let his head drop from your view. He startles to mumble.

“W-What are you-”

“Why didn't you tell me you were here?” His head finally lifts and you catch his perplexed expression. Pained eyes paired with a strained smile, it's almost frightening.

“W-Well, I.. it was just-” 

“When did you arrive?”

“A few.. decades ago..?”

“Decades?” His voice goes low and static. You pull away from his grasp as his voice changes. “You shouldn't be here. There has to be a mistake.” His voice returns to normal, and he starts to pace the room. Mumbling more nonsense to himself, he starts gripping at his hair. 

You watch this for a while, before finally approaching him. You take hold of his arm, effectively stopping him in place. Pulling down his arm, you feel the grasp on his hair loosen.

“Calm down. You're pulling your hair out, again.” You say softly, brushing his hand clean of stray hairs he had torn out. Reaching forward you attempt to brush his hair back into place. Your hand pauses, hovering just by his cheek. You want to hold him. He seems to follow your hand when you decide to quickly distance yourself.

His eyes look bloodshot and demonic. How could you still possibly be getting lost in them?

“You shouldn't be here, kitten. You’re here because of me.” You flinch at his words, despite how true they are, you manage to feel some underlying guilt.

“Yeah.. Mimzy just wanted to know if you were alright. And you seem just fine. I should go.” You say bluntly, taking hold of your arms and going towards the door.

“Why didn't you find me?” His words cause you to stop.

“Sorry, you weren't exactly the first thing on my mind when I woke up in Hell.”

“Kitten, I-” His voice seems to drop the radio static. It sounds entirely too familiar.

“-don't call me that.” You snap, biting at your lip unconsciously.

“I'm sorry.” He finally says. “It was.. irresponsible of me to lie to you. I made a mistake.” He sounds more embarrassed to admit he messed up. His ego makes you scoff.

“Yes, it was irresponsible. It was downright cruel, Alastor. I had to live with the burden of your murders and had to die with the consequences.” You turn back to face him, a rage that had been boiling for decades finally spilling over. “I did so much good after you died. It has to be your fault I'm here. I never told the cops, I followed your ridiculous instructions, and it was the worst decision of my life! And now I'm paying for it. For being too far in love to realize that you were just using me!” You've had this conversation in your head so many times, that you have no issue saying exactly what you want.

“No!" He stops himself before he can shout anything else. "I assure you, that isn't the case at all. I love you more than I can put into words, kitten, can't we just-” Alastor reaches his hand out to you and you quickly lean away. You spot the ring on his finger.

“Love? You used me to make sure your record stayed clean! That's not love.” You hiss.

“I did it to protect you. I gave you everything you needed to remove yourself from the situation if anything were to happen to me. You said you went on to do good, and I believe you. That was because of me! The letter and the money were both for your safety- I was helping you.” He isn’t exactly shouting, but his tone is certainly sending chills down your spine.

“You don't get to take credit for my life! I should have never come!” You fling your arms up, turning back to the door. He grabs your arm and turns you back to him, a tight grip on your shoulders. He opens his mouth to seemingly scold you, and you're ready to bite back. You notice him scanning over your facial features, and his expression seems to falter.

“What happened to you?” He runs a clawed finger delicately across the scar on your cheek. It had faded but was still visible. You wince at his touch, which makes him pull his hand back.

“Oh, don't act like you care.” You mumble.

“Of course, I care.” His soft response forces a pained groan from your lips. 

“All these sweet words you’re saying.. I-I don’t know what to think with that ridiculous smile.. I can't take you seriously!” Your voice is beginning to crack, losing the strength to have this go on.

“About that-”

“I hate you.” He flinches at your words, Out of everything you’ve said, you don't understand why that seems to silence him. He grips onto his chest, his coat and shirt scrunching into his fist. You watch him drop his head, bracing himself on his desk that he had stumbled to. You’re sure he’s being dramatic. Hamming it up to get some sort of pity. A sigh passes your lips.

“Um.. Alastor… I didn't mean to-” His act only fools you a little bit. You wonder if you’ve let out too much steam. If he really-

Before you can finish any other thoughts, he collapses to the floor.

“Fuck-” You quickly move to his side, flipping him to his back and helping him at least prop himself up against a wall. “Should I get-”

“Don't tell the others.” He breathes out, putting his hand up dismissively. With the wave of his hand, you see the blood across his palm. Your eyes follow the source to a continuously growing stain on his top. The sight of blood didn't seem to bother you after everything. “Just help me up.” 

“O-Okay.” You do as he says, helping him stand. Almost feeling like an instinct, you pull his coat off of his shoulders. He struggles to keep up with the movement but still gives in. He quickly loses his strength and stumbles to the small couch nearby. You almost enjoy watching him stubbornly refuse your help.

“I.. might require.. some assistance.” He says it so softly you almost want to ask him to repeat himself. Even if you understood him just fine.

“You're asking for help?” You correct him, placing your hands on your hips.

“I don't need help.” He snaps. You would've been offended if you knew he was just to flustered to admit it.

“Then what do you need?” You sit beside him on the couch, placing your hand on his blood-stained shirt. He immediately winces.

“For.. you to stitch this up.” You start unbuttoning his shirt, your hands grazing the fluff of his chest with a mild curiosity. You finally get the full scope of a completely untreated slash that would've surely killed any human if left untreated. But for an almost immortal demon, it was just a painful nuisance. Very painful.

“From your fight with… You want me to help you stitch this up?” You ask because that it seems near impossible to do so, even with someone of your medical history. It's wide and seems to be covered with specks of gold. It feels like small shards of glass when you swipe your hand over him.

“.. yes.” He says quietly. You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head at him. He’s reckless, too stubborn to have looked at the wound because of its reminder of his defeat. And you know that's exactly why it got this bad. No matter how small, Alastor sees the smile growing on you.

“I missed your smile.” He says softly.

“Please stop saying things like that.. You're confusing me.” You make sure to speak your words quietly as if you don't want them to be heard. A small demonic creature rushes to your side, holding a tray up with the essentials to properly treat the slash. It stays perfectly still once in your reach.

You went to work, after some proper scolding, trying your best to keep the process as painless as possible. Every so often, you wonder why you are being so careful with him. He doesn't deserve your tenderness. Your thoughts are stopped when you see his hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you away. His face is scrunched, a hiss passing by his tormented smile. You must've hit the wrong spot while lost in thought. Your eyes fall to his ring, again.

“Why did you keep this on?” You ask, examining his hand that’s still engulfing your wrist.

“It reminds me of you. And yours?” His voice is hushed, still recovering from the pain. You realize he has a full view of your own hand, your wedding band sitting just as clear to him.

“It.. reminds me of what you did to me.” You hear a quiet groan in response to your words, and he releases your arm, gripping the couch in its stead. You keep going.

“I'll admit, I was worried about you.. after the battle with Adam. Maybe it was Mimzy getting me all worked up..” You finally admit. You don’t want him to think you’ve spent your whole life and death hating him. But why would it matter either way?

“I can't be killed, you had nothing to worry about.” He replies, not willing to comment on your sudden vulnerability. Not in this position. All you can do is laugh at him. He's clearly talking out his ass.

“Looks like you got pretty close to it.” You scoff. His ears flatten, and he looks away like a stubborn child.

You finish up after an hour. It felt much longer. The silence with quiet quips mixed in, the surprisingly intimate moment, it was suffocatingly uncomfortable.

“I didn't want to come here. I was perfectly content in being in Hell. I didn't expect this form of torture.” You say, setting everything back onto the little tray presented to you. That little demon had been standing there this whole time. You notice it started shaking a while ago.

“Come now, you're being dramatic. You chose to find me, did you not?” He says, sitting a bit taller with the regained strength.

“I'm not being dramatic! You try to avoid Mimzy's constant nagging! I hear your voice everywhere, see all the ads for this hotel, and they made me a damn cat, Alastor!” You feel yourself starting to lose your composure, gripping your hair and letting out a pained laughter. “H-how unfair is that..?” You let out a weak chuckle, feeling tears well in your eyes. He pulls your hand away from your hair, brushing his thumb across your ring as he holds you for a moment longer.

“Completely unfair. Your appearance may be.. unappealing … to you, but your face is still the same. Your eyes still bright as usual, your smile just as sweet.” His sincerity is muddling your thoughts. Those thoughts that warn you he’s hurt you before. And now he’s a cruel overlord, he’ll hurt you again tenfold. You feel his thumb drag along your lip after realizing you had leaned in towards him.

“Still biting your lip, hm?” His static fades again, and you wince at the raw skin he's brushing over. Old habits apparently don’t die hard.

“N-nervous tick, I guess..” His closeness leaves you a bit breathless.

“Do I make you nervous?” His tone confuses you. There’s an underlying sense of worry, a genuine concern for your well-being. But you’re still distracted by his strange smile. You don’t have much time to think any further about it before you’re startled by gentle lips against yours. It’s quick but is more than enough to let out a flood of feelings you’ve been suppressing since the day you left your hometown. He looks at you with a sly smile on his face.

“I’m still mad at you.” You say quietly.

“I know.” He kisses you, again.

“Y-You don’t have to-” He interrupts you with another kiss.

“I know.” Still holding your face you barely take in his next words with a clear head. “I miss you.” Another kiss, just to throw you off this time, “I miss having you at my side.

Stay.. please.”

There was no way you would drop everything to live with a man you were barely married to in life. That didn't stop you from seeing him more, though. You were actually.. kind of glad to see him. To patch things up, even just a little. You’d visit, sneaking around at first to avoid any interaction from the other residents of the hotel. They were all more than intimidating to you. Especially considering one of them was the king of Hell. Alastor was more than happy to keep you away from him, though.

You updated Mimzy on how he was when you left that first night, but you left out the unimportant bits.. Like the giant angelic slash across his chest. You didn’t need Alastor to tell you that you shouldn't be going around spreading that information. A true accomplice. When Mimzy noticed you were visiting him to the point where you couldn't cover the bar when she needed you to, she was more than happy to kick you out. You knew exactly what she was doing. She didn't want you homeless, but you were essentially left with nowhere to go. Except for the hotel.

It wasn’t the worst thing to happen.. Things almost seemed normal. Alastor had lots of sucking up to do, even though he wouldn't call it that. He was definitely working at it. Making you breakfast like before, treating you like even higher royalty than he ever could while alive. He has the power to do so now and he fully intends to use it. And it’s working.. A little bit.

Okay, a lot.

You’re shocked that he still seems the same after becoming the powerful overlord he is. You’d love to convince yourself that none of that mattered, his status in Hell or what happened when you were alive. That you could just forget mortality to look forward to the potential future facing you. It’s easier said than done.

You're still struggling with your nightmares. Even more so in Hell, likely another form of punishment. Something about the hotel seemed to subdue some of them actually. As if the air were clearer here. It only helped most nights, though. Whenever you woke up in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, clutching at your heart, there was only one thing to calm you. The radio at your nightstand would play a specific song. One that Mimzy was fond of, so you heard it most nights at her bar on Earth. Whenever you heard that, you knew he was there. He was waiting for you.

"Birdy?" You knock on his door, which seems to open slowly just from your touch. Alastor is sitting contently in front of his firepit. This wasn't the first time you've found him in the middle of the night.

"Another one, my love?" He tilts his head up slightly, the book he had in his hand shutting immediately. You nod your head slowly, already approaching him. Your blanket still wrapped around your shoulders is dragging across the ground. You give him a look he recognizes, and he nods at the implications. Without caution, you let out a tired whimper and plop into his lap. He pulls the blanket over your entirety.

Getting completely comfortable, he adjusts his arms to pull his book back to his eyeline. With your head nuzzled against his shoulder, you're too tired to conceal your little habit of purring. He doesn't mind, though. He loves it.

♡♡♡

Another big boy for ya 🫶

Human Alastor is really fun to write for, I had to do some research tho lol

I tried to keep Alastor's sexuality in mind, so I hope I represented it well. That's always something that makes me nervous when writing for Al 😬

Taglist!

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[conlaluce]

thinking about diluc and kaeya each having their own complicated relationship with religion. crepus is a devout believer of the anemo archon, to me, so he definitely took his kids with him to mass at the cathedral, if not every sunday then at least once or twice a month.

diluc learned to pray from his father; learned to give thanks to the god who gave this city its freedom, the god who blesses them with gentle weather and bountiful lands and protects them from tyranny. he believes wholly and truly in the anemo archon's grace; his father does, after all, and everyone says barbatos is great and benevolent and kind and helped found the nation he loves so dearly.

kaeya doesn't like mass very much, but he never says so. it makes him uncomfortable, especially in the beginning, worshipping one of the gods that his homeland has reviled - but he wants to fit in, he doesn't want to lose his place here. and surely, surely, it would be a dead giveaway to his "true" allegiances if he refused to pray to mondstadt's god. so kaeya closes his eyes and pretends to pray, because better this than losing another home. (better this than failing his mission, than failing in his duty to khaenri'ah.)

and then, diluc's 18th birthday passes. ursa the drake attacks. crepus dies. diluc leaves mondstadt. kaeya is left, alone, the only ragnvindr left (except there aren't any, really, because he isn't a ragnvindr anymore, he isn't allowed to be.)

the first time diluc's vision starts to go out, the light flickering and fading and dying, kaeya prays. for the first time, he doesn't pretend, he doesn't close his eyes and clasp his hands together just for show - he prays.

please. please. let diluc live. please don't let him die. he can't die. i know you hate me, but you can't let him die, he's one of yours, isn't he? he's a child of mondstadt. he has to stay alive. save him, please, please-

(i can't lose him too)

diluc's vision never does go out all the way. it always retains its light, even if only slightly. maybe the anemo archon really did protect him. maybe barbatos answered kaeya's prayers.

sometimes, when diluc's vision is weak, kaeya prays. surely, barbatos will at least grant him this. surely, barbatos wouldn't be opposed to keeping a child of mondstadt safe.

when diluc finally comes back home, kaeya closes his eyes and whispers a quiet thanks to his god.

diluc, on the other hand, no longer prays. hasn't, since that day.

he doesn't think he deserves to.

kaeya said something, that night, about khaenri'ans being sinners. a people who have been condemned by the gods themselves for their sins. he said it so viciously, so bitterly, so sincerely. like he believed it, wholly and truly.

if you're a sinner, then what am i?

kinslayer. a failure of a knight. a man who could not save anyone when it mattered most, who raised a blade to his own family. killer of his own father, and nearly his brother, too. he has learned to kill without feeling the slightest hint of remorse, to steal and torture and deceive. he has committed so many atrocities he can no longer count them all. his sins are far worse than kaeya's have ever been, will ever be.

if you're a sinner, then so am i.

diluc doesn't pray anymore. he's a little scared to.

and besides, no gods would save him now, would they?

not with all the blood on his hands.

some time after his return to mondstadt, diluc starts attending mass again. every sunday, he enters the cathedral with the rest of the crowd, chooses a quiet spot in the back, and waits for the service to begin.

he doesn't pray.

when everyone else's heads are bowed together in prayer, diluc lowers his head to show respect, but his eyes are open. his hands lie still in his lap. he stares at the wood of the pews in front of him as the sister leading the service offers words of thanks to barbatos. he does not pray.

does he even deserve to ask anything of the gods now?

and then diluc finds out the annoying bard that frequents his tavern is actually a god. is actually barbatos. not just any god - his god.

his god trusts him to keep his human guise a secret. his god tolerates him enough to become a regular at his tavern and beg him for freebies.

okay. this is fine.

(vaguely, diluc wonders if it is heresy to say no when your god asks you for something. repeatedly. but their dynamic has been like this for months before venti's true identity was revealed, and the god has shown no indication of wanting to change that. so, for now, diluc will treat him the same as he always has.)

sometimes, he thinks about asking. asking venti - asking barbatos - if he would forgive diluc of his sins. if he deserves to be forgiven.

he never does ask.