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weltraum-vaquero · 22 days ago

Text

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, who delights in being a bit of a dick, and becomes even more mean on bad pain days, and who is constantly insufferably rightfully smug, Smart & competent reader being reduced to a wolf with heart eyes going AWOOOGA when they lay eyes on Viktor.

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: 1. Shoutout to my beloved buddies for helping me with this fic, AND the banner. You guys know who you are. 2. I hope you enjoy this very self indulgent piece about my take on Viktor as a professor in a modern AU. Keep in mind that this work is entirely spoiler free. Although it will be posted over the upcoming three weeks as arcane season two drops, I had no information about any of the leaks whatsoever as I wrote this, and did my utmost to avoid them. This iteration of Viktor was written with his season one character traits as a base in mind. 3. The science Viktor and reader talk about in depth in this fic is entirely made up and definitely falls apart under scrutiny. Don’t look too hard. Yes, I made up an entire hextech based scientific field specifically so I could carnally have this old man.

You know exactly what to expect from someone like Professor Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda.

You’ve done your homework on the man: interviewed colleagues who’d taken his lectures as undergrads (scary — but great at his job had been the general consensus), and checked his ratemyprofessor profile. Which, by the way, had been a terrific read.

Dr Sidorov-Svoboda is a very polarizing man, it seems. Reviews were either raving about his cogency, or saying they’d drive to his lecture without wearing a seatbelt in the hopes that death would take them before Sidorov did. There seemed to be no in-between, other than one review calling him a total DILF and rating him five out of five for that alone.

You digress. All sources had gotten across more than enough for you to understand what you were going to face once you’d step into his office: brilliant, tenured, independent, a no-nonsense attitude, and with a spotless track record of turning down TAs.

Which you’re here to change — the last part, that is.

It’s not exactly a guilt-free affair. Dr Heimerdinger — the dean himself — had personally reached out to you, and requested you try to convince Sidorov-Svoboda to accept you as his TA. Should you succeed, you would be offered a generous wage.

That, along with the fact that Sidorov’s name is going to pretty up your CV something fierce if you somehow land this job, is reason enough to make you at the very least give it a go.

With a fortifying breath, you rap your knuckles on the oakwood of his office door.

“Yes?” A heavy accent makes itself known on the y.

You wait to see if he’ll open — five seconds pass — he doesn’t.

Rude.

You take that as your cue to push the door open yourself.

Nothing could have prepared you for the man whose cat-like eyes pierce you from above rectangular silver reading glasses. He hadn’t even bothered lifting his head from what he’d been reading through; and when he finally does grant you the gift of being looked at, wholly, it feels the same way as having a painting stare back at you. In the back of your mind, you swear you can hear the horns of an orchestra blaring into a crescendo.

His gaze pierces you, in a way that borders on literal. It’s undressing — less erotic, and more terrifying, as a consequence of nakedness, of being read. Professor Sidorov-Svoboda looks at you with a kind of disinterest that screams I have you figured out, and it’s punching your heart down into your stomach in a lovely, terrible way.

The lines of his face are lovingly crafted. Dark shadows under hollow cheeks, golden eyes under strong brows, there’s something intrinsically statuesque about his face. You’d expect to look at something akin to Sidorov-Svoboda in a museum, carved in marble, not in one of the dusty offices at your university.

He cocks his head, exposing a long, swan-like neck dotted with beauty marks, as he waits for you to regain your wits. Which you do, before any of this crosses the threshold between awkward and downright embarrassing.

“Hello, doctor,” you finally manage. “My name is (y/n) (l/n), theoretical arcanism department, phD student. I was… hoping we could discuss a position as your TA.”

He cocks a brow, thoroughly unimpressed, before he slides his glasses off his face. He even takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee, deliberately slow in swallowing it, before he finally speaks.

“I believe you should already be familiar with the fact that I do not take assistants.” Sidorov leans forward in his chair a fraction, still poring over his book, and there is a marked pop in one of his joints that sounds nothing short of painful. He seems hardly bothered by it.

“I am,” you reply. “Which is why I am here in the hopes of changing your mind.”

That finally makes him look at you properly again. It’s a delight. You wish you could savor it, instead of desperately trying to keep your wits about you.

“And why would you want to do that?”

The answer to that question has changed substantially since you’d first stepped foot into his office.

But you’re fortunately not stupid enough to tell him that.

“Your name is worth gold in the community, doctor. I would like it on my resume.”

He picks up his pen, squinting as he scribbles something in his book, before he hums with disinterest.

“Mm. I heard doctor Pididdly takes more kindly to flattery.” He brushes a grey strand of hair from his face, clicking his pen as he simply lets you stew in your own embarrassment and focuses on whatever he’s reading. When he speaks again, he does not award you the honor of feigning the smallest hint of interest. “And you can send doctor Heimerdinger my regards. Let him know I am still not looking for an assistant.”

He has you figured out, and it’s making you feel dumber than any advanced class has ever had the honor of doing.

“The dean? I haven’t spoken to him since—“

“Since last year, when you took his theoretical arcane force fields class? Or was it since he explicitly asked you to come to my office with this proposition?”

You’re not the only one who’s done their research on the other. Though it’s painfully clear that he was much more thorough in his pursuit.

“I’m… sorry.”

“For wasting both our time? You should be.” He does dignify you with one glance, and even sets his pen down, as he bids you goodbye.

—

You’re fortunately not a sore loser. The money and resume addition would have been nice, yes, but you suppose they still would not have made up for working with someone as sharp and cutting as Svoboda.

You’ll gladly take the loss. And you are.

He’s long gone from the front of your mind, though something about him — his gaze, his face, his voice — lingers and shrouds the back of your brain with a tempting distraction from your thesis.

The last thing you expect as you’re burning your retinas staring at the blue light of your laptop screen leafing through the countless open tabs on your laptop is a notification. It startles you out of your skin, the red dot next to the university portal app’s icon.

Still, more curious than nervous about who could be messaging you at 11pm on a Saturday, you click.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svboda

Good evening. Please come see me in my office on Monday. I would like to discuss the arrangements of your future employment as my assistant. Let me know what time would work best for you, within the limitations of my office hours.

11:32

…What?

You wonder what swayed his mind in your ultimate favor after you’d embarrassed yourself quite so thoroughly this week. But you're not about to complain — you more than certainly need the money, and his name on your resume.

Whatever turned the odds in your favor, you’re ever-grateful. And as much as you hate to admit it, you do double-check the message to make sure it’s actually real.

Thank you for this opportunity, professor. I’m looking forward to working as your assistant, as well as broadening my knowledge and skills. Would 1 PM work for you?

11:34

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svboda

Yes. That should be fine.

11:34

You think you should leave it at that. You know you should. But… you’re curious. You really hope this doesn’t cost you the job offer you’ve just received.

May I ask what swayed your decision?

11:37

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svboda

You may not. Good night.

11:37

So much for that.

—

You knock, but this time you don’t wait after being greeted with a yes? from behind his imposing office door.

“Hello, Professor Sidorov-Svoboda.”

You’re greeted with the distinctive smell of chicken stock and vegetables wafting from his office as you step in — a sore reminder of the fact that you’ve yet to procure lunch. Whatever he’s been eating, it smells tremendous.

His thermos squeaks as he screws it shut and sets it on the corner of his desk, gesturing for you to have a seat.

“Hello.” The faux velvet seat creaks awkwardly below you. “Thank you for your punctuality. I won’t take up too much of your time — we’ll discuss any questions you might have in further detail, but, to, eh… save us time, I’ve compiled a list of your responsibilities, and some personal preferences regarding grading papers I expect you to take into consideration when you do so.”

As he explains, you take a moment to take in his office. You certainly hadn’t gotten to it last time.

It’s mainly tidy, save for his large desk, which is littered with papers, a sudoku magazine, a disposable coffee cup from the campus cafe (though the cup is tall, roughly fit for a latte, if you had to guess… hm) and his dark blue, slightly beat-up thermos. Upon closer inspection, there’s a sticker on the cap.

It’s a small thing, worn like the rest of it, but the colours are unmistakable. Baby blue, pink, white — five stripes.

As a million questions and half a million answers start flashing through your head, the rustle of paper snaps you out of your thoughts.

There’s something analytical and vaguely, barely amused about how he looks at you when he slides the list across the table to you.

Contrary to what you expect, it’s not long. His main demand is grading papers, which isn’t your preferred kind of labor, but labor you will chew through, no less.

“I expect fairness when you grade,” he clarifies. “Contrary to what some students like to say, I grade papers with utmost integrity. I am not lenient, yes, but I am not absurd, either. You will find further guidelines on how to strike that, eh… balance yourself on the list I’ve made. And don’t hesitate to ask, should any uncertainties arise when you grade.”

“Fortunately, it’s applied arcanism,” you reply. “Not much room for… uncertainties, I’d expect.”

“You would be surprised.”

Viktor gives a knowing smile. Something about the placement of his mole right above the corner of his mouth, where his chapped, pale lips thin out, has your vision tunneling. You damn near startle when he starts talking again — good god, you need to get your act together.

“I will direct students’ questions to you, from now on. Should you not have an answer, you are welcome to contact me — but keep it to a minimum. Especially since applied arcanism is, as you seem to think, such an easy topic. As for lectures, you may attend, but it isn’t something I’ll be expecting from you. You teaching said lectures does not come into question. I have standards — high ones. If anyone is to take over, it will be someone whom I am certain is qualified for the job, not a phD student.”

“I am still prepared to,” you say. “Should the opportunity… present itself.”

“It most likely won’t.” With that, he straightens his back out in his seat, cracking the knuckle of his right thumb as he leans back in thought, going over his mental list. “Do you have any questions for me?”

His little smirk is magnetic, crows feet near his eyes creasing ever so slightly deeper as the corners of his lips rise. One of his dark brows lifts gently in a display of smugness that leaves you braindead enough to nearly miss the entirety of his next sentence. “Other than the one from Saturday night?”

Oh, damn him. Damn him.

And, as a matter of fact, you have about ten more. But none of them are even close to appropriate to ask — not now, or ever.

“No,” you lie. It somehow feels like he can see right through it.

“Very well. Thank you for your time.”

You thank him too. You’re not sure what for — his sudden generosity to offer you this position, or simply for the fact that he looked so pretty while he talked.

—

You, by now, know what optional really means in academia. Above all else, it’s meant to be an abstract line that separates two distinct groups: those who put in the extra effort, and slackers.

You don’t want Sidorov-Svoboda to know you as the latter.

Which is why you get a hold of his lecture schedule from Heimerdinger on the very same Monday afternoon, and plan on attending every single one of them that doesn’t overlap with something else in your schedule. Until he either outright tells you to stop, or until your contract as his assistant ends.

Much to your surprise, most of his lectures, save for Wednesdays and one on Fridays, do fit into your schedule as well.

On Tuesday, you are thirty minutes early waiting outside his office door.

And, as much as it shouldn’t be, it is a little funny how he startles when he groggily wobbles out of his office, keys in hand, and a cane in the other.

It’s a gorgeously designed thing; so much so it has you (stupidly) guessing it’s strictly in use for aesthetics the moment you first see it. It’s made of sturdy wood, with a dark finish and golden details down the length of it. The wood on the handle has gone light and matte with use.

But judging by how he leans on it as he numbly turns to lock the door of his office behind himself while he greets you leads to a different conclusion. And the stagger in his stride as he approaches you only confirms that he does, in fact, need it.

“Good morning, doctor Si—“

He raises his free hand slowly, like it’s heavy with fatigue. It’s enough to shut you up.

“Viktor,” he says. “Please. Just call me Viktor, from now on.” He pauses, looking you up and down with a fatigued sort of near-jealousy, before he shakes his head. “Why… are you here at seven thirty in the morning?”

“I want to attend your lectures.”

He sighs.

“And you picked the one at this hour?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” You can’t quite tell if he’s displeased or if he’s just really tired.

“Rough morning?” You ask.

“Aren’t they all…”

It certainly isn’t your intention to let it become a habit — you’re his assistant, not his secretary, but you’ve learned that sucking up does get you forward in academia more often than not, so you offer: “Would you like me to get you some coffee?”

“I am getting myself coffee.” He attempts to stifle a yawn, but does not succeed. “But I would like you to accompany me.”

Your heart flutters. You tell yourself it’s because you’re getting coffee with one of the fathers of applied arcanism.

—

“A french vanilla latte, please. Under the name “A french vanilla latte, please. Under the name Viktor.”

Before you get to mentally clap yourself on the back and imagine a round of applause for your keen eye, you have to focus on not making a fool of yourself when you say your own order. The professor thankfully takes mercy on you, and leaves to take a seat at one of the tables — though probably for his own sake, rather than to spare you any embarrassment.

You decide the polite thing would be to keep him company as you wait for your orders. Reluctantly, you approach the table he’s picked, and, after a moment’s hesitation, pull out a chair for yourself.

“Professor Heimerdinger spoke quite highly of you.”

It startles you, the sound of his voice interrupting the lull of the clanking of dishes and hissing of steam and hum of the espresso machines.

“Oh. I appreciate that he did.”

“Hm.” For how blasé he’d acted until this very moment, it seems like you’ve said something that’s piqued his interest utterly. He hunches forward a hint, entwining his long, bony fingers over the top of the cane between his thin thighs. “You don’t seem very surprised.”

Uh oh.

“I’m sorry if it seemed that way, really, it’s not that I’m not flattered, professor—“

“Viktor,” he interrupts. “And you needn’t be. I do not care for, ah… false humility.”

Oh?

“False humility?” You question.

“A mark of someone either too self-conscious to accept a well deserved compliment, or desperate for one.” He pauses, looking for… something in your expression. You can’t tell if he finds it, but you know his gaze feels cold, like being prodded at with a nitrile glove. “I prefer working with people who are capable of appreciating their own effort. It’s good to know you are one of them.”

There’s warmth that seeps through the metaphorical glove, sterile as it is. It feels good to be acknowledged by the likes of him, who’d been so ruthless to figuratively knock your feet out from below you just days ago. He must have done his research on you, must have asked around, read around, figured out — just like you had done to him.

Curiosity eats at you.

“Well… what else do you know, pr— Viktor?”

His eyes rest on you like you’re a particularly tricky equation. One he knows will yield a pretty result. Being looked at by him is electric, like squeezing an unstabilized hexgem in your fist so the current courses through you, tingling.

“Don’t get cocky.” He smiles, he actually smiles, and it frays the space-time continuum just how much it youthens him. Salt and pepper hair and crow’s feet and frown lines be damned; as you watch the tip of his snaggle canine poke out from beneath his top lip, it becomes evidently clear that you are standing face to face with the man who stole illegal equipment to prove a point, the man who worked with highly explosive material for years to birth the very foundation of his scientific domain. “It is most certainly a good look on you, but it won’t bring you too far. You can ask Doctor Talis, I believe he should have a doctorate in arrogance by now.”

Is he…?

“French vanilla latte for Viktor!”

—

Listening to him teach might as well count as hypnosis.

When Viktor steps into the room, silence ensues gently, gradually. He’s not feared by any means, but he is respected. By the time he reaches the teacher’s desk and pulls out the chair from under it, the class has gone fully silent.

He sets it by the blackboard, then, slowly, bracing himself on both his cane and the backrest of it, takes a seat.

“Good morning.” He positions his cane between his thighs, clearing his throat with… perhaps almost a hint of awkwardness. “Alright. Before we begin today’s lecture, there has been a small change that everyone should be made aware of. This is my new assistant, (y/n) (l/n), and they will be joining us today. You will be addressing all questions you encounter outside of my lectures to them, from now on.”

Whispers spread across the amphitheater like wildfire.

“Now,” just like that, when his voice sounds out again, most of the chatter dies out, “today we’ll be discussing Holloran’s equation, and its applications in arcanistic techmaturgy.”

It’s magical, the command he has over the room. Viktor is a meager man, especially with the backdrop of such an imposing room. The high ceiling dwarfs him, and yet, there doesn’t seem to be a single atom in the room that doesn’t move the way he wants it to.

You’d known Viktor to be an eloquent man — you’d experienced it at your own detriment — but this beats your expectations. His explanations are enticing, he uses his words like breadcrumbs, leaves them tactfully, just enough to guide you to the conclusions he wants you to draw.

You’d never found so much satisfaction in simply listening. In spite of knowing full well the intricacies of what he is discussing, you let his voice envelop you, you follow him where he takes you.

“Now that we’ve established how Holloran’s equation exponentially heightens the energy output of Hexcrystals without disrupting the LHC — the laminal hexeon cascade — as I’m sure some of you may be wondering, how do the basic principles play into it? Any guesses?”

The class falls silent. You would give anything to be among the students right now, raising your hand to enounce the right answer. To have him looking at you like you’re bright.

You await with bated breath to see who in the crowd of focused frowns and scribbling pencils will dare speak first.

“Wouldn’t the caveat be that Talis’ fourth principle states that 30% of the energy output is converted into heat?” A young woman in the audience attempts. “Holloran’s equation operates based on the notion that the crystal is at a constant temperature.”

“Precisely. Very good,” Viktor praises. Excited, he turns to the blackboard. “Right here…” he underlines the equation, “is where Morichi’s constant comes into play…”

But you’ve long lost him.

The words twist in your head, turning into something sultry and intimate.

Precisely.

Very good.

Right here.

You find yourself staring at the groove of his pale neck, where it swoops into the line of his shoulder, hidden beneath the collar of a dress shirt and a brown wool vest.

You wonder what it’d smell like, to tuck your face in there. To have the pulse of his neck thrumming on your lips, to mouth at the mole on his jaw when he tilts his head for you, willing.

You wonder how many more are below the collar of his shirt. Dotted line on a treasure map, to guide your touch, your kiss, your tongue. Use them where he needs them, use them where his skin begs you to. Use them until his tired spine bows, use them until tattered joins are oiled with pleasure—

What is wrong with you?

—

Viktor disappears after his lecture. You hope he’d grace you with another conversation, another smile, something, but he is gone surprisingly fast. He bids you goodbye once his lecture is over, telling you he has matters to attend to, and that is that.

Overall, it’s an uneventful day otherwise. A few students end up messaging you, most with questions on what Viktor had taught that day. Others nitpicking what would and would not be a part of the upcoming midterm (whom you simply dryly referred to the syllabus). Two people, however, did message you to ask you how you’d landed the job.

You’d ignored them.

On Wednesday, you see none of him. You drop by his office after class, but there is no response to your knock, and the door is locked. He must have gone home.

On Thursday, you wait for him outside his office thirty minutes early for his 3PM lecture, but he doesn’t show. So you decide to go straight to the amphitheater, and do find him there.

He looks worn. No less graceful than the last time you’d seen him, but his cane has been ditched in the favor of a crutch that’s tucked under his arm. The creases in his checkered dress shirt and face seem deeper now, the pale indigo under his eyes is richer, darker.

He gives you nothing more than a curt greeting before class commences.

And yet, he never blunders. Never loses himself, his diction is as concise as the day you’d first met him, carrying himself with the grace of a swan as he talks and his chalk glides over the board. But his numbers slant, the loops on his letters are looser, the rows on the blackboard curve downwards to the right; just barely at first, but as the lecture advances, it becomes more obvious.

He cuts the class shorter by fifteen minutes.

The students know better than to linger. Nobody comes to address any questions, and they leave the room surprisingly quick.

Once the amphitheater is empty enough that even the thump of his crutch reverberates on the wooden floor as he makes his way to the desk, you finally dare speak.

“Is… everything alright?”

“Don’t start,” he cuts back, resting his crutch against the desk before bracing himself with both hands on the flat surface. He sighs, and does a futile attempt of relieving some of the tension in his spine by rolling his shoulders.

His joints crack, and you can see his sharp shoulder blades moving under his shirt, wings on a flightless bird.

And you’re not sure what to say.

“Sorry,” he finally adds, the harshness of his reply catching up to him. “Not… a good day.”

“Got off on the wrong side of the bed?” You attempt weakly, and, much to your utter surprise, he does actually smile.

“Mm. That might explain the past two decades or so.” He does finally look at you from below droopy eyelids, and though there’s not a doubt about him being tired still, there is more gentleness to it. As though woken out of a dream. He takes pity on the confused look on your face, and adds: “My bed is in a corner.”

Ah.

“Is there anything I can do to help? Anything I can get you?”

“A new spine,” he jokes, hunching forward to crack his back, before he does his best to stand up straight once more. When he speaks again, his playful lilt is sorely missing. “Why are you here?”

“I want to attend your lectures — as many of them as I can, at least.”

Viktor shakes his head, mutters something both a little desperate and a little bitter in a foreign tongue.

“You don’t need to do that. From now on, you can simply tell Cecil you were here. And I will confirm it, should he ask. But I do not need… a babysitter. I’m sure you have better things to do as well.”

What? Why would he think that?

“I…” you falter, “Heimerdinger didn’t put me up to this.”

He scoffs, not particularly at you, but it’s surprisingly hurtful nonetheless.

“I thought we had moved past the stage where you felt the need to lie.” He sighs. “I know he worries. There is nothing to worry about. In the unlikely event he does find out you haven’t been following me around as he asked, I will take full responsibility.”

That alone makes you worry. Had Heimerdinger neglected to tell you the full picture? What was there that warranted the dean himself worrying?

”I came to your lectures because I wanted to see you teach.” The last word is more of a lie than anything you’ve said thus far. “I admire your cogency. I want to absorb as much of it as I can.”

Viktor looks thoroughly unimpressed. “We also discussed how I feel about flattery, did we not?”

“It’s not flattery,” you argue. “I came here of my own volition because I think that there’s a lot I can learn from you, professor. Now, if you don’t want me here, you can simply give me the word, and I will act accordingly.”

He mulls it over for a long second while he shuts his leather briefcase.

“Perhaps that would be best,” he finally decides. “For now, continue with your assigned duties. I will let you know if there is anything else I need from you.”

He practically scans you for a reaction, lays you out paper-thin on a glass slide, and slides you under his most potent microscope lens.

You don’t know if he finds what he’s looking for, because he doesn’t look long. He slings the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder, and turns toward the exit with renewed, but undoubtedly spiteful vigor.

“Have a good day.”

“You too, professor.”

—

“Oh, if it isn’t one of my favorite phD students!”

The dean’s mustache curls almost comically with the over-the-top, but somehow still sincere smile he gives you.

“Hello, doctor Heimerdinger,” you greet, letting the smell of laquered wood and floors wash over you as you step into the pristine, impressive office. As opposed to Viktor's, the ceiling is higher, the windows bigger, and there are only sterile messes to be found in the room. A stack of books that is not as neat as the rest, a cactus that doesn’t look all too swell on the windowsill, and documents that are scattered over his workspace in a way that’s still neat.

“What can I do for you? I hope the first week of your collaboration with doctor Sidorov-Svoboda has gone smoothly.”

“That… is actually why I’m here.” You clear your throat awkwardly, and take a seat on the plush chair that faces his desk. Whatever it’s stuffed with, it’s comfortable, it has you sinking.

“I see. I know he can be… a tad, well, peppery at times,” Heimerdinger giggles at his own choice of words. “Give him some time. Once the two of you manage to find some common ground, I can assure you he is wonderful company, and an incredibly bright mind.”

“I don’t doubt any of those things.” You start kneading your hands in your lap, digging for the right words. God, social chess was never your forte. “I’m actually here because there has been a bit of a misunderstanding between the two of us that I was hoping you could clear up.”

“Oh.” His smile drops. “I’m listening.”

“You see, when… well, when I attended his lecture today — the second one I’ve attended — he seemed… very displeased with my presence.”

“Ah…” Heimerdinger falls silent for a long moment, gears turning in his bald head. “That… well,” he laughs awkwardly, “I’m afraid that might have been because he might wrongly assume I told you to do so.”

You nod curtly. “I know. He told me as much.”

“I apologize for the misunderstanding. I will try speaking to him, but—“

“Actually, doctor, that isn’t why I came to you,” you cut in, “he told me more than just that. He said you’d put me up to this because you were… worried about him.”

At that, the smile on Heimerdinger’s face is entirely gone.

“Naturally, that also got me… quite worried. I came to you because I wanted to know the full picture of this… arrangement I’ve gotten into.”

“I see,” Heimerdinger sinks in his seat, folding his hands in front of his blond mustache as he picks his words carefully. “Well, since you have been made aware of this fact, I suppose there is no harm in admitting that I do, in fact, worry about Viktor. Him and I have history, so to speak. I’ve known him for many years, and, though he has remained the same bold, ambitious young man within, I sometimes fear old age may be catching up to him. But! That is not something you need to concern yourself with. The sole purpose of hiring you was to create a mutually beneficial arrangement. Your resume will certainly benefit from his name, and as for him, I wanted to simply… lighten his workload. But that is all I expect of you.”

“I understand.” And you do, to some degree — but Heimerdinger’s whole speech has done nothing but raise more questions than provide any real answers.

“Would you still like me to speak to him on this matter?” He asks.

“No.” With renewed courage and curiosity, you rise from the comfortable chair. “Thank you, professor. For this, and for putting in a good word for me with professor Sidorov-Svoboda.”

“Of course,” he smiles — genuinely, this time. “Though it might sound quite absurd to you now, considering the current circumstances… the two of you are more alike than you may believe.”

You’re not sure what to make of that, either. So you just smile back.

—

On Friday night, as you’re poring over your thesis with a warm mug of tea as a panacea for your racing thoughts and lack of inspiration, you receive an email.

Apologies

From: [email protected]

To: me

Good evening.

I wanted to formally apologize for what happened on Wednesday. Accusing you of something you hadn’t done was unjustified and unprofessional of me. You are always welcome to my lectures, should you still wish to attend.

I was also hoping to speak to you in person on Monday. Would 1 PM still work for you? Let me know.

Thank you.

VSS

It comes as a surprise, to have someone in his position apologize so… willingly. You wonder if Heimerdinger had talked to him after all, and if so, what he might have said to turn the odds so terribly in your favor. Again.

You write a fast reply: you thank him too, above all else. You consider saying you hadn’t expected and apology, but you fear that might come off wrong, so you ultimately ditch that part.

And you tell him yes. 1 PM would work for you.

��

You attend his 10AM lecture on Monday, but this time, you don’t wait for him at his office. Though eager and enthusiastic, you fear your initial approach of waiting for him thirty minutes early might have been too stifling.

So you wait outside the lecture hall. He shows up ten minutes early, crutch under one arm, coffee in his other.

There is just a hint of foam on his upper lip, where grey-brown stubble shows. He licks the milk away before he even sees you, and you’re thankful for it — being caught staring at the pink of his smart tongue darting over the curve of his top lip considering the current circumstances would not have been a good look.

“Good morning,” he greets. Though he’s still using the crutch, he seems to be in an improved mood as opposed to the last time you saw him. “I must admit… I did not expect you here already.”

“If you’ll have me, I want to come,” you say.

Something about that catches him off-guard, the swell of his Adam's apple bobs and his eyes widen just a hint. But he’s fast, always is, and he straightens up and clears his throat before you get to analyze him the way you wish you could.

“Ahem. Well. I’m happy to hear that.” He gestures to the door as if he’d almost forgotten he was holding a coffee, because it sloshes just a hint too loud. Fortunately, there are no victims to the small droplet that spills from the plastic cover. Viktor frowns, most likely with frustration at himself, before he turns to you. “Alright. After you.”

You step into the lecture hall first, per his request. The room begins to quiet when the students see you, but as you turn around to hold the door open to him, it gets worse.

You do not care for the curious, gossip-hungry glances that rest on you.

—

“I appreciate your openness regarding the discussion of this matter,” Viktor begins, shutting his office door behind himself. “Coffee?”

He dips his hand behind an old but trusty looking coffee machine that sits on the table next to the door. You hadn’t noticed it the first time you were here.

The hint of a frown as his fingers roam the space between the back of the machine and the wall is doing… something to you.

“Yes, please.”

“I must warn you,” his voice lilts again in that pleasant, playful way, like a cat twirling figure eights between one’s legs, “it is significantly less… fun than the ones at the cafe. I only have sugar.”

He finds the switch on its back, finally, and there’s a little pop as he flips it, before he retreats his hand.

“Works for me,” you assure. “What did you want to discuss?”

“Mainly, I wanted to eh… extend my apologies to you in person.” His glasses ride further up his nose as he pinches the bridge of it, rolling his shoulders, as if to draw courage. “And to put my… reaction into some context, should you be willing to hear it.”

You hope it’s not outwardly visible that your heart starts vibrating.

He has been on your mind much more than you would like to admit, tangled in questions, in guesses. You unfortunately have the mark of a true scientist — nothing scratches an itch in your soul quite like having your questions answered.

“I would.”

Viktor retrieves a stack of single-use cardboard cups from one of his drawers, sliding out two, which he positions under the coffee machine. He presses the same button twice, then gestures to the chair that faces his desk.

“Have a seat.”

You do.

He lingers beside the coffee machine, resting the backs of his thighs against the edge of the table it’s on as he starts to think.

Just now, it strikes you that maybe social chess isn’t always his forte, either.

“People tend to… underestimate me,” he begins. The coffee machine whirrs, clicks, whirrs again — and then coffee starts to trickle. He tucks his free hand into the pocket of his slacks in what attempts to be dejection, but clearly isn’t. “And while that is an advantage in a competitive environment, it’s not something I appreciate coming from my colleagues.”

“I wasn’t…”

“I know that. Now.” He clears his throat, then, with a show of surprising dexterity, slides his hand from his pocket and grabs both cups with one hand — one tucked between his index and middle finger, the other tucked between his middle and ring finger. You reach out to offer your help, but he sets down both cups on his desk, then hobbles around it, and finally takes his rightful seat on the opposing side. “I unfortunately can’t say the same for Cecil. He does try, and more often than not, he is tactful about these matters, but there is the occasional… slip-up. I try to understand; him and I… have history, as he likes to say.”

You would love to know the exact implications of said history. From what you’d heard, there was the consensus that Viktor had been something of a protege to Heimerdinger, twenty or so years ago, before he’d made it big and co-created the field of applied arcanism.

“I’ve taken up some new responsibilities lately,” Viktor adds, “and Cecil, though worried as ever, has… overstepped some boundaries of mine. You were caught in the crossfire of that, which is hardly fair to you. I’m sorry.”

“Was he the one who convinced you to hire me?”

Viktor shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Eeeh… partially.”

“I think I understand your issue with his… overstepping. To some degree.” You take the cardboard cup, blowing the steam away, before you take a sip. “I would also have preferred to be hired by you because you wanted it, not because you'd been talked into it, but… well, I’m glad it ultimately still happened, I suppose.”

“Rest assured that the decision was still mine alone,” Viktor replies. Smart eyes watch you over the rim of the cup as he takes a sip himself.

Silence settles. A telltale sign you should get going — but you don’t want to.

“You mentioned some extra responsibilities,” you attempt. He’d shut down your curiosity before, but you’ll be damned if that’s going to deter you from trying again. “Within the university, or… personal?”

“Within the university.” Viktor sets the cup down, sharp joints jutting out as he intertwines his fingers around the circumference of it, hands resting on the table. There is a mole on his left ring finger, right under the knucklebone. “I have been trying my hand at independent research.”

You only notice the fact that you’d leaned in closer with interest when a tiny smug smile ghosts over his face.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that is just about all I should be telling you.”

Oh, come on.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

His brows raise with surprise, and for the very first time since you’d known him, Viktor seems genuinely stumped.

“Your… research,” you clarify. “And I could show you what I have for my thesis so far.”

“Oh. Alright, I will, eh… bite.” Taking his paper cup with him, Viktor leans back in his seat, and watches you like a cat watches birds. Not necessarily on the prowl — but with great interest. “Tell me.”

“Me first?”

“You suggested it,” he smirks. “It seems only fair, does it not?”

Uncertainty halts you. You have to wonder if Viktor Sidorov-Sviboda is the kind of man that would steal an idea.

You’ve heard he’d gotten the short end of the stick in his partnership with Jayce Talis — though he’d contributed greatly, his name was sorely amiss from all the terms, laws, anything Talis had coined in their domain.

He must know what it’s like to be cheated out of well-deserved credit.

You suppose he wouldn’t propagate the cycle — but in the off case he does, you have a handful of professors who could vouch for your idea being yours, on account of having vaguely, barely, helped with your thesis. None had been too keen on such a touchy subject as the one you were breaching, and were resistant to offering their opinion.

You hope Viktor won’t fall into that same category.

Part of you already knows he doesn’t.

“Alright.” Though you’re not exactly excited to have your own strategy used against you, you can only hope he’ll hold up his end of the bargain. “My thesis is on the hexionic model. Within and outside the context of a matrix.”

Viktor scoffs with amusement, rather than plain mockery. But there is a taste of it in there, somewhere, in the curve of his lip. “You theorists and your hexionic models. Any attempt at a new hypothesis is no less flawed than the last.”

And it’s thrilling. To be challenged, instead of praised, or dismissed. It makes something in you catch fire, every word itches behind your teeth, like you need to tell him.

“That’s exactly why I’m proposing an entirely different hexion model in my paper.“

His pupils widen so much his eyes go dark. Like a cat about to pounce.

“Oh? Tell me.”

“If we accept that the very core of a hexion’s energy release is based on entropy, on the desire for disarray, and we apply that to a hexion’s very structure… I believe there’s something to be made of the whole mess we are currently facing.”

Viktor had been holding his breath. You notice, because it sounds just a tad sharper when he finally draws a reluctant inhale, and, gears in that mind of his turning fast, sharp, steady, he finds another way to refute your point.

“Like Pididdly’s hexion model?”

“No,” you say. “Though I bet Pididdly will wish he could come up with what I have. Can I have a pen and some paper?”

You have him now.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Viktor tugs the drawer of his desk open so hard it thunks, digging for a scrap of paper and a pen. When you take it, holding the paper between the two of you, he leans in, too, enough for you to be able to smell his aftershave — the aquatic spice softened by flowery vanilla.

It’s intoxicating enough to have the storm of ideas in your mind going quiet, buzzing. You manage to untangle them before you make a fool of yourself.

“My model is proposing disordered order, so to speak. The hexion is split up into different parts as Torek suggested in his hypothesis. But I think she was too small minded in her approach. For my model, I use the concept of something I’m calling areals. Different areals for different component particles. I believe particles will never be in a fixed, certain place.” You draw the centrion — though hypothetically an ochtahemiocyahedron — as a sphere for simplicity’s sake, surrounded by three vaguely defined layers. Viktor rests both elbows on his desk, sharp chin on intertwined fingers, watching with a tilt of his head. Your mouth’s gone dry. “These areals are… spaces where, if you were to look, at any given moment, the likelihood of you finding a specific hexion particle in its assigned areal is high — but never 100%. They are constantly moving, oscillating, vibrating — within their areal. Like I said: disordered order. And this theory also holds up in the context of matrices — for the most part. There are some kinks I need to iron out, but… this is the gist of it.”

At that, he lights up.

“Extraordinary,” Viktor mutters. It’s music to your ears, rolls down your spine in a wave of dopamine, tingles all over. He taps his finger to the schematic diagram, then stares into your eyes so thoroughly you wonder if he can see into the depths of your amygdala. There is maybe a palm’s length between your faces, a gap you itch to breach. He says the next thing like a solemn secret. “This could be beyond revolutionary.”

“Thank you.”

Viktor doesn’t miss a beat when he says: “I would like to help you with your thesis. Should you require it.”

Now that knocks your knees out from under you. You’re lucky you’re sitting.

One of the founding fathers of applied arcanism wants to read your thesis? Wants to help you?

“I…” You can’t remember to breathe, your mouth’s gone thick and cottony and swallowing is a distant dream and he is looking right at you, young and hungry and alive underneath the barely composed shell of himself. “I’d be thrilled.”

He grins, the top of his lip a mere thin line over his teeth.

“I already am,” he lilts. You watch the way his mouth moves — the curl of his tongue against the back of his teeth as he rolls his heavy, thick r, the plush purse of them on the m.

And when you remember to look into his eyes again, you catch him red handed.

He’d been staring at your lips, too.

Startled with the reality, the puzzle-piece-click of knowing, the both of you retreat into your seats. With a shaky hand, you pick your cup back up, and take a sip from your coffee. It’s gone lukewarm.

“I’d like to ask you to print it, if possible.” His voice is bridled again, steady, certain. Normal. He tugs on another drawer, and retrieves something shiny, metallic. A key. He lays it on the table, sliding it towards you. “You can use the printer in my office, if need be.”

“I can print what I have so far this evening, and leave it for you here. Would that work for you?”

”Yes.”

You look at the clock on his wall — it’s entirely later than it should be. You have a lab you should be getting to.

“Could you spare some time on your lunch break tomorrow?” Viktor asks, clearly having read your mind again, somehow. “I think I should have it read through by then.”

“Absolutely, but… you don’t even know how much there is to read through.”

He smiles. “If you write with the same enthusiasm you talk, rest assured I will tear through it.”

#viktor arcane #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor #viktor arcane x you #reader insert #my writing

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notjustjavierpena · 8 months ago

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Tension

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Back in November, I posted a fic where @nerdieforpedro wrote a comment in their tags that said ‘I need you to crack my back, sir’. This is stupid but it stuck with me, so here you go. I suppose it’s also my own way of saying that I see everything you all write about my stuff. I love y’all.

Summary: Your husband cracks your back when you come home from work. Also, you are trying for a baby.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, back-cracking, massages, a good girl, fingering, dirty talk, hard and fast piv sex, javier whimpering is its own warning, clit stim, breeding kink, creampie, they’re in loooove

Word count: 2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54705589

Tension

You drag yourself into the living room where Javier is currently napping on the couch, arms crossed over his chest and chin pointing downward. He looks peaceful but the tension in your back is enough to disturb him from his slumber and not feel bad about it.

You bend down over him, gently shaking him.

“Javi,” you call softly. It takes you three tries before he stirs, opening his eyes with a little confusion as he tries to figure out where he is.

“What is it, baby?” His voice is slightly raspy from sleep. You smile apologetically.

“I need you to crack my back,” you say.

You don’t know how it happened but it feels like something is pinched, probably from an awkward position during the night or even during other activities. You have tried to relieve the tension all day by twisting your body from side to side but to no avail.

“What?” He grabs the back of the couch to pull himself into a sitting position. You take a step back.

“I think something’s… I don’t know, it’s just so frustrating. I’m tense as hell,” you explain, turning your back to him to try and point to the spot that’s been aching since you got into work in the morning, “It’s right here. Between the shoulder blades.”

“Right,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, inhales deeply, and breaks into a yawn, “Take your top off and lie down on the floor.”

You do as he says, smiling a little to yourself as you hear the groan that he makes when getting up from the couch. Perhaps you should return the favor. You lay down on the floorboards of the apartment, flat on your stomach, face turning to the side, and your arms along your sides.

Another grunt is heard as Javier gets down on the ground with you. He places a knee on either side of your thighs, hovering above your legs, and then he takes a hold of the hem of your pants, “Okay if I pull them down a bit? Then I can do the whole spine.”

“Go ahead.”

Javier yanks down your bottoms, turning them into something that resembles low-rise style. He then heats up his hands by rubbing them together, “How rough can I be?”

“Can’t believe we’re doing something that requires you to ask that and it isn’t sex,” you wiggle your hips a bit but then wince as pain shoots through your body again.

“Answer the fucking question,” he says with a roll of his eyes, smiling but impatient.

“Don’t hold back.”

Javier’s now-warm palms settle on your back. You sigh softly at the feeling of him touching your skin so carefully, treating you like something delicate until you feel him place one hand on top of his other to center the pressure right between your shoulders. He pushes down and you exhale sharply.

Crack.

You moan in relief. Endorphins flood your system.

“That was so nice, baby,” you praise, “Thank you.”

“I’m not done,” Javier kisses you right where he has just relieved the tension. Then he moves down and does it again.

Another crack is heard. You curl your toes, eyes fluttering closed as another wave of feel-good hormones begins to flow through your system.

“Good girl,” Javier compliments, and you don’t have to ask if he is smirking because it’s evident from the tone of his voice as he sees the shiver that creeps up your neck, “More?”

“Please.”

So he does it again.

And again.

Until you feel like putty underneath his touch. You want to say something but with each skim of his fingers, each rough push of his entire body’s weight, you only manage to groan in pleasure.

Above you, Javier has gone quiet but his breathing has turned more erratic. He has switched from cracking your back to massaging your sore muscles instead, kneading along your sides whilst you reward him with small sighs and moans of satisfaction as well as gratitude.

You shiver as he presses his thumbs into the place where your neck meets your shoulders, holding it for a while before dragging his whole palms outwards. It feels good, almost like an embrace.

He repeats the move until you feel sweat starting to break out on your skin from how warm his hands are. A moan escapes your mouth, the same kind that you usually make when he kisses your neck.

“You like that?” He asks in a tone that you know too well. You nod. He does it again but goes closer to your neck this time, fingers skimming along your pulse point.

Something in the atmosphere shifts after that.

Soon, he descends on your body, going achingly slow as he searches out his goal. He ends up digging two thumbs into the very top of your ass. He isn’t downright groping you but there’s a hesitation each time he pushes into the plump flesh there. Teasingly, you push up into his hands.

“You’re so sexy like this,” he mutters and you can hear him move on the floor, crawling backward so he can kiss the small of your back when he leans down.

“With a sore back?” You snort to hide how excited this is making you, a dull ache settling between your thighs.

“In any way,” he clarifies. He doesn’t even hesitate when he starts pulling down both your pants and your underwear, and you don’t protest but instead lift your hips to help him yank them down until they sit around your ankles.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath as he dips a finger inside of you, pushing down towards your stomach to make you squirm on the floor. You whimper. He makes a come-hither motion to rub against your g-spot and you immediately move your arms forward to grab at the ground. Your cunt squelches and Javier swears again, “You’re soaked.”

“Of course, I am, was so fucking good the way you were touching me, and… I’m like a damn clock with being wet for you when I ovulate,” you moan, pushing back against his hand. He groans at the realization of what time of the month it is. He gets to put a baby in you.

His fingers work you open, teasing you towards an orgasm by doing exactly what he knows gets you there quickly. The sounds of your wetness are obscene, only getting more lewd when you come right there on the floor with your pants around your thighs.

“Baby, shit, more,” you pant with a desperate whine, clenching around Javier’s digits as they continue rubbing against your front wall even though your orgasm has long subsided. He doesn’t relent but you don’t mind, relishing in the pressure inside of your cunt. It’s good but it’s not his cock, “Fuck me, baby. Please, I— I need you in me.”

You hear the sound of a belt buckle being undone and then the shuffle of denim being pulled down. You look over your shoulder to find him with his jeans sitting around his knees, too desperate himself to get fully undressed.

“Eyes forward,” he commands you and ignores his own desire until you do as you are told. You hold onto the floorboards with flat hands, only spreading your legs slightly to make him as tight a fit inside of you as possible.

His whole weight crushes you so heavenly in the next moment, and his generous length sheaths itself in the warm embrace of your soaked walls with ease until he bottoms out. Your face screws up with the intensity especially because he leans down over you to groan hotly into your ear.

“Love this little pussy,” he moans as you both adjust to being connected like this. He rests a forearm beside your head, biting into your shoulder and soothing the mark with his wet tongue. It drives you insane that he is not moving inside of you yet, and he seems to know with how he taunts you, “Want me to fuck her silly?”

“Javi,” you whimper and nod frantically, “I’ll come so good for you, milk your big cock with my pussy. Please, baby.”

“I bet you will, mi chica sucía (my dirty girl),” he answers before giving you exactly what you want; the first roll of his hips makes your mind go blank, even moreso when he starts fucking you into the floor like an animal.

His legs frame yours, his pelvis crashes into the plump flesh of your ass with a dirty smack each time, and he is burning hot against your back. You won’t last long with him reaching so deep inside of you, the thick head of his stiff cock sliding over your g-spot like his fingers had earlier. Each nudge makes your cunt suck him further in, and he starts panting above you with the effort he puts into fucking you. It doesn’t even occur to you that your knees are aching when he has you like this.

“Please,” you beg without exactly knowing what you want from him; everything he is giving you has you dizzy with lust. You tense up as your orgasm approaches with rapid motions, and he goes even harder now that you don’t fly forwards with the slamming of his body into yours, “Gonna come— I’m… oh, I’m coming, fuck, baby, I’m coming!”

“I can feel you,” he growls and barely moves inside of you anymore, having replaced it with grinding against you to not miss a single pulse of your spasming, peaking cunt. You writhe underneath him, and he treats you to a messy kiss as one of his hands comes up to cup your chin so he can turn your head.

“Come in me, please, baby, need your babies in me,” you cry against his mouth with furrowed eyebrows. He whimpers at your request, faltering in his rhythm for the first time since he started fucking you.

“I’ll make you come so hard again, mi amor (my love), want you to spasm around my dick,” he stutters a bit when he speaks. The hand on your chin slips down your body and then underneath it too, his flat palm against your pelvis until he presses up into it to angle your hips. You stay in this new position, back arched to perfection - dopamine in your body making you forget the ache - so he can stab at your g-spot and follow it up by rubbing your needy clit with no buildup.

The neighbors are bound to hear you screaming as you come again a minute later. The clenching shocks of pleasure are mind-altering and enough for Javier to finish alongside you, spreading his warm seed inside of you with a desperate groan.

You both collapse with him still buried in you. Your clothes are sticky with how much you have sweated, your knees ache with reality slowly coming back, and your body feels warm and sated despite it all.

“Let’s just lie here for a while,” you say and reach behind you to grab at him as he starts to remove himself from you, “I think this was it. I know it sounds stupid but—“

“Nothing you say sounds stupid, mi amor (my love),” he still breathes hard, brushing your hair away to kiss your neck, “Love making babies with you.”

You make a noise of agreement. Then you rest your cheek against the floor whilst he nibbles on your neck, humming softly at the feeling of it combined with the lingering pressure of him in your cunt when he finally slips out.

“Te quiero tanto (I love you so much),” you say with closed eyes and a satisfied smile.

“Love you too, baby,” he says back and you can hear the smile in his voice.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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softpascalito · 6 months ago

Text

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 1 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 7k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: this work has been quite a while in the making and im very excited to finally share the first chapter! a huge thank you to the wonderful josie for being my beta reader and listening to all my rambling <3

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 1 - The Before

‘‘I will be very sad to leave here’, Yves said, suddenly. ‘I have never been happier than I have been in this house.’ ‘I have been very happy too. I wonder if we will ever be so happy again.’’ - Another Country, James Baldwin

You’d been on the run for what felt like weeks but could only have been days when you found the gas station next to an abandoned mall. It had looked promising, the half-rotten advertisements plastered to the walls, reminding your stomach that it had gone far too long without a proper meal, or any meal for that matter.

Maybe if you hadn’t been so starved or so tired, you would’ve heard them coming, the Infected that stormed through the back door practically the moment you slipped into the building. A yell escaped your throat, your hand instinctively reaching for the knife you kept buckled to your leg. You didn't even get the chance to pull it out of its makeshift holster before the creature was on top of you, pinning you to the floor with what felt like inhuman strength.

“Fucking- get off-” you grunted, but even if the thing on top of you had been one that listened to commands, your thin and shaky voice likely wouldn’t have impressed it.

So this was how you were gonna go out. In a town you couldn't even name, somewhere in the snowy mountains of Wyoming, after finally escaping the life you’d been stuck in for so long. You hadn't even made it a month.

For a second, you considered trying to reach for your gun, still tucked into your pants and pressing into your back uncomfortably. You could feel its outline against your skin, a pain shooting through your spine as the Infected seemed to double its effort to reach your neck with its mouth, half-rotten teeth close enough that you could recognize the foul smell of death.

Then, the gun went off. Or you thought it did. The unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang in your ears as the Infected collapsed on top of you. But the feeling of your pistol pressing into your back was still there. It had been a gun. But not yours.

“I got her!” a voice above you bellowed out, an unmistakable southern drawl. “Tommy, give me some cover here, goddammit!”

You hadn't even noticed the second man, who was now aiming his gun at another runner storming towards him. He fired, once, twice, and the Infected let out a howl before its body hit the tiled floor with a thud.

“Hey, you with me?” The man above you leaned down, shoving the Infected that had been on top of you to the side unceremoniously. He was dressed in a worn jacket, jeans and boots, the latter two splattered with blood. His right hand, covered in a weathered leather glove, was stretched out towards you, an invitation to, well, you weren't exactly sure.

“She good?”

The second man approached the pair of you, your eyes flying over to him for a split moment. He was dressed similarly, except that he looked a little younger than his partner. He shouldered his rifle and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Your gaze flew back to the man in front of you, to the brown eyes that carried an unexpectedly gentle look, not quite matching the gruff way he looked. Shaking slightly, you placed your hand in his, and the next moment, he was pulling you to your feet.

“There you are.”

You nodded, a motion that looked more like your head was jerking on its own accord. But the man seemed to accept it. As the other one stepped towards you, the taller of the two men spoke again.

“You clean?” When no response came, he pressed on, his tone getting a little more impatient. “Did it bite you? Scratch you anywhere?”

The other one gently placed a hand on his chest, forcing your attention onto himself. “Can you walk? Our horses are two houses over, we've got a place where you can rest, get some food-”

“I'm not going anywhere with you,” you blurted out. You'd had your fair share of people, of men offering you ‘help’ and it never stopped there. There was payment, always. In this world, it was stupid to think there wouldn't be, that anyone would help you out of the kindness of their hearts.

“You're not going anywhere else by the looks of it, either,” the man with the gloves muttered, more than loud enough for you to hear. “You won't last a week.”

“I've lasted longer, asshole,” you shot back, suddenly angry at the stranger in front of you. He didn't know you, he didn't know the things you'd gone through to get here. So what if he had saved your life? It didn't give him the right to predict your death.

The other man nudged his ribs, extending his hand to you as well, though it was more of a formality this time.

“Name’s Tommy. The asshole is my brother Joel.”

He paused for a moment, clearly thinking about how to approach this the right way. “Look, I'm sure you've been traveling for quite some time. We can give you a place to recover. You can leave anytime, I promise.”

You eyed him carefully. It did sound too good to be true. But it also did sound- good. A roof over your head, warm food in your stomach- two things you'd been craving for quite some time.

“Okay.”

The man who had introduced himself as Tommy gave a short nod and led the way to the horses, following tracks in the snow the two men had left while coming to your rescue. Joel pulled up the rear and you had a feeling that his eyes were trained on you, watching carefully, maybe for a twitch or anything else out of the ordinary. Again, you weren't sure why, but it made you angry.

“I told you I wasn't bit,” you repeated in his direction as Tommy began untying the horses.

Joel raised a brow, clearly surprised by the attitude in your voice. “‘ts what they usually say.”

“Well, I'm not,” you replied, turning your back on him and focusing on his brother instead. Tommy pretended not to have heard either of you but somehow you were certain he had.

“C’mon, you can ride with me. It's not too far.”

Not too far turned out to be a good hour, the crisp autumn air making you shiver, and you were thankful for the warmth of both the horse and Tommy. But what the ride lacked in temperature it made up for in views, the sun coming out just as you passed the first sign that read ‘Jackson County’.

You didn't even mind Joel's occasional glances towards you as much, finding that with the sunlight playing in his brown curls, his look screamed less of danger and more of concern. Whether it was concern for Tommy or you or something entirely different, you weren't sure.

The answer came to you in the form of your housing arrangements. After getting over the first shock of riding up a busy mainstreet in what looked like an actual, functioning town, a thing you hadn't thought possible anymore, you had made use of what must have been the first functioning toilet you'd seen in months. You felt like a child being steered through the crowd at a busy carnival, if the food hall, the functioning plumbing and electricity and the music drifting from one of the smaller shops was any indication.

“You know we ain't got any unoccupied places and Maria and mine’s no good with the baby screaming all night,” Tommy muttered urgently and you frowned a little. The two men were standing a few feet away, clearly unaware that you were already back and you awkwardly shoved your hands in your pockets, considering going back inside for a moment. But then Joel opened his mouth and you couldn't help but listen in on their conversation. The older man seemed as much a mystery as the entire scene around you.

Tommy piped up before Joel even had a chance to argue. “It's just for a couple of nights. I’m sure Ellie and you will manage. You take her in, explain the basics and as soon as we got a place, you can go back to shutting yourself off from every goddamn person in this town-”

“I don’t-” Joel interrupted before shaking his head, a low grunt leaving his throat.

“Fine. Until Thursday, no longe-” He broke off at the look on Tommys face, one that was aimed directly at you. You shyly nodded in his direction and closed the distance between you in a few quick steps.

The younger man cleared his throat, giving you a reassuring smile. “Find everything okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” you replied politely. You hated how forced the conversation felt, already regretting listening in on it at all.

“Joel here’s gonna get you settled for the night, you let him know if you need anything else. I'll stop by in the morning and introduce you to Maria, she’s-”

“The boss,” Joel finished for him, earning a small glare from Tommy.

“One of our elected leaders,” he corrected, another smile playing around his lips at the mention of what you assumed must be his wife. “Well, I'll leave ya two to it.”

Joel took you home. He still gave you that look, and with Tommy gone, you could be sure that it was actually aimed towards you. It was like he was still on guard but whether it was of you or something else, you couldn't tell.

“Here's how this is gonna go,” he started as he fumbled with the front door of the house clad in white. “You get a quick check-up, a shower, some fresh clothes- you get the idea.”

“I get the idea,” you repeated as he led you into the hallway, unable to keep yourself from glancing around for a moment, catching a peek of the dining room. “You live here by yourself?”

“Why?”

His question hit you out of nowhere and you stuttered for a moment, racking your brain for a good response, “Just- I was making conversation. Jesus.”

“Right,” Joel nodded, his gaze softening a bit. He placed his bag onto the floor and tapped his right thigh absent-mindedly. “Come on, follow me.”

He took you into the upstairs bathroom that smelled faintly of soap, reminding you that you hadn't had a proper wash in more days than you cared to count. There were a few small containers, mostly re-used mason jars, that were labeled ‘shampoo’ or ‘body wash’, sitting orderly on the small shelf next to the tub.

You felt more than heard Joel shift behind you and turned to meet his gaze. He was still watching, arms crossed, seemingly waiting for something.

“Do I- shower?” you asked softly and he sighed a little at that.

“I need to check you for bites.” His voice was low but still carried a small note of sternness in it.

Oh, right.

“I didn't agree to that.”

You could see his hand twitch, the handle of his revolver still sticking out the back of his jeans. “You're bit.”

It was more of a statement than anything else, like he already knew what was waiting for him under your clothes, maybe a bite on your leg, a scratch on your stomach. Joel had dealt with enough people that had been marked for death like that to know the signs of it. The thing was, he was wrong.

“Is this what it is?” you asked, quietly, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

“Excuse me?”

“Is that why you go outside, save people? So you can bring them back here, get them to take their clothes off for you-”

“Whoa-” Joel held up both hands, shaking his head very slowly. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I need to check you for bites, it’s protocol.” His voice was still deep, that southern drawl you heard earlier in the gas station still present but somehow softer. His features had shifted, seeming genuinely surprised by the turn of your conversation.

“Now, if you want someone else to do it, I can get a lady and let her look you over. We just want to be sure we don’t bring Infected in, that's all.”

“That's all?” you asked as he kept his eyes trained on you, his hands still up in the air and his expression soft.

“I swear, that's all. If you can show me you're not bit, I'll get you that shower, some food, you name it.”

You gave a small nod at that, your body deflating a little. It had been an incredibly long day and the man in front of you seemed genuine. If he wasn't, you could still try and bail.

Joel turned slightly under the pretense of grabbing a towel from below the sink but you knew he was attempting to give you a bit of privacy- even though he clearly didn’t trust you enough to fully turn his back on you. With shaky hands, you began to strip, holding back a wince as you forced your bruised body to move. The fabric of your shirt clung to your skin, dry blood forcing another whimper out of your throat.

You felt Joel's head snap towards you at that but ignored him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of showing quite how uncomfortable you felt about going through this with him next to you.

He was quick and professional, his large hands brushing over your skin as he made sure you were clean.

“All good,” he commented shortly when he was satisfied, his shoulders relaxing a bit as he reached for a stack of folded towels. Then, his gaze rested on your head again, more specifically, on your matted hair.

“You want me to get someone to cut that for you? Might be easier than-”

“No,” you quickly piped up. You knew your body was malnourished and likely had a dozen other things wrong with it. You didn’t want to lose your hair too.

Joel nodded, his hand absent-mindedly trailing over a particularly nasty knot. “I think I got some soap conditioner in the closet. You want to give that a try?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” you responded curtly and Joel disappeared from the room for a few moments. He came back, as promised, with a soap smelling of jasmine and cotton.

He didn’t seem as hesitant, now that he knew you weren’t bit. At least that’s what you assumed had caused the shift in him. It didn’t occur to you that it might be the fact that you were sitting on his bathroom tiles, shivering, assuming the worst in him, in men, hell, in society. That you looked like a wounded deer, ready to take off at the slightest notion of danger, no matter how badly you were already bleeding.

Joel was a lot more gentle than you would have expected a man of his build to be. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, reaching just far enough to cover your entire hair, but never letting any conditioner run down onto your face. It made you wonder if he was a father. Then you remembered his brother had mentioned a girl earlier, Ellie. Still, you knew better than to ask. You’d likely be gone in a few days anyway.

But, there was one question that you couldn’t keep from slipping out of your mouth.

“Why did you think I was bit?”

Joel paused for a moment, his fingers slowing down ever so slightly as he seemed to think about his words.

“You weren’t fighting hard enough. To stay alive, I mean. You were acting like someone who knows that their time is up.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you. You felt his hand brush over the crown of your head, lathering the matted mess that was your hair with soap in small, circular motions.

“I thought it was,” you whispered, honestly. You couldn't bring yourself to lie to him. But you couldn't bring yourself to explain it either.

He didn’t ask.

Neither of you spoke again until you were curled up in his bed, him insisting to take the couch for the night. He’d fed you some soup, relieved when he saw that your stomach could handle that. He’d warned you that it might not, after getting so used to going days without food. You’d gotten some worn but warm clothes to wear after the shower and now your body was sinking into an actual mattress. It was more than you’d dreamed of just that morning.

Joel paused in the doorway, his hand tapping against his jeans, a habit you had already picked up on. It was like he didn’t know what to do with his hands when they weren’t holding a gun.

“You don’t have to leave,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

Your mouth went dry as you tried to keep your tone nonchalant. His expression told you that it wasn't exactly working. “Who said I was leaving?”

“You look like you will.”

Again, a quiet fell over you and you shook your head softly. “What, you were a psychologist before or something?”

He smiled weakly. “Contractor.”

After a short pause, he went on. “I know it's hard to- to trust. When ya first get here. I felt the same.”

You felt a small breath leave your throat at that. “But it gets better?”

“There's hot water, three meals a day, fair working conditions. I don't think it gets much better out there,” he pointed out softly before giving you a small nod.

“I'll be downstairs if you need anything. Good night.”

27 months later

The almost-empty soap sits on your bathroom shelf, the one that’s screwed to the wall just above the worn-out bathtub. You’ve gotten it refilled every few months, sometimes sooner if you wanted to allow yourself a little treat. It still reminds you of your first day in Jackson, of the safety that you so quickly felt in every room of Joel's house.

You still have some time before you have to head to work and the blue sky promises a cold but clear day so you decided to go and check if you’re in luck with any available refills today. Stock always changes throughout the week and while there’s usually something available, you prefer to get your chosen products if possible.

No such luck.

“Sorry, we’re all out. Think patrols cleared out the store that had these a while ago,” the woman behind the counter says apologetically. “We have some others if you’d like to try a new one, there’s-”

“I’m good,” you quickly insist, giving her a small smile when you notice you may have sounded a little harsh. “I’ll just wait and see if some more comes in.”

In one quick motion, you turn around and head towards the door- only to run face-first into a broad chest draped in a thick, brown coat.

“Whoa.” The deep voice above you immediately sends a gentle warmth through your body and you take a small step back to be able to squint up at the man you bumped into.

“Sorry, Texas, didn't see you there.”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” Joel mutters weakly, fumbling with the small bag he is carrying before handing it over to the woman behind the counter. She thanks him and quickly begins to sort the items he has brought back from patrol. He’s wearing the thick coat you see on him whenever it drops below freezing, his dark boots leaving small pieces of wet mud on the floor of the small store. He’s been doing the creek trails then, most likely.

You’ve rarely been on patrol yourself, focusing your energy more on tasks inside the community. If it hadn’t been for Joel, you know you probably would have taken off in the first few days, maybe stolen some food and been on your way. But he’d gotten you to stay. With him, for a few days. Then they had found space for you in a small guesthouse close to the mainstreet, to be shared with a young woman not unlike yourself that had offered up her vacant bedroom.

You’d taken an instant liking to Lane. Joel had dropped you off at your new home, with the few things you owned, and you and her had both stood in the small kitchen in awkward silence, racking your brains for a good conversation starter. Of course, you’d come up with the one she probably heard every other day.

“I like your hair.”

It wasn’t a lie. Her hair was cut short but thick, and most importantly, it was blue. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen colored hair. It seemed to fit her though. The roots were brown and the overall color a little less vibrant than you’d seen in magazines of people before the outbreak. If anything, you liked this more.

“Thanks,” she said lamely, twisting her hand around the small cup she was holding. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m the worst at social shit,” she finally blurted out and it looked like she was half glad to admit it and half afraid of your reaction.

“Don’t worry. Me too,” you admitted, a grin spreading over both your faces, the silence seeming a lot more bearable now. She shrugged towards the counter, half a dozen muffins sitting on it. “You like blueberries? A friend let me nick these.”

She paused for a moment, brushing a strand of blue hair behind her ear. “I mean, technically they’re not real blueberries, the ground here is too dry for those. I think they’re called juneberries, but we never call them that.”

You figured she’d be a solid roommate if she’d just met you and was already sharing her sweets. Half an hour later, when you had vomited the blueberry muffins back up in your shared bathroom, Joel’s warning about solid food still ringing in your ears, when she was standing beside you, holding your hair back and handing you a washcloth when you were finished, you knew she’d be more than a roommate. She’d be your friend.

She had also been the one to get you into teaching. You’d been fascinated when she first told you about her job in town, teaching the children of Jackson practically every subject she could. Neither of you had been in school before the outbreak so it was all the more impressive, the way she managed to control a class without the need to get loud or hand out punishments.

You’d taken a liking to the classrooms of Jackson as well, reminiscing on the last summer before the world had gone to shit and the way you’d looked forward to being in school, learning all the things big girls did. Not getting to sit in a classroom, and you didn’t count those at FEDRA as actual classrooms, had been only one of so many things you felt you had missed out on.

So it felt even more special now when, after you got Maria to assign you as teacher alongside Lane, you spent your days in the colorfully decorated classrooms, teaching a variety of subjects and a variety of ages. It was similar to life in Jackson, not without its fair amount of challenges. But, just as Joel had promised the first night, you learned to trust and the more you did, the easier it was to let yourself be. Above all, to let yourself be happy.

Joel steps outside alongside you, his head jerking back towards the small supply store. “Did ya get everything?”

His voice is soft, and you like to imagine that he sounds a little more gentle when speaking to you compared to the others. Not that you see him talking to a lot of people either way. You're pretty sure it's why he prefers the patrols, less people to bother him and less voices to listen to. Even though you had a feeling, about a year after you arrived in Jackson, that he also preferred being paired up with Esther, a pretty woman who took care of the horses and frequented the patrols. Especially those with Joel.

You had almost hoped for them to end up together, to drive the images of Joel alone at his too large dining table out of your head. But they didn't and the images stayed. You had him over for dinner, every other month. It started as a thank-you for helping you through your first days and quickly developed into a rare but regular thing. Ellie or Lane joined you occasionally, happy to get a nice home-cooked dinner and some of the wine Joel usually brought along.

You didn't see too much of him outside of your little gatherings, only the normal occasions that presented themself around town. But it was nice to know that he was there, that he would bring his wine and compliment your cooking and make small-talk and listen to the new developments of your life.

“It makes sense for you to be a teacher,” he’d agreed after you’d updated him on your new position, causing you to raise a brow.

“What is that supposed to mean? Think I can’t handle myself out on the group patrols?”

His face slowly changed at that, Joel urgently shaking his head, “I didn't mean-”

You cut him off with a small laugh, no longer able to stay serious at how panicked he looked. “I’m messing with you, old man. I know what you meant. I think it makes sense too. I like it.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, grumbling a little under his breath.

It's Joel's voice that brings you back to the present. “I asked if you got everything?”

You shake your head to get rid of the thoughts, then it turns to shaking your head no. “They’re out of conditioner. But it’s fine, I can stretch mine a bit longer and maybe they’ll get some next week.”

“Ya still using the same one?” Joel asks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat and you nod. It's sweet that he remembers. It's been over two years, after all.

“Yeah. Liked it, never saw a reason to switch,” you explain lamely. He only gives a short nod, motioning for you to follow as he starts walking.

You do, though perplexed. “School’s in the other direction.” “Thought your class didn’t start until ten today,” he points out. It never appears to you to ask how or why he knows this. When your steps slow down and your thoughts speed up simultaneously, he nudges you along.

“You want your soap or not?” he grumbles and your face lights up a little at that.

“You got some?”

Joel gives another quick nod. “Brought them back a few weeks ago. I would’ve given them to you if I knew ya still used them.”

You trot beside him like a puppy, making your way down Rancher Street and up the flight of stairs that leads to the small house clad in white. The noise of the wind chimes tied to a beam above his front porch drifts over to you, the gentle breeze creating a slow melody.

You haven’t been in his upstairs bathroom for years. It’s odd and it feels too intimate, seeing the place where he brushes his teeth in the morning, where he washes himself after a long day. You don't belong in a space this personal. You don't belong to him.

It felt different when you were curled up on the same white tiles, letting him check your bruised and battered body for signs of Infection. For a split moment, it did feel like you belonged, in a way.

Joel's hand brushes over yours as he hands you the soap, the one smelling of jasmine and cotton and safety.

The rest of the day is a blur of lessons and grading, but the smell of the soap seems to linger, the comforting feeling in your stomach getting you through the work day. It doesn’t end until seven with you staying behind to tutor some kids for an upcoming exam and then to finish preparing said exam. The smell of food fills the air as you open your front door and you smile as you poke your head into the kitchen, “Smells good.”

Lane is seated at the table, a few papers in front of her. Likely an exam of her own, you think to yourself. Even after the world has ended, finals season still exists.

“My mum made that pasta you like so much today. Figured I'd save you some,” she says, nodding towards the tupperware sitting on the counter.

“You're an angel.” You whistle as you head deeper into the house, putting away your jacket and bag, fishing the soap out of the latter and placing it on the bathroom shelf. It makes you pause for a moment. You give a nod to yourself at the sight of the refilled container and make a silent vow to treat yourself to a nice bath today.

An hour later, your stomach is filled with warm pasta, the bathroom damp with steam and your hair soft, smelling just the way you like it. The clock in the small hallway reminds you that it's already past twelve and the knowledge that tomorrow is another day filled with teaching makes you want to crawl into bed fairly quickly. But you're thirsty.

Lane is still in the kitchen, her blue hair a little messy and crowned with a pair of headphones. The music spills out a bit, enough for you to be able to hear the low, steady humming of a song that seems mildly familiar.

You do remember a few songs from before the Outbreak- mainly the ones they played on the radio. But you know that Lane doesn’t, being a few years younger than you, meaning that she barely has any memories of the before.

You're already in your pajamas, shuffling to the sink to pour yourself a glass of water. Somehow it always tastes better at night. Or maybe your brain is playing tricks on you.

“Hey, you remember Joel is coming over for dinner on Sunday, right?” you ask with your back to your friend. When no response comes, you gulp down the last bit of water and turn around, giving a small wave in the air between you.

Lane sits up a little more, pushing one side of her headphones back just enough to free her ear. “Hm?”

“Dinner with Joel, Sunday,” you repeat, a yawn escaping you.

After a moment, she nods. “Right, I remember. We’re out of blueberries again, by the way.”

“I’ll make sure to restock this weekend then,” you agree, already halfway across the room. You give another small wave and finally head to bed. It looks exactly the same way you left it this morning, the blanket tucked into one side, the pillows arranged against the headboard.

“It's so good to be home,” you mutter to yourself as you crawl under the covers, stretching your body a little. Your left hand reaches for your nightstand and finds the book you've been reading, hoping to get just a tiny bit further tonight. With all the work and the winter festival coming up, you’ve barely made progress, the wooden bookmark still sitting near the front. You put it aside, glancing down at the finely carved piece of woodwork for a moment. Joel gave it to you for your first birthday in Jackson. Then you open the book properly, the worn-out spine cracking slightly. Just a couple of minutes.

But your eyes start to droop after just a few pages. After half a chapter, you're in a deep slumber, the book slipping out of your hands and onto the wooden floor below just as the front door slips shut.

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing and commenting <3

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astarionancuntnin · 4 months ago

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here's my masterlist with everything i've written! note that:

all fics are explicit and astarion x fem!reader unless specified

series and multichapter fics have their masterlist linked with all chapters and ao3 links

one-shots/requests will have their main theme mentioned in parentheses next to the title, and the full lists of content warnings are available on their linked post/ao3 page

Requests: CLOSED

Current pending requests: 3

- i am more comfortable writing astarion (spawn or ascended) and halsin, but im open to get out of my comfort zone and write other characters! - i write in third or second POV (more experienced with x reader/tav) - comfortable with most types of writing (fluff, smut, angst, hurt/comfort) - i am willing to go extremely dark and kinky (basically ask and if its above my limit ill tell you, but if ive already written about it, im cool with it) - send an ask and ill get started on it! (i am quite busy recently, but i promise to get around to your request sooner rather than later)

fics are posted in chronological order of creation

this list will keep getting updated as i upload more

full list below the cut!

she was a wildfire that couldn't be tamed; he was the night star admiring her ruthless dance

Undisclosed Desires (Denial of feelings, rivals to lovers) (part 1)

Masterlist

astarion and you, along with your other companions, have been traveling together for a few weeks now. he gets on your nerves at least once a day. but as much as you hate to admit it, your late night activites are plagued by him. little do you know, hes aware of the effect he has on you and intends to use that to his advantage.

Bad Blood (Mature, Angst, follow up fic to Undisclosed Desires, Astarion POV) (part 2)

Masterlist (not posted yet)

it was meant to be a nice, simple plan. get the sorceress to fall in love with him to assure his safety. what he didn't plan was to fall for her as well, and all the complications that came along with it.

A Lesson in Taming Your Dark Consort

(all fics in this series are one-shots that surround the dynamic between Ascended Astarion and his consort Malva (my oc evil tav), heavily BDSM driven)

Taming a Tempest (spanking, semi-public sex)

oh, to be the Vampire Ascendant's dark consort. to have eternity and enhanced powers right at her finger tips - only to be denied. but two could play this game, and Malva would make Astarion regret witholding anything from her.

read on ao3

read on tumblr

Dancing on the Edge of a Knife (knife play, orgasm denial)

ever since his ascension, Malva was convinced that Astarion was the only person who could understand her every twisted desire. well, almost. there are some things she still keeps to herself, he simply wouldn't understand this part of her, the one who dances on the very edge of her knife.

read on ao3

Contributions to Angels of The Night Collection

read on tumblr

Blood Sisters (MalvaxMerelind)

Die For You (Lovers to Enemies to Lovers, Ascended Astarion) Completed work!

contains some Shadowheart x fem!reader

Masterlist

the ascension changed the person Astarion was, or so you believed. you broke up and parted ways after defeating the netherbrain, thinking it was for the best, but when you see him again 6 months later at the reunion, you realize you never truly moved on. and neither did he.

Meet Me In The Woods (predator/prey)

read on ao3

read on tumblr

it's astarion's turn to keep watch for the night. everyone's off to bed and he's still gone hunting and nowhere to be seen. you refuse to be the one to fill in for him again, so you venture into the woods looking for where he was last seen.

Midnight's Embrace (weed, polyamory)

astarion x female!reader x halsin

read on ao3

read on tumblr

you can’t recall the last time you had a real, good night of sleep. your fight with the nether brain is approaching fast and your anxiety is only increasing. halsin proposes to try a special brand of herbs to alleviate your mind. turns out this herb also awoke something else in you.

Nothing But A Dream (somnophilia)

read on ao3

read on tumblr

you've agreed to take things slow with astarion, only partaking in nighttime activities when he specifically desires them, and this morning, he wants you. but he would hate to intrude on your precious beauty sleep.

Run, Little Fox (predator/prey, hate sex, mildly dubious consent)

read on ao3

read on tumblr

this brat of a rogue questioned your leadership one time too many, it is time he learns his place, and youll do it the only way he'll listen to you: with a challenge. if you win, he will be held accountable for his actions, but if he wins, he gets to use you every night. it doesn't matter anyway, you'll win... won't you?

Public Display of Affection (A!A, jealousy, semi-public/loud sex, hints of voyeurism feat. Gale)

read on ao3

read on tumblr

his consort - his beautiful, too kind for her own good - forever young lover. she was his, and his only, and he believed it was long overdue to make that statement clear among the rest of their group. after tonight, the only name spiling from her luscious lips would be his.

Death is Not an Escape (Mature, Dead By Daylight AU, heavy angst)

read on ao3

read on tumblr

it wasn't supposed to end like this, they were supposed to get out and defeat the absolute - together. but as a dark fog swallowed them whole, their fates changed drastically.

The Ways of Worship (Priest/Modern AU, Corruption)

read on ao3

read on tumblr

this faith was all you've ever known. so when you wake up a morning with the dreadful feeling that you've lost it, you do the one thing that makes sense - confess to your local priest. when he offers his guidance with the promise of making you whole again, you accept without a second thought. your first lesson begins tonight.

Remember Me (Angst, Audio adaptation)

read on ao3

read on tumblr

you can't make sense of where you are or even how you ended up in this cell - hells, you're not even sure of who you are at this point; any memories of your past are a blur. it's all the more confusing when a group of adventurers come to rescue you, and a particularly worried pale elf takes it upon himself to help you remember who you are.

sleeping next to astarion

A!A's children

your short future with astarion

A!A being possessive of his consort

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turtletaubwrites · 8 months ago

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Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist

This completed series means a lot to me, so I've made this masterlist to keep it all in one place, as well as to include asks from those who relate the story, and some resources for those who related to the reader's pain a little too much. I've also included a link to a post where I share my intentions with this story, as well as my feelings about how bad our bad doctor really is. THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT. 18+ ONLY. MDNI.

Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Ao3 Link

Summary: You have struggled with mystery pains and injuries for most of your life, and had resigned yourself to suffer after every doctor told you there was nothing wrong. But when a world renowned doctor/pirate comes to town to offer aid in exchange for supplies, you decide to give hope one more chance. Maybe you'll finally find a doctor you can trust.

Author's Note: PLEASE heed the tags below, and do not read this fic if you aren't comfortable with these topics. Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃

*I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional. Hopefully you'll have better luck than the reader 🙄

Thank you so much @anemptypuddingcup for this request. You helped me write one of my favorite stories 🙏🏼🖤

If you relate to the chronic pain symptoms and joint issues that the reader has, you might want to learn about hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and hypermobility spectrum disorders. Here's a couple links to get you started: The Ehlers-Danlos Society The Ehlers-Danlos Support UK hEDS Diagnostic Criteria *Once again, I am not a doctor. Please seek advice from a medical professional. I hope that you find one that supports and listens to you. You deserve to be treated with respect and compassion. I believe your pain. 🖤

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Dubious Consent, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Hypermobility, Medical Examination, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Chronic Pain, Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Doctor/Patient, Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to be Added, (Reader is described as having hair "above her shoulders" that she can brush), Needles, Drugs, Arguing, Massage, Praise Kink, Pain, Dissociation, Humiliation, Gaslighting, Non-Consensual Drug Use, (Implied), Birth Control, Menstruation, Discussion of Pregnancy, Brief/Implied Discussion of Sterilization Surgery, Teasing, Dom Trafalgar D. Water Law, Hand & Finger Kink, Blood, Spit, Dacryphilia, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Unprotected Sex, (Be Safe Out There), Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, Creampie, Pet Names, Overstimulation, Cunnilingus, Biting, Bruises, Hair-Pulling, Aftercare, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers

Asks from People Who Relate to the Story: | Ask 1 | Ask 2 | Ask 3 |

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daisynik7 · 2 years ago

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nikki (or daisy) | 30s | she/her

Nanami profile pic credit to @pizzacastella!

requests are closed. minors do not interact. please read my rules/guidelines before following me and interacting with me, thanks!

Link to my ao3 | my tags: [nikki's nonsense - personal posts] [#recs - fics I recommend from other writers and audio (sfw/nsfw) recs] [#to read later - fics on my list to read later]

Masterlist:

Attack on Titan

Eren Jaeger Masterlist

Reiner Braun Masterlist

Jean Kirstein Masterlist

Connie Springer Masterlist

Trying: Mike x f!reader, smutty one-shot*

Road Rage Headcanons [AoT characters]

"Earned It" - Levi smut + fluff [y2k karaoke party]

Jujutsu Kaisen:

Kento Nanami Masterlist

Takuma Ino Masterlist

Aoi Todo Masterlist

Toji Fushiguro Masterlist

Suguru Geto Masterlist

Satoru Gojo Masterlist

Choso Kamo Masterlist

Chainsaw Man:

Kishibe Masterlist

Tokyo Revengers:

Lavender & Velvet* - Mitsuya x f!original character series (on-going)

Miscellaneous:

to all the boys who live next door - an anthology series*

men who are tired* - multi

Alucard's Belts* - Alucard x f!reader [Castlevania]

Bleeding* - Alucard x f!reader [Castlevania]

Completed Requests Masterlist | y2k karaoke party milestone event

[*indicates NSFW]

Most of my work is explicit and NSFW, so MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT. Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission! You can find most of the above stories on my ao3.

#masterlist #daisynik #nikki's masterlist #attack on titan #jujutsu kaisen #chainsaw man #tokyo revengers

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lilacxquartz · 9 months ago

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my fanfic master list

hi — i’m lilac_quartz on ao3, i write mostly dark yandere but i also write a lot of other stuff in between. a lot of the content i post is nsfw. dark content is appropriately warned both in the list and in the post. most links lead to ao3, but recent uploads link to tumblr.

wanna read a series on tumblr? check out my chapter directory.

attack on titan

levi ackerman:

bitter tea leaves — dark abduction story, split pov, noncon warning

a brew so bitter — rewrite of the above, one sided pov, noncon warning

the walls of delusion — non explicit yandere

glimpses of shadows — abduction story with levi, noncon warning

power imbalance — you violated the dress code again, one shot, dubcon warning

vinland saga

askeladd:

forged through iron — adventure story set in vinland saga where you find freedom with askeladd, violence warning because vikings

jujutsu kaisen

choso:

bleed into me — a vampire finds you interesting

to desire — two little smut shorts

blood rush — a vampire sends you in for a time loop nightmare, noncon warning

first impressions — soft yandere choso wants to protect you

blur into you — choso smut

breeding kink — choso smut

shoko ieiri

please, don’t go — yandere shoko is tired of her friends dying, dubcon warning

love bites — shoko smut

so desperate for you — shoko smut

shower — shoko smut

pretty little trinket — while lost at sea following a shipwreck, you are saved by a strange bird-like creature

shoko ieiri & suguru geto:

guided affections — poly smut

satoru gojo:

a deal with a demon — an incubus proposes a deal

blessed with blue — biblically accurate satoru gojo in a mythical world sets his sights on you, warning for noncon and body horror

rivals — satoru gojo gets rid of his rival but also keeps them close, noncon warning

first times — gojo smut

speechless — gojo smut

suguru geto:

blood thicker than honey — geto is into you but you both come from non-sorcerer lineages, a little character study on the what ifs

you leave me so breathless — geto smut

to save a broken soul — geto finds you, a cursed spirit wandering around, his hatred for you is at war with his curiosity for you, noncon warning, violence warning

satoru gojo & suguru geto

those late summer nights (ongoing) — taking a teaching job in tokyo might have ruined your life, yandere geto and gojo fic, warning for noncon

roommates — gojo and geto smut, dubcon warning

free use — gojo and geto smut

on display — geto smut but gojo watches

kenjaku:

sentimental — you woke up with your memories gone and the idea that the geto you used to know, hurt you which makes this impostor all the more confusing. noncon warning

don’t make me feel alive — on the verge of death from an illness that was destroying you, you’re saved by a strange man with stitches on his forehead, noncon warning

betrayal — prison realm yandere imagine

chasing humanity (ongoing) — mundane au, serial killer kenjaku who searches for the meaning of life finds himself burdened with you, romance fic, but also lots of violence

uncanny valley — kenjaku claims they can make anyone see cursed spirits, violence warning, character study fic

medical exam — nurse kenjaku smut

using you — kenjaku smut

giving brain — kenjaku smut with the brain

under his authority — as you run from your stalker, he turns the tables on you in an unexpected way. dubcon warning.

mahito:

a sight for sore eyes — blinded from an accident, you begin to suspect your boyfriend isn’t actually your boyfriend, yandere mahito fic

seeing triple — mahito smut

hanami:

roots — hanami smut

sukuna:

untouched — uh oh, you’re on the menu. noncon and death warning.

fem!kuna milking — fem!kuna smut

double penetration — sukuna smut

kento nanami:

flustered by you — nanami smut

generalised:

choso’s accidental daycare — choso has a lot of responsibilities but he’s also just one guy, wholesome fic, fluff

board games — unc!kuna has babysitting duty much to his dismay, wholesome fic, fluff

toji fushiguro:

eat you up — toji smut

pregnancy woes — pregnancy fluff

period sex — toji smut

generalised x reader drabbles:

jujutsu kaisen scenario drabbles x reader

lilac’s bite sized yandere nightmares (ongoing)

chainsaw man

makima:

obey — makima smut, dubcon warning

pegging — makima smut

death note

voyeurism — unknown to you, a stalker has been watching you all along, general warning

mob psycho 100

generalised:

not feline right — the three pick up a job at a haunted cat cafe, wholesome fic, crack and fluff

sousou no frieren

fern & stark:

the fox & the raven — fern tries to practice a spell, stark is the victim, fluff

frieren x himmel:

from the beyond, with love — character study on not losing hope

howl’s moving castle

sophie x howl:

howl’s moving floristry — a short wholesome imagine

stardew valley

maru:

gravity — maru has a unique birthday present for you, fluff, wholesome

haley:

the sun didn’t shine until you came along — despite finding success in the city as a model, life didn’t really click until haley met you

baldur’s gate

lae’zel x shadowheart:

when the stars align — shadowheart reads lae’zel’s future

karlach x shadowheart:

portraits — karlach feels insecure about herself and shadowheart makes her feel like a work of art

shadowheart:

worship you — yandere dark urge reader can’t quite let go of shadowheart

sovereign spaw:

mushrooms — spaw smut

lae’zel:

mirrors — lae’zel smut

silent hill

pyramid head:

trapped — pyramid head smut, noncon warning

gravity falls

bill cipher:

dreams — bill has a hard time letting you go so he teaches you a lesson, noncon warning

homicipher

mr. crawling:

love you, love you, love you — mr. crawling smut

mr. gap:

from the shadows — yandere mr. gap imagine

crossovers

noroi: the curse x jujutsu kaisen — requested horror crossover

jjk x rec — found footage imagine with satosugu and shokohime

jjk x from — horror mahito crossover imagine

mob psycho 100 x jujutsu kaisen — gojo finds he has competition with the world’s greatest psychic and it goes exactly as you would expect, humour, fluff, crack fic.

other

sicktember 2024 (jjk general & x reader)

kinktober 2024 (multi fandom)

flufftober 2024 (kenjaku x takaba)

#ao3 #masterlist #aot masterlist #jjk masterlist #vinland saga masterlist #ao3 author #yandere x reader #dark fic #archive of our own #ao3 writer #navigation #info #chainsaw man masterlist #mob psycho 100 masterlist #stardew valley masterlist #frieren masterlist #baldur’s gate 3 masterlist #homicipher masterlist

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t00thpasteface · 3 months ago

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Hey! Do you have any hawkahy fic recs?

:D first let me start by saying,

second, my biggest rec is always always always for you to just trawl around ao3 and tumblr on your own time and leave no stone unturned (or at least un-glanced-at). i'm happy to say i think there's enough stuff floating around out there where no one person's rec list is gonna cover every fic you might end up liking, so i encourage you to root around and see what hidden gems you stumble on. kudos, hits, and comments are not the be-all end-all indicator of fic quality, and there's really no way to tell if you'll like something without giving it a fair shake first.

now getting into the actual meat of it:

i can't possibly talk hawkahy fic without mentioning my wonderful friend @quordleona03 and her Sins & Virtues series, which has been ongoing since i was still in elementary school. the latest installment, All We Know, is currently holding the bronze medal for the longest mash fic on ao3 and is still being updated. if you like your fics long, angsty, and thoroughly researched, look no further than that series! she also has some unaffiliated/standalone hawkahy fics on her profile. quordle is also the archivist for the late Iolanthe, who is credited as the founding hawkahy fic writer— more on that topic is written on her memorial ao3 profile and on the S&V series page linked above. famously, in 2004, around the time S&V was first being written, the onion described erotic hawkahy fanfic as being "the worst humanity has to offer", which could only have been referring to either (or both) of these two talented authors. via the iolanthe memorial account, quordle also runs a hawkahy fic collection on ao3 and accepts submissions for it, though you may need to poke her on her main account if there's an outstanding submission you think she missed that you'd like her to look at.

other fics i recommend (mind the ratings):

Hot Under the Collar

The Touch of Your Hand

i'm afraid to come home in the dark

saying grace over an empty table

You're The Tops

Reach Out, Touch Faith

This Must Be The Place

Pulse

and Shearing Season was a generous gift for yours truly!

as you can probably guess from that list: my tastes are equally fluffy and smutty. i like my porn with feelings, and my feelings with porn. hawkahy is a very sweet and emotionally fraught ship that simultaneously works great as a depraved pornographic freakfest. the best fics have both in equal measure! ^_^

i also write fic! you can find me on ao3 under the name RiskyBiznu. i've only posted 6 hawkahy fics so far, but generally they lean towards comedy and i think all of them are tagged as some variant of fluff.

lastly, i'd like to also say that i am very picky and also trying to keep this list brief, so for anyone else reading: please don't take it personally if your stuff isn't on my list! plus, anyone is free to reblog this with recs of their own, as well as a link to their own stuff, if they so wish. the more the merrier!

#shebbz shoutz #ask #hawkahy #mash #we got another one lads

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decembercamiecherries · 10 months ago

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Killugon fanfic recs!

While answering an anon ask I realized I wanted to talk some more about my favorite hxh killugon fics! Specifically the ones that I don’t think show up as much on rec lists but I still adore and have bookmarked on my own ao3 page. So here we are!

All of these fics have less than 1k kudos! I’m including the link, title, author, length, au tags and a general review. Enjoy~

One Flew East, One Flew West by Senket

31k words, 1 chapter

Mental institution/modern au

This is one of those really long one shots that goes by soooo quickly and you’re shocked and super sad when it’s over. The climax made my heart a c h e. Also I love how obsessed Gon and Killua are pretty much immediately lol.

winner x winner by Miah_Kat

2k words, 1 chapter

Post-canon AU

Fun, short and intense. You can really feeeeel how much Gon and Killua want each other in this fic, it made me want to scream into my pillow in the best way!

worth it by Alabaster_Gunship (nimery)

16.6k words, 1 chapter

Soulmate/what if AU

Obsessed with this particular soulmate au because it doesn’t follow canon events in the sense that Gon and Killua meet as adults rather than kids. Gon chases after Killua when Killua refuses to be with him, Killua stands up to Illumi when Illumi threatens Gon, their connection is immediate and intimate at the same time…I love it thank you.

to the moon and to Saturn by tomiawka

95k words, 10 chapters

Modern childhood friends AU

I remember reading this fic as it updated weekly because I liked it so much that I couldn’t wait until the whole fic was complete to read it. The climax really hurt but like 90% of this fic is pure fluff, seriously Gon and Killua are so cute in this fic.

missing you is a slow burn by mysteryburn

10.8k words, 1 chapter

Canon universe/post-canon AU

30 snippets about killugon that made me cry, laugh, get choked up, smile, and so much more. Reading this fic felt like a religious experience because it is just so beautifully written.

harbor lights by balconys

1.2k words, 1 chapter

Canon universe/post-canon AU

Kind of similar to the above fic, this is a 30 sentence fic of various killugon moments at various stages of their friendship/relationship. It’s shocking how much of a punch each of these sentences give in the best possible way. I hope I can convey such specific emotions in such little words one day.

the hormonal high schooler’s guide to falling in love series by perennials, specifically part 1 and 3

10.1k words, 5 parts

Modern high school au

Gon is like…super intense in these fics and he is 100000% focused on Killua and getting romantically involved with him, which is exactly my favorite kind of dynamic. Gon is the star of a sports team while Killua is student president so it’s got some good jockxnerd vibes going on.

#fanfic rec #killugon #hunterxhunter #this was fun

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chaoticbardlady99 · 1 year ago

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Masterlist

I realized I might need one of these....

ACCEPTING REQUESTS

My AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticbardlady99/pseuds/chaoticbardlady99

Astarion x Reader:

I DO NOT WRITE ASCENDED ASTARION- just personal preference. You do you, boo boo.

Ongoing series:

Lethal Woman- Astarion x GN! Reader, ongoing fic, smut

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter Ten

I Wondered if I Could Come Home?- Astarion x F! Pregnant Reader

Part 1

Part 2, SMUT, MDNI 18+

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5 , Smut, MDNI 18+

Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me- Astarion x F! Ghost Reader/ MDNI 18+- AO3

Prologue

Chapter One: Music, Regrets, and Party Tricks

Chapter Two: Tea Parties and Fashion Catastrophes

Chapter Three: The Sun is Freezing

Chapter Four: Regrets

Chapter Five: Nisi Pellis Nostra

Chapter Six: Four Clerics and a Vampire Spawn Enter a Tomb (Astarion POV) MDNI 18+

Chapter 7: Skinny Love

Chapter 8: A Brief Intermission

Chapter 9: Performance Review MDNI 18+

Chapter 10: Til Death Do Gale and Tav Part

Chapter 11: Lullabies for the Restless

One-Shots for "Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me"

Haunting Candles Astarion x F! Ghost Reader

Limited Series:

She's My Religion

Part 1: She's Cold, She's Dark, She's Cynical

Part 2: She Needs This Love Just as Much as Me

Part 3: Everyone Wants to Have Their Taste

Part 4: Makes You Believe in Something Above

My Little Mental Health Series

Yesterday I Felt like Dancing- Astarion x GN! Reader

I Took All This Love I Found- Astarion x GN! Reader

Nobody's Fool (Astarion x GN! Tav)

AO3 Link

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5: MDNI 18+

One-Shot, two-shot, three-shot (I'm Dr.Seuss without all the weird Seuss baggage)

Joybringer - Astarion x GN! Reader, MDNI 18+, Request

Dying Star Astarion x GN! Reader, Request

One of your Girls : Astarion x M! Reader MDNI 18+ (I tried my best), Request

Like Nothing I've Seen : Astarion x GN! Reader, Request

I Don't Wanna be Your Friend: Astarion x GN! Reader

Admiring from Afar Pt 1.: Astarion x GN! Reader, MDNI 18+, Request

Admiring From Afar Pt 2: Astarion x GN! Reader

Pinkie Promise- Astarion x F! Reader, Smut, 18+ MDNI, Fluff

Triple Dog Dare You- Part 2 to Pinkie Promise

If You Give a Dragon a Steak- One Shot Request

Twists and Turns: Astarion x F! Reader, Gale x F!reader

Never Have I Ever: Astarion x Non Tav F! Reader- Smut, MDNI 18+ (Non Tav Reader)

Maryë: Astarion x GN! AFAB! Reader, MDNI 18+

Repose My Love, For I Have Sinned Enough - Astarion x GN! Cleric of Kelemvor Reader

Brighten the Corners of My Mind- Astarion x GN! AFAB! Reader, MDNI 18+

Halsin x Reader:

Fluffy Halsin Headcanons w/ Male Reader : Halsin x M! Reader, MDNI 18+, request

Other:

As the World Caves In: Karlach x Shadowheart , request

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joelmillers-whore · 1 year ago

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Breathless

summary: you are having a hard time focusing during sexy times with frankie, and he decides to try something to help you.

word count: 1K

series or one-shot or drabble

warnings: 18+ explicit, minors DNI, frankie x female!reader, no mention of y/n, fingering, choking, language if you squint, not really a warning but frankie is a communication king in this

A/N: i’m in my frankie era, who knew, huh? anyway, i wanted to delve more into like breathplay and stuff but it sort of just morphed into this. i don’t know if i’m 1000% satisfied with this but i just needed to write some frankie filth for my own self lol. enjoy and don’t forget to support your local fic writer (reblogs are super appreciated and are only one more button to press, helps me out a ton). i will also link my kofi if you want to go that extra mile with support, i don’t mention that i have one often but just putting it out there :)

tags: @hellishjoel @reddedmiller @morallyinept

ao3 | kofi

You were on cloud nine as Frankie fingered you. A layer of sweat and heat clung to your bare stomach, the muscle tensing and contracting the further in he went. His large and dexterous digits pumped into you faster, harder, reaching every angle that you needed him most, stroking your spongey walls with each harsh movement.

You were closing in on your orgasm, on the precipice of falling. Down, down, down. Your body was humming, slack and arching off the bed as Frankie flicked his thumb over your clit, massaging and adding enough pressure for the volcano inside of you to finally erupt.

But for some reason, it was like you were chasing a phantom. You couldn’t quiet your mind, get yourself to focus long enough to immerse yourself in Frankie and the moment between you, your orgasm just out of reach.

You whined, your breath tumbling out of you harshly. You snapped your eyes shut, maybe if you closed off other distractions, you could finally come. You could feel your lower stomach begin to cramp, twisting and tightening, but it wasn’t enough.

And it wasn’t from lack of effort. Frankie was doing everything right, it was just you who was having a problem getting there.

“Frankie...”, you panted desperately, opening your eyes, the heaviness of your lids causing you to squint.

He tempered his ministrations, not easing up completely, but slowing down as his eyes met yours. Frankie had always been attentive, had always known which of your buttons to press, and how to get you to finish as efficiently as possible. But right now, you needed more.

He pecked your inner thigh, humming sweetly, “What do you need? Hm? Tell me what you need, baby”.

Your mind was in a daze, a fucked-out, lust-induced daze, and you couldn’t quite articulate your needs as gracefully as Frankie wanted you to.

“M-more”, is all you managed to stammer out.

You could feel Frankie’s chest rumble with laughter against your thigh, the sound sparking something deep inside you. He removed his fingers from you with a squelch, the obscene sound bouncing off of the walls of the bedroom.

Your hips bucked to chase his fingers, to chase the feeling of being so filled by him, a choked sob racking through you.

Frankie’s smile was crooked as he climbed above you, shushing you and your needy request for him to put his fingers back inside of you. He peppered every exposed part of you with open-mouthed kisses.

He started with your stomach, right above your belly button. You flinched from the contact, the softness a jarring contrast. Then your forearm, teeth scraping along the flesh, causing goosebumps to appear on the surface. And finally, your neck. His lips were silken, muted in how they scaled the expanse of your windpipe, the small divet at the base of it.

He paid special attention to your neck and it was all the suggestion that you needed.

“Frankie...”, you moaned, “Want you to...choke me”.

Frankie’s slick-covered fingers ran up and down the column of your throat, teasing you, humming as he thought it over.

“You sure?”, he asked, double-checking that you knew what you were asking of him.

You nodded, vehemently, more than a little excited at the prospect of the calculated and shy Frankie choking you. You had only ever tried choking with Frankie once, and it had been a half-assed attempt on both of your parts.

But now, you were willing to do anything to orgasm, willing to try anything.

Frankie chuckled, low and gruff, “I need words, baby, or we’re not going to do it”.

“Yes”, you whimpered, thrashing under him, impatient as shit, “Fucking choke me, Frankie”.

He laughed breathlessly as he planted a chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Squeeze my wrist if it becomes too much for you”, Frankie said, his final words before he placed his hand around your throat, his grip firm but not crushing.

Your smaller hand clasped around his wrist, and you mentally prepared yourself to squeeze it as a non-verbal safeword if you needed it.

Frankie dipped his head down, kissing you as the pressure on your throat increased, the airflow to your lungs restricting further and further, the addition of Frankie’s lips on yours doubling the lack of oxygen you were getting.

He pulled back, his forehead resting on yours as one of his hands drifted back to your pussy, his other staying, squeezing your esophagus. He plunged three of his digits into your hole, the stretch burning and bordering on painful as he worked them to the hilt, knuckles scraping against your sensitive mound. Your body quivered from the combined stimulation.

You squirmed away from Frankie’s touch, or toward it, you weren’t that sure at this point. You felt tingling wash over you, your head feeling almost weightless as his fingers continued to fuck into you, bringing your orgasm closer.

His hand pressed harder on your throat, his strength now behind it, the intention more clear. He wanted you to see stars, and you were sure that you would. His brow shimmered with sweat, his thick bulge rubbing against your stomach. He was as turned on as you were.

Your lungs hummed against the deprivation of oxygen, your brain becoming clouded as your vision dotted with black spots, the pleasure from his fingers driving into you again and again, and the pressure on your neck knocking you off the cliff.

The moment your orgasm hit, your hand dropped from Frankie’s wrist, his hold on your throat releasing. The feeling was fast, fleeting, and intense as your body convulsed, wave after wave of electricity rocketing from deep inside of you.

Frankie rubbed at the space he had his hand pressed into, his fingers splaying across the reddened skin. He was still stroking your clit, lightly, tenderly, as he helped you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“How you feeling, baby?”, Frankie asked.

You mumbled something incoherent, nodding your head, the lust-fog still very much present.

He laughed, “I guess that’s a yes. We’ll definitely be doing more of that next time”.

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softpascalito · 5 months ago

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I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 3 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: very excited for this chapter because you guys finally get to see what a big part of fic will deal with. keeping everyone who reads on in my prayers <3 (you'll need it)

i've also added a small playlist for this fic. in case you'd like to dive in the link is above!

Chapter 3 - The Sky

‘‘The sky here’s very strange. I often have the sensation when I look at it that it's a solid thing up there, protecting us from what’s behind.’ ‘But what is behind?’ Her voice was very small. ‘Nothing, I suppose. Just darkness. Absolute night.’’

- Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

The body is resting against the only intact wall of the cabin, to Joel's left. Propped up next to the fireplace, the scene around it leaving no doubt about the finality of it. Blue hair drenched in red, thick liquid pooling below and running through the crevices of the weathered and beaten wood.

He barely registers Tommy’s footsteps behind him nor that they come to a sudden halt.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath.

Joel is the one that steps forward, kneeling down next to the fireplace, his hand gently reaching out to touch the pale skin of her hand. “She’s already cold. Must’ve been a few hours,” he whispers, his voice dangerously close to cracking.

“We need to alert the others. What if these guys are already at the gates? Maria has no clue-”

“Tommy-” Joel gently tries to stop the rambling of his brother, but he can't bring himself to take his eyes off her. But the other man is barely listening, his feet shuffling anxiously as he reaches for his rifle.

“Joel, goddamn it, I mean it. Get up. They may be waiting for the moment to attack-”

“There is no attack,” Joel says, again, and his voice feels too calm for what he’s implying.

He stalls for a moment, the realization coming to him that he’s gotten too good at this. He’s gotten too good at being in the presence of death, likely better than he ever has been in the presence of people.

He carefully leans forward, using his free hand to gently push the fabric of her hoodie out of the way, glancing down at the wound and giving a small nod. He doesn't need to see the way Tommy’s shoulders fall. He feels the air shift as his brother comes to the conclusion Joel has found much faster. They both know why he got there quicker. Takes one to know one.

“Why would she-” Tommy breaks off, turning his gaze away from the thing he doesn't understand. “I don't know,” Joel mutters under his breath. It hasn't hit him yet, the full force of what this means. Of the consequences it will draw. “We need to get her back to Jackson.” But he can’t really focus on that. Not when he has your best friend’s lifeless body next to him without a clue where you are.

“Do you think-” There's a heavy pause. “Did she do this alone?” Tommy asks, placing his rifle next to the door and beginning to look around the cabin for something useful.

Joel immediately knows what he's asking. But he shakes his head. “I don't think she would have- There's no sign anyone else was here.”

His head is spinning, screaming at him to do the one thing he knows. He needs to find you.

And then he doesn't. Because before they can even begin to move the body, he can hear hooves approaching outside. He recognizes the fast gallop of your horse even before you call their names.

“Lane?! Joel?! Tommy?!” Your lungs hurt from calling them. It was easy enough to follow the tracks, spurring your own horse on much more than you dared on any patrol so far. The mare almost seems relieved when you reach the two other horses and you slide off her back in one quick motion.

It's at the same moment that the door flies open, Joel crossing the small veranda in a few strides. You freeze in your tracks. “Where-?” The words die in your throat. Joel carefully makes his way towards you, his steps slow and controlled. Your eyes fly to his hands. They’re bloody. He has almost reached you when you find his eyes again. There is a gentleness in them that confuses you for a split second.

And then it all makes sense. You don't want the blood, you don't want that look in his eyes, you don't want any of it once you realize what it means.

“No.” Your voice comes out all wrong and you don't know if he heard you. If anyone can.

“It's okay. Come here,” Joel mumbles as he reaches you, carefully sneaking his arm around you. He tries to pull you close and he's not sure whether it's for your or his sake. Maybe both.

“No. Joel, where is she?”

He shushes you again, readying himself to catch you if your knees give out, his grip around you tightening ever so slightly.

Joel Miller has come to know you fairly well over the past years. At least he likes to think he does and you've rarely caught him off guard. But today you do.

“Where is she?!” Your knees don't give out. Not even close. They bend just enough for you to slip past the broad man in front of you, taking off with a run towards the door of the cabin.

It takes him a second to register what has happened. Then, he’s storming after you as fast as his legs will allow him.

“Tommy!” he yells out, hoping that if he won't be able to stop you, at least his brother will. But it's he who catches up with you just as you take the first step onto the veranda, roughly pulling you back by your arm, hard enough that it sends both of you tumbling to the floor.

He barely registers the way the wooden step digs into his ribs and knocks the air out of his lungs. Instead, his fingers stay tightly wrapped around your arm. “Fucking let go, Joel! Let me see her!”

He doesn't know what to say. He can't tell you that he simply can't. That it would stay with you forever, even more than this will anyway.

“Come here,” he just repeats weakly, bringing his other arm around to pull you in. One of your knees is bleeding, your jeans ripped open where you hit the floor with full force. Joel makes a mental note to clean the wound later.

Your body is trembling much harder than you thought possible as you let Joel pull you into his arms. It has nothing to do with the cold. You don't even feel like you're able to recognize temperature. An absurd concept, that your body would adjust to any of it, that it would ever stop shaking and trembling. Joel's arms feel like he's all around you, wrapping his body around yours, sheltering you from what is only a few feet away.

Your lungs that were burning just a minute ago seem to not be a part of you anymore. They in- and exhale in their own rhythm, one that feels too fast and too slow all at once. You hear Joel muttering into your ear, but you can't make out the words. Your cheeks are wet. You don't know why.

The world dissolves around you and you briefly wonder if you’re dying. It's not a shocking idea that gets you up and fighting. You wonder about death the same way you would about whether or not they have soap at the store. The world has almost gone dark when you realize you are not, in fact, dying. But, even as the strength leaves your muscles and you collapse against the body next to you, you are aware that something has.

***

You regain consciousness, just for a moment. There is a steady rise and fall around you and at first you think it's your lungs expanding and deflating. But as you open your eyes enough to catch a glimpse of your surroundings, they move. Up and down. Slow and steady.

You're on horseback, pressed against a broad chest that has to be Joel’s. His arms are pulling you tightly into him, keeping you upright, making sure you won't fall off. You don't think you could bring yourself to care. It probably wouldn't even hurt. In fact, every part of your body should hurt with the way you were running earlier, with how you fell onto the stairs, bone crunching as it took the blow to your side. But oddly enough, it feels like you're floating, like your mind is far away from your body and equally far away from Joel. There is a disconnect, a faulty wire. One that simmers, undetected, till it snaps one random afternoon and sets the whole house on fire.

You still feel like you’re drifting in and out of consciousness when the movement below you slows and you feel yourself being lifted down by strong, steady arms. They are a constant around you, a shield that protects you from what is beyond.

Word about your disappearances has traveled fast but not fast enough for no one to ask any questions. There have rarely been any runaways in Jackson, except for the occasional teenagers who usually show up again the day after- and the couple last year. The bodies Joel had found in the abandoned hotel. Why was he always the one to find them?

People approach, some calling out to the odd group arriving. Tommy leading both horses and shushing those who call out to them while Joel holds you close, staring down anyone who so much as tries to approach him.

“I’ll go and fetch Maria and we can-” Tommy pauses, his gaze wandering from his brother's face to the curled up body below it. He can't bring himself to say it. Not like this, not in front of you.

Joel gives a curt nod, understanding. “Tell Maria we're at my place. And-” A small sigh escapes his lips. “Make sure she arranges for a group immediately.”

The younger man swallows hard and turns away. Infected will happily devour any meat they're given, no matter if they've hunted it down themselves. He doesnt think he could bear going back and finding a scene like that. His steps speed up.

You only catch glimpses of the people around you, words being whispered, conversations being started and then abruptly breaking off. And you still feel light, so light that you think you could just float away, disappear into the blue until you’d reach the horizon and whatever lies beyond. But you're wrapped in the dark leather coat that keeps sliding off your shoulders, wrapped in Joel’s arms, and so it won't happen. He won't let you float away.

For all you know, all of the sounds and glimpses could be figments of your imagination, something like a dream or a fleeting memory of a book you’ve read as a child, one that you remember the cover and smell of, remember that it made you feel something, and yet, the story won't come to mind anymore. Above all, this can be, needs to be, something that is unreal. Because otherwise, you dont think you’ll be able to get through it.

You don't move. You let Joel carry you down Rancher Street, you let him nudge your head further into his chest as you realize you must be passing the corner of the graveyard. It seems impossible that you walked by it just a few hours ago, with your mind on the library and which exams to set and dinner this weekend. It all feels like a lifetime ago, a memory that doesn't belong to you but rather someone else.

The morning fog sunk back into the earth hours ago, the rays of the sun forcing it to clear. The sky above you feels close enough to touch, a vibrant and comforting shade of blue spanning from the tops of the wooden houses to the mountains in the distance.

You were just a baby when your father put up a swing in your backyard, strong ropes tied to the branch of an old oak tree. You must have heard the story a million times. Him, getting out his tools while you were watching from your blanket on the grass, not quite able to move your head on your own yet. But he insisted that your large eyes followed him around, contently staying where you were as he worked.

You didn't understand, when hearing him talk about it, why he'd build a swing for someone too small to play on it. It only set in years later that he'd simply been that excited to bring home a little daughter and build something for her and fill the backyard with children's and adults' laughter alike.

That evening, he put you on his lap, one arm securely wrapped around the tiny form that was your body then, gently moving both of you back and forth. You’d fallen asleep almost instantly.

It became your favorite spot, and the way he talked about it years after you had left the house and the garden behind, it had been his too. You loved kicking your feet or spurring your father on to push you harder, watching as your legs soared towards the blue sky.

It seemed to you, back then, that you were miles above the ground, imagining what it'd be like to let go and drift off into the sky, to go up, up, up until your house would be nothing more than a small square below you, surrounded by green.

Joel carries you into the living room. He doesn't seem to want to leave you alone. And he seems restless.

He gets on his knees in front of you, soft brown eyes taking in your face. You avoid meeting them, curling further into the couch. His lips are moving but you can’t hear what he says.

After a few moments pass, you can tell he’s waiting for a response so you nod, almost in slow motion. He seems satisfied with that, saying something else before getting dinner started. It probably smells good, but you don't think you know good anymore.

You get through two potatoes, a bit of salad and chicken before you push your chair back, hurrying down the hallway as Joel scrambles after you.

You make it to the bathroom just in time, falling to your knees in front of the toilet as your stomach begins emptying itself. A sharp pain shoots through the knee that collided with the stairs of the cabin earlier. At the thought of the cabin, another wave of sickness hits you. It's violent, the way your throat convulses, your body trying to empty itself of whatever is inside.

But there is no purging the things inside of you. The thoughts and the memories and the images- god, the images. Lane, hunched over a table. Lane, holding a knife while you make dinner. Lane, laughing. Lane, placing a gun to her head. Lane, crying.

The steady flow of scenarios provided by your brain is broken by another wave of nausea, even though this time it is just dry heaving, your stomach already empty. Your head is not.

You don't hear the rushed footsteps behind you, but you feel the calloused hands pulling your hair out of the way and rubbing your back.

“There you go, get it all out,” Joel coos quietly. It's not his fault. That he doesn't immediately connect the dots as you start sobbing, choking for air. The sobs, your lungs demanding air, your stomach blocking the way, clearly insistent on getting everything out of your system.

You’re positive that the noises coming out of your mouth do not sound like yourself or, for that matter, sound human at all. They're a mix of gasping and heaving, back and forth, as your fingers clench around the toilet seat so hard you feel like it may break.

Joel is very lost and very determined not to let you notice. He has never seen you in this much pain, not when he washed you in the bathroom upstairs nor when you were seconds away from being ripped apart by an Infected. He cannot know that on the first night spent with Lane you were hunched over a toilet just like this, throwing up the blueberry muffins that had been too much for your starved stomach to handle. He cannot know she held your hair like he holds it now, fingers firmly wrapped around it, occasionally sweeping a loose strand behind your ear.

You're not sure how long you sit there like this, the cold tiles uncomfortably pressing into Joel's already sore knees, when he carefully leans you against the wall as he fetches a few towels, letting the water run until it's warm, to wet one of them and wipe your face.

His eyes fly over your features, concern etched into every part of his face. You weakly try and raise your arm to take the towel from him, unwilling to just sit and watch. But he shakes his head firmly, his gaze determined. “Let me, okay? You just focus on breathing.”

As he reaches for another towel, you feel your empty stomach filling again. With a heavy, uncomfortable guilt, one you wish you could throw right back up. Tears shoot into your eyes again but this time Joel doesn't hesitate.

“What's going on? Tell me what you're thinking,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over the side of your face as his other hand uses the towel to dab over your chin, carefully wiping the remainder of the vomit away.

“I wasted your food,” you half-whisper, your voice raw. Joel's face falls, for a moment.

“Nothing is ever wasted on you, you hear me?” he mumbles quietly, moving on to wipe your cheek. “I can always make more.”

He doesn't seem to mind that you cry again at that.

***

It must be past midnight when you wake up the next time. The room is only dimly lit now, and a blanket is tucked around you, your eyes facing the worn-out fabric of the couch Joel set you down on earlier. Earlier feels very far away.

You turn, slowly, glad to find that your stomach seems to decide to give it a rest for now. It still lurches slightly as you squint into the dining room, seeing two figures hunched over the wooden table.

“Joel?” you try to call his name, quietly, but your throat feels dry and the word turns into a cough instead. Your fingers rub your throat, willing it to calm down and relax, as Joel appears in front of you, kneeling down beside the couch and offering you a glass of water. You nod your thanks, using both hands to bring it to your mouth and take a few sips.

“Better?” He hums softly, taking the glass back. You give another nod. If he minds the non-verbal communication, he doesn’t let it show. Instead he turns around, returning with the glass refilled. You gratefully accept it again.

It's only after he's placed it onto the small coffee table that your eyes land on Tommy, leaning against the wooden column separating the two rooms as he watches the scene in front of him. He gives you a swift nod when your eyes meet and something that seems like it was supposed to be a smile but, given the circumstances, fails miserably.

Joel motions for him to come closer. “Come on, it's- have a seat.” Their eyes meet and they seem to communicate silently, no doubt continuing the conversation where they left off.

Tommy sits down. He shuffles his feet, his fingers anxiously tapping the lid of a plastic container that holds some food. Courtesy of Maria, no doubt. Joel takes the spot next to you on the couch and you inch towards him, glad for any kind of support even though you have no clue what is about to happen.

“We- We’re still trying to piece everything together,” Tommy says, his voice quiet and solemn. You tense ever so slightly, listening intently. You're not sure you want to know how or why or any of the other details that will undoubtedly make this more real.

“There was a note in- with her,” he goes on, seemingly choosing his words very carefully. “She said she left you a letter, back at home.” Your eyes automatically fly to Tommy’s sides, half expecting him to pull a piece of paper out of his pocket. He seems to notice your train of thought.

“We're still going through her room, just to make sure- we just want to be certain this happened the way she says it did,” he finishes quietly. You can feel two pairs of eyes on you, but you just nod. Of course. Someone could’ve murdered her and staged it as a suicide. Somehow, that idea didn’t cross your mind. Maybe because you don't think anyone could ever truly hate Lane nearly enough to wish her harm or maybe simply because you already seem to feel in your stomach that her life ended on her own terms.

Joel and Tommy exchange a few glances until Joel awkwardly clears his throat and reaches out to take the plastic container from him. “I'll put this in the fridge.”

The younger brother keeps his eyes on you as you listen to Joel rummaging in the kitchen. His hand awkwardly reaches for your shoulder, hovering above it for a moment before patting it lightly. “I'm so sorry, kid.”

“Thanks, Tommy,” you manage to press out, your own gaze fixed on the opposite wall. You don't want to see the look again, the same one Joel had back at the cabin. In fact, you think you may never want anyone to look at you ever again.

You're still staring at the same spot when the two men head towards the front door a few minutes later. Their voices are low and they must be standing half outside, if the cold creeping into the house is anything to go by. You know their words are not meant for your ears but you still stay absolutely still, listening.

“I’ll bring the letter by tomorrow, okay? Let her get it over with,” Tommy mumbles and you think you hear him shuffling his feet again.

“Yeah, yeah, you do that,” Joel responds, equally quiet. There is a moment of silence. They haven't had a moment to talk about all this, for Joel to consider if he of all people should be the one to take care of you.

Tommy seems to think along the same lines, even though you can't begin to guess the depth of their seemingly simple words.

“Are you okay to-?”

Joel gives a shaky nod. “Yeah, ‘ts fine. She needs someone and- Ellie’s staying with Dina for a few days, until we've figured things out.”

Tommy doesn't know what to say. He carefully takes in Joel's face, or at least what he can make out of it in the dim light of the porch. He goes for a hug instead, wrapping his arms around his brother for a fleeting moment, a hand rubbing over the older man's back. “Either of you need anything, we're all here.”

His voice has dropped enough for you not to overhear the last part.

Maybe it's because Joel's own hearing is bad, but he doesn't seem to realize you've been listening when he comes back into the room a few moments later. “I'm sure they'll be done tomorrow. But we should all try and get some sleep now.” He takes a step towards you, gently running his hand over the top of your head. “I put some fresh sheets onto the bed upstairs while you were out. I don't want ya sleeping on the couch.”

You're too tired and exhausted to protest. Besides, you know it would be a waste of time. So you let him help you upstairs, let him wait right outside the bathroom door as you brush your teeth and let him tuck you into bed, the soft sheets a stark contrast against your dirty and scratched up skin. Joel looks down at you for a moment, his fingers tapping against his leg.

“Do you want me to stay here?”

It's almost embarrassing how fast you jump onto the offer, nodding as you finally meet his eyes again. He looks concerned and sad and you hate that you're the cause of it. But you also want his company, more than anything.

Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you shortly afterwards. He’s changed into pajamas, made up of a pair of brown plaid pants and a cream-colored, worn shirt. Compared to you, he actually looks put together. You can see his outline beside you, the candle on his nightstand the only source of light left in the room. It gives everything a dim, orange glow, distantly reminding you of a sunset.

You're suddenly aware of how very heavy your head feels, far too heavy to be held up by your neck. There are too many thoughts in there, you think, they don’t have enough room to breathe. Or to make sense. The faulty wires are back. And they keep your synapses from connecting correctly. Nothing makes sense.

‘We just want to be certain this happened the way she says it did.’

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice comes out small and still, it seems too loud in the quiet around you.

“Anything,” comes the response, equally quiet even though Joel's voice sounds more steady than yours. You ponder your words for a few moments and you feel him shift beside you, propping his head up on one arm to get a better look at your face. “What is it, darlin’?”

“They brought her back to Jackson, right?”

Joel seems to consider his words for a moment, then he nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, they did.” Even in the dim light, you can feel his eyes on you, searching your face. You turn your face away from him, staring at the stacked records in the corner instead.

“Why would someone go through all that trouble? Bringing her so far out?” The words coming out of your mouth seem as much a surprise to you as they are to Joel. You can hear him suck in a breath beside you. The mattress dips below his weight as he sits up.

“Can you look at me for a moment?”

You obey, turning your head and resting your cheek against your shoulder. You can see Joel's face above you. He looks like he's about to cry. You must be very tired, you think to yourself. Joel Miller doesn't cry.

Before your eyes and mind can drift away again, he swallows and speaks up again, the southern drawl in his voice more present than ever.

“Honey- No one made her go.”

His words are slow, carefully chosen. He knows he is treading a fine line here.

“She did it herself, darlin’.” A small frown has spread over his face, his eyebrows knitted together. “I told you earlier, downstairs. Don’t you remember?”

You shake your head, painfully aware that the gentleness in his tone is back, the same one he’s had earlier at the cabin. You think you know all the things he’s telling you, but you can’t recall Joel saying it. The picture of him in front of the couch appears before your eyes, but you can’t make out the words coming out of his mouth. Again, you find yourself surprised that you're the one who speaks instead.

“Did anyone check her?”

He pauses at that, the frown deepening. “What do you mean?”

You take a small breath, your fingers pulling at a loose thread of the sheets below you. “I mean, did they check if she's really-” You pull a little harder and the thread breaks, the thin piece of fabric remaining in your palm.

You wonder if they have wrapped her up yet. If someone’s put fresh clothes on her. If anyone has checked her pulse.

“What if she's not dead?”

“I need you to listen to me.” His voice is slightly more urgent now. “I saw her. And she's gone. I'm so sorry and I wish she wasn't and I know-” His voice comes dangerously close to breaking but he only gives a tiny shake of his head and presses on.

“I know how difficult this must be but you need to understand this. She's gone. She's not coming back.”

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing or commenting, i promise it will be the highlight of my day <3

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whatswrongwithblue · 7 months ago

Text

The Fire in the Sin

Chapter 3 - Overture

Word count: 6,733. Read on AO3. Series Masterlist. <- Previous Chapter.

Summary: Takes place slightly before and through the end Episode 1 Season 1 and during the events of the actual extermination day. TW: canon typical violence and language. Alastor is an ass for most of this chapter but you get brief moments where you can see he's still a simp for his wife, he's just having A BAD DAY.

This AMAZING painting is done by the wonderful lustylita. Please follow her for the best Alastor artwork your eyes will ever feast on. The entire scene in the radio tower was inspired by this image.

Series Summary:

In the 1950's, Alastor met the woman he would eventually marry but unfortunately his Radio Demon persona went for her soul rather than her hand. He has to learn what it means to love, and cherish, without possessing and he does. Their relationship is beautiful, strong, unbreakable . . . but he carries a dark secret through their marriage for decades until eventually he has to face the consequences of that secret and leave her, without warning, for seven years. He returns, finding her at the Hazbin Hotel, and has to convince her to forgive him, while being literally bound to secrecy, unable to tell her any of things he now is desperate to explain to her.

(This is a duel timeline fic, timestamps will be a the top of every chapter.)

Chapter 3 - Overture

Present Day

Alastor sat on the balcony of his room, intently watching the road that the lead up to the hotel. He took a sip of his coffee, then checked the time on his pocket watch. This year’s extermination was set to begin in a few minutes and the hotel was short one resident.

Not that he was worried.

Mina had survived several years’ worth of exterminations without him and she was resourceful.

And she certainly knew how to make herself scarce, apparently.

No, he wasn’t concerned exactly but he was definitely agitated.

Likely this was her way of making a point to him about not knowing the whereabouts of one’s spouse during trying times, but he didn’t care for it.

As the residence of a Hellborn, the hotel was a safe haven during exterminations and therefore safe for any of its other permanent residents, including Sinners . . . as long as they stayed away from windows and doorways. Now was not the time to be playing petty games with him. If Mina wanted to continue to be stubbornly cold and distant, she could very well do so in the safety of her own room.

Alastor took another drink, looking every bit on the outside like he hadn’t a care in the world.

He supposed she could have found sanctuary elsewhere.

If his suspicions were correct and she had returned to working for Abaddon, Mina could also still claim her old residence at The Pit. That had been in her previous contract after all; housing, safety, and above all else . . . power.

Alastor sat up and squinted as a figure came into view down the road.

Well, he was almost beginning to hope she wouldn’t show up. It would have been undeniable evidence of what she was up to.

He slipped into shadows and manifested purposefully behind her.

“Playing games now, are we?” he asked, delighting in the way she jumped in her skin, her usually sleek black tail fully fluffed out in agitation that he had managed to startle her.

She huffed at him and continued walking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, you don’t,” he said dryly. “It makes perfect sense to be out and about minutes before an extermination day begins.”

“I just needed some fresh air before I have to be cooped up in the hotel all day and night with you.”

“Oh, the horror,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“If you’re so concerned, then why don’t you go back inside? I don’t need an escort just to walk up the drive.”

“An excellent idea, my love,” he said and linked his arm through hers before she could protest.

They turned to shadow together and appeared a second later in the hotel lobby.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Angel announced, surprisingly awake and already with a bottle in his hand. “Or what the deer dragged in . . . the deer dragged the cat in- you know what, never mind.” He took another big gulp from his drink.

“Oh thank God, thank God, thank God,” Charlie said, launching herself around Mina in a bear hug. “We were so worried when no one could find you. Thank goodness Alastor got you back in time!”

“I was already coming up the road,” Mina mumbled and shuffled off to sit next to a very inebriated Angel.

“And where were you, exactly?” Vaggie asked with a hand to her hip. “We’ve been looking for you for the last hour.”

“I told you all we needn’t worry,” Alastor chimed in, once again using his shadow form to transport himself across the room and into the seat on the couch next to Mina, sandwiching her between himself and Angel. “Extermination Day makes everyone a bit restless. So she got a bit carried away while out gathering her thoughts? No harm done.”

Mina looked at him with surprise; she clearly hadn’t expected him to defend her. But he wasn’t about to give the impression to the rest of the hotel residents that he didn’t have the situation under control.

A scream sounded in the far distance, just loud enough to make out, but it was enough to make the mood of the room instantly shift.

A second later, the siren began to shout its annual alarm that the extermination had begun. It had just been too late to warn the first victim.

Alastor felt Mina’s weight shift a little closer to his side. His smile widened, knowing she was never as unfazed by these days as she let on. No one was.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, her eyes suddenly sad and focused on the hotel door. “No harm done.”

____

Alastor wasn’t the type to verbalize his complaints, but inwardly he had to admit, the day was proving to be particularly shitty.

In fact, his entire first week back had been more trying than he had expected. Playing along with Charlie’s childish and naive fantasies had pushed him far out of his comfort zone and the extermination had her seeming extra determined to give them all a wholesome day.

The only upside was that today was the first time since his return that Mina had gone hours without insulting or pestering him. Before his departure, they had enjoyed decades of marital bliss. All that time had allowed him to forget how difficult he found her when they didn’t see eye to eye on things.

Only this time it was worse because Alastor honestly was left feeling a bit bereft at her treatment of him. Nearly a century ago, she had been smart to keep away from him. He had been after her soul, after all. But this time was different. This time, he had no ulterior motives – not with her at least – he was just desperate to have her by his side once again.

Some of the things she had said to him, especially during the first argument in her room, had well and truly hurt his feelings. And that fucking pissed him off. It was one thing to confess to being in love, he had gotten over his reservations with that ages ago. But even to this day, he didn’t care for how easily Mina could control his emotions. It made him feel weak and distracted where once upon a time he had found strength and comfort in her.

And then to start off the day with her up and going missing the way she had was just the icing on the cake. Mina was keeping her own secrets from him, and the audacity of her hypocrisy had his already short supply of patience running on empty.

However, since the extermination had begun, she had been noticeably warmer towards him. It had begun there on the couch, her willingly leaning into his side for comfort. Then she and Niffty had disappeared into the kitchen for a while and brought back breakfast for everyone; some sort of quiche but in the shape of a cupcake that Niffty had called “egg bites.” He had been skeptical at first but then Mina had presented his own special serving, promising she had made his extra spicy, and they had been incredible.

Charlie then insisted on them all participating in some sort of social game she had called “two truths and a lie” so they could all get to know each other. He had been about to excuse himself when Mina had once again settled herself next to and against him. She had even brought him more coffee, knowing full well that he was perfectly capable of summoning it himself, just so she could make a point of being nice.

So he stayed, deciding that it would be a good opportunity to learn more about the other residents and study them. Plus, Vaggie and Husker both looked hilariously uncomfortable with Charlie’s proposition.

As their host had begun to explain the rules of the game, an explosion had gone off, close and large enough that they had all felt the rumbling beneath their feet. Mina had turned in her seat, eyes glued to the front doors, but her hand had gripped onto his bicep and held fast.

“It’s quite alright, Mina,” he had told her. “We’re safe as houses in here.”

Several smaller explosions followed, along with a resounding chorus of screams, and Charlie’s little game was forgotten as everyone sat around in tense silence.

“Well, that was a real buzzkill,” Angel said once the battle outside seemed to push itself deeper into the city center and farther from the hotel.

“Then why don’t we lift the mood a bit, eh my dear?” Alastor said, smiling pointedly at Mina.

She met his gaze but seemed uncertain.

“I don’t know, it’s been a while . . . and I don’t usually do it to make people happy.”

“Nonsense! I’ve seen you command an entire crowd into a jolly good time, you would do perfectly well just giving them a slight suggestion of a more peaceful time.”

“Whattya talking about?” Angel looked confused but he was the only one. It seemed everyone else was already clued into Mina’s ability and were considering the idea.

“You didn’t think the Radio Demon’s own wife was powerless, did you?” Alastor asked, materializing a grand piano with a snap of his fingers. “They don’t call her The Siren for no reason, my friend. She can command your emotions and desires with a simple melody. Her real talent is making a person kill themselves at the sound of her voice but of course she wouldn’t do any of that here.”

“He ain’t kidding, either. Seen her get a dozen demons to turn their guns on themselves and blow their brains out,” Husker said and then chuckled. “Gotta admit, it was pretty a good night.”

“Yeah, sounds super fun. Just the kind of thing we need today,” Vaggie deadpanned.

“Vaggie,” Charlie said, “Alastor said it wouldn’t be like that. Plus, I trust Mina. She would never do anything to hurt us.”

“You wont regret it,” Alastor said, appearing at Charlie’s side and holding her by the shoulders. “It’ll be more soothing than the smoothest whiskey Hell has to offer. Calm your nerves in no time at all. Mina?” He said her name with a suggestive gesture towards the piano, inviting her to begin.

“If you insist,” Mina said and took her seat, “Did you have anything in mind?”

“You’re the professional,” Alastor said but Charlie clapped her hands.

“Oooh, ooh, I hope you know this one, it’s a bit after your time but-“ and she bent over and whispered something into Mina’s ear.

Mina feigned offence. “I’m hurt you would assume otherwise. Not all of us are stuck in the past,” she said, giving Alastor a teasing look.

She began playing and the soft, happy melody filled the room. It wasn’t one Alastor recognized but he had to admit, it wasn’t awful. Mina was a talented pianist, and it was rare that she chose a tune when he prompted her for one that he didn’t like.

Then she began to sing and the magic really took shape.

“I want to live where soul meets body

And let the sun wrap its arms around me

And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing

And feel, feel what it’s like to be new . . .”

The first time he had heard her sing, Alastor had been convinced she was working a spell on him. Her voice was truly the most enticing he had ever heard. There had been plenty of female musicians he had respected and admired in life and in Hell but never had one made him feel the way she had. But that was just her sheer talent.

When she sang and brought her magic into it, the difference was obvious. There was no longer any individual thought of his own solidifying in his mind, nothing left of himself but whatever her siren voice commanded. It was the difference between infatuation and someone taking complete and utter control over your faculties.

Nothing would unsettle and bother him more if it was anyone else doing this to him. But Mina had never used her power over him without his consent and he had quickly learned to admit, it was the most affective drug to settle one’s nerves. And with his own power being far greater than hers, he knew he could withstand a mental attack if he ever truly fought against it. Vox had given him the opportunity to test that theory ages ago, and the rival Overlord had far stronger powers of hypnosis than his wife.

The song ended and the spell lifted but the sense of tranquility still lingered in the room’s atmosphere. All of the guests, even Niffty, looked completely blissed out.

“Jesus toots, I feel like I need a cigarette after that,” Angel said, his head lulled onto the back of the couch, and each of his six limbs limp at his sides.

Mina stood up from the piano and bit her lip as she looked around.

“Maybe I went a little too hard on them.”

“Au contraire, ma chér,” Alastor said, putting an arm around her waist, “I think it was just right.”

Indeed, the following few hours had passed nicely, allowing him to enjoy Mina’s good mood while it lasted and tolerate each and every one of Charlie’s silly forms of entertainment.

Eventually, though, due to the limited nature of her powers of hypnosis, the charm had worn off and when it did, he was more aggravated than ever. The occasional sounds of turmoil outside were the least of his problems compared to the personal Hell he was finding himself in within the walls of the hotel.

Mina’s social battery had worn out long before his and she had retreated to her room. He sent his shadow in to check on her every now and then, but found she was being sincere, rather than trying to sneak off again. She was tucked under the covers of her bed with a novel in her hand, only slightly changing positions every time he spied on her.

He should be relieved, but it just bothered him more that she felt she could simply excuse herself to do something as selfish as read while he was left playing the extroverted hotel manager. The least she could do was play another song to keep the rest of the staff more subdued. A song an hour was not that much to ask of her on a day like today, and yet she had retreated from everyone like a senseless wallflower.

Charlie was on the verge of hysteria, Vaggie and Husk were taking turns on who could be the most Negative Nancy, and Angel wouldn’t stop making leud inuendoes at everyone’s expense. Truly, by the time dusk had settled, the only person Alastor wasn’t ready to kill if it meant five minutes of peace and quiet was Niffty.

He decided enough was enough and as soon as the opportunity came where no one was paying attention to him, he slipped into his shadow form and left for his radio tower. If he couldn’t leave the hotel, at least he could get some work done.

____

Mina crawled out from her covers and went to her bedroom window, peering out over the city below.

The extermination was still going strong, more than 12 hours in. She let the curtain fall in disgust.

She knew she shouldn’t have excused herself when she had, but she was so mentally exhausted she just couldn’t take it anymore. It had gotten to the point where it was impossible for her to focus on anything, so she had left. When she became overwhelmed in social settings, she got pissy. And she was really trying to make an effort to not be pissy with Alastor, at least on this particular day.

Mina sighed, knowing she should probably return the favor of checking in on him. Although she had pretended not to notice, she was aware every time his shadow slunk into her room to make sure she was alright.

Either that, or he was making sure she was staying put. Her fault for getting home stupidly late this morning, once again on a job up on Earth she thought she could take care of overnight. But really, whatever Alastor suspected, did he really think she was going to leave the hotel while the extermination was still happening?

She headed out to find him and quickly found the other residents still gathered in the lobby, though it was evident Alastor wasn’t among them. Niffty hadn’t seen him either, so in preparation of finding him holed up in his own room, she grabbed him a glass of rye from the bar as a peace offering. But his room was very much empty and that left her one last logical place to look; the new radio tower he had added to the hotel. Mina left the glass on a table in the room and left.

He hadn’t invited her up there yet, so she had avoided going up there on principle but if he was really there tonight, she had to make sure he was okay.

After giving a soft knock on the door to announce her presence, Mina stepped into the room and stared in stunned silence at what she saw.

Alastor was using a laptop.

His jacket and monocle were off and his hair was pulled back into a tight knot in the back, meaning he was fulling engaged in his task and incredibly over stimulated by it. The state of his disarray meant he would be in an extra irate mood, but she had always found the distressed look on him incredibly attractive. When he let his guard down it was for her eyes, and her eyes alone, and it showed his level of trust in her. Plus, it was just plain hot.

But the shock of seeing him using such modern technology was more than enough to distract her from her lustful thoughts.

“Alastor?”

“Hmmm,” he responded, not bothering to look up from his task.

“Just making sure it’s actually you.”

“Very funny.”

He wasn’t telling her to get out, so she slowly approached him, noticing an image of the hotel on the screen of the laptop. His hand hovered over the keyboard rather than touching it and the green glow of his magic ebbed and flowed as the image shifted around.

“What are you doing up here?”

“I’m . . . fuck,” he hissed through his strained smile and pinned his ears back. The laptop screen flickered to black for a second and when it came back on, the program he had been trying to use had clearly crashed. “I’m working on something. Someone around this Hell forsaken place should be.”

Mina put a hand on his shoulder and he tensed beneath her fingers but didn’t shrug her off.

“Can you do whatever this is downstairs? I don’t like you up here, it’s not safe right now.”

“I’m fine,” he said and this time he did push her hand off.

Mina crossed her arms and looked down at him, her tail swishing in agitation behind her.

“Al, please. You can have as much solitary confinement as you want in your room, to do whatever this is, where an angel is far less likely to break through the glass and exterminate you.”

“No one but you is annoying enough to bother me up here,” he mumbled, still not turning to look at her.

“Oh, I’m annoying now?”

“Yes, terribly so.”

“Well better annoying than dead! Not even the great Radio Demon is immune to an exterminator’s blade so you get your arrogant, narcissistic, egotistical ass downstairs unless you plan on disappearing for good this time.”

Alastor slammed the laptop shut and Mina was shocked it didn’t break in half from the force. He stood and as she blinked, he was back in his normal attire; jacket perfectly in place and hair down, though it was more frazzled than usual.

“And would that make you happy, my dear?” He sneered; eyes turned to dials as his temper began to take over. “I may be all those things and more but you have been nothing less than a cold, stubborn, secretive, hypocritic little shrew since I’ve returned.”

She glared back up at him, a solid head taller than her even if he hadn’t quite begun to morph into his full demon form.

“Sit down,” she said.

He tilted his head. “Pardon?”

“Sit,” she repeated, pointing a claw at his chair. Then after a beat she added, “Please.”

He complied and returned to his normal visage, though the upper half of his face was still stuck in a deep scowl.

Without invitation, Mina set herself in his lap and kissed him.

Alastor went rigid at first but as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself tighter against him, she felt him relax beneath her.

He began to kiss her back in earnest and she felt his hands tighten around her waist, his claws digging into the flesh of her upper thighs.

It was the first real moment of intimacy between them besides the quick kiss he had given her on the first night of his return. She parted her lips and he responded well, and as his tongue met hers she felt the vibration of a purr beginning in the back of her throat. It was undeniable at this moment how much she had missed him and how starved for his affection she was, and it caused her near physical pain to pull away when she did.

“Let me be absolutely clear,” she panted, still holding onto the sides of his face “I am still very upset. It’s taking all of my self-control not to lash out at any given second with you. But I’m also still madly, desperately in love with you, and am not about to lose you all over again. So please,” she pressed a kiss to his forehead, “get your precious, infuriating tail downstairs where I can remain angry without also having to worry for you.”

Alastor’s smile dropped into a thin line and for a moment he looked so sad. It was such a foreign expression on his face that Mina almost didn’t recognize it for what it was and then in a moment, it was gone, replaced by the wide, sharp-toothed smile she was used to.

She could tell he was trying to come up with another stinging remark, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, a bright flash of yellow light lit up the room. He turned his gaze to peer at something behind her and Mina stood and turned as well, looking out the large window at the destruction happening outside.

A horde of angels had come within a few hundred yards of the hotel and one of them was armed with some sort of light-wielding weapon and using it on a fleeing group of Sinners. Several angels broke free from their arial assault and descended on what was left of the scattering crowd, their spears glinting in the dim light, even at this distance.

How was this not blasphemous? Angelic beings straight from Heaven getting to kill in the name of their cause while she had been sent to Hell for simply doing what she had to do to survive. And what of it if she had enjoyed it? These angels were doing far worse than she ever had while she was alive, and they clearly had as much lust for violence as she did.

“Darling,” Alastor said, standing up from behind her, “I believe we were in the middle of something.”

“I know, it’s just,” Mina said, eyes still glued to the scene of carnage below them, “I hate them. So much. I just-“

Another flash of light from whatever that horrible weapon was and Mina felt Alastor grab her arm.

“Time to go,” he said and felt the familiar light weight feeling of his shadow before she was being pulled down.

They were back in his room in an instant but he was no longer beside her. Rather, she was left standing in the middle of the normal portion of the room while he had materialized a full work bench and seat in his bayou, his focus already seemingly back on his work.

Mina knew it was just an act. He was just as affected as she was, he was just better at shutting it out, but she still hated him for it in that moment. How could he keep going like this, just pretending he wasn’t in just as much pain and turmoil as she was? She wanted to scream at him, claw at him, make him beg to take her back, make him show her that he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him.

And why couldn’t she set her own pride aside for one night? She should go to him, tell him that none of it mattered, that she forgave him as long as he was still hers, and continue on with the kiss she had given him up in his tower. He could take her and fuck her right there on the floor of his room and it would be like none of the pain of tonight or the last seven years had ever happened.

But that wouldn’t be like either of them.

Intimacy was a struggle with Alastor. He always had to be in the exact right state of mind for it to be of interest to him. Only then would he let his guard down. Only then, could he be soft and sweet with her. And as much as her body ached for that side of him, Mina’s heart was still too bruised to give him what he would need in order to fulfill both of their desires. She could do it; the moment they had shared a minute ago had proved he was still susceptible to her advances, but it would mean letting him believe she trusted him again. And that was the crux of their situation. He demanded trust from her when, right now, she had almost none to give.

With regret, Mina grabbed the whisky glass she had left on the dresser before and walked towards him, setting it beside him without a word.

As she turned away, she saw from the corner of her eye his confused glance at the glass.

“Mina,” he said her name with the same trace of regret she felt but rather than give in, she simply walked out the door and let it shut behind her.

____

The morning came and with it, the end of the extermination. It had raged well into the evening hours, but it had given Alastor the opportunity he needed to complete his task. As deplorable as he found working with this kind of technology, it needed to be done to set the next part of his plan in motion, and it was a welcome distraction from his personal problems.

He couldn’t be wrapped up in his exasperation with having to make this blasted commercial and succumb to his turmoil over the state of his marriage. He simply didn’t have the emotional capacity for all of that at once. So, he had chosen one over the other and figured he would deal with the consequences in the morning.

Thankfully, Mina had seemed to resign herself to at least being cordial in front of the other residents. If she was still smarting from his abrupt dismissal of her advances the night before, she was being classy enough to act as if all was well when they had an audience. Perhaps today would be a better day, after all.

She had easily agreed to join the others in the lobby for his presentation and as the commercial began, it quickly became evident she was the only one who appeared entertained by his efforts.

Could she tell he had purposefully done an awful job? He couldn’t be certain, but she was failing to totally suppress a grin and as she made eye contact with him, there was a kind of familiar knowing in her look.

That shared glance between them meant more to him than the rather passionate kiss she had given him the night before.

As the commercial ended, so did their moment, and he focused his attention back to where it needed to be.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, acting for all the world as if he expected Charlie and Vaggie to be pleased, which of course they weren’t.

“I’m sorry, what the fuck was that?” the loud little one began, followed by Charlie’s pathetic attempt to smooth things over. If she was really going to rule Hell and be the powerful force he would eventually need her to be, she really needed to work on her authoritative tone.

“Bad, the word you’re looking for is bad,” Vaggie interrupted.

“Funny, I was going for hilarious.”

Mina failed to stifle a chuckle and Vaggie turned her head to glare at her. “It’s not hilarious.”

Mina just raised an eyebrow at her.

“Ugh, of course you’re on his side,” Vaggie huffed and turned her frustration back on Alastor. “It didn’t even explain anything about how we’re trying to save demons from extermination, which is the whole fucking point.”

Charlie started up again and the three of them went back and forth for a minute, Alastor purposefully riling Vaggie up until she was on her feet on the couch, trying to add height to her indignation.

“You been here a week and you – both of you,” she exclaimed, pointing dramatically at Alastor and then Mina, “are supposed to be helping, and instead you’re mocking us.”

“Oh don’t drag me into this,” Mina said, crossing her arms, “I got Charlie that spot on the news and that would have been plenty helpful if she had done a decent job of it.”

“And you don’t think we find it suspicious that the news spot you got her is what supposedly got Alastor’s attention, huh? After you made such a big deal about looking for him?” Vaggie countered.

Alastor’s smile grew as he watched the tension between the women in the room grow even more.

Mina’s ears pinned themselves out to the side as she eyed the petite demon up and down.

“You don’t want to go there with me, love. Trust me.”

“You want me to trust you?!” Vaggie exclaimed, “Then get him to fix that disaster of a commercial because no one is going to want to come to a place that a powerful Overlord like him thinks is a waste of time.”

Vaggie sat back down and Alastor was just considering if the time had come to make his move when Angel raised a hand.

“What?!” Vaggie snapped.

“If in ya filming a commercial, can I suggest you take advantage of the talented celebrity you got right here?”

“Angel, you’re a porn star,” Vaggie said unimpressed and as they bantered, Alastor slithered his shadow form across the room to reappear closer to the cause of further discourse, just in time for Angel to predictably suggest that he make a sex tape with him.

“Aha! Never going to happen.”

“Will you stop hitting on my husband?” Mina said, all traces of her previous good mood gone as Vaggie and Angel unintentionally got on her last nerve.

“There’s no need to be jealous, baby,” Angel said, “You could join in. I usually charge extra for girls but if it’s in the name of helping out the hotel, I’ll give you a freebie.”

Mina growled as she stomped over to where the spider demon lay sprawled across the couch.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Angel held up all four hands in submission, “I’m just kidding around, no need to get violent.”

“I swear,” she said, a finger pointed right in his face, “come onto either of us one more time an’ I’ll cauterize every single one of those holes you use to make a livin’.”

“Jesus, Alastor, your missus is a little tense,” Angel said, brave enough to turn away from the angry feline to look up at the deer demon who was clearly enjoying the chaos. “You really haven’t fucked her since you got back, have ya?"

Before Mina could react, Alastor whisked them both away via shadow back to Charlie and Vaggie’s side of the room. Her jealousy was never sourced from an insecurity of Alastor’s faithfulness to her, but rather from feeling disrespected by anyone who would dare tread on her territory. The feeling was mutual, and they had both had their moments in the past where someone’s leud comment got the better of them, but now was not the time or place for violence.

Thankfully putting the space between her and Angel, as well as keeping a well-placed hand around her hips, created an instant calming affect the hot-headed Irish woman.

They watched together as Charlie attempted to diffuse the situation more and Angel just continued making suggestive comments, though they were at least self-deprecating now.

Then, right on cue, Charlie’s phone went off and she dismissed herself to talk to her father.

“Hey, I have question,” Angel said, finally changing the subject away from his body parts. “If freaky-face over there is so powerful, then why can’t he just make people stay here?”

“Oh, trust me,” Alastor laughed, before quickly extending his antlers, “I can.”

Before he could truly revel in the look of fear on their faces and the look of delight on Mina’s, Husker decided to put in his two cents, and it started another round of Angel’s inappropriate and pointless flirting. It only came to an end when Vaggie stepped in, making the point that Sinners were supposed to choose the hotel.

“Well whatta ‘bout her?” Angel asked, gesturing towards Mina, “can’t she just go downtown and sing one of her trippy little tunes to get people feeling like they want to be better people?”

Vaggie groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “Absolutely not. What is it about the concept of choice that you aren’t getting?”

Alastor watched with amusement as the drunkard and the self-righteous continued to clash, not failing to notice that Mina had fully calmed down and had stepped away, trying to subtly eavesdrop on Charlie’s phone call. His wife’s instincts were still sharp as ever as to what was really worth paying attention to. It impressed and excited him. As long as he couldn’t explain anything to her himself, he needed Mina to be on her toes and trying to work things out on her own.

Lucifer must have finally wrapped things up – honestly how long did it take to ask a simple favor – because Charlie had pulled Vaggie aside, then quickly bounded out of the hotel and down the street, as Mina curiously watched the whole scene unfold.

It was time for the real fun of the day to begin.

____

Once they were done filming the commercial and were waiting for Charlie’s return, Mina took the opportunity to talk in private with Vaggie.

“Alastor made a deal with you, didn’t he?” she asked, cutting to the chase.

“Wait, you didn’t know?” Vaggie asked.

Mina knew he had purposefully done an awful job with the original commercial he created. He didn’t take the hotel any more seriously than she did, but he was a showman at heart and would have easily been able to come up with something more convincing than that if he had actually been trying.

She could tell immediately he was toying with them, drawing Charlie in with the idea of the commercial, but then not fully delivering until he got something in return. Then suddenly he and Vaggie returned to the lobby and the plan was a go.

So Mina ignored Vaggie’s question, not liking the implication that Alastor hadn’t let her in on his plan. True, he was hiding a lot from her, but this just all felt so painfully obvious, she didn’t feel the need to be clued in beforehand.

“What were the terms of the deal?”

“Well, that’s the weird part,” Vaggie said, “it wasn’t a big deal. He just said he would help film a decent commercial if I promised to not make him do any TV related stuff in the future.”

“Huh,” Mina said, already forming theories in her head and turned to walk away.

“Wait,” Vaggie stopped her, “you don’t think it’s more than that, right?”

Mina paused, knowing she was at a crossroads. She could do things Alastor’s way and dismiss Vaggie’s concern and pretend nothing was wrong. But Vaggie was likely too smart for that, and it would ultimately cause more distrust between them. The other option was to display just enough honesty to make it appear Mina really was on her side. If Alastor was being even a little honest with Mina, then it was true he needed to gain Charlie’s trust to get along with whatever plan of his he was concocting. And Mina seemed to have figured out before Alastor had that Vaggie was the real path to gaining Charlie’s trust.

Mina made a show of sighing and looking defeated.

“Vaggie, look, you’re a smart girl. And despite you clearly having a problem with me since day one, I respect you. So, I’ll be honest with you. I really don’t know what Alastor’s planning, but I do know him. And he never makes a simple deal, there’s always a catch. It’s either going to benefit himself more than he’s letting on or it’s going to hurt you more than he’s letting on. Sometimes both.” Mina put a hand on Vaggie’s shoulder and did her very best to look concerned. “Just promise me, if he tries making another one, you’ll tell me about it before you agree to anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Vaggie agreed, “And hey, I know things got a little tense before . . . I guess I shouldn’t have tried accusing you-“

“It’s fine,” Mina smiled, “water under the bridge.”

Later, even when they had a moment alone, she didn’t confront him about the deal. It almost certainly had something to do with Vox. Either he was using the deal to protect the hotel from Vox’s reach or he would use the deal in the future so that Vaggie couldn’t force him to get involved if Vox were to ever jeopardize the hotel in a way Alastor thought he could benefit from.

Mina decided it was best for now to sit with her theories as a test to see how well she could predict Alastor’s next moves. She surprised herself when she realized she still trusted him with her safety; because no matter what the intentions of his little deal with Vaggie were, she knew it wouldn’t bring any harm to herself.

As they came down the staircase into the lobby together, Alastor burst her little bubble.

“You know about the deal, don’t you?” he whispered.

Mina just smiled.

“I see your need for attention can still win out over your need for secrecy.”

He huffed. “I wasn’t keeping the deal a secret; I’m just surprised you haven’t asked me about it.”

“Hmm,” she shrugged, “I guess I didn’t find it that interesting.”

That clearly was a blow to his ego, and he sulked in silence the rest of the way into the lobby, choosing a solitary chair rather than being close to her.

Charlie arrived home and Vaggie pulled her to join them in front of the television set. The commercial began to air when an emergency broadcast cut it short.

Mina sat in shock as Katie Killjoy announced the coming arrival of the next extermination.

Just six months away? They were cutting the time between their slaughter in half?

The other residents were just as outraged as her.

Everyone except Charlie and Alastor.

Rather than continuing to watch the TV screen, Mina studied their faces and came to the sinking realization they both already knew about this.

She quickly worked out Charlie must have just found out at the meeting with the angels she had been at all day but Alastor?

How the fuck did he know?

Next Chapter ->

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x oc #alastor the radio demon #hazbin oc #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x reader #the fire in the sin

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lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter eighteen : portrait of a man (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 5.4k

summary : the mandalorian and reader do some reading

warnings, etc. : language, mentions of sex

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

It’s deliciously warm when you wake. You can feel his heartbeat and you can feel the soft traces of sunlight dancing along your back. You stretch in his arms slightly but freeze up as you feel him nuzzle his chin into your hair, planting a kiss against your hairline.

His helmet is still off.

And the room is completely illuminated by the sunrise.

He seems to sense your hesitancy and after some adjustment his face is concealed once more as you gaze up at him.

“Sorry sarad, I must have fallen asleep without it on.” His voice is gravelly and thick with sleep as he looks down at you. He’s acting like it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you accidentally saw.

It might very well be.

You know his creed is precious to him, even if he says he is an apostate. You don’t want him to break it just for you and end up regretting it later.

“I don’t want to see until I’m allowed to.” That doesn’t really make sense and you know it. “Will I ever be allowed to? How does that work?” He sits up as you speak, stretching his arms above his head.

“I’ll explain it another time, right now I need to get you back to your room before someone realizes you're gone.” He’s crawled to the edge of the bed and he’s already pulling his boots on.

Oh yeah.

It was easy to fall into a fantasy of staying here with him. For a moment there you had completely forgotten that you were married, and expected in other places. You stand looking for your dress as he attaches his armor.

“Don’t change yet, it’ll be easier to sneak you back in if you aren’t wearing a shimmery gown.” He’s so quick with it, in the time it takes you to even find your gown he’s completely done getting ready. “Do you have everything?” He turns to face you as he takes the dress from you and throws it over his arm.

Your eyes dart to the shelf.

Your knife is up there.

He chuckles when he catches your line of sight.

“Not gonna happen, princess. Let’s go.” He takes your hand and hastily drags you out of the cabin. In the morning light you can see what he had been carrying you over last night.

The cabin was built partially on top of the lake. It must be a pain having to carefully step over all of the water but he doesn’t seem to mind as he scoops you into his arms and looks to be contemplating something.

“Is your bedroom window unlocked?”

That’s an odd question. But you know it is, you’re several floors up so you never lock it.

“Yes, why?”

“No reason.” You can hear a grin on his face.

He starts walking, not really caring if he steps into the water as he carries you towards the castle. Once you're through the gardens and past the forest trail he adjusts his cowl to cover your face. You rest your head against his chest as he makes his way towards what you assume to be the servant's entrance. But you never hear a door open, instead he leans down to whisper to you.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

Is he about to take off his helmet in broad daylight?

You don’t get a chance to question it as you shut your eyes and you feel the cowl ripped from your face, there’s an unfamiliar rush of air against your skin and the sound of a click and a creak.

“You can open them now.” He whispers again, you aren’t sure what you expect to see when you open your eyes but it certainly isn’t him standing on the outside of your window sill, balancing you in his arms.

You know immediately that it’s a mistake as you look down and find yourself several stories off the ground.

“Maker! What is wrong with you!” You cling to him tighter but he simply laughs as he peels you off of him to set you inside.

“Sorry, hand me your clothes.” There’s a sudden urgency in his voice that keeps you from arguing, you strip to your undergarments and toss him the things you borrowed, he doesn’t hesitate to throw your dress onto the floor. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” You’re left staring dumbfounded as he jumps off the ledge at the same moment your door swings open and Elaine’s voice fills the room.

“I’m telling you, we don’t have to knock, she isn’t here, we’ll just wait for h-“ She stops and stares at you with wide eyes and your face gets hot at the implications of her words.

“Good morning girls.” You stammer out as they both look surprised to see you.

“Apologies for not knocking my lady.” Elaine bows as she says it, cocking an eyebrow in your direction but you don’t give her a reaction as you simply walk to the mirror to be prepped.

They seem relieved that you don’t have anything to say and you’re relieved that Elaine doesn’t press further as they begin to dress you. The gown Lysa chooses for today is a soft gray color, the fabric shimmers in the light and it sort of reminds you of the Mandalorian’s armor.

Nobody seems to have anything to say to each other this morning but you truly don’t mind. In a few minutes you’ll get to see him again.

And things are okay now.

Right?

You’ve established a mutual want.

But what does that mean?

Shit.

You hadn’t really talked about that. But that shouldn’t matter, he had practically confessed his love, he had given you his name.

You need to talk about it.

But he never wants to talk about it.

This time has to be different though, things are good.

It has to be different.

You don’t even realize they’ve finished until Elaine clears her throat.

“Kriff, sorry, thank you girls, you’ve done wonderful work as always.” It’s true. As you look up at yourself in the mirror to take in another amazing job done by them. You can’t even tell that you were being carried through the forest less than an hour ago.

“Thank you, my lady, shoes?” Lysa holds up a pair of flats and you nod, taking a seat at the vanity and hiking your skirt up a bit.

Shit.

You’re still wearing his socks.

In your rush you must have forgotten about them.

She stares for only a moment, her eyes darting up to your face before she removes them, slipping on your flats. You can tell by the way her eyebrows raise ever so slightly that she sees the dirt on the soles of your feet from your barefoot walk in the gardens last night, but thankfully she says nothing. After a beat of silence you cough awkwardly.

“Thank you girls, that will be all.” They nod as they both take their leave. You give them time to make their way down the hall before you grab your journal and some pens, as you throw the door open he’s there just like always. He doesn’t look like someone who had flown you up to your window this morning, he looks exactly the same as always. There’s no sense in concealing the smile on your face as you stare at him.

“Library?” You ask as he nods, you begin your trek and he still stands behind you but closer than ever before, just a step or two back. “Can we talk today?”

“Of course, princess.” A wave of relief washes over you as he says it. This might be the first time he’s ever had a positive reaction to that question. You walk in a happy silence until you arrive. Today you do not hesitate to sit in the nook, no longer haunted by the memories of what’s transpired there.

He stands sort of bashfully, looking at you and then at a few chairs nearby.

This is why you need to talk.

It’s things like this, your relationship is so vaguely defined and in the cold light of day, just Din, doesn’t know where to sit.

You scootch over a bit and pat the space next to you.

“Sit with me?” You say softly to hopefully ease the anxiety that is apparent in his body language. He relaxes a bit as he takes a seat next to you, you fit like puzzle pieces, like the nook was made for the two of you to sit comfortably.

It’s an added bonus that it’s far enough into the shelves that you’ll hear anyone coming before they see you.

He leans back against the glass as you open your journal, uncapping a pen and lazily doodling. You can feel his gaze on the pages but you don’t mind.

“What did you want to talk about mesh’la?” He murmurs as he begins to trace his fingers along your back, drawing shapes into the fabric of your dress.

It shocks you a bit.

His blatant affection.

Nothing could have prepared you for him to act like this in the daylight.

Of course he had humored you in the markets, and when you had been “together” he had always been kind but now his voice had a certain devotion to it, and he touched you like he needed to do it to stay grounded.

He almost seems… clingy.

It makes your heart flutter.

“I guess I just wanted to talk about this,” You gesture at him with the pen. “us.”

He hums softly in agreement.

“Okay, what about us?” He tugs gently at one of the ribbons on your corset, not hard enough to pull it loose, just hard enough to grab your attention. You shoot a glare at him, there’s no actual fire behind it.

“I thought you said you’d be good?”

“And you said I could touch you a little.” As he says it you roll your eyes before turning back to your drawings. You’ve been sketching the same curved line. The hook of his nose you had felt last night. If he recognizes it he doesn’t say anything.

“Fine. What exactly are we?” He resumes his tracing as you say it, it feels like a juvenile question, it’s what you would always ask your boyfriends back on Hoth after a few weeks of screwing around, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“What was it you called me in the gardens? Your lover? I could be that if that’s what you’d like me to be.” His fingers have moved to your shoulders now, the shapes on your pages have turned into rough outlines of what you remember his jaw is shaped like.

Lover feels too impersonal.

This is more than that.

He certainly isn’t your boyfriend, can you even have a boyfriend? Afterall you already have a husband.

Would Din want to be your husband someday?

Could Din be your husband someday? Kodo certainly wouldn’t just let you leave, the trade deals your family so desperately needed would be useless if you did. Is it too soon to be thinking such a thing? You have only just truly become emotionally involved but also you’ve spent every waking moment with him for several weeks at this point. And you’ve had sex.

Maker, why does this have to be so confusing?

“Is there maybe a Mando’a word for what we are?” You turn to look at him again.

He starts to say something but then he stops, seemingly changing his mind.

“How about kar’ta?”

“Kar’ta? What’s that mean?” You like the way the word feels in your mouth. His knuckles are dragging against your arm now.

“It means heart. You would be my heart and I would be yours.” His voice is warm and it feels like you’re sinking into his touches.

His heart.

You like that.

“My Kar’ta.” You say, looking down at your drawings, you have several mixed and matched faces, none of which seem to look right, you hold them up for him to see. “Do any of these look correct?”

He points to the one of the bottom left, the eyes are lopsided.

“That ones the closest, other than the eyes, none of the eyes are right.” You sigh, you already knew he would say that.

“They never are.” You flip the page and start drawing pairs of eyes. You’re silent for a few minutes, he continues tracing shapes into your back and you continue drawing, you eventually realize he’s mimicking your sketches.

You know what you want to tell him. It’s a strange pivot in conversation but you need him to know.

Your next words force themselves from your mouth. “I don’t love Kodo, I don’t even like him.” His movements stop, only for a second before continuing.

“I would hope not, I don’t know if you noticed but he’s a bit of a monster.”

“I know, I just wanted to say it. I just- I mean, I don’t think of myself as married to him, it’s more a title than anything else.” You hesitate for a moment. “And we don’t have sex. In case you were wondering.” You haven’t thought about that fact in a while.

Someday Kodo will want heirs.

It makes you shudder a bit.

Maybe Din will get you out of here before that happens.

He senses the tension you’re suddenly plagued with and he switches to just rubbing gentle circles against your back.

“Okay.” He speaks so quietly now.

“I don’t ever want to have sex with him.” You whisper, mostly to yourself.

It had always been an inevitable thing. A duty you had to fulfill. But that was before you knew who he was. Before you knew you had married a monster. And that was before Din, before your kar’ta.

“You don’t have to. I promise.”His voice is soothing but it does nothing to put you at ease.

It’s a promise he can’t keep.

But you don’t want to linger on this any longer so you nod, much to your chagrin he senses your hesitancy as he sits up.

“Hey, I mean it. If he so much as touches you again, I swear it will be the last time.”

“You can’t guarantee that Din.” He’s taking your sketchbook from you, setting it aside before holding your hands in his.

“He isn’t going to touch you. Ever again. I never should have let him in the first place.” His grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly as he recalls the memory, you can’t help but frown.

“I’m glad you let him, you wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t.”

That makes him go quiet.

You both know you’re right, if he had laid a finger on Kodo he would at the very least have been fired. Worst case scenario he’d be dead.

“He won’t touch you again.” He sounds firmer this time. “I’m sworn to you. No one gets to touch you unless you want them to, not even me.”

You want to believe that he could stop Kodo. That he could stop all six of his battle droids. It’ll be easier if you just let yourself believe it.

So for now you do.

You drop his hands and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Okay.” You mumble.

“Okay.” He tilts his helmet slightly to rest against your head.

You reach around to grab your book back. Opening to the page with the eyes.

“Which ones are right?” You point around the page. He analyzes them for a bit before taking the pen again, scribbling until he’s drawn messy but identifiable eyes.

“Like this.”

His drawing is crude but the eyes are nice. You carefully tear the outline of them out before placing them over the other drawing he had pointed out.

It almost looks right.

It almost suits the person you know.

He lets you stay leaning on his shoulder so you don’t bother moving as you flip to an empty page. You think for a few moments on what to draw.

The tiny toothbrush.

You think of the sketch of mismatched parts you now have of him and what you’ve been able to feel out and you subconsciously start drawing a child.

You give him Din’s nose, and dark curls. You don’t bother trying to copy his eyes, opting to instead give the little boy wide dark eyes. You scribble out several different versions of the child you’ve made up as he watches silently.

Eventually you stop and just stare at the page full of little faces staring up at you.

Does this boy exist somewhere out there?

It sort of seems that way, when you look at all the pieces of Din that don’t seem to make sense. The toothbrush, he had mentioned a kid at one point but hadn’t said much about it and now you know that he willingly showed his face to someone. Was it his child? Why did he have to say goodbye to his own child?

Can you imagine Din being a father? When you think of how well he takes care of himself it makes you worry a bit for any child in his care but then you think of how well he takes care of you.

Selflessly.

He’s probably a good father. That must be where his protective nature comes from.

His laughter breaks you out of your trance and he points to one of the drawings, the boy in that one has the largest eyes, and the pupils take up nearly the entirety of them.

“You got his eyes right in that one.” He says as he chuckles.

“What?” You stammer out.

His eyes.

“I assume you’re trying to figure out who he is? None of these are even close, but those eyes, those are his.”

Of course he knew what you were doing, nothing got past him.

You wait for more but that’s all he gives you.

You can wait longer, until he’s ready to talk about it. Based on the way he sighs you think that moment might be right now but he says something else instead.

“I don’t think I’ve apologized yet for what I said. Truly apologize.” You close the journal on your own this time before setting it down.

He’s talking about what he said.

“I was… bored. You were entertainment.”

He knows you haven’t simply forgotten about it. Afterall, how could you?

“It doesn’t excuse what I did, but I didn’t mean a word of it.”

You want to believe him terribly, but that nagging feeling in the back of your mind is persistent. A reminder that any moment he could decide to stop being Din, and go back to being nothing more than your shadow.

“Why did you say it then?”

You don’t want to have this conversation either. The last thing you want to do is relive those moments but you aren’t an idiot, your insecurities will eventually bubble up, it’s better to take care of this now before it grows into resentment. He’s leaning back again, out of your peripherals.

“I meant it, when I said that I ache.” Is he sitting like that so you can’t look at him? “None of what I’m about to say is a good enough reason to explain my actions, nothing ever could be. You control my every thought and decision, sarad. I suppose I just thought that it would be best if you hated me, that it would make the pain dull, instead it only served to make me realize that I cannot live without you.”

That’s one hell of a proclamation.

“You wanted me to hate you?” As you say it you feel Beskar rest against the back of your shoulder.

“For a while. It seemed like the least painful option. I deserved- deserve, your loathing. At first for feeling the way I did towards a married woman, a woman I was supposed to be protecting and instead was picturing naked.”

Hot. It’s hot in the library. It hasn’t been hot in the library for some time.

“And then I saw the two of you together. And I knew immediately that you did not feel an ounce of love for that thing you were forced to wed. At that point I simply needed you to hate me to soothe the ache that signified that you could never be mine.” He sighs, and there’s a moment of hesitation before you hear the hiss of air you’re becoming all too familiar with. You aren’t exactly sure what you expect, it definitely isn’t the feeling of several kisses being peppered along the curve of your shoulder but you certainly aren’t going to complain about it. “I did not know weakness before I met you, you have turned me from a man made of steel to one of glass.” His voice rings clear and unfiltered throughout the room.

He plants another kiss into your hair, there aren’t any traces of lust behind the action, just a pure adoration, he brushes a bit of your hair out of the way and for a moment you feel the bridge of his nose press against the back of your neck before he places one final, chaste kiss against your spine. When he speaks again his voice is modulated once more.

“I don’t want your forgiveness, I certainly haven’t earned it.” He finally leans forward so he’s back in your field of vision. “But I will. Someday I will be worthy of you, I promise.”

He already is. He always has been.

Will you ever get used to this? His genuine affections? It takes your breath away more than the sex did, the way he talks about you like you are not a woman, but a deity. The way he removes his helmet as if it doesn’t mean anything, just so he can feel you against his lips.

There’s no sense in telling him that’s all you needed to hear. You know him, he won’t accept that, he’s far too stubborn. So instead you opt to make things more lighthearted.

“How do you plan to make it up to me, my kar’ta?” As you say it you can visibly see some of the stress leave his body, thank the gods.

“I have plenty of ideas.” The way he says it makes your heart flutter and you nearly forget that he’s promised not to fuck you. “I was thinking I could take you to the library tomorrow.” You’d be lying if you said that didn’t sort of kill your buzz, considering where you’re currently sitting but he senses your reluctance and chuckles. “The big one, in the city, cyar’ika.”

“Oh.” You can’t help but laugh along with him now. “You know, you’re getting better at talking, about the important stuff that is.” You give him a smile.

“It’s easier when you don’t look at me.” He says it a bit abashedly.

“Why is that?”

“Before you I never felt like someone could see my face. Yet everytime you look at me it’s like I’m not wearing a helmet at all, like you’re staring right at me.” He takes your hand and brings your fingers to the bottom of the helmet, tilting his head down slightly so you can feel his lips as he kisses the pads of your fingers before withdrawing them.

Maker.

Yeah, you’re never gonna get used to that.

Eventually he gets up to find some books, bringing you a mystery romance novel, you wouldn’t normally pick it for yourself but the cover art is interesting enough to draw you in, he appears to have some kind of maintenance guide on ship engines, you have no idea how he reads that kind of thing. As he hands you the books he motions for you to stand, when you do so he sits in the nook horizontally, with his feet up on the cushions, his back leaning against one of the surrounding shelves, motioning for you to sit between his legs.

You want to protest that it won’t be comfortable for him but your resolve simply isn’t strong enough to resist as you crawl between his thighs, your back resting against his chest as you hand his literature to him. The nook isn’t really built for two people to sit like this, it’s a bit cramped but you couldn’t be more comfortable, you want to make sure he’s okay with this position but he’s already got his book open, held in one outstretched hand so you simply open yours, placing it on your bent knees.

It’s surprisingly good. You’ve always had a preference for campy, over the top romance books. The sort of books with shirtless men riding horses on the front. The more ridiculous the better. But you’re completely absorbed by the story you find yourself in, gasping every so often at the reveals.

It’s shocking once you realize you’ve already made it to the last chapter, you had completely forgotten you were lying against Din until you turn and see that he must have finished his book at some point because now he’s reading yours over your shoulder.

“Can we finish this before I take you to get your dinner?” He mumbles, leaning forward slightly.

There is a peace to this situation that you’re sure you’ve never known.

This is the kind of life you could have with him.

You can’t seem to find the words to respond, and the lump in your throat won’t let you make something up so you nod, and you lean your head back against his chest and continue where you left off.

You like the ending. Much to your surprise the story ended happily, you had even teared up a bit when you realized everything was going to work out for the love interests. You might let him pick books for you more often, as long as he lets you find him something less boring to read. There has to be at least one exciting book about ships in here.

If there isn’t, you’ll find him one tomorrow when you go to the city library.

He sits up, which of course means you also sit up. He lets you stand first, your legs are stiff from being in the same position for hours but you find your footing quickly. He seems to be having no issues as he’s putting the books back.

You’re waiting for him to take your hand so you can fetch dinner, the two of you standing in silence for a moment, when it hits you, you feel like an idiot.

He isn’t going to take your hand.

Because you’re leaving the library and someone could see.

You plaster on a strained smile before leaving, thankfully he says nothing about your hesitation as you begin walking towards the kitchens.

Leo is of course waiting for you by the entrance. (You’ve come to accept that he’s simply everywhere at this point.) And you do the same thing you always do, he asks what you’d like to eat, you tell him whatever they’ve cooked, he insists you can request anything you’d like, you insist you’d like what they’ve cooked.

The only difference this time is that you ask for seconds.

He disappears in a huff before swiftly returning with several sealed dishes, as always he hands them to Mando and not you.

✩

The two of you return to your chambers and when he steps inside you lock the door behind you.

“Sit.” You say it as sternly as possible. Like it’s an order. He sets the food on the floor before sitting with his legs crossed next to it. “You’re gonna eat, this is non-negotiable.”

He immediately begins to protest but you shush him.

“You don’t need to feed me anymore. I can take care of myself.” He starts trying to stand but you firmly plant your hands on his shoulders and push him back down.

“Clearly not, you didn’t eat once today, I’m sure of it.” You frown down at him.

“Neither did you.”

“That's because I was watching you! And now to make up for it I’m going to eat real food, not ration packs.”

He doesn’t budge, still staring at you blankly.

“Listen… if you do this, I’ll reward you.” You raise your eyebrows suggestively.

You hadn’t really planned to give in so soon but you’re only human, he had gotten you pretty fired up in the library today whether that was his intention or not.

And you certainly aren’t going to say it, but you miss being with him in that way.

“Are you trying to bribe me with sex?” The disbelief in his voice is apparent, you ignore it, dividing up the food, making sure his portion is considerably larger, they always give you too much food anyway.

“Is it working?” You set the plate in front of him, batting your eyelashes innocently. He coughs nervously, leaning back.

“No. I don’t want sex to be a currency with you, I want you to want it.” His voice is strained and you can’t help but smirk.

“That’s a shame, because you’re going to eat either way.” You stand, walking so you're behind him, sitting back to back, your plate in your lap.

“That’s a wild assumption, princess.” His voice is still modulated so you know he hasn’t made any attempts to listen.

“I thought you were trying to earn my forgiveness?” That shuts him up. He grumbles for a few moments before you hear a hiss and a clunk as he sets his helmet on the floor. “Thank you.”

“Don’t sound so smug, you can only use that reason so many times before I stop giving in.” He mumbles through a mouthful of food, it makes you grin.

“Speaking of your road to redemption, can I ask you any questions I want now?” You swallow a bite as you say it.

“Sure, I’m not going to guarantee an answer, but sure.”

“What was on the flower, the one I gave you for your birthday?” He groans the moment you ask it.

“Please don’t make me say it, I know you know.” He sounds terribly embarrassed but you’re simply furrowing your brow in confusion. Are you supposed to know? You think on it for a few minutes, chewing thoughtfully before your eyes go wide.

“Was that a piece of my nightie that you ripped the first time we-“

“Yes.”

Your face couldn’t possibly get any redder and your smile couldn’t possibly get any wider.

“I didn’t take you for the sentimental type.” You can’t help but tease, he’s so rarely flustered in lighthearted moments like this.

“There are plenty of things you don’t know about me.” You hum softly at his response. “I’d like it if you did know them.” He always has to have the upperhand, he can never just let you tease him without leaving you breathless.

“I’d like to know everything.”

“I’d tell you everything.” He sounds so sincere.

But he doesn’t sound ready.

“When you really want to.”

He’s quiet, briefly, and then he reaches back to set his empty plate down next to you, you aren’t even halfway done with yours. You turn around as he stands, you didn’t hear him put his helmet back on but there it is.

“It’s late princess, I need to go home.”

There’s undeniably disappointment on your face as you stand, following him to the door.

“You don’t want to stay? I’m pretty sure I owe you a reward.” You give him a hopeful smile and his glove covers your eyes, your heart is racing.

There’s that wonderful hiss of air. It’s quickly becoming your favorite sound in the world.

You’re practically vibrating with anticipation.

And then you feel a soft kiss on your forehead.

In an instant the glove is gone and the helmet is back in place as if it had never moved.

“Good night, sarad’ika.” You feel ridiculous as you pout at him.

“You can’t be serious.”

He chuckles as he opens the door.

“Are you really going to turn me down?” You reach past him to try and close it again but he holds it open, still laughing.

“Yes, I am. Tonight I am.” He’s got one foot out the door now.

“Din… I’m giving you permission, I swear, it’s fine.”

“I’m afraid it’s not gonna happen tonight, cyare”

For Maker’s sake you’re practically begging him.

“Then when?” As you ask he leans forward, just a tiny bit.

“When you really want to.”

And just like that he’s leaving, shutting the door behind him.

Cocky bastard.

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schrodingers-romy · 1 year ago

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Silver-Tongued Devil [Usagiyama Rumi x Reader]

Pairing: Usagiyama Rumi x AFAB!Reader Word count: ~3,200 [Ao3 Link]

Summary: You somehow end up as the sacrifice for an incompetent cult. The demon they summon is not at all what they nor you expected.

Warnings: Kidnapping. Cults. Reasonably graphic depictions of violence and blood. Reader is injured (not extensively) but healed. AFAB reader; genitals are referred to by fem terms but no other gendered terms are used. Graphic Smut (MDNI). Strength Kink. Cunnilingus. Weird demon tongue. idk.

Notes: 3rd fic for Strange Lovers (my little monster!character x reader series for October)! Please ignore this was a day late i had such writer's block for this and i don't know why. I'm not sure if this is good or not honestly I just want to not have to look at it anymore. Mdni banner template from @/cafekitsune

I have the absolute worst luck, you thought to yourself.

Perhaps you had broken multiple mirrors in the past. Did breaking multiple mirrors mean the seven years of bad luck was worse, or was the period of bad luck just longer?

You supposed it didn’t really matter, but how else would you end up like this: hogtied and gagged in the middle of a red painted pentagram, surrounded by what sounded to be frat boys in cult getups.

One of the little fuckers had ambushed you on your way home with a handkerchief soaked in chloroform. Next thing you knew, you were tied up in the middle of the woods, surrounded by a bunch of college kids in dark robes chanting Latin.

You had no idea why you specifically were picked. You had a feeling it was just because you were the first person they had been able to grab; you weren’t sure whether that was better or worse than being specifically chosen.

So far, they hadn’t done anything to you other than knock you out and tie you up. Unfortunately, at least one of them must have been really good with rope, because you couldn’t budge an inch. All your screaming amounted to nothing more than a few quiet, unintelligible sounds through the gag. And just because they hadn’t done anything major to hurt you yet, doesn’t mean they wouldn’t. They had no problem with kidnapping you; you doubted your purpose in their demonic ritual summoning or whatever was just sitting there looking distressed.

The chanting had been going on for what felt like hours; yet however boring it was, your anxiety kicked back up drastically when they stopped.

The cultists stopped circling, and turned to face you. One of them, presumably the leader because of his unique blood-red rope belt, stepped forward until he stood right in front of you, close enough to kick if you had the freedom to do so (which unfortunately you didn’t, no matter how much you tried).

In a loud, booming voice, he started up another chant, different from the first. And then he pulled out a wicked looking blade from the shadows of his robes.

You tried to get away; you tried to scream. You could feel your muscles straining against the ropes, but they wouldn’t shift. The gag kept your voice to a mumble even as you tasted iron in your throat from your shrieks.

It was all futile. He crouched down, holding the knife above you; the blade glinted red in the light of the fire. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for pain.

The stabbing you expected didn’t happen, but you were not spared from agony. He roughly cut away the fabric of your shirt around your stomach, exposing it to the night air; his canvas. Slowly, excruciatingly, he began to carve a shape onto your skin; some sort of crescent moon, maybe; you weren’t sure, too busy screaming from the burning pain of it.

When the knife finally paused, you sobbed in relief. It still burned; you could feel the blood flowing and dripping onto the ground, both too-cool and too-warm feeling at once. But at least there were no new wounds made.

You drifted in and out of awareness, missing the cult’s final chants, but you did not miss the culmination of the ritual.

Once the final words were spoken by the robed figures, a violent bolt of lightning lit up the forest blinding white. The thunder followed immediately after, so loud it caused your ears to ring.

Your eyes took a minute to readjust to the dim light of the torches, and then you saw her.

You noticed two things about her right away: one, she was beautiful; two, she was utterly inhuman.

Her general figure was humanoid…if humans were seven feet tall. Her skin was a human shade of brown, yet her eyes were crimson red with slit pupils. Her broad, almost cocky, grin revealed shining white fangs. Her hair was pure white, hanging around her face in long braids. It was interrupted by the curling black horns emerging from her skull, and the rabbit-like white ears springing from the sides of her head.

She only wore draping gold jewelry, which seemed to drip down her body like liquid, covering her most private parts delicately. This allowed you full view of her muscles. She was built like a Greek statue: thick arms, prominent abdominal muscles, and thighs that could probably crush a man’s skull like a grape.

She radiated power. If you weren’t writhing on the ground in pain like a tortured worm, you would be cowering.

The cultists do cower a little, trembling in their robes. Finally, the one with the red belt steps forward.

“O Great Miruko, High Demon of the Moon, please accept this humble offering,” he said, gesturing to where you lay. “As per the summoning, we only request one day of obedience in exchange for the blood of the sacrificed.”

The demon tilted her head, never dropping her wide smile.

“So you losers thought you would have control of me with this ritual?”

Her voice wasn’t quite what you expected; it was human-sounding at first, if loud, but it echoed around the trees in odd ways, making it sound like thousands of whispers repeated her words. It was…unsettling.

The cultists seemed to agree. Their leader flinched visibly when the demon spoke. “Y-Yes. According to the ancient tome—” he said, pulling a beat-up leather book out of seemingly nowhere, “—we started the ritual on the right phase of the moon, we recited the proper chants, evoked the correct name, provided the sacrifice for consumption…everything is correct. As per the ritual’s rules, you are summoned to the mortal plane to do our biding for a full day, then you return to the hell from whence you came!” He was starting to sound frantic by the end of his tirade.

The demon crossed her arms across her chest, emphasizing their definition. “Well, you’re almost right…except for the most important part.” She stepped closer, and bent down dramatically at the waist to look the cult leader in the eyes. He scrambled to step backwards; this caused his hood to flip back, revealing a face that looked both scared and young.

The demon seemed amused by his fear. She smiled, cruelly, baring sharp teeth at him. “The one who gives the blood is not the sacrifice…they’re the one with control over me. Not you.”

She stood up again, stretching to her full height. “I’m not ‘contractually obligated’ to give you shit. All the power resides in the poor person you have trussed up like a ham over there.” She gestured to you, finally making eye contact. You shivered at the glowing red gaze.

“So, hon, want me to take care of these guys for you?” she asked, focus still entirely on you.

You were frozen for a second. Your brain was spinning. You still didn’t fully understand what was going on…but you would like your kidnappers gone. So you gave the smallest nod, all of the movement you could manage.

The demon smirked, returning your nod, and then she was a blur.

Your head span just trying to watch her; it seemed like only a second before all of the cultists were knocked out cold from the force of the demon’s lightning-quick kicks and punches.

Once she had taken care of them, she crouched down over you to run her hands over your bindings. Under the caress of her large hand the ropes and the gag dissolved into puffs of smoke.

You raised your tingling arms up to your mouth and coughed. Your throat still felt terrible, and coughing too deeply flexed your abdomen, causing the cuts to light up with pain again. But your limbs could finally regain blood flow.

You looked up at the demon, who was still staring at you. You had a hard time meeting her gaze; instead you looked out towards the cultists lying on the ground. “…are they dead?” you rasped.

“Naw. Just going to be unconscious for a long time. Didn’t think you would want me to kill them all. I mean. I can if you want me to though.”

“Um… no, that’s fine.” No matter how crazy this weird cult was, even if they wanted to sacrifice you, even if they had no problem kidnapping and hurting you…you wouldn’t want their deaths on your conscious. You couldn’t do that.

The demon shrugged. “Okay then.” She seemed much less intimidating and more casual now, even though she still loomed above you.

You tried to swallow, wincing when your raw throat protested the action. “So…what now?”

“Well, I am at your bidding, for a whole twenty-four hours. Then I can go back to hell…I never introduced myself, by the way. I go by many names, but you can call me Rumi.”

You stammered your own introduction.

Rumi gave you a broad grin, teeth flashing. “I’m guessing the first thing you want from me is for me to heal your wounds?”

Your voice had a hopeful tilt to it. “Can you do that? Please?”

“Aww, sweetheart, how could I say no when you ask so nicely?” she purred.

You could feel heat in your cheeks. You’re honestly surprised you still have enough blood for such a silly reaction to her words.

She chuckled, and moved so she could slip both her hands between your lower back and the ground. She lifted you up as she leaned down, until you could feel her breath on the sting of the cuts.

You weren’t sure what you expected her to do. Maybe whisper some sort of weird Latin chant and then the cuts would just disappear? But you would have never predicted what she actually did.

Rumi opened her mouth…wide. Out came a tongue between the glinting teeth.

Her tongue was long, and flexible, the end almost triangle-shaped with the way it tapered to a point. It dripped saliva onto your stomach, and you flinched.

You let out a shrill noise of surprise as Rumi uses her strange tongue to lick at your wounds.

Her spit almost seemed to leak into your cuts, causing them to close and disappear before your eyes as she lapped across them. Soon, the pain has disappeared from your abdomen, replaced by the wet, warm feeling of the demon’s tongue. She continued to lick long after the cuts were gone, removing every spot of blood from the soft skin of your stomach.

You felt flushed and tingly. You would have liked to attribute that to whatever strange demon magic was in Rumi’s spit, but you couldn’t quite lie to yourself that much. You’re ashamed to admit it, but the feeling of Rumi’s tongue on you is almost…erotic. The wetness on your abdomen was emulated by the slowly growing wetness in your underwear.

You couldn’t help but squeak in embarrassment at the realization. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you look at it) Rumi pulled away, tongue retracting back into her mouth like a snake.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“Yes,” you said, before losing yourself to another coughing fit. Your stomach was as good as new, no remnants of the strange carved symbol remaining, but your throat was still raw.

Rumi made a disapproving noise. “Well, it seems like you’re not all fixed up, hon. Something happened to your throat, right? Let me help.” She shifted her arms under you until she was holding you in a seated position, bringing your head closer to hers.

You felt as if your face was radiating heat. She was no less beautiful up close. It was hard to have such a lovely face right by yours, especially after said lovely face was just licking your bare skin.

Rumi removed one hand from your back, to press a single calloused finger against your bottom lip. “Open up, sweetheart.”

You should have protested, but the pet name in Rumi’s soft, low voice made your head feel fuzzy. You opened your jaw.

Your mouth was soon filled with the demon’s tongue. Your eyes closed on instinct, feeling her lips press to yours in a facsimile of a kiss. You had never had a kiss like this, however; her tongue slithered down your throat, filling it and your mouth up to the brim. You would have choked on it, but the soothing feeling of her saliva healing your injured throat made you relax enough for it to slip past your gag reflex.

It almost felt like you were being throat-fucked by Rumi’s tongue; at the mere whisper of that thought, you let out a moan around the slick appendage inside you.

To your disappointment, she immediately pulled back. Once you realized what you had done, you felt like you were going to faint. You reopened your eyes, almost dreading to see Rumi’s expression.

Your breath caught when you finally saw her. She had an almost…endeared expression on her face. It would have been sweet, if not for the sultry darkness of her eyes.

“Aww, honey, you like my tongue?” Her voice was hoarse, and you shuddered, face nearly radiating heat.

She laughed at your flustered expression. “It’s okay, don’t be embarrassed. It’s cute.”

You let out a low whine, less of arousal and more out of sheer mortification.

Runi’s smile sharpened. “You know, I can do lots of other things with my tongue, if you’d like. After all, I am at your bidding.”

While the first sentence made you feel like you had been lit on fire, the second one doused your flames a little. “I don’t want you to do something because I’m making you do it…if you don’t want to do anything, you don’t have to. No matter how I feel.” You felt a little sick at the thought that you could force her to do something like that if she didn’t want to.

“You’re so sweet, honey,” Rumi said, chuckling. “But I promise I want to just as much as you do.” Her voice dropped lower at the last part, almost to a growl, and you shuddered in her arms.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Rumi, as her figure suggested, was ridiculously strong.

She ripped your pants and underwear off like it was tissue paper. She hoisted her arms under you, maneuvering you like a ragdoll until you were in her preferred position. Your legs were hooked over her shoulders, your hands gripping her horns in a weak attempt to stabilize yourself as she lifted you until your pussy was level with her mouth.

You could feel Rumi’s smirk against your sensitive inner thigh. You couldn’t make yourself look down, lest you have to acknowledge your position and the way your cunt was dripping.

“Sweetheart.” A quick flick of her tongue against your clit, making you gasp. “Look at me while I eat you out.”

You reluctantly made eye contact with her. “That’s it baby,” she cooed.

You watched as her tongue slipped out of her mouth once more, the thin tip reaching out to lightly caress your clit. Even though the touches were almost nonexistent, each sent a flow of heat up your spine.

Your legs squeezed rhythmically around Rumi’s head every time her tongue teased at your nub. Your arousal kept building, filling your whole body with sticky heat, yet it wasn’t enough to push you towards any type of climax.

You didn’t notice you had begun to whimper, softly, but Rumi did. She finally took pity on you and started to lap at your cunt in earnest.

The first lick went all the way from your hole to your clit, dragging the broad part of her tongue through your wetness. She let out a rumbling moan once she got a proper taste of you, and abandoned her teasing completely.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as she licked and sucked at your pussy without mercy. Rumi was too caught up in eating you out to chastise you for this. Anyway, closed eyes only made the sounds louder; the obscene slurping noises from combination of your slick and her spit, and both of your moans, yours echoing and hers muffled against you.

You let out a shriek as her skilled tongue wormed its way into your dripping hole. You were so wet from your arousal and her saliva that she had no trouble working the appendage deep inside of you, deeper than you thought possible. She pulled you closer to her face, until her lips were pressed against the soft folds of your sex, and you thought you could come right then.

But this wasn’t the height of your arousal. Not yet.

She then started to move her tongue inside of you.

It felt like Rumi was desperate to taste all of you, the way her tongue squirmed inside your pussy. Every sensitive spot was rubbed against the rough parts of her tongue, and then soothed by the slicker parts. She was basically fucking you on her face at that point, powerful arms bringing your body away from her just to pull you back and impale you on her tongue. Every time your cunt met her face again, she would grind the bridge of her nose against your clit, sending another spark of pleasure up your spine.

Your body felt almost unreal. No longer did you have control over yourself; instead, Rumi did. You were like her little doll, a pretty little thing she could pick up and play with effortlessly.

The pleasure was so intense that you struggled to simply open your eyes without slipping back into mindless bliss. You wanted to see her, though, and so you forced them open, squinted and teary as they were.

Bringing your gaze down to her, you could see her eyes were black with arousal as they peered back up at you. Her entire face was soaked, slick and dripping from your cunt’s juices. She looked utterly bebauched.

The view made you come on the spot.

If you weren’t a doll before, you were now; your entire body went numb from your orgasm. It was like a never-ending series of delicious shocks travelling through your nervous system. Rumi hadn’t halted her movements, even as you soaked her face even more with your come. Your pleasure stretched out longer than you thought possible before your nerves started to turn painful. She stopped once your whines started becoming less come-drunk and more overwhelmed.

Almost lovingly, she laid your dazed form back down onto the ground, still cradling your head. It took you a few moments before you were even aware of your surroundings again.

In that time, Rumi had moved to straddle your head, hovering above your face on her knees. One hand was stroking your cheek softly, while the other held up the delicate chains that hung from her waist, revealing her own glistening cunt to you.

“You were so good for me, baby,” she said, voice husky. “D’you wanna return the favor?”

There was no world in which you wouldn’t want more of her.

“Yes please,” you murmured, opening your mouth.

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