#when ao3 is back up i want you to realise that this lack of fics to read is also what will happen if they go uncommented and unappreciated

[flowercrowngods]

when ao3 is back up i want all of you to leave comments on the fics you were interrupted from reading, the fics you were looking to find, the fics you were thinking about re-reading, and the fics left open in your tabs for months now.

when ao3 is back up, i want you all to show some love to your favourite writers, favourite fics, or even just the 600 word one-shot that brought a smile to your face that tuesday three weeks ago.

when ao3 is back up i want you all to remember that comments and explicitly voiced appreciation are what keep writers going.

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own��you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more stained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[hirukochan]

Can I please request a snape smut fic? The reader and him have been friends since school and she is in love with him only he does not know it or realize his feelings till Sirius is flirting with her and it leads to a fight between them leading to them confessing to their feelings. Maybe some dirty talk biting and rough smut

Sooo...I got a bit carried away with this...definetly not the roughest smut I've written, but I hope you like it anyway.

Severus and his sunshine

Pairing: Severus Snape x fem!reader

warnings: Smut, loss of virginity

Wordcount: 7402 (oops...)

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

“To the youngest Professor in the history of Hogwarts!” You cheer and raise your glass clumsily into the air, spilling half your drink down your arm. “Oops-” You giggle. 

It’s not the first drink of the evening and not the first time you toast to Severus’ new job - and certainly not the last. It bears repeating after all because how fucking awesome is this? You have always known that Severus is the most intelligent and brilliant and ingenious person you’d ever meet! It’s unfair - no, a bloody shame! - how many people never realised it just because Severus’ is a bit awkward and rude and- alright he’s a downright cunt sometimes but he has every bloody right to be with the road his life has taken so far! With a father like that and that awful Potter and his stupid goons!

“We need to cut you off.” He drawls, the corner of his lips curling, and tries to snatch your glass from you. You jump off the chair you're standing on and cradle your drink protectively to your chest, firewhiskey dripping down your arm.

“Try and I’ll bite your finger off!”

“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not.” Severus shakes his head but doesn’t try to get your drink again, instead focusing on his own (the second of the evening - what a bore). The pub is crowded and loud, nobody pays any attention to the two of you sitting at a table in the corner.

You plop back down on your chair and take a sip of your drink. 

Severus’ eyes have gone distant again. That happens a lot lately. Like something is on his mind that he lacks the words to tell you. Social interactions aren’t his strong suit. You’re the ‘Severus-translator’ Lily used to joke when you three were still friends because you always knew what Severus wanted to say but couldn’t. You always made sure he was included in conversations, told others to shut up so he could speak or smooth over his rough edges whenever someone didn’t get Severus’ dry and dark sense of humour. 

One look at him from across the Great Hall during breakfast and you knew whether he was in a good or bad mood. You knew when he had a nightmare the night before and needed a gentler touch or when to bluntly tell him he’s being a cunt.

This you can’t seem to figure out. 

He smiles less these days. Even less than usual. The four years since you finished school have been hard, especially for him, especially with the war. 

Emotions are not Severus’ thing.

His long black hair falls into his face, hiding his grave expression from the world and you. His face has lost its boyish features. His jaw is more prominent, complementing his high cheekbones. His hooked nose suits him. It’s something about the proportions or symmetry of his face - you can’t quite put your finger on it. Most people seem to be put off by his appearance, but to you he has always held something uniquely beautiful.

He taps his finger against his glass repeatedly. His fingernails are still painted black…You made him let you paint them last time he was at your flat. It suits him.

You place your hand over his, stopping his fidgeting. You wish you’d know what’s going on in his head, clearly whatever it is puts him on edge, but you trust he’ll talk to you when he is ready. 

“You’ll be great.” You say. “I have no doubt. You’re a bloody genius, Severus! These kids are so lucky. They can learn so much from you!”

��I am certain they will share your attitude.” He says sardonically and you snort. Severus downs his drink and takes your empty glass to get another round (and probably a glass of water for you because he’s such a mum sometimes). You smirk as you watch him make his way through the crowd. 

He sticks out like a sore thumb in these new robes he got, but you think they too suit him. It’s probably the first time he isn’t wearing hand-me-downs. He’s wearing all black of course. The most colour you ever saw him wear was at Hogwarts in the form of his emerald green school tie. 

Severus looks intimidating. It makes him look older, stronger somehow. It’s such a stark difference to the beat up jeans, the The Cure bandshirt you gifted him one Christmas and the shabby leather jacket.

But not in a bad way.

He looks good. 

Maybe it’s the fact he has grown taller since graduation. He’s a head taller than he used to be and shed his bend over posture. Escaping both Hogwarts and his recently deceased father agrees with him. That and your continued effort of forcing him to eat three whole meals a day, every day.

His wide shoulders and dark hair disappear behind people and you rip your eyes from the spot you last saw him.

So much has changed in the last four years but that little flutter in your heart whenever you look at him has not changed. When it first started in your fourth year you didn’t even realise what it was about. You’d start stammering around him, earning you silent glares and raised eyebrows from Severus at which you’d blush. After an embarrassingly long time you finally accepted that you had developed a crush on your best friend. 

You’re too terrified of losing him as a friend to ever tell him though.

Severus isn’t good with feelings. They are too complicated. Too messy. He doesn’t need messy. His life is messy enough and so you swore to yourself to never tell him.

Your friendship was already a miracle. You are his polar opposite. You are outgoing and friendly, polite - too polite sometimes - bubbly and optimistic. Severus is - well Severus. He is grumpy and quiet and rude.

You decided to befriend him in your first year. You saw him during the sorting and something about him pulled you in. You really wanted to get to know him and when you heard him talk during your first potions class you made the decision to gain his friendship however long it would take.

You started by sitting at the table next to his in the library. You’d sit there everyday, quietly doing your homework and when he stopped shooting you irritated looks when he thought you weren’t looking, you moved to sitting at his table. You simply smiled at the befuddled Severus and did your work. 

You approached befriending Severus like one might approach gaining the trust of a wild animal. Over the year a truce-kind-of study group had formed between you.

Towards the end of term he asked for your help collecting some things from the forbidden forest - Lily would never break school rules, but you are certain Severus didn’t actually need help, he just didn’t know how to tell you he wanted to spend time with you.

During the summer you send him letters, even after not receiving any back from him and when you saw him by himself in the Hogwarts Express in September you sat down next to him and you’ve been friends since.

You know a romance is even less likely than your friendship was.

“Merlin! I almost didn’t fucking recognise you!” A familiar voice says and you throw up a little in your mouth.

“Black.” You say monotonous. As if he owns the place Black sits down opposite of you on Severus’ currently empty chair.

“You’re hot! How come we never snogged in school?”

“Because whenever I am forced to face the fact that you exist I want to smash my head against a wall.” You say with a honey-sweet tone of voice at which Black’s grin only grows. He doesn’t get the hint. 

“How come you’re drinking alone, gorgeous?” Black continues undeterred, a poised and arrogant grin on his lips.

“I’m not.” His grin wavers ever so slightly but Sirius Black has always believed himself so utterly irresistible that such small details don’t matter to him.

“I don’t see anyone.” He is wearing muggle clothes, trying just a tad too hard to look like a rockstar, but he talks and holds himself like a pureblood still. He might have run away from home but he is still living off of his family’s wealth and he hasn’t changed one bit since school.

Black is (as usual) utterly unaware that he isn’t welcome. Black’s eyes roam over your face and down to your chest like he is appraising you, determining how much effort you are worth putting into seducing you. 

“I think it’s fate we meet like this! You look-” He licks his lips and a shiver of disgust rushes over your arms. “So different. Bet you cut loose that tosser Snivellus. He was clearly dragging you under. A frown on such a pretty face should be considered a fucking crime.” You clench your fists under the table. You have your wand in your boot. It would be so easy to hex him-

“Someone as stunning as you- Oi! I was about to head to this club in Dublin that recently opened to meet Moony and Wormtail - You should join me!” He winks.

“As I said - I am here with someone.”

“But you could be with me!” He laughs as if he just made a joke but you know he is dead serious. He thinks you’d gladly ditched whomever you are here with for the chance of spending time with him. “Bring her too - the more the merrier.” There is a not so subtle suggestive tone to his words and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Come on gorgeous! Someone as sexy as you should not be so uptight! Let’s have some fun, let loose a little - it’ll be worthwhile to you, I swear.”

“What a compelling offer.” Sneers Severus and your heart drops. Great. “I wonder how many you made that promise to, Black, and how many you left disappointed.” Black’s grin falters for a split second.

That’s right.

Severus is different.

He stands taller. He’s fierce and strong and you aren’t at Hogwarts anymore where it’s four against one with the teachers turning a blind eye. You have no doubt Severus would pull out his nastiest curses on Black given the chance.

“Let’s leave, Sev.” 

“Come on, gorgeous!”

“That’s not her name, but one can hardly expect a simpleton like you to care for such fine details as names.”

“Sev.”

“No wonder she looked like somebody was fucking murdered in front of her eyes when I found her - how Lily could bear being close to you for so long I’ll never understand.” Black turns towards you. “Kick this dick to the curb - I’ll buy you a drink, gorgeous.”

“She does not need you for that-”

“I can buy my own drinks.” You hiss and when Severus still makes no move towards leaving, you grab your jacket and storm off. Let them duel like little children if they want, but you won’t get in the middle of that. 

The cold hair of the night hits you while you run down the street. Tears sting in your eyes and you feel so stupid and pathetic for crying. Nothing even happened. You don’t know what’s going on- that’s a lie. Severus sounded like he was about to suggest you’re with him and therefore don’t need Black to buy you drinks which…it’s not wrong. You were at the pub with Severus and you were going to make him pay (he’s a Professor now after all and from what Sev let on the pay isn’t bad) but it wasn’t a date. And Severus suggesting or intending to suggest that hurts. You want it to be a date goddamn! You’ve wanted it for over eight years!

Severus calls your name but you just wrap your arms tighter around yourself and continue down the empty street on the outskirts of London.

“Just wait!” He catches up to you. “What a fucking wanker.” He huffs.

“Mh.”

“What did he say to you? I should have hexed him! I knew it!”

“Drop it.”

“No, I will not drop it! He made you cry- come on tell me what he said and I’ll-”

“What?!” Abruptly you stop walking and spin around to face Severus. He looks at you perplexed, his cloak billowing behind him in the breeze. “You’ll go and start a duel? Why? I told you to drop it.”

“He’s a fucking cavemen! Just the way he looked at you-” Severus grimaces. A muscle in his jaw tenses and he flexes his wand hand.

“Why the fuck do you suddenly feel the need to defend my honour?! You just ignored me in there- nevermind. I’m tired. I want to go home.”

“Don’t let Black ruin our night-”

“You ruined our night! I asked you to leave, you ignored me. I ask you to drop it, you ignore me. I don’t want you to fight Black! We aren’t at school anymore - you’ll get arrested!” Something you have never before seen crosses through Severus’ eyes. Something dark. A cold shiver runs down your spine and you take an involuntary step back.

“I wouldn’t be arrested, Sunshine.” He says, voice low, rumbling like thunder, a muttered promise of destruction and ruin and heat pools in your belly. That he called you by his nickname for you which he uses very sparingly, if ever, doesn’t help the matter. Severus takes a step forward. The heat morphs into a twisting, curling mass that takes your breath away. Severus looms over you, shadows dancing over his pale skin, drawing his cheekbones into an even sharper contrast and you gulp.

“You think Luci is going to come and rescue you?”

“Lucius? I don’t need Lucius for that.”

“Do you even fucking hear yourself?!” Your voice echoes through the empty streets, thrown back off the house.

“He made you cry!”

“Why does it matter?!”

“Because-” He clenches his jaw, his fists shake with suppressed rage. His nostrils flare and for a split second a tingling sensation winds around your heart at the expression in his eyes - the softness in the middle of a raging storm. A lone, untouched, unbothered island in the midst of a roaring ocean. 

Severus exhales. Tension falls off his frame and the expression is gone.

“Fine.” He says quietly. “Let’s go then.” And he walks past you.

“No.” You can hear his steps stop behind you. Tears drip over your cheeks and you stubbornly wipe them away. “Say what you wanted to say.”

“I thought you’re tired.”

“Say it.”

“It’s- it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m not moving until you say it.” You cross your arms in front of your chest. Behind you Severus sighs and you can practically hear him pinch the bridge of his nose like he does whenever you annoy him.

“You sound like a spoiled child.”

“Good practice then. You’ll have to deal with a lot of those, Professor.”

“Are you- I have the feeling you’re angry with me.” You spin around and glare at Severus. He’s not good with emotions, sure - but now he’s just being dense.

“What made you think that?” You deadpan. He rolls his eyes and his disregard for your feelings drives you mad. 

“Black’s a bastard-”

“This is Warren all over again!”

“Yeah and I was fucking right about Warren wasn’t I?” A vein on his forehead pulses, but you don’t give a shit. Warren was your first boyfriend and Severus behaved absolutely rotten towards you.

“Warren was a huge mistake, yes - but he was my mistake to make! What- do you actually fucking think I would ever fucking touch Black? Just the thought gives me an STD!” The barest flicker of amusement flashes over Severus’ features. “I just- I don’t get why you overreact like this everytime I talk to a guy. And it’s not like I was engaging Black there! The fucknugget is just to stupid to get a hint!”

“I-”

“There it is again! You did it again! What is it that you can’t tell me? Come on Sev! You can tell me everything. When did you start having secrets from me?” It’s a hit to your ego as much as you don’t like admitting it. 

You have always been Severus’ safespace. 

He told you things he never even told Lily! Something you didn’t know until third year when Lily asked whether Severus’ parents are ‘fighting again’ when you knew Tobias dickward Snape beat Sev with his belt the day before the Hogwarts Express left for the new term. You fucking healed him in you compartment because his ribs were broken and she asked whether they were fighting. 

Why can’t he tell you this?

Another tear slips over your lower lid and slides down your check. Your bottom lip quivers. You suppress a sniffle and nod. 

You have never felt further away from him than you do at this precise moment. It feels like Severus is sand slipping through your fingers and the harder you try to hold onto him, to the way it was before, the faster he slips away. Maybe too much has changed. Maybe he’s too different. Maybe this unlikely friendship was doomed from the beginning.

You know you’re about to start bawling and that’s the last you want Severus to see.

“Alright…I see.” You whisper. “Life’s different now. We’re keeping secrets now…”

“Sunshine-”

“No- no, ‘tis fine-” You roughly wipe your eyes. “See you- see you sometime….congratulations again.” You turn around to find a quiet alleyway to disapparate to your flat and break down there like a pathetic little teen that got her pathetic little heart broken without ever even working up the courage to confess her pathetic feelings. 

Your steps sound horribly loud in the dark, cold night and with every step you take away from Severus you feel like you’re losing him more, every step is another crack, another break, another insurmountable obstacle between you. The cold wind cuts through your clothes with ease and you shiver. 

“I love you.”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your heart skips a beat or two or maybe it forgets how to work entirely. 

Severus’ voice is quiet, uncertain like it has not been since second year when he thought you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore after he lashed out at you.

“Sunshine- I knew Warren would only hurt you. That he’s not good enough for you. He bragged in the Slytherin common room that you showed him your boobs- He said all sorts of awful things and I- I just sat there. I should have said something, defended you, made him shut up but- Warren was two years above us and…” He takes a shuddering breath, dispelling old shame and insecurity from his voice. “Black’s just like that. He never cared for you before and now all of a sudden he is dying to go out with you? You don’t even realise it, Sunshine but- you- you are stunning. You have changed so much since school, you are- fuck I don’t know- words-” He sighs and rubs his hands over his face. 

You feel numb and like you’re on fire at the same time. Of course you knew Warren spread some shit about you around, it’s why you broke up and broke his nose in the process for good measure, earning three weeks detention with McGonagall, but you wished you would have known sooner... 

And- Severus loves you? No- that can’t be right- He’s in love with Lily- it’s always been Lily-

“You’re happier somehow- you- you’re radiant and beautiful and- you’ve grown up so much and- and- I love you. I’ve loved you for years- I want to protect you. I want to guard your happiness and yes I’d go back to knock out every single one of Black’s teeth for talking to you like that. You just have to say the word - sunshine - I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. And I know I’m not bloody good enough for you- I am rude and surly and miserable to be around - I don’t expect you to feel the same…I- fuck I don’t know-”

“You love me?”

“I love you.”

“I thought you love Lily.”

“Lily is- was- still is- I have no goddamn clue- she’s like a sister. I love her. And I think marrying Potter was a huge mistake and that she’ll divorce him in about three years - if she manages to stand him that long and when she does I hope- I hope we can mend our friendship…maybe- but- but I don’t love her like that. Not like I love you.”

Severus loves you.

Has loved you for years.

Severus loves you… You swirl around and before your anxiety can overpower your heart, screaming and aching and thrashing about in your chest you cup his face with your trembling hands and press your lips against his.

Severus stiffens. For a moment you just stand there, on your tiptoes to be able to reach him, holding onto him, feeling his heat against you, your lips exploding with electrifying tingling. Your stomach clenches and twists, flip flops and gives birth to a thousand erratic butterflies and all flutter around in a whirlwind of emotions that are too colourful, too many, too intense to ever find words worthy of describing the sensation.

Cautiously Severus puts his hands on your back and moves his lips against yours. You’re still crying, tears stream over your cheeks and run along the curves of your face to your lips. 

As if woken from an enchanted slumber, Severus drags you against his chest and kisses you fiercely. One arm wrapped around your back and clutching at your waist, and one hand cradling the back of your head, long slender fingers threading through your hair. You grab the front of his robes and cling to him. 

You both stumble a few steps and your back hits the brick wall of a house. Severus licks along the seam of your lips which you happily part for him. Your kiss grows sloppy and desperate. Your tongues meet gingerly at first but soon the slight air of discomfort and wariness at this development vanishes, flies away into the cool air of the night, gone and forgotten, as unimportant as your stupid fight.

Severus is kissing you. You are finally kissing Severus. He loves you. He has loved you for years.

Everything is good.

“Sev-” You whimper against his lips between two kisses. You try to break them, to wrench an inch of air between you but Severus is like a man dying of thirst that finally found a water source and is clenching his burning thirst. “Sev-” You push against his chest. Severus releases your lips, but doesn’t move away, doesn’t let go of you. 

He leans his forehead against yours and blinks back at you, his dark eyes seemingly trying to pervade yours, to find a direct path to your deepest thoughts, a link between you and him that is untouchable by anybody else, that runs deeper than any other connection between two people.

“Don’t you want to invite me back to your place?” You murmur and tug playfully at the button just above his throat. Severus’ eyes darken. A muscle in his jaw jumps. Your cunt clenches around nothing. Needy, desperate, wanting.

He clears his throat and steps back. How the fuck does he still look put together? How can he manage to reign in that storm in his eyes so expertly, so fast and clean while you’re a panting, sweaty, needy mess after just a few damn kisses?

“You won’t like what I’d do then.” He says, voice heavy with what he leaves unsaid. You push yourself off the wall and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You trail a few chaste kisses up the side of his jaw and flick the tip of your tongue over his earlobe. Severus inhales sharply and flexes his hands again.

“I don’t break easy, Sev.” You whisper and press a kiss to his ear. “You should know that.” He takes another shuddering breath and just when you think you’ll have to deal with the aftermath of his kiss on your own while picturing him nestled between your thighs (once again), he pulls you against his chest and holds you in a bone-breaking grip. You feel the familiar pull of side-along apparition and in the next moment you smell the even more familiar, dusty scent of Severus’ house. The smell of books is new, added after Severus renovated the house enough to evict his father’s influences and put his own touch to it - namely by adding a shittone of books.

Severus doesn’t give you time to catch your breath. He grabs your hand and pulls you up the stairs. You giggle and run to keep up with him. He practically kicks the door to his old room open (you know for a fact he has not even touched the door to his parents room since his father died) and crushes his lips against yours as soon as he pulls you over the threshold.

The burn marks from where Severus used to zap flies with his wand are still on the ceiling. The little pencil sketches you made near the baseboards are as well. He replaced his bed though. A brand new double which you are being steered towards now.

“Severus-” You moan against his lips and tear at the buttons of his new robes.

“Is this real?” He whispers back and leans his forehead against yours again, watching you struggle with his clothes. “I’ve pictured this so many times- thought about how I would feel to have you here- is this happening? Or am I sleeping?”

“It’s real.” You say, lips against his recently freed throat. “I’m here.”

“You’re here…”

“Severus-” You hesitate and pause your quest of revealing Severus’ body to your eyes. “I’ve never done this-” Suddenly you feel shaky and overwhelmed.

“Warren-?”

“Is full of shit. He lied- about all of it. Have you-” He nods, but there’s a distant expression in his eyes that tells you it’s not something he wants to talk about. Probably something he’s ashamed of. You know the kind of company Lucius, Mulciber, Rosier and the other’s like to keep and don’t pry further.

“I’ll trust you then.” You murmur and sit down on the bed, pulling Severus down with you.

“I’d never want to hurt you, Sunshine.” You kiss and between kisses scoot up the bed until your head is resting on the soft pillows and Severus’ lean body between your thighs. “I’ll take care of you.” He mutters against the corner of your mouth and kisses your cheek. “Such good care.” He trails down your jaw. “Like Black or Warren never fucking could.”

“I never wanted them.” You moan. Your body moves on its own, knowing precisely what you want and need even if your mind has yet to catch up. Your legs wrap around his hips, your back arches, pressing your breasts to his chest. You thread your fingers through his silky hair. “Only you.”

“Me?”

“Only you. Always you. Whenever I thought about it…when I pictured how it would feel while touching myself I only ever pictured you.”

“Oh sunshine-” He groans and rolls his hips against you.

“Sev-” Severus draws his wand and mutters a quick spell. Something curls in your stomach, it’s the weirdest sensation and for a second you are utterly confused, but then your gaze meets Severus’ and you understand. Contraception spell. You didn’t even think of that. Of course Severus did. You smile. 

He mutters another charm and your clothes vanish. You squeak, blush and hide your face behind your hands.

You can hear the clanking of wood hitting wood as Severus tosses his wand onto the nightstand.

“You- fuck…” Cautiously you peek between your fingers. A faint pink tinge has spread over Severus’ cheeks and nose, down to his now fully exposed neck. He looks cute. Adorable. You take a deep breath and drop your hands. This is Severus. Your Severus. There is nothing to be afraid of with him. “You put to shame all great beauties of the comprehensive history of this world.” His words brush over your skin like a tender caress and make you shiver and burn with embarrassed heat at the same time.

“Severus-”

“It’s true. The old greek masters wish they would have had a model like you sit for their marmour statues. Such beauty has to be preserved for the ages - but you…you are just mine.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my stammering, cute, insecure Severus?” You tease. Severus’ eyes are still pinned to your breasts. He visibly snaps out of his thoughts and looks up to you. There he is. Flashing through his impossibly dark eyes for the flicker of a second before they return to the heavy gaze, consumed by carnal desire that has been ignored for too long and has now broken free with demanding force.

“He knows he’s about to find out how you feel.”

“Come and find out then.” You shoot him a challenging grin. Severus kisses you in response. He kisses you and settles more of his weight on you. His very much hard cock presses against your exposed cunt. You gasp and clutch at Severus.

“Shit- Severus- that won’t fit!”

“It will.”

“You sure?” He chuckles, his eyes lighting up with amusement like they do so rarely and you relax.

“I’m sure.” You trust him. You love him. You want him. He’ll take care of you. 

You let him take control. Severus kisses you more. He seems determined to cover every inch of your body with all the confessions of his love he has missed out on. All the elapsed opportunities. All the kisses you could have shared if you both had had just a little more courage. But it doesn’t matter. You are here now. You are together in his bed, skin pressed against skin, breathing the same air, staring into each other’s eyes longingly while his hand slips between your thighs.

You’re soaked and whimper when his slender fingers gather your slickness, brushing your aching cunt with featherlight touches. He draws gentle, slow circles over your clit. Pressure and heat build in your belly and deep inside your cunt fast. You cling to his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin without even noticing.

“I wondered so many times how you’d look…” He murmurs. His lips brush over yours as he speaks. His breath dances across your cheeks.

“...in the throes of pleasure.” Severus’ voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. A smoky rumble that goes straight to your core.

He teases your entrance until you’re squirming and rolling your hips against his touch before finally plunging a finger inside you. “I wondered how you’d sound…how I would feel knowing it was me making you feel like that…” You give him the answer promptly. Moaning and whining, gasping for air.

“Sev!” You throw your head back and arch your back. The pressure keeps building and building, beyond anything you ever managed yourself. He adds a second finger and with it a delicious, stinging stretch. He curls his fingers and presses the heel of his palm to your clit. You squirm under Severus’ intense gaze that seems to look right through you, through your skin down to your very soul. He watches every flicker of pleasure and desperation he paints onto your face with utter, devoted, undisturbed attention to you and nothing else. Nothing else matters.

Severus knows you like no other. It feels right to share this with him as well.

He loves you.

You still can’t believe it. 

“Sev!”

“Cum for me, sunshine. Cum on my fingers. I want to know- I’m done wondering. I want to know.” You do. Crying out and panting his name, thrashing about beneath him as waves upon waves of intense pleasure run havoc over you, but it’s fine. You can let go with Severus.

“I need you Sev- please-” You gasp even before your orgasm has released you from its clutches. “Please please please- Sev-” He groans. 

“Fuck and I thought you sounded needy in my head.” Severus mutters and aligns himself with you. He takes his time, giving you time to adjust to his girth, slowly pushing deeper and deeper into your still spasming channel, forcing it to give way to him. He grunts and whispers praise, how tight you are, how good you feel for him, how well you’re taking him. You whimper and hold onto him, leaving red streaks across his back. Severus doesn��t even bat an eye at it.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and savours your every sound, every twitch and throb of your cunt finally, finally gloved around him.

“Sunshine-”

“Severus…” More words aren’t needed. He rests there, deep inside you, his body pressed to your trembling smaller one, shielding you from the cold of his room and the world itself and you know there is a promise in there somewhere.

“I can’t believe it-” He murmurs and kisses your collarbone, down to your sternum. He kisses and licks, sucks, grazes your skin with his teeth. “You feel…incredible…you’re so good for me sunshine-” He kisses your breasts, flicks his tongue over your hardened nipples, licks broad strokes and teasingly closes his lips around them.

When Severus finally moves again he does so in slow, measured thrusts. He watches your expression with hidden wariness, watches your every reaction. He can’t hide from you though. He is waiting for you to regret this. To tell him to stop. He’s afraid of letting go, afraid of scaring you off, of losing you.

But he’ll never lose you.

You buck your hips and whine impatiently. “Come on Sev.” You whimper. “Fuck me like you really want to fuck me.”

“It’s your first time I will not-”

“It’s done, Sev. Bye bye virginity! That train of stupid little things society places far too much worth in has left the station indefinitely. Now fuck me.”

“Sun-”

“Severus Snape! Fuck. me. properly.” He groans. His eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fine.” Severus grunts and a rush of excitement pulses through your stomach and drenches his throbbing cock in more fluids. “I warned you.”

The bed creaks dangerously under his thrusts. His hips slap against yours with a wet, fleshy sound that drives you crazy.

“Oh fuck yes- yes- just like that- that’s-” You babble more nonsense, moaning and shredding Severus’ back with your nails. He fucks you mercilessly into the mattress, spearing you open with his cock with each hard thrust. Your entire body trembles under his thorough attention. Your cunt yields to him in wet, fluttering excitement. It cherishes the promise of soreness his thrusts leave behind. 

Any attempt at grasping for and trying to hold onto one of the many thoughts rushing through your fuzzy, hazy mind is a fruitless endeavour.

“Fuck! Ahhh- so good…” Severus mutters against your collarbone and plunges his cock into your drenched cunt again before pulling out almost completely and driving back in with such force he knocks your head against the headboard. You both laugh.

“Sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You weave your fingers through his hair and pull him down into a sloppy, passionate kiss. You gasp and moan into the kiss and drink up the way Severus continues to lose the iron grip on his emotions he had cultivated since graduation, revealing more and more of the love-starved, unapologetic, fierce man you know him as. The man that feels so freely, so intensely, so deeply that it hurts him so much.

Every thrust, every kiss, every exploring hand gliding over your sweaty skin, squeezing your breasts in testing, careful motions is a testament to how deep his feelings for you run and have been running for so long. 

It breaks free of him in violent bursts and buries you beneath roaring pleasure. 

Severus is not good with words.

But he will be damned if he doesn’t show you what he can’t figure out how to say.

“Severus-” You moan, joining the creaking bed and his grunts, the symphony of your love. This would not be a pretty, romantic, fairytale like love. You are both messy and broken in your own ways. It will be hard. It will take work and compassion and will seem impossible at moments, especially in the midst of a war, but Severus is worth it.

To you he is worth it.

He always was and will always be.

You whine in protest when Severus pulls out of you but before you have a chance to voice it otherwise or even glare at him, Severus flips you over.

“Put your hands on the headboard.” He rasps in your ear. You are shaking and struggle to keep yourself upright, but Severus’ arms around your waist stabilise you. You hold onto the headboard so tight your knuckles turn white. Severus is kissing your neck, nibbling and sucking, painting his marks onto you as if to say ‘I was here’ or maybe ‘back off’. Maybe both. Maybe more.

He fills you up again, reaching much deeper than before and you gasp at the unfamiliar, intense feeling.

“Your cunt clutches me so hard-” He grunts and bottoms out. “Sucks me in- all soaked and desperate.”

“Sev-”

“Hmm…yes. I’m here…” He sucks the delicate skin on your neck into his mouth and bites down gently, at which a loud, wanton moan breaks free of you and he bites down harder. 

You meet his thrust with your hips, his cockhead hits a spot inside you it previously missed and you fall apart. His grip around your waist turns bruising and Severus pulls you back. Your grip around the headboard goes slack. You melt into his touch, twitching and shivering, whimpering, mind fuzzy with always new, higher, stronger, more intense levels of pleasure.

Severus holds you to his chest, your thighs on either side of his, useless, hands helplessly holding onto his arms, and moves your body up and down his hard shaft. Using you and the fluttering of your cunt as your orgasm continues to coarse through you. He grunts and bites your shoulder, harder than before and a particularly strong spasm shakes your body. You drop your head onto his shoulder, melting further against him.

“Again-” You rasp and present your neck to him. A grin flashes over Severus’ lips. Sweaty strands of hair stick to his forehead, his eyes are glazed over with hazy lust.

“My pleasure.” He coos, but instead of indulging you, he kisses you. One small, chaste peck after another. You squirm against his grip, claw at his arms, painting more red streaks on his pale skin.

“You never told me you got a tattoo-” You murmur. The sight of the jet black snake and skull on Severus’ left inner arm pulls your mind out of its haze and into a brief moment of clarity. Severus hesitates ever so slightly in his thorough, teasing attention he’s paying to your neck. Something about the tattoo unsettles you, though you can’t exactly decide why.

“Must have forgotten. It’s new.”

“Hmm…very metal.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why’d you get it then?”

“I thought I would.” Severus sucks on your neck and that plummets you back into mind-numbing, all-consuming, ecstatic pleasure.

“Maybe we should go to Dublin after.” Severus purrs in your ear. “Show Black all your pretty marks.”

“Idiot.” You giggle.

“I’m going to cum-”

“Cum inside me.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Please, Sev! Cum in me.” Severus pushes you forward and you fall face first into the mattress with a tiny outrages squeal. Severus laughs at you and grips your hips, adjusting them to sit flush with his own. He fucks you roughly into the pillows. You clutch at the sheets. Severus loses more and more of what little composure he still had. He mutters things you can’t make out.

His thrusts are accompanied with lewd, wet noises and the headboard hitting the wall.

“Severus!”

“I’ll fill you up ahh- with my cum- leave you dripping-”

“Yesyesyes-” He moves your hips with each thrust, pulling you back into him as he buries his cock inside you. His balls hit your sensitive cunt. His fingers dig into your skin, sure to be leaving bruises. 

Severus cums with your name on his lips, tumbling over them in a low, reverent, lust-drenched prayer which you join with your own faint, desperate whimpers.

Feeling the hot spurts of cum hit your inner walls violently kicks you over the edge for the third time. Severus slumps above you, pressing his forehead to your back between your shoulder blades, panting and spent.

You stay like that for a while. Both of you trying to catch your breath, relishing in the buzzing glow of your aftershock and the feeling of each other’s love on your skin and warming you from the inside.

Gently Severus pulls his softening cock from you and lies down next to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Sorry.” He murmurs in your hair and presses a tender kiss to the top of your head. “I hurt you.”

“I liked it.” You murmur back and place your hands against his chest, nuzzling your face to his neck. “Why did it take us so bloody long to finally do this?” He chuckles. He tugs a strand of messy hair behind your ear. You look up to meet his gaze. It’s heavy with emotions, a swirling storm of love and care and fear. You reach out to him in a futile attempt of soothing it. The pads of your fingers meet his cheek and he shudders under your touch, before leaning into it. His eyes fall closed and for a brief moment he looks at peace. Content. Home.

“I-” He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it again. His brows pull together into a frown, a deep crease forming between them. His lips go white as he presses them together into a thin line. His jaw tenses. “I’ve made a terrible mistake-” His voice is hoarse from unshed tears and the effort of suppressing them. He loses. One escapes from between his closed lids and slides down his cheek, meeting your fingers. You wipe it away, but more follow. 

“I’m trying to fix it- I am! But I-”

“It’s ok.” You whisper and press a tender kiss to his jaw. 

So he did it…You had your suspicions, of course you did, but a part of you refused to believe Severus capable of those horrible acts committed by the Death Eaters. And you were right. The pain, regret and self-loathing is so evident in his face. He can’t bear to look at you.

“We’ll fix it. Together. It’ll be fine.”

You are there when the Aurors storm his house to arrest him. You were sitting on the threadbare sofa in his arms as he read to you. 

You tell him not to resist, to not tell them anything.

You send an owl to Dumbledore.

You are at the trial, sitting on one of the benches. Severus looks miserable sitting in the middle of the courtroom, deep shadows under his eyes, a tremor in his wand hand. The chains of the chair are wrapped tightly around his arms. He avoids your eyes.

Dumbledore defends him passionately. Recounting Severus’ turning spy for him, reporting you-know-who’s steps to Dumbledore, how invaluable his intel had been. He recounts the dangers Severus was willing to face. He demands he is released. And he is. The Wizengamot clears him of all charges and you walk out of the Ministry with him, holding his still trembling hand in your own.

“Is this real?” He whispers and you bite the inside of your cheek to not start crying. You want to be strong for him.

“Yes.” You kiss his cheek and wrap your arms around his neck. “It’s real. You’re a free man. I’m here. I will always be here. We’ll figure this out.”

“Together?”

“Together. I love you, Severus.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

[myownwholewildworld]

WHEN THE MOON HOWLS ― a javier peña's autumnal oneshot

main masterlist | read on ao3 | part 2 pairing: javier peña x f!reader. summary: you meet javier in a café during your sabbatical. you see the man that no one does ― the one who is broken, defeated, crushed by his time as a DEA agent. so you make it your purpose to shine some light on his life, one pumpkin spice latte at a time. -or- the story of how you two fall head over heels for each other c: a/n: hiya! been wanting to write for javi p for a while, but was afraid to take the plunge because it's been a hot minute since i last watched narcos. anyways, this fic is for @goodwithcheese and @jolapeno's jolabrew + withcheese fall challenge which i found really inspiring, thank you for hosting this sweet challenge! first time taking part in a challenge too, whoop whoop! as always, all interactions welcome, would love to hear your thoughts. take care! <3 x warnings/tags: 18+, mdni (no smut here, but still). post season 3 of narcos, possibly slightly off-canon? idk. fluff, loads of it! angst, comfort. mentions of ptsd, panic attacks and therapy. halloween/autumnal vibes. trip to the pumpkin patch to cheer our sweet javi up. reader's pov only (v unlike me). no use of y/n. no description of reader (moodboard is only for aesthetic purposes). unbeta'd, soz. w/c: 6.8k (this was gonna be a short drabble... smh) divider by @saradika-graphics

Friday, 18th September 1998

“What can I get for you today, gorgeous?” was your go-to sentence with every client.

Even when your own personal demons stalked you at night, you made your best effort to get out of bed every day and come to work. Working in a café was not in your plans for this year, but a heart-shattering breakup had rocked your world so bad, you needed out.

So, you took a sabbatical from your job in finance, hugged your parents and waved goodbye to your friends. It would only be for one year ― hopefully enough to get your life together and reorganise your priorities.

That was why you moved to Laredo two months ago, to have a fresh start with a blank slate ― where no one knew you and you knew no one. A month into your new life, you realised you needed to do something or otherwise you would go crazy. So you took a waiting job at one of the local cafés. You were just paid the minimum wage, but you had enough savings to live comfortably for a year without any issues.

It was only mid-September ― technically still summer. However, the unusually cold weather made it look otherwise. Fall had appeared sooner this year, and you couldn’t be happier about it. You loved autumn ― its duller hues, the crispy air, the browning leaves, the cozy sweaters, burying yourself under blankets on the couch while channel surfing. It was, by far, your favourite season.

“A pumpkin spice latte, please.” The masculine voice that spoke back to you was plain, deflated ― it lacked… something, but you were not able to pinpoint what exactly.

Your eyes moved from your notebook to the man in front of you, sat at the one of the most isolated tables. A few strands of wavy, brown hair fell across his forehead, the ends caressing the metal frame of the yellow-tinted, aviator sunglasses that shielded his eyes. ‘Brown too,’ you thought. ‘Sad and brown.’

Even if he was not looking at you, you could simply tell. His demeanour, his posture, the way he averted his eyes ― the man spoke of sadness and hurt, of something dark and gut-wrenching you could not even fathom.

And he was alone ― it was obvious he was not waiting on anyone.

“Anything else?” You asked, your throat suddenly dry.

He shook his head no without a word. His hands were placed on top of the table, his fingers intertwined while his thumbs circled each other. It was a restrained yet impatient gesture, as if he could not wait to be left alone.

“Could I interest you in a slice of pumpkin cake? It’s got cream cheese frosting. Shouldn’t say it myself because I baked it, but it’s delicious, I promise.” You tried to tempt him; a soft smile directed at him. “If you don’t like it, it’s on the house.”

The curvature of your lips wavered when his eyes slowly drifted up towards you and locked on yours. They definitely had a sorrowful tint to them ― as if he had seen too much, been witness to too many unspeakable things. His eyes were a window to a crushed soul, that much you could perceive.

His lips formed a flat line as he looked away and through the window to his right.

“Why not then…” His reply was not rude but charged with something unsettling. Something that made you swallow hard.

But you were still smiling back at him. Maybe the guy was having a rough day, a rough week or a rough month. A rough lifetime? Showing him kindness was not going to change his view on the world around him, but if it helped, even a tiny bit, you would smile until the corners of your mouth hurt.

“Alrighty, shouldn’t be long!” You scribbled the command on your notebook, the tip of your tongue unconsciously sticking out between your teeth as you did.

You walked back to behind the counter and when you turned around, you saw the man watching your every move. But as soon as he felt caught, he bowed his head down and looked for something in one of his shirt’s pockets. Soon after that, he lighted a cigarette.

Slightly confused, you faced the coffee maker and looked at the recipe card for the pumpkin spice latte. As you started preparing it, one of your colleagues walked past you.

“Pssst, Alejandra!” You called her in a whisper.

The girl looked around her, unsure if someone had said her name or if it was her imagination playing games.

“Over here”, you waved at her and Alejandra happily trotted towards you.

“Yeah? What’s up? Do you need a hand with that?” She offered her help, as she always did. You were grateful to have such good coworkers in your shift. It was a contrasting experience in comparison to your finance job.

“No, I think I’m okay. Got a question of different nature though,” you ventured pressing your lips together. “The guy over there, sat in the corner…” Alejandra turned her head around to look and stuck her head out, going on her tiptoes and everything. “Hey! Be a bit less obvious, dammit!” You panicked, shaking her forearm as she giggled.

“What about him?” She asked with a cocked brow.

“Who is he? Not seen him before ‘round here.” You tried to sound as casual as possible, but Alejandra’s raised eyebrow told you she was seeing through your bullshit.

“Chucho’s son. Javier.”

“Chucho who?” It seemed like everyone knew everyone in this town, except for you.

“Chucho Peña, he owns a farm on the outskirts of town. That’s his son Javier. He worked for the DEA and has moved back in with his old man a couple of weeks ago. Rumour has it he was fired. Apparently, he was caught doing drugs on the job, can you believe it?” Alejandra didn’t hold back on the gossip. “The same drugs he was confiscating from the narcos, taking them all for himself. Some say he was even selling them back to them and making good profit.”

You knew to take rumours with a very big pinch of salt. Sure, there was corruption in the DEA as in any other governmental organisation, but he did not seem to be that kind of guy. Not that you knew him, anyway.

“Not even his childhood friends are speaking to him now, so if I were you, I’d keep my distance.” She warned you in a hush. “He’s trouble, that dude.”

That broke your heart a little. Javier looked lonely enough ― learning that he was truly on his own resonated loud with you. Being branded a misfit by his own community had to be a hard pill to swallow.

“Mhmm. Sure thing”, was your only reply. Alejandra tilted her head to one side, studying your blank expression. “I was just curious, that’s it.”

“If you say so. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Her veiled counsel hung above your head as you resumed the task of preparing his coffee.

Five minutes later you were done and walking back to where Javier was patiently waiting. As you approached his table, a guy pushed back his chair to stand up and hit you hard. You lost your balance, almost tripping with the legs of the chair. Your right hip slammed against the edge of an empty chair and prevented you from falling ― you managed to save the coffee, but the plate with the cake slice slid off your fingers and shattered against the floor.

“Hey! Watch it!”

For a second you thought it was the gentleman reprimanding you, but you quickly recognised the voice ― Javier had stood up, fast as thunder, and his index finger was accusatorily pointing to the man who had mindlessly pushed his chair back.

Before the situation escalated, you straightened out your back and planted a hand on Javier’s forearm to stop him from tackling the guy.

“It’s okay, it’s nothing. I wasn’t looking, it’s my bad.” You quickly tried to diffuse the situation, tension building up between the two men.

“No, it’s not.” Javier replied between gritted teeth. “This asshole should have seen you walking by.”

Your eyes widened as they flew from one man’s face to the other’s. Javier’s outburst was not welcomed by the other guy, who was clenching his fists at his sides. You put the surviving coffee down on a table nearby and placed yourself in the middle of both men, arms extended.

“No need to take this so seriously, it was just a bit of cake, and I’m not hurt.” You said looking at Javier with imploring eyes. You did not need this kind of trouble.

‘He’s trouble’, Alejandra had said. Should you listen?

“Please, accept my apologies.”

“I ain’t paying you shit now, treating one of your regular clients like this.” The man barked back, fuming.

Javier took a step forward and his chest pressed against the palm of your hand. You did not expect to feel his warm skin under yours ― a few unbuttoned buttons on his shirt gave you a peek of his hairy chest.

He clenched his jaw so hard you could see his muscles straining.

“Of course, of course. I’ll pay for it, it’s not a problem.”

Huffing and puffing, the man signalled to his companion and they both walked out the door, mumbling something you couldn’t hear but could imagine.

Slowly you turned to face Javier, whose eyes burnt like gasoline. You didn’t know if he was trouble, but he was definitely danger.

“It’s alright, relax. I’m sorry about the cake, I’ll get you another one. It’s on me, I kinda forced you to buy it.” You offered, thinking he was still mad, while you knelt down to clean the mess with some tissues you had grabbed from the table besides you.

“I’ll pay for it. For both slices.” He replied succinctly, squatting down by your side to help you out.

“You don’t need to”, you quickly said, watching him on the corner of your eye.

His expression softened a bit, and his lips turned into a grimace.

“I do. I think I made things worse for you.” You thought the same but didn’t dare to voice your opinion.

You were customer-facing and could hear your manager in your mind saying ‘The customer is always right. Treat ‘em like royalty’. Bullshit that, really, but was part of the job.

Once the mess was cleared, you gave Javier his coffee and ran back to the counter to cut another slice for him. This time, as you sauntered towards him, you were aware of your surroundings. Luckily, there were no more inconveniences, and the cake slice made it safe and sound to Javier’s table.

“Thanks. And sorry again.” He apologised, his tone throaty with truth. He really meant it.

“Don’t worry about it, honestly.” You grinned at him as you gently squeezed his shoulder without thinking. Javier’s eyes quickly darted down at the touch ― you could swear he flinched. “Oh― S-sorry”, you stammered, pulling your hand back to break contact.

Javier just hmphed and turned his attention to his drink and food.

With your brows knitting together, you made your way back to the counter. From time to time, you would check on him from a distance while serving other patrons. ‘Just making sure he likes it’, you told yourself every time.

After half an hour, Javier got up and walked towards the register.

“How was it?” You asked with a gleaming smile.

“It was good.” Surprisingly, you were slightly disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm. “Really good”, he added a second later, as if he had picked up on your disillusionment.

The smile came back to your mouth.

“Well, I’m glad.” You said while you typed in his order to produce the bill. “It’s $9.42.”

“How much was the… gentleman’s” he spat out the word, “bill? I want to cover it too.”

That offer took you completely off guard, and you started shaking your hands and head at the same time.

“No, no, no. It’s okay, I’ll pay for it. It’s not the end of the world.”

“I insist. Please.” He punctuated every word. “How much was it?”

“Uh, mhmm…” You didn’t want him to take the blow. Maybe he had made the situation worse, but at the end of the day, it was the other guy’s fault, not his. “Are you sure?”

He simply nodded.

“It was $25.37. So the total would be… $34.79.” You composed a pitiful face ― it was a lot of money for a coffee and a cake slice.

Javier handed you a $50 note and then said, “Keep the change.”

With your mouth agape with surprise and not really understanding his generosity, you looked down and extended your hand almost unwillingly.

“But this is a lot…” You started to complain. However, when you looked up at him, you only saw his back.

Javier was already walking out of the café before you could say anything else.

Friday, 25th September 1998

Exactly a week later at ten past five in the afternoon, Javier Peña entered the café you worked at. Your brows furrowed, trying to recall last Friday. Had he gotten there at the same time too? He sat at the same table, same chair as well. The man was a creature of habit, a wild one at that.

Sooner rather than later, you were in front of him, notebook and pencil on hand, with a cheery smile.

“What can I get for you today, gorgeous?” You asked, hoping he would catch the joke ― you also followed a routine.

The joke went over his head. He looked less taciturn than a week before, albeit he still had this aura around him screaming to be left alone. Javier leaned back on his chair and this time, he did make eye contact, unlike last.

A slight yet noticeable change.

“A pumpkin spice latte, please.” This time round, his voice was a bit livelier although still crude.

“Anything else?” Your smile turned crooked as your eyes locked on his.

You saw a sparkle in them, a brightness that flickered under the fluorescent lights of the café. A hint of mischief, you thought too. He definitely had seen the joke now.

“Do you still have pumpkin cake? The one with cream cheese frosting?” He went off script, which made your grin grow bigger.

A creature of habit, but adaptable.

You nodded, writing the order down ― your tongue peeking through your teeth in full concentration.

“Freshly baked, I did it this morning.”

“If it’s half as good as last week’s, I might have to start coming over every Friday then.” A lopsided grin fought its way to his lips, although it didn’t stay there for long.

That brief gesture had transformed his expression, softening the hard edges of his jaw and smoothing out the wrinkles around his covered eyes. You noticed he still had his aviator glasses on, even though it was cloudy outside.

You were not prepared for his compliment, so you just tittered.

“If that’s the case, I’ll make sure to bake one every Friday as to not disappoint you”, you replied jokingly, albeit you truly considered it.

The shadow of a grimace danced on Javier’s mouth. The beginning of another smile, perhaps. Could you be so lucky that he would gift you with two grins in a row? That would be unheard of.

It wasn’t like you were watching him, but you were. Just a few glances here and there though, nothing too obvious. You did not believe in such things, but it seemed like his demons were following him wherever he went. Whatever darkness accompanied him, had a tight grip on him. You wondered what had happened to Javier to give off such an uneasy feeling.

The man was the epitome of wariness ― always looking above his shoulders, his hand tightly latching on to the buckle of his belt. Javier Peña looked like a man who always had a foot in the door, ready to run at the slightest inconvenience. And just because of that, you should be chary, keeping your distance. But it was exactly that, his raw loneliness, what pulled you into his orbit.

You were a fixer, and Javier was broken.

You were a puzzler, and Javier was a puzzle someone had tossed aside ― all the little pieces spread in disarray, unclassified, waiting to be put back together.

Question was, could he be fixed or was he shattered beyond repair?

Friday, 2nd October 1998

“Let me guess. One pumpkin spice latte and a slice of pumpkin cake?”

Javier’s sunglasses reflected the light off the ceiling, his eyes catching a sliver of it. His fingers drummed against the table, his pearly white teeth peeking through the brief smile his lips composed just for you.

“It’s almost like you already know me”, he jested, flattening the palm of his hand against the table and sliding it off until his fingers wrapped around the edge.

That simple motion had you in a trance for a second, your mind blank.

“I do know a few things about you.” It slipped off your tongue before you could refrain yourself.

Once you realised what you had just said, your eyes slightly widened, and you unconsciously chewed your bottom lip.

“Do you?” Javier tilted his head to one side, his kempt moustache wrinkling with curiosity.

You nodded slowly and he cocked a brow, enticing you to continue.

“I’ve noticed you like a routine, always showing up at the same time, ordering the same thing, sitting on the same table, the same chair. And I know you love fall, because why would you be ordering a pumpkin spice latte every Friday since mid-September? With two sugar cubes. And when you attack the cake, you first eat the frosting, then the rest. That’s weird.”

You could have left it there so you wouldn’t sound like a stalker, but once you started talking, you could not stop.

“I know you feel like something, or someone, is following you. I know you always keep an eye on the door, making sure the exit is clear. I know you never turn your back to it either ― and that’s probably why you are, many a times, reaching for a gun in your belt that is no longer there. I know that you are lonely, but that loneliness is self-imposed. I know you don’t like being touched.”

You had definitely paid Javier Peña too much attention. Your last words did not really sink in until Javier’s amused expression transformed into knitting brows and a fine line for lips.

Had you gone too far in your analysis? Why would you say all those things to a complete stranger? When your slip of tongue dawned on you, you covered your mouth, embarrassed of yourself.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to… I just― I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know why―” Your words came out in a slurred rush, incoherent and unfinished sentences got stuck to the back of your throat through all that stammering.

He leaned back, his arm loosely draped around the empty chair to his right, near the window. Javier then clicked his tongue.

“Well, I had it coming. I did ask, didn’t I?” His reaction surprised you ― you really thought he was going to up and leave because of your insolence.

You let go a sigh of relief, followed by a nervous chuckle as you hugged the notebook close to your chest.

“Was I… too far off?” You ventured, biting down your bottom lip again. Maybe you shouldn’t push your luck.

Javier took a long minute to respond, his eyes scanning every square inch on your face, as if he was trying to assess whether he could confide in you or not. You found yourself hoping he did.

“No, not really.” He conceded, “I do love fall.”

That hint of mischief you saw a week ago twinkled in his eyes again. Under that sombre and stay-away-from-me bearing, there was another Javier. One who could be mischievous and fun. One that you had been itching to know since he first set foot on the café.

This time was your turn to slant your head to one side, crinkling your lips as you attempted to discern if you were wrong about the rest. Was he playing with you?

“And the rest?” You pushed out of curiosity, knowing full well you shouldn’t take such liberty.

Javier shrugged, his shoulders almost touching his ears. Was he trying to hide a smile?

“I do have one more thing to add to my order.” The change of subject told you he did not trust you that much.

A pinch of disappointment settled in your chest. But you knew you shouldn’t feel this way, you didn’t really know him. For all you knew, he could be a serial killer on the lookout for his next victim and being a DEA agent was just a cover.

“Oh, yes, sorry. What else would you like?” You concocted a smile, but this time it felt forced ― too tense on the corners of your mouth.

Your sight was fixed on your notepad, not daring to glance down at him again. If you had, you would have seen his look of confusion. But you didn’t.

“Another pumpkin spice latte.”

You could not hide your surprise, so inevitably you asked, “Are you waiting for someone today?”

As soon as that question abandoned your mouth, you wished it back, mortified at your audacity. It was none of your business. And you didn’t care. Of course you didn’t.

“Yeah, you. You finish your shift in” he looked at his wristwatch, “fifteen minutes, right?”

You were left gobsmacked. Of all the things you had imagined he would say, that would not be an option at all.

“Uh― Ah, y-yeah?”

“See, you’re not the only one who is observant ‘round here. I do know pumpkin spice latte is your favourite drink too.” Javier explained so matter-of-factly, it would have been impossible to correct him. And he was right, anyway. “So, what do you say?”

You had not really given him an answer and he was obviously waiting.

“Yeah. Yes, of course.” You repeated yourself, a wide smile smoothing out your lips, your cheeks slightly blushed. “I’d like that.”

Friday, 30th October 1998

Every Friday for the last four weeks had been exactly the same, and you couldn’t be happier about it.

Come ten past five, Javier would walk in through the door and sit down on the same table after his therapy session just a few blocks away. You would happily trot towards him, notebook on hand ― just a pleasantry, considering you knew his order by heart: two pumpkin spice lattes, one slice of pumpkin cake, two spoons. In fact, you had it written down before you reached him.

And then, every Friday, he would wait for the clock to mark half past five, coffee almost untouched and the cake slice still pristine on the plate. You would tell your teammates that you would be closing down and that they were free to go. You would rush through your tasks to get everything done before the clock read forty past five. A minute later the “Closed” sign would be hanging on the front door.

And then you would sit down with Javier, both lazily sipping away at your coffees and nibbling at the cake, while you shared your hopes, your fears, your ambitions, your struggles, your likes and dislikes, your pasts. His heavily charged with trauma and anguish, yours full of heartbreak and regrets.

You had learnt all about his time in Colombia ― the rise of the Medellin cartel, the fall of Pablo Escobar, the peak of the Cali cartel and the corruption deeply embedded in the Colombian government. And how it all shaped who he was now, how it all shattered him and his view of the world. All the things he had seen that still haunted him to this day, and how badly he wanted it all to go away. How gruesomely tortured he was by it all.

He had split himself open in front of you over the course of the last month, pouring his soul out while trying to detangle the mess his mind was in. And you could not help but feel for him, cry for and with him. His words had reached further down inside you than you were really aware of.

And while he was getting professional help for his PTSD, you liked to think that your long, deep conversations helped him interiorise part of the trauma, come to terms with it as much as he could. He had not said it out loud, not really thanked you either, but he didn’t need to ― you just knew.

You could not have refrained yourself from loving him even if you had tried. Over the course of the last few weeks, you had fallen for him with every detail you discovered about him. But your friendship had developed so quickly and so profoundly, you were afraid of ruining it. Ruining the only real connection you had felt in a long time.

It felt like the moment for love confessions was long gone ― it had slipped through your fingers without you even realising. And now it was too late to change it. Perhaps it was better this way ― you treasured Javier’s friendship more than anything else. You would not bargain with it, not if it meant there was a teeny tiny chance of losing him. You were not a gambler, not with the people you loved.

“I think you should pick up a camera again, see how it feels. Ignore what your parents have always told you for a moment. You don’t have to make a decision now, or ever, really.” Javier encouraged you, his palm flat against the surface, extended towards you, resting halfway through the table.

How badly you wanted to reach for him, to caress the back of his hand with your fingertips. But you didn’t.

“You’re right. It’s all I always wanted to do for a living. My job in finance, it was just their idea, really. They kept telling me that I’d die penniless on the side of a road if I chose photography as my career path.” You sighed, the spice of your coffee filling your sense of smell as you tipped the cup to your lips. “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” You asked, an idea forming in your mind.

“No, I was just gonna help my dad on the farm.” Javier replied, a certain interest tinging his voice as he tilted his head ― his chocolate eyes holding your gaze as if it was a staring contest.

You had never met him outside the café, but you were friends. Surely there was nothing weird about meeting up with him tomorrow.

“Well, I was just thinkin’. Brought my camera and equipment when I moved. Tomorrow’s Halloween, could go to the pumpkin patch outside of town to take some pictures. I love taking pictures on fall, the colours are just beautiful. Would you want to join me?” A shy smile hovered over your lips, your heart slightly racing.

Javier’s eyes lingered on your face for an eternal second before he sipped at his coffee. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked ― you knew he didn’t feel comfortable with open spaces, not yet. He had told you about his panic attacks when he returned home and found himself in the open, exposed.

Suddenly, you felt so damn insensitive.

“Sorry, I know y―”

“I’d like that”, he cut you off before you could take the offer back.

Inevitably, your heart swelled, warmth pouring all over your body with his acceptance.

Saturday, 31st October 1998

The car’s door slammed behind you after you rummaged through the backseat to get your backpack. It was full to the brim, as you had taken a few of your lenses, a tripod, a flash you were positive you wouldn’t need, and a few other bits and bobs.

“Sorry!” You apologised as your head buried between your shoulders.

God forbid you made a dent on Javier’s sparkling new Toyota Camry. Well, you didn’t know if it was new, but the car was impeccable inside and out. You were relieved he had offered to pick you up, otherwise he would definitely have judged you for the state your car was in.

“‘S alright.” He muttered, but on the corner of your eye you saw him smoothing out his hand around the edge of the door, ensuring you had not damaged it. “What are you carrying there anyway? Looks like you’re goin’ campin’, pequeña (little one).”

You snickered, Javier by your side in the blink of an eye. So close you could almost feel the warmth he irradiated, even in the crispy, spooky air.

“Oh, ‘s nothing, just a few things here and there that I hope to use later. Might need your help though.” You looked at him askance, measuring his reaction to your petition.

“My help? Mhmm.” He mumbled, almost laconic.

“It’s not too bad. And your aviator sunglasses will come in handy.” You laughed at the confused expression in front of you. “I’m not spoiling it.”

Javier’s lopsided smile made a brief appearance, but it suddenly vanished.

A backfiring noise from an exhaust pipe a few yards away made him flinch, his whole body visibly tautened ― his posture went rigid, his eyes frantically searching his surroundings while his right hand flew to his belt in a vain attempt to grip a gun that wasn’t there.

And then you saw the panic building up in his shielded irises. Even through the yellow tint you watched them darken, so opaque his pupils were indistinguishable from the brown. You could swear he had stopped breathing too, because his chest had not budged one inch.

Quickly you realised what was happening ― the sound from the car nearby had triggered Javier, bringing him back to one of his nightmares. His fight-or-flight response was taking over him, his mind suddenly replaying his time back in Colombia.

When you wrapped your firm hand around his wrist, you could feel his wild pulse under your fingertips ― his heart was beating so hard, it seemed like it was looking for the way out of his torso.

“Javier,” you called his name, giving him a gentle squeeze. He did not respond. “Javi”, you raised your voice over the cacophony on the background, your fingers tighter around his wrist, jerking him close to you.

Slowly he turned to look at you, long eyelashes fluttering, and it took him a moment to gradually come out of his daze.

With your free hand you rubbed his left shoulder, the first time you had been this nigh.

“Hey, Javi, are you okay?” You whispered, his eyes slowly drifting down to your mouth, as he was trying to read your lips rather than listening to your words. “It’s okay, you’re back home. You’re safe. You’re here with me, in a pumpkin patch just outside of Laredo. You’re safe, Javi.” You reassured him in a low voice, the abbreviated version of his name falling from your lips like honey.

You hadn’t realised how scared you were for him until he finally breathed. So did you. Your heart was pounding. Then he nodded, and you thought you saw a sliver of embarrassment in his eyes.

You wanted to comfort him so bad, tell him it was fine to be vulnerable ― but words escaped you, your chest heavy with affliction. The only thing you could do was wrapping your arms around his neck and bring him in for a hug. It only took him a second to swathe your waist, his face partially buried in the crook of your neck.

A shivering sensation down your spine gave you goosebumps. It felt so good having him this close.

“I’m fine.” He hummed eventually, as you both took an unwilling step back.

“I’m sorry. Truly. If you think this is a bad idea, we can just go back.”

He shook his head no.

“No, it’s alright. Gotta push through it at some point. Rather do it with you than alone.” Your heart melted at his words, almost swooning for him.

A soft smile spread across your lips, palming his forearm again. You could not have enough of his touch, of how his skin felt under yours.

“But if at any point it gets to be too much, you’ll let me know. Promise?”

You stuck your pinky out in front of him, asking him to pinky promise he would.

He returned your smile with a devastating one of his own.

“Promise”, was his reply as his pinky wrapped around yours.

Then you both erupted in laughter.

For the next two hours you walked the whole patch together, taking as many pictures as your camera rolls would allow you. Luckily you brought more than one ― knowing yourself too well, you had brought three rolls.

“Hey, Javi! The golden hour is approachin’!”, you shouted at him, amplifying the volume of your voice by placing one hand on the side of your mouth.

Javier’s head poked out in between a humongous pile of an assortment of pumpkins. He went around it to be by your side in a couple of long strides.

“Is this where my aviator glasses come in handy?” He asked with a smidgen of inquisitiveness.

“Spot on. Come, follow me.” You curled your fingers to emphasize your words and you started walking towards a field further ahead.

It was isolated, the yellow grass up to knee height. There were some dead trees around, black branches peppered around the floor. Reaching towards your back, you untied the tripod from the side and set it up, taking your time, while Javi was right behind you.

“So you’re taking pictures of an empty field?” He asked, befuddled.

You just giggled as you knelt and settled your backpack down on the floor. Unzipped it and jumbled stuff around until you found what you were looking for. Snapping your tongue with delight, you pulled out two white bedsheets and a sunglasses case.

“Ha! Here they are!” You enthusiastically presented the objects to a confused Javi, his hands scrunching one of the bedsheets as you handed it to him.

“I don’t get it. You want me to make a bed out in the wilderness or somethin’?”

Shaking your head no, you laughed at his perplexity.

“No, you silly. We’re going to put them over our heads so we look like ghosts, like so.” And then you proceeded to demonstrate, covering yourself with the bedsheet.

Almost blindly, you took your sunglasses out of their case and placed them on the bridge of your nose and over the bedsheet.

“Voilà!” You extended your arms, showcasing your masterpiece to Javier.

You could barely see him through the linen, but his laughter reached your ears. You couldn’t help but smile wide as you grabbed one of the sides and pulled it up to uncover your face.

“I want you to do the same. I’ll set a timer on the camera, and we run over there.” You pointed to a space between some fallen trunks. “And then we just do some silly poses.”

“…Okay?” The hesitation in his voice was faked, because you could see a grin pinching the corners of his mouth.

“Trust me, it’ll look great. I’m a visionnaire!” You said with confidence as you turned around and set the timer. “Go, come on, run!”

You both sprinted to the specific spot you had directed your camera at, and quickly covered yourselves with the bedsheets. Laughing out loud, you both put the sunglasses over your faces and started posing while the camera clicked away at timed intervals.

Back to back with arms folded; one sitting down on the trunk while the other stood up behind; both hiding behind some dead trees with your heads sticking out; just staying still and very straight looking at the lens.

Even Javi got into it by the end, suggesting a few poses of his own occurrence.

You both were having so much fun, cackling so loud, you had tears pouring over your waterlines. You even bent at your waist, hands against your knees, while you tried to catch a breath. Javi was by your side chortling like a kid without a worry in the world.

You pulled the sheet off you and Javi followed suit. You could tell he also had teared up and that tugged at your heart.

“I wish we could see them now, but we’ll have to wait until I develop them.”

You stepped forward to get to the camera, but you tripped with the bedsheet. Clumsy as always, you waved your arms in a vain attempt to regain balance, and failed ― the grass on the ground hurrying towards your face, or, well― quite the opposite.

When you thought you were going to hit the floor, Javi’s broad hand clasped around your elbow and pushed you up, until your chest flushed with his. His mouth was so close to yours, his lips agape and so inviting, you licked your bottom one as you gauged the situation.

“You okay, pequeña?” His voice was just a hush in the confines of your mind.

Unable to speak due to his proximity, you just nodded as your eyes locked on his. This time there were no sunglasses covering his beautiful orbs ― giving you the opportunity to look into the abyss. His abyss. One you had been wanting to jump into for as long as you had known him.

His free hand rested on the small of your back, pressing you into him while his lips were dangerously close to yours. You could smell the hints of tobacco, the old spice, the sandalwood, all of it hijacking your senses.

Something passed between you two. Something that had been there for a while now; something you had not allowed yourself to see.

Too scared to ruin the friendship you so much cherished. Too frightened to have your heart broken again. Too afraid to make a move and be rejected.

But you didn’t need to.

Javier did.

In slow motion, he bowed his head down until his soft, warm lips ghosted yours. A light caress that made your heart jump a beat. And then he pressed them sweetly against your parted mouth, his tongue testing the waters between your teeth as you let him in.

Draping your arms around his neck, you kissed him fondly, tenderly, with all the love you had been stockpiling for a while. With his hands now on your hips, his thumbs gently rubbed the skin under your tee shirt, while your fingers raked through his hair.

And then, in the background, a clicking sound, then a flash. The kiss came to an end, not without Javi leaving a few chaste pecks on your lips before your mouths untangled.

You pressed your right cheek on his chest, eyeing the camera, and chuckled.

“It’s been taking pictures the whole time.” You told him, looking up at him with your chin against his sternum.

“Good. I’d like to have a memento of this moment, pequeña”, Javi cooed as he leaned back down to press another kiss.

“That makes two of us.” You purred, smiling into his mouth before his tongue sought yours again.

The distant howl of a wolf breached the haziness of the kiss and interrupted you. Only then, you realised that the sun had set down a while ago, and a red moon dominated the sky. The atmosphere was rather eerie, almost spooky.

“There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.” You quoted a sentence you had read once. “So maybe the moon has howled, and not a wolf?” That was your attempt at staying here, in your perfect, tiny bubble, a little bit longer.

Javi smiled, brushing his lips against yours.

“I rather not find out. Let’s head back, pequeña.”

He grabbed your hand, your fingers laced together, and pulled you towards the camera, him walking one step ahead of you.

One last click captured the final moment as you both sauntered towards it, hands intertwined, and Javi looking over his shoulder right at you.

[thewinchestah]

"Chega de Saudade" - Alastor X Reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader.

Summary: When Alastor breaks into the V's building seven years later he expects to find a lot of things, lot of obnoxious, enraging, tacky things. He did not expect to find you. The Radio Demon does not take betrayl lightly and you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to his worst enemy. Better yet, you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to Vox and Alastor finding out. The soul you sold because Alastor left you for 7 years. Safe to say, it's a mess. A pretty, angsty, dark and delicious mess.

Warnings: Alastor is in Hell for a reason,general hellish violence,general hellish creepiness,eventual smut, i carioca coded valentino bc i can and bc he is very carioca sorry everyone,blackmail, Soul Selling, author is really invested in politics and decided to micromanage hazbin hotel canon, Corruption, Extortion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, but nothing too explicit,mature themes in general, canon divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, Alastor gets insane in this one you've been warned, fear play, Possessive Behavior, posessive sex, big bad radio demon is gonna fuck up the guy who stole his girl and will make it everyone's problem, Reader-Insert,no y/n,no beta we die like men here, i feel bad for tagging vox in this fic cause i think it's a disservice i really hate him and i make it clear so vox stans be warned, it's hell i hope y'all remeber ethics are fluid, posessive!Alastor, unhinged!Alastor, Isane!Alastor

Taglist: honestly only my queen @jyoongim i have no credibility to tag anyone anymore after being away for so long. If you wanna be tagged on future updates just let me know!

A/N:HI HEY BUNNY ANON IF YOU ARE STILL HERE THIS ONE FOR YOU!! Hiii everyone guess who's back. I had this fic cooking for a while now, actually i had a lot of writing cooking but in a very Ao3 author fashion a lot happened. You see i was on this writing streak and then my 15yo dog died while i was out of state. I had to go back on anti depressants and take a sabbatical. I got a new puppy and she's the light of my life. Got super sick, won a horse show. My first plan for this fic was having the first 3 chapters done and ready for debuting together because i always feel i'm lacking when i show up with only one chapter lol. After a while i realised i needed to get this first chapter out too see the light of day if i wanted to write again so here it is. This fic is a bit different from my other Alastor fics and i have a rough outline of 5 chapters so i think this beast will be more than 20k words long for sure. I decided to get a little deeper into Hell's politics and all the "no one ever thought of using heavenly weapons against hell even tough Hell's ancient and the best worst of humanity and demonkind is here". I call that bullshit sorry i'm brazilian i'm well versed in shady politicians and shady politics and unfortunatly, dear reader, you are in for this ride too. This fic kicks off right after "Stayed Gone". Also did i mention i'm brazilian and that my works are heavily inspired by brazilian media. This entire fic was inspired by one of my favourite songs of all time "Chega de saudade". And let's be real, Alastor and bossa nova are the perfect match. So yeah, english is not my first language and this isn't beta'd so sorry for any confusion or mistakes. Thank you so so much for reading my fics and always leaving the most kind beautiful and heartwarming feedback. I hope i can still deliver a nice story to my darling readers.

Click here for my other fics.

CHAPTER ONE: chega de saudade a realidade é que sem ela não pode ser.

In the first year you were calm and collected. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to why he is gone. Is he even gone, gone? He’s coming home soon, you can feel it. 

In the second year you convinced yourself there were signs everyone explaining why he was gone and when he was coming back, you were just too oblivious to them before. But everything can be a sign when you are delusional.

In the third year you cried so much you felt you were constantly drowning. You barely left home and some thought you were gone too. Gone to him.

In the fourth year you finally gave in and took the deal. Lack of self-preservation and machiavellian schemes working together to create a trap for him. He would come home out of anger, ire. But you can't outfox the fox.

In the fifth year you decided to scour hell and beyond after him. You went to places just to taunt him. Paranoia became your best friend, blood sweat and tears as you repeat “This time it will work, I'm sure of it”. Can a lie be said so many times it becomes the truth?

In the sixth year you accept defeat. You buried him deep and went about like he never existed in the first place. Isn’t it mystifying how this city screams his name?

It’s the seventh year now. The alarm on your phone rings and rings and you feel like scratching your face off. It’s time to meet your damned executioner.

Rolling out of bed you open the curtains to let some light in. The penthouse from the V’s building has a great view of Pentagram City, looking down you get the feeling of dystopian sci-fi that is so characteristic of the technology district. Limelights, digital outdoors, and big opulent, oppressing screens greet you like a constellation of dead stars, long distorted from their original purpose and form. 

You follow processional routine as you get ready. Choose a beautiful dress, put on make-up, and do your hair. It all feels like preparation for a sacrifice. One thing you learned from Alastor is that appearances are the best strategy and you intend to greet your handmade battlefield like a roman legion. 

Alastor. Even thinking of his name hurts, especially today when you need to face the consequences of your actions, the consequences of his actions. He is gone, he left you. And now Vox owns your soul. You blame your fall from grace entirely on him, he forced your hand, he made you do it. Out of desperation, out of defiance, you sold your soul to Vox so he would come back and save you, so he would come back out of hatred, anger and ire to tell how foolish you were, how betrayed he felt.

Betrayal. Selling your soul to his sworn arch enemy should be treason worthy of him dropping anything he was doing to come and punish you, to address you. You just wanted to get a reaction out of him, proof that he still cared. That he didn’t just get bored of the empire of terror he fought so hard to build in Hell. That he didn’t, deep down, just disregard you like a shiny novelty, to be left when it got old. 

You dry the persistent tears that insist on falling with clinical coldness. You are past feeling sad now, you don’t even feel angry anymore. You are past any emotion really, you just want to get this over with and get back home.

You went about your deal with Vox in many different ways, sometimes you felt like it was a good alliance, a slap on Alastor’s face. A side quest to gather as much information from the V’s inner circle, a social experiment. The truth is, during these past almost four years you were a mental gymnastics pro to justify your new arrangements. The cognitive dissonance required to live with the decision of being forever tied to Vox was an herculean task and boy he didn’t make it any easier on you. He would never be as refined as Alastor when it came to torture but there’s something about the coldness and calculated reality of the television business that was it’s own type of Dante’s inferno.

As soon as he got word of Alastor’s disappearance the TV overlord was on your scent, and he wasn’t shy about it either. You dodged him and led him on for almost four full years before finally giving in, everything was more or less under control during the early years of Alastor’s disappearance. 

Until you saw the angel army leaving.

  Death and gore were all around you. The sky rained blood. You couldn’t breathe. You tried to take a step forward only to realize you were knee-deep in demon blood. Adam was particularly ruthless this time, he seemed to have realized the unbalance in Hell’s power structure with one of the most prolific demon overlord’s absence and took full advantage of it. You choked on the sulfur filled air while the portal closed and Adam threw a last middle finger at the Pride Ring. A clawed hand offered you support as you were about to fall, your heart skipped a beat, for a split second you felt elation. In that split second a thousand thoughts, four years of misery and confusion passed through your mind like a movie. You were sure this was Alastor, showing up after the unprecedented carnage of today’s reaping. With the next heartbeat came the delivery of the most cruel reminder: the hand reaching for you was Vox’s. Alastor doesn’t care about anything anymore, not even losing territory. 

The TV overlord was covered in thick, red blood and looked vindicated, a wide chesire’s cat grin on his face. Baptized in carnage, Vox had finally triumphed for the V’s.The V’s were now a force to be reckoned with in Hell, there’s no argument to be made.  A good chunk of Alastor’s territory was now under their control, and everything that came with it too. Including you. 

“My darling doe, be careful, we can’t have you hurt after the battle is won can we?” 

Darling doe.

You threw up at the casual cruelty of the name Alastor called you with such affection being desecrated by Vox. He still supported you as you spilled your guts, you’d blame it on the nerves, the adrenaline, the reeking smell of death. Not on the fact that you knew he finally won, that the thing that broke you was to hear your name like that, on your lover archenemy’s lips. After that it happened. You sold your soul to vox. Of course he coerced you into it, and you were so mad with grief and betrayal that you felt like betraying Alastor back was the just thing to do. Pettiness and paradoxical hope dripping from your lips as the whole thing was done. 

Every year this same flashback assaulted your mind as you got ready to meet Vox on the anniversary of your deal. It never went past the look you gave those pixelated eyes as he held you on that barren land, stopping right there when you made the decision that finalized your ruin. You still wouldn’t, couldn't face what really went down when you formalized your deal with Vox. Those memories were suppressed and tucked in under layers and layers of regret and self-hatred. 

You gave yourself a final look in the mirror. No makeup smudging this time, you were getting good at numbing your feelings. Just a few tears, no more sobbing.

The yearly meeting with the V’s after the extermination was the perfect cover actually, everything was done in a way that it seemed like you were all cooperating. After all, you did hold a very good knowledge of the inner workings of Alastor’s deals, subordinates and territory. You knew who the V’s could “call in favours” and how to keep the peace. Or as close to peace as peace came when an abrupt power transition happened in Hell. You were a valuable asset to anyone really. Articulated in politics, masterful at the art of persuasion, kind, soft, charismatic, assertive, all in perfect balance, and frankly, breathtakingly beautiful. It wasn’t without reason that Alastor fell for you and that you became his most trusted advisor. You and Rosie were able to conceal his absence and manage his affairs for good two years and the better part of the third without raising any suspicion. Of course, the bigger they are the harder they fall and now you were walking down the corridor of the V’s building carrying a bulk of important intel that would dictate the fate of the Overlord power structure for the next year, at least. 

The hallways of the building changed a lot since you first walked them. As the V’s grew in power, the building grew in grandeur. It was now an imposing beast, looming over Pentagram City. Modern corporate architecture that incorporated the savage capitalism of Vox Tech. Savage, cold, sterile, overbearing that’s how being inside the lair of Hell’s most up and coming trio felt. The tall ceilings and big glass windows were exactly what you would expect of a broadcasting network and silicon valley Big Tech company combined. As an esteemed guest, you got the privilege of staying in the coveted penthouses, with someone to attend to your every wish and demand. You also got an idea that Vox went a little extra with your treatment as a form of flirtation, he has been trying to convince you into moving in for a while, every time you stayed in, your usual penthouse had some shiny new thing that was  made just for you, as he repeatedly emphasized. 

This year’s token of affection was a makeup mirror-gadget-thingy, that looked out of a Totally Spies episode. You had to admit to yourself that this was way more thoughtful and useful than the gifts from the previous years. The thing was cute, practical and would come in handy, which was a big improvement. Vox had tried to sway you with all types of guns and high tech devices in vain. Well, there was also that embarrassing stance with the wire flowers with a hidden recording device. Needless to say that after that entire debacle Vox learned that he may own your soul but you weren’t a damsel in distress and you would reinforce your side of the bargain if he went too far. 

You reached the elevator and went in, pushing the button for your destination. 

The earlier you start this the earlier it is over, you remind yourself.

The panoramic elevator descended to the well guarded conference room, the guards didn’t bat an eye to you entering. You realized you were becoming a familiar face around here, that made you dread what’s ahead of you even more.

“There she is! Hello princesa, I missed that pretty face!” Valentino greets you. He’s the only one inside, sitting on the edge of the table.  Well, that’s unusual… you think. Vox was always the first to get to the post-extermination meetings, plus he always gave you a slightly early timetable so he could have some alone time with you. Something must be going on.

“Hey Valentino, it’s nice to see you too! What gossip do you have for me today?” you give your best chirpy tone to the love moth. Look, you know how bad Valentino is, he is despicable really, even to your standards. But ethics are fluid, to say the  least, in Hell. The acclaimed porn king was surprisingly engaging to talk to. He was fun and actually treated you like a person, which was paradoxical in itself, considering how infamous he is for exploiting and commodifying souls. You drove yourself mad with theories of possible agendas behind Valentino’s kindness towards you, but it was the simplest of answers really, for some reason Valentino liked you and he never denied himself of what he liked.

“You have no idea! We have a lot to catch up on, did I tell you about that bitch who was trying to spy on us?” a set arms gestures to you to sit down next to him. The next 10 minutes are spent talking frivolities with the moth. You’re not complaining, it's nice to get your mind off this dreadful day and you don’t get many. 

Valentino, as always, has a lot to say, little goes on in Hell without him knowing who, what, where and why. Information, gossip, rumors, facts, if a single out of context word can be weaponized  you better be aware that he knows. Pentagram city can be divided into districts and ruled by lots of different overlords, still, Valentino’s intricate web of influence and coercion stretches across all territories. Another poor soul manifests here and goes somewhere they should not be, talk to someone they should not talk to, discover something they should never know. All cases of “wrong place at the wrong time” are happily solved by a large sum of money from the moth and suddenly another thread is weaved into his web of knowledge, another secret  made his. Valentino doesn’t operate like most Overlords and that’s where his power  lies. He bribed and fucked his way into every major circle, every  overlord’s inner circle, Hell’s best kept secret. If you were anyone in the hellish afterlife Valentino either fucked you or fucked someone very close to you. 

Knowledge is power, and Hell’s gossip girl was proof of it.

You swallowed a lump you didn’t know existed, hearing the moth talk about how things changed in a matter of hours during the early post-war made you even more aware of the severity of the intel you were carrying. It was earth shattering (no pun intended) information. 

Angels can be hurt. Angels can be killed. That meant a completely different way of existing in the afterlife, if this information goes public, the consequences are unpredictable and dire.

You don’t feel excitement knowing you technically can fight back, you feel pure dread.

To be completely honest, you feel like these “news” are not really news. You were pretty acquainted with politics back on Earth and this whole “omg no one knew about this! even though this was staring us right on your faces! is total bullshit. Hell is ancient, the exterminations are not a new thing, and there are some pretty smart people down here. To think that millenia after millenia masters of torture and skilled killers never thought of using heaven’s own firepower against them is wishful thinking at best. Sure, maybe after a few generations most sinners, even those who have power, may have been kept out of the loop about the chick in the holy army’s armor… but not knowing this at all just feels like a pretty convenient case of collective amnesia. 

Convenient, that’s exactly what this is. It’s brutal, but that’s Hell. A scheduled massacre is a blessing to those who rule to maintain, reinforce and extend their power. And if you get lucky enough, empires will fall and you will make your move. 

Vini Vidi Vici, that’s all you need to know about how Hell's politics work. 

It’s true that with every massacre the Angel Army gets more and more brutal and unhinged. What was once justified as righteous mercy killings to stabilize the ever growing hellish population now is just a display of cruelty, these angels kill for sport. There have been rumors floating around of how the disproportional annihilation tactics are preparation for something bigger for a while now , and with the demonic royal families either operating totally off Pride Ring or being completely MIA, it is no wonder those influential enough are starting to get restless. 

And that ties back to your first point, the thing that got you picking the skin around your nails while Valentino gossips. There’s a reason why this is being revealed now, you know how creating a narrative works, a few smart words and ideas become beasts of its own. A beast of its own that will tear anything on its way with the right fuel. The V’s have fuel to spare. Whose interest is that this information stayed hidden? Whose interest is that this information was allowed to be shared now? 

Hell is constructed by layers and layers of complicated militias and parallel governance, each one a locked room of secrecy that is impossible to enter without a huge amount of connections and power. 

“In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And, honey, you should see me in a crown” Valentino wisely said to you once. He’s a man of many many keys, and right now you are holding the fucking master key under your arm. 

Speaking of Valentino, he notices that you dozed off and snaps his fingers, grounding you back to reality. 

“My, my. You must have extremely sensitive information today to keep you from hearing the nastiest, hottest gossip of the moment babe” He takes a hit from his cigarette, an elegant and sensual move straight from an Old Hollywood film. The heart shaped smoke rings caress your face and for an instant you feel hypnotized, nodding your head profusely. 

“But I already knew that” behind the rose coloured shades, you see a playful wink from his infamous red hot eyes. 

The porn overlord quickly snaps his head towards the huge automatic doors, that open and reveal Vox and Velvette walking side by side exchanging looks between them that scream conspiracy.

“Sorry about the wait, my darling” Vox purrs on your way, stopping behind your chair and placing his hands on top of it, fingers dangerously close to your neck and shoulder. He pushes your hair to the side and lingers there, on your neck. “but as they say ain’t no rest for the wicked, am I right?” Velvette takes her seat beside Vox’s empty chair, meticulously placed in front of you, polite pleasantries leaving her mouth. She’s still a mystery, you never know her true stance on you, she keeps you on your toes. Does she like you? Does she hate you? Does she even care? 

“If you say so, boss!” you give him your best pageant smile. “So, who’s climbing up the ladder of the food chain today?” You bat your eyelashes at him. Your performance begins.

“Aw baby, you know I love when you call me boss! keep talking dirty to me” Vox lands a wet kiss on your cheek and makes his way to his chair.

 Right in front of you, so he’s always staring at you, drinking in your every move. You cannot fail, you cannot falter. 

As much as you’ve gotten used to pretending, pretending you like the V’s, pretending you don’t feel disgusting inside for being here, pretending you don’t hate Alastor for putting you in this situation with a burning passion but still missing him so much you feel someday your heart will stop beating in protest to him absence, it’s still hard. Especially when Vox touches you. Your eyes focus on cybersharks swimming behind Vox’s seat and concentrate on keeping your awarding winning poker face. 

“This year looks really promising I will tell you that! The orders for both your weapons and tragedy porn cameras doubled since the last extermination! I will give credit where credit is due, that fuckboy Adam knows how to put on a show!” he snaps his fingers graphs, stats and footage appears on the various screens. But it’s all irrelevant, it won’t matter when you spill your secret. 

“Lot’s of veeeery interesting happenings but I thought this year we might… start differently. Let’s forget the profit talk for now, change things a little. Did you guys see anything out of the ordinary? Did something stand out?!” he spins around his Big Boss ™ chair and stops with his hand under his chin, leaning in to you like a schoolgirl with the hottest new gossip. 

“Oh! I heard things -” Val also leans in getting closer to the TV overlord face. 

Vox’s grin shrinks, lifting a finger in protest 

“We know, we know, you always hear things Val” he replies in a monotone tone

Velvette, who spent this entire time typing away on her phone, interjects 

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way girlypop” finally looking at you she asks, or rather, states the million dollar question “ but what Vox means is that we know you have something  big cooking inside those files, so let’s drop the bullshit and go straight to it” 

The doll puts her phone down, she knows how important this is, how this secret will probably dictate how things will go from now on. You can call Velvette many things, but she is clever and under all that attitude and posh accent lies a brilliant strategist. 

“Plus, we all know you are contractually obligated to tell anyway, so spill, and can make this quick and painless to everyone involved” 

Right, your cartesian, empirical proof that angels can be killed.  Caught on the scene of the crime with the gun in your hands. 

You don’t waste anymore time, the words leave your lips like you’re choking with the threat they present. You tell them everything: where the exorcist was killed, how he was killed, the golden ichor blood that oozed from the wound, where the body was hidden. Everyone is silent while you speak, even the mechanical sharks seem to have stopped swimming to listen. 

After that you don’t remember much more of the meeting, it felt like you took the backseat of your own mind, the overwhelming feeling of dread making you so out of breath. Something is coming, something fucking coming and you can’t breathe. Anxiety sets under your skin like a second skeleton begging to crawl its way out and you find yourself sitting in one of the lavish anterooms of the V’s building. 

“So, the cat’s out of the bag then” you recall hearing Vox saying when, as if on cue, a few moments before the meeting was being declared over, the emergency broadcast about the reduction of the extermination date from a year to six months was issued. You four watch the transmission and you wonder if that’s what it feels like to get the news of the end of the Cold War, the doomsday clock finally hits midnight and we are nuking each other out. 

Mutual destruction assured. 

Your mind wanders back to your life on earth, if life up there is better or worse these days. You died so young, everybody told you, your Untimely Demise a big topic of conversation that you yourself didn’t know much about. But nothing, nothing in all of your living years and your years from Hell to eternity could prepare you for what comes next.

“So the Radio Demon is back in town! Why is he hanging around? What does it mean for your family?” 

The news hit your ears like a tsunami and you feel dizzy. It’s easy to find a big screen here and you are running to the closest one before your brain can even compute the words. 

Alastor is back, Alastor is back, and he didn’t come find you.

The next sound wave is even worse, dragging you ashore to your feelings without any reprieve. 

“Salutations!

Good to be back on the air! Yes, I know it's been a while, since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast

Sinners, rejoice!”

This isn’t a prank, there are no cameras and a sadistic tv host waiting for your humiliating reaction, instead all pairs of eyes in Hell are glued to the screen watching as the two Overlords fight it out. 

Thus, no one notices how your entire body shakes and your vision goes black. It’s too much, and you grip the rails from the stairs that lead to the foyer for dear life. Your heart is beating out of your chest. No one notices how you cry, how you whimper Alastor’s name like a prayer, how the tears run down your face and you feel paralyzed. You want to run, a million thoughts per heartbeat making your head swim. The best you can do is collapse on the floor. So you do, you collapse trying to catch your breath as you plan your sweet escape, how you are going to Houdini yourself out of this situation right to his arms.

“Tune on in

 when I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run”

You want to kiss him, you want to slap him, you want to tell him how much you missed him, you much your fucking hate him. You want him to drag you to his rooms and make you pay for cursing him out. You want him, you want your Alastor back. You cannot breathe.

“Oh, this will be fun.”

and then all the lights go out.

There’s a beginning of an uproar happening, the electric building dies a quick and unforgiving death, demons run around and Vox is flying down the stairs trying to do damage control. But even he is failing to keep his composure, because he knows. Oh how you know too. 

Alastor is like a natural disaster, a shattering force that bends everything on its way with the sheer force of will. The inevitable reckoning that comes to your town, that judges and executes everyone that you love. 

And now he is here. 

You see the burning red hot pair of eyes first, their predatory gaze hold the entire room hostage, looking for his prey and then they land on you. 

The piercing intensity of Alastor’s eyes, the flickering reds of damnation itself, regard you with surprise, elation and something more. So overbearing those eyes are, they make you shiver, bearing the weight of his gaze that penetrates deep into your soul. Your soul that is not yours anymore, it belongs to the man he hates, the man he despises. 

The Radio Demon’s towering frame closes the distance between you two in five long strides, you do your best to keep yourself upright and not cower at the sight of him. He looks like Rapture and righteous torture, coming to deliver your setance. Vox knows his sentence is being delivered here and now too, so he runs, runs to you.  You feel static and an electrifying pull, metal clinking. A chain. A glowing blue chain on your neck and Vox’s pulling it tight.

“What? what the fuck is going on? what’s this?” snapping your neck quickly towards Vox you whimper, you beg. The few seconds you stopped looking into Alastor’s eyes causing seething rage inside the deer demon, ire that makes the room tremble. 

‘“Talk over the radio, that way everyone can hear, baby” Vox says straight at Alastor, like it is a shooting gun. The look on the TV Overlord is maniac, a sideway cocky smile that drips pettiness. Just because Vox clearly lost this battle, with all tvs and electricity on petagram city going dark, it doesn’t mean he can’t still forever tarnish this victory. 

Alastor’s demonform covers the already dark building in opaque, thick shadows, radio static picks up around the room like a tornado chocking the majority of the unfortunate demons that are still inside, in a desperate attempt to seek shelter. 

No words leave the radio host’s lips as he grows even taller, breaking the posh entrance of the building, debris flying down causing even more damage, the tall glass windows shatter in a million pieces courtesy of his tentacles tearing down everything on their way. The sounds of destruction and despair are loud but you haven’t been listening to the world outside you and your returned lover’s radio dial eye’s for a while. A doe caught in the headlight of his eyes the best you can do in brace for the inevitable impact that is coming your way.

In a flash of his scarlet eyes a fire ignites, the flames born from it are unnatural, behaving like a hive mind to kill and destroy.

 You always knew that facing Alastor after these 7 years would not be easy, but you never imagine your reunion like this, in the midst  of pomppeian fire, a wild raw power, the oncoming storm that is Alastor when he attacks. 

Vox knows this fight is over, his ego hurt and today’s accounts always written as a victorious comeback from the Radio Demon, nevertheless, between the three of you Vox will always know who really won, who drew the last card, had the last laugh. He did, holding Alastor’s girl on a leash because he owns her. The soul of the woman the Radio Demon dared to love is his, the man Alastor despises with a burning passion, and that’s enough for now. 

The raging flames circle the three of you and without much more flair Vox drops his act, your chain disappearing from your neck. You drop to the floor, branching yourself on all fours. You consider crawling your way to Alastor, so you can explain, so you can cry, so you can beg. You don’t know for what exactly you will be begging for: your life? his forgiveness? his punishment? you just know a lot of begging and pleading will be involved. 

But the decision is made for you.

“Run, run my little darling doe” Vox commands “Run and do whatever you need to do” 

You get up on your feet in a completely ungracious move and Alastor’s out of the room instantly. The flames never touch you on the way out, the outside world greets you: a cacophony of screams, sirens, burning sounds, the infernal orchestra that becomes the soundtrack of your life.  

“Oh, and by the way” Vox screams from the threshold of the decaying building “we just got news that your place on Cannibal Town got trashed by some wayward sinners during extermination. But don’t worry you can always come home here, come home to me!”

You do your best to ignore his taunting, and you pray to whoever is listening that Alastor didn’t hear it. But it’s futile, the pavement where he is stepping cracks a dark cloud of static and shadows trail after him. He definitely heard and felt the implications of these words. 

“Al.. Al!” you scream running after your lover. 

Fuck, you’re still in heels, and those aren’t your running heels.

Kicking the damned shoes off you run faster, you cry harder and plead faster.

When you lived, your life always felt a bit surreal, weird stuff happened to you that you couldn’t really explain. People always joked that screenwriters of your life were the most creative people alive, the thing that happened to you never happened to anyone else. You died young, with a big, full life ahead of you, but you took this as gospel to your afterlife, after all everything related to your death was a mystery to you. But the things that happened to you living or dead were a raw reality impossible to make up.

 The uncertainty of your death only fuels your resolve to fight for the life you found in the afterworld. 

“Al, wait!” you are starting to get truly desperate, you need to get to him otherwise you are pretty certain you will drop dead here and now.

 “Alastor please, please listen to me” your voice failing, you finally choking from the smoke, from the suppressed tears. If Alastor doesn’t hear you now you are not sure you can carry on after him, you’re too tired too scared. You him to save you like the damsel in distress you are right now so bad.

Alastor dramatically comes to a halt. 

“I. am. Not. Having. This. Conversation. Here.”  his voice is staggered, still. Filled with static and a murderous edge to it. His long arms catch your wrist and pull you close, flush against his chest, you almost stumble but a powerful arm around your waist locks you tight to him. 

It’s the first touch in seven years, your legs shake at the realization that he’s real, he’s here. You lock your arms around his neck, the familiar fabric of his overcoat, the soft strands of his hair, they all feel like coming home.  

Something inside Alastor snaps when he remembers, when he feels how small you are in comparison to him, only one arm securing you safely to him. Some paradoxical fight starts inside him, wild wild want, wild wild rage against tameness, the docile calm you bring whenever you are at his side. 

The world disappears for a few seconds as darkness engulfs both of you,  inside the black moving vacuum only the two of you exist, greeting each other in bloody homecoming. 

Alastor takes you back to the Hotel, landing with a low thump inside his room. For a second his hand supports the small of your back, preventing you from falling forward. After all it’s been 7 years since you shadowtravelled with him, he knows you are terribly out of practice. 

His consideration towards you only lasts this precious second thought, because he makes his way across the room, creating as much distance as he can between the two of you. Your touch disarms him, he is aware of that since the first time your hand brushed against his, the first time his lips ghosted on top of your knuckles. If Alastor is touching you he is extremely likely to get soft, to remember how much you mean to him, what you do to him, so he will be merciful. And right now the last thing the deer demon wants is to be disarmed, to show you mercy. He can feel your betrayal burning inside his veins, clouding his judgment with ire and jealousy.

Alastor doesn’t fight those feelings, on the contrary, he lets them take him by storm adding fuel to his already bad temper. That’s the only way he can face you now, that’s the only way he can make you understand. 

You don’t get any time to gather your bearings, from the corner of your eye you notice a forest. His room is bigger on the inside and has a fucking conservation area but that’s hardly the most pressing matter at the moment. The pressing matter at the moment is that you are getting whiplash from touching your demon lover for the first time in seven years and his subsequent refusal to touch you, stationing himself across the room to you.

Why isn’t he with you? by your side as you ride the shockwaves of today together? You are scared, but above all you feel overwhelming sadness. 

“How did it happen?” he finally snaps, breaking the deafening silence. It’s the first time Alastor regards you, directly, in 7 years and the weight his words bare is so heavy you wish for more of the silence. “Tell me, how did it happen?” his eyes are wild, dangerously close to radio dials. 

“How did it happen? You tell me Alastor! You left me, you fucking left me!” you wish you could be your usually articulated self, you rehearsed this conversation so many times in your mind and in none of them you started with such venom on your lips. But it has been too long, and maybe the poison from all those years alone and afraid beside Vox drips through. 

The Radio Demon sees the tears that fall profusely from your big doe eyes, and they sting more than an acclaimed torturer like him could have anticipated. Alastor finds himself still disarmed, because with every single glistening tear that falls he can see how hurt, how scared you are. He is the only one allowed to make you scared, he owns your fear.

But that’s the problem isn’t it? He owns nothing. Vox does. And that realization turns him back to feeling seething rage. 

“So my mere absence is enough to change your devotion? Is me being here the only thing that stopped you from falling into his arms?” more poison. By the end of the night you both will choke on it. 

“Al.. Al” you are sobbing now, your throat tightens and it’s hard to breath it’s hard to speak. “ I had to do it. You don’t get it, you don’t get it.” your voice breaks “hemademedoit, hemademedoit!!”. You swallow half the words, whimpering, as if you say it fast enough the action will quickly become the past, as if the memories won’t haunt you. And yet the memories flood your mind

A dim-lit room, the smell of blood and something burning.

“He is gone baby, and he isn’t coming back”

Electricity makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

A stranger’s hand pushes the hair to the side of your face, dread creeps up inside of you.

“This is the only way my dear, the best decision you can make” 

The same stranger’s hand grab you by the waist 

“I’m the only one who can protect you now, you know that right?”

eyes that make you freeze, it’s hard to think. eyes that make it hard to say no.

“If this is hard for you, you can pretend that I’m him” 

a wrong type of static pricks your lips 

“This won’t hurt” 

a shockwave hits your body and it feels like you are being split open

You have to steady yourself on the closest piece of furniture. You cower as the repressed memories from the night you finally gave in to Vox assault your mind, trying to make yourself as small as possible, like he is coming back to do it all again. Cries and incoherent words leave your lips and you don’t know if you actually said what happened or if this entire time you have just been crying. You entire body hurts as you hyperventilate “Al, I’m so sorry” you whisper 

That’s what undoes Alastor, you curling yourself in a ball, defeated and scared at the ghost of the man he hates. You looking away from him like you are undeserving of him, of his punishment, of his love. Like you are tainted. Alastor can’t make the exact words of your confession about how it happened, but he heard enough. Vox would never make you come to him willingly, Alastor knows that. Whatever Vox did - and Alastor has a lot of ideas of what he did - he will pay double for it. 

 Alastor’s blackened heart shatters when he calls your name and you don’t look up to meet his eyes, like you always do. He was always your lantern for when you were drowning. He meant to break you, hurt you like that. He just wanted to make you come to him, beg for his forgiveness, beg him to soothe the pain. 

“Mon coeur, my sweet darling doe you are safe” Alastor voice goes so soft it hurts “Don’t fret, it’s in the past, it’s over, you are safe with me now as you are meant to be” he coos.

Still, you can’t read your lover’s mind. So you don’t know his heart is shattered, you don’t know how much he loathes himself for letting this get this far. You are so caught up on your own feelings, reeling the rage and the memories that you miss the softness of his voice and his outstretched hard and you inevitably choke on the poison. 

“No. No!” you snap “You don’t get to say that. You have no right to say that!” you scream as you get up “I’m not safe, I will never be safe because you weren’t there to protect me, you promised Alastor, you fucking promised” the poison is now inside you, heartstopping waves of hurt consume your body and sprit. Right now the same burning passion that makes you heart beat for Alastor makes you hate him too. You were never good with ugly feelings, you always pride yourself for being soft to be strong. Your kindness and act of rebellion during the hellish reality you lived. You were never good with bad feelings, so you do something you never thought you’d do.

You shove the Radio Demon, that man you love so much it drives you to insanity. You shove him because the shame is too much, all the ugly feelings ball up inside, convincing you that you don’t deserve him, that you already lost him. And you won’t survive his dismissal. 

You never talked back to him, you never raised your voice. Not because you were afraid to, but because you never had to, hence the reason why Alastor is so taken aback that your pitiful attempt of violence actually moves him from where he was standing. 

Alastor shoves you back, pushing you up against the wall with a searing kiss. He kisses you like you are his last chance at salvation, like he wants to be redeemed. He licks your lips as you struggle to catch your breath, pushing his hips hard against your core, making you straddle him. Alastor doesn’t grant you a moment of reprieve, his lips come crashing down on yours again, his tongue inside your mouth dancing to a madman’s tune. He does what he does best, he takes and takes and takes. He takes your breath away, he takes all the callous words that threaten to leave your lips, aimed at him. 

You succumb to your demon lover, your nails dig into his skin and he moans inside your mouth, he bites your lips enough to draw blood. In the end Alastor is still Alastor, and of course he gets all hot and bothered when fighting. You feel delirious with the taste of his lips, your blood and your salty tears mixing together, an unholy ambrosia. His hardness press just the right way to make you sing creating a current of desire after a seven year long drought. 

His hands are quick, ridding up your shirt making he grab your ass and then your hips, strong enough to bruise. His clawed finger is already tweaking your nipple that way he knows you love. Your bravado melts, in perfect synchrony to when he sinks his teeth deep into your neck, drinking everything: that wretched poison that tarnished your words, the sacred warmth of your blood. You moan his name like a prayer that he promptly answers, he’s kissing you like a drowning man again, your blood on his lips painting your lips red like you both just drank from the holy grail, his hand cups your other breast and you vow to never speak to him like that again, only if it’s gonna get you up against the wall like that with him. 

And then he stops. 

“I hope this kiss haunts you” he says, voice still drunk with desire, low and threatening. He swiftly moves you off him, walking away and creating the same distance from when this all started “haunts your every breath, finds its way inside your every waking moment until you are mad with regret” 

You are bewildered, eyes widening in disbelief. What is he doing? How can he go from 0 to a 100 so fast? 

“I hope this kiss haunts you, so you never forget that you were the only woman who ever had me at the palm of her hand and you decided to throw it all away with that calamitous cynicism of yours.” 

So that’s what’s happening. You can never expect to beat a master at his own game, Alastor is still cruel when he is merciful. When push comes to shove he will always win. There’s only so far you can get with taunting his repentance,  playing with his heart laid bare at your feet, filled with sorrow and begging for forgiveness. He was ready to apologize, to dry your tears and soothe your fears, worshiping your delicious body and the ground you walked on. He was ready to admit that this was half his fault until your venom stung him beyond the realm of spoken word. 

“I understand it now, it must be hard for you to cope with your own decisions, your own failings, so you take it all on me. I hope you remember this when you come back to beg, on your knees for my forgiveness. And trust me, you will.” Of course Alastor would torture you with the knowlodge of his guilt and despair, the loss of his benevolence, the promise of desire and carnality. He will always be a torturer at heart, and you forgot that’s the first rule you need to always remember when dealing with him. 

“You’ve got your demons darling” never was your precious pet name said with such disdain. Static starts to gather around you, and in a flash his hand is on your neck

“and they all, Look. Like. Me” his voice is distorted when he finishes cursing you, there’s a tempest behind his eyes that entraps you, the burning red of his irises condemn you. 

The Radio demon is a raging fire, an oncoming storm. But he is also meticulous, cruel and calculating, if you dared to question him, to step on the grace he gladly gave you, you clearly were aware of everything he did to lull his absence. All the plans and contingencies he made to hush your worrying thoughts about him and bathe your threshing heart on tranquiline waters.

And you decided to mock it. To mock him and his love for you. 

You are crying again, but this time Alastor is fucking glad he was the one to hurt you, to reduce you to a mess of regret and tears. 

Tonight in Hell, power shifts from one Overlord to another. Sinners plan and freak out accordingly.

 But their machinations are all meaningless. 

The 7 years you spent away from Alastor made you sad, the three years spent on Vox’s side made you bitter. The V’s operate on poison, it’s their fuel. And maybe the poison drips through.

Tonight you drank the poison and it broke you.

Tonight, for the first time, the poison broke Alastor too.

[carisc4pshaw]

Hidden hearts and Hickey’s

In which Elle and JJ have been secretly dating for half a year and Elle comes to work not knowing she has hickeys on her which sparks the team to try and guess who Elle has been seeing. Elle gets injured during the case and doesn’t tell JJ. (18+ for smut)

word count: 4.4k

tags: fluff, smut (later on) , jelle, hickeys, dating, romance, secret dating, flirting, date night, love, staying at each other for the night, hotels, on a case, new relationship, team scenes, bi spencer reid, lesbian emily prentiss, lesbian elle greenaway, bi jennifer jareau, bath, cuddling, physical touch

Warning: foreplay (teasing), fingering, dirty talk

notes: I hope yall enjoy this is my first fic im posting here, I’ll also be posting on ao3 where my other fics are posted. Let me know if you want dts on my posts.

———————————————————❦—————————————————

Elle and JJ had been up late, later than usual when it was likely they’d have a case to work the next day but the women were watching a movie and after that finished Elle was quick to put on the next one claiming they had barely watched anything since they were making out and she needed something to fall asleep too. JJ knew it was nonsense, the woman just wasn’t tired yet but she was and she couldn’t be bothered to argue that to her after their night snuggled up together.

—

Elle groaned when she heard both her and JJ’s phones ring.

“If that’s work shoot me,” Elle covered her head with her pillow.

“Don’t say things like that,” JJ answered her phone, “It’s Hotch,” she mouthed to her.

Elle’s phone rang again, she got out of bed taking the phone with her into the next room. Calling her was Gideon.

She sighed as she walked back into the bedroom, “I’m tired I want to sleep,” she pouted at her girlfriend.

“I’m sorry the serial killers didn’t take a break, today babe, get ready we have 30 minutes till round table.”

Elle pulled a black long-sleeve top with a scooped neck out of the closet with some grey suit pants and black boots and JJ took the pants she wore yesterday with one of Elle’s cream v-neck sweaters that was similar to one of hers.

Elle packed her makeup bag, pyjamas, two changes of clothes, a book, glasses and her journal into her overnight bag having no idea how long they’d be there. She didn’t usually like going to work with no makeup on, and the eye bags weren’t going to look good that morning especially due to the lack of sleep the last few nights but they needed to leave.

JJ packed the same things as Elle minus some of the things she didn’t have with her. She hoped no one would realise that most of her clothes were Elle’s.

When they arrived they went through the bullpen and straight to the round table. No one was even there yet.

“You lied to me,” Elle frowned, “We had longer didn’t we?”

“If I had told you longer you would have tried to get back in bed,” JJ rolled her eyes.

“How are you so pretty you didn’t sleep long either,” Elle groaned putting her head down on the table.

Once the rest of the team had joined them, JJ got up to present and Elle finally sat up. It was only once she was standing at the front looking at Elle she noticed a faint hickey in the middle of her neck and a more prominent one on the top part of her breast that wasn’t quite covered by her top.

JJ looked into Elle’s eyes then moved her head down to see if Elle would get the hint and look but she didn’t the older woman was just looking at her blankly and confused.

Derek picked up on the look JJ was giving her and looked down at her chest, “Long night Elle?”

“Huh?” Elle looked down at her chest and then around the room at her team. She looked down at the table as a faint blush covered her cheeks.

“Elle’s got a boyfriend?” Spencer asked.

“No, Elle dates women she’s got a girlfriend, right Elle?” Penelope smiled clasping her hands together, “I’m so happy for you sweet!”

“No I… Isn’t there a case? JJ? Talk.”

“Elle you can tell us we’re your friends,” Spencer said.

“Leave her alone, we don’t have much time,” Hotch said before looking at her and pointing at the mark, “Cover that.”

“Yes sir,” Elle mumbled looking up at him but meeting Gideon and Rossi’s stares, she groaned quietly looking back down they were both like father figures to her. How did both her and JJ not notice it was there?

JJ explained their case before Hotch let them know that wheels up would be in 15 minutes. Once everyone filtered out Elle and JJ stayed behind.

“I’m sorry Elle, I didn’t even notice we were so rushed this morning,” JJ played with a curl at the end of Elle’s hair that she didn’t have time to straighten which the younger woman was happy about, she loved Elle’s curls.

“What are you sorry about?” Spencer asked from the doorway making JJ and Elle jump apart from each other.

“Oh nothing, I just,” JJ paused trying to think of something believable, “I dropped her coffee on one of her files when we got here.”

“What didn’t you notice then?” Spencer asked.

“Genius go play nice with the others we will be out in a minute,” Elle gave him a warm smile.

—

“Guys, do you think maybe Elle is dating JJ?” Spencer asked the others while fiddling with a Rubix cube.

“I don’t think blondes are her type,” Emily said.

“What do you know?” Derek pointed at Emily.

“Elle and I hooked up in DC a long time ago,” Emily shrugged.

“Why does that mean she wouldn’t be with JJ maybe she doesn’t have a type,” Penelope stated.

“Elle likes blondes,” Derek said.

“And you know how?” Emily asked.

“We go out to bars together but before that she had turned me down for months.”

Garcia looked up at the small window that could be seen inside the room with the round table from the bullpen. It was a bad view but she could how close the two were and how JJ’s palm was resting on Elle’s face, “Guys,” she whispered pointing at the window, “Do you think they are?”

“I think you should give them some damn privacy,” Rossi spoke walking down the steps to where the team were standing.

“Do you know something?” Derek asked.

“Of course he does! Elle is like a daughter to him, tell us!” Penelope squealed.

“I know nothing and neither should you quit being gossips Hotch wants you on the jet,” he shook his head walking to the elevator.

“We could watch how they act with each other during the case?” Penelope suggested.

“If they want to keep it a secret chances are they will keep their usual domineering with each other hence why we haven’t noticed thus far. They share a room when we are on a case so they probably feel like they can go the day without any physical contact because once back at the hotel they can do as they please,” Spencer ‘observed.’

“Yeah we got that Genius,” Morgan ruffled his hair standing from Elle’s desk where he had perched himself.

“Emily and I will be next door to them, we could listen through the wall?” Penelope suggested.

“You by all means can do that PG but I won’t be it feels like we are breaking their trust and I do not want to hear something I don’t particularly want to hear,” Emily replied.

“You think they’ll have sex!” Penelope said rather loud causing a few people to look up from what they were doing and a blush to rise up Spencer’s neck and face.

“What are you guys talking about?” JJ asked as she and Elle came down the stairs, Elle’s hand resting over JJ’s shoulder.

“Nothing!”

“Well it’s not nothing since the whole floor just heard you,” Elle laughed but dropped it walking towards the elevator with JJ, the rest of them following.

—

The team, mainly Garcia observed JJ and Elle every time they were near each other whether it was just how they looked at each other as they spoke or the small touches they shared.

Once they had finished up for the day they took the SUVs to the hotel close by. Elle climbed out and went to the other side opening and holding the door open for JJ.

“Why thank you, what a gentlewoman,” JJ laughed, Elle joining in with her. She carried hers and JJ’s bags into the hotel as JJ held onto her arm.

At the reception desk the team checked into their rooms, “Could we have a bottle of champagne brought to our room in let’s say,” Elle paused to check her watch, “just over an hour please?”

“What are we celebrating?” JJ asked.

“6 months.”

“That’s today?” JJ frowned, “I’m sorry I forgot, I’ll make it up to you.”

Elle whispered in JJ’s ear, “I’m sure you will after dinner, I made a reservation and I plan on us drinking the champagne in the bath.”

JJ whispered back, “I want to kiss you so bad right now.”

“What’s the whispering about dolls?” Penelope asked.

“Nothing,” JJ replied.

“A lot of nothing between you both recently sugar.”

“Sorry PG we need to get to the room I’m shattered,” Elle faked a yawn walking towards the elevator.

-

“What restaurant are we going to?” JJ asked flopping onto the bed as they entered the hotel room.

“The fanciest one I could find around here that was willing to seat two FBI agents last minute,” Elle perched next to her.

“Babe we have nothing fancy to wear.”

“You underestimate me,” Elle said taking a long satin cream skirt and light pink tight-fitted shirt from her overnight bag, “For you and mine is a surprise.”

“I love you,” JJ mumbled against Elle’s lips before kissing her.

JJ had her outfit on and was about to start her hair and makeup. The women took it in turns so they were never trying to do the same thing at once.

Elle stood from the small vanity in their room in just her underwear, her girlfriend was looking out of the window just while she waited for Elle to finish her last curl before she started. Elle crept up behind her, her hands sliding onto JJ’s hips gripping them firmly.

“Elle!” JJ shrieked placing a hand on her chest.

“Sorry baby, I’m sorry,” Elle moved her hands and used her arms to wrap around her in a hug from behind.

JJ held onto Elle’s arms for a few minutes both of them in silence before she turned to face as best she could, “Go get dressed.”

“Okay, one second,” Elle squeezed her a little tighter, “Now I will,” she let her go and went into the bathroom to change not wanting JJ to see her dress until they were both ready to leave.

JJ knocked on the bathroom door when she finished straightening her hair, “Babe are you alright?”

“Are you ready?” Elle asked back.

“Yeah I’m ready, are you?”

“Mhm, I’ve been waiting in here so you wouldn’t see my dress,” Elle said sliding the bathroom door open revealing the silky black skin-tight dress she had been waiting to show JJ.

“Wow baby,” JJ walked closer to her and kissed her lips, “You’re gorgeous.”

Elle blushed a little putting out her hand, “M’lady.”

JJ laughed taking Elle’s hand, “Let’s go.”

Their door hadn’t even closed properly before the door of the room beside them opened. Garcia poked her head out of the door looking them up and down.

“You guys are going out? I thought you were tired. Why aren’t Emily and I going to?”

“Leave them alone,” Emily called from inside the room.

“But Em look at them,” Penelope sulked as Emily came to the door, “They are so pretty.”

“Thanks, Pen,” Elle said and JJ just smiled at her, “We are just grabbing dinner, nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy? Sunshine have you seen what you’re both wearing?” Penelope pushed her glasses onto her face which had begun to fall down.

“What’s with the interrogating today?” Elle groaned, “We’ve got a reservation,” she placed her hand on the small of JJ’s back and they both walked in the direction of the elevator.

“They’re cute,” Emily shrugged.

“Do think she’s mad at me?” Penelope frowned.

“No, but you have been particularly stalker-y today, I know you just want them to be happy but you’re a gossip Pen. If they are together and haven’t told us there is obviously a reason.”

“They should trust us, we’re a team.”

“They could be separated if they told Strauss,” Emily said.

“Oh, right then we wouldn’t be a team.”

-

The restaurant Elle had picked was of course Italian, her favourite cuisine. Elle ordered a pasta dish and JJ ordered a pizza and they both shared each other’s food.

“It feels longer than six months,” JJ said.

“It does, I have loved every day a little bit more for the last six months,” Elle reached across the table holding her hand.

“They definitely know,” JJ said.

“I think we are going to have to say something after this case.”

“I love what we have with each other I wasn’t ready to share it yet,” JJ frowns.

“We don’t have to confirm anything yet if you aren’t ready.”

“But it’s silly not to it’s obvious they know.”

Elle just nodded running her fingertips on her hand.

The women finished dinner and headed back to the hotel hand in hand only letting each other go when they entered the hotel lobby. On the opposite side of the reception was a small bar area.

“Drink?” Elle asked JJ pointing over at the bar.

“Just one,” JJ smiled, “I want to take you back to our room,” she whispered.

Elle smirked, "Let's be quick then."

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” JJ said after they got their drinks leaving a discreet kiss on Elle’s cheek since Derek was across the bar flirting with two different women. “I’ll be two minutes don’t miss me too much,” She grabbed the key card and flashed her a smile before walking away, Elle watching her until she disappeared into the elevator.

“Is she good?”

“Excuse me?” Elle said turning to face the stool beside her where JJ was once sitting, the seat now taken by Derek.

“I know you and JJ are sleeping together baby girl,” Derek smirked.

“Who I sleep with is none of your business,” Elle sipped on her drink.

“You know who I sleep with,” Derek shrugged, “We are friends.”

Elle sighed, “Because you tell me, Derek.”

“You used to tell me everything.”

“Some things have to be kept a secret. If my partner doesn’t want to share something I will respect that.”

“So she’s your girlfriend?” Derek smiled, “Elle I want you to be happy if JJ makes you happy then that’s great.”

Elle mumbles, “Yes she makes me happy, please don’t tell anyone else now go away before she comes back.”

Derek stands up and kisses the top of Elle’s head, “I’m proud of you Elle.”

A few tears pricked in her eyes as she got up from the stool wrapping her arms around his stomach and burying her head in his neck a couple of the tears falling. No one had said that to her in a while but it was always him who reminded her, “I love you Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan,” she grinned at him when she looked up.

“I love you, Elle,” He rubbed his hand up and down her back.

“What’s going on? Is he your boyfriend?” The woman Derek had been talking to at the bar asked Elle.

She wiped her tears and laughed, “No he’s not my boyfriend, we are friends.”

“You better not be one of those steal-my-man friends,” she glared threatening Elle.

“Woah woah, settle down. Elle’s a lesbian,” Derek spoke to the woman.

“No, I’m not?” Elle replied.

“You’re not?” Derek asked.

“No… I don’t think so? I guess maybe I am.” Elle shrugged she never exactly labeled anything she just knew she liked women, “Whatever, I have a girlfriend I don’t want ‘your man’,” Elle rolled her eyes sitting back down just before JJ came back.

“Can we take our drinks to our room?” Elle asked the bartender.

He nodded in response.

“Care to join me?” Elle spoke in a husky voice to JJ.

“Oh, I’m so coming,” JJ smiled.

The women went back to their room with their drinks. Elle really needed to sleep with the lack of sleep from the night before and it was very likely they’d have to catch the killer tomorrow she needed sleep, and she needed to be on her A-game but she wanted more than anything to pleasure her girlfriend and take a warm bath with her.

“Bath?” Elle asked as they entered the room.

“Please baby,” JJ smiled Elle took such good care of her.

Elle ran them a warm bath it wasn’t as nice as the ones they’d have at her apartment with candles and lavender bubble bath but it was something. She clipped her hair up and slipped her dress off hanging it on the back of the bathroom door.

“Jay, it’s ready will you bring my drink through babe,” Elle called out.

JJ didn’t answer she just waltzed in a few minutes later having taken most of her clothes off in the bedroom with each of their cocktails in hand.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Elle said from the bath.

JJ took off all she was left in which was just her underwear, and climbed into the tub sitting in between Elle’s legs, her back against Elle’s chest.

Elle placed a kiss on JJ’s shoulder before moving all of her girlfriend’s light blonde hair over to one side so she’d have access to massage the woman’s shoulders.

JJ moaned, Elle was good at massages especially because she always knew where JJ was most tense in her shoulders and always hit the right spots.

Elle worked her way down her back as best she could considering how close to each other they were to one another.

JJ’s eyes were closed enjoying the feeling that Elle gave her. Her soft breaths made the brunette smile. She moved her hands to JJ’s thighs her thumbs pressing on the inside of her thighs as she massaged.

“Oh baby,” JJ let out a sigh of pleasure.

“Tell me I make you feel good Jay,” Elle whispered into her ear.

“You know you make me feel good, better than anyone ever has,” JJ replied.

Elle’s hands travelled further up on her thighs, “Keep going princess,” she ran her fingertips closer to her centre.

JJ’s breathing pattern began to change the more Elle was turning her on, “No one has ever touched me like you do Elle you make me come so fast.”

Elle’s lips found the side of JJ’s neck, “That’s right baby you deserve to be loved like that.”

“Thank you,” JJ’s voice trembled a little. Elle was intimidating and she wasn’t used to doing things like this before Elle she never would have said anything like that to anyone but she could see how much it turned the older woman on so she was always happy to do it for her.

Elle’s fingers found her centre, she was gentle and loving as she lightly ran her fingertips over her mound.

JJ moaned quietly, “That feels nice, Elle.”

“Good,” Elle slowly dragged her fingers in circles over her clit leaving kisses on her shoulder and neck at the same time.

Every so often Elle would circle JJ’s entrance with one finger but never push it in fully it was purely for the purpose of teasing the younger woman.

She kept at what she doing until it pushed JJ over the edge. The woman breathless and moaning softly finished gripping Elle’s arm.

“You were so good baby,” Elle tipped her head back and kissed her lips.

“But now we have to get out,” JJ pouted, “This always happens.”

“We can go in the shower,” Elle stood from the bath and climbed out before helping her girlfriend up and out with her legs still shaking a little.

Everyone was awake early the next morning to finish up and case and get back to Quantico before the afternoon. The case was closed by 11 am. The killer was shot in the field after he had lunged at Elle and Spencer with a knife.

Elle was trying to avoid JJ, not in a bad way just in an ‘I need some personal space way’ Derek had told her what happened in the field minus the part that the man had nicked a small cut on Elles's arm before he was shot down. She could easily hide the small bandage under her long-sleeved shirt but JJ was still upset that Elle was in danger today and she therefore didn’t want to leave her alone for a second.

On the plane, Elle had taken a seat on the long sofa, she would go to sleep soon but in roughly an hour she had to just check the cut.

JJ sat next to Elle almost on her lap and in the process leant on her arm.

“Ouch! fucking hell,” Elle rolled her eyes moving away from JJ a fraction.

“Ouch? What happened?” JJ grabbed Elle's arm lightly and tugged the sleeve of Elle’s top up to reveal the bandage with a small blood stain, “Explain.”

“It’s not that bad, when we caught the unsub, Derek told you he came towards Spencer and me with a knife but he didn’t tell you that the knife nicked me before he was shot, but it was only a scrape,” Elle said shrugging it off.

“Baby,” JJ whispered so no one else on the plane would hear the nickname, “Why didn’t you tell me?” She frowned.

“You were already so clingy Jay I just didn’t want to worry you more.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t like you being in danger or getting hurt.”

“I know,” Elle really wanted to throw a pet name on the end of that but Hotch was close by now at the kitchenette next to the sofa. She patted her lap and JJ laid her head down.

The brunette's fingers tangled into the blonde hair soothing her girlfriend while JJ’s fingers played with the hem of Elle’s shirt. It was a rather intimate moment for them despite the team being close by.

Penelope groaned, “Just tell everyone you’re dating!”

Elle glared at Derek her fingers coming to a standstill in JJ’s hair almost like she’d froze.

“What? I didn’t say anything,” Derek folded his arms.

“You knew something?!” Penelope’s mouth dropped open as she turned to Derek, “You’re a traitor Derek Morgan.”

JJ sat up leaning closer to Elle whispering in her ear, “Just tell them, we will deal with anything Hotch says later.”

Elle offered her a weak smile bringing her hands to her lips, “Yes, JJ and I are dating. We’ve been together for a while but we wanted to keep it a secret so it wouldn’t affect work.”

“How long?” Aaron asked his face remaining straight, not showing whether he was happy for them or angry at them.

“Half a year,” Elle replied.

“Seriously that long?” Penelope gasped, “Oh my babies I love you both so so much.”

JJ laughed, “It really doesn’t feel like that long but at the same time it feels like longer, we love you too Pen.”

Penelope hugged both of them tightly, “This must be why you both glow like the sunshine you’re both so happy and shiny.”

“Do you live together? I see you leave together sometime,” Emily asked suddenly rather interested in how she missed this.

JJ shook her head, “Not yet.”

Elle smiled edging closer to JJ. She leaned her head down and placed a small kiss on her shoulder.

“We will talk when we get back,” Gideon pointed at them and Hotch.

“Yes Dad,” Elle grinned. Elle called him dad so much now that Jason doesn’t even bother correcting her anymore.

JJ’s eyes landed on Spencer in the corner of the play his face scrunched in confusion, something that didn’t happen often, “What’s wrong Spence?”

“I was so sure Elle had a boyfriend.”

“Spencer, are you okay with me having a girlfriend?” Elle raised an eyebrow.

“Of course!” He said quickly, “I think I’m the same as you.. or similar? But I’m never wrong that’s the problem.”

“Man you probably just don’t pick up on how Elle stares at the ladies, no need to worry,” Derek laughed.

Elle rolled her eyes at Derek, “What do you mean you’re the same as me, Spence?”

“Oh,” his face flushed red.

“It’s fine we will talk later. Don’t think too much about it you’ll always be a genius.”

The rest of the flight, Hotch, Gideon and Rossi stared intensely at piles of paperwork they needed to fill out, Derek tried teasing Spencer to get him talking about what he had started to tell Elle, and Emily did sudokus with a coffee in her hand, Penelope drew kittens, rainbows and a few hearts with a ship name she had created for her friends inside and Elle and JJ cuddled against each other on the planes sofa, dozing off a few times.

Aaron, Dave and Jason waited in the office for Elle and JJ, they agreed to come through once everyone had gone home so as not to cause as much attention.

Once they had left, Elle and JJ went up the steps to the office. Elle’s hand was placed on JJ’s lower back as they went. The brunette held the door open while JJ walked inside, herself following close behind.

“I would like to start by saying, neither JJ nor I want to be moved. Our relationship hasn’t been a problem thus far and it will continue to not be a problem,” Elle said folding her arms.

“I understand Elle but you both should have come to me when this was starting up.”

“Then on your records, you pretend this is the start, no one besides us or the rest of the team will know otherwise,” Elle suggested.

“That would make sense,” JJ added.

“We will discuss it tonight, both of you go home. Talk about it together and if you want to continue with your relationship then you’ll have paperwork to sign first thing tomorrow,” Hotch said taking a seat behind his desk.

“Well I hope she wants to continue our relationship it’s been six months already,” Elle laughed looking down at JJ.

JJ looked up into her eyes, “Of course I do.”

“That’s sorted then we will be happy to sign your papers tomorrow,” Elle said before she and JJ headed for the door.

“And Elle,” Gideon called, “I’m glad JJ makes you happy.”

Elle smiled before Rossi added, “We are all happy for the both of you.”

[stars-and-inkpots]

Could you possibly write more soft Gale fics? He just deserves so much love and healing. I really liked how you wrote Reverence. Sorry I don’t have a more specific ask, I’m not very good when it comes to fic ideas.

Absolutely I can, I love writing for Gale so much, and he really does deserve the world. Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy!

Late Night Book Club | Gale x Reader

No matter what you try, you just can't seem to sleep. Between nightmares and insomnia, you start to think you might never get a good night's rest again.

Gale seems to share the same issue.

While you might not be able to completely solve your problems, at least the two of you aren't alone in them anymore.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Cuddling, Insomnia, Nightmares, Comfort, Fluff, First Kiss, Love Confessions (kinda)

Notes: choosing a name for this was the hardest part about writing it

Ao3 Link: Late Night Book Club

Word Count: 2,150

For whatever reason, you find yourself awake far later than everyone else. This shouldn’t be too much of a problem, if it wasn’t for the fact that this was the second night in a row where sleep eluded you to the point of exhaustion. The little amount of sleep you did manage to get was plagued with uncomfortable dreams that teetered on the edge of nightmares, making sure the rest was fitful. You knew you had to sleep; you couldn’t hope to lead the group if you were barely able to stand tomorrow. It’s frustrating. It isn’t like you aren’t trying to sleep either; you laid there for hours before finally giving up and leaving your tent to tend to the fire that has steadily burnt down to the last embers. It’s here where Gale finds you. 

The look on your face only adds to his concern at seeing you up so late. You don’t notice his approach, another thing that makes Gale think something must be wrong. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks softly, though the sudden noise still startles you. He watches you turn and immediately relax when you realise it’s only him. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry,” you apologise, but you aren’t exactly sure what you're apologising for. Perhaps it's for letting all of them down with your inability to sleep, knowing you’ll hold them back tomorrow. Then you notice that Gale looks just as tired. 

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks. 

You’re sure your exhaustion is evident enough, you can feel the weight under your eyes. A part of you hates feeling like you need to be taken care of. You don’t want to acknowledge that help would be both welcome and useful, but you know these feelings are simply a byproduct of the exhaustion that weighs on your shoulders. You can’t fault Gale for wanting to help. 

“No, it’s alright. You need your own rest.” The day had been tough on all of you. Gale, though talented when it came to magic, was pushed to his own limits today. 

“Very well. Would you at least allow me to sit with you for a few moments then?” Gale asks. 

You only nod, and Gale sits beside you on the ground. You’ve managed to get the fire going a little stronger again, and the warmth is appreciated by both of you. You’re suddenly aware of just how close you are, knees almost touching. You blame the warmth in your cheeks on the fire. 

“If there is something bothering you, I am more than happy to listen.” There is genuine care in his words. He is worried about you. As much as you don’t want to burden your companions with your troubles, he seems adamant that he wants to hear them. 

“I can’t sleep is all,” you admit. “It’s nothing serious. Just can’t sleep, and then when I do my dreams end up waking me up again.” It feels childish to say that your dreams are the primary culprit of your lack of sleep. You’ve been through so much in the past weeks, but it’s nightmares of all things that finally get to you. 

But Gale doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease you. Instead, he looks at you with only sympathy and understanding. He doesn’t pry any further, and you’re thankful. 

“What about you? Why are you still up? If you want to share, of course,” you’re quick to add. You don’t want him to feel like he has to tell you his own troubles just because you told him yours. 

“We have similar problems it seems,” is all Gale answers. You return his earlier kindness by not pressing him to elaborate either. 

The two of you sit there in comfortable silence again. 

“I understand if you wish to remain alone, but if you ever wish for company when you cannot sleep, you are always most welcome to visit me.” He says it so quietly, hesitantly, but not unsure. Knowing you don’t need to spend the nights awake alone, at least, is a comfort, and the thought of spending the time talking with Gale is pleasant; even if that time is simply spent sitting near to one another. 

You smile. “I might take you up on that offer.” 

Gale gives you a fond look. The golden light of the fire makes him look soft and at ease, though, maybe that’s only because he’s with you. 

“I think I’ll try to sleep again. Thank you for this, Gale.” You stand, and he does the same. 

“Anytime.” 

Sleep still doesn’t come easy when you return to your tent, but eventually you’re able to get, at least, a little bit of dreamless sleep before you’re awoken again. The gaps between sleep and consciousness are still more frequent than you want, but it’s better than nothing. 

---

The next day is rough. Gale doesn’t look like he had much luck with sleep either, and you’re almost thankful because he is more inclined to ask the group to slow down than you are. Maybe the others can tell that you’re also struggling, because no one complains when the steady pace is interrupted. 

Perhaps some god out there is looking out for you, because the day’s travel is mercifully uneventful. 

Setting up camp again is a chore. You do your best to help where you can, but you can barely stand as it is. 

“Get some rest, soldier. We’ve got it from here,” Karlach says to you, voice quiet. You know she’s trying to be nice, but it feels like pity and you hate it. You swallow your pride and thank her before returning to your tent. 

Even though your body aches and your head is starting to hurt, when you lay down, you only end up staring at the roof of the tent. You suddenly just aren’t tired. You know you’re tired, because your body feels tired, but at the same time you aren’t , and it’s only partly caused by fear of the dreams you know await you. It’s frustrating to no end. 

After another few minutes of laying there with your eyes closed, you finally give in. 

Only a few of the others are still awake, sitting and talking with each other around the fire. They don’t notice you skirting around the edge of camp towards Gale’s tent. It’s not that you feel like you need to keep this a secret, you just don’t think you have the energy to talk to anyone besides the wizard right now. 

“Gale? Can I come in?” You ask softly outside the tent. You know he’s awake; you can see shadows that dance across the walls. 

“Of course,” Gale answers. Before you can move to open the tent flap, he waves a hand and it opens for you. 

“What a gentleman,” you tease, but even you can hear how tired you sound. 

“Always for you,” he returns with a smile, but there’s a truth in his words that brings a warmth to your face. 

You finally notice how cosy his tent is. There are several books, all of them stacked in piles that must be organised in a way you can’t discern. The ground is covered in plush blankets and pillows. Fluttering around the top of the tent are small, almost iridescent orbs of light, some purple and others blue. They give enough light for Gale to read, but keep the tent dim enough to be pleasant. 

“Please, sit down, make yourself comfortable.” 

You sit beside him; closer than you were last night, leaning against his side slightly. You peer over at the book in his hands, surprised to find it isn’t some arcane tome. As far as you can tell, it’s just a normal adventure novel. 

“Don’t let me interrupt you, you can keep reading.” Even just sitting here beside him is enough of a comfort; the tension already starting to seep out of your shoulders. You don’t want to talk about anything yet, and you figure that Gale shares the same sentiment. 

“Do you want me to read to you?” Gale asks, and though you almost think he’s joking, you realise he really means it. 

“That would be nice.” 

And it is. You’ve always enjoyed listening to him talk; Gale has a lovely voice. He picks up where he left off when you got there. He wasn’t too far into the book yet, but he still pauses occasionally to explain something. Eventually you close your eyes, focused only on his voice, the details of his words getting blurry. 

“Can we lay down?” You mumble tiredly. 

“That’s a good idea,” Gale says with a smile, having already noticed the way your head has begun to dip forward as sleep begins to pull at you. 

It takes a bit of coordination, but eventually you’re both underneath the thick blanket that Gale pulls tighter around the two of you. You move closer to him, your head underneath his chin, and he wraps an arm around you. He’s warm, and you feel safer than you have in weeks. He starts reading again, fingers playing idly with your hair. Within another minute, your breathing has evened out and you’re fast asleep. 

Gale folds the corner of the page to mark where you two left off and closes the book before he sets it aside with the countless others. Eventually, he manages to fall asleep too. 

Both of you still wake up a few times in the middle of the night. You didn’t expect this to be some miracle cure for your sleep problems, but having Gale there holding you when you wake up makes getting back to sleep a little easier. The same can be said for Gale who wakes up several times, only to be calmed down once he feels your arms around him. The two of you are able to get a good rest, and when you wake up in the morning you don’t feel the same ache in your bones as you did the past few mornings. 

It becomes a sort of routine between you. In the evenings, after everyone leaves for their tents, you follow Gale to his or he follows you to yours. Then he reads to you, and sometimes you read to him, and you both let sleep find you in each other's arms. The nightmares are getting more bearable, and even on the worst nights when neither of you can sleep no matter how much you try, at least you’re there together. 

---

It’s been a week since you started this arrangement. The book is nearly finished. Gale had promised to let you pick out the next one. 

He brushes through your hair with one hand, the book held open in the other. You listen while he starts reading the last few pages. The hero who’s story you’ve been following through the novel culminates in one final battle against evil. It’s cliché, you think to yourself, and then smile because isn’t this exactly your own life now? And what hero story is complete without a lover to kiss them at the end, which is precisely what happens. Good prevails, and the hero gets their true love. 

Gale feels your smile against his neck and, for reasons he understands but doesn’t want to admit yet, feels a warmth flood his cheeks. 

“The End,” he announces, snapping the book closed with a flourish, earning a laugh from you. “What did you think?” 

“It was nice. It felt more like a romance novel at the end.” 

Gale hums in agreement. “Yes, but I think that's what I enjoyed most.” He puts the book down then returns to hugging you close to him. 

“I agree, it felt natural.” You hope Gale understands what you mean. 

He does. 

The two of you have been dancing around this for a while now, neither one of you ready to acknowledge it. But there’s something about tonight that feels different. 

You lean back to look at Gale’s face, bringing a hand up to guide a strand of greying brown hair behind his ear. Your hand lingers on his cheek, thumb brushing gently across his skin. He puts his own hand over yours, moving it to kiss your palm. It’s a careful gesture, tender and nervous all at the same time. 

When you move to kiss him, he meets you halfway. It’s a soft kiss; a testament to these nights you’ve spent together. When you part, you rest your forehead against his. The way he looks at you makes your heart swell: like you mean everything to him. 

He kisses you once more before you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. He holds you like he’s scared you’ll disappear, and you tighten your arms around him as if to answer: 'I could never.'

You both sleep the best you have in weeks, still there for each other each time you wake. 

[prime-adeptus]

BAD IDEA (FORGET ABOUT IT, FORGET ABOUT ME) – QUANXI X READER

It’s a bad idea. You know it is. Even fucking worse now that you realise that you’re no longer doing this for sexual pleasure. You’re doing it for her affection, even if it only comes with her hand around your throat or between your thighs. Or, the one where you’re not lovers, just strangers, and you’re fine with it. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

CONTENT.⠀NSFW; female reader; friends with benefits, unrequited pining, angst, slight power imbalance (quanxi is mc’s superior), alcohol, mentions of medication, unhealthy relationships, hurt/no comfort, original character deaths, mentions of blood. Canon divergent, but takes place after the events of Part 1. ~6.5k words

NOTES.⠀my first fic of 2024 lets gooo baby HAPPY NEW YURI!!!! this is my contribution to my thank u, next collab :) likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! this is the most self-indulgent I’ve ever written but I hope you enjoy regardless;;

also on ao3 | @angelshub @bitchcraftinc @enchantedforest-network @ghostqueue

You never think twice.

It runs in the family, you think. Your father was an insanely reckless devil hunter, your mother was impulsive even in the worst situations, and your brother did things just for the thrill. It’s ironic that for people with a job that relies on survival instinct, they had none at all. Impulsivity runs in your family, and there will soon come a day when it will get you killed the same way it did with them. That’s fine. Death doesn’t scare you, not anymore. He’ll come bearing his scythe when his time comes, taking your soul to where it needs to be, and you’ll let it happen when it does.

Public Safety wasn’t your first option. Being a professional devil hunter wasn’t, either. You wanted to pursue something less violent, like someone who could help improve a community’s welfare. You wanted kids to grow up better than you did. But with devils roaming the streets and the lack of the ‘strong-hearted,’ it came as no surprise that you had to give up on what you’d initially hoped. You’re still pissed about it years later in your career. The younger you wanted to help the world.

In a way, you got what you wanted. It just wasn’t the way you wanted it to happen.

You think you’re more familiar with firearms and blades than you are with flowers and crayons now. Your hands, once soft and delicate, are now scarred and calloused, stained with the blood of those you had to slay and lose in combat. Your heart, once full of hope and kindness, is now cold as ice. The innocence and joy you used to have were cruelly ripped out of your hands and crushed into pieces you can never put together again.

But you don’t have time to miss who you used to be, nor do you have the time to dream anymore. You have to survive in a world where danger lurks in every corner. You will pass the days instead of living them, letting them hurt you and bury misery deep in your bones, but you will survive, if not by sheer determination or instinct.

The drink you’re having burns your throat. Though you weren’t previously a drinker, having seen how it changed people like it did to your father, there’s nothing else you can turn to. You never liked bars either, yet here you are, sitting all by your lonesome. People change, whether it’s out of their volition or against their will. You don’t know where you fall between those categories.

The longer you stare into space, the more you tune out the world around you. You feel as though you aren’t here, but somewhere else. It’s been happening more often than you’d like—zoning out, feeling like you’re not in control of your body, vulnerable. You’re more annoyed by it than you are concerned. You’re a professional devil hunter, bound to an organisation that could dispose of you without a second thought if you fail them. There is no time for weakness. Your training and years of work have taught you that the hard way.

By the time you come back to your senses, your glass is already empty. A frown tugs at the corners of your lips. You’ve half a mind to order another shot to feel something other than perpetual numbness and exhaustion, but ultimately decide against it. Your tolerance isn’t as high as Kishibe’s is, after all. Who knows what will happen if you bite off more than you can chew? You don’t, and more importantly, you don’t want to deal with the consequences.

With a sigh, you leave the bar. The bells above the door chime as the door opens and exposes you to the winter air. A chill runs down your spine, making you shiver involuntarily. You’ve never been fond of the cold. It’s miserable, it makes you lethargic, and it’s a pain to get through without getting sick. You hate the shitty apartment you live in and the equally shitty radiator that came with it too, but this time around, you actually can’t wait to be home. You suppose there are still some things to look forward to, no matter how mundane they may be.

“Hm. Didn’t expect to see anyone out at this hour.”

You turn to see Quanxi leaning against a wall with a cigarette between her lips and the same deadpan expression you’re used to seeing her wear. Instinctively, you bow your head in greeting, though she makes no move to respond to it. Briefly you realise how you’ve never had a proper conversation with her, only good mornings here and there whenever you happen to cross paths. This is the first time she’s properly acknowledged you as something else other than one of Kishibe’s many juniors he ‘babysits,’ as he would say.

The wind blows the nicotine in your direction, causing you to grimace instinctively. In an attempt to cover it, you clear your throat and reply, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I thought you didn’t like being out at night.”

“I don’t,” you say with a wry smile. “Why are you out at this hour, Miss Quanxi?”

“I couldn’t sleep either.” With a sigh, she pushes herself off the wall and finds her place by your side. “I’ll walk you home. I’m going in the same direction anyway.”

You have a feeling she’s not going to take no for an answer, so all you do is nod and go along with her. It puts you on edge, being so close to someone you’ve always held in high regard. It’s also strange, in a good way, to be alone with a woman like her. Up until a few moments ago, you didn’t even know she was aware of you at all. You find that you like having her beside you like this. It makes you feel safe, protected, and in a way you can’t pinpoint why, like you belong.

The apartment building looms overhead and stands among electrical lines and small stores. The lightbulb in front of the elevator flickers before it goes out, leaving the hallway too dim for your liking. Anxiety starts to bubble at the pit of your stomach. You don’t know if it’s because of the dark or if it’s because of how close she’s standing to you. As your finger hovers over the button, you glance at her and blurt out, “Would you like to come in?”

She blinks as if she wasn’t expecting you to say that. She probably wasn’t. Heat rises to your cheeks and paints them with shame. You tend to speak before you think, which has both worked in your favour and against it.

(You never learn.)

“It’s cold outside,” you try to reason. “You could come in for tea, warm up for a bit before you go. I’d feel bad if I let you leave without anything.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

Your face burns. You should’ve thought she’d say no. You should’ve thought more. Of course, the Quanxi has no reason to stay and chat with you. She’s not the kind of person to do such a thing. She’s stoic, unapproachable, and–

“But if you insist, I’ll come in,” she says, interrupting you just before your brain is about to go into overdrive. “I could use a break anyway.”

She follows you into the cramped elevator without another word. It’s hard to keep your cool as you’re all too slowly taken up the building. With trembling hands, you unlock the door to your apartment. Your nerves are going haywire for reasons you can’t begin to fathom. You ignore them the best you can.

“Tea? Coffee?” you ask. You like to think you’re pretty good at keeping your composure, but you’re not so confident tonight. It’s fine. You’re being considerate, nothing more, so there’s no need to be so nervous. You’re just being a good host.

“Tea is fine.”

“Alright. Um, have a seat. I’ll be done in a minute.”

She takes off her shoes at the doorway before stepping into the living area, glancing around wordlessly. You hope she doesn’t mind the mess on the coffee table, even if it’s only receipts, newspapers and some blister packs you keep forgetting to throw out. Normal, mundane things. You haven’t had the time or drive to organise your place lately. You wish you did. For anything in general, really.

You’re surprised how stable your hands are this time around as you carry the tray towards where she’s sitting on the couch. She takes the mug with a barely audible thanks and you take your own. The couch isn’t small by any means. It’s old, yes, but it’s more than enough to seat two people. For some reason, it feels like it’s smaller. You’re close enough that your knees brush against each other. You try not to think about how this is the closest you’ve ever physically been to someone in years.

You almost want to scoff at that. It’s never occurred to you (or rather, you prefer not to think about it) how deprived you are of warmth and contact. Every day consists of you passively following a monotonous routine. People like you don’t get the chance to be close to someone, physically and emotionally, not when they can be taken away from you in the blink of an eye. You should be used to it by now.

You don’t think you can ever be.

“Is it okay?” Your voice is soft, hesitant. “It’s not too sweet?”

“It’s fine.”

You don’t know if Quanxi is one for small talk. You highly doubt it, but still, you find yourself chattering away. You talk about almost forgetting your keys in the morning, about how friendly your neighbours are despite their intimidating appearance, about the dog that greets you every morning and every time you come back.

Self-consciousness suddenly threatens to consume you whole when you catch how much you’ve been rambling in your flustered state. You can’t tell if she’s actually listening or if she’s only humming and nodding along so you’d stop eventually. Maybe you should.

The sudden silence makes her look at you curiously. “What’s wrong?”

“I, ah, nothing.” You shake your head. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

“You were talking about your last mission,” she offers. You’re almost disappointed that she had been listening to you. “The bodyguard one.”

You didn’t expect that.

“Right… I’m sorry, Miss Quanxi. I didn’t realise how long I’ve been keeping you here. Would you like me to see you out?”

“I don’t mind. You sound interesting.” She places the cup down and leans back against the cushions, getting herself comfortable. You aren’t sure if you should take it as a compliment or something. “And Quanxi is fine. I’m not Kishibe.”

“Of course! I’m sorry, Miss—I mean, Quanxi.”

Names have always been important to you; hers isn’t any different. But as her name rolls off your tongue, you find that you like how it feels. Familiar, like you’ve been saying it for years. In the back of your mind, you wonder if she knows your name—she hasn’t uttered it once since she spotted you outside the bar.

Somehow, that makes you sadder than you should be.

“You live alone?” she asks. Your mind goes blank for a moment. Is she interested in you? No, that can’t be. She’s just making conversation. She probably pities you for the fact that you’re the only one doing the talking.

“I do. Have been since I was seventeen,” you say, cutting off your train of thought before it gets worse. “I don’t have a girlfriend either.”

You don’t realise what you’ve blurted out until Quanxi hums curiously.

Why did you say that? Why do you say anything?

“You don’t?”

“No,” you mumble. You avert your gaze to the side, nervousness taking hold of you once more. “Are you… Interested? In me?”

When you finally look back at her, her face is only inches away from yours. You stare at her wide-eyed. A myriad of emotions swirls deep in your chest as you stutter and stammer, your lips parting then closing like a fish out of water.

“Maybe,” she answers, and the apology you were going to say dies on your tongue.

Your heart is threatening to burst out of your chest with how fast it thumps in the confines of your ribcage. Despite the winter outside, it feels hot—you feel hot, like you’re standing by a burning flame. You think you’ve short-circuited when she gently tilts your head up with her fingers and leans in to kiss you with a softness usually reserved for a lover.

And because you never think twice, you don’t hesitate to comply when she urges you to sit on her lap. Your arms wrap around her neck and it doesn’t take long before the kiss turns more heated, before you start grinding against her. Cold digits trail across your skin and crawl between your thighs, smoothly unbuttoning your trousers to reveal what they’re searching for.

Hesitantly, you pull away to catch your breath. You can hardly understand what’s happening, and maybe you don’t have to, but there’s a deep longing to hear it directly from her.

“Miss Quanxi!” Whatever you’re trying to say gets interrupted with a gasp as her fingers dip past the waistband of your panties. “What are you—”

“Helping you relax,” she replies nonchalantly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how tense you’ve been since we got here.”

You’re not sure you can handle seeing how attentively she’s watching your expressions right now, so you squeeze your eyes shut. It doesn’t help, not when you can feel everything at once, from her heated expression to her sinfully adept fingers.

There’s a voice in the back of your mind telling you that this is wrong, unfair, but when she brushes over a spot that has you shivering against her hand, the thought ebbs away like it was never there at all.

You don’t want her to stop.

Maybe the strange heavy feeling within your chest is just anxiety from not being in a situation like this for a long time. Maybe it’s what your classmates used to call ‘butterflies in your stomach’ because you’re with someone you admire. Reason slips out of your reach with every curl of her fingers against your walls, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly you’re reaching the edge. The sight of her doing something to you that only lovers do to each other isn’t helping your case, either.

Her name leaves your lips in a pathetic whine. “Quanxi—”

“Let go,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your cheek, “Let me take care of you.”

Your orgasm washes over you like the sea crashes against the shore, rendering you breathless and teary-eyed from how overwhelming everything feels. She doesn’t relent until you weakly wrap your hand around her wrist in a poor attempt to stop her from breaking you any further. She eventually pulls her hand away and brings her fingers up to your mouth, imperceptibly smiling at how you take them in without question. Seemingly satisfied, she withdraws and lets you slump against her body, tuckered out and boneless.

“Look at you,” she coos, her voice dripping with endearment. She’s probably used to saying these things and getting these reactions, and as bitter as you may feel about it, they have your heart racing nonetheless. You’re not used to praise. In your entire life, you’ve only been satisfactory, yet here she is praising you for doing nothing except surrender yourself to her. You part your lips to speak, only to be interrupted.

“Don’t worry about me.”

It’s almost worrisome how she can tell what’s on your mind so effortlessly. With a huff, you bury your face in the crook of her shoulder. You doubt you can look her in the eye without saying or doing something embarrassing.

“But…” you mumble out.

“I can take care of myself.”

You frown, though you don’t argue with the finality in her tone. Your body gradually relaxes as she runs her fingers up and down the length of your spine. It’s getting difficult to stay awake when you feel so sated, so safe. Eventually, without realising it, your blinking slows down and you start to drift off in her arms, growing blissfully unaware of the world around you.

—

You wake up in your bed dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

Quanxi must’ve carried you here before she left. Your vision slowly adjusts to the change in lighting as you look out the window by your side. It seems that people have already gotten their day started, judging from the cars moving down the road and the dogs barking in response to the disturbance they bring. You’re groggy and your thoughts are unclear, leaving you more wearied than you’d normally be. A dull ache rings in your head, growing stronger when you push yourself out of bed and trudge to the bathroom to freshen up.

Your mind feels like it’s shrouded with fog. You’re beginning to think going to the bar yesterday was a mistake. You tend not to dwell too much on the consequences of what you do, only what satisfies you in that moment. It’s a bad habit you can’t seem to get rid of. But it’s far too early to think—in fact, you’d rather not do it at all—so you clumsily grab the shower valve and let the water wash away yesterday’s events. It takes a couple of tries to find it, but you make it nonetheless. A curse escapes you at the unexpected cold that has you jolting awake against your will. You suppose you did need that rude awakening.

The word ‘mistake’ seems to echo in your mind louder and louder as you struggle to properly button up your shirt with sluggish hands. You’re pretty sure one of your socks is mismatched, but you don’t really have the energy to change them. You glance at the bottle of painkillers in your cabinet. You never quite liked taking these things even if they’re supposed to help you. You didn’t like having ‘too much’ in your system. A bit ironic, considering all the supplements and medication you’ve had in your lifetime.

Bitterly, you take them. You can’t have something so inane affect your efficiency at work.

The headquarters is already busy when you arrive. Camaraderie isn’t a thing here, so the atmosphere already feels stiff and awkward. You suppose it’s reasonable, having gone through a few losses yourself. In a world like this, you simply can’t get attached to anyone. You shouldn’t. After all, they can be ripped out of your hands, ripped apart until the only proof of their existence is their blood stained on your skin. It’s not ‘hating the world’ or ‘being unapproachable;’ it’s a way to protect the other person. In a way, it protects you too.

Your mind reels back to last night now that you’re more awake. The way she held you. The way she just knew your body like the back of her hand. The way she kissed you. Only lovers touch each other like that, your mother used to tell you, but you’re not lovers even if it felt like it. The intimate moments you shared threaten to bring tears to your eyes as they play through your mind again like a film reel. The memory of her lips against your skin, of her holding you as if you were made of porcelain. They’re likely nothing to her, but they’re everything to you.

So how are you meant to brush off something like that so easily? When you’ve never had or let anyone touch you in such a way? What is it about her that had you caving in without a second thought? What is it about her that has your emotions going into overdrive?

The coffee nearly burns your tongue and leaves behind a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about this. And sure, maybe the coffee wasn’t a good idea either, but what does it matter? All you have to do is work, hopefully stay alive, and come back to a boring life after a long day of saving the city. What happened last night was only a one-time thing. There’s no reason to mull over it again.

You unceremoniously toss the paper cup into the trash. Coffee was not a good idea.

The day, although surprisingly uneventful, is spent writing reports and being in the worst mood you’ve ever been in. Thankfully you didn’t need to talk to anyone, save for Kishibe who dropped by earlier to see if you were still alive.’ It was oddly kind of him to do. You’re more used to him being distant or plain merciless like he was to the chainsaw boy and the blood fiend. It’s nice to have someone look for you, think of you, even if it’s for such a grim reason.

You were tidying up for the day when your coworker approached you with a smile on her face. ‘Do you wanna come get drinks with us?’ she had asked. Seeing as you didn’t have plans for the rest of the evening—you never do—you agreed. A couple of drinks won’t hurt.

It’s not that difficult to spot your colleagues and seniors in the izakaya. It’s hard to miss them, actually, when one of them is excitedly calling your name and waving you over. They’re already drunk. You understand them, you think. You generally dislike feeling inebriated and what comes after, but with the current path you’re on, it’s the only source of comfort you have.

You grimace. You really have become your father.

The table is cluttered with beer cans and unfinished plates of snacks. Kishibe sits silently in the corner. He’s opted to bring his own drink this time around and barely acknowledges you with a glance. There are a couple other seniors you don’t recognise. With a bow that feels more perfunctory than it does respectful, you greet them and quietly slide into the booth.

Quanxi sits across from you, calm and collected like always. She doesn’t say hello to you with the same enthusiasm that her colleagues had, though she does nod and subtly raise her glass at you. Flustered, you blink, you purse your lips, and then finally you get it together and smile at her, the same way one would when seeing an old friend. Sure, that isn’t what she is, she’s just your senior, but you’d rather stay on her good side. You’ve seen how she dealt with that Hirofumi boy when they both came back last year. As attractive as you found it, you also don’t want to end up being someone she regards coldly.

You shake your head. Why are you worrying so much about what she’d think of you? All she did was acknowledge your presence. Luckily, one of your colleagues (someone you recognise, thank god) notices you and starts to ask all about your day. It’s enough to keep you busy. It’s also surprising you aren’t drained yet, considering how much more talkative they are compared to you.

“This is why I’m trying to help you out of your shell!” they playfully chide once you trail off, feeling self-conscious. “We want to get to know you better! Don’t be shy. Come on, tell me. What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been—”

Whatever phrase you were thinking of immediately goes forgotten when you feel someone’s foot brush against your ankle. You’re nearly seized with panic before you make eye contact with Quanxi and realise that it’s her doing. Somehow, it doesn’t do much to calm your racing heart. She seems so nonchalant, casually smoking her cigarette as if she isn’t threatening to make a mess of you with something so simple.

They furrow their eyebrows in concern. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah! Sorry,” you reply sheepishly. “I’ve been… well, busy. There’s a lot of backlog I still need to catch up on.”

Quanxi doesn’t do much after that, something you’re thankful for. Perhaps she took pity on you. Tearing your gaze away from her, you turn back to your colleague with a strained smile. You hope they won’t notice how you’ve tensed up and how your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

“W-What about you?”

It’s even more surprising that you can still speak while feeling so tongue-tied. Your conversation partner starts to chatter away, talking about everything and nothing, which you try your best to stay invested in. It makes for quite a good distraction, and Quanxi doesn’t tease you again until your colleagues begin to leave one by one. Until you’re eventually left alone with her.

You bite the inside of your cheek nervously. Her surprising you earlier could’ve been an accident, so nothing is stopping you from going home. You should go home. It’s not like she wants you to stay, right? She’s probably waiting for you to leave so she can do the same thing. You try to think of a polite way to excuse yourself, but nothing comes to mind and the words are stuck in the back of your throat.

“You’re thinking too much.”

You’re sober. Sober enough to be able to function, but not enough to notice that Quanxi has moved to sit next to you with her hand on your thigh. She leans in close to press a kiss to your neck, an invitation. A promise. You watch as her lithe fingers teasingly skim across your inner thigh, dancing dangerously close to your core. Your eyes remain on her hand, how it feels pressed against you, so warm and perfect—

“Not here,” you breathe, “H-Home.”

The night passes by in a blur. Before you know it, she has you on her bed, your cheeks flushed and your clothes torn from your body. Everything feels warmer, stronger, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re tipsy or if it’s because you’re pent up, but it doesn’t matter. You can’t think of anything, not when she keeps taking your breath away time and time again with every roll of her hips. Moans and broken syllables of her name leave your lips, doused in lust and whatever remaining modesty you have left.

Once isn’t enough for her. Your thighs are trembling as she pushes you into the blankets, keeping a tight grip on your shoulder as the sound of her thighs slapping against yours fills the room. The lewd noises leaving your body make your cheeks burn, and you wonder if she can feel how warm they are against her thighs when she finally lets you return the favour with your tongue. You’re sloppy and unpracticed, you know you are, but when she says your name and tells you that you’re so good for her, your heart soars.

Eager to please, you stay for what feels like an hour before she has you on your back and her fingers inside you once again. She doesn’t stop until you’re a teary-eyed, trembling mess beneath her. She doesn’t stop until your voice is hoarse from how loud you’ve been. Sleep comes easy to you that night; once more, you nestle close to her side and drift off, completely spent. The same way you did last night; only this time, she doesn’t hold you.

She’s gone by the time you wake up, and her taste lingers on your tongue as you leave her apartment feeling satiated but hollow.

—

You don’t know when meeting up with Quanxi just to fuck became a regular thing, but it did.

It’s a bad idea. You know it is. Even fucking worse now that you realise that you’re no longer doing this for sexual pleasure. You’re doing it for her affection, even if it only comes with her hand around your throat or between your thighs. You know it’s a bad idea when you always leave her place feeling used. Emotions have never been your strong suit—you’re not made to think, you’re made to do—but the whirlwind and the paradox have set you a few steps back. From what, you don’t know; all you know is that you can’t move on without her, without something more from her.

It bothers you how you both go back to work and act like you don’t know each other. It bothers you how she doesn’t even notice you when you happen to walk by. It bothers you how she feels so distant even though everything you’ve ever done with her has been things only lovers do. It bothers you how much you feel like you need her to satisfy you in more ways than what she’s currently doing. It’s not meant to be something serious. You’ve known that the moment she kissed you.

A distraction is all you are. A vice, like her drinks and her cigarettes and the other women. Something she has readily available to her, and because it’s Quanxi, you let it happen. You think she’s worth the turmoil in your mind. Why wouldn’t she be? She knows your body like the back of her hand, knows what you like, knows what you need. You’ll grin and bear it, accept the love she gives you on sleepless nights, and come whenever she calls.

Work has been busy enough for the past week or two. You were sent on a mission to somewhere in the south, ordered to exterminate a cluster of fiends and granted temporary leave after one of them managed to give you a nearly fatal wound. You don’t think she even knows that you were at the hospital until you had enough blood in your veins to heal again. It’s fine. Of course it is. She’s as busy as you are, if not more, and she has her own things to worry about.

You haven’t seen her in a while. Not at work, not at the bar you frequent. It harrows and relieves you at the same time because you feel her wherever you go. You walk in crowds hoping that she’ll be among them. You stay out hours after the work day ends hoping that you’ll bump into her. You keep your ears open hoping that you’ll hear something about her, or if you’re lucky enough, hear her calling your name. You don’t know how she’s woven her existence into your life this much, nor do you know what you want from her. But it’s not that necessary to put a stop to something you need, is it?

It’s fine if she doesn’t need you for anything else beyond sex. It’s fine that your love (is it even so?) goes unreciprocated. It’s fine if you feel cold in her embrace, and it’s fine that she’ll never be yours the same way you are hers. If this is a ‘bad idea,’ then you’ll make the most out of it—anything to keep you happy, anything to please her.

As long as she still knows your name, and as long as she still wants you, it’s enough.

It’s a particularly rough day when you leave an abandoned building with blood on your sleeves. You know your job isn’t done yet. There are reports you have to write, some civilians you need to check on, but you’re not confident that you can keep your impatience and anger under control. You’re tired, miserable, and you’re wondering if those pills do help you or if you’ve been lied to again. A cold shower and coffee weren’t enough to wake you this morning. The so-called soothing balm did nothing to heal the ache in your neck, and things went downhill insanely quickly. Today’s mission was the worst one you’ve ever had. You couldn’t save your partner in time. Their life was syphoned out of their body as they cried—no, begged you to help them, and all you could do was watch it happen.

The weight of your sword on your back feels heavier when you think of your failure today. A good craftsman never blames his tools. Can you say the same thing about yourself? Your weapon is an extension of you. The blade hasn’t dulled, but you have. It makes you feel even worse to know that you aren’t competent at the one thing you can do. If you were, you could’ve saved your partner, the one before that, and the others you lost along the way. Their blood will always be on your hands no matter how much you clean them. You’re quite sure there’s still a splatter on your shirt, but you are so, so tired. Stains are the least of your concerns.

The path to the bar is more familiar than it should be. You can barely register the worried and fearful glances people send you as you walk by them, exhausted and dishevelled. Hell, the bartender isn’t even shocked when you take a seat. He’s seen you more times than he can count. Not as many while you’re looking this beat up, though he takes it well enough. Wordlessly, he brings you your regular order. He doesn’t bother you again after that.

The burn barely fazes you anymore. You settle down the glass a bit harder than you should’ve, making you wince. You don’t want another thing to go wrong today. Quite frankly, you just want it all to be over, so you can retire, rest and visit the places you’ve always wanted to go to. Maybe get married, have a family, or adopt a pet. What a normal entails isn’t that known anymore. You’ll take anything at this point.

“Rough day?”

Quanxi leans on her side against the counter, running her gaze up and down your form. It should make you feel embarrassed, what with the current state you’re in, but you don’t think you can even care anymore.

You chuckle humorlessly. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

It doesn’t occur to you until moments later that this is your first time seeing her in weeks. A part of you feels relieved to know that she’s fine, she’s here, and another part of you is in disbelief that she still wants to talk to you despite the state you’re in. You can’t decide whether that’s endearing or pitiable.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You’ve already made several bad decisions, what’s another one going to do? You can drink the whole night, or you can do something that’ll make you feel good and forget for a little while. You cut to the chase, staring down into the glass. “My place or yours?”

She blinks, bewildered, then she speaks up again, “You can come to mine.”

The world doesn’t come back to you until you’re in her apartment again, already out of breath as you try to keep up with her hungry kisses. They’re addicting, borderline overwhelming, but you always crave for more, more, more. Her hands are on your hips and tonight she touches you with a gentleness that wasn’t present in your other trysts. Her touches are featherlight, treating your body like it’s made out of glass, and for some reason unknown to you, it’s more than enough to make you break into tears.

You pull her closer, your arms wrapped around her waist as you sob into her shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, only rubs soothing circles on your back and lets you cry your heart out. Conflicting feelings make their way into your heart, holding it tight within its suffocating grasp. You want her to say something, but at the same time, you don’t. You want to ignore everything, have her make you forget, but you also don’t want to.

Then you can finally breathe. Your cries turn into sniffles. Your breathing is shakier than it should be, but it gradually calms down. Her collar is stained with your tears, marked with your vulnerability, your weakness. It’s hard to speak. The silence kills you inside, breaks down every wall you’ve put up around you. You crumble before her, your nails lightly digging into her back as she gently lays you down on the bed. You’re still holding on to her when she tries to get up.

“I’ll get you some water,” she says. You think it’s the softest she’s ever sounded. Your hand lingers on hers for a moment before you reluctantly let her go, too worn out to ask or argue.

When she comes back, she crawls into her side of the bed. No words are shared as you curl up close to her. Her heartbeat steadily lulls you to sleep while she pulls you closer with her hand on your back, tucking your head beneath her chin.

And just like last time and the time before that, you wake up alone.

Your head hurts. Your body aches all over, hurting with the smallest movement, but you manage. Some water spills when you drink, which you haphazardly wipe away with the back of your hand. The clock on the wall tells you that you’re late for work, but you’re far too weary to move. Instead, you nestle deeper into the blankets, blankly staring at the nightstand as the city continues to live without you.

She didn’t leave you a note. Why would she? She’s not your lover; she doesn’t have to tell you anything. There’s a sense of urgency in the back of you should leave too. That there’s a busy day ahead of you, there are people and families you need to get in touch with, and there’s some loose ends that you need to tie up. It will get worse the longer you stall, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to care about it.

You don’t feel anything. You want to feel happy, angry, sad, anything, but you just can’t. Not when you’re on your own and the only company you have is the quiet. You don’t feel anything unless you’re in pain. You don’t feel anything unless you drink until you black out. But with Quanxi, you feel alive. With her, you don’t feel like a machine. You don’t feel like a killer, stained in the blood of those you failed to save. You’re someone she likes, at least enough to keep around for as long as she has. You’re someone she looks for when she needs you.

It’s not love. You know it isn’t. You don’t think she’ll ever love you the same way you love her. You’re not that oblivious to ignore what this truly is—pure unadulterated lust and desire, something to relieve stress whenever it arises. Days ago you cried until you had nothing left because you wanted more. Now, you just ignore it all. If it makes you feel good in the moment, makes you feel like you’re worth something, who are you to deny it?

You know you make bad decisions, ones that lead you to consequences you deal with alone like this one. You don’t care anymore. You never think twice. It’s just how you’ve always been.

You never think twice, but as the bed gets colder, you wonder if it’s about time you did.

[blaisenova]

ermmmm like i dunno if you're still doing requests buttt could you do like kustard but it turns to dustard

that dynamic always interested me but i never see much about it :3

anon, has anyone ever told you that you're a genius?

the kustard to dustard pipeline is WOEFULLY UNEXPLORED. WHICH SUCKS BECAUSE IT'S SO FUCKING GOOD. so, naturally, i was REALLY excited when i got this ask. yippie!!! an excuse to write fun fucked up dynamics!!!!!

this one is pretty tame. i can't think of any warnings you might need other than it being like..... long and, obviously, kinda angsty. it's fluffy in the end tho. but that's what you get when you ask me to write i guess LOL

thank you all for the requests btw!! i was NOT expecting so many after the kist fic, but i am pleasantly surprised and am trying to chip away at them as quickly as i can. spat this one out in a few hours, so it might not be my best work, but i'm happy with how it turned out either way :)

as always, the link to this fic on ao3 will be in the reblogs once it's posted, if that's your cup of tea (as it is mine LMAO)

i hope this feeds you well anon. thank you for the ask <3

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was undeniable that the multiverse was an entirely cruel and ruthless place.

Or, at least, that was what Red had wholeheartedly believed up until he’d met his other self, in a universe that was so very unlike his own. A universe where the typical LOVE of any given passerby was nothing higher than 1; where Sans and his brother were kind to one another in public; where there was so little need for the royal guard that the worst Sans got for sneaking off to Grillby’s during his shift was a slap on the wrist. It was difficult to believe that a place like that could exist – that it could be self-sustainable, since, logically, their weakness should have led to their downfall – and even harder to look at it as anything more than a childish fantasy that had yet to find its catch.

Initially, Red hated Sans. 

It felt ridiculous, looking back upon it – in the moments when his head lay in Sans’ lap and gentle fingers traced over his scars like they were poetry written in a language Red had never bothered to learn, and he wondered what Sans saw in him that he hadn’t seen; wondered if this was what it felt like to love himself – but it was the truth. It had taken him a while to understand that the circumstances in which they’d grown were enough to turn them into two different people; that hating Sans wasn’t so much like hating himself, or what he could have been, as he wanted it to be.

Really, Sans was so unsuspecting that Red had been foolish enough to let his guard down, forgetting that then was when feeling was the most liable to appear. 

He hadn’t expected to fall in love with the laugh – genuine, unabashed, and lacking all of the gruffness of his own – of someone whose humour was just as terrible as his own.

He’d been far too blind to realise how incredibly endearing it was for someone to wake up and allow themselves to be bleary and half-asleep, cuddling into his arm without even meaning to, even if it meant opening themselves up to being easily picked off.

In allowing someone into his blindspot that he’d believed to be too weak or foolish to use it against him, he’d failed to remember that it was the softest words that cut the deepest, when they would bleed him dry so tenderly and lovingly that he couldn’t even think to fight against the bloodloss; when, instead, he’d lean into the knife and ask them to twist it. The wound was soul deep, and the soul’s wounds could not be so easily ignored.

Though, it was a small price to pay to hear that raucous laughter over jokes that weren’t even funny. Trivial, really, in comparison to soft smiles and gentle touches that moved slowly just to prove to him how tender the world could really be.

“Earth to Red.”

A soul for a soul; a life for a life. They gave one another all of themselves, promised each other that it was enough, and it was. For once, it was, just to be soft.

“Come in, Red.”

There was gentleness in the multiverse, hidden until it was allowed in.

Tiredly, he bat away the hand that waved in front of his sockets, only to grab it by the wrist and pull it back down, firmly, on the crown of his skull. With a laugh, the fingers scratched gentle circles into the bone, and Red hummed happily at the feeling, allowing his sockets to slip shut as he lay against Sans’ legs.

“Where’d you go, space cadet?”

“Nowhere,” he grumbled, sighing softly as he fully relaxed into the touch. “Must’ve dozed off.”

Again, there was that laugh, and Red’s soul fluttered. “With your eyes open?”

“It’s a little known talent of mine,” he hummed.

“Gee, must be handy,” came the response, and amusement never sounded so beautiful. “You’ll have to teach me sometime.”

“Nuh uh,” and he couldn’t stop himself from snorting. “It’s genetic.”

“Ah, damn. Guess we gotta add that to the list of differences.”

“Guess so.” His breath hitched as the hand on his head trailed downward to cup his cheek. His browbones furrowed, ever so slightly, and he felt himself go tense.

“Hey. Look at me.”

After a moment, Red opened his sockets, and there was no sight more welcome than the face of his lover. Each time he saw him was like the first, and Red drank in each of his features as if they’d disappear at any moment: smooth bone, unmarred by chips and cracks; eyelights that glowed softly in dark sockets, like how he imagined fireflies might; ever present, gentle smile that smoothed away his worries. Oh, to be so untouched by cruelty. He’d do anything to keep it that way.

“‘Sup,” he breathed, and Sans’ smile widened as he snorted.

“‘Sup,” he returned. His thumb ran circles over his cheek, and Red leaned into the touch. “You okay?”

With a snicker, he rolled his eyelights at the question. “Super duper.”

Despite himself, Sans laughed too, but, still, pressed on. “You sure? You were spacing out pretty bad before. Like, way out in deep space,” he emphasised, unnecessarily. “No planets around, just stars. Way beyond our galaxy. Uncharted territory. Where no man has gone before.”

“Alright, alright, I get the picture” Red interrupted, though not without chuckling. “‘M okay. Was just thinking.”

When Sans’ head cocked to the side, Red couldn’t help but grin. “About?”

“Uranus.”

At first, his sockets simply narrowed, confused, then all at once, “Ura– Oh. Alright, perv. Har har.”

But, he was laughing, and Red was, too, like it was the funniest joke in the world despite it not even being funny. Maybe it didn’t matter, if Red was the one to say it; if Sans was the one to laugh. Maybe, then, it could be good, even if it wasn’t, really. The sound of their laughter, something shared and sacred, was what Red imagined it might feel like to hear the birds chirp when the sun rose and turned the sky whatever colours it was supposed to when it drove the night away. He hoped that it was blue, like Sans’ favourite colour, but the pictures in his textbooks were too faded to be sure.

When he tuned back in, the laughter had tapered off.

“You do that a lot, y’know,” Sans noted, almost absentmindedly, and his hands turned back to trailing shapes on Red’s skull.

He grunted at the feeling. “Do what?”

“Go to space,” Sans said, simply. “Or… somewhere else. That I can’t reach.”

Red frowned, closing his sockets to cut off the dull thrum of agony he felt in his soul whenever Sans’ smile didn’t reach his eyes like that. “I do it less than I used to. It used to be better, somewhere else – anywhere else – but ‘m not so sure anymore.”

“Where would you wanna go?” he asked, in a whisper. “If you could go anywhere. Anywhere at all.”

For a moment, Red considered. The answer would have been easy before – the surface, of course. Where Paps and every other monster longed to be – but access to the multiverse had opened up options that he’d never known existed. If he could conceive of a place, it surely existed, somewhere. Any place. Anywhere. Anywhere at all. But, if kindness was so thoroughly hidden, why should he want to look for it anywhere else?

“Think I’d rather just stay here,” he hummed. “With you.”

Maybe he should have questioned the way that Sans’ hands stilled at his answer. Maybe he should have opened his eyes; looked at his face; seen his expression; known what it meant.

But, he didn’t.

“Geez,” Sans breathed, with a laugh that sounded breathless. “My answer feels stupid in comparison.”

“Yeah? What’s yours?”

“Anywhere else. Anywhere at all.”

In hindsight, Red should have known it was too good to last; too good to stay good.

A universe where the typical LOVE of any given passerby was nothing higher than 1; where Sans and his brother were kind to one another in public; where there was so little need for the royal guard that the worst Sans got for sneaking off to Grillby’s during his shift was a slap on the wrist. It was difficult to believe that a place like that could exist – that it could be self-sustainable, since, logically, their weakness should have led to their downfall – and even harder to look at it as anything more than a childish fantasy that had yet to find its catch.

Of course, there was a catch. 

There was always a catch. Every childish fantasy grew tainted with time, like the innocence of children was stripped with age. Every fairy tale book grew weary and old, pages yellowed and frayed. Every picture faded, until you couldn’t be sure whether the sky was blue or grey.

But, you hoped it was blue anyway, and maybe that was your mistake.

It was undeniable that the multiverse was an entirely cruel and ruthless place. That was what Red wholeheartedly believed. Maybe, after all, there was a reason that love and LOVE were spelled the same.

Try as he might, though, Red could not hate him.

It felt ridiculous – in the moments when hands clamped around his neck like a vice, choked by the grip and the grief that came with it, as if the two were one in the same, and they would both cry, both tremble in fear, or fury, or something worse, and Red would think that this was what it was like to hate himself – but it was the truth. It had taken him a while to understand that the circumstances in which they’d changed were enough to turn them into two different people; that hating Dust wasn’t so much like loving himself, or what he could have been, as he wanted it to be.

Really, Red had underestimated Dust as he had been before; had assumed that kindness meant the incapacity for cruelty.

And, in allowing someone into his blindspot that he’d believed to be too weak or foolish to use it against him, he’d failed to remember that it was the softest words that cut the deepest, when they would leave scars so deep that all he could think of was how much he missed the feeling; when he’d search for the knife and throw himself against it. The wound was soul deep, and the soul’s wounds could not be so easily ignored.

Before, he’d thought it was a small price to pay. Trivial, really, in comparison to what he had to gain from it. As if it were a simple transaction as opposed to something living, and breathing, and ever changing; as if he would never have to be the one who was tender; as if that made it anything less valuable.

“Red.”

A soul for a soul; a life for a life. They gave one another all of themselves, promised each other that it was enough, and it was. Just as before, it was. Harsher now, but Dust had taught Red to be soft, and Red would teach him what he’d forgotten.

“Red.”

There was gentleness in the multiverse, hidden until it was allowed in.

With a jolt, he came back to reality to a slap on the face, not hard enough to hurt, but more than enough to be startling. He frowned, but, nonetheless, took his hand by the wrist and guided it to the crown of his skull. Hesitantly, as if spurred on by some muscle memory, the fingers ran in gentle circles across his bone, and Red hummed in approval at the feeling as he lay against Dust’s legs.

“Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” he mumbled, unconsciously leaning into the touch. “Must’ve dozed off.”

“With your eyes open,” Dust said, and it wasn’t a question. “Freak.”

Immediately, Red snorted. “Guess we gotta add that to the list of similarities.”

Despite himself, Dust laughed; the sound short, subdued, and nothing like the laugh he’d fallen in love with, but something about it made his soul flutter, nonetheless. “Guess so.”

After a moment, Red opened his sockets. Each time he saw him was like the first, and Red drank in each of his features as if they’d disappear at any moment – as they had before – smooth bone that crackled and buzzed with magic, refusing to be underestimated; eyelights that glowed brightly in dark sockets, like how he imagined neon signs would on a city street in the middle of the night; a face shrouded by shadow, as if it was saved for him alone to see. In the end, he’d been marred by cruelty despite Red’s best efforts, but he was beautiful nonetheless.

“‘Sup,” Dust mumbled, and the edges of his mouth quirked up in an attempt at a smile.

Slowly, Red lifted his hand and, ever so gently, cupped Dust’s cheek, pausing when his breath hitched, but, with the same caution, Dust leaned into the touch; barely enough to be noticed, but Red noticed. This time, he saw. “‘Sup,” he finally returned. “You okay?”

“You’re going to disappear,” Dust whispered, and his voice broke on the words in a way that made Red feel hollowed out. “You’re going to go somewhere else. Somewhere that I can’t reach. Like you do when you go to space. It scares me.”

Browbones furrowed, Red ran gentle circles across his love’s cheek, staying silent as Dust took in a shuddering breath to continue; a quirk Red had grown accustomed to.

“I remember what you told me before,” he said, and his hand came up to desperately hold Red’s to his face, like he might forget it was there if he didn’t make sure. “That you did it because it was better to be somewhere else – anywhere else. Do you want that now? To be somewhere else? Away from me?”

“No,” Red said, and the lack of hesitation in his answer surprised even himself. “I don’t want that.”

Again, Dust’s breath hitched, and he frowned, like the answer wasn’t enough, and, maybe, it wasn’t. His fingers threaded between Red’s, and, when he clutched onto his hand, Red squeezed back, holding him with desperation to match. Dust laughed, a breathless sound. “I’m not the person that you loved.”

Scoffing, Red rolled his eyelights at the notion. “Of course you are.”

“I’m not,” Dust insisted, and something about it was a plea.

“Then,” he breathed, “I love you. This you.”

And, with a breath that was cut off with something that sounded suspiciously like a sob, Dust leaned forward – over Red’s body, as if to trap him – and pressed his chest against Red’s. His ribs fluttered with each breath, and Red guided his stuttering breaths with deep inhales that interlocked their ribs with each one. His hand remained stuck to Dust’s cheek, and he squeezed gently, relieved when Dust squeezed back to let him know he was still here; in this reality, not another.

“Breathe,” Red commanded, soft; soft, like he’d been taught. “I’m here.”

Dust took a heaving breath – deep, frantic, like he’d been drowning – and, in a voice that sounded so much like before – reminding Red once more that this was the person he loved, despite the change – he whispered, “Where would you wanna go? If you could go anywhere. Anywhere at all.”

The question made him sputter, for a moment. Then, with a breathless laugh, “Seriously?”

“Please,” he pleaded, so what could Red do but answer?

The answer would have been easy before – here; here, just like before – but, despite how they fought against it, things had changed. Did that mean his answer had to change? That his longing had to shift, too? The multiverse was infinite. If he could conceive of a place, it surely existed, somewhere. Maybe even somewhere that Sans stayed Sans, but would it be the same? Any place. Anywhere. Anywhere at all. But, if kindness was so thoroughly hidden – had been ripped from Dust’s grasp with the signature ruthlessness of the multiverse – then why shouldn’t Red be it? Like Dust had been for him, before.

“Think I’d like to stay here,” he hummed. “With you. Still.”

And, this time, Red noticed the way that Dust’s breathing slowed to a stop; felt the way that his magic crackled between his joints; how something wet slipped between their fingers on Dust’s cheek; knew what it meant.

“Okay,” Dust whispered.

“What about you? Where would you go?”

There was a pause – a moment as Dust inhaled once more; held Red’s hand tight, but oh, so gentle – before he managed to answer. “Here,” he said. “With you.”

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Ten

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: i think this might be my favourite chapter of all.

Word count: 7.8k

Chapter Ten

Within seconds, a waitress was quickly sweeping up the broken glass. Roy glanced around the seating area, and picked up the first empty chair he could find. The gentleman sat on the other side of the table hesitantly stood and turned towards him. “That seat is taken–”

“It’s mine now,” Roy said bluntly. Lucas didn’t hear a thing, as he busied himself making space for more drinks. You raised your brows at Roy, as he sat and scooted closer to your table, like you were silently telling him off. “Found one,” he said, dropping his hands into his lap, pleased with himself. 

You couldn’t believe his behaviour. Roy never went out of his way like this, unless it was for something that he knew was right. Your degree, the article, all of that had been because he knew it was best, but this? Gatecrashing your date– after shoving just an ounce of attention your way in three months– was overstepping. He knew it, too, but couldn’t stop the way his eyes flicked between you and Lucas with the question that he desperately wanted answered–

Are you together? 

Lucas shuffled next to you, and realised you no longer had a drink. “I’ll get you a new one,” he said kindly. You turned to him, trying to eject Roy from your atmosphere. You smiled at him, and gently reached out to grab his hand softly. Lucas smiled down at you, before he glanced at Roy. “And for you, Roy?”

“A beer,” Roy said, and you shot daggers at him. “Please.” He read your face with ease. You hated that he could do that. 

“You got it!” Lucas exclaimed, before he rushed off to order. 

You leant forward immediately, adopting the same energy that your mother did when you were young and causing a ruckus in public. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you whispered at him, sweetly, honey-toned, despite feeling the absolute fucking opposite. 

“What– a mate can’t join you and your boyfriend for a drink?” Roy said, but there was guilt etched all over his face. 

“He is not my boyfriend,” you snapped. “And you are not my mate, unless you think your silence over the past three months means fuck all. Is that really the only reason you decided to crash my date, Roy?” You put him on the spot. Residual feelings were adamant, and you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking back to you between his legs, holding him close, all of it.

Hurt flashed across Roy’s stoic face. He clenched his jaw, and shrugged. Your noses were inches from each other, both overcome by your own version of anger and sadness. He shrugged again, from lack of what to fucking do. You couldn’t stand it.

“Stop fucking shrugging, Roy, you’re a grown man! Grown men don’t shrug, they take accountability and reply to people’s text messages.” You lowered your voice to a hiss when you mentioned him airing you. 

“What would you know about being a grown man?” he hit back with. 

You raised your brows in competition. “I definitely have more balls than you’ve ever fucking had.”

Roy leaned forward abruptly, seriously. “I’ve been around balls my entire life and I assure you, you don’t have more than I do.” You rolled your eyes at him in annoyance, astounded that within minutes you were already bickering like children. Roy brought out a side of you that you kept hidden. The one that still acted stupid, and childlike, and competitive. “I was busy,” Roy said, coming back to the subject at hand. 

“Oh, yeah? Doing what?” you asked, seething. 

“Coaching,” he said, and you were taken aback. 

Your face squished in confusion. “Coaching who?”

“Richmond Primary School under 9 girls,” Roy said strongly. 

Curiosity was thrown out the window at his response. You tensed every muscle in your body, before you looked him face on. “That is not coaching!” you whispered harshly, trying not to cause a scene and disrupt everyone’s Friday night drinks. 

“Yes, it fucking is! Those little girls need some tough love, or they’ll grow up to become pricks like Jamie fucking Tartt,” Roy growled when Jamie’s name fell from his lips. 

As much as you were angry, ready to punch the guy, as you looked into his eyes you were struck with the inescapable pain and hurt that you’d felt for the past few months. Seeing his face again was a shock, and you were annoyed that you still noticed small things about him. He’d grown his hair out, and his beard was bushier. He looked subtly leaner, due to the lack of training, and he’d probably lost part of his muscle mass after his retirement.

You leaned back, crossing your arms. Roy’s face softened slightly as you did, replaced with the immense craving to stay close to you. He’d been an arse, fully, but he didn’t know how to make it better. Not after he’d just made things worse by butting in on your date. 

“How…” he started, but faltered at the first hurdle. You watched him struggle, and some of your anger dissipated as he did. “How have you been?” Roy got out eventually. 

Your heart lurched. You sucked in a breath, ready to reply, but you were cut off. 

Lucas dropped the drinks on the table enthusiastically. “Beer for you,” he said, reaching across and placing a pint in front of Roy. “Wine for the lady.” He placed a glass in front of you, and you forced yourself to come back to reality. As Lucas sat down, you ignored the sudden awkwardness of him draping his arm on the back of your chair, or crossing his legs in your direction. 

As much as you had no reason to be, you suddenly felt sick that you were sitting opposite Roy, next to the man that you’d been holding hands with, kissing in the dark, calling to tell him about your day. Everything was backwards; you were supposed to be doing that all with Roy, not with Lucas weren’t you? He was still an effective stranger, just someone that you’d met less than a fucking month ago. 

Everything was fucked. God, everything was fucked. 

You endured the incredibly awkward small talk. Lucas was lapping it up, so overly excited that he was talking to Roy fucking Kent. He was almost adorable, but also widely frustrating, due to his lack of realising that you and Roy were definitely not on good terms. You tried and failed on many occasions to shut down the conversation, to say something that got Roy out of your hair, but as the ordeal continued, you found yourself wanting to do so with Lucas. 

Could you pretend an emergency was happening, just so you could pick up your bag and run around the corner to get away? Could you somehow text Roy beneath the table, and get him to shut down this entire operation?

With each thought came another wave of guilt. Lucas was a good man, and it wasn’t his fault that you were innately cringing at the entire situation. That was all due to Roy. If he hadn’t come along, you’d probably be in your flat, being railed by the gorgeous man that sat next to you.

“Did you finish?” Roy’s voice hit you from across the table, and your heart dropped. For one horrible moment, you assumed Roy had read your thoughts. 

You stuttered. “U-uh, what?” 

“Your novel,” Roy said, and you breathed a sigh of awkward relief. 

“Oh, uh– no. Not yet,” you said, before realisation hit you. “You remembered?” 

Roy gulped down some of his beer, looking at you softly. “‘Course. That’s why you chose to suffer at Richmond in the first place, wasn’t it? All for your book.” 

“Suffer?” Lucas chimed in. “But, you loved it at Richmond.”

“Yes, I do,” you explained. “I just wasn’t thrilled about it in my first few weeks, but I fell in love with it all after that.”

“Yeah, well we weren’t thrilled about you in the first few weeks, either,” Roy said, sucking in a breath after, as if he was due to continue speaking, but chose not to. 

Lucas caught on, dumbly choosing to intercept. “But, then you all fell in love with her, right?” he said, with a smile on his face and a sheer lack of understanding basic social cues and expressions. You fought the urge to grimace. 

Roy’s eye twitched, before he inhaled deeply. “Yep,” he said plainly, before unceremoniously downing his beer. You looked at your hands in your lap at his reply, and your gut coiled. Roy shuffled in his chair, and stood slowly. “I should get going,” he said.

Quickly, surprisingly, you shot up. “No, don’t–” you said, before you wanted to swallow every word you’d ever said. “I mean– stay for one more?” You backtracked.

If Lucas was at all confused or offended, he didn’t show it. He sipped happily at his glass of wine, arm still draped on the top of your chair, like a burning hot poker that you wanted to douse in cold water. 

Roy tucked his own chair under the table. “Another time,” he said, purposefully, and you wanted to yell at the sky. 

That wasn’t fair. He couldn’t do that– remind you of it all, the charity ball, the interview, all the inevitable other times that you would have if you stayed in contact. As much as you wanted to protest, to yell, to kick over a chair, you didn’t. You were a grown woman, and you had a feeling that Roy’s actions had finally stuck in his mind; he wanted to get out and forget about what he’d done as fast as possible. 

So, you backed down, relaxing your muscles as you stood opposite him. “Another time,” you repeated him. 

It felt like something final was about to happen, like this would truly be the last time you saw Roy. If the past three months had shown you anything, it was that Roy was capable of cutting himself off from everyone, with no intention to start things up after an indefinite amount of time. You had this awful feeling that, from this interaction, he would leave and absolutely never contact you again. Just from feeling embarrassed, from wanting you to do better, whatever. 

That wasn’t true, not ever. You would never be able to do better than the man in front of you, even if the prospect of becoming something had died alongside his career. You still wanted him in your life, even if nothing more came from it, even if all you did was sit with a beer and tell each other to fuck off in different variations; you wanted it. 

Roy stuck his hands in his pockets and said his goodbyes. Lucas waved him off, before he looked up at you. “I was totally barking up the wrong tree. Roy’s a nice chap,” Lucas said, as you watched him walk off down the street. 

“Yeah, he really is,” you said without thinking. 

“So, did you want to grab a bite to eat?” Lucas suggested, as he gently laid a hand on your forearm. His fingers skimmed your bare skin, and on any other occasion you would have lapped up his touch. 

“Yeah,” you said, not fully paying attention, as your eyes stayed glued forward. Roy took a sharp left, and disappeared from view. You could have vomited. “No, actually,” you said abruptly. You turned to Lucas, and sat down. You smiled at him sullenly, and tried to communicate just how sorry you were. “I’m sorry, Lucas. You’re lovely, really really, lovely. Perfect even,” you said, chuckling inappropriately. 

Lucas swallowed awkwardly. “Are you– are you–?”

“Yes. I am,” you said. “I might regret it later in life, but then that’s on me, not on you.”

Lucas looked positively confused. He was brilliant, safe, everything that you’d ever want from someone stable and long lasting, but that was just it–

He wasn’t Roy Kent, was he?

As Roy rounded the corner from you, he clamped his eyes shut. His shoulders shrugged right up to his ears with embarrassment, as he cringed to oblivion. Had he really fucking done that? Butt in for a drink while you were on a date? With a nice guy, even. He had no right to feel mad or pissed off, yet he still did. Seeing you for the first time in months next to a random guy who was holding you, touching you, close to you, whatever the fuck else– it had boiled his blood. 

Roy should have been the one doing that, not him. But, now he’d probably fucked it for good. If you’d been angry at him before, you were most certainly seething now. He’d seen you fighting to get him away, to change the subject onto them going off and enjoying their evening, but he’d fought against you every second he could. 

Roy wouldn’t be surprised if you never spoke to him ever again, but he knew innately that he wouldn’t give you any chance to. He’d hide himself away, he’d cut you off, and maybe– if he was lucky– a few years down the line you’d bump into each other again. Maybe you’d be married, maybe you’d have children. It was probably for the best.

You ran down the road, almost stumbling a few times as you fought to ignore the obviously stupid way you looked. It would’ve been comical, seeing you sprinting down the street to catch up with Roy Kent of all people. Onlookers either thought you were mad, or a huge football fan. You took a sharp left, turning down a residential street as you fought to catch him. His jacket was still in view, strolling just a bit further down from you. 

“Roy!” you yelled. He didn’t pay you any mind. “Roy fucking Kent!” you screamed, using all of your energy to shout at him. 

He stopped abruptly, and turned around when he heard you. You slowed to a jog, until you’d fully caught up with him. You placed your hand in the middle of his chest as you doubled over, breathing heavily from your impromptu run. 

Roy frowned at you. “What the fuck are you–?”

You smacked him once, quickly, right in his sternum. “I am so fucking mad at you!” you breathed out, trying not to cry. You smacked him again. “Three months!” 

Roy quickly grabbed you, curling his fingers around your wrist. “I know,” he said, swallowing painfully to stop his throat from closing. 

“You owe me, Roy. Massively. Infinitely,” you whittled on, ignoring the growing glassiness of your eyes. “I won’t put up with this again, I swear. Am I clear?”

Roy nodded. “Fucking crystal,” he said, but he was smiling. 

You smacked him again with your other hand, just for good luck, and Roy grabbed your other wrist. Your heart rate slowed finally, as you let yourself relax in his grasp. You were so mad, so angry, but you wouldn’t have been able to fucking stand it if you’d just let him walk away, even after all this time. Evidently, Roy had some things going on that he felt didn’t concern anyone but himself, and you knew exactly how that all felt. 

He peered down at you with those fucking eyes. “You– fuck.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, meaningfully, overwhelmed that you’d binned off that perfect guy just to smack him and tell him you were mad. 

“You should be,” you said, but even you had a small smile plastered on your lips. “Your arsehole status has really shot up, you know.”

“Are you surprised?” he asked. 

“No,” you admitted. “You’re a prick, Roy, truly.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He squeezed your wrists affectionately, before letting you go. 

You peered up at him. You were ready to forgive him, but you wouldn’t let it be that easy. Instead, you tugged upon his shirt once. “Come on,” you urged. “You owe me a drink, two drinks, and dinner.” You started off down the road.

Roy smiled to himself, thankful that you couldn’t see. “Anything else?”

“Three drinks!” you exclaimed. 

He followed you down the road obediently, but the truth was– you were absolutely right. You did have more balls than him– more guts– and you always would. The truth was, you would rather tell Roy to fuck off a thousand times, than say I love you to anyone else. Even platonically, even anything else other than romantic, that would absolutely be the case. 

Things fell back into place like nothing had ever fucking changed, and a month later you found yourself at a very needed catch-up dinner with Rebecca and Keeley. You’d been working non-stop for the past few weeks, missing a few of Richmond’s games of the season, including– the incident. 

“I think I saw his soul leave his body,” Keeley said, remembering. “Poor Dani.”

“Poor Earl,” Rebecca said, and you huffed inappropriately. 

“I’m sort of glad I wasn’t there. If I’d seen that in person I genuinely think I would have vomited,” you said, grimacing at the image of a football hitting Earl and instantly killing that poor greyhound. 

“He’s pretty shaken up, Ted mentioned,” Keeley said. Rebecca took a sip of her wine, and hummed in agreement, before leaning forward and shooting you with her incredibly rich, incredibly beautiful, gossip smile. 

“Leslie tells me he’s hired a sports therapist for the entire season,” Rebecca started. “Apparently she doesn’t eat sugar.” 

All three of you grimaced in unison. You felt a shiver travel through your entire body, and Keeley looked positively terrified. You took one look at both of the ladies before you, and let out a deep breath. 

“She sounds fucking insane,” you said, referring to the therapist. Rebecca and Keeley nodded immediately. “Let’s make a pact– if any of us ever start talking shit about wanting to cut out sugar from our lives, we give that person a big fucking slap around the face, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Keeley said seriously. 

“Absolutely,” Rebecca added, picking up her glass, and prompting you and Keeley to do the same. The three of you clinked them together, all gulping down your wine afterwards and bursting into giggles. 

“Enough about dead dogs and sports therapists– what the hell have you been up to?” Keeley questioned, shooting you a mischievous look that only translated into one thing; did you get railed?

You put down your glass and shot them both a guilty look. You hadn’t told them about anything over the past month, due to work and due to… everything else. If anything, it was probably best that you had them in a setting like this to finally reveal all. You tapped on your half empty wine glass, stalling. 

Rebecca raised her brows at you in understanding. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” 

“Something major,” Keeley joined in. “Something that isn’t just a shag.” 

“No shag was involved, actually,” you said, knowing you just had to pull off the bandaid. You sat up straight and went for it. “I broke things off with Lucas,” you announced. 

Rebecca and Keeley both gasped. “Not the gorgeous one!” Rebecca exclaimed. 

“Without getting a shag first?” Keeley asked.

You nodded. “Without getting a shag first, yes.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, woman?” Rebecca said, as the two of them looked at you like you were utterly insane. In a way, you were. Who would pass up an opportunity to shag a pretty man who doubled up as being lovely? It was a fucking no brainer. 

“Well, a… situation occurred.” You shot them both a wide-eyed look. “Roy.” 

The two ladies in front of you burst into varying levels of screaming. Rebecca was clutching onto Keeley’s bicep and squealing like a seagull. Keeley banged her hands on the table rhythmically, as if she was urging you to say more. You sucked in a deep breath and raised your hands defensively, trying to calm them both down as much as possible. You’d alerted other people in the restaurant to look your way, just as you had at the bar the month before.

“Oi!” you yelled. “Will you guys calm the fuck down?” 

“I fucking knew something was up,” Keeley said, pointing at you sternly. “I felt it in my tits.”

“Tell us!” Rebecca crumbled. 

“Okay– fucking hell,” you said, chuckling. “He gatecrashed my third date with Lucas–”

“Before the shag,” Keeley commented, trying to create a cohesive reconstruction in her head. 

“Yes,” you continued. “We were having drinks at the bar, the one around the corner, in the sunshine, and… well, Roy was just out for a fucking walk. It was odd.”

“It was fate,” Rebecca corrected. 

You frowned at her. “No,” you growled. “But, it was a weird coincidence. Anyway– I tried to get up and avoid him, but I knocked over my fucking glass, it smashed, and of course, he fucking saw me. What’s worse, though, is he then just sat down, and joined Lucas and I for a drink.”

“Oh, that bastard,” Rebecca said, but she was smiling. 

“I sort of love it,” Keeley admitted, hunching her shoulders up playfully.

“No, me too,” Rebecca immediately agreed, waving around her wine glass like an accessory. “That’s sort of… hot.” 

“It’s totally hot,” Keeley said, before she leaned towards you. You were trying to keep a straight face as their theories got even more batshit. “After three months of Roy ignoring you, he sees you on a date with a random guy and decides that’s when he’s finally going to reconnect. He was jealous.” 

You scoffed into your wine glass. The sides fogged up. “Don’t say stupid shit, Jesus fucking Christ,” you muttered. Rebecca joined Keeley in leaning forward. 

“She’s absolutely right! He was totally fucking jealous, darling. There’s no other way around it,” Rebecca backed up Keeley. 

You placed your glass on the table strongly, and sighed. “Guys… this is Roy we’re talking about. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone else in a larger sense, doesn’t care what’s said about him, or what people think, either. He is physically incapable of being jealous, especially when it comes to me.” 

“You’re doing that thing again,” Keeley said. 

“What thing?”

“Being dumb and in denial.”

You squished your face at her playfully, and Rebecca was already chuckling. “Ouch. Jeez, tell me how you really feel, Keeley.” 

“I’m being serious,” she continued, and her seriousness somehow rubbed off on you and Rebecca. You swallowed back your laughter as Keeley peered at you from across the table. You suddenly felt extremely exposed. “You do this thing where you assume people don’t care about you, you know? You did it when you left the club, and weren’t expecting the guys– or us– to miss you. You do it with your workmates at your new job, just assuming they won’t invite you out, or anything–”

“I get it, Keeley,” you cut over her. You suddenly didn’t feel very well. 

“I’m not finished,” she said softly, and you swallowed the want to hit back at her. It was always hard when people who truly knew you, explained to you your flaws. As much as she was right, you didn’t want to believe it. “You do it with Roy the most, babes. Even after everything he’s done for you, and the way you feel about him, too, you assume he doesn’t care about you.”

You hated how much she was right. “I– I don’t think he doesn’t care–”

Keeley quickly reached over the table and grabbed your hand. She held it softly. “Roy fucking Kent took it upon himself to crash your date and stop you from sleeping with that gorgeous man, because he got jealous when he saw you with someone else– someone that wasn’t him.” Keeley laid it out for you bluntly, but kindly. Both her and Rebecca only ever had great intentions for you. “He cares about you. Part of the reason he’s been ignoring you is probably from how shit he feels after retirement, and how he doesn’t want someone like you to see him at his lowest. It all makes sense, babes.”

Rebecca followed suit, reaching over the table to grab your other hand. You squeezed both their palms, thankfully. “I think Roy has a crush on you, darling,” Rebecca said, trying to lighten the mood a little. “And maybe you still have that little crush on him, too, hm?”

You rolled your eyes at them, trying to chomp down Keeley’s hard to swallow pills. She was right, and so was Rebecca, but admitting it was a whole other ball game. You didn’t want to admit that you liked someone like Roy, your complete and utter opposite, and someone who you would never be able to comprehend having feelings for you back. 

That wasn’t on him, it was on you. 

You sighed deeply, trying to ground yourself. “Maybe I do,” you said. It was a start. “And, maybe Roy was jealous, but we’ll never know unless he says it outright– and I’m never going to ask him.”

“Why not?” Keeley asked. 

You frowned at them both. “Next to you both, he’s probably the closest friend I have.” The words chuckled from your mouth, but you meant it all. Every single word. “I know it sounds sad that one of my best friends is Roy Kent, but it’s the truth. If I spill everything to him, and he doesn’t feel the same way, this will all end.” Your lip wobbled suddenly, your frown turned into a smile. “So, he will never know. And I’m okay with that.”

That night, after a few more glasses of wine with Keeley and Rebecca, you found yourself levelling up to an entirely new realm of sad. You opened your laptop, and found yourself typing in something that only children or severely messed up people would Google– how do you stop liking someone romantically?

When the first page popped up as WikiHow, you realised what you were doing. With a scared whimper, you slammed your laptop shut and ran your fingers through your hair. It was official; you were insane. This was a whole new low for you, but you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself. After twenty-eight years you’d finally snapped. You found yourself imagining it– if Roy ever knew you were truly like this, then there was no way in hell he’d ever have feelings back for you. Roy was odd in his own ways, but you definitely took the cake and ate it. All of it. 

You switched on the TV, and found yourself flicking to Sky Sports out of habit. It was a good way to pass the time, and it allowed you to keep up with the Championship and AFC Richmond, even if you weren’t able to attend every match anymore. Jeff Stelling and Chris Kamara discussed the most recent match– Earl’s sad demise. 

On top of that abrupt dog murder, it’s absolutely unheard of for a team to tie seven consecutive games. I have a feeling that Richmond haven’t even clocked in yet, Chris!

Totally agreed, Jeff. It’s a shame to see them underperforming after they were so close to levelling with Man City, their final game of last season. Seems relegation has grabbed them all by the throats.

Speaking on Man City though, Chris, have you heard about the recent revelations for number nine, Jamie Tartt?

Last I heard, he was living it up in the villa on Love Conquers All.

That’s all gone to the wind it seems, too, Chris. Tartt was voted out of the villa just today, aired over on ITV. What do you reckon will come next for the star player? He certainly made a dent to Richmond when he was recalled earlier last season.

I don’t know, Jeff. Seems to me like Jamie Tartt has messed around one time too many for Man City to take him seriously. We’ll just have to see…

Right you are, Chris. Right you are. 

“God, this is fucking dull sometimes,” you muttered, flicking the channel as soon as Jamie’s name had been dropped. You liked commentator shows, but you didn’t half find them fucking boring sometimes. You wished someone could spice things up a little, and say it all how it was, instead of clutching at political answers. 

You thought to yourself then– how great would it be if you had your own personal Roy to commentate every game for you? He was blunt and to the point, but so inherently hilarious that you knew you’d take it all in. 

Just as a laugh, you texted Roy out of the blue. You were drunk, and reeling, and mending your relationship with him, so one text couldn’t hurt. 

Here’s an idea for you– you become a Sky Sports pundit. 

It took him only a few minutes to reply. 

Fuck off. 

You laughed to yourself, before you kept typing. 

I genuinely think you’d be good at it, you know. Serious. 

Roy contemplated his response. He had an inbox filled with requests from the press, from outlets, from everyone– including Sky Sports, more recently. Did you happen to have access to his emails, or were you just making a very conveniently timed suggestion?

The Richmond Primary School under 9 girls still need me. 

You knew it was a joke, but you also couldn’t help but notice he didn’t immediately knock down your idea. You treaded forwards. 

Maybe so, but the rest of the world needs you too, Roy. 

Roy sat in his living room, alone. He thought of you, just down the street in your apartment. It was late, and he knew you’d got dinner with Keeley and Rebecca. You were probably drunk and channel surfing. It made him smile to himself. He was glad this was happening. This reconnection, all because of him being a fucking twat and you choosing to take him back. He didn’t deserve it, but now that he had this back, he wasn’t going to stop trying to make it up to you. 

This pundit gig. The cameras, the acting, the press– all of it grated on Roy so hard that it made him physically angry. But, from what he’d been told, not just by you, he’d probably make a pretty decent addition. Since his retirement, he’d hidden himself away from everyone. Maybe it was time to pack that all in, to go forward into a new step of his career, despite the game being out of the equation for him now. 

Maybe. Just maybe. 

As your week whittled on, in the aftermath of dinner, you found yourself getting cravings to be back at Richmond. Whether it was for football, or just to see the guys, you didn’t care. Your weekends had been booked up far too often– keeping you away from the Dogtrack for far too long– so when you randomly had a half day on a Friday, you knew exactly how to fill it.

Showing up unannounced was not the kind of person you were. You were rarely spontaneous, and always on time– or early– but you had the advantage of knowing that everyone at Nelson Road simply wouldn’t care if you showed up out of the blue. That was exactly what you did, practically running to the stadium as soon as you got off the tube from the city. 

You burst through the doors of the car park, following the familiar path to the lower levels of the Dogtrack. You passed your old office, and stopped in your tracks to take a look. It had been taken over by Keeley for her PR position for the boys. Around the cinder block room were washes of pinks and oranges, alongside fluffy pillows and her signature leopard statue. Anyone who knew Keeley knew that this was exactly her style, overdramatic and grossly colourful, but warm as soon as you entered. You could smell her perfume. 

As you continued down the corridor, the scent of Keeley’s office was drowned out by another– feet. Feet, sweaty men, and unwashed kit hit you like a ton of bricks. Maybe you’d been noseblind before, because you never remembered it being this pungent. Nevertheless, you entered the locker room and felt a wave of nostalgia from it all. 

The familiar reds and blues, the numbers above the players' cubbies, all the like. The only thing different– Roy’s name and number was gone. No longer was 6, Kent up opposite the door. It was instead replaced by another, as a few more players had been signed onto Richmond after the relegation. It was sad to see all traces of him removed, apart from his lifesize mural by the manager’s office that still scared the life out of you. But, despite all the change, above Ted’s office was something you knew would never leave– the bright yellow believe poster. 

You smiled at it sadly, feeling so far away from this world than before. Just being back in the locker room made you realise it had already been four months since you’d left the club. Time flew by, but your heart stayed in the exact same place.

“Oi!” a voice boomed from the hallway. Whoever it was had seen you through the gym window, and your heart raced as the pitter patter of shoes sped down the corridor towards the door. “This area is off limits to fans–” Nate stopped as soon as he entered the locker room, realising it was you. His once furrowed brow and angry expression had turned into the softest of smiles. 

“Hey, Coach.” You smiled at him, your shock turned into warmth immediately. 

“God– hello!” he exclaimed quickly, before the two of you embraced. Nate’s awkwardness from last season had all but disappeared with you. You wondered if it was because of his new coach status at the club; maybe he felt more powerful, so his confidence was easier to shine through. 

You pulled away first, looking back up to the poster above the door. “This place never gets old, does it?”

Nate copied you, and looked up. “Not one bit,” he said. “We’ve all missed you around here, though. Sam, Isaac and Colin don’t shut up about you.” He said it sweetly, but you felt a tinge of jealousy cut through his words. Like he was holding himself back, or not saying how he truly felt. It was just Nate, though. It probably wasn’t a big deal. 

You huffed through your nose affectionately. “I miss them, too.” You scoffed. “That’s an understatement, really. I miss everything about this fucking place,” you said, glancing around the room. Nostalgia seeped through the walls like honey. It was impossible not to feel the gravity that this place held for you, even more so after it had been a while. 

“They could use the boost after Earl,” Nate said, before he quickly gestured to the door. “Come on.”

You followed Nate out the locker room and down the hall, before you headed down the tunnel to the pitch. You were buzzing with excitement, not just for seeing them all but, to surprise them to oblivion. As you approached the pitch, you sped up to a jog and overtook Nate. You emerged outside the stadium, immediately hitting eyes with Colin.

His little face lit up in shock, before he quickly whacked Isaac in the chest. Before you could reach them, or even let out a yell in their direction, Sam stood in front of Ted abruptly. 

“You don’t know anything!” Sam boomed, taking everyone– especially Ted– by surprise. 

Ted tried to diffuse the situation. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, time out. What’s going on, Sam?” 

“You–” he started, but he choked on his words when he met your eye. He froze, and looked at you in sheer desperation. You’d never seen Sam so upset or full of rage; it was positively unheard of. 

Before Ted could even intervene, Sam started pacing it towards you at the tunnel. He shot you a pleading look when he passed, not stopping to say hello or greet you. Instead, he whisked past you and made your hairs stand on edge. As the team looked at him leave, utterly gobsmacked, you looked back towards the pitch and caught eyes with Ted. 

Ted’s frown turned to something softer when he spotted you. He turned and stepped forward once, but you could read the lines of his face like a book. 

“I’ve got him,” you announced, before swivelling and heading straight back inside. You followed Sam down the tunnel, rushing to keep up with him as he stampeded into the lower levels. “Sam!” you yelled, but he still didn’t stop. 

You sped up to a run. You’d been running a lot lately, for varying reasons– all, weirdly enough, involving fucking footballers. Sam rounded the corner into the corridor, but you bound after him as fast as you could. You reached out and grabbed him by the arm, tugging him back to you. “Hey! What’s wrong–?” 

Sam cut you off by flinging his arms around you. You held him close, and felt his chest crumble beneath you. His breaths were shaky and stagnant, as concern washed through all your limbs. 

“Oh, Sam,” you let out sadly. You squeezed him tightly, held him as if you’d die if he let go. 

“He can’t come back,” Sam said shakily, smally. You had no idea what he was talking about– who he was talking about– but this situation was obviously affecting him. He let out a long, stuttering breath when he pulled away, but you kept your hands plastered on his shoulders. One of your hands skimmed down and your fingers wrapped around his palm. 

“What’s going on?” you asked softly. “Who can’t come back?”

Sam’s eyes were glassy and upset, so far away from the usual smiles he shared with the world. “I saw Coach Lasso with Jamie Tartt last night, in the pub. I just–” He placed his hand over his chest, and pointed right at his clavicle. “I just have this feeling, in here, that he is going to let Jamie back on the team.”

You remembered last week, when you’d tuned in to Sky Sports and heard news of Jamie. He was back in the UK after the reality show, and hadn’t been taken back by Man City. If Sam had seen Jamie and Ted together, then there was no doubt about it– he was probably asking to be let back on the team at AFC Richmond. Ted was a kind man, he gave people chances, but when it came to Jamie Tartt… 

He’d made half of the Richmond team miserable. His ego, his rudeness, his behaviour, all of it. He’d brought team morale down terribly, and only when he was recalled did things really start getting into motion. You remembered how torn up Ted had been at news of Jamie’s departure, but you secretly thought it had been a silent blessing at the time. 

“I think I can speak for Ted here when I say this, but I don’t think he’d do something that rash without letting you, and the rest of the team, know all about it, Sam,” you said, smiling at him gently. You squeezed his hand. “But, I totally understand why this has got you so low,” you acknowledged. “Jamie was… how do I say it nicely?”

“An asshole,” Sam said. “What is it that Roy used to call him? A prick?”

“A prick, yes.” You nodded. “And a twat.”

“Twat! That was it,” Sam smiled a little. You copied him. “I don’t want him to ruin all of our progress as a team. I know this season has not been great, but… all of us have been. We are finding our footing after the relegation. I do not want him to change all of that.”

“Tell Ted,” you urged him. “You know he’ll listen to you.”

Sam nodded at you, thankful. “It is good to see your face,” he said. You wanted to cry. 

“Yours, too.” You smiled so hard that it hurt. This was home, and it was good to be back, if only for an evening. 

After your abrupt evening at the club, Ted and Beard invited you for a drink later on in the month. After a few more tied matches, you knew they’d be dying for a pint just as much as you were. Your job was… dwindling. The workload was intense, and the novelty of something new and exciting was fast wearing off. You pushed through, but after going back to the club, your heart was not in the right place. It only cemented how much you missed it all. 

“It got resolved?” you asked Ted, sipping on your beer as the three of you shared a packet of crisps. 

“Oh, yeah, it sure is. Seeing Jamie was a proper blast from the past, and Sam was right to be upset, but what you said was absolutely right– I would never bring back a player like him without letting the guys know first. That’s just not how I roll,” Ted explained. 

“And other than that, how’s it all going?” Beard shrugged his shoulders in response, gulping back half his beer. That was enough to tell you what was up. You grimaced. “Not good?”

“Isaac isn’t doing too hot, if you must know,” Ted said, sighing. “I don’t know how to give him a boost, you know? Even Dr Sharon hasn’t managed to make a dent, and well– she’s pretty lethal.”

You scoffed. “Not liking a therapist is probably the most Ted thing you’ve ever done.”

“Well, hey, now,” Ted objected. “I just think, why the heck would you pay someone else to do something that your friends can do for free?”

“Oh, please– can you really imagine me trying to talk about deep shit with someone like Roy? He’s my friend.” You raised your brows at Ted in question, and he glanced over to Beard for an answer. All Beard did was shake his head silently. You pointed at him triumphantly. “See? I rest my fucking case.”

Ted waved away your response and changed the subject. “Speaking of Roy, what’s he up to nowadays?” 

You tapped your glass, amused. “Coaching.”

“Coaching?” Ted exclaimed, gobsmacked. 

“Nine year old girls.”

“Nine year old g– oh, nine year old girls.” His initial awe quickly turned to realisation, and Ted’s voice lowered monotonously. “Hm. Well. That’s a start, in a way.”

You stared at him silently. “No it’s not, Ted.”

“No, no it’s not, yeah,” Ted quickly agreed with you. The three of you sipped on your beers in unison. It was simply nice to have the company, more than anything else. It made you still feel part of their world, part of Richmond. 

You’d heard trickles from Roy over the past few weeks, after your drunk texting. He was always fast when he replied now, always around to send you back an emoji or tell you to fuck off affectionately. Offhandedly, he’d asked you to get hot chocolate with him and his niece, Phoebe, at some point. Your heart had swelled to three times the size, and you’d replied saying yes, alongside a very well placed :) smiley face.

To your surprise, Roy had replied with the exact same thing. Although, he’d typed it in such an unnerving way that it had made you laugh.

>: 0)

Is that supposed to be your nose?

No, it’s my open mouth telling you to fuck off and my very manly chin underneath. 

Of course. My mistake. 

“He’ll figure it out eventually,” you said, sighing. “I reckon he would make a good pundit, don’t you think?”

“Oh, sure!” Ted said enthusiastically. “What are your TV laws when it comes to cussing, though?”

“Uhh, it’s probably not customary to swear on a Sky Sports commentary show.”

Ted grimaced and sucked in a sharp breath. “Might not be for him.”

“Or… it might be,” Beard chimed in suddenly. You glanced at him, and saw his eyes plastered onto the TV screen above your heads in the pub. Beard pointed at it slowly. “Are you both seeing that too, or have I accidentally ingested mushrooms again?” he whispered. 

You followed his gaze to the screen, and your breath got caught in the back of your throat. Roy was sat next to Jeff Stelling and Chris Kamara on Soccer Saturday. Black suit donned, stern expression on his jaw, with a newly trimmed beard and fresh haircut. He was on TV. He was a fucking pundit. You could hardly believe it. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you muttered, standing up abruptly to get a better look. 

The three of you were glued to the telly as the show kicked off. Jeff took the wheel. 

And now, the newest addition to Soccer Saturday, footballing legend Roy Kent. Great to have you here, Roy.

You watched in awe as Roy growled in response. He looked so rigid, a lot more rigid than he did normally. You found yourself laughing, utterly astounded. 

Now, onto Chelsea’s last game, Chris. What did you think?

I thought they played well, Jeff, especially after their rocky start to this season. They still have a long way to go, though. What about you, Roy?

You held your breath as Chris and Jeff turned to Roy. He cleared his throat.

I thought they were shit. 

You let out a cackle that you didn’t even know you were capable of making. 

Ah, apologies for the fruity language. But, really, Roy. Did they play that terribly?

Yeah, they were shit. Chelsea have been playing worse than the under nine girls that I used to coach, and that’s a fact. 

I think that’s mean, Roy. They’ve done a lot better than earlier this season, surely?

I guess, but they’re still performing like a bunch of circus clowns at a rodeo. Chelsea have been shit for the past few years, and with the way they’re going, they’re gonna stay shit for the rest of the season. 

Laughter broke out in Mae’s pub. You glanced around the room, eyes lit up like the sun. You spotted the three locals, all young men, who spent most of their time at the bar. “Roy Kent, you fucking legend!” the smallest one exclaimed. 

You could already imagine the outburst online. Gifs, Tweets, whatever else. This was exactly what you felt was missing from a show like Soccer Saturday– the bluntness, the honesty. You turned back to the screen, and smiled dazzlingly. You blocked out the rest of the room, utterly focused on Roy. He looked amazing, and your heart lurched just thinking about how much of a step this was for him.

Ted raised his brows at Beard secretly, bringing his beer to his lips. “Just friends, huh?” he muttered. Beard raised his brows in response, and the two of them drank together, as the happiness you felt drowned  the entirety of Richmond. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl @royalestrellas @weakmoony-stuff @ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27 @dadbodfanatic-x @kelp-dreaming @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum @cha0sdreaming @toomany24s @kashee-h @infinetlyforgotten @secretnook@cluelesslilsharkie@callmecasey81 @deepdarkvelvet @twiceinabluemoon @cardeegans @golden-hoax @kingleahhh @hoalkk1 @sunderland-6 @ellouisa17 @thesestrangerslikeme @elissaaa @scrumptiousroadponymoney @confessionsofatotaldramaslut @ysmmsy @seacactusplant @pedritosgirl2000 @loveslide @ryleyrooroo @hanybunch @tweasley20 @witchyanya-7 @sareim123122

[meatydilfpp]

Like Moth to Flame (Stu Marcher x fem!Reader)

Summary: Stu had always been followed by some kind of darkness, that most people did not seem to realise. You however, revelled in it.

In which reader is equally deranged as Stu, and suspects he had something to do with the murders of Casey and her boyfriend. She wants him to open up to her and be hers once and for all.

Warnings/Tags: Explicit sexual content, obsessive behaviour, infatuation, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampies, discussions of murder, mentions of blood, reader is equally deranged as Stu is. No use of Y/N, reader has no physical description other than being shorter than Stu. Reader has female anatomy.

Words: 4.3k

Cross-posted on ao3.

A/N: This is my first time writing fan fiction since 2018 and I wanna come back strong baby. Additionally, this is my first time ever posting on tumblr so pls be kind while I learn to navigate. I found the lack of exclusive Stu x reader fics disturbing, so I did something about it. Likes and reblogs, as always, greatly appreciated.

Guys, I want the constructive criticism, so feel free to rant about it in my asks if you want! More to come soon x

Also, not beta read 😬

Stu had always been followed by some kind of darkness, that most people did not seem to realise. A kind of malevolent energy followed his every step and action, even though he appeared like a typical teenage boy, forever shrouded in the shadow of Billy Loomis, the guy every girl in school wanted to date, and every boy in school wanted to be mates with. You however, revelled in that darkness, drawn to it like a moth to flame. It was just as well that Stu himself was incredibly social and engaged in regular conversation with you, about everything and anything. It sometimes made you wonder if he was drawn to you the way you were drawn to him. You didn’t have many friends, just a small group of people, you weren’t part of any clubs or societies, you were just there, going to classes, then home, rinse and repeat.

So when the murders of Casey Becker and her boyfriend shook everyone else to the core, you were unbelievably intrigued. And the only person who seemed to be just as unfased as you was Stu.

“I’m just saying, it seems counter productive to call the person you’re trying to kill beforehand. Gets rid of your element of surprise.” Stu said looking down at you as he leaned against a locker and sucking on a lollipop. Next period was soon, and you needed to grab a few books from your locker for your next class. “No you’re right, but-“ you slammed the door to your locker shut, “It’s more fun that way.” You finished with a slight smirk on your face looking up at him. He was so much taller.

More fun that way. Stu could feel his cheeks getting hotter and the fire at the pit of his belly growing larger at your words. You understood. You were just like him. He was sure that if you were to be let out and do something as heinous as what he and Billy have been doing, you would do just as well if not better. Billy had his own motives for what they had done and were planning to do, but he was just there for the thrill of it. Seeing someone beg for their life on their knees in front of him, while he had the power to take it all away, made him feel like a god. Stu had been speaking to you for a while now, he knew you were interested in true crime, horror movies and the like. For a while he believed that your interests simply ended there. Something that intrigued you, something to do to pass the time. But ever since the case of Casey broke out in the community, he has seen nothing but genuine interest in finding out who Ghostface was from you. Not the simplicity of finally identifying who the killer is, but something deeper. He saw how you wanted to get to know him on a more substantial level, understand his motives, his thought process, everything. Sometimes he wondered what you’d do if he told you. Even better, how would things be if you joined him instead of Billy.

He looked down at you with a smirk on his face “Oh yeah? How would you do it then?” You hummed in thought as you walked with him to your next class. You figured if you went into too much detail he’d probably freak out, so instead you simply said: “I would make sure she knew I was coming for her. Nothing personal, but you know, if I am to do something horrible like that, I should at least go all out.”

“So you’d go for something slasher-like or?”

“Slasher. The more blood the better.” You cut him off.

He could barely contain his smile, every word coming out of your mouth drew you to him even more. He had to find a way to get closer to you. He even felt the need to drop in front of you on his knees and tell you everything. You’d probably shake your head at him disappointed and berate him for his sloppiness. He hoped you’d tell him how to do it better, give him ideas, maybe even tell him who to go after next.

“I didn’t think you’d be so messy with it. Being sloppy can lead to getting caught, you know.” He said.

“How do you know Stu, have you done this before?” You asked as you rounded a corner on your way to your classroom. You didn’t know why, but you had a feeling Stu was somehow involved. Logically, you had no reason to suspect him, no more than anyone else in the school, but you felt it deep within you that he wasn’t innocent. There was a glint in his eye every time the incident was brought up, a suppressed look of pride at his actions that he wasn’t able to let out. You wanted to pull that out from him, wanted him to open up to you and only you. If he was Ghostface that is. You were aware that you might be hallucinating the whole thing, but you wouldn’t let that stop you. You wanted to draw that side of him out, and you’d try your best to do just that. The answers to his questions were genuine, and the way he looked at you made you want to fall to your knees for him and worship him; reward him for a job well done. Clean his knives for him, wipe the blood from his face.

“Are you serious?” He quipped back, a slight frown on his face, and you shrugged.

“You seem to know an awful lot Stu.” You said looking up at him suspiciously.

Suddenly, you saw his chest in front of you and you felt yourself be pushed against the wall. Stu leaned his head to look down at you, his one hand toying with the lollipop between his lips. “So do you.” His voice was low “You wouldn’t want me to think it is you, now would you?”

Your eyes danced between his plump lips and icy blue eyes. You toyed with the idea of telling him that it was you, and see his reaction to you taking credit for his work. You decided otherwise, you wouldn’t want to get to his bad side after all, even though you knew he was aware that this was a game for the both of you.

“It’s not me, Stu.” You gently placed your hand on his chest, your eyes staring up at him from underneath your eyelashes. He didn’t say anything back, his eyes boring into yours, his heartbeat a steady rhythm underneath your fingertips. You were so close to him, physically that is, that you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Suddenly, you noticed how red his lips seemed, probably from the lollipop he was sucking. You wanted to take it from him, so that he would finally be able to lean down and place his lips on top of yours. His deep breathing seemed like he was about to do just that, before he let out a deep chuckle that resonated within you.

“You wouldn’t have it in you anyway.” he taunted as he leaned away to let you resume your walking. That statement alone made you want to kill him. He didn’t know what you were and weren’t capable of doing. If he gave you a chance you could prove him wrong any day, properly show him how you would’ve done it.

You shook your head at him. “Whatever you say, Stu.” You turned around to walk away before the sound of your name brought you to a halt.

“Come over to my place tonight.” He said with a look full of confidence, like he was sure you wouldn’t deny him. You were certainly intrigued, this would be the first time you’d hang out with him outside school, and you had zero inclination as to what he may possibly want from you. Regardless, you wanted to humour him, and above all you wanted to be alone with him. It was very obvious you were into him, in more ways than just physically. The darkness that drew you to him seemed to be drawing him to you equally and you wouldn’t pass that opportunity.

“Okay.” You simply said before turning around and heading to your next class, leaving him standing in the middle of the hallway, as people passed by him.

——

Later in the evening, after school, after homework, and after contemplating every possible scenario regarding tonight’s encounter, you suddenly found yourself in Stu’s bedroom, some horror film playing in the background. The room itself held a mix of horror memorabilia, along with the remnants of a seemingly ordinary life- books, movie posters, and a well-worn jacker casually thrown over his desk chair. Your legs crossed, you were sitting on top of his bed, your back against the headboard, the muted glow of a single desk lamp casting an amber hue. Stu was sat next to you, his side touching yours, the heat from his body keeping you warm. A million thoughts were racing through your head, as he hadn’t said anything profound the entire night. Just a single greeting as he met you at his front door, and a question about what horror film you guys should watch. This was all so uncharacteristic of him, his usual loud, outgoing, albeit sometimes annoying demeanour being totally replaced by a quiet, stoic version of himself. A deep sense of discomfort filled you as a result, with a strong desire hidden underneath. Somehow you knew, this was him, not the loud obnoxious guy you knew from school, but this calculating, slightly cold man that was now sat next to you.

A shrill scream sounded from the television, some girl being close to her death probably, but you weren’t paying much attention anyway. You didn’t know if you wanted to climb on Stu’s lap, or confront him about everything.

“See, in real life she wouldn’t sound like that.” His voice was low, his eyes still glued to the screen. Your head snapped at him with the sound of his voice, a stark contrast to the otherwise silent room. You felt as if this was an invitation for you to prod further.

“Yeah?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “How would it be then?” You continued, as you looked up at the side of his face. The glow from the lamp was accentuating his features, the dip of his cheekbones, and the near black of his irises as he turned his head towards you.

“Well, for starters, she wouldn’t scream like that. She’d be too panicked to make any sound.” He said in a low voice as his eyes trailed down your face to your lips. “Then, when she realises what’s going to happen to her, then she’ll scream.” His hand was trailing up to grasp the side of your face bringing you closer to him. “She wouldn’t last long though. I would end her before she made too much noise.” He finished as his breath fanned your face. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest, the way he spoke as if he was the one doing everything send a thrill down your spine, unlike anything you had ever felt before. You couldn’t know for sure, but deep down you knew this was his way of confessing to you, his way of admitting everything without actually admitting to anything. The atmosphere was so charged with the tension of your attraction to him, and the weight of his words, that you could cut through it with a knife. So many different sensations bombarding you at once, that you wanted to straight up combust. You decided that it was now or never. Stu threw the bait, now it was time for you to take it. In a breathless voice you asked, “Did Casey scream?” The smirk on his face and the way his breath hitched told you everything you needed to know. “Yeah, she did.” he said before closing the gap and placing his lips on yours, giving you a slow passionate kiss that made your heart jump out of your chest. His other hand came up to hold the other side of your face, as his kiss deepened and his breath grew heavier. You were ecstatic. You got him to admit it to you. Only you. He was now forever yours. Surely, he was aware of what you were, otherwise he wouldn’t have opened up so easily. You didn’t want to think any of that now. The only thing you wanted to focus on was the feeling of his lips against yours, the touch of his hands on your face, the heat radiating off his body.

Suddenly, you felt yourself be pushed into the bed as his weight came to rest on top of yours. You immediately closed your leg around his waist and pulled him closer to your body. His one hand trailed underneath your shirt to wander against your scorching skin. His touch set your core ablaze, as you finally got to be in the place you wanted to be the most. Beneath Stu, making him feel good. His kisses and ministrations grew ever more passionate as he leaned backwards to take your shirt off you, before doing the same to his soft sweater and discarding it somewhere across his room. The glow of the yellow light coming from the lamp next to his bed combined with the soft street lights streaming in from the window, danced across the curves of the muscles of his toned torso and arms. He was even more beautiful like this. You imagined what he’d looked like with specs of someone’s blood on him, how it would glisten in the light, how you would make sure to meticulously clean it all off, before falling on your knees and sucking him off. You wanted to make him happy, you wanted to do whatever he asked of you. He was sick and deranged, he killed two people, and then gloated about the fact to everyone, without actually admitting to anything.

His head dipped to the side of your neck to suck and lick and nibble as you ran your hands through his short hair and tugged at it. Your heavy breaths drove him crazy, he wanted to devour every single inch of you, coax every sweet sound that he could out of you. His kisses trailed from your neck to your chest, his mouth peppering kisses across your breast, as his hand came up to squeeze the other. His lips wrapped around your nipple, his teeth nipping at it making you let out a long moan. His blue eyes, dark with lust stared at you from your chest, the sounds you were making were driving him insane. He continued trailing kisses down your stomach, before he reached the waistband of your jeans. He made quick work of them, pulling them off along with your underwear in one go. His hands grabbed both your knees and roughly spread your legs apart, his eyes looking down at your glistening pussy, a wide grin taking over his features. He glanced up in your eyes, to look at your fucked out expression. He hadn’t even done anything to you yet, and you were already a mess under him.

“You have no idea the things I wanna do to you baby.” He said breathlessly as he dipped his head between your legs, his mouth attacking your clit instantly. A scream escaped your throat, as your hand instantly shot down to grab his hair and pull him closer. His breath was heavy, and he let a low satisfactory hum at your reaction to his assault on your clit. His hands held your legs open as he licked and sucked on your clit like a man starved.

“Fuck baby you taste so good.” He mumbled in-between licks and prods before going back to the task at hand. He wanted to make you cum using his mouth, and then he would make you cum again around his cock. He had always known you weren’t like the rest of them, and all he wanted was to ruin you for him even more. Mold you and turn you into the perfect little thing to be by his side and use whenever he felt like it. And he had done it. He knew you had been aware that something was up with him, but he wanted to see how far you were willing to take your own curiosity in regards to his relation with the murders. He didn’t expect you to be as bold as you were, but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

The more he licked around your clit, the sweeter sounds you made which drove him insane. The finger he decided to slowly push in you slipped inside so easily, that he almost creamed his underwear at the implication. You were so wet for him. He wondered how much of that was due to what he was doing and how much was due to the knowledge that he had killed people. He hoped it was both. His finger made quick work in finding your most sensitive spot before he added a second one. He curled his fingers in and out of you harshly as he sucked your clit so hard, you thought he was gonna rip it off. He was so unbelievably turned on, he wanted to fuck you and hurt you at the same time. The sensations of pleasure and pain ignited a fire within the pit of your belly that you made sure to voice to him.

“Stu I’m gonna cum. Please. Please, don’t stop!” You whined as you threw your head back, your leg twitching and spasming as his harsh movements made you cum right on his face and fingers. The groan he left as he felt your walls squeeze him tight was almost guttural. He couldn’t wait any longer, he wanted to have you now. He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, soaked through. He pulled them apart from each other, strings of your arousal connecting and breaking from between his two fingers.

His eyes marvelled at the sight of his drenched digits, your glistening pussy, your hard nipples, the heat coming off of your skin, and your fucked out expression. He shuffled closer to you, and leaned down again, brining his fingers to your mouth. You didn’t need instructions, you stared deep into your eyes as you grabbed at his wrist with both hands and sucked his fingers clean, your tongue running between his digits, a sly smirk adorning his face the whole time.

“Good girl.” He said as he leaned back, his massive erection tenting his underwear. He quickly kicked them off before grabbing your ankle and pulling you towards the edge of the bed, you ass almost hanging out of his as he towered above you. He looked so ethereal, the glow on his naked skin, the darkness in his eyes, the expression of pure determination to fuck you silly. You were in love.

He brought your legs to rest on his chest, he was too tall for them to rest on his shoulders anyway, and bent his head down to give your ankle a peck as he stared deep into your eyes before bending down and slowly pushing his cock inside. The stretch of his dick made you shudder out a breath as he bottomed out.

“Look at that baby. You swallowed me whole.” A tremble in his voice as he stared down at his pelvis flush against yours in awe. “I thought you’d need more time but you’re such a good girl you took it so easily huh?” He said as he started thrusting in and out of you, each pump of his hips becoming harder and faster. You couldn’t reply to him, all you could do was stare up at him, at the way he was fucking you like he had been craving to do that for ages. Which he did.

His cock was the perfect size and girth, brushing all the sweet spots inside you, the lewd sound of his hips snapping against the back of your thighs filling up the room, the sounds of the movie still playing in the background fading away as the sound of his breaths took over your senses. The grip on your legs tightened as his thrusts grew harder and harder. Your head was thrown back in ecstasy, you couldn’t think of anything else that could make you feel any better in this moment, but when the feeling of his thumb suddenly resting on your clit and starting to rub languid circles in time with his thrusts came to you, you let out a guttural moan. His breaths came out ragged, sweat accumulating on his forehead and chest as he thrust chasing his release.

You could feel the familiar tickle of an orgasm forming within your belly and you told him as such. He bit his lip at the sound of you coming close to climaxing, his ministrations on your clit becoming more erratic. You suddenly felt the cord of your release snap, cumming and clenching all around his dick.

“Oh fuck, oh shit.” He said through gritted teeth, as he felt your pussy convulse around him, he couldn’t describe this feeling as anything else less than euphoric. The feeling of your tight wet heat around him was enough to send him over the edge, and he now didn’t have a reason to hold back. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and thrust into you with whatever little strength was left in him before letting out a strained groan and shooting his load deep inside you.

He stayed inside you like that, your breaths and his coming out heavy. You looked so fucked out, pride filled his chest. He slowly pulled out of your pussy, his cum following suit dripping out of you in thick strings. He trailed his hand between your folds pushing any that leaked out back into you before giving your clit one last little stroke, the feeling making you clench around nothing. You were too sensitive, and too blissed out to worry about the implications of him cumming inside you. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t mind. You wanted to be as close and bound to him as possible, this was just another way to achieve that.

You weren’t moving other than your chest rising and falling as you breathed. Stu, probably for the first time in his life, found himself at a loss of words. You looked incredible like this and he wanted more, that much he knew. He pulled his underwear up before grabbing his discarded sweater and throwing it over your head and helping your arms through the sleeves. You unashamedly pulled the collar up to your nose and took a long sniff as you stared deep into his eyes, which made him let out a small chuckle. Cute, he thought.

You scooted back to lean your back against the headboard and cross your legs as Stu rounded the bed and sat down next to you. He broke the silence speaking in a whisper, “You know, most people would run away screaming if they knew the truth. But not you.” His fingers idly traced your thigh where his hand had come to rest. You were staring at him the entire time he spoke. You tentatively shuffled closer to him, your gaze never leaving Stu’s, a silent acknowledgment of the forbidden connection that bound you together. The room seemed to close in around you, and the outside world faded away leaving you two in the shadows.

Stu’s hand reached out, fingertips brushing against your cheek, a feather-light caress that sent a shiver through your entire being. The touch held a promise, an unspoken agreement that transcended the boundaries of reason. Your heart raced, torn between the thrill of the unknown and the magnetic pull of Stu. He knew he didn’t have to say anything more. You knew, and you revelled in it. You revelled in the fact that you were right about him, about who- what he was, what he’d done.

“You’re different.” Stu murmured, his voice a seductive melody against your ears. He had you within his grasp now, and he wouldn’t let you go. “Most people fear what they don’t understand, but not you. You revel in it.” He concluded. His thumb slowly rubbed circles around your cheek as he rubbed your face.

In that charged moment, with the post sex bliss setting in, the unspoken tension crackled like electricity. The room suddenly became the sanctuary of your shared secrets, his, the things he did, and yours, the fact that you loved him all the more for it, a haven for those who dared to dance on the precipice of chaos and desire.

It was a sick and twisted thing, for so many reasons, but your infatuation with him was nothing less than love, you knew that within you. You were willing to do just as much if not worse than him if he asked for it. You were his in any way that he’d have you, and even though you didn’t know, Stu was yours just as much. He would give himself to you in a way that no one else would ever have. He didn’t believe in the concept of soulmates or even love for that matter, but he knew he would do horrible things if it meant making you happy. He couldn’t wait to see how you’d stick by his side, see you actively participate in what he did, but he was excited to find out.

In this moment, you, aware of the risks, couldn’t deny the magnetic pull that drew you closer to him, willingly surrendering to the allure of the abyss. You leaned your head against his chest. You were drawn to him like a moth to flame, you knew it, but you didn’t care, even if it meant you’d burn.

[frogsmulder]

When the Ice Melts

chapter 4/4, prev chapter

Mulder and Scully hook up before Mulder is locked up in storage, and she comes to believe that he was infected; 1k words; rated e; tagging @today-in-fic

Read on AO3

The metal of the door scrapes along the floor revealing the darkness inside the storage room. The light from the hall behind her stabs the shadows, showing Mulder huddled at the back against the shelving unit. He jumps to his feet, dazed by the light and startled by her presence. 

“Is it just you?” He sounds accusatory but she knows that is just the overcoat to his fright. 

She steps forward, firm. “Yes.”

The door scrapes again and she looks back as it closes behind her, eating the last slither of light as it swallows her with him in the darkness. In the moment before she reaches for the cord, everything is deathly still and drawn. She can hear his quiet, ragged breathing, placing him across from her, the howling of the wind outside and the pounding of her own heart in her chest. There's a cold metallic taste in her mouth and a weightlessness of her stomach falling. Then the light is on. 

The naked bulb swings freely between them, stretching and shaping the shadows on his face from his brow to his cheeks. His forehead shines, damp with sweat, and she can see properly now the slight red puffiness to his eyes. 

Mulder squints, offended by the sudden assault. “It's one of them”

She watches as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

“No-one's been killed since you've been in here.”

He shifts his weight, edging closer to her. “So?”

The air thickens and her breathes grow heavier. She gulps and considers: seeing him again for the first time in an eternity of a few hours. She can feel the blood pumping through her veins, carrying the thrum of something thrilling. “We found a way to kill it.” He is quiet, only blinking. She moves closer to him, seeking something. His warmth? His understanding? His touch? Him? Her lips quiver around the shape of the words in hesitation. “Two worms in one host will kill each other.”

His words are flat, “You give me one worm, you'll infect me.” 

“If that's true,” she whispers, advancing with a glare, “then why didn't you let us inspect you?”

In an instant he is crouched at her level, his face just inches away from hers. “I would have,” he hisses. “But you pulled a gun on me!” There's something in his voice but it lacks the venom of their previous argument. Her eyes dart between each of his, trying to focus but between his proximity and his wild eyes, her pulse picks up pace. He has them trapped in a curtain of darkness of his own making. The heat of his breath on her face sets her whole body alight, the carnal familiarity of it on her skin fuel to her funeral pyre. “Now, I don't trust them… I want to trust you.”

“Okay,” She steadies her breathing. “But now they're not here.”

With a burning lingering look, he turns away, pulling his shirt aside, offering his bare neck. Tentatively, she reaches up, fingers circling around the cotton. The grunt he makes when she yanks the collar has her clenching around the phantom feeling of where his cock was moving inside her just hours ago. Ignoring her sudden wetness, she feels the flesh of his shoulders, grasping and pulling, her touch more ardent with the realisation that his skin is as soft and smooth as it was before. He turns around and meets her gaze as if to say see? The relief she feels is overwhelming; she can't contain. The smallest slither of a smile slips past her lips. As it grows beyond control she dips her hide to mask her emotion. One thought fills her heart, spilling over: he's okay, we're okay. 

Scully makes to leave, having only managed two steps, when a firm hand grips her shoulder possessively, halting her in her tracks. The shock knocks the air from her lungs and she gasps. Whipping her head back to fire him a questioning look, she is again stopped still. A gentle hand caresses the back of her head both calming and warming. She could break away and demand to know what he is doing. She could, but to her own surprise, she doesn't want to. Completely under his control, she melts into defenceless putty in his hands. 

Tenderly, he brushes aside the hair on her neck, covering all of her with one strong hand. One purposeful squeeze and Scully bites her lip but not quick enough to keep the whimper from escaping. Part of her silently urges him to walk her up to the wall or bend her over a shelf and take her. The other party, that would have since protested, knows all too well the pleasure that can be found with him. Fuck. She squeezes her thighs together. 

“We need to talk.”

He hums but doesn't release her. 

“Mulder…” Reaching behind herself, grabs ahold of his wrist and pivots to face him. 

An impish smirk dons his features as he twists his hand to hold hers. Learning into her space, he whispers, “Don't worry: you feel good.”

His obvious innuendo makes her blush. She reaches up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking absently across it. “Mulder,” She admonishes again. 

He shakes his head apologetically. “I know.”

Looking into his dark eyes, she stretches up on the tip of her toes and takes his lips. Being scooped up in his arms, she deepens the kiss, desperately missing that closeness they had earlier. 

Scully is the first to break away, yet she keeps close, pitting her forehead against his. Her fingers curl through the hair at the nape of his neck as she slowly licks her lips. “If it's not you or me… “

“It's one of them,” he finishes for her. 

“How are we gonna do this?”

He clasps her hands in his and squeezes. “I don't know, but we have to trust each other.”

“Okay,” she nods. “Let's go.”

[myalchod]

Andylind + 💙

What do we do when AO3 is down? Write prompt fics! This went in a way I didn't plan, despite my trying to keep it somewhat lighthearted.

“Rosalind!”

She’s not used to hearing her first name from anyone, much less in such sing-song tones, and so she just ignores it as she does so much and continues across the deserted courtyard. From across the pond she can hear the music from the party her students think she is unaware of — though how they can imagine that, when the bass echoes into her bones from this far away, is a mystery — and it’s only the absence of anyone but the owner of that voice that prevents her from lashing out.

“Rosalind!”

He’s persistent; she’ll give him that. He is also, she realises the moment she reaches out to the fringes of his mind, definitively drunk, thoughts muzzy and tangled through with alcohol. And though she does not begrudge her nearly-graduated pupils from preemptive catharsis, knowing what they will face all too soon, it does not mean she is pleased to have one of them chasing after her like this.

“Andreas,” she replies as she turns, voice sharp enough that it would normally be a warning. It’s a measure of his current state that he does not heed it, no more than he heeds the way her arms fold across her chest as she waits for him to approach.

Drunk as he may be, he is still steady on his feet; if she didn’t know better, she might take him for sober, in which case he would be a fool without reason instead of simply someone whose inhibitions have been washed down with a beer or few. When he stops before her she tilts her head back to study him, taking in the slight lack of focus in his eyes — the only thing that betrays his intoxication outwardly. Silence stretches between them until she cocks a brow in tacit prompting. If he has nothing to say, then she has far better things to do than be standing here on the shadowed edges of the quad waiting for him to find his tongue.

“I won’t let you down.”

The words come out in a rush, possessed of an urgency that doesn’t quite make sense. It would be easy to push into his mind and find the reason behind them, but she’s intrigued now, and so she just watches, unblinking.

“Your battalion,” he continues, as though it explains everything instead of nothing at all. “It’s an honour. Whatever it takes to end this war, I’m in.” The urgency is echoed in the intensity of his gaze as he looks at her, as though he’s trying to communicate something more than just what’s in the words. It feels like he’s willing her to dip into his thoughts; perversely, that makes her want to do nothing of the sort, no matter how it would sate her curiosity.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

His frustration is palpable now; one hand rakes through already-unruly hair as his jaw works beneath the scruff of a beard still growing in. She feels the corners of her mouth twitch up in a smile that she doesn’t bother to hide, more sardonic than anything else. This would be infuriating in most circumstances, but the glimpse she’s getting of his inner workings is worth the delay in getting back to her reading. She knows his skills in the field; he didn’t earn top specialist for his looks. But while four years have given her insight into his personality, this is a part of him she’d not seen before.

There’s a question he wants her to ask. She could turn away now, leave him out here to fumble his way back to the party, but she’s just curious enough to indulge him and so she gives it to him, the single syllable hanging in the warm summer air.

“Why?”

“I want to be more.” One arm sweeps out, encompasses not just their surroundings but something far greater. “The sort of person they’ll write stories about.”

It almost makes her laugh; the sound is on the verge of bubbling free when she realises he is still looking at her just as intently as before, pupils wide and dark as they focus on her properly for the first time since he’d stopped before her. Just like that, her mirth at his naïveté catches in her throat.

For you, he thinks, though she can hear it as clearly as if he’d said it aloud, and it startles her enough that she remains motionless as he leans forward, lips just catching the edge of her own before they press against her cheek. For you, and there’s so much threaded into those two words that it batters against the edges of her mind, reaching, hungry for something she cannot name and does not recognise.

For you, and it echoes as he rocks back on his heels, looking at her expectantly. The colour flooding his cheeks is not just the flush of his drinking.

“Go to sleep,” she sighs in exasperation, threading compulsion into the words. The speed with which he complies surprises her; she scarcely manages to prevent him from smacking his head against the flagstones as he goes limp, redirecting him towards the grass instead. As he shifts to get more comfortable she studies him, wondering — not for the first time — if she’s making a mistake with this choice. It’s not his usefulness that she doubts, but his discretion.

For you. He might as well be a child with a head full of stories, dreaming of knights and oaths and noble quests. She is many things, headmistress and general and fairy and warrior, but she can say with certainty that she will never be the sort of woman who belongs in those tales, no matter what he may imagine.

(The remnants of his sloppy kiss burn at the corner of her mouth as she turns away, heading back inside to the work awaiting her. At least, she thinks, she can be assured of his devotion, no matter how reality will inevitably destroy his dreams.)

[ ask me another ]

[rubberduckrobin]

hi there im feelin a bit blue, i wonder if u can do some belphie comfort writing? like when uve just had a terrible day feelin like everything downed on u and u came to him for console :,) hes my favorite character so if u do it tyvm! if u dont thats perfectly ok too!

Hey Anon! Tysm for this request - it means a lot to me! I’m sorry to hear you haven’t been feeling good but I hope you’re doing alright <3

Enjoy the fic! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩.

Fandom: Obey Me!

Pairing: Belphegor x GN!Reader

Type: Fluff, comfort

Word count: Around 1k. (rounded up)

Summary: After a long, difficult day you seek out Belphie for comfort, hoping that you’ll find what was missing from your day, in the warmth of his arms.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51474559

TW: Nothing I can think of.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓

Prologue:

Please love me. Please tell me you love me. Please tell me you love me and brush my tears away. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Part 1: The dark stormy clouds bring satisfied fields of flowers. 

Fortune is something you believe in. And from the moment you woke up, you knew you weren’t on cruel luck's side. 

Even your morning’s dream was a nightmare. Even the little comfort you found in the day’s rainy skies, your favourite type of weather, cannot overcome the underlying feeling of needing something more. 

Needing to let out anger, at the strangers that pushed against you, let out sadness at the loss of the day that could have been productive.

You need something.

Today was awful. Today was a day you wish hadn’t happened. 

But a part of you knows that seeking comfort in Belphegor afterwards is what would make it so…worth it. 

You hate feeling as though you’re taking advantage, and that you shouldn’t want to have such a terrible day just to be able to come to Belphie for help, but his warmth is irresistible, like a blanket in bitter cold. 

This wasn’t the first time you found yourself outside his room, staring blankly at his doorknob, a debate with two sides of your brain, the ‘considerate’ and the ‘selfish’.

Should I knock? Should I leave? 

If he denies your presence, you’ll be left empty, unloved, another reason for wanting the horrible day to end and for the earth to cave in under your feet. 

However, he could also be the one to stop everything; your memories of the people that pushed past you, the lack of effort you put into your work, the torment you endured from family, acquaintances, friends. Everything. Everything that happened.

The doorknob clicks open.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Part 2: Security Blanket

As you reach for the door, it opens from the other side.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

Your swollen-eyed gaze meets Belphegors and it only takes him a moment to realise what’s happening.

“Another one of those days, huh?”

You can’t respond.

Everything…

“Alright. Come in.”

Everything…

Belphie wraps around you by the waist almost instantaneously, cold hands curling warmly around your stomach; his warmed breath paces against the line of your neck, tickling you gently. 

He runs circles on your back whilst leading you towards his bed. 

“I was just feeling sleepy. I’m glad to have a new pillow.”

Still holding your hand, he gets under his duvet, ushering you in with soft breaths. 

Everything…

You’re pulled into the comfort of his blanket, and he repositions his arms to be around your torso again, burrowing his head into the crook of your neck. 

“Mm.”

Everything…

“Are you gonna tell me what happened?” he asks, in nothing more than a whisper.

“It’s just…not a good day today.”

“Alright…do you want to stay here with me? Like this?”

“…yes.”

Everything.

Time stops. Memories stop. 

It’s only you and him. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Part 3: As gentle as mournful melodies tribute to joy. 

He begins to hum, the vibrations running down your aching body. 

The song is not one you know, but it provides a sense of familiarity. It’s similar to the feeling of completing something small, like a puzzle, or something big, like your day. 

As he runs his hands through your hair, you find your mind to be indulged in nothing but the sensation. The feeling of his fingers winding their way through each strand, the pause when he goes to start from your scalp again.

You feel pampered.

Everything.

Through newfound drowsy thoughts, you begin to speak.

“Everything today was just so…”

Before you can find the word to complete it, he speaks.

“Difficult? …mm…”

“Like the world was…”

“…Against you?”

“No. More like…crashing in on me. But yeah, that too.”

“Okay. It’s okay. That’s life…”

“Life sucks then.”

“Yeah…it really does.”

Everything.

“…what can make it better?”

“I don’t know.”

“…is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Alright. Do you want to sleep? …Or talk?”

 “I don’t…”

“Know?” His laughs are muffled against your body and your heart just melts - you’re so lucky to have him.

It’s unusual how you aren’t anything more than friends, but you are together as though more. His tenderness as he holds you seems more than just what you are labelled. 

“Hey, Belphie?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t you think its weird to be like…this? You know…”

“Huh? Oh. No? You were upset. And you looked exhausted. I don’t see a problem with this.”

“Don’t you think this is something for couples?”

“No. But…”

“But?”

“It’s nothing, go to sleep. You’re tired.”

Nothing more is needed to be said, and nothing more is to be done, aside from you just staying in his arms as you dream.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

Part 4: Dreams.

I dream of idle moments in your arms. The weight of your body against mine. The sink of my heart before the flutter. The stars in the sky as you watch with glistening eyes.

I think of how stupid this is, how stupid this all is. How ridiculous it is to think such romanticised thoughts.

Then I think of you.

Everything stops and all there is is my heartbeat against yours. 

Nothing less, nothing more.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓

End Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed it! To whoever is reading this: please be kind to yourself and have a great day/night! :)

[rochelle-echidna]

@micheladee tagged me in the "post a couple paragraphs of your WIP" share-a-thon, so figured I'd go through my Word docs and see what I could find - thank you so much for the tag, Michela :)

Truth be told, if y'all will allow me to vent a bit first... it's been a bit of a shitter these last couple years, especially wrt getting any sort of writing done. Never mind with fics (of which I feel awful I've barely started anything new, even the WIP below is from last year) - but I've also been trying to finally write a novel of my own after realising I really, really want to... and the words just aren't coming. Whether it's because of fear of ridicule, fear of failure, fear of not being good enough, fear of financial stresses, fear of whatever... it's been really fucking rough since my spouse and I moved cross-country, and I've def been feeling ashamed at my lack of creative output :(

On the bright side, I'm getting some help with therapy and I'm doing a couple workshops to get me back into the swing of being creative so that I can tackle the work-life balance and not feel like the entirety of my (and my spouse's) survival rests squarely on my shoulders. Whether that means I'll be able to post any new work soon is up for debate, but honestly just taking these baby steps is better than nothing, so I'll take what I can get (and my body + mind can give).

And I know there's no "admission fee" to partake in fandom, but I still feel I'd be remiss if I didn't offer a huge apology for not positing fics recently, and especially for not commenting on fics y'all have made in these last several months - please believe me when I say I see y'all's work and it's great and makes me feel so many necessary things, even if I'm not able to type the words on AO3 atm.

Anyhow, just wanted to share an update with y'all and let you know I'm still here, still alive... just taking it one day at a time for now in order to keep my sanity strong!

Enjoy this little snippet of a WIP below, and I tag whoever so chooses to participate in this game - even if I'm quiet, I love seeing everything you lovely people write :D

When he was thrust back to reality in his own body, there was the usual disorientation that was to be expected of someone summoned through the dark arts. After all, if the infamous Thief King from 3,000 years ago had existed as a separate being before, there was no reason Malik’s other half couldn’t, too. Except… Ryou Bakura hadn’t exactly planned for this extra passenger to crawl his way back from the shadows alongside the former spirit. And what “Malik’s other half” – the phrase enough to make said individual gag – definitely hadn’t expected was for such confusion to be tainted by a profound sadness… one that had permeated his entire being for the last six months. Or however long it had been. Malik had gotten what he’d wanted, Ryou had gotten what he wanted, the Thief King had kind of gotten what he wanted – and all that “Malik’s other half” had gotten was a sense of displacement, dysmorphia and disdain. “You know… he’s welcome to stay here, Malik.” “You weren’t conscious during that damned duel fifteen years ago, host. Just be glad you weren’t privy to his cruelty firsthand.” “He’s right, Ryou. You’ve done enough already. There’s no need to put yourself in more danger.” “But there’s not much harm he can do now. I mean—" “I can hear you all.” Three pairs of eyes had greeted him when he’d first turned over on a – soft – bed. His hands had been bound, and he’d growled and snarled so much that he’d made Malik and the Thief King back up – but not the white-haired man in-between them. “You probably have lots of questions right now. And…” The blush that formed on the man’s cheeks had sent a – strange – shiver down his spine, warming his bound wrists. “I’m sorry I don’t have many answers.” He had merely hmphed at that, avoiding eye contact with his “main personality” and the thief who’d dared face him. Instead, he focused on the wide eyes of the man who must have been called— “Ryou… it’s no use. We need to send him back before he does some real damage again.” “Snap out of it, landlord. Just look at how he’s staring at you.” But the man – Ryou – had just tilted his head and let loose a very small smile. “What’s your name?”

[rriavian]

Another mini fic for the flower prompt exchange @bobbole @windsweptinred and I are doing. It's a little rough, and I might actually add more to it before cross posting to ao3. But I think I might start writing more for this pairing because I loved this.

I hope you enjoy!

Dream and Lucienne: Clematis, evergreen, Paper Ring Wedding, Prompt if you fancy, include the words, "I know it's not much... "

-

It’s only when she gives Dream the ring that Lucienne realises it’s probably a stupid idea. 

The very feeling of that is strange—this sudden anxiety foreign, bubbling up like butterflies in her stomach—insecurity like this not something she’s used to at all.

Lucienne is always certain, always sure; precise, methodical, should be equally meticulous even in gifting Dream this thing she feels may risk mistranslation, may reveal itself to be poorly worded. The feeling shifts when she tries to examine it, for all Lucienne is nervous it doesn't hurt, isn't truly uncomfortable, an investigation that nonetheless reveals a shyness she’d not expected to find. It’s not that she considers her offering poorly made, not that Lucienne thinks she isn't worthy.

It’s not that at all.

Just an awkwardness in allowing herself to be so easily perceived.

The band of the ring is slim, formed of interwoven strands of paper, improbable in the Waking World but more than possible here. If one looked closely enough it is possible to see words. If one was allowed close enough they could see it’s inscribed with words chosen from the books in Lucienne’s library. Dream’s gift to her, her gift to him; painstakingly written out—lines they've both enjoyed, quotes, little favourite phrases—these things she’d wanted to give to him to carry wherever he goes. Not weight. Lucienne would not add that. And it's not to lighten a load either.

Perhaps a grounding, perhaps reminding, perhaps she’d wanted to add reasons for the appearance of his smile.

Dream smiles now. 

He slips the paper ring onto his finger, so careful as he settles it into place, because even in the Dreaming paper is still delicate enough to be easily torn. 

Lucienne’s own ring sits gold on her finger; simplicity, elegance in the lack of intricate adornments, bland only in contrast to the crown Dream had wanted to give her alongside it. Not to buy her affections with splendor, but to forge something reflective of her worth, to smelt love into metal. Lucienne had wanted to give him something too, this exchange of rings not only a tradition to be followed, yet what could she give to him when he could make anything he desired? What unique thing could she add when Dream had made this realm, this palace, this library, all of it so achingly beautiful, so exquisite even in darkness. 

Lucienne opens her mouth—

Dream anticipates.

He knows as he always knows.

“My Lucienne,” He says softly, eyes lifting from the ring as if he’d found a palace there, a sun in her. “Your love could never be inadequate; a treasure, an oath, a gift from my first raven, a tether from my wife.”

The insecurity stabilises, relief uncurling the tension from Lucienne’s shoulders, until all that's left is what inspired her need to get this right. A blossoming of affection soft and fond at hearing Dream’s solemn but earnest tone, a love so deep her shyness only rippled the surface, a feature not a detriment. There is no lie in Dream's voice. He has no need for that; if he didn’t love her he’d say so, if she didn’t love him she’d do the same. And Lucienne knows that she should not have worried, feels pleased by the reminder anyway, finds contentment in the proof of Dream’s appreciation for small things, for paper as well as gold.

“Then you like it?”

Lucienne asks despite already knowing the answer.

Dream glances back down, smiles again, soft in fascinated distraction, as if he is reading all of the words she’d written across the band of that paper ring. He is, Lucienne reminds herself, is brushing against them to feel the curve of her pen, the time she’d taken to write this ring into being, all she'd given to it.

“I will never take it off.”

“It’s settled then.” Lucienne teases. “Eternity it is.”

“Eternity.” Dream repeats; his own tease in how he plays at testing the word as if he doesn’t yet know what it means, as if it is still a new thing for this Endless being to learn.

“Did you ever think I would give you anything less?”