#when the crumbs are too excessive for us but the five course meal is too little for you

[ssaltlicker]

“The caitvi sex scene was unnecessary >:(“

The three minute scene was unnecessary but the entire 40 minute episode dedicated to an au fanfic wasnt?

[antichristsxbox]

Knight in Shining Armor - Part Three

Read part one here!

Read part two here!

Summary: You and Michael begin to plan your wedding but encounter some trouble. Also, warning, this is a little smutty! :)

From the writer: Hey guys! This is my favorite chapter of this fic I’ve posted so far. Please excuse any typos, I proofread it a few times but there’s so much to proofread as this chapter is fairly long; I think I got carried away. Huge shoutout to @jocelynscloset​ for proofreading this for me as well! All likes and reblogs are appreciated + if you liked this fic, feel free to check out my masterlist! :) Update— here’s part one, here’s part two, and here’s part four + here’s my masterlist with more fics!

Word count: 2,329

Darkness looming out your window with a faint orange glow in the background. Grey clouds gather in the sky and high branches on dark trees release dead leaves, blowing across your viewpoint in the dry, warm wind. Hot, but not humid, Stagnant, but not predictable. Every day similar, but not precisely the same as the last. Rising up from your soft pillowcase, silky sheets run past your fingers as you lift them from your body and stand up. Today was the day to start planning the wedding, and you were fairly excited to begin this journey with Michael. More importantly, you were excited for your new life ahead with your soon-to-be husband. 

Quickly dressing in a simple black gown and cast-iron tiara, you make your way to the dining room for breakfast. Always punctual, Michael is sitting at the opposite end of the table. Previously focused on what he was reading, his head perks up and his curls oscillate near his face when he hears the door open. Standing to greet you, he gives you a small hug and kiss on the cheek, then makes his way back to his side of the table. In the middle of the elongated table, there’s fresh fruit, fluffy biscuits, oatmeal, sausage, eggs, yogurt, many different kinds of muffins, and a few more indiscernible items— all at your disposal. You begin to think this enormous spread is excessive for every meal, but who else would eat this food from Hell anyways? Certainly not the already-dead (or undead?) residents. 

“I was just looking over the invitations for our wedding, Dear,” he says, looking up from the cards in his hands. Invitations, you think. This must mean this is going to be a long, drawn-out process. You can’t complain about him wanting to get this right, but at the same time, you are growing more impatient. You were plucked from the relative safety of your tower, dragged to Hell, and now stuck here to wait for a wedding. But, you must remind yourself to respect his wishes and go with the flow of his elaborate wedding plan— it would be the least you could do to thank him for rescuing you. 

“I am certain they look wonderful,” you affirm, sitting down and pouring a cup of coffee. You reach for a blueberry muffin and set it down on your place.

“More importantly, you should choose a dress— we can decorate to revolve around your choice,” he says, looking up and giving a bright, excited smile. You give a small smile back before your attention trails back to your muffin as you slowly peel the paper back, letting it fan out little ridge after little ridge.

“Of course, I’ll choose a dress today,” you say, still looking down at your muffin, now picking at the loose crumbs. 

Realistically, Michael says they could pull off the wedding Saturday or Sunday. Having lost track of time, you learn it is now Monday, looking at the calendar Michael sends to your side of the table via telekinesis. For the remainder of breakfast, you sit and make small talk with Michael. Further planning of the wedding cannot be done without a central theme or color to follow. For the Antichrist, Michael seems pretty sociable and knows how to hold a conversation well. He knows of many things Above that would keep you entertained— sports, politics, and the latest fashion trends in the major cities. Perhaps a dress modeled with a wide skirt and big sleeves, such as what’s popular in London, he insists. Or, taking inspiration from the wide skirts, elaborate lace details, and parasols from Charleston, similar to the styles you grew up with, he says. Perhaps Hell could put together a lacrosse team, as you’ve expressed your enjoyment of the sport to Michael before. Many great athletes are sitting down here doing absolutely nothing. There would be no task too great for Michael to attempt in effort to make you happy. You try to convince him that any dress in your closet would do, yet you have had a traditional, white dress in mind. Asking about further details, you said you would let him handle the specifics and other decorations, as he clearly has good taste— this castle is beautifully decorated and perfect for a wedding, you assure him. The castle would be perfect even with no special preparations, you guarantee. 

Eventually, you excuse yourself from the table so you could go back to your room. As you open the door, an almost sickeningly-sweet smell surrounds you and wafts itself near your face with every step you take— similar to how when too much vanilla extract is added to baked goods, the taste becomes bitter rather than sweet. As you search for the offending foodstuffs, a note is laid flat on your bedside table along with five slices of cake, each a different flavor with a different icing. The note is from Michael reading that you should try these, then let him know which you would like at the wedding reception. Simple enough, you think. Going in line from chocolate, to vanilla, to lemon, to carrot, to red velvet. All are delicious, but red velvet has always been your favorite flavor. You must have experienced a small sugar high from tasting those cakes, because now you’re bone-tired and ready for a nap, despite it being only a little past eleven. Seeing as the details for the wedding have been mostly sorted out at this point, you feel no remorse sinking back into your silky sheets and velvety pillows. 

Waking from your nap, you check the clock to see how much time has passed— it’s only noon, almost time for lunch. Stepping off your bed, you walk towards your mirror and reach for your hairbrush. To your surprise, your once (y/e/c) eyes are now a pale silvery-white color. Perhaps Hell is taking more of a toll on you than you thought. Running the brush through your soft hair, you begin to let your thoughts wander about Michael. How could he deny you in your advances to be intimate? After the wedding, it would happen eventually anyway, so what does it matter? You’re on edge, pent-up, and in need of gratification that only another could provide. Sitting around and playing with yourself has become a daily ritual at this point, but more importantly, it’s boring. There’s only one option left for you to have your much-needed alone time with Michael— seduction. 

One element of seduction is having a somewhat-unattainable nature. When leaving for breakfast, Michael asked if you would join him for lunch. You said yes, but decided to ditch last-minute. Why? Because that makes the next time you see him even more precious. You’re hard to get. Another key to seduction is looking appealing for the one you’re trying to seduce. You begin to brush your hair up and pin it in a loose bun then pull a few of the shorter, loose pieces out to frame your face. Scouring the seemingly endless supply of makeup on your vanity, you find a faint red lip gloss. Having big, glossy lips appealing for most men, you think. Sure— they’re kissable, but they’re also useful for other bedroom activities as well. Picking up a small mascara wand, you open the compact that holds the dark powder and add a drop of water. Mascara helps make your lashes darker and eyes appear more open and awake. Some more face powder is applied to even out your skin, then blush is used to make you seem flustered and ready for Michael.

Time passes slowly when you’re anticipating something, but you manage the rest of the day by reading as well as relieving yourself of your pent-up desire. Many times, you thought of Michael as your hands traveled down to your warm heat. Fingers dipping in and curling up inside, hitting your innermost walls. Your muscles would clench around your fingers, wetness turning into sopping mess. As you became more relaxed each time, you were able to fit two, then three inside. A fourth was attempted and achieved, but the pinky doesn’t do much for you, being so small— you’re able to go harder with only three anyways.

Eventually, it was five o’clock. Michael normally returns to his room between five-fifteen and five-thirty to begin getting ready for dinner at six. Your hands make their way to your back, and you untie the corset you were wearing. Next, the slip you were wearing under your dress goes. In your armoire, you find a red, silky robe with a matching tie. This will do, and it’ll be very easy to take off. 

Peeking out the door to the hallway, you scan the area to make sure nobody is out there. It would be embarrassing to be caught in only a robe by anybody other than Michael. After realizing the coast is clear, you run towards his bedroom and open his door. Quickly shutting it behind you, you walk towards the bed and let your robe drop to the floor. Climbing on his bed, his sheets feel just as soft as yours. A slippery sensation occurs when your freshly-shaved legs glide across the bedding as you spread your legs. Your hand travels down once again and begins rubbing circles on your clit. As your wetness grows, two fingers circle around your entrance until they can be submerged. Small moans escape your mouth when you push your fingers up, hitting a sensitive spot inside. 

Clunk! you hear as the heavy door is pushed. A slightly louder moan ensues, realizing that it is likely Michael at the door. Immediately after the door opens, a loud boom! ensues as Michael quickly closes the door. Slowly, a creaking noise reveals the door just slightly ajar, and you can make out Michael’s voice clearly when he speaks. 

“Darling, I believe you’re in the wrong room.”

Your feet hit the cold floor as you stand up from the bed and walk towards the door. Loose tendrils of hair bounce next to your face, glossy lips are reflective in the candlelight, breasts bounce slightly as you walk. You open the door, grab Michael by the tie and yank him towards you, then shut the door behind the two of you. He would have resisted, but he is so surprised that you would have the audacity to do something like this, it’s stunning. 

“I’m right where I need to be,” you say, taking your hand and resting it on the side of his face before leaning in for a kiss. He abruptly pulls away before you get the chance to make contact. Michael turns to the coat rack in his room and throws you the first thing he could grab. Begrudgingly, you wrap yourself in his long coat then step towards him again. 

Once he turns to face you again, you step closer and hook a leg around his waist, pressing into him as close as possible. A moan slips past your lips as your cunt makes contact with his pants, but your pleasure is cut short as he gently shoves you away and steps back. He is now visibly upset, looking down towards the floor, sighing, then biting his lower lip. 

“I cannot describe how this makes me feel, even after I explained why I was doing what I’m doing,” he says, stepping closer again— Michael is attempting to seem stout and serious. You look up to meet his captivating blue gaze. His lips are pressed together in a firm line. As you make eye contact for a few more seconds, Michael’s brows begin to furrow in confusion rather than anger.

“Step into the light, Dear,” he says, moving towards a table with a tall candlestick. Your eyes are pale, demonic, and possessed. This is not you. 

“Also, the red velvet wins,” you say nonchalantly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What?” he questions with an even more confused tone than look on his face.

“That cake you left me? To try for the wedding?” you say, a slightly annoyed tone in your voice. 

This is a big ‘aha’ moment for Michael. The imaginary lightbulb has now been lit above his head. 

“Go to your room, please. Do not eat any more of that cake. I will be there soon.” 

Michael then goes to the foot of your bed and collects your robe for you, turns his back as you dress, and sends you off out to the hallway— after checking if anybody else was there, of course. Once you’ve left, Michael looks for his knife with the silver hilt and rubies on the end as well as on the sheath. It’s time for a nice, long father-and-son conversation. 

“Ave Satanas,” Michael says softy, allowing his blade to pierce the skin on his wrist as he drags it up the length of his arm. He repeats this with his other arm, and blood begins to fall from his body to the floor, joining the bloody pentagram he is kneeling above. He closes his eyes focuses on summoning his father, in need of an explanation and guidance as to what is happening. 

“Son,” a raspy, ominous voice says from nowhere, the voice just as prominent in every corner of the room— coming from an all-encompassing, all-powerful force. 

“Father, please, what have you done to my bride? How can I fix it?” Michael pleads, voice breaking mid-question. 

“You must give yourself a chance at producing an heir. Give her what she desires from you and she will return to her original state.” 

Satan’s words lingered in Michael’s head; this is a sad predicament to be in. An emotionless, sex-hungry woman fiending after a well-protected integrity. Determined to keep his original promises to himself, Michael knows what he must do. Standing to clean the blood from his arms and body, he checks the time to see if the officiant has gone to bed yet.

///

Tag list: @langdonsoceaneyes​​ @ms-mead​​ @daydreamingofcody​​ @psychobitchtess​​ @swampwitchh13​​ @ahstmblrupdates​​ @forgivemelucifer​​ @wroteclassicaly​

[hargroves-dingus]

fire meets gasoline | b.h x v.h

pairings: Billy Hargrove x Veronica Hopper (O.C), Hopper!AdoptiveDad x Veronica Hopper, Eleven!AdoptiveSister x Veronica Hopper

summary: Billy comes to pick up Max and Hopper isn’t happy about his daughter knowing the neighbourhood bicycle, but what happens when Veronica disregards her father and still goes to Tina’s party to see none other than Billy Hargrove?

warnings: moderate swearing??

a/n: lemme know if you want to be tagged in future parts dudes :)

CHAPTER TWO

Morning were often my favourite time of the day, quickly followed by nightfall: the hours I could truly bask in my own solace. The sunlight fought to seen through the curtains, shining a bright light on my face causing me to turn to the other side of the bed, humming in content at the smell that lingered. Dad was making eggos. Hauling myself out of bed, I threw my hair up in a messy bun and wiped the sleep away from my eyes.

“Morning sweetheart” Hopper robotically muttered, he said it every morning, and when faced with making breakfast, he lost the ability to multitask. “The girls not up yet?” Scanning the room for the brunette and her ginger accomplice, only to find they were missing so knocked on her bedroom door and alerted them of eggos – which motivated them to get out of bed. “Four eggo extravaganzas and strawberry milkshakes.” Hopper announced, placing them around the table. The mismatch family (plus a Max) sat around the table, starting to devour their breakfast, before a door knock pulled us all from our morning conversation.

Already getting up, I dusted any crumbs off of my lap, “I’ll get it.”, and lazily opened the door, and snapped into sense when Billy Hargrove was leaning against the doorframe, his gold necklace dangling idly in front of his chest, wearing none other than a shirt that was buttoned a bit too low. “I’m here for Max, princess.” God I could only imagine Hoppers reaction to his pet name, and I was not looking forward to the questioning. “We’re still eating breakfast, none of us are ready.” I shrugged, leaving the flirty tone from last night at bay. Not around Hopper or the girls. “Explains the outfit.” At this moment, I realised how exposed I was, simply an oversized t-shirt that hung over my right shoulder from the excessive size. “Stop gawking, Hargrove.” Slightly snarling with a small smirk, crossing my arms at his not so stealthy mission of checking me out. From this and when we met, it seems he likes being caught. “Come in then.” Turning on my heels, I walked back to the table, picking up my plate, “You can have some of mine.”

“So you can be nice sometimes.” Laughing, he grabbed a plate from the cupboard and I piled some food onto his place and gave him a fork, and we sat at the counter beside eachother. Feeling Hoppers eyes burning into us, I slightly shouted “Dad? This is Billy, Max’s brother.” Feeling like an introduction to the teenage boy in his house was what he was expecting. “Step-brother.” Both Max and Billy mumbled, which I threw my hands up in surrender up, muttering a string of amused ‘sorry’s.

“We’ve met.” Hopper grunted, eyes squinting onto Billy. This was a splendid start. “Still speeding around town like a maniac, Hargrove?” He was challenging him. Baiting him almost. “Not anymore, sir, not since you busted me.” Billy’s signature cocky tone was back, and it irritated Hopper, as he added, “Six times.”

“Five, actually, sir.” He corrected, and you could see Hopper tense up, as if ready to pounce. “Alright, Mr and Mrs Testosterone, break it up.”  

Both backed off, turning back around to continue their meal. For a bit, I just watched him eat, sitting in a comfortable silence. It was then that I really noticed his eyes, this bright shade of blue that burned into you. They were like water, or even the sea, but the intensity reminded me of a burning fire. “Having fun there, princess?” Laughing, I cleared his now empty plate into the sink. “You wish.” Raising an eyebrow, I leant back onto the counter to which he walked over, reaching behind me, our bodies millimetres from touching and all I wanted to do was close the space between us, “Oh I do. Trust me.” And picked up an apple, and copied my stance on the counter opposite. “Are you coming to Tina’s party tonight?” Taking a bite of the apple, the juice slightly dripped onto his chin and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. How could Billy fucking Hargrove eating an apple make me so goddamn weak? “I might make an appearance.”

“Billy, let’s go!” Max shouted from the door, all dressed and ready to leave. Billy rolled his eyes in what I guess to be frustration and pushed himself off the counter. I went to walk him to the door and he placed his hand on the small of my back, sending shivers down my spine, “Well I hope you do, princess.”

Billy then straightened out his jacket, and extended his right hand forward in front of Hopper, and he begrudgingly took it and grunted “Thank you for breakfast, sir, nice to see you again.” And when he left, a part of me was hoping it wouldn’t be for long. There wasn’t a breath of silence before Hopper broke it again. “So. Veronica.” He scratched his head, almost comically and in the most patronising and dad-like way asked “How long have you known Billy ‘I like to speed around and break rules’ Hargrove?” Of course he was getting annoyed. Billy isn’t the type of guy who bring home to your family. He’s the type of guy to only ever meet your bedroom. Playfully rolling my eyes, I stood put, not moving from the door.  “Since yesterday, dad. Purely because he’s Max’s step-brother.”

“Then how did he know where the plates were kept. Hmm?” His voice became louder, angrier, and he sharply shrugged in anticipation. Slamming his hand on the side and he sighed before returning to his more heated tone, “Why does he know where we keep our goddamn cutlery, Veronica?”

“Stop yelling! Fucksake. It’s seriously not that deep. I invited him in for a drink when he dropped Max off last night. No need to make a drama.” I’d known Hopper to get mad at me. It wasn’t rare. I guess over time, he accepted whatever shit I got into and he shrugged it off. But I had seen him angry. This somehow felt different. “No need? Sorry I don’t want my daughter hanging out with some trouble maker Casanova like him.” Scoffing, he placed himself on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees running his hands over his face. “I can handle myself.  This is bullshit. And you know it.”

“Excuse me?”

Then it clicked. He didn’t like Billy because he’s a ‘bad boy’ (or not entirely), he didn’t want to lose his little girl. “You just don’t like the fact that I’m growing up. I’m no longer a kid and that scares the shit out of you. I’m going to be around boys, going to parties, sleeping with people,” At the last part, he scrunched up his face in disgust, and almost in raw truth, as he realised I was right. “And that terrifies you. But don’t project that onto me. Deal with your shit, dad.”

*  *  *

The house was practically shaking from the blaring music, the entire teenage population of Hawkins crammed into Tina’s house, filling their veins with burning alcohol, finding somebody to pretend to love for just one night, pretend they didn’t live in this tiny shitty town. Clinging to my denim jacket, I mentally cursed at myself for wearing black cycling shorts and a black tucked in t-shirt, causing my legs to turn into icicles from the Indiana October weather. There were murmurs and subtle gasps of shock when I walked in, parties never usually being my scene, opting to stay in and read. Or maybe have dinner with the devil as I’ve heard some people say I do in my spare time. That one was my favourite.

Hearing I chorus of cheers, I was drawn to the garden, hearing a voice roaring, “That’s how you do it, Indiana!” and a smile graced my face as I identified it as Billy. My pathway was blocked as the bathroom door swung open, and a guy leaving nearly knocked me off my feet. “Fucking hell, watch it ass-” My series of curses halted as I looked up to see none other than Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington crying.Nobody had seen King Stevecry. Well, anybody but me. And I’m not talking about this moment. Before he was crowned King, we were best friends, since being toddlers. He was the one who held me crying when I felt alone and unloved (each time) and when Hopper adopted me, then we distanced. I’d seen Steve cry, when his parents were on brink of divorce, when he felt like they didn’t care, we saw each other at our lowest. It must be something big to cause Steve to break at a party full of everybody he knew.

“Steve? Let’s go outside.” I tried my best to hide his face, to keep up his image but everyone was too drunk to remember this tomorrow. We sat on the porch steps, and the cold air whipped my skin and I sat waiting for him to talk. “Don’t shut me out again.” I whispered, not even looking at him, the pain from all those years ago laced in my voice. “Talk to me.” Placing my hand on his wrist, I tried my best to comfort him. At first he tensed up, not used to my touch but it didn’t take long for him to relax into it, putting his other hand atop mine, interlocking our hands. “It was all bullshit.” His voice was broken. Utterly broken. I hadn’t heard his voice like that since his dad told him he wished he’d never had a son in the first place. “What was?”

“Her.” Nancy Wheeler. When they first started dating, it made me laugh. Stuck-up prudish good girl dating King Steve – what else did I expect? But I never thought she’d end it. Honestly thought new Steve would fuck up and sleep with someone else. “What happened?”

“She broke up with me.” He laughed. In a way that was filled with disbelief, even he couldn’t understand it. “You can do so much better than Nancy fucking Wheeler.” Scoffing, I wrapped my arms around his shoulder and pulled him into a hug which he only weaselled his way out of, standing up in front of me, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t want better. I want her. I love her.” Sighing, I looked up at him. “Love is fucked up, and overrated.”

“I know.” With that, he wiped his face, shook his body as if shaking away his pain and smiled at me. A genuine smile. “I’m going to head home. Thank you, Ron.” Ron. It felt weird hearing him say it but comforting at the same time.

“You made it.” Steve’s place was replaced with Billy, and a waft of beer stench and cigarette smoke invaded the air around me. He flashed a smile, biting his lower lip and I stretched my legs out in front of me. “Seems I did Hargrove.” Crossing my arms, I took in the view around me. Nightfall. The sky was dark, a poetry of stars strung throughout the blackness and the blanket it made comforted me. He sighed in boredom before asking, “Wanna get out of here?”

“I know a place.”

*  *  *

He parked his car on the side of the road, and as I grabbed his hand, I guided him through the trees. “So where are we going?” He chuckled, ���You’re not going to kill me right?” Weaving throughout the towering branches, I sighed in content as we arrived at a clearing, the grass full of a variation of flowers and walked to the group of rocks in which I perched myself on top of, motioning for him to join me. “My thinking place.”

“Thinking place?” He repeated, looking around, taking in the view. The flowers were my favourite, the haze of purple and yellow, although the vibrancy was masked the dark sky. “Obviously you know Hopper isn’t my real dad.” I stated, voice void from emotion. And as I said that I didn’t know why I did. Why I was opening up. But there was this feeling. This instinct that I could trust him. “My dad left when I was four. Mum died from an overdose when I was six. Hopper was close to my mum so he took me as his own.” Looking at him, his eyes were glassy slightly, eyebrows furrowed and I felt this steel ball sink in my stomach. “Please don’t give me that look. I don’t want your pity.”  Resting his hand on my thigh, his warmth made me jump slightly, probably the California in him. But his touch calmed me. “I wasn’t going to. I know a few things about shitty dads.” It was odd. Two strangers opening up to each other. “Yours an asshole too?”

“You see this?” Twisting slightly, it revealed a scar along the side of his head, running along his temple, “Gave that to me.” I traced it with my thumb, the rest of my hand placed on the side of his head. “Fucking hell, Billy.” Scoffing, he looked down, then coughed, discarding of the tears that started to form. “See? Now you’re giving me that look.”

“That’s different. Mine decided I wasn’t going enough for him so left. Yours…”

“Hey,” He hushed, this newfound softness in his voice was soothing, and he took both of my hands in his and brought them up to his lips. “Don’t think you’re not good enough. You were four. Whatever the reason he left, wasn’t because of you.” I sent him a weak smile. I only ever spoke to Hopper or El about it, on the very rare occasion, but it was nice to open up to him. “You know what, Hargrove? We’re kindred souls, you and I.”

He smirked, laughing under his breath, “Oh yeah?” Nodding, I crossed my legs, fiddling with the hem of my shorts, “I think we were meant to find each other”

“You really believe in that stuff?”

“Not until I met you.”

-------

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