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threadbearsweater · 1 month ago

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one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

#arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #red dead redeption 2 x reader #arthur morgan smut #my writing

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mae-mae-me · 1 month ago

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DP X DC PROMPT

Ok, so you know how there are sooo many adaptations of what’s happened in history? First thing that comes to mind is “Horrible Histories” that aired on CBBC (side note:: if you loved HH, you are literally my best friend, it was my favourite show), and how they take things that happened all the way back, and add a little whimsy to it.

A little laughter. A little silliness. You get the point.

I!! I headcannon that in the DC universe all of DP happened thousands of years ago. And then there is a show. It’s called “Danny Phantom” and it takes what happened thousands of years ago, with a freak lightning accident that “created” the first hero. (Scientists wonder if this was how MetaHumans came about. They’re— not wrong, exactly)

Except. This is the DC Universe. Where people do stupid stuff on a daily, and mad scientists can be found at a school lab.

So, one of the people high up (a producer? A director? Someone who’s VERY tired and is just looking for some authenticity in this project because it’s literally what they did their dissertation on—) decides to do something that seems reasonable at the time.

They summon the very person (being?) that they are basing this on.

And—

It works.

Whoops?

Ok, that’s alI I have for now! Tagging others to continue this (only if you want!!) @dcxdpdabbles @nerdpoe @starry-bi-sky @ailithnight @hecate-hollow @hello-eden @dp-sidebloggg @dclovesdanny @charlietheepicwriter7 @evilminji @enigmaris @glow-in-the-dark-death @kizzer55555 @luxaofhesperides @noxcheshire @puppetmaster13u @violent138 @virgamsysxvolumes @zylev-blog

#maewrites #batman #danny phantom #dpxdc #writing #Continue this!#dp #dcu

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aidenwaites · 1 year ago

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Proposing an addendum to Ceremony called Divorce where for the next 7 days two adult humanoids who have chosen to forfeit their marriage each gain a +2 to AC so long as they are NOT within 30 feet of each other

I've never actually gotten to use it in-game but the best d&d ritual spell is still Ceremony

#alternatively they gain a -2 to AC when within 30 feet #rbed this on the wrong blog the first time whoops

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 11 months ago

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What You Do to Me

Pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting will be blocked

Notes: This was an abandoned Kinktober prompt from forever ago, so. Enjoy.

Not beta-read. Will probably spot 80 typos as soon as I post. Also posted it to the wrong blog the first time, whoops.

Length: 4.9K

Warnings: Best friend's dad Jake; age gap; praise kink; scent kink; masturbation; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal fingering; finger sucking; safe sex

Summary: You'd had a crush on your best friend's father for as long as you'd known the guy. It had been years. You'd gone on dates with other people; you'd had a couple of relationships, but you were never able to get the man fully out of your head. Jake made you so nervous, and it didn't take much—a hand on your back as he passed you in the kitchen, a smile across the table, a cheeky wink as he said pointedly said something so deeply uncool that Rebecca groaned in frustration. He was so intimidating, and brilliant, and gorgeous—and despite your intelligence, he just scrambled your brain.

GIF by stilinskiderek

“I’m sorry about this.”

It had to be the fifth time you said it, but you seemed not to be able to think of anything else to say. You almost never could when Mr. Seresin was nearby. The soft chuckle that he loosed now did absolutely nothing to lessen your embarrassment—which was insane.

You'd been coming to the man's house for years, but you couldn't shut off the part of you that was so nervous in his presence. He glanced back toward you, shifting your duffel bag in his hands as he watched you hang up your coat on what had essentially become your hook in his home.

“It’s alright,” He insisted. “Are you hungry?”

You were starving, but you didn’t want to inconvenience the man more than you already had. Your old college roommate and best friend, Rebecca Seresin, wouldn’t be home for a full day, so you’d be alone with Mr. Seresin the entire time.

It was your own fault—you’d misread one of her messages and thought that she would be home when your train got in. You just wanted to keep yourself busy for the next day and not bother Mr. Seresin any more than you already had.

“No! No,” You fibbed, shaking your head.

But his little smile and knowingly raised brows told you that he didn’t buy your insistence for a second.

“Well, I was planning on ordering pizza anyway. You’re more than welcome to it when it gets here.” He turned away from you, adding, “Make yourself at home. I’ll go put your bag in your room.”

You bit your lip. Your room. It was his guest room, but you'd stayed there so often that he'd come to think of it as yours. It made you giddy. You’d been to the Seresin home so many times over the last few years, a few of your standard toiletries and a couple of spare pairs of clothes had their place in the guest room. When Rebecca had first invited you over for Thanksgiving break years ago, you couldn’t have known that you’d wind up spending so much time at the Seresin house.

You knew where everything was, you did the occasional load of your laundry, you knew where they hid the spare key. You were comfortable. Well—you were usually comfortable. Finding yourself alone with Mr. Seresin like this was pretty out of the ordinary.

You'd had a crush on your best friend's father for as long as you'd known the guy. It had been years. You'd gone on dates with other people; you'd had a couple of relationships, but you were never able to get the man fully out of your head. Jake made you so nervous, and it didn't take much—a hand on your back as he passed you in the kitchen, a smile across the table, a cheeky wink as he said pointedly said something so deeply uncool that Rebecca groaned in frustration. He was so intimidating, and brilliant, and gorgeous—and despite your intelligence, he just scrambled your brain.

You walked deeper into the home, glancing around the familiar surroundings. You’d take your time heading up, you decided. You wanted to shower; you felt so gunky from the hours-long train trip. You walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge and looking through the things in there.

There wasn’t a lot, so maybe he really had been planning on ordering a pizza before you called him to ask him to pick you up from the station. You eyed the six pack of beer before you glanced back, as if expecting Mr. Seresin to pop up and shoo you away from the alcohol like a bad puppy. When he didn’t, you reached out, taking one of the cans and shutting the fridge. You pushed yourself up onto the counter, opening the beer and taking a sip.

Your stomach flipped at the sound of Mr. Seresin’s footsteps nearing again. You tugged your phone out of your pocket, eyeing the screen and swiping through various apps to occupy your attention. His footsteps slowed, then seemed to still. You could feel his gaze lingering on you. It was a feeling that you’d grown more and more familiar with, and longed increasingly over the last few years.

“You gonna ID me?” You finally quipped as he came closer.

“I know you’re old enough. Have been for a while.”

You watched him round to you, leaning heavily on the counter as he drew out his phone. He seemed to swipe through a few things with a deep knit to his brow. You let yourself just watch for a few quiet moments. You’d rarely had the opportunity to look at him like this, to admire his features so openly, without fear of your friend catching you. His tongue poked out, and your stomach fluttered as he swept it along his lower lip.

“Extra cheese alright for you?” He asked. Your stomach flipped again as his eyes darted up to yours, catching you staring.

“Sure,” You agreed. You reached out to take a sip of your beer, but he took it before you could, raising it to his lips and taking a deep pull. You scoffed a stunned laugh, brows raising.

“Excuse you,” You reached out, prying it from his hand, and trying to ignore the skittering of goosebumps that ran up your arm as your fingers brushed his.

“My house, my beer,” He reminded you.

“Well, I licked it, so it’s mine.”

It was juvenile nit-picking, but you didn’t miss the way his gaze dropped to your lips before he hurriedly looked down at his phone, clearing his throat. Hell, you needed to get out of there.

“I’m gonna go freshen up.” You slid off of the counter, leaving the beer on the counter and sliding past him.

“Pizza should be here in twenty.”

“Sounds good!”

The guest room was just as you remembered it—sky blue walls, queen-sized bed, low walnut dresser and all. You crouched beside your duffel bag, fishing through it for a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeve shirt. You hesitated as you drew them out, lips twisting thoughtfully. The combo was comfy, but it wasn’t the cutest thing you’d brought with you. You reached deeper into the bag, drawing out a pair of tight-fitting leggings and a tank top with a low back and a sweetheart neckline—

No! No, why would you do that? Mr. Seresin wasn’t looking at you that way…But, if he wasn’t looking, what was the harm in dressing this way?

You shoved the sweatpants and long sleeve top back into your bag before straightening up, stripping off. You kicked your clothing into a pile beside your duffel bag. If you’d only been there a time or two, you might’ve been more wary of leaving your things that way, but the Seresin house felt like a home away from home. You’d neaten up later.

You headed into the bathroom, kicking the door shut and cranking on the shower. You began to hum that you’d had stuck in your head all day, dropping your clothes on the counter to change into. You got into the shower, tugging the curtain shut. You took your time cleaning up, using the water’s cover to transition from humming to singing softly under your breath.

You managed to lose track of time, only realizing how long you’d taken when you heard a knock on the door. Your eyes widened as you heard the door open just a little.

“Pizza’s here.”

“Okay!” You squeaked, “Thanks!”

You pushed out a breath as you heard the door close again. You shut the shower off, listening closely for the sound of the bedroom door closing as well. You snagged your towel from the bar outside of the shower, drying yourself off before stepping out. You eyed your outfit again. It was going to be fine—if he really didn’t care, then it really wouldn’t bug him, right? And if he did…A thrill of excitement trickled over you as you dressed. You gave yourself a look in the mirror, eyeing the expanse of your back revealed by your top. You gave a little shimmy, grinning at yourself before opening the door. You drift back into your room, bending down and scooping up your clothes to toss into the hamper. You glanced through it, frowning.

Didn’t you…

You turned, glancing between where you stood and where you’d dropped your things.

Where did your underwear go?

“You’re not seeing anyone?”

Maybe there was some wishful thinking on your part, but you were almost certain that Mr. Seresin was flirting with you—and that question wasn’t helping. The conversation hadn’t just been limited to the typical topics that you tended to discuss with Rebecca present. Sure, he’d asked you about how work was going, but it had moved on to what each of you liked to do in your free time, what you wanted your future to look like, his favorite places that he’d traveled, and where he’d like to go in the future—and now, whether or not you were seeing anyone.

You shrugged a little, poking a few remaining crumbs on your plate.

“Guys my age just don't interest me. They’re all immature little assholes.”

“I seem to remember being like that.”

“You’re not anymore?”

“Ouch!” Jake had laughed, slapping his hand over his heart. “That hurt me.”

“What about you? Are you seeing anyone?” You couldn’t resist the opportunity to ask. Jake’s brows rose a touch before he gave a short shrug.

“I haven’t for a while.”

“Why not?”

“Just haven’t felt the need.”

Your brow furrowed, your head tipping to the side as you considered that.

“Becca’s moved out, you’re here all by yourself…Doesn’t that get lonely?”

“Work keeps me busy.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Your stomach flipped as Jake’s eyes narrowed. He finally looked down at his food, shrugging again.

“I don’t think about it much.”

You weren’t sure you believed that—and it certainly wasn't a no.

“You don’t have to do those.”

You kept your focus on the dishes in front of you, even as he joined you at the counter.

“I really don’t mind.”

“You’re an angel.”

Angel—that had no right sounding so goddamn good coming out of his mouth.

“That’s probably a bit much, Mr. Seresin.”

“You can call me Jake, you know.”

“I know,” You chuckled. “Just…Just a habit, I guess.”

“We’ll have to break you of that.”

The assertion made your stomach a flurry of butterflies. You hadn’t been blind to the speculative little looks that he had given you throughout dinner, or the change in his tone as you’d asked about him being lonely.

“Want another one?” You heard. You glanced back toward Jake to find him taking another beer out of the fridge.

“Sure,” You nodded, “Thanks.”

You bit your lip as Jake sidled up beside you again, setting the beer down by the sink and taking a sip from his own.

“I’m gonna head up in a bit,” He warned, “But you’re obviously welcome to stay up, do whatever you want.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the pangs of inadequacy and disappointment that made a home in your chest.

“Sounds good,” You fibbed. “Long day?”

“Yeah, and I’ve got a few emails to wrap and send off before I head to bed.” Jake raised the beer to his lips. “Holler if you need anything, though.”

“Sure! Thanks. And thanks again, for,” You raised a hand, waving around the kitchen, “You know.”

“Anytime,” He smiled. He patted your back, holding your gaze. “Goodnight.”

Damn, his hand felt so wide and so warm against your skin. You fought back a shiver, but couldn’t help pressing back into his touch just a little.

“Night,” You murmured. You saw a slight flicker in his expression, but before you could read into it, Jake was pulling back, his hand falling away. You turned back to the dishes, sighing as his footsteps receded. You could still feel the warmth of his palm against your skin. It was scant contact, but you were pretty sure you’d be thinking about that all night.

You shut off the sink, looking around. The house was so quiet. What the hell were you going to do? You supposed you could watch something? They had, like, every streaming service known to man, but you didn’t really want to watch anything. You sighed heavily, resigning yourself to a night of reading and fantasizing in your bed.

He shouldn’t have taken them. What the hell was he thinking? Jake eyed the pillow that he’d tucked your underwear beneath, swallowing thickly. He’d spotted them as he’d been leaving the guest room, just plopped atop a pile of clothing next to your duffel bag. He’d been thinking about them all throughout dinner—the dirty little secret waiting for him in his bedroom. He found himself listening for your footsteps, but…Nothing. Maybe he could just sneak them back into your room without you noticing? He could—He was sure he could.

Jake lifted the pillow away, taking up the scrap of black lace. He hesitated, heart pounding in his chest before he raised them closer. He took a whiff, then moaned quietly, pressing his face fully into the fabric as his dick twitched in his pants. Fuck, he could get addicted to that scent. He glanced back toward the closed door. You wouldn’t be up anytime soon, right? You’d probably stay downstairs, watch something before you headed up. He’d have time to put them back. He could be quick.

Jake hurriedly stripped off and grabbed some lube before he climbed onto his bed, taking up your panties again. He laid back, grasping himself in his slicked hand and holding the panties to his face with the other. He drew a deep breath in through his nose, humming low in his throat as he jacked his hardening cock.

You’d been damn near irresistible at dinner. The swell of your breasts had been tantalizingly visible as you’d leaned over your plate. The low back top exposing the expanse of your smooth skin had nearly driven him to distraction when he’d seen you at the sink, and the leggings you’d opted for had made him want to peel them off of you and bend you over the goddamn counter.

Were you still downstairs, laid out on the couch? He’d seen you make yourself at home before, one leg on the cushions, the other on the floor. Jake wanted to push your thighs wide and bury his face between them. He wanted to feel you grind against his lips, hear the little gasps and whines he was sure you’d make. He’d felt you press against him in the kitchen—he was willing to bet you’d be fucking gag for it.

Jake took in another heady breath, groaning, “Fuck,” Aloud before he could stop himself.

You froze at the curse. You’d been on your way to your bedroom when you’d heard it. Was Jake…Okay? Maybe he’d stubbed his toe, or dropped his phone behind the bed, or—

Your jaw dropped, heart pounding as you heard him moan. There was no way he was making that sound because of a stubbed toe. You bit your lip, creeping closer and pressing your ear to the door. You couldn’t hear as much as you could if you just….Opened the door a little.

You bit your lip, shaking your head. No way, there was no way you were going to do that. It would be a gross invasion of privacy, he’d surely kick you out of the house if he caught you. But you could listen just a tiny bit more, right? You pressed your ear even closer, letting your eyes slide closed as you heard him panting, cursing.

Was he naked? Had he just tugged his cock out of his sweatpants for a quick one? You slipped your fingers beneath the band of your leggings, toying with your neglected, tingling clit. You breathed softly between your parted lips as you ground against your hand, straining to hear the needy grunts and groans on the other side of the door. Fuck, you had to be quick. If he caught you—

Your heart plummeted into your stomach as you heard him say your name. Your fingers stilled, eyes popping open as you stood outside of his bedroom with your hand in your pants. Could he see your feet beneath the door? Had you made a sound and not realized? What as he going to do—

Jake groaned your name again, the sound chased with a ragged-sounding, “Angel…Mm, fuck, smell so fucking good…”

You slowly slid your hand out of your pants as you stared down at the doorknob. You could just hardly hear him over the blood roaring in your ears. You swallowed thickly before you raised your shaking hand to the knob, slowly turning it. You opened it slowly, wary of the door creaking. You finally opened it just enough to see the bed. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of Jake splayed out on top of the sheets, thrusting up into his hand as he pressed something to his nose. He murmured your name again, thighs tensing as his thumb swept across his cock head. You got a better look at the fabric in his hand as your focus adjusted to the dim light of the room.

You swallowed thickly. You could still leave—he hadn’t seen you. But when would you ever have another chance like this? You’d caught him red-handed. You drew in a deep, steadying breath as you gathered your courage.

“Finish answering those emails?”

You watched as Jake started, scrambling back and yanking his sheets up to cover his body. You took in his wide, almost wild eyes, and the flush rising in his cheeks. He swallowed thickly.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Looking for those,” You nodded toward the panties where they were still balled in his fist. His grip tightened on them as his glance darted to the lace. You climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips.

“What are you doing?” He asked lowly. You shifted in his lap, thrilling at the feeling of his cock beneath his sheets.

“What we’ve both been thinking about.”

“This isn’t right.” “Neither is stealing my panties, but that didn’t stop you.”

He heaved in a deep breath, jaw going tight.

“I shouldn’t have taken them and I’m sorry. You—” He sucked in a breath as you shifted in his lap again. “You need to leave."

“Why? So you can finish the job up here yourself?” You searched his face, letting your focus travel down to his broad shoulders and muscled chest. You’ve often seen him in sweat-soaked shirts, caught the slightest patch of skin as he’s raised his shirt to swipe at his forehead, but the glimpses have always been so brief, and few and far between

“I mean I could, but…” You leaned in, raising your pussy-slicked fingers to his face, sliding them against his lower lip, “Then we’d both have to deal have our fun alone.”

Jake’s tongue swept across his lips, just barely grazing your fingertips as you pulled them back. You watched his eyelashes flutter, his nostrils flare as he took in the scent of you. He tipped his chin up, tongue darting out to sweep across your fingertips. You smoothed your hand over his cheek, stomach swirling with butterflies as he turned his face into your palm. You pressed closer, brushing a kiss along his tight jaw. Jake drew in a deep breath, shaking his head.

“We shouldn’t,” He mumbled—but the insistence wasn’t nearly as stern as it had been just a few moments okay. You rolled your hips down against him, resting your forehead against his.

“Do you want me?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” You reached down, taking hold of his hand. He let you lift it, fingers trailing gently over your side, around to the band of your leggings. You let it linger there for a moment before you guided it beneath the fabric. You sighed softly as his fingertips grazed your aching clit, and smiled as he reached further down, swiping against your slick folds.

“You feel that? What you do to me?” You whispered, tipping your hips into his touch. “That’s all for you, Jake.”

You heard him moan low in his throat, and your heart stuttered as he tipped his chin up, his lips brushing yours.

“Fuck, angel,” He murmured, “What are you doing to me?”

Jake’s lips crashed into yours, sending you swaying back, then into him again. You moaned, parting your lips and sharing heated kisses. You whined as Jake leaned back and slid his hand from your leggings, wary that he was changing his mind. Instead, you watched as he lifted his fingers to his lips, sucking them into his mouth before he shoved them into yours.

You gagged at the sudden intrusion, raising your hand and grasping his wrist as he stroked his fingers along your tongue. You sucked in a greedy breath as he yanked his hand away again, grasping the backs of your thighs and tipping you onto the mattress. You pulled your top up, tossing it off as he grasped your waistband, tugging your leggings down and flinging them away. Your mouth fell open as he dove between your legs, his shoulders pressing your thighs wide. Your eyelids fluttered as his tongue swept across your pussy.

You shuddered at the slick, heated slide of his tongue against your plumping cunt. His lips brushed, then wrapped around your clit, sucking it tenderly. Your mouth fell open with a moan, your hand sliding down into his closely-cropped hair. You didn’t need to urge him on, or plead. Jake tipped his head from side to side, teasing you messily. You could feel the wet slip of your juices spreading between your thighs with each lash of his tongue. You raised your other hand to your breasts, smoothing your thumb over your pebbling nipple, arching up as your pleasure began to swell.

You felt so close so quickly, and riled up further as he speared a finger into your throbbing pussy. You felt his head lift, his tongue sweeping from side to side as he pumped and curled his finger, then added another. You bit your lip as your cunt clenched around him, unable to help leaning into the sensation.

“Jake,” You warned, “I’m— Oh god.” Your warning was bitten off as Jake’s eyes crinkled with his smile. He didn’t let you get another word in as he leveled sucking kisses to your clit. Your mouth fell open, your grip tightening on his hair as your hips bounded down against his lips. He groaned against you, the vibration sparking every nerve in your body as you let yourself go, your eyes squeezed shut as waves of pleasure pulsed through your body. You sagged back against the mattress, heart pounding as Jake drew his fingers from you. His kisses trailed up over your belly, brushing across your breasts before he caught your lips in a filthy kiss. You shivered at the taste of your arousal as it lingered on his tongue.

You felt his hardened cock brushing against your slick inner thighs as he ground against you. You reached down, curling your fingers around him, and thrilling at the feeling of him in your grasp. You’d seen him earlier, of course, but the light had been dim, and now, with your fingers wrapped around him, he felt so damn big—Not just long, but thick.

“What do you want, angel?” Jake murmured between kisses. “Anything, ask for anything, I’ll fucking give it to you.”

“I want you to fuck me, Jake.”

A wide grin split across his face as he pressed his hand between your legs, palming the slick, tender flesh.

“Your wish is my command.”

“That too much for you?”

You would’ve been more self-conscious about your needy whimper if it wasn’t for the slight note of strain in his voice. You’d know that you were in for a wild ride when you’d rolled the condom on, but this was next level. You swallowed thickly, your eyelids fluttering and blinking against the well of pleasurable tears.

“N-no,” You breathed.

“Good girl. Almost there, angel.”

Almost?

“How much more is there?”

Jake chuckled through your incredulous question.

“You’re taking me so goddamn well.” His praise made you arch up against him, your breasts brushing against his muscles as you pulled in a shuddering breath.

“Fucking made for my cock—mm.” His voice dropped to a breathy murmur as his hips finally pressed flush against yours. Your nails dug into the strong, tanned skin of his shoulders. Your cunt clutched at him greedily, adjusting to the almost harsh way his girth spread you. You let your eyes slide closed as he planted his knees on the mattress, levering your hips against his and gaining better purchase.

Despite your somewhat leisurely preparation and the tender way that he eased into you, the first snap of his hips was almost brutal. Your moan choked out of your throat, a broken yell of his name leaving you as your nails dragged harshly across his skin.

“You have any idea—How long I’ve wanted you?” He grunted between deep thrusts. “How badly I wanted to—fuck—bend you over the goddamn counter earlier?”

You couldn’t stop the satisfied, thrilled grin that spread your lips, finally certain that your flirty gambit had hit the nail on this particular head.

“You mean you didn’t just steal my panties for fun?”

Jake huffed a strained laugh as he dipped his head down for a deep, searching kiss. You curled your arms around his shoulders, keeping him close as your hips drove up against his. He broke your kiss with a gentle nip to your lower lip, and a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Hold on tight, pretty girl.”

He set an almost furious pace, the sounds of your slapping skin nearly drowning out your whimpers. Your arms tightened around him, clinging to him as he took and took and took. You peered up at him almost wondrously, watching the flex and clenching of his muscles; the roll of his hips; the shine of your juices on his condom covered cock as he fucked you. Your toes curled in the sheets as your legs wrapped around his.

“Jake,” You moaned, “You feel so fucking big—Fuck, just like that.”

His growl-edged groan tore through you as his pace seemed to stutter a little.

“Harder?” You begged. He chuckled cruelly, thumbs swiping against your hips.

“Angel,” He shook his head, “Any harder and I’d break you.”

You tipped your head back against the pillows, surrendering to his whims—his thrusts, curses, kisses, nips, bites. You cunt throbbed as he drew his cock back, the tip still nestled in your entrance. He watched you closely, eyes dark with want as you strained against his grips and tried to draw him back in.

“Do you think you could cum just like this?” He murmured. “Hm?”

“I want your cock, Jake.”

“You have it, angel. You feel that?” You whimpered, wriggling against the sheets as he eased himself back in, inch by tortuously slow inch. “You feel what you do to me?”

You nodded blearily, growing closer to your orgasm as he grasped your wrists in one of his hands and pulled them up over your head. He curled close again, chest brushing yours as his hips ground into you deeply.

“Jake,” You sighed, forehead knocking against his, arching up against him. “I’m almost—fuck, ‘m so close, please.”

Jake grinned brightly, sliding his hand between the two of you and toying with your tender clit. Your jaw dropped at the onslaught, your pussy tightening and throbbing as you came. Jake followed close behind, a low, rough growl pushing against your neck as he followed close behind. Your eyes closed as his hips bounded, then stilled. He sighed into your neck, breath hot against your neck as the two of you settled. He tipped his head up, nuzzling your temple as you smoothed your hands over his back.

He drew out of you slowly, your cunt aching and clenching as he pulled away. You swallowed thickly, peering up at the ceiling as you heard Jake get out of bed. It was chased by the click of him turning on his bathroom light, and the hush of running water.

Oh…God, that was good, but you hadn’t thought about this part. Was he going to ask you to go back to your room? Should he even have to ask? You know what, maybe you should just go right now, before he had to say anything—

You propped yourself up on your elbows as Jake climbed back into bed, gently pushing your thighs apart and wiping you down. You bit back a bashful smile as he pressed a kiss to your hip. You watched him lob the washcloth toward the hamper before he cuddled close, propping his hands up beside your elbows.

“Going somewhere?” He asked.

“Bed?”

“You’re in one, angel.” Jake lowered his head, brushing his lips against yours. “But you’re welcome to go back to yours if you like.”

You leaned up, taking his lower lip between your teeth and giving it a tug, grinning as he pressed closer, lowering the both of you back onto the sheets.

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Jake Seresin x Reader #Jake Seresin x You #Jake Seresin/Reader #Jake Seresin/You #Jake Seresin fic #Jake Seresin imagine #What You Do to Me

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radioapplerevue · 4 months ago

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Radioapple Fic Recs #2

I'm finally getting around to updating my fic recs, and I decided that it would get a bit too unwieldy to just keep adding on to the original post. So, from now on I'll be putting them into different parts and then linking them in an archive post, which I will pin on my blog. For now, my first post of recs can be found here.

There are also a bunch of unfinished fics that I have been keeping an eye on that I haven't read yet because they are fairly early on and their tags say something along the lines of "it gets worse before it gets better" haha. There are enough fics grinding my heart into dust at the moment, but just know that I am seeing those chapter counts go up. I'm Watching You.

Now, onto the recs!

Home Stretch by @tarmairons (mature)

Welcome to the most convoluted game of 20 questions I've ever seen. I love the slow, purposeful approach to showing how Lucifer and Alastor's relationship is shifting and merging to not only accommodate each other, but also tie them closer together. This is an entire fic of them attempting to communicate and really, honestly trying even if neither of them are sure of what the hell they're doing. And, of course, I love when fics really take the time to explore how Alastor's asexuality (and lack of experience with intimacy in general) would affect his approach and behavior when it comes to sex with Lucifer -- and also how Lucifer learns to handle Alastor in a way that meets his needs, even if the things Alastor needs are not what Lucifer's used to.

2. To Be The Perfect Angel, Some Sin Must Be Done by @hismercytomyjustice (ratings vary by part)

This is a series I've really super been enjoying, largely because it's just fun. Don't get me wrong, the explicit parts are hot too, but it's fucking funny and there's just such an enjoyable push and pull dynamic between Alastor and Lucifer here, where each give as good as they get and actually end up... maybe.... enjoying it? Whoops? And oh shit here comes feelings, where did those come from. And as always, I enjoy seeing how Alastor's asexuality is handled here, with his discomfort with making decisions or taking the lead in bed causing them to develop a dynamic where Lucifer makes all the calls, and Alastor makes the terrifying choice to trust him with his own body, pleasure, and safety. Plus, excellent use of the shadow here. Having the shadow play a significant role in a fic is always one of my favorite things, and I am also very here for shadow fucking at all times.

3. somewhere down the line by kj_crwn (explicit)

This is one of the "Alastor and Lucifer meet in the living world first" fics. I love Lucifer basically just coming up to the living world to be the biggest nuisance to Alastor he could possibly be, but whoops, I guess Alastor's into that. There's a lot of murder, a lot of two assholes trying to drive each other nuts (and succeeding), a lot of sexual tension, and a lot of said assholes being really, really bad at feelings. I particularly enjoy what happens from the time of Alastor's death up to the conclusion of the fic, and the way they have to come to grips with what their relationship is now, what it could be, and what they want it to be.

4. T is for Tax Evasion by @radiaurapple (teen and up)

This is a brand new fic, but my goodness I loved it immediately. I loved the take on Heaven's fucked up bureaucracy, I loved Lucifer's panic, guilt and weariness, and I love how God is a fucking dick. It's such an interesting concept that is explored through Lucifer's slowly crumbling psyche as the knowledge he's going to lose Alastor becomes more and more certain. Or is it? There are few things I love more than pre-emptive grief and utter desperation, and the emotional payoff is just so good. I would have loved to have seen more of the fallout, but regardless, this is one that I'll definitely be thinking about for a while.

5. I Will Dance Divine by @rahabs (mature)

This fic caught my attention immediately. A large part of is exploring Alastor and Lucifer's relationship through dance, and the first chapter is immediately gripping. There's such an immediate magnetism to them, as well as the clash between the performance they are putting on and the quiet battle they are having with each other. It made me so look forward to seeing where it goes. So far it seems to be a slow, but very thorough burn, with the fic taking its time to really let them come together naturally, and learn about each other in tantalizing pieces. I dearly hope it is continued as I want to see more, but what there is already is also a wonderful read.

6. Muzzle for My Lover by sabbathgoat (explicit)

This is a smutty one-shot, but it has one of my favorite depictions of a sexual dynamic between Alastor and Lucifer in anything. There's such a deep undercurrent of trust here, a trust that has been hard-earned over years. Lucifer's handling of Alastor, knowledge of his fluctuating boundaries and internal battles when it comes to his own body and desires, combined with his intense love and tenderness towards him just bleeds through the entire fic. I would happily read a several chapter story with them just lying there cuddling and doing nothing else if it was written with this same weight. It's one of those cases where you don't need to be told how in love they are, because it's impossible to not feel it.

7. Stolen Moments by @mothballmilkshake (ratings vary by part)

This series is quite the rollercoaster! Alastor and Lucifer's relationship in it hits some great highs and also some serious lows, because they are both so so bad at this oh my god. I like that it's from Alastor's POV, because I feel like we don't get that very often, particularly in the longer fics. And I also like that it just shows us what an absolute fucking disaster he is, haha. The continuing plot line regarding Alastor's deal is interesting and groundwork is being laid for some serious shit to go down later on. We'll have to see if Lucifer and Alastor's foundation has been built strong enough by then to not crumble under the pressure. But hey, after all they've gone through, I believe in them (.....mostly).

8. Hope Against Hope by OrlesianHat (explicit)

I don't tend to be into non-canon AUs, but I found I enjoyed this one quite a lot. Lucifer is being sent on a blind date, and the person he meets isn't exactly what he expected... or is he? There's no murder involved so automatically the fic is much gentler than canon would be, particularly with Alastor, but a while after reading it I had to go digging to find it again because something about it stuck with me. I love Alastor's unrepentant selfishness, and Lucifer's long-suffering mood of 'these are things I really should not be okay with but apparently I'm okay with them because I'm still here'. If you're looking for something a little softer after all the angsty cliffhangers we get in other fics (the angsty cliffhanger in this one has been resolved, thank you), then this might be for you.

#radioapple #fic recs

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matcha-milkies · 3 months ago

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LIKE AN OLEANDER

Summary: Bill Cipher needs a footstool and a thoroughly Stockholmed Ford is happy to oblige.

Relationships: Bill Cipher & Ford Pines, Pyronica is there too

Content Warnings: Abuse, Master/Pet, Psychological Torture/Horror/Trauma, Stockholm Syndrome, Victim Blaming, Sensory Deprivation

Tags: Triangle Bill, Canon Divergence - Weirdmageddon, Bill Cipher Wins, Collars, Chains, Whump, Hurt No Comfort, Bill Cipher is a Jerk

Word Count: 1,306

Link to AO3: Here

A/N: Based on @jellyskink’s immaculate Domesticated Ford AU, in which Bill mentally breaks Ford in the 1980s and brainwashes him into an obedient and fawning pet. Weirdmageddon started early, and over time the weirdness bubble surrounding Gravity Falls naturally expanded to contain both California and Oregon. If you want to learn more, there’s a lot more tidbits on their blog, though fair warning it’s a pretty dark and sad AU.

Thank you, jellyskink, for giving me the green light to write a fic for this!

I saw someone say this au is “all pain, no sex” which is really at the heart of what I look for in fics, but is so painstakingly absent in most fandoms, so this is a godsend •⩊•

If you haven’t listened to “Oleander” by Mother Mother what are you even doing with your life /lh

Bill Cipher is in a particularly good mood today. He and Pyronica probably broke a record for largest bonfire in California, even counting all their previous antics over the years. Not the dream demon’s most creative endeavor by a long shot, but hey, sometimes you just gotta start a blazing inferno to let off some steam. Nothing wrong with a bit of simple, straightforward arson now and then.

It’s only when he returns to the Fearamid, practically glowing, buzzing and high off the screams of the innocent, that he remembers the state he left Sixer in.

The man is in a kneeling position, collared by the neck. His hair, fluffy and disheveled, feathers down to around his shoulders, brushing against the cruel blue metal. His twelve fingers twitch and grasp at nothing, futilely, as though groping for purchase on a rugged cliffside. His purple sweater is rumpled in places, like he had pulled and grabbed at that too, to no evident avail. He’s whimpering to himself, words that are at first indiscernible as Bill enters the massive chamber.

The scientist is tethered to a ring near the base of the Throne of Frozen Human Agony, staring vacantly into the middle space, unseeing. It’s not his fault. Bill severed all input from his optic nerves, so he literally can’t see. Or hear. Or feel. Yeah, he cut off those nerves too. It was supposed to be a punishment that lasted a few hours. And then Bill had left and gotten carried away with his fun, and well, it had been an entire day.

Whoops.

Make no mistake, he doesn’t feel bad about it. If anything, it’s kind of funny, like forgetting to feed your dog! Wait. Humans don’t find that funny. Well, who can expect them to understand the emotions of an all-powerful chaos god? He draws closer, and the previously indiscernible words sharpen into clarity.

“I love you, my muse. I love you.”

Repeated ad nauseam to the uncaring void.

“Aww,” Bill clasps his hands together and brings them closer to his eye. “He’s so pathetic!” Pyronica, who came in with him, nods her agreement and laughs along. This must be what it’s like to catch your puppy mid-dream, its little tongue lolling and leg kicking at nothing.

He can’t remember whether he instructed his pet to repeat those words or not. Honestly, it’s anyone’s guess. Bill’s will and Ford’s are so inextricable at this point that Ford often does things without needing to be told. Of course, they’re not entirely on the same wavelength, or else punishment wouldn’t be required in the first place.

“Eh, remind me to snap him out of it in another half an hour,” Bill says, settling himself on the throne. With a wave of an arm he summons a martini glass. “I’m gonna have myself a drink.”

“Sure thing, boss.” He summons a glass for her too, and hipshot, she accepts. “Hey, you think we should’ve put the fire out before we left?”

They both share a hearty chuckle over that. “Would be a shame if it all burned down!” Bill sighs as the laughter dies down. “Nah, but seriously. California will still be there for us to play with tomorrow. And if it isn’t, we can always just rebuild it! In my image! Ha!”

“Yeah. Technically the fires are my image though.”

“Touché!”

They talk for a while, maybe 20 minutes or so in this fashion, casually sipping time punch and discussing unnatural disasters like they’re music festivals. Ford goes completely untouched and unnoticed, until suddenly Bill returns his attention to the human, and a light bulb goes off next to his hat.

“Wait. Do you wanna see something hysterical? I have the best idea.”

Every sensation returns to Ford at once in a flood of color, touch and sound. Sometimes, when Bill is feeling merciful, he eases him back into it, but his merciful moods are few and far between. More commonly, he likes to toss the scientist in the deep end and watch him flounder, tears quickly beading at the corners of Ford’s eyes and spilling fatly over his cheeks. His body convulses in a singular, broken sob, and before he can finish another apologetic, “I love you,” Bill hits him with a hard command.

“Stanford! I need a footstool!” The demon extends his legs and wiggles his feet a little. He whistles as though beckoning a dog. “Come ‘ere!”

Despite his disorientation, Ford rushes to obey, lurching in the direction of Bill’s voice and falling flat on his face. Shakenly, he picks himself off the ground, letting loose a singular groan.

“I’m still waiting!” Bill sings, swinging his legs a little for effect. Pyronica snickers. Ford tries again, following the sound of his muse’s voice, although he is quickly dismayed to find that he’s already reached the end of his chain. He falls just short of Bill’s feet, and no matter how he chokes himself, no matter how hard he tugs at the collar or the chain attached, he can’t go any further than this. His distress is evident in the way he keens.

“What are you doing?” Bill demands, rolling his eye. “All I asked for was a simple footstool and you can’t even do that? Bad! Bad dog!” Ford sobs.

“I-I’m sorry, my muse!” he rasps, the cold metal of the collar pressing in on his windpipe as he strains to obey. “I’m so sorry!”

Pyronica is practically in stitches at this point, and Bill is a showman, a class clown ever chasing the next laugh. “Are you really though?” His eye wanes to an amused crescent. “Do you even love me, if you can’t even follow a command as simple as this?”

“Yes!” Ford insists with a cry. “Yes, my muse, I love you! I’m sorry that I’m so useless… Please, please forgive me…”

“Why should I? Do you think you deserve forgiveness?”

“N- No,” Ford sniffs, “but—”

“Alright, alright. Since I’m in such a good mood, I’ll give you a hand.” Bill waves his hand in a circle and the chain elongates, allowing just enough slack for Ford to crawl under his waiting feet. Bill settles them heavily on top of Ford’s back and sighs. “Ahh, that’s better.” The man shakes under the weight.

“Thank you, my muse,” he says. Normally, he would be a lot happier about serving Bill like this, but he’s clearly still torn up over his recent punishment and failures. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it, kid!” Bill rests his hands behind his ‘head,’ or rather, the tip of his topmost vertex. “Maybe after this, if you’re good, you can have a treat.”

“R- Really? Oh, thank you so much, my muse. I promise I’ll be good.” His voice is still wavery from the earlier-shed tears, but his cheer seems to be returning. It’s not difficult to keep the man happy when he’s so thoroughly and hopelessly smitten with his muse. Bill could have Pyronica drop-kick Ford off the top of the Fearamid right now and when he reached the bottom he would find a way to smile and thank Bill, no matter how many broken pieces he was in.

“Yeah. Now shut up while I get some reading in. Hasn’t anyone ever told you footstools don’t talk? Sheesh.” With a sigh, Bill summons an extradimensional magazine and floats it in front of his eye, every so often flipping through the pages. Pyronica says she’s off to see what Teeth and Keyhole are up to, and Bill acknowledges her departure with a little grunt and wave. Ford stifles a whimper. His back has already been giving him issues lately, and this definitely isn’t helping matters, but he soldiers through it for his muse. He’s determined not to mess up again. He’s determined to be a good footstool.

A/N: This is my first time writing from Bill’s perspective! I don’t usually write him this cruel, so it was a fun change of pace to lean full force into that side of him. Thanks again, jellyskink, I hope you liked this little installment!

#Domesticated Ford AU #gravity falls #gravity falls au #bill cipher #ford pines #stanford pines #fanfic #fanfiction #archive of our own #ao3 #tw abuse #toxic relationship #stockholm syndrome #image description in alt #cross posted on ao3 #matcha-milkies ♡♡

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