#yeah my stove is dirty I don’t care | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bunnylovesani · 1 year ago

Text

Sleeping Beauty

Summary: Your roommate Anakin will go to any lengths necessary to get close to you, even ones you don’t know about.

Content warnings: dead dove do not eat, somnophilia, dubcon/noncon, drugging, violence, oral sex, p in v sex

WC: 3.4k

Work had been wringing you dry lately- so much so that when you’d finally claw your way to bed in the evenings, not even a tornado could rouse you. Your roommate, Anakin Skywalker noticed this- as he noticed everything else. Your mannerisms, your daily schedule, and all your little habits and quirks were committed to memory.

His prolonged glances and lingering touches raised no alarm bells in your mind, putting it down to his affectionate and slightly odd disposition. Sure, he was a little peculiar but your Ani was one of your best friends- always thoughtful, always caring and always there.

On one particularly exhausting evening, you sighed heavily as you traipsed in through the front door of your shared apartment. You always wondered why Anakin had any use for a roommate considering his prestigious job and the doubtless wealth that came along with it- but you just assumed he had a proclivity for modesty.

“Tough day?” He called out as you dropped your bag by the door with a heavy thud and followed the sound of his voice.

“You don’t know the half of it.” You sighed, slumping down onto the kitchen chair as you observed Anakin cooking, dirtied apron clinging to his toned abdomen. “What’s on the menu?”

“Your favourite.” He replied calmly, tipping the pan over slightly to show you a thick steak swimming in herbal butter.

“Wow. That looks- but…I’ve never told you that steak is my favourite.” You furrow your eyebrows and peer up at him in confusion.

“Well of course you have, silly.” He chuckles dismissively.

“No, Ani, I’m sure I haven’t. Have I?” You question, trying to recall a conversation in which you revealed your favourite meal but nothing was coming to mind.

“What have they been doing to you in that office?” He shakes his head and tuts. “Around when we first moved in, you told me how your dad always made steak on special occasions and how you came to associate the meal with good news.”

“I did?” The story is true, though you can’t for the life of you remember saying it.

“How else could I possibly know?” He smiles calmly and you relax. This new workload must really be doing a number on you.

“It’s so nice of you to make dinner but I was kinda thinking of going straight to bed- the exhaustion is killing my appetite. I go to sleep early but I still don’t feel well-rested for some reason…” You ramble on as he puts the sizzling pan to the side and turns to face you, leaning on the kitchen counter with his usually intense glare.

“Why don’t you take a sleeping pill?” He cocks his head to the side and you contemplate his suggestion. “I’ve got some low-dose ones, they’ll knock you right out and you won’t even feel it- I’ll go get them for you.”

“Wait, Ani- I don’t know-“

“They won’t make you drowsy in the morning, I promise.” Before you can object, he’s returned with a shiny tab of small white pills and is pouring you a glass of water.

“Alright, I suppose I’ll do anything to get one good night’s sleep.” You sigh, popping one of the tablets out of their foil casing and swallowing. “They’re the low-dose ones, yeah?”

“That’s what I said.” He smiles, watching you knock back your last sip of water intently.

“Thank you. Oh, but the steak- I feel really bad-“

“Don’t even worry about it. I’ll put it in the fridge, it’ll still be good tomorrow. You just go straight to bed.” He rests his calloused knuckles against the marble worktop, angry veins snaking up his smooth forearms.

“Really? You’re the best, Ani.” You rub his arm gratefully before wading over to your room, yawning.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He whispers once you’re out of earshot.

Just like he said he would, Anakin neatly put your dinner away, scrubbed the stove clean and did the dishes. Upon completion, he glanced at the ticking clock on the kitchen wall before swiping the tab of pills sitting on the counter and stuffing them back into their original packaging. Taking the box out of his pocket, he read the front of the pack: Diazepam- full strength.

Satisfied that enough time had passed, he walked over to your room and pressed his ear against the wooden door, waiting to hear signs you were sound asleep. Once he was happy with your soft snores and hums, he treaded the shaggy carpet and crept in.

You were swaddled in your covers and lying on your back, the teddy bear he bought you for your last birthday tucked lazily under your arm.

He stood there and admired you for a moment, heart warmed at how you cuddled his plushie every night without fail.

Exhaling a shaky breath, he approached the foot of your bed and cautiously peeled off your frilly duvet, leaving you exposed in your pink pyjama shorts and bralette. He’d seen it several times but the sight of your bare skin never failed to drive him wild; his self-control and morals flew out the window as soon as you were together like this- the cloudy stillness and quiet of your placid bedroom insulating you both from the outside world and its restrictions.

He reached out to lift your bralette, raising it just enough for your nipple to pop out and harden in the cool night air. His mouth watered at the sight, wanting so badly to lock his lips around it that his cock grew painfully hard and strained against his trousers.

Tracing his fingers down your hips, he hooked them around your little shorts and pulled on them gently, your cotton panties coming off with them.

He has to cover his mouth with an open palm to stop the groan from slipping out when he sees the glistening wetness nestled between your plush thighs.

“What are you dreaming about, princess?” He mutters as he rubs his thumbs against your inner thighs before carefully spreading them, ensuring your legs are wide open but comfortably supported by the surrounding pillows. He lowers himself so that he’s only a few inches away from your heat, taking in the glorious view before him.

He’d fallen in love the very moment he laid eyes on you- but he instantly got the sinking feeling that his feelings weren’t reciprocated. You saw him at most as a friend, a convenient guy to have around, a perfectly suitable roommate. He was under no illusions that you would ever requite his love- how could you when his feelings were so intense?

Deciding he couldn’t take it any longer, he unzipped his trousers and lowered his boxers, letting his heavy cock spring out and slap against his abdomen. Try as he may, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your lips, which fell into a pretty o shape as you peacefully snoozed. Some dribble gathered in the corner of your mouth and he couldn’t help but kneel and hover above you, staring. He needed to feel your lips on his cock.

Wrapping a hand around his veiny shaft, he pumped it with a couple of rough strokes before resting his blushed tip against your pink lips. The precum oozed out and smeared against your plump bottom lip, moistening it just enough for Anakin to slide his cockhead smoothly past it. He let out a soft moan as your mouth enveloped his throbbing cock, languid wet tongue brushing past it as he slowly glided in and out- the sight of his cock on your lips too much to bear.

Gently pushing his hips forward, he guided the tip to the back of your mouth, the ridged roof sending shivers down his spine. You moaned dreamily, the vibrations from your hums making his cock twitch. When you began to toss and turn, he quickly pulled out and took a step back- the thrill turning him on beyond belief.

Setting his sights on your unfurled legs, he creeps onto the bed and positions himself between them.

“What a pretty little pussy.” He shakes his head in disbelief, knowing he has never before and would never again see anything so beautiful.

Pushing his swollen tip between your folds, he gathers your slick and coats his length in it as he glides along your slit- your thighs involuntarily contracting a little every time he brushes past your clit.

The pained expression on Anakin’s face was apparent- he had never gone this far before. His chest tightened at the thought of violating you in this new way, both out of guilt and excitement. He relieved himself of culpability by assuring himself it was okay- he loved you and was just taking care of you. It’d been a while since you’d been with anyone and your frustration had begun to show- what kind of friend would he be if he let you suffer like that?

Spreading your folds apart with his thumb and forefinger, he gathered a glob of spit and let it dribble from his lips to your entrance before smearing it messily with his cock.

Lining the leaky tip against your opening, he delicately pushes in, stretching you out inch by inch. Even though it feels like torture to deny himself, Anakin sets a meticulously slow pace, paranoia chasing him. His girthy cock plunged into your cunt, bullying it into submission with painfully laboured thrusts.

Anakin bit his lip and scrunched his eyebrows at the sight of your tiny hole being stretched to full capacity, clenching needily around his length. He took this as confirmation that you needed him just as much as he needed you, deluded into believing your desire was apparent with the way your pussy gripped him.

Your breathing sped up and your heart rate rose- your body’s attempt at rousing you- but still, you remained asleep.

Anakin couldn’t believe his luck- he had been dreaming about what it’d be like to be inside you and now that your warmth had finally enveloped him, it was better than he could’ve ever imagined. He often scolded you for how naive you were but it was his favourite thing about you- the trust you felt for him was palpable in the way you gazed at him adoringly. The warm, wet comfort of your heat made him feel electric and he couldn’t help but want more- he wanted to lay hold of everything you had to give. He lifted you by the hips and impaled you onto his cock, forcing it even deeper until you were flush against him, the imprint of his member bulging through your lower stomach.

“Oh, baby…fuck.” He whimpered, barely above a whisper. “I wonder if you could take me this well when you’re awake.”

The room heated up with Anakin’s heavy breathing and your stuffy, sleepy moans. As roughly as he thought he could get away with, he pounded into you little by little, using your pussy like it was his to ruin. Your shared arousal gleamed in the dim moonlight, illuminating how his thick shaft disappeared into you with ease.

He tried not to grip your hips too roughly but with the way your pussy moulded around his cock like it was made for him, he couldn’t help but dig his fingernails into your flesh. The sight enraptured him so much that he didn’t even notice when your pretty eyes fluttered open, widening in shock.

The second your gazes met, he leapt to cover your mouth with his heavy palm.

“Don’t.” He breathed, crazed eyes daring you to scream just to show you what would happen.

You shook your head frantically, eyebrows swooping in distress.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet for me. Can you do that?” He continued thrusting into you, maintaining eye contact as he sunk his cock into your used-up pussy. You nodded hectically, wondering if you were still dreaming.

“Good, ‘cus I really wouldn’t wanna hurt you, baby.” He whined.

Now that he didn’t have to worry about waking you up, he could take you as roughly as he wanted. Stooping down to your chest, he popped a nipple into his mouth and sucked it forcefully, red marks streaking your breasts as he bit and drooled all over them.

“A-ani…what are you doing?” You cry out in utter disbelief after he releases the hand silencing you to knead your breast.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I jus’ couldn’t hold back anymore.” He moans as he brutally stuffs your pussy, the sound of lewd smacking reverberating around your cosy bedroom. “I couldn’t wait any longer.” He pulls away from your chest, drool hanging off his swollen lips.

“But I’ll make it up to you, baby.” His voice falters as he slams his hips into you sharply. He’s so deep your entire body feels overwhelmingly full.

“Just let me use you.” His husky voice makes you break out into a flurry of goosebumps as you clench frightfully around his girthy cock.

“You understand, right?” He questions but his hand has already snaked its way back up to your mouth. All you can respond with are muffled cries and whimpers, hushed by his thick palm. “I know you do, you’re my good girl.”

You look down to observe the frenzied way in which Anakin shatters his cock into your tiny cunt, wetness dribbling down your thighs and making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“I’m gonna stuff this pussy full of my cum.” He growls to himself as beads of sweat roll down his forehead, blonde curls dampened.

“Nmmh!” You squeak, shaking your head in disapproval as best you could with the way he was restraining you.

“Oh yes I am. And you’re gonna love it.” He rolls his hips and sinks into you impossibly deep before pulling all the way out. “Look at that, doll. How are you so wet?” He gestures for you to look down at the way gloopy strands of arousal hang off his throbbing cock, the base soaked with your slick.

You observe with shock, writhing in confusion over how your body had betrayed you. You whine and sob as he slides back in, dragging you impossibly close to him as you claw at the pink sheets.

“Shh…I know, baby. I know.” He whispers as he wraps his hands around your jaw, thumbs rubbing against your dampened cheeks comfortingly.

“I’m almost done, baby.” He rests his forehead against yours and you feel lightheaded from the sudden wave of body heat. His hands travel back down to your hips, raising your ass as he fucks up into you with dizzying speed.

“Come on, sweetheart. Cum all over my cock.” He mutters breathlessly. “I know you want to.”

You try to fight it but your back arches instinctively and your fingers dig into his shoulders as his cock stretches your aching pussy wide. He bottoms into you mercilessly and you feel as though you’re about to slip out of consciousness. With one last thrust, your body explodes into flames and the searingly pleasurable sensation travels to every last one of your nerves.

“That’s it, baby.” He speeds up, chasing his own high. “I knew you’d love my cock. Should’ve let me do this sooner.”

You pant as your heartbeat tries to regulate itself, sprawled and utterly fucked out. Anakin hovers above you, raising your thigh and pressing it against his chest as he ruts into you with feverish intensity. Just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, he comes undone in a loud climax, throwing his head back as he shoots ropes of hot cum into your sore pussy.

Catching his breath, he shoots you a grin as he combs the messy curls out of his face, pulling his cock out and allowing the gloopy mess to run.

“Sorry about this, doll.” He shrugs before reaching for the lamp on your bedside table.

“Wait, Ani-“ You put your arm out but he pins it down by your side before knocking the metal base against your temple, rendering your whole world black.

The blinding light shining out of your bedroom window finally wakes you. You shield yourself from the sunny glare with an arm draped over your eyes, scrunching your face up when the pain radiating from your head suddenly hits you. Glancing over to the alarm clock on your bedside table, your heart almost jumps out of your throat. You were supposed to be at work hours ago yet here you still were, in your pyjamas and cosily tucked in.

You crawl out of bed as you try to piece together the broken fragments of your memory; did you forget to set the alarm? It must’ve been those sleeping pills Anakin gave you- so much for his promise that they wouldn’t make you drowsy. Before you can even reach the door, there’s a knock.

“Hey, you awake?” Anakin pops his head through and gives you a look of concern.

“Just woke up now. Somehow managed to completely sleep through the work day.” You shake your head, confusedly tapping at your bruised temple. “Those pills of yours have given me a killer migraine.”

“What? No, it can’t be from them- I’ve taken them a million times and never had any side effects.” He steps into the room and holds a flat palm up to your forehead. “Oh, honey. You’re burning up.”

“Am I?” You go to feel but he swats your hand away.

“You must have a fever.” He tuts. “Why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll get you some painkillers for that poor head of yours?”

“I won’t be accepting any more drugs from you, thank you very much.” You laugh as you let him guide you back under your duvet.

“Completely understandable. My bad, doll.” He chuckles, folding in the edges of the blanket. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Get some rest.” He tries to take a step back but you instinctively grab onto his wrist.

“Wait.” You groan pathetically. “Can you stay with me for a little while?”

“Of course.” He flashes you that beaming smile of his and you’re struck by a sense of familiarity. He treads over to the other side of bed and joins you under the covers, wrapping his arms around you and letting your head rest on his chest.

“This is gonna sound strange, but…” Your mind races at a mile-a-minute as you come to grips with the sudden onset of images that have flooded your brain. “I think I might’ve dreamt about you.”

“Oh?” He raises his eyebrow and smirks. “What was it about?”

You struggle to put the pieces together; all you can see is a hazy vision of Anakin between your legs, bullying his cock into you as you lay there helpless.

“I can’t even say, it’s so messed up.” You shake the thoughts away, a shiver running through you.

“Sounds more like a nightmare, doll.” He tucks an unruly piece of hair behind your ear. “But it wasn’t real. Just a dream.”

“I know. You’d never do anything like that.” You scoff assuredly and he kisses the top of your head. His gentle touch seizes your chest and you have to focus on regulating your breathing. He’d never guess it but you’d had a fervid crush on Anakin for as long as you’d known him.

“You’re safe here with me.” He brings you closer and you snuggle deeper into his chest, subtly inhaling his sweet, musky scent, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Now get some rest, darling.” He strokes your hair comfortingly.

“Mmm…love you, Ani.” You unknowingly slip out in a quiet hum before drifting off to sleep.

Anakin seizes up in shock at your admission, total surprise consuming him. You loved him? He couldn’t stop the wide grin from unfurling across his blissful face nor the way his heart leapt with joy from the two simple words. He hadn’t ever allowed himself to treat this as a possibility- it was an undisputed fact that you were too good for him and he never let himself be deluded into thinking otherwise. The elation he felt in holding you in that moment, knowing you wanted to be held back was beyond words.

But just as quickly as the ecstasy flooded his veins, the solemn realisation of his sins hit him like a hammer. A nauseating sense of guilt and regret crept up on him like a maggot into a rose, casting a dark shadow on any future you could’ve had.

What had he done?

Taglist:

@bearryyy @w0rsh1psells @erinkeifer @mortalheartache @arzua10 @mugwump327 @offthethirlwall @bby-imasociopath @emmalandry @slut4starwarssmut @ghostlycrystobalove @iamjustaholeforyousir @billy-stu-wh0re3 @mousie101-blog @sweetcheesecakesblog @bardotsmuse @doestalker @kentaviax @slut4ani @cultofsin

୨୧ If you want to be removed from the Taglist or only want to be tagged for certain fics, please let me know ! ୨୧

#anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #star wars fanfiction #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin x you #anakin fanfiction #star wars smut

993 notes · View notes

devils-dares · 7 months ago

Note

Super self indulgent buttt could I get some Carmy Fluff ! Maybe reader calls Carmy over for help with cleaning their apartment/needing help cooking due to executive function issues !! Or vise verse :)

thanks for getting me out of my slump, wrote this in one night :)

wordcount: 721

-----

You looked at the pile of laundry in the corner of your bedroom. Blinds closed, dirty sheets, cups and plates stacked in haphazard piles.

You haven’t taken care of yourself in days, evidence of it lay in the pimples that mar your face, and the smell of the perfume you wore into the office going rotten on your skin.

It’s time to call in the big guns, you think.

A phone call and fifteen minutes later, you hear clattering around your apartment. You sink further into your bed, embarrassment heating your cheeks, turning you red. A few windows open, and the chime of the washer rings across the apartment. You hear grumbling and movement in your kitchen, he’s looking for the lighter, the starter went out in the stove and you didn’t call to get it fixed yet. The pot scrapes against the metal grates of your stove, and you hear ingredients plonk into the water, he must be making a stew. The floor creaks under the weight of his steps, and he knocks on the door before he enters.

“Hey, Birdie.” Carmy says softly, seeing your back to the door. He straightens out piles of laundry and opens the shades just a little so he can get some light in. “Gonna warm the shower, then I’ll come get ya.” He leaves, and the pipes creak loudly before the showerhead shoots hot water.

He walks over to the kitchen to check the stew before coming to get you. He comes around the other side of the bed and smiles at you, brushing your matted hair out of your face. Extending his hand, Carmy waits for you to take it. The smile grows into a soft grin as your fingers tangle with his, and he pulls you out of bed.

“Look at ya, Birdie. So pretty.” You know he’s a liar, and he’s probably fighting off the recoil from your stench, but he lets nothing slip. You don’t speak, even as he strips you and puts you in the shower himself, or when he sits on the closed toilet lid instead of leaving the bathroom. You don’t dare speak when he tells you about the restaurant, and how he and Syd finally perfected that damn recipe. He doesn’t say anything when you shampoo thrice, or scrub til your body turns red. He doesn’t flinch when you sit under the stream of hot water for a while. He simply grabs your towel from the dryer and wraps you in it before wrapping your wet hair for you. He rubs lotion on your flaky skin and dresses you in soft clothes.

Carmy takes you to the couch, and you notice the first load in the washer is done, the blankets and pillow covers on the couch smelling like clean laundry and scent beads. He stirs the stew and then starts on your bedroom, stripping the mattress of your sheets before throwing those in the washer.

“Stew smells delicious.” You say, breaking your bout of silence since he’s been here. It’s a soft smile you get in return.

“Yeah? Michael’s recipe, called it ‘everything and the kitchen sink’.”

“Thank you, Carm.”

“Always, Birdie.” He clicks on your favorite movie, letting it distract you as he empties the dirty dishes from your room. You’re completely encapsulated in the film when he sits down next to you again, right in time for the ending. You lean forward in your seat, moving your mouth to the words said on-screen.

Carmy smiles. Your sheets were clean, clothes were in the wash. You’d showered and now you’d be eating soon. He did his job, and now he was going to dote on you relentlessly.

“You gotta go back?” You ask quietly, and he shakes his head.

“Syd and Richie can handle it. Marcus made these beautiful cakes, said he wants you ‘round to taste ‘em soon.” He says, making sure you’re thinking about the future and not wallowing in your current thoughts.

“I’ll be by.” You smile, and he can finally have some relief, you’re back in some capacity.

“I’ll tell him. Stew?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Here, just a little longer.” You say, shifting to lay against him. The tips of his fingers get that excited tingle in them.

“Long as you need, Birdie. I’m here.”

196 notes · View notes

bubbles-for-all-of-us · 11 months ago

Text

Scoot over

frat boys x reader x Ruhn Danaan

a/n first time writing for cc don’t come at my neck.

summary: you had a long and shit day and come home to your friends ready to take care of you. One in particular.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You parked your car by the house entrance. Noting the two cars already parked there. Light was streaming through the downstairs windows. A sense of ease instantly washed over you. The day had been long, and you would be lying if you tried to deny that you hadn’t been looking forward to seeing your stupid roommates. Yet you stalled for a moment. Giving yourself an extra minute for composure, you breathed out a deep sigh before stepping into the cold night.

The bickering caught you by the entrance. And even if you couldn’t see it, you could tell that it had to be serious. The view you were greeted with was far from what you imagined, however. Here they stood. Declan was nose-deep in his phone, ordering Flynn around as the male tried to stir whatever that was sizzling in the pan. Even if this felt more like an unsupervised toddler discovering cooking.

“What are you two doing?”, you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. A string of curses rang through the room. The two must have been seriously invested if they didn’t hear you come in. “Urd spare me," Dec sighed, placing a hand on his chest. “Fucking hell, I could have burned myself, woman," Flynn grunted, reaching for the spoon that had found its resting place in the sink. "Sorry, sorry, I thought you were solving world hunger, with all that noise and not trying to tame a house fire," you said, finding it endearing that the two even tried to make food when it had been your responsibility for a hot minute.

“You look like shit," Flynn pointed out bluntly, and Dec was quick to wack him on the back of his head. "Geez, thanks; you do know how to flatter a lady," you sighed, lifting your bags onto the kitchen island. “He’s been single for ten years; don’t expect him to still know what a lady is," Dec chirped, rounding the table to walk closer to you. “Fuck off, you have been single for way longer, dude," Flynn grumbled back, making you let out a slight chuckle.

But it was Declan’s amber eyes that pierced through you now. “No, seriously, what’s up?” A guy might be head first in his technology, but nothing ever slipped past him when it came to his friends. But it didn’t hurt to try, right? So you plastered on the best fake smile you could. “Nothing, nothing; you need help with that?” You pointed to the stove. Earning a loud no from Flynn. “First of all, rude. We can handle a pan. Second of all, you do know that we see through your bullshit?” You simply nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. Dec had become somewhat of a brother to you over the years together. There had always been something special about him. Something that screamed home.

“Do we need to call Ruhn?”, he asked softly, already reaching for his phone, but you stopped him with a shake of your head, “Will you vouch for our balls because I don’t want them on a Christmas tree?” His words managed to get a slight chuckle out of you, but you knew that it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Leave your shit here," Dec said, yanking the bags with food over the table. “Yeah, go upstairs and take a bath or something," Flynn chirped in. You knew that even with his back turned to you, he could sense the shift in you. “A support hug before you go?” Dec extended his arms out to you, and you instantly felt the same burning sensation rising. So you shook your head no, quickly wiping a couple of the tears away as you muttered, “I might start sobbing if you get close.”

Ruhn had been in a piss-poor mood all day. There wasn’t a single thing that hadn’t made him annoyed. His father, of course, graced him with a cherry on top as he sent Ruhn to the other side of the town to finish some of his dirty work. Yet all he wanted now was to smoke himself into the oblivious. Lay down, and not move for days. A sharp pain shot through his eyes as the sound of his phone ringing filled his car.

“What?”, he grumbled the moment he picked up. He was hoping the two hadn’t gotten into any trouble because he would probably leave them to their own devices just because he was in a piss-poor mood. “Y/n got home," Flynn’s voice was barely audible through the sizzling. "Great!", Ruhn grunted, but he already knew it. Had seen the notification of your car passing through the gates. “And she’s not feeling well." That was enough to make all the racing thoughts halt for a moment. “What do you mean?”, Ruhn asked, already starting his car. That last meeting could get fucked, for all he cared.

There was some grumbling on the other line until a much-smothered voice filled Rhun’s ears. “I think something really upsets her, or she’s just in one of her sad moods," Dec muttered, “She nearly cried, and she doesn’t cry." That same tightness clenched Rhun’s chest. Why today, when he was by the outskirts? When he couldn’t get to you fast enough. “I’ll be back as soon as I can," he tried to say, sounding unfazed. As if this only concerned him because you were roommates. But if he had managed to slip past Flynn’s radar, Dec had been on him for years. "Dec," Ruhn called out right before hanging up. "Yeah," his friend muttered. “You look out for her till I get back," Ruhn’s voice was barely a whisper, as if, by saying it any louder, he would chase it away. As if someone would wish bad will on it. “You got it, prince," Even if he couldn’t see it, Ruhn was convinced that Dec had the stupidest grin on his face. “Fuck you," he added before hanging up.

You didn’t bother to go downstairs. The bed was practically calling to you. Dec and Flynn found you between the sheets. And to your luck, neither one commented on the fact that it was Ruhn’s bed that you were lying in and not your own. After forcefully feeding you their noodle concoction, that wasn’t half as bad for the first attempt. The two had taken a guard dog position on either side of Ruhn’s bed. Talking about the most random stuff and, even without your noticing, chasing away all the bad thoughts one by one.

“So then I told him to fuck himself sideways," Flynn was on his fourth story for the night. Debriefing the last meeting he had. “I bet he loved that," Dec snorted, his hand absentmindedly moving up and down your ankle. “The old fuck just went on a rant about how that would be impossible to perform," Flynn huffed with a laugh.

And then, as if on cue, the energy in the room shifted. Growing heavy before it faded away. The sound of the rushed footsteps was hard to miss. You had barely managed to turn your head towards the it when the door to the bedroom swung open. “Out you two," the voice filled your senses even before Ruhn’s frame came into view. The two males snorted. "Okay, daddy issues; don’t yell," Flynn muttered, earning a middle finger in return. Dec gave your leg a couple of taps. “You finish that," he said, pointing to the bowl that still had some pasta left. “Will do," you muttered, giving him a slight smile.

As soon as the door was closed, Ruhn’s eyes met yours. "Hey," he breathed; he was breathing way heavier than usual. So he had either ran or been worrying ever since the two snitches told him about you. "Hi," you muttered in return. Watching him quickly undo his shirt before he yanked it over his head.

“Oh wow," you said, “you’re undressing quickly today." Ruhn let out a snort as he reached for his belt. His hands didn’t even tremble as he undressed. “You never complained about my speed before," he shrugged with a smirk. Reaching for his discarded clothes before throwing them across the room.

“Scoot over," he said, gently nudging your shoulder. “Get in from the other side," you grumbled. You had already warmed his side of the bed. “Scoot your cute ass over," he said, more like an order, and you knew him too well to not obey. It didn’t matter where or in what shape you two were. He was always sleeping on the side closer to the door. Even in his drunken or high state, if you two ended up in the same bed, this thing of his never faltered.

“My shirt?”, he chuckled as he moved closer to you. The territorial male inside him was clapping hands from joy at the sight of it. The warmth of him already making your body shiver in anticipation. His scent wrapped you in a cloud of happiness, followed by his strong arms that snaked around your middle. Fingers reaching just slightly beneath the material to meet your naked skin.

“I just wanted to feel you; it’s stupid," you breathed out as he nuzzled closer to you. Leaving a tender kiss on your shoulder blade here and there. “You should have called me," Ruhn said firmly. “You’ve been busy," you said quietly, turning just a bit so you could see his purple eyes. “Never too busy for you," he said. He didn’t miss a beat with his words, and you knew that they came straight from the depths of his heart. If there was one thing that he was great at, it was looking over the people he cared for.

“Do you want to talk about it?”, he asked after a moment of silence. "No," you said. “But do I need to kill somebody because...", Ruhn pushed slightly. “I'm sure those two downstairs are waiting for that too, so get in line," you breathed, reaching out to brush your fingers over his tattoo. Let your brain get lost in him. The warmth of him. The beat of his heart. The breathing. You didn’t even feel the tears running down your cheeks, just the way Ruhn’s arms tightened around your middle, bringing you even closer to him.

“It’s okay, let it out," he muttered against your ear. “I’ve got you gorgeous," his lips brushed against the side of your face. “It’s just a bad day," you hiccuped silently. “We all have those, baby," he said tenderly, his fingers moving to brush through your hair, massaging your scalp softly. Slowly dragging you into the tired, slumbery space. Your hold on him had loosened before you flinched slightly, wrapping your arms around him once more. “Will you stay with me?”, you turned back at him once more, your heavy eyelids drooping. A warm smile spread on Ruhn’s face, “I won’t move an inch, baby”, he muttered, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

#ruhn crescent city #ruhn danaan #ruhn danaan imagine #ruhn danaan x reader #ruhn danaan x you #ruhn danaan x oc #crescent city x reader #crescent city #crescent city imagine #frat boys x reader

391 notes · View notes

bookobsessedram · 1 year ago

Text

Soap Mactavish x Reader - Mental Health Day

Word Count - 1.1k

Warnings - depression, cursing, very SFW

A/N: This is a gift for my friend @bunnyreaper, so reader is described!! Sorry y'all <3

For bunny, I want you to know that I love you so much and that you are valued and loved. I hope this brings some light to your life :)

For the past few weeks, it feels like every day has been the same. Wake up, cry, eat whatever shitty snacks are in the pantry, cry some more, check your phone, and go back to bed. Rinse and repeat. You know you must look like hell, with unwashed hair and bags under your eyes that won’t seem to go away, but you can’t bring yourself to care – or rather, you care but you can’t find the energy to do anything about it. You haven’t had the energy to do much of anything recently, now that you think of it. Depression is a bitch, you know, but it doesn’t change the fact that when it hits you upside the head with an emotional baseball bat, you’re unable to fight back with the metaphorical pool noodle you have in response.

Your phone buzzes on the pillow next to you, and you groan, opening your eyes blearily and sitting up. Afternoon light is streaming in through the blinds, and you squint at your phone screen. You have a myriad of messages, but you only care about one: a message from your boyfriend, Johnny “Soap” Mactavish, the cheerful, firecracker of a man that barreled his way into your heart and made a home nestled between your ribs. You love him with everything you have, but even speaking to him has taken more energy than you’ve had recently.

Johnny <;3: Mind if I stop by, bun? got something I think you’ll like.

Thankfully, Johnny has always been both understanding and accommodating of your mental health struggles and has never asked more of you than he thinks you can handle. Which is why, you think as you smooth out your hair in the bathroom mirror, he’s coming over to see you. You pull out your phone and fire off a quick text before heading to the bathroom.

You: I’ll meet you at the door :)

By the time you’ve put on your least dirty pair of pajamas and brushed your teeth, there’s an excited knock at your apartment door. Knowing you must look a mess, you aren’t quite thrilled to open it, but all reservations melt away as soon as Soap sets the groceries he was holding down and sweeps you up in his arms with a bright smile and a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Olivia,” he murmurs, practically lifting you off the ground with the force of his hug. “Missed holdin’ you, love.”

“Missed you too, Johnny”, you mumble into his strong chest, feeling the muscles under his shirt. Yes, you were being squeezed quite tightly, but you most certainly didn’t mind it. It was nice to be surrounded by him again.

As he sets you down, you notice he’s holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his arms. You can’t help but smile at the sweet and romantic gesture, but before you know it hot tears are rolling down your face. Johnny’s brow furrows in worry, and he softly lifts your chin up to wipe your tears. “Shh, shh, bun,” he whispers, wiping your tears with his thumbs before holding you close. “S’okay, I’m here now, yeah? Yer not alone now. Never have been.”

At that, you cry harder, dampening his shirt with your tears, but your boyfriend doesn’t seem to mind. He lets you sob into his chest, rocking you gently back and forth in the doorway of your apartment until your sobs die to sniffles and shaky breaths. Once he’s sure you’re calm, he doesn’t hesitate before picking you up with ease and carrying you into the kitchen.

“Alright, love,” he declares, a determined glint in his eye. “First order of business? Getting some food in you.”

There’s no room for protest as he sets you down on the counter before turning to the stove. You begin to protest, opening your mouth to speak phrases like you really don’t have to and that’s too much, but the words die on your lips as he raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you dare, Olivia,” he teases. “I know you’ve been too unwell to cook.”

At that, you don’t offer anything but a sheepish smile and a shrug, and he grins. “Thought so, hen,” he says as he turns back to the stove and begins cracking the eggs he brought.

You watch as he assembles what appears to be the most perfect breakfast out of all breakfasts, complete with eggs, bacon, and waffles (admittedly, the waffles are toaster brand – while an amazing boyfriend, Soap does not have the ability to make batter from scratch). Handing you a plate and leaning next to you on the counter, he takes a big bite of the eggs. “What do you think?”

You mirror his actions, taking your own bite. Your stomach grumbles in appreciation, delighted at the first taste of real food, and you smile at him, your eyes showing a light in them he hasn’t seen for weeks. “They’re amazing, Johnny. Thank you,” you say, kissing his cheek lovingly in response.

As the both of you finish your breakfast together, you feel the dark cloud that has been surrounding you over the past few weeks slowly lift. By the time breakfast is cleaned up, you’re feeling a lot better than you had been. The flowers are freshly trimmed and put in a vase on the table, and they bring color to the apartment that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Soap gently coaxes you into the shower, and while you scrub the past few weeks’ tension from your body, he does a load of laundry and strips the sheets off your bed. By the time you emerge from your sauna-like bathroom, your pajamas are in the dryer and your bed is made with new sheets, blankets and stuffed animals folded and arranged with military precision.

As you sit with your back to his chest, Johnny gently brushing the tangles out of your curls and massaging your scalp all at once, he murmurs your nickname. “Bunny?” He asks.

“Hm?” You turn your head to look at him, the light of your bedroom lamp reflected on his face.

“I know that you don’t like asking for help. And yer so strong and kind and smart, you don’t always need to. But don’t ever feel like you can’t rely on me, okay?” He cradles your face in his warm hands, sincerity reflected in his bright blue eyes. “When your brain is lying to you, I want to be here to tell you the truth.”

At that, you can’t stop the tears from spilling over again, but unlike before, Johnny is here to hold you close in his arms, running his hands soothingly down your back and murmuring kindness into your ears. Unlike before, your bed is no longer empty, and your brain is no longer full of negative self-talk and racing thoughts. Johnny surrounds you like the warm blankets in your shared bed, his scent enveloping you and lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

You’re just barely drifting off when you feel him kiss your temple tenderly and whisper softly in your ear: “I love you, Olivia.” And then you fall asleep.

#ram writes #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #cod modern warfare ii #cod mwii x reader #cod mwii x reader fluff #tw depression #tw crying #i promise everything will be okay <3

151 notes · View notes

lost-in-lamentation · 1 year ago

Text

💋🥐 - first kiss, baking.

barbatos × gen!reader. fluff + slightly suggestive.

warnings: barbatos gets... real flirty.

content: when your face gets dirty while baking, how else would you clean it up if not a kiss?

back to the 500 follower event: here.

“now, we wait for the butter to melt. once it’s melted, we’ll pour the flour in.”

“got it.” you peer over barbatos’ shoulder curiously, observing as he stirs the mixture in the pot. “what are you making this for, anyway?”

barbatos steps away from the stove, reaching for the bowl of dry ingredients on the kitchen island. “the young master requested cream puffs,” he replies. as you hum in understanding, barbatos looks from side to side, lips pursed together in confusion. “you didn’t happen to see where i left my thermometer, did you?”

after making sure that the pot isn’t dangerously close to boiling, you join barbatos in the search, taking the other side of the kitchen. finally, you see it sticking out of the pile of cutlery that you had set aside earlier. “my bad, i think i hid it from you by accident,” you say sheepishly. with careful fingers, you fish it out of the pile, making sure it still turns on before handing it over to him.

barbatos gives you a look; one you can’t quite read. “how naughty of you,” he teases, turning back to the stove. behind him, you cover the lower half of your face with a hand, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “the butter is just about melted. MC, would you like to pour the flour in? or would you like to try mixing the dough?”

pretending that his earlier remark doesn’t faze you, you roll your sleeves up determinedly. “i can mix it!” barbatos casts you an approving gaze, watching as you stride over to him. “is that all i have to do?”

“yes, but i should warn you that choux pastry becomes very stubborn once it thickens.”

you shrug nonchalantly at the demon, grabbing a wooden spoon off the counter. “i think i’ve got this.”

“very well.” he nods at you, waiting until you’re ready to start pouring the dry ingredients in.

at first, you stir easily, everything coming together in one smooth motion. however, the stubbornness makes itself known rather quickly, soon forming into a heavy ball that you begin to struggle against. you do your best to scrape against the sides and the bottom of the pot, intent on not allowing any of the dough to burn. but the longer you mix, the more tired your arm becomes, and eventually, you’re shooting barbatos a pleading look. “please tell me this is enough mixing,” you nearly whine, movements slowing as your muscles begin to ache.

barbatos’ shoulders bounce lightly with laughter. “not quite, but allow me to do the rest.” suddenly, he steps behind you, torso pressed against your back. gently, he takes the wooden spoon out of your grasp, your fingers brushing against his own gloved ones briefly. despite it not being skin to skin, the touch is enough to send a jolt through your system. you immediately drop your gaze to the floor, hoping barbatos is too occupied to notice. you don’t know long you stay there for, but you’re pulled back to reality when you hear him speak softly. “we have to wait for this to cool before we do the next step.”

“oh, yeah, okay.” your voice wavers, and you grimace at the sound. “which is, what, exactly?”

finally, barbatos opens a path away from you, and you quietly breathe a sigh of relief.

“we’ll add the eggs in. we have to wait until it’s just around 70°C.” he sticks his thermometer into the dough, watching as the numbers shoot up past 80. “where do you have the eggs you beat earlier?”

with your brain close to haywire, you grab the bowl of eggs wordlessly, handing it over to him. you know by now that barbatos has noticed how flustered you’ve become, but you steel yourself anyway, clearing your throat as you place the bowl down on the counter next to him. “i have it here,” you strangle out.

barbatos murmurs his thanks while he transfers the dough from the pot into a mixing bowl. you fall into silence as you watch him turn the electric mixer on, stirring the dough to allow more heat to escape. every so often, he stops to check the temperature, all the way until he sees the number 70 on the reader. when it does, he stops the mixer periodically to add a bit of the egg mixture each time. you observe him quietly, rocking back and forth on your heels while he works. eventually, you’re the first to break the silence. “how do you know when that’s enough eggs?”

barbatos has a lopsided grimace on his face, eyebrows furrowed in thought before getting around to answering you. “personally… it’s a gut feeling.”

your mouth drops open at his answer. “how about professionally?”

“... i am not a professional baker.”

“i can’t believe this.” you chortle at his expression, entertained that barbatos has no set answer for you. despite your laughter, barbatos continues his work, a bit entertained himself that you think the situation is so funny. you leave him alone after that, leaning onto the counter with your elbows. you’ve never made this kind of pastry before, so you leave it to barbatos to do the delicate work and wait for him to ask you to join in again.

“this should be the right amount,” barbatos says to you. he tilts the bowl towards you so you can see it, but you can’t even tell the difference between now and two minutes ago.

“if we ever make this again, i’m counting on you,” you respond in a deflated tone.

barbatos chuckles at the remark. “you can count on me for anything you need, MC. even if it's for something other than baking.”

"oh-! uh, yeah, thanks." for the third time in one hour, your face flushes red, and you’re turning away before the butler can comment on it. “anyways! you need the piping bag now, right?”

“yes, if you could, MC.” you rush away from him, scrambling to slide the correct piping tip into the bag before hooking the bag around the edges of a small bucket. once it was ready (and your blush had faded), you head back to barbatos, waiting until he takes it from your hands to make a second piping bag. with measured movements, he pours enough of the pastry into the first bag that it fills up, but doesn’t overflow. barbatos then pulls the bag out of the bucket, twisting the open end so that it doesn’t come back out towards you when you take it from him. he repeats the process with the second bag, this time keeping it in his own hands while he grabs two baking trays from nearby. the demon places one in front of you and the other in front of himself. with a satisfied nod, he shifts to look at you, making sure you’re holding the piping bag properly before beginning his demonstration. he places a round dollop of the pastry onto the sheet, tapering it off with a circular motion.

the piped pastry reminds you briefly of whipped cream. “it looks cute.”

“i suppose it does,” barbatos muses, leaning down to look at his creation from another angle. “it’s your turn to give it a try.”

you nod resolutely, adjusting your hands to a more comfortable position before attempting to recreate what barbatos had shown you. however, he makes it look easier than it really is. by the time you’ve put five on the baking tray, you notice how none of them are as well rounded as barbatos’. you wince at the sight, but decide to press on anyway since he hadn’t said anything about your strange shapes. but when you try to squeeze another one out, the bag stops cooperating, instead causing you to press harder on the pastry. “barbatos, i think something got stuck.” before he can say anything, you turn the piping tip end towards yourself to look in it, but make the mistake of squeezing the bag at the same time. the pastry explodes onto your face with a splutter, and all you can register is barbatos calling your name out of concern.

you can hear barbatos gasp loudly before he places his own piping bag down. “in the name of diavolo… MC? are you alright?”

“fine. yep. just fine,” you mutter. your eyes are shut tight, not wanting to get any of the mixture into your eyes. “do you have a towel or anything?”

suddenly, his voice is right next to your ear. “stay still for me,” he whispers, sending a shudder down your spine. barbatos takes the exploded bag out of your hands, and a few seconds later, you feel a towel gently wiping away the pastry that had landed on your face. once the area around your eyes is clean, you blink your vision back to normal, only to wish that you had kept your eyes shut. barbatos hovers dangerously close to you, one hand on your chin and the other holding a new towel. “are you really alright? your face is quite red-”

“i-i’m okay!” you take a step back, but barbatos has you locked in his grasp. your heart pounds in your chest like it wants to be anywhere else but inside your body. meanwhile in your mind, your thoughts race endlessly, and you can barely keep your gaze from darting every which way. “barbatos, i-”

“MC, you have some more here.” you stiffen when he brushes his thumb over the corner of your lips- wait, when did he take his gloves off? and your breath catches in your throat when barbatos leans impossibly closer to you. you can feel the warmth radiating off his skin onto yours, but something in you tells you not to pull away. “may i?”

you gather your courage and make eye contact with barbatos, searching his gaze, finding nothing but affection before finally whispering “yes.”

even with your permission, barbatos treads carefully first. his lips touch where his fingers were just moments before, swiftly cleaning the pastry from your face himself. as he pulls away, you feel his tongue swipe at your lips, and your knees nearly give out at the feeling. barbatos’ hand moves from your chin down to your waist, holding you up while he presses you flush against himself. he scans your expression thoroughly, and when you blink slowly up at him, he plays his next move. barbatos brings you in closer to meet him in the middle, melding into the kiss as though you had down it a thousand times before. unlike barbatos’ usual demeanour, the kiss is sloppy; it's a little bit messy and mixed with traces of the earlier pastry explosion. but nonetheless, you find yourself drowning in his touch, his actions driven by hunger for you. when you separate, you can barely recognize barbatos’ voice as he moans at the loss of your lips on his.

you’re dizzy with desire, and so is barbatos. but you hold back long enough to tilt your head at the forgotten baking trays. “shouldn’t we finish our original task?” you ask between breaths, but you can’t help bringing yourself closer to him again.

“the young master can wait,” barbatos practically growls, leaning in to nip at your earlobe. “i would like a treat for myself, first.”

a/n: this isn't a personally inspired story from when i worked under a pâtissière... what are you talking about, i would never explode a piping bag on myself haha you're being crazy!

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x you #obey me x you #obey me fluff #aris writes 🐈‍⬛#aris hits 500 🐈‍⬛

281 notes · View notes

cool-cowboy · 1 year ago

Text

The Gift Of Need

Tags:

Submissive Leon S. Kennedy, Leon S. Kennedy being infected with Las plagas, Begging, Dirty talk, Possessive behavior, Marking, Pheromones, In heat, Knotting, painful sex, Breeding, Biting, held down, Rough sex, crying, creampie

Summary:

“Leon, what are you-?” I turn around in his hold, his look odd, dazed, almost, before he blinks it away, back to my Leon, all casual, not huffing my neck like it’s some kind of drug he can't get enough of.

“Sorry… I don’t know, I just- I missed you."

In which Leon comes back from Spain, thinking he has the whole plaga situation taken care of, until he gets a whiff of something intoxicating, not exactly sure what's going on with him, then makes you his, three times.

Kind of a little bit like a heat, I guess, though some stuff is off. He's just really needy, and can somehow get off multiple times in a row, and is hellbent on showing you how good he is, and also leaving a mark to show off who you belong to.

Text:

Dinner’s nearly finished, the only thing left to take care of is straining the pasta and dumping it in with the sauce. I’m hoping he’s home on time tonight, he’s been off on a mission in Spain, rescuing the president’s daughter. I haven’t gotten many details, only short calls ensuring me he’s alive and he’ll be back soon, the most recent coming from the plane delivering him back to me.

“Smells good in here.” I whirl around, a little overeager, flipping the burner off before meeting him halfway, capturing him in my arms, same as always, his arms crushing me against him, both of us ignoring the blood and bruises for now, content holding onto each other, his face ducked to press to the side of my hair.

“Hi.” He huffs out a laugh, pressing his lips to my hair and breathing me in, one of his hands drifting up and down my side.

“Hey, princess. You making parmesan?” I smile into his chest, turning my head up to look into his face, some thin cuts and a bruise on his jaw making my gut wrench, his dedication to his work has always bothered me, but I don’t comment, well aware it’s not by choice he does what he does.

“Yeah. It’s almost done, let me go and I’ll finish.” I’m sure he’s starving, he’s been gone for nearly a week, chasing after Ashley, the mission a lot less straightforward than the debrief suggested. He frowns, holding me tighter, kissing my forehead when I push against him, holding me there and sighing against me.

“Not yet. Missed you, stay here a minute.” I huff, though I do secretly love his clingyness, showing of just how important I am, even if I am decidedly plain compared to him.

“Come with me to the stove, then, I don’t want it to burn.” He sighs, releasing me, dropping his grip down to one hand, trailing along behind me back into the kitchen. “You’re gonna have to let go, I need to strain this.” He gives me a look, dissatisfied, bringing my knuckles up to lay a wet kiss to my skin before letting me go, leaning on the counter beside the stove, watching me bring the pasta over to the sink, pouring it over the strainer, placing the pot on the counter so I can shake the excess water out of the pasta. Cool hands meet my hips, trailing around to wrap over my stomach, his body pressing into me, his head ducked to press his face into the crook of my neck.

“Really? Can’t wait a couple minutes?” I’m teasing, leaning my head to the side to give him a little more room, his hair tickling my exposed neck and shoulder. He slides one hand up my stomach, his body pressing me into the counter, a deep breath through his nose drawn in from my neck making me shiver.

“No… I love you…” He kisses my neck, the spot above my collar bone, nosing at it and drawing in another long breath, letting out a pleased noise on his exhale. “God you smell good.” This is new, he’s never mentioned my smell before, not that I really have one, at least not right now, out of the shower this morning, no perfume or lotion on he could be smelling. He breathes me in again, letting out a groan and pressing himself into me.

“Sorry… I don’t know, I just- I missed you. Let me help.” He reaches around me, picking up the little strainer and carrying it back over to the stove, dumping it into the sauce simmering on the back burner, letting me watch him, his hand running roughly over his face as he stirs the pasta in.

“You okay? Tired?” I make my way over, standing beside him, leaned on the counter, a light hand rubbing his back making him stiffen, a ragged breath pulling from his chest. He’s finished, looking at me as I try my best to soothe him, his expression a little distraught, confused, maybe.

“I’m fine. I don’t know… Let’s just eat, yeah?” I nod, letting him carry the food over to the dining room while I collect plates and forks, meeting him and uttering a quick “Thanks” when he pulls my chair out for me. He lingers, running his hand over my hair, letting his thumb fan over the spot he was nosing on my neck and leaning over to press a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“Sit down, Leon, it’s gonna get cold.” He sighs, moving to take his seat, dragging it a little closer before sitting himself down, just looking at me, making no move to serve himself, staring, sitting close as he can get. “Hey, if you wanna shower first-”

“No, shit, sorry princess, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He takes my plate, serving me, then himself, giving my worried look a tight smile as he picks up his fork, his free hand rubbing at his forehead as he collects a bit. “Don’t worry, okay? Just… Feeling weird.” An unsatisfactory explanation, and he knows it, giving me a sorry look and shoving his fork into his mouth.

“Weird?” I take a bite myself, and it’s of course delicious, his favorite meal, an easy one, simple and pleasing, especially for someone who’s been lacking in food the past week. He closes his eyes, resting his head in his hand, heaving a heavy sigh.

“Yeah… It’ll go away, it’s okay.” He’s not convincing, but I let it go, not wanting to ruin dinner by pressing him for information, the rest of our meal spent in relative quiet, the dishes piled in soapy water once we’re done.

“Just go shower, okay? I’ll be here.” He doesn’t want to, asked me to come with him, but I need to finish the dishes, and I’ve already showered today. He groans, stepping behind me to cling to me, big arms tight around my waist, his head tucked into my neck, breathing me in, hips pressing into my ass.

“Can’t… Wanna stay here…” He’s being too much, more obsessive than usual, refusing a shower he’d usually be dying for after a long mission to get some more time against me, sniffing whatever scent he’s suddenly become so fascinated with. “Love you so much… You’re so good… My pretty girl…” He sounds dazed, groggy, mouthing at that same spot, letting his hips press into me, his erection obvious through dirty cargos.

“You’re horny? That’s it?” I’m shocked, not that he wants it, but at the way he’s going about it, acting like I’m the only thing he can put his attention on, like he can’t bear to tear himself away from me.

“That’s not… I just- I want you.” He’s breathing heavy, nosing at my throat, letting out a light groan when I press back into him, willing to indulge, even if this is a little unusual. I grip the counter, gasping when his teeth graze the spot he’s been ruining. “Sorry… Shit, smells so fucking good, need you so bad…” I reach back to grip him by his hair, my eyes widening when they meet his, black, veiny looking tendrils spread out around them, darkness visible beneath his skin.

“Leon, what’s-? Your face is-”

“Shit, thought that was taken care of.” He doesn’t seem eager to explain, only to press his lips to mine, groaning and sliding a hand up to grip the side of my neck, giving himself a better angle, his body pressing mine into the counter.

“Hey, wait-”

“Please-! Just- fuck, I don’t- hnn-” He tucks his face back down, grinding himself into me, his needy tone turning me on more than I’d like to admit. “I don’t know what- What it is, just need you… Need you right now.” I give in, pushing back into him, making him moan, loud and whiny, his lips latched onto my neck, sucking on that spot. I’m worried, but he’s so needy, frantic, mouthing at my neck and holding me tight, keeping me against him, acting like he’s scared I’ll leave him in this state. “It’s your smell… Driving me fucking crazy…” He lets me turn around, stares at me, eyes hazy, black veins spread out over his skin, expression dazed, attention solely on me.

“You mean the plaga… Did this?” I press my palms to the sides of his face, running my thumbs over the black beneath his skin, letting him pull my legs up over his hips, his dick seeming hotter than usual, all of him, really, a light sheen of sweat shining on his skin.

“Think so, fuckers said it was a gift… It’s hot, fucking hurts.” I kiss him, letting him set the pace, quick and needy, his hands on my ass squeezing and pressing me into him, his low groan breathed into my mouth. “That’s so good… Never felt this good…” He’s walking off toward the bedroom, dipping down to kiss at my neck before crawling onto the bed, him seated over me, just looking at me, expression pained, hands light on my hips. “Something’s wrong in my head, thinking like a damn animal.” He leans down, moaning and squirming once his lips meet my throat, teeth closing over my skin, his hands squeezing harshly on my hips making me let out a displeased noise. “Sorry baby, sorry… I’m trying-fuck- I’ll be good, good boyfriend, make you feel good.” He kisses his bite, licking it, groaning and pulling back to take a look, a loud moan ripping out of him as he eyes his mark, his lips meeting mine in a harsh kiss, hands roaming up under my shirt, nails digging into the skin of my stomach when he grinds into me, rough, hips digging into the backs of my thighs.

“Being a little rough, yeah?” I don’t mind, not really, not when he needs it this bad, when he sounds so desperate, moaning loud before trailing his lips down, rushed, feverish kisses planted down my jaw, my neck, my hands dug into his hair and gripped tight to his bicep.

“I’m sorry… Sorry… Can’t help it, you’re making me- god, you smell so fucking good.” He brings one hand down, eagerly shoving his fingers past the band of my shorts, groaning into my throat when his thumb meets my clit, mouthing at his bite, the flesh there tender, pain something that should bother me a little more, probably would if he seemed in better control of his actions. “You’re all I can think about… It’s so hot it fucking hurts… Need you to help me, make it go away…” He pulls away from my neck, sitting himself up and looking at me, chest heaving, watching my face and rubbing me through my panties, veins spread down over his chest and arms, his dick straining against his cargos. “I can be good… I’ll make you feel good, be a good boyfriend…” He dips his fingers down, feeling the slick-soaked patch of my underwear, groaning and using his other hand to pull at my shorts, barely getting them off before he shoves himself between my legs, thumb pressing harder to my clit, face against me, breathing in, tongue lapping at the wetness on my panties. “Shit… You’re so hot, so damn pretty… Making me wanna bury my dick inside and never stop making you feel good.” He whines, sucking on my underwear, squirming around, his free hand wrapped tight around my thigh.

“Leon?” I can only see his eyes, clouded and pained, meeting mine as he slips his thumb under the side of my panties, swiping slick up to my clit and rubbing smooth, rough circles. “Are you sure this is... “ He doesn’t respond, just grips onto my panties, ripping them off, my wide eyes ignored, his closed as he presses his face into me, groaning and licking at my wetness, his tongue lapping over my clit making me moan, my hands dug into his hair egging him on, his hips pressing into the bed.

“You taste so good… It hurts, my dick’s fucking aching, all for you. Wanna make you mine over and over, fill this pussy so good you can’t think of anything but me.” He groans, pressing his thumb back to my clit, rubbing harshly, his lips pressed into my wetness, kissing at my hole before pulling back, watching as he pushes two fingers inside, knuckle deep, just leaving them there, eyes flitting up to my face as he works his thumb against me. “All mine… My pretty girl… I love you so fucking much, want you forever… Never let you out of this fucking bed.” He’s getting harder to understand, breathless, needy words spoken barely above a whisper, his face moving to press into my thigh, watching my face, the rough skin of his thumb against me making me shake. “You can’t cum yet… Need you to cum on my dick, fuckin’ hold me inside while I cream your perfect- nnh-!” I clench around his fingers, and he pulls them out, the pressure of my near orgasm leaving me in an instant, my eyes on him when he pushes his fingers into his mouth, cleaning off the mess before leaning down, pressing his lips to mine, pushing my shirt up to expose my chest, squeezing with one hand and running his dick over my slit with the other, apparently not keen to get his clothes off before getting to business.

“Hey, wait, get a condom.” He groans, pressing against my entrance, the head feeling larger than usual, swollen beyond its usual girth, painful when he pushes, stretching me without fully pressing inside.

“Don’t make me- please- I need to- Let me cum inside.” He looks scared, chest heaving with frantic breaths, his head falling down to rest in the crook of my neck, his voice whiny and uneven, skin running too hot against mine, his hand shaking against my side. “Please… Please baby, it hurts, I need it…” He stops prodding at my entrance, slotting himself against me in the mean time, calming himself down a little with a deep breath against my neck.

“Leon… Are you sure you… Need it?” He moans, grinding into me, mouthing at my throat, pressing his nails into my side, barely keeping himself together with how needy he is, shaky and hot and messy, drooling all over my throat.

“Yes, need to-nnh- cum inside, make you mine, fill you so fucking full-Oh god-” He grinds himself up into me again, waiting for my approval, sucking harshly on my throat, his hand gripping, his whole body shaking against me. “Please baby… Please, just until it goes away, wanna feel you-” I roll us over, seating myself above him, running a hand down his stomach, watching his face, desperate, eyes cast down at his leaky dick laying on his stomach, a pained expression ruining his pretty face when I run my fingers over the length of him. “Stop-! Jesus Christ you’re-fuck-! You’re- ah- hurting me. Let me inside- please- ‘s too hot, I can’t- need you to-” I sink down on him, giving him his wish, his dick painfully swollen, stretching me out, pressed tight to my cervix once I’m seated above him. “Shit-! Yes, god, that’s it… Feels so good, so prefect for me, such a good-nnh…” He doesn’t let me do much work, just meets my hips, using his hands to lift me up and slam me back down, being harsher than usual, but it still feels good, his face one of the hottest sights I’ve ever seen, completely fucked, whiny coos and begging passing his lips as he slams into me.

“Le- God, you’re- Ah- so good.” That gets him, he whines, reaching to press his thumb to my clit, using his other to continue fucking me on him, pausing to hold my hips up, thrusting up into me, setting a quicker pace, moaning when I clench around him, my legs shaking from working over him, his thumb and rough pace working me up quick.

“Ah- you- You’re so- shit- fucking pretty… Such a good girl- nnh- I love you- love- fuck-!” He’s shaking, whiny and breathless, barely able to keep his rhythm, moaning loudly when I lean back to plant a hand on his thigh, letting him fuck up into me, shoving himself as deep as he’ll go, my insides feeling numb from how rough he’s being, the pleasure from his thumb on my clit keeping me from worrying too much about how sore I’ll be tomorrow. “Need you to cum… Wanna feel it, have you squeeze me, fuck… Gonna make you mine, cum inside this tight-nnh- Make sure you’re full, be good-ah- a good fucking-shit…” He’s cumming, and so am I, the whole thing a hazy warm pleasure, his lips kissing his mark on my neck, the feeling of him emptying inside making it all more intense, satisfying, in some sick way. “Yes, feels so good, fuck, so perfect, letting me-ah- cum inside, make you mine, fucking-nnh- mine-” He starts moving again once I release him, pulling halfway out before pressing back inside, fucking his mess deeper, groaning and sitting up to watch.

“Leon, no more.” I try to pull off him, but he holds me still, giving me a pleading look, his skin still feverish, his dick filling back out as he thrusts slowly up into me, stretching me back out with an obscenely lusty, fucked out look on his face.

“One more time…” He lets me pull up off him, using my kneeling stance to roll us over, sitting up above me to look at his mess, breathing heavy and looking pained when he presses two fingers inside, gathering whatever had leaked out of me on shaking fingers and pushing it back inside, using it as lube, watching his fingers move, not at all minding my squirming. “Just- One more time, okay? Please, I know you can do it, I’ll take care of you… Can we..?” I sigh, nodding, still breathing heavy from the rough treatment from the first round, a little afraid of how he’ll be now that he has proper mobility.

“Okay. Can you… Be a little more gentle?” He frowns, leaning over me to press a feverish, sweet kiss to my lips, pulling back to look at me, swollen dick pressing against me, pushing its way inside, the stretch worse than before, if that’s even possible.

“ ‘m sorry, baby, I’m trying… Just- Fuck, I’m not good…” He sounds distraught, leaning his face down to nose at my neck, breathing me in, some of the tension releasing from his shoulders as he slumps down over me. “I can be good… I’ll go-ah- slow…” He pushes his way inside, sinking all the way in before pulling back out, letting out an obscene whine into my neck, slow strokes making us both moan, his body tight to mine, hunched over me, face buried into my throat, moaning and whining, one arm holding him up, the other hand gripped to my hip, slowly pulling me in to meet his thrusts, gentle, the pressure against my cervix duller, the drag of his dick on my insides smoother with his release inside, squelching along with my slick. “Fuck… Is this good? Am I- shit- you have no idea how good you make me feel… I love you so much… so fucking much. Want you forever, wanna-ah- bite into that pretty neck and let-shit- let everyone know you’re mine. All mine-Nnh-” He’s speeding up, sitting up above me, big hands searing hot on my hips, his eyes on my face, watching my expression, letting out low whines and pleasured faces, his grip pulling me into him, letting him press deeper.

“Thought you were-ah- gonna go slow?” He slows down, heeding my wish unnecessarily, groaning loudly when he loses the relief he was getting, thrusting shallow and slow, head hanging as he does. “You don’t have to-” He takes that as the only invitation he needs, going back to his quicker pace, his hands a little tighter on my hips, pulling me down into quick thrusts, bouncing me on his dick, groaning and watching as he presses his thumb back to my clit, his other hand collecting mine when I try to stop him, holding them down against my stomach, the pressure above my pubic bone making his dick drag a little more harshly along my insides, my pleased, dazed moan met with a whiny groan.

“Like that? Shit- That’s it, take it, you were fucking-Hnn- made for it, made for my dick, meant to be-ah- full of me…” I struggle against his grip, not because I want him to stop, but the intensity is ruining me, making me sickly hot, his sticky skin transferring his heat to me, making me clammy. “Need you to take it. Yeah-ah- take my dick, and my cum, fucking- milk me, let me-shit- let me cum inside all fucking night, until I know you’re- mine, until you can’t take another-Hah- fucking second. Until you’re just as needy as me- Shit-!” He’s barley keeping it together, hips now slamming into me, his hands on my hands and one of my thighs, pulling me into rough, deep thrusts, his whiny words making me clench around him, earning myself some pleading whimpers, his head dropping back down to mouth at that same spot, my hands on his side and back, nails digging in making him whimper, hips stalling for half a second before he’s back at it, working his thumb against me, moaning into me when I shake.

“Leon, Le- Oh my god, fucking-! Gonna- Do it with me, please… Nnh- so good, good fucking-” He bites me, not a playful nip, breaks my skin with his teeth, moaning loud into his bite and leaving his teeth dug into my skin, another few thrusts and I’m done for, the dull pleasure mixed with the pain of his bite leaving me mushy, moaning into his shoulder as I clamp down on him, his orgasm coming soon after, hot liquid spilled inside me, his low, feverish chant spoken against my throat.

“Yes, gonna make sure you’re full, be a good boyfriend, stuff you so full of me you’ll never leave, stay with me, my mark on your fucking neck. So pretty, mine, all mine. Shit, wait-” He pulls back, that same pained expression on his face, his dick still hard, flushed bright red, a questionable swollen part at the base a little concerning, considering it was not there a few minutes ago. “Let me back inside.” He sounds scared, like if I don’t relent it would be the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, staring down at his dick, soaked in his own cum and pressed back to my entrance. I feel raw, a little too fucked out, his roughness not something my body’s used to, not that it’s bad, just not what I expected out of tonight. “Fuck, say yes, let me inside, you’re letting it out, wasting it…” He looks sad, staring down at my leaking hole with a forlorn expression.

“Take what you need, yeah?” He groans, eyes flitting up to my face as he presses back inside, his eyes barely open, face flushed, black veins covering the entirety of his skin. “Just- take this off.” I tug on his shirt, and he whips it over his head, pulling out to shuffle his pants and underwear the rest of the way off, pressing back inside and pushing my legs up toward my stomach, a hand on the back of each of my thighs, his dick seated deep, pushing painfully into my cervix and making me groan.

“Fuck, that’s so good, gonna-hah- have to let me a little deeper, need my dick stuck inside, cum so-shit- deep in your perfect fucking-” He cuts himself off, setting a fast pace, slamming into me so hard it brings tears to my eyes, his upper body leaning over me, pressing my thighs into my stomach. “I love you, fuck, love you, wanna make you cum again, be good, I’ll be good, make you cum on my dick, suck me dry, god…” He’s crying, overwhelmed tears streaming down his cheeks, nearly drooling, messy, whining and hammering into me, his nails digging into my skin making me moan, too fucked out to differentiate pain from pleasure, just focused on the heat of him, the full feeling he’s giving me, the swollen base of his dick nudging at my hole.

“Leon- what-?”

“ ‘s okay, it’ll-ah- feel good, don’t worry baby, shit-” I feel another orgasm on its way, a dull pleasure, my body too overstimulated to feel it properly. He’s barely keeping himself together, whining and rutting into me, desperate thrusts almost animal-like, all instinct, his mouth sucking at the bloody skin of my neck. “You’re gonna cum… Gonna push it in, you can take it, fuck, take all of me, need you to. Give it to me, keep feeling good, let me show you what a good-ah- boyfriend- shit- Gonna cum, c’mon baby, give it to me, please, need it, need you so bad, you’re so close, want you to- fuck- yes, yes-” He shoves himself inside, all the way, the stretch making me groan and writhe, but I can’t escape him, he’s stuck inside, held there by the swollen base of his dick.

“Shit, hurts, fucking hurts-”

“Sorry, shit, sorry baby. I’m so fucking sorry, needed to, I’ll fix it, I’ll- ah- Let me…” He rubs my clit, giving my hazy brain something to focus on other than his dick emptying into me a third time, the feeling of warm liquid filling what space is left inside making me release a dazed moan, his own groan low and guttural, the sound turning into a soft whimper when he grinds into me, making me groan and shake, his fingers steady on my clit, forcing me into another orgasm as he moves against me, not able to do much other than grind, his dick seated deep inside. “My god, feels so fucking good, stuck inside you like this, your perfect fucking pussy clamped down on me…” He moans, lifting up onto his elbows to look at me, probably entirely fucked, messy, out of it from four orgasms. “So pretty… You like this? Looks like it…” He kisses me, grinding, the stretch slowly becoming less painful, my body used to his new size.

“No more?” I don’t really have it in me to speak properly, exhausted now that the excitement’s died down and he’s not slamming into me like a damn dog. He sighs, happy, kissing my forehead before sitting up, the shift in position making us both groan, his head shaking lightly side to side. “How long until..?” He looks at me, coming down from his needy haze, the veins slowly disappearing, leaving him my Leon, apart from the new addition to his dick.

“Don’t know… I’m sorry, princess, I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me-”

“It’s fine, Leon… Interesting gift they gave you, huh?”

#re smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #re4 leon #leon s kennedy #smut #las plagas

69 notes · View notes

ofstoriesandstardust · 2 years ago

Text

winner takes all

or: How Ice became Rebel’s godfather

like father, like daughter masterlist

warnings: this takes place during the brief time Ice and Mav worked at Top Gun together, a little angsty, Mav doubts if he’s good enough for his daughter but it’s brief, icemav if you squint because i’ve got an agenda

word count: 1.3k

He raps on the door of his co-instructor’s office. "Ice.”

The blond lifts his head from the paperwork he’s looking over, grinning when he sees him. “Hey Mitchell. Headed out for the day?”

He nods, taking a tentative step into the room. “Yeah, I just had a quick question for you about my kiddo.”

Ice chuckles, putting his pen into the holder on the desk. “How’s she doing?”

Maverick shrugs. “Pretty good. Lost her first tooth yesterday, so we got a visit from the tooth fairy last night.”

“Good for the little rascal. Well, what’s your question?”

“Do you want- Well, would you- Would you be her godfather?”

He finds himself unable to keep Ice’s eyes, falling to the clock behind him as it falls silent in the room. The longer Ice takes to respond, each second ticking by, he scrambles to pull himself together, to apologize for asking, to forget about it-

“What would she need a godfather for? She’s got you.” Ice says, standing up from his desk. He shrugs, averting his gaze to the floor.

“You know, I just- I just want to know that if something happens to me-”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Ice says firmly, a finality in his tone he usually can’t argue with.

He continues on like Ice didn’t say anything. “-and I don’t come back down, she’s got someone on the ground to take care of her and I can’t really put that kind of ask on Carole, not after-” He stops, swallowing. “Well, she loves you anyways, so you felt like the obvious choice.”

“Where’s her mother? She shouldn’t she be around for this kind of thing?” He says with a wave of his hand.

That earns Ice his gaze, scowling as he raises his head. “I hope Natalie never comes back into the picture, because if she does it’s going to be because she’s trying to take my daughter from me.”

Ice is silent again and Maverick watches the minutes tick by, growing more uncomfortable with the time that passes every second.

“Look, don’t feel pressured to say yes or anything, you don’t even have to- to think about it.” He pauses as his eyes flicker back to Ice, the tall man frowning. “Actually, forget I asked.”

The doorbell rings.

“Brad, that’s Ice, would you go grab it?” He asks, the vegetables sizzling on the stove. The boy nods, slipping off the chair, Hardy Boys book in hand. It’s only a few more minutes before Ice appears in the kitchen doorway, Bradley’s nose still tucked into his book.

“Guess, I’m not worth saying hi to anymore.” He chuckles.

Maverick shakes his head. “Don’t mind him, he’s had his head in that thing since we left the library this afternoon.”

“Uncle Icee!” His kid screeches and Ice turns, barely catching the toddler barricading into his knee. Ice reaches down, picking her up as a wide grin spreads across his face.

“Hi kiddo. You’re awfully dirty.” He glances up from the food on the stove to see his kid covered in dirt. Her hands, which look oddly sticky, make messy work of pushing her hair out of her face.

“Playing pirate outside with Batman.” He hears the dog in question come in through the sliding glass door of the Bradshaw home, Carole following. She appears in the kitchen doorway a moment later.

“Hi Tom.” She says, offering him a warm smile.

“Hi Carole. How are you?”

“Good. Mav, you're burning the broccoli. Move.” She grabs the spatula out of his hand, nudging him away from the stove and he follows, leaning up against the opposite countertop as Ice watches his kid chatter excitedly, an enthusiastic smile on his face he nods along.

As Carole finishes the food, his daughter tugs Ice to the table, demanding he sit right next to her.

He quietly observes the way Ice goes willingly, the way Ice listens to everything she has to say, and even eats the broccoli off her plate so she doesn’t have to.

“He give you an answer yet?” Carole whispers as they watch their kids help Ice clean up dinner, Ice insisting he do the dishes since they cooked for him.

He shakes his head. “I wish he would. He’d be good for her.”

Carole sighs, looking at him. “Not any better than you are for her, Mav.” He shrugs and Carole sighs again. “Oh c’mon Mav, that girl loves you and she would be lost without you.”

He tilts his head, conceding to her words. “She needs someone who can look after her and I can’t give her that. You know I don’t want to stay at Miramar-”

“Mom! Can we have a sleepover?” Bradley asks as Ice lifts him up to sit on the counter next to his daughter. “Please! Tt’s Saturday and I want to stay up watching Scooby Doo cartons.”

Carole shrugs. “Up to Mav.”

He sighs, shooting the woman a glare. “Why do I have to be the bad guy?”

“Dad!” His daughter whines, pouting. He sighs as Ice chuckles, all knowing he folds anytime she makes those eyes at him.

“Honey, you’re filthy.”

She shrugs. “So?”

“So I’m not going to let you dirty up Carole’s house. Plus, I’m sure Ice wants to get out here.”

“Don’t drag me into this Mitchell.” Ice says, pointing a soapy fork at him.

“How about this? We go home and get you a bath and next Saturday you and Brad can have a sleepover then?”

His daughter sighs, crossing her arms. “Fineee.”

There’s a sharp knock on his office door. “Mitchell.”

He glances up from the box he’s packing. “Hey Ice.”

“Hear you’re leaving.”

He shrugs, avoiding eye contact with the man. “You know how it is, head in the clouds, all that.”

“I’ll do it.”

He pauses, toy airplane Bradley had given him sitting heavy in his hand. “Do what?”

“I’ll be her godfather.”

He shakes his head, setting the plane down in the box. “You don’t gotta do that just cause I’m leaving Ice. She’s in good hands, Carole’s watching her. Bradley’s thrilled.”

“You’re right that she needs someone on the ground looking out for her.”

He shrugs, setting the lid on top of the box. “It’s still a huge ask. I shouldn’t have asked that of you.”

“Do you not want me to be her godfather?” Ice says with a frown.

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes remaining on the wooden desk. Finally, he sighs. “You’re good for her Ice. And she loves you so much.”

“Maverick, I adore your daughter and I have ever since she dubbed me Uncle Icee at Goose’s funeral.” Ice takes a tentative step into the room. “But I am not her father and I would never take that from you.”

“I know.”

Because he does, knows Ice loves his kid, loves Bradley, but he would never overstep.

But sometimes he wishes he would. Overstep, fight him for his daughter, because Lord knows Ice could give everything he can’t to his daughter.

“Maverick, raising a kid isn’t just about being the best parent all of time. It's about doing right by your kids, making sure they’re growing up happy and loved and safe.” Ice takes another step closer to him. “Is she happy?”

“She is.”

“Is she safe?”

“Of course.”

“Is she loved?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then you’re doing enough for your kid.”

He gives the man a watery chuckle. “When’d you get so smart about all this parenting shit, huh?”

Ice claps him on the back. “Gotta stay single to impart all my wisdom on to you.” Ice sighs, his hand falling from his back. “I’ll be her godfather on the condition that you do right by your kid in always coming home.” Ice fixes him with a stare. “Your daughter deserves to grow up with her father. Don’t lose yourself so much up there that you don’t come back down here.”

Ice’s words stay with him the rest of his life.

#pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic #like father like daughter

254 notes · View notes

thatonegirlonhere · 2 years ago

Text

Bartender Bakugo pt 2

Prt 1 ⬇️

:read more:

After about an hour of you two falling in and out of sleep Bakugo climbed out of bed and looked down at your still sleeping self smiling. He walked to the kitchen and started dicing up some chives, tomatoes, and onions. Throwing them into the beaten eggs before tossing it into a pan to make the worlds fluffiest omelet. You wake up in his empty bed confused but then you came into reality with the fresh scent of omelets flowing through the house. You followed your nose out of the bedroom and to the kitchen to see katsuki standing over the stove in a cliché ‘kiss the cook’ apron. “Mornin' princess, omelets? Not that you have a choice, both are almost done so….” “An omelet sounds really good right now” you say smiling. He passes you your plate and he sits down next to you. “Thanks for the food” You say in unison as you both take a bite. “Dude, a mixologist and chef? Crazy. What else can you do?” “We’ll see last night was you first time with me so I went easy on you and-“ you cut him off “NOT WHAT I MEANT KATSUKI” he smirked. This boy really does have a dirty mind. I met this man at a bar, we went back to his house, we fucked, and now I’m in his kitchen eating omelettes with him cracking jokes like a damn married couple. What the hell is going on. His phone began to ring. “Who the Fuck is calling me right now” he groaned picking up his phone. “God dammit” he scowled as he answered. “What the fuck do you want nerd- NO YOU CANT COME OVER- NO I DONT CARE IF SHITTY HAIR WANTS TO COME TOO NONE OF YOU ARE COMING TO MY DAMN HOUSE IM BUSY” katsuki was practically screaming into his phone before abruptly hanging up. “Stupid fucking deku” he grumbled putting his phone back down. You were trying to hold back your laughter but couldn’t help it as you bursted out laughing. “What’s so funny princess?” He said watching nearly fall out of your chair. “YOU- YOU JUST WENT FROM FUCKIN MR. COOL GUY OVER HERE TO SCREAMING AT SOMEONE ON THE PHONE FOR ASKING TO COME OVER I JUST- I CANT- YOU SWITCHED UP SO FAST!” You shouted laughing. “Shut up crazy woman, you don’t know what you’re talking about that guy deku is just so damn annoying” you could see katsuki trying to hold back a smile. “Such a hot head- its adorable” you say finally getting ahold of yourself. Bakugo turned beet red. “Hey! I am NOT adorable!” You smirked “You totally are” you stood up “you’re like a little Pomeranian” he stood up and you ran off with him chasing you. “AN ADORABLE LITTLE POMERANIAN” you shouted as he chased you. He caught up pretty quickly and scooped you up tossing you onto the couch. As he hovered over you he whispered. “Pomeranians bite ankles, I bite everywhere else” he said and you looked up at him, blushing as he towered over you. “Still think I’m adorable, pretty girl?” “I do, yes” you say smiling and nodding your head. “Tch, I’ll show you adorable” and right as he was about to kiss you a loud ass doorbell rings through the house. “What the FUCK” he groaned and got up. You heard bakugo mutter ineligible words of annoyance as he made his way to the front door as you sat on his couch giggling. “I wonder what he ordered” you think assuming that it was just a package delivery until you hear a voice “yo waddup Bakubro!” You immediately shrink into the shirt katsuki gave you to wear as you social anxiety immediately hit you. You didn’t have any makeup on, you weren’t in your regular cute clothes, your hair was probably a wreck. “Get out of here shitty hair” you could hear katsuki grumble. “No way man, I havnt seen you in like a week and we both know if I listened when you said no the gang would never be able to hang out.” “Come on kacchan it’ll be fun let’s watch a movie or something.” THERES MORE THAN ONE?? You thought as you shrunk deeper. Another voice pops up. “Yeah kacchan~ we never hang out anymore, you just do your stupid bartending gig. And keep to yourself. You never go out, you never hook up with girls like kirishima and I-“ “AYE I DIDNT SAY YOU COULD COME IN”

all of a sudden all the talking stops as 3 guys and one very angry katsuki bakugo are standing staring at you. “Yo bros are you seeing what I’m seeing- Bakugo actually has a girl over?” The one with spiked red hair not much different from bakugos asked. “I’m seeing it, and a pretty one at that” the one with yellow hair stepped forward. “Hey darling I’m kaminari what’s your name?” You start to breathe a bit heavy being overwhelmed. You’re picking at the fabric of the shorts in an effort to distract yourself and calm down and trying to avoid eye contact. Total fear taking in, your eyes start to well up. You’ve always been fine talking to people but only when you know it’s coming. Like at work you know you have to talk to parents at drop off and at pickup so you are able to prepare yourself. But currently you feel so exposed, like a deer in headlights. “Guys, leave her alone, she looks terrified” the boy with the green hair says calmly flashing you a smile in an attempt at reassurance. Bakugo can see everything going on. He can see the silent plead for help as you look at him tears threatening to fall. You are completely different from the girl he talked to last night and all morning. “Yo she’s wearing kacchans clothes! Did you guys fuck?!” The boy you now know as kaminari shouts excitedly. You wanted to get up and run away, you wanted to run and hide in the bathroom, you wanted to hide in bakugos shirt, you wanted to be in your bed under the covers safe and sound. You wanted to be anywhere but the position you are in right now. “Everybody leave. Now.” The vibe bakugo gave off when he said those lines made everyone pause. He was genuinely angry. Not his regular yelling and barking orders that you could tell his friends got their fair share of. This was a true moment of ‘fuck around and find out’ the room was silent. You were shaking. Near hyperventilating. The boys paused. And looked at bakugo. “Let’s go guys” The one with the red hair said. As they all shuffled out. Katsuki followed behind and once the door finally shut you broke into a full on sob. Why was kaminari so forward. Why was the green haired one staring at me for so long before even saying anything. Why did this have to be the first impression. Why did katsuki have to see me like this. I never let people see me like this. All the different thoughts were racing through your head. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst. Then all of a sudden a hand fell gently on your shoulder and you jumped at the touch. You turn to see katsuki standing here looking down at you. You scurried away. “No, no I’m sorry, I embarrassed you in front of your friends, I’m sorry I’m so sorry” you pleaded in apologies.

“Y/n”

“Im so sorry bakugo I’ll leave, I won’t go to the bar I’ll give you back the clothes I-“

“y/n”

“I should’ve like hid in the bathroom the second I heard the other people I couldn’t move I’m sorry- I-“

“Y/N LISTEN TO ME”

Katsuki shouted and you fell silent

He walked over to you and picked you up off the floor. “I’m sorry, I should’ve closed the door the second I saw it was them, I should’ve told them that I had someone over, you didn’t do anything wrong and I don’t want you to go” he wiped your tears away with his thumbs and you looked up at him. “I’m sorry I’m not as cool as you thought I was” he was shocked. “Shut up crazy woman, you’re still just as cool as before. Still just as hot, still just as funny, still just as sweet, you got anxious. It happens.” “Any normal person wouldn’t stiff up an introduced themselves but I sat there shaking” you said with your head resting in his shoulder as he carried you back over to the couch “normal is boring”.

ANYWAYS HERES PART 2 I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE TO GO FROM HERE SO LIKE HELP GIVE ME IDEAS.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo #bakugou x female reader #bakugo smut #anime #my hero academia #boku no hero acedamia #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader smut

98 notes · View notes

p0ssywhippedcream · 2 years ago

Text

Piper is an amazing cook, and she loves to cook for you. To see your stuffed cheeks, pursed lips curve at the ends as you praise its greatness in nods and groans. She likes to take care of you and sometimes, she doesn’t know how. She can’t solve all your issues, even though she’d like to and there are days when the best she can do is sit you down and toss you a plate of the best vegetarian pasta you’ve ever had.

She refuses to let you cook with her though. You tried it a couple times but she got intensely frustrated when you accidentally stood in the way of where her spatula sat when she needed to flip the beyond burgers.

When you moved and handed it to her, she kissed your forehead hurriedly and then patted your waist, sending you in the direction of the door with an “I love you, babe, but you need to go.”

The most she’ll let you do now is sit on the counter opposite the stoves and since her kitchen is huge, it leaves enough room for you to swing your legs and watch her dreamily as she rushes about.

You prop yourself up, tucking your feet in the cabinet handles underneath you as she pops open the garlic and sprinkles the pan.

“So anyways,” You continue, encouraged by the nod and grin she throws over her shoulder at you, “I assumed that it meant I could leave, so I did! And now she’s texting me, telling me it was disrespectful!!”

“Babe, she’s not worth your time.” Piper shakes her head, licking salt off her pinky and reaching for the chili powder.

“I know, I know.” You sigh, drawing little hearts in the marble beneath you, “I just wish people were more clear with what they mean! How am I supposed to know that when you say ‘You can leave if you’d like’ means ‘I don’t want you to leave but I’m too scared to say that’?!”

Piper chuckles as she turns down the heat and takes a detour over to you, trapping you between two hands on the counter. “Well, I hope you know what I mean when I say I love you.”

You giggle and wrap your arms around her neck, feeling the sweat from working in a hot kitchen tickle your fingers as you peck her lips.

“You don’t have to say it, I can tell.”

“Yeah?” She returns your kiss with much more gusto, leaving your mouth pink and moisturized from her chapstick, “How, pray tell?”

“Baby,” You laugh, “You just spent an hour making my favorite soup because I told you I was upset. If that’s not love, I dunno what is.”

Piper breaks out in a grin that compliments her rosy cheeks well. She doesn’t have enough words to describe her care for you so she simply cups your cheeks and macks on you with a sloppy smooch that leaves you a giggling mess when she retreats to the stovetop.

She stirs it one last time before reaching for a bowl and pouring her love in. She garnishes it with mint leaves and slips a spoon in, handing it to you with a kiss and directions to go sit down.

You nod and pad away to the living room, switching on the show you’ve been binging together and blowing cool air on a scoop of pure yum.

You hear Piper clanging around in the kitchen as she puts away ingredients and washes dirtied dishes, a slight pep in her step when she hears you humming your content as you munch away happily.

She finishes quickly and grabs for herself a bowl before following in your steps and plopping down besides you on the couch, taking care to tip her bowl up as to not spill.

You collapse into her side with a happy sigh, spooning a bite into your mouth as you watch her taste her creation. She nods, concentration evident as she presses the food to the top of her mouth with her tongue and drinks in the flavor. Swallowing, she sets her bowl in her lap and whips out her phone, mumbling as she jots down changes to the recipe to make it better.

You smile and she catches your adoring look when she puts her phone away again, blushing at the obvious affection in your gaze.

“It’s good,” You reassure her, leaving a kiss painted with broth on her cheek, “It’s really good, I love it. Thank you.”

Her smile spreads from ear to ear and squints her eyes, breathing in your shampoo as you rest your head on her shoulder. “Anytime. I love you.”

She can feel a matching look grow on your face as you say, “I love you too.”

You stretch your fingers out for the remote, clicking play on the TV and stuffing your mouth full again as the episode begins.

Piper watches you out of the corner of her eye. Every time you take a bite, your expression flutters a bit as you savor it. She never sees that reaction with anyone else’s food and always makes her feel like her love is welcome, not matter the trouble or struggles that come with it.

You pause eating to press a long kiss to the corner of her mouth, once again spewing praises and affirming it’s exactly what you needed.

And when you pull away to tell her you love her again, she feels it in her heart as she knows you feel it in your belly.

71 notes · View notes

grimmjowkurosakidrake · 9 months ago

Text

In a night or in a day, in a vision or in none

1/2: Dreams

Rating: T

Fandom:The Walking Dead (TV)

Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier, Daryl Dixon & Merle DixonCharacters: Carol Peletier, Daryl Dixon, Merle Dixon

For a small Caryl bingo

Summary:

On his dirty couch, Daryl closes his eyes and opens them immediately after. A cloudy haze around the edges of reality telling him that he’s dreaming.

Daryl is six the morning his big brother declares, with his derisive and booming voice. “My soulmate is a little bitch.” Casually, as he drinks a morning beer even when he has to go to school with Daryl at the back of his bike, in just a few hours. Their dad hasn’t been home for almost three weeks and even if he were here, he wouldn’t take Daryl to school and Daryl wouldn’t want him to, either.

Daryl wants to tell him that he shouldn’t call girls names like bitch and cunt or whore, because they don’t like that, sometimes they get angry and will call you names back or even hit you, but other times, they get sad enough to even cry, and that is worse.

Daryl, with all his little boy bravado, also wants to tell him to stop drinking so early in the morning if he’s planning on driving his baby brother to school at the back of his bike. Instead, he takes a healthy sip of the sweet milk his big brother warmed for him over the stove, generously adding some cinnamon and honey and asks, very quietly. “Why?”

Without even looking at him, Merle asks, “why what, little brother?” before scowling at him and ordering to eat his eggs because he’s just too fucking skinny.

Gathering all his courage, Daryl takes one long sip of his milk and helps himself to a big bite of eggs on bread before elaborating. “Why is she a bitch?”

Hearing his small, clearly scandalized tone of voice, Merle laughs at him with gusto, hitting him on the back and calling him a bitch for worrying about his own language. “She’s a bitch because tonight she was dreaming about a trip to fucking Disneyland.” He growls then, suddenly resentful. “Asking me to get on one of those stupid rides. Can you imagine, little bro? Here I am, working my ass off at the night shift on a fucking bar at fifteen to put milk on your sippy-fucking-cup and eggs on your bread and she’s dreaming about stupid Disneyland trips. What do you say. Isn’t she a bitch?” He ends up his tirade, pointedly looking at him.

Feeling the warmth of the definitely-not-a-sippy-cup on his hands, and watching at the black bangs under his brother’s eyes, at the tense rictus of his already wrinkled face, Daryl gulps loudly and nods enthusiastically “Yeah!” He agrees. “She’s a bitch and she doesn’t deserve you!”

Witch ends up being the right answer, because Merle regales him with the biggest smile, he’s ever seen on him without the help of some kind of drug. “Fuck yeah, baby brother!” Whoops the elder Dixon with a big, manic grin brightening his tired features. “We Dixons don’t need fucking soulmates.”

Daryl cheers him on, even when Merle reaches for his second beer of the day, looking up at him with bright blue, grateful eyes. Dixons don’t need soulmates, even if Daryl really wants to meet his.

Daryl is fifteen and just started living with Merle now that he’s back from the army and more or less ready to take onto the responsibility of caring for his teenager little brother instead of their alcoholic, abusive father.

Daryl is fifteen and he doesn’t really own a bed on the trailer his brother could afford after losing their family home on a fire that also costed them their mother and sanity while being dishonorably discharged from the army, with no pension to speak of and the mechanic’s assistant job his dirty name allowed him to get when he finally decided to start working.

The couch is lumpy, old and it smells like someone died there. Someone probably did, Daryl doesn’t know. But what he does know is that he’d at least seen Merle getting head on that couch maybe two or three times while coming back home from school early, there are even some suspicious stains on the damn thing to prove that not even the place where his underage brother sleeps is sacred to Merle when he wants to get off. It’s disgusting, but it’s better than going to sleep with bruises on his face and an aching, bleeding back from his father’s belt.

At lest now he can easily fall asleep.

Now, on his dirty couch, Daryl closes his eyes and opens them immediately after. A cloudy haze around the edges of reality telling him that he’s dreaming.

There’s music on the background, the old kind, with the melodious voice of a lady singing in a language Daryl doesn’t recognize. It’s nice, much nicer than the music Merle likes to blast way too early in the morning; the kind of music that speaks about fucking easy women or about being a man by the standards of men who are just like Merle but never like Daryl.

He’s dreaming of a little yellow room, illuminated by a big, floor-length window, decorated by long, silky, soft looking pink curtains. He’s resting on a small, single bed, full of soft pillows, at least five more than he owns for his raggedy coach.

Under the window, sitting by a sewing machine, two women laugh as they work some fabric.

An older lady, dressed in a dark green, vintage looking dress, smiles as she retires her long, silver curls from her face and reveals her warm, blue eyes, completely fixated on the fabric under her fragile hands. By her side, a teenage girl, laughs as her bare legs pedal away on the old sewing machine. She’s dressed on really cute high-waisted yellow shorts under a cropped pink hoodie, her red curls are all over her face and she doesn’t bother to move them away from her youthful face like her older companion. Even so, Daryl can still see her beautiful blue eyes, can still see how big she smiles.

When the girl sets her eyes on him and the world spins a little around them, Daryl knows, that this is his soulmate. This isn’t just a dream he’s having about a beautiful, older girl that seems to come directly from his deepest fantasies.

This, for the first time is what fairy tales had been promising for years, is what his brother had been warning him about ever since Merle himself turned fifteen and called his own soulmate a bitch for the first time.

“Hi.” She smiles, getting up from her seat, completely ignoring the woman beside her and instead focusing wholly on him. Daryl gives the old woman on the sewing machine one fast glance to see her frozen in time and then tries to focus on the girl who’s smiling right at him.

It’s difficult, it’s really hard, because he doesn’t know where he should set his eyes on when he’s looking at her; There’s the legs, the long and creamy expanse of her bare legs as she walks up to him, and with a sudden burst of heath warming his entire face, Daryl realizes that she’s probably taller than he is, maybe even older; There’s the small expanse of her bare stomach in between the high-waisted shorts and the cropped hoodie, skinny and firm, not much of a curve there, she’s more skinny than curvy and Daryl finds himself surprised by how much he likes that, because when talking about women and their assets, Merle always talks about how good and how sexy a nice set of big tits are, paired with a round ass and a tight, narrow waist to hold onto. This girl doesn’t have much of a waist to speak of, and Daryl is not brave enough to look at her ass or her tits, even so, the way her clothes fit her is cute, is nice, he can imagine holding her close by that small naked space in between her shorts and her hoodie.

There’s the bouncy hair, her crazy red hair; There’s her smile, the way it curves in amusement at the sight of his stuttering self, with the smallest hint of pink gloss making her lips shine in a pink hue and Daryl can’t help but wonder if she uses the flavored kind, if her lips maybe taste like strawberry.

Then there’s the eyes, bluer than the sky and more turbulent than the sea, with a cat-like air around them, just by the way the light catches on her pupils to make them look just that little bit slimmer, like two black, small, diamond shaped stars in the middle of a cloudy day-sky.

He decides to focus on that, when she sits by him on the bed, uncomfortably close, her naked knees touching his own.

“Hi!” She repeats, beaming up at him with curious eyes. Sitting closer, plastering herself to him, “I’m Carol. Can you tell me your name?” There’s mirth in the way her lips turn upwards, some amusement there, like she’s clearly entertained by the way she can make him choke up and bit his own tongue.

“Daryl,” he grumbles, low in the back of his throat like a growl. “Daryl Dixon.” He elaborates, almost daring her to look down on the name Dixon like everyone else he knows, even if she might not be aware about how much of dirty name it is.

She doesn’t look down on him, instead she grins, but this time when she smiles, it’s genuine instead of amused. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Daryl.” She explains, raising her hand up to his unruly, dirty hair. Daryl flinches and closes his eyes, every instinct inside of him telling him that she’s about to hurt him, instead, she runs her fingers through his hair in slow, soothing movements.

“Yeah?” He ventures, finally, looking up at her, enjoying the ghost feeling of her fingers on his scalp, almost like she’s not touching him, so much different than any touch he’s ever known. He’s dreaming, he rationalizes, she’s not really touching him. This is a safe space, in between the fragments of their imagination and the reality of the union of their souls.

“Yeah.” She smiles, tentatively kissing his temple, the sudden smell of strawberry scent assaulting his senses.

Daryl allows himself to relax, to melt into her touch, his head resting on her slim shoulders. “Been waiting too.” He finally confesses, even to himself. He’s been waiting on the day he finally dreams of her, with her.

“I get it.” She says, her voice distant like an echo, her touch lukewarm, feather-like.

Distant, every movement feeling like she's disappearing.

Daryl closes his eyes with a satisfied sigh and opens them again to the sight of the trailer’s dirty ceiling; Under him, he feels the hard sensation of his lumpy couch; Around him, he can smell the scent of stale beer, burnt oil and some smells he doesn’t even want to start to try and decipher; He can hear his brother’s music, screaming about what it takes to be man.

When he turns into his side, he can see a passed-out woman sleeping on the floor, the sight of her bare breasts burning into his brain.

Daryl guesses that Carol, just like him might be waking up. Except that she's waking up on her soft bed, in her clean, beautifully decorated, yellow room, maybe with the warm feeling of the first rays of sunshine touching her face from her large, carefully decorated windows. She probably will have her breakfast ready for her, maybe from the hands of the old lady on the sewing machine.

Her morning is probably going to be nice; her entire day is probably going to be easy, maybe she’s going to school, maybe she’s already on vacation. Carol has it easy, unlike him, who has to go to work immediately after school, who has to wake up the naked woman on the floor and ask her lo leave, who has to go out hunting because there’s nothing to eat on the mini fridge except for Merle’s beer.

Startling himself, Daryl realizes that he doesn’t feel resentful like Merle did all those years ago, he doesn’t feel the need to call Carol a little bitch, or to compare his life to hers, instead, he notices that he’s glad.

He hopes that she’s having a nice morning, that her stomach is full and that she’s smiling, wherever she is, Daryl hopes that she’s comfortable, safe and happy.

#twd daryl #caryl #fanfiction #twd caryl #twd carol #twd fanfiction

10 notes · View notes

raikasueta · 1 year ago

Text

CW: child abuse, capslock, explicit vocabulary, a little misogyny??

So why I don’t blame Noatak for leaving his brother?

Yeah, Tarrlok. Your mother didn’t know you guys were learning how to bloodbend. I trust you on this one. But you cannot tell me she didn’t know yakone made you practice “out in the cold all night until you get it right”. She lives literally in the same house. No, my sweet summer child. Your mother did know abuse was happening. She experienced it too, most likely. I believe that. And I also believe that yakone beat the shit outta her and the brothers, physically. She simply didn’t OR couldn’t do anything. Yeah. I know, I know, stupid ass water tribe traditions. Women respect men, men beat women, men stronk clever, women stupit weak. Oh, and she loved him, yeah? WELL KATARA WENT AND FUCKED THOSE TRADITIONS SEVENTY YEARS AGO. SHE SPOKE UP AND MADE THE WATERBENDING MISOGYNIST MASTER RESPECT HER.

Yes, this lady (I call her Taira) loved her kids. But she also was scared of her husband or cared for him and those stupid traditions more.

Imagine this: you and two of your friends have your hands pressed onto a heated stove. Your hands are burning the fuck off. You lift your hand up. And then your other friend, who experiences the same kind of pain, tells you to press it back together BECAUSE YOUR THIRD FRIEND IS OKAY WITH THEIR HAND BEING BURNED THE FUCK OFF. You cannot just leave them. Why? Well, because they’re your friend.

Dear Tarrlok. If your mother knows you’re in pain and is in the same kind of pain but doesn’t go for anything to make it stop, SHE DOESN’T CARE FOR YOU. Noatak, being a 14 yo edgy ass, left. And lived. Alone. IN A FUCKING BLIZZARD. You think the three of you, two being master waterbenders and bloodbenders at the time, couldn’t do the same thing? Noatak beat the shit out of Yakone alone. By that time you three could pack your stuff together and go on a hiking trip through the whole Pole.

And not in any case I’m trying to victimblame their mother. She’s nice. At least she seems to be. Yakone is the main problem, he’s the bitchest bitch. It’s just Bryke did the whole story dirty, making it extremely difficult to sympathise with literally anyone. Thank you for joining my Ted Talk.

#tlok #legend of korra #noatak #tarrlok

30 notes · View notes

realityjoey · 8 months ago

Text

MANLY WHATNOTS (1.4)

COLOUR KEY.

RED = lust / hot / tension / desire / dirty / overprotective

ORANGE = family / friends moments

GREEN = anger / jealousy / hatred

BLUE = sad / denial / confusion / isolation

PURPLE = romantic / cute / they’re so in love / caring

PINK = funny / sarcasm

A few days later, Joey was taking a morning shower before work. She was soaking in the comforting hot water, causing the whole bathroom to steam up. She had been in the shower longer than usual as her mind wouldn’t switch off from returning to the memory of being shot— as well as filling with confusion whenever she thought about Lucifer and all of the happenings that have occurred that she has failed to find an explanation to.

Interrupting Joey’s train of overwhelming thoughts, she’s snapped back to reality when she hears a clatter from downstairs. Naturally, Joey instantly switches off the shower, the water coming to a halt. She wraps a towel around her body, picking up her gun which she’d left on top of the toilet seat. She never lets it leave her side (that’s paranoia for you).

Joey then slowly and quietly tip toed out of the bathroom, pointing her gun in front of her as she creeps downstairs. She doesn’t see anything as she walks into the main room, although she notices there happens to be food cooking on the stove.

Joey furrows her eyebrows— she hadn’t made any food. Suddenly, she hears a thump come from the other side of the room. She spins around, flinching when she sees Lucifer. “Lucifer?” She gasps, accidentally dropping her towel to a pool at her feet in the fast movement spinning around.

Lucifer’s breath hitches in his throat at the site of a very naked Joey. “Well, good morning, Detective.” He checks her out, placing his hands in his trouser pockets, taking a step closer to her.

Joey’s mind eventually switches back on, as she hurriedly grabs the towel from the floor, re-covering herself, slightly embarrassed.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Joey asks, pissed off.

“Setting the table.” Lucifer smiles, indicating to the neatly presented table.

“You broke into my house?” Joey states.

“Yes, well, I hope you don’t mind but I made a little brekkie. You were taking forever in the shower.” He explains, walking over to the frying pan, holding the handle. “What do you do in there?” He asks suggestively, looking her up and down.

“You are unbelievable.” Joey tells him.

“Oh, thank you, but it’s you who should take the compliment. Really kept things up since Hot Tub High School, haven’t we?” Lucifer compliments. “Ding dong.” He checks her out again.

Joey sighs. “I want to shoot you.”

“Tease. Do it.” Lucifer quips. “I’m immortal, remember?” He reminds her. “Uh, do you have any truffle oil?” He asks.

“Lucifer, get out of my house now.” Joey instructs.

“We haven’t eaten yet.” Lucifer replies, as he searches the fridge.

“Out.” Joey stands her ground.

“Well, don’t we need to discuss the next case?” Lucifer suggests, finding any reason to be allowed to stay.

“There is no next case.” Joey says, taking the ingredients out of his hands, placing them on the table, grabbing his arm. “Out.”

Suddenly, the front door opens, entering Steve, Arlo, and Dev. “We’re already late, so let’s go.” Steve says, as Dev spots Lucifer.

“Lucifer!” Arlo shouts, running up to him, hugging his waist.

“Yeah..” Lucifer says awkwardly, flinching at the contact.

“What in God’s name is going on?” Steve asks, looking between Joey and Lucifer, an excited glint in his eyes.

“Nothing in his name. Here on my own, actually.” Lucifer replies, incapable of controlling his response when the big guy is mentioned.

“Did you and sissy have a sleepover?” Dev asks Lucifer, eyeing him up. Lucifer grins.

“No. No. Absolutely not, no.” Joey denies, looking at Steve. “What are you guys doing here anyway?” She changes subject.

“Arlo left his bird report here.” Steve answers.

“Want to see?” Arlo asks Lucifer, grabbing his hand, directing him to his room.

“Um, not really. Here, have a snack, child.” Lucifer offers, hovering a piece of bacon over Arlo’s head. Arlo grabs it.

“Are you sleeping with this guy?” Steve asks Joey, grinning.

“She hasn’t had the pleasure, unfortunately, no.” Lucifer answers, poking his head round Arlo’s bedroom door, expecting a bitter answer from whoever this Steve guy was— but he got the opposite.

“Well, it is very nice to meet you..” Steve says, walking up to Lucifer, holding a hand out for him to shake.

“Lucifer Morningstar.” Lucifer introduces, shaking Steve’s hand.

“Steve Mayberry.” Steve replies, smiling.

“It’s a pleasure.” Lucifer says, surprised at the warm welcome. “And you are Joey’s…” he whispers to Steve, confused at their dynamic.

“Let me see.” Steve says, thinking. “Part-time brother, part-time best friend, part-time guardian, part-time therapist. It’s complicated.”

“I see.” Lucifer nods, glad that they’re clearly platonically related.

“You never told me you were so close with such a ravishing gentleman, birdie.” Steve says, turning back to Joey who is glaring at him for multiple reasons.

“Keep your pants on, Mayberry.” Joey mumbles as Steve walks back over to her, Lucifer watching them with interest.

“And get yours off, girl.” Steve tells her, looking Lucifer up and down— who was very entertained at the way things had gone.

Suddenly, Arlo and Dev come running back out. Joey sighs, stressed out. “Okay, everybody out. Arlo and Dev have to get to school. I have to get to work. Come on, out, please.” She looks at Lucifer.

“No, no, no, no, no, you can’t throw me out again.” Lucifer argues.

“Again?” Steve’s eyebrows raise, another grin forming. “So this is a habit?” He questions, excitedly.

“Yes, shocking isn’t it?” Lucifer nods.

“No.” Joey shakes her head.

“Never been thrown out of anywhere before in my life.” Lucifer says, appalled. “Well, except for Heaven, of course.”

“You know what?” Steve says, looking at Lucifer. “To make up for little miss grumpy’s behaviour… take my number.” Steve says, handing him a piece of paper. “We’ll arrange something. A dinner, perhaps?” He suggests. “Hopefully Joey’s rude breakfast manners will have calmed by dinner time. She gets a little cranky in the mornings.” He whispers the last part to Lucifer, knowing Joey can still hear him.

Joey goes to protest against the idea, but Lucifer answers before she can say anything. “Oh, I would love to.” He grins. “I’ll leave you in peace for now, detective. But somebody please flip the omelette if it’s not already ruined.” He adds, leaving.

Once he’s left, Joey practically bursts. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“What do I think I’m doing? What do you think you’re doing?!” Steve retorts, “Turning down such a hunk like that.”

“Don’t say ‘hunk’.” Joey says, placing a palm to her face. “Steve—“

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” He interrupts. “You have a lot of explaining to do. Maybe at dinner with.. Mr. Morningstar.” He teases, winking. “Cmon, you two.” He shouts to Dev and Arlo, leaving.

After being kicked out, Lucifer had decided to visit Dr. Linda Martin. He storms into her office, seeing her. “Good. Right, you’re here. Um, I need to chat.”

“Lucifer, we don’t have an appointment.” Linda interrupts.

“Something very disturbing has just happened. It’s horrific, really.” He says, dramatically. “Uh, for the second time, I’ve been thrown out of a woman’s house.”

“Okay, sorry—“

“I mean, I’m starting to wonder if the detective has some sort of biological dysfunction.” Lucifer continues.

“Lucifer.” Linda says.

“Cause, I mean, I appeal to the virile urge in all women. Certainly, well, certainly you can attest to that, can’t you?” Lucifer says.

“Lucifer, stop.” Linda says.

“Yes, of course, sorry. Payment first.” He apologises, starting to unbutton his shirt.

“Uh, no. No, no, no, no, no. No! No!” Linda protests, placing a hand on his to stop him from continuing with the unbuttoning.

“Hmm?” Lucifer hums in confusion.

“Lucifer, this is George.” Linda says, looking at the patient on the sofa. Lucifer spins his head around, realising George has witnessed the whole thing. “George, Lucifer. Lucifer, George.” She introduces. George waves at Lucifer.

Lucifer chuckles. “Oops.”

Later on in the morning, Joey had gotten ready for work despite all the hassle, and was about to leave. She opens her front door, only to see Dan, fist in the air, about to knock.

“Dan, if you’re here to have a go at me..” Joey begins, knowing they’re going through a rough patch.

“No. I just got off the phone with the lieutenant. There’s a case.” He tells her. Joey lets Dan in, and he sits her down to explain things. A girl has gone missing. “Her name’s Lindsay Jolson. Just turned 22. She went missing catering a Players’ Club event.”

“Players’ Club?” Joey questions.

“It’s one of those sleazy pickup artist groups.” Dan tells her. “You know, that teach geeks how to be sex gods.”

“Got it.” Joey nods, grimacing.

“Lindsay was last seen talking to the lead scumbag.” Dan says, facing the ipad to Joey with a photo. “The founder, Carver Cruz.”

“So he was interrogated?” Joey asks.

“Yep, but his lawyer did all the talking.” Dan replies. “And with no proof, we’re stuck.” He says. “But, there’s a Players’ seminar and after-party today. And you need to go undercover.”

“Why me? I’m homicide.” Joey asks.

“Because you’re out best way in.” Dan tells her.

“I am?” Joey says.

“Apparently these events are pretty exclusive, and when I saw the guest list, I recognised one of the names.” He says, Joey furrowing her eyebrows. “I guess a lot of high-end club owners are invited.”

“Oh, come on.” Joey scoffs. Dan just looks at her. “No. You’re kidding.”

Dan chuckles. “I wish I was.”

“Lucifer’s on the list?” She asks.

“Yeah.” Dan nods.

“Yeah, of course he is.” Joey mumbles.

Dan sighs. “Look… the last thing I want is the guy who actively wants to sleep with my best friend’s — who trusted me to keep an eye on you— little sister spending more time with her. But…”

“This is the best option.” Joey finishes.

“I wouldn’t ask, but I just keep thinking, what if this was my daughter?” He says. “What if this was Devon?”

Lucifer had to wait for Linda to finish with George, although now, he’s able to voice his problem.

“The detective seems like a very lovely woman.” Linda says.

“Well, I suppose, but still, she’s human. Why is she able to refuse my charms?” Lucifer questions. “I mean, is this thing on?” He points up an down himself.

“Yes, yes. Definitely on.” Linda assures him. She then sighs, “It’s not that you’re afraid that you don’t have power over Joey. It’s that you’re afraid that she has power over you, but neither one is true.”

“No?” Lucifer questions.

“No. People don’t just have power over us. We give it to them. You have to take your power back.” She tells him.

“Right, go on.” Lucifer tells her, uncrossing his legs, leaning forward in curiosity.

“You say she’s nothing special, but I think you’ve put her on a pedestal.” Linda explains. “You need to really get to know her, flaws and all.” She chuckles. “From my brief meeting with her, and what you’ve told me, I’m sure she has some. So, demystify her by brining her back down to your own level.

“You’re right.” Lucifer smiles. “It’s not her, it’s me. I need to take back control. I need to behave like I always have.”

“Good. So you understand?” Linda double-checks, as Lucifer likes to twist her words sometimes.

“Yes. Yes.” Lucifer chuckles. “I mean, it seems obvious now, actually. I need to have sex with her.”

“Uh… no, uh, that’s not what I said.” Linda stutters, shocked— yet also not— that Lucifer has come up with another solution.

“No, no, no, you’re a genius.” Lucifer compliments. “I mean, that’s the best way to lose interest, right?” He says, standing up. “Thanks, love.” He kisses her cheek. “Payment next time, okay?” He tells her, rushing out of the room.

Later, Joey had easily convinced Lucifer to join her on the Lindsay Jolson case. They were walking through the streets of L.A while Joey debriefs the situation.

“Her name’s Lindsay Jolson.” Joey begins.

“Mm-hmm.” Lucifer nods, not paying attention.

“She’s been missing almost three full days.” Joey reads off the file, burying her head in it as they walk.

“Right, so just ask my one more time.” Lucifer requests.

“Lucifer, there’s a girl missing.” Joey scolds.

Lucifer chuckles. “Yes, it’s just not everyday that someone kicks you out of their house, then three hours later asks you on a date.” He shrugs, as they stop walking, having reached Joey’s parked car.

“It’s not a date. It’s a work thing.” Joey corrects.

“Oh?” Lucifer nods, pouting.

“And are you gonna help me or not?” She asks, fed up.

Lucifer checks her out. “Alright.” He agrees. “But only ‘cause it coincides perfectly with my own plan.” He smirks at her, leaning on the bonnet of the car.

“And what plan is that?” Joey asks.

“Well, to have sex with you, of course.” Lucifer replies boldly.

Joey’s jaw almost drops at his openness. She laughs (a little nervously). “Okay. Wait, you and I… well, there is no you and I.” She corrects herself. “There’s a professional situation, and I just need you—“

“See, you need me.” Lucifer interrupts.

“The department needs you, because you’re the one—“

“I’m the one?” Lucifer questions, placing a hand on his heart, smirking.

Joey starts getting irritated. “… on the list for the Player thing.” She eventually finishes off.

“You’re quite adorable when you’re flustered.” Lucifer flirts.

“I… I’m not flustered.” Joey denies. “I’m nauseous.”

“And now you’re blushing; I’d say I’m making headway.” Lucifer grins.

“Okay, look, let me make myself perfectly clear.” Joey begins, stepping closer to him, their faces dangerously close that Lucifer can’t resist but let his eyes wander down to her lips, before staring lustfully into her eyes. “I will never, ever, ever sleep with you. Never.” She states. “Okay? Got it?”

“Playing hard to get, I like it.” Lucifer replies.

“When Hell freezes over, Lucifer.” Joey says, walking away to get in the car.

“I can arrange that, actually.” He calls, remaining on the bonnet.

“Get in the car.” Joey tells him sternly, before she gets in the car.

Shortly afterwards, they arrive at the venue for the Players’ Club. As they walk through the entrance, they are greeted by multiple women wearing little to no clothes. “Well, hello.” Lucifer grins at them.

“Here you are, Mr. Morningstar.” A blonde woman says, placing Lucifer’s name card into his blazer pocket whilst running a hand down his chest.

“Well, thank you, lovely.” Lucifer replies.

Joey shakes her head. “And here’s something else you might need.” She adds, scribbling down her number on a slip of paper, placing it in his other pocket.

“Well, yes, that might come in handy.” Lucifer agrees. “Pardon the pun.” He says, as him and Joey walk away.

Just as they leave the blonde girl’s company, someone else is rushing towards them. “Did you just number close the name tag girl?” A random guy asks Lucifer, a mixture of impression and jealousy.

Lucifer pouts at him. “Use this wisely. You’re welcome.” He says, putting the slip of paper with the girl’s number in the other guys pocket who smiles gratefully.

“I can’t believe you.” Joey says as they walk away.

“Don’t worry, Detective. I’m more of a leg man myself.” He assures her, referring to the blonde girl who had her cleavage on display. “Soon as you say the word, you’ll have your turn.”

“Wow, you’ve never been rejected by a woman, have you?” Joey realises.

“No.” Lucifer replies. Joey shakes her head, laughing, when their attention is caught by somebody else.

“I want to talk to Carver Cruz!” A guy shouts, being denied entrance by the security guard.

“I need you to leave right now, sir.” The security guard tells him.

“Carver!” The guy yells. “Carver, can you hear me?!”

“It’s the missing girl’s brother.” Joey recognises him.

“What’d you do to my sister?!” Lindsay’s brother, Kevin shouts. “Get out here, you coward!” He says. Joey decides to rush over, Lucifer close behind.

“It’s okay. I got this. I know him.” She lies to the security guard.

“No, you don’t.” Kevin tells her.

“Look, I’m sorry. He has to leave the premises.” The security guard says.

“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary, officer.” Lucifer says. “Besides, isn’t this quite boring?” He leans forward. “I mean, there are several lovely ladies milling around out there. Which one do you desire?”

The security guard stares into Lucifer’s eyes. “You. I’m gay.” He answers.

“Oh!” Lucifer says, unexpectedly. “Right. Well, my dance card’s full with this one, I’m afraid.” Lucifer rejects him, looking at Joey. “But the odds are definitely in your favour out there. Probably not batting for the same team, but you never know.” He says, as they look around the room. “So go on, then. Go forth and conquer. I know you want to.”

“Yeah.” The security guard smiles, leaving to mingle.

“Right.” Lucifer nods. “Off you pop.”

“You’re Lindsay’s brother.” Joey says to Kevin.

“How’d you know that?” Kevin asks her.

“Because she’s a cop.” Lucifer answers.

“Great. Say that louder. I don’t think everyone heard you.” Joey says, sarcastically.

“Right. Sorry.” Lucifer starts whispering. “Yes, we’re here undercover to find out what happened to your sister.” He says, still whispering— obnoxiously.

“If you can help me, I’ll tell you what happened.” Kevin says. “Carver killed her.”

“Killed her? You sure about that?” Joey asks.

“No, but… look, I know my sister. She’s a good person. She’s sweet. She wouldn’t just run off. She’s not even from L.A. I’m all she has out here. She’s all I have.” Kevin explains.

“Kevin, I promise you, if anyone here hurt your sister, I’ll find them.” Joey promises.

“And I’ll punish them.” Lucifer adds. “Any method you prefer. Nice solid flogging. Get the ol’ swamp nuts in a vice, you know.”

“Okay. It’s time to go now.” Joey tells Kevin. “Let us handle this, and if we hear anything, we’ll be in touch.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Kevin whispers.

“Yeah.” Joey nods.

“We’ve got this.” Lucifer adds, patting Kevin’s shoulder.

Kevin then leaves, and Joey and Lucifer make their way to the main hall for Carver’s speech. “You have to admit, we’re quite a good team.” Lucifer says. “If you weren’t so pent-up sexually, we’d be firing on all cylinders, I’d say.”

“I am not pent-up. I’m just not interested.” Joey replies, shrugging.

“I beg to differ.” Lucifer mutters.

They enter the main hall. “I’m assuming you learned most of your moves at events like these.” Joey comments, teasingly.

“I’ve never been to something like this is my life.” Lucifer denies. “I certainly don’t need help getting women into bed. Till..” He looks at her. “Were you hit on the head when you were small?” He asks, trying to find reasoning as to why she refuses to sleep with him. Joey simply sighs, as she tries to find their seats. “No?” Lucifer follows after her.

They sit down, and the show was beginning. ‘Eye of the Tiger’ begins playing as all the lights go off, flashing strobe lights onto the stage for Carver to make a dramatic entrance, everyone immediately cheering as the spotlight lands on him.

“We are biological machines.” Carver begins, his voice echoing from his microphone across the dimly lit room. “We… are warriors. We… are players!” He shouts, receiving cheers from the crowd as everyone except for Joey and Lucifer stand up, applauding. “Gentlemen, we are animals. Men are the wolves, and women… are the fluffy bunnies.” He says, laughter erupting from the crowd as Joey shakes her head subtly in disapproval— Lucifer watching her reaction. “So we must prepare ourselves for the hunt. How?” He asks. “Follow the list.” Him and the crowd say in harmony. “Yes! The C.K.C. The conduct of Kick-ass Cavemen. One: Be seen.” Carver says.

“People pay for this?” Lucifer says to Joey, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, $5,000 bucks.” Joey answers.

“Stand out. The peacock, the lion with his mane. Two: Be a protector. Duh. Women are hardwired to hook up with someone who can help them survive. It is simple biology, man. Three: Be brave. Take risks.” Carver continues.

“Oh, maybe you should take notes.” Joey teases, Lucifer sending her an unpleased look.

“Four: Be a leader of men. And the most elusive. Five: Be confident. You.. are… a player! Own it!” He yells, as the crowd once again— like clockwork— erupt into cheering.

“Excuse— excuse me!” Lucifer shouts, standing up from his seat. “Excuse me, question!”

“What are you doing?” Joey asks, looking up at him.

“The Q&A’s after the speech, buddy.” Carver replies. Everyone in the room’s attention is now focused on Lucifer.

“No, but it’s quite pressing.” Lucifer argues. “What if you have all those manly whatnots and a woman still doesn’t respond?”

“You may think you have them, but you don’t.” Carver states.

“Yeah.” Joey nods.

“That’s why you’re here, right?” Carver says. “So, gentlemen, you follow these rules, and you will bed any Betty you desire, guaranteed.” He continues, although Lucifer remains stood.

“No. No. No, no, no. I’m certain I’ve got everything on your little list, and more, actually, yet this woman here won’t have sex with me.” Lucifer interrupts again, looking and pointing at Joey. There’s a few laughs from the audience as Joey gasps, opening her mouth to say something, but deciding not to.

“Just listen to the speech, buddy.” Carver tells him. “The system works.”

“No, but I doubt that.” Lucifer disagrees. “Because… because if I can’t ’bed a Betty’, then how do you possible expect any of these poor miscreants to succeed?” He insults, looking around the room, causing a grumble from the majority of the crowd. “Especially when they’re taking advice from a—a wanker such as you?”

“Alright, just sit down, man.” Carver tells him, fed up.

“Yeah, Lucifer, sit down.” Joey agrees, tugging at his hand as Lucifer was currently ruining their plan of staying on the low.

“I— I just… could we get a spot light over here?” He requests. “Do we have that?” He chuckles, the spotlight then moves, focusing on Lucifer. “Yeah, yeah. But on— on her.” He directs, pointing above Joey’s head. Joey is trying to avoid eye contact with anyone and everyone out of pure embarrassment as the spotlight is now shining on her. “Good. Right. Now, you’re the expert. You tell me what’s wrong with this picture.” Lucifer asks Carver. “I mean, I’m me. Right?” He points proudly to himself. “And she… well, she’s a cop, for starters.” Lucifer exposes, Joey staring daggers at him.

Carver gulps. “She’s a cop?”

“Yes. I mean, talk about the shallow end of the dating pool.” Lucifer replies.

“This is private property.” Carver says, looking at Joey. “Unless you have a warrant, you need to leave here immediately. Security! Security, her, out.” He orders. “Okay, we’re gonna take a ten-minute intermission.” He announces to the audience. “Alright? Thank you.” He makes his way to exit the stage.

“I haven’t finished.” Lucifer calls, but he’s too late, as Carver has already escaped backstage.

Next thing they know, two security guards appear next to Lucifer. “Oh, it’s you again.” Lucifer smirks, recognising the security guard from before. Joey shakes her head in disbelief as they get escorted out of the building.

Once they had been kicked out, Joey had to break the news to her Lieutenant. She was currently on the phone with her, as her and Lucifer walk down the street, back to her car. “I know, I’m— I’m sorry, Lieutenant.” She apologises. “I… No. No. I’ve got it under control. And Mr. Morningstar, too, yes.”

“Let me talk to him.” Lucifer tells Joey.

“It’s a her, and no.” Joey replies, covering the microphone of her phone.

“Really? Your boss is a she?” He smirks. “Even better. Give me the phone, I’ll fix it.”

“No, you can’t fix this! You’ve already said enough.” She says angrily. “Sorry! Not you.” She says to the Lieutenant. “Yes I— I’ll figure out a way into the party. It’s not a problem. And— and again, I..” She goes to apologise, only to realise she’s been hung up on.

“So we’re going to the Players after-party.” Lucifer grins, as they stop walking.

“Not you. I am.” Joey corrects.

“Well, I’m not sure how that’s possible, now that you’ve blown your cover.” Lucifer scoffs.

“Well, that was 100% your fault.” She smiles sarcastically, placing her hands on her hips.

“I beg to differ. None of that would have happened if you’d just complied with my request.” Lucifer shrugs.

“Do you honestly think you can just ask people to have sex with you and they will?” She questions.

“Well, I usually don’t have to ask, actually. But trust me, it’d be a win-win. And probably another win after that. I mean, I have tremendous stamina.” Lucifer brags.

“There’s a girl missing, Lucifer.” Joey reminds him, for what feels like the hundredth time today. “She’s probably in some hellhole somewhere, scared out of her mind, if she’s even still alive. And I found out the party is a cash-only event. That’s a first for Carver. So, our only suspect’s probably about to run off to Mexico, and you’re worried about boning me?”

“You’re right. Sorry. Let’s find the girl. Okay?” Lucifer agrees.

“Yes.” Joey nods.

“Sex later.” He grins, receiving the all so familiar glare from Joey. “Kidding.” He says. “Sort of..” Joey sighs. “So, where’s the party?”

“Cold Bar.” Joey answers.

“Really?” Lucifer asks, Joey nods. “Well, that place is notoriously overpriced to rent. If Carver wants cash, he shouldn’t have it there.”

“No, he shouldn’t.” Joey agrees, eyes widening. “I think I just figured out how you can fix this.” She says, hurrying off.

“Oh?” Lucifer says. “Do tell.” He follows.

Later in the evening, before the party, Joey had arrived at Lux. The elevator door to Lucifer’s penthouse opened, looking almost empty— Lucifer was no where to be seen. “Uh… hello?” Joey calls out, stepping out of the lift. “Uh, Lucifer?”

“Be out in a moment. Just getting ready.” Lucifer calls in a cheerful voice from his bedroom.

“Okay.” Joey calls back. “Uh, did you do what I told you to do and call Carver about the Players’ Club?”

“Make yourself a drink, Detective.” Lucifer tells her, ignoring her question.

“No. No. No more drinks. No more blurred lines. No more breaking into my house or trying to sleep with me.” Joey declines. “Look, this is a professional relationship, I’m a police officer, and you—“ She rambles, pacing the floor until she turns round, only to be met with Lucifer standing before her, completely naked. Joey gasps, unable to stop her eyes from wandering to a certain body part— eyes widening at the sight. She laughs nervously, “…are naked.” She finishes off her sentence, before spinning around, facing her back to him.

“Speaking of my surprise visit yesterday, I decided turnabouts fair play.” Lucifer tells her. “You know, tit for tat sort of thing.” He chuckles.

“This is beyond inappropriate.” Joey says, remaining facing away from him.

“And brave, wouldn’t you say? Number three on the C.K.C list: take risks.” He recalls from Carver’s speech.

Joey coughs, trying to prepare herself to turn back around. She slowly looks over her shoulder whilst grabbing the towel Lucifer had flung over the sofa. “Okay.” She says. “Lucifer, put some freakin’ clothes on.” She tells him, now facing him fully, tossing him the towel.

“Alright.” Lucifer chuckles. “But seriously, darling, are you well? The berries are ripe and ready to be harvested.” He says, wrapping the towel around his waist. “I mean, look at me, huh?” He says proudly, pointing to his figure.

Lucifer then turns around slowly, showing himself off. For a moment, Joey is fixated on his muscles and impressive body, until she notices two unusual (and painful) looking scars.

“Now, you can’t argue with that, can you?” He says, now facing her again.

Joey walks up to him, a concerned look on her face. “What happened to…” She says, pointing over her shoulder indicating her back. “My god.”

“Oh, oh.” Lucifer realises what she’s seen. “Well, yes, I suppose it is his fault.”

“Whose fault?” Joey asks, worriedly.

“My father.” Lucifer answers.

“Your dad did that to you?” Joey replies, eyes widening.

“No, no, no. That’s where I cut my wings off.” Lucifer corrects.

Joey sighs in confusion and shock. “What?”

“Well I didn’t. Maze did. I told her to.” He elaborates.

“N—No. Seriously.” Joey shakes her head, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, turning him to the side slightly to have another look. “What is that?” She asks, going to trace her fingertips on it, before Lucifer whips around, grabbing her wrist tightly and stopping her from doing so.

“Don’t please.” He says, an expression covering his face that she’d never seen on him before, one of vulnerability and a hint of sadness.

Lucifer loosens his grip on her wrist but doesn’t fully let go. “Okay.” Joey whispers softly, realising this is a sensitive moment.

Lucifer lets go of her wrist. “I should get dressed. Otherwise, we’ll miss the party.” Lucifer changes the topic, jogging back into his bedroom.

A moment goes by. “So you did make the call?” She asks, also changing the topic.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.” Lucifer calls, before popping his head round the corner again. “Party’s at Lux. Turns out the words ‘open bar’ are indeed effective. So, good on you.” He says, before disappearing again.

“Okay.” Joey nods.

He reappears again, this time with a top on, still showing Joey a clear view of his abs as he begins buttoning up. “You can’t go wearing that scruffy little getup.” He tells her, pointing at her outfit. “You’ll stick out like a sore cop.” He says, as Joey looks down at herself, sighing.

Lucifer had lended Joey a red dress, and it was safe to say she looked unreal. The pair of them were walking down the stairs of the club when Joey asks, “Where did you get this dress anyhow?”

“Oh, it was left behind by one of my overnight guests.” Lucifer answers.

Joey shakes her head even though she was expecting that response. “What was she wearing when she left?”

“A smile.” Lucifer grins.

“Mm.” Joey hums. “If I get an STD from this thing, I’m gonna kill you.” She warns, pointing at the dress.

“Oh, there he is.” Lucifer says, having noticed Carver.

“Oh, he doesn’t look suspicious at all.” Joey says looking at him.

“Hmm, so what’s the plan, Detective?” Lucifer asks.

“Avoid him for now. Mingle, find people who were at the party last week. See if anyone saw Carver with our missing girl.” Joey explains.

“Hey.” A random guy approaches her before Lucifer can reply to her plan.

“Hi.” Joey replies.

“Are you from Tennessee?” He asks.

“No.” Joey says.

“Because you’re the only ten I see.” The guy flirts, an awkward attempt at the pick up line.

“Oh, you poor soul.” Lucifer says. “Does that actually work?”

“No.” The guy says, sadly.

“No, I didn’t think so.” Lucifer replies.

Joey laughs to interrupt Lucifer’s further insults. “It’s cute.” She shrugs.

“It—it is?” The guy’s face lights up in shock.

“Yeah.” Joey nods, glancing at Lucifer before turning to the guy, leaning in closely. “You’re cute. You’re really cute.” She compliments him, Lucifer feeling a sense of jealousy as the guy looks at Joey almost mesmerised. “Hey, were you at that party last week?”

“Uh, no, actually, this is my first.” The guy answers.

“Okay.” Joey cuts him off, stepping back, patting his arm.

Only a second later, another guy appears on Joey’s other side. “I love this song!” He practically shouts at her.

“Okay.” Joey giggles, now knowing a way to find information. “Hey, were you at the party last week?” She shouts over the music, but he doesn’t reply, carries on dancing. Then, another gnu approaches, looking Joey up and down.

Lucifer takes her arm, pulling her to the side away from the desperate men. “Uh, I think the dress may have backfired, actually.” He tells her, before catching Carver’s eye. The pair watch as Carver makes eye contact with them, before rushing in the opposite direction. “Clearly a man with nothing to hide.” Lucifer says sarcastically.

Joey then hurries after Carver, having noticed a gun in his pocket. Carver sees Joey close on his tail, and pulls the gun out, pointing it at everyone around him. “Move! Get out of the way!” He threatens, as people begin screaming, ducking to the ground.

“Give me the gun, Carver.” Lucifer says, smiling as he tauntingly walks closer to him, as everybody moves out the way to give them space.

“Just—just let me go, okay? I need to go!” Carver yells, now pointing his gun directly at Lucifer.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, but I do have another option for you. How about a broken back, hmm?” He suggests, as he watches Joey creep up behind him, hitting him in the back, pushing him on the top of the piano lid, pulling his arm back and away from him to cause a rush of pain to go shooting through him. Carver drops his gun on the floor as he groans in pain.

“You don’t understand. I have to go! They’re gonna kill her now!” He says, panicking. “You just killed Lindsay!”

“They? They who?” Joey asks, tightening her grip on him.

Carver hesitates. “The people who took her.”

Joey and Lucifer glanced at each other, before deciding to evacuate everybody out of Lux, needing to talk to Carver in private. They took him up to the penthouse, where he was now being questioned by Joey. Carver was sat on one of the chairs, opposite the sofa Joey was sat on as Lucifer observes them from a few feet away.

“Where’s Lindsay?” Joey asks him.

“I don’t know, okay?” Carver replies, frustrated. “I swear to you, somebody kidnapped her.”

“If that’s the case then why wouldn’t you go to the cops?” Joey asks, wrapping herself further in Lucifer’s blazer jacket that he’d let her wear.

“Because they said they’d kill her if I did.” Carver replies. “Maybe they already have.”

Lucifer then walks up to Joey, handing her a glass of whiskey, “Excuse me, dear. I don’t know why we bother with all these pithy little police questions.” He says to her, before he takes a seat next to Carver. “Tell me… what game’s the player playing, eh? What are you after?”

“I just want Lindsay back.” Carver answers honestly. “I swear, I would never hurt her. I love her.” He confesses.

“But… she’s a fluffy bunny. You’re a wolf. You— you’ve built an empire on the objectification of women.” Lucifer reminds him.

“Yeah, I know. I’m a complete hypocrite.” Carver bites back. “But I— I would give anything to get her back.”

“You humans.” Lucifer scoffs. “You never cease to amaze.”

“Okay, Carver, say what you’re saying is true. How long have you and Lindsay been together?” Joey questions.

“Four months.” He answers. “Next Tuesday. I tried to keep it quiet, ‘cause, you know, I’m the man and everything. I guess it got out.”

“So you’re saying you slept with Lindsay on multiple occasions, but you still want to be with her?” Lucifer asks.

“Yes, and for the rest of my life.” Carver replies passionately.

“What, after four months you haven’t got her… you know, out of your system? How’s that possible?” He chuckles, confused.

“Okay.” Joey interrupts, shaking her head at Lucifer. “You have no idea where they’re holding Lindsay?” She asks Carver.

“No. But they did send this to me.” Carver says, suddenly remembering the photo he’d been sent, scrambling for his phone. “After the seminar.” He says, flipping his phone to show Joey and Lucifer the photo of Lindsay. “Said no more cops or she’s dead.”

“So the kidnappers were there yesterday?” Joey adds up.

“I just hope they weren’t at the party.” Carver worries. “If they hurt her… I—“

“It’s okay.” Joey cuts him off before he can get too overwhelmed, neither of them noticing Lucifer grab Carver’s phone, standing up and wandering off to the balcony. “Is there anyone you suspect that might do this to you? Enemies?”

“Uh, I’m kind of a polarising guy.” Carver reminds her. “Okay, the hater list is long.”

“Hello there, this is Lucifer Morningstar.” Joey hears Lucifer say from the balcony. She furrows her eyebrows before walking out to see what he’s doing.

“Who are you talking to?” She asks, suspiciously.

“Shh.” Lucifer shushes, placing a finger to his lips.

“Do not shush me.” Joey tells him, offended. “Who’s on the phone?”

“All one word, that’s right. Yes, I’ll be speaking on Carver’s behalf from now on.” Lucifer continues speaking on the phone, as Joey begins to realise who he’s talking to. Lucifer chuckles, “No, I’m not a cop. I assure you.”

“Is that the..” Joey whispers, tugging on his arm.

Lucifer turns to her, covering the microphone. “Yes, it’s the kidnappers.” He whispers.

“What are you doing..” Joey whispers, shaking her head.

“Of course we have the money. Just give me the time and location.” Lucifer says, turning his back to Joey again.

Joey taps his arm aggressively. “Give me the phon—“

Lucifer starts tutting her to stop her from talking. “No, I promise you, no police. Alright? Okay then. See you shortly, bye-bye.” Lucifer says.

“Wait, wait.” Joey says. “Wait, we need proof of life.”

“Oh.” Lucifer says, bringing the phone back to his ear. “Um, just a minute. How do we know Lindsay’s still alive?” He asks, but gets no response. “No, they’ve hung up.” He says to Joey.

“What are you doing?” Carver asks, walking onto the balcony.

“Not to worry. I’ve handled it.” Lucifer tells him, as Joey begins pacing. “I’ll be making an exchange on your behalf this evening. Cash for your lady love, alright?”

“Really?” Carver says. “Uh, but why would you do that for me?”

Lucifer chuckles. “Well, isn’t it obvious?” He steals a glance at Joey. “Number two on your list: be a protector. Is it working?” He asks Joey, grinning.

“You’re not doing this alone.” Joey states.

“Afraid so. I promised, no police.” Lucifer disagrees. “A deal’s a deal, especially one with the Devil.” He chuckles. “Besides, I’m the only one not risking his life on this. Immortal, remember?” He raises his eyebrows at Joey.

Carver looks between them with confusion, until his phone chimes. He presses a button, and a video begins playing. “Carver, I’m alright. I’m a… I don’t know where I am.” Lindsay cries. “Please come get me. I love you. Please.”

The video finishes, Carver has a horrified look on his face. “I’m coming with you.” He states.

“No, I can’t let you do that.” Joey shakes her head. “I’m not gonna call this in, but you have to stay here. No discussion.” She then turns to Lucifer. “I’m coming with you.”

“Fine. You’ll have to wait in the car.” Lucifer sighs.

Lucifer and Joey had then set off to meet at the location they had been sent. Joey parks outside the abandoned building. She looks at the clock, impatiently.

“Ten more minutes. Patience.” Lucifer says.

“Something doesn’t feel right.” Joey replies, staring ahead looking out for any movement.

“Well, of course it doesn’t. It’s a kidnapping.” Lucifer smirks. “Cool ranch puff?” He offers, holding a bag of crisps to her.

“No thanks.” Joey declines.

“No?” Lucifer replies.

“Mm.” Joey shakes her head.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? You’d think the king of hellfire would be more of a flaming hot guy, but, love these bad boys.” He says, popping one into his mouth.

Joey chuckles slightly. “Okay, let’s say you really are the Devil. All powerful, immortal, blah, blah, blah. Does that mean you don’t feel pain at all?” She asks.

“Mmm. I like this line of questioning.” Lucifer grins. “Does this mean you’re finally coming around?”

“No.” Joey shakes her head. “Just answer the question.”

Lucifer chuckles, watching her as she keeps her focus on the building and their surroundings. “Well, I… I do feel something, but it’s not pain so much, as, uh, a pressure, a nuisance, really.” He describes.

“Okay, so what does it feel like if you get shot?” Joey asks. Lucifer pauses, before reaching over and flicking Joey’s arm. “Ow.” She says.

“Well, you asked.” Lucifer shrugs.

“But that’s it? Like, a bullet just bounces off you?” Joey asks, surprised.

“Well, there’s no wound or blood, if that’s what you mean.” Lucifer answers. “Can verify with something sharp if you’d like.” He says, seductively.

“No, it’s not necessary. Tempting, though.” Joey says.

“So, does this mean that you believe me?” Lucifer asks, smiling. “I’m afraid I can’t offer anything obvious like a tail as proof.”

“And so, no horns.” Joey says.

“No, afraid not.” Lucifer sighs. “That’s the stuff on movies and TV. They always get it wrong.”

“Well, look, I— I have to admit, I’ve seen some things that I can’t explain, but I don’t believe in all that Bible stuff.” Joey chuckles.

“So you’re an atheist. How ironic.” Lucifer smirks.

“No, not exactly. I do believe there’s good and evil and right and wrong. But the whole fiery damnation thing, no.” Joey explains.

“Does it scare you?” Lucifer asks her, intrigued on her perspective of things.

“No, I mean, how could I be scared of something that I don’t believe in?” Joey replies.

“Do I scare you?” Lucifer asks, seriously.

Joey pauses, taking a moment to look into his eyes. “No.” She says softly. Lucifer looks at her with a strange admiration. “Is that Carver?” She then whispers, eyes once again focused in front of her.

“Hmm?” Lucifer hums, looking in the same direction as her, noticing Carver creeping along the side of the building.

“How did he get here?” Joey says, irritated.

Lucifer sighs. “Oh, well he must have followed us. Well done, Detective.”

“No, he didn’t follow us. He must have gotten the address somehow.” Joey replies.

“Or someone told him.” Lucifer suggests.

“Either way, he’s gonna get someone killed, probably himself.” She mutters, as Carver opens one of the side doors to the building and walks in.

“This love thing makes you all quite stupid, doesn’t it?” Lucifer comments, as they both step out of the car, making their way to the same door Carver had entered.

Joey immediately gets her gun out, pointing it in front of her, prepared for anything. “Lucifer!” She whisper-shouts as he speeds ahead of her. “Lucifer!” She repeats, jogging to catch up with him as he opens the door, enters the building and shuts it behind him. Joey then reaches the door, and she can see him though the metal wires of the door. Lucifer looks at her, before locking the door, Joey hearing the lock click.

“Sorry, but I gave my word— no police.” Lucifer tells her.

“Seriously?” Joey whispers, annoyed.

“Don’t worry, Detective. I’m immortal, remember?” Lucifer calls, as he sets off walking into the building.

“I knew it.” Joey mumbles to herself, grabbing her phone from her pocket. The line rings for a second before somebody picks up. “Hey, guys, I’m gonna need you sooner than I thought. Is SWAT ready?” She asks.

Meanwhile, inside the building, Carver had been wandering through it aimlessly as everywhere looked the same, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He screams out of shock, but tries to play it off by turning it into a laugh when he realises it’s Lucifer.

“Manly as ever.” Lucifer comments. “Why are you here? We had a perfectly good plan in place.”

“Well, after you left, the kidnappers called back. They said they changed their minds, and I come or the deal’s off.” Carver explains.

“Ooh, that sounds sinister.” Lucifer grins.

“Just hand over the cash.” A voice calls, causing Lucifer to turn around, being met with the kidnapper who was dressed in all black, a balaclava covering his face. “And no one gets hurt.”

“Yes, right. Got it here.” Lucifer says, holding up the black duffle bag in his hands, stepping to hand it over.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Where’s Lindsay?” Carver reminds Lucifer. “I want to see her!”

“No. My rules.” The kidnapper replies, stepping closer to them. “Money first.” He holds out his hand for the duffle bag.

“Now, Mr. Kidnapper, I believe that’s a fair request, actually, so just pop her around and the money’s yours.” Lucifer says.

The kidnapper pauses, before pouncing forwards, grabbing the duffle bag with both of his hands, attempting to take it— yet, failing miserably due to Lucifer’s strength.

“Greedy little jackal, aren’t you?” Lucifer says, as the kidnapper grunts, still trying to pull it out of his hand.

“Give it to me!” The kidnapper says, using his whole body weight to try and sway the bag his way.

Lucifer chuckles. “Most certainly will not.”

“Hey f— forget it!” Carver calls. “Just— just give it to him!” He tells Lucifer. “I just want her back.”

Lucifer lets go of the duffle bag. “Fine.” He says as the kidnapper stumbles back, clutching the bag. “Now bring us the girl.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not gonna happen.” The kidnapper says.

Lucifer chuckles, as Carver steps forward angrily. “I will kill you!” He threatens, as Lucifer holds out an arm to prevent him from getting any closer to the kidnapper.

“Oh, it’s going to happen.” Lucifer assures him. “A deal’s a deal.”

“I am not leaving here without Lindsay.” Carver shouts, then whips out his gun, pointing it at the kidnapper. “No way.”

Lucifer sighs. “Dearie me.” He says, standing in front of Carver’s aim. “What is it about you and guns, eh?”

Joey had managed to find another way into the building, and was sneaking about, trying to find everybody, when she hears a gun shot.

“Carver?” Lucifer says, as Carver’s face goes pale.

“Oh no.” Carver says, voice croaky as he looks behind him to where the shot came from. He sees Lindsay standing there, gun pointing at him before he falls to the ground. “Lindsay?” He says weakly, looking up at her.

“Wait. Lindsay Lindsay?” Lucifer asks. “Love of your life Lindsay?”

“Yeah, sorry, but I can’t let you shoot my brother.” Lindsay says, holding the gun.

“What’s up, jackass?” The kidnapper says, removing his balaclava, revealing himself as Kevin, Lindsay’s brother.

“I don’t understand.” Carver says.

“Don’t you though? This foul woman and her backward brother played the player.” Lucifer realises. “Lindsay kidnapper herself. Hell truly hath no fury like a woman scorned. You did scorn her, didn’t you?” He looks down at Carver.

“No. No.” Carver wheezes. “For the first time in my life, I didn’t. I loved her.” He then looks to Lindsay. “I love you.”

“Love me?” Lindsay repeats. “Are you kidding? You didn’t even remember my name!” She shouts.

“What are you talking about?” Carver asks.

“I met you two years ago, Carver. We slept together. And then you never called me again. Guess I was research for your stupid book.” She tells him.

“No, no, that’s not possible.” Carver shakes his head. “No, I— I would’ve remembered.”

“Nope.” Lindsay shakes her head. “I met you at the library. It’s a good place to score desperate babes. That’s in Chapter 11, I believe.”

“Oh, that’s bad.” Lucifer comments.

“I was a virgin, Carver.” Lindsay tells him.

“That’s worse.” Lucifer chuckles, looking at Carver.

“It was just another night for you, but it was a big deal for me.” Lindsay says, tears welling.

“Oh, God, I’m… I am so sorry, Lindsay.” Carver apologises. “I— I’m different now.”

“No, I don’t think so. But I am.” Lindsay replies.

“Okay, may I speak now?” Lucifer interrupts. “Because I happen to be an expert on punishment, and I’m not sure it fits the crime here. I mean, Carver made a mistake— well, several really— but… you’re different. He’s changed. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” He asks Lindsay.

“Shut up.” Kevin tells him. “You shouldn’t even be here. Now you’re dead, too. Shoot them, Linds.”

“Sorry, can’t let you do that, darling.” Lucifer says, slowly making his way over to Lindsay. “I mean, I’m indestructible, but he’s off limits as well, I’m afraid.” He refers to Carver.

“No, she’s right. I— I deserve it.” Carver says sadly.

“No, you don’t.” Lucifer looks at him. “I mean, chlamydia, the clap, raging case of crabs— that’s what you deserve, not death.” He turns back to Lindsay, chuckling softly. “And you… how are you any better? Why do humans think they can rectify one evil with another?” He asks, getting closer. “I mean, it’s clearly the first time this reptile has truly loved a woman, and this is his reward?”

“Get away from her!” Kevin shouts, running up to Lucifer. Lucifer senses his presence, throwing his arm out to his side, hitting Kevin right in the throat, sending him to the floor, choking.

Lucifer switches to his Devil face momentarily, staring at Lindsay, then back to normal. “Oh, god.” She whimpers, stepping back. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Lucifer says, cornering her.

“Please don’t hurt me.” Lindsay begs, holding her hands up and kneeling to the ground.

“Why does everyone say that before they’re punished?” Lucifer mutters, towering over her.

“Don’t kill me!” She cries.

“Lucifer.” Joey’s voice calls, as she walks into the room, holding her gun out. “Don’t move.” She tells him, Lucifer’s back facing her. Joey then catches a glimpse of something frightening in the mirror— a reflection of Lucifer’s face, yet it wasn’t his face. “Who are you?” She trembles slightly. Lucifer faces her, looking normal now. “What are you? Did you do this?” She asks, looking at Carver wounded on the ground next to an injured Kevin and petrified Lindsay.

“I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m the Devil.” Lucifer replies.

Joey shakes her head. “That’s… that’s not possible.”

“I asure you, Detective, it is.” Lucifer says. “I mean, you’ve said yourself there are things you can’t explain. You need more proof? You’ve got the gun. Come on, shoot me.”

“No, I can’t shoot you.” Joey argues.

“Sure you can. Go on, give her a squeeze, we’ll be good to go.” Lucifer continues.

“No.” Joey resists.

“Just shoot me, Detective!” He raises his voice. “Please! Because maybe you’ll finally realise—“ and before Lucifer can finish his sentence, Joey impulsively pulls the trigger, shooting him in the leg. “Good for you!” Lucifer shouts. “See? Hardly hurts.” He smiles, as Joey’s jaw drops at what she’s done.

“I can’t believe…” Joey whispers, shocked at herself.

“Gah. Actually, no, it’s hurting a little bit.” Lucifer says, placing a hand on his wound. “It’s… gah!” He groans in pain. “It’s hurting a lot. Son of a bitch, that really hurts!” He then lifts his hand off his thigh, only to see it’s covered in blood. “I’m bleeding.” He realises.

“You’re bleeding.” Joey says, emotionally.

“I’m bleeding.” Lucifer repeats.

“Oh, crap, of course you’re bleeding.” Joey says, a tremble in her voice. “God, what have I done?” She says, running a hand over her head as Lucifer kneels to the ground.

“I don’t… I don’t bleed. It’s—“ He grunts, Joey rushing over, kneeling down with him.

“Lucifer, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Joey asks, worried.

“What does this mean?” Lucifer replies.

“Well, it means I shot you. And I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry. And I’m in so much trouble.” She says, covering the wound with her hands to prevent too much blood loss.

“Ah! It really hurts!” Lucifer cries out, as suddenly the SWAT team come running in. “What’s happening to me?” He asks, looking into her eyes.

Later on, once the scene had been covered by the team and Lindsay and Kevin arrested, Joey looked over to see Lucifer speaking with her Lieutenant, Olivia, and makes her way over to them.

“Well, speak of the devil.” Olivia says as Joey approaches. “Mr. Morningstar here was just telling me everything you did in there.”

“Right.” Joey nods. “Well, Lieutenant—“

“I was just telling your boss that if you hadn’t acted in the way that you did, then, well, all hell would’ve broken loose.” Lucifer interrupts her, preventing Joey from exposing herself. “Isn’t that right?” He smiles at her.

“Right.” Joey nods, surprised.

“Mm.” Lucifer hums.

“Absolutely. And, um—“ Joey begins, but Lucifer cuts her off again.

“But you caught the bad guys; that’s the main thing.” Lucifer says.

“Again, I’m sorry that you got caught in the crossfire, Mr. Morningstar.” Olivia apologises.

“Oh, it’s just a graze. I hardly felt it.” Lucifer brushes off. “And, call me Lucifer.” He tells her, staring deeply into her eyes.

“Lucifer.” Olivia giggles, blushing— Joey rolls her eyes. “Thank you again for all of your help.”

“You are so welcome.” Lucifer flirts. “Bye, now.” He waves as Olivia wanders off.

Lucifer then looks at Joey, smirking as she steps closer to him. “I thought you didn’t lie.” She tells him, trying to hide a smile.

“I don’t.” Lucifer replies. “But I don’t always tell the whole truth.” He chuckles.

“Thank you.” Joey says, smiling.

“You’re welcome.” Lucifer says, glancing down at her lips momentarily.

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.” She says, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I should bloody hope so, now you’ve crippled me.” Lucifer replies, standing up off the bonnet of the car as Joey holds his arm, supporting him to walk.

“Wuss.” She insults as he limps, Lucifer chuckling.

Joey had eventually arrived home after her long day, waving Steve goodbye as he drives off now that his babysitting duties had come to an end. “Drive safe!” She calls.

Joey then walks in, hanging up her jacket and walking into the dimly lit house. “Joey!” Dev and Arlo say, running out of their rooms.

“Hey!” Joey chuckles, crouching down so she’s at their level as they both approach her, giving her a side hug. “What are you doing up?” She asks, placing a kiss on Arlo’s head.

“Can’t sleep when you’re not home.” Arlo answers.

“Come on, I’ll tuck you in.” Joey says.

“What’s that on your shirt?” Dev asks, noticing a red stain.

Joey looks down at her ironically white shirt, seeing the blood mark at the bottom. “Oh. Um, that’s, uh… that’s ketchup from lunch.” She lies.

“Nu-uh. That’s blood, Joe.” Dev shakes her head.

“Right. You’re right.” Joey nods. “Well, um… I may have hit someone… with a bullet.”

“You shot someone?” Dev says.

“Again?” Arlo adds.

“Barely.” Joey replies.

“Who?” Dev asks, curiously.

“It was Lucifer.” Joey answers.

“Is he okay?” Arlo asks, concerned.

“He’s fine. It was nothing. It was, like, a little graze.” Joey explains.

“Okay.” Arlo nods, then suddenly, Dev starts smirking.

“What, babe?” Joey asks.

“Remember last week, I told you that boy Noah kept throwing French fries at me at lunchtime?” Dev says.

“Mm-hmm.” Joey nods.

“And you said it actually might mean he likes me?” Dev continues.

“Yes.” Joey nods, realising where she was going with her point.

“Well, since you shot Lucifer, it must mean you really like him.” Dev smirks.

Joey sighs. “Hmm.” She hums, unable to think of a response. “You know, it is bedtime, you little weasels.” Joey says, tickling their sides, as she stands up. They start running away, giggling. “You weasels. I’m gonna get you.” Joey says, chasing them into their rooms.

Meanwhile, Lucifer had limped into Lux, groaning as he makes his way down the stairs to Maze. “I know. Tough day at the office.” He announces, limping over to the bar as Maze rushes to his side.

“What happened to you?” She interrogates, concerned.

“Oh, you’ll never guess.” Lucifer replies, grabbing a bottle. “She shot me. And I bled.”

“What? That’s not possible.” Maze says.

“I know.” Lucifer smiles, pouring a shot.

“What’s causing this? Is there something you’re not telling me?” Maze asks.

“Don’t think about it too much. It’s exciting.” He replies, picking up the shot.

Maze takes it out of his hand. “No, it’s dangerous.” She disagrees. “We’ve had our fun here, Lucifer, but this can’t happen.” She looks down at his wound as Lucifer chuckles. “Tell me we’re going home.”

“On the contrary, Maze. The fun’s just begun.” Lucifer smirks, taking back the shot, pouring it down his throat.

#fanfic #lucifer netflix #lucifer tv #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #mazikeen #daniel espinosa

2 notes · View notes

sunniskyies · 1 year ago

Text

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞-𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐝 || 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐟𝐢𝐜

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Finnick Odair x original female character 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: All warnings can be found on the series' masterlist 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.97k 𝐀/𝐍: Another long chapter !! I don't expect people to read this, I'm just posting old stuff :)

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞-𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝟎𝟒 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟖

The scent of salt still clings to Eloise's skin as she pushes open the cottage door, droplets from her sunrise swim dripping onto the worn wooden floor. She had swum longer than usual, for once having a whole morning free of classes and work. It’s mid-morning now, and Cova sits wriggling on Cressida’s lap as she pulls out the cloth bound in her hair to reveal two large blonde ringlets. The little girl squeals joyfully, the nervousness for the day ahead absent in her smile. Marlowe sat at the small square table picking at a plate of runny porridge. She for once doesn’t complain as Eloise quietly approaches her and begins plaiting two braids into her long dark locks. She ties them together in the back in a half-up half-down style.

“You’re gonna be okay Marly. Don’t worry so.” She assures the girl quietly and lets the conviction of her words seep into her tone. Marlowe wouldn’t be going to the games this year or any other year, Eloise would make sure of it.

She looks over to Cova to see that her mother has also decided on a half-up half-down style, but instead of braiding it she lets the ponytail sit amongst Cova’s new ringlets.

“Wow, Mama!” Cova chirps, admiring herself in the reflection of Cressida’s dirty old hand mirror. “I nearly look as pretty as Eloise.” She looks over wistfully at the older girl. Eloise snorts.

“Yeah right. I’m as plain as they come, you and Marlowe are way cuter than me.” Eloise pinches Cova's cheeks, making her giggle.

“I put your reaping dress on the bed.” Her mother says, placing a plate of porridge in front of Cova with shaky hands. “There’s a pail of water on the stove. Wash the salt off yourself and clean your face.”

Eloise’s dark eyebrows knit together. “Do I have time? I thought I needed to go get errands done before we go.”

Her mother shakes her head but doesn’t elaborate. This happens often when she gets overwhelmed, so Eloise obliges. She stands on the sliver of grass behind their house and douses her body. She shivers, the sun well up in the sky but the air still crisp, as if the sun itself was mourning.

Back inside, Eloise’s reaping dress lays out on the bed. It was the same every year, but perhaps this time it would finally fit. It’s a long, sea-grey, sleeveless Gunne Sax dress with tiny floral patterns all over it. It was simple, perhaps a little frumpy, but Eloise didn’t care much. Staring in the mirror, Eloise saw how now that she had grown into her body, the dress hugged her somewhat nicely..

“It matches my eyes?” Eloise had said half-heartedly to Jenny-Grace once a few years ago before the reaping, comparing the colour to Jen’s one. It too was a Gunne Sax dress, but hers was soft spring green with pretty ribbon details.

“It does not match your eyes. That thing is mental illness grey. Your eyes are as blue as the ocean, everyone always compliments them. Grandma says you got ‘em from swimming in the sea too much.” She had responded. Eloise had flushed, and Jenny-Grace had burst out laughing.

“Can I do your hair now?” Her mother’s frail voice snaps her out of the memory, and Eloise turns away from the full-length mirror in her shared bedroom. Cressida stands with a matching sea-grey hair ribbon. Eloise had made sure not to get her hair wet this morning in the ocean, but she didn’t realise they were going to style it.

“My hair isn’t straight like the girls’, Mum.” Eloise laughs, gesturing to her long dark blonde curls. “You don’t have to doll me up.”

Her mother just spun her around to face the mirror again, running coconut oil through her ends, lifting a heap of curls and tying it in a matching style to Cova and Marlowe’s. She ties the ribbon in a long bow at the back.

“So you all match.” Her mother says in that whisper-like voice.

Eloise kisses her on the cheek gently. “Thanks, Mum.”

“Have you got your bracelet, Petal?” Eloise nods. She never takes it off.

Her mother gives her a soft smile, a rare sight. “Now, sit down on the floor.” She instructs, stronger now.

Confused, Elosie looks down to see her mother had extracted a handful of cosmetics from her pinafore pocket. Her eyes widened.

“Makeup? Mama, I’m only 17, and I’m not a television star!” Makeup in the districts was limited to the wealthy and adults. It was a luxury for those who earned it, not some sea-nymph who brawls at the docks and drinks beer with 40-year-old men. Her mother shakes her head, meaning that Eloise can’t argue any further.

So she watches in awe as Cressida brushes light swathes of the precious powder over her cheeks, careful not to hide the subtle freckles on her nose. Then she adds a kissable pink to the bud of her lips, and finishes off by applying dark paint to her eyelashes.

Looking at herself now, Eloise suddenly sees that vision of herself sitting with Caesar Flickerman, wearing a beautiful gown and a TV-worthy smile. Except it isn’t just a fantasy, she really can put the almost pretty face that was staring back at her onto that girl.

Behind her, Cressida let a soft sob slip from her lips. Eloise rips her gaze away, quickly wrapping the dark-haired woman in a tight embrace. “Thank you, Mama. I look great. Come on. Come on, we need to take the girls.”

Her mother sucks in a breath, letting Eloise help her to her feet. Together they gather up the girls, dumping porridgeless plates in the sink and tying the wriggling childrens’ laces. Holding hands, the four girls walk to the square where the reaping would start at 1:00.

It takes longer to get there than it takes when Eloise is by herself, it would be improper to scuff her shiny chestnut boots running around. By the time they make it to the square, it’s swarming with people. Tear-stained children saying goodbye to their mothers, older siblings guiding youngsters to the right pens. But a solemn air hangs everywhere, filling the children’s frail little lungs and choking out the warmth of the sunlight.

The girls take turns hugging their mother, and Eloise watches as she totters off to the parent’s area. Marlowe and Eloise hold each of Cova’s hands, the little one now swamped with nerves about her first reaping.

“Now Cova, remember what I told you? They’re gonna prick your finger for a teensy bit of blood, and then you’re gonna follow your school friends to the right pen, okay?” Cova looks dazed, nodding absently. Eloise squeezes her hand reassuringly.

“Look, I’ll go first, show you it’s not a big deal, m’kay?” She says, partly for the 12-year-old, and partly for Marlowe too. The poor girl had gone as white as a sheet, her dark eyes huge.

A few more kids get pricked, and then it’s Eloise’s turn. She holds out her finger as confidently as possible to the masked Peacekeeper, wanting to encourage her younger sisters. But in all honesty, Eloise has a slight phobia of needles. She grits her teeth as the needle punctures her soft finger, rough hands pushing her scarlet blood onto the page alongside a hundred others.

As she’s sent along, Eloise tries to look back at her stepsisters. But a wave of children sweeps her forward, blocking her view and forcibly dividing her off into the 17-year-old pen. She can only hope Marlowe and Cova found their way as she’s jostled around by nervous bodies.

Finally, everyone settles down, and Eloise cranes her neck to see the stage. An elegant podium perches at the prow of the stage like a ship’s figurehead, behind it a row of chairs hem the seam between the wooden stage and the Justice Building. The chairs' occupants appear, walking up the stairs and filing along to their seats.

District 4’s Victors line up in order of victory, 74-year-old Mags Flanagan at the head. She won the 11th games, Eloise recited automatically in her head. Next, Marino Bay, victor of the 42nd games. Eloise remembers seeing the 45-year-old occasionally, popping his head in for handfuls of advice at the academy now and then. Then follows Rio Fathom, 34-year-old victor of the 53rd games. Eloise doesn’t know much about him other than he only lives with his wife and has a fondness for rum. Behind him, Caspian Dune. A meticulously vain man of 26 who won the 60th games. He wasn’t not handsome, but Eloise found his beauty artificial and tremendously upkept, hair gelled into the perfect way, lips curved in a practised smile. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say he radiated egotism.

We, he would if it wasn’t the Finnick Odair who walked a few steps behind, the arrogance that bloomed from the young man overpowering anything Caspian could muster. Finnick Odair won the 65th games at a record 14 years of age, and this is his fourth year mentoring, despite him only turning 18 five months ago. Not that Eloise is counting.

He is constantly gracing the television screen, the ‘Darling of the Capitol’ always wearing the latest fashion with a new woman at his hip and a camera on his heels. He had won over the conceited people of the Capitol with one flash of his charming smile, and after he came back from the games as a Victor his person is the only thing the Capitol seems to want to talk about. How he looks, who he is with, the whole thing makes Eloise’s stomach turn. But unlike Caspian, Finnick is undeniably gorgeous. Golden skin and bronze hair, toned physique and an alluring smile, Eloise can see the appeal. She herself finds her eyes following him as he takes his seat at the end of the line.

There used to be more Victors, 3 or 4 more, lost to ‘old age’ or ‘health issues’, but Eloise remembers the hush-hush murmurs of suicide or substance abuse.

Once all the remaining Victors are seated, the thin figure of District 4’s Mayor Saltwick followed closely by the broad shoulders of Anemone Kale appears on stage. Anemone Kale is a ridiculous woman and is well known for fully embracing the role of District 4’s escort. While other Capitolites get surgical enhancements to have colourful skin, replicate animals or other gruesome body modifications, Anemone has gotten scales, gills, and skin colouration done until her head and shoulders resemble that of a mermaid. No one in District 4 admires this look, but the woman seems to believe this is a groundbreaking beauty standard in the seaside district. Because of course, they are fishermen! What do you mean looking like a fish isn’t attractive?

The two of them barely sit in their designated seats when the large clock at the top of the Justice Building heralds 2 o’clock. The Mayor stands once again and makes his way to the podium. Eloise zones out as he rambles on about the history of Panem, his annual reprimand fading into the background. She finds her gaze sliding back over to Finnick, reclining in his chair with his leg resting comfortably over the other and arms draped about him. He looks so at ease, she thinks to herself, no sign of the drunken mess she had seen yesterday.

His gaze seems to be roving over the faces of the children, and for a moment, his sea-green eyes seem to rest on her ocean-blue ones. She instantaneously looks away in fright.

She swore he had recognised her at the docks yesterday, but did he? They had never met before, so surely he must’ve gotten her confused with someone similar… Then why did it feel like he was staring at her? Eloise scoffs at herself. He is a hundred kids and a stage away, he can’t possibly have located her eyes! But when Eloise looks back, she could’ve sworn his gaze caught on her again.

Her reverie is shattered as the crowd around her begins to clap and the Mayor, apparently finished, steps away and is replaced by a bustling Anemone. ”Happy Hunger Games!” Anemone practically sings, the microphone whining uncomfortably. “Now for the selection! May the odds be ever in your favour!”

Trotting over to the girls' bowl, Anemone rifles through the pool of tiny white envelopes. Each paper contains the name of a child, a daughter, a sister, a life. The one Anemone holds in her silk-gloved hand now contains the name of a doomed child, a lost daughter, a missed sister. Anemone leans back into the mic. “As always, ladies first!” She drawls, pawing at the black seal of the paper slip.

The mass of children and parents stills, watching with bated breath for the name that is to be announced. The fear that surrounds Eloise is stifling, but she can’t deny the validity of it. Regardless of the blood that runs through their veins, Marlowe and Cova are her sisters, and the thought of their rosy cheeks and curious eyes being sent to slaughter aches deep within her. ”Florence Bay!”

A wave of relief washes over Eloise. She isn’t a friend or a loved one, and that is the best outcome. But the same can’t be said for everyone. From behind Anemone, Eloise can see that the Victor Marino is stiff, hands clutching the armrests, eyes wide. Then she realises. She must be his daughter, Eloise grimaces.

About thirty heads in front of her, she can see the young girl pushing her way through the 16-year old pen, her curly brown locks tied in two loose plaits down the back of her eggshell blue pinafore. The girl stumbles up to the stage, hesitantly joining Anemone at the front, glancing at her father, who somehow looks more terrified than her.

Eloise feels a churning deep in her stomach at the sight of the Victors, a nervous flutter that slowly fills her whole body with a electrified buzz. Was it the way the Victors held their heads high? Was it the strong limbs and weaponry skills they all harboured? Or was it the knowledge that each one of them had entered an arena with 1/24 odds and came out with glory dripping from their names?

Eloise stares up at the female tribute, trying to picture her sitting on stage in the beautiful gown and the whole of Panem watching, but she can’t. The poor girl looks green to the face, and by the pitiful way she stands, she resembles more of a scared newborn giraffe than a fierce warrior. That girl will die for sure, and Eloise feels the strange sensation one usually gets when seeing a dead person. Unfortunately, Florence seems to know this as well, and frantically looks around at the other girls in the audience when Anemone speaks again.

”Now, as is customary, we will call for volunteers!” The escort’s voice rings out to be met by silence.

A handful of heartbeats go by, roaring in Eloise’s ears like an earthquake despite the deafening silence that stretches out, until;

”I volunteer as tribute!” a strong voice calls out.

For a second Eloise wants to look around to see where the voice comes from, before she snaps back to reality. It is her arm in the air. Her voice that had called out.

She has paused in her moment of realisation, and now everyone in the square is looking around for her. Eloise feels dizzy. But Anemone just lets out a small cough, prompting Eloise to come up and swap with Florence.

Eloise jerks into action, her legs taking her through the crowd of murmuring girls and into the corridor between the girls’ and boys’ pens. She vaguely registers Peacekeepers plodding behind her as she walks toward the stairs. There, she passes Florence walking back down to her section. Up close, Eloise can see the tears swimming in her eyes, her cracked lips forming a hasty ’thank you’ before the Peacekeepers push her onwards.

Eloise does her best to hold her head high, not wanting to look weak. She still hasn’t fully grasped the situation she’s in right now, but she knew how many people were watching this moment and on the television replay tonight. Sizing her up.

Before she knows it, Eloise finds herself standing before a sea of people, hundreds of familiar eyes trained on her. Heart pounding, her vision stretches and warps at a swell of disorientation that starts stirring in her head, and Eloise has to clasp her hands behind her back to steady herself. The cameras can’t see this, of course, but the Victors lined up behind her surely can see the way her fingers involuntarily squeeze the blood out of each other, white knuckles tangled together.

She is so out of it that she almost doesn’t hear Anemone asking her name over the roaring of blood in her ears. Eloise steps slowly up to the microphone for fear of her knees buckling beneath her. ”Eloise Thorne,” She says, managing to steady the hoarse tremble that threatens to crawl into her mouth before she speaks.

”Splendid!” Anemone trills and Eloise steps to the side of the flamboyant escort where she has seen so many girls stand before her. Never before did she actually think she’d be here herself. They were just daydreams, weren’t they?

”Let’s give Eloise a show of our support!” Anemone all but gushes, her enthusiastic claps slowing awkwardly as she finds herself the only one clapping. Hesitantly a steady smattering of applause fills the square, but Eloise can’t bring herself to search for the undoubtedly applause-less figures of Jenny-Grace and her family, she doesn’t need to look at them to see the looks of horror and disappointment on their faces.

”Now for the boys!” Anemone continues, her heels clicking on the hardwood as she strides over to the glass bowl that holds the names of hundreds of wide-eyed boys. Another wave of that stifling atmosphere swamps the plaza, and even the breeze holds its breath as Anemone’s gloved hand flits through the bowl before decidedly plucking an envelope as if it were a particularly juicy treat and not the name of an innocent boy doomed to death.

The sound of paper rustling seems to echo throughout the surrounding buildings as the escort click-clacks her way back to the microphone and slips open the paper sleeve. ”August Reed.” Anemone announces.

Eloise’s body goes slack, her previously knotted fingers dropping to her sides in disbelief. The name sounds distant, as if being read underwater, until she realises she is swaying. She swallows.

Squaring her feet to steady herself, Eloise searches the crowd for the sweet curly mop of August’s hair. She sees it, bobbing as he slips between bodies and trips over feet before he finally emerges from the 15-year-old section, brown eyes as round as saucers locked onto Eloise’s. She winks and tries to project reassurance into the smile she shoots at him. He still looks tense, but the cloudy glaze seems to clear from his eyes when he realises she wasn’t already sizing him up for murder. He pads up the wooden steps and hastily crosses the stage, the beady eyes of the crowd finally leaving Eloise and looking at the boy instead.

Eloise’s fingers twist together again when no one volunteers in the young boy’s place. No academy kid raising their arm to say ‘Leave him! Take me instead!’.

They numbly stand a mayor-length apart as the haughty man drones on about the Treaty of Treason. Eloise isn’t listening though, her mind thinking about poor Jenny-Grace Reed in the crowd losing her best friend and her brother in less than ten minutes. Eloise begins to feel the weight of her actions sinking through her shoulders and clenching her heart. Her life that once stretched out in front of her now curls up, forming an impenetrable door that everyone else has the key to but her. Because she already knows what she has to do.

She has to get August home.

Once the Mayor finishes his dreary recitation, he gestures the tributes to clasp hands. But without hesitation, instead of accepting August’s outstretched hand, she reaches over and pulls him into a tight hug. While tense at first, August quickly melts into her familiar embrace, her arms seemingly the only thing holding him together in that moment. The crowd lets out the breath they were holding, a gentle hum of relief, pity and regret all stirred together.

The anthem of Panem begins to trickle from the large speakers mounted around the square, and soldiers dressed in white take this as a call to action. The Peacekeepers usher them into the Justice Building, unsympathetic gloved hands prodding and pushing them down opposite hallways.

Finally, at the end of the hallway, the Peacekeepers lead her into a secluded room and shut the door behind her. Looking around, Eloise can’t help but gape at the wealth cloying to every inch of the room. The walls were covered in wallpaper, white ducks and tiny seashells on a background of blue, velvet sofas and chairs, deep chocolatey wood and a shimmering crystal chandelier.

Eloise walks up to the window and peers out. The crowds have almost dissolved, Peacekeepers shouting orders around muffled by the glass but still audible. Eloise can’t bear to look at those large families going home for the afternoon, so instead she sinks into the sofa.

She thinks about Magnus, the closest thing to a father that she can remember. And all the rest of the crew, who will tell them why she won’t be there on time for her shift? Will word of mouth get around?

And her stepsisters. Eloise doesn’t worry too much about them, even without Eloise’s wages they will get by okay. In all honesty, Eloise has always believed that she’s a bit of a black sheep, with curly hair instead of straight and blue eyes instead of brown. Her mother passes more for Marlowe and Cova’s mother than she does for Eloise. Maybe it’ll even be better this way.

And Jenny-Grace. Eloise winces internally. She won’t be surprised if she doesn’t show up to say goodbye, it must be uncomfortable to say goodbye to someone you want dead, if only to keep your brother alive. But Eloise understood, she would choose the life of her sisters over her best friend, because at the end of the day, Eloise was Marlowe and Cova’s protector. And Jenny-Grace was August’s.

The door to the luxurious room swings open, two distraught sisters streaming in followed closely by their stepmother.

“El!” The girls both shriek, grabbing her shoulders.

“What were you thinking?” Marlowe wails “You didn’t get called!”

“You’ve gotta tell them you’ve made a mistake!” Cova cries, her words jumbled from the stream of tears and snot, and the sobs wracking her body.

“Shhhh. It’s gonna be okay.” Eloise says, pulling them both into a tight squeeze. “I’m just going on a little trip. You know I’m super strong, I’ll be back before you know it.” Eloise lies, not wanting to tell them about her decision to sacrifice herself in exchange for August’s survival.

“But it’s so dangerous! What if you… what if you…” Marlowe blubs into her dress.

“You saw that little girl up there? Florence?” Eloise says, pushing the two girls back so they could see her face. “She’s your age, Marly. Wouldn’t you’ve liked it if someone took your place? You saw the way no one volunteered for her! She’s just the same as you, just as deserving of life as you.” She reasons. Marlowe just shakes her head strongly.

“But you’re deserving of life too!” She whispers hoarsely. Eloise does her best to smile.

“Yes, and I will come back. Go on now, you two. That Peacekeeper needs you to leave.” She deflects, the Peacekeeper who appeared at the door now asking them to leave. Hesitantly, the girls oblige, leaving the room with shouts of ‘I love you!’ and ‘Please stay safe!’

Defying the Peacekeeper, her Mother stays behind, pulling Eloise into a quick, tight hug.

“Stay safe.” She whispers, not a tear in her eye. “I love you.”

Eloise studies her, the confusion must be written all over her features. Surely her mother, too fragile for even the mundane, should be breaking down at an event like this? Eloise’s eyes widen.

“You knew.” She gasps. “Forfeiting the errands. The hair. The makeup. How did you know? I didn’t even know!”

Her mother just shakes her head, lost for words as always. The Peacekeeper is tugging at her shoulder, demanding she leave. Her mother blows her a kiss before disappearing out the door, pushed by the Peacekeeper.

Other than Jenny-Grace, who wasn’t going to come, and The Wayfarer’s crew, who were currently out at sea, there was no one left to say goodbye to Eloise. She sits back down on the couch, letting her body sink into the squishy pillows. I wonder if I lay here, I’ll sink all the way in and stay there forever, Eloise thinks idly, before surprisingly, the door swings open again.

Annie, Noah, Vera, Jasper and Mako flood into the room. Eloise springs up.

“What are you guys doing here?” She exclaims.

“We’re here to give you some last-minute advice.” Annie says, hands on her hips “Why’d you not tell us you were going to volunteer?”

Eloise lets out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t know I was going to.” She croaks. Annie’s eyebrows furrow and she quickly pulls her into a tight hug, the others following suit until they are all hugging each other. Eloise had never thought about her classmates as friends before, but right at this moment, she felt like she was going to miss them terribly.

“Get to the Cornucopia first.’ Vera sniffs “You’re fast.”

“Yeah,” Noah agrees, “find a trident. Or a spear.”

“Get water!” Annie adds.

They all start bombarding Eloise with advice, even as three Peacekeepers start forcefully dragging them out.

“Think of us when you’re on TV!” Jasper calls, halfway out the door.

“Don’t die!” Annie calls, already out in the hallway being carried by a Peacekeeper.

Eloise laughs, not necessarily a happy one, but a laugh nonetheless. Don’t die, she thinks to herself. If only it was that easy.

She found herself thinking once again about Jenny-Grace. Sweet, lovely Jenny-Grace, who always sneaks peppermints into kind customers’ brown bags, and spends hour after hour patiently waiting while Eloise runs around doing god knows what. Sweet lovely Jenny-Grace who always wears yellow and smells like coconut and the sea and freshly baked bread. Eloise’s face turns stony as she thinks about how she must feel, watching her beloved little brother sent off to death. She couldn’t imagine seeing Cova or Marlowe like that, and Eloise knew more than ever why she needed to do this.

Her solitude is interrupted by another group of Peacekeepers entering the chamber. They wordlessly guide her out of the room and down a different hallway. Eloise squints as sunlight hits her eyeballs, and finds herself being led towards the Capitol train station.

Realising with a pang in her chest that this is the last time she will ever be in District 4 again, Eloise lets her eyes drink in the scenery. The smell of salt and summer flowers, and the warm, albeit weak, sun on her back.

As they enter the station, Eloise is shocked to see the eyes of a thousand camera lenses clicking and flashing in her face. Trying not to be disoriented by the shouts and whistles, Eloise does her best to smile as she’s escorted onto the flashest train she’s ever seen.

Inside, Anemone Kale sits on a plush blue sofa, but Eloise doesn’t have time to look around before a familiar mop of dark curls clamber aboard after her. August’s eyes are glazed, and Eloise wastes no time crossing over to him and wrapping him up in a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry, don’t worry.” She soothes, already feeling the tears soaking into her shoulder. “You’re gonna be fine, okay? I’m going to keep you alive. I’ll keep you alive.” She repeats these whispered words, hugging her best friend’s brother until he takes a deep breath and steps away.

“You can’t… you can’t do that,” He whispers, averting her eyes. Eloise understands it’s one thing to politely refuse a cup of tea, and another to refuse your own survival out of politeness. You can’t do it.

“Yes, I can.” She insists. “I’ll keep you alive until the very end.”

“What if… we’re the final two?” August whispers with a shudder. Eloise shakes her head.

“Then I’ll die. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” She says, resolutely. If not to convince herself, then to reassure August.

“Children, why don’t you go to your rooms and have some downtime, hm?” Anemone interjects awkwardly, obviously overhearing their conversation. “I’ll call you both for supper in a few hours, and you can meet your mentors! How exciting!” She gestures to a hall that must contain their rooms.

Eloise and August don’t share this excitement, shooting each other a look as they walk out of the luxurious main room in silence. Eloise gives August a shoulder squeeze before they disappear into their separate rooms.

Eloise walks into a space larger than her entire house and immediately beelines for the bathroom as a wave of nausea rolls through her. Quickly gathering up fistfuls of golden coils, Eloise collapses in front of the shiny toilet bowl just in time as she revisits her porridge. It doesn’t help that the train pulls out of the station halfway through, making her lurch and grab on tightly to the toilet.

After her body adjusts to the movement, she staggers over to the sink and washes her face and mouth, watching numbly as the precious powder her mother had lovingly applied just over an hour earlier washes away down the drain. Tears prick in her eyes. Why did she volunteer? She wasn’t Annie Cresta, she didn’t want to kill anyone! Looking into the gold-inlaid mirror, Eloise saw the face of her fantasy staring back at her, the one who sat in front of Panem and revelled in her victory.

Eloise hears a scream escape from her mouth at the sight, and stumbles back into the shower and ripping her dress off as fast as she could, shutting the door and blasting the water. Eloise had never taken a hot shower before, only ever bathing in metal tubs. But she had used the outdoor showers at the docks meant for blasting sand and grit from you with cold seawater, so finding the right button wasn’t difficult.

A rainbow of bottles and pots sit on shelves around the spacious shower, and Eloise finds herself studying them. Unlike at home, the Capitol seem to have bottles of different soaps for different purposes, instead of just one singular bar. Despite the life-threatening situation Eloise is currently in, girlish curiosity wins over and she begins reading their labels and lining up several bottles on the floor that sport different titles. She shuffles them around into the correct order according to the instructions on the back and begins washing her hair and scrubbing her body head to toe. Delightfully, she finds one of each that smells like coconut, and closing her eyes, Eloise can almost picture herself at home while her mother mixes ointments in the kitchen.

She steps out of the shower 45 minutes later, cleaner than she’s ever been. She wraps her wet hair up in one of the towels and another around her body while she rummages through the chest of drawers in the bedroom. It’s full of soft, fine clothes and that same girlish joy from before hijacks Eloise’s hands as she shuffles through them. If she is going to die in a matter of weeks, she might as well enjoy this luxury.

She chooses a soft white blouse and a pair of jeans. Jeans! Denim is unheard of in the districts, and the Capitolites don’t see much fashion in them. But Eloise finds them very comfortable.

She sits on the side of the bed and looks out the window, running a coconut-scented lotion through her hair in an effort to remind herself of home. It smells more artificial than the stuff her mother makes, but Eloise doesn’t mind. Outside, the train seemed to be racing through a huge expanse of red dirt, cacti and lumps of rock are the only undulations on the surface. This is nothing like home, ELoise thinks, picturing the soft sand and expanses of water that rule her beloved District 4.

Eloise must’ve fallen asleep, because she wakes up to a sharp rapping on her door. “Dinner time! Hurry now!” Anemone’s insufferable voice pierces through the door.

Groaning, Eloise sits up from the uncomfortable tangle she had fallen asleep in. It must’ve been a few hours, because her hair is soft and dry and stars twinkle outside her window. Slipping her feet into the fluffy slippers provided for indoor use, Eloise shuffles down the hall and is welcomed by a deep mahogany table ladened with more food Eoise has even seen in her life.

Everyone else is already seated, and 4 pairs of eyes glanceup at her arrival. A curious pair of sea-green ones meet with hers, and the breath leaves Eloise’s lungs. Quickly avoiding his gaze and trying to suppress the rapid thuds of her heart, Eloise sits down with her head lowered. Distracting herself with spooning meat, vegetables and the fanciest bread onto her plate, Eloise is awestruck at the mountain of food available. This table could feed a large family for over a week!

Anemone doesn’t seem to register her shy demenour, smiling at Eloise’s polite ‘table manners’ as she takes small, unenthusiastic bites. She must be bored by now of starving children shovelling food in their face, Eloise thinks bitterly.

“It’s August, right? And… Eloise?” A velvety deep voice asks from across the table, and Eloise could feel eyes on her. It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement. Glancing up for the briefest amount of time, Eloise nods, and sees August doing the same.

“And you're a Career, huh? What’s your weapon of choice?” Finnick presses. Eloise fidgets slightly.

Eloise isn’t usually shy, but all she wants in this moment is for the Victor’s attention to leave her. “What? No! No, I’m not a… I’m not…” Eloise begins, but trails off when a flash of white catches her attention. August was cutting a slice of ham away, his wrist sporting a string of cowrie shells.

“August? Is that?” Eloise starts at the sight, and August’s dark eyes meet with hers in confusion. Eloise gestures to his wrist, and August’s eyes widen in understanding.

“Oh! Oh, yes it’s Jen’s.” The usually bubbly young boy says, devoid of his usual spark. His eyes seem to glaze over. “She gave it to me. For my token.”

Eloise (Who has now forgotten that a certain someone is across the table, unanswered) takes in a breath. August notices this, and he gives her a sad smile.

“She told me to send her love. And, and that she wanted to come say goodbye, but she- she-” August says, searching for the words.

Eloise smiles. “It would be too difficult,” She croaks. “I understand.” A weight seems to leave August’s frame at that, and he sits a little higher in his chair, his eyes less dark.

Sensing a silence, Anemone begins rambling on about the schedule of the next few days, spurring on their mentors, Finnick and Mags Flanagan, to begin coaching. The two of them ask various questions about weaponry, survival skills and other Games-related trivia. Finnick ends up taking the lead, but his rapid-fire questions seem to be aimed at Eloise, who finds herself often pinned under his intense stare.

Thankfully, August is all too happy to answer the questions for Eloise, generously raving about her abilities at the Academy and her jobs in the community.

“My grandmother loves her.” August says. “She says El always gives her the freshest bread. And she is so brave! You must’ve heard about the time when the Peacekeeprs caught her r-”

“Want some more salmon, August?” Eloise interrupts quickly, shooting August a glare. He flushes, looking sheepish.

“Yup!” He squeaks. Finnick’s eyes roam over to her again, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘Go on?’. Eloise averts her eyes again, shaking her head slightly. Damn it, August!

A swarm of Avoxes come out, clearing the messy table in a couple efficient seconds. Behind them, another group follows, arms carrying trays spilling over with various deserts. The two tribute’s eyes practically pop out of their head.

Awkwardness forgotten, Eloise eagerly joins August as he piles his plate high with slices of cakes, puddings, sweet sauces and fruits. A bowl of fruit sat near Anemone catches her eye, and she gingerly reaches over and plucks a piece from it, rolling it around in her hand.

Calling it a bowl of fruit is generous. In reality, it was a bowl full of fresh, pink peaches. Eloise slowly takes a bite, and is transported back to the narrow grass lawn behind her tiny house overgrown with various fruit trees. She pauses, her mouth about the soft flesh as she drinks in the scent for a long moment, her eyes looking up at Anemone.

“Are these from District 4?” She asks, holding up the fruit.

“Yes, they are.” Mags answers instead. Her voice is frail, but not the way Cressida’s is. Hers is delicate like a spindly sapling, whereas Mags’ is frail after a long life of courage and strength. Eloise meets her friendly gaze.

“Me and Finnick brought them from home. We didn’t want to leave them to rot. Aren’t they just the most delicious peaches you’ve ever had?” She smiles, taking one for herself. Eloise’s breath hitches.

𝟎𝟏 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟒

"Mother, do we have to do this? It’s our food; we shouldn't share it with other people. Especially not him, he was stinkin’ rich!" 13-year-old Eloise whined. Cressida stood at the kitchen table, gently filling an old Blue Eye beer crate with juicy pears, bunches of grapes, and nectarines from the orchard garden outside. She then filled a small wicker punnet with handfuls of sugar-snap peas, tying the peas' flowers into bunches along with other wildflowers from outside, and nestled them in between the fruit until the crate resembled a glorious gift basket.

"Yes, Petal. It is a kind thing to do. Their poor boy just got back from the games," she sighed with a smile, popping a pod of peas into Eloise’s pouting mouth.

"But they don’t need it!" Eloise insisted. Her mother frowned.

"How did you know that they don’t need it?" she asked. Eloise's brow furrowed.

"Because they can afford food easily! They don’t need us to give it to them!" she responded adamantly.

"Yes, maybe you’re right. They do already have food. But a gift is more than its contents; it’s showing the other person love, and that you care about them," Cressida hummed, settling a few jars of her coconut lotion in the crate too. "That little boy has been through an ordeal; wouldn’t you agree that the thing he needs most right now is some care?"

Little Eloise thought for a long moment and then nodded. "Yes, I understand. But what are they giving us in return?"

Her mother, finally finished, handed Eloise the punnet of peas while she carried the crate on her hip like a basket. Eloise opened the door, and they began walking away from the house.

"Nothing, dear. The kindest souls are those who perform good deeds without expecting anything in return, simply because kindness is their nature. Even when it goes unseen," she responded. "Does that make sense?"

Eloise nodded. They were heading somewhat out of town, and after 20 minutes of walking, the two girls reached the iron gates of the Victor's Village. Eloise was almost speechless by the gleaming white houses that lined the road stretching out ahead, and pictured herself returning from the Games to a house like that.

"Come on, Petal. We don’t want them to see us, remember? We’re not here to be attention-seekers; we’re just being generous," Cressida said. She had already placed the gifts in the gateway and started walking away. After another moment of awestruck staring, Eloise tore her eyes away and began to follow her mother back home. She had just turned the corner, out of sight of the Village when she heard a door open. Ducking behind a huge ivy bush that climbed the wrought iron fence, Eloise peered into the Village.

A young boy exited his house in the distance and seemed to notice the crates at the gate. Curiously, he began to walk over. He knelt down, inspecting the crate of fruit for a name, a note, anything. Not having found one, he looked up, confusion etched on his soft features as he glanced around for a sign of the kind gifter. He looked down at the crate again and plucked a peach out. Rolling the sweet fruit around in his hands, a small smile began to spread over his lips.

Eloise Thorne had never seen a boy like him before. Not like this. The boy’s tan skin was soaked in golden morning sunlight, a breezy white shirt hanging off him. His bronze hair was tousled, and Eloise felt like she could just reach out and touch it. It looked so feathery, falling into his eyes when the boy had looked around for the gifter. She could see his eyes, the softest shade of sea-green. Eloise had never seen eyes that colour before. Her heart skipped a beat at the happy expression that molded his features, his lips upturned at the corners as he studied the peach, his brow furrowed gently.

She had done this, Eloise realised. She had made this boy smile like that. Euphoria filled her body, and she gazed eagerly out at the boy, her eyes drinking in every inch of his pretty face.

Butterflies tried to flutter up her throat when the beautiful boy looked up once again, searching for the gifter. She jumped back out of fright when his eyes landed on the bush, and with one look back at Finnick, she sprinted down the road and after her mother.

Every month after that, Eloise took it upon herself to fill an empty Blue Eye crate with whatever fruit was in season in her garden. She picked bunches of flowers, jars of jam, handfuls of carefully selected seashells. Her mother watched on fondly, knowing full well why her silly daughter was so eager every month to carry out her delivery.

"It’s just a nice thing to do!" 15-year-old Eloise had protested once, Cressida laughing at the oblivious girl.

She never let the gorgeous Victor see her, of course. She sneaked over to the Victor’s Village ridiculously early on the morning of the 1st, 2nd, or 3rd of each month to drop off her delivery before her morning swim, sometimes pausing for a moment behind the bush to try and glimpse him.

Finnick would always try to catch a glimpse of his “Blue-Eyed Gifter” too, waking up early at the beginning of the month and hurrying outside. But every time, he was only greeted by a crate full of thoughtful gifts, the closest thing to a name in sight being the large Blue Eye label printed onto the wood.

Eloise never admitted it to herself, but her surge of admiration for the young Victor led her to take on her intense lifestyle. She begged and begged Remus and her mother to let her drop out of regular school to attend the combat academy. Her parents were at first horrified at the idea.

"Why would you throw away your education for fight training? You’re not going into the games!" Her mother had whispered hoarsely, her hands gripping the table.

"Mother, please! I’ll study at home and at work; I’m smart! But I want to be strong so I can work a proper job here in District 4!" She had begged. Remus scoffed.

"We’ve already let you take up those shifts at the grocer and that savage job at the docks. Why should we do anything for ya?"

Eloise frowned. "Let me? I give you all the money from those jobs!"

Magnus, darling Magnus, had started teaching Eloise combat in secret a few weeks back, and it became apparent she had a talent for it. He had suggested attending the Academy, and Eloise was set on it. Think about all the Victors that came from here! Eloise had daydreamed.

Every reaping, Eloise caught sight of the golden boy in broad daylight, and every year she wished for his sea-green gaze to notice her. Every lesson at the Academy she hoped he would be there to lead a lesson, but was always disappointed by Marino Bay or Rio Fathom instead. Every month, she fantasized about leaving a note with the delivery, a name, or a place to meet, before blushing out of embarrassment and deciding against it.

Eloise has never acknowledged to herself that she has a crush on Finnick Odair.

𝟎𝟒 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝟐𝟑𝟎𝟖

Right now, a boy with golden hair sits across the table from Eloise, watching her intently as she studies the fruit in her hands.

“Yes, they’re very delicious.” She mumbles. Could these be the ones I dropped off yesterday?

They all finish eating in comfortable conversation, August now fervently asking questions about survival skills to Finnick, who responds with equal enthusiasm. After everyone is stuffed to point of discomfort, Anemone tutting dissapointedly, Mags instructs them all to go down to the television where they will watch the reapings. Eloise feels nerves bubble up as they begin to move to the long, crescent shaped couch. These were the kids she was going to have to kill.

August and Eloise fill a large bowl with popcorn, cookies and slices to nibble on as the holographic television powers on. They sit next to eat other, watching intently as Ceasar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith open the program, excitedly revelling at what an amazing Hunger Games that had before them this year.

The begin showing the reapings switching to a shot of the glistening town square of District 1. Naturally, two 18-year-olds volunteered, a tan girl called Starla and a muscular boy named Nikolai.

“Careers.” Finnick says, “They are going to be your biggest competition, unless you ally with them.” He shoots a quick glance at Eloise, who realises with a jolt he thinks she is a Career too. And, well, she is, really. But not like them. They have spent their whole lives preparing to kill, she has spent her whole life preparing to survive.

District 2 is next, and unsurprisingly two more Career volunteers. What is surprising, however, is the 14-year-old girl who was lightning-fast to put her hand up. Once up on the stage, the cameras zoom in on the young girl.

“Woah,” August breathes.

She is gorgeous. Possibly the prettiest girl Eloise has ever seen. Unlike the tan skin of District 4, this girl has pale skin and bleached, ice-white hair which she wears cropped around shoulder-length. Like Eloise, her pin-straight hair was put up in a loose half-up half-down style, and the cameras manage to pick up the menacing line of silver earrings adorning her ears. She has dark eyeliner on, and she looks ready to kill. For a 14-year-old, she’s unbeliveably fit. She must’ve been training her whole life.

Speaking into the microphone, she reveals her name to be Minthe Vercoe, and the 17-year-old next to her is Bennett.

Everyone in the room is silent, all of them knowing that that girl, despite her ridiculous age, would be the biggest threat. But Finnick obviously doesn’t do well with defeat, and pipes up.

“Don’t worry about her. From what I’ve heard, you are plenty strong enough to hold your own against whatever she’s got, Eloise.” Eloise blushes at that remark, and shakes her head softly. She tries to restrain the butterflies in her stomach that begin to dance at the sound of her name on his lips.

From District 3, an uninspiring duo of 15-year-old Clarke and 16-year old Wyatt. And then it is District 4.

Eloise watches as Florence Bay is reaped, and she watches her very own hand shoot up in the air. Eloise has never seen herself on video before, and is secretly pleased to see how put-together she looked walking up to the stage. She sure didn’t feel it in the moment.

She sees herself introduce her name, surprised again to hear how steady her voice was. She can see her arms behind her back, and knows the way their fingers must be twisted.

“For a second there I though your fingers were going to drop off!” Finnick says from along the couch. Eloise whips around to lock eyes with him, a smirk playing on his features, and unbelievably a laugh slips out of her mouth.

“You saw that?” She winces with a giggle. Finnick nods, seemingly pleased to of finally made her react for the first time all day.

“I did. Although I was quite distracted by old Marino almost passing out from relief. Thanks for saving Flo, by the way.” He grins with a wink. The dancing butterflies in Eloise’s stomach have started a rave.

The TV shows August’s name being called, the camera panning to the nervous young boy walking to the stage. Thankfully, the camera focusing on August takes the attention off of her, where on the side of the screen you can just make out the way she sways slightly from shock. Caesar and Claudius ‘ooo’ and ‘aww’ when the two Tributes hug at the end, and Finnick and Mags comment on how this was a good start as the program continues on. Eloise actually agrees with them, to anyone else she must look like any other Career tribute.

A 12 and a 15-year-old are reaped from District 5, and a 17 and a 13-year old from 6. None of them look particularly menacing.

But from Dsitrict 7, a little 13-year-old girl named Bronwyn captures Eloise’ attention, reminding her painfully of Cova. Her District partner, a handsome 17-year-old boy named Kam.

District 8 hosts a pair of jittery tributes, wheras District 9 reaps two tough looking lumberjacks. A girl the same age as Eloise called Ivy, and a 16-year-old boy.

Out of the remaining 3 Districts, 6 underwhelming kids are reaped, obviously there due to tesserae withdrawal. Eloise feels pity stir in her stomach at the sight of the malnourished children, but pushes it down. If she wants to save August, she has to think like a Career. And an Career would only see those little mites as easy pickings.

Anemone clicks off the TV. “How thrilling! I’m going to head to bed now, it’s awfully late. Kids, I’ll fetch you for breakfast tomorrow. Get some rest now!” She sings, standing up and shuffling off in her mermaid-shaped dress. Eloise rolls her eyes dramatically, and from the loud snort across the sofa, Finnick must’ve seen it.

“Well. How do you feel about that lot?” He asks the two tributes from his relaxed sprawl at the end of the couch. “I think you two have a good shot! Pick your allies carefully and listen to me and Mags, and odds are you can come back alive.” He says, his sea-green eyes once again subtly looking at Eloise

The butterflies turn to black, goopy mush in her stomach. “I’m not coming back.” Eloise shoots back tersely, harsher than she meant to. She stands up abruptly. “August is. I’m going to bed.”

Eloise escapes from the now stifling room, chased by three pairs of curious eyes, flinging herself on the bed as soon as the door shuts. Embarrassment at her statement battles with the flustered feeling Finnick gave her in her mind. Why’d he keep looking at her? Why does she not know what to say around him? She hates herself like this, she’s usually so calm and in control. Red-faced, Eloise tries as hard as she can to push that boy from her mind.

She strips down to her undergarments and crawls into the cool sheets of the bed, but sleep does not find her. Eloise has spent the last 4 years of her life sleeping in a warm heap with her two sisters, and the feeling of sleeping alone in this air conditioned room is too much. She tries humming a lullaby to no avail. At one point she even jumps out of bed and does a short workout. Still nothing.

So Eloise fishes a tank top and pair of soft cotton shorts from her drawers. Slipping out of her bedroom, Eloise finds her legs taking her all the way down the train, right to the end where she discovers a smallish lounge room surrounded by windows. A plush, curved couch hems the end of the traincarriage, and Eloise slumps exhaustedly onto it, chin propped up on the back of the sofa and watches the train ride through the night. She studies the darkened landscape, trying to picture where on the big hand-drawn map at her old school they were.

Her thoughts inevitably wander back to Finnick. She wonders sleepily if he’s asleep right now. I wonder how he got his hair to look like that, Eloise thinks drowsily, sleep pulling her into a dreamscape of golden sunrays and sea-green waters.

#ph☆ebe's scribbles #hunger games fic #finnick odair fanfic #hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair #the hunger games #fanfic #fanfiction #finnick odair x oc

21 notes · View notes