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sugarcoated-lame · 11 months ago

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Easy Like Sunday Morning | Joel Miller x Reader

pre-outbreak joel x reader

all of my works are 18+ only, minors dni!

Summary: You wake up before Joel and decide you want to take care of him.

giving 2003 pre-outbreak Joel some head on a sleepy Sunday morning

a/n: i was inspired by this post by the amazing @mrsmando 🤍 and her delicious joel thoughts that never fail to have me spiraling and swooning 🫠 if i had a nickel for every time i’ve written a joel fic about someone being woken up with some head, i’d have two nickels. which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice (sorry i had to lmfaoo). also this is probably the quickest thing i’ve ever written, so i’m sorry if it sucks!

wc: 2.8k

content warnings: no outbreak/pre-outbreak 2003 joel, kricket sucks at writing summaries we know this, smut, oral (m receiving), slightly rough oral, hair pulling, no physical description of reader except that her hair is long enough for joel to pull, pet names (darlin’, baby, sweetheart, pretty girl), no use of y/n, joel miller has a big dick because i said so, established relationship, somno (kinda? joel is like not really awake at the beginning of the smut), this is basically just smut :)

joel masterlist

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

⋆ . ˚ ✩ comments, reblogs, and feedback are greatly appreciated! ⋆ . ˚ ✩

Lazy Sunday mornings have become your favorite in the weeks since you moved in with Joel.

Nowhere to be, neither one of you has to get up before the sun and go to work. No rushing around to make sure Sarah gets to school on time — just sleep. It’s the one day a week both you and Joel get a chance to sleep in, to wake naturally without the shrill ringing of alarms, and just relish being wrapped up in the comfort of each other’s presence.

Eyes still shut as you begin to stir, your mind is only just waking up and the first thing you feel is warmth.

Warmth of the bright, golden Texas sun shining through Joel’s — well, now your — bedroom window and behind your closed lids. Warmth from the plush, gray comforter draped just over your calves, where it had been kicked down in the night in an attempt to curb the relentless, sticky summer heat.

You find yourself cocooned by the furnace-like warmth that is Joel as he lies on his back beside you — a warmth that would probably be overwhelming if it wasn’t such a comfort to you.

Your cheek is pressed to his broad chest, the steady beating of his heart a calming rhythm beneath your ear. Your torso flush against his side, you have an arm wrapped snug around his middle, and a leg draped over both of his. You and Joel both lay almost bare, each clothed in nothing but your underwear after the previous night’s activities — hot skin on hot skin.

When you finally let your eyes flutter open to the bright, morning light, you look up to find Joel still fast asleep and take a moment to admire the peaceful expression on his handsome face.

Long lashes fanning over his cheeks, his brows free of the worried crease that often rests between them, plush pink lips parted as he lets out quiet little snores, his strong chest slowly rising and falling, up and down beneath your cheek with each calming breath. Tanned skin warm and glistening with a light sheen of sweat, dark chocolate locks especially curly due to the humid Texas heat, a few sweaty strands clinging to his forehead.

Seeing Joel laid out like this only reminds you of the way he looked last night — all flushed beneath you, cheeks pink, head thrown back and brown eyes clenched shut in bliss as you hovered above him. Pulling quiet, deep grunts from his parted lips as you rode him, his big hands on your hips, guiding your movements as you lifted yourself up and down on his cock.

The reminder of just how full you felt with him inside you — of how goddamn good he makes you feel — has dampness forming beneath the thin fabric of your panties, thighs attempting to clench shut in search of friction to quell the wave of slick that’s building between your legs, though they’re unable to do so with Joel’s thick thigh slotted between them.

And, though you know Joel is still resting so peacefully beside you, and that you should probably let him sleep in for once, you can’t help it when you feel the sudden and urgent need to kiss him. To feel your lips on his skin.

These lazy Sunday mornings with Joel are your favorite because you know he’s always so busy, always working hard, always so stressed. And, that despite it all, he always takes such good care of you.

So, you want to take this opportunity, when he doesn’t have to be up for work, or take Sarah to school — and you know it’s a couple hours before she’ll be waking up — and you want to do something nice for him. Take care of Joel for once. To make him feel good.

Lifting your head from Joel’s chest, you press your lips to where your cheek had just been. Beginning at his pec, and over his heart, tasting the salt of his sweat-damp skin as you work your way up the broad plane of his chest, dotting feather-light kisses up to the juncture of where his shoulder meets his neck.

You gently untangle yourself from his side, and Joel begins to stir just slightly as you softly mouth along the column of his throat and move to hover over him, your thighs straddling his hips and hands on the mattress on either side of him to hold yourself up.

He’s still mostly asleep, but you can already feel through the layers of both of your underwear that he’s beginning to harden beneath you, his body waking up faster than his brain, always so responsive to your touch.

You continue to kiss across Joel’s strong jaw, over the patchy hair that tickles your lips, dotting a trail of sweet kisses up his cheek and to the tip of his sharp nose, then back down to his mustache and over the corner of his lips.

He stirs again when your lush lips press against his own just once, not quite awake enough to kiss back just yet, but this time a soft hum of approval leaves him at the pleasant feeling.

With one more peck to his soft lips, you begin your descent back down Joel’s body, leaving behind another smattering of kisses in your wake.

From his Adam’s apple to the rounded bone of his shoulder, then back down to his chest. You know he’s a bit more awake when you feel him begin to stir again — his strong body shifting ever so slightly beneath yours, dick twitching against your core underneath the layers of cloth as you place a barely-there kiss to each of his nipples. Joel lets out a sleepy groan as your tongue darts out to lick at the sensitive skin before continuing on your way.

Shifting your body lower on the bed, your kisses become a bit more feverish, less soft as you work your way down Joel’s torso. Your hunger for him only growing as you get closer and closer to the bulge in his boxers, spurred on by the breathy little grunts and groans leaving his parted lips as his mind begins to catch up to the pleasure that his body is feeling.

Joel lets out a content sigh, head still resting on his pillow, eyes still shut and still about half asleep. Unsure if he’s dreaming when he feels you press a firm kiss to the skin just above his navel.

He’s quickly pulled out of that dream-like state, though — breath catching in his throat, jolting beneath you as your warm tongue darts out lick a broad stripe over his soft belly.

You can’t help but grin as you look up to see his face, those pretty brown eyes now open but still bleary with sleep, pillowy lips parted in a gasp, sweaty curls falling over his forehead as he shifts his focus towards you.

“Morning, baby.” You whisper into the quiet of your bedroom, your chin resting on Joel’s tummy as you gaze up at him sweetly.

Your smile only grows when he cards a hand over his tired face, groaning out a tired ‘fuck’.

Now that he’s awake — just barely — you press your lips to his belly one last time before heading lower. Fitting yourself between Joel’s thick thighs, you kiss along the fine hairs of his happy trail, then his hip bones, and you know he’s fully hard when your hands glide up his thighs to palm him over his black boxers.

Joel releases a throaty groan as you stroke him through the soft fabric, one of his large hands coming up to the side of your head. Calloused pads of his fingers running gently through your bed-mussed hair. “Please, darlin’.”

The use of the pet name combined with Joel’s sleepy, Texan morning voice actually makes you whimper, clenching your thighs as a new gush of arousal floods between them. Needy for him as your fingers move to his waistband, gingerly but quickly pulling down the black, cotton fabric and freeing his impressive length.

A quiet, raspy moan escapes Joel’s lips as you spit into your hand before wrapping it around his cock. He’s long and thick and heavy in your hand, your fingers hardly able to wrap around the girth of him, his tip an angry red and leaking pretty pearls of precum.

He lets out a quiet hiss as you begin to stroke up from the base, leaning down to kiss along his tip before kitten-licking at the slit, a pleased hum leaving you at the salty, heady taste of his arousal. Joel’s mind is still a bit hazy with sleep, but he swears he’s died and gone to heaven when you lick a hot stripe along the underside of his cock, tongue laving over the thick vein that runs along his shaft.

The hand in your hair tightens its grip when you oh-so-delicately take Joel into your mouth, emitting a pleased hum from you as you gently suckle on his tip. The vibration sends a jolt up his spine, cock twitching in your grasp as you continue to stroke up and down his length with increasing ease as your spits begins to coat his skin. Delicate fingers wrapped tight around him moving up and down to meet your lips as your tongue swirls around the bulbous head.

You take your time, enjoying Joel’s quiet, raspy moans, the whispered curses, and shallow breaths all falling from his lips as you slowly take him deeper and deeper into the warm cavern of your mouth.

When you’re about halfway down his length, you suck in your cheeks, lips tightening around him as you begin to suck with more fervor and Joel has to bite back a desperate moan as you bob up and down his length. His hips buck up of their own volition — the feeling of your warm, wet mouth wrapped around him is just too good — the two of you groaning in unison as the movement sends his cock further between your lips, the tip just grazing the back of your throat and causing you to gag around him.

“Fuck, m’sorry, baby.” Joel drawls, gently smoothing a hand over the crown of your head. He lifts you up his length just a little bit, just enough to gather your bearings.

You release him from your mouth with a wet pop. A string of saliva still connects the two of you between his swollen, red tip and your now swollen lips, and Joel thinks he’s a goner when you wrap a hand tight around his shaft, leaning back in to kitten-lick at his slit.

You smear delicate kisses all along his tip, then up and down every inch of his length, all the while gazing up at him with doe eyes before you bring him between your spit-slicked lips once again.

“So good for me. Always so good for me.”

His morning voice is deep — deeper than normal — and it has your eyes rolling back into your head as you whimper around him, tears collecting at your lash line from having just taken him so deep so abruptly. Nodding your head as much as you can with his cock still in your mouth, you let Joel know that you’re okay to keep going.

You want to please him. He deserves this. You want to make him feel good.

You know that Joel is getting close from the way he’s fighting himself to not buck his hips and fuck up into your mouth, the hand that’s not in your hair clinging to the gray sheets like a lifeline. His chest rapidly rising and falling as he tries his hardest to keep at least somewhat quiet — he knows that his daughter is sleeping right down the hall — biting back gravely grunts and groans that you so wish you could hear at full volume, his cock twitching against your tongue with every little move you make.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you decide to take him as deep as you can go. Swallowing around him as his tip reaches into the depths of your throat, those tears are now spilling freely from your eyes as the coarse hairs at his base tickle your nose.

You suction your cheeks taut and lick along the underside of his shaft, the wet sounds of your sucking growing sloppy, Joel’s pubic hairs now shiny with your spit and his fingers are now pulling hard at your hair, the slight sting in your scalp a pleasurable one and only spurring you on.

A particularly harsh suck has Joel throwing his head back onto his pillow, sweaty curls falling like a halo around his pleasure-wrought features. Whiskey colored eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, nose scrunched, and lips parted in a quiet, guttural groan that lingers in the warm, sticky summer atmosphere of your shared bedroom.

“I’m— fuck!” He damn near whimpers when your free hands reaches out to caress his heavy balls, squeezing getnly as you continue to arduously suck and stroke his length, your hand and mouth working in tandem and meeting in the middle. “I’m close, sweetheart.”

You moan hungrily around him, the vibrations nearly sending Joel over the edge, the hand on your head now pushing you down onto his cock without hesitation – he knows you can take it. Hips thrusting up and chasing the velvety, wet warmth of your throat as you gag on him once more, drool spilling out the corners of your mouth all around him, the wet, sucking sounds filling the room obscene.

Joel practically growls when he feels your nails dig into the meat of his thigh, his chin dropping to his chest and he looks down to find you gazing back at him. Your cheeks hollowed, lips stretched around his aching cock, taking all of him like the good girl he knows you are. Your pretty, tear-filled eyes gazing up at him with so much love, and that’s what is his undoing.

You feel it when Joel’s whole body tenses beneath you, fireworks shooting up his spine as he starts to cum with a heavy groan that was lodged deep in his throat. You can’t help but moan around him as he fills your mouth, painting your throat with the hot, salty ropes of his release.

He mutters a string of broken moans, a mixture of curses and grunts of your name as you work him through it. The grip Joel has on your hair starts to lighten up — though, only a bit — but it’s enough for you to pull back on his length a bit to allow your hand to join your mouth in its ministrations. Slowly, but firmly, stroking him and sucking at his cock until you’re sure you’ve swallowed down every drop he has to give you, his stomach practically caving in by the time you’re done with him.

Until he’s reduced to shallow pants and hushed whimpers, Joel’s entire body shuddering as your lips lay one last kiss to his sensitive tip, and he drops an arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the now overwhelming light as he takes a few moments to catch his breath.

You let Joel take all the time he needs to recover, carefully tucking his softening length back into his black boxers.

It’s a few minutes before Joel uncovers his eyes, slowly blinking to adjust the the increasing brightness of the hot summer sun shining into the bedroom, and he’d swear you’re an angel, still nestled between his thighs. You’re busy littering the soft, tanned skin of his thighs and his belly in sweet little kisses and love bites when that deep, sleepy morning voices speaks up again.

“Well good mornin’ to you too, pretty girl.”

Before you can respond, two strong arms are pulling you up the bed — and up Joel’s body, a firm hand on the nape of your neck pulling you in so he can smash his lips to your puffy ones in a longing, appreciative kiss.

His deft hands then slide down your hips to grab your ass, squeezing at the soft flesh with a groan against your lips, before Joel is flipping the two of you over so he’s now the one hovering over you. A little yelp escapes you, but is quickly transformed into a stifled moan as his lips begin kissing a path down your body, now fully awake and more than ready to return the favor.

⋆ . ˚ ✩

Thank you for reading!! x

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jambalaya-enthusiast · 3 months ago

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𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒/𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐖 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 ;

warnings: woooooh long time no see huh? I was just craving some jimmy fluff but then i was like, eh might as well make these for all the characters. very self indulgent, maybe a little suggestive? some toxic behaviour from jimmy ofc.

sidenote: divider by @saradika-graphics

JIMMY

while people might think this guy is an unhygienic fuck, he's actually far from it. a complete and utter neat freak. he's obsessively cleaning the kitchen at every opportunity that he gets, washes his hands rhe millisecond he touches anything wet.

he wears your hoodie allll the time, but for some reason, doesn't let you wear his. his excuse? "they won't fit you". he doesn't ever disclose why he doesn't want you wearing his clothes, but his justification of wearing your hoodies is always "it just feels right".

he leaves the bathroom light on in his room before he sleeps at night, his reasoning is that he might wake up groggy and hit something, but you already know that he is in fact, very much afraid of the dark.

flinches every time you raise your voice, even when you're laughing. doesn't ever say why.

cooks for you every change he gets, he never boasts his cooking skills, but he's always making sure you smile right while eating it.

sleeps with the TV on static whenever you aren't at home, he reasons by saying the white noise helps him sleep, but it's really to block out the thoughts in his mind.

hums old radio songs while cooking. doesn't like anyone to be in the kitchen when he's cooking.

talks in his sleep a lot, your name more often than not, apologies, and other people's names sometimes.

CURLY

Has a subconscious habit of mirroring your movements, if you're stressed out he's pacing, if you're quiet, he's quiet, if you're sitting with your arms crossed, best believe he's doing it as well.

whenever he is at work and you're at home, he texts you random pictures throughout the day like, "look i saw a bird". "having a sandwich rn". "I'm heading home" with an image of the road.

does not like opening up about his emotions, there is a very big distance between you and his internal turmoil. you can be begging, wailing, and screaming for him to be honest and he'll just be like "don't worry about me".

apologises a lot, even mid sentences, "sorry- do you wanna go to this restaurant? they have sorry- seafood I think?".

from before the two of you started dating to even your 10 year anniversary, he has never ever thrown out/lost a single thing which you've gifted him.

has a bad habit of tapping his feet at a rhythmic motion, sitting, standing, sleeping.

similar to jimmy, has a habit of humming songs.

when he's overwhelmed, he just goes out for a walk, doesn't matter if it's below freezing temperatures, "it just takes his mind off of things".

whenever you guys are walking outside, he gently pushes you away from railings, stairs, lamp-posts. as if you're a glass doll, who can break at any little pressure.

ANYA

sometimes you hear her cry in the bathroom due to work related stress, but absolutely doesn't want you to know, she doesn't want you to think she's 'weak'.

whenever she has nightmares, she doesn't wake up gasping, or yell, or cry, just wraps herself around you as if it's the last day on earth.

leaves sticky notes on the fridge with reminders like, "take ur meds". "the milk is spoiled". "Love you so much".

strictly makes you go to routine doctor appointments, be it the dentist, ophthalmologist, the freaking bone doctors. ( el oh el )

keeps every single prescription bottle as if they're her personal trophies.

she chews the end of pens and pencils, you've tried to knock her out of it, but she tends to resume the habit rather fast.

she takes unusually long, and extremely hot showers whenever she's overwhelmed.

tunes her voice to match your comfort level, if you're stressed, she'll talk very softly, if you're excited, her voice tone will rise.

despite knowing about the human psyche, she gets extremely scared whenever she feels there's something off about the way you looked at her, or said 'I love you'.

SWANSEA

extremely afraid of being vulnerable with you, fixes your electrical appliances without you ever asking, but doesn't ever say 'i love you' first.

kisses you as if it's the first and last time ever, as if he won't get another chance.

builds you stuff, shelves for your books, maybe counter tops, bookshelves, a whole ass wooden closet.

when you're putting on makeup or getting ready, he likes staring at you. there's this deep sense of love and adoration in his eyes that he will never ever admit.

always forgets one of his mechanical tools in the kitchen, you'll always find a screwdriver or hammer laying around while trying to make breakfast.

sleeps on the couch during arguments, but checks up on you in the middle of the night to make sure you're sleeping alright.

sometimes, he lets out a grunt instead of answering, you've learned to translate it over time.

he always, ALWAYS. let's you have the last serving of food, doesn't matter if he's still hungry, he says that he's full. this is due to his years of unemployment due to alcoholism, he's seen the lack of food on his plate, doesn't EVER want to let you feel that way even when you guys are financially stable.

opens tight jars and cans and closes them a bit loosened, you think you've gotten stronger, you haven't.

he cuts conversations short if he notices that you're overstimulated, takes the hint and leaves the room.

will never EVER let you see him break.

DAISUKE

He's the kind of partner that gives you all of him, yet thinks he's not doing a good enough job, says 'I love you' like it's his full time job, because he's afraid the silence might steal you.

unknowingly bottles up his resentment because he doesn't know how to confront you about something, this usually results in outbursts with him yelling "am I not doing enough for you?!'.

texts you every time he finds something cute and says, "this reminded me of you :)".

had picked up a nasty smoking habit, he swears to you that he has quit, but chews bubblegum to mask the smell, you find out every time tho.

leaves cabinets and drawers open, you scold him every time but he somehow always forgets.

picks at his lips whenever he's nervous.

he checks the room for your reaction first before he speaks, you approval matters the most to him.

starts wearing the colours of clothes you compliment him in. oh you think pink looks good on him? guess who has a closet full of pink hoodies and t-shirts now.

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604to647 · 3 months ago

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Little Showgirl

12.8K / Modern AU Marcus Acacius x fem!reader

Summary: You do your roommate a favour that lands you in hot water with the head of security at Caesar’s Palace.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). The opposite of a meet cute (meet hate?). A little insecurity on Reader's part; no body shape or size is described even though Reader wears a showgirl costume (we assume it's an inclusive event). There is probably an age gap somewhere given that Acacius is canonically 50 (?), but I didn't intend to write one so feel free to imagine everyone at whatever age you want. Unwanted touching (not by Marcus), accidentally flashing, thigh riding, eventual nicknames.

A/N 1: Written for @toomanystoriessolittletime’s 47 Minutes in Heaven writing challenge, the prompt I got was 'Enemies to Lovers' - thank you for the fun event, Steph!

A/N 2: I don't know what happened with the w/c 😭😭 I need you to know I really tried to cut it down - sorreeeeee. We were supposed to go to a friend's vow renewal in Vegas this month, but cancelled our trip due to current travel advisories 😫, so maybe this was my way of visiting Vegas in lieu of actually going?

Apologies to Janet Jackson for dragging you into this 🙏🏻 / Dividers by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏻

You walk hurriedly down a lavish corridor on the concourse level of Caesar’s Palace, trying to maintain some semblance of grace and propriety while desperately holding your showgirl costume against your chest to prevent it from falling. Your other hand clutches the costume’s feather fan prop and a sewing kit that one of the housekeepers mercifully offered you when you ran by. Nodding politely to guests as you pass, you hope against hope that the heavy sequin and beaded outfit, whose back clasp is currently broken, doesn’t slip and give any of these nice tourists a real show. All you have to do is make it to the employee change room to hopefully mend the garment, and afterwards go back to work with no one the wiser to your wardrobe malfunction.

Anxiety alleviating slightly as you round the corner towards the service elevator, your relief is short-lived when you see the elevator already waiting with its doors open and in it stands a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in celebratory Roman battle skirts of bright white and gold.

Dammit, not this fucking prick. Just what you need right now.

The salt and pepper curly haired Adonis spots you just as you do him, and you swear you see his jaw tighten and tick beneath his matching grey flecked scruff; eyes narrowing, he reaches forward and you can see him aggressively pressing the Close Door button.

“Oh no, you don’t,” you mutter, doubling your steps; the beads and pearls of your loosened outfit sway violently, making tiny music as you rush to slip between the doors of the elevator before they close.

The man glares at you and you glare right back, reaching past him to swipe your (well, your roommate’s) access badge before realizing the button for the basement floor you need has already been pressed. Great. You’re both going to the same place.

“General,” you greet him, sarcastic.

The General nods in acknowledgment, squaring back the shoulders of his impressive frame, somehow making him even larger and more intimidating than he already is, before wholly ignoring you, choosing to stare at the cold steel in front of him.

2 Days Ago

“Pleeeeeeasssseeeeeeee!” Your roommate is on her knees next to you on the couch, hands clasped in aggressive prayer, pouting and eyes pleading.

You sigh, “Arishat, what exactly are you even asking me?” You had heard and understood her perfectly the first time; you just want her to repeat it, hoping that upon hearing her own words out loud again, she’ll comprehend the absurdity of the favour she’s asking.

“You only need to give up your staycation for one day – and I’ll owe you forever,” her big brown eyes somehow growing twice in size.

Tilting your head, you give her an incredulous look but remain silent.

“Seriously, it’s no big deal! You know how the Strip is putting on Golden Days of Vegas events for the next two weeks to attract tourists? All the resorts are bringing back the glitz and glamour of classic Las Vegas – like a Rat Pack era vibe. Won’t that be fun?”

“MMmhmmmm,” you hum noncommittally. As locals, you and Arishat hardly even went to the Strip, but it did sound like a lot of fun for visitors to the city.

Not letting your lack of outward enthusiasm deter her, your roommate chippers on excitedly, “Anywaaays… Caesar’s Palace is going all out – hiring extra staff to be old school gladiator greeters, Cleopatra waitresses, and classic showgirls to wander the property! Think of all those glamourous Bob Mackie inspired costumes!”

“I bet the costumes will be gorgeous,” you indulge her a little, “but what does that have to do with me, babe?”

“Ummm… well, you know I booked the showgirl gig at Caesar’s…”

You did know.

“… but, Janet Jackson is considering extending her residency at Resorts World and is auditioning for background performers. And auditions just happen to be the first day of Golden Days!! I can’t do both! If I miss the first day at Caesar’s then I lose an entire two-weeks of work! But… babe!! It’s Janet!! How can I give up a chance to try and perform with her??!”

She can’t. You sigh again.

“So, you want me to be you for a day?”

Shuffling closer on her knees, Arishat, your bestest friend in the world who you know would move heaven and earth for you if needed, and who works harder than anyone to pursue her passions, takes your hands in hers, “I already have my ID card for Caesar’s – there’s no picture because we’re just temporary hires so it won’t matter what you look like. I also have the costume – it’s beautiful, you’ll love it. Please just fill in for me on the first day – it should be slow, mainly orientation, but I’m sure it’s just walking around the resort in groups and taking pictures with tourists… no performing or anything. And the next day I’ll take over - no one will know I wasn’t there the day before and I won’t get fired!”

Your head swims with uncertainty – unlike Arishat, you’re not used to being in the spotlight or working in the entertainment sector, much more comfortable in the anonymity of your office job; but you can’t say no to her. Closing your eyes and exhaling slowly, you let silence hang in the air for a second or two more, “Ok, show me the costume and tell me exactly what I have to do tomorrow.”

Her squeal nearly pierces your eardrum.

Yesterday

It’s not even 8 a.m. and you already regret agreeing to Arishat’s outlandish request. First, navigating the Strip’s backstreets to the Caesar’s Palace parkade had proven to be a near Herculean feat in patience and focus, taking twice as long as you had planned for. Now you’re stuck circling the parkade, crawling along at a snail’s pace in this concrete labyrinth trying to find the entrance to the employee’s parking lot.

Did they have to make it so hard to find? And why is this place so huge? There must be a million cars here.

Hands clutched tightly at ten and two, you’re hunched forward and squinting like an old lady, trying to read any and all signs in hopes that one of them will point you in the right direction. You’re pretty sure you’re lost. You know you’ve gone in this same circle at least twice.

Just when you think things couldn’t get worse, you spy a fast-approaching car in your rear-view mirror. Instead of passing, the other car practically kisses your bumper and proceeds to ride your ass as you meander the parkade looking for the employee entrance. And if you weren’t already unnerved, you see the driver of the car start to gesticulate wildly – throwing their hands up in the air, frustrated at your slow pace.

“Geez Louise,” you mutter, “just go around?”

But they don’t. They just keep right on your tail as you descend deeper and deeper into the lot. Mercifully, the parking gods take pity on you and you finally spot a small, discreet Employees ➡�� sign. After heading in the direction indicated, you’re rewarded with another identical sign; about to celebrate finally being on the right track, you hear it:

Honk.

What the fuck? Then again. Honk. Are you being honked at?

The car behind is still so obnoxiously close you can make out that the driver is a man whose eyes are making aggressive eye contact via your rearview mirror, and yes, he is in fact leaning on his horn.

Chill, dude. You narrow your eyes, certain the driver can see your annoyed expression, and continue at the same speed, unwilling to miss what you’re looking for just to appease some impatient stranger.

When you finally come upon a gated entryway with a hanging “Employees Only” sign above it, you can’t help but do a mini celebration dance in your seat; pulling forward, you roll down your window and swipe the ID card Arishat gave you last night over the access pad.

Nothing. The gate doesn’t lift and the card reader’s indication light blinks infuriatingly red.

Maybe you’re too far away. You unbuckle your seatbelt so you can lean out the window, stretching your arm out to wave the card over the reader again. Nothing. You try again. And again. Angling the card differently each time, but no matter what, the control pad won’t recognize your card.

The driver side door of the car behind yours opens and out steps the largest man you’ve ever seen. Impossibly broad, a wall of solid muscle whose physical prowess is evident in every stalking stride he takes towards your car, the imposing figure reaches your open window in just a few steps. Your eyes can’t help but stare at the monstrous hand that comes to a rest on top of the access box, nearly dwarfing the machinery with its size. Mouth agape and eyes wide, you follow the long line of the man’s equally massive arm to his face which has suddenly come into view.

The face is older, knowing, lined with resolve. Serious looking and anchored by a strong aquiline nose sitting perfectly between two piercing, espresso-rich eyes, the striking profile is bordered by scruffy but evenly trimmed facial hair that blends perfectly up into head of the same speckled chestnut and grey curls. It’s a face you might admire as handsome if it wasn’t scowling at you.

The intensity radiating off the man is making you nervous, “Oh! Hey, sorry… I don’t know what I’m doing wrong… it won’t register my card no matter how I try to sw-”

“Are you even supposed to be here?” a low, gravely baritone cuts you off.

Um, okay, rude. Unease evaporating, you hold up your temporary employee ID indignantly, “Yes, I’m here to work Golden Days.”

The man inspects your card with suspicion and sighs in exasperation before snatching your pass out of your hand. Okay, double rude.

He expertly presses the card right up against the reader and you see the light flash green before hearing the gears above the metal gate whirl to life. Wordlessly, the man hands you back your card and starts walking back to his car.

“Thank you!” you call out to his retreating back, but when he doesn’t even acknowledge you, you roll your eyes and your window, ready to drive forward as soon as the gate’s lifted high enough.

Upon entering the employee parking lot, you find a free space almost immediately - and close to the elevators to boot! Grinning that your luck has surely turned, you do a sharp left and back into the prime parking space – hooray! You’re just cutting your engine when you see your shadow pull to a stop right in front of your car with the driver, still glaring at you, making a double-handed open palmed gesture and yelling what you think is, Are you kidding me?

With a quizzical look tinged in agitation, you shake your head at him, What? As you step out of your vehicle, the man takes off at an aggressive speed, tires squealing as he races past the row of parked cars - but not before you see his upper lip curl up in a snarl.

What a jerk!

Just in case, however, you survey the space you’ve parked in while retrieving your things from the trunk – upon finding no reason not to park here, you quickly head over to the elevator bank, pressing your key card against the reader like you saw the man do at the lot gate to gain access. You’ve just stepped into the elevator when you hear the thundering footsteps of someone running towards the alcove before beeping in. Naturally, you hold the doors, but almost regret doing so when you see the glowering face of your new best friend. He’s staring at you with a look of pure, unadulterated loathing, the intensity of which is so shocking, you find yourself shaking a little as you swipe you card against the elevator reader, momentarily forgetting which floor Arishat told you to go to.

“You’re going to B4,” your elevator mate gruffs, roughly brushing his arm past yours to press the button.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly. Just because someone’s an impolite ass doesn’t mean you have to be as well.

The ride is eerily silent and oddly strained. Small talk is out of the question, obviously - but the tension is killing you. Just as you consider thanking the curmudgeon again for his help so far today, he opens his mouth.

“You took my parking spot.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re. Parked. In. My. Spot,” the man grits, barely moving his lips.

You’re confused, “There wasn’t a sign saying it was reserved?”

“Doesn’t matter. I always park there.”

And to think you were about to try and make nice? The man is being completely unreasonable; you look at him in disbelief, snapping, “Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that?”

“Well, what do you know? You don’t know where you’re going, you don’t know how anything here works, and you certainly don’t know your place.”

The look on your face must register your utter shock at being yelled at by a total stranger, because for a second, the man’s stormy mocha eyes soften and flicker with something like regret. He opens his mouth, though nothing comes out.

“Well, I know that you’re the rudest, most entitled asshole I’ve ever met.”

The behemoth closes his mouth and glares at you. You glare right back. Neither of you breaks eye contact until the elevator reaches its destination with a ding.

As the doors open to the welcomed sound of people chattering, rushing around and going about their morning, the man gestures with dramatic flair, waving for you to go ahead, “Ladies first. Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

You walk out without a backwards glance, grateful that there’s clear signage indicating where the change room is so you can storm off without being seen asking for directions. That better be the last time you see that dillweed.

---

Turns out you would see him less than an hour later.

The change room had been bustling and chaotic but positively charged with excitement and supportive female energy. Happily, you know a few of the girls through Arishat and they really rally around you – helping tuck and adjust your showgirl costume, fixing your hair and touching up your makeup. Still feeling completely out of your element, you appreciate their efforts to soothe your anxiety, assuring you the embroidered fabric of your costume only appears sheer, but actually provides sufficient coverage and that you look the part of confident, show stopping entertainer.

Currently, your giggling group joins other showgirls, Egyptian queens and men dressed as gladiators in a small meeting hall, ready to get your assignments for the start of Caesar’s Golden Days.

A hush falls over the room as several people enter and get up on the raised platform at the front. Every one of the newcomers is dressed as a Roman gladiator, though their dress seems somewhat grander than those worn by the entertainment talent you’re sitting with. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the largest, most broad-shouldered figure; the breadth of the man fills out his battle armour of dark leather and metal without an inch to spare, a golden medusa on his chest plate gleams impressive, ready to leap out at real or imagined enemies. Dark leather skirts do nothing to hide the man’s wide, powerful thighs and you have no doubt that his arms are similarly burly, though they’re currently covered by a luxurious red cape with gold trim that fastens with authority at his thick neck.

Oh fuck.

It’s him. The muscular, drool-worthy snack you’re currently ogling is the same despicable cretin that made your morning a living hell. Then, as if he can feel your eyes on him, the man turns his head towards you, eyebrows cocking in recognition. His face morphs into what can only be described as a look of revulsion, eyes shooting daggers at you while his mouth pulls down in a frown of disgust. You flinch as if burned and look away quickly, remembering the sting of his earlier words.

Feelings of inadequacy rapidly resurfacing, you force yourself to blink back tears, grateful for when the orientation begins. The first presenter goes over the general purpose and expectation of your roles: walk predesignated routes around the property, meet and greet guests and tourists, pose for pictures, don’t break character, stay with your assigned group, use staff designated elevators and pathways to get back to staff only areas to keep up the “illusion” of your personas; it’s nothing Arishat hasn’t prepared you for.

What is unexpected is the aplomb with which the next speaker is introduced, “Even when he isn’t dressed like a Roman goliath, this is the man who keeps us all in line and all of Caesar’s Palace safe and for that we’ve always called him our General. Please welcome our fearless leader, Head of Security, General Marcus Acacius!!”

You roll your eyes upon seeing your parkade nemesis take the mic, annoyance grating in your chest until your heart drops into your stomach at a terrible realization. Marcus is the HEAD OF SECURITY. The very person whose radar you should definitely avoid lest he discover your falsified identity, is the very person you’ve managed to piss off and directly insult. Shit, shit, shit. If Marcus wanted, he could definitely get you, or rather Arishat, fired.

Panicking, you only half listen to Marcus’ remarks, barely registering the velvet honey of his baritone - commanding but so much more soothing than the indignant growl with which he addressed you earlier, “Members of my security team have been assigned to your groups to ensure that you all remain safe, that no guests or guest interactions cross any boundaries. We will be dressed as you see here, similar to those of you playing gladiators so that we blend in; one or more of us will always be with your group, don’t hesitate to come to us with any concerns. I myself will be walking all the routes and periodically checking in with each group. Please don’t be shy about bringing anything to my attention either. Thank you.”

After some applause, everyone gets up and starts filing towards the stage to get their group assignments. As you patiently wait your turn, trying to exude some of that extra confidence that your admittedly beautiful, embellished showgirl costume deserves, you resign yourself to a mature, unpleasant decision.

You’re going to apologize.

As much as it pains you to gratify yourself to this egotistical douche nozzle, you can’t risk messing up your best friend’s gig. Tracking Marcus with your eyes to gauge an appropriate time to approach, you’ve just step onto the raised platform when he happens to turn and look directly at you; seizing the opportunity, you step out of line and head towards him. To your complete mortification, the General immediately turns around and starts walking away. Dammit!

Quickening your steps, you attempt to catch up to his long strides that, if you were type to get paranoid about this sort of thing, you’d swear are speeding up at your approach. Practically breaking out in a jog, you call out as discreetly as you can, “Mr. Acacius! Wait, Mr. Acacius, I just want to – OOF!”

The titan halts and turns at the sound of your voice, but his unanticipated actions make him an immovable object to your unstoppable force as you crash with a thud into his towering mass. To make matters even worse, in an attempt to not topple over completely, you do a little side shuffle and inadvertently bring down the heel of your bedazzled shoe right onto Marcus’ sandalled foot.

“FUCK! OW – what the hell are you doing?!” the General roars and the entire room turns to stare at the commotion.

“Omigod, omigod, I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t mean to! Are you hurt? Omigod, I’m so sorry!” you’re babbling, contrite and embarrassed; if you thought you were going to cry before, that was nothing compared to how you feel right now.

Marcus’ face is menacing, grimaced with pain, “OF COURSE it hurts! You stomped on my foot for god’s sake. How are never where you’re supposed to be? Get back in line and get your assignment like everyone else!”

Thoroughly humiliated and afraid of doing any more damage, you back away without another word, scurrying to the assignment line while trying to make yourself as small as you feel. Afraid to look back, you miss the hard lines of the General’s face softening, looking like he might want to call after you before thinking the better of it and hobbling away.

---

Thankfully, the rest of your day passes uneventfully. The work is relatively straightforward, though tiring. As promised, the artisanal craftsmanship of your costume is a marvel, gorgeous but laden down with beads, gems, and pearls - it’s heavy. The matching heels, also stunning, start to pinch, dig, rub in all the usual places after hours upon hours of non-stop standing and walking. Unable to feel completely confident walking around in public in such state of dress, or undress rather, you happily let the other girls in your group shine, preferring to hang back and draw less attention to yourself. Unused to feeling so exposed or needing to be “on” for such a long stretch of time, your social battery and energy levels drop gradually over the course of the day.

To your relief, you hardly see Marcus, though as promised, he does check in with your group periodically. While you do try to stay out of his way, you can’t help but notice two things. The first is that he’s highly respected and obviously very good at his job; more than once you witness his team and other resort staff acknowledging and deferring to his authority and the quiet command of his expertise. He never barks orders or yell at anyone (just you, it seems), relying instead on confidence and a calm gravitas to charge his directives and fully control any situation. If you’re being honest, not only is it impressive, it makes you feel safe being under Marcus’ care.

The second thing you notice is that he’s limping.

You don’t dare attempt a second apology, though you doubt you’d be successful even if you were to try - the General appears to be taking great lengths to ignore you. He asks after every person in your contingent and acknowledges everyone personally except for you, going so far as to avoid all eye contact and even averting his gaze when he addresses the group as a whole. You suppose you can hardly blame him, but as the day goes on, it becomes harder and harder for your feelings not to be hurt by someone deliberately acting like you don’t exist; after an entire day of this exclusionary treatment, your irritation for the man reignites.

By the time you get back to your car, thankful for the end of your shift and the comfy sweats you’ve changed into, your feelings for Marcus Acacius have reverted to what they were when you were standing in this exact spot earlier this morning. You grab a pen and a pad of post-its from your purse; scribbling “RESERVED for THE GENERAL” in big letters, you slap the bright pink paper on the wall behind your car, glad that you’ll never have to see that egotistical perfect head of hair again.

Earlier Today

Damn you, Janet Jackson. You silently curse the five-time Grammy winner as you drive towards the Caesar’s Palace employee parking lot, finding it with more ease than you did yesterday.

Last night, bone-tired and mentally exhausted, you had come home to a giddy and nervous Arishat grinning like a cat who just ate the canary, chirping, “How did it go?!!!”

You had told a white lie and said it was fine. For all intents and purposes, it had gone fine. You chose to omit the details of how you managed to make a mortal enemy of Caesar’s Palace’s Bonehead of Security, figuring it wasn’t worth worrying her. Besides, what would it matter? Your roommate would take her rightful place in the Golden Days line up the next day and Marcus, esteemed General, would be none the wiser – likely even smug in the certainty that he had run you off, when in fact, you would be curled up on your couch with a book freshly plucked from your TBR. Win-win-win, right?

Wrong.

“Oh goodie!! Because… I need you to pretend to me again tomorrow?” Arishat worked her pleading eyes while telling you the exceedingly good news that she had secured a callback audition… for the next day. It was just one more day, you could do Golden Days for her for just one more day, right?

Of course, you had agreed – if the Rhythm Nation was calling, who were you to stand in your best friend’s way? Showering you with gratitude and massaging your tired feet while ordering your favourite Thai takeout, Arishat regaled you with the high points of her day: how iconic Miss Jackson herself was, which classic Janet jams were on the set list, the grandiosity of the show and of course… the cute boy she met who worked on production sets at Resort World. You rolled your eyes teasingly, happy for her.

That happiness has brought you here now, slowly rolling past your parking spot from yesterday, already occupied by what you recognize is Marcus’ car; you spot your bright pink post-it displayed prominently on his dash– guess he saw it.

Knowing that Marcus is already here rattles you more than you’d like, but your friends from yesterday soon help you shake off any nerves with their hype and excitement for the day. You head toward today’s briefing room with your group in good spirits, ready to jump start your energy levels with donuts and coffee from the complimentary snack table supplied by the hotel.

Though the donut selection looks to be fairly picked over by the time you get to the table, you do spot a lone crueller sitting on a tray in the middle of the spread. Hand outstretched, you’re just about to select your favourite donut when a beefy, gold bangle decorated arm darts in front of yours and snatches it. Taken aback, you chuckle, ready to jokingly (but not really?) fight this donut stealer, when your mood sours upon seeing who it is.

“You.”

Of course it’s Marcus. This man must have a sixth sense for ways to ruin your mornings.

When he turns to face you fully, you realize why you didn’t recognize him earlier - he’s not wearing the same dark leather gladiator armour from the previous day, but a crisp, white ceremonial ensemble that could be considered the day to yesterday’s night. Whereas the imposing burnt umber battlements he wore yesterday conjured images of battle charges and military campaigns, Marcus’ soft white costume today is more suited for ceremony and celebration. It’s gorgeously tailored, trimmed with gold tassels and embroidered laurels; adorning the chest plate are twin facing golden griffins signaling majesty and the splendor of victory – a sharp contrast to the attacking Medusa decorating the same torso yesterday. Draping the General’s shoulders is a heavy cape of the same material and embellishment, broadening his already hulking frame even more.

He looks stunning. And he’s still holding the last sugary glazed crueller between his thick fingers. You’re not sure which makes you lick your lips.

“Is there something you need?” the question is asked in confusion, as if the man simply cannot fathom why you’ve invaded his space yet again, snapping you back to the moment.

“That was my donut,” you deadpan, pride having given up wasting manners on a man who apparently deigns it unnecessary to show you any of his.

“There wasn’t a sign saying it’s reserved,” Marcus mockingly parrots back your words from yesterday about his parking space. Perhaps if you weren’t already seething from his previous treatment, you might spot the mischievous dance of his eyes and the slightly playful curve of his smirk, but all you see is a man who has antagonized you at every given opportunity choosing to be antagonistic yet again. Ass!

“Have it, General,” you snip back, abandoning your empty plate and stomping off towards the coffee. Finding the pots empty, you grab a package of fresh grounds and are just looking for a new filter when you see the swish of someone’s grand skirts in your peripheral before a mitt of a hand opens the top of the machine right in front of you.

“Here, let me g-”

Exasperated that you somehow cannot escape this man, you snap, harsher and louder than you mean to, “I might not know much, but I know how to make a new pot of coffee. So kindly, back off.”

A few heads turn towards your confrontation, further heightening your agitation; to his credit, Marcus takes the hint – holding his hands up in surrender, he tilts his head and purses his lips in bemusement before shrugging and backing away.

Finally, you huff. Still breathing heavily and heart pounding, you make coffee, trying to take your mind off of your latest altercation with the most infuriating man you’ve ever met.

Little did you know that your morning was about to get worse.

Your feet, still sore from yesterday, protest right off the bat at being stuffed back into their bedazzled prison for another day. Almost immediately, you begin wincing with every step – how does Arishat wear these types of shoes all the time?! Hope she doesn’t mind you returning these filled with blood – yeesh.

For some reason, the route your group takes today crosses the path of every lecherous creep that’s visiting Vegas this week. Old men and frat boys alike interpret the “op” in photo-op as an opportunity for their unwanted hands to wander; you and your fellow showgirls peel sweaty palm after sweaty palm that linger too long off your bodies, swatting away too bold hands that treat the beaded embroidery of your costumes like some type of sensory play. Your security team, and even the entertainers posing as gladiators, have to step in repeatedly to reprimand guests for their inappropriate behaviour. On two occasions, you would not have been surprised if fisticuffs had broken out.

Halfway through the morning, you were ready to quit both for yourself and Arishat. The only thing stopping you is the seriousness with which your security team is taking these transgressions; they consult you and the other girls on adjustments they’ll need to make in their approach to your safety and share the suggestions they’ll be bringing to General Acacius. Despite your dislike for the man, you trust that he will take swift action.

The real icing on this cake of a day, however, comes just before lunch.

Leaving the Venus Pool & Lounge, your group is on its way back through the Palace Tower when you hear a sharp snap right before a pop of air rushes down your backside. To your horror, the front of your costume, heavy with its intricately woven gemstones and garlands of threaded pearls, starts to slip downwards; a quick check by your friends confirms your fear that the clasp on the back of the garment has broken, and the only thing holding the bedazzled fabric to your body is your hands. With rising panic, you scrunch the fabric to your chest and hastily part from your team, desperately hoping you can make it back to the change room before inadvertently living out the cliché nightmare of being naked at work.

Present – Elevator ride

Still anxiously clutching your costume to your chest, you look anywhere but at Marcus - silently willing the elevator cab to speed up its infuriating slow descent; you’re convinced that every second that ticks by brings you closer to a humiliating loss in your battle against gravity.

If only there was muzak or something to distract you other than the grinding clicks of the elevator’s gear mechanisms percussing the steady breathing of a man that refuses to look at you. Oddly, you’re glad for his avoidance – you’re sure Marcus hasn’t noticed that you’re one hand slip from being half naked in front of him and the last thing you need is another scolding or scathing remark about how incompetent he finds you. Eyes darting over, you use the opportunity to study him without scrutiny.

It must be nice to have such a tailored to fit costume, you think, admiring. The white and gold costume looks made for the General, breastplate moulded to his thick trunk like plaster - how the hell is he so broad? Those shoulder tasseled sleeves and cape must have been custom measured – there’s no way that this man’s expansive wingspan is regular. The glorious drape of Marcus’ cape draws your eyes past the pleats of his victory skirt to his thick, muscular calves, practically exploding from his lace-up sandals. Sweet Moses.

It seems that no one told your libido that the rest of you abhors this man, because the weight of his practically oppressive stature in this confined space has you chewing your lower lip, struggling not to squirm in place. At least you’re not thinking about your broken costume anymore. There’s a good chance that you might have been caught mid-drool by the man himself if it wasn’t for a sudden loud screech of metal grinding against metal reverberating through the elevator. In shock at the piecing sound, you’re wholly unprepared when the lights start flashing and the carriage jerks violently to a stop.

Without warning, you’re thrown across the small metal box - Marcus, whose colossal mass has provided him more anchorage, reaches out to catch you before you crash unceremoniously into the mirrored wall. Your hands fly out to steady yourself on his firm shoulders, face pressed against the stability of his hard chest while your body instinctively folds into the safety of the General’s hold.

When the lights stop flickering and the elevator’s bounce has stilled, you search for Marcus’ eyes, finding them to be wide and full of concern.

“Are you okay?” the usually gruff baritone is warm but urgent.

Voice shaky and still in some shock, you blink and nod, “Yes. Thank you, Marc-”

You stop short when you hear the General’s sharp intake of air and see him quickly avert his eyes to look at the ceiling, “Um, your… uh, you seem to have… oh gosh… um…”

Confused by his sudden stuttering, you look down and with a gasp realize that when you reached out to grab onto Marcus for stability, you had let go of your costume – the embellished fabric has fallen and bunched up at your waist, leaving your top half completely exposed.

With a cry of mortification, you push off of Marcus, scrambling to pull up your costume and cover your naked chest. Marcus turns away to give you some privacy, then awkwardly spins when he realizes every inch of the elevator except for the doors is covered in mirrors; he finally settles busying himself with pressing various buttons on the panel. All the controls appear to be dead, including the call for help button.

Still not looking at you, the General mumbles somewhat helplessly, “Uh… the line is dead.”

This is too much.

You can’t help it - sinking down to the floor and crumpling as the stress of the day finally hits you, you start to softly cry. Your feet hurt. A bunch of neanderthals touched you today without consent. You’re not even supposed to be here, but you feel the stakes of doing a good job as much as if you were. You feel exposed and underdressed, and exhausted from being paraded into public as if you weren’t. You’re stuck in an elevator with a man who absolutely hates your guts. And you just flashed him.

It’s all just too much.

“Hey, hey now. Please don’t cry. Are you hurt?”

You shake your head violently, still unable to find your voice. Just my pride, you think.

“Is it because… I… hey, listen… I didn’t see anything, okay? You don’t have to cry about showing me… I didn’t see your… anything.”

Marcus crouches down and places his flexed, corded forearms on his knees, respectfully keeping his hands to himself but with his palms up in invitation. You look at him, eyes sad and expression dubious.

He sighs in admission, “Okay. I did see. But please don’t be embarrassed. I won’t commit anything I saw to memory, okay? Consider me having seen nothing.”

Marcus looks so timid, voice eager to reassure that you can’t help but crack a smile, “Are my tits really so forgettable?”

So relieved at this glimpse of your good humour, Marcus lets out booming laugh that shakes the entirety of his massive form before plopping himself down next to you on the elevator floor.

As the General settles in, you find yourself admiring his deep-set brown eyes - you’ve never seen them flecked with gold and crinkled in mirth like this, the sight causes a surge of affection in your heart and your shoulders untense at the feeling.

While he doesn’t answer your question, Marcus tries to offer some reassurance, “Even if we can’t call out, I assure you my team in the control room knows where we are and are already working on the issue. I’m sure the elevator will be fixed or help will be on the way shortly – you don’t have anything to worry about.”

You believe him. Even if the two of you have a primarily contentious relationship, you can’t deny that Marcus is immensely competent – he keeps eyes on and hands in everything at Caesar’s, you’ve seen him take prodigious care of even the smallest details when it came to the security and operations of the resort. If he tells you there isn’t anything to worry about, you trust that to be the case.

Nodding, you try to convey that you’re taking solace in his words, but you’re still holding yourself very small, clutching your costume as tightly to chest as you can. Marcus remains concerned, “Are you claustrophobic?”

You shake your head.

“Are you uncomfortable? Or… am I making you uncomfortable?”

Marcus looks so thoroughly ashamed, you attempt to lighten the mood with a little lighthearted self-deprecation, “Well aside from the anxiety of breaking the back clasp on my costume, I’m as comfortable as I could be having gotten half naked in front of a man who hates me.”

“I don’t hate you,” the General sounds surprised, but his statement is said with certainty.

“But,” you struggle to articulate that despite the way you may have spoken to him in the past, the comment wasn’t meant as an admonishment but known fact, “I took your parking spot. And I broke your foot.”

“Those were accidents.”

“You… yelled at me. Said I didn’t know anything. Made sure I knew you didn’t want me around you. You said I didn’t know my place,” despite the recollection of those incidents no longer bringing you the same amount of anguish as they did yesterday, you still hang your head sadly.

You hear a slight shuffling as the General scoots a little closer to you. Through the lashes of your downcast gaze, you see Marcus lift a hand, retract it hesitatingly before ultimately making up his mind to reach for you. A rough thumb and finger gently pinch your chin and direct your face upwards.

In a tone softer than you would have thought possible, Marcus atones, “The way I treated you yesterday, the things that I said… they were unkind, unwarranted, and completely unforgivable. I truly apologize.”

You cannot help but be touched by the sincerity you see etched all over his handsome face, the General’s soulful eyes pool with regret, shame, self admonishment. Having already been disarmed by the gentleness of his tenor and the tenderness with which he’s hovering over you, you melt further at Marcus’ obvious guilt and the earnestness of his confession; besides, you’ve never been one to kick a gorgeous man when he’s down, “I suppose neither of us have been at our best.”

“Perhaps not, but I was arguably worse, and while you didn’t say or do anything to me that I didn’t deserve, I can’t say the same for my treatment of you,” Marcus hangs his head, recalling again his harsh words and ungentlemanly behaviour, “Let me make it up to you, Little Showgirl.”

The seemingly out of nowhere pet name catches you completely off guard and your eyes shoot up to meet the General’s, for the second time in a minute you find yourself surprised by their expression – the large, imposing figure who you felt had personally terrorized you for the past two days looks almost… shy. Any remaining animosity you might have harboured, already fleeting from your rapidly warming feelings, evaporates at the look he’s giving you, “What did you have in mind, General?”

At your words, a heart stopping smile breaks out across Marcus’ face, stealing your breath – the weary lines of his face lift, crinkling near his eyes and around his mouth (is that a dimple you see?), softening and relaxing into that of a man ten years younger at least. Holding out his hand, Marcus offers, “I could mend your costume for you?”

Whatever you imagined he might say, it certainly wasn’t this; the idea is so sweet and considerate, helpful and… adorable. Now the one feeling shy, you sit silently on your knees and hand over the complimentary hotel sewing kit.

Marcus coughs as he starts to unravel the thread options, “Um, why don’t you turn around so I’m facing what needs to be sewn, and… I guess… adjust so that everything is where… I mean, the costume is how you want it to be? And then I’ll sew the back together so it stays that way?”

You nod in agreement, grateful for the General’s comprehensive assessment and swift decision-making skills in even the most obscure of circumstances. Shuffling to get into the suggested position, you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together at how good it feels to let Marcus take charge of you.

After adjusting your costume to where you want it, you sit patiently and watch in the mirror as Marcus threads the needle, squinting and focusing so hard his tongue pokes out the side his mouth.

He catches you watching in the mirror and gives you an apologetic look, “Don’t have my reading glasses on me.” Goddamit, the man is even more precious than he was previously infuriating.

“Do you want me to tie the knot?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Marcus sheepishly relents, “here, let me put it directly in your hand so you don’t drop your costume… again.”

You might have retorted something cheeky if it wasn’t for the warmth of the General’s chest enveloping your back and his muscular arms encircling your body to hand you the needle; he’s so close that his breath dances lightly at the nape of your neck, causing the hair there to stand up - your body gives a little shiver. If Marcus notices, he doesn’t let on, instead holding his posture steady and protective while you expertly tie the double knot needed at the end of the thread. When it’s ready, you hold it out for the General to pluck from your waiting hand; afterwards, you look down to adjust yourself again, unaware of Marcus’ covetous gaze as he watches you in the mirror.

Once you’re satisfied, he pulls the fabric taut across your back and gets to work.

For a few minutes, Marcus works in silence; unwilling to disturb his focus, you stay as still as possible and amuse yourself watching this big, strong hulk of a man and his dainty sewing, his eyes soulful and lower lip being bitten in deep concentration for this nimble task.

Once satisfied with the foundation stitches he’s sewn, Marcus’ grip on your costume slackens, as does his tongue - somberly, Marcus speaks, “I’m very sorry again, Little Showgirl. I know it’s no excuse for my behaviour, but I was having a bad morning when we met – through no fault of yours. My building was having maintenance issues, so my alarm clock got reset and I woke up late. Then there was no hot water and, if you can believe it or not, this is not the first elevator I’ve been stuck in in the last 48 hours.” He heaves a deep sigh and your eyes soften with sympathy, “That’s all to say I was already running ridiculously late when I drove up behind you and I forgot my manners in my frustration and anxiety. The truth is, I’ve spent the better part of the past few months dreading Golden Days.”

You tilt your head in understanding, “I’m sure it’s a lot of extra work for you and your team. I can only imagine all the extra pressure you’re under.”

Marcus’ eyes find yours in the mirror and relaxes at their sincerity, “It is a lot. There are a ton of additional logistical factors to consider, and every variable brings with it security risks that I’m responsible for assessing and planning for.” He drops his eyes back down to his task, hiding in anticipation of his next confession, “But all of that comes with the job, nothing my team and I haven’t handled before. What I really wasn’t looking forward to is… wearing this stupid costume.”

Your eyes widen at this unexpected revelation: Big Bad General, venerated and trusted by the entire resort to keep the ship right, flustered at having to wear a costume? One that makes him look like an ancient god?

“I know it’s the antithesis of where I work, but I’ve never felt comfortable with all the glitz and pomp of the Strip. I love my job precisely because it’s behind the scenes, things run smoothest when me and my team escape detection. Now, for two weeks, we’re being paraded around in the most ostentatious costumes I’ve ever laid eyes on – I can’t tell you how off-putting it feels to be nervous about coming into work, to do a job I’ve had for years, that I excel at. All because I know I’m going to look dumb as hell doing it. Just one more thing I unfairly took out on you, Little Showgirl. I’m sorry.”

If only Marcus knew just how much you relate to feeling out of place in these costumes, “Oh Marcus, that’s all completely understandable. I’m sure I did absolutely nothing to abate your anxiety or frustrations with my own behaviour.” Marcus opens his mouth to interrupt but you shake your head slightly and continue, “I know you’re going to say it wasn’t my fault, and while that might be technically true, I can’t help but feel terrible for making your day worse than it already was. I’m sorry as well. I hope you can forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Little Showgirl.”

The two of you lock eyes and fix a look of mutual fondness upon one another in the mirror before you each look away, bashful. Now that you’re no longer worried that Marcus harbours ill will towards you, you can’t help but be a little playful with the decidedly serious General – certain that beneath his gruff exterior is a kind natured and good-humoured man, “So you don’t hate me, but you were going to close the elevators door on me?”

“I was pressing the Open Door button!”

You giggle at the indignation in the General’s response and press on, “What about avoiding me all day yesterday? Even when you’d check in on our group, you never spoke to me or asked how I was doing, even though you would ask everyone else? And when you did acknowledge me, even in the assignment room, you looked at me like I infuriated you. Or disgusted you? Or both? I know I’m not the most glamourous girl working Golden Days, but did you just find me… unacceptable?” You try to keep your tone playful, but now that you’ve given voice to the words, you realize there’s still a small part of you that’s stung by the memory of Marcus’ treatment.

He must sense your trepidation, because you see his broad shoulders slacken in the mirror, regret once again lining his face, “Oh shit. I didn’t realize that you’d- Fuck. I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, Little Showgirl. The truth is, I couldn’t look at you without feeling utterly ashamed at how I had spoken to and treated you earlier. If you read my expression as being Infuriated and disgusted – you were right, but not at you, with myself. I hope the way I’ve purported myself in the last twenty minutes or so has shown you that I’m not some pompous asshole who enjoys tearing people down; my behaviour towards you yesterday is the opposite to how I strive to conduct myself. Seeing you reminded me of how abhorrent I was. I never considered that my own self contempt could be taken in the way you described but that’s one more thing I must atone for. I’m sorry again.”

Marcus’ apology is more heartfelt and self effacing that you would have thought possible from a man you were convinced was a self-important righteous jerkoff less than an hour ago. Thoroughly disarmed by the way he appears contrite and genuinely remorseful, your heart reaches for the man, wishing to soothe his apparent distress.

Before you can think of something comforting to say, Marcus continues, “I apologize again if my behaviour ever made you feel otherwise, because you should know that you look beautiful. I’ve thought so from the moment I first laid eyes on you - you’re the prettiest little showgirl I’ve ever seen.”

Still unable to put together the words, your cheeks warm and you blink appreciatively at the compliment. Marcus receives your reaction with a boyish eagerness, hoping it conveys your forgiveness; giving you another small smile in the mirror, he returns to his sewing.

For a few minutes, you let Marcus work in silence as you contemplate him. By now, you’re prepared to admit that you had previously judged the stunning man behind you too harshly; despite his confident and commanding presence, you’ve seen now that he’s hard on himself and not immune to insecurity – perhaps you can help remedy that a tad with a confession of your own.

“Marcus?”

The General acknowledges you with a hum even as his eyes remained focused on the work.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think the Roman gladiator armour looks dumb. I think you look really good in it.”

This catches Marcus’ attention and he looks up, “You really think so?”

“Um, yeah,” you say, suddenly shy, “It makes you look really… formidable and authoritative – not that you need any help in those areas, but the costume really amplifies your qualities. The battle arena one you wore yesterday? You looked like a brickhouse. I think every gladiator who’s working Golden Days wished they looked half as good as you did.” You’re trying to pick your words carefully so not to objectify the poor man, but you really want Marcus to understand that the idea he might not look good in this regalia is outrageous, “And this ceremonial one you have on today… it’s, excuse my language, fucking glorious. You look regal, impressive and… so big. Honestly, you look hot in it, General.”

Vulnerable soft eyes meet yours in the mirror, holding your gaze as if to ascertain whether or not you’re being serious; you give Marcus your most sincere look and earnestly nod as if to say, Yes, you are hot, and he responds with a nearly inaudible whisper, “Thank you.”

Suddenly a sharp, searing pain pierces your back and you yelp in pain. Marcus starts at your cry and upon seeing the agony on your face, looks down to find that he’s poked you with the sewing needle and withdraws it quickly, “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Frantically dropping the needle, Marcus gently rubs his large, rough hand over the pinprick wound, “Does it still hurt? I’m so sorry, Little Showgirl.”

The pain having now subsided and further soothed by Marcus’ warm touch, you nod reassuringly, “It doesn’t hurt – I’m okay. Just surprised me is all. But we’re even now for your foot, right?”

Marcus looks up to see your cheeky grin - entire countenance relaxing, he chuckles, “Yes, we’re even now.” He goes back to sewing.

Pleased as punch with your own merrymaking, you go back to eyeing the man still working diligently to help you fix your wardrobe malfunction. With growing affection and, if you’re honest with yourself, attraction, you wonder again at how you could have pegged him for a self-centred jackass. Though the air of his importance and authority remains, you know now just how earned and well deserved it is. Far from being arrogant and pompous, Marcus is self aware, sensitive and not at all conceited – qualities that have raised him high in your esteem over the last half hour or so.

It's evident what a hard worker he is – his drive and competency, fuel for the already sparking fire low in your belly. Your heart swells thinking of the immense pressure he puts upon himself to uphold what he considers to be honour, decorum – you wish you could take some of it off those broad, generous shoulders of his. How would his near mythical wingspan look looming over you on your knees, ready and willing to give him some well-deserved respite from the weight of his duty by taking his monster co-

“All done,” Marcus announces, biting the thread before standing up to offer you a hand. As the General gently hauls you to your feet, your other hand flies up to your chest, expecting the fabric to fall away from your body – but to your delight, it doesn’t move. Lowering your hands tentatively, you feel the fit of the garment around your bust, waist and then hips – it appears secure, you beam, “This is perfect – thank you so much, Marcus.”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ll think it’s perfect when you see the sewing job, but it should hold and get you through to the end of the shift.” Chuckling to himself, he watches fondly as you do a little test shimmy, beads and pearls jingling and dancing over your curves. Smoothing down the embellishments so that they still, you feel Marcus’ gaze and cross your arms over your body for a bit more coverage, embarrassed at the impropriety of your earlier thoughts.

Misreading your discomfort, Marcus offers gently, “I mean it, you know? You look gorgeous. Beautiful.” He fiddles with decorative enamel broach that holds his white cape at his collar bone, unclasping and removing it in one gallant sweep. “However, if it makes you feel more comfortable,” he carefully drapes the luxurious fabric around your shoulders, wrapping you in it completely, “you can wear this.”

“Thank you, Marcus,” fully cloaked and cozy, you soak in the sweet gesture and Marcus’ compliment, breathing in the linger of his heady cologne on the garment.

The two of you stand looking at one another in silence - the warmth of the moment, full of fondness and affection, filling the small elevator. If someone had told you this morning that you would feel a deep appreciation and attraction to this man you had sworn to loathed, you would have said they were delusional. But now, you can’t even remember what you felt before, never mind why.

You want to repent and laugh, apologize some more – though you know he would never allow it. Shifting shyly foot-to-foot, thinking of what you want to say, you suddenly feel the pinch of your shoes again, “Do you mind if I sit? These shoes look great but they’re killing my feet. I should probably stay off of them for as long as I can before I have to go out again.”

Marcus joins you once again on the floor of the elevator, amused at the exaggerated sigh of relief you exhale as you start arching your feet and wiggling you toes after you remove the glamourous but offensive footwear.

“May I?” he gestures at your pointing feet. At your little nod of permission, the General lays your aching feet in his lap and uses his big strong hands to massage and grip your arches. His strength targets all the right pressure points so that relief is immediate. You bite your bottom lip and close your eyes when he spreads his fingers around your heels and rubs tight little circles that nearly have you moaning, this is heaven.

“So,” Marcus gulps when he sees the pleasure overtaking your face, feeling himself harden beneath his battle skirts, “Aside from hurting feet, your costume breaking, and a horrid man terrorizing you, has the rest of your day gone alright?

Your eyes open to his affectionate grin, “Oh! It’s been okay.”

He wouldn’t be good at his job if he couldn’t read people and Marcus tilts his head curiously at your answer. Though you could downplay today’s events, the General makes you feel safe enough to not want to, “Well, we had some… trouble.”

“Tell me.”

Even if you didn’t understand that he genuinely wants to know, the authoritative tone of his voice compels you to obey. You think you would do anything that velvet baritone asked of you, and that thought alone sends a shooting pang straight to your clenching core. So, you tell Marcus everything about the harassment and unwanted physical contact that you and your group encountered today; as you see the General’s eyes darken at the details, you hurry your storytelling to make sure he doesn’t blame his men, “Your team did a great job taking care of us and have already been strategizing on how to prevent these situations going forward. They were great, really. You run a good group.”

Marcus smiles at your sweetness, “Thank you. I trust they did their best, and I’m certain they won’t be happy until we come up with new protocols to make things safer - everything will be discussed with the needed changes in place by tomorrow. I promise you won’t have to worry about the same type of things happening when you come in tomorrow, Little Showgirl.”

Warming again under Marcus’ term of endearment, you decide that you owe him the same level of honesty and sincerity that he’s shown you, “That’s reassuring, Marcus - thank you, but I’m not coming in tomorrow.”

“What? Why not? Did you quit because of me?”

You nearly laugh out loud at the panic in the General’s voice, though his crestfallen look and obvious disappointment make your stomach do an inadvertent flip, “No, no, Marcus, of course not.” The tank of a man before you practically deflates with relief – it’s endearing. Time to come clean. “Since you already hate me,” you tease, pausing only at Marcus’ grumbled interjection of I don’t hate you, “I suppose I might as well tell you the truth.”

Marcus cocks his eyebrow quizzically as you confess your true identity and the reason you’ve been pretending to be in the resort’s employ these past two days. Even as you finish with how your roommate will be done her callback by the end of day and that tomorrow, she would be here to take her rightful place for Golden Days, Marcus still hasn’t said a word.

Pulling your feet from Marcus’ soothing grip, you reposition yourself on your knees and shuffle over to the General, thigh to thigh, face to face, worried, “Have you changed your mind about hating me?”

Seeing that true concern laces your pretty face, Marcus gently takes one of your dainty hands in his and raises it to his lips; placing one soft kiss to your knuckles, he proclaims, “Never.”

You’re melting.

Confidence now partially restored by the tenderness of his gesture, you use the hold Marcus has on your hand to pull yourself closer, teasing glint in your eye, “So, now that I’ve confessed the truth to you, are Arishat and I in trouble?”

“Well, technically, you committed identity fraud,” Marcus starts, pretending to look serious for only a second before letting his expression transform into one of mischief, “But seeing how you didn’t have any nefarious intentions… I guess I can look the other way. Plus, you flashed me, so consider your penance paid.”

Your melodic laugh echoes off the walls of the elevator and Marcus’ heart swells at the loveliness of the sound. “Thank you. I appreciate your confidence that I’m not planning some kind of casino heist,” hand still holding his, you let your smile curve flirtatiously, “You really are very sweet, General.”

The mountainous man scoffs good-naturedly, “Don’t tell anyone, you’ll ruin my tough guy reputation.”

��It’ll be our little secret - just between us,” grinning, you peer at him coquettishly through your lashes, “Like what I look like underneath this costume.”

“Just between us,” Marcus swallows hard.

“Are you thinking about me half naked right now, General?”

“Yeah, I am,” he breathes, right before crashing his mouth to yours.

Oh. Marcus kisses like his professional moniker suggests: precise, unrepentant, powerful. You push back with the same assertiveness against his lips and tongue, tangling your breath with his, trading in his air. Without breaking the kiss, Marcus hooks his sculpted arm around your waist, cupping the plush of your ass in just one of his bear paws, he hauls you into his lap; you land with a giggly bounce, straddling one of the General’s thick thighs. Your hands reach up to cup Marcus’ face, scratching through his well-groomed scruff while you nip and nibble at his lower lip; your chest burst with a school girl giddiness when you feel him smile at your kitten attack.

Beneath the cover of his cape, Marcus’ rough hands roam your body, trailing his thick fingers up and down the curve of your spine, making you whimper at the reverence of his touch. Wide palms find the fat of your thighs and grip you with such want that you yelp and test the General’s hold with a roll against his leg that has him moaning your name down your throat. You think you could drown in the sounds of this man falling apart beneath you. Leaving his lips involuntarily, your body bows at the grip Marcus bruises on your body, whining as he kisses along your jaw, groaning, almost to himself, “So fucking soft.”

Hard hands travel to your waist with the discipline of a trained soldier, heavy palms working your soft flesh through your costume while a hungry mouth licks and snipes a path of pleasure from your ear down your neck that has you gasping and squirming.

“Marcus, please!” you cry out, voice hushed and desperate as the General’s hot breath rolls across the expanse of your throat. He smirks at your neediness, greedy hands massaging their way up to your tits.

“Gonna mark you up, so everyone knows you’re mine. If anyone tries to touch you again, they’ll have to answer to me,” Marcus growls against the sweet spot at the bottom of your neck, sending your head spinning with his possessive tone and the hard suck of his mouth.

With Marcus’ hands now cupping your breasts, your hips are free to rock and grind on the flex of his muscular thigh – through the layers of fabric, the texture from the beaded details of your costume heighten the sensation from your movements on your drooling cunt. You can feel just how wet you are by the slick glide of your folds in your panties as your costume catches roughly over Marcus’ leg.

Marcus’ mouth finds yours again, you kiss him back furiously – your tongue slides against his, eager to show him just how much you want him, need him. He licks into your mouth and you swallow his throaty groans, answering them with your own half formed moans that he steals right back.

“You make the prettiest noises, Little Showgirl,” he purrs, hands kneading and groping your heaving breasts over the front of your costume. You’re practically bucking now, about to beg again, for what you don’t even know when Marcus’ talented fingers zero in on your already pert and aching nipples, finding them with ease and giving each peak a punishing pinch and tug.

You quake and howl, the crisp sting sending a thrumming wave of ecstacy to every nerve ending in your body. Yanking harshly on Marcus’ soft waves, you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer still, melding your lips to his and sucking on his tongue while your hips gyrate and swivel, seeking more pressure and friction. Reading your cues perfectly, Marcus bends his knee slightly to give you more purchase and you lay a hot trail of open mouth kisses from the corner of his mouth along his chiseled jawline in gratitude.

“You’re killing me, baby.” Baby. The new pet name is exalted with a strained groan – what you would have interpreted as exasperation less than 24 hours ago is now delicious music to your ears, proof that you’re affecting the beast of a man beneath you as much as he is you. You chuckle breathy and satisfied into the shell of Marcus ear, “Payback.”

The General’s response to your smug retort is to bite down on your shoulder, just hard enough to jolt you hard against him, dragging your needy pussy down the length of his thigh. He smirks as he laves his tongue over the imprint of his teeth on your skin, soothing it while you whinny above him like feisty filly yearning to run free. Bear paw hands continue to grab and squeeze your tits, pushing and pulling all your supple curves so that they mould to his palms, fingers tuning your sensitive nipples to try to find his favourite song: the one you’re singing in gasps, the sole lyrics his name in repetition, Marcus, Marcus, Marcus.

“Wish I could just rip this costume off your pretty body and see those perfect tits of yours again. Sew it back up after I take those cute little nipples in my mouth and suck on them until you scream. Would you let me do all that, Little Showgirl?” The General nips and snarls behind your earlobe, inhaling the sweetness of your perfume that’s wafting as your lap dance picks up speed, intensity.

“Yes, Marcus, yes! I’d let you do anything to me.”

Oh, he likes that. Marcus drops a hand down to your ass and gives your bouncing cheek a sharp spank that sends you tumbling towards the edge of bliss, “Anything?”

You can barely string together a thought separate from the pleasure Marcus is giving you with his hands, his thigh, his mouth, but you manage to eek out a weak, “Anything.”

“You going to let me help you come?”

Nearly crumpling at Marcus’ dark tone, your head flops forward in a semblance of a nod.

Marcus’ hands grasp onto the meat of your hips and restrict your rhythmic movements against his leg – you whine in protest.

“Need you to use your words, Little Showgirl.” There it is again: the authority and command of his velvet voice; your cunt clenches, infuriatingly empty. Panting and breath short, your eyes shine with desperation as your mouth slackens into a perfect prayerful O-shape that makes Marcus hiss, “Yes, please, Marcus! Please help me come!”

Though he loves the sound of your sweet voice begging, Marcus is already far enough gone for you that he knows he would never deny you anything. Fingertips digging into the globes of your ass, Marcus holds your hips firm and begins to saw you back and forth over his thigh, pressing you down while driving up his leg in order to ignite an electrifying connection with your cunt that you couldn’t have reached on your own.

Marcus handles you with the precision and skill with which he executes every assignment he undertakes; every pull and push builds you higher and higher, the breath stealing rhythm he keeps makes you gush - your pussy, slick with arousal sails smoothly over Marcus tensed muscles, throbbing as the familiar band in the pit of your stomach coils tighter.

He’s all power and strategy, reading the ecstasy that paints your face like a map and orchestrating a building pace and intensity in his handle on your body so that your orgasm becomes an inevitability. Euphoria blooming, you give yourself over to Marcus completely, trusting your pleasure in his capable hands.

“Oh, god, right there, General…”

“You can’t call me that, baby. Or the next time one of my men calls me General, I’m going think of you. Like this. Bouncing and grinding in my lap, looking so fucking pretty.”

“Ngh, fuck! General…”

“Baby, what did I just say.”

You moan and goad him more, “… Acacius…”

Sucking the delicate skin at the base of your neck in between his teeth, Marcus hisses.

“Sir,” you draw out the last sound, rolling it from the back of your throat like a filthy hymn.

“Shit. My naughty little showgirl, you’re perfect. Never going to let you go.” The General crashes his lips to yours once more, desperate, messy. Your hands reach for those broad shoulders again, holding on tight as you work in tandem with Marcu’s control of your body, finding that if you tilt your hips just so, the pressure of his thigh’s arch against the trimming of your costume catches your clit just right. You break the kiss with a cry, the explosive pulsing from your overstimulated pearl rocketing you towards your summit.

“I’m so close, Marcus,” you rasp, back arching and bucking wild as you chase your release. Awestruck by your desire wracked expression, Marcus pledges himself to your pleasure – rocking and guiding you to exactly where you need to be. Everything tightens as you ride, clit brushing and flicking over that secret spot of your costume over and over and over.

“Take what you need, Little Showgirl,” grits Marcus against the column of your throat. He nuzzles against every little hitch of your airway and sucks down the ambrosia taste of your skin, “Anything that’s mine to give is yours. Let me give you everything, my lady.”

You explode with a sharp wail of the General’s name, coming so hard that you see stars. Your orgasm rips through your body and it’s all you can do to hold onto Marcus, fingernails marking crescent moons into his shoulders through the luxurious fabric of his Roman costume. Marcus gladly takes over, holding you through your high, safe and comforting as he continues to move you gently back and forth over the breadth of his thigh, thumbs drawing soothing circles over your hips as your shaking subsides. You slump against his hard chest, completely fucked out.

Marcus’ hands caress your back, rubbing up and down your spine in a calming fashion to bring you back to yourself. Hooded eyes lifting just enough to meet his gaze – your stomach flutters upon finding the General’s expression to one of awe and care; you’re so grateful and sated, about to say so when suddenly the elevator shudders harshly, lights flickering as the machinery above whirls back to life and you resume your descent.

Eyes widening at the unexpected movement, the two of you scramble off one another and onto your feet, though Marcus, ever the gentleman, remains on his knees for a little while longer to help you slip your feet back into your shoes.

He comes to a stand by your side and pulls you close, tucking you under the safety of his wing. That feeling of gratitude for his care surges through you again as you snuggle in tight.

“You okay, Little Showgirl? Do you need a minute?”

You look up at Marcus to find his affection for you evident in the lines of his handsome face - it makes your heart skip a beat; you nod, eyes still glassy, the aftershocks of your orgasm still pulsing faintly in your core. The strength of the General’s arm curves around your waist, tightening and helping you forward as the elevator doors finally open.

You’re immediately met by a member of Marcus’ security team - a strapping man in gladiator dress that you vaguely recognize from yesterday’s morning briefing.

“General, glad you’re okay, sir. I can give you a brief rundown on what’s happened.”

To your surprise, instead of letting you go so he can confer with his lieutenant, Marcus pulls you closer and tucks you under his chin, letting you rest against his chest. You close your eyes, comforted by the soothing rumble of Marcus’ baritone as it vibrates though his chest.

“Tell me.”

“There was a complete outage of service elevators in all the towers: Forum, Palace, Julius, Octavius, and Augustus – all simultaneous. Call lines dead, no camera footage. A little over half of the elevators were occupied when the disruption took place. They’ve all come back online since, successively – Palace is the last. You were stuck for 47 minutes.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“We’re still getting reports in but everyone accounted for is unharmed and doing alright. I’ve taken the liberty of assuming you would want to give everyone impacted an early lunch and asked them to come see the resort doctor in the employee briefing room.”

“Good work, Darius. Please ready a full debrief for me in the control room - I’ll be there momentarily.”

Even after Darius’ footsteps fade away, Marcus keeps you close and continues tending to you, dispensing soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, lips. The two of you stay in a tender embrace until your heartbeat slows to normal and your breathing evens.

Kiss. “Little Showgirl.” Kiss. “I know this is terribly backwards.” Kiss Kiss. “But if you’re free after your shift tonight.” Kiss. “Could I take you out to dinner?” Kiss Kiss Kiss Kiss Kiss.

“I would love that, Marcus.” Kiss.

Beaming, you step back and unclasp the brooch of the victory cape that you’re still wearing; unfurling it from your body, you giggle as Marcus bends at the knee so you can swing it over his shoulders. After refastening the pin, you pat and smooth down the luxurious fabric over the General’s broad frame, humming with satisfaction at how splendidly the breathtaking man wears it.

“Thank you, my lady,” Marcus proclaims, his good humour delighting you, “May I meet you here at six?”

Nodding, you place your palms gently on the golden griffins that span the front of Marcus’ Roman ceremonial dress, scratching your nails just deep enough so he can feel you on his chest, “Yes, please. Are you going to be wearing this?”

“I don’t know, are you going to be wearing this?” Marcus reaches out to run a finger lightly over a row of pearls that decorate your collar bone.

Supressing a shiver, you shoot back, “I could be? I don’t know what you did back there – I might not be able to take it off.”

Leaning in, Marcus lets his breath ghost over your ear as his whispers low, “I could help you take it off.”

Catching the dark and mischievous glint in the light of his eyes, you pretend to be scandalized, “General!” Smirking a little when you see Marcus inhale at your teasing use of his professional handle, you grab him by the fabric of his rich, sweeping cape and pull him back in, crushing your lips to his. Marcus’ tongue darts out to match you move for move, stroke for stroke, licking deep and chasing you to the furthest corners of your mouth. You let him catch you before withdrawing, leaving him chasing after your plush pout with a nibble and tug of his delectable lower lip. Giggling, you wink at the General’s puppy dog expression before turning on your heels to head off to the change room, putting a little extra sway in your hips as you saunter away, pearls and beads clinking a seductive melody that calls to Marcus like a siren.

Before he knows what’s come over him, his hand connects with the underside of your ass cheek, the consequence of his spank jiggling the plushness of your rear as you yelp in delight.

You keep on walking, throwing over your shoulder, “Hope you’re prepared to pay for that later, General.”

Chuckling, Marcus starts heading towards the security office, discreetly adjusting himself beneath the skirts of his Roman costume, knowing that you see him doing so by the crescendo of your sweet laughter, “I’m counting on it, Little Showgirl.”

NP Tagging a few people who encouraged me so kindly on my WIP Wednesdays for this fic - thank you bbs 😘: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @letsgobarbs @inept-the-magnificent @milla-frenchy

@sawymredfox @ace-turned-confused @evolnoomym @secretelephanttattoo @sunnytuliptime

@galway-girlatwork @itwasntimethatdidit40 @iamladyp @tuquoquebrute

#47minutesinheaven #marcus acacius #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x f!reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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lazyjellyfish300 · 1 month ago

Text

𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒍𝒔 ( ၴႅၴ

𔒌 synopsis: pregnancy has taken a toll on your hair. you've never really discussed your feelings about it with your husband, kento, until you take this time to let it heal and wear it more naturally.

𔒌 words: 1.3k

𔒌 cw: x FEM!PREGNANT WIFE READER, READER HAS CURLY HAIR, scarred post! Shibuya Kento. this is self indulgent & based on personal experiences as a woc, fluff, light angst.

𔒌 sparkle dividers by @/anitalenia and lavender by @/saradika-graphics

The rhythm of rainy mornings has changed its tune just slightly.

The showers have ceased early, letting patches of sunlight drizzle in its absence through the wavering clouds as morning settled in.

The stove remains bare where you would usually stand in its place, but some things remain the same, like the tender soul you belong to who walks in through the back door of the farmhouse.

Kento sheds his rain laden boots and vest, ridding himself of everything but the scent and the drops in his hair that would still cling to him when he found you right where he left you.

Rumbling purrs from an elusive critter at his feet belong to none other than Smoke, the barn cat, who makes an unexpected appearance, weaving his way through Kento's legs, taking an affectionate ear scratch to go as he quickly scurries outside.

Kento smiles and crosses to the stove, retrieving a mug. Warm apple cider pours where freshly brewed mocha would settle before, in light of a tiny life with little hands he created with the woman just up the stairs.

----

Your belly of 25 weeks skims over the sink in the bathroom, freshly showered and eyes settled on your reflection as you work the curl cream into your hair. One of Kento's band tees hangs off your shoulders, loose waistband from your pajama shorts shrouds you in material that stretches and comforts you during this rather uncomfortable time.

His fingers find you first, settling in the space of squishy skin on your waist, splaying and appreciating the way it bends to accommodate the palms of his hands. His scars against your stretchmarks, weaving up your belly like twines of emerald ivy on the exterior of your farmhouse, giving life to the canvas of skin like the lightning that accompanies the thunder in the rolling sky overhead.

"Good morning." His voice when he speaks is unintentionally reverent, veneration ever present simply because it was directed at you.

"Morning, sweetheart." You turn and capture the kiss he has for you, warm lips after coffee and he smells like the rain. Time still moves somewhere beyond these walls, but between you, the moments meld into tender fragments of eternity.

"Did Fig put up a fight about her breakfast again?" You ask, referring to your pet pig that grazes with her fellow barnyard residents on the small farm you and Kento adopted together.

"Went down with no resistance today, as a matter of fact." He smiles with pride.

"Hahaha, thank God." You chuckle as you turn back to your haircare products.

"This pregnancy is killing my hair, sweetheart." You mumble as you let your hair fall inches shorter than it was just months before you got pregnant.

"I had my hair lady clean it up and now I'm starting this curls routine. I never had anyone growing up to show me how to do this." You say quietly, a melancholic tinge in your voice as the words left you like a confession you actually recognize as grief that you never spoke aloud.

"I'm caring for my hair. Like, actually pouring into it in a way that's tailored to its natural state and not based on standards that are suited for people who don't look like me."

Kento listens intently, noting the pause between your sentences in thoughtful inflection, sensing you have more to say, not letting his hands depart their mission of comfort on your waist, heartstrings pulling with support and admiration for sharing a glimpse of your soul.

"And what else, love? I'm listening, please continue."

"...I'm letting my hair breathe and just be for once. But what if it doesn't go back to the way it was?"

"It will, darling." He reassures you, taking a step closer. "It will. You're growing life inside you, love. It will take time, but your body will eventually heal."

"And if it doesn't?"

"It's a possibility. But a very slim one. And if so, then nothing changes." He states with resolution.

"Not your beauty. Not your soul. And never my love for you." He lowers to a loving whisper, unplugging the straightener.

"And if this is how you look untouched by the shallow influences of superficial ideals that completely ignore and compromise the integrity of your natural beauty, then leave it." He states, taking a curl by your ear between the scarred buds of his fingers that turned to butter whenever he touched you.

"Leave it just like this. Free, and soft."

He gently releases the curl and his thumb catches your cheek.

"I love you... Thank you so much. For listening. For seeing me." You whisper.

"I love you, darling. No need to thank for what is expected of me as your husband." He murmurs.

You both sit momentarily in the calm of tenderness and the aftermath of the truths you spoke to one another.

"So um... after the cream, I'm going to dry it with the diffuser and clip it halfway up, kind of like this..." You demonstrate, slightly bashfully, lifting the top sections of hair into the half-updo with your hands. "I think it'd look pretty, Ken. What do you think?"

And that damned blink of your eyes unravels him whenever you reach for him like he's the answer and you're the question when it was really the opposite.

Dulcet windows of your eyes both inquisitive and hopeful like he was akin to something as grand as stars being asked of a blessing like you were not his gift from them.

"You're effortlessly devastating, my dear. You always have been." He turns you to look at yourself, your glowing reflection next to his scarred one.

"I think you should proceed with exactly what you've planned..." His lips find your temple and kiss, his hand gently grasping where you're holding up your hair, keeping the style in place with one hand as he reaches in the drawer next to you.

"But, if you're truly asking, and you'll indulge me..." He picks out one of his favorite clips he hadn't seen you wear in some time, a gorgeous one crafted out of twisted gold metal, with pressed petals of wildflowers and lavender adorning the sides.

"I think this one suits you best."

"Ken...this one is stunning!" You beam at him, as he lets your hair fall for a moment while you appreciate the quiet gesture, tracing over the delicate craftsmanship in his hands.

"You know, I completely forgot I had this one..." You hum and kiss him again, with one more request.

"Would you help me, sweetheart?

"Of course I can." He murmurs, exchanging yet another kiss to your lips for some of the cream from your hand as he gets to work. He takes notes from when he observed you moments earlier, working it from ends to root, using praying hands, tentatively scrunching, never too harshly. Sacred and never objectful.

And when he's finished and after he watches you dry, he helps you gather just the top section, letting loose curls dangle in a frame around your face, carefully securing it with the clip and watching you with a warm gaze as you admire yourself.

And as he takes you by the hand with one on your belly, you relish in the comfort that this life with him belongs to you when you had spent the better part of yours in rooms at tables in chairs that were not meant for you.

You realize that you can allow yourself to belong to a somewhere, to an eternal lifetime of Kento. With your curls and every part of yourself that you did not need to hide or change anymore in the safety of a steadfast love that chose you repeatedly with the inevitable crest and fall of the sun.

You realize that the best has yet to come with the budding future in your belly and the blissful, ever-rainy horizon with Kento by your side.

And that you can make your home there, too.

#from my trees . ˚ 𖧷 ·𓇥 ° . ♡#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x fem!reader #nanami kento fluff #nanami fluff #nanami angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x fem!reader #jjk fluff #jjk angst #cw pregnancy #dividers by saradika #dividers by anitalenia

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irishmammonagenda · 1 year ago

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Death is a Debatable Thing-Obey Me x Reader

Summary: MC died 😱 and reincarnated as an angel, as per usual; chaos ensues. Word Count: 6.9k Warnings: Mention of Death, Cursing, Torture (mentioned, no torture happens) Michael is featured heavily in this, I just made up a personality for him, I don't play NB a lot (it makes me too sad) and I think he shows up there so if this is different to how he's portrayed there then L for me. Everyone except Luke was written as and can be read as Romantic(/platonic if you prefer)You can read Michael as Romantic, but I wrote him more Platonically.

post dividers from @saradika-graphics on tumblr (their dividers r really cool check them out if u havent fr (sorry for tagging you btw i just wanted to give credit)

"Absolutely not." You say, looking at your new found wings. "I did not die just to be reincarnated with the ugliest clothing I've ever seen."

"Would you have preferred to have been reincarnated as bare as Eve was in Eden?" The man you'd come to know as Michael. His dark skin shone in the blessed light of the celestial realm, his thick curly hair was pinned back in such a delicate fashion you wanted to unpin all the ornaments in it. Your fingers twitched at your sides.

"Isn't that against modesty rules or something...?" You paused, Simeon was an angel, he essentially had his ass out at all times anyway. Whore.

Michael stares at you weirdly, before playing with one of the loose strands of his hair, pulling the tight coil until it was completely straight before letting go and letting it spring back up again. Now you really wanted to mess up his hair. Just to annoy him.

"So anyway..." You start, sitting on a cloud that you fall through. For a moment you think you're about to pull a Lucifer and fall through the sky, but you manage to grab onto something and pull yourself up. That something is Michael's ankle and he's laughing at you, wiping a tear from ruby red eyes that shine just like that of his fallen brother.

"Stop laughing at me! Anyway, when can i go to the Devildom?" You inquire, watching Michael's face turn stern. He glares down at where you're lying, still gripping his ankle

"You're not returning to the Devildom anytime soon." He says sharply.

Your breath hitches. "Why not?! I have to let the brothers and Dia and Barbs and Sol and everyone else know I didn't die!"

"You did die. Why do you think you're an angel." Michael sighs, "and no. You're not letting them know you've returned."

"Why not?!" You repeat, outraged. "No offence though MC, but you´ve just died." "So?" You reply with indignation. "So," Michael says in a mocking tone, pitching his deep voice up high before letting it fall down the octaves once more. "You're barely able to walk on clouds or do anything yet. Letting you down to the Devildom is the equivalent of sending a baby bird into a den of lions."

"But...they'd protect me." You said softly, Michael's tone softens as well, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"They'd also over-protect you, they've just lost you. I don't think you're ready for that smothering just after your death."

You nod. Michael's soft expression turns devious, "Plus, this way, you have plenty of time to think about how youre going to scare my broth-...the brothers and everyone else whilst proving you're alive...well an angel..."

You grin too. "Amazing point Mr Michael."

He plays with his golden locks again, an idiosyncracy. "Anytime" He grins before beginning to walk again, you grab onto his ankle tighter. "Oh and Mc?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me Mr Michael again and I'm shaving all you hair off. And trust me. Angel hair does not grow back." He smiles evilly. You shudder.

Well it turns out Michael is a fucking liar.

After being a little bit too bored during your second month of being an angel and first month of learning not to fall through the clouds in Michael's private garden that consists purely of clouds and a singular harp he stole from some poor Irish Deity, you go bored and snipped your unnaturally long angel hair up to your waist. You didn't want to go too short just yet.

In the time frame of a week you learnt two things.

One: Angel hair does grow back, maybe a tiny bit faster than human hair, and Two, Michael was babysitting the harp. Turns out the Deity was called the Dagda and he was visiting France on holidays for some reason, poor man, having to go to France and deal with all the French People there. Turns out he left the harp in Michael's hands, something about Fomoranians not being smart enough to see this one coming.

You just nodded and slowly backed away. Michaels red eyes followed you. He and Lucifer had to be twins.

Another day passed. The more you thought about it, the more Michael and Lucifer had to be twins. After having cut your hair to just below your shoulders, you found a piece of unnecessarily fancy parchment paper and a quill on Michael's desk

Holding the black quill in your hands you felt a sense of familiarity wash over you. Was that?....

No fucking way.

Michael was using one of Lucifer's feathers as a quill. You cackled.

After much deliberation you'd realised you could not write with a quill, but also that you were very good at ripping paper and making blotches of ink on said paper with a quill.

You decided to snoop in Michael's desk for a pen, instead you found a drawer titled, 'LUKE ONLY' in cursive letters, the label was stuck to the drawer so obviously you opened it.

Colouring books, letters written by Luke from the Devildom, Report Cards, Crayons, Drawings, and a pack of stickers were left in the drawer, a notepad lay next to it, Michael's cursive handwriting all over it 'Activities to do', it had things like 'Bowling' and 'Baking' and 'Gardening' and 'Teach him how to knit' and 'Arts and Crafts' and 'Prank Jesus' and 'Take him to Human Realm Cinema' and and anything else really. You cooed, your ivory wings rustling happily.

You grabbed a crayon and began to write.

WHY MICHAEL AND LUCI ARE TWINS one; same eyes two; both evil three; both hot four; satan is basically luci's son if you think about it and michael has blond hair too, if luci and michael are twins that means that blond hair is in the gene pool and thats how satn has blond hair even though luci has black hair five; both like wearing dramatic cape coat things six; both of them baby luke seven; they ha

"What are you doing?" Michael asks, startling you, and ruining your next point of 'they have hands', "Why is my drawer open?" He grabs the parchment from you, reads it and bellows out in laughter.

"We are twins you could've asked." He smiled, "also put the crayon back thats Red and Luke likes colouring in Teddy Bears red."

"Yessir."

You were a master conspiracy theorist.

In the end, you and Michael had decided on visiting the Devildom for 'diplomatic' reasons, but upon seeing the glint in his eyes it was probably more for 'dicklomatic' reasons seeing as he's an utter dickhead.

You had a veil covering your face, seeing as you were still kind of legally and widely believed to be dead.

You know, the usual.

You walked behind Michael, attempting to kick at the back of his knees, it never worked sadly. You took a deep breath as you reached the RAD council room doors.

Michael grabs you by your shoulders whispering into your ear. "Now remember MC im going to use you as a bargaining tool, so keep that veil on till i say so, got it?" He grins.

You nod, knowing that 'bargaining tool' in Michaelish translates to 'im bored and want to see a dramatic reunion'

Michael opens the doors.

You walk in with him but stand at the door awkwardly, steeling yourself so you don't immediately run into any of your idiots' arms.

Luke apparently had the same idea, as when he saw Michael, he let out a happy 'yip!' kind of sound similar to a puppy's and then ran from where he stood beside Simeon and Solomon into the Archangel's arms.

Michael catches him happily, petting his head as the young angel nuzzles into his hair, blabbering on about who knows what. Asmo takes a photo of it, everyone else stares with varying levels of fondness, awkwardness and 'meh'.

Sadly for you however, once Simeon is done greeting Michael, and Michael is now distracted by Luke introducing him to Barbatos who is apparently the 'bestest baker in the world!' (you could agree with that sentiment), Simeon walked over to you, his serene smile on his face.

"Hello, I'm Simeon, forgive me for asking, but do I know you? You have a familiar aura."

You shake your head.

"Oh, never the matter" Simeon smiles, "What's your name then. my friend?"

You clear your throat and put on a deep american accent, "Rupert...Pleasure to meet you...Simeon.."

"Are you sure we haven't met before?"

"Certain." You say in the same ridiculous voice.

Simeon nods, he excuses himself after Solomon calls him over, you turn to glance at Michael who is carrying a now sleeping Luke in his arms and gently stroking the boy's golden hair while stressing out Lucifer with questions. Satan looks on with a smirk on his face.

Glancing around the room you see similar scenes, Mammon and Levi are playing a game on the latter's switch, Asmo, Solomon and Simeon are talking, sometimes glancing at you. Barbatos and Diavolo were watching Michael annoy Lucifer, with both sometimes adding their input, causing Michael to laugh loudly then stiffle it, so as not to wake up the sleeping baby in his arms. Beel and Belphie were near the others but still off in their own twin world, Belphie was awake and watching Michael bully Lucifer from where his head laying sleepily on his twin's leg.

Raphael, Thirteen and Mephisto had been sent out on a top secret mission the day before, Michael had said it was because he didnt want to die and also did not want his death to be put in the RAD Newspapers, especially a picture of him that was less than flattering.

Even though everyone seemed joyous, you noticed an air of sadness, like something was missing. Looking at your old seat in the student council you see the amount of flowers set on it.

Against your better judgement, you walk towards it. Not noticing a few pairs of eyes following you.

When you reach your former desk, you notice a photo of you framed, it was you and everyone, a family photo, everyone was either in their demon, angel or reaper forms, you wore really cheap red horns with a halo you shoved on one of them whilst also wearing an old reaper robe. It looked ridiculous, you loved it.

"Enjoying yourself? Rupert.~" a honeyed voice startles you. Asmo, although, somethings in his voice, maybe anger, maybe suspicion.

"Uhhh.." You say in your fake american accent.

"I'm Asmodeus, avatar of lust.~ Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Guess so." You shrug Americanly, thankful once more the veil covers your whole face.

Asmo's eyes have some hurt in them, he seems...catty, probably because you, who he thinks is a random stranger is just standing at his dead loved one's desk.

You open your mouth to say something, but no sound comes out, especially not when another familiar voice is added to the mix.

"Well hello. I don't believe we've met before. The name's Solomon. You must've heard of me."

Oh shit.

"Oh...I have, briefly! Hello Solomon, my name's Robert." You say in your fake deep american accent voice.

Asmo tilts his head, "I thought your name was Rupert?"

Shit.

"Oh. Yes" You quickly bullshit, "My name's got the hyphens, Robert-Rupert." You avoid eye contact despite the fact you have a veil covering your face that only lets you see out of it, so the sorcerer and demon can't even make eye contact with you, even if they wanted to.

This was getting awkward.

"You seem very familiar Robert-Rupert." Solomon says, you did not like that crafty smile.

"I get that a lot." You nod before walking away.

You walk towards Michael who, has a now awake but sleepy Luke in his arms, he sits on one of the sofas in the council room beside Simeon, with Barbatos, Diavolo and Lucifer facing them on the other sofa. Atleast you'll be safe from Solomon over here. As you walk, you notice Satan, Beel and Belphie have left. Either Lucifer was going to get pranked or Lucifer was going to get pranked but not as prankily because Beel unknowingly made puppy-eyes. Mammon and Levi were bickering quietly in a corner (shocking they could do it quietly) about who won the lat round of Devilio kart.

When Michael saw you approaching he waved you over, beckoning you to sit down in the empty space beside him, "This is an angel I'm currently training, their name is.....Steven."

Simeon tilts his head "I thought their name was Rupert?"

Michael clears his throat awkwardly.

You make your voice the deep horrible American accent, "My full name is Robert-Rupert-Steven...it's hyphenated."

Michael nods aggressively.

Lucifer, Simeon, and Barbatos side-eye eachother. Something was going on here.

"So, Robert-Rupert-Steven," Barbatos begins, his polite smile a little jagged at the edges, "I saw you at MC's desk earlier, how so?"

At the mention of your actual name, everyone there tenses up, Luke, thankfully is too sleepy to have realised, Michael quickly stands up with the small angel in his strong arms, knowing if he heard the conversation about to occur he would be upset, "I should probably go, give this one a walk around to wake him up a little. Simeon, would you like to come with me?"

Simeon nods, Michael and Him leave the council room, with Luke sleepily holding both of their hands and walking slowly along with them.

Now you were stuck with the Prince of the Devildom, the Scary Butler and the Scary Single-Dad. All of which haven't realised that it's you, and all of which thinking you are a random stranger.

"Well, Robert-Rupert-Steven?" Diavolo asks, his friendly demeanor the tiniest bit strange,"What captivated you to go towards MC's desk."

"Who's MC?" You decide to play it dumb. Bad decision, seeing as all three stiffen, Barbatos' being the most unnoticeable.

A very long 3 hour conversation went by, wherein, Diavolo, Lucifer, Barbatos as well as a certain Mammon and Levi who joined 10 minutes in, and an Asmo and Solomon who joined 12 minutes in talked about you, for 3 hours straight.

'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.' was an accurate reprenstation of your mental state actually.

The urge to just rip your veil off right there was almost stronger than the urge to dropkick Maddi anytime you remembered she existed. Keyword being almost.

You just about made it out of the council room with your life. Now for your master plan. Scare the absolute shit out of the Anti-Lucifer-League. That'll get them back for never listening to your amazing prank suggestion of leaving random origami swans around the house in random spots. It was genius!

Breaking into the House of Lamentation was always easy when you knew that Mammon hid his emergency house key behind the garden gnome that now you saw it....kind of looked like a really bad rendition of Michael. With its dark skin, A DnD-esque robe and, a horrible smiley face painted on it, and the worst crime of all, bright yellow, almost neon hair, and also a princess tiara.

You almost cackled.

Taking the key you slowly open the door to the kitchen and sneakily sneak in. Sadly for you, it was they key to the kitchen door to the outside of the back of the house, which meant it opened in the kitchen, and since it opened in the kitchen, you awkwardly waved at Beel, who was having a midnight feast.

Beel tilts his head. "You're the Angel from earlier. What are you doing here?"

You once more, fake your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice and say, "I have Materials for the Anti-Lucifer League as they've suggested."

You are such a good liar.

"Oh," Beel nods, normally he wouldn't let a stranger into the house, but something felt...familiar...and safe with you. "Okay then, do you know where you're going?"

"Yes."

Beel nods, and goes back to eating the pudding labelled 'MAMMONS: BEEL DONT TOUCH THESE'

After much searching, you do not find the Anti-Lucifer-League, but you do unfortunately, open the door to Lucifer's office. The place where Lucifer currently is.

He looks up immediately on guard. You are not prepared to die a second time,

"What are you-" He begins, in demon form and standing up.

You interrupt him, making 'woooooh!' sounds and waving your arms about, and in your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice, you say "Wooooh! I am the....ghost of christmas past!...Woooh! and I am..." You pause, not noticing your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice has began to slip away, and your natural one has taken its place. "I am here to tell youuuuu.....to woohhhh! Take breaks more! Woooh!....and not overwork yourself! Woooh!"

Lucifer pauses, the danger in his eyes fades into disbelief. He knows that voice. He's spent the better part of a year listening to recordings of that voice and praying to his Father for the first time since the celestial war for that voice to return to him.

"..MC?.."

You've been found out. Quickly you put your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice back on, except it's gone up 12 pitches. "Who's MC?! Haha! What a weird thing to sa-"

You don't get to finish, as Lucifer pulls your veil off. His breath hitches upon seeing your face.

Your covers been blown. All because you pretended to be the ghost of Christmas past. Great.

Lucifer immediately pulls you into a hug, arms tightening around you, as if he's afraid you'd disappear. He chuckles, wiping tears from his eyes, his frame shakes. "I thought-thought I'd lost you forever...I always thought your face was angelic...-...it's fitting."

You hug him just as tightly.

But ever the menace, after about an hour or so, you look up at the Avatar of Pride, "Say, Luci?"

"Yes, my dove?"

"Wanna help me prank the rest of them?"

"Perhaps...I might help with...some setups..." He pauses, "You are telling Barbatos outright though."

You shudder. "Of course I am. I don't have a second deathwish."

Lucifer's grip on you tightens slightly, you kiss his cheek in apology. "Sorry," You grin, "Too soon?"

"Try again in another century dear."

The next day, the first thing you and Lucifer do is travel to the Demon Lord´s Castle.

Barbatos greets you in the Entrance Hall, "Oh, Lucifer," He nods in greeting at the eldest of the brothers (second eldest actually, seeing as Michael enjoys bragging that he's older by a whopping total of 2 minutes) he turns to you, who put the veil back on, "And Robert-Rupert-Steven, Welcome to the Demon Lord's Castle, although, I must ask, why you have shown up today?"

In your Robert-Rupert-Steven voice, you accidentally, against your better judgement, and rather impulsively state; "I'm here to assassinate Dia-...volo."

A portal opens, dragging you through it, and you land in the feared rumoured dungeons. Barbatos follows gracefully, now in Demon Form. Leaving a sighing Lucifer in his wake in the Entrance Hall. He decides to just journey to Diavolo's office and discuss things related to work. Barbatos wouldn't hurt you when he found out it was you so he really had nothing to worry about. Maybe you'd finally learn to stop joking about assassinating Diavolo, especally when other Noble Demons were around at Balls.

Sadly for you, you were now alone in Barbatos' Dungeons. Now what's scarier than being alone in Barbatos' Dungeons? Being alone with Barbatos in Barbatos' dungeons.

Time to run away.

As it turns out, running away isn't very easy when magic chains pin you to the wall. In your panic, you blurt out, "You know, I'd rather you pin me to the wall haha!" in your normal voice. The fear forcing your horrible puns and jokes to slip out.

Barbatos, who had been approaching menacingly calmly with a torture device pauses so fast it gives you whiplash. (Better than getting whiplash from the whip he was previously holding.)

In some display akin to a cockroach kind of squirming about after you crush it, in your chained up state you manage to twitch enough that you were able to pinch a piece of your veil's fabric just enough that it falls to the ground.

Immediately, the magic chains fall away, strong arms catch you as you stumble. "Hi Barbs..." You say breathlessly.

Barbatos looks like he'd seen a ghost. (You were an Angel, thank you very much.) After your death he had tried and tried to pull a you from another dimension. It would never work, some force stopped him each time. (To be fair, it was probably your jealous ass. No way in Diavolo were you being replaced by yourself from another dimension.)

His bottom lip trembles, much like the rest of his body, as he leans in, "May I, my dear?" You nod, giving him your consent as he kisses you so gently, as if he feared you would break or fade away.

He murmurs apology upon apology for the fact he had no doubt frightened you, he couldn't risk a threat to Diavolo, your 'death' had left him a little...tethered and emotional.

You close your eyes and kiss him again, now noticing you're in the kitchens and not in the spooky scary dungeon.

"Wanna bake cookies? Like we always used to do?"

Barbatos nods softly. "You do have to tell Lord Diavolo you're actually alive though, little lamb."

Your eyes light up. "We could make a cake! And hide me inside it!"

Barbatos sighs, but looking at your puppy eyes, he agrees. Gently he picks a stray ivory feather from your wings, making them rustle at the touch. Devil...you looked angelic.

Baking with Barbatos was always fun, but sadly he did not agree with your attempt at throwing flour at him.

"MC?" He catches your attention, bringing an ungloved hand to caress your face, "Have I ever told you that you shine brighter than all the stars in the Devildom?"

You blush and try to cover your face when he turns away to add more eggs into your batter only to find flour on your face. That sneaky bastard! Psychological warfare is illegal. And that sure felt like it.

It was on.

Apparently it was only on for you though. Though you did get a speck of flour on Barbatos' apron. That was a win, especially if you ignore the fact that your face and apron were covered in the white powder, which you were ignoring! So take that Barbatos!

In the end, the cake was beautiful, Barbatos helped you into the cake, and cut out a you shaped hole out of the layers made.

He then helped you out again, and the Flour War began again only this time with icing.

Hiding in a cake is quite a fun experience. Especially when you can take bites of your hiding space. Yum yum.

You feel Barbatos' wheeling of you stop as he reaches Diavolo's office, he knocks on the door, and as you requested, begins to film on his DDD (you had to promise the video would never get out of your hands.)

Diavolo sat alone, Lucifer had had to leave an hour before, Beel had went on a rampage in Hell's Kitchen again apparently.

"My Lord, I feel you have been feeling down, so here is a treat." Barbatos says, "And as a special treat, I will allow you to cut it yourself." He nods at Diavolo who you can just picture has stars in his eyes as you hear the demon butler walk to a corner of the room, still filming.

Diavolo brings the knife to the cake, as it cuts into it, you grab the blade and pull it forward. Upon hearing Divaolo's confused murmurs, You peek through the tiny hole the knife made, seeing Diavolo distracted, tilting his head like a child and asking Barbatos what he should do now.

You however know what you should do now.

Quick as a flash, you shove your hands through the cake, reach for Diavolo's arms and pull him in face first.

You didn't even care if it was probably treason. Diavolo's suprised screaming and Barbatos' slight surprised chuckle was so worth it.

It was worth it for Diavolo even after 4 hours, as he held you in his big arms, whilst the both of you were still covered in cake. Barbatos, the traitor, snapped photos of this and sent them to Lucifer.

On a great note, Diavolo agreed to help prank the rest of the brothers with you, much to Barbatos' dismay. (The butler was definitely going to help you with a certain sorcerer, however)

After a night and day at the castle and a very extensive bath, you recollected your veil, and snuck out (read: Barbatos and Diavolo waved goodbye to you and gave you some left over cake for the journey home) of the castle, you began your walk to Purgatory Hall.

Michael was staying there, and you needed to tell him everyone's reactions so far.

It was also a Saturday, meaning that Solomon would be out in Sorcerer's society meetings all night and morning.

When you got there you made use of the tree there and climbed up it until you saw something in Luke's room. You paused your climbing and looked in through the window.

Two figures were in the Young Angel's room.

As Luke lay tucked in in his bed, cuddling the dog plushie that Mammon had given him at a carnival last year that he claims to have thrown away, Michael and Simeon sat on his bed, the nightlight on the boy's bedside table created a gentle glow that the two elder were using to read the storybook strew across both of their laps aloud, they appeared to be acting it out ever so slightly. When Luke finally drifted off. Both Angels kissed his forehead then dimmed the nightlight down slightly, dim enough where it wouldn't hurt the boy's eyes but bright enough that the dark wouldn't scare him if he woke up in the middle of the night, keeping the curtains open for added light.

You cooed silently, your white wings rustling.

Snapping out of it, you scale across the wall before finding the spare room Michael was staying in and breaking in.

"Hello Motherfucker." You greet the Archangel.

"You couldn't pay me to fuck your mother."

"Harsh. And here I was about to tell you my escapades..." You sigh dramatically. Michael immediately smiles sweetly. Buttering you up. You cave.

After about an hour of Michael laughing at you specifically, and then changing your contact to 'ghost of christmas past' the bastard finally fell asleep.

Feeling thirsty, you snuck downstairs into the kitchen to get a drink, and also a sharpie so you could draw a mustache on Michael's face. Not bothering to put your veil on seeing as no one would be awake anyway.

As you filled up a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter drinking it, lost in your own plans, mainly of who to prank nest and how to do it.

You don't hear the little pitter-patter of feet until it's too late.

"MC?" A sleepy Luke stands in the doorway in cat themed pajamas no doubt gifted to him by a certain someone, he holds his dog plush loosely as he rubs his eyes with a tiny fist.

He walks slowly towards the cupboard, pouting sleepily when he realises he can't reach it, you immediately grab his favourite mug,(the one with the red tractor on it) knowing to put milk and some sugar in it before placing it in the microwave for 2 minutes.

Luke walks over to you still half asleep, resting his face on your side, you bring him in for a hug. "Simeon said you went to a happy place after you left, he always got sad when I asked when you were coming home..."

You bite your lip and speak softly, "My flight got delayed for a little while," You lie. Luke didn't need to know you died, Simeon hadn't told him in the best of ways to shield the young boy, that worked out in your favour.

You catch the microwave before it beeps, taking the warm milk out and stirring the hot-spots out of it before handing it to Luke. With his teddy now in the crook of his elbow, he sleepily took the mug before putting his tiny hand in yours.

"C'mon Luke, let's get you back to bed." You say softly, he nods tiredly.

"Will you tuck me in? And read me a bedtime story?" He yawns quietly.

"Of course."

After closing his curtains and tucking Luke in, he snuggles up to you and you read him a bedtime story, after drinking his warm milk, he falls asleep quite quickly, so do you.

A mistake, really. Seeing as in the morning when Simeon comes in to wake the small angel up and sees you there he lets out a shriek very out-of-character for him.

A shriek which wakes both you and Luke up.

Luke smiles toothily, "Oh Simeon! MC came back last night! Did you not see?"

Simeon collects himself, "I must've been asleep Luke, why don't you get dressed then come down for breakfast? Michael and I made pancakes. M-MC, why don't you come downstairs now?"

Luke nods and gets up dutifully.

As soon as you leave the room and Simeon is sure you're both out of the earshot of Luke, he pulls you into a hug which you return.

"I thought I'd lost you.." He breathes out softly.

"Me? C'mon Simmy...you know I'd never let death keep me." You laugh, he laughs breathlessly.

"I suppose not...." He captures your lips in a soft innocent kiss before leading you downstairs, hand-in-hand.

When Michael sees the two of you he offers you a pancake, far too casually for Simeon's taste.

Simeon looks between the two of you and glares at Michael. "You knew about this."

"Haha! Funny story actually! I need to go help Jesus! He's gone and ventured into another desert!" Michael laughs nervously before booking it, only coming back when Luke appears, knowing then he's safe from Simeon's wrath....

....for now.

You took out your super serious napkin and crayon that you stole from Diavolo (read: Diavolo gave you) and crossed out Simeon's name.

Your list was now as follows:

Purgatory Hall Simeon Solomon House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

For Satan and Belphie, you could knock out two Anti-Lucifer-League Birds with one stone. It felt a little mean to prank prank Levi and Beel...Mammon and Asmo were debatable, but you were going all out on Solomon. That'll teach him to turn you into a sheep that one time 2 years ago.

After careful deliberation and planning, (20 seconds of thinking.) You'd decided to sneak into the Sorceror's society and jokingly attempt to assassinate Solomon, and maybe fully assassinate Maddi if she was there. Not maybe, definitely.

Veil over your head, you walked in, when the sorcerer guards stopped you, you just pretended to be Michael then walked further in. Apparently they were terrified of the Archangel. Damn this society needs better sorcerers securitying it.

After stealing schedules you realised Solomon would be in a meeting right now with a bunch of no names. Oh well.

You crept into the meeting and attempted to plunge the butter knife Barbatos' gave you from the castle kitchens specifically for this in his neck, knowing he'd dodge. "This is for the Sheep Potion you Rat Bastard!" You screech like a Bean Sídhe. After half a millisecond of shock and slight anger, Solomon realises who it is behind the veil, laughing he grabs the arm you're holding the butter knife in and drags you into his lap, gently ripping the veil off of you and giving you a peck on the forehead, before he turns to the shocked and slack-jawed sorcerers that looked older than he did. "Sorry all, my adorable partner," He puncuates the word partner by pulling you closer to him, "missed me a little too much. and has-" He kisses you on the lips passionately for a moment, leaving you very much breathless and him very much chuckling, "-strange ways of showing their affection."

Bastard.

Some time into the meeting you whisper, "How are you not more shocked?"

"Well Robert-Rupert," He whispers teasingly back to you, "Remember that binding spell we did back when you were alive? It never broke. I knew the moment I saw you."

Your heart stops. "Did you tell anyone else?"

"I debated telling Asmo, but I suppose you wanted to on your own terms." He teases.

"I should've tried to stab you with a sharper knife."

Solomon laughs, "Oh and MC my love?"

"Hmm?"

His eyes glint predatorily, "You look absolutely ravishing as an angel. I can't help but want to corrupt you..."

You bury your face in his chest to hide your blush.

Bastard.

On the bright side, now a rumour that Solomon the Wise and Michael the Archangel are secret lovers has spread around the Devildom. You're counting that as a win.

Purgatory Hall Simeon Solomon House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

After your encounter with Solomon, you'd decided learning to just hide your angel form was the best course of action. Luckily it was fucking easy and you could've done it ages ago. Strange how Simeon and Luke never mentioned it....meh. You're pretty sure Luke just thought Michael thought you were super cool so he made you an angel. You weren't telling him anything otherwise.

´Satan and Belphie watch your fucking backs.´ was the pedal note of all your thoughts currently, you´d snuck back into the House of Lamentation, thankfully Beel was not in the kitchen, he was at Fangol at this hour.

Walking through the halls stealthily, you heard whispers as two sets of feet seemed to enter the room at the farthest end of the hallway. Lucifer´s room.

You fucking caught them.

No time to be caught in Lucifer´s room, seeing as if you were there long enough and Lucifer caught you, you would not be leaving for a good while.

So you crept up to the attic, the official Anti-Lucifer-League headquarters, you climbed the pillars to get on the roof and you waited.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, snickering could be heard coming up to the attic. Satan opens the door, letting Belphie in, both brothers in various fits of sniggering as they walk into the room.

"He'll never see this one coming!" "This is our best one yet."

From your place on the attic ceiling, you spot Lucifer filming on his DDD from the shadows of the doorway. Of course he found out about this.

"Of course it's our best one yet!"

You swing down off of the ceiling beam, swinging lightly upside down. "And you didn't invite me?" You pout.

Satan and Belphie scream, clutching onto eachother, before noticing that it's you and running to pull you down and clutch onto you instead. You notice Lucifer chuckle and put his DDD in his pocket before leaving. Traitor.

You cuddle into your two Anti-Lucifer League Brethren, maybe this wasn't so bad. (Of course it wasn't, you loved your idiots.)

Safe to say, you didn't leave the attic for a long time. Apparently people need time to process that you're not actually dead. What madness.

House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

You had long unentangled yourself with a sleeping Belphie and Satan, making sure to leave a:

it wasnt a dream dont worry lads im alive.

note on their chests just in case.

Sitting in the attic with your napkin and crayon in hand, you ripped the Purgatory Hall part off of it and used the back of it for that note, you scanned through the list. You should save your First Man for last, so your next options were Beel, Asmo and Levi.

Seeing as you've shown yourself to Belphie, it's only natural your gentle giant is next.

Watch your fucking back Beel. Literally

Speaking of, it's been a few hours, Beel should be coming back from Fangol practice any moment now.

As was routine at this point, you crept through the House of Lamentation's halls and quickly ran into Beel and Belphie's shared bedroom.

As Beel walked into the room, his Fangol bag slung across his chest and a pile of after Fangol snacks in his hands, you braced yourself, made a run for it, anf landed right square on his back, arms around his neck to keep from falling.

"Oh hi MC!" Beel hummed cheerfully, before his eyes widened and he dropped his snacks. "MC?!"

"Hi!"

Quick as a flash, Beel maneuvers himself in 'dying cockroach you in Barbatos' dungeons part two' and grabs you into his arms.

"I thought you died..." He said, smelling your hair as he cuddled you.

"I did. I just came back as an angel."

"Really?" His breath hitches, "Can I see?.."

You take a deep breath and your wings and halo pop out, he strokes them gently.

"You're beautiful..." He whispers, enraptured...."I think...out of all of Father's creations over the years since the celestial war...you're the most precious...."

He speaks softly, always the gentle giant, the moment lasts for just a moment, before the moment, like all moments do, has passed. Beel's stomach rumbles and you giggle.

"You should eat your snacks, Beelie.."

"They always taste better when we share." He nods seriously.

House of Lamentation Mammon Levi Satan Asmo Beel Belphie

Levi or Asmo? You bit your crayon in thought then immediately made a face. Crayons did not taste nice.

Speaking of things that did not taste nice, you remembered that one time you tried to eat Levi's controller because you were bored.

Levi it was!

You had to time this perfectly, waiting in the shadows until Levi went down to get a snack, you snuck into his room, saying the answer to his password out of pure habit, before sitting on his gamer chair and maneuvering it in such a way he would not be able to see anyone on it from the door.

When Levi walked into his room, a bag of crisps in hand, he took a few steps before you swung around "Boo!" and he screamed. Dropping his crisps.

After convincing him you were infact not a ghost (Unlike Lucifer's), you sat with him in your arms, watching anime, and getting caught up on the new episodes released.

You cuddled up to him in his bathtub that night. You grinned evilly. This gave you an idea.

House of Lamentation Mammon LeviSatan Asmo Beel Belphie

It was no secret that Asmo bathed a lot. Funfact, Angels can hold their breath for 30 minutes!

As Asmo was busy picking out which pajamas he wanted to wear after his bath, you tiptoed behind him and slowly got in his bath, hiding under the bubbles.

It took a total of five minutes before Asmo closed the door to his bathroom and got into his bath, this was your chance! Reaching out, you grabbed his foot and pulled him under.

He screeched, when got back above the surface of the water, he grabbed your hand and pulled you over.

He squealed this time, hugging you tightly.

"Oh MC darling!~ I thought you were...well never the matter~...." He punctuated each word by kissing your face all over, leaving you squirming in his grasp out of embarassment. "How naughty!~ Sneaking into my bath like that...~...not that you arent always welcome my lovely!~"

"A-asmo," You say, your clothes soaked, though you couldn't find yourself caring. "Asmo, I love you..." your voice is soft and the Avatar of Lust coos.

It was a nice night.

Time for your final victim. Your First Man. Feeling nice, you decided not to do something too mean.

Painstakingly, you made a trial of grimm from the front door to your First Man's room, more specifically; to his bed. The plan was to hide behind the door and jumpscare him while he was busy collecting the grimm.

Unfortunately for you, seeing as you weren't sure when Mammon got off his modelling shift, you'd finished far too early, and since you and Asmo were up the entire night, you were quite sleepy.

Surely a little 5 minute nap wouldnt hurt?

You woke up hours later to a sobbing Mammon on top of you, cuddling you in his arms like his life depended on it. It seems you'd falled asleep on his bed, more specifically in his nest.

In the nest you would normally sleep in while alive. (While Human technically, seeing as you are alive, just not human.)

You bring a hand to his snowy locks, he sobs harder. Like his brother, kissing all over your face softly, "Thought I lost ye' forever Hum'n" he gasps for air, his sobs quieting down, "Though' you were gone....I prayed ev'ry nigh'...." he says, voice barely above a whisper as he strokes your cheek, looking into your eyes. "I prayed ta Fath'r ev'ry nigh' since ye' died...that he'd bring ye' back te me...."

"And he did..." You say just as softly, bringing your hand up to wipe the tears from his eyes, sharing a soft kiss with him. As always, your greedy lovable bastard would want more, and you'd want nothing more than to give them to him.

And the next day when you told Michael you'd be staying in the Devildom he cheered, then told you to include him in this 'Anti-Lucifer League business' because it 'seemed fun'.

Wow. Now you knew where Satan got it from. Poor Lucifer, he just barely got away from Michael in the Celestial realm, and now he has to deal with Michael 2.0 in the Devildom.

Satan and Michael really were kind of similar....maybe it's a good thing they've only met in passing.

Moral of the story kids. Death sucks, don't do it. If you do do it, reincarnate. Bam! Problem Solved.

This is the longest ever fic I've ever wrote and probably does not make a lot of sense so I apologise for that. I also apologise for any ooc behaviour i'm still learning how to write characterisation😔✊

also i love thinking of Michael being a father figure to Luke and its very obvious

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mydear-corinthian · 1 year ago

Text

welcome to burlesque

synopsis - tommy attends to this new burlesque club and he didn't expect to see you there

pairing - tommy shelby x reader (dancer!)

warnings - SMUT +18, breeding kink, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex.

notes - rushed, this is my favourite song and movie ><, divider by saradika-graphics

main masterlist | peaky blinders masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist

After the first World War, the inner-city of Small Heath, Birmingham is not lively that it used to. Loads of soldiers coming home from the war were traumatized; only finding comfort in whores, cocaine, alcohol, and betting.

With lots of men now drinking and snorting on their snows, alcohol businesses, betting shops, and cocaine distributors are now on their peak of their business like the well-known gangster, the man himself, Thomas Shelby.

It was the usual day for the gangster. His family running their businesses and sorting out gangster fights. Tommy is miserable in a way that he has no one to talk to or engage something with. Sure, he has his family but all he can talk about to them is business. With women, he still cannot find the right women for him.

As Tommy walked on the bland streets of Small Heath, inhaling his cigarette, he was approached by his friend, Johnny Dogs and his other workers. As Johnny walked to catch up with Tommy, he placed his shoulders on the gangster's shoulders.

"What ya up to, Tom?" Johnny Dogs asked, a smile planted on his face.

"The usual, John, business," Tommy sighed before he replied, continuing to inhale the cancerous stick.

"You should go to this club, Tommy! There's a lot of women in there, I heard. Just recently opened," Curly joined the conversation.

Tommy's eyes began to look at them. Recently opened? A club? In Birmingham?

He began to be interested and curious at the same time.

"Curly's right, Tom." John said. "Maybe you'll find someone there, eh? Or maybe just loosen up."

"There's nothing new with that, Johnny. There's whores everywhere. What's so special about this club," the older Shelby replied.

"Heard the women there are.. unique. Dancers."

Strip clubs in Small Heath isn't new for Tommy. But it's a bit confusing for him to see why his friend is very invested in this club. Maybe there's something more and special about these women and dancers. He cannot help but think.

"What ya say, Tom?"

After a few minutes of deciding, he exhaled.

"8:00 PM."

The boys cheered and clapped, playfully hitting each other's shoulders with their elbows as they cheered. A huge smile were planted on their faces

• • •

It was finally 7 in the evening. Tommy Shelby was already dressed for the man's night. A velvet red tie decorated his grey suit. His long black trench coat keeping him warm. The golden pocket watch with the engraved 'Shelby' name on the back hanged on the small pocket of his charcoal vest.

"Where are you going, Tom?" Polly asked as he saw his nephew exiting the manor.

Tommy placed his newsboy hat on his head, styling it properly as he replied to his aunt,

"Night with me boys. We'll be back by morning."

"Hope you're not plotting something again, Thomas."

"Yeah, no, aunt Pol." he coldly replied before finally shutting the door.

• • •

The ride was a little long, especially how this club is in the Northern part of Birmingham. The Blinders have finally arrived. Getting off their cars and entering the club like they owned it. The entrance fee lady didn't even bother asking them to pay since, well, they're the Peaky Blinders. Other customers hurriedly gave way and emptied the tables for them.

The club was lit in a red color. Circular tables with lamps were placed everywhere in front of the medium sized stage. Renaissance paintings were hanged all over the walls of the club. Tommy was suprised by this new club, it shows how the owner definitely has a budget for this.

The gangsters finally sat on their chairs just near the stage, ordering up a few drinks before the lights turned off, only focusing on the stage.

"This club is a Burlesque?" Tommy asked as he sipped a glass of whiskey he ordered.

"Yeah. Can't you believe it? The first every Burlesque club after a decade!"

The small band on the side of the stage started to play a jazz-like original song. A woman with a black top hat decorated on her (h/c) hair, a combination of black and white colour painted her tight corset while a pair of black fishnet stockings kept her warm appeared on the stage with a few dancers.

As the song started, you began to sing. Swaying your body seductively to the melody of the song, you looked at the guests. There were a lot of people in the club making you nervous but you decided to brush the anxiety away.

Tommy was widened by the performance but it wasn't the first time that he witnessed it; it's just that he haven't seen this kind of performance in years. His baby blue eyes followed you as you sang, mesmerized by the shift looks on your face. He kept a close eye on your legs as they moved fluidly and elegantly to the music. His eyes lingered on the way the tight corset tightened in your curves and making your form seem more beautiful with each breath. He was lost in focus, taking in each detail of your performance.

You looked at the audience again and now your eyes caught him.

Thomas Shelby.

The man himself.

You felt your heart drop, you know that one day he will visit the club but you didn't expect that it will be today. It was like a faraway memory coming to life the first time you saw him since the war. You remembered the moment that ignited everything between you, helping him with his broken arm in that dark tunnel. You can still feel the warmth of that kiss you had under the sycamore tree, and the letters you wrote one other later that carried shards of your hearts. That gentle kiss represented the silent relationship that has become stronger with every written word and every memory exchanged.

The way he looked at you felt the same: soft and genuine.

Tom had already shown many signs of trauma during the war, but he always felt safe and well while he was with you in the medic tent or on walks. You ended the gazing exchange between you two by continuing to dance.

You got a lot of "woo" and "yeah" remarks from the crowd as you went on singing and dancing sensually with your girls.

Tom began to be curious. You seem so familiar to him but he's not sure where you guys met.

"Who's the singer, Charlie?" Tom began to ask, leaning, his mouth just behind Charlie's ear.

"Oh her? That's (Y/n) (L/n). I heard she served in the war as a medic. Lovely ain't she?"

Oh.

Now Tom can recall who you were.

It was you, the nurse, who saved his arm after a bullet struck him in that tunnel. His memories of the war flashed back, and for the first time he wasn't afraid. Rather, he was somewhat happy. He recalled how you carefully applied a white bandage on his arm with your soft, delicate hands. She asked about how he was while exchanging life stories with him. How you kissed each other beneath the sycamore tree.

"Welcome to Burlesque!" The dance finally ended. A huge smile plastered on your face as you bowed, the big curtains coming down the stage. Loads of men including Tom's gang stood up and cheered, their claps echoed the club.

As you went backstage and sat on your vanity, you cannot help but recall who you just saw. His eyes were still the same; his blue eyes shining as his eyes locked yours. Memories of you and him talking, kissing, walking together flashed on your mind, making you frown at the memory that you hope you can still experience it again.

Meanwhile, Tommy excused himself, telling his gang that he'll be visiting the backstage to talk to someone. They didn't interfere nor asked who and why.

Tom finally arrived at the backstage, seeing women changing to their next-performance clothes. The dancers gasp at the sight of the notorious gangster, immediately covering up their bodies with their clothes. He cleared his throat due to the awkward moment, starting to ask where you were. "

Where can I find (Y/n) (L/n)?" Tom asked.

"B-back room, Mr. Shelby."

As Tommy walked towards the wooden door of your own vanity room, his heart raced. He felt his muscle goes numb every step he took. He doesn't know how you will react if he saw you. Will you be mad for him leaving you all of a sudden after the war? Will you be sad? Will you be happy? He doesn't know and he cares about that.

Taking a deep breath, his pale palms twisted the door knob, opening the door. He finally saw you. Sitting on a circular chair in front of your well-lit vanity mirror, loads and loads of make-up scattered on your table. You were wearing your long black corset only.

As you noticed the door opening, you looked at who it was while trying to remove your earrings. Finally looking at the person, your heart instantly dropped. You finally saw him up close after years of having no contact.

"Thomas..?" You stood up, feeling every electricity in your body flinched.

"(Y/n)."

A part of you wants to run up to him and give him the tightest hug and another part of you wants to scream at him for leaving you just like that.

"Why are you here?" you answered coldly but your voice softy broke, trying not to cry.

"I'm sorry," he spoke up. "..for leaving you just like that. I didn't mean to. I-It's just that - I didn't knew what to do."

As a former medic, it's understandable due to his mental state during the war. But as his lover, you just wished he stayed.

"Where were you, Tommy.."

"I'm so sorry, my love," Tom apologized, slowly walking towards you, cupping your cheek with his palms, stroking your chin.

"I missed you, Tommy. I thought you were gone." you whispered, holding his palms that were cupping on your cheeks, a tear finally fell from your sad eyes.

You tried finding him during and after the war but you failed. You forced yourself to move on, thinking that it was just for his comfort that time and you mean nothing to him now.

Slowly, his lips met yours. Allowing himself to be reunite with you. Tom's hand gripped your side hip as the kiss began to deepen. And there it is, you felt the same feeling when the both of you kissed under that sycamore tree.

He gently pushed you on the door, continuing the make-out session as his fingers locked the doorknob.

"Fuck, I missed you.."

"..so much," Tommy whispered in between kisses.

Your spine tingled with electric shocks as he sucked and kissed your neck, causing you to gasp and sigh with a mixture of pleasure and excitement. With an ache that made it seem as though he hadn't tasted anything like this in years, his lips finally discovered that sweet spot he had been longing for.

Every kiss was intense, every suck a confession of his insatiable appetite, making you insanely addicted. You got caught up in the moment, losing yourself in the heat of the moment as your fingers became tangled in his hair and gripped harder with every pleasure pulse.

"You taste so sweet, my love," he said.

You began to undo your black corset, leaving you with your black lacey bra and underwear, and your fishnet stockings. Trying to undo the stockings, Tom interfered.

"Leave the stockings on."

Nodding, your lips and his met each other again. Tommy's lips were stained with your red lipstick. The two of you ran to the vanity table, your hands removing all the items and make-up that was placed there while Tom began to unbutton his trousers and then his underwear.

You felt so aroused as your black panties were soaked wet. Your hole aching for Tommy inside.

"So wet already?" his deep voice made you wetter.

"Please, Tom. I need you.."

His cock sprung free out of his boxers, revealing how hard he was. He pumped it first with his hand before he moved your panties to the side instead of fully taking it off, allowing him to enter you.

You gasped aloud as his long, thick length began to gently and deeply penetrate you, each inch sending waves of powerful pleasure through your entire body. Tom, at the same time, moaned lightly as he enjoyed the way your close warmth surrounded him, the closeness sparking a fire between you both. His movements had a steady, deliberate pace, and your bodies seemed to melt together as each thrust was delivered with delicate passion. Your in unison breathing and softly spoken confessions of love filled the room, each one increasing the sensual, romantic connection between you.

Your body faced the mirror so he was fucking behind you. After a few minutes of you adjusting to his length, he began to thrust slowly.

"Oh fuck," you moaned.

"You feel so good — fuck!"

Your breasts bounced in time to every thrust he made, and your moans got louder and stronger. Euphoria rushes over you, bringing you closer to the brink with each move. You realized how much you had missed his presence and the way he filled you up entirely because of the pace of that moment. The overwhelming happiness served as a clear reminder of the intense touch and need you had experienced while he was away.

Your head lowered and your palms gripped the side of the bright vanity table. Your head was messy, a few strands of hair covered your face.

You can hear the breathy moans that Tommy let out. His rough fingers gripping your waist as his lower body jerked up, his head rolled back.

As he noticed your head looking down, his right palm gripped your jaw, making you look up and look at the mirror forcely.

"Look at yourself while I'm fucking you, honey."

Nothing but your shared moans, grunts, and skin slapping echoed the whole room. You didn't care how loud you guys were, you just want to think of him and him alone.

Feeling your orgasm build up, you began to let out a louder series of moans and gripped his arm.

"Tom—fuck! I'm close.."

"Yeah? Go on, cum on my cock."

"Yes Tommy, yes! Oh my god!"

"I'm gonna fill you up, yeah? Put a baby inside you. Gonna be the mother of our children, mhm?" he whispered on your ear as his pace quickened.

Finally, your orgasm came, making a mess on his massive dick. After a few more thrusts from Tommy, he came inside you, filling your walls with his sticky white cum.

The both of you panted, catching your breaths. Tom finally pulled out, making your aching hole leak out your shared juices. He let out a satisfied groan.

"Fuck, that was hot," he said, giving you a passionate kiss.

"I love you, Thomas Shelby."

"I love you, (Y/n) (L/n)."

#peaky blinders #x reader #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby #cillian murphy #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #cillian murphy smut #tommy shelby x reader #cillian x reader #cillian smut #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby smut

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mermaidgirl30 · 7 months ago

Text

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 6: New Introductions with a Cup of Hot Chocolate✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: The frequent need to write about these two is always sitting in the back of my mind. The slow burn is burning, friends 🥹 I have so much more left for these two, so this is a little New Year’s present because the writing bug hit me this week. I hope you enjoy 🩷

Chapter Summary: An unexpected guest appears in Joel’s front door, but it’s not just any guest. It’s his daughter Sarah, and he wants you to meet her.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 6.8k

Chapter Tags: Fluff, angst, meeting Sarah, soft! Joel, age gap (reader is late 20’s and Joel is late 40’s), slow burn, mentions of being trafficked, hurt Joel, yearning, so much yearning

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

November autumn leaves fall from the oak and maple trees outside the view of the floor to ceiling windows, stacking vivid piles of bright orange and dark red colors across the front lawn. Whiffs of pine and cinnamon permeate through the house, creating the perfect atmosphere to read by the crackling fireplace in the living room.

That’s what you spend most of your time doing these days. Reading anything and everything you can get your hands on. Joel has hundreds of books scattered around his house, so you don’t have to go far to find something you want.

You love the afternoons. Love being in the comfort of a home where you feel warm and relaxed. Where you feel… safe. Yes, safe. Joel does that. Makes you feel like you’re in the presence of a knight in shining armor. You guess that’s what he is to you. Your savior. But mostly, you love afternoons because that means he’s here, and he’s choosing to spend his time with you.

The other night when he watched Gone with the Wind with you was the first time you actually had fun in a long, long time. And he made sure you were comfortable and taken care of, made sure you got to bed okay. But the one thing that burns like flickers of embers in your brain is the moment he picked you up and took you upstairs.

He was so… careful. Gentle, even. You latched on so tight to him that he had to pry your fingers from his flannel. He tucked you in, that much you remember. But also, you vaguely remember the faint brush of his fingers on your cheek, a lock of hair pushed behind your ear, and whispered words of affirmation.

Beautiful. He called you beautiful. Even if you were falling in and out of sleep, you still heard his slow drawl float through your ears, and you’re still blushing from the electric moment. He doesn’t need to know you heard it. You’ll just keep it tucked away in your locket, save it for a rainy day when you can repeat it a thousand times in your mind. Maybe one day he’ll say it again. Or maybe, one day you’ll be strong enough to look him in the eyes and tell him exactly how he makes you feel. Safe, beautiful, whole, seen.

Thumbing through the colorful bookcase, you slip a book out and start scanning the back. Just when you start to flip the front page, the click of the front door opens, and then you hear voices. Joel’s and someone you don’t recognize. Pressing the book against your chest to hug away the anxiety that’s building in your system, you pause when in comes Joel with a girl with big doe eyes and long strands of curly dark hair. You take a good, long look, your brain suddenly registering who she is.

Sarah.

You drop the book from your arms and it goes tumbling to the floor, your mouth parted open in mere shock as you register the situation.

Joel steps forward, enough to feel the heat from his body against yours, his arm placed gently around Sarah’s back, pushing her forward to present to you. He clears his throat and smiles. “Have someone I’d like to introduce you to, sweetheart.” He flicks his brown eyes to you and then back to Sarah as she stands gleaming in the sunlight with a bright smile. “This is Sarah, my daughter.” And then he says your name, introducing you the same.

You stand there lock-jawed, eyes wide, arms down at your sides, your mouth parched of words as you take her in. Big smile, as kind as her brown eyes. Eyes like Joel’s. She has a light dusting of freckles across her nose, cheeks warm and pink. She looks so kind. Kind like Joel, you think.

She says your name brightly and flashes you a genuine smile. “It’s so good to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much.” Before you register what happens, she’s throwing her arms around your back and pulling you in for a tight embrace.

Your eyes widen in confusion, mouth hanging open as she squeezes you tighter with your arms still draped to the sides of your body. It’s like you’re a long-distance cousin she hasn’t seen in years, but you’ve never met her in your life. But you think it’s okay because she’s a survivor like you, and you feel like you do know her. Joel’s told you so much.

Briefly flicking your eyes up, Joel chuckles under his breath from the foyer and gives you an encouraging smile, his eyes sparkling with glee as he takes in the sight of his sweet daughter pulling you in for a hug.

As if he’s encouraging you, you cautiously snake your arms around her back and hug her right back, embracing her like a sister that got lost along the way of the kidnapping. And when you finally breathe in her strawberry scent, you hold her tighter for just a few seconds knowing that she had everything stripped from her years ago too.

When you release your arms from her, Joel gives you a small smile and slowly retreats back from the room. “I’ll get out of your hair, let you two talk.” And then he’s disappearing around the corner, leaving you alone with Sarah.

“You want to go out on the back porch?” Sarah asks brightly, brown eyes as big as the moon.

You give her a shy smile and hesitate because you’ve never actually been out there before. You kind of just locked yourself in the house, afraid to venture far from closed doors and warm air. Afraid to go far because you’re still scared. Scared someone could take you away from Joel again… “Umm, sure. I’ve never really been out there before.”

“You’ve never been out back?” she asks, shocked, jaw dropping like you just said you’ve never seen colors before.

You shrug meekly and say, “Kinda keep tucked away in the house.”

Registering your answer, she closes her lips and nods. “I understand. It’s nice and cozy in here, but come on. You’ll love it.”

She tugs your wrist and pulls you along with her toward the back glass door, only stopping momentarily to pick up two fleece blankets from a little basket tucked next to the fireplace. Handing you one before she slides the door open, she encourages you forward.

When you step out onto the wooden back porch, your jaw drops as you take in the beautiful view. Acres upon green acres expand over the horizon. A small pond that glistens in the sunlight sits a couple miles out. A flock of birds soar in the blue sky, only disappearing behind some forming grey clouds in the near distance. And the trees… so many tall, green, large scatters of them expand over the open land. It’s almost like home…

“Whoa. This is…” You pause, mouth suddenly dry as you join Sarah on the porch swing, eyes still roving across the beautiful view. How did you not know this was out here all this time?

“Pretty great, right? Dad owns all this. All the way back behind that line of thick trees.”

You scan the horizon, but you don’t see an end anywhere in sight. He must own hundreds of acres.

Taking a deep breath, you part your lips and smile, pulling the blanket up over your lap to dissipate some of the November chill. “I’ve been kind of a recluse since I’ve been here. I just can’t believe I missed this. It’s beautiful…” And it is. Breathtaking, actually. It kind of takes the ache away, fills you with a little happiness that replaces all the bad things that have happened to you over the past couple of years.

“That’s okay,” she smiles encouragingly. “You’re seeing it now.”

You take another moment to soak it all in. The crisp smell of autumn, the yellow and red tinted leaves that blend in with the deep greens, the open land that’s filled with picturesque views that you swore would never be in Texas. But this? This is as close to home as you’ve felt for a long time.

Sarah’s warm voice pulls you back to the present. “Dad’s told me a lot about you.”

You turn your head, eyes a little weary. He’s told her about you? “Really?” you ask, taken aback.

“Mhm,” she hums out with a smile plastered on her glossy lips.

“Nothing bad I hope,” you breathe out.

She shakes her head, curls bouncing with the movement. “Oh, no. Only good things. He really likes your company.”

He likes your company?

You smile to yourself, feeling a blush set in on your cheeks as the cool air blows against your skin. He likes your company… “Well, I like his too.” But really, you mean to say you just like him. More than his company. You like being in his space, nuzzling into his soft flannels that smell like him—Pinewoods, mahogany, and a hint of black coffee. You like talking to him, watching his dimples cave into his tanned cheeks when he’s smiling. You just like him. All of him. You like everything about him. Especially how kind and soft he is with you. You like it all. And that scares you a little, but you shouldn’t be because he makes you feel so safe.

Yes, safe.

She pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them to her pink hoodie, the blanket loosely draped across her shoulders, and then she takes a good look at you, like she’s doing a deep dive into your mind. “How are you doing, really?”

You let the question simmer, let it bubble inside you as you contemplate exactly what you’ll say. How are you really feeling? Drained, worn down, discarded, hurt. But there’s a chip inside you, one that’s filled with a little warmth, a little healing. A part of you is being stitched back together. One thread at a time. And it’s not because you’re away from that awful house, away from their clawing hands and sharp commands. You think maybe, just maybe, Joel’s healing a teeny tiny part of you. Inside and out. He’s making you whole again. Even in the short amount of time you’ve been here, you think he’s making you brand new.

He’s making you feel not so alone. He’s making you feel safe, wanted. He’s giving you wings…

“I’m hanging in there,” you say quietly, fingers brushing lightly over the fleece blanket. ”Kinda just taking it one day at a time.”

“It’s been a little over a month now, yeah?” she questions, tilting her head as her brown eyes glisten through the clouds now hanging over the covered porch.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod, eyes wandering back to the big, open field. You could get lost in those sea of trees. Run, disappear forever. But you don’t think you want to anymore. At least, not right now.

“How long were you gone for?”

You fiddle with your bottom lip, wincing at the lost time that’s gone by. “Almost two years. Seems more like ten, if I’m being honest. Time seems to blur together when you’re… Well, when you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night.”

A lump forms in the back of your throat, making your eyes a little blurry from the thought of being gone for so long. How had you managed to survive all those days of abuse and torment? How’d you ever get saved by the likes of someone like Joel? Warm, kind, safe.

She twirls a strand of her dark curls around her index finger, eyeing you with big sad eyes that make you want to choke out a sob, but you don’t. “I wasn’t gone nearly as long as you. And I can’t imagine what you went through. Two years, that’s… God. I’m so sorry.” Regret fills her eyes, and then she places a hand softly on your shoulder, saying just as much in her touch.

“Yeah, I am too,” you say a little dazed as her hand slips away from you, back into her lap.

You mull over what you’ll say next while your emotions are running rampant. You feel everything all over again. The fear, the blinding pain, the inconsolable ache in your bones that won’t go away. You’ve been scared for so long, so how are you supposed to navigate your way through life again? How are you supposed to go on when the weight of the world rests like cement on your chest?

Turning your head toward her slowly, you ask something that’s been bothering you. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” she questions; her tone gentle and patient.

“Keep living a normal life,” you whisper, letting your words float across the frigid air, right back to Sarah.

She shifts in her seat and takes a beat before answering, her voice calm and collected. “I wouldn’t exactly call my life normal. It’s gotten almost to that point, but there’s still days I can hardly get out of bed, nonetheless eat. But my boyfriend, Ryan, helps me when it gets like that. Or I talk to Tess. Have you seen her yet?”

Tess. That’s right. You forgot about Tess.

You shake your head. “Not yet.” But you’d really like to.

“She’s great. She’s really helped. Even my dad sees her sometimes.”

“Your dad sees her?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

She nods. “Yeah, she’s actually helped him a lot too with everything. Especially with his line of work. He really needs someone to lean on on the hard days, you know?”

You let your mind settle on her words, your thoughts turning back and forth over the endless images of Joel’s sleepless nights. The deep shadows under his chocolate eyes. The restless image of him hunched over a laptop with his fingers lacing frustratedly through his dark locks. The late night runs he has to do periodically. The stressful calls he takes right when he’s about to head to bed. The times he’s not home when it’s three in the morning. The pacing back and forth he does when Tommy’s talking to him about a job. But there’s one thing you don’t ever miss. The pain that flares behind his brown irises, blending in with the inky flecks that remind you of dark chocolate.

Something hurt him. Something continues to hurt him, and you don’t even know what that something is.

Jesus. You don’t even know half of what Joel goes through, but you think he might need someone just as badly as you do. Maybe, just maybe, you can be that something he needs because he’s that to you. He’s your foundation when you had nothing.

“Your dad, what he does, he’s helped so many girls…” you murmur, your voice caught in your throat as you think about everything he’s done specifically for you. But really, it just takes a toll on you thinking of everyone he has saved. He’s… incredible.

She smiles, her cheeks bright from the crisp air. “He’s saved countless lives. And for that, I really couldn’t ask for a better dad.”

No. She really couldn’t. He is the best dad, and she’s so lucky to have him.

After a moment of silence passes, she speaks again. “He seems happier lately.”

Your eyes flick over to hers while your heart does a somersault in your chest. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she smiles gently.

“What makes you say that?” The knot tightens in your stomach, and maybe you’re a little scared of the answer. Was it… was he happier because you were here? No, that couldn’t be possible, could it?

“I don’t know,” she laughs, shrugging casually as her hair tumbles past her shoulders. “He just seems lighter, maybe a little brighter. His eyes, they’re a little clearer. I think… I think ever since you came here. Yeah, that’s when I noticed the change.”

Your eyes widen, lips part in awe. Did she just say… No. You must’ve heard wrong.

“Me? But I…”

She stops you mid-sentence and smiles. “He likes your company, like I said. I can tell. He’s never been… Well, he hasn’t been happy in a while. It’s nice to see him smiling for a change.”

You bite your bottom lip out of habit and curl your fingers into the fleece of the blanket, tossing ideas back and forth in your mind. Maybe he has been smiling more lately. Like on movie night. You’ve never seen him laugh so carefree before. He did seem happier. A little more teasing, maybe even playful in a way. You wanted to see more of that. Carefree Joel is heart stopping.

“And you think I’m the reason he seems happier?” you laugh, a pang of disbelief flowing through your body. Could you really be the reason he was happier?

“I really do,” she confirms with the imprint of a dimple in her cheek, solidifying the question.

You’re the reason he’s happier…

“Hey, umm. I just wanted to say you can reach out to me anytime. I’m always available if you need a friend,” she smiles, her eyes sincere and warm. “And just know that you’re a survivor. You’re a strong one, and there’s nothing you can’t overcome. Never give up. Keep fighting the long fight. You’ve got this. I believe in you, my dad believes in you, Tommy does too.”

They believe in you. Joel believes in you. And that in itself means so much to you…

“Thanks, Sarah. I’m so glad I got to meet you.” A tear forms in the corner of your eye, but you brush it off just as Sarah squeezes your knee in encouragement.

Before you can say another word, you hear a shuffling noise by the door. “Hope I didn’t intrude on anything.” Joel slides the glass door open, balancing mugs with two hands and one braced against his flexed arm, making you almost lose your balance at the sight of him. Tall, fitted blue flannel around his muscular arms, slicked back hair with silver streaks glistening even under the cover of a grey cloud. So handsome, so put together, so…

“Oh, no. Not at all, Dad!” Sarah chimes in, giddy as she reaches for the pink tinted mug in his firm grasp.

“Thought I’d whip up some hot chocolate for you two. It’s a bit chilly out here. Don’t want ya to catch a cold. Plus, I know how much you like my homemade recipe, Sarah.” He smiles as she takes a big gulp, groaning when she swallows the first taste.

“Yes! I knew you’d make me your famous hot chocolate. Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.” She throws him a toothy grin and settles back against the swing, kicking her legs carefree while she indulges in the warm hot chocolate, eager for you to try a taste yourself.

“Here ya go, sweetheart. Reckon you like hot chocolate.” He smiles, reaching his arm out, offering you a warm mug with swirls of steam billowing out the top.

“Yes.” You extend your arm, palm open with an invitation. And when he slides the cup into your hand, his calloused fingers brush against yours, causing goosebumps to rise on your shivering skin. You gasp, feeling how warm and welcoming his hand feels against yours, but it’s only there a second, the next he’s whisking his arm back to his side. You already miss it—his hand sliding against yours implicitly.

Physical contact is not in your book of things that make you feel good anymore. But with Joel? It feels more than right. It feels… perfect. Like his hand was made to brush against yours. Or maybe it was made so he could intertwine his fingers with yours, thread them together like your stitched-up heart. You think you’d like that. One day. And maybe he would too.

“Put some extra whipped cream and marshmallows in jus’ for you. Know how much you like everything extra sweet.” He gives you a gut-wrenching smile. One that could bring you to your knees. Especially once that dimple forms on the middle of his cheek.

God. What did you ever do to be worthy of looking at that angelic face? Carved to perfection, tanned, smooth like his tousled curls. And his eyes. Big pools of warmth that instantly make my insides all fuzzy and warm.

“Thanks, Joel. You didn’t have to go through all that extra trouble though,” you smile bashfully, still trying to get a grip on this reality.

“‘Course I did. You’re worth the extra mile.”

Your mouth parts at the words. You’re worth the extra mile. Sarah giggles under her breath, but she keeps to herself. But you can’t help but notice her eyes keep roaming from Joel and then back to you. She must see it. See just how much we affect each other. Just one look and you’re melted butter. It just takes one glance from those big brown eyes until you’re nothing but dust in the wind.

“Dad makes the best hot chocolate!” She brags, taking another sip of her steaming hot chocolate. “Don’t for a second let him tell you it’s nothing special.”

But it is special. Every single particle of him is special. How’d you ever get so lucky to be sitting here on his porch, drinking his hot chocolate that he made specially just for you?

“You know,” he drawls. “Thanksgiving’s next Thursday.”

Thanksgiving? How had you forgotten it was Thanksgiving? To be fair, you weren’t really in the mindset to think about holidays. You overlooked Halloween already, what used to be your favorite.

“Already?” you laugh uneasily, afraid he’ll be upset you forgot.

“Sure is,” he chuckles back, but he gives you an encouraging smile, saying you’re just fine.

“Dad makes the best cherry pie you’ve ever tasted! I’m so excited,” Sarah squeals excitedly beside you. “Well, I guess everything he makes is the best, but this is to die for!”

“Oh?” you ask while Joel nods shyly. “What about blueberry pie?”

He tilts his head and looks at you a beat before he says, “I can make that, but only if you help me.”

“You want me to… help you?” you gawk, mouth parted in surprise. You’re not a cook, never really been one in the first place. Do you even remember how to do anything?

No… you really don’t.

He nods as he takes a sip of his warm coffee, brown eyes locked on yours. “Can’t do it without you. Take it or leave it, sweetheart.”

He’s not making this easy, is he?

“Okay,” you break after a beat. “You’ll just have to guide me. I’m not the best at baking.”

“Well, I’ll jus’ have to teach ya then,” he smirks, sending a wink your way and making you blush all over again.

“Perfect,” Sarah giggles, like she knows something we don’t. But she’s been watching us like a hawk; silently tapping her talons and sharpening her ears. Maybe she sees the chemistry swirling between us like the smoky fog hovering over the glassy lake. If she does, the only thing that gives her away is her sneaky smile and bright eyes flicking between us.

He shakes his head and chuckles under his breath while he leans against the wooden porch fence. One elbow propped lazily up on the edge, his other hand flexed around his royal-blue coffee mug. You follow the map of lines on his forehead, memorizing every crevice, every wrinkle like the constellations in the sky.

He catches you staring, which makes you look down, a deep blush burning in your cheeks. But when you look back up, he’s still watching you. Almost like he’s memorizing your face just the same.

Soft. His eyes are so soft. Warm, big, his brown irises full of promises of something. It makes your breathing hitch, makes you a little off center. But yet, he keeps watching like he can’t quite believe you’re there, sitting right in front of him too.

And it stays just like that until Sarah starts up the conversation again. But he still doesn’t take his eyes off you. It’s almost like he’s just as mesmerized as he makes you feel.

There’s a spark, a lapse in time where fireworks go off somewhere in the far distance. You can almost hear the sizzling and booms as they light in the sky. But instead, you hear Joel’s name whooshing around your mind, lighting you up a variety of colors. He painted you a multitude of shades and brought life back in your eyes when all you could see was black and white before.

You’ve never seen such pretty shades of brown before until you looked up and saw his eyes. You think he lit you up the very moment you became his that night he saved you…

“Joel?” you call, a few minutes later when the only sound is the faint rustle of leaves in the distance.

He turns his head toward you, coffee cup snug in his big hand. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

You hesitate a second, looking from Sarah and then back to Joel. Yes. You think it’s time. “I think… I think I’m ready to talk to Tess.”

His brown eyes light up like Christmas lights, a soft smile splaying across his lips which nearly takes your breath away. And the way he’s looking at you? All soft and warm. Well, you think you’ve just fallen all over. “Why don’t you give her a call this week? I’m sure she’d be happy to get you in soon. In fact, I’ll drive you to your appointment. Whenever you’re ready, you can count on me.”

You can count on me. He’s so reliable, so sweet, so genuinely caring. It makes a smile crack over your lips, makes another wave of warmth rush through your chest, filling you up with sunshine and the hot chocolate he made for you. With extra sugar, you can’t forget that part.

When Sarah congratulates you on taking that step forward, Joel can’t help but to smile even bigger and brighter. He even goes so far as mouthing the words “I’m so proud of you” to you through the air. Even though you didn’t hear them, you swear you can taste them as they simmer through the chilly air, along with his thick Southern drawl.

And just like that, you’re falling through cloudless skies, crashing down to earth. But you don’t have to be afraid anymore of dying because he’ll be right there waiting to catch you.

Later, when Sarah’s gone for the night, you’re wrapped up in your favorite fluffy blanket, knees tucked up underneath you while you silently read under the bright lamp. The fireplace crackles in the corner, making for the perfect night to read in the living room. But this is kind of a ritual now, a normal routine you’ve slipped comfortably into.

And then there’s Joel—the man who completes these relaxing nights. He’s here. Right where you need him. He’s perched on the leather couch, his guitar between his legs, gently taking a rag and dusting off the smooth wood, carefully cleaning each string with rapt attention. It’s a little distracting you think—watching his hands slide over the instrument, oh-so-carefully polishing and refining something that seems like it means the world to him.

To be honest, this is the first time he’s actually taken the acoustic guitar out of the reading room. He’s never really talked about it before. Which means, it’s something he hides deep inside his chest, careful not to show emotion when he glides over the colorful moth that’s etched in the wood. You think it means a great deal to him, whatever it symbolizes.

Putting the book down on your lap, you sit up straighter and muster enough courage to call his name. “Joel?”

He looks up, his brown eyes crinkling in the corners when he focuses on you. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I, umm. I was wondering…” You bite your bottom lip, suddenly nervous as he zeroes in on you, waiting for your question. You muster up enough courage to ask, but you don’t want to overstep. “Would you… Do you think you could play me something?”

His jaw ticks, his lips quiver as he muddles over your big ask. There’s a glimmer in his eye, a faint recognition of something hiding deep behind those brown pools. Uncertainty, maybe. Or was it just sadness?

Grazing the tip of his thumb up one of the strings, he sighs. “Haven’t played in quite some time, sweetheart.” His deep drawl is filled with anguish, and the last thing you want to do is make him sad.

Taking back your ask, you whisk it back in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… You don’t have to…”

He stops you before you can finish your stammering. “S’alright, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything.” But it feels like you did. After a beat, he huffs out a breath. “I’ll, uhh. I’ll try, sweetheart. For you, I’ll try.”

Those words mean more to you than he knows. He’ll try for you. That’s all you can ask for. Putting him in a vulnerable position, and he still wants to try? You don’t think you could be more smitten.

He straightens his back, mulls a little more over what he’s doing, then he’s placing the guitar carefully over his lap, adjusting his arms as he cradles the instrument like it’s the most fragile things he’s ever touched.

You fall silent and watch the way his thick fingers flex, eyebrows thread together, eyes close, lips slowly part. It almost feels like he’s keeping something down—something that’s hurting him, cutting him deep, bleeding him dry. You wish you could sew the wound up, wipe away his invisible scars that only show beneath the surface. You want to take his pain away like he takes yours.

After a silent fist fight in his mind, he slowly places his fingers gently on the taut strings and oh-so-carefully begins to play a steady, melancholy tune. You can feel the weary emotion he wears on his face, can see the hurt lined in his weathered stare, can feel the debilitating pain he wears on his slouched shoulders, can even hear the grieving through the deliberate cords he strums.

You feel the backs of your eyes burn with held-back tears the longer you watch Joel wear his heart on his flanneled sleeve. And as the melancholy tune carries throughout the stifling room, you feel every single emotion he’s ever poured out into that guitar. That special, one-of-a-kind, gem of a guitar. Whatever it means to him, you see it so clearly now, even if you don’t really know what’s got him so torn up. Was it the moth etched to perfection in the wood, or was it the person that gave him that guitar. Or, had he lost someone, too?

When he plays the last note, his jaw goes slack, and he lays the guitar flat on his lap, his thumb slowly tracing the edge of the little moth. Tears well in his big brown eyes, but he doesn’t dare let one fall. He holds them back, like the strong man he is. But strong men are allowed to break too. And right now, you’re fighting every single particle in your body not to tiptoe over and fall into his arms.

Joel deserves that. Someone to take his pain away, lock their arms around his neck and promise him that he’ll be okay. Just like he promised you…

He looks up slowly, steadily, his head still hanging low, but his eyes meet yours for a brief second. It almost kills you to see those big, sappy brown eyes lathered in such sadness. Makes you want to just rush into his arms and never let go.

Who hurt Joel? That’s what you want to know. Who tore his heart from his chest and ripped it in two?

You slowly peel yourself off the couch, leaving your book open, laying face down in the blanket. You silently tiptoe over to him, careful not to disturb his sulking, keeping your eyes glued to the way he’s brushing the pads of his fingers against the scarred strings. He’s got his heart spilled all over them like black ink.

Carefully, you slide in next to him, fully aware you’re about to play Russian roulette in the next few seconds. “That was beautiful. The song you played,” you whisper out, afraid you’ll shatter his glass box that’s cased around him.

He shifts against the leather, dragging his thumb smoothly across the polished wood. A sad smile crosses his lips, but it doesn’t meet his darkened eyes. “I uhh… I wrote that for someone. Someone who meant a lot to me…” The pain in his strained voice is etched in his clenched jaw, his palms a little shaky as he speaks.

You almost reach your hand out for his, but you think better of it. Someone did hurt him. Or maybe, he lost them… “Joel, that’s… that’s…” You can’t even finish your sentence without your own voice cracking. What could you say to that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He rasps out a sigh and slumps his broad shoulders a bit more, one hand dragging over his silvery scruff, all the way across his mouth. And his eyes. Still glistening with held-in tears.

Oh, Joel…

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask bravely, clenching your fingers as the words leave your lips.

Sniffling, he murmurs, “Not tonight. Not right, at least.”

You let his words simmer, let them soak into your sweater until you feel it’s safe to respond again. Shifting just a little closer, you brush your fingers just inches away from his hand, enough to where he might be able to feel the warmth coming from your palm. “Joel?”

“Hm?” he hums, his deep bravado echoing around the room.

Your fingers dance closer, just enough to lick flames from your skin. If you were brave enough, you’d thread your fingers through his until he let you take away some of his held-in pain. “You know you can always talk to me, right? About anything.”

He lets out a breath and slowly looks up at you. His eyes are hazy, a little cloudy with the fog from his watery eyes. It makes pain flood inside your chest. You freeze when he brushes his knuckles gently down your cheek, a light touch that means he appreciates you when words surely fail him in this moment. And then there’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the center of his gravity, making a tear leak from the corner of your eye. But of course, he wipes it away before you can blink.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he smiles, letting his thumb trace your jawline before he snaps his hand back to his side. And there you go, wishing his warm palm was still lingering across your skin.

The way he touches you—it’s not sexual. Not in the least bit. It’s warm, filled with so much care and attention. Just like the special recipes he conjures up in the kitchen. It’s filled with extra care. And God, how he cares for you. Just like you care for him…

He stares at you for a beat, crystallized brown flecks dancing across your vision, soaking you up like you want to do with his pain. He tilts the guitar against the leather couch and lets his palm drag down it, eyes flicking back and forth from it to you repeatedly. He looks like he wants to tell you something. Maybe the reason he’s hurting?

Please, Joel. Give me your pain.

Once he’s settled his mind, he blinks a couple times and looks at you with hurt-filled eyes. He focuses on a strand of your hair, lets his fingers fall over the silky surface while you hold your breath from the contact. And he fixates on it while his mouth twitches to let the words he really wants to set free out. “The reason I haven’t played in so long is because… Because I…”

You hold your breath, waiting for that something to come tumbling from his lips like an old wound he just won’t let go of. But before he can finish, his phone starts ringing off the hook, deflecting him from the one secret he was about to share with you. The one thing you might’ve been able to remotely help him with.

Pulling his phone free from the front pocket of his denim jeans, he sighs, carding his free hand through his slicked-back curls. You get the faint view of Tommy’s name scrolled across the screen which means it’s probably going to be another late night for Joel. He deserves a break. He works too hard, pushes himself past his limits most nights. He deserves someone to stop the madness for just one single night.

Could you stop it? Press pause on the world for just one night? Just long enough for him to get a decent night’s rest. The dark circles beneath his tired eyes never go unnoticed. He’s got so much weight on his shoulders, so much baggage to pull around. Would he let you take some of that weight off, just for one night?

Groaning, he pushes off the edge of the couch and stands, his thumb hovering over the answer button. “I’ve gotta take this,” he mumbles heavily, dragging all his pent-up frustration and pain right back on his shoulders. But before he clicks the button and walks away, you recklessly reach your arm out and wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling the thick flannel just enough to get his attention.

Stay, Joel. Don’t go. That’s what you really want to tell him, but you’ve said enough through your rampant movements.

Looking down at your closed hand around his wrist, he lets the phone keep ringing, just stares into your eyes while his big, wide brown irises cross with yours. There’s a hesitation there, a moment in time where everything just stops. It’s just you and him for the second, the flickering embers that crackle like pop rocks in the flames of the fireplace.

Parting his lips in awe, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, tears pooling in the backs of his irises, you think he might crack right on the spot. But the world begins to spin again, bringing you back to the present where his phone continues to ring and ring and ring repeatedly.

Don’t answer it, Joel. Let it go to voicemail. Stay. Stay with me. But the disappointment bubbles up inside you the moment he clicks the green button to life, letting Tommy’s voice slip through the end of the receiver. “Yeah?” His voice cracks, strains as he swipes at his teary eyes. It makes you crack just the same.

Just when you let a puff of air leave your lips, he fills the empty space by just a smidge. Slowly, carefully, he reaches over and cups the back of your head affectionately, letting his fingers linger in your hair, tangling for just a second as he fights to pull away. He’s talking on the phone, nodding his head and repeating what Tommy says, but his wide eyes are tethered to yours in a wave of emotions tossing through his beautiful brown eyes. He’s said enough in that touch, even as he pulls away. He’s saying thank you, that he appreciates you being here, that he revels in the way you’re trying. He’s trying to let his walls down too. Just enough to let you creep in and slip into the parts he keeps tucked away, afraid to show just how vulnerable he is too.

Taking one more good look at you, he snaps his hand back inside his pocket and disappears around the corner, leaving you alone with the flickering fireplace and solid guitar next to the now empty couch.

You close your eyes and let your head fall back into the cushions, tucking your knees against your chest as you blow out a heavy breath. You were this close to getting a glimpse into his mind. And now? You didn’t know if you’d get that chance again.

Joel… He barely touched you, barely grazed his fingers across your skin. But that last touch? The way he ran his hand down your hair and cupped the back of your head? That was everything all at once. He was everything. Gentle, kind, and so very soft.

You don’t know how long you stay there, but it’s long enough that you’ve faded off to sleep. Long enough that you feel him slip his strong arms around your body and carry you back to bed in the early morning hours of dawn. This time you don’t fight the need to sleep; you just curl into his chest for those few short, blissful seconds, breathing in his woodsy scent until he tucks you safely into bed. And you don’t miss that same brush of knuckles across your cheek before darkness takes a hold of your body. The last thing you remember is hearing his soothing Southern drawl whisper sweet nothings through the air.

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#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel x female reader #joel miller tlou

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perotovar · 8 months ago

Text

limits — a minotaur!joel fic

pairing: minotaur!joel miller x m!oc/reader (unnamed and undescribed) rating: E (18+ mdni) word count: 2.2k content: au, porn with a little plot (but not really), monster fucking, joel is a literal bull-man, he doesn't speak but he understands humans, hentai logic/physics, don't think too hard about how this works physically, unprotected p in a, so much cum (like, a lot), breeding kink, aftercare, tiny bit of dubcon (if you squint), size kink, omegaverse dynamics/rules dividers: by @/saradika-graphics beta: @kedsandtubesocks (ily omg)

summary: so like, imagine a world where bulls evolved to be bi-pedal and can mate with humans, but it's not a common practice. don't think too hard about it, just imagine you're a new farm hand/stable boy and caught the attention of one of those bulls, okay?

written as a part of @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett 's Monster (S)mash challenge (so sorry for how late this is forgive meeee)

“Seein’ as it’s your first day, kid, I should warn ya,” the farmer started, resting an elbow on a bent knee, his foot resting on the fence in front of them. “This time’a year the bulls get a bit… restless.”

The young man blinked, cheeks heating up as he listened. “B-but aren’t they more focused on the cows?”

The farmer laughed, chewing on his tobacco as he watched the cows roam. “Well, sure, but they don’t seem to care much when they get like this. Just gotta put yer foot down and they’ll leave ya be, promise.”

The boy nodded and swallowed around a lump in his throat. He needed this job something fierce so a few horny bulls weren’t going to keep him from that.

“Help me get that hay to the horses, wouldja?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wiping sweat from his brow, the young man smiled down at the work he’d accomplished. He looked to his left and saw the large bull pen. He’d been working on the farm as a hand for a little over a week now and had successfully avoided any unwanted attention so far.

He’d been learning all the animal’s names as well as their personalities and temperaments. Maggie was a lovely cow, a bit of a loner, but sweet as can be. Rex was easily the meanest of all the bulls, and he had to be taken away from the cows pretty often.

But, Joel, well. He was easily the biggest of all the bulls. He was another loner, but in a distinctly different way than Maggie was. He stood at an imposing 9ft tall (horns not included) and had dark, curly fur that covered his whole body. His torso was barrel-shaped and as tough as any leather.

The young man didn’t have much experience working with Joel, that was left to a select few employees on the ranch. Joel didn’t trust many people and whenever breeding season came around, he had to be taken to a secluded area. “Gets downright ravenous, that one,” the farmer had said. “Gotta cycle out the cows so they don’t get too tired.”

The boy had bit his lip in thought when he heard that. According to another hand on the farm, Joel had been the oldest of all the bulls and that was why he got the special treatment. He was the farmer’s favorite, but they didn’t understand why. He was grumpy and stubborn.

The young man wasn’t surprised to hear that, to be honest. The older a bull got, the more ornery they were. That was just the way of things.

“Hey, kid, I’m gonna needja to take care of Joel’s pen for him.”

The young man looked up from his raking and shielded his eyes from the sun. “Oh. Are ya sure?”

“‘Course,” the farmer chuckled. “He’s out back gettin’ a bath, so he’ll need a clean pen to get back to.”

The boy nodded and gulped. “O’course, sir.” The farmer saluted in thanks before taking off to do his own chores.

Exhaling a heavy breath, the young man grabbed a metal bucket, his rake, and some cleaning supplies before heading in the direction of Joel’s pen.

No one would have blamed him for thinking Joel’s pen would look like a tornado blew through, but he sure as hell wasn’t expecting this.

It was clear where a lot of the rut had been taking place, with a decently sized pile of hay in the corner, but the whole place… reeked. It was musky and heady and thick. The young man wished he’d grabbed some sort of face mask before entering. He’ll probably have to wash his clothes a few times to get the stink out.

“Fuck it,” he whispered to himself, and got to work. There was so much of… Joel everywhere. He hadn’t been around Joel enough to personally know him, but this felt like an invasion of privacy. It looked like any other pen, with a large metal sliding door and roof, but it was clear Joel had marked his territory so no other bull would be caught dead in there.

“Hey, newbie!” Lynn, another hand, greeted cheerfully. Behind her, a large, imposing (and freshly bathed) Joel entered the pen. His big barrel chest heaved heavy breaths, deep eyes locked onto the boy. “Thanks for takin’ care o’ Joel’s pen for ‘im. I’m gonna go find a nice girl for ‘im, I’ll be right back!” She was gone before the young man could respond.

Joel walked closer towards the pile of hay, large snout smelling if things were where they should be. He grunted in approval when he realized his smell was still there.

The young man watched before putting away his cleaning supplies. He stood frozen to the spot, Joel’s intense eyes making it hard to turn his back and leave.

“U-um, I’ll just–” The young man pointed his thumb in the direction of the door to leave, but Joel gripped onto his overalls, stopping him in his tracks. “What are you–?”

Joel lifted him high off his feet and planted the young man’s crotch onto his snout.

“J-Joel! What are you doing?!” He screeched, cheeks burning in embarrassment. Joel ignored him and inhaled the scent deeply, before exhaling a low, very pleased groan. “I’m–! I’m not a cow, I’m not what you want!”

Joel froze and looked the young man deep in the eyes, challenging him. Who was he to know what Joel wanted?

“Um, p-please put me down?” The boy stammered. Just then, his cock stirred in his overalls, betraying him. A twinkle appeared in Joel’s large, dark eye.

Before he knew it, Joel had him bent over a bale of hay with his legs kicked apart. Joel towered over him with a massive paw of a hand keeping his chest pressed to the hay.

“Joel, please,” he whimpered, his body trembling in fear and… perhaps arousal, he really wasn’t sure.

Joel huffed in response, asking what he wanted.

“I don’t– Wouldn’t you prefer a cow over… over me?”

Joel grumbled above him and ripped his overalls down his legs, pressing his large, very hard and leaking cock against the young man’s ass. He rolled his strong hips and groaned in response. Joel’s belly rested on top of the young man’s lower back, so he felt every heavy breath he exhaled.

“I-I guess that answers that question…” He sighed. He hid his face in his arms and whined weakly. “Fine, just… Just do it, okay?”

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned over the young man’s body and lifted his t-shirt, teasing his nipples. A large, thick tongue started probing at the young man’s earlobe, making him shiver in response.

“Oh,” he moaned, his own dick twitching to life between his legs. One of Joel’s large hands moved down to his ass to spread his cheeks and assess what he had to work with. Joel grunted appreciatively and started rubbing the boy’s hole in preparation.

A large glob of spit landed on the sensitive skin, easing the way for Joel’s thumb to pierce through. “Oh, fuck,” the boy gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily.

Joel hummed to himself and gripped his cock in his free hand. He started stroking it slowly before slapping the head against the young man’s cheek, giving him an idea of the size.

“Fuck, is… Is that thing gonna fit?”

Joel snorted before slowly pressing the head inside. It felt like the young man’s entire body was set on fire. He couldn’t feel his own legs beneath him, but he felt the pulsing of his cock throbbing between them. All the air left his lungs at once as Joel’s cock entered him further.

Joel stopped once a large thick ridge toward the base kissed the edge of the boy’s rim. He felt lightheaded, his eyes barely staying open as he adjusted to the full length of Joel’s cock.

“O-oh my god, I’m…” The young man trembled, voice pitched up an octave. “Am I dying?”

Joel made a low noise in his chest and leaned over to kiss and lick along the young man’s neck and ear. He was… comforting him, letting him take his time. Joel mooed quietly, almost like he was cooing words of praise to the boy. It made him feel like he could breathe again.

The young man rested his head on the bale of hay and tried to look back at Joel. “Okay, I’m… I think I’m okay,” he smiled sheepishly. “Go ahead, Joel.”

Before Joel started moving, one of his hands moved underneath them and covered the young man’s belly. He felt his cock through the skin, bulging through easily. He groaned in appreciation before adjusting his stance. The young man’s feet were hanging high off the floor of the pen like a ragdoll, his overalls still attached messily around his ankles.

Suddenly, as if someone had whistled for Joel to get started, he fucked hard and deep into the boy. The loud, almost comical sound of his heavy balls slapping against the young man’s tender flesh made him go dizzy.

Joel gripped onto his narrow hips and set a punishing pace, rutting into him. He breathed heavily and grunted above the boy, sounding far away.

The young man’s entire body moved back and forth against the hay bale, the scratchy feeling keeping him grounded as he ascended into another plane of existence. He had no idea being stretched so much and fucked so deep could feel so good. He didn’t want this to end.

Just then, Joel decided he didn’t want that position anymore and lifted the young man into the air so his back was pressed to Joel’s barrel chest. The boy moaned loudly, resting his head on Joel’s broad shoulder.

Joel grunted and started using the boy’s body as if he were a fleshlight, lifting and lowering him at a punishing pace. The amount of precome leaking out of the boy’s hole and around Joel’s cock covered their bodies entirely.

“I’m– I’m not going to last long, Joel,” the young man gasped, breath hitching with each powerful thrust. His eyes rolled back as Joel’s cock pummeled against his prostate, making him tremble weakly. The boy’s cock slapped lewdly against his lower stomach, precome splattering everywhere.

The boy’s stomach bulged with Joel’s cock, stretching the skin past its limits. He looked down to watch, mesmerized by the sight. How Joel’s cock fit inside him, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to question it.

Joel groaned deeply, picking up the pace of his thrusts. He must be getting close.

“C’mon,” the young man whined, turning his head to look at Joel’s face. “Come inside me.”

Joel pushed him back down onto the bale of hay and pushed his cock even further inside. The ridge near the base of Joel’s cock made the boy gasp weakly, gripping onto the hay beneath to ground himself.

Each smack of Joel’s hips against his ass had him letting out weak noises he didn’t even know he could make. Joel’s horns pierced into the hay as he rested his forehead against the boy’s back.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the young man chanted. “C’mon, Joel, please,” he whimpered.

If he could see him, he was certain steam left Joel’s snout as he panted and grunted behind him. Joel made a low groan before slamming one last time against the boy’s prostate and came like a geyser inside him.

The boy gasped as he was filled up, coming untouched as he felt Joel’s cock pump inside like a hose. He trembled beneath the bull’s body, screaming into the hay.

Joel exhaled heavily, hands gripped onto the boy’s hips tightly. He moved them slightly and noticed that they’d probably bruise soon. He hummed and leaned over to kiss and lick along the young man’s neck again, this time as an apology. He slowly pulled out and watched as his come poured out lewdly.

The boy panted hard, his body feeling more empty than it ever had in his life. His stomach felt full, though, which made him look down to see. Joel had well and truly filled him, it seemed. He couldn’t stop the giggle from leaving his body, his cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

Joel climbed onto the bale of hay with him and held the boy close, spooning him comfortingly. He turned the young man’s face and kissed and licked his tears away, mooing praises into his ear. The boy felt like his heart would burst from the tender act and silently cursed whoever called Joel grumpy and mean.

“That was…” He giggled, breathing heavily. “I hope you got what you were looking for.”

Joel grunted in affirmation and held the boy close, one large hand holding his full belly. It dawned on him then that Joel probably thought that he’d just bred the boy.

He didn’t have the heart to tell him it wouldn’t take.

“Sir, I had somethin’ to tell ya,” the boy said the next day, running up to the farmer with a bit more pep in his step.

“What’s that, kid?” The farmer grinned, chewing more tobacco.

“Just wanted to let ya know that I think I cracked ol’ Joel. Think he likes me!”

“No kiddin’? Well, shit, I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth! If you’re thinkin’ he won’t mind, you’re welcome to take care o’ his pen for the rest of breedin’ season, then.”

The boy couldn’t stop the wide grin from growing on his face.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x male reader #joel miller x male oc #monster fucker #minotaur #terato #monsterfucker #monsterfucking nsft #oaksfics

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greenandsorrow · 1 year ago

Text

the price for misbehaving (ii)

post rut Alastor x gn!reader

WARNINGS; the aftermath of a very horny fic, mentions of deer mating season, friends to lovers, deer/doe!demon!reader, reader with self worth doubts, a sprinkle of angst, curly-haired!Alastor, undertones of Alastor being a momma's boy, mentions of his past, making out, fluff (literally), there's plot

Dividers by; @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune

Please do not repost or directly copy my work and don't use it on AI platforms either ❤️

From a smutty oneshot to a multi chap fic. Nothing can compare to the chunkiness of the 1st chapter, but I'm satisfied with this one as well. Enjoy you lovely beings and thanks for being patient with me!!! The art above is by @kalico-of-doom.

~masterpost~

The only time Alastor isn't smiling is when he's sleeping, you have come to realize. You can't help but notice how tired he looks as you lay motionless beside him. You start petting his ears and he groans softly, nuzzling deeper into your touch without even bothering to open his eyes. A small smile forms on his mouth, a real one. Is this really the same man that has been fucking you until your legs stop working?

In the morning you wake up in his bed, a daily occurrence at this point. However, you weren't expecting him to be staring deeply into your contemned soul.

"A- Al?"

Your voice is hoarse from sleep. You scratch your deer ears, flop on your back and stretch. Alastor keeps staring, studying you and every micro expression you make.

You can feel fear creeping into your gut. Is this the end? Is the rutting season gone? Does he want to kill you and eat you now? Will he kick you out? One thing is certain.

He doesn't need you anymore.

After all, you were just a friend helping him go through a difficult time. Nothing more. Still, you would be lying to yourself if you said that you haven't caught any feelings. From his forceful claiming -that hid a great deal of desperation- to his tender love making last night, Alastor has left more than just his mark on you. One could say that he owns you in the most primal and raw of ways, but if he chooses to deny that... -that's all it takes really- then you were nothing but a fucktoy.

"Um... I- I'm gonna take a shower"

Is that you doing the walk of shame? Alastor is a gentleman, why isn't he saying anything?! Not a single thing that could make you feel less terrible about the whole situation!

Now that his hormones have died down and you are far from aroused as well, getting out of bed and standing completely naked in front of him... It makes you feel exposed, vulnerable, small and inferior...

This new emotion, the deep embarrassment that has your face feeling hot and your stomach churning with anxiety makes you dress up and leave "your friend's" room in the speed of light.

You lock yourself in your much smaller room, preparing a bubble bath for your spent and tired body. You smile to yourself a little, remembering how Charlie had made sure you'd have your own bathtub so that you can read your books while soaking in the warm water.

Sinking in the now filled tub, having the water envelope your frame, cleanse your energy and take his scent off of you feels nice. You let your eyes droop until they close lazily, you allow your shoulders to relax, your jaw to unclench.

A long and audible sigh.

Your hands around your frame.

You start crying.

If another deer demon resided in the hotel, he might as well had spent his breeding season with them. You weren't special. The mere thought of such a thing is killing you. You were just another victim of the radio demon's manipulation.

Still, it's your fault as well. For believing this was more than what it appeared to be? Maybe. You are getting more and more confused by the minute.

But oh... the way he had been repeating your name like a prayer... It must mean something to him -you being there for him. You didn't even judge the way he had spilled tears of sexual frustration when handjobs weren't enough to relieve the ache in his loins.

Who else has seen Alastor Hartfelt of Pride under this light? No one. You are the only exception. He wouldn't have allowed you to get so close to him if he didn't trust you... Right?

As your thoughts keep overlapping and fighting with each other and you continue to cry softly, you peak up the all too familiar sound of static.

Another unfair thing! He can melt into shadow and go anywhere he pleases... The sound intensifies as he approaches... you? Is he really thinking of invading your space like that? You can't even cry and be miserable in peace! Not like you're in Hell.

"Bonjou! Konmen s'apé kouri? Huh?"

Not only are you not in the mood to ask him to translate what he just said, but Alastor literally spawned in your bathroom and he's now acting like this is an okay thing to do. The way he's readjusting his lapels and smiling smugly like he wasn't a grunting mess last night infuriates you even further.

"Can you please get the fuck out of here?"

"Mh?" he just stands there in his usual apathy. He's even holding his cane.

"Can you at least stop smiling for a second?"

"Oh ho! I'm afraid I can't do that my deer!"

"But you can definitely get your ass out of my room! I-"

The sound of your voice carries to your ears like a whining child. There's a lump in your throat that you're beginning to fear you won't be able to keep down for much longer. If your face and hair weren't already wet from the bath, then it would be crystal clear that you were weeping like an idiot before he saw himself in.

Alastor is quick to gauge your body language. You're hugging your knees -shielding your naked body from him. Sometimes you swear he can tell your emotional state by sniffing the air around you. It's like your scent is enough for him to piece together the puzzle that you are.

The radio demon scranches his nose.

"What's there to be so sad over y/n? Today is a beautiful day!"

Is he playing stupid?! Because if he's doing this on purpose... Well, there's not much you can do now that he doesn't need you anymore.

Your lower lip trembles at this terrible thought and the lump in your throat escapes your notice, resulting in a broken and weak sob to come out of you.

Tilting his head to the side way more than necessary and squinting his eyes, Alastor asks "Are you pregnant?"

You freeze and widen your eyes. "I- Is that even... even fuckin' possible in the afterlife?"

The fucker chuckles!

"Oh, I don't think so, at least not for lowly demons such as yourself!" The worst part is that he wasn't trying to insult you by saying that, but rather calm you down.

"Go to Hell."

"Ironic."

You can't help it now. You break down in tears. Your chest feels tight as the sobs ripple through your body and make your frame retreat to itself. In addition to your general misery, the water has gone cold, causing you to shiver.

The overlord places his cane against the tiles of the bathroom wall and crouches down so he is level with you. He won't let it show just yet, but Alastor is very worried. There's guilt eating him from the inside.

While he was in musth, in breeding mode -or in whatever you wanna call it-, he wasn't fully aware of his actions. Alastor's mind was blurred from the desire to mate and basically reproduce. Now that he's back to his senses, he has come to the unpleasant realisation that he might have caused you harm in the process of letting out his passion.

And this simply won't do! This deer demon has done cruel and vile things he doesn't even feel particularly bad about... but hurting you... He would never be able to forgive himself.

You were there for him and showed him a great deal of love and understanding.

So, that's the reason you left so hurriedly from his quarters... He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. He hurt you. HE DID THIS TO YOU.

Alastor's permanent grin fades just slightly. It is replaced by concern, evident in the way he looks at your trembling body in the water. He reaches out to gently touch your skin, checking for any signs of pain or discomfort. Your friend's voice softens, it's now filled with genuine worry and regret.

"I'm so sorry darling... I didn't know I caused you... pain."

It's true that you have many bruises and hickeys decorating various places on your body, but that's not the reason behind your breakdown.

"I- It's not th-" you just look down. You can't even explain yourself.

The radio demon's worry only deepens after your vague response and he quickly takes action to be by your side, pulling you out of the bathtub and into a tight hug. Alastor whispers reassurances in your ear, his voice filled with remorse.

"I'm so sorry... We should have stopped when it got too much."

No one has heard Alastor apologize before -not even God, for all that's worth.

His expression softens even further as he sees your tears that just keep coming. He carefully brushes them away, worry etched into every line of his handsome face.

"I didn't mean to make you cry. You must know that."

"I'm not in pain... Just sad."

You do look rather devastated.

Alastor is almost frozen in place from all the guilt since he can now see the bruises forming on your skin. The water camouflaged them, but now they are exposed for him to observe and take in.

He swallows hard, his voice shaking with emotion like never before. "Y/n... I didn't mean to do that. I didn't. None of it."

"None of it?"

Your voice is muffled due to how you have hid your face in his chest. At least he's warm.

"My intention wasn't to cause you injury or physical pain."

You look up at him, finally making eye contact. He's looking at you as well, eyes shining with regret, guilt and what appears to be shame.

What really surprises you, though, is the pleading tone of his voice. It's one thing to be vulnerable because he's hungry for sexual contact and another because he genuinely cares for you.

"Can you ever forgive me for this? I promise, it was never my true intention. I just... I got carried away. And now... It's not an excuse..."

"You really meant none of it to happen between us?"

"Now, now, little deer! Someone's getting ahead of themselves! That's not what I implied at all."

You sigh and settle in his lap.

"Oh mon cher, did you really think I regret our... stimulating times?"

Alastor's long arms press you against him, his clothes absorbing the water on your still bare skin. He then picks you up bridal style and carries you to your bed. It's not king sized like his, but he doesn't seem to care for such details right now.

"Now... Let me see you."

"I said I'm fine!"

"The artist will be the evaluator of his work."

"No Al! Artists get critics to evaluate their work."

"Hmmm, did you say something, dear? Cause I didn't hear you!"

It's a common tactic of his to hide his real feelings by being chatty and pleasant. You of course know that, but in your current state, it's very validating to have him take care of you.

So he did care. And he still does after having stopped necessarily needing you.

Alastor isn't joking around. He's searching your body, subconsciously writing down every scratch, every bruise and hickey, every bite mark.

Ears alert on top of his head, eyes wide open. He can even make out the shape of his fingertips on your hips... He turns you on your stomach only to discover his whole palms are imprinted on your buttocks. Meanwhile, you just allow him to inspect your body for as long as he wishes. All the crying has left you drained but also tranquil and calm.

"I'm fine Al. Really."

"Shhh, I'm not done evaluating the damage."

"It's just a bite or two."

"I drew so much blood..."

"Yes and?"

He just keeps observing, keeps rolling you this way and that. The scratches and the bruises are the most triggering to him. They remind Alastor of unhappy memories -back when he still hadn't taken good care of his father.

As long as he hasn't permanently marked you, it should be fine.

"I'll ask Niffty for some ice."

"N- no... Can we just... sit here? Like... cuddle?"

"You were my solace."

"What-"

He gently presses a finger on your lips to shush you.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to say that. It's not like I helped you with a flat tire or something."

"I don't do cuddling."

"Nor touching for that matter. But... It's not that bad, huh? Just let me put something on first."

You stand up and go to your closet to pick something to put on. Your hair is still wet and your legs still feel sore from your intense moments -but it was a big relief to know he still wants you in his life now the rut has ended.

Alastor's behaviour makes you wonder. He's contradictory. From fucking your throat in his radio station, to bending you over various objects in the hotel, taking you in missionary, against walls, windows and doors, he still seems pretty reluctant to give himself to intimacy. Unlike those times, his mind is now clear -no overwhelming heat involved. Intimacy equals vulnerability ...and to him vulnerability equals pain. The inevitable way in which things had worked out in his life.

"But we did sleep together until yesterday."

The radio demon cannot deny you. He's already sat at the edge of your bed, taking off his coat, shoes and anything else that could make the experience any less enjoyable.

"I wish I could say you'll take this to your grave."

You grin brightly and chuckle at his silly, little remark. Your confidence has been restored -to an extent- after he made it clear that he does concern himself with your wellbeing.

"But why don't you like being touched? Physical contact is a form of affection."

"Or a form of punishment, of intimidation, domination and... many other vile things, my dear deer..." His voice is too low for your liking as he says that.

You don't know what burdens Alastor's shoulders, but it can't be good -and I'm not even referring to his own cruelty and the pain he has inflicted on others. Maybe his opinion on physical contact is connected to the endless scars on his body.

"Oh well whatevs Al. I just want my cuddles."

The way his ears are pulled back and he looks at you almost like he's a shy and innocent boy makes your heart bit faster. At least there's no velvet rubbing off his antlers this time.

Alastor is extremely gentle and cautious in the way he handles you this time. He lays down on his back and you use his chest as a pillow.

It's a cozy place.

His chest. He has some fluff there, just like Angel, but unlike the former, he hides it under layers of clothing and keeps it unstyled. Still, it's undoubtedly soft and fuzzy and you like to sink your hand in it or swirl the soft fur around your fingertips. The radio demon isn't complaining -as one would expect. It's soothing to have someone touch his body in a non-hostile manner. It's refreshing to have someone appreciate his body as it is.

Would you also appreciate it if you saw him as he once was?

His father hadn't. He could handle the child of a mixed marriage, but Alastor wasn't just mixed, but also looked the part -and according to the racist beliefs of his father in the 1900's, that was a bad thing.

As you're happily nuzzled against his long and elegant neck, your friend's mind wanders. You lived during the 90's. What would it have been like if he had also lived during that period? Everything would have been different. The town he grew up in, his relationship with his parents, his career as a radio host -and a serial killer.

"Did you know that my hair is naturally curly?"

Your ears perk up at that and Alastor gently takes hold of them and pulls at them from the root, just slightly.

"That feels nice..."

"Oh I know."

"What were you saying?"

"Oh yes, my hair's curly! Since I was nothing but a tiny, adorable, baby boy! ...my mother... she..."

His hand lets go of your ears and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long sigh.

There's a melancholy about him now and you feel the need to comfort him. He's opening up to you by being genuine and vulnerable. Alastor is sharing a part of who he used to be and the least you can do is listen. You resume your activities on his fluff, almost massaging the area. He seems to like it, for a moment closing his eyes and letting a sound like purring.

"Can you keep this up?"

"Sure Al."

"Merci. What was I saying...? Oh yes, of course... Mama and my curly mop."

The radio effect of his voice and his arms around you make you feel like you're a kid being told a bedtime story.

It's a good thing the other residents have gotten used to you and Alastor disappearing together for long periods of time. His soft chest fluff under the pads of your fingers only intensifies the feeling of being told a story while tucked in bed, warm and safe from the outside world.

"It's truly amazing how much power is given to hair in certain cultures. In my culture, dear y/n, hair texture served as an indicator of social status. My family -a wedding between a white man and a creole woman of colour... Oh ho dear! It was something else back then...-

As a kid, I was always the one teased for having “weird hair”, as if it didn’t match my other facial features. When school began, my sweet mama, she... she would put my hair in locs to protect the curls. Apparently, they didn't like that at school! So my father... he -radio static intensifies- he made my mother shave it. He claimed that if my mother and I wore our hair differently, then no one would take us seriously."

You take a moment to digest this new piece information. It's true that locs enclose the natural hair and help it stay intact. It's also true that Alastor grew up in a time when it was very difficult to be of a cultural background which was different to the majority's. You choose to not comment on anything -that's not your job.

You swirl some more of his fluff around your fingertips before moving your hand to his hair.

"Well, it's not curly in the afterlife."

You feel the vibration of his chuckle through your check that's resting on his chest.

"But it is!"

Alastor lets out a satisfied sound as he presses you even tighter against him and begins rumbling about his hair care routine. He uses anti frizz oils, heat protection oils and then blow dries it. Truth is, that's just the steps you managed to actually register in your brain, because a sleepiness started overtaking you as you stayed laying in his embrace.

You're now fading between consciousness and unconsciousness. It almost feels like you're floating. Is this what Heaven is like?

Maybe it is. Maybe it is not. But you did manage to find your little oasis in Hell. And so did he.

Alastor looks down at your much smaller frame curled up against him. Your breath has slowed down and your eyes are closing. Why does it feel so warm and soft to have you close to him like this? He knows he shouldn't be letting his guard down, but he can't help it when it comes to you.

The radio demon is enamoured with you.

Wanting to make the experience even cozier and dreamier for his favourite sinner, Alastor starts singing quietly. His sense of rhythm is immaculate and his jazzy tunes make you fall sound asleep in no time whatsoever.

When you wake up an hour or so later, he still hasn't moved, but he acknowledges that you're awake with a small hum.

"Oh wakey wakey my darling y/n!" had been his usual response to you waking up while he was in the rut. However, right now he appears to be much more unguarded and raw than his usual persona -no need to put up a show. You haven't even woken up properly and you're already wondering about this new side of him.

"Al? Is everything okay?"

"Oh why, yes it is, but there's this thought occupying my brilliant mind..."

"Care to share it with my not so brilliant one?"

You expected him to laugh or even chuckle, but Alastor goes straight to the point.

"All this... making love and we still haven't kissed. Not really."

Kissing him would mean you actually view him romantically and whatever "friends with benefits" situation you have going on will be destroyed. That's not a bad thing though. Despite your initial fears of your fellow deer demon being too emotionally unavailable and only needing you to calm down the torment of his lust, a kiss wouldn't hurt. Kisses are good.

"We can change that y'know."

You make the first step by leaning towards him, basically giving him the green light that you're consenting to this. Alastor notices it and wastes no time, pressing his lips against yours while wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close into another embrace. He smiles widely as you kiss, his head tilting slightly as he runs his fingers through your hair. After a few seconds pass, he pulls his head back, slowly breaking the kiss as he looks into your eyes with a broad smile -that reaches his eyes.

"Aren't you delightful?!" and he dives back in.

Alastor's second kiss with you is firm and passionate -but not overly aggressive. His lips are warm and he seems to enjoy the intimacy of it -taking his time to explore your mouth. As the kiss progresses, he gradually increases the pressure of his lips on yours. His arms wrap around your waist and his tongue slowly wanders further into the welcoming heat of your mouth.

Once again -just like when it came to sex-, you have come to the conclusion that Alastor isn't that experienced, but some raw power -an instinct if you will- provides him with the ability to do all the right moves at the right time.

And then, you just break character. You burst into laughter. His large and pointed ears twitch at that change of pace.

"When I thought I was doing a good job~"

"Oh no, that's not it at all. I'm just happy." You're giddy and so is he.

Maybe not needing you but actually wanting you isn't the worst case scenario.

To be continued.

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tag list; @stygianoir @aperfectidiot @lady-valtieri @what-0-life @clowncollegealum @whatinthepluto @dragonqueenfk @ajajajabdjsjx @ellie-x0xo @1rxsemary1 @ermmmwhattheflipguys @kimkimmm2411 @sukaretto-n @randomuser-89 @crowleysthings @ratskinsuit @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 @ilikemyteawithmilk @dennsfz @dontevenknowwhyimhere @sirens-and-moonflowers @diffidentphantom @pinestwinssimp

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thisfeelslike-iykyk · 9 months ago

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focus ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

luke castellan x reader backtrack: "let's not fall in love", bigbang inspiration: mildly embarrassing BUT that one g-dragon scene from "let's not fall in love", see below for reference

“[name], are you done with your work yet?” luke plopped himself down onto the floor next to you. “it’s getting late.”

you sighed. “no,” you admitted. you had been staring at your assigned reading book for the last hour, sitting on the floor because you knew you’d fall asleep if you were in a chair. “I literally have dyslexia, I don’t know why my teachers still assign me reading.”

luke made a little face, because he hated reading too. “they just gave you a book and said ‘good luck’?” he asked, in disbelief.

“well, no, they said I could use audiobooks. fat chance I could use technology, though.” you lightly tossed your book onto the ground and buried your head in your hands. you were starting to get a headache, but you were supposed to finish the book for summer break, which was quickly drawing to a close.

“poor baby.” luke scooted up behind you and gently rubbed your shoulders, one leg on either side of you. you melted into his embrace, before snapping yourself out of it and reaching for your book again.

“sorry,” you muttered. “I really have to finish this.”

he was silent for a few seconds, before moving to sit beside you. you were vaguely aware of him staring at you, not saying anything.

you groaned quietly. “luke, I love you, but you are not helping.”

“hm? I’m not doing anything,” he said innocently. “go on, keep reading if it’s so important.”

you fought back a sigh and tried to keep reading your book, cheeks growing pink as your eyes kept drifting over to your side. luke was patiently sitting, facing you and eyes tracing your face. “stop looking at me like that,” you complained finally, setting the book down again. “I can’t focus.”

“like what?” luke asked, faking confusion, before shifting closer to you. he leaned forward and placed his head on your shoulder, curly hair brushing your cheek. he looked up at you through long eyelashes, a little smirk dancing across his face.

“luke,” you protested, turning to look at him. your faces were so close that your noses were practically brushing. “I really have to focus.”

“nobody’s stopping you,” he insisted, before pressing his lips to your collarbone. you shivered, and he smiled against your skin.

that's it. you tossed your book onto the floor and pushed luke down so you were on top of him. he looked shocked for a few seconds, before a laugh forced its way out of his throat. he ran his hands through your hair before pulling you down into a passionate kiss, the first of many, the book now long forgotten.

got shivers while writing this, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. not the best at writing suggestive content.

divider by @saradika-graphics

taglist: @loveinalocket, @raysmayhem-72

#percy jackson #percy jackson fandom #pjo disney+#pjo series #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo #percy series #percy jackson fic #luke castellan fic #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan pjo #luke pjo #luke castellan #anna's fics

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sagittariusmarz · 10 months ago

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How would they describe your appearance? (pac)

Pile 1

I see that they would describe your appearance as unique like you stand out, they think that your appearance makes you look like you’re from a foreign place or you may dress/accessorize yourself with things that come from a different culture. They think that you don’t think about your appearance too hard like your appearance is based on how you feel, they think that you’re trendy and your appearance always catches other people’s attention and makes them talk. Signs- Taurus/scorpio. Initials- W, I, C

Pile 2

(Angel number 9/999) I see that they really like your appearance and they want to steal ideas or different styles from you, they think the way you style or dress yourself really accentuates your figure. They think you look healthy or you can tell that you really care about your health/skin, they think that you’re good at styling or accessorizing with cheap things and making them look more expensive. They think your appearance is similar to everyone else’s like you don’t stand out too much, they think that you don’t steal from others to style yourself. Signs- Leo/cancer. Initials- R, N, H

Pile 3

I see that they think your appearance is trendy like they can tell your appearance was inspired from things you see online, they feel like you’re very fashionable/attractive and that you would get a lot of likes online because of your appearance. They think you look like you smell good or you do smell good, if you smoke they like how you don’t smell like it. They like your curly hair or they think you look better with curly hair, they think your styles are always changing and they can tell you really care about your appearance. Signs- Pisces/taurus. Initials- R, U, F, J, A

Personal readings always available //TIP JAR

Divider by @saradika-graphics

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mybworlds · 2 months ago

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Chapter 11: Beyond Desolation

Pairing: joel miller x f!reader (no use of Y/N) | Rating: 18+ Minors DNI | W.C.: 2.5K

Summary: Your life sounds perfect: you live with a perfect man, you live in your dream house, you do the job you love, you don't miss anything, except love and passion.

Warnings: no use of Y/N, use of you, reader is a photographer, reader has no physical descriptions except hair (no type or color) long enough to hold on to, unspecified age gap, Joel and reader are two cheaters, for a while. Smut, use of pet names, dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected PiV but the first time, creampies, comeplay, oral (both f and m recieving), exhibitionism, size kink, personal use of an unspecified sex toy. No outbreak here. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N We come to the end of this story and writing the epilogue was not easy because I wanted to give a fair epilogue both to this much hated Joel and to the female protagonist. You probably won't agree with this ending, but I hope I've still entertained and involved you in some way. Thx xxx

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Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics

Taglist @harriedandharassed

“Hey,” he says looking you in the eyes. Even though he hurt your feelings, you can't help but miss a beat.

“Hey,” you say using his same tone. He looks tired, his curly hair is a messy mess as if he's run his hands through it over and over again. There are obvious dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for days. Despite this, he’s always good looking.

“I'm here to fix the glass.” he tells you.

Your heart is pounding so hard you fear he might hear it.

“I thought you sent someone to do this,” you tell him trying hard to control your voice.

“For a moment I thought it was better to do it this way,” he continues.

Please, remember what he did to you!

“So why did you come?” you ask him.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, silent for a moment. “Sorry, actually.”

You cross your arms regaining control of yourself and the situation, “For what?” Your voice shakes slightly, but you disguise it with a little cough.

“For ruining your life. For not understanding the discomfort I caused you.” His words burn deep inside, your insides seem to tighten painfully. “I said things to you and did things that… were easily misunderstood. I was an asshole.” You nod. “I’m sorry.” He adds again.

“Okay.”

Only then you notice a duffel bag, “I’ll fix the damage my daughter did and then I’ll go away.” he tells you in case you were thinking of something else.

You step aside, letting him in, then close the door. He waits for you to go ahead and lead him, which you do, and then you go into another room.

What does he expect you to say to him? Okay, don't worry, you just broke my heart and destroyed my life, don't worry, these things happen! You’ll never be able to give this answer, even if you simply wanted to help him clear his conscience.

You hear him fiddling in the other room, while you're struggling to work on the computer on the latest shots taken for the Santa Barbara fashion house, you'd like to enhance the clothes in the right way by modifying the light and the contrast, but your mind always takes you there, in the other room.

Damn, he was such an asshole!

You get up from your desk and reach out to him, you don't know how he did it, but he's cut the broken glass and he’s inserting a new one.

You look at him with your arms crossed, he looks up at you from time to time. He probably notices your stiff posture, the embarrassment for the whole situation because he clears his throat now and then.

“Sarah… she… she, well, she made a real mess,” he says, trying to start a conversation with you.

“Uh, uh.” you grumble, walking over to the fridge to get some water. You close your eyes as you hear him cough in embarrassment at not hearing any more words from you.

You drink a couple of glasses of water, then you turn to him and see him working, you notice his focused expression, how he wrinkles his forehead and how a very noticeable wrinkle forms between his eyebrows, at that moment you notice that he’s wearing large work gloves, surely to avoid cutting himself.

At other times you’d have found that expression so absorbed and concentrated incredibly sexy, now you just feel uncomfortable being in his presence. You clench your hands nervously, it’s Joel again speaking to you, “I apologize again for what Sarah did. When I get home…”

“No need.” You interrupt. “You’re repairing the damage, end of story.” You add, your heart pounding in your chest. You bite your lower lip, trying to look out the balcony.

It's been months since you saw him and yet that burning humiliation still hasn't left you. You have always been honest with him, he has been ambiguous and cruel and, best of all, Tess.

“I’ll weld the glass and then I’ll leave,” he informs you.

You hum without looking at him.

“I'm going to get the equipment and be back.” he says, you notice out of the corner of your eye that he’s looking at you, but you don't look back at him at all.

You just want him to go away. It hurts to be with him. And you don't want to feel any more hurt because of him.

A few moments later, he returns. He works in absolute silence, the only noise being the hum of the machinery he uses.

You look up at his face from time to time, you think back to how much you fantasized about him and how with that same face he watched you disintegrate your life and destroy your heart.

“Finished,” he announces.

“Good.” Only then you look him in the eyes. “Thanks. Um… do you want – do you want a glass of water?”

“If it doesn’t bother you.”

You nod, turning your back on him and walking towards the fridge, your hands shaking slightly as you pick up the glass and pour the water. You turn around and he's a couple of steps away from you, his dark eyes looking first at your face and then at your shaking hand as you offer him the glass, he grabs it and, frowning slightly, begins to drink.

You watch his thick fingers grip the glass and his lips press against the glass.

Damn.

He swallows, then asks you, “You okay?”

You decide to be honest, “No. Your very presence hurts me. It makes me feel so bad, Joel.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, taking a step toward you, but you immediately take a step back.

You shake your head, “No.”

You and him stay at a safe distance, he puts his hands on his hips, he's about to say something, but then thinks better of it and sighs, “You’re right. I was horrible to you. Ours wasn’t supposed to be anything more than sex... I thought we would never get further, but you immediately knew how to make me lower my guard and helped me bring out things that until that moment I had kept to myself.” he looks you in the eyes, he seems really sorry “I was wrong to do it because I let you into my life and that made you somehow involved in my private sphere. It’s not your fault.” he punctuates the last words, you look up at him again “I was the one who made the mistake with you. I had ambiguous attitudes and.. I shouldn't have told you all those things, I - I..."

He’s in trouble, you see it, so you decide to intervene by telling him “Don’t be afraid. Got it. Thanks to you I realized that love and any kind of relationship are a scam.” you say feeling a lump in your throat and understanding how bitter your words are and how much this truth you just confessed to him hurt you because Joel has given you such a disappointment that you know will prevent you from trusting someone else completely as you’ve done with him or in the past “I’ve become a heartless bitch like you. Thanks.” you say melancholically, looking him straight in the eyes and crossing your arms. “But unlike you, I won’t be able to use others just for a little pleasure.”

His eyes become even darker and more serious, subtly sad. “You’ll never be like me.” He pauses. “I’d never wish that on you. I hope that one day you find love and that you find someone who believes in it just like you do.”

You shake your head slowly, “You know, the last few times we were together, I thought that…” you huff a little, suppressing the lump in your throat and trying to control your voice “I thought we were making love, I was so sure of it.” you sigh finding it difficult to confess everything to him, but you have to say it, “I thought there was no need to say those three words because I thought that certain attitudes and care towards each other were enough.” your eyes sting “Think how stupid I was!”

“I'm sorry,” he says, lowering his head and staring at the empty glass in his hands.

“Is that all you can say?” you see him tighten his fingers even more tightly around the cup “You once told me that you are afraid of commitment and.. and I understand that, I accept that, but when you realized that you were becoming important to me, why didn’t you..?” you sigh “When you realized how much you meant to me, you immediately walked away and moved on to the next one, Tess.” you add by telling him everything that was in your head and that for a while you had managed to keep aside and not think about it.

You feel better because you have given voice to everything that hurt you about his manners.

Joel purses his lips, “Tess..” he whispers her name, then looks at you “I tried to start what I had done in the past and then with you.. I tried to.. to be with her, y’ know,” your heart is beating furiously in your chest, you don't want to hear certain things, but you imagine you have no choice “but, I froze.”

“Should I care or feel sorry for you now?” you ask him acidly, shaking your head slowly.

“No, but I just wanted you to know that there’s nothing left between me and Tess. I repeat, I tried, but… I thought about the pain I caused you and so I thought I didn't want to hurt anyone else.”

“So you reserved the podium for me for having torn my heart out!” you exclaim, you huff taking the glass from his hands “You know what? It’s okay.” you blurt out putting the glass in the sink “Thanks for telling me. Thanks for making your position clear on this.” you pause for a moment “I sincerely thank you for just one thing,” he looks at you curiously “Thank you for making me understand that I wasn’t happy with Patrick.” he lowers his gaze as if struck by a sudden sense of guilt “He deserved better? Yes. Me? Fuck, yes. You?” you take a long pause, your almost angry tone fades to become softer “You too.” only then does he look up while maintaining an almost unreadable expression “I loved you, it's true, but then I also hated you. But now that I see you... I don't feel hate, only... bitterness and pity.” You find yourself swallowing and almost suddenly you feel better and the lump in your throat seems to slowly dissolve.

“Ever since my ex-wife left me accusing me of only thinking about work, I told myself that I would never let anyone else into my heart, ever again. In the end, who lost out? Me.” A long, heavy silence follows. The man who seemed so sexy and confident to you and then so cruel, now seems to have decided to show his true self.

“I’m sorry you’ve built this horrible mask because you’ve forbidden whoever she is to know you. You’ve made yourself miserable.” you sigh, deciding not to take it any further.

“I think we have now been truly sincere.” he mutters under his breath, you find yourself nodding faintly, having agreed with him after so long, “Do you have any whiskey by any chance?”

“Sure.”

You pour the distillate into the glass and hand it to him. You see him sigh heavily before taking a big sip.

“We'll be fine,” you tell him, offering him a friendly look. He nods, giving you a quick glance before taking the last sip.

You don't say anything else, but for now it's enough for you. You feel more serene and you know that from today on it will probably be better, you were stuck in that limbo where Joel Miller himself had pushed you.

You greet each other with a handshake and a long, silent look. You don't know if you'll see each other again one day, if you'll talk to each other or if you'll pretend not to know each other again, or if you decide to start something again that will last this time, what you know is that you can now forgive him and let him go.

Now your life can begin again...

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irishmammonagenda · 1 year ago

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Boop!- Obey Me x Reader

Summary: You go on a mission to boop, as per usual chaos ensues. Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Female Reader (implied), i dont really think there's anything else but if you can see something lmk and i'll add a warning

very obviously inspired by tumblr's boop event

dividers by @saradika-graphics

"Hello Michael!" You greet, signature foxy grin on your face. Michael looks up from where he's playing Connect Four with a man in robes and waves at you.

"Hiya MC!" He puts the palms of his hands on the soft cloud ground and leans back on them, he's bare chested in the heat, though he's adorned himself with waist beads and arm bands, firm muscles on display. His long curly blond hair is in intricate braids, small ornaments threaded through it. He grins up at you, bright red eyes shining under the light of the Celestial sun. "What's brought ya up to the Celestial Realm today?"

"I am evil. I am very evil Michael." You say seriously.

The other man laughs, though not unkindly. His tanned skin shimmers ethereally under the light, dark brown eyes stare up at you, rich like soil after the morning due. Dark waves and soft curls frame his face, some soft stubble one his jawline, barely noticeable. "I'm sure you're not evil." He says kindly.

You stare at him, before smiling as well, touched. "Aww thanks! And you are?"

The man smiles, reaching his hand up, Michael takes that time to sneakily move one of the coins the man had put down a slot over. "I'm Jesus, it's nice to meet you MC."

You cough. "You're Jesus?"

"Yes." He nods, "A lot of people are shocked when they first meet me...something about expecting me to look like Da Vinci's gay lover."

You nod, dumbfounded.

Michael, sensing your inner turmoil, and also needing to keep Jesus' attention elsewhere so he could continue cheating- winning creatively in Connect 4, clears his throat, "So what's brought you to the Celestial Realm and made you claim that you're evil?"

This makes you grin, "Well, my dearest Michael....have you heard of boops?"

Michael straightens up a little bit, Jesus watches him intently, before fixing the board to its original state whilst the Archangel is distracted.

"No I have not...Why, what are they?" Michael asks, signature mischievous grin on his face. "They sound fun."

"Well I'm glad you asked Michael!" You grin, before leaning in and whispering into his ear. The added proximity made you realise he smelt of pine cone and fresh rain.

Michael giggles evilly, turning over to Jesus, before reaching a dark, jewel adorned hand and booping his nose. "Boop!"

Jesus just smiles, Crucifixion was worse. "It's your go, Michael."

"Oh of course! MC wait for this game to be over! I have...uh..business to attend to in the Devildom!"

You and Jesus share a look.

Michael looks over at you two, "You coming Jesus?"

The man smiles gently, "No thanks, I'm still traumatised from that one time when Satan tormented me in the desert."

"Oh okay...." Michael deflates the tiniest smidge before looking back at the board, spluttering. "Hey you moved the pieces!"

Jesus snorts, "Yeah, I moved the pieces back from where you tried to cheat."

"Lying's a sin." Michael huffs.

Jesus laughs, "Was that an admition of guilt?"

Michael falls onto his back dramatically, dark skin shining in the Celestial Realm's blessed light. "Ugh! Woe is me! This is worse than the time that one Irish kid got me confused with Michael Collins!"

Jesus pats his shoulder in pity. "Easter's a hard time for all of us."

Michael blinks at the scars on Jesus' palms from the nails and bites back a very bad Cross joke. "You could say that again."

After the game of Connect 4 ended, (Michael lost) you and the Archangel said your goodbyes to Jesus and began your journey down to the Devildom. Michael walks beside you, a good bit taller than you. Michael having swapped out his less than covering attire for a flowy white flare sleeved top that you'd imagine a pirate or a Victorian would wear, the lace buttons are undone for the most part, as per usual. You'd come to learn that the Archangel hated top buttons with a burning passion.

"I call Lucikins." Michael says with about as much seriousness as a 10 year old calling shotgun on the front seat of the car. So very serious.

"Fine. I call Mammon." You reply, looking up at him, as if daring him to try and boop your first man before you could. He pouts, but relents.

"I call Satan then." Michael blinks back at you with crimson eyes.

"No why?" You sulk.

Michael shrugs. "He's my nephew. I get to boop his nose it's the law."

"No it's not."

"Yeah it is!"

"Prove it then." You huff.

Michael turns around and you hear fidgeting before he hands you a paper napkin with writing on it. You notice the fountain pen he sneakily snuck back into his trouser pocket and glare at him, before reading the napkin.

The Eleventh Commandment: Thou shall let Michael boop his nephew's nose.

You hum, "Something's telling me this is fake."

Michael gasps incredulously, as if offended by the very notion, he places a hand over his breast, where his heart is. "How dareth thou! Truly, 'tis a crime against nature to speak such filth about the Holy Word. A crime against God I daresay!"

"Okayy...drama king."

Michael gasps again. "Alas! Thou speaketh such filth! Such blasphemy to thee! Thy words...such horrors! Cursed are thou amongst humankind!"

You deadpan. "I'm taking away your Shakespeare rights."

"Try it I dare you." Michael challenges, red eyes gleaming with something predatory. "You can boop Simeon."

You grin. "Yay!"

"I call Luke."

Your grin drops. "What the frickety flip that's my son."

Michael's brows furrow. "He's my son too what the flip."

You gasp, bringing your hands to your mouth. "Did we?..."

Michael's eyes widen, he pulls his top up and counts his ribs, losing count several times because you keep adding random numbers in. He looks up at you.

"Did we have a child out of Wedlock?!"

You and Michael look at each other in object horror. Both conveniently ignoring the fact that Luke technically came into existence millennias before you.

"I think we did...." You place your hand over your brow like a Victorian woman seeing the ankles of her secret lesbian lover for the first time.

Michael follows suit.

"Michael....I fear we might be sinners...."

"Well you know what they say in the human world MC...." Michael sniffles, looking away from you dramatically. "Sinner sinner chicken dinner...."

You pause, breaking character. "Is it not Winner winner chicken dinner?"

Michael shrugs. "Not like I care."

You parrot his movement, shrugging your shoulders back as well, before the horror creeps back onto your expression. "But...Simeon and Barbatos also see Luke as their son...."

Michael looks at you wide eyed, grabbing you by the shoulders, "MC! We have to count their ribs!"

You put your head in your hands, "Two angels, a demon and a human with angel blood that's somehow an angel....our son is a hybrid!"

Michael gasps. "Hybrid princess?"

You do a double take. "Why do you know what gacha is." You breath out, looking at Michael in genuine fear.

"I wasn't a gacha kid don't worry! Levi was though! He'd show me his little Gacha stories that he made...." Michael looks nostalgic. "Such an adorable little weirdo....he gets it from Lucifer y'know."

"If I described Lucifer as an adorable little weirdo I think he'd skin me alive."

"That sounds like a you problem." Michael grins.

You and Michael continue your journey down to the Devildom, only this time he's giving you a piggy back ride because you annoyed him until he agreed. Strong hands hold your thighs to keep you from falling, as your arms are wrapped around his neck.

You had been 'calling' people to boop.

"I call Diavolo."

"Deal." Michael nods, trying and failing to twist his head around to face you because you're on his back and he's not an owl. "I don't want to accidentally start another Celestial War by booping the Prince and acting King of the Devildom's nose."

"That's surprisingly a good reason."

"Fuck you mean surprisingly?" Michael scoffs, though there's no real bite to it. "I'm always having good reasons."

"Yeah and I'm the spawn of Satan." You say sarcastically, human world side winning over for a second, until you remember that Satan is in fact a real person and that you are in fact now in the Devildom.

Michael laughs, "You know who Satan's the spawn of? Lucifer."

"Don't let him hear you say that."

"What's he gonna do? Bully me while I'm in a desert? Jokes on him, I hate sand and don't go anywhere near it."

"I don't feel safe anymore, we're gonna get jumped."

Michael laughs.

"I call Levi, I need to return an anime to him anyway." Michael breaks the silence.

"You borrow animes from Levi?"

"Yeah sometimes, me and Saint Peter watch animes at the gates of Heaven when it's a slow day and not a lot of souls are being guided into it."

"Nah imagine dying and waking up in heaven to see the people at the gates watching anime."

Michael sticks out his tongue, though stops when he remembers you're on his back and can't see it.

"I call Barbatos."

Michael sighs in relief, carrying you through the streets of the Devildom. "Thank God, you can have him. Good luck with that."

"Go fuck yourself Michael. I call Thirteen."

Michael gasps excitedly. "Tell her I say hi!"

"Tell her yourself."

Michael huffs. "You're so mean to me MC."

You bite his neck, really embodying your inner feral street cat. He yelps. "Don't try to steal my wife, next time I'll bite your jugular pretty boy."

Michael laughs, "I am quite pretty..." He flips his hair, the intricate golden braids and curls hit you in the face, seeing as you're still on his back. You let out a sound similar to a feral street cat coughing up a hairball, he laughs again. "Also I'm pretty sure Thirteen is a lesbian."

You perk up. "Oh yay! You should be the priest at our wedding Michael. You don't have a choice."

"Fine." The archangel huffs, his plump lips pouty. "But only if Luke's the flower boy."

"I was gonna make him the ring boy giver person." You reply, playing with one of the ornaments braided into Michael's hair.

"Even better!"

Moments of comfortable silence last before you decide to break it because you're evil and have no moral code whatsoever.

"Michael you can have Solomon."

Said Archangel halts. Dropping you off of his back before turning to look at you, now strewn out on the ground. He puts his hand over his brow like a Victorian man who just saw the ankles of his gay lover. (Probably Solomon: You'd decided.)

"No! How couldeth thou?" He sighs dramatically before it just turns exhasperated. "Those rumours just died down...."

You jump up off of the ground, wiping the soil from your clothes, "They have?! Dammit!"

Michael deadpans at you, pulling at a golden coil of hair and letting it be stretched straight before letting go and watching it bounce back up into a curl again. "I hate you."

"That's harsh."

After having separated from Michael, you sneak into your First Man's room. He sits lazily, lounging on his bed and scrolling mindlessly through his DDD. So enraptured he doesn't even notice your presence just yet until you press your finger to his nose.

"Boop!"

"ARGHH-" he screeches, jumping atleast five feet in the air before realising it was you and scoffing. "Oh...It's you...o-of course ye'd wanna boop the Great Mammon's nose! That'll cost ya!" He huffs, trying to avoid the initial embarassment of you seeing him so uncool!

"Boop!" You boop him again, he grins stupidly like an idiot inlove, before snapping out of it and putting his 'too cool for this' persona back on.

"T-that'll cost ye! MC!" He stutters, trying to cover his blush.

"Oh will it now?" You raise a brow before bringing your lips to his nose and pecking it there, pulling away again in less than a second. "Boop."

He pulls you in for a hug before you can pull away completely. You grin, having reduced the Avatar of Greed to a blushy pile of mush in your arms.

Take that Alpha Male podcasters who think women want dominant mean men who suck and hate them. Everyone knows all women want a Mammon.

You and Michael meet back up again. Michael having a scratch on his leg.

"Satan did not like the fact that I booped him at first...until I gave him an emergency kitten that I put in a cage nearby like 5 minutes before." Michael says, noticing that you noticed the scratch. "He almost bit me! He's definitely Lucikin's son!"

You point and laugh at him. He pouts, before interlocking your arms. "Purgatory hall?"

"Purgatory hall." You nod.

Michael knocks on the door. Luke answers it before gasping like a child on christmas. "Michael! Hi!" He hugs the Archangel who laughs and picks him up.

The blond boy notices you at that point, he smiles brightly. "Oh MC! Hi!"

"Hiya Luke!" You smile at him, booping his nose. "Boop!"

"Michael follows suit. "Boop!"

Luke blinks before grumbling. "I'm not a child..." He then turns his head back towards Michael who's still holding him. "Boop!"

Michael laughs. "Do MC now!" With that he quickly moves closer to you, Luke still in his arms, and the young angel boops your nose too. You all grin, laughing. Luke just ecstatic that Michael was able to visit. And he brought you too!

You end up watching a movie together, all three of you. Simeon comes home halfway through it. Having had to visit a publishers. Michael hides behind the door and when Simeon opens it, the dark skinned angel pops out, booping the poor man. "Boop!"

Simeon blinks at him. Michael smirks lightheartedly "Get booped Loserboy."

Simeon smiles, his gaze turning toward you." MC would you lie any help with your Solomon x Michael fanfiction? I heard from Satan that you two were on hiatus."

Michael groans. "Traitors!"

You laugh. "Get fanficked Loserboy."

Michael grins, putting on faux dramatics. "You both suck I'm going back into Luke! At least he's actually cool."

After a lovely movie with Luke, Simeon and Michael, you run away to a cave because why not?

After entering Thirteen's very lovely abode, and avoiding all of the traps laid out for Solomon, you finally catch a glimpse of her vibrant ombre hair.

"Hiya Tee!" You grin, pouncing on her and pulling her into a hug. The reaper, who's clearly batshit insane doesn't even flinch, she just laughs, hugging you back even tighter.

"MC! To what do I owe the pleasure babes?"

You giggle michieviously before bringing your hand up and, "Boop!"

She grins wider, bloodied emerald eyes staring back at you so lovingly, hints of playful devilry in her expression.

"Oh let me try! Boop!" She says before pulling you in for a kiss that makes your knees feel weak.

When you both pull away to catch a breath, you breathe out breathlessly. "That was a super boop....an evil boop even..." You say, face burning red, you know she feels the red hotness of your cheeks.

She just laughs. Tilting her head, some strands of hair falling into her face. "You want another one?"

You've never nodded quicker in your life.

"How in Diavolo's name did you get in here?" Lucifer asks, looking up from the work on his desk. He quickly closes over the confidential files and paperwork, turning his head to Michael once more. Blood red eyes narrowed at their counterpart's.

Michael approaches the Demon at a speed that could rival Mammon's. In an instant he's beside the raven-haired man. "Awww Lucikins don´t worry about it! Boop!"

Lucifer swallows thickly, and flicks his gaze to Michael. Despite having the glare of a thousand suns on him, Michael continues grinning. "Did you...did you just boop my nose?..." The Avatar of Pride asks in a low voice.

"I'm not too sure if I did..." Michael puts his fingers to his chin in mock thought, before grinning, pointer finger in the air. "I'll have to do it again to make sure!" The Archangel exclaims before booping his younger brother on the nose. "Boop!"

Lucifer growls. "Michael-"

"Yes, Lucikins?"

"Michael I am going to kill you."

The elder only laughed, "Awww classic Lucikins! Still in his teenage angst phase!"

"I did not have a teenage angst phase." Lucifer glares, huffing embarassedly, turning away and picking up his quill in an attempt to turn away from this god awful conversation.

Michael gives him a knowing look. "Don't make me pull out the photos."

His head snaps back to his elder brother. "What photos?"

"The photos of you with the wolf cut, the ones with you and the eyeliner, the ones where you're all dressed up in your little emo costumes..." Michael wipes a tear from his eye. "Oh...you were so adorable! Always threatening to murder me...! Glad to see that my wittle baby brother hasn't changed!" The Archangel exclaims, pinching his younger brother's cheeks and making them squish up, Lucifer felt his face flush with embarrassment. Michael laughed, he looked like a chipmunk!

"...'m no' a 'ittle ba'y bro'er! you'r tw' minu'es ol'er than 'ee!" Lucifer tries to shout, but with Michael pushing his cheeks together, it comes out muffled and distorted.

"All I heard is that you said I'm the best big brother in the three realms and you love me very much!"

Lucifer glares at him. A glare that doesn't hold any weight seeing as Michael is still squishing his cheeks together and he still looks like a chipmunk.

With enough squirming and fighting, Lucifer finally manages to get out of his brother's grip, he rubs his cheeks, staring daggers at the angel. "I would never say that. I'm not your baby brother. I'm not Lucikins. You're two minutes older than me yet two centuries more immature." He says venomously.

Too bad Michael's poison proof.

The Archangel laughs, "You're not my baby brother? Huh? Who's bed did you climb in when you were scared of the thunder back in the Celestial Realm?"

Lucifer bristles, swallowing thickly, "That's irrelevant."

"Sureee." Michael grins, though it's softer around the edges, Lucifer feels it too.

Lightning flashes in the Celestial realm. Long before Mammon had even been born. Thunder roars, a small whimper sounds. Lucifer sits in his bed, covers over his head, gripping a pillow tightly. Barely even a cherub, he takes the slight break in the storm to gather the courage to waddle over to his twin's bed.

"Mikey?" Lucifer whispers in the darkness, gripping onto the poles of the bed with his tiny pale hands. "Mikey...you awake?" He says through gapped teeth, a slight lisp in his voice. The gap between his two front teeth would close with time.

The sheets rustle, a young Michael groans, also barely a cherub his voice is as high pitched and childlike as his brother's. "Luci...go to sleep..." The slightly older cherub says, eyes still closed.

"Can't Mikey...'s too loud.." Lucifer whispers, black hair sticking to his forehead in a slight sheen of sweat. As if to prove his point, thunder roars again, lightning flashes. Lucifer whimpers, gripping the pole tighter.

Michael sits up sleepily, short curly hair tied in the tiniest protective braids possible, some small blond coils escaping their confines at the edges of his head. The older cherub wipes a small, chubby hand over his eyes and yawns before opening his duvet up just enough so that Lucifer could climb in.

"Make sure...go to sleep Lucikins..." Michael whispers tiredly, covering his yawning mouth before abandoning his teddy bear and putting his arm around his little brother instead.

Thunder sounds again. Lucifer stiffens and lets out a small sound. "Mikey...'m scared..." He grips onto his twins matching pajamas tightly with his tiny little hands.

Michael grins sleepily, red eyes staring into his twins same coloured ones. "Don't worry Lucikins! 'm always gonna p'tect you! That's wha' big brothers are for!"

The thunder still sounds, Lucifer still stiffens slightly,but surrounded by the warmth and comfort of his twin, he manages to sleep soundly.

After all the madness and badness. (Devil face emoji) You and Michael meet up in a Devildom café.

"That was productive!" The Archangel grins.

"Indeed it was Michael....indeed it was...." You say, a blissed out look on your face.

Michael arches a brow, "Is that one of Thirteen's leather jackets?"

"Maybe..." You say dreamily, playing with the sleeves.

Michael just laughs at you. "Get it, I guess! Anyway wanna watch Gilmore Girls with me? I need to catch up with Raphael...he's a few episodes ahead of me."

"Of course I do."

Michael brings his hands together in an imitation of a fly on a wall doing the hand thing. "Excellent."

"Do you think Luke's going to grow up to open a coffee shop?"

"Nah, he'd open a bakery."

this is utter bullshit and utter dogshit idek

#obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #omswd #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me michael #obey me thirteen #obey me thirteen x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me jesus #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me fluff #boop

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