#might have to wait a lil longer but i’ll get to it ^_^

[saerins]

next series incoming soon !! ໒꒰ྀི ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ ꒱ྀིა

sorry it’s sae again !! will be longer than infy :)

[rumisgf]

❝ YOUR BEST EATER ! ❞ ╰┈➤ AOT EDITION

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ summary: rating how well aot men would eat you out ! (this is canon because i said so)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ includes: eren yeager, onyankopon, connie springer, jean kirstein, armin arlert

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ warnings: smut of course, crack, cursing, oral f!receiving, mentions of squirting, cum play if you squint, black!reader

EREN YEAGER - 7/10

✮ now i know y’all remember that one ao3 fic with the tongue piercing that went viral…

✮ yeah that was propaganda

✮ now listen listen— i’ll give him his flowers and he is good in bed

✮ but giving head isn’t his specialty

✮ BUTTTTT when he does eat you out, he makes you cum every time

✮ he spits on it :)

✮ in general his speciality? good dick

✮ he’ll eat you before he fucks you, but he can’t last too long cause the sight of you dripping has him rock hard

✮ one time you squirted while he gave you head and he swears he almost came in his pants

“so fuckin’ wet…”

“m-mm~!”

“jus’ a lil longer baby… need you nice and ready for my dick..”

ARMIN ARLERT - 8/10

✮ now him? head is definitely his forte

✮ there’s times he won’t even fuck you he just wants to taste you

✮ he whines.

✮ the vibrations of him moaning on your clit definitely sends chills down your spine

✮ and please, sit on his face

✮ he genuinely gets so pussy drunk and he stopped caring

✮ he just needs to taste you

✮ the feeling of you dripping on his face is addictive to him

✮ he just loves when you’re on top— whether it’s on his dick or his face

“please baby…need to taste you..”

“mhm? lay down for me then.”

JEAN KIRSTEIN - 6/10

✮ don’t shoot me i’m just the messenger

✮ i just feel like he would be too… rough… at first

✮ he generally likes rough sex so it’s just natural instinct to him

✮ butttt, when he does get the hang of it, it does feel good

✮ he just needed some practice

✮ he is good listener, i’ll give props for that

✮ the head is never terrible but he just can’t help but to wanna torment you a little it’s his favorite hobby

✮ he bit your clit once though. you had to smack him for that.

✮ he makes up for it though because the D is FIREEEE🔥🔥🔥!

“o-ow…jean wait..”

“sorry baby, got a little carried away…tell me how you want it, yeah?”

CONNIE SPRINGER - ♾️/10

✮ HE’S AN EATER!!!!

✮ he might as well tattoo ‘proud munch’ on his lip atp

✮ this man has skills that you have never seen before and he will have you whipped from how much you cream and squirt every time he goes down on you

✮ he’s so mean too… but in the best way possible

✮ you have an attitude? he’s eating it. you stressed? he’s eating it. you look good? he’s eating it.

✮ he doesn’t even have to spit on it with how wet you get

✮ he’ll eat it with your legs bent to your ears, from the side, from the back, on his knees, have you sit on his face, all that.

✮ he eats it before he puts it in by the way.

✮ and after. he’s nasty.

“ohmy- fuckkk~”

“i know baby, stay still… i’m not done witchu..”

ONYANKOPON - 9/10

✮ he just likes making you feel good

✮ he takes foreplay very seriously, so he likes taking his time with you

✮ he’ll definitely overstimulate you though, he thinks it’s fun

✮ he likes when you squirm it only turns him on more

✮ in contrary, he’s very sweet with it and does it to make you feel his love

✮ definitely big on body worship

✮ he’ll start off slow and massage your thighs while he tastes you

✮ his favorite thing is licking you clean after he already made you cum on his dick or with his fingers

“mmm~.. baby..”

“so pretty like this..just keep moaning f’ me..”

© rumisgf

[ladybirdswritings]

SWEET THING, DBF — joel miller x reader.

DESCRIPTION: your life is a storm—an overbearing father, a shitty boyfriend, and the ache of growing up. everything becomes more tangled when you find yourself drawn to your father’s best friend, joel. NOTES - finally, part two. leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | prev part ; next part

two;

“Put your seatbelt on, Y/N.”

His voice was gruff—tired from overuse, nearly ready to silence entirely. A rich, southern rasp that sent chills down anyone’s spine, yours included. You obeyed without hesitation.

“Thank you for this…” was all you managed in a whisper while locking the metal into place—trapped.

You didn’t know your daddy’s friend too well, but you knew enough. Most people avoided him, whether it was the constant scowl etched on his face or those dark eyes that seemed to scream threats his quiet mouth never voiced. Everything about him made people stiffen, their bodies rigid as old boards.

He only hummed, his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw ticking as he navigated toward the party nearby.

“A left here,” you offered, leaning forward and pointing just past his line of sight.

When he breathed, the scent of honey and jasmine flowers on your skin clung to the air between you. His jaw locked tighter.

You knew you looked every bit the spoiled, overprotected little princess your daddy raised you to be. Skipping Jackson’s town dance to attend some trashy house party hosted by your boyfriend wasn’t exactly subtle rebellion, but you didn’t care.

Where your father insisted on preserving the innocence of your youth, you argued you’d only get to be young once. Only get to date questionable men, drink questionable drinks, and laugh about it later one time in your whole life.

Naive? Sure. But you didn’t know that.

Joel didn’t wait for you to notice he’d parked before snaking a firm arm across the console. His calloused fingers brushed the hem of your denim-clad thigh. Your heart stuttered, your eyes widening as his glare burned into you.

So close.

And then, the seatbelt clicked.

You exhaled shakily, a smile tugging at your lips as you reached for the door. But before you could escape, his rough fingers caught your chin, tugging your face back until you were forced to meet his eyes.

Dark, chocolate eyes.

“You’re real lucky tonight, sweetpea. Now don’t go in there and make me look like a fool to yer’ daddy. You drink responsibly, and you don’t touch a blunt in sight—understand?”

You gulped, cheeks burning tomato red. Wide-eyed and frozen, you nodded. You were nothing more than a fish caught in the hands of a cold fisherman, your pretty face cradled between his calloused palms.

“What, you think I’m stupid? Think I don’t know what’s gonna go on the second you walk that purtie lil’ ass inside?”

His voice was sharp, and you stammered, blinking up at him as your breath hitched. He knew. Of course, he knew. He was young once, too.

“I’ll be responsible, Mr. Miller—sir,” you lied through your teeth, the sweetness in your voice a thin disguise.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and a deep, gravelly laugh escaped him.

“Oh, sure you will, sweetpea.”

Satisfied he’d issued a proper warning, he released you. But before you could scramble away, he added, “Go on and behave, and I might just convince your daddy to let you live a little more often.”

Hope bloomed in your chest like wisteria tangling with your rapid heart. If Joel vouched for you, maybe daddy would ease up.

A plan solidified in your head. All you had to do was be good.

You could do that! Easy, just be good.

Step one? Sweeten him up.

“You’re a peach, Mr. Miller,” you chirped, leaning forward to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

You lingered a moment longer than you should have.

Where Jesse smelled of beer, snow, and fresh spices, Joel smelled of whiskey, cedar, and leather. Of hard work and blood-stained hands.

Joel noticed the pause, and slowly, his head turned. Just an inch closer, and his lips could press right against yours.

The thought made your eyes widen.

What was wrong with you? He was doing you a favor, and here you were imagining how his scowling lips might feel against yours. How his tongue—experienced, confident—might tease the roof of your mouth, trail down your neck…

He peered at you through bourbon lashes.

“That business doesn’t work on me, sweetpea…” he started, freeing a hand so to tuck a stray ringlet of your untamed waves behind your ear. You inhaled sharply.

“You gon’ be good?” His voice was low, a tickling whisper that sent warmth flooding through your body.

“I am,” you promised, your teeth betraying the truth behind your pretty smile.

He nodded once. “Go on, then. I’ll be parked out front. Holler if you need me.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as you slipped out, your heart racing with every intrusive thought lingering in your head.

Maybe you were ovulating. Or maybe you were a basket case.

You shook your head. Jesse. Jesse. Jesse. Your boyfriend—Jesse.

With that, you slammed the Chevy door and hurried toward the party.

•••

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

As soon as the scent of weed and tequila hit your senses, you grinned. A tiny buzz wouldn’t be too hard to hide from Joel.

One shot here. Another there. You inched closer to Jesse, ready to surprise him.

And you did.

“Y/N!”

There he was, wide-eyed and guilty, his lips swollen from Abby’s kiss.

Tight, toned Abby.

They were tucked in a corner, her lips lazily trailing his throat. The sight made your knees wobble. When Jesse saw you, he jerked away, but the damage was done.

Abby’s hands shot up as though she were innocent, and it took all your strength not to lunge for the bitch.

“Baby—” Jesse started, but your throat tightened, hot tears threatening to spill.

You remembered how he admired your strength back in high school. When you were nerdy and unimportant — only glanced at after the tragic death of your mother. Everyone else pitied you. Jesse was different. He’d whispered sweet words to you after your mother passed, he’d made you less… stuck-up; convinced you that tequila could numb the pain. God, it did.

“Y’know, you’re a real tough girl to show up every day with your head high after everything that’s happened…”

“Sip this— baby. all those thoughts about your mom will go away…” he’d whispered once, tipping vodka onto your tongue. He had lost his mom, too. He knew how to stop the agony.

And now? He was the one causing it.

“Fuck you, Jesse. We’re done,” you snapped, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound strong.

You turned to leave, but Abby’s smug voice stopped you cold.

“Don’t know why you’re so pressed, princess. I dig chicks too. You could’ve joined us.”

You saw red.

Before you knew it, your ringed fist collided with her chiseled jaw.

Gasps echoed as she stumbled back into the crowd, her wide eyes meeting yours. Jesse grabbed your wrists, but you yanked them free.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

And just like that, you stormed out, leaving the crowd and your dignity behind.

This wasn’t how your night was supposed to go.

But instead of sulking to Joel’s truck, you vowed to drown your sorrows in tequila until the world stopped spinning.

Oh yeah, that’s exactly what you intended to do.

[crheativity]

SUMMARY: Something goes wrong, and you’re in tears. How do the Overblot boys help you?

WARNINGS: Tried to keep things vague but sorry if it’s a lil too specific sometimes. Reader is Prefect. Written under a romantic presumption but could possibly be read platonic. The Hell Word pops up in Leona’s and Idia’s. Book 3, Book 4 and Book 6 spoilers in Leona’s, Jamil’s and Idia’s respectively. I wrote all of these late at night also, so fair warning

NOTES: sorry it’s been a while, life go brr. This is heavily self indulgent, and sorry if it’s OOC. Might do the others (First, Second & Third years) if enough people want it. 

Also, if you like this, please feel free to check out my Valentine’s Day Event!

He hesitates for a moment, hands hovering beside you as he thinks carefully about what to say. As he speaks, his voice begins to shake. 

“Thank you for trusting me of all people with your feelings and circumstances. I… I am so, so sorry, Prefect. I’m-- I wish I was good at this - there are no rules for comforting someone you care about - but I’ll do my best. I— I can’t imagine what it’s like, going through what you’re going through. What you’re about to be going through. But— of course, all of Heartslabyul and I are at your disposal. Anything, anything at all that would bring you a moment’s comfort or peace, please come to us. I— all of us care about you deeply. Please tell us what to do to assist.”

If you want it (and are willing to excuse a slightly flustered Riddle), he’ll give you a tight hug, trying to convey how much he cares about you. He hates that he struggles to talk about things like this. For you, he’ll do anything. Anything to bring your rosy smile back. And if anyone dares oppose him? Heads will roll. 

He’s been strangely quiet during your explanation, venting, tears - all of it. He waits until you’re finished - and then a moment longer, to consider his words. He reaches up to dry your tears. With his spare hand, he takes yours and pulls you a little closer, speaking in a low, gentle voice. 

“Oi, Herbivore, c’mere. It’ll be alright, you hear? You’re strong, shameless and crafty. Hell, you give that Octotwerp a run for his money. If you gotta fight tooth and claw to get through this, then I’ll fight with you, okay? Just— no more waterworks for now. Yeah, it sucks. But you’ve cried about things, so now you should have the strength to get up and stick through them. If that’s all you can manage, I’ll get Ruggie to take care of the rest. Just don’t push yourself right now, ‘kay? Good, now rest. You’ll need it after a sob-fest like that.“

He pulls you into a surprisingly gentle hug, rubbing circles on your arms. After a while, he’ll ask if you want to nap with him. Once you fall asleep, he’s calling Ruggie and making plans. No way in hell are you dealing with more than you have to. He’ll fight for you himself if he has to. 

Hearing the pain, the anguish and the tears in your voice, he has to fight back tears himself. He hesitantly reaches out for you. Pausing for a moment, he begins to speak, voice filled with emotion. 

“This is— I’m very, very sorry, Prefect. You do not deserve to go through this— any of this. Should you request anything at all, the Mostro Lounge will provide, free of charge, of course. If there is anything we— I— can do to ease your burdens, please do not hesitate to ask. The world can sometimes be a deeply flawed, unfair place. I wish that I had the power to better shield you from this side. I’m truly, very sorry, Prefect. Please know that I— we care about you. This world is a far better place for your presence in it. Please, let us return the favour for you.”

He (with permission) gently pulls you into a hug, holding you as though you were glass. He was going to find who- or whatever caused you to hurt like this and make their pitiful existence miserable. Those poor, unfortunate souls. 

As you confide in him, Jamil seems to turn strangely quieter than usual. His solution oriented mind begins to whir, thinking about what he can do to help, the logistics of it, etc. Your sniffling snaps him back into reality. Putting solutions aside for now, he reaches for your hands and squeezes them gently, offering you a small, sad smile.

“Hey, everything will work out. It sucks right now, obviously, but in a while, it’ll all be okay. That’s just the way life goes, for some reason. World shattering events can happen, but time marches on anyway. It’ll always drag you with it, too. What I mean is that because you’ll be okay eventually, it can help you be okay now. I guess. And we at Scarabia are always here for you, okay? Kalim’s… Kalim, and I’m always here for you if you need to vent or complain or if you need help. I’m never too busy if it’s you, alright? Just don’t bottle it up… that works out well.”

He smiles a little ruefully at that last comment, then takes off his hoodie and drapes it over you. He tells you to keep it - that way he’s always there with you if you need it. He squeezes your hands and rests his forehead against yours, comfortingly. Jamil wasn’t used to being quite so… hopeful. But you had helped him become better, and he wanted to return the favour.

Vil may be a good actor, but his thoughts were shockingly readable as you vented to him. He seemed to react correctly in all the right places, asking questions but never pressing for answers. When you finish, he gently reaches out and starts stroking your hair. He pulls you a little closer for comfort. He pauses for a moment, then begins to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Prefect. You do not deserve this - any of this. Pomefiore’s students and I are always here for you, no matter the need. Anything you need, it would be our honour and privilege to provide. In times such as these, I find taking care of oneself is extremely important. Not to the extent of perfectionism necessarily, but enough to bring you joy. So please, if it’s not too much trouble, please find one indulgent thing each day. Not something so unhealthy it’d ruin you, but something gentle and sweet. Like a bubble bath, or watching that movie you’ve mentioned wanting to see. It’s important to keep yourself as happy as you can, when life is attempting to do the opposite. And if you can’t think of anything, then please, come to me. Let me take care of you.”

He then, with permission, sweeps you into the biggest, comfiest, warmest hug you’ve ever experienced (Ghibli-style), and stays that way until you move. He wants to do so much more for you. He knows where you’re at, and, being the kind of person you are, he trusts you’ll know what’s best for yourself. He only hopes you let him take care of you, too.

Bro was low key in panic mode. What the hell is he supposed to say/do??? He really, really can’t afford to screw this up. He’s pretty sure he’d get a -1000 debuff to his Charisma stats if he doesn’t say the right thing. Usually, he wouldn’t particularly care if it was just some NPC he had to comfort - but this is the protagonist we’re talking about! And Ortho’s not here, just his luck! He sighs and his mind races back through every Otome/VN game he’s played and every shoujo romcom to figure out what in Twisted Wonderland he’s supposed to say.

“Uhh, that’s not very… plus ultra? Shoot, I mean-... That sounds really tough. I’m sorry, Prefect… Stuff like that is rough… I’m, uh, not the best person to go to for advice. Not particularly known for my ability to… handle stuff. mentally. But uh, I’m always here for a distraction if you need. That’s what I typically do. Distract until you don’t feel anymore haha… but uh, that’s probably not a good thing. Still, though. I’m always happy to play games or watch anime with you.. Or something. Those are my favourite things, not necessarily yours. We don’t have to. It’s honestly enough just to hang out with you… ugh, that was cringe, wasn’t it?”

Once you assure him that it was very much not cringe, he sighs in relief and gives you a small, soft smile - not an expression you’ve seen often on him. He reaches over and pulls out two controllers, throwing one to you. He boots up a game, commenting how he’s not gonna go easy on you just because you’re sad. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You cautiously ignore the thunderstorm brewing outside as you vent to Malleus about your problems. You carefully construct your words and phrases, to protect Sage Island from month-long hurricanes. After you finish, Malleus asks if you are comfortable with physical affection. With consent, he pulls you into a hug. 

“Apologies, Child of Man, I am not familiar with methods of comfort. I will do my best - I only ask for your leniency if I say something wrong, and for you to understand that all I say is with the best intentions. I want you to know that I care about you. I believe it is important for those going through difficult periods of time to know where they have true friends. No matter what, Child of Man, I wish to be counted among those. If I am, and with your permission, I will enact all I can to assist you through and out of these situations. I only ask your patience. I promise, I will do whatever you require during this time. Only speak my name, and I will be there.”

Malleus continues to hold you gently, unsure about what to do or say from here, other than gently repeating he’s here for you. He stays there with you until you are ready to move on, then takes you for a walk around campus. And this time, he’ll only go on two tangents about gargoyles you pass.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

[lunajay33]

Am I Gonna Make It?

•🌲🌑🪵🐾•

Summary: You found yourself pregnant during the prison but it fell and you’re on the road alone till you find the group but with your growing belly and growing weakness will you survive? Will Daryl be strong enough to watch you wither away

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

•Masterlist•

After the prison fell I was on the road with Tyrese, the three little girls and Carol, being 5 months pregnant really weighed me down but when we got reunited with the group and I was back safely in Daryl’s arms it felt like maybe things would be looking up again

That was a month ago and we’ve lost Beth and Tyrese since then, no food, no water, plus the blistering heat was taking its toll on me, I could feel my little baby sucking up ever last bit of nutrients from me and I could tell Daryl was getting worried even

“Okay everyone back in the road again” Rick called out, we’ve been walking so long and he gave us a little break but I don’t know if I can last much longer

I stand on wobbly legs gripping Daryl’s arm as he helped

“Ya okay sunshine?” I nod even though my sight was blotchy

“Ya just…..give me a sec” the group heads infront of us as we stick near the back, Maggie and Glenn in front of us keep looking back with worried eyes

“Here have my water” Maggie said handing it over to me

“No you need it too”

“Sweetheart you’re pregnant take it” I smile and gulp down the little water that was left, Daryl took the bottle and put it in his pack

“I’m so tired D” I sigh as I keep pushing each step I take

“I know sunshine, we all are something will turn up” I could see the weariness written all across his face

After another hour of walking I couldn’t do it anymore and as the world spirals around me I fall, my back scratching against the road

“Rick we gotta stop” Glenn calls as Maggie and Daryl rush to my side, I feel so limp like I don’t have a bone in my body

“Come on stay awake, ya can’t go on me like this” Daryl says frantic as he holds me close

“I’m……I’m just so tired” and the world finally goes black

•

Daryl’s pov

I sit with her in a barn I found, her limp body laid across my lap as I brush my fingers through her hair

The rest of the group scattered around, I’m hoping the fire will help her

“We will find something Daryl” Michonne said next to me, I stay silent resting my hand on her baby bump, scared I’ll lose both of them

I grunt not being able to take my eyes off of her, seeing her breathing settle I hold her closer not being able to sleep all night seeing the sun start to shine through the ran down barn

Maggie and Sasha come across some man trying to convince us back to his place but for good reason we’re untrusting

“We have doctors we have food, we can help her” he said gesturing towards y/n who was still out making me more worried every minute

“She needs help Rick” Maggie chimes in and the rest nod and then we’re off back to this town

Sitting next to her in an RV as she’s laid on the bed

“Ya gotta wake up, we’re going somewhere new, they can help ya” I hear her groan and squeeze my hand

Y/n Pov

I wake up feeling weak, my arms heavy and my head splitting, I knew what was happening, my body was growing weaker, the baby taking any bit of nutrition I had

I look around noticing I’m in a strange room just like back in the old word, clean and put together

“Finally yer awake” I hear Daryl next to me as he stands over me brushing my hair back worry written all over his face

“Where are we?”

“Found a place, they got ya hooked up to some medicine er somethin”

“Is….is the baby okay?” My heart tensing waiting for what he might say

“She’s fine Angel, we’re havin a lil girl”

“Are you serious!” My lip wobbles as I feel tears well up

“Our lil baby girl”

For the rest of the day he lays with me catching me up on everything and just making me feel safe, he always has been that protector and I’ll love him and this baby forever

[kitkat13001]

⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 outro.

facing tempests of dust, i’ll fight until the end creatures of my dreams raise up and dance with me now and forever, i’m your king…

⤷ satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

⤷ hurt no comfort!! 🙈 mentions of blood and injury, canon-typical violence, titled after the song by m83 (listen for best [worst?] experience)

you know your time is running out as you reach for your phone with trembling hands. your fingers nearly slip as you dial, slick with blood. you know the number by heart. 

satoru always picks up by the second ring. 

“hiii!! how’s my beautiful baby doing? kicking cursed ass i presume?”

the cheeriness of his voice is enough to bring a soft smile to your face. 

“yeah,” you manage, fingers curled tight around the gaping wound in your side. “not a goddamn one in sight…”

that part is the truth at least. every curse you’d been sent here to exorcise had left, abandoning your broken and battered body to die here. 

“you on your way home?”

home…now there’s a thought. you close your eyes for a brief second (though it feels like much longer) and envision it. 

satoru, waiting for you at the door like an overexcited puppy. the smell of dinner wafting throughout the house. he probably ordered your favorite to celebrate you coming home. probably invited his students, too. nanami, maybe if he could convince him to come. shoko might stop by, just to check on you and say hey. 

but at the rate you’re bleeding out, with how far you are from where you were supposed to be picked up? …you’d never make it. 

“baby?”

“i’ll see you—” you wince, biting your lip to keep from crying out as you shift. “—soon, ‘toru. don’t you worry your pretty lil’ head.”

“what’s wrong?”

you should’ve known there’s no fooling him. his voice has shifted from his special you-tone to crisis handling. he knows something is up. 

“nothing,” you try, but the pain is evident in your voice now. you did always hate keeping things from him. 

“where are you? i’ll come get you right now, just tell me where you are.”

things are beginning to blur and your eyelids feel heavy. “i…i don’t know. there’s…there’s trees? it’s getting dark, ‘toru…”

“fuck, fuck, fuck.” panic is rising in his voice now, and it sends a tinge of guilt to your bleeding stomach.“okay, don’t worry, baby. don’t worry, i’m coming. fuck, where was your mission supposed to be?”

you mumble something, and even you’re unsure of what you’re saying. 

there’s things moving and muffled voices on the line, and you call out weakly for satoru, just to hear his voice again. 

“i’m here.” his voice is breaking, and it’s not the static. “i’m here, baby, don’t worry. i’m on my way. i’ll get to you, i promise. don’t worry.”

you’re not worried, but you think the sentiment is more for himself anyway. you’re on your back now, and the sky looks endless. the blue has begun to fade into reds and oranges and pinks, dotted with green from the branches above you. maybe this isn’t such a bad place to die…

“i’m coming, sweetheart. i’m on my way, just stay with me, okay?”

you know his hands are shaking. you wish you could be there to squeeze them until he calms down.

“just…just stay on the line with me? please…?” 

he makes a faint choked noise. “always. i’m always here.”

your time is running out, you can feel it seeping through your fingers like the blood rapidly pooling on the ground. 

he’s babbling what seems to you like nonsense, his voice growing fainter and fainter. 

“stay with me, baby, please.”

you want to. god, you want to. 

“i’m here,” you echo, voice little more than a whisper on the evening breeze. “always here.”

there’s more muffled noises on the other end, but you’re becoming less coherent by the second. 

you lose sight of the sky, now turning dark, when your eyes flutter closed. 

you think you say “i love you.”

you hope he says it back. 

dividers by @/saradika-graphics — this one hurt. i have nothing but apologies to say for this one….

[ramp-it-up]

Peach, Part I

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is Bucky Barnes' best friend and business parter in crime. He has decided to get out of the life with Bucky, not for love, but because it's the right thing to do. You are a struggling dance teacher in Atlanta. And what is the quickest way for a dancer to make money in the A? When Steve meets you at one of his businesses and lies to you about a myriad of things, It becomes a sticky situation, especially since the attraction you feel for one another is so sweet.

Word count: 3.5 K

Pairing: Bartender/ Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: Okay. I can explain. Yes, I got carried away with this one too, but have you met me? It's what I do. I feel like we're gonna get a little more angsty with these two, but the payoff might be good. Idk, I just hope that you like it!

This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and comes a couple of months before the Bucky Barnes fic You've Got me Thinking. I'm so done for with Steve and Peach. The next part is coming by the end of the week! ☺️

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Slow burn, cursing, mutual pining, angst, financial difficulties, cute tiny dancers, familial feelings, feelings about besties being in love (third wheel?), Steve the businessman, shady people, Steve lying, Steve using an alias, a lil bit of voyuerism (involving dancing) exotic dance life; pole dancing, wild thoughts, flirting, hand holding. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

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———

Late October

Steve Rogers was frustrated.

His best friend Bucky had recently fallen in love, and instantly Steve’s life became an urgent race to divest their Art business of illegal ties so that Bucky could begin his life with her.

Together with Sam and Natasha, Bucky and Steve ran an art import business in New York which was extremely lucrative.

Except that it wasn’t really.

“Just wait until I see you tonight, Frumoasă….”

Steve glanced over at his bestie, who was turned away and whispering into the phone with a giant grin on his face. Steve shook his head and looked out of the window of the car that Nico was driving uptown to a meeting. He rolled his eyes.

More phone sex with Bucky and his girl. Great.

“Behave. Or I will make you…”

Steve cleared his throat as he listened to the suggestive chatter and shifted in his seat. Bucky and his girl were burning hot.

All of the time.

It seemed impossible.

“I love you too, Frumoasă.”

Steve needed what Bucky had in his life. At first he thought he was jealous. His best friend had an extremely desirable woman who made him drop the player lifestyle the instant he saw her. It took Steve a minute, but he realized he wasn’t jealous of either Bucky or his girl; Steve was jealous of the feeling.

When Bucky ended the call, Steve tried to continue the conversation they were having.

“Everything good?”

Bucky smirked, a look on his face that Steve hadn’t seen before his best friend met the love of his life just weeks earlier. It was an amazing transformation.

“Everything is great.”

Then Bucky frowned.

“Except this timeline. We need to get clean, Steve. Faster. We’re going to have to travel a little more before the end of the year.”

The blond raked his hand over his face.

“Bucky, I get it. Believe me I do. But we’ve already tripled the rate of divestiture. Are we to quadruple it? Is it really worth the money we’ll lose?”

“I don’t think you get it at all, Steve. But you will one day. “

Bucky gave Steve a look that made him roll his eyes again.

“I’ll take the losses, Steve. You and Sam and Nat will get the agreed upon cut.”

Bucky gazed out of the window.

“Billionaires shouldn’t exist anyway.”

Steve sighed.

“We all agreed to speed up, and we all agreed to an equal split of the profits. And losses.”

The two men shared a knowing look. Steve assented.

“Okay, Buck. Let’s get Sam and Nat on the phone; I just want it all to be square. You know they want this just as much as you and I do.”

Bucky smiled at his friend, the oldest he had in the world.

—--

Early November

You smiled at little Amina, who was trying her best on her pliés. Although she was only four years old she had a determination like no other. Her little tongue was poked out and there was a scowl on her adorable little face.

You came over and smooth her brow and took her tiny chin in your hand.

“Relax, Mina. If you’re not having any fun, it’s not worth it. Don’t force it, sweetie.”

Amina smiled back at you and began to giggle, relaxing into the poses.

“See there! It’s better already!”

You widened your smile and spoke to the entire class of 12 little 4-6 year olds. They were adorable in their uniform black leotards and pink tights.

“Remember dancers, hard work and lots of fun, that’s our motto. And one, two, three….”

Amina’s mom, Michelle, came up to you after class.

“Here’s what I have Ms. YLN.”

She deposited half of what monthly tuition was into your hand and held it for a beat. Her eyes were watery but she had a brave smile on as she glanced over at Amina giggling with her classmates. Then, she lowered her voice.

“I’m afraid this will have to be her last class. I just can’t come up with the funds… She loves it so much… We’ll miss seeing you every week.”

Your heart shredded. You made a knee jerk decision.

“It doesn’t have to be her last class. I will send you the paperwork for the scholarship. I’ll see you both next week.”

You smiled and gave both her and Amina a hug as she skipped over to you.

“Thank you, Ms. YLN. So much!”

You smiled and nodded as they left the dance studio that you rented for your weekly classes. The tuition you collected barely allowed you to pay the rent, much less compensate you for your time and preparation.

But you were determined to help these little ones with their dreams. And to see your own to fruition.

—--

“You can’t keep letting these people put dance classes on layaway, Cousin.”

Heat bloomed in your chest. Your favorite cousin, who had everything she ever wanted, whenever she wanted, growing up was joking about layaway. Even now, she had an insanely hot, wealthy guy eating her up. Literally.

“Okay, you know what…”

“Calm down. I will finance little Amina Rickard’s monthly tuition before you cuss me out. You know I love you. And you knew sending me that picture of her was gonna work. Making my ovaries explode.”

You smiled, almost choked up.This was your cousin’s second scholarship student and your family’s 8th overall. You were really blessed, even though things hadn’t come easy for you.

“I think the guy who is trying to breed you all over the place is making your ovaries explode, but okay.”

“Y/N, YLN! I am a demure, respectable–”

“You’re a whore for that man and we both know it.”

“Girl, you ain’t lyingggg! Shit, he’s calling me now…”

“Go get that nut video.”

Your cousin laughed at you.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, and thanks, Sistercuz.”

“Bye Sweetie. Have a good night.”

Easy for her to say.

—---

The jet was delayed in New York because of snow and Steve was late getting started. After he landed and was sat in Atlanta traffic, he was reminded that he wanted to be in and out of the city, preferably in two days, and on to Kansas City as soon as possible.

Atlanta could be a fun time, with many many beautiful women, but he was on demon time. He needed to get rid of the criminal enterprises in the company. Quickly.

The holdings in Atlanta consisted of a handful of exotic dancing establishments. And the strip clubs in Atlanta were known to be dens of considerable iniquity. He was sure it would be easy to make a decision to offload the five clubs in the area.

On the second day, Steve had quickly turned a profit on the first four clubs, borderline dives with mid-level girls. The drugs and prostitution levels were off the charts and there were plenty of shady characters who wanted a chance at those businesses.

He’d saved ‘the best for last,’ a supposedly upscale club called Regine in midtown.

It was supposed to be a classy place, so Steve decided to just drop in to check it out before making a decision. He arrived a little over an hour before opening, stepping into the kitchen from the back alley where he parked his rental car.

“Hey, yo! You the new bartender? I told you to be here at 2, not 2:45.”

The salutation came from a huge guy with a large belly and lots of teeth. He’d be scary to anyone else. This must be Sully. Steve recognized him from the file. He decided to play along, glad that he’d dressed down in a flannel and jeans.

“Yeah, well. Traffic.”

Steve thought it best to say as little as possible. That way he would get the most information.

“Shit, you don’t have to tell me. I have to drive here from Alpharetta every day. The 400 is hell every morning.”

“We need someone with some experience. Someone willing to be paid in cash tips, nothing on the books. You look like you’d prefer that.”

Steve stared Sully down, not debunking the myths the latter was making up in his mind. Sully kept talking.

“Also may need to do some security. We get into some… situations up in here.”

Sully took in Steve’s stature and unwavering stare.

“A man of few words I see, Looks like you’ll do. Can you start tonight?”

Steve couldn’t believe this joker, hiring someone off the street.

“Sure.”

This place was not looking like a keeper, Steve thought as he followed Sully for a tour. In daylight, it was passable; in the dark with the right lighting, he was sure it looked swank. Sully told him how to water down the liquor and where the firearms were kept. When his 30 minute orientation was over, Sully left Steve to set up the bar on his own.

“Cory just called in, but Mike will be in later. You should make a lot of tips, our girls are top notch.

Steve just nodded, his hands on his hips as he calculated how much Sully must be skimming off the liquor alone as the latter walked away. Sully came back to the bar and asked a pertinent question.

“Oh yeah. What's ya name?”

“Grant Stevens.”

A little white lie would never hurt anyone, especially if this situation got sticky.

“Aight. Nice to meet you Grant. Tips are not the only perks of this job, if you know what I mean.”

Steve shuddered as Sully lumbered away. He wanted no parts of perks.

—-

A couple of hours later, the girls started arriving, most of them greeting Steve with a polite hello, some skipping it with a grimace, some in their phones, and one, you, listening to music and vibing out. You were different than the weary women who’d passed by ahead of you.

Steve was struck at the serene look on your face as you entered the establishment, braids in a bun on top of your head, eyes closed and your mouth pursed as you hummed and bopped your head to the music, bag slung across your back.

Your skin was dewey, free of make up and those lips, well those lips were what made him do a double take. Your neck was graceful and the cropped hoodie you were wearing did not do a thing to hide your full curves, smooth skin, round tits, long legs, and all that ass. Steve’s palms began to itch.

Steve was convinced that the strip of stomach showing between your hoodie and your sweats was more alluring than any stripper outfit could be, because at the sight of it he broke out in a sweat. Your body was calling him to touch, but he didn’t even know who you were.

He was about to find out however.

Steve stepped to the edge of the bar, ready to give a greeting, but you just bopped on by, oblivious and making your way to the dressing room. It bruised his ego, but the sting was soothed by the sight of you walking away. He stood there for a full minute in shock, but then he shook his head and went behind the bar to drink some water.

“Get it together old man,” Steve grumbled to himself as he tried to cool down. He set about talking to the employees in the kitchen to get more intel on this establishment. The sooner he had enough info, the sooner he could put this one to bed and get away from distractions.

Like you.

—--

“Did you see the new bartender? Just put him on stage, I’ll climb him like the pole.”

"Dat azzz tho."

“Right? And did you see those eyes, those lips? Pretty fly for a…”

You frowned at the chatter around you. You really had to pay more attention to your surroundings. You didn’t notice any new bartender. But knowing these ladies’ taste in romantic partners, you’d bet he was overrated.

You sighed and put your earbuds back in; there was no time for nonsense. You had to warm up properly to protect your instrument: your body.

You looked down at your watch and saw that the doors would open in 45 minutes. You had 20 minutes to go and warm up and still have time to get changed. You sat down to trade your Jordans for your stilettos and make your way out to the pole.

—-

When Steve walked back to the bar from the kitchen, there you were on stage under the lights in a crop top and short shorts.

Again, you were oblivious to him.

Steve, on the other hand, was undone.

Your skin glowed everywhere,and he noticed that you didn’t seem to have augmented anatomy, not that there was anything wrong with that. He just knew that if he had a handful of that ass, it would be real. He stepped behind the bar to watch you, a convenient barrier between you and Steve’s stiffening cock.

As he watched, you moved slowly, the motion elegant and mesmerizing in the six-inch heels you were wearing which elongated your beautiful legs.

Lost in your own world under the lights, you looked ethereal, a goddess.

You approached the pole and held on with one hand, walking around and around it seductively, hopping a few times in the heels, making your ass shake with the impact. It was hypnotizing, watching your strong arms and legs, especially those legs, grip the pole as you worked your body around it.

Then, you let your hands slide down the pole, causing you to bend over and showcase your luscious ass and thighs. Steve imagined that they tasted delicious.

Next, you straightened up and walked around until the pole was nestled in between your asscheeks, widened your legs and undulated on it. Never in Steve’s life had he wanted to be an inanimate object until now.

When you turned around and body rolled on the pole was when Steve had to grip the bar. And when you slowly twirled down to the floor and went spread eagle, beautiful legs in the air, was when he felt like vaulting over the marble bar to get to you.

You rolled over onto your knees and started undulating, then started crawling toward the end of the stage closest to him.

Steve knew the exact moment you noticed him.

You froze, looking like a startled feline. Squinting, you moved your hand over your eyes so you could see beyond the lights, then pulled out your earbuds and got to your feet effortlessly.

—--

You thought you were alone with your music and your fantasy of dance that got you in the headspace to strip for strangers. You didn’t notice anyone out in the club until you were almost done with your warm up routine, when, as you looked up from the floor you saw a large figure behind the bar.

You froze, a moment of something like fear, but more like a thrill, passing through you.

As your eyes adjusted to the area beyond the lights, you saw a tall, muscular body and longish hair. This must be the new bartender. You got up and approached him, trying to analyze your feelings about the situation before you addressed the man.

As you got closer, your temperature seemed to rise. Must’ve been the workout.

His warm denim blue eyes were gorgeous and that dark blond hair and reddish beard were thick and lustrous. Although the beard was a bit wild and wooly, there was no hiding the pink, full lips under that straight, masculine nose.

His body was lithe, but muscular, and you sensed his power. You bet he could pick you up and hold you upside down as that beard scratched the inside of your thighs to lick your…

Wait. Where did that thought come from?

You were objectifying your new co-worker.

That would never, never do. You vowed to be professional.

—-

Steve straightened up as you came near. The look on your face was hard to read. Whatever it was you were feeling, Steve felt like an intruder.

Even though he had the deed to this building in his bag.

“Hi.”

It was all he could think of to say as you stood before him because his mind was empty. With you up close, the only thing he could do was stare. Your scent was like a drug and your eyes were…everything. He gazed into them, a myriad of colors that were holding him captive.

Then that mouth started moving.

“Hello. You the new barback?”

“What?”

Steve leaned closer, pretending he couldn’t hear you, just to get nearer. It wasn’t entirely game; he was quite distracted by you.

The side of your mouth curled up in a sardonic smile and a sudden, funny feeling spread throughout his stomach. He gave you a side grin in response to your side eye.

“Are… you… new… here?”

“Yes, I am working in the bar. I’m Steve…ns. Grant Stevens.”

You extended your hand to him.

“Nice to meet you Grant. I’m Peach.”

“Peach?”

The word gave Steve visions. He stared at your lips, thought of your ass, imagined your juices dripping down his chin.

“Yes,” You smirked. “Peach.”

Steve was speechless.

“It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Since you’re new here and probably haven’t gotten paid yet, I won’t charge you for the private dance.”

Steve’s mind was moving slowly. Like he was drugged.

“That’s a stage name, right?”

Peach. It had to be a stage name. Yet it suited you so perfectly. Suddenly he wanted a taste test.

Steve licked his lips and your eyes followed his movement as you proceeded to not answer him. He unconsciously started stroking the back of your hand with his thumb and gave you his full smile.

You grew even warmer, from the friction of course, and blinked at him as if you were facing sunlight as you pulled your hand from his.

“Forgive me. I’m sorry for eavesdropping? Spying? Watching you dance without you knowing? Don’t know what to call it. But beg your pardon.”

—--

“Don’t beg.”

‘Dont beg here,’ is what you wanted to say.

You don’t know why the vision of this man on his knees for you flashed in your mind. Maybe it was his velvet baritone, or maybe it was the feel of his rough hand on yours that got you all bothered, as if his smile hadn’t already made you wet.

He was tall, a good head taller than you, even in your heels, and a looming presence. In a good way. You wanted to be enveloped by him. But you didn’t even know him.

You had to get it together, but the scent of his cologne was making your mouth water to taste him. You were weak for this man.

You hated this feeling, didn’t have time for it, yet you weren’t ready to end the conversation just yet.

“I mean, I felt some kinda way when I first saw you here, but hell, I don’t own this place. And neither do you.”

For some reason, Grant’s face did a thing. A weird frowny sad thing, but you barrelled ahead.

“You’re a worker, just like me, and you were just getting your work station ready, just like me. Solidarity, man.”

“Yeah. Solidarity.”

Grant cleared his throat.

“Great moves up there.”

—---

You grinned, blinding him this time. Steve’s discomfort that his ‘little white lie’ was spreading to you dissipated when you smiled at him.

He just knew that your smile could heal any ailment, if he were allowed regular doses of it for the rest of his life.

“Thanks, friend. They make me a lot of money three nights a week.”

You pushed off the bar and started walking back to the locker room as Steve chuckled at your immediate friend zoning.

“And if you like that, stick around for the show.”

You threw a look over your shoulder that made him want to follow you anywhere.

As he watched you leave again, Steve Rogers knew that he needed a little more time to figure this place out.

—----

Steve was concluding that Regine wasn’t the worst, but nothing extraordinary. The women in makeup and costume looked good and the tips were flowing; he could see how this was a money maker.

He had his suspicions about Sully, but he still had little evidence about the quality of the place. He needed to see all of the dancers.

Steve wanted to see you dance. For research purposes.

He was busy at the bar all night, so much so that Sully had to come by and made four money drops. This place made much more profit than was being reported, that much was clear as Steve’s eyes followed Sully back to his office with the cash.

He was about to follow him when you brushed by him, ensconced all in white.

“Excuse me. Gotta get to the stage, Comrade.”

Your wink distracted him from the fact that you were wearing a ten gallon cowboy hat and boots.

Wait.

Were those spurs?

Mesmerized, Steve leaned on the bar to watch your show.

The stage went dark while the guitars started. There were whistles and stomps from the floor, cries of Yesss! Peach! Go Peach! Ride me Cowgirl, and Pour some liquor on me honey tooooo! reverberated in the room.

These were grown men and women.

And by the time the first line of the song played, “This ain’t Texas…”, the crowd was in a frenzy and in the palm of your hand.

Steve suddenly understood the customer’s enthusiasm.

The way you moved on the stage, your props, the way your body captivated everyone in the place was astounding.

You were brilliant.

You were what made Regine extra ordinary.

—---

You were bone tired by the time 3 am rolled around and the club closed after two full sets. You’d made $700 dollars in tips, not bad for a Tuesday, considering that you didn’t do any private dances. You were yawning as you passed the bar and Steve stopped you to say goodnight.

“Hey Peach. You were fantastic tonight.”

He shook his head.

“It was the first time I’ve seen that prop used on a dance club stage…”

Steve’s eyes glazed over as he replayed the image of you spinning on the pole with the stick of the hobby horse between your legs.

You spared the handsome blond an appreciative glance and a tired laugh.

“Thanks, Grant. I try to be original. Hope you did well tonight.”

“I did pretty good.”

Steve smiled as he would if $500 dollars excited him.

“Hey, one of the customers at the bar told me to give you this. Said he was shy?”

You looked at him warily as you took the envelope. Inside was $1000.

“Holy Shit!”

You looked up and covered your mouth, your girlish piety endearing to Steve, who chuckled at you.

“There’s a stack in here.”

“Whoa! Cool.”

Steve tried to look as if he didn’t know there were exactly 10 hundred dollar bills that he’d put in there.

“Guy must really like you. Could it be a regular? A special friend? An ex perhaps?”

Steve was not being very subtle, but he didn’t have much time. You were smirking at him in that way again.

“My regulars are regular shmegular degular, and cannot afford to tip me one thousand dollars. Must be a high roller rolling through the A.”

You smiled, but decided you needed to be tough. You straightened and gave the most menacing glare you could manage.

Steve thought you were adorable.

“I don’t know who would have done this. I don’t have any special friends or exes in this city. I’m all work. NO play. In any way. Especially at work.”

You hoped your hard look worked. Grant was certainly watching your mouth as you spoke, so he must have caught what you meant, right? When his eyes flicked up to yours, your knees got weak so you decided you should go.

“‘Night, Grant.”

You turned and walked out of Regine, a certain warmth in your chest. Must the $1700 in your bag. Or the chicken wings. Nothing to do with the beautiful man you knew was watching until you got into your car.

Steve made sure that you drove off safely, and then followed you home as he thought about how efficiently you’d curved him.

Once you went into your apartment, Steve called Bucky and told him that he needed a little more time on this enterprise.

This one was a peach.

-----

Okay. I hope that you liked it! Let me know by reblogging please!

Part II

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[heytheredelulu]

I was wondering if you could do maybe a like feral Bucky? Like maybe they trigger the soldat and instead of him fallowing their orders he goes after the shy curvy little intern of Tony’s? They’ve both been too shy to make a move. I’m cool with whatever spin you put on it, I LOVE your writing.

(Love all your normal kinks so feel free to add those too as you see fit! )

Thank you lovely 🥰 Can’t wait to drool over more of your writing lol

I took this and RAN with it.

It ended up becoming much longer than I had anticipated so this one will be broken up into two parts.

I struggled with trying to incorporate Bucky being triggered after the reader already being somewhat aquatinted with him, pining after him, etc. so I went the route I did and I hope it fulfills your request!

Part one will be mostly just plot building with a spicy cliff hanger leading us into a part two of pure smut.

Ready to Comply - Part One - Anon Request

Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Reader

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

Word Count: 2.5k

C/W: Language, discussion/implications of violence and murder, choking, blood (Bucky is strugglin’ and bites his own hand), a lil sexual tension in prep for part two, he sniffs her coochie, okay?

“Okay, stop. Stop that.” Tony whispered out of the corner of his mouth. You shot him a glance and tugged at your skirt one more time for good measure. He lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes. “You look fine, Rookie. Very professional. Is that what you needed to hear?”

You scoff and shake your head. “That’s no- I’m not fishing for compliments, I genuinely hate dressing like a fucking secretary.” You grumble, drawing a laugh out of Tony. “And don’t call me ‘Rookie.’” You add with a prod to his chest. He brushes the front of his suit jacket sarcastically in response to your poke and raises his hands defensively, a soft chuckle rising from his throat.

“A fucking secretary? Really? It’s business professional. Did you think I could let you stand next to me in a press conference wearing an old t-shirt and some torn up jeans? We need to create a semblance of professionalism.” He gestures to his own attire with a grin and there’s a teasing glint in his eye as he continues.

“And what’s wrong with ‘Rookie’? You’re my little protégé.” He jests, reaching like he’s going to pinch your cheek as if you were some adorable little toddler. You frown, swatting his hand away and brings it to his chest, clutching it dramatically. “Wow, you’re going to assault your friend, mentor and extremely rich and handsome boss?” He jokes, feigning offense.

“The only accurate adjective in that sentence is ‘boss’, Sir.” You reply dryly, crossing your arms. The corners of his lips twitch into a sly smile and he nudges you with his elbow. “I’ll accept if you don’t agree with friend and mentor.” He starts, pressing his lips into a pout. “But I might actually get a little offended if you refuse to acknowledge how devastatingly handsome I am.”

You groan in annoyance and roll your eyes, preparing a witty comeback when Pepper Potts rounds the corner with a tablet cradled in her arm, a phone nestled between her ear and shoulder and an expression of concern written across her face.

“Everything alright?” Tony asks, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me.. another offer for People’s ‘sexiest man alive’? I keep telling them, I can’t be on the cover every ye-“ Tony stops mid sentence as Pepper’s manicured forefinger lands on his lips, effectively silencing him.

“Yes. Okay. Understood. Thank you.” She says curtly into the phone before disconnecting the call. “That was Fury. We have an issue. A Barnes issue.”

Your brows furrow at this. “What’s happened with Bucky?” You ask, a sense of dread creeping up your spine. He’d been all but isolated since he’d moved into the Avenger’s tower alongside his best friend Steve Rogers and you couldn’t imagine him being the source of an issue with how reserved this man was. You weren’t at all oblivious to his past- it had been global wide news after all, but in the months since his de-conditioning in Wakanda he had been making great strides towards recovery, working to make amends.

Though your interactions with the ex-assassin had been few, he’d always been polite and kind towards you. You’d felt so out of place among the Avengers, being Tony’s intern. You weren’t on the team, hell, a few of them didn’t even know your name despite you having been trailing behind Tony for the last year. Maybe it was your own fault, considering you hadn’t really made an effort to talk to any of them but aside from the fact that they were all extremely intimidating, you were naturally a shy and quiet person.

You quickly push the self deprecating thoughts from your head. You didn’t care about any of that. You shouldn’t. It wasn’t as if you wanted to be on the team, or were there to make friends, you were here as an engineer, to learn from who was arguably the most intelligent man on the planet. Perhaps that’s why Bucky had always been cordial to you more than some of the others living here. Maybe he gravitated towards you, as someone who constantly felt so out of place, because he felt that way here as well.

Or maybe he thought you were cute.

Oh fuck, if only.

You couldn’t deny your attraction to the man or that you’d been quietly crushing on him practically since you’d started your internship. Every small interaction with Bucky left a blush on your cheeks and a kaleidoscope of butterflies flitting about your belly.

The thought of someone as absurdly good looking as Bucky fucking Barnes finding you attractive was enough to spark a surge of heat straight to your abdomen.

No, get it together. Now’s not the time.

You mentally scold your vagina for having the nerve to throb at the mere mention of Bucky Barnes regardless of the context and turn your attention back to Pepper and Tony as they argued in hushed whispers.

“What’s happened with Bucky?” You repeat, knowing they likely won’t clue you in if it’s related to Avenger’s business.

Tony offers a nervous smile and exchanges a quick glance with his wife before he checks his watch. “Terminator? He’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably holed up with security for setting off the metal detector.” He pauses and then snaps his fingers. “Or maybe he walked past the junkyard on fifth and got snatched up by the hydraulic magnet.” He says, lifting a hand and miming a crane.

Pepper lets out a soft sigh and your gaze flicks to her. “Yeah, a big magnet or something.” She mumbles, turning her attention back to her tablet. “I don’t think that’s-“ Your cut off by Tony’s hand on the small of your back, urging you forward. “Enough about Robocop. We’re on, Rookie.” He says, his nervous expression falling away and quickly being replaced with a mask of professionalism. “Let’s go unveil our project to the press.” Pepper moves to open the door for you both and before you can open your mouth to tell Tony that if he calls you ‘rookie’ one more time you were going to strangle him with his overpriced tie, your senses are overwhelmed with an onslaught of overlapping voices and camera shutters.

You toss your blazer over the desk in your quaint office and slump over into the chair, trying not to let your mind run wild with anxious thoughts about the press conference. Despite your best efforts you couldn’t help but worry that you probably looked like a deer in headlights up at the podium alongside Tony.

You huff and rest your chin on the back of your hand, glancing over at the computer screens. Your attention is immediately drawn to security footage from one of the conference rooms when you see movement on the monitor. You lean in with your brows furrowed. It’s late and no one should be in the conference room. You expand the image and can clearly make out Tony and Steve moving about the room with tense body language.

You hover over the footage with your mouse and hesitate. You know that you absolutely should not eavesdrop on the two men but once Tony’s hands begin angrily gesturing around you give in to temptation and turn on the audio.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘back up?’” Tony shouts, beginning to pace the room.

Steve leans forward with his palms on the table and his head bowed slightly. “It’s exactly what I said, Tony.” He replies, his biceps flexing as he grips the table. “HYDRA had a fail safe. They’d planted a back up activation incase he would ever manage to be deprogrammed.” He looks up at Tony with a solemn expression. “They got to him. I should’ve been there, I should’ve-“

Tony holds out a hand, his other resting against his temple as he tries to comprehend what Steve is telling him. “Well you weren’t and they did so know we have to figure out how the fuck we navigate this.” He says firmly, shaking his head. “Do we have eyes on him? Is he in the building?”

Steve sighed and stood upright from the table. “No. He’s in the wind. We lost contact with him a few hours ago.” He admits, running a hand through his hair. “But there’s something you need to know.” He adds, looking at Tony with concern as he begins to pace again.

“Well spit it out, Rogers!” Tony yells, stopping and turning back to Steve.

“Nat received some intel. The hit HYDRA ordered is on you and your intern.” He says so quietly you can barely pick it up on the audio. Fear crawls up your spine and your hand trembles as you increase the volume on the security feed, while your heartbeat in your ears becomes near deafening.

Tony stiffens, slowly approaching Steve. “You wanna tell me why?” He asks, his voice low and dangerous. Steve nods. “The new tech you unveiled today.“ He explains.

Tony sighs, understanding why one of their enemies would be threatened by what the two of you had been working on and reaches to loosen his tie. “I’ll take Pepper and move her to the safe house before I meet you at a rendezvous point. Send someone to get my Rookie and get her off the grid. I don’t want her alone for a single second.” He says in an exasperated tone, reaching into his suit jacket and pulling out his cell phone as he stalks towards the door.

“And Rogers?” He asks, turning around one last time, his hand curled tight around the doorknob. Steve’s head snaps up and he looks at Tony with guilt ridden eyes. “Yeah?”

“Find Barnes.”

Find Barnes.

The statement echoes in your ears, sending your thoughts spinning as if a category five hurricane were waging inside your head.

No. No, no, no.

There’s a hit out on you?

To be carried out by the fucking Winter Soldier.

Oh you were so fucked.

You scoot your chair back, bracing your hands on the desk to stand with wobbly knees.

Bile rises in your throat as you take a slow step backwards, bumping the chair in your state of panic and knocking your jacket off the workbench. You jump at the sound of it slipping to the floor and clutch your chest as a result of inducing your own jumpscare and take slow breaths to steel your nerves before you bend down to pick it up. As you rise back upright, your gaze connects with a pair of vacant, icy blue eyes in the shadows across the room and your entire body seizes in terror.

He’s not in the wind.

He’s been in here with you this entire goddamned time.

“B-Bucky?” You stutter, bringing your jacket to your chest and grasping it until your knuckles turn white. Maybe Steve and Tony were wrong. Maybe Nat’s intel was wrong. Maybe this was all a huge misunderstanding and you weren’t about to die at the hands of the ex-assassin you’ve been pining over for nearly a year.

He takes a step forward from the shadows, his face expressionless and his eyes unblinking without a single trace of emotion behind them.

Okay, yeah. You’re fucked.

“Sergeant Barnes?” You whisper, almost a plea to the man you knew, locked away somewhere in the brain of the cold and calculated killer standing in front of you.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t register your words, as he crosses the lab in a few quick strides and catches your throat in his cybernetic hand.

Oh god.

The air leaves your lungs, his grip tightening around your windpipe as his face remains blank.

You’re going to die.

So why are you so fucking turned on?

Heat pools low in your abdomen, your core flooding with arousal, coupled with fear and unbridled lust.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as you gasp and thrash in his grip, your thick thighs rubbing together with every kick and flail, doing nothing to alleviate the throbbing ache in your cunt.

God this is so wrong.

His brows furrow, the first hint of emotion since he stepped out of the shadows. His head tilts inquisitively and his grip slackens around your throat as he leans in, tracing his nose across your jaw line and inhaling deeply. You still, your face contorting in confusion as you swallow hard against his palm, leaning your body into his hold.

His eyes narrow as he pulls away from you and you take the opportunity to suck in a breath, massaging your neck gently while your gaze drops to observe his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides.

“Bucky?” You ask, wondering what’s caused the sudden shift in his demeanor, wondering if maybe he’s somehow snapped out of the trance he’d been in. He’s still and silent for a long moment, his head bowed as his chest rises and falls heavily with every breath.

“Sergeant Barnes, are yo-“

His head snaps up, effectively silencing you.

Your mouth remains agape, stuck on your last word and as he watches you with predatory eyes, taking menacing steps toward you, you can’t seem to find your voice any longer. You stumble backwards, losing your balance and falling back against the desk, unable to regain your footing before his hands grip the flesh of your bare thighs.

He tilts you backwards, your back colliding hard with the surface of the desk, stealing the breath out of your chest. He drops to his knees, splaying his palms against your thighs, the hem of your dress rising up to expose your panties as he spreads your legs wide before him and drags his nose across the fabric.

He groans.

He fucking groans.

“You’re my mission.” He breathes out, eyes wild and fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as if he were fighting to physically restrain himself.

“I know.” You whimper, lifting your head to look down at him over the soft curve of your stomach.

“I’ve been ordered to kill you.” He chokes out, pressing his forehead against your inner thigh and drawing in a deep and shuddering breath.

“Then why haven’t you?” You ask in a broken whisper.

He turns his head and mumbles something incoherently, his breath ghosting against the damp fabric of your underwear and sending a wave of arousal crashing through your core. He stiffens, curling his flesh hand into a fist and bringing it to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles as he swallows back a moan.

He shakes his head, his teeth pressing into his skin hard enough to draw blood and you move to sit up, leaning on your palms as you look down at him where he’s slotted between your legs, visibly trembling.

He rises quickly to his feet, his left hand shooting out to curl around your neck again and he drops his bloodied flesh hand to his side.

“Because..” He says through clenched teeth, inhaling sharply as the cool metal of his thumb strokes the column of your throat.

“I can’t fucking focus when all I can smell-“

His free hand roughly cups your pussy over your panties, his voice trailing off as he kneads his palm against the thin, wet fabric.

He growls, tightening his grip around your throat and jerking you up to him, forcing you to meet his threatening gaze.

His expression grows pained and he whimpers, dipping his head to meet your forehead with his own, his breath fanning across your face with every heave of his chest.

“All I can smell is how wet you are.”

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@suz7days @blackbirdwitch22 @truthfulliarr @lilacka

Part two

[prettymfwrites]

Room for one more?

g!pEllie x female reader

Summary: How will Ellie react to the news...

I hadn’t meant to avoid her. It just… sort of happened.

At first, it was small things...staying out late on patrol, keeping my answers short when she asked how I was feeling. I stopped sitting on the couch next to her at night, claiming I was tired and going to bed early. But even then, I’d just lie there staring at the ceiling, hands over my stomach like it was going to start talking.

I couldn’t even say the word.

Pregnant.

I was late. Really late. My body felt different—tired, nauseous, achy. And sure, Jackson didn’t have a fancy doctor to confirm it, but I knew. Deep down, I knew. And the terrifying part wasn’t the idea of being pregnant. It was telling Ellie.

This wasn’t the plan. We were supposed to get married first. Settle. Make sure we were safe. She talked about it sometimes, about a little house outside the gates, maybe even adopting someday. She never mentioned... this.

So, I avoided her.

And of course she noticed.

“Y/N, are you mad at me or something?” she asked one morning, cornering me in the kitchen. Her voice was soft but strained. Her hand reached out like she wanted to touch me, but I stepped back before she could.

“No,” I said quickly, avoiding her eyes. “Just tired. Long patrol yesterday.”

That was three days ago. Now I couldn’t even be in the same room as her without guilt clawing up my throat. Every time she looked at me, it felt like she could see straight through me—and the longer I kept it a secret, the more ashamed I felt.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

So I went to the one person in Jackson who might understand.

Joel.

He was out behind the stables when I found him, fixing up a broken saddle. His face lit up when he saw me—just like it always did—and then quickly turned serious when he noticed how pale I looked.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “What’s goin’ on?”

I swallowed hard. “Can we talk? Like… privately?”

Joel didn’t ask questions. He just nodded and led me to the quiet corner of the barn where the horses couldn’t hear us.

I looked at the floor, then at my hands. “I think I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, letting it settle, nodding slowly like he was putting the pieces together in his head.

“It’s Ellie’s,” I whispered, like saying it louder would make it more real. “I haven’t told her. I… I can’t. She wanted to wait. She always said we’d be ready later.”

Joel put a hand on my shoulder, his voice gentle. “You scared she’s gonna leave?”

I nodded. “Or be disappointed. Or think I messed everything up. She’s been through so much, Joel. I don’t want to be the reason she’s stressed out all over again.”

He gave a small sigh and looked out toward the sunset.

“I’ll get Dina to grab a test for ya, alright? Just to be sure. You just sit tight, kiddo. And don’t beat yourself up, y’hear me? Ellie loves you more than anything. No matter what.”

Before I could respond, the barn door creaked open.

Ellie and Dina stepped inside, laughing about something, until they both saw us.

Joel’s jaw clenched. His whole face changed—like guilt took over—and he backed away slightly.

Ellie’s eyes darted from me to Joel. “What’s going on?”

Joel didn’t answer.

“Joel,” she said again, more tense this time. “What is it?”

I stepped forward quickly. “Ellie, I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong, okay?”

Her brows furrowed. “Why won’t he tell me? Why are you—?” Her voice cracked. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

“No! Ellie, no, I’m not—”

She shook her head and stepped back. Her hands balled into fists. “It’s alright. I saw it coming anyway.”

And before I could stop her, she turned around and walked out.

Jaw clenched. Shoulders tight. I heard her sniff, just once.

Joel cursed under his breath.

Dina looked between all of us, stunned. “Wait—what the hell is going on?”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck and looked at her. “I need you to pick up a pregnancy test for lil’ bit here, okay?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

She smiled before grabbing my hand. “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

We walked quietly to her and Jesse’s place. My heart still hurt from watching Ellie walk away like that, but Dina’s presence helped.

“I’m scared to tell her,” I admitted. “She’ll think I broke our plan. Like I didn’t listen.”

Dina shook her head. “Y/N, she’s obsessed with you. Yeah, she’s got a temper and yeah, she gets in her own head sometimes, but trust me—she’s gonna come around.”

Once we got inside, Dina made me sit down while she disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, she came back out and pressed a little pink box into my hands.

“I’ve had this stashed just in case,” she said with a grin. “You good to take it?”

I nodded, and she kissed my forehead. “I’ll be right outside, babe.”

The test was positive.

I stared at the tiny plus sign until my hands started shaking. And then I cried. Big, ugly sobs I couldn’t hold back.

Dina came in, knelt beside me, and wrapped me in her arms.

“You’re not alone, okay? You’ve got me. You’ve got Joel. And you’ve got her—even if she doesn’t know it yet.”

After a minute, she pulled back. “Alright, now that we know for sure, let’s make this cute. You know Ellie. She’s dramatic as hell. You’ve gotta do something creative.”

I smiled weakly. “She does love music.”

Dina grinned. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

That night, I walked back home with a record in my backpack and a plan.

Ellie was in the small room she used for writing and playing guitar. Her back was to me, head bowed, gently strumming a few chords.

“I thought I’d be gone by the time you got back,” she said softly, not turning around.

I set my bag down and slowly walked over. Without a word, I knelt, took her guitar gently out of her hands, and set it against the wall. Then I climbed into her lap and wrapped my arms around her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, nuzzling her cheek. “I love you. So much. And I know this isn’t how you wanted things to go. I know we talked about getting married first.”

Her brow creased as she looked at me. “I think you’re leaving me… and you give me… a record?”

I laughed through my nerves and kissed her lips once, soft and slow. “Open it.”

She hesitated, then opened the sleeve.

Inside was a test, taped beside a folded note that read: Room for one more?

The record? “I Love You” by Fontaines D.C.

Ellie stared at it for what felt like hours. Her jaw dropped slightly, then she blinked and let out a breathless laugh.

Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re… you’re serious?”

I nodded, and she grabbed my face and kissed me once, twice, three times in a row. Then she held my head to her shoulder, breathing hard.

“I thought I was losing you,” she whispered. “And turns out… I’m gonna have a kid?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just… scared myself. I didn’t know how you’d react.”

Ellie pulled back to look me in the eyes. “You think I’d be mad? That I’d leave you?”

“I didn’t know.”

She shook her head, wiping her eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’ve been such an asshole lately. I just—I didn’t know what was happening, and it scared the fuck out of me.”

“We’re both scared,” I said. “But we’re gonna be okay.”

She nodded. “Yeah. We are.”

We sat there in silence for a while, tangled up in each other. Then Ellie grinned through her tears.

“Okay… real talk. What are we naming this thing?”

I laughed. “What, like now?”

“Hell yeah. Might as well get ahead of it. I’m voting for something badass. Like… Blade.”

I snorted. “You’re not naming our kid Blade, Ellie.”

“What about Shimmer Jr.?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I!”

We kept throwing names at each other until we were breathless from laughing. And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right again.

_________________________________________

I'M BACK AHHHH

[aleskie]

GOT MY HEAD IN THE CLOUDS, COUNTING ALL MY STARS | Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: As the two of you get closer, Lando begins to realize that the more he cares, the more afraid he becomes—of losing you, of not being enough, of being truly seen.

HELL & BACK MASTERLIST PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER WARNINGS: None. A lil swearing. There's a kiss.

It takes him an almost embarrassingly short amount of time—one day, to be exact—to ask you when you’re free to hang out.

He texts you the very next noon, still a little dizzy from last night’s alcohol, from the high of the race, from the adrenaline of you. He stares at his phone for longer than he’d ever admit before finally typing out a message. Nothing too eager, nothing too desperate. Just casual. Cool.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

‘Are you busy?’ You write back first, catching him off guard.

He replies instantly. No.

And then, his phone starts ringing.

He stares at the screen for a second longer than he should, blinking at your name, before he scrambles to answer. “Hello?” His voice is almost hesitant, like the moment is too delicate, too tangible, and could shatter if he breathes wrong.

“Hey!” Your voice is bright, chipper—like the sun, like something warm and inviting. He can practically hear the smile in it, and for some reason, that does something to him. “So?”

“So…what?” He winces the second it leaves his mouth. He thinks he sounds dumb. Stupid. God, it’s a miracle he got your number in the first place.

You laugh, and it’s light, teasing, but not unkind. “Why don’t you tell me when you’re free, and I’ll adjust to that?”

His heart does this weird little thing in his chest.

You’re interested. You want to see him. And instead of playing games, instead of making him chase in circles, you’re just…saying it. Straightforward, simple, easy.

He exhales, smiling to himself before answering. “How about now?”

“Now?”

“I mean, if you’re not busy, of course,” he adds quickly, suddenly feeling like he might be pushing his luck.

You chuckle, and the sound is enough to make his shoulders relax. “Well, I do have a pretty long lunch break.” There’s a playful lilt to your voice, like you’re enjoying this just as much as he is. “Pick me up from work?”

He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, relief and excitement crashing into him all at once.

“Send me the address,” he says, already grabbing his keys, already moving like this is something he’s been waiting for.

Maybe it is.

“I'll be there before you know it.”

He takes you to this quaint little restaurant he frequents. A small, family-run spot tucked away from the tourist traps and prying cameras, the kind of place that feels like a secret. He likes it here. It’s quiet, warm, normal. A pocket of peace in a world that rarely slows down for him.

The moment you step inside, the scent of fresh herbs and slow-cooked sauces fills the air, mingling with the soft hum of music—some indie-folk track playing low in the background. The interior is simple but welcoming, all whites and beiges with rustic wooden accents.

“Welcome back, boy!” A gruff but familiar voice calls out.

Franc, the owner and head chef, grins when he spots Lando, wiping his hands on his apron as he approaches. “Brought someone special, eh?”

Lando clears his throat, suddenly aware of the heat creeping up his neck.

Franc shifts his attention to you, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “He’s usually by himself, you know. Always eating alone. So if he’s brought you here, you must be a very nice lady.” He chuckles before waving you both off. “Go on, pick a seat. Menus are on the table—just call out when you’re ready.”

You laugh, offering a polite thank you, and Lando’s relieved you don’t make a big deal out of it.

Not that Franc is wrong.

He knows you are special. He knows he wants you in his life, in some way, somehow. But it’s too early to say that out loud. Too early to let you see just how insane his world can be. Too early to know if you’d even want to stay.

But God, he wants to let you in.

He does. 

He just doesn’t know if you’ll like what you’ll see.

Lando pulls out your chair—he went to a fancy prep school, he has sisters, all that definitely drilled some manners into him—and waits until you’re settled before sitting down himself.

He already knows what he’s getting—his usual, the one Franc always starts making the moment he walks in—but he watches as you pore over the menu like it holds the answers to the universe. Your brows knit together, your teeth lightly tugging at your lip, and he finds it almost ridiculous how adorable you look, analyzing the options with a level of focus even he reserves only for race day.

You glance up, catching him watching, and raise a brow. “I take my food very seriously.”

Shit. Did he say that out loud?

His hand instinctively goes to the back of his neck, rubbing the warmth spreading there. “I just…you’re beautiful.”

You laugh, soft and sweet, and something in his chest eases.

“I’m glad you think so.”

And maybe—just maybe—he catches the faintest hint of a blush dusting your cheeks. He grins to himself, already knowing this is a moment he’ll replay in his head later.

Lunch is easy, he realizes. Comfortable.

Like something he could get used to, something that’s been waiting for him his whole life.

You opt for today’s special—some kind of soup and filleted fish covered in herbs. It looks nice, probably tastes even better to the right kind of person. 

But he fucking hates seafood. 

Still, he figures he’d deal with it. 

For you, he’ll deal with anything.

Franc, ever the little shit, swings by your table with the tray in hand, that usual knowing smirk tugging at his mouth. “You fine with her getting fish, Lando?”

You blink, confused. “What’s wrong with fish?”

Before he can come up with something half-decent, anything to salvage the moment and avoid looking like an idiot in front of you, Franc beats him to it. “The lad’s a picky eater. Stays away from seafood.”

You glance at Lando, a laugh threatening at the corner of your mouth.

“For you, it wouldn’t be an issue though, right boy?” Franc grins, teasing.

Lando chuckles, trying to play it off. “No, it’s not. Order whatever you want. I hear their fish is pretty good.”

“Damn right. Best thing on the menu,” Franc calls as he walks off.

So that’s what you get.

And when the plate arrives—crusty bread still warm from the oven, soft fish that flakes apart with the slightest touch, sauce rich and deep like it’s been simmering all afternoon—it’s basically perfection. He watches you take your first bite, eyes fluttering shut, a pleased hum escaping as you do a little shoulder wiggle that might just kill him.

Lando swears his heart skips a beat.

“This is amazing,” you say, eyes shining. “How have I never been here before?”

He shrugs, twirling pasta around his fork like it’s nothing. “Well, now you have.”

Conversation flows between bites, easy and unhurried. The kind of talking that feels like slipping into your favorite hoodie—familiar, comforting. You share stories you don’t usually tell. Little things that matter more than they should. Memories that shaped you, moments that left bruises, and the quiet parts of you that most people never get to see.

“We live right by the sea,” you say, placing your utensils neatly together, your plate scraped clean.

“Yes?” he asks, tilting his head, already sensing where this is going.

You grin, a soft laugh escaping. “We live right by the sea and you hate fish.”

He scoffs, all mock indignation. “I just think they’re gross and creepy—”

“And you don’t like how they taste because the texture is weird,” you finish for him, clearly amused.

“Exactly,” he says, pointing at you like you’ve cracked some great mystery.

You laugh again, the sound light and unfiltered, and he can’t help but smile as he tells you about the dumb bet he lost to Max—Fewtrell, not Verstappen, which, as he points out, is a very important distinction. They’d both throw a fit if you mixed them up.

Then you ask about the places he escapes to when it all gets too loud, and he tells you. About hidden pockets of peace, about early mornings when no one else is around. He tells you how, even now, even after everything, he still gets nervous before every race. Every single time. Like clockwork.

And you don’t just listen—you listen. You lean in, elbow on the table, chin resting on your hand, eyes never leaving his. You ask thoughtful questions, not out of politeness but out of genuine curiosity. You make him feel seen in a way that’s rare. In a way that’s true.

Somewhere between shared laughter and the last bites of dessert—something sweet and warm and a little too rich—he feels it.

He doesn’t want lunch to end.

But eventually, it does.

The drive back to your office is quieter, but not in a bad way. It's the kind of silence that sits comfortably between two people, unbothered by the lack of words. Music hums low through the speakers, barely noticeable over the soft sounds of the city outside. Lando steals glances at you at every red light—your fingers absently toying with your bracelet, your lips pressed together like you're caught in thought, somewhere halfway between content and reflective.

He doesn’t quite pout when he pulls up to your building—but it’s close. His hands rest on the wheel, fingers tapping a slow rhythm like they’re stalling for time. He shifts the car into park but doesn’t move to unlock the doors just yet.

“So,” he says, casual but hopeful, eyes still on the windshield, “Was that a one-time thing, or do I get to steal you away again?”

You glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips, head tilted just slightly like you’re deciding how playful to be. “If the next place is as nice as this one, you can take me anytime.”

“Really now?” he asks, grinning despite himself.

“Anytime, Lando.”

He lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe his luck. “Anytime, then.”

You don’t lean in for a hug or a kiss, don’t try to turn the moment into something it’s not. You just give him one last look, soft and steady, like it means something more than it says. “I’ll see you around?”

He nods, heart thudding just a little faster. “Yeah. You will.”

As he watches you disappear through the front doors of your building, he finds himself gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, already counting down the seconds until you two meet again.

“Lunch was great, by the way,” you tell him over the phone, voice warm, a little sleepy at the edges. “Am I wrong to assume you’d want to do it again?”

He knows you can’t see him, but he swears you must hear the smile in his voice, the way it curls at the edges of his words, gives him away completely. Like someone just handed him something fragile and precious, and he’s still not over the fact that he gets to hold it.

You’d called a little after your shift ended, your voice lighting up his screen just as he was getting home. He answered without even thinking, and somehow, neither of you ever hung up. The conversation drifted without a plan—talking about your day, his favorite movie as a kid, the kind of place you'd both run away to if you could, and whether sushi is overrated or not. 

(“You can’t say something is overrated if you refuse to try it,” you argue, playful but firm.

“The world is free,” he counters, grinning even though you can’t see it. “I can say whatever I want.”)

He’s sprawled across his bed now, phone pressed to his ear like it’s anchoring him.

“No,” he says, soft but certain. “No, I…” He pauses, breath catching a little as he tries to say it right. “I want to do it again too. With you.”

It’s not some grand confession. Just a truth, said plainly. But it feels like more. Like a door opening. Like the beginning of something he doesn’t quite have the words for yet—but desperately wants to keep exploring.

Phone calls with you have become his lifeline—something he holds close to his chest, sacred and quiet, moments carved out just for him. No cameras. No chaos. Just your voice on the other end of the line, soft and steady, like an anchor in the middle of everything.

Conversations flow easily, like they always have. Familiar. Uncomplicated. The kind that sneak up on you, stretching well past midnight without either of you noticing. Or caring.

He loves hearing about your day—about the minor disasters at work, the dumb thing your coworker said that made you roll your eyes, the sandwich that wasn’t as good as you hoped it’d be. Loves that you tell him about the small things, the ordinary things, the kind of details people only share when they feel safe.

And he likes telling you about his day—about the long meetings, the brutal workouts, the endless travel. About how he somehow ends up eating more quinoa than any one person should. About how he still gets nervous before qualifying. About the tracks he likes, the ones he hates, and the places he wants to take you to one day.

Somewhere between the calming rhythm of your voice and the way you make him laugh without trying, he feels something settle in him. Something that feels suspiciously like peace. Like home.

Some nights, you talk until one of you trails off mid-sentence, lulled into sleep by the comfort of the other. Other nights, it’s just a short check-in, a low, “Hey, thinking about you,” before hanging up. But it’s constant. Steady.

There’s always something.

Something in the way you say his name. In the way you ask how he’s really doing. In the way you make space for him, without asking for anything in return.

And it makes him feel like he matters. Like he’s seen. Like maybe, for once, he’s not just Lando Norris, the driver, the name.

He’s just Lando.

Yours.

And the dates—God, the dates.

There’s a simplicity to it that he appreciates. No five-star restaurants or private jets. Just him stealing you away for a little while before the race week starts up again, the two of you tucked away in quiet cafes and late night walks through parks and laughing in parking lots eating copious amounts of junk food that is definitely not in his diet, your hands brushing as you sit side by side in his car with the windows rolled down. 

​​Once, he takes you to this quiet neighborhood in Nice—a little over half an hour from your area—just because he heard about a café that supposedly serves the best pastries in the region. No occasion, no reason beyond the simple “thought you might like it.” The two of you end up parked along a quiet street, pastries stacked in paper boxes, and his laptop propped up on the dashboard to stream a movie that turns out to be absolutely awful. The kind you both roast aloud while eating flaky croissants and laughing with your mouths full. The pastries were worth it though.

The fanciest it ever gets are small boating trips on a nearby shoreline—just the two of you, drifting far away from everything that feels heavy. It’s slow and quiet, the kind of peace that feels earned. There’s a soft breeze, sunlight dancing on the water, and an assortment of fruits and good wine laid out like a little secret picnic between you. He sneaks kisses on your cheek, playful and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to adore you.

You lie back, head resting in his lap, one arm slung lazily across your stomach as your other hand fiddles with the buttons on his shirt—undoing one just to redo it again. He runs his fingers through your hair without thinking, the motion slow, affectionate, like he never wants this to end.

And for a moment, it feels like maybe it won’t.

Everything is good. Uncomplicated. Safe.

You’re safe.

Maybe the first crack happens because of him.

Because deep down, he’s still learning how to let himself have something good without breaking it. Because he lacked the resolve to protect you from the storm he lives in. Because, if he’s honest, he was selfish—wanting you without knowing how to keep you.

“So, like… what are we?” you ask one night, voice soft but steady. “Or where do you see this going?”

You’re curled up in the passenger seat of his car, legs tucked under you, wearing his hoodie like it was made for you. The kind of image that should feel ordinary, but doesn’t—not when it’s you. The soft hum of the stereo fills the silence between questions, and the glow from the streetlamps spills across your face like it’s trying to memorize you.

He looks at you and forgets how to speak.

Because he’s thought about it. Of course he has. He’s thought about a future where he doesn’t have to say goodbye after every date, where you’re there when he wakes up, where home isn’t a place but a person. He’s thought about a ring. About a house with shoes by the door that aren’t just his. About kids, maybe. A quiet life when the chaos and adrenaline of the track fades away. He’s imagined all of it.

But how do you say that without scaring someone away?

So instead, he says the truth—just a piece of it, the part he can admit out loud.

“I want you. However you’ll let me.”

Your lips part, a little surprised, but your eyes stay locked on his, soft and searching. “And if I said I wanted to be yours?”

He swallows. His voice is low when he replies, almost like it costs him something.

“Then that’s what you are.”

You smile, slow and sure, like something inside you just settled. You reach out, thumb brushing gently along the edge of his cheek. And then you lean forward, pressing a kiss there—close, warm, grounding.

“Let me in, Lando,” you murmur. “Let me see you.”

He hesitates. Barely. A fraction of a moment, where all his doubts claw at him from the inside out.

“You won’t like it,” he whispers, barely audible.

“Give me a chance.”

So he does.

He cups your face, thumb trembling just slightly against your skin, and leans in—not rushed, not forced. Just quiet. Vulnerable. You meet him halfway, closing the space between you with a kiss that feels like something more than a kiss. Like trust. Like hope.

It’s electric. But not in the loud, fireworks kind of way. It’s something steadier. Something that settles into his bones.

You’re perfect for him, he realizes.

And that’s what terrifies him.

Because perfect things never seem to stay.

Because nothing perfect ever really belongs to him.

[loveesiren]

SNEAK PEAK

A/N: Okay so this is a ROUGH DRAFT of the first little part of the series I'm working on. I will be editing and there will be more. I might possibly delete this too lol but I decided to give ya'll a lil treat on this Sunday night since we have to get back to real life tomorrow. Enjoy ;)

Warnings/Disclaimer: This story involves heavy angst and smut. As always, I am in no way shape or form trying to convey that this is how Seunghyun or Jiyong are in real life. I'm simply using them as characters in this story. First draft, unedited.

You couldn’t remember exactly when this all started—only that it had been a collision waiting to happen. One drunken night, a heated argument with Jiyong had turned into something neither of you could take back. You still recalled the fire in his eyes, the way his fingers had wrapped around your throat before slamming you against the wall. His lips had crashed against yours, all fury and desperation, his hands roaming your body like he needed to claim every inch of you. Your legs had locked around his waist, his name spilling from your lips between breathless moans as he fucked you against the cold surface. He had buried his face in your tits, groaning with every ragged thrust, his anger bleeding into something darker, something insatiable.

And that’s how it had been for the last six months—rage, resentment, and raw, reckless lust. The fights never stopped, but neither did the sex. The bruises on your skin from his grip always faded just in time for new ones to take their place. It was a secret, one that weighed heavy on your conscience. You hated Jiyong, and he hated you. That was the rule. It was just meaningless, hate-filled sex.

But then, everything changed.

Choi Seunghyun was the opposite of Jiyong in every way. Where Jiyong was sharp edges and biting words, Seunghyun was warmth and patience. He greeted you every morning with a soft smile, a cup of coffee waiting in his hand just for you. He asked about your day, listened intently when you spoke, made you feel seen in a way you hadn't in so long. You found yourself looking forward to those moments, the easy conversations, the way he treated you like you were worth something more than just fleeting pleasure.

And then came Valentine's Day.

Seunghyun stood before you, a bouquet of roses in one hand, a cliché heart-shaped box of chocolates in the other. His expression was shy, almost uncertain as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“There’s, uhm… this new restaurant that just opened up,” he said, his voice hesitant. “I thought maybe we could try it? Together?”

Your heart clenched, your breath catching in your throat.

You knew he liked you. You had felt it in the way he looked at you, in the way he lingered just a little longer whenever he spoke to you. But you never thought he’d actually do something about it. Not when you practically worked for him. 

You stared at the flowers, your mind racing for a response. From the corner of the room, Jiyong sat frozen, his normally unreadable expression cracked wide open. His lips parted slightly, his eyes dark, unblinking as he watched the moment unfold.

You liked Seunghyun. A lot.

But you had been hate-fucking his best friend for months.

“I-uhm…”

Seunghyun’s face faltered for a second before he quickly masked it with a polite smile. “You don’t have to. I mean, you probably already have plans. Just—just forget I asked. Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N.”

He turned to walk away, the blush on his cheeks deepening, but something in you refused to let him leave.

“Wait!” The word slipped out before you could stop it. You barely recognized the sound of your own voice. “I-I’d love to actually…”

Seunghyun’s expression lit up like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “Really? Great! I’ll pick you up at eight?”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you smiled—genuine, unforced. “Sounds great.”

Seunghyun walked away with a barely concealed skip in his step, leaving you standing there, the scent of roses still fresh in the air.

And then the moment shattered.

Jiyong scoffed, the sound slicing through the silence like a blade. You had almost forgotten he was there. Almost.

He sauntered toward you, plucking a single rose from the bouquet and twirling it between his fingers. His lips curled into something cruel, something wounded. “You’re really gonna go out with my best friend? After spending the last six months screaming my name?”

“Shut up, Jiyong,” you snapped, turning away. You didn’t want to have this conversation.

But he wasn’t done. “No, really, I’m curious. You trying to work your way through the whole band, or just the ones closest to me?”

Your blood boiled. “It’s not like that!”

“Oh? Then tell me, what is it like?” He stepped closer, his breath warm against your skin. His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You gonna let him touch you the way I do? Gonna let him fuck you the way I do?”

“I actually like Seunghyun.” The words were out before you could stop them.

Something flickered in Jiyong’s eyes. Something you’d never seen before. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. “We fucked this morning, Y/N,” he bit out, his voice barely above a growl. “This morning.”

You held his gaze, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. “Well, that was the last time.”

You turned on your heel, walking away without another word.

Jiyong’s chest heaved, his hands trembling at his sides. The moment the door shut behind you, he grabbed the glass of water you had left on the table and hurled it against the wall.

The sound of shattering glass filled the empty room.

What do we think? ;)

Tags: @kaylieiskrazy04 @fr3akyyg1rll @heuningpie @sapph1r3x @moondooll @tranquilty @noharaaa @mariaxman @dear-satan @infinetlyforgotten @staryscorner @blu-brrys @come-as-you-are-111 @nicklet94 @vamplivivi @3mma-lovely @hanadulsetaad @sayugarper @forevervibezzzz1 @shieraseastarrs @mooonologyy @skzdreamz @stillpervert @seunghyunwifey @juliskopf @mirahyun @mattsturniolosbabymama @kai-277 @rotten-toenails @i-might-be-vanny @zzhengyu

[inkie-does-whump]

now i; the lil angst goblin in your replys haz gotta know; what did the watchers do to scott after he failed to pass the sticker that resulted in him immitily getting skizz next time 👀

I’ll be worth more (Than all the silence left in my wake)

A Scott oneshot

Word count: 1500

Trigger warnings: psychological torture, detailed descriptions of sounds (may upset readers with misophonia or other sound-sensitive conditions)

Scott knew this was coming.

You can’t get away free. You can’t do things like this without punishment. We must make an example of you. We must make an example of you.

So Scott knew that Cleo and Pearl were on the other side of the camera when he entered the room. He has eyes on him, watching to see what he would do, waiting to see what would be done to him.

The room is bare.

No operating table, no other Watchers, no psychological experiment that he could see. It was just empty. Just a ten-by-ten, bleach white room, with one camera in the top right corner.

Scott turns to the Watchers who led him here, “What-” he starts, but the door is shut on him.

He is alone.

Scott frowns, “weird.” He turns to the camera with a little wave and a smile, “Hey there.”

The camera gives no indication that anyone heard him. He sighs, and glances around the room, as though he might have missed something. But the room is just a bare as before.

Then he hears a click, like a microphone turning on.

“Uh, hey Scott.” Scar’s voice comes over the speakers, “welcome to the Quiet Room.”

Scott turns back to the camera, thinking that it’s probably polite to look at someone when they speak to you. Even if he couldn’t see Scar. Even if Scar was probably only pulled into doing this by the Watchers, as they train him for social work.

“There are a couple of rules here.” Scar continues. HIs voice is tight, and Scott wonders if he’s nervous. “First, after the first thirty minutes, you can leave whenever you want. The door will be unlocked. You can also stay longer if you’d like.”

Scott must have looked confused, because Scar hurries to continue.

“And! And you’ll want to stay because you’ll um. You’ll.” The speaker is muffled, and Scott can hear him conversing with someone distantly. “Every extra ten minutes you stay, you or someone of your choice can opted out of a rental. Or experiment. Uh, yeah.”

Oh. Well that was certainly an incentive. He could use it to get Jimmy out of a rental. That would be amazing.

“Rule two.” Scar says, “You must remain silent in the Quiet Room. It’s called the Quiet Room for a reason.” Scar let’s out a laugh, which he is audibly reprimanded for. He clears is throat, “uh. Failure to remain quiet will result in disqualification and further punishment.”

Scott frowns. He wonders what further punishment would be. This didn’t seem like much of a punishment at all, just a bit of quiet time alone.

“And rule three!” Scar concludes, “If, at any point, you feel increased anxiety, cerebral pressure, sudden dizziness, hear noises with no origin, or hear noises from your internal organs, please know that this is expected. This is good. Your time will not be alleviated due to these symptoms.”

There is a pause.

“Enjoy your time in the Quiet Room.” Scar says quickly, and the speakers click off.

Scott takes another long look around the room. Four white walls surround him. There is nothing to do, so he lets out a small sigh and sits down against one of the walls.

The first few minutes are fine. Boring, but fine. It’s just a little bit of alone time. He can do this. It’s easy.

And he could do an extra ten for Jimmy, and another ten for Pearl or Cleo. He wonders how long they would let him stay. Could he stay for hours? How many rentals could he prevent?

The silence begins to stretch.

Scott swears he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. Maybe he’s nervous. Maybe it’s just the room, messing with him.

This is expected, Scar had said. This is good.

He swallows nervously, trying to ignore the drumming. He can hear the way his throat works.

Anxiety is normal. Scar said anxiety is normal. He isn’t sure what the room is doing to him, but it’s uncomfortable. There is a pressure in his ears.

He tries to focus on his breathing. In and out, trying to calm himself. There’s no reason for his heart to beat so fast. In and out. Breathe.

He flinches at the sound. It’s wet and wheezing and sick.

Scott hates the sound of his breathing. It reminds him of how little he’s eaten this week. The rush of air, in and out. The way his ribs groan weakly as they rise and fall. The dripping in the back of his mouth.

It's fine. It’s fine!

It’s just silence, he’s fine.

Time crawls, or maybe it just walks, or maybe it sprints and gallops along, racing to get to the end. Scott can’t tell. He just sits against the wall, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, and his breathing, and the way his empty stomach turns, and the way his joints grind when he moves. He wishes he could break the silence, he aches and he aches.

Scott doesn’t know how long has passed. He feels like hours, and days, and it feels like a few minutes.

Footsteps cut across the silence, and Scott flinches upwards. He looks at the door. The footsteps pace around him, from nowhere specific, and then they vanish as soon as they came.

Did the Watchers unlock the door?

Scott gets to his feet, wincing at the sound off all his bones moving and grinding. He grabs doorknob, and hesitates.

He wants to wait, to save someone from their punishments. So he sits down again, back against the door, and he waits some more.

The footsteps come back, briefly, before fading again. Scott glances around, wondering if he imagined it.

He listens for it again.

He doesn’t move, he doesn’t breathe, he just listens.

Nothing.

But he can hear the way his blood moves in his veins, heart thumping and squishing wetly in his chest.

If, at any point, you feel increased anxiety, Scar has said. Cerebral pressure, sudden dizziness, hear noises with no origin, or hear noises from your internal organs, please know that this is expected. This is good.

This is expected, this is good.

And time keeps going, and keeps going and going.

Scott presses his fingers to the cold floor, trying to distract himself. Everything is so loud. He thinks he might be insane for thinking it.

He looks up at the camera. People watch him. Pearl and Cleo, and maybe others. Maybe Jimmy, maybe Martyn or Grian. He wonders if they know what the room is doing to him. He wonders if they are watching him lose his grip on reality.

And time keeps going, minutes and hours and days and weeks. Time keeps going until Scott shatters apart, and he loses himself in those smooth white walls. Time keeps going until Scott is terrified that the pressure in his head might make him explode.

He can’t stand upright. He’s so awful, so dizzy, nothing is right. He groans under the strain.

How long has it been. How long, how long, how long, how long.

He grabs for the door handle, giving in. It’s too much. It’s too long. It’s too quiet. He can heard how his bones and muscles move when he squeezes the metal handle.

And he tries to turn it.

Stuck.

His heartbeat jumps. He swallows his panic, a sick, wet noise.

No, it. It can’t.

Scott pushes at the door again.

No. No, no, no, no. He can’t. This can’t. It’s been so long. So long, so long. And Scott can’t stand another moment of this sound.

Surely it’s been thirty minutes! It’s been ages! Hours at least, if not days and days and days of crushing, never-ending silence.

Scott falls back against the floor, dizzy and uncoordinated. The breath that escapes his lungs is terribly, terribly loud. He’s going to scream. He’s sure he would throw up if there was anything in his stomach.

He wraps his arms around himself, nails digging into his skin as he tries to distract himself from the noise.

And time keeps on.

…

Scott has the honor of receiving the first boogeyman sticker of the new SMP. The Watchers slip it to him with a quick reminder of the last sticker they gave him.

He has not been quick to forget the incident.

The thirty agonizing minutes spent in the Quiet Room, and the days of recovery he spent afterwards. Even now, he swears everything is louder than it had been before. He has not forgotten the sound of his own heart pumping.

He had gotten no reward for it. He barely made it the full thirty minutes, he doubts he would have survived any longer.

And he is sure he will never defy the Watchers like that again, not as long as he’s in one of their labs.

So it is stuck on the first convenient person.

[writing-cins]

𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐢𝐫 - Part 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairings: Alastor x female reader Summary: Although Angel Dust advised you to wait a few days before you talk to Alastor, you still pull together all your strength and confront him. Warnings/Tags: female reader, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, drunk reader, reader is bisexual, jealous Alastor, hurt/comfort, emotional rollercoaster, miscommunication, drunk communication, Alastor being a lil shit, confessions, Alastor is bad at feelings, tears, and other tags that would be spoilers but aren't considered warnings Wordcount: 12k A/N: FINALLY IT’S HERE!!! 🎉🎉🎉 After months of waiting, the grand finale of ‘Caught on Air’ has finally arrived! I already warned you this chapter would be massive, and I wasn’t kidding. Brace yourselves for a 12k-word emotional rollercoaster that took me half a year to complete. (Honestly, my hyperfixation may have wavered a bit along the way… but hey, better late than never, right?) I’ll be honest – I have mixed feelings about the ending. It feels a little forced, and the writing might also be a bit choppy, but despite that, I truly hope it was worth the time waiting. Now, without further ado… enjoy! And don’t forget to leave a comment because I’d really like to know what you think.

Masterlist

   With a deep breath you reentered the club. Your heart pumped against your chest like a jackhammer, the rush of blood vibrating through your veins. To say you felt nauseous was an understatement – your stomach twisted and turned, guts tightening with almost painful pressure. 

   The more you thought about what you were about to do, the more doubts crept into your mind, telling you that this wasn't a good idea. Angel had told you to wait a few more days – to let the embarrassment of the hallway encounter die down and to sober up from your intoxicated, emotional state before you took matters in your hands. The risk of things spiraling out of hand was too high – yet you knew you had to do this. You couldn't postpone this conversation any longer if you wanted to keep your sanity. Your inner turmoil was already gnawing at your insides like a rodent that desperately wanted to escape its cage. And you didn't want that rodent to harm you any longer with its sharp, painful claws.

Angel Dust hit the nail in the head when he said you and Alastor were dancing around each other for far too long. You couldn't even remember when all of this started – when you first perceived his physical proximity not as what it was, a simple lingering touch or a flick to your nose, but as something that send shivers crawling up your spine and put you into a state that almost spiralled you out of control whenever it happened. Alastor has been anchored in your head for months now, taking over your thoughts and dreams and pushing you further into these odd cravings of his attention, his closeness, his fleeting touch… If Angel was right and the subtle signals Alastor sent were something to go by, there really was a chance that, perhaps, he was pining for you too. However, you knew the burden of making the first move rested on your shoulders. Because Alastor, emotionally constipated and guarded as he was, would never willingly put himself into such a vulnerable position. No, that wasn't his style. But you? You'd fall into his arms without hesitation, even knowing the risk of heartbreak. And tonight was the night you'd find out if Alastor truly reciprocated your feelings or if you were destined for yet another painful rejection. It was a gamble – a desperate reckless gamble – but one you were willing to take. Still, the clarity of your decision didn't ease your nerves. On the contrary, it made you feel even more agitated. The beating of your heart increasing, your breath hitching. 

   You'll regret this. You'll definitely regret this, you told yourself repeatedly, thoughts racing like a whirlwind as you approached the main room. But before you could even get close, you froze mid-step and sank against one of the walls in the hallway. Deep, shaky breaths filled your lungs while you tried to count numbers – but your mind always returned to Alastor and complicated situations. You shot a quick glance to the very spot where he had caught you pressed against the wall by Selena and closed your eyes to erase the images that appeared in front of your eyes. Another deep breath, but this time you held it in. Fingers fidgeted restless with each other, while you tried to gain some control over your shaking breaths and the visible tremble of your body. 

   Breathe in…

   Breathe out…

   Breathe in…

   This is going to be terrible.

   Your eyes snapped open almost instantly, then a deep groan of despair escaped your throat. Faces of other demons who passed by fleetingly turned into your direction and they regarded you with cocked eyebrows and disgusted expressions, but you only shot them a glare. Not helping.

   Where had that confidence gone? Only minutes ago, you'd been determined to push through, march up to Alastor, and finally confront him. You'd been lamenting your situation almost the whole evening and now you got the jitters?

   Were you just anxious about his reaction, that he might push you away or worse – laugh in your face? Or was it your intuition warning you to better keep such a sensitive subject to yourself?

   You understood Alastor's complicated personality well enough to be aware of his unpredictability and that pondering about his reaction wasn't helpful. It would only increase your discomfort, your anxiety, the crippling feeling inside your chest that made you want to throw up and just turn around and walk home.

   “He’s been starin’ at ya all night – and not just tonight, but for a while now,” Angel's voice reverberated in your head and you swallowed as you suddenly remembered even more words the spider demon said, “Also, ya never noticed the way he handles ya? Caressin’ ya cheek like silk, toots. That guy’s all over you. And you never noticed?!”

   You took a deep breath. This has been a statement so convincing, it has given you enough strength to at least consider approaching Alastor. Because deep down you knew that Angel was right. He was always right about matters like this. It’s as if he had some kind of a sixth sense for affectionate behavior – even if it was as subtle as Alastor tried to keep all the hints that might give away what he thought or felt. He wore that mask like he was born with it, with such infuriating ease.

   He won’t come at you first, you thought again and swallowed because you knew you were right. He would never approach you first, let alone talk about such an emotional topic that would put him in a vulnerable position and would most probably lead to a lack of control. Would he try to avoid the topic? Would he respond with cryptic and unhelpful responses? Most probably. You had to be prepared for anything that might not be the answer you seeked.

   Wait – didn't you just come to the conclusion that it was unhelpful to ponder his response? Damn. You were a mess. Maybe you should really take your time and wait until the right moment come. But what if it never came?

   Fuck.

   This was too much for what was supposed to be nothing but a simple night out to enjoy with your friends and colleagues. Drinking, laughing, dancing. That was the original plan. Not kissing a stranger, get caught by no other than Alastor himself and have an emotional breakdown over this situation for the rest of the evening just because you were blinded by love and convinced his reaction was out of character.

   With a painful bite into your lip you stifled a scream that was so close to free itself from its confines deep within that hurricane made from desperation and uncertainty. But not even the ache as you pierced your skin did soothe your nerves. Not even the metallic taste of blood on your tongue distracted the whirlwind of thoughts for even a second. Maybe you really, truly, actually were going insane. That’s why you needed to take that step. No matter how dangerous it was, how high the probability was that the evening would end in one of the worst heartbreaks of your whole existence. Because never before had you felt such alarming kinds of feelings for someone – or at least you couldn’t remember.

   You had to do this.

   You really had to do this.

   It was now or never.

   Now or never.

   Now or never…

   Before you could even process your thoughts, you suddenly found yourself standing in front of the lounge area. The lively crowd around you was lost in their own world made of carefree joy that it sharply contrasted the chaos inside your head. The lighthearted chatter and music that filled the space around you seemed so distant, like another world entirely. How in the Hell had you even ended up here? You didn’t know. Everything felt like a blur, as if your feet had moved without your permission, carrying you to this place without any real intention.

   With a deep breath, you scanned the surrounding seats and tables until your eyes fell on a familiar demon with a red pinstripe coat and striking red hair. He sat there with a drink in his hand, his posture almost painfully straight and a toothy grin plastered on his face that was as hard to read as always. Maybe you should get something to drink first. If this conversation really turned out as uncomfortable and embarrassing as you expected, you could at least drown your embarrassment in alcohol. Only a few hours and you’ve sunk so low…

   Without further hesitation you walked over to the very bar that has fulfilled your social need over the course of this whole evening. First, you’ve met Selena as you stood here, a little too alcohol infused, then you spend at least one hour yapping at Angel about that annoying topic you just now decided to call ‘the radio dilemma’.

   “Watcha wanna drink?” the barkeeper suddenly asked, interrupting your train of thoughts and you blinked a few times as you tried to quickly come up with an idea.

   “Uhm…” you hesitated. “Something strong. I don’t really care. Surprise me.”

   The barkeeper nodded as if he’d heard that very same request dozens of times before and turned away. While you waited for him to prepare your mystery drink, you turned around and scanned the surroundings again. You noticed Angel Dust in the distance, caught up in a conversation with Husk who seemed anything but pleased with the way the spider leaned into his personal space, winking and waving his hands in suggestive gestures. You rolled your eyes and continued your survey until you found the other residents. Charlie and Vaggie were seated in a different lounge area, excitedly chatting with an unknown individual who – much like Husk – seemed to be wishing himself far away. Without question another of Charlie’s desperate attempts to hire new guests.

   With a snicker, you watched them for a few more seconds until you moved your gaze away, quickly looking over to Alastor who hasn’t moved an inch since you last looked at him.

   A poke into your shoulder and you got ripped out of your thoughts for the nth time tonight. “Ahm… girl?”

   You spun around, confused, then smiled shyly as you recognized the barkeeper who looked at you with annoyance. 

   “Your drink,” he mumbled, handing you a glass with some colorful creamy contents.

   “Thank you,” you responded. Drinking card held out, sum crossed out. Then, with the new drink in hand, you slipped away to the lounge area Alastor was seated in.

   A glance at him, a deep breath. It was now or never.

   Now.

   Or never.

   Approaching him, you nervously cleared your throat and took a sip from your drink. “Uhm… Alastor?”

   Immediately, his gaze snapped to you, and your heart skipped a beat. His crimson eyes seemed to bore into your soul with a chilling intensity, leaving you frozen under their weight as you fought to keep your fragile composure. You swallowed hard, trying to ease the lump forming in your throat, and unconsciously tightened your grip on your cocktail as if it could somehow lend you the strength you so desperately needed to hold this conversation.

   “Ah, cher, back from your... escapades, are we?” Alastor's sharp voice cut through the ambient music, his grin stretching wider, revealing the dangerous sets of sharp teeth behind his thin lips. Yet it didn’t reach his eyes. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” His words were laced with exaggerated cheer, but the sharp edge beneath his tone betrayed him.

   You bit your lip. The sting of your fangs piercing the delicate skin grounded you for a moment as guilt welled up inside you. So he was upset. Of course he was – you’d been avoiding him all evening, despite being the one to convince him to come to this club in the first place. So your concern from earlier was actually justified…

   Letting out a sigh, you turned your face away, unable to meet his fiery gaze that seemed to pierce through every wall you had carefully built. His crimson eyes burned with an intensity that felt impossible to withstand.  “Look, I’m sorry, Alastor. I didn’t mean to ignore you, I–”

   “Got distracted by your dear friend, hmm?” he interjected with a dry, clipped laugh, his tone hovering between sardonic amusement and something far more cutting.

   Heat surged into your cheeks at his blunt acknowledgment of the obvious, staining your face with a red hue which you hoped he’d attribute to the alcohol coursing through your veins. But even as embarrassment threatened to pin you down, you forced yourself to face him again, meeting his unyielding grin with narrowed eyes. “Don’t do that,” you said, your voice tight with irritation and a faint edge of pleading. The emotional toll of the evening had already pushed your nerves to their limit, leaving little patience for his games.

   Alastor tilted his head, his grin never faltering. You could see the wheels turning in his head as he prepared another witty retort. But before he could speak, you raised a hand sharply to cut him off, a rare assertiveness seeping into your voice, “Don’t you dare guilt-trip me. I can’t… I can’t deal with that right now.”

   Taking a deep, shaky breath, you dropped your gaze to the drink in your hand, the glass suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. Biting down on the straw, you took a long sip of your Piña Colada, letting its sweet, tropical flavor momentarily distract you. But the weight of his gaze quickly dragged you back to reality, and you forced yourself to continue. “I came here to apologize and to–”

   “To what?” he pressed, his tone sharp enough to make your heart skip a beat.

   “Could you please stop interrupting me?!” you snapped, frustration bubbling over, and the sharpness in your voice surprised even yourself. “It’s already hard enough for me to approach you at all! Not that talking to you is hard – it’s just…” You faltered, searching for the right words before your voice grew softer, “I’m sorry. For everything. I didn’t mean to forget about you and… and I didn’t mean for you to see me with Selena…”

   Your voice trailed off into a whisper as shame washed over you. You could feel his gaze burn into you, stripping away every layer of composure you tried to cling to and the silence between you grew heavy, charged with tension. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice whispered that he was enjoying your discomfort. Sadistic prick he was, relishing every second of your vulnerability…

   Suddenly, his chuckle broke the quiet, a sound that was equal parts infuriating and oddly reassuring, yet confirmed your assumption. You turned to him, disbelief etched across your face. “Are you seriously laughing right now?”

   Alastor leaned back in his seat, his expression smug as his shoulders shook with quiet amusement. Then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he said, “My dear, I’m just messing with you.”

   You blinked, stunned by his words.

   His grin widened with sadistic glee before softening. Though ‘soft’ for Alastor was still a far cry from genuine kindness. He was a narcissistic asshole after all and while that thought crossed your mind, you questioned for a quick second why it had to be him out of all denizens in Hell who made your heart flutter and heat rise into your cheeks with the mere notion of his proximity. Maybe – just maybe – if this conversation turned out to be an absolute catastrophe, you could hold onto that thought while you fought to get over him and his (most probably) heartless rejection.

   You resisted the urge to shake your head and instead chewed on your lip for the nth time this evening. You were overthinking again.

   The static in Alastor’s voice faded slightly as he raised his glass in a casual toast. “And you seem to forget that I’ve already told you there’s no need to apologize. You’re free to do whatever – or whoever – you please.”

   Despite his jab, his words cut deeper than you expected, leaving a dull ache in your chest. You looked down at your drink, swirling the liquid absently as you tried to gather your thoughts. “It’s not that simple, Alastor…”

   “Oh?” His grin turned curious, a spark of something unreadable flashing in his crimson eyes. “Then, by all means, do enlighten me.”

   You let out a deep sigh and focused your attention again on the glass clutched between your hands. He really had to make this anything but easy for you… Swallowing once, twice, you held your breath for a minute while your thoughts roamed in a chaotic mess you barely managed to sort through. It was so much – so much you wanted and needed to say but didn’t find the courage for because the possibility of messing everything up was so high you felt as if balancing on threads that might rip every second – and your friendship with the other demon apart with them. He was your friend, right…?

   For fucks sake, you couldn’t even be sure about that, could you? You and Alastor were close and distant at the same time. He let you in while pushing you further away with every glimpse he allowed you to take behind his facade, yet there were days he approached you with such softness it made you melt away like ice in a desert.

   ‘Caressin’ ya cheek like silk, toots’, Angel’s words reverberated in your head again, almost mocking you in your insecurity. Why did feelings have to be so complicated? Why was the man in front of you so complicated? Why couldn’t he just let you be sure he cared for you the way you cared for him? And if not with the same intensity you did, then at least in a platonic way? Memories of tender moments between you and Alastor flashed before your eyes. How he smiled at you when he thought no one would see, how he teased you in a way that resembled the playful love between siblings, yet carried a warmth and depth that hinted at something far more intimate in the quietest of moments.

   ‘He’s all over you’. Yet, he pushed you away every time after he allowed you to see a part of him no one else knew existed. He would shove you away, retreating into his familiar mask of indifference and control, leaving you grasping at the fragments of the connection that had felt so real in the fleeting moments before. The distance he placed between you left your heart feeling like an empty shell, hollow and abandoned, drained of all its vital crimson blood.

   “Don’t pretend you don’t care,” you murmured without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them. As soon as they hung in the air, regret struck like a lightning bolt. You kept your gaze locked on your drink, avoiding the weight of his reaction. What has possessed you to say that?

   You didn’t notice how his ears twitched slightly and betrayed the flicker of interest your words sparked. He cocked his head, his brows knitted together just enough to convey confusion without a hint of condescension. “Pardon?” he asked, his tone calm but inquisitive.

   You blinked, mentally kicking yourself for your loose tongue. Sucking in a breath, you bit down on your lower lip, stealing a moment to gather your courage. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his, only to find genuine puzzlement etched across his features. The rare glimpse of unguarded confusion startled you, momentarily breaking the tension tightening your chest.

   “What I mean is…” you began, your voice shaky as you straightened your back in a weak attempt to project confidence. “You seem upset.”

   “Upset?” He laughed, the sound buzzing with static. “Why, whatever gave you that idea?” His already arched brow lifted higher, and the flicker of amusement in his crimson eyes made your heart skip a beat before it increased the speed with which it hammered in your chest. Every instinct screamed for you to retreat, to stand up from your seat and flee the conversation entirely. But you needed answers. So you stayed in your seat despite the battle raging in your head, clutching your drink tighter and holding onto the glass like a lifeline – knuckles white from the pressure. You must’ve looked pathetic – sitting there in front of the Radio Demon, all flustered and fragile, about to spill out your heart to him of all people.

   “Look, Alastor…” you began again, clearing your throat with a forced cough to mask your nerves. “I noticed your discomfort when… well, you know…”

   “When I caught you in the middle of a tryst?” he finished for you, the words rolling off his tongue with unnerving ease, his smile stretching wider again.

   Your mouth opened to object, but the words died before they could form. Closing it again, you lowered your gaze, too embarrassed to respond.

   A soft chuckle broke the silence like static crackling on an old radio. His expression softened, the mask of unbothered amusement sliding effortlessly back into place. Waving a hand as if brushing away your awkwardness, he said, “My dear, you seem to forget that I come from a time when such… frivolities… were considered scandalous. Particularly in public venues.” His tone was light and dismissive, but as he spoke, you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth and a flicker in his ears that betrayed something deeper beneath the surface.

   “Are you sure it’s only that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes, unconvinced. You knew he was a master of masking his emotions, but tonight, you were determined to push past his defenses, pull away the mask and expose what lay beneath. Or at least, that’s what you originally had intended because your momentary lack of self-confidence made it anything but easy.

   Alastor tilted his head again, his thick red hair shifting with the motion, and blinked at you as though genuinely surprised. But you weren’t fooled. Something about his reaction only strengthened your resolve, the feeling that told you there was more to his behavior than he let on. For once, you weren’t going to let him sidestep the issue. Not this time.

   “I noticed the way you looked at me in the hallway,” you pressed, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “And I see how you’re looking at me now. That wasn’t just startled… or dismissive…”

   “Oh?” His ears perked up. “Then, pray tell, what is it you're so convinced to be seeing?” he challenged, his tone as smooth as silk as he leaned slightly forward, resting his chin on his interlocked fingers. “You’re a grown woman, free to make your own choices. If anything, I found it… amusing.”

   “You don’t have to act like it didn’t bother you,” you deadpanned, your gaze unrelenting.

   Another dry laugh escaped his throat and his grin broadened to reveal the sharp gleam of his teeth.

   “You were upset,” you pressed, “and now you’re just trying to laugh it off like it didn’t matter.”

   “Because it doesn't.”

   You blinked, unsure how to interpret his words. Was this another one of his typically dismissive retorts, or was there a kernel of truth in what he’d said? Before you could decipher their meaning, he continued, his voice soft but edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

   “If you’re hoping for some dramatic confession, my dear, you’ll find none here,” he said, his crimson gaze boring into yours with dangerous intensity. “Whatever you think you saw was merely a fragment of your imagination. I assure you, I was… mildly inconvenienced at best.”

   You felt every single of his words cut through your chest and right into your heart, sharp and fast like a killer’s knife, and you clenched your jaw. “You don’t mean that.” Your voice was low, almost weak.

   “What would you have me say, my dear?” he asked, narrowing his eyes as his gaze dug through every layer of your (not so) well-maintained facade. “That I was overcome with jealousy? That watching you with her left me boiling with rage? Such melodrama!” He paused for a moment, the silence between you seemingly stretching to eternity even though it didn’t linger longer than just a few meaningless seconds. The sharpness and intensity of his gaze made your blood run cold and you held your breath, anxious about what came next.

   “Jealousy,” he mused, his voice dropping an octave as the dangerous glint in his eyes momentarily faded. “Such a petty emotion. Hardly fitting for someone like me, wouldn’t you agree?”

   “Stop it,” you interjected sharply, but Alastor ignored you, pressing on with his cutting monologue.

   “And you, my dear, are clearly drunk. Intoxicated to the brim and emotional like a–” he paused, letting the insult linger unspoken before continuing, “I care about many things. How dreadfully boring most of this club is, for instance. But I couldn’t care less about your sources of entertainment.”

   “I said, stop it, Alastor!” you snapped, your voice rising with a venom that surprised even yourself.

   Alastor froze, his smile faltering as he raised a brow in that infuriatingly mocking way like ever so often. The sight only stoked the flames of your anger further.

   “Stop deflecting!” you barked, leaning forward as your temper boiled over. “You’re only trying to avoid the topic. But you won’t brush me off so easily this time. I–” You faltered, swallowing hard before regaining your resolve. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of this–” Your hand shot out, gesturing wildly between the two of you. “Whatever this is between us! This… push and pull!”

   Alastor blinked, his expression unreadable as he straightened his posture. He loomed over you now, a threatening figure radiating danger. “Push and pull?” he echoed, his head tilting as if feigning innocence.

   “You know exactly what I mean, Alastor,” you hissed, leaning closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t keep pretending that there’s nothing between us. Not when you – when we…”

   “When we what?” he interjected smoothly, though his tone carried a dangerous edge.

   Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about. I’m not in the mood for your games. So cut it out and listen to me.”

   “I am listening,” he replied evenly, his grin sharpening.

   “Even if you are, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re not taking this seriously.”

   “Why should I? I fail to see the reason for your… distress.”

   “Because I’m sick of it, Alastor!” Your voice rang out, loud enough to draw the attention of nearby demons. Their heads turned your way before they quickly averted their gazes as soon as they realized just who you were arguing with.

   Alastor’s grin widened, and that unnerving smile of his only pushed you further toward the edge of your fraying patience.

   “You really should pay closer attention to your drinking habits, my dear. You’re completely wasted,” he quipped, his tone light and dismissive, as if the whole situation left him completely unfazed.

   Your eye twitched and you clenched your fists. “God damn it, Alastor, can you please take this conversation seriously for once?!”

   “This is a nightclub,” he drawled, gesturing around with a casual wave of his hand. “Hardly the place for heavy discussions, wouldn’t you agree?”

   “I don’t give a single damn!” you hissed, voice low and dangerous. The tension in the air was so palpable it felt like a string about to snap. At this point you felt like you were dangling at the edge of insanity. One more push and you might actually lose it.

   “Really, darling,” he said with mock concern. “Such passion! But perhaps you should consider calming down before you make a scene.”

   That one's nearly done it. You clenched your jaws together, biting your tongue in the process. The drink in your hand was long forgotten as well as the surrounding ambience of chattering and loud music. It was clear he savored every second of your distress and it unnerved you even further. This clearly had been a horrible idea. And not even your intoxicated state was the reason…

   With that thought in mind, you noticed that not even postponing would’ve prevented this conversation from a similar outcome. It was Alastor who you were confronting here, after all. Probably one of the least empathetic people in Pentagram City.

   “I'm serious, Alastor. This ain't funny. I really need to talk with you about this,” you murmured defeated as your tone shifted from one extreme to another – now weak and desperate. “I need an answer…”

   A moment of silence lingered between you in which you already started to believe this conversation had come to a dead end, when he suddenly countered,  “And what would you do with that answer, hmm? Would it soothe your restless heart? Or would it only complicate things further?”

   “I don’t care…” you muttered under your breath. For a moment, you hesitated as you contemplated the right choice of words or if you should just give up, stand from your seat and walk away. “Alastor.”

   His ears twitched.

   “I really need to figure out where I stand with you. Because–” you swallowed hard, “Because I’m tired of trying to figure it out while you push me away just to pull me close again whenever it suits you best. I…” – A deep breath – “I know who you are… how you are and who you pretend to be… but please, for once, stop deflecting or playing your stupid games and just tell me the truth…”

   Alastor just stared at you with an unreadable expression. He still held his drink in one of his hands, though his knuckles didn’t whiten nor did the slightest change in his expression hint at anything. If you didn’t know it better you would say he behaved like a deer in the headlights. But the headlights were you, weak and all vulnerable in front of one of Hell’s most feared overlords. And maybe you just lost him completely…

   “Why are you so insistent on this, my dear?” he suddenly asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice was smooth like silk, the static giving it a subtle rasp. And, for the first time this evening, his expression was neither dark nor cold nor all mischievous, but filled with sheer curiosity and maybe even a hint of concern. 

   “Because…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Because I think… I think you care about me more than you’re willing to admit.”

   Alastor’s ears twitched again but this time the corners of his lips moved in sync as if struck a nerve. The static grew louder, and Alastor’s grin twisted into something strained. “You presume much, my dear.”

   “Do I?" you challenged, your voice shaking. “Then tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t feel anything for me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

   “Is this a confession? I must say, I’m flattered, though I do hope you’re not expecting me to–.”

   “It is,” you interrupted him sternly, your gaze unrelenting as it bore into his. “It is a confession, Alastor.”

   He blinked.

   Defeated, you decided now was the time to just spill it all out. You let out a sigh and rested your head in the palm of your hand before you stuttered, “I… I see something in you…” Your voice trailed off. “I… I see you as more than just the Radio Demon, or the cruel sociopath you pretend to be… You… you allowed me glimpses behind your facade, to see the man you truly are. And I… I care about him… I… I care about you, Alastor… and I hate to question everyday if you might feel the same about me because whenever we’re alone you behave like a completely different person… Even Angel Dust and the others took notice of your behavior in my presence… You… You give me signs, Alastor. Only to pretend nothing ever happened whenever you notice you might’ve gone too personal… You showed me a side of you that made me feel special…” Your voice trailed off again and you closed your eyes, afraid of the outcome – and afraid to see his reaction. You didn’t want to know what he must’ve thought of you right now. That was probably the turning point where he eventually understood you were more pathetic than you let on… Was he disappointed in you now? Disappointed that you, as his friend, initially fell for his charm as well? That you were nothing better than all those women swooning for that reserved, unavailable and emotionally constipated demon…?

  The silence between you stretched longer and longer, the booming sounds of the club replaced by static buzzing in your ears. Your surroundings became foggy, as if a veil wrapped around your world, shielding you away with your own misery as you blended out everything. Not even Alastor was there – or at least you forgot about his presence for this moment. Only the rapid beating of your heart in your chest reminded you that you were still a living being, yet the pulse itself felt like a mocking sensation that did just so much as to remind you of what you just did. Seconds stretched into minutes and the tension in the air was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Silently, you pleaded. Maybe even prayed – you didn’t know. You didn’t know anything. Only, that you fucked up.

   “You truly are a glutton for punishment, my dear,” Alastor’s voice cut through the silence.

   You snapped your head up, meeting his gaze with a surge of frustration that welled up inside you. His words echoed in your mind, taunting you. “What does that mean?” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended.

   “It means that you are spending far too much time getting hung up on things that are not worth questioning,” he replied smoothly, his tone betraying no emotion.

   His words struck you like a blow that would’ve swept you right off your feet if you weren’t already seated. They hurt, sharp and deliberate, leaving you with even more questions clawing at the edges of your mind. “‘Not worth questioning’...?” you echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

   “Indeed,” Alastor confirmed, his demeanor unflinching. “You presume too much, my dear. What I feel is irrelevant.” His voice was cold, his face set into a stern mask. But his eyes flickered with something that betrayed his mask. Something raw and buried – a truth he fought to suppress. “Feelings are fleeting. They mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

   For a moment you just reflected his words, gnawing at your lip to distract yourself from the stabbing ache in your chest that threatened to leave you breathless.

   You bit your lip, trying to distract yourself from the suffocating ache in your chest, as his words cut through you.

   “You see only what I allow you to see,” he continued, his claws digging into the armrest of his chair. “The charming smile, the witty repartee. But what lies beneath that…” He trailed off, his voice heavy with something unspoken. “It doesn’t matter.”

   For a moment you just stared at him, took in his posture, his expression, the visible fight it took him to keep up with whatever mask he forced onto himself. Then, after a while, you broke the silence, desperation bleeding into your tone, “Why can’t you just be honest with me, Alastor?”

   He chuckled, though it wasn’t even slightly as weightless as it normally sounded. “Because honesty is a luxury I cannot afford,” he replied, the ever-present grin faltering for the briefest of moments. Then, his next words fell like a hammer, crushing whatever fragile hope lingered in your chest, “And you, my dear, seem far too eager to tether yourself to a fantasy. So, tell me, cher, are you truly so desperate for my affection? That you waste your breath on such a pointless discussion and spend an evening out pestering yourself with such insignificant matters? All because of me disrupting some inappropriate public actions of yours?”

   His words struck you like a brick, leaving your chest hollow and aching. Dagger after dagger seemed to pierce through your heart and shatter whatever fragile mess was left during this conversation, the ache radiating through every fiber of your being. “This is just another game for you, isn’t it?” you asked, your voice trembling with frustration and hurt. “You’ve always been toying with me, haven’t you? Pretending to care just to make me squirm, to keep me exactly where you wanted. To make me your goddamn plaything!”

   Alastor’s grin widened unnaturally, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. His sharp teeth glistened, the edges more predatory than ever as the static around him intensified. The sound sent an unnatural chill down your spine, mingling unease with the heartache that threatened to consume you. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Everything’s a game, darling,” he said lowly, his tone both mocking and threatening, a dark amusement laced in every syllable.

   Tears welled up in your eyes and your throat slowly constricted painfully, suffocating you by leaving barely any space to breathe. “So, you’re just toying with me,” you whispered, the tremor in your voice giving way to anger. “That’s all I’ve ever been to you – a pawn in your game. Something to manipulate, something to amuse yourself with when you’re bored!”

   You jumped up from your chair, pushing it back with such a force that it scratched over the floor with an ear-wrecking sound that almost resembled the feeling of your heart crumbling to pieces. The tears you’ve been so forcefully holding back suddenly spilled from your eyes and ran down your cheeks like a mockery of your vulnerability. You just bared your whole heart to him, poured out your deepest hidden feelings, a secret you so carefully hid from him over the course of what felt like an eternity. Just for him to tear it out and shred it to pieces with his bare claws and teeth like an animal feasting on its prey. You told him how you felt about him, told him how much you cared about him, confessed to him… Just to find out that you meant less than nothing to him. That he’s been toying with you all the time, using you for his own sick and sadistic pleasure, his amusement in this afterlife he claimed was oh so boring…

   You shot him a last glare before you whipped around and fled from the scene, past the dancefloor and the crowd of people that enjoyed the very evening that turned into your own personal Hell. Oh, how ironic it was. Everything. The establishment, the circumstances, the random music in the club pounding with a bass and the sound of a woman singing about being hung up on the one she loves… This felt like a joke. A bad, terrible and tasteless joke. As if fate took everything in its force to make you suffer and question everything you felt and experienced. Memories with Alastor played in front of your inner eyes, one clip after another being played in timelapse, the film exchanged quickly after a few seconds:

   You and him laughing, spending time in the privacy of his quarters or going out into the city.

   A long, lingering gaze as he regarded you with affection behind those blood red orbs as he took your hand in his and pulled you into a lively dance. You remembered how focused you used to be at that moment. He was the only person existing in this moment as the both of you swung to the jazzy tunes in Mimzy’s Club.

   Then, the memory disappeared and got exchanged with another in which you sat at Husk’s bar in the lobby, playing with the rim of your glass after a terrible day. Alastor had appeared behind you – as he so often did – and seated himself into the stool right next to you with that toothy grin of his. He was there for you, when you felt the need for distraction. As if he had sensed your unease but instead of taunting you he always just pulled you into a conversation that made you forget about your problems completely.

   There was so much he’d done for you – tiny, meaningful gestures you now knew were nothing but calculated moves to manipulate you into believing you were special to him.

   “Caressin’ ya cheek like silk, toots…” Angel’s words repeated themselves again. What used to be a sentence that gave you the strength to finally pull through and confront him, was now a mockery of your actions, a taunting joke to remind you of how just wrong you were all this time…

   You didn’t even notice how you pushed the door to the hallway open so forcefully for it to crash against the wall and startle loitering demons. Gazes followed as you stomped into the hallway, sniffling and sore, eyes red and burnt from the sheer amount of tears pouring down your cheeks like waterfalls. Your breath hitched and you could barely breathe, though you didn’t care about the suffocation nor how much it hurt to force yourself into taking breaths.

   It was all a lie.

   Everything was a lie.

   He used you.

   He used you like he probably used everyone.

   You meant nothing to him but mere amusement.

   He pretended to care about you, to maybe even reciprocate your hopeless feelings that clung to you for months, maybe even a year. Feelings that made you look at him through heart shaped glasses, with a clouded sense of judgement. You’d believed in the truth of what you were seeing. You’d trusted him and loved him with all your heart. You would’ve burned the world for him if it meant he could be yours. And you’ve fallen for every single of his schemes. Fell for his manipulation, his bad intentions veiled by his charming nature. You were an idiot. A fool. And no better than all those other girls whose hearts he’d broken in the past. The girls he either complained or laughed about. Wasn’t it obvious? You should’ve seen the signs. Yet, you’d deluded yourself into a fantasy that couldn’t be further from reality. With all fiber of your being you felt nothing but utterly betrayed.

   Suddenly you bumped into a firm chest and startled. As you looked up, you met the sneering expression of an unfamiliar demon who scrunched up his nose in disgust of your pathetic appearance. Under different circumstances you would’ve felt insulted. But right now you couldn’t care less.

   “Excuse me…” you mumbled with a trembling voice, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. You were worried he would attack you with a nasty remark. But instead, he just glared at you with raised eyebrows and shook his head while he walked away, leaving you all alone.

   Thrown back into reality, you blinked, trying to figure out where you were. You could still hear the sound of the music in the near distance, so you couldn’t have made it far from the club. In fact, you still were in the club – the hallway to be precise. The very same hallway that brought you into this situation at all.

   You spun around to make out the direction you were walking and your eyes landed on another door that marked the outside area where you had gone to get some fresh air and where you’d said goodbye to Selena.

   Selena. You hoped she arrived at home unharmed. Maybe tomorrow you could send her a message to let her know that – well, not that the evening turned out to be your own personalized purgatory.

   Shaking your head you tried to dismiss the thoughts of her, yet everything that has unfolded this evening repeated itself in your head: The arrival at the club, dancing and drinking with Angel, meeting Selena, the little makeout sesh only a few feet away from where you stood right now, Alastor catching you, your rambling to Angel at the bar and him encouraging you to confront the other man, you going outside, Selena unraveling the truth about your and Alastor’s connection within seconds, you at the bar again to get a drink right before you approached Alastor, the initial fallout…

   You closed your eyes and wiped away your tears in a hurry, a loud sniff sounding through the hallway as you breathed in sharply through your nose. That was enough. You had to get some grip again. You were in the middle of a club, after all. Right in the middle of Hell, with demons ready to use your vulnerability for their own profit lurking everywhere around you.

   The room spun around you as you desperately clung to your breath, trying to control every deep inhale and long exhale. Your body shook and trembled from the emotional chaos while you tried to get rid of your tears – but the flood didn’t stop. The pain was too fresh, too deep. And for a moment you considered returning to the hotel. But you couldn’t go without letting the others know. And you most definitely didn’t want them to see you that way because they’d ask you questions you’d have to answer.

   Damn it, you were fucked.

   You noticed a shadow move in the corner of your eye and held your breath as it morphed into shape and Alastor stepped out. Your heart dropped immediately.

   “You know, my dear, it’s pretty rude to just run away from a conversation. Especially when things were just getting… interesting,” he said, his voice smooth as if he didn’t just tear your whole world into pieces.

   “Fuck off,” you hissed, not even turning to face him. The sound of his voice was enough to make your stomach twist with rage and hurt.

   Alastor clicked his tongue dismissively. “My, my, such a sharp tongue. Rudeness certainly doesn’t suit you.”

   “You’re one to talk,” you shot back through gritted teeth, your voice trembling under the weight of your emotions.

   Alastor tilted his head in confusion but you didn’t see it, still facing away from him. Part of you wanted him to see your tear-streaked face and recognize what he had done to you. But the rational part of you knew better. He’d only use it as ammunition for another tasteless remark – or worse, twist it into an opportunity to manipulate you further. Who knew, maybe he’d even try to strike a deal with you – but that would be pretty tasteless, even for him.

   “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow,” he replied, his voice infuriatingly calm.

   You didn’t say anything and instead wrapped your arms around your chest, fighting against the urge to yell at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you unravel.

   “I said, fuck off, Alastor,” you repeated venomously, each word sharper than the last.

   Alastor raised an eyebrow, entirely unfazed. His voice dropped an octave, laced with cruel amusement. “Why so dramatic, darling? Did this truly mean so much to you that my words have cut this deep?”

   You snapped. Whirling around, your face flushed red almost instantly with a sudden burst of rage, morphing into a slightly more demonic form with your claws growing and hairs standing to all sides. And then, you exploded. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” you shouted, your voice cracking under the sheer force of your anger. The dam broke, and every ounce of hurt and frustration came pouring out in a relentless torrent. “You just told me you’ve been using me this whole time! That you don’t care about me, or anything we’ve shared, and that I’m not even worth knowing the truth! You’ve been pretending all along! Making me believe I mattered! Making me think there was something real between us! I opened up to you, Alastor! I told you how I felt, I confessed my fucking feelings to you! And you?! You twisted it all into some fucked-up game! You didn’t even take me seriously for a second! Do you even understand how much courage it took to open up to you?! Do you even know what it’s like to be fooled by someone you trust? By someone you love?!” Your voice cracked as you continued, tears blurring your vision as they relentlessly streamed down your face. “You meant the world to me, Alastor! I’ve never cared for anyone like this before, and now you’re standing there, acting like I’m some pathetic fool for ever believing you might have cared too. That any of it was real. That you–” You choked on your words, chest heaving as you took in a breath.

   Through it all, Alastor didn’t flinch. His grin remained fixed though it twisted slightly at the edges, betraying a flicker of unease. He leaned casually on his cane, exuding an infuriatingly calm demeanor as he patiently waited for your outburst to end.

   When silence fell, you just glared at him, heart pounding as you waited for some kind of response – or for him to just diossolve into shadow and leave you the fuck alone. But he did none of that. Instead, he merely tilted his head. “I haven’t said any of that,” he countered.

   You blinked. “Are you shitting me?”

   “No, I’m not. But it appears you’re assuming things again,” he continued and straightened his back, spinning his cane in a fluid motion before planting it firmly beside him. “I told you that ‘it doesn’t matter’. That honesty is a luxury I cannot afford. That your time is wasted on such fleeting notions as truth. And, as I said before, the truth changes nothing. It never has, and it never will. But I never – not even once – mentioned that I’m using you.”

   He took a step closer, his expression unwavering, and you instinctively stepped back. The glow in his eyes burned brighter, his presence suffocating as he closed the distance you so desperately wanted to keep.

   “You said it was a game…” you breathed, intimidated by his threatening height looming over you, his dangerous proximity making you feel like an animal in a cage, ready to be fed to an approaching hunter.

   Alastor looked down at you and the sharpness of his facial features appeared even more angular. He widened his grin, baring his teeth – those sharp and deadly canines – but he didn’t move closer. Instead, his voice dropped an octave and took over a deep, sultry rasp as he calmly said, “I’ve said ‘Everything’s a game’. Not that I played you.”

   For a moment there was silence between you as you reconsidered his words, only the bass of the music pounded from the other room, the melody of the song barely recognizable. “What do you mean by that?” you questioned sternly. The amount of tears running down your face came to a stop without you even noticing.

   “What I mean is that the whole world is a stage. And while the stage is a world of entertainment, one has to direct it to keep control.”

   You furrowed your eyebrows, puzzled by his words that were nothing but another cryptic message. Ones of which you already had enough this evening. “Where’s the difference between this and manipulation?”

   Alastor chuckled and tilted his head. His lips were closed, hiding his sharp set of teeth as his grin softened into a warm, almost genuine smile. “Oh, there is one, cher.” he said, his voice laced with static that hummed like a low, sultry vibration. The French term rolled off his tongue with an unsettling intimacy that sent a shiver down your spine.

   You held your breath as he leaned in slightly, his tone dropping further, rich and velvety, yet crackling with faint distortion. “Why burden yourself with such senseless notions,” he murmured, his glowing eyes locked onto yours, “when in the end, the only thing it does is cause unnecessary worries?”

   You furrowed your eyebrows, still puzzled and mad about the fact he continued his charade of twisted sentences instead of giving you a straight answer. So instead, you decided to change direction. “Why did you follow me?” You breathed – tired, and weak, and startled by the tension crackling between you.

   Alastor’s eyebrows shot up at your sudden question but returned to their natural position as quickly.

   “Why are you here?” you added.

   He didn’t respond.

   You let out a defeated sigh. “Listen. If you want to continue to pester me, to make this even worse for me than it already is – stop it. You’ve done enough damage for an evening. Hell, for eternity, even!” You straightened your back and swallowed hard as another flood of tears tried to fight its way from underneath your eyelids. But you blinked it away, not wanting to give him any of his sadistic satisfaction and lose the little composure you barely contained. “So, unless you plan to tell me the truth, I advise you to just leave me alone. And never talk to me again.” You hissed the last words with such contempt that his smile twitched. You loved him. But maybe it would help getting over him if you just learned to despise him.

   The tension dispersed again. You turned around and moved to leave, ready to cut the strings and close the case. But as you stepped towards the door, a firm hand wrapped around your arm, pulling you back. Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden touch and you bit your lip to prevent yourself from flinching. Part of you wanted to scream at him again, but you kept your mouth shut.

   “You don't want to run away in the middle of our conversation again, do you?” Alastor asked, his voice laced with that signature cheerful tone of his.

   You let out a growl. “Well, you didn’t give me enough reason to stay.” Slowly, you turned around and your gaze fell on his long, slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, before you lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. There was something in them, a tiny flicker of an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

   For a while, neither of you said something and you just stood there, almost chest to chest, and looked into each other’s eyes. Slowly, the tension returned, growing even thicker as neither of you moved. The storm of bitter emotions, anger and frustration still raged in your chest but you no longer felt the need to vent and let it all out. Your throat tightened – but this time not out of hurt but out of bewilderment caused by this sudden proximity.

   You tried to free your arm but Alastor's grip stayed firm as if silently pleading you to stay.

   “Could you please listen to me, cher?” He asked.

   “Could you please just give me an answer instead of avoiding my questions with your pointless riddles?!” You snapped back.

   Alastor blinked, caught off guard but said nothing. Instead, another uncomfortable silence lingered between you and the Radio Demon in which your frustration only grew.

   You threw your head back as you let out a frustrated ‘Ugh’. Why the Hell did he even bother to keep you in the same room when he didn't spit it out? Then you saw it. A flicker of an emotion that seemed so out of character that it left you speechless. Your eyes widened slowly, as realization struck and your heart skipped a beat before it continued to hammer relentlessly in your chest, fueled by the new revelation.

   “You're scared…” you whispered, gazing between his eyes which glowed in the dim light of the hallway like blood-red jack-o'-lanterns on Halloween. A moment passed in which you just stared into his eyes until a chuckle escaped your throat and broke the tense silence between you, whispering, “You really are scared…” 

   Alastor blinked and the glimmer in his eyes disappeared as he raised his eyebrows, the expression filled with surprise and a mild mix of disbelief. His ears twitched and with a huff he countered, “Scared? Me? I think you must be quite mistaken!” He exclaimed with a wide grin, his demeanor way too cheerful for the circumstances and raised his hand to his chest in offense – yet his gesture didn't seem genuine. The corners of his grin twitched nervously and the static around him crackled stronger, betraying his sudden nervosity.

   You narrowed your eyes suspiciously and slowly shook your head. “I don't believe you.” Your voice was quiet and barely above a whisper as you stared at him intently, surprised and pleased at the same time. Finally, you had a read of what he so desperately tried to hide. It was still veiled by decades of mastering his mask – but the slight strain in his expression was enough to make clear that there was much more hidden than he wanted to admit.

   Alastor scoffed. “Well, then don't,” he retorted with a dismissive tone and his expression twisted slightly at the edges. But you didn't let his denial get to you. You got this far – now you'll push further to throw him over the edge and finally make his spill. “I want the truth, Alastor.”

   Alastor just blinked and his ears twitched in sync. Yet, he didn't let go of your wrist. His grasp was strong and the touch of his slender fingers wrapped around your arm sent shivers through your body, waking the butterflies in your stomach. Desperately, you tried to ignore the fluttering in your guts. You were supposed to be angry, after all. But this small little touch – his hand resting on your skin and his presence so close to yours that you could feel the heat radiating off his body – made all the issues that got you so distraught appear meaningless. Like nothing but a gratuitous overreaction.

   You let out another sigh. “I want the truth Alastor,” you repeated, voice much stronger than before. “Now.”

   Your arm twitched but you didn't pull away.

   Alastor just blinked again, saying nothing – and frustration struck again.

   “This is pathetic,” you hissed, about to pull your arm away but Alastor's grip tightened, keeping you in place.

   “Let me go, Alastor. You had your chance and you dismissed it. So, for fucks sake, let me–”

   “You’re a complication I never accounted for,” he interrupted, his voice low and uncharacteristically soft despite the static that crackled around him.

   “What?” Your breath caught in your throat at his sudden admission but you masked it quickly with a clearing of your throat before you turned around and regarded him with furrowed eyebrows. But the sight only made your heart skip a beat. There he was, looking down at you with a soft, even pleading, expression. His grin was replaced by nothing but a slight curving up of his lips and his eyes – oh his eyes – were filled with a vulnerability you could barely process. Alastor. He, out of all people, stood there, in front of you with a helpless expression on his face that put him into a light you never thought you'd ever witness.

   You took a deep breath in to steady yourself before you asked, “What does that mean?”

   Alastor mirrored your reaction, his chest heaving under the deep breath he took in. You could see that he had to force himself to keep eye contact and his thumb began to trace over your skin as if he was holding himself back from doing something precipitately.

   “It means, cher,” he began, voice raspy but the radio filter barely hearable, “that you've done something no one else has ever managed to do. You've gotten under my skin. You’ve forced your way into my life, into my thoughts, into places I swore no one would ever touch. And I can't seem to get it out.”

   Under different circumstances you would've felt hopeful – even excited at the mention of him… feeling… something for you. Something that might prove you've been right the whole time. That Angel was right when he said Alastor was all over you… But while he hinted at a secret truth, the Radio Demon always did what he could do best – dismiss it.

   Your eyes flickered between his as you tried to read something out of his expression that could give you an answer before you went on to ask him. But there was nothing you could make of it. Despite the vulnerability in his gaze, the deep hidden longing in his eyes, he visibly fought with himself to further mask the truth.

   “Then… then why do you keep running away?” You asked carefully, your voice surprisingly soft and yet laced with a slight edge to it.

   Alastor's thumb kept tracing patterns on your skin as he responded, “Because those are things I've spent a lifetime burying. And I suggest you do the same.”

   Slowly, your heart sank and you pressed your lips tight as his words echoed in your mind. There it was. The rejection.

   “I can't…” you whispered, shaking your head, and lowered your gaze, no longer strong enough to face him. “I… I've tried, but I can’t just bury what I feel for you… I can't just pretend it's not there, Alastor. Don't you understand?” You felt tears well up in your eyes again and swallowed to push them back down, but the proximity and the feeling of his thumb caressing your wrist softly made it impossible for you to ignore the sadness that overcame you. Shit, it hurt. It hurt so much having him this close and yet out of reach because that goddamn deer in front of you couldn't handle facing the truth. Facing the emotions that have accompanied you over the course of too many months. The tension that slowly had grown over time. The love you had developed for him.

   Fuck, it hurt so much…

   You bit your lip to soothe yourself with the pain of your tooth piercing the skin inside your mouth. You wanted to feel that physical pain – just to forget about the ache in your heart that twisted your guts and made you taste the bile of an eternity with ignoring those damn feelings you held for the man in front of you – the man you didn't even dare to look at any longer, afraid of what you might see on his face. Of what seeing his face might do to you…

   “The truth is, cher, that you’re far too precious for someone like me. You deserve someone who can give you the… romantic nonsense you so clearly crave. And that is not, nor will it ever be, me,” Alastor uttered the words with such pained softness that you almost couldn't believe they had come from him. “I’ve built my existence on control, on never letting anyone get too close. And now, here you are, tearing down every wall I’ve ever built.”

   Every word that left his lips cut deep, but instead of surrendering to the ache, you clenched your jaw and forced the hurt aside. This wasn’t something you were willing to accept. Not his stubbornness, not his ignorance, and certainly not his fear of treading unfamiliar ground. It was obvious he was at war with himself. Forcing himself to say these things because he had gaslighted himself into believing that pushing you away was the right choice. The best option. But you weren’t about to let him get away with that. You’d come too far in this confrontation, had managed to slip past his defenses, to chip away at his carefully guarded mask, to glimpse the truth he so desperately wanted to keep buried.

   Oh no.

   You weren’t giving up now.

   He had given you an answer. And now you were going to make him give you more.

   “Then why don’t you just accept it?” you whispered, voice low and husky, cautious yet filled with anticipation and the hope to finally crack his mask completely.

   “Because I don’t deserve it!” he snarled, his voice rising again. His grin dropped almost entirely, leaving his face almost completely bare and raw in a way you’d never seen before. “You think I don’t want this? That I don’t want you? I do! But I can’t–” He cut himself off abruptly, turning away so fast his coat flared behind him. His shoulders were rigid, trembling. His fists clenched tightly, his fingers curling around the microphone on his cane as his ears twitched, betraying the sheer effort it took for him to keep himself together.

   And you just stood there, staring at him with wide eyes, and unable to grasp the situation – both overwhelmed and yet completely aware of what you were witnessing. You had seen Alastor vulnerable before when you had spent long evenings together, locked in moments of raw intensity where he let his guard slip just enough for you to see past the mask. Those moments had been rare, but they were what made you fall for him in the first place.

   But this?

   This was something else entirely.

   “I can’t give in to this. Not when–” Again, he stopped himself. His chest rose and fell with a deep, steadying breath that straightened his posture as if pulling himself together by sheer force of will. Silence returned with just you and him left in the otherwise empty hallway and only the bass of the club pounding through the walls. Your skin prickled and you felt the need to say something, but you knew better that speaking now would be reckless. So you just watched. Your heart pounded against your ribs, blood vibrating in your veins and body trembling under the sheer gravity of what was unfolding. By doing something, saying something, you'd remind him of your presence. Then, he could choose to disappear, sink into the shadows and abandon you in this place. But he could also spin around with those fiery eyes of his darkened to dangerous black and his grin twisted into a grimace, lunging at you with sharp lethal teeth… But he did nothing.

   Seconds passed which felt like eternity and you started to grow impatient, when, suddenly, Alastor’s voice broke the silence, deep and filled with determination, vulnerable and lacking any filter. 

   “Fuck it.”

   He spun around, his cane vanishing into the void with a flick of his wrist. And then, in an instant, his hands were on you, cupping your neck and pulling you forward in one swift motion as his lips crashed onto yours.

   Sparks ignited instantly. The tension shattered as a thousand butterflies burst into fireworks, exploding into a rush of heat that surged through your body like a shockwave. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that stole the air from your lungs – fervently, hungry, craving. He pulled you closer, until your chest pressed flush against his. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the sudden contact catching you off guard. But there was no time to get startled. You didn’t even need to grasp the situation because your body immediately reacted on instinct, returning his kiss with the same passion and arms wrapping tightly around his neck, locking him in your grasp as though he might pull away and vanish into nothing if you let go. This was the moment you had been waiting for. The moment you envisioned in your dreams, certain it would never become reality. But here you were, tangled in Alastor’s embrace with his lips moving against yours in a battle of temptation, ignited by the sheer release of all the emotions he’d kept locked inside. His sharp teeth scratched your lips but you didn’t care. It only fuelled your need to taste him, to feel him, and get even closer.

   But even the most anticipated of moments couldn’t last forever.

   Your lips chased his as he slowly pulled away, desperate to capture his mouth in another kiss, but he straightened his back, making it impossible for you to reach. Your grip around his shoulders loosened slightly but you didn’t let go, unwilling to lose even this kind of contact. Eyes fluttering open, your gaze fell onto his face, sharp features softened and eyes half lidded with a warm smile curling his lips. His hands remained on your neck as he forced you to keep looking at him, and you held your breath, utterly speechless and unable to grasp what just happened. Everything felt like a dream, as if everything was born out of your imagination, and yet the remaining feeling of his lips on yours betrayed the truth. His hands still holding your neck were proof of the moment you just shared. And it felt both unreal and real at the same time.

   “Don’t you dare say this was a mistake,” you muttered under your breath, eyes flicking between his, and despite the seriousness of your tone you couldn’t help but let out a quick laugh that wasn’t quite amused but definitely a subtle plea for him to not tear everything down again. Despite everything you’ve come this far. You’ve confessed your feelings, confronted him about his infuriating behavior, yelled at him and cried your heart out while you revealed your biggest vulnerabilities. You’ve accused him of using you, managed to tear off his mask completely, got him to question his own mindset and give in to finally kiss you. Now, the moment was too fragile, too easy to break, and your heart too easy to shatter. One wrong word and everything could fall apart again in an instant. And your anxiety grew with every second he did not respond – in which he simply stared at you, his expression unchanging.

   You held your breath again and swallowed hard, finally lowering your arms until only his grip around your neck remained. His fingers curled into your hair, playing with the strands while his claws carefully caressed your skin. But still, he did not respond. As if he was pondering his answer, he kept his mouth shut while his gaze roamed over your face, and you closed your eyes, ready to step away.

   Alastor must’ve sensed your intention because his grip around you tightened, preventing you from leaving. Then, his voice broke the silence, low and uncertain. “This… this doesn’t change who I am. I can’t offer you what you crave – not in the way you deserve. I can’t give you the kind of romance people write books about. I’m just not that man…”

   Under different circumstances his words would’ve stung. But now that you were able to look behind his facade and you finally understood the struggles that kept him so locked away, you just met him with a soft, yet slightly anxious smile. “I don’t care about stereotypes, Alastor…” you started, your voice a murmur but not less determined. “I don’t need roses, or candlelight dinners, or great declarations of love…” You shook your head. “I never needed that. Because this… the moments we shared in the past… the moment we shared just now… is already enough. I just want to be yours as much as I want you to be mine.” You raised your hands again and cupped his cheeks, eyes not leaving his, as your voice trailed off, getting quieter with every single word. “This is all I need. To be with you…”

   With that, both of you leaned forward in a silent understanding. And when he pulled you closer and gently locked your lips with his, you knew his answer. Because you didn’t need him to say it out loud. His action alone was enough for you to understand that he was willing to try…

Let me know what you think about the ending or this part in general!

*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@diffidentphantom, @notsoaverageguy-1997, @the-autistic-moth, @n0tmentallystable, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @alastorsgirl48, @ratsematary, @night-lol, @divineknightmare, @musiclover059, @bitter-rabbittt, @milkissesx, @florist-of-the-valley, @fantasyhopperhea, @eris-norwega, @godsent69, @minamilinaqueen, @sour-daisies, @thisbipuff-isaswiftie, @circusren, @chibistar45, @fokrilove, @tayraedoll

[heroesrest64]

Blood Moon Festival

(Ahh, I’m super excited for the lunar eclipse that’s supposed to happen tonight!! This is just a short lil thing. It could honestly read for any of the Links, but I definitely had Wild in mind while writing)

The blood moon is tonight, a rare event that used to bring about horror and tension, now it’s a tradition to enjoy the beautiful sight, everyone donning monster masks and participating in fun games as a way to ward off the dark magic associated with the blood moon.

You’re halfway through a game of archery, shooting for an adorable golden retriever plush when you notice him. You can’t make out his face through the bokoblin mask he’s wearing, but you could almost swear he’s staring at you.

Turning away swiftly, you take another shot, just barely missing the red circle in the center that would grant you the plush dog you’re quickly falling in love with. You sigh, setting the bow down while the woman running the stall asks you if you want to try again.

“I’ll give it a go.” A masculine voice pipes up, and you whirl around to find the same bokoblin mask wearing man sliding up beside you. He places a blue rupee on the counter that the woman greedily stashes before offering two arrows and a bow to the man.

He doesn’t even need the second one, hitting dead center on his first try and picking the exact plush you were looking at. You’re a little sad to see it go, but a win is a win, and you’re just about to congratulate the man for his sharp shooting when the plush is thrust into your arms.

“This is for me?” You ask, hugging the stuffed animal to your chest. You still can’t see his face, but you get the distinct feeling that he’s grinning behind his mask.

“Yep! I noticed you looking at it and- well I guess it was none of my business but-“ He starts, sounding flustered, and you let him talk for a little longer before taking his hand and beginning to lead him through the stall lined streets. He’s too stunned to react, simply letting you drag him around.

“I think you deserve a treat for being such a gentleman. Do you have any preferences?” You ask, leading him to the food stalls. The smell of fried foods and searing meats and something sugary sweet fills the air, and the man awkwardly points to a stall serving up skewers that you beeline towards.

Once you both have your skewers in hand, the man takes off his mask, and you finally get a good look at his face. Blonde hair, blue eyes, sharp features. You seem to have snagged yourself an absolute beauty of a man to enjoy the festival with. You silently cheer to yourself while digging into your skewer.

“Are you a local here?” The blonde asks conversationally as you both keep walking through the festival.

“Yeah. I guess that means you’re a traveler; I can’t say I’ve ever seen you before.” You give him a considering look, and he rubs the back of his neck nervously.

“I was just passing through when this festival caught my eye. What’s it for?” He asks, finishing off his skewer and pulling his mask back over his face. You almost wish he wouldn’t- he’s much too pretty to be covering up his face with such an ugly mask.

“The blood moon. It’s less potent, but it still resurrects monsters, so our town set up this festival to gather people to go on a monster hunt. There’s apparently this big prize for whoever hunts the most monsters at the end- a gold rupee and a custom set of armor. Since you’re not too bad with a bow, why don’t you join?” You suggest, tilting your head towards the front of the town where a big group is already forming.

The man seems to consider it, already making for the crowd of people, but stops in his tracks just before he can get lost in the busy festival streets. He whips around, jogging back up to you, and takes your hand in his.

“If you wait for me, I’ll win this. For you. Then maybe we could, uh, enjoy the festival a bit more with the prize money?” He seems nervous to ask, like he might be overstepping his bounds, asking you to wait for him. You grin, squeezing his hand a little in reassurance.

“Sure. I’ll wait for you.” He lets out a relieved sigh at your words, pulling back his mask and bravely placing a kiss on the back of your hand before sprinting to join the hunting party.

You watch him go, never doubting for a second that he’ll be back, and knowing for a fact that he’ll win.

[lunajay33]

Where are You Part.2

•🍃🌑🕊️🧟‍♀️•

Summary: You’ve been with Daryl since you were teenagers having a lovely little girl and another on the way but then the apocalypse happens and you’re left by yourself with your daughter and unborn child, will you ever find you husband again? Mean while Daryl is with a group that has no idea about his family

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader

Warnings: Usual twd violence, pregnancy

Part.1

•Masterlist•

•Daryl’s Pov•

Merle dragged me to that damn bar I knew I should’ve stayed home, with extra hours at the garage I’ve been missing her and my lil Harlow and now I don’t know where they are, the bar got hectic filled with these people ripping the flesh from who ever they could get their hands on, Merle and I got out the back got in my truck and tried to drive back home but we got cut off and the only way out was the road out of town

Once we got to the quarry I tried to go back and get my wife and children and Merle wouldn’t allow it, but three days after the initial apocalypse I hiked through the woods to our home and hoping she was there but when I got there she was gone, some of my weapons gone, the pantry raided but a note lay on the counter

Daryl,

I don’t know if you’ll ever find this but we waited for you, Harlow was so sad and I couldn’t stay longer as the town isn’t safe anymore, I don’t know where I’ll end up to once I get in the truck but I know I love you and we will find each other again

Love y/n and Harlow

I folded the paper putting it in my back pocket trying to hold back the tears, I know she knew how to survive out there, I taught her that much but she was still pregnant and taking care of our lil girl, I need to find her

I got back to the camp and I was full of rage, angry that this happened, angry that Merle took me out, angry that everyone still had their family here, and angry that I’m stuck with these upty people when I should be with the only woman that’s ever made me happy to be alive

And that’s how Merle and I got the bad reputation of the angry men of the camp, well also because Merle is an ass most of the time

Cleaning my arrows I hear Shane and Lori talking a few tents down

“They don’t belong here, just a bunch of rednecks, probably waiting to get their hands on a woman” Shane groaned making me grinned my teeth

“Doubt they’ve ever touched a woman that actually wanted to”

I turn glaring at them

“Watch yer mouth, talking bout shit ya don’t know bout” with out y/n around there was no one to calm by anger like she did, she was my sunshine in the gloom that was my life before her

“Sure Dixon” Shane laughed mockingly

God I need her back

•Y/n Pov•

It’s been a month and I still haven’t found him, Maggie would go out with me to search for him but we always came up empty and every time we came back without him it chipped away at my heart a little at a time

Curled up in the guest room with Harlow in my arms in her little onesie Beth found for her

“Mommy?”

“Yes my love” I say putting the book I was reading down on the night stand

“Are we ever going to see daddy again? Is he mad at us?” She asks placing her little hand on my baby bump

“He’s not mad, he’s just out doing very important work with uncle Merle, he’ll be here any day but for now it’s me you and your little baby brother” she cheered up at the mention of her little brother she was so excited to meet him

“Will he look like me?”

“I don’t know, he might look like you and daddy or he might look like me, only 4 more months and we will find out angel” she smiled as her eyes started to droop and soon she was fast asleep curled up to me

My chest felt tight with anxiety, everything was going so well, Daryl had a hard childhood and always talked about having his own safe place he could call home and we built that together, we got our little home, got married and started a family and every day was a dream, how could it go so wrong so fast

I open the locket on my necklace to look at the photo of me and Daryl from highschool, my mom took it of us when he came and picked me up for our first date, he was so nervous, he never said it but I could tell but how he’d fidget around it was adorable and then he grew into this man that treated me like a goddess

The morning came as the rooster crowed walking both me and Harlow, getting us both ready for the day we had breakfast and ventured outside

“What’re you and little Harlow doing today?” Maggie asks as she places some eggs into her basket

“I think we are going to go pick some berries, maybe find a peach tree” I say as I pick up another basket

“Be careful take your knife” I nod and take Harlows hand and we are off through the trees to the patch of blueberries and blackberries, our fingers red and purple from picking

“These are so yummy mommy!” Harlow smiles as she eats her weight in berries

“They are but I think we have enough for now or you’ll get a belly ache” she smiled her teeth purple making me laugh but then I heard a groan

“MOMMY!” She screams pointing behind me

I turn seeing a walker approach us, it’s jaws snapping craving our flesh, I take out my knife but I freeze I can’t do it, quickly I take Harlow in my arms as she holds onto the basket and I run as best I can while 5 months pregnant, we break the tree line but I trip over a root, Harlow lands on her side trying to catch myself to protect my baby but I hear a snap and a searing pain rippling through my wrist

“Mommy! Are you okay?” Harlow cries as she places her little hands on my face checking me, her eyes full of worry

“We’ve got to go mommy is okay” I groan trying to get back up, my knees scraped and my wrist definitely broken, she runs ahead finding uncle Hershel and dragging him towards me as I’m almost at the house

“Oh Dear what’s happened?” He asks leading me inside as Beth got his medical supplies

“There was a walker, we ran but I fell, god it hurts so much” I wince when he examines the break

Harlow stands by my chair watching as he wraps my wrist and stabilizes it, her bright blue eyes full of fear

“Is she okay uncle Hershel?”

“She fine sweetheart I’ve fixed her right up” then the door bursts open and in comes Maggie with a man caring a bleeding little boy

“DADDY HELP!” Chaos erupts as Hershel gets to work as Otis tells him what happens, noticing Harlow clinging to my pants I take her outside into the yard to a fallen over tree the family now used as a sitting area

She looks at her hands playing with her fingers, something she’d do when she was scared

“My love you know I’d never let anything happen to you right?” She looks up at me with her doe eyes

“I know, everything is scary now”

I look back up at the house seeing two men sat on the porch consoling eachother

“You know uncle Hershel is in there right now helping that little boy, I know it’s scary but we’re safe on the farm, daddy will find us soon and he’ll make everything okay” she nods

“Maybe we can pick those flowers in the field for when the little boy wakes up so he sees something pretty!”

“I think that’s a lovely idea sweetie” we picked a handful of flowers and we made our way to the house where the two men still sat, Harlow walked up to the man who brought the boy in and stuck out the flowers for him

“I’m sorry the little boy got hurt, we got him flowers for when he wakes up” she beams proud of herself as the man takes the flowers

“Thank you honey” he half smiles but I can see the worry written all over his face

“Is there anything we can do for you both”

“The woman Maggie is out finding Carls mother, you’re all doing more than enough” the other man said

“Do you have a group?” They nod and I leave it at that, going to the shed behind the house and taking out a tent, seeing as Carl, the boy, is now using the guest room me and Harlow don’t have room

“Ready to camp out my little angel?!” She screams excited as we bring the tent to the front of the house next to the big tree, setting it up then filling it with our blankets and pillows to make it cozy, we unzipped the window coverings so we could let in the breeze

“Woah mommy this is so cool! Can’t wait for Daddy to come!” Her words are like knives to my heart I bite my lip and nod, trying to keep her occupied from the horror going on inside that house, I braid her hair, red her a book, anything just to keep my mind from wandering

“What are you going to name my baby brother?” She asks out of the blue as she lays her head in my lap

“I don’t know any ideas?”

“Hmmm I like Levi, that’s a cool name!”

“It’s very cool I’m sure daddy will love it”

As the sun sets we grab a plate of food from the kitchen and go back to our tent making a small fire right beside it, borrowing a camping chair I sit down with Harlow in my lap, a blanket across our legs as we munch on the veggies and chicken Maggie and Patricia had prepared

Maggie informed me the rest of the group would be here tomorrow, saying she only found the wife and a blonde woman

I sigh knowing this place is changing, right now it’s just been my family but what of these people? Who are they? Will it be safe still?

My wrist still aching as I notice it’s swollen up, how am I suppose to protect myself, Harlow and a brand new baby?

•Daryl’s Pov•

After losing Merle I got even more irritable, my family is gone and now I’m stuck with this group of people out looking through the forests for Sophia, she reminded me of my lil girl, she was sweet but nothing compared to the blue doe eyes of Harlow when she’d look up at me begging for more me to take her for ice cream

“What’re you thinking about?” Andrea asks as we both wander the dark woods

“Nothin” I groan

“Come on, I can see you’re all bottled up, maybe talking about it will help” I sigh side glancing at her

“Sophia’s not the only one I’m lookin for”

“I’m sure Merle’s still out there, he’s a hard ass a few walkers aren’t gonna take him down”

“Yeah” Merle made his own bed by being a jack ass, sure I miss him but not as much as my family, I just hope she’s still out there fighting to find me again

The morning came and we made our way the the farm, pulling up to the house I get deja vu, remembering visiting here years ago, this was y/n’s cousins place, we came here when Harlow was first born as a relaxing get away, could she have made it here?

•Y/n Pov•

Harlow shakes me awake, noticing she’s already gotten herself dressed for the day, I sit up and rub my eyes

“What is it sweetie?”

“I heard trucks, and a motorcycle like uncle Merle’s so loud” the group must be here, I managed to get dressed in the tent, slipping on a grey sundress and pulling my hair into a ponytail feeling like today will be a hot one

“Ready to meet our guests?” She nods and unzips the tent, we step out and I go to real but hiss when I remember my wrist

“Mommy come on I wanna check in the little boy” she whines, I laugh taking her hand in my good hand and she skips towards the house where the group is stood around, looking through them as we get closer my eyes land on the one I’ve been waiting for knowing Harlow recognized him the same time as me just by the back of him she lets go of my hand running off

“DADDY YOU FOUND US!” She screams as the whole group turns around Daryl drops to his knees as Harlow jumps into his arms, the group looking around confused, I’m frozen infront of them, is this a dream is he really here? He pulls back squeezing her face

“My lil peach” he looks up and our eyes meet and that’s when my tears fall and I spring into action, he stands and holds me tight pressing his head into my shoulder and I can hear his whimpers, knowing he doesn’t like to be vulnerable around people

“I missed you so much, I was so scared” I cried as he looked at me now wiping my tears

“I shouldn’t ’ave left that night, I should’ve stayed” I shake my head as I gentle pull on his hair

“You’re here now, you’re here”

“Uuuuh what the hell is going on here? Who are you?” A blonde woman asks, looking around everyone was as confused as ever which only confused me

“That’s my daddy!!” Harlow chimes as she pulls on Daryl’s flannel

“What? You have a daughter?” The man from yesterday asks in disbelief

“I’m Dale, nice to meet you sweetheart, is this your mommy?” The older man asks as Harlow shakes his hand

“Yes! Me, my mommy and my baby brother have been waiting for daddy to find us!” Everyone looks down at my baby bump but all I can focus on his Daryl’s hands on me forgetting how comforting he made me feel

“Why didn’t you tell us about them Daryl?” A black man with a bald head asks as he’s smiling

“Was too hard ta talk about em” Daryl states as his hands run over my belly

“I love you Daryl, never leave me again”

“Love ya too sunshine, ya ain’t getting rid of me”

•

Part.3

Taglist: @rainymads @stories4you04-x @mylle5 @nessatea @onerockontheway @moncherriis @writer-ann-artist @itsjustmeandmyanxiety @yoonjisgirl @remuslupinscumslutt @rockstarlover123 @bigbaldheadname @azanoni @deansapplepie

[alive-gh0st]

Hello, Hello, Hello! I love the layout of your tumblr page! Absolutely stunning! I hope you’re doing well, darling! May I request something?

A Cupid reader x Omi-Mark Grayson. I would love to see the difference in personality. Maybe, Reader is excitingly telling Omi-Mark about all the couples, they’ve gotten together and Omi-Mark chuckles? Or perhaps, a simple Cupid Reader struck themselves with their own arrow and is yearning for Omi-Mark and he finally gives in? I would just love to see their contrast!

ପ(੭ ´ᵕ`)੭°• જ⁀➴

HELLO??? First of all—thank you for complimenting my layouts.ᐟ.ᐟ They take approximately 13 years off my lifespan because yes, I do all of it on my phone. With my fingers. Like a feral graphic design cryptid with a god complex.

Second—this ask appeared in my inbox like a glitter bomb full of rogue heartstrings.ᐟ.ᐟ and I am obsessed.

„Omni!Mark x Cupid!Reader”??? That concept is so deliciously insane (in the best way) it deserves its own zip code.

And YES you may request something.ᐟ.ᐟ I adore when people throw ideas my way—and let me bring them to life. Again „Omni!Mark x Cupid!Reader”??????? genius. iconic. a duality so sharp it could cut drywall.

Reader accidentally love-arrowing herself??? Omni-Mark being all stoic and meanwhile Cupid Reader is literally clutching her chest like “why is my heart doing jazz hands??”—oh i am so into this.

Also—love when people give lil extras about what they’re envisioning—it helps me build the vibe, moodboard, and maybe a shrine (casual). honored to take this on. BRB, channeling Cupid via caffeine and delusion.

Just a heads up—it might take a little time to write and post it because I’m currently buried under a small avalanche of fic drafts. But I will write it. Your idea lives rent-free in my heart now.

You’re stuck with me. 𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

❝Hearts Don’t Miss❞

Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader➶

HAS OFFICIALLY LANDED FROM THE STARS!!!

•♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡˚₊‧ ꒰ა 💗 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚♡🤍♡🤍♡🤍♡•

SO SORRY for the wait—turns out Cupid wings don’t grow back overnight (tragic, I know). Between threading timelines and re-editing until my drafts cried for mercy, this one took a second. But! It’s finally stitched and sealed with divine ache and stardust.

IT’S FINALLY HERE!!! It’s soft. It’s sharp. It’s 4.4k+ words of grief-glittered lore, a bruised god, a wingless love-agent, emotional inertia, cracked hearts, and maybe—just maybe—a red string starting to twitch.

Huge love-arrow shoutout to @lycheee-jelly for planting this idea straight into my writer brain like a rogue dart to the soul (Cupid-style).

You have absurdly good taste and a terrifying understanding of duality. I owe you a field of wildflowers and an emotional support arrow.

Let me know what you think! I’ll be floating in a lace-threaded cloud of feelings (and probably dreaming up Chapter 1).

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

a/n: it’s happening. ”Hearts Don’t Miss” (Omni!Mark Grayson x Cupid!Reader) is officially being written! our favorite grumpy viltrumite is about to get emotionally steamrolled by a love-coded chaos alien entity with wings, and honestly? he deserves it. and—plot twist—it might spiral into a multi-chapter series. accidentally. maybe. probably. I’m just saying… the red string is getting longer. stay tuned.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌With Love, @alive-gh0st

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co