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obae-me · 3 years

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A Taste of Your Own Medicine

Author’s Note: I finally did it! One of my bigger projects finished! And this is the most ambitious thing I’ve posted in a while! It’ll be my biggest post for sure! I truly, truly hope you guys enjoy this. I hope this sickfic can make you feel a bit better during these times. (*slaps fic* This bad boy can fit so many cuddles in it). Thank you all for your encouragement and support, it’s honestly what helped me get this finished! Also, I swear I’ve been over this thing more than thirty times to try and catch mistakes, but it’s a lot so if I missed mistakes I apologize.

Word Count: 18,300

Warnings: Blood, Medication Use, Vomiting, I’m not a doctor in any way shape or form, so please don’t take any of this as a personal guide.

As Always, Read Safely, And Please Enjoy!

Lucifer, then Satan and Mammon. After that came Beel and Belphie, followed up by Levi. Lastly Asmo. All of them, every single one, had fallen ill. Try as they may, none of them had been safe, and you’d been the main one working to nurse them back to health despite you knowing nothing about caring for demons. It had been...what was the right word? Grueling? No. Enjoyable? Well you couldn’t quite say that either. It had its ups and downs. Working for about a month straight on little sleep wasn’t exactly a dream job, but the affection and actions you’d seen were priceless. The pictures on your phone and the memories in your head would keep your heart warm for the rest of your life, but you could go no further. You were done. Done with being a nurse. Done with restless nights. Done with this illness.

The House of Lamentation had finally begun to feel normal again, normal except for your persistent fatigue accompanied by strange shifts in your body temperature. It started off small at first, you had hardly noticed. Unfortunately, it had grown rather rapidly, impeding your day-to-day life. The fuzzy thoughts in the back of your mind knew that something was unnatural. Your body shouldn’t feel like this. Yet, afraid of facing the truth, or hoping you were just overreacting, you insisted that just sleeping it off would bring you back to normal.

Only... you should’ve known. You should’ve seen the signs. The sneezing, the breathlessness you felt with the simplest of things, the discomfort settling in your bones. What were you going to do? Well, you figured the best thing to do was move onward, acting like nothing was amiss. Fake it till you make it. Whatever it was would go away on its own, it had to.

But it wouldn’t, and as much as they would refuse to admit it, each demonic member of the household had grown fond of being fussed over by you. Tugging you in all directions, demanding constant attention, wearing your energy down to dust. Although, if you were being entirely honest, they tended to do that regardless. However, after being treated so specially, their neediness grew tenfold. Thus, without giving yourself a break, every morning you ended up feeling worse than the day before, and it was only going downhill from there. Perhaps you should’ve told them, nipping it in the bud before it had a change to blossom into something terrible. In retrospect, that should’ve been the obvious path to take. Yet, driven by some desire you couldn’t place, you pushed yourself so far past the breaking point that your own body had to stop you.

Waking up to your alarm in the early hours of this particular morning was more difficult than you’d like to admit. Removing the blankets might as well have been pushing stones off your body. Your limbs felt stiff, gravity’s pull was stronger than it should’ve been, and moving forward was like pushing through waves of molasses. However, you went forward, still fooled under some grand delusion that you’d feel better once you freshened up. Gathering up a change of clothes and a towel for your morning shower, you stumbled out of your room. Getting to the bathroom had been a blur, the only thing you could recall was consistently leaning your weight against the wall to keep your legs steady. You’d met no one in your path, assuming they must’ve all already been in the dining hall, the faint smell of breakfast foods flooding the hallways. It made your stomach churn.

Before anyone could see you in this downright pathetic state, you entered the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and locking it. You took a moment to catch your breath and press your forehead against the cold wood of the door. It felt amazing against your skin. But you couldn’t linger, you had to get ready for RAD. As you turned, you came up to the sink, settling your items on the side of the bowl. It was then you saw your face in the mirror for the first time that morning. Biting your lip, you splashed some water on your face, hoping it would wash away some of the hints of sickness-- the not-sickness...you weren’t sick. Right? You couldn’t have caught the demon illness, right? Was it possible? Your head was throbbing, the heart in your chest pounding in panic. What were you going to do? You couldn’t miss classes, you couldn’t let anyone know, you couldn’t be a burden. Brush your teeth, you thought. Get ready, play it off. It’s not that bad. It’s not that bad. Stop overreacting.

Showering felt nice, it was the only thing so far that let you feel some peace. The steamy hot water released some of the tension in your temples and lungs. Although, the intense heat made you lightheaded, and a single little misstep in the shower had you almost plummet to the floor. Shaking, gasping for air, desperately attempting to cling to the slick stone wall, you slowly sat on the wet tiles, leaning your body back so the stream of water landed directly on your chest. The comfort almost coaxed you back into sleep, but before you could fall into slumber, you jolted. How long had you been in there? Five minutes? Half an hour? You could forget about washing your head today. Crawling out of the shower, the frigid air burnt the inside of your nose, shuddering you with a few sneezes. Not good. You rushed to dry yourself off and pull your uniform on. Before you headed down to the dining hall, you blew your nose, shook your head, and prepared yourself to sound as normal as possible. Somehow you managed not to stumble down the stairs, something you were thankful for. Maybe it wasn’t as severe as you thought it was.

Arguing could be heard past the hall doors. That wasn’t too rare, it’d become tradition almost, to the point where being met with an unclamorous silence was somewhat threatening. What was it this time? Mammon stealing something? Beel eating something? Belphie not doing something?

It was hard to comprehend the words, but you could make out the important pieces. “I bought that for ya, so it… … … that I took it back!” Mammon growled.

“Once you… … … it was mine!” Asmo shrieked. “It wasn’t yours to sell … … … buy it in the first place!”

Ah, so it was another Mammon related issue, you didn’t need to be a hardcore gambler to win that bet. Raised voices didn’t do any good for your head, the pressure in your eardrums throbbing. You stayed silent as you slid inside, or at least you tried to stay silent. Instead, you accidently made your presence prominent as you shut the doors too harshly behind you. Heads turned all at once, your knees threatening to turn to jelly under the gaze.

“Is something the matter, MC?” Lucifer asked, the first one able to sense something wrong. He always knew. You were never able to hide anything from him. However, the fact that you’d been able to play things off in his presence up till now settled a sort of twisted pride inside you. You blamed Pride himself for his bad influence. Lowering his cup from his lips, he raised an eyebrow.

You mustered up a usual grin. “Just...tired,” you lied. Had your throat always been this sore? And was it the table full of warm food, or was it terribly hot in here? Not the healing sort of temperature either, but rather the sticky suffocating heat that formed waves in your vision. Or maybe the room was swirling on its own? Tugging at the collar of your shirt, you took a single step forward, attempting to walk again. You lowered your head, turning away from the eldest, remaining as inconspicuous as possible for fear he’d take one good look at you and expose your troubles. Lucifer was not convinced, shifting his gaze between his morning cup of coffee and your strange stature. For the time being, he dropped his questions, lying in wait for you to exude any signs that you were lying.

Doing your best not to trip up, you eventually sat down at the dining table, a spot left open for you between Belphie--who was sitting up asleep--and Asmo. The demon of lust luckily didn’t seem to notice your weaker state, continuing on his tirade against his older brother. “Mammon, I swear to whatever forces may be listening that if you don’t get it back I will ruin you, you hear me?!”

“Yeah yeah, you can try!” Mammon scoffed.

Asmo spoke again, his words blocked out by the sudden ringing in your ears, the shrill noise spurring on pain behind your eyes. As you bit the inside of your cheek, you squeezed your eyes closed till the painful sound faded away. Only, opening them back up now seemed to make everything worse. The light was harsh, far too harsh, blinding rays striking off every reflective surface. Your vision started to swim, blurring the features of those around you. Squinting, you groaned a bit to yourself before lifting a utensil from the table, attempting to eat some of the breakfast in front of you before anyone became suspicious. Every bite sank heavily to the bottom of your stomach.

“Will the two of you be quiet, for sin’s sake?!” Satan boomed, his wrath peeking through his composure as his brothers started to take their spat too far, interrupting what should’ve been a quiet morning. Although, when had that ever happened? Magic spilling from their fingertips, demon forms exposed, Mammon and Asmo were each ready to brawl it out at any moment. The ruckus finally managed to stir Belphie who was visibly irritated.

The miniscule amount of food you had eaten started to already stir sickeningly within you. The sweltering heat you had felt before stripped away in a moment, a frightening chill creeping over your body. Before you could think, you got to your feet, breathless, heart pounding as an overwhelming presence of something agonizing forced you to move. Getting up too quickly caused the whole world to rock, your head doing somersaults. Lucifer obviously was now convinced everything was far from fine as you swayed on your own two feet, the legs of his chair screeching against the hardwood floor as he stood. Everyone in the room quickly went quiet, all eyes on you as you fumbled. The weight of their attention seemed to push you further over the edge. “It’s...I’m…” You needed to move, to be anywhere but here, so you staggered a few steps away from the group.

You heard the thud before you felt it, not quite comprehending what it meant to feel the floor fall out from beneath you as the world shifted sideways. The area became a chorus of shouts as seven demons called out your name. You didn’t fully blackout. Your consciousness was too stubborn to be snuffed out like that, but you couldn’t fully talk or move either.

A pair of arms wrapped around you, bringing you close to their body. Despite being right next to you, somehow everything still felt so far away, like you were experiencing everything secondhand. The smoothness of leather touched your cheek before the glove was supposedly discarded, cold skin touching your face. “They’re burning up,” Lucifer announced, the undertones of his voice just barely wavering, or perhaps your sense of sound was just as skewed as your sight had been. He flipped his hand over, his knuckles brushing against your forehead. You tried opening your eyes to look at him, but it was next to impossible.

“MC?! Hey, what’s with you?!” Mammon shouted, two hands squeezing your shoulders. The panic in his words was apparent. “What’s wrong with them?!”

“I think they’re sick,” Belphie chimed.

Satan sounded distant, but his voice still drifted to your ears. “Should I alert Simeon and Solomon?”

Without warning, you sensed yourself being lifted off the floor, the sudden movement jerking the last strands of your consciousness back as you lurched into a black weightlessness. You swam through the fog, trying to pick back up the voices in the room.

“...the human world to get a few things,” someone spoke. As you shifted your body, the people went silent, but not for long.

“They’re awake!”

“Thank heavens…”

“Oi, everyone get off ‘em!”

Somehow, you found the energy to open your eyes. There were no arms holding you and the dining room was far gone. You were now in bed, in your room, surrounded by demons, angels, and the only other human in the Devildom. The confusion of the blank spot in your memory shot panic through your nerves, not to mention it was uncomfortable to be stared down like this. “What…?” You gasped, trying to sit up in bed. A washcloth slid off your forehead and down your face. Someone’s gentle hands guided you back into a lying position, taking the rag and putting it back in its place.

Lucifer had a chair pulled up to your bedside, lines popping up between his eyebrows in worry. He finished pressing you back up against your pillow, pulling the blankets back over your chest. “Don’t move too much,” he ordered, his words harsh but his eyes soft. “You collapsed in the dining hall.”

Well, that part you could recall. They must’ve brought you here. Despite it only feeling like a second, you must’ve been out long enough for the other exchange students to arrive. “Is-” You interrupted yourself with some coughs, quickly turning your head into your pillow. Even just speaking left your lungs weak, but you had a question. “Is it…?

“It’s not what the brothers had if that’s what you’re asking,” Solomon nodded. “You as a human couldn’t catch that particular illness. Although if you had, you probably wouldn’t survive. So lucky you, right?” Levi nearly dropped to his knees at that prospect, eyes wide with fear, as if he wasn’t convinced that you were lucky at all. You had to admit, you felt far from it. Many of the other siblings shot the sorcerer a dirty glare, everyone’s nerves strangely on edge. Solomon closed his eyes and laughed a bit. “Aha, but like I said, it’s a very mortal disease. Just a cold or the case of the flu from what I can tell.”

“Just?” Mammon growled, barking out his opinions like an angry guard dog. “They’re lying here looking like they're two seconds away from pushin’ up daisies and you make guesses? You’ve been acting so calm and treating this like it ain’t that serious! And to be honest, it’s kinda tickin’ me off!” He took a few serious steps towards Solomon, shoulders squared, ready to fight. Luke ducked behind Simeon’s body for protection, but there was no need. Before he took things too far, Mammon growled and resumed his brisk pace around your room.

“I hate to agree with him,” Asmo started, “But Mammon’s right.” The fourth-born frowned, some of his outward sparkle dulled with concern. Every hint of his and Mammon’s dispute had faded away. “This isn’t a joke! You have to do something, Solomon! Save them!” Asmo flung himself over the sorcerer begging and pleading, reacting as if you were on your deathbed. Mammon pushed a haughty breath of air between his teeth, turning on his heels to sit beside you on the bed. His nervous energy could hardly be contained, erratically adjusting the blanket over your body as one of his legs bounced up and down rapidly.

Solomon shook his head, brushing Asmo off of him. “I was simply trying to lighten the mood.” You caught a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he watched these powerful demons on the brink of falling to pieces. “If treated properly, it shouldn't be fatal. Plenty of monitoring and rest and the body should heal on its own. Of course if it worsens or persists, then a doctor might be required, but we can cross that bridge when we get to it. Although, like I was saying, it would be best if I went to the human world to at least get some proper medicine. We wouldn’t want our MC here to suffer the full brunt of the symptoms, and I doubt the remedies here would have a desired effect.”

With that, Lucifer sighed, lifting his chin to address the sorcerer. “I shall accompany you to the human world. We’ll get what we need and come right back, understood?”

Either the demon of pride’s stern glare wasn’t at its peak today or Solomon was generally unaffected. The sorcerer looked past him and right at you with a grin on his face. “He gets rather overbearing when it comes to you doesn’t he?”

“We’re leaving,” Lucifer huffed, his arms wide to shepherd everyone out of your room. Several of his siblings cried out in protest. “Everyone out! The last thing MC needs is the bunch of you bothering them.” The only one he didn’t tug along was Simeon, the angel turning down the light and approaching you as soon as everyone had gone.

A short laugh rumbled in his throat. “They sure do care about you a lot,” he smiled. He took Mammon’s previous spot on the bed by you, settled by your hip. He discovered the bump in the blanket that served as your arm under the covers. Slowly, he ran his hand up and down over it. “What a terrible thing for you to be this sick.” It wasn’t often the angel frowned, but in this case he appeared deeply troubled, as if he was taking your pain as his own. “I can help you fall asleep if you’d like me to. Solomon warned me against using too much magic against your weakened immune system, but I should be able to let you sleep peacefully.” He waited for a response, not moving forward with anything till you nodded your head slowly. Golden light rushed to the ends of his fingers, the soft skin of his fingertips brushing against your eyelids to close them. A shudder ran down your spine, your own body tingling, and you wondered if it was his magic or simply just the tender gesture. “Rest well, MC,” Simeon whispered. “Feel better.” And then just like he suggested, your mind quickly got swept along into a blissful sleep.

Angelic magic or not, it didn’t seem to hold back the fever for long. Even in your dreams, all you could feel was frigid fire. Your nerves were fried, unable to tell if you were freezing to death or boiling. And the dreams...the images flashing in your mind of threats you couldn’t understand, dangers that filled you with panic. Someone was uttering words to you that you couldn't understand. All you could do was try to run, try to escape. Everything about you was screaming.

Through the mist of sickness, you could finally make out the voice. “...gotta...can’t...help…” After a few moments of the whimpering and the distress, you were alarmed to figure out it was the sound of your own voice. But you couldn’t even feel yourself saying the words.

“I’m here,” another person muttered past the darkness. “It’s alright…” The stranger shushed, trying to sound sweet to cover up the panic in their tone. “The one time I need that pompous jerk around and he’s gone. Figures.” You could hear a few pages being turned, a frustrated click of a tongue followed after. “Why didn’t I look this up before? Why wasn’t I prepared?” The anger from the other being in the room seemed to affect you. You thrashed a little, kicking your feet as if it would help push off the suffocating agony. Two hands clamped down on your shoulders, pinning you to the bed. “Calm down...Please calm down...I need to calm down.” Once you went back to being mostly still, more pages were turned. “Have the afflicted wear light clothing. I can do that.” A weight was shed off of you as the blanket pulled back. Air struck your sweat covered skin, sending chills down your body. You began to tremble. The front of your RAD uniform was tugged at, someone working at the buttons to shed the outer layer off your body.

“...won’t...s...sor...is…hah…” Your speech was broken, and even if you knew what you wanted to say, your mouth wouldn’t let you. Someone took your hands, lifting your arm to let gravity help assist in removing the sleeve. You could feel it slip before fully crashing against the bed like a dead weight, free of the thick uniform fabric. The same was done with the other arm. Then a hand supported the back of your neck, lifting your upper body just enough until the extra layer was yanked out from under you. Removing the jacket had been like opening an oven. Heat from your body suddenly escaped into the room, no longer trapped behind unnecessary insulation. Even in your rather deranged state, you could feel your shirt sticking to your skin. Now you seemed to be shuddering harder.

“Hydration...medication...Curses, Lucifer, get back here...Nothing...there’s nothing here!” The individual grunted in a growl of vexation, a frantic flutter of paper soaring further away before something heavy struck the ground far from you. You managed to stop moaning, switching to feverish panting. Your company tutted at you again, stroking the top of your head tenderly. “Can you even hear me at all? Breathe, MC, breathe.” It’s embarrassing to admit it took you much longer than you would’ve liked to remember how to control your breathing. Once you took some deeper inhales, you heard your caretaker sigh in relief. “Good…Well, not good, but better.”

Reality had sunken in almost completely now, just covered with a thin layer of dreamy haze. You cracked your eyes open, a mess of blonde hair and worried green eyes looking down at you. “S-Sa...tan,” you murmured.

His hand stroked your head a few more times before grabbing the wet rag again and dotting it across your face. The energy you needed to retain consciousness was quickly fading. Satan’s hands grasped your face. “Hold on! Look at me again, come on.” With every ounce of power you had left, you lifted your eyelids as much as you could. Still half-lidded, you only caught glimpses of his green sweater as he slid one hand under your back, lifting you up gently. Your head bobbed down, chin against your chest as Satan settled your back against your headboard. Gentle fingers lifted your head, some plastic brought to your lips. “You have to stay hydrated, drink just a little.” You wrapped your lips around the straw, sucking water into your body until you felt like you were going to be sick again. Satan moved to put the cup back down, and in that time he made the mistake of letting you go. Gravity tugged your body down, nearly slipping out of bed, threatening to fall to the floor. Thankfully, the demon of wrath was there to catch you. Head resting against his shoulder, you breathily let out a ‘thank you’ that was probably closer to a slurred series of sounds rather than a statement.

His arms wrapped tightly around you. “Don...lea…ve...”

Then everything went black again.

When consciousness flooded back to your mind, you had no idea how long it had been. Turning to your other side, you rubbed your head against the pillow. Everything was still much too warm. You slipped an arm under your heavy headrest, hoping to get to the cooler side. Your pillow twitched. Your pillow...was moving? Up. Down. Slow. Rising with steady breaths. You woke up, shifting enough in your spot to alert the person in your bed. Placing a book to the side, Satan rubbed one of your shoulders. Taking a moment to realize what position you were in, you felt your stomach flop once you came to the conclusion that you were lying against Satan’s legs, clinging to his clothes, hand against his lower back, head resting against his stomach. “You alright?” Satan wondered, pressing a hand to your forehead. You didn’t need to speak for him to know the answer. Not really. “I’ll admit, you had me worried for a while there.” He sat up fully, your head sliding back to your pillow--your actual pillow. You quickly retracted your death grip on him, hugging your arms close to your body. If there could be any more heat in your cheeks, there would be.

Shame creeped into your bones. “S...sorry.”

His expression brightened a small amount, pleased with the fact that you could speak mostly clearly now, even if your voice did sound ragged. He pulled the blanket back over your shoulders and up near your chin. “Don’t worry about that, just worry about feeling better.” He twisted his body, grabbing something off your nightstand again. “Here, have some more water. Everything I’ve read says that you need to stay hydrated at all times.” You dug your elbow into the mattress, lifting your head enough to not choke as you drank. As Satan lowered the glass, you noticed it was almost completely empty. You didn’t remember drinking that much. Exactly how delusional had you been earlier? How much had you forgotten? You downed the rest of the drink in small sips, lying back down when you were done.

“Did…” You squeaked. “Did I do anything…”

“Weird?” Satan finished your sentence for you. “So you don’t remember all of it, I take it?” You shook your head. “You started moaning, hyperventilating. Once you calmed down a bit you collapsed on me and refused to let me go. I figured since I was going to monitor you anyway I would…” A small blush formed on his cheeks. “Hold you till Lucifer got home.”

You looked away from his face, still a bit self conscious. You decided to change the subject. “He’s still gone?”

Satan’s lips almost curled into a little snarl. “Yes. I have no idea why he’s decided to take his sweet time to-” He cut himself off short, clearing his throat and removing any traces of rage. “Don’t worry about him, I’m sure he’ll be home soon with the medicine.” You felt the top of your head being pet again, tempting you to close your eyes. “Until then, is there anything I can get for you?” You shook your head once more, allowing yourself to indulge in your impulses, moving closer to his body. Despite seeming mostly unaffected by the intimacy earlier, he took in a short sharp breath, lifting his head to the side to hide part of his face. His hand was near your face, tauntingly close, reminding you of how chill his skin was and how good it felt to have him stroke your head. You closed your eyes, bringing your head forward enough to bump against his wrist. A stifled gasp rang through the air before he took a deep breath. “It’s unfortunate that you had to be this sick to…” His sentence trailed off, his hand that you’d ran into pressed against your burning cheeks before brushing against your hair, running down the length of locks before starting again. “Conserve your energy,” he whispered. “Go back to bed.”

“... … how are they?”

“...still feverish… …sleeping for a long time…”

“I’ll take over… … get some rest.”

Soft voices somehow roused you from your deep sleep, the final click of your door leaving you awake. You flitted your eyes open, immediately upset with how dry and crusty they felt. It didn’t help you feel any better when you noticed Lucifer by your bed, busy observing a small cardboard container. He was quick to notice you move, turning his head towards you as you wiped the grime from your eyes with the back of your finger. How embarrassing. Having to be sick, weak, vulnerable, positively distasteful, and in front of the people you thought highly of no less. Memories of Satan flooded back into your mind. Would they all think less of you after this? For how low you’d fallen? For how weak you were? You couldn’t let that happen. What had happened with Satan couldn’t be helped, but from here on out you would do your best to be independent. You adjusted to sit up.

“What did I say about moving too much?” He scolded, his hand outstretched to settle you back down. You swept his gesture away, sitting up fully and focusing on the item in his hand. A regular box of human world medicine. You reached out for it, and despite being annoyed you’d swatted him away, he handed it to you. The tones of his voice casually shifted from his typical strict nature to low and sweet. “Is...this the one you need?” You glanced it over. Gel pills, daytime and nighttime ones, for cold and flu symptoms. You nodded. He seemed relieved. “It doesn’t happen often, but I was glad for Solomon’s help in picking the proper medicines,” he admitted. “Who knew humans needed so many medications? And you even have entire shops dedicated to them.” He shook his head as a deep frown formed on his face as if he just realized how fragile and complicated human bodies could be. You sighed, agreeing with him in your mind. You were thankful he managed to bring this back though, for as much as you hated proving he was right, you desperately wanted the medicine to ease your aching symptoms. You tried prying the flap open, annoyed when it refused to tear apart. From out of the corner of your eye, you swore you spotted the smallest smirk cross over Lucifer’s face. “Would you like some help?” You grumbled, turning your torso away from him as you attempted again to open the simple package. In slight sadistic fashion, he simply observed you struggle for another few minutes before you tore the box open. Even just working on that had you nearly breathless, but you scrounged up a little triumphant grin. Pulling out one of the bubble sheets, you settled the box back in your lap which Lucifer quickly picked up, returning to read the details printed on the back. “No more than four doses a day,” he announced. “You can take two of those pills now and then wait for four hours before you can take any more.” He read all that out with the confidence of a doctor who knew exactly what he was prescribing. “I want you to check in with me before you decide to take more, understood?”

You desperately wanted to be snippy about it, but the energy for defense was long gone. Plus, you knew that he needed to have his hands on the reins at all times, and his stubbornness was especially bad when it was a situation he had no control over. “Okay,” you squeaked, pressing your thumb tightly against the foil backing until the pills were free. Dumping them out into your palm, you sighed to yourself once you spotted the empty glass of water from earlier. You’d have to go refill it.

As soon as you pushed the blankets back and swung your legs out of bed to stand up, Lucifer tightly gripped your shoulders. Normally, he would’ve reacted before the thought even crossed your mind, but your actions must’ve stunned him more than usual. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Wincing a little, you cleared your throat before you spoke. “I need water.” You tried to get back up, but your weakened strength was no match against Lucifer’s, and he was hardly trying.

“Then let me get some for you.” Your lips parted to utter out a rebuttal but he’d have none of it. He grasped your ankles, pulling your legs back into bed and folding the covers back over the lower half of your body. He pointed a gloved finger at you. “You’re not to move.” He plucked the empty glass off the tabletop, striding out of your door before you could even try to argue. A low groan rumbled in your chest, your lungs convulsing out a few more coughs. By the time you got your breathing managed again, the demon of pride was back in your room, handing you a fresh glass of water. A deeper frown tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched ripples form in the liquid as your hand shook. Attempting to stabilize your hold only seemed to make it worse. He reached out, his intention to help you drink. Before he could, you popped both pills in your mouth and grasped at the cup with both hands as you brought the rim to your lips, watching his arm fall dejectedly back to his sides. Even the smooth gel coating went down rough, feeling more like two sharp stones scraping the inside of your esophagus. With your nose more stopped up than usual, by the time you were done drinking you were gasping for air, resulting in coughs again, hard enough to nearly make you gag. Lucifer took the cup from you before you could drop it, settling it on your nightstand. You were bowled over, tears streaming from your eyes. Rare panic crossed over Lucifer’s face, rubbing your back till the coughing fit came to an end. He took a deep inhale once it was over. Then he placed his touch over your forehead again, his thumb gently rubbing against your temple. When he retracted, you nearly let a little moan betray your feelings. You’re supposed to be independent, you reminded yourself. Lucifer shifted in his seat a bit, brandishing another item from his pockets. “We got one of these things as well,” he explained, taking the little item between his fingers and squinting to better study it. “He said it would be useful in monitoring your temperature, but...he failed to explain how it worked.”

If you were feeling even just a bit better, you would’ve laughed. Lucifer took the thermometer and pointed the end towards your forehead, his eyebrows raised as he waited for something to happen, only to scowl when nothing did. You let a similar cocky expression coat your face as he was the one to struggle with something so simple this time. If only he knew he had the right idea but the wrong type. He’d gotten one of the older fashioned versions. “This kind goes under my tongue,” you explained.

“Really?” He hummed. “How strange. Seems...messy.” He held the end close to your mouth, his face showing no signs of amusement this time as he waited. You hesitated, your heart beating faster at the emotions swelling in your chest. Independent, independent, independent, you repeated in your mind. Only, you’d caught him in a very impatient mood. With his other hand, he cupped it around your chin, carefully pulling your jaw down till he could slip the end of the thermometer under your tongue. You pressed your lips back together, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. The small device beeped once it got its reading. Lucifer pulled it out and brought it back towards him. “101.4” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair before settling the thermometer down, attempting to guide your body back down in a lying position.

You stopped him, grabbing his wrist, eyes focusing on anything other than his face. “You don’t...have to do this.”

He entertained you, fully capable of pushing you down should he desire it, but he let you keep him in your grasp. His eyes narrowed. “What thing in particular are you talking about?”

Taking as deep of a breath your lungs would allow, you corrected yourself. “You don’t have to take care of me, I mean.” Words strained and cracking, they did little to convince the demon. “I’m well enough to take care of myself. Trust me, I’ve done it plenty before.”

Distrustful and discouraged, he stiffened, tugging his wrist away. “Be that as it may, while you are down here you are my responsibility. It is part of my duty to ensure you are safe and well looked after. Do you expect me to just walk away from my role?”

You’ll admit, it wasn’t very rational, but something other than the fever in you burned. “I’m not an assignment to be written off, Lucifer.”

“You know I didn’t mean that.” His crimson eyes looked down at you for a moment, the air silent between you save for the faint rattling in your chest. Eventually, he spoke back up, the previous forbidding expression gave way to a small smile. He closed his eyes and chuckled a little, taking you aback. “When did you ever get so prideful? Is it too bold to assume it’s my doing?” Then his hand moved forward, unbothered by your past attempt to push him away. He brushed sticky strands of hair away from your face. “If you truly don’t want me here, I will leave.” Your chest seemed to flutter at his words. It wasn’t that you...didn’t want him there. It was that you did. Almost too much. If there was anything you didn’t want, it was to be a hindrance. You knew how busy Lucifer was. His trip to the human world had probably already doubled his workload, and if you were right they’d all skipped classes for your sake, and- “MC.” He cupped your face, the look on his face told you that he knew everything you were thinking. “Not worrying about anything else, not overthinking it, do you want me here, yes or no? A simple question and two simple options.”

“I…” You knew the answer, and he did too, trying to hold back his amusement until he could hear the answer for himself. “If...you...want to.”

He shook his head in a defeated way. “You’re incorrigible, you know that don’t you?” With your acceptance, he took your shoulders, letting you lie down. He took the rag that had fallen off to the side, gently brushing it across your face. Under your eyes, over your cheekbones, under your chin. Then he leaned forward, his upper body resting against your bed, his head propped up under one of his hands. He gazed at you, tracing your jawline with his knuckle. The skin across his cheeks turned a light pink. “Of course I want to be with you. Not a moment goes by that I don’t desire to be at your side.”

The fast acting medicine and the fact that you’d been so distracted by his peaceful touch, you’d totally missed what he’d told you. “Hm?” You sleepily hummed, too focused on how close his body was to yours.

“Nothing,” he mused, making sure you were secure under the covers. “I’ll tell you once you’ve recovered. Sleep now.”

The muscles in your body slowly woke you up, screaming at you to change positions after having slept like a stone for Diavolo-knows how long. Eyes still closed, sleep still foggy on your mind, you turned over in bed. However, even with the smallest amount of alertness you possessed, you were very aware of how...generally upsetting your body felt. Soon it was all you could focus on, forcing you awake. Groaning, mourning the comfort of sleep, you slowly stretched out your weary legs. Your feet pressed against a foreign lump in your bed.

Mammon shot up, uncurling himself from the foot of your bed as he apparently woke up from a nap. “MC!” He crawled forward, placing both of his hands on the side of your face. “How ya feeling?” His sudden energy left you a bit winded, still trying to comprehend him caressing your face so tenderly. He let his arms drop to your shoulders. You shifted under his gaze, shaking your head.

“Like garbage…” Hot, sweaty, gross, you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. Mammon frowned, his blue eyes wide and shimmery. He resembled a puppy for just a second, observing your face for any sort of hope that by some miracle you’d fully recovered. When he saw you were still the worst for wear, he sighed, grabbing the covers around you and tucking it against your legs. Only, the blanket wasn’t one that you owned. Running your hands over the fabric, you noticed that this was one of Lucifer’s blankets. It was lighter and cooler than the blanket you had on before. You took in the rest of your room for a moment, noticing more than one thing out of place. Mammon had been resting on one of Belphie’s pillows, one of his new expensive ones. In fact the pillow you had been sleeping on was replaced with one of Sloth’s. On your nightstand, near your box of medicine and a box of tissues was a little diffuser, one you recognized as Asmo’s. A small plume of steam flushed out of the top, a mild comforting scent spreading throughout the space. A book that wasn’t yours, a replica of some sword draped over your table, and a number of other things that had never been between your walls before were littered here and there. You tilted your head. “Where did these things come from?” You wondered.

Mammon lowered his eyelids, his hands on his hips as he settled into a more comfortable seating position beside you. “Listen, my hands get grabby sometimes when I get anxious.”

You simply blinked at him. “You were worried?”

His sincere expression changed as he frowned, pink touching his cheeks as he shook his head. “W-well of course! Lucifer would make sure I never saw a lick of Grimm again if something happened to you…” His voice turned to a lower mumble. “And what, you thought I wouldn’t be worried after watching you take a spill like that? Had me thinking you’d bit the dust for a second!” His eyes flickered around the room as if he was making sure you two were truly alone. Then he leaned past you, fluffing up the pillow you had been laying on. As he straightened, he pressed his hand against your forehead, his body temperature much warmer than Lucifer’s. “Never make me that worried again, yeah? I...You see...Just don’t, okay?”

You hummed an affirming tone, nodding, a small smile creeping across your mouth. Then after the moment had passed, you shifted in your spot. You felt disgusting even after all that effort to take a shower this morning. Lucifer did say not to move too much, but right now you wanted to be clean more than anything. Pushing back the blankets encouraged a similar reaction to Lucifer’s earlier.

“Oi! What do you think you’re doing?!” Mammon scurried to his feet, standing in front of you with his arms wide to block you from moving, even though you had yet to even leave the bed. “Bed rest means staying in bed last I checked!”

“Please, Mammon, I just want to take a shower, I’m grimy and gross. I feel like an over-steamed dumpling.”

“Don’t let Beel hear you say that.” You managed to stand up, but your sense of balance left much to be desired. On instinct you ended up grabbing Mammon’s shoulders to keep from falling over. “Alright, nuh uh, you can barely move! What if you end up falling and cracking that head of yours open, huh?” Your mind was brought back to your morning mishap and near tumble in the shower from before. “You’re lucky you didn’t injure yourself too badly earlier!”

Your eyes widened. “H-how did you know about that? I don’t remember telling anyone.”

His eyebrows raised. “I’m talking about the dining hall, dummy. But now that you’ve let that little detail slip there’s not any chance I’ll let you go now! No way.” He put one arm under yours to keep you steady, ready to keep you back in bed for good.

Gathering up what little energy you had, you took several deep breaths, gently pushing yourself away from his body until you were standing on your own, just barely stable. “Mammon, please?” It had been your goal up until now to look as far from pathetic as possible, yet now you poured all that into your expression, eyes pleading, head tilted a bit to the side.

He squirmed. “Tch, you think you can do whatever you want just by giving me some puppy-eyes? Who do you think I am?”

“Fine,” you grumbled. “I bet Asmo would let me take a shower. Maybe I should call him and have him take care of me instead.”

“Asmo?! I...you...fine! But I’m c-coming with you, to make sure you stay safe and all.”

You lowered your eyes at him. “You can stay outside the bathroom.”

“I’m not payin’ for a busted door if I need to break in. I’m going inside! I’ll just turn around or somthin’.”

He stared you down with a nature stubborn enough to match your own. In your state now, you had little time to squabble. “Fine.” You started walking, leaning against bits of furniture to keep you steady. Acting rather gentlemanly, Mammon rushed ahead of you to open your door. Once he did, he took your arm tucked against his in a sort of escorting fashion. Saying nothing, you both took steady silent steps to the bathroom. You were immensely pleased to find it unoccupied, leaving Mammon’s side to step in. Like he promised he would, he followed you inside, shutting the door before his cheeks turned dark with embarrassment. He turned, parking himself in a corner with his face to the wall.

“I-I’ll be right here in case something happens, alright?” For him to come this far for you was...The added heat rushing through your body only caused you to feel worse, so you flicked on the water to heat up as you stripped. As you were taking off your pants, balancing on one leg, you teetered to the side, nearly falling. The tub right next to you served as your saving grace. You panted, cursing at yourself for being so clumsy. “You alright?!” Mammon clasped his hands over his face before turning around. “MC?” Riddled with nervous anxiety, he danced back and forth on his feet.

“I’m okay,” you wheezed. Just barely. You planted your foot against the fabric of your pants, tugging your other leg out. “Just keep looking at that wall.” You questioned the idea of him being in here at first, but now you were beginning to have little trust in yourself. What if you did collapse, locked, exposed inside an empty room till someone came looking for you? You shuddered. Climbing into the shower, you pulled the curtains across the rod until you were completely concealed. You let out a breath of relief as the steam once again cleared up your airways, the pressure building up in your head loosening. Shutting your eyes, you let the water wash over you, cleaning off the sticky sweat that had clung to your body. You simply stood there for a few moments, appreciating the serenity. Then you figured it would be best to get yourself clean while you had the capacity to. Reaching down for the soaps you used, you washed your hair and vigorously scrubbed down your body, envisioning all the germs swirling down the drain. Although by the time you were done, you became aware of the fact that you might’ve made the water a bit too hot, and you might’ve once again pushed yourself a little too far. Nausea came along with the dizziness, the floor losing it’s feeling of solidity. After you turned the water off, you tore the shower curtain back, stepping onto the bathroom mat.

“You done?” Mammon asked. Right now, all you could do was grunt in response. The small burst of energy you possessed had plummeted. You bypassed the towels and straight for your clothes. Only, the clothes you had been wearing previously were gone. On cue, Mammon explained. “Oh I got you some pajamas. Not good to be lying in those same clothes all day, besides, I got you something comfier.” Folded up on the floor by the tub were a comfortable pair of your pajamas. Pushing aside your humiliation, you picked up the “pajamas” he’d picked out for you. One of your shorts and...one of his t-shirts. It was one he had bought on a whim, much like most of his other purchases. Merch from an action movie you and him had watched in the theaters a while ago. He loved this thing. You could only stare at it for a few seconds. Mammon was right, these would be much nicer to sleep in.

With a meek voice you started slipping into the new outfit, still dripping. “T-thank you.” You had hardly finished poking your head through the shirt before your knees began to tremble. Your head felt foggy, your mind threatening to slip. “M-Mammon,” you gulped, your voice shaking.

He spun around, eyes squeezed shut. “What? What is it? Are you bleeding? Are you hurt? Are you dressed? Can I look?” As soon as you ‘mm-hm’ed he flashed his eyes open, took in the sight of your shuddering frame before hurrying over to you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head for a moment, the world disappearing as you plummeted to the floor. You woke up in his arms hardly a few seconds after your fainting spell. Held tightly against his body, he wrapped his limbs around you, supporting you to keep you upright. “Hey, hey!” His voice shook as he squeezed you. “MC!”

“ ‘s too...hot.”

“Stupid human…” He muttered, his rugged tone falling short. “And you’re still drenched! Are you trying to make yourself even worse?” When his sharp remarks were met with your silence, he pulled you closer. “Ah...Really not good, huh?” He asked softly, one of his hands rubbing your back. You could only slowly shake your head. “Let’s get you back to bed, eh?” He brushed some damp hair away from your face before he dragged you out the door, his distress growing ever more visible the more you seemed to slump harder against him. It felt like an eternity inching back to your room, flopping facedown onto your bed as soon as it was in your sights. The mattress bobbed up and down, the movement surprisingly soothing, almost lulling your body to a light sleep right then and there. “Alright, come on. It’ll do you no good to fall asleep like that.” Mammon helped lift you up, letting you settle your head against his body, arms wrapped around his neck as he worked to get you back under the covers. He tucked you in, moving about the room nervously the less responsive you became. Shutting your eyes to conserve some energy, you listened to him curse under his breath, grumbling to himself about “fragile humans”. At some point, a dry fabric came into contact with the top of your head. You were pushed slightly to make some space for him to sit down. He adjusted you till your head was in his lap, the fabric massaging against your wet hair. “Stupid human…” He repeated, softly scrubbing the towel against your scalp. “Why’d you have to go and get yourself sick, huh?”

“...didn’t...mean to...I’m sorry…”

The motions across your head stopped, then you felt the back of his hand stroke against your cheek. “Now don’t sound like that...Do you know how much it hurts me to see ya like this?” He paused and then resumed ensuring your hair was as dry as he could get it. “Don’t you worry, the Great Mammon will be right here for you till you feel better, alright?” His voice sounded strained. “So ya better get better…” You cracked your eyes open, pushing yourself up. “What’re you doing? I-“ He quickly cut himself off as soon as you settled yourself between his legs, head against his chest. You could hear his throat casually gasp for breath. His nose came down to nestle against the top of your head, his arms dropping the towel, instead wrapping around your body. “Don’t do this for anyone but me, ya hear? Only I...only I want to take care of you like this.” He pulled the blanket up around the both of you, his soft breaths growing deeper and deeper. Eventually you both fell asleep.

Your mind was flooded with more fever dreams, clips and scenes of moments your conscious mind wouldn’t even know how to explain. It blurred the line between what was real and what was simply your imagination, so in the moment, when you were disturbed from your sleep, you didn’t even react. Your body was moved, flipped over, weightless, moved from the soft surface you were on to something firmer. You could only process it for a mere second before you were plunged back into a nonsensical plot your frayed mind came up with. After what felt like some time, you were just barely awoken again when harsh and hushed whispers buzzed in your ears.

“They shouldn’t be down here!”

“So cute! I mean, poor thing.”

“Are they still asleep?”

“Take them back.”

Once you realized that this was real, you slowly became aware of more things around you. As tired numbness left your limbs, you felt your arms pinned against your body, something around you constricted your movement. Panic struck you for only just a second, feeling that your blanket was simply wrapped around your body. You figured in your restless state you must’ve trapped yourself inside it. An involuntary groan escaped your mouth as you squirmed a little, moving your feet in an attempt to feel an escape.

Something outside of you moved you, tugging you tighter against something firm, a pressure rubbing circles into your back. It soothed you enough to keep you from struggling, but you were steadily waking up. The “wall” you were against vibrated as a deep voice rumbled out of it. “I just thought...it wouldn’t feel like a family dinner without them.” Your body was adjusted again, lifted to be propped up against what you now understood was a torso. One strong arm kept you still, draped against your back.

“S-surely you can’t hold them and eat at the same time, Beel,” someone muttered. “Why don’t you let your big bro hold em?”

The body holding you tightened around you, shielding you. “No.”

“Don’t underestimate him.”

“Should we wake them up?”

“Don’t humans heal faster when they sleep?”

Someone else let out an exhausted breath. “Fine, but they’re to be put back in bed once you’re done.”

The chest your head was against hummed with satisfaction. “Got it.” Soon, quiet but eager eating noises could be heard outside your muffled prison. If you connected the dots correctly, you were resting against Beel who had brought you down to dinner while you had been asleep. Was this a brief glance into what Belphie felt like? Albeit with more comfort and less...pain. Although he’d probably beg to differ. Right now, you couldn’t even pinpoint where the source of your suffering was coming from. It just seemed to be...all over, even down to the tips of your fingers. Even if you had wanted to move, you didn’t have the energy for it, so despite being almost wide awake at this point, you stayed in place. You tried to focus on anything else to keep your mind off the aching. Beel’s heart sounded like a distant drum. Burying your face closer against his body, you let out a small whimper, focusing on the melodic thumping of his healthy heart. You could even hear the pace speed up as your cheek pressed up against him.

“Beel, you alright?”

The sound of eating stopped, and a clink of something metallic against glass sounded before a second arm enveloped you, a hand settled at the back of your head. “I’ll eat in a little bit,” Beel whispered.

“In a--”

“Shhhh! Shut up, Mammon!”

“I mean…” The voice returned to barely audible. “Whadda sayin’ ‘in a bit’? You’re not sick again are ya?” Beel didn’t grace anyone with a response. You were gently squeezed in his hug, a weight coming down on top of your head, presumably his chin. The hand behind your head moved to the space between your shoulder blades, moving up and down in rhythmic strokes along your spine. It was uncanny, you thought, how he almost immediately knew how desperate you were for some comfort. Or maybe he was just perceptive like that. If anyone would be, it would be Beel.

“How are they feeling?” Someone asked.

Cooler air poured against your face as the space left for you to breathe was made wider. Light from the dining hall illuminated outside your eyelids. Beel’s hand pressed against your forehead, moving down to cup your cheeks. Out of everyone, he always ran the warmest, bordering on nearly being a walking furnace. And yet even he moaned in unease, his stomach groaning alongside him in worry. “Still too hot,” he announced. You allowed yourself to flicker your eyes open, looking up at him just as he moved his hand away. Both his eyebrows raised in surprise before he quickly frowned. “Did I wake you up? Sorry.” You figured that now that everyone knew you were up, it would be time to move. Sitting up straighter in your spot, you wiggled one of your arms out of your cocoon, pulling the fabric of your blanket off your head, letting it settle around your waist. You rubbed spots out from your vision, blinking as you soaked in the sight of the room.

Asmo politely dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin, settling it back in his lap before addressing you with the sweetest pair of eyes. “Good evening, darling! How’re you feeling?”

You had half of a mind to try to play the “I’m fine” card, but with your fit with Satan and fainting scare with Mammon, it would be no use to even try to pretend you were fine. So you didn’t see the harm in being honest. “Like I’ve been to hell and back.”

“You are in hell,” Belphie quipped.

“You know what I mean.” You turned your head and glanced up, your heart pounding more prominently when you once again realized just how big Beel was compared to you, an otherworldly size. Sweeping away your embarrassment, you started tugging at the blanket to free your legs, moving to leave his lap. “Sorry, Beel.”

His hand grabbed one of your wrists. “What do you mean?” He tugged at you, repositioning you firmer in his lap. “You didn’t do anything.” His beautiful amethyst irises stared right into yours. “I wanted you here. Meals aren’t the same without you.” He pat the top of your head, letting his fingers scratch gently into your scalp. In most situations, you’d find your open vulnerability to be embarrassing, but right now you couldn’t care less. You leaned back into him, nestling your nose into his chest, using his body to block out the light. Beel gripped the blanket and pulled it back up to settle around your shoulders.

“Speaking of meals,” Lucifer started. “It’s about time MC had something to eat.”

Satan spoke up. “Do we even have anything decent enough for sick humans to have?” The brothers went back and forth for a while, bringing recommendations hypothetically to the table about what would be best for you.

“Belphie knows the most about humans, what do you think?” Beel wondered.

A lone monotone hum rang out for a moment. “I think it was stew or something like that.”

A strange bout of irritation drilled in you. You turned your head, addressing the group. “You know you could just ask the human right here. I might be sick but I’m not completely helpless.”

Brusque tones usually granted you grating glares, but even Lucifer seemed to give you a pass. “So?” The eldest questioned. “Tell us what you need and we can get it for you.”

Something about that knocked the rebellious wind out of you. You lowered your head a bit and sighed. “Don’t even worry about it, I’m not hungry anyway.” A bold statement to claim whilst sitting in the lap of Gluttony.

Shaking you lightly, Beel squinted at you. “You’ve barely eaten all day.” The expression on his face turned Lucifer levels of stern. It wasn’t an appearance he took too often. Even now you knew this was a losing battle. A flash of a memory popped up in your mind, one of when Beel had been sick. You pressed your lips together into a thin line.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“Beel--”

“MC. Eat.” His flat tone trembled throughout his body, sending a shudder through you. Lucifer was always strict, so it never caught you off guard, not anymore. But when Beel got this way it pierced through everyone in the room. As if they’d been the one commanded, everyone took a single bite of their meal.

You gave in, your stature shrinking. “Fine...something light then. Soup’s fine. I’ll go get some…”

Beel’s arms wrapped around you again, keeping you to him. “No you won’t. Levi.”

The third-born almost yelped, sinking down into his seat before stuttering. “S-sure, I-I’ll get it…” As he headed to the kitchen you could hear him grumble. “Of course he had to pick me. Why me? It’s always me…” You felt a bit sorry for the otaku as he slunk away. In fact you almost felt sorry for everyone in the room. Even just alluding to the skip of a meal had Beel suddenly tense, on alert. He had you held against him in a guarded manner, his torso bent forward to lean over what he could of yours. He didn’t settle back down till Levi came back in a handful of minutes later, resting a bowl of soup in front of you. It was of human origins you assumed, it looked like regular chicken noodle. The aroma had bits of nostalgia bubble within you. And now that it was here, you hated to admit that you actually were hungry.

You reached over to try to grab a spoon, falling just a bit short of the table’s edge. Beel’s arms were admittedly much longer than yours, not needing to sit as close as you usually did. Beel grasped a clean utensil for you, getting a decent portion of stock in it’s dip. He held his other hand under the spoon to make sure he didn’t spill any, then he brought it over to you. Did you try to deny it? Maybe a little, but Beel’s spine-chilling glower had you reconsider. You opened your mouth and let him feed you. The hot broth slid down your sore throat easily, relieving some of the pain. As it warmed you up from the inside, Beel finally went back to smiling, everyone breathing in relief. “See, doesn’t it make you feel better?” Beel brought a new spoonful to your lips.

You swallowed again and admittedly nodded. “A bit.”

Out of the blue, Beel brought his face down, planting a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Some of his siblings gasped, but if the demon of gluttony heard it, he pretended he hadn’t. His free hand went back to rubbing your back, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t nice, the many sensations driving some of the pain from your mind. “Good,” Beel beamed. “Remember, your body needs fuel to keep going.”

“I know…” The parallel between now and when he had been sick was almost perfect. Beel took the bowl in his hands, bringing it over to settle in your lap, keeping it steady in his hold. “Isn’t it hot?” You asked, worried he’d burn his skin.

“Not to me,” he assured you.

You sighed, taking the spoon from him so you could eat yourself. “Thank you for always looking out for me, Beel.”

You expected him to be pleased, but he quickly turned downcast. “I couldn’t protect you from this.” Heart breaking, all you could do was stare down into your lap, watching the broth gently swirl in the bowl. This had mostly been your fault. If you had done something just a bit differently, maybe…

“No, Beel, that wasn’t your fault,” Belphie spoke up, pushing his plate with his leftovers on it closer to his twin to finish. “Besides, it’s your job now to take care of MC now more than ever, right?”

Beel turned his head away from the food, peering down at you in his lap. He nodded once, bringing his head down to press his forehead to yours. “You’re right. Sick or not, I’ll always watch over them.”

After dinner, Beel carried you back up to bed, reluctant to let you be free of his arms, but he managed. After giving you one last once-over and another little kiss to your temple, he hurried back down to the dining hall. After all, he was far from having his fill of food. Lucifer had followed the two of you inside, taking your temperature once more. 100.7, still higher than he’d prefer it to be, but glad to discover it had gone down even if just by a hair. He allowed you to take some medicine and urged you to get some more rest. Flicking the light off, he wished you sweet dreams before he left, torn away from you by work he couldn’t ignore. Although, even with the comfort of your bed and the satisfying feeling of something warm in your belly, for the first time, slumber eluded you. It wasn’t that you weren’t tired--exhaustion might as well have been your permanent state at this point--but shutting your mind off, drifting away into peaceful bliss didn’t seem like an option right now.

You spent a few hours on your D.D.D. scrolling through posts and web-pages, anything to keep you occupied. Although, that eventually bored you after a while. You sat up, trying to not let the loneliness of your empty room consume you. Had everyone gone to bed already? Had you already gotten used to falling asleep with someone beside you? That couldn’t be the case, right? You slowly got out from under your covers, padding over to the door. Maybe if you walked around the House of Lamentation enough, you’d be able to go to bed. You were feeling a bit better, capable of moving around on your own at the very least. You entered the empty hallway, the midnight moon rays creeping across the rug settled across the stone floor. The branches outside the windows cast twisted shadows across the corridor. Some people might’ve found it dreadful, but whether it was your own stranger tastes or the fact that you’d been down here so long, you found it to be serene in a mystical sort of way.

Drifting through the halls like a weary ghost patrolling the perimeter, you wandered past each of the brother’s rooms. The house was surprisingly still. Before you knew it, you ended up in the music room. Shifting your feet towards the gorgeous ebony piano, your fingers brushed lightly over the ivory keys. Pushing down a low B, the note reverberated through the room, your skin tingling at the broken silence. It quenched some of your boredom. So you pushed another one, the lowest note this time, the deep tone rumbling through you.

“Having fun are we?”

You jumped, every hair across your body standing up on end. Swirling around, you met a pair of ruby eyes in the shadows. A string of curses left your lips. “What in hell’s name are you doing, Lucifer? Nearly scared me to death…” You pressed a hand to your beating chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You sunk to your knees, the wind knocked out of you.

He stepped further into the light, arms crossed, almost fuming. “I could ask you the same question. Once again I have to wonder, what are you doing out of bed? Are you that determined not to recover, is that it?” Hair slightly messy, well-tailored pajamas barely creased, you figured he must’ve just gotten out of bed, possibly disturbed before he could fall asleep. It would explain the death glare he was giving you.

“I...couldn’t sleep,” you answered truthfully, followed by an innocent little shrug.

With two fingers, he pinched at the bridge of his nose. “And so Levi just let you waltz around on your own?”

You tilted your head. “Levi?”

Something dawned on him with your confused question. A terrifying smile arched over his face, the corners twitching as the small amount of light in the room was snuffed out by his menacing aura. “Leviathan…” Yelping at the sudden movement, Lucifer hoisted you over one of his shoulders, gliding across the floor at a ridiculous pace until he was in front of Levi’s room. You wiggled, beating a gentle fist against Lucifer’s back.

“Let me down!”

He let you slide off of him, settling you back on your feet, but he quickly grasped one of your hands to keep you to his side. Despite his furious demeanor, he gently knocked on the door, waiting for approximately two seconds before knocking harder. “Levi!”

You heard the otaku approach his door before he swung it open. “What?! I’m in the middle of a very important raid! What could you possibly need--” The entrance to the room cracked open, Levi sticking his head out before all the color drained from his face. The tangerine hue of his eyes flickering from you to his older brother, the demon with paper-thin patience. Levi gulped, the little bump in his throat bobbing.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but didn’t I inform you that you would be keeping an eye on MC tonight?” The higher lilt in his question was laced with hostility. “Or maybe I didn’t make myself clear.” You felt a pang of guilt for the demon of envy.

“Lucifer,” you urged, tugging at his hand which kept you in a vice grip. “I’ll go back to bed, it’s not an issue.” He was ready to blow a gasket, the weariness of dealing with work and keeping his brother’s shenanigans at bay without your assistance clearly was affecting him. Who knew he’d come to depend on you this much? You reached up, rubbing his shoulder with the sweetest look you could come up with. “Please, don’t be angry.”

Shutting his eyes, squeezing your hand, he gave himself time to breathe. “MC, rest. Levi, take care of them. And no, I’m not asking.” The dark circles under Lucifer’s eyes almost seemed to run blacker, his irises duller than they should’ve been.

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” you comforted him. “Go get some sleep yourself.”

His shoulders sagged ever so slightly. “The sick shouldn't be fussing over the hale and whole, you know, but I will. I shall see you tomorrow.” He brought your hand up, kissing it before he let it go. “And, Levi.” The demon of envy flinched, hoping that he’d been forgotten. “I’ll see you tomorrow as well.”

Levi hung his head low as his older brother walked away, preemptively sniffling at his possible doom. “...and my raid is ruined…T-this is just the worst.” You were a bit sorry for Levi for being thrown at you like this, but you couldn’t help but wonder in the back of your mind if he...had forgotten about you. You watched the outline of Lucifer disappear into the darkness before you shivered. The temperature inside the house was dropping. “Huh?” Levi snapped out of his pitiful thoughts. “Are you-are you cold?”

“A little…”

“O-oh, I guess...maybe...Would it be alright if you stayed in my room tonight?” His stance shifted behind his door, anxiously moving his gaze around to keep from making direct eye contact with you.

Sighing, you nodded. After all, with the adrenaline crash, you doubted you had energy left to walk back to your room. “Sure.”

He let you in, shutting the door behind you and locking it with a magical charm to keep the riff-raff out. He scurried over to his tub-bed, pulling out some random plush collectibles, and letting them rest against the floor for now. He spun on his feet for a moment, taking in his room before bringing his thumb up to bite on the nail of it. “Y-you can stay anywhere, I have some blankets I guess...Gah! Why did Lucifer have to make me watch you?” The heart in your chest sank a bit, and you lowered your head, a small “oh” leaving your lips. Clutching his hair, Levi immediately regretted what he said. “No! No no no no, that’s-that’s not what I-I-I--” He stuttered for a good while, unable to grasp proper control of his tongue. “Wait, wait!” Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he picked up one last Ruri-Chan plush from the bed, covering part of his face with it. “I just...I don’t remember the last time I took care of someone sick…Knowing me, I-I’ll somehow make you worse! What-what if I’m forced to make a split second decision that could be the-the difference between life and death?! I’ll end up killing you! Living the rest of my life in isolated drunken regret!”

He quickly spiraled down a slippery slope of what-ifs, a dramatic fantasy playing out before him where he’d been cast out of the Devildom as your murderer, a disgusting vagabond, living on wildberries and wildlife with naught but his loneliness and shadow to keep him company. His rising anxiety was making him hyperventilate. You had to come over to him, gently take his shoulders and shake him slightly, dragging him back to reality. “Levi, I highly, highly doubt it will come to that. When Lucifer means ‘take care of me’ he mostly means making sure I have what I need.” You gave the sides of his arms a little rub.

“But I don’t know what you need!”

“Well, what I need right now is for you to calm down, first off,” you told him, dropping your hands back to your sides, gripping the end of the tub. Climbing into his bed had never really been an issue before, but hoisting yourself over the edge proved difficult a task. You felt his shaky hands come under your arms, hoisting you enough till you could sink yourself into his nest of pillows. You grinned, thanking him as you reached up to rub the top of his head. “See? Stuff like that, nothing too difficult. Fetch quests and escort missions. Easy mode. I’ll be here, just do your own thing.”

That seemed to ease him enough. He gripped one of his blankets and pulled it over you, moving back over to his desk. Muttering about the raid, he clacked at the keys, his mood steadily improving the more he lost himself in the world of gaming. You felt at the fabric of your pants, remembering with a small moan that they didn’t have pockets...meaning you’d left your D.D.D. in your room. Figures, you thought. So, in your last ditch effort to stay entertained, you moved Levi’s pillows around, making a small wall to prop yourself against, peering over the top of the basin to stare at his screen. You watched his character move around, fighting random enemies. He was completely absorbed, lightly talking to himself as he moved along, humming the victory theme anytime a quest was completed. At one point, he was paying too much attention to a beautifully fleshed out character model to notice what they were telling him, information that he needed to know but missed out on. After that, he was sent towards a boss that ended up instantly killing him when it finished charging up its “claymore of chaos’ move. Levi tried one more time, then three more times, and then about twenty. “What the heck?! How am I supposed to beat you?!” Levi finally shouted, pushing himself slightly away from his desk.

Speaking up for the first time in a few hours, you shared with him the information he missed. “You’re supposed to use your Mystical Missile spell.”

He jumped, almost falling out of his chair. “I thought you were asleep!”

“I still can’t sleep…I don’t know why.” You pulled your blanket tighter around you, peeking at him from your spot. A blush ran over his cheeks, rubbing the back of his head.

“Oh...Really? Mystical Missile? But it’s a trashy beginner spell.”

“That NPC lady said it would work, I dunno.” You shrugged. “Try it out, it can’t hurt.”

So he did, removing one of his high level skills to equip the basic one. Severely doubting success, he entered the boss arena again. It was admittedly tense, keeping you both on the edge of your seat. Once “claymore of chaos” was building, Levi let the spell fly towards him. The boss staggered, a crack forming in it’s armor. “It worked!” He shouted, yelping as a new flurry of enemy spells flew towards his character. If it was entertainment you were looking for, you found it, cheering him on as he hunched over, focused on his every move. Once it went down, you both whooped and cheered. It had been a bit too much for your lungs, dissolving into some coughs. Levi rushed to his feet, rubbing your back. “You okay?”

You nodded, letting your body shudder with a few more hacks till it was done. Voice more hoarse than before, you still smiled at him. “You did it!”

A laugh bubbled out of him. “Victory! Dun dun dun! Legendary item acquired!” Then his expression fell for a second. “Have you just been sitting there, watching me the whole time?” You nodded. He gripped one of his hoodie sleeves. “Would you rather do something...together?”

You brightened. “Sure!”

Giddy, he hurried over to the computer, picking up his loot before saving the game, closing the program. “If you’re in the mood for watching something, how about this new anime I found? I’m only a few episodes in, but I can start over! It’s called ‘I Transferred To A New School, But Everyone There Is Part Of The Elite, So I Have To Try And Keep Up With My Classmates Despite Me Being Normal, But I Accidentally Fooled The School Into Thinking I’m A Long Lost Heir To A Forgotten Throne’.”

Blinking, you stared at him. “You lost me at Elite.” Why the Devildom had anime with titles the length of chapters, you’d never know.

“It’s good! I promise!” He shifted his monitor so you could see it from your spot easier, turning the anime on with an elated aura, much nicer than the gloom-and-doom one from earlier. This was the Levi you loved to see, the one you tried to cherish as much as you could. He sat in his chair, scooting back till he was beside you so you could watch it together. It was a cute anime, something mostly a slice of life, a normal main character in a school setting surrounded by powerful beings, the plot moved forward with magical shenanigans...something about it sounded familiar. One of the episodes showed the main character fallen ill under some strange circumstance, their roommate they stayed with flustered but determined to take care of them. The friend--and obvious love interest--asked if he could hold the protagonist’s hand. Levi made a little noise. “MC, c-can I hold your hand? I mean, if that’s super weird don’t even listen to me because who would even want to hold hands with me anyway and--”

“Sure,” you smiled, reaching your hand out from the blanket a little.

He hesitated for a second and then took it, resuming to watch the show. Much to your amusement, any move the character made, he made as well, taking it as if it were some sort of guide. He brushed the hair from your face, made sure the blanket was tucked gently around you, ensured you were comfortable. Then, the friend in the show made a bold move, snuggling next to the main character as they both fell asleep. Levi went stiff, becoming extremely flustered. You had to admit, the concept was...enticing, and you almost leapt at any opportunity to tease envy. You tugged at his hand, making him look at you with your arms outstretched. If this had been an anime, he would’ve collapsed, his soul flying from his mouth. But even Levi couldn’t resist the temptation. He stepped into his bed, slowly, warily at first. He let you take him into your arms, wrapping his own body around you as you both squeezed together in the tub. “I...I...This is...a dream…”

You chuckled, settling your head on his chest, feeling his motoring heart pound in his chest. “Let’s watch some more, Levi.” Only, you hardly remembered anything after that. For shortly after he curled against you, the strange barrier keeping you awake completely collapsed. He had draped the blanket over you both, fidgeting with the hair at the nape of your neck. You must’ve turned your head against him, comforted enough by his presence to fall asleep.

“Medicine?”

“Right here.”

“Water?”

“You brought me like a gallon’s worth.”

“D.D.D.?”

“You can see it in my hands.”

Lucifer went down the list, the actual written list he’d come up. You sat in bed, trying hard not to blush and squirm under the many gazes in your room this morning. “Extra blankets?”

“I have everything and anything needed to last an entire week in solitary!” You shook your head, a little irate at each of them, but appreciating their concern all the same. Icepacks, blankets, snacks, water, bandages, and many other things were brought in your room in preparation. “You all are only going to a Student Council meeting, not off on some lengthy business trip.”

“Absolutely right!” Asmo shouted, sitting next to you in bed, hugging you to him and caressing your cheek against his. “It’s some stupid meeting anyway, which means one of us can stay can’t we?”

Every member of the household was already shouting reasons why they and they alone should have the opportunity to stay with you. Lucifer’s little vein above his eyebrow throbbed. “Enough!” The room went silent. “As much as I would love to permit myself to stay home,” he cleared his throat, “not a single one of us can miss today’s meeting. Which is why I’m taking every precaution. EDP?”

You gently pushed Asmo off of you, raising an eyebrow. The demon of lust pouted, stroking your head instead. “What’s an EDP?” You asked.

“An EDP is a short term we use for an Emergency Defense Pillar,” Satan explained. “A popular and fairly new little device in the Devildom, especially for lesser magic users or those who aren’t trained in combat.”

“I’m still at a loss,” you admitted. “Is it like a baton or something?”

Rummaging around in his pockets, Mammon brandished a small black object. It was cylindrical, about as big as a lighter, a glowing red button on the side. “I brought it! Now, let me teach you, human. If you’re being chased or cornered, this handy lil’ doodad is going to be essential if you wanna escape. You just push this little button here, and--”

Lucifer’s chest tightened. “Mammon, don’t!”

The second born pressed the button, his mistake just now clicking in his mind, chucking it a bit in front of him. Asmo grabbed you and tucked you against his chest, pushing your back to the wall while he shielded you with his body. Every other brother hit the floor, jumping away from the object. A huge pillar of fire sprouted from the object, swirling blue flames emitting intense heat as well as a roaring sound. It nearly burnt your eyes. Asmo tucked your head into his shoulder, waiting until the fire was suddenly sucked back into the small container, rattling against the floor. Your protector pulled away from you, letting you stare at the pitch black circle burnt into your ceiling and floor, a round chunk taken out of your carpet, some fibers still flickering. Lucifer came over and snuffed out the singed pieces with his shoe, the vein in his head more prominent. He was about to shout but you beat him to it. “That’s absolutely unnecessary! In what scenario would I need to use that?! Is there even a safety on that thing?!”

A little sheepish, Mammon picked himself back up off the floor. “Well, you’ve gotten the best visual example you can get. You’re welcome.”

“I don’t want it, someone take it with them,” you groaned. “What if I end up accidentally getting flame-broiled in my sleep?”

Beel closed his eyes. “Flame-broiled hell bats…”

Lucifer bent down and picked up the EDP from the floor. “Perhaps this is a bit too dangerous.”

“Glad we can see eye to eye on that one…” You tapped the screen of your D.D.D., noticing that the time to the meeting was rapidly approaching. “You guys have fifteen minutes! Stop worrying about me and get out of here!”

Many wide-eyed demons scrambled to get out your door, knowing that the punishment for being late was not something they wanted to risk. Even Lucifer was rushed, booking it out of your room. Then he popped his head in. “You’ll call if anything happens?”

“Yes.”

He left again, the door shutting. It burst back open, his overprotective nature coming to light. “You have your alerts on, right?”

You chuckled, you couldn’t prevent yourself from doing so. “Yes, mother hen, now go!” He growled, but this time left for good, the uproar from the group slowly fading away. Once more, you shook your head, staring at the charcoal colored circle against your ceiling. “They’re insane,” you stated aloud.

“Truly,” someone replied. You yelped, chucking the closest pillow at the sudden voice. Solomon caught it, laughing. “Sorry for startling you. The demons are gone, I’m assuming?” He walked back over, handing you your plushy ammo.

“They just left. Why are you here?” You took the pillow from him, settling it in your lap as you crossed your legs over your mattress.

He pulled an upset face. “Why do you sound so suspicious? I’m here to check up on you. I had to make sure those demons were taking care of you properly.” He grabbed a chair from your table, scooting up by the bedside. He spotted the hard-to-miss burns and sighed. “Maybe I should’ve gotten here sooner. Oh well, an easy fix. Spirits of twine and stone, turn back the time to whence this matter was well known, heed the Sorcerer Solomon!” Flowing restorative magic rushed over the floor and ceiling, soaking into the atoms, leaving it as perfect as it had been earlier. Actually, almost better than how it had been before. Not even the smell of burning remained. In a small flourish, he stretched out his hands. “Ta-da.”

“Thank you.” You couldn’t help but giggle at his theatrics. “And the brothers have been taking care of me just fine. I don’t have a fever anymore.”

He reached his hand out, thumb brushing across your face, he hummed to himself before pulling you gently, pressing his lips to your forehead. You gasped a little, covering your mouth as your face burned. He sat back, nodding. “You feel much better.” He caught your expression, trying to stifle a smirk. “Hm? I was simply taking your temperature.”

Composing yourself, you tightly gripped the pillow in your hands. “Kinda an old method, don’t you think?”

“I prefer traditional practices,” he shared. “But that wasn’t the main reason I came over.”

“Oh?” You’ll admit, at first the EDP had seemed utterly ridiculous, but in this dreaded scenario, you almost wished to have it in your hands. Solomon pushed back his cloak, reaching behind his back and pulling out a fresh steaming plate of food. Already you felt sweat bead across your face. “A-ah, how nice of Simeon to make me something.” It was more of a personal wish, although you knew that it wasn’t going to be the case.

“Not Simeon, actually. I made it!” He beamed, completely oblivious. “How long has it been since you’ve had a home-cooked human meal?”

“N-not too long ago actually, and-I-um-the brothers made sure to feed me before they left so-”

“Surely you can have a few bites, right?” He pleaded. “I made sure to add all kinds of ingredients I know have some healing properties, so I’m sure it’ll enhance the flavor. Here, no need to waste extra energy, let me feed you. Say ah.”

“MC!” The sound of someone frantically calling your name in the distance slowly brought you to. “MC!” Something snapped as you moved, pain coursing through your entire body. You opened your eyes, not able to see much through the leaves. Wait...leaves? The smell of earth and roses rushed to your nose. That and the thorns trapping you and piercing you were enough to tell you what you needed to know. You were somehow entangled in a rose bush. The voice sounded again, closer this time. “MC, where are you?!”

Audio recognition kicked in, able to place the voice. Tilting your head back, you put all the power you could into your shout. “Belphie!” There was silence for a while, and white hot panic settled in your stomach...or maybe that was. Oh that was right…

Suddenly the leaves were pulled back, Belphie’s head staring down at you. “This is new for you.”

You tried to move, but your clothes were stuck in the thorn’s clutches, not to mention any movement you made drove the bush’s claws deeper into your skin. “I…I think I’m stuck.”

“Wow, that really sucks for you.”

“Belphie!” You tried sitting up, a sharp pain in your cheek causing you to hiss, drawing in breath through your teeth. Something drifted down your cheek, the taste of bitter copper coming across your lips. Blood. “P-please help me.”

“I was only joking. Don’t move, you’ll make things worse.” He tugged at some of the branches, the disruption poking you some more. Tugging at your sleeve, he detangled your shoulder, working on your lower arm next.

“Ow, ow, ooooow,” you whined.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Leaning down a bit too far, one of the thorns pricked him right in the thumb. He cursed, threatening to leave you alone once you laughed. “You’re really scratched up…” He frowned as he gestured to many thin red scratches across your body. You whimpered again, reaching up at him to tug you free. Sloth kicked in, his impatience to take his time fluttered away. He basically flattened the bush with his feet, breaking the twigs stuck to you with his hands. His arms wrapped around your torso, tugging you up, the sound of some fabric tearing as he did. He sighed, taking you a few steps away from the bush before letting you slide past his arms, flopping to the soil. He came down to kneel beside you, grabbing thorns and leaves out of your hair, rubbing a thumb over the small wound on your cheek. “When you wonder why we worry about leaving you alone, this is why. How long have you been napping in bushes?”

“I…” A sudden chill overtook you, your stomach and the food...you remembered the food Solomon had fed you. The taste...torture. You could feel it in your throat.

“MC?” You pushed Belphie away, scrambling on your hands and knees to another unfortunate set of flora. Without nitty gritty details, let’s just say your body had the smart idea to not keep Solomon’s food in you any longer. Trembling, you coughed up the last of it, cold sweat dripping down your face. Belphie’s hands touched your back. “You’re not going to be sick on me, are you?” You didn’t respond to him, trying to catch your breath. He mumbled, pulling you into his lap. Covered in dirt and sweat, you curled into him, shivering. Then the both of you watched in slight horror as all the plants planted around your...expulsed poison all wilted at once, almost crumbling to dust. “Wicked father of demons…” Belphie breathed. “What the hell did you eat?”

You only needed to utter one word for him to understand everything entirely. “Solomon…”

“Dear Diavolo…I’m lucky to have found you alive.” He whipped his head around. “He’s not still here is he?”

You shook your head, rubbing at the saliva on your lips. “I don’t remember...I don’t remember leaving my room…I don’t remember…”

Working hard to get to his feet, he lifted you along with him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs against his body, groaning into him. “Alright, I guess we’re doing this now.” He held onto you, sidestepping past the destroyed flora and towards the house. “I’m just telling you this now though, if Solomon is still here, I will leave you.”

Reaching up his neck, you grasped tightly onto some of his hairs. “I will drag you down with me.”

“Confident words for someone I’m carrying like a baby,” he snickered, but he let the witty back and forth drop as he entered the house. For a moment, he stood still, taking in the air of the place. “I think we’re good,” he announced, but continuing to take wary steps up the stairs. He picked up the pace in the hallways, sneaking away towards the familiar spiral staircase that led it’s way up to the attic. The doors he pushed open were heavy in more ways than one. Quietly shutting it behind the two of you, he headed over to the bed. A jolting ticklish pain raced down your body as Belphie jabbed his fingers against your waist. “Off, parasite.” You relinquished your grasp as fast as you could, flopping onto the attic mattress. You crawled up, sliding under the covers, planting your face into the nearest pillow. Right when you thought you were recovering, you were back to being bed-ridden. Belphie left you alone in silence for a minute. When he came back, you had to take a moment to realize he had ever been gone. He was stealthy like that. He dropped a small first-aid kit as well as a bottle of water on the blanket. “Come here.”

“But I-”

“But I,” he mocked. “But I don’t care. I need to look after some of those scratches.” Huffing, you dramatically threw the blanket to the side, coming over to sit in front of him. Taking the water bottle in hand, you gratefully moved to take a hearty swig to wash down some of the acid. Belphie grabbed it from you before you could. “Not for drinking.” He twisted the cap off and pulled out a small clean washcloth from his pockets. He pressed the fabric against the opening and tilted the bottle up, getting the rag slightly wet. He then pressed it against your cheek. “We don’t want these infected.” Slowly, he dabbed at each of your shallow scratches, making sure they were clear of dirt. Once he was done with that, he shoved the remaining water at you.

“I don’t want your rag water.”

“Fine.”

But the acidity in your mouth was grating against your teeth. You snatched the bottle from him, swallowing some grateful gulps to cease the gentle burning. Belphie had a mild cocky expression, wiping away the blood. Closing an eye due to slight stinging, you watched his concentrated face. “So…” You started, watching him soon open the box and remove a small tube of medicated ointment. “Why’re you home?”

Squeezing a small amount of the clear gel on the tip of his finger, he started applying it to your cleaned wounds. “Oh, I snuck out of the meeting.”

“Belphie!”

“What?” He took one hand, grabbing your face for a second, squishing your cheeks, mimicking the way your lips pursed. You shook him off, trying to keep yourself from being flustered. “Can you blame me? All I could think about was you...nice and warm in bed...and I was sleepy.” He let out a large yawn. “Still sleepy.”

“Well…” You paused for a second, heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m glad you did.”

He stopped for a second, looking into your eyes. “Hm? Say that again?”

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you furled your eyebrows. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Are you suuuure?” He drawled. “Cus it sounded like you missed me.” One look at your embarrassed face sent him laughing. He poked at your ribs, tickling your sides, singing the words. “You missed me, you missed me.”

Burying your face in your hands, you kicked him a little. “Stop it!”

“Fine,” he smirked. “Anyway, I think you’re mostly taken care of. Most of these have dried and scabbed over. They weren’t very deep anyway.” He lifted your arm, turning it to make sure he’d treated you completely. “So now we can do what I came here for!” It was his first excited expression in a while. He jumped into you, grabbing you by the waist against the bed. Both your heads hit the pillows, the blanket following shortly after. Already you could feel his face against your back. A happy hum of his buzzed into your skin, his hands rubbing against your stomach. Pouting a little, you realized that with Belphie stuck to you like this, you weren't going anywhere soon, so you shifted to get comfortable. You relaxed with a heavy sigh. “You know…” Belphie drowsily muttered. “I...missed...you too…”

“MC! My poor precious MC! I’m never ever leaving you alone again!” Asmo wailed, clinging to you like if he let you go you’d suddenly die. “I can’t believe Belphie did this to you!”

Speaking up from the corner, Belphie scoffed. “I actually helped them, just so everyone knows.” Back in your room, each of the demon brothers had returned from the meeting, having found you and Belphie after a while in the attic. Of course, your small wounds, Belphie’s absence, and the strange destruction of a segment of the garden was called into question.

“And my plants!” Asmo shrieked. “They were such a lovely background for my Devilgram posts! They’re ruined!”

“I’m so-” you tried to apologize, but Asmo pressed a gentle finger against your lips.

“Shush! I don’t blame you a single bit, my darling. It’s all these ruffians!” He kissed your cheek in spots around your little wound.

“Hey! Solomon’s the person responsible, not us!” Mammon shouted.

Lucifer’s weariness was especially noticeable today. You wondered what he had to put up with at the meeting. “At the very least, we’re glad you’re safe, MC. Knowing what Solomon’s cuisine is capable of…” He pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I’m heading to my office...try not to burn the house down,” he sighed, exiting quietly.

You tilted your head. “Is he okay?” You asked.

“When Belphie left, let’s just say Diavolo wasn’t exactly pleased,” Satan explained, a wicked grin stretching his lips wide. “So in exchange he agreed to be Diavolo’s personal servant tomorrow. I hope our Demon Lord has some entertaining things in store.”

Belphie’s face brightened. “Did I do that? Whoops.” Hardly a glimmer of remorse in him.

“You guys owe it to him at least to try and make it a calm night,” you urged, hoping to ease some of the shenanigans already being plotted in their minds.

Mammon shook his head. “Why do we gotta owe him anything? If he’s out for the count tonight, I can hit the casinos without a problem!” He came over rubbing your head. “Give me some of that luck, yeah?” You doubted you had any, but he bounded out the door.

“Belphie, I’ve got a little idea I’d like to try, but I need an extra set of hands. Care to join me?” Satan curled a little finger around his chin, mischief making his green eyes glow wild.

Belphie chuckled. “Ab-so-lutely.” With devilish grins, they both sniggered, malevolent whispers drifting between them as they left.

A rumbling growl echoed through the room. If this had been anywhere else, you would’ve been terrified. But this was the Devildom, and you knew Beel’s stomach when you heard it. “Oh...I’m sorry, MC, but I’m starving. I’ll see you in a bit.” He came over, trying to give you a hug despite Asmo still holding onto you for dear life. He ended up hugging both of you anyway. With more than a little speed, he also left your room, probably heading straight for the kitchen.

A high pitched ‘bling’ reached your ears. Levi pulled out his D.D.D.. “Oh! The new patch for Sorcerer’s Scrolls has been released! I gotta go!” He moved to run but stopped in his tracks before he got too far. “Do you wanna...watch more of that show tonight?”

“Sure, Levi,” you smiled, watching him sprint out of the room, a joyful spring in his step. Although, once everyone had left, you couldn’t help but lower your head, patting Asmo’s wrist. “You can leave too, Asmo, you don’t have to stay with me.”

He made an overly dramatic gasp. “But I do! Don’t sound so sad!” Pulling a bit away from you, he let his cheeks turn a bit pink. “And to be completely honest, I’ve been dying to get some alone time with you.” He squirmed a little bit, but then jumped to his feet. “So! You just sit there and let Nurse Asmo take care of everything, ‘kay ‘kay?” Is that why he had brought that large bag with him when he came in? It was a peach-colored tote bag, settled on your table, a fluffy pink pom-pom clipped to one of the handles. He bounded towards it, rummaging around, looking for something important.

A little--well a lot--guarded against potential Asmo intentions, you tried craning your head to see if you could look inside, but no dice. The end of your nose tickled again as it had the past few days. Grabbing another tissue from your bedside, you tried to blow your nose as quietly as possible. Your poor nostrils were so dry by this point it was bordering on painful. You sniffled, reaching over to squirt some hand sanitizer in your hands. “I thought you hated being around sick people,” you told him.

“You’re the only exception! Besides,” he grabbed out a familiar tool, one you had no idea how he got his hands on it. A stethoscope. “I want to use all these goodies Solomon got me!”

The name still almost sent a shudder down your spine. “Solomon? Why?”

Practically skipping back over, he sat beside you on the bed, strangely excited about this. “Aren’t bodies fascinating?” He touched his own skin, dragging his hand down his neck. “I love to know what makes this perfect body run! And you have absolutely no idea how desperately I’ve longed to know how yours does too!” Taking a good look at him, you could sense that he was truly and undeniably curious as to how your mortal body differed from his. Or possibly just craving a closer look into you altogether. Of course, you still had to close your eyes and deeply sigh. How many times would Solomon be the source of general chaos? Asmo took the end to the stethoscope, looking at it strangely. “Tell me, dear, how does this work?” You let out a light chuckle, and he looked at you curiously. “Don’t make fun of me, that’s just mean!”

“I’m not! I’m not, I promise, it’s just…” He resembled that of a little kid right now, a rare sort of innocence about him. Here he was, a demon of many millennia, and he just wanted to play doctor for a bit. “Never mind.” Brushing off your thoughts, you took the binaurals, putting the earpieces in his ears. One of his hands gently clutched the diaphragm, so you wrapped your own hand around his, guiding the end of the stethoscope to your chest.

Listening it to a moment, you could watch the gentle awe cross over his face. “T-that’s you.”

You brought a hand up to cover your mouth. “Yes, Asmo, that’s me. What, you didn’t think I had a heartbeat?”

“No, I knew! It’s just…” He closed his eyes, going silent. You didn’t want to disturb his moment, but you felt a sneeze coming on. Grabbing another tissue, you covered your nose, tilted your head down towards your lap, and sneezed. Moaning a bit, you blew your nose again, hard enough to make your ears pop. Sitting up, you chucked your used kleenex into the trash. You were about to apologize, but then the glee drained from Asmo’s face. He brought his hands up to his mouth and shrieked.

“What?! What’s wrong?!” As soon as you had asked, the answer presented itself towards you. Warmth dripped down your lips, forcing you to close your mouth as fast as you could.

“Blood! You’re bleeding! Hold on!” Lurching towards the tissues, Asmo pulled five out at a time, pressing it against your face. You pinched your nose, pressuring your hand against the bundle of kleenex. “Look at all this! No, no, no, no, you’ll be alright, darling.” Your gut instinct was to tilt your head up, but Asmo placed his hand on the top of your head, tilting it slightly forward. “Oh, don’t do that, you’ll end up swallowing it. Stay there, I’ll be right back.” He got up sprinting, leaving you alone with the smell and taste of blood. When he came back, he had a cold wet rag in his hands. “Here, use this instead. Give me those,” he softly ordered, tugging at the already blood soaked tissues. You took the rag in your hands, using that to stop the flow instead. He pulled you into his arms, rubbing your back. “Poor thing, it’s just non-stop problems for you right now, isn’t it?” You let him hold you, tilting your head against his as you waited for the blood to stop. Slowly, he brought his hand up to pet the back of your head, giggling a bit to himself when the action made you shiver.

After a bit of time, you tore away from him, cautiously removing the rag. You touched just above your lip, sighing in relief when it had stopped. “That was unexpected.”

Stealing the cloth from you, he started wiping the excess blood off your face. “About gave me a heart attack!” With his free hand, he cupped the side of your face.

A little idea crossed your mind. “Heart attack, huh? Better check that out.” Reaching for the stethoscope, you cleaned the earpieces before putting them in, pressing the small round medical disc to his chest. It was a bit stunning, you had to admit, how loud it sounded. In the human world before, any mentions of demons or angels were always in an ethereal sense. Whether you believed in them or not, you never really thought about them having hearts. Were they even similar to yours? At least...the drumming beating sound of life was the same.

He finished up cleaning you off, tilting his head and grinning. “Well?”

“Undeniably alive...and I’m very grateful for it.”

He squealed, flopping onto you, pushing you both down onto the bed. Every hint that he had been frightened before was gone. “Aren’t you just the sweetest?! Come here, you!” He littered kisses over your face, sending you into a little flurry of embarrassed titters.

“Asmo…”

“Isn’t it a human saying that they can kiss the pain away?” He pecked his lips over your eyelids. “Well, you better prepare yourself...I won’t stop kissing your perfect little face till you feel better!”

The bedroom door violently swung open, the handle nearly making a dent in the wall. Demons poured in, nearly falling over each other. They were all in demon forms, ready to tackle more danger. When they noticed that Asmo was fawning over you, they all puffed up, jealous and irritated. “We heard you scream and thought something happened!” Lucifer roared. Kinda late, weren’t they?

“Hey, why’re you getting all kissy with MC?!” Mammon jumped onto the mattress, trying to pry you from his brother’s arms.

“Don’t you think I deserve to be embracing them?” Satan attempted to push them both aside. Before you knew it, your room was a small war-arena, everyone climbing on the bed. You were squished between them, passed between different hands. Then something wobbled, the sound of wood and metal groaning before a loud snap pierced your ears. The bed hit the floor, a poof of dust causing you to cough. Your bedframe lay scattered in broken pieces across the ground.

“My...bed…” You ran a hand through your hair, pinned under the doggy-pile of demon lords. You looked between each of them with stern looks, each of them blushing in embarrassment over their actions. “Well...I guess it means I’ll be using someone else’s bed for the foreseeable future.”

All at once, their faces lit up, and at the same time they all shouted the same thing. “Me!”

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #tw blood #tw medication #tw vomit

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angelz-dust · 3 years

Text

heatwave (jason todd x gender neutral!reader)

summary: extreme heat leads to a little accident with your popsicle and jason finds a way to rectify the problem.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni) - smut, unprotected sex (no condom, no pulling out - pls wrap it up y’all), shower sex, mild food play (popsicle), mild choking.

minors/ageless blogs who interact will be blocked - read rules before interacting

the sun shone through the window of your bedroom, the rays of light dancing against your sweaty skin as the wind from your fan made the blinds shake. you laid out on your bed, which had been stripped of its comforter, in only your underwear. you were about ready to peel those off of yourself, too. you weakly grabbed at your phone, checking the weather. 77 degrees.

77 degrees, your ass. it felt like 90.

as much as you enjoyed reaping the consequences of a depleting ozone layer, you felt like it was time to do something to control the temperature in your apartment. you weren't sure how much longer you'd be able to handle breathing in air that felt thick enough to chew. slowly, you sat up, having to peel your sheet off of your sweaty back. you were going to have to do the laundry at some point because going back to sleep in drenched sheets was just as disgusting as it sounded. that was a problem for 3pm you, though. 11am you needed water. desperately.

waddling your way to the kitchen, you opened the refrigerator door and you let out a loud moan of satisfaction. the bright white lights invited you inside its cold confines and you could've swore you saw a dead relative or two beckoning you in. you didn't want to leave the door open for too long, so you quickly grabbed the last water bottle and shut it. you wasted no time swallowing down the cold liquid, ignoring how it made your teeth hurt and froze your throat. you didn't even care that some of it had spilled down the front of your body, down your chest and to the band of your underwear. you welcomed the cold droplets onto your burning hot skin.

“fuuuuuuck,” you breathed out, your body going limp as it pressed itself against the metal refrigerator door. you could feel your perspiration creating a suction between it and your skin. it was fine, though. you had no intention of moving anyway.

had it not been for your brain taking a few minutes to power itself off, you would've heard the familiar jingle of keys unlocking the front door and you would've turned to see jason coming in with the desserts you requested.

“what the hell are you doing?” you heard him say and you slightly turned towards him, a dazed look on your face. he was already stripping out of his clothes before he even asked.

“dying,” you responded, opening the freezer for him as he threw in some ice cream and multiple boxes of popsicles.

jason put his hand on your clammy shoulder, slowly ripping you off of the fridge. he turned you towards him, holding some contraption in his hand, which appeared to be a cross between a spray bottle and a fan. without saying anything, he turned it on and began spraying you down like a misbehaving cat, only you didn't flinch. no, you relished in the feeling of the mist on your face.

“here. i got one for myself, too,” he said, handing you the fan. you smiled happily as you started spraying and fanning yourself all over.

“i hope whoever invented this is getting bomb ass head right now,” you breathed out, starting to feel some relief.

“what about the guy who bought it for you? what does he get?” jason asked, starting his fan up and spraying his chest, it now glistening with both sweat and tap water.

“absolutely nothing until the temperature drops,” you smiled at him. “what flavors did you get?”

jason’s lips puckered slightly as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. “strawberry, pineapple, and this caribbean mix with a bunch of flavors in it. you might wanna wait on eating them, though. they’ll probably melt fast.”

“it's a risk i'm willing to take,” you said, going and grabbing a popsicle for yourself. you unwrapped it and hummed happily at the flavor against your tongue. the brand jason bought was a little more expensive but it was definitely worth it. the real fruit juices and chunks were much more satisfying to taste than the artificial flavoring of the other brands.

“is it good?” jason asked, a small smile on his lips. despite being uncomfortably hot, seeing you happy made it bearable. the fact that he was able to provide you with the things you needed, even if it was something as simple as your favorite popsicle, made him feel good.

“mhm,” you nodded, some of the juices starting to trickle down your chin and onto your chest. you looked down and frowned a little. you started spraying your chest, trying to get the stickiness to go away.

jason watched you desperately try to lick up the juices that were now sliding down the stick and getting on your hands. it just wouldn't stop and it was making a huge mess, just as he had warned you it would.

“sweetheart, there's more popsicle on your chest than there is in your mouth,” he commented condescendingly and you glared at him.

“maybe that's how i like eating it, jason,” you said, his name coming out of your mouth like venom.

“you know what? i like eating it that way, too,” he nodded in agreement, stepping towards you and dipping his head down to lick at your collarbone and move down the valley of your chest.

your breath hitched at the unexpected contact and the added body heat to your personal bubble. jason had come back up, giving you a soft kiss and licking the remnants of your most recent bite off of your lips. as badly as you wanted to melt into the kiss, you pulled away. you grabbed your fan and started spraying him in the face.

“down, boy,” you scolded him playfully, little giggles coming from him as he flinched his punishment. “i'm trying to eat.”

“so am i,” he smirked, taking the popsicle from you and taking a bite out of it. he looked around the room, whistling as he not so subtly let the popsicle fall against your chest and dragging it down some, watching as it dripped down your abdomen. you gasped out as the contrasting temperatures, your back hitting the fridge.

“oh wow. i'm so sorry,” his fake apology rang against your ears. he took the dessert off of your skin, handing it back to you. “i'll get that for you.”

his lips and tongue fell upon your skin again, dragging over the stains. he found himself at your nipples, despite not getting anything on them. he swirled his tongue around the quickly hardening buds, managing to get a pleasant sound from you. he got on his knees, collecting the sweetness that was threatening to make it way to your underwear. he eagerly lapped it all up before it got to that point, firmly holding your hips against the door to prevent you from moving away.

“jason, it's too hot,” you sighed as he planted kisses up your naval, looking up at you with playful eyes.

“i know. this is really sexy, isn't it?” he spoke against your body, which got himself sprayed again by you. this time, he saw it as encouragement instead of a punishment. how thoughtful of you to help keep him cool while he focused on making you feel good.

you kept spraying him until he eventually let up, laughing again as he got off of his knees. “fine, fine. if you won't indulge me in my sexy popsicle fantasy, can we at least go take a shower?”

“only to get the juice off. no other reason,” you said coyly and he smirked at you, giving you a firm nod.

“of course. what other reason would there be?” he asked as the two of you headed to the bathroom, touching at each other and giggling your entire way there, taking what little clothes you both had off of each other. by the time the water started running, the little act had dropped and you were all over each other. it was freezing, which put your bodies into a slight shock as you panted heavily in between feverish kisses.

jason’s favorite thing to do was hoist you up, with your legs wrapped around his waist. he liked showing you how strong he was and feeling your body flush against his own. he made sure to position you high enough against the tile wall so you wouldn't have water violently hitting your face, but close enough to where you could still feel it everywhere else. he never allowed himself to be blinded by lust at the expense of your comfort.

his hips rolled into yours and his face found its way back to your chest, peppering it with kisses. you carded your fingers through his wet hair, tugging at it just how he liked. even though you were doing a very physically taxing activity, this was the coolest you had felt all day. you wasted no time giving jason’s plump lips the kisses they had deserved earlier, your boyfriend more than happy to reciprocate. as much as you didn't want to part from him again, he pulled away and began suckling at your neck. normally you would object to being marked in such a visible location but you gave him a pass this one time. after all, he was the guy who bought you the spray fan.

your feet touched the ground again and he turned you around, pressing you against the wall and grinding softly into your backside. it didn't take him long to pull your leg up and slowly insert himself inside of you. you started seeing stars and that's when your legs became like jelly, causing you to lose your balance. jason quickly reacted, your hearts pounding as you tried to stay vertical.

“are you alright?” he asked, his nose rubbing the shell of your ear.

“yeah, i just got dizzy,” you explained, grabbing his hand with an embarrassed smile. “i'm okay.”

“so clumsy,” he grinned, kissing your temple as his slow thrusting began. his hand trailed down your side and landed on your ass, using it as leverage.

you moaned his name as he started going deeper and slower. he was teasing you now, which was to be expected. even on the hottest of days, in one of the least comfortable locations, he didn't pass up the opportunity. jason treating this like any other love making session and not just a quickie turned you on even more. he never let you question his dedication to making you unravel beneath him.

“jason, please. stop teasing me,” you begged him, knowing that was the only way he would stop. closed mouths don't get fed, as he would say.

“only because you asked so nicely,” he responded smugly, picking up the pace now. the sounds of slapping skin and breathy moans were amplified by the acoustics of the room. you began feeling a slight ache; a result of jason’s girth and length inside of you. a normal person would’ve asked for a break, but not you. it fueled you to continued, fucking back against him and squeezing around the very thing that was causing you mild pain.

“it feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked you and you didn't respond. you hated how he always knew exactly what you were doing. “tell me it does, sweetheart. i wanna hear you say it.”

you ignored him again, moving against him a little faster now. his hands quickly went to your hips, holding you still. “answer me,” he whispered in your ear and you whimpered in defeat.

“it feels good,” you mumbled, trying to move again, but to no avail.

“sorry, i didn’t catch that.”

“it feels good, jason.”

“i'm glad. i want you to feel good,” he smiled, letting you go. you continued to try and reach your high, doing most of the work now while jason watched. his hands caressed your body, encouraging you to continue.

“does it feel good for you?” you asked him and he nodded.

“it always does, sweetheart. i feel amazing whenever i’m with you,” he told you, starting to meet you half way with his thrusts. “doesn't matter if i'm inside you or not.”

you felt your face heat up at his words. you hated how he had that effect on you. you felt yourself slip against the wet tile again and he caught you, pulling you back against him.

“would you stop doing that?” the two of you laughed together, taking a quick breather. “i need you to not die in the middle of me fucking you, okay?”

“okay, i'm sorry,” you giggled as jason helped you get back into position. “i'm sorry.”

“it's alright, don't worry,” he reassured you, slipping his hand up your front and around your throat. “is this okay?”

you nodded, feeling more secure in this modified position. despite your little interruption, you still felt as needy as ever. his grip on you was so gentle that you could almost be convinced you’d slip again, but jason knew your body like the back of his hand. he knew what he needed to do to keep you safe and not hurt you in the process.

“let’s finish up,” jason’s tone was comforting and you hummed in agreement, picking up right where the two of you left off. it didn't take long, either. you could feel the pressure building up inside of you, waiting to wash over you. once you felt his tip pressing against that sweet spot he was so good at exploiting, you knew there was no going back now.

you both started getting sloppy, jason’s thrusts being less methodical and your movements no longer matching with his. jason’s broken gasps and moans send you over the edge, sending you spiraling in euphoria. his grip on your throat tightened very slightly as he filled you up, his face resting in the crook of your neck. you let out a sigh as he slipped out of you, feeling his cheek pressing against you, silently urging you to turn around. you complied, your noses grazing each other before your lips met again with little kisses.

“we can take a real shower now,” he smiled against your lips, kissing you again. “no more sexy fantasies. i promise.”

“no more sexy fantasies during a heatwave,” you corrected him, grabbing your wash cloth and wiping away some of the sweat forming at his hairline. “any other time, they will be greatly accepted and expected.”

“good to know.”

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd smut #red hood smut #dc x reader

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javier-pena · 3 years

Note

Astrid hello!! I've heard tell that you want people to talk to you about Javi G and uh ... I just can't get the image of him driving the two of you somewhere and having to pull over to fuck you in the car because he's so worked up out of my headdd 😌 (feel free to delete if you don't want to/can't answer!! I totally understand!)

- @javisjeanjacket

Hi! Okay, anyway, writing this nearly was the end of me, but I hope it's what you were looking for!

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Rating: it's so explicit that I'm thinking about getting a new identity actually

Summary: the ask says it all, but car s*x

Notes: "i am simply ready to lose my mind. you warned me about this but was i prepared? no." - Dani @javierpcna

***

The leather of the backseat scrapes uncomfortably against your knees, you feel your skin stick to the warm surface. Sweat is forming on your brow, your arms, your legs. Everything is hot and sticky and heavy. Your pants fog up the window in front of you, and the landscape behind it appears murky, despite the late afternoon sun, despite the light dancing over the glistening waves below. If you raise your head slightly, you can even see the next bend in the road.

But you don’t lift your head – you can’t. You press your forehead against the glass, your nails scraping against the rough, leathery surface of the door, while you’re being pushed forward over and over again by precise, well-timed thrusts, by three fingers focused on one spot, three fingers that are your entire world.

I just wanna show you the view.

Javi wasn’t lying when he said that, when he pulled the car over. You are looking at the view, but you aren’t seeing it, not really, not in a way you were meant to be seeing it. Because the minute he stopped the car, his hands were all over you, under your skirt, on your chest – squeezing, holding, teasing. You couldn’t blame him because you had been feeling much the same, had felt an ever-growing itch during his week-long absence, one phone calls and expensive toys hadn’t been able to scratch. And when he had suggested taking you out to dinner after getting back from the airport, you’d been slightly disappointed. Yes, you enjoy the build-up, the tension, the teasing, but tonight you need it hard and fast and dirty.

You hadn’t made it to the restaurant.

Javi was impatient in the car, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his foot like lead on the gas pedal. The second your hand found his thigh, the muscles tense like steel, he pulled over.

I just wanna show you the view.

The words were slightly slurred, and the next thing you heard was a ripping sound when he tore your panties, tore them right off you, like impatiently unwrapping a gift. He found you hot and wet and wanting, he all but lifted you onto the backseat and here you are now, your skirt pushed up, your backside exposed, your slick dripping down your thighs.

“Baby,” you moan after a particularly rough thrust. You bite your lip when he does it again. “Fuck!” It’s breathless, it’s quiet, it barely scratches the surface of how good he makes you feel.

His other hand lands on the soft flesh of your backside with a crack and you gasp, your forehead knocking against the glass. Your legs tremble as you push yourself back towards him.

“Again,” you groan. “Do it again.”

He does, and the pain turns into searing hot pleasure so intense that when he thrusts his fingers into you next, you come all over them, coating them with your slick, with wet, hot release, trembling, spilling, screaming his name. Through the haze you hear a new sound, you hear how he pulls down his zipper, you even hear his hand pushing aside the fabric of his expensive dress pants, the dark green ones, the ones you love the most, followed by a sigh of relief.

You clench around his fingers at the prospect of his next move, anticipating how he will fill you up, first with his cock, then with his release, and it feels as if you didn’t just come, and maybe you haven’t because when he starts moving his fingers again, you tumble towards another edge at alarming speed.

“Need you--,” you groan through gritted teeth, “--inside, please, God, please, please, Javi, I’ve missed you so much, I’ve missed your …,” you swallow hard, “your cock, please …”

He huffs, and suddenly he’s hovering above you, his fingers on your chin, pulling so your head disconnects from the cooling support of the glass. His palm hovers in front of your face, and without hesitation you lick it, tasting leather and sweat and him. He allows you to suck two fingers into your mouth, to feel their heavy weight on your tongue before he pushes them slightly deeper, making you gag, making you feel full on both ends, before pulling them out. His hand disappears and the wet sounds that follow, mixed with his low grunts are like a heady soundtrack to your own pleasure.

You listen, and imagine his face, his hooded eyes, his reddened cheeks, his curls sticking up in odd places, and suddenly you find yourself yearning for how he looks when he’s fucked out and glowing and sated. You cannot wait to give that to him, so you try to pull yourself off his fingers to turn around, but he stops you with a harsh command.

“Stay!”

You follow his orders and listen to him fucking into his own fist, thinking about how it could be your cunt instead, and he knows you’re thinking it, too, that’s why he teases you like that, that’s why he makes you listen to his pleasure, why he keeps you on the tip of his fingers where he can feel you clench in time with his hand moving over himself.

“Did you think of me?” you ask with the last bit of strength you have left.

A grunt is all you receive as confirmation. But he does pull out his fingers and you tense because you know what’s about to happen.

His hand is so wet, covered in your slick like this that when he grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, he leaves cooling imprints against your hot skin. He slaps you again, does it two times more – grab, slap, grab, slap. You whimper, a pitiful little sound that makes him snarl.

“Harder,” you demand.

This time, your wish remains unheard. Instead, he buries his index finger between your wet folds, then moves it up, leaving a wet trail in its wake, until he reaches a destination you both have only talked about visiting without making the actual trip. But when his wet digit probes it carefully, you want it, want him so much it makes you light-headed, makes you feel fuzzy and high.

His deep voice cuts through the blanket of lust surrounding you. “You’re so tight”, the tip of his finger slips past the firm ring of muscle, “… tight little hole for me to fill.”

He holds you hooked on his finger, like a fish caught, while he continues to stroke himself frantically. You hold your breath, listening to the obscene sounds his hand is making, listening to his pants and moans, and you wish you knew where his eyes are, but you think you can guess. Then something shifts, he shifts, and he’s closer now, also deeper inside of you, while his thumb is buried between your folds again, and your entire body clenches with need.

His thumb finds your clit and it’s over, you come with a scream that echoes around the stuffy car – it might be his name, it might be a curse – but you pull his index finger deeper inside of you as your orgasm rips through you, and he gasps in surprise, deep and desperate. He tries to wait until you’re done, but you won’t stop shaking, your cunt won’t stop fluttering like a butterfly caught in a storm, so he pulls his finger out of you while you’re still coming, making you mewl at the loss.

You feel it, hot and heavy and hard, as he drags his cock through your drenched folds, up until it brushes against where you want him inside of you, but his hot release is already coating your back, your thighs, your over-sensitive center.

You both need to come back down to reality and you need to do it now before someone finds you like this. “We’re gonna be late.”

“Late for what?”

God, his voice! Hearing it after he’s just come makes your legs feel like jelly.

You swallow. “Dinner.”

“Oh, did I forget to specify what kind of dinner?” he teases.

Both of his hands hold you in place as he leans down over your back and drags his tongue over your skin covered in sweat and his own release. When your high giggle turns into a deep moan, he whispers against you.

“I have all I need right here.”

#the unbearable weight of massive talent #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez #pedro pascal #fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #please forgive me

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crayonwriting · 3 years

Text

Big girl Katsumi

series masterlist

Katsumi woke up from Hiroku's squeals. She sleepily got out of her room and walked down the hallway to her brother's room. Hiroku bounced lightly on his feet at the sight of his sister by the door. Katsumi squeezed his cheeks together, kissing him on the lips. He smiled wider at her loving gesture. One by one, Katsumi started undoing the ties on Hiroku's bed so that she could lower one of the bed's fences. Once it was down, Hiroki crawled out. Katsumi left the door open so that he could follow her. They went to her room, where she handed him one of his walkers. While Hiroku was busy playing Katsumi got out of her pajama's and opened up her closet to look for something to wear. She spotted a sparkly black dress and went for it. After getting dressed, she pranced outside to the living room, where the uncles were. She ran up to one and held the skirt of the dress. "Look at this." She whispered to the cameraman. She gave him a twirl and a bright smile. "Wow, you look pretty!" The cameraman complimented. Katsumi beamed and went to the other cameraman to show off her dress to him as well. She jumped around in excitement at the compliments she received. Remembering her father, she wanted to show him her beautiful dress. She instantly ran towards his room. Atsumu lay on his side, cuddling pillows between his arms and legs. Katsumi rounded the bed to her father's side but since he was in the middle of the bed, she couldn't reach him. Katsumi then decided to let him sleep for a while. An idea struck her and ran out of the room. "Uncle, my dad is sleeping. Please be quiet." Katsumi whispered. The cameraman agreed. Hiroku, who had settled himself in the living room, babbled to his sister. Katsumi told him to keep quiet as well. The small baby just giggled at her. Katsumi went to the kitchen. She noticed the loaf of bread on the island counter as well as a jar of Nutella. She wanted to make breakfast for her dad like how you did for him one morning. Using her trusted step stool, she got a spoon from one of the drawers. Going back to the kitchen island, she opened the jar of Nutella and scooped a small amount of the chocolate. She gave it a tentative taste. As the sweet treat touched her tastebuds, she couldn't help but eat another scoop. Two became three and then, four. Only when Katsumi smeared chocolate on her cheeks did she remember to start on Atsumu's breakfast. She successfully opened the bag containing the bread and got one slice. She did her best to scoop a good amount of chocolate onto the bread, making a small mound in the middle. She hopped down her stool and maneuvered herself to the refrigerator. Katsumi was able to easily pull out the jar of strawberry jam which was just by the door. Going back to her papa's sandwich, with the same spoon she used for the chocolate, she dipped it into the jam and put it on top of the chocolate mound on the slice of bread. Satisfied with it, she carried it carefully and put it on the table. Her next task included getting a glass and pouring in some milk. She was able to do it with minimal spills. She placed the glass beside the piece of bread. She noticed that there was something missing. "Banana!" She said out loud. Grabbing one from the kitchen counter, she placed it with the rest of her dad's breakfast. Finally feeling satisfied, she quickly ran back to her father's bedroom to wake him up. "Papa!" She approached his side of the bed. "Papa, wake up!" She tried reaching for him but he was laying on his side with his back towards her. Katsumi stood up on her toes to pull at the end of Atsumu's shirt. It took a few tugs before Atsumu opened his eyes. Rolling over, he saw Katsumi patiently waiting for him. Atsumu smiled at the sight of his beautiful daughter, first thing in the morning. He did a double take, noticing something different about her. Leaning on his elbow, he looked at Katsumi, "Did ya have some chocolate?" Katsumi smiled nervously and nodded. "Ya can't have chocolate for breakfast, ya know that right?" "But Papa, I made you a sandwich." "Oh? Really now?" " Yes!" His daughter nodded eagerly. "C'mon. You should eat." She held on to his hand and tried pulling him out of bed. --- Atsumu, with Katsumi on his lap, sat by the table as they ate breakfast. Hiroku was beside them on his high chair. Katsumi munched on the crusts of a slice of bread while she fed a few pieces to her little brother. Atsumu held the slice Katsumi made on his left hand while he dipped a different piece of bread in to the small mound of chocolate and jelly. "Is it delicious, Papa?" "Mm-hmm!" Atsumu took a big bite out of the bread. "This is so delicious! Thank you so much Katsumi-chan!" The little girl dipped her own bread into the choco-jelly mix and hummed in delight, definitely proud of herself. "Ya can probably beat yer uncle 'Samu in a contest!" Katsumi giggled at the compliment. "But uncle 'Samu is the bestest cook!" Atsumu widened his eyes, putting a finger against his lips. "Don't tell that to yer mama!" --- "I realized why people are so adamant on having daughters." Atsumu chuckled. "They have this invisible hold---especially on their father's heart that's just so powerful." He clutched at his chest. "This was the very first meal Katsumi has made for me. I enjoyed it very much." The blonde blushed furiously with a big, dopey grin. "I'll make sure to cherish all the meals she will make for her papa." --- After their breakfast, the three Miyas got cleaned up and prepared for a lazy day at home. Atsumu had picked up a tube of special lotion from Katsumi's room on their way to the living room. He settled himself on the carpet by the couch with Hiroku beside him. He had recalled you telling him to apply the lotion at least once everyday to the kids. He carefully put some on his fingertips and applied it to Hiroku's arms. "I want to help put lotion on Hiroku." Katsumi held out her palm to her father. Atsumu put a small amount on it. She rubbed it between her hands and wiped it off on her brother's face. Hiroku was startled as his sister applied the lotion a little too harshly for his sake. Atsumu just let out a breath and told her to be more gentle. Katsumi wiped the remaining lotion on her dress. She actually didn't like having lotion on her body. It makes her feel sticky and hot. "Katsumi-chan look at me." She saw her father wipe a glob of the lotion on his own cheek. While he laughed thinking it was the best thing ever, she didn't find it as amusing. "Let's put some on Hiroku-kun!" He did as he said, putting a glob on his son's cheek, which made both boys laugh. Katsumi had an uneasy expression on her face as she dreaded what came next. Atsumu turned to her, "It's yer turn, my princess." Katsumi immediately ran away from her dad with a distressed face---eyebrows together and huge frown on her face. She shook her head firmly. Atsumu just chuckled, already putting a small amount on his fingertip. "Why not? So that ya can match with me and yer brother." He stood up and approached her. "C'mon. Let me just‐--" "No! Papa, no!" She ran away from him again, grabbing a pillow from the couch to protect her face. Tears were threatening to fall from the corners of her eyes. "Okay, I won't! See?" He wiped the lotion on his other cheek. "It's on me now." He smiled, hoping to calm her down. She walked around him, still wary, before sitting down on the floor with Hiroku. Little did she know that her papa had sneakily grabbed the tube and put some on his fingertips. Atsumu pretended to get something from the kitchen and then he quietly creeped up behind Katsumi. Just as she stood up, he quickly did a swipe on her cheek, successfully putting some lotion on her face. Not even a second passed before Katsumi cried out. She looked at her father, feeling betrayed. Atsumu chuckled nervously as he started to think that his joke was not that funny. His daughter stomped away from him and towards one of the cameramen. "Uncle...," she cried to him. The flustered cameraman did his best to wipe away her tears. Katsumi walked away before the cameraman could wipe away the glob of lotion still on her cheek. "Katsumi-chan, I'm sorry. Come here please." Atsumu said from the sofa. Katsumi sobbed and glared at her father. She shook her head 'no.' "Aww, yer breakin' my heart, princess. I'm really sorry. Please forgive me." He did his best pout, batting his eyes at her---the Miya killer move. You have fallen victim for this pout and puppy eyes combo many times from your husband and, now, your daughter. They used it whenever they wanted something and it's highly effective. Katsumi huffed out, reluctantly sitting beside her father. Atsumu cheered softly and held Hiroku closer, who was sat on his other side. He pulled out his phone. "Let's take a picture for yer mama!" He held the phone at arms length, opening up the camera app. "Katsumi! Hiroku! Smile!" Hiroku smiled at the sight of his father's smile. Katsumi, despite her eyes still wet with tears, smiled a beautiful smile while also putting up two of her fingers in a peace sign. Atsumu took a few snaps before pocketing his phone. He gathered his children in his arms, showering them with a ton of kisses.

---

tags: @plump-peach / @keijikunn / @izumikunmy / @daphnxy

a/n: hello! yes, i am still alive. i was supposed to post this along when i finish the sakusa and iwaizumi parts buuuuut who knows when i'll finish those. i actually reached 1.6k followers last wednesday which i am suuuuuuper thankful for. i want to do those event thingies but no one has ever joined and also, idk how to do those so yeah. i just checked it out and i lost 1 follower but bah! it doesn't matter, i'm just glad that you, reading this now, are here. thank you! 💚💚💚💚

i'm sorry to those who were waiting for an update. there's a lack of motivation going on but i'll work on that for y'all. so, pls bear with me 🥺🙏 alsooo, the next set of dads are close! so ig you can look forward to that too.

thank you for understanding!

05.16.2021

#b writes #tros #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagine #atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagine #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu imagine

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aquaticstyles · 4 years

Text

from the dining table

I know I said I was posting at 7, but I finished earlier than expected :) 5k inspired by the song we all know and love, From the Dining Table. Hope you all enjoy reading! I really liked how this one turned out. As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated!!!

“Whatcha doin' out here by yourself?"

You nearly jump out of your skin and send the wine sloshing in your glass splashing onto the freshly cut grass at the sound of his voice.

You hoped—you prayed that you could get through the night without running into him. You were here to celebrate your good friend and her new husband, not re-open old scars. Yet here he is, right in front of you, dressed to the nines in all black, tailored perfectly to fit his broad shoulders and slim waist, chestnut locks styled haphazardly and intentionally all at once, new, foreign stubble on his upper lip and jaw making him that much more ruggedly handsome, chest hair peeking through the opened buttons of his shirt, and a white rose clipped to the lapel of his jacket.

He looks good. He looks really good, and you would like to die.

You would very much like to bury yourself in a hole.

He seems so familiar, traces of an old lover lost in the gold flecks of his eyes, but you don't know him, at least not anymore. He's a stranger now, an array of old photographs and journal clippings scattered throughout your memory. He went from being your person, to a person--from being the one person you could talk to for hours upon hours tangled in the sheets, the moonlight from the open curtains dancing upon miles and miles of bare skin, without ever growing tired, to the one person that sucks every word out of you, leaving you speechless, an awkward shell of the confident woman you used to be around him.

You would have followed him anywhere, blind, heart thumping beneath your chest, relying solely on his palm in yours to guide you through the dark—to the ends of the earth, tiptoes over the edge, ready and willing to plummet thousands of feet downward.

The breeze that floats through the air and brushes against your arm adds more goosebumps to the ones already present due to the man next to you. Everything around you is calm—the ocean to your right, waves slowly reeling in and releasing back against the shoreline, the sun setting in the horizon, creating warm hues of tangerine and pomegranate in the sky and sparkling on the endless canvas of blue below, the palm trees rustling gently, the soft chatter of guests behind you in the distance. Outside, there's a whirlwind of serenity, but inside, there's a hurricane crashing against your rib cage.

"Oh, I, um, had a phone call," you confess. You barely got the day off to come to the wedding, and your phone has been buzzing nonstop with work emails, texts, and voicemails.

Yes, you had to take a phone call, but you also needed a minute. A minute for yourself. A minute to reflect, on both past and future.

A minute to inhale--his palm in yours, your cheek pressed against his chest, his temple resting on top of your head, swaying slowly in the kitchen, Frank Sinatra's 'One For My Baby' echoing softly, pulling you closer to him if possible, hushed whispers of "I love you" from two hearts beating in unison.

A minute to exhale--love letters, broken promises, his (your) favorite t-shirt, borrowed books, his handwriting still in the margins, tokens of his thoughts, postcards, one for each new city he inhabited while he way away from you for months on end, pearls, a Frank Sinatra vinyl, your ring stretched and bent from his pinky, anything and everything that was part of him, tucked away in a cardboard box in your attic, collecting dust.

Weddings are supposed to be joyous; they're supposed to remind you of just how amazing life can be, particularly when it's spent with someone you love, but you can't help but feel lonelier than ever.

This is what you wanted.

This is what you wanted with him.

"Still always working," sparkles dance in those eyes of his, morphing every coherent thought in your head to mush. It's criminal how relaxed he is. It's almost as if you're old friends catching up, as if all of the history between the two of you simply no longer exists. He's smirking at you, making your insides turn to jelly and your brain slosh around in your skull. He seems entirely unfazed as he strolls closer to you, the whiskey in his glass barely moving from how slow he progresses. He's honey, the golden sugar dripping lazily from a swarming hive.

You look good. You look really good. And he notices.

His eyes trail from the very tip top of your head, to your cherry red toenails, and you immediately shrink in on yourself. He studies your appearance, long locks of hair he used to comb his fingers through flowing in the slight breeze and cascading down your back, thin straps holding up the loose, silky fabric of your sundress, heart-shaped lips glistening, coated in your favorite lip gloss (He thinks the longer he stares, the more he can taste them again—the more he can feel the sticky substance transferred on his own lips, remnants of your sparkles imprinted on him), freckled cheeks paired with a rosy nose, results from a sunburn (You're tanner than he last saw you. Has your skin always been this golden?), a new tattoo on your inner right forearm, a compass, so minute that one would have to be staring to notice (Which he was, and he did).

Then he sees it.

That all-too-familiar gold band wrapped around your right middle finger, catching the light reflecting from the white wine in your glass.

The ring he gave you.

The one he saw in Japan and had to buy because it had you written all over it. The one he left on his pillow in your shared bed, waiting for you once you had successfully stretched and rubbed the sleep from your eyes while he was off to an early studio session. The one he had engraved, "H.S." on the inside of, a little piece of him always with you. The last token of him you couldn't bring yourself to rid of, a time capsule from a past love.

As soon as you realize he's spotted it, your grip on the glass in your hand tightens. Harry's eyes immediately snap back to yours—after all this time, you still wore the ring. Why were you still wearing the ring?

In a desperate attempt to distract Harry from asking that question you knew was swimming around in his mind, you clear your throat, "Still always working," you force a tight-lipped smile and rock on your heels, "that and you know I'm no good at dancing." You nod your head to the crowded dance floor alive with couples drunk off the mini bar behind the two of you.

Harry's hard expression softens, accompanied by a dimple as memories of your horrible dancing come flooding back. He releases a warm chuckle, one you haven't heard in ages that echoes in your eardrums longer than you would have liked, "Can't argue with that, 'member you almost broke m'big toe a couple times." His eyes never leave yours as he takes a sip from his glass, the amber liquid gliding down his throat with a faint burn.

The space between the two of you progressively decreases as he moves closer and closer, until suddenly his shoulder is only a couple inches away, daring to brush against yours. You're both facing the ocean now, backs towards the roaring crowd. You close your eyes, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore easing the anxiety coasting through your veins. You inhale slowly, enjoying the feeling of the wind brushing against your cheekbones, cooling off the nervous heat Harry has caused. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Harry turns his head and watches you with your eyes fluttered closed, admiring your side profile up close with no shame, because how could he not? He hasn't seen you in person for over a year—it's like he's seeing you for the first time again. He fights the urge to tuck a stay piece of hair behind your hair, something he would have done without thinking if things hadn't gone completely downhill. He wants to memorize how you look in this moment, the exact position of every eyelash, the exact angle of the slope of your nose, just in case he has to go another 12 months without seeing you again. But boy, he wants to see you again. And again.

You keep your eyes closed, your lips turning upwards in a faint smirk, "I saw you at Target the other day," you open your eyes and turn to look at Harry, only to find him already fully fixated on you. Has he been staring at you this whole time? "Rolling stone? That's big."

He grins at your flustered look of shock; he was caught, but he's not embarrassed at all, not trying in the slightest to hide how much you have captivated his attention, "Uh yeah," Jesus, your eyes are beautiful. Your eyes didn't look this beautiful when you were together. Did you do something to your eyes? No, that's impossible. Is that a new piercing in your ear? You hate needles. Did you pierce it yourself? What else has changed about you? Harry, focus. What did you say again? Oh, yeah, Rolling Stone. "Doesn't do well for my narcissism though."

"Hmm... I can imagine," you take a sip of wine, returning your eyes back to the horizon, this time focusing on a pack of seagulls gliding through orange creamsicle skies. You can't stare into his eyes for too long without thinking of everything, the good, the bad, the ugly. Each time you look into his eyes, it's like reliving every conversation you ever had. His words, a gallon of feathers poured on top of you, soft tufts brushing against your skin. His words, a gallon of daggers poured on top of you, sharp metal piercing your skin.

Silence overwhelms the two of you—filling the void of words needed and wanted to be said.

Harry clears his throat and finally looks in front of him to the breathtaking sunset melting into the skyline, almost as breathtaking as you. Taking a big gulp of his whiskey, he prepares himself for the words about to spill from his mouth. He has to ask, because you're here, in person, live in stereo, and when will he have an opportunity like this again? This question has been swimming in his brain for months; it's been eating him alive, the unknown mystery of the situation. He's dying to know if you've heard that one song.

"Have yeh listened to the album?"

He chose the absolute worst time to ask this question, right when you were taking a sip from your glass. You nearly choke on the liquid sliding down your throat, erupting into a coughing fit as soon as you get a breath of air. Harry's eyes widen, immediately angling his body towards yours, a look of alarm flashing across his features. You hunch over, sending cough after cough into your free hand. A warm palm rests on your back between your shoulder blades, causing goosebumps to rise, and as soon as he's about to ask if you're okay, you wave your hand, brushing off your near-death experience. You cough one last time, your raspy voice hesitantly admitting, "Um yes, I have."

Harry furrows his eyebrows, analyzing your face to make sure you're actually okay and before he can stop it from happening, he's rubbing small circles into your back. He hovers his body slightly over yours as you cough one last time into your elbow. You mouth "I'm good" inaudibly and send him a thumbs up. You finally straighten back up, brushing your hair out of your face and blinking slowly a couple times, God, that was embarrassing, way to keep it cool.

When your posture returns to its natural state, and his palm on your back is no longer appropriate, Harry removes his hand and pushes it into his pocket. He silently curses himself for not grabbing intertwining your fingers together and squeezing your palm once—that was something he would always do when you were together. It was his thing. When you would be out shopping and the paps would show up inconveniently out of nowhere, he would grab your hand and squeeze it once, letting you know that he's here and he's sorry, before dropping it. When you would be eating dinner at your parents, laughing about who knows what, his knee brushing yours underneath the table, he would grab your hand and squeeze it once, letting you know that he's here and he loves you, before dropping it.

Silence returns again and you're both back to your original positions overlooking the sea. Bass thumping, "cheers!", clinking, birds chirping, leaves rustling, waves crashing, heavy breathing, congratulations, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!", his rings tapping against his glass, the soles of your shoes crunching the grass, heart pounding.

The loudest silence breaks, "Figured one day you'd at least g'me a call back."

If you weren't sure if that last track was really about you, you were completely certain now. Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me you're sorry too. For the first time since he's been in your presence this evening, you regain a sense of confidence, your nervous jitters diminishing with your next statement.

"I didn't have anything to apologize for."

And you didn't. Not when he was the one that left, when he was the one that decided he didn't want to love you anymore, when he was the one that chose his life over the both of yours. It hurt. It still does. So why would you call him and tell him that you're sorry too? Sorry for what? Loving him too much? Because you loved him too much. He was the love of your life, the man you wanted to marry, the man you wanted to be the father of your children, the man that completely and utterly captured your heart and sewed it together with his own. But he left. And you had to figure out how to live without him, how to do the dishes when he wasn't drying, how to dance when it wasn't his records playing in the background, how to kiss when it wasn't his lips that were folded over yours, how to love again when it wasn't him that you were loving. You had to do it all. Alone. Pick up the pieces he scattered, put them back together, and super glue them.

Then he put out his debut album. And suddenly he was everywhere, from magazines, to billboards, to tv shows, to recommended YouTube videos, to Instagram, to twitter, to even Facebook, there he was again, closer to you than he had been in months, yet still light years away. And all of those pieces you super glued? Yeah, they became completely undone again, and it didn't help that you decided to actually listen to his album. It was one thing to see him everywhere, but to hear him again, hear that voice that once felt like home, it ruined you.

That song ruined you.

You remember the day that song was inspired from, every single detail.

You had a particularly busy day at work, and you decided to have a spa night. A bubble bath, a bottle of rosé, a face mask, a couple bath bombs, and a pizza was exactly what the doctor prescribed. You had just stepped out of your steamy wonderland, your body covered in your favorite, fluffy robe, soapy suds still clinging to damp skin, completely content in your cotton bubble and slightly buzzed from the glasses of wine you consumed. It was nearly 3 in the morning, and you just sat down at your vanity to apply your various lotions and serums when the phone rang.

Who on earth is calling you this late at night?

You shuffled your slippered-feet to your bedside table, glancing over to see something you never thought you'd see again.

His name.

Harry Styles

Flashing on your screen.

Nearly giving you a heart attack.

You froze in your tracks, eyes widening, mouth hanging open, breathing halting, heart beat slowing and thumping louder than ever in your ears. It felt like the entire world was put on pause, every car on the busy street outside your apartment stopped, traffic lights stuck on red, clouds frozen in place in the sky, every form of life on hold. You miss the call, not that you could have answered anyways; you were completely and utterly paralyzed.

Another notification: Harry Styles Voicemail.

Then you're breathing again, quick, sharp puffs of air in and out. Are you dreaming? You squint your eyes shut tightly and pinch your wrist. This has to be a dream. You open your eyes, the same notification illuminating your screen. You're not dreaming.

God presses play on the world, your surroundings slowly returning back to their normal pace around you, your bubble bursting as you frantically pull your phone from its charger, typing in in your passcode at the speed of light and going straight to the neon green cube on your dock. A shaky thumb taps on the voicemail, hitting the speaker button. There are a couple seconds of static, and for a moment you think maybe it was an accident, a butt-dial, a complete misunderstanding. Please let this be an accident.

Key word: moment.

Because as soon as you think you can forget about this, go back to your nightly routine, and have a peaceful sleep, his voice is booming through the speakers, and you're paralyzed again.

"Um... Hi, it's Harry," the ghost of the man you used to know lets out a nervous laugh, "But you knew that didn't yeh? Probably why you didn't answer..." there's silence, two seconds, five seconds, eight. "I'm in Japan. It's noon here, and m'drunk, alone in my hotel room," his voice is deep, raspy, tired. "'Member that ring I gave you? I'm stayin' a couple blocks away from that shop. Y'loved that ring. Think tha' was the last good thing I did."

Your eyes shift to your right hand, the one that's not death-gripping your phone, the one that holds the piece of metal he's referring to. A lump grows in the back of your throat, and suddenly it's becoming harder to stand. You collapse on the edge of your bed and gulp. Tears pool uncontrollably in your eyes, falling onto the robe that now feels like pinecones suffocating you.

"I saw Mark befo' I left. Ran into him at the grocery store," Mark, your co-worker, your friend. Mark didn't tell you he saw Harry. Why didn't he tell you he saw Harry? Why is Harry talking about Mark? Why did Harry call you? Why did Harry leave you a voicemail? "I asked him how you were, and he said you were fine. Are you fine?" No. "Cause I'm not. M'not fine at all."

You shut your eyes in pain, wincing at his words. Waterfalls flood from your eyes, and you hate it. You hate that this is affecting you so much. You hate that he still has a hold on you. You wished you could not care; you wished you could simply say "fuck you forever" and forget him. It's been 6 months since the breakup, and you want more than anything to move on and forget him.

"Love I-" You bite your tongue at the pet name, almost drawing blood. When was the last time he called you that? 'Love'—the equivalent of a knife plunging into your chest again and again. "I fucked up... and I miss you." And again. "God, I miss you so much." And again. "And m'sorry. I'm so fucking sorry." And again. "Th'worst thing I ever did was what I did to you."

You're fully sobbing at this point, your phone thrown across the other end of your bed, his voice slightly muffled by your duvet. Your hands are tangled in your hair, elbows resting on your knee caps, shoulders shaking as you hiccup, wave after wave of his words hitting you. Little do you know, Harry is on the other end of the world doing the exact same thing—hands pulling his hair, hunched over on the edge of his grand suite's expensive mattress, an almost empty bottle of whiskey to his right, tears staining the carpet beneath him.

"And I know this is late. M'a fuckin' idiot for not saying it until now. I just..." He breathes out a sigh, and you pinch your eyes shut even tighter. No, he's drunk. He doesn't mean it. He's drunk. He doesn't mean it. Don't fall for it; you've been doing fine. You're fine... right? "I needed yeh to hear that. Need you to know I'm so sorry for hurting you. I did th'one thing I swore I'd never do."

Relaxing your grip on the roots of your hair, you sit up at his words, the words you have waited to hear him say for six months. Why don't they sweep you off your feet like you imagined? Why don't you feel different? You had thought about this moment over and over, the moment he would finally own up to his mistakes, finally apologize for all the shit he put you through. You imagined him showing up to your doorstep with a dozen sunflowers, your favorite, a speech prepared on how much he still loves you and how much he is sorry for everything. After, you would launch into his open arms, sinking back into his quicksand, enveloped in his love all over again. Everything would fall back into place; you would be whole again. What you didn't expect was a drunken voicemail, making you want to crumble inside yourself until all that is left is a pile of bones, useless. It felt as if there was a surprise epilogue to your joint ending—you were experiencing the break up all over again. What was supposed to give you life, hope was slowly taking it away each second the voicemail continued.

"I'm dying, love." Me too. "Can I still call you that?" No. "M'dying without you. Just... Please call me. Please let me show you how sorry I am. Need to hear y'voice. I'm so sorry. Call me."

His voicemail remains in your phone. You never called him back. You've lost count of the times your finger hovered over his contact name, nearly jumping into the deep end, just for you to take one step backwards on the diving board. One particular night, after taking another step back, you decided to write down everything you wanted to say, everything you wished you knock on his door and scream at him until you lost your voice—all of the heartache, the sorrow, the stress, the hope, the anxiety, every single emotion you felt since it ended. You wrote twenty-two pages. They're now hidden in your bedside table, addressed and stamped, never sent. Harry didn't call you again; that was the last time you heard from him, over a year ago now.

Silence welcomes itself again. Comfortable silence is so overrated.

Shoulder brushing against yours, Harry stands still, digesting your last words. I didn't have anything to apologize for. There was a time when he would have completely disagreed with that statement, clearly, given the lyrics to his last track on his debut album. Then, he would have argued that both of you had dipped your toe in your downfall, each equally responsible for how things crumbled apart. Now, however, he sees how it was him that was in the wrong. He was the one afraid of the commitment you wanted from him—part of him could never fully love you like he wanted to. A couple hundred therapy sessions later, he's sorted his shit out, and he sees just how much shit he put you through, as if someone had sat him down in a theatre, showing him your love story from your perspective. You don't owe him an apology; you were perfect, always giving him your all, every single drop, every single ounce of your love from an endless fountain. He was the one that left. Hewas the one that broke you into small, jagged pieces.

But he's selfish. He still misses you so much. He misses your hand encased in his, your laugh at his terrible jokes, your lips on his cheek, your faint snores that only erupt on Friday nights after a hard week at work, your face buried in his neck, chest on top of his and legs entangled in his on the couch, your finger poking his dimple, your face scrunched in concentration as you painted his nails, your records playing in his house (the ones you said he had to borrow, but if he scratched them, he was a dead man), your hugs (the way you would make him feel itty bitty in your embrace, enveloping him into your open arms after he was away for too long), your mind, always alive and itching for those deep conversations that always arise at midnight in his bed.

That's why he came to the wedding in the first place. He was originally booked to shoot a music video, but he quickly cancelled at the possibility of seeing you here. And that's why when he finally spotted you, off in the distance, speaking into your phone away from the buzzing reception, he knew he had to talk to you. He didn't care if it re-opened closed wounds; he was selfish and he had to talk to you. He missed you.

"Listen-"

"I-" Harry speaks up at the same time you do, beginnings of sentences clashing together. Your eyes meet again, shoulders turned towards each other now. He grins, bunny teeth making an appearance at the mishap regardless of the obvious tension that has invaded the air between the two of you. You envy that trait, his ability to make any situation comfortable and relaxed despite its origin. "You first."

"No, um you go," you mumble out awkwardly, finishing off the remnants of wine in your glass in a rather large gulp to ease the nerves. You know Harry, sometimes better than he knows himself, and you know that he would have never approached you if he didn't have some motive on his own. You had to shut this down—there was no way you could go down this road with him again, not when just this conversation was enough to ruffle your feathers, making you feel like a traitor in your own body, someone you don't even know.

"How 'bout we both go?" There's a cheeky look in his eye, and if you look hard enough you could see a tinge of excitement, hopefulness, "On th'count of three?"

Not daring to quirk upwards, your lips remain straight, and you nod.

"One," You can do it. Just tell him you want to basically forget he exists. "Two," You can do it. Just tell her you still love her. "Three."

Two similar heartbeats.

"I still love you-" Sweet sugar crystals, an honest confession from candy land.

"I think it's best if we don't see each other again." An exploding cannon, sinking his battle ship.

Two entirely different headspaces.

The next morning, you wake up with a massive headache, one that was undoubtedly brewing as you cried yourself to sleep the night prior (it might also have to do with the entire bottle of wine you consumed as soon as you slipped off your heels in your apartment).

You notice it's technically no longer morning when you check your phone, squinting in pain at the sudden brightness, the numbers 1:25 yelling back at you. Thank god it's Saturday; you haven't had a hangover of this intensity since college and there is no way you could possibly go to work like this.

Slowly slipping out of the warmth of your numerous weighted blankets, your socked feet hit the plush carpet, and you bend down and open the bottom drawer of your bedside table. Tied up in a pink bow are four envelopes, addressed and stamped, waiting to be delivered to the man whose hopes you crushed. You reached for the stack, running your fingers along the edges, reading over his name, tracing the letters with your fingertips.

With the letters firm in your grasp, you rush to your front door, making sure to slip on your robe; you don't want anyone to drive by you putting these letters in your mailbox in nothing but a t-shirt and undies, after all.

You're finally doing it, diving into the crystal-clear water that was once forever still. You're going to mail all twenty-two pages, every emotion. This is it, the last period to the epilogue, the ending of this book, the closure the both of you so desperately need.

As you reach for the handle, you pause, noticing the one thing you nearly forgot about—that gold band. You slip the piece of metal off your finger, observing his initials engraved on the inside for the last time. Untying the bow holding the envelopes together, you slide the ring onto one end of the cotton-candy colored ribbon and retie the knot, the ring now attached. Inhale, one moment to reflect. Exhale, one moment to say your final goodbye. You swing open the door, and right before you can make another move, something stops you. Looking down at your doorstep, a bittersweet smile breaks out across your face. He was saying goodbye too.

A dozen sunflowers.

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thetorturerwrites · 4 years

Text

Bucket

Snippet: You were little more than a thrumming nerve. Your entire body throbbed inside your suddenly itchy sweater and leggings, aching and ready for him to do whatever it was he would do. That was the entire nature of your relationship with Adam. He told you what he wanted, and you delivered.

Notes: I wasn't sure I was going to post this because it is different from my regular Sackler, but I need to get it out of my brain. As always, this is an adult work, and there's not a lot about me that's fluffy. So, please be aware. Also, this is all the way behind the cut because it is just straight porn, y'all.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

Adam’s strong hands wrapped around your skull entirely. His fingers dug into your scalp, guiding you up and down again and again. He grunted at your whimper; the sound clipped by the stab of his dick against your uvula. Every salacious sound boomed in the empty theater.

On your knees between his, you clutched at his corded, jean-clad thighs, but the smooth fabric thwarted your every effort at keeping your balance. You slid against the stage's hardwood floor, only contained by his manipulative grip and his boots at the outsides of your thighs.

For the last half hour, Adam used your mouth to edge himself. He inched right up to the line where you’d taste that salty desire dribble out; and then, he’d back off, slapping his dick at the flat of your tongue with a lewd groan or allowing you to lick at the distended veins decorating his cock and wiggle your tongue tip into his weeping slit.

He was all you could smell, all you could taste. When he allowed it, musk and sweat tainted the air you breathed. You lapped at the tangy underside and head of his dick, swirling the slick around and around before swallowing it down on a delirious sigh.

Cock drunk from the first drop.

The longer he fucked your mouth, the more it swelled and numbed, and the natural apprehension of your throat to keep invaders out grew lax. That’s what he wanted. That was the goal — to park his massive dick into your throat as far as he could and cum down it.

His phone alarm blared, signaling the impending start of the next rehearsal. He responded with an annoyed kick to send it skittering across the floor.

“Goddammit.” He tangled his fingers in roughly, jerking you back to the tip. He yanked his black t-shirt up and out of the way, baring that mouth-watering abdomen. “Hands.”

You were little more than a thrumming nerve. Your entire body throbbed inside your suddenly itchy sweater and leggings, aching and ready for him to do whatever it was he would do. That was the entire nature of your relationship with Adam. He told you what he wanted, and you delivered.

Blow job in the middle of the day, the park, the cab? Often. Pictures of your tits at three in the morning so he could jerk off when everyone else in the apartment was asleep? Check. Dirty bar bathroom fucking while his narcissist girlfriend waited? Of course.

He used you — however, whenever, wherever he wanted.

You reveled in it, in being his on-demand whore. Often, he didn’t care if you enjoyed it. He never worried about making you cum or being nice. You were at his disposal for every vicious fuck, for every lascivious, law-breaking adventure.

You picked up where his idiotic girlfriends left off.

And now? Now, you obeyed for the hundredth time, wrapped both hands around his straining, heated cock, and used them in tandem with your mouth, twisting and tugging. His arousal and the spit he coaxed from the back of your tongue combined to make every pass glide easily. Each obscene slurp and shuck echoed, a sinful chorus your heart beat in rhythm to. He moaned loud as you massaged and drooled and swallowed.

The sounds he made had you rocking pitifully against nothing. Pins and needles shot through your calves and feet. Your quads burned; your head swam. But your breasts were heavy with arousal, nipples erect in that way that made you want to beg him to lick and suck them. Your pussy clamored, banging an intense, unrelenting tempo and soaking through the paltry fabric between your thighs.

“Think about this goddamn mouth more than I should.” He huffed and squirmed, unable to decide between the combination of lips and hands or the invitation at the back of your neck. “Can’t get Hannah to give a decent blow job to save my life. Shit, fuck, right there.”

You purred at his words and concentrated harder on relaxing your jaw and swiping your tongue along his length in response. This was the only praise you ever received from Adam — this comparison to whomever he was dating.

Clutching at your head, he forced you down, down, down until your nose nudged his groin and your throat, abused and beaten into submission, accepted his barrage. He growled and thrust in, pushy and pleased with himself. He interrupted each gag with a new spearing of his cock. Barking another curse, Adam lodged himself so far into your throat he blocked your air supply and spilled straight into your gullet, denying you even the taste.

He was demanding, depraved, delectable.

He held you there a long time, until your fingers eased and your shoulders slumped with imminent unconsciousness. When he finally vacated your mouth, he held you upright by the throat as your brain came back into itself. He waited until you blinked bleary eyes at him and licked your swollen, cracked lips.

Pulling away, you took a dizzy moment to adjust your clothes sluggishly. You wiped the sticky spit from your face and nodded once, the only sign he ever asked for that you weren’t going to die or press charges.

He jerked his head towards the back door and grabbed his script from the floor.

“Get the fuck outta here.”

***

AS: Carmine’s. 15. Y: N. Too far. 30. AS: Fine.

Twenty-five minutes later, you strolled through the Italian restaurant’s door and paused at the attendant’s booth. You were here to meet someone, you said, breezing by her with a smile as you had a dozen times before. For all she knew, you were a regular paying customer, not a booty call who was about to corrupt some recently cleaned surface.

Pointing yourself toward the restrooms, you hummed and strolled through the bustling room. You caught sight of Adam seated at an over-crowded table, surrounded by half-drunk, too loud people he looked close to murdering.

The scowl on his face promised any number of sinful things.

As soon as he caught your eye, you ducked down the dim hallway and into the ladies’ room to wait. Carmine’s was one of his favorite spots because of this particular bathroom — single occupancy, thick door, sturdy lock.

Minutes later, tall, dark, and menacing stepped in, slammed the door, and threw the lock into place. Hands on his hips, he leveled that annoyed gaze at you. Your breath hitched; your mouth watered. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes roamed from your favorite pair of come-fuck-me boots, along shapely curves accentuated by black skinny jeans. He lingered at the low swoop of your blouse and the rich plum coloring your full lips.

Somehow, his gaze darkened even further.

“You on a fucking date?”

He closed the distance in two irritated strides, prompting you to stand up straighter. Adam’s left hand pulled you in by your ass, squeezing and lifting you against him. His right found your breast to graze and swipe his thumb back and forth over the straining nipple. The lace bralette you wore left nothing to chance. You felt every nudge of the stiff peak side to side, sending electric current straight to your clit.

“Are you?” You met his eyes, a dare and a plea all wrapped up in one look. “You don’t care.”

Honey-gold eyes narrowed at you. Lush, pink lips hard lined. The hand at your breast lifted to your face and smeared the pretty lipstick all across your cheek, lending an air of just-fucked to your as yet unfucked appearance. You were loose for him from the first text, before you even walked in the door, but the sound he made melted your insides.

“You’re right.” Adam spun you to face the mirror and tore at your pants, nearly ripping the button clean off. “Don’t give a damn.”

Shoving the fabric down your hips, he impatiently tore your panties, pushed you further up onto the little counter, and dipped his fingers into the well at your core.

“Always ready for me, huh bucket?”

Your head dropped on a hushed groan at the pet name. Bucket. Short for Cum Bucket — his own personal sperm bank.

You didn’t need to answer; the evidence was clear. And before you could even plan the words, the fat head of his cock pushed past your puffy labia and broke the jellied seal on your cunt. You bit your lip hard to keep the whining noise from turning loud as he stretched you. It burned so goddamn good, and you lifted onto your toes for even an inch more.

Warm-up over, Adam gripped both of your hips and slammed forward punishingly. The force of it was so great, your mouth popped open on a hiccup, something between a delighted cry and a punch to the chest. Stunned, you planted your clammy hand on the mirror for some support, but he held you in place. His wide, determined hands kept your body right where he wanted it.

His pace was brutal. Hips pistoning, fingers digging in, teeth bared. All take and no give, he leaned further into you, pressing your abdomen against the marble counter so hard you knew there would be bruises. Each pass was frenzied, and the only thing that muffled the slap of his body against yours was the fact that the bathroom was next door to the kitchen.

The smell of sex mingled with spice and bread, coaxing a gurgle from your stomach. Starved in more ways than one, you arched your back and tipped your ass up further, earning a pleasured grunt from behind.

You knew the drill, and you held your breath. He hardly wanted to hear your sounds, often because he was muttering angrily or cursing at whatever bullshit happened over the course of the day. Your wailing was distracting, annoying, he said. You screwed your eyes shut to keep from watching him fuck you in the mirror, certain that you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet if you did.

But a whimper escaped, and you clawed at the sink. It was too much, too fucking good to bear in silence no matter how hard you tried.

His panting and grunting was music, and you pictured every shiny, veiny inch disappearing into your sizzling cunt. He didn’t care if you came, but he could drive you there, drive you crazy, the way he bottomed out, the way his sheer size filled you into your guts, the way he pushed and pulled and moved you to his liking.

Fucking you like this, in the bathroom of such a fine family establishment, was vulgar, disrespectful. His girlfriend and her friends were right outside, drinking and carrying on, but he was in here with you, hollowing out your pussy for his freight train cock.

It was mean and rude and shameful.

Addicting.

Something changed this time, though. You hurtled fast towards the kind of blinding orgasm only Adam could deliver, struggling to keep your mouth shut as you did, when his firm hand wrapped around your neck and lifted your back into his chest. He tightened his grip and hissed in your ear.

“Open your eyes. You think some suit can fuck you like this?”

The sight that met your peeking was carnal candy. His face was flushed and right at your ear. Your mouth hung open, letting strangled sounds of pleasure squeak free. He buried his dick far, far, far into your cunt and gripped the soft swell of your stomach for leverage. His fingernails dug in, and you could do nothing but brace, hold on, quake.

“Some college frat asshole gonna make you cum like I do? You know you want to. Almost there aren’t you, bucket? You think I don’t know when you cum?”

That was it. That’s all it took to send you reeling. Your body lit up, constricting around the angry cock inside and pulling a volley of curses from its owner. A long, muted ‘ffffffuck’ dripped from your lips right before the rest of you followed, shaking through the orgasm and the hot flood of slick that accompanied it.

It was liquid fire leaking down your thighs for him, a delicious loosening of every muscle to draw him in even further, and he rewarded you with a loud groan and a vicious bite to the shoulder.

He fucked you through your high mercilessly, never stopping the rough, quick pace. Pushing your torso away, he wrapped his hands back around your hips and furiously crashed into you until he snarled and emptied his cock, painting your insides with a fresh coat of Adam.

He was right. Nobody could fuck you like that.

Slumping against the mirror, you mewled at the cool press of the glass, grateful for the temperature change. You bit your lip as he pulled out, already feeling empty in the wake of his use. Managing to make your legs work, you pulled your clothes back into place and reached to turn on the faucet so you could wash away the mussed make-up, but he caught your hand and turned you to face him.

He tipped your face up by fingers at your chin.

“Fucking tramp is what you are.” His voice dropped, and it seemed like almost a muse to himself, something you weren’t supposed to hear. “Never prettier than when you’re crying and filled with cum.”

Your brow furrowed, lost in this moment because you didn’t know what to do if he was praising you without comparing you to Hannah or whoever it was today. You could count the times he looked you right in the face on one hand, and you looked away, not wanting to go down the rabbit hole of how beautiful he was.

“Wear it like this. Show everybody what kind of whore you are.”

He dipped his head, bit your cheek, and spun out of the room. You mashed your lips together and took another long moment to get all of your shit back together. Slipping out, you tucked your hands into your jacket pockets and slithered through the crowd towards the door.

“Miss? Hey shit, are you ok?!?”

You knew what it looked like. He knew what it would look like, too; that was the point. It looked like you’d been assaulted in the bathroom. And to explain the disheveled clothes, the messy hair and smeared make-up, you’d have to say no, I let this guy I know fuck me while you all ate ravioli. You’d have to say no, I wasn’t assaulted; I’m his tramp, his whore, his on-call cunt.

For a flash, you contemplated doing just that, mulling over how the words would sound, would taste on your tongue.

Deciding against it, you ignored the concern and tossed a brief look over your shoulder to your at-will tormentor before disappearing out into the street.

***

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Rigid fingers encircled your upper arm, gouging at the tender flesh through your dress shirt as the body attached to those fingers yanked you backwards into the janitor’s closet. You shrieked, pushing at the human column who kept you pinned in the corner.

“You come when I ask you, that’s it. You don’t fucking follow me here with my girlfriend like some goddamn stalker.”

It took a full 30 seconds to register the person grousing at you.

“I know the rules, Adam.” You fished out your badge and held it up for him to see. “I work here.”

He seethed for another heartbeat, then another. It was almost as though he wanted to be angry at you, at something. He snatched the badge and looked from you to it and back again.

“Didn’t know dirty sluts could get regular jobs.”

“Pay me.” It was blunt, and it shot out of your mouth before you could think better of it. “Till then, a girl’s gotta eat.”

His hypnotic eyes flashed, and he licked his lips, taking a step closer to you. Swallowing to wet the wicked dryness of your throat, you scooted back until you hit the wall, clutching your bag between you and him. You weren’t sure you meant what you said, but it was too late to take it back.

He looked at you like he wanted to eat you, and your body rose to the very idea of his mouth between your thighs. And then you thought how much better your shift would be if he fucked you first. A sloppy, rough ride to get you through the day.

“Wha-” Clearing your throat, you forced yourself to look at his face and not lower to see if his dick was hard in those navy blue slacks. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Some bullshit writer thing.” He leaned into your personal space and licked up the salty bead of perspiration at your temple. “But now I’m thinking about stuffing your filthy cunt full of my dick.”

Your agreement with the notion must have played across your face because he shoved your badge in your mouth, turned you around, and pushed your cheek against the cold slab wall. His deft hands wasted no time in sending your black dress pants to pool around your ankles and tugging aside your panties.

No warning, no checking to see if you were ready. He did exactly as he said he would; he stuffed his hard length into you, stretching and tearing, making you bite down on the plastic card.

Your eyes stung, tears smudging mascara and eyeliner into a globby blur. You scratched at the wall and squirmed through the pain, but Adam didn’t miss the way your hips moved, the way your ass wiggled against his groin. It didn’t matter why or where; you would always be ready for him to fuck you. Even if it hurt.

“Nasty, eager, goddamn slut.”

It was fast, frenetic. He pounded you so hard your eyes crossed. The full scope of your relationship coalesced in this moment. He fucked you blazingly quick, only worried about himself, and you flailed like a rag doll, a whore toy for his amusement.

You whimpered, unable to stop the noise even though you knew it wasn’t welcome. You carved little white divots into your badge with the death grip you had on it. Adam growled behind his own gnashing teeth, pulled you down onto his dick good and deep, and spilled into your waiting cavern. In a matter of two minutes, he finished with you and left.

It had been some time since it was that fast. Your head swam, caught in the murky middle of euphoria that only you, only your body could get him to do that and the ache and pulse he always left you with, the edge you seldom got to drop over.

It was the worst, and best, sort of torment, a masochism that got you through day after day.

***

“What’s wrong?! Are you dead?!”

You shoved your earbuds in and answered the phone in a panic because nobody made phone calls these days, especially the person on the line.

“Not dead. Where are you?”

You sighed, relieved that Adam wasn’t injured but unsure if he had lost his mind. Phone calls were against the rules.

“Working. You still haven’t paid me.”

His laugh soothed your nerves a bit; and like always, you waited for him to tell you what he wanted.

“Are you fucking anybody else?”

The question surprised you. This entire conversation surprised you. None of this was normal behavior for Adam, who spent all this time telling you he only wanted your mouth, your pussy. You weren’t sure what this was, but you knew to your bones it had to be part of his game.

“Nope. Should I be?”

He released a heavy sigh, the sort where you’ve finally sat down after a long day. You pictured it; him stretched out and relaxed. You only ever saw him relax the brief bits of time it took him to put his clothes back on.

“Can’t say no, can I? Probably shouldn’t be fucking around with me, cheating all over the place.”

“I’m not the cheater.” You half hoped he could hear the sneer, his comment souring your gut. “You are. I’m just a single gal with terrible judgment who likes to get fucked.”

“Yeah, you do.” He chuckled again, abandoning the self-loathing for something else. “Do you touch yourself when you’re not with me, bucket?”

You chewed your lip until it hurt. Even the mention of that name, the dirty things he called you, set your insides to warming, skin to flushing.

“Ah... no.” You winced because this wasn’t the sort of conversation you imagined having with anybody. Your masturbatory habits weren’t exactly noteworthy. “No, I don’t.”

“Why?”

“It.. uh... it makes sex better.”

“You don’t always cum when I’m fucking you, though. What do you do then?”

You sighed in defeat because you would do whatever he wanted, tell him whatever he wanted.

“Wait. I just wait.”

“Why?”

“Fucking hell.” You rubbed at your flaming cheeks and forehead. “Because it hurts, alright? You happy? Why are we talking about this?”

“Don't pretend to be shy. I’ve fucked you all over the city. Tell me what hurts.”

You could hear it now, a quiet rustling, a shift of his body, the slight change of his breath. He was stroking himself; you were sure of it. The very idea emboldened you.

“Fine.” You huffed, exasperated, and tried to settle, pressing your back against the wall. “It's this ache that never gets better. Everything stays swollen, and there’s this throb that’s always there. Once I cum, that goes away, and I have to start all over.”

“So, you don’t like to cum?”

You pondered the question, tapping your fingers restlessly. The answer was simple, but you didn’t want to say it out loud.

“No, I do. If it's been weeks of that deprivation, the orgasms are pretty amazing, but the in between is sometimes better. It keeps the memories fresh when I’m alone.”

Which was always.

“Does it hurt right now? Are your tits sore? Pussy wet and aching from being empty?”

The stutter to his voice confirmed it; he definitely had his dick in his hand. You shifted on your stool, spreading your legs apart far enough to push your pussy down against it. If you arched your back a little, your shirt grazed your skin in such a teasing way.

“You’re thinking about my tits now?”

He grunted, cursed under his breath.

“Think about you all the time. Your mouth and how you drank my piss that night.” He groaned and shifted again. You could hear him fucking his fist now. “How you’ll fuck me anywhere I want. Your cunt and how tight it gets when you do cum. Feel like I could fuck you every day, and it wouldn’t be enough.”

Struck dumb, you blinked hard at your monitor, unable to tell if this was honesty or manipulation. Players always played the game.

“Adam...”

“Hnngfuck. You don’t say my name enough.”

“You don’t say my name at all!” The heavy moment lifted, and you laughed because there was a part of you that doubted he even knew your name. “You call me bucket.”

“Guh!” Short, choppy gasps wafted through the phone, conjuring all manner of salacious imagery and staining your panties. “Came in you three times that day. You were so fucking pretty on your knees for me.”

“You did.” You nodded at nothing, eyes not even focusing anymore. You didn’t think he remembered the times he spent with you, let alone the first time he called you by a pet name. “Twice in my mouth and once in my pussy.”

You debated the next thing you wanted to say, not sure if it was even worth saying, but you jumped off the bridge. Terrible judgment.

“I even bought a shirt that says bucket.”

This was bad. Catching feelings for Adam would be so easy and yet monumentally stupid. Luckily, reality stepped through the door and headed for your window.

“Customer. Gotta go, k Adam? Bye.”

Ripping out the ear buds, you shoved them, your phone, and everything that just happened away.

***

AS: Remember where I live? Y: Y AS: Stop ducking me AS: 6pm AS: Wear the shirt

You stalled at the door, unable to bring yourself to knock. This was risky, dangerous, and you knew you should turn right around and go home. Bringing your side piece into the home you shared with your partner was an all-around asshole move.

Yet, here you were.

He wasn’t wrong; you had been ducking him. That call was too close, filled with too much potential. So, you let it sit, went on dates and outings with your friends, spent a lot of time purposefully misplacing your phone. None of it was enough, not nearly enough to make you stop thinking about Adam. Or the way he fucked you.

But if you did this, you weren’t sure you’d recover.

Decision made, you spun on your heel, shaking your head no. Can’t do it. Won’t. He must have opened the door right at that moment because his big hand caught you around the wrist and tugged you to a stop.

“Hey, where the fuck are you going?”

You dared a look over your shoulder and found him standing in the doorway in a dark button up with the sleeves cuffed at his elbows, tattered blue jeans, and bare feet. Looking like the damn devil himself.

He didn’t see it the first time; so, you shook your head for his benefit, but you couldn’t say out loud that you were leaving.

He took that silence as invitation and pulled you towards the door, as though he didn’t have the magnetic pull of the sun himself. Back at the threshold, he hooked a finger under your chin, tipped your head back, and swept a feather-soft kiss across your mouth.

“Miss me?”

Your brain short-circuited, and you stared at him, unable to formulate any kind of response.

He’d never kissed you before.

One taste wasn’t enough for him, though, because he snatched up your face into both hands and laid a kiss on you that singed you to the very tips of your eyelashes. Those pillowy lips you’d only ever seen in a hard line moved against yours in the best way, and the satisfied sound he made blew through your resolve to leave.

He seemed to know the very second your tension somewhat eased. He hunched down, slid your arms around his neck, and lifted you onto your toes so he could walk you into the apartment. Slamming the door behind you, Adam leaned you into it for support and slid his knee between yours, pinning you right there.

You still weren’t certain what to do, and it kept your face tight, anxious. Something rumbled against your chest, tickling your nipples as he broke the kiss. Your brow knit, and you tried to focus on his face. Long fingers slid around your throat loosely, the thumb at your chin keeping your head tilted.

“Relax. Let me taste.”

He nipped at your jaw, tripping a shudder that rushed down your spine. The next pass he made at your mouth came with the tease of his tongue along the seam of your lips. Your chest seized; you clutched at his shirt and squirmed in his hold. And then, his tongue curled along yours, cinnamon sugar and Sriracha spice. You thought you might die; you certainly didn’t mean to whine the way you did, but it escaped before you could catch it.

“You’ve swallowed so much of my cum, I expected you to taste like me.” His raspy words smeared a trail down your throat as his hands slid up to find skin under the hem of your shirt. “The rest of you taste this good?”

Your instincts screamed that this all was taking too long. You never had this much time, and he was wasting it with kisses and pretty words he didn’t mean.

“You.. ah..” You pushed at his shoulders to get him to look at you. “You don’t have to say those things. We both know I’m a sure thing. So, maybe let’s skip that part, yeah?”

“You got somewhere to be?”

“No, but Ha--”

“Good.” He licked at the shell of your ear and curled his fingers into your ribs. “Cause I’m in the mood to wreck you.”

Adam slanted his mouth over yours once more, stealing any further objection. His kisses were hungry but unhurried, and he explored your mouth as though he had all the time in the world. He unbuttoned your jeans and slid his hands down beneath the waistband, cupping and kneading your ass, teasing at the edges of your panties.

Those fingers that mainly dug bruises into your hips dipped between your legs, sliding along the sticky fabric. He pressed open-mouthed kisses all along your jawline and neck, biting sexily beneath your earlobe. Your hips rocked against his caress of their own accord, your body starving for this kind of touch from this particular man. Dubious, you chewed the inside of your cheek to keep your erratic tongue in check. It was likely that if you got too loud, all of this would end.

“Stop doing that.” He tugged at your lower lip, watching the corner of your mouth quiver. “Wanna hear you.”

Caught in his confusing web, you glued your eyes to the ceiling. If you looked at him, those feelings you tried so hard to skirt would come barreling back.

“Adam... what is this?”

Finding his way into your panties, he slid his long fingers between your slippery labia and against your oft-neglected clit on a pleased purr. You choked on your own spit, fisted your hands into his shirt, and pushed at his shoulders on reflex.

“Something new.”

It was subtle, intimate, the way he stroked your pussy, and it pushed you right up to that cliff in no time flat. Shaking inside your skin, you dropped your head against his shoulder. For weeks now, you rode that line, the sharp edge of denial; and in only a few passes of Adam’s thick fingers, your body was ready to jump off.

“M’gonna.. shit.. Ad-am!”

A loud, pained groan ripped from your throat when he pulled his fingers away, dangling you right there on the verge of bliss. This was more in line with the man you knew. This cocky asshole who could play you like a violin.

“Noooo, not yet.” Hasty now, he pulled off your clothes, tossing hoodie, shoes, and jeans over his shoulder. Catching sight of your white tank with ‘bucket’ painted over your breasts in script, he paused, gaping. “That’s the best fucking thing ever.”

His hands were suddenly everywhere. Shoving your arms away, turning your face to his for voracious kisses, groping at your aching breasts underneath the shirt. He palmed and rubbed and tugged at your flushing tits, all while whispering in your ear how he wanted you to wear that shirt all the time, wanted to paint it with his cum.

When he pinched and rolled your nipples, a low tide of pleasure wracked your body, pitching you into a tremor. Your cunt contracted and twinged, bending you towards its tormentor on a strangled moan. You couldn’t help it; your body could only handle so much. Adam’s eyes flashed, dark and glittery. He said he always knew when you came, and it seemed he was right.

“Think we can do better than that, bucket.”

And then he was on his knees, pressing you into the wall by one hand at your stomach and tearing your panties out of the way with the other. His lips connected with your cunt on a loud moan, and your brain stopped working. Your knees buckled, unable to keep you steady as he lathed your sex and thighs with messy, slurping kisses.

“Adam,” the desperation in your voice was terrible. “Jesusfuckinghell.”

Your pitiful, pleading noises only made him double down. His kisses came rougher, harder, and he sucked your clit until you shouted. Tears pricked at your eyes, but all you could do was beg. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

But of course, he stopped.

Flush against you, he trapped your trembling mouth to share your taste, grunting as you tangled tingling fingers into his hair to keep from buzzing right out of your body.

“Want you to crawl to my bed, bucket. Put that pretty cunt up so I can see.”

The world stopped. You blinked rapidly, feeling like someone had doused you with ice cold water. Pushing him away, you shook your head and tried to disentangle your limbs from his.

“Y-you want me to crawl,” your face dropped into a scowl, anger diffusing through your already heated chest and neck, “To Hannah’s bed?! Fuck you, Adam. No. That’s too much.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, he tugged you back into place beneath him and nudged your nose with his. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over your mouth until your gaze softened from fury to confusion.

“My bed.” His voice was soft, his eyes searching. “No more Hannah. Or Jessa. Or anybody.”

You blew out a long, uncertain breath, letting it lead right into the question. “... when?”

“The night you hung up on me. Couple hours after that.” He drew lazy circles on your hip with his fingertips. “Found out I got a part I really wanted after I talked to you, and you were the only person I wanted to celebrate with. Been trying to pin you down for weeks so I could tell you.”

Something new, he said. You looked up at him with wide, shining eyes, trying to decide if he was telling the truth.

“I want you around. When I wake up at three a.m. because I want to fuck you so bad. I wanna take you to new restaurants so we can cheapen up their bathrooms. Wanna call you bucket in public so people think I’m crazy. Think I owe you about a thousand orgasms, and I wanna give them to you.”

Twisting out of his hold, you shook your head. Unstable, fuzzy on your intention, you leaned against the couch while you slid your jeans and shoes back on. You looked everywhere but directly at Adam and dodged his hand when he reached for you.

“Can’t do this right now.”

With a crash of the door behind you, you ran out of the building with no particular direction other than away from him.

***

“Fuck, that’s it.”

You tangled your fingers in soft, raven locks and scratched at Adam’s scalp. That was your handle to guide him up and down, side to side. He hummed into your slick pussy, lapping and sucking so loud someone had to have heard.

On his knees at the little sink, he buried his face far between your thighs, nudging your clit with his nose and jostling it ever so slightly with each vulgar kiss, each smacking pop against your labia. Brushing his mouth and cheeks through the syrup shining on your skin, he murmured praises about how amazing you were, how good you tasted, what a filthy thing you were to spread your legs for him in this grimy bathroom. His words tumbled away with the spear of his tongue, replaced by your wanton whimpers. Gripping your legs to keep them apart, he tongue fucked you until the things coming out of your mouth made little sense.

Smacking his hands away, you tugged on his hair to draw Adam up to stand. He cupped your face and smothered you with a tart kiss. It was his turn to whimper as your fingers worked the belt and buttons of his pants, wiggling them open and down his hips.

“You’re sure?”

"Mhm. Debt paid."

You bit at his swollen lips and nodded, untucking his heavy, hard dick and scooting to the edge of the sink. For weeks now, you treated Adam the way he had treated you for so long. You called him when you wanted to cum, and you put him on his knees wherever you were.

His lips, his tongue, his fingers — all worked every time you called, but you didn’t let him fuck you. And you didn’t return the favor.

All you could think about right this moment was getting his dick inside of you. You pinched a hot drop of want from his inflamed cock head and relished the needy groan that accompanied it. He hesitated, as though he didn’t want to ruin it; but finally, he lined himself up and struck, rocking his hips and shoving, shoving, shoving until he bottomed out.

He whined into your neck, gripping your hips in that possessive way you didn’t realize you wanted so badly. You clung to his shoulders, thighs cinched around his wide body. He filled and stretched you so goddamn good, but it was the things coming out of his mouth that sent you careening.

“Shit, that’s good. Missed you so fucking much. Can’t believe it's been this long since I’ve been in your cunt.”

Like so many times before, Adam held you in place, his broad hands anchoring you to the sink ledge so he could pound into you with abandon. The slide of his dick was mind-numbing, and you bit into his shirt to keep from shouting.

The tingle first started in your toes. It slithered up your calves and jerked your knees together at Adam’s sides. It had been such a long time since you’d had him inside you that your pussy squeezed tight, earning a growled string of curses at your ear. Your clit was so engorged and aching that his light touch sent your yelp echoing in the little room. Redirecting his hand, you bit down on his thumb and watched his gaze change.

In a second, he was old Adam, punishing and wickedly wild. He forced his thumb further into your mouth and pressed down on your tongue, making the saliva pool around it. Your eager moan was louder than you intended, but it only made him fuck you harder, faster.

He liked it when you were quiet, but he liked it more when you were loud. Liked it even better when you were loud in public.

“Greedy girl, aren’t you? Always ready for me to fuck you stupid.”

You tipped your pelvis into that perfectly tantalizing angle, where the drag of his cock head rubbed against those spots that made you see stars again and again, and you ignited. Everything tensed, toes curling, fingers quivering. Your cunt clenched around him so hard, his thrusts turned violent, forcing you to accept him deeper and deeper.

You wailed his name into his shoulder, unraveling completely from your white hot center outwards.

With his cock seated far inside your ravaged pussy, Adam latched back onto your clit, rubbing the hard nub in quick circles to draw out your orgasm. You shrieked and batted at his hand again, but he caught your arm, drew it behind your back painfully, and bit into your neck.

“If you want my cum, bucket, you’re gonna have to milk me for it.”

His hips kept moving against yours, the slightest of thrusts, but it was his fingers, his evil fingers that ruined you. They never stopped moving at your clit, even when you begged him for a breath. They slid down around your weeping entrance, where his cock stretched you, and back up, bringing a fresh coat of slip to help his fingers fly.

Your eyes slammed shut; your face scrunched up tight and mute. He dropped his mouth to the crook of your neck, cinched your arm more firmly behind your back, and growled as your cunt convulsed for him a second time. You couldn’t even shout; all you could do was keen and quake.

It was enough to push Adam over. He jerked against you, grinding and losing himself to the obscene pull of your spasming pussy. He moaned your name into your pulse and clung to you frantically. His voice hitched, and he poured into you so hard you heard him sniffle, overcome with the blinding pleasure of it.

When your breathing returned to normal, and the aftershocks subsided, he helped you back into your clothes since your legs were still wobbly. He even tied your shoes.

“Don’t worry.” He bit your cheek the way he used to, the way that was unique to the two of you. “We’ll tell the manager you had a seizure or something.”

Chuckling, you snuck your hand into his; and this time, you left the bathroom together.

#adam sackler #adam sackler imagine #adam sackler x reader #adam sackler smut #adam sackler x you #dirty bastard but we like it

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mrs-takami-keigo · 4 years

Text

Mesmerize

Song:Mesmerize by Ja rule

Club owner Bakugou X Fem!Reader Rating E! 18+

As stated in my RULES all characters I write will be 21 and up! In this Bakugou is twenty-nine.

Prompt: Character flirts with you at the club and couldn’t wait till you got somewhere secluded to have you.

Word count:4.2k

Warnings:Dirty talk, Orgams denial, public sex, unprotected sex, slight degradation, alcohol

This was a request from my PROMPTS I did for my zodiac twin @katsukikitten. This was so much freaking fun to write!!

And this will also be my first tile off of my BINGO masterlist!

Huge thank you to @samanthaa-leanne and @shoutogepi for beta reading this for me!

You felt the bass of the loud music vibrate through your body as you maneuvered through the crowd of people, bodies pressed together, lights flashing and drinks in everyone's hand, you expected nothing less from the hottest club in the city. Usually the smell of alcohol would bother you but right now it didn’t matter because you were finally out of the house and having a good time. That quarantine felt like it lasted for years but you also understood it was necessary. Everyone was drunk, inhibitions thrown out the window, tonight was about living it up.

“What can I get for you!” The bartender shouted from across the slightly sticky white countertop. Even on an insane night like this he had a giant smile on his face, happy to finally have business.

“Can I get a gin and tonic with two limes and make it a double please!” The red haired man gives you a curt nod of his head before grabbing a glass and making your drink.

Turning around you pressed your exposed back to the bar, elbows resting on the surface. You took in the sight of the club, people dancing, laughing, lovers showing their affection for each other rather publicly. A smirk played on your lips at a couple as their lips seemed to become molded together, wandering hands gripping ass, boobs, anything they could get their hands on.

It made you a little envious. How long has it been since you’ve had your back blown out, moaning at the top of your lungs by some good dick? Months, six months to be exact, but it’s not like you were counting or anything.

“Here you go, love!” The sound of the bartender's voice broke you out of your thoughts. Turning around you went to open your clutch only to have his hand cover yours. Looking up, the bartender was shaking his head. “Your drinks for the night have been covered by someone already.”

“What? Who?!” You looked around to see if anybody was looking in your direction, assuming whoever did this would want for you to talk to them. You’ve had drinks bought for you in the past on numerous occasions, may it have been the old man trying to relive his youth after a divorce to a young guy just trying to impress you by spending money on you.

“Not at liberty to say, but just enjoy it love. Name is Kirishima, if you need a refill just let me know.” The red headed man sent you a playful wink before he slid down the bar, helping the other patrons.

‘Covered for the night huh?’ A smirk played on your lips as you twirled the little red straw between your fingers, the ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass. Wrapping your glossed lips around the plastic material you took a sip of the drink, the slight burn from the gin hit you first but was subdued by the sweet and tangy taste of the limes. Kirishima made this drink super strong but it was still pleasurable. And if drinks were gonna be covered all night nothing was stopping you from downing the small glass of alcohol in five minutes, before waving down your new favorite bartender for another.

Not sure how much time had passed, you were only counting by drinks and you were positive you were on your fith glass. You weren’t completely drunk, still sober enough to know your name, address and phone number but you were sure if you drank two more right now you’d be black out drunk. Pulling out your phone you clicked the button on the right side, bringing the small device to life.

‘It’s only one am and I’m already like this?’ You still had the whole night ahead of you and you were damned if you had to go home early. Facing the bar you looked for Kirishima, trying to get his attention. But he was distracted by a group of women who were fawning over his bright red spiked hair.

“Oi dumbass! You got other people here waiting! Stop tryna get your dick wet and get her something to drink!” You weren't sure when the male had snuck up behind you, but between his loud voice and his body fully pressed against yours you couldn’t move. His chest felt like a rock against your back, a low rumble vibrating through his chest as he yelled, looking down to your right you saw one of his hands pressed on the bar. Not even seeing his face yet, you could feel your pussy come alive.

“Damn Bakugou! I could have really had some fun tonight.” While you were lost in your slight desire for this Bakugou person, Kirishima had reluctantly walked away from the group.

“I really don’t give a fuck.” You could feel him lean down so his face was next to your’s. Not even daring to your head, afraid if he was attractive you’d lose the last of your resolve. “You want another gin and tonic, double with two limes, or you want some water?” He spoke in a lower tone almost like a growl, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You started to love and hate the fact that you wore this specific dress tonight, it was a skin tight royal blue satin dress, a small strap wrapped around your neck leaving your entire back exposed. What you really loved about this dress was how it hugged you curves in all the right places while still looking classy. The bad part was you could feel his other large hand placed on the small of your back and because of that your cunt started to pulsate. You were already sure you had a small wet spot on your black lace panties.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you turned your head to look at the male that had this effect on you. ‘Holy shit he’s fucking hot.’ His crimson colored eyes were fixated on you, blonde brows lifted as a smug smirk graced his lips. Messy fluffy blonde hair on top of his head, a black button down fitting perfectly on his slim yet fit body. The first three buttons were undone, exposing the silver chains that hung from his thick neck.

“You’re pretty fucking hot yourself.” A tongue slipped past his lips in a swift motion, those crimson eyes glanced down roaming over your curves, drinking in the sight of you like he was ready to eat you right there against the bar. You were sure you felt his hand on your lower back shift so his fingers were brushing dangerously close to the edge of the dress that sat right on top of your ass.

At first you were perplexed on why he would say that to you only to realise you said he was hot out loud instead of in your head. First time out in months and you embarrass yourself infront on the finest man you’ve set your eyes on, fucking great.

“You want another drink love?” Kirishima placed an empty glass on the bar, ready to make your usual.

“Can I get water this time?” You were trying to ignore the man who was still behind you. His gaze on you was so intense that you were sure he could see right through you. Bakugou had said less than twenty words and you were ready to have his face buried in your pussy. Yeah you definitely needed water if you were gonna try to talk to this fine ass man.

“You know it’s pretty fucking rude to ignore a person who was talking to you.” He had moved from behind you, to stand next to you. Resting his right forearm on the bar he leaned so he could see your entire face. “But I’ll let it slide, I’m in a good mood tonight.”

You still haven’t looked in his direction, trying to hide the fact that this man had you flustered. Kirishima had passed you a tall glass full of ice cold water, lifting it up to your slightly parched lips, you let the cold water slide down your throat. You didn’t realize just how thirsty you actually were til that moment. Closing your eyes you relished in the feeling of the water cooling you down, a little spilled from the side of your mouth, sliding down your neck.

Bakugou watched as that clear liquid flowed down your smooth skin, it glistened as the club lights hit it. He wanted nothing more than to use his tongue and lap up that water but restrained himself.

“And it’s rude to creep up behind a girl and place your hand on her like that without asking.” You set the glass down, turning to face him, coping the same position he was in. “No introduction, no ‘excuse me’. You even yelled at sweet Kirishima as if you owned the place, asshole.”

“Oi Kirishima, who owns this fucking place?” Bakugou never shifted his gaze from your fiery ones as he called out to the bartender.

“Uh you boss.” The minute those words rolled out of his mouth you could feel panic run through your body.

‘Boss?! No fucking way!’

“And who covered her tab for the night?” You didn’t know if you wanted to slap that smug look off his face or let him have his way with you at the moment, right now both sounded like a good plan.

“Once again you boss.”

“Thanks dumbass, you can leave now, I’m sure those hoes are still waiting for you.” Bakugou stood up straight, towering over you even in your heels. He moved forward forcing you to move back away from him. You weren't sure if it was because of the gin or if it was because of him but you could feel your face begin to flush, legs becoming like jelly with each step you took, the look in his eyes were dark and full of lust. As if he was a lion waiting to pounce on his prey.

“Now who was the asshole again?” His voice came out as a snarl, lips curled up showing off his canines and gums. Stumbling backwards your back came in contact with the wall at the end of the bar. It just so happened that this particular corner was hidden in the dark corner of the club. “What happened? You got all that bark and no bite?”

Bakugou had caged you between the wall and his body, his right arm blocking you from the crowd and with his broad build shielding you from the people behind him. With his free hand, he gently gripped your face, tilting your head up so you could look at him. His face was so close to yours, breaths mingled together as his eyes bore into you.

“I’m gonna be fuckin honest here, I saw you the minute you entered my club. I watched as you made your way across the dance floor and over to shitty hair. You cast a fuckin spell on me and all I wanna do is fuck you against this wall right now.” You felt your breath hitch as he placed his thigh in between your legs. His semi-hard cock was pressed against your leg. “But I won’t do anything unless you want me too. I’m not a fucking animal.”

The way your mouth went dry as he spoke and your pussy began to ache for him. This man you met only ten minutes ago was just your type, dominating, handsome and still a fucking gentelman. If anyone cast a spell it was him.

“Age?” You had a few questions before letting this man dick you down.

“Twenty nine and you?”

“Twenty eight. You clean?”

Smirking down at you he knew that this was your way of saying yes to him. “My body is my temple princess.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you ground your sex against thigh, a moan floating out of yours and his lips. “Do your worst asshole.”

Before you could even blink his mouth was pressed against your glossed ones. Nothing about this situation was romantic, no it was nothing but carnal desire. Your body longed to be touched by someone and fuck did you hit the jackpot with this one.

His hands roamed down your back, slightly scratching your smooth skin leaving small red marks in their wake. Soon he gilded his hands over your ass, cupping your cheeks in his large calloused hands. Breaking the kiss you let out a shuttered breath, by him gripping you up like that caused you to rub against his thigh again but this time it was much harder than before.

“I can feel how wet you are through my fucking pants, you want me that bad huh?” Bakugou growled against your neck, giving it small licks and nips, eyes started to roll into the back of your head. Between his attack on your neck and him constantly making you rub your pussy against his thigh, you were sure he was gonna wreck you.

“Don’t flatter yourself dipshit, it's been a long six months.” He was right though, you wanted him, you wanted him so bad. Your nimble fingers made their way to his belt, trying to unbuckle it and get what you wanted.

“You’re an eager little slut aren’t ya?” Grabbing your hands, Bakugou lifted them above your head, holding both wrists in one of his hands. “Don’t worry princess I’ll be sure to make you cum hard. We’ll save all that sensual shit for next time.” Fuck, he had you completly under his control. As much as you wanted to fight him and challenge him, you couldn’t. All you wanted was for him to fuck you.

Bakugou had turned his body slightly to the side, covering you from anyone that could still see you. You were so lost in him that you forgot that you were in the fucking club and out in the open. But you were far too deep now to care, and so was everyone else.

You could feel Bakugou lift the hem of your satin dress up, exposing your black lace panties. Taking his long middle finger he grazed it against you, slightly pressing between your folds. “I fucking knew it, you are soaked. Look at my finger, it's coated with your juices.” He brought the same finger he used against you, sticking his tongue out, sliding the coated digit over it.

“God with just that little bit I can tell you taste so fucking good.” His leg was still between your own and your arms still above your head, you ground your hips against him once again. He was doing too much teasing and all you wanted was that sweet sweet release.

“Stop playing with me and fuck me!” You hissed between your teeth.

The hand holding your wrists tightened as he held your hips down. He leaned down, lips barely touching your own. “Don’t tell me what to do.” You knew he wouldn’t cause any actual harm to you but that statement sent shivers down your spine. “Just for being a brat I’m gonna make you beg for it. Make you beg to cum, make you beg for my dick to stretch that tight sopping wet pussy.”

You gulped as his grip on your hip loosen. “Are you gonna be a good fucking girl for me?”

You could only nod your head, words and sentences were something you weren’t capable of at the moment.

“Use your words princess. Say, yes Katsuki.” His fingers went back to torturing you in between your legs. Each stroke becoming rougher than the last.

“Yes Katsuki.” Those words came out like a moan. The feeling of his hands on you, how he growled with each brush of his finger against your pussy, it was driving you wild. One of his long fingers hooked on the side of your drenched panties, pulling them to the side, exposing your wet cunt to him.

Clenching your fists as you let out a gasp, you felt Bakugou slipped a finger between your folds. Burying his face in your neck you heard him cuss under his breath, giving you praises about how good you felt and he wasn't even in you yet. The man pinning you to the wall started to roll his finger over your hardened clit, sending waves of pleasure surging through your body. You could feel his hard cock against your thigh with each roll of his hip, god did you want that dick in you.

“Oh fuck!” Your body shuddered as he inserted a finger inside of you. You didn’t care how loud you were seeing as how the music in the club would just drown you out.

“God princess you’re so fucking tight.” Bakugou dragged his tongue along your shoulder, before biting down on your neck. You responded by rolling your hips into your hand as he started to move the digit in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

“More please.” Your mouth was agape, sharp intakes of breaths as he moved. That’s when you felt him add another long finger inside of you. You could feel your walls stretch around his fingers. Bakugou switched between scissoring motions and just moving his fingers against you, pressing on that soft bundle of nerves.

“Look at you,” His fingers started to pick up their pace, making your eyes roll in the back of your head. “I got you fucking whimpering for me and all I’m doing is fucking you with my fingers.” between his words and the speed of his fingers you could feel that familiar tightness forming in the lower part of your abdomen. “I can feel you tightening around my fingers, are you about to cum?”

“C-cum…”

“What was that I couldn’t fucking hear you.” His arm started to move at a speed you were sure was inhuman. It had your toes curling, your nails digging into the palm of your hands.

“I’m gonna cum!” Ready to feel yourself unravel for him, to feel that white flash of release, you closed your eyes. But it never came. Opening your eyes, you watched as he pulled out his fingers from inside your cunt, holding them in front of your face.

“You can’t cum until I say you can.” He ran his tongue over his fingers, cleaning them of your essence. “I want you to cum all over my dick, as I fuck you into this wall.”

You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out, your legs were getting shaky and your arms were numb at this point. You wanted this, to have someone fuck you like this. Using one hand Bakugou undid his belt and button of his pants and unzipped them. Reaching in the front of his pants he pulled out his hardened cock.

Involuntarily swallowing the saliva that gathered in your mouth, you licked your lips. You imagined wrapping your lips around him as he fucked your mouth, making you gag on him. Bakugou could see the hunger in your eyes, and god did he want to do whatever you were thinking of doing but he was going to explode if he didn’t fuck you right now.

Bakugou leaned down, placing his forehead against your own. You could feel the dampness from the light coat of sweat on his forehead mix with your own. His breaths were shallow and deep, lust filled eyes mirrored yours. The noise of the club and people around you seemed to disappear, the only thing that could be heard was your heart beat as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your glistening folds. Bakugou coated his cock with your juices as a lubricant before aligning himself with your entrance.

Slowly he pressed the tip of his cock through the threshold of your pussy. The feeling of your hole stretching around him as he eased his way inside. Bakugou never broke eye contact as moved, letting you see every emotion he went through. How his eyebrows raised, nostrils flared and mouth opened as your pussy engulfed him.

“Oh fuck princess, you feel so fucking good around me.” with a swift thrust he pushed himself the rest of the way, fully sheathing himself inside of you. Arching your back off the wall and whimpering, you could feel his cock twitch as he waited for you to get accustomed to him.

Bakugou let go of your wrists, bringing your arms down and wrapping them around his neck. His right arm came down, grazing his hand down past your ass, bringing it behind your thigh. Gripping your smooth skin, Bakugou hoisted your leg up to his waist allowing him to go in a little deeper, the tip of his cock pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves. With your hands now free from his grip, you clawed at his back. Bakugou growled when he felt your nails dig into his skin. Moving his hips back he snapped them forward, causing you to scream out his name. A sinister smirk played on his lips, enjoying how his name fell from your lips like a mantra. With each thrust of his hips the harder you clawed at his back, he was sure you left scratch marks but he didn’t care.

“You like this don’t you? Getting fucked in the middle of a club, knowing anybody can come over here and see how much of a fucking slut you are.” That knot in your lower abdomen came back as he snarled in your ear. His hand gripping your thigh tightened, Bakugou was using that as leverage, making your body meet his with each thrust. And he was right, the fact that anybody could walk over and see you was exhilarating.

Between Bakugou’s constant biting on your neck and how relentless his thrusts were, you were so close to reaching an orgasm that was surely going to make you see stars.

“Yes right there! I’m gonna cum.” Your hands found purchase in his hair ready for him to send you to the fucking moon.

“Oh no you don’t bitch.” Bakugou halted his movements, his cock was almost pulled out of you. “I told you I need to hear you beg for it.” You looked at him with fire in your eyes. There was no way he could be serious. Wrapping your hoisted leg you went to push his hips forward only to be met with a hand wrapped around your throat.

“I don’t think so. Good girls get to cum princess and all you’ve been was nothing but a brat. So why should I let you cum?” Bakugou had his lips grazing over yours as he spoke, his eyes were showing how serious he was, it sent shivers down your spine. “Now princess let me hear you fucking beg for my cock, for me to let you cum.”

“Please Katsuki let me cum.” You whined as you moved your hips, trying to get friction anything to help you release. “I promise I’ll be good, just please I want to feel you stretch out my pussy. I want to scream your name as I cum all over your dick, please!”

“Now that’s a good fucking girl.” With a sharp snap of his hips, Bakugou drove himself back into you moaning as he did. You had eyes rolling in the back of your head, drool coming down the side of your mouth while screaming his name. All the people near you could get fucked, the way Bakugou made you feel at this moment was all that mattered.

“Holy fuck!” You could feel Bakugou lose his rhythm for a split second and you knew he was close.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum, please let me cum.” You had moved to moan in his ear before licking his thick neck and biting on it.

“Cum for me princess.” It came out as a low growl and that's what had sent you over the edge. Screaming his name louder than before you came all over his dick, hands pulling his hair as your body began to convulse.

“Oh shit!” Bakugou pulled out just as white streams of his cum began to spurt out, landing on the lips of your pussy and some on your thighs.

Bakugou had let go of your leg and slightly moved away from you. As soon as your leg hit the ground you felt them give out from under you as you started to tumble forward. Luckley the blonde man had quick reflexes and caught you, helping you lean against the wall.

“Let's get you cleaned up and some water in your system. My office is right upstairs.” Grabbing some napkins from behind the bar Bakugou began to wipe off the reminisce of his cum off your thighs, while pulling down your dress.

“Why didn’t you just take me there to begin with asshole?!” You smacked his arm as you looked around. Some people were staring at the two of you while whispering in their friends' ear

“It’s your fault! No one told you to come in here and get me mesmerized!” He leaned back down to whisper in your ear. “I just couldn’t wait to devour you princess.”

Biting your lip you grabbed his hand pulling him towards the stairs. “Now it’s my turn to devour you, asshole.”

#bnhabookclub #bnhabookclub bingo event #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha #Club au #club owner Bakugou #mha bakugou

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luvshuas · 5 years

Text

caller #9

pairing - chan x reader

tags - college!au + fluff

synopsis - all of chan’s friends thought he was hopeless when it came to his crush on you, but lucky for him the school’s love radio knows just how to help

word count - 4.9k

“You’re daydreaming again.” Chan’s roommate, Seungkwan, waved his hand in front of the spaced out boy’s face. Chan heard his roommate’s faint chuckle from across the room, “You really are hopeless Lee Chan.”

“Thanks, you’re probably the thousandth person to point that out.” He grumbled. Chan’s attention reluctantly returned to the history essay he was supposed to be completing. Hopeless, he thought, absolutely hopeless. He couldn’t agree more with the title given to him by majority of his friends. They were right after all; he was absolutely hopeless when it came to expressing his feelings.

“Y’know there might be a way we could help you.” Seungkwan broke the silence that had settled in the room, though his observation wasn’t enough to steal Chan’s attention from the essay in front of him. Seungkwan lifted one of the many pillows off of his bed and threw it at Chan, “Like I was saying, I think I know of a way to turn your hopeless train wreck of a love life around.”

“Yeah? How do you think you’re going to ‘turn my hopeless train wreck of a love life around’?” Chan turned his chair around so he could face Seungkwan, however the other’s grin gave Chan a bad feeling. He knew letting Seungkwan play any role, whether it be big or small, in his love life could end in a burning mess, but he found himself leaning forward to listen to his roommate’s idea.

“The school’s love radio, or whatever they call it. That doesn’t matter,” Seungkwan turned his laptop so the screen was facing Chan. “What matters is they can give you tips on how to win your crush’s heart.” Seungkwan was grinning like the devil by now, obviously proud of his idea. Chan turned the thought over in his head.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.” He was hesitant with his answer, but what’s the worst that could happen? Chan grabbed his phone and moved to sit next to Seungkwan on his bed. The radio was live, and the number to call into the show was posted in the description. Chan punched the numbers into his phone, holding his breath until his call was accepted and put on air.

“Welcome caller #9! What’s troubling your heart?” The voice on the other end of the call sounded awfully familiar to him, but he was too unprepared for his call to actually be picked up to think of who it reminded him of. “Hello? Are you still there?” The radio host’s voice pulled him out of his daze.

“Oh! Yes, uh, sorry? I called really unprepared, but there’s someone in my sociology class. My arms feel like jelly whenever I’m around them, and my friends tease me saying my eyes literally turn into hearts whenever I look at them, but I can’t properly talk to them without saying something stupid. I really just want to be able to talk to them and have them fall for me like how I fell for them.” Chan spilled his problems out for everyone tuned into the show to hear, though he didn’t feel vulnerable. He was known only as caller #9 to everyone who was listening, besides Seungkwan who had already heard this spiel more times than he could remember. He waited for the host to take in everything he had laid out, but the growing silence was beginning to eat at his nerves.

“I see. It seems like you have a confidence problem. Try asking a trusted friend to strike a conversation with them, and then once the conversation seems to be going smoothly have them bring you in. Having someone you’re comfortable with by your side will help boost your confidence.” Chan listened to the advice closely. Maybe he’d have a chance at expressing his feelings. The host thanked him for calling in and asked him to call back in a few days or whenever he had the chance to talk with whoever he liked. Once the phone call was off air and had ended he let out a large sigh.

“If you don’t ask me to help you talk to them I’ll do it on my own and ruin every chance you get.” Seungkwan’s threat was meant to be lighthearted, though having been roommates with the boy for two years Chan knew to take it with some truth. He nodded his head to confirm with Seungkwan that he’d be helping him talk to his sociology crush before returning to his desk to finish the essay that should’ve been done hours ago. A sliver of hope settled into Chan’s heart as he sat himself down in his chair. Maybe this love radio wouldn’t be that bad of an idea.

___

Chan didn’t have his sociology class till two days after he called into the love radio. He had plenty of time to prepare how the conversation would go, and, as embrassassing as it sounds, he even practiced with his friends. Chan stood nervously outside of the classroom. Seungkwan had gone in alone a few minutes prior to begin the conversation. After several other students entered the classroom, not without giving Chan strange stares, he entered the room.

“There he is! Chan come here! I was just talking about you!” Seungkwan gestured for Chan to come stand next to him and join the conversation, but he felt his feet glue themselves to the floor. Once his eyes met yours it was over for him. His eyes briefly met Seungkwan’s annoyed ones. Seeing his roommate pulled him from his daze and he began to finally drag his feet to stand next to Seungkwan, and in front of you. Chan felt his stomach explode with butterflies when you looked at him. “Like I said earlier, Chan is really good at sociology. He’d be the perfect person to help you!” Seungkwan wrapped an arm around Chan’s shoulders, a proud smile beaming on his face. However, Chan’s expression was the complete opposite.

“Really? Chan I don’t want to be a burden to you, but would you mind helping me?” For the sake of your grade you hoped he would agree, but the horrified look on his face gave off a different message. You quickly tried to backtrack, “You don’t have to! You’re probably busy with your own-”

“No! I’ll help! Don’t find someone else!” Chan cut you off when he realized what was happening. Your relieved smile sent a new wave of electricity through Chan’s veins. “I mean, I don’t mind helping. I could probably use the help as well.” He said, much calmer. He tried his best to appear cool and collected, but his thoughts betrayed his outward appearance.

“Thank you so much! Here, put your number in my phone and I’ll text you a time and place so we can study.” You fished your phone out of your bag before handing it to Chan. Chan was absolutely dumbfounded as he typed his name and number into your phone. He knew he’d never hear the end of this from Seungkwan, but at that moment he was too over the moon to care what ridiculous debt his roommate would put him in for this. Chan tapped ‘save’ before handing your phone back to you. Your smile was beaming as you thanked him and returned to where you normally sat.

Chan lifted his hand to wave at your retreating back, but Seungkwan’s rough shove interrupted his thoughts. “What just happened?” Chan asked, moving towards his and Seungkwan’s usual seats in the classroom. Never in a million years did he think he’d be able to hold a, albeit short, conversation with you, let alone have you ask for his phone number.

“Looks like someone owes little ol’ me a favor since calling the love radio was my idea.” Seungkwan said, a smug smile plastered to his face. Chan knew that the boy would most likely ask him to do an assignment for him or run a few errands, but he was too ecstatic about the past few minutes to care about whatever Seungkwan would have planned for him.

The professor finally entered the classroom, signaling the beginning of class and of the longest day of Chan’s life. Chan hoped you’d text him when your first study session would be so he could ask for advice from the love radio, but for now he’d just have to push through the day and hope it goes by faster than normal.

___

As predicted, Chan’s classes felt longer than they should be. Between checking his phone for your text and watching the clock like a hawk time seemed to slow down. When he arrived in his dorm late that afternoon it was empty. Seungkwan had told him he would be out to work on a project for one of his classes.

Chan, for once, was grateful to have his roommate gone. He slid into the chair at his desk, opening his laptop to pull up the radio show that would be starting soon. He was ten minutes early, but those ten minutes would give him time to prepare. On a sticky note he wrote down the questions he might want to ask. Chan looked up from his sticky note once he heard the host’s opening line.

“Welcome back! It seems that we already had some viewers waiting for the show to begin. Let’s begin right away then! Caller #1 you’re on air!” Chan listened to the caller’s problems and the host’s answers. Some of the callers were in similar situations - whoever they were interested in only saw them as a friend. Once the eighth caller hung up Chan called in. He thought it’d be easier for the host to recognize him if he was consistently the same caller.

“Welcome caller #9! How can I help you?” The host’s voice sounded as happy as ever. It was obvious they enjoyed doing the radio, despite never revealing who they are. Chan felt himself smile.

“Hi, I called a few days ago about not being able to properly talk with who I like. You told me to call back whenever I was able to?”

“Oh! Yes, I remember you. Did I help? Do you need more advice?” Chan felt relief flood through him when the host recognized who he was.

“You helped a lot. They asked for my number so they could text me, but they were just planning on texting him so we could study for our sociology class together.”

“It sounds like you’re hoping they won’t just text you to study. Whenever you two study try to find things you have in common, and then use those things to ask them on a date.” The host’s answer came quickly this time, and Chan could’ve sworn he recognized the voice from somewhere. Maybe he heard it while passing through a crowd of students, though he doubted he’d remember someone’s voice like that. Chan thanked the host before his call was taken off air. The radio show would be on air for another ten minutes, but Chan to stop listening after his call was taken. He closed the tab on his laptop and began working on whatever assignment he had due the next day.

Around ten minutes after Chan’s call in to the radio - which had ended by now - he received a text from you. “‘Let’s meet tomorrow. Noon by the cafe.’” He read the text aloud. He felt himself chuckle at the coincidence that you would text him a few minutes after he called in to confess his new problem. “Maybe luck is on my side these days.” He mumbled quietly, typing out a reply to you.

You knew Chan would agree to meeting you at the cafe before he even read your text. Shoving your phone into your pocket, you began to stand up from your desk. You grabbed your microphone and headsets from your desk to put them away before your roommate got back to the dorms. “Caller #9 what am I going to have to do to get you to realize I like you too?”

___

Chan looked back at his phone’s clock for what might’ve been the thousandth time since he arrived at the cafe. He wanted to get there early so you wouldn’t have to wait for him, but the longer he stood there the more nervous he felt. The possibility of you not showing up prodded his mind despite him knowing you weren’t like that. Chan reached to pull his phone from his pocket to text you when he felt someone’s shoulder bump his. “I’m sorry I’ll move-”

His apology was interrupted by your laughing, “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go inside; it’s too hot out here.” You pulled Chan’s arm towards the cafe entrance. He limply followed you into the cafe. “What do you want to order? I’ll pay since I invited you out.” You turned to him as the two of you neared the counter.

“Surprise me.” He shrugged, earning a grin from you. You pointed to a table sitting in the sunlight. Chan took the gesture as you silently telling him to go get the table before someone else did while you ordered. Nodding, he walked to the table and sat in one of the chairs. He still felt like he was in a dream. At any given moment he could be pinched and wake up in his dorm room. Chan pinched his forearm to double check that this was reality. The world around him didn’t dissolve into his bedroom so he figured that he really was at a cafe with you.

“If you keep pinching yourself you’ll get a bruise.” You sat in front of Chan, who's ears began to turn red. You peeled the price tag off of his drink before handing it to him, crumpling it in your hand so he wouldn’t know what you ordered for him or how much you paid for the drink. Chan slowly put the drink’s straw between his lips, a feeling of nervousness rooting in him from not knowing what he was about to put in his body. “I’m not going to poison you, Chan. Just take a sip, and if you don’t like it I’ll buy you something of your choice.” You waited for him to take a sip of the mystery drink. It smelled exactly like fall - if a season could have a scent -, but it was pleasant. He took a sip of the drink, giving you a strange look once the liquid hit his tongue.

“How did you get apple cider in summer? Isn’t this only sold during the fall?” Chan’s expression morphed into confusion as he continued drinking the liquid. He was absolutely sure this was apple cider, but he couldn’t figure out how you got the drink in the middle of summer.

“That’s my little secret.” You smiled as you took a sip of your drink. A silence settled between the two of you that you so desperately wanted to break. You wanted to drop hints that you knew Chan called into your radio show to ask you for advice on how to talk to you. The irony almost made you laugh.

“What’re you smiling about?” Chan asked, interrupting your train of thought. You looked up from your drink, meeting his eyes. He has such nice eyes, you thought. You didn’t trust yourself to not say what you were thinking so you just kept quiet, smiling and admiring him. Chan felt his ears, which were still red, become hotter. “Are you sure you didn’t poison my drink? ‘Cause your smile is giving off the impression that you did.” He said, trying to cover up the fact that he was getting easily flustered just by your smile.

“I swear I didn’t! I’m just happy you agreed to come here with me, even if it wasn’t for studying.” You laughed, fiddling with your thumbs under the table. It’d be so easy to tell him you reciprocate his feelings, but you found yourself wanting him to continue calling into your radio show. You didn’t feel as nervous being with him knowing that later that day he would call in and tell you how everything from his perspective.

You and Chan spent close to an hour together talking about anything that would cross your mind. Your conversation was only interrupted when Chan’s phone began ringing. “Hello? Seungkwan? What do you want?” He asked, clearly very annoyed that his roommate was taking his attention from you. Chan’s face turned from one of annoyance to horror. “I have to go. I’m so sorry. Thank you for this, it was a lot of fun. I’ll text you later.” He said, quickly standing up and rushing out of the cafe. You watched him sprint down the sidewalk in the direction of the campus dorms. You wanted to believe everything was ok, but seeing Chan’s immediate shift in tone worried you.

___

It didn’t take Chan more than five minutes to run to his dorm, which was already swarming with campus police. He pushed his way into the room where he was immediately greeted by Seungkwan who had just finished being questioned by one of the officers. “Someone broke into our dorm. They didn’t take anything since I walked in right as they were climbing through the window, but the police say this isn’t the first break in on campus.”

Chan stepped over the glass littering the floor around his bed. “Where are we going to stay? ‘Cause I’m certainly not sleeping in a room with a broken window after someone tried to break into our dorm.”

“It’s still the middle of the afternoon so you still have some time to figure out where you’re gonna stay. I’m probably gonna crash on the couch in Vernon’s dorm for the night.” Seungkwan sat next to Chan. He knew Chan probably would be stuck sleeping in their dorm since majority of their friends had completely full rooms, and he didn’t want to ask Seungkwan to stay in the dorm with him when he could be safe in Vernon’s dorm. “They said we’ll get a new window tomorrow so it’ll only be for the night.” Seungkwan said, trying to reassure Chan that it wouldn’t be long before they could sleep in their own beds again.

Chan nodded, pulling out his phone. He was intending on texting one of his friends to see if he could sleep on their floor, but he found himself opening his texts with you. I don’t know what that phone call was about, but I hope you’re ok. If you need anything please tell me and I’ll try my best to help, he read to himself. Despite the current situation he felt the corners of his mouth tug up slightly into the smallest smile.

Are you at your dorm? Something happened at mine, he texted back.

Yeah. I can meet you somewhere if you wanted to hang out, your reply came quickly.

Actually, I was wondering if I could hang out at your dorm, Chan hesitantly sent the text. He knew it was inappropriate for him to stay at your dorm, but he just needed some sort of distraction.

My roommate won’t be back until later tonight so come on over. My dorm is #209, your text came a few minutes after Chan asked if he could visit. He was surprised you agreed, but his relief outweighed the surprise. Chan told Seungkwan he was gonna go out for a few hours and that he’d text him if he couldn’t find anywhere to sleep for the night. He left the room and began to head for the second dorm building where you would be waiting for him.

It didn’t take Chan very long to find your dorm. He was knocking on your door in a matter of minutes. You pushed your box holding your microphone and other equipment further under your bed before opening the door. “I was trying to make the room look clean before you came, but you came a lot quicker than I expected.” You said, opening the door wider so he could enter. Chan looked around the room as he walked into it. The room was kept fairly minimalistic, but it still had touched of your style in it. Chan picked up a framed photo from your desk.

“Is this one you?,” he asked, pointing to a smaller replica of you. “You were so cute.” He smiled looking at the family photo. It reminded him of the awkward Christmas photos his family and him would take every year.

“Are you saying I’m not cute anymore?” You asked, feigning being hurt by his words. Chan’s ears turned a bright red as he tried to backtrack. “I’m playing. I know what you meant.” You laughed, loving how easy it was to fluster him.

“Thank you for letting me hang out here. Someone tried to break into my dorm earlier today, and I just don’t feel comfortable being there right now.” He said after a few moments of silence.

“Oh, I’m sorry someone tried to break into your dorm. If you need a place to stay I can try to help you.” You frowned upon hearing why Chan had run off so suddenly. You reached to take his hand into yours. To comfort him, you told yourself. Chan’s hand stiffened in yours, but quickly relaxed and wrapped around your own before you could remove it. The gesture was so simple. All you did was hold his hand, but it gave him more comfort than he would’ve liked to admit.

“I really don’t deserve you. Thank you.” Chan mumbled, rubbing circles across your hand. You watched him quietly as you tried to think what to say next. Thousands of different thoughts invaded your mind. Chan looked up to meet your gaze. Neither of you dared to move, but it was impossible for Chan to not glance at your lips. You noticed the quick shift of his eyes, nodding your head ever so slightly. With approval from you, Chan leaned in, delicately placing his lips on yours. Chan pulled you in closer to him. His lips were slightly chapped from having been outside a few minutes prior to the kiss.

Neither of you wanted to pull away from the kiss that you both had wanted so desperately, but the alarm on your phone had other plans. You recognized the alarm and pulled away from Chan, rushing over to turn it off. “I’m so sorry!” You apologized frantically. You always set an alarm on your phone so you would start your radio show at the same time everyday, but you didn’t want to kick Chan out.

“What’s the alarm for? If you have something you need to do I can leave.” Chan looked over your shoulder at your phone screen. He thought he briefly saw a reminder about something involving the love radio, but he wasn’t completely sure.

“No, I can skip it for today. I mean, it’s fine!” You set your phone back down, hoping no other alarms would give you away. Chan’s phone buzzed in his pocket before a silence could settle between you too.

“Oh, it’s Seungkwan. He said his friend’s roommate is visiting his parents so I can stay in their dorm with him.” Chan said, typing out a simple reply to his roommate. Chan slipped his phone back into his pocket, “His friend’s dorm is across campus, so I should probably start going now. Thank you, again, for letting me come over.” Chan walked to the door. Before leaving he turned to give you a small wave.

You waited until you heard the click of your door closing before bringing your fingers to your lips. “Damn that radio show.” You mumbled, staring at the place that Chan was standing in minutes ago.

___

The weeks following the kiss you shared with Chan went by quickly. The two of you seemed to be nearly inseparable. Where there was you there was Chan, and vise versa. Chan continued to call into your radio show, though he mostly would go on a tangent about how you made him feel that day rather than ask for advice - though you didn’t mind. You tried to drop hints that he should confess during his call ins, but either never noticed or was still too nervous. Until one call.

“Welcome caller #9. What’s troubling you?”

“It’s me, again. I think tonight’s the night. I’ve been with them as much as possible for the last few weeks, and I just don’t want to put it off any longer. I was thinking about inviting them to the park tonight, but I wanted to get your input first since you’ve been my secret weapon with getting me to this point.” Chan hoped his idea wouldn’t be too cliche, but then again who said cliche was bad?

“I think that’s a wonderful idea Ch- caller #9,” you kicked yourself over almost letting his name slip. “With how it seems to be going for the past few weeks they’ll probably love whatever you do for them.”

Chan was grinning as he thanked you before his call was taken off air. He wasted no time texting you, I know it’s late buuuut will you go to the park with me?

You saw your phone light up with Chan’s message from the corner of your eye. You wanted to reply, but your show still had another fifteen minutes left and you knew if you replied then you’d cut the show short in order to get to Chan quicker. You turned your phone over and pushed it to the edge of your desk for the rest of the show.

As it started getting closer to twenty minutes since Chan sent the text he began to worry that he’d receive a ‘no’ as a response, but as if on cue his phone buzzed with a text from you. Sorry for taking so long to reply, but I’ll meet you at the park in 5 minutes?

Chan smiled as he texted a reply, agreeing to the meeting time. He checked himself in the mirror a few times before leaving his dorm and heading to the park. He practiced what he was going to say to you as he walked, though from afar he just looked like a strange boy talking to himself in the dark. Once Chan walked into the park he quickly spotted you standing under a streetlamp. “Hey!” He called out to you as he got closer so he wouldn’t scare you.

You looked up from your phone when you heard Chan’s voice getting closer to you. “Hey, everything ok? I mean I just want to make sure nothing bad happened since you asked to meet at the park despite it being nearly dark.” You smiled up at Chan as he came to a stop next to you. A flicker of nervousness passed over his eyes, but he still held himself with confidence.

“I don’t know if this is maybe too sudden, but I really just need to get it off my chest.” Chan paused to gauge your reaction. You tried your best to feign confusion despite knowing exactly what was to come. “I like you. A lot. I’ve liked you for quite sometime, but I always would trip over my words when I would be around you.”

The smile you had been suppressing spread across you face, “I know.”

Chan looked at you dumbfounded. “You? How do you know? Wait what do you mean ‘I know’? This really isn’t how I pictured this happening.” Chan rambled on, running his fingers through his hair. He didn’t completely throw out the possibility of you rejecting him, but you telling him that you already knew had never crossed his mind in the first place.

“It means that I’ve known you like me, caller #9.” You stifled a laugh as Chan’s eyes seemed to pop from his head at the name he’d been so used to hearing over the phone.

“Wait do you listen to the love radio? Is that how you figured it out?” Chan couldn’t figure out how you knew he was caller #9, and then it hit him. The host’s familiar voice, your alarm, you always texting him once the show is off air. “You’re the host?...” He said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement. You nodded your head in confirmation.

“When you first called I didn’t know it was you, but after Seungkwan set us up as study buddies it became obvious that you were caller #9.” Chan stared at you in disbelief. He kicked himself for not being able to connect the dots sooner.

“So you’ve been helping me win you over this entire time? Hold on, does this mean you like me as well?” Chan’s mind was running a thousand miles an hour. He found himself laughing at the situation.

“I obviously do if I’ve been telling you how to win me over for the past few weeks.” You felt Chan’s arms wrap around your shoulders and pull you into his chest. You snaked your arms around his waist, listening to him mumble the rest of his confession.

“For someone so good at love and relationships one might expect you to already be in one.” He spoke into your hair, but you heard his muffled words clear as day.

“Well, I have you now.” You said, earning a happy hum from Chan.

“Yes, you do.”

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septembercfawkes · 5 years

Text

The Story Shape that Permeates Just About Everything

We often think about story structure happening on a large scale, but it also happens on the small scale, within scenes, paragraphs, sometimes even within a sentence. Here is how that works. Also, you'll get to read two poems I wrote for a college class years ago 😆

I've been working on a scene this last week for my next book, and it's been giving me some grief, so last Thursday I decided to sit down and focus on figuring out why I was having such a difficult time getting it on the page. (The starting of the scene came fine, but then I got to a section that was not coming together.) Some of the reasons I knew right away. The magic system in and of itself is innately difficult to write about, because of the subject matter I chose it to be about (and the lack of vocabulary we have about said subject within the English language doesn't help). I had certain plot restrictions and subtext I needed to get on the page with a careful hand, which can be really tricky if I don't want it to be annoying or blatant. And finally, I realized this section, of perhaps a half-dozen paragraphs, needed a Freytag Pyramid to work right.

You see, we often talk about the Freytag Pyramid as an overall story structure. Sure, we can talk about plot point, midpoints, and more advanced forms of story structure, but at the bare bones, a story needs to follow Freytag's Pyramid (you've heard me talk about this before). Rising action, climax, falling action. Don't underestimate the basics people! I run into writers once in a while that mock Freytag's Pyramid today, because of its simplicity. But just about every successful story structure today fits within that bare bone structure.

The longer I work in this industry, the more I realize that this structure doesn't just fit overall story structure. It fits just about everywhere in smaller sizes. As I wrote about in another post, it fits into almost every single scene. Right now I'm watching Stranger Things, and guess what? Basically every scene follows that same shape in some way: setup, rising action, climax, falling action. It's just shorter.

What's crazy is that this isn't limited to writing. Freytag's Pyramid is all over the place. You can find it in dance performances: setup, rising action, climax, falling action. You can find it in music: setup rising action, climax, falling action. You can find it . . . elsewhere ;) (hey, if I didn't acknowledge it, I knew someone would be stuck thinking it). You can find it within relationships. You can find it in storms. You can find it when you are getting groceries in the grocery store. It seems to permeate just about everything in the universe, even our sun's life cycle.

In writing, it happens over and over again. Sometimes even within paragraphs, which was exactly what my scene needed. Heck, it can even happen within sentences. Freytag's Pyramid has motion. And sometimes when I feel a scene or a part of a scene starting to go stagnant, it's because it doesn't have that shape.

Now, does Freytag's Pyramid literally need to be in everything? Of course not. There are always exceptions.

But it can happen on a very small scale.

It can happen within dialogue of a scene:

Setup

SHERLOCK: Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words.

MOLLY: What words?

SHERLOCK: I love you.

MOLLY: Leave me alone.

Rising Action

SHERLOCK: Molly, no, please, no, don’t hang up! Do not hang up!

MOLLY: Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me?

SHERLOCK: Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me.

SHERLOCK: Molly, this is for a case. It’s ... it’s a sort of experiment.

MOLLY: I’m not an experiment, Sherlock.

SHERLOCK: No, I know you’re not an experiment. You’re my friend. We’re friends. But ... please. Just ... say those words for me.

MOLLY: Please don’t do this. Just ... just ... don’t do it.

SHERLOCK: It’s very important. I can’t say why, but I promise you it is.

MOLLY: I can’t say that. I can’t ... I can’t say that to you.

SHERLOCK: Of course you can. Why can’t you?

MOLLY: You know why.

SHERLOCK: No, I don’t know why.

MOLLY: Of course you do.

SHERLOCK: Please, just say it.

MOLLY: I can’t. Not to you.

SHERLOCK: Why?

MOLLY: Because ... because it’s true.

MOLLY: Because ... it’s ... true, Sherlock.

MOLLY: It’s always been true.

SHERLOCK: Well, if it’s true, just say it anyway.

MOLLY: You b------

SHERLOCK: Say it anyway.

MOLLY: You say it. Go on. You say it first.

SHERLOCK: What?

MOLLY: Say it. Say it like you mean it.

SHERLOCK: I-I ...

SHERLOCK: I love you.

SHERLOCK: Molly?

SHERLOCK: Molly, please.

Climax

MOLLY: I love you.

Falling Action

(Both John and Mycroft heave out noisy sighs of relief. Sherlock also sighs and buries his head in both hands. In her kitchen, Molly closes her eyes. She puts the phone down and raises both hands to her mouth.)

It can happen within an action:

(I'm using a poem for this one. Brackets mine. Also, FYI, you aren't actually supposed to pause at the end of each line when reading poetry, unless it has a natural pause there.)

Kissing a Horse [Also, in a lot of poems, the setup happens in the title.] By Robert Wrigley

Of the two spoiled, barn-sour geldings we owned that year, it was Red— skittish and prone to explode even at fourteen years—who’d let me hold to my face his own [<--setup][rising action-->]: the massive labyrinthine caverns of the nostrils, the broad plain up the head to the eyes. He’d let me stroke his coarse chin whiskers and take his soft meaty underlip in my hands, [<--the description, the detail, leads up to the moment] press my man’s carnivorous kiss to his grass-nipping upper half of one [<-- climax] [falling action -->], just so that I could smell the long way his breath had come from the rain and the sun, the lungs and the heart, from a world that meant no harm.

I consider that section the falling action, because it shows the consequences and changes from the climax.

It can happen with a single brief subject in a paragraph:

(This is a prose poem I wrote for my poetry class in college years ago. Poems are easy to grab as small-scale examples.)

Considering the Pointe Shoes By September C. Fawkes

Whoever called them slippers, never put them on. Those boxes of cloth and glue, cage your toes and stink of fabric scraps and string bits. The ribbons snake around your ankles. The shanks jab into your soles as you, with duck feet, waddle to the wings, a hollow clunk, clunk, clunk. I once smiled when I jammed my feet inside—it was something revered, wearing Pointe shoes; something I have done more than once, more than twice, more than three years. I pressed my silk sneakers into the floor, held my breath as my insides fluttered, and, tensing my muscles, elevated to my toes, lifted one foot, and balanced in passé while my palm hovered over the ballet barre. One time at a theatre I watched a ballerina glide across the stage and leap into the air. The Pointe shoes curved in crescents, molding to her feet like leather. For a moment we all soared with her: the audience, the usher, the technician in the control box; our chins lifted, our eyes shining, our lips slightly parted. Everything silent and serene, like the flight of a falcon bathed in sunlight.

I feel kind of weird talking about my own work to you guys, but hopefully this illustrates the point. The title sets us up for the subject matter of the paragraph. The paragraph starts with sort of "first experiences" or "beginning" experiences with Pointe shoes. It then rises from walking around in Pointe shoes to actually practicing them at a ballet barre, then the climax happens when we see a professional ballerina in them on stage.

When talking about processes or working within descriptions a nice trick to use is an extended metaphor that is introduced, then rises, then climaxes. In here, I tried to use bird and bird-like terms that way:

cage your toes you, with duck feet, waddle held my breath as my insides fluttered my palm hovered I watched a ballerina glide For a moment, we all soared like the flight of a falcon

So we move from being caged, to walking around with duck feet, to fluttering, to hovering, to gliding, to soaring, to flying like a falcon.

But on a smaller scale, there are other rising actions. Notice the progression within a single sentence.

I once smiled when I jammed my feet inside—it was something revered, wearing Pointe shoes; something I have done more than once, more than twice, more than three years.

When working on the small scale, you can also create Freytag's Pyramid within beats and rhythm.

Here is another poem I wrote for that same class that is essentially nothing more than a description of a candy shop. (Remember you don't pause at the end of the lines, unless it naturally happens. If you do, it will change the rhythm and may not illustrate my point.)

Sweets By September C. Fawkes

Where the door jingles open with a greeting and shuts with a creaking, an assortment of jelly beans— yellow, blue, green, red, purple, striped, swirled, speckled, very cherry, French vanilla, tutti fruitti, lemon drop, and Dr. Pepper —burst from jars,

suckers, Congo squares, saltwater taffy spill out of baskets, and the heavy scent of cocoa hangs in the air.

Where saliva thickens and greedy customers grasp handfuls of licorice and lollipops, wrappers wrinkle, crinkle and twist, glisten like linoleum, and are peeled away like wax.

Where English toffees crunch, cementing teeth shut, and truffles melt across the tongue like dark velvet— so rich it make your mouth tingle,

where bags and boxes are bunched together, where the tinkling of glass containers permeate the room,

where sticky fingers dig into pockets, seek change for chews, chocolates, brownies, bon-bons, butter cups, caramels, candied apples, coated nuts, and haystacks,

sits a man. With white hair, creases in his face, bifocals on the bridge of his nose, and donning a sugar-stained apron.

This is a little trickier to talk about (especially since I'm not musical), because its the beats. Hopefully (if college me did a good enough job), you can hear a kind of crescendo. Particularly at the climax:

where sticky fingers dig into pockets, seek change for chews, chocolates, brownies, bon-bons, butter cups, caramels, candied apples, coated nuts, and haystacks,

sits a man.

And then the falling action sounds much calmer (calmer than any other stanza):

sits a man. With white hair, creases in his face, bifocals on the bridge of his nose, and donning a sugar-stained apron.

But still, you could break this process down further and look at smaller pieces, like within just the first stanza, which is actually not even a full sentence:

Notice the rhythm before the first comma seems rather calm. When we get to describing the actual jelly beans, it becomes more intense; this is in part because of the names, but it's also in part because it's such a long list. We aren't used to lists going on that long in creative writing, so it carries a kind of tension (when is it going to end?). It also moves from general to specific: yellow, blue --> tutti fruitti, lemon drop, and Dr. Pepper. General words often carry less . . . weight? (Not sure on the word.) Than specific words. General words are more . . . invisible, than specific words, so they pack less punch.

When writing a book, you can create similar effects, increasing the intensity in beat and rhythm as a sort of "rising action" before you hit the musical climax.

Anyway, needless to say, once I realized my paragraphs weren't working in part because they needed Freytag's Pyramid shaped within them (in my case, these paragraphs are describing an important, significant process so I couldn't skimp out on it), things got better from there. I mostly have that figured out now.

Do you really need to be this detailed and intense? Not necessarily. I just sat back and wrote down what wasn't working in order to figure out how to make it better. And in that situation, that was one of the things I needed. But I certainly think it's helpful to be aware of how Freytag's Pyramid works on the small scale and can be something we can utilize.

Unfortunately, neither of my poems that I shared today were ever picked up by any magazines when I sent them out years ago, but I'm still happy with how they turned out (even if I do see some potential flaws in them), so it was nice to finally share them with someone outside my college's English department.

P.S. Another way to look at this might be tension --> release, tension --> release, if that works for your brain more. But for me, that's too linear and not specific enough. Tension and release isn't enough to make the story work. You need to build up the tension. And often you need to set the stage. So I like setup, rising action, climax, falling action. Although in some cases, the falling action may be cut off.

#Writing tip #writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writing reference #writeblr #fanfic #fanfiction #writing help #writing advice #creative writing #author #editor #poetry

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unholyhelbiglinked · 5 years

Text

Camp Beaverbrook |009

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START HERE

Dear Dad,

They haven’t found the body yet. I don’t know if it’s because of the lack of law enforcement that they called in, or if there isn’t a body to be found, but it’s sent the camp into an eerie quiet. Aubrey is convinced that the lake needs to be dredged up until there’s nothing left but toxic mud. I don’t think they would find Jane. They might find someone else though. This place has been around for a long time, you know? Maybe you are right. Maybe trouble just follows me wherever I go.

Your Daughter,

Beca

The tea barely had any taste; a mix of mint leaves and heated water that Beca felt move all the way down to the base of her stomach. This morning had been a cold one, cold enough for her to accept the beverage that had slid across the table her way. She didn’t mind the dull taste or the fire that ate away at the logs next to her. It was almost comforting today. It thawed her out.

She let the steam warm her cheeks, she could feel the blood rise to the surface of her skin as she inhaled the strong scent, letting her eyes close. Her mother used had the habit of curling up on the end of the couch with a steaming hot cup of camomile just like this one. The mugs never matched, and the brew would get stronger at times, but it was like this. It had been like this.

“I’m going to ask what we’re all thinking.” Wilken’s broke the silence like dropped china. The pink little flowers on the plates would lose its petals and its vines would be cut. “Are you planning on closing the camp?”

Beca opened her eyes and moved her midnight stare up to the two sitting oddly close to one another. He was nursing a pastry on a little white napkin that had more crumbs than free space. The baked good was half-raised to his lips and a fine helping of jelly seemed to drip past the flaky layers. Gail looked above the rims of her silver glasses.

Anyone looking in on the situation would see a family fit for an oil painting, a house that had a vacant space above the mantel and a nice serene cabin in the middle of the woods. There would be no camp, no missing child, no lake that needed to be drained as simply as a plug pulled from a Victorian bathtub.

Instead, it was a woman in charge, a counselor who had struggled to hide the scent of a cigarette with vanilla bean body spray, and a probation officer who seemed to overstay his welcome. Dysfunctional and edged with tension. “No, I’m afraid not. We’ve never closed the camp before and we’re not doing it now.”

Wilken’s snapped his jaw shut and set the pasty to the side. He laced his fingers together. There was a glob of sticky jam still on his thumb, but he didn’t’ seem to notice. “What if she’s dead?”

“We don’t know anything yet, officer.” Gail’s voice was leaking with poison, Beca looking back and forth between the two like she wasn’t there at all. A ghost that was chained to the seat and adhered to a mug of tea that was too hot to drink. “We’ve sent out an automated phone call to all of the parents. They’re very aware of the situation. Whoever deems it necessary to pick up their child can, and will.”

“What about Jane’s parents?”

Gail directed her stare towards Beca, who froze like a deer in headlights. She had never spoken out of turn in the five weeks that she had been here. She would answer the questions given to her and behave on the lake. No one had drowned yet, and that was the exact report that she had run through each week and responded to Wilken’s with ease. It was routine. The woman’s eyes softened.

“They got a phone call that wasn’t automated. They’re aware of the situation, it’s nice of you to ask.”

Beca nodded. She felt like the camp director was stepping on eggshells. As if Beca caring about another person warranted a pat on the head and a little treat. She would have protested but figured Gail Abernathy had enough on her plate as it is.

“Rebecca,” Wilken’s cut through the air, “I think we need to discuss what will happen if the camp is… um, temporarily closed.”

Gail let the comment hang in the air for a few moments before Beca nodded softly. She adjusted herself in the leather seat and set the mug down on the table, a cork coaster. The fabric was loud and squeaked evenly, her cheeks reddened. “Okay,”

“If you can’t finish your community hours here, it’s safe to say you’ll have to finish out your sentence at Tread Lock.” Beca’s chest tightened. “A month, two tops.”

Fifty days. That was fifty days locked up in some room that had nothing but a mattress on a wire frame coated in rubber to keep kids much worse than her from making sharpened blades and rushing at her throat. The blood would spill, and her father would be called. She wondered if he would even care.

“Tread Lock?” The name slipped through Gail’s lips before Beca had a chance to echo the man herself. “The correctional facility in the city?”

“It’s juvenile detention. Not a jail. It whips kids into shape.”

Beca couldn’t stop the snort that moved past her lips. Wilken’s thought the state had gone easy on her by letting her spend the summer doing community service instead of taking her to the van in shackles in the first place. Orange simply wasn’t her color, and the man had fawned concern. She imagined him practicing his glossy-eyed stare in his side mirrors before trudging up here.

“We’re not closing the camp. Beca is doing a fine job. I think we’re done here today- don't you?” She had cut the probation officer off before anything else could happen. He simply stiffened and nodded his head, his jacket louder than she remembered.

Wilken’s had waved her off, making some type of excuse to stay behind and speak to the camp director. It would be easy enough: Want to sign these documents over dinner and something stronger than tea?

She swallowed back the minty taste on her tongue and stepped into the warming daytime air. It wasn’t quite time for her spot at the lake yet, but the fog had dissipated, and her stomach clenched in the primal need for food. She skipped breakfast on days like these, learning it was easier to sneak away from her cabin instead of dismissing herself from a table filled with curious counselors.

“Fucking Tread Lock,” She mumbled under her breath. Her legs had gotten used to the hilly atmosphere, mind surrounded by her thoughts as she hiked towards the mess hall. She nodded willfully at the kids who called out her name and gave her a sporadic wave, a smile fighting past her rough exterior. Her cousin had lost an eye at Tread Lock.

Beca rapped on the back door to the mess hall three times. The metal echoed before it creaked open. “What’s the password?”

“Tarantino.”

A warm light cut through the morning sun, Jesse Swanson holding a bright and undeniable smile. He had a dirtied towel over his shoulder and a grease-stained Camp Beaverbrook shirt on. There was a large pile of half-peeled potato’s behind him, a plastic bin with shavings slowly overflowing. “Good morning Maverick.”

Beca pushed past the door into the kitchen, breathing in the sweet scent. She could hear a pot of water boiling against the back burner. It was a lull of noise that almost soothed her. “I don’t know what that means, but you can call me whatever you want if you saved me anything from breakfast.” She turned on her heel, quirking a brow as the door slammed shut.

“Oven, bottom shelf.” Jesse took the rag from his shoulder and wiped away whatever dirt had culminated against his palms. “It’s from Top Gun, you know, Maverick?” Beca shook her head “Goose? Iceman?”

She leaned down and took the tray from the bottom shelf, it was still warm and piled high with eggs and three strips of bacon. Jesse had even slid in two pieces of toast for an extra kick. She didn’t say anything, leaning over the counter as she shoveled a forkful of eggs into her mouth, Jesse throwing the towel back over his shoulder before going back to peeling the vegetables.

“You are a menace to society, you know that, right?

“Call me what you want, at least I’m not hungry.”

Jesse Swanson was a good enough guy, if not a dork. He had a strong obsession with movies and had taken to calling her something new each day. The only one she had understood so far was Batman and Robin, which earned a cheeky grin and a pat on the back.

She set the plate to the side and hopped up on the counter that was mainly used for prep. Beca Mitchell didn’t exactly trust herself when it came to being near heat radiating surfaces. Instead, she pulled the plate onto her lap and continued to push food into her mouth, trying to rush past the clock before she had to get to the edge of the lake.

“How’d your meeting thingy go?”

“It went.” She shrugged her shoulders as she took a generous bite of the last strip of bacon on her plate. Her stomach was a bit unsettled at the speed she had eaten but there was something else pulling away at her. Something like a juvenile detention center and a missing kid that was last in her sights. “I thought camp was supposed to be easy, you know?”

Jesse just scoffed and pressed the sharpened edge of the blade into the potato, juices dripped down his elbow and onto the floor- Beca watched with an intent expression on her face. Jesse worked almost rhythmically and part of her understood why his father told him to put the camera down and apply to culinary school. She kept her mouth shut.

“Off the counter, Beca.”

There was a sharp voice that cut through the warm serenity of the kitchen. Aubrey Posen didn’t need to knock on the back door, instead, she leaned close to the doorframe, her shining whistle hanging around her throat like a four-pointed badge of honor. Beca hated that smug look on her face and the way Jesse Swanson straightened his stance as soon as her presence was known.

“We need to talk.” She said.

Beca lifted an eyebrow and kept her perch on the surface. She felt like a stone crafted gargoyle with red glowing eyes and long stretching wings. “I’ve got five more minutes until my spot on the lake, Aubrey-“

“Not about your tardiness, about Jane.”

The room seemed to grow even stiller than it was before. Beca knew that birds always chirped as the sun rose and crickets strung their violins when the moon stamped against a blanket of stars. Jesse let out a light sigh and grabbed the nearest long edged knife he could find. He didn’t bother with the cutting board, instead, slicing through raw potatoes evenly.

“What about Jane? Have they found her?” Alive, hopefully.

Aubrey looked at her in complete lunacy. Almost as if Gail had this morning but in the opposite end. She wasn’t rewarded with a small pat on the head for showing affection towards a tragedy. Aubrey hugged her arms tighter and clenched her jaw. “No, no they haven’t. I figured they would find at least something based on what you’ve been saying.”

“And what exactly have I been saying?” Beca quirked an eyebrow, hopping down from the counter before she placed her plate in the metal sink with a clink. She flicked on the running water, ready to wet her hands.

“You were the last one to see Jane,” Aubrey confirmed, staring hesitantly as Beca squeezed a glob of bubblegum pink soap into her palm. It smelled fruity. She hummed in response. “She was in the lake and you supposedly pulled her from the water before sending her back to her cabin. The cabin that Emily assures me was undisturbed after her and Hayley had settled in.”

“Emily was asleep.” Beca shut the water off, shaking her hands dry before grasping at a cloth rag and squeezing her fingers under it. She turned to face Aubrey, not intimidated by the stance or the hard, hazel stare. “What exactly are you implying, Aubrey?”

“You know what happened to her, don’t you?” Her voice was a slight whisper, but Jesse had stopped chopping and Beca had changed the rhythm of her breath. “Lurking around the woods, meeting with some stranger- if you didn’t’… you’re hiding something. Something you won’t even tell Chloe. She might be too blind to see it, but I’m not.”

Up until recently, Beca Mitchell had been a shoot first, ask questions later type of girl. She would steel herself and throw a punch, her nails digging a stinging crescent shape into clay-like skin. Instead, her fingers twitched, and her mouth went dry, she simply said: “I can trust you won’t be insulted when I call you paranoid.”

“Me? Paranoid?” Aubrey’s voice rose an octave and Beca bit her tongue until she could taste salted blood. “You’re practically part of the shadows around here, you know that, right? Everything thinks its absolute rubbish that they haven’t even begun to question you.”

The watersports director narrowed her gaze before flashing it towards Jesse. He had a sullen look on his face, the knife still clenched at his side. “Is that true?” her voice was pinched “You all think I had something to do with Jane’s disappearance?”

His brown eyes were downcast as he gave a half-hearted shrug. Jesse had never been this quiet and Aubrey had never turned this shade of red before. There was a thick tension in the air as Beca drew in a deep breath and lilted her head to the side, staring the woman with the whistle down.

“Now you want to be quiet? You don’t want to take my fingerprints or anything? Hell, Aubrey why don’t you just call the police now considering you’ve got it all figured out!”

“Maybe I will, Mitchell!” Aubrey had matched her volume with Beca’s “You and your fucking attitude will have a hard time explaining yourself to State.”

Beca had to snort at that. State? The man with the button-down shirts and the El Dorado was her alibi for once instead of the person who scrutinized it. He would light up cigars until the cab of his vehicle was toxic and she choked, but he would have her back, Gail would have her back.

“Pull the stick out of your ass for once and realize what exactly you’re accusing me of!” Beca’s voice was frantic, angry as she stared between the camp cook and his superior, her superior. Aubrey Posen parted her lips to speak, to counter the argument, but nothing more made it past her conscience. Not before an interruption.

“Guys,” Chloe Beale was breathless, hair still damp from the cold shower she had taken this morning, a fine layer of sweat coated all exposed skin, her tank-top hanging low and her blue iris’s lined in a red so fine it was almost written. Her nose scrunched at the tension in the room, Aubrey finally pulling her gaze away from Beca as she turned to face the frantic woman. Beca softened her own stance.

“They found something.”

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Aubrey Posen #Emily Junk #junksen #junksen fanfic #bechloe #bechloe fic rec

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xehanortsreport · 7 years

Text

I Feel So Inarticulate [Fic]

[Hey it’s another Parasite AU fic who would’ve guessed]

The fever came on suddenly.

Just after dinner, Hayato fell ill--so much so that he could barely make it to the sofa in the living room, where he immediately collapsed, Shinobu hurriedly covering him with a blanket and shouting to Kosaku that she was going to make a quick trip to the store to get some medicine.

Kosaku had agreed to watch over the child...something he was barely doing currently, as he sat in the recliner adjacent to Hayato, steadily clipping his nails, clinically observing the length of the pearly clippings before somewhat reluctantly casting them aside. Hayato glared at him. The fever made him doubt his convictions, made him think perhaps he had hallucinated everything he had seen...but in his gut, he knew.

He knew that the creature he was looking at in front of him was not his father.

Kosaku glanced at the boy, and the child scowled back, coughing slightly before spitting out a string of threats.

"Don't think you'll get away with this...I know what you are...I'm gonna kill you..."

"He's still in here, you know."

Hayato's mouth hung open, his speech dying in his throat, his movement stopping as abruptly as a puppet snapped from its strings. All that sounded now was the sharp snapping of metal against fingernail. He knew without that man even saying, there was only one person who it could be referring to...but Hayato was afraid to say it. Kosaku stayed quiet, letting the silence choke the boy until it was too much to handle.

Hayato summoned the courage to finally ask.

"You mean...D--"

"Your father," Kosaku spoke, cutting through the tension, stealing even the relief of being able to finish a single thought.

Silence fell once again, terror overtaking the boy's expression. Kosaku let the silence hang in the air, enjoying the reaction as if he were ripping into Hayato's despair, shoving it down his throat in huge gulps, as if starving, as if needing it. Hayato wanted to reject it completely...he didn't want to believe that anyone could be trapped so entirely, to have their body taken over and held prisoner by some monster.

And suddenly, the atmosphere changed.

Kosaku's shoulders began shaking; the clippers dropped from his hands. His breath hitched, his pitch rose--the voice was the same, but the quality of it had shifted in such a way that Hayato, even in his sickness, could recognize that something was different.

"H...Hayato...please...I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, I'm sorry this happened, please--"

Kosaku's shaking whimpers shook Hayato to his core, and his aching body jolted upward, making him wince--but he ignored the pain, instead desperately reaching out to his hurting father.

"Dad--!"

Kosaku's shoulders immediately dropped, and as he turned his face to meet Hayato's wide eyes, the boy shrank back, a chill overcoming him. Kosaku's eyes darkened, a shadow appearing at the corners of his lips as the barest hint of a smirk scraped at his mask.

"...Oh. Was that convincing, Hayato? My apologies...that wasn't him at all. I'm sorry if I mislead you."

Hayato wanted to run the moment he saw his father's face shift horribly, contorting into something he never thought his father was capable of expressing--and now that he saw it, he wish he never had. Kosaku's eyes widened, his lips stretched grotesquely, his teeth gleaming fiercely with saliva and a giddiness Hayato had never witnessed before. His voice lept, spiking up and dropping down, tearing past his throat as he switched between a mocking voice that was nothing like Kosaku, and a shaking sobbing that was too convincing to have not been him...right...?

"Hayato...I'm still your father...would you really kill me?! Even though I'm still in here?"

"I know we never had the best relationship, Hayato, but please, please don't let me die like this!"

"I'm sorry for not having been there for you--I regret it so much--! I also regret eating all those people...one or two...or five...or twenty! Hahahah, I'm sorry, I lost track! Hayato, won't you forgive your poor father for being so bad at keeping track?! Won't you?! Won't you, Hayato?!"

The way Kosaku's skin stretched sickly over his features, the way his mouth twisted unnaturally as he cackled uncharacteristically, was bad enough. Hayato could only stare, body overtaken by fever, sweating as he flashed between torturous heat and disturbingly cold. But as his eyes searched his father's face, he could notice it--the barely visible glimmer of tears behind the eyes, as if in pain--

That was too much.

With a defiant, cracking grunt, Hayato forced himself to swing his legs one at a time over the sofa. He had to run. To somewhere. To someone. He had to get help. His knees buckled under him, sending him crashing to the ground as Kosaku stopped his sickening laughter, all emotion fading away too quickly as he now frigidly watched his son. Hayato strained, shouting desperately, as he fought through shivers and shudders, pushing himself to his feet, wobbling as quickly as he could towards the kitchen. Fear made his heart beat rapidly, almost too quickly for him in such a weak state. His mouth was cotton, his limbs jelly.

To the phone. The phone could help him. Kosaku did not follow him, opting instead to stay lounging in his chair, not even turning to track Hayato's movements. The boy fumbled a bit as his fingers tried to grasp at the kitchen phone's receiver, clumsily trying to string together numbers--

"Mom," he choked out, lips trembling. "I have to call Mom--"

"I wouldn't try that, Hayato. Not unless you'd like to see her mutate like the others."

Hayato's mind filled with noise. His hand gripped the phone so hard he thought he could shatter the plastic, the sweat of his palm making the receiver unbearably sticky.

Mutate? Hayato had seen those abominations...those hissing and creaking and croaking creatures, former humans whose limbs bent backwards and eyes twisted around in their skulls, whose skin crackled and hardened, whose faces warped and squashed and crushed and enlongated. Whose bodies were permanently morphed into monstrosities of nature, whose clacking jaws and snapping mandibles spit forth one name, reverently....

Who never turned back to the way they once were.

Instinctively, he pleaded, though he knew it was useless, though his heart had already ceased to beat in his chest.

"D--don't touch my mom..." He rasped, futilely. "She doesn't...she can't be infected...Don't even lay a hand on her..."

"Of course she's infected," replied Kosaku, amused and yet blunt, without a hint of surprise, as if he had predicted Hayato's every line.

Toying with him.

"The bomb has been planted, shall we say. I just need to flip the switch."

Hayato's body couldn't support him anymore. His mind rapidly cycled through who he might be able to call, and each option came up hopeless. He didn't know who he could trust--if there was anyone TO trust. Josuke...maybe he couldn't even trust Josuke and his friends, who had been fighting so hard against the worm. Maybe they had been infected, too, and didn't even know. Hayato fell to the ground, curling up, pressing his head against the cool tile, squeezing his eyes shut.

Maybe he was the last uninfected person in Morioh. Maybe this battle had been lost long ago. He was alone. He was scared. He was an eleven year old boy, trembling, trying helplessly to fight a horde that vastly outnumbered him. Who could he tell? Who could he call?

His body shook ferociously as he started hiccuping, snot dripping down his face, tears pushing against his eyes. He didn't want to cry; hadn't he faced enough humiliation? Wasn't this enough? He fought as hard as he could against the pain...but the tears eventually pooled, hot and oppressive, against his cheek, spilling and spreading out over the floor, marking him shamefully.

He barely noticed the soft footsteps of his father beside him, nor the towel roughly thrown in front of his face.

"Be sure to clean up if you vomit. I don't think your mother would want to come home to this mess."

#fic #parasite au

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motherpsyduck · 7 years

Text

House Guest

Chapter 4: Reckless Scorpion

You turn to see what Trevor was going to say or do next, but he’s already near the entrance of the building. You follow and watch him greet the bouncer then strut into his establishment. You give a passing nod to the large bouncer and enter Vanilla Unicorn. As you turn the corner you see a strip pole on a stage with a woman grinding on the long metal beam that connects to the ceiling. The heavy bass from the music makes your ribcage rattle inside you. You can’t help but stare at the woman as she does her routine. She’s mesmerising. You’re trying to enjoy the pole dancer but can’t help but hear a faint voice calling your name. It’s difficult to hear which direction it’s being shouted from as the music is too loud to hear very much over it. It’s also so poorly lit inside that you squint to focus your gaze but still can’t pinpoint where the voice is coming from. Then you spot a heavy upper arm reach up to catch your attention, it’s waving. It’s Trevor’s and he’s calling you over to the bar. You inhale some clammy air and approach him.

“What?” You shout to Trevor before he slides you a shot.

“Here.”

“What’s this for?” You ask.

“It’s an apology for earlier, I got carried away.” Trevor held his shot glass up to clink with yours. You picked yours up and reciprocated the gesture. You downed the amber liquid before Trevor, and slammed your glass down on the bar.

“Apology accepted.” You croak from your throat tingling.

“Alright! I like a woman who can handle a drink.” Trevor gulps down his glass and grunts. “Two more please barkeep!” The lady behind the bar pours another shot into both of your glasses. “As far as stuck up colleges go, which is pretty much all of them, why did you choose a shithole like LS of all the places?” Trevor asked then drank another shot. You both lean on the bar with your elbows and watch the pole dancer. Without taking your eyes of the woman on stage, you answered him.

“I didn’t really have a choice, I was chosen at random. Tracey signed herself up to house foreign students and I wanted to live somewhere new for a while. I didn’t know or care where I went.” You replied honestly.

“Things are rough at home huh?”

“You could say that.” You turn and down your second shot to try and numb any emotions that were manifesting. You request another shot, but Trevor lowers your hand. The bar maid waits for Trevor’s confirmation before she decides to pour.

“Hey, slow down there missy. Michael won’t be too happy if I take you back drunk as skunk now would he?”

“What do you care?” You yank your arm from Trevor’s grasp. He’s confused.

“I don’t. Thought you might though.”

“Well I don’t. I want to drink.” You push your glass closer to the bar maid and she glances at Trevor. He waves his hand and she proceeds to pour you another shot. You toss it down your neck and place the glass back on the bar. The bar maid finishes pouring more whiskey in Trevor’s shot glass and you watch him swallow it down his thick throat. You’re studying his Cut Here tattoo. You admire how original it is. He catches you staring at him and places his glass back down on the bar. Trevor wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans in close. You can already feel the effects of the alcohol on your system.

“Alright sweetheart, I’ll show you how to fuckin’ party.”

After a few more shots of vodka and whiskey whilst trying to keep up with Trevor, the two of you stumble out of the door of the strip club and Trevor hails a taxi. While you wait, you’re curious as to why your jean pocket is vibrating. You feel around clumsily and slide your vibrating phone and squint at the screen. When your vision stayed still the bright glass read: “Tracey Calling”. You’re about to answer it before Trevor pulls you into a cab. The two of you fall into the backseat and Trevor slurs something to the driver and orders him to change the radio station. Your phone has stopped vibrating in your hand and you remember you’re still holding it so you glance at the screen again. “10 Missed Calls from Tracey”. You decide to worry about it later and slip it back into your jean pocket.

It doesn’t take very long for the cabby to bring the car to a halt outside a nightclub. You ducked your head to look out the window your heavier-than-usual head was resting on, and your brain slowly registered the letters into words that spelled out “Bahamas Mamas”. This city really likes to use pink neon on their signs. After the cabbie scrambles for the money Trevor carelessly throws at him, you both exit the cab and enter the night club. It’s not much different to Vanilla Unicorn except the air is less warm and there aren’t women stuck to poles on a stage. Mike Posner’s Cooler Than Me is playing as you stagger to the bar. You clink glasses with Trevor again and make a sour face as the strong alcohol burns your throat.

“You’re a-a-strange one.” Trevor sways as his brain comes up with the words slowly.

“... What?” You reply trying your hardest to look Trevor in the eye and also keeping your legs from turning fully into jelly.

“You’re a-like-a... kid... but you’re not... you have an old head... on young shoulders.” Trevor signals the bar tender for more alcohol.

“Did-did you just call my head old?” The conversation may as well have been nonsense at this point but Trevor was trying to compliment you somehow. He nearly spills his newly poured shot on you as he raises his hand in exclamation.

“Yeah! In a good way... your mind is mature y’know?” You’ve lost count how many shots you and Trevor have swallowed up to this point. “Amigo! Dos beers por favour!” Trevor shouts to the bar man. The bar man ignores Trevor. You glance over and discover why, the barman is trying to chat up an attractive woman. Trevor waits for a few seconds but then reaches his long arm over the bar and steals two bottles of beer for himself and you. You gasp quietly and cover your mouth and giggle. After a few tries of completely missing the bar, Trevor clips the bottle caps off at an angle on the side of the bar and hands you yours. You take a huge swig and thank him.

The two of you lean on the bar waiting for the other to suggest you move to the dance floor. You listen and begin to recognise songs that are playing in the club and the next one that you can hear makes you very excited. Yeah by Usher begins playing and you turn to Trevor open mouthed and smile. He smiles widely back at you. You’re excitement rubs off on him but he has no idea why.

“I FUCKING LOVE THIS SONG! C’MON!” You hold Trevor by the hand and he drags his toes as he’s pulled to the dance floor.

When you reach a gap in the crowd you let go of his hot hand. You close your eyes and are completely and utterly in the moment dancing. You don’t care if you look ridiculous you’re swaying and moving to the music. Trevor can’t stop staring at you. He blinks hard and raises his eyebrows after taking another glug of his beer to watch you in the dim, smoky light. His jaw is hanging slightly. As you move your body, your hair is illuminated every now and then from the strobe lights rotating and stretching around the room. Once you open your eyes and see Trevor trying his best to dance with his long flailing limbs. The sight just makes you smile.

As he’s turning, you swing him around by one of his hard shoulders. Trevor looks down at you and moistens his throat with some beer. You eye up his lips and whisper in his ear to tease him.

“Follow me.” Trevor hears you loud and clear and you find a quiet corner of the dance floor and push him up against the dark wall. He grunts with pleasure as he hits the wall with force. Trevor gives you a half smile and an evil stare that sends you wild. Your hands are slowly caressing his solid, muscular chest on top of his army green shirt. Your bodies are inches from each other as you drunkenly kiss his mouth. He’s gentler than you expected until his tongue forced its way into your mouth. You’re still kissing Trevor and feel him inhaling air in small, quick bursts as your hand hovers and touches the crotch of his jeans. The last thing you remember feeling is Trevor’s grip strengthening on your behind as you stroke his hardening penis.

You’re startled by an unknown, harsh buzzing sound that rudely awakens you. You’re half dead when you pull open your eyes but all you can see is complete darkness. Ugh. What is that noise? You groan at the muffled music you can hear and toss and turn to try and to go back to sleep but you misjudge the length of what you thought was your bed and roll onto a sticky floor. You squint and blink your eyes to moisten them before focusing on your surroundings. Even blinking was making your head throb. You rub your eyes and try to register where you were, but you don’t recognise this room. You exhale with frustration and run your fingers through your hair to try and tame the bed hair. You begin to feel a strange chill and look down at yourself to investigate why, and finally realise you’re only wearing your lacy knickers. You feel around for the blanket as you’re vision is still slightly blury. Thankfully the sheet still held some of your warmth and you wrapped yourself in it like it was a towel.

You hunt down the source of the loud vibrations. It was your phone on a desk next to a computer monitor. It takes you some time to focus on the screen and you read: 10 Missed Calls from Tracey, 4 Texts from Tracey. You swipe to unlock your phone and read the following text messages:

“Y/N where are you?”

“Seriously, where did you go? Jimmy said he saw you from his window. You got in a car with Trevor and Franklin?”

“My mom and dad are worried. WHERE ARE YOU?”

“This isn’t funny anymore Y/N.”

You glance up from your phone and try to figure out where exactly you were. You look through the pile of papers next to the keyboard to find something, anything. You see a familiar business logo and name in a header of a printed letter. Oh no. Vanilla Unicorn. I’m at the fucking strip club?! Where the fuck are my clothes?! But just as you turn to pinpoint their location the door to the room swings open and you just stand there frozen.

“Good morning!” Trevor is annoyingly loud and chipper. You watch him check his phone for the time. “Wow, or should I say afternoon.” He puts his phone away and approaches you. You hold a hand up and stretched out your arm defensively to keep him away.

“Trevor, where are my clothes?” You say slowly and with a very serious tone. You weren’t in the mood to be playful, not with this bad of a hangover.

“Oh. No ‘thanks for letting me stay on your sofa Trevor’ or ‘thanks for giving me a blanket to cover my naked body Trevor’. I gave you the courtesy of partying with THE Trevor Philips and this is the thanks I get?” You weren’t sure if Trevor was joking or was genuinely irritated.

“Just tell me where my clothes are Trevor.” You’ve lost your patience. Trevor frowns his thick brow and exhales with his tongue poking the roof of his mouth. He wanted to see you squirm for a few more seconds before answering.

“Over there on that box of flyers.” Trevor points lazily.

“Thanks.” You rush over to the box by the back door of the office and see your clothes hanging on the side of the box as well as in messy clumps next to it. You bring the pile of clothing to the couch and were just about to remove your towel that was wrapped around you, before remembering Trevor was still present.

“Trev, do you mind?”

“Not at all cupcake. Not-at-all.” Trevor says with a creepy chuckle. You stare him down so he realises you’re serious and he rolls his dark coffee coloured eyes and faces his back to you. You throw your clothes on as quickly as you can and toss the blanket back onto the sofa. You slip your phone into your pocket and sit yourself on the sofa to tie your shoes.

“Ok. You can look now” Trevor turns and is about to give you another cheeky quip before you interrupt him. “By the way Trevor, can you tell me why I woke up practically naked in your strip club please?” You cannot for the life of you recall a memory from beyond the night club you visited and you don’t remember removing any item of clothing.

“You don’t remember?” Trevor says with a serious look.

“No.” You massaged your temples of your skull for some relief.

“Are you sure?” Trevor was dragging this on as long as he could. He leaned against the desk opposite the sofa you sat on. You had to look up at him.

“YES I’M SURE! Can you just tell me please?!”

“You stripped yourself darlin’. I had nothing to do with de-clothing you.” Trevor raised his palms.

“I stripped... myself?... Why?”

“You wanted to strip.” Trevor verified as he crossed his arms. He seemed to be keeping in a laugh to himself about something you had no idea about.

“I know. You just said that. I’m just trying to remember why-” Bits of last night came rushing back to you. When they did, you gasped in horror at what you eventually remember. You spoke whilst exhaling. “... NOOO”

“YEEEESSS!” Trevor was delighted at your embarrassment.

“Please tell me I didn’t. PLEASE” You tried hiding your face.

“I’m sorry to say sugar, well; actually I’m not sorry, that you did in fact walk down the stripper stage wearing just those lacy panties.”

“In front of people?” You squeaked from behind your hands. Trevor nodded sympathetically but then couldn’t stop himself from exploding from laughter. You peak through the gaps in between your fingers and speak. “Are you sure?”

“You gave my girls a run for their money let me tell you. Look, I’ll show you the security footage if you like.” Trevor was revelling in tormenting you and may as well have skipped to the computer to bring up the footage of last night. You lowered your hands and stood next to Trevor as the two of you watched the show from last night. You saw yourself staggering and stumbling on stage and try to swing on the pole at the end of the runway, only to fall off disgracefully hit your head on the railing below you. You reach for the back of your skull and wince from the forgotten pain from the bump. “See! Naked. Naked. Naked. Naked.” Trevor points at the monitor as he presses a key on the keyboard so the footage cuts to different angles.

“Wait, that can’t be me” You point at the screen. Trevor looks at you unsure what conclusion you were about to come to. “I don’t have a tattoo there- OW” You poke a sore area at the top of your left breast with the tips of your fingers. You’re confused as to why you felt pain and look down your top and stare at your skin in horror. You lick your thumb and try to rub at your skin but it was permanent and you winced as you touched it. You’re distracted enough to not notice Trevor trying to peek down your shirt also. You drop the material of your shirt and place your palm on your eyelids.

“I forgot about that.” Trevor pointed at your breast and spoke. You watched his face light up as he reminisced about the night before. “You dragged us to a tattoo place before we came back here. Begged the guy to draw something, what was it?”

“It’s a black scorpion.” You reply with an annoyed shrug. You then glance at Trevor’s hands resting on the keyboard. You notice he has a very similar scorpion tattoo on his right hand in between his thumb and index finger. “It’s the same one on your hand!” You point at Trevor’s hand and he looks down at it with a frown then back at you. You sigh and pull your t-shirt down to only reveal the scorpion tattoo. Trevor was only allowed to glance at it for a couple seconds before you position the material back over to cover the tattoo. It seemed to align with Trevor’s on his hand as if he was cupping your breast. “I bet you put me up to this.” You say through your teeth.

“Probably, but I can’t remember sugar.” Trevor replies with a cheerful tone. It makes your blood boil. He stands up straight, away from the computer screen and leads you to the back door of the office.

“Where are we going now?” You ask as you shield your eyes from the blinding sunlight. You follow Trevor to his red pickup truck parked around the front of the building. Trevor replies as he gets close to his car.

“De Santa residence. I said I’d get you home, and what am I if not a man of my word? Michael will be worried sick!” Trevor said as he sat in the driver’s seat and closed the door. You study his choice of vehicle. You’re curious as to why there’s a one eyed teddy bear wearing a thong pinned to the front grill of the truck, but decide to go with why there’s no roof to the car. You climb into the car with Trevor and point with your thumb to where the roof should be.

“What if it rains?”

“Then you’ll get wet.” Trevor said harshly. His bluntness made you laugh. Laughing made your head hurt. You pull your seatbelt down and lock it in place and Trevor puts his keys in the ignition. Soon the two of you were arguing over which radio station to listen to whilst Trevor drove erratically through traffic.

You recognise the familiar curved driveway of Tracey’s house and before the car came to a hard stop Trevor punches the horn a few times to signal your arrival. You remove yourself from the truck and watch as Tracey races out the front door. She hangs up her phone and calls back into the house confirming it is you returning. She runs from the door to hug you. You’re nearly pushed backward from the amount of force Tracey hit you with. Amanda emerges and then Michael looking as furious as one another. Tracey lets go of you and walks with you back to the house. Amanda stops Tracey from taking you inside. Trevor steps out and stands in front of his truck to observe.

“Just a minute Tracey,” Amanda holds her arm out. Tracey doesn’t argue. You watch Amanda turn to you. “Y/N where have you been?!”

“With Trevor.” Amanda glances at Trevor and he smiles proudly. She gives him a disgusted look.

“I can see that.” She turns back to you expecting more of an explanation. You don’t give one so Amanda continues to speak. “Look Y/N I can’t control what you do in your spare time. You’re not a child and I’m not your mother, but the college did assign us as your guardians whilst you’re studying. If you’re going to live in our home you have to tell us when you’ll be out all hours of the night. You can come and go as you please just give us a heads up next time and answer your phone.”

“Yes Mrs De Santa. Sorry.”

“What the fuck were you doing with Trevor anyway? Jimmy said he saw you two get in a car with Franklin.” Michael piped up. He began speaking directly to you but soon turned to Trevor who answered for you.

“Well, that’s none of your concern Mikey boy.” Trevor snapped back.

“It is my concern when it involves her! We’re her guardians T. For Christ sake, she looks like she’s been taking meth or some shit.” Michael strains his voice. Amanda and Tracey look at Trevor for a reply. You worry and look to Trevor in horror. Trevor shakes his head at you and you sigh with relief.

“She hasn’t been taking meth, calm down sugar tits.”

“Then what were you doing? She doesn’t look well T.” You were getting annoyed how much Michael was talking to others about you in front of you, but not actually talking directly to you. You’re patience was short due to your hangover.

“HEY. I can speak for myself!” You shout. Michael is surprised and looks at you waiting for your next word. “It doesn’t matter where I’ve been or what I did. It’s done. I don’t have to answer to you or Mrs De Santa, sorry, Amanda. I’m sorry I didn’t answer my calls, that was stupid and reckless and it won’t happen again. I would like to keep living here if you’ll have me; your home and family are lovely but I don’t need to be checked up on.”

“Clearly!” Michael replies with sarcasm. “I mean, you look fine! You can barely stand.”

“I drank alcohol, that’s all I did. I’ve seen plenty of other adults drink alcohol.” You shot back.

“Well that’s not all you did...” Trevor mumbles. Thankfully only you heard it. Michael doesn’t know what else to say. Amanda waits for anyone else to add anything before she places her hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N what Michael’s trying to say is that we were worried. We would be the ones in the shit with the college if we lost you. From now on please tell me if you decide you need to get away. Ok?” Amanda tries to defuse the situation and rubs the side of your arm then smiles at you.

“I will.” You smile back.

“Let me put mine and Michael’s numbers in your phone so if you can’t reach me you can reach Michael.” You pass your phone to Amanda and she puts the numbers into your contacts and hands your phone back to you.

“You have my number right?” Tracey finally feels it’s safe to speak.

“Yes. You gave it to me yesterday in class.” You smile at her.

“Oh yeah! Ok I’m going inside. Nice to see you again Uncle Trevor!” Tracey waves goodbye to Trevor and disappears inside with Amanda.

“You too Tracey.” Trevor says with a genuine smile. Amanda rudely tries to ignore Trevor as she makes her way inside but he’s aware of this and waves her goodbye. “BYE BYE AMANDA!” Trevor begins walking back to the driver’s seat and opens the door.

“Thanks Trevor.” You say as he gets into his truck.

“My pleasure Y/N.” Trevor nods and starts his car. He stretches his chunky arm over the headrest of the passenger seat, and his neck over his shoulder to reverse his car out of Michael’s drive and leaves. Once Trevor is out of sight, you turn back to face Michael.

“How are you not completely and utterly shit scared of him?” Michael asks bluntly.

“I dunno.” You shrug whilst looking at your feet. You’re giddy from spending time with Trevor but also from being so tired. You look into Michael’s baby blue eyes. “How are you not shit scared of him?”

“I am.” Michael replies as he lets you enter his home first. He shakes his head as he follows you in. The front door swings back and closes. - [<-CH3] [CH5->] [<-CH1]

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