#because he is useless and a brick wall

[dmitriene]

cw: dark content, dubious consent, spanking, humiliation, thigh riding.

you were a proper brat, the one that town sheriff jonathan price couldn't stand at all, every outing you made to the town was leaving him with bulging veins all over his neck and forehead, jaw grinding harshly as his calloused hand stroked his mutton chops.

price just hadn't a single nerve for your antics, wandering around the town in the tight little shirts of your daddy that you sewed to fit your body, the slinkiest denim shorts that was possibly existing were hugging your rounded ass cheeks, soft flesh barely peaking beneath when you were bending against the shop's wooden counters.

you were john's menace, stealing for your own fun some fresh juicy fruits from some poor lad's shop, never paying and always giggling, charming his brains out of his head so he wouldn't notice your arm full of sweetest peaches.

wandering around john's office, twirling your ass all around and chatting with muppets that were sitting in jail cells, the same place you should be sitting at least couple of hours as well, but price doesn't have a strength to run after you, and his boys were failing on catching you as well.

you outrunned every one of them, from charmingly annoying scott, to the politely sunny man that was called kyle, and even the behemoth of a man that everyone was naming as a ghost, mostly because he gave up the first time you shoved your tongue at him and sprinted away by jumping through the gates.

your biggest fault was stealing something from sheriff himself, wandering to price's office while he was out for some deal as you wiggled yourself through the open window, just «a silly joke» on him for not letting you having your fun and reporting each movement you did to your daddy, but oh, you shouldn't have touched his things at all.

shouldn't turn his neatly organized office upside down, climb through his shelves and touch folders with important documents, as well as shouldn't open the jail cells and let out those who were sitting there for malicious mischief and other, similar to this one, things.

it really wasn't worth it to end up bent over a hard, muscular lap, with your tight little shorts dangling at your feet and cotton panties crumpled just enough to expose your rounded, soft rear to the silent room, where the only sound that resonates off the brick walls is loud, raw spanking slaps.

it's the first time in a long when john was that much furious, making his face go deep shade of red out of anger, fists tight and whitening at his sides when he opened the door to his office, catching you off guard in the middle of your antics, azure eyes darkening almost immediately as his fingers twitch and grasp at your hair, rippling out a loud, strained squeak off of your pretty lips.

you clearly didn't expect to see him, that john could tell, as well as end up half naked before his intense, burning gaze, a complete mess with your hands literally tied, now you couldn't run away from him, not when he finally caught you up.

maybe he enjoyed it too much, the thrill of having something that was constantly running from him made warmth bubble in his bulky body, like a game of cat and mouse, but finally you got exactly what you deserved, and john intended to feed it to you till the last spoon.

— “cocky, impudent little brat„ he all but barks and growls, making you shook not only from the stinging pain on your bulging ass cheeks, but also because of slightest fear that grip your body in its clutches, holding you unmovingly on john's thick thighs as you let out whimpers and tiny, ringing mewls.

tiny rope bites at your sore wrists, calloused palm slaps against your completely raw, reddened flesh with licking pain, your limbs feel absolutely putty, useless in your current state, with fat salty tears rolling against your fluttering eyelashes and down the flushed cheeks.

he smells of musk and gunpowder, sweat, scent with which he came back at least hour ago, and you knew that you're in for trouble, because he reeled of irritation.

all this situation was supposed to scare you away, make you beg for forgiveness, but you welcome each and every harsh slap with pooling wetness in the gusset of your cotton panties, the gentle lips of your pretty pussy visible just enough for john's gaze to catch on, and he straight on slows down.

the only thing that you register in your buzzing brain is harsh puffs that comes off his mouth, before dry ungloved fingers slide up against your folds, gathering the sticky, pooling mess, and you jolt, sobbing out a high gasp, which makes price huff out bewilderedly — “fuckin' hell, you're getting off to this, sweetheart? enjoying the humiliation?„

that makes your blood run incredibly hot, cheeks and ears burning up harder than the sensitive flesh of your perched ass, and you wiggle intuitively, pussy throbbing on itself and making you whimper, sincerely plaintively, cotton fabric sticking to your slicky folds, as you gather the courage to wobble out the small — “n-no„

but your body doesn't agree, you're aching, every limb feels as if it's itching and pulsing, you don't see how price bores his cerulean eyes into the slick gathered on his thick fingers, his own body rolling with waves of heat, clothes feels suddenly too tight for his own good, before he yanks your tied hands.

sudden movement makes you choke a squeak, rope still biting into the thin flesh of your wrists as he moves you to straddle his thighs, sitting securely, making your denim shorts slip off your legs completely and to the floor, as air in his messy office bites your sensitive ass cheeks, before there's another delivered, stinging slap.

you cry out, body jolting and pressing against his as you fall face first into his shoulder, inadvertently inhaling his cologne and hints of leather, his rough fingers knead your ass, calloused thumb rubbing strangely soothing circles that make your plush thighs squeeze together around his, desperate need for some kind of relief wells up hot and bothering, in your tummy and pulsing, currently neglected cunny.

price drinks up your every reaction like the most delicious whiskey, the labored breaths and the feel of how your pussy throbs, he can feel it all, together with hardening sensation in his boxers that makes his pants feel too tight beneath you, but it all will end up more than soon, cause his free hand moves to grip the back of your neck.

he's tugging, making your spine arch as your mound rubs against his leg just the right way, and he growls, head tilting to whisper out in your ear, his facial hair rubbing your skin harshly — “let's see how brave you are for real, darling? get off what's bothering you, and maybe.. maybe i'll consider to not telling your daddy what happened here today„

that makes you mewl so embarrassedly, nod your head silently into his muscular shoulder as your rounded hips roll cautiously, sudden pleasure sparks all through your shaking body as you still hide your face from him, but it doesn't matter, cause you're already signed the deal with sheriff jonathan price.

and no one in this town, if it's not the future dead man walking, will risk betraying the deal with him.

so you roll your hips rhythmically, letting your sopping pussy glide smoothly against his clothed thigh as your ass perches up, with his thick hand still caressing and kneading shamelessly, your strained, panting voice huffs out ashamed and delirious — “y-yes, sir„ which pulls a wide grin to his lips and a dark glint to his vivid eyes.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[joshym]

Muse

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: Your struggling artist is desperate for some inspiration.

Word Count: 3.4k+

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), a smidge of sir kink, some spanking, a lot of fluff because i can't help myself, Jake draws a naked portrait of you (let me know if i've missed anything)

a/n: special thanks to this lovely anon for this brilliant idea. this was way too much fun to write.

this was inspired heavily by that scene from the Titanic. (you know the one.)

as always, thank you to my favorite editor/motivator, @jakeyt.

i hope you enjoy. ♡

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.”

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

His frustration is palpable, evident in the nearly incessant huffing emanating from behind the closed door of his studio.

It's moments like these that leave you feeling utterly helpless. There’s nothing you can do, no inspiration you can provide that will pull him from his artist’s block.  

He's been holed up in there for hours, since the early dawn, lost in the depths of his imagination, sketching away. You know better than to intrude; he's never been keen on sharing his work until it's finished.

In fact, he's never once allowed you a glimpse into his creative process. "It's the strange doodlings of a mind overrun with ideas. It's not to be seen until it's in its final form," he's reminded you countless times when your curiosity gets the better of you.

Still yet, you're consumed by the desire to witness his beautiful mind in action, crafting masterpieces in real-time, each stroke flowing from his soul through his tireless hand on his Somerset velvet sheets.

But, like any artist, he’s his own worst critic. He’s never truly satisfied with anything he creates, though you are left utterly speechless after each piece he finishes. His mind is a beautifully profound chasm of endless wonder, manifested through his artistry.

You hate when he has these moments of doubt, these instances when he questions whether he’s truly capable of such greatness. 

And you especially despise days like today, when he spends the better part of it feeling as though he has a mental brick wall in the way of his ingenuity, hindering his hand from bringing to life what his mind so desperately longs to conceive. 

Commissioned pieces, like his project today, always hold the most weight for him— from the need to earn a living, to his persistent worry that his art might not meet the expectations of the client. 

It’s not that he doesn’t love doing them, or that he’ll ever stop taking them; quite the contrary, they’re his favorite pieces to work on. They provide him with an added pressure that elicits some of his best work. 

But, reaching that point can be rather strenuous for him. It can at times take days, weeks before he discovers the creative impulsion he needs. 

And right now, he’s in that very rut, awaiting the surge of inspiration that will reignite his dulled spirit.

There truly is nothing you can do when he’s lost like this, and any effort you’ve attempted in the past has always proved useless. 

The one thing you can do, however, is prepare him some dinner.

He’s hardly left his studio today, and you know he’s not eaten much, if anything at all. Perhaps a morsel of sustenance will ignite the dormant embers of his mind. 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

After a quiet tap to the door, he invites you in with a serene voice. 

He looks tired, but lovely as ever. The golden hour has officially set in the sky, and the opened curtains on the windows have allowed for a warm hue to encompass his studio, enveloping him in its delicate lume.

“That smells absolutely divine,” he remarks as you enter his studio, his plate and yours delicately balanced in your hands. 

“I figured a little homemade pasta would do you some good,” you tell him while you pad across the floor to his work station.

With a sly disposition and a playful glint in your eye, you aim to steal a glance of his day-long project, but alas, you’ve been caught. Your sweet Jake misses nothing.

"Not yet, my love," he murmurs, flipping the page over as he takes your hand, planting a tender kiss over your knuckles. "You know the rules."

“I know, I know.” Your response holds a bit of remorse. You know better, but can’t begin to help the relentless desire to see his mind at work. 

Setting his dinner on the desk he’s working from, you move yourself across the small office to the green chaise lounge that sits across from him, silently seeking his permission with your gentle glances. The smile in his eyes tells you that he’s more than happy to be graced with your company for the time being. 

After taking a bite of the spinach tortellini you prepared, he unbuttons his white striped shirt, removing it from his shoulders and stretching his arms high above his head as though he’s ridding himself of the weight of his frustrations.

You can’t help your glare, watching him do something so normal yet so intriguing all at once. 

His skin is velvety smooth, his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes, his chestnut wavy locks sitting atop his broad shoulders. You’re in awe each time you look at him; the sheer magnitude of his beauty never fails to steal your breath away.

And his necklace, his most cherished piece of jewelry that he wears each and every day. The precious coin, a relic salvaged from a centuries-old shipwreck that hangs against his chest.

The way it sits on his bare skin is nothing short of elating, sexy. It’s a wonderful addition to his already captivating aura. 

He’s flawless. Everything about him.

Once he catches your gaze, he responds with a sly wink, eliciting a blush that paints your cheeks a bright shade of pink.

Then, a thought begins to swirl around your mind for a brief moment. One that you’re shocked you’ve not conjured until now. 

The vision of the pendant against his bare skin sets your own imagination alight. 

“I’ve got an idea,” you propose, your voice soft and sultry, trying to pique his interest even just a little, something that may help the rusted wheels of his mind turn at full capacity once again.

While his focus remains on his work, his right eyebrow arches ever so slightly, and you catch the hint of a grin daring to curl in the corners of his mouth.

“And what might that be, my dear?” he asks with an unknowing, devilish smirk. 

As you get up, he hastily flips the page back over to hide his work from you once again.

“Don’t worry,” you say as you move behind him, placing your hands on his bare shoulders. “I won’t peek.”

You glide your fingers along his skin, feeling the subtle rise of each goosebump in the wake of your gentle touch.

He hums inquisitively as you delicately take hold of the clasp of his necklace in between your index and thumb, undoing it in one fluid motion before slowly slipping it from around his neck. 

“Be right back,” you say as you head towards the door. “Don’t move.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds, a myriad of questions splayed across his features.

With light steps, you make your way down the wooden floors of the hall towards your shared bedroom. Hanging on the back of the door is your sapphire hued satin robe, adorned with a delicate lace detailing along the hem—the one Jake has always fawned over. 

The satin drapes coolly against your skin as you slip it on, wearing nothing underneath, save for the weight of Jake’s necklace resting against your chest that you hide beneath the fabric. 

You run your fingers through your hair, adding a subtle tousled look, before applying a light blush to your lips and cheeks to impart a bit of natural color to your complexion.

And with that, you're poised and ready.

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

As you turn the corner to face his studio, you see a very weary version of your Jake. His head sits in the palms of his hands, his leg bounces up and down at a rapid rate—a clear sign of the mental battle he’s waging. 

This is as good a time as any for your little idea, and you’re hoping that it’ll be the very thing he needs to find some much needed initiative to keep going. 

“Hi, baby,” you venture, leaning your body alluringly against the frame of the door. 

As he looks up, a familiar twinkle dances in his eyes—a sight you've longed for all day long. It's a glimmer that tells you he's rather fond of the vision before him.

“And what exactly is your idea?” he inquires softly, slowly standing from his chair. But you stop him, motioning for him to stay just where he is as you saunter towards the chaise you were seated on just moments ago. 

“My idea,” you begin, making a very slow, deliberate attempt to untie the sash holding your robe together at the waist. “...is for you to draw me.” 

As if your thought has affected him physically, his posture immediately straightens, and his once tired eyes hold a renewed sense of life as they watch you intently. 

“I want you to draw me wearing this.” You reach into the lapel of the robe, retrieving his coin that now hangs from your neck. “Only this.” 

Your robe suddenly falls to the floor, revealing your fully nude figure that was hidden beneath. 

“Oh…” he utters, his tongue wetting his lower lip before tucking it between his teeth. “You can’t do this to me, baby. I can’t look at you like this an–”

“Consider it a commission,” you interrupt, tracing your fingers lightly up and down the skin of your torso. “And when you’re finished, if it’s to my liking, you’ll receive a full payment.”

With a raised eyebrow, his gaze sweeps up and down your form, while his index finger lightly grazes his chin.

“You’re quickly becoming my favorite client,” he quips, wiping a stray bead of sweat away from his forehead, tousling the front of his hair in the process. “Consider it done, ma’am,” he continues with a confirming nod of his head. 

You lay yourself down on the forest green velvet cushions, positioning yourself sensually across the chaise. Your body is turned slightly to the side, your leg gracefully crossed over the other, an elegant display of your curved silhouette. 

The warm glow that is so beautifully cast upon Jake, is now cast upon you, the aura laying over your nude body like a golden blanket of light. 

“Is this okay?” you ask him, draping your arm over the back of the chaise, making sure the coin sits meticulously atop your chest before your other arm falls to rest against your body. 

He simply grins while nodding his head, his eyes drinking you in, a mix of surprise and desire evident within his expression.

“Yeah, that um…that’ll do just fine,” he tells you, the slight crack in his voice eliciting a smile from you, a break in his professional facade. 

With a deep breath, he takes his prized Faber Castell 9000, carefully sharpening the tip just a bit before putting it against a blank sheet. 

And then, as the true artist you know him to be, he begins without a hint of hesitancy. The gentle sound of the lead scratching away at the paper fills the quiet room— a sound you’ve come to cherish, a sound that signifies his craft is steadily blossoming to life.

He seems charmingly nervous, his hand gently brushing against his nose every so often between a series of strokes from his pencil, clearing his throat more than usual. His eyes flint to you, then back to the paper, then back to you, a succession of his adoration and determination, ensuring that the likeness captured in his art closely mirrors your essence. 

You try to keep your face composed, a seductive allure about your features. But as you watch him, immersed in his passion, the way he’s studying you so intently, it becomes nearly impossible to suppress the beginnings of a smile upon your lips. 

But despite your efforts, he takes note of the curve adorning your flushed lips, mirroring it with his own. “Relax your face for me, beautiful.” The soft rasp in his tone is enough to send a blush throughout your whole body. 

Breathing in your nose and exhaling through parted lips, you’re able to reclaim your composure enough to steady your expression. 

Every moment you share with him is a brushstroke of beauty, but something about this one stands out. The intimacy of it all, how he must diligently study every inch of your form to convey your image through his art, the intensity behind his focused gaze…your heart is racing in your chest, despite your relaxed demeanor. 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

With the sun almost hidden behind the early moon, he completes the final stroke.

He lays his pencil down, gently blowing on the paper to remove any stray lead before he picks it up, examining it closely while he walks it over to you. 

As he holds it out before you, allowing you to at last see his craft come to life, you’re left entirely awestruck. 

“Oh, Jake.” The sight before you leaves you nearly breathless. It exceeds every expectation, beyond the boundaries of your imagination. It’s a portrayal of you, but not just that— it’s how he sees you.

It’s the first time you’re witnessing yourself through his eyes, and in that, you feel a profound sense of beauty within yourself that you’ve never known. 

“Do you like it?” He asks, a slight tremor present in his voice. 

“It’s…incredible, Jake.” 

Propping yourself up a bit, you carefully take the drawing from his hands, poring over his vast attention to the detail in your face, your body. 

Specifically your breasts, how perfectly he depicted their round curve above your rib cage, encapsulating the fullness and allure of them. 

You’re entranced by the way he drew the contour of your hips, how he captured the dip in them that you’ve always looked at with disdain, yet in his portrayal, you’re able to see the beauty in what you’ve considered a flaw.

He encapsulated everything, even the faint freckle beneath the curve of your left breast, and the mole under your belly button. He managed to immortalize all the intricate nuances that you typically overlook.

“Is this what I really look like?”

“Yes, but,” he takes the drawing from you, placing it on the mahogany table beside the chaise lounge. He helps you lay back down, gently caressing your face that he’s just conveyed through his artistry as he props himself above you. “The essence of your beauty defies any depiction.”

Then, his lips envelope yours in a kiss so fervent, so ardent, as though he’s waited hours to finally have you within his grasp. 

His hand moves with a swift grace to your breast, fingers toying with your perked bud. This erotic moment with him has you already so flustered, so sensitive to every touch of his hands. 

He breaks his lips from yours, only to land them down the column of your heaving chest.

“You’ve no idea how hard it was for me to look at you like this, to look at these,” he mumbles against the tingling skin, hands kneading the flesh of your breasts. “And fight the urge to come place my lips on every inch of this beautiful fucking body.”

And just as he said, he bestows tender yet hungry kisses down the length of your torso, maneuvering his body down the chaise lounge until he kneels before you. He nestles his face perfectly between your thighs, his warm breath tantalizing your wet center from his dangerously close proximity. 

“I certainly hope you don’t let all of your clients pay you like this,” you mutter, breathless and yearning for his mouth. 

“Only the ones that tickle my fancy,” he says, his words adorned with a playful wink before he delves into you. 

He laps away at your pulsing cunt, like he’s been starved for your taste this entire evening. The lewd, lascivious sounds he’s emitting from between your legs only serve to heighten your need for him, causing your back to instinctively arch away from the plush cushions. 

And when his lips envelop your throbbing clit, his tongue swirling around it inside his warm mouth, your body trembles and shudders. A rush of warmth encompasses you, starting from the depths of your core, the pit of your stomach, spreading to every inch of your being. 

You surrender to the intoxicating bliss, your breath catching in your throat while your heart pounds in a crescendoing rhythm.  

He guides you through it, gently holding your hips in place while the movement of his tongue slows in perfect time as with the ebb of your climax.

“Oh, that was so beautiful, my love.” He lovingly kisses the inside of your thigh before he stands, removing the belt from his patchwork jeans. “Turn over for me, baby.”

“Yes, sir,” you quietly utter as you obey his demand, knowing good and damn well what that specific name does to him. 

Just as he commanded, you turn your body over to your stomach, placing your elbows against the arm of the chaise, your back arched as much as you can so that your ass is sticking up just right for him.

“Love when my sweet girl calls me that,” he purrs before his belt hits the floor, his jeans and underwear quickly in tow and freeing his impossibly hard cock. 

“So, what’s the verdict, my love?” You feel the cushion sink in behind you as he settles himself between your legs, his right hand caressing your hip while the other teases your soaked cunt with the tip of his cock, leaking with precum. “Was my work to your liking?”

You giggle breathlessly, poking your ass out even further as an offering to him for his hard work. “Yes, I believe you’ve earned your reward.” 

He steadily begins nudging his cock into you, going slow at first, allowing you to fully adjust to him. 

Inch by thick inch, he fills you completely to the hilt, your breath catching in heavy gasps that are robbed from your lungs as he buries himself deeply within you. 

Your nails claw at the velvet armrest as his thrusts quicken in their pace, your upper body nearly going limp as you’re no longer able to easily hold yourself up.  

His hands hold a firm grip at your lower waist, pulling you into his cock rhythmically, yet becoming more and more disordered as he’s beginning to lose himself to the pleasure. 

You cry out a slew of obscenities mixed with his name, begging him to fuck you harder, faster.

Without question he complies, landing an open palm against your ass cheek. “So good for me baby,” he hums, his thighs slapping against the backs of yours as he drives into you just the way you need. “So fucking good for me.” 

With one more vigorous thrust of his hips, you feel that familiar rush throughout your whole body as your cunt throbs and pulses incessantly around his cock.

“Fuck, I feel you, baby. Pretty little cunt squeezing me so tight.” You feel the twitching of his cock inside of you, an indication that he's on the very brink of his own release. 

“Cum inside me, sir. Please…need you to fill me.” Your voice is faltered, your body still reeling from your second climax. 

“Jesus,” he groans, moaning exasperatedly as your words have him spilling within you, filling you with his warmth just as you requested. 

He stays buried inside of you as he catches his breath, feeling his release slowly trickling down your thighs as you struggle to fill your own lungs. 

You have to fight the urge to protest when he begins pulling himself away from you, not yet ready for the empty feeling he leaves you with. 

You practically collapse against the cushion, your body exhausted in the most enthralling way, the kind of exhaustion that only immense amounts of pleasure can bring forth. 

“My sweet, beautiful girl,” he whispers, kneeling himself before you as he softly caresses your flushed cheek. 

You kiss the pad of his thumb as it crosses over your mouth, summoning the strength to lift yourself up enough to steal one from his lips. “I hope it worked,” you say, gently cupping his face in your hand. 

“You hope what worked, my love?” He asks, leaning into your soft touch. 

“I was hoping this would help inspire you.” You reach for the drawing, savoring its beauty once more. “I was hoping I could help inspire you, pull you out of your moment of doubt.” 

“My love,” he murmurs, setting the portrait back down before he gently brushes his lips against yours. “You inspire me endlessly, every single day.” 

His tender smile warms your very soul as he leans in for a deeper kiss, imbued with all the love you could ever want for.

“You’re my perfect muse,” he utters against your lips, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” 

.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.⚘🀢⚘.

a/n: suffice to say, this inspired the hell out of me when i've lacked inspiration/motivation lately. thank you, anon.

if you have any juicy ideas, feel free to send them my way. ♡

love you guys.

taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!)

@jakeyt @objectsinspvce @stayinginthesun @sinarainbows @stardustcordzz @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @highway-tuna @way-to-go-lad @reesetrippingthelight @jakesgrapejuice @sacredjake @notthedroidz @kiszkashousee @psychedelicstardust-gvf @jjwasneverhere @gvf-ficreads @stardust-jake @gretavanbear @gvfmelborne @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @jaaakeeey @neptune2324 @jaketlove @myleftsock @joshskittytickler @audgeppp @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @gretasfallingsky @jazzyfigz @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @blacksoul-27 @sarafrusciante2 @heckingfrick @citylight-delight @electricgoldtendercare @musicspeaks @hollyco @gvfpal @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @hernameis-heaven @mackalah @gvfmarge

Masterlist

[gfguren]

pro hero!bakugou x reader | fluff, a little bit domestic, a little bit intimate, a little bit suggestive? (not really) | cw: cursing, a very modest bath scene

-teaching bakugou to 'take'-

Thinking about the newly domestic give and take between you and Katsuki. It doesn't come naturally to him. He's hell bent on doing everything himself, at first. That's the way he's always lived after all - hyper self-sufficient, independent to a fault, and so goddamn stubborn about it all.

It makes you feel almost useless, his insistence on doing everything, not only for himself but for you as well. Honestly, you should have expected it; he was like that well before moving in together. Taking all the responsibilities on himself, wrangling you out of the way when you so much as try to help, because he "feels like it", or he's "better at it", or "just move, f'r I make ya".

But you were a guest in his house, then - so you let him have his way, bullheaded as it was. Now that you share a house - a home - you want nothing more than to take care of it, -him.

Though moving mountains would be easier than convincing him to accept it.

You try brute force, first. And it goes as well as you might expect, like throwing pebbles at a brick wall. Putting yourself between him and the dishes is just as futile; he cooked dinner, you should be the one to do this. It's only fair. Still, he takes it upon himself to pick you up and physically remove you from 'his' spot by the sink, ugly yellow gloves dripping dishwater all the way to the counter.

The floor is completely soaked by the time he plops you down on the countertop, as are your jeans, your flailing arms and exasperated "Katsuki!" having done little to deter him. Your mouth opens in protest but his hands, firm at your sides and eyes, red, and stern and definite leave no room for discussion.

So you try to 'talk about it', second. When his mood has cooled and he's feeling a little sweet. He usually is, when hero work has worn him down, chipped away at his fire until there's nothing left but his worn down bones and the aching desire to be enveloped in you - his head on your chest, your fingers in his hair.

He's nothing but mush in your arms by the time you bring it up, nearly two hundred pounds of limp muscle, eyes half lidded, and slow, warm breath. You think he doesn't hear you at first, more likely he pretends not to; but then you hear a half-hearted, "hmph". And you sigh.

"I'm serious, Kats." you rake your fingers across his scalp absently and he groans in appreciation, furling into you more. "You can't do everything, just look at you."

He peers up at you with one eye, an almost glare, more playful than anything; too tired for anything more. He huffs gently, warm breath across your chest when you don't back down. "We'll talk about it later."

'Later'; meaning never. Still, you don't press him. Not when he's so tired, not when this small moment of peace is all he allows you to offer him.

Ever predictable; there isn't a later, and he finds a way to avoid the conversation, in one way or another. Over and over and over again. You're at the end of your rope just trying to get him to listen.

Instead, you try a last ditch effort at patience, at compromise (usually a losing battle, with him); working him over, little by little.

And it works, mostly.

You find that, most times, you can slip past him while he's cooking to steal the dirty mixing bowls and discarded pans; wash them while he's preoccupied trying not to burn the chicken or fretting over cutting the vegetables 'just right'. That him doing the cooking is non-negotiable, but he'll let you help as long as you stop trying to kiss him while he's "tryin' to make y'r dinner over here, god damnit".

(Don't let him fool you, he likes it).

That it takes you far too long to realize how much he craves being asked for 'help', instead of your usual insistence on helping him. That when he feels appreciated and useful, he's almost eager to share the housework with you, looking almost boyish standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, the tepid scowl twisting his pretty face betrayed by the blush creeping up the back of his neck when you hum a lilted, "Thank you, Katsuki".

Your strategy's not foolproof, of course; he's still quick to steal whatever you're working on once he's finished his, itching to make himself busy once more.

But it's progress.

Still, no matter how much you try, or how long you pester him, he puts his foot down at taking care of him while he's sick, while he's training or on patrol. Anything that could end with you hurt, or put you in harms way is a hard 'no' - always, always, always.

That's not to say he doesn't let you take care of him ever. Though it was more hassle than it should have been, getting him to just sit comfortable instead of disappearing into the bath for hours, or taking his frustrations out on his poor, battered training equipment.

These days, when he's had an especially tiring evening, he'll sink down into the sofa without you having to say a thing, let you press your fingers into his shoulders and down his spine until the knots unwind. That occasionally he'll let you take him by the hand even, coax him gently into warm water and vanilla scented bubble bath.

That he becomes particularly docile when you're massaging your flowery conditioner into his wily blonde hair. The scent of you - over his waist, around his shoulders, in his hair - it's almost intoxicating, and he wraps his arms around you, like he's desperate for more, burying his face in your chest; sighs like he's at ease for the first time in his life.

It isn't easy, teaching Katsuki to take - but when he lays down with you at night, his eyes are a little brighter, hands hold you a little tighter, a little longer than when all he knew was how to give, give, give. And when his lips find yours, and you can feel his smile against them, you figure all the trouble is worth it.

And when he rolls the both of you over til you're pinned beneath heavy thighs, impish grin on his lips and calloused fingers beneath your shirt, trouble and promise brewing behind his newly fired eyes, well that's just a bonus.

[theemporium]

Congrats on 10k! I absolutely love your writing! It always makes me feel warm and fuzzy 💕

I was wondering if I could request violet fluff 💜 prompt #31 with James Potter? Thanks so much, hope you’re having a great day 🥰

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

31. “I’ve been in love with you since the day we met."

.

James Potter honestly thought he was losing his mind.

He liked to pride himself over the fact he was good with people: talking to them, understanding them, observing them. He was a social butterfly and fairly empathetic, and he could talk to a brick wall and somehow still make it one of the most entertaining conversations people have ever witnessed. 

He tended to thrive in social situations, basking in the attention when the spotlight was on him. He was never made for the shadows or outskirts. He was made to be the person someone could always rely on in public, the one who could change the conversation when needed or keep things from becoming stagnant and awkward. 

But all of those skills felt redundant and useless when it came to you. 

Because, here’s the thing—James is, like, ninety-nine percent sure that you aren’t doing it on purpose which honestly makes the whole thing worse.

James Potter is not a subtle man. Far from it, if anyone is concerned. He is open with his feelings and wants and desires and dreams. He wears his heart on his sleeve and he wears it proudly. And he has been flirting with you since day one. 

And you flirt back. He swears you flirt back. Hell, despite the way they mocked how lovesick and besotted he was, even his friends were sure you flirted back because that was the only way to describe your banter. It was flirty and teasing and, on some occasions, mimicked that of an old married couple.

But just when James thinks he is finally getting somewhere with you, you pull a total one-eighty on him and he is left thinking that you are unaware of it all. That maybe—just fucking maybe—you are oblivious to James’ obvious and unsubtle attempts. 

He is also pretty sure you don’t realise that half of your hangouts with the boy were his attempts at asking you on a date. 

And he was losing his goddamn mind. 

It’s almost ironic that all it would take was a potions assignment for things to come together.

“It’s a simple potion, there really shouldn’t be any mistakes or problems,” Slughorn announced as he wandered through the room, his robes swishing behind him with each step. “If you have any problems, just ask but this potion should be easy for your age.”

And the thing was, yeah, it was pretty easy. James looked at the instructions and it was something he could have done with his eyes closed if he really wanted to. 

But Remus wasn’t in class today, instead deciding to take the day off with the full moon having just passed. And your usual partner wasn’t in either. And now you were partners together and you were really pretty and, honestly, James couldn’t be blamed for being a little distracted. 

He also didn’t know that fucking up the potion would turn it into an accidental truth serum. 

In fact, he didn’t even realise until the two of you were too busy laughing at Slughorn demanding the two of you go to the bathrooms to clean up, halfway down the corridor when he turned to look at you and just blurted out the words before he could stop himself.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

You paused, shoes squeaking against the floor as you looked at him with wide eyes. “What did you say?” 

And before he could even try to come up with an excuse, he was talking again. “I said you’re pretty. Because you are. I always think you’re pretty but you’re prettier when you laugh.”

You blinked. “You really think that?”

“Of course I do,” James retorted, almost snorting a little at the incredulous tone of your voice. “I think you’re one of the most gorgeous girls in this world. It’s why I flirt with you, like, every day.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Oh.”

“I’ve been in love with you since the day we met,” James continued because he couldn’t really bring himself to stop. “And I really want to kiss you all the time. I just don’t know if you like me back or not.”

“I do,” you blurted out, but there was a smile on your face—even if it was a little shy. “I do like you back. And I want to kiss you too.” 

“Sweet,” James grinned and then, because he was a man of action and promises, he closed the distance between the two of you. 

His warm palms cupped your cheek, his body pressed against every inch of your own before he kissed you. It was dizzying and slightly surreal. It made your head spin when his tongue swiped over your lips before exploring your mouth. It made your knees buckle when a low groan sounded from the back of his throat.

But it was everything the two of you wanted and more. 

And yeah, maybe James Potter was going to lose his mind if this was how good it felt to kiss you.

.

[maximumkillshot]

Home

Warnings: There are a lot with this one and it hits close to home. Mentions of S/A. The R word is used, sobbing, anxiety and mental episode. mentions of self harm, mentions victim blaming and slut shaming. MDNI. There is fluff spattered around.

Pairing: BangChanxReader

Characters: Bang Chan, Reader, mention of the person who S/A, people Slut Shaming and Victim Blaming. 

A/N:  Okay so this one is heavy. The things you are about to read have happened to me. I had a mental episode a while back. I wrote most of this during said episode. This is what I think Chan would do for his S/O if they went through and go through what I did. This blog has always been a safe space. I use my fictions to entertain as well as a platform to have safe conversations. If you need me as always I will hang around after drop.

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“YN?” Your husband called out to you. You couldn't hear him from the pressure of today. It created a seething pool of frustration and anger as you kneeled at the foot of the bed, wanting to pray, but now that you think about it the pain of being on the floor was a sweet torture in and of itself. 

Usually, anger like this wouldn't be a problem for you. You would go down to the basement and punch granite with your poorly taped hands, yes you were only a kid then, not knowing how else to get the anger out only stopping when you'd hear a crunch. Yes, that was the start of negative coping mechanisms, and yes you are trying to either bury that anger or let it consume you fast before Chris gets home. He's dealt with enough, we don't need to add on to it.  

Now you're no longer a child… as a matter of fact, you are now an adult, an adult with a hairpin trigger vaguely yet expertly disguised as comedic sarcasm. Depression that you don't remember not having… maybe when you were 8? You weren't sure. Not to mention a cast made of a myriad of physical and mental health issues…. Disabilities… and the cast of characters just keep growing! You have the medicine and the “coping techniques”, they called it, for success! Even those fail. 

Trying to talk it out just made you more angry, the injustice looking more and more ludicrous by the second. Okay, let's try breathing. Yeah no. That didn't work either, it just gave your brain more oxygen, so your brain went from quantum computer speed to Sonic the fucking Hedgehog. Oh… ok oh oh! Let's try soundboarding. You know, talk to people, not yourself. That ended in yet another game of useless catch phrases like “calm down” and “you shouldn't be thinking of that.” 

TELL ME SOMETHING I DON'T FUCKING KNOW THANK YOU! Oh, and I almost forgot the “Your method of thought isn't changing because you don't want to change '' DO YOU THINK I AM POKED ALL DAY AND SAY TO MYSELF…

‘OH I WANT TO FEEL MORE LIKE SHIT… I KNOW LET ME RUN MY FACE INTO A BRICK WALL OF ANXIETY REPEATEDLY UNTIL I CAN'T CONTROL MYSELF ANYMORE.’

You reverted to hurting the people around you due to your anger and frustration, plus you darkened the mood, you've always been a multitasker. My friends were right. I'm depressing, I was only kept around because of my ex. That was before they kicked me out… because they didn't want to believe he assaulted me. You go back to that night often… 

“I didn’t want to do that, I felt icky” You told him after he came back from cleaning himself up in the bathroom, while you were left to clean the traces of himself from your own mouth. No aftercare, no thought about you. The ghost of a boy who used you, who was an on and off friend of almost 10 years…

“I know.” he answered with no emotion.

“Then… why?” You asked, your head cocked to the side.

“Because I really wanted it.” He puts his hand on your shoulder, “But I’m sorry you feel that way. Shit now I feel bad.”

Then it switched to those friends, on another night… “ I just don’t buy it. That DID NOT HAPPEN, I know him better than you.”

“I mean you did it anyway so you must’ve wanted it.”

You tried to explain that you were assaulted, it’s called coercive consent and it’s the most common form of assault. You were raped. You didn’t want to do it and he knew that but you wanted to make him happy. You tried to explain, to educate. They weren’t having it.This conversation at times whirls in your head. Making you itch to pull a trigger, do something to make the torture stop.

“You always overreact and you’re so annoying why don’t you just go the fuck away!”

“You’re so depressing just fucking go away! We only tolerated you because you are his girlfriend, just go the fuck away!” The intent in her voice. The reality. You trusted her most out of the entire group. She helped you emotionally… Now shaming you, blaming you.

Her boyfriend rendered you speachless when you called it what it was, it was rape via coercive consent:

“Oh I get the kind of person you are, you’re the type of person who gets felt up in the middle of the night by their significant other because they’re trying to get laid and you call it rape.”

You know the right method to take now, right… Yeah you do.

Isolate… process… torture yourself…cry… alone. Contain the monster, so it doesn't hurt anyone else… You're just a monster parading as a human. Don't forget it. This happens when you forget Y/N… stop being reckless. Always so fucking reckless… 

You started clenching your hands one over the other, wanting to rake the top of your hands until they bled, trying to ground yourself. Until subconsciously, you did. You rocked as you did it, trying to soothe yourself.

Sometimes you swear people don't see you drowning right in front of their fucking eyes. You know how to swim, you know how to get out, to scream, punch, fight. You want to swim, you really do. But you can only do so much in a rip current. The lifeguard sees you. But instead of helping they yell “PADDLE! JUST PADDLE YOU'LL BE FINE!” It's a different level of patronization. It just makes you want to let the tides swallow you. Because why fight when the waters are so warm?

“Y/N?!” Chris yelled as he saw your bag tossed haphazardly on the couch, never where you put it. He stopped and listened carefully. He thought back to the last text you sent him. “Shit hit the fan at work …I don't want to feel right now. I'll see you at home.” 

That middle sentence made his heart stop. He knows you… something was up. He tried texting you back, sending words of encouragement, calling, and leaving cute messages when you didn't pick up, and nothing was heard from you. As soon as he could get away from schedules he did. When he looked at the clock you had sent that message three hours beforehand, he never raced home faster. 

He knows what your mind does to you. He sees the battles every day. When he’d compliment you and you would look down, not shy, but contradictory. When he’d pick you up you would freeze and he’d remind you that you aren’t too heavy, that he loves you in every single way that you think is impossible to love you. He’d always encourage you to wear what you want, do what you want. He would caress every single curve, never being able to keep his hands off of you. Whispering into your ear in public as he tilts your head up gently after asking for permission. He’d kiss you so delicately in front of a sea of people. On the red carpet, on stage, it didn’t matter. You were and are his person, and he loved showing you off. He couldn’t win the war in your mind for you, but he damn sure would fight those battles with you.

He would fight away those negative thoughts, he’d wrap his arms around you and sing to you to will those images, the anxiety and fear away. Until those thoughts were rendered useless. He’d wrestle with them for control, as soon as he won your mind back he gave it to you. He reminded you that you are here with him for a reason. He adores you, and nothing would change that. 

It was something he promised you when he saw you breakdown while doing your medicines. You told him that you were ashamed of it all. All the illnesses, that you weren’t perfect and that you’d understand if he didn’t want you. He looked at you and helped with your medicines, learned about each of them, and their dosages. He was so gentle, smiling at you, wiping your tears. He looked at all the medicines and said, anything that keeps you alive is nothing to be ashamed of. You aren’t something to be ashamed of. He knows that sometimes you can’t hear him until he’s right in your ear. Now looked like that case.

You couldn't hear him calling out to you, your mind too loud, too vicious, bloodthirsty. When pain and self-deprecation are your main moods, all others seem like an abnormal concept. Something that is stolen, was it even real in the first place? You know one thing that was real… Chris. You hated being this… the medications, the constant fires in your mind, the barrage of hate aimed at yourself, of unbridled strength turned inward to rip yourself apart for no reason other than things piling up. He didn't deserve that. He deserves peace, the best… just like what he demands of himself, perfection. 

You got through the gauntlet at your job. People undermining your authority, people on a power trip of their own. Sending others to try to intimidate, embarrass you into submission… as if you weren't a bloodthirsty wolf that could snap any second, biting their heads clean off. “An Alpha through and through,” that's what Chris would say, “Even Alphas have to bite their tongue, Love.” 

That made you cry more because at this point you don't even know if your tongue is still existent, or if you swallowed the damn thing after you bit it off. Or worse… you still have it… but you lost your voice. You know that can't be it, we're too fucking stubborn for that.

But the hits didn't stop coming, traffic happened, then going to the doctor who said that the physical therapy you needed would eat into your personal time, your time to write, to cook for Channie and the boys, to spend time with Channie and the boys.. then you forgot the doctors note so you had to walk back in for it. Then you had to go home while you tried to talk about everything… and well now here we are. 

Even now you try to problem solve, try to nitpick at yourself, the person he loves so much. You collapsed more on the floor of your shared bedroom, cross-legged thinking of the ocean, the violent, dangerous, tumultuous ocean… something simultaneously so beautiful and scary. You want to say you are like an ocean, but you don't see beauty in yourself, only a beast. That's all we'll ever be.

Chris freezes in the hallway hearing a sob break loose from you. He hadn't heard a sob like that before, it chilled his core. How does he approach this? He sees the doctor's note thrown next to your purse… He was happy you were approved for physical therapy, you really were in a lot of pain daily from the muscle and tendon weakness, but he looked at the times…

He looked to the hallway, “Oh…Baby Girl.” He had one piece of the puzzle. He knew you loved to cook for him and the boys but this schedule meant you couldn't do that for the foreseeable future. You enjoyed seeing the boys eating, and staying fueled, knowing without that they'd opt for less healthy options. Then he saw the paper right under it. A typed log… a leger of interactions throughout your day… “No…” 

Right there, in black and white, was what you went through today, everything down to the sarcastic smirk your coworker had as you were barraged with pressure to break the rules… and you didn't break. He never would've expected you to. You are the strongest person he knows. Even under these conditions, Chris himself would break. In front of fifty plus people being berated, pushed to do something you knew you couldn’t do. 

Right at the end of it was a line, written in plain ink by hand. “Vacation not given as described by supervisor. No week off.” With tear stains smudging the ink. 

Chris started walking down the hall to the shared bedroom. As he walked closer he heard you mumbling as you sobbed. Things like “stop crying” and “it's nothing.” But one made him freeze right before he opened the door, “Chris is going to worry. You already take too much from him, get it together so he won't worry. It’ll hurt him. Stop hurting the people you love. You’re a monster.”

That made his eyes sting, you were worried about him above all else. He slowly opened the door and you couldn't find it in you to look up. You knew who it was. The aura you know and love, like salve on the holes you ripped into yourself. The small steps were only weighed down by his sneakers as he slowly spoke. 

“Hey…Baby Girl?” The tone was even more soothing. We don't deserve that. “Can you look at me please?” You just shook your head. Too embarrassed at the shambling mess you are. The real you that you hide. 

Before you knew it you saw two big hands undoing the laces on his sneakers, shortly after he toed them off. Slowly he sat in front of you groaning “Oooooookay criss-cross applesauce it is…” making you smirk as you wiped your nose with the inside of the collar of your shirt. Finally, as he settled he said “aaaaaughh” with a big puff of air… 

You just tucked your head into your chest as you hid as much as you could. He waited for a few minutes, until he said, “We can address what happened in a few minutes. But you need to know. You don't take from me.” 

Your tears kept falling as you listened, his tone calming the raging currents in your mind.

He looked at the engagement and wedding band on your left hand. He watched the tears fall, he saw the holes in you. He wanted to lunge at you, take that emotional knife away from you, smother you in affection. Hold you, his heart burned for it. Needle and thread ready to patch you up. To heal you.

 He spoke softly, “You are my everything, Y/N. You aren't a burden, a disappointment, you aren't a chore, the only thing you took from me was my heart, but you had that before I even heard your voice. The second I saw you… I gave it to you. I don't want it back either.” 

You hiccuped breaths as you listened. He scooted a little closer and he put his hands out, palm up into your vision… asking for your hands. That was when you realized you were scratching at them again. 

You unfurled them from one another, hissing where one nail was slightly deeper, the tiny droplet of blood following soon after.

He looked at your hands, humming in the back of his throat, “One second.” He didn’t want to show it, but he was worried. You feel so much and he just wants to be there to hold you, to love you. 

Then popped up and left. He came back with a first aid kit, “Oooooookay heeaarr we goar again... criss-cross.” That made you giggle the tiniest bit. Chris always loved to hear your laugh. Your laugh is infectious and it always never fails to brighten his day. He knew he was making progress.

You couldn't see it but Chris was smirking at your tiny cute form. And hearing that little giggle made him want to channel Changbin and squeal at the cuteness overload. 

“Okay my Koala Bear… hands.” When you both had started dating, he noticed you always hung on to him. You explained that he was warm and you were always frozen, especially in the colder months. You asked if it was okay for you to hold on to him like that. Internally he was trying his best not to giggle like a school boy at the prospect of you holding on to him like this naturally. He looked at you and said, “It’s no problem, you just remind me of a Koala Bear, so cute and tiny. Can I call you that? My Koala Bear?” And you nodded blushing. Since then, you’ve been his Koala Bear. 

You presented your hands to him wincing at the stretch of the new scratches and he said “So tiny… so cute. Okay tiny sting” he cleaned the bigger scratch and put a bandage on it, and checked the rest. Once he deemed it all good to have your hands back. He kissed them then returned them to your lap. “Thank you for letting me clean them.” 

You nodded and hummed. The voices slowed down. They always slowed down around him. He always was your safe place. Like home base in a baseball game. If you made it there, you’re safe. You’re home. That thought made you sad, surprisingly. How are you safe with only one person? You should have security in yourself not in someone else. Your brain was waiting to start assaulting you again. 

“Is it loud in there?” Chris asked. You've told him about all of this before, this is the first time he's seen it this bad though. The voices, memories attack you. You explained to him that sometimes your brain will do this, you try to hold it back but sometimes it just can’t be helped.

“Mhmm”

“People don't help… right?”

“mhmm”

“Can you tell me what's going on in there?”

You told him. Some.. not all. You also told him about that pesky intrusive thought about your ex and your friends. 

His body went rigid as he said, “No… they're the ones that are wrong, not you. Your ex…” He wanted to choose his words carefully. He knew that you blame yourself at times. The memory of you explaining why you were hesitant to go further when you were dating. He assured you there was no pressure. That he loved you for you, the rage boiled in him and it still does because you were never at fault for this. Especially when you trusted that asshole enough to experiment with him. He was going to be your first for everything but after what he did. The trust was gone, rightfully so.

Chris continued, “He took advantage of you, and coerced you into consent, that is not love. That is not okay? That is sexual assault. The way that your friends acted was disgusting, the way he acted was sub-human… You are not depressing, you are one of the most beautiful, talented, funny, caring, loving people I have…” his voice gave out and he cleared his throat, “You are one of the most amazing people I've ever met in my life. I love you so much and I know you feel like you're a burden on me but being with you has been the most amazing thing I've ever experienced.”

He tilted your head up and you let him, he had tears in his eyes as he said, “You have never been nor will you ever be a monster.” Your tears picked up as you looked into his eyes. You could tell, Chris doesn’t lie. He’ll tell you the truth. His tears started falling as you leaned forward, reaching for him, needing contact. When you saw him you needed his warmth, you need him to heal you. You were losing hope, faith, everything as you watched the holes in you. Seeing him holding the needle and thread. By holding you, being with you, just being himself, it heals you. You whimpered, “Need you…” As your tears switched from self-hate to desperation… you needed him and he could tell. 

He untangled his legs and scooped you up, cradling you in his arms as he rocked you petting your hair back, “You are my inspiration, my eternal love, you are the best part of my past, my present, and my future. You are the future mother to my children, the woman I'm going to grow old with, my forever and always. You are my Y/N, and I am never going to let you forget who you are and why I love you, okay?” He started crying, shielding you in his chest, protecting you. Stitching you together as you heard his heartbeat. You cried on him, relieved that you were with him.

You pulled back from him nodding. He tried to kiss your lips but you said “I'm all snotty” and he giggled. Leave it to you to be worried about snotty kisses. You looked so adorable, cheeks and nose red, nose running, tears stopping, the twinkle coming back into your eyes as he looked at you. 

“Are you denying me my snotty kisses?” He giggled as he said “Okay fine. There's no snot on your forehead” he pecked your forehead, “none on your cheeks”, and laid another peck, this pattern continued for any expanse of skin he could get his lips on as you giggled at him and his barrage of affection. When he stopped he wiped your nose with his sleeve and he kissed you gently on the lips. He savored moments like this, being able to heal you, to pick you up. He looked into your eyes as he said, “now I am thinking I’ll draw up a bath for us and I’ll give you a nice massage. After that we order take away, from your favorite place, then we watch something, Hm?” He looked at you for an answer as he kept wiping tears.

You nodded and gently, he placed you back where you were and went to get the bath ready. You'll always have hard days, but those days turn into amazing nights with Chris. Your home.

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[jksprincess10]

Big man, little dignity

Summary: Joel saves your hopeless ass and he gets stuck with you for a while, but it doesn't seem to bother him.

TW: attempted rape, violence, age gap (yn is legal)

Tags: y/n is hella dumb, one bed trope, daddy kink, smut with plot, some fluff and petnames 

It was dark and you were dumb enough to go outside because you couldn’t sleep. You thought this city was safe enough. A community of squatters that got together after The Day. So you left your decrepit apartment where you lived alone and you walked under the stars, knife on hand just in case. You were still mindful of the fact that you were a woman, and the new world liked to remind you even more.

The area was cleared out of clickers and runners regularly by volunteers. You were useless in fights, but you were grateful of all the people who wanted to protect each other. You preferred staying behind and taking care of the gardens.

You wandered in the community gardens, passing a dark alleyway, when suddenly, you heard a noise. Like someone approaching slowly, mindfully but somehow still fucking up. You turned around, but it was hard to see anything in the darkness of the night. Soon enough, you felt strong arms grabbing you and pulling you in the closest alleyway. You dropped your knife on the way.

 “Get the fuck away from me.” You tried to sound menacing, but your voice was so low and so, so useless.

 He pushed you against the brick wall, facing away so you didn’t see who were attacking you. He was trying to take off your clothes. You cried silently, awaiting the moment where you were once again violated just for existing in a girl’s body.

 Without warning, the sound of a gun tore up the night sky. Then, a loud thump. Then, no more pressure on your hands. You were free and there was blood everywhere. You turned around and you were faced with another man. You felt the urge to run away, but he dropped his gun and put his hands up in the air.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” And you wanted badly to believe him.

He had a raspy voice and a thick American accent. You wiped your tears away, eyes still red and hands shaking. You slowly went towards him to see if you knew you savior. You didn’t.

He was almost 6 foot tall, in his late forties. Salt and pepper hair, patchy beard and a mustache that belonged in the 80s, tired but soft eyes.

“T-Thank you…” You finally managed to articulate.

He just nodded, then said. “You should sleep somewhere else tonight. I think they followed you.” But you had nowhere else to be, no one to go home to.

You had been so fucking reckless. So fucking stupid. And the time you get caught finally arrived.

You weren’t moving, except your shaky legs and hands.

“Here, come with me.”

He seemed especially awkward about it, like he hasn’t been much in contact with humans he didn’t kill. You nodded, then followed him. The road to the building he wanted to take you to wasn’t usually that long, but he did a few detours to outwit the people that wanted you dead or worse, enslaved.

Under his boots, the stairs creaked. The building was mostly abandoned, and he brought you to a door, which he locked behind him. He lit a few candles that made his tan skin look even tanner. He probably was outside a lot. You looked around to see a place that was as “charming” as where you lived.

Awkwardly, he gestured to the destroyed couch, where you sat, while he stayed up in the corner, analyzing your trembling movements.

“I can boil some water, do you want some tea or anything ?”

You nodded and he disappeared in the kitchen, coming back with only one fuming cup. Even a warm drink in this time was a luxury, so you were thankful.

 You looked like a scared little girl, hands gripping the cup like you were gripping on life.

 “What’s your name?”

 You told him. You had no reason to lie to him. He saved your ass back there.

“I’m Joel, nice to meet you. How old are you ? Young girls like you shouldn’t be outside at that time… it’s dangerous. Bunch of creeps.”

Well that felt… patronizing. He was probably a dad before all of this, so you couldn’t blame him. He looked like a dad. But you knew your short hair, big doe eyes and round face made you look like a teen when you were closer to 30 than 18.

“I’m 26. Not that young and helpless.”

That’s it, you slowly got your personality back. You could’ve sworn you saw a smile tug the corner of his chapped lips.

“So, what the fuck where you doing outside ?”

“Taking a walk. Couldn’t sleep with my dumb anxiety. And you?”

He seemed to understand. You sipped your tea, warm beverage going down your throat and warming up your body.

“Doing a delivery. I got… stuff for that if you need. Contraband. Will make you sleep through the night with no problem.”

A Ziplock bag appeared in his callused hands with a few white pills in it.

“What if you want to drug me?”

Your fear was legitimate.

“I’ll take one before and you’ll see it’s harmless.”

“Deal.”

So, he did, and you waited in silence. You looked at your clothes once you were done dissociating. They were covered in blood and having them still on made you feel dirty.

“I’ve got extra clothes if you need.”

“Do I wanna look like a middle-aged dad? Sure.”

A silent laugh escaped his throat. He got up to get you clean clothes: men’s shirt and loose joggers in which you would probably float. He pointed you to the bathroom, where you silently went. The mirror was half broken, drugs, alcool and various sketchy bottles covered the counter that was falling apart. In what’s left of the mirror, you could see your red eyes and trembling lips. You decided to look away and got changed. The joggers were hanging on by a thread on your boney hips.

“Do you live alone?” You asked as you went back to what was left of a living room.

“Yeah. You’re safe here. And I didn’t die yet, so take a pill and rest.”

He left you the only mattress in the apartment and he slept on his couch. The white pill slowly rocked both of you guys to sleep. It numbed your brain enough so you didn’t have to relive the last hours.

The next days followed almost the same routine. Joel seemed determined to keep you under his wings. You didn’t leave and he didn’t ask you to, even if his back hurt him because of his long nights on the destroyed couch. Soon enough, he brought you on odd jobs with him, but he discovered fast enough that you didn’t know how to shoot a gun to save your life. So, he taught you.

You were in an empty field, not a human or a runner in the horizon. He had put up some kind of homemade targets for you to shoot.

“How did you live for so long if you didn’t know how to fight, lady?”

“I took care of plants and stayed inside. You’re welcome for the food I’m growing, by the way.”

He laughed silently, like he always did. You never heard his actual laugh.

“Let’s get back to teaching you some things, sweetheart.”

It was the first time he gave you a pet name. You tried to ignore the jumping sensation in your heart and your flushed cheeks when he said it. Thankfully, his body was behind yours and he couldn’t see your face.

“Is it okay if I come closer and touch you to help?”

“Y-yeah, go ahead.” You liked that he cared enough to ask.

You felt his torso come closer to your back and his big hands grabbing yours so he could direct the gun correctly. His body was so warm against yours, his hands so rough. You tried to distract your mind with something, anything else.

“So you hold like this, and pull the trigger like this…”

He made you shoot and you jump a little at the loud sound, only getting closer to him.

“…And then here you can reload. Here, try for yourself.” He dropped his arms to his sides.

You did what he told you to do and managed to shoot the target. It wasn’t perfectly in the middle of the red circle, but it was a start.

After training for what seemed like hours, you went to the garden you cultivated to grab some food and put them in your bag, so you didn’t attract any unwanted attention.

“Hm, we should also get you a new mattress.”

“So you’re not going to leave?”

You smirked.

“Not until you tell me to.”

You were bad news. He felt like he was getting attached and losing you would break his heart.

“Tomorrow, we’ll get one.”

But they never did.

On a colder night, his warm body joined yours on the mattress. You felt strong arms pulling you closer against his chest and a breath got caught in your throat.

“Is this okay?” He murmured against your ear, sending shivers down your whole body.

“Y-Yes.” You sounded more breathless than you wanted to.

You turned around so you faced him, body still nestled in his strong arms.

“Look, I don’t want to be creepy or anything… I know I’m much older than you. Say the word and I’ll leave.”

“Joel, stop. You’re not creeping me out. I… like this. ”

His tense shoulders seemed relieved for an instant. Without thinking more about the complicated situation that would await you two broken humans, you pressed your lips against his. First, slowly, almost timidly, before fully tasting him. He had an aftertaste of coffee and whiskey, which you did not mind. You felt his palms cup your cheeks and his weight shift unto yours. You sunk into the mattress under his weight.

“Can we keep going?” He asked as you parted ways, breathless.

“Yes daddy.”

You said it without thinking, but he didn’t seem to mind, the lust in his warm eyes actually showed you how much he liked it. Your cheeks felt like they were on fire, like the fire lit in your lower abdomen.

His lips smashed against yours once more, this time, rougher. His fingers hastily took off most of your clothes except your panties, leaving you vulnerable in the chilly air. You were suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. You had lost so much weight since the apocalypse; you were almost skin and bones. You hated this body that was given to you. It wasn’t healthy. Your boobs were always small, and you hated wearing bras, so they kind of had a mind of their own.

“So pretty, my sweet girl.”

He managed to reassure you a little bit.

“Take off your damn clothes.” You responded.

Your delicate fingers undid his green shirt, revealing soft trails of black hair leading to the mystery that was hidden under his pants.

“Sorry, I’m old and probably not as fit as –”

You cut him off with a kiss. “Stop, you’re so hot, my daddy.” You whispered against his lips.

He groaned and undid hastily his belt and soon, he was free of any fabric. He held his erection in his hand and gave it a few pumps.

“Please, let me…”

You shifted your weight on him, pinning him on the mattress. Your soft lips grazed his chest, following every scar and every crease. Finally, you put your prey against your lips, before taking him in. He groaned instantly.

“My sweet, sweet girl…”

You bobbed your head slowly, sucking in your cheeks so he could feel every surface of your wet mouth. His hand reached your neck and pressed, making you see stars. You sunk your lips deeper on his cock, almost choking on his length.

“Take your time, baby girl.”

And you did for a few seconds, before he pulled you away. You almost protested, but he grabbed your ass and pulled you on his face. He pressed you hard against his lips and his hands on your hips prevented you from moving away.

“W-Wait…”

Your cunt sat on his nose for a few seconds and the sensation of it already made you moan loudly. He licked up a stripe and teased your clit with his tongue. His beard felt rough on your thighs and would probably leave burn marks there. It seemed like he had done this so many times and it left you whimpering and helpless on top of him. Your hands pressed against the tapestry.

“F-Fuck, Joel…”

He sucked on your clit, harder, until you cried his name before your release. You came, hard. You moved away from his face, legs shaking, and saw his lips glistening with your juices.

“Will you let me fuck you now, sweet girl?”

His lips pressed against your chin, before touching yours. You nodded enthusiastically.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, yes please.”

His hands took their reserved place on your hips, guiding you over his erected length. He guided you as you slowly went down on him, slowly stretching your hole to fit him. Then, you didn’t have to do any more work. He pressed your body against hist chest and started thrusting your hips against yours. It was messy, dirty, even, but it was the first time you felt safe with a man in the same bed.

“Y-You’re so tight for me, sweet girl.”

His warm lips traced an invisible path on your neck as you moaned softly in his ears. His thrusts got rougher, and rougher, until you felt his release. His warm liquid filled your insides.

Your body dropped beside his, limbs weak.

“Fuck the new mattress.”

“Fuck the new mattress.” You agreed.

[siren-sashimi]

Dating the Uchiha boys - the down sides Headcanon list [Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Obito, Uchiha Shisui x gn! reader]

Contents and warnings: quarrels in a relationship, egotistical behavior, toxic masculinity, emotional repression, arguments

Sasuke Uchiha Oh boy, where do I even begin?

A lot of his issues - most of them begin with him having a little brother inferiority complex.

He is a master through effort. While Sasuke can be and is rightfully proud if his achievements, his pride can easily fall apart when he doesn't receive recognition from his family.

Since he's so fixated on his family's approval, he tends to blend out any other significant relationship while working towards his goal.

In short: Proud but fragile ego. 

While he would never hurt you physically or aiming at hurt you emotionally or psychologically, when Sasuke is in a reckless mood or angry he lash out such harsh feelings on you by being abrasive, grumpy, or saying that your help is useless.

Sasuke has a hard time processing feelings, mostly he processes them via anger.

Sometimes looks for fights/arguments when he's in a foul mood. Another person making a joke on Sasuke's expenses. Expect that you need to drag Sasuke out of the room before things go out of hand.

Positive note: He is capable of arguing with you. Or let's say: Your argument can end in aggressive shouting matches where he can be an insensitive ass. Afterwards he will stew in his anger and a bit of selfrighteousness before he slowly considers that there might be truth to what you said...

Here's the issue: Sasuke does deeply care for you. He doesn't actually date you as much as he fell in love with you and got over himself to ask you to stay by his side. His kind of love is quiet, more expressed in action, due to the fact that he isn't good at expressing himself with words. So he does seem withdrawn, or it doesn't seem comprehensible why he keeps you around four outsiders. (Even for you by times.)

Homeboy can change and get better but the process demands time, clear boundaries, and patience...

Once figured out that he's really good at sex and for a while tries to use to distract you from arguments.

You have to be the mature one in this relationship.

Generally, it would be better if you had an established friendship where most qualms between the two of you are settled before you feel ready to take on all the complication with romantic problems...

Itachi Uchiha

Constantly under pressure from family as oldest son. By times the family and social expectations will interfere with your private life planning.

Itachi has a hard time fighting back, by times he doesn't even know that he should. Sometimes all the demands loaded on him take up too much of his energy and health to have the energy to fight back. Other times some things are too ingrained in him by his upbringing too properly reflect on how adequate they actually are...

When you try to explain to him that he should not take up everything or say no, he needs a long time realizing that this isn't a(nother) request for your happiness but that you see unhealthy patterns, dynamics, and demands put on him. He's barely used to people being concerned for him for his own sake.

Is unconscious of him guarding himself from his lover. He will act as everything was fine without opening up about things that worry him. It takes a long time to slowly remove the bricks from his walls.

Another family issue is his relationship with his younger brother: Sasuke is one of Itachi's top priorities, even when Sasuke messes up. Their dynamic is not always harmonic either because Sasuke feels so often inadequate, if not jealous when compared to his brother.

It's quiet asymetrical how much work you've to put into Itachi standing up for himself (and your relationship) against his family but he will immediately do a 180 flip for his little brother, no questions asked.

Can't take breaks. Tries not to let his composed façade crack, so even if he knows if he's overworked, struggles with health, he's too stressed out by all the things he wants to get done to stop for his own sake.

At risk to implode from external pressure. 

What the two of you need is private space where time belongs to you and into which his family can't just barge in as they please. 

It's disheartening how little he would actually open up to you, be vulnerable. It's about him feeling safe around you to be himself. Give him time don't push him but set boundaries how much you can bear to see him struggling with the weight on his shoulder.

Obito Uchiha

a lot of problems begin and end with Obito's deeply seated insecurity. Things like his work or making his idealized visions give a strong sense of control and mastering the situation so they became his compensatory tactics. Not that he can't learn and rethink small things but he can be so stubborn, some criticism may reach far deeper into is self-confidence than you or even he actually expected.

Since his childhood he spend so much time in isolation, he can also be emotionally immature and trying to fill the void from all the things he has been deprived of.

Emotionally immature when it comes to romance. In the beginning of your relationship his state of mind is basically the one of a hormonal teenager.

Being with someone in a romantic way fulfils multiple needs for Obito: Being finally shown affection he's so starved for, well um... "physical yearning", finally a stable constant in his life.

May not seem like it but only functions at work because there hardships of life can be solved with a clear goal. Tendencies to be a workaholic to bury emotions he doesn't know how to handle.

In the beginning you're basically an idol  for his emotional salvation. You having diverging expectations, or don't need or want all cliché romantic gestures but Obito being himself is something he needs to learn.

Needs basic sex ed. He knows a lot from having read Icha Icha during down time but oh boy. Some moments when you first had sex were baffling if not hilarious with some ideas Obito had.

So headstrong. When he's convinced of what he does is correct counterarguments are either ignored or escalate into heated fights. Takes counterarguments 

But also actually very insecure. Obito is so insecure about conflict, too self conscious of his looks, of past mistake that he tries to overcompensate with any other quality, only to then implode that he's not enough in any way.

Obito needs to learn that differing opinions don't mean immediate break up or the end of the world. You'll love him through the thick and the thin. 

He will need to learn that pushing you away because of self loathing is what causes the rift, not what he hates himself about him.

Shisui Uchiha Most stable of all of them.

but like all of them his family, more accurately their expectations for other family members, are a source of omnipresent pressure.

Since he's not part of the main family expectations are not as high but he too has to act the proper part.

Tries to keep you away from family affairs to the extent of him wanting to do with them as little as possible. 

Itachi's fine, Sasuke's around too but these two are the exception. Even they won't talk about family matters though.

So there's always a part of his life you feel excluded from, the part Shisui only shares with Itachi.

Easy going in relationships but kinda tends to overlook underlying problems. To Shisui being with you is a refuge from family drama where he's the happiest, and well... compared to what the Uchihas can be up to any problem can be minor.

But Shisui is understanding though. If you clearly speak your mind how you're unhappy with the way certain things are, he might be able to get around to better things.

But you also need to be an active part in your time together. Whereas Shisui's cousins have very personal flaws, Shisui himself is a very reasonable person. You can grow together.

A bit secretive. Nothing major that would burden your relationship still you wish he'd be able to talk about uncomfortable things a bit more...

Don't swallow up frustration but look out for the right time to confront Shisui with things that bother you. If he feels stressed with work and family matters he can get quiet aggressive in tone.

[korebringerofded]

Storms and Coffee, Choso Kama X Reader

Description- Imagine being his reason for smiling, being the one to bring him comfort, touching him like no one had touched him before. Imagine being the only one who can clear his cloudy mind with your sunshine smile. Words- 2k Warnings- Unedited as fuck yall, I hate my writing so much rn, breaks suck, smut at the end, self indulgent angst, sad Choso is sad, praise kink, unprotected sex, pining, choso being adorably in love with you, oral (F! receiving)

A/N-I ask that you read my rules before going any further on my page. Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated and keep me going All requests are open and you can find my entire masterlist here.

The first time that the half-curse, Choso Kama laid his eyes on you he was sure that his heart was going to stop. At the time, he had very little care for anything beyond his mission with Geto. His two younger brothers were dead and he was honestly just tired, the most tired he had ever been.

Choso had no idea where he was or how he ended up at this place. He had just been wandering the streets for a few hours and was currently taking shelter from the pouring rain. When he looked up into the dark storming sky and he saw the building was an apartment complex with a flickering sign. 

Useless, useless, useless. He thought to himself, his eyes slipping shut as he let out an audible groan. 

Choso just felt so lost. His vision was blurred from the rain that fell around him, it soaked his robe and his messy black hair but he didn’t really mind any of that.

It was only when a soft and shy voice broke through the thundering storm, both in the gray clouds, and in Choso’s mind that he looked up to see…you. 

He had never seen someone…as beautiful as you before. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, head tilted to the side. 

His sharp and serious purple eyes met with your big and glossy ones. You had a raincoat on and a pink umbrella in your hand. You searched the tall strangers' faces with a look of concern.

Choso was a tall and rather intimidating man, even as he leaned against the brick wall of the building. He had a sharp look in his dark purple eyes that started to fade as he looked over your features. He seemed almost impressed that you were talking to him at all.

So small…so cute. He thought to himself.

Most people would be terrified of such a man, but you seemed rather unphased by his towering size and intimidating appearance, so you leaned forward to hold your umbrella over both Choso and yourself. 

“I…” Choso started, realizing she was waiting on him to answer. His eyes wide as he looked down at the small human before him and he was rather caught off guard by her. 

Because why would someone like you even talk to a disgraceful half-cure like him.

“You must be freezing, would you like to come in for some coffee?” You asked, all the while you held your umbrella over Choso and yourself to try and protect you both from the rain. 

Choso stared down at her, he must have looked like a huge mess, his eyeshadow was rubbed across his cheek and his two buns were soaked and dripping down his face. After a moment, he nodded sheepishly.

“Yes…thank you.” 

That one interaction was enough, enough for you to steal Choso’s entire half-cursed heart. Your sweetness and your warmth were intoxicating to him and he found himself returning to your apartment day after day, week after week.

Eventually, Choso was a part of your everyday life, he knocked on your door every morning with a blank expression and an absolutely love-sick heart. You wouldn’t have known he felt anything for you at all if not for the way he kept coming back. It was actually adorable, the way he would shyly rub the back of his neck as he stood in your doorway. 

You ask him to go to the store with you? He immediately nods and carries the bags for you without a complaint. Want to spend the day baking? He is the perfect taste tester and would help you wash every dish afterwards. Wanna watch a bad movie? He will watch it all without a single complaint. (He is just looking at you the entire time)

The first time Choso knew he would be in trouble was the first time you touched him, the way your soft hands brushed against his arm. It made every single hair on the back of his neck stand on edge and his cheeks turn a soft pink. He found so much comfort in your touch, it was like a warm summer day he could just bask in forever. 

When you walked together, he would stare at your small fingers intertwined with his because if he looked at your face he was sure that his heart would just explode. It all just made him fall that much harder for you. 

He would wait an excruciatingly long time before he made a move or admitted his feelings for you but…he was head over heels for you from that very first day, your kindness and the softness of your hand when he held it, he honestly didn’t believe he deserved it. All Choso wanted was to keep you just how you were, perfect and innocent. He wouldn’t ever forgive himself for making you upset or uncomfortable. 

He wanted to tell you so badly, how you were on his mind every moment of every day, how your sweet scent was intoxicating, how he wanted to hear you scream his name but…he didn’t want to be like that. You deserved respect and he was trying damn hard to give it to you but each day was more and more of a challenge for him to control himself. It was easy before, before, he saw you as adorable and sweet, his little angel. But now…

He couldn’t stop staring at your thighs and ass, every time you turned away from him it was like his eyes were magnets and your ass and thighs were the north pole(idk guys) Choso was almost slack-jawed every time he saw you, his head tilted to the side as he looked at you with a soft blush spreading over his face…he wanted to kiss every inch of your skin. 

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. 

When he would finally get up the courage to tell you how he feels (after lots of hyping up from his newly discovered brother Yujii) he would become obsessed with making it all absolutely perfect. He wore a black t-shirt and some jeans, he also wore his hair down. He was pacing outside of your apartment door, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“This is so stupid…this is a terrible idea” Choso thought to himself, running a hand through his long black hair as he debated leaving before he truly embarrassed himself.

Before he got the chance, the door opened and it was as if all of his worries just disappeared when he saw your beautiful face.

Choso took a step forward with a furious blush on his face and his hand was trembling just a little. He was noticeably nervous.This was your first time seeing him look so…casual, with his hair down and it made your heart echo like a drum, you knew he was handsome before but….damn.

You didn’t get a chance to react or say anything when Choso walked in, closing the door behind him as he backed you up against the wall, his huge arms pinning you as he leaned down to press his face into the crook of your neck.

“Don’t…say anything. I need to do something.” His voice sounded soft and trembling, his face was hot and his breath ran down the side of your neck. 

You simply nodded, your face heating up as your heart echoed rapidly in your chest.

Choso was not particularly good with words, he fumbled and blushed and got so nervous he would completely freeze up but…he was definitely a man of action. 

He pulled his face up from your neck and his hands moved from the wall behind you to cupping your precious face like you were his greatest treasure. His touch was gentle and soothing, you couldn’t help but lean into it. Choso would brush his thumb along your soft cheeks with a soft chuckle. 

“You…are all that I think about.” He mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he went back to caressing your face. “Can I kiss you? Please?” He asked, sounding significantly more desperate than he meant to before he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. 

His gentleness and sweetness were making you lightheaded. You were too breathless to speak, your chest was rising and falling rapidly and you slowly nodded, your face hot to the touch from how flustered you were. 

“Yes..kiss me.”

His lips collided with yours before the words properly left your mouth, he was desperate and sweet, his mouth molding to yours as you melted into each other’s arms. His lips were soft and sweet, smooth against your own as his tongue gently nudged against your lip until he was exploring your entire mouth, his hands moving from your face to your hips as he pressed you further against the wall. You let out a soft moan as you kissed, all of your senses on fire as Choso’s hands ran up and down your hips like he was memorizing your shape, your softness. 

After a moment, Choso pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours and he had a bright blush spread over his pale face. You were both panting, a string saliva between your lips as Choso held you against the wall with a sheepish grin on his face. His purple eyes scanned over you with a softness you had never seen before.

“You are in such trouble now…” He said lovingly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear with a grin.

“Why is that?” You asked with a soft giggle, but you had a feeling you already knew. 

‘Because now you’re mine.” He mumbled, moving to press soft and delicate kisses down your neck. “And I need you.” He said with a shaky sigh as he pulled his dark eyes to meet with yours. 

“Cho-.” You started to say, your voice trembling but he cut you off with his finger pressed to your lips.

“Do I need to beg?” He whispered, his eyes big and filled with desperation. “Because I will, I will beg for you.” 

After that, Choso made it his mission to fuck you each and every chance he got and in everyway he could. He just wanted to please you so badly it almost hurt.

“F-fuck, Choso…d-don’t stop. S’good.” You slurred, a soft pant leaving your lips as Choso’s adjusts his grip on your hips so he can go back to fucking into your soaked pussy from behind, his eyes locked on the jiggle of your ass and it made his mouth water with want and desire. 

“You look so good on my cock, princess, fuck, you squeeze me so good.” Choso moaned, his face hot as his fingers dug into your hips and he continued to thrust deep in you, the fat tip of his dick hitting against your gummy walls that sucked around him desperately. 

“Please…yes…yes, right there.” You whimpered, your back arching as Choso fucked you into the freshly made bed, his head falling back as you tightened around him, he knew you were getting close and he wasn’t sure how much longer he would last either. 

Your moans and desperate cries only pushed him further along, his hands twitching around your hips before he pulled out which made your hot dripping pussy clench and throb with want. 

Before you could complain, your boyfriend had you pinned down on your back, your knees spread so he could run his lips down your knee and across your ankle before he started to kiss back up your leg, his large hands wrapped around your thighs as he pressed soft and wet kisses to your plush thighs. 

“Mmm…you look so pretty like this..my pretty little princess.” Choso cooed, nuzzling his face into your thigh before he poked his tongue out of his glossy lips and looked up at you with half-lidded and dark eyes

Choso just loved how you tasted, he probably enjoyed it about as much as you did, he savored the taste and the smell and the feel of your flesh in his mouth, on his tongue. He nudged his nose against your clit as his tongue traced your already slick-soaked folds with a grin. 

You were already trembling, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. He had been toying with you like this for hours and you had cum more times than you could remember, you were a panting and whimpering mess.

Choso seemed like he hadn’t even broken a sweat as he lapped up your sweet nectar like it was all he survived on, and he probably could have. Your thighs were trembling around his face as his tongue explored each and every part of you, his thumb lazily brushing your clit back and forth as his hand rested on your belly. 

“S-so close.” You moaned desperately, white hot stars blocking your vision as your fingers dug into his dark hair.

Your back arched and your whole body trembled as you let out a cry, your thighs soaked in your own slick as Choso licked your thighs and pussy completely clean with an almost adorable desperation. 

After he was done, he leaned his head against your knee and looked up at you with a somewhat bashful grin. 

“Did I…do good?” He asked with a soft blush.

Please do not copy, use my work, or put it through AI without my permission or I'll be really sad about it!

[womanmanipulator]

goodbye, yellow brick road.

spencer reid x gn!bau!reader.

synopsis: naturally, as a hard-headed and stubborn young adult, you’d chase after the potential unsub when he’s let go due to legality. having your heart set on getting a confession out of him. what could go wrong?

(content warning: graphic, somewhat detailed? major character death, stab wound(s)?, abuse, blood, very angsty. i did some research to write this.)

~

it’s pouring, hands grip the steering wheel tightly. speeding through the rain.

you were stubborn.

hard-headed.

cocky.

it was only natural, being new to the job. only five months in. you weren’t used to work sticking with you and chasing you around, even when you got home. the release of david sallow from the interrogation room earlier today didn’t sit well with you. you knew that sick bastard killed all those young men and women. and you were going to get a confession out of him.

sure, it was unprofessional. but the others wouldn’t even mind when you caught him and got a confession out of that asshole. that’s what you told yourself as you pulled into the gas station his SUV was parked at. you climb out of your car, striding towards where he stood. david was walking out of building when his eyes caught you. he furrows his brows, confused.

“you’re that person from the FBI.” he states. standing a little awkwardly with a smug look playing on his stupid face. you narrow your eyes. “i am.” you say confidently. “and i know you killed those people, david.” you add. getting straight to the point. “i didn’t, and you let me go today. leave me alone.” he says sternly, smirk now vanished. “i will. catch you. it all depends on when.” you glare. if looks could kill..

“admit it.” you press. he starts to get agitated. talking a bold step towards him, you get personal. an intimidation tactic. he isn’t fazed however, you are set on getting a confession though. “i don’t owe you shit, lady.” he hisses. “listen. if you don’t back off, somethin’ bads gonna happen.” he threatens.

“you killed all those men and women because they remind you of your mother and father, mr. wallows.” you say, a quietness fills the air. david’s fists ball up and a grumble comes out of his throat.

“your parents would abuse you. they’d hit you whenever they got the chance. they went so far as to make up things to be mad at you about so they could hit you, eventually they stopped giving reason and just took their frustration out on you. you want to get them back, except you can’t. you killed them, but that didn’t quench your thirst david, oh no it didn’t—“ you start to list off. you are cut off by a yell coming from the man infront of you. he charges at you with a knife.

everything happens so quick. how did you miss him grabbing his knife? you were know for being so attentive and quick thinking —

. . .

pain blossoms in the back of your cranium as you are knocked to the concrete. brain rattled, you’re confused. you try to reach for your gun but you’re stopped by the plunge of the knife in your abdomen. you can’t feel the pain, yet. the adrenaline overpowers it. coursing through your veins as your insides become outsides. a weak attempt to fight back is made, but you can’t do much with a two-hundred pound man above you, stabbing you.

i should have stayed on the farm.

i should have listened to my old man.

a warm liquid trickles out of you as your breath is knocked out of you lungs, another punch of the knife in your weakening body. you try to gasp for air but it’s as if your lungs are useless. you don’t even hear the store owner running out of the building and screaming at david.

he flees from the scene.

you know you can’t hold me forever,

i didn’t sign up with you.

when you gain a grasp on what’s going on, the store owner has sat you up against the brick wall of the building. propping you up. he has pressure on your wound as his phone wails out inaudible sound. they might as well be speaking another language. the pain of a thousand needles pricking you takes over your belly and side. trying to move and get away from the pain, you make an attempt to get up. you are held down though by a familiar face. it takes time to register it.

i’m not a present for your friends to open

blinking a few times to clear your vision, eyes heavy. you are met with spencer. “hey, hey, stay still. please.” he begs desperately. you’ve never heard him sound like this. it worries you. you don’t know when spencer replaced the nice man beside you, but you don’t think too long on it. as you can feel your heart beat in your side and everytime you try to take a deep breath it’s like a punch in the lungs. a sharp, aching pain. you aren’t getting any air. in reality you are, but. your brain can’t register it. more of the thick, scarlet liquid trickles and sprays out of your wound as you try to heave for air. you cant remember the name.

this boys to young to be singin’

the blues.

everything’s so distant and blurry. your body fights for life as pain washes over you in a new form. you want to scream, cry out but you can’t. spencer’s trying to coax you as he holds a crushing pressure on your wound but it’s like talking through a glass window. “you gotta stay awake for me, okay?” he says. tears pouring down his face.

that’s weird, you’d never seen him cry.

“wake up rookie, keep your eyes open.” he tries. speaking firmly. he wants to sound strong but fails. your ears start to ring and you feel as if you’re underwater. slowly, a black ring starts to creep into your vision. you want to close your eyes.

you’re really tired all the sudden, the pains disappeared. as if it was never there. it’s really peaceful. spencer slaps you in the face, knocking you out of your trance as you can hear sirens blaring loudly in the distance. “just a little longer, stay awake for me please, trouble.” he tries, his hands put more pressure on you. you barely register it though. eyes slipping closed again.

slap.

eyes slowly open, vision obstructed. you can barely make out anything as the black rings taken up 90% of your sight. everything sounds far away and echoey. the words he says come in one ear and out the other, rattling and bouncing around in your brain a first.

it’s really tempting to fall asleep.

so goodbye, yellow brick road.

where the dogs of society howl.

spencer knows as soon as you close your eyes you’re gone.

“we got a DOA.”

you can’t plant me in your penthouse,

i’m goin’ back to my plough.

. . .

oh i’ve finally decided my future lies,

beyond the yellow brick road.

~

wowowowoowowow

thsi was written in an hour. might be a little choppy, my first time trying to write smth longer than 400 words 😒.

lmk if ya want more 🎀

mwah mwah mwah

[kimmberleeex]

Runaway

NSFW 18+, DNI if you are a minor! TW: smut content, sex, sexual content, depictions of gory situations.

Authors note: this was a suggested theme that I asked people in a FB group I’m in for writing prompts. My dear friend wanted to see the reader help Eddie hide from Jason and his buddies where…romance ensues. 🥰 if you’d like to see any ideas written, send me a DM. I love flexing my creative muscles.

The title is totally inspired by Bon Jovi’s “Runaway”, attached for your listening pleasure. Enjoy! 🥰

If someone told you a week ago, that you’d be helping hide Eddie “the Freak” Munson from your basketball friends, you would have laughed in their face. Asked them what kind of drugs they were taking. Maybe suggest that they stop buying them off of Eddie. You were a cheerleader, right hand girl to the late cheer captain, Chrissy Cunningham. Eddie was a freak, an outsider that no one understood.

The basketball team couldn’t stand him, he was vermin to them — something that needed to be squashed and he definitely always had a target on his back. A lot of the girls on the cheer squad would pretend to be scared of him, but you had heard some of the stories from a few that had slept with him. They had sworn you to secrecy, and at the time, the idea repulsed you — even if there was just a hint of curiosity in the back of your mind.

Within the halls of Hawkins High, Eddie would politely bow and smile at you, but being the cheerleader and popular mean girl that you were, you would turn your nose up at him. Sneer as a venomous insult would leave your lips while you shoved past him.

And then Chrissy died. The town was in absolute chaos and teenagers were winding up dead left and right it was starting to seem. When Jason suggested that it had to be Eddie and his devil worshipping cult, it seemed like he was the most obvious suspect at the time. So, being the good popular girl that you were, you joined in on the search — scratch that, the hunting party.

Unintentionally getting separated from your search group, you were alone in the woods. The sun was slowly setting and you were very lost. Before now, you had been confident that you knew the woods like the back of your hand because you used to explore them all the time when you were a child…with Eddie. Shaking that thought out of your mind, you mumble to yourself. “That was a long time ago. He wasn’t a freak back then.” Wrapping your arms tightly around you as the warmth of spring was disappearing with the sun. When you look around, you begin to realize that you really didn’t know where you were going.

*crack* The loud sound of a twig snapping causes you to jump, then the sound of crunching leaves approaching you quickly follows. When you turn around swiftly, you practically run into a dirty, denim brick wall. Your mouth agape as your eyes travel up to meet two chocolate pools, twinkling in what was left of the sunlight, and a mop of chestnut curls that had leaves and twigs tangled in them. Eddie’s arms are up, trying to seem less threatening to you, but it’s a useless feat.

Horror sets in, this is the accused ‘slayer of teens’ and you were alone with him in the woods. Your mouth falls open to let out a blood curdling scream, but it is quickly met with Eddie’s dirty ring-clad covered hand to silence you, his other on the back of your blonde head. An intense look set deep in his eyes as worry and fear were etched on his skin with wrinkles.

Breathing heavily through your nose as a look of sheer terror flashes through your eyes while tears threaten to spill down your cheeks. Eddie’s eyes soften, taking a deep breath as he looks at you sincerely. Making an effort to keep his tone soft, even, less threatening. “I’m gonna let go of your mouth. But please, please, please don’t scream. I know you think a lot of things about me. That’s fine. But I didn’t hurt her, please believe me. I would never hurt her, or anyone else.” His eyes search yours for some semblance of understanding. “I’m gonna let go, okay?”

A small whimper escapes your lips, a few tears slowly fall onto your cheeks as well, but you manage to nod your head very shakily. Eddie’s hand slowly falls away from your face but he keeps them raised to appear more docile. “Okay, good.” He offers a warm smile to you, and for some reason it makes you feel a lot safer than you did when you were alone.

“I-If you didn’t do it, why are you hiding?” You say carefully, still a little unsure of him.

Eddie takes a shaky breath, his hands rub down his face tiredly. “If you saw what I saw, you’d run too, because I promise you sweetheart— no one would believe you. Especially being in my shoes.” He gestures to himself, your eyebrows knit together as you process what he’s saying, but something in your gut believes him.

“Try me.” You steady your nerves, trying to appear more confident as you look up at him.

In the distance, you can hear twigs snapping, distant shouts of your name as the basketball squad is attempting to find you. “Shit, shit, shit…” Eddie mutters as he gives you a panicked look. “Listen, sweetheart. I’d love to sit here and chit chat, but I gotta go. You’re more than welcome to come with me and I’ll tell you what happened. But I would understand if you just want to wait for those laundry basket mouth breathers to come rescue you. After all, you’re a pretty cheerleader and I’m just a freak that’s being hunted.” The corner of his mouth turns up into a crooked grin, his dimple defined as he puts his hand on his chest.

Looking back and forth between him, and where the shouting is coming from. Debating on what you wanted to do, Eddie’s growing a little antsy as he starts to take off in the opposite direction of the noise. Watching him brush past you, you turn towards him. “Eddie, wait. I want to come with you.” Your voice is unsure, very meek, and barely above a whisper.

Offering a smirk to you, before holding out his hand to help guide you over a fallen tree stump. “Well, come on toots if you’re coming, I’m not sticking around to find out if they’re gonna be as sweet as you are.”

Jason and the rest of the squad’s shouting is rapidly approaching, this was a pivotal moment in your life where everything was going to change. You could feel it in your bones, but something in Eddie’s eyes was pulling you towards him. Taking his hand, you climb over the fallen tree and take off running. Much like you did when you two were kids.

Eddie navigates you two through the thick woods until you get to Skull Rock. Scoffing quietly, with a judgmental look on your face — that mean girl attitude still in full swing. Your arms cross over your Hawkins High Cheer jacket and tuck into your sides. Then your hip pops out with so much attitude, it almost made Eddie laugh. Pursing his lips together to compose himself for a moment before he leans back against the rock (and yes, it resembled a skull — hence the name). Crossing his arms over his chest in a mocking stance as he looks you up and down. “Have any better ideas, Princess?” There’s a teasing edge to his tone and you couldn’t stop the eye roll that you made at him if you tried.

“I’m just saying, freak, for someone on the run…this isn’t the best place to hide, ESPECIALLY from the basketball team.” Shaking your head, part of you still wonders why the hell you would be here in the first place. That valley girl within you desperately telling you to turn him in. Lost in thought from your internal struggle, Eddie has closed the distance between you. Waving his hand in front of your face, pulling you out of your thoughts with a slight jump as he startles you.

Shrieking quietly, you slap his shoulder hard. “Damnit, Eddie! Don’t do that.”

He pretends it hurts as he rubs his shoulder, his face scrunched up in faux pain. It fades into a smile that still dazzles off of the moonlight since the sun has finally set. “Just making sure you weren’t going to do that freaky shit that I’ve been seeing lately.” He said softly before gathering some twigs and brush.

Tilting your head to the side, your curiosity gets the best of you. “What are you doing?”

Eddie lets out a loud sigh as he continues gathering, looking back at you like you’re dense. “Well, I just thought these sticks looked really cool so I wanted to collect them.” He snorts as he continues. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing, sweetheart? I’m making a fire.” He turns his back to you, kneeling down on the ground just in front of the Skull Rock opening. He clears some space before building the fire.

“Do you think that’s the best idea when we don’t want anyone to know where we are?” A little sneer can still be heard in your voice and Eddie just chortles briefly.

“You know, I may have been held back twice. But you, sweetheart, have no common sense in that pretty little head of yours. Do you?” Hearing the smugness in his tone made your skin crawl.

“Really? Insulting me?” Letting out a sharp laugh as the venom seeps out of your mouth and into your words. “That’s really funny, freak. Considering I know where you’re hiding. Who’s to say I won’t go tell everyone where the killer is hiding out?”

Eddie finally gets the fire started, flicking his Zippo shut with the flick of his wrist. He stokes it with a stick to make sure it catches before he stands up slowly, turning to face you. The fire illuminating behind him in a way that is almost menacing, the shadows on his face define his jaw, his eyes piercing through you as he slowly comes towards you. Subconsciously, you begin backing away from him and he backs you up against a tree. Jumping slightly once you feel the bark against your skin, your breath grows heavier in fear as he crowds you.

“Darling, don’t you think if I was really a killer, it would be pretty stupid to tell me that you’re turning me in?” The breath escapes from your lungs as the back of his knuckles graze against your cheek, a pathetic whimper emits from your lips. But his touch sends electric shocks straight to your belly, making your thighs clench together. His other palm is pressed against the tree trunk right beside your face. Eddie looks down when you shift slightly, a wolfish grin on his face. “My, my, I think you like this. Don’t you, pretty girl?” His voice is dark, lustful, and rough.

His hand travels down to your neck, ghosting lightly over the column of your throat. When he leans in closer, his lips inching towards yours, your heart was racing with anticipation. Already feeling a dampness forming in your panties as you kept your thighs clenched tightly together. Just when you think he’s going to kiss you, he pulls away. Pushing off of the tree as he turns to head back towards the fire, cackling as he held his stomach.

Anger and embarrassment settle in your belly as your cheeks flush to match. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Stomping towards him, you smack him in the back of the head before you sit as far away from him as possible. Crossing your legs and arms as you turn away from him. Shivering slightly as you realize now that a skirt, light jacket and tank top probably wasn’t the best thing to wear with the unpredictable weather Indiana had this time of year.

Eddie sighs and comes over, already taking his leather jacket and vest off to put around your shoulders. He sits next to you on the rock that you were perched on. “Sorry, Y/N. That was uncalled for.” Eddie shoves his shoulder into yours playfully. “We used to be close.” He hesitates before he continues. “I’m just an idiot and thought I could tease you. That probably wasn’t my finest idea.” He chuckles awkwardly.

Sighing as your anger settles, the smell of his cologne and the cigarettes he smokes were dulling your senses. Watching the flames of the fire dance and intertwine together so you didn’t have to look at his face, you then begin to speak softly to him. “You said no one would believe you. What happened?”

Eddie takes a sharp breath and exhales shakily. “Yeah, it’s not pleasant. Pretty gory stuff, sweetheart. And you have to keep an open mind, because I know it’s going to sound crazy. I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. And if my friends didn’t tell me that they’ve dealt with similar shit before.” You jump slightly as he reaches into his denim vest for his smokes and lighter. “Relax, I won’t put my dirty paws on you. You’re safe with me, promise.” Putting his hand over his heart to amplify his vow.

Nodding gently as you turn to look at him, putting your hand on his arm. “Tell me.” A soft whisper leaves your lips.

Eddie dangles his smoke between his lips, shielding it from the wind with his hands as his thumb strikes the flint wheel of his Zippo, igniting a flame that he holds to the end of his cigarette. Inhaling until the end is glowing red before he flicks his wrist, the metallic click of his lighter flipping shut sounds louder than it should. He takes a few puffs of it, inhaling the smoke and slowly exhaling through his nose. The smoke begins swirling and dancing around in the night air.

Leaning over slightly to hug his knees, Eddie’s voice is trembling slightly as he exhales a shaky breath before he begins retelling the night that Chrissy died. “Open mind, remember?” He waits for your nod before continuing. “Chrissy came to me to buy drugs. I know. Sounds absurd, right? Perfect Chrissy Cunningham, Queen of Hawkins High, coming to Eddie “the freak” Munson to buy,” he pauses and gasps audibly for dramatics, waving his arms around. “Drugs. Completely unbelievable, right? Well at first, I’m thinking she’s just trying to score some pot for that stupid after party for that dumb game. But I’m telling you, doll. She was scared, on edge. I thought she was already on harder shit, but something…rather someone was scaring her, showing her shit that made her feel like she was losing her mind.”

Eddie’s fingers twitched as he ashed his cigarette and then takes another drag of it before continuing. “She wanted something harder, she wanted Special K. She was desperate to escape whatever he was making her see.” You shift uncomfortably on the rock as you listen to him, unsure if you believe him as he continues his tale. “We had to go back to my place to get it, and no, before you say anything. I wasn’t on any funny business. I just had it stashed away ‘cause I don’t like to carry that shit on me. But while I was grabbing it from my room, I came back out to Chrissy standing in the middle of my living room…she looked like she was in this…trance. Her eyes were rolling back into her head, my lights were flickering. I was trying to wake her up. Begging her to wake up.” You watched Eddie’s face, his voice was trembling and his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. He closed his eyes tightly before he continued. “That’s when something lifted her into the air, and her bones started to snap. It was like something was inside of her head pulling her eyes in…” he gestured to his eyes as he shuddered at the memory. “I didn’t know what to do, so I ran. And I left her there. I didn’t know what to do...”

His voice trailed off into a whisper, thick with emotion as a couple tears fell down his cheeks. You didn’t want to believe him, but there was so much serious sincerity in his voice that your gut told you to trust him. Hooking your arm around his and interlacing your fingers between his you rub his forearm with your free hand. “I don’t know why, but I believe you. I might not understand it. But I believe you, Eddie.”

Eddie turns his face towards yours, his fingers curling in to hold your hand back, squeezing gently. “Trust me, you don’t want to understand it, sweetheart.” His voice was barely above a whisper, genuine fear in his eyes.

This time, you’re the first to break the eye contact. There’s a flutter in your belly that’s making you nervous, which you detest. Hearing Eddie inhale his smoke again, his hand tightens slightly around yours and you realize that neither one of you had flinched away from the contact.

“You know Y/N, we used to be so close. Whatever happened?” His voice was soft, distant like he was lost in thought.

Sighing softly while laying your head on his shoulder, which he gladly welcomes. “I don’t know, Eddie. We grew up, I became a cheerleader and you…” Your voice trails off as you try to think of a way to say it delicately.

“Became a freak?” He whispers, but there’s a steel edge to his voice.

Immediately, years of bullying him and hurling insults at him were bubbling up in your guts. Regret and guilt just pumping through you. “Eddie, I am so sorry…”

Eddie finally lets go of your hand, holding his hands up. “It’s all good, Y/N. I’m a social pariah, I get it. I don’t want to conform and that makes me an easy target. And running in my circle also puts you in the sights of those muscle headed jackasses. Why put a giant target on your back when you can just wear that cute little cheer uniform and sleep with them instead?” He smirks at his teasing remark, his elbow poking into your side gently.

Rolling your eyes in disgust, you look away from him. A tightness forming in your throat that you were hoping you could mask. “Don’t be gross, fucking asshole.” Crossing your legs tighter together, blush creeping up into your cheeks in embarrassment as you were reminded that you were as pure as they come. Aside from kissing Eddie that one summer afternoon at Skull Rock, the summer before high school, and a couple of different boyfriends that you’d had through out high school. You were a Virgin, with a capital V. Sure, a couple of the boys that you dated had tried but were very shamefully denied. They were too embarrassed to admit defeat and instead they told their friends that they slept with you. And you were too embarrassed to deny the rumors, it just helped fuel your popularity.

Eddie watched your body language, realizing that he had upset you. His hand grabs your shoulder gently, but you shrug him and his jacket off while you stomp away. He watches as it slides off onto the boulder that you left him on and then his eyes follow you. You lean against the rock with your back turned to him, arms crossed over your chest to shield your insecurities.

“Hey,” he says gently. “I was just joking, I wasn’t trying to offend you.” You were still keeping yourself turned away from him, but he quickly comes around in front of you. Leaning his shoulder against the rock, catching you when you try to turn away from him again. That’s when he notices your tears building up in your waterline, threatening to spill over onto your flushed cheeks. It pulls at Eddie’s heart to know he made you feel that way. “Doll, don’t cry. I know you’re a classy lady…” he leans closer to whisper to you. “I have kissed you, in case you have forgotten. So I remember just how much of a classy lady that you are.” Another gentle smirk, making you laugh tearfully at the memory. It was awkward and quick — clashing teeth and practically headbutting each other. He was 16 and you had just turned 14, it was just your first kiss over with. Then, when school started, you both went your separate ways.

Laughing causes a tear to spill onto your cheek, which Eddie instantly is pressing his warm palm against it, his thumb brushing it away as it falls. He inspects your face carefully. “Wait, why would my comment upset you this much? I mean, it’s not like you’re still a virgin.”

When your face scrunches at the word, a dawn of realization washes over Eddie. His eyes wide and his mouth drops, you pinch your eyes closed. “Eddie, I swear to god, don’t you even dare. Because I will beat you to a bloody pulp.” Your eyes slowly open and Eddie just has this shit eating grin on his face, it makes your stomach churn.

“Not judging, dollface.” His arms once again raised in surrender. “Just more so surprised, especially when I had heard some delicious rumors about what a little sex kitten you are.” A slight giggle leaves his lips as you smack his arm harder than you had earlier. In between his giggles as he slowly calms down. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll stop. But seriously, why?”

“None of your business, you dick.” You mumble as you turn so your back is against the rock. But Eddie is already in front of you again and he’s so uncomfortably close. His palm is resting on the rock next to your head. Feeling your breath catch in your throat as he stares at you intensely.

“Do those boys just not do it for you, baby?” The pads of his rough fingertips ghost over your cheek, brushing your hair behind your ear. Starting on your thigh as his fingers ghost over your skin, inching towards the hem of your skirt, threatening to slip under it. “Maybe you need someone to show you how it’s really done, make you feel real good. Take care of your needs without worrying about their own.” His lips are pressed against your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and there was a fire roaring in your belly that no one had ever lit before. Knowing he was right made it that much worse, part of you always secretly pined for Eddie. But popularity became more important to you, and when the guys you dated tried to take it further…you just couldn’t make yourself because they weren’t him. That kiss all those years ago lit a fire that never fully went out, and then you let your social standing outweigh how you felt.

The real fire that he had started was starting to go out. Eddie smirks at you before pulling away to turn on his heel so that he could go add more wood to the fire. Letting out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding, your heart was still thundering in your ears. Eddie turns to look back at you, that smugness still in his tone with a wolfish grin on his face to match. “Yeah, I bet you hate that I’m right.”

He fully expected a bratty, snide comment but when you were silently chewing your lip instead, he finally straightened up. That famous Munson grin twisting on his mouth, making your belly do a somersault. Looking down to avoid his gaze, you suddenly felt so damn exposed it made you uncomfortable.

Eddie saunters back over to you, lifting your chin up with his finger and thumb to force your gaze back to him. Blushing furiously as you stared at his lips, your cunt was aching for his attention and you hated yourself for it. The damp spot growing in your panties as your arousal pooled there.

“I’m right, aren’t I baby?” His grin not faltering as he continues where he left off, fingers ghosting over your thighs. When you don’t swat him away, he pushes a little further. Pressing his knee between your legs, keeping them spread apart for him. The heat radiating from your core can be felt by the skin exposed in the tattered knee of his jeans.

Not trusting yourself to speak, so you just stare at him and hope he makes the first move. Eddie just leans closer, so achingly close, his body nearly flush with yours. Your breath was growing heavier, his lips nearly ghosting over yours. When you try to close the distance, Eddie leans back with a devilish smirk on his lips. “Now c’mon, babygirl. Just tell me the words I want to hear. And I’ll give you what you want…” His fingers dancing along the hem of your skirt, his touch growing bolder as he continues to tease you.

A whimper leaves your lips, causing Eddie’s cock to twitch in his pants. While his crotch is pressed against your thigh, he groans softly. “Eddie, you’re right.” You whisper, your cheeks hot as hell. “Please.” Somehow your voice is even softer, barely a whisper.

“Thank fucking god, about time…” he whispers back as he presses his lips against yours feverishly. His hand sliding up under your skirt, his fingers sliding along your clothed slit. His moan vibrated off of your lips as he feels the growing wet spot on the delicate fabric of your panties. His touch feels electric, making every nerve ending buzz with excitement as you hum appreciatively against his mouth.

His tongue traces the seam of your lips, his teeth nipping your bottom lip, causing you to groan softly. Naturally, both of your lips part and your tongues begin to dance and explore the other’s mouth. Breathy moans bouncing back and forth from each other’s throats like a game of tennis. When he slides his hand down your panties to press more firmly against your clit, you practically jump. Mewling softly for him as the rough pad of his finger swirls around your swollen bud. He breaks your kiss, his breath a little heavy as he admires how you’re reacting to his touch.

While he continues to swirl his finger around your bundle of nerves, he takes his free hand and unzips your cheer jacket. Your full breasts hardly contained by your tank top. A low growl emits from Eddie’s throat as your hardened peaks are exposed through the thin fabric of your top. The chill of the wind combined with your arousal making them stick out with ease.

Eddie continues his ministrations on your clit, keeping a slow and steady but firm pace. He leans down into the crook of your neck, placing wet kisses on the column of your throat. When he finds your pulse point, he sucks on it gently which makes your knees buckle. His free arm catching you and keeping you upright. Then, his teeth slightly dig into where he was sucking on your sensitive skin. This causes a rather pornographic moan to echo a little in the darkness.

Embarrassing yourself as you cover your mouth, Eddie lifts his head with his brows furrowed. Taking his free hand to remove your hand from your mouth. “No, I wanna hear those pretty moans, baby. Lemme hear you.” His free hand pins your wrist against the rock, the hand in your panties slides in further. His middle finger teasing your slick folds before inching slowly inside, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. He groans into your neck, his cock throbbing against your thigh as your pussy slowly sucked his finger inside of its tightness.

“Goddamn, sweetheart. You are so fuckin’ tight.” He moans and continues. “Just picturing you wrapped around my cock is enough to make me cream my jeans.” Slowly he slides his finger in and out, allowing you to adjust to him before he curls his middle finger upwards — reaching a spot within you that not even you knew how to reach. Breathy moans stringing from your lips as he continues to kiss along your neck. His voice is shaky and husky with need. “Jesus, Princess. Please, can I fuck you?”

Looking around trying to find a clean place to lay down, seemingly out of breath from the pleasure he was giving you. “W-where would we?”

Eddie’s finger slowly pulls out of you, making you whimper at the loss. He chuckles softly, before he caresses your cheek. “Well, I know this isn’t the most ideal place to lose your V-card, baby. But hey, at least you would have had two firsts here.” He playfully winks at you with a smirk, making you blush at the fond memory you two shared.

“Fuck you, Eddie.” Rolling your eyes with a smirk on your lips.

“Well, I’m trying to, Princess. But you’re afraid to get a little dirty.” There’s a dark gleam in his eye with a wolfish grin on his face as he continues teasing you. It makes you blush furiously. When you smack his arm again, he chuckles. “Okay, we can lay our jackets down?” He suggests as he retrieves his jacket from boulder they sat on before. Laying it down and bowing in a gentlemanly fashion, making you giggle.

Walking over to him, you slowly slide your jacket off of your shoulders and hand it to him. He smirks and lays it down above where he laid his. He helps you lay down, his hand on the back of your head as you lay against your jacket. Suddenly, you burst out in giggles. Tilting his head to the side as he looks down at you, a curious look on his face. “What’s so funny, babygirl?” He playfully pokes you in your side.

Trying to stifle your giggle, you look up at him. “Just saying it’s really ironic, because right now it probably looks like you have me out in the woods to perform a ritualistic sacrifice, ya know, ‘cause I’m a virgin.” Your giggle dies off as his face grows more serious.

“Who says that’s not what I’m doing?” His face is still serious as he leans closer. Flashing his teeth at you in a menacing way. But once he gets close enough to you, he starts laughing hard, holding his sides as he completely loses his shit. “You should have seen your face.”

The back of your hand instinctively flies up and hits his stomach, making him grunt softly. “Hey play nice. You know I can’t help but tease you, doll.” He smirks at you.

You’re still pouting when he positions himself over top of you, he leans down and kisses you deeply. His tongue tracing along your bottom lip before slipping inside, you can hear him fumbling with his belt buckle as he eventually gets his cock sprung free. He hikes your skirt up, his hand roaming over your thighs momentarily before he hooks his finger into your panties and pulls them to the side. “God, that’s a pretty pussy. If we were in a more comfortable spot, I’d have so much fun worshiping it.” His compliment and the thought of what he was saying causes the blood rise to your face, causing your skin to flush.

“Relax, baby.” He coos softly. That’s when you finally look down and see how big he is. Your eyes widen with nervousness as he struggled to get his finger in there, you couldn’t imagine how much it may hurt to stuff that in there. His free hand is still rubbing your thigh to help you relax. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m going to go nice and slow. I promise, baby, just relax and let me make you feel good.”

Taking a deep breath, you nod slowly. “Okay, I trust you.”

He smiles warmly at you. Keeping your panties hooked over to the side with his finger, his free hand helps guide his thick tip to your slick folds. Biting his lip as he rubs it up down your wet slit. When it rubs against your clit, a moan unwillingly escapes your lips. “That’s it baby…” He continues to rub against it, trying to get you ready for him. Looking down at his cock, he spits onto the tip, rubbing it around to get it wet before he pushes against your tight entrance, groaning at the resistance he feels.

Using one of the free fingers that wasn’t hooked into your panties, he rubs around your swollen bud. Relaxing you further and allowing him to slowly slip his cock into your wet folds. Eddie breathes out through clenched teeth as he slowly sinks himself into you, inching in and allowing your pussy to get used to his thickness. His eyes are on your face, looking for any discomfort as he bottoms out inside of you.

The sensation of him stretching you burns a little but it doesn’t hurt. “I-I’m okay, keep going.” Offering a nervous smile up at him, he leans down and kisses you softly. He slowly begins to thrust his hips, wanting to go easy on you until you warm up to him. Everytime he slides back into you, makes you moan loudly as he brushes against your g-spot. The muscles in your walls clamping down on him in response.

Eddie’s hips falter, as he breathes through clenched teeth. “S-shit, doll. You’re too tight to do that to me. Want you to cum first.” His free hand is roaming your body as one keeps him elevated above you, allowing him to thrust inward and upwards in a dipping motion to hit all the best spots within you. Your moans echoing his as he fucks towards both of your release. When his hand brings your thigh up around his waist and he thrusts even deeper than you knew possible, you let out a little scream.

His hips stutter again, his eyes a little wide with concern. “You okay?” He breathes out.

“Yes, please don’t stop.” You breathe out with a whine.

He grins, his hips continue to snap against yours as he thrusts a little harder. “Yes, ma’am.” The groaning he’s doing as he feels you clench around him is so hot. “Keep your leg here, doll. I need my hand.” He lets go of your leg on his waist and moves to your clit. His finger swirls around the slick bundle of nerves as he continues to ram into your tight heat. The rhythm is starting to become overwhelming, your back arches as a tightness in your belly begins to form. That fire is absolutely raging within you.

“O-oh, God…Eddie…” you whimper out in between your breathy moans.

Eddie continues his ministrations as he coaxes you, sounding breathless as he moans. “That’s it, baby. Good girl, let go for me. I got you.” Your body shudders at his praise, his finger pressing more firmly against your clit as it circles around it. His hips pumping faster into your throbbing core.

And then it happens — a heat radiates from within your belly and warms your entire body, that tightness feels like it has snapped as wave after wave of pleasure rocks through your body. Your moans echoing in the darkness as they grow louder, your eyes pinched shut as the pleasure overwhelms you.

Eddie’s grunting loudly as he feels your walls gripping him tightly, he is trying to breathe through it and starts to pull out when you put your hand on his arm. “Issokay, Eddie. Want all of you.” Is all you can manage to breathe out. And as soon as the last word leaves your lips, Eddie’s body shudders. He moans loudly, you can feel his cock pulsing inside of you. Coating your walls and filling you entirely. Your body throbbing with his and milking him for every drop.

He collapses on top of you, while both of you are trying to catch your breath. Eddie’s head is buried in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your skin as his cock softens inside of you. He slowly slips out of you, and sits up on his knees. Grinning down at you, his chest is still heaving while it’s trying to regain the air in his lungs. He stuffs his soft dick back into his jeans and buttons them.

When he lays down next to you again, you both lay on your side and face each other. His fingers rake through your hair, brushing it out of your face. “At least I’m a better kisser now, right?” He teases and you can’t help but giggle. Burying your face into his chest and wrapping your arm around his waist. He smiles and leans his cheek against the top of your head, his arms wrapping around you and holding you close to him.

“I really missed you, Y/N.” He speaks softly into your hair. “When you came to high school my junior year, I didn’t think things would change like that . I dunno, I guess I thought you’d wanna be my girlfriend instead of my friend.” He pauses, swallowing hard as he opens up to you. “And then you avoided me like the black plague and turned into one of them. You weren’t my little bunny anymore.” Hearing his old nickname for you made your heart ache.

Pulling back to look at him, emotion was welling up in your eyes. That tightness was returning as you swallow the ball forming in your throat and caress his cheek. “I’m so sorry, I let the idea of popularity consume me. You’re right. I became someone that I’m not. I should have never abandoned you like that. I will never forgive myself.”

Eddie pushes his forehead against yours, brushing his nose with yours — the bunny kisses the two of you used to do before you finally let him actually kiss you. “I forgive you. How can I stay mad at my pretty bunny?” He smiles before kissing you softly.

Something felt so right about this moment. No longer were you enemies, no longer were you friends. There was something more there, just like there always had been. You were just too stubborn to see it. But in this moment? Where you’re wrapped in Eddie’s arms while laying on the ground in the woods? It all seemed crystal clear now, like spending years being blind and then one day you can finally see. You were in love with Eddie, and you have been all of these years. Now that you were reconnected, you’d spend every day trying to make up for lost time. You’d go with him anywhere, do anything to protect him and clear his name. Even if it meant marching head first into the unknown.

[ohdeerfully]

hii! i just read everything you've posted and am obsessed. can you possibly write an alastor x fallen angel!reader? i would just love to see the interactions! -🐈‍⬛ anon

HIII 🐈‍⬛ im sorry this took one hundred thousand days to write. but at least its fairly long!!!!!! 4k words

honestly i cant imagine alastor warming up to an angel very quickly, like he would probably haaate reader for a long time before being like "actually u know what <3"

though that being said this can definitely be read as a platonic story since theres no romance (though maybe ill write a romantic fallen!reader someday)

anyway hope u enjoy!! mwah!

Welcome to Hell

alastor x reader TW: heavy descriptions of gore WITH the reader, reader is heavily wounded, alastors a dick, cursing obviously, thats it i think join my discord!

PLS READ: im putting the story immediately under a read more because it jumps really quickly into gore, so if ur uncomfy with that please dont read on!

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“Hey, bitch,” A dangerously whispered voice spoke in your ear after you shooed away a small demon, sending all the warning bells in your body ringing. You stood and braced yourself to run, but—

The sensation of bone and arteries being savagely torn from your shoulder blades sent flaming, white hot pain through your body, setting every nerve ablaze and prompting a scream of agony through your lips. Your throat quickly became sore with the intensity of your cries as you crumpled over yourself, tightening your arms around yourself in a useless attempt at comforting the pain away.

Knife-like sensations rolled through your body, leaving you struggling to catch your breath and see through tears. You lifted your gaze from your trembling, bloody-gold hand onto the two who stood above you, one looking down with a twisted smirk and the other a disgusted sneer. The man still held your ripped wings between his claws. You could barely hear the ambience of terrified screaming that surrounded you through the heartbeat in your ears.

“Angels like you sicken me,” Lute said, chin tilted up in superiority. “You don’t even deserve that title.” She brought a foot up and then down onto your shoulder, shoving you onto your chest. The movement made you scream as another flash of pain ignited in your back. You balled your hands into fists, pulling them against your chest as you pressed your forehead against the hot ground, trying to catch your breath once again.

You sat, hunched, for what felt like hours. Maybe it was hours, as when you finally came to your senses the atmosphere was eerily silent. Adam and Lute were long gone. You only heard the faint noise of cannibalistic demons tearing apart bodies, and the occasional rustle of trash or paper being thrown in the wind across a deserted street. The recognition made you sit up—oh, shit, too fast. Your vision practically vanished as your head became light. You tried to catch yourself with your hands before you fell backwards, but considering the nature of your wound; ripped flesh directly over your shoulder blades… your elbows buckled at the intense sting.

I’m so fucking stupid, you cursed yourself as you contemplated your situation, deciding that it would be better to not try to stand up and walk around right now. Honestly, you’d be surprised if bloodloss didn’t kill you, considering the glistening puddle that had formed around you. You had managed to slowly scoot into a somewhat secluded corner and rested your head against the brick wall. Uncomfortable, but all things considered… it might as well be a five star hotel bed to you. Your eyes shut.

“Come on—...never know-”

“If you think— unpredictable—”

The two things you noticed when you came to were a broken conversation and an uncomfortable prickling sensation on your skin. You struggled to crack open your eyes, dried blood nearly pasting your left eye together. When you finally managed, you still had trouble focusing.

Two blurry, tall demons stood in front of you. Despite the fact they were demons, it felt considerably less imposing than the two that were in front of you earlier that day—was it still the same day? Still, you were on high alert and grabbed for where you thought you had left your weapon. You palmed at empty concrete. You cursed both at the lack of your tool for self defense and at the fact the two noticed you were now conscious.

“I do hope you don’t mind,” An amused bark of laughter erupted from the taller of the two, which forced your gaze back towards them. “We confiscated your little prong for our safety.” You blinked rapidly, squinting slightly till you could finally focus your eyes and actually get a good look at them. Surely enough, your trusty spear was held tightly between red claws.

To your right was an oddly friendly looking girl with blond hair and the reddest cheeks you had ever seen, who stood with a slight bend at the hip and hands on her knees as she peered down at you. Her brows were turned up and furrowed with what you guessed was worry, although the thought was shocking considering… the circumstances, you mused gravely when another rush of throbbing pain coursed through your body, reminding you of the giant wound on your back. You hadn’t noticed yourself wince, but the woman in front of you did, what with the way her hand shot forward as if wanting to help you. She paused, unsure.

You turned your head to the voice, taking in the demon next to her. He was just a bit taller, and incredibly… red. Red coat, red hair, red eyes… a little excessive, maybe—though, it didn’t really matter what you thought of his fashion choices, because the overwhelming and ominous feeling of dread ensnared your thoughts. He bent at the hip in a similar manner to the girl next to him, though the movement seemed somehow much less natural. The ever-present radio noise in the air increased in volume as his face inched closer. Meeting his gaze seemed to cause your mind to fill with a buzzing emptiness, prickling your entire being and causing your skin to tickle with goosebumps. Although you’ve never met him before, you knew by aura alone the power he held, especially over you in this situation. It was frankly obvious that he knew, too, for he stood with practiced leisure, leaning his weight onto his cane with one hand as he fidgeted curiously with your spear in the other. You immediately switched your gaze towards the friendlier of the two, who still seemed to be fighting a mental war, her still outstretched hand twitching as she considered her next move.

With a brief, sideways look towards her companion, she smiled gently and outstretched her hand in your direction. You eyed it suspiciously, gaze flicking between her and her hand. She had to have ulterior motives, right? Maybe she was just leading you somewhere where you could be finished off. Or something. Adam always insisted that the demons were far to “fucking stupid” to know how to hurt, let alone kill an angel, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t resort to various strange experiments and tests. They were demons, after all. In Hell.

Though, you had to admit to yourself with a sigh, at this point, I’m not any different than them. You figured “fallen angel” could even be a worse title than demon, because how horrible of a being do you have to be to fall from holy stature? Was saving the life of a demon, a child, at that, so evil?

It wasn’t worth thinking about, you decided. You were here. In Hell. Fuck.

You raised an embarrassingly trembling hand and cautiously received her own, and fought yourself to keep from ripping away as her slender fingers wrapped over yours. You were watching her movements sharply, nearly flinching when her black manicured nails glinted as they caught a light. Even still, her expression regarded you with so much undeserved compassion, a softness in the subtle curve of her eye, that you let your shoulders relax. She pulled you gingerly to your feet, and caught you against her steady shoulder when you nearly fell.

“I’m Charlie, by the way,” She said. Although she seemed hesitant earlier, every minute that passed seemed to confirm some unknown idea in her head as she slowly grew more vibrant and excited. Even still, she remained otherwise calm and gentle, her body holding strong to support nearly your full weight. She shot a look at the other demon.

“Oh! I apologize for my manners,” You weren’t even lookin at him—his voice alone sent a weird feeling down your back. You turned to look. “Alastor! A pleasure to meet you my dear, quite a pleasure!”

You finally turned to look, and noticed he didn’t hold his hand out, but rather the blunt end of your spear. When you reached to grab it, maybe to yank it away from him—not that you had any intention of fighting back at this point—you found that he still held a vice-like grip to it. When your fingers closed around the stick, he merely shook it, as if the weapon was an extension of his own hand. You weren’t really sure whether or not to take it as an insult.

Charlie seemed indifferent to Alastor’s antics, and you started a bit when she seemed unable to control herself any longer, and began blabbering about some hotel and some plan she had. She spoke with such a furious speed that you wondered if anybody could decode her words. She paused, suddenly, to take in a long breath, but the other demon interrupted her before she could begin again.

“Charlie, while I love watching you try so desperately, I’m not sure beings of their ilk are fit for your idea.”

Ilk? Sure, you understood him holding caution to your presence, considering you were an angel, but come on! Circumstances have changed for you! You opened your mouth, planning to make some retort (that you had not yet planned out) but Charlie quickly beat you to it.

“No! Alastor, come on, I know they’re… was one of them, but that gives them all the more reason to want to follow my plan… right..?” She looked down at you, where you still leaned heavily on her shoulder as the three of you slowly walked down the street. You honestly weren’t sure what they were talking about—you barely managed to catch a single word she rattled about earlier. You gave a weak shrug and a nod, just to be agreeable.

Alastor only gave a dismissive ‘hmm’ in return, and picked up his pace to walk in front of Charlie and you. In fact, he kept his pace and just continued walking away, down the sidewalk, around a corner, and gone. Personally, you didn’t mind. The air was noticeably lighter without his presence.

Charlie sighed in defeat, but didn’t mention it. She seemed accustomed to his behavior. You silently expressed your sorrows for her; even if he was nicer than he appeared, which you doubted heavily, he was likely still an exhausting guy to be around. 

The walk was long and unbearably painful for you, each labored step sending pulses of sore pain through your body, and your back occasionally exploding in needles that would halt you in your tracks. Charlie was incredibly patient, and you couldn’t even begin to word how thankful you were for her. Being one of two demons you had encountered since falling, you began wondering what else was in store for you down here for what you assumed may be the rest of your eternity.

You didn’t have long to ponder, as it seemed enough time passed since the extermination for demons to start their usual routines. And man, what routines they had. If you weren’t in imminent danger, you would find the scene almost comically chaotic. There were projectiles smashing through windows, sending shards everywhere, and fires erupting from said windows. Your eye caught the glinting of weapons in the hands of various demons, which some were… actively using to stab another demon. And, of course, when bodies fell there were at least two pit-eyed cannibalistic creatures that would descend on the corpse like starved dogs. You clung close to Charlie, who seemed unnervingly calm in the situation. Surprisingly, even with the lack of a weapon or any means of self-defense, nothing came at you.

Seeming to sense your unease, she looked at you with a calming smile. “Charming, huh?” She joked lightly. She grimaced slightly at the sound of a scream being cut short by a loud bang. “It’s not usually… this bad. They’re just worked up after extermination. That’s when the crazies hit.”

Yeah, you silently mocked. Yeah, starting fires and murdering people is being ‘worked up.’ Cool. You only nodded in response, not really finding anything nice to say. And, honestly, anything you said would probably seem hypocritical given the fact you were an exterminator mere hours ago. Luckily for you, she seemed content enough at that. She started to talk again about where she was taking you, a bit slower this time, obviously half focused on keeping you supported.

“So, my Hotel kind of just started, and Alastor is in the process of making a commercial to get some attention. I think he said it would be done today.”

You nodded wordlessly. Part of you felt a little guilty, not having much to say despite Charlie’s efforts to welcome you and take care of you, especially compared to her constant rambling. She didn’t seem to notice, though.

She re-explained her whole idea, undeniably proud of her plan. Sinners working on themselves to get redeemed? To leave Hell and climb those glittering steps to Heaven?

Absolutely unheard of.

Maybe it was your internal biases talking, but you could not imagine the possibility. If it was possible, why hadn’t somebody showed up at the gates from Hell before? You held back a roll of your eyes, feigning support and interest to the best of your ability.

After an achingly long journey, you finally reached the stone path that led to a rather plain, but tall building. It looked sleek and well built, but you couldn’t help but notice the tacky blinking lightbulbs that formed arrow shapes towards the entrance and the huge, spelled out name of the hotel. 

Hazbin Hotel.

You stifled a laugh as you looked up at the signage.

“Well! We’re here!” Charlie announced, brandishing her arm forward and sweeping it in a ‘viola’ motion. Your eyes traveled over the expanse of the property, noticing how many windows lined every wall. Were there that many demons here?

You were answered nearly immediately when Charlie opened the door to the hotel and you found yourself in a nearly empty lobby. It was kind of sad, honestly. There was a cat-like bartender and a long-limbed pink demon splayed across the couch, but other than that…

The demon next to you scratched the back of her head, and gave you a light smile. She jerked her head towards the door as if inviting you, but to be fair you didn’t really have any choice but to go wherever she led you.

“Ooh, fresh meat,” The pink-ish demon with a striped top shot upright, eyeing you wryly with a cocked brow. He stood and took long strides forward, one pair of arms on his hips and the other crossed under his rather… voluptuous chest. 

“Eyes up here, toots,” He snapped a finger, but when you met his eyes you could tell he was all jokes. You gave him a tight smile in response.

You heard the sound of quick steps and an already aggravated looking face appeared from the upper level, quickly descending the steps. You felt an ice-cold feeling of familiarity when you saw a gray-skinned, white haired angel—or, well, fallen angel at this point—stop in front of you. She apparently felt a similar feeling, though her response was much more rapidly aggressive. With a narrowed eye and tense shoulders, she manifested an angelic spear and held it at the ready. You tried to remove yourself from Charlie’s hold, desperate to be able to defend yourself even in your sorry state, but her protective grip held you fast against herself. You struggled only for a moment, but the exhaustion coursing through every vein stopped you. Man was she strong.

“What is someone like them doing here,” The other questioned in a hiss, her lips curled in a sneer. She eyed you up and down suspiciously, likely analyzing your capacity of harming anybody in the room. Admittedly you couldn’t blame her caution. 

When your lips parted, planning to shoot an accusatory in retort, the tip of her spear shot to your lips, effectively shutting you up. There was a look in her eye, behind the rage and caution, that you somehow recognized as a silent plea. A plea for what? To stay quiet? Not state the obvious recognition you two shared? Did the others somehow not know she was an angel? Whatever it was, you obliged and swallowed a lump in your throat.

“Vaggie, please,” Charlie spoke in a tumble, rushing her free hand to press the point of ‘Vaggie’s weapon away from your face. “She’s practically one of us now. Don’t go threatening my new guests every time they walk through the door! We can’t scare them away…”

“Angels aren’t guests Charlie,” Vaggie’s voice seemed strained as she held pinched fingers on the bridge of her nose. “We literally just had an extermination.”

“I know,” Charlie pressed, the tone of her voice conveying some sort of desperate ‘just go with it and calm down.’ “But… obviously she was an outcast, unwanted by Heaven. Just like us, right?” 

You furrowed your brows and looked at her through the corner of your eye, but decided not to fight for your dignity. She wasn’t even wrong.

Vaggie seemed easily defeated by Charlie’s words, yielding quickly to her words and putting her spear away. You briefly wondered where your own was. Charlie gave Vaggie a thankful smile, a light kiss on the cheek—to which the angel blushed—and led you carefully into a nearby room. 

It seemed to be some type of medical room, and Charlie quickly got to work dragging a warm rag over the dried blood that left streaks down your skin. You grabbed her wrist, and she looked up at you, a little confused.

“I can wash myself, I’m not that useless,” You argued, using your other hand to pull at the rag.

“But, you can barely—” 

“Charlie,” You said, more stern than you meant to, which you immediately regretted after the taken aback expression on her face. Considering you barely spoke a word since meeting her, it was no wonder she seemed surprised at your sudden brash tone. You tried to speak more gently. “Please, just let me wash myself off. I’ll need your help dressing my wounds, anyway, it’s the least I could do.”

She pondered for a moment, but nodded, smiled, and left you to it. She left the room with a quick ‘call me when you’re’ done, closing the door with a gentle click. You sighed, finally enjoying a moment of privacy. You looked at yourself in the mirror, a sick feeling churning in your stomach.

It was still you, staring back, but it somehow at the same time wasn’t. Golden streaks tainted your gray skin, crusts of blood still grabbing at the corners of your eye and matting your hair. You briefly brushed a hand through the strands, but promptly gave up after your fingers caught on multiple knots. You’d have to wash it out.

For now you focused on just wiping the blood and grime off of your skin, especially around the wounds. You were incredibly tender when you reached your back, elbow bent awkwardly over your face as you tried to reach the marred flesh. You tried positioning your arm under your armpit, hoping for a better angle, but it was still no use. Even when you managed to get close to the wound, every touch sent stinging pain down your back. On top of all that, you could barely see where you were dragging the damp cloth, neck struggling to crane enough to look in the mirror.

The door opened suddenly, and with it a sense of impending doom and static sensations encased you. You froze, eyes darting towards the entrance. Even though you knew exactly who would stand there, you still couldn’t help the sick surprise that twisted your gut.

Alastor stood in the entrance, eyes half open and brows raised as he examined you bent in so many awkward ways. 

“How’s our new vulture doing,” He asked suddenly, eyes lighting up in an overly cheerful manner. He entered the room without much invitation, circling you. You felt like prey being stalked and toyed with by a wolf. Your eyes diligently followed until he took up a spot behind you. “Charlie got caught up in something, so she asked me to help you.”

You watched him in the mirror as he looked down at the torn flesh of your back, his long, clawed finger tapping at his chin while his other hand thrummed against the head of his cane.

“A ghastly sight you are,” He commented, meeting your gaze in the mirror. His hand pointed down at your back. “That wound of yours is rather unpleasant, too.”

You frowned and opened your mouth to shoot something back, though you didn’t know if you wanted to throw curses or insults back at him. Any words you may have said died on your tongue as the look in his eyes darkened, and his smile curled impossibly higher, more sinister. 

He leaned down, positioning his head just next to yours, still meeting your eyes in the mirror. Every inch of proximity caused the prickling on your skin to increase, and the static in your ears to grow louder.

“Let’s patch you up, then!” He straightened himself out, walking towards a cabinet and quickly grabbing various tools from different shelves. “While I’m not in the business of playing doctor to someone like you, I can’t deny the Princess.” His voice seemed all too cheery for the rude words he spoke, and that smile on his face never faltered. You briefly thought about him referring to Charlie as “princess,” but quickly dismissed it. You’d think about it later—right now, you had to be ready to make a run for it in case that feeling of doom that loomed over you came to fruition.

Alastor approached you again with a small tray of medical supplies, and pulled thin gloves over his hands with a brief snap, saying something about the importance of being sanitary, but part of you wondered if he was just making more jabs at you regarding his disdain for angels.

Surprisingly he seemed to know what he was doing, working quickly with different types of wipes and stitches and gauze. He was being rougher than likely necessary, pretending to accidentally poke a claw into your open wound and pressing his tools far too firm against your sore skin. You bore it with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of putting you through a miserably painful half hour. 

After it was finally over you drew out a long sigh and watched as he discarded the gloves and washed his hands. And washed his hands. And washed his hands. And… still he’s washing his hands. You began to wish you counted the seconds.

He turned to you after finally finishing up, shaking water off his hands. He didn’t seem to recognize that he was flicking droplets directly on you. If you weren’t in such a weak state and absolutely terrified of him, you probably would’ve made some effort to stop him, but now… you opted to let him get away with it. For now.

“Now, if that’s all…” He turned, waving a hand at you dismissively. “I’d prefer you keep out of my business from here on.”

No fucking problem, you agreed to yourself. He didn’t even have to ask. You couldn’t imagine bearing to be around him unless absolutely necessary. Though, in an effort to maintain pleasantries…

“Thanks, though,” You called, not trying to hide the hint of dislike in your tone. Your words made him stop, hand just barely hovering over the knob to the door. After a brief moment, his head turned slightly, just enough for him to look at you out of the corner of his eye.

Although it was brief, you saw a glint of what you assumed was malice in his eye as his lips twitched and curled, momentarily revealing the black of his gums. His face quickly returned to his regular facade of cheer. He opened the door, not saying anything in return, and quickly took his leave, slamming the door behind him.

You drug your hands down your eyes, looking at yourself once again in the mirror. Cleaner now, but still rough. You thought deeply about what your future here would be like, especially around Alastor. If he was truly Charlie’s right-hand-man, you doubted avoiding him would be easy, despite how desperately you wanted to.

Yeah. This is Hell.

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 民国奇探/My Roommate is a Detective.

My Roommate is a Detective is a 2020 drama about the Jazz Age shenanigans of a terrible OT3: a useless noodle boy, a spoiled journalist girl, and a handsome thug-turned-cop, who together solve Agatha Christie mysteries in 1920s Shanghai.

I mean, seriously, have you ever wondered what Hercule Poirot would be like if he were a 6'2" Chinese rubber man? If he had a long-suffering sugar daddy from the wrong side of the tracks and a spunky sugar mommy who owned their shared apartment? The answer is, it would be a laugh-out-loud-funny series about a ridiculous and charming assortment of weirdos solving only slightly believable murder mysteries in charming period clothing.

This is another one of those shows where I'm kind of shocked at how not well-known it is, except I'm not, because I can see exactly the problems that keep fandom from descending on it like horny little vultures. Nonetheless, I think it's a good time that more people would enjoy if they gave it the chance. Here's five reasons why you should:

1. Equal parts smart as heck and dumb as butts

On the one hand, especially given its tone and tenor, this show has many surprisingly clever turns and thoughtful moments, carried along by some talented actors. On the other hand, [.gif of a guinea pig in a rollerskate being pushed merrily down a hallway]

This show is not a complicated intellectual exercise. It's an action comedy about a goofy sleuth, a rich-girl reporter, and the cop who should be the straight man in this trio, except he's as much of a goober as the other two are. If the promotional tableaus are giving you real "cover of a Clue box" vibes, you've understood the kind of pastiche it's pulling off.

The mysteries are preposterous. They're all the kind of thing that exemplify the Doyle line about how, when you've eliminated the impossible, whatever's left has got to be the answer, no matter how ding-dang improbable it may be. You know the type: tons of overly elaborate setups, unbelievably perfect timing, coincidental long-lost relatives, people hallucinating right and left. They're also very short -- most full cases take only 2-3 episodes to introduce, investigate, and resolve, even when interspersed with the larger goings-on in these weirdos' lives. The DramaWiki page for the show lists 23 separate arcs over 36 episodes, so you do the math.

And yet, it's way more thoughtful and clever than its doofy little setup would indicate. Its attention to detail surprised me on more than one occasion. Add to that a bunch of solid performances from an ensemble of real characters, and what you get is definitely more substantive than a junk-food waste of time. You can't turn your brain off while watching it, but you sure can turn it down, and that's great.

It also doesn't hurt that everyone is super attractive and wearing great outfits. The whole show's worth it for the wardrobes.

2. THE GIRL

Fuck the haters, fuck everyone, I am going to climb right up on my little soapbox and tell you all why Bai Youning is awesome.

She is insane. She's a troll. She's a clever little monster. Every other character's response to her is, oh my god, you are literally the worst. And she is! She has been spoiled beyond belief by her incredibly rich Crime Dad, and she has learned to leverage her uwu just a widdle girl status to get her whatever the hell she wants. She simply cannot hear it when someone says the word "no." She will look her future sister-in-law in the eye and point a loaded gun at her own head without blinking. Every ball she has is made of brass.

She's hardly perfect. During the course of the show, there are some times where her entitlement runs face-first into the brick wall of reality. She's not nearly as good at her chosen career path as she's been told (mostly by the people who get paid to tell her she's good). She's rarely prepared to deal with the consequences of her actions, especially when she can't just throw money at the problem.

So she learns, and grows, and changes. She's always going to be a stubborn bitch, but she can become a stubborn bitch with a more accurate conception of her relationship to the world around her.

She's actually a really good romantic foil for Lu Yao, who is equally stubborn and spoiled and obnoxious as hell. It is a pure brat4brat relationship, where each one thrives on comically enraging the other. What this means, though, is that when they actually start showing one another some vulnerability, it's really sweet.

Now: I'm pretty sure that you could not have made a female character in her position that everyone did not hate, no matter how cool you made her, because that is the fate of all girls who theoretically keep the two boys from kissing. (More on that next point.) If she were less outgoing and friendly, she would've been hated for being too cold. If she were less headstrong, she would've been hated for being a pushover. If she weren't as into the boy, she would've been hated for being frigid. I know the "god forbid a woman do anything" meme is a joke, but ... man, god forbid this girl do anything. She gets a level of hate entirely disproportionate to what she's actually like. As I said with Eom Dada, it's not always sexism, but sometimes, yeah, it's sexism.

(Real talk: Her character is also fighting both how she's definitely not written as well as the boys are and how the plot sometimes needs her to be artificially stupid and jealous for Straightness Drama Reasons, so that's a legit problem on a structural level. Also, she's dubbed by someone else and the boys aren't, which gives her voice an annoying not-quite-there quality that's hard to ignore. The deck is stacked against her real hard even before she steps onscreen.)

So here's my advice: Go into this show wanting to like her. Embrace her terribleness as a positive, intentional quality. Don't be mad at her for straightening up an endgame that was never going to be gay, even without her. Welcome her contributions to the chaos. Realize that she is exactly as entertainingly irritating as her boys are.

Truly, this is a story of three terrible people in love. They're all just awful, and you wouldn't want to be in a room with any of them for longer than you had to. Left to right up there, Bai Youning is spoiled and self-absorbed, Lu Yao is arrogant and lazy, and Qiao Chusheng is suuuuuch a fucking cop. If you're into the kind of dynamic that can only be described OT3: You All Deserve One Another, then this one's perfect for you.

3. Do you really miss '00s queerbaiting?

Like, really? Are you just super-nostalgic for being able to see the showrunners go, ha ha, girls, we know you're watching and we know you want these cute boys to kiss, which they never will -- but what if we pretended for just this one scene??? Do you just carnally ache for that with every fiber of your being?

Yep.

Now, why am I calling the occasional really gay moments between these two gentlemen "queerbaiting" and not "bromance"? Because these moments are a) obviously intentional, b) completely sporadic, and c) never spoken of again.

For example: There's a scene (which you can see a gifset of here) where the two of them are at a restaurant frequented by the cop, who brings a lot of ladies there on dates. When the waiter points this out, useless noodle boy says, I'm his date. The waiter looks mildly surprised by this, the cop says not to listen to his bullshit, and that's the end of it. The scene moves on. There is no further discussion of this comment. It does not affect their relationship.

That's the essence of queerbaiting: that little on-purpose nod to the homoerotic tension between the two, in a way that isn't a joke but also isn't not a joke, and either way is never going to happen. (In fact, the show is going to go out of its way to make sure that ship gets sunk, so, uh, get your fanfiction lifeboats ready for that.)

A true queerbaiting move is something that should make a difference in a relationship, but doesn't. It should make a difference that our cop is so comfortable in the noodle boy's personal space that he invades it at will. It doesn't. It should make a difference that noodle boy keeps getting real weird every time the cop has a date with a girl. It doesn't. Those are some real romantic moves the two of them keep pulling, and then nothing comes of them.

I had this show sold to me as being incredibly shippy, to the point of being even more so than its censored-BL contemporaries. And ... well, it is and it isn't. It has textually gayer individual moments, but it is much less pervasively gay. It's clear from the start that it's going to throw all its actual relationship points into its canon het romance. When it comes to these boys, the show is toying with you. It knows you want to see those boys smooch, just as much as it knows (and it knows you know) they're never gonna.

How you feel about this is entirely up to you -- and indeed, it may be a dealbreaker on the whole drama for you. If you are inclined to pitch a fit when your ship does not become canon, you'll be happier somewhere else. If, however, you see this as a delightful opportunity to do whatever the hell you want with the situation as it is presented, all the while enjoying little moments of startlingly blatant homoeroticism between two handsome dudes, well, here you are!

(I mean, if you want my take on it, what needs to happen is that the cop and the girl need to fuck while the useless noodle boy watches with asexual bisexual interest, and then they all need to snuggle with the noodle boy in the middle so they can both annoy him appropriately, but your mileage may vary.)

4. The multicultural extravaganza!

1920s Shanghai had a lot going on in terms of cultures and languages, and this show actually does a fair job of representing that.

By now, I've seen a number of shows set during this era, and they all at least acknowledge the international nature of the city -- usually by mentioning the French Concession and having a handful of evil Japanese characters. However, this is the first time I've seen a show go to such lengths to actually show so many non-Chinese characters onscreen, even to the point of making one a recurring character supporting the main squad.

Salim is the best. Whatever he is being paid, it's not enough. He's Qiao Chusheng's right-hand man, which means he is also the dude who most often has to put up the main trio's bullshit. (The actor himself is also a dude with a pretty cool backstory, which is another great layer.) He's sharp, he's loyal, he's patient, and he looks great with his shirt off. He's got it all!

Other non-Chinese characters include a white Jewish art collector (I'd issue a warning for period-typical antisemitism, except … honestly, it's mostly just confused), a sadistic priest who maybe is supposed to be Italian, a completely different priest who [last episode spoiler], and three whole sinister white dudes behind it all.

It's not just the world coming to China, though! A large number of the Chinese characters are said to have spent significant time outside of China, whether for business or for schooling. Near the end, when some characters are discussing moving away from Shanghai, they consider a number of foreign cities as potential destinations.

Here's a delightful detail: When Lu Yao and his sister speak English, they're dubbed by actors with posh British accents who sound like native (or near-native) English-speakers. This makes perfect sense, because both of the siblings did a lot of their schooling in the UK. When Bai Youning speaks English, she's dubbed by someone who speaks English very well but also has a noticeable Chinese accent, which makes perfect sense for her character's background. And Qiao Chusheng never speaks English at all, because he's a street tough who has no reason to know more than three words.

...This is also kind of weird to say about something literally made in China, but go with me on it: Everything's kind of got that Art Deco Orientalist vibe to it. It looks like China's idea of what Britain's idea of China during that period would have looked like. The result comes across less like what 1920s Shanghai would actually have looked like, and more what an ad for 1920s Shanghai would have looked like. It's a fascinating aesthetic, and more so for how it's mostly pretty subtle. The show isn't some visual extravaganza, but it's always very nice to look at, and I appreciate that in a show.

5. A wonderful horrible protagonist

A lot of mystery-themed prestige television involves an asshole genius detective who gets away with being a dick to everyone because he's sooooo smart, while all his long-suffering friends and colleagues spend a lot of time doing damage control for him because, sigh, he's an asshole but we need him, genius excuses all dickhead behavior, we'll always make exceptions for him because he's just ever so special. (Watch histrionic sage hbomberguy's video on Sherlock if you're unfamiliar with the trope.)

Lu Yao is an asshole genius detective, but one who winds up spending most of his time being an asshole to a) people who deserve it, or b) his horrible friends who will be assholes right back at him. When he is awful to the people who don't deserve it, the show smacks him pretty hard on the nose for it and makes him apologize.

This is a show where you'll figure out pretty quckly if you'll love it or hate it, because if you love Lu Yao, you'll love it, and vice versa. He carries most of the show himself, with his goofy charm and his incredibly bendy slenderman body and his ability to make the one competent person he knows both protect him and give him money.

Like so.

For my own part, I find him intensely charming, and I think a lot of this has to do with Hu Yitian's ability to play him as an affectionately bullyable weenie who needs to get shoved in a locker for his own good. He's the worst, and it's comically endearing instead of offputting because at the end of the day, he really does have a good heart. He's just also lazy as heck and disinclined to do anything that he does not want to be doing, and really, aren't we all?

As I alluded to in point 3, he comes across as real asexual. He's just not that interested in sex, and he is in fact pretty uncomfortable in situations where he finds himself the subject of someone else's sexual desires. He's perfectly capable of romantic feelings! I mean, not only does he get Bai Youning as a love interest, we actually meet one of his ex-girlfriends. He's just not partciularly horny about them -- which is even more noticeable as a sharp contrast to how extremely horny Qiao Chusheng is for just about everyone, but this exasperating little dork in particular.

(Like seriously, 90% of the time, Chusheng is about to explode with sexual frustration at Lu Yao's skinny oblivious ass.)

This isn't to say you couldn't get Lu Yao into bed, because you absolutely could, and he'd probably have a good time. You'd just have to remove all distractions from the room, lest his ADHD ass wind up running off to solve a crime mid-coitus.

Twiggy little nightmare man. Garbage-animal boy. Love him.

sidebar: A word about the ending

I'm going to be vague and talk about general vibes instead of specific events, but you should still skip this section if you want to remain completely unspoiled. Jump to the picture of Chusheng holding the sledgehammer.

Okay, so, a lot of people do not like the ending, and I'm including myself in that number. I honestly don't know if they got rushed and had to wrap everything pretty last-minute, or if they thought they might get a second season out of it and were leaving things open-ended accordingly. Either way, it's incredibly unsatisfying.

I think there's a clue that the show didn't actually want to end this way, and it's not actually in the text of the show itself. Every episode, between the last scene and the start of the credits, you get to see a couple still frames from the episode (usually some of the queerbaity ones). After the very final shot of the series, you get two images: the boys hugging goodbye, and Chusheng's upset face. That's not a resolution! That is at best a "to be continued..." ending!

But no, that's it. That's all, folks.

It's not quite an ending so bad it ruins the rest of the show, mostly because it doesn't feel finished, so it's less like you're watching a car being deliberately driven into a wall because someone thought that was the best route to take, and more like you're watching someone leave a car on the railroad tracks because they figured they'd have time to move it later.

As far as I know, there has been no noise made about a second season. These 36 episodes are the entirety of the narrative. It had the distinct misfortune to start airing in March 2020, which wasn't exactly prime time for planning sequels, and that seems to have been that. (There is a 2022 show called Checkmate that stars the two main guys in extremely similar roles, also adapting Agatha Christie stories, but it's apparently pretty meh? Somebody else who's actually seen it, go ahead and weigh in here.)

I'll say that if you turn off the episode right after Lu Yao gets out the handcuffs, you'll save yourself the worst of it the awkward and unsatisfying moments (though I'm impressed at your willpower to stop watching something five minutes from the end). That's not all of it, though. Structurally, there are several situations rushed to a resolution and loose threads left flapping untied in the breeze. I guess stopping before the last five minutes simply saves you the hope that it'll pull a good ending out of the fire, because it won't.

And let's be real: The more you hate Bai Youning and her romance with Lu Yao, the more you'll hate the ending. (Not that liking those elements will necessarily make you like the ending, of course, because I'm a fan of hers and I still think the ending is butts.) The ending is already like a pair of uncomfortable shoes; if the het romance especially makes you grind your teeth, the ending becomes a pair of uncomfortable shoes that also have a rock in them. A lot of the comments online indicate plenty of people dropped the show when they learned the het romance would be endgame. It's a pretty common dealbreaker.

Oh well. Bring on the fanfic, I say! Those of us who are used to taking a sledgehammer to canon are unafraid.

Smash it, baby.

Still want to see some of these mysteries?

Both iQiyi and Viki have the answer to your sleuthing!

It's not a perfect show -- as evidenced by my digression about the ending -- but it's a lot of fun. If you can handle the occasional foible and some eyebrow-raising moments, you're in for a good time with some attractive people that occasionally tastes very gay.

Every roommate crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man

[ladybirdswritings]

BEAUTY AND THE HYBRID - Klaus Mikaelson Fanfiction

summary: the slip of burlap rope brings an unsuspecting girl into the arms of a vicious, bloodthirsty creature.

warnings: mentions of ab*se, stockholm syndrome, captivity, dea*h, and violence.

next chapter <3 | a03 | edits | tag list

four

“C’mon sugarpea, wake up now. Wake up.”

The light is blinding but I’m tucked away, cozy in darkness with no pain… only the sound of my mother’s warm voice.

“Apple darlin’, Birdie… c’mon now Apple, Birdie’s callin’ for ya.”

I startle awake with a gasp, the remnants of my mother’s words reminding me that the tucked away darkness is far from a loving dream. I’m not home on the scratchy, deflated air mattress. I’m not waking up to the radio purring and Joel snoring. No.

No.

No no no no no no no.

They got me, they fucking got me.

Fear clutches at me like a snake starved, suffocating me, breaking all my bones and rendering them to be useless, shaky things.

Trembling as I sit up, my fingertips are purpled. Funnily, the last thing I remember is my continuous fall on the pavement. That’s only because, all I can think about is Birdie— and how she’s not here beside me.

All that surrounds me is cold, gray brick walls. A pathetic mattress on the floor, a chain round my wrist, the other three for my remaining limbs left untethered. There’s a sink in the corner, and a toilet. Only close enough for me to crawl to. The chain is heavy.

There’s a window, it seems closer to the ceiling above than me. I take in my surroundings with dread swimming in my chest.

I’m hostage.

Chained up by a psychopath that my sister stabbed, my sister. My body chills, he must’ve killed her by now— otherwise she’d be here… that or, or worse.

I hug my knees to my chest and cannot stop the sobs from suffocating me. They’re harsh, because with each cry— my body begins to ache again.

I choke upon my air and upon my tears, my hands clutching desperately at my midsection where there is bandage wrapped tightly around.

I have to get up.

I am certain it looks pathetic, I let out a cry as I make it to my feet. My ankle hisses in pain, nearly bringing me right back down to the cement once more… but one thought of Birdie and I manage.

I limp, slowly, but my palms- bandaged too, fall on each edge of the ceramic sink. I am hunched over, breaths labored and a mere chore to breathe. I manage eventually, lifting my head up to see my reflection in the small, round mirror.

My god…

A bandage is wrapped tight round my head, my eyes are red and bruised, they are dark. I look more pallid than usual, and my lips are parched and split in two. There’s a nasty slice on my alabaster cheek, falling from the arch of my brow… it’s held together with two thin bandages.

My fingertips are curious, grazing the fresh wounds but regretting it soon after. I wince in pain, like lemon and salt rubbed in wound.

The faucet is squeaky and old, but it works. The water is cold and welcome— I use my free hand to cup some in my palm and devour it.

I am so thirsty.

The droplets are licked from my lip with my eager tongue, and I can only stand for a moment longer before feeling dizzy once more. I stumble to the mattress, bumping a small tray and gasping when I hear a clatter of metal as I do.

Hmm.

Tired gaze floats to the sound, it’s a syringe— full but unused. At least, I only hope it’s unused. I’m curious.

I gather it in my fingertips and examine the faded marker scribbled upon it.

HYDRAMORPHINE (ADRENALINE)

Christ.

Did they shoot me with this? No wonder I’m not knocked out still. I prick my fingertip with the needle, falling back on the mattress and twirling it between my fingers.

I can feel the warmth plaguing my eyes before I can stop it, flooding my view of the window at the height of the ceiling. So far away.

What have I done?

Trying to sniffle back the tears does nothing but make them fall harder, gentle sobs now.

All I wanted was to give Birdie and Joel a better life. Warm beds and plentiful meals and medicine and all the things they could ever desire. Like mom did.

Look where trying to be mom got me.

Almost dead, ironically.

I fear Birdie is facing that fate, and it chills me. Thinking about her, if she is alive— I know she’s so scared. It’s all my fault.

I close my eyes tight, imagining what she’d be doing if she were here right now with me.

“Apple, get the fuck up. We’re gettin’ the fuck out of here.”

I let out what can only be described as half of a weak laugh and half of a strong sob at that thought, I know her so well it is as if her voice is programmed permanently within my head.

“Oh god…” I breathe, clawing at the ache in my chest tight and praying for it to dissipate.

My mother’s words echo.

“Birdie’s callin’ for ya…”

Brave Birdie. Scared, alone…

I can’t let that happen.

My eyes fall down to the needle in my hands, an idea blossoms at the sight.

I may be very stupid, but I’d rather take my chances with a mysterious drug than sit here like wounded prey ready to be slaughtered.

I’m gonna take it.

Adrenaline is what I need. I’ll die here, weak and exhausted otherwise.

There’s no instruction, just a painful looking needle. My wrist aches as I bend it forward, it’s most definitely fractured or worse— the same wrist bound by chain.

“Okay apple, okay…” I whisper, allowing my breaths to become meaningful and with thought.

“One… two…”

I don’t allow three to come before slamming the needle down into my skin, puncturing it immediately and blossoming my very being back to life, back to a mode of survival.

Woah.

My heart speeds, faster than it ever has. Pounding rapidly against my chest like a caged animal ready to run free. The world erupts in color, and everything is melted in to tunnel vision.

The throbbing in my head goes quiet.

I need to get out of here.

I need to find Birdie.

The pain dissipates, I feel nothing but urgency and determination coursing through my bones. My breaths are heavy and quick, and I can hear them within my own ears- they are loud.

I’m on my feet, the pain in my ankle and wrist only a buzz of pins and needles now.

Searching, seeking.

The sink.

If I can climb upon the sink, I can throw the chain around the window lock and climb.

I slide the cotton socks from my feet with my free hand and hastily make my way over to the sink, climbing atop the ceramic and executing my plan to perfection. I don’t take the time to celebrate.

Tunnel vision.

The climb makes me cry out, my wrist betraying me thrice but regardless? I make it.

I think of Birdie each time I slip.

Another lock from the inside, I only hope clicking this one won’t cause me regret. I push the window upwards and a spring holds it there— the cool breeze is familiar but it’s not the breeze of Mystic Falls, I am certain. This breeze is more lively, less dull.

It kisses my mangled cheeks hello, pulling me closer. I tremble now as I glance down. The fall isn’t necessarily close but… it’s manageable. It has to be. For Birdie.

“Okay… okay.”

Time slows, a deep breath in and I take a moment to listen to the owl crying in the distance. As if he warns me to go back inside. I can’t.

I have to do this.

I pull up and drop the excess of the chain down to the grass below, I cannot think about this jump. If I do? I’ll coward. So I don’t.

I only allow one deep breath more before I leap.

A gasp becomes me, then? The snap of metal chain by the force of the fall. More dreadfully, a pop.

“Agh! Fuuuuuck!”

My ankle, surely dislocated now.

The adrenaline, coursing.

I have to put it back.

My hands are weak, my cries loud- but once again? I don’t think, just push.

The pain shoots upwards, and I bite down on the skin of my shoulder to muffle my indication of it.

It feels off, but it will have to do.

Tunnel vision. Birdie.

I don’t know where I’m going, only that I’m going far. My leg drags itself behind me as I rush in a pathetic limp.

A parking lot, lit by iridescent streetlights.

I cry out as I near it, the pain beginning to feel louder than the tunnel vision— regardless? I make it there.

My head snaps around in all directions, searching for something, anything.

“Please god.”

A blue car, lonely in the corner, but it’s not the car itself I see. It��s the glistening metal atop it. Glorious in its stagnant state.

Keys.

I rush forward, trying not to allow my thorned ankle to slow me. It doesn’t— because I keep thinking of Birdie. Of my mom’s voice, the diner, all of it.

My hands tremble, the hope flooding my senses as I reach the car and grab my exit from atop it.

I try and fit the key inside but my body, it’s betraying me again. Shaking, viciously. I’m in a cloth nightgown, skin bare and bandaged and adrenaline coursing through me. It’s cold here, ice cold. I can see my own breaths.

I can’t do it. I try to breathe, but my next attempt lands the keys on the pavement.

“Oh, fuck.” I mutter, exasperated, carefully kneeling to gather them. The cool metal meets my fingertips, and I sigh. I’ll just try again.

“Hello love.”

I know that voice.

My body renders itself frozen, and when I turn… there he stands.

The fallen angel.

His hair is messy, as if it has been tousled with. His suit is unbuttoned and wrinkled, polar opposite of my captor, and his collar and stubble is stained red.

His lips and teeth, they’re red too. He must’ve been in a nasty brawl with someone. They clearly got a good jab at him.

He towers over me, a smile or— smirk on his lips and an expression I can’t pinpoint swimming in his eyes. Amusement? It can’t be.

I don’t give myself time to think about it, I simply relax.

He’s here, it’s another stroke of luck. The kind man from the diner who saved me from falling on my ass, he’s somehow here.

“Oh thank god!” I cry, stumbling to my feet— the movement is too quick and brings me forward. The maple and bourbon floods my senses soon as my nose grazes his collar, I grip it tightly between my palms.

I don’t want to let go.

I look up at him, the warmth of his hand splayed against my back to stable me and keep me close to the heat of him is welcome. Like a hug after all of this madness. His golden eyes gaze down at me, that smirk still present.

My tears flood, voice guttural.

“Please, please you have to help me! They’re crazy, they’re monsters. T-they took my sister and they chained me up in this horrible room! Please!” I cry, not even recognizing the sound of my own voice. It’s desperate, pleading.

“Aww, shh shh shh.” He soothes, the honey in his voice erupting goosebumps upon my neck. His free hand moves to stroke my hair back, pressing my head against his chest. It is bare, shirt unbuttoned around it— golden hair peeks from it, he’s soft. He’s safe.

My tears soak his skin, lips trembling against it,

“Please… please you have to help me. I need to find her. I need help….” I whisper, clutching the fabric of his suit tighter in my fingers.

“Yes I know, sweetheart. Tell me now, what did these big bad monsters look like? Hmm?” His hand still strokes my head.

Images of jet black hair and decapitated waitresses flood my memory.

“He- he was tall! And had raven hair so dark it looked like the night… he was cruel and vicious and had horrible, soulless eyes. He— he…”

El… they called him “El! … t-that’s what he goes by I think.”

“El?” He tries.

“Yes, El.” I confirm. I know it, I remember.

“Hmm. My my sweetheart, what a horrible evening you’ve had. El… that wouldn’t be short for Elijah would it?”

…

How—?

Time stops for a moment, my breaths shaky but quiet. I gulp, my heart slowing.

It can’t be.

I am cautious, slow and shaky as I tilt my head downward, pressing my ear against his chest. He keeps stroking my head.

There’s no heartbeat.

The memory of gray veins and sharp fangs ready to sink into me in the van constrict me.

A monster.

I chill again, but not because of the air, rather because of my suspicion. Slowly, daringly I lift my chin up to face him. He’s smirking down at me… he IS amused.

“H-how do you know that?”

He laughs.

Oh god.

Him. It’s him. He took me.

My face drops, I know he sees it.

Oh god…

“No… no- no this can’t be happening.”

Even though I speak to myself, he listens. He responds.

“I’m afraid it is love. You know I’m quite impressed you managed to make that jump. If only you’d been faster with those pesky keys, hmm?”

I release him immediately, stumbling backward till my back meets the car. I am trembling, again.

My fingertips raise to cover my eyes.

“Mm mm, no— no!” I sob.

“Oh at ease my darling, at least you’re alive. Lucky lucky you, don’t know if we can say the same for your sister though.”

I gasp, his mocking words confirming all of my horrified suspicions. My arms wrap round my midsection, clutching tightly at it as I try to breathe again.

“I don’t know just how vicious Elijah can be these days, I do know that your dear sibling did get a nice jab at him. That won’t make him too happy.”

He steps forward, and all of the sudden I feel trapped by the car instead of saved by it. I move my face away from him, he is an unwelcome presence now. His fingers chase me. Stroking the bandage that has lifted from my cheek.

“Look at you, sweet girl. How delicate, how stupid you are.”

His thumb swipes softly at my tears as he shushes me and it is now that all I can smell on him is blood and it is putrid. It’s not his own.

Birdie.

I push him away from me and stand taller.

“No- no where the FUCK is she?”

I regret my outburst immediately once his thumb and index meet my chin, pinching it between them. It’s immediate.

“If you’ve got any brain at all in that beautiful head of yours— you’ll never speak to me like that again. Do you understand me?”

His voice is a loud, commanding and horrifying sound.

He shakes my chin when I don’t answer, and a glance at the bloody man before me swells my vision with tears again.

He works with the devil that took my sister.

I’m reluctant, but I have to answer. If I’m dead, any chance of saving Birdie is no chance at all.

“Yes.” I spit through clenched teeth.

He accepts it, I know this because he releases my chin.

“Good then. If you only behave, things will be much easier. Come on love, back to your room you go.”

No. No no no no no.

“Please, no please don’t make me go back in there.”

It’s empty and caged and lonely. It’s horrible. It’s missing Birdie.

I’m a fool for thinking he will listen, but I’m only human after all. Unlike this vicious creature before me.

The man shakes his head at me, he looks exasperated. As if I have somehow worn his patience thin by just standing before him. Warm palms press against my cheeks.

“Oh sweetheart… as amusing as this all is to me, and as fun as it has been to play with you— I’ve got many of things to attend to. You know, evil and horrible big bad monster duties. No more of this, you’re to return with me to your room with no quarrel or cry.”

I see his pupils expand as he speaks, it startles me. It’s inhuman, unnatural. He’s monstrous. Yet for some reason— I cannot refuse his words or fight him anymore. I’m exhausted.

I am to return to my room with him with no quarrel or cry.

I do just that.

[rosewaterandivy]

7. gold teeth and curse for this town

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

Warnings: 18+, no use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, sexual situations (caught masturbating, slight voyeurism), spring break shenanigans, traveling idiots, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: This chapter is borne out of my current nostalgia for travel and Southern CA that I’m going to make everyone’s problem (the end of grad school cannot come soon enough!). Get ready to repress some 6K of feelings, questionable advice and coping mechanisms - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, reposting my work, however, is not; enjoy! 💜

series masterlist | playlist - newly updated!

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Now, Spring Break, IND ➡️ DFW ➡️ PSP ➡️ Joshua Tree, CA

You hustle Steve out of the loft with ample time to get to the airport. Unlike some people, you operated on the maxim that early is on time and on time is late. As a result, you and Nancy made for fantastic travel companions, you and Steve however…

“Christ, who pissed in your cereal this morning?!”

You sigh in exasperation at his outburst, grabbing your suitcase and shouldering your backpack while Steve locks the car. His hair is a travesty, sticking up every which way like he slept in a barn, he’s so put off by it he’s opted for a blue baseball cap today proclaiming, ‘If you ain’t a fisherman, you ain’t shit’ that he’d stolen from Hopper at some point.

“Eat my ass, dude!”

He stops short at that, causing you to collide with his back. You kick the back of his legs with your scuffed shoes, trying to jumpstart the whole walking thing. But no, Steve just stands there like a statue.

When he finally gets going again after a shake of his head, you swear he mumbles something under his breath. It sounds an awful lot like, “You’re killing me, woman.”

Whatever. He’s killing you— all stupidly attractive and mussed from an early morning wake-up call. 

Which, to be fair, was definitely unintentional on your part. Nancy could’ve done you a solid and warned you about the thin wall between your room and Steve’s. Quiet and discreet your ass, you’d be having words with Bellesa’s customer service later.

It was preventative, if anything, because you’re conscientious like that. Just a little something to take the edge off before spending the better part of a week alone with Steve. That baby pink sucker should’ve come with a warning, or maybe you’re just that wound up. 

Regardless, being less than mindful of your volume resulted in Steve barging into your bedroom right as you were about to come— hand grasping the vibe at just the right angle and shoved down the front of your shorts, shirt rucked up against your chest.

“What the fuck?!” you screech, orgasm slipping back from whence it came. You’re paralyzed in shock, startled by a rumpled, sleep-drunk, shirtless Steve in his boxer-briefs, which were doing fuck-all to help the situation at hand.

Speaking of which… You make a frantic grab for the covers to pull them up and over yourself, clicking the vibe off and stashing it under some pillows.

Meanwhile, he just stands there, steadily growing various shades of pink and breathing heavily. “I thought– You were—” he attempts, tongue-tied and dumbfounded. 

The realization hits him like a ton of bricks. His jaw drops open, useless, as he takes what he hopes will be a steadying breath in. But that’s of no use, because why would the universe ever cut him a break?

You sail beneath his nose, wafting from the movement of the sheets as you hastily cover yourself and that scent— that intoxicating sweetness he remembers pulling out of past lovers, sucking off his fingers, savoring in his throat— crashes into him with its entire, terrifying, exhilarating implication.

He’s utterly baffled. The kind of hard-hitting no shit moment you get when someone tells you the answer to a riddle you’ve been chewing on for hours, trying to decipher that missing component you just can’t get a grip on. And when the answer wakes up your brain, and your brain face-palms itself, you’re walloped with both relief and irritation.

In Steve’s case, he’s walloped with the scent of spearmint toothpaste and soap-clean skin only lightly musky. Saltiness lingering from an evaporated sheen of sweat, a dampness that dried over, previously wet from a specific type of touch.

Fuck.

He promptly turns on his heel with a muttered apology, body rigid and ramrod straight with tension, bathroom door latched before you can ask him where he’s going. He turns the water on for the shower and steps inside. Starts almost too fast, grip on his cock clumsy and impatient. Steve squeezes and pulls off, then he does it again, the drag of his fist making a delicious, sloppy sound—Do you wonder about him? Those nights you go on half-hearted dates and come back early, shrugging, “Felt weird to— There wasn’t much of a connection,” and plop back down, contented to be next to him. Is that something, too?

He should have fucked you a long time ago on the couch to the soundtrack of a forgotten movie. On the counter, interrupting breakfast, scrabbling for something to grip, knocking shit over, too fevered to care.

He’d do you right. Do you long and good and how you deserve.

“Steve—" you’d cry for him, “Can’t believe we haven’t done this before.”

“Yeah,” he’d say, “You’re so fucking warm, and hot, and my god, I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t take it anymore. Gonna get up inside you, baby, gonna open you up, gonna ruin you for everyone else.”

And with that image, Steve comes so much it’s astonishing. He shudders uncontrollably, gasping out loud with the wind knocked out of him, and arches up toward the ceiling like he might levitate. And then, on the comedown, because being backed up for who knows how long wound him up for the kind of orgasm that decides to return for an encore, he comes again.

You get through security swiftly, the TSA agent from last time making conversation, checking your IDs and asking if you had another hilarious shirt on today.

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’ and jerking your thumb behind you to Steve, “It’s all him today.”

The agent nods and smiles, surveying Steve and his stupid hat quickly. Hands back your IDs and with a laugh, “Have a good trip!”

You save yourself from saying you too! but just barely. Brain still fried from your earlier interrupted activities, no thanks to the man following closely at your heels.

Steve doesn’t say a word until you’re seated on the plane. And even then, it’s less of a word and more of a clearing of his throat that prompts your attention.

“I’m, uh, sorry,” he says, refusing to meet your eyes, “For earlier today. I honestly thought you were like, having a nightmare or something.”

You fail to stifle your laugh. “Steve,” you chuckle, “If the women you’ve been seeing sound like they’re having nightmares when they come—”

“I wouldn’t know,” he interrupts, lips pulled tight. “Not really seeing anyone at the moment.”

You make a silent ‘oh,’ eyes blowing wide. What were you supposed to say to that?

He busies himself with his backpack, pulling out a book and some headphones. You do the same, placing a worn copy of The Devil’s Highway on your lap and settling headphones around your neck.

Something nudges at your calf. You turn from the flight attendant’s spiel to find a folded piece of paper held between two of Steve’s fingers. He flexes them toward you and you, bewildered, take it from him as he returns to his book.

Curious, you run a finger across its worn edges as it unfolds. A familiar scrawl greets you, ‘IOU one explanation.’

Your own. 

Shit, the devil’s really in the details, isn’t he?

Your vision shuffles like a deck of cards, mind racing back to Christmas morning as you quickly ripped off a scrap of paper from a receipt and wrote this on the back of it before stuffing it into Steve’s stocking.

Your tongue darts out the wet your chapped lips, firmly back in the present. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. You were supposed to be better prepared, thoughts in some logical order, feelings sorted (well, mostly) before Steve played this card.

You were supposed to know what the fuck you would do.

How you felt about him.

You’ve folded the paper back up and shoved it into your pocket without even realizing it. Dazed and confused while the captain makes an announcement, prompting the cabin for take-off.

Steve’s hand finds yours against the armrest, warm and familiar fingers tangling up with yours. Headphones secured on both of your ears, you take a deep breath as your stomach momentarily suspends itself while the plane takes off; inertia giving way to weightlessness. A squeeze of your hand before you lose yourself for a few hours, the playlist, courtesy of your best friend, sailing through your ears.

Best friends, ex-friends 'til the end / Better off as lovers and not the other way around.

Steve could kick himself for that stupid IOU, you’d been distant and quiet for most the day now. Barely said anything at all during the layover in Dallas, fucking hell. He’d left you to collect the bags while he dealt with the rental car. But he can’t drag his thoughts away from you, your eyes wide as you read the note, posture changing instantaneously. 

He interacts politely with the concierge but it’s clear his mind is somewhere else; he hopes he doesn’t come off as rude. When he makes his way back to you, wading through the crowds at the Palm Springs airport, you’ve gathered both suitcases and were sitting on top of one of them.

You’re on a phone call of some kind, turned away from him and hunched over like you’re trying to sink into yourself. His final present to you from Christmas on your right hand glinting in the light as your hold the phone to your ear. He hears a sniffle, quickly followed by a brief sigh.

“Yeah, thanks Nance,” you turn and spot him, offering a tight, watery smile. “Gotta go, Steve’s ready with the car.”

You listen as she says something, nodding along with her words.

“‘Kay,” you let out a shaky breath, “Love you too, bye.”

He bridges the distance between you, reaching for the suitcases before you can brush him away. You toe his backpack toward him, hefting your own over your shoulders with a grunt. Dodging a toddler and frazzled mom with a stroller, the pair of you make it outside, the sun a warm welcome against your faces.

You follow his lead to the rental car, a Ford of some kind, no convertible for the dirt roads and desert terrain of Joshua Tree.

The chirp of the car lets you know Steve’s unlocked it, you quickly compress the handle of your bag and shove it into the trunk. Backpacks are thrown into the backseat followed by a desperate plea from you for both “food,” and “the goddamn a/c.”

He grants both with a soft laugh. Maneuvers the Bronco Sport into Palm Springs with finesse, locating an In-N-Out in record time and rattles your order off from memory. You connect your phone to the bluetooth while you wait in the drive-thru line, mellow guitar chords ramp up and the melancholic sound of ‘drivin’ out into the sun / let the ultraviolet cover me up’ fill the car.

Steve steals your phone before you can change it to something less apocalyptic and depressing, so you’re left to listen to the rasping sounds of Phoebe Bridgers at the close of “I Know the End” while an In-N-Out employee hands you trays of food.

He thanks the teenager, and following the curve of the pavement and scores a parking spot just as a new song rips through the speakers. You hand him his order as he pushes the driver’s seat back to stretch his legs.

“Thanks,” he manages to say before shoving some fries into his mouth.

“Sure,” you reply, nearly unhinging your jaw to take a bite of the burger.

He laughs to himself, watching you. “S’like watching a pride of lions devour a warthog or something.”

You garble some smart-ass response, undoubtedly, before remembering your mouth is full. You roll your eyes and continue to enjoy your meal. Steve follows suit. 

After lunch, you suggest grabbing some groceries for the next few days. You wind through the aisles of Ralph’s, Steve following closely behind angling the cart to catch the incoming volleys of cereal boxes, power bars, and cartons of juice and milk. 

His heart clenches at the scene— it’s all very domestic, you ticking off your mental grocery list confident in the fact that Steve is just a step behind you— yes, dear; sure thing, sweetheart. You’re prattling on about some shit Wheeler pulled last week, a story you’ve already told him but he can’t bring himself to care, while you decided between Fruity Pebbles or Trix cereal.

Not when it seems like you’re just shaking off the gloom you wore earlier today. Eyes bright and animated, beaming smiles and pealing laughter; he can’t stop the smile that works its way across his face.

Back in the car before he knows it, groceries stowed in the back and cart returned to the corral. Taking his phone from the center console, you type in the AirBnB address and hand it back to him, fingers brushing against his just so. You say something about the property being at the edge of the park and a about an hour’s drive, give or take.

Steve just nods and starts the car. He follows the prompts of directions easily, and pretty soon Palm Springs is in the rearview. The road gives way to rolling hills and climbs with short descents as he drives closer to Joshua Tree. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices there isn’t the usual book in your hand.

He calls your name, “You alright?”

You nod, exhaustion evident in your gaze. “Mmhm, jus’ sleepy. Closing my eyes so I don’t get nauseous from the peaks and valleys.”

That’s right, you get carsick if you read on hilly or mountainous stretches of road. Though it’s not much, Palm Springs to Joshua Tree, he guesses the frequent hills and dips of the drive would be enough to do it. He turns the music down slightly, letting you doze.

It’s been a minute since he’s been alone with his thoughts. What with Nance moving out and you moving in, his mind has been elsewhere. It was a relief to finally be on spring break because it freed up some time for himself. 

Not that he used that time wisely, exactly.

He’d talked to Robin, briefly and abstractly, of course. But she was wise to his plight at this point, evasive tactics aside. She cautioned him, once again, to take it slow since you were liable to spook. She was probably right about that.

But then again, maybe not.

Chancing a glance to his right, he catches you and finds himself having a moment. How your face looked all soft and sweet—head lolled back against the seat and precariously resting against the window, how quiet you were, the strange peace settling between the two of you since lunch.

For a second Steve’s also not quite sure how he’s feeling– still gathering his bearings from the aftermath of new tenderness– but he’s so, so lucky that you’re exactly the kind of dummy he’s always known you were. Laughter bubbles from his throat when you snort yourself awake and blink blearily at your surroundings.

“We’re here,” he says softly, one hand resting against the steering wheel while the other pockets his phone.

You’re slow to the draw, having slept for the better of part of an hour, unclipping your seatbelt clumsily and fumbling for the door handle. And it’s all he can do not to kiss you stupid right then and there.

With a sigh and shake of his head, he exits the car and opens your door for you. A murmured ‘thanks’ as you hop down to the desert floor and read the host’s instructions for check-in. Your ancient chucks kick up dust as you walk to the front door and key in the code. 

Steve grabs the bags, leaving the groceries for later. He turns, spying a hot tub nestled among desert plants and grasses. The mountains behind the modern house provide a stark contrast to its sleek planes and lines. He almost feels bad for tracking in dust and dirt when he steps inside. 

The house itself is sleek, a paragon of modern design. Lots of windows to let in light, particularly in the living spaces. Primary colors and minimal art set the various rooms apart in the open concept space, he notes a red couch and yellow dining chairs, following the sound of your footsteps.

“It’s a two bedroom,” you call out from somewhere out of sight.

He’s both pleased and frustrated at that particular detail. Maybe that’s your way of introducing some distance between the two of you? He’d rather not think about it.

“They’re both nice,” you say, appearing out of thin air and leaning against a wall to his left. “We can flip for ‘em, I guess.”

Steve checks his pocket for loose change and prizes a quarter between his thumb and forefinger. “So heads is…?”

“The green room.”

“And tails?”

“The orange one.”

“Right,” he nods, “So on three, you call it.”

He counts it down and you call tails as the coin flips between you. He catches it on his palm, opening it for you to check.

“Tails it is—I’ll take the orange room, you get green.”

So, it’s settled. You take your suitcase and backpack with a smile before padding back to the second bedroom. Steve passes a pop art version of a Simpsons character displayed on the wall as he makes his way to his room. It’s not too far from yours with a sliding glass door to and view to the surrounding property. 

He leaves his bags by the door and beelines for the bed. His back hits the mattress and he’s out like a light.

The clanging of pots and pans wakes him. The faint footfalls of bare feet against the concrete floor as your prattle around the kitchen. He scrubs a hand down his face with a sigh.

He’s still exhausted from earlier, so he settles on drifting back to sleep, maybe waking you up in the morning with a big mug of coffee for that inevitable travel-hangover you’ll have.

Steve yawns and grins when he hears your hip bump the counter, a hushed curse (“god damned asslamp, what the fuck”), your feet padding away, and the kitchen faucet turns on with a rush. You’re such a considerate dope.

Another yawn. He’s asleep again.

_

It’s the soft knocking on his door that rouses him this time.

He pries his eyes open, instant regret flooding his veins because he slept in his contacts again. 

“Uhgimmeaminute,” he slurs out, hand frantically groping for his phone to check the time. Which is useless since it’s dead anyway.

Your voice sounds out from behind the door, “Steve, you awake?” A pause. “Dinner’s ready, if you want any.”

He’s managed to turn over onto his stomach, elbows sinking into the mattress, hands cradling his head as he struggles to wake the fuck up. 

“Yeah,” he rasps out, “Be there soon.” 

Music echoes from the kitchen, something soothing and low-energy. You’ve set the table and lit a few taper candles you’d managed to find. He pours himself a glass of wine and takes a seat, watching while you sway and sing to yourself. 

You sing along with the music, accompanying Paul Simon as he talks about being being lovers and marrying fortunes together. Steve sighs.

He may be biased of course, but he’s always adored your singing— you’re no vocalist, not really, but that doesn’t stop you. You’ll warble out any tune that strikes your fancy with gusto. Eddie and his attempts to rope you into any sort of musical education had gone amiss— you like what you like, and you’ll sing what you like.

He could listen to you all day, if you’d let him.

He clears his throat and you nearly flip the skillet in front of you, wine glass ringing from the tapping of your jewelry against it. “Christ! You scared the shit outta me, dude!”

Steve cocks his head to the side, also listening—to the music, perhaps to your now uncomfortably loud heartbeat. You run your hand through your hair. The music chimes into a similar calming tone as the chorus starts.

You set a plate down in front of him and slide into a chair to his left. He looks at you, questioning, “Not hungry?”

“Oh, me? I think I’ll just chew on these grapes for a bit.” 

You take a sip of wine and make a show of working your jaw, as if you are, in fact, chewing the grapes from the Malbec. He huffs a laugh at your antics, tucking into his own dinner. With a wink, you swallow and say, “I ate during your nap, so I’m good.”

He’s not sure exactly what you’ve whipped up, but it’s damned good. “Right,” he says, hand covering his chewing mouth, “Sorry about that.”

“S’fine,” you assure him with a wave, “No worries.”

The lights are dimmed. The guitar melody crescendos before the song ends. There’s a pause of silence before the next song begins, and you feel your heart leap as the first few words start.

“Um…” Your voice cracks. “So, about that explanation.”

His eyebrows raise briefly before he blinks a couple of times. You tilt your chin to your chest and lace your fingers together, foot tapping anxiously as you sit in wait. “I mean, I think I’m just a little unprepared. Like, obviously, we kissed in December and then we both just let it go. And I’m supposed to have it worked out by now—but recently there’s been … tension.” You pause for a drink, “I guess it’s only natural for you to want to know— I just got freaked out when I realized how you felt. Not only because I’m literally the last person to figure it out… It’s just—”

You’re full of rambling, nervous energy but you try your best to play it off. It was such an awkward thing to say out loud, and there was no way you could come out and spit: I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you for while now.

Steve laughs and leans forward, putting his hand over yours. “I just… didn’t want to mess anything up.” He says, eyes earnest and fixed on yours, “At least, I hope I didn’t.” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat, “I mean, I lo—,” He stops, covering with a brief cough, “I, uh, care about you, a lot.” 

A heavy silence falls between you as the next track begins, allowing you to wallow in your own cowardice. Your inability to say exactly what he nearly admitted to a moment ago.

Love.

Is that what the pressure in your chest is? The nerves fluttering in your stomach anytime you catch sight of him or your phone dings with a notification? A reason for the ever-present smile on your face as you gossip with him in the hall before the bell rings? An answer for your burgeoning insomnia because you can’t sleep well unless you’re by his side?

Cause if so… god is it fucking torture. 

Since kissing Steve Harrington in the living room on that Sunday evening last December, you’ve replayed that kiss over and over again, time after time as you fall asleep. It’s been approximately two months and some change, numerous lunches and dinners, with one long walk in the park with your family dog before he got a frantic call from Robin and had to leave for “bake sale disaster clean up.” You don’t want to precisely calculate how much time has passed. What you do know is that all these moments add up to you lying in bed thinking about it while trying desperately not to scream.

Tack on to that Steve quite literally catching you this morning with your hand down your shorts, seconds from release while you were most definitely thinking of him.

Jesus H. Christ.

You linger at the table, twirling your empty wine glass between two fingers as you think. Steve clears his plate, gets himself a glass of water, and you return to the kitchen to join him. He’s patting his thighs with his wet hands when you come in, nodding along to the music.

You gaze at the damp spots on his legs, the fabric of his trousers slightly clinging onto his thighs. Quickly, before he sees you, you look away.

“The National?” He asks amusedly, “I really like them… he’s got a great voice.” It’s different from the song you’d included on the vinyl you’d given him over Christmas, but apparently he knew enough of their catalogue to recognize them by sound alone.

Color you surprised.

But I'm gonna keep you in love with me for a while / I'm gonna keep you in love with me.

Steve walks closer to you, stopping a few steps away and leans against the edge of the island. He crosses his arms and press his lips together, eyelashes fluttering as he smiles.

“What now?” He asks. His voice echoes the same low and deliberate tone you’ve heard before, and you think that the question isn’t really a question at all. But you’re not really sure what to make of it—tonight may have been the most forward he’s ever been.

“Was that, uh, an adequate explanation for you?”

“What you mean?”

Standing on your tiptoes, you move to face him. “What I mean is,” you begin, “In your expert opinion, did my rambling monologue over there satisfy the IOU?”

You pause and wait for his answer.

Darkness flutters over his eyes briefly before he catches your mouth with his instead. With a half-whimper, half-moan, Steve Harrington cups the back of your neck in one large, warm hand and your lower back with the other and presses your body flush against his.

Oh.

A brief parting of your lips gives you a moment to catch your breath, but he’s back again, tongue sliding against yours sweetly, as if asking a silent question.

Is this okay?

With a sigh of pleasure, you ask him to continue in the same, secret language. Your chest is burning hot, tummy quivering with nerves and delight as his hands roam your body. Firm. Strong. Almost desperate. Your own hands rest against his chest before one reaches up and cups his face, “D-does that answer your question?” He mutters against your mouth before he slides down past your jaw and lands his lips on your neck, “We could—”

Until suddenly Robin’s advice rears its ugly head. 

Steve had been warned about not getting involved, repeatedly. Plenty of concern from Robin about getting “poorly wired idiot signals” crossed. It’s dangerous with a friend, even more so with you because he can’t lose you.

Point blank refuses to, in fact.

He abruptly pauses and pulls away, like he thought better of it. His hands place you back down on your feet– back to Earth– as he swallows hard, looking at you with open, red lips. Steve rolls the bottom one between his teeth and clenches his jaw, eyes half-lidded and lustful. You’re probably a wreck, too, you think as you catch yourself against the counter.

In the absence of his mouth and yours and his warm hands skating across your body, you’re terrified.

And from the look on Steve’s face, you’d wager he is as well.

Suddenly you’re looking at him one way, and then in a flash, the same grin you always give him— the crooked one on the cusp of a dumb joke— turns bright white.

It goes brilliant like solar flare, and he thinks he must be losing his mind.

He hazards a glimpse to you.

Maybe Steve’s been losing it for a few weeks now, but he’s done a great job dodging the reality of your confession so far. Doesn’t matter what you mumbled—cracked out on exhaustion and sleep-talking—because in the end, you’re his friend and you love him the same way you love everyone else: annoyingly. Nothing’s changed about that.

It was just a kiss.

He says your name carefully and you perk up at the sound of his voice. He clears his throat, “We should probably call it a night.”

A feeble sigh as Steve pushes his hands into his face, gripping his hair, pulling his own head back until he’s staring at the ceiling, willing this excruciating moment to pass him by.

“Y-yeah, okay,” you whisper.

When he finally looks back down, you’ve left without a sound.

“Mmm…”

He wakes up for a third time, not that he had been sleeping soundly by any means.

It’s barely audible at first, especially if he was still oblivious, but now it’s like his ears can comprehend a new language, like all his senses have been heightened.

Or maybe it’s just because you didn’t close your door entirely tonight. Steve can’t blame you, he did, after all, interrupt you this morning.

He can’t recall if voyeurism was ever his kink, but just this once, maybe it can be. His curiosity takes hold, lights up upon hearing a stifled groan of a syllable that sounds surprisingly like his name. If he focuses, he can dampen the nighttime outside his window, smother out the air conditioning and—

“Steve… that’s… oh, it feels so good…”

His cock springs to life.

There’s a rhythm of folded knees, thighs squeezed together in pulses, fingers reaching between them, and the hot, pleading breaths you puff into the clamped grasp of your hand. Even your heart, wildly banging around in your chest. He takes note of the tempo and dives beneath the waistband of his shorts, keeping pace.

“There, faster… don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He thinks, I won’t, and finds it a little perfect how this entire thing seems to be mutual, after all.

_

He wakes for the last time, in the late morning, and rolls out of bed to brush his teeth and shower. He definitely smells like sex, and when he opens the door to the bathroom, you’re already at the counter, also smelling like sex. Steve slyly looks down and adjusts himself, tilting his groin away and out of view.

“Mornin’” You rub at your temple, squinty and tired. “Think you were in my dream last night,” you say absently, blinking out the sleep, ungracefully squeezing toothpaste onto your toothbrush where it falls off in a goopy pile. You scrub in gentle circles, leaning over to spit and rinse, and come back up wet and bleary. As Steve washes his face, you tug his towel from the rack.

He pats off his cheeks, brushes his own teeth with one hand next, the other reaching sideways to swipe a rolling bead of water off your neck, purposefully running his thumb up your throat.

Low and encouraging, he asks, “Yeah? Was it a good dream?”

You blink in quick flutters at that, surprised and abruptly reliving a fuzzy memory, a prickle of dew casting itself over your brow.

“Y-yes,” you stutter, sudden heat rippling off your body, that lovely perfume of incoming arousal rising to meet him. When you stumble back, flustered, he holds you still, sets you on your shaky feet.

Steve licks his lips, thinks about how maybe this won’t be a thing he’ll simply get over, how he is quite glad to have you, and maybe he can have more of you, too.

He thinks about how easily a mutual fantasy can come true and murmurs, “That’s good, honey. That’s real good.”

An exasperated huff as Steve sticks his arm out in front of your collar. You look at him in irritation, ready to swat it away until your feet trip over a loose rock and he catches you by the shoulder. 

“Watch it,” he says calmly, setting you on your feet, “If you stop looking down at your feet, you might see something you like.”

Target acquired: you got a juicy ass, Harrington.

Smartly, you shut up, letting him walk ahead in case any more errant rocks might make you eat your words again.

The trail to Skull Rock is popular, full of hikers and brush branches as you’ve repeatedly discovered by taking twigs to the face. Keeping close to Steve, you let him shoulder most of the burden, only putting your hand up when a branch he snaps off with his hand flies too close to your eyes.

“IF—” You start loudly, and Steve bristles at your volume, “If you could pick one person from history who you’d take out to dinner, if circumstances made it possible,” you pause to take a breather, letting a family pass by on their way down the trail. “Who would it be?”

“I wouldn’t.” Steve retorts, “And you’re being annoying.”

“I’m not!” You insist, hands on your hips and eyes narrowed at him from behind your sunglasses. “You’re just being boring and refusing to play DC.”

“What’s that— the stupid thing the kids were whispering about recently? Dead crush?”

You respond with a maniacal giggle. “Mine’s Rasputin, he’s Russia’s greatest love machine!” 

Steve groans. Shoulders his bag with a disappointed sigh, exasperated that you tricked him into this stupid game, “Fucking– you’ve got to be kidding. That’s disgusting.”

With a flick of your wrist, you condescendingly scoff. “Glass houses Steve,” you tease. “Besides, you’d probably pick someone like Princess Di because you’re predictable.”

“Rasputin’s a bit dark, isn’t he?” Steve shakes his head, forging ahead on the trail.

Sticking your tongue out at the back of his head, you fix your gaze forward with a sly smirk.

“Who would you pick, Mr. H.? Let’s get a peek into that big brain of yours.” You lick your lips as he looks back over his shoulder.

Steve mulls the question over for a second, “Margaret Thatcher. I’d take her to dinner. And then to an early grave.”

There’s an exasperated sound that escapes your lips. “Okay, that’s not really how the game works. This is not supposed to be a political commentary- it’s a genuine display of … attraction!”

“To corpses.” He mutters.

“Okay, that’s dark.” You exhale with a brief chuckle.

You’re stunned into silence thereafter, and it’s a wonder, since Steve’s never known you to be silent for anything. A life-time of no-filter commentary that makes him physically ill at times, and you’re shocked quiet.

The fallout of last night lingered awkwardly, coloring the lazy morning and early afternoon. He didn’t even have the courage to look at you—only forging on with the day, dewy with sweat. Briny with exertion. Sweet and tangy and whipping through the air, chased by dry wind. 

Steve’s back in the driver’s seat, you’re riding shotgun. Shades perched on your nose bridge, ruddied pout glorious against the sunset backdrop.

“You alright?”

A bead rolls down your brow, gets lost in the damp hair coiled by your ear. Steve reaches over, brushing your arm and you pull back, letting him dig in the backseat. He loops a finger through a hydroflask and hands it over. “Here.”

A small smile as you take it from his slack grip. 

The cool water slides right down your throat and soothes the fever in your throat. A clatter of the visor’s mirror slides open and you look at your reflection before pushing your glasses up again.

Steve has already returned to his side, staring out the gaping window, hair rushing over his beautiful face.

You tapped on his hand, water bottle clinking against it fell to the floor at your feet. The evening is cooling, chasing away the day’s heat. A filmy layer of sweat begins to condense on your brow despite the open windows and a/c on full blast.

And it’s just his way, isn’t it? To smile and wait, look so peaceful while your heart howls for him. To say I love you without ever having to say it at all.

Shyly, with his hand inching toward yours, eyes glowing the slightest bit gold as night falls, he whispers, “Better?”

A brief nod, you settle back against the passenger seat suddenly exhausted. 

“Stay awake for me, we’ll be home soon.” Steve pleads, linking fingers through yours in the growing darkness. The car rumbling back to life. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

His quiet way, his patient way, his careful way. Loving you without loving you. Telling you without telling you. Secret languages finally understood.

A kiss pressed to the top of your head and you don’t know if you should laugh or cry when he moves his hand to your thigh, fingers tangled up in yours. All you can do is duck your head and grin.

[lyriumlullaby-ao3]

hello i’m back from the dead (sleeping) and it’s time to talk about

why Cullen won’t let anyone fix the hole in his ceiling 💖

someone has probably said this before but it wasn’t me, so here we go!

so remember that Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath grew up with three siblings, who he describes as being “very loud.” i see him as always being a very disciplined child, kind and warm and willing to let Mia take charge (because fighting her for it would have been useless), but a steadfast follower with a keen sense of justice and fairness, willing to voice his objections when he had any, and very fastidious about not breaking rules when Mia or Branson tried to stir up trouble. you know, that whole second child archetype. he was prone to a bit of escapism, running off to that pier on some lake which is definitely not in Crestwood, which tells us he likes having somewhere to escape to, somewhere to run if he gets overwhelmed.

skipping forward a bit, when he lived in Kirkwall, he had quite a bit of freedom to come and go physically, but to me at least it seems like he felt trapped by his duties under Meredith. he explicitly describes her keeping things from him, things she thought he’d disagree with as her second in command. he felt lied to, deceived, manipulated by her (bc he was), i think, even before the events at the end of DA2 that expose her for what she is. can you imagine that feeling? like he actually wants to do good, to treat the mages fairly and help keep them and everyone else safe (that’s why he signed up, after all), but he’s got this nasty, evil commanding officer who’s whispering in his ear, twisting all that good intention to do her malicious bidding. it must have felt like beating his head against a brick wall, like no matter what he did, his sincere desire to believe that other people are fundamentally good disappointed him. i always say that Meredith gave Cullen just enough rope to hang himself with.

jumping forward again, let’s talk about the Winter Palace. Cullen is very obviously uncomfortable there, and it makes sense why: he can’t leave, not without being extraordinarily rude, can’t get away from the people bothering and sexually harassing him, can’t get out of that jacket that is too damn tight. if you bring Cole with you, at one point in his ‘Investigate’ tree he comments that, “Cullen is afraid. They’re hurting him, following fear. He shouldn’t be here.”

all of this is just to illustrate: man’s got a Thing about feeling trapped, stuck, unable to fight back or defend himself or just flat out leave. and why does he have such a hard time with this?

because of that one time that Uldred blew up the Circle at Kinloch Hold in Ferelden. for reasons we don’t fully grasp, rather than being claimed by the demons or simply killed in the fighting, Cullen held out. he resisted demonic possession completely, somehow, and was instead trapped within that magical prison with no possibility of escape, probably for weeks. no escape from his hunger, thirst, or lyrium withdrawal, and no escape from the (probably Desire) demon(s) that tortured him with freedom if he’d only give in to those things he won’t quite allow himself to want.

so the fact that there’s a hole in his ceiling, even months into the repairs at Skyhold, when almost everything else has been fixed but a few, hard-to-access bits of masonry, is not lost on me. and sure, you could always blame it on lighting for the romance scene that takes place up there. but i like to think that it’s there because Cullen refuses to let them fix it. here’s why:

Cullen doesn’t like to stray far from his post. he likes that there’s a loft with a bed where he can pretend to sleep that’s not far from his desk, where he commands the lives of thousands of people. (i think at one point in Absolution, it’s revealed that at its height, the Inquisition was composed of ~10,000 troops, plus all the necessary support personnel.) the fate of the world is quite literally depending on his ability to do his job, and when the lyrium withdrawals make him feel like he must be losing his mind, he likes that he’s got an easy choice between resting (like he knows he probably should) or working (like he knows he really needs to), separated only by a little wooden ladder and a few planks that make up the floor.

he needs that little hole in the ceiling. if ever something happened at Skyhold, and it wasn’t safe or possible to leave through the three fucking doors on the lower level, he needs a back up plan, a way to get out from the top of that tower, or he’s every bit as trapped as he was at the Winter Palace, or by Meredith, or by Uldred and his demons, and he can’t be, not here, not with so many lives in his hands. not after Haven.

he needs it when he wakes up shouting, drenched in sweat, from another nightmare where he’s back there, trapped with demons who’ve murdered or enslaved your brothers and sisters and are trying to break you next, or pinned under Meredith’s thumb, doing things that he knows are wrong, he knows, but she’s his commanding officer and he trusts her, so how wrong can they really be? he needs it, first thing when he opens his eyes, to know he’s got an escape route, a backup plan. he’s safe.

and when he finally gives in to temptation, that thing he wants more than anything that he really shouldn’t let himself want, when the Inquisitor confesses that she wants to be with him when this is all over and he very dramatically sweeps aside everything on his desk, his whole life, shattering it all over the floor, he needs that little patch of sky to remind him it’s real. he’s free to leave whenever he needs to.

and that’s what allows him to stay.

[elizabethrobertajones]

Dean & Cas Are In Love

A hopefully one day conclusive study of these assholes, hopefully told as briefly as I can.

[it went fuckin canon? Rendered useless in my own job. Posting these gifsets from my drafts for @mittensmorgul​ who can make better use of them than me.]

-------

Unfortunately my lack of rewatching has rendered me unable to say if that “I need you” is the first between them but it FEELS like it. It definitely sent us on the Carver and later Dabb era need vs want train, along with within Season 8 the I Need You of the crypt scene being the whole peak of the season’s Destiel and a defining moment they’d keep hashing out in various forms for the rest of the show with strong references back to that moment rather than as per 7x23 having such a moment between family (I remember writing out the differences in a very long post another time so I’ll not go into it too much here because I’m 4-5 years out of practice in the theory). 

Anyway. Dean’s optimism vs Cas’s grim fatalism. His insistence they have a joint home they both belong to. Together. Dean turning rather desperate and aggressively insistent that he’s going to do this and Cas’s brick wall turning him more and more desperate to underline it. 

The wordless look as Cas realises he has to change his tactic and go along with Dean, probably realising the horror of now having to travel with him for however long, to get the forbidden taste of his company. And then at the end of the trip, Dean will be made to turn around and watch Cas disappear because of course they’re reenacting a myth here, and Cas is seeing in that exact moment that Dean is his Orpheus and grimly says “I understand” not as an agreement to go with Dean’s plan, but in understanding he has to act like he’s going along with it just to get Dean home safe.