#boot issue solved

[sl33py-g4m3r]

this is so surreal~~

No reblog this time cause I thought that it was too long at this point

are you telling me I've been installing linux on this computer wrong this entire time??

WE BACK ON LINUX BABY~~!!

all I had to do on install was just......

make grub boot from dev/sda1 instead of dev/sda

dev/sdb was the hard drive all of my data was stored on and if I didn't touch that, nothing would happen.

the cool thing here is that mounting the device here is password protected to actually mount and view the data. as opposed to windows having it mounted at all times.

this was simpler than I thought it was and now I feel really stupid...

Linux mint debian edition 6 lets go~~~~~~!!

I'm so excited~~!! come to find out that I've been installing the grub boot loader in the wrong place this entire time.....

*happy screaming*

now idk if I'm smarter than I think or dumber than I think. cause it could be both....

I didn't need to tinker with the bios at all~~ tho I am curious as to what it looks like now. maybe the windows boot loader isn't there anymore and is just the linux one?

[thelilylav]

Crashed out about the Prime Minister calling a snap election in the reblogs and ended up getting blocked LMAOOO

[pencil-n-pen]

TONGUES AND TEETH

₊˚ʚ 🌲₊˚✧ . °🍂 ೃ࿔*

jackson! joel miller x fem! loner! reader

masterlist | ko-fi

summary: Joel refuses to acknowledge the part of him that aches to be a protector. That is, until you come crashing into his life.

cw: canon-typical violence, reader had a rough go of things before Joel, nightmares, medical inaccuracies (oh the horror!) uhhh reader has a broken nose and it gets set, unspecified age gap, daddy issues but we all saw that coming and it’s vague, as an ellie lover and defender until the day i die, it pains me to say no ellie-au IM SORRY I COULDN’T MAKE IT WORK bella ramsey as ellie they could never make me hate you

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort as always, age gap, nightmare comfort, honestly just two messed up people loving each other

a/n: proof that i will find a way to write an eldest daughter fic for any fandom/universe

not officially writing for him !! just had this idea

another long(ish) fic. if you're here from my masterlist, now would be a good time to go pee, get some water, and maybe a snack or two :) same things for those of you scrolling. i see u

title taken from tongues and teeth by the crane wives (GO LISTEN TO THE CRANE WIVES !!)

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚🦴⋆｡°✩

Jackson living isn’t all Joel thought it would be cracked up to be.

Don’t get him wrong- objectively, it’s great. Running water, electricity, a clinic- three hallmarks Joel was sure he’d never see again. Not since the outbreak.

So by all means, he should be content. He goes out for hunting parties and patrols. Has his own house. Has a permanent place to keep his boots and his knives and guns and a bookshelf to make his way through. He has a bed. He has his brother.

But he’s restless.

Joel spent a long time walking. Searching. Surviving. You don’t quite slip back into easy civilian life just like that, no matter how perfect the conditions are.

At first, he solves this problem but going on more hunting parties, more patrols. He stays up late doing guard rotations and helps out his brother with projects when he can.

It doesn’t solve the itch, though. That sharp little thrumming, just beneath his skin: the need to protect. To have a job. To have something or someone to look after.

He denies this part of himself as much as he can, because he’s not that man anymore. Not after Sarah. He’s not. You don’t stay somebody dying to help and protect when you kill people. Because they’re still people, under the fungus. Under the parasite. Their brain’s still work. They still feel pain and anguish and fear.

He’s heard them cry before. Hunched over a corpse, body acting with somebody else at the reins, faces covered in blood and gore crying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

So Joel isn’t a protective guy anymore. Had to take out those parts. Replace them with solitary and meanness and a distinct lack of sympathy.

It’s turned him into an angry thing. Like a gaurd dog; snarling, circling an empty pedestal it refuses to acknowledge is there.

He knows Tommy see’s it. Try’s to involve him in things whenever he can, invites him over to dinner. Hangs out at his house. Makes sure Joel isn’t alone-alone.

So Joel really, really should’ve seen it coming when he and the scouting party find you in the woods.

You’re just as surprised to see them as they are to see you. They thought they were tracking a deer— although some of the tracks and patterns of disturbance in the underbrush didn’t add up.

They’d entered a clearing, guns poised, just to see you, handgun leveled at them, perched in a tree. Way higher up than Joel would’ve dared.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” You’d hissed, voice carrying on the wind and rattling just like the leaves on the tree you’re in. How you managed to scale a tree that high in a busted pair of Doc Martens and lugging a backpack clearly full of supplies is beyond him.

But he doesn’t need medical credentials to know you’ve clearly had a rough go of things.

You’re young. Not young-young, but young. Dressed in clothes clearly pilfered, you’re wearing a thick brown jacket that probably would’ve belonged to a construction worker or something like that. It’s a few sizes too big, and the cuffs are frayed and there’s a hastily sewn patch on the elbow he can see. Your face and hair is littered with tree and other plant debris- though if this is a new addition from your tree climbing escapade, he’s not sure. Your nose has dried blood crusted under it, your lip is split, and there’s a cut above your eyebrow. Your knuckles and hands are equally torn and split, old and new scars and scrapes littering your skin.

In short: you look rough. And feral, in that way that cats that live outside a little too long and a little too far away from people end up looking.

“I said stay back!”

He remembers, abruptly, that you’re probably scared out of your mind and the rest of the scouting team is still pointing their weapons at you.

He makes the motion for them to lower their weapons, and he lowers his own, raising both hands in the universal “we come in peace” gesture.

You don’t lower yours, but your grip on it is looser.

“We’re from the Jackson settlement,” He shouts, hoping you don’t hear the gruff anger in his voice that Tommy always complains he needs to work on. “There’s running water and electricity.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Your hands have begun to shake on the gun, ever so slightly. “So what’s your guys prerogative, huh? Cannablism? Religion? You planning on burning me at the stake? Or did you have something else in mind? I am a woman.”

Joel takes a step forward but stops when a bullet hits the ground right where his foot was about to be.

“If you take one more step you’re gonna find out exactly why I’ve survived alone this long.”

“Look,” He says, dropping his hands to his hips. “You can shoot us, and one of us will shoot you, and it’ll all be fine and dandy—“

There’s a chorus of whispers behind him.

“Or you can stay in that tree and not shoot us, and we won’t shoot you, and that’ll also be fine and dandy.”

He turns, jamming a finger in the direction of the settlement. “Jackson’s that way. Go or don’t go. I don’t really give a shit, but you look like you could use a bandaid.”

He jerks his head, and the rest of the party follows his lead, leaving the clearing —and you— behind.

—

A few hours after he returns, somewhere in the late evening when twilight is starting to set in and the crickets are chirping, Tommy knocks on his door.

“There’s a girl here for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone asked for me?”

“Well, not so much as for you. Her words exactly were “that gruff, mean looking asshole,” but I got the picture.”

He sighs, deep in his bones. A small part of him —the part that’s still connected to that dog, still circling— had hoped you would show up. However, it’s hopelessly overshadowed by the sheer exasperation of it all.

He’s silent save for non-committal grunts and hmm’s the way over to the front gates where the evening rotation’s guards have you standing between them.

You’re slightly worse for wear since the last time he saw you in that tree. Your jacket as a new rip in it, and your nose is sluggishly bleeding again. Up close, he notices it’s a bit crooked.

Gonna hurt like a bitch to set, He thinks absentmindedly.

He slows as he approaches you, hands in his pockets and shoulders back.

“See?” He huffs, gesturing with one hand behind him. “Not cannibals. Or whatever else you’re worried about.”

Your face is hard set as you look around. “That remains to be seen.”

“Hello!”

Joel looks back to see a pregnant Maria waddling over, a concerned Tommy at her side.

“I told you I’d handle it—“

“And I told you I’m fine. Now,” She props her hands on her hips. “Who’s this young lady now?”

You (hesitantly) stick out a hand to shake and introduce yourself.

She shakes your hand with a smile. Leave it to Maria to be able to read people with such ease. “I’m Maria Miller. I’m one of the settlement councilors. The golden retriever fussing next to me is my husband, Tommy, and the angry looking bear next to him is his brother, Joel. I understand a scouting party found you?”

You nod, eyes flicking this way and that, cataloguing the area.

“I’ve been on my own for… awhile. I don’t have any supplies to offer, but I’m smart and strong. I’m willing to work in exchange for a place to stay.”

Maria hums, assessing. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll need to come with me to speak to the rest of the council, for our safety and yours.”

You tighten your grip on your backpack but follow Maria and Tommy, only sparing one backward glance at Joel.

He spends the rest of the evening trying to forget the look in your eyes.

—

He fails spectacularly.

This doesn’t mean, however, that he’s anywhere near pleased when his nightly reading-as-a-poor-attempt-at-normalcy routine is interrupted by a knock on the door. One that sounds suspiciously like Tommy’s type of knock.

Only he hears two voices as he walks up to the door, and the other one isn’t Maria.

Joel opens the door with a glare already fixed on his face.

“There have to be other places.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “It’s only temporary. The council agreed to let her stay so long as she’s watched by a trusted Jackson member, and well. You vouched for her.”

“And when exactly did I do that?”

“In the woods, when you met. You told her where you were from and how to get there. Honestly, Joel, you’re getting off light here. Some of the council members were not happy you told a random loner —no offense— where to find us. Kind of defeats the whole point.”

You huff a quiet “None taken.”

He can’t help the way his body tenses. “So this is a punishment?”

“Yes and no.”

“I don’t—“

“Look,” you interject, clearly fed up with the conversation. “It’s not the end of the world. I’m not going to murder you in your sleep and I don’t leave dirty clothes lying around. It’s only for three weeks. Get over it.”

Another sigh threatens to release itself, but he stamps it down, figuring he’s hit his sigh quota for the day.

“Fine. But take her down to medical first. I don’t want her blood all over my house.”

Tommy shrugs. “No-can-do. Maria needs me back at the house. You know where medical is. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

And with that, Tommy leaves, abandoning Joel and you at the doorstep.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face. “Wait there. I’ll grab a jacket.”

The walk to the clinic is awkward and silent, and just when Joel thinks it can’t get any worse, one of the staff tells him that since he’s your assigned supervisor/watcher/whatever, he has to accompany you. To everything.

To your credit, you don’t look very happy about the arrangement either.

Still, you bear through all the exams, a grimace fixed firmly on your face. Apparently (and not surprisingly) you’re malnourished, dehydrated, running a small fever, deficient in several vitamins, have two cracked ribs (most likely, no x-ray machine) and some run of the mill scraps and bruises.

You’re cagey enough on the details of the cracked ribs and nose that the doctor eventually moves on to the fixing you stage of things.

It takes awhile. There are a lot of injuries to cover.

When it comes to resetting your nose, the second the woman pulls out a needle and syringe, you go rigid.

“No.”

The doctor blinks. “This is just lidocaine, it’ll numb the area so—“

“No.”

“You wanna feel all that?” Joel asks, the first time he’s spoken during your entire exam, “It ain’t gonna feel great. Crooked nose like that won’t set with one go.”

“No needles. No numbing.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “What, you got a pain thing or something?”

Your hands go white-knuckled on the exam table. “Fuck. Off.”

You’re shaking, he notes.

Ah, He says to himself. Not a pain thing.

Fear.

The doctor shrugs. “Not like I won’t take the chance to save what we have. You’ll want something to bite down on. Or squeeze.”

You wrap your fingers around your own hand, a pathetic attempt at self-soothing.

He decides annoyance is the emotion he feels at your small movement. Nothing else.

He rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand, maneuvering it in place of your own.

“Good luck breaking it.”

You don’t respond. He wasn’t really expecting you to.

He knows without looking the exact moment the doctor starts resetting things because your grip on his hand quickly turns from barely there to crushing. You make no sound.

The doctor, to her credit, works fairly quickly, though by the time she’s finished a single tear has carved a path through the blood and grime on your face.

He thinks about how someone learns to cry without sound.

The doctor moves on quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wounds that need it and telling you detailed instructions for how to take care of your nose and cracked ribs and what things you should be eating to avoid staying vitamin deficient. It’s all a lot of words Joel is glad he doesn’t have to memorize.

They stick in his head anyway.

You don’t let go of his hand. You’re no longer squeezing the life out of it, but you’re not holding its gently either. When you do finally let go (after the doctor’s left and you can leave) you practically tear your hand away, as if burned. Like you’d left your hand on a stove as it was heating up only you just now noticed it was hot.

He doesn't say anything about it. He figures you're liable to literally bite his head off, or some other violent action close to that.

Besides. This is all awkward enough.

The walk back to the house is just as silent and strained as the walk to the clinic. Only now your breath is just a little more labored. Steps a little shakier. Your hand's twitch at your sides like they're reaching for something, and you don't quite manage to hide the way you look around every now and then, a restless, nervous action.

He knows what you're doing. He was you, back when he first got to Jackson. Granted, he wasn't as twitchy as you are. He kept his distance, stayed mean and scary (as possible.)

He holds the door open for you when you arrive back to the house, because his mom raised him to be a gentleman no matter the circumstances.

You toss him a look of confusion and annoyance but step into the house, looking around the modest living room with something almost like wonder.

He toes off his shoes, sets them by the door, and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook. "Shower before you touch anything. You're filthy. And don't think I'm giving up my bed."

"I wouldn't have taken it even if you had," You sneer. "Where's the--"

"Down the hall on the left. You got clean clothes?"

"...I have less dirty ones."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait here."

He grumbles all the way upstairs, all the way through picking out clothes that'll fit you well enough until you either wash what you have or find something else.

He silently glowers as he comes down the stairs, thrusting the clothes out to you and turning on his heel when you take them.

"I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up."

When he lies in bed that night, he can't even pretend he's not thinking about you. In his defense, it's less about you and more about the new, strange, stand-offish person he's just supposed to live with for the foreseeable future. All because he had the bad luck of feeling bad for the battered, flighty, loner girl sitting in a tree.

He stares at his ceiling, internal clock (yes, he's old, he has an internal clock. Sue him) letting him know it is decidedly an hour he should be asleep. He refuses to go downstairs, on principle alone. He could get up and go find one of his books, but he knows that if you're anything like him, coming off of however long you spent alone, you're a light sleeper. You're probably awake now, listening to him toss and turn and being unnerved by the unusual silence of Jackson and the particular brand of night-noise it produces. That's what the first two weeks of Joel's life in Jackson consisted of, before he moved in here.

Maria had decided that Joel would stay with the two of them until he integrated in Jackson society. Perks of your brother marrying a council member, he guesses.

So he's not going downstairs. Not going to walk down there just to see a person, an entire person in his house looking like, looking like--

Fuck.

He throws his blankets off and angrily (but not loudly) marches downstairs to get himself a glass of water and the book he knows he left on the table by the couch when he was so rudely interrupted by you. This is his house, dammit, he refuses to be put out by a random girl.

Woman, his brain corrects.

The living room is completely dark when he makes his way down the stairs and he truly, honestly wishes he was surprised when there's a whoosh of air to his right and a knife embeds itself in the wall about a half inch away from the side of his face.

The living room is still and silent.

"I thought they took your weapons when you got here."

"I lied about what I had."

He scrubs a hand down his face, yanks the knife out of the wall, and tosses it back. If you can throw it, you can dodge it.

He doesn't hear any screams, yelps, or grunts of pain, so he assumes you caught it fine. Or at least dodged it.

He makes his way over to the kitchen, grabs the teapot, and takes down two mugs.

"You know they can kick you out for harboring weapons during your probationary stay."

He hears a rustle of blankets behind him. The sound of you stashing your knife, no doubt.

"Are you going to tell them?"

He snorts, filling up the teapot. "No. There's been a knife in my boot since the day I got here."

He hears more rustling, and decides against turning around. He's not quite sure what you've been doing down here all night since it's clear that you weren't sleeping.

He doesn't hear any footsteps, but when does turn around to set the mugs on the table, you're sitting at it, knees pulled up and head resting atop them, your cheek smushed. Now that his eye's have adjusted to the darkness of the living room, he can almost make out your features. They're easier to discern, now that you're not covered in blood and grime. You look... softer. Haloed in the glow of moonlight shining through the gaps in the curtains.

Your face isn't the only thing glowing. The tell-tale glint of a knife --a different, smaller knife than the one you'd thrown at him-- shines from it's spot, resting oh-so innocently on the table.

Joel just huffs.

"No weapons on the table."

He blinks, and it's gone.

He doesn't ask why you're still awake or what you've been doing instead of sleeping. You don't ask why he's down in the kitchen at all.

"What are you making?"

"Tea."

He gently places a teabag in each mug. He isn't really sure why he's doing this for you. You've done nothing but hiss and spit since he's met you.

But tonight, right now, blanketed in the not-quite calm of the night and the apparent unease you both drown in--

It's tolerable. You're tolerable.

So he takes the kettle off the stove and pours the water and places the steaming mug on the table in front of you.

To which you ignore, and snatch the mug out of his hands instead.

"Did you think I put that one," He points to the mug in front of you, "There for giggles?"

You cradle the mug in your hands, seemingly entranced with the warmth and steam. "You might've poisoned mine."

"Maybe I poisoned both."

You take a sip, then grimace when the too-hot liquid hits your tongue.

"You don't look like the kind of person to have built an immunity to poison."

"You also watched me make both beverages."

"So? It's dark. You could've slipped something in. Or maybe it was already in the teabags."

"What use would I even have for you dead?"

You shrug. "I don't know. You tell me."

“You’re a deeply mistrusting person.”

“And you’re not?”

Touché.

Joel remains in the kitchen, leaned against a cabinet sipping your tea, while you stay hunched at the table, sipping yours.

If he removes the irritability and the uncomfortable-ness of everything that involves you living with him, the moment is almost… companionable. Pleasant, even.

It… soothes that nervous part of him. Not the sad nervous. The angry nervous. That built up crack of anger.

There’s another person in his home that is neither attempting to perceive his problems nor actively attempting to kill him. Your belief that he might poison you aside, you still accepted the tea.

He firmly believes that Tommy isn’t right about the loneliness thing though. His brother being right is just a world Joel can’t live in.

Besides. It’s too early to tell anything anyway.

—

Unfortunately, the following few days do not go… terribly.

That isn’t to say they go well, though. Since he’s looking after you (read: making sure you’re not an axe-murderer or something) he’s not allowed to go out on scouting or hunting trips. Or solo guard rotations he’s come to covet.

It’s boring, and having you around is strange.

It’s interesting, when he gets bored enough, because if he focuses hard enough he can guess what events happened to you based on your reactions to certain things. He’s pretty sure you were drugged at some point based on your reaction to the doctor with the lidocaine. You’re general skittish and flighty nature can be easily attributed to the conditions in which everyone in the world is living in, but your particular brand of distrust and aggression says that humans, not the infected, have been the ones to hurt you the most. Your general unease in open areas or areas with not easily accessible exits leads him to believe that there have been several extremely close calls in several points of your survival.

He knows you’ve been shot before, but that one was an accident. He’d come downstairs, rubbing bleary sleep from his eyes and accidentally stumbled across you changing. Well, finishing changing. He’d quickly closed his eyes and turned around, and thankfully you hadn’t startled, but he had caught a glimpse of the stretch of skin not covered by the long sleeve undershirt you favored. On the left side, just above your hip and a few inches towards your bellybutton, there’s a jagged, raised, circular scar. Still pink.

He knows you have a very slight, very subtle limp. He’s not sure what causes it, but he knows you have one. It tends to act up when you do a lot of strenuous exercise for an extended period of time. Some days you wake up and it’s worse. On those days, you’re a little more mean, and a little more skittish.

He’s yet to see you actually, legitimately sleep.

He’s starting to think you haven’t, since arriving.

Which is insane, because it’s been four days.

The bags under your eyes are horrific, even to him. You’ve gotten clumsier and clumsier, your attention span and memory are terrible, and he thinks you might’ve started hallucinating, if the times he’s seen you staring off into space with concerned, fearful, or twisted expressions on your face and mumbled rambles he can’t make out are anything to go by.

On day five, when Joel comes downstairs in the morning and the knife you throw at him bounces harmlessly off the wall and clatters to the ground and you just stare at it, eyes foggy and unseeing, he decides to talk to Maria.

“I don’t really care,” He says, because he has a reputation to uphold dammit, “But I’m not sure how much longer she’s gonna last, and what she’s gonna do when she wakes up.”

“Mmm,” Maria hums, hands clasped on the table and staring at Joel with her best ‘I don’t believe you don’t care’ look. She’s really perfected it, “Well the truth is, she can’t go forever. It’s fear keeping her up now. Happens a lot with the loners that come in. Especially the women. She’s afraid that no one’s there to watch her back and terrified she won’t be strong enough to fend off any attackers.”

Maria looks at her hands. “The fear is exacerbated by the fact that the council took most of her weapons.”

“You knew—“

“She was lying? Of course I did. So did several of the other members, I’m sure. But she’s not a threat. She’s scared.”

He thumbs the thin scar on his cheek from the knife came just a little too close to hitting the mark when he sneezed in the kitchen. “She’s got a funny way of being scared.”

“Fight or flight, Joel. She knows flight isn’t an option.”

“Why are you lobbying so hard in her defense?”

“I’m not. I’m explaining her actions. Also,” She gives a knowing smile, “You’ve started to care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming to me about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He grouses. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait for her to pass out?”

“You could. It’ll happen eventually. She very clearly doesn’t have that many hours left in her. That’s probably freaking her out more. Or, you could subtly show her that she can sleep around you. She needs to know that she’s safe from whatever it is she’s running from.”

Joel keeps his eyes locked on the kitchen table, tracing the grain in the wood with an absent-minded finger.

“I know you pushed for her to stay with me.”

“The council wanted a punishment that fit the crime.”

“Look, I appreciate the thought—“

Maria’s expression flattens. “Joel. Do not sit at my table and lie about how you don’t need anyone and you’re fine on your own. You need this.“

“I don’t need this,” He scoffs, “She’s practically half-feral. No one needs that.”

Maria stands, shrugging. “Then I guess you’ll have to file for a name change, No-One Miller. Until then, make sure she’s not alone when she wakes up.”

—

He did leave you alone for the duration of his conversation with Maria, because fuck if he was bringing you to that, and he figured you both could use some time away from each other. He knows he can.

He’s not very surprised to hear the familar whoosh of a small, sharp object sailing through the air that tends to accompany his arrival into rooms you’re occupying (he’s pretty sure it stopped being a fear response after the first two times and now you’re just messing with him) but he is suprised to see that this time, the knife doesn’t even make it head height. Or to the wall.

It clatters uselessly to the ground near his feet. He stares at the metal between his boots and then up at you—

“Why are you sitting on the kitchen counter?”

“I don’t remember.”

He leaves the knife on the ground and makes his way over to you, watching with mock disinterest at the several-seconds-delayed flinch you make when he stands in front of you.

You look up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused and you just look so, so tired.

There’s a curl of protectiveness in his chest that keeps trying to spread, keeps trying to grow. Here, in the kitchen, your legs dangling over the edge of the counter, bathed in the glow of the mid-day sun, it takes root. Right in the center.

He looks down at your feet. “What happened to your other shoe?”

You scrunch up your face. “I don’t… I was getting in bed, I think. But it wasn’t my bed. I forgot that things aren’t—“

That things aren’t the same anymore.

He crouches down, untying the laces of your boot and shucking it aside somewhere.

“Alright, come on.”

You slide off the counter, clumsy and uncoordinated. He takes your hand in his, leads you up to the bedroom.

The stairs are difficult for your tired, barely working brain. He has to stop multiple times to physically lift your legs or stop you from falling over and cracking your head open.

You finally make it up there, though, and he realizes that you probably won’t want to sleep in your everyday clothes.

“One last step.”

He can’t help but notice how intimate the moment is. Not intimate-intimate, but. He instructs you softly to lift your arms so he can tug your shirt over your head and replaces it with a soft shirt of his own.

Staring into your eyes is too charged and allowing his eyes to wander is bad for obvious reasons, so he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the junction of where your neck meets your shoulder.

He keeps his eyes there as he helps you out of your pants and into a pair of flannel pajama pants. The same ones he’d given you the first night you came. You’ve never slept and he’s never seen you go to any of the places he knows have extra clothes, so he’s almost positive you don’t have any pajamas at all.

His fingers work quickly to tie the drawstring on the pants, and even then, they hang low on your hips.

He doesn’t let his eyes linger.

“Come on,” He says taking your arm and tugging you toward the bed. “Time for sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” You mumble, standing in place. “And I can’t, what if they—“

“I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll keep watch.”

You mull his words over in your head for a few moments before stumbling the final few steps into the bed. You practically collapse into it, shuffling for a just few seconds before your breath evens out.

You’re asleep.

He reaches over, adjusting the blankets a bit, before grabbing the book he’d left on the bedside table and settling down in the chair by the bed.

The hours tick by quietly, accompanied only by the quiet rustling of pages turning and your soft snores.

For the first time in awhile, he doesn’t feel restless.

—

You sleep for a full eighteen hours straight before you stir.

He’s a good portion of the way through his book before he see’s your body tense in the corner of his eye. Your breathes are still even and deep, so if he couldn’t see you, he probably wouldn’t notice you’re awake.

“You’ve been asleep for eighteen hours,” He says, voice rough and scratchy with disuse, “You got in bed voluntarily.”

“You changed my clothes.”

“You didn’t seem all that capable of doing so yourself and I didn’t think you wanted to sleep in jeans. You mind?”

“…No.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t just—“

“You didn’t sleep for five days. If we’re going by the eight hours a night average needed or whatever, that’s forty hours. You’ve still got twenty-two left to catch up on.”

You roll over to face him with a grumble. “I don’t like how good you are at mental math.”

“Get better, then.”

You shimmy out from under the blankets, tossing him an “I have to pee,” as you make your way out of the room.

It’s early morning now, weak sunlight behind to strain its way through the curtains. He figures it’s a good enough time to make some food (and coffee) if you’re going to be going to back sleep, so he meanders down to the kitchen and throws together a small breakfast.

“Did you make us breakfast?”

He never really gets used to how quietly you move through rooms.

“Jesus— yes. Here.”

He hands you a bowl with oatmeal and a small plate with a slice of toast— toasted in a pan, because electricity aside, he doesn’t own a toaster. Why waste time scavenging for an appliance when something else works just as fine?

He sets a jar of jam on the counter that he’d picked up awhile ago in exchange for fixing the hinge on somebody’s door.

“You got any allergies?”

“None that matter.”

He nods to the table. “Go eat. Then get back in bed.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re annoying. Eat.”

You eat quickly and quietly, then wordlessly follow him back upstairs, climbing back into bed.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He tucks the blanket up over your shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

You obey easily.

—

Things between the two of you… soften after that. He slowly sees more pieces of your personality than the wild thing he met that day in the woods.

He learns that you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but miss peanut butter and nutella sandwiches more than anything. He learns that on good days, you like drinking coffee straight black, but on bad days, you like it with milk and sugar.

He learns that your limp is the result of one careless mistake you’d made when you first surviving on your own.

“I thought the house was abandoned. It wasn’t,” You’d rolled up your pant leg to show horrific, deep, jagged scars circling your ankle, “Guy had set out a bear trap to slow down some of the clickers in the area. It was dark. Didn’t notice it until too late.”

He learns that you, despite your snide remarks and sarcastic comments, like having him around. He feels a bit like earning the trust of a stray cat.

You begin to grow more comfortable with life in Jackson, though not by much. He’s sure you weren’t a people person before the outbreak, much less so now that he knows some of the horrors you’ve been through before you got here.

He’s even started getting used to how quietly you move.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, from there.

He wakes up, goes downstairs. Sometime’s there’s a knife thrown at him, sometimes there isn’t. You’re usually sprawled on the couch, drool coming out of your mouth and grumbling incoherently about “old men and their stupid early mornings.”

It’s almost endearing.

Since Joel spends a lot of time helping Maria and Tommy get ready for their baby, you, in turn, get to know the both of them by being stuck with Joel. Maria set you on edge at first, Tommy slightly less so, but through continuous interactions your prickly nature smoothed.

One night, you were all seated on their couch after enjoying a dinner together —not the first and definitely not the last— having quiet conversation. You’re totally passed out on Joel’s shoulder, dead-asleep and quite content to use him as a human teddy bear.

Maria smiles over her mug of tea. “She’s grown on you.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. She’s not all bad.”

“High praise coming from Joel Miller.”

You have grown on him. And in turn, your relationship has started to grow into… something else. Sometimes his eyes linger just a little too long, and the looks you share feel just a little too charged.

Tommy sends him a look full of words only true siblings can understand.

“No, Tommy.”

“Oh come on Joel! You both clearly—“

“We are not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because—“

You fling an arm out wildly, smacking him in the side of his face and grasping around until your pointer finger finally finds his lips.

“Shhhh. M’ sleeping.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist, prying your fingers off his face. “You know that’s what bed’s are for. Or couches. Or any number of surfaces I’ve found you sleeping on.”

“You’re a surface I’m sleeping on.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a bed. Come on, up and at em’.”

You whine at the loss of warmth when he stands, scowling as you haul yourself to your feet. As he’s putting on his boots by the door, he hears you thanking Maria and Tommy for their hospitality, and he can’t help the little smile that twitches on his face. Seems like his parents weren’t the only ones who made sure he had manners.

You meet him at the door, hopping in place to put your boots on and getting frustrated when they don’t slide on immediately.

“You know, it would help if you untied the laces—“

“Fuck off.”

He blinks. That seems a little more mean than you usually say nowadays.

So Joel takes a step back. Watch’s your legs and your shoes and your hands—

There.

Your hands shake as you fumble with the laces, unable to get a good grip on the thin cords to untie and re-tie your shoes.

He shoos your hands away from the singular boot you haven’t managed to get on.

“Sit.”

He’s thankful that he built the shoe bench for Maria a few weeks after he got to Jackson. It serves Maria well for not having to stand while she attempts to put her shoes on while heavily pregnant, a feat she bemoaned a few times, and now it’s serving you.

You plop down on the bench with a huff, crossing your arms as Joel crouches, undoing the laces of your boot and sliding it on.

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

“Why’re you doing it?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He secures the tie on one boot and moves on to the next. “It is tonight.”

Once both shoes are on, you both bid Tommy and Maria good night, and make your way home.

If your hand find’s Joel’s, then that’s not anyone’s business.

—

He notices things after that.

You’ve started snapping at him more often. You’re not sleeping as much. You’ve started flat out refusing to go with him on daily chores as tasks, which either leads to an argument or the both of you staying at home all day.

It all comes to a head when you wake up screaming.

He thunders down the stairs, ducking on instinct for a knife that doesn’t come. You’re not on the couch. He whips his head around, the screaming stopped he can’t find you—

A thud. A panicked gasp.

He moves on slow, apprehensive feet towards the kitchen, crouching down to see you huddled under the table, knife clenched in your hand and pointed toward him.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

Your eyes are wide and shining with tears.

“You died.”

“I didn’t. I’m right here.”

You shake your head, breaths coming short and shallow.

He settles on the floor, crossing his legs. “Here, take my hand. Come on.”

He extends his hand into the space between you two. Achingly slowly, you put down the knife, and take his hand in yours.

“See? I’m still here.”

Eventually, your breathing slows, and the fear begins to leave your eyes. You drop his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, no it’s just—“ You break off with a strangled noise.

He waits. Lets a few minutes tick by.

“Does this have anything to do with the fact you’ve been avoidin’ me?”

You look down. “You noticed?”

“I do have eyes, sweetheart.”

You grab the knife again, twisting it this way and that in your hands.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

He tilts his head. “How come?”

You’re silent for a little while again.

“I feel… okay with you.”

“And that’s scary?”

“Yes,” You breathe, “You could leave, or die, and it scares me that I’m already attached to you. That having nightmare’s of you dying affects me so much. That they happen at all.”

He hums. “Seem’s were at an impasse.”

He taps a finger on his knee.

“It’s not all bad. To care.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”

He huffs, shaking his head. “You know, against my better judgment, I’ve come to tolerate having you around.”

“Tolerate?”

“Mhm.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“So you’ve never thought about kissing me?”

Heat rushes to his face. “Is that really a question you want to be asking right now?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He stands, “Well I don’t answer that kind of question at this hour. Come on.”

He reaches under the table and pulls you out.

You clamber to your feet, still a little shaky after your nightmare.

You turn to go back to the couch, but stops when he tugs on your arm.

“Mm-mm. No couch tonight.”

You look up at him, a question in your eyes he doesn’t know how to answer with words.

He steps forward, rough hands coming up to your face, thumb swiping the crest of your cheek.

“Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss, soft and slow.

He pulls away after a few moments, searching your face for any sign of negativity or displeasure or disgust or, or—

You surge up, kissing him again, all the same fiery passion he saw the day you met.

“I suppose that answers my question.”

He chuckles. “You think?”

“I hope so.”

His hands slide down to your waist. and he can’t resist the little squeeze he gives the skin there.

“Alright. Back to bed, let’s go.”

“I forgot how tired old men get.”

“Please don’t call me an old man right after we kiss.”

He can hear your quiet snorting laughter as you climb the stairs, socked feet silent as always.

You climb into bed first, shoving yourself into the side by the wall and then making grabby motions for Joel.

“Am I just a pillow to you?”

“Yes. Come be a pillow.”

He rolls his eyes but slips into bed next to you and quietly relishes in the pleased hum you let out as you wrap your arms around his waist, practically smashing your face into his chest.

“You comfortable there?”

“Mhm.”

He curls one arm around you, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. This close, he feels the shudder run through your body at the motion, and curious, he gives your nape a little squeeze.

Your reaction is instantaneous. You go limp- completely boneless.

“I got you, I got you. Go to sleep, now.”

It doesn’t take you long. And with you asleep so soundly in his arms, he follows right behind you.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

[shirogane-oushirou]

i am in fact going to have to return my new laptop sdnkfjn shit's Busted, so if i'm able to get a new one when i do the return tomorrow i might be scarce AGAIN while i get shit set up kjsndkjfn sowwy ;;;

[pedgito]

↝ FOR THE WORK (10k+ words) — Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Using your neighbors address for deliveries doesn’t seem like the worst idea until you find yourself with a world of dilemmas and a burgeoning crush on the single dad who lives there. [Pre-Outbreak]

↝ PATROLS (17k+ words) — Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: A story of how things began, where they ended up, and where they might go. A collection of patrols over the course of several months is forcing you closer to Joel than you ever imagined, tense circumstances leading to hasty decisions and one bad choice after the next.[Set Post S1]

↝ SOFT & SWEET (5k+ words) — Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Based around Work Song by Hozier. A comfort fic with lots of angst and fluffy goodness. Content Warnings: mentions of violence/blood/fighting (nothing graphic), joel being in a state of shock, sex for comfort/coping, no heavy sex warning it’s just v intimate, psuedo love confessions bc joel is bad with words

↝ MEET ME IN THE WOODS (50k words) | (Finished Series) — Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Taking a much needed vacation for the holiday, you aren't aware your cabin has been double-booked until you're face to face with the other guest the night you arrive, left with a big decision to make and the possibility of a month with a man you know nothing about. But, through communication and isolation, you learn that you and him might not be that different after all. Consumed by your shared loneliness, you find company in the unlikeliest of place—a stranger named Joel, in the middle of the woods. [No Outbreak] (6 chapters)

↝ MET THE DEVIL LAST NIGHT (6k words) — (AU) Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: 18+ Demon!Joel, Virgin!Reader, this was little plot and mostly smut lol.

↝ THESE BOOTS WERE MADE FOR RIDING (3k words) — Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joel doesn't like gifts, you gift him new boots.

↝ HANDSOME, DIRTY, RICH (12k words) — BFD!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: The rich father of your bestfriend, Sarah — Joel Miller, was a mystery to you until one day he isn't and you quickly find that your interest in him isn't one-sided. ↝ RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW (2.7k words) Summary: joel is celebrating your one year anniversary with a few surprises.

↝ MILLER'S GIRL (24k+ words) | (Finished Series) — (AU) Professor!Joel Miller

Summary: A sudden infatuation with your professor yields strange, unnerving results and Joel Miller, in his first semester at a new job finds himself in an unlikely position with a student that hides their intentions behind innocence.

↝ MOONLIGHT (8k words) — No Outbreak!Joel Miller

Summary: a series of nights spent with a neighbor you find an unlikely connection with, sharing a similar interest to pass the time, it forms into something much more intense and suddenly, neither of you can deny it anymore.

↝ STICKY SWEET (3.2k words) — dbf!Joel Miller x reader

Summary: You're stranded, you need help—of course, Joel Miller is your savior.

↝ DIRTY LAUNDRY (5.6k words) — Joel Miller x reader

Summary: You've got an issue and joel's willing to solve it. After all, what are neighbors for?

↝ ANYWHERE BUT HERE (1.8k words) — Joel Miller x reader

Summary: A poor damsel in distress, saved by the most unlikely of man.

↝ ABSOLUTION (Ongoing Series, HIATUS) — Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Moving in with your soon-to-be stepfather under the roof of his brother, Joel, ends up being a turning point of change in your life.

REMORSE FOR REMEDY (Ongoing Series, HIATUS) — Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Alone, the Miller's brothers seem like your only hope. The outbreak is still fresh, weeks after the fall and all that matters is survival and the unlikely comfort that comes along with a man who wants nothing to do with you.

BONUS (+ other characters):

TWO IS BETTER THAN ONE (9k words) — Tommy x Reader x Joel

Summary: Both the Miller brothers have a thing for you and you have a thing for them. They give you an ultimatum and you don’t like that. So, instead of one, you choose both.

BITTER, TASTE. (14k words) — Joel x Reader x Tommy

Summary: A moment of desperation and a kind gesture leads you down an inescapable path alongside two brothers and a town with a nasty secret. (mini series masterlist found here)

MOUTHFUL (2k words)

Summary: Joel finds the perfect way to keep you quiet while he showers you with compliments.

CHANGE (7k words)

Summary: Joel hates change, but you introduced the idea that letting someone else take charge isn't always bad.

PRIMAL (5k words)

Summary: Joel's itch to hunt has became a yearly traditional between you and him.

DRIVE (5k words) -> IN THE BACKSEAT (5k words)

Summary: Joel doesn't have a Mrs. but he does have a sports car.

LINGER (7k words)

Summary: Your postcards become a personal journal during patrols with Joel.

OLD TIMER (7.5k words)

Summary: Through all of his supposed wrong-doing, Joel has never failed you. Alternatively, falling in love with your dad's enemy while he shows you your full potential.

STRANGERS (Completed Series)

Summary: You and Joel were strangers, at a crossroads within this world and using each other for distraction is much easier than facing everything else.

TEMPTING (4.7k words)

Joel’s pent up, you’ve got ideas.

STITCHES (3.8k words)

You’ve patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.

PLAYTHING (5.3k words) (ft. Tommy Miller)

You need something to ease the pain, but Joel and Tommy aren’t very generous.

ORBIT YOU (Ongoing Series)

Joel has remained the only constant in your life. Absent parents and Joel’s willingness to be the guide that you need only becomes more confusing as you grow older and one harmless camping trip changes the trajectory of your relationship with him forever.

UPDATED: 5/04/2025

[lenkist]

Good job, detective

Detective!Agatha x fem!reader (3.2k words)

summary: you’re a newly minted detective who just cracked your first murder case, and the entire police department decided to celebrate with a small party—naturally, Agatha Harkness was there.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, g!p agatha harkness, smut, dirty talk, penetration, blowjob, mommy issue, explicit language, age gap, praising kink, outdoor, unprotected sex, slight footjob

a/n: I was a little high on edibles and listening to Crush by Ethel Cain while writing this. Let me know if you guys want part 2!

Case closed. The bad guy got caught. You did it.

The air in the bar is filled with the smell of spilled beer and the stale scent of whiskey that lingered from the bar’s low-lit corners.

Tonight, the place felt even smaller than usual, the laughter of the police officers in the corner fading into the background as you kept your eyes on the one person who hadn't yet congratulated you on your first solved murder case: Detective Agatha Harkness.

She was sitting by herself like she always did. A worn cigarette dangled from her lips, ash falling off in slow, lazy bits. Her beer, the cheapest they had, was halfway gone, and her navy cargo pants and dark flannel looked as though they’d seen too many long nights like this.

She looked at ease, but the slight tension in her posture told you she wasn’t entirely relaxed. Maybe she hadn’t been for years.

“Good job, newbie,” Herb said, clinking his beer against your shoulder, snapping you back to the present.

You offered him a polite smile. Herb was one of the few people in the department you found easy to talk to. “Thanks, but it wasn’t just me. Agatha helped a lot with the case.”

“She did,” Herb said, his gaze drifting over your shoulder. You didn’t need to look to know he was watching Agatha. “She can be tough, sure, but she’s one hell of a mentor—and an even better detective. The best we’ve got.”

Your heartbeat quickened, and you felt your cheeks flush as you nodded. “Yeah,” you agreed, your voice quieter. “She’s really good at that.”

You’d been watching her all night, trying to figure out if she was as untouchable as she seemed. Now, drunk and buzzed from the alcohol, you figured you might as well try.

You waited until the last of the other cops had filtered out and the bar had quieted before finally making your move toward her.

You wobbled slightly as you approached her booth, the floor beneath your boots feeling unsteady. Agatha didn��t even look up. She didn’t need to. She already knew you were coming.

“Detective,” you said, your voice slurring just a bit. “Thought I’d join you.”

Agatha looked up slowly, her blue eyes narrowing just the slightest as she took in your unsteady stance. She didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word for a long moment. The only sound was the faint clink of her beer hitting the table.

“You’re drunk.” She muttered, voice rough like she hadn’t spoken all night. Her cigarette dangled from her lips, the ember glowing brightly in the dim light.

You didn’t care. You were tired of playing it safe, tired of pretending you didn’t notice her, that you didn’t feel that pull when you were around her. “So what?” you said, voice a little more defiant than you intended. “Doesn’t mean I can’t talk to you.”

She took a long drag from her cigarette, eyes still locked on you, sizing you up. “It means you can’t think straight,” she said, voice flat. “And you’re about to make a fool of yourself.”

“Maybe I do want to make a fool of myself.”

Agatha snorted softly, shaking her head as a sly smirk curved her lips. “I know exactly what you’re doing,”

“Oh?” you replied, tilting your head. “And what’s that?”

She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as if she were interrogating a suspect. “Trying to sleep with your senior detective to fast-track your career. It’s cute, really.”

“It’s not about climbing the ladder,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight of her scrutiny. “I just wanna have a drink with you, that’s all. Celebrating our success on the case. We worked so hard together, didn’t we?”

“Isn’t it, though?” Agatha countered, her eyes narrowing like she was analyzing every detail of your reaction. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure looks that way.”

“I’m not interested in hiding my desires, detective,” you said softly, looking down and seeing a noticeable bulge on Agatha’s pants. You wet your lips. “Can’t say the same to you, though.”

For the first time, Agatha didn’t look away. But she didn’t smile either. Instead, her gaze darkened, and she put the cigarette out in the ashtray between you. “I’m not the one you want, kid,” she said, voice a little more serious now, almost a warning. “I’m trouble. And you’re better off without it.”

You scoffed, your head swimming a little more with every word she said, but you pushed through. “You think I’m some little rookie who’s scared of a little trouble?”

“Yeah,” she replied, voice thick with that Southern drawl. “I think that’s exactly what you are. And you think you’re the first one who’s tried to make a move on me after a few drinks?”

Her words hit harder than you expected, but you didn’t back off. You weren’t going to let her get away with pushing you away like she had with everyone else.

“No,” you said, shaking your head, the alcohol making your thoughts fuzzier. “But I’m more fun. You’ll see.”

Agatha tilted her head, studying you carefully. You could see the wheels turning behind her eyes, and for a split second, there was something soft there— curiosity, maybe. But then it was gone, replaced by that cold, distant look that made her so damn good at shutting people out.

“I’ve been down that road, sweetheart,” she said, her voice low, cocky. “I don’t need another mess in my life. Especially not one that can’t even hold their liquor.”

“I can hold my liquor just fine,” you said, your voice firm now, the alcohol starting to fuel your stubbornness. “I just think maybe you’re a little scared of me.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Scared of you?” she repeated, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’ve been around, kid. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You leaned in closer, your chest almost brushing against the edge of the table. “Maybe I’m not the one who’s scared,” you said softly, words coming out before you could think. “Maybe you’re just too afraid to let someone in.”

She didn’t confirm, or deny. She didn’t need to.

Instead, Agatha stood up suddenly, her movements slow, deliberate. “You’re drunk, rookie, get rest. Go home,” she muttered, her voice almost tired now. “See you tomorrow.”

And with that, she walked out of the booth, her figure disappearing into the dim light of the small bar.

You watched the smoke from her last cigarette curl in the air, and it seemed to mock you, reminding you of the way Agatha had pulled away from you without a second thought. But you weren’t going to let it end like that. Not tonight.

You weren’t a fool. You could tell by the way she looked at you—half dismissive, half something else—that she wasn’t immune to whatever this was. That flicker of vulnerability that she quickly buried every time you came close, the little moments where she didn’t pull away fast enough. She might have tried to shut you down, but you could see it, just beneath the surface.

And you weren’t backing down.

You pushed yourself away from the booth and stumbled a little as you made your way to the door, your boots clicking a little too loudly against the worn wooden floors. You had no idea where she went, but you had a feeling you didn’t need to look far.

Agatha was at the far end of the empty parking lot, leaning against her car, a cigarette in her hand. The glow of the streetlamp cast a shadow over her, making her look even more like she belonged to the night than she had inside.

You walked toward her slowly, your thoughts still clouded by the alcohol, but your steps steady.

She didn’t look up when you stopped a few feet away from her. “Thought I told you to go home,” Agatha’s voice was low and rough, and she didn’t turn to face you. Her thumb flickers a cigarette’s butt.

You didn’t take a step back. “I don’t think you told me that,” you replied, your voice more confident than you felt. “You just tried to get rid of me.”

“Same thing.” She took another drag. “You’ve already had your fun for the night. Go back inside, have another drink with the others. Let them keep telling you how great you are.”

“They’re all already gone home.”

Agatha shrugged. “And you should too, kid.”

Then, without warning,

You stepped forward, close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from her, the tension so thick between you two that it almost made the air crackle. Agatha’s breath hitched as you grabbed her crotch.

Fuck it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You said you didn’t want me, liar,” you said softly, your voice low, your chest tight. “You’re hard, detective.”

Agatha didn’t say anything right away. But when she did, it wasn’t with words. Instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing the back of your neck before pulling you in. The kiss was slow, deliberate, testing, like she was still deciding if she wanted this, if you were worth it.

You moan into her greedy mouth. Your hand squeezes her bulge, earning a sweet moan and a soft hip buck from Agatha. You’re practically throwing yourself into her arms. That pulled-up sleeve of her flannel is making your head dizzy. She’s such a handsome woman, and you want nothing more than for her to ruin you, to have your fingernails clawing onto her veiny arms as she choked you in bed.

When she pulled back, her blue eyes were darker than they had been before. Her breath was shallow, but she still didn’t say anything.

“Agatha?” you call for her, unsure if you have pushed it too far. “I—”

“Get in the car,” she demands, pulling your hair with force. “Now.”

Swallowing hard, you took a step back and reluctantly broke away from her embrace. As you walked towards the car, you felt a mixture of excitement and fear coursing through your veins. This was unlike anything you had ever experienced before, but the idea of being with Agatha, having her in every way possible, was intoxicating.

As you reached the car, Agatha slid into the driver's seat, her eyes never leaving yours. You could see the hunger and desire mirrored in her gaze. It made your heart race even faster and sent a surge of adrenaline through your body.

"You’ve been bad," she whispered, breathing hard. She didn’t even bother to take off her clothes. Agatha just unzipped her cargo pants and freed her hardened, big, thick cock, and sighed in relief.

“God, Agatha—”

"Look at the mess you made me, hon."

You couldn't help but lick your lips in anticipation. The sight of it was overwhelming, and you felt a surge of arousal that you had never experienced before. You knew this was wrong to fuck your peer, but all you could think about was feeling that perfect cock inside you, being impaled on it and taken by the woman you had been so drawn to for months.

Your cunt clenched around nothing with the thought of Agatha’s hands on your hips, fucking your pussy. “Please.”

"Begging me to fuck you already, huh?" she said, her voice low and sexy. "I bet you'd be great at anything I asked you to do."

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment, feeling a warm sensation spread through your body. "What do you want me to do next?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward to press her lips against yours in a gentle, possessive kiss. "I think it's time for you to show me just how good you are," she said, her voice low and husky. She reached down, grasping your hair gently and pulling you toward her cock. "Suck me off, baby," she commanded, her voice firm and authoritative.

You didn't need to be told twice. You eagerly took Agatha's cock into your mouth, savoring the taste of her leaks like a sweet honey.

She groaned in pleasure as you began to suck and stroke her, feeling her cock twitch and grow harder in your mouth. She’s so big that you can’t even fit it down your throat without choking in tears.

“It’s fine, baby, take it slow.”

You nodded and ran your tongue over the head of her cock. You could feel her thighs trembling as you worked your way down her length, teasing the sensitive areas with your tongue and lips. Agatha moaned loudly, her hands gripping your hair tightly as she enjoyed the sensations.

You moved faster, knowing that you had to bring her to climax soon. You could feel a powerful energy building within you just from pleasuring her, and you knew that this was something you wanted to do for her again and again. Her hips bucked against you, both her hands now gripping your hair as she began to lose in the sensation, each movement pushing her cock deeper and deeper.

"Oh, fuck," she breathed, her voice a low growl. Her head was throwing against the seat, her eyes were closed and her lips parted in messy moans as she held your head still and fucked into your mouth. She looked high and drunk in absolute pleasure, and that made you feel proud of yourself. "Yes, just like that."

You could feel the tension building within her, and you knew that she was close. Her breathing grew ragged, and her grip on your hair tightened as she neared the edge.

"I'm going to cum," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Yes, right there."

And then it happened – Agatha's body stiffened, and her cock throbbed in your mouth as she came. You felt the warm rush of her climax as she flooded your mouth with hot fluids. Your eyes rolled in pleasure and your nose pressed against her pubic hair. She cried out, her voice a mix of pleasure and relief, as she rode out her orgasm.

Eventually, she softened and pulled out of your mouth, collapsing back onto her seat. You pushed yourself up, catching your breath. You’re dripping wet and Agatha noticed the needs in your eyes.

Then, Agatha commands. “On your knees.”

You quickly obeyed, moving to the backseat, getting down on all fours with your ass in the air. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and you pushed yourself back against Agatha's legs, yearning for her touch.

You’re so ready to get fucked out of your sanity. You‘re a mess, drunk in alcohol and Agatha’s touch.

"That's it, baby," Agatha crooned, her hand running up and down your spine, sending shivers through your entire body. "Just like that."

With a grunt of effort, Agatha positioned herself behind you. You could feel the head of her cock probing against your entrance, testing your readiness. You whimpered softly, a mix of fear and excitement washing over you.

With a fierce grip on your hips, Agatha thrust forward. You felt the head of her cock push past your tight entrance, stretching you in a way you never thought possible. A gasp escaped from you as she continued to push deeper, and you felt every inch of her cock slide into you. It was both painful and exhilarating, the sensation overwhelming.

"Oh god, yes," you cried out, your voice shaking with emotion. "Fuck me, Agatha. Fuck me hard."

Agatha didn't need to be told twice. She began thrusting into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body. The slapping sounds of her hips hitting against your ass filled the car, punctuated by the occasional moan or gasp from either one of you.

Your hands reached back, gripping onto the seat belt clasps for support as Agatha pounded into you relentlessly. Her breaths came in short pants, her muscles tense with exertion. You could feel her heart pounding against your back, in sync with your own rapid heartbeat.

"This is what you want, huh?" you nodded, chanting her name like a sacred prayer. She growled, her grip tightening on your hips. "This is it, right? Getting fucked by an older woman’s cock, is that your kink?”

“Yes! Mommy,” you cried out, “yes, yesyesyes.”

Your body responded to her words, your pussy clenching around Agatha's cock with each thrust. The feeling was indescribable, and you knew that this was something you would never forget.

"Fuck, Agatha," you moaned, lifting your hips to meet each of her strokes. "I'm going to come so hard."

"Good," Agatha murmured, her voice thick with desire. "I want to feel it, baby. I want to feel you come apart.”

Her words sent you over the edge. The pleasure built up inside of you, rushing through your body like wildfire until finally, it exploded out of you in waves of bliss. You screamed out her name, your pussy clenching down on her cock as your orgasm washed over you.

Agatha groaned as she felt your pussy contract around her cock, the sensation pushing her closer to her own release. "Fuck, hon," she hissed, "I'm right there with you."

Her hips bucked harder, each thrust more messy than the last. You could feel the tension in her tight grip on your hips, her veins popping up on her neck and her arms as she neared her climax. The feeling was intoxicating, knowing that you were driving her to such heights of pleasure.

"Cum for me, Agatha," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "Cum inside me."

This was all it took. With a final, powerful thrust, Agatha cried out, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her cock jerked inside you, shooting pulse after pulse of hot cum deep into your pussy. It was intense, almost painful in its intensity, but so incredibly pleasurable. You wondered how many women have had Agatha cumming inside them like this, the thought made you feel a wave of jealousy right through your chest.

As Agatha's orgasm subsided, her breathing slowly returning to normal, she pulled out of you with a soft pop. You felt a warm, wet sensation between your legs as her cock slipped from you, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more.

Her eyes flicked down to her slick, cum-covered cock before returning to you with a wicked smirk playing on her lips. She scoffed, flipping your body effortlessly onto your back. Your eyes followed her movements, now lying on your back as you watched Agatha try to catch her breath.

"Tired already, detective?" you challenged playfully. Your feet shifted towards her thigh, feeling her up through the rough fabrics of her cargo pants before pressing your feet on her sensitive cock, teasingly giving her a foot job that caused Agatha to buck her hips and whimper in sudden pleasure. You were certain that you could make her cum again, or even drive her to overstimulation if she’d let you.

She stopped your movements with one firm grasp.

"Not enough, huh?" she asked, gazing at her own cum running down between your legs and looking back at you like she couldn’t believe you still wanted more. “Are you trying to get yourself knocked up or something?”

“Maybe,” you teased, giggling softly before grabbing her collar and pulling her into a kiss. “You’re incredible,” you whispered, your fingers slipping into her hair. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Agatha’s smirk widened as she cocked her head, her southern charm slipping effortlessly into her tone. “Well, sugar, ’course you haven’t,” she drawled, her voice dripping with a honeyed confidence that made your cheeks burn. “I’m exceptional.”

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Lead Us Into Temptation✨

The poll didn't even finish before I started working on this lmao, hope you enjoy my first take on some very soft dom Luci!

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Summary: You were a devout believer in life, but somehow you ended up in Hell with no real explanation. Most nights you can be found sitting on a bar stool in the lobby, trying to cope with what's happened to you. But one night while in an intoxicated state, you reveal your most hidden desires to the King himself...

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, reader first time, hand job, fingering, tail play, oral (m & f receiving), p in v

"That's it, I'm cuttin' you off for tonight," Husk said sternly, whisking away your unfinished glass of whiskey. You'd been at the bar for only an hour and you've already downed five full glasses.

"Noooo, Husk c'mon...I'm fffffiiiinnee," you babbled, trying to push your head from the countertop unsuccessfully.

It's been a few months since you arrived in Hell after an unfortunate accident that ended in your early demise. But being a devout believer, you were so sure that Heaven would be your final destination. How wrong you were. You woke up in the fiery pit confused and scared, your body had transformed into that of a demon; you had become something you had feared for your entire life. When you first heard about the Hazbin Hotel, you nearly jumped at the opportunity for redemption. If there was even the slightest hope of getting out of here, you were going to take it. But your situation was more than troublesome, considering how you led your life up on Earth. On most nights, you could easily be found sitting on a bar stool, trying desperately to drown your sorrows and distract yourself from the reality you'd found yourself in.

What's worse...not everyone here is evil. It was ingrained into you that everyone down here in Hell deserved to be, they had earned this punishment. But getting to know some of the other residents at the hotel, that couldn't have been further from the truth! Was everything you were taught just a complete lie?! For Heaven's sake, Charlie, the literal princess of Hell, was the sweetest and kindest being you've ever had the pleasure of meeting! And Vaggie, a former angel, so devout to Charlie and her dream, you've never seen two people more in love. Angel, although a bit eccentric and over the top, cared deeply for his friends and was ready to fight for them at a moment's notice. It was all...not what you expected, and you had a very difficult time coping with everything that you had been thrust into.

"You're shit faced," Husk snapped back. "Look, I know you're havin' a hard time with all this. But drinking away your issues ain't gonna solve any of 'em. You need to sleep this off." He watched you stumble off the bar stool, your one foot catching the other, resulting in a rather pitiful fall onto the carpet. But you couldn't feel anything, the alcohol helped mask the pain you were sure to feel tomorrow. You couldn't help but giggle at your own clumsiness. "Oh, for fuck's sake..." Husk grumbled.

Before you could even attempt to pull yourself off the ground, you saw a pair of black boots approaching you in a rather hurried manner.

"Woah!" the voice exclaimed, "Are you alright? Here, let me help you!" In no time, your limp body went from lying on the lobby floor to being hoisted up and helped back onto the bar stool you fell from. You turned your head to see Lucifer's concerned face staring back at you. "Husk, what happened?"

"She's drunk," the cat demon explained, "I told her she was done drinkin' for the night and she ate shit trying to stand up. I was about to help her back to her room-"

All of a sudden, a shadowy presence started to form behind the bar. A static filled laugh was heard before Alastor had popped up, startling the bar tender. "Husker, my good man!," the radio demon bellowed, "it seems as though I am in need of your assistance."

"Fuck! Why can't you just walk in here like a normal fucking person?" Husk grumbled.

Alastor only responded with a light chuckle before fixing his attention on you. "My, my, what have we here?" Alastor taunted. You could have sworn you heard a low growl coming from Lucifer beside you. "I say, my dear, I've never seen you look worse than you do now. What a pity, all of those teachings really didn't help you in the long run, now did they?"

You felt tears threatening to fall from your eyes at Alastor's cruel words. If you were sober, you would have run the other direction as fast as you could. Alastor had been the other real soul you met who you knew with every fiber of your being belonged in this pit. But considering you had no inhibitions and clearly no chance of getting away, you picked your head up and slammed your fists on the table in righteous anger.

"Ohhh, eat shit youuuu *hic* smiling prick!" You tried to stand up once more, only for your legs to buckle underneath you. Luckily, Lucifer had caught you before your face had met with the carpet again. "I-I don't deserve this! 'Least I'm TRYING to redeem m'self!"

Alastor's malicious grin never faltered. "Oh, and what a fabulous job you're doing! I do wonder how a woman such as yourself has fallen so far from grace."

"Fuck off, radio freak," Lucifer snarled, barring his teeth and his eyes shifting to a deep crimson red and yellow.

“Oh, ho ho! Seems as though I’ve struck a nerve,” Alastor mocked. He made his way around the bar, now towering over you and the fallen angel. “Tell me, your highness, what is your fascination with this lost soul, hmm? I’m so utterly curious as to why you would give her the time of day when all she does is wallow in her self-pity and-”

“I. SAID. FUCK. OFF.” the king spat, his eyes now changing into a solid red and his voice deepening to match his threat. Though your vision was hazy, you noticed his horns had burst out from his temples. Whether it was the alcohol or something else entirely, your face suddenly felt very, very hot. “Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

Despite the immense danger, Alastor could only muster a sly grin. “It’s very rude to ignore my question.”

“I don’t have to do anything for you! Or have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” The way Lucifer spoke sent a shiver down your spine. “The only reason that you’re not a mangled corpse on the ground right now is because of my daughter. So, if you want to stay in one piece, I’d walk away right now if I were you…”

The two men's faces were just inches away from each other now. Alastor’s eye twitched as he glared back at Lucifer with pure distain. His eyes shifted to you only for a brief moment before standing up straight and smirking to himself.

“I suppose it really is no business of mine as to how you choose to mingle with the guests here,” the radio demon resolved. He turned around to walk away, but not before glancing at you once more over his shoulder. “They’re lost causes anyway. Come along, Husker!”

Lucifer’s demonic traits disappeared as Alastor finally left the parlor. “I hate that man.” He looked at Husk empathetically. “If I could break your arrangement with him, I would. I’m sorry. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.” With that, Husk nodded and followed the radio demon down the hall, leaving you and Lucifer alone at the now empty bar.

You started to bawl as you clung to Lucifer for support. Immediately, he rushed you over to the couch and sat you down next to him, letting you cry into the crook of his neck.

"Hey, hey, shh," Lucifer soothed. "It's alright. Alastor won't bother you anymore, I'll make sure of it."

"It's n-not him," you sniffled, "it's everything! Al-stor's right, there's no savin' me."

Lucifer pulled you away from him, placing a hand under your chin as he looked into your glassy eyes. "Now what makes you say that?"

Another tear rolled down your face. "Is like he said, what I was taught up there...nothing's true! Welllll, except..." you placed your hand over the one holding your face tenderly. "Theeeyyyyy did say that you, Luciferrrr, were heaven's prettiest angel. They def-liny didn't lie about that!"

You noticed a small blush creep across Lucifer's face at your words. He pulled his and away from your face to clear his throat, glancing away from you. "T-Thank you. That's umm, very kind of you."

You chuckled to yourself, scootching your body closer him. "Do you mind if I *hic*, lay down, jus' for a sec. Gettin' sleepy.

"Yeah, of course!" Lucifer smiled, but only for a moment. "W-Wait, hold on!"

But by the time he tried to warn you, your head had already fallen into his lap. You smiled up at the flustered man and chuckled, the heat returning to your face once more. "You got soft legs, hehe!"

Lucifer inhaled sharply. "Husk was right, you really are drunk. Wouldn't you feel more comfortable laying your head on a pillow?"

"Nnnnope!" you replied.

"Alright then," the king breathed and massaged the back of his neck, doing his best to hide how tense he'd become from your sudden closeness.

"H-Hey," you called up to him, "why'd youuu...why'd you protect me jus' now? From Al-stor. You *hic* didn't have to..."

He looked down at you softly, brushing away the hair that had fallen in your face. "I don't like bullies. You didn't deserve that, and Alastor knows that for his sake that he shouldn't get on my bad side."

"Never seen you so mad." you mumbled.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he apologized, continuing to play with you hair. "I don't like bringing out that side of me. But Alastor really likes to push his luck for some bizarre reason."

"Awww," you pouted, "is too bad. I liked seeing that side of ya. It was HOT!"

Lucifer stopped his movements completely. “I-I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” you responded poking at his chest. “What? Did ya think jus’ cuz I was a believer when I was alive that I’d be SCARED of ya? Maybe at first. Not anymore! I’m already in Hell soooo there’s no point in hidin’ it, is there?”

“Hiding what, exactly?” Lucifer gulped as if he was almost too afraid to ask.

You giggles and hid your face with your hands. “Noooo, you’re jus’ gonna laugh at meeee!”

Lucifer let out an amused hum. He gently took ahold of your wrists and lowered your hands away from your now completely beet-colored face. “I promise I won’t laugh at you, my dear. You’ve very much piqued my curiosity! And I’m very good at keeping secrets, you know! So please, let me keep yours.” He let go of your wrists, letting your hands fall onto your chest. You watched as he leaned closer to you, his half-lidded eyes piercing your very soul. “Won’t you tell me, my sweet angel?”

"I...*hic* I umm..." you babbled. It was clear that you were struggling to answer.

"Mind if I take a guess?" Lucifer offered as he went back to playing with your loose locks of hair. "Is it possible that you have a little crush on-"

"I WAN' YOU TO FUCK ME STUPID TILL I CAN'T 'MEMBER MY NAME!" you blurted out without any reservations.

"-me..." Lucifer froze at your confession. You could hear the sound of a pin drop with the deafening silence that now filled the air. With a big inhale, he straightened his back fully, placing both of his hands under you in a flash, not daring to look down at you. "Well, I-I think it's about time we got you to bed!" he nearly shouted as he scooped you up in his arms and stood up faster than normal.

You let out a small squeak of surprise with his sudden motion. With a snap of his fingers, a portal appeared next to you and he quickly carried you across the threshold and into your dimly lit room. With a flick of his wrist, your bedsheets were undone and Lucifer was able to lay you down gently onto your mattress. He reached over you to grab your undone comforter and pulled it on top of you, covering everything but your head.

"Okay! Uhh, s-sleep well!" Lucifer went to run through the portal, but not before you were able to grab his sleeve.

"D-Did I upset you?" you asked nearly on the verge of tears again? Lucifer still hadn't looked at you.

"N-No! No, angel, you didn't upset me!" he tried to sooth you, but you weren't buying it. You couldn't stop more tears running down your face. When Lucifer heard your quiet cries, he finally turned towards you in a state of sheer panic. "Ahh, no!" He kneeled down next to you, wiping your tears away with his free hand. "Please don't cry! I promise I'm not upset!"

"Knew it was stupid...," you sobbed, "shouldn't have told you..."

"Don't say that," the fallen angel cooed. "Okay, okay, look...If uhh, we're admitting things right now, I might as well too. Would that make you feel better?"

You sniffled a bit. "M-Maybe..."

Lucifer shut his eyes and let out a deep sigh. "I've had...similar feelings...about you, that is. So...no more tears, okay?"

You stared at the man before you, completely and utterly baffled by what you had just heard. "R-Really?"

"Yes," he whispered. "But we can talk about this tomorrow, yeah? You need some sleep; it looks like you're about to pass out."

He was right. Your eyelids felt as though they could give out at any moment, and the warmth from your blanket wasn't helping you stay conscious either. As Lucifer stood up, you still clung to his sleeve like your life depended on it. "Stay?" you almost begged.

He smiled weakly, taking your hand from his sleeve, and placing a small peck on the back of it. "Not tonight," he responded. "Sleep now, darling. I'll see you when you wake." You couldn't find the strength to respond, letting yourself drift off to sleep as Lucifer left you to dream.

Little did you know that he had disappeared to take a very cold shower.

****

When you regained consciousness, you felt the familiar pounding in your head after a heavy night of drinking. Begrudgingly you dragged yourself out of you bed and forced your way to your bathroom for a much needed shower. You realized when you glanced towards the mirror that you never changed out of your clothes from yesterday. In fact, you don't even remember how you got back to your room last night, Everything was such a blur, and it hurt to think with the major headache you were experiencing at the moment. The last thing you could recall was falling off the bar stool, the pain you felt in your shoulder was enough of a reminder. Once you stepped in the hot shower, you felt a little better, but only a little bit. You tried to rack your brain for answers, trying to remember exactly what happened after you fell. You ran your fingers through your hair, letting the water soak your aching body. But in doing so, something had clicked. That motion had unlocked a foggy memory. Your hair. Someone had run their hands through your hair last night, but you couldn't for the life of you remember who. It was gentle, soft, tender. But who would do that?

After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower and threw on one of the sundresses you had hanging in your closet. You really didn't feel like putting a ton of effort into your clothing choices today. Hopefully Charlie would forgive you for skipping out on her planned activity today and let you recover. You realized after that initially thought that you didn't even know what time is was. Chances were you had already missed it. With a groan, you plopped down back onto the mattress, your hair still damp.

"What's the matter with me," you asked yourself. "How do I expect to be redeemed when all I do is sabotage my chances by getting wasted every night?" Your headache persisted as you laid in your bed, you almost wanted to cry from the pain. But then, you heard a soft knocking at your door. Charlie, you thought. More than likely she was checking in on you to make sure you were alright. "I'll be there in a second!" you called out. The volume of your own voice didn't help your hangover in the slightest. You grabbed one of the small pillows off your bed for comfort and trudged your way to your door. "I'm really sorry I slept in Charlie," you spoke as you turned the door handle, "it was a...really rough night for me and I-" you stopped completely once you opened the door fully. Charlie, in fact, was not the one who had knocked.

"Yeah, you really did get put through the ringer last night, didn't you?" Lucifer smiled at you. The pillow you held fell to the floor with a soft thud.

“Oh, I-I’m so sorry, sir!” You stuttered. “I-I thought you were Charlie! Did-Did she send you?”

Lucifer looked at you with a puzzled stare. “Uhh, no, no she didn’t. I told her what happened last night and let her know I’d check in on you like I promised.”

“Promised?” you asked, but Lucifer didn’t seem to hear you.

“And you don’t have to refer to me as “sir,” my dear, “Lucifer” is just fine! I mean, you used my name just fine last night!”

Your heart stopped. “L-Last night? Oh no…what…what happened last night?”

Lucifer gawked at your question. “Wait, do you not remember anything?” You shook your head timidly. “Oh dear…well, nothing bad happened, I promise! What’s the last thing you can remember doing?”

You looked down at the floor sheepishly, embarrassed to admit the real answer. “The last thing I can remember is falling off the bar stool and…landing on my face…”

Lucifer stood there and pondered for a few seconds before speaking again. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Oh, umm, yeah, y-you can come in,” you agreed. You picked up the pillow you had dropped and opened the door for Lucifer to saunter in. “I’m sorry I look like a mess right now, I-I just got out of the shower and my hair isn’t completely dry yet and-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright!” Lucifer interrupted. “You don’t need to apologize. You look lovely, in any case.”

You brought the pillow in your hands up to your face in an attempt to hide your blush. “T-Thank you,” your muffled voice came through the pillow. "I-If you want, you can sit down on my b-ahh fuck!" One hand came up to your forehead when you felt your head pounding from the pressure that's been building since you woke up. This was definitely one of your worst hangovers to date.

"Oh! Are you alright?" Lucifer asked, his voice laced with deep concern.

"My head..." you choked out. You made your way over to your bed, crawling up to the top and cradling the pillow in your arms "Hangovers are never really kind to me."

Lucifer frowned, seating himself down on the edge of your mattress next to you. You felt your face flare up again when you looked up at his worried expression. "Can I help you? I can alleviate the pain. You only need ask."

"Y-you can?"

"Sure! Angelic power and all that." His hand hovered just above your forehead. "May I?"

"Yes," you breathed. With that, you felt his soft hand make contact with your aching head. You felt a warm tingling sensation emanating from his touch. It didn't hurt nor was it unpleasant, it was healing. Without thinking, you leaned further into his touch, letting the warmth spread throughout your entire body. Your headache slowly began to fade away along with the fogginess that had been plaguing you since you woke up. As his touch lingered, you realized you were able to think more clearly than before, memories from last night started to become clearer and clearer. You remembered Lucifer had come to your rescue after you'd fallen. You remembered Alastor had shown up to mock you in your drunken stupor, only for Lucifer to step in and defend you. You remember sobbing with Lucifer while he comforted you. Then you remembered...

You shot straight up, your heart racing a million miles a second, with Lucifer throwing his hand back in surprise. "What? What happened? Did I hurt you?" Lucifer asked in a panic.

"I'm..." you began, "I'm starting to remember things from last night." You clutched the pillow tight to your chest, refusing to look in the fallen angel's direction. "Please tell me I didn't actually lay down in your lap..."

"Uhh, well...," You could tell from his response that that's exactly what had happened.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" you apologized. "I shouldn't have done that! I-I know I drank way too much last night, I should have stopped, I didn't realize that-"

Lucifer's hand immediately flew to your shoulder in an attempt to get you to stop you from completely spiraling. "Darling, you don't need to apologize for that! You weren't feeling great so you just, ya know, used me as a pillow. And besides, it's not like I disliked it either."

"W-What?!" you nearly shrieked. Another realization had hit you just then. "You! You were the one that was playing with my hair! That's the only thing I could remember when I woke up!" You buried your face in the pillow once more. "If I said anything embarrassing..."

You heard Lucifer swallow hard. "I guess uhh, it depends on your definition of the word."

"Oh God, please no..." you pleaded. "What did I say?"

Lucifer held up his hand again as an offering, a weary smile on his face. "I can help you to remember, if you wish."

You let out a shaky breath but nodded in agreement. Lucifer's hand once again found its way to your forehead, a familiar warmth flowing through you once more. You closed your eyes and saw the images from last night flash before you. You saw yourself looking up at Lucifer who'd just asked you to tell him your little secret. But as soon as you remembered the drunken words that flew from your mouth at that moment, your eyes shot open and you flung yourself to the opposite side of the bed, as far away from Lucifer as possible.

"No. No! Nononononono!" you panicked, "I didn't-I mean I couldn't have, I...NO!" You couldn't stop yourself from crying into the pillow, ashamed and embarrassed at the thought of your past actions. "This is a nightmare..."

You felt the bed shifting beneath you as Lucifer crawled toward you hesitantly. "I'm sorry," he murmured behind you, "I know you must be feeling a lot of different emotions right now, but it's alr-"

"NO, IT'S NOT ALRIGHT!" You snapped, jumping from the bed in an attempt to put as much distance between you and him as possible. Your rage was quickly replaced with remorse when you saw Lucifer's shocked, almost hurt expression. You took a deep breath before speaking again. "I didn't mean you scream at you like that, I'm sorry...but you don't understand..."

"Then help me understand," Lucifer asked, now kneeling on the bed. "Please?"

You looked away from him and down to the ground, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest at the thought of explaining yourself to the literal king of Hell. "I...I grew up in church. I was raised as a believer. Told to be a “good girl." I was taught my entire life that Hell was a place to be feared, a place where the most evil of people end up. And I would be wise to fear it as well and repent so I would not end up there...uhh, here. That clearly didn't help me now, did it?" You let yourself drop to the bed again, letting your legs dangle over the sides. "My entire worldview just seemed to crumble around me when I started staying here at the hotel. Sure, there are some awful people here, but...it feels as though this "divine judgement" is...just completely fucked up! The guests here are better people than most believers I knew when I was alive! How is that right? How is that fair?!"

"Well," Lucifer interjected, "I can tell you first hand that Heaven is definitely not what it seems. I mean, have you seen the things they've said about me in that book of theirs?" he laughed, trying his best to lighten the mood.

You twisted your head over your shoulder, staring back at him with complete intensity. "And you!" You shot back up on your feet in an instant, pacing back and forth as Lucifer watched you completely mesmerized. "Where do I even start with you? You're Lucifer, the devil himself, the great deceiver, and temptation incarnate! Everything I was ever told about you is bullshit! You've been nothing but hospitable ever since I've been here! You protected me from Alastor last night! You took care of me while I was drunk! You didn't have to do any of those things, you shouldn't have done any of those things! You're not evil and it's...it's driving me to the brink! When Charlie had told me that you were her father, I was PETRIFIED! But nothing could have prepared me for finding out who you really were."

Lucifer slowly crawled towards you, climbing off the bed and now standing before you, perhaps just a tad too close for your comfort. "And who am I?" he asked softly.

Instinctively, your body drew itself closer and closer to his, as if you had no control of your movements anymore. "You're...an angel," you sighed.

Lucifer smiled at you, timidly resting his hand on your forehead. "Would you like to remember the rest of last night?"

"I already embarrassed myself enough to the point of no return so I might as well," you huffed shyly.

Lucifer chuckled, "Don't worry, the worst is over. But at least now you'll get to remember my favorite part."

The last of your aches in your body finally subsided as you let the rest of your previously forgotten memories flood your mind. It made sense that Lucifer would have been the one to bring you back to your room. Seeing yourself cry was not surprising to you, but what was surprising was Lucifer's admittance of reciprocated desires. You opened your eyes at last to the angel's sheepish grin. You took a half step away from him, your face feeling like the core of a raging volcano.

"You...you really..." was all you could muster.

"I'm not above embarrassing myself either, my dear," he joked, "I'd say we're even now."

"T-That's not even remotely close to being even!" you babbled.

Lucifer grinned and closed the gap between the two of you, taking one of your hands in his. "Regardless," he mused, "I meant what I said. Every word. And if you'd like to discuss this further, I'd be more than happy to listen." He pressed a small peck to the back of your hand just as he did last night. Even though your hangover had completely vanished, the brain fog had come back in full force. Maybe Lucifer was truly temptation incarnate.

"I-I can't believe this," you stutter, pulling your hand away from his and throwing yourself back onto your bed and covering your reddened face with your hands. "This has to be a dream, there's no way this is real! I'm sure I'm still passed out drunk right now! You're not supposed to be this way! You're supposed to be cruel and wicked and manipulative! Not..."

"Suave and oh so devilishly handsome?" Lucifer smirked.

"You're not helping!" You felt the mattress fold further under Lucifer's weight as he sat down next to you. "So...w-what happens now?"

"I mean, I can think of a few things," he answered smugly. "But in all seriousness, nothing will happen. Not unless you say otherwise."

"See, it's stuff like that!" you shouted, suddenly sitting up right. "Being respectful and considerate, constantly making sure I'm comfortable? That's not who you're supposed to be! I've just been fucking lied to my whole life and I'm PISSED and I'm finding it extremely difficult to not just...just...oh FUCK IT!"

Without warning, you grabbed Lucifer by the collar and crashed your lips into his. He let out a surprised yelp, but you had quickly swallowed it as his shock turned into pure bliss. His hands quickly found your face, cupping them and massaging your red-hot cheeks with his thumbs. Your annoyance had faded almost immediately, your fierce kiss had turned soft and passionate with his tender touch. You were the first to pull away, only to be met with Lucifer's pleading gaze.

"S-So much for being a good girl," Lucifer teased.

You pushed his face away gently. "I hate you!"

"That kiss suggested otherwise, darling."

"You should stop talking," you threatened.

"You should make me," he challenged.

In an instant, you were straddling Lucifer’s lap, your legs flush against his. You gripped the brim of his hat and tossed it to the floor below. You leaned in for another kiss, but this one was hungrier, needier. His lips were soft and you had already become addicted to his taste. You felt his jagged tongue brush against your bottom lip, and you pulled back in shock. “Is your tongue…” Lucifer flashed a cheeky smile and stuck out his tongue playfully. Sure enough, a forked snake tongue hung between his lips. “O-Oh, okay…” You weren’t sure how you never noticed before right now, but your lack of observation skills were the furthest thing from your mind right now. You closed your eyes and leaned in again, your mouth slightly ajar, basically begging for him to invade your mouth. To which Lucifer happily obliged. You felt his tongue slip past your teeth, entangling itself with yours. His hands had shifted down to your hips, kneading and lightly squeezing at your skin underneath your dress. The feeling of his claws pressing into you sent a shiver down your spine. More, more, more was the only thing you could think at the moment. But just as you got used to the feeling of his lips, Lucifer was the one to pull away this time. A tiny whimper escaped you. “Don’t worry, angel,” Lucifer cooed, “we have time. All the time in the world, in fact. I just want to make sure you’re alright. Do you want to keep going?”

The passion you felt was quickly replaced with fear. It hadn’t occurred to you that you had neglected to mention a pretty crucial piece of information. “Yes, I-I do, but umm…I should tell you…”

“Yes?”

“I…haven’t exactly…” you gulped trying to find the right words. “I haven’t been with anyone before…”

“Wait, wait,” Lucifer froze, “you’ve never-”

“No!” You cut him off. “L-Look, when it’s been drilled into your head since you were a child that premarital sex is going to send you to Hell, you’re going to avoid it!”

Lucifer let out a deep sigh, then chuckled to himself. “Okay, I have to admit something. That whole “sex before marriage is a sin” thing miiiiigggghhhhttt be my fault.” You raised an eyebrow. “They never got over the fact that I more or less stole Adam’s first wife. Of course we weren’t married at that point! Heaven’s been petty ever since.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, so it’s YOUR fault that I’m a virgin! Good to know.”

“Forgive me.” Lucifer allowed himself to lay flat on his back, with you following close behind. He raised his head and brought his lips to your ear. “But at your word, I’d be more than happy to rectify this injustice,” he whispered softly.

Goosebumps covered both of your arms at his words. You knew your face must have turned a new shade of red the way Lucifer smirked at you. You lowered yourself on his crotch out of spite and began to grind your hips lethargically. It was your turn to embarrass him. His breath caught in his throat from your motions, you could already feel that your lewd actions were having an effect on the man beneath you. The growing bulge in his pants that you felt on your own clothed heat had you salivating.

"You know, I-I'm not a complete novice," you admitted, your hands now making your way down his jacket, undoing every button with care. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

Lucifer pushed you back upright, now straddling his lap once more, and slipped himself out of his undone shirt. Aa you gripped his bare It took everything in your power not to stare at his perfectly toned chest. "And what "tricks"-hngg…would those be?"

You placed a chaste kiss to his lips before sliding off of his lap and kneeling on the floor in front of him. Lucifer's breath hitched instantly at the sight before him. You rested your palms on his inner thighs, your rapid breathing betraying your faux collected exterior. "I figured since I couldn't break the rules, I could at least bend them."

Lucifer firmly gripped the sheets beneath him as he watched your thumbs trace circles near his crotch. "Already on your knees for me, sweetheart?” he teased, running a hand from the top of your head, relishing in the softness of your hair, and down to the tip of your chin. “I didn’t know my powers of temptation would work so well on someone as devout as you.” You failed to hide the whimper that escaped your throat. “I’m sorry, I know I’m teasing you too much. I’ll stop if-”

“N-No, don’t stop…” you responded almost inaudibly.

A sultry laugh emanated from the man above you. “Oh, is that so?” You nodded. “Use your words, love.”

You shivered. “Please… remind me of my place…sir…”

He tilted your head up towards him, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on your lips. “Whatever you wish, my angel. You let me know if I go too far, okay?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now, I believe you wanted to show me something?”

You took a deep breath before reaching out for the zipper and button of his pants. You made slow work of them, trying to be as delicate as possible. You grabbed both the hems of his pants and boxers, Lucifer raising himself up so you could more easily shimmy the remainder of his clothing off. His hardened cock sprang free, your face boiling from seeing the very obvious precum that had already begun leaking from the tip. After tossing away his pants, gripped Lucifer’ s hips and brought him as close to the edge of the bed as possible, your lips now mere inches away from his impressive length. You swallowed harshly. Breathing became an increasingly difficult task. With tentative hands, you reached out and lightly gripped the base of Lucifer's cock, his low moan sent pleasure straight between your thighs. There was no going back now.

"Go ahead, my dear," Lucifer encouraged, "show me how sinful those hands of yours are."

Without any further prodding, your hand move languidly up and down his cock, the precum providing enough lubrication for smooth strokes. Lucifer groaned above you, his sounds were everything you'd imagined and more. Your strokes became faster, needing to hear more of Lucifer coming undone from your touch alone. But even touching him wasn't enough to satisfy your desires. Your hot breath so close to his most sensitive area had Lucifer shuttering. And even more so when you decided to run your tongue from the base of his cock to the very tip. You'd finally gotten your first taste of him, and that sent you into a complete frenzy. Your tongue worked circles around the head of his length and you could hear Lucifer's guttural moans turn into whimpers of pure ecstasy.

"F-Fuck," Lucifer managed to choke out as he watched you bob your head and down, taking as much of him as you could manage. "You-mnmm...s-sure seem to know what you're doing. S-Shhiiittt...I-I'm starting to think you-GA-AAHH...you really do b-belong down here." Lucifer's composure was fading fast even though he continued his taunting. His words lit a fire within in, increasing your movements to an unrelenting pace. "O-OH FFFFUU-UUCCCKK," he screeched, his hand now tightening around your hair for an assemblance of stability. His overstimulated cock twitched in your mouth; you knew he was close. "Y-You're gonna make me c-cum if you keep doing thaa-ahhhht...but t-that's what you want, isn't it? You wanna taste m-my cum, sweet girl?"

"M-Mhmm," you hummed blissfully, your mouth and hand working in tandem to bring him over the edge.

"Then d-don't stop," he commanded.

You did exactly as he said, not slowing down for even a second. The thought of kneeling before the outcasted being that you were meant to despise with every inch of your soul drove you mad. Now here you were, unraveling him with your hands and mouth alone. Lucifer was using all of his willpower to not thrust his hips into you and completely fuck your mouth. That would have to wait for another time. But once your other hand started to gently massage his balls, it was over. "Fuck fuck fuck FUCKFUCKFUCK-CUMMING," he cried out before finally emptying himself inside your mouth. You couldn't move away even if you wanted to the way he way holding your head in place. But you were perfectly content swallowing every drop of his hot cum. When the twitching stopped, he had released his grip on you, allowing you to pull away from him and gulp down the last of his seed. You looked up at him with a nervous smile, your hands now resting on his knees.

"H-How'd I do?" you laughed sheepishly. But your laugh faded once you saw the change in Lucifer's appearance. His eyes were no longer his normal soft yellow, but a deep crimson red.

"Oh, my sweet little angel," his voice dripping with desire, "you were nothing short of absolute perfection. How absolutely filthy you are for swallowing all of my cum. I love it!" He offered his hand to you, helping you off of the ground. He stood with you, pulling at the bottom of your dress. "But I'm far from being done with you." With a soft "yes", your dress was dragged over your head and tossed to the side in one swift motion, leaving you nothing but your matching black bra and panties. Lucifer stood there drinking in your form, his outstretched tongue swishing from side to side. "Gorgeous," he hummed against your skin before bringing his hot mouth to your neck. You squeaked at the sensation, but your surprise rapidly shifted to wanton moans. His sharp teeth and forked tongue raked across your pulse, sending waves of pleasure throughout your entire body. "I'll make sure everyone knows you're mine now..." he pulled away and looked up at you pleadingly, "that is, if you'll have me."

You smiled, tears now pricking the corner or your eyes. "I'm already yours."

Lucifer's breath had caught in his throat as he captured your lips, your mouth being invaded by his eager tongue. He hoisted you up by your hips, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips as you hooked your arms around his neck to pull him even closer than before. He laid you down on the bed sweetly, now crawling his way up towards you. Lucifer's body now completely enveloped yours. The angel's disheveled hair and the sweat dripping from his forehead was truly a breathtaking sight. His captivating red eyes felt as though they were piercing your very soul, searching for every hidden desire you had locked away. Lucifer licked his lips seductively. "If my memory serves, I recall a certain someone telling me that they found my unholier side...oh, what was the word..." Lucifer feigned forgetfulness as his horns appeared from his skull, "Ahh, yes, I remember now. "Hot." Isn't that right, darling?"

Your face flushed furiously. You mentally cursed your drunken self as you looked up at Lucifer's smug expression. His demonic features made you quiver with anticipation. You've all but sold your soul to the devil himself and you were more than willing to give him everything he wanted. His red claws made quick work of your bra, unclasping it with ease and throwing it across the room. The urge to cover yourself was overwhelming, but it was like Lucifer could read your every thought. He held both of your wrists and placed them above your head, holding them there with just one hand while the other made its way towards your chest.

“Be a good girl and keep your hands there for me,” he ordered.

You nodded obediently. You clung onto the pillows above you as Lucifer let go of your wrists, placing both of his hands on your supple breasts, mewling from the stimulation. Lucifer pinched your nipples, rubbing them gently between his clawed fingers. The sharp ends of his claws poked at your skin while he continued his ministrations. Your meek whimpers turned into moans.

“L-Lucifer, please…” you begged. “I-I need-GAH…”

“I adore the way you say my name, love,” he praised. “Say it again.”

“Luciferrr…” you whined.

He rewarded you with a kiss. “What a pretty voice you have, all desperate and needy for me. So willing to submit…”

He let his mouth fall on one of your nipples, lapping and sucking the sensitive bud while kneading at your other breast. Your nails dug into the pillows, fighting every urge to reach out and touch him. But you couldn’t stand it, obedience truly had its disadvantages.

“Please Lucifer, l-let me touch you,” the request fell from your lips in a desperate plea. “Let me hold you…”

“Hmmm,” his lips reverberated against you. “Patience, love, patience.” Lucifer’s demonic tail appeared suddenly behind him, swaying back and forth. You watched as it lowered itself close to the hem of your panties. Slowly, it inched its way underneath and found itself between your slick folds. You couldn’t hold back a gasp once you realized what Lucifer had planned. “Allow me to try something first.” After giving him the "okay", you felt him flick his tail against your clit, causing you to arch your back, moaning unashamedly in the process. It was circling your swollen nub slowly at first, but quickly built up to a relentless pace. Your body shook uncontrollably as his tail abused your clit. “The way your body reacts to me is such a wonderful sight to behold, sweetheart. Look at you, so easily corrupted.”

It wasn’t long before you cried out in absolute pleasure. You could feel that coil in your stomach ready to snap. You'd barely been touched and you were helpless to fight against your impending release. “F-Fuu-aaahhhh Lu-Lucifer! I-I can’t-HHAAAA-gonna c-cum…g-gonna-FFFUCK!” Lucifer ignored your cries, only focusing on your breasts as you writhed under his touch. You screamed as your sudden orgasm hit you like a freight train, your walls clenching around nothing.

With a low chuckle, Lucifer removed his tail from your drenched slit, admiring your complete fucked out face. "You did so well," he praised, "I promise I'll get you some new panties soon, it wasn't very nice of me to let you ruin yours." You turned your face away from his to hide your embarrassment, only for Lucifer to give you a small peck on your very reddened cheek. "You can move your arms now, darling." At his word, you released the death grip you had on the pillows behind you and pulled Lucifer in for another deep kiss. You felt his lips curl into a smile against yours. "Would you like to keep going?"

"Yes."

"Hehe, so eager," he said poking your nose, "it's adorable. I think it's only fair that I get to have my fill of you now, don't you think?"

Your pupils dilated. "O-Oh, you mean..."

"Is something wrong?" he asked nervously.

"No! No, nothing's wrong," you reassured him, "it's just that...no one's ever offered to uhh, do that for me."

A mix of annoyance and confusion flashed across his face. "Wait, what?!" He sat up straight, resting his full weight on your stomach. "So, let me see if I'm understanding this correctly. You've gone down on men before but not one of them ever offered to return the favor?" You shook your head nervously. A fearsome growl erupted from Lucifer's throat and his eyes had turned a glowing red for just a moment; you couldn't help but shiver. "I'm sorry, but that's inexcusable! Hell isn't enough of a punishment for men like that. To only take and never give back." Lucifer made his way off of you and helped you sit upright against the pillows. "Please allow me to make up for their sins."

"O-Okay," you responded weakly, "only if you want to. I never want you to feel like you have to do anything for me."

He leaned into you for a tender kiss. "Darling, I want nothing more than to ravish you in every way possible; you deserve that and much, much more." You couldn't help but blush at his flattering words. "Lift your legs for me?" You did as he asked, allowing him to tug at the hem of your panties. You held your breath as you watched him drag them down the length of your legs and toss them away carelessly. You closed your legs instinctively, though you realized it was a little bit too late to try and hide yourself from him at this point. Lucifer only smiled and positioned himself in front of you, resting his hands on your knees. "It's alright, take your time," he soothed.

You nodded and let out the breath you had been holding. Lethargically, you began to part your legs for him, letting him finally drink in the sight of your soaked entrance. You noticed him gulp in response and couldn't hide the small smirk on your face. "Like what you see?"

Lucifer licked his lips mindlessly, staring at you like you were a meal to be devoured. "You have no idea," he answered, never taking his eyes away from of your glistening pussy. He laid himself down on his stomach, trailing soft kisses on either side of your inner thighs, leaving nothing but tender bite marks and hickies in his wake. With each passing second you became more and more restless, wanting nothing more than this torment to end. But Lucifer was savoring every bit of you and your heart couldn't help but feel full. At last, you felt his hot breath against your pussy, your body tensed at the sensation.

"Lucifer..." you whispered.

He placed one final kiss to your thigh. "For as long as I live, I'll never tire of hearing you say my name," he spoke sweetly, "Relax for me as much as you can now, love. And if you need to, you can grab my horns. They're there to help you."

"W-Why would I need to gra-AAAHHH" you tried to ask but were cut short after feeling Lucifer take a long, languid lick up your folds. It was something you'd never felt before, but you knew you needed more of it, and you needed it now. Luckily for you, the fallen angel between your thighs was more than happy to provide. His lips were pressed firmly against your aching cunt while his tongue quickly found your clit. The noises you were making were unholy but you couldn't imagine a more heavenly feeling. He moaned against you desperately, as if your essence was his life source. Without warning, Lucifer tossed your legs over his shoulders to give him better access to his prize. In your haze, you remembered his suggestion and took ahold of his demonic horns, doing your best to keep yourself grounded.

"God damn it," Lucifer snarled, "To think no one has done this for you, f-fuck, what complete and utter fools they were. I've never tasted something so divine." You felt his claws dig into your skin as he forced his tongue deeper into you, drawing out the dirtiest sounds you didn't know you could make.

"F-Feels so g-good," you babbled, your hands tightening around his horns. "P-Please don't stop, I-I..."

One of Lucifer's arms unhooked itself from your leg, his fingers now prodding at your slick. His tongue never stopped circling your clit as you felt a single finger slip inside you with ease. You whimpered from the sudden intrusion. "C'mon baby, need you to cum f'me." Another finger quickly entered you, two of them now thrusting in and out of you. "Let me taste you, all of you." Lucifer's tail swished behind him as he focused on coaxing another orgasm out of you. His tongue and fingers worked together to bring you closer and closer to the edge once more. His fingers curled inside you, your back arching as he hit your most sensitive spot with each motion. "I can feel you clenching...you're so close..."

And he was right. That same coil in your lower stomach was as tight as it could be, the knot threatening to unravel at any moment. "Lucif-fer, I-I'm gonna...fuckfuckfuck-GAAAHHH!" With little warning, your second orgasm hit hard, your walls now pulsating around Lucifer's fingers which refused to stop moving. You felt yourself empty onto his face, your cries filling the room, your hands stinging from how tightly you held onto his horns. As Lucifer helped work you down from your high, you couldn't help but notice the loud slurping sound that came from beneath you. He was lapping your cunt like a man starved. After another moment or two, Lucifer gazed up at you adoringly, his mouth completely drenched in your juices. Your hands flew to your face out of pure embarrassment. How could someone look so happy after basically being assaulted by your orgasm. "Y-You can't just look at me like that after you just did what you did!" you berated him.

"Look at you like what?" he teased, crawling on all fours and closing the gap between you. He gently pulled your hands away from your burning face and gave you the toothiest grin you'd ever seen from him. "Look at you like I'm the luckiest man in existence, you mean?" Lucifer kissed you once more, and you could taste the faintest hint of yourself on his lips. "And by the way, I'm absolutely addicted to your taste now, my angel. I hope you don't mind if I indulge myself every single day from now on. With your permission, of course."

You could only smile at him, caressing his face in your hands and locking your lips together once more. "Who would've thought the devil himself would be this perfect? I'm starting to believe that you may have fully corrupted me, my king."

The way his title rolled off your tongue made Lucifer shudder. "Not quite yet," he corrected. He laid you down gently as he trailed kisses down your neck and collarbone, stopping periodically to nip and suck as many parts of your exposed skin as he could. He then laid his full weight on top of you, and you could feel his hardened cock resting on your stomach. Your mouth ran dry, but you never needed something as much as you needed this. Needed him. To fully claim you and make you his. "Is this what you want?" Lucifer asked. "Because if you're not ready, we can stop right now. I won't be upset if that's what you decide."

You shook your head assuredly. "I'm ready, Lucifer. Even though I may not ever make it into Heaven after this, I'm not sure I want to anymore if it meant I'd have to leave you behind." You could tell by Lucifer's sudden change in expression that the thought of losing you if you were to be redeemed had never crossed his mind. His face fell at the realization, but you reassured him with a quick peck to his forehead. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere. And we can worry about the details later. But right now..." you ground your hips up into him, forcing a low moan out of your lover, "...I need you...please…"

"Oh, you're just a little devil, aren't you?” Lucifer chuckled darkly. He then pushed himself off you, settling himself between your legs. The head of his cock teased your entrance, and you gulped in anticipation. "Are you ready?”

"Y-Yes," you murmured. Your body instinctively bucked up in attempt to create more friction that you so desperately craved. Lucifer pressed your hips down firmly into the mattress to keep you from squirming. You whimpered in protest.

“Ah ah ah, all in good time,” Lucifer cooed. “It’s your first time, love, I don’t want to see you in any pain. Stay perfectly still for me, alright?” After what felt like an eternity, Lucifer at last pushed the tip of his cock into you. Your knuckles turned a solid white from the way you gripped the bed sheets beneath you. The pressure you felt was unlike anything else. “A-Are you still okay?” Lucifer asked.

“M-More, please Lucifer, I-I need…” you choked out. He was only an inch deep inside of you and the only thing on your mind was the carnal desire of having him fully sheathed inside of you.

“My pretty girl,” he whispered above you. Inch by inch, his hips pushed forward, stretching you out beyond what you thought was possible. Once he was finally fully inside of you, you and him moaned in unison. The complete fullness you were experiencing was something you needed to be engrained into your memory forever. He didn’t move for a minute or so, letting your body get used to his above average length. He didn’t want to break you. At least, not tonight. "S-So tight, f-fuck..." Lucifer's entire body quivered as his enormous angelic wings magically sprung from his back. You stared up at him in awe, taking in the heavenly sight above you. Your eyes followed from the base of his wings to the very tip. Lucifer noticed your gawking and laughed lightly. "My eyes are over here, darling."

You blushed incredibly hard. "S-Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. It's just...they're beautiful. Can I...? You didn't need to finish your question as Lucifer dropped his wings down, allowing you to reach up and feel them for the first time. You ran your hand down each set, your fingers combing through his scarlet feather. They twitched under your gentle touch. "Are they sensitive?"

"V-Very much," Lucifer breathed. "We can experiment another time, though."

"A-Another time?"

Lucifer looked down you puzzled. "I hope you didn't think this would only be a one time thing. That's not who I am, despite anything you may have heard. When I said I wanted everyone to know you were mine, I didn't mean just for tonight."

Your eyes began to water from his declaration. "You mean..."

Lucifer leaned down and kissed the tears that had began to fall down your cheek. "Yes, I do. I'm yours, if that's what you desire."

You smiled weakly, holding back a sob. "Yes, it is." You brought your hands up, cupping his face and kissing his trembling lips tenderly. Your kiss caused Lucifer to twitch inside of you, quickly reminding you of the pressure between your legs. "Y-You can move now, Lucifer...please..."

With a deep exhale, Lucifer pulled out of you slowly, only to snap his hips back with no hesitation. He repeated this motion, slowly at first, coaxing as many sound out of you as he could. Your cries of pleasure were intoxicating, pulling him deeper and deeper into a state of pure bliss. His hips rutted into you at a steady pace as he continued to hit your G-spot effortlessly with each thrust.

"You're d-doing so well, love," he growled animalistically, "t-taking me so well. You f-feel so good. Too good...Take it all f'me, want you to feel all of m-me. Look how g-good you are, taking the Devil's cock like this."

"L-Lucifer," you mewled. You couldn't form a coherent thought anymore, all you could manage to say was his name. "Lucifer, f-fuuu-uuck...Luciferrr."

"That's it, dear," he praised, the pace of his thrusts quickening. "My name on y-your lips is more beautiful than any melody I ever heard in Heaven." His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you closer to him as he mercilessly pounded into you over and over. "G-God, you're so fucking wet. Slipping in and out of you s-so easily. You g-gonna cum for me again?"

"Y-Yes!" you cried out helplessly. "I'm close, so c-close, I can't..." Your hands flew around his neck as your body shook violently beneath the fallen angel. Your stomach felt like it was in knots, you didn't know how much longer you could hold out. "G-Gonna cu-aaaAAHH,"

"Hold on j-just a little longer, baby," Lucifer said, wrapping his tail around your abdomen. "I'm close too...w-where do you want me to-"

"INSIDE! P-PLEASE!" you screamed, locking your legs behind his back. "I c-can't hold it, Lucifer, I can't, I can't, I CAN'T!"

"Naughty girl..." he taunted lovingly. "Cum for me now, angel. Need t-to feel you clench around me. Cum for me."

The coil inside of you snapped for a third time, your walls pulsating around Lucifer's cock. Your spasms had left Lucifer groaning, his head now resting on your collarbone. His own orgasm washed over him not long after you. You milked his cock, his hot angelic seed filling you up your cunt completely. Wave after wave of pleasure filled you both, reducing you to nothing but exhausted and sweaty messes. He stayed inside of you for a moment longer, both of you trying to recover from your release. Lucifer finally found enough strength to remove himself from you, and at long last reverting back to his normal state. He crashed down on top of you, looking at your through his half-lidded eyes and pulling you into a crushing hug.

"Lucifer...can't...breathe..." you forced out, tapping his shoulder rapidly. His grip on you loosened immediately.

"I'm sorry!" he apologized. "I forget my own strength sometimes. H-How are you feeling?"

Your faced flushed as you tucked your hair behind your ear. "G-Good. More than good. That was...just incredible!" you couldn't help but laugh to yourself.

"What's so funny, dear?" Lucifer asked with an amused look.

You smiled at him. "Oh, you know just...I was thinking about how I would go about explaining myself to my friends and family back on Earth. How the well behaved, never strayed from the light church girl just had the best sex of her life with the one and only fallen angel Lucifer. Wonder how well that would go over! They probably think I made it into Heaven!"

Lucifer laughed along with you, pulling you flush to his chest. "I'll admit, it's pretty ironic. But to be fair, I never would have thought you'd give me a chance."

You looked up at him confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, I am 'the bad guy' to believers. The winners always write history, and according to Heaven, I was the loser. And when I found out you were one of them when you were alive, I didn't think you'd even glance in my direction. I thought you were the most stunning creature I'd ever laid my eyes on when you first arrived here at the hotel. But I never truly pursued you because...the bad guy never gets the girl, right?"

You couldn't help but frown as he spoke. His voice was sad, full of hurt. It was clear that Lucifer has suffered though a lot of pain and anguish. You were told the story of Eden growing up, of how Lucifer had deceived Eve and in doing so, caused the downfall of humanity. But that was clearly only one side of the story. You gave a quick peck to his cheek. "You're not a bad guy, Lucifer. I know that now. I let my fear and my upbringing cloud my judgement before. Not anymore. I want to hear your side of the story, every detail. Will you stay with me and tell me?"

Lucifer's eyes softened, his lips forming into a tiny smile. "I'd love nothing more." He brought his hand to your cheek, leaning in to capture your lips once more.

~~~

10,000 GOD DAMN WORDS, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!?! ANYWAY, I HOPED YOU LIKED IT!

Taglist: @ask-theradio-demon @kermitdafroggy @thonethatflies620 @luc1fersducky @a-okay-rj

@bat-boness @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis @misfitgirlwrites @animationmovieshipps @orbitinglumps

@ramenkitten @blaackbiird @bigfatbimbo @lucisaspen @bvnnyangel

@seulace9 @fluffypinkpillows @starlightdreaming @k-n0-x @rosen-und-mondlicht

@raindropsfromheaven @ronniesgonerogue @lola576 @ag-cookiebat800 @victoriousvic

@rand0m-1diot @lonelynmisunderstood @cosmic-lavender @yourmom132 @liveontelevision

@luci-lover-forever @lolalovesmorningstar @moonlight-readings @mel-windle @la-undercover-latina

@yve-barr @certified-cry-babyyy @literallurker @leviskittywh0re @thornwolfy235

@lauruoriii @annybah @jayyyayaysblog

[mostlysignssomeportents]

NLRB rules that any union busting triggers automatic union recognition

Tonight (September 6) at 7pm, I'll be hosting Naomi Klein at the LA Public Library for the launch of Doppelganger.

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

American support for unions is at its highest level in generations, from 70% (general population) to 88% (Millenials) – and yet, American unionization rates are pathetic.

That's about to change.

The National Labor Relations Board just handed down a landmark ruling – the Cemex case – that "brought worker rights back from the dead."

https://prospect.org/labor/2023-08-28-bidens-nlrb-brings-workers-rights-back/

At issue in Cemex was what the NLRB should do about employers that violate labor law during union drives. For decades, even the most flagrantly illegal union-busting was met with a wrist-slap. For example, if a boss threatened or fired an employee for participating in a union drive, the NLRB would typically issue a small fine and order the employer to re-hire the worker and provide back-pay.

Everyone knows that "a fine is a price." The NLRB's toothless response to cheating presented an easily solved equation for corrupt, union-hating bosses: if the fine amounts to less than the total, lifetime costs of paying a fair wage and offering fair labor conditions, you should cheat – hell, it's practically a fiduciary duty:

https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/468061

Enter the Cemex ruling: once a majority of workers have signed a union card, any Unfair Labor Practice by their employer triggers immediate, automatic recognition of the union. In other words, the NLRB has fitted a tilt sensor in the American labor pinball machine, and if the boss tries to cheat, they automatically lose.

Cemex is a complete 180, a radical transformation of the American labor regulator from a figleaf that legitimized union busting to an actual enforcer, upholding the law that Congress passed, rather than the law that America's oligarchs wish Congress had passed. It represents a turning point in the system of lawless impunity for American plutocracy.

In the words of Frank Wilhoit, it is is a repudiation of the conservative dogma: "There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect":

https://crookedtimber.org/2018/03/21/liberals-against-progressives/#comment-729288

It's also a stunning example of what regulatory competence looks like. The Biden administration is a decidedly mixed bag. On the one hand there are empty suits masquerading as technocrats, champions of the party's centrist wing (slogan: "Everything is fine and change is impossible"):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

But the progressive, Sanders/Warren wing of the party installed some fantastically competent, hard-charging, principled fighters, who are chapter-and-verse on their regulatory authority and have the courage to use that authority:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

They embody the old joke about the photocopier technician who charges "$1 to kick the photocopier and $79 to know where to kick it." The best Biden appointees have their boots firmly laced, and they're kicking that mother:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

One such expert kicker is NLRB General Counsel Jennifer Abruzzo. Abruzzo has taken a series of muscular, bold moves to protect American workers, turning the tide in the class war that the 1% has waged on workers since the Reagan administration. For example, Abruzzo is working to turn worker misclassification – the fiction that an employee is a small business contracting with their boss, a staple of the "gig economy" – into an Unfair Labor Practice:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/10/see-you-in-the-funny-papers/bidens-legacy

She's also waging war on robo-scab companies: app-based employment "platforms" like Instawork that are used to recruit workers to cross picket lines, under threat of being blocked from the app and blackballed by hundreds of local employers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork

With Cemex, Abruzzo is restoring a century-old labor principle that has been gathering dust for generations: the idea that workers have the right to organize workplace gemocracies without fear of retaliation, harassment, or reprisals.

But as Harold Meyerson writes for The American Prospect, the Cemex ruling has its limits. Even if the NLRB forces and employer to recognize a union, they can't force the employer to bargain in good faith for a union contract. The National Labor Relations Act prohibits the Board from imposing a contract.

That's created a loophole that corrupt bosses have driven entire fleets of trucks through. Workers who attain union recognition face years-long struggles to win a contract, as their bosses walk away from negotiations or offer farcical "bargaining positions" in the expectation that they'll be rejected, prolonging the delay.

Democrats have been trying to fix this loophole since the LBJ years, but they've been repeatedly blocked in the senate. But Abruzzo is a consummate photocopier kicker, and she's taking aim. In Thrive Pet Healthcare, Abruzzo has argued that failing to bargain in good faith for a contract is itself an Unfair Labor Practice. That means the NLRB has the authority to act to correct it – they can't order a contract, but they can order the employer to give workers "wages, benefits, hours, and such that are comparable to those provided by comparable unionized companies in their field."

Mitch McConnell is a piece of shit, but he's no slouch at kicking photocopiers himself. For a whole year, McConnell has blocked senate confirmation hearings to fill a vacant seat on the NLRB. In the short term, this meant that the three Dems on the board were able to hand down these bold rulings without worrying about their GOP colleagues.

But McConnell was playing a long game. Board member Gwynne Wilcox's term is about to expire. If her seat remains vacant, the three remaining board members won't be able to form a quorum, and the NLRB won't be able to do anything.

As Meyerson writes, centrist Dems have refused to push McConnell on this, hoping for comity and not wanting to violate decorum. But Chuck Schumer has finally bestirred himself to fight this issue, and Alaska GOP senator Lisa Murkowski has already broken with her party to move Wilcox's confirmation to a floor vote.

The work of enforcers like DoJ Antitrust Division boss Jonathan Kanter, FTC chair Lina Khan, and SEC chair Gary Gensler is at the heart of Bidenomics: the muscular, fearless deployment of existing regulatory authority to make life better for everyday Americans.

But of course, "existing regulatory authority" isn't the last word. The judges filling stolen seats on the illegitimate Supreme Court had invented the "major questions doctrine" and have used it as a club to attack Biden's photocopier-kickers. There's real danger that Cemex – and other key actions – will get fast-tracked to SCOTUS so the dotards in robes can shatter our dreams for a better America.

Meyerson is cautiously optimistic here. At 40% (!), the Court's approval rating is at a low not seen since the New Deal showdowns. The Supremes don't have an army, they don't have cops, they just have legitimacy. If Americans refuse to acknowledge their decisions, all they can do it sit and stew:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/26/mint-the-coin-etc-etc/#blitz-em

The Court knows this. That's why they fume so publicly about attacks on their legitimacy. Without legitimacy, they're nothing. With the Supremes' support at 40% and union support at 70%, any judicial attack on Cemex could trigger term-limits, court-packing, and other doomsday scenarios that will haunt the relatively young judges for decades, as the seats they stole dwindle into irrelevance. Meyerson predicts that this will weigh on them, and may stay their hands.

Meyerson might be wrong, of course. No one ever lost money betting on the self-destructive hubris of Federalist Society judges. But even if he's wrong, his point is important. If the Supremes frustrate the democratic will of the American people, we have to smash the Supremes. Term limits, court-packing, whatever it takes:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/20/judicial-equilibria/#pack-the-court

And the more we talk about this – the more we make this consequence explicit – the more it will weigh on them, and the better the chance that they'll surprise us. That's already happening! The Supremes just crushed the Sackler opioid crime-family's dream of keeping their billions in blood-money:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

But if it doesn't stop them? If they crush this dream, too? Pack the court. Impose term limits. Make it the issue. Don't apologize, don't shrug it off, don't succumb to learned helplessness. Make it our demand. Make it a litmus test: "If elected, will you vote to pack the court and clear the way for democratic legitimacy?"

Meanwhile, Cemex is already bearing fruit. After an NYC Trader Joe's violated the law to keep Trader Joe's United from organizing a store, the workers there have petitioned to have their union automatically recognized under the Cemex rule:

https://truthout.org/articles/trader-joes-union-files-to-force-company-to-recognize-union-under-new-nlrb-rule/

With the NLRB clearing the regulatory obstacles to union recognition, America's largest unions are awakening from their own long slumbers. For decades, unions have spent a desultory 3% of their budgets on organizing workers into new locals. But a leadership upset in the AFL-CIO has unions ready to catch a wave with the young workers and their 88% approval rating, with a massive planned organizing drive:

https://prospect.org/labor/labors-john-l-lewis-moment/

Meyerson calls on other large unions to follow suit, and the unions seem ready to do so, with new leaders and new militancy at the Teamsters and UAW, and with SEIU members at unionized Starbucks waiting for their first contracts.

Turning union-supporting workers into unionized workers is key to fighting Supreme Court sabotage. Organized labor will give fighters like Abruzzo the political cover she needs to Get Shit Done. A better America is possible. It's within our grasp. Though there is a long way to go, we are winning crucial victories all the time.

The centrist message that everything is fine and change is impossible is designed to demoralize you, to win the fight in your mind so they don't have to win it in the streets and in the jobsite. We don't have to give them that victory. It's ours for the taking.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks

[sl33py-g4m3r]

I feel really dumb~~~

all this crap about not being able to install linux on my windows computer cause of a windows update somehow bricking secure booting into linux (eshim verification error; something has gone horribly wrong) "system shutdown"

for the longest time I didn't know how to fix it and now feel really dumb; but also really relieved that I have my gaming computer running linux again~~!!

and my function keys ACTUALLY WORK~~~!!!

how did I not realize this sooner tho? all I had to do was go into the BIOS settings by spamming escape, going to setup for the bios, going to security, scrolling all the way down to where secure boot was buried, and turn that off... I turned fast boot off too cause I didn't know what it did or does, I just assume it tries to help you boot into windows faster.

pardon me for yelling but; HOW DID I NOT EVER NOTICE THAT OR THINK TO DO THAT??? I thought it was a more serious problem~~ unless secure boot is more important than I think it is.....

I FEEL STUPID BUT AM ALSO REALLY EXCITED AND HYPED TO BE ABLE TO RUN LINUX ON THIS MACHINE AGAIN~~~~!!!!! I NEVER THOUGHT I'D BE ABLE TO RUN LINUX ON HERE EVER AGAIN~~~!!

and in protest I will never run windows on this machine ever again~~~

also for some reason on my machine's bios hitting the escape key before boot starts a menu where you can choose where you want to boot from, instead of the setup easy mode thing where you change the boot order of stuff, tho you can do that but idk if it actually works or not.... cause hitting escape takes you to the boot menu, then setup to enter the BIOS instead of taking you immediately to the bios.... :/ I don't get it.... it used to go straight to the BIOS i thought~~

suck it microsoft~~~~

it is late plz help me, lol

seriously I was fully expecting the install to fail with secure boot off. stuff had failed so often that I just expected it to fail, but when the disk booted and I begun the install.... I didn't expect it to boot at all cause I didn't know that was the problem.... pleasantly surprised when debian actually boots and works fine~~~

BACK ON LINUX BABY~~~~~~ LET'S GOOOOOOO~~~~~~

[froggiewrites]

Ties That Bind (2)

Pairing: Zoro x Reader

SFW

Summary: You have spent your entire life preparing to meet your soulmate. Even with the words inked on your skin, you could never have imagined how badly your other half would hurt you, nor how much you'd want him anyway. Content: GN!Reader, Angst, Soulmate AU, Imprisonment, Medieval AU, Yearning, Unwanted Soulmates, Eventual Happy Ending, Starvation, Isolation Word Count: 4.1k

You think it might have been a month. You have no way to tell other than the meals that are brought to your cell, and you know that those are inconsistent. You thought you had just truly lost track of time until one delivery was accompanied by apologies for the long wait and warning for an even longer one.

“Wartime rationing, you understand,” the soldier had said. And you do. A kingdom would never prioritize feeding its prisoners over its free people, let alone a prisoner of war. You’re at the bottom of every list, and your current bearings truly reflect that. You get a meager meal of rye bread and thick porridge semi-regularly, with some water to accompany it. Once, on a particularly good day, the porridge was replaced with a rabbit stew and the water with beer. It was one of the worst drinks you had ever tasted, but it almost made you feel full for once. On another occasion you were snuck a small bruised apple by one of the soldiers on watch. You don’t know what compelled him to do it, but the sweetness on your tongue almost made you weep.

The Commander’s visits have continued on a semi-regular basis. Not every day, but many of them. Enough that you wanted to ask him what the hell was keeping him off of the battlefield, how he had time to come mock a prisoner when there was a war to be won (or lost, hopefully). But you maintained your silence, and he kept coming. Never as kind or as warm as the first night, of course. Even the begrudging respect of the first day seems distant. He doesn’t speak much, lacking a conversation partner, but he loves to come and stare. You feel like you’re being stripped down to the bone, pulled apart and judged on a scale you couldn’t possibly begin to understand.

One visit makes things a little more clear. “They’re going to kill you if you don’t have anything useful to say, you know.” It’s almost cute, the concern on his face.

It quickly melts when you snort at the idea. So he wants you to talk? Give up your comrades to save your own skin? Ridiculous. If you were the kind of person to do that, they wouldn’t have promoted you. You wouldn’t have killed in the name of a kingdom that you had such little loyalty for.

“You don’t care if you die?” He sounds upset, which is even funnier than the thought that you would care. A month ago he wanted to kill you himself, and now that you’re content to let such a thing happen he’s displeased? Ridiculous. Maybe he’s just upset he won’t be able to do it himself, or that his work saving you will go to waste. Maybe he just doesn’t want to see a fellow soldier die in such a dishonorable way. Executions have never sat well with you either, after all. There’s not much glory to be found dying on the battlefield, but there’s none to be had dying on a stage.

You shake your head at him, shrugging once again. He scoffs at you, continuing. “It doesn’t even have to be particularly important. I’ll take anything.”

Oh, he really is invested in the puzzle you’ve become, isn’t he? You almost feel guilty, knowing he’s never going to solve it. Never going to figure out what pulls him to you, never going to understand why the sight of you behind bars pulls at him. Maybe you’ll haunt him the rest of his life anyway, despite your best efforts. You put your palms up, an attempt to calm him a bit. You tap your lips before you press your finger to them, indicating your lack of communication with him is going to be a permanent issue. He growls, and you can’t tell if it’s directed at you or just general frustration. He storms out, his boots pounding against the rough stone beneath him.

He’s back the next day, and the day after that, but he doesn’t ask you again.

He always makes a snarky comment or two, dripping with disdain, but he hardly goes beyond that. Maybe he feels it isn’t right to kick you while you're down, or maybe he feels a bit of guilt over the clear strain your injuries have brought. Today is the same as any other.

"Still keeping up the silent act?" His tone is neutral, but his eyes betray him. Every time he enters this room, he's a little more upset, a little more unsettled. He doesn't understand why he's so invested in you. You can see slight bags under his eyes; your attempts to spare him are making him lose sleep. You can't bring yourself to feel much sympathy. He has no idea the amount of pain you're saving him from.

You shake your head, giving him the same thin smile you’ve given him every time he’s come to see you. You can’t bring yourself to outright ignore him after the kindness he’s shown you, but you remain steadfast in your goal. You will die before he hears a word from you. 

He lets out a frustrated growl, and you can see his nails digging into his hand. You’re wearing on his patience. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself, but it shakes on his exhale. His teeth are pressing together, turning his usually impassive expression into a grimace. “You really aren’t making this easy.”

There’s a fire under the words, smoldering rage building at your rejection. You wonder why he’s trying so hard; is his soul crying out for yours? Does your silence hurt him nearly as badly as his words hurt you? Is he normally this determined with their prisoners, or is he frustrated at his pull to you?

Your hands brush against your ribs, where you know your words lie. They seem to warm a little whenever he speaks, your body begging you to continue walking fate’s path, to speak your words, whatever they are. But you are determined to keep his body blank, scarred only by the battles he seems to adore.

His eyes catch the movement, lingering for a moment. He seems to soften for a moment, something almost resembling concern flashing through his eyes before the annoyance returns. “Stop touching your wounds. It makes it worse.” His tone is stern. A command from a man so accustomed to giving them.

It sets your teeth on edge, receiving commands from an enemy soldier. Especially the one who did this to you. Wasn’t this the point? To hurt you? No matter his kindness after, he still inflicted the wound. Who is he to tell you how to handle it?

Your hunger, lack of sleep, and screaming pain from your wounds cloud your better judgment, and you let pettiness take over as you scrape your nails down your bandages. Not enough to make any real significance in your pain, just a drop in the bucket that’s been filling with your agony since you arrived. 

He winces as he watches, grimacing slightly. “You’re insufferable, General. Hurt yourself all you want, far be it from me to stop you.” There’s far more bite to his words than his previous complaints, and as he storms off, you wonder if this was his breaking point, and you won’t see the man again, not until your final day as he watches from the audience as your life is snuffed out.

He doesn’t come back the next day, or the day after that. You try to ignore how that stings. Despite how badly you wanted him to leave, his visits were the only break from the monotonous routine you're under, and the only time anybody spoke to you. Without him, you hardly feel human.

They forget to bring you food at least once, you think. You can’t say for sure, since you don’t have sunlight to track the days by, but the growling in your stomach is far worse than usual. Was the Commander ensuring you were fed? Surely not. Maybe they were treating you better when you had his attention, and now that the pressure has left the staff is more likely to let things fall through the cracks. 

It is the intense growling of your stomach that leads to worried whispers among the guards outside, which eventually cultivates in one of them disappearing for a few minutes and coming back with a bowl of something steaming hot. His hands shake as he holds the keys to your cell as the others keep their head on a swivel.

Are they…breaking the rules for you?

When he enters the cell, he places the food down quickly, not daring to look you in the eye. Another soldier slips him a waterskin, which he quickly slides to you, still without looking up. Before you can even open your mouth to speak, he’s already skittering out, taking his position as though nothing happened.

You slowly pick up the bowl, inspecting it. You expect some small scraps, like the apple you were given last week. Instead you find a nice, hearty stew, made with what you think is beef. You take a small sip of the broth, and the flavor explodes in your mouth. A lovely savory flavor hits you. You swear you can taste a hint of wine. This isn’t common fare for a prisoner. Is this…their food? Did one of these men give up their own lunch for the day to ensure you were fed?

No, this is too good for a common footsoldier. This is something that might be given to an officer, or even a noble. Whose food did they steal to give to you? How much are they risking here?

You’re overwhelmed by a lot of feelings. Gratitude, first and foremost. But then confusion: why couldn’t they have just gone to the kitchen? Why the stealth, the subterfuge? That means they must be unable to provide for you through the usual channels, and, more importantly, that they’d be punished for this simple act of kindness. The kitchen hasn’t forgotten you, nor has the rationing gotten so bad they’re depriving those of you at the bottom of the food chain. This was an order. Someone has demanded your starvation.

You close your eyes and wonder. You immediately dismiss the Commander as a suspect. He’s shown you too much kindness to do such a thing, surely. Maybe that’s your soul bond talking, overriding your common sense, but something deep inside of you simply doesn’t want to doubt him. Perhaps whoever told him they wanted information? Maybe the King himself, frustrated at the idea of spending resources on a prisoner not even from his own nation?

You’ll have a lot of time to ponder that later, you reassure yourself. For now you try to savor every bite of your stew, letting the flavors dance on your tongue. You haven’t enjoyed something like this for a long time. Even before your imprisonment. The last time you can remember something this flavorful was the banquet they threw before your most recent deployment. It had been thrown in your honor, for loyal service, but it was more of an excuse for the nobles to party. That hadn’t mattered much. In spite of the dozen marriage proposals you had to fend off from the courtiers and second and third sons and daughters of some of the nobility, you had a great time. It was the last time you had seen your parents, as they told you how proud they were of you. The last time you saw many of your friends before you were sent to different posts, different fronts. You know a handful of them were slain after, in an ambush along the border a few weeks after you had all toasted to a victory you all knew you might not see.

You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears begin to fall in your now empty bowl, washing away the last traces of seasoning from the wood. Had you allowed yourself to grieve all that you’ve lost, all that you’re going to lose? Of course not. You didn’t have the time. You had a war to win, to ensure their sacrifices weren’t in vain. Now you had nothing but time, and no way to help them other than your silence. That’s all you can do to save anyone now, isn’t it? Save your friends, your country, your soulmate only by keeping your mouth shut. Powerless to do anything else.

The soldier who comes to collect your bowl doesn’t comment on your sniffling. You appreciate it. You don’t have the energy right now, and you have more pressing issues to worry about than comfort from a stranger, anyway.

"When's my execution?" The soldier jumps when you speak, as they all do. They seem oddly frightened of your voice in particular. You wonder if the Commander's annoyance at your lack of cooperation is so obvious it's made them fear consequences from him. You wonder if he's a cruel enough man to make those fears a reality. Surely not, with the way he treated your wounds so kindly. Or perhaps it was simply your bond that compelled him to do that, and the universe tied you to a tyrant.

No, of course not. Surely it was fear of whoever ordered you to be starved.

"Your...what?" The boy is young, with scraggly facial hair he's better off shaving and a few pimples poorly hidden beneath it. You wonder if this is such an awful place they draft children into their armies, or, worse, they let them volunteer. This young man should not have to know war.

"My execution. I assume it's soon, yes?"

"I'm...we have no current plans to execute you, General." He's shaking in his boots, his eyes sliding away from yours. The thought of death makes him uncomfortable, and your nonchalance even more so. "You're not on death row."

You laugh, looking down at your bandages, turning a sickly yellow after weeks of going unchanged. The Commander was the only one ensuring you survived beyond the week, and he seems to have abandoned that mission. Does this young man not know about your lack of use, or was the Commander lying to you earlier? Maybe his mission to get you to talk was just a personal one. You push the thought from your mind, turning back to the poor boy in front of you. "So I'm a hostage, then?"

He wants to say no, but he doesn't want to lie to you. He's an open book, and you wonder which of your comrades will make this earnest young man's family bury him. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“They won’t take me back, you know. Goa never negotiates for prisoners of war. Strict policy.”

You can see the horror on his face at the idea of you rotting here forever. “Not even for a General?”

“Especially not for a General. I made my oath knowing what would happen if I failed. Frankly, I’d be furious if they did try to make a deal for me. Which they wouldn’t. Anything that happens to me now is simply the consequences of my failure.” He seems upset on your behalf, something you can’t help but smile sardonically at. How many of his countrymen have you cut down? This is hardly a worthy payment for the blood you’ve spilt. Even a lifetime down here wouldn’t offset the things you’ve done in the name of your people. An honorable fight still ends in death. “Tell your superiors if you think they don’t know. I have no value to them alive.”

You don’t want to spend the rest of time rotting down here, thinking about what could have been or the world outside. You’d rather have a clean ending, if you have to have one. Maybe your men will see you as a martyr. That wouldn’t be so bad.

His voice cracks as he speaks next, and you can’t tell if it’s from his age or the fear. “Y–yes Ser.”

You almost laugh. You haven’t been a Ser since that blade slipped between your ribs. It feels strange to get the respect you were so accustomed to outside of these walls. So funny how quickly your sense of self has come undone in your isolation. As the days go on, you feel all of the best parts of you slipping away: your authority, your humor, your kindness. You get the feeling very little of you will be left by the end of it all. They’re killing your soul before they take out of the body it’s leaving behind.

You hope the Commander wasn’t lying about what they’ll do once they realize you won’t speak.

Soon, you find winter has come. You cannot feel your fingers, and you can see a horrible pale has started to spread from their tips downward. You've seen plenty of frostbite on the battlefield, on poor infantrymen with torn coats and hole-filled gloves. You've seen how bad it can get, and you know that soon your skin will start to darken purple, that soon you will start to rot. There is nothing you can do, not with your raggedy clothes and threadbare blanket. The chill is seeping out of the stone below you, an inescapable creeping darkness that will soon overcome you. You had hoped for a more dignified death, but you suppose nature isn't the worst way to go. At least it won't be a spectacle. A small footnote in history at worst, the kind your eyes skim right over. People will not remember you for this. A small mercy.

He has not visited you in days, since the cold swept in. Neither have the soldiers delivering you food, or even the ones who sneak it to you. Maybe they truly are planning on letting you die down here, and the Commander has finally accepted he won't hear a word from you before you do. Maybe he doesn't want to witness it. Maybe he simply doesn't care enough to see it, is content to know you're rotting away.

You know the sound of his footsteps by heart now, despite how much you wish you didn’t. He walks slowly, downright leisurely, to your cell. Your eyes flutter open at the sound of the bars creaking open.

He has a new scar, forcing one of his beautiful eyes closed. A shame. You had decided those were your favorite part of him.

He leans down to you, knees pressing against the stone as he looks at you. His fingers slide over your bandages, and you jump under his touch. There’s little warmth in his eyes, his kindness hidden beneath the cold exterior of a soldier. He’s overlooking your form like a predator, taking in your sickly pallor and jutting ribs. His voice is cold when he speaks again. “Are you feeling like talking now?”

What?

“Hasn’t this been enough for you?” He stares at you as he did on the first day, ready to strike you down at the first sign of weakness.

Did he…no. No, no, he couldn’t have.

The Commander is the one who has been starving you.

His act slips for just a moment when he sees the look on your face, the betrayal and hurt you can’t quite hide. He doesn’t owe you anything, not really, but you realize you had almost trusted him. Never could bring yourself to doubt his intentions, not when you know what you are to each other. But you aren’t lovers, aren’t even friends. You’re enemies on either side of an endless and brutal war, and the Commander doesn’t strike you as the kind of man who likes to lose.

The regret on his face is quickly quelled as he schools his face back to neutral.

You pull away from him with what little strength you have, tucking your knees up protectively, making yourself small. How pathetic. What would the people who trained you think, seeing you show your weakness so obviously like this? They’d be ashamed. Say it would be better for you to fall on the battlefield than to allow yourself to be disgraced, stripped of your dignity. You can’t help but agree with them as you squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head.

“Still nothing?” He sounds frustrated. Maybe you’re an assignment he’s failing. Maybe he hoped his kindness would get you to talk, get some kind of information out of you, and when that failed he decided to leave you to rot and see if that softened you up. You try to take some comfort in the fact that he doesn’t seem to revel in it, but your growling stomach silences that thought pretty quickly.

You want to tell him to fuck off, to scream to the heavens, but you tell yourself that you’re better than him, showing him mercy like this. That you’ll be able to die with your head held high, knowing that you stuck to your principles, that you were stronger than him, than all of this. You’ll have been kinder than he could possibly know, even after all of this.

But then he opens his goddamn mouth again. “What’s with the accusing looks? I left you to rot like you wanted. I got back onto the battlefield and cut down a hundred of your comrades while you wasted away. Why should I protect you when you can’t give me a single goddamn word?”

What was the point of silence now? You had wanted to spare him the pain, the suffering of knowing what was meant to be and what never was. But why should he be spared? Why must you bear it all on your own, while he gets to move on? Some part of him should rot here with you. Whatever part you were meant to have.

“I never hated you before this moment, Commander.” Your voice is little more than a ragged whisper, but you know he hears you. His fingers tighten against the bars, and for a moment his face betrays him: surprise, confusion, understanding all flash across it at lightning speed. You wonder how he’ll react. If he would be swallowed by the regret he deserves.

His jaw tightens. His voice is quiet, cold. He makes his stance clear very quickly: this is not a man who is willing to love you. This is a man who is furious at being deceived. “I see. That’s a shame, General. I’d always thought this was something reciprocal.” There’s some deeper meaning laced to his words, but you don’t care to untangle it. Your head is fuzzy from hunger and your heart is hardened by the time you’ve spent rotting away down here.

“It wasn’t. It was never meant to be,” you mutter firmly. You let your head loll back, hitting the stone wall with a soft thump. Your eyes fall closed, and you can feel reality start to fade away, sleep slowly tearing at the edges.

“You think you’re the only one who gets to decide that?” He’s clenching his fists, veins popping from the tension.

The kind part of you wants to give him some explanation, about how this was for him, for his own good, but the rest of you is too damn tired to try. “Yes.”

He scoffs. “This is bullshit.”

You can’t help the soft, bitter laugh that leaves you. “That’s something we agree on. This is all meaningless. A joke the universe is playing on us.”

He sounds a bit softer when he speaks again, a bit closer to how he was on the first night, but the undercurrent of rage is still clear. “Some people would want to know about this. Some people think things happen for a reason.”

It’s your turn to scoff. “You don’t. Neither do I, not anymore.”

He pauses. “You used to?”

“I used to believe in a lot of things,” you murmur.

For once he doesn’t have an answer for you. The man who spent a month begging for your words left speechless now that he has them. You expect some kind of regret, or more anger, but instead he stares at you, face unreadable. When he closes your cell door, you can hear the metal clang from the force. He walks away, his footsteps echoing loudly against the cobblestone as he walks back to his life, with a new understanding that it will be one he spends alone.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay @hank88999 @lala27715 @kyllium @nerium21 @praline357 @fangeekkk @loserclub22 @starchild-unnamed @bethleeham @whitelaxe @tiredpoetrybitch @fangirlbitch02

[stickandthorn]

the gods as a metaphor for real world colonialism, and bells Hells as a metaphor for decolonial resistance is so inherently flawed and stupid, and has been dissected very well by other people in other posts, that I don’t feel the need to go into every criticism of it here. However, casting the gods as the colonists in this metaphor- a group that is both factually inherently more powerful than the people they supposedly oppress, and a group that makes all mortals face exactly equal amounts of oppression and not one that oppresses certain minorities in favor of other groups- is an extremely ignorant, privileged, and dare I say, colonialist take on what colonialism looks is. Even viewing Predathos as a solution feels like it uses the logic of oppression- we don’t need to focus on materially helping the mortals “harmed” by the gods, or change the system that allows gods to have this power over mortals, or come up with something better to take the god’s place. We need to be the ones with the power to oppress so we can oppress the oppressors. If we’re the bigger boot we’ll solve all the issues.

[magic-shop-stories]

Can I request a Yoongi x Reader where they're exes who had a really messy breakup, but now they have to co-parent their stubborn, genius teenage daughter? Maybe she gets into trouble at school, and they have to put their differences aside to deal with it?

💌 Reply:

Ahh, thank you for your Request it was so cool and I hope the story is what you wanted. I feel like the Reader is coming a bit short but I guess it's gonna be fine...?! At least I hope so.

Have fun reading and feel free to reach out if there's something else I can do for you. 💜💜

PS.: I get the feeling this blog has turned into a Yoongi-as-a-Father Sanctuary but no complains, I kinda like it.

I was thinking- why not make parent headcanons for all BTS members?

REQUEST NAME:

FAME ≠ LOVE

↳ Yoongi x ExReader | Family | Angst, Drama, (Slow Burn)

Rating: G

Word Count: ~ 4k

Genre: Drama, BTS AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow-Burn Family Reconciliation, Slice of Life

Warnings: Heavy themes of parental neglect, emotional estrangement, and unresolved trauma, Strong language (profanity), Mentions of emotional distress (implied anxiety, abandonment issues), Mentions of media intrusion & exploitation, Family conflict and arguments, Mild violence (Yoongi shoving a reporter), Discussions of corporate politics & fame pressures, Slow burn co-parenting reconciliation (not romance-focused)

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Ex-Wife!Reader

Featuring: Min Jihyun (OC, daughter of Yoongi & Reader), Min Yoongi (Suga) as a flawed but fiercely protective father. Reader as a high-ranking HYBE executive struggling to balance career and motherhood. Themes of healing, forgiveness, and the messy reality of co-parenting. HYBE Staff, Media, various reporters, and minor original characters,

“Fire doesn’t care who it burns, the hand that strikes the match, or the ones who built the kindling. But ash is where new things grow.”

Your Phone, 10:03 AM:

Unknown Number: “Ms.Y L/N, this is Principal Kwon. Your daughter has vandalized school property. We need you here immediately.”

Your Response: “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Next Call:

Yoongi. Three rings. Voice clipped. “What?”

“Jihyun’s in trouble. Meet me at Seoul Arts Academy.”

“I’m in the studio...”

“Be a parent for once.” Click.

The fluorescent lights of the principal’s office hummed like a trapped wasp. You sat ramrod straight, Yoongi slouched beside you, his black mask pulled low. Jihyun, your daughter, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her hoodie sleeves streaked with neon spray paint. The air reeked of disinfectant and regret.

Principal Kwon slid a tablet across the desk. Onscreen, the school’s gym wall blazed with Jihyun’s mural; HYBE’s logo melting into a skeletal hand clutching won bills, tagged with “FAME ≠ LOVE” in jagged cursive.

“Care to explain?” the principal asked.

Jihyun smirked. “They said my midterm essay on capitalist exploitation in K-pop was ‘inflammatory.’ So I gave them something to really cry about.”

Yoongi’s boot tapped faster. “How much?”

“Fourteen million won,” Principal Kwon said.

“Done,” Yoongi said, reaching for his phone.

You slammed your palm on the invoice. “She doesn’t get to buy her way out.”

“Like you’ve got time to parent her through community service,” he scoffed. "Weren’t you in Berlin last week?”

“At least I’m not teaching her money solves everything!”

“And what are you teaching her? How to ghost her family for a merger?”

The principal cleared his throat. “There’s… also this.” He slid over Seoul Fame Daily, the headline screaming:

“SUGA & HYBE VP’S TEEN TERROR: Inside the Dysfunctional Family Behind the Fame”

“…Min Yoongi (33) and HYBE VP [Your Name] (34), long praised for shielding their daughter from the spotlight, now face scrutiny as 14-year-old Jihyun’s vandalism scandal goes viral. Insiders claim the girl’s ‘rebellion’ stems from years of neglect: ‘They’re never around. That kid’s been raising herself…’”

Yoongi stood, chair screeching. “We’re done.”

“Sit. Down,” you hissed. “This isn’t a studio session.”

“Funny,” he said, voice glacial. “You’re the one who walked out first.”

Flashback: Two Years Earlier

Your heels clicked furiously down the hallway of HYBE’s headquarters, Jihyun trailing behind, her small hand gripping her backpack straps. She’d begged you to attend her middle school art show, but a last-minute investor call had run late. Again.

“Mom, it’s starting in ten minutes...”

“I know, Jihyun. Just wait here.”

You disappeared into the boardroom. When you emerged an hour later, she was gone. Security found her in the lobby, sketching angrily on the walls with permanent marker. The caption: “BUSY PARENTS NEEDED. APPLY WITH TIME.”

Yoongi arrived hours later, smelling of airport and exhaustion. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Would you have answered?”

Yoongi’s eyes locked onto yours, the memory hanging between you. "You walked out,” he repeated, quieter now. “But I let you. Let her.”

Jihyun barked a laugh. “Wow. Teamwork.”

The principal’s intercom buzzed. “Sir, the press is here.”

Outside, cameras flashed like lightning through the blinds. Jihyun yanked her hoodie over her head. “Happy now? Now everyone’s watching it!"

“Chaos is just truth with the volume turned up. And right now, the world is screaming.”

The school’s front gates were a warzone.

Cameras flashed like strobe lights, reporters shouting over each other: “Suga-ssi! Is it true your daughter’s expelled?” ,“Ms. Y L/N! Will HYBE issue a statement?”

Jihyun hunched between you and Yoongi, her hoodie pulled taut over her face. You gripped her shoulder, but she shook you off. “Don’t.”

A reporter lunged, yanking her hood down. “Jihyun! Why’d you do it? Daddy issues?”

Yoongi moved faster than you’d ever seen. He shoved the man back, snarling, “Touch her again and I’ll sue you into oblivion.” His voice carried the same venom as his Daechwita verses, raw and unbridled.

Your Phone buzzed:

[HYBE Assistant]: The board is panicking. They want a statement by 5 PM. Draft attached.

You glanced at the draft: “HYBE regrets the incident and is committed to addressing systemic pressures on celebrity families...”

Bullshit.

Jihyun stumbled, and Yoongi caught her arm. “Car’s this way,” he muttered, steering her through the swarm. You followed, heels sinking into wet grass, your mind racing with damage control.

Flashback: Six Months Earlier

Jihyun’s art show, her first after you became HYBE’S new VP. You’d promised to attend, but a last-minute call from the HYBE board trapped you in the office until midnight. When you finally arrived, the gallery was dark, her painting of a lone astronaut tagged with a sticky note: “SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER.”

Yoongi found you in the parking lot, Jihyun’s tears smudging his shirt. “She left this for you,” he said, handing you a sketch: a family portrait, your faces scratched out with charcoal.

Yoongi shoved Jihyun into his black SUV, slamming the door. You moved to follow, but he blocked you. “You’re taking the company car.”

“She needs both of us...”

“She needs one parent who isn’t a PR robot right now.”

Jihyun rolled down the window. “Mom’s right. Let her in."

Yoongi’s jaw tightened, but he stepped aside.

The drive was silent except for the paparazzi bikes tailing you. Jihyun stared at her phone, scrolling through headlines:

[@ArtRiot]:“HYBE’s gym mural is the protest art we need. Free Jihyun!”

[@KpopTea]:“She’s just like her dad, iconically petty.HYBE’s gonna sue her into next year 💀”

She snorted. “Now you both have to pay attention. Congrats.”

Yoongi met your eyes in the rearview mirror. For a heartbeat, it was 10 years ago, exhausted new parents, arguing over who’d take the night shift with a colicky baby.

“We’ll fix this." he said, to both of you.

Jihyun laughed, brittle. “Can’t fix what you broke.”

“The truth doesn’t heal. It tears. But in the wreckage, we rebuild.”

The therapist’s office smelled like lavender and lies.

Jihyun sat between you and Yoongi, her combat boots propped on the coffee table, scribbling “FAME ≠ LOVE” in the margins of a parenting pamphlet. The court had mandated these sessions after the school pressed charges, and now you were trapped in a room with a woman named Dr. Lee, who smiled like she’d never met a problem she couldn’t yoga-breathe away.

“Let’s start with why we’re here,” Dr. Lee said.

“Bad press,” Yoongi muttered, slouching deeper into the couch.

“Expulsion," you corrected.

“You,” Jihyun said, glaring at both of you.

Dr. Lee’s pen hovered. “Jihyun, do you feel unseen?”

She snorted. “My mom would have rather missed my birth because of a board meeting. And Dad sent a plush toy from tour for my first birthday. So yeah, unseen works.”

Yoongi flinched. “That’s not...”

“True?” Jihyun pulled out her phone, scrolling to a photo of her nursery, empty except for a stuffed bear wearing a SUGA headset. “Here’s Exhibit A.”

Flashback: Fifteen Years Earlier

Your heels echoed through the hospital hallway, contractions ripping through you as your assistant rushed to keep up. “The merger documents, they need your signature by noon...”

“Not now..."

You collapsed against a wall, gasping. Yoongi’s voicemail played for the fifth time: “In the studio. Leave a message.”

When Jihyun was born, he was in Tokyo, filming a MV.

Dr. Lee turned to Yoongi. “Why do you think Jihyun acts out?”

He stared at his hands, knuckles white. “I didn’t know how to be a dad. Still don’t.”

“Bullshit,” Jihyun said. “You knew how to write lullabies for strangers. Just not me.”

You stiffened. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” She laughed. “Mom’s married to her job. You’re married to ARMY. Where does that leave me? The bastard genius?”

The word hung like a grenade.

“Don’t call yourself that,” Yoongi said, voice low.

“Why? It’s what they call me.” She tossed Seoul Fame Daily onto the table. The headline:

“HYBE HEIRESS OR HOT MESS? Inside the Lonely Life of Suga’s ‘Genius’ Daughter”

“…Jihyun’s IQ (a staggering 148) and her ‘delinquent’ behavior have become a national debate. ‘She’s a product of neglect,’ says child psychologist Dr. Park. ‘Celebrity kids often act out to fill the void…’”

You reached for her, but she jerked away. “Don’t. You don’t get to parent me now.”

Dr. Lee leaned forward. “Y/N why did you leave Yoongi?”

The air thinned. Yoongi’s knee brushed yours, a ghost of the past.

“I left because I couldn’t compete,” you whispered. “With ARMY. With his music. With the world that needed him more than we did.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t even try.”

“You didn’t fight!”

Jihyun stood, knocking over her chair. “You’re both pathetic. You’d rather fight each other than fight for me.”

She stormed out, slamming the door. The framed degrees on Dr. Lee’s wall rattled.

Yoongi stood to follow, but you grabbed his wrist. “Let her go. She needs space.”

“Like you did?” He yanked free. “I’m done giving space.”

Ten Minutes later you were back on your work phone:

[HYBE Assistant]: The board wants you to issue a formal apology. Drafting options.

[YOU]: Tell them to draft a resignation letter instead.

“Art is the echo of everything we’re too afraid to say. And some artists are screaming.”

Yoongi’s penthouse smelled of fresh paint and regret.

You stood in the doorway of Jihyun’s old room, now a makeshift studio. Canvases leaned against the walls, each one a riot of color and rage: HYBE’s logo skewered by swords, ARMY bombs morphing into grenades, a faceless family holding hands made of dollar bills.

Yoongi crouched beside her, scowling at the neon splatter on his hardwood floors. “You got talent, kid. But stop doing it inside the house.”

Jihyun didn’t look up from her spray can. “Your studio’s soundproof. Can’t hear me anyway.”

He snatched the can. “Try the balcony.”

“Control freak,” she muttered, but a ghost of a smile tugged her lips.

Your Phone buzzed:

[HYBE Assistant]: Need you to approve the Q3 budget. Urgent.

You swiped the notification away, eyes catching on a sketchbook peeking from Jihyun’s half-open backpack. The first page stopped your breath:

“FAME ≠ LOVE – MURAL DRAFT #12”

Skeletal hands cradling a child made of newspaper clippings. Headlines like “HYBE’s Heiress” and “Suga’s Shadow” papered her skin.

Beneath it, a URL: www.artivist_ji.com

Flashback: Five Years Earlier

HYBE’s annual Family Day. Jihyun, age 10, clutched her crayon drawing of the three of you as superheroes. “Look, Mom! I drew you as Wonder Woman!"

You knelt, phone buzzing with a CFO’s call. “It’s beautiful, baby. Show Dad, okay?”

Yoongi was across the room, surrounded by staff. Jihyun approached, but a publicist intercepted her. “Not now, sweetie. Appa’s busy.”

You found the drawing later in the trash, scribbled over with red pen: “NOT ENOUGH.”

You typed the URL with trembling hands.

@Artivist_Ji – 50.2K followers

Bio: “Art is my middle finger to the universe. #FameIsOverrated”

The posts gutted you:

- A time-lapse of her gym mural

- Sketches of Yoongi at the piano, his back turned

- A self-portrait titled “Invisible Girl”, her face erased, replaced by tabloid headlines

The latest post stopped your heart:

“FAME ≠ LOVE – FINAL SKETCH”

Comments:

“Queen of dragging HYBE 👑”

“Is that Suga’s kid?! OMG THE TALENT.”

You closed the tab, guilt sour on your tongue.

Yoongi’s Studio, Midnight

You found him hunched over Jihyun’s mural draft, red pen in hand.

“Don’t,” you said. “It’s hers.”

“I’m fixing the composition,” he muttered. “The perspective’s off here...”

“You’re critiquing it?”

“She’s better than both of us,” he said quietly. “But she’ll never admit it.”

You picked up a sketch of yourself, sharp-suited, eyes glued to a phone, a speech bubble: “Legacy pending.”

“We failed her,” you whispered.

Yoongi’s pen stilled. “We still have time.

“When the world tries to define you, sometimes you have to redefine the world.”

The internet exploded at 9:17 PM.

Jihyun’s tweet went live with a single image: her mural, HYBE’s logo burning under the tagline “FAME ≠ LOVE.” The caption:

[@MinJihyun_Official]:

new bio: artist. anarchist. NOT your oppa’s kid.

Within minutes, the hashtag #FameIsOverrated trended worldwide.

[@SUGAstan95]:

“She’s just seeking attention. Suga would never raise a kid like this.”

[@ArtRiot]:

“This is the protest art we need. HYBE’s exploitation of artists is finally being called out. #FreeJihyun"

[@KPOP_NEWS_24]:

“Suga’s daughter goes rogue! HYBE stock drops another 3%. Full story ⬇️”

Your Phone buzzed:

[HYBE Assistant]: The board is demanding a press conference. They want you to disavow her actions.

You stared at the tweet, your thumb hovering over the like button.

Yoongi’s Studio, 10:03 PM

You found him scrolling through Jihyun’s replies, his face unreadable.

“You’re not going to say anything?” you asked.

“She doesn’t want me to,” he said, setting his phone down. “But I liked it.”

You blinked. “What?”

He showed you his Instagram, a single like on Jihyun’s post.

“Subtle,” you said dryly.

“She’ll see it," he said. “That’s enough.”

You opened your laptop, drafting a statement:

“HYBE supports artistic expression and acknowledges the systemic pressures faced by celebrity families. We are committed to fostering a healthier environment for all.”

Yoongi read over your shoulder. “Corporate bullshit.”

“It’s damage control.”

“She’s not a PR crisis,” he said, voice sharp. “She’s your daughter.”

You deleted the draft.

[YOU]: Jihyun, we need to talk.

[JIHYUN]: About what? Your next press release?

“Sometimes, the loudest cries for help are whispered under bridges, where no one thinks to look.”

The text came at 11:42 PM:

[HYBE Assistant]: The board released a statement without you. It’s… not great.

You opened the link, dread pooling in your stomach.

HYBE Official Statement:

“HYBE deeply regrets the actions of Min Jihyun and reaffirms its commitment to upholding the values of respect and responsibility. We are working closely with her family to address this matter."

The comments were brutal:

“HYBE throwing their own kid under the bus? Cold.”

“Suga’s daughter deserves better than this."

Your phone buzzed again:

[YOONGI]:She’s gone.

Han River, 12:15 AM

Yoongi found her under the Mapo Bridge, her hoodie pulled tight against the cold. The glow of her phone illuminated her face as she scrolled through the HYBE statement, her jaw clenched.

“You wanna be seen?” he said, crouching beside her. “Then stop hiding.”

She didn’t look up. “They don’t see me. They see you.”

“I see you,” he said, voice rough. “Always have.”

She scoffed, sketching furiously in her notebook. “Yeah? Then where were you when I needed you?"

Your Arrival, 12:30 AM

You stumbled down the embankment, heels sinking into the mud. “Jihyun..."

She turned, her eyes glinting with anger. “Here to give another statement?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears spilling over. “I’m sorry I made you feel invisible.”

She stared at you, her defiance wavering. “You weren’t there. Either of you.”

Yoongi reached for her, but she flinched. “Don’t. You don’t get to fix this with a hug.”

You knelt beside her, the river’s reflection rippling like shattered glass. “We can’t change the past. But we can try to be better. For you.”

Her voice cracked. “I just wanted you."

Flashback: Eight Years Earlier

Jihyun’s first school play. You’d promised to attend, but a last-minute investor call kept you late. When you arrived, the auditorium was empty, her teacher holding a crumpled program: “She cried when you didn’t show.”

Yoongi pulled Jihyun into a hug, his voice muffled against her hair. “We’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

You joined them, the three of you tangled under the bridge’s shadow.

The HYBE press room was a battlefield.

Rows of reporters packed the hall, their bodies pressed together like a restless tide, cameras flashing like artillery fire in the relentless storm of media scrutiny. The air was thick with the hum of whispered speculation, punctuated by the sharp staccato of shouted questions. Heat from the overhead lights made the room stifling, the metallic scent of equipment mixing with the tension radiating from every person present.

You stood at the podium, heart pounding beneath your ribs, the weight of expectation pressing against your shoulders. Yoongi was beside you, his presence an anchor amidst the chaos, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly against the podium's surface. He was furious, barely keeping himself in check.

In your hand, the CEO’s prepared statement felt like ice–cold, impersonal, a lifeless collection of words meant to protect the company, not your daughter.

“Ms. Y L/N! Will HYBE take legal action against your daughter?”

“Suga! Do you regret prioritizing your career over your family?”

The words came like daggers, cutting deep, aiming for the most vulnerable places. Your grip tightened. The flashes of cameras were blinding, turning the scene into a disorienting blur of faces and accusations. The words on the page blurred in your vision, meaningless against the anger simmering in your chest.

You exhaled, forcing steel into your spine. The paper crumpled in your fist.

“We’re here to address the recent incident involving Min Jihyun,” you began, voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. The noise in the room shifted, anticipation sharpening the air like a knife.

Flashback: Two Days Earlier

The CEO’s office was a cavern of glass and steel, the city sprawling beneath it like a world distant and indifferent to the turmoil inside. The air-conditioning hummed, a deceptive calm against the fire brewing in Yoongi’s stance.

The CEO’s voice was icy. “This is a PR disaster. Either you disavow her actions, or we’ll do it for you.”

Yoongi didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, kinda lethal. His voice, when it came, was quiet, edged with the kind of fury that could bring entire empires crumbling.

“Touch her, and I’ll burn this company to the ground.”

A beat of silence. The tension stretched, thick and suffocating, before the CEO’s eyes flickered with something that almost resembled fear.

Yoongi never bluffed.

The statement slipped from your fingers, falling to the floor like dead weight. Gasps rippled through the press like an electric current.

“Our daughter is not a scandal,” you said, voice slicing clean through the cacophony. “She’s a person. A brilliant, passionate, hurting person. And if anyone here thinks they have the right to reduce her to a headline, you’re wrong.”

Silence. Heavy. Unyielding.

Yoongi stepped forward, gripping the mic, his presence commanding, unwavering. The spotlight glinted off his eyes, dark and unwavering as he surveyed the sea of reporters.

“Next reporter who calls her ‘bastard’ gets a lawsuit and a free album.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter broke through, but the weight of his words lingered, pressing down like an unspoken threat.

He scanned the room, his voice calm but carrying the unmistakable force of a man who would go to war for his child. “She’s my daughter. And if you come for her, you come for me.”

Backstage

Jihyun stood in the shadows, arms crossed, lips twitching as she watched the scene unfold. The fire in her eyes dimmed just a fraction, something soft slipping into the cracks of her armor.

Yoongi’s words echoed in her mind, wrapping around something fragile inside her.

She huffed out a quiet breath, barely above a whisper.

“They’re not so bad.”

Epilogue: The Gallery & New Beginnings

Under the soft glow of gallery lights in a renovated Seoul warehouse, Jihyun’s mural dominated the room, a sprawling, defiant canvas titled “How to Survive Famous Parents.” Bold strokes of rebellion and tenderness intertwined: shattered family portraits, corporate logos dismantled by furious color, and symbols of both pain and hope. The atmosphere was hushed yet electric, as art lovers and curious onlookers clustered around the piece, whispering in awe.

In one quiet corner, Yoongi stood, his gaze fixed on the mural as if deciphering every secret message it held. He pulled out his phone and, after a long, reflective pause, murmured to a friend nearby,

“It’s going in my studio. To remind me not to fuck up again.”

A ripple of understanding passed through the crowd. Later, his phone buzzed, a text message from you. The invitation was simple yet significant:

“Coffee tomorrow? I’ll bring cake.”

Across the room, you lingered by a stark white wall, watching the celebration of your daughter’s truth unfold. In the flickering light, you felt the weight of past mistakes lift ever so slightly. You’d spent years tethered to board meetings and corporate crises, but tonight the gallery was a testament that art; raw and unfiltered; could be a pathway to healing.

After the show had ended and the last of the guests trickled away, you found Yoongi waiting in a quiet alcove near the exit. The tension that had once divided you softened into something resembling understanding. There, under the muted glow of emergency exit signs and the fading echoes of applause, you both paused, no longer bound by old resentments.

“You know,” you began quietly, “we can’t change everything overnight. But maybe we can start small, like family breakfasts or dinners. A time for all of us to just… be together.”

Yoongi exhaled slowly, his eyes revealing both regret and resolve. “I’ve been a stubborn fool,” he admitted. “For too long, we let work and pride get in the way of what matters most.”

You offered a tentative smile. “I promise I’ll work less. I can’t keep missing the moments that count. Let’s set a weekly breakfast, just the three of us. No boardroom, no cameras, no headlines.”

He nodded, and in that moment, the unspoken promise between you was palpable. The scars of the past were still there, but there was a chance; small, fragile, and beautiful; to rebuild something real for Jihyun.

A week later, in the quiet hum of your HYBE office, you took a decisive step. With a deep breath, you submitted your vacation request. It wasn’t a resignation from duty, it was a commitment to reclaim a piece of your life long neglected. You knew that for the first time in over a decade, you, Yoongi, and Jihyun would embark on a family vacation together. Not as lovers rekindling a lost romance, but as co-parents determined to create a haven away from the relentless glare of fame and corporate demands.

That evening, over a simple dinner at a small, warmly lit bistro, you all sat together, awkward at first, but gradually the shared laughter and gentle conversation wove a new tapestry of togetherness. Jihyun teased, “Don’t think I’m going to let you two make it too easy. I expect full participation in family fun.” Yoongi chuckled, and you reached across the table, meeting his gaze with sincere understanding.

In that humble moment, as the clink of cutlery and soft music filled the background, the promise of a vacation shimmered like a distant sunrise, a first step toward healing. Though your paths had diverged in the past, you were learning that survival wasn’t about perfection. It was about trying again, together, even if the wounds ran deep.

And as the night drew to a close, the gallery lights and city buzz fading into memory, you all looked ahead. There was art still to be made, truths still to be spoken, and a fragile family ready to rebuild, one shared breakfast, one small vacation at a time.

[moongreenlight]

Like 800 words of a Ghoap x Reader fic I've been sitting on for way too long. School is hard. Life is busy. I love you and miss you.

Premise: Ghost is a porn director, Soap is an actor, you're Ghost's girlfriend.

mdni. nsfw below the cut.

Ghost abusing his authority over Soap and getting him to come in early/late to shoots so he can get a few ‘warm-up’ shots in (bending Soap over the chaise in his dressing room) or randomly calling for ‘emergency shoots’ (he wants to take a shitty iPhone video of Soap on his hands and knees gagging on his cock).

It started out as a means to end Johnny’s bitching. He refused to take performance boosters, citing some bullshit argument about how “if athletes cannae use them, neither can I.” A non-argument, Ghost thought. But still, he found himself bullying the man into a tech room and letting him grind on the toe of his boot until he spilled his mess on the floor. It didn’t solve the problem. Like giving a begging dog table scraps. 

Johnny apparently needed his cock milked before any shoot where he was expected to come on camera. Howled like a bitch in heat until Ghost appeased him, and even after that it was touch and go. 

But then there was his dove. Dutifully waiting for him every night. Sweeter, more soft than Soap. Less whining, similar resistance, but took easier to his guiding hand. Never had any issue with his work. Never a flare of jealousy when he spent most of his day staring at writhing naked bodies. 

Simon figured out somewhere in his balancing act that he was able to work out some of his aggression on Johnny. Brat takes it better. He doesn’t get a feeling like stones are being slowly added to the pressure on his ribs when he sees Soap’s big blue eyes get teary. He’s gentler with his dove. Takes his time because he can. 

He’s fantastic at keeping his work and private lives completely separate. Fucking exemplary. You’d think they were entirely different planets the way he seemed to turn completely off to them. 

Ghost finds himself net neutral on the situation. It’s like picking between his left and right hand to fist over his cock. More an issue of convenience. Not like he’s got a standout sex drive, it mostly just happens as appeasement. Get Johnny to quit sodding griping, keep the dove happy in her cage. 

But of course, worlds collide. They always do when they revolve so close to one another. There’s bound to be a rotation in the axis that sends them smashing into one another.

And of course it happens on a day where Johnny is entirely out of control. Whining in scenes, ruining takes, wasting film and time; time he’s paid- fucking handsomely- to be pleasant for. 

Ghost hears her before he sees her. Standing next to one of the cameras with a cigarette clamped between his teeth, glowering down the barrel at Soap who was making a sour face and rubbing oil onto the back of some actress with a thin towel covering her modesty. His ears are tuned to the frequency of her voice, picking it out with ease amongst the dull chatter that had flared since the cameras stopped rolling even from all the way down the hall. 

She was chatting with the receptionist who no doubt chose to walk her where she needed to be to bask in the warmth that was her company. His bird had that effect on people. Always sweet and sunshine. Saved the sharp wit and snark for home or to be whispered in his ear. Trained perfectly by his expert hand. 

He didn’t bother looking away from Johnny when she walked in the door. Now engaged in some sort of silent staring contest. Ghost glaring down the crook of his nose at the smaller man. He couldn’t quite pick out if the look in Johnny’s eyes was disdain or desire. They were synonymous at this point. Shame he couldn’t sort out that attitude of his properly now. Save everyone the fucking tantrum.

He calls for a cut. Gruffs out a tight 5 and reset. Tosses his cigarette to the ground and crushes it under the heel of his boot. He doesn’t have the time to turn around before he hears two planets collide. 

“- you lookin’ for a role, bonnie? Ye know, I’ve got connections ‘round here. Make ye a star in fifteen minutes.”

Her laugh is honest and amused. It cuts straight through the sound of the studio and rings like church bells. 

“Oh, I dunno. I’m a terrible read.”

He looks over his shoulder and sees Johnny tying the belt of his robe in a lazy knot over his hip. More decorative than anything seeing as the plush thing is cast open all the way down his torso. Exposing, with painfully obvious intention, the gloss of oil on skin and the whorls of dark hair that decorate his chest. 

“Dinnae believe that for a minute. ‘Sides, pretty girl like you hardly needs to talk. Bet we could work out a scene where you only have to open your mouth for-”

He’s cut off when the receptionist knocks her shoulder into his and throws him a warning look on her way out. It doesn’t strike the chord it should, but it fulfills the end goal all the same.

[luboy7rt]

Task Force 141 as Your Roommate! (Gn!Reader - Headcanons)

(Includes: Jonathan (John) Price, Johnny (John) ‘Soap’ MacTavish, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, and Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley)

Jonathan ‘John’ Price:

- He is a clean roommate, whatever he dirties he always ends up cleaning it immediately. He folds laundry very tightly, everything he folds would be able to fit into a duffle bag. 

- John ends up buying quite a lot of the replenishables around the house. He just tends to spot the fact you need more things before you do, he replaces it without you even noticing half the time.

He knows if you have a schedule or not; he just picks up on things. He will attempt to subtly help you if you need it.

- John's great at communicating, every little issue you have with each other can and will be solved easily so there is no issue between you two. 

- He tries to sneak in quietly whenever he returns home late from missions, yet every time it’s one small thing that always happens that ends up catching your attention. (Ex: Accidentally smacking his boot against the door, or placing his duffle bag down too heavily) It’s always a different thing every time. This agitates him to know the end, he is not a clumsy man but it's just a bad habit he accidentally got into as he's not used to having a roommate.

- If you guys have a camera, before he leaves for missions he always says something to the camera, always something sneaky or something he found funny to try and bond with you even if hes away often. If you catch him doing stupid while leaving your apartment, no. No, you didn't.

- John is gone a lot on missions (like all of them are) so he really trusts you to take care of your shared home as he leaves his most important possessions there and will always return back to your shared space.

Johnny (John) ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

(Just using Johnny to not mistake him with Price) 

- Johnny eats all your groceries whenever he is home. He apologizes and gives you money to repay for it, but he also doesn't stop. Tries to make a conscious effort to do so, but he gets to comfortable and ends up eating them all anyway. Always makes it up to you though, gives you money or goes shopping for you whenever you need it.

- Leaves sticky notes around the house of tasks for himself or you to do, some of the notes of just really sweet reminders, requests, or compliments.

- He sometimes would forget to send you his half of the bills, he always apologizes for it and quickly makes up for it, pays it, and ends up buying you your favorite snacks/drinks. 

- Type of guy to sing at 2AM before realizing you probably might be trying to sleep 30 minutes into his amazing set. Peeks his head into your room with a sheepish smile to apologize under his breath if you're awake, and might even mutter an apology if you're asleep.

-Johnny would leave his stuff everywhere, despite the fact he's usually good at knowing where his stuff is. He's a messy ‘I know where everything is’. Will try to clean up If you ask though if you decide you both can't live in messy organized chaos.

- Johnny tries to do the dishes, cleans the living area, and takes out the garbage before he goes away on long missions because he doesn't want to leave it all on you when he knows he leaves it messy.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick:

- Pays the bills on time, he will pay your half but expects you to repay him if you forget. (if you both are 50/50 on bills) he would be willing to change up on what you guys buy or pay for.

- He dances when cooking, and sometimes you wake up to him vibing in the kitchen getting it down while he blasts music, he apologizes a lot if he wakes you up and tries to lower the volume every time he does want a small cooking party. (You will go to sleep one night while Kyle is away on a mission and might wake up to his music in the kitchen while he's partying like he hasn't been up for 42 hours and just returned from a long mission) 

- You'll know when Kyle's home, he tries to make himself known by humming or talking to you randomly to just try and check up on you. Really tries to get on your good side to make up for the fact he's not around very often.

- Kyle leaves you cooked food for when he knows he's going away on missions for long, leaves personally cooked containers in the fridge to try and ensure your caring for yourself while he's gone.

- He likes just being around when he's home, even if it just means silently sitting In the same room doing separate tasks. Kyle likes the ‘normalcy’ of it all.

- Kyle likes hiding nice things for you to find around the apartment (ex; flowers, pretty rocks, money that he definitely didn't place on purpose) he doesn't even tell you, just likes waiting for you to find it and texts him a picture because he gets giddy about it.

- Will always pick up the phone when you need him, sends you a text instead if he's doing something important. Will do you favors. If you ask for snacks on his way home? Yeah, he is getting it for you, doesn't end up letting you pay for it though.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

- He eats your food accidentally some times, he always replaces it before you notice, if you cooked it? Oh wow, You have a totally different color food of the same thing from Simon attempting to re-make it for you. He ends up just leaving cash on top of it as an apology.

- He makes sure not to leave too much of a mess for you, he's busy but he really tries to clean before he goes away on longer missions. 

- You don't know when this man is home he is so quiet, you go for water at 4AM? You'll see him standing in the kitchen like a ghost staring at you until you notice him. (If you freakout, he flinches back but gives you a offended look like he wasn’t the one standing in the pitch black room)

- He moves stuff around sometimes when he's antsy, the living room might be rearranged by the time you leave your room. And he's already gone on a mission so you can't complain until he comes back. (He does try and keep this to a minimum and fixes it if you need him to. If you annoy him enough he ends up just changing his room and leaving the rest).

- He randomly leaves you money to find, simply plopping a 50 in your bag, or in your closet. Simon just doesn't tell you You randomly find it through the weeks. If you try to text him about it he simply doesn't give you an answer about it (also refuses if you try and give it back to him).

[azelmawrites]

ive missed you!! :(( I’m so glad you’re thinking abt hange again— might I suggest cowboy/horse rancher hange

I missed the blog and writing and most importantly everyone who was helping me develop the concepts or giving me new ideas to talk about, I missed y’all even more!!! ALSO Hange as a cowboy has my heart. Y’all know what cowboys do to me but HANGE as a cowboy???!!! I remember before I talked about farmhand Hange and rich daughter which was a great concept but this time I wanna lean more into a slightly cliche concept. City girl with the sweet and kind cowboy.

You’re a modern city girl, you’re a fresh university graduate and still clutching onto your hot degree. Your aunt is in need of company and you’re in a desperate need of a break after the hectic life of the city. At least that’s what Hange’s been told by your aunt on one fine Saturday afternoon.

Your aunt’s been very ecstatic about having you around, Hange couldn’t hear the end of it—not like they were complaining or anything, your aunt is a lovely woman and they were glad that the lonely woman would finally have company and someone to look after her when needed, especially after the night your aunt fell on the way back from the bathroom.

Hange didn’t really have any expectations of you, just that you were some fancy city girl with your cool university degree and your cool city life. It’s not like Hange had any hatred for city folk, but they didn’t particularly have the best experiences with them.

They’re all obnoxious and stuck up. With no manners whatsoever.

It was on a hot Tuesday afternoon that your aunt picked up your call, and she drowned you with questions of worry at you being very late to your supposed arrival time. Hange’s mild curiosity is quenched when your aunt says, “Sweet suffering jesus! You stay right there sweetie, don’t you worry! I will send Hange to fetch you right now!”

Then the woman turns to look at Hange and explains, “her car broke down on the way to town, thankfully she is right by the highway leading here—but bad news is that she barely has signal and no one ever comes to this god forsaken town so no one would be able to rescue her—” she’s hyperventilating and Hange places their two hands on her shoulder and calm her down.

“It’s okay, I will find her and go get her fast.” Hange doesn’t even wait for one more second to hear your aunt crying words of gratitude.

When Hange reaches you in their red beat up ford truck, they were taken back at the sight of you.

You were outside your car, leaning against the hood in your tiny jean shorts and equally tiny white tank top, sunglasses on your eyes and your feet clad in brown cowboy boots. It looked like a textbook outfit that you would find if you looked up what to wear in the countryside.

Except people in town don’t actually wear that, none of the women in town wear things like that.

You push yourself away from your car when you Hange exits their car. They can’t see your eyes, but you smile and introduce yourself. Hange shakes your hand, slightly surprised that someone from the city was actually polite to smile and shake hands and introduce themselves.

This had to be the first time it ever happened to them.

“Thank you for coming all this way to get me,” you say and head to open the driver’s door to pop open the hood as you explain, “I think it just needs water honestly, because it overheated and the ac wasn’t working that well before it stopped.”

When Hange took a quick look, your words were true. It was an issue with the coolant water, and it could’ve been solved in five minutes but they doubt a pretty thing like you knew how a car even works.

They wanted to affirm your theory, but it would mean that they could solve it in less than five minutes and you would drive yourself back to your aunt’s house and some other man would lay their eyes on you and want you immediately, and what’s worse you might want them back too.

So, Hange lied, and they didn’t really feel bad about it. “No, the wire for the radiator is pretty messed up too, we need to tow your car.”

Your face blanched, “really?”

“Really.” Hange affirmed, shutting the hood and seeing the luggage on your back seats, “I’ll just drive you to your aunt myself.”

As you stood by your car, Hange strolled over to your backseat without a word and started grabbing your luggage. You opened your mouth to protest but quickly realized there was no point—they were already stacking your bags into their truck with surprising ease.

“I can help with that, you know,” you said, watching as they lifted your heaviest suitcase like it weighed nothing.

Hange shot you a quick grin, wiping their hands on their jeans. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.” They hoisted the last bag into the truck and shut the door with a thud, brushing their hands off like it was the easiest thing in the world.

You stood there, a little stunned by how effortlessly they’d handled everything. “Well, thanks,” you said, trying not to sound too surprised.

“Not a problem,” Hange replied, sliding into the driver’s seat again. You followed suit, glancing over at them as they started the engine.

As the truck bounced along the uneven road, you adjusted yourself in the seat, trying to get comfortable. “Do you always rescue stranded city girls, or am I just special?” you asked with a smirk, your eyes flicking over to Hange.

Hange shot you a sidelong glance, a grin tugging at the corner of their mouth. “You’re definitely special. Not every day someone shows up in boots that look fresh out of a country music video.”

You laughed, playfully nudging your boot against the dashboard. “Hey, don’t knock the boots. Thought I’d try to blend in, you know, get that whole ‘small town’ vibe going.”

Hange raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You’re blending in real well, I’ll give you that.” There was a teasing glint in their eyes. “But just so you know, no one here actually wears that unless they’re going line dancing. Maybe if you stick around, we can test how well you can hold your own on the dance floor.”

“Line dancing? I think I’ve only done that with auntie when I was like…four or something?” you answered, unsure. You glance at Hange, catching their own eyes set on you.

“Four? How long ago was that?”

“You’re asking for my age? You never ask a lady her age, I thought you country people knew the basics of manners…” you tsk and roll your eyes playfully.

Hange laughs heartily, the sound filling the truck. “Touché. Guess I walked right into that one.” They glance at you again, still grinning. “But if I had to guess, I’d say… twenty-four? You’ve got that ‘fresh grad but still figuring it all out’ look.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into the seat with a playful grin. “Alright, now it’s my turn. Let me guess… thirty-five?”

Hange nearly choked on their laughter, eyes widening in mock offense. “Thirty-five? Thirty-five?! You’re killing me here.”

You stifled a laugh, holding up your hands. “What? It’s not that bad. Thirty-five is prime, right?”

“Yeah, sure, if you’ve lived in dog years,” Hange shot back, shaking their head, still amused but clearly not letting it go. “I’m thirty four.”

You stifled a laugh, eyes wide. “Wait, is that offensive? It’s not that much older—just a decade or so.”

They huffed dramatically. “I’m thirty-four, not thirty-five, and yes, it kind of is when you’re still technically in your prime.”

You bit your lip, holding back a grin. “Oh, come on! Thirty-four, thirty-five… it’s practically the same thing.”

Hange gave you a side-eye, clearly trying not to laugh. “Not to us thirty-four-year-olds, it isn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in a bit. “Well, you’re not exactly ancient. Plus, with all that wisdom, I’d say it suits you.”

Hange’s playful scowl broke into a grin. “Nice save.”

“Wasn’t trying to save anything,” you teased, “just stating facts.”

They shook their head, chuckling. “Yeah, yeah. Remind me not to invite you to my birthday party though. Next thing I know, you’ll have me hitting forty.”

The car rolls over the pebbles leading to your aunt’s entry, then it stops right before. Hange kills the engine and you just feel the need to say, “thirty five, forty…doesn’t matter, I think you’re sexy anyways.”

Hange’s eyes widened, and they let out a surprised laugh, their cheeks tinged with a faint blush. You smirk, then push the passenger door open and hopping down as your boots let out a satisfying sound as they crush against the stones.

You know Hange’s looking, so you walk with a sway on your hips.

[literallyjusttoa]

Finally got around to doing this, here are some rough sketches of my idea of how Lester looks each book! Some books are more different than others, like I don't think much changed between books 1 and 2, but I had fun doing this! Look under the cut for some notes about things I added for each design.

Book 1: Not much changes from how he's described in the books. All of the clothes he borrowed from Percy are a bit too big for him, but the flannel he borrowed from Will fits pretty well, only being slightly too long (I think Will has like, an inch over Lester)

Book 2: Basically the same as book 1 Lester. He keeps the flannel Will gave him, but it gets pretty beat up over the course of this book so he has to switch it out before book 3 :(. Hair is just a lil bit longer, and he gets clothes that fit a bit better. Headcanon time bc if Rick won't give me substantial Thalia and Apollo interaction I'll make it myself: Thalia gives Lester archer's gloves at the end of TDP, which he wears for the rest of the series. He didn't even think to wear gloves bc as a god he wouldn't need them, but Thalia noticed his beat up to shit hands at the Waystation and went "bestie... bestie no...." and gave him a pair.

Book 3: Will's flannel has been swapped for a big coat and Lester get his iconic pink camo pants. His hair is long enough to start getting weighed down a bit, and also way messier bc he's been in the labyrinth for like a month. The beat up sneakers he was wearing in books 1 & 2 get replaced with much more reasonable boots. Eyebrow scar shows up, a reminder from one of the many concussions this poor man has suffered. Also another HC time! Georgie gives Lester a little handkerchief that he wears for the rest of the series (I was gonna use Paolo's handkerchief, but Lester canonically gives that back so boo)

Book 4: The Lester looks like shit book /j. His hair is now long enough that he should really be doing something with it but he is not. He has a zip up hoodie now to cover up all his fun purple veins. Just more beat up in general honestly. Also I hc that Apollo actually lost some weight here (both bc he wasn't really eating well before getting to New Rome bc of stress/grief, and bc he got really sick and continued to not eat well while that was happening) But it obviously doesn't do anything to help his self-esteem or mood in this book. Kind've a visual way of being like "the superificial flaws Apollo clung to in the first book weren't the real issue, he was just hyperfixating on them to distract himself from what he was really upset about, so when the superficial issues get solved he doesn't even notice bc he's grown enough as a character to cut the bullshit and focus on what's really bothering him." or idk something like that. I like to contrast this with a hc I've mentioned before about the time between books 4 and 5, which is that the physical flaws Apollo whined about in book 1 (i.e. the acne and his weight) get "worse" throughout the road trip from California to New York, but Apollo truly just does not care that much about that shit anymore and that's why it doesn't come up in the narration.

Book 5: Final Lester! It's been over a month since the last book so I'm taking liberties and saying Lester's hair is long enough to pull up now bc I want him to be able to do that goddammit. Final outfit is borrowed from Percy again, so that's why it's so big. He also has a pendant that Lavinia gave to him bc they're besties. Also I forgot to mention it, but his shoulders are slightly broader here (and have been getting broader throughout the series) bc he's been working those muscles so much with the constant archery.

Also I didn't draw his quiver bc honestly I forgor, but I like to imagine he's been getting little pins and bobs from a lot of his friends that he's been sticking on his quiver strap. A few examples that come to mind are:

Kayla: A classic hot topic pin with a sun with sunglasses on it.

Leo: A pin made of scrap metal with the alchemical symbol for fire carved in.

Agave: Pinned a clover to Apollo's quiver for good luck. It didn't stay on there long, but it was the thought that counted.

Hazel: A piece of citrine decorated with metal cords.

Lavinia: Another classic hot topic pin, this one is heart shaped and has a picture of Hatsune Miku on it.

Jason: One of the monopoly houses he'd been using to mark the positions for the temples. A lot of the little houses had fallen off the diorama during the car crash at the beginning of TTT. The night after, Apollo asked Reyna if he could make sure the diorama was fixed. Reyna agreed, and he put it back together based on what he remembered. He spent an hour or so gluing on houses and hotels for Mars, Somnus, Fons, Salus, and on and on, until he got to the last one. A red hotel meant to show where the temple of Apollo would go. Apollo poked a little hole in it, and fastened it to his quiver with a bobby pin. It's nestled close to where the strap meets the quiver itself, so it's less likely to fly off.

Meg: Pinned a rose petal to his quiver right before he went to fight Python. It lasted for even less time than Agave's clover did, but again, it was the thought that counted.