#but it's very obvious in my coat sleeves | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

carolmunson · 1 year

Text

you get me closer to god | kas!eddie (dark)

entry for my fall frenzy requests. this request comes in from @edsforehead: 'something with kas!eddie in a graveyard.'

a/n: y'all, i don't know. i kind of snapped with this one. sort of canon compliant. inspired by a post that i saw that said that after vampires feed they have an insatiable desire to breed afterwards. steve also makes an appearance cause i love him.

tw: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, dub-con, dub-con (reader does get into it). use of hypnosis, coercion. blood play, blood drinking, biting. very obvious power dynamics at play here. death of minor character mentioned. p in v smut, rough and sensual. oral (f-recieving), monster-type-fucking. mild chasing trope. some religious elements if you squint??? anyway i listened to closer by nine inch nails on a loop for this if you wanna know the general vibe. let me know if there is anything i missed and need to put on here!

October 31st, 1998

Your niece had a better haul than you ever did at this age, it seemed like every house on the fancy side of Hawkins was giving out full size candy bars. No one ever gave you full size candy bars. The Harrington's had outdone themselves this year, hoards of kids picking out wrapped caramel apples and passing out spiked cider to the parents. Humming and smiling while the adults hugged their parkas to their chests, kids running up and down the stairs of the cul de sac of Hawkins Mansions. Decorated to the nines -- you were happy that most of the street would tire her and all of her friends out. "Auntie!" she calls out, hurrying over to you while her pink and purple puffer coat swishes with her. Alycia glitters against the lights of the houses in the dark of the night, the red sequins on her leotard making her easy to find. Your sister-in-law made her a headband fitted with red horns with a pointed tail sewn into the back of the red tu-tu from her Spring recital to match. A Dancing Devil she called it -- for newly six, she was a pretty creative little bug.

"Auntie look," she yells, running into your legs. The spiked cider sloshes in your cup that you hold high over her head so it doesn't spill onto her. She holds up a decorated caramel apple covered in eyeballs made out of sugar.

"Gross, Leesh," you giggle, "It's got eyeballs all over it!"

"They're fake eyeballs, Auntie," she explains like you're stupid, "They're not real eyeballs."

"Oh, thank you for telling me. I didn't know," you giggle, catching Steve watching the two of you chat. Your cheeks burn, that crush from when you were fourteen and he spent the summer working at the mall never fully fading. He's married with four kids now so you should probably get over it. "How're things?" he asks from the curb, coming over to sneak Alycia a couple of Reese's cups. "They're good," you shake your head with a shrug, "They're fine. Out here with the rugrat while her mom's at work." "How's the family, your mom?" he presses, arms crossing over his broad chest that stretch the sleeves of his tan workwear jacket.

"She's doin' okay," you smile tightly, "Always a little hard for her this time of year."

"Five years now, isn't it?"

"To the day," you say with a lilt, "Gonna go visit him after I drop her with her grandparents. My dad'll be so thrilled to steal half her stash."

Your laugh is a little hollow when he squeezes your shoulder comfortingly, he slips a candy bar into your hand, too before saying his goodbyes -- set of twins running around his ankles.

Hawkin's bravest fireman somehow off duty on a night like this turns before you take your niece's hand to leave, "Be careful out there at night. You know it's not always safe."

"You don't believe in all those rumors, do you Harrington?" you laugh.

"Don't have to believe them or not," he says seriously, pushing his wire rims up his nose, "I know they're not rumors."

"Happy Halloween, Steve," you say dully, "Goodnight." You both wave, Alycia's little hand in yours while she rattles off a million words a minute about the skeloton outside of the Sinclair house. The moon glows down over the street, dark clouds slicing it like a broken plate.

You rarely visit your brother on the day of, especially since there's always idiot teenagers running around the place. Not exactly easy to mourn when some loser in a Scream mask keeps trying to scare you.

It was quiet, your Docs crunching on mid-fall frosty grass -- some of it already half dead with the season. Commotion from the town in the distance had dulled into mostly nothing now that the kids had turned in for the night. Families turning their porch lights out, settling in for scary movies and sugar highs.

You squeeze the bouquet of baby's breath and eucalyptus a little hard in your hands when you walk through the tombstones. The low lamps along the walk way casting the grass and asphalt in a looming orangey glow -- not offering much light beyond their posts. The moon does the work, still looking shattered amongst the thin gray clouds sliding through the sky.

You hear some giggling, the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs. Always an outlier of kids doing spells or a Ouija board out here this time of year -- old Chief Hopper coming down to make them scatter and take their weed. You walk off the path when you get a decent way in, crossing away from where the cemetary mostly turns to forest. Four 'Happy Birthday To Yous' into the brush and then a left, two head stones, then a right -- it's the third headstone on the fourth row. No light to shine down on you this time, just whatever's left in the sky. You take your big yellow scarf off from around your neck to lay over the grave, giving yourself a place to sit so your spandex covered thighs didn't have to touch the grass. Your mom would kill you if you got grass stains on the red trench she let you borrow -- a makeshift Carmen Sandiego costume if anyone asked.

You sit, laying the bouquet right at the granite edge, tracing his name before letting your hand drop. You don't say anything for a while, letting the cool wet air run over you in waves. You wonder if the wind blowing is him saying hey.

A few cemetery patrons come by, pay their respects to their loved ones and leave. Some superstitious, some religious. They fade out after a while. The loneliness is comforting, just you and your brother hanging out together like before. Despite being six years apart, it felt like you both always had some weird wonder twin telepathy. He was never really one for a lot of words.

"Didn't that guy tell you not to come around here so late?"

You jump at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, turning around to see an even more unfamiliar person. Wild curly waves messy around his face, cut in 80s shag perfection. His face chiseled, jawline pronounced with soft stubble, soaked in fake blood. It trails down his neck and stains the white of the baseball tee underneath a leather jacket; fitted over top with a battle vest that rivaled the metal heads of the 70s.

"Who're you, huh? You following me?" you ask. You swallow nervously, finding solace in seeing a few other cemetary visitors mosying around. The faint giggle of more mischeif causing teenagers in the distance.

"Sorry," he laughs, a warm laugh that meets his eyes, "Didn't mean to scare you. I um, I saw you over by the cul de sac, overheard him say somethin' to you. I was with my little cousin -- dressed like a mermaid, I don't know if you remember."

You think back to Leesh's pal of trick-or-treaters, scanning them in your head to recall a little girl with big brown eyes and a makeshit Ariel costume on under her jean jacket -- covered in patches much like his.

"Yeah," you smile, "I remember. But that didn't answer my question -- are you following me?"

"Nah," he grins, shaking his head, "I'm visiting someone -- this was just a happy accident."

"Oh," you respond quietly, "Who're you visiting if you don't mind me asking."

"My mom," he shrugs, scrunching his nose, "Halloween was her favorite holiday so I always try to come say hi."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you offer in condolences, "Did you um -- did you grow up here? I feel like I'd remember you."

"Nope," he sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans while his wallet chain jingles next to his thigh, "Grew up with my uncle."

"Oh, nice," you nod, "Well um --"

"Who're you visiting?" he interrupts, sitting on the gravestone next to your brother's; hardware tinkling prettily as he does.

"Pete," you say, hand out to gesture towards the shiny granite in front of you, "My brother."

"Nice to meet you, Pete," he turns his head, curly hair flouncing over his shoulder, "Pleasure."

You laugh, he laughs with you -- you have to laugh about it or else you'd have to deal with the alternative. You're pretty sure you're all cried out about your brother now.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"He worked construction," you shrug, "Took an overnight shift five years ago by the quarry, an' it was Halloween so he was workin' by himself -- no one to spot his safety gear. Must've fallen off the rigs or something and since it rained a lot that year the quarry was basically a lake at that point, hit his head and drowned. His body was completely banged up and waterlogged, they could only ID him from his pass in his pocket."

"Shit," he nods, "That's -- that's fuckin' awful. I'm sorry."

You shrug, "Bitch of living, I guess."

"Hm," he nods, "I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?" you ask with a cocked head, eyes lingering on him while his linger on you. "Don't worry about it," he smirks, the kind that makes your heart flutter; cheeks getting hot at the sound of his voice. "You know something," you start, "With this whole get up -- and you're not from here so you might not know -- you look just like --"

"Eddie Munson?" he asks, with raised brows, "Yeah, my aunt's been telling me that forever. That's why I sorta dressed up like him for Halloween."

"That's dangerous around Hawkins, especially this time of year," you warn him, standing up from your spot and picking up your scarf. You shake it out to get some of the grass of the underside. You hardly notice the way his eyes trail from your shoes over your calves to your thighs.

"Some people say that he went right to hell after that earthquake since he killed that girl," you explain, shrugging the trench off some to fit the scarf on under it, "And now he's a demon that haunts Hawkins and terrorizes the town."

You both laugh, though his drops to a low and guttural hum. Nearly a growl. You lift your head to see him just a foot in front of you now, and you can really look. You can really see him. The paleness in his skin, tendrilled navy veins raising through it as he leans close to you.

At this distance it's clear that the hollowness in his eyes isn't makeup, but the sparkling brown is sunken into his skull. His brows darkened and determined while he looks at you.

At this distance, it's clear that the blood on his jaw is real.

"They're close," he says with a sly smile, "Really should've listened to Harrington, sweetheart."

You swallow hard, icy sweat in a film on your body while he takes a step forward.

"Those rumors are true."

The icy air shreds your throat as you run, heaving it in and out in gasps. Your calves scream, thighs aching while you sprint through the brush of the forest; trench and scarf long forgotton somehwere amongst the trees. You try to ignore the way twigs and branches swipe at your face, slicing you and scratching you with unforgiving whips. You let out a cry while you speed, leaping over roots and piles of leaves all while trying to listen with peak percision. Is he close? Is he getting closer? Can he see you?

You stop behind a log near a dip in the earth, rocks above it. Climbing in you heave, trying to catch your breath -- you aren't really made for this. You don't know how girls in the movies can run that long without needing a break.

With a deep inhale in, you hold, using the quiet to try and hear him but there is nothing to be heard. No rustling, no creaks in the wood or in the wind.

You catch your breath, slowly creeping out of your hiding space while the darkness hones -- trees blocking out some of the moonlight. You take a step and then another, trying to make as little noise as possible.

Your efforts are of no use though -- you stomach turns at the sound. The flap of wings, leathery wings -- big. A shaky breath in gives you the courage to turn your eyes up. On one of the taller branches above you he sits, pale and domineering, "Hi, sweetheart."

You bolt again, depserate and sobbing while the cold air is no longer a hello from your brother but mother nature's cruel bite on your wet cheeks. You can barely take in breaths without pain in your throat and chest, turning left and right and left again to lose him but from above he can predict your every move.

When you hear silence again you take another turn, a mausoleum broken down a short distance away. You crawl your way in, wet earth and cement hitting your nose while you gasp and heave for the second time. You listen for the wings for moment, a few moments -- a calm washing over your back when you're sure he's gone.

You take a step back further into the darkness to be sure you're unseen. Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. One, twice, three times.

Another step back and you bump into a pillar making you jump, a screech wrenching from you.

Not a pillar no, not by the way a set of claw bites into your shoulder.

"Would've been a good hiding spot if it wasn't for me finding it first, right?" he quips, "Bummer." "Y-you can't d-do this," you cry, "The r-rumors are true they'll -- they'll look for me! Steve knows about you!"

"Oh, babe, that's so cute," he muses with a giggle, "Why do you think I'm still here, huh? Steve's just like me, he's bitten too."

"B-but--"

"Why do you think he believes in all those rumors, huh baby?" he asks with a lilt, "Cause he's one of 'em. Well -- not all the way, I guess. Not like me."

"He blows my cover he blows his whole operation," he grins, sharp teeth bearing themselves at you, "Why d'you think he only works night shifts?"

"I -- don't -- I don't," you sputter, "Pl-please d-don't bite me, d-don't eat me I -- I'll do whatever."

"You're too funny," he says in your ear, deep and grizzly while you're rooted to the spot under his clutch, "I already ate, sweet girl. But you'll make a fine dessert."

You don't know how you get there but it's not like home -- it is but it isn't -- dark and deadly; covered in slithering vines. You're too petrified to ask; but whatever this place was, despite the spores in the air and the rubble from the walls -- it was much nicer than the trailer he grew up in.

"Shh, shh, shh," he coos, claws deep in your shoulder while he wrenches you to a bed covered in plush linens -- satin and full. In the blur around you it could almost be a movie set; the booms of red lightening, dripping pillar candles in heaps around the room.

You whimper at first when his claws release, hot blood oozing against your sweater. The pain pulses like a dull thud, spit flooding your mouth while you move to your side to wretch but he catches you by the root of your hair. You wail in fear, smelling the decay in his breath, the sweet subtle rot of your surroundings.

"It's not polite to cause a scene in a stranger's home, right princess?" he asks with a soft lilt. He holds your gaze, warmth spreading over you when he smirks again -- and despite your fear, you can't look away. You aren't even sure if you want to look away.

Your body goes slack on the comforter, melting into itself like a dropped marionnette. "Very good," he purrs. Hazy, you feel his hands on you -- losing their warmth while they sneak under the hem of your sweater. The pads of his fingers are soft in comparison to the tips of his nails, grazing your stomach and sternum before reaching up to cup your breasts. He lets out a shallow breath, squeezing the delicate flesh softly in his palms -- so gentle despite his rough demeanor.

His thumbs graze your nipples in slow circles earning him a mewl from your dry throat.

"So easy," he giggles in a whisper. You nearly pout when his hands slide down and away from you; beginning the unhurried removal of your clothing. He moves glacially, eyes remaining on yours, wraiths of whispers in a lanuage you don't understand fluttering in the air around you -- in one ear and out the other. Part of you wants to scream and thrash while he slides off your spandex, rips the seams of your panties, destroys your socks.

His clawed hands shred your sweater, snap your bra at the straps until all your clothes are left in a heap on the dusty floorboards by a forgotten desk. He crawls over you like a predator, undressed himself now: some how bigger, more hulking than before. His shoulders are broad, muscles flexing while skin so white it's nearly blue stretches over it. Whatever is down here has completely infected him, you can see it in the color of the veins beneath his skin, the slight red in his pupils, the dark blue hues under his eyes.

His wings lift high around him in an arched half circle, tips appearing behind him like a hybrid of horns and halo at once.

"Could smell you from here," he leers, "since last night. Christ, fucking drooling over you like a kid."

You whimper again, body jolting in pain when his nails pierce your thighs when he parts them. Fresh ichor spilling from the wounds in deep sanguine and he doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making while it drips onto the sheets. His cavalier manuevering comes off as though he likes to play with his food before he eats it.

"And I don't know what it is, angel, how my senses find the right ones," he rasps while he leans forward to your blood soaked shoulder; serpent tongue slipping out to lave over it, "But you really called to me this year; think you might be the one."

"The o-one wh-what?" you sniffle. His tongue slides over the lacerations on your shoulder again, sucking slightly from the new wounds. He lets out a groan, using free hand to rest on the side of your rib cage for support.

He deatches from the well he drinks from, tip of his nose running over your decollatage and up your neck. In inhales over your jugular, pressing a wet kiss under your jaw before getting to your ear.

"The one I mate with, sweetheart," he breathes, "The one I breed."

Breed? You heart sinks like a stone into your belly, body tensing in a freeze while you think of what to do. How to get out of here.

"Wait," you gasp, arms coming up to push at his chest and push him away, "No, please, wait -- you can't."

You push and push but he's a stone pillar, he barely moves, his muscles barely push inward at your assault. He tuts, the click of his tongue between his teeth almost a chitter. He noses your cheek before looming over you, tips of your noses brushing. He catches your gaze again, the whispers start while the air blows in through the broken window. Obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo, obedire domino tuo. His lips aren't moving but you can hear his low voice in your ears, barely there, swirling around in your subconcious while the wind whispers with it. Another flash of red lightning illuminates him in a streak, the rumble of thunder vibrating your belly and chest. His hand floats up from your rib cage while you settle, cupping your cheek to slide down to your jaw and over your neck. The touch is nearly comforting, dipping you back into a haze like before.

"You were saying?" he asks.

"Hm?" your brows pinch, his voice muffled and far away.

"That's what I thought," he says smugly, head dipping back down to your neck where his lips drag over your delicate skin. His breath leaves a patch of wet heat that lingers when he moves down over your chest, fangs peeking out behind his full lips when he drags them over the swell of your left breast.

A gentle gasp escapes you, eyes fluttering closed when the tip of his tongue teases your pert nipple, blowing cool air against it once soaked with his spit. He flicks against it again, alternating sides, presses kisses over them in clear ownership. The more he tasted of you, the more it belonged to him.

With each touch and tease of your tits the more you gasp and whine beneath him, he chuckles from his belly, moving down to your sternum.

"And I died a virgin, can you believe it?" he asks with a cocky lift to one of his brows, "Now all I gotta do is smile and girls like you 'll just fall into bed with me."

There's cotton in your ears, all you can do is nod slowly while blood still leaks from your shoulder and thighs. All you can feel is his mouth and hands travel further and further down. The wind howls and the low chant in the back of your head changes tune but in the same cadence; over and over again: vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

He licks a stripe up the back of your thigh to catch a bead of blood before it reaches the mattress, savoring you. He feeds from the gouges he left behind for a moment before inching forward to the apex of your thighs. Eddie inhales your scent deeply, the earthly musk of you making his mouth water in a mix of metal and spit. His nose brushes against the untrimmed hair of your mound, ghosting himself over it drunk with attraction.

Your body heats up with mild embarrassment, flexing while your hips writhe slightly underhim. Almost as if he can hear your thoughts he kisses the crease of your thigh, "Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby. Girls don't let it grow like this anymore n' it's such a shame."

You want to speak up and explain it's just 'cause you haven't had the time but your tongue doesn't know how to move anymore. Too tired to speak, too caught up in how he feels, how he touches, how he takes what he wants. You relent again, body relaxing; pliant while he spreads you apart for him a desperate moan pulling from you when his tongue -- still soaked in your blood -- glides from the pool of slick at your opening all the way up to your clit.

You almost gag at the way your body betrays you, sending a spread of electricity over your nerves from your core to your finger tips. "More," you whisper, not even believing you're begging for him, "Please, more."

Eddie's smug in his response, smiling with his eyes while he looks up at you from between your legs, "And good manners? You spoil me, princess."

Your back arches in a soft curve when your hips push back into the mattress, pressing yourself into his waiting mouth. He groans again when your body drips for him, leaving a damp sheen on his cheeks and chin. It's not about your pleasure despite how much of it he's bringing you, but about your consumption. He's devouring you. Licking his plate clean from the outside in.

The moans he takes from you spur him on, getting you further and further away from the fight you put up before. Spilling over for him like a puddle while you writhe, a hand reaching out to rake through his hair. His own reaches up from aroud your thigh to hold you by the wrist tight to your side.

"Hands to yourself," he murmrs, soft lips wrapping around your swollen clit to suck expertly on the bud. You whimper, tugging at his hold but it only makes his grip more intense, pinning you there without much a fight. Not even enough to distract him from the task at hand.

When his tongue sinks back down into your soaking core you feel it, the heat pulsing through your belly while he lets the muscle dip and swirl in your wetness. Your thighs twitch and shake when his nose bumps your sensitive clit, his free hand coming up to gingerly rub circles over it in tandem.

"Oh my god," you whine, "Oh my god -- K-kas don' -- oh my god, ohmygod." He snickers, contining his movements, murmuring a quiet, "God's not here, baby."

Another roll over your hips sends you reeling, his tongue gliding in long strokes when finally the coil in your belly snaps. You fall apart beneath him, loud moans and high pitched squeals while he consumes you through it. Your body vibrates, thighs clamping down over his ears, blood from the slices in your flesh staining his hair and jaw.

He hums low when you settle, gasping for breath on your already dry and scratchy throat while you come down.

Eddie rises slowly, shoulder blades and wings moving with him while he crawls up your body. Smooth and languid like a snake, his torso hovers above yours while he settles his hips between your thighs. You look up at him, his shape, the way his eyes have blown black, the newfound sharpness in his features. A creature, a monster in your wake — not the same person you saw at the cemetery.

“Oh,” he coos when he sees your eyes glassy and rounded upon him, “So precious.”

You're much weaker now, mind and body, the stings across your skin from the broken branches and his sharpened nails a pain you've become better accquainted with. You take another breath of calm, arms resting by your head with your palms up towards the ceiling. He takes the moment of surrender to hold them down against the bed. The pressure of his hips against yours keeps you pinned, but you barely fight -- maybe squirm, maybe whine. No thrashing, no screaming, the whispers echo through the wind again:

Vis, sentis, obedis. Vis, sentis, obedis.

"So, so, precious," he whispers while he leans forward, kisses pressed to one cheek and then the other slow and controlled. He inhales again when he dips down to your neck, piercing fangs dragging over the vein there. You feel the push and then the pain, the unbearable blinding pain of his teeth ripping through you. Through your skin, through the muscle, the pulse of his mouth while he holds himself there.

You cry out, nearly a scream while he holds himself there -- just enough to infect you, just enough to get the poison in. The pain reaches a blinding peak, bile growing up your throat, eyes filling with a white hot surge of anguish and then -- Nothing. Euphoria. An unknown lightness you hadn't felt before.

He releases, still holding tight to your wrists above your head when he raises up over you again.

"Open," he instructs, and in your hazy gaze you obey. Your tongue flattens against your chin without command.

"Very good, sweetheart," he praises, collecting the blood left on his lips and in his cheeks to spit it directly into your waiting mouth.

"You can close now," he grins, "And swallow."

He grunts, hips sliding against you so that you can feel his length between your legs; the girth alone sends a chill to the part of you that is screaming inside your head. How is it supposed to fit? How is he supposed to get this inside you? "Don't worry," he laughs, "It'll fit."

When your vision snaps up at him he laughs again, "I can hear you in there, princess. I can always hear you."

He dips down again, tip of his nose sliding over your cheek to your ear, "So be very careful what you think about."

He doesn't need his hands to guide the head of himself into your already needy center. It's a stretch, delicious but nearing painful. It's not something you've ever even dreamed of taking before; thick, large, inhuman.

Your legs lift on their own accord while he pushes in further, getting half way while you let out a choked sob.

"Aw, shh, shh, shh," he mocks, easing in more, "C'mon you can take it."

"You can --" his hips snap in hard for the rest of him, letting out a ragged grunt when the rest of him disappears inside you, "--take it."

You mouth hangs open in a desperate oval, face crumpling when you become so full of him -- all encompassing. A part of you now, buried deep within. He moves, dangerously slow and controlled; methodic in how he thrusts himself deeper and deeper inside. "Mmm, that's it," he growls, chest to chest with him while his hip grind at a deliberate pace. You feel his hot breath fan out over your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He's not hot, he's not cold, just skin against yours while it flashes with heat. You go from shaking to sweating with minutes in between.

When your hips roll to meet his thrusts you moan, the tip hitting you so deep in your core that stars burst behind your eyes. "There we go," he grins mischeviously, "S'at feel good, pet?"

"Ooh, yes," you hiss through gritted teeth, actively trying to bounce yourself againsth him now that your body has started accommodating his sheer size. He raises himself up on his hands like a cobra, snake like peering down at you while he meets the roll of your hips with an unforgiving thrust.

"Good," he oozes the word out like smoke, deliciosly deep seated in his belly when he thrusts hard again. He mumbles a quiet musing to himself that you can't hear -- too gone in the lightness in your body, in the way nothing hurts, in the way you're so full.

Can finally fuck you how I wanna.

He gets up, sitting back on his haunches while still inside you, pushing your legs up so your knees end up by your ears. With this leverage he sinks in deep. You don't even know how far in he is, just that he's in and he's there, he's everywehre, he's outside and in.

Eddie locks eyes with you, that same smirk from the cemetary that made your stomach flip dancing across his devilish features, "Tell me you like it."

Your mouth moves before your brain can hesitate, "I like it." "Tell me you need it," he demands, tone measured and sure.

"I need it," you say back, your voice coming out broken and weak, "Please, I need it."

He pulls back and punches forward, hard enough that you gasp at the impact. He grips you hard by the backs of your legs, thrusts starting slow and building at an unrelenting pace. His eyes are wild; boring down at you through from under furrowed and determined brows. If you had any mind left, you'd think that he hates you by the way he stares.

"Fuck," he snarls, leaning forward over you, one hand pressing down on the mattress next to your head, "Shit -- fuck, that's it. That's fuckin' -- shit, you're fuckin' mine." "Say you need me."

"I need you," you choke back without thinking, barely able to breathe at his speed. The coil tightens deep inside of you again, tears pouring down your cheeks in waves -- not even crying, just recieving. Absorbing him. Your body rocks like a boat on unsteady waves pinned beneath him, the only sounds are the whispers in your subconcious, his growls and sputters like an animal above you. The lewd slaps of skin against skin, the squelches of him pushing you to your limits.

He steadies himself over you, nose to nose again while he fucks you. Really fucks you. Impressed with himself, he lets out a breathy chuckle when you throw your head back -- eyes shutting tight with a pornographic scream.

"Oh GOD!" you cry out, "Oh my god."

His fingers and claws catch your chin with a firm shake, eyes snapping open to meet the knowing glare of his ruddy brown ones.

"Your god," he starts, panting into your mouth, "is right here in front of you."

You swallow, mouth falling agape again when you feel the bite of his nails on the fat of your cheeks. "Right here," you repeat, dazed and overwhelmed, "N'..n'fronname."

"Right here in front of you," he nods, leaning down to brush his nose against yours while his thrusts slow to a steady pace. It's then that his lips meet yours, the kiss searing with desire and claim when his tongue slides into your mouth. You can taste the metallic twang of your blood in his mouth, sighing into it while he guides the kiss. Breaking away and coming back in; rushed and heated each time while he feels himself get closer to his peak.

His forehead presses against yours, one hand finally releasing your wrist to hold your head in place over your hair. You keep eye contact with him, not even sure if you're blinking, if you even need to blink. You rasp breaths, mouth and throat dry and aching while you breathe into him. You're close, teetering on the edge while he pushes you up with his hips to rest your lower body on his knees and thighs.

"Come undone," he murmurs, "Let go for me."

The command ripples through you, bursting through your belly with a warm heat. You welcome it, eyes rolling, cries pouring from you in words you don't think you understand. He encourages you, offering you rough sweet nothings while you pray to him, beg for him, ache for him.

That's enough to send him over; seeing you completely at his mercy now. Obedient, trained, devoured.

He snares and snarls, growling while he comes deep inside of you. The hand on your head wraps painfully in your hair like it did before you started -- uncaring, brutal. The heat of his seed pools deep within you like the heart of your orgasm. Glazed over you groan, hips rolling up in one final cant to receive him fully. Your vision vingettes while he unsheathes from you; fluids leaking onto the sheets. You're empty and the room spins with a new blackness, you're fading. Fainting? Dying?

The fuzziness continues to darken arouns you, around him, until he's all that's left in the tunnel of your vision. "That's a good girl," he soothes smugly, "Very well done."

Your gaze and mind fade fully to a staticky black.

You wake, you’re not sure how much later.

Still on the bed and still undressed but your arms feel tight – a tug reveals your current state. Bound to a post on the headboard by a triple handcuff knot, dense hemp rope keeping your arms above your head.

You whine and struggle, coming to your senses now – no one knows where you are, you barely know where you are. An underworld – hell. Somewhere.

“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart,” his smooth honey voice is heard before he appears in the candle light again, “I’m right here.”

“Wh-why am I –” you swallow thickly, coughing and sputtering with how dry your mouth and throat are now, “Why am I tied up?”

He looks at you with faux concern, brows raising, “Oh honey, are you okay?”

He reaches out, pushing your hair away from your face, “Don’t be stressed. Y’know something – I just realized, I never offered you anything to drink.”

“My uncle always told me you should take a girl out to dinner before makin’ the van rock and look at me,” he gestures at his chest, tutting at himself, “Where are my manners, huh?”

Your lip wobbles while he looms over you, “Are you thirsty?”

You nod, he grins – cheshire like, fangs glinting in the light, “I thought you would be.” He gets up, lazy and confident in his walk across the room. His body looks like marble, chiseled with the running and hunting you realize he’s been doing for over a decade. Stronger than ever; ethereal in his post orgasm glow.

He pulls his hair back while he walks, holding it up away from his neck while your eyes travel down his back where his wings have tucked in under the skin. You gag when you see them move above his blades, rippling beneath the tattoos he has there. He’s dressed in only shorts; silk – likely stolen to really own the whole vampire thing he has going on.

You take in a shaky breath when he gets what he needs, dropping his hair back to his shoulders when he makes his way back to you.

He holds the dagger coolly in his hand before gliding the tip down the center of his wrist. Blood blooms from the wound; he doesn’t even flinch.

“Open, princess,” he murmurs. Your lips clamp shut, shaking your head no while fear takes over – rot in your chest. He catches your chin again, forcing you to look at him like before.

“Open,” he repeats, slower. His voice reverberates like a gong between your ears.

Your mouth opens on its own accord and the smell of his blood becomes the most alluring scent you’ve had pass your nose in years. You latch on to the laceration, swallowing and sucking deeply on the wound while his blood and body quench and feed you better than any meal you think you’ve ever had. You feel revived as you devour him, eyes fluttering closed while the fill feels never enough.

“That’s it, keep goin’,” he encourages under his breath, “Won’t have to keep asking you to do things twice once this is all over with.”

You break away to breathe, gasping like you’re coming up for air, drowning in him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ll be just like me, sweetheart,” he says, chuckling when you eagerly lean forward to drink him again, “After a night of some deeply insurmountable pain; and then nothing. Just mine. Undead and mine.”

“But y–you said you were – I’m –” your brows knit in confusion, “You didn’t h-have to d-do this; whatever you um – whatever you bred me with will die if you do this.”

“Oh, no, no,” he laughs evilly, “I didn’t breed you quite yet.”

He pulls his arm away, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb roughly.

“Consider what we did a, uh…hmm,” he takes a second to think about it with a hum, shrugging cheekily, “A soul bonding experience.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spit.

“I’m delicious,” he corrects, smearing his blood from your chin to your cheek, “If you do say so yourself.”

He gets up again, pulling the covers out from under you to tuck you in. The chill getting to you in a way it never gets to him; you might as well be warm while you turn into actualized death.

“I can hear you, remember?” he asks, tapping your head, “You won’t be totally alone with me. There’s…shit there are plenty just like us.”

“Like Steve,” you pipe up groggily.

“More than just goodie two-shoes Harrington,” he groans, “God, do you ever shut up about him?”

You sniffle in response.

“I mean this place, this – dimension,” he says, “It’s more than just Hawkins, and there are so many more like us; even up there.”

He points upwards with a sharp nailed finger, “All around.”

“And now that you’ll be just like me,” he smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you in the crook of you waist, “There’ll be all the time in the world to breed you.”

Your vision blurs, either from tears or from another fade, you aren’t sure. You can feel a slow burn through your veins, a rush of blood. You whimper.

“So it begins,” he smirks, running the tip of his finger over your nose bridge.

“Oh!” he says, eyes bulging, “Before I forget, and before I lose you – because you’ll be such a pretty blank slate when you come to – I felt like I should be honest.”

He gestures dramatically, a maniacal grin pushing his cheeks up to his eyes while they spark, “Again with my manners, it was so rude of me to introduce myself to Pete’s grave at the cemetery. We’ve met before! Can’t believe I had almost forgotten.”

Ice in your body fights the burning in your veins, you gag, bile coming up to singe your throat.

“And y’know, I didn’t mean to drop him in the quarry when I was done with him,” he says with a scrunch of his nose, like he accidentally wrote the wrong tip on a restaurant check, “Really, my mistake, but Christ did he hit every piece of limestone on the way down.”

He lets out a hearty laugh while he remembers it, your brother's body bouncing off rocks and metal before slipping under the water. You swallow your sick only or it to rise back up with a vengeance, staining your skin red while it seeps out of the corner of your mouth. You tug on the ropes in retaliation, hot angry tears stinging your eyes.

“All that fallin’ did a number on him – which is good because it really took the heat of anyone knowing it was me. I just wasn't as clean about it back then. Much better now though,” he nods, finishing with a superior and charming look like he just told a bedtime story.

He leans forward close to your face while your vision pulses in fuzzy black, browning out while he looks down at you.

“And I’ll tell you something, babe…”

Fading, fading, fading.

“He tasted divine.”

masterlist | fall frenzy | ko-fi

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #kas!eddie #kas!eddie munson #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #tw: dubcon #tw: dub-con #dark!eddie #dark!eddie munson

2K notes · View notes

okay-babe · 7 months

Note

Saw your Alastor request game and HAD to give it a try

A wholesome “ZIP ME”. Alastor helping with getting ready for the day or assist and just shows appreciation 🥰🥰🥰🥰

In love with you for requesting this prompt because I am in such a fluff writing mood rn <3

(Also for my anons who also requested this prompt, I still plan to write something for those as well, so they should be out before too long!)

Morning Routine

tags: alastor x fem! reader, established relationship, extreme levels of fluff, domestic bliss, soft alastor

Throughout your life (and death) you had woken up to many a nice view, from the rivers and lush wetlands of Louisiana to the sight of the city hundreds of feet below you.

And yet, none compared to the view of your beloved when he was half-ready for his day, which was typically the stage at which he woke you from your always deep and well needed slumber.

And today was no different.

Alastor hummed a distantly familiar tune from behind your still sleeping form as he slid in beside you on the bed you shared, body resting atop the covers as he leaned forward to press a kiss behind your ear. In response, you shifted slightly, nose scrunching the smallest bit as your lover's breaths tickled the soft flesh he had so very recently offered his affections to.

Alastor chuckled slightly under his breath at the sight, raising a gloved hand up to the exposed portion of your upper arm to run a feather-light touch down its length, immediately causing you to shiver.

After a few more moments of tickling breaths and nearly fleeting touches, your breathing pattern shifted slightly, eyes blinking open and squinting at the sudden invasion of light that was always there to greet you each morning.

Groaning softly, you were quick to close your eyelids once more, brow furrowed with displeasure at your wakefulness as the Radio Demon laughed beside you.

"Why good morning, dearest, how lovely to see you!"

He teased exuberantly as you huffed in reply, just barely opening your eyes enough to make it obvious that you were glaring at him before closing them once more to yawn.

"Ah ah ah,"

Your lover tutted from beside you, his grin wide and immensely amused as he continued,

"I'm afraid the time for rest is over, my dear. No more exhaustion allowed."

You scoffed in response, only just barely fighting off the urge to flip him off as you sat up slightly, tugging your knees toward your chest and blinking your blurred vision away to the sound of barely moving water and a whispered breeze that always seemed to flow through the far less inhabitable side of the room you and your husband slept in.

Satisfied with your vague efforts to get up for the day, Alastor hummed in contentment, standing just as he always did after waking you so he could continue his typical routine, allowing your hungry eyes to follow him eagerly.

It was like this every morning, and you'd be a fool to believe he didn't know and find some semblance of amusement within it, but even still you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You gained far too much enjoyment from watching your love's lithe and nimble fingers do up the buttons of his shirt and tie the fabric of his bow tie to feel any shame over it.

Or, at least, enough shame to make you stop.

You continued your enraptured staring for several more minutes, eyes trained heavily on the view of the overlord rolling up his sleeves and sliding his belt through the loops of his dress slacks as if he were a modern art exhibit designed to utterly enthrall you.

Your gawking continued all the way up until Alastor turned back toward where you were sitting upon the bed, his head tilted slightly in mock curiosity as he began to approach you once more, donning all but his coat, a sight which made you blush in spite of yourself.

Sure, you had known the demon for an extremely long time and had seen him in far more compromising and promiscuous positions and outfits than this, but still. There was just something about the sight of him, dress shirt sleeves rolled up over his elbows and svelte torso and legs so clearly in view, that made your heart rate quicken inside your chest.

"You're going to be late, you know."

Alastor all but crooned suddenly, snapping you out of your reverie with a few quick blinks and an awkward clear of your throat.

"Huh?"

You asked, sitting up slightly further as your lover began to leisurely unfold the clothing he'd laid out for you at the foot of the bed earlier that morning, no doubt all too aware of how slow you were prone to waking up and hoping to save some time.

The overlord chuckled, a subtle shake of his head highlighting his amusement as he looked in your direction once more, red eyes lingering in a manner that reminded you of just how tremendously the being standing at the end of the bed adored you.

He regarded you with a gentle and exasperated fondness as he replied,

"The reopening is today, dear heart."

He purred, grin as wide as ever as he approached further, extending his hand outward and helping to maneuver you so your legs were hanging off the side of the bed, ignoring the sudden panic in your expression brought on by his words and quickly silencing it before it could be vocalized with a quick press of his lips to yours.

He pulled away slowly afterward, index finger curling beneath your chin and lifting it to ensure you were looking him in the eye,

"And whatever would we do without our darling front desk receptionist there to woo our guests on sight?"

His tone was teasing now, lilting and oh-so amused as he took both of your hands in his and slowly pulled you upward and onto your feet, humming that same distantly familiar tune from earlier all the while.

"Not to worry though."

Alastor continued with a mocking tap of his index finger against the tip of your nose,

"With my help you'll be up and ready with time to spare."

He winked at that, instantly causing you to roll your eyes before knowingly bringing your arms up above your head, causing your love's grin to widen further at your immediate understanding of what was to come.

"Well look at you!"

He cried with feigned surprise and delight as he grasped gently at the hem of your sleep shirt, tugging it upward and over your head with a flourish before he knelt down before you and pulled your underwear downward just the same, his eyes never once leaving yours as he did so.

"You're becoming a regular pro at this, darling."

You scoffed a bit at that, though your lack of exasperation was made clear by the lifted corners of your mouth, never quite able to lay flat with your Alastor around.

Humming a different tune now, the sinner reached behind you on the bed to grasp at a new pair of undergarments for you, holding them open to make them easy to step into before pulling them up and rising with them, laying the fabric flat upon your hips before moving to help you with your bra.

Far too used to this process by now, you simply sighed and let your lover do as he would, your still tired body leaning into his every touch as he ran skilled fingertips up and down your spine and pressed them dexterously into the tense muscles of your shoulders until he felt you were sufficiently relaxed beneath his hands.

Once that was finished, he was quick to have you sit upon the bed, long fingers grabbing at your stockings and garters and bunching them up expertly before sliding them onto your feet and up your soft legs and thighs with ease, though he was notably slower with this task than he'd been with the previous two, taking his time to admire you and allowing his hands to feel your skin before covering it with the fabric in his grasp.

When he was finally satisfied with the state of your stockings, Alastor leaned back slightly, taking in the sight of you with a pleased smile and an ever adoring look in his eye before he placed twin kisses against the skin just above where your garters held your stockings into place, as if in farewell.

It was then and only then, with his desires to admire you satisfied (at least in part) that your beloved grabbed your work attire from the bed. It was something he had chosen for you himself when considering the concept of uniforms, a sweet yet professional looking black dress that you knew from having tried it on a few days prior fit you perfectly, (no doubt because your lover had long since memorized your measurements and given them to the tailor himself).

Pooling the rich fabric at your feet, Alastor looked up at you expectantly, and immediately, you stepped into the middle of it, allowing him to once more pull another garment up your body, rising with it as he had previously with your underwear until your arms were in the sleeves and all there was left to do was zip up the back.

Feeling the cool breeze upon your spine, you shivered slightly, the difference in temperatures striking.

"Al,"

You murmured, adjusting your hair to ensure it wouldn't get in the way of what came next,

"Would you mind?"

Immediately, the overlord was nodding in almost enthusiastic agreement, motioning for you to turn around for him to provide access to the still unzipped portion of your dress.

"Why of course not, dear heart. Let me see."

Blushing at the nickname in spite of it having seen years of persistent use, you did as you were told, turning 180 degrees until you were facing away from your lover, back bared to him so his deft fingers could easily find the gold trimmed zipper there.

Grasping onto the metal between his thumb and forefinger, the demon slowly began to tug it upward with a notable level of patience, his opposite hand moving to your shoulder to push at some of the fabric there until he'd created a patch of bare flesh to press a few soft kisses to, his teeth nipping at you ever so gently from time to time just to make you jump in surprise at the unexpected sensation.

This continued for a few quiet and very much appreciated moments until finally, the overlord moved away with a dramatized sigh, pulling the black fabric of your sleeve back over your shoulder before he finished zipping your dress up the rest of the way.

Hearing your darling take a step back from where he'd been standing just behind you, you were quick to turn around to face him, your smile growing brighter when you saw the immediate fondness and adoration in his eyes, that thinly veiled softness he reserved solely for you so very apparent that it made your heart lurch happily inside of your chest.

"What do you think, Al, am I presentable?"

You asked lightheartedly, giving him a slow spin as if wanting to make sure he saw every possible angle.

Alastor all but scoffed in response, though his eyes betrayed his affections far too obviously, making it easy to tell just how much he was enjoying your slightly slower morning together.

"Don't be silly darling, you're always the belle of the ball."

He teased, reaching out to take one of your hands in his eyes as he spoke, using it to tug you closer until you were nearly chest to chest with him, eyes widened in surprise.

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, warm, loving, and slow, before he finally pulled away with a sigh, expression contented and smile exceedingly genuine.

"Come on then, dear."

He said after a moment of silence, stepping away once more to guide you toward the bathroom attached to the room the two of you slept in,

"Let's finish getting you ready before Charlotte sends poor Vagatha after us for being so late."

#alastor x reader #alastor imagine #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #.writes #requests #alastor fluff #alastor x reader fluff

909 notes · View notes

saturnneedsspace · 1 month

Text

After Cas confesses his love, but before he pushes Dean away, he pulls something out from his trench coat and slips it into Dean's pocket. Cas pushes him down and gets taken by the Empty, followed by Billie, leaving Dean alone on the bunker floor. As he cries, he feels something push into his chest, so he reaches his hand into his flannel pocket and pulls out the mixtape. The one he had given Cas as a gift and a secret sort of love confession of his own, thinking Cas wouldn't understand it. But as he stared down at the tape over top that read 'Dean's top 13 Zeppelin traxx', he knew that Cas understood. And he feels his heart break even more. Cas knew. Cas knew how he felt, yet he never said anything until it was too late. They were both too stupid to understand and just tell each other.

As Dean held the mixtape firmly in his hands, shoulders shaking with his sobs, he noticed that something felt off about it. The texture was different. He would know. He had flipped the cassette over and over and over in his hands before giving it to Cas, trying to decide on what to say to the angel.

Dean used his sleeve to wipe the blurriness from his eyes so he could see what was wrong with it. It still took a few seconds to adjust, and when he saw the large crack down the center of the tape, he gasped and brought it closer to his face. More tears spilled down his face. Cas' last move was to give this back to him, to show him that he understood their love and reassured Dean that, though he never said it, he knew how much he had meant to him. And Dean had broken it. The last thing Cas had ever given him besides the bloody handprint forever imprinted on his coat.

But as Dean's hands held on, finergrtips rubbing over the surface again and again, desperate to feel some kind of comfort in his hopeless situation, he noticed something attached to the back of it. He sniffled, wiped his eyes again, and flipped it over. On the backside, there was a piece of paper taped there with his name written on it. He quickly ripped it off, causing the cassette to re-split in half, obvious that the piece of tape being all that held it together, and opened the note.

Hello, Dean.

I just wanted to write you this before I give back your tape and apologize for breaking it. I'm really really sorry. I know I'm not super good at apologies, but writing makes it a lot easier, so I'm writing it for you. I hope you'll forgive me. I didn't mean to break it. I know you spent a lot of time picking the songs specifically for me because you knew I'd like them, though I had trouble understanding some of the parts. I'll never understand why humans love music so much. It's so much noise and there's so much going on, but I know it's important to you, so I will learn to like it. I'm very sorry for breaking it. I don't ever take it out of my trench coat, just in case I need to listen to it during an emergency, and I fell onto it. :( Please forgive me, Dean. I'm very sorry.

As Dean read, he watched tear drops stain the paper. He laughed a little as he continued to cry, noting how the letter was the most characteristic Cas letter he could think of. And he was happy. So happy that he didn't break it himself. It was already broken.

Cas knew how much the weight of handing over a mixtape was, especially a Zeppelin one for Dean, and he acknowledged it. Dean squeezed the letter to his chest as he leaned back against the wall and continued to cry silently.

#this was supposed to be a really short headcanon then it got a little out of hand #anyways #im so ill for them #and i wanna turn this into a one shot eventually #dont know when #but i will #trust #supernatural #spn #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #dean x castiel #castiel novak #castiel supernatural #destiel headcanon #saturn rambles #destiel ficlet

283 notes · View notes

queerfables · 11 months

Text

Why all the crowd scenes look the same, aka: Something is WRONG in Soho

I'm not even gonna tease and draw this out because it's so cool it doesn't need the fanfare. Ready?

Season 2 takes place over the course of 5 days. During that time, most of the passersby in Soho - maybe even all of them - stay exactly the same. It's the same people every day, wearing the exact same clothes, and they wander through the neighbourhood in paths that don't make any sense. You won't be able to unsee it. I can't believe it's taken us this long to realise.

Don't believe me? Rewatch the scene from 2x03, I Know Where I'm Going where Shax confronts Crowley outside the bookshop, appearing in a series of different guises. Pay attention to the people going past.

I've marked out five people you see on screen when Crowley first exits the bookshop at 39:37:

Numbers 1, 2 and 3 are following the path right. Number 4 follows the path left. Number 5 crosses the road.

Here the five people are again, at 40:19, when Crowley goes to return to the bookshop:

Number 5 is still visible in the distance, in the direction she walked in. This makes sense! But numbers 1, 2, 3 and 4 are rounding the same corner they just passed. It's as though 1, 2 and 3 all decided to turn and head back the way they came just 40 seconds ago, and number 4 has circled the block to join them.

This on its own would be super weird, but they're not the only people to do that in this scene. The man in the purple sweater from the first picture crosses the road, then appears back next to the bookshop, then starts walking back the way he came again.

Here's the part that made me absolutely certain, though. At 40:05, a man wearing an orange hoodie with blue sleeves walks past Crowley, who is heading towards the bookshop entrance.

The camera cuts to a view from behind Crowley, and a moment later, at 40:08...

He reappears in front of Crowley and walks past him again.

It's such a distinctive outfit, there's no mistaking it. They are absolutely fucking with the background characters and they are absolutely doing it on purpose.

Your turn. There are at least three other characters in this scene who pass by multiple times. Watch it again and try to spot them.

This scene is really chaotic and obvious, but the phenomena I'm talking about is much bigger than just one scene. Let's go back to the first thing I said: the background characters don't change. All our leads do. Maggie and Nina wear distinctive outfits, clearly demarcating each new day. Even Crowley and Aziraphale, who in season 1 were like cartoon characters with wardrobes full of identical clothing, vary their looks. Crowley changes his (very subtly) each day; Aziraphale is less rigid on timing, but he has a few different coats that he switches between. The background characters, on the other hand, wear the same outfits every single day. They walk by on the street but they never actually seem to have a destination. They sit in the coffee shop or pub and don't eat or drink anything, and nearly everyone leaves together exactly on closing time. It's eerie.

For reference's sake, here's a rough timeline of season 2, with pictures of Maggie and Nina's outfits to show the passing of time. I had to outsource this section because my post was too image heavy, lol. The main point I wanted to make is that five days go by.

Five days, and all the same faces keep showing up in the background, and almost none of them change their clothes. I'm not entirely sure what it means, but there's no way it's an accident. It might, in fact, be a game changer. To me this is proof positive that something is not as it seems. I've been a massive Clue skeptic, adamant that I'd only be convinced by the most unambiguous evidence, and honestly? This is enough to move the dials. It's too big for me to ignore. Whatever grand explanation of Good Omens we come up with has to account for this. I don't have it yet, but my current working theories are that Crowley and Aziraphale are under some seriously heavy surveillance, that time warping is involved, or that reality itself is not what it seems.

It would take a really long time for me to go through all of the background characters who turn up over and over but I do want to show you what I'm talking about. To wrap up, then, I'm going to pick out some memorable characters and walk you through a few of their appearances through the week. I highly recommend looking out for this yourself on your next rewatch and seeing how many other characters you can recognise.

Yellow Skirt

The first person I kept coming back to as being not quite right. You probably remember her from the first episode - she's the one who waves and walks past Maggie and Nina the night they're locked in together. Incidentally, she's also Person Number 3 in the scene with Shax.

Day 1 (2x01 - 36:20):

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:03)

Day 3 (2x03 - 06:36)

Day 5 (2x06 - 30:00)

Coolest Leather Jacket In The World

It's not so easy to recognise people wearing lots of nondescript dark colours, but I love his hair and his jacket, so he stood out to me. I think there might be a lot more people who are wearing fairly nondescript clothes who I just can't recognise from episode to episode.

Day 2 (2x02 - 16:44)

Day 4 (2x04 - 41:20)

Day 5 (2x06 - 29:20)

Dressed In Mustard

Ms Mustard shows up everywhere. If you want to see what I mean about their paths not making sense, pay attention when she comes on screen, because she'll often show up a few times in succession and walk very purposefully to nowhere in particular. The thing that she is doing, essentially, is behaving like an extra in a tv show. Which of course she is, but you're supposed to make that invisible by not having the same person go back and forth in the same scene, or changing up their outfit each in-universe day to give the sense time is passing. Not doing that is a really deliberate choice.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:37)

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:03)

Day 3 (2x03 - 01:49)

Day 3 (2x03 - 37:07)

Day 5 (2x06 - 29:59)

Swishy Dress

This character shows up a lot in the first episode. I've struggled to find her in later episodes, though. None of the characters seem to follow the same patterns or show up to equal extents each day, which makes me think this isn't a straightforward time loop. I haven't actually cross referenced character appearances to in world times, though. Possibly this is a project for someone who's more across the time-related shenanigans than me.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:43)

Day 3 (2x03 - 07:01)

Yellow Vest

I've only seen this guy a handful of times, always around the French restaurant. I wonder if there's significance to that.

Day 2 (2x02 - 41:06)

Day 4 (2x05 - 12:49)

Fuzzy Blue Coat

Another background character who shows up frequently. The blue doesn't stand out quite as much as the yellows and reds some characters wear, but it's very distinctive.

While we're getting a lot of shots of the street, it's worth noting that I'm pretty sure the vehicles we see are also just the same few cars repeating each day. A lot of them are in neutral silvers and monochrome, but there's a couple of blue cars, one red, and one black and white that I'm fairly sure I've seen over and over through the season.

Day 1 (2x01 - 22:45)

Day 2 (2x02 - 42:04)

Day 3 (2x03 - 02:00)

Day 5 (2x06 - 40:10)

Day 5 (2x06 - 48:56)

Day 5 (2x06 - 50:06)

One final note: Whatever this is, Nina's employee who you see in the background at the coffeeshop sometimes isn't affected by it. He's wearing different outfits each day. On the other hand, some of the other shopkeepers do seem affected. I'm fairly sure Mr Brown and Mrs Sandwich wear the same outfits a few different days, only changing because of Aziraphale at the ball.

And that's it! Thanks for reading and I hope your mind is blown as much as mine is.

EDIT:

Hey I don't mind anyone pointing out production reasons that this might be the case or disagreeing with my analysis (over-analysis, some might say 😉). Please be kind about it, though. I'm not ignorant of the practical limitations involved in film making, but some of these costumes were really distinctive in a way I thought might be intended to draw attention.

For those of you who do find this theory convincing, I feel I should mention that I was working under the assumption that this stuff would have taken a few days to film, even filming it all together. That would strongly suggest that the actors were deliberately costumed the exact same way over multiple days of shooting, which made me think it had to be purposeful. @coranax was kind enough to point out, though, that behind the scenes videos said the extras were filmed separately to the main actors because of Covid protocols. In that case, they could have done it in just one day and that weakens my confidence in its intentionality.

Finally, all of my points about the scene with Shax in 2x03 stand. That was not a case of accidental continuity errors, it was really elegantly choreographed to enhance the tension in the scene. I say that with confidence because the extras are doing exactly what Shax is doing: circling Crowley, appearing where he doesn't expect them, creating a whirlwind sense of being off balance and out of control. I think it's really cool and effective, whether there's a deeper meaning to it or not.

#good omens #good omens meta #fable talks good omens

744 notes · View notes

bunnyboysrus · 8 months

Text

Of Monsters and Omegas

I read this a/b/o thing a while ago, I don't even know who the original was by I can't find it again y-y

but it had a thing I'd never seen in a/b/o before, with an idea of an alpha, claim biting another alpha and turning them into an omega (talked to a friend and it turns out this is a thing that has been written about more than once, im just out of touch and its not even friday) and it was an amazing story, super well written, I just personally didn't like the ending cause I'm the #1 advocate for brat readers and not the biggest fan of crybabies or the total pheromone brainwashing that people write for omegas that make them do the complete opposite of what they would normally do, I'd like to think they have more resistance to the chemicals than that albeit at the cost of some physical and psychological pain. so im writing my own, thingy, with a different ending.

18+ Minors DNI - 6.3k words Content Warnings: stalking, obsession, death, fighting, violence, blood, torture(?), kidnapping, noncon touching, suggestive, gangs, some degradation, reader is referred to as 'princess' gender neutrally (im new to this so if theres anything i forgot pls let me know)

The heavy sounds of flesh hitting flesh echoed against the stone walls of the alleyway concealing the battered figures of the people fighting within it. One person lay dazed and immobile on the ground already, followed shortly by a second body, this one out cold before he even hit the ground. The last two fighters standing were locked in a desperate grapple, and despite having been beset upon by three assholes at once, the would-be victim who had been pulled into the alley on their way home from a long day of college classes gains the upper hand for the third and final time. Your muscles burn as you grunt and send the last assailant flying into the hard brick wall, one final crack ringing through the tight, dark space as they slide down the wall onto the dirty ground, right into an unfortunately placed puddle of dumpster juice. They leave a splatter of blood on the stone where the back of their head split on the stained grit.

Blood drips from the knuckles of the hand you run through the sweaty hair slicked to your forehead as you stoop and pick up your backpack from where it had been tossed to the side. You spot a wallet on the ground, knocked out of someone's pocket at some point during the fight, and pocket the cash from that too, for the inconvenience. These scumbags were lucky they weren't dead, yet, anyway. For this? They'd probably be killed within the week once you gave their ID's to your older sister.

You continue on your way back home, wiping the blood off your knuckles and face with the sleeve of your coat as you go.

Why those grunts had seemingly staked you out was beyond you, other than the obvious reason of being a member of their gang's most vicious and historied rival. Your family was a notorious one, a family business dealing mostly in drugs but with a few spare hands in money laundering and data gathering. You were fully aware that what your family did was illegal in a dozen different ways, but it was what you had grown up in, it was what paid for your lavish lifestyle, so who were you to be judgmental? Besides, to compromise within a morally gray area, you know your family prefers to keep things as bloodless as possible, less clean up and attention that way. As a fresh adult who was only in your second year of college however, you were ignorant to most of those details, and chose to be so. You understood why your family didn't want to involve you just yet, and you didn't care to dig into it, the longer you could go with less responsibilities, the better. So, for now, you were content to stay in the dark and live your carefree, well-funded life.

Of course, that didn't mean you were naive or anything. You know very well that you were in constant danger of being attacked or killed, even as you lived a perfectly normal college life. So, as any self-respecting alpha would, you worked out intensely and routinely, to the point of being intimidating even to other alphas. Running into a few punks here and there was nothing to you, even when they came in groups like they had today.

The remaining smears of blood on your knuckles have dried into a crust by the time you get home. Once you've kicked off your shoes at the door, you hide the gory evidence of your altercation in your coat pockets as you step into the living room of your family's manor. Your sisters, Nina, the youngest, and Esme, older than you but younger than your brothers, Leon and Silas, are sitting on the couch closest to the TV, a drama of some sort playing as they shared a bowl of strawberries. Nina beams at you from the couch.

"Hey! How was your day?"

Nina was still in high school, which in your opinion was way worse than college, so the fact that she still had the spunk and energy to greet you so enthusiastically warmed your heart. You smile back at her as you head for the stairs.

"It was pretty good, I finally finished that project so now I don't have to stay late at the library anymore."

"That's great! That means you'll be home early enough to watch Cats of Heaven with me!"

"I should have enough time for that, sure." You chuckle. You had no clue what that was, but if you had to guess, knowing your sister it was the newest silly cartoon that she had become infatuated with. At least she wasn't trying to get you to watch the insufferable dramas that she liked to watch with Leon and Esme, like what was on now, but you would never admit to your siblings how corny you thought those kinds of shows were. You could only hope Cats of Heaven was something more entertaining than the standard soap operas you'd observed.

"There's pizza in the kitchen." Esme calls to you as you start up the stairs.

Ah, so Leon isn't home yet. The oldest of your siblings was the one who normally cooked, more often than even your mother. You call back an acknowledgement before jogging up the stairs to your room. After cleaning yourself of the day's grime, and the blood of course, you change clothes and trot back downstairs, heading for the kitchen to obtain some of the aforementioned pizza. Getting past the group project you'd been working on for the past three months meant more free time after school for the immediate future, and you were all too keen to relax with your family, even if it meant slogging through a show that was potentially horrendous.

You pad back into the living room, already halfway through one of the five slices of cheesy divinity on your plate. You were just sitting down between Esme and Nina when the sound of keys in the front foyer made you all perk up.

"I thought they weren't coming back for another few days?" Esme voices the question on all of your minds, 'they' being your parents and oldest brother, who had left on a business trip a little under a week ago.

"Maybe they finished work early and wanted it to be a surprise." Nina suggests happily, as the sound of footsteps in the hallway grows closer. You're hit with a sudden wave of apprehension at the same time as Esme, both of you standing abruptly to move in front of your youngest sister as a crowd of strangers step into the room with shameless casualness. Leading them, is an imposing alpha man with ink black hair tied at the nape of his neck and burning red eyes so piercing it almost made you shiver to be caught in their gaze. Almost.

The only thing that overpowered the rising fear was anger.

You sprint directly for the leader, arm pulled back for a haymaker, but some beta grunt gets in your way and takes the blow. It's clear from the confidence with which he steps in that he was unprepared for the force behind the fist, and ends up on his face on the floor, dead to the world. The first swing immediately spurs the others into action, and they surge around their leader to subdue you. It turns out to be a much harder endeavor than any of them anticipate, even when one lackey throws themself onto your back to weigh down your movement, you move as though the weight wasn't there at all, ramming backwards and crushing the brave idiot and one other against the wall. You're about to make another lunge for the leader, who has so far been lounging in an insufferably smug manner against the wall, watching the fight but not bothering to get involved, when you hear a shrill scream behind you that stops you cold.

You turn back to see Nina trapped in the arms of a muscly thug, and Esme thrashing on the ground at her feet, held down by two others. Your rage surges and you move to attack their captors, but the momentary distraction caused by your little sister's distress is all the time that's needed for three more men to jump on you and drag you to the ground. It takes 5 people altogether to hold you down as you curse and struggle against their hold trying to reach your sisters.

The leader of the home invasion chuckles condescendingly as he finally moves from his spot against the wall and walks closer, kneeling down by your face, a tight smile on his face that holds no amusement.

"You're just as feisty as ever, second youngest. I've heard all about your track record in fights, your unbroken win streak was so intimidating that I thought for sure it'd take more than that to subdue you. I'm a little disappointed."

"Fuck you!!!" It's all you can manage to spit out amongst your fury and exhaustion; normally you'd be able to throw off even five people, at least enough to get an arm free to strike out, but you were already worn out from your earlier fight. That, and a literal glob of spit that lands splat dab against the side of the assault leader's nose; damn, so close to hitting him in the eye.

The room goes cold and still, the thugs surrounding you and your siblings seem to take in a collective breath of anxiety, looking nervously to their leader for his reaction. To their surprise, he simply stares down intensely at the struggling alpha on the floor as he wipes the spit off his cheek... and licks it off his thumb.

"Oh, are you sure that's smart? You might not care about your own compromised position... but you care about theirs, right?" He glances over to the men holding down your sisters and in response to an unspoken signal, they draw knives and hold them menacingly against their throats. Esme growls furiously, but Nina screams again in fear as tears pour down her cheeks.

"Stop! Stop it, don't terrorize them! You're here for me, right?! Then just take me outside and beat me to death if that's what you want but leave them alone!!!" You still sound enraged, but even you are aware of the fear that leaks into your voice.

"Aww, worried for your sisters? Me too." The faux amusement in the alpha leader's voice is gone now, replaced with a cold fury chilling enough to send a zing of worry into your spine. The leader grabs a fistful of your hair in a painfully tight grip as he pulls your head up, his other hand spinning a set of keys around his finger. Your blood runs cold when you zero in on the plastic pink dolphin hanging on the ring.

Those are your mother's keys.

"You seem to think I'm here because you put a few grunts into the hospital. You're mistaken." The alpha tilts his head as his eyes pierce into yours, searching, but for what, you don't know. "You aren't aware of what your brother's been up to, are you?"

"You'll have to be more specific; I have two." You huff, trying not to stare too obviously at the dolphin, trying desperately not to think of what it might mean of your mother's fate for this asshole to be holding those keys.

"Silas." The alpha says icily, speaking the name like a curse.

Warily, you shake your head, the clawed grip on your head barely allowing the movement. "No, I'm not aware of anything my brothers and parents are involved in."

"That's unfortunate... But I'm already aware of that. It's cute, honestly, did they think leaving you out of the loop would keep you safe and uninvolved?" He gives your hair a sharp tug, eliciting a hiss from the fuming alpha. "All it did was make you the perfect tool for revenge."

"What the fuck are you even talking about you piece of shi-" The leader slams your face into the ground, and although the floor is carpeted, it only buffers the brunt force so much. When the leader lifts your head back up, your nose is dripping blood.

"I'm talking now. Unless you want me to kill your sisters in front of you, you'll shut the fuck up and listen like a good little bitch."

A growl rumbles through you which is met with another face first kiss into the floor, but the alpha doesn't signal anything to the thugs holding your sisters.

"Listen well, as I won't repeat myself. Silas kidnapped my sister, and I can only assume he claimed her. That, or he killed her, but I doubt it. Your mother was helping him to keep them both hidden, and to her credit she refused to sell him out, no matter how much we hurt her." The spinning of the keys stops abruptly as the leader catches them in his palm before dangling them in front of you. "I guess she didn't stop to think about what that choice might mean for her other children, left so innocent and unaware at home, alone. Maybe she had a favorite?"

Your blood runs cold as you take in the intruder's words. You had never been particularly close with Silas, hell, none of your siblings were. He had always been very distant with his siblings, while the rest of you went on to be incredibly close with one another, leaving Silas as the odd one out. That wasn't to say you hadn't all at some point tried to get closer with him, he had simply always made it clear he had no interest. This was probably also fueled by the coddling you had all observed from your mother; Silas had always been her golden boy, incapable of wrongdoing.

"I had no idea... None of us did." You can only hope the sincerity is clear in your voice and face; you genuinely had no idea your brother had done such a thing or was even capable of doing such. If the kidnapping was fueled by anything other than the feud between your families... The thought made you sick.

The leader considers your words, his chilling gaze never wavering in the slightest from yours.

"I believe you. From what I gather, based on what we were able to discern from the phone we took from your mother, she and he were the only ones in on it."

Your relief is short lived when a cruel, mirthless smirk creeps over the leader's face. There's a sudden sting in the side of your neck, you barely have time to register the pinch of pain before darkness rushes into your vision from all sides.

"However... That doesn't alleviate you of the consequences."

A sudden splash of cold drags you unwillingly out of the darkness. You open your eyes, gasping, taking in the dirty, gray stone, the puddle surrounding you; you're no longer in your living room. You now find yourself somewhere dark and cemented on all sides, the cold dampness pervading the space the kind that only comes from being underground. The only illumination comes from a single bare bulb swinging on a frayed wire over your head, the light it casts only making the space feel more unnerving.

Looming over you, face cast eerily in the darkness clumping up around the edges of the bulb's dingy light, is the leader of the home invasion. His red eyes are black in the shadow, but still alight with something cruel and mocking. He has a bucket in his hand, empty save for the last few drops of water clinging to the lip, the rest of it covering you.

"Good morning, princess. Sleep well?"

It's just the two of you, alone. No guards, no thugs, no sign of your sisters. You process this information a split second before you register the weight clamped down around your arms and waist, metal rattling loudly through the small space when you try to lunge for him, only to be stopped short by a chain attached to the wall behind you. You twist your arms violently, feeling the bite of handcuffs digging into your wrists, chains pulling taught where they're wrapped around your waist. Your captor laughs at your efforts.

It's when you growl in response to the taunting laughter that you feel more metal on your face. A muzzle. You can't suppress the fury thrashing around in your chest like a wild animal, growing more and more violent the more humiliation is piled on. The abduction, the laughter, the restraints, the muzzle. You kick and pull and yank and spit and snarl, don't stop even when the metal bites and blood makes your skin slippery against the cuffs.

"Aww, throwing a tantrum now? Cute." The words are barely enough warning before you're shoved onto your back, arms grinding painfully between the restrains and the dirty floor.

Your captor straddles you, his weight keeping your body pressed flat to the ground while one hand settles into the curve of your throat and squeezes. His palm presses lightly into your airway at the same time that his thumb rubs slow, pensive circles in the dip between your neck and collar. You shiver apprehensively when it brushes over the scent gland in your neck.

"I already told you I don't know where your sister is. Fucking kill me already so you can get even, just don't hurt my sisters. They're not involved!"

"Second time you've asked me to kill you... you seem quite keen on it." He smirks. "Unfortunately, you're all involved by virtue of simply being a part of that family. I know none of you are stupid enough to be completely ignorant to your family's doings."

Another growl bubbles up in your throat, only to be choked into silence when your captor tightens his grip around your neck.

"You know, I've thought for a while now that the older you've gotten, the less happy you've looked. The worst time, was right after your high school graduation, it was like the last of your light had left your eyes." His smile softens into something pitying, bordering on sympathetic even, but all you feel is chills running up and down your spine. "You always used to be so carefree, and spirited, it was crushing to see you looking so worn down and sad. It took me a while to realize what was killing the happy you I love so much."

The hands around your neck loosen as the leader leans down, hips shifting against your crotch as he moves, completely unbothered by the water soaking into his pants. He brings his face to your ear, lips grazing against the shell of it.

"Don't you think trying so hard to posture around like a big tough alpha is exhausting? I know it is, I know intimately the sort of shit we go through to come out on top as the strongest, the worthiest... But that struggle never suited you, did it? You've always seemed too sweet for it to me, more like an omega than an alpha."

You can't help but take the opportunity to thrust your head forward and slam it into your captor's face, forcing him back into his upright position. Ignoring the stalker shit this guy was just babbling was difficult, but you decided to skip it for now since honestly you didn't really wanna hear the details...

"You've gotta be shitting me, I've sent hundreds of you losers to the hospital and the grave since I was a middle schooler. If you're seriously trying to compare me to an omega, then I know you're full of it and just trying to piss me off."

He raises an eyebrow, surprisingly not retaliating against the bonk to his head, not yet at least.

"So, what would you call the manicures you get monthly with your sister?"

"I call that self-care and spending time with my sister. Fighting off all your fuckin' grunts wears my hands out and I'm not fond of scars. I deserve a relaxing hand massage for the trouble of beating your thugs up every week."

"And the mall trips where you spend hundreds on clothes which you follow up with a trip to that quaint little bakery where you always get a strawberry cream cake? That doesn't strike you as omega-ish?"

"Go to hell. For one thing, it's insanely creepy that you know all that, and for another, you're stereotyping like a motherfucker. Alphas aren't all meatheads that do nothing but eat raw steak, jerk off and work out, and all omegas aren't valley preps that do nothing but shop and primp. People who think like you are what's wrong with society."

The leader's deep red eyes stare intensely into your face for an eerily long moment before the corners of his lips twitch. At first its imperceptible, and while he clearly fights to keep a straight face, he can't keep down the chuckles bubbling out of his throat for long. He throws his head back in a burst of full body laughter, the least cruel sound he's made since you met him. When he finally manages to calm himself, the leader beams down at you as he wipes a tear out of his eye.

"My god... You're so fucking cute. Do you even hear yourself? You're only proving my point. You're meant to be pampered and taken care of, sheltered and safe from petty street fights and laborious expectations of strength and intimidation. You look so much cuter and happier getting your nails done than you do working out and swaggering around trying to be impressive and domineering."

This conversation had already been creepy since it started, but this was starting to genuinely unnerve you. You try to lean your head further away from the alpha on top of you, but he grabs the front of your muzzle, dragging you closer.

"Don't run away now tough guy. I thought a big bad alpha like you wasn't scared. How's it feel to be the one on bottom? Feeling threatened by the idea of someone putting you in your place? Scared?" He drags his tongue across the thin bars of the muzzle, his breath ghosting over your lips.

"What do you want from me?" You finally manage to ask, despite the tightness in your throat. As much as you expect to dread the answer, you can't stand any more of the back and forth while you wait in suspense for torture, for death, for something. Something other than whatever it is about this whole exchange that is making this guy so rock hard. You're trying to ignore it but, you've been feeling the unmistakable prod of this weirdo's boner against your crotch for almost the whole time you've been speaking.

"Still waiting on me to kill you? Knowing how proud you are, I bet you'd prefer death over what I have planned for you." The freak on top of you chuckles, his voice lowering to a husk as he leans down and nuzzles his nose into the crook between your neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. "You smell so sweet even now, for an alpha...~ You'll smell even better soon."

Before you can ask what the hell he's talking about, you feel a kitten lick against your neck that makes you freeze. It's light at first, but quickly turns into broad strokes of his tongue and open mouth kisses from shoulder to jaw, wet and insistent.

No way. Nowaynowaynowaynoway. Obviously, no one is incapable of being sexually assaulted but it rarely ever happened to alphas, they weren't exactly the cute, easy targets creeps normally went for. It had never even been a passing concern for you up until now.

"Hey! Are you fucking-gh...!" You choke on your words when a sharp sting pulses through your neck. A heartbeat later, a deep and agonizing burning sensation starts to spread through your veins, up into your head where the white-hot burn is so blaring that it clouds your vision with spots, and down into your chest where your heart starts pounding against your ribs like it's trying to claw its way out. You can only gasp soundlessly as pain like you've never experienced rips through you, tearing screams from your lungs that die before they can even leave your throat, coming out only as gasping whimpers. It's after you feel a second bite and the pain is redoubled that you finally manage to shriek out loud, a sound so visceral and so unlike any sound or scream you've ever made that it doesn't even sound like you.

When he bites into your scent gland for a third time, the pressure building behind your eyes from the pain and the lightheadedness of screaming without pause for breath snaps. You can feel yourself losing consciousness again, and this time you couldn't be more grateful for it.

Your return to the waking world is much slower this time. Whereas before you were yanked out of the darkness with a splash of cold water, this time you find yourself wading through it, a lake of sludge thicker than cold syrup, and it was just as sticky and unpleasant as you imagine such a thing would be. Despite what feels like physical pounds of exhaustion weighing them down, you manage to drag your eyes open.

You feel cold and damp all over, a fresh drop of sweat rolling down your neck. A full body ache that sinks deep into your bones covers you; you feel like you're made of glass, fragile, weak and sore.

A strip of dim, greyed light is shining on the ceiling over your head; its all you can focus on as your awareness swims to the surface and clambers out of the heavy lake still trying to drag it down. You shift and lift one of your arms out from under the thick blanket covering you and notice gauze wrapped around your wrist. A small, delicate gasp to your side makes you turn your head. Nina is sitting in a chair by your bedside, clutching your other hand tightly between hers.

"You're awake! Y-You were sleeping so long I thought you'd never..." She sniffles, holding your hand to her cheek as hot tears drip onto your wrist. You slowly turn your hand to press your palm against her cheek, smiling softly.

"It's okay Nina, I'm alive, it's alright." Your voice is barely more than a croak, scratching painfully out of your throat. Nina grabs a cup of water from a bedside table and gently helps you take a few sips. When you've managed to drain the whole cup, you lay back in the bed with a wearied sigh.

"What happened? I thought for sure I was dying, I..." You trail off, thinking back to the odd conversation you'd had with the alpha who had led your home's invasion. Your head is pounding, and you feel so weak, like you're just waking up from the worst part of a flu, still feeling traces of a fever in the heat trapped in your blankets and the sweat clinging to your skin. A growl from the window pulls your attention away from your condition.

"That motherfucker... He did something to you." Esme is leaning against the frame of the large window casting the gray light over the ceiling a few feet away from where you and Nina are sitting, a cigarette crushed in half in her hand. You can't help but be faintly alarmed at the sight of it; Nina had expressly forbidden Esme from smoking, and she hadn't been caught with a cigarette in over a year. To see her with one in front of Nina, and for Nina to not be making any fuss over it, means something is seriously wrong. A distant rumble punctuates the tense silence that falls over you all, and you notice that the slim strip of sky visible through the partially parted curtains over the window is blotted out with storm gray.

"Did what to me?" You press. Your sisters exchange a look that is far too loaded to discern anything from other than Nina's palpable concern and Esme's frustration. You quickly get tired of waiting for one of them to tell you what is going on.

"Will one of you please tell me what is making you both look at me like I've caught some kind of fatal disease?" You huff, anxiety bleeding into your words. Nina glances one more time to Esme, who adamantly refuses to look away from the window as she throws down her ruined cigarette and retrieves a new one.

"You... Er, well you were... claimed. By Emil." Nina says quietly, staring down at her hands in her lap rather than you.

You stare at her blankly. What she's saying makes sense objectively, but you can't make sense of what it could have to do with you. Claiming was something exclusively done between alphas and omegas. You almost want to laugh and call it absurd, when you remember the sharp, burning pain of something piercing your neck. You shiver as you recall that the pain had been sourced in the same area as your scent gland. Your hand slowly, shakily, reaches up to press two probing fingers to your neck. Pain pulses faintly through you again when the tips of your fingers find gauze wrapped around it.

The weakness pervading your entire body, the nervousness underlying all of the other emotions swirling in your gut, the foreign sensation settled in your lower abdomen... Somehow, you know instinctively what it all means before your sister even says it.

"He bitched you. You're an omega now." Esme's voice has dropped to a low, hard to hear octave. You almost want to believe you imagined what you just heard, but you know deep down that what she says is true. The despair must show on your face, as Nina grabs your hand again, squeezing it tightly between both of hers.

"I-It'll be okay...! Emil is actually very nice, and he's genuinely-" She's cut off by the sharp slam of Esme's fist against the wall.

"Bullshit! Don't even start Nina. He bitched you and he expects you to roll over and be happy about it, but I say fuck that!" She snarls, her new cigarette meeting the same fate as its predecessor as she crushes it in her fist and throws it to the ground. "He's gone on and on at us trying to prove that this is all somehow what's best for you, but he just sounds deranged! He's a sick, obsessive freak, and he wants you to-!"

The sound of a door opening stops her short, and all three siblings jerk around to look at the newcomer entering through the door on the far side of the room from the bed. A woman in scrub pants and a sweater glowers down at all three siblings, looking supremely exhausted.

"You two, you were told you would only be allowed in if you didn't cause trouble. Are you distressing the patient right after they wake up?" She asks in a cold, droning voice.

Nina and Esme exchange defeated, worried glances before Nina speaks up.

"N-No ma'am, we weren't trying to be disruptive we were just-"

"Overwhelming someone coming out of a physically taxing ordeal that left them comatose for almost two weeks." She interjects dryly. "Come on, visitation's over, both of you out."

You expect your sisters to argue, to tell her off for expecting them to leave you alone and insist on staying with you, but to your shock your sisters resignedly stand up and head for the door. Once they've both shuffled out, the nurse (?) shuts the door behind them and trudges over to you. You flinch away from her touch, but she grabs you in firm but gentle hands, holding you still as she looks you over.

"I expected you to stay out for a few more days, but you're one tough little cookie. How are you feeling?"

Bewildered but too shell shocked to question, you answer the questions she asks you as she goes about taking your temperature and blood pressure. One impromptu physical later, she steps away from your bed with a satisfied nod.

"Alright, it looks like your recovery is progressing better than expected. You'll probably be up and about like nothing happened within a few days." You listen to her ramble about your condition before you can bring yourself to ask.

"What happened to me? Is... Is what my sister said true? Am I an omega?"

The nurse goes silent. The pitying look she gives you is all the confirmation you need.

"You should go back to sleep for now. Your body probably still feels very weak. Food will be brought to you shortly but try not to stress yourself out in the meantime." It's all she says before she hurries to the door, shutting your questions down with a firm slam. You scramble to your feet, swaying violently as soon as you try to stand. You power through it, holding down a lurching sensation akin to being on the verge of throwing up as you stagger to the door and wrench at the knob. Locked.

Fear and worry overtake you as you start slamming your hands and body into the door, though what you're trying to accomplish, not even you know. You're too weak to even stand, let alone break down a door, and before long, cold rushes into your limbs and you find yourself sliding down onto the floor, trembling and barely keeping down the bile crawling up your throat. You curl up into a ball and close your eyes.

When you awake for the third time, you don't feel nearly as ill. The ache in your limbs is still there, a mild constant, but it doesn't feel as debilitating as it did before. As you are in the middle of waking, you feel a cool hand brushing through your hair, and smell a sweet scent around you that puts you at ease. You can't help but lean your face into the hand petting you as your eyes slowly open. Snuggled against you, both arms wrapped securely around you... is that fucking freak.

You jerk away from the home invasion leader's hand, pulling him out of what looks like a deep reverie as you scramble to the side of the bed farthest from him. He smiles at you in amusement as he sits up, leaning his cheek against a fist propped on his knee.

"Good morning, princess. How are you feeling?"

You rub your hand over your neck, now free of gauze, feeling the bite marks in your skin in hyper-detail.

"You fucking... y-you, what did you do...?!" You demand, your voice a slightly higher pitch than you recall it being and shaking.

He chuckles like this was exactly what he was expecting, looking at you with a coy condescension that makes your skin crawl.

"I helped you; the first step to setting up our beautiful romance was making you an omega so I could care for you without any power struggles getting in the way. I'm not saying I look down on alphas having relationships with other alphas, but it just wasn't for me." His grin broadens as he crawls closer to you, closing the distance you'd put between you. You try to back up further, but he corners you against the headboard, arms caging you in on either side. He leans his head down, you shrink into yourself as he does but its not far enough, and his cheek brushes yours as he licks up the side of your neck. When his tongue glides over the bites on your neck, a shudder runs through you unbidden. A sudden rush of wetness between your legs shocks you to a frozen standstill. The freak looming over you takes a deep inhale, shuddering in ecstasy.

"I was right... You smell so much sweeter like this!" He presses against you, one knee parting your legs as one of his hands rubs the burning heat between your thighs. You reach to grab his wrist and pull it away, but his free hand catches yours and holds it down. The uncomfortable wetness gets worse as a heat purrs through your core, goaded by his touching.

You feel a foreign sensation crawling through your brain, sickeningly warm and disorienting. It urges you to pull your hands away, spread yourself open willingly before the alpha in front of you. It promises bliss in submission, ecstasy in relinquishing control to someone bigger and stronger than you, someone who could protect and ravish you-

A jolt runs through you as your captor's hand drifts up to dip underneath the waistband of your pants, his face lifting up from your neck to direct his affections to your lips. His attempt to take a kiss is stopped short violently by a fist slamming into his nose. He falls backwards off the side of the bed with an undignified yelp, curling up on the floor for an agonizing moment to hold his face as blood rushes between his fingers.

"W-What the hell... Aren't you...?"

"GO TO HELL YOU UGLY FREAK!!!" The panic you feel is pushed down, rage swallowing it entirely. The alpha on the floor quickly backs up as you get to your feet, fists clenched and shaking in fury.

"But I claimed you...! You can't-"

"I don't give a shit what you did! Did you seriously think I'd tolerate you touching me?! Get the hell OUT!!!!!" You scream loud enough to make your voice hoarse in your already aching throat, grabbing anything you can to hurl at him. Pillows and plastic cups chase him out as he scrambles back to the door, muttering a promise to visit again once you're in a better mood. A pillow smacks into the door with alarming force in the spot where his head had been just a split second earlier. As for the idea of you ever being in any mood that would make you tolerate being in his presence...

Fat chance of that.

386 notes · View notes

auras-moonstone · 11 months

Note

Hey, queen! Can I request a gf! Ethan x gf! reader based off of Taylor Swift's 'Getaway Car'??

getaway car — ethan landry

word count: 2,334

pairing: gf!ethan landry x gf!fem!reader

warnings: mentions of blood and murder. cheating.

summary: ethan helps y/n to get revenge on her boyfriend.

Y/N KNEW HER BOYFRIEND WAS CHEATING, HAD KNOWN IT FOR DAYS. Any other person would’ve done the obvious: break up with him, but why would she do that when she could do something more fun?

They were both in the Halloween party hosted by some frat boys, and her boyfriend had left her alone to play beer pong with his friends—and flirt with sorority girls behind her back—, so Y/N decided it was time to set her plan in action.

Her eyes scanned the room, and they stopped on a tall boy dressed as a character from Murder Party. She recognised him instantly, Ethan Landry, the guy from Econ. He was a bit awkward and silly, but hell if he wasn’t pretty. Even with his cardboard helmet on, she could distinguish his soft and perfect face features, and also spotted some surprising muscles hugged by his tight long-sleeved shirt.

She approached him with a confident smile. “Ethan, hey! Surprising seeing you here.”

“Y/N, hi.” he blushed. “Yeah, my roommate forced me. Says I need to meet some girls, get out of my room.”

He regretted those words as soon as they came out. He was really making himself look pathetic. Surprisingly, the girl laughed and sent him a flirty smile. “I have to thank him for bringing you here, then.”

He widened his eyes, being caught off guard. “Not that your company bothers me, but why are you talking to me?”

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Sure.”

“I found out my boyfriend has been cheating on me, and I thought… why break up with him and give him a free will to date this other girl when I can give him a taste of his own medicine?”

“So you want to make out with me in front of him and the whole university?” he asked, amusement reflected in his eyes.

“Yeah. I think you’re pretty, and I said why not.” she shrugged. Then she cursed herself for spilling her idea, she was really acting like a pathetic revengeful baby. “You don’t have to, though. I can keep searching.”

His next movement surprised her. Ethan grabbed her hips and turned them around, so that her back was pressed against the wall and he was hovering over her. He brought his mouth to her earlobe and bit it softly, his hot breath hitting the side of her neck and making her shiver.

“Let’s give him a fucking show, baby.” his husky voice made her clench her thighs.

She took off his helmet and quickly pulled him into a kiss. They devoured each other in a way that made her forget why she was doing it in the first place. His lips were soft, but they captured hers with ferocity and roughness and it was the best kiss she had ever had. His hands explored everything—the back of her neck, her scalp, face, waist, hips, ass. His touch was all-consuming, intoxicating and wild. Her fingers were tangled in his perfect curls while the other hand caressed the muscles on his back. They were completely drunk in lust, and the only reason why they pulled away was because of the boy yelling at them from across the room.

Y/N saw his boyfriend marching towards them with a furious expression, making both of them laugh. The girl grabbed Ethan’s hand “Go, go, go!” she screamed between giggles as the boyfriend ran after them.

“My dorm building is close, let’s go there.”

They entered the building in between laughter. “Holy shit that was fun! Thank you, Ethan.”

“You’re very welcome. It was a good kiss.” he said, blush coating his cheeks.

“It really was. You blew my mind” she nodded. “It was a double win. I got to piss him off, and I also got the most amazing kiss I’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad you got your revenge. If you need to do it again, you know who to call.”

She took a step closer and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips, wanting to get one more taste before leaving to finish the revenge plan. “I will.”

WITH GHOSTFACE BACK IN BUSINESS, Y/N THOUGHT IT WAS THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY TO GET RID OF HER ASSHOLE BOYFRIEND. Y/N walked back to the block of the party where her boyfriend was waiting for her in an ally. She had called him from a public phone and asked him to meet her there, as he had her phone with him.

“What was that shit about?” he asked furiously, handing her phone back with aggression. “Making out with that nerd in front of everyone? That was humiliating.”

“That ‘nerd’ is one hell of a kisser.” she smirked. “And you felt humiliated? Good. That was my first goal of the night.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice was a mix of confusion and anger.

“I know you’ve been cheating on me, asshole. Feels like fucking crap, doesn’t it? That’s how I felt when I saw you fucking her on our bed.” she spat harshly. “My first goal was to humiliate you. The second one it’s more of doing some good for the world.”

“You are not making any sense.”

“The world shouldn’t have dirty cheaters living in it. I’m doing a favour to the girls.” she faked a smile before grabbing the knife hidden on her skirt and piercing the skin on his stomach.

The boy fell to the floor, moaning in pain as she stabbed him repeatedly. "Please stop! I'm sorry!" he cried.

"You should be. These stabs are your fault. They are the consequence of your own actions. I hope you learned your lesson."

"I did, I'm sorry. I won't do it again." he let out a whimper. "I won't tell anyone, I swear. Just let me go."

"How stupid do you think I am?" she spat, twisting the knife, making him cry even louder.

"You won't get away with it, girlfriend's are always the prime suspect."

Y/N laughed. "Yeah, probably. But there is a murderer on the loose, you won't be an isolated case. They will think it was just Ghostface striking again."

"You are crazy" he panted. "And if I cheated on you, it was because you were awful in bed."

"I was awful in bed because your tiny dick didn't motivate me." she said in a dry tone. "Enough chit-chat. It's time to say goodbye."

She raised her knife, ready to stab him in the heart when a voice stopped her. Y/N froze, thinking she had been caught. "That is not Ghostface's style." the familiar voice spoke.

"Ethan?" Y/N furrowed her brows.

"I have to say, I'm pretty surprised. This facet of yours is both unexpected and hot."

He didn't seem to be horrified by the scene, nor tempted to call the cops. "I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"I see. Making out with me wasn’t enough, was it?" the boy laughed. "I'm just saying, if you want the police to believe this was a Ghostface kill, you have to do it their way."

"Oh, yeah? And how's that?"

"Well, Ghostface is more gory."

"Is chopping his dick off gory enough?" she asked, gaining an amused laugh from Ethan and a scary whimper from her ex.

"Absolutely"

"No, please." the boy begged.

"I'm sorry, man. You deserve it. You get a chance with her and then have the audacity to cheat? You deserve to get your dick cut and then being fed to it."

Y/N smirked at the boy. "Oh, I love how your mind works."

"Thanks, gorgeous. You should hurry, tho, it's not the safest place."

The male murderer watched with amusement the way the girl got rid of her pathetic ex-boyfriend. He had had a crush on her since the very first day—her doe eyes, smart mind, and innocent smile pulled him in. Now, seeing her dark side, which was the complete juxtaposition of the girl he thought he knew, Ethan couldn't be more intrigued. Y/N Y/L/N had turned out to be a Pandora's box, and he was obsessed.

"Done" she said at the same time they started to hear sirens. They both widened their eyes, and Ethan instantly took Y/N's hand and ran out of the ally straight to his car. "Shit, shit, shit."

"Relax, it's not the first time it happens to me." Ethan said in a soft and calm tone, making her look at him in confusion. "I'll explain later."

Ethan drove the getaway car, and the sound of the sirens soon became distant and the beat of Y/N’s heart turned normal again. The feeling of adrenaline was now replaced with curiosity as she watched Ethan from the shot gun seat, trying to figure him out.

She couldn’t believe that was Ethan Landry, the shy and intelligent boy, who she had always thought was too pretty. The guy driving was nothing like that, he had a mysterious aura, a confident demeanour and an unexpected dark mind. This Ethan Landry wasn’t just pretty—he was hot, attractive, beyond intriguing.

“We should be safe now.” he spoke up, parking the black car. “Ask away, wannabe Ghostface.”

“Why are you not freaking out? What did you mean by ‘Not the first time it happens to me’?”

“Because, gorgeous, you are looking at the real Ghostface. Well, one of them.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise “So you’re the one killing your friends?”

“Not my friends, but yeah.”

“Why would you let me get away with the murder?” Y/N questioned.

“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be behind bars. Plus, I have a tiny crush on you, so… couldn’t let you get caught.”

“How did you find me?” she asked with a tiny smile painted on her face because of his words.

“I followed you.” he said simply. “You were acting weird. I thought you were feeling a bit sad about your boyfriend. I chased after you, and well, you surprised me for the second time tonight.”

“Can I ask what’s your motive? You know, for being Ghostface.”

And so Ethan told her about his family history, and she heard with attention, her heart breaking for him and his sister. His father? Not so much after hearing the way he treated Ethan.

“Well, if you ever need help with that, you can call me. I owe you one, anyways. I can be the driver of the getaway car”

“You don’t owe me anything, Y/N/N. I did that because I wanted to.”

“I want to help you, too.”

“I don’t want you tangled in this mess. There’s no guarantee that we will get away with this. Sam has won once, she can win twice.”

“Then, the more the merrier, right?”

“Y/N…”

“Ethan… let me, please.”

“Jesus, fine.” he sighed. “But you follow my orders, okay? If I say leave, you leave.”

“Yes, Clyde. I'll be a good Bonnie” she teased.

477 notes · View notes

krurbbbylift · 1 month

Text

(WORK IN PROGRESS, PLS DM IF YOU WANT TO ADD STUFF!)

MASTER LIST OF STORES AND EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW!!!

2024 vers

Adidas:

Aeropostale: Basically broke, barely any cameras and employees tend to not care and not count items for dressing rooms which are usually open and don't have to be asked for. I have almost never seen anything tagged. jewelry and perfumes are right by checkout so not recommended for that.

Abercrombie & Fitch:

American Eagle:

Armani:

Banana Republic:

Barnes & Noble: Uses Rfid tags and sometimes spider wraps on kpop albums and anime figures if there’s frequent theft in area. Cameras are not actively monitored, but are checked after theft. Store managers are the only ones who have the authority to call the police. They won’t chase. Pretty easy to lift from.

Bath & Body Works: Intermediate

More than a few employees and a small but busy store, small items are right by the cashiers, employees will immediately talk to you and offer a basket but will usually leave you alone after first entering unless engaged in conversation. mall locations usually no/minimal cameras and no/obvious tagging.

No LP, and cameras aren't actively monitored. The stores are small and have many employees mostly concentrated at the counters except for a greeter who helps customers with questions. They don't prosecute, but they call mall security and will let them determine if police will be called. This is a store only good for small lifts, and then leaving quickly.

Bed, Bath, and Beyond: Out of business.

Best Buy: There is security in the front. They will tackle. Very hard to lift from.

Bloomingdales:

Books-a-million:

Burlington Coat Factory:

Carson’s:

Chanel:

COACH:

Costco: Wouldn’t recommend. Unless you have a gift card, they will use your membership info to find out more about you.

CVS: Uses RFID tags on some products (some medicines and some makeup) but that varies on the location. Some at locations the security towers don’t go off (don’t risk it). Semi-Easy

They have no chase policy and workers aren’t allowed to do anything. They can’t stop you, or ask to check your bag unless it’s LP. Cameras are usually non actively monitored. LP rotates regionally, usually working two, 8-hour shifts per week at specific stores.

Dick’s Sporting Goods: Not recommended for beginners. Conceal in dressing room or in tall aisles. Check for stickers/tags and dispose of accordingly. RFID Tags on clothes can set off alarms.

Dillard’s: Hard store. Dedicated LP.

Dollar General: Super easy, conceal in aisles. some stores are going out of business, take advantage of areas without cameras.

Dollar Tree: Beginner Friendly Store

Oftentimes, the cameras are fake. Few employees are usually in the store. DT doesn't want to waste money on security or LP because their products are cheap.

Family Dollar: Uses rfid tags on electronics, some hair and body products.

At most they will have four employees in the store, but they usually only have one or two. Extremely easy as long as you watch over your shoulders. At some locations the workers are required to tell you to leave your book bag at the front. If you're a school student—but they usually don’t care enough to say it or enforce the rule.

Semi-Easy

Five and Below: Minimal employees, cameras spread out and usually shown on tvs around the store to deter, minimal to no tagging and sometimes even no sensors at the door. usually one employee at the front that can see a tv with camera footage displayed but usually distracted or busy and not watching cameras.

Finish Line/Footlocker:

Flying Tiger: Medium

No LP, but small with a lot of cameras. Went to one in a mall

Food Lion:

Gamestop: Intermediate with how small the stores are. I've only lifted once from there and it was a small pack of Pokémon cards, and I did so by concealing it in my sleeve behind a display case. gamestop is good for small and quick lifts— then never going back for a few months or weeks.

GAP:

GNC:

Gucci: Too hard. Best bet is a grab and run. I've legitimately witnessed lifters being tackled by security/LP. it's CRAZY tbh

H&M:

Hobby Lobby: So easy. The aisles are very tall and usually the only cameras are near the front by the registers. Body concealing is recommended.

Hollister: There are cameras. Hook is required to detag. Fairly easy so long as you are not counted for clothes. Security is seldom called, so just be sneaky and don’t get sloppy.

Home Depot:

Hot Topic: Use Pencil Tags and Ink tags. Sometimes there’s a camera up front near the desk but usually there’s no camera. Depends on the value, store location, and what the item is.

Hot topic is/was a good place to lift from, but they've begun tagging their shit to hell and back. its best to, if ur ht has it, take off tags in between the shirt racks (clearance, the ones that hang)

Jo-Ann Fabrics: Just as easy as Hobby Lobby, but there is a camera at the beginning of the entrance. Conceal in blind spots near the back of the store. Watch out for customers.

JC Penny:

King Super’s:

K-Mart:

Kohl’s:

Kroger:

Lord and Taylor:

Lowes:

Lush: On busy days they tend to position their employees in areas of the store where they will just scan the area and look for anyone who's lifting. I suggest building a good reputation with the employees by acting like a good, possible customer so they'll pay no mind to you. I do believe that some lush stores have cameras but a lot don't, and not many security measures are in place.

Macy’s:

Martin’s (closing):

Meijers:

Mervyns:

Michael’s: Conceal in blind spots, quite easy as long as you avoid cameras. I wouldn’t recommend going super often as most stores exits are located by the registers and you have to walk past a cashier to leave.

Michael Kor’s:

Nike: Stickers on apparel tags. Take clothing and conceal in fitting room. For shoes, use structured bag and conceal where there aren’t any cameras. Check shoes for any stickers or tags beforehand.

Nordstrom: If you are a teen, SA will be on your ass. Not only are they paid on commission, they make extra for catching shoplifters.

Office Depot/Max: Barely any cameras except near the front. Don’t try and get printer ink. School supplies are easy, just body conceal in aisles. Watch out for workers.

Old Navy:

Pet-Co:

PetSmart:

Rite Aid:

Ross: High LP, lots of cameras, and almost everything is tagged because of l1fting problems

Safeway:

Sam’s Club:

Sears:

Sephora: Crouch down to conceal, and don’t go around in circles too much. If you have a blind spot, gather everything you want, conceal, and discreetly leave. Walk around the check out area so you look like you’re considering purchasing items.

Sheetz:

Spencer’s: Uses sticker sensors on their jewelry; I'm unsure of what they put on clothing

Spirit Halloween: At my spirit halloween (all stores could be different) the monitor they have only showed 4 cameras at a time there were a lot of blind spots I hid behind a shelf and concealed a lot. There was one employee walking around one at the front greeting guests and one at the register where the camera monitor was at.

Staples: Same as Office Depot.

Stop & Shop:

Sunglass Hut: Easier to bring an old pair of sunglasses and switch them. Check tags, and don’t go if it’s not busy. LP situation is unknown but it’s good to practice sleight of hand.

Target: Uses RFID and hard tags. Notoriously hard to lift from, build’s cases, and employees and security are allowed to chase.

Things Remembered:

Toys R Us:

Tuesday Morning:

Ulta: Easier than Sephora. Conceal in haircare or while crouching. They cannot chase. Watch out for customers and don’t linger around too much in blind spots.

Vans:

Virginia Diner Shoppe:

Walmart: Lots of cameras especially in high l1fting areas and usually a lot of employees. sometimes employ plain clothes LP and door greeters can ask to see receipts but not in your bag. lots of blind spots from cameras in home goods like trash cans and pet aisles. can put it in a bag and check for tags in bathrooms before exiting. jewelry is tagged (from experience). possibly shares database with target and handles l1fters like target. imo easier than target though.

Walgreens:

Wawa:

Wegman’s:

Zumiez:

7-Eleven: Easy to lift food and candy. Don’t exactly know if they have tags but if you body conceal.

80 notes · View notes

makemeimmortalwithahug · 2 months

Text

My Place By Your Side

Painland Week Day 1 - Love Languages/Sickfic

Charles/Edwin - post-canon

@painlandweek has brought me so much joy, it's so fun to just write for the sake of celebrating something I love again

Word count: 3920

summary:

When Edwin gets sick, Charles needs to figure out a way to comfort both Edwin and himself.

“Mate, that really doesn’t look too good.” Charles was crouched over Edwin’s arm, the shirt-sleeve rolled up to reveal the pale skin that sported dots in varying sizes and colours that made Charles feel sick in return. The rash reached from his elbow until the back of his hand, starting small in muted earthy tones that anyone else might have mistaken simply for moles. But Charles knew Edwin like no one else. He could’ve reached out and found every scar, every beauty spot or callus blindly in an instant. He could’ve counted the speckles in Edwin’s eyes from memory alone.

“Astute observation, Charles,” Edwin sniped but Charles wasn’t fooled. The distress in his voice was obvious, pitchy and cutting around the vowels. He had spent the better part of the day going through his collection of books that dealt with similar symptoms while he kept anxiously glimpsing at the exposed skin. It had not reached the other arm yet but when Edwin lost his bowtie, complaining about the heat in the office that had never bothered him before, Charles could see hot pink and green speckles like those on Edwin’s hand.

“No reason to snap, mate, I don’t know what caused this either.”

If there was any indicator for how worried Edwin was in that moment himself, it was at what speed he gave in. Charles could see him practically wilt right in front of him, his shoulders drooping and Edwin shifting his weight self-consciously from one foot to the other.

“I do apologise, Charles. I frankly do not know what to do.”

Charles frowned. Edwin was stubborn on his worst days, a quality Charles found oddly charming. To see him fold so easily was more disconcerting than it should have been.

Charles stood up and moved to put his hand on Edwin’s shoulder in comfort, trying with all his might to make it seem casual and not an act to calm his own nerves. Before he could feel the soft fabric, however, Edwin flinched away, forgetting to phase through the desk and instead hitting it and knocking down the last payment they had received for a job well jobbed (a magical ball of wool that kept changing colours depending on your mood).

Well, Charles thought hysterically, there was that.

In the unsure way only an entirely gobsmacked person could manage, Charles drew his hand back.

His heart hurt. He didn’t know that was still possible.

In general, Edwin wasn’t known for initiating their physical contact but he certainly wasn’t averse to it, always grateful for feeling Charles close to him. Except for literal Hell, Charles couldn’t remember a time where Edwin had avoided his touch.

“Charles,” he heard, but the word hardly registered. He kept awkwardly staring at his hand.

“Charles,” Edwin said again, closer now again as he cautiously inched around the desk.

“Mhh.” The sound was less acknowledgement and more a way to push back the cry that wanted to force its way out of Charles’ mouth.

“You must know that I mean no offence,” Edwin began, which almost caused Charles to snort or, at the very least, crack a smile. Never in their friendship after the day of their meeting had Edwin bothered with sugar-coating anything. Charles had spent the majority of his life tip toeing around his father in fear of his rage at any given moment. Until he met Edwin, he hadn’t known how much he’d like not having to guess someone’s feelings and walk around on eggshells.

Edwin cleared his throat. “I do realise this situation is far from ideal, what with all these new cases.” This at last pulled Charles somewhat out of his stupor. Who cared about the bloody cases? “But we cannot risk you falling ill as well in the pursuit of helping me get to the bottom of this. We don’t even know whether it is contagious, not to mention by touch or mere proximity!”

Edwin ran both hands through his hair, messing up the carefully coiffed strands. It was a gesture so jarringly agitated and foreign on him that it shocked Charles once more. “Therefore,” he concludes, “it would be better if I keep my distance until I have found a solution.”

And the worst thing was: Charles couldn’t blame him for coming to this conclusion. This supernatural disease could end up in more chaos than they usually dealt with. Because what else could it have been? Edwin had his last cold in 1915 and the last time he had so much as sneezed was when that poor bloke’s head had blown up into their faces in Port Townsend and he had been too shocked to let it not affect him.

No, Edwin was right. This could endanger the agency if Charles accidentally got sick too. One detective out of commission for legwork was bad enough and he didn’t want to imagine one of their clients catching this.

Didn’t mean that Charles had to like this plan, though. And it wasn’t particularly about them not being able to touch anymore for the foreseeable future. Despite how right Crystal was when she said that they lived in each other’s pockets, they weren’t literally attached at the hip.

What Charles actually made nauseous was the way in which Edwin had recoiled from him that resonated horribly within him. Ghosts couldn’t normally get cold, but Charles felt like someone had shoved a bunch of ice cubes into the inside of his polo shirt, leaving him shivering and shaken.

He never wanted to make Edwin feel scared of him and even though he knew that Edwin was just trying to protect him, something about the alarm in his eyes had him thinking back to seeing himself in the mirror when he heard his father come home early. He had sworn to himself that he would never put this look in anyone’s eyes - accident or not. He had already failed at that with the Night Nurse, but even then it had been Charles who had shied away from contact and not Edwin. Never Edwin. Until today. Edwin used to freeze, sure, and it had taken a long time for Edwin to lean on Charles as well, but he didn’t know what to do now with the sharp panic edged into his best mate’s features.

A soft sound made him pay attention to his surroundings again. Edwin was still standing at least an arm’s length away from him, his hand curled into a fist to knock against the top of the desk to get Charles’ attention. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern, his mouth a thin line. A blue dot had reached the side of his throat.

Charles sighed and shot him a quick smile, trying to seem fondly exasperated at the worry.

“For sure, mate. You’ll be well in no time, it’s gonna be brills.”

Charles hated this for both of them, but most of all for Edwin. From the outside, nothing seemed to have changed. Edwin was still sitting at his desk, rifling through paperwork, while Charles sat upside-down on their couch, throwing the magical ball of wool from one hand to the other. It was navy blue.

He felt like there was an invisible barrier between them, a line Charles couldn’t cross without repercussions he couldn’t imagine. Edwin looked like a confetti cannon had exploded right in front of him, the confetti littering his face.

After Niko and Crystal showed up at the agency to keep an eye on Edwin (Edwin vehemently argued that he did not need a minder, thank you very much), Charles had risked a quick mirror-trip to Tragic Mick to get advice. To everyone’s dismay, Tragic Mick said there was nothing they could do except wait it out.

That was two weeks ago and Charles thought he was going insane. His best mate constantly looked on edge and seemed on the verge of tears at every minor inconvenience in his files. The Night Nurse was no help either, opting to comply with Edwin’s self-assigned quarantine that he had set in motion after Crystal expressed a slight scratching in her throat. The only acceptable exception to his isolation was Charles. Which should make him feel better but it just made him long even more for Edwin because he could see him.

No, they never used to touch constantly but there had always been the possibility. Having this revoked from him, the reassurance that Edwin was in reach, that he was there, made his skin feel tight. After Hell, it had been so good to walk next to Edwin, leaning into him or letting his fingers brush Edwin’s shoulders - to have physical proof that Edwin was with him.

Now, Charles sometimes looked at Edwin, watching the outline of him against the backdrop of the window so hard that he was almost convinced that Edwin was just a figment of his imagination. That only his silhouette was left for him to admire from afar while the real Edwin was still stuck in Hell.

Other times, he just stared into the air, his mind stuck on how Edwin jerked back on impulse - to get away from Charles. He never wanted to make Edwin feel helpless but he still managed to fail, leaving Edwin with the desperate need to get enough space between them. The thought was enough to repeat the moment again and again, a split-second decision that haunted Charles.

Poorly suppressing a groan, Edwin stood up and started pacing the floor. He came to a halt in front of their massive bookshelf, where he started pulling out books at random, flipping brusquely through the pages. Every so often, a gust of wind came through their window that turned the pages, which made Edwin quietly swear before giving up. They were less than four metres apart but it might as well have been an entire ocean. Edwin kept pulling on and off his gloves in irritation. All Charles wanted to do was to make it somehow better. He needed to make it better. But usually his strategy for making Edwin feel better was to hug him or lean into his side or put his head against his.

On the day Niko and Crystal finished moving into their new flat, Niko spent an evening curled up with Charles on her bed doing quizzes online while Crystal introduced Edwin to the confusing twists and turns of reality tv next door. One of the quizzes was called, “What is YOUR Love Language?” and after Niko explained the concept to him, Charles set to answering the questions until the words, “Physical Touch” blinked at him. He hadn’t put much thought to it except yeah, that checks out.

But Charles was at a loss now. How could he cheer Edwin up? When he was in this space of mind, no word of support would get through to Edwin, but how else should he reach him?

He tried anyway. “Mate, we’ll get through this, you know that, right? Tragic Mick said it’ll pass and you trust him.” At least he did after his soapstone bear had managed to save Niko. Charles made sure to make his voice as happy as possible, as “happy-go-lucky” as he could manage.

“I know.” But the flat tone told Charles that Edwin didn’t know. Bloody hell, why did he have to be so rubbish at words? In the end, though, there was nothing Charles could say in this situation that would ease Edwin’s worries. Charles had a lot of practice soothing Edwin when he was stressed about something but he wouldn’t be fobbed off with sweet nothings. Normally, Charles could give Edwin a new perspective, but right now Charles was in the same hole of despair and however hard he’d wreck his brain, he couldn’t come up with anything remotely helpful.

Sighing, he let himself slide down off the couch and onto the floor when something caught his eye. He reached out and found a small box on top of a stack of colourful paper. The box contained pretty ribbons, glitter pens, googly eyes, different yarns and at the bottom, there was a thin booklet about origami. Niko must’ve left it here, she enjoyed making all kinds of decorations and had gone at it with extra vigour when Crystal allowed her to decorate their flat (under supervision by Edwin. Who was not as assertive as one might have imagined, only fools thought someone could resist Niko).

Charles tilted his head, discreetly looking at Edwin who didn’t pay him any attention, a hopeless expression on his face, his now once again gloved fingers curling uselessly. Charles would do anything to see Edwin smile again, no matter how long this nightmare would go on. And Charles got to work.

Charles couldn’t say that he was a crafty person, in life or death. He knew his way around his bag of tricks and could hold a paintbrush well enough to paint runes and used to do pottery with his mother. But he never made things like the adorable mug cosies Niko loves.

Therefore, he figured he should start simple. In this case - a bookmark. Edwin normally didn’t bother using them because he is the brains, after all, he just memorised the last page he had read. There were cases, though, where they both were in a hurry and having to spare precious time for Edwin to rifle through a proper tome while the danger came closer and closer was never a good time for any of them.

A bookmark it was, then. He first made a dark blue one, a paper rectangle with a hole through which he threaded a few threads of silver yarn and knotted them. It looked elegant, something that would fit into Edwin’s encyclopaedias or the poetry books stacked in-between. Edwin was sitting on the desk, playing with the now grey-ish ball of wool. Charles would tease him, because Edwin was the one who usually chastised Charles lightheartedly for not sitting properly, but honestly Charles was just relieved Edwin was doing anything but forlornly looking at his files. They hadn’t bickered in days. Edwin seemed exhausted enough that he didn’t talk much. Charles would be scared that his best mate was getting sick of being stuck here with him. And a part of him was still petrified of how scared Edwin had acted and that was the only thing that kept Charles from following the direction in which every atom of his body longed to pull him - right into Edwin’s arms, his face plastered into the crook of his neck. It kept him confined to his spot on their couch, embarrassingly conscious of their positions in the room, the walls closing in on him whenever he blinked, compelling him to press deeper into the cushions to give Edwin the space he deserved.

But even he realised that the “stuck here” part without being able to go on cases as an outlet was the problem and not Charles. He willed his mind to shut it.

Speaking of cases, he felt bad leaving Edwin behind and in the one case had been on since Edwin got sick, a deep feeling of homesickness had made him careless, like a missing limb throwing him off his balance.

From then on, he had referred the easier cases to Crystal and Niko, while he had checked in with their clients with more difficult cases and told them they would get back to them as soon as possible.

Now Charles was on a new case: The “Give Edwin Presents (Probably) Debacle”. He picked up the bookmark and slowly made his way towards Edwin, hiding the gift behind his back. “Hey there, mate,” he grinned, coming to a halt in front of him - still far enough from him to not freak him out -, and nervously shuffled his feet.

The ball of wool flashed a subdued pink hue. “Charles,” he said, a small smile gracing his lips, a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There were so many dots in his face, blue and green and magenta. The others on his arm hadn’t disappeared either but at least didn’t Edwin seem bothered by the heat anymore. Small mercies. “Is there something you need?”

I need you to get better, I need to reach out again and feel again, I need to sit near you again, my place is still there, right? By your side? Do you forgive me? Say it’s going to be okay soon.

“Ah, no mate, everything’s aces. So, ah, you know, business is pretty slow right now, so I thought I’d make you a little something to…” to pass the time, he almost said, but that wasn’t right, was it? Charles didn’t want Edwin to think this came from simple boredom and not from the heart. “to make you smile,” he finished, holding the bookmark at one corner out to Edwin so that he could grab the other one.

But Edwin didn’t reach out immediately and instead stared down at it, puzzled beyond belief.

Humour had rarely disappointed him. “Come on, mate, don’t let me down here. I might just cry,” he joked.

This set Edwin in motion and he reached for the bookmark, inspecting it. And after turning it in his hands a couple of times, he finally broke out in a brilliant smile, his eyes bright. He looked up at Charles and made an aborted move like he wanted to hug him, but for the first time in weeks, the realisation that that wasn’t possible right now didn’t dim the spark in his eyes.

“Thank you so much, Charles. It’s beautiful.” Charles basked in the unabashed sincerity and warmth. It had been such a simple and easy thing to do but hearing Edwin’s praise made him happy and proud in a way he couldn’t describe with words. He didn’t need to, he was feeling it.

“Don’t mention it, happy to do it.” And he was.

It didn’t stop there. The bookmark found a home in one of Edwin’s favourite books and another one soon followed - an origami bookmark corner for which Charles found instructions in the book. It was quite nice to have something to do with his hands, being careful to neatly fold the corners and afterwards decorating it with silly googly eyes and a glitter pen smile. Edwin found it incredibly charming.

“That’s going to come quite in handy on cases, the other one might fall out, thank you!” The excitement was addicting and Charles loved seeing how Edwin flourished.

The dots became fewer. Charles counted them like the days that passed on the calendar.

An origami owl followed. He used a light green sheet of paper, gave it buttons as eyes and made a bowtie out of a red ribbon. When Edwin saw it, he smiled this soft smile that made Charles melt inside. “I don’t think ‘thank you’ suffices anymore,” he murmured. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

Charles moved closer to him. Edwin was lounging at the desk and Charles carefully sat down on the corner, almost where he always used to greet their clients.

“Edwin, honest, you give me so much. Just keep being you.” Edwin laughed and Charles only ached a little. The ball of wool glowed green.

He made origami plants and butterflies, stars and swans. They littered their windowsills and shelves. Their office never used to look this colourful.

It had been a little over a month. Who was Charles kidding? He knew the exact time. One month, three days and five hours and Edwin’s supernatural cold had finally ended. There was nothing but pale skin to be seen.

The moment Charles saw the last dot on Edwin’s cheek disappear, he leaped up and practically flew over to him, pulling him into his arms, chanting, “It’s gone, Edwin, it’s gone, it’s gone!” He pulled back and kissed the same spot where the last reminder of this nightmare had been. And then the other cheek. Edwin’s arms were tight like a vice around him, gripping the back of his shirt.

“Charles…” He gasped softly, a man dying of thirst being offered a cup of water. Charles could relate. When he died, he had given up the need for air. Now, he just needed Edwin.

Blinking back tears, Charles buried his face in Edwin’s chest. He couldn’t imagine letting Edwin go, in this decade or the next. Feeling the proof that he was really there - his Edwin was with him, Edwin wanted to be there with him - under his fingertips, it was like letting out a breath he had held for too long.

But there was one thing left to do. Blindly, he felt after one of Edwin’s hands. It took a few tries and gentle shushing to pry Edwin’s fingers off of Charles, but eventually he pulled the hand to his mouth, kissed the back of it and linked their hands.

“Shh, you’re alright mate, c’mon, love, it’s okay. Let’s just get over there, yeah? Easy, innit?”

They ended up on the couch, Edwin’s face pressed into his neck. All semblance of composure had vanished long ago. They were both frayed at the seams, chests pried open to reveal their unbeating hearts, vulnerable and open to one another.

Hastily, Charles went through the pockets of his jackets in search of his most important gift yet. His fingers closed around it.

“Edwin, hey? I got something for you.” He presented him with a little paper heart in blue and red. Charles had the front row seat to see Edwin’s eyes fill up with new tears all over again, joy flowing over his lovely face.

Edwin let go of Charles’ hand in favour of taking the heart into both of his reverently, careful as if he were handling a real one, and pressed it to his chest where his own heart was.

They leaned into each other, with Charles eventually ending up on top of Edwin, and he lazily played with Edwin’s short hair. The next time Charles kissed Edwin, it was softly on the lips. Both of them drifted to a not-quite-sleep with Charles’ lips pressed to Edwin’s forehead

With quarantine officially over, Niko and Crystal were allowed back in the agency. They hugged them tightly and Edwin didn’t even complain about how “a handshake would have sufficed, Crystal”. While Edwin was resting with his head in Charles’ lap, he and Niko took up their usual search for quizzes again. They came across another one of those talking about love languages. This time, his result was “Words of Affirmation”. When he fussed about how his results could’ve changed so quickly, Niko just giggled.

“Oh, but it’s not just black and white, you know,” she explained in her soft voice. “It’s never just one of them. Here, you can see your percentages.” She pointed at a few blue bars, the first one titled the same as his result with 74 percent, the second one, “Physical Touch”, just barely below with 71 percent. “And there’s also a difference of which direction the love language takes. It’s a two-way street. Love languages for how you love and for how you wish to be loved. And that changes constantly, and multiple can overlap. It’s interesting, isn’t it?”

Niko smiled brightly and Charles was helpless to do anything but give her one of his own.

“Which ones do you think Edwin has?” she mused.

Charles grinned and ran his fingers through Edwin’s hair. “I think I have an idea or two.”

#painlandweek #painland week #dead boy detectives #payneland #painland #charles rowland #edwin payne #niko sasaki #crystal palace

68 notes · View notes

cuubism · 1 year

Note

pls do make angst out of it

I need no impetus to make angst about Dream + clothing choices.

"Dream."

Dream did not mean to flinch. Perhaps one never meant to flinch. It was an involuntary reaction, one that he should have been above in this form. He should have absolute control over how he manifested.

Except Hob's hand had landed on the back of his neck as he tried to pull Dream from his distant musings. Dream should be above such physical sensations. But he was composed of all fears. All thoughts and memories. The snapping grip of a lion's jaws on the neck of a gazelle. The vulnerability of an unprotected back.

So many dreams, now, and in the still-recent aftermath of his escape, they swirled and spilled within him like floodwaters.

His flinch away broke Hob's touch halfway through grazing a hand along Dream's jaw as he came around the back of the armchair where Dream was sitting. "Did I startle you?"

"Yes," said Dream. He settled deeper into his chair, into his soft sweater, no coat in Hob's flat, not when he did not wish to leave. But he wished he could manifest a higher neckline without it being obvious. "Yes, I was lost in thought."

Hob cupped his chin and tilted his head up and kissed him, and Dream did not flinch.

Dream loved Hob very much. The feeling had caught him by the throat not long after their reunion, when Hob had met him again shortly after Dream had resolved the vortex. Hob had taken his hand and looked with worry at the gash still gracing his palm, courtesy of the Corinthian's betrayal.

Dream was made of incorporeal thoughts, not flesh, and Hob had known this by then and still asked, "Can I bandage it for you?"

Dream had acquiesced more out of shock than need. Hob had held his hand, and wrapped it with experienced movements. He couldn't have known that the very act of bandaging sealed the cut in Dream's skin. Such was the power of dreams.

Dream fell quick and perilously with his hand pressed between Hob's, with Hob's kind eyes upon him.

He loved Hob with the pain of a knife stuck through his hand. He loved Hob and he knew that love was a bared throat. And he would bare it. For he wanted love. And he was not supposed to flinch.

He loved Hob, sitting in the safety of Hob's bed. Bare legs tangled up together, scratchy hair and strong muscle, and still the high-necked long-sleeved shirt Dream had taken to wearing. Hob kissing under his jaw, and slipping gentle hands under his shirt to brace his hips. The resonant dreams were loud--the exploration of youth and a first time together, the familiar bodies of a long-awaited reunion, the peace of an entangled old age--and for a while these layered memories distracted him from the fact that Hob still hadn't stripped his shirt off.

Perhaps. Hob saw more than Dream thought he did.

"You see much," Dream said, voice just edging on rough, and Hob paused, pulling away to look at him. Tilted his head in question, and Dream took Hob's hand, laid it along the collar of his shirt, below the jut of his throat.

Hob kept his hand there, a loose half-collar of Dream's neck, and said, "You always flinch when I come up behind you."

Dream looked somewhere around Hob's jaw, avoiding his eyes, and so had to rely on Hob's voice to imagine his expression. And Hob's voice was very gentle indeed.

"Do you know," he started, taking Dream's cheek in his other hand, "once upon a time--well, not so long ago, really, considering--I would jump at every loud noise? War gets in your head like that."

Dream knew of this, from the nightmares that were within him. He hurt to think of Hob like that. He laid a hand on Hob's thigh, though he was unsure if he was attempting to comfort Hob or merely grounding himself. "But no longer?"

"Not so much. It doesn't have to last forever." He stroked his thumb back and forth over Dream's cheek. "Helps that it's pretty rare for a loud noise going off in London nowadays to be a gunshot."

"But not impossible."

"In my experience, vanishingly few things are impossible, love."

Dream's capture should have been impossible. He had thought himself invulnerable. He had not seen the summoning coming. Had not seen a century of imprisonment coming, or Corinthian's betrayal, or Desire's. They had crawled silently up his back. Sunk their teeth into his spinal cord hard enough to snap.

"Do you feel like I'm going to hurt you, when you can't see me coming?" Hob asked.

He had failed indeed, if Hob thought so. "I do not think you will harm me."

"But do you feel it?"

Dream went to deny it, then thought. Of the prickling feeling that crept up his neck when he had his back to a room. To a doorway. The cold air on his shoulders before he pulled on one of Hob's sweaters, used it as a shield. "I do not like. To feel exposed."

Hob ran a hand through his hair. Dragged down to the nape of his neck and held him there. Not a threat, but a brace; stay close to me. Dream followed the touch and tucked his face in against Hob's shoulder. "Don't, then. I'll cover you."

"With shield and sword," Dream murmured, and Hob hummed in agreement. His hand was warm on the back of Dream's neck. Always, Hob was banishing the cold.

"I do not," Dream repeated, for it felt imperative that Hob know this, "think that you will hurt me."

Hob kissed his hair. "I know."

Love was showing one's back. Dream shivered as Hob slid into place behind him, thighs bracketing Dream's hips. As he wrapped his arms around Dream's torso, bare chest to Dream's bare back. He was so warm. His breath ruffled Dream's hair. Hob's arms caged him where he might have wanted to run. He could have disappeared to the Dreaming. But didn't.

Hob kissed the base of his neck. Kissed the bump of each vertebra. The vulnerable spot under his ear. Splayed his hands over Dream's belly. Another soft place.

This form was made of soft places. Outside, Dream swept his coat around himself to shield them. Fabric made for weak protection, but the less he was seen, the better. Dreams suffered in daylight.

Here, the soft places felt Hob's touch the most. Dream did not want to be soft, was not meant to be. But he did want Hob's hands, and the kisses placed along his throat. Always a conundrum, with Hob.

Dream did not reconcile it now. Instead he turned his head, pressed his lips to Hob's over his shoulder. Took Hob's hand and put it in his hair, encouraged Hob to tangle his fingers and pull, so that Dream's throat was bared, his balance thrown, so Hob could kiss and bite up his neck and hold him there.

He trembled against Hob's lips. Shook in his grasp. Dream knew the nightmare of a rabbit caught in a fox's teeth, and the dream of a fox with blood on its lips. But he was no rabbit, and no fox either. He could decide for himself if he wanted Hob to touch him, to pull the collar down.

Hob's teeth grazed his pulse. Dream whimpered, the sound loud in the quiet bedroom, and Hob shushed him. Stroked a hand along his throat. Dream loved him, and that he held him, and that he let Dream live on this boundary of discomfort so he might decide which way he wanted to fall, pain or pleasure. Love was risk-taking.

Dream leaned into Hob's palm, felt the pressure on his throat. His back to Hob's chest. Their bodies in alignment. Teeth to spine. Hob's body as a shield.

"How are you doing?" Hob whispered. His lips brushed Dream's ear, hair tickled his temple.

Dream let his limbs go loose that Hob might catch him. Love was a net.

"Good," he sighed, and tipped his head back.

#me: i'm not going to write prompts i have too many wips #also me when there's angst: 👀#this feels like a spiritual companion to the dream's wings verse #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #dreamling fic #my writing

447 notes · View notes

film-in-my-soul · 9 months

Text

Dark | 1,369 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Hob wakes to the sensation of being watched by the darkness in his bedroom. He loves it when Dream gets weird.

Werewolf Boyfriends; The Care and Keeping Of | 3,298 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: There are many benefits, Dream reflects during the full moon, to the keeping of a werewolf for a boyfriend.

Intemperate | 4,402 | cuubism / @cuubism

Summary: Was it like this for humans all the time? Dream wondered. This heavy anticipation in his chest, the bodily attention verging on pain? He hadn’t known it was possible to be so intently aware of another person, but there it was, Hob Hob Hob in the pounding heart he didn’t need, a compulsion that wasn’t intellectual or even particularly romantic, but rather a strained desperation that could only be soothed by touch.

Dust on Trial | 4,655 | Griombrioch

Summary: “And..” Hob pauses, “this was good for you? It’s what you wanted?” Dream closes his eyes and sighs out a breath he doesn’t need, if only to make another attempt at dislodging the rock in his chest. He knew what would happen when he approached his previous lover. He knew their nature, and he’d done it anyway. This is his fault. He just wishes the hole inside of him would fill. He despises feeling so hollow. “Oh,” Hob breathes then, as if understanding some complex problem that Dream himself cannot see, and the frown deepens. “Oh, you’re in a bad drop, aren’t you, love?”

all together now | 5,182 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: "You know I do not require this of you," his lover says, and Hob swallows again. This time Dream doesn't even need to look; his eyes are still trained on Hob's throat. "Is it not so that human lovers keep aspects of themselves...apart from their relationships?" "Hiding a thing for obscure fetish pornography isn't quite the same as keeping an entire part of your personality locked up," Hob says kindly.

Please see below for more recommendations!

Handy | 5,612 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Dream answers the door one beautiful September afternoon to a man so attractive he can barely keep it together long enough to get his sink fixed. Several weeks later, he runs into the same man in a lecture hall.

and oil for the light | 6,387 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: Matthew eyes him with blatant disrespect. "You're one of those," he says. "One of those monsterfucker people. Gets off on tentacles and shit." "Tentacles," Hob says, affronted. "There's never been any tentacles." "Have you asked?"

how longingly | 7,333 | cuubism / @cuubism

Summary: Hob's fingers slip a little higher, just under the sleeve of his coat. He is still wearing his coat, yes, why is that? He feels very warm. "Could find out?" "Are you suggesting I should find some man to bed me?" "Some man," Hob repeats, jaw working. His gaze is hovering somewhere around Dream's collar. "Some man who knows what he's doing, yeah."

I Wanna Hold Your Hand | 7,535 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: Hands are such a human thing, Hob thinks. To make, and shape, and create. The elegance of thumbs. Fashioned by thousands of years of slow and careful evolution for the sole purpose of holding. He wants to hold Dream. To rub their fingers together, that singularly human grasp, to push their palms flat, and their chests close, and he's not sure if he wants to hug his friend or cry on his shoulder, because he should have been there. He should have known.

with both hands | 8,596 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: Hob whistles, low and impressed, and makes one more turn to admire the extremely obvious handprint on his right arsecheek.

Licking the Spoon | 8,636 | Dira Sudis (dsudis) / @dsudis

Summary: "I have spoons in my flat," Hob added, feeling a little reckless with the surge of probably-unneeded adrenaline. "Loads of spoons." His friend raised his eyebrows at that, and jerked his hand away from the spoon on the table, but he didn't follow it by walking out, so Hob hadn't gone too far.

Ecdysis | 8,647 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: The manner in which an animal routinely casts off a part of its body (often, but not always, an outer layer or covering), either at specific times of the year, or at specific points in its life cycle. The door swings open, and Hob looks up, as automatic as a blink or a breath. He’s not expecting anything. It’s been three months and four days, six hours and thirty-nine minutes, and all he had been told was more than once a century. Dream is standing in the doorway. He looks like hell.

Relief | 8,753 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: "Your daydreams," Dream pronounces, standing there with his hands in his coat pockets, looking Hob's body up and down like it's a fascinating puzzle. "Are exceptionally loud." Oops.

Fell In Love With a Pisces Moon | 10,651 | LikeMmmCookies

Summary: Dream visits Hob 33 years late, but then he keeps coming back and Hob doesn't know exactly why. He finds Dream isn't the same man he once knew, but he's still in love all the same.

just find the feeling, pass it on | 10,784 | ThirtySixSaveFiles / @thirtysixsavefiles

Summary: There is a new temple in London. This is not so unusual. Dream has been…away, as his sister says, for over a century. Even had he not been, he does not map the Waking so thoroughly as to always see these things when they start. Places of love, of devotion, spring up from time to time. He leaves them be; they are not, generally speaking, his business. What is unusual is that this one is shaped like a pub, and it is very much his business. Dream contemplates The New Inn as he approaches.

Scenes from a University AU the Author Did Not Intend to Write | 10,880 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Dream and Hob, throughout their time at university together, dancing around one another until something finally gives.

by the minute | 11,267 | issylra / @issylra

Summary: "Why don't you tell me your name?" "Hob." Quite possibly the worst fake name Dream has encountered thus far. There's another pause. "I mean. Not Hob." A punched out breath. "Fuck." "You don't know your name?" "Of course I know my name. But I'm not sure you're supposed to know my name."

Consummation | 11,462 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: Cōnsummāre, To perfect, to consummate. Cōnsūmere, To devour, to take wholly or completely. Turns out, shoving all of your repressed desires into a box lined with teeth will spectacularly backfire when eventually you have to open the box up again. Or, Hob Gadling demonstrates his ability to code switch and Dream goes off the rails a bit.

Saint Morpheus | 11,882 | landwriter / @landwriter

Summary: “Kneel,” said Dream. Hob knelt before him. Dream pressed his own thumb to his lips and wet it. He took Hob’s chin in the other hand and tilted his face up. “Some do this with ash. To acknowledge death. Mortality. It would not befit you,” he said, and smudged his wet thumb in a sign upon Hob’s forehead. “Now you wear my mark,” he said. “I have always worn your mark, my Lord,” said Hob. “Then remember you are mine and to me you shall return,” Dream said.

Wolf and I | 12,054 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: "Shuck," the beast says. "How quickly the memories of men fade! I am no paltry devil, little red. I am the son of the great wolf Night herself, first and foremost among stories! I am older than the seas and the forests! I am..." "Beautiful," Hob breathes. Hob Gadling, hunter for King Richard, is called to fell the wolf that has decimated the deer of Cannock Chase. He finds more than he bargained for waiting for him in the woods.

On sexual dimorphism in C. urophasianus | 13,177 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: "I must court you," Dream pronounces, and Hob drags his attention away from the flowers. Grimaces slightly. "You don't have to," he says. "This will only last a week or two, and then we can go back to being, you know. Normal boyfriends who aren't being driven insane by the urge to put every shiny object in the flat in the bloody bed with me."

Once Upon a Time | 14,055 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Hob knows the point of storytime at the library is to give parents an hour’s break and maybe a chance to grab a coffee with some other parents at the library café and enjoy the company of other adults for a little while, but when the moment comes to leave Robyn, he can’t face it. Robyn’s all he has left in the world and he really doesn’t want a break, he wants to keep him in his bloody pocket always. But he needs time to be with other kids, away from his hovering wreck of a dad, and so Hob decides on a mature, reasonable solution. He hides behind one of the bookshelves. Which is why the first he ever knows of Dream is his voice.

Midnight in Bloom | 14,389 | CeruleanHeart

Summary: A peculiar species of flowers is spreading in the Dreaming, maddening its residents and threatening to overtake the realm. When Morpheus himself falls under their spell his only option is to confront all the desires for an old friend he’s had long buried within his heart before his own passion can consume him.

Bloodhound | 15,712 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: It's a square gem in an antique gold setting, real antique gold, with the sort of dullness to the metal that tells its age. There's nothing particularly ornate about it. The ruby itself is a simple cut – he’s not a jeweller, doesn’t know what to call it precisely, but it’s square-ish and bevelled at the edges – but it catches the light in such a way that it makes it seem like it has a thousand facets all across the surface of it. The rain creates a stippled effect, and even through two separate panes of glass Hob can see his reflection peering back at himself through the ruby’s deep face. £2500, says a placard set in front of it. Early 1900s RUBY pendant - real!!!

in the absence of memory | 16,089 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: A freak accident renders Hob unable to remember the beautiful man who strides into his hospital room and declares himself his husband. But oh, does he want to. He knows he's loved this man for centuries, that nothing could make him forget. The best he can do is tell him that, and wait. Meanwhile, Dream of the Endless experiences being Hob Gadling's beloved spouse, without any of their past hanging between them, and agonises over the realisation that Hob could have loved him if only he'd been better.

an allowance of pleasure | 16,860 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Even a being as powerful as the Lord of Dreams may have things to learn. Even a human as insignificant as Hob Gadling may have things to teach. Luckily for Dream, Hob's supplies of tea, biscuits, and patience are bottomless.

New Stranger | 20,709 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: It’s been three months since Hob Gadling attended the funeral of his oldest friend when he walks into the basement café of a bookshop on Tottenham Court Road and sees him behind the counter.

Shelter | 23,345 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: 1924. Roderick Burgess' continued attempts to control Dream result in a shattered cage, eternal sleep, and one very human, very cold, very hungry, very naked, VERY angry Endless. Several days later, Captain Robert Gadling opens his front door, and said very human Endless falls into his arms.

The Knight of Cups | 25,720 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Hob had fought Lucifer, as Dream’s champion, with his bare hands, rushing in where angels would fear to tread, heedless of anything but the desire to protect.

spilled ink and daffodils | 31,625 | issylra / @issylra

Summary: "I love your tattoos," Hob mimics, in an overly lovestruck tone of voice. He bats his eyelashes for good measure. "Do you have more? Can you show me? It's totally okay if you have to take off your clothes, by the way. I just want to appreciate the artistry." Dream fixes him with what is probably supposed to be a blank stare, but Hob can see the way he's biting back a smile. "Are you done?" "Painting for the day? Yes. Teasing you? No, probably not."

By the Laws of Magic | 32,125 | Lenore

Summary: It’s 1959, and Hob Gadling is working at a London auction house, amazing his colleagues with his uncanny knowledge of art and artifacts from the 14th century on. When he gets the assignment to catalogue a family library at a place called Fawney Rig, he looks forward to a working vacation in the country. What he finds is a house with a preternatural chill where odd disturbances happen daily, an ornate carved door with a secret clearly hidden behind it, and visions of his mysterious stranger every time he turns around.

You're the One I Need | 39,086 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: "Uh-oh," Delirium says. Dream studies the car, the white smoke billowing out from beneath the bonnet, listening to the alarming clunking noise that the engine is making. On his hip, Orpheus, unusually solemn child that he is, gazes soulfully at the car. "Caw boken," he declares.

A Man of Good Fortune | 43,308 | softestpunk / @softest-punk

Summary: Captain Robert Gadling, a man with a fortune of a hundred and twenty thousand pounds in war prizes, needs a well-bred omega to fulfil his ambition of styling himself a gentleman. Dream d'Endless, a penniless divorced omega with an ancient name, requires an alpha to provide for his son, Orpheus. Their purely practical marriage seems like the best solution for everyone. If only either of them were inclined towards practicality.

grist for the mill | 56,226 | jamais_vu0

Summary: The rumor that Hob Gadling, the human who tricked Death herself into granting him immortality, has finally decided he's lived long enough and consented to die is sweeping through the supernatural community like wildfire. It even spreads to the Dreaming, where Dream handles it about as well as could be expected. It is, to say the least, a bit of a shock to Hob Gadling himself, who is still very much alive- and increasingly in need of rescue.

On Broken Wings | 57,191 | Konstadt / @blueberrymffn

Summary: Hob Gadling has seen the same man sitting still like a statue every day for a week and looking terribly upset, all he really wants is a peaceful lunch break but he can't bring himself to ignore someone in need - especially a very gorgeous someone who looks like they're on the verge of a breakdown. A chance meeting becomes far more, and gives Morpheus a means to heal.

The Uses of Adversity | 65,825 | MonstrousRegiment

Summary: What led Hob Gadling — at the time known as Robert Stranger, because he’d been in a permanent state of pettiness from 1889 to about 1904 and now he was stuck with it — to the dank, cold, and dark basement of the Burgess house on March of 1957 was not so much coincidence or fate as it was curiosity. Yeah. Cats isn’t the only thing it kills.

My Stranger, My Dream | 67,154 | SigniorBenedickofPadua / @signiorbenedickofpadua

Summary: Hob has been around death. Living in London throughout multiple plague outbreaks and fires, as well as making a living soldiering and dabbling in banditry, will do that to you. What he doesn't know is that Death has been around Hob as well. He has no idea that when his Stranger left him that night in 1389 after their first meeting, the woman who came up to him, laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “Good luck, friend,” was Death incarnate. Hob doesn’t know that he is one of few things in this world that has been Touched by Death and lived. Had he known this, he might not have been as confused as he is when his body slams into the floor of a dim, candle-lit cellar and he finds himself surrounded by hooded figures and a gold circle on the floor. That is all he manages to perceive before everything goes blurry and consciousness slips away from him again. Here in the Darkness.

Music When You Speak | 72,075 | The_KickIt_Domain / @ml-nolan

Summary: "I should have asked you earlier, but I don't suppose you'll still be in town tomorrow?" Hob says. "It'd be lovely to see you again." The man truly looks regretful as he says, "We won't." It was worth a shot. They hardly know each other. There's no reason for the sick film of disappointment settling over him. "Ah, well. I'm happy to have met you anyway," Hob says, subdued. "Are you doing anything right now?"

If I Please You | 112,103 | Moorishflower / @moorishflower

Summary: “I’ll guard you for a night,” Hob says, “and say I please you, you can either pay me for a day’s work, or keep me on ‘til you reach where you’re going.” “Do you know the way to Canterbury?” the lord asks, and Hob nods. “Oh, yes. It’s a few days’ ride, not more than three or four, by my memory.” “Then you shall have three days to please me, Robert Gadling.”

would you let me know?/ I could make some time if you wanted | 150,934 | BeatnikFreak / @beatnikfreakiswriting

Summary: Dr Hob Gadling's been assigned a new colleague to co-teach his second year class, Dr Dream Oneiros, who is both utterly beautiful and completely unable to act like, y'know, a human being. But Hob's nothing if not indefatigable, especially when faced with a fascinating man who probably needs to talk about his feelings more, and who listens to every stupid thing he says like it's the most profound poetry.

Master Reclist · Personal Masterlist · Blog Nav.

#dreamling #dream/hob #dreamling reclist #reclist #the sandman reclist #fanfic reclist

152 notes · View notes

tieronecrush · 1 year

Text

water in your hands

joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ ONLY, MDNI. you will be blocked if you don’t have age/range in your bio)

word count: 9.7k (she's long but hopefully good?)

summary:

You are sick, and you're married, and you might be dyin' But you're holdin' me like water in your hands…

Joel will only end up failing you. You deserve better than him. He needs you to move on, to give him peace of mind. So, he gets married to someone else, to try to force you away. Except he just can’t let you go, and you always come back when he calls. Like a dog with a bird at his door.

warnings: NO USE OF Y/N, cheating (it’s moon song y’all), marriage, age difference (joel is canon age, reader is 20s/30s), use of pet names, discussions of water/drowning, ANGST, hurt/comfort, unprotected sex, fingering, praising, lowkey possessive joel & reader, undefined relationship, alcohol use, mentions of john lennon cause he needs his own warning, joel is messy and selfish

author’s note: this is my first time writing any sort of fiction in literal years, but i couldn’t help but try to write this idea cause i'm a sad girl who wishes joel miller was real! apologies for any typos/errors, i am the actual worst at proofreading (see, my master's diss that i read at least 50 times and still had typos in the submission). any interaction is appreciated <3

PART II HERE

dividers from @saradika

Fresh snow had fallen this morning, wiping away some of the evidence of daily life here in Jackson. The air was biting, you work your sleeves over ungloved hands to keep the chill away, cheeks flushed. Snow crunches under your boots while you rush from your house to work at the Tipsy Bison, Jackson’s bar. Because of course one of the first things restored in the commune, in the middle of the apocalypse, was the one place with all the alcohol. Not that you were complaining, it gave you a job in town that you enjoyed; you got to pass time by being around people and making conversation, something you didn’t get in the small cottage that you occupied by yourself.

Keeping your eyes trained on the ground as you walk, careful to watch out for patches of ice, you only look up when you hear your name called. It’s the familiar voice of your boss; at least, you call him your boss cause he makes your shifts, but he hates to feel any sort of claim over the place since, y’know, the whole communist thing.

Tommy Miller stands near the steps up to the bar, clad in his signature look of denim and chambray, denim’s sister (the man wore a Canadian tuxedo nearly every day, you kept a tally). He’s waving you over, and before you can greet him, your attention is pulled from Tommy to the pair standing next to him.

A man, looking slightly older than Tommy but eerily similar with light grays sprinkled in his brown hair, donning a suede winter coat that was fitted across broad shoulders. His beard was patchy, not covering much of his strong jaw. Hooked nose, syrup brown eyes, olive skin looking pale from the season. There was a scar on his right temple, and other healed injuries dotting around the exposed skin. He’s handsome.

The young girl next to him just reached the man’s shoulders at her full height, bundled up in layers of sweatshirts and an open coat that didn’t look very warm. Her beanie framed her face along with her brown hair, the look on her face one of obvious teenage annoyance. She looked barely fifteen.

Tommy started introductions, barely getting a word out before the mystery man cut him off.

“I’m Joel, Tommy’s older brother. And this is Ellie.” He gestures to the girl and she gives you a nod. Joel removes a glove and extends his hand. You meet halfway, feeling the need to apologize for your cold skin chilling his own much warmer. Work-worn fingers wrap around to meet the skin on the backside of your hand. Your mind wanders to how those hands would feel in other places like --

Tommy’s voice breaks up your thoughts, “They’ve been traveling for a few months now to come here to Jackson.”

A smile crosses your face, grip not yet leaving Joel’s. His mouth ticks up slightly to one side.

“Welcome to Jackson, Mr. Miller, and you too, Ellie. It’s nice to put a face to the brother that Tommy’s been telling me stories about.”

“Please, just Joel. And it’s nice to meet you too, I hope he’s only told the good stuff.” Before you can respond, Ellie quips in.

“For months you have refused to tell people your name and now the first pretty girl in this perfect fucking town and you’ve given it twice.” She rolls her eyes so hard they disappear into her skull. Been there, Ellie. The attitude of a teenager is universal, even in the apocalypse.

Joel’s head snaps to Ellie and he grits out under his breath a little too loudly, “Ellie, quit cursing.”

Blush creeps across his face and you note that he didn’t say anything about Ellie knowing he thought you were pretty. Joel breaks eye contact and lets your hand go.

“Alright, hon, we should be on our way. I won’t subject you to any more of my older brother. He’s not much of a conversationalist,” Tommy teases. Joel gives Ellie a run for her money with the intensity of his eye roll.

Waving to the newcomers, you step back to head up the stairs. Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see Joel take the smallest step towards you, about to follow like a puppy.

“See you later, boss. Nice to meet you again, Ellie and Joel, enjoy your tour of our perfect fucking town.”

Joel glances back over his shoulder to watch you walk into the swinging doors. Lord, if you could read his thoughts. He knew he was in trouble the moment he saw that damn smile.

The last few weeks have been torture to Joel. He and Ellie had been back in Jackson for about a month now, getting settled in their new normal. However, it wasn’t the lifestyle change that was anguishing him.

He’d thought of you a few times after he’d met you that winter; remembering your smile when Ellie was quietly resting against his back on the horse, a fever dream of you when he was in the basement of that abandoned house, a rush of nerves when Tommy brought him to the bar for the first time since he’d been back. He was infatuated with you, and now that he’s living in the same town as you, it’s gotten worse. Foolish mind daydreams of you and him together, feeling like a teenager again with the way you make his knees weak. He’s been careful not to spend much time alone with you, reminding himself that he shouldn’t let someone like you get involved with someone like him. All he’d do was fail you, fail to give you a good life. Words were carved into his skull at this point:

You’re too broken, too bruised, too scarred, and full of guilt - you’re going to fail her, too..

The small two-bedroom cottage diagonal to his and Ellie’s house was yours, and the proximity wasn’t helping his situation. And not only were you his neighbor, but you worked at the place where Joel spent a good chunk of his free time - the bar. He’d get drinks with Tommy or other guards after a shift, and that evolved to going by himself in hopes to see you and drown his guilt over those hopes (among a lot of other things).

It’s these nights when he’s become a bit looser with his self-inflicted rules around you. He occupies the stool at the end of the bar, stealing glances as you help other customers. His index finger rims the dry glass in front of him. You approach with that same damn smile aimed at him. It’s a dangerous combination along with the liquor, both fuzz his rationality.

“Another one, Mr. Miller?” you nod to his glass, reaching out to take it from him. Soft fingertips brush over his skin, sending a jolt of energy up his arm.

He clears his throat and answers, “Now, darlin’, I think I told you to call me Joel. Actually, at this point, I think it would be classified as begging. Mr. Miller makes me feel old.”

Throwing your head back with a laugh, the skin of your neck is exposed. His tongue involuntarily wets his lips when he thinks of leaving a mark there.

“Feel old? You are old, Miller,” he fakes offensive, eyebrows raised, “Aw, c’mon Joel, you know I’m just kiddin’. You’ve still got it. That silver fox thing you got goin’ on really does it for women ‘round here.”

He wants to be bold enough to ask if it’s doing anything for you, but instead, he huffs a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief, taking the two fingers of whiskey you poured.

“And how do you know that, darlin’? Haven’t had many offers for courtship since I got here.”

“I work in the bar. Women get drunk and spill their every thought. Including that the new guy with the daughter is hot,” you lean over the edge of the bar top, face less than a foot in front of him. Your eyes shift down to his lips. “Plus, I might encourage the conversation with my own thoughts.”

That smile again, except now it’s more of a smirk. He sips his drink, capturing the lingering alcohol with a lick of his lips. Your eyes go again, watching his tongue.

“I’m glad I can be such a riveting topic of conversation for you, sweetheart. Hope it’s good thoughts only.”

“Wouldn’t say the thoughts I have about you are good, Joel,” he swallows hard hearing the flirtation in your comment, feeling his jeans tighten.

Snapped out of hazy judgment, he resurfaces from the alcoholic tides; the rules he has about you act as a life preserver for him to cling to before getting caught in your rip current.

Joel throws back the rest of his drink, standing from the stool. He needs to get out of here if he wants to keep his promise to himself. Well, not that he wants to, but it’s what’s right. He can’t get you involved with his broken self. Your face drops slightly at the sight of him leaving, and part of him wants to lean over the bar to grab your face and kiss you hard in reassurance that he has the same kind of thoughts. But he can’t.

So he wishes you goodnight and walks home, angry with himself for nearly crossing the line. But he can’t help but think of your smile, and those flirty comments, as he tries to fall asleep.

You’re wide awake. Every time you close your eyes, your brain starts looping your conversation with Joel. Fingers rub circles in your temples, cursing to yourself as you get the replay of his extremely quick exit after you’d said you have…not so good thoughts about him.

The only indication you’d gotten from him that he felt any type of way toward you is his periodic visits to the bar on his own, spending the night chatting and laughing with you. You’d sometimes find yourself meeting his stare when you’d see each other across the street from your porches or in town.

But he’d never made a move, hell the most he’d touch you was to take a glass of whiskey or beer bottle from you. So why did you think he would suddenly reciprocate when you’d made openly flirty comments?

You needed some air. Just to clear your head of this embarrassing play-by-play. You pull yourself to stand and grab the sweatshirt at the end of your bed before heading out.

Jackson had the sort of late spring, early summer climate that happened to be your favorite. Warm, mildly humid days that brought the colors back after winter, and chillier nights, the right temperature to keep your cotton sleeping shorts on and add an extra layer up top to keep you warm.

Without thinking, you started towards the old barn on the edge of the residential area. The structure had seen better days, mostly used for storage now, but the open field behind it had an incredible view of the sky at night. It was a place you loved to go when that deep, dull ache in your chest wouldn’t quit.

Gravel crunches softly under your feet, small pebbles slip out from under your soles with each step. Not remotely focused on what’s in front of you, it comes as a surprise when hands land on your biceps. Your knee-jerk reaction is to scream, but as you look from the ground to the person grabbing you, the sound dies in your throat when you meet chestnut eyes.

“Jesus, Joel, you scared the shit out of me! Hasn’t anyone told you, you can’t just go grabbing women at night? Well, at any time of the day, really.” Your voice is rasped into a whisper despite the fact that there’s not a soul around.

“Maybe you should be paying a bit more attention to your surroundings when you’re walking by yourself at night, sweetheart” Joel counters, mouth ticking up to the side as his drawl continues, “Don’t know who’s lurking in the shadows in little ol’ Jackson.”

“You’re apparently the only person lurking, and you’re not doing a very good job since you just came right up to me.”

“Couldn’t help myself, I guess. What’re you doin’ out here at this hour?”

Heat burns under the surface of your skin when Joel drops his hands from your arms, the sensation radiating throughout the rest of your body. “Couldn’t sleep. I was gonna go sit out in the field behind the barn for a bit, admire the moon.”

He lights up with the first genuine smile you’ve seen from him. He has the best poker face out of anyone you know, but a part of you hopes that he feels like he doesn’t need it around you.

“Mind if I join ya, darlin’? Might be nice to stargaze a bit.”

You have to hold back from nodding frantically, attempting to play it off as if you’re weighing your options, “I don’t mind at all. You can teach me about the stars.”

The walk over is quiet but comfortable. At the shabby split-rail fence, you lift your foot to the lowest rail and push off the ground to mount the barrier. Joel’s hand meets the small of your back to hold you steady. Heat emanates from the spot, fingertips brushing your sweatshirt. His warmth leaves you as you make it over, watching as he easily clears the fencing with one smooth movement.

“Any spot in particular?”

As an answer, you grab Joel’s hand. Nerves bubble in your stomach, two steps ahead with your arm outstretched behind. His larger strides are quick to close the gap, arms between your bodies with palms pressed together. His hand shifts in yours, fingers lacing with yours and curling around the outside of your smaller hand, his thumb skimming back and forth.

Steps slow at a small clearing in the tall, overgrown grass, settling down on the dewy ground. He lays back with you, not focusing on the stars right away. His eyes are a cooler shade in the moonlight, yet no warmth is lost in the way he looks as if he’d been waiting for this moment.

Suddenly aware of yourself under his stare, you lightly clear your throat and turn toward the sky. “Do you know a lot about astronomy? I never got to learn much, other than my brother teaching me how to find the north star to navigate.”

Joel’s attention moves to the stars, his voice coming out lower and softer than in the daylight, “I used to know a lot more. Did a lot of camping before and learned to find the major constellations. Taught Ellie some of ‘em, and now she’s got a few books on astronomy. She kept saying how she wanted to fly, go to space or the moon like Sally Ride.”

“She’d be a pretty badass astronaut.”

He laughs softly, nodding before his expression settles into one of reminiscence and guilt all muddled together.

“You’re not wrong,” he pauses shortly before continuing, “But, I think I can still remember most of the constellations. What’s that thing called where you’re assigned one when you’re born?”

“Astrology?”

“That’s it. I know where my constellation is. I’m a Libra, whatever that means.”

Joel lifts your joined hands, his index fingers extended as he traces out the shape of scales in the corner of the sky.

Pulling the limited memories you have from the book you’d found sitting on a shelf at home, you follow Joel’s finger, “Libras are supposed to be balanced, that’s the whole scales thing, I guess. And impartial, but sometimes indecisive. Oh, and charming.”

Joel nestles your hands back on the ground. “Balanced, impartial, and indecisive? Sounds a lil’ vague, darlin’. Not sure I’m believin’ the stars can tell you about your personality.”

“Well, they got the charming part right about you. You’re certainly a Southern gentleman, got ladies swooning left and right.”

“Nah, I don’t even notice ‘em. Too busy focused on someone I’m pretty charmed by myself.”

You let go of Joel’s hand, turning onto your side to face him. He mirrors you, and you take the chance to lean in. Lips touch together with a brush, breaths fanning over both of your faces as you wait for his response.

Joel sits up, weight resting on his elbow. Broad shoulders lean over to shift you onto your back, rich eyes never leaving you. His touch is confident, a large hand fully cups the side of your face. Fingers sprawl along your jaw, thumb on your cheekbone. His frame leans further over yours, lips hovering as his voice breaks the moment of silence in a rasp, “This okay?”

Your voice thick with anticipation answers, “Yes.”

His kiss sends ripples of tension over your body. Fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeves, feet press into the dewy earth, chest tightens with quickened beating, lips match his depth. He tastes minty from toothpaste, mixed with notes of the Tennessee whiskey he orders. It’s intoxicating, reminders of him to seep into your daily life.

Joel brings you closer with a hand in your hair. His tongue traces your lips, parting them to let him in. When his fingers leave the crown of your head, his touch floats over your body, caressing your waist, sprawling under your breast, and jumping to your exposed thigh. He’s pressing your skin back against your body as if you were going to flow out from under him.

His frame shifts over you, pulling him away and breaths mix from open-mouth exhales. Legs open and hands find purchase on his expansive shoulders, heat pooling at your center when his knees settle between yours.

“You’re so beautiful, darlin’,” Joel’s earthy tone sighs, his hands moving along your body with a rumble of satisfaction brewing out of his chest.

His touch surrounds your cheeks as if he was bringing water up to drink from his hands, only your lips are the means to quench his thirst. You moan into the deep kiss, finding a frantic rhythm together. Fingertips dance along his torso to reach the hem of his navy t-shirt.

Hot, humid kisses line your neck to the collar of your sweatshirt. Tugging at the fabric and slipping his hand underneath, you comply to get the material off. Your t-shirt follows in its wake, the chill of the ground and Joel’s touch spreading goosebumps on your skin.

You breathe out a moan at his teeth scraping the curve of your shoulder, hands pulling at his shirt. He follows the silent order, getting the soft cotton over his head.

His hips grind down, arousal flooding your core. Another moan slips at the feeling of Joel’s breath meeting a small peak on your chest, sucking the pebbled skin.

Hips jerk up against his bulge, Joel’s throaty groan cutting into the night.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so soft…”

He gives the same treatment to the opposite breast and large fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts, tugging lightly to ask permission.

“Touch me, please. Wanna feel you…”

Joel’s lips separate from the skin with a pop. Your shorts come off, Joel retaking his place between your velvety thighs.

His eyes worship your body, dark with lust but still harboring a warmth. A slight ache burns in your hips that you completely ignore when his knuckles brush up your covered slit.

There isn’t a single thought in his head that doesn’t revolve around you.

His fingers slide against the last piece of fabric covering you, feeling your wetness through it. Your delicate sounds encourage him, thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow circles. He watches for a moment, eyes catching your face as you whine.

“Joel, please…”

His teasing doesn’t cease. Instead, he removes his thumb from your clit, hooking his finger to pull your panties to the side and exposing your wetness to the chill of the night.

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, darlin’. Not a mind reader…” He grins as you huff out your frustration.

“Please, Jesus Christ, want your fingers inside of me…” you look at him impatiently as you wait for an answer.

Biting his lip to hold back a groan, he pulls your panties off to leave you completely naked under him. His mouth waters, taking you all in as his touch runs up your bent knees.

Two fingers gather your wetness, pressing harder circles into your clit. Your whimpers egg him on, slipping down to tease your entrance with one finger.

“Good girl. ‘M gonna make this pretty pussy come around my fingers.”

With a smirk, one finger slides into you. Moans fill the still air, the tightness of you around his middle finger making him stiffen. A second finger easily joins the first to work you open.

His name is repeated like a prayer when he hooks his fingers on the uptick, searching for that rough patch inside your walls.

“Fuck, Joel, feels so fucking good,” you writhe under his touch, the sight and sound of you falling apart making him ache. He uses the hand resting on your stomach as a temporary fix for himself, a deep moan interrupting the orchestra of your whimpers and wetness. He pulls his hand away from his jeans, the need to feel you come overpowering his own.

He moves in circles around clit while fingers work in and out quicker, wanton moans growing louder and higher in pitch to accompany the sounds of your drenched cunt.

“So tight around my fingers. Feels good, yeah? You gonna come for me, sweet girl?”

The sounds you make in response are lewd, pleasure overtaking you as you rasp out, “Joel, I-I’m-”

“I know, baby. Let it happen.”

His words push you over the edge, fingers nearly pushed out from how hard you clench around them. Moans flood his ears, and all he can focus on is making that feeling last for you.

Soft breaths return when you’ve recovered, hand finding him hard and working your palm. Fingers open his button and fly, shoving the fabric as far down as you can manage.

“You sure, darlin’? We don’t have to, watching you was enough for me.”

You make your way inside his jeans, fingers wrapping around his cock and stroking slowly. He’d never really been one to care about underwear in the middle of the apocalypse, and right now he was thanking his past, lazy self for the lack of barrier. A shudder ripples down his spine, your touch so much better than his own fist.

“‘M sure, baby. Need you inside of me,” he twitches in your loose grip at the request, pushing his pants down just far enough to free himself.

Nails scrape against his scarred chest, a moan escaping you as he guides the head of his cock through your slick before positioning himself at your entrance.

His eyes lock onto where your bodies meet as he enters with a gentle thrust, your nails biting into the skin under his collarbone. He looks for a second at your face, your nod permission for him to move once you’ve adjusted to the stretch.

He nearly comes at the sight of you taking him fully, your tightness and warmth making the edges of his vision blur. “So, so good, baby…Feels so tight and warm and wet. Perfect, you’re perfect.”

Wetness pools around the base of him and onto the grass below, drenching the sound of skin meeting skin. He watches your eyes screw shut, whimpering as you take every thrust, “Fuck, Joel. Feel so full, ‘m close already.”

His hips work you harder, feeling that taut rope in his gut near its breaking point. One hand leaves your leg held against him, licking his thumb to make quick movements on your clit. His name tumbles from your lips in a high-pitched whine and your head presses back against the ground.

“Come for me, baby.”

Your walls grip him tighter and nearly knock the wind out of his lungs, your back arching off of the grass and nails biting into his shoulders. Eyes open when you settle, clouded and full of pleasure. His thrusts grow sloppy as he chases after his own high.

“Fuck, ‘m close. Feel so damn good.”

“Come for me, please Joel, wanna see you come.”

Your begging snaps that taut feeling in his gut; he quickly pulls out and replaces your warmth with his fist. His chin falls to his chest with a guttural moan as he watches his spend cover your lower stomach, glistening in the soft light. Warmth spreads across his body in a tingle, pleasure clearing his head.

They say drowning is one of the more peaceful ways to go. Once the first few breaths of water fill your lungs, your muscles relax and there’s a warmth that washes over you. Then you pass out and everything goes black. It’s not comfortable, but the tranquility makes it better.

Joel feels like he’s drowned in you, muscles relaxed, warm peace in his chest. His vision is black for a moment, breaths deep in recovery. His eyes adjust to see moonlight flooding your face and body in cool blue. His hands start roaming again, softer this time. Pulling out of you slowly, your whimper meets his small hiss.

He lays you on your side to face him, your form molding like fresh clay.

“You okay?”

Your eyes close contently when his fingers brush your hair from your face, humming, “Fantastic. I wanted that to happen ever since I met you.”

His heart beats quicker at your confession, his mind immediately repeating those words - you’re going to fail her, too.

He only holds you closer in response, and by the time you’re both dressed again and walking back to your street, he knows that he can’t let this continue.

Guilt harbored in his chest over forcing himself to avoid you for weeks after you’d given him exactly what he longed for. He didn’t want you to think that he saw you as a one-night stand, it had felt like more than he wanted to admit, but he couldn’t seek you out to apologize. If he saw you alone, he’d end up doing it all over again. He didn’t regret it. He was just trying to do right by you. Give you space, give you the means to move on before you’d drift too far into the deep end with him.

So he decided to move on himself, try to force your hand into someone else’s if you saw him coupled up. It was cruel, but that’s who he was deep down. Cruel, guilty, undeserving.

He asked Tommy to set him up with someone, and his brother told him about a nice widow who’d been in Jackson since the beginning and had mentioned how cute she thought Joel was. That was enough for him. He asked her out that night.

He’d been dating Heather for a couple of months now. She was pretty, with medium blonde hair and blue eyes. Not much younger than him. Everyone knew they were together, and he assumed that meant you did too. He’d seen you around, eyes never meeting while he walked to his house hand-in-hand with her. He heard rumors of you leaving the Tipsy Bison with a guy in tow a few times, and despite the pang of jealousy that he felt, he kept reminding himself that this was right. You’d fall in love with that guy or someone else, forgetting all about him.

A few months of dating led them to a quick engagement. Joel still couldn’t get you out of his head and took extreme measures to ensure nothing more would happen. They got married in his backyard in a small ceremony. The occasion was lowkey, at the request of Joel. Word spread after the first outing Joel had taken to the market, the silver band on his finger telling everyone what they wanted to know. Each conversation came with congratulations to him and his new wife. He returned them with tight, polite smiles, hiding the oozing guilt that was filling his chest.

Joel had found out that you’d skipped work a few times when Tommy mentioned it in passing on patrol, which was extremely unlike you considering you loved your job. He knew it was because of his marriage.

He tried to bury his worry, telling himself that he was doing the right thing. For him and for you.

Heather had lived her young life with her first husband, she wouldn’t grow to resent him for what he failed to give her. You would move on, as he did, and find some nice guy to settle down with, who could give you what you were looking for. What you deserved.

The worry carried over the day, his brain jumping to worst-case scenarios. He had to make sure you were okay. He would knock on your door to see if you were there. It was the neighborly thing to do.

Joel silently left his bed with his wife sleeping next to him, slipping out the front door in the hours before dawn. He needed to check on you, even if he had to look in through your windows to make sure you were alive. Knuckles lightly rapped on your door, and just as he was nearly about to go find your bedroom window, the door cracked apart from the jamb, and your face was lit by the soft night light.

“What are you doing here?” He can taste the bitterness in your tone.

He swallows down at the toes of his boots, raising both shoulders in a small shrug.

“Tommy said you skipped out on work most of this week. Just wanted to make sure you were alright. That you were alive.” He tries to joke, but your expression remains annoyed.

“Well, I’m fine. Alive. You should probably go, your wife’s at home.”

The door starts to shut, but he quickly grips the edge, rasping out, “I need to talk to you.”

You pause for a second before opening the door. Not waiting for him, you move to sit on your couch. Joel strides over, sitting at the other end and cheating his body towards you curled up in the corner.

“What do you need to talk about?”

“I need to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have ignored you after that night. Hell, that night shouldn’t have even happened. I got caught up-”

“Do you regret it?”

He thinks about saying yes. It would make everything so much easier. You could hate him, call him an asshole for fucking you and breaking your heart. But he can’t lie to you.

“No. I could never regret it.”

“So why shouldn’t it have happened?”

He sighs, wringing his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees.

“Honestly? I’ve been trying so hard to do right by you, darlin’. You deserve so much more than me. I’m broken, bruised, scarred. I’ve lived an ugly life, and I don’t want to end up giving any part of it to you. I can barely live with myself for the things I’ve done, even if I’ve done them to save my people. I’ve lost so much, and taken all the same. You’re so bright. I see it in that beautiful smile of yours. You deserve someone who can add beauty to your life, to live a long while with you. I can’t do that for you. All I’m going to do is fail you; it’s all I can seem to do these days. So I chose for us, and I moved on, and I hope you can find the same thing.”

After a breath, he feels like he can face you. That confidence crumbles immediately when he sees the tears streaming down your cheeks, the soft sniffle as you wipe your runny nose with your sleeve.

“That’s not true, Joel. You could never fail me because all I ever wanted you to give me was yourself. I love you, Joel. You are someone that can give me a beautiful life. Or could’ve, I guess, but now…” your eyes flick to the band on his left ring finger, “What you did was so fucking selfish, Joel. You couldn’t even have a conversation with me. And no matter how angry I get with you, I still can’t help but fucking love you.”

All he can do is kiss you. He’s spilling every emotion he can’t speak into this kiss. It would be wrong to tell you what you want to hear from him, even if it hurts to keep it inside him. His hands run over your body, gathering you in his arms and guiding you back to your bedroom.

He shouldn’t keep going. He should stop. But the feeling of your lips on his, your soft skin in his hands, and the fact that you love him keep his feet moving down the short hallway.

He can’t give you up. He was in way too deep and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to pull you in with him.

Despite the anger, sadness, and betrayal, your love for him overpowered it all. You needed to show him, to let him go with a searing memory of how you feel.

All of the actions between you two are sloppier than before. Each touch is rougher, grabbing at whatever you can take in the midst of heady kisses. Every movement is filled with unspoken words.

Joel gently pushes you the last few inches onto your bed, kicking off his boots and working at the buttons of his shirt, “Take it all off, baby, don't wanna waste a second.”

You’re only apart for as long as it takes for clothes to be shed. Back against the pillows of your unmade bed, arms pull Joel in and legs spread wide. His weight is supported with one arm, a soft moan exhaled as he bites his mark into your neck. Fingers move through your wetness, circling your clit.

It’s your turn to be selfish, and all you want is for Joel to feel himself inside of you. To remember what it’s like to have you when he goes home. To think about you when he fucks his wife. It feels wrong to want that, but you can’t help but feel a claim over him. The fingers tangled in his hair pull his head from its spot at the curve of your shoulder. You meet his lust-blown eyes and speak your demand.

“Fuck me, please, I need you now.”

Joel groans, fingers ceasing their movement as he questions you, “You sure, darlin’? You ready for me right now?”

“Yes, ‘m ready, please, baby,” you plead with him.

Joel repositions himself upright on his knees between your wide legs, stroking himself to get fully hard. He drags the head of his cock up your slit, coating it with your wetness before he presses the tip inside of you. You feel a tinge of pain as he splits you open, but you whisper for him to keep going.

When he’s completely inside of you, Joel sighs out your name, hands gripping your thighs and bringing one up to wrap around his waist, allowing him to sink further.

“Please, Joel, want it hard…” you whimper out, feeling the sensation of him in your gut. Joel needs no further instructions, pulling back to fuck into you hard and deep.

He watches where your bodies connect, how the drag of his cock swells your cunt. Lip pulled between his teeth, the sight makes his hips snap roughly against yours.

He’s leaving bruises with how tight he’s holding onto you, keeping you from moving up the mattress with the power of his thrusts. You don’t say anything until Joel breaks, fucking you with a possessive drive, “Mine. You’re all mine.”

“Only yours, baby. ‘M only ever gonna be yours.”

“You’re made for me, sweet girl, made to take me. Feel so fucking good, such a perfect pussy.”

You’re relieved when his eyes leave yours as he watches him hit inside you again, tears pricking your eyes from the pain and pleasure pounding through you and the thought that he won’t ever be completely yours.

That stupid piece of metal around his finger burns against the skin of your thigh. It should be a symbol of you, not someone else.

Hurt, anger, and pleasure meld together. Hands move to Joel’s shoulders, using your strength to flip over. His back hits the crumpled pillows at the headboard, sitting up as you straddle him.

“Look so beautiful on top of me, baby,” his chest rises and falls in quick succession, the next inhale sharper as you sink down completely, watching his eyes screw shut and a deep moan vibrate his chest.

“Oh fuck, take what you need, darlin’. Use my cock. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Your mouth opens to tell him you can’t have what you want most. Because of what he decided for the both of you. Instead, a moan tumbles out, hips starting to roll to work him back to that near-ecstasy feeling. The room is filled with the wet smacks of skin meeting skin mixed with wanton moans. Your movements keep you both near the edge, your head back and eyes closed as you scream Joel’s name. He doesn’t reprimand you for potentially exposing yourselves to the neighbors, only reaching a hand to the back of your neck and pulling you in for a passionate kiss. You can tell he’s close when his feet dig into the mattress, hips under his vice grip. He starts fucking up into you, both of your rhythms meeting to work you higher. One hand leaves his chest to hold the side of his head, forcing him to meet your eyes.

“‘M yours…” you echo his lust-filled words. You need to remind him that at least part of him will always belong to you, that only you can make him feel this good, this loved. That you’re the one who fucks him like this. “Made for you, right? Just for you, baby. No one besides you can make me feel this good, make me come like you can. Ruined me for everyone else.”

“Mhmm, that’s fuckin’ right, darlin’. This pussy’s mine. You belong to me, all to me.” Joel’s thrusts become frantic and you lose your rhythm, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing quick circles.

You come hard, screaming his name again and whining with each thrust after your intense orgasm. Joel’s right behind you, your sounds pushing him over the edge. Warm ropes coat your walls, his husky groan reverberating under your palms pressed to his chest. Your voice can barely reach a whisper when you look at him, fingers moving to tug his hair, “And you belong to me.”

He doesn’t say anything if he even hears you, his skin sticking against yours and his come dripping out of you onto his stomach when you move to lie down. Joel gets up after he steadies his breath to grab a warm cloth from the bathroom to clean you up. He crawls back into bed, slipping under the covers after tossing the dirty washcloth into the hamper. Your head finds his chest, curling up into his side with his arm wrapping you up. He kisses your forehead as you drift off, feelings of guilt, anger, and love rising from your gut to sit square in your chest.

Cold sheets. That’s what you wake up to. Sitting up in bed, you glance around your room with sleepy eyes, searching for any evidence of Joel.

Nothing. He must’ve left after you fell asleep. You can’t blame him. It definitely wouldn’t look the best if his wife woke up in the morning and he was nowhere to be found. And he couldn’t risk someone seeing him sneak out of yours in the morning light.

You’re remembering your confession that was met with his claim over your body. Your own stupid attempt to make him believe that he belonged only to you, spurred on by his possessive words.

Something on the nightstand catches your eye. A note from Joel:

Meet me at our spot tonight, sweet girl

You met him that night, and nearly every night since then, too. Mostly in that overgrown field behind the barn, sometimes at yours when you craved complete comfort of the couch or bed.

Joel started staying later with you, holding you after the possessive claims he made over you like a prayer. He opened up about his time with Ellie before Jackson, stories about Boston, about Tess. What it was like growing up with Tommy, confessing he loved to sing and play guitar, even wanted to be a singer when he was younger and somehow ended up as a contractor. He even told you about his daughter Sarah, how beautiful and bright she was.

You told him your own story too. Leaving the Chicago QZ with your brother and sister when everything went to shit with FEDRA and the Fireflies. How you lost your sister soon after, bit by a straggling clicker in a gas station you were raiding. How your brother was the one to shoot her when she begged you both. Stories about traveling west with him, how he protected you until the day he died. You were chased by raiders looking to kill you both for your supplies, running through the forest just along the river outside of Jackson. You didn’t know the community was there, but it ended up being your saving grace. Your brother pushed you to run over the bridge, the men finally catching up to him. You couldn’t stop, couldn’t look back. All you could do was scream as you heard a gunshot.

Joel held you as you cried, you comforted him when he needed it. He never told you what happened after he and Ellie left Jackson that first time, he didn’t have to if he didn’t ever want to. These vulnerable moments brought you closer together.

But it was never close enough to stop the cycle he developed of pushing you away after a few weeks together, getting so in his head about the situation, feeling guilty, or getting paranoid if he suspects that Tommy or Maria or his wife are catching on. His abandonment would last a few days or even a week at a time.

And you always wait it out, always come back when he wants you.

Like a dog with a bird at his door, you gave all of yourself to him.

It’s a late night at work for you. Joel parked himself on his usual stool, drinking ‘til last call after his buddies left, something he’d done often in the last few weeks.

Tommy finished restocking the fridges under the counter and tossed you the keys to lock up. As he leaves, he gives Joel a knowing look and you a sympathetic one.

Joel slaps his hands against the bar top, standing when you walk from behind the counter. His steps falter a bit as he gets used to the ground underneath him. Steadying him with an arm around his back, he wraps his own around your shoulders to keep you at his side.

“Let me walk you home, baby.” Words slurs together, eyes half-lidded and glazed over. It would be a bit endearing to see him without his usual stoic persona, but the fact that this is the third night this week that he’s gotten this drunk is concerning.

You end up carrying Joel all the way home, and just when you’re about to get him to his front door, his strength overpowers your own and he pulls you away with him, dragging you two in a drunken stupor down the road.

His steps are heavy and sporadic while he whistles some song in your ear, reaching the field. He flops down into the grass, his arms sneaking around your waist when lay down with him. Joel pulls you in close, kissing you deeply and sighing against your mouth. He smells of whiskey, leather, and musk; all combining to be uniquely Joel.

You couldn’t bring yourself to argue with him about getting home so you let him kiss you, let his hand under your shirt. You listened to him recollecting the night with the patrol guys. The only touches exchanged were his fingertips running up and down your side under your loose t-shirt and your cheek pressed against his denim-covered chest.

He brought up a song that was playing on a record at the bar, John Lennon’s Woman. He reminisced about hearing that song as a young teen for the first time, and telling you how a couple of years later he wrote the lyrics down for his tenth-grade girlfriend, telling her he wrote a poem for her.

“She read it, obviously knowing the song. She crumpled it up, said ‘That’s John Lennon, not you, Joel Miller,” and walked away from me. Needless to say, she broke up with me.”

“Wow, a breakup over plagiarism. Must’ve been a real stickler for academic honesty,” you reply, sending both of you into giggles.

His laugh faded slightly, the wrinkles still showing next to his eyes and his smile lines present, jovially commenting, “You probably barely even know who John Lennon is.”

He laughs but his words made you feel small. He teased you before about the age difference, but for some reason, you couldn’t brush this one off.

“Y’know, I still remember what life was like then.”

His hand finds your chin, tilting your head up with a sigh, “That’s not what I meant, darlin’, you know I was just teasin’. You probably didn’t even know it was John Lennon if you heard one of his songs when you were young, baby.” You sit up quickly, separating from him.

“He was a fucking Beatle! Like the biggest band ever. I might be younger than you, but I’m not stupid. They were around even before you were born, so yeah, I do know who John Lennon is. And did you know he cheated on his first wife, like, a bunch of times and left her for one of those women? Sound familiar, Joel? Actually, probably not, ‘cause you’d never actually admit how you feel about me and leave your wife, even though you love me,” your words come out before you even have a chance to think about them, and as you look at Joel, you can tell he’s letting his anger and annoyance come over him, his expression turning to stone, “I feel like you just see me as some naive girl who doesn’t know anything or hasn’t dealt with shit in this world -”

“You haven’t done nearly a fraction of what I’ve had to do in this world, darlin’, so don’t get started. You are a naive girl. You’ve always had someone to protect you, and I’ve always been the protector. You don’t know nothin’ about losing yourself or having to do the worst possible thing just to save yourself or your people,” his voice is low and unwavering with an intensity you hadn’t heard before. He’s trying to hurt you now, bringing up the protection that you’d been given by your brother before he died to save you, the fact that you’ve always had support from him or the people of Jackson.

Your eyes gloss over, blurring his hunched-over figure. His words are venom seeping through the well-worn cracks in your heart. Curling up into a ball and chin on your kneecaps, pressing down into the bone to keep your lips from trembling. How childish you must look like this. Joel doesn’t move to comfort you, staring a thousand yards ahead, emotionless.

“I know you think I don’t know the guilt or pain or heartbreak that you feel 'cause I’ve been protected for a lot of my life in this world. But being in love with you, being some dirty secret to you, has given me enough guilt, pain, and heartbreak to last for the rest of my life.”

A shaky breath slipped out of your parted lips, untangling your limbs from their locked positions to stand. You turn away, legs carrying you home. You don’t look back, wiping your tears away as quickly as they fall. You’re exhausted from him, from this whirlpool of loving and leaving that he’s pulled you into. A part of you breaks just the slightest bit more, a new piece for you to mend whenever he calls you back.

You should hate Joel. He pulled you in and pushed you away, and all you could do was fall, but now it felt like sinking. And your feet won’t ever touch the bottom.

He’s taken your love willingly, and only given you possessive invocations over your body, only made your constant pain burn hotter. Linen soaked up the tears that were left on your cheeks as you laid down in bed, exhaustion taking over.

The image you see feels warm, blurred around the edges. It was his home, no sign of his wife but evidence of Ellie in the comic book and worn-out sneakers near the chair across the room. Soft strums of a guitar float around, and your sights lock on him at the other end of the couch. You have this feeling that you need to say something to him, but can’t remember for the life of you what it is; the moment overwhelming. He’s singing and playing guitar, unabashed, and with a genuine smile only for you. Tender brown eyes glance away as someone walks into the room. Ellie’s holding a lopsided birthday cake with a few candles lit. It’s decorated with a sloppy frosting drawing of the ocean, a boat on the horizon. It was a reminder of the daydream you had vocalized to Joel, spending a life on the shore in a small sailboat together. The song he was playing softly fades into Happy Birthday, his smile matching Ellie’s. All you hear, before the image fades, is his voice as you lean in to blow out your candles, “Happy birthday, darlin’. I love you.”

The clinking of stacking glasses is the only sound echoing through the empty bar as you and Tommy close out. Joel’s been ignoring you, has been for a couple of weeks after your fight, spending his free time picking up shifts or staying at home with his family. The rag you’re holding moves in circles over the shiny bar top, reflecting your face back to you. You can see the pain in your eyes seeping back after spending the night putting on a face for your customers.

“You don’t need to keep on paintin’ that pretty smile on your face, hon. I hate seein’ you looking like you’re gonna crack your jaw from forcing yourself to look happy,” Tommy sighs, looking over at you while he continues to polish the glass in his hand. “What he’s doing to you, it’s wrong. You deserve to be treated with respect.”

“He wasn’t doin’ anything I wasn’t letting him do. It takes two, Tommy. Think you’d know that with a newborn around,” you try to lighten the mood, kicking yourself for still defending Joel.

“I know. But I also know how you look at him. Like you’ve been drownin’ at sea and he’s the one who’s come along to save you.” You finally look up from your reflection on the bar surface; the shame in your face becomes too much for you.

“At this point, it feels more like he’s the one pulling me under.”

Tommy sets the glass down and tosses the rag at it. Closing the small space between, he pulls you against his chest, arms around your shoulders. You can’t cry in front of him, embarrassed that he even knows about you and Joel in the first place, let alone that he feels sorry for you. You reciprocate the hug, gingerly wrapping your arms around his torso. The sound of the door swinging echoes in the large room. Tommy let’s you out of his comforting embrace and turns to meet the late patron.

Joel.

He’s standing across the room, eyes moving between his brother and you. He came looking for you, not expecting Tommy to still be closing out the bar with the baby at home. A furrowed brow creases lines between those soft, guilt-ridden brown eyes. The same look he’s had every time he’s shown up at your door at 2 AM to apologize, kiss you, show you how much he needs you. You fall every time, wanting to be his comfort, his relief. His lighthouse in the storm of remorse he’s constantly battling. Loyal to a fault.

At this moment, you wish for a wave to pull you under and sweep you into the tide.

Tommy asked him to wait outside.

Asked is generous. More like, grabbed Joel by the collar and dragged him outside like a scolded puppy, pointing his finger and giving him a strong, “Stay.”

He did as he was told, leaning against the post at the top of the stairs. Arms crossed over his chest and anxiously tapping his foot against the wood porch.

Both you and Tommy left at the same time. Joel would be knocked out on the spot if Tommy had his way, judging by the look on his face. The younger Miller wished you goodnight and you gave him a reassuring nod as you stayed back to face Joel.

Tommy’s out of sight and out of earshot before you break the silence.

“So…why’d you come here? Thought you’d be done with the naive girl.”

Joel raises to his full height, taking a hesitant step toward you. You don’t move away, but he keeps his distance in order to get his thoughts out.

“Darlin’, I’m -” he starts, pausng for a moment to gather his words, “I keep doin’ this, don’t I? Being happy with you, then pushing you away and hurting you. I’m sorry, sweet girl. I’m so, so sorry. I don’t want to fight with you. I shouldn’t have said those things to you, I know what you’ve been through. You’re not naive. You’re mindful, attentive in ways I could never be. I hurt you. I haven’t done this the right way. I haven’t protected you like I should’ve 'cause I couldn’t stay away from you. I’m what you needed saving from and I’ve been too selfish to keep us both from drowning.”

You worry your lip between your teeth as tears gloss over your eyes. He steps closer to you, hands reaching up to cup your face. He’s not sure if you’re going to slip between his fingers, but he’s trying his best to keep you there with him. Tears fall, his thumbs working to wipe them away. Not letting a drop of you to slip away from his touch.

He can see the innerworkings of your brain in your eyes. He knows how to read you; he can see the battle in your head about whether or not he’s saved this time. Your voice is coated in emotion when you finally speak up again, “I’ve heard drowning is actually kind of a peaceful way to go, all things considered. And if it’s going to be with anyone, I’d choose you.”

That damn smile finds its way across your face in spite of your tears, and he can’t help but mirror it. It’s a welcome home for him, the light pulling him into your harbor - safe once again. He leans down to press a soft, tender kiss to your lips, deepening it for a moment when you reciprocate.

His hand finds yours when he pulls away, “Let’s go for a walk, sweet girl.”

Joel leads you away from the bar, walking down your street. You slow down when you get in front of your cottage, moving to walk down your path. He stops you, shaking his head and mouth ticking up in a small smile. His eyebrows are raised in a silent question, asking you to come with him. You fold easily, taking your place next to his side, hands intertwined.

He takes you to your spot where he’s set up a blanket and a couple of flickering lanterns for some light, but not enough to disturb the view of the moon.

“Joel…this is wonderful, I’m - I don’t know what to say, thank you.” Your hand squeezes his and he shrugs the praise off.

“Don’t thank me, baby, I should be doin’ this for you all the time. ‘S what you deserve.”

He’d gotten a couple of strange stares when he’d been walking down the road with a blanket under one arm and the lanterns in his hand. It occurred to him that people would think he was doing it for his wife, that they might ask her about it tomorrow and he’d be in for a line of questioning. But damn the consequences, he needed to do this for you. To give you something.

Joined hands pointing out more constellations he remembers and ones that Ellie knew, having asked her specifically to help him find the one for your zodiac. As the two of you lay on your backs, curled into each other, he’s taken back to the conversation Ellie and him had about their combined dream of a sheep ranch on the moon. Now that dream, at least for him, included you, too.

“I think it’d be nice out there. Without this world, feeling weightless.” He wishes for that down here, to lighten the load on his chest and the guilt on his shoulders. A different life.

You hum in agreement and he continues, “I wish I could just bring the moon down here, to take the weight off us, and to give Ellie the chance to get her dream.”

You’re quiet for a beat before your words wrap him in warmth, “If I could give you the moon, I would.”

You’d do anything for him, he knows that. And he’d do anything for you.

As those words cross his mind, the ring from his finger burns in his pocket. He’d taken it off to rid you both of the reminder of how this night would end, how every night would end. A little metal circle that has decided your fates, at least for now. His voice is slightly gravelly in his throat as he answers, “Maybe in another life, yeah?”

if you got to the end, i'm giving you a big smooch.

taglist: @swiftispunk (supportive bae)

429 notes · View notes

sempersirens · 1 year

Text

sun bleached flies | four

masterlist

chapter summary: joel seeks to make amends the only way joel knows how: messily

warnings: 18+, mdni. previous dark!joel/raider!joel. mention of ptsd, nightmares, some sexist/misogynistic comments, lotsa swearing, nihilism, alcohol & bad decisions.

a/n: hello! as you may know, i paused this series for a little while after receiving some comments about the content of this story. i was quite upset and reactive upon first seeing the comments and instantly pulled the series in order to give myself some time to consider whether i wanted to carry on. but, as is obvious, i really do not care anymore. i put detailed warnings before each chapter so everyone knows what they're getting into. if this isn't for you, that's okay! don't read! alas. thank you SO much to all of you who continue to read my silly little stories and send me such kind messages, reblog, and like. i love and cherish you ALL. this chapter is very much giving "it's the drama, mick. i love it.”

Joel's POV

In the movies about the end of the world, humanity always seemed so vulnerable. Not so much in the way that people would be literally picked off one by one by hordes of undead, but there was always the feeling that it took the end of the world for the human race to finally become their true selves. As if the worst of times brought out the best of people.

Joel had hated that trope. Whenever he, Tommy and Sarah picked out a zombie movie at Blockbuster on a Friday night they opted for the most gory, gruesome option on the shelf. They would simultaneously roll their eyes at any cheesy line snuck into the dialogue mid-fight scene - apart from Tommy, who would wipe his bleary eyes with the back of his sleeve in the hope that nobody had seen.

Sat amidst that gathering of lost survivors, each searching for some semblance of safety in the dire form of group therapy, Joel had perhaps for the first time in his life seen true, raw emotion reflecting in your eyes. You had always seemed so composed during your brief but sharp run-ins with one another, but this evening was different.

He'd watched your cheeks turn pink when the idiot stood at the front of the group prompted you to share your story. The way you unravelled speaking about Mia, it was as if your facade had shifted ever so slightly - perhaps even accidentally - because as soon as you realised your mask was slipping, you snatched it straight back and regained composure. Like she was your Achilles heel, the only thing in this world that could bring your walls tumbling down.

Joel had tried to follow you after the session to get you alone to talk about - he didn't even know what. He just knew was the right thing to do, and he had made a promise to himself to start following that gut feeling for once. But he had been trapped by his row of slow-moving attendees with little sense of urgency and menial small talk, and you were long gone by the time he had escaped the barricades of plastic chairs.

You'd had a child, his child. A child he had no right to see, and wasn't even sure if he wanted to see. How could he look her in the eye knowing the reason she had been brought into this world, knowing he had even let such a thing happen, to bring something so small and innocent into such a plagued existence?

A lot of things kept Joel up at night; too many things to count. The fire of bullets before feeling the limpness of Sarah's body in his arms. The mocking song of defeat, noise constantly muffled in his eardrums that reminded him of that damn flinch. Ellie's small body collapsing into his still-weak chest, fresh blood coating her pale skin. The smell of the burning building in their wake.

It was worse when the dreams reminded him of his own cruelty. Settlements raided and burned to the ground. Blades pressed through temples in the dead of night.

And then there was you.

He had stumbled upon you at the peak of his inhumanity. He wanted to blame it on being around the other raiders for so long, that the things he had only ever been a bystander for had finally seeped into his skin and corrupted him. He wished he could reject all of the shame and responsibility as an unconscious action of muscle memory.

When he saw you standing in your kitchen passing his brother a bottle of beer like it was the most mundane action, he thought his subconscious was punishing him again; like his first day in Jackson, when he'd dared to drop his shoulders ever so slightly at the sight of a woman he let himself believe to be Sarah. For that second all logic evaded him, all he could think was that his little girl was alive and well right before him. As if it had all been a bad dream and she would turn to face him like it had only been an hour at most since they'd been apart.

It took just as much time for his brain to remind him he was really seeing you and not another one of his nightmares. Despite the briefness of your encounter all those years ago, he would've known you anywhere. Even if he'd wanted to forget you, his brain wouldn't let him.

You had every right to despise him, to out him to his brother and the entirety of Jackson. Not only had he taken advantage of your vulnerability, he'd failed at the one measly promise he had made you in exchange.

His biggest regret manifested as a Bambi-eyed little girl staring up at him as if he were a stranger. Which in truth, he was.

It was still early when Joel returned home to an empty house. Ellie was staying the night at a friend's, Dina, or something. Tommy and Maria had reassured him that she was a good kid and it would do Ellie some good making friends if they planned on staying in Jackson for the foreseeable future.

So, he retired to bed and tried to disappear underneath the thin duvet in the hope of dreamless sleep.

After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, your feeble voice from earlier ricocheting through his ears, he admitted defeat.

One thing Joel appreciated about Jackson was the lenient opening hours of the Tipsy Bison. Something he didn't appreciate, however, was how the entirety of Jackson's male population seemed to think the same thing.

"Joel," Tommy called across the room as Joel entered the bar.

For god's sake, Joel muttered under his breath, all hope of a peaceful glass of whiskey dissipating at the sight of his little brother waving him over.

"What you doin' here so late?" Tommy questioned, trying to decipher whether Joel had seen through his suggestion of attending the support group.

"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd make good of this... fine establishment." Joel replied as Tommy signalled to the bartender for two more of whatever he had already been drinking.

Two men Joel hadn't met yet were seated on either side of Tommy, and he didn't care to be introduced to them either.

"You go to that meetin' I told you about?" Tommy was never good at being discreet, making the situation sound more like Joel was eliciting some kind of drug run rather than going to a damn trauma support group.

"I did," the bartender placed a glass of whiskey on the table in front of Joel. "Saw your girl there."

"Oh yeah, she goes every week. How was she?" Tommy's face lit up at the mention of you.

"S'fine. Don't think she likes me very much."

Joel took a swig of his drink as one of the other men chirped up, questioning whether the topic of conversation was about you.

"She's my patrol partner sometimes. Doesn't like anybody very much, don't take it to heart."

"That so?" Joel mused, twirling the glass around in his fingers.

"Spends most of her time with her kid, and if not her, then she's with our Tommy and his Maria. Reckon they're all that's good enough for her in this town."

"Now, don't put yourself down like that, Keith. She's just a private gal, that's all." Tommy reassured the man to his left, earning a raised eyebrow in response.

"Hopefully not that private, I'm takin' her for a drink tomorrow night." Now the man on Tommy's right spoke up.

Joel felt his grip tighten around the glass, his eyes narrowing on the tall but weak-looking man sitting across from him.

"Well I'll be damned," Tommy laughed. "Y'finally wore her down, huh?"

"Other way round, really. I gave into her asking and asking."

"Now, now, Greg. She's a good girl, you better look after her."

"Yeah, really look after her, Greg. Be doin' us all a favour, might put a smile on her face for once." Keith added.

"C'mon now, boys. She's like a sister to me, don't be talkin' about her like that." Tommy grimaced slightly, which soon turned to a snort. He always did lose his backbone after a couple of drinks.

"Like any of you would say that to her face." Joel scoffed, taking a sip of his drink to stop him for saying anymore.

God knows why, but Joel felt defensive over you. Listening to the way Tommy was allowing his friends to speak on you made his blood boil. He could hear thumping in his eardrums, waving his hand in the general direction of the bartender for another glass of whiskey.

"They're just playing, Joel. She can be kinda icy to say the least."

"Yeah, why d'you think that is, Tommy? She's got a damn kid to look after, all on her own."

"I didn't realise you knew her so well." Greg retorted, his face looking more and more punchable by the second.

"I didn't know you were keepin' tabs on my life, who I know and who I don't." Joel spat back with a little too much vim in his voice.

The bartender replaced Joel's empty glass with a filled one, which he knocked back without a second thought before rising in his seat and slamming the glass back on the table.

He turned to leave, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settling in his chest.

"The hell was that all about?" Tommy had followed him outside.

"What?" Joel barked in response, turning to face his brother.

"In there, you gettin' all wound up over nothin'."

"Nothing? You said that girl's like your sister, yet you let them speak on her like that?"

"Oh c'mon, Joel. They're idiots I know, but they're harmless. What's it to you, anyhow?"

"I just thought you were better than that, Tommy."

"You're being crazy. Go home, Joel."

"Where d'you think I'm fuckin' going?"

He waved Tommy away, turning to walk back to his place. However, he didn't want to go home yet. He let his feet take him in the direction of your house, instead.

It wasn't too late, but he still knocked lightly on the front door so as to not wake Mia. He heard some shuffling from inside before the door creaked open.

"Jesus Christ." You breathed.

"Not quite."

"What the fuck do you want, Joel? Why do you keep showing up here?" You demanded, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door softly behind you.

"You know why, we have shit to talk about."

You scoffed and pushed your shoulders back, the smell of alcohol from Joel's breath making the thought process for his surprise visit clear.

"We have nothing to talk about. You. Are. Not. Welcome. Here."

"They were all in the Bison, just know, those pricks from patrol. Greg or whatever, talkin' shit about you. I couldn't stand it."

"Oh, please. What do you want me to do? Get on my knees and thank you for defending my honour?"

"No- not at all. Just don't want you wastin' your time with them when they don't respect you."

"And you do? Respect me?"

Joel couldn't find the words to respond. Everything came flooding over him at once.

"Please, I- I wanna see her."

He surprised even himself at the words that left his mouth, however, you didn't seem surprised. Your eyes narrowed while his widened, watching you take a step toward him, closing the gap between you both.

“Joel, I don’t think you understood at all. Why would I want you near her, when you’re the exact kind of man I'm trying to protect her from?”

taglist: apparently my tags don't always work so fingers crossed these come thru? sorry if i forgot anybody - if you want to be added/removed please lmk! @warm-tea-and-otp @mrsquill @ashleymsnodgrass @bluetattoos @mabermaple @hiroikegawa @casssiopeia @joeldjarin @southernbe @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @cool-iguana @drewharrisonwriter @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @randomhoex @ilovepedro @koshkaj-blog @ejuliet999 @love-the-abyss @jellybeanxc @mabermaple @radsanchez @powellssaturn @ok-boke @phoebe13 @ahintofkiwistrawberry @smexy-bucky-waifu @withasideofmeg @darkroastjoel @willowsvalley @forestfaeriequeen @radsanchez @moonlightdivine @noisynightmarepoetry @mysingularitybts @misshoneypaper @ezzynf @spideyyhoe @runningmom94 @disassociation-daydreams @serendipity22086 @lionlena @shotgun-shelby @daddy-din @dins-riduur-anthe @phoebe13 @bageldaddy

272 notes · View notes

lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 5 months

Text

continuation of this story that is still as yet untitled but has been labeled as #FreeRei in my notes app

The fact that Rei had nothing in the way of backpacks, bags, or even a purse due to her seemingly permanent residency at the hospital was both a blessing and a curse.

Navigating the ledge and tree back down to the ground with his mother in tow was a harrowing enough task without luggage complicating matters, though not quite as difficult as Dabi had assumed because apparently his mother was nimble as all hell.

"The hospital offers pilates classes." she told him as he helped her cross from the ledge to a large sturdy branch of the tree. "I go every day, I thought it would be smart to stay in good shape in case I got the chance to escape." she giggled airily. "I guess my instincts were right."

However she now had nothing to her name but the clothes on her back, meaning Dabi was going to have to steal her a bunch of new clothes and shit while trying to lay low and not draw attention to himself because he just kidnapped the number 1 hero's wife.

This is the stupidest thing you've ever done you soft piece of shit, she says a few nice words and you melt into a fucking puddle, pathetic.

Rei left the lump of pillows she had stashed under her bedcovers in place so Dabi knew they had at least until morning before she would be reported missing, enough time to drop into a 24hr corner store and grab a few essentials.

He zipped his collar up over his chin and pulled on his black cloth facemask and hood before going into the thankfully empty store, he wasn't sure if having a gently smiling older woman on his arm made him seem more or less suspicious with his face as hidden as it was. Though in the end it mattered little as long as he wasn't recognised as Dabi, Rei having last been seen with a mysterious masked figure wouldn't be very useful information to anyone trying to find her, but Rei being seen with a member of the League of Villains could cause trouble.

Especially since they had The World's Most Obvious Spy in their midst.

Keeping the bird around had seemed like a good idea at the time, they always knew where the Commission's eyes were, and could feed him information as tainted as what he gave to them, and seeing as he hadn't ratted out their location (after a few trial runs at various decrepit fake bases) his goal seemed to amount to more than simply capturing the League.

But Dabi couldn't guarantee the Commission wouldn't cut their losses on the whole infiltration thing if they found out the League was harbouring someone of such a high profile, there was every chance raising the stakes this way could jeopardise their tentative safety with their hero mole. He was going to have to keep Hawks at arm's length for a while.

"What colour?" he asked Rei as she browsed the shelves for a toothbrush, almost giddy in excitement over something as simple as shopping for toiletries.

"Colour?" Rei asked, peering at the boxes in Dabi's hand.

"White hair's too eye catching and recognisable, if you want to go out in public you'll have to hide it." He held up the two boxes. "Red or black? Forget about blonde or brown, the cheap stuff doesn't set well in our hair."

Rei tapped on the box of black dye. "This one, so we match!" she smiled.

Dabi felt a sudden flood of something warm in his chest before mentally slapping himself and putting the red dye back.

Keep it together for fuck's sake you're a god damn villain, you have literally murdered people.

He smoothly slipped a couple of chocolate bars into his pockets and some wrapped sandwiches into his coat before heading to the counter with the hair dye, a toothbrush, and a packet of cheap medical face masks.

Rei grabbed at the items. "Oh can I buy them? Please?"

Her childlike wonder and excitement pulled at something in Dabi's chest, once upon a time it was him tugging at her sleeve and asking to pay for their groceries like a grown up. He could feel heat gathering beneath his skin.

Fuck he stole so much from us.

Dabi may have risen from the grave to a life of chronic pain in a fragile immunocompromised body that was kept alive by virtue of artificial quirk induced fevers and spite, but it was a price paid for the freedom his death had granted him. Rei was not awarded that luxury, fit and healthy she may be but her life had been reduced to barely more than a small box for over a decade, Dabi didn't know how it hadn't driven her even more batshit insane than Endeavor had.

Well, she did run off with a wanted criminal, maybe them docs didn't fix her up as well as they thought they did.

"I... yeah, yeah sure." he passed her the items and the last of the money in his pocket. "I need to make a call, meet me outside alright? Don't take too long."

Shiggy was gonna fucking dust him if he showed up with a stranger out of the blue, he was going to have to call ahead with some warning.

Shit, he really hadn't thought this through, at all, the League's base was the only safe place he could possibly take Rei and it was filled with unhinged lunatics that would probably scare the poor woman to death.

Although she had been married to a complete monster for half her life, and had enough guts to escape with a villain at the first opportunity. Maybe she wasn't any more frail than she was sane.

Maybe he broke you but he broke me too, yet here I am, parading around in this shattered husk, pretending I belong anywhere but six feet under.

Dabi had worked hard to maintain his mysterious image, the man with no name or past, a ghost in the system. It was necessary, a requirement for his master plan to have any kind of satisfying impact. He'd maintained the act for this long by keeping people at arm's length, trust no one and no one can betray you.

All of that would come crashing down if his mother spent any more than five fucking minutes with Himiko Toga.

The last thing he wanted was to drag his entire lifetime's worth of baggage into the League's hideout in one condensed human sized package, but he'd already started digging this hole, there wasn't anywhere left to go but down.

He opened his phone and scrolled down to 'Crusty Bitch' in his contacts before pressing call.

"Do you have any fucking idea what time it is?" Shigaraki's groggy voice poured through the phone like sand through an hourglass, grainy and impatient.

"I need a favour." Dabi said, his voice a careful mask of apathy.

"...Holy fuck you must be in real deep shit if you're asking me for a favour." Shigaraki said, the venom in his voice leeching away in his surprise. "The fuck have you gotten yourself into?"

"Aw you almost sound worried about me, that's adorable." Dabi smirked.

"Fuck you. I'm hanging up, sort out your own mess." Shigaraki snapped, all venom returning in an instant.

"Wait shit hold on, I'm-" Dabi ran a nervous hand through his hair as he watched his mother chat idly with the cashier through the store window. "I'm bringing a... friend... to the base, they need a safe place to crash and I need everyone to not ask questions."

"...You're fucking joking right? We're not a hotel Dabi, you can't just-"

"Please."

The phone fell dead silent for an agonising moment, Dabi's head fell back as he squeezed his eyes closed in silent prayer to whatever god might listen.

"Okay, you can bring them to the base, but you're going to tell me exactly what the fuck is going on. If I don't like their story I'm dusting this friend of yours where they stand, got it?"

Dabi let out a relieved breath he hadn't realised he was holding. The threat was an empty one, or at least it would be when Shigaraki discovered that Dabi's 'friend' was just an innocent civilian woman escaping a domestic abuser. The man was deranged but even he had some sympathy for those let down and left behind by hero society, it was why he tolerated the absolute lunacy of the dysfunctional codependent family he'd managed to form around himself.

"Got it, see you in an hour, and..." Dabi paused and rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired. "And thank you, I owe you one."

"Ugh, don't thank me, you'll give me hives."

part 3 ~

#lula's mha brainrot #lula's fanfics #mha #dabi #touya todoroki #rei todoroki #mha fanfiction #my hero academia

83 notes · View notes

wolfjackle-creates · 1 year

Note

Tim Drake and 60 for the ask game!

Number 60: Truth Serum.

This is going to be DC only with no DP. Hope you all enjoy!

I tried something new here and wrote in an omniscient narrator. Hope it comes across okay. I want to practice more because it is a useful POV to write in and I've never really used it before. Not in anything polished, at least.

I'll be honest, this isn't your usual truth serum fic. Hope you all like it anyway!

Word count: 2k

-----

Tim glared at the person who held him captive. Gotham's newest rogue smiled at him as he held up a syringe. Dressed in a long, white lab coat with blue surgical gloves and black boots, he looked like a cartoon scientist.

"Thank you for coming to me, pet. I've finally perfected my serum and can't wait to make a birdie sing." Glee filled the man as he gloated at his prey. This was the night he’d been working towards for years.

"You'll never get anything from me." Tim finally twisted his hand to the proper angle to feel the edge of the razor blade hidden in his sleeve. They hadn’t bothered stripping him when they took his visible weapons and utility belt, much to Tim’s relief.

"Oh, once we get this in your system, we will!" The scientist laughed. "I've spent years on it, you know. And with it running through your veins, you'll answer all my questions!"

And then, before Tim could release the blade and slice through his ropes, the man jabbed the syringe into his neck. The solution burned going in and Tim grit his teeth against the pain.

The man laughed again. This was the best night of his life. "Now, we wait! Just a few minutes and you'll tell me exactly who Batman is. And the rest of your flock. And anything else I want to know."

Tim glared, but focused on sawing through the ropes without making his movements obvious.

Just as the rope split, he heard the sound of a distant explosion. Mad scientist man glared at Tim before speaking into a walkie. "What was that?"

Tim smirked and found himself answering, "My backup," before he could stop himself. Shit. He bit his cheek and launched himself out of the chair.

He punched the man hard, knocking him to the ground. He wanted to ask if there was an antidote or what side effects he could expect, but he couldn't give the man a chance to ask any questions. Instead, he slammed the man's head into the floor, knocking him out.

Maybe he could find a computer on the way out.

Another explosion sounded and Tim cursed under his breath. Nope, he didn't have time to look for information or computers or even the rest of his gear. He had to get out of here now before his family caught up.

On the other side of the warehouse, Jason laughed as he detonated another explosion. For once, Bruce wasn’t scolding him for the unnecessary force. And Dick even helped him set up the explosives. Over the comms, Barbara’s voice was cold as she told him where he would cause the most destruction.

“This guy’s a chemist,” she said. “He’s worked for Scarecrow in the past and he’s been collecting chemicals in large quantities for the past two months. Red Robin was trying to figure out what sort of concoctions he’s been developing, but hadn’t as of last night’s report.”

Damian snorted. “If he were competent, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Dick tsked at him. “That’s enough, baby bat. RR is plenty competent.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Enough chatter. Oracle, where to next.”

“Go through the second door on your left. Wait, hold on.” More quietly, she said, “What are you doing RR?”

“What’s happened,” demanded Bruce.

“Based on his tracker, Red Robin has left the room he was held in. But instead of reuniting with you, he’s taken a path into the sewers.”

“I’ll follow RR,” said Dick. “The rest of you focus on taking these guys down.”

“Very well,” agreed Bruce. “Report in once you find him.”

“Will do, B!” Dick said as he turned and rushed back into the city, following Babs’ instructions.

Tim, meanwhile, sprinted through the sewers. He had a safe house nearby. He had a protocol for this and it didn’t involve being anywhere near his family. He didn’t look down as his boots splashed through the disgusting water. It wasn’t far now. Not ten minutes later, he was taking an exit into a retired subway station and climbing the fence to the streets.

Two more blocks, and he was on the fire escape and pushing open the window to his safe house. First thing he did was rush to the computer and turn it on. Two minutes later, he hit send on an SOS.

Scattered across the country, three people’s phones rang with an emergency signal.

Unfortunately for Tim, that was the moment Dick caught up to him as well. Tim heard the window open and a voice call out, “Red Robin?” Though really, calling out was a formality. Dick could tell Tim was in by the lights that were on.

“In the bedroom!” replied Tim before he could stop himself. Then he cursed. Apparently the serum would work even if the question wasn’t stated in full. He dove for the closet where he knew a pair of noise-canceling headphones sat. He slapped them on just as Dick entered the bedroom.

Dick relaxed as soon as he had eyes on his brother. “God, Tim. Don’t worry us like that! Why’d you run?”

But Tim was staring at him with wide eyes. “Because I was injected with a truth serum.” He slapped his hands over his mouth as soon as the words were out and closed his eyes tightly. Lip-read questions also counted apparently.

Dick froze. “What?” he asked.

But with his eyes closed and the headphones on, Tim couldn’t hear him. Dick reached out to touch Tim’s shoulder only to be tackled to the ground.

He had his escrima sticks in his hands and his thumb was over the button to electrify them when he recognized Impulse. “Impulse? What are you doing here?”

Tim wished he could see what Dick was doing, but he couldn’t risk seeing another question. He had too many secrets he was keeping from his family to trust himself around them.

Bart glanced at Tim who’d backed up until he was against the wall. “Rob messaged us with an incident CH3874G. And the protocols for that involve immediate extraction.”

“I’m his brother. I’m not going to hurt him!” Dick glared up at Impulse even as his thoughts were with his brother. Who’d refused to even look at him out of fear.

Bart shrugged. “Incident CH3874G means he is to have no contact with anyone other than myself, Superboy, or Wonder Girl until the effects wear off.”

“That’s ridiculous. We can take care of him just fine in the cave.” Dick twisted and managed to push Bart off, but he barely regained his footing before Bart was back pulling back his arms and holding him fast again. “Let me go!” he shouted.

And that moment was when Kon made his own way through the window. “Not gonna happen until we get Rob far away from Gotham. He doesn’t want any of you around him right now.”

“Seriously, what do you think I’m going to do to him?” protested Dick.

“Uh… Isn’t it obvious?” asked Bart. “You’re going to ask him questions. And there’s only five questions Tim will tolerate being asked when he’s under the influence of a truth serum.”

“What questions are those?” asked Dick.

Kon snorted. “If you don’t already know, then you don’t get to know.” He walked past Bart and Dick to stand in front of Tim. Kon blocked Dick’s vision enough that he couldn’t see Tim’s face.

Kon tapped a simple “hey” on Tim’s shoulder in Morse code. “Hey, Rob,” he repeated verbally when Tim opened his eyes.

Tim sagged against the wall in relief when he recongized Kon. And he caught a glimpse of Impulse behind him, too. Good, he’d be getting out of here. He hugged Kon tightly, shutting his eyes again so he wouldn’t be able to see Dick.

Kon chuckled and rubbed his back before pulling away. Making sure to enunciate clearly so Tim could read his lips, he said, “No questions until we get you to the designated place. Cassie’s meeting us there. Climb aboard the Super Express.”

Dick could only watch helplessly as his little brother was carried away into the night. “Why wouldn’t you let me help?”

Bart snorted. “Look, Nightwing, I like you. But I like Tim more. He’s my teammate. And he holds nothing so dear as his secrets. Be honest, would you or Batman or any of your friends and siblings let the chance to question him pass by? Would you let him keep his secrets?”

“Of course I would!” Dick insisted. But he knew his family. Bruce wouldn’t. Jason wouldn’t. Damian absolutely wouldn’t.

Bart snorted in disbelief. “Then maybe you should ask yourself why Tim doesn’t trust you enough to even ask.”

Dick glared at the wall, but didn’t have a retort.

“Now, this has been fun, but I’ve got a best friend to look after. We’ll return him once he’s better!” And Bart rushed off to join his friends. Tim would be trying to find a cure as soon as he had access to a computer, but Bart rather hoped it’d just have to wear off on it’s own. It had been too long since they’d gotten together for a movie marathon in a pillow fort.

In the end, Tim didn’t return to Gotham for three days. Three days over which Dick reconsidered every interaction he’d had with his brother, trying to figure out when he’d lost his trust.

He had to admit that stalking was practically a family love language, though. And Damian didn’t help the situation by loudly and often lamenting the lost opportunity to question Tim on anything and everything.

Bruce merely hummed when Dick reported on the situation. He was just glad his son had freed himself before spilling any family secrets and was currently safe with his own friends. Kon sent periodic updates to Clark who passed them onto Bruce, so he knew his son was safe. Nothing else mattered.

The moment Kon set down on the grounds of Wayne Manor with Tim, half the family rushed out to greet them.

“Tim,” said Bruce. “I’ll expect your report by the time we start patrol.”

Tim laughed, “You know, B, you could just ask me how I am. I’m fine, by the way. Truth serum wore off about twelve hours ago. It had a ridiculously long half life. But don’t worry, I’ve already got ideas for potential reversal agents.”

Before Bruce could reply, Dick was pulling Tim into a tight hug. “Glad to see you doing better, Timmy.” More quietly so only Tim and Kon could hear, he whispered, “And I’m sorry.”

Tim pulled away confused. “For what?”

Dick stared back, mouth agape. “I— because I tried to ask you questions?”

Tim laughed and shook his head. “No hard feelings. I would’ve done the same. That’s why I messaged the people I did.”

Damian sniffed. “It does raise the question of what secrets you are keeping from us.”

Tim shrugged and grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes and hummed. “Would you be willing to have lunch with just me, Tim? It’s been a long time since we had any one-on-one time.”

Tim swallowed. “Oh, uh, I should really write that report, don’t you think?”

Bruce chuckled. “I’ll let you skip it if you have lunch with me.”

Kon pretended he didn’t hear the quiet “fuck” Tim let out. “Well,” he said, “I think that’s my cue to leave. Catch you later, Tim!”

“Bye, Kon!” Tim hugged him quickly, then he was alone with his family. He sighed. “Fine, B. I’ll have lunch with you.”

He only hoped at least half his secrets would survive the meal.

-----

It's easiest to lie to Bruce when he doesn't suspect you're lying. When he knows and is actively trying to figure out what you're hiding? It's a lot harder.

So, I know truth serum implies secrets will be revealed, but I just couldn't believe that Tim didn't have a fail safe in place for one. And his friends are ride-or-die and would help him get away from The Batman if necessary. So they did.

Dick and Tim talk it out later and Dick gets added as a back up to any future Truth Serum incidents.

#dc comics #truth serum #tim drake #bart allen #dick grayson #kon el #conner kent #dc fanfic #its after 2am and i have no idea how to tag right now #my writing #i wanted cassie to show up at tim's safe house too #but it was getting long #and there really wasn't anything for her to do?#so she was getting snacks and queuing up some movies

174 notes · View notes