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liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 2 days

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Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 6 ]

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Blame my obsession with K-dramas for how dramatic this last angsty part is. Also, to be clear, I do know some of you head-cannon Alastor as a ‘charismatic psychopath’ because of the way he acts in the show but personally I see him as more of a ‘dynamic sociopath’ while he was alive. I’m telling you this because I know authors tend to depict their faves so out of character just to progress the plot of their stories without any logical reasoning behind it. I am not that type of writer and therefore I don’t think my perception of (Human) Alastor is strange. Anyways, enough from me. Let’s get back to our regularly scheduled broadcast shall we?

WARNINGS: [ MDNI ] + [ MENTIONS & DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD / HORROR ] + [ PREGNANCY TROPE…it’ll be over soon I swear…] + [ IMPLICATIONS OF A MISCARRIAGE ] + [ DESCRIPTIONS OF A DEAD BODY ] + [ HEAVY ANGST ]

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On a cozy November evening, the Garden District of New Orleans bloomed with life. Its magnificent houses and mansions stood tall in the late-day sun, and the woeful winter breeze passing through the dazzling neighborhood rustled the greenery lining each home.

Many of the Jazz City’s locals regarded the area as an affluent attraction for outsiders to gawk and marvel at, while those who resided there took pride in its beauty.

You considered yourself fortunate to be a part of such a gleaming community, living a subtle life of luxury due to Alastor's wild success, but not entirely involved with other well-kept wives of similar influential figures.

Socializing had never been your forte; though it was required of you in mannerable situations, the constant exchange of loose friendships with strangers never entirely appealed to you.

Although, being married to a renowned public figure with an image to uphold puts you in compliance with the aversion.

Parties, local events, and even headlining musical performances became your routine social appearance.

Alastor was immensely proud to have you on his arm, charming the masses with your soft approach, swooning the newspapers with your angelic appearance and kind public gestures.

You did your best to make a lovely impression on anyone you encountered, wordlessly adhering to Alastor’s commanding ego and polishing the rough edges of his public image with practiced selflessness.

Few knew you personally, and even fewer saw you as a socialite.

Sure, you'd been polite to anyone who passed on the street, made small talk with neighbors, did charity work for those who thought to ask, and even donated effort towards Rosies spontaneous book club meetings every other weekend -though they were thinly veiled gossip sessions she'd orchestrate with fellow homemakers.

There wasn't a single person you could call a 'friend' who wasn't already close to your husband…

How Rosie had managed to crowd her stunning home with so many familiar yet strange faces, claiming to be precisely that -your friend- baffled you in more ways than one.

Yes, these people were acquaintances and admirers to some degree, but your friends?…

You had none besides Alastor, willing to remain by his side in matrimony just as you had from the moment you met him, reluctant to make any other connections since your shared childhood.

It didn’t help that Alastor developed a habit of scaring away new acquaintances behind your back and even resorted to violent acts of service to keep other suitors at bay before your shared vows.

As a result, the happy faces you saw now felt fabricated; every congratulatory remark didn't resonate with your heart, and the more people that arrived to celebrate you and Alastor, the more lost you felt.

They didn't know you.

No one knew you, but they adored your husband and, in turn, fawned over you.

Liars.

Everyone spouted half-truths, mirroring the ones Alastor had been telling you for months, and your heart grew heavier with each one told.

You could manage seeing him falsify his real identity to the public, to unsuspecting strangers, and to posh parasites.

You could handle being put on a pedestal, seen as the perfect wife, and expected to echo his ideal perception.

Lying to others was child's play, a game you two had grown to love, but Alastor developing the need to lie to you wasn't a tolerable offense.

The party began smoothly; guests swooped in with delightful gifts, either handmade or recently bought from the showcases of New Orleans's finest shops; gentle swing music wafted through the air of Rosie’s lavish two-story home that sat only a block away from your own.

She'd gone to the extreme for the whole ordeal: live music, tantalizing food laid out on tables in the parlor, decorations befitting a small ball neatly adorning the house exterior, and the creme de le creme of Louisiana's socialites filling the guest list.

Alastor uttered nothing but praise for his dearest friend's efforts, thanking her for the collaborative success with a broad smile and chaste kiss.

You followed his gratitude with a gracious nod, content with sitting at your designated table now lined with small gifts from an array of affluent attendees.

"My, Rosie, you've outdone yourself again! You even got Anthony and that grump Husk to show face," Alastor chuckled, eyeing the chattering crowd carefully until his gaze landed on the two opposing men.

Rosie hummed triumphantly, champagne flutes in one hand as the other flicked off an imaginary offense, "Oh, come now, Alastor, you know I'd do my best for the occasion! Everyone in town begged to be here. Not every day they get to meet radio's biggest star and his wife!"

She flashed a genuine grin at you, noting the slight glare on your face as you returned it, but said nothing.

Her attention reverted to the man beside her, who continued observing the crowd, sharing passing remarks with Rosie when a person of interest appeared.

You oversaw their exchange, deliberately soft-spoken the whole evening, often having to avert your focus to converse with a couple who'd come to give their gift and admiration.

Still, the minute the guests left to join the party again, you'd zero in on them.

Alastor felt your eyes on him, burning holes into the back of his head despite you sitting down to rest as the party moved along.

He refused to acknowledge your staring, patiently waiting for you to call for his attention rather than assume you needed it.

After ten minutes of idle chit-chat, he was obliged to give it to you, as Rosie excused herself for the time being.

You said nothing as he peered down at you over his shoulder, amber eyes glinting gold under the lowering sunlight pouring in from the opened bay windows behind you, lips curled into a familiar smile that you considered returning for a moment.

It was hard for you to deny how magnificent Alastor looked in the thrall of pride, dressed in a Burgundy suit with cream accents, hair neatly styled to hide his natural brown curls from the eye of others, and his skin glimmering under natural light.

He was beautiful, deceptively desirable even in your eyes filled with one-sided hurt, and you wished to let go and stand by his side with the utmost confidence in him just as you'd done so many times before.

It would be so easy to forget his transgressions then, to fully enjoy the celebration of your children's oncoming arrival together, but as he elegantly turned on his heel to approach you, splinters of suspicion pricked through your forgiving nature.

You wouldn't t let him charm his way out of this.

Enough was enough.

Alastor watched as your expression grew hard, hidden from the festive crowd by his lean frame as he knelt at eye level with you.

To those around you, the gesture came off as romantic, an endearing sight of a husband tending to his pregnant wife, and not the unspoken detachment of trust between a loyal lover and her predatory protector.

Alastor reached for one of your hands, subtly tugging it from resting on your stomach to resting in his palm.

A sickeningly sweet smile plastered his face as he placed a ginger kiss on your gloved knuckles.

His eyes never left yours as he enacted the loving gesture, swirling with unabashed mischief as you dug your nails into his skin, and the slight pain beckoned him to hum with delight.

You were angry and even enraged with him, but you showed it subtly and practiced, and if he were an ordinary man, Alastor would've considered feeling guilty for it.

But your husband was far from average, far from the definition of guilt, and you wouldn't have him any other way because, despite all his faults and evils, you loved him.

You loved him, felt loyal to him, would do anything for him, yet he lied.

He carried on belittling your trust to mere innocence.

Resentment radiated off you in waves, barely drowned out by the party's happenings but settling on Alastor's shoulders with force.

"Is there something troubling you, my dear?" he asks lowly, eyes steady on you as your smile tightens.

"You." is the only word that leaves your lips, laced with lethal rage in the softest tone, and the contrast elicits a rare frown from him.

He lets your response linger, tangling with laughter and music but remaining in his consciousness as he rises to his feet.

A specific anger curls in Alastor's chest, one he seldomly felt for himself, but the look on your face as he rose to his full height above you made it potent.

Something was different; that sweet girl he'd grown to cherish now looked tainted, and now he knew it was his fault.

"Darling…" he began to formulate an inquiry, faltering in his well-tailored demeanor to conjure a suitable remedy for your anger, but his excuses weren't quick enough.

You carefully stood to your feet, forcing a smile before raising on your tip toes to kiss his cheek, smoothing a hand over his suit until it rested where his heart was.

Your lips neared his ear, whispering spiteful words that didn't match the loving aura you showcased to the onlooking guests.

"You, my love, are a heartless lying bastard. Keeping secrets from me, your wife, of all people? Is that what your devotion to me means? Not trusting the woman who loves you? The mother of your children? If it is, then you can burn in hell with satan himself..'

The strain of smiling through your pain began to take its toll.

Tears welled in your eyes as each hurtful word fell on his ears, but you refused to cause a scene at such a lovely event and resorted to walking away from him as swiftly as you could manage.

Alastor was left to stand alone, his jaw clenched and his control wavering as he heard your heels click further away.

A few guests tried to gain your attention, but you quickly and respectfully declined their engagements, barely making it out of their view as tears streamed down your face, but by fate's grace, you found solace in Rosie's kitchen.

All of the cooks, maids, and waiters were absent.

Everyone was upstairs enjoying the festivities, celebrating you and Alastor's happiest time, but here you were.

Alone.

Beside yourself and utterly alone.

You tried to sob quietly, choking back frustrated screams while pacing, but the look on Alastor's face after you'd confronted him about lying brought more tears.

You'd never seen him hurt, taken aback, guilty like that.

He'd always been so perfect in your eyes, composed and deliberate about his presence.

Now, you'd ruined that image, and at what cost?

Would he come clean now or shut you out even more?

Was your anger worth any of it? Was his lying worth it?

Your heart was a mess, desperate to connect with his, but reluctant to it all at once.

“….”

Maybe father was right…

The sound of quick footsteps approaching the kitchen didn't register to you, drowned about by your excessive crying, but another presence was made evident as two gentle arms wrapped you in a hug.

"Oh, honey, come here…" Rosie cooed into your hair, frowning as your cries became hysterical, muffled by the frilly fabric of her dress.

"H-he's been lying to me, Rosie! Alastor…..a-and everyone else in this decrepit city has been playing me like a fool!"

You shuddered violently, trying to breathe correctly despite a filled stomach and a rush of anger taking its toll.

Rosie hushed you gently, letting you cry in her arms until your breaths came steadily.

She ushered you to sit somewhere comfortable as she gathered a few items to help your nerves settle.

"He lied to me," you repeat tiredly, watching as she throws together a pot of tea, using herbs you know all too well.

A sprig of Lavender, sprinkle of cinnamon, bits of rosemary, and a few drops of honey. Finally, a dash of lemon for taste.

This a simple but potent recipe for a calming and effective cup of tea.

Rosie sighs, debating what to say as she lets the mixture steep in a porcelain cup of hot water.

You weren't wrong; Alastor was hiding things from you, and though she hated to see you so distraught because of his hidden deeds, the possibility of hurting you with the truth weighed on her.

Betray, her closest friend's trust, tell his wife the haunting truth and pray she still loves him after hearing it.

Or, keep up the charade he'd so carefully created to protect you, risk driving you mad with resentment, and contribute to the cycle of pain you felt?

Rosie had difficulty choosing which path to follow but soon made her decision as you spoke again.

"Rosie…tell me the truth. Is he…is he seeing another woman? Planning to leave me? To leave us?.." you glance at your stomach, fearful of her answer and terrified your assumptions might be right.

Oddly silent, she doesn't answer your questions immediately and finishes preparing your fresh cup of hot tea, "Rosie, please! Whatever Alastor is hiding from me, I need to know. I…I'm his wife, and I have the right to at least know what's being kept from me. What is he doing out so late all the time? Why can’t I leave the house without him anymore? And for goodness sake, why does he insist I don’t read the paper?!”

The blonde freezes where she stands, whipping her whole body around to stare at you intently, and you stop yourself from rambling seeing her serious so suddenly.

"Al isn't being unfaithful, dear. That I can tell you for certain.."

"Then what in god's name is he-"

Rosie drew closer to you, dawning an all-too-sweet smile you'd learned to dread.

That happy expression was practiced, used only to console your fears or quell any questions you had.

She'd gotten so well at fronting the mask that you nearly began to believe anything she said when it was on, but now you knew better.

You knew that smile meant more lying, and in that moment, you lost the will to trust anyone in Alastors' close circle.

Even Rosie.

"I think it's time you go home and rest, dear. All this stress and crying isn't good for the babies," the blonde moved you gently, helping you stand and walk the expanse of her kitchen, up the stairs, and down corridors until the ongoing party reached your ears again.

That entire trek back upstairs felt meaningless, a distant woeful memory you existed in just to be flung back into reality by Rosie's voice, "I'll go get Al and have him take you-"

Your head snapped up at the mention of the one man who'd caused so much sorrow, tongue poised to speak harshly about him, but your penchant for politeness tempered it.

"That won't be necessary, Rosie. I'll get home just fine on my own."

She balled, clutching the string of pearls around her neck, "Oh goodness no, dear! This may be uptown, but it is still no safe place to walk about all alone. And dare I say, Alastor’s just wouldn't have it-"

"Rosie. I don't wish to see or be near him!.." you hissed as quietly as possible, lips pursed and eyes glaring daggers into her crowded parlor room.

Despite her better judgment, Rosie let the matter go, frowning as she made a heady suggestion.

"Why don't I have a close friend walk you home then? Just in case. There is a murder running 'round, and we can't have you getting hurt or caught up."

There it was again…

We…

You knew she was referring to anyone but you. Alastor, Angelique, her.

Everyone but you seemed to have a significant stake or curious investment in your unborn children's well-being.

The eerie overprotectiveness always made you weary, but at this point, you found it alarming, to say the least.

However, Rosie was right to a point.

There'd been a murder -or several- running a muck in Louisiana’s deep south.

Specifically, New Orleans.

Although the gruesome crimes were frequent, morbidly committed, and consistently reported on by papers and radio shows alike…

No one, not even the expert authorities, seemed to pinpoint a suspect or apparent killer among the public.

All that they knew was the killer's intangible motives, their style, their choice of victims -but nothing substantial enough to apprehend them.

You couldn't care less about a possibility of the Bayou Butcher coming for your head.

Your anger towards Alastor proceeded your worries for personal safety.

Rosie didn't wait for you to come to reason with her observation, already scurrying into the parlor to find your husband and tell him of your wishes to leave.

It irritates you how fragile she, Alastor, and everyone else he knows treated you.

It was as if you couldn't fend for yourself, as if he was the only one capable of cognitive thought in your marriage, and to some degree, the realizations stung your pride.

Traces of anger grew in your heart towards him minute by minute, something you never dreamt of feeling for him, but dreams can quickly turn into nightmares as your father would say…

This moment was that turning point. You could feel the shift as you turned away from the packed parlor, ignoring those who gave greetings as you stalked toward the front door.

Some asked if you needed assistance, and others watched in confusion as you slipped out the door and let it slam shut behind you.

Not many people were on the front porch and lawn, and those who were let you pass through without saying a word.

You presumed they were just waiting for the moment to gossip again, whether it be about you or someone else.

The need to care wasn't one you had, taking brisk steps down the sidewalk under a setting sun as rare chilled breezes sweep the southern heat from your face.

It was convenient that Rosie only lived a block and a half away from you, and Alastor’s shared estate.

The semi-long walk gave you time to think, time to enjoy the scenery around you and get away from the suffocating expectations put on you simply by being the Radio Star's perfect wife.

You scoffed at the thought, trying not to get angry again as your steps took you around a familiar corner, but the negative feeling quickly lessened when you felt a gentle rap of kicks in your stomach.

The twins gave a subtle tussle, sensing their mother's distress, and to some degree, you believed they were trying to cheer you up.

Their tiny gestures worked, putting a smile on your solemn expression and keeping it there to your destination.

You shuffled up the steps to your home, tired, feet sore, and ready to cry again as the large structure reminded you of the man you'd left to endure the company of his admirers.

His.

Not yours.

That had always been the difference.

With a sigh, you unlocked the front double doors, shutting them swiftly as street lamps began to light up and locking the ornate wood panels right after.

It was a habit Alastor insisted on and one you didn't intend to break tonight.

He'd have to come through the back door, and as small as the hassle would be, you still found it a suitable enough sign of discontent from you to him.

With nothing but sleep on your mind, you trudged up the staircase, pulling your gloves off and preemptively pulling pins from your styled hair.

By the time you reached the bedroom, your hair flowed loosely down your back, and your dress zipper was pulled down (by some miracle, you managed to do it on your own).

You tossed the pins on your vanity, jewelry, gloves, and clutch purse, following suit.

Your shoes regained their spot in the closet, your clothes were thrown into the bathroom hamper, and your nightrobe was thrown over your arm as a replacement.

You were ready for bed after one hot shower, a face care routine, and a hair brushing session.

Alastor still isn't home yet…

The clock had struck midnight thirty minutes ago, and he'd yet to show his face.

You half expected him to, but after years of seeing him angry on very few occasions, you highly doubted he'd return without cooling himself down first.

He tended to go hunting as an alternative…which left you alone for hours on end.

Sadness and guilt crept into you as the argument replayed in your mind.

The emptiness of your shared bed did not help your aching heart, and the heavy silence of the house made it worse.

You may have gone too far.

Maybe he wasn't hiding anything, and I overreacted?

Maybe I was wrong to doubt him, to worry and fret over something trivial.

Your thoughts spiraled again, tears filling your eyes as regret got the best of you.

"What have I done…?" you mumbled in earnest, glancing around the room, wishing to apologize to Alastor or at least explain yourself in a better tone.

Sleeping without him felt foreign, unreal, and even like a self-inflicted punishment.

You saw no benefit to it, and you were consumed with worry.

I can’t do this…

With your mind racing but your body ready to rest, you decided that taking one of Angelique's tonics would soothe you enough to relax.

You left the room on a mission, carefully treading downstairs and into the kitchen, and with haste, you found the cabinet holding the container of vials she’d gifted to you every month.

You opened it swiftly, hoping to find what you needed, but the box was empty.

"Oh, for the love of!-" you hissed angrily, shoving the box away with a grimace, but the sour expression didn't last long as you remembered where to find extra tonics.

Angelique was an insightful woman, cautious enough to give you extra in case something like this happened.

Fortunately, Alastor insisted on putting the additional vials somewhere else so as not to mistake them for regular tonics.

You'd agreed to his idea, allowing him to keep them safely locked in the basement, but now you needed them.

Leaving the moonlit kitchen, you drifted into the second hallway, walking straight ahead to the basement door.

Its key hung on a hook to the left, a small silver trinket Alastor kept a tight watch on, and you tended not to mess with it.

That went for the basement as well.

It was his area of the house you stayed away from not only out of personal reluctance but also out of explicit instructions from him.

His reasons for your avoidance ranged from "Trust me, It's too dangerous for you, darling.." to "Just as you have the library as a safe haven, I have the basement as mine…"

You hadn’t thought to question him, having no reason to, but for once, you disregarded his wishes to grant your own.

He'd never know you went down there only to retrieve medicine. What harm could one peek do?

You plucked the key from its hook, unlocking the creaky black walnut door before reaching into the dark abyss for the lamp switch.

Your fingers found it on the left wall, flicking the switch to bring a warm golden light into the damp room.

The steps croaked under your slow footsteps, holding firm under your nearly doubled weight until you stepped onto the cold wooden flooring.

Alastor kept the space oddly clean; a chair sat in one corner, his hunting gear was neatly arranged on one of two long oak tables, and the walls held other hunting equipment.

You noticed most of the hanging instruments were carving aids, something your own father used to cut and properly clean his own game after he went hunting during your childhood.

Seeing the array of butcher knives and other tools did not frighten you; they were familiar and expected from your husband's choice of hobbies.

Nothing caught your attention at first, usual kickbacks and things tucked away in corners and a hefty radio set on the second table, but little stood out.

You treaded carefully though, peering curiously at different items as you searched for the spare box of tonics, but they were nowhere to be found at first glance.

You figured to look deeper, rummaging through cabinets and under the table, mindful of your swollen belly as you bent down or reached above.

The longer you searched, the more anxious you felt.

Somewhat afraid of being in the basement alone, and a little scared Alastor would find you down there, though he explicitly asked you not to be.

"I have to hurry.." you mumbled, eyes frantically searching the space again as the last cabinet you searched held nothing important to you.

A particular corner of the room caught your gaze. Right behind the armchair was a stack of boxes of different sizes.

You drew closer to them, spotting the extra medicine box on top, gently grabbing it from the pile, but you couldn't look away from the most enormous box sitting right at your feet.

It was huge and made of sturdy metal, unlike the rest, and you were sure a whole person could fit in it if they tried.

How odd…

You'd never seen it before but the box felt sorely out of place, among other things.

You couldn't peel your attention away from it, some invisible force urging you to look inside, and despite your better judgment, you gave into the desire.

Setting the medicine box down on the chair, you moved the other cases off the larger one, clearing it off before cautiously kneeling to open it.

There was no lock, only four bolt latches, which you found easy enough to undo, but the real task was lifting the heavy lid up high enough to see inside.

You managed it with a few determined huffs escaping your lips, letting the heavy lid hit the stone wall before taking a look inside.

You immediately wish you hadn't..…

"Oh God…" you whispered in utter shock and horror at the sight in front of you, feeling undeniably sick from it, mind racing to make up a rational reason for the vulgar sight.

But what rational reason on Earth could justify your beloved husband hiding a literal mutilated body in the basement.

Your heart sank seeing the poor souls' faces sunken in with dread, drowning in their blood, maned at various points as if an animal had mauled them.

Body parts were missing, skin had been flayed, and you almost couldn't tell if the person had any recognizable features left.

It was horrible…a brain-altering nightmare come to life before your very eyes, and it made you sick.

You began to cry, unconsciously sobbing hysterically as the dead body lifelessly peered back at you, terrified of it… slightly afraid of the man you presumed caused the damming scene.

With a sense of urgency, you reached to shut the lid, flinching as loose blood splattered onto you from the impact of the box closing, and the chill of red liquid dripping down your skin was enough to make you scream in pure disgust.

It was a guttural, frantic cry you'd only expressed in recent nightmares, but a deserved one.

Your body began to shake in peril, the gruesome image engraved into your mind as you scrambled to get to stand, but you weren't as composed as before and stumbled backwards haphazardly as a result.

Everything moved faster than you thought; your body had abandoned control, leaving you to fall without warning.

The room spun as your head collided with a table's edge, a dull pain erupting in your skull on impact, and your consciousness wholly disrupted.

The blinding pain of falling to the hard floor didn't register to you as panicked tears seeped down your face, screams you couldn't hear left your lips, and blood began to pool from your head and between your legs.

Shock, terror, helplessness, fear, and panic were all you could feel.

Intense pain in your stomach and head amplified the emotions but became distant sensations as your vision blurred and faded.

The very last words you remember speaking was a cry for help, a desperate plea for everything you'd seen to be a mistaken dream, a cry for anyone -no- your husband to save you from the terrible ordeal.

A plea for him to appear and tell you it's not true, that the body in the bolted box wasn't his doing, but your hope of him hearing you -anyone hearing you- dwindled rapidly as your concussion took hold.

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Rosie found Alastor quickly enough, merely having to spot his neatly styled curls drifting in the wind as he stood out on a balcony alone.

A drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

He blew smoke into the murky winter air, eyes dark and narrowed as he stared at the evening sky.

It was rare to see him frowning.

Alastor Hartifelt, of all people, not smiling?

Rosie nearly couldn't believe it the closer she drew to him.

He was…upset.

Irritated.

His smile was thoroughly washed away by your harsh words and prods for the truth.

You'd managed to take his cheer in one fail swoop, leaving him alone to think, and he couldn't blame you.

You, his ever-so-loving wife, his confidant, and his soon-to-be motherly doting doe, were rightfully at odds with him.

He'd hurt you, the very reason he'd began lying in the first place was to avoid doing so, but it'd happened anyway.

A genuinely ironic turn of events, in his opinion.

Alastor glared at the rising moon, cursing whatever higher power meddled dared to meddle in his life of all people, but his inner ranting was cut short as the sound of Rosie clearing her throat hit his ears.

The radio host spun on his heel to face her, fronting a slight smile to hide the agitation he felt at the moment, "Done socializing already, dear Rosie?"

He strived to sound polite and unbothered, but the edge in his tone showed through despite his best efforts.

Rosie paid no mind to his touchy attitude, knowing where it stemmed from.

She came to stand by his side, nodding in response to his question, "I didn't have much time to. I was with your lovely wife…trying to calm her nerves."

Alastor's frown returned at the mention of you, a thin line on his lips and a glint of guilt in his gaze.

"How is she?" he asks quietly, and Rosie's cheery expression falters hearing it.

"She insisted on returning home… by herself. Incredibly distraught on her way out.." She admits.

His chest tightened, heart sinking instantly picturing you at home alone, "Why didn't she-"

Rosie clicked her tongue dismissively, interrupting his line of questioning, "Al, she was severely distraught. Please let her be. I only know a fraction of what went on between you two, but it's obvious to her that you're hiding something. Not to intrude on your marriage, darling, but you must make a choice before something irreversible happens to it…to Y/n."

The blonde couldn't hide her somberness, staring at her long-time friend with a sense of earnest sincerity as she continued, "I shouldn't be the one to tell you this….but if you really do care for the girl, love her like you say you do, then you'll tell her the truth. You'll tell her, and she'll still be by your side…."

Alastor lowered his head, and for the first time in his adult life, he felt perplexed, stuck at impasss of foreign emotions.

He cared for you; some might call it love, and he'd been aware of it since childhood.

You'd told him all your secrets, good or bad, and trusted him.

You trusted him enough to reveal the mental abuse your father had put you through during childhood.

Trusted him enough to tell him how badly you wished you'd died instead of your mother to make your father somewhat happy again.

Alastor even knew of the times you'd been left completely alone as a child for weeks on end, how your father's neglect made you feel less than, and the permanent effect it had on you.

Your desire to fill a void, be loved without being shoved off, and be seen as more than a convenient soft-hearted person for someone to trifle with.

He knew every little thing about you, and it was because you had faith in his loyalty.

He found it easy to divulge his thoughts to you in the same manner, but allowing his secrets out into the open made him uneasy, even if you'd proven trustworthy from the beginning.

Then there was the matter of killing for you.

Alastor had done it so many times without your knowledge…

Stalking down men who stared at you too long for his liking, carving up anyone who spoke ill of you, happily taking the life of those who spoke down on your relationship.

Most of his murderous tendencies were purely driven by his obsession with you, a twisted kind of possessiveness he couldn't let go of, and one that made it easy for him to spill blood for you in the blink of an eye.

He did it to keep you safe…and that’d only be possible with him and no one else.

What stopped him from telling you how far he’d gone to do so, showing you that unnatural side of him only his victims saw, could only be described as fear.

Fear of losing you.

Fear of stripping the warmth from your heart.

Fear of losing the one thing, the one person who'd loved him despite all his flaws.

Fear of never truly smiling, never feeling a genuine emotion again because you -your presence in his life- allowed him to do just that.

Alastor hated to call it what it was, but as he was evading your attempts to understand, lying straight to your face and hoping you'd dilute your intuition was a way cowards way out of telling you the whole truth.

His pride dimmed, a frustrated grunt rumbling his chest as he glared at the drink in his hand.

Rosie sighed, flashing him a soft smile of pure reassurance, "Go to her, Al. Put a stop to her worries and relieve yourself of the burden. If not for your marriage, then for her sanity. She is too lovely of a girl to be treated so faithlessly."

He tongues his cheek at her words, a bitter burn of smoke and whiskey on it as he swallows thickly before nodding in agreement, "Seems I have no choice."

"You best head off. It's getting rather late, and I'm sure she misses you dearly, Al."

Alastor took one last drag of his cigarette, dropping it in his half-full bourbon glass before letting Rosie take it from him as he straightened his suit.

"I'll bid you good night then. You have my gratitude, Rosie, and the party was a splendid success, if I may add." His tone was back to normal, engaging, and mildly charismatic. Rosie smiled wide at his improving mood, accepting his thanks before shooting him off with a quick peck on his cheek.

“Au revoir monsieur!…”

“Au revoir mademoiselle..”

-------- ---------- ------------ --------------- -----------

Alastor made it home without trouble, humming a snappy tune to distract himself from the evening's progressing events.

However, as he reached the back door of your shared home, his shadows twinged with alertness.

His hand froze over the gold doorknob, a certain heaviness settling in his chest as the specters frantically twisted against the back porch walls.

Something is wrong. Can't hear Y/n. Can't hear their heartbeats. Can't feel them-

Alastor stiffened as his shadows enlarged, fueled by the panic he was resisting, "Find her!" he bellowed the order out on instinct, and the leering spirits dove into action as he barreled into the darkened home.

"Y/n!?" he yelled for you, head whipping in every direction as he searched the first floor, stomping up the stairs next to search the second floor but coming up empty.

He stood in your shared bedroom, remaining calm as he tried to figure out where you could be.

All your belongings were here, and you had readied for bed from the looks of your tampered vanity, but nothing else gave him a clue about your whereabouts.

That was until his shadows called to him; a certain bellow of wailing sounded from the lower part of the house, and one Alastor didn't like the sound of.

A warning.

A frenzied one at that.

Found her…hurry.

Without a second thought, Alastor bounded back downstairs, following the whips of his shadow self as it traveled through the halls, only to stop in front of a doorway he dreaded.

The basement. Its door was wide open, the lamp light eerily aglow as his shadows whirled past the steps to engulf the room.

“Y/n?!…” Alastor called for you again as he crept down the creaky wood steps, voice stiffer than he intended it to be, but its edge paled compared to the large lump forming in his throat when his eyes spotted you.

Splayed out on the floor, on your side, lying limp and motionless.

A small puddle of blood was forming near your head, another was quickly growing in between your legs, and splatters of it covered your face, hands, and nightgown.

For the second time in his life, Alastor felt true terror, bewildered by the sight of his darling wife in distress and paralyzed by the powerful possibility it was his fault.

He’d only felt this fearful once before, afraid his father would end his mother’s life right in front of him after a hefty night of drinking, but even then, he found the courage to act.

Merely killing his father out of pure rage-filled instinct, but now…how he would remedy your suffering alluded him completely.

She's barely breathing… Their heartbeats-

"That's quite enough from you!" Alastor roared in utter frustration, moving without thinking, willing himself to do anything but panic.

He worked as quickly as his mind would allow, trying not to break down as he knelt beside your still body, "Y/n…darling…wake up… please…" he begged quietly.

Being as cautious as ever, he cradled you close, praying to whatever cruel god there was that you'd respond or at least open your eyes while he carried you out of the haunting basement.

Your body twitched at the sound of a familiar voice, feeling lighter as solid arms lifted you from the cold floor and whisked you from the damp room.

The sound of a rapid heartbeat thundered in your ear as waves of coherence fought to establish itself in you, but the severity of your wounds made it a struggle to function.

You settled for listening to the heartbeat, the voice accompanying it a vague background noise but a comforting one.

Your vision wasn't any better, only allowing you to see a murky image of a man, one you knew well but couldn't determine was real or not in the moment.

“Al..astor?..”you whispered in awe, smiling sadly as he looked down at you, clearly worried.

“Stay with me, darling… Keep breathing, please…”

Alastor felt you shiver violently in his arms hearing him speak, racing up the stairs as cautiously as possible to avoid hurting you more, barging into your shared bedroom seconds later.

He laid you down on the bed, disregarding the blood and dirt staining the sheets as he tried to assess your injuries. "Fuck…fuck…fuck!" he rambled angrily, breaths coming quick, and his mind in a rare frenzy as a result.

Your eyes refused to stay open, an apparent wound was on the side of your head, and the impact of your fall had indeed done something to warrant your lower half bleeding.

He needed to stop the bleeding from both areas, keep you awake, and determine the twin's state all at once.

Alastor knew this but struggled to pull himself together, only able to grasp at one of your hands with both of his to ground himself as a frustrated smile adorned his face.

Pull it together, or she and your children die.

It's all my fault… it's all my fault…

She'll die if you don't act…

It's all my fucking fault…I-

She needs help! Wallowing in your depraved guilt won't change that!

His shadows chittered, reasoning with their host despite the panic they felt seeping off of him.

Alastor screwed his eyes shut, an anguished growl leaving his chest as he tried to think of a solution and push away his panicked state.

You remained still, on the verge of passing out again, trying to hold onto reality a little longer, squeezing your savior's hand back as a weak tether to it.

Alastor froze, feeling your gesture, head lifting swiftly as you attempted to speak, "It h-hurts.." you muttered painfully, acknowledging a new ache you'd only felt a few weeks prior.

Intense shocks of strain spread in your abdomen, noticeable contractions that felt different than previous ones, but as much as you wanted to articulate the agony they caused, you couldn't find the strength to.

You screamed instead, gripping Alastor’s hand hard as the constant pains grew more robust, making your cries grow louder.

The terror in your screeches struck him hard, an almost unnatural sound he'd never imagined coming from you, but your following words gave the sounds plausible clarity.

"Th-they're c-coming!" you choked between labored breaths, feeling dizzy as your blood loss took its toll, but the growing urge to push trumped your need to pass out.

Alastor came to his senses upon hearing your warning.

Fully aware that he couldn't handle this situation alone, he did the only thing that made sense to him.

Ask for help. Something he hated to do but saw no alternative for.

"Go get Rosie. Make it quick. Find my mother next and get her here as well…" he commanded his shadows quietly, heart still racing as he took solace in comforting you.

The bed dipped as he sat down, free hand cradling your head as the other raised yours to his lips.

He planted a kiss on your knuckles; brows furrowed as the feeling of your fingers gripping his slightly lessened, an indication of culminated exhaustion and blood loss.

"Stay with me, ma chere. Just a while longer, alright? Everything…everything’s going to be fine…" Alastor muttered soothing words into your ear, a ploy to keep you and himself calm, and to some extent, it worked.

You hung onto his every word, confused and alarmed by him but clinging to the safety his presence brought.

You couldn't forget what you saw in the basement, the horrid image still stuck in the back of your mind as you cried in agony and writhed in desperation for help.

You couldn't believe that Alastor, your perfect husband, the man watching over you now so fervently, had done something so horrible to another person.

You had many questions, fears, and even more confusion than before.

Nevertheless, your dire position now completely overshadowed the underlying nightmare that was your marriage.

Your children.

That's the only thing you could clearly envision, enduring the heartache, suffering through the genuine threat to your life, all for their sake.

Confronting Alastor could wait.

Surviving the night and bringing healthy twins into this world couldn't.

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx

I'm putting the reader through a lot...but you all will survive... Maybe. Also, the song choices for this one kind of hit just right. ;)

TAGS ❤️: @rapturenyx @michi-keinz @shealizxx @nissrinina @destinyisastar @bubblegumheartsy @sailorsmouth @aestheticgals-blog @rameisa @ellesette

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

This edit is so fitting, I fear... Credits to creator ❤️

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor human #human alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hartfelt #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor smut #alastor fluff #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x oc #hazbin hotel fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic writing #fanfic #angst

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lila-lou · 3 days

Text

✨ His only exception - Pt. 30/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, angst, fluff, Ben being a dick

Word Count: 6788

A/N: This is part 30 of “His only exception”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

You leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against Ben's lips, the warmth of your affectionate gesture momentarily easing the tension between you. As you pulled back, you looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

"Hey, could we eat something?", you asked. "I'm starving. And… maybe we could go out? You know, just the two of us?".

You hoped that Ben would agree, knowing that he had never taken you out for a date before. It would be a nice change of pace, a chance to enjoy each other's company away from the chaos of everyday life.

Ben's gaze softened as he looked down at you, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. "Yeah, sure", he replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You couldn't help but smile back, feeling a sense of excitement at the prospect of a quiet dinner together.

As Ben looked at the dress you had laid out on the bed minutes later, a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "So, you mean that kind of going out?", he asked with a teasing tone, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he gestured towards your outfit.

You glanced at Ben from the bathroom, a hint of shyness in your expression as you spoke. "Well, until today, I didn't even got a proper date", you mumbled softly, feeling a pang of realization at the admission. "You sure knocked me up, but we never went on a date".

Ben chuckled at your comment, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Smooth, sweetheart", he murmured affectionately, shaking his head in amusement.

"Well, seems like I have to get all dressed up then", he added with a playful grin, walking over to his closet to pick out something suitable for your impromptu date.

Ben sat in the living room, clad in a crisp white dress shirt and snug black slacks. He idly waited for you, passing the time with another line of cocaine.

As you walked into the living room, the vibrant red dress hugging your curves and accentuating the tiny bump, Ben's eyes widened slightly at the sight of you. He choked on his whiskey, momentarily taken aback by your stunning appearance.

But when he saw your face drop at his reaction, his heart sank. "You don't like it… I knew it", you mumbled, your voice tinged with insecurity. You were well aware of Ben's past with various top models and breathtaking girls, and sometimes that knowledge made you feel insecure about your own appearance.

Ben quickly got up from his seat, his eyes widening in disbelief. "You're fucking kidding, right?", he muttered, his voice laced with urgency as he closed the distance between you.

Taking your hand, Ben spun you around slowly, his eyes roving over your figure appreciatively. "Look at you, turning heads everywhere you go. Fucking hot as always".

His words were tinged with a hint of teasing, but also genuine appreciation for your beauty.

You blushed again, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. "But it's not quite flattering", you mumbled, pointing down to your little belly, your insecurity creeping in despite his praise.

Ben's eyes softened as he looked at you, his hand gently resting on your waist. "That's the hottest thing I've ever seen. You carrying our baby, looking absolutely stunning while doing it. Trust me, sweetheart, there's nothing more beautiful than that".

Ben smiled warmly, leaning down to kiss your forehead tenderly. "And now, let's go get some food into you", he murmured as he guided you towards the door.

As you sat at the table, taking in the quiet ambience of the upscale restaurant, you couldn't help but feel a sense of appreciation for Ben's thoughtfulness. His efforts to keep you safe and out of the spotlight meant a lot to you, even if it sometimes felt isolating.

Across from you, Ben's gaze softened as he watched you, a small smile playing on his lips. "I wanted us to have some privacy", he explained, his voice low and reassuring. "Just you and me tonight".

As Ben looked at you, his heart swelled with emotion, seeing your little belly more prominent as you sat at the table. It was a tangible reminder of the life growing inside you, a symbol of the future he had always hoped for but never dared to imagine could be his.

You caught his gaze and offered him a warm smile, unaware of the flood of emotions surging through his mind. For Ben, this moment was everything he had ever wanted—a beautiful woman, the promise of a family, and the chance to create a future together.

You noticed Ben's gaze actually was on your belly. Curiosity sparked in your eyes as you asked him, "So, are you hoping for a girl or a boy?".

You already knew his answer would likely be something typically macho.

Ben's lips curled into a playful smirk as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on your belly for a moment longer before meeting your eyes. "Well, obviously a boy", he replied with a chuckle, his tone carrying a hint of mock seriousness. "Gonna teach him how to throw a punch before he can even fucking walk".

You chuckled at his response, shaking your head in amusement. "Oh, great", you teased, raising an eyebrow playfully. "Another Ben running around, breaking hearts and causing trouble. What could possibly go wrong with that?".

Ben raised an eyebrow. "Breaking hearts?", he repeated, his tone laced with mock innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about, sweetheart. I'm a perfect gentleman".

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Oh, of course", you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because perfect gentlemen are known for their charming arrogance and devilish smiles".

"Well, sweetheart", he began, leaning in closer, "if my charming arrogance and devilish smile are what make you come over and over again, then I must be doing something right".

Ben leaned back slightly, his smirk widening as he noticed the flush creeping up your neck. "Oh, I see I've hit the mark", he teased, his voice low and husky. "I must say, I do have a way with words, don't I?".

"You certainly have a way of making me blush", you admitted.

"And horny", he added with a wink and leaned closer to you across the table.

"Stop that", you whispered.

"Stop what?", he teased.

You rolled your eyes playfully, trying to maintain a sense of composure despite the way his intense gaze stirred something deep within you. "Stop being so… you", you replied.

Ben leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered huskily, "But being me is what you love, isn't it?".

You couldn't help but shiver at the sensation of his lips brushing against your skin, sending a delicious thrill down your spine. "Maybe", you teased back, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben's lips curled into a playful smirk as he leaned back again, his eyes still locked with yours. "Admit it, you love every bit of it", his voice low and dripping with confidence.

Just then, the waitress arrived with your food, interrupting the charged moment between you and Ben. You exchanged a glance, both of you stifling a chuckle at the timing. As she set down the plates, Ben flashed the waitress a charming smile before turning his attention back to you.

You couldn't resist teasing Ben about his charming smile towards the waitress. "Oh, I see how it is", you teased playfully, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't know I had competition".

Ben flashed you a grin, his charm oozing effortlessly as he leaned back in his chair. "Competition? Please", he scoffed. "There's no contest when you're around, sweetheart".

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his cocky remark, but a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips nonetheless. "Smooth talker", you quipped, shaking your head in mock exasperation.

After the two of you finished dinner, the waitress came back to clear your plates. "Would you like to see the dessert menu?", she asked in a cheerful tone.

Ben's response was laced with innuendo as he flashed her a suggestive grin. "Oh, sweetheart, I've already got dessert right here", he replied with a wink, gesturing towards you in a way that left little to the imagination.

Again your cheeks flushed a deep crimson as Ben's words registered, and you couldn't help but stammer out a response. "Uh, I think we're good, thanks", you managed to mumble, your embarrassment evident in your tone as you avoided the waitress's gaze.

"Are you blushing again, baby?", he teased, his tone laced with amusement as he enjoyed your flustered reaction. "Or are you just imagining dessert?".

"Oh, shut up now!", you chuckled, swatting at his arm lightly. "You're the one with the dirty mind".

"Can you blame me? With you sitting across from me looking like that, it's hard not to think about dessert".

The evening wore on and while the playful banter between you and Ben continued, punctuated by stolen glances and shared laughter. With each passing moment, you felt yourself falling more deeply for him, grateful for the unexpected twists and turns that had brought you together.

You stepped inside the house an hour later.

In the bathroom, you carefully removed your earrings, Ben leaned against the bathroom doorframe, watching you with a soft smile playing on his lips. The dim light cast gentle shadows across his face, accentuating the rugged contours of his features.

"Long day, huh?", he remarked, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded, a tired sigh escaping your lips. "Yeah".

Ben stepped closer, his presence comforting and reassuring. "Let me help you relax", he offered, his hands reaching out to gently massage your shoulders.

You leaned into his touch, grateful for his comforting presence. As his skilled fingers worked out the tension in your muscles, you couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude wash over you.

His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered softly against your shoulder. "You look so fucking good in that dress", he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

You tilted your head slightly, allowing him better access as his hands trailed down your sides to your hips, his touch both gentle and possessive. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent tingles of anticipation coursing through your body, and you couldn't help but lean into his embrace, relishing the closeness between you.

As his lips continued to tease your neck, Ben's hand slipped under your dress and inside your panties from behind, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. With a mischievous grin, he whispered teasingly against your skin, "You're so wet already, sweetheart. Did our little dinner date get you all worked up?".

His words, combined with his skillful touch, ignited a fire within you, and you could feel the heat building between your thighs as desire flooded your senses. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, unable to deny the effect he had on you.

Ben's gaze met yours in the mirror as he watched your reaction, a wicked grin spreading across his lips as he pushed two fingers inside you. He relished the sight of your flushed cheeks and the way your breath hitched in response to his touch. With a low chuckle, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You like that, don't you? You're still so responsive, sweetheart".

Your body shivered under his touch as his deep voice sent tingles down your spine. You knew all too well how easily he responded to you, always ready and eager. It was a testament to the desire he felt whenever he was near you. With a soft moan escaping your lips, you leaned back into him, relishing the feeling of his hardness against you.

With a swift motion, Ben scooped you up against his chest, his strength evident as he effortlessly held you close. As he withdrew his fingers, you couldn't help but whimper softly at the loss, only to gasp as he slipped them back into your panties from the front, his touch now more intimate and precise, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through your body.

Feeling his muscular arm around your ribcage, you leaned into his embrace, your knees growing weak as he softly bit your neck, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. With each gentle nip, you felt your arousal building, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you surrendered to his touch.

His voice resonated against your skin as he groaned, "You have no idea what you do to me. Just the thought of you carrying my baby… fuck, it drives me insane".

You tilted your head back slightly, a soft moan escaping your lips as his words washed over you. “You’re such a fucking turn-on”, you whispered.

Ben's lips curled into a devilish grin as he heard your words, his desire fueling the fire burning between you. "And you love every minute of it".

With that, Ben bent you over, your hands gripping the sink, anticipation surged through you. You knew exactly what was about to come, and the thought sent shivers of excitement down your spine. Ben's reflection met yours in the mirror, his eyes smoldering with desire as he positioned himself behind you.

As Ben slipped up your dress more, revealing the soft curves of your backside, he wasted no time in freeing himself from his pants and boxers, letting them pool around his thighs.

"Let me know if I need to ease up", Ben murmured, his voice low and gravelly with desire as he pressed himself against you. The memory of your bruises lingered in his mind, fueling his determination to be careful with you this time.

Seeing your nod, Ben's hands gripping your hips. With a deep breath, he began to push into you, his movements slow and controlled, mindful of your comfort and pleasure.

As Ben eased into you, you couldn't help but grip the sink tighter, your knuckles turning white as pleasure surged through you, heightened by the sensitivity you had experienced since your pregnancy began.

"You good?". His words were filled with concern, his movements slow and deliberate as he gauged your response.

Your breath hitched as you managed to murmur, "Yeah", your voice barely audible amidst the haze of pleasure enveloping you

As Ben moved inside you, he felt a heady mix of desire and restraint. His movements were slow and steady, each one calculated to bring you pleasure without causing any discomfort. With each gentle push, he could feel the warmth of your body enveloping him.

Despite the restraint, there was an underlying intensity to his movements, a raw passion that simmered just below the surface. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you as he set a rhythm that matched the beating of your heart. With each thrust, he felt a surge of pleasure coursing through him, mingling with the deep connection he felt with you.

As he moved, he couldn't help but marvel at the sight of you in the mirror.

Amidst your heavy breaths, you mumbled, "Fuck, you feel so damn good".

Ben, his own breath ragged with desire, tightened his grip on your hips, careful not to exert too much force. His veins stood out in stark relief against his skin, a testament to the effort of holding back, of restraining himself for your sake.

With every thrust, every touch, the intensity between you grew, building to a crescendo that threatened to consume you both in its fiery embrace.

As Ben's groans filled the air, he admitted breathlessly, "I won't last much long". His gaze remained fixed on your face through the mirror, drinking in every expression, every gasp of pleasure that crossed your lips.

The intensity of the moment threatened to overwhelm him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge with each passing second. But even as his body screamed for release, he held on, desperate to savor every moment of this intoxicating pleasure shared between you.

"Come for me, sweetheart", he urged. His movements became more deliberate, more focused on driving you to the peak of ecstasy before he allowed himself to follow.

He wanted nothing more than to witness the pleasure wash over you, to feel the tight clench of your body around him.

With a firm hand on your lower back, Ben adjusted your position slightly, angling himself to brush against your most sensitive spots with each thrust.

Your moans filled the room as Ben's expert adjustment sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. With an almost immediate response, you felt yourself unraveling, pleasure washing over you in powerful waves as you reached the peak of ecstasy.

Ben's own arousal skyrocketed as he felt your body shudder with pleasure. With your climax igniting his own desire, he couldn't hold back any longer.

With a low growl, Ben thrust deeply into you, riding the wave of ecstasy as he found release. His grip on you tightened momentarily before he slowly eased off, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead against your back.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Ben's breathing gradually slowed, his chest rising and falling heavily against your back. He remained pressed against you, his arms wrapped around your waist, savoring the closeness between you. With a contented sigh, he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his heart still racing with the intensity of their shared passion.

Wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, you remained still, feeling his heartbeat against your back as his arms held you securely. The sensation of his lingering presence, coupled with the gentle rhythm of his breathing, enveloped you in a cocoon of intimacy.

Ben's voice was a soft murmur against your ear as he spoke, his breath warm against your skin. "You okay?", he whispered, his tone filled with concern as he pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder.

You nodded, feeling his warmth enveloping you. "Yeah", you murmured, a contented smile playing at your lips as you leaned back into his embrace.

As Ben pulled back slightly, his cum trickled out of you, leaving a warm sensation in its wake. Without hesitation, he reached for a nearby towel, gently cleaning you up with careful strokes, his touch both tender and intimate.

"You're such a mess", Ben chuckled softly, his voice filled with affection as he continued to clean you up. "But a beautiful mess".

"Well, you're the one who always wants to cum inside me", you teased, looking at him. "Can't blame me for the mess you make".

Ben chuckled, his hands still gently cleaning you up. "Can't help it when you feel so fucking good", he replied. "But I'll clean up my mess, don't you worry".

"You better", you teased, turning your head to press a soft kiss against his cheek. "I don't want to be dripping all over the place".

"You're such a handful", he murmured, his voice tinged with affection.

As Ben pulled up his pants, you let out a tired yawn, snuggling up to him and resting your head against his chest.

Ben gently lifted you into his arms, carrying you towards the bed and carefully laying you down. You felt utterly drained, every muscle in your body aching with exhaustion. With a tired sigh, you sat up slowly, peeling off your dress until you were completely naked. Pulling the blanket up to cover yourself, you settled back against the pillows, ready to drift off into a deep and restful sleep.

Ben also undressed with a tired sigh, slipping into bed beside you. He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as he planted a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

"Someone's become quite the cuddler", you teased with a yawn, earning a low growl from him in response. His fingers found their way to your ass, giving it a playful pinch as he replied, "Watch it, sweetheart".

You chuckled softly at his reaction, feeling his hand tracing down towards your belly. As his palm settled against your soft skin, you both fell silent, while he listening to the steady rhythm of your unborn child's heartbeat. It was a moment of peace and connection, one that made you cuddle even closer against Ben.

As he watched you sleep, Ben's mind wandered, contemplating the idea of relinquishing control of the supes to someone else. The thought of being able to spend every moment with you and the baby was enticing, but he quickly dismissed it. There was no one else he could trust to lead the supes like him, no one who could maintain order and keep everyone in line the way he could. Despite the challenges and responsibilities that came with his position, he knew it was where he belonged, even if it meant sacrificing some time with his growing family.

A few hours later, Ben stirred from his slumber, instantly alert as he saw you hurriedly darting towards the bathroom. Concern etched across his face, he tiredly followed you.

"Hey, hey", Ben murmured, crouching beside you as you leaned over the toilet, holding back your hair. "That's not normal". His voice was laced with concern as he gently rubbed your naked, cold back, feeling a pang of worry shoot through him.

For weeks, hardly a single day went by when you didn't vomit.

"Baby, you're fucking cold", Ben murmured, his concern growing as he felt the chill radiating from your trembling body.

Ben's touch was gentle yet firm as he pressed his palm against your hot forehead, his brows furrowing with worry as he watched over you.

With a sigh, he realized that your symptoms were worsening, and he couldn't shake off the worry gnawing at him. Tenderly, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his voice soft with concern as he murmured, "We need to get you to the doctor first thing in the morning".

As you nodded weakly, clinging onto him, Ben carefully guided you back into bed, wrapping his arms around you protectively. He held you close against him, feeling the weight of your weakness. You were barely awake, your body drained from the ordeal. All he could do was hold you close and provide comfort as you drifted back into sleep.

Throughout the night, Ben didn't sleep for a second. He kept a vigilant watch over you, listening for any irregularities in your breathing or heartbeat, hoping that it wasn't as serious as it seemed. However, by morning, you felt even worse. Ben could see it in your pale complexion and the exhaustion etched into every line of your face.

With great care, Ben helped you into the shower, supporting you as you washed away the night's discomfort. He then assisted you in getting dressed, his strong arms guiding you gently as you struggled with dizziness and weakness. It was clear that you needed his support now more than ever.

As Ben helped you into the shower and dressed you, you couldn't help but mumble apologies, your voice strained with exhaustion and frustration. "I'm so sorry", you repeated over and over again, the words tinged with self-deprecation. You hated feeling this vulnerable, confirming Ben's beliefs about the weakness of humans. Yet, without his support, you could barely hold yourself upright.

As Ben drove to Vought with you beside him, you continued to mumble apologies, your voice filled with remorse. "I'm sorry", you whispered again, your words laced with frustration.

Ben glanced at you, his expression a mix of concern and exasperation. "Stop apologizing!", he muttered, a hint of frustration in his tone. "Just focus on getting better".

You nodded weakly, feeling a pang of guilt for burdening him with your weakness.

Feeling the weight of your tears, Ben took a deep breath, trying to steady his fraying nerves. He knew he shouldn't let his frustration get the best of him, especially when you were already feeling so vulnerable.

"Hey", he said gently, reaching out to touch your hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I'm just worried about you and the baby".

His words were softened with genuine concern as he tried to reassure you, despite his own fatigue and anxiety.

As your tears continued to fall, Ben's patience wore thin, his grip on the steering wheel tightening with frustration. He felt a surge of helplessness wash over him, unsure of how to comfort you when he was struggling to keep himself together.

"Come on", he muttered under his breath, his jaw clenched as he navigated through traffic. "We'll get you checked out, see what's going on".

"I-I think… my belly hurts", you managed to choke out, your hand instinctively reaching for your abdomen as another wave of tears fell. "It hurts… really bad".

Your voice trembled with pain and fear, and you looked to Ben, hoping for some reassurance amidst the overwhelming discomfort.

Ben's eyes widened slightly in alarm as he pushed your hand aside, replacing it with his own as he gently pressed against your belly. It took a few moments, but eventually, he felt the faint thud of the baby's heartbeat beneath his palm. It wasn't as strong as it used to be, and a wave of panic washed over him.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened even further as he tried to keep his composure, his mind racing with worry and concern for both you and the baby.

Concern etched across your face, you turned to Ben, your voice trembling with fear and pain. "Ben, what's going on?", you choked out, the pain intensifying with each passing moment.

Ben withdrew his hand from your belly, a worried frown creasing his brow. Clearing his throat, he struggled to find the right words. "The heartbeat of the baby seems weaker, but I'm not a doctor", he mumbled softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Parking his car in the underground car park, he glanced at you, his expression tense with concern. "We need to get you checked out", he said firmly, his voice tinged with urgency. "Let's go".

Feeling weaker and more afraid than ever, you leaned into Ben's support as the elevator ascended to the doctor's floor. His arm around your hips steadied you as the doors opened, revealing a team of medical professionals already waiting for you.

Ben's grip tightened around you, a silent reassurance as he guided you toward the team. Despite his usual bravado, his worry was palpable, his concern for you and the baby etched into every line of his face.

Stepping onto the doctor's floor, you and Ben were greeted by a team already assembled and ready to assist. They attempted to calm the two of you, reassuring you that as long as you didn't bleed or pass out, everything was fine. Deep down, they knew it wasn't that simple, but they were wary of causing further panic.

Ben's jaw clenched as he listened to the doctors' words. He glanced at you, silently offering his support as the medical team began their examination.

In the examination room, you clung to Ben's hand tightly, seeking comfort in his presence. He stood steadfast by your side, his grip reassuring as you braced yourself for the ultrasound. The doctor began the procedure, the sound of the machine filling the room as they carefully examined your belly.

Ben's gaze never left you. He remained silent.

The doctor finished the ultrasound, studying the images carefully before stepping back. Meanwhile, the nurse took your blood pressure, her movements precise and efficient. As the doctor conferred with another nurse, they turned to you with a solemn expression.

"The heartbeat of the baby is a bit weak", the doctor explained gently, their voice filled with concern. "We need to monitor you closely and take some additional tests to understand what's happening".

The doctor turned to Ben, who was poised to ask more questions, and reassured him with a calm demeanor. "Right now, everything seems okay", he explained, his tone measured. "It's not perfect, but it's not life-threatening either. We'll continue to monitor (Y/N) closely and take the necessary steps to ensure both her and the baby's well-being".

Ben exhaled softly and looked down at you. As another, older nurse came with a hospital gown, he stepped back a little. As the nurse assisted you into the hospital gown, her eyes briefly flickered over the bruises scattered across your skin. Sensing the tension, she gently inquired, "Are those bruises recent?". Ben's jaw clenched, his gaze momentarily averted. Your cheeks flushed, feeling his discomfort.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide your embarrassment as you nodded slightly. "Um, yeah", you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "They're, uh, from… accidents".

The nurse furrowed her brow, clearly concerned. "Accidents?", she repeated, her tone gentle yet probing. "Are you sure everything is okay at home? You don't have to be afraid to tell us if something's wrong".

Ben's voice rose, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "Do you honestly think I would lay a fucking finger on her?", he snapped, his tone sharp and defensive. "I'm not some abusive asshole. Those bruises… they're from…". He trailed off, realizing he couldn't bring himself to explain the true cause.

The nurse, accustomed to dealing with supes and their peculiarities, simply rolled her eyes at Ben's outburst. "Alright, alright, calm down", she said, her tone gentle but firm. "I've seen my fair share of unusual circumstances. You can tell me the truth, you know".

As she closed your gown gently, she gave Ben a knowing look, silently urging him to open up.

Ben took a deep breath, his frustration evident in his voice as he reluctantly began to explain. "Look, it's not what you think", he started, his tone a mix of defensiveness and vulnerability. "I didn't… I mean, I would never…". He struggled to find the right words, his jaw tense as he glanced at you, silently apologizing for the uncomfortable situation.

The nurse's tone softened slightly as she addressed Ben, her expression empathetic yet firm. "Look, I get it. You're a supe, and she's human. But you've got to be more careful", she said, her voice gentle yet authoritative. "We've seen it all before. It's not about cracking her open, it's about understanding your own strength and knowing when to hold back. It can be challenging, especially during sex, but you must learn-…".

“Okay, stop”, Ben interrupted, feeling completely uncomfortable.

"Well, but especially you, the great soldier boy, should know better", she continued, her voice tinged with a hint of reproach. "You've got to learn to control that strength of yours, especially when it comes to someone you seem to care about".

Ben's frustration was palpable as he took a deep breath, visibly struggling to contain his temper. You could see the anger burning in his eyes as he turned towards the nurse. "Can you give us a minute, please?", you asked her softly, sensing that Ben needed a moment to compose himself.

The nurse nodded understandingly, sensing the tension in the air. "Of course", she replied, giving you a reassuring smile before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone with Ben.

You reached out to touch Ben's arm, your voice soft but firm. "Ben, please", you pleaded, your eyes searching his for any sign of relenting. But he remained tense, his jaw clenched as he struggled to contain his anger.

Feeling the chill, you wrapped your arms around yourself, longing for warmth. Sensing your discomfort, Ben sat beside you, gently pulling you onto his lap. His strong arms enveloped you, offering solace and comfort. As you nestled against his chest, his warmth seeped into you, gradually dispelling the cold.

As the doctor returned, he began conducting tests on me without pulling me away from Ben's bedside. "Have you been resting well like I asked you to?", he inquired, concern etched in his voice.

You glanced at him, your mind momentarily distracted by memories of the passionate moments shared with Ben. "Um, yes, I've been trying to".

The doctor nodded, his attention shifting back to his examination. "Good, it's crucial for your health and the baby's", he advised, his tone gentle yet firm. As he administered the infusion and antibiotics, you couldn't help but wonder about the implications of being pregnant with a supe baby.

As the doctor finished the tests, he turned his attention to Ben. "And how do you feel about the V medication, Soldier Boy?", he inquired, his tone professional yet curious.

Ben's brows furrowed slightly in confusion before he replied, "V medication?".

You shifted uncomfortably in the bed.

The truth about the risks of my pregnancy and the potential need for the V medication weighed heavily on your mind, yet you never told Ben about it.

Sensing the tension in the room, the doctor exchanged a knowing glance with you, before turning back to Ben. "I'll give the two of you a moment", he said gently, his tone understanding.

As the doctor stepped out of the room, leaving you alone, Ben's gaze bore into yours, searching for answers. "What's that?", he asked.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Ben's gaze as his eyes bored into yours. The air in the room felt thick with tension as you struggled to find the words to explain.

"I… I didn't want to worry you", you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "But there are risks… with the pregnancy. More than we thought".

Ben's expression darkened, his jaw tensing with anger. "Risks? What kind of risks?", he demanded, his voice rising with each word.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for his reaction. "The doctor mentioned… that the only help might be an… an unforshed V medication", you confessed, stumbling over the words as you struggled to articulate the truth.

Ben's eyes widened in disbelief, his fists clenching at his sides. "And you didn't think I deserved to fucking know this?", he growled.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached out to him. "I'm sorry, Ben", you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I just… I didn't know how to tell you".

Ben rubbed his beard, a sure sign of his frustration, before he turned around abruptly. His back muscles flexed, a silent testament to the intensity of his emotions. You knew he was beyond just angry; he was majorly pissed.

Silence hung heavy in the air as Ben paced back and forth, his footsteps echoing in the room. Each step seemed to reverberate with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved tension. You watched him, feeling a pang of guilt gnaw at your insides.

Finally, Ben stopped in front of the window, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His shoulders tensed, and you could sense the turmoil raging within him. It was as if a storm was brewing beneath the surface, ready to unleash its fury at any moment.

If you weren't feeling so dizzy and cold, you would have gone to him, but instead, you remained lying in the hospital bed, watching him with a heavy heart.

"You need to stay heads up with the supes who want to take you down and all that stuff… I just don't want to distract you".

Ben's eyes flashed with rage as your words reached his ears. Without a word, he stormed towards you, his steps echoing like thunder in the room. Before you could react, he grabbed the nightstand beside your bed and shoved it into the wall with such force that it shattered into pieces.

You recoiled in shock, the shards of wood and metal scattering across the floor around you. The intensity of Ben's anger left you speechless, a cold knot forming in the pit of your stomach as you realized the extent of his fury.

Your heart raced as you watched Ben's expression, recognizing the familiar signs of his temper but also sensing something darker beneath the surface. His gaze bore into you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, devoid of any trace of the love and warmth you were accustomed to.

Frozen in fear, you found yourself unable to utter a single word, the fear gripping your heart like a vice. All you could do was stare back at him, tears streaming down your heated cheeks.

As Ben saw the fear in your eyes and heard the rapid rhythm of your heart, a pained expression crossed his face. His clenched fists relaxed, and the anger in his eyes softened, replaced by a profound sense of remorse.

Ben's hand trembled as he reached out to cup your cheek, his heart heavy with regret. But as his fingertips grazed your skin, you flinched away, a reflex born of fear, and his touch fell short.

A strangled gasp escaped Ben's lips as he recoiled, the pain of rejection written across his face. "I'm sorry", he mumbled, "I didn't mean to…".

But his words trailed off, lost in the suffocating silence that hung between you.

Tears continued to flow down your cheeks.

"Fuck", Ben growled loudly, his voice echoing off the walls of the room, filled with frustration and self-loathing. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

The door slammed shut behind him with such force that a few screws flew out, punctuating his departure with a final, resounding crash. The sound reverberated in the empty room, a stark reminder of the turmoil that had unfolded within its walls.

Alone once more, you were left to grapple with the aftermath of Ben's outburst, the echoes of his anger still ringing in your ears.

The nurse returned, her expression filled with concern as she took in the scene before her. "Are you alright?", she asked, her voice gentle and careful, as if afraid to disturb the fragile balance of the moment.

You nodded weakly, attempting to compose yourself despite the tremors still coursing through your body. "I'm fine", you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, the words feeling foreign on your lips.

The nurse approached you slowly, her movements cautious as she checked your vitals and assessed your condition. Her touch was gentle.

She nurse pulled the blanket over your body, tucking you in with a tenderness that brought a lump to your throat. With a soft click of the remote, she dimmed the harsh hospital lights, casting the room in a gentle, soothing glow.

"He'll come back", the nurse mumbled reassuringly, her voice laced with empathy. "Probably with flowers or something. You need to rest, honey. Think about your baby".

You nodded weakly, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you.

But despite the nurse's comforting words, tears continued to fall unabated down your cheeks.

The nurse sighed heavily before quietly leaving the room, her presence fading into the silence that enveloped you once more. Alone with your thoughts, you couldn't shake the feeling of regret that gnawed at your insides.

You knew you should have told Ben about the risks and the medication. But the memory of his rage and the coldness in his stare still sent shivers down your spine.

As the medication kicked in, its sedative effects washing over you like a gentle tide, your eyelids grew heavy, and you succumbed to the sweet embrace of sleep. In the darkness of your dreams, the echoes of Ben's anger faded into the distance, replaced by a fleeting sense of peace.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn @me1501 @CheyNovaK

#jensen ackles #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x y/n #the boys #smut

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missmoonfrost · 16 hours

Text

A bad date - a wolfstar microfic

@wolfstarmicrofic

June 5 - Gold Words: 730 Warnings: Alcohol, Threats of violence, Threats of sexual abuse

The pub is unusually crowded, as were the two they passed because of lack of room. Remus notices a woman trying to squeeze past and takes a step back to let her through, only to bump into someone behind him.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry, sorry!

How the other man manages to both steady him and avoid spilling the three beers he’s holding is a mystery. He flashes Remus a stunning smile.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you celebrating the gold?”

“The gold? Off course. Eh… Which sport?”

The man throws his head back laughing. It’s a beautiful carefree sound.

“Actually, I’m on a date.” Remus admits.

“Oh. Whit whom?”

Remus grimaces awkwardly and points to the man drunkenly arguing with the bartender.

“Oh… Wanna come sit with us?” The man points to a table where a sporty guy in glasses smiles at him and a friendly-looking redhead waves.

“Really?” Remus takes one quick look at his poor excuse of a date, that’s now lying half across the counter, and does not feel too bad about ditching him.

“This is Lily and James. I’m Sirius.”

“I’m Remus.“ He makes a half-hearted wave, places his gin and tonic on their table, and slides into the outer corner of the sofa. He doesn’t want to intrude but is thankful for somewhere to sit.

“So, where did you meet this… eh… charming guy?”

Remus chuckles at the disdainful tone. “Grindr,” he admits. His default is to lie to people he doesn’t know. But they have already seen the guy, so what’s the point?

“You can do better.” Sirius takes a big swig of his beer.

“I sure hope so.” The man in question is now singing loudly and Remus hides his face with a hand to further underline how embarrassed he is.

Sirius smiles at him. A small secretive smile that gives Remus butterflies.

The three soon dives into a discussion about the newly won match. Remus is still not sure which sport, but he prefers quietly watching his unexpected savior over getting involved in the conversation anyway.

His shiny black hair is held in a loose bun, that a few strands artfully has escaped. He wears a plain white button-down with the arms loosened just enough to give a glimpse of tattooed forearms. A pentagram around his neck and earrings all the way around the cartilage makes him stand out. As if the sharp features and flawless skin of his face aren’t enough.

The peace is broken when the buffoon unfortunately being Remus' date spots him and promptly staggers over.

“C’mhere. Let’s go!” He demands and pulls briskly at Remus' arm.

To avoid disturbing his tablemates too much Remus stands up and takes a step while apologising. “Look, it’s not working out. I’m sorry.”

“Wadd’you mean?”

“Just… I’m not interested anymore. Have a good night.”

“Well, I’m not done with ya.”

The tone makes Remus shudder despite the hot air in the crowded room. He stumbles backward and grips the table top behind him with both hands.

“Is there a problem?” Sirius’ voice rings crystal clear over the murmur. In the corner of his eye, he sees Sirius exchange a look with James and start rolling up his sleeves in a very deliberate fashion.

“M’not talkin to you, am I? Just want my boy’ere. He's mine.”

He smiles a greedy smile, making Remus' mouth go dry. Remus closes his eyes and shakes his head.

Sirius gets on his feet with James not far behind. “Leave him alone.”

“Just ‘cause you wanna fuck’m!”

“Maybe I do.” Sirius replays calmly as he gathers the front of his shirt in his fist and drags him close to his now intimidatingly cold face. “That’s none of your business. Now leave.”

The arse finally seems to grasp the threat and totters off.

“Thank you,” Remus whispers. He sits back down and tries not to shake too much. Everyone is quiet and Remus anxiously wonders if they are mad at him for ruining their night.

“Bloody hell” Sirius whispers.

One by one, they all start laughing from dispersed tension. James buys them all a round of beers, deaf to Remus' protests. Sirius starts making one joke after the other, intent on making Remus laugh.

And when he two beers later walks home with his new bodyguard Sirius’ arm around his shoulders, he feels like it’s he who won the gold.

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #sirius × remus #james potter #lily evans #wolfstar au #prompt: gold #sirius saves the day

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justleaveatnine · 13 hours

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pink in the night - matty healy. part five.

you join the 1975 on tour as an actress starring in the narrative portion of at their very best alongside the lead singer, matty healy. he’s got big ideas and wants to redefine what a concert is, blurring the lines between fiction and reality. on stage together each night, it starts to feel less and less like acting. but is it the same for him?

masterlist

cw: drug use, smoking, panic attacks, a little more blood stuff (sorry)

wc: 5.4k

—

San Diego

“Please don’t kill me.”

“Huh?” You whip your head around to find Matty standing in front of you, somewhat anxiously for a reason you can't yet determine. You're lounging on the settee on the stage, watching the crew set up as you wait for your call time to begin prep. Matty comes to sit down beside you, and you sit back up from your supine position.

"Here," he says, practically shoving a paper in your hand. It's been ripped out of a notebook, jagged edges against your fingertips. You begin to read over the words scribbled on the page in dark black ink.

I glow pink in the night in my room I've been blossoming alone over you And I hear my heart breaking tonight I hear my heart breaking tonight Do you hear it too? It's like a summer shower With every drop of rain singing "I love you, I love you, I love you I love you, I love you, I love you I love you, I love you, I love you" I could stare at your back all day I could stare at your back all day And I know I've kissed you before, but I didn't do it right Can I try again, try again, try again Try again, and again, and again And again, and again, and again

You touch your finger to the words, softly brushing against the page. You turn your head to him sat beside you.

"Is this my poem?" you ask, bewildered.

Now he looks even more nervous. This is odd. He scratches the back of his neck and takes a deep breath. You aren't sure what to say, but he fills the silence before you have the chance to.

"Erm, when I read it, I couldn't stop thinking about how it basically perfectly connected to the fragments of this song I had started writing. That's why I took a picture of it," he gestures towards it with his hand, "so I could see if it fit."

He takes another deep breath, somewhat strained. "If I overstepped, or if you hate it-"

The words come out a hundred miles a minute. "Matty, this is amazing. I can't believe you did this. I-I-do you have any of it written to music yet? Or just this? Not just this, god, I mean-

He thankfully cuts of your overwhelmed rambling. He fishes out his phone from his pocket, opening up his voice memos. "Here, uh, I recorded the first bit with a guitar earlier."

He presses play. The sound of him singing over a simple guitar part rings through the empty stage. It's stunning. His voice singing your words conjures a feeling within you that is nearly indescribable, an electrifying somatic response. He's given the song an eerie but almost comforting feeling. One that almost compliments the show, you think to yourself. His fingers pluck the simple but beautiful backing on the guitar, and as he repeats the words of the chorus that you dream of him saying to you, you look into his eyes. His voice drones on, repeating the phrase over and over until it feels as if he invented the words himself. The whole thing, really. Not just those fatal three words that ring in your ears. It feels like what you wrote was simply words on a page, but the feelings running through your body and mind are all because of him. He took your haphazard notes on a score and turned them into a symphony.

You hold his gaze until the voice memo finishes with his voice clearing, the noise of him fumbling with the phone filtering through the speaker.

You let out a small laugh in shock. "That's so beautiful, Matty. I don't even know what to say, I'm a little overwhelmed."

"In a good way?" he asks, nerves seemingly returning.

You touch your hand to his, warmth tangling with electricity. "The best way. I never thought my poems would be anything more than just words on my pages, I didn't even plan on ever showing people."

"Well, that would be a damn shame, love. That poem is amazing, this was just as much you as it was me, don't get it twisted." His smile brings you so much comfort it almost makes you nauseous. You'd write a million books, hundreds of thousands of pages until your fingers bleed if it meant you had that smile directed to you forever.

You look back down at the phone. "I've never written a song before, this is kind of exciting," you let out a soft laugh.

"And it sure has hell won't be the last. You're letting me see more of that work of yours, darling. I'd love to try and write with you and not just parallel to you next time," he says assuredly.

How do you tell him that he's the subject of all of your prose, all the of lines filing up the pages of your notebook tucked safely under your pillow?

Inglewood

"Do you ever worry about more casual fans' reactions to the show?" You're sat in the booth of the bus as it sits through the inevitable evil that is Los Angeles traffic. You've got your knees pulled up to your chest as you read a novel, and he's flipping through a magazine across from you.

He exhales out his nose, and flips a page of the magazine "Nah, I usually am just thinking about the people who care the most about the band in everything we do. I think as an artist, you kind of have to, you know? Otherwise it feels like they are taking your devotion for granted. What brings this on?"

"Nothing, I just, uh, I saw a video on TikTok of someone asking if you were really as drunk as you appear up there and it just got me thinking."

He takes a moment to think. "It's hard, I won't lie. Seeing the opinions of people who don't know a thing about me, or the band, or what I'm trying to say, and go on and say that kind of stuff. But I've been exposed to it for years, and the concept of being famous far longer."

"Is there any part of you that worries about alienating people? I don't think you will, I mean, I'm just curious as to what you think."

He runs a hand through his hair before speaking. "Yeah, I do sometimes. But that is usually far removed from when I actually am performing, where I usually am so in my own head I don't give a fuck about what some random person who only knows one song thinks. And I don't mean that as an insult to them, not at all. I just mean in regards to performing, I'm only ever thinking of the message I want to say, and what the people who care most about us will think."

"I don't think there's many other artists who care about and think so highly of their fans as you do," you smile at him. He meets it before turning back to the magazine, and you return to the book leant up against your legs.

San Francisco

Your bare feet pad along the tour bus floor as you slip out of bed. The digital clock fixed to the wall near the front reads 3:24, and you rub your eye with your fist as you approach the kitchenette.

You open the fridge, the fluorescent light illuminating the empty living area. You take out what you need to make a sandwich, a late snack that will hopefully cure the hunger preventing you from sleeping.

As you make the sandwich, you find yourself humming In My Life, the song somewhat of an earworm to you in the past few days. You mumble the melody peacefully, enjoying the quiet moment in this newfound life of yours that never seems to rest. A noise from the sleeping area startles you, and you turn your head to see a squinting Matty walking towards you.

"Shit, I'm sorry if I woke you," you tell him sheepishly, setting the knife down with a small clatter.

"Nah, don't worry. I haven't been able to sleep all night." He yawns and goes to lie on the couch, phone illuminating his face. You turn your back to him to continue making the sandwich, resuming humming quietly to yourself. You return the ingredients to the fridge, almost forgetting he is sat behind you as you work your way through the song.

Suddenly, Matty begins to impersonate the sped-up piano in a high-pitched voice. The shock of it all and the silly voice he is putting on causes you to laugh, pausing slicing the sandwich. You turn your head to look at him behind you, and he's chuckling to himself while scrolling. You shake your head with far too fond exasperation and return to assembling the sandwich.

Portland

It's about to be Robbers, so that means you're knelt in front of Matty as he stands on the side table, leant down towards you.

His eyes catch something on your forehead and he drags his thumb across it, slightly scraping. There’s blood on his finger now, some your makeup artist must have missed in the hasty clean up you endure each night after Inside Your Mind.

He raises his thumb and takes it in his mouth, a cocky grin on his face as he sucks it clean. You’re stomach churns as you watch him, entranced. Does he know exactly how much power he has over you? The reaction each of these intrepid moves causes within you?

Your choreography is about to start, usually punctuated with Matty taking a drag from the cigarette before placing it in your mouth to stub out afterwards. He takes a drag slowly and begins to leans in towards you, startling you slightly out of the rhythm you usually fall into. The brazen grin on his face tells you what he wants. You were surprised it took him this long after finding out you actually smoke, really. You meet him half-way, and inhale as he breathes out the smoke into your mouth, covetous and desperate.

The audience is cheering, as they always seem to be whenever the two of you are doing something that you know will make the rounds on Twitter later. He hands you the cigarette, presumably to stub out as you do. Instead, you breathe in, reach your hand up to grab his hair, and shotgun him right back. His eyes are sparkling as the smoke tangles between the two of you, mouths grinning and lips touching.

You stub the cigarette out on the table leg, and the choreography begins.

Seattle

You’ve been writing more poems than ever, your book overflowing with ideas and lyrics. No matter what you try to write about, it always ends up being about him.

It’s even worse when he takes them and completes them. He takes your words about him and gives them far more grace, more talent than you ever could, and turns them into things of beauty. Will he ever realize all that beauty is just silhouettes of him?

He's sat across from you in the green room, plucking a melody on the guitar. You're rifling through your journal, trying to find another half-finished poem that isn't completely glaringly obvious about its subject matter.

"Here, uh, how's this one?" He looks up at you, and takes the book out of your hands.

Last night I broke from old and told a friend the truth that I've got one foot out I've called it bad and I colored it blue

But it's a beautiful life to be in your hands one step out of the light under your command

I'm in my modern world tribute living man I've got my one foot out when I do my modern dance I am in your hands I am in your hands I am in your hands

He smiles down at the page, laughing softly to himself.

"What?" you ask, slightly alarmed.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head. "This is fuckin' amazing. And I've already got a few ideas and stuff that might work saved, come here."

He pulls out his phone and opens voice memos, playing one called lead vocal idea 3.

"Gonna have to change this for the syllables and phrases, obviously. But how does something like this sound for the first bit?"

It's a simple, repetitive melody. When you imagine it lined up to each of the lines, it's perfect. You tell him so, and his face lights up. "Let's try and figure it out then, yeah?"

Fort Lauderdale

You never talk about what you do during the shows.

No one in the band had questioned why Matty always buys your drinks, but you’ve caught Polly giving you an odd look once or twice. You don't pay it too much mind.

Matty gets bolder, and you get just as bold in return.

He moans into your mouth when he kisses you. You run your hands up his sides when he leaves his shirt untucked, which he has done every single show since you first did it. He lets your head loll limply before pulling your hair harder, puppeteering you how he wants to. Like you're a doll for him to play with.

You scatter kisses along his jawline after All I Need to Hear. His stubble itches against your skin. When you're feeling particularly bold, you nip gently at his skin, eagerly welcoming his groans. When he kisses your hand, he places kisses on each of the knuckles before placing it on his cheek for you to hold. You touch your finger to his nose as he does this, and it makes him smile, brown eyes crinkling. He drags his thumb across your lips when you're knelt in front of him, and a cheshire cat smile dawns his face when you swipe your tongue across it.

After the show, you'll talk about the crowd, about something funny that George said in the in-ears that made you almost break. But you never talk about the rest. It goes unsaid, unacknowledged. The blatantly obvious escalating passion that you pray is reciprocated due to a feeling similar to yours.

You fear the bubble you've built for yourselves will break if you prod it. So you don't say a word, and you take what he gives you.

Denver "Do you wanna know the original reason I came up with the show?"

You're lying on Matty's hotel room bed with your feet to the pillows, head dangling off the edge. He's lying on the floor beneath you, out of your sight. You see his hand reach up to pass you the joint, and you accept it gratefully, movements languid.

"Hmm?" you ask, not hearing him completely.

"The uh, the original reason. Of the show, why I made the show."

"What, you wanted to make a meta reinvention of the stage show, filled with meta ideas and subvert the audiences ideas of meta-" you say in a voice, mocking his northern accent.

"Ha, ha. Very funny. Matty loves saying meta, real creative." He hiccups before continuing.

"It was because, uh, George and I, uh..." he starts laughing, unable to finish the sentence.

You turn to face him, stealing the spliff out of his hands to take another hit. "You and George..." you gesture for him to finish with it in your hands.

He's laughing through the sentence, rubbing his forehead. "Venues only let you smoke if its part of a theatrical performance."

"Huh?" Your hazy mind doesn't put it together.

"They wouldn't let us smoke on stage unless it was a part of a theatrical performance. So voila, theatrical performance." He grins, proud, as he points at the two of you.

"You knob! You wrote this entire show solely because you couldn't go two hours without a smoke?" You reach with your free hand, hitting him as your roll over to face him on the floor.

"Well not solely that, Jesus! That was just what inspired me to write a show. And I think that worked out pretty well, did it not?" He's cheeky, smiling proud as he takes another hit.

"You're ridiculous," you sigh as you move your head up and nestle into the bed, ready to fall asleep as your intoxicated mind clouds your best judgement.

"I do try."

The smoke alarm starts buzzing. "Oh, shit!"

You can't help but laugh at him as he tries to fan smoke away from the small detector, beeping incessantly. "Fuck!" he yells, but you just laugh louder into the bed.

Independence

"So you'll be on the settee now, not the lounger. And Robbers is in At Their Very Best, not Being Funny. And when All I Need to Hear finishes, you'll freeze there instead."

"Every iteration of this show is just a test of my ability to stay still while you prance around the stage, then?"

"Prance?!"

You should have known based on everything about Matty that he wouldn't be satisfied keeping the show the same for long. He briefed you earlier in the day about the changes he wanted to try, and you did a quick run through with the crew to ensure they were prepared. Matty told you he was writing a follow-up show to the current one, and wanted to try incorporating some of the ideas into the current set-up.

You're sat comfortably on the settee, knees pulled up and feet tucked up to the side. You're still with a demure smile cast on your face, finishing your act in this position rather than looking up at him knelt in front of the table. There is a new classical piece playing over the sound system, one you don't recognize.

He goes through the panicked motions he usually does, attempting to wake you by shaking your shoulders and lightly hitting your cheek repeatedly. It's harder to stay still when directly focusing the audience as you are now, their motions and screams adding an extra challenge to keeping your gaze fixed at an invisible point.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Matty near the mic stand lighting a cigarette. He begins to anxiously stumble across the stage, frequently turning to you. He's concerningly good at acting drunk, and you're reminded of the post wondering if he truly is that drunk. He takes a sip out of a bottle that is placed on the piano, and walks to sit on the couch beside you.

He takes a few drags, and begins to cry with his head in his hands. You can't help but think of the fact that there are definitely several confused parents in the audience as a result of this scene: classical music overturing Matty as he sobs into his hand and chainsmokes while a woman they have never seen before sits frozen smiling beside him. At least after the first show, the parents might have been briefed on the oddities of this performance the two of you put on. Matty changing elements removes all that. The thought of these traumatized and perplexed parents so nearly makes you laugh that you have to take a deep breath to prevent it from escaping, forcing the smile down your throat.

Matty keeps turning his head to look at you, crying even further. He then proceeds to sit on the ground in front of you and embrace your legs, weeping into the hug. You can feel his warm breath against your shins, shaking with put-on sobs. He stays this way for a moment before calming his cries and looking up at you, taking a drag of the cigarette in the process. He then sits back up on the settee beside you, watching you all the while. He reaches out and plays with your hair, twirling locks and running his fingers through it. It's more comforting than the pulls earlier in the show, the ones that send warmth through your body and shivers down your spine. His hand travels to your neck and begins to prod it rather aggressively with his fingers, making weird movements as they travel up to your chin.

He rubs his face one final time, and abandons you on the couch to sit in front of the television stack. Only a few more minutes of being still. You're able to blink, but your eyes hurt from the focus. In the corner of your eye, you see Matty begin to do twenty press-ups, all-the-while watching the news footage interspersed with videos of the two of you from previous shows. He finally crawls into the television, and the lights go out. You exit quickly as regularly, steps echoing in the momentary silence.

Chicago

"I feel like Ferris Bueller."

You turn your head to see Matty beside you. He's staring at the painting, the museum map folded in his hands.

"It's Cameron in front of this one, actually," you remark, cheeky.

"Oh, piss off." You chuckle.

You're stood in front of A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, as you have been for nearly ten minutes. You've analyzed every speck of the painting, but you can't bring yourself to leave it just yet.

"You know, Nighthawks is just around the corner," his head turns in the direction as he speaks, "if you want to go see it."

"I'm alright here, but thank you," you smile warmly at him before continuing. "I saw Sunday in the Park with George on the West End as kid, and I've been wanting to this ever since. It feels so much larger in person, even having seen it in Ferris Bueller and all."

"Art always manages to surprise you."

"That's very wise."

"I do try." You can hear the smile in his voice.

"I usually squeeze a few group museums trips on each tour, actually," he continues. "Nice peaceful day off with everyone."

"This one been good so far?" you ask him.

"Oh, the best." You hold his gaze for a moment before returning to the painting, the butterflies he always conjures in your stomach unable to bear it any longer. You stand in silence with him, staring at the painting. You sneak glances at him when he's not looking as if he’s another one of the works of art strung along the galleries walls.

Milwaukee

You walk towards the green room, ready to tell Matty and George they are needed on stage before the sounds of an argument stops you in your tracks.

"I just don't want anyone to get hurt, mate!"

"No one will be, I swear. I know what I'm doing, I promise."

"Well, good, then. You need to be careful about not hurting her-"

"George. It'll be alright. Okay? I'll figure it out."

There's a slight lull, and you take the time to knock and push the door open. Their heads turn to you, Matty's eyes wide before washing over with a still expression

"Hey, uh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt anything, we're needed on stage."

"Not interrupting anything, love. C'mon." He walks assuredly past you into the hallway and towards the stage. George flashes you a soft smile, but you can see there's something behind it.

You look at them nervously as they walk ahead of you, mind racing as you try to put an explanation to the conversation you walked into that clearly they did not want you to hear. You forget about it by the time the show is over, the moment washing away with the day.

Toronto

"I won't lie, I'm not a huge fan of this."

You're standing on the glass floor of the CN Tower. You haven't been up here since you visited your uni friend over the holidays a few years back, and when you realize the whole band had never visited you promptly commandeered the day off planning.

You remove your eyes from gazing at the aquarium below to see Matty, standing at the edge of the glass. His toes barely touch it, refusing to step onto the clear portion of ground you are traversing.

"Somebody's scared," you childishly tease him, overjoyed at this exposed weakness.

"I'm not scared, I just don't particularly enjoy being reminded that if there are any structural disintegrates in this massive pole that this is my route out."

"Nah, he's bloody terrified of heights," Ross tosses from nearby, staring out at Lake Ontario.

"It seems I have lost all of my kind, loving, friends, whatever has happened to them?" Matty asks theatrically, turning around as if to search. He's caught up enough by what he's saying that he doesn't see George approach from the side, who quickly grabs him and pulls him onto the glass floor.

"You fuckwit! What is your problem!" Matty yells to George as he hastily runs back to the covered floor. You and George are practically dying of laughter, and it's only egged on by Matty's unimpressed expression.

Minneapolis

The text notification from Matty drops down from the top of your screen, pulling you away from mindlessly scrolling on Instagram. You roll over to your side in your bunk and open the message.

Last night I finally slept Next to somebody true She's worthy of your faith I felt you in her hands I saw you when she moved

God, it's a beautiful life To live for somebody gone One step out of the fight One dream into the storm

Your eyes scan over the words, and you type out a quick ? in response. He messages back instantaneously, rapid-fire.

A second verse

For I am in your hands.

And then I think it could lead back into the chorus

What do you think

You pull the curtain back from your bunk to find his curtain already open, staring at you. You go back to typing, looking up at him when you finish.

It's perfect

I love how you modified some of the lines slightly in the second part

You look back up and he's got a grin on his face, clearly pleased with your approval. You look back down to type some more, thumbs flying across the screen.

I was also thinking maybe after each line in the chrous it's followed by a bv of I am in your hands

But I'm in my modern world (I am in your hands)

And so on

You look back up at him and he's nodding his head to an inaudible tune, clearly singing out your suggestions in his head. He returns to the screen to write you another message.

I love that

You're a proper songwriter now love

You look back up at him with a small smile, lips pursed. You hope the light of your phone doesn't illuminate the blush on your cheeks, always appearing so easily when it comes to him.

Newport

The rush of cold air stings your skin. You need to get away from the dance floor, the far-too-bright flashes of the club lights, the music pounding so loud it hurts to hear. Everything is too much.

You're losing control of your breathing, gasping for air. The back door finally slams closed, the sound scaring you. You lean against the brick wall and it itches against your skin.

Your legs can't hold you up anymore, and you slid down to the asphalt, burning your exposed shoulders along the way. Tears spring from your eyes, and you loose further control of your breathing.

The alcohol is making you feel completely out of control of the situation, floating above your body as the streetlights smear together into a blur. You're losing grip on what's happening, and it only furthers the panic attack you've finally recognized is happening..

You throw your head against your knees that are tucked up to your face, crying and trying to breathe. You were worried this would happen eventually at one of these nights out. You're no stranger to having to tuck yourself into a corner while you name five things you can see, four things you can touch. The alcohol always makes them worse.

You only feel more overwhelmed and scared as your intoxicated mind continues to spin, unable to function the way you need it to in order to calm down. Your breaths are ragged, heaving sobs echoing through the back area outside of the club that you've found yourself in.

The pounding slam of the door swinging open hardly registers in your mind, and you only realize someone else is out there with you when you feel a warm hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, hey, come here, look at me." It's Matty.

You slowly look up, raising your head a herculean feat. He's crouched in front of you, eyes alight with concern. His mouth is parted, and both his hands are now gripped on your shoulders. Your breaths begin to increase rapidly, so far out of your control.

"Matty, I-I-I can't, I-" you're gasping for air, unable to get any sentence out. You're so overwhelmed you can't help but cry more, heaving and shaking. Worry stains across his face.

"Shh, shh, don't worry about talking, just sit with me. Here." he maneuvers to be sat beside you, and pulls your head against his shoulder. He takes your hand from the pavement and weaves his hand into it. You immediately begin to squeeze his hand, and he hums in encouragement.

You don't know how long you sit there, squeezing his hand and matching his breaths until yours calm, your grip on the world returns. The booming of the club music is audible against your back, but all you can hear is Matty's breaths, deep and steady.

Pittsburgh

You're knelt on the ground, sat back and knees digging against the carpet. He's above you, painstakingly recreating the Robbers video as you do each night. Matty doesn't stray from the script in this song, so you're careful to follow his lead.

He sticks his hands out sideways in the air, and leans down as scripted to kiss you. But this time, he weaves his hand into your hair just as he does earlier in the show. His deviation spurs you on, and you reach up to place one hand against his cheek.

He smashes his lips against yours, violent and wanting. The passion is practically tangible, dancing through your body, sparkling from your fingertips until the carpet lights aflame. It's never like this in this song. It's never like this with anyone else.

His hand is still in your hair, a feeling nowhere near foreign this far into the tour. When he begins to tug, you're not exactly unused to the sensation. But he's never done it now. Not in the song he's so stringent with, timing each action to the video by the syllable. The surprise mixing with the pleasure racing through you concentrates itself into a moan, gasping into his mouth uncontrollably.

You can't help yourself. You've never been more glad to not be mic'd up, the sound a secret between only you and him. You've never done that, lost control to the extent you are now. He pulls back from the kiss, slightly late for his cue. His mouth is slightly open, eyes predatorily down on you. His lips curl into an open-mouthed smile, tongue pressed against his teeth.

He sings the rest of the verse with the hand still in your hair, unscripted and unfathomable. It occasionally pulls, moving your head slightly. He's never been this brazen. Maybe the audience, unfamiliar with the show, is wondering why the choreography looks the same as one of the last songs. You can't begin to care about their possible confusion. All you want is him, breaking the last piece of the show that remained untouched by the desire coursing through the two of you. You have to assume it's in him as well as yourself. Any other explanation would break you. So you connect the dots, create the picture in your mind, matching the enormity of his desire to yours. You pray you aren't imagining any of it, creating a full painting out of just a few pigments of colour. All you can do is paint and paint, a blood-stained, half-finished image of passion.

—

a/n: new song is i am in your hands by bleachers! let me know what yall thinkkkkk

#matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfic #the 1975 #matty healy writing #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy fic #pitn

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midnightmayhem13 · 1 day

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Hii! Could I request the marvel ladies reaction to reader referring to them as her girlfriend for the first time <33

now i see daylight

this is so adorable! and ofc coming rightt up(ultra delayed post)

warning!- some suggestive bits(nothing specifically said)

Carol Danvers

once awhile, u and the girls go to a fancy jazz club. usually it's an excuse for you guys to dress up and get wine drunk and wake up feeling refreshed, albeit a lil hungover. this time, you and your lovely gf Carol go as a together. you wore a stunning navy blue dress and she wore a casual navy suit. Carol was drooling over you and she couldn't stop staring at you but you were also obsessing over ur sexy buff ass gf. you walk in hand in hand and go around the party talking to ur friends. you and carol separate for js a moment. when ur friends head home u sit there sipping ur drink alone and a man comes to sit next to you and start bugging you. "hey beautiful, you here alone?" "no im actually with someone" you answer sternly. thanks to Carols quick reflexes, you don't have to suffer long. she puts a firm hand on ur back and kisses the top of ur head. but thanks to the drinks he doesnt take the hint. "why don't u take me home dove; i'll show you want i can do." you and carol giggle. as she's about to say smt, you interupt. "actually" leaning into Carol, putting ur hand on her stomach as her hand goes over ur shoulder. "i'm gonna be taking my beautiful girlfriend home so you can go now." Gosh you've never looked sexier to carol. she honestly js starts fawning over you and lets out a THATS MY GIRL and hugs you super tight bc her heart js melted. you're so proud about being with her and she cannot contain the blush that's on her cheek. you two walk out (ur lipstick all over Carols face and neck) she's so giddy about the events that happened and cannot stop kissing u all over. it's like ur first date all over again and honestly, she can't wait to call u her wife!!

Darcy Lewis

Darcy is the smartest girl you know. and naturally as an Avenger you introduce her to Tony and safe to say he's very impressed with her and pats you on the back for finding such a brilliant girl. everyone likes Darcy too!! she makes you happy, she's hot, she's loyal, and mf is a Dr and an astrophysicist!! you always flaunt that. well when a big company asks the avengers to come work with them bc some sort of anomaly (think wandavision but no one's dead bc i said so) has accured and they need some brains and brawns. while tony and bruce alone were smarter than all of the companies scientists; they bit off more than they could chew. after a few weeks of all the scientists working at it, they only advance a bit. you go home and darcy comes over and you rant to her about it bc ur fed up. and suggest the idea of bringing her to help and she considers it. she spends the night so she might as well tag along and see what she can do. at first the companies big boss disregards her and even tries to push her away from the monitors. you grab his wrist "don't you touch her. and just so yk my girlfriend is smarter than all ur stupid scientists so i suggest you let her take a look so she can fix wtv ur men can't" Darcy is actually frozen to her spot bc that was so hot. the heat from her cheeks spread all the way down and she's at a loss for words. her face turns bright red and she nudges you too stop cutting the guys circulation off (she's well aware you'll break this guys arm for her). she thanks you and kisses ur cheek as she sits down. give her a few hours and BOOM. she's gotten to the bottom of the problem and has two possible ways to fix it, they both end up working. Darcy bugs about how much you brag about her. you give her a whole speech on why she's the greatest women ever as you hold her. she loves you with her whole heart and has never felt safer in her big bad avengers gfs arms.

Maria Hill

Even though Maria is always incredibly busy with Shield, and you with the avengers, you always find time to be together. but being women of high power has never been easy. that being said, both of you get looked down on even after showing ur skill time and time again. so you arrive at headquarters looking for your bad ass gf, carrying with you a few treats so she doesn't forget to eat. as you make ur way towards everyone they seem to be doing their usual thing. you could spot her from a mile away away. she's the most beautiful women you've ever laid eyes on. you approach her. her eyes land on you and her face immediately lights up. she greats you with a tight hug, a kiss on the head and then the lips. she's gotten more comfortable with being affectionate at work, you notice. "thank you baby" she says sweetly, completely contrasting to the harsh tone she uses with her troops. "i'll be back in a second" she goes to tell her most trusted troop to take charge as she steps out for a second. almost as if she cannot live in peace, a scrawny, insecure guy comes out of nowhere and starts complaining about Maria being off duty (who even is he) he starts causes a scene and honestly makes you laugh a bit. you two go to walk off to ignore him and suddenly the hoe grabs you!! yeahh maria is not gonna let this go. but when she goes to interfere but yank your arm away "my girlfriend has all of this under control so why don't you turn around and get back to work, the nerve of you!" Maria jaw is DROPPED. i mean she knew you could get serious but seeing her adorable gf give commands does something to her body. almost as if she's shy being in ur presence. she's sure she's never smiled bigger. you turn around and grab her had and guide her to the break room. she feels like she has a silly little school girl crush as she giddily follows you around.

sharon carter

(this is power broker sharon bc she's hot but no one's dead BC I SAID SO) To say sharon was kinda nervous about telling you about her job was an understatement. i mean you were an avenger but also the love of her life. it was a long talk but you got it to work. anyways you hung around a lot at her place bc hello?? it's huge and you love seeing ur hot gf do illegal ass things bccc she wasn't an avenger level threat (yet) so by ur logic, we're chilling. and she was on okay terms with steve, bucky and sam. when she hosts her auctions you're always welcome to come to them too! you want to be there just in case the worse happens, even tho she's more than capable of controlling it. but that doesn't mean you're safe from any guys or gals that want to hit on you. if they know who you are, you're okay but if they don't know who you are or have a death note they'll hit on you. usually you hang low or by the bar bc sharon's busy at these events. as you sip your favorite margarita you feel a tap on your shoulder. a security guard? "uhm hi can i help you?" you ask politely. unbeknownst to you sharon's watching (she always is) and heading her way over to you. the guards are specifically told not to speak to you unless u speak to them. she's possessive what can you say. "i'm not sure you're on the list your gonna have to step out" he says roughly grabbing ur arm and tugging you off your stool. sharon is basically bolting at this point. "my girlfriends the owner of this place and is the reason you buy ur meals so get off of me" you say and push him back. he's about to tackle you bc yk ego. until he sees an arm snake around your waist. oh sh*t. "get the hell out my house" sharon says and he gets escorted out. you'll probably never hear from him again. sharon grabs your waist and pulls you impossibly close to her as she places her lips on yours. "that was so sexy baby" she says on ur lips. her stern demeanor almost broke when she heard you calling her your girlfriend so proudly. it made her knees want to buckle and she felt like kicking her feet. she finally got the girl of her dreams and u guys were a match made it heaven. she can't stop thinking of this moment for months to come and definitely shows how proud she is of you later that night.

Nebula

nebula thought she was gonna be a lot of things in life. but never did she think she was gonna be the girlfriend of the most beautiful and kind girl in the galaxy. she seriously never expected to ever be blessed by your presence much rather be loved so deeply by you. although she's been weary of love her whole life, you've completely changed her perspective. you love her so deeply it's almost unfathomable. that being said, anything you guys are in a new planet and go explore you always make sure to stick to her side. who's gonna mess with ur big ass blue gf?? not to mention she's possessive with you and aggressive with anyone but you. she's also so gentle with her sweet girl. so you'd expect any on looker to stay away from you bc nebula likes to walk around with her hand on ur butt while holding you close. but when some weird looking dude approaches nebula immediately become alert but all he does is aggressively bump into her "hey watch where the hell your going u got ur dirty paws on my girlfriend!" you yell as you grab wtv the hell is on top of his (maybe hair??) and he has no other choice but to apologize to nebula. when he leaves nebula is left speechless. why are you so proud that ur dating her?she can't control herself tho and pulls you into an ally to passionately make out with you. that was so hot. she lifts you by ur butt and presses you against a wall. you giggle and pull away as she chases ur lips "what's with this nebby?" "i love you." she says hoarsely. she didn't know how to respond to the whole situation. she couldn't care less about what the guy said or didn't say. but you loved her so much and we're so open about it. she was gonna love you forever.

kate bishop

Kates sure you could do something so simple as breathing and she would get giddy. she's no kidding. she absolutely adores you and you adore her. that's why you two just work. and while not all things come to you guys that simple most things do. you to do have your fights but they can usually be resolved with a good talk followed by a movie marathon with pizza and Lucky cuddles. so that's what you guys are doing right now. don't get me wrong, this happens on a weekly bases not just when you guys are having an argument. it's just a chill saturday afternoon, both you and kate resting from having a hard week in training and working with adults who never seemed to be pleased with any improvement in any skill. but anyways. you kate and lucky are all cuddled up on her couch as you decide what movie to pick out. as if it's a 6th sense kate suddenly gasps "we didn't order pizza!" and even lucky pops his head up, distraught by this horrible news. you have a good laugh but kate is seriously concerned about this. you stroke her hair and kiss it and tell her you'll order it rn. kate js smiles snuggly at lucky (who she high fives) as she leans her head on ur tit and receives head rubs. you call her favorite pizza place and order ur usual order while she finds a few movies to binge. thanks to nyc, ur pizza arrives in no time. and when you hear the bell ring you and lucky go answer the door. kates too busy complaining cuz her pillows gone. as you answer the door luckys right there as ur security. "haha your dogs really cute!" says the delivery guy "thank you my girlfriend found him!" you say simply as you tip him and close the door. kate literally gets up and runs around as she squeals. you thought she was just really hungry but after she picks you up when you put the pizza down she tells you other wise. she spins you around and cannot take the big goofy smile off her face. she's left speechless but her smile speaks for her. when you ask her about it your heart melts at how pure she is. the rest of the night she's has that smile on her face as she's resting on ur favorite pillow, you!!

a/n- so sorry this took so long and it's kinda crappy! i was kinda stuck so they all sound similar but hopefully you guys enjoyed! send requests!!🤍🤍

stay safe hoes🤍

#carol danvers x reader #darcy lewis x reader #maria hill x reader #nebula x reader #sharon carter x reader #kate bishop x reader #marvel imagine #wlw #marvel fluff #midnightmayhem13

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