#hurt and not a whole helluva lot of comfort

[afewproblems]

Steve always falls first, falls fastest.

It happened three years ago with Nancy, it happened with Robin back before the bathroom confession cemented their platonic soulmate status. It happened with Lauren MacNeal in Steve's freshman year, and Cindy Carlile back when he was eight years old.

He knows himself and knows the beginning stages. It's always quick and never painless, and seems to hurt more with every passing year. A dull ache in his chest that throbs and whispers darkly, 'remember Harrington, you'll always be bullshit'.

And when he finds himself falling for one Eddie Munson, he knows exactly when it starts.

Movie nights became a regular thing shortly after Eddie was discharged from the hospital. Robin, Steve, and Eddie all pile into the Harrington living room or the Munson trailer every other week, it's too hard to be apart.

Really, it becomes a way to keep a late night conversation going with Eddie while the credits roll, Robin dozes on the beanbag in the corner and Steve can't help but stare.

Eddie is so animated when he talks about something he loves, his brown eyes light up with his thousand watt smile and the dimples come out in full force, Steve almost has to squint with the amount of natural sunshine this man emanates when he talks about his passions.

He says as much to Robin during their next shift and she can't help but roll her eyes and gag, "Steven Remington Harrington-"

"Not my name," Steve cuts in with a laugh as he stuffs their second copy of the Shining into the machine to rewind.

"Don't interrupt dingus," Robin continues imperiously, "I get it, you have heart-eyes for the guy, but you gotta stop gushing about him to me and tell him".

Steve rolls his eyes and ignores the way his stomach swoops at the thought of telling Eddie how he feels, and the realization that it's happening again.

"I-I mean, it's not like I'm in love with the guy Robin, he stutters out eventually, "it'll go away, or he'll find someone else to talk to, they always do eventually".

He focuses on picking up the stack of freshly rewound tapes and walking them into the shelves, avoiding Robin's silent sad look that bores into the back of his head as he hides in the stacks.

Weeks turn into months and Steve absorbs nearly everything he can about Eddie.

He wears a size 10 shoe, but the 'shit-kicking' steel toes always look a smidge bigger - the inch or two it adds to Eddies height doesn't hurt either as Steve finds he has to tilt his head up to meet Eddie's gaze when he's decked out in his metal gear for a show...

He got his first guitar when he went to live with Wayne, it was a simple acoustic that he learned his chords on and practiced CCR on to his uncles delight.

He hates orange juice and loves coffee.

He loves cats and is scared to death of birds.

Every detail draws Steve in, but that small voice in the back of his mind reminds him again and again, 'they always leave Steve, don't get too comfortable'.

But how could he not?

Eddie is comfortable, he's nice and funny, and seems to enjoy hanging out with Steve almost as much as Steve enjoys being with Eddie. There is a softness to him when they're alone that makes Steve feel safe.

So what if he doesn't feel the same, Steve isn't about to give this up.

Not yet.

Steve takes to dropping by the Corroded Coffin band practice every weekend, a six pack in one hand and a small wary smile on his face - he's still not entirely accepted by Gareth and Jeff but the beer helps and Eddie vouches for him every time.

The atmosphere is still somewhat stilted, but it isnt as icy as it had been. Now Gareth even sits with him after practice while Eddie and Jeff go over their solos just outside the door as they share a joint, blowing smoke rings into the evening air.

"You know," Gareth says one night to Steve as he plops down beside him onto the sunken couch in the garage, "If someone had told me in high school I'd be sitting here with King-Steve and sharing a beer after practice, I'd laugh in their face".

Steve fights down a wince at the mention of the old nickname, and nods once. Who was he kidding, 'King-Steve' was not something he'd ever be able to outrun.

"So," Gareth continues, tapping his hands against the neck of the bottle, "how's the crush going?"

Steve chokes on his beer and swings his hand up to pound his fist into his chest to loosen up the liquid, Gareth claps him on the back with an alarmed expression on his face.

"Jesus Harrington, y'alright?" Gareth says as Steve tries to catch his breath.

Steve nods and breathes deeply through his nose, his eyes flick to the open garage door to see if Eddie or Jeff are on their way back inside, "I-I don't think I heard you right," he manages with a rasp.

Gareth snorts and shakes his head, leaning back against the couch. He's quiet for a moment, eyes trained on Steve's face.

Steve, for his part, stares resolutely at the floor hoping his gaze is strong enough to burn a hole into the concrete he can jump into.

"Look," Gareth says after a beat, "I guess its not really any of my business Harrington," his eyes travel over to the open door before flicking back to Steve, "and I don't mean to sound like a prick when I say this, but you're not really his type man".

Something in Steve's throat pulls tight, bullshit echoes in the hollow cavity of his chest as he nods and swallows the last dreggs of his beer.

"Right," Steve mumbles, he puts his hands on his knees and stands up from the couch, "Right, yeah, I mean, makes sense...".

He crosses to the door and manages to toss the now empty can into an open bin they'd officially commandeered for empties.

"Dude," Gareth says softly standing as well, he makes no move to walk towards Steve though.

Steve waves a hand and drops the other to his back pocket to hide the sudden trembling. Gareth is right, it doesn't make sense. Why would someone like Eddie ever want to be with someone like Steve? How would that even work?

Always fast but never painless, right on time.

"You guys were uh, great as usual, I'll see you around man," Steve says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, he hasn't had to pull out the 'King Steve' smile in a few years but it still fits, still manages to hide a few things.

He turns away from Gareth and walks out through the open garage door.

The sun is nearly below the horizon and the stars have begun to migrate, the inky blue of night begins to steep into the last vestiges of light, if he's careful he can slip past Eddie and Jeff without either of them noticing.

He makes it to the beemer before Eddie turns towards him.

Eddie's brown eyes widen before narrowing in a questioning stare, he opens his mouth but Steve opens the car door and quickly slides into the driver's seat.

He stares straight ahead as he backs out of the driveway and pulls out onto the road.

Steve can feel those brown eyes follow him as he makes the long drive back to his empty house.

Part Two Now Up!

[alientee]

Please more helluva boss with a chubby reader!!! Idec who, the last 2 were just too good!!!

I know you said helluva boss but I kinda wanna give Lucifer a try if that’s ok I hope you like it because it’s fluffy🤣.

Let’s say you met him because he needed company and had to play it off as though he just wanted someone to work for him. So why not hire a maid to keep his castle clean. When he first saw you, instantly hired! He couldn’t say no to someone as adorable as you. Lucifer loves how plump you are. He won’t admit it but he thinks your more cuter than his ducks. You catch him staring at you he goes back to work pretending to be making new ducks.

He lets you wear whatever you want but then he gets you diffrent maid outfits. Overtime the maid outfits become a little more shorter each time he gets you one. “Oh it’s too short? sorry hahaha……yeaaaa….can you keep it on please” you raise an eyebrow “why?” He literally gives you a pay raise to keep the outfit and not ask questions.

He has you clean up in high places so he can look at your thighs. He’s not that big of a pervert to look up your skirt but seeing your thick soft thighs made his day a whole lot better. Once you get used to him and see a man that’s too depressed for his own good, you shower him with affection. He also can’t help but lean into your touch. (The man is touch starved) He’d blush heavily when you made him lunch or made him rest. He feels like he has a wife all over again.

He lays on your lap all the time, to the point where he doesn’t sleep in his bed anymore. If he can’t lay on your thighs or tummy he can’t sleep good. He’s childish enough to motor boat your stomach if you tell him you need to get up. Will make the cutest awkward squeaking noises when you pull him to your chest. “You seem uncomfortable do I make you nervous your majesty?” He will admit to no one that his face was hurting with how red it got after you said that.

He gifts you cute ducks made to look like your favorite characters all the time. Likes buying you duck underwear, pajamas, socks. (The man loves ducks ok) He’ll buy you things like a tooth brush and body washes even house shoes. It’s his little way of asking you with not really asking you to spend the night. “You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it! I just thought you’d enjoy a game night with some good company maybe some pancakes in the morning you know FRIEND stuff like that and I-“ you kiss his forehead “I’d love to sir” later in the night you hear him yelling “take that depression!” But you don’t mention it.

And of course you indulge in your king. You both are mainly baking together, watching comedy movies, or he flys you around hell taking you to diffrent rings taking you to the real lulu world . You try to get away from all the ducks telling him they can listen but won’t answer and it’s not healthy to imagine them answering. He pouts but listens regardless. His relationship with Charlie has even gotten better with your advice. (She loves you by the way)

You get Lucifer to open up more, and in return he gets more bold. Gripping your hips, kissing you all over. He try’s to smack your ass a few times but ends up leaving a mark because he doesn’t know his own strength. “I’m so sorry! It’s been so long!” But you tell him not to worry because you liked being marked by him. And he becomes a flustered shy mess all over again.

He has an obsession with squeezing you. When he hugs you, he squeezes your love handles. He squeezes your cheeks (face 😏) , your thighs it doesn’t matter as soon as he gets his hands on you he’s squeezing. You try to tell him you’re not one of his ducks and he gives you that shit eating smirk.

And if Lucifer took off his wedding ring, well nobody dare mention it.

His nicknames for you are: Duckie, sweetie, apple pie

[angelltheninth]

Can you do Stolas x royal/noble reader where they both loved each other way before they were both forced into failed marriages. About two years after the divorce with Stella, and seeing how well Octavia and S/O get along, he proposes to the reader.

Sure. This is my first Helluva post in a while.

Pairing: Stolas x Reader

Tags: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, getting back together, arranged marriage, proposal

A/N: Hopefully we get more Helluva soon, I need the inspiration haha.

You were sweethearts ever since you were teenagers

Stolas always spoke about his grand plan of running away with you and getting married

They were nice dreams but they were also just that, dreams

You both had duties and expectations to live up to, which meant that your futures weren't entirely your own

Neither of you were happy in your arranged marriages and the worst part was that you could see how miserable you were at big parties

The most you ever got there was a few words together when you'd dance

You could see that, no matter how much Stolas may not like Stella, Octavia was his whole world and he would endure anything for her

Both your divorces didn't come as a shock to the other

At least now you were more free to spend more time with each other

Stolas was shy and insecure about rekindling your romance

He still liked you a lot but he had Octavia to think about and he didn't want you to feel like a rebound

It was obvious that from the way you acted that you still have feelings for each other

Dinners with you, him and Octavia soon turn into those for just the two of you, Octavia not wanting anything to do with that mushy stuff

Or so she says, she's very happy that her dad is with someone he likes

She is a little hostile towards you at first, she's just as protective of her dad as he is of her

Stolas likes seeing you spending time with her, it's important that the two of you get along if you plan on dating him again and eventually marrying him

He would never propose to you if Octavia didn't grow to like you as much as she did

Actually it was her who helped him pick the ring

[pinkandpurple360]

Omg another thing-

I know this probably the least of the problems in Helluva but,, I'm really hung up on the fatphobia.

I'm kinda chubby and have been my whole life, and my genetics don't help lol. But I work out and try to be somewhat healthy (as a come student who lives across the street from a Taco Bell lmaoo)

But to be real for a sec, Loona's jokes towards Moxxie are just always out of nowhere and are always malicious. Blitzø has no problem when it comes to that but when someone fat shames Fizz, it's over??

Like I'm sorry but what's the metric? And why are people even making fun of Moxxie's weight to begin with?? It just seems like a really unecessary gag that just leads to character inconsistensy. Not to mention the fatphobic stereotypes associated with Mammon (even if they're minor and not totally addressed).

Idk. Like I said before, I just want the show to be and do better. Some of these characters are comfort characters to me, but there's always that insecurity of "oof but some would bully the shit out of me"

It's dumb. Sorry for oversharing lol (please don't answer if you feel uncomfortable with that, and I apologize in advance in case it bothers you)

By all means if something is ever hurtful or uncomfortable for you please don’t feel any need to minimise that. A lot of people have had the same sentiment. No one has the right to judge you over your body hon you don’t have to explain anything to me. Be kind to yourself always ok ? 💙

Weight shaming a person is nasty. Making it a running gag is even nastier. And they only ever say that to make Moxie shut up when he’s trying to point something out, or criticise someone’s choices. He’s allowed to be annoyed at Loona for being a bad employee, she’s only there out of nepotism. And he’s usually right in his assessments. Loona and Blitz just can’t take criticism at all. They can’t admit that this setup isn’t working.

With Mammon, going by the fandoms reactions we’re supposed to point and laugh at his weight…mock him for weight shaming others not because weight shaming is bad but because you can only do that to people if you’re thin?? Idk. People focus on his weight more so than his abuse of other people. Fat jokes are so out.

[cool-cowboy]

Stress Reliever

Tags:

Hate sex, Dominant Leon S. Kennedy, Roughness, Rough body play, Finger-fucking, Finger-sucking. Face-Fucking, Hair pulling, Dirty talk, Degradation, Name-calling, Praise kink, Rough sex, Overstimulation, Forced orgasm

Summary:

“Can you shut the fuck up already? Jesus christ, shut your hole and sleep.”

“Relax, Leon, what’s your problem? Being so fucking touchy.”

“You won’t stop talking. That’s my problem.”

“Someone needs some stress relief…”

In which you and Leon are long time partners, who are stuck sharing a bed on an overly stressful mission. Tensions are high, and with a suggestion for some "Stress Relief" taken the wrong way things take a turn.

Leon is MEAN, which I usually would think is out of character, but I justify it by saying he'd never really hurt his lover, maybe just shut them up in a not so nice way, plus you like it, so yeah. Older Leon, was thinking Vendetta because of his angry moments, but whatever you want works. Not something I'd usually write, but had the idea and wanted to try it out! Enjoy!

Text:

“Can you shut the fuck up already? Jesus christ, shut your hole and sleep.” He’s being an ass, a bigger one than usual, pissing both of us off with his sour attitude. We’ve been confined to sleeping in one room, the only place we’re secure in this city, which is currently crawling with B.O.W.’s. We’re both stressed, this mission is taking a million times longer than it was meant to, and is a million times more infested than we were told.

“Relax, Leon, what’s your problem? Being so fucking touchy.” I turn on my side, facing away from him, huffing in annoyance when I hear his head turn against the pillow to look at me. It was just a joke, a simple “Wow, this is pretty cozy” that set him off. I guess it was to be expected, he’s been like this for a long time, both of us have, always on edge and stuck with each other during our worst moods, but this assignment has felt different, a shift in the tension between us, something like that.

“You won’t stop talking. That’s my problem.” I sigh, dramatic enough I’m sure he’ll hear, his mumbled out curses against me thankfully too low for my ears to catch. I look back at him, looking at me, pissed, tired of my shit, he’d said.

“Someone needs some stress relief…” I let my brows lift, pursing my lips before turning to lay my head back down, his shuffling around behind me only making my aggression toward him worse. If he wants to sleep he should sit his jackass still instead of rolling around like an idiot.

“Maybe if there was a pretty girl around.” His voice is low, intentional, trying to hurt my feelings, and I have to admit that did strike a nerve, having someone as obviously attractive as him comment on my appearance, even in a roundabout way, is not ideal.

“Maybe if you were a little more charming.” I’m lying, well partly, he is charming, just not around me, too comfortable and too bitter to treat me very nicely. He grabs my shoulder, and I whirl around, knife to his throat, surprising him, his nervous swallow nearly cutting into his skin. “Don’t think you can manhandle me, Kennedy. Watch your fucking hands.” He doesn’t seem put off by my tone, or the knife against him, just looks down at me, propped up on his elbow, looking a little pleased, surprisingly.

“I’m not charming? What about after that gala for Alvarez when I had you begging for-”

“That was a long time ago, Leon.” He gives me a look, not happy I interrupted his teasing words. I shove my knife back into its sheath, huffing and moving to turn back away, stopped by a gloved hand gripped tight to my jaw, my eyes flitting up to meet his.

“I wish you never changed, you were a whole helluva lot more pleasant back then.” He narrows his eyes, looking at me disgustedly, as if he’s not keeping my face in his gaze against my will.

“Yeah, so were you. Now get the hell off me-” I push at his arm, laying back onto my back to shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge, just staring in his judgemental, calculating way, not minding me struggling at all, his show of power oddly attractive, even if he is being an ass.

“I hate you.” He kisses me, harshly, a surprised noise escaping my mouth before he's over me, pinning my hands to my stomach, keeping his other gripped to my jaw, the pressure almost painful, his nails digging into my skin.

“Leon- What the-”

“Stress relief, yeah? C’mon, partner, do something I don’t hate for once.” He goes back to kissing, this time down my neck, huffing and nipping, just hard enough to hurt. “Quit fuckin’ squirming, you can never fucking sit still, can you?” He’s still mad, just channeling his anger into something a little more pleasant, holding me down and making me feel good, even if he is a lot rougher than I remember. “You want this? Tell me, say you want it or I’m stopping.” He speaks with his lips against my skin, his voice low and rough, lusty, his hand squeezing my wrists to quietly urge me to reply.

“Uh-Yes.” He comes back to my lips, kissing too hard, teeth mixing with lips, his low groan still angry, his hand tightening around my wrists, stinging from his nails.

“Really..? Can never shut your… goddamn mouth and now you’re… not gonna talk..? Stupid… you’re… So fucking annoying.” I let out a noise when he bites my lip, and he pulls back to take a look at me, both of us breathing heavy, angry, lips red and smeared with spit. “Who knew you’d be this easy? Fuckin’ moaning when I haven’t even touched you, dirty bitch.” He leans back down to my neck, biting down when I pull on my arms, my pained groan muffled by his free hand clamping down on my mouth. “Shut the fuck up, god you’re stupid, lucky you’re so damn hot.” He keeps his hand over my mouth, trailing his lips down the side of my throat, sighing into me before sucking hard on a spot at the base.

“L’n, Dn’-” I squirm, trying to get away from the inevitable mark his harsh sucking is going to leave, but he takes his hand from my mouth down to my throat, holding it and my hands, rendering me mostly immobile, sucking and groaning and grinding into my thigh until he’s had enough, pulling back and looking at me with low eyes and a small, satisfied smile.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it, I know how fucking nasty you are, you don’t have to pretend.” He uses my hands to push my shirt up, trailing his lips across my collar bone, sucking and nipping at my skin, groaning against me when I push my thigh up into his hips, his erection straining through his cargos. “That’s it, fuck, maybe you are good for somethin’.” He releases my hands, sitting back on his heels above me, making me feel small, meek below him, at his mercy, even if I didn’t want to be. “You wanna do this?” He’s breathing heavy, chest heaving, mouth opened, eyes peering down at me, his hands paused on the clasps of my harness.

“Yes.” He unclips it, yanking me up by the front of my shirt to get my arms out of it, rushing, ignoring my annoyed hum at him manhandling me to get the job done, tossing it off to the side once he’s got it off.

“You’re being so damn quiet.” He works on my shirt next, sitting me up in front of him to pull it up over my head, discarding it before letting his eyes wander. “So well behaved when you’re on your way to getting some dick, yeah? Naughty bitch, probably can’t wait for it, huh? You’re looking awfully needy…” He’s being mean, but anything else wouldn’t suit him, and I don’t mind, it’s all relatively true, and the comments are, embarrassingly, starting to turn me on.

“Fuck you.” He laughs, bitter, pulling my bra down my arms and tossing it away, shoving me back down onto the mattress by my sternum, leaning down to latch onto my nipple, groaning loudly and yanking one of my thighs up over his hip, a surprised moan escaping me when he grinds roughly into my crotch.

“You will, in a fuckin’ minute. Have some class, yeah?” He moves onto my other nipple, sucking hard enough to hurt, grinding into me at the same time he lets his teeth graze my sensitive flesh, grinning into my skin when I arch up into him. “Bad girl, you’re getting off on this, huh? You like getting treated like this? You’re sick.” He’s amused, teasing me, prompting me to shove my thigh up between his legs, enough to hurt, but not enough to seriously piss him off. He groans, biting me in protest, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the rough treatment either.

“Sounds like you are too. Drooling all over me when I-”

“Shut up, jesus.” I don’t really have a choice, his grip tight on my throat, his mouth working its way back up my neck to look me in the eyes. “Don’t think this changes anything, you’re still on my shit list, even-Fuck- you feel so damn good.” He lets his head rest in the crook of my neck, nudging my leg back outside his to grind into the crotch of my pants, his groan muffled by the quilt below us. “Wanna suck my dick? I bet you fuckin’ do, probably soak your damn panties while I fuck your pretty face.” I moan, I can’t help it, the feel of his body pressing down on me along with his words is overbearing, leaving me mushy, none of my usual fight left when he’s oozing authority like this. He pulls back, looking over my expression, watching as he slowly drags his dick up my slit, huffing amusedly when I gasp. “Yeah? You want to? Say it, pretty girl, tell me you want my dick in your mouth.” I nearly do, spit out whatever he wants, but I refrain, wanting to keep at least a shred of my dignity, moving my hands to push against him, trying and failing miserably to get him on his back.

“Yes, now get off!” He waits a moment, then relents, rolling off me to lay on his back, pulling me along with him, now straddling his hips, which continue to work against me as I work the clips of his harness, pulling him up the same way he did to me, only to be caught in a heated, harsh kiss, one of his hands hauling me closer into his lap, the other tugging on my hair roughly as he groans, using his hold on my hip to rock me against him. “Leon-” He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even acknowledge my hands pushing at him, just keeps kissing and groaning, refusing to budge until he’s had his fill, releasing me to finish what I was trying to do before he decided he had other plans.

“You’re too damn eager, pissing me off.” He’s quiet, his voice rough, low eyes watching me as I get his shirt up over his head, not looking pissed, dazed, if anything. “Terrible… So damn bad, needy for dick down your fuckin’ throat, yeah?” I frown, pressing a hand to his chest to shove him back down, and he lets me, giving me an unamused look when he slams into the mattress, but I ignore him, following him down to kiss at his neck. “ ‘s a little lower, sweetheart.” I bite him, a little harder than he did me, but he’s being annoying. He groans, loud, his hips rutting up roughly into me making me moan into my bite, my head pulling back to look at the mark, feeling pleased to have ruined him a little. “Goddamn, you evil girl, can’t expect me to treat you nice after that. Better fucking play nice or I’ll shove my dick into your pretty pussy without any prep.” I shoot him a look, my annoyance growing with just about everything he says, the anger subdued by our new entertainment.

“Maybe I won’t let you fuck me at all, If you wanna play that game.” I’m going to, no way I can pass this opportunity up, and neither is he, both of us gone way too long without caring for our needs, too pent up to refuse even the least preferable partner. I trail down, kissing and sucking and biting my way down his neck, his chest, feeling satisfied when his hands pull my hips down onto him, just as needy as me.

“Yeah right, we both know that’s bull, now shut up and show me what those pretty lips can do.” He lays his head back, propped up on the pillow so he can watch, my lips trailing down over his stomach making his muscles tense. I don’t give in yet, not happy with him being so bossy, just rest my head beside his obvious erection and letting my fingers ghost over it, pulling back when his hips rut up. “Don’t play this game with me, I’m a helluva lot meaner than you, I’ll make you wait ten times as long as me, keep that in mind.” He’s not happy about my teasing, but I guess I am being annoying on purpose, so I let my hand press more fully against him, palming him, letting him press his hips up into my touch, watching his eyes go closed and his head press back into the pillow.

“I’m easy? You’re fucking my hand right now. Shouldn’t a man your age know how to control himself?” He groans, reaching down to grab me by my hair, dragging my face over to press into his dick, the front of his cargos and his erection digging into the side of my face.

“You wanna say that shit again? God fuckin’ damn you’re annoying, just shut the fuck up and suck my dick.” Yeah, that did it, he’s pissed, holding me there when I squirm, the feeling of slick soaking my panties at his rough treatment making me a little sick to my stomach. His other hand comes down, the one in my hair dragging my head back so I can watch him unbutton and zip his pants, his dick hitting me in the face when he pulls his pants and boxers down over his hips. He grabs his erection, already red and shining with pre, tapping it against my lips, staring at me with lust mixed with his usual annoyance, his eyes narrowed, his lips parted, chest heaving with quickened breaths. “You gonna be good and suck it or d’you want me to cram it down your slutty fucking throat.” I frown at that, but he doesn’t seem to care, too into his role, pulling me up onto my hands and knees by my hair, ignoring my pained groan to press my lips to the head of his dick. “Go ahead, sweetheart, don’t make me treat you rough, yeah?”

I don’t mind the rough treatment, I know he wouldn’t actually hurt me, he’s just as into this as I am, even if he is a lot more composed, he knows this is a game, an exaggeration of our usual tiffs to give us a reason to let out some pent up aggression. I close my lips over the tip, sucking lightly, moaning at the taste of pre on my tongue, my eyes flitting up when he groans, his eyes on me, his grip on my hair coaxing me down. I don’t refuse him, just slide down until I can’t take anymore, my attempt to pull back up stopped by his hand on my head, holding me down on him.

“Deeper, c’mon, you took all of it last time.” I press down, gagging, trying and failing to pull off him, tears pricking at my eyes as I watch his head press back, a low groan sounding out into the room. “That’s fuckin’ it, tryna hold out on me? God, you look pretty gagged on my dick, fuckin’ crying for it.” He pulls me off, all the way, when I tap repeatedly on his thigh, not as ruthless as he’d like me to believe. “Can’t take it?” I take a deep breath, using my hand to hold his dick up then sinking down, all the way, gagging around him before pulling back up and doing it again. “Shit, nasty bitch, you’re too damn good at that. Suck lots of dick? I bet…” He’s looking at me, pulling on my hair when I look away, forcing my eyes back up to his face, enjoying himself a little too much. “Wanna let me fuck that pretty face?” I moan around him, sinking down again, and he groans, pulling me off him to shove me down beside him, dragging me a little higher by my hair, positioning my messy face back above his leaky dick.

“Not too rough, Leon.” I give him a look, expecting some snarky comment, but he just nods, too worked up to deny me this, his hand urging me to wrap my mouth back around him, and I do, one elbow pressed into the mattress beside him, my other palm on his hip.

“That’s it, I’ll be nice, don’t-ah- don’t worry…” He starts out slow, shallow, propping up a leg to give him the mobility he needs to thrust into my waiting mouth. “Shit, this is so fucking good, you look good with my dick in your mouth, sweet girl. Gonna cream your fuckin’ throat, you want that?” I moan, and he presses my head down, only an inch, but now he’s hitting the back of my throat, and I gag at the unexpected depth, my throat closing around him making him let out a breathy moan, his fingers gripping harshly into my scalp. “Fuck, that’s it, better relax, let me in, come on…” I try, but he’s speeding up, nudging at the back of my throat, forcing me to gag over and over, his eyes on me, my spit trailing down and pooling around the hair at his base. “Makin’ a mess, god, gonna go faster, yeah? Stop me if you can’t take it.” He doesn’t show me any mercy, working his hips up and shoving my head down, tears soaking my skin as I claw into his hip, his whiny groan making me clench on nothing, the lewd noises my throat is making ripping needy noises out of the both of us. “I knew you could-Fuck- take it, you want it, want me to fuck your tight little throat. I bet that sweet little clit is throbbing, yeah? Poor girl, so needy-ah- for- me.” He’s getting close, his hips stuttering every now and then, his eyes falling closed to enjoy the sensation of my wet heat, his dick pushing past the muscle keeping him out of my throat. He pushes his non-supporting leg between mine, bending his knee to rub it into me, offering minute relief, and a distraction from the lack of air I’m getting.

“Shit, nearly there, keep squeezing that mouth on me, just like that, you’re doing so good. So fuckin’ dirty, letting me shove my dick-ngh- You look so good, you’re so messy. You fucking love this shit don’t you? Fuck, that makes it even better, watching you get off to getting your face fucked- shit-!” His head lolls back, and his rhythm goes patchy, my choking only getting louder the longer I don’t get air, my head feeling fuzzy when he reaches his free hand down to rub my clit through my pants, my surprised moan making his hips stutter. “Only a little longer, you’re nearly there, just let me-Ngh- Fuck that pretty mouth a little longer, let me give you what you’ve been missing Yeah? Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum down your pretty goddamn throat, fuck, keep fucking going, keep- shit- just, oh fuck, take it, fucking take it-” He buries himself inside, my lips flush with his base, his dick forced down my throat when he twitches, groaning and rubbing intensely at my clit, making my legs shake as I dig my nails into his skin, moaning around him as he leaks cum straight down my throat.

“There we go, you did so good, better than I thought. Almost don’t wanna let you off, just let your throat stay wrapped so nice around me…” He doesn’t, thank god, he pulls me off, and I gasp for breath, my arm collapsing and leaving my face pressed into the spit on his stomach, my chest heaving, his hand smoothing my hair. “You’re okay, just breathe, surprised you didn’t need a break… Just calm back down, deep breaths, yeah?” He’s being kind, probably for the first time in years, wiping at my tear-stained cheek as I calm down, watching me with none of his usual annoyance, just mild worry, something I don’t often get, not dainty enough and too well trained for anyone to have any reason to be worried about me. “Ready for your turn?” He doesn’t wait on my response, just turns us over, crawls down to leave his face above mine, looking way too attractive for a man I thought I hated.

“Leon-”

“Shh, don’t start being annoying again or I’ll have to fill that perfect fucking mouth a second time.” And he’s back, giving me a mildly disgusted look before leaning down to kiss at my neck, gripping my jaw to tilt my head back, trailing his teeth down my jugular, laughing when I moan. “See? Just keep your big ass mouth shut and you’ll get what you want.” His free hand is working on my pants, greedy fingers pushing past the waist once they’re unbuttoned, his rough thumb dragging with harsh pressure over my clit making me flinch. He laughs, low and bitter, kissing down to close his lips around an already hard nipple, letting his teeth close over it, biting down a little harder when I try and pull him off. “Fucking stop that.” He collects my hands, shoving them above my head and holding them there, his grip on my wrists a little tighter than it should be, his calloused skin digging into mine.

“Just sit your annoying ass still and shut the fuck up.” He returns to the same nipple, only after giving me a look, letting his teeth close over it again, which hurts, but I focus on his hand, his thumb rubbing circles over my panties, dipping down to swipe over the slick-soaked patch. He groans, his teeth tightening making me hiss, but he releases it, trailing over to the other side, speaking with huffed breaths between lazy kisses. “You’re so… Damn sensitive… Such a… Naughty fuckin’ girl… grinding this sweet pussy up into my hand…” I hadn’t even noticed I was doing that, chasing pleasure to offset the pain. I moan pleasedly when he slips his fingers under my underwear, neglecting to collect any of my wetness before rubbing my clit, his thumb rough against my dry nerves making me squirm, movement quickly stopped by a pointed squeeze to my wrists.

“Leon, that hurts- Can you-”

“Told you to take it.” He doesn’t look amused, just pulls back to stare at me, pressing his thumb more firmly against me, staring at my face as my legs shake, making me embarrassed. I’m getting close when he dips his fingers down, collecting slick onto his pointer and middle, avoiding my clit on the way back up, pulling them out and between us, held up for the both of us to see. “You soaked your pretty panties… Too bad, wasted some.” He separates his fingers, sticky strings connecting them making him groan before he looks at me, pressing his fingers into his mouth, moaning around them as his eyes go half-lidded, his dick filling back out before my eyes, rested heavy along the outside of my arousal. “Shit, for an annoying little bitch you sure do taste good. Let’s get these off, let me get you ready for me, yeah?” I nod, not wanting to speak out of turn and have him change his mind, his threat of going in without prep a little daunting at his size, even if I am soaked.

He shuffles down the bed, bringing my hands down to rest on my stomach, resting his knees on either side of mine, pulling my pants and underwear down without much gentleness, yanking up on my leg when he can’t get one side off. “Here we go, you look good like this…” He settles himself between my legs, pressing one knee down into the bed to give him room, his eyes on my face when his thumb returns to my clit, pressing too hard, making me shake. “So damn easy, huh? Too worked up from getting dick stuffed down your throat?” I can’t help the moan that comes out of me, low and breathless, my eyes meeting his when I feel his fingers pressing inside, two of them, curling up on the way back out, pressing hard into my G-spot unexpectedly. “Good, huh? Needy girl… That fuckin’ looks you’re giving me is so fucking good, so goddamn desperate for me, yeah?” I can’t talk, not that I think he really wants me to, I’m too busy shaking like a leaf, my legs held in place by his arm and hand, his fingers and thumb working against me in an almost painful way, too much at once, bringing me to the brink of orgasm quicker than I thought possible.

“Shit, Le- oh my god, Leon-” I can’t form anything coherent, but he knows, he’s doing it on purpose, enjoying it, watching me with hazy eyes, ignoring the loud squelching of his fingers fucking into me to watch my expression.

“Gonna cum? Yeah? Go ahead, fuckin’ do it, soak my fingers so I can use them to slick up my dick. C’mon, dirty girl, you’re so damn close, cum on my fingers…” I’m nearly there, letting out a whiny moan when I feel it coming, but he stops, not seeming to have any reaction to my annoyed groan, just looking at me, not making any move to explain himself.

“Why-”

“Not yet.” He waits a few more seconds before he starts up again, the squelching even more lewd, his fingers pressing inside over and over, his thumb pressed painfully into my clit, his teeth closing on the skin of my thigh when I clench around his fingers. “Fuck, squeezing me, you’re so wet, sucking me in. Ready to cum? I’ll let you this time as long as you don’t pull on those hands again, just fuckin’ take it. There you go, you’re so ready, give it to me, fucking give it to me, cum on my fingers like the dirty little bitch you are.” That does it, but he doesn’t stop, continuing the same pace, fucking me through my orgasm, holding down my leg that tries to close, groaning when I gush all over the quilt. “Jesus Christ, making a fuckin’ mess, so fucking bad…” He doesn’t stop even once my orgasm is over, or when I squirm from overstimulation, he holds me down, fucking his fingers into me, watching my face as he forces me toward another high, his fingers way too rough on my oversensitive nerves. “Stop fucking moving, sit your stupid ass still and take it. This is what you want, yeah? So stop fucking fighting me.” I can’t take it, my moans more like whimpers with how rough he’s being, and how long I’ve gone without a break in stimulation. I'm desperate for a break, it's painful, and my writhing does nothing to stop him, he just keeps going, refusing to listen to my pleading.

“Leon, please- Fuck, please stop. No more, please just- I can’t-”

“You can. You like this shit, fucking moaning and shaking like that, you want it, so fucking take it.” I throw my head back, letting the painful pleasure wash over me, my next orgasm approaching a lot faster than the first, his fingers too skilled, his eyes on my face making me feverish, the intensity of all this making me hot and want to puke. “C’mon, fucking give it to me, it’s just one more, you can handle it, Agent. You can handle the DSO and not an orgasm, yeah right. Now, give it to me, god you look fucked, you’re a goddamn mess, can’t wait to fuck you even stupider than you already are, bet you can’t wait either, so let go, stop being prideful and-” I cut him off with a whiny moan, my legs closing against his wishes, his fingers refusing to leave me until I come down, his expression displeased I squirmed my way out of his hold.

“Le… No more… Don’t…” He sighs, lifting up to crawl himself between my legs, trailing light kisses along my skin, groaning against my neck when his dick brushes my hip. He sits up to look at me, unhappy, letting one of his hands slide down my side to grip his dick, jerking himself slowly against my skin, a pleasured expression taking over his displeased one.

“C’mon, haven’t I proved I can make you feel good, let me give you one more, have you squeeze that pretty pussy on me while I cream your insides.” I let out a dazed moan, his offer sounding good, even if I am completely spent, in no position to be telling him no when the thought of him inside of me is so tempting.

“Shit, okay… Slow?” He gives me a look, one that tells me my request is not likely to be granted, his hand pushing him up to seated above me, his other still stroking his swollen, flushed dick.

“You don’t want it slow… I know how to treat someone bad as you, I’ll take care of you.” He turns me over, and I let him, groaning into the sheets when he drags my hips back, leaving my face pressed to the bed, my hands clenched around thick fabric. “This’ll keep you quiet, huh? God you’re soaked, gonna fuck you so good.” He gives me warning, rubbing his dick up and down my slick, groaning when I jerk away from pressure on my clit. “You’ve had a break, now you’re gonna take my dick, let me cum in this nice, tight-” He presses inside, the stretch a little too much, two of his fingers not doing much to get me ready.

“Fuck, feels even better than I remember. Jesus Christ you’re hot like this, dick drunk and letting me do whatever I want. Wish you were always like this, quiet and presenting me your sweet ass to fuck.” I moan, muffled by the sheets, his words making me clench around him, feeling disgusted with myself for letting him treat me like this, but I’m too gone to care, too fucked out and full to give a shit who’s giving it to me. He’s thrusting now, puling my hips back to slam into him, being rough against my wishes, and it hurts, but the dull pleasure is still there, growing with each thrust, his hips angled up to give me some relief. “God, you feel so fucking good… Wish you didn’t make me want to squeeze that pretty throat every time you open your stupid fucking-ah- mouth. Jesus, you’re loving this, squeezing the fucking life out of me.” He slides a hand around, collecting my hands to hold behind my back, taking away my stability and using his grip to pull me back onto him, groaning loudly when he squeezes my ass, fingernails digging into my skin.

“Le- Fuck, Leon, please-ngh- please…” I’m nearly sobbing, my face pulled out of its hiding spot by his pulling on my bound arms, keeping my upper body suspended in the air as he bounces me on his dick, the squelching and his hips hitting my ass and his whiny groans all making me fuzzy, another orgasm on its way.

“Please fucking what? Fuck you harder? Goddamn, you are too fucking hot. Haven’t had anybody since that night at the gala, believe- ah- that? Never fucking wanted anybody else, this pussy is too fucking good for me to settle.” I moan, clenching around him in response to his confession, and he lets out a strangled noise, his rhythm breaking for a few seconds until he gets his bearings. “You like that? Good, ‘cause from now on I’m not gonna wait fifteen years between-Shit! Holy shit, you about to cum? You’re being so goddamn loud, didn’t I tell you to-ah- shut the fuck- up…” He’s close, his hips fucking inside and grinding roughly into me, his grip on my wrists sure to leave bruises, his hand coming down on my ass making me le tout a surprised yelp.

“You squeeze me so fuckin good when I do that. I need you to hurry up, cum on my dick, push that pretty pussy back and take what you need. Yeah, that’s fucking it, good job, fucking yourself on my dick, fuck, yes, yes, go ahead, cum, jesus, please, just hurry the hell up and-” He cuts himself off with a choked moan, his upper body folding over me, arms tight around my stomach, his hips pressing as deep as he’ll go, my orgasm a hazy pleasure, the feeling of his dick emptying into me making me moan. He doesn’t stop there, works his hips into me well after he’s done cumming, shoving his release deeper, ignoring my whining and struggling to get away as he sighs contentedly into my shoulder, both of us still and coming down when he speaks. “I don’t hate you, y’know?” I sigh, reaching to push against his hip, my request granted this time, his soft dick slipping out, his hands guiding me back to seated.

“I know.” It’s all the stress, we’re both well aware that’s why we’ve been at each other’s throats, everything to do with our jobs, nothing to do with the two of us.

“Was I too much?” I huff, leaning back on the pillow and watching him, looking more relaxed than I’ve seen him in years, peaceful.

“You ask that now?”

[showtoonzfan]

Ok so initially I didn't want to make this ask because your blog doesn't allow anon, but I really need to get all these thoughts about the newest helluva boss episode out. This is gonna be very long and may be a bit confusing as I have a lot to say and English isn't my first language, so sorry about that

First of all I must say that I'm quite disappointed about this episode. I half expected it to be a continuation of the season 1 finale where Stolas would confront Blitzo about their relationship, reveal the purpose of the Asmodean crystal, tell Octavia the truth about his and Stella's marriage... basically get it all over with. But when I looked at the thumbnail, I saw that this was going to be about Octavia and Loona, not their parents. And you know what? I was ecstatic that it was! Those two are my favorite characters, plus I think we need a break from the Stolitz storyline to focus on something else, keeping things fresh y'know?

So why was I disappointed? It because the episode ended up revolving around Stolitz anyway, yet somehow their story didn't gain an inch of progress. It seems that the show's writers forgot half-way through that they were supposed to focus on Via and Loona and tried to messily jam the plots of previous episodes into this one. The result was a rushed episode with no focus on any character whatsoever. It started out with we have to find Via because she could be in danger, but suddenly it switched to watching Blitzo pretending to be a good comedic actor, and then we have to see how obsessed Moxxie is with art... In the end we only get a little information about Loona's past, see a tiny bit of Via and Loona's relationship, and see how Stolas and Blitzo interact with each other after the events of the finale

Speaking about Stolitz, I don't know why the hell they act that way the entire episode. Aren't they and their relationship supposed to be at their lowest point? Did they just... conveniently forget about their first "date"?? Or pretend nothing happened??? Why did Stolas act all lovey dovey towards Blitzo when he realized that their relationship was "full of comfortable lies" just a few episodes back? Why didn't Blitzo try to stop him if the idea of Stolas being seriously in love with him was unthinkable? Why didn't both of them show any awkwardness or discomfort when being with each other if their last time hanging out was so disastrous??? Even if they're focusing on finding Via (and then got distracted anyway), the fear and worries of loosing her shouldn't interfere that much with the state of their relationship, and it definitely shouldn't be a miracle that magically bring them back together

Now let's talk about Via and how weirdly forgiving she is towards her dad. Despite Stolas' shitty parenting and him repeatedly hurting her emotionally, she keeps forgiving him for seemingly no reason. But I think there is a reason. I don't know if the writers intend to write her like this, but it looks like Via only forgives Stolas so that he won't leave her. Think about it, Via has had abandonment issues since she was little, and it's hinted that only Stolas cares enough to be with her and comfort her. This could lead to her forming a codependent relationship with him, and this episode kinda proved it with how she just happily watch the fireworks with Stolas after a whole day feeling angry, frustrated and hurt that he "hate(s) [Stella] more than he loves [her]". It also proved that while he does try his best and is better than Stella at parenting, he's still an awful dad and I don't think Via would ever be trully happy with him

Oh and that little speech Loona gave Via about how they both should cut their father figures some slack? I hate it. As someone who grew up with horrible and abusive parents who do care and do love me, I have to remind myself constantly that they are still abusers and what they did to me and my sister is wrong, even when they didn't mean it or didn't know better. Their lack of parenting skills and issues are explanations as to why they fucked up, but not excuses for them to get away with it. And while it's best for abuse victims to eventually forgive their abusers, they should only do that as a way to move on and absolutely not to (re)gain the abusers' affection. But considering that both Loona and Via depend on their dads, plus how Loona is stuck feeling grateful that Blitzo adopted her and is the first person in her life to care and love her, they're not gonna learn this lesson any time soon. I also have a feeling they won't get much development once the Stolitz story is done

Overall, this episode is... bad comparing to all others. To me it's probably the worst so far. For the first time ever I didn't get a satisfying feeling after watching helluva boss and it was thank to this episode. I'm a bit worry for the show's future now, I mean I know it has problems with inconsistency since the middle of season 1 but this has to be the worst case. I'd still watch it, I just don't think I can enjoy it as much as before

Never feel bad about ranting to me guys, I mean look at MY posts, they’re like….essay style long lol, I love hearing y’all out! 💕

And yeah, I agree with everything you said. I’m ganna say it now, this has got to be one of the worst episodes of the series ever. Like I didn’t think we could stoop lower than the Cherub episode and Ozzie’s (in my opinion) but HERE WE ARE lol. As for the writing as a whole, I’d say I hope the show gets better, but I really don’t know. I’m so tired of this show doing certain characters dirty, and only obsessing over this dumb toxic ship. To me personally, every time an episode releases I feel like we scale further and further down the hole, but I’m not going to say there’s 0 hope. It’s up to you as the viewer wether you’re going to keep watching or not, but yeah this episode was….not written well. I had some hope for Adam Neylan, but now that I know he wrote this episode, my faith is ruined, which I know is petty but it’s the truth.

[paperiahma]

You know what character interactions I want to see/want to see more of in Helluva Boss? (This really got away from me and I notice now a lot of these involve Stolas, but can you blame me? The poor guy needs a better support network!) Definitely Stolas and Ozzie. I just love that even when stressed about work and not exactlu enthusiastic about having the meeting where Stolas asks for the crystals, Oz greets Stolas warmly, asks how he's been, calls him with fond nicknames. While Stolas in turn feels comfortable enough to admit he's developed feelings for Blitz, despite Ozzie humiliating them before. Can you imagine the mixture of heartwarming and hilarity that could be Ozzie being a wingman for Stolas? Blitz and Fizz. I mean, come on! I know there's still adjusting to be made, but it's the first genuinely mended bridge Blitz has built and I love them not only going back to a new version of their old dynamic, but just how comfortable they seem to be about it. Specifically the fact that they are so quick to do some friendly ribbing ("I'll make sure no one gives you shit tonight." "You mean beside you?") AND that they are comfortable enough for casual touches (both serious like Blitz holding Fizz while he's about to collapse, and less so when Blitz uses Fizz as an armrest as he talks smack at Glitz & Glam). Blitz and Ozzie. I was surprised at how fun their little interactions were. Sure, their connection was their shared interest in taking care of Fizz, but they seemed to find a shared wavelength relatively easy, with Ozzie nudging Blitz to go to Fizz while Ozzie stays back, and with Blitz presumably telling Ozzie Fizz was having a panic attack. And the little detail I loved that after the whole "Who tops?" comment, while Fizz looks annoyed at the ruined moment, Ozzie seems amused, taking it as a friendly joke. Stolas and Fizz. Can you imagine that? CAN YOU IMAGINE? So much both fun and drama that could be had! Hell, I'd love to have a full episode of teams Blitz&Ozzie and Stolas&Fizz trying to navigate a crisis and get back to each other or something. While Ozzie and Fizz are probably two seconds away from just locking the other two into a broom closet to hash out their feelings. Loona and Octavia. I mean, we've already seen how sweet they are. They could bond over so many things, both superficial and deep. They could sneak each other into places, learn stuff, practice spellcasting together... On that note: Blitz and Octavia. Stolas and Loona. I don't even know what I'd want specifically, but damn, a daughter swap could be SO GOOD!

I think Stolas with just the rest of the I.M.P. Because, again, the guy needs more friends and I love that M&M are fond of him enough to both be worried about him when he's hurt and not afraid of him when he's annoyed.

Finally, maybe not exactly in the same category, but... I'd kind of love it if Striker set his sights on Octavia for one reason or another. One, I'd love the drama, two, it would be interesting to see what Via is capable of. What kind of magic she actually knows? Would she be more scared or angry to face the man who put her father into a hospital? What kind of power she could unleash... and would that be enough against "the best assassin in the ring of Wrath"?

[causticcauses]

What the Waves Wash Away

Part One -> Cross-posted on Ao3

Pairing: Druig x Makkari

Summary: Druig doesn't believe there are Deviants that they missed somewhere off the coast of South Africa. But still, getting away from Tenochtitlan and the ugly thoughts he has there is a relief, and travelling with Makkari even more so. It's not until a storm washes over them that Druig realizes what he might have to pay for the escape.

Fic Tags: Angst, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, action/adventure, tags may change in future chapters!   

A/N:  Quick note, in this fic Phastos’ magical map of Find Deviants doesn’t exist. It never made sense to me that they could have had a map that pinpointed Deviant locations – even if only by country/general area – and it still took them 6500 years or so to get rid of them all. So I’ve nixed that and they find Deviants the good old fashion way: by listening to rumours and finding them true about 4% of the time.

Under his hands, the grainy wood of the railing offers a firm support, and Druig automatically tightens his grip, adjusting his stance as the ship rolls over the next small swell. It’s all the help he needs to keep his balance, and his mind isn’t on the stabilizing act; it’s on the early morning horizon, a swath of dark ocean and orange-red streaked skies. His eyes probe the distance, looking to catch sight of what he’s been waiting to see since the sun began rising.

Kinda idiotic, really. Standing here, waiting. She’ll get here when she gets here.

But nonetheless, Druig keeps up his vigil, if only to see her that much sooner.

Around him, the crew are bustling, and their chatter sweeps over him. None talk to him directly – actually, they avoid the area he’s claimed like it’s got the Black Death – but he doesn’t blame them. Usually, it takes at least a couple of years for the humans to develop any level of comfort with Druig in their midst, and these people have known him all of two weeks. The whole thing with the pirates who’d tried to attack the vessel several days ago probably hadn’t done much for their relaxation levels, either.  

Don’t interfere, that’s the rule, but Druig needs this ship, and the men to crew it. He couldn’t have it sunk or captured. Besides, he thinks having the pirates cut down their stupid flag and then throw all their weapons overboard made enough of a point. It was kinder than his first thought, which had been to make them jump overboard and then leave them there.

Maybe they’d realized that was a possibility. Either way, when he released them from his power, they’d limped away quick enough.

He and Makkari aren’t hugely concerned about the Portuguese sailors knowing they’re... well, what they are. But they hadn’t told them when they took passage, because if they had, one of two things would have happened. They would have been denied passage and had to seek another ship, or Druig would have had to take control of them and force them onto the open seas. And what a nasty voyage that would have been, driving home the very reason he hates himself.

Thus, a little lie. Interest in researching the flora and fauna of a remote chain of islands off the coast of South Africa. An impulsive noble fancying himself a scholar, recently made rich by the passing of his not dearly departed da. Makkari, his trustworthy and competent assistant. Druig had ignored the thoughts that floated in the sailors’ minds when they looked at her, like scum at the top of a pond. If he judged humans for every reprehensible thought they had, his life would be a helluva lot less complicated. He woulda been able to drop the question of what they deserve the first day he set foot on the planet.

Besides, it was strange, a woman of her stature – not to mention her obvious confidence – travelling so freely with a noble. Even when she isn’t moving at her natural speed, Makkari shines, and they aren’t used to seeing it. So Druig forgives them the thoughts... and tries not to glare too much. He’s failed at several points, but he tries. That’s the best anyone can do. The sailors chalked the scowling to him being a stuck up eccentric, probably from one of those “damn universities.”

After the little spat with the pirates, that story is out the window. If he could have hidden his part in it, Druig might have, but the glowing eyes gave the game away. Too late to take back now.

The crew hadn’t asked him about it. Several had crossed themselves when it happened, going cross-eyed trying to watch the pirates and Druig at the same time, and the captain had spat and then loudly harangued everyone back to work. Funny thing about sailors. They were some of the most superstitious lot he’d ever met, but they were also stolidly practical. Don’t look a gift Eternal in the mouth and all that.

It probably helped that he and Makkari had paid a king’s ransom for this particular voyage. Literally. He’s pretty sure one of the gold statues they’d traded had been involved in the ransom of a king, somewhere down the line.

At least it meant Makkari could move without reservations. Next to mind control, what’s super speed? After that encounter, she’d started zipping around when the mood took her, and if the watchman in the crow’s nest nearly had a heart attack the first time he found her suddenly beside him, eagerly scanning the horizon, well, no real harm done.  

He liked watching her interact with them after that first reveal. Makkari has a marvelous ability to engage with people just as they are, and her earnest curiosity about the working of the ship won them over. Before long, the more friendly of the crew were picking up simple signs, greeting her each morning and jabbering away about the topsail or whatever. The fact that they thought she was a benign spirit of some sort – or at the very least, lucky – was undoubtedly responsible for the thawing.

It entertained him, how quickly they warmed to her. Started thinking of her as – not quite human, but no devil, neither. They haven’t made that decision about him, but Druig’s felt them when Makkari shoves him to get his attention, or flicks him in the forehead for a particularly asinine comment, or encourages him to put on a juggling display for the sailors’ distraction during one of the frequent lulls in activity. They wanna believe if the nymph in their midst can treat him so casually, he can’t be that bad. Funniest thing is, he’s got no clue if Makkari realizes what she’s doing.

‘Course... It’s what she’s always done. Made him be. He drowns in what he isn’t, and she goes ahead and pulls him out of that. Hell, that’s probably what this whole trip is about. Deviants they missed last they were in Africa? Nah. If Druig were a betting man – and he isn’t, except the days he is – he’d say this was all about pulling him out of his slump. Reminding him of the good. The speed show Makkari puts on for the sailors is just part of that. Making the humans participate in his rehabilitation.

He snorts at the thought. It’s probably not a real generous idea.

Besides, showing her power was good preparation for when Makkari stepped onto the rail two days ago, her red tunic vibrant in the sun. She’d signed goodbye to Druig, waved cheerfully at the startled crew... and then jumped.

The ripple of panic and genuine fear for her safety that swept across many of the men and had them crowding to the railing endeared them to Druig. That, and amused him. After all, Makkari was already gone, a barely discernable plume in the distance.  

Yeah, most likely this is an excuse. After all, Makkari could scout for the Deviants herself. Hell, she's doing that now. She'd talked about communicating with the natives for information, making sure they didn't attack, but that’s a weak excuse. The islands aren't large; in this case, she probably doesn't need help from the humans to find the Deviants, so why even bother with them? Or him? What was the point of bringing him along when it made the trip so much longer? 

His family think they're subtle. It amuses Druig, in a way. Touches him, when it isn't annoying him. Makkari, Ajak, Sersi. He's pretty sure they're the ringleaders. He can't read his fellow Eternals in the same way as he can read humans, not without them willingly and deliberately opening up, but there are still things to pick up. And besides, the evaluating glances, the huddled conversations that broke up when he was near, the carefully optimistic and uplifting words... He didn't need to be psychic to know they were worried about him.

It’s been... bad, these last few decades. Sometimes Druig finds himself submerged in the humans. Drifting. Drifting and sinking. Some of his fellows think he’s worse this time because the Aztec practice human sacrifice, but that’s not it. Not really. What’s the difference between tearing out someone’s heart or leaving their stomach empty until they die? Or hanging them, stabbing them, letting pestilence gurgle their last breaths into oblivion?  It’s just a sliding scale of time, in the big picture.

The fear of the victims, the needless cruelty of the deaths, that doesn’t change. The things that Druig can’t reconcile – his purpose, his power – it’s all there, parading outside his head and demanding access.

The only difference is that Druig is getting tired of it. Tired and – something worse. Angry. Bitter. He feels it as a coiled, seething tension, a call to an action that he can’t commit. It makes him irritable. More likely to snap at the other Eternals. They see it, and it worries them.

It hadn't come as much of a surprise when Makkari approached him with tales of monsters off the coast of South Africa. They could have packed up the Domo and flown over to investigate, but Makkari had argued the Mexica needed protection from the rather alarming amount of Deviants that had gathered in the area. He’d pointed out only some of them needed to go, and she’d dismissed it with a casual airiness that assured him there was a reason it was just the two of them going.

So. A vacation of sorts. Just him and Makkari, for the last four or so months. They’d caught a ride with a Spanish galleon that he’d... coaxed... to actually find the right path to the continent of the Mexica. That path had been assiduously scrubbed from their minds once they were on board, superimposed by a story that he and Makkari had been there all along. It’d actually been quite difficult, and certainly toed the edge of Ajak’s rule of no interference, but technically nothing had changed for the Spanish sailors except a couple weeks of lost rations, and they’d left some coins in the hold that would pay for it.  

Honest only to himself, he’d enjoyed it. Not manipulating the humans, exactly, but the challenge of it. So often all he’s called to do is take over them directly, make them drop spears or swords, guns or slings. That’s easy. Pathetically easy. It’d been a good reminder that humans aren’t just clay, soft and yielding into any shape. That it takes effort to bend their minds and wills if he wants something more subtle or complex.

And, honest only to himself (but Makkari knows anyways), he’s enjoyed this whole trip. Landing in Cádiz, they’d done... regular things. No training. No fighting. No agonizing about grand morals. Makkari wouldn’t let him. She dragged him to a couple of landmarks in Spain: a cathedral, a mosque, some fancy gardens. He didn’t enjoy them as much as he enjoyed watching her look them over. The way her face lit up, the wonder and joy, even after all these years, it made something stir in his chest. A flicker of fire that’s been dwindling to ashes.

Druig can’t look at the humans’ accomplishments without thinking of their atrocities, but Makkari is different. She’s more – generous. Accepting. She can take the good with the bad and not balance the two on a scale to find out which is heavier. Makkari looks at their beautiful architecture and heartrending literature and fascinating creations, and she sees their potential. It’s a wonderful kind of vision.

Of course, she’s never been in a human’s head; she hasn’t felt the sweat and blood and pain that’s gone into most everything the humans have ever built.

There’s no point in wondering what she would be if she had his power. Druig is an idiot at times, but not that big of one. It only took him around two millennium to stop asking that particular question.

So he accepts her wonder like the antidote it is, and he drinks it in eagerly, greedily, and when she turns the smile on him it doesn’t heal the guilt, or the pain, or the anger, but it soothes it. Makes it somewhere close to bearable.    

That brings his mind back to the task at hand, and he resumes looking out. Two days, she’d said, and here they are. Two days, and no Makkari.

It isn’t that she has a particularly good grasp of time. Actually, next to Sersi, she’s probably the worst when it comes to keeping strict appointments. Who can blame her? Time is difficult enough for the rest of them, with months running through their fingers and years passing in flashes that blur together. He imagines that for Makkari, grappling with time as it tries to insist she match its slower pace makes it that much harder.  

But still, her mission shouldn’t take long – he’d actually half expected her last night. Besides, what mission? A mission of keeping up pretenses, probably kicking around the island – or hell, in India – just to make him think she actually looked for the Deviants.

The hours pass with no sign of her, and Druig is... uneasy. It doesn’t help that the sailors themselves are restless, casting dark looks at the skies and muttering amongst themselves. Their unease laps at him, a different kind of tide, and he has to steady himself against the swells of emotion. No point in letting them influence how he’s feeling, but it’s hard. It’s always been hard. The sentiments spill into him like drops of blood billowing through water. Thinning, certainly, but impossible to keep from spreading, and before too long Druig is red with their anxiety. He keeps up his watch, fingers increasingly tight on the rails.

At a little after noon the captain approaches, wringing his black hat in his hand. He’s a big man, all weathered hide and thick, salt-speckled beard, but it feels like he’s trying to squash himself into something smaller. Not possible, but he’s having a good go at it.

“Uh, sir? Druig? Sir Druig?” The man strings the titles together tentatively, nervous as a cat on water, and Druig plays with the idea of letting him sweat more. But that would be taking out his own disquiet on the faultless human. Not fair. Even if it would be funny.

“Druig is fine, captain Martym.” His Portuguese sounds rough, stilted, but it gets the job done, and that at least hasn’t been an issue.  

A bobbed head, the cap still being strangled between fingers. “Alright. Druig. Master Druig, I–”

“Just Druig, captain.” Necessary? No, but Makkari will literally kill herself laughing if she hears anyone refer to him as master, and she might just tell everyone else, too. He doesn’t need that particular title hanging around for some five or six obnoxious centuries. Knowing Sprite – or maybe Kingo – it could even hit a millennium.

“Uh, right. Druig.” If he’d looked nervous before, it’s a wonder the poor man isn’t tearing his hat to pieces now. “I’m not wanting to be interrupting your, uh, research,” and Druig is faintly impressed the captain is still clinging to that particular lie, “but I’ve a question.”

At first Druig doesn’t reply, eyes still on the sea, except then it becomes obvious Martym is definitely not going to continue without some sort of benediction. Biting back a sigh, he turns to face his companion. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, captain, so y’might as well ask.”

"Well, Druig, sir, you'n be having an idea of when the lass– err, lady might be returning? If she, uh, plans to return?"

He very deliberately does not correct that title. Both because as far as Druig's concerned it's accurate, and also the look on Makkari's face the first time she sees the captain call her lady will be priceless.

With a slight shrug and a glance over his shoulder – more ocean, and not much else – Druig replies, "She was 'sposed to be here a couple hours ago. If you wanted to place bets, I say she gets here today." Though his voice is light, Druig can feel the tension in his tightly crossed arms, and he quells an urge to look over his shoulder again.

There are surely a hundred reasons Makkari could have been delayed this long. It's just that Druig can't think of any that sound particularly convincing right now.

He shakes his head, a small rebuff of the worry. Makkari is strong. She can handle... whatever is keeping her.

Admittedly more to keep himself distracted than because he cares, Druig asks the captain, "Why? The crew pinin' away for my assistant?"

Martym winces, twisting his cap harder. If that's possible. Is it because his crew loves what could be an angel or a devil, by his religion? Druig rarely delves into individual minds in regular conversation; the toll he has to pay isn't worth travelling that road. And so, he tends to let impressions just come to him. What he's getting from the captain now doesn't answer nothing.

Anxiety, a slip of awe and a lot of fear. Nothing unexpected when facing an Eternal.

"Well, y'see, you've actually hit the nail on the head. Sir. Druig. The crew was hoping – actually, mayhap it's true to say expecting – that the lady would be back afore the storm."

"Storm?" he asks as he turns his eyes to the overcast sky. Druig doesn't know why he bothers. Meteorology has never been a strong suit with him, and one cloud looks much the same as another. No doubt Gilgamesh or Thena would be nodding along wisely at this point, but Druig is damned if he can spot any signal in the dark, patchy blue above.

The captain shifts, can't quite keep the surprise out of his voice. "Ye can't feel it?"

"Feelin’ the weather s’not really my talent," Druig replies dryly, and Martym flushes.

"Right. Course. Well – we' uns don't rightly call the weather, neither, but there's a storm coming. Most like later today."

"Hmm. And what’s it got to do with my assistant?"

Scratching at his beard as if he'd like to tear it off, Martym replies, "Meaning no offense if she ain't, none at all, but the lads... Well, they've gone and taken it in their heads she's lucky. They're saying the ship'll sail smooth through the storm if she were back."

"It probably would," Druig mutters, and means it. She’s already grasped how the ship works, and could probably sail it herself through just about anything, push came to shove. (This confident opinion coming from a man who could name three types of knots and tie two of them on a good day. He doesn’t share Makkari’s nautical fascination, but he sure does trust she’s as good a sailor as anything else.)

The temptation to check again looms, he fights it... and once again looks over his shoulder. You'd think six thousand years would give a person self-control, but...

Empty ocean. Where was she?

The captain is staring at him expectantly and Druig doesn't really know what to tell him. "I'm assumin' she got caught up in what she was doing," he finally says.

"Research?" the captain asks, tentatively, and Druig laughs.

"Something like that."

Even more hesitantly, his companion asks, "And this research is... good?"

Druig assumes tracking down a nightmare creature or two that's rumored to be plaguing a group of islanders would be considered a good deed, but he also assumes the captain would turn the ship around right away if he learned they were sailing straight towards it. Actually, not assumes. He's felt the man's love for this vessel. Martym would sacrifice his own newborn before he sacrificed the ship, probably.

"Good enough," is what he eventually says. "Me and Makkari, we're lookin’ for interesting creatures." To eradicate them. If they actually exist. He has his suspicions about that. "We heard there might be a few on the islands we're sailing to."

"And if yer right?"

If Makkari's insistence on scouting these islands pays off and there are actually Deviants lurking about, he’ll first be real surprised. Then she’ll make him apologize for not believing her – though really, Makkari isn’t giving him much reason to believe. After that’s all made up, she'll go off and grab at least some of the other Eternals from where they're setting up in the south lands, so far from here. They’ll come back on the Domo, leaving the rest to hold down the fort in Tenochtitlan.

The Mexica people who welcomed them there a few years back seemed... Well, friendly isn't the right word. Not with the sacrifices and the war games they played. But receptive to messengers they took to be from their gods. It was an easy enough narrative to let play out, if it meant the humans agreed to build bigger walls.

Druig is reasonably certain he won't come back to find his fellows driven out by angry and disillusioned humans. Sersi is good at building relations with their hosts. Sprite, too, and Kingo and Gilgamesh. They aren’t all shut-ins.

The captain is still waiting, so Druig says, “Just like we said when we took on. We’ll be on the islands for a while, maybe long as a couple weeks. You’ll just be anchored offshore. We’ll let you know if you’re needed, sooner or later.”

“And if’n we’re not needed, we’ll just be... leaving you.”

A sharp nod. “We’ll have our own way off the islands.”

There’s a flurry of questions sitting behind that sun-browned face, but Martym seems to have swallowed as much of the impossible as he can stomach in one session. “Right,” he says, and then repeats, “Right,” like it hadn’t quite caught reality the first time. “Well, you and the lady be speaking or whatnot, we’d, uh... She’s welcome back aboard, is all I’m wanting to say.”

Druig could have laughed at that, except what’s so ridiculous about expecting the supernatural to be able to speak with each other across long distances? “She’ll be here quick as she can. I can promise you that.”

The captain nods gratefully and retreats. It’s not until he’s several steps away that he sweeps his hat back on his head, more than a little worse for wear. The crew’s been doing their best to listen in while pretending they aren’t, and Martym bellows at them to get back to it. Maybe out of respect for the risk he took in approaching the myth in their midst, the men jump and get to pretending to work with alacrity. At least for a bit.      

Druig tunes it out, as best as he can. The sea’s getting choppier, darker, and as above, so below, ‘cause the clouds are starting a dark little number, too. Could that be keeping Makkari? Some storm she’s having to travel through? It doesn’t make sense. Sure, it might add seconds to her trek, minutes at most as she detours around large waves and the like, but it shouldn’t be an actual delay. Hell, she loves running through storms, least on land. She’s told him that herself. He’s pretty sure that can’t be it.

It begins to rain a short while after. And a shorter while after that it begins to pour. Sort of a sudden dump from the heavens. Druig listens to the cursing of the sailors as they batten down the foodstuffs in the hold, the sound far away and scattered by the growing wind. It's driving the rain and it hits the ship in gusts. Not yet a howl, but getting there.

A good thing Phastos isn't here. The way the ship is tilting, he'd probably be spewing his guts right now. Druig suffers no such issues, but he can see a time, somewhere ahead of now, where keeping his balance on the heaving deck will become a challenge.

And still Druig waits, and watches, keeping only absentmindedly out of the way of the sailors. By now, he can't pretend to himself that this is normal.

Could Makkari... Could there actually be Deviants on the islands? Could the rumours Makkari had picked up be true? She hadn't really thought so, for all that she refused to drop the sham as they travelled. The very fact that they took the slow, circuitous route proved that she didn’t believe it. If she'd actually thought humans were being killed by Deviants, she would have done something about it at her speed, not his. So would the rest of the Eternals, if they’d believed it when they sent him and Makkari off.

But rumours have their sources. He'd assumed that source was some squealing boar or maybe... he didn't know. A lion? Something big that somehow got from the mainland of South Africa to the chain of islands?

And if there were Deviants, what would Makkari have done? Not fought them. Right?

"Christ and damnation," he curses, the words drowned by the rain. His stomach is doing something uncomfortable – trying to kill itself, apparently – and he'll be lucky if he doesn't have a bunch of splinters through his fingers, the way he's been clutching at the railing.

Makkari is strong. So strong. But there's a reason so many of them were sent to Earth, and the reason ain’t for the delightful company. It's ‘cause one on one, Deviants are hard to kill. In packs, they're a nightmare waiting to rip an Eternal to shreds.

Makkari knows that. Of course she does. She's just as smart as she is strong.

...So where is she? Where the hell–

The ship heaves itself over a swell, and a crack of lightning rips across the sky. The momentary glow illuminates something far away that only his enhanced eyesight could catch. A glimpse of red, there and then sucked back into black. Red where no red should be.

His stomach stops trying to squeeze itself into nothing and instead leaps up his throat. Without really thinking about it, Druig know it’s Makkari. You just can’t live with someone thousands of years and not know who they are. Besides, as automatic as breathing, seconds after, he’s reaching out with his power.

It’s not the same as feeling the humans, not nearly. The humans are as obvious as sunshine on a sunny day, easy to see as grains of sand on a beach, if just about as hard to keep individual track of. Hell, keeping them and their bloody blatant emotions away is the trick, not searching them out. His companions aren’t like that. It’s not easy to sense them. But all the same, they’ve all got a feel, unique as a fingerprint.

Makkari is like wind rippling through sun-dappled grass. Can’t see it, but you can feel its passing. Catch it as a fresh sound just at the edge of hearing. Pleasant, lively, distant–

And currently drenched.

Druig jumps onto the rail, keeps his balance as he cups his hands around his mouth. “Makkari!” he bellows, loud as he can. At the same time, he stamps his foot into the wood of the rail, a heavy crack sounding as he partially breaks the thick bar. If she can catch the vibrations, it might help her zero in on the ship. His eyes strain for a sight, but without the lightning, there’s no–

Like his thought called it from the sky, a jagged flash, and he sees her again. A little closer. But not nearly as close as she should be. Why in the hell is she moving so slow?

He waits for another clash of light and sound, another moment of clarity. It comes, too slow, and yes, she's definitely moving closer, but there's something so wrong here. Makkari doesn't move like that. It's an awkward, stilted gait, and in the brief second he has before the lightning snaps away, Druig realizes she's actually falling into the water. Floundering in it, almost, like she can't get enough speed to actually stay on top of the surface. Or at least not for long enough to keep herself up.

Another flash of light, another grotesque mockery of how gracefully Makkari moves. There’s something wrong. There is something so fucking wrong.

There’s a sharp keening, either in his head or his ears or his imagination, and it takes Druig several more heartbeats to realize it’s actually Makkari. Not a sound, a thought. No, not a thought. A feeling, found by his reaching mind. Fear, pain, panic, desperation. Strong enough to press through the usual wall that’s between him and the rest of the Eternals. Something he’s never heard from Makkari in six thousand years.

Before any idea actually comes to his mind, Druig is jumping. It’s automatic, a reflex. Makkari, afraid. Druig, jumping.

He falls.

[writteninsunshine]

You Are The One And There Is No Regret At All - Fizzarolli/Asmodeus - NSFWish

Title: You Are The One And There Is No Regret At All

Author: Keith

Fandom: Helluva Boss

Setting: Various

Pairing: Fizzarolli/Asmodeus || Ozzie

Characters: Fizzarolli, Asmodeus || Ozzie

Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort

Rating: M

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1719

Type Of Work: One-Shot

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, AU - Canon Divergent, Fantasy Racism, Self Harm, Self Mutilation, Violence, Blood, Nausea, Vomit, Medical, Hospital, Hospitalization, Handjobs, Drugs, Drug Use, Medical Drug Use, Amputations, Age Gaps, 9 Year Age Gap

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything but the premise/idea.

Summary: Despite everything, Ozzie found himself particularly unsurprised when Olli confirmed that, yes, blood was still gross.

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Tumblr/Twitter!

So, I’ve got a lot of hcs for these two, and all of my work is going to likely be Omegaverse, even if it isn’t explicitly said in the fic. I love it and I’m not dropping it. At any rate, I hope you all enjoy this!

NOTE: This had originally been part of a larger project based on my personal canon for Ozzie and Olli meeting, but I’ve since come to a better conclusion that I liked more. At any rate, I still wrote this and had it edited and ready to go, so I figured I could go ahead and post it, still. It just is no longer the main canon for the storyline I have. 

Helluva Boss Fic Masterlist

You Are The One And There Is No Regret At All

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Something that Asmodeus had found out about Fizzarolli shortly after bringing him home was that he did nothing in half measures. One could never accuse him of half-assing any one thing because he whole-assed every single thing he did. If he went through with doing something, it would get his all, and he would always come out on top of it.

Or beneath it, sometimes, in Ozzie’s case.

That was why, when someone had made an off-handed comment about Olli’s horns, Ozzie probably should have shut it down harder. If he were being honest, he didn’t remember what they’d even said, exactly. Something, something, imp bad, something, something, surely, but it had glanced off of his rose-colored sunglasses. He hadn’t even noticed just how hard his little lover took it.

Those small hands that Ozzie had complimented on several occasions (right there, your hands are perfect, just like that, don’t stop) ran over the smooth, curved pillars at the top of his head, and his smile had fallen. Ozzie kept chatting in the general direction of the offending demon, talked, laughed, and joked, but in the end, had listened to Olli’s request to go home. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Robustus?” Ozzie purred against his neck, spreading kisses along the imp’s shoulders. When Olli didn’t respond immediately, he drug his tongue up from his shoulder blade to his jawline, before hooking his chin against the juncture of neck and shoulder, “Olli?”

“...Yeah? Oh, uh. Oh. Yeah, uh, whatever’s fine.” His mind was clearly elsewhere, and Ozzie pouted for a moment before nuzzling his face back into his neck. For anyone else, Ozzie wouldn’t have squashed the arousal burning him alive, wouldn’t have considered feeding him his favorite snacks, or watching those stupid infomercial compilations of clumsy demons failing to simply open a door or eat a snack. The tight frown and distant glare at the back of their driver’s head had Ozzie more concerned than anything, and he gently scratched his clawed finger over the younger demon’s ribcage.

What usually caused him to devolve into a squirmy, giggly mess instead only seemed to provoke his wrath. Ozzie’s goodnatured ribbing ended with the distressed warning growl it earned him. Blinking a couple times, the Beta’s head tilted as he leaned back in his seat, both hands falling to the bench seat beside him. When it finally dawned on Fizzarolli that the only thing tethering him to Ozzie’s lap was his own stubborn leaning into the larger demon’s chest, now, the whole dam seemed to break.

Wordlessly, the imp crawled out of his (new, he reminded himself) lover’s lap, dwarfed beside him for the rest of the ride. Ozzie had no idea what had gotten into him, what had blown out the light from behind his eyes, but he didn’t like it. He didn’t like this, seeing Olli so damn upset was making him crazy. After all, the smaller demon had always been a little fountain of sardonic sunshine in his life, and without him making cruel jokes at someone else’s expense or those silly faces, everything felt so…

Empty.

Arriving at Asmodeus’ kitschy, predominantly neon glass mansion came at the price of losing Olli’s company completely the second the car stopped. The imp abandoned the walk to the front door and instead leaped over the frosted glass fence into the backyard. Ozzie waved off his driver’s concerned expression with a tight smile that fell the second he was out of eyesight, walking the short distance from the driveway to the door. 

Once inside, Ozzie tended to his typical routine when he was alone, a few chores to keep his mind off of where his lover had gone interspersed with more masturbation than was probably warranted. Fizzarolli was probably fine, right? Each worry-tinged thought had his hands sliding down once more for some kind of relief, some semblance of normalcy, and he hated every second that it wasn’t his lover’s hands on his body instead.

Maybe he really was going soft.

The thought kept him from being soft, but his heart felt sick and volatile in his chest knowing that his silly little guy was feeling pretty puny and there wasn’t anything he was allowed to do about it. Walking past the back door in nothing but a pair of tight briefs, the lust demon lifted his head and went stiff when he heard a sudden cry of pain. While he couldn’t explain how he’d slammed a sliding glass door, he did register the groan of the glass wall it had connected with, albeit dimly.

“Oooh, shit,” Fizzarolli’s voice was weak, and he gave a queasy burp tailed off with a whine, “Shitshitshit…”

Standing over him in a second flat, Asmodeus found himself on his knees faster now than ever before. 

“What the dick did you do!?” It was so ingrained in him that he couldn’t think to change his word choice, no thoughts in his head except for the safety of his lover. His hands fluttered around the now mostly severed horn on the left side of Olli’s head like birds afraid to land, taking in the hand saw at his side. With a bastardized attempt at his usual sunny smile further wrecked by a loud, hacking cough, the imp managed to lean forward on a shaky arm into the larger demon.

“Just a little… Self imp-rovement?” He managed, having to clamp his other hand over his mouth to keep another retch back. The joke couldn’t come in for a landing with Asmodeus’ distressed squawking batting it away, and his stomach couldn’t take the sight of his own blood anymore the second his horn bobbed on his head. The pain coupled with the scent and sight of blood finally produced something, booze and bar food joining the mess Ozzie knelt in. 

It didn’t matter. He’d been bathed in worse for pleasures he’d give up in this moment because there wasn’t much he saw ever feeling good again. If this was how he was going to see his little Olli go, he couldn’t bring himself to find anyone else he almost thought he cared about. He couldn’t lose him, not like this. Olli couldn’t just die on him over some stupid little comment. Ozzie wouldn’t allow it, and Ozzie’s word was law.

The next few hours were a blur dripping molasses, words, demons, and hands wiggling in a thick soup of distant apathy. ‘Whatever it takes’ had left his lips more times than he’d ever thought he’d say it in his life in possibly the first hour alone. When time had finally decided against crawling backward, he was reunited with his now doped-up lover with tears in all three pairs of eyes.

“Heeeeeey, Ozzie, you gotta try this stuff,” Olli purred his usual grin in place, if not a little loftier than it normally was, “It’s dope, I think you’d–” Muffled suddenly by a kiss likely too rough for the current state of his head, the imp’s subvocal purring cut for a second before returning. Opening his mouth again when the embodiment of lust pulled back, he found a finger pressed against the seam of his lips.

“Don’t you ever do that again.” The deep, guttural growl his words came on stilled Olli in place, a small, confused ‘mwwrp?’ leaving him as his tongue ejected from his lips like a cassette tape. Despite his anger, the bewitching, confused stare leveled at him had Ozzie huffing and sitting back down beside his lover’s hospital bed once more, “What did you even…” His hand lifted, and for a moment both of them were convinced he’d touch Olli’s horns.

He hesitated just before his claws could connect, and he frowned. Olli’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes made the attempt to follow Ozzie’s hand, visibly straining after a moment to try and see the top of his head. If this hadn’t been so sad, it probably would have made Ozzie laugh. 

“What were you trying to do? …and don’t say ‘imp-rovement’ again.” 

“Well… I wanted,” He began, pointing at the ceiling, and then out at the wall across from him, “To make things better. You know, me being an imp and all, it’s bad for your image.”

“I don’t really care, my image is as filthy as they come.” Finally rubbing his hand down the other’s chest, he followed his body to his hands, “I just want you. I want you to be okay, I want you to fuck me, I want to fuck you, I want you.” How was that for a confession?

There was a certain desperation in his voice, and Fizzarolli finally grinned at him, winking playfully as he rolled his hips up weakly. Tempted by that, Ozzie drug his hand over the other’s blanket-covered hips, feeling over his cock a few times, stroking him.

“You always have me, Oz.” Olli moaned quietly, “Feels so good being with you… Nobody else is good enough. Too vanilla, won’t fuck me right, don’t feel the same.”

“Then you’re stuck with me. But don’t do this shit again.”

Olli went mostly quiet for a while, though he moaned and whined as his slimy, prehensile dick was pulled free of his blanket and hospital gown, wrapping around Ozzie’s finger as he touched him. When he came, his back arched and his world went white for a long moment, the drugs in his system leaving him a writhing mess already.

“I… I am going to come so much… And make you come, too. I got another idea for something for you.”

“...It better be worth it,” Ozzie warned softly, his hand still twisting and stroking his spent lover.

“Ooooh, it will be, babe, don’t worry your pretty little head~” Olli moaned loudly, now, his body jerking off the hospital bed as he relished in the feeling of the other’s free hand snaking down to his tight little hole. He was always safe in Ozzie’s grasp, and everything felt wonderful to him. This was what he wanted for the rest of his life.

Once he was sated, and Ozzie had fully made him a melted mess, he finally looked over at him.

“Just so you know, Master…” He purred, “Blood is still super fucking gross. I’m never doin’ that shit again.”

Small mercies, he supposed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: Soooo, I really had fun with this. There will be a second fic to this about his amputation, but this one just needed to be written for my own sanity. I have a lot of headcanons for these two, and this is one of them.

TRANSLATIONS:

Robustus - Latin - Lusty

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 08x06 Southern Comfort

“That was fkn spicy. Jesus Christ” “I think he would have stopped screaming about halfway through that though” laughter

He’s my boyfriend, Sam

“Dude a pig with that much eyebrow must taste really good” “That was a weird conversation” “I was going to say something but I can’t remember what it is” “what the fuck” “Garth is so fkn weird man” laughter

“The hell was that face?” “that was a yes if I ever heard one” “that’s a shiny belt buckle” “Sam is wearing both the blue and the red this episode” “did she get possessed or something?” 🎶it was demons🎶

“We haven’t seen Crowley in a while” Purgatory is a gay bar in Miami

Laughter

Laughter

“Yeah man” “What the fuck. I forgot that shit” still laughing 

Rewinding the tooth fairy sequence

“Why is it so funny?” “What is this fkn bedazzled shit over here?” “Did he steal someone’s purse? It looks like he stole someone’s purse” “Oh we’ve got brain jizz from ghosts” “Ooo” “nice” “oh yeahhhhh” “Why’d they have to go and give it away?” “the word is awesome apparently” “oh my” laughter

“Green shag carpet” “oh my” “you’re not allowed to call yourself a hot mess. It can’t be a self-described thing” “Jesus Christ” “what’s this fkn pattern on the table? Maple leaves or stars? It matches the wallpaper though” “It’s an inverted pattern” “this whole scene is red white blue and green” “I’m with Dean on this one” You’re always with Dean on this one

“I’m just saying” “Even if there’s only one right choice, it’s still a choice” “oh yeah just break it” “note to self: if you ever vandalize a grave, make sure it involves arson” Laughter “what a fkn…” “How would he know that the inhaler is in evidence?” “not even a little hole in t he wall? That was a pretty close-ranged shot” “Maybe if it was bird shot or something” “He didn’t shoot no deputy” “Fkn dick” “this little place has a lot of lamps. Like a lot” “oh yeah it’s right here” “that must have hurt” laughter

“What the fuck” 

“That was good” “inflation” “oh sure the purse I guess” “almost like they had it all planned out” “this is one helluva an intervention” “how does garth know he’s ok?” “I mean he said it a little angrier so Garth was listening” “So Bobby was attached to the flask but not the hat?” “Third time’s the charm. There ya go” “the fuck is up with all these flashbacks?’

‘That’s one helluva peeping hole” “That’s some kick ass wallpaper dude” “Need whoever set up these sets to do our living room. Minus the dirt on the walls” “Let’s hear more about Don” “Idk why Dean feels he needs to keep a secret.” “are you jealous bitch?” “They say ice him but wouldn’t you want to burn him afterwards?”

[sparklehoney7]

years since you've been here

by: ameliabedelias

pairing: namjoon/jungkook

info: chaptered 2/2 complete (61,173)

tags: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends / Alternate Universe - College/University / Slow Burn / Pining / The Holy Motherload of Pining / Been In Love With Someone Your Whole Damn Life Pining / Emotional Hurt/Comfort / Coming of Age / Coming Out / Angst with a Happy Ending / ngl there's some hard stuff here but / there's helluva lot of soft catharsis too / maybe the real Gay Culture was the found families we made along the way / Jeon Jeongguk: Kim Namjoon's Biggest Fan / Kim Namjoon: Jeon Jeongguk's Biggest Fan

summary: When Jeongguk is six, he meets Kim Namjoon. When Jeongguk is nineteen, he meets Kim Namjoon. Again.

//

Or, Jeongguk has known Namjoon his whole life.

link

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly

4: Portraits For Ghosts

“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.

Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.

Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.

“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.

“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.

“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.

“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”

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

It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.

First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.

Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.

“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.

“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.

“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?

“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”

To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.

“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.

“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?

“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.

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

“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.

“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.

“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”

“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.

“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.

“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.

“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.

“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”

[ohheyitsokay]

just us

Pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x (f) reader

Wordcount: 1.9k

Warnings: discussion of not wanting children, brief mention of trauma (the accident), brief mentions of sex, generally sweet and cozy

Summary: Jack and you both grow into what you want (and don’t want?) for the future

Notes: Okay so this WILL NOT be everyone’s cup of tea - that’s fine. There’s enough breeding kink in this fandom for everyone else, I just wanted to explore... not wanting kids, definitively, and one way that journey could look. Obviously, this is an incredibly personal topic, and there’s no way this one snapshot could possibly be perfect, so please just keep that in mind!

>>

Years ago, you met Jack volunteering with low-income students after school. Your friend, who was running the program, roped you in, and you were glad to have other helpers.

He was surprisingly good with the kids. They loved his accent and his hat and the silly expressions he made. Still, in-between his ridiculous stories, he always pushed them to do their best and was persistent in pursuing their success. Unlike some of the other volunteers, he didn’t seem to have any agenda and his selflessness was contagious, and you told him so. The bus had just left, and you finally had the chance to talk to him- you couldn’t help but be honest.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, watching the kids wave through the windows, even down the road.

“I just want them to get their chance to succeed, ya know?”

You did. Gently, you reached up and squeezed his shoulder, and his brown eyes met yours for the first time.

“Thank you,” you said before leaving to go clean up. You hoped he could hear the sincerity in your voice.

The next time you volunteered at the same time, he stayed back to help you clean. He was silent at first, but then he began to talk to you, asking real questions and giving you real answers.

The friendship grew fast, one of the ones where you could feel in your bones how close you’d be. You moved from laughing with the kids as you gave him the tiniest portion of snack, to him driving you home sometimes.

And for the first few years, the two of you really were the best of friends. Lemonade and long drives together became game nights and movies with groups. You’d help him text when he got too flustered, he reminded you that all men were giant boys sometimes. He told you about his past, about the accident and wanting to heal from that, and what he was working on. You shared the skeletons in your closet, you fears and hopes and dreams. You became each other’s constant, as you grew, always cheering the other one on and sharing just the right words at the right time.

Then, after a long, terrible day, he drove over to your house with pure, kind-hearted intentions and ended up kissing you.

-

“The rest, as they say, is history,” you finished.

Jack’s boss was grinning, along with his wife.

“How adorable!” she cooed, squeezing her husband’s hand.

You and Jack had been together for years now, and recently moved to a small town so he could be closer to his mama. This branch of the statesman was a lot more casual, so you were over at their house with some other couples, barbequing in the backyard. In many ways, you loved the little southern community but it was times like these that you felt like you were pulling teeth.

Jack was so high-profile, and bless his heart, he loved to show you off. It was sweet that his boss let him off early sometimes and the local florist knew your date night, but honestly, people in this town were so invested in your relationship it gave you anxiety. Everyone wanted to hear your story, to be in the know, worst of all: ask about it. So it was unpleasant, but not a surprise when the lady continued, asking, “So how many kids are the two of you going to have?”

Her eyes glimmered with expectation, completely unaware at how you were fighting not to grimace at her intrusion.

Jack looked at you, his hand instinctively finding yours. His thumb rubbed your skin softly, as if he was trying to press his support into you. It worked, in it’s own way, and you collected yourself, smiling because you knew she meant well, and because you had practiced.

When you were younger, if and when it came up, you hadn’t been attracted to the idea of children like some others were. You had thought, or maybe trained yourself to say, maybe someday, but not right now. Because for most people, that was enough. You knew logically, that some did change their minds or grow into it. Sometimes you had hoped that would be you.

Now, you didn’t even offer that, just making a joke and guiding the conversation in a different direction. You played your part well, continuing to chat as you ate, being as delightful and adorable as you always were.

Jack knew, of course he did. After that very first night, when he had kissed you, you had been honest with him. motherhood was not your purpose, passion, or dream. He loved you then, and he loved you now, you reminded yourself. He had loved you through the time you’d talked about it again, when he told you that you were his soulmate. Still, before, you had always left it on the table. Maybe someday, in the future.

He watched you closely, watched your eyes when you laughed at the questions, felt you hand in his when you were in the spotlight.

Jack adored you with every fiber of his being. He loved waking up with you in his arms, and falling asleep to the rhythm of your heart. He liked the way your eyes met his and spoke volumes, and how you knew what he was going to say and let him say it anyway. Sometimes he thought he would stop time itself if it would keep you from being hurt.

So now, he shifted closer and closer to you, invading your space until he could share his warmth with you. Your hands left each others so he could wrap his arm around you, and he tried his best to use himself to make a little safe haven for you. He would do anything to create a bubble so you could breathe.

Your eyes found his, and you leaned into his warmth. No words were offered but he knew he had done a good job when he could feel some tension slide off your shoulders.

Still, over the next few days, the conversation haunted you. It felt like a pin, pricking your mind and heart in quiet moments. You ignored it, what else could you do? It was a familiar feeling, and you knew sooner or later, it would go away. After all this time, hadn’t you made your peace with it?

It was almost completely gone, one night, as you lay with Jack, skin to skin under the sheets. He’d be silent for awhile, in what you could only assume was one of his rare, post-sex dazes. He murmured again and again how much he loved you before it faded off and he had settled for holding you close.

“Sweetheart?” he said suddenly, pulling your attention back to him.

“Yeah, Jack?”

“One of our friends from home is pregnant, I forgot to tell you she called yesterday.”

You felt liked the world was spinning. Why was be bring this up right now?

Somewhere far away, you heard yourself make a happy noise and say that was exciting for them.

Your lover’s warm arm pulled you closer, back onto his chest.

“That’s gonna be one helluva cute baby,” he added. You agreed, but had no idea what to do or say.

Was he trying to tell you he was thinking about kids? About babies?! You were full on panicking now.

Had this, plus the questions from before finally pushed him to reconsider? 

“I’ve… darlin’, I’ve been thinking a lot about kids lately,” he whispered into your hair. There was something about his tone you didn’t recognize. You were tense, unable to move away, respond, be normal at all. Of course, he noticed.

Jack half sat up, moving you so he could face you, his arms still holding onto you with purpose.

“Wait- shoot, dang it, I should’ve said that differently,” his eyes were boring into yours. The whole time you’d known him, you hadn’t been able to look away from him when he was baring his heart for you like this. This was Jack. He has never, would never hurt you. You trusted him with your whole life.

Several deep breathes and a quick kiss allowed your heart to calm, and you eyes told him it was okay for him to go on.

“I have been, sweetheart, but not like… that, I – well, I,” he seemed to be struggling, the tiny lines between his eyebrows deepening. You waited, hands finding his skin and mimicking the comforting movements he always did on you. All the while you were reminding yourself that listening to him would always be better than interrupting or assuming.

“I just wanted to tell you, the longer we’re together, how much I like it,” he said, finally, words rushing out of him, “How the more I think about it, how much I sort of want it to just stay like that.”

Your heart was racing now for a whole new reason.

“When I think about other people’s kids, they’re cute but… I don’t need one,” he said, and you noticed the more he talked, the more he relaxed, too. “You could be a fantastic mother, I know you could, if you ever want that,” he added, and you smiled, shaking your head just slightly.

“I guess I’m just selfish, love,” he finally seemed to conclude, having pushed and been fully vulnerable with you. He sank down next to you again, saying, “I want you all to myself. I want to take you on adventures and change the world with you and just have you be all mine, all the time.”

You still couldn’t speak. The world wasn’t spinning anymore but it might as well have been upside down. All your fears - that he was hoping you’d just change your mind, that you were holding him back – were wrong. On his own terms, in his own way, and in his own heart Jack Daniels had flipped to the same page as you.

Never in your life had you expected this, even considered this a possible outcome. It was almost too good to be true.

You had to ask, just one more thing.

“Jack, what about…” you swallowed, clinging to him. “What about… before?” You didn’t need to explain. What about her, and his son? Before the accident? What about the time you’d met, and he was pouring into the futures of children?

Jack was still for one heartbeat, two, and three. Then his hand moved from your waist to touch your cheek, his large palm enveloping it. You hadn’t realized there was a tear until he brushed it away with his thumb. There was tenderness in his eyes as he held you.

“Just us,” he whispered, before kissing you, “that’s all I need.” His eyes were honest, and for the first time in your life, you felt fully seen. 

“Just us,” you said back, as vulnerable as he was.

The two of you held each other then, basking in the moment of pure, raw love. You allowed yourself to sink fully into the mattress, pressing together like you were just falling for each other for the first time. In some ways, you were. Everyone has a different story, and you two had just written another chapter in yours. Jack laughed then, a beautiful, free, almost giddy sound.

Relief had sunk into your bones, the two of you finding something in each other that you’d never had before. The feeling you’d had when you first met - the one that sunk into your bones - promising you two would be close, came into your mind. You considered it, realizing it was more than right, knowing you both before you even knew yourselves.

Jack kissed your hairline, still letting out small burst of quiet laughter. His voice was filled with joy as he asked, “Can we get a dog, though?” and you laughed too.

“Yeah,” you said, and he was kissing you, smile almost too big.

<<

taglist: 

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @0celestialbitch0

[angelltheninth]

may i have angel dust and alastor (seperate, please!) with an s/o who’s a fallen angel? they have angel wings, but there’s a huge hole through one that prevents them from flying. they have a halo but half of it broke off, and they were kicked out of heaven for something stupid. s/o is just good personified tho and they’re super helpful and sweet. feel free to delete this if you don’t want to do it, tysm!!

I love fallen angels in Hazbin Hotel. Can't wait to see more of them.

Pairing: Angel Dust, Alastor x Fallen Angel!Reader

Tags: emotional hurt/comfort, cuddles, fluff, developing relationship, nightmares

A/N: I love that Helluva established that Heaven will kick people out for the stupidest shit and also in the most annoying way possible.

Angel would find you really naïve when you first arrive

At the same time you're also unlike anyone he's ever seen so he asks you to hang just to satisfy that curiosity

He doesn't know a whole lot about fallen angels so he asks a lot of questions and through them begins to fall for you

He's very flirty but not pushy

He knows a bit about having trouble sleeping because of bad things that happened to you in the past

At first he offers you alcohol and drugs, after all those work pretty well for him, but in addition to that he also offers you himself, not in a sexual way but just for you to not feel alone because that's the worst thing when you're already suffering from feeling like no one wants you anymore

Alastor is interested in you right away because finally bring something new and fresh to Hell

At first he tries to manipulate you for his gain, after all having a fallen angel on his side would be very entertaining indeed

He's not the best when it comes to comfort because he's someone that relishes in seeing others struggle

Yet the more you tell him about it the more he wants to see those who made you feel bad suffer rather than having you be the one suffering

Alastor can be quite protective of those he cares about, and while its a handful of people he does try his best

Not every big into cuddling at first but he lets you rest your head on his shoulder and lap when you're feeling sad

[swan-of-sunrise]

Specs and the Flyboy (Chapter Nineteen-Part Two)

Summary: The team begins their mission to retrieve Michael Carter and destroy Zodiac, but not before having several heart-to-hearts and a quiet conversation between two partners.

Pairing: Jack Thompson X Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings/Disclaimers: References to torture

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Nineteen (Part II) The Forests of the Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic (Previous Chapter)

“You see anything yet, Specs?”

(Y/N) sighed through her nose but didn’t look away from her binoculars as she called back, “Not since you asked me two minutes ago, Flyboy. What’s the rush, you got a hot date or something?”

“No, I’m too busy watching my partner perch herself on an unstable, snow-covered tree branch fifteen feet in the air. Seriously, (Y/N), I really should be the lookout-”

“That’s not happening, Jack; in case you’ve forgotten, you’re still recovering from a severe case of hypothermia and torture.” Tearing herself away from the binoculars, she looked down and raised a brow when she spotted Jack’s concerned frown and crossed arms. “Why don’t you go check on the others and make sure Howard isn’t teaching Henry any bad habits?”

Jack heaved a sigh but reluctantly complied, grumbling under his breath as he trudged towards their truck, and (Y/N) rolled her eyes in mild exasperation before returning her attention to the binoculars. They were stationed a little less than a mile away from a large warehouse-facility, hidden away in the dense forest, and waiting for Peggy’s signal to proceed with the next phase of their plan; after they decoded Michael’s final message, Howard was finally able to enhance the photographs they’d taken back at Attwell Airfield and since all the maps depicted led them directly to the structure hidden away in the Lithuanian forests, it was a safe bet that that was where the Secret Empire was meeting with Leviathan.

In theory, the plan they’d come up with was simple: Extract Michael Carter, destroy Zodiac and go home. They’d agreed to split up into two teams of four; Peggy, Dugan, Sawyer and Pinkerton would enter the north side of the facility and (Y/N), Jack, Henry and Howard would enter its south side. Each group would make its way through the facility, (Y/N)’s with the intention of procuring Zodiac and Peggy’s in search of Michael, then they’d leave as quietly as they’d come.

There were countless things that could go wrong with their plan, that much was true, but (Y/N) had faith in her group of rag-tag companions and their impressive skills. Even the occasionally-annoying flyboy who’s spent the past half an hour circling this tree like a nervous Nellie, she smiled to herself; although he was still recovering from his recent injuries, Jack had insisted on accompanying them on their mission and (Y/N) knew better than to waste precious time arguing with her hard-headed partner. That man’ll be the death of me, she thought with a quiet chuckle, her eyes still trained on the forest of trees in the distance.

Not long after, (Y/N) spotted the flashes of light reflecting off of Peggy’s compact mirror and translated the Morse Code before securing her binoculars around her neck and calling down, “All clear, time for Phase Two!” She started making her way down the tree, getting about halfway down when Jack reappeared below her. “Peggy and the others are in position, so it’s time to go.”

“Copy that, Specs, but you’ve gotta be more careful or else you’ll-” The branch (Y/N) stepped down onto suddenly snapped, sending her sprawling onto the piles of snow about six feet below and briefly knocking the air out of her lungs. “Fall.” Jack was standing at her side in an instant, his hand stretched out for her to take and his expression a strange mixture of concern and amusement. “You know, I could’ve sworn that I predicted that happening…”

“You’re very funny, smart-ass,” (Y/N) grumbled as she took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet; the power behind his action took her by surprise and before she could steady herself, she stumbled right into him. Her hands had automatically latched onto his broad shoulders and when she felt his arm snake itself around her waist, her eyes flicked up and met his blue ones; realizing just how close his face was to hers, her heart began to race but she didn’t immediately pull away from him like she’d done in the past. Instead, she brought a hand up and trailed her fingertips over the bruise that stretched across his cheekbone; it was already beginning to turn a yellowish hue and when she brushed over the edge of it, he flinched and she winced in sympathy. “Sorry…you’re not in too much pain, are you?”

Jack smirked and opened his mouth to reply, but grew serious when she didn’t smile back. “It still hurts a bit but it’s nothing I can’t manage, (Y/N). I’ll feel a whole lot better once we finish this mission and go home.” She nodded and began pulling away from him, but stopped herself when his hand gently tightened on her waist and his expression shifted from reassuring to apprehensive. “Look, we don’t really know what we’re walking into and there’s a helluva lot riding on this mission, so I…I wanted…you’ll be careful, right?”

The earnest look in his blue eyes combined with the weight of his hand on her waist nearly made (Y/N) go weak in the knees, but she suppressed the sudden surge of affection as she nodded again. “Of course, just as careful as my calm and level-headed partner’ll be out there. Maybe even more.” Jack’s lips curved into a small smile at that. “Everything’s going to be fine out there, Jack, I promise. Now c’mon, the others are waiting for us…”

Biting back her growing smile, (Y/N) walked beside Jack as they made their way over to where the others were waiting. Daniel was already seated in the driver’s seat of the truck, his expression clouded with apprehension; he’d allowed Peggy to go along with the Howling Commandos and stayed behind to act as their backup without an argument, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that he was worried about his girlfriend. Edwin was preoccupied with adjusting the sleeves of his bomber jacket and Howard was talking away to Henry, who was listening to the inventor with barely-concealed awe. “Good news, Daniel, there’s a small clearing about a quarter of a mile southeast of here that should give you two plenty of cover.”

Daniel nodded, starting the truck’s engine and calling out, “Okay, Jarvis, it’s time to go.”

“Yes, of course, Chief Sousa!” Edwin hurriedly got into the passenger seat before addressing (Y/N). “Miss (Y/L/N), are you quite sure that Mr. Stark will be all right going with you and Chief Thompson?”

“He’ll be just fine, Jarvis; he’s only coming along with us for his scientific insight, that’s all.” (Y/N) flashed him a reassuring smile, touched by the concern the butler had for the inventor’s well-being; her smile faltered when her eyes drifted over to where Jack, Howard and Henry were gathered, worry furrowing her brow as she scrutinized the rookie officer’s youthful face. “To be perfectly honest, though, I’m more concerned for Henry. Howard’s been in plenty of tough scrapes over the years but Henry…?”

“With two highly-skilled SSR operatives watching his back, I’m sure the kid’ll be in good hands.” Daniel’s words were meant to put her at ease but her anxiety refused to disappear; the rookie officer reminded her far too much of Freddie for her to be placated with words of comfort. The chief’s eyes looked past her at Jack, who was slinging a rifle strap over his shoulder as he walked over to them. “Watch each other’s six, okay? We don’t have any idea what’s inside that facility; for all we know, this could be where Leviathan’s training more of their spies.”

Jack nodded and gave him a playful salute. “You got it, Chief.” The two of them watched as the truck drove off into the forest, turning and walking over to Howard and Henry once it disappeared from view. “All right, fellas, when we get in there, Agent (Y/L/N) and I’ll take point. Zhang, it’ll be your job to cover our backs and keep Stark out of trouble-”

“O-Okay, Chief Thompson, it’s just that…” Henry swallowed nervously and his hands clutched the shoulder strap of his rifle as he continued, “Well, the police academy didn’t really train us to handle a situation like this and I’m not sure I know what to do but I don’t want to let you all down and-”

“Hey,” Stepping forward, (Y/N) rested her hands on the rookie officer’s shoulders and looked him directly in his panicked eyes. “Take a couple of deep breaths for me, Henry. Can you do that?” He nodded, and she smiled kindly at him when she felt his shoulders beginning to relax. “That’s it, Fred-” (Y/N) caught herself before she could say the rest of her brother’s name; Henry didn’t seem to notice her slip-up but out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Jack and Howard exchanging sympathetic glances as they turned away to give the two of them some privacy. As she stood there in front of the rookie officer and watched him rapidly blink away his tears, a distant memory suddenly came to the forefront of her mind…

“Freddie, what the hell are you doing here?!” (Y/N) asked, her brow raising in disbelief as the smiling sixteen-year-old jumped off his bicycle and leaned it against the station-house. “If Mother and Father find out that you skipped school to see me off-”

“I don’t care if they find out,” Freddie’s smirk widened as he shrugged. “There’s no way in hell they were gonna stop me from seein’ my big sister ‘fore she leaves.”

A reluctant smile played on her lips and she shook her head in exasperation. “I swear, you’re such a little troublemaker…”

“Oh, I wonder who I learned that from?” (Y/N) playfully swatted her brother’s arm while he laughed; the two of them sat down on a nearby bench and looked out at the empty train tracks, the tense silence finally broken by his quiet plea, “Take me with you.”

(Y/N) sighed, unable to turn and face Freddie; since the moment she’d told him about Bletchley Park, she’d dreaded the day that he’d inevitably try and convince her to bring him along. “Freddie…please don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Ignoring her plea, Freddie hurriedly knelt on the ground in front of her and grabbed her hands. “I wouldn’t be any trouble, I-I could get a job to help you pay the bills! We could finally live somewhere far away from Ma and Pop, and I’ll even try joinin’ the army-”

“Stop it, Freddie!” (Y/N) spoke sharply, instantly regretting her tone when he visibly flinched; her shoulders sagged and she sighed. “I’m sorry for yelling, bud, it’s just…where I’m going is incredibly dangerous, and it’s only going to get worse the longer the war goes on.” She smoothed his hair back and forced herself to smile. “You’re sixteen years old; your only concern right now should be keeping your nose clean and graduating high school, not a war happening half a world away.”

Tears began to well up in his eyes. “If it’s so dangerous then how come you’re goin’? Why’re you leavin’ me here by myself?”

“Freddie, the last thing I’d ever want to do is leave you, but…” (Y/N)’s hands tightened around his as she continued. “I have an opportunity to use my skills to do the right thing. Sometimes doing the right thing’s hard, but that doesn’t mean we just lie down and stop trying. It doesn’t seem like it now but I’m going to England for you, bud, to make the world a better place for you to live in. Does that make sense?” Freddie sniffed and wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his coat as he nodded. “I’ll write to you every week, okay? And you can write me back as many times as you want about whatever’s on your mind; about school, about baseball, about your adorable crush on Susan Holloway…”

“I don’t have a crush on Susan Holloway!” Freddie insisted with an embarrassed smile. “She and I are just lab partners in Biology!”

“Whatever you say, bud.” (Y/N) chuckled, reaching forward and pulling her brother into a tight hug. “Who knows? I might even be back in time to see you graduate next year!”

He snorted. “I don’t wanna let you down, but I’m barely passin’ Math and it’s only Algebra; you’re the brains of the (Y/L/N) family, remember?”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I left all my old Math notes on your desk this morning,” Pulling away, (Y/N) rested her hands on either side of Freddie’s face and smiled as she took one last look at him, a distant train whistle sounding through the air while she continued. “And you could never let me down, Freddie. Never.”

Blinking away her own tears, (Y/N) refocused her attention back on the hyperventilating young man before her. “Henry, you remember the other night when you told us you were a fan of Captain America? How you read all his comics and listened to all his radio shows? Well, those comics and radio shows don’t tell the full story about Steve Rogers; when he was chosen to participate in Project Rebirth, he weighed less than a hundred pounds, had a laundry-list of medical issues and barely any basic military training. But Steve beat out every single candidate because he, all ninety-eight pounds of him, was the only one who had what it took to be a hero and none of it came from a test tube.” Henry’s eyes were still widened, but (Y/N) was pleased to see that he’d stopped breathing so heavily. “And right now, I’m looking at someone who’s got all the same things that Steve Rogers had even before he became Captain America.”

“Really?”

(Y/N) smiled patiently at his timid question. “How many other rookie officers do you think would travel all the way to the Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic to save the world and a man they’ve never met?” He chuckled once and she patted his shoulders before letting go of them. “Everything’ll be okay, Officer Zhang, all you have to do is follow our lead and trust your instincts. You’re not going to let anyone down.”

Nodding, Henry took a steadying breath and flashed her a small grin of thanks; they both made their way over to where Jack and Howard were standing, and (Y/N) felt her face warm when she noticed the way her partner was looking at her with eyes filled with unabashed pride. He quickly looked away once he realized she’d caught him staring and cleared his throat, his face flushing a little as he addressed them all, “Like Peggy said earlier, no weapon discharge unless absolutely necessary. Keep your eyes peeled and remember, our priority is to retrieve Zodiac and get the hell out of there; it’s the others’ job to extract Michael, not ours. Are we clear?”

Henry still looked a little nervous but he gave Jack a firm nod, and Howard simply raised his hand in the air. Letting out a sigh of exasperation, (Y/N) wearily asked, “Yes, Howard?”

“When do I get my gun?” The expectant smirk on the inventor’s face fell when (Y/N) and Jack both rolled their eyes. “What? C’mon, (Y/N), I know how to handle weapons! I invent them, for Pete’s sake, that’s gotta count for somethin’!”

“…Howard, I was in your lab that time you nearly blew yourself up.”

Howard furrowed his brow in confusion. “Wait, which time was that?”

Wincing, Henry patted the outraged inventor on the shoulder while they all began walking towards the nearby tree line. “I think you might’ve just proven Agent (Y/L/N)’s point, Mr. Stark.”

“You know,” Jack began, his voice low as he leaned down and flashed her an amused smile. “I think that kid’s starting to grow on me…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Infiltrating the facility proved to be an easier task than (Y/N) anticipated; they’d quickly dealt with the two armed guards standing watch on the south side, then they managed to find a loose drainage grate to slip into undetected. It’s like I’ve time-traveled back to 1944, she thought to herself while they crept down a deserted hall, silently marveling at how similar it all was to the missions she’d gone on with the Howling Commandos.

“This all seem a little too quiet to you, Specs?” Jack muttered, falling in step beside her with his rifle still raised. “If Leviathan’s really here, then where’s all the guards?” Right on cue, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed throughout the space; (Y/N) grabbed Jack’s hand and pulled him into one of the hallway’s decorative niche’s as Henry did the same with Howard across the way, pressing herself against the wall and holding her breath while two armed guards walked past.

Once the guards turned down another hallway, (Y/N) let out a relieved sigh. “Now we know that there’s guards here. Maybe they…” Her words died in her throat the moment she looked over at her partner, realizing in a flash just how close their faces were and that her hand was still clutching his; she’d felt the impulse to kiss Jack several times throughout their partnership, but it seemed that the heightened danger made the impulse stronger than ever and it was with great difficulty that she pulled away from him and clambered out of the niche. “Those guards were Leviathan, all right; they were wearing Red Army uniforms.”

They continued making their way through the large facility without any issues, finally coming across a walkway that stretched over a block of cells below; two guards sat at a table beside the cell block, their rifles propped against their chairs as they played a game of poker. Most of the cells were filled with visibly frightened men and women dressed in white laboratory coats and as she looked closer, (Y/N) suppressed her gasp of recognition when her eyes landed on the familiar figure of Adam Fieldman, Michael’s other accomplice within the Secret Empire, sitting alone in a cell.

“Son of a gun; I think we’d better pay Fieldman a visit.” Jack turned to her with an expectant look on his face. “Got any bright ideas, Specs?”

(Y/N)’s lips curled into a small smile. “I always do, Flyboy.”

After finalizing their off-the-cuff plan, (Y/N) crept out onto the walkway and stopped above where the two guards were seated; she lowered herself down to sit on the very edge of the walkway and took a moment to judge how far down they were before steeling her nerves and letting herself drop down. She landed on the balls of her feet, straightening up as the two guards scrambled to their feet and rushed towards her; she punched the first guard in the jaw, then elbowed the second guard in the neck before slamming her fist down onto his groin. The second guard doubled over in pain as she kicked the first guard in the shin, pulling him down by the back of his neck and kneeing him hard in the face; his unconscious form fell to the ground and (Y/N) ducked to avoid the second guard’s hit before kicking him back into the wall, her chest heaving as his head collided with the stone and he crumpled to the ground on a heap.

“Agent (Y/L/N), please! We don’t have much time!” (Y/N) turned and hurried over to Adam Fieldman’s cell; he looked worse for wear, as if he’d been locked up for several days, and his hands were tightly clutching the bars of his cell. She was vaguely aware of the others dropping down from the walkway and Howard talking to the other captives in broken Russian while Adam frantically continued, “Thomas knows that you’re here! He had that train car bugged, he heard everything Michael said to Chief Thompson before his escape!”

Jack crossed his arms over his chest, looking more than unconvinced by the panicked man’s words. “Oh yeah? And why should we believe anything you say? You’re a part of the Secret Empire, the same as your old college pals.”

“Yeah, but not willingly! Almost a year ago, Thomas and Michael paid me a visit at my dad’s orangery in L.A. and forced me to manufacture weapons based on copies of Howard Stark’s stolen blueprints; they told me they’d kill my dad if I didn’t join their damn Secret Empire!” Adam insisted, glancing back at (Y/N) with pleading eyes. “Thomas caught me trying to break Michael out of his brainwashing and locked me up. He would’ve killed me, but Leviathan still needed me to work on replicating Zodiac for them.”

“He’s right,” Howard walked up to them, an unusually serious expression on his face as he gestured towards the scientists. “They say that Leviathan’s holding them prisoner to study, replicate and weaponized Zodiac the moment they get their hands on that key and open the box.”

Adam nodded. “That key is what’ll unite the Secret Empire and Leviathan, and all that gold’s gonna fund their Zodiac weapons development. After what he heard on that bug, Thomas thinks that Michael’s little sister has the key and that she’ll do anything to save him, even hand over the one thing that’ll unlock Zodiac.” Before any of them could reply, the sound of distant gunfire echoed through the room and made them all jump. “Please, you’ve gotta get us out of here! Thomas has Zodiac with him and once he gets that key, there’s no tellin’ what he’ll do!”

Together, (Y/N) and Jack shot the locks off the cell doors and while she ushered everyone out, her partner spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Change of plan, Sousa, we’re sending Zhang and Stark out the south side with Fieldman and about a dozen scientists.”

“Copy that, we’ll be in position to pick them up.”

“Chief Thompson, what about you and Miss (Y/L/N)?”

(Y/N) unclipped her own walkie-talkie from her belt and answered, “We’re going to finish the mission ourselves.” Securing her walkie-talkie back onto her belt, she drew one of her handguns and held it out towards Howard. “Only use it if you have to.” The inventor gave her a firm nod and took the gun, and she turned to the rookie officer. “Get everyone out safely, Henry.”

Clutching his rifle in his hands, Henry’s jaw tightened with resolve. “I will.”

(Y/N) flashed the two of them a brief smile and Jack patted Henry on the shoulder before turning and hurrying out of the makeshift prison, towards the continuing echoes of gunfire on the opposite side of the facility. While they ran, she tried not to think about what Adam had said about Peggy willingly giving up the key; if that was the only way to save Freddie then I’d do it in a heartbeat, she thought with a frown, urging herself to run faster.

“Please tell me you brought some nifty gadgets with you, Specs,” Jack was panting a little while they turned a corner, one of his hands clutching the stitch in his side. “I’d feel better ‘bout all this if I knew we had an advantage.”

Two guards began to turn around at the sound of their approaching footsteps but (Y/N) and Jack each slammed the butts of their rifles into their heads and continued running while they crumpled to the ground; she looked over at him with an incredulous brow arched. “Just the lipstick Howard created for me, Flyboy, you’re welcome to borrow it if you want.”

“Thanks, but it’s not really my shade.”

The two of them skidded to a stop when they came across a staircase off to the side; without the sounds of their running distorting their hearing, she realized with a sinking feeling that the echoing gunfire had stopped. “That doesn’t sound good; which way should we go?”

Jack glanced between the hallway and the staircase before gesturing towards the staircase. “We’ll have a better tactical advantage if we go up, c’mon.”

Her partner led the way as they climbed several flights of stairs, finally reaching the landing and creeping down a corridor; the sounds of voices started to grow louder and louder until finally, the corridor opened up onto a balcony overlooking a warehouse. They pressed themselves back against the edge of the wall and Jack maneuvered so that he was standing right behind her before they both slowly peeked around the wall and got their first good look at the situation; the warehouse was cluttered, with stacks of wooden crates stamped with the symbols of Leviathan and the Secret Empire piled up around the vast room.

From their vantage point, (Y/N) quickly realized that they were witnessing a stand-off, with Peggy and the Howling Commandos taking refuge behind stacks of crates on one side of the warehouse while Thomas Attwell and a handful of Leviathan guards were hunkered down behind crates on the opposite side. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw that none of her friends appeared to be injured, and she was finally able to focus on what Attwell was saying down below.

“…settle this like civilized people, Miss Carter. We both have something that the other wants dearly; agree to my terms, and I’ll allow you and your American friends to walk out of here alive with your dear older brother.”

“It’s ‘Agent Carter,’ actually, and the SSR doesn’t negotiate with enemy operatives. You will hand over Zodiac and you will release Michael Carter into our custody, or else you’ll be dead on the floor of this warehouse very shortly.”

(Y/N) heard Dugan’s humorless chuckle. “I’d listen to her if I were you, pal.”

“Zodiac in the hands of Leviathan will be more respected than it ever was by those fools within the United States government; here they develop such a groundbreaking weapon and all because of a little town in Switzerland, they refused to use it even if it meant ending the war against the Axis powers sooner. And as for your brother…” It was difficult to tell from so far away, but it almost looked as if the man was grinning. “Leviathan has some of the best minds in the world under its thumbs; with a little tinkering in that scrambled mind of his, I’m sure that Michael will be appreciating his place within our joined organization much more than he already does.” It wasn’t until Jack elbowed her in the side that she realized he’d un-slung his rifle and was aiming directly at Attwell down below; if he was able to shoot the man, then the others could utilize the chaos to take care of the guards and finish the mission so with a nod, she moved back to let him take the shot. But as she moved, Attwell turned to face the balcony that they were standing by and called out, “Isn’t that right, old chap?”

“Certainly.” The two of them whirled around to see Michael Carter and Dottie Underwood pointing pistols directly at their hearts. “I suggest that you drop your weapons now. Slowly.” (Y/N) and Jack both set all their guns down on the ground, careful not to make any sudden moves. While she straightened back up, (Y/N) took the opportunity to examine Michael’s face and was taken aback by how cold and calculating it looked. “Now, kick them over to Miss Underwood.”

Once they’d done as Michael said, a smiling Dottie took the guns and in one swift motion, threw them all off the balcony’s edge; when she turned back to them, her smile widened. “It’s so good to see you two SSR folks again! Now the party’s really in full swing, isn’t it?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Cliffhanger! Chapter 19 was originally only supposed to have 2 parts but the story ran away with me so now you guys get a Part 3!! Thank you guys so much for reading! If you haven’t checked it out yet, I created a Spotify playlist for this series and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21pWY7OiMFj8LaYpxhtVtW

Chapter Nineteen-Part Three

“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist

Tagging: @nnon-it-up @fluffymadamina @remmyswritings @ourstarsailor @darkusangelus @josis-teacup @marvel-jackt-loki-buck @yeetyeetchickenmeat @sameoldbaby @theserenityspace @seeing-but-not-observing @supervoldejaygent​ @momc95​ @brooke0297​ @kinda-c0nfused​ @outoftheregular  @mads-weasley​

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Not So Golden Opportunity (BAON)

Summary:  Usually Stretch likes getting packages in the mail, but there is always room for an exception.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The knock on the front door wasn’t much of a surprise, not when it came at delivery o’clock. Stretch always had packages coming in, everything from equipment for the lab to a new t-shirt that declared he was a ‘Karaoke King’, there was always something for their delivery person to drop off. At any given time, there was enough cardboard stored in their garage waiting to get dropped off at recycle to make one heck of a box fort, and that was on his list to do with the neighborhood kiddos one of these weekends.

So, the knock on the door? Not a surprise. What they were delivering on the other hand—

“uh, wow, thanks, marty,” Stretch said, a little dubiously. Marty let out an agreeable honk and meandered their way back to their little mail truck, leaving Stretch standing there with an enormous armful of flowers from an unknown source. Couldn’t be from Edge. Sure, he’d given flowers a few times, but Edge was more of an in-person sort of guy when it came to presents.

Welp, there was only one way to find out, wasn’t there. Time to get his Velma on and look for some clues.

Stretch carried the massive thing inside and plunked it down on the coffee table to give it a closer look. It was actually a very nice floral arrangement, even Stretch could see that and he didn’t know shit about flowers or décor. Tiny sprays of white, bell-like blooms and ferny green things surrounding several huge blooms of golden flowers, the likes of which Stretch hadn’t seen in years, not since they were Underground.

Hm. Golden flowers.

The card had Edge’s name on it, but Stretch didn’t bother sneaking a peek. Mystery solves, there was only one person who would’ve had this delivered to their door and he probably made it with his own fuzzy hands. The real question was why that asshole was having flowers sent to his husband, thank you, and the only way to find out if he needed to start making plans to yank out hunks of fur with his bare hands was to ask, with the minimum of simmering jealousy possible.

“babe?” Stretch called. Edge was in the kitchen, making preparations for their new cupboards to be installed next week. “hey, c’mere a minute!”

He’d expected Edge to be pleased, he did like his flowers, heck, maybe even excited in that adorably subdued way he had, and much as Stretch could have done without any surprise packages from Ass-gore in their house, eh, he’d deal with it if they made Edge happy.

The last thing he anticipated was for Edge to stop cold halfway out the kitchen door, the fleeting expression of disgust crossing his face quickly shifting to blankness. Edge wasn’t exactly the most emotive guy out there, but Stretch was pretty good at reading his facial version of charades and right now there wasn’t so much as a twitch of the eye socket or a curl of his mouth as he said, low, “Please put that in the garage.”

“the garage?” Stretch repeated doubtfully. He looked down at the extravagant display of floral dominance in his hands and wondered if he’d heard that right. “you sure?

“Yes, because someone might notice if you put it right into the trash.” That blankness cracked, a little, enough for Edge to snap out, “Just get it out of the damn house!”

Yeah, okay, got that message loud and clear, especially since Edge was starting to look a little glowy around the hands, like he was considering a little impromptu, and violent, floral rearranging. Stretch grabbed up the offending bouquet before it could end up as target practice and shortcutted out into the garage.

Like the rest of the house, it was neat as a pin, no oil stains on this concrete floor and all the tools neatly put away on the pegboard. In the back corner was the motorcycle, shrouded in drop cloths and waiting for Edge to be able to take it out for a spin again. Didn’t seem like putting the flowers anywhere special was part of today’s theme, so Stretch stuffed the thing into the furthest spot, away from Edge’s car so he wouldn’t have to see it when he came out on his way to work tomorrow.

Job successfully achieved, Stretch dusted off his hands and teleported back inside. Edge was already gone from the living room, no surprise there, but he hadn’t gone back to the kitchen. A quick, not-at-all-frantic search found him sitting out on the front porch and that wasn’t really a surprise, either. But the cigarette in his hand? Now that blew past surprise all the way into flabbergasted shock. Far as Stretch knew, Edge hadn’t bummed a smoke in months, his general attitude towards smoking was distaste with extreme prejudice. It took a helluva lot for him to give into the urge for a quick fix to a nicotine craving. Whatever his issues were with the flowers, whether it was the gift or the person who sent them, they were bad.

“babe?” Stretch asked, cautiously, still hovering half in the house. As worried as he was, he wouldn’t push, ready to leave if Edge wanted to be alone.

Edge only shifted the cigarette to his other hand and patted the concrete next to him in silent invitation. A little relieved, Stretch came out and sat down. He dug his own cigarette out of the crumpled pack and the two of them sat hip to hip, quietly smoking. Overhead, the sky was endless sea of deep blue broken only by the occasional streak of a puffy cloud. A nice day, too nice for the unspoken questions hanging heavily in the air, but Stretch didn’t ask them. Edge would talk when he was ready and if he never was, welp, that was fine, too. Edge wasn’t the only one who could be supportive, Stretch was more than willing to take his turn under the weight.

It wasn’t until Edge tamped out his cigarette in the ashtray Stretch kept out on the porch that he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” Edge said finally. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“i think i’ll live, babe,” Stretch replied, dryly, “the wounds were superficial.” He gave Edge a gentle nudge in the side with his elbow. “you okay?”

Yeah, okay, that wasn’t pushing, thanks. Besides, it was a stupid question, because the answer was obviously going to be a ‘yes, fine’ and that’d be it.

Except that he didn’t get the obvious answer he expected.

“Not right now,” Edge said. His sockets were half-closed and instead of their yard, he seemed to be looking miles away. “I will be.” They sat in silence for a while longer, Stretch watching people walking by, waving as required and leaving Edge to his thoughts. He was lighting a second cigarette when Edge finally spoke again, softly. “Golden flowers.” The faint hitch in his voice could’ve meant nothing, if the person he was sitting with didn’t know him so well. “I haven’t seen real golden flowers in years.”

Stretch considered that. “i’m taking it they weren’t sorely missed.”

“Hm?” Crimson eye lights briefly flicked his way. “No, not at all. I hate the blasted things.”

Stretch only took a long drag and exhaled slowly, blowing a smoke ring up into that blue, blue sky. He didn’t ask or urge him to talk, simply being there if he chose to. And Edge did, slowly, as if choosing every word with care. “The only place in Underfell where golden flowers grew was the king’s chamber in New Home. My memories of that place are…not pleasant.”

Not pleasant. Yeah, like lava is a wee bit warmish or the Titanic sprung a little leak. Indisputable truths: water is wet, the sky is blue, grass is green, and any meeting with the king of all Monsters in Underfell was not pleasant.

The explanation made perfect sense, really; if Stretch’d had a minute to actually think about it instead of dividing his attention between ditching the flowers and then finding his wayward husband, he probably would have figured it out on his own. Perfect sense, yep, and that was why Stretch was torn between temptations. First, to grab Edge and hold him close, to keep him there in his arms and do whatever it took to chase away any of the mental ghosts that were creeping in, to be the protector for one damn time. And then there was the equal temptation to take that little flower arrangement on back to the source and see if he could find any handy place to stick it, because right now, he was ready to cram it so far up someone’s fuzzy buns that they’d need their dentist to help get it loose.

But Edge wouldn’t appreciate either of those options. All Stretch could do here was sit here, be here, and hope it was enough.

Stretch was so lost in his thoughts that he startled at the touch of a gloved hand as it settled gently over his bare one, sharp fingertips blunted by fabric lightly stroking his own. “He didn’t know, love. He mentioned to me in passing that he’d started working on floral arrangements again for the summer and that he’d be sending them out to Embassy employees, and I completely forgot.”

Trust Edge to know exactly what direction his thoughts were headed, right off the grid and into a little righteous revenge. Didn’t help that the things Stretch wanted to say to that excuse weren’t exactly helpful. Things like, Asgore should have been able to guess, homey reminders were only good for people who actually liked their past home, and maybe a reminder to pay some fucking attention to anything besides his own personal popularity contest was in order. Or how about suggestion for a visit to emphasis the whole ‘we don’t send my husband any gifts without pre-approval, asshole’.

None of those options were actually useful and either might actually get him banned from the Embassy this time, so Stretch kept ‘em to himself and only said, “i know.”

Then he let out a squawk as that gentle touch on his hand turned into a firm grip around his wrist and he was abruptly yanked over into Edge’s lap. He barely managed to put out his cigarette before it landed anywhere unpleasant. It took a little creative, and occasionally blatant, wriggling to get situated but in the end, he was settled across Edge’s femurs and snuggled in. His own hands were perfectly G-rated, Edge’s only slightly less so but it wasn’t like anyone on the street could see the hand he’d slipped under Stretch’s sweatshirt and settled over his sternum, right where his soul would manifest if he summoned it. Neither of them did, not yet, not out here in front of the broad daylight and the neighbors. The barest suggestion was enough for right now.

“I’m all right,” Edge murmured, and the warmth of his breath against the curve of his jaw was a tempting distraction. But Stretch wasn’t gonna forget to hand over a carefully selected piece of his mind to Asgore the next time he saw him.

Next time fuzzy ass wanted to send a present, he could stick with a gift card.

-finis