#queue is empty and all the devils are here

[unhxngxd]

// Hi, yes, hello - I'm not dead. 2024 Has just NOT been my year so far. //

[feardrummed]

@trapton: just take some deep breaths. in, and out. you're going to be fine (glitchtrap)

prompts for angsty conversations / accepting

If he wasn't inside her head, she wouldn't hear him. She's knelt on the ground, shaking, eyes on the ground to avoid looking at...everything. The knife, the blood, the body. She's fine physically, at least, but...someone else wasn't. Because of her. She's had an idea of what this was all heading towards, what he'd tried to get her to do before, but any worry for that or objections to it had been so effectively pushed from her mind, swept up and thrown out as soon as they surface. Still, the dismissal of what she knew was coming wasn't enough to stop her reaction once she finally killed someone.

She draws in breaths as he instructs. Even through the panic, listening to him still remains instinctual or perhaps, forced. "He's dead," she says quietly between breaths, "I killed him. Fuck, I killed him."

[handsbloodiedmoved]

new tag drop part two (interactions and ooc tags)

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER ONE: Night Shift

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt has to accompany Foggy to the ER in the middle of the night because he dislocated his shoulder. In need for some peace and quiet, Matt wanders the halls of Metro General and instead finds you crying in one of the abandoned hallways. A conversation ensues.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight angst, mention of injury.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: My brain gets the strangest ideas for fics and then I have to write them or else I will go crazy. This is how this baby was born. Keep in mind, I’m not a doctor. I simply watch a lot of medical dramas and I like to research medical terms for the fun of it. Heed the warnings for the entire series (see Series Masterlist) but also chapter-specific warnings that apply, as seen above. I hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 1: Night Shift here on AO3

Ever since he can remember, Matt has hated hospitals. The antiseptic scent that lingers in the air, the sterile white walls that seem to close in around him—it all brings back memories of days spent in agony, tied to an uncomfortable bed, and seeing nothing but an endless void of black.

He can only tune out so much. The stench, the sirens, and the overlapping voices in an emergency room—they could easily kill him. 

Hospitals remind him of what he lost. He lost his vision, he lost his father and in the process, he lost his innocence. Matt lost everything, and even though he is well aware that it isn’t the hospital’s fault that he decided to save a man or that his father made a deal with the devil and got himself killed, he still hates the same empty walls that made him feel so small to begin with.

Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense. 

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who has ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—and he can’t let himself get hurt again. 

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has walked out on him ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true. 

He never thought he would find himself in Metro General again, not since Claire came into his life. Claire, the caring nurse who saved him when he was on death’s door and continued doing so until she realized that falling for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its own set of risks. 

Foggy dislocated his shoulder. 

It’s almost laughable. Out of everyone, he chose Matt to come to the hospital with him. Not Karen, Matt. He had the choice between the most empathetic person either of them have ever met, and Matt, someone so far out of touch with his own feelings, living in denial has become the standard for him. Foggy chose the latter, for whatever reason he doesn’t even seem to know himself. It just felt like the most natural thing to do, he told Matt when he asked his best friend, “Why me?”

He should feel honored that he trusts him that much, but being trapped in the sterile four walls of the hospital he only connects bad memories to while Foggy is stuck in the queue for an X-ray feels more like torture than an honorable act. 

The loud, demanding voices of the nurses, the painful groans and soft cries coming from the patients in the waiting area of the emergency room a few doors down, and the obnoxious beeping of the machines lining the walls in every room are like a swarm of bees in Matt’s inner ear. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get them out. He’s allergic to them.

The room smells of disinfectant, blood, and other bodily fluids. He tries to focus on his cologne and the scentless laundry detergent he has grown so accustomed to over the years, but the balm only lasts for a few seconds before the wound reopens and his senses are flooded.

Matt keeps rhythmically tapping his fingers on his thigh. How much longer he can sit on this uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology area and wait for Foggy to return, he doesn’t know. It won’t be long now until he loses his mind. He is about to drown in his own misery.

He feels the desperate urge to land his fist in the wall next to him. He wants to scream, cry, maybe even both—this night is not going well. He hasn’t had a good night in weeks. Tonight though, he’s stuck in the hospital rather than outside, doing something against the injustice he is forced to listen to every day.

The hits he took the previous night were pretty severe, and his ribs still hurt. The numb ache that tears through him whenever he moves is a temporary relief from the pain induced by the noise around him. Whatever bits of sanity he tries holding onto eventually slip through his fingers. 

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He gets up, his head tilting toward Foggy’s elevated heartbeat. He’s still in line. Fifth, probably.

Matt taps his cane against the floor, making his way down the hallway. He’s not quite sure where he’s going or where he will land, he just knows that he needs to get out of there as fast as possible.

Rounding the hundredth corner of the evening, the sound of clattering metal trays and medical supplies disappears behind layers of drywall and automatic doors. Matt takes a moment, and he realizes that right here—right where he is now—he can finally breathe again.

The sound travels more easily. The air wafting through the vents and over the cotton sheets on a row of empty beds is the only sound that meets his ears. They’re lined against one side of the wall. The rooms are empty, the doors locked. It seems as if in a moment of desperation, he found his way to one of the abandoned parts of the hospital. 

A lack of funding caused Metro General to cut their losses. It certainly wasn’t an easy decision, but with capitalism on the rise, public hospitals are barely holding on.

Even though the truth is depressing, Matt still can’t believe his luck when he realizes how quiet it is. That may be a selfish thought, but he can't help it. The world is always so loud and uncomfortable. Finding someplace quiet after torturing himself in the waiting room for hours feels like heaven on earth on such a busy night.

The fog dulling his senses finally dissipates. He takes a deep breath. The air is cleaner here. No disinfectant, only the faint scent of plastic and dust; he wouldn't have thought it possible that he would ever consider that combination a blessing.

That’s when he hears it—a slightly elevated heartbeat followed by a series of muffled sobs. He got so caught up in the fact that he finally found what he was looking for amidst the chaos that he forgot to fan out his hearing.

Despite what he originally believed, he isn’t alone.

The air smells of the salty essence of human tears. Matt stops dead in his tracks, not sure whether to continue his journey or to turn around and return to the uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology department.

“This nervous breakdown space is occupied,” your soft voice bounces off the high walls. It’s thick with exhaustion. Pain. Loss. He almost recoils at the all-too-familiar feeling it elicits in him.

Matt keeps his cane hugged tight to his chest, his knuckles whitening with how hard he is gripping the base. “Oh, I...I’m sorry,” he says, careful to keep his voice light. “I didn’t catch you there.”

You’re essentially a stranger to him. A troubled one, at that. You must have your share of problems or you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be crying your eyes out. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he also can’t turn around. Not now, not anymore. You’ve already noticed him.

You sniffle, your hands wiping against the soft skin of your reddened cheeks. For a moment, your heartbeat picks up in speed before returning to its normal rhythm. “It’s alright,” you assure him.

Matt picks up on the faintest hint of disinfectant and the scent of antibacterial soap on you now, maybe a little blood, and definitely antiseptic laundry detergent—you’re wearing medical scrubs.

Your shampoo smells of vanilla and some herbal element he can’t quite identify just yet. Your perfume isn’t expensive, just enough to last through a long shift and filter the sweat that is seeping out of your pores. It’s not unpleasant. You smell like someone who’s been working hard and far past your limits, too.

“Do you need something?” you ask him. 

He pauses for a moment, rethinking his answer. His lips purse. He’s not sure how to answer that without completely giving himself away.

Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Oh, just…some peace and quiet,” Matt says, finally finding his voice again. It sounds a bit more nervous than he would like to admit.

The chuckle you exhale is one of surprise and possibly even a bit of genuine amusement. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I know that feeling.”

“Well, I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Sorry again.”

“No. Don’t.”

Matt stops in his tracks when the words pass your lips. 

You pat the space beside you. Your perfume becomes a little clearer. It’s so natural, so… you. He could get high off of it. Or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation catching up to him. 

“This is the only quiet corner in this hospital,” you tell him. “Trust me. Underfunding has its perks for introverts. Rest in peace to about thirty internal medicine beds, but lucky me.”

Your chuckle echoes bitterly off the walls. You use humor to cope, apparently, but you’ve run out of strength to pretend.

His cane begins to gently pave the way as he makes his way forward. “Do you mind?” Matt nods toward the bed you’re sitting on. 

You pat the mattress again with a shake of your head. “Not at all.”

Gentle seems to be the one word that is consistent with everything you do. He can’t get this picture he has painted of you based on the sound of your voice out of his head. Maybe you’re an angel and he has officially gone insane, or maybe there are just a lot more good people left in this world than he originally thought. 

Matt folds his cane and skillfully sits down on the edge of the mattress. You smell even better up close. Your heartbeat reminds him of a beautiful symphony, no longer as erratic as when he first picked up on your presence. 

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he says.

He can hear a sudden uptick in your heartbeat. He may have just imagined it. You suck in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he didn’t imagine that, but then you lift your hand to take his.

“Olivia,” you say. 

Matt listens closely. You have no reason to lie about your name. Your heartbeat may be faster, but it isn’t a lie. You just seem a lot more nervous and unsure than before. It doesn’t quite make sense why you would be unsure about your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.” His lips curl into a soft smile.

You smile back, he can hear it, but it lacks an essence of truth. You’re trying hard to seem like you’re okay. It’s not your fault that his senses are sensitive to all changes in the human body, even in that of a stranger he just met.

You’ve been crying, so of course, you wouldn’t be alright. The question is, why? 

“I take it you’re not part of the staff,” you say into the silence.  

“No.” Matt chuckles. “I, uh, have a friend with a dislocated shoulder,” he says.

“Ah! Let me guess, his doctor in the ER reduced the dislocation but insisted on doing an X-ray just in case, so now you have to wait because radiology has a hold-up longer than the Nile?”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yeah, that… that’s pretty accurate.”

“It’s always like this,” you say. “A dislocated shoulder doesn’t have priority. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“You work here?” he dares to ask. 

You pull at the bottom of your scrub top. “Guilty as charged. Trauma surgery. I’ve been an attending here for a little over two years now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”

Matt has encountered his fair share of doctors in the past, but no one has ever been quite like you. You’re unique. Mysterious. An enigma. You have piqued his curiosity, to say the least, and your profession only adds to the pile of interesting things he can ponder about.

You smile at him again, but it’s still not a genuine one. “Thanks,” you drag the last syllable out, the air deflating your lungs.

He swallows. “Or it isn’t. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, that’s not… some days just aren’t that rewarding,” you say. “That’s all.”

“And today has been one of those days?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Your eyes roam over him once again.

He reaches for his hair, running his hand through it. He ruffles the brown strands until they’re covering his left temple. Matt’s not sure if you saw; there is a high chance that you did, but he can't anticipate your behavior. Not yet. 

You let out a longer breath. “Not a fan of hospitals, I take it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “It gets… loud,” he says. 

“Sensitivity to sound.” You nod. “Noted.”

He hears the fabric of your scrubs brushing against your skin and the cotton sheets on the bed. You cross your legs, opening yourself up to him just slightly, and he wonders if you really are comfortable around him or if you’re just being kind. 

“Probably to smell as well? Feeling? Taste?” There is a soft smile laced in your voice. This time, it’s real. 

Matt chuckles. You hit the nail right on the head. You’re simply not aware of how sensitive he is to these things. “Pretty sensitive, yeah,” he says. 

That about sums it up. You nod, but you don’t push him any further. 

“Well,” you say, “The ER is pretty disgusting. And loud. And to be forced to wait in front of radiology is probably a scenario they offer as a torture device in one of the seven circles of hell.”

He can’t help himself, “It’s nine, actually.”

“Sorry?”

“Nine circles,” Matt clarifies, his lips twitching in a faint grin. “Dante’s Inferno. A good Catholic boy’s guilty pleasure.”

You let out a genuine laugh this time, and it warms his senses. It’s a rare sound in a place filled with so much pain. He can almost hear the weight from your shoulders hit the floor. The tension in the air seems to ease, if only for a moment. You allow to let yourself go. 

Your grin turns into a smirk. “Catholic, huh?” you retort. 

“Since the day I was born,” he says. “Are you religious?”

That seems to steal your breath away. You have no words. For a full minute, silence settles in between the two of you. It’s almost uncomfortable, and Matt fears he must have crossed a line. He just doesn’t know how to apologize for something he is truly curious about. 

The topic of God and religion seems to hit a nerve when it’s not used in a humorous context. There are many reasons why that could be. He spends every day battling his own religious trauma and the demons that he feels he’s harboring deep inside, but he still holds on tight to his faith. If he doesn’t have an excuse—if he doesn’t have anything to hold onto other than what broken self-respect he has left—where would he be?

You finally clear your throat after what feels like an eternity. “No,” it’s a simple answer. “I don’t believe that there is a God.”

Your mouth stays open. You want to say something else, but your lips close within seconds after the thought has passed by you, and you swallow it. He wonders what he could have learned about you if you had allowed yourself to say what you were truly thinking when the words first left your mouth. You’re holding back, and it is audible. It might even be visible. Your cheeks are running hot. 

Matt nods. He doesn’t question you. Your beliefs are yours. Most of the time, he doesn’t even believe that there is a God himself. 

“It’s hard to keep the faith in this world, especially when you work so hard every day trying to save people’s lives. When you are forced to see what the system does to those who can’t defend themselves over and over again, but you can’t do anything about it. Or when you see what people do to each other. I mean, the cruelty of human beings is unmatched, and it makes you wonder if God is just a sadist, or if maybe he isn’t even real because a gracious God wouldn’t let innocent children die,” you cut yourself off in an instant, and he tilts his head toward you in surprise. 

Your breath shudders. “I… I’ve seen too much bad to believe that there is an all-merciful God,” you say. “So I simply don’t.”

You try to meet his eyes, but all you see is your reflection in the red of his rounded glasses. Your heart breaks a little, he can hear it. Your shoulders slump. You’re defeated.

He isn’t sure how to react to that. How to help. How to be a decent human being. Matt just doesn’t have the answers you need, and it makes him question his own faith for a minute. Not that he has ever not questioned it; his relationship with God is as complicated as it gets.

You catch yourself after a moment of staring into the void of his glasses. “But… that’s my opinion. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Matt says.

You were smiling, and now you’re not anymore. He doesn’t like that. He liked it more when you were more open with him. Your legs have moved back to your chest, your arms clinging to them. You’ve retreated. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. The edge in your voice breaks his heart. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I get it. Injustice…it’s a parasite. I’ve encountered my fair share of good people who deserved better than what they got. You try and you fail over and over again because the world isn't fair. I’d be the last person to judge you for not sharing my beliefs.” He breaks off in a chuckle. “I'm not that kind of guy.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “What is that you do again?” You didn’t ask that question before.

“I’m a lawyer,” he states. “Defense attorney.”

“Wow,” you let out a soft puff of air, “And you chose to go to Metro General instead of jumping on the big money train to the Upper East Side?” 

Although your tone is joking, Matt can tell that there is an ounce of truth in your words.  

He hides his laugh behind a cough. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or if he actually finds that assumption hilarious. Maybe a bit of both.

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I have never even been in the same station as the big money train.”

“Oh?”

“No. We, my partner and I, do pro-bono work. We don't get paid for our services. Well, other than baked goods and overdue bills in the mail, of course.”

You chuckle. “That’s a relief. Not so much for your bank account, but ethically.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for assuming. That was prejudiced of me,” you say. “I’m not trying to judge you. I’m sorry. Rich or not, it’s none of my business.”

Matt shrugs. “It's okay. Lawyers and doctors are the two professions so many think make millions of Dollars a year, and while that may be the case for a few, a lot of us just… don’t,” he says.

“Amen! If I had a drink, I’d toast to that.”

“Yeah, well, an intoxicated doctor would not fare well in the legal sense.”

“You think that would end my career?”

“I can’t even give you good legal advice other than, don’t.”

Your giggle turns into a laugh. “Thank you for the advice, counselor.”

He joins in. “Anytime.” 

For a moment, only the two of you exist. Matt adjusts his position, but he doesn’t take his bruised ribs into account. His wince is barely audible, yet you notice it in an instant. And when his hair slips, you can see the gash on his forehead. The one he tried to stitch up himself but probably did an awful job at concealing. 

Your eyes narrow in concern. “What happened to you?” your voice barely breeches the sound barrier. 

“Oh, nothing,” he tries to shrug it off. “Just an accident.”

“An accident?”

“I am blind, you know. I tripped, hit my head. It happens.”

“Hm.” Much to his surprise, you don’t press him further. Instead, you gently reach out to brush the sweaty strand of hair from his face that he used to cover up the aftermath of his latest endeavor. 

Now that he thinks about it, his ribs really do hurt. He’s sure nothing is broken, but they are severely bruised. Even he can feel the blood pooling under the skin. 

You bite your lip, not wanting to pry. The urge is obvious to him, but only to him. You’re good at your job. You focus on the task at hand. That is probably why you became a doctor in the first place; to help people, not to pry. 

But Matt Murdock doesn’t need help. 

“It’s fine,” he assures you. 

You nod. “I believe you.”

You don’t. You’re lying. He appreciates the effort though. You try your best at making him feel comfortable and welcome. Asking questions would only drive him away; you wouldn’t be able to satiate your pathological need to help. It’s who you are.

“Whoever patched this up did a terrible job,” you say, “and I don’t want to know who did it because if you tell me it was you, I will lose my mind, so, I choose to believe you for the sake of my own sanity.”

His lips part in a soft laugh. “Yeah, you don't wanna know,” he says.

“Can I fix it?"

He opens his mouth to decline, “You don’t have to, I–”

“Please.” 

There is no arguing with you, it seems.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway. One of the drawers in the cart across from the bed slides open at your touch. Matt can hear the distinct crinkle of packaging and the clanking of metal. When you return to his side, your steps are a little heavier. 

“I’m going to clean the wound and then apply a butterfly bandage to help the skin grow back together,” you explain. “The cut isn't that deep, but you must’ve hit your head pretty hard when you fell. I can’t force you to get a head CT, so… If you experience any nausea or neurological deficits in the next few days, you should come back to run some tests. But—and that is not my expert medical opinion because I don’t have the tests to back it up—I think it should be fine to heal on its own.”

“Any other advice, Doc?” he jokes. 

“Well, I can’t give the same good news about your bruised ribs.” You only have to place your hand on his side and his lips come to press tightly together. “I’m guessing third and fourth,” you say. “If one of them is fractured, it makes you run at risk for internal bleeding, but to see the extent of your injuries, we’d have to get an MRI. That is not my call to make. I can’t force you to get your battle scars checked out, I can just advise you to think about it. Really think about it.”

Matt sighs. His laughter has long died. “I know.”

He doesn’t want to repeat himself. He’s fine. He has to pretend that he’s fine because he doesn’t have time for doctors or questions. Neither you nor the law can protect him from the damage that the truth would do. 

You’re disappointed, but you swallow your pride. With delicate precision, you start cleaning the wound on his forehead, the cotton swab dabbing at the dried blood. He winces at the sting of antiseptic, a subtle twitch in response to the pain.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Matt manages a half-smile. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse.”

That doesn’t make you feel better, but you accept it. You’ve learned to respect your patients’ wishes, even if that means swallowing a lie. 

As you work, your fingers graze over his skin with a careful tenderness. It’s a stark contrast to the harshness of the world he navigates outside—a double-edged sword. If he doesn’t go out there, more people die or get hurt. He would sustain the same injuries over and over again and almost die rather than pretend that evil isn’t lurking right outside his window every night. And there is a bigger storm brewing in the distance, one he isn’t fully prepared for. 

Yet.

You finish cleaning the wound and proceed to carefully apply a fresh bandage. Matt can feel the cool adhesive against his skin. Your touch is soothing, almost comforting, and he allows himself to relax.

“There,” you announce softly. “All patched up.”

Matt lifts his hand to touch the bandage, a habit he developed over the years to reassure himself that someone cared enough to tend to his wounds. “Thank you,” he answers. 

“No biggie.” You shrug with a tiny smile, and that makes him smile, too. It shows him that while you are displeased with his lack of respect for himself and his health, you aren’t mad at him. You just care.

The shrill beeping of your pager tears a headache through his skull.

You curse under your breath. “I’m so sorry,” you say as you skim over the text that has been sent to you. “The, uh—the ER needs me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly responds. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go. Save a life!”

You’re reluctant at first, but then your lips curl into a broader, more genuine smile, and in the heat of the moment, you grab his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew,” you say. “Take care of yourself.” 

Your footsteps retreat and your heartbeat gets fainter as you walk down the hallway. He’s speechless. He doesn’t even remember how to say goodbye. 

“Oh, and do me a favor?” You stop momentarily just to ask him, “Get those ribs checked out?”

His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish on dry land. “Sure,” he says. 

“Thank you,” these are your last words to him before you take off running. 

Both of you know though that once he is out of Metro General and on his way home, he won’t come back. Not for himself, at least. And it is something you have to accept as much as he has to accept the fact that you are long gone, off to save a life in the very four walls that seemed so scary to him all alone only fifteen minutes ago.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @littlehappyperson @danzer8705

[maple-seed]

Loki Fic Recommendations

For those who don't know, I have a side blog where I post fic recs, @maple-seed-reads

However, I haven't had much time recently to read, I've been focusing on writing instead. Therefore the queue on that blog is currently empty.

I've been feeling a little guilty about that so I decided to make a post here highlighting my favorite authors. I'm linking my favorite stories but you should check out their blogs/masterlists because they all have a variety of stories, if you don't like my suggestion there's probably something else there that you will.

Some of these authors have 18+ content, please respect their tags/notes.

@maiden-of-asgard is currently on hiatus. Her story Frostbite (18+) is widely known but I'd be remiss if I didn't mention it just in case. I'm also in love with the in-progress It's Rotten Work.

@grufflepuff-writes-stuff has a series of soft fics called Loki's Lullabies, which currently has 251 entries. Yes, you read that correctly, 251. Three digits. If you put a gun to my head and asked me to choose a favorite I would still have to change my mind a dozen times, so I'm going to say Cast the Shadows Away and leave it at that. Rest assured, virtually any sweet, soft flavor you are craving can be found somewhere in that series. (Also, those looking for 18+ recommendations should read Catch Fire, Burn the Stars)

@writingfics-passingtime and @just-another-blog-of-fluff, JJ and Jessa, are the dynamic duo of tickle fics. Even if you're not particularly into tickling (I'm not) you should check them out. Their stories are well-crafted and definitely worth the read. Very fluffy, sometimes a little serious, always sweet and wonderful. Favorite from JJ: Understanding Favorite from Jessa: A Startling Realization (I just realized both of those recs are 10k+, if you want shorter fics they have those too.) BONUS: Last year they collaborated on a Christmas fic, A Reason to Celebrate

@munsons-maiden has shifted focus to Eddie Munson, but her Loki fics are still here. You may have to fiddle with the url due to blog name change but it's worth it and not difficult to do. Favorite: Like He Does

@michelleleahhh has an incredible enemies-to-lovers slow burn called Broken Crown (18+) that's filled with mystery and intrigue.

@give-me-a-moose is also on a writing hiatus. You should check out her series, By Hook or by Crook (18+), I am so in love with how in love those two characters are.

@cake-writes has a couple spicy in-progress series that I'm excited for. Dutiful Disaster (18+) is one I recommend if you want to see a couple dummies who think they hate each other but actually obviously don't.

@sarahscribbles has many fics worth reading but my current favorite is Dancing With the Devil (18+), it is a wonderful blend of sweet and spicy.

@silver-tongued-bby - I don't typically read AUs where Loki isn't an Asgardian god, but something about her fic Trouble (18+) drew me in. If you're looking for something different she has several AU fics to check out.

That's all for now. If you think you know something I'd like based on this feel free to drop it in the comments. One day I'll get around to reading again, lol.

[ngkiscool]

Next please

The weekly prompt of @flashfictionfridayofficial was FFF202 The Devil You Forgot

Fandom: Lucifer (Good Omens if you squint), 830 words, no cw

"Next please!" My station was empty, but no one approached it. On the one hand, if offered me a few seconds of relatively rest, but on the other hand, if forced me to shout. Can't be seen resting, not during the rush hour at the Higher Ground.

It was noon of a rather lovely day, finally a sunny day after a week of showers. People strolled in the street, couples shared brief kisses when they thought no one was looking, even the people with the really expensive suits walked a bit slower and enjoyed the rare weather.

Warm beams of sun filtered through the curtains and shed light on the coffee shop, colouring the place with picturesque shades. It also nearly blinded me unless I squinted, despite the many, many times I asked the manager to fix the curtains.

The queue was longer than I've seen in a long time, and not just because of the weather. As if the regular costumers weren't enough, there was a reinforcement – people from the comic con just around the corner.

All day long, I had to deal with costumers who gave me the most unusual names and throw a tantrum if I spelled their name wrong. Some, God forbid, had even asked me which costume they were wearing, and seemed genuinely hurt when I hadn't recognized which TV show it was from.

Honestly, I don't have anything against adult people who dress up as creatures who only exist in a fantasy world. Some of the costumes were pretty, and it was clear that making them required a lot of time and skills. But, just like I don't go around and show my latest sewing art to bus drivers, I don't pay too much attention to my clients' costumes. All I want from them is place a not complicated order and leave a big tip. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Next in line!" I called again, a bit louder this time, and it worked. A costumer approached me, and I started the usual drill of taking their order. Things went smoothly, or as smooth as can be expected when one orders coffee, and I started to relax. Maybe that costumer will act normal through our whole interaction, and won't demand me to guess what was his costume.

It was a good one, I'll give them that. The suit was expensive looking, but nothing a person of means can't find easily. The wings, thought, they looked almost real. They were white, and big, each feature moved separately, and the wings even moved in coordination with his shoulders. Even after seeing a parade of costumes all day long, they seemed special. Like I said, I'm not interested in cosplays myself, but as an artist (and yes, sewing is an art, thank-you-very-much) I can appreciate craftsmanship when I see one.

Usually, people love to get compliments on their costumes, but something vibed weird with this person, so I decided to refrain from commenting. The opportunity, thought, rose when he finished the order, and I asked for his name. The voice matched his outfit – silken, strong, and confident.

"Lucifer".

"I see you are really in the character, even the wings and everything!"

"In character?" A red glint shone in his eyes, gone before I had the chance to complain about the curtains. Maybe if the manages received complaints from customers, not just employees, he would do something about it. One can only hope.

"Yes, with the wings and everything. Very impressive, if you don't mind me saying. Are you participating in the cosplay contest? I'm sure you will win first place."

"Cosplay?"

The temperature in the coffee shop dropped suddenly, and I shivered despite being all hot from being near the oven. The air conditioner hadn't changed, and it didn't look like the other clients had noticed it. Weird.

"Never mind, it's been a long day. I'll just make the order, and here is a piece of lemon cake, on the house".

At last, the coffee was ready, the cake packaged and together napkin and utensils, the take-away bag was handed to him. Our fingers touched briefly, and I felt a chill running through my body, but it was very short. Long day indeed.

I turned to clean the coffee machine, and when I finished and turned to the till again, I was surprised to find a twenty note on it. It was unexpected for two reasons: firstly, it was quite a large sum, as usually people left a fiver or a tenner. Twenty was very rare. Secondly, and even more unusual, was the fact that I hadn't served any costumer in the past few minutes.

Anyway, as my experience at costumer service taught me not to question money, I took the note. Attached to it was a small, white feather, but that hadn't helped to explain how it got there.

Confused, I shook my head, and got back to my work. "Next please!"

[widowshill]

navigation.

MUSES.

THE MATRIARCH. elizabeth collins stoddard. dark shadows. dossier. ic. THE PRODIGAL. roger collins. dark shadows. dossier. ic. THE GOVERNESS. victoria winters. dark shadows. dossier. ic. verses. THE LOVER. josette dupres. dark shadows. dossier. ic. THE SAILOR. lt. nathan forbes. dark shadows. dossier. ic. request: THE BYRONIC. captain bartholomew gore. the haunted mansion. dossier. ic. THE PROPRIETRESS. eleanor guthrie. black sails. dossier. ic. THE STARLET. magdalena temor. tower of terror. oc. dossier. ic.

BLOG NAV.

➤ meme. ┊ have your ghosts been talking to you? ➤ meme responses. ┊ boo ! ➤ answered. ┊ Collinsport 4099. ➤ edits & art. ┊ the evans cottage art gallery. ➤ atmosphere. ┊ welcome to the beginning and the end of the world. ➤ queue. ┊ the devils of a forgotten time have found their home. ➤ ooc. ┊ she’s nauseous，she’s hysterical，and she’s exhausted. ➤ music. ┊ the blue whale jukebox.

CHARACTER TAGS.

➤ roger collins. ┊ I and my ghosts want a drink. ➤ elizabeth collins stoddard. ┊ I belong to the house. the house belongs to me. ➤ victoria winters. ┊ because she’s lost and lonely. because she looks in shadows. ➤ josette dupres. ┊ it was a scent，not just any，it was hers: jasmine，seabreeze mixed. ➤ lieutenant nathan forbes. ┊ to death，the best of all possible worlds. ➤ captain bartholomew gore. ┊ there is no world beyond，it seems，only the waves and the wind. ➤ magdalena temor. ┊ I am queen of all my sins forgotten. am I still lost? once I was beautiful. now I am myself. ➤ eleanor guthrie. ┊ and it does not prosper，that sort of love. the love that a man can bear for his soil，his little kingdom.

RELATIONSHIPS: ROGER.

➤ roger collins & victoria winters. ┊ pain sometimes precedes pleasure，miss winters. ➤ roger collins & burke devlin. ┊ call me a sinner，mock me maliciously; I was your sleeplessness，I was your grief. ➤ roger collins & david collins. ┊ when the foundation’s laid so badly the whole house tilts，the sons inherit … grief. ➤ roger collins & elizabeth collins stoddard. ┊ how can I? these walls are my skin. this room is my heart. besides，I have a sister. ➤ roger collins & laura murdoch collins. ┊ to tell me that I had already a wife is empty mockery. ➤ roger collins & cassandra blair collins. ┊ incapable of love，of tenderness，of decency. she was not even normal. ➤ roger collins & carolyn stoddard. ┊ I didn’t know you had the choice.

RELATIONSHIPS: VICTORIA.

➤ burke devlin & victoria winters. ┊ look at me，what a soft thing i have become. so much of me is about you now. ➤ barnabas collins & victoria winters. ┊ I live in your warm life，and you shall die––die，sweetly die––into mine. ➤ maximilian de winter & victoria winters. ┊ I do love him so … his dreadful energy，and his blind，frustrated rages. ➤ anthony j. crowley & victoria winters. ┊ because I prayed this word: I want. ➤ victoria winters & carolyn stoddard. ┊ here，alone with you，I can’t pretend. ➤ victoria winters & david collins. ┊ the important thing is you and me. ➤ victoria winters & maggie evans. ┊ we rise graceful and resilient as flowers growing through the stone. ➤ arc: mrs. collins. ┊ collinwood will always mean home to me.

RELATIONSHIPS: ELIZABETH.

➤ elizabeth collins stoddard & annette ‘ned’ calder. ┊ only in that one way. ➤ elizabeth collins stoddard & betty hanscombe. ┊ death always comes more than once. every wound is both itself and its reflection. ➤ elizabeth collins stoddard & carolyn stoddard. ┊ persephone belonged to her mother. that was demeter’s gift to herself.

RELATIONSHIPS: JOSETTE

➤ josette dupres & jeremiah collins. ┊ learn the rapture of that cruelty，which yet is love. ➤ josette dupres & barnabas collins. ┊ but to die as lovers may –– to die together，so that they may live together. ➤ victoria winters & josette dupres. ┊ the dead after all，do not walk backwards but they do walk behind us.

AFFILIATIONS.

➤ collinwood. ┊ then who shall tear the curse from their blood? the house is glued to ruin. ➤ re: barnabas collins. ┊ luring me to a past that never was. this is the treachery. ➤ re: dr. julia hoffman. ┊ you're not blessed，or divine，or burdened. you're a science experiment. ➤ re: maggie evans. ┊ a peach tree growing in a coffee can. ➤ re: angélique bouchard collins. ┊ lovely-eyed. death-touched. witch. ➤ re: nicholas blair. ┊ I hate to bother you，but I am talking about evil. it blooms. it eats. it grins. ➤ re: burke devlin. ┊ I am stranded in a hungerland of great prosperity. ➤ re: carolyn stoddard. ┊ never the same girl twice. ➤ re: david collins. ┊ he's just been afflicted with the family disease. he's been seeing ghosts. ➤ re: laura murdoch collins. ┊ I want to watch a girl on fire with ruin on her lips. I want to see everything burn. ➤ re: joe haskell. ┊ on two wheels in the land of vampires. ➤ re: chris jennings. ┊ the wolfsong is the sound of the rending you will suffer，in itself a murdering. ➤ re: bill malloy. ┊ just the water. it pays us，and then it claims us，swallows us whole. ➤ re: quentin collins. ┊ merely a man of larger expectations than life has hitherto offered me. ➤ re: paul stoddard. ┊ then mourn not for thy husband's loss too much，nor waste thyself away.

[alexandreakarev]

This is a BLOG SET UP tag drop.  Wishlist, answered, promos, about blog, permanent starter call, stats are all tags under the cut. This tag set up are different quotes for all the tags in this section.

* … ( OOC : ramblings. ) › ❝ she has a mouth like unswept glass. it will CUT you when you least expect it. ❞ * … ( OOC : ooc answered. ) › ❝ you have the words to change a nation and yet? you’ve been BITING your tongue. ❞ * … ( OOC : about the mun. ) › ❝ she has kind of said too much. and you’ve said ENOUGH. promise that she is just another narcissist. ❞ * … ( OOC : original poetry. ) › ❝ prefers her work to be RECOGNISED rather than hidden. either way? she won’t go speechless. ❞ * … ( OOC : self promo. ) › ❝ a little self-promo featured on the dash never really KILLED anyone. has it? ❞ * … ( OOC : promo. ) › ❝ the best people completely DESERVING of all of your love & attention on shining spotlights of their own. ❞ * … ( OOC : musings. ) › ❝ she is brave and STRONG and broken all at once. ❞ * … ( OOC : nsfw. ) › ❝ mascara runnin’ and lipstick smudged. wearing a red wine stained dress with a hint of the DEVIL in her eyes. ❞ * … ( OOC : desires. ) › ❝ took her hours just to do her makeup right. if you’re the reason it gets ruined she’ll be PISSED tonight. ❞ * … ( OOC : wanted plots. ) › ❝ wish I never hung up the phone like I did. WISH you knew that I’d never forget you as long as I live. ❞ * … ( OOC : wishlist. ) › ❝ let a shooting star run across a MIDNIGHT sky. throw a coin into a wishing well. make a wish now. ❞ * … ( OOC : ask meme. ) › ❝ she hates playing MIND games but yet continues pulling and pushing. loving you is a losing game. ❞ * … ( OOC : about blog. ) › ❝ doesn’t start with once upon a time. you know what she’ll introduce the LEGACY with? always and forever. ❞ * … ( OOC : plotting starter call. ) › ❝ handle it? are you kidding? she’s the master of SKILLFULLY planning the next tactical moves. ❞ * … ( OOC : statistics. ) › ❝ you and me got a whole lot of history. so does it ever drive you CRAZY just how fast the night changes? ❞ * … ( OOC : templates. ) › ❝ your lack of proper organisation causes her serious DISTRESS beyond what you could possibly fathom. ❞ * … ( OOC : credits. ) › ❝ the ABSOLUTE best lifesaving content creators. ❞ … ( OOC : all headcanons. ) › ❝ fact is deleted scenes should’ve made canon. would take over CONTROL of her original narrative. ❞ * … ( OOC : all replies. ) › ❝ written in these walls are the STORIES that I can’t explain. leave my heart open but it stays here empty. ❞ * … ( OOC : all answered. ) › ❝ watch out for a furious writer with a vocabulary of sharpened CONVICTION and quills in her arsenal. ❞ * … ( OOC : all edits. ) › ❝ nobody remembers the easy. they REMEMBER the blood, sweat and tears shed on the journey. ❞ * … ( OOC : reblogged. ) › ❝ don’t play the person. play to rig the game of the unfair system. and BREAK through the walls of it. ❞ * … ( OOC : reshared. ) › ❝ she’ll intend to keep these polaroids with her CAPTIONED signature to remember for when she’s grey. ❞ * … ( OOC : psa. ) › ❝ thank you next. in ADVANCE? you’re welcome. ❞ * … ( OOC : verses. ) › ❝ mayhaps in another world things would’ve been DIFFERENT. and I could’ve made you stay. ❞ * … ( OOC : verse drop. ) › ❝ she wants to be your midnights. are we out of the woods yet? tell me where do broken hearts go. ❞ * … ( OOC : queue. ) › ❝ just called to say this is the LAST you’ll be hearing from me. ‘cause now i’ve moved on. ❞

[nightlament]

Ursula K. Le Guin, Six Quatrains

[killrate]

“Of course I worry about you. You’re important to me.” /Rogue! ❤️

♡ @takusanno

Oh, he is such a darling. He doesn’t even try, but he has her feeling butterflies so effortlessly. He has no idea of what he does to her - that much, she’s sure of.

He says it with so much seriousness in his tone. There is no room for their back-and-forth banter. Not this time.

Mary turns back towards him, smiling, and closes the small gap between them. She reaches for him, and cups his face delicately between her hands.

❝You don’t have to worry about me so much, you know?❞ She rubs her thumb against his cheek gently, and withdraws her hands, clasping them behind her back.

❝I love that you do care,❞ and she truly hopes that her words do not sound like some half-assed confession, because timidness is not her style, and if she’s ever going to ruin their friendship, then she wants it to go up in flames. ❝But I’m a big girl, I’ve been taking good care of myself for a long time. Trust me.❞ She giggles, reaching for her scarf & adjusting it around her neck - before she forgets it and leaves it behind again.

❝Rest. You’ve barely stopped today...❞ She suggests, but reaches into her purse to tap on her lacrima communication’s screen. 9:24 PM.

It is late. And it’s a bit cold outside... 

The witch sighs, and pulls her scarf off, after having just put it on. ❝On second thought... It is a little too chilly outside right now... And it’s late... I’ll just stop by the shop in the morning.❞ She decides, removing her coat, too. She kicks her shoes off, and picks them up to leave them by the door, before returning to the couch.

❝It’s a little cold in here, too,❞ she bluffs. ❝Come warm up with me?❞

[unhxngxd]

@dontcxckitup​ | Mercy Starter !

"Did you know, statistically speaking, you’re more likely to die from airplane food than a plane crash?” The comment came seemingly out of nowhere as the row of people were handed their dinners, a far cry from the last few hours where she had sat in silence, headphones pressed to her ears. In fact, it was the first comment Mercy had made the entire flight, speaking with a glance at her seat partner and a playful grin. 

“Nearly four times as likely, actually. Food poisoning is one in three million, but a plane crash has the odds of one in eleven million. Pretty neat, right?” And the morbidity of the fact seemed to match perfectly with her attire, the heavy gothic makeup and long black coat, earrings that looked suspiciously like bones and spikes on her collar, all already making her stick out like a sore thumb. 

“Of course, you’re also significantly more likely to get stabbed.” Said as she opened her plastic cutlery, the flimsy blade humouring her words. “But I don’t think these knives could cut a bread roll, let alone a person.”

[libxrtaspxpuli]

Daemons

Under the cut are each of my muses’ daemons in the His Dark Materials Universe, both form once they’ve settled and what they’re called

Leonardo- Owl called Leauna

Lorenzo- Lioness called Luluja

Giuliano- Capuchin Monkey called Calithea

Nico- Ermine called Aesina

Zoroaster- Fox called Serilda

Riario- Panther called Zita

Carlo- Burmese Python called Gaia

Amelia- Lion called Aslan

Giulio- Beagle called Morgana

Madame Singh- Golden Lion Tamarin called Icarus

Sophia- Deer called Merlin

Zita- Lynx called Sylph

Cosimo- White Wolf called Anna-Maria

Lucrezia Maria- Brown Bear called Abayen

Contessina Beatrice- Siberian Husky called Bremh

Luisa- Friesian Horse called Tronnal

Contessina Antonia- Parrot called Loki

Ima Kama- Ring-tailed Lemur called Dionysus

Vanessa- Chameleon called Demitri

Al-Rahim- Tigress called Ori

[pilothusband]

All Hail The King

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: Alcohol, oral sex, p in v sex, praise kink. I’m a horny bitch, okay? This is purely indulgent.

Word count: 5k

Author’s note: Special thanks to @wyn-dixie​ for reading this over before I posted it and for enabling this filth. ❤️ This idea entered my brain randomly and I had to write it out. Please let me know what you think! I want your feedback. If I had Photoshop I would have made an edit of Frankie with a crown for this but I don’t have it so here’s this gif instead.

The bar is humming with activity, but the table you’re nestled at in the back provides enough shelter to allow you all to converse without having to yell at each other.

You’ve been nursing a glass of water for a while now, since you’re the designated driver this week. It doesn’t bother you, though— you’re just happy to be out with your friends.

Every once in a while you steal a glance over at Frankie, who’s sitting diagonally across the table, next to Santiago who is directly across from you. Benny is to your left, his large body crowding you into the wall, and his brother Will is at the head of the table.

“Hey Fish,” Benny claps a hand on his shoulder. The force of his hand jostles Frankie’s solid body backwards a little, but to his credit he doesn’t flinch. “How are things with that girl you were seeing? Jennessa? Jennifer?”

You take a sip of your water and look down at the table to mask your interest at the sudden change in conversation.

“Jessica,” Frankie clears his throat. “They aren’t. We didn’t have much in common so she broke it off after a few dates.”

Queue the internal cheering. Jessica was a bit of a wet mop, to be honest. She never had anything to say when Frankie brought her around and she would scoff at everything that was slightly unsavory in her eyes. Deep down, you had to come to terms with the jealous twinge you felt in your gut every time she would squeeze Frankie’s shoulder affectionately, her immaculately manicured nails pressed harshly into his jacket.

“I’m sorry, Fish,” Benny said, slinging his arm around the man, the clumsy movement knocking his hat slightly askew. “Her loss, brother.”

“Here here,” Santi agrees, raising his bottle in the air. “To the king!”

Benny cheers clinks his bottle against Santiago’s echoing his sentiment. Will huffs out a laugh and Frankie groans, hiding his face in his hands.

You gape at the two men in question, but they just giggle like a couple of school girls.

“I didn’t realize I was in the presence of royalty,” you say, trying to figure out what they’re talking about. You look over at Frankie as he takes an impatient sip from his drink.

Benny just about spits out a mouthful of beer onto the table.

“Shut the fuck up, guys.” Frankie warns his friends. “Seriously.” Santi and Benny give him an innocent look. Will focuses his gaze on the bottle he’s holding, picking at the paper label, damp and curling at the edges from condensation .

Santiago leans towards you, his breath hot in your ear.

“We call him the pussy eating king.”

You thank the powers above you weren’t mid-sip, because the choked sound that emits from your throat was both involuntary and sudden. Heat blossoms in your stomach and your thighs clench together as you make eye contact with Frankie. He looks away nervously, embarrassed even. 

“So was this a self coronation or..” You trail off, grinning at the flush on Frankie’s cheeks.

“It was that really talkative chick he was seeing for a while,” Benny says, turning to you. “Brianna?”

“Brenda,” Frankie sighs.

“So Brenda crowned you the pussy eating king?” You ask Frankie, who still refuses to meet your eyes.

He grumbles in response, waving off the subject.

“Yeah, she went on about it in detail for the whole night one time. I think you were away for a work trip or something” Santiago is absolutely smirking, loving the way Frankie is physically shrinking under the group’s attention. “Come on Fish, don’t be so modest. You’re a beast in the sack, it’s a good thing!”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You remember why you weren’t there. It was because you couldn’t stand seeing Frankie so happy with another woman, so you feigned sick.

“Well, I can see why things with Brenda didn’t last,” you respond, knowing Frankie was kind of a private guy. “But hey, at least she can tell all her friends she got the royal treatment while it lasted.”

Benny, Santiago and even Will all roar with laughter, fists banging raucously on the table. Frankie huffs out an embarrassed laugh, despite himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” he takes a swig of his beer, emptying it. “I need another drink.”

“Hey Ben, what time is your fight next week again?” Will calls over to his brother. You’re grateful for the change of subject. Frankie’s had enough torture for one night and you aren’t sure how many more details about Frankie’s sexual prowess your nether regions can take.

Benny turns towards Will to talk about his upcoming match and you take a sip from your glass to try to hide how flustered you’re feeling. Did this bar get hot all of a sudden?

The glass lands back down with a dull thump and you look up to find Santiago studying you, his eyebrow raised.

“What?” You don’t mean to sound aggressive, but his gaze is unnerving, as if he’s trying to suss out something you’re hiding.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” He smirks and tips up his beer, taking a long gulp. You roll your eyes at him and look down to pick at your nails.

A few moments later, Frankie returns with a fresh beer and you can feel Santiago turning his face in your direction again to read your body language. You school your reaction, fingers digging painfully into your pint glass. Sometimes Pope is too fucking nosy for his own good.

He must lose interest after a moment though, because he turns his attention back to Benny, who’s still talking about his upcoming fight.

The topic doesn’t come up again, thankfully, and you’ve dropped all the boys off at their separate destinations, save for Frankie, who lives the closest to you.

The car ride alone with him isn’t as tense as you were expecting, since his tongue has been loosened with the fair amount of alcohol he’s had tonight. You both chat easily about the upcoming week and how much you’re dreading going back to work on Monday.

You can’t resist one smart remark though, as you pull up to Frankie’s house.

“Your castle awaits, my liege,” you quip, trying and failing to hide your amused smile as you look over at him.

Frankie throws his head back and laughs freely, opening the car door with a wink.

“Goodnight, my queen,” he bows exaggeratedly before shutting the car door.

The butterflies don’t tamp down until you’re securely inside your own apartment, locking the door behind you.

That night was a month ago, which means it’s been a whole fucking month since your brain flew the coop. Every time Frankie does just about anything with his mouth, everything else around you ceases to exist.

Take last Thursday, for example. Frankie dropped by after work to help you change your porch light, since the fixture is too heavy and the light is too high up to easily reach.

He steps up the ladder with ease, unscrewing the fixture and holding it with his left hand. He puts the screwdriver in his mouth so he can hold onto the ladder as he gingerly hands you the fixture. You grab onto it and hand him the replacement bulb so he can swap them out.

He gets the lightbulb in and gestures towards you to hand the fixture back, which he screws back in before stepping down.

“Blegh,” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, an action that has your last two brain cells screeching to a halt. “Screwdrivers taste awful.” 

His statement is cute, self-deprecating, and you try to respond appropriately but all you can do is gape at him like a fish out of water.

‘Get your shit together, he’s wiping off the taste of rust, not your pussy,’ you try to mentally shake yourself out of your stupor, but it does no good.

He turns back towards his toolbox to drop the screwdriver in and close the lid.

“All set,” he says, dusting off his jeans. He sounds a little uneasy, probably because you’re acting like a complete weirdo.

“Thank you so much, Frankie. I really appreciate it.” You find your manners and pull him in for a hug, secretly reveling in how good he smells.

“Any time,” he tells you as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes softly.

Before he pulls away you make a spur of the moment decision, and reach up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. He’s so impossibly warm and so inviting, you can feel your heart flutter in your chest. The sparse hairs on his face tickle your chin. 

Frankie clears his throat and ducks his head down, mumbling a hurried goodbye before he heads back to his truck, toolbox in hand. You don’t miss the way his lips are turned up and the crows feet make an appearance in the corner of his eyes, nor do you miss the brilliant flush that spreads over his face and down his neck.

It’s Saturday now and your torment knows no end. You decide you’re too tired to go out and opt to invite the guys over for a movie night, to which they all agree. 

You decide you’ll just have to look away every time Frankie takes a sip of a drink, or eats a handful of popcorn. Or God forbid, if he licks his lips.

The group chat has been a nightmare, with everyone trying to come up with a movie to watch. Benny wants to watch The Expendables, Will mentioned something about wanting to see Dunkirk for ages now and Santi is playing devil’s advocate, disagreeing with all of their choices but not coming up with one of his own.

Frankie has been quiet in the chat, besides initially agreeing to come over initially.

It’s 9:00 PM, you have a 30 rack of beers in the fridge and some popcorn set out for everyone. All you have to do now is wait for the guys to arrive. Your phone chimes with a notification from Benny.

Benny and the Jets 🥊: Sorry lady, I got called in for a last minute practice. Raincheck?

Ironhead 🦸🏼: I gotta duck out too. The lady wants to have a date night. Sorry!

You type out a reply to them, a little disappointed but bidding them a good night all the same.

A knock sounds on the door and you rush over to answer it. The door swings open to reveal Frankie, wearing the softest looking navy blue hoodie you’ve ever seen, along with his Standard Oil cap. He looks as unsure as ever, holding a bottle of red wine.

You chirp an over-enthusiastic greeting, internally cringe at it, and step aside to welcome him in.

“I know you like red wine, so I got some for you on the way here. I hope it’s the kind you like.”

You accept the wine and look at the label. It’s a California Zinfandel. You can’t believe he remembered your favorite wine.

“I love it, thank you so much.” You pull him into a hug, nuzzling into the soft material of his sweatshirt. He returns the hug just as enthusiastically, pulling away to kiss your forehead.

“Is Santiago on his way?” You ask, padding into the kitchen to grab a glass from your cabinet. “Do you want a glass? Or I have some beer if you’d prefer.”

“Beer is perfect, thanks,” he says a little breathily as he looks over at you. “Santiago said something came up and that he’s sorry.”

Something feels a little fishy with the three of them ducking out all at the same time, but you don’t mention it as you hand him a beer and search through your drawer for a bottle opener. A few minutes later, you’re both set up on the couch and are scrolling through Netflix for a movie.

“I have no idea what to watch. Do you?”

“Want to watch Civil War? I know the guys will bitch we’re continuing the rewatch without them but they can deal.”

You tip your head back and laugh, navigating over to your Disney+ app.

Frankie takes off his hat and sets it aside while you spread a blanket over your laps, braving a chance to scoot closer to him. He takes the hint and wraps his arm behind your shoulders, nestling you closer to his chest. You settle in and try to pay attention to the movie, despite the wild fluttering that is taking place in your stomach.

Frankie shifts uncomfortably and winces a little. You can tell he’s trying to hide it, but little does he know you’ve been watching every single movement he makes like a hawk. Or a nervous lap dog.

“Does your back hurt? I can move,” you start to get up but Frankie grabs onto your wrist and pulls you back in.

“No, stay. I just need to find a comfortable position.”

You make a soft noise of surprise when he lifts you up and pulls you towards him, settling back so he’s spread out on the couch. You’re settled on top of him, your legs stretched out over his with your back to the cushion, half draped over his torso.

This position has your heart thumping hard in your chest. His face was just a few inches from yours. All he’d have to do is tilt his face towards yours, and you’d be practically kissing.

Focusing on the movie is harder than ever. Your left hand rests on Frankie’s chest and your right is near his head. Without even thinking, you reach out and start stroking your fingers through his soft curls. He hums contentedly, the pleasant sound rumbling through his chest.

A hand makes its way up your arm leaving goosebumps in its wake, landing on your shoulder.

You brave a glance at Frankie and feel your heart stutter in your chest when you realize he’s been looking at you. His eyes are as dark as ever, twinkling against the flicker of your TV.

He closes the gap and captures your lips in a tender kiss. His lips are warm and soft, melding to yours perfectly. The brush of your mouths together is intoxicating. Your tongue darts out to lick at him and he complies, letting out a guttural moan at the sensation as your tongues meet languidly.

You shift your leg so it slots between his and both of your hands find his shoulders and squeeze them, eliciting a soft mewl from Frankie’s mouth. His hands are hot on your back and he slides one down to your ass, kneading the soft flesh over your leggings.

Your hips press into his, rutting into him, soft pants falling from your mouth– mingling with his. You need to be closer, closer, closer. He tightens his grip on your ass in response and rolls his hips so you can feel how hard he is against your belly.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, breaking the kiss, words tumbling out between his ragged breaths. 

You can feel yourself throbbing for him, wetness rushing to your core as his hushed baritone makes your head spin with need. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re convinced this is a dream. That there’s no way you’re dry humping the man of your dreams on your couch right now.

You duck down to hide your expression, not wanting to ruin the moment with your anxiety and doubt. You’ll take whatever this man gives you, even if it’s just this moment. 

You busy yourself by peppering small kisses on his neck, trailing them up to his jaw.

“Hey,” he slows your movements and holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up gently up to look at him.

“I want you. I want this. Do you?” 

You feel the urge to look away, his gaze is intense and laser-focused on you. Eye contact has never been your strong suit, so this was a lot for you to handle. But you fight the urge to flinch and stare back, searching to see if there was anything that will give away any trepidations. His expression remains hard set, serious but not unkind. It’s just like Frankie to have eyes as clear as day, giving away all of his secrets. They’re just like him— strong, unrelenting in their hardness and softness.

“Yes,” you reply. Your voice cracks a little, thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long.” 

You feel embarrassment wash over you with the admission, but Frankie doesn’t let it last long before you crushes his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He breaks it off after a moment, lips swollen and pink.

“Baby, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

He strokes a hand down your jaw, his thumb caressing your skin as a goofy smile blooms over your face.

“I want to make you feel good, baby,” he whispers, his thumb catching on the swell of your bottom lip. “Will you let me make you feel good?”

You blink and swallow heavily, a fresh wave of arousal flooding to your center as the deep rasp of his voice utters those words, smooth as caramel– dousing over you like kerosene on a fire.

You nod, not trusting your voice at this very moment.

“I need you to say it out loud, honey,” he says, his lips brushing against yours ever so lightly.

“Yes, Francisco,” you breathe out. “Make me feel good.”

He bites your bottom lip and tugs, then growls playfully before he grabs your shoulders and flips you over. You let out a delighted shriek, giggling as he lifts up the hem of your shirt and kisses every inch of skin that’s revealed.

“Wait,” you call out. He stops his movements immediately. “You first.”

Frankie grins. You want to press your fingers into the dimple that appears and feel the scratch of his beard under your nails. He leans back and lifts his sweatshirt over his head, the grey t-shirt he’s wearing sticks to the inside of it and he rolls both garments down his arms. 

His chest is bare to you now, smooth except for a smattering of hairs in the middle of his chest, and a patch leading down into his jeans. You want to reach out and run your hands down the planes of his torso and follow the path of hair,  but your arms aren’t long enough to reach. 

You remove your shirt, leaving you in your leggings and bra. It’s a soft lace number, a delicate pink with no underwire. You watch as his hungry gaze roams over your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t motion for you to take it off. Instead, he leans over you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

 He moves downwards, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your neck. He continues his path and mouths between your breasts, one of his hands reaches out to squeeze the plump flesh in his large hand. You nipple instantly pebbles under his ministrations and he pulls the fabric aside to tease it with the pad of his finger. You moan softly at the sensation and yelp in surprise when he sucks it into his mouth and bites it, soothing the sharp sting with a flick of his tongue.

 “Mmm, love how responsive you are already,” he hums, moving down. Your back arches as his mouth makes a hot trail down the rest of your torso. You look down and notice he’s left wet patches where his mouth has been, coating you in saliva and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

 He reaches the waistband of your leggings and pushes them down, letting out a strangled groan when he gets an eyeful of your panties, the same shade of pink that matches the bra you’re wearing. 

“So fucking sexy,” he breathes.

He peels your panties down your legs and pulls them off along with your leggings, leaving you completely bare from the bottom down. You start to cross your legs to hide yourself, feeling self-conscious at how exposed you are, but Frankie grabs your thigh to halt the movement.

“You better not hide this pretty pussy from me,” he says, licking his lips.

You half expect him to dive in, but he takes a moment to look at you. He’s resting a hand on your hip. His pointer finger makes a path down, tracing an invisible line up and down your slit. You hiss at the ghost of his touch and thrust your hips towards his hand, seeking out more friction.

Frankie lets out an amused chuckle at your reaction and leans forward to plant a wet kiss to your inner thigh. You let out a shaky breath in anticipation– your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest. He kisses up your thigh until he reaches the apex between your legs, then licks a stripe through your folds with the flat of his tongue, pulling a surprised gasp from your parted lips.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and you can’t help it– you buck up into his mouth and grab onto his hair and tug at the strands. He grabs onto the flesh of your hip and whimpers into your pussy. Despite being almost dizzy with need, you feel a rush of power knowing you have this effect on him.

“You taste so fucking good. So wet for me,” he punctuates his words with bold licks up and down. “Never want to stop.”

He changes patterns, making tight circles on your clit with his tongue. The sudden switch has you mewling and your legs clamp around his head involuntarily. Frankie grabs your thighs and wrenches them apart, hooking them over his shoulders as he latches onto your pussy. His hands are on your ass, holding you up as your back arches off the couch.

All you can do is scramble at the cushions below you for purchase as Frankie buries his face into your cunt, lapping at you with abandon. His tongue licks into you with an intensity you’ve never experienced before; it has you seeing stars.

You have no idea how he knows exactly how to manipulate your body to pull the pleasure from you so naturally. Every lick feels like it’s searching for treasure, every suck hits somewhere deep inside, reverberating through the muscles of your thighs and up in your abdomen.

He gently places you back down to the cushions and rubs at your entrance with his pointer finger, looking up at you for permission.

“Yes, please–“ you whimper brokenly. He complies immediately and plunges it into you, following with a second finger, and curls them up. His pace is slow at first and he flicks his tongue out to play with your clit at the same time. He’s soon spurred on by your moans and sets a brutal pace. You once again feel the urge to clamp around him to increase the pressure, but Frankie uses his broad shoulders to hold your thighs apart.

 Seeing his shoulders, bare and perspiring from his intensive movements, so wide and flushed, coupled with the furrow of his brow, his eyes pinched closed, makes something primal within you awaken. You barely have time to feel your orgasm coming before it’s hitting you– thighs shaking, back arching, hands in his hair. You don’t even realize it, but you;’re shrieking his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s groaning in reply, milking you through it with his fingers and tongue, lapping up your release, syrupy sweet and indulgent.

 He doesn’t stop until you’re flinching from overstimulation. He kisses up your body lazily, taking his time before capturing your lips. You kiss him back, licking into his mouth and tasting yourself on his tongue. He grinds into you, his jean-clad erection rubs against your aching cunt and rekindles the fire, molten heat shooting through your entire body.

 “Wanna fuck you so bad, baby,” he says, panting the words into your mouth.

 You moan and break the kiss.

 “Want to take this to my room?”

 He doesn’t reply, but instead swings his body off the couch and picks you up bridal-style. He stumbles a little with the first steps and you both laugh, kissing each other with each step he takes towards your bedroom.

He tosses you onto the bed softly and you let loose another delighted giggle when Frankie flops over you dramatically, caging you in his arms. Your tongues tangle together in an impossibly sensual kiss. He’s momentarily distracted, caught up in the feel of your body underneath his with the soft touches of your tongue, and you take the opportunity to roll him over and straddle his hips.

Frankie is looking up at you as if he’s in awe, like he can’t believe you’re here right now, naked from the waist down and grinding down on his hard cock, tenting his jeans.

You move down his body and zip his fly down, pushing down the denim along with his boxer briefs. His cock springs free, hard and hot and leaking at the tip. You can’t help but lick the bead of precum, and a broken whine rips from Frankie’s throat. His hands are clenched into the sheets, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the mattress beneath him.

You’re bobbing your mouth up and down his length, tongue licking around his shaft and cheeks hollowing out. His moans are loud, constant. He’s babbling praise, telling you how fucking amazing your mouth feels, how badly he wants to fuck you. It’s a heady feeling, bringing a strong and quiet man to his knees like this. You love that he’s letting you know how much he’s breaking for you.

Your tongue finds its way down to his balls and you suck them into your mouth, moaning at the musky taste. His moans are high pitched now and his hand is squeezing your shoulder.

“Baby, you gotta stop,” he grabs onto your hair to pause your movements. “I need to feel you.”

You give him one last broad lick up his shaft and shift back up, and look down at Frankie to catalogue the number you’ve done on him. He’s absolutely wrecked– brown eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly with his uneven breaths.

 You remove your bra, stretching it over your head and throwing it to the side. Frankie follows the movement and lets out a needy, staccato moan at the sight of you, completely bare before him.

 You reach down and kiss him soundly on the mouth, lining his cock up with your entrance.

 “I’ve got you, baby boy,” you coo, sinking down on his length.

 “Fuck,” he grits out between his teeth.

 You give yourself a moment to get used to his size and rock into him. His hands fly up to your chest, squeezing lightly and rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

 “So fucking big,” you pant out. “So good for me.”

 It seems Frankie loves praise as much as you do, evidenced by the twitch of his cock inside you.

 Your pace is agonizingly slow. You’re trying to tease out the moment, stretch it out so it lasts forever. It doesn’t last long– you can’t stand it anymore. You bounce up and down on him, snapping your hips when they meet his.

 “So fucking perfect,” he pants out. “Wanna fuck you from behind.”

 You breathe out a moan and stop your movements. Frankie mistakes your pause for hesitation and reaches up to brush the hair out of your face.

 “We don’t have to,” he says, voice gentle, brow furrowed in concern. 

 “No, fuck. No, Frankie. I want to.”

 You gingerly get up and whimper at the loss when he’s no longer inside you. Frankie sits up, shoulders rocking forward and cock bobbing with his movement as he settles onto his knees. You watch him and bite your lip, getting on all fours and lifting your ass up in the air to present yourself to him.

 Frankie can’t help the groan that falls from his lips and sinks forward to lay an open-mouthed kiss on your pussy from behind before he lines himself up. He enters you without hesitation, hips slapping against your ass rhythmically, setting a decisively fast pace. 

 All you can hear is the filthy sounds of your wet pussy as he pounds into you, along with your strangled moans, and his heavy breathing, laced with whispers of praise you can’t discern. The waves of pleasure are too much, too strong. You can feel the familiar build up of an orgasm. Your head is in the clouds as it climbs and climbs– then crashes.

 His fingers on your clit is what does you in. Your whole body shakes and all you can do is whimper and moan around his cock while he fucks into you. The strong, practiced rock of his hips become sloppy as he chases his release, muttering words of adoration into the air as he pulls out and cums, spilling onto your back. He pulls every last drop out of his cock before collapsing over you, forehead resting on your spine as he catches his breath.

 “Fuck, baby,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “Should have done this ages ago.”

 You both laugh and Frankie gets up to grab a wet face towel from the bathroom

A little while later, you’re both in bed, blissed out and wrapped up around each other. The movie, drinks and snacks are all forgotten. All that matters is here and now– your breaths mingling together as you kiss each other lazily, tongues probing slowly. 

In the other room, both of your phones ping on the coffee table with unheard notifications.

The first text is from Santiago.The other boys follow suit, not a minute apart.

Pope 🤦🏻‍♂️: 👑

Benny and the Jets 🥊: 👑

Ironhead 🦸🏼: 👑

Neither of you see the texts until the next morning.

 The following weekend, it’s Santiago’s turn to be the designated driver. He’s parked outside of Frankie’s house, waiting to pick both of your asses up. He starts to tap his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel after the first 15 minutes. 

“What the fuck are they doing in there?” He asks Will and Benny. They all know the answer, but don’t say anything.

Meanwhile, Frankie has you crowded against the front door, your sundress is hiked up and his face is buried in your pussy. Neither of you can hear the sound of Santi’s impatient honking over your moans.

And if you end up going to the bar sans panties because you can’t find them before Santiago is pounding his fist on the door, well that’s just a secret you and Frankie will have to keep.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi @manalg14 @comphersjost @a-skov @sheresh0y @greeneyedblondie44 @blackmarketmummy @brandyllyn @gracie7209 @bootyliciousbilbo @dobbyjen

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Bogotá Kiss

Prologue: There Was a Boy

Summary/Author’s Note: Javier Peña had finally gotten his life together. He was a newlywed, back in the states with his bride, and starting his new life free of Escobar and the world of the cartels. That is until he found his wife in bed with another man. On a path of self destruction, he goes back to Bogota, reclaims his job with the DEA, his partner Steve Murphy, and throws himself into his work, cheap whiskey, and the company of his...informants. 

You are a singer in the hottest burlesque club in Columbia. Pulling yourself out of poverty and into a world where men throw money at your feet, buy you diamonds, and pay untold amounts for your services. You don’t mind that the club’s biggest source of income is smuggling diamonds from the necks, wrists, and ears of its prostitutes and into the pockets of their buyers, until a handsome DEA agent gets too close and figures out the scheme. 

**IMPORTANT: For those familiar with Moulin Rouge--The reader will NOT die at the end. Fuck that. Let Javi be happy god dammit. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (Moulin Rouge/French Kiss AU) Word Count: 1.6k (its just a prologue, the next chapter will be better) Warnings (for entire fic): NC-17/18+ - Language, sex, prostitution, mentions/implied R*pe (nothing will ever be described in detail or used as a plot device), typical canon violence for NARCOS, shooting, attempted murder, drug use, blackmail, hurt/comfort, lies and betrayal, happy ending

[MASTERLIST]

"It's not what it looks like."

People didn't actually say that line, did they? And worse yet, no one actually would possibly believe it. Right? The words fell from her lips and suddenly Javier Peña felt like he was watching a movie about someone else's life. A cliché of a film in which the idiot of a husband walked in on his wife bouncing on the dick of another man. He was that idiot, and as she scrambled off the lap of the stranger and called his name, he slammed the door behind him, not bothering to wait for an explanation. Queue the laugh track or cut to the scene of him walking in the rain to somber music. 

Only this wasn't a movie. There would be no comedic relief, just a lot of heartache, wasted time and money. He had always had a bad habit of falling for the wrong girl. He would see himself mirrored in the eyes of the broken, the depressed, the ones who, much like him, just seemed unable to catch a break in life. But instead of getting a kindred spirit to share his world with, he usually just got a lot of baggage and a quick lay.  

He packed a bag, not giving a shit about any of his worldly possessions, and found himself at the Dallas airport, sitting at the bar and waiting for his gate number to be called. 

He raised two fingers, letting the bartender know he wanted a fucking double, as he held his cellphone to his ear and listened to it ring. The boxy phone didn't fit comfortably against his shoulder and he dropped it just as the other end picked up and Steve's voice came through.

"Murphy."

"Fuck. Shit." Javier fumbled the phone and held it back against his face.

"Javi?"

"Yeah, it's me." Javier sighed as he picked up his whiskey and tossed it back with a mild wince. "I'm on my way back."

"I heard." Steve paused. "Carolyn called. I told her I didn't know where you were."

"Thanks, 'appreciate it."

"I talked to Noonan. She said your job's still open. You can have it and the keys to your apartment." 

They both paused for an extended period of time. Javier ordered another shot of whiskey and Steve breathed quietly on the other end of the phone. Neither one of them had to say out loud what they both already knew. Javier had fallen for the wrong girl, again. His heart was broken and he wanted to drown out the ache he was feeling in cheap booze, a carton of Marlboro, and expensive pussy. 

"I'll pick you up from the airport. Safe trip, Jav."

"Thanks, Murph."

Javier pressed the button on the phone and rubbed his forehead with a heavy sigh. It was all smooth sailing from here. He was on his way back to normalcy, back to doing what he did best, hunting Narcos and not having any emotional ties to anything that mattered. 

--

The car ride from the airport had been quiet for the most part but Javier could tell that Steve was just dying to ask. So, when they parked in front of the apartment and neither one of them moved, he dug his smokes out of his jacket pocket and rolled down the window. He flicked his silver lighter to life and inhaled deeply as Steve shut off the engine. 

"Go ahead. Ask."

Steve sighed and looked at his friend. "What happened, man?"

"I let it go too far, like an idiot. And she couldn't even wait until the honeymoon was over before she tripped and landed on some other man's dick." He inhaled deeply and ran his thumb along his mustache. 

"Shit. I'm sorry--"

"Don't," Javier cut him off and shook his head. "Okay? Don't."

"You file for divorce?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Lawyer is drawing everything up now so we can sign it." 

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm sorry, Javi. You seemed happy." Steve looked at him and Javier flicked his cigarette out of the window. 

"Yeah, I know." He took another long drag of his cigarette before tossing the butt out onto the sidewalk. “Tell Connie I said ‘hi’, okay?” 

With a mumbled thanks for the ride and a couple of quick 'see you tomorrows', he opened the car door and grabbed his suitcase out of the back seat and walked up the stairs and into the apartment building. He went through the motions of coming back to this place that he knew quite well, as he went downstairs and stuck his keys in the door without needing to turn on a light. 

He tossed his keys on the side table and kicked the door shut gently as he dropped his shoulder bag and looked around. The only furniture that the place had was the old embassy supplied leather couch, scuffed up coffee table, and bar stools against the kitchen counter. Fuck. That settled what he would be doing tomorrow, getting all his furniture out of storage and having the embassy replace what he didn’t have. 

Before tossing his leather jacket on the back of the couch, he got out another cigarette and let it bob between his lips as he mumbled to himself. He inhaled deeply and tossed his lighter next to his keys before making his way to the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, he didn’t know if he wanted to run upstairs and kiss her, or if he wanted to clutch his chest and cry. 

The entire appliance was completely bare and wiped out, the light making the white shelves look entirely too bright, but sitting in the middle of the top shelf was a covered casserole of some kind and a bottle of whiskey. A note was taped to the tin foil that read: 

“Bake at 350 for 30 minutes. Please eat something while you drink this. -- love, Connie.”

At least Steve knew how to pick a woman, because that’s exactly what Connie was, one hell of a woman. Javier grabbed the bottle of liquor and mentally promised Connie that he would eat later. He wasn’t hungry. He really hadn’t been hungry for the last few days, and as he looked at the whiskey and cracked the seal on the lid, he didn’t mourn that the kitchen didn’t have any glasses. He was well beyond the need for a glass. 

He took the bottle to the couch, kicked off his boots and plopped down heavily. The whiskey was a familiar burn down his throat and he felt it all the way to his belly. Warm, inviting, and just what he needed. Another drink was followed by a long drag of his cigarette before he kick backed and muttered, “Home, sweet, home,” to a cold, empty house.

--

The banging on the door permeated his skull in a way that he didn’t think was possible. But then again it had been a long time since he had been this hungover. He rolled over on the leather couch and shoved his face into the cushions and prayed that whoever wanted him would just go away. There was no one on this green earth that he wanted to speak to.

He must have fallen back asleep briefly because the next thing he knew, his partner had let himself into his apartment with his spare key and was nudging his leg that was hanging off the side of the couch. 

“Javi,” Steve said as he plucked the empty liquor bottle from under his friend’s arm. “Javi!” 

“Is too early,” Javier mumbled into the leather of the sofa.

“It’s 4 in the afternoon.” Steve said, setting the bottle on the coffee table. “I told Noonan you were taking the weekend to unpack--” Steve looked around the apartment and then back to the horizontal man. “Looks like you’re done.”

“Fuck you.”

Steve shook his head and put his hands on his hips. “Come on. You need a shower. I’d offer to buy you a drink but you smell like you’ve got that taken care of. So, how about a lap dance? There’s this new place on the other side of town--got your name written all over it.”

“Go away.”

Steve, rubbed his hand down his face and glared at the shell of the man that he had gotten to know over the last couple of years. The day Javier Peña turned down a lap dance, it would have been a cold day in hell and yet the evidence was right there in front of him. Someone needed to tell the devil to go check his thermostat.

“Mmkay.” Steve said sharply and took the empty bottle over to the sink and filled it about half way with tap water. When he dumped it on top of Javier’s head, the way the dark-haired man sputtered and sat straight up brought him more joy than it probably should have. “Good morning!”

“F-fucking hillbilly,” Javier cursed as he pulled the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face.

“Get your ass in the shower and I won’t tell Con that you didn’t eat her food she left you.” When his friend paused long enough to lower his shirt and glare at him, Steve continued. “I’m not fuckin’ around, Javi.”

The two men stood at odds of one another, but the blond refused to relent. Javier shoved his now soaking wet hair back from where it was plastered to his face and nodded. He stood with a groan and gave Steve his middle finger as he trudged to the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“Missed you, too, bud!” Steve cupped his hands around his mouth in a mock yell after the other man’s retreating form. It was going to be a long road to getting his partner back to his usual self, but the natural place to start was with some no-strings-attached pussy.

--

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[j0eyj0rdis0n]

FIRSTS | RH

Ricky Horror | 1,939 Words

Smut

Ricky was a loner. No doubt about it. It was pretty plain to see. So it came as no surprise he didn’t have very many friends... He hoped that by junior year he would’ve had more friends than this. But he guessed that the four he had would be just fine. The four guys he’d hang around were quite the bunch, sometimes they jammed out together since they all seemed to play some instrument for a rock band, sometimes they’d sit around and listen to music, or Ricky’s least favorite option... Prank Chris’s older sister.

Chris was your younger brother and god was he a nuisance. Him and his little gang of friends would come over almost every night since your dad was a trucker, meaning he was out for a lot of the time. He really only came home to check on you both on weekends, the only time he could really have off. Your mom decided not to stick around very long when you were young so she wasn’t an issue for the boys either. They just loved to torment you.

Chris was the asshole of the group, Vinny was the wild idiot, Ryan was the crafty stoner, Justin was the devil respawned, and Ricky... Poor little Ricky. Sometimes you wondered how the kid got dragged into their group. He seemed nothing like them in everything but style. He was sweet. Always gave you shy glances, quickly looking away when he realized you’d caught him. He was the quiet one of the friends. But you knew he was damn smart. 

But overall, they were all just perverted teens. 

And the one thing you despised about all of them was their love to play tricks on you. That’s why you stayed in your room for the majority of the time they were at your house. You remembered when you came home from going and getting some snacks at the gas station since you had none at home, only to go up to your room and see Vinny looking through your underwear drawer. That’s when you started not leaving your room.

Another time Ryan decided to take a few pictures while you were bending over to look in the freezer for something to make for dinner. You honestly didn’t think your skirt was that short. Just goes to show boys will lay flat on their stomach for a look up there. You only knew it when everyone was filing out to leave and go home, Ricky came up to you and told you. 

Chris was just along for the ride. He thought it was funny. Sometimes he’d snap your bra straps or tell you that you looked funny. Brotherly love as people liked to call it. But he never took part in the perverted antics, only laughed to you about them after. Salt in the wound.

Ricky never tried anything on you, and for that you were thankful. But this was until the guys put him up to it.

The one time you decided to come out of your room that night when you thought you were finally alone. You get a bucket of water dumped on you in the kitchen by the one and only Ricky. You stood there in shock, soaked to the bone in your white crop top and black shorts. You heard a chorus of wolf whistles from the guys who were littered around the kitchen. Vinny sitting on the table staring you down, Chris had shouted moments before that he was going to get pizza so he wasn’t around for the scene, Justin standing by the door with a smirk, Ryan behind you clapping, and poor Ricky right in front of you with the most fearful expression on.

You knew that the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra was obvious through the soaked white shirt and you were totally embarrassed. Wrapping your arms around your chest, you try to make your way to the stairs, only to be blocked by Justin.

“Y/N, our friend Ricky here needs some help and we thought you’d be the best to help him. Since you probably want to get your clothes off anyway.” You can practically hear the smirk in Ryan’s voice without having to turn around. You hear the sound of him moving closer and you stand there with your back to him as you feel his breath on your neck. “You should help Rick out. He has been talking about you all night you know...” 

Why would he be talking about you? You didn’t think you were anything special... Just your brother’s sister. He couldn’t think you were attractive! Could he...?

You turn around and look at Ricky who’s still holding the bucket that’s now empty and his cheeks are a bright red and you almost find it amusing. You were only a year older than him and it seems to you that you’d gotten more action than he has. You could tell he was pretty clueless about the whole subject but you almost wanted the challenge. 

You motioned with two fingers for him to come to you. His eyes snap open wide with shock and he drops the plastic bucket onto the tiled floor. You motion one more time and he scurries over to you, standing in front of you and trying to keep his eyes at a respectable level. You tried not to chuckle as you see his eyes wander. He was so nervous he was about to piss himself. You, a hot girl, were about to hopefully have sex with him. But then again, he didn’t even know if that was really the case. You could just bring him upstairs and lock him in a room until the end of the night. He didn’t know. But your boobs were quite distracting right now and his pants seemed to be rather tight. 

You grab his hand and push past Justin, dragging Ricky up the stairs with you. More whistles came from the guys as you two made your way to your room. 

Once you shut the door behind you both, you threw off your tiny black shorts, leaving you in lacy black underwear that Ricky couldn’t tear his eyes away from. You were not going to lay on your bed in wet shorts. Your shirt will come off next but you’ll leave a little work for Ricky. The boy needs to use his pencil arms anyway. Maybe he’ll get a workout in out of this. 

You sit on the edge of your bed and look over at him as he’s standing in the doorway. He has absolutely no clue of what to do and you can totally tell. 

“Ricky... Have you ever seen a girl in her underwear?” You ask.

You didn’t think it was possible but his blush only deepens as he shakes his head and looks at his feet. 

“Come here.” You say calmly. 

He does as you ask and stands in front of you.

“Do you want to do this?”

He shrugs.

“I need a yes or no Ricky.” You sigh.

“Y-yes...”

You smile and carefully lift his shirt over his head. He’s as skinny as you imagined him to be. You grab his hands softly and put them on the hem of your shirt. You could feel them shake as he pulled your shirt over your head. He stares shamelessly at your breasts, taking in the sight. You chuckle and undo his belt, throwing it to the other side of the room and he wastes no time chucking off his skinny jeans. 

You glance down at him and you are pleasantly surprised by what you see. His black boxers are definitely tight and you feel a surge of heat down there. You shouldn’t be as excited as you are but goddamnit you don’t care.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” You ask sweetly.

He shakes his head no once again.

“Would you like to try?”

He nods.

You put his shaking hands on your hips as you stand up, resting your arms loosely around his neck. You lean in and kiss his lips softly, pulling away after a few seconds. 

“Wasn’t so hard huh?” You smile.

He smiles in response, you’d never really realized how beautiful his smile was. It was cute, heart shaped.

He leans in for another kiss, this time much more passionate and heated. He was obviously a fast learner. You both end up on your bed, your bra and underwear had quickly disappeared along with his boxers. You guided his hands to your breasts and he gave them a slight squeeze, rolling your nipple between his fingers. He was hesitant about touching any girls breasts but he slowly warmed up to the idea. You let out a shaky breath as he kisses your neck hesitantly. 

He’d seen the guys do something like this at parties. He knew they’d reach down and start touching on the girls they were with so that’s exactly what he did. Slowly he snaked his hand down your torso, rubbing a few circles on your hip bones with his thumb before continuing down, rubbing on the place it really mattered. 

He smirked into the crook of your neck when you moaned quietly. He felt acomplished in a sense, that he could make a girl as beautiful as you have this reaction to a simple touch. He was so fucking hard and honestly he didn’t know what to do. It was almost painful. 

“Rick.” You mumbled breathlessly as you throw a packet at him. “Put this on.” 

He looked down at the packet that was on the bed. A condom. Of course. He tore open the wrapping with his teeth and rolled it on. He had no clue what to do from here. None whatsoever. He didn’t even know where the fuck to put his dick. 

You saw the shyness flood back in his body and you knew exactly why. “Do you want some help?” You smile up at him.

His cheeks turn a bright red as he nods. You help guide him in the right direction until he understands, slowly pushing himself in. He has to bite his lip in order to keep a moan in. Shit you felt so good and he hadn’t even done anything yet!

You nod after a few moments, letting him know that you’ve adjusted. He takes the queue and slowly thrusts in and out. Whoa this was new. Really fucking new and he loved it. He gets to a better pace and he leans down, kissing you lightly. He didn’t know if he was doing a good job, but he was taking the moans you let out as a good sign though. 

It didn’t take him all that long to finish. He felt completely wasted as he continued, trying to get you off as well. You gripped the sheets tightly, squirming every couple seconds with your eyes tightly shut. He smirked as he reached down and rubbed your clit. Your orgasm was coming up fast and shit was Ricky doing a way too good job for his first time. 

You felt your thighs shake as you came, letting out an embarrassingly loud moan that you’re 100% sure they heard downstairs if they weren’t already standing outside your door. You look up at Ricky with half lidded eyes and a smile. He slowly pulls out and falls down onto the bed next to you. 

“That was... Awesome..” He says softly as he looks up at the ceiling. 

“Well come back anytime.” You chuckle and kiss his cheek.

Oh he will surely do that. Don’t you worry.

[azritesx3]

Coming Down - Lucifer & F!Reader

Anon: Hey I don't know if you do fics based on songs ( im kinda new here after suddenly thirsting for Lucifer— ) But I was wondering if you could a Lucifer x Reader based on ‘Coming Down’ by Halsey? Maybe this had been done, I don't really know. Nothing specific just whatever speaks to you if you do make this! Thank you!!

Description: You married a religious man to get away from the abusers. Who knew that he'd not only turn out to be one too, but that your savior would call himself the Devil and you agree to be his lover?

Rating: Mature Warning(s): Domestic Abuse, Implied Smut, Fluff, Angst, Angst but with a Happy Ending

AO3, FanfictionNet, Wattpad, DeviantArt

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Tighter and tighter. Cold hands on your throat.

"Why won't you just do what God made you for?!" John, your loving Christian husband, hisses. His hair falls in front of his face as he leans over you on the bed.

You claw at his hands. Your eyes begin to water. Cold sweat drops from his brow and falls into your agape mouth.

This was it. This was finally it.

"LAPD! Open the door!" John whips his head up, then snarls back down at you. He releases his hold and slaps you hard across the face, almost knocking you out.

Thinking he knocked you out.

You listen to him walk down the hall and open the door. There's chatter, and you hear people walking in. You hear footsteps coming back towards you.

"Excuse me sir, please don't go in the bedroom! My wife is sleeping." You hear John call out.

"Detective! A 'home search' is searching the entire home, correct?" A different voice calls out in the hall, a British voice. You don't hear it, but the British voice gets a reply, "As I thought. I shall ever be a gentleman around your wife."

"Please take no offense, sir. I was simply weary because-"

"Of my name, yes?" You hear footsteps enter the bedroom and the British voice becomes loud and clear, "Your decor taste is quite poor."

You listen intently as the new man looks around the space. His last stop is coming to your side of the bed. He doesn't look at you.

Please.

Before he leaves your sight you manage to grab hold of the man's finger. He stops and finally looks down at you. You pull on his finger and he kneels down to face you.

"Sir please-"

"Shut up." The man says to your husband. He stares at your face, taking in your red cheek, dry lips, and tear streaks.

You move your mouth, but your voice is too dry to make a sound. You mouth:

Help me.

"Detective! It seems the call in on violence was correct!" The man calls out. He stands and starts to gather you in his arms.

"Don't you dare-" John is cut off by a punch to the back of his neck and knees, making him fall face first on the floor.

"You're under arrest for domestic abuse." A woman's voice says. In the man's arms you see her cuff your husband.

You begin to cry again.

"Hey now, darling." Voice so soft. You look up at the man. His eyes are sparkling and his smile is comforting, "Rest now, dear. You're safe."

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

"A toast, darling!" Lucifer cheers. He raises his wine glass and gives you a bright smile. You laugh and follow his lead, "To one marvelous year of being together!"

"And to being free!" You add in. Both of you cling your glasses together and take a sip. You begin to giggle causing a sly smile to pull across Lucifer's lips and a perfectly teased brow to raise, "Penny for your thoughts, my dear?"

You continue to giggle, "Oh, just thinking of the irony of all this."

"Oh?" Lucifer smiles and takes hold of your empty hand across the table. He kisses the top of it, "Do tell."

"Oh you know," you blush at his actions and smile joyfully, "Being abused by a Christian husband for many years, only to be saved by a man who calls himself the Devil and having a better life with him."

Lucifer chuckles softly, then turns your wrist to kiss your palm, "A beautiful irony indeed."

After the celebration dinner he takes you to his lavish hotel suite in Las Vegas, and enjoys the wonderful dessert between your legs. You sigh in bliss and relish in the pleasure, the feeling of real love. You thank God for sending you such a savior, even if he does claim to be the Devil.

No one's perfect, after all.

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

It was true. Everything he said was true. He didn't lie, after all.

And now here you are, in a room that was now being swarmed with demon possessed dead humans.

They crowd around you and Lucifer, taking hold of you to pull you away from him. You scream and reach out to Lucifer. He stretches his arm too you, but the demons keep a strong hold against you. You watch his arm fall, and despite the shock on his face, you see a painful decision cross his eyes.

He turns from you and stands on the stage. He releases his full Devil form, causing his shirt to tear off. The demons around you stand frozen and look up to their King. You do the same, memorized by the scarred beauty.

"YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE. GO HOME!" Lucifer yells to them, and they listen. The bodies fall instantly.

You stay standing and just watch as Lucifer returns to his normal self. He studies your face. After regaining yourself tears well up in your eyes and you run up to him. He lifts you in his arms and cradles your body against his.

Back at the penthouse, after what you learned too late was one final night of passion, he tells you he loves you and returns to Hell to keep you, all of earth, safe.

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

You've been a broken soul ever since that night.

Every day after sleepless nights you wake to see your Lightbringer's sun rise, and pray for his return. Every night you pray that when you wake it won't be alone. That he'll be with you once more to watch his star rise together.

Years pass. The prayers don't work.

You now lay in a hospital bed, not very old but with a heart so broken it can't last any longer. You and Lucifer's friends surround your death bed, and cry when you let your heart shatter completely.

You wake in a sort of limbo space, in a queue with other dead souls. You teleport to the front of the line and are in the presence of the Angel of Death.

She looks at you somber, "You died far too early."

You stare back at the angel, "I couldn't take it any longer."

The angel nods, "You're destined for Heaven-"

"No!" You interrupt her, "No, please. He cannot be with me there! Please, send me to Hell instead!"

She looks confused, "But you are guilty of nothing. You'd be tortured for nothing."

"Being without him even in death would be torture itself." The angel studies you. Then looks up where a blinding light shines down on her. She closes her eyes and seems to listen to the light.

The light disappears, and she looks back at you, "Very well."

The next moment you are in a dark, hot space. Around you are stone black pillars with doors etched into them. Some doors were chained up, some unlocked but shook from inside.

"Y/N?"

Your breath hitches at your name being called by the voice you loved and missed so much. You look behind you to see Lucifer in the same suit he wore when he left, but he looked older in the eyes. Hell affects every being.

You run and embrace him. He returns the embrace hesitantly, "You shouldn't be here, love."

"I cannot be in a place without you anymore, Lucifer." You move back slightly so you can look him in the eyes. Your tearful eyes shine with joy and you smile at him, "You are my savior. The one I made into my own personal religion." You cup his now tear streaked face, "I love you, Lucifer Morningstar."

He embraces you back with just as much passion and kisses you passionately. He then buries his head in your neck, "I love you too, Y/N, and I've missed you terribly."

You scratch the back of his neck lightly and whisper, "So, you're not angry that I chose to be here?"

He laughs in your neck, something he hasn't done in thousands of years, "Are you kidding?" He removes himself from you and smiles while getting down on one knee, "I have my Queen with me again. How could I be mad over that?"

You laugh in joy and tackle him to the cold, yet hot, cracked ground. You both stay like that. Crying and laughing together at your eternal partnership.