#the inspo is not inspoing like it needs to inspo i am in hell

[junkissed]

jun wip when ( <- me asking my brain)

[pondslime]

ELISHA CUTHBERT AS CARLY JONES IN HOUSE OF WAX (2005)

[n0thingbutlov3]

need you now

in which a impulsive voicemail leads to some secrets being spilled.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader. warnings/tags: angst (sorry i’m incapable of being nice lol) hurt/comfort tho!! lil bit of fluff too because i AM capable of being nice, alcohol consumption as a coping mechanism (i’m literally just a girl…) spencer and reader are broken up :( but they’re still sooo in love and it’s soo obvious so it’s fine!! (also it kind of gets fixed at the end-ish. you’ll see *evil smirk*) reader cries a lot (real) spencer is a cutie (as always) spencer and reader sleep together…no like literally, not in a funny business way, some swearing, no use of y/n!!! wc: 3k a/n: hihihi!! so this is my first fan fiction i’ve wrote and completed ever (gulp) it’s also my first time publishing one (gulp) my writing could definitely be better and so could my grammar tbh but i HOPE if you choose to read you’ll enjoy…feedback is always appreciated (plsplspls) also like requests?? if anyone’s into that—id love to write more but inspo is difficult sometimes. if there’s any spelling mistakes im sorry, eye am very tired!! it’s 5am *eye twitching* okay i’m going to sleep, gootbye IF U SAW ME EDITING THIS 5 TIMES NO U DIDNT (i’m bad at tumblr ok..)

“Hi. This is Doctor Spencer Reid. I’m not available right now, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can…”

His tinny voice cut off to make way for the signature beep of the beginning of a voicemail recording.

You could hang up now—you should hang up now, save yourself some dignity and go drown your sorrows in alcohol like a normal person instead of calling your ex-boyfriend.

You should, but your mouth was opening before your finger could reach the hang-up button, and…and it was a losing battle from the moment you clicked on Spencer’s icon.

“Uh—hi, it’s…it’s me.” You huffed out a sad laugh.

“So, um, I…I tried calling, but you didn’t answer so…” The static buzz of silence hummed through your ear, just inches from where you held your phone with a shaky grip. “maybe you’re on a case or out with friends, or someone else—“ You let the implication hang in the air—the thought of Spencer potentially being in a relationship bringing a lump to your throat.

You swallowed it down.

“I just…I just had an unbelievably shitty day, Spence.” You sniffed, wiping the moisture that had escaped from your eye with your sweater sleeve. “I know you’ve never read A Series of Unfortunate Events but I think I’d give those kids a run for their money.” You tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sob.

You inhaled shakily, trying to collect yourself and remember why on earth you thought it would be a good idea to call Spencer when you’d been broken up for months. Hell, you hadn’t heard from him at all since you had parted ways—except from the odd text about returning each others’ things. It was obvious he had moved on, and here you were, filling up his voicemail with blubbering messages and making references to adolescent books.

“God, sorry about this.” You breathed out a watery chuckle. “I just…didn’t want to be alone, I guess. But that’s-um-not your problem anymore, so I’m—I’m sorry. Have a nice night.” Your voice cracked and you hung up before you could start weeping down the line. You didn’t need to look even more pathetic.

You pulled your phone away from your ear, looking down at his contact photo through blurred vision. He was smiling—not the tight, closed lip smile he gave other people, but a full, bright smile that had his dimples showing. One of your hands was wrapped loosely around his neck and the other was holding your phone just far enough away to capture both of your smiles. Your head was rested on top of his shoulder, tilted just slightly to the left so your temple was brushing against his.

It felt like looking at a vintage photograph—you knew those people and their happiness existed at some point in time, but it wasn’t tangible; you couldn’t verify it was real.

When you were with Spencer, you never doubted how real it was. All you had to was look at him across the room and he’d flash you a smile identical to the one in that photo and you’d just…know.

It felt like forever ago now that you’d been on the receiving end of that grin and it killed you. So much so that before you could consider the repercussions, you were trudging through to your kitchen and grabbing the bottle of whiskey that sat unopened in your cabinet. It had been a present—from Rossi, actually. When Spencer had first introduced you to the team, the older man had given it to you as something of a welcome gift. Of course, he couldn’t have known you weren’t much of a drinker, and since you wanted to make a good impression (and because you were sure it had cost more than all the alcohol you had consumed in your life combined) you accepted it—deciding to save it for a rainy day.

You think this qualified.

You grabbed the bottle, a glass, and padded back through to your living room, slumping onto your couch. You filled your glass up a little less than halfway before gulping it down, enjoying the burn in your throat—it was better than the constant thickness.

You poured yourself another glass before turning on the TV. You weren’t sure what was playing—it didn’t really matter anyway, your vision was already being obscured by tears again.

You thought the pounding was in your head at first—serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Only, it wasn’t, because moments later the pounding subsided and instead, your apartment door was opening, casting your pitch-black living room in a yellow glow which temporarily blinded you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your mind hazy—again, serves you right for drinking half a bottle of whiskey. Someone was calling your name, but there was too much sensory input for you to make out who.

You certainly hoped it wasn’t a paramedic—maybe your neighbour had heard you sobbing for the last four hours and decided you needed a wellness check. Then there were hands on your face, and that had you flicking your eyes open, because you recognised those hands—impossibly soft, with a callus on his trigger finger being the only thing to mar them. Spencer.

“Spencer?” You slurred.

He sighed in exasperation (or relief) and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Are you alright? You weren’t answering your phone, I thought…” He trailed off, worry evident in his voice.

You sat up then, trying to compose yourself even though the room was spinning. Fucking whiskey. You rubbed your eyes haphazardly, blinking until you could finally see.

You should’ve stayed bleary-eyed. Because nothing could prepare you for the way your breath hitched when you finally saw him. After months of not seeing each other, Spencer was here, sitting on your couch, and he was looking at you like you were something fragile, and—God, you needed another drink. You turned away from him, reaching for the neck of the bottle as you spoke.

“I’m fine.”

Before you could lift it up, Spencer gently pried your hand away from the bottle with his own, and then slid it across the coffee table with his other.

“You’re drunk. No more of that, please.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but he left no room to argue. You probably would’ve objected anyway, if it weren’t for the way he kept his hand clasped around yours, rubbing soothing circles into your pulse point almost absentmindedly.

You glanced up to him—to stop yourself from staring at your hand in his and how natural it felt, more than anything—but that proved to be a mistake too, because he looked just as beautiful as thirty seconds prior and it felt just as natural for him to be sitting next to you on your sofa, but it wasn’t natural anymore.

“How did you get in?”

“My key.”

“Oh.”

Right. The key that he still had because you refused to meet up with him to let him return it. He tried for weeks to contact you, but you ignored him, because getting the key back meant things were finally over. You supposed he could return it now—maybe that’s why he came in the first place.

“Why did you come?” You asked, your voice impossibly small.

“You called.” He replied—as though he was talking about something as simple as the weather. You call and I come.

You searched in his eyes for any sign of a lie, but of course, there was none. He was being completely genuine—as always. You were the awful ex-girlfriend who left concerning voicemails on his phone and had him travelling to your apartment in the middle of the night only for him to look completely okay with the situation—like there was nothing he’d rather be doing than making sure you were safe.

You couldn’t help the way tears sprung to your eyes or your lip began to tremble as you lolled your head back onto the couch, pulling your gaze away from his.

“Angel, what’s wrong?”

You liked to consider yourself to be a strong person. You had been through things in your life that were objectively worse than your breakup with Spencer, but something about the gentleness of his tone and the way he had let one of his many (past) petnames for you slip had your throat tightening and you ducked your head into your one hand—the other still seized by Spencer’s—to try and muffle a sob.

“Hey,” He trailed his hand that was wrapped around yours up your arm, all the way to your shoulder blade before lightly guiding you towards him. You don’t have enough energy in you to fight his magnetic pull, so you shuffle over until you can bury your head into his shirt. You inhale his scent; vanilla, neroli, and so him it makes you ache.

Stopping your tears is futile—you’d know, they’d barely ceased all night—so you just let them fall, seeping into Spencer’s tie as he rubs one hand softly up and down your back, the other cradling the crown of your head.

His breathing is quiet and slow—the exact opposite of yours—and you try to imitate it—forcing air into your lungs. When your sobbing has turned to shaky breathing and the occasional sniffle, he speaks up.

“Do you want to talk?”

Talk about what? About what had happened today—what had led you to calling him? Talk about how for the last few months, he had been the only person you had wanted to call?

“No.” You hated how pitiful you sounded.

“Okay.”

Spencer didn’t say anything else for a minute—your synchronised breathing being the only thing to stop the room from falling into dead silence.

“You need to rehydrate.” He murmured, smoothing down your hair.

You hummed into him, in no hurry to unwrap yourself from his body. You probably wouldn’t get to be this close to him again, after all.

He moved both of his hands to your biceps, pulling you back slightly so you could look at him. He knitted his brows together in a silent plea which had you rolling your eyes petulantly, your lashes still damp from tears.

“Fine.” You peeled yourself off of him, pushing yourself into a standing position. Horrible mistake. You were still incredibly drunk, turns out, and everything was spinning a little bit and come to think of it, you were also nauseous and—

“Careful, lovely.” Spencer placed his hand firmly on the small of your back, keeping you upright.

and—actually, you were fine now.

He stood too, moving his hand just slightly over to your waist so he could guide you to the kitchen. When he knew you could stand upright—even if you were relying mostly on the counter behind you—he grabbed a glass from your cabinet, moving around effortlessly to pour you some water. The sight was so domestic you almost wanted to cry again. Maybe in some alternate timeline, where you and him could’ve worked, this would be an every day thing—minus the drunk sobbing part, of course.

He handed you the glass of water, watching as you took a few sips. He raised an eyebrow, nodding his head slowly.

“Whole thing, please.”

You let out an exasperated (affectionate) sigh and gulped the rest of it down, setting it on the counter behind you.

“Happy?”

“Very.”

You smirked, trailing your gaze down his body. He was still in his work clothes which, at the very least, meant he wasn’t on a date before he came here. He always changed before dates—well, for you, anyway. You wondered if he had been on any dates since the breakup—you certainly hadn’t. It had been long enough now that it wouldn’t be weird for you to start seeing other people—but you didn’t want to. You weren’t sure you’d ever want to, to be completely honest.

The more you thought about it, the more the whole thing seemed stupid. You didn’t want anyone else, you wanted Spencer. You had tried to get over him but if tonight was any indication—it clearly wasn’t working. You can’t even remember why you broke up in the first place—it all seemed so insignificant now. No amount of pain you had ever experienced in your relationship had come close to that of living without him.

You met his eyes once more and it was like he could see the question brewing. He tried to stop you, calling your name in a quiet warning, but you ignored him.

“Why did we break up?”

He frowned, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth with his tongue in that maddening way he did.

“I—you know why—“

“No, but I don’t! I know things were difficult sometimes but that doesn’t mean it didn’t work. It worked—we worked.” Your eyes were stinging again.

Spencer pressed his index and middle finger into his eye, furrowing his brows.

“I know, I know we worked, angel—but you were sad all the time, remember? I was gone so often and it wasn’t good for you.” His true emotions were indecipherable but his tone was soft, and you wished you could be as calm about this as him. Did he just not care as much as you did?

“But It’s—It’s worse now—“ You choked out, tears falling freely now. “I was sad when you were gone, but you always came back—you don’t come back anymore.”

Spencer removed his hand from his face, flexing it at his side like he was uncertain what to do with himself before taking a stride towards you. He brought a hand to your face, wiping the tears from under your eyes delicately—like you were made of porcelain.

“Listen, sweetheart—alcohol affects your ability to regulate your emotions and I know right now it might feel worse but that doesn’t mean it always—“

“Spencer, stop! It’s not the fucking alcohol, I miss you! I miss you all of the time! Even—even when I’m having a good day—I still want you—and especially when I—when I have a bad day—“ You choked out through heaving breaths.

“Breathe.” He urges, cupping your cheek. And you’re so, so angry, and sad, and tired that you have no choice but to shut up and listen to him. When you’ve adequately calmed down, he moves his hand to your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I don’t think we should talk about this tonight but I—“ You open your mouth to protest.

“I promise we can talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober—if you still want to.”

Your lip trembles of its own volition and you frown.

“Of course I want to.”

“Okay,”

“Okay.”

He gives your eyes a final wipe before he’s—rather unexpectedly—pulling you into a hug. You all but melt into him, your head finding its home in his sternum and your arms wrapping around his middle. He tilts his head down, kissing the top of your head—and you’re certain you can’t let this go again. You will chain him down before Spencer leaves this apartment again.

Everything is wordless from there—mostly because you’re so, so exhausted that even talking seems like too difficult a task. Spencer helps you find something more comfortable to change into and you pull out an old t-shirt of his and a pair of plaid pyjama pants you had kept here for him. I guess your keeping them ‘just in case you needed them in the future’ had come in handy, after all.

As you washed your face, Spencer snuck through to the kitchen, refilling your water and grabbing two aspirin in a not-so-subtle attempt to help the inevitable hangover you were going to have in the morning.

You caught him placing them on your bedside table and mock gasped.

“Trying to drug me in my sleep so you can make a run for it in the night?”

He grinned lazily—exhaustion creeping up on him as well.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You smiled, flopping yourself onto your bed rather ungraciously. Spencer looked at you like you were something fascinating before biting his lip, clearly deep in thought.

“What?” You let out a self-effacing little chuckle.

“I was just…wondering…if you’d like me to sleep on the couch?”

You probably should’ve been more careful in your facial expressions considering you were still broken up but your thoughts about that offer were obvious.

“No, stay.” Stay in your bed, in your apartment—stay anywhere that was close to you.

Maybe you were coming on a little too strong.

“Unless you want to, I mean—“

“No, no—I’ll stay.” Forever, preferably.

He walked around to the other side of your bed—as he had done so many times before—and sat down, pulling the covers over his legs. You mirrored his movements before flicking your bedside lamp out, turning to face him.

You were a little thankful you were so out of it, because this had the potential to be very awkward otherwise. Spencer shuffled down so that he was at eye level with you, turning to face you as well.

You just stared for a moment, committing him to memory. The moonlight had a way of highlighting all the high points of his face, and the twinkle in his eyes, and—God, you were so glad the moon existed and that Spencer was in your bed that you couldn’t help but giggle.

“What?” Spencer laughed along with you, even though he had no idea what was so funny.

“Nothing. You’re pretty.”

“You’re drunk. Go to sleep.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Why?”

“Scared you’ll be gone when I wake up—like I made it all up.”

Spencer’s smile faded then, and he looked at you with something that seemed so much like the one thing you had been willing yourself to stop doing the whole time that you’d been broken up, that it almost took your breath away.

“I won’t. I promised, didn’t I?”

You nodded.

“So there’s nothing to worry about. Now get some sleep, lovely.”

You smiled, feeling Spencer’s hand inching towards yours. He intertwined them and gave yours a squeeze.

“Just in case you make a run for it in the night.”

You chuckled, your eyelids fluttering shut. Yeah, you could make it work.

part two!

[blkkizzat]

ꨄ︎『Toji x TumblrSmutWriter!Reader』ꨄ︎

Toji x TumblrSmutWriter!Reader

18+ Minors - DNI

Summary: You shouldn't have left your phone out in the open bestie because now Toji just discovered his cute lil gf has a big slutty imagination and that means you're really in for it ❤︎ . CW: daddy/dilf kinks, humiliation, backshots, outdoor sex, toys, voyerism, breeding, overstimulation, lots of mentions of various kinks, light spanking, light spit play, meta concepts WK: 4.2k Black fem reader coded but no descriptors.

A/N: Y’all can blame my forgetting to take my adhd meds and my hangover yesterday for this one. I was laying on my bathroom floor regretting life choices, waiting on McDs Doordash and thinking up outlines for kinktober when this popped into my head. I thought it would be a quick drabble like 1k words to help my writers block with the "Bumpy Ride" Geto fic but lord knows I can't write shit under 3k, who am I foolin? I don’t even have a song inspo for how spontaneous and random this shit was lmfao but I still had to do a graphic for this one regardless (editing those notifications were hell). Edit- I lied the song inspo is: Girls Need Love Remix - Summer Walker ft. Drake.

Enjoy!

Imagine you are dating Toji and he finds out you secretly write Tumblr smut fics on the low. 

He comes over to your apartment one night after one of his ‘jobs’ ran late. He has a key, but is wondering where the hell you are as you usually greet him at the door. Going into your bedroom, he finally hears you in adjoining bathroom shower. 

Toji begins to strip down in order to join you but he barely has his shirt off before he notices your phone blowing up. 

Picking your phone up off the bed he sees 206 notifications from an app called “Tumblr”. 

Toji has no fucking clue what the hell a Tumblr is but his jealously starts to soar. He already made your ass go private on Instagram and deleted your Tiktok dances. He got tired of threatening every loser who tried to slide in your DMs or even leave a comment for that matter. 

Imagine his surprise when he unlocks your phone (of course he had made you give him the password) and instead he finds out his new vanilla-as-fuck girlfriend is actually a kinky cockwhore who loves writing character x reader stories about fictional men plugging any n' every one of her holes. Sometimes it was multiple men simultaneously, with their massive cocks bullying your readers until you had them crying. Not to mention them fucking you absolutely stupid in every scenario imaginable, with a huge daddy kink/love of dilfs to top it all off. 

Y/N clearly has type, Toji thought smugly as he saw some art on your page of these animated dilfs that looked similar to him.

But goddamn, some of this shit even he hasn’t considered doing with you yet. Honestly, he’s been holding himself back for your sake as you had been pretty shy at first. His sweet naive little college girl, yet here you were a filthy closeted slut this entire time. 

Tsk, Y/N been holding out on me, eh?

At this point you were probably a bigger freak than he was, he mused with an arched brow as he scrolled through what you called your ‘masterlist’.

It was nothing but a collection of pure unadulterated filth. 

More than anything though while going through your Tumblr, Toji is rather impressed at how popular you are. He reads your intro post where you deem yourself the ‘Self-proclaimed DILF Smut Queen’ and an evil grin appears on his face.

Toji abandons his plans to join you in the shower and he waits for you on your bed while he links-surfs through more of your so-called fics, drabbles and thirsts.

You made your own little pictures to go along with your dirty stories too? Aw, what a sneaky yet talented little whore he had. 

ꨄ

When you finally exit the shower, wrapped only in a big fluffy white towel and your hair pulled back into a ponytail, you are surprised to see Toji sitting shirtless on your bed. 

Toji had promised to be here hours ago. He never even sent a text saying he would be late and you’ve been bored waiting for him all evening so he could give you some of the attention you've been craving. 

Your body is already warm from the shower and your legs rub together as you are already feeling a bit horny just seeing him bare chested.

Walking toward the bed you are eager to go pounce on his lap. That is, until you see it’s your phone he’s scrolling through again without your permission.

You loudly sigh which made his head snap up to look at you.

You’re so ready to tell him off again and remind him your Insta is still private and you only use TikTok to mindlessly scroll, not post dance videos anymore when gives you a dangerous look.

You stop dead in your tracks.

Your eyes grow wide as saucers as you recognize what he’s actually looking at when waves your phone around tauntingly in his hands. 

No.No.No. Not this. Please god, not this!

But your worst fears are confirmed when he starts reading aloud with a huge shit eating grin. 

“You moaned loudly as you threw your head back and bucked against him hungrily. You knew you had to finish quickly unless you wanted his wife to come home to discover the babysitter on top of her husband, making a mess all over his face. His thick tongue lapped into your drenched folds and he spread your puffy pussy lips wider to suck and nip at your swollen clit….” 

Your mouth was agape in shock. You were a deer in headlights.

A million and one thoughts raced through your mind as Toji continued on. He swiped over to the next one, this time a daddy and breeding kink drabble.

“Or how ‘bout… ‘Take it all like the good little slut you are for daddy, Y/N’. ‘N-No daddy, please I can’t cum anymore!’ You babbled as you succumbed to the overstimulation of him ruthlessly breeding your stretched cunt and filling you as you squirted on his dick for the fifth time that night…” 

You could only continue to stand there and gawk at him. This couldn’t actually be happening to you right now.

“Ya really wrote all this nasty shit, Y/N?” Toji teased while still looking at your phone as he found more of your filthy smut to read aloud to you despite the horrified expression on your face.

You of course had written all that ‘nasty shit’ but most of it was before you started dating him, breaking a long dry spell.

You really weren’t one to run the streets and sleep around but you had some kinky ass fantasies and you not getting any action had you needing to express them somehow.

It’s not like you didn’t eventually plan to open up and share a few of your kinks with Toji down the line. But this was a relatively new relationship and Toji was still a bit intimidating to you. Even though Toji treated you with way more care and concern than he did anyone else you’ve seen him interact with, you still had an insecure fear that he would reject you for a few of your kinks. 

Your last boyfriend had called you a weirdo for wanting to call him daddy in bed, so you resolved then to no longer share that part of you.

Hell, not even your IRL friends knew what you got up to. Only the Tumblr followers and moots, who you all shared peaceful anonymity with, were familiar with you and your writing.

Fuck. You had finally found the perfect DILF daddy too, you didn't want to scare him away. 

You cursed yourself for even opening Tumblr earlier. You did so out of restlessness waiting on his ass to come over. You just were going to read a few fics before you realized you had a story in your drafts you never posted that just needed to be proofread.

Wanting to kill time you decided to edit and post it on a whim, not knowing the mess it would be getting you into now. 

“Earth to, Y/N.” Toji snapped his fingers, interrupting your thoughts.

"Where did my perverted baby’s little mind go off to now, huh? So obsessed with being ruined by imaginary cocks you can’t even respond to your own daddy.”

You could have combusted on the spot as you were sure there was more steam coming off you from embarrassment than from the hot shower you had just taken. 

But wait– wtf, your frazzled mind just connected the fact Toji had referred to himself as your daddy. 

Those words sinking in made your entire body tingle. Your pulse quickened as you chewed your bottom lip and fidgeted with the edge of your towel.

Was he also into this?

The fact was Toji was very into this and you were about to find out just how much he was.

Enjoying your reactions fully, Toji stood up and made his way toward you with a crazed look on his face.

“You’ve written 96 pieces of filth Y/N…”

He inched closer and you instinctively moved back. Every fiber of your body sensing the danger in front of you. You wondered if this is how the targets of his ‘jobs’ felt when he approached them. Toji never lied to you about what he did for work but you never felt like you were his prey, until now.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl, have you nothing to say for y’erself, princess?” 

“I-I-I-”, you stumble over your own words. This was all way too much, way too fast, for you to process in order to say anything coherent back to him.

“I-I-I-” Toji mocked your pathetic tone, an evil grin back on his face. 

“Lost your words, Y/N?”

Your body instinctively keeps moving back to keep distance between the two of you as he continues to advance on you.

“But you have so many words to say here, isn’t that right slut?”

Toji toyed with your phone in his hand, spinning it around.

“Slut. That’s what you liked to be called in these stories, eh? The dirty slutty whore with a sloppy cunt just ready to slime all over her daddy’s cock, yeah?”

You gulped as your back hit the glass of your bedroom balcony door with a ‘thud’. You had no more room to run while Toji closes in on you.

He pressed both of his massive hands against the glass as they framed your head, his body hovering over you. You couldn’t help but notice how much bigger than you he was as his frame enveloped you and blocked out the rest of the room. You were trapped.

Too nervous to look him in the eyes, you settled for his chest and Toji’s muscles flexed tantalizingly under your gaze. You lost yourself for a moment as the familiar scent of his heady masculine musk invaded your senses.

Your eyes roamed lower and lower before resting on the bulge beneath his sweats and you softly pant. 

“You’re staring at my dick like you want me to stuff that pretty little throat cunny of yours full. You aren’t making good use of your mouth right now anyway Y/N, might as well see how much of me it can fit.”

You looked away from him completely but that only ignites Toji's flames more.

“Look me in the eyes little girl...” Toji’s hand roughly grabbed your jaw and squished your cheeks together as he brought his face closer to yours.

“This shy act won’t cut it anymore, slut.”

His intensity was overwhelming you. Various emotions threaten to bubble to the surface as you squirm in his grasp and your eyes become glossy with tears.

“You didn’t think you finally had a man who would be into this wild ass shit, now did you?”

You wanted to question him further but you felt your gravity shift as the balcony door whipped open behind you. Toji ripped off the towel covering you as you practically tumbled backwards onto the small landing buttass naked.

The crisp fall night air hits your dampened skin giving you goosebumps. You shiver and immediately drop down in a crouch to cover yourself. 

“T-Toji!! Are you insane?!” You gasped at him in a hushed tone, your silence finally broken. 

Promptly, you scan the seemingly deserted neighborhood streets through the railing for any sign of movement or signal that someone else was outside.

To your relief there was no one in sight.

Thankfully this was a relatively quiet neighborhood and no one was ever really out at this time of night. Nevertheless the shock of it all was sending your nerves into overdrive.

“Toji my ass bitch. It’s daddy to you moving forward–,” he roared jerking you up off the ground, “–and we are going to do every single fucking thing your slutty mind has ever fucking written starting NOW.” 

Your eyes darted as around him if you wanted to run back inside but there was no getting past his brutish build as he quickly slammed the door shut, shaking the frame.

Frankly, you didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified as you had written some depraved ass shit over the past year in the midst of your cockdrought. Some of it you had never even seriously thought of actually doing IRL. 

“Let’s start right ‘ere, eh? Did you think I wouldn’t notice the description of the place in your little balcony story matched your own?” 

Your eyes almost popped out of your skull as you recalled what you wrote in that particular smut fic.

ꨄ 

“A-AH! N-NOOO TOJI, W-WAIIIIIIIT!” You whined through gritted teeth. 

You tried (and failed) not to release any noises from the unrelenting backshots Toji was currently giving you as he folded you over the balcony railing. The tips of your toes barely rested on the cold floor as your ass bounced back into him and had your clit throbbing when his heavy balls smacked against the sensitive nub.

You had previously only fantasized about Toji being this rough with you, but now that it was actually happening for real you couldn’t think straight. Your lungs burned from sucking in the frosty night air and your cunt pulsed from his thick girth stretching you open. 

Shockwaves ran along your body with every cruel thrust of his hips. The force of it reduced your legs to jelly and you were sure you would have collapsed had he not had you suspended like you were, between him and the railing. 

Toji seemed both unfazed by the cold and your cries for mercy as he shushed you with a harsh spank. He enjoyed the way your fat ass rippled under his heavy hand in the moonlight so much he gave you a few more for good measure.

Your tits violently swayed over the edge as one of your hands grasped the railing for stability and the other held your phone in front of you. Toji was making you dictate your story for him as he reenacted the play by play assault on your cunt.  

The bright screen you held was near blinding to your teary eyes. You mentally cringed as you knew it would act as a shiny beacon to view your activities if anyone walked by the small apartment complex or hell, even stepped out on their balcony. 

“T-Toj- Daddy, w-what ‘bout– neigh-h-b-bor-s?”

You managed to croak out over the sloshing of your cunt and slapping sounds of flesh that echoed into the atmosphere everytime he rammed into you. You couldn’t bear to look around to see if any of your neighbors had started to investigate.

“Pshhh, Fuck your neighbors Y/N! They clearly don’t have a cockcrazed baby to please that writes dirty little stories about imaginary men like I do.”

If you didn’t know better you would think he was actually jealous of the DILFs in your stories too from the way he was sadistically fucking into you. 

His thrusts caused your icy tears to run down your face and sent your tits bouncing into the wind. Your cold and neglected nipples hardened in the chill to the point of delicious pain.

“B-but- it's too c-cold out D-Daddy!”

“Mmn, yet your pussy feels warm enough, Y/N. Too hot even. This is for your benefit, you know–,” Toji stated matter-of-factly while he increases the speed his pounding into you, “–So you remember you have your own Daddy who will fuck you anyway you want, anytime you want…just, fuck, tell Daddy what his slutty baby needs.”

The way his hips are driving into your core knocks the wind out of you. Toji tightens the already brutal grip on your hips which assists him in pressing deeper into your cunt. The movement has you almost slipping. You nearly drop your phone off the balcony when your toes stepped in the growing pool of shared juices flowing down your legs and collecting at your feet.

“Hold that shit tight for daddy baby, got it? You drop it and we gotta start over, yeah? I’ll make you walk downstairs ass naked just like this to get it too,” Toji breathed out huskily. 

You realize you’ve never heard him sound this needy before now.

“What’s next, in y’er lil’ story huh?… Speak up so I can hear it over this messy cunt.” 

There was an edge of desperation for you clear in his tone. Although to your dismay it causes your body to gush around him harder meaning you would have to speak up even louder as your pussy squelches grew more vulgar in volume. 

You nearly shouted out the next part groaning and mixing in incoherent babbles throughout the smut filled paragraph as Toji doesn't slow to help you. If anything Toji picks up speed and grows even harder inside of you as he's encouraged by his baby's filthy words.

“...H-he- lifts your leg, r-resting your knee on the edge of the bal-c-cony. T-T-The angle allows h-him, fuck, deeper access to your c-cunt. Ah-h-h-a clear view of his c-cock badgering your core f’er a-anyone who happens to p-pass belowwww-ohmygod. Y-you seeeeee s-stars as he callously s-slams into your c-cervix, shitshitshit, n-nearly fa-fa-fucking you off the balcony if not for his s-strong hold on youuuu–ah. Y-you violently t-tremble as you c-cum s-screamiiiiing, not fuckdaddyfuckkkk, caring if your n-neighbors could s-see or h-hear you any l-longer.”

“HA! Is that so–” Toji lifts your leg just like you wrote in your fic, “–guess I am gonna to have to keep fucking this tight cunt until you no longer give a fuck about anything else but this dick, eh?”

You hear what sounds like a door slide open near you and you begin to whine about your neighbors again before Toji jerks your head back by your ponytail to whisper in your ear. 

“I wouldn’t worry that nasty, pretty little head of yours about these neighbors babydoll…” 

The new angle allows Toji to bury himself deeper into you just like you told in your story and his tip hits your cervix so hard you think he might actually penetrate. 

“...if I were you Y/N... I would think about how daddy’s needy lil whore is gonna make it through an entire day of classes tomorrow with clamps on your nipples and a remote control vibrator up your cunt.”

He licked the side of your face and spit in your mouth before carelessly pushing your head back. You loudly moaned as his bruising grip returned to your meaty hips as his nonstop aggressive assault on your cunt proceeds.

You feel yourself getting close, your eyes rolled back into your head and drool seeped down the corners of your mouth. You cursed your weakness for this shit as you felt yourself give into the pleasure. You surprise even yourself as you never actually thought this kinda sex could be so fucking good you wouldn’t care about shit else for real. 

“Goddamn mamas, squeezing me so hard–” Toji’s hips snapped into you with every syllable, his voice becoming more animalistic, “–you want me to fill this pussy up? Mmm, I fucking know you do the way she’s milking me. Fuck, might even put a baby in you, give ‘gumi a sibling. We won’t be able to do some of that kinky shit you wrote unless I knock a baby up in this cunt, ya know.”

Of course, Toji being the sexy ass DILF straight out of your dreams would love breeding kinks too.

His ramblings cause you to tighten and clench around him even more. You’ve wanted to beg for him like this since you first started dating. Just thinking of the words spilling out of your mouth nearly pushed you over the edge.

You were so close to release.

“I-Inside me D-Daddy pleasepleaseplease!,” you slobbered out, struggling to make sentences from all the pleasure within you.

“F-fill me– fill me D-Daddy, knock this tight little cunt up, w-want it– want it– w-want it–!!!”

Your voice caught in your throat and you nearly choked once you felt your peak hit. Your pussy sent tremors around his dick as you creamed around him. You can't think of anything else but him inside of you.

You just came but Toji allowed you no rest. He still pummeled inside you as he chased his own high and slurred vulgar curses of praise for his pretty lil’ whore's dirty mind, while planning the next debaucherous smut for you both to reenact.

“Ya think it's too late now f’er prime next day delivery for those toys, baby? Fuck, look that up while y’er still holding that phone.”

You didn’t even realize you still had your phone in your hand but were just thankful you didn’t drop yet. You didn't think it would survive the fall.

Groaning you tried to rally the strength to even lift the phone to face unlock when you locked eyes with someone below. You instantly recognized the person as the elderly woman with the flower garden from down the street.

The old lady had always been very kind to you, making pleasant conversation, offering you fresh flowers for your kitchen and praising you for how reminded her of her own sweet young daughter at your age. 

Unfortunately for you both, she was casually walking her two mini poodles when her eyes were affronted with you practically hanging off the balcony. A blissed out expression plastered across your face while Toji held you, battering your slick pussy full of his thick cock.

The old woman’s eyes widened in terror as if she actually witnessed a crime scene as she panicked, yanking her two dogs away swiftly back in the direction of her home. You knew you would have to take the long way home from now on.

Nevertheless Toji, who was none the wiser and wouldn’t give a single fuck regardless, merely continued planning out your next smut fic enactment.

“Nah fuck it, we’re going to the library tomorrow. See how many pages you can read of that dull ass biology book while y’er warming my cock... Tch, or should we do the one where y’er fucking the coach in the men’s locker room, whacha think baby?”

"Hmmmnmmrgh", you could only moan in reply.

You were already near hyperventilating from your own climax, the shame of now having to avoid your neighbor for life and Toji’s fiery body creating a storm of friction clashing with the freezing temperatures.

But your senses were now wholly overloaded once you felt him reach down to pinch and rub at your clit. 

“Cum again with Daddy baby, shit, can ya do that f’er me?” Toji sounded like he was close and he slapped your clit even harder causing you to scream out.

Cockdrunk and overstimulated you could no longer communicate as your entire body felt like it was an extension of your pussy. The thick fluids flowing out of your body increased the sizable puddle already at your feet. You utterly surrendered to the feeling and your body wrecked with pleasure electrifying you. 

You almost blackout as you feel his cock bust hot seed into your tummy melting your insides and causing you to cum all over again.

"Fuck, that’s it, take it all. Can't wait to see this belly and these tits full mama."

The aftershock of your orgasm feels near endless as Toji continues to fuck thick ropes of his cum into you. 

Losing track of time you weren’t sure how long it was before Toji finally pulled out and took you off the railing. Holding on to you so you can balance and turning you to face him he places you down on your unsteady feet. You immediately bury your head into his chest as his heat envelops your cold skin. Your breathing finally starts to calm in his embrace. 

“So good f’er daddy babygirl,” he murmurs into your hair, savoring your scent.

“Warm bath, yeah?”

“Sure, but you gotta carry me daddy.”

You yawned while Toji’s already lifting you princess style in his strong arms. You were exposed still in the night but at the same time you have never felt safer. 

You curl further into his warmth as he kisses your forehead and finally brings you back inside.

Once inside the bathroom Toji sets you down on the edge of the tub while the water runs and he leaves to grab some fresh towels.

You can’t help but feel euphoric as you smiled to yourself. You are too giddy!

You finally have the DILF daddy you always wanted and could be open about your kinks without any judgment. 

However your mood shifts when Toji returns. You give him an incredulous look as you see your pink waterproof vibrator in his hands. 

Toji turns it on and saunters over to you, his scar twisted into a devilish smirk.

“95 more fuckfics to go ma’, we don’t have time to waste…”

Fucking hell, you had entirely forgotten about the overstimulation in the bath drabble. 

You quiver in both anticipation and distress as you aren’t sure how your completely spent and nearly frozen body is gonna be able to cum four more times tonight. 

Could there ever be too much of a good thing?

You weren't sure what those limits were exactly.

“Ya know, Y/N–," Toji started slyly, interrupting your thought.

”If I hit up Shiu and you asked him nicely with that pretty lil' mouth, I’m positive he would be down for some double daddy Eiffel Tower action.”

However from the feral grin on Toji’s face he appeared determined to test those limits with you.

You could thank your Tumblr smut fics for that. 

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ.

A/N: I honestly have to say I am a bit impressed with myself as I’ve never finished a story in one day before ever (although it took most of today to proofread and I still think there might be errors soz). Hopefully this is a good sign for powering through those Kinktober fics once classes start up again this Weds. Also If there is any interest possibly a PT 2 after Kinktober featuring a threesome with Shiu at his office.

Edit: errors/grammar fixed as of 9/26.

This one goes out to all of us dilf smut queens who simp Toji ❤︎

Please reblog to have DILF Daddy Toji dick you down, but likes and comments are always appreciated just the same!

[sweeterlovers]

5 YEARS OF SECERTS / LEWIS HAMILTON

husband lewis hamilton x wife reader / SMAU FIC

WARNINGS / none that i know of just a lot of fluff !!

FACE CLAIM / ZENDAYA

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yourusername good luck lew 🤍

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lewishamilton thank you baby ❤️

yourusername roscoe and i will be cheering you on !!

yourdad 👏👏

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f1overs lewis hamilton seen with a woman during a mercedes event. do we have a new wag? let us know what you guys think!

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user7 honestly when was the last time lewis was really seen publicly with a girl?

user79 definitely been a while

user23 why do i feel betrayed?

user02 seriously like lewis what about our kids?

user2 look at the way he’s looking at her! ahhh

user667 his outfit still ate

user09 she’s so pretty 🤩

user044 i need updates !!!!!!!!!

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f1wags lewis hamiltons rumored girlfriend has been seen at the silverstone paddock this evening!

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user8 i need them to confirm this already!

user0035 i’m here for the outfit

user7 ok she is so gorgeous what the hell

user6 i know right!

user604 this photo is being pinned on my outfit inspo pinterest board

user44 OMG!! ok so i was at the race today and i got paddock passses to the mercedes garage and i saw lewis and his girlfriend and omg they are so cute! lewis introduced her to toto and george and some other team members!

user38 your so lucky! but i have a million questions, firstly i have to ask did you meet lewis or her? and if you did what was she like? i’m dying to know lol

user44 ok so i did get to meet him and her! she is so sweet! she took the picture of my and lewis and they were so cute! he even had his hand around at all times!

user38 aww they’re so adorable 🥰

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lewishamilton i’m extremely grateful for the win this weekend! P1 was absolutely amazing! but most importantly i am extremely grateful for my lovely wife of 5 years! thank you for sticking with me through out my highs and lows and losses and wins (my most important win obviously being you) i love you so much 💗

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mercedesamgf1 mr and mrs hamilton ❤️

georgerusell63 happy for you mate!

lewishamilton thank you 🙏

yourusername aww me and roscoe are going to cry! i am so so incredibly proud of you for not only for today but for everything you have accomplished. i am forever in awe of you🤍

lewishamilton thank you love for being my rock throughout these years. there isn’t anything in this world i wouldn’t do for you my love 💋

[aamircoeur]

NOT GONNA LIE i always love thinking ab characterxdresser!lover

like ex ken sato and the person (secret lover) that makes his outfits, does his makeup, usually dresses him for every public outing etc etc

ALSO MAYBE THE LOVER HAS DESIGNED ALL HIS JERSEYS like they design the jerseys for every team he has

- 🍃 (hi im new)

Being ex-lovers with Ken Sato as his personal stylist ー hcs.

hi 🍃 baby happy to have ü here <3 thank you sm 4 the req!!!!!! ur asks r so so cute

sfw, gn!reader. UNEDITED

despite ken sato being your actual lover from the past, you had too much on your plate to give another try at your relationship

but he didn't

this time, instead of asking mina for his schedule, he memorizes it himself so he knows when he has the chance to text you

"hey baby you got my fit ready for the interview?"

"sorry typo i meant [name]" 🤨

"yes, ken"

"heyy so i was wondering, coach shimura asked the team if we could design a new jersey for the upcoming season so i thought if you could be the one to design for us?"

"hello, ken. i'm afraid i am busy having to prepare your outfits for your upcoming interviews."

"oh okay okay no worries"

"but like if i pay you extra will you be able to do it? like a thousand? or, i can add more"

"fine, ken. we can hold a meeting with your team for their fabric preferences and whatnot."

"what they don't need to be there"

he's not slick .

he never forgets to thank you every time that he's given the opportunity

he leaves you gifts like mini cakes or your favourite coffee to share with him when you were together

whenever you come to dress him up or to drop off his outfit for the day he'd have flowers at hand to give to you when you arrive

although greatly appreciated, you told him multiple times that it was unnecessary considering your relationship now was professional

he insists, saying that he does it for everyone he knows even coach shimura

🤨🤨 little liar

whenever he goes on vacation he always invites you

of course you decline

but he's so pushy and basically drowns you with his reasons

"ik we both need it"

"they have a great sense of style there we can get inspo from them"

"the food there is great maybe we can get outfit inspirations"

"the view from the hotel there is great maybe the hotel staff dress nicely too maybe we can get outfit inspirations from them"

what the hell r those reasons kenji

with enough convincing you come, with you insisting on staying in separate rooms but hey at least you're there with him

he always brags about how great of a stylist you are during interviews or press conferences

praises your creativity, your knowledge in color theory and body shapes that you always make him look so great

he's been told so much about how greatly his outfits complimented his body and he's so proud of you

but he almost killed everyone in the room including himself when you told him that other celebrities have reached out to have you as their personal stylist

he tried to convince you to stay as only his instead

i mean by convince is doubling your salary

which works btw

oh and during events he always has you as his +1

and if +1s weren't allowed he would simply not attend no matter how great attending at that event would be for his career && fame

"who cares" - ken2k24

he keeps you by his side and introduces you to all the people that he knows

which really confuses you because he told you that you were there for his touch-ups

but you didn't mind anymore

you missed spending time with him too.

[aliidarling]

i need to purge my urges, shame shame shame pt. 2

RICK GRIMES x fem!reader

part. 1

dark / nsfw content — please scroll if uncomfortable

summary: rick has been slowly trapping you with him, but someone comes up which ends in him having to remind you who u belong to

warnings: nsfw, p in v, fingering, noncon, manipulating, gaslighting, toxic rick, creampie, baby trapping, rough sex

i took inspo from an anon who requested baby-trapping :3

dark content below !!

You thought after a few days or weeks of being a B at the CRM would fill the void in your heart, the need to go back home and reunite with your friends and family. You could only imagine their smiles and faces, as now you had no way of contacting them. Rick was watching you like a hawk, eyes always on you even when he wasn’t in the room.

The sound of Judith’s laughter echoed in your head as you sat in your new apartment, his. He had just recently asked you to move into his commander suite, which you really couldn’t say no to, who would? The chance to be closer to your husband? You would be crazy to reject such an offer.

Every day of the last week had gone the same. You’d wake up in his arms, make love, eat breakfast, and split ways, Rick off to command and you on your way to stab walkers at the gate for hours in the heat. The thick uniforms were annoying but you were starting to get used to it.

What didn’t sit right with you was how *casual* Rick was with this whole thing. You had made the mistake of trying to reason with him a few weeks ago, which now was a reminder in your head not to anger him.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’?” He says angrily, glaring at you. He was livid, frustrated, and mostly offended. He had been so gentle and kind with you, and you go off and try and run away.

“I was trying— I was, I just got lost, Rick.” You plead quickly, your words a mess as you look up at him pleadingly. Your lips tremble as you see his fists clench and his nose flare. He was pissed off.

“You’re trying to leave me, aren’t you?” He scoffs, turning away to shake his head in disbelief. “Un-fucking-believable.” He sighs to himself. You shrivel up, tears pricking at your eyes. You didn’t want him to be angry at you, why was he angry? You loved him.

“I swear, I swear I’m not. I won’t try to leave, Rick.” You step forward and pull him into a hug, burying your face into his chest as you whimper. He lets out a dramatic groan, rolling his eyes and reluctantly wrapping his arms around you.

“You can’t keep doing this, sweetheart. You know I care about you. How am I supposed to take care of you when you’re not with me, hmm? You’re so small, someone else could just,” He initiates a pew pew sound, making you flinch and curl up further into him. He holds back a mean snicker.

“Say, why don’t you start staying with me? I’ll keep you safe. You’ll wake up in my arms every day and I can stuff that needy pussy whenever you want.” He coos lovingly into your ear, gently picking you up.

The rest was history. Shortly after, you moved in with him, and now you woke up every morning in his arms and fell asleep in them. He would manage to sneak into some of your shifts as the Commander to keep watch, but you could feel his eyes burning through your uniform, you knew you were the only reason why he was there.

But today, something felt off. You were talking with one of the friends you had made in the past month, Micheal. He was one of the B’s as well, you saw him from 8 am to 6 pm every day and during meal breaks. He was sweet, fluffy hair with a killer smile and dimples to die for.

“Did you know one of the a B’s broke into the cafeteria last night and stole a bunch of food? The commanders were all talking about it this morning, they’re pissed.” He innocently gossips. He smiles at you, turning to face you slightly as he stabs a walker right in the face.

You remember Rick slightly talking about it earlier. You give Micheal a nod, politely smiling back at him.

“I dunno who did it, but I hope they got enough for me. I’m starving.” You joke softly. He chuckles and nods, his hands at work but his eyes on you.

As the two of you continue talking happily, relieved at the small distraction from the labor you were forced to do, you feel a pair of eyes burn onto your back. Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly knew who it was. You could recognize that grumpy aura from anywhere.

Peering behind you, you made quick eye contact with a tall commander. Even with the mask on, you knew it was him, you could tell. He was staring right at you, arms crossed and body language annoyed.

You shrink slightly and glanced back at Micheal, taking a small step back. You cough to yourself.

“Sorry, I’ve been kinda sick recently so.. We should keep some space, don’t wanna get you sick, do I?” You laugh softly.

He blinks in surprise before nodding quickly, a small blush coming over his cheek as he realizes his close he was to you. It was cute how giddy he was when it came to you, it was obvious the boy had a crush.

“Of course! What do you have? A cold? Fever? Do you want me to bring something over later? I have some medicine at my place.”

It was as if Rick had heard those words because next thing you know you’re getting shoved back into a hard chest.

“Consignee, you’re being called.” A rough voice says. You look up behind you to see the tall commander you already knew who was gazing down at you coldly. He diverts his attention to Micheal, and his gaze goes angry. You can see the dents between his brows that he has when he gets angry.

“Yes, commander.” You salute, glancing at Micheal and giving him a weak smile before walking off.

Rick stands there for a moment, glaring at Micheal, before following you.

Once you’re inside the building and in a private hall, he doesn’t waste a second and shoves you against a wall, his mask already off and his face all up in yours.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Flirting with others in front of my face like I’m some fuckin’ idiot.” He snapped. His rough hands go to hold your shoulders flush to the wall, his eyes narrowed with a glint of menace in them. He was angry, pissed off, and confused.

Why would you go and flirt with someone else when you have him? He was the perfect husband— talk, handsome, sweet personality, and amazing bed skills, something he was sure Micheal didn’t have. Stupid Micheal probably didn’t even know how to be a real man. Rick was a real man.

“What are you talking about?” You gasp. “I wasn’t flirting with him— what?! Me and him are just friends!” You counter immediately, getting defensive and offended.

“Like hell you are,” He scoffs, pushing you closer. His eyes gaze down at you coldly, narrowed and furious. He stares at you before pressing his nose against you, his hot breath on your face. You shiver and try to lean back but the wall has you trapped.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill him right there, would have painted the gates with his blood. Would you of liked that?” He sneers. You go still momentarily, thinking over his harsh threat, your heartbeat racing.

“No, no Rick. You don’t need to do all that— I won’t talk to him.” You say quickly, reaching to gently cup his face with your shaky palms. You gulp nervously and attempt to soothe him, rubbing gently and pressing a little peck to his lips. He growls against your lips, pulling you back in when you attempt to part. He doesn’t want to be away from you right now, he wants all of you and your loyalty entirely.

It had been a few days since then. Everything was supposedly fine, you guessed. Rick was still watching you like a hawk. You could feel the glare on your back whenever Micheal goes anywhere near you, so you make sure to come up with excuses to leave the young man alone for the sake of his safety.

You didn’t want anything to happen to him. You knew Rick. You used to, that is. You had no idea why he had changed so much, but you couldn’t just leave him. No— You loved him. You wouldn’t leave. Maybe you could help him go back to his old self, maybe he was just damaged.

Yeah. That’s it. He needs you. You have to help him. Aid him in returning to his old self so you can have *your* Rick back.

You were out by the lake when you heard leaves crunching next to you. You turned to face the disturbance, your heart skipping a beat when you thought it was Rick— but the sight of the blonde boy had you relaxing for some reason.

“Micheal.” You greet with a polite smile, shuffling on the bench to make room for him. He smiles back at you and sits down, a few inches between your thighs.

“You alright? I’ve uh, noticed you’ve been a little distant recently.” He frowned, leaning back on the bench and gazing at the beautiful lake in front of the two of you. It was fall, the leaves were falling and the sidewalk was covered in a variety of red, orange, and yellow.

Your smile twitched as you picked at your hair.

“It’s nothing, just haven’t been feeling well. I think I caught a cold.” You chuckle softly, facing him slightly. You put your arm on the back of the bench, leaning on your palm. You gazed at him closely.

Knowing Rick wasn’t here, you felt oddly comfortable. You weren’t scared of accidentally angering him by being friendly with Micheal like you could breathe clearly for once.

He gives you a concerned look, brows furrowing innocently.

“Oh, that’s not good. How do you feel today?”

A small sigh left you as you squirmed in your position, not sure what to say. Pressing your lips together for a moment, you pondered.

“…Peachy.”

A small giggle left the both of you as you sat and conversed freely, no commanders breathing down your neck or glaring daggers.

You should have known that the peace never lasted long when it came to being married to a ticking time bomb. The second you entered your apartment, the air was tense and you could tell by the way Rick was looking at you that you did something wrong.

“What’s wrong?” You said immediately, rushing forward to him. You gently place your hands on his forearms, frowning up at him innocently. What did you do? Why is he angry?

He grunts lowly and grabs you by your shoulders, pushing you back until your back is against the wall. You failed to speak as your throat went dry, your heart stopping for a good second.

“Rick—“ Your voice cracked, a yelp leaving you as his fist landed on the wall just inches from your face.

“Shut the hell up, you ungrateful little,” He inhales deeply before he says something he knows he’ll regret. One hand next to you clenched in a fist, the other rubbing his jaw in a stressed manner, he finally looks down at you with a harsh glare.

“Do you even love me?” He chokes out, blinking. His voice was scratchy, the southern accent from years ago a subtle hint now.

You blink in surprise, lips parting as you stand there confused and fearful.

“W-What? Of course, I do! You're my husband, I searched for you for years,” You were once again interrupted by him as he raised his voice at you, making you flinch and cower in his presence.

“The hell were you doin’ with Micheal, huh?! That skimpy little boy— Out there by the lake, talking like you’re two little love birds, who the hell do you think you are?!” He snaps.

His hands come up to your face aggressively, making you flinch as you think he’s gonna hit you. He instead cups your cheeks and leans down so he’s breathing down your cheeks.

“You thought I was gon’ hit you? Is that how low you think of me? What the hell?” His raised voice has you practically trembling in fear, legs wobbly and bottom lip quivering pathetically.

“N-No Rick, you know I don’t think of you like that. You’re scaring me, please.” You whimpered out, attempting to squirm out of his hold. He tightens his grasp on you, pressing his body against yours.

“You shut that pretty mouth of yours, baby, before I do something you really won’t like. I’ll give you a reason to cry, got that? Huh?” He shakes you, making your eyes burn with humiliation and tears.

“Y-Yes.” You nod, your hands shakily reaching for him as you weakly attempt to push his hands off your face. In response, he slightly slaps your cheek as a warning, a pressurized pat.

You blink hard, trying to hold back the tears. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

He stares you down, thinking silently in his head. He was quiet, and his silence was more threatening than his words for some reason. He was unrecognizable when it came to reading him. He used to be easy to calm down, but not anymore.

“Y’know, I never got to see you with a baby bump. Saw you raise Carl with me, but never saw you pregnant. Never.” He mumbles. His eyes narrow as he looks you up and down. His words send goosebumps down your spine, the dark reasoning behind them known to you. You attempt to push him off more firmly now, sniffling.

“Don’t do this,” You choke out. He ignores your pleas and grabs you, manhandling you into his bed and pressing you down. His body was big and muscular, he had grown a lot. Small pleas leave your throat as you squirm and thrash, but it’s all useless to him.

“Shhhh, I’m not gonna hurt ya’, is it so bad I wanna see my wife pregnant? You’d look so cute, belly full of my babies.” He whispers, smiling down at your form. He pushes his hands under your shirt and pulls it up over your head. It gets stuck on your head because of your thrashing, making him roll his eyes in annoyance.

He slaps your thigh once he has the shirt off you, scowling down at you.

“Behave, or I swear to god.” He hisses. He watches as you start to let tears stream down your cheeks, and he holds back the smile as he reaches down and gently kisses them away.

“Don’t cry baby, you’re gonna be the prettiest mama I know.” He mumbles as he starts to kiss up your belly, pampering you with affection that only makes you feel worse. Every kiss has you sniffling and hiccuping under him, your body trembling.

“Can’t run from me when you’re pregnant with my child, right?” He chuckles darkly, large hands cupping your belly. He squeezes it gently and smiles at your reaction.

He pulls you in for a kiss, hands tugging down your pants and panties, not wasting any time. He was impatient, he’d admit it. He didn’t want another second to go where you weren’t stuffed full of his seed.

Spreading your thighs was hard with the way you were squeezing them shut. He rolls his eyes at your fight but easily holds them apart, the other hand going down to your pussy.

He clicks his tongue as he feels how barely wet you are. “Whatever, it’ll do.” With that, he shoves his fingers into your mouth. He glares at you, waiting for your saliva to coat his fingers before he pulls out and shoves them knuckle-deep into your cunt.

“A-Augh!” You gasp at the sudden burn in your lower region, your body tensing and eyes fluttering. Even with your salvia around the fingers currently thrusting deeper into you, it still hurt like a bitch to be stretched open so suddenly. Rick’s fingers were thick.

“Shhh, take it, c'mon.” He mutters, eyes narrowed as his fingers keep sliding in and out roughly, not giving you a chance to breathe as he makes scissoring motions.

Your moans are forced out of your throat. Even with how hard you were trying to hold them back, Rick knew exactly how to make you feel good, knew which spots make your toes curl and which ones made you cum the hardest.

He ignores your shaky cries and how you begged him to stop, his fingers only going harder. You curl up at the feeling, gasping. You were already feeling close to cumming to your embarrassment.

“So close already?” He snickers meanly, pulling out swiftly and rushing to unbuckle his belt and pull down his jeans. He was in a hurry, a hurry to get balls-deep in you and fuck you until you’re leaking cum. “Poor baby.” He tsk’s at your whimper.

“No, don’t— Rick,” You beg desperately as he pulls out his hard cock and positions himself on top of you, tip against your opening and his hands holding you down. You feel more tears coming as your legs are forced open and your thighs are pressed against your chest, knees almost touching your chin.

You sob under him as he slowly thrusts inside, his eyes rolling back at the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing him. Even with how he stretched you open, it still felt like he was ripping you open whenever he slid himself into you.

He presses his chest down onto your thighs, legs over his shoulders, and his hands grab yours to hold them above your head. Your eyes roll back at the feeling, trembling in a mix of fear, pain, and arousal. You didn’t k is what to do.

“Please—“

“Shut up, shhh.” He starts to thrust, and you immediately start to moan at how deep his cock hit inside you. Gasping for air as you choked on your tears, his grunt grew louder as he picked up a smooth pace.

“Gonna stuff this pussy full of my babies, you’re gonna be so pretty pregnant, baby, don’t cry, don’t cry.” He soothes you, thrusting harder into your wailing hole.

Even with how good it felt to have him thrust into your body, his body pressing against yours with his lips pressing gentle kisses all over you, you couldn’t focus on any of it. All you could think of was how much he had changed. The Rick you knew would never do this to you.

Your body was being pleasured, but your heart was being stabbed over and over again, aching and throbbing painfully. You just wanted this all to stop and for him to hold you close and comfort you. Was that too much to ask for?

He groans and reaches down to get as close to you as possible, saying, "Fuck, fuck." He intended for you to feel every single inch of him, the depth of him being there in your tiny little pussy, and every feeling he gave you.

“Ya’ feel that? Yeah? Can you feel how deep I am in that pussy of yours? I can feel you gripping me, my love; must feel so good, doesn't it?” Your cries are muffled as he successfully presses his cock further, his fat head grazing your tender region and making you clench up.

“Gonna cum inside you and force you to take every drop, knock you up, and then you can’t leave me. You’re not going anywhere, all mine sweetheart.” He rambles into your ear as his thrusts continue, your eyes rolling back at the force and pace. You sobbed under him for mercy but he didn’t listen, instead tightening his grip on your wrists.

“Fuckkkk, feels so good,— Take every bit of it, kay? Gon’ make you cry so much harder if you don’t,” He groans. He buries himself as deep inside you as he can, hugging you tightly to his chest as he releases his thick load in your walls. It takes him a moment to part from you, sweating and panting. You had him whimpering on top of you, still holding you down. He starts to sloppily thrust again, making you flinch at the feeling.

“No, please stop! I can’t take anymore, please!” You plea, whining shakily as he rams into your sensitive hole over and over again. You already had his cum dripping out of you, the squelching sounds making you blush in embarrassment as he kept going. He invokes your words and continues his torturous pace.

“We’re gonna be here for a while, sweetheart.” He chuckles darkly. With a raspy groan, he grasps your waist, letting your wrists go finally and holding your waist as leverage to batter your insides easier.

“If you think I’m goin’ to sleep tonight without a shit load of cum inside you, then you’re stupider than I thought.”

Yeah, you were definitely getting pregnant after this.

[kayjaywrites]

Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter Two

(Previous Chapter)

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 7,500 Chapter Song Inspo: Obey - Bring Me The Horizon

Chapter Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst kinda, eventual fluff, anxiety/panic attack, vomit (nothing graphic), Rhysand being an ass, Nesta x Reader friendship, Rhysand slander lol,  AFAB Reader, Reader (You), fluff, some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish Note: So is this fluff? Debatable. But there is still plenty of Az fluff in it, you just got to work for it a little more this time. You don’t need to read the first chapter to understand what’s going on here, but they are connected!

XxXx

Your 3rd year in Velaris....

It took almost three years of employment with the Inner Circle for you to personally encounter the ‘Night Triumphant’ persona. You were not impressed. The most serious you’d seen your cousin was ‘High Lord Rhysand’, the fierce leader, but even that was limited to political business outside of Velaris. More so than not, it was just Rhys, your fun loving, sarcastic friend who so happened to wield an enormous amount of power. 

The male sitting at his work desk was not your ‘Rhys’. Hell this wasn’t even High Lord Rhysand. The Night Triumphant held eye contact with you, gaze calculated and stern. You studied the authority in his expression, his mouth drawn into a tight line. Staring him down right back, you waited for the facade to break and reveal the male you had come to know as family. You searched his face for the guy who would rather face Amarantha again than put you in such a precarious situation. The very situation that plagued you with consistent nightmares since you left Hewn City.

You did not find that male.

Your gaze flitted to Mor, her body draped in a leather armchair off to the side, hoping to find a trace of humor in her expression. She tried to look nonchalant, but there was a sharp edge to her that betrayed her own trepidation.

Nesta stood an arm’s length away from you, uncharacteristically quiet in the wake of your High Lord’s orders. She seemed as if she was waiting to see who would escalate things first. Rhysand had summoned the three of you to his office to brief everyone on an upcoming…obligation. He prefaced the meeting by saying that he knew it wasn’t an ideal assignment. He wasn’t asking if you wanted to do it, it was non negotiable. 

In two months time, you, Nesta, and Mor would be answering a summons to Hewn City. Kier had been requesting a personal audience with you for the last year. Mor and Rhysand could no longer postpone it, as you were a Night Court Courtier afterall.

Still, you did not want to believe that Rhys would ask this of you. “You’re kidding, right? This isn’t very funny, Rhysand.”

“I know you can tell that I am not joking.” His flinty tone brook no argument.

Any hope of reasoning with the Night Triumphant withered away. He summoned you to his office well aware that you wouldn’t take kindly to being sent back. Here you’d been thinking Rhysand understood your trauma best, having been held captive and used while Under the Mountain. 

It appeared that you had misjudged him.

Just as you were about to say as much, Mor spoke up for the first time since the meeting started. “Kier threatened mutiny at the last Council meeting. At first he demanded a private audience, even after I informed him of our bargain. When we still refused to send you by yourself despite his threats, he agreed on these terms. You and Nesta because you’re a team, and me because I oversee The Court of Nightmares anyway. He couldn’t argue with that logic.”

You felt like you were going to be sick. After 300 years of being nothing but a tool for your father, the idea of seeing Kier’s face again so soon had your lunch sitting heavy in your stomach. It was inevitable, he thought you were loyal to him, his spy on the inside. You had zero idea how you were going to handle a reunion with him, simply thinking about it made you short of breath.

Your nights were plagued with stress dreams about what it would be like to return to your old home. You avoided stewing on the topic during your waking hours. The inevitability of it all often sent you spiraling, you couldn’t ghost Kier forever, but you thought you had more time. There was no fucking way you were ready. “I can’t do this,” You said, “give me any other assignment, and I’ll do it. Just not this.”

“You can,” Rhysand enunciated each word, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t sure you would understand him, “and you will.” 

Oh hell no. You did not uproot your entire life to be spoken to like that. “Do not speak to me like a child, Rhysand–”

“Then stop acting like one,” he scolded, like you were the one being unreasonable, “this is your duty to your court, what I pay you to do. If you won’t do what needs to be done to protect your court then we don’t have a place for you here.”

Rhysand’s words hit like a blow. Your sharp intake of breath was echoed by both Nesta and Mor, but you couldn’t see them, they might as well have not been there, your world shrinking down to Rhysand as he regarded you coldly.

“So what will it be?” He addressed you, leaning forward over his desk, leering, “will you do as your High Lord asks of you, or will you be resigning today?” He pressured.

Your hands fisted, ire rising up so fast it made your eyes sting with unshed tears. If you got kicked out of Velaris you’d undoubtedly end up back in Hewn City. And you couldn’t let that happen, not after you finally got a taste of freedom.

Rhysand may like to believe himself better than Kier, but how was this any different from how Kier treated you? Was this your destiny? Undeserving of kindness unless you proved your worth? 

What about you made people forget that you were a living, breathing being? Just like everyone else in the room, you had feelings that mattered, and hopes for your future. You’d been stripped of your freewill for the first three centuries of your life. It was a wonder that you hadn’t gone mad.

Were you only allowed a taste of freedom? Was that Rhysand’s plan all along? Get you hooked on life in Velaris then dangle it in front of you like you were a simple mule, your freedom the carrot held just out of reach.

It made your blood boil.

“My apologies.” You sneered at him, gone was the meek, conditioned wallflower. You meant all the disrespect. In a dramatic flourish you bowed low to Rhysand, making sure he saw your contempt for him when he met your gaze.

 You maintained direct eye contact as you hissed harsh sarcasm at him, “I am at your disposal, High Lord.”

Rhysand’s eyes flared with something dark and aggressive. Time slowed, a pulse of his power cresting over you in a suffocating wave, a preview of how oppressive he could make it if he so wished. Dread replaced your anger, the confidence you’d displayed moments ago dissipating. You struggled to not show how he had shaken you, and by some miracle, you stood your ground. Still, he could probably hear your heart pounding from where he sat.

Amidst the theatrics, your own power had not been so keen on backing down. It had coiled around you like a viper ready to strike, protective, as Rhysand’s prowling darkness prodded your boundaries. 

This version of Rhysand left you stricken, unable to reconcile the egregious behavior with the male you’d had breakfast with just that morning. It felt like his power was tearing you in half, and he wasn’t even exerting himself. He looked bored.

Did you escape the clutches of one villain, only to run into the hands of another? Were you really that foolish?

Mor stepped into your field of vision, mouthing something at you. You hadn’t realized your ears were ringing until the shrill noise faded enough for you to hear her calling your name. The frantic quality of her voice snapped you out of whatever daze Rhysand’s power had cast on you.

Right. Nesta and Mor had witnessed that entire thing. You’d forgotten about their presence in the heat of the moment, your attention tunnel visioned on Rhysand. He had humiliated you in front of some of the most important people in your life. The only thing that could have made it worse was if Azriel had been there too.

Intense embarrassment flooded you, a seed of distrust taking root deep in your heart. You felt so stupid, thinking you could trust Rhysand and his Inner Circle. Mor was still trying to get your attention, but you stared right past her, looking at Rhysand like you hated him.

Hell. Maybe you did.

Mor called your name once more with urgency, moving closer to you, half turned so she hadn’t given her back to her High Lord, but solely focused on you. “It’s the best we could do without inciting a civil war.” She tried to clarify, emphasizing on the ‘we’ as she gestured between herself and Rhysand. 

“You have to know we wouldn’t put you in this position if we had any other choice. I personally promised I would never leave you alone in that city again, and there is nothing our father can say or do to make me break that promise to you. We will do this together.”

Rhysand’s power had receded, but you could still feel it loitering like a watchdog. Something you’d never imagined Rhys doing to you before the meeting. He’d always spun such pretty promises about your future in Velaris, and you believed him.

And now Mor was doing the same exact thing. More pretty promises, but no proof of her intentions to follow through with them. 

Mor’s shoulders visibly sagged, “If you don’t believe me, then look.” She pleaded, offering her mind up for you to read.

You physically recoiled at her suggestion. “I will do no such thing!” You spat back in disgust, “You are my sister, this is supposed to be my family. I will not taint our relationship with my powers in a moment of weakness. You may not return the same respect, but I refuse to surround myself with people I can’t trust without rummaging around their mind for their truths first.”

Unlike some males went unsaid as you fumbled to tone it down for Mor. Your problem was not with her, and she didn’t deserve your harsh words. “I can’t…I won’t….I–”

Frustrated with yourself, you took a steadying breath, emotion burning behind your eyes. Despite your best effort to keep composed, your voice quivered, “I will not be like our father.”

The room was stunned silent, Mor regarded you with sadness, lips parting to respond, but then pursing closed in a tight line.

Rhysand was the one to break the silence. His power dispersed as he leaned back in his chair, acting like he hadn’t just wound you up tight enough to fracture you into pieces.

“So you accept the assignment then?” He inquired, brushing nonexistent lint from the cuff of his dress shirt.

His lack of remorse irked you. Did he not think he could have handled the situation better? Was this how he treated everyone in the Inner Circle? The list of things you wanted clarification on kept growing, so instead you settled on, “Yes.” 

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement then.” He drawled, “We will go over details and strategy another time, when we are all more composed.”

You wanted to punch him in his goddamn face.

“For now, this meeting is dismissed.”

As soon as he finished speaking you stormed out of his office, nearly colliding with Nesta in your haste to get away from Rhysand. Originally you were going to visit the library after the meeting. Nesta had suggested a book for you to read, and you wanted to read it so you had something to talk to her about. But you were too worked up to do that now, you needed to get out of there. 

You didn’t care where you ended up, so long as you put as much distance between you and Rhysand as possible.

XxXx

By step 174 your blurry vision cleared a smidge, too out of breath to cry for the moment. You didn’t have anyone to help you leave The House of Wind, so you took to the 10,000 stairs with the expectation of someone eventually coming to find you. There was no way in hell you’d actually be able to reach the bottom. You began the descent down the spiraling staircase so fast It was a marvel that you didn’t trip.

Any time you slowed down Rhysand’s words would play on loop in your head. The only way to drown it out was to pick up the pace, the exertion elevating your heart rate enough for it to overpower that nasty voice in the back of your head. If you ran fast enough the only thing you could concentrate on was counting the steps you took.

239 steps down, and you had no choice but to slow down to a more reasonable pace. It was a warm day, and you were getting dizzy. The last thing you wanted to do was pass out. In a desperate attempt to keep your mind occupied as you caught your breath you focused on the breeze cooling the sweat beading up on your forehead. You listened to the slap of your bare feet on the smooth, sun-warmed stone. You thought of the color of the sandals you left behind at the very top of the stairs. You pondered on which step you’d discarded your blouse on after it began to cling to your sweaty skin.

Your guess was step 148.

You hit the first landing platform at step 250, slowing to a walk as you panted, hands propped against your hips as you counted your next few steps. Woozy, you let your eyes fall closed for a moment, but the image of Kier sitting in his throne room beckoning you forward flashed across your mind. You flinched so hard you accidentally opened your eyes looking directly into the sun.

It felt like your head had a heartbeat of its own, vision blotching from the brightness. You didn’t know how your day could get any more bleak as you rapidly blinked the disorienting dots away. Glimpses of The Court of Nightmares throne room lurking behind every blink, Kier looked more like Rhysand each time you closed your eyes.

It made your stomach lurch, and you whimpered around a dry heave.

A particularly strong gust of wind ruffled through your hair, and you can almost hear Azriel’s voice reminding you to focus on your other senses. Your mind can lie to you, but it’s much harder for all your senses to be tricked at the same time.

The sunlight, the ever-present wind, the sound of birds, the smell of fresh air. Let nature ground you. 

It just wasn’t enough. You’d only paused for a few moments, but your chest began to feel too tight for your lungs, anxiety squeezing the air out of you before you could properly inhale it. Two months. Just two measly months to figure out what the hell you were going to say to Kier–to your mom, after you’d gone no contact for almost 3 years. Two months to not be petrified of somehow getting trapped down there again.

So you continued down the stairs, pushing yourself harder. 

251. 252. 253. Counting them like Azriel had taught you.

It had been after your first dinner with the Inner Circle at the House of Wind. Mor was a little too tipsy to winnow home safely, so the both of you decided it best to share a guest room. You were feeling antsy, Mor having fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

The House of Wind was so different from Hewn City. Cozy and surprisingly casual in decor, but it was carved out of the side of a mountain. With the curtains drawn, in the dark quiet of the night, it almost felt like your bedroom in The Court of Nightmares.

You had thought a glass of water would do you some good, help you settle enough to get some rest. So you set out for the kitchen, taking care to walk quietly so as to not wake anyone. The hallway led to a flight of stairs, which brought you to more hallways that seemed to stretch on, and on, and on. The homey decor fell away, your balance wobbling with the sudden onset of vertigo. Closing your eyes didn’t help, dizzy and disoriented, everything felt like it was tipped on its axis. You couldn’t place where you were, where you were going, just that you were alone. Fear flooded your senses, and you swore you smelled the dank air of the streets of Hewn City like you were still there.

Azriel found you slumped against the wall on shaky legs, your pulse pounding so hard in your ears you couldn’t hear what he was saying to you. The touch of his rough hands on your bare arms was soothing enough to bring you back to yourself. You weren’t walking the streets of Hewn City. You weren’t alone. Azriel had you.

Each inhale had still felt like you were gulping in freezing cold water, your breath coming in irregular gasps. You thought you were going to die in that hallway, suffocating on fucking air.

Azriel took you to the training grounds on the rooftop of all places. You can still remember the brightness of the full moon that night as he coached you through breathing exercises. Then, coaxed you into walking laps with him around the perimeter of the huge training grounds. He counted each step aloud with you until you had calmed enough to tell him what the hell had happened.

And that was how you and the Shadowsinger bonded over Claustrophobia. An unfortunate thing to have in common, an even more unfortunate first thing to find you had in common.

In the moments after you’d come down from your panic attack you wanted to svirel up and fade away, so thoroughly embarrassed. But now, you thanked The Mother for sending Azriel to find you that night.

It was those same coping skills that led you to working out your anxiety after the meeting. 290 steps away from The House of Wind, and you were sure your legs were going to give out if you kept pushing yourself. You came to a slow stop, soles of both your feet planted on the same stair. Lulling your head back so your face was to the cloudless sky, you closed your eyes and pictured that moment with Azriel. Instead of Kier morphing into Rhysand, you saw Azriel walking laps with you around the moonlit training grounds.

You basked in the breeze against your face, your anger and fear still roiling in your stomach, but no longer all consuming. The relief was short lived, a concentrated pang of despair reared its ugly head, raw hurt so overwhelming it chased the warm memories with Azriel away. It made you so tired, so emotionally drained you felt it in the marrow of your bones. You wanted to just let go, collapse in a heap and never get up again.

Yet, by some stroke of willpower, you remained on your feet. You hadn’t warmed up before taking on the stairs, and you could already feel soreness settling into your muscles. Gingerly you sat yourself down on the steps, resting your elbows on your thighs as you rubbed your hands over your face, spreading fresh tears across the top of your cheeks.

If you won’t do what needs to be done to protect your court then we don’t have a place for you here. Rhysand’s words burned the part of you that had always suspected as much. There was this nasty little voice that lived in the back of your head. It would mock you when you were too content in calling this place home.

You wondered if that voice would start to sound like Rhysand.

The thought broke your heart a little bit more. You wanted so badly to make him proud, to earn your place in the Inner Circle, prove that they hadn’t made a mistake taking you in. The worst part was that you thought you were doing good. Not that you’d believed yourself to be one of them, you were still so new, but you thought…you thought…

You don’t know what you fucking thought.

Curling into yourself, your knees tucked in close to your chest, you made yourself as small as possible. The full body trembling made your sobs shaky, your entire being wobbled from the weight of your failure, your naivety. This was what you got for wanting to do it the right way. You’d never built relationships without relying on your powers to sniff out their loyalty beforehand, never truly trusted on your own violation.

Your father always thought it was a stupid risk to take when you could know for sure. You thought it was an awfully lonely way to live, to never trust fully. Perhaps you’d been wrong.

This was what you get, you silly girl. Kier’s voice taunted from the back of your mind. Or was that Rhysand’s voice? Did the difference even matter anymore? 

The telltale sound of approaching footsteps closed in on you from behind, you couldn’t tell who it was, all you could smell was the salt of your own tears. Maybe it was one of them coming to take you out of your misery, maybe Rhysand took your display in his office as a sign of disloyalty.

The killing blow never came, so you glanced up to see Nesta taking a seat next to you. The last person you expected to come looking for you if you were being honest.

She didn’t look at you right away, which you appreciated. You were humiliated enough without her seeing you wiping your own snot on your forearm. Her icy stare was focused on the view, the only indication that she had run to catch up with you, a few fly away hairs having been jostled loose from her braids.

“You were pretty hard to catch up to, you know,” She leaned back, supporting her weight on her hands against the step behind her, “for someone who doesn’t regularly train, at least.”

Her attempt at humor, which earlier in the day would have made you indignant, fell flat. Instead inciting a new wave of tears to fall past your lash line. You dropped your head lower to hide it from her, but it did little to smother the sound of your quivering breath.

She didn’t try again, and her presence grew awkward when you didn’t try either, but she stayed next to you regardless.

When it became apparent that she would stay by your side unless you sent her away, you found your words. “What if I can’t do it,” You croaked out, voice absolutely wrecked, “Face my father, return underground? What if I can’t do what’s expected of me? What if it’s too much, too soon? What if I lose everything because I’m not strong enough.” Will never be strong enough.

“Then we will figure it out,” Nesta answered without hesitation, “Together.”

You are alone. That damned voice insisted.

“But Rhysand said–”

“I know what Rhysand said.” Nesta hissed, and you startled, your bloodshot eyes meeting hers for the first time since she arrived. She looked pissed, lips pursed in a scowl as if the High Lord was right in front of her. “Rhysand is an insensitive jackass. He won’t send you away because you messed up one job.”

“How can you know that?” You whispered, already knowing that she couldn’t know for sure. 

“Because I’ve pissed him off by doing far worse, and I’m still here.”

You shook your head at her reasoning, not good enough, she can’t know for sure. “You're his mate’s sister, and Cassian’s mate. He can’t exile you.”

“And you're The Morrigan’s sister, and his own cousin.” Nesta deadpanned. “You’re not going to get exiled over a visit to The Court of Nightmares.”

“How can you possibly know that?!” You shouted, one of your hands clutching the fabric of your sweat soaked chest binding as your heart ached. Frantic to believe her, but knowing that you just couldn’t.

“Because Rhysand hates me, we barely tolerate each other on good days. He once threatened to banish me to the human continent,” she rebuked, hands flying about as she grew impassioned, “He loves you. He’s just an overpowered ass on a power trip. You questioned his authority and it hurt his fragile little ego. And even if he was stupid enough to try to cast you out, the rest of the Inner Circle would never let that happen.”

Your nerves were fucking shot. Whatever remained of your bravado frayed with every hagrid breath, it was impossible to stay focused. It was like your powers were waiting for you to be distracted, taking the opportunity to thrash against your mental shields. You didn’t know if it was skill keeping your powers in check, or dumb luck.

Your headache spread across your temples, sharp pain panging behind your eyes. You were already so tired, but the tears would not stop coming. That damned voice, still whispering its poison, adding to the agony. Nesta can’t know for sure, but you could if you just gave in.

You looked Nesta over, her relaxed body language at odds with the determined fire in her eyes. She left herself wide open, she wouldn’t even know if you read her. You’d be in control, your fate wouldn’t be left up to a gamble.

Nesta tried to meet your gaze, and you squeezed your eyes shut, turning away from her. It was impossible for you to think with her piercing stare studying you. What reason did Nesta even have to care about what happened to you? She didn’t say shit while Rhysand was ripping your world apart, and yet she showed up here? To do what exactly?

There was a dull ringing in your ears as your power surged against your restraint, and maybe you screamed, maybe you didn’t. Your fingers went up into your hair, fisting at your roots as you pulled, rocking yourself back and forth because it would be so easy.

And maybe if you gave in, that stupid voice would stop.

Nesta called your name, “I wouldn’t let Rhysand kick you out of Velaris.”

The cry you let out sounded almost feral. “I don’t know that!” .

“No, you don’t,” Nesta acquiesced, “but do you trust me?”

Did you trust Nesta? The question cut you into you like the edge of a knife, your heart answering with a resounding yes.

Wow, did you want that to be true. But that sinister voice oozed like an oil slick in the back of your head. Will you do as your High Lord asks of you, or will you be resigning today? You had trusted Rhysand too.

Even if Nesta wanted you here, did you think she would disobey her High Lord for you? You didn’t know, not for sure. Your power reared up again, and your head pounded at the onslaught. That oily voice so loud it was all you could hear. You could know.

“I-I don’t know.” You stammered, stomach churning into grotesque knots.

“Do you trust yourself?” Nesta continued her line of questioning.

That answer came to you quick, no, and it had you lurching forward, your balance lost as you scraped your knees sliding down a couple stairs. You wretched, violent heaves as your stomach emptied out on the stairs in front of you.

No. You didn’t trust yourself.

“There was a time where I didn’t trust myself either.” It was like you weren’t barfing up your guts right in front of her, Nesta spoke with such calm. “Didn’t let anyone close enough to trust, even myself, I didn’t know how.”

You wretched again, your hair getting in the way. Gentle fingers gathered the stray pieces that had fallen from your updo. You hadn’t heard her move over to you, but she was there, steadying you as you struggled through a bout of dry heaving. If you weren’t so miserable, the tenderness coming from Nesta would have shocked the hell out of you.

Her free hand rubbed soothing circles into your back as she continued her tale. “I hated myself,” Nesta confided, voice raspy with emotion, “so much that I drank myself stupid every night to escape the darkness of my own thoughts.”

Now, the random heart to heart did shock you.

Three years of trying to connect with the enigma that was Nesta Archeon. Three years of getting redirected when you asked something too deep. The most you got out of Nesta was what she liked to read, so you picked up reading just to have a reason to approach her outside of assignments. Three years of one sided heart to hearts, evaded personal questions, and turned down sleepover invitations.

And she decided that now was the proper time to trauma dump on you? While you were half dressed, ugly crying with vomit in your hair?

What a baffling female. The confusion helped you relax, so surprised you were by Nesta’s sudden urge to share. Her hand kept a slow, steady rhythm as she continued to rub gentle circles onto your back, you hadn’t realized how tensed you’d been until muscles you didn’t even know you had started going lax. 

Whatever Nesta was doing, it was working. So you basked in the comfort her touch provided and listened.

“Someone taught me how to acknowledge those thoughts and let them go. To breathe, and still everything else in my mind, and let my mind think those things, but to not dwell, because that dark self loathing didn’t define me.”

The dark self loathing didn’t define you. Her words chipped at something that had been left festering for far too long. Had that been it all along, that terrible voice in the back of your head, had it been self loathing?

“Give yourself permission to feel, acknowledge it, and let it go.”

And it was so liberating, giving a name to what had been festering under your skin. Hate. Disgust. Cowardice. You cried, but not the agonized, tortured type of wails that had crippled you moments ago. This was a release, the type of ugly cry you do when something you didn’t know was broken starts to heal.

You hated yourself. And that was okay, because as you waited for that awful voice to mock you, it never did. You hated yourself, wept so hard you thought your eyes were going to fall out of your skull, but you had never felt lighter.

Nesta found your hand, gentle at first as if giving you time to pull away. Then she held onto you like the simple touch could convey what you were worth to her. “You are the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break you.” She whispered, but the words resonated like she had shouted them at you.

The smile started as a small twitch at the corners of your mouth, but you knew Nesta saw it all the same. You searched for that dreadful voice, waited for it to speak something dreadful, but the quip never came. The smile that bloomed on your cheeks was wide with astonish.

You couldn’t believe it, after 300+ years of letting that nasty voice ruin you, there was peace. In its place was something new and bright.

Hope.

XxXx

The sound of beating wings announced the arrival of Cassian and Azriel a moment before the weight of their landing sent vibrations through the hard stone of the staircase. The two hulking Illyrian warriors made quick work of the walk up the stairs, their casual conversation trailing off once they were within earshot of you and Nesta.

“Ness!” Cassian’s voice boomed in greeting, cheery and boisterous, “I see why you asked for me to bring Azriel now. Here I thought you were acting on your ‘secret’ fantasies finally. The location left something to be desired, but I wasn’t going to be picky.”

Nesta sat shoulder to shoulder with you, so close, you felt her stiffen at Cassian’s offbeat comment. If you weren’t so drained, you’d be cross with her for summoning more witnesses, but the idea of having to walk back up all those steps upset you far more. The adrenaline high from your anxiety had long worn off, and without its numbing effect, you weren’t sure if you could even stand without your legs wobbling.

Nesta sighed, deep and long suffering, but affectionate nonetheless. “Your inability to read the room will always astound me.”

“Good thing we’re outside, there is no–” Cassian’s breath hitched, now close enough to get a good look at your downcast expression, haggard appearance, and odd attire. You were careful to keep your emotions under control, unwilling to let anyone in the Inner Circle see you in such a vulnerable state. Years of cautious composer, wasted, all because of a meeting that lasted less than 30 minutes. You expected disapproval, your emotions had only been met with ridicule in the past, but the apparent emotions flying across Cassian’s face were anything but cold.

Worry. Guilt. Unease. Cassian’s emotions were so boldly displayed, you didn’t need your powers to disconcert them.

Cassian paused in his ascent as he looked you over for injury, but Azriel closed the distance in the time it took you to blind away the tingle of the latest round of tears. Their concern was almost palatable, and being shown that type of care felt too good to be real. 

These males had no reason to care so much, Nesta had no tangible reason to care so much. You were so… you, so replaceable and plain. You breathed through the thought, let it roll over you, maybe that was why they cared so much, because you are you. It had never occurred to you that you were someone worth caring for. Not when your own father never cared. Certainly not after Rhysand gave you the ultimatum to get useful or get out.

You are the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break you. Nesta’s words repeated in your head, sending a zing of determination down your spine. 

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Azriel crouched down, his chest siphon reflecting the late afternoon sun. His questions made you feel queasy, but his presence soothed over you like a balm. This male simultaneously was the person you worried about disappointing most, and the person you felt most safe being vulnerable around.

Unlike with Nesta, you didn’t struggle with facing Azriel. He was inspecting the grime covered scrapes on your bare toes. “Where are your shoes?” He asked you, puzzled as he then took note of your sweat soaked bra, “and your shirt?”

A dark look passed over him, if his shadows could withstand the direct sunlight, you were sure they’d be writhing around you. He spoke your name like a whispered prayer, desperate. His gloved hands hesitated as he reached out to cup your face, only smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks when you didn’t jerk away, “please look at me,” and you did, meeting his amber eyes as he wiped remnant tear stains from your cheeks, “Did someone try to hurt you?”

You knew what he meant, but your explanation caught in your throat. A brief moment of shame overwhelmed you, because here you were blubbering over some harsh words from your High Lord, when people suffered far worse fates than your own every day. Azriel began to tense, an icy cold rage taking form as he mistook your silence as an affirmative.

You shook your head ‘no’, hating the troubling turmoil you had unintentionally sowed in him. His shoulders sagged, the sign of his relief so slight, many would have missed it. It was all it took for the remaining threads of your thin composure to snap.

Azriel all but scooped you into his arms as tears blurred your vision, and you crumbled into him, no further prompting needed. He held you so tight, it was like he was trying to hold all your pieces together for you. His wings flared to keep his balance, and maybe later you’d feel sheepish about almost tipping him backwards down those unforgiving stairs, but you relished in the comfort his strength brought you.

“I-I was–It was–” You couldn’t string the sentence together, “We were…I was–” you tried again but your breathing was off, your thoughts all jumbled, and Blessed Mother, you couldn’t do it again. Any words you’d thought about trying to say morphed into sobs, barely audible, but you couldn’t hide the way your body shook with them.

“Rhysand happened.” Nesta asserted, sparing what was left of your dignity by cutting off your senseless stuttering. She summarized the meeting, but touched on the major points that had triggered your anxiety. She was gentle with the recollection of your part in the meeting, scathingly critical of Rhysand. 

“When I left Rhysand’s office, The Morrigan was getting in his face, and as much as I would have loved to see how that went down, it felt wrong to not check in with you.” Nesta explained like she was coming clean, “ I asked the house where you were.”

It was about as close to an apology you’d ever get from Nesta. You knew from experience that Nesta took her time warming to people, preferring to mind her business and stay out of Inner Circle drama. Once she’d made an offhand comment about being the center of the drama enough to last her the rest of her fae lifetime.

Keeping your head rested on Azriel’s shoulder, you turned your face to the side so your voice was less muffled, “Thank you,” your words carried on the wind, paper thin, frail, but so heartfelt, “for following me.”

Nesta didn’t respond, and you didn’t dare look at her out of fear of getting weepy again. But you felt it all the same, a shift in the relationship between the two of you. Like a bridge branching out, a new understanding solidified in place, and you knew Nesta had felt it too.

You shifted in Azriel’s arms, intending on testing your strength, but his arms tensed to keep you in place. In one graceful movement that had your head spinning, Azriel stood up right, adjusting to support your weight in a bridal hold.

“How about we get you home and clean you up?” Azriel suggested, loud enough for the others to hear, but the question aimed at you.

Home. As in the apartment you shared with Mor. He had called Velaris your home.

Your heart gave a painful throb, all choked up again at the sentiment. Going home sounded like the most splendid thing in the whole world in that moment. You didn’t want to think about Rhysand or Hewn City anymore, you wanted to go home so much it hurt.

There was some rustling, Cassian coming to stand near Nesta. “Wanna race me back up to the house?” His words were muffled as if his lips were pressed into the crown of Nesta’s head. “Winner gets head.”

The swift resounding slap Cassian received almost made things seem normal.

“Are you two good?” Nesta ignored Cassian’s taunting, and you nodded at the same time Azriel responded with, “Yes, I’ve got her.”

A beat passed in silence, all four of you waiting to see if anyone added anything else. Then rapid footsteps took off up the stairs, and you popped your head up from the crook near Azriel’s underarm to see Nesta sprinting up the stairs.

“Hey!” Cassian bellowed, charging after her, “cheaters never prosper, Nesta!”

“Prove it, you overgrown bat!”

If you weren’t about ready to pass out from exhaustion, you would have laughed at their antics. Azriel was watching them, an unguarded fondness in his hazel eyes you rarely got to see. The two of you stayed like that, Azriel watching his friends, you committing his soft expression to memory. By the time Azriel glanced down to you, Cassian had overtaken Nesta’s lead, their figures dots in the distance.

You were a melted puddle of female in his arms, all tension and stress slipping from your muscles as your eyelids drooped. Try as you might, you couldn’t keep your eyes open for another second. Paranoia nagged at you, fear of what you’d see when you finally rested your eyes.

Nothing. Blissful darkness. Peace.

“I’m going to take off now. Loop your arms around my neck and hold on tight, okay? Once we get up high enough, the rest of the flight will be smooth.”

You did as you were told, any other time you would have been a nervous wreck, but you didn’t have it in you to fret. You’d always winnowed with someone, even learning how to land the drop through the wards when Mor winnowed with you to the House of Wind. You’d thought no one had noticed how you avoided the topic, but surprise surprise, Azriel had noticed.

The thought of being up that high in the sky and dropped sure made your pulse spike. Growing up in an Underground City meant your feet were always planted on the ground. So maybe it wasn’t a stretch to claim that you weren’t a fan of heights, you’d never flown with anyone before, but it would make a lot of damn sense.

Your musing was cut short. Azriel launched straight up into the sky, powerful wings effortlessly gaining momentum and speed. You clung to him, hands clasped together around his neck in a death grip, screaming bloody murder the entire ascend. Although you would deny it if anyone asked.

Things evened out once Azriel felt he was high enough, setting a leisure pace towards what you assumed to be the direction of Mor’s apartment. Your eyes were squeezed shut, wind whipping your hair out of what was left of your updo, tossing it across your face.

You must have been quite the sight, if the amusement in Azriel’s voice was any indication. “Are you going to look at the view?”

Your hair was a disheveled mess across your face, the wind burned your already sore eyes when you tried to pry them open. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t keep my eyes open,” It was probably beautiful, but you didn’t want to push your luck, you’d had enough panic attacks for the day, “Luckily, I don’t want to.”

He chuckled. “Next time then.”

Blame it on the fatigue, but you found yourself nodding in agreement. Something you may come to regret when he urges you to fly with him instead of winnowing the next time you travel together.

But maybe it won’t be so bad, if Azriel was the one carrying you. With your eyes closed, ear pressed to his chest, his steady heartbeat lulled the residual tension and anxiety away until all you felt was the security of his arms. You could almost forget that you were hundreds of feet off the ground.

In Azriel’s care, it was easy to relax, he wouldn’t let anything bad happen. It was in that half dozing state, snuggled up as close as you could get to him, that your sleepy mind realized moments like these were the ones you wanted to remember.

Ultimately, Rhysand’s nasty words were a small part of your day. The majority of your time was spent with Nesta, bonding with her in a way you’d never managed previously. Something that would have never happened if Rhysand hadn’t been a dick.

Yeah. You’d much rather remember the day as the Nesta heart-to-heart incident. Or the first time you flew with Azriel.

Drifting into a deeper sleep, you dreamt of the way Cassian’s laughter echoed with joy as he chased after Nesta up the stairs. You dreamt of soaring through the clouds with Azriel, the same fondness you’d seen in his eyes for Cassian and Nesta, but aimed at you.

It may take you the rest of your life, but you would replace all the trauma muddying up your memories with new memories you wanted to remember. New memories filled with laughter, affection, trust, and adventure.

One day at a time. 

Rhysand could go pound sand though.

XxXx

Previous Chapter / Bonus: Chapter 2.5 / Next Chapter (coming soon)

A/N: Don't worry the next part is going to be more like the first chapter. There will be like two more chapters sprinkled in that have a more serious tone, but the rest will be fluff, drama, and tomfoolery a plenty. Stay tuned for cheeky Cassian in the next update!!

Tag List: @f4iry-bell @jediknightjana @microwaveallthedemons @olive-main

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @5onedirection5

@brieflyclassymortal @hauntedstudentobservationus

[just-a-fluffy-knight]

Little Sass Factory

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: canon typical language, Logan being ruthless and Wade being a teasy asshole

A/N: LETS GOOO DEADPOOL AND WOLVIE FIC‼️‼️ I’ve been wanting to write for these guys ever since I saw the movie y’all have no idea I am so obsessed with them right now 😞 AND A PLUS BEING THIS DOESNT NECESSARILY SPOIL THE MOVIE SOOOO YALL CAN READ IT 🙌🏻🙌🏻

I really hope y’all like this bc I cannot stop thinking about them and yapping about them to my buddies 😭🙏🏻 Like as much as I’d love to wreck these two, I cannot stop thinking about them as a ler duo so have this :]

OKAY HAVE FUN READING YALL 🫂❤️

Tag List: @prairleedog (THANKS FOR THE TITLE INSPO POOKALOOKS 🙏🏻❤️) @kittenwhiskers @cherry-bomb-blush

“Y’know what? I’m actually real excited for this! Moony has been wanting to write a thing with us for a while now! Good on her for pushing through the writers block, that shit sucks ass.”

“…What the hell are you talking about?! We’re looking for the kid, remember!?”

And that they were. They’d been scouring the apartment for like… six minutes now trying to find you. But somehow, you’d been able to consistently switch hiding spots without them noticing.

How? They had no clue. The pair wouldn’t have been surprised discovering you were also some kind of mutant but with advanced sneakiness, if that was even a thing.

Wade was actually having a bit of fun with this, whereas Logan… he was getting pretty pissed. More so than usual.

“Kid, I swear to god, if you don’t show yourself in ten goddamn seconds, I WILL start tearing this fucking place down!”

Logan crouched, his claws instantly coming out, making Wade panic.

“Woaaah, woah, woah, woah! Easy, Peanut, we’re trying to find ‘em! Not kill them, which may sound a little rich coming from me-“

“I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to be angry. The kid decided to pull that shit on us and then split. And now we can’t find ‘em.” The older man growled, his claws retracting back into his hands.

“And this is the moment we start working together!” Wade announced, an arm slung around Logan’s shoulder that most likely would’ve been sliced if he hadn’t allowed the latter to shrug it off in annoyance.

However, Logan swiftly turned at the sound of a noise nearby, his eyebrow raising as he went to check it out, leaving Wade to keep rambling about nonsense he didn’t understand.

“God, where’s Peter Parker when you need him?? Actually, I don’t think I’d mind a lil bit of Miguel O’hara…” Wade let out a long whistle.

“…Ah wait, he doesn’t have that Spidey-Tingle , fUCK-!”

The merc suddenly yelped as he was grabbed by his collar, being yanked towards where Logan was moving.

Meanwhile, you were curled up, both hands over your mouth as you tried to shut yourself up, anxious titters threatening to give yourself away.

You mentally berated that stupid floorboard that just had to creak at the slightest bit of goddamn pressure.

“Ohhh, Y/NNNNN! Come on out now, we’re not gonna hurt ya!”

The sound of the merc’s goofy teasing made you snicker even more, but when you heard how close Logan’s voice was to the closet, you froze.

“Why the hell do you have to talk like that?”

“Whaaat? It turns up the fun knob a little bit! And I know they can hear meeeee!” Wade crooned in that same sing-song tone, followed by an unamused huff from Logan.

“We’re gonna getcha, we’re gonna getchaaaa!”

God, could they just get out the room?? You had to throw them off again and fast. During your panicked inner monologue, you were soon met with… silence.

You relaxed, knowing you must’ve had an opportunity.

…At least you did until you realised something. When the hell is it ever quiet when those two are together?

Then, you heard a hushed voice coming from outside the closet door.

“Ladies and gents, this is the moment you’ve waited for…”

…Oh, fuck.

Without warning, the closet doors were swung open by Wade, and the merc jokingly vocalised (very off-key too) while throwing his arms up with a flourish.

“WOOOAAAAAH!”

As you yelped in fear and dashed out the closet, Wade laughed and made a glance towards… well, air.

“If ya know, ya know!”

You quickly slipped past Wade, also laughing as you ran out the door to the room you’d been hiding in.

“Yohou’ll never take me al- ACK-!”

You yelped again as two strong arms wrapped around your torso, hoisting you up and off the floor.

…Shit.

“And just where do you think you’re goin, bub?”

“Wait, wahahait! Logan, hohold on-“

“No no no no no, I’m not waiting for anything.” Logan interrupted, carrying you back into the bedroom. “Not after you pulled that shit.”

“Oh, whahat? A little bit of water?”

“I wouldn’t say the rubber band on the sink trick counts as a little bit of water, Y/N.” Wade snickered, crossing his arms and smiling proudly at the fact you’d been caught.

“Come ohon, it wasn’t that bahAD-!” You yelped again as you were tossed onto the bed, still giggling. “Whahat’s the matter? Couldn’t shake the water off, kitty cat?”

The older hero scowled threateningly at you, ignoring Wade who sniggered at the joking insult.

“What?”

“You heheard me!”

Just as Logan was about to full on lunge towards you, Wade grabbed him.

“Hey, hey! Easy now, boy.” The merc spoke like he was talking to a feral dog, making Logan glare at him and growl.

“God, what now?”

“We gotta approach slowly! It builds up anticipation…” As Wade spoke, he began slowly approaching, carefully clambering onto the bed. “And proves to this little prankster how royally fucked they are!”

And it was working. Your giggles soon turned nervous, and you curled up, attempting to shy away from Wade (but not actually putting a lot of effort into getting away, much to Logan’s surprise and Wade’s amusement).

“And theeeen I’m juuust gonnaaaaaa…”

Suddenly, the merc’s arms swiftly looped under your own, lifting and leaving your, well, everything pretty much exposed and unable to be protected.

“Go on, boy! Gettem! Gettem, boy!”

Logan’s fury was way too fuelled by Wade’s stupid comments to even allow you to get a word in edgeways, instantly lunging forwards before digging and vibrating his claw-shaped hands right into your ribs.

“OhoH SHIHIHIT-! L-Logan, gehet OHOHOFF-!” A squeal left your mouth as you burst into frantic giggles and tried to kick, only for the older man to firmly shove right back at your legs, rendering you unable to fight back.

“God, will you just- quit the kicking?” Logan growled, a surprising air of playfulness behind it as he shot his hands right down to your thighs, firmly kneading there.

Despite already squealing your ass off, you couldn’t help but make a quip.

“Mahahaking biscuits reheally isn’t gonna hehehelp you beat the kitty allegahations, buhud-!”

Another low grumble filled the room, before Logan turned his head to Wade.

“Shut the kid up.”

“Roger that!”

Wade did a dumb salute before unhooking his arms from under yours to wiggle his fingers right into your armpits.

“Getchagetchagetcha!”

“AAAAHHHHHAHA DAMMIHIHIT-!” You practically shrieked, your giggles instantly shifting into full blown laughter as you pinned your elbows to your ribs, trying to squirm away but failing thanks to that iron grip Logan had on your legs.

“Ooh! I think I got a killer spot here, Logan!”

“Hmph, that’s nothin. Watch this.”

Logan earned another screech by mercilessly drilling his thumbs into your hips, making you buck instinctively and cackle uncontrollably.

“Nuh-uh! Armpits are the killer!” Wade protested, the merc speeding up his tickles on your underarms.

“Fat chance! They’re like a banshee when you get ‘em here!”

You wanted to protest, but all you could focus on were those hands attacking your weak spots.

Eventually, you felt them thankfully let up.

…For now, anyway.

“Now, Y/N. There is a way we can squash this beef, y’know.”

Logan sighed at Wade’s words, never understanding this ridiculous slang he dropped into conversation like it was nothing.

“Maybe a simple phrase such as… ‘I’m sorry?’”

“I can do one better.” Logan interrupted. “How about ‘I’m sorry I was a jabbering little sass factory who had the audacity to pull a dumb fuckin prank on people who didn’t do jack?’”

While catching your breath, you sealed what was basically your death wish.

“Oh, yeheah, Captain Caveman? Wheheres your helicopter cluhub, you gonna hit mehe with it?”

Logan fell silent again… while Wade couldn’t help but let out a wheeze at the quip.

“Ohoh, my god! Baby’s first character comparison joke, I’ve taught you so well..!” Wade sniffed dramatically, wiping a fake tear of proudness from the corner of his eye.

However, he froze once he heard you mutter something else.

“Thahat’s right, Mr Clehean-“

A strong gasp of offence left the merc as he placed a hand on his chest, while Logan gave him a smug look at not being the only one who was insulted.

“I beg your finest fucking pardon?! You think that’s any way to talk to Marvel Jesus and his very hairy disciple here!?”

Logan gave Wade another unamused glare.

“Y’know what?”

Wade then swiftly grabbed you again.

“Give ‘em the whiskers, Peanut!”

“They’re not whiskers, they’re muttonchops, you dumb fuck.”

“Same thing! Or shall I pull the move and do a much better job as always?”

The older man snarled, lowering his head down.

“I’ll show you who does it better, asshole…”

“Okay, wait, wahait-! W-What mohove is thiHIHIS-?!”

You cut yourself off with yet another shriek as Logan suddenly blew a giant raspberry right against your stomach, the added sensations that his facial hair provided making you near silent laughter.

It was clear that Logan was basically taking out all his pent up annoyance at Wade on you, and good god it tickled super bad.

And Wade? He was being no help either, as usual.

“Awww, wook at the giggwy wittle baby! Are the Badger Berries making their tummy all tickly? And are they having the time of their life? Yes, they are! Yes, they aaare!”

…Asshole. (Even if he was right.)

You did pride yourself on lasting about five raspberries (Wade could only ever really handle two), but you eventually had to tap your hand against one of Wade’s arms that were still hooked under yours.

“Okahay, Logan. Give em a rest.”

Despite his annoyed hesitance, Logan leant back up, allowing you to get your breath back in shaky pants.

“Geheez… you twoho are juhuhust..!”

“We’re waiting, kid.”

The older man interrupted, giving you a playful but threatening look.

“Fihine… I-I’m sohorry..!” You sighed, your face red as anything as you blinked away little tears that had pricked in the corners of your eyes.

“There we go! That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Wade teased, resting his chin on your shoulder, in which you just rolled your eyes.

“Anyway, we better get ready for round two, huh?”

…Uh oh.

“WHAT?! B-Buhut I apologised!”

Wade did a pretend ‘apologetic asshole’ wince.

“Yeah… but this attack was more only to get you to apologise. This one is to actually teach you a lesson!”

“But thahat’s bullshit-!”

“Well, it’s a good thing we don’t give a fuck.”

Logan shared a look of pure mischief with Wade.

“Let’s gettem.”

And just like that, you were screaming and laughing the apartment down once more, as Logan nuzzled his furry face right into your belly again, pretending to eat it and growling playfully while Wade wrapped his arms around you and blew a raspberry right into the crook of your neck.

Yeah… you were gonna be here for a while.

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part twenty-one

authors note: here it is, friends! i def focused more on the family unit vs friends. i also probably broke some wrestling and wwe protocols/rules. don't care. issa story. let's use our imagination, friends.

hope it lives up to the buildup! low key have had the ending scene written for forever and am so happy to finally have it out.

status: in progress // masterlist

warnings: fluff, language, angst, and suggestive themes

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

faceclaims

words: 10k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wanderingreigns

You had a plan.

A wonderfully thought out plan.

A wonderfully thought out plan that was quickly squashed and thrown out the window the moment you stepped foot in your bathroom and glanced at the mirror.

More a stare, but that’s understandable because the last thing you expected to do was wake up to find yourself with a baby bump.

It’s not like your stomach has ever been fully flat, but anyone who’s ever been pregnant knows that a baby bump has a different kind of look. A different kind of feel.

And all of that is wonderful, a major surprise, but it’s also something that ruins your plans entirely because you haven’t even told Callie about your pregnancy.

The plan was for you and Joe to sit Callie down and tell her about the baby, but said baby has decided to make his presence known regardless of your plan.

It’s still mind blowing to you that you’re already showing, and with as much depth to your bump,  at freshly three months. You didn’t even start showing with Callie until you were four months.

There’s no way this isn’t a boy, a boy who’s clearly going to be a big boy just like his daddy.

You try not to think too much about what that might mean delivery wise. 

The excitement and happiness easily sets in as the shock wears off, and you must spend a good ten minutes just admiring the first physical sign of life growing inside of you. 

You can’t wait to tell Joe, but it’s that though that stops you for a second.

This is a beautiful, wonderful development that would be cheapened if shared via technology. Even a FaceTime video feels not special enough. You want to do everything you can to keep these updates for him in person, so a revised plan is quickly created.

Hide it.

Going to Philadelphia where it’s already chilly makes that a little easier, but dodging too much physical interaction with Callie and your mom, who flew in the night before to fly to Philly with you and Callie, isn’t the easiest, but it’s doable.

Just like this plan.

It’s a plan that somehow, by the grace of God, carries you to travel day, to the airport and even the terminal as you touch down in the city of brotherly love.

Because of a lot of different factors, the most important regarding privacy and even safety, Joe doesn’t meet you at the airport. He instead sends a car to meet the three of you, which you’re partially grateful for as it gives you yet one less chance for him to find out about your baby bump indirectly vs you showing him yourself.

Granted, having to hide a baby bump from three of the most important people in your life is no easy task, especially with Callie who loves to be all over you. Which, normally, you don’t mind because you adore her affection, but it’s just redirecting that focus from your abdomen that’s a pain in the ass.

And you get a bit of a pass when not even a good five minutes into the Airbnb, which is nice as hell, Callie’s sweet voice is shouting with all of the excitement she can muster in her tiny little body.

“Daddy!”

Joe rounds the corner of the kitchen island and drops to his knees just in time to catch Callie who throws herself into him. They’re about what and what when it comes to excitement in seeing each other.

It brings a smile to your face. Their love for each other is probably your favorite thing in this whole world.

Joe greets your mom who is already talking about how she needs to go grocery shopping so she can cook, which you’re not entirely opposed to.

The less you have to do involving that, the better.

But, it’s when he comes toward you, you do your best to be subtle with the placement of your hand on his chest to keep that separation as he kisses you. It’s not subtle enough though, because you catch the peculiar look he shoots your way, and you’re certain if not for Callie pulling his attention to the artwork she’d created for him, he’d call you out on the spot.

But Callie always comes first, and you’ve never been more grateful.

It’s that distraction that allows you to sneak upstairs where you easily find the room Joe already has his stuff in. Emptying only some of the contents, you’re mainly only concerned with hanging up your dresses.

And once that’s done, you decide it’s now or never, walking into the living room where Joe is playing with Callie.

“Callie, I need to talk to your daddy real quick.”

As expected, she’s a pouting, protesting mess. “Mommy, nooooo.”

“It’ll be real fast baby, like ten minutes.” Bargaining with your four year old to talk to your boyfriend, who is also her dad….definitely another thing not on your 2024 bingo card.. 

However, this is a semi acceptable temporary swap, but not enough for her to not use her little tablet and literally set a timer for ten minutes.

Rolling your eyes, you wave Joe over. “Girl, you are so dramatic.” She’s clearly been hanging around Alexis too much. You didn’t even know she knew how to do that.

Joe meets you at the bottom of the steps. “Better hurry up, we on the clock.”

It takes tremendous effort not to flip him off. “Shut up.”

The bedroom door is barely closed before he’s asking with all the attitude, “now you gon tell me why you acting funny?”

It’s impossible not to roll your eyes. Nothing gets past this man. “You’re so damn dramatic just like your daughter.” It’s gotta be the light skin in him. “Sit down.” He opens his mouth, probably to say something else smart, but you remind him, “hurry up before she comes beating on the door. You know she loves her daddy time.”

That seems to do it, or at least enough for him to begrudgingly drop his bulky body down on the edge of the bed. Forever impatient, he asks again, “well?”

With another shake of your head, you decide to put this man child out of his misery. Walking over so you’re only a couple inches away from him, your hand moves under the layers of clothing as you lift them over your stomach. 

“This is why I was acting funny.” It’s impossible to hold back the smile on your face at the way his eyes light up with a perfect and expected combination of enjoyment and shock. “Good enough reason?” Naturally, his big hand reaches to feel the swell of your belly, the first physical sign of the child growing inside of you. “I knew you’d feel it if you hugged me, and I didn’t want you to find out that way.”

“You’re showing….” It’s such an obvious statement, but you know it comes from such a special and meaningful place for him. 

“I am,” you answer, watching him continue to rub your stomach, like he’s trying to make sure it’s real, that this is real. “And that’s how I know this is definitely a boy, because I didn’t start showing this much with Callie until I was four, maybe five months.” And you just hit three months officially last week. “Watch him have your big ass ears and feet.”

Joe tugs you closer, lips pressed against your stomach. It makes your heart swell. His gaze then lifts, eyes full of curiosity, “does she know?”

“No. That’s been hard too, trying to hide it from her. Because I refused to tell her without you.” It would literally kill you to deprive him of that opportunity. Even more, you’re not sure you even feel entirely comfortable doing as such. It feels so inherently wrong to do or share anything major like this with her without Joe’s help or input, preferably the former.

“I told you. I’m gonna do everything right this time….” You lean down and kiss his forehead, asking in an equally low voice. “Are you still cool with me going to the awards with you?”

He stares at you with utter confusion “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Shrugging, you explain, intentionally not stating the real reason you’re unsure. He can read between the lines. “Well, my dress is tight and there’s no way in hell you won’t be able to see my bump in it. Any of my dresses for this weekend, really.”

You’re just thankful you can still wear them even with this almost overnight curveball of your belly suddenly extending more. 

Joe’s gaze softens as he lays his hands on your hips, holding you protectively. “Y/N, I haven’t a fucking ounce of desire to try to hide this pregnancy. I don’t want to publicly announce it per se, but I don’t give a fuck who at WWE knows that we’re having another baby. I’m happy about this, over the fucking moon. Let them see you’re pregnant. I don’t care.”

You know this. Deep down, you wholeheartedly know this. But there’s always this annoying string of fear you have have of doing something to mess up or fuck with all of his accomplishments. You know how much he went through to get to where he is, and you’d never ever do anything to risk that.

“Okay.” His reassurance means a lot to you. It’s exactly what you need. With a sigh, you ask, curious and hopeful, “so, can we tell Callie about the baby now and then let my mom see I’m showing?” 

“Of course, baby, whatever you want.” 

His agreement was a given, but it’s still a massive relief. “Thank you cause wearing all these clothes got me sweating and shit, and hiding it from my mom has been really hard.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t even start that shit. One of us has to be employed.” You move for the door to call Callie when he stops you. “Yes?”

His big hands snake around to your ass, giving a gentle yet firm squeeze. “I prefer you in nothing anyway.”

Ugh. Tonight can’t come fast enough. “You’re so nasty….” You love it, though. Besides, It’s been way too long. Stealing a kiss, you walk over and open the door, calling out, “Callie! Come here, baby!”

This little girl comes speeding up the stairs and runs into the room, instantly jumping back onto Joe who makes a fake grunt sound as he falls back on the bed with her on his chest.

“Sis, if you don’t stop all that running…..” The older she gets, the more it seems like she has all this energy she doesn’t know what to do with. Ya’ll should be putting her in gymnastics instead of ballet.

“Baby………” Her giggles die down as Joe stops tickling her, sitting up and kissing her temple, eyes closing for a bit. He missed her so much. “You remember how grandma told you where babies come from?”

She nods, happily explaining as if you and Joe need a refresher on this topic. “Jesus tells the angels to put a baby in a mommy’s belly, so the baby can have a mommy and daddy.”

It’s not exactly the type of explanation you would have given, but you also don’t know if you could have done much better with such a question being asked on the spot like that. So, it’ll do for now.

“That’s right.” No need to take her little joy at that clear, concise explanation she’s clearly proud of. Even if it’s a bit…..off. “And we got the best baby in all of baby heaven.” You bop her nose and she giggles. “But Calista….the angels came to see mommy again.”

You can see that she’s partially picking up what you’re implying, but it’s Joe who does the honors of sharing the outright news. He angles her, so she’s looking at him as wel. “Your mommy and I are having another baby, Callie Bear,” Joe explains as you lift your garments again to show Callie your stomach. “You’re gonna be a big sister.”

She gasps loudly and points. “Mommy! Your tummy is bigger!”

Laughing, you explain, “that’s right. It’s gonna keep getting bigger because that means the baby is growing.”

Your eyes water as she reaches over to feel on your stomach, happily exclaiming, “I’m gonna have a baby sister!”

Laughing, you remind her, “or brother.”

She doesn’t seem to hear or care too much about that, immediately asking the two of you, “can I play with the baby?”

Joe handles that one, answering so effectively “when she or he gets a little older, yes, but not when they’re still really little because you have to be really careful with babies.”

“When is the baby coming?”

“September.”

She’s instantly annoyed, crossing her arms. “That’s a really long time!”

Both you and Joe laugh at that one as you readjust your clothes, “it’ll go by really fast. Trust me.” Leaning over, you ask her, already knowing the answer ahead of time. “You wanna help me and your daddy tell grandma about the baby?”

Your mom already knows about the pregnancy, but this will be her first time seeing your bump. Beyond that, you know she’ll play dumb for the sake of not wanting to deter Callie’s excitement. 

She freaking cheers, fists raised and everything as she hops off Joe’s lap and reaches for both of your hands. “Come onnnnn.”

Obliging Callie, each of you holding one of her hands, Joe shoots you a look, conveying all of his happiness and love.

And you reciprocate it right back.

Life is so damn good right now.

———-

The Hall of Fame awards is definitely a night to remember, starting with all of the hoopla that comes with the preparation. Kaylah comes over to Joe’s Airbnb to get ready with you, which is appreciated. Of course, Alexis comes over from her hotel as well. It ends up being a fun girls thing with you actually noticing and missing the presence of Bianca and Trinity, though you know Bianca’s flight doesn’t come in until tomorrow morning and logistically, it’s just easier for Trin to get ready at her and Jon’s Airbnb.

Still, it’s a bit of an ordeal squeezing into your gown. Out of the three dresses you purchased for the weekend’s events, the Hall of Fame number was already the most snug prior to your bump appearing almost overnight. Thankfully, it’s workable, and it does look good on you still. It’s just, obviously, tighter in the stomach area than you would have liked. 

There’s no way in hell people won’t be able to see you’re pregnant. Ain’t enough bloating in the world.

But, the minute you walk down those steps, and Joe lifts his attention from the phone in his hand, you’re reminded again how unbothered he is by the fact that most of his colleagues in the WWE will know that you two are expecting. The gentle way he cradles your bump and equally gentle kiss against your forehead as he assures you how beautiful you look washes away any and all anxiety. 

And it’s just the cherry on top when Callie gushes over how much you look like a Disney princess. There are additional compliments, but the ones from your two favorite people in this entire world easily snatch the top spot. 

There’s a bit of renewed anxiety when arriving at the actual awards, but Joe’s hand is firmly around yours, never once loosening or his grip slipping. That makes a world of difference to you. The anxiety is also depleted by the fact that the two of you, which makes a lot of sense, are seated by the twins. Being around Kaylah and Trinity is so relieving, and Trin nearly tackles some female wrestlers when she runs over to hug you, feeling on your bump. You really missed her.

Her energy is so infectious.

She even manages to convince you and Kaylah to make a couple TikToks with her in the bathroom before the ceremony begins, one of them being some apparent trend the clock app has started based upon the whole Mariah fiasco. You don’t really understand it, but Hollaback Girl is that song, so you go with it freely and play the role well.

It’s their presence, along with the twins even, that keeps you comfortable and relaxed when Joe has to leave toward the end of the night to prepare for his induction speech for Paul Heyman. And when your man’s music hits, followed by him walking out a few minutes later, you’re grateful you’re already with child, cause he most definitely would be putting a baby in you tonight. Joe is just an insanely attractive human being, but that black suit, the swagger, the confidence, it’s all a dangerous combination. 

He looks so damn good. As embarrassing as it is, it’s hard for you to pay attention to his actual speech. You’re certain it’s just as good as he looks, but your pregnancy hormones have accelerated your sex drive more than typical because all you can think about is his beautiful, long, thick dick inside of you, filling you to the brim in the way that only he can.

There’s a couple of shifts in your seat during said speech as well.

And, of course, this fine ass motherfucker notices because he notices everything. It takes your entire arsenal of self-control not to punch him when he rejoins you, casually whispering in your ear, “you need me to take care of that for you, mama?”

You hate him. 

But, you also love him.

Still hate him though.

Not enough to nearly jump his bones the minute the two of you are alone in the back of the SUV. Not even the length of your dress can get in the way of you spreading your thighs across his lap. His thick, spread legs allow you to feel the bulge of him against your center. It nearly makes you come right then and there, fully clothed and all.

“When we get back to that house….”

He chuckles, deep voice purring in your ear as his hand slips under your dress, pushing aside your panties to tease those deliciously talented fingers across your already wet folds. “What? Tell daddy what you want, baby.” You squeeze his shoulders as he dips two fingers in, and it takes everything in you not to moan out his name. “You want this pussy in my mouth? Hmm. Want daddy’s dick inside you?”

You can’t bring yourself to speak, just furious nodding against his shoulder as his fingers make a hitherto motion inside you, your pussy contracting against him.

It’s fucking disgusting how pathetic you are for this man, how all your defenses crumble and shatter just from one fucking touch.

And it’s embarrassing as hell when the driver opens the car door, and you have to quickly reorient yourself as Joe yanks his fingers out of you, leaving you just as much a mess but an incognito mess.

Yeah…..you really do hate this man.

Just not enough to nearly be ready to run up the stairs and rip his clothes off the minute you step back into the Airbnb.

But, that’s only a dream, a hope, a fantasy.

Because you two are met with the peacefully sleeping, tiny body of none other than Callie right smack dab in the middle of your and Joe’s bed.

You’ve never in your entire life been both so awestruck and devastated at the exact same time. 

For a brief, embarrassing moment, you consider asking Joe to fuck you in the bathroom. You’re just that feral for him, but logic quickly rushes back in, and you’re sickened by just the idea of having sex literally feet away from where your daughter sleeps. Locked door or not. 

It’s a bummer, for sure, but you and Joe adjust accordingly, able to actually undress and shower together without giving into carnal temptations for the sake of your little girl…..your cock blocking little girl, but still your little girl.

And truthfully, it all balances out the moment you and Joe slide in bed, keeping Callie in the middle to not disturb her, because you’re filled with so much happiness having all of your family together.

That…..that is what’s most important to you.

———-

Social Media-Verse

ROMAN REIGNS AND Y/N OFFICIAL THREAD:

OP: Ya’ll!!!! Y/N is pregnant. Some videos and photos got leaked from the WWE Hall of Fame awards, and she was there with Roman sporting a very obvious baby bump. 

User 1: I swear this shit been more entertaining than that “who did I marry” TikTok storytime. Congrats, though!

User 2: It’s 2024. Why are we still commenting on whether people are or are not pregnant? She could just be bloated. 

User 3: @/user2: ……you clearly have no kids. That’s very much a baby bump. There’s even a clip of Trinity (Naomi) running up and rubbing her stomach. Same with Roman. Sis is pregnant lol

User 4: Wow! I wonder how far along she is? Looks maybe four or five months. Congratulations to them. Their daughter is so stinking cute. I know this new baby will be too.

User 5: So was she dealing with all that bullshit while pregnant? Wow, that’s rough. No wonder she started crying on the live. That’s gotta be a lot.

User 6: I know this has been said but my God, she is gorgeous. The silk press. The melanin. The body. She really gives off 90s Gabby Union beauty. Roman got a bad one for sure.

User 7: Ya’ll seen that viral TikTok of them from last night when they were walking in? The one with that Million Dollar Baby song? Someone added a slow-mo filter, and I swear it awakened the bisexual in me. I don’t know who I want to fuck more: him or her.

User 8: @/User7: I mean both is an option…. 

User 9: Seeing the lil clips of them interacting, I’m not surprised sis is knocked up again. I know he be folding her like a pretzel. You can tell he talks her through it. 

User 10: I know I saw a few fonts were skeptical of Jadah and Y/N’s story, but we’ve seen this man speak up for and step out with Y/N more than we ever did with Jadah. It’s obvious they were telling the truth. He may have been married to Jadah, but his heart is clearly and has always been with Y/N. The actions speak for themselves. 

User 11: I still can’t believe we got to watch and witness this whole ordeal for free. 

User 12: I wonder if she’ll be at WM? 

User 13: @/user12: you know she will be. If she’s at the HoF, I can’t see her not being there, since she’s already in Philly. I just wonder if he’ll have her ringside again?

User 12: @/User13: I doubt it. Not after everything that’s gone down. There’s a lot of psycho weirdos in the wrestling community. She’ll probably be in a suite like Kaylah was last year (Jey’s wife) with the kids just for safety reasons.

User14: I think it’s wild how people have really romanticized this Brad/Angelina/Jennifer bullshit. She fucked, got pregnant by, and stole a woman’s whole husband but we’re on here talking about ‘oh, but she’s pretty’ and giving her a pass? This generation is guttersnipe filled. 

User 15: @/User14: Have you caught up on the whole story? Y/N’s ex ‘best friend’ lied about a ton of shit. Yeah, Jadah was his wife, but she herself acknowledged it was an open marriage with Roman. I think she even said she doesn’t like calling it a marriage because she never loved him and always saw them more as roommates. It’s actually a sad situation in a lot of areas, but all parties were consenting. Not necessarily orthodox, but also not anything to judge and persecute over. Two people met, fell in love, and started a family. What’s so wrong about that?

User 16: Here come the Bitter Betty’s. Ain’t ya’ll the same ones that was saying he was about to start hiding Y/N and their daughter with blankets and shit like Michael? Still waiting on that, btw. 

User 17: I went through his whole IG feed and found not one personal/non-kayfabe post EXCEPT for the one he made about the situation. He’s also now openly taken Y/N to an event, something we never saw with the ex-wife. This man is private as hell but hasn’t hesitated to make it clear he’s not hiding her for shit. I suspect they won’t be as public with their kids, but that makes all the sense. He clearly does love her, though.

User18: Trinity uploaded a TikTok of her and Y/N lip singing to Hollaback girl!!! Ya’ll she’s seen the trend! Omg I am DECEASED! Y/N knows what’s up! Hey girl! If you up here and you and Roman ever want a third person, I’m available.

User19: @/User18: Wait, I’m confused. Please clue me in.

User 20: @/User19: So basically someone dug up a photo of Y/N and Mariah when they cheered together and Mariah is giving a low key shady expression. Someone then made a video with the photo followed up with photos and clips of Y/N looking amazing. Lol. It started a trend, and they added the song Hollaback girl since Y/N was cheer captain, and allegedly, Mariah ass was always jealous because she wanted to be captain but was a ‘hollaback girl’ . Hope that makes sense. Kind of hard to explain. Just type in ‘Y/N Hollaback Girl’ and you’ll see a flood of videos. lol

———-

It’s still somewhat unclear to you just why you expected to spend a lot of time at the house with your mom and Callie. Or with Alexis, Bianca, Kaylah, etc. 

You just figured that while Joe invited you two out to see and spend time with him, the actual time spent would be minimal due to how crazy busy he must be.

Boy, were you wrong.

Joe is up early and therefore has you, your mom, and Callie up early to come with him to Lincoln Field.

The actual site of where WrestleMania will be.

Confused but also excited, you don’t hesitate to get ready, the three of you out the door in no time.

It’s pretty freaking cool seeing the field all set up and prepared for WrestleMania. There are some minor areas they’re clearly still working on, but seeing everything before the seats are filled and the lights come on is an experience. 

It’s an experience especially for Callie too who hangs onto every word Joe says to her in his  explanation of different things for her fifty million questions. She also, quite literally, hangs onto him physically, whether it’s him holding her hand as he walks and shows her around or holding her as he walks and shows her around.

Truthfully, you feel like a bit of a third wheel, invading their daddy daughter bonding, because your mom eventually goes to sit down somewhere complaining about her feet hurting or some other excuse. Joe does his best to keep you included, but Callie makes it clear she is number one on the attention list for this trip. And that’s okay. It’s more than okay, because she should and will always come first. 

If anything, it allows you to snap a bunch of photos and take videos, something you made sure to ask Joe you can do before turning into Annie Leibovitz. It’s just too great an opportunity to pass up, to not capture these moments with them, this amazing experience and blending of two of his greatest achievements in this life. 

And pregnancy emotions are at an all time high, because there’s no reason for you to get so emotional at the sight of him holding Callie, her head laid peacefully against his shoulder as he talks to people like Tripple H and Paul Heyman, his fucking coworkers and boss, like it’s nothing. And neither man, to your knowledge, says anything about it either which isn’t entirely surprising.

Joe always speaks highly of Paul, an eccentric character but genuinely nice man, something you can tell right away from Joe’s introduction of the two of you at the Hall of Fame. Same with Triple H, Hunter, as he said to call him. You’re especially grateful and happy to meet him, as Joe has expressed how Hunter taking the reins from Vince has resulted in the wrestler’s having more time off to be with family. 

Hunter has made it possible for Joe to be able to come and see you and Callie as much as he has over the months.

That’s going to make a huge, beneficial difference in the next couple of months.

For obvious reasons.

Meanwhile, while Y/N spends time with her little family, taking in this beautiful moment. Y/N’s mom sits down. She sits and watches along with Kaylah and Bianca (who’d joined the group about an hour ago) the adorable interaction of her daughter’s growing little family.

The older woman, studying her daughter especially, comments in a leading manner, like she’s trying to hint at something without outright saying it, “that’s a defined baby bump to only be three months….”

Kaylah turns to Y/N’s mom, agreeing, “I know, that’s what I was thinking too, but she’s definitely three months. She said the OB/GYN confirmed her conception date at the appointment when she found out.”

“She looks four months. Maybe even five….” Y/N’s mom looks over at Bianca and Kaylah. “We’re all mothers, have experienced pregnancy….”

“Yes ma’am.” Bianca and Kaylah confirm as the older woman sighs, tapping her painted nails against the side of her face.

“You know what I’m thinking?”

And just like that, they do. Bianca gasps as Kaylah asks in a lowered voice, “you don’t think she—”

“We can’t rule it out. Look at her.” Y/N’s mom gestures across the way, quickly asking for clarification purposes. “Don’t they run on Joseph’s side of the family?”

Kaylah nods, still trying to wrap her head around the insinuation alone. “Yeah, but I could have sworn I read years ago it comes more from the mother’s side. Do ya’ll have—”

The oldest of the three women shakes her head, killing at least that chance. “Not that I’m aware of.”

Bianca makes a face, prompting Y/N’s mom to ask, “what?”

She’s clearly hesitant but eventually shares, “we have a couple on my dad’s side.”

At that, Kaylah gasps again, slapping her hand over her mouth. “We should tell her.”

“No, no, no. We don’t want to get her all worked up.” Y/N’s mom quickly shoots down that idea, knowing her daughter well enough to know that wouldn’t turn out well. “We could be wrong—unlikely—but still. She told me they’ll hear the heartbeat at her appointment on Monday. We’ll find out then.”

Bianca blows out a breath. Talk about a plot twist. “Lord, if we’re right….she gon’ kill that man.”

No one disagrees with her statement either.

———-

WrestleMania Day one arrives, and to the surprise of literally no one, Joe and Josh arrange for you all to be in a suite that’s just as nice, if not nicer, than the one at the Super Bowl. 

It’s spacious enough for the lot of you which includes yourself, your mom, Callie, Alexis, Bianca and her fam as well as Kaylah and the kids. It’s actually really nice to have such a commodius area so that the girls can all distract themselves with each other and devices when the actual match starts. The older kids, however, are fully invested in watching Wrestling’s biggest night: part one. 

Once again, Joe surprises you by how present and involved he is with you and Callie. She spends a portion of the beginning of the night with him, Joe once again explaining some of the logistics in such a simple and easy for her to understand manner.

He’s so good with her, so patient, so adept at meeting her on her level.

And Callie, of course, loves every second of it, latches onto every word that leaves his mouth. Again, you’re snapping photos of the interactions, a trip to Walgreens to get them printed is one of the first things on your to do list post-Disney.

You’re especially over the moon when you capture the moment Callie gives Joe a special drawing she created for him depicting him standing in the middle of the ring, raising his belt with WrestleMania and ‘Acknowledge Me’ written at the top of the page.

She might or might not have asked for your help with the spelling.

He’s so touched by this, and Callie is ecstatic when he tapes it on the wall of his locker room. It’s also the cutest fucking thing how she yells out “good luck, daddy!” as security escorts the two of you back to the suite. 

You may have once been his biggest fan, but she’s clearly snatched that title from you with all the quickness.

But while you were prepared to get comfortable in the suite, catching up on girl talk with the ladies once Callie, Taylor, and Ellie got situated with their tablets, that plan is quickly down the drain when security is back and telling you that Joe has asked for you to join him.

That confuses the shit out of you, because he should be getting ready. Why is he asking for you?

And you tell him as such the minute you’re face to face again.

Arms crossed, you force yourself ignore how fucking good he looks and the urge you have to lick a perfect trail down his defined six pack. “Not sure if you’re aware of this, but you’re on the clock, babe. Tick Tock.” He chuckles and walks over, hand to your stomach. “Seriously, Joe, why am I here?”

He answers it so simply, like it should be obvious. “I want you here, so you’re here.”

Looking around, it’s hard not to notice the crew, the cameras, and everything else that makes you feel even more out of place. “Baby, am I allowed to be back here?”

He ignores that question, light brown eyes trailing over you from head to toe. “Damn, you look good.”

He’s not wrong. 

Makeup on point. Silk press pressing to the gods. Your outfit is just the icing on an already delicious cake. The dress is even more flattering than your gown from the Hall of Fame, baby bump and all.  And even though it’s cold as shit outside, the building is relatively well-insulated and beyond that, looking your best on such a big night for the man you love takes precedence over comfort and temperature.

“I’m not gonna distract you?” And then he flexes, a subconscious act that has you licking your lips. “Or maybe you’ll distract me….”

Joe smiles and takes your hand. “Come on.” He begins to lead you out of the room, the camera crew following closely, and for a minute, you panic because it’s obvious he’s eased back into his Roman role. Talking his shit as he walks down a hall that’s far from barren, literal fucking Philladelhia Eagles cheering for him while he saunters with all the confidence in the world, never once releasing your hand.

It’s such a strange yet overwhelmingly good feeling for him to be unabashed about you and his love for you. On one of the biggest nights of his career, amidst all the drama and chaos, he has you, front and center, proudly right by his side.

That’s why you also tap back into your “It Girl” era, easily matching his aura and energy because while he may look good as hell in all areas, so do you. 

You’re very much equally yoked.

Joe moves ya’ll into a gym area that’s laid out perfectly with weights and equipment for him to pump before the match. 

The crew departs for a little while, offering a reason that sounds legitimate enough, but you’re also not that interested or concerned. You’re just happy to have some alone time with Joe.

Leaning back against a stack of mats, you ask him as he starts lifting. “I ever tell you the story about the time Callie called herself running away from home?” The horrified look on Joe’s face is hilarious, so you quickly assure, “relax, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“You just told me our four year old ran away from home…..” When he says it like that, it does sound kind of bad. “What the hell did you do to my little girl?”

Rolling your eyes, you jump right into the explanation, unsure about just how much time you have before the match kicks off. “She's always been a really sweet, easy kid, with the exception of cleaning up after herself. That’s why I always tell you to make her clean because I had a hard time drilling that in her head.” To his credit, he has gotten better with it. “So this was a couple of months before you came back in the picture. I’d been telling her if she didn’t start cleaning up her toys, I was gonna limit her Disney time.”

He’s visibly irritated, switching to the barbell. “That’s foul, Y/N. You know how much my baby loves Disney.”

“That’s exactly why I had to use it. It has to be something she cares about. Anyway, it finally reached a point where I had enough, and told her no Disney for three days. It wasn’t even a week.”

Just recalling the experience brings a humored smile to your face. “Her lil dramatic ass threw a fit and said she was running away to live with grandma. Now, my mom was already coming over to pick her up for the weekend, so I wasn’t too worried. I told her to do what she had to do.” Plus, as a literal four year old, it’s not as if she would ever have the privacy and chance to run away for real.

“So she took a couple things, stuffed them in her lil yellow suitcase, and marched her cute self down the steps to where my mom was waiting for her in the car, cause I had called her to let her know what was happening when sis was throwing her lil tantrum.”

“You upset her. How’d you expect her to react?” You decide to let that lil comment pass. It’s only a matter of time before he finally gets to experience Callie throwing a fit for himself. Then, he’ll get it. 

“I go down the steps to bring my mom Callie’s booster seat, and before she can even get it buckled in, my mom tells Callie that before they can play, she needs help cleaning up the house.” You start laughing, shaking your head. “And when I tell you that lil’ girl did such a 180. All of a sudden, she’s latched onto my leg, telling me she’s sorry, she wants to stay with me, she’ll clean anything I tell her, the works. It was hilarious.”

He’s also laughing, hands on his hips in between a set. “She’s definitely strong willed. She gets it from you.”

“She gets it from us,” you correct, intentionally emphasizing the last word. Calista is the perfect combination of the both of you, the product of your love and the resilience of said love. “Come on.” You straighten up and motion to the weights. “I’ll count you off.”

His brow lifts curiously, “coming out of retirement for me?”

You suck your teeth, redirecting him. “Shut up and get to lifting, Roman.”

The crew returns not too much longer after you start helping him track sets and reps, but it doesn’t stop the conversation. You can’t tell if him taking to and with you is something to maybe curb nerves or if he just genuinely wants to talk to you. Neither makes a difference because you enjoy this time together, for a variety of reasons. From being able to see and be around this monolithic of a man shirtless, sexy as hell, shared tattoo of your daughters name viewable for all to see, on both of you, to just having ‘one on one’ time to interact as two people in love. 

It’s just really fucking nice. 

And when it’s just about time for him to go out, he’s gone for a couple of minutes to pray and wet his hair and body before returning looking somehow even sexier. 

It should be a goddamn sin to be that fine. 

Emotion fills you up as you’re allowed the privilege of placing the ula fala around his neck, something prompted and encouraged by Paul. It’s such a special moment that you don’t take lightly. 

“Hey.” You reach for his beard, forcing his gaze on you as you feed last minute encouragement into him. “You got this, alright? Stay in the moment. Keep your focus. Do what you do best. Go out there and kill it.”

He nods, his hand gently rubbing your bump, lips lingering against your forehead as he murmurs, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He gives you one last look and moves to walk out on the stage, Paul following right behind him. 

Using the monitors in the Gorilla position, you watch with all the pride in your body as he walks out, so powerful and authoritative. It’s so painfully clear how in his element he is.

He really was made for this shit. 

Once he’s in the ring, you have security escort you back to the suite, Callie nearly tackling you with a plethora of questions regarding if you saw “daddy’s walk” and if you “acknowledged him.”

She adores that man so much, and it makes your heart swell. 

There’s a bit of disappointment on her end at not being allowed to watch the match, but it’s eased by playing with her cousins. 

And together, you and the other ladies are able to enjoy the match, both enjoyable yet stressful for you in particular. You’re not sure if you’ve ever told Joe that there’s always a bit of anxiety on your end when he’s competing. 

It pisses you off to no end when people try to say wrestling is all “fake.” There’s a lot of things that’s scripted, but those fucking hits and falls are real as hell. Ain’t shit fake about that. And Joe is so good at selling shit, it’s sometimes hard not to freak out.

Especially this match, as it's physical as hell, which is understandable given the contenders.

But holy hell, do they all put on a show. 

As expected, Joe and Dwayne win, meaning night two will be Bloodline Rules with Joe officially securing his latest accomplishment with having the most Main Events at WrestleMania of all time. 

You’re so proud of him. 

And Callie, as always, is through the moon when she finds out her daddy came out with the win. She’s speeding down the hall when Dwayne and Joe walk backstage, Joe easily handing Paul his belt to catch Callie in a hug. 

You let them have their moment, laughing as Callie calls out to Dwayne, “congratulations, cousin Maui!” It makes everyone in the hearing vicinity laugh, really.

Joe walks over, still holding Callie with one arm and leans down to kiss you. Naturally, you reach up and push some of his hair back. God, you love when it gets like this, wild and untamed. It reminds you of when you two—“how are you feeling?” 

He gives a default answer that most men provide cause they’re stubborn as hell. “I’m good.”

“Liar. I saw that face you made getting out the ring.” This man’s back gotta be killing him.

He chuckles and squeezes your hip. “I’m good, baby.”

Having to just take his word for it, you two spend a couple more minutes with him before Joe is off to get cleaned up for a press conference.

He says it won’t take long, but that you can take Callie back to the Airbnb since it’s so late if you want. That’s nice in theory, but you know Callie would like to wait for him, would probably throw a fit if she has to leave without her daddy. So, you opt to just wait for him in the SUV as everyone else has already started leaving, your mom included, who is already on her way back to the house. 

These people really can’t hang.

Granted, you’re fighting back sleep too, adrenaline finally dying down. 

So maybe you can’t hang either.

You’re walking with Callie, flanked by the security team who will escort you to the SUV when Callie turns her head, listening for something, clearly.

This child must have exceptional hearing, or maybe Joe’s naturally deep, baritone voice has traveling abilities that exceed what is normal. Because she certainly hears him, your own hearing only latching onto him saying something about “use your feet.”

And before you can stop her, Callie is on the move.

“Callie!”

“Daddy!” is all you hear before you’re maneuvering through the two guards who just allow her to dash away in the direction of Joe's voice. You can only move so fast, your slightly swollen feet starting to feel the pain from these damn high heels.

So by the time you reach her, calling her name in an almost urgent whisper, it's already too late.

She’s walking onto the mini stage where Joe is conducting his press conference. Turning his head to the side where she entered, his eyes immediately land on Callie, and it amazes you how easily he switches from Roman to Joe.

A small smile is on his handsome face as he moves back in his chair a bit and opens his arms to her. Naturally, she climbs into his lap, hugging him, head on his shoulder. 

There’s a chorus of awes from the reporters, and you watch as Joe gently rubs her back and kisses her temple. He whispers something in her ear, and she lifts her head to look at him. They share some kind of unspoken exchange as he helps her back onto the ground where she quickly makes her way back over to you.

Instantly, you grab her hand. “Calista, baby, you cannot run off like that.” It’s hard to be too stern with her when she, technically, just went to see her dad.

And she says as such, explaining with all of the innocence, “I wanted to see daddy.” 

A quick glance up and you see Joe shoot you a wink before he’s back in his Roman headspace, making a smartass comment. 

You chuckle. 

She just wanted to see her daddy.

———-

You’re in the middle of a very good dream that’s interrupted prematurely by tugging on your shirt that you’re all too familiar with. Blinking eyes are met with the sleepy and almost sad face of an awake Calista.

Instantly, you’re forcing yourself to lean up as much as you can with Joe’s big arm securely wrapped around you, his hand on your stomach. He’s snoring lightly, enjoying well deserved sleep after a rough night of brutal physicality.  “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I can’t sleep….”

And right from that, you know it’s because she has something on her mind. She gets that from you.

“Come here, baby girl.” You pat the empty space on the bed next to you and wait for her to crawl on the mattress where you lay the covers over her to help keep her warm. “What ya thinking about?”

She’s on her back, playing with her fingers as you brush your thumb over her forehead. “Tomorrow is our last day with daddy……” It’s what you were guessing but definitely not what you wanted to hear.

“You’re sad cause you don’t wanna leave, huh?” She says nothing but nods slowly. A heavy sigh leaves you as you juggle your options here. You want so badly for the element of surprise to be kept and maintained, as is Joe’s preference. But, it’s hard to stick with that when your little girl is lying here sad, unable to sleep because she thinks she’s not gonna see her dad again for X amount of time. You try to think of how Joe would want you to respond.

Quickly, you realize he’d want you to do whatever you need to do to take away her sadness.

“Can you keep a secret? You can’t tell anyone. It’s just between you and me, okay?” She’s visibly confused but again nods, acknowledging understanding. “Daddy wanted to surprise you, but he’s flying home with us tomorrow night, and he’s gonna spend the whole week off with us.” 

Her eyes light up, that frown quickly morphing into a smile. “Really!”

You laugh, shushing her even though Joe could sleep through WW3. Not to mention how beat he must be from the match. “Yes, but you gotta pretend like you don’t know when he tells you, okay?”

She nods and exclaims happily, “a whole week. That’s a long time!”

Her saying that suddenly pulls out some sadness from you. Joe has never even been able to spend a full week with his daughter. It’s definitely a bitter thing that you don’t allow yourself to dwell on too much.

“Yes ma’am.” You bring your hand to her bonnet, asking in a soft voice, “does that make you feel less sad?” She nods just as quietly, and you lean over to kiss her forehead. “Good.” 

As expected, she asks gently, “can I sleep with you guys?”

It’s an easy answer. “Of course, baby.” 

She turns her body toward and into you, eyes closing minutes later, followed by subsequent, peaceful sleeping. You follow shortly after, a new, different kind of dream. 

Not as inappropriate. 

Just as happy.

———-

Night Two of WrestleMania rolls around, and immediately, something is different.

Something feels…..off.  It’s very similar to night one in a lot of ways, primarily the schedule and flow of things, along with Joe interacting a lot with you and Callie, as much as he can, at least.

But, he seems off. Like there’s something on his mind that he refuses to admit and/or share.

Everything is almost identical to the first night, essentially the same schedule with you, Joe, and Callie spending time together before he sends you back to the suite with Callie to get her set up with her cousins.

Then he calls back for you about 20 to 30 minutes before the start of the match, and that’s when you really feel it.

He’s in his head a bit, and you can tell by the fact he isn’t as talkative, not distant, just….off.

Waiting until he finishes his set, you walk over and take his hand. “Joe, are you okay?”

There’s an instant dismissal. “I’m fine.” He asks, curious. “Why?”

Shrugging, you’re not sure how to explain it and express as such. “I don’t know…..something just feels off. You seem almost somber.”

“I’m fine, I promise, okay?” He moves his hand to the back of your neck, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. His eyes take you in. “I really like this dress.”

Small smile on your face, it’s not enough to distract you from your concern, but it’s appreciated. You definitely saved the best dress for the final night. “It’d look even better on the floor.”

He makes a face, and you giggle. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

“You’ve always known this about me,” you point out, sassily but also truthfully. Your freakiness, and his as well, was what naturally connected you two. Everything else that came after seems ordained at this point, like it was always meant to be. “Now stop trying to change the subject.”

He sighs loudly, offering a crumb. “I’m a bit tired, but I’m fine.”

“I know you’re exhausted, baby.” Frowning, you lift your hand to his cheek, beard prickly against your palm. “I really wish you would just take this week to rest. We can do Disney next month. I love Disney, Callie does too, but we love you more and care about your wellbeing more than the fucking mouse.” 

It’s true. Nothing matters more to you than the wellbeing of all your family members, and especially Joe with how taxing his job already is. 

He shakes his head, moving his other hand to your stomach. “I’ve waited too long already. I’m not waiting anymore, Y/N.”

His words confuse you, truly, because Disney only came up a couple months ago. What’s another month? “Joe—”

“Do you trust me?”

There’s a delay, not because you have to think about it, but because you know he’s about to shut this conversation down. 

Voice soft but sure, you answer, “of course, I trust you, Joe.”

His gaze and expression soften as he affirms, “then trust I know what I’m doing, and I’m doing what I want to do.”

This sucks. Knowing there’s something he’s not telling you but that it’s clearly for good reasons. Still, being in the dark doesn’t rub you the right way. But, the last thing you want to do is have him in his head more than he already is, so you agree to drop it..

“Okay.” It’s not okay, but it’ll have to be okay for now. 

It’s the same as before, seeing him out, the I love you’s between the two of you seeming a bit more meaningful, a lot heavier. Even watching his spectacular and majestic entrance, the camera panning on his face as he lifts his belt, you can’t shake that feeling that something doesn’t feel right.

———-

One

Two

Three

It doesn’t register. Not immediately, anyway. You know Joe, err, Roman. He’s adept at missing the pin by a margin of a millisecond, and you expect this to be no different, except it is.

Because Cody pins him.

He actually fucking pins him.

So many thoughts are racing through your head. The entire match had you on the edge of your seat, your mom, Bianca, and even Alexis having to remind you several times that Joe knows what he’s doing and everything will turn out fine. 

It doesn’t help when Callie falls asleep, because then you can be a bit more expressive and open about your anxiety. 

And then he’s fucking pinned. 

Racing thoughts easily morph into heightened anxiety when the major thought focuses and clears up in your mind, obvious as fucking day.

Something is wrong.

You know enough about wrestling through your own fan interest and conversations with Joe that most matches are predetermined. However, there are times when the outcome is changed at the last minute, mostly due to unexpected serious injury.

And that’s what your mind lands on: Joe is injured. Enough to where they had to change the outcome of the match.

And that causes panic to rise throughout your whole body.

Moving carefully as Callie is sleeping peacefully on your lap, you ask your mom to sit with her because you need to go to Joe. 

You need to see him. 

The walk from the suite to the locker room area takes much longer than you’d like it to and only gives your anxiety time to multiply, not to mention the exacerbation by the boisterous sound of the crowd jamming to Cody’s theme song as they celebrate his win.

A win that should have never happened. 

You’re so caught up in your head that you don’t even pay much attention to the fact Joe is in the middle of hugging his cousin when security leads you into his space.

His cousin, Dwayne freaking Johnson aka The Rock. Any other time, you’d be a bit starstruck, because kin to your man and daughter or not, he’s still a celebrity.

But, this isn’t the time for that. 

As soon as they break apart, you manage to give Dwayne a little nod but immediately go back to hyperfocusing on Joe.

“What’s wrong?” Your hands naturally reach out to feel his shoulders, moving to his forearm. “Is it your wrist?” A thought crosses your mind, remembering a particularly looking nasty body slam into the table. “It’s your back, isn’t it?”

His eyes focus on you curiously as he answers, “I’m fine, Y/N.”

“Bullshit.” You’re not in the mood for his tendency to downplay injuries, not when this one just cost him so much. “You’re hurt. Why else would they change the match outcome?”

As soon as those words leave your mouth, it seems like something dawns on him. He motions to the trainers and others in the room to leave you two alone, a stupid decision considering he clearly needs to be checked out. 

When the locker room clears, he speaks again, “Y/N, I’m not hurt, and they didn’t change the match outcome.” His eyes focus on you. “I asked Hunter to lose this match.”

A pause followed by a gasp. “Oh my god, you must have a concussion. Shit, you really need to be checked out.” You turn away for the door. “I’ll get the trainers—”

He calls your name, snatching your hand and pulling you back to him. “I’m not concussed. I know exactly what I’m saying. I met with Hunter and asked to be relieved of the title.”

There goes the racing thoughts that have now shifted from ‘Joe must be seriously hurt’ to ‘Joe must be significantly hurt.’ Because you can’t process what he's, objectively, explaining to you. 

There’s no way he would ever…..

And then your mind wanders to a possibility. 

“Does this have anything to do with the Mariah situation?” As much as you limited your media consumption during that nightmare, you still saw stuff, read how countless wrestling fans were demanding Joe be stripped of his title, saying that he was an “embarrassment” to the company and didn’t deserve to be the face of WWE. Eyes watering for reasons beyond your comprehension, your chest tightens, asking, “was it—was it because of me and—”

Immediately, he’s reaching for you, assuring, “baby, no, of course not.” He’s wiping at your tears. “I asked for this.”

Him repeating himself confuses you more, and makes you wonder if there was a hit to his head that you missed at some point. “Why–why do you keep saying that?” It’s not making any sense from the first time he said it to now. “Joe, you have to either be concussed or, God forbid, something worse because you clearly don’t know what you’re saying to me.” Shaking your head, you lay it out for him, hoping that maybe it’ll trigger something. “You’re seriously telling me that you asked to lose your title, a title you’ve held for almost four years, a title that’s allowed you to break Hulk Hogan, thee Hulk Hogan’s record, among many, in the main event at Wrestlemania.” Even saying it aloud is ludicrous, forcing out a small laugh at how ridiculous it sounds. 

He can’t be for real. 

But, then he says it again, just as clear as day. “Yes.”

And suddenly, you’re not as nervous or scared. 

You’re pissed the fuck off.

Breaking away from him, you shake your head, doing your best to maintain your composure for the sake of where you are as well as the child growing inside you.

“You worked your ass off to get to where you are now, and you just walk away from it all for what?” It’s that lethal combination of anger and confusion, anger that he would do this to himself when he deserves the world and more. Confusion as to whatever logic he used to make this questionable decision. “What would possess you to—” And it’s then that it slowly dawns on you, that the light goes off. “Oh my god, Joe, you didn’t…..” You can only swallow, emotion washing away the anger. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

But, he tells you the complete opposite. “I’m on indefinite leave starting tomorrow.”

And suddenly everything makes sense. All the pieces start coming together. Trinity and Kaylah being weird and quickly backtracking when Trinity suggested you and Callie go on the road with Joe this summer. 

The way all of them seemed to never understand your frustration with Joe for not wanting to start planning for the birth of your baby.

Why he’s been so dodgy about conversations regarding having help for this baby when he can’t be there. 

They had to have known, known this was his plan, known that this is what he was going to do.

At a loss of words, you manage a question, one of many circling in your head. “Did you do it because of the baby?” 

He shakes his head, pushing back your hair. “Y/N, I asked to lose the title as soon as I got back after meeting Callie for the first time.”

And the inability to process continues because it takes a good minute for you to take in what he just said. In a state of semi shock, mouth slightly ajar, you ask in an almost whispered tone, “what?” 

Months…..that was months ago. And beyond that, the first damn time he met his daughter, a daughter he just found out about, he sacrificed the one thing he’d worked his whole life for. 

This….this is unreal.

Swallowing with a level of emotion you know is only reserved for you, he further explains, “I knew the moment I met her that I wasn’t about to miss any more of her life that I already had.”

“Joe….” Emotion is a bitch, quickly climbing up and over the wall before you can catch it. Your eyes watering all over again.. “I never would have asked you to do this—-I didn’t want—”

He brings his hand to the back of your neck, quietly murmuring, “I know you wouldn’t have, but this was my decision, Y/N. This is what I wanted.” He repeats those now haunting words from earlier. “Do you know how many days I had off last year?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “35. 35 days out of the whole year. I can’t be a father to her or this baby a month out of the whole damn year. It’s not fair to her, to the baby, to you, or even me.” Determination fills his voice, as he shakes his head. “I want to be there to take her to school and help her with her homework and watch whatever random Disney movie she has on her mind for the day.” You laugh, not even bothering to stop the tears at this point. They’re inevitable. “And I want to be with you. We need time to focus on us. On this baby. Our family.” He moves his hand protectively to your stomach. “I’m not retiring. I’ll come back when the time is right, and I’ll still have creative input with the Bloodline while I’m away.”

Sniffling, you ask him what you already know to be true. “That’s why you would shut down my conversations about when the baby gets here, isn’t it?” Your voice cracks mid-sentence. “Because…because you knew you would be here for us.”

His gaze is so soft, so loving, so vulnerable. “You supported me when I needed it, now it’s my turn.” He nods, looking down at your conjoined hands on your belly. “I’m not missing anything else.”

And that’s what really does it for you. You throw your body against his, arms around his neck, while his easily go around you, holding you close to him. 

“Thank you.” You’re such an emotional mess, largely due to pregnancy hormones but also because this is the most unexpected yet most wonderful thing that could have happened tonight. He’ll never understand what this means to you. He gave up his dream for you, for Callie, for this baby, for your family. How does one even have a word to describe just what that means? “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a little longer, murmuring how much he loves you. Joe then guides you on the next steps. “Let me finish up, so we can get out of here, okay?”

It feels almost silly to ask, but a part of you wants to hear him say it, needs to hear him say it. “We’re going home?”

He shakes his head, a warm smile on his handsome face. You’ve never felt happier than in this very moment. 

“We’re going home, baby…”

[hypnoneghoul]

Hihi! If you're comfortable with it, and inspo strikes may we get something with a Touch Adverse/Touch sensitive Dew who really wants to be intimate but needs a lot of reassurance and to be slowly lowered into it rather then dive headfirst

Opening to any ships you have in mind, thank you! <3

i really liked this prompt, im such a sucker for stuff like that. trans dew as usual

Dewdrop’s relationship with touch has been complicated at the very least since his elemental transition.

He used to be a very touchy person, even for a ghoul. Always hanging off of someone, always putting his hand in someone else’s, leaning against whoever was available whenever he could, sneaking into his packmates’ beds any time he felt like it; which was very often.

Now, though? It’s hard for him to even hold someone’s hand.

When he woke up right after his transition the first thing he realized was that Aether was holding his hand. He can’t forget the anguish on his face when he yelped in pain and fear and ripped his hand away to curl up as far away from him as the narrow infirmary bed allowed.

It wasn’t just pain from his skin being new, raw. It was the feeling of wrongness he couldn’t shake off. His skin didn’t feel like his own and every touch, even the slightest graze of a fingertip sent him into a panic attack.

Not much changed in the following months, but some things did.

Rain has been summoned, for one.

Dewdrop has fallen head over heels for the pretty water ghoul right away and he doubts there has ever been anything in his life that he wanted more than to simply touch him.

For months he hasn’t been able to bring himself to even run a finger over the back of Rain’s hands. Oh, how he wanted to trace those prominent veins and tendons, to see how small his hand will look in Rain’s own.

Thankfully, the water ghoul turned out to be the gentlest soul that has probably ever escaped the Pits. Hell, Dewdrop is sure he got sent by Lucifer himself as an apology for all the torment he went through.

After a conversation full of tears from both ghouls, they had come up with a plan of making Dewdrop whole again.

So far it’s been going exceptionally and the fire ghoul can’t be more grateful. His latest achievement is going through a whole night of being cuddled in close to Rain with both of them being dressed in nothing but underwear.

They both might have cried in the morning.

It made Dewdrop think…maybe he is ready? After nearly a year of not getting touched in a sexual manner, maybe it’s finally time?

He’s terrified, but after a few weeks cuddling with Rain every night, he decides to bring it up. “Rain, I think I want to–would you try…touching me?”

“Isn’t that…what we’ve been doing for the last few months, droplet?” the water ghoul asks, confused, but doesn’t dare laugh.

“Not like that.” Dewdrop shakes his head. “I want you to touch me.”

“Oh…oh.”

“Would you?”

“Oh, droplet, I��” Rain tries to not show that yes, he’d love to do that. “Are you sure? Is it not too early?”

“I don’t–I’m gonna be honest, Rainy, I don’t know,” the fire ghoul sighs. “I think I am, and, hell, I want to, so much, but you…you know how it goes sometimes.”

Rain does. He remembers every single time Dewdrop thought he was ready for another step only to turn out he simply…wasn’t. Still, they managed to work through every single issue so far. Maybe it is a good idea.

“Okay,” Rain says after a moment. “Okay, droplet, we can try.”

The excitement on the fire ghoul’s face is easily the most adorable thing Rain has ever witnessed.

He starts easing Dewdrop into it right away, stretching it over the entire day.

“We’ve got time, baby,” he mutters over and over again, with every new point of contact. “All the time in the world.”

It’s hours before Dewdrop is bare, sprawled out in his own nest. Rain stays in a t-shirt, having decided it’s going to be easier if there’s not as much skin-on-skin. They’re focusing on something else tonight.

“Are you sure?” Rain asks for the last time. He’s kneeling in the nest with Dewdrop laid before him, his legs spread and hooked over the water ghoul’s thighs. Dewdrop is wet and Rain is rock hard, but there’s no rush. As always, they have to go slow; now even more than ever before.

“Yes,” the fire ghoul breathes his consent once again. “Please do it, just…go slow.”

“Of course,” Rain smiles. “You know how to make me stop.”

Dewdrop nods, he wouldn’t be able to forget their system after all this time even if he wanted to. With that, Rain brings his free hand between the other’s legs; the other one resting on his bare hip. It’s not squeezing, but it’s heavy. They discovered that one solid point of contact helps to ground the fire ghoul and keep him from freaking out about the lighter touches.

Rain keeps his eyes on Dewdrop’s face as he slowly runs a finger through his wet folds. Up and down before pulling away; his cock twitches at how shining his finger comes back. Still, he waits for the fire ghoul’s nod that the first touch was okay. He does so, with his bottom lip pulled in between his teeth.

Rain gets back to the task at hand. He slicks his middle finger up, too, and places it over Dewdrop’s clit. He presses down lightly and circles it and the quiet little moan that the fire ghoul lets out makes his gut twist.

“Good?” he makes sure.

“So good,” Dewdrop whimpers, “it feels so good, Rainy.”

The other hums and drags his fingers down to his hole. With his eyes on Dewdrop’s face, Rain presses a finger in. It slides in easily and he pauses at the second knuckle. Dewdrop is scalding inside.

“Oh, Lucifer, go–go on, please,” he moans and Rain can’t not follow that pretty order. He removes the finger and pushes back in with two pressed tightly against each other. The fire ghoul cries out in pleasure as they sink in as far as they’ll go and more slick leaks out into Rain’s palm as he squeezes around the digits. The water ghoul curses under his breath, enamored by the sight and feeling.

Dewdrop looks wrecked, but not in a bad way. He looks like he’s about to cum already, even though it’s been mere moments of actual stimulation. Considering he hadn’t been touched like that for so long, though, it’s not any surprise.

“M–more,” he begs and Rain knows exactly what to do. He puts his thumb on Dewdrop’s clit and lightly presses down at the same time he curls the fingers inside him. The fire ghoul wails at that and Rain is about to all but rip his hand away and break all points of contact, but Dewdrop’s cunt now pulsing rhythmically around his digits tells him it wasn’t a pained cry. The water ghoul smirks; he can’t help feeling proud of himself.

“I just–” the other pants.

“You did.”

“You made me…”

“I did.”

“But I wanted you to…”

“That’s alright. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

[words-4u]

down to their bones

pairing: jordan li x f!reader

wc: 875

warnings: none, a bit angsty, minor jealousy, lots of fluff

a/n: listened to your bones by clesea culter while writing this and kind of used it as an inspo - don't have to listen to it but you should for vibes especially near the end

hero ethics was once a class you were excited for but now that you were a month into the course, you realize it's not at all what you expected.

all you do is watch a shit ton of videos and theorize hypotheticals, there's nothing even remotely physical involved which is what you really wanted the most.

instead here you were with lia, your partner for an upcoming presentation that dean shetty insisted the class do after she took over for brink. 

“you know i still can’t believe shetty wants us to speak for 20 full minutes on ‘aero dynamics of human flight’” you said looking at the late professor brink’s book before tossing it to the side. “i can’t even fly!”

“well, i can and it doesn’t take a rocket science to figure out how,” lia laughed. she was sprawled on your double bed that was littered with two copies of the book, laptops, pens and little stickies. “i’m a hands on learner, i need to be out there in the open skies.”

she fell back on your bed and in to a fake daydream. 

“i think someone needs to get their head out of the clouds and help me with this presentation or else we’ll fail,” you leaned in playfully tapping her forehead with a highlighter. of course this is the exact most your significant other, jordan, walks in to your room.

“uuuh…hello?” jordan said. they walked in clearly having come back from the gym, in their baggy shorts, cropped blue sweater and their short bob in a ponytail.

they were expecting to find you on your own, wanting to spend the rest of the evening with you, not to find you on your bed with another girl.

“hi babe,” you raced to jordan and placed your hands on their shoulders as you kissed them. you knew something was off the second they didn’t kiss back and you were right because as you pulled back, their eyes were glued to your bed. where lia was. 

“i’m sorry, and who are you?” jordan snapped. you were slightly taken aback because this was a side of jordan you haven't seen.

“jordan, that’s lia, my partner for hero ethics and lia this is jordan, my partner outside of hero ethics and everything else,” you smiled between the two people in your room.

“yeah, they are ranked number 5 in the whole school, y/n, i know who they are. i just didn’t know you were dating a star student,” lia said looking impressed. 

“you didn’t know?” jordan parroted. “she didn’t know?”

“we got paired up like 4 hours ago on this project. it wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of things to speak to her about.”  you whispered. 

you turned to lia. “um, i’m just gonna talk to jordan outside for like 5 minutes, you can take a break if you want.”

lia gave two thumps up before pulling out her vphone.

you grabbed jordan by the wrist and dragged them out of your dorm and into the hall way. there were a couple students walking up and down the hall and some more in a corner chatting about the latest viral video from the Seven but overall it was empty enough to have this much needed conversation.

by the time you shut your door, jordan had shifted to their male form.

“what the hell is wrong you?” you asked poking their shoulder. 

jordan clenched their jaw. “what are you talking about?”

“w-what am i talking about?” you asked back. “i’m talking about the fact that lia is lucky you don’t have laser eyes or she’d fucking toast. literally!”

“i walk into your room and you have another girl on your bed, y/n, how am i supposed to feel?”

the look on their face was suddenly transparent and it dawned on you.

“you’re jealous? over a classmate? is that it?” you asked, this time your voice carrying a softer tone. 

jordan didn’t look too pleased with the fact that they let something so trivial get to them.

“j, use your words,”

“you guys just looked so close,” they said looking at you with their big brown eyes.

you sighed. “well, we’re not. but we do need to get along cause this project is worth 30% and you know your girl can’t and won’t fail,” you said which caused them to smile a bit.

“besides,” you continued pushing their back against the wall and wrapping your hands around their neck. “i’m sort of already in love with someone, like right down to their bones, and as long as they are in my life no one else stands a chance.”

jordan leaned their forehead against yours. “i’m sorry for how i reacted. it was shitty.”

“apology accepted,” you whispered. “now give me a kiss. a proper one this time,”

jordan brushed their lips against your before kissing the air out of you. it was getting a little too hot for two people standing in a hallway and you were never one for major pda so you pulled away smiling.

“okay now you're just being a distraction,” you grinned up at them.

“okay, fine i’ll go but just to make sure, it was me who you were talking about, right?”

you chuckled playfully shoving them down the hall. “yes, you big idiot. now go and come back in 2 hours when you can really make it up to me.”

jordan smirked. “i’ll be counting down the seconds."

if you want to request something, there's a link in my bio (the more detailed the better <3)

[greyfics]

even if it's handcuffed, I'm leaving here with you.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

pairing: the ghoul (cooper howard) x reader fic type: enemies to lovers, no smut, mild spice + eventual fluff slow burn meter: ◈◈◇◇◇ word count: 3.8K inspo: TPD lyric prompt list, reblogged on main reader type: assumed wastelander background, gender neutral, 'I don't need a knight to save me', assumed negative views of BoS, assumed gun for hire cw: strong language, violence, reference to fictional drugs, mild dismemberment summary: reader is a gun for hire who has gotten themselves into a bit of trouble in the form of a moderate bounty with a local segment of the brotherhood- and cooper howard knows he can get all the drugs he needs for what seems like an easy job.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

"We can do this all day, darlin'. Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leavin' here with you." you feel the pressure of a pistol barrel pressing against the base of your skull from behind, and a disgruntled, defeated sigh slips through your lips. The game is up- you're out of ammo, down to the ripper hanging from your side, and 'gun against the brain-cage' is the indisputable checkmate.

Up to this point, you'd been pretty successful in shaking off the swathes of bounty hunters and jet-scrounging raiders that'd been on your tale since you became an enemy to the brotherhood- which, nowadays, seemed to be a pretty fucking easy feat to accomplish. The rusty knights were getting a little big for their oversized, several-tonne boots- and you had never been a fan of self-asserting authorities using their power in the name of 'order', especially not when they could hardly organise their own little sectors across the expansive, sparse remains of the USA.

As good with a revolver as you are, today it seems your luck has ran out and your karma has caught up with you, because you've finally met your match in a ghoul with a face so smug you wish you at least had a chance to slap it before losing the game of cat and mouse you'd been playing for a couple days now across Junktown. Your face collides into concrete and a quick click combines with the feel of steel against your wrists, The Ghoul's threat having evolved into a promise.

You spit a ball of blood and saliva from your mouth, wrought up by the hard impact with the ground below, "Alright, you win this round you freak- I'll come with you, just get these off of me." You hear a smirk from above, "Now how stupid do you fuckin' think I am? No, I gave you a chance to come willingly, you chose to shoot me in the leg. Lucky I ain't returned the favour." He gives you a light, sharp kick in the side with the tip of his boot, "Up. We got a long way to travel, and sooner we get there, sooner I get paid. I'll be reminding you now that I only get a bonus for bringing you alive, so make my life hell and I'll live without the extra caps." "Not exactly easy when my-" you hear the chick of a safety being cocked, and awkwardly shuffle back until you can jut sharply up onto your knees and slowly stand, turning to glare daggers into your now captor. The Ghoul's expression remains stiffly affixed with the wry, smug facade he bears: relaxed, squinting eyes peeking out above a thin, ever-upturned lip- you swear to yourself to you'll smack that smile off his face- but by all accounts, beneath the withered, decaying skin that had festered in his ghoulish transformation, the man had the stature (and admittedly, the jawline) of a filmstar.

You shake off the irritable possibility of monster like this getting lucky with the gene pool as a calloused hand secures a vice grip on one of your wrists and tugs you in suit as it's owner sets into motion, dragging you away from the remnants of an old civilisation and towards a military base miles away you are all too acquainted with.

You had been so caught up in the wild ride of adrenaline that came with being on the lamb that you briefly detached yourself from the catalyst of the chase- but as concrete and clay inevitably crumbles away to distant sandy dunes and cacti, the dread stirs in your stomach like a plague. It was easier to wave off the consequences of your actions when you weren't being marched towards the gallows to face them- it wasn't like you made an attack on the organisation. You kill one knight trashing up a town in the name of redundant technology, and suddenly you're on a hit-list. You know The Ghoul probably doesn't know this, and you know for certain that even if you tried to give the man a sob story he wouldn't care. This was it. "You about to be sick?" You snap from your pessimistic daze at the sudden interruption of silence, "No. Why?" "You look like you just ate a mouldy iguana, that's why- and I don't want sick on my boots." You let out an irked groan, and sharply snap your head to face the horizon in the opposite direction to your captor. You hope this will satiate his sour jabs for the time being-

Your hope is crushed five minutes later.

"Go on then. I'm bored shitless and I'm outta jet, so spill." He says with an almost theatrical exasperation in his voice, "Spill what, exactly?" you coldly respond in a mute tone, focus still fixed on the horizon to the west, "Well what's the big story? Someone's always gotta be the victim when they got a bounty on their head, so what's the tragic tale behind 'Y/N', huh?" the muscles in your neck and shoulders tense up at the mention of your name- you weren't exactly a known associate or long-time rival to the brotherhood, and the wanted poster you had wrestled from the stiff fingertips of a raider last week only had a sketch and a scrawled account of the incident. You falter for a moment before replying, but ardently avoid taking the bait, "If your plan is to get me to tell you how we got to where we are right now just so you can mock me, then I think I'd rather carry on enjoying the view, if you don't mind." The sweet-toned sarcasm at the end of your sentence seeps with venom, and the hostility it implies does not slip away from your adversary.

This time, his laugh is a soft, whisper of a chuckle- something spiteful, foreboding- followed by matching words, "You should hear what your little community had to say about you for a couple caps and a promise not to shoot anybody- well, anybody else-" his words cut into something personal, then- and though you would normally know that attacking someone with your hands cuffed behind your back is never going to end in your favour, at this moment you couldn't care less as you swing your leg round in a swift roundhouse motion, and raise your knee towards the only place you can think to leave a mark-

You hit your target, but instead of howls of pain you are met with a split second of awkward silence as the ghoul cocks his head, unimpressed, before slamming it into your own, sending you staggering back a few paces-

Before you can reorient your vision, a heavy dull force plummets into your ribs- the sand cushions your blow slightly better than the concrete you met face-to-face with an hour ago, at least. Your arms, however, are not grateful to be pressed beneath you as a familiar, withered hand pushes into your throat, putting as much pressure on your trapped limbs when your upper body presses back as it does on your esophagus, halting your air supply as he lowers himself down to a kneel and fixes your gaze onto his,

"If I wasn't already a walking corpse, that could've really hurt- not a very nice thing to do to someone just tryna have a little bit of light conversation now, is it?" All you can do is glower through eyes blinded by the sun, which gleams behind the shadow of the ghoul's head, bearing on it a smile tweaked with frustration- you need to breathe- you can't keep this up, your heartbeat is louder than the sun in your eyes and-

The pressure releases. You turn your head to the ground and suck in air between dry, heavy coughs, and after you've finally steadied your breath, you find a minor fleck of relief in being hoisted up from the ground this time instead of scrabbling to get up at gunpoint. You wonder, perhaps, if this is some small act driven by guilt- perhaps this man had a conscience once and a set of values beyond doing what it takes to ensure one's own survival. You were a gun for hire yourself, so it would be hypocritical to criticise your captor for his line of work- mostly, you preferred to stick with jobs guarding merchant caravans and to take out bands of raiders harassing the cities you passed through, but you never questioned the legitimacy of the requests you received, or the cargo you oversaw; you had settled for a little while, having stuck around the same little settlement for a few years now and had started to develop some semblance of a connection to the people there-

or so you thought.

You know you're going to be walking for a while- so with a resigned breath, you begin saying what little there is left to say about your present situation, "Well, you probably know most of what I can tell you from the sounds of things, but I guess there's nothing else for me to do right now, and the horizon is the same no matter where you go around here. I guess you could say we're in similar lines of work, but that's not really what got me in trouble with The Brotherhood. They think they can rock up in a power armour with a logo on it and wreak havoc as they please because it's for 'the greater good', but they leave towns half-destroyed when they pass through. I didn't want that to happen to... well, I didn't like the sound of that happening where I was. So, dude gets out of his power armour and starts waving guns around screaming about some piece of pre war tech or the other, and I tell him with... a strong choice of words, to get going. He starts running for the power armour, guns blazing- and I just have better aim, I guess. Not even like I got paid for killing him, either. Maybe that would've made this whole thing a little bit sweeter."

Your profession leaves a silence hanging in the air for a little while after, but it feels appropriate. The dunes filter sand from the far west to respond to your story- the horizon quivers, but only through the illusion of heat; the sand dries your eyes before they have reason to shed tears. A loaded sigh escapes the ghoul in front of you, and the clasp on your wrist softens but for a moment before stiffening to pull you onwards, "Yep, well, caps keep you going a little longer round these parts, but money can't solve all your problems." "You should tell that to the Brotherhood. They seem to be doing pretty well for all the wealth they've hoarded- can even pay big time bounty hunters to do their shitwork from the looks of things." You retort, but after a moment follow up with, "Wish I could say I was upset about it but hell, if I were you, I'd turn me in too."

You hear that soft chuckle again, but when you turn around to catch a look at the face that matches it, you see relaxed muscles and a far-off stare- he won't let you go, but he has let his guard down but a little bit- perhaps when we get closer to my story's end, he'll even let me walk to my death with my hands unbound.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

After trudging on in silence for a while, head bowed to your fatalistic contemplations, you find as you drag yourself out of the pit in your head and look over the horizon once more that the scene has changed: the atomic orange dewdrops spattering the sky not long ago have quickly to faded into a bruised overhanging shadow of violent, lavender, crimson; twilight approaches, and you're still surrounded by desert hills and illusions.

One of these illusory quivers catches your sharp eye, a dark blip that has appeared somewhere in that distance; it's moving, but it isn't close enough for you to determine whether it's just a trick of the heat or whether it's something heading in your direction. Your brow furrows, but you say nothing yet.

Within a minute, the object comes into better focus- or, rather, the creature. Your heart skips a beat, and you open your mouth to utter some kind of warning, managing to rasp, "Get the handcuffs off of me." "Now, darlin', I thought we managed to get past this already-" "No-" You tug your bound wrists, pulling the ghoul into your side- his other arm steadies itself against your shoulder before slipping up to your jaw and dragging it to face him, his own clenched and unaccompanied by a smile this time- the pallid complexion of your own face gives him enough pause for you to blurt in a fruitless, strained whisper, "Deathclaw."

If The Ghoul's skin could have paled more than it already had in his lifeless state, then it might have at that moment. The tight grip holding you against him slackens completely and you thud onto your ass as he draws his guns and casts you a playfully pitiful glance from above, shrugging and saying, "Sorry, darlin', guess I forgot to pick up the keys." He steps in front of you as a curse rips out of your throat in the sudden panic that ensues, and you try to muster enough brain cells in this moment to figure out a way of not dying, prematurely, and becoming just another skeletal curio.

There's the back-up plan, the 'if shit goes south' plan that you still hadn't gone through with because of the possible dismemberment that it might entail- but you had not been unarmed when you had been restrained earlier, and the phantom hum of a ripper blade always strapped to your waist as your last resort. You won't be able to wield it with any competence with your hands restrained as they are, but you can hit the power button from your current position-

Though, usually, you'd prefer to do it when the blade was already in your hand, not digging into the side of your leg.

shredded leg is better than deathclaw snack. Your astute analysis confirms your decision, and with a grunt and a whack, the blade starts chugging into a steady whirring action by the will of the dregs of an energy cell embedded inside- the next couple of seconds are far too long.

The blade begins it's excursion into your thigh as the gunslinging ghoul whips around at the sound, eyes wide at the sudden display of spraying crimson. You scream, struggle to try to align the cuffs without jerking your shoulders out of place. The deathclaw bounds into the mid-distance, closing in upon it's approach- it caught your scent before you could even see it's silhouette-

The tip disappears as your leg reflexively jerks, responding to the dancing jig of the chainsaw blade- you see pathetic sparks as the thing bounces off of the cuffs- strong enough to sever a leg, too rusted and battered to cut through metal. Your plan is failing. Your leg is bleeding. The cowboy falters as the deathclaw closes further-

You make a snap decision: fingers are easier to fix than legs.

You twist your wrist, and the pain just melts into the already existing burn emanating from your leg- a bloody, three-fingered stump slips from it's cage, and you swing your still-cuffed hand around in a fluid movement to drag the ripper from its sheath within your leg, snapping the cord that ties it to your waist-

You hear a frenzied firing of a revolver, but the approaching thunks are unimpeded- and though you know your leg may give way when the adrenaline finally dies, and though you know you need to find the two fingers you lost before sand vipers snatch them up and you're known as three-fingered y/n for the rest of your life- you launch yourself from the ground on your good leg, and stagger towards the approaching beast.

You grew up in the wastelands. You grew up in a settlement up here that, like any of the rest, was constantly plagued by critters and beasts- and if you were taught anything by the survivors that surrounded you, it was the following:

If you can't blow the bastard up, get 'em in the belly.

The deathclaw- a baby, thankfully- has it's gaze fixated on the man that had in the past half a minute become it's primary aggressor- so when you stumble forward, low and bleeding, with what to the creature is just another indistinguishable bit of metal in your hands, it does not see reason to change the track of it's jump.

As it launches itself above you, you pray to lady luck that you hit your mark.

An ear-splitting yowl and a sudden muffled crash tells you she's listening, for once.

Finally, after a few ragged breaths, the adrenaline wears off and you feel the weight of your body pressing into the wounds that liberated you- and the blueberry sky fades to black as you become weightless. This time, your fall is of your own accord- and this time, something stops you from hitting the ground.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

When you come to, you do not open your eyes at first- awake though you might be, your body is heavy with exhaustion. Before your encounter with the ghoul, you had been on the run for weeks, and in the last twenty four hours had not had time to stay put long enough to sleep. Coupled with the rough journey and the blood loss, you couldn't move if you wanted to. That being said, in those few dark minutes, a few things of note still catch your attention.

There is a faint crackling to your side, and the lulling warmth of a fire that brushes in waves against your face- and though you feel the silky grains of sand cushioning most of your resting body, your head lays higher up, neck leaning up to a more elevated surface- your attention snaps to the light sensation of fingertips absently grazing your neck in a repeating pattern, and the distant hum of an old country song embedded into muscle memory. The surrounding sensations are a strange comfort for all the brutal imagery this post apocalyptic world usually beholds; but it is brief, as your neck tenses, giving away your lucidity. The hand pauses, lifts- settles somewhere to the side.

When you dare to open your eyes, you are unsurprised to see the question-begging smirk and sharp eyes peering down from above, "Have a good nap?" You bolt upright, and immediately regret it when the bending of your leg snags one of the stitches you didn't know had been sewed into you until just now. Defeated, you flop back down, turning your head to the side to gaze into the dying embers of the fire beside you- praying you can brush off the flush of blush creeping into your face to the influence of the fire. Eventually you garner the courage to speak, "Feels like I've only been out for an hour." He snorts, shaking his head, "You went down around sunset, and it'll be sunrise in a couple hours." This catches you by surprise, and not just because of the amount of time you've lost, "What happened to getting your caps as soon as possible? Lost a lot of time waiting." He frowns, but does not lose his grin, "You trying to get yourself killed? 'Cos you've done a damn fine job of that so far. No, I've just been doing some thinking." "Congratulations. I'm proud of you." His eyes narrow into slits and he tuts at your sarcasm, following your gaze into the fire, "See, it could be argued that I would've been minced ghoul splattered n' buried six feet under the dunes if you hadn't gone all psycho slicing yourself up like that to get that baby deathclaw where it hurts." "That was a baby?-" "Anyway, guess my point is I might be willing to do a lot of things, but I still got my principles- only human thing I got left, probably. So I'd say I owe it you to not kill you at least. When you can walk, we'll go east to- well, to what's left of Shady Sands, and then you can do whatever the fuck you want."

You consider his words, and not knowing how to express appreciation or what to begin to make of this mysterious stranger and his obscure appeal, you find yourself rejecting this suggestion, though you don't know why- and so naturally, you dig yourself into a hole, "Well, you could also say that I would have died of blood loss if you didn't stitch my leg up." He studies you then for a minute, before shrugging and clasping your hands together at the wrists. You begin to stammer indecipherable protest and with a smirk he pulls you up, your hands still held rigid in your lap by his own, his head resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, "Now, I'm starting to get the impression you want me to march you up to our friends at the brotherhood just to keep my company." If he can't see the warm hue in your face now, he can certainly feel the heat flushing through your flustered face- you fight against the feeling, if only to make sure you stand a chance of winning this little exchange,

"Says the man who watched me sleep all night." You feel him shrug your comment off as his grin extends, "I might look like a monster, but I was a gentleman once upon a time. Like I say, I got principles." He lets you slip forward out of his grasp when you move to shuffle yourself around. As you do, you feel for the first time you are looking at him properly, sincerely- face to face, on equal grounds, with no threats of death or necessary facades of false confidence. After soaking in as much as you allow yourself to without losing yourself to curiosity entirely, you crossing your arms across your chest, and reply,

"Well, I have principles too- and if you're oh so graciously not turning me into the brotherhood then I still I owe you, so I guess I'll just have to stick around until you nearly get yourself killed again- that's all. No other reason." The ghoul rises, resting a hand on his pistol,

"You tell yourself that, darlin'- I'm gonna enjoy this change of scenery, I think."

[clus444]

The Mall

Simon Riley x Bimbo!reader

This is a Simon Riley introduction to my page. The reader is described as black but anyone can read. This took a minute to post because I had work and I didn't know a good situation. But anywayyys...Enjoy! Outfit inspo!!!

"He had the nerve to tell me that I need to get a grip on life," I speak into the phone. My friend Sasha snorts on the line. I roll my eyes a little bit at the sound of her laugh. I'm trying to tell this girl my problems and she playing. I stop and look at an outfit displayed in the window on a mannequin.

"Girl you need to kick this man to the curb. Hang up on you...not in the mood.," She mimics that TikTok sound. I laugh out loud at that as the jean two-piece rings around my mind. There are endless possibilities for outfits that can come out of this. The gold belt really pulls the outfit together. I smile brightly as a decision is made up in my mind. I get ready to text the man-child that is my boyfriend.

"Shit," Is all I here before I run into a goddamn big ass stone wall. My phone falls out of my hand and I try to catch myself. Big rough hands grip my waist and firmly pull me to them then my phone does one 'fuck you' bounce on the floor to me. I shriek when I look up and see a black face mask close to my face. Not expect him to be leaning down on me.

I can swear by the way his way eyes move, there must be a smirk on his face. I quickly get out of his grasp and move to get my phone. "Jumpy little thing," His British accent catches me off guard. I look him up and down, his 6'0+ self with muscles in places I didn't even know could have muscles. His deliciously thick arms that I would let wrap around me any day. "You're British," I state turning my head up to look him in the face.

He stares blankly for a second, "Am I?" I nod to his question and look at him funny.

"Your accent? Did you forget you have one," I question him and lean my weight on my hip and cross my arms. His mask protrudes a little so I assume he's licking his lips. I have no proof but, by the way his eyes flash what seems to be lust for a split second. Maybe he's a murder and he checking to see if I'm a good victim. I scare myself slightly.

His deep scratchy voice blesses my ears again," What's going on in that little head of yers?"

I finick a French curl braid between my fingers and sway my body a little," I'm trying to figure out what they fed you overseas. I've never seen any Brits look like you," I pause," Kinda like... Hansel on steroids."

He raises a brow at me before turning his expression neutral again. This man radiates that he's emotionally constipated. Lowkey kinda my type apparently since I'm still with Chris. That fucking asshole! The audacity, the courage, the-

He pushes the braid behind my ear and I turn shy. A smile creeps onto my face and I hope it doesn't have fuck me written on them. Ugh! Why Do I feel like this man can see right through me? His eyes...they feel different, something I can't quite place my finger on. But I'm not even sure I want to find out.

"Do yuh think of shit like tha all the time," what appears to be amusement in his tone," I'm Simon."

I place a hand on my chest," I'm Y/n."

"I can take yuh out this Saturday," He interrupts my thoughts. His tone is a matter of faculty. I clear my throat as I take in his words. I'm not shallow but this looks like a ain't shit ni-. Damn, this sucks to do but...

"I have a boyfr-" I try to get out but he quickly shuts that down.

"Dont remember askin'. But 'ell you can bring yer, little boyfriend if yuh want, makes no difference to me," he takes his phone out. Which by god I pity. It looks like it doesn't know what brighter days are. The cracks look like they should be slicing his fingers. But as he slides open his lock screen, he looks back at me.

I bite my lip as girly giggles come out and I give out my number," Don't forget to text me the details." What the hell am I doing? I'm not single so why the fuck am I giving my number out. This feels bad- no wrong but I also can't deny the butterflies in my stomach. I really hope for both of our sake he's not a criminal or something.

I bid him goodbye as I walked deeper into the mall. "Hel- motherfucking- lo? Can you hear me hoe," Sasha's muffled voice comes through.

I quickly pull the phone to my ear," Sash? You still here?" She huffs out loudly and I giggle. This is literally my bitch because who else would stay on the phone. "Why didn't you hang up?"

"WELLL I heard a loud ass crack noise and I guess when you picked the phone up, I heard this clear deep...raspy...sexy-" I cut her off.

"Stand up! You don't even know what this man looks like," I say in replacement of whatever she was going to say. She laughs exaggeratedly and annoyingly.

"WHAT I DO KNOW IS YOU BETTA GO ON THAT DATE! FUCK WANNABE ASS CHRISTOPHER," she yells and I hang up the phone.

I'm not finna let her wild ass keep yelling in my ear. She's literally crazy but I guess that's why are friends. My name and sane have never been in the same sentence before.

I continue to shop but with new energy, some would say a slight pep in my step. A new mission added to my list.

-Get a date night outfit.

A little short but thats because I wanted to work on part two and this other thing I'm creating.. I will have a nice little surprise, some would say chaotic. Also let me know if this was bimbo enough or not

Next Part

Masterlist

[jasmines-library]

batfam with the youngest robin (prob 12-13) who gets kidnapped by the joker during a mission and a year or so later the joker reveals the kid who is now brainwashed to be the joker jr

i was thinking like maybe how they’d react and maybe that they can rescue y/n and un-brainwash them and like comfort them and stuff

if not that’s fine i don’t mind!!! i can also like explain better if needed lol

The Stranger In The Mirror.

Note: You guys literally send in the best requests, I took inspo from Batman Beyond where this happens to Tim but I also added my own little twists as always.

Warnings: Torture (graphic), brainwashing, manipulation, drugging, breakdown basically hurt not comfort (poor reader is going through it all in this one.)

Word count: 2.5k

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

“Help! Somebody please!”

You heard the cry before you saw what was happening. A female voice begging desperately for help, pleading for mercy as the two men backed her against the wall of the alley. They stalked towards her menacingly and you could see the way her face contorted with a fear that gripped her so tight as she moved feebly in an attempt to get past the two men. But they were large and between them took up most of the alley so that it was nearly impossible for her to slip past, and even if she did they would be on her in a second. 

Using your grappling hook to secure a line on a nearby railing, you propelled yourself down from the rooftop. Before your feet hit the floor, you took the crooks out with a well placed blow that sent them crumpling to the ground like a sack of flour. Resheathing your hook, you turned to the woman. 

“Are you alright, Miss?”

She smiled, looking at you from under the brim of her hat with an all too familiar smile “Much better now you’re here.”

A brief flash of recognition crossed over your face, obscured by your mask as you realised who those brown eyes belonged to but you had no time to act on it before she hit you on the back of the head. Hard. With a manic laugh. 

“Night night, Birdy.”

~

When you awoke, you were laying on something cold. A piece of metal that you had been bound to by ropes that burned against your wrists and feet as you struggled to free yourself. The table was tilted at an angle that allowed you to squint against your throbbing head to take in your surroundings. The room you were in was well lit and seemed surprisingly sterile given the situation. Strange concoctions of colours that made you grimace hung on the walls and bubbled away in tubes on one of the many workbenches across the room. The tools made your stomach churn. But then you saw him. 

Perched all high and mighty in a chair opposite you the Joker had sprawled himself out across a chair, flashing you one of his sickening, signature grins. 

“Hiya, Birdy!” He stood with glee, making his way over to you with a spring in his step-almost like he was skipping. 

“Why the hell am I here, Joker?” You spat at him, baring your teeth. 

“Can’t a guy just hang out with his favourite vigilante?” He mused, turning away from you as he began organising things on the desk that you couldn’t see, you tugged in the restraints to try and catch a glimpse of them.

“Cut the crap.”

“You all really are no fun.” He rolled his eyes “Not to worry that’ll all change soon when I morph you into the perfect weapon. Me.”

“What?” 

“Well, what’s better than one of me? Two of me. And you little bird, know all the ways to destroy your pesky family.”

“I’m not going to tell you shit.”

He shrugged, turning back to you with a pair of jump leads in hand. “We’ll see.”

Walking towards you with a grin he attached them to the table before reaching towards the dial. You thrashed desperate to break free but the ropes securing you in place allowed no leeway for you to move. When his fingers brushed the dial and the voltage came flooding through the wires, you let out a blood curdling scream. The pain was everywhere as your body arched, twitched and writhed against the rope. It burned at your skin, drawing blood and forming blisters against your wrists and your ankles. When the current finally stopped and you fell slack against the restraints your diaphragm jerked and spluttered against each pain filled gasp. 

“Are you ready to talk now?”

~

They realised very quickly that you were missing. You hadn’t returned home after your patrol. They tried not to let the worry get the best of them, but this was Gotham. They waited, watching the seconds turn to minutes and minutes to hours, but there was no sign of you. You were gone. 

Everyone was on high alert. For three, agonising weeks they searched every inch of Gotham, using every possible connection they had but no one found any leads. Tim was growing frustrated, hacking into every database he could find as Bruce and the other boys scoured the city. But you were gone without a trace. That was until one tedious Wednesday morning, the batcave received an urgent call. 

~

Your head was fuzzy. Whatever the Joker had dozed you with this time was really taking a toll on you. 

Your head hung low resting against your chest as you breathed slowly, trying to push away the fuzziness in your brain. Your entire body had grown numb; now too used to the pain it had been put through, too weak to hold yourself up as you lay slack against the table and although all dosed up now you may not be able to feel anything, you would never be able to forget the endless torment he had put you through; that would forever be etched into your mind. 

The screams still seemed to ricochet off of the walls, burying themselves into each crack just to resurface once it went quiet. The feeling of your skin being torn apart still lingered, the pinch followed by the burn as the Joker slashed you with his weapons, screaming at you to tell him all that you knew about Batman. Of course, you refused at first. Oh how you were so brave trying to hold your tongue. But you couldn’t help the screams that ripped from your mouth and left your throat raw and soon when they layers of your mind had been peeled away by the cruel hallucinations he put you through with his serums and his words, you soon began to crack; your fragile body unable to take anymore of this torture. 

Your wrists had been burnt red raw; the trails of blood tracked down your arms and mixed with dirt and blood, showing where it had beaded down your forearms as you struggled. Burned with tears your anguish was clear amongst your struggle and you were pretty sure that you had at least three broken ribs and four missing fingernails. Maybe more. 

But you were growing to like the pain somewhat. Because it meant that you were still alive. It meant that your family was on your way…or… had they stopped looking for you. 

The Joker's cruel words rang through your hazy mind. He had told you about the video he had sent to them. How there was no response. They didn’t care. None of them did or you would have been home right now. He had injected you with something as he said it, but you swatted off the prick of the needle as though it were a pesky mosquito bite. 

“Soon,” He told you as the drug settled into the numbness of your body. “You will realise that I am helping you. That I am the only one that cares for you. Not Batman. Not any of those pesky Birds. Me.” he hovered in the doorway just before he left. “I’ll be back, Junior.” Junior.  He had stopped calling you by your name recently. 

And as much as you didn’t want to agree with the man who had put you and your family through so much…you were beginning to believe it. The Joker had dragged you away from a life cycle of patrol and ending crimes. He was giving you a place to stay when your family had so clearly given up on you. The Joker had confided so much in you in your time together that you felt like you almost knew him personally. And it had made you think that… he was misunderstood. Lonely. Much more similar to you than- 

No.

No. No. No. You shook the thoughts from your head. ‘They’re coming.’ you told yourself. ‘But…’

Your mind was fighting itself now, conflicted between what you knew and what you were being told. Fighting between your family and the man who stood constantly before you.  It fought until one side finally inched free and you realised something. 

The Joker. 

The Joker was right. He was helping you. 

When he returned to you that night, you greeted him with a dumb smile. He was  glad to see that his plan had worked. That he had broken you down enough to mould you into exactly what he wants. 

He grinned manically. He could now move onto phase two: training you to kill The Bat. This stage would be considerably easier. You already knew Batman’s weaknesses; you had admitted that during one of the electroshock sessions. He just had to convince you that Batman was the real enemy. The only thing left to do besides that was lure him over to you. Which should’ve been easy enough.

~

Tim shot up from his seat the moment your face flashed up on the screen. Somehow, someone had overridden the computer’s controls and he was now staring at your bloodied and beaten face lolling against a metal table. 

“Bruce!” Tim cried, scrambling to grab the attention of his father. 

Bruce had never moved faster across the cave than he did to reach Tim, his stomach dropping when he saw the screen, with him came the rest of his sons who too were alerted by the shout. 

Tim didn’t have to say anything else as they all gathered around to look queasily at the screen. You weren’t moving as the live stream played and this only worried your family more, but then an all too familiar green hair came into frame walking towards you menacingly. 

Bruce felt sick when he saw you flinch and try to squirm away from the Joker’s touch. 

“Smile for the camera.” He said, gripping your hair so that they could see your face. You blinked slowly permanent tears scarring your face amongst the blood and dirt. 

“I hope you’re watching Batsy. You’re about to see the end of your little bird.”

Dick, who bit his lip anxiously as he observed instinctively gripped Damians shoulders and tried to push him away as the Joker reached for the dial again. They saw your body react despite its weakened state; legs kicking and trying as you tried to scramble away. But Damian refused to leave, especially when his little sibling was in this state. It was horrific, but he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from the screen so he watched shell shocked. That was until your first scream cut through all of them and he turned away. Dick pulled him close as he screwed his eyes shut and Jason clenched his fists. 

“Tim.” Bruce ordered “Turn it off. Find a signal.”

“I’m trying.” He said “But…there is no signal and something is overriding the controls.”

Bruce ran his hands through his hair until after an agonising few minutes, your screams stopped. 

The Joker moved swiftly for a syringe which you didn’t even react to as he injected it into your system. Not good. 

“They’re not coming for you, birdy. They don’t care.” The Joker taunted before turning back towards the camera. With one manic laugh he gave a final bow and the signal fizzled out. 

The five of them stood there in complete silence. All silent. Most angry. Most heartbroken. 

“Suit up. We don’t stop until we find them.”

~

By the time the vigilantes arrived, you were ready. Poised on the top floor of Arkham’s abandoned asylum cafeteria. 

You had seen Batman arrive, sauntering furiously into the open room to where Joker had positioned himself. You had seen the other four sneak in too, wrapping themselves around the room and slinking throughout the asylum in search of you. 

Once Joker had riled up the Bat enough to send him on a chase to him around a loop of the asylum, you jumped down from the bannister with a conniving grin. 

“I know you’re all in here.” You laughed. And soon, one after the other your brothers appeared from the shadows gawping at the stark contrast of your appearance. You were skinnier and clearly injured from head to toe, but what struck them the most was the purple and green that the Joker had donned you in. 

“R…” Red hood warned as he stepped toward you. “We don’t wanna hurt you. We just want to take you home.”’

You raised your weapon. “Liar!”

“No kid. We wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.” Red Robin said.

“You left me. You didn’t come back for me and you left me here to rot!” You gritted your teeth.

“That’s not true. That’s the joker talking.” Damian.

“He is helping me! He is helping me reach my full potential- I am already so much more than I was before.”

You raised the pistol. It was loaded and you knew that it would do damage. That was the intention. And that's what you were going to do. You were going to take them out one by one until they get what they deserve-

“R…” Dick said as you raised the gun your finger inching towards the trigger. “You know us Little Wing. We’re your big brothers.”

You moved swiftly, dodging them as they moved closer in sync. One of them reached out to try and grab you, but you gripped his arm and threw him over your shoulder. The five of you tussled until everything paused when Batman burst back into the room. 

Your gun was pointed at him in an instant, locking in on him as you readied your stance and poised your finger on the trigger. no one said anything. No one even dared to breathe. Bruce just looked at you from behind his cowl as you grinned at him, sickeningly mirroring the villain who appeared behind him sending him keeling to the ground. You laughed. 

“Do it.” Joker urged. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Your hand trembled as you looked down at him pleading at you. He looked so…vulnerable. And your mind screamed at you. Wrongwrongwrong. You were torn again. This was Bruce…your father. Your family. Your enemy- 

“Do it, Junior.” He pressed. Your lip trembled. 

Do it. No. Do it-  You wanted to scream. 

“R.” Batman uttered one single letter.

You pulled the trigger. No one moved. A cry of pain rang out across the room. The Joker dropped to the floor.

You let out a sob and dropped to your knees realisation catching up on you. A pair of arms wrapped around you and pulled you to their chest as you completely broke down. 

“It’s okay Y/N. It’s okay. We’ve got you now.”

Everything hurt. Everything was so disgustingly wrong. You had tried to kill Bruce- you had given away your secrets… you let out an unholy sob.

“Shh.” Jason cooed. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean it.”

“Everyone is okay, Little wing.” Damian promised, taking your bloodied hand gently and tracing circles across the back of it. “We can fix this…”

Batfam Taglist:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

[minkdelovely]

ptolemaea

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“i am no good nor evil, simply i am. and i have come to take what is mine.”

Nun!Alastor x Demon!Lucifer ; RadioApple ; MDNI 18+

tags/warnings: top!lucifer x bottom!alastor, alcohol consumption, accidental luci praise fic?, blasphemous debauchery, desecration of catholic imagery, smut (vague i know but if the previous tags haven’t scared you… 😂) also not a brag but i think i accidentally put my whole pussy into this idk what happened but here we are 🥂**didn’t implement tag list to avoid shocking y’all to death**

word count: 5.1k

author’s note: *natalie portman voice* i never said i was a role model. this companion piece (<- first part linked here) is dedicated to darling @hazelfoureyes who gave me courage to let my freak flag fly — please accept this as my humble offer of gratitude; it’s been an honor to workshop this idea with you 😭 totally get it if this crosses a line for some (please skip, i promise it’s okay lol) but i couldn’t be more excited to publish this. for anyone willing to join us on the yellow brick road to hell you are welcome to link arms 🙏🏻❤️‍🔥 theme inspo from ethel cain 🏚️ i also made a playlist for the party if you wanna check it out ✨

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Samhain was always a peculiar time for Lucifer.

Though he could come and go as he pleased between realms — with the exception of Heaven, of course — the thinning of the veil was the only time of year he could feel Earth from Hell. The energy of realms converging wallowed in the air heady as incense, enticing his powers to rest just under his skin. 

Or at least that’s how it felt. A not-unpleasant humming tension, aching to be released. It put him on edge, stirring him like a poker to hot coals as he fought to maintain his suave facade against the urge to succumb to the deeper power he normally held back with ease. It had never gone over well whenever Lucifer gave into the temptation… 

Except for the year he accidentally created a mound of rubber ducks. What a charming fascination that had turned out to be.

Normally he would make plans to visit with one of the other Sins or confine himself to his workshop to keep busy (use your imagination), but this year Charlie was hosting a party at the hotel. A costume party. He had no intention of dressing up (the fear that no one took him seriously enough as-is not completely unfounded), but he did find the practice endearing. Little mortals disguising themselves to hide from ghouls and demons. 

But he was Lucifer Morningstar, after all. Sinners and the like dressed up after him, not the other way around.

Exasperation pricked the king’s skin as Alastor suddenly came to mind, maintaining a perpetual state of unwelcome in Lucifer’s consciousness. He probably wouldn’t be dressing up either, the smug son-of-a-bitch. Every day is Halloween for that haunted sideshow, he thought bitterly with a laugh to himself, the sound echoing off the walls his only companion within the confines of the office — aside from the ever-present mass of ducks, of course.

The dilemma was still there when the laughter died though. Risk letting Charlie down by not dressing up and lumping himself in with Alastor by extension? Or don a costume and give the snarky demon and anyone else with a mocking eye the false impression of superiority? Lucifer groaned, running both hands through his bouffant platinum hair as he slumped forward at his desk. 

How had it come to this, needing to choose between love for his daughter or himself? Consumed by the current problem, he failed to recognize that this was an issue typically at hand, even when he lacked venom behind it. He was making good progress when it came to Charlie, but as they say, old habits die hard. There had to be a compromise somewhere…

A minute passed.

Head between his knees, his eyes shot open with the thrill of inspiration and he sprang from his chair, decision made. The familiar handsome smile graced his lips as he sauntered to his bedroom where an untouched suit awaited him in the armoire. He wasn’t the sin of Pride for nothing.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Intersecting somewhere between Halloween and New Year's Eve, the newly-added ballroom of the hotel was decorated to the gills, not a single inch of it lacking in festive flair. Angel Dust scoffed when a DJ had been suggested and happily provided a playlist for the party, which was either really smart or really crazy. Or both. Only time would tell, but so far there had been no complaints.

Sinners were piling in, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the establishment. The cacophony of conversation, laughter, and music filled the space with a liveliness Charlie hoped would be a more permanent fixture at the hotel. She and Vaggie had taken charge of greeting everyone at the entrance of the ballroom, receiving some surprisingly sincere compliments on their Glinda and Elphaba costumes. Any derogatory laughter or smirks were being pointedly ignored, both women knowing full well that they looked incredible.

When Charlie spotted her father approaching in the crowd, her smile faltered briefly. “Dad! I thought I told you this was a costume party,” she said tentatively, looking back to give Vaggie a silent plead to keep up with the greetings before focusing her full attention on Lucifer.

“Oh, honey, you look fantastic! Pink really suits you,” he deflected, eyes and voice sparkling as he held Charlie’s arms out to admire the glittering gown, looking every bit the princess she was.

She drew back, not unkindly, when he released her and wrapped her arms around her ribs self-consciously. Groaning, “Dad…” 

It was quite impressive how she could admonish him with a single word without even meaning to. Must've gotten it from her mother, he thought absently, though Lilith wouldn’t know passive aggression if it slapped her on the ass. 

Thinking on his estranged wife, it was a true miracle how Charlie had blossomed into the compassionate and brave young woman standing before him. Lilith, never afraid to lead the charge; himself, too trepidatious to take the risk. Yet somehow their daughter seemed to embody the best of them both, reflecting parts of himself that he didn’t know where there.

He could have wept on the spot, suddenly fit to burst with affection for her — no doubt another side effect of the day — but the angel quickly refocused when he saw Charlie’s nervous expression toward him and leapt into damage control.

“Whaddya mean, I am dressed up!” he managed to answer with his usual charm. With one hand he pointed at his extended horns, a flicker of flame glowing between them adorned with his delicate serpent crown. The other hand swooped in front of his red suit with a flourish. “You’re telling me this doesn’t pass as a credible devil costume? You know, I actually held back. Thought maybe it’d be too scary for your guests if I went all out.”

If keeping his flame low and eyes neutral counted as holding back, and not just the ones in his skull. People got squeamish around him whenever the amass of eyes on his crown and wings appeared. He didn’t blame them.

Lucifer was rambling now, a nervous laugh the cherry on top of his need to save face. Though somewhat of a loophole, he had found the idea to be rather clever. Then again, he was trapped in an echo chamber of his own thoughts so most ideas naturally fell into that category. Was it really such a letdown? He could’ve bailed altogether, nerves already desperate for solitude, but he wanted to try for her. Even if it felt like two steps forward and one step back when it came to Charlie, he’d keep aiming to get it right for as long as she’d allow. 

“I actually think you look great,” Vaggie said smoothly, swooping in next to Charlie at the first break in the crowd. Lucifer would owe her for the rest of existence for the save. A debt he was more than happy to repay in whichever way pleased her best, making a mental note to discuss it later with the fellow angel. “It’s a lot better than what Alastor decided to show up in, anyhow.” The grimace on her face and in her tone was unmistakable. 

Alastor had fucked up.

It took all of Lucifer’s willpower to keep his magic in check at the delight that shot through him. The PR mess regarding what would equate to mass murder, regrettably, didn’t ping his radar. But the thought of needing to rebuild the ballroom was just taxing enough to keep the impulse at bay.

He was about to ask what Vaggie meant when Charlie stepped in, playing devil’s advocate as usual (no pun intended). What his precious, well-meaning daughter saw in that undeserving creep, he’d never understand.

“He’s just getting into the spirit! You have to admit, it’s nice to see him mingling for once, he’s usually so—”

“Grotesque?” Lucifer offered.

“Conniving?” Vaggie added.

“Reclusive!” Charlie practically screamed, earning looks from a few demons within earshot. “Look, I won’t say that what he picked out isn’t… surprising, but I’m just really happy to see him join in on the fun. He’s been enjoying himself so far, so I want you guys on best behavior, all right?” 

She said you guys but made solid eye contact with her father. Despite wanting to protest, Lucifer understood he was already off to a shaky start and conceded with a sigh, covered quickly with a debonair grin. Charlie didn’t know what a particularly big ask it was to be on best behavior tonight, but that was his burden to bear.

“Of course, sweetie, you have nothing to worry about! There are so many sinners here I doubt we’ll even run into each other.”

Famous last words.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Lucifer tried to enjoy himself, he really did. 

In the brief moments before his eyes found Alastor in the crowd, it had actually been a wonderful time. He was immediately awash in the admiration of his subjects, even managing to make some poor creature faint with a simple grin in their direction — though he had really laid on the charm with that one. Could he be blamed though? After ten millennia of habit, calling it compulsive would be an understatement. 

Moments like this were a reminder of why it was good to get out of his office every now and then. Whether it was compliments on his look, praise for the fight with Adam, or outright solicitation for sex, Lucifer drank it all in; beaming as the crowd awed at the sight of fully extended wings he could no longer keep to himself. He really was the shit, wasn’t he? Being worshipped is truly unlike anything else, but it’s something to experience, not explain. All he knew was that he adored it. 

It had been a devastatingly short-lived escape, the proverbial looming gray cloud — never too far away — returning as Lucifer’s gaze fell on Alastor. He had been scanning for the bar and stumbled on an atrocity instead. Just his luck. 

The costume was a shocking choice to be sure, one that Lucifer might have even appreciated had it been on literally anyone else. But something about it on Alastor was simply… perverse. Leaving him with the struggle of trying to decide if it was the costume that was the issue or its inhabitant.

Was it the way the habit — embellished with red stitches on each side and the Cross of Saint Peter in the center — framed Alastor’s face, ears and horns still exposed with just a tuft of bang peaking out across his forehead? The pure white wimple that glowed like a beacon against the stark black surrounding it, casting an unusual grace upon the slender neck and broad shoulders underneath? Or how the tunic flattered the swell of his chest, the taper of his thin waist accentuated by the fabric swirling about his hips that flowed down over long, lean legs?

The demon, draped languidly over the bar, was chatting with Husker; the look on their faces was the most relaxed and natural Lucifer had ever seen exchanged between the pair, borderline flirtatious. Whatever the bartender said made Alastor toss his head back with a laugh, the exuberant sound of it piercing the angel’s chest like an arrow. How he had even managed to hear it so clearly over the music and the crowd was a miracle, or perhaps curse was more accurate. Still, the easygoing look on Alastor’s face as he came down from the laugh was bewitching, accented by a boozy flush and mischievous, heavy red eyes.

Insufferable.

The Radio Demon was in top form tonight, confidence radiating from him with such a forceful ease that the king could feel it even from his place across the room. He hadn’t noticed the literal sparks flying out of the pads of his fingers until he brought his hands up to tug at the collar of his shirt, which suddenly felt too tight. Fuck.

Taking it all in, Lucifer could feel the heat rising reluctantly in his face as he was consumed by a baffling mixture of lust and loathing.

All because Alastor decided to be a blasphemous piece of shit, he seethed, scowling as he narrowed his eyes at the sinner in question. Eerie, arrogant, pompous, constant pain-in-the-ass Alastor, riling him up like this? Lucifer had considered it number one on his list of impossibilities, caught completely off-guard by the rush of desire — if he had to put a word on it — for the ghoulish prick. An impulse he had never entertained nor wanted to feel in regard to the demon, but was there all the same.

“Samhain,” Lucifer cursed under his breath. The flame between his horns intensified, eyes prickling with the threat to change color. He took a breath, remembering Charlie. 

Best behavior. 

It was about as helpful as a bandaid over a bullet wound. This had to be a joke; a cruel, tasteless joke meant to provoke him specifically. Like he hadn’t suffered enough of those already in his long, long existence.

That was the only conclusion the angel could come to from his table near the bar, practically burning alive in his chair as he watched Alastor strutting around the ballroom in between breaks from the dance floor. Lucifer really had almost set himself on fire after catching Alastor in the middle of a sultry dance move with one of the guests, a rolling of hips he didn’t think Alastor was even capable of doing, let alone inflict upon someone. It took a double shot to mellow out when he found himself wondering what it would be like to switch places with that guest, though it did little to quell the growing ache coiling low in his abdomen.

There was a lull in the music and the crowd disbursed, quickly filling the empty space around the angel. Lucifer exhaled, somewhere between a groan and a laugh. Alastor had finally managed to dip out of his line of sight — not that the demon was forcing Lucifer to look — and the reprieve couldn’t have come at a better time; the solace of his absence coming over the angel like poultice to a throbbing wound. Despite being a couple drinks in now, the tension in his body was a ticking bomb. He needed the opportunity to try and decompress before he accidentally wrought havoc upon the denizens invited here by his daughter.

For at least the tenth time he entertained the idea of going back up to his room, if only to release some of the punishing energy pulsating through him, but he wasn’t confident that he’d return. The only thing holding him back was the promise he made to Charlie to be present and well behaved. And so, he remained committed to the confinement of the table he’d been bonded to for the last hour.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

In hoping to keep as much distance as possible Lucifer had unwittingly tipped Alastor off, landing the problem he was hoping to evade right in his lap. So to speak.

He always forgot that the demon could travel through shadow until it was too late. It’s just that he didn’t care to remember, not wanting to give Alastor even the tiniest bit of permanent space in his mind. Something he was actually too oblivious to realize he was already doing; they both were.

Alastor had of course noticed when Lucifer entered the room. Whether he wanted to was another thing entirely. Though it was to be expected, what with the dregs of Hell no doubt encountering royalty for the first time. Thankfully he had been at the bar with Husker, his captive bartender providing a welcome distraction with a joke about how his drink was going to cost a few Hail Marys. There were reasons Alastor kept him around, after all, beyond the obvious. Surly as he was, Husk had the capacity to be quite funny when the mood struck. He wasn’t on the clock tonight, but he was the only one Alastor trusted to pour his drinks. 

He could feel the glare beating down on him from that moment on, focused on him wherever he went. So he laid it on, making rounds and fluffing up the guests who were all too eager to devour his attention. It had been especially fun seeing the quick shock of flame in the corner after he showed off a risqué dance move, all for his majesty’s entertainment of course. If the spotlight was going to be forced on him, why not perform? But after an hour the joke was growing stale, and so the demon came to the conclusion that he’d have to be the one to bridge the gap.

Lucifer jumped at the shock of Alastor’s melodic voice coming from behind him, transmuting the glass in his hand into a duck without meaning to with a pop; amber-colored liquor swirling around within the confines of its new shape. Lucifer couldn’t decide what pissed him off more, the jump scare or the magic trick. The not-so-secret third option being Alastor’s proximity to himself, the heat from their bodies mingling in the small space between them.  

“Fuck! You know, you’ve got a lot of nerve sneaking up on me like that. I’m liable to make it a killing offense,” Lucifer sneered, tossing a napkin over his new little creation before anyone else could notice it. “And I haven’t been admiring you. I’m just, uh, keeping an eye on things! Besides, a king shouldn’t mingle with the general population. Might give off the wrong impression.” 

Sealed with crossed arms and a smug, toothy grin, it would’ve made for a decent enough comeback had it not been for the slip up. 

A dear old friend to Alastor, the slip up.

The expression on his face sharpened with a malicious instinctual ease as an idea unfurled in his mind. Lucifer was so obviously perturbed by him, the attempt he made at concealing it was almost endearing in a pathetic way. Though he was always in a pathetic way to Alastor, dark gums revealed in his ominous smile as his scheme took shape. He leaned in low, lips nearly grazing the angel’s skin as he spoke; his ear twitched at the catch of Lucifer’s breath from the action. He was so fucking obvious.

How humiliating.

“Is that so? Well, if you’re merely killing time here, might I suggest a bit of… sport?”

Lucifer flinched, pulling his face away to glare up at him. He couldn’t be insinuating what the angel thought he was, could he? It would be a bold — deadly — move even under normal circumstances. And tonight was anything but normal. 

Something was clearly in the air for Alastor too, if the fraternizing Lucifer had witnessed for the past hour was any indication (not realizing he had been the cause). He was known to have a flirtatiousness about him when he drank, but there was a different edge to it this evening. Lucifer was beginning to wonder if the costume was fueling his narcissism. Obscene.

“Well, your majesty?” Alastor goaded, radio filter frazzling as he leered down. To Lucifer’s chagrin, bedroom eyes looked good on him, the rotten bitch. “If not, I’m more than happy to leave you to your sulking.”

That was a lie and they both knew it, the tension so charged between them the air might combust at any second. Given the king’s proneness to accidents tonight (and the literal open flame above his head) it wasn’t an impossibility. 

As they locked eyes, some silent declaration was sent, though neither had received the same message. Or perhaps they did and therein was the problem, dooming them to be forever caught in this stubborn battle of wills. 

Lucifer tried — and failed — to ignore the portion of himself that, apparently, had been eager for the opportunity. He could give in… if only to set some boundaries on who was always the winner in this pissing contest. The smoky trace of whiskey lingering on Alastor’s breath caused Lucifer’s nails to dig into the flesh of his palm, golden pinpricks of blood rising in the wake. 

A proposition now effectively ratified. 

The Body and the Blood…

How sentimental.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Haaahh…! Mmmnn — ahh!”

“Fuck…”

It started off as a joke like so many things do when you’re scared shitless of vulnerability.

An insult here, a dare to chase it. Contemptuous eyes poorly concealing the desire simmering underneath. An angry meeting of mouths, all tongue and teeth and claws. The clattering of miscellaneous items being recklessly swiped off a table.

Glass shattering. 

More insults.

A bite to the lip drawing blood, tangled breath filling in the needy gaps awaiting any touch they could get. The first shared moan ringing in ears before scorching its way down, stoking the molten ache roiling in the gut, desperate to envelop them both and leave nothing but frayed nerves behind. 

Caressing, pulling, gripping, grinding, biting…

The party supply room was hot, air humid with sweaty musk and the steam of heaving breaths, the sounds of the party resonating on the other side of the wall. Inside were hisses through clenched teeth, groans of ecstasy; slick skin coming together then pulling away with the magnitude of storm-heavy waves crashing and receding on the shore.

The tunic covering Alastor’s torso did little to comfort him, stripped as he felt. In fact, the habit was still on too, the only piece of clothing torn from him being the wimple in order to free the expanse of his neck. Lucifer had spent quite a bit of time there, marking it well with harsh love bites and languid strokes of his forked tongue.

He was laid out beneath the angel, open mouthed and florid, vaguely coherent as his king fucked him senseless; seemingly determined to conquer the demon as wholly as possible. A task at which he was succeeding, if he hadn’t done so already; though to be fair he had never stood a chance against Lucifer. Not tonight.

Alastor hadn’t spoken a proper word in minutes, reduced to communicating through moans, groans, and sharp intakes of breath. Quite the accomplishment considering he was such an articulate fellow. 

Lucifer didn’t know it yet, but he would be haunted by the memory of seeing Alastor’s eyes roll to the back of his head once he found the pace he was currently keeping; deep and steady, just fast enough to stay ahead of the desperation that was never too far behind.

So tight…

The demon almost looked sweet, splayed out below him like this, lost in the throes of pleasure. It was a nice change considering the sneer that normally painted his face. But seeing him like this, brows knit and face flushed, the tuft of bang soaked into his forehead…

In this moment, Lucifer truly felt like a God.

He certainly looked like he could be, his demon form fully unleashed. He always felt such relief in this state. It was exhausting holding himself back, and not just today. Something he did all the time, not out of concern or ease for others, but because he had difficulty grappling with his station. Not that he’d give it up — hell no. But the burden of leadership was exactly that. Lilith had known it too, all too happy to take the reins until she wasn’t. He’d been happy to let her… until he wasn’t.

Maybe it was the melding properties of Samhain surging through him, but he could swear he felt a shifting. What good did it do for him to hide himself away? There was actually plenty of proof to the contrary. Why should he hold himself back? He was Lucifer Morningstar. Hell was his domain, and all its inhabitants needed a reminder that he was to be revered.

The Radio Demon could be their martyr.

Why else had he offered himself up like one? And the image suited him well.

“I showed the Nazareth all the kingdoms of the world before they crucified him. What do you see, Alastor?” Lucifer growled, voice thick and smug with authority. He leaned down to nip and lick at the skin of Alastor’s open jaw, still whipping his hips at a relentless pace. 

Even with eyes closed — too much effort, they were so heavy to keep open — Alastor could see him perfectly, the image of Lucifer seared into his mind. Eyes. Glowing red eyes to match the flame roaring between his fully formed horns and the apple that topped his serpent crown like a sparkling ruby. Leering, all-seeing eyes on seraphim’s wings. 

A fanged grin so self-satisfied it was like looking directly into the sun. 

A God.

It burned him to admit it.

But the wanton moan that tore through Alastor’s chest pierced the room, coming on so quickly he never stood a chance at restraining it. The words spilling from Lucifer’s mouth in deep rumbles threatened to unravel the meager hold Alastor had left on his dignity. Absent claws bit into the flesh of the demon’s thighs as the angel momentarily hitched from the way Alastor clenched around him, hot and greedy as if needing to milk him for all he was worth.

The king let out a husky laugh in response, latching onto a particularly enticing patch of Alastor’s neck where it met the shoulder; reveling again in the salty musk that coated his tongue before biting down, filling his mouth with the satisfying taste of iron.

Alastor opened his mouth in a soundless plead, his mouth and throat dry from exertion. Impossible as it seemed, tears pricked at the corner of his eyes; his painfully hard and untouched dick throbbed, weeping against his stomach and into the fabric of the tunic. It was too much… He was too full, too surrounded, too helpless.

Consuming. 

Yes, that’s what it felt like. 

He had never been on the opposite side of it before. 

And despite it all, he could feel his orgasm pooling low in his belly, balls painfully full and tight. That gnawing tension yearning for relief as Lucifer’s thick arousal punished his spongy core. Once the angel pulled away from his neck, Alastor couldn’t help but reach down to touch himself, so in need of climax he didn’t care what it took to get it.

Lucifer roared at the sight, cock twitching as his own release threatened to spill, but managed to hold it back. Delicious as this was to witness, he couldn’t let Alastor get to the finish line just yet; his pointed tail coming around to snatch the demon’s hand away as he pulled out, exhaling with a strained grunt.

The sudden absence of both sensations left Alastor to writhe in frustrated ache, practically sobbing through gritted teeth at the loss, which Lucifer mercifully tried to soothe with languid kisses and nips to the demon’s inner thigh. He wasn’t a completely unfeeling Lord, after all.

He just needed one last thing before letting them both attain the high they so desperately wanted, his eyes shifting back from radiant flame to red and yellow with a blink as he wrapped his hand around Alastor’s angry, dripping length. It wouldn’t be long now, the poor creature was so hard and wet to the touch.

Alastor cried out, regaining some semblance of himself as he unconsciously bucked into Lucifer’s unmoving hand; his mouth made a sticky sound as he swallowed hard, moisture finally returning to his parched throat. 

“Luci…fer… please — I can’t…!” Alastor practically tore the words out between heaving breaths, tears burning his skin as the shame of needing to beg deepened his rosy blush to an intense red. 

He hadn’t expected the demon to beat him to the punch, unable to fight the grin of victory painting his lips as his eyes resumed their fearsome glow. Benevolently rewarding Alastor with a few firm strokes, he relished the lewd, wet sound of it joining the chorus of his subject’s carnal whimpers. Lucifer bent down and flattened his tongue, giving a slow wide lick to Alastor’s leaking cock from base to head, finishing with an obscene slurp. How could he possibly have denied himself such a precious offering? 

A pleased hum rumbled in Lucifer’s chest when Alastor slung an arm over his face, gossamer strings of spit between his lips as he shuddered, “Oh god… fuck…”

That would work. 

Lucifer buried himself back into Alastor’s enticing heat, continuing his ministrations as his hips set a slow pace. A mewling groan spilled from the demon’s mouth, hips rolling to meet each of the angel’s thrusts. Lucifer’s peak was quickly approaching, too lost in the divine feeling of Alastor’s body surrounding him, already lamenting the thought of being finished.

“You poor thing… Did I fuck all the attitude out of you?” the angel taunted, golden blood dripping down the side of his mouth from the force of his smile.

No longer capable of holding it back, the orgasm crashed through Alastor with the force of an avalanche, heart threatening to burst through his chest; the sound of its rapid pounding nearly drowning out his own scream of rapture. He spasmed so tightly that the king had to still himself, the grip on him almost painful. Hot, thick cum shot onto the demon’s stomach and Lucifer’s hand in gratifying spurts as he stroked him through his high, desperate for every drop he could wring out.

Inspired by the mess in front of him, the angel pulled out and brought one of Alastor’s hands to him, guiding him until he felt life twitch back into the demon’s fingers. The grasp was a little too harsh, Alastor perhaps using this as a chance for revenge if the look in his eye was any indication, but it didn’t matter. Nothing could take this conquest from him. It wasn’t long before Lucifer was rutting into the demon’s hand, groaning through clenched teeth as his face twisted up before spilling himself into Alastor’s palm.

Lucifer gave himself a moment to revel in the bliss of their debauchery before cleaning them up with a snap of his fingers. He was too worn out to put more effort into it than that, and hey, got the job done, didn’t it?

They were still trying to catch their breath when they finally locked eyes, the post-coital sobriety already at work. Alastor’s ears flattened as he glared at the angel, a rare grimace on his lips.

“No one knows about this. Understood?” he threatened, the static crackling in the air around him.

“Ha! Who do you think you’re talking to? Now I know I fucked you stupid.”

Their fistfight didn’t last long, but provided a great cover for their absence when they stumbled back to the bar in desperate need of a strong drink.

So much for best behavior…

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“How did you do it by the way, the last temptation of Christ?” Alastor couldn’t believe he was asking, the bitterness clear in his voice, but he figured it might be his only chance to find out without seeming too curious.

It took Lucifer a second to process the question, an easy smile spreading across his face. “Oh what, showing Jesus the world? I just whipped out a map*.”

Insufferable.

✧ ✧ ��� ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

ps: don’t worry, alastor was prepped before getting railed lol it just happened off screen 🫠

*biblically accurate if you can believe