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[aqss-usa16]

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[obsessivevoidkitten]

Owned By The Demon Admiral (AFAB Reader Version)

Male Demon Yandere x AFAB Demon Reader CW: Noncon/dubcon, terms like pussy used for reader's genitals, yandere DILF, general yandere behavior, groping, biting, captive reader, reader is setup, an overly cute semi-aquatic demon cat named Mr. Sir Buttons Word Count: 2k (I am saying this fic is AFAB versus female because no gendered pronouns are ever used at all for the reader in anyway, rather their genitals are biologically female. Terms like pussy/cunt are used so if that is triggering for you please avoid this fic. This was a birthday gift for a friend normally I don't do AFAB reader so this may be a bit sloppy. I hope you enjoy it.)

The battleship you were on drifted through the calm blood red waters of one of Hell’s oceans. The light of the two suns scintillated beautifully off the serene waves. No evidence at all that your ship had just sunk an enemy vessel, condemning the unlucky demons manning it to death.

In the ensuing ebullience at having survived with no damage the leader of the ship, Admiral Oraan, put one hand behind on your ass and one behind your head and pulled you into a passionate kiss as his tail began to wrap around your leg.

You struggled to push off the larger demon but finally he released you. You steadied yourself and gasped for breath.

“I said no!”

Then you stormed off to your quarters.

This wasn’t the first time your commanding officer had done something like this. This was at least the fourth time you had rebuffed his advances. He just wouldn’t get it through his thick skull. You were focused strictly on your military career. The war against Pride, one of the Princes of Hell, was far too important for romance and sex to get in the way.

But you underestimated his desire for you. And his rage. You should have assumed that the highest ranking admiral in Wrath’s fleet would have some severe anger issues. But you naively thought that service to his prince would take priority over his feelings for you.

The first thing he had done was to sabotage your quarters during inspection. You didn’t know it was his doing and were angered and paranoid that someone would thrash your space in such a way, causing you to get written up.

In reality it was all Oraan. A rising action in the story of your downfall.

The next thing that was done to ruin your uniforms. He told you it was disrespectful to the prince you all served, to the branch you served, and to him to have your uniforms in such a state.

After that it was a more serious infraction. Reported for contraband that was then found in your locker.

The final, and most infuriating, nail in the coffin happened in the next skirmish. A small opponent, easy to sink and posing only a slight threat to the hellish dreadnought on which you served. But Oraan had forced multiple witnesses to claim you were a coward. That you had abandoned your station and hid in your quarters while the rest of the crew gallantly manned their posts.

This led to you having to be court-martialed. No time to dock and have more formal proceedings. You had to be court-martialed right on the ship. Despite the evidence against you, you thought that once you were given your chance to make your arguments and have your comrades vouch for your behavior and character then this would all disappear.

That isn’t quite how things played out for you. You started the court-martial optimistic but with each passing moment a sense of dread became stronger and stronger. Each witness, people you had respected and thought of as your friends, gave damning testimony. They painted you as a belligerent, lazy, neglectful oaf. Someone who cared nothing for duty, rules, or honor.

You had to hold back tears as your body shook with rage and sorrow. Why were they saying such things? Why were they lying about you and your actions and character?

It finally became obvious when the sentence was passed. Not death, as might befit someone who fled from combat. Not dishonorable discharge. No, you were being reassigned. As Oraan’s personal attendant. “A non-combat role where no one would be harmed by your cowardly behavior.”

It was all him. He had pressured or otherwise bribed everyone to turn against you. To lie about you. All to get you in his clutches and punish you for rejecting him. And there was nothing you could do about it. He was an older and stronger demon, you’d have no hope to beat him in a fight. And even if you somehow managed it, how would you escape on a ship? And if by some miracle you either made it to land or just waited until the ship was docked you would be chased for all eternity.

No, he had you in your clutches. Your only hope was that your contract with the navy was almost up. You were only to be enlisted for five years at a time before you had to renew. The only exception for that being prolonged was if a hot war was going on, but this one was nearing its end. Since all that happened was the court-martial was just technically a reassignment you were only bound by the terms of your enlistment.

All you had to do was endure for ten months.

It was humiliating. Oraan really wanted to keep you reminded of your new position. You had to be at his side constantly. Obeying all his orders and whims. You had to press his uniforms and get his meals. And in private the tasks got much worse.

Sucking his girthy cock was a common “request” of his. Almost daily. You also had to bathe with him most nights. This required you to wash his entire well-muscled form. If you were a willing participant you would have enjoyed it, he was very attractive, the tattoo of an anchor on his left shoulder and the three large scars on his ribs adding to his rugged allure.

But you weren’t a willing participant. And bathing him usually led to him giving you an “inspection.” That was where he touched, kissed, groped every inch of you before sliding his cock into your hot pussy, slowly fucking into you until he came hard. His tongue, of course, had to probe your mouth during these inspections, “just to be thorough.”

It was good that he had you eat meals with him in his private quarters, because you didn’t think you’d be able to look any of the other crew members in the eye ever again. The ones that hadn’t been involved in fucking over your entire life were the ones that believed the lies about you. On the entire ship you had not a single ally. The only one you could confide in was Mr. Sir Buttons, the semi-aquatic demonic cat that served as the mascot and unofficial morale officer on the ship.

You were on your way back from taking your food trays back to the galley when you felt something soft rub against your leg. Mr. Sir Buttons! You had a few minutes before you had to be back with Oraan so you stooped down and picked him up. He purred loudly.

“At least I never have to worry about you betraying me.”

He meowed as if in affirmation. You nuzzled his thick, red, waterproof fur before placing him back down to go about his very important demonic cat business.

When you got back to Oraan’s quarters he was naked on the bed. His large prick standing erect and ready for the attention you would surely have to give it, a bead of precum running down the length evidently in anticipation.

You sighed in resignation and began to strip your clothing. You had been doing this for over a month now. Only less than nine more to go. You could do it, just one moment at a time.

Too excited after leering at your naked form, he couldn’t wait for you to come to him anymore. Instead he got up and used his strong arms to pick you up and pin you to the bed. He stole your lips with his, kissing you in a greedy frenzy, his large cock swung below as he groped your chest.

“Mine! I can’t believe after all these years you’re finally all mine!”

He bit your neck, causing you to moan involuntarily. But maybe you should just give into the pleasure of the situation. It was going to happen either way and you’d be able to move on with your life once this was all over anyway. Besides, getting into it a bit might just help him finish faster so you’d have less time stuck in this position.

Oraan massaged the outside of your cunt before sliding a couple of fingers into you to get you wet and ready for his large prick.

When he lined his cock up with your drooling entrance, rough hands on your hips, you didn’t look away or flinch as you would normally. You wrapped your arms and legs around him instead, allowing him the perfect angle to slam deeply into your pussy. He grinned, ecstatic that you finally seemed to have not only learned your place but were actively embracing it. He slammed down with hard but slow thrusts. Each one making you gasp and each one punctuated with another kiss or nip up your neck.

Lewd squelching noises emanated from your sex as he increased the tempo of your lovemaking.

Had any of the crew passed the admiral’s quarters on their way through the halls all they would have heard was the rhythmic slap of Oraan’s nuts against your skin as he bred you along with the occasional grunt or swear from him or moan from you.

“Fuck! I love you so much!”

You only drooled a bit while looking up at him dumbly with lustful eyes, having been fucked nearly senseless. You scratched his shoulders with your sharp demonic nails as you pulled him closer to you in an attempt to somehow get him deeper. You were near your climax, desperate for it.

The pain from your nails spurred him on, causing him to fuck you at a new pace that straddle the line between pain and pleasure. You winced as he came hard, your tight clenching walls milking his cock and sending him over the edge soon after.

He gave a few final thrusts into you to empty his balls good and deep before pulling out and holding you tight, caging you in with his sweat-slicked body. You went limp from exhaustion, practically basking in the afterglow that always followed such intense, passionate sex. If you didn’t know any better you could have mistaken Oraan for a lust demon. Though you imagined saying such a thing to his face would have him prove instantly that he was, in fact, a being of wrath.

When the two of you had recovered he took you into the small shower with him. This time around, he cleaned you. Gently washing your body of cum and sweat before rinsing your hair. Far more tender behavior than you would have thought possible from the stern leader. Maybe there was more wisdom to just being more open to your predicament than you had initially thought.

It was a change in your behavior that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the man who had orchestrated the vast shift in your life circumstances.

“Finally decided to give in, huh?” Came his gruff voice from behind you.

You had no reason to be dishonest or hide your thoughts from him.

“Well, my contract is up in just a few months. I am not going to renew so this assignment is only temporary. I figured it’ll go by faster if I just accept it.”

He laughed and pulled you close to him, you could feel his stubble on your neck as he whispered words that made your fiery demon blood run cold.

“With my power, influence, and wealth I can assure you that your signature will keep renewing that contract for eternity, sweetheart. Whether you sign it yourself or not. Even if we aren’t deployed I will find a way to keep you with me.”

You went limp and would have fallen to the floor had he not had his arms wrapped tightly around you. The room felt like it was spinning. You barely took note of the water trailing down your skin or the chaste kiss he pressed to your cheek.

It was over for you, now that Oraan finally had you there was absolutely nothing that would make the older demon give you up.

[cyberneticfallout]

Chapter One: Filly

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: You, a seasoned bounty hunter, team up with a gruff ghoul to capture a high-value target. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.2k

Bounty hunting is no walk in the park, but the rewards make it worthwhile. Your body aches as you trudge through the settlement known as Filly. Pushy vendors eagerly try to sell you their wares, with one particularly persistent one urging you to spend your hard-earned caps on dog meat. Politely declining their offers, you navigate your way through the bustling street towards the more reputable shops and services.

Having visited Filly a few times before, you recognize familiar faces among the locals. You exchange a silent greeting with the local repair girl and spot Ma June preparing to open her shop for the day, making a mental note to stop by later. As you approach a semi-functional Nuka Cola machine, you catch sight of a man seated in a chair. He's dressed like an outlaw from the Wild West, giving off an air of danger. His gaze locks with yours as you pass by.

A ghoul.

You've had mostly positive experiences with ghouls in the wasteland, but this one seems different. There's something about him that sets off alarm bells in your head. Feeling bold, you approach him after grabbing an unbearably warm Nuka Cola.

"Hey," you stand in front of him and take a sip. "I don't personally have a problem with ghouls, but the folk around here aren't too fond of them."

Smirking, he looks up at you, his sunken eyes and lack of nose more pronounced in the sunlight. Most people find ghouls unsettling, but you've grown accustomed to their appearance after years of interacting with them.

"That may be true," he drawls. "but I ain't here to make friends."

You offer him a sip of your drink, he stares at you in confusion. Taking it as a rejection, you finish the rest and toss the bottle aside.

"You look like you're either playing cowboy or you're a bounty hunter," you remark.

"What's your guess?" he snarls.

Leaning towards him, you place your hands on the arms of his chair. "I'm guessing you're here looking for a specific doctor."

"You're pretty bold for getting so close to a ghoul, smoothskin."

"And you're pretty bold for assuming I've never been closer." A small smile creeps onto your face as he looks at you curiously.

"I'm sure our paths will cross again. Until then..." Stepping back, you give him a casual salute and walk away.

The presence of the ghoul gives you the feeling that shit is about to go down so you decide to hang around on the outskirts of Filly. Leaning against a tree just outside the bustling street of vendors, you can hear the sound of raised voices and the unmistakable echoes of gunfire coming from the center of town.

"Called it," you mutter under your breath. There's no need to dive headfirst into the chaos when you can simply wait it out and observe the aftermath. Given the hefty reward on the line for this particular doctor, it's unlikely that he'll be an easy target. If he's anything like the other high-value bounties you've pursued in the past, he'll find a way to slip away, and you'll have to track him down.

Inhaling deeply, you take a moment to assess your surroundings, ensuring that your rifle and pistol are in proper working order. As you inspect your weapons, the air is suddenly filled with distorted screams, "No, no, no!" Looking up, you witness a spectacle that catches you off guard. A suit of Power Armor is soaring uncontrollably through the sky above you. Could it be the Brotherhood of Steel? This bounty just keeps getting crazier.

The Power Armor veers off in the opposite direction, leaving you to wonder what in the wasteland is going on. With the chaotic gunfight seemingly subsiding, you make your way back towards the town center. It appears that the flying garbage can and ghoul have caused quite the commotion, scattering the combatants and bringing an end to the firefight.

As you draw closer to the scene, the absurdity of the situation becomes even more apparent. Bodies, torn apart and scattered haphazardly, litter the ground. The locals, seizing the opportunity, have already begun looting them. You catch sight of the ghoul making his way towards a path that leads out of town. Without a moment's hesitation, you decide to follow him.

Quickening your pace, you navigate through the debris and bodies, doing your best to avoid the looters who pay you no mind. The ghoul moves quickly with a dog by his side, his sunken eyes focused on his route to the wastes.

As you approach the outskirts of town, the ghoul glances back, acknowledging your pursuit. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he comes to a halt and turns to face you.

"I ain't accepting companions," he declares, a note of irritation in his voice.

"That's too bad," you reply with a smirk, coming to a stop in front of him. Your attention is drawn to the dog standing beside him, looking up at you with a wagging tail. A warm feeling washes over you - you've always had a soft spot for dogs.

Kneeling down, you scratch behind the dog's ears and ask, "What's her name?"

"I don't fuckin' know," the ghoul snaps back.

You raise an eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and confusion on your face. "Did you hit your head back there? How do you not know your dog's name?"

The ghoul rolls his eyes slightly, clearly exasperated. "She ain't my dog. She was with the doctor. Along with some vault dweller."

A surge of curiosity courses through you at the mention of the doctor and the vault dweller. This situation just keeps getting more intriguing. You stand up, still keeping an eye on the ghoul.

“A vault dweller?”

He begins to draw his gun and points it at you, “Give me a reason not to shoot your ass. You’re startin’ to annoy me.”

“Calm down, beef jerky.” Taking a step back, you maintain a calm demeanor. “I think we can help each other out.”

The ghoul's grip on his gun tightens, but he hesitates, seemingly intrigued by your proposition. "I don't need help.”

“Oh but yes, you do.” You pull out a small vial filled with amber liquid, capturing his attention. “This dog will do a great job tracking its owner but I’ll do an even better job of making sure you don’t go feral. No offense but you seem pretty old - even for a ghoul.”

The ghoul's grip on his gun loosens, and he seems to consider your words. After a moment, he reluctantly lowers his weapon. "Fine," he grumbles. "But don't think I owe you anything."

You nod with a small smile, "Fair enough."

[gothhabiba]

From the Palestinian Red Crescent's twitter, 13 November 2023:

🔴 Al-Quds Hospital still under intense gunfire.

🔴 The IDF claims to be attacking a "Hamas terrorist" who is firing a rocket-propelled grenade launcher from Al-Quds.

🔴 The main power generator at Al-Amal Hospital stopped working. The hospital is currently relying on a very small generator to supply electricity only to the maternity ward and emergency lighting. Remaining fuel is expected to run out within the next 24 hours.

11:01 AM:

"🚨 The vicinity of Al-Quds Hospital 🏥 is still witnessing intense gunfire, with the presence of Israeli military vehicles. Our staff are trapped with patients and the wounded, without electricity, water, or food. We hope for their safety. 🙏"

1:10 PM, in response to this tweet from @IDF:

[ID: Tweet by Israel Defense Forces (@IDF) at 3:22pm on November 13 reading: "What could these Hamas terrorists possibly be doing with an RPG at the Quds Hospital?" Attached is a 20-second drone video of the hospital with overlaid text reading "Enemy fire from the entrance of the 'Al-Quds' Hospital towards IDF troops: terrorist with RPG launcher."

The PRCS issued a statement reading:

🚨 The Palestine RCS strongly condemns the false claims by the occupying forces about armed individuals launching projectiles from inside Al-Quds Hospital. The PRCS sees these claims as a blatant attempt to incite further targeting and besieging of the hospital, constituting a clear violation of international humanitarian law. ❌ PRCS rejects these baseless allegations, as the published video clearly shows that the armed individuals approached from the street while the occupation tanks were stationed in front of and shielded by the hospital, endangering the lives of medical teams and patients. The PRCS confirms that there are no armed individuals inside the hospital, and no shots have been fired from within. Everyone within the hospital are patients, their families, and the medical staff. 📣 PRCS calls on the international community to intervene immediately to protect its teams besieged inside the hospital, facing imminent danger with each passing moment.

4:22 PM:

"🛑 Today's attempt to evacuate Al-Quds Hospital failed after the IOF decided to return the designated evacuation convoy to the association's branch in Khan Younis, despite receiving prior approval.

"🚨 The decision was rationalized by referring to a security incident in the vicinity, despite the convoy undergoing thorough inspection. It is noteworthy that yesterday, displaced individuals were allowed to exit through a route specified by the occupation forces, under specific and challenging conditions.

"🧑‍⚕ Our medical teams, patients,and the wounded, along with their companions, remain trapped inside the hospital without food, water, or electricity, and their is 300 person."

4:49 PM:

"🚨 ⚠️ Today, the sole power generator at Al-Amal Hospital, affiliated with the PRCS in Khan Younis, stopped working. This threatens the lives of 90 patients receiving treatment, including 25 in the medical rehabilitation section who now face the risk of death at any moment. Additionally, around 9,000 displaced individuals have sought refuge in the PRCS premises and the hospital.

" 🏥 The hospital is currently relying on a very small generator to supply electricity only to the maternity ward and emergency lighting. It's important to note that the remaining fuel is expected to run out within the next 24 hours.

"🛑 The power generator's failure is impacting the operations of both the PRCS headquarters and Al-Amal Hospital, which includes the emergency operations room for the Gaza Strip. This has resulted in a loss of communication with the operation rooms scattered across the Gaza sector and the cessation of VHF communication services."

[silverinkbottle]

Oh. You

Alright. Finished up the season, enraptured by the concept and premise. Especially with our lovely deer boi's total not mental break at the end.

HUGE SPOILERS FOR FINALE OF HAZBIN. GO WATCH THEN READ

Chapter 2 <-

Warnings: Violence. Murky employment of child-like spirits.

Alright. On to the premise of the fic AU.

Summary: Unexpected meetings with Exes are always dramatic. Meetings in Hell after a historic battle aren't an exception to the rule.

A/N: Shorter chapter, but writing the next one as we speak. Yes, more Reader powers/backstory shall be revealed. This was just a hint of it.

Radio Demon..Gone

A pause in the wave of whispers.

Defeated?

Your lips curled in quaint satisfaction. It wasn’t true. No, he was far too proud to go out like that. The cigarette in your left hand was quickly extinguished in a nearby ash tray as you slid over the familiar carriage of the metal typewriter. The melodic ding of the mechanisms as your fingers hovered over the cool keys. The pamphlet would have to be perfect as you could all but hear your boss’s ranting and raving if the ‘excitement’ of the failed extermination. The bravado of Hell’s singular Princess. That was the problem when writing propaganda, it was so much harder when imagining details instead witnessing them first. Or second hand as there was a faint ding of a bell, a small furred paw slid across a new memo over your desk as you glanced over it with little interest. 

Radio Demon. Located.

“Show me. My little rabbit.” You purred as your little messenger respectfully tipped his hat to you. Gently gripping your hand with its paws, you couldn’t help but hold your breath at the claustrophobic sensation of the endless darkness. It was how these little lost souls traveled throughout Hell, through the little pockets of forgotten realities.  Never really existing as a true Sinner or Hellborne, all but clinging to a semblance of existence instead of nothing. It’s how your ‘paper’ boys came to your service. The boys came in a collection of fur colors, blacks, browns, whites even the occasional red, all with long rabbit ears popping through tweed caps, looking smart in little vests and trousers. One key feature remained the same, their facial features were blank like a mannequin in a shop. As if unable to manifest their ‘true’ faces from their past, or was it the disjointed collection of spirits unable to enforce a singular will on the others. 

“Oh”.  Your eyes flickered around to the carnage of rubble. It was a mess, that was the gentlest way of putting it. However, there was an undeniable note of copper in the air, mingling with strangely sweet notes as you nudged at the corpse of an Exorcist in passing. Even that tap with your boot provoked further golden ichor from numerous stab wounds. 

“Don’t touch that.” You hissed quickly grabbing the paperboy’s hand to plug him away from the puddle. Who knew what would happen if it managed to somehow consume the holy blood. The gory vision of an imploded corpse passed over your mind. Or somehow the souls reviving themselves. No, it wouldn’t do as your hand tightened about the child-like figure’s wrist as the pair of you marched toward the wreckage of the radio station. 

The copper flecks in the warped into something far saltier as you unceremoniously kicked in the half-broken door. A squeak of excitement came from your servant as it was drawn to the energy lingering in the air, bouncing into the room. Paws reaching for the unseen as another loud squeal came from its’ faceless mask. A true scream like that of a small child as black blood dripped down onto the floor, followed by the corpse dissipating much to the disappointment of the predator. Alastor lazily flicked the ink-like blood from his hand as you sighed.

“You look like shit.” You said as that seemed to grab his attention from the corpse to you. Suit torn, a visibly hurt shoulder and above all, that dim smile that seemed to go even thinner with your inspection.

“Like even worse than the time with those moonshiners who gave us a bad batch after that wrong call out. Worse than-” 

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.” 

His words edged with a metallic screech as you couldn’t help but laugh. His pride made it all the worse to have someone witness the great, dangerous, infamous ‘Radio Demon’ licking his wounds. 

“Making sure your ears aren’t burning, darling. The walls talk and this whole stand-off with Heaven will be all the rage on the streets. Especially about YOUR disappearance after returning so briefly for all the fanfare you stirred up. Aligning yourself with the Princess of Hell, facing Angels and aiding in some hotel. Had to come see it for myself..”

“Seems like I was a bit late for that last part. Shame.” You sighed as you jabbed a pointed finger towards the mess outside. Stepping over the corpse it was all too easy to see the little restraint remaining in the demon’s gaze as sharp nails grabbed your face.

“Don’t get pissy because I am telling YOU the truth. A nice change for once, don’t you agree?” You teased as his free hand drifted over the crimson fur of your fox ears. Your sharp canine sank down onto your lower lip to resist the urge to squeal when the gentle touch turned to a rougher tug. A thin trickle of blood drifted over Alastor’s smug expression as you had managed to cut a razor-thin line with your folding knife over his skin. His throat would be next if he didn’t release your ears as you hissed low in your throat.

“Curiosity killed the cat, dearest. Surely you know that better than most.” Alastor retorted as his gaze flicked down to your covered throat. 

“Aren’t we terribly clever.” You sneered as you took a few steps back. Even in his weakened state, you knew it was wiser to play your cards cautiously than provoke him further. Genuine surprise crossed your features as you spied to battered remains of that infernal microphone. So those rumors were true as you withdrew your little black book from your dress pocket. A snap of your fingers as an inkwell pen neatly checked off the short list. You were quick to close the book with a loud sigh as Alastor’s peering over your shoulder was less than subtle. 

“Don’t you-”

“My, my, still writing all sorts of rumors aren’t you. However, do you find the time?” Alastor mused as he flicked lazily through the pages. Irritatingly sidestepping you with each attempted grab. There wasn’t much worth in that book, but it was still beyond infuriating. Taking a deep breath, you forced a pleasant smile on your face as your fingers snapped together. There was the faintest ding of a typewriter as another small rabbit-like creature sprang from the floor, collecting the book with a quick grab. 

“I have reliable help. Which is surprisingly difficult to come by these days. Unlike some Sinners, I can’t shrink from my duties to throw a temper tantrum.” You ticked off the comments on your fingers as Alastor’s ears went flat at the petty remark. 

“Oh, I am sorry. Would you like me to embellish it a bit? A dramatic session of sulking after a bruising defeat. An outburst of egotistical pride? No. Something far more crude. A shit-fit.” You nodded to your little rabbit as its paws hastily scribbled your dictation into the notebook.

“Hilarious.”

“I prefer charming.” You deadpanned as he shook his head at you. There was an almost faint feeling of nostalgia in the air now. It was almost human as the faintest memory of you finding him sulking after a less than perfect evening show. That his beat was off, ever the perfectionist as you patted his head with gentle encouragement. Far less cruel times before the darkness began to contaminate both of you.

“You never did answer my question. What are you doing here?” Alastor quipped as he ran a fingertip over the broken top of the microphone. 

“You really think I would miss out on the potential of this?” You dramatically gestured to the carnage about you.So many stories waiting to be written as you clapped your hands together. Summoning two more paperboys as their ears quivered from side to side waiting for your word. 

“Now off you go. Don’t leave a stone unturned. I wonder if we can get some true numbers on the casualties of saintly Heaven. Now would stir up the populace.” Your pen cut through your book without a thought as if you were in the privacy of your office. Instead of that of one ex-husband who was looking more and more perturbed at your avoidance of the question.

“I’m waiting.” Alastor chirped as his fingers splayed over the wet ink, pulling the book away from you. Or at least he tried to as you were quick to jab the sharp tip of the pen into his index fingers provoking a small hiss from the demon.

“You’ll keep waiting. I’ll give you a single crumb, I didn’t come here for YOU.” You snapped as you did your best to smooth out the crinkled page. The writing itself was a smudged mess of ink as you scowled at the once crisp paper.

“Then. Why?” Alastor asked as you gently closed the book shut, slipping it into your dress pocket. Now came the difficult or was it the dangerous part? Despite your estranged relationship, he was an Overlord and you were well..You. Your connections came from the rumor mills of Hell, whispers of your paperboys hiding in the shadows and the scant bit of information from the rants of your boss.

“I was asked to inspect the battleground, sort out the truth from the gossip and exaggerations. Plus the smallest bit of curiosity-”

“About-?” Alastor mused as he cocked his head at you.

“If it was true that Angels had been slain by their own weapons. I know markets are going to flux with all that. Not to mention the apparent discovery of near comatose cannibals found on the side of the road. Complaining about being TOO full for once, it was quite-” 

“You’re chirping an all too familiar song, kit. I know you are hiding something far more than that. Now whoever could have convinced YOU to do the dirty business of finding out sources yourself.” Alastor mused as he placed a single finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“It was Vox.” 

Laughter burst from you as saw the telltale twitch of his right eye. The harsher smile over his face at the mere mention of his hated rival. The potential power vacuum or perhaps the reverse of it now that the King of Hell seemed less reclusive.

‘Now, don’t get your antlers in a knot. It wasn’t Vox, you really think I would lower myself and quality for his trash version of news? Please, darling. I do have standards.” You smirked as you smugly patted his cheek before turning on your heel to leave the wreckage of the studio.

“Now, don’t sulk for too long. I imagine that little hotel needs you now more than ever.” 

As soon as you stepped back into the air. Small papers were all but shoved in your direction. Questions, answers, comments all things to be filed away as you dove into your work. Allowing words to shove out the memories of the past. To continue forging your path in this forsaken place in your own way. With the smallest bit of leverage through blackmail, threats and a flair all your own. 

Flipping through the notes, the faintest tug on your sleeve pulled your attention from the words. A simple request. One that made you want to throw a tantrum of your own as the golden ink burned in your vision. It wasn’t a request. 

It was an order.

“Fuck me.” You hissed as you pulled a cigarette from your pocket, allowing the flame of your lighter to ignite the blissful nicotine and eat away at the fine paper. Burning the message into ash to join the rest of the wreckage around you.

You hated feeling cornered. It was an ugly feeling that made your skin crawl like a fox with its leg caught in a trap. There was bitter irony in the scenario as you caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. The vulpine-like features weren’t as much of a hindrance as you knew it could be for other sinners. Your ears twitched as you could hear the faint conversation outside on the street beneath your room’s window. However, it did make your emotions more expressive as you could guard your tongue, but your ears were another story when it came to harsher emotions.  Running a brush through the soft fur of your tail as you perched on the edge of your desk, quietly directing the paperboys about you. Files had to be carefully moved, copied, sent elsewhere for safekeeping and then copied again. Each copy had little fragments of the truth in it, it would be quite the task to assemble all the pieces of the puzzle if someone was desperate enough. Or stupid enough given the true owner of the content wasn’t fond of others knowing his secrets.

Hours passed in a mere blink of the eye as you sighed running your fingers over the last box of files with satisfaction. All written in ink or typed by typewriter, some called your method of recordkeeping outdated. You preferred to think of it as efficient, it was far more difficult to change dried ink than a meddlesome electronic document. Besides, your boss was pleased as long as you managed to write his dictations without the need for a pause in his rambling. Yet, given the events lately, hopefully the work would keep him bursting into your quarters late at night too often.

Clicking together the last few buttons of your tweed dress collar as the lapel was accented by a singular red rose pin, you couldn't help but admire the shine of it. Its metallic petals caught in the sunlight as you stepped out onto the busy streets.You were quick to grab the ears of the paperboys flanking you, halting them from bolting off, especially with the boxes in their hands.

“No time to dawdle, I can’t be late..” You hissed before releasing the furry ears with a nod. Others would soon follow their steps as you silently hoped your arrival wouldn’t be met with much trouble. Up to the steps of the newly refurbished, rebuilt and endorsed by the King of Hell himself, the newly improved..

Hazbin Hotel

[shaunamilfman]

Cowboy Like Me

Summary: You've seen a lot of things in the six months you've worked at Tj Maxx. A lot. What you've never seen is the so-called 'Tj bandit' that your boss insists has walked off with hundreds of dollars of merchandise. You've got a vested interest in keeping the bandit free, given that they provide the perfect scapegoat for your own crimes.

OR

You can't say that you've ever spent a lot of time thinking about the elusive Lottie Matthews, but after a chance meeting in the parking lot of a Tj Maxx she just wont leave your mind.

A/N: another long fic im afraid. enjoy!

You yawn silently into your arm, desperately trying to hide the motion. You've been sitting in a meeting with your boss for the last half hour and you honestly can't remember anything past the first five minutes of it. You sneak a glance at the rest of your coworkers and are relieved to find them in a similar state of disarray. 

He'd stuck you in yet another meeting about the so-called 'Tj bandit', a name he believed to be absolute artistic genius; A name that the rest of you made fun of behind his back, and sometimes to his face. He never seemed to catch on, or maybe he just didn't care. You certainly didn't. 

You held the Tj bandit at a higher level of importance than your coworkers do, but you were readily willing to accept an easy scapegoat for your own crimes. The main benefit that drew you to this job was for the discount: the five finger discount, to be exact. 

Sure, you could get a job somewhere else, but most of your paycheck would have ended up being spent here anyways. You weren't particularly concerned with catching the Tj bandit, you were rather grateful for how easy they made it for you to rob the place with basically no repercussions. 

You weren't sure why your boss decided that all of these thefts were attributed to one super thief, but he never struck you as a particularly intelligent man. Maybe he had his reasons, maybe he didn't. You didn't get paid enough to care in all honesty. 

… 

You pull the cart behind you lazily, monotonously pulling items off it to stock on the racks. Once you'd been here long enough stocking things in the right areas became a matter of muscle memory more than anything else. You glance up at the sound of plastic hangers scraping against each other, hoping someone wasn't going to ask you to check in the back. 

You look at Lottie Matthews curiously, wondering what she of all people would be doing shopping at a Tj Maxx. She's holding a pretty pink blouse up to the light for inspection and startles nervously when she sees you watching her. You give her your very best customer service smile and she gives you a quick uncomfortable smile in response. 

You get back to stocking and finally finish the cart, and with that your four hour shift; Coincidentally, a shift just long enough that your boss wasn't required to give you a lunch break. Go figure. You head back to the break room to grab your stuff and discreetly pop the security tags off your brand new jacket, tossing the tags in the box with the rest of them. 

You fold the jacket over your arm as you walk out, all of your coworkers none the wiser. You wave at your boss before stepping out, using the door to hide your smug grin. You hum along quietly to a song that's been stuck in your head, twirling your car keys around your finger. 

You look around as you reach your car and watch in awe as the Lottie Matthews, sole heir of the richest family in Wiskayok, untucks her shirt from her skirt to pull out an eight dollar blouse that she's clearly stolen. 

You drop your car keys in shock, unable to believe what you've just witnessed. She glances over with a guilty expression, eyes going wide when they land on your Tj Maxx lanyard. You awkwardly wave your fingers in her direction and she takes it as a sign to walk towards you. You practically dive in your car and nearly jump the curve in your haste to get the hell out of there. 

What. The. Fuck. You think. 

… 

You hide your wide eyed look into your locker, desperately trying to seem nonchalant. You finally manage to school your face into something sufficiently neutral as you sneak another glance over your shoulder. Yep, Lottie's still there. Still leaning against her locker and just staring at you from across the hall. 

You've caught her doing it a lot lately ever since you caught her stealing from your job. She keeps trying to talk to you the second that you're alone, so you've started following Nat around like she's the second coming of Jesus to avoid her. You wouldn't mind talking to her if you knew why she wanted to talk to you. 

Was she going to beg you to keep it to yourself? Was she going to threaten you into silence? Not knowing was the worst part of all of it. Normally you'd just leave a note in her locker to tell her that you really didn't give a shit, but you knew if you took a single step towards her locker she'd be on you just like that. 

Prior to the 'incident', as you've been referring to it in your head, you couldn't honestly say whether Lottie Matthews even knew who you were. She's always been one of those really pretty girls who were popular without ever really trying, despite you never really seeing her talk to anyone else. You'd been to a few of her parties, there wasn't really anything else to do in this town on a Saturday night, but you can't say that you've ever really thought of her much before the incident either. 

"What are you doing?" You hear an amused sounding voice behind you ask. You jump and curse quietly as you smack your head on your locker. 

"God damn it, Natty." You complain, whirling around and rubbing your head painfully with your hand. 

"Oh, no." She draws out dramatically. "You really didn't have any brain cells to spare." She holds her hand over her mouth in feigned horror. 

"Didn't really have any brain cells to spare." You mimic in a high pitched mocking tone, slamming your locker shut and walking off down the hall. "Bitch," You mutter quietly. Nat laughs as she speeds up to catch up with you. She throws her arm over your shoulder and playfully pulls you against her. 

"Don't be like that, Y/N." She says with a grin. You roll your eyes, and sigh loudly. "What's Lottie staring at you for, anyways?" She asks. You laugh softly and turn to face her excitedly. 

"Between you and me?" You ask. 

She rolls her eyes fondly. "Always." She promises, shifting uncomfortably at the attention. 

"Okay." You say, clapping your hands together. "So the other day I saw Lottie at work right?" 

"Lottie Matthews shops at Tj Maxx?" Nat interrupts incredulously. 

"That's not even the best part," You lean in and murmur in her ear. "I caught her shoplifting on the way out." Nat's eyes widen in shock, her lips forming a crooked grin. 

"You caught Lottie Matthews shoplifting?" She asks. You nod wildly. "Have some competition, do we?" You shush her, glancing around to see if anyone is listening. 

"Make fun of my shoplifting all you want but we both know who got you that jacket you're wearing." You tease. She shrugs, conceding the point. 

"Is that what she's been following you about? Guess she'll get a chance at practice later." She says. Your eyes narrow in confusion and you shoot her a questioning look. Her grin falls and she fidgets a bit, looking uncharacteristically unsure. "Said you'd drive me home, remember?" 

"I'll just find ano-" She starts. You place a hand on her arm, interrupting her. 

"Just forgot." You promise. 

She grins. "Suppose you'll see me later, then. And your new best friend Lottie." She teases as she separates from you to head into her own class. You shake your head exasperatedly as you do the same. 

As you watch them practice you can’t help but wonder. If this is the state championship soccer team, what the fuck do the rest of them look like? It was undeniably a shitshow. As Lottie trips over her feet for the third time since practice began Jackie runs up to her on the verge of yelling to help her back up. They have a long and tense conversation as the rest of the girls stand awkwardly around the field. Tai herself looks like she’s on the verge of walking over there and giving Lottie another talking to as well. You and Nat make eye contact as she gives you a confused and exasperated look as she keeps glancing back and forth between you and Lottie. You shrug your shoulders in confusion. 

Sure, Lottie had been fucking up in practice all afternoon because she couldn’t take her eyes off of you, but you really weren’t sure how that was your fault. Maybe she’d tripped for the third time right after you had taken your jacket off, but surely it was just a coincidence. You eye her long legs thoughtfully: maybe she’s just clumsy? It was definitely a lot of leg to have to keep track of. They certainly distracted you often enough, why should Lottie be any different. You nod slowly, deciding that must be why. You look back up from your homework as the whistle blows again,  signifying that practice has resumed. 

You see Jackie Taylor staring at you curiously, eyes narrowed slightly. You wave awkwardly and go searching through your bag for your calculator. You think you might wait for Nat in your car next time, this seems to be more trouble than it’s worth. 

… 

You’re leaning against your locker a few days later talking to Nat when Jackie approaches you. “Hey,” She says brightly, extending her hand for you to shake. You eye it wearily before slowly extending your own to meet it. “I was just wondering how you knew Lottie? You know, since you kept distracting her at practice?” She says pointedly. You shrug helplessly, tinged with a bit of exasperation. Why is everyone assuming you’re the Lottie whisperer?

"Well, listen here El capitan. Captain my captain," You start. 

"I'm not your captain." Jackie interrupts. 

"Captain not my captain," You continue to Nats crooked grin and muffled laughter. "I would promise not to, but I really don't know what her deal even is. Scout's honor."

Jackie eyes you suspiciously. "You weren't a girl scout." She concludes. You hold your hands out placatingly and nod in agreement.

"Mm, no. I wanted to go camping but apparently only the boy scouts did cool shit." You acknowledge. "I went to that first meeting though so it definitely counts." Jackie sighs in exasperation and shares a commiserating look with Shauna as if to say 'you see what I'm dealing with?', and the two of them walk off together. 

"Oh my god," You loudly whisper to Nat in feigned excitement. "I can't believe that the Jackie Taylor just talked to me! I'm never gonna wash this hand again!" You hear a quick snort of laughter from Jackie's ever present shadow, that quickly gets muffled at the offended look Jackie sends her. 

Jackie turns and gives you an assessing look. You grin playfully at her and shoot her a quick wink. She rolls her eyes but you can see the quirk of her lips as she turns back around to talk to Shauna. As you turn back to Nat you can see Lottie Matthews watching you from her locker just out of the corner of your eye. 

She's been doing that a lot lately, and it was really starting to make you paranoid. You had no idea how someone so fucking tall could sneak around the school like that. Maybe, You thought. It was easy when no one was looking for you. 

You felt an undeniable pang of sadness at the thought and turn fully to her to force eye contact. Her eyes widen slightly at the move and she has an unsure and hesitant look on her face, but still she doesn't back down as she meets you head on. She starts to blush the longer you stare lazily at her, the corner of your lip quirked up in a wry grin. 

You nod in acceptance of Lottie's win as Nat finally tugs you away to your car. You watch as Lottie's expression slowly turns smug, her lips forming a smirk as you walk off. Fuck, has she been this hot the whole time? You wonder. 

… 

You wave unenthusiastically at your boss as you walk out of work, zipping your jacket up higher as a rush of cold air greets you. You rub your hands together for warmth on the walk over to your car. You search through your pockets with numb fingers to find your keys when you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. You startle at the action, glancing up in panic. Right in front of you is Lottie Matthews leaning against the door of your car. Seems like she finally got tired of you avoiding her then.

"Returning to the scene of the crime, huh?" You joke. Lottie continues to stare at you, looking utterly unimpressed. "Tough crowd." You mutter. This, of all things, is what finally makes her laugh. You grin brightly at her, happy to have finally broken the facade. You hold your keys up pointedly. “Talk if you want,” You promise, “But can it be with the heater?” She hums in agreement and pushes herself off the driver side door and rounds the car to the passenger seat quicker than you’d previously thought possible for her.

You shut the door hard behind you, turning the key and starting the heater as quickly as you can. You can hear the sound of the passenger side handle catching as Lottie sends you a betrayed look. You snicker quietly as you lean over and pop the door for her. “Handles busted.” You explain.

“Oh.” She says softly as she slides into her seat. You watch with amusement as she shifts uncomfortably in the seat trying to find somewhere to put her legs. Nat was typically the one riding in your passenger seat, so it was clearly too far forward for her. She finally gives up and starts feeling under the seat for the lever, quickly pushing the seat back. She looks oddly proud of herself as she finally manages to get comfortable in your car, finally turning to look at you. “Hey,” She says.

“Look. I’m not going to sic the police on you if this is what this is about, Lottie.” You say. “I really don’t get paid enough to care, promise.” She tilts her head to the side in an imitation of confusion.

“The police?” She asks, as if bewildered. Your eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion. 

“Y’know? Because of the shoplifting?” You say slowly. She looks over at you, extremely confused.

“What shoplifting?” She asks. You scoff. Is this how she’s going to play it?

“That shirt you stole? The one you stuffed down your shirt?” You ask.

“Oh, no I paid for that.” She says with a giggle. She leans forward and murmurs conspiratorially, “Just didn’t have anywhere else to keep it. You know how it is.” She shrugs, as if it really is that obvious. You watch her in utter disbelief, mind running a mile a minute as you try to figure out her angle. Surely no one could be this stupid? She had to be pretending, you knew that much. On the other hand, you knew that had you not seen the expression on her face when she caught you watching her you would have fallen for her stupid rich girl act hook, line, and sinker. 

The longer you stare at her in silence the more unsure she seems to get. She watches you in wide eyed confusion, expression making her seem much younger than she is. She’s really good at it, but you knew her type; In fact, you were her type. You’d learned that playing dumb helps you get away with things so much easier than just flat out lying. It must be easy when you looked like she did. You think, eyes glancing over her again. She had such a natural innocent look, soft wavy hair and big brown eyes. 

You’ve never considered Lottie Matthews to be particularly manipulative, but the proof was obvious in the pout that graced her face. You were in awe as you watched a master at work. Lottie was more intelligent than you’d given her credit for, probably more intelligent than most people gave her credit for. You gave her an approving nod. “Sure.” You say, “If that’s what you want.”

She nods slowly, seemingly unsure if this is really a victory or not. “If you're not here for that, then what are you doing here?” You ask.

She grins shyly at you as she nervously fidgets with the ends of her hair. “Needed a ride home.” She lies, “Knew you worked here after the other day.” You scoff but pull your car out of the parking lot regardless to take her home. The two of you talk for the twenty minute drive back, and you find yourself more enamored with her than you’ve ever been with anyone else before. She extracts a promise from you in your driveway to hang out again, and you easily agree. You wonder if she’d set out in that parking lot to get you under her thumb like that, but you remember back to her soccer practice and think you might just have that effect on each other.

… 

“You have to say that, Natty.” You accuse, pointing a fry in Nat’s direction. Nat scoffs in offense while Lottie looks on with an amused look on her face.

“What’s that supposed to mean, L/N?” Nat asks expectantly, feigning an angry look. You can’t help but smile. She looks like an angry racoon.

“Just that,” You start, then stare down at your empty hand in realization. You give her a look of disbelief. “Did you seriously just eat my fry?” You ask. She gives you a strange look and shakes her head, making you roll your eyes. She makes a show of looking for the fry before shrugging. The corners of her lips are noticeably twitching. You turn to Lottie to complain when you notice her pinching the fry between two fingers as she eats it.

“Traitor,” You whisper in absolute shock, making her burst out laughing. This seems to finally break Nat’s cool girl facade as well as she laughs so hard she’s tearing up. You fake a betrayed expression as you look back and forth between them, sending Lottie into hysterics. You don’t have to fake your slightly confused look, not quite sure what was funny. She clutches onto your arm as she laughs and you have to stop yourself from tensing in shock. She’d never touched you before but you could totally be cool about it. No big deal, really. Friends touch each other all the time.

You exhale loudly as you turn back to your fries, figuring you’d just let them get it out of their systems. As they start to calm down Lottie reaches down to grab another fry off of your tray, you watch her hand with narrowed eyes but ultimately let her take some. Nat gives you a curious look for a long moment, before reaching forward to grab a fry of her own. You swat her hand away in offense. She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she looks accusingly between the two of you.

“Some bullshit,” She mutters, crossing her arms back over her chest. 

“Anyways,” You say, giving her a long look. “You have to say that because you’re my best friend.”

“Oh, come on Y/N. You know I would have told you it was shit if I thought that.” Nat argues. Which, you will admit, is an incredibly good point. Nat had hurt your feelings more than once with her sometimes brutal honesty, but it was a quality that you greatly admired about her all the same.

“She’s right, Y/N. I thought it was really good.” Lottie adds. You nod slowly, deep in thought. You’d been mulling over your college applications for weeks now, continually fine tuning your essay. You were glad to have Lottie to complain about it with, as none of your other friends really showed all that much interest in it. You knew Nat wasn’t all that interested in college and was mostly just waiting to see how Nationals went recruiting wise. 

“Think I should send it in, then?” You ask.

“They’d be stupid not to take you.” Nat says teasingly, “Can’t have a nerd school without the nerds.” You sigh, sharing an amused look with Lottie. She squeezes your hand gently as she laces your fingers together. You just try not to blush.

…

You exhale loudly, leaning your hair against the top of the wheel with your fingers tapping anxiously against your thighs. You and Lottie had been hanging out a lot in the last couple weeks, more than you and Nat ever had despite still considering her your best friend. When you brought that up to Nat, unsure if you were upsetting her or not, she just started laughing hysterically till she finally managed to tell you it was “so cool with her” through uncontrollable fits of laughter; You still weren't sure what that was about, to be totally honest. Still, in all that time you hadn't been brave enough to accept Lottie's multiple offers to sleep over at her house. That was, of course, until now. 

You check through your bag one more time to make sure you packed everything, knowing full well that it was just an excuse to put it off for a moment longer. Gathering all of your courage you finally get out of the car, throwing your bag over one shoulder haphazardly. You lock the car and look up the drive only to find Lottie Matthews leaning against the doorway staring down at you looking charmed. You give her a lazy wave as you begin the trek up her driveway. You were sure it had probably served as a runway at one point, or at least it should've. 

“You sure took a while,” She says playfully with just a hint of a smile at your expense. You shrug in response, she'd caught you red handed on that one. She gently grabs your hand and pulls you upstairs after her. You'd been to Lottie's house a few times before, but you couldn't help from being in awe from the sheer size of it as you followed behind her. 

She gestures vaguely to the floor of her room and says, “You can just leave it anywhere.” You hesitate in the doorway as you shift on the balls of your feet awkwardly. 

“Oh? Are we both going to be sleeping in your bed?” You ask unsurely. 

Lottie turns to face you, tilting her head to the side in an expression of confusion. “Where else would we sleep, Y/N?” She asks innocently, but she can't hide the way her lips twitch slightly at the edges. You sigh. Not this again. 

“I'm just surprised you'd give up room in your bed.” You say, giving her a quick glance up and down. “Seems like there's already a shortage of it.” She gasps dramatically in offense as she sits down on the edge of her bed. 

“You'd come to my house just to make fun of me?” She asks. 

“Why else would I come here?” You ask, dropping your bag haphazardly on the ground. “Oh!” You say suddenly, as if deep in thought. “I remember now. You agreed to watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre with me.”

Lottie forces a smile as she lies through her teeth. “Yep. Looking forward to it.” You snicker at just how unenthusiastic she sounded. You knew she hated horror movies with a burning passion, mostly because she was such a scaredy-cat. Still, she'd agreed to watch it as your price of entry and you were planning to milk it for all it was worth. 

It's not everyday that an excuse to have such a pretty girl climbing all over you falls into your lap like that, after all. 

Lottie lets out a horrified gasp as she tries to climb even further into your lap. She gave up on watching and buried her head in your neck about 10 minutes ago, but it seems that even the sound effects are getting to her. You chuckle softly as you rub soothing circles into her back. “Don't laugh at me.” She whines, pulling her head away to visibly pout at you. 

She’d started the movie full of unearned confidence given that nothing particularly scary happened in the beginning. She’d actually turned to you and said, “I don’t think this is really all that scary, Y/N.” You tried valiantly to muffle your laughter, knowing it would come back to bite her later on.

You're about to respond when the sound of a chainsaw revving fills the air and Lottie makes a squeaking noise as she dives for cover again. This time you can't stop yourself from bursting out laughing, and even Lottie giggles a bit at it. “You're such a wimp.” You accuse teasingly. Lottie makes a sputtering noise but doesn't try to deny it. You look down fondly at the top of Lottie’s head at the sight of her hair getting messier by the moment as she keeps pressing herself further into your shoulder

You finally decide to have mercy on her and reach for the remote to turn it off. She peeks out of your shoulder with a faint blush on her face, trying to appear unaffected. “I was watching that.” She complains, without any actual force. You snicker and gesture vaguely to the cabinet full of VHS tapes.

“Go pick a movie you actually want to watch.” You say. “I’ve had my fun.” Her grin splits her face as she jumps up to the cabinet. You stand up gingerly and go and rewind the tape while she’s sorting through her movies. You smile softly as you can hear the faint sounds of her humming as she does so. After a long moment she turns and holds her movie out proudly. You give it a cursory glance, sure that you already know what it is. You sigh.

“Breakfast club, again?” You ask listlessly. Lottie, of course, picked The Breakfast Club for at least half of all of her movie picks. She gives you a smug look as she hands it over. You have a feeling that she’s chosen it this time in an act of revenge.

“Y/N?” Lottie asks softly. You try not to visibly react to it as you're much too comfortable laying with your head on her shoulder feigning sleep. “Y/N.” She draws out. “I know you’re awake.” You stubbornly keep your breathing even as you try not to react. She laughs softly and blows a stream of air into your face making you crinkle your nose in annoyance. 

“Got you!” She says smugly, pulling on your arm a little. You’re still pretending to be asleep so she ends up pulling you a lot further than she meant to, sending you sprawling across her lap. That’s what finally gets you scrambling to your feet. You clear your throat awkwardly and Lottie avoids your eyes as her face burns red. 

“Guess we should get to sleep, huh?” You ask. Lottie nods quickly and leads you up to her bathroom. You sit awkwardly on her bed after brushing your teeth, unsure of the logistics of sharing Lottie’s bed. She walks out of the bathroom and rolls her eyes at the sight of you. She lies down gracefully next to you and tugs at your shirt to get you to lie down. You decide just to let her maneuver you as you lay down, not that it would have stopped her anyways. She pulls your back up against her chest and wraps her arm around your waist. 

“This okay?” She asks quietly into your ear. You blush at the feeling.

“Yeah.” You stutter out. She makes a contented sound and pulls you closer against her. This is going to be a long night. You think idly as you close your eyes.

…

You’re in the middle of what looks to be a long and draining shift when you see her heading into the changing rooms. You wave at Lottie with a big grin on your face and she waves back. You make sure to fold shirts extra slowly so you can still be there when she’s finished trying on clothes. You're more than ready to abandon the pretense of working when you hear the lock click open, but you can’t help but notice how shifty she seems. You watch her for a long moment, trying to see what seems off when it clicks suddenly: the clothes are gone with not even a hanger to show for them.

Your face falls slightly at the realization and you look around to see if anyone else saw it. The cameras had been busted for months, your boss far too cheap to replace them, so you weren’t all that worried about being caught that way. No, you were far more upset that she wouldn’t be able to stick around. You look back at her to see her sitting there staring at you with a slightly curious look on her face. You get the feeling that she’s testing you, but you’re not sure what for. You nod slowly at her and shrug as you get back to folding shirts. You don’t look back up from them even as you hear slow and hesitant footsteps move past you and out the door.

“Hey,” Lottie says, fidgeting from foot to foot behind you. You hum in acknowledgement, sparing her a quick smile as you don’t take your eyes away from the book in your hand. English started in ten minutes and you still hadn’t finished the reading. She sighs in exasperation and reaches forward to gently pluck the book from your hand. She flips the book over to see the title before smiling at you. “Little last minute, huh?” She asks. You reach your hand out for it but she moves it further away.

“Daisy runs a guy over, it's a metaphor for the American dream. You’ll do fine.” She says. You give her a wry smile.

“Is there something you’d rather talk about, Lottie?” You ask sarcastically.

“About last night,” She starts.

“You mean, when you blatantly stole something right in front of me?” You interrupt.

She makes a shushing sound as she glances around anxiously. You snicker. “Like anyone would believe that Lottie Matthews is stealing from Tj Maxx.” You tease in a loud whisper. “You’d just bat your eyelashes at them anyways.”

She smiles prettily, tilting her head to the side in an expression of confusion. “Are you saying you’re immune?” She asks softly. You shake your head.

“What are you going to do about it, then?” She asks, a little more serious. You shrug.

“Nothing? I guess. I don’t really care, Lottie.” You say. You glance around quickly before admitting, “I stole this jacket too. I’m not one to judge.” Lottie gasps dramatically, leaning back to scrutinize the jacket.

“Didn’t realize I was friends with a criminal.” She says playfully, fingers tugging at the lapels of your jacket. “You’re such a bad influence.”

You scoff. “You were robbing Tj Maxx blind long before me, Ms. Tj Bandit.” You accuse.

She actually laughs at this leaning forward to pull you in a hug. She pulls back a moment later, hands resting on your shoulders. “Tj Bandit?” She asks curiously. You blush slightly.

“Oh, it’s just something that my boss calls you.” You say. Her face lights up.

“I have a criminal alias?” She asks, tapping her fingers on your shoulders excitedly as she bounces slightly on the balls of her feet. Her excitement is contagious and you can’t help but smile in response. You're close enough to Lottie’s face to see the intense way her eyes follow the curve of your lips. She starts to lean forward just as the first bell goes off. You laugh nervously as you finally snatch your book back.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” You warn, trying to break the tension.

“Too late.” She says, pulling you into another quick hug. “I’ll see you at my party later, right?” You just smile in response before heading down the hallway.

…

“Oh, really?” Shauna asks distractedly, head turned to the side to look at Jackie who's being animatedly talked to by Mari in the distance. Talked to being the keyword as she looks bored out of her mind, not that Shauna seems to notice. You and Nat share an amused look as you both try to muffle your laughter. Neither of you have spoken in the last five minutes as you've been waiting to see how long Shauna would keep responding before she realized she was talking to herself. 

“That's crazy.” Shauna agrees aimlessly. This is what finally sets you and Nat off in peels of laughter. Shauna jumps slightly in shock as she looks back at the two of you. She fakes a chuckle, not really sure what was funny but this only makes the two of you laugh harder as you lean against each other for balance. She looks between the two of you a little unsurely as she smiles awkwardly. 

You're about to reassure her when you feel arms wrap around your stomach from behind. “Hey,” Lottie says quietly in your ear. 

She rests her head on your shoulder. “What's so funny?” She asks the group. Shauna herself looks interested in the answer as well. 

“Shauna just made the funniest joke.” Nat says, shooting you a smug grin. “Tell her, Shipman.” Shauna's eyes go wide as she sputters slightly trying to think of a joke. With her big brown eyes gone wide in panic she truly looks like a deer in the headlights. Just as she's seemed to settle on something to say she's saved by Jackie calling her over. She shrugs as if inconvenienced but hurries back to Jackie's side to escape the conversation. 

Lottie makes a confused noise against your ear. “Was it something I said?” She asks cluelessly. She pouts as you and Nat share a look and shake your heads. She lets go of you to take a few steps back and you turn to face her. “We're gonna play spin the bottle.” She says. 

“Spin the bottle?” You ask in disbelief. “What are we, 12?” Lottie shrugs, but doesn't look all that put off about it. 

“It was Jackie's idea.” She admits. 

“I bet it was.” Nat says wryly. You turn to look over at Jackie to see her fussing over a faintly blushing Shauna as she corrals her over to a group of people gathering around a bottle. You and Nat share another look as you both silently agree to leave, but Lottie grabs you both by the arm. 

“Please?” She asks, pouting down at Nat. You watch the way Nat softens and gives in almost immediately. Nat turns to glare at you as you quickly hide your shit-eating grin. You don't even bother to look over at Lottie as you make your way over to the group. 

You plop down gracelessly next to Tai who looks just about as happy to be there as you do. You weren't super familiar with Nat's teammates, but she drags you around enough that you know them by name. You watch curiously as she shoots an annoyed look at a pleased looking Van. Ah, you think. She's been dragged here too. 

“Okay!” Jackie says excitedly as she claps her hands together. “You know how this works so I'll go first.”

“How big of you Jackie,” Nat says sarcastically. Jackie chooses to ignore the remark as she leans forward to spin the bottle. The bottle finally comes to a stop at Laura Lee. You fight hard to resist the urge to laugh at the visibly disappointed look on her face as she leans forward to press a chaste kiss against a blushing Laura Lee. The urge becomes even stronger at the jealous look on Shauna's face. You cover your mouth with your hand as you look over at Lottie, her eyes alight with mirth. 

You watch as the next few people go until it finally gets to you. You reluctantly lean forward to spin it, watching as it slowly comes to a stop in front of Nat. Her eyes go wide as she glances between you and the bottle in disbelief. 

“Yes!” You cheer. “Pucker up Scatorccio!” She makes a noise of protest but stays still as you lean forward to kiss her. Her lips part slightly in surprise and you take the opportunity to deepen the kiss to the sound of the cheers in the background. You pull away after a long moment with a smug grin as you look at Nat. 

She's blushing to her ears and her eyes are wide with shock. “Nat?” You ask teasingly. She just shakes her head and looks down at the ground. You fall back in your spot on the floor laughing, but stop suddenly when Lottie gets up and storms off. “Lottie?” You call out, but she just waves you off as she keeps walking. 

Tai reaches forward for the bottle just as you hurry to your feet and walk after Lottie. Van boos loudly at you but you just flick her off. “Lottie?” You call out again. She doesn't answer but you can hear sniffling coming from the kitchen. 

“Lottie.” You say softly as you walk in. She's not actively crying but you can tell from her red eyes that you'd just missed it. “Hey, what's wrong?” You ask. She laughs wetly with a darkly amused grin. 

“No guesses?” She asks. You frown. 

“Is this about Nat?” You ask.

She just sighs in response. “That's not fair.” You complain in a whine. “We didn't want to play in the first place, remember?”

Lottie softens considerably as she reaches her arms out. You step forward and let her gently fold you in her arms. You rest your head against her chest and breathe in the scent of her perfume. “What’s up with you today?” You ask softly, nestling your head further into her chest. She laughs quietly at herself, rubbing gently at your back with one hand.

“Got jealous.” She admits, steadfastly returning  your eye contact as you look up at her. 

“Jealous of who?” You ask quietly, more to yourself than anything. You pause. “Jealous of Nat?”

“You say it like it's a ridiculous idea.” She says.

“But she's my best friend. My Nat.” You say simply.

“What am I, then?” Lottie asks, looking uncharacteristically unsure.

“My partner in crime.” You tease, sneaking a quick glance at her sweater. You’d know the winter collection anywhere. Lottie looks a little disappointed but nods stiffly and lets go of you. “Maybe.” You add. “Maybe I want to kiss you sometimes, too. If that's okay with you.” Lottie smiles joyfully in response, and the rapid change in her expression nearly gives you whiplash.

Lottie leans down to kiss you and you step up on your toes to meet her, reaching your arms up to wrap them around the back of her neck. You can still feel Lottie’s grin against your lips as she kisses you, her arms running down your sides to rest against your hips. She pulls you impossibly closer as you deepen the kiss with Lottie meeting you step for step. She backs you up blindly towards the counter, making you hiss in pain as it stabs into your back. With a few murmured apologies against your lips she moves her hands down the back of your thighs and helps lift you up to sit on the counter.

She gently cups your face with one hand as she quickly reconnects your lips again. You use your new position to wrap your legs around her hips, desperate to eliminate the distance between you. She gently strokes her thumb across your face as you break away to try to catch your breath. You intently watch the way her chest rises and falls in heavy breaths, eyes slowly moving up to focus on her swollen lips.

“Hi.” She says shyly with just a hint of a blush on her face. 

“Hi.” You say breathlessly as you reach a hand forward to rest on her chin, gently tilting it in the other direction. She lets you direct her curiously, her question being answered as you lean forward to press a gentle kiss against her neck. She makes a whiny noise in anticipation and you grin against her skin as you latch on to her neck after deciding she wasn’t leaving this room without a hickey or two.

“Y/N?” She asks softly later that night, just as you're on the verge of sleep. 

“Lot-tie” You murmur sleepily in response.

“I set it up earlier.” She admits quietly, a little nervous of your response. You slowly open your eyes as you give her a confused look. “Spin the bottle,” She clarifies. “I gave Jackie the idea because I wanted to kiss you.”

You don’t say anything in response and just close your eyes again. Lottie watches you in concern until she realizes that you're shaking in silent laughter. “Don’t laugh at me.” She whines, pulling you ever closer. You nestle your way back into her neck, breathing in deeply as you're surrounded by the smell of her shampoo. She sighs happily as you're finally allowed to drift off to sleep.

…

Nat gives you a deeply amused look at school on Monday as you walk in wearing the same outfit you wore to the party on Saturday, but you just wink at her as you fall into step next to Lottie. You’ve spent the entire car ride here trying to convince her to sneak off to a janitor's closet to make out, and you think you’ve almost made a breakthrough. As Lottie laces your pinkies together you can’t help the smug grin that adorns your face as she tugs you to a less occupied part of the school.

[ysmtttty]

Red Ferrari

Azris AU, where Azriel is a mechanic and has his own service station. One day, Eris comes there because something is wrong with his car. AO3 link Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Azriel loved his workshop. Since childhood, he enjoyed working with cars, fixing them, and tinkering with mechanisms and spare parts. Well, it turned out that just one client was enough to make him question his decades-long love. One very arrogant client with a sharp tongue who managed to get on Azriel's nerves in record time with his arrogant behavior and stupid comments.

Eris fucking Vanserra, damn it. One of the most influential lawyers in the city, if not the whole country, showed up in his workshop. Specifically for him. Azriel thought about passing this jerk off to Cassian, but that would be reckless—Cassian might have skillful hands, but his temper was terrible, and combined with Eris's bitchy behavior, it would be an explosive mix.

On any other day, Azriel would have handed Eris over to Rhysand, who would both take a proper look at the car and handle the matter diplomatically. But no, the great owner of the workshop had other plans. Specifically, to show up at his childhood friend's wedding with a new Toyota and his fiancée, whom Rhysand had been pining for about half a year.

Well, now Azriel was alone.

And it turned out that he was recommended to Eris by some acquaintance Azriel had helped with a car in record time—and now Eris had the same high expectations. So now, he definitely couldn't get rid of him.

Eris was lazily inspecting the workshop, as if he already owned the place, tossing the keys to his red Ferrari impatiently. Azriel sighed mentally, examining the car and trying to figure out what exactly was wrong. He caught Eris's gaze, full of undisguised disgust at the sight of him smeared with engine oil. Well, His Highness could endure the sight of a working man who didn't have a family trust fund and a huge family business empire behind him; he wouldn't die. But that gaze...

I can't hit clients, Azriel mentally reminded himself as he raised his head and met Eris's gaze. The bastard had the nerve to frown and wrinkle his nose as if he had just witnessed someone taking a dump, not inspecting his precious car.

"How long will the repair take?" he asked impatiently. Azriel thought about giving a time three times longer than the real one just to keep the bastard on edge. However, he was a mechanic, not a complete asshole. The real rip-off would begin when they discussed the price of the repair.

"Around two days," Azriel replied, which wasn't far from the truth. If he worked at his own pace, considering he had a full garage of other cars needing his attention, he was even doing a favor by naming such a short time frame.

Eris looked at him as if he were an idiot, or maybe that was his usual look at any human being.

"Two days?" he asked in disbelief. "Can't you speed up the process?"

Azriel shrugged, not particularly wanting to accommodate him, but he mentally scolded himself and reminded himself that Eris was still a client, and serving him was part of Azriel's duties.

"Even if I worked only on your car, which is unlikely with the number of other orders, I would only manage by tomorrow afternoon. At best," Azriel explained in a calm voice. As calm as he could be after his client had been looking at him like a piece of shit for the past twenty minutes. "Plus, it would mean an extra charge for urgency."

The last phrase, although it was pure truth, brought him strange satisfaction. Although it was more than likely that Eris would pay any amount just to get what he wanted right away.

"I have a meeting on the other side of the city in less than an hour. I need my car about…" Eris glanced at his watch, of course, a Rolex, "…now."

"I can only suggest where to order a taxi from," Azriel shrugged, adjusting the strap of his overalls. "Or you can take my car."

He pointed in the direction of his old wreck, more as a joke, but noticed the gears turning in Eris's head, calculating how bad an idea it would be to agree. He wasn't that desperate to ruin his reputation by getting into that piece of junk daring to call itself a car, but it was still better than ordering an Uber, which only God knew when would arrive. Ordering a taxi to this part of town was a dead end, as the waiting time ranged from fifteen minutes to forty, depending on luck.

"I need to get to this meeting as soon as possible, so okay," he grumbled after a few seconds, extending his hand and expecting to get the keys.

Azriel looked at him in disbelief. He had just given away his car, his beloved baby, to some rich jerk. May the Car God forgive him, for this was a sin. However, he still handed over the keys.

"Be careful, it's a manual, don't crash," he added. Eris just snorted irritably.

"I know how to drive a manual," he replied, rolling his eyes, grabbing the keys, and heading to the car. Before that, he ostentatiously pulled out one of his glossy business cards and shoved it into Azriel's overall pocket. "Call me when you’re done, we'll arrange where and when to exchange cars."

With these words, he got into Azriel's car and drove off. Azriel stared for a few seconds in the direction the car had disappeared, mentally praying that this idiot wouldn't crash his car or get into an accident.

"Is that a Ferrari?" came Cassian's deep, sleepy voice, looking like he had fallen asleep under a car he was fixing.

"The very one," Azriel nodded, answering quietly.

"And the owner drove off in your Volvo?" Cassian laughed, clearly not believing his eyes. Azriel rolled his eyes, not very happy with the situation. And the damn business card. Of course, black with fancy golden letters.

"Yes," he nodded again. "He drove off in my car for some super important meeting. Probably late for his yoga or therapy session. I don't even know what's worse."

Cassian laughed, patting him on the shoulder. "Bad day?"

"Very," Azriel snorted, grabbing his tools and starting to work on the masterpiece called a Ferrari.

Cassian went back to his garage work, probably coming up with serenades to sing under the windows of his new love, Nesta Archeron, who would likely try to kill Cassian with his own guitar for daring to disturb her sleep or precious reading time.

Meanwhile, Azriel was tinkering with Eris's car. Not the most exciting process, but a Ferrari in their workshop was indeed a rarity, making him involuntarily admire the car.

*          *          *

Azriel finished working on Eris's car much earlier than he had thought. By the end of the same day, to be precise. He didn't inform Eris about it, as the jerk had been rude enough not to deserve it, and Azriel was too tired to tolerate that smug, arrogant look again today. So, he simply went with Cassian to Rhysand's place.

When they crashed at their friend’s house, Cassian immediately went to the door leading to the basement, looking for another expensive bottle of wine from Rhysand's precious collection. Azriel settled on the couch, thinking he should probably warn Rhysand that they had arrived.

It had become a norm for the three of them to drop by each other's homes uninvited—they all had keys to each other's places. Personal space was a foreign concept to them.

Suddenly, he heard voices, one of which was a loud, indignant female voice.

“So, you’re refusing to help me?” Azriel immediately recognized the voice. Not the most pleasant one, not the most desired one, to be honest.

It belonged to Mor, a distant relative of Rhysand, who for some reason considered herself part of his family after everything that had happened between her and Azriel. A long story. A long, unpleasant, messy story that almost broke a decade-long friendship. Rhysand tolerated her because a) Mor was his only living relative, and b) it was Azriel's guess, but it seemed Rhysand just enjoyed being involved in drama, and Mor was the embodiment of drama.

“I’m not refusing to help,” Rhysand's voice became more distinct as he and Mor emerged from his office. Azriel remained unnoticed, and honestly, he preferred to avoid a confrontation with Mor. “I’m just advising you to hold off on drastic actions. You’re taking a risk without knowing if it will pay off.”

Azriel could have eavesdropped on their conversation further, or later directly asked Rhysand what mess his dear cousin had gotten into this time, but for some reason, he didn't care. He didn't care about anything related to Mor and her problems. To hell with her, honestly. As long as it wasn’t some deadly disease (because Azriel wasn’t a heartless bastard), he didn’t give a damn. He had managed perfectly well for the last few years without a single piece of news about her and her life, and he would continue to manage just as well.

Instead, he opened his phone, replying to a few messages from clients and potential clients. Some inquired about the completion times, others about the price, and still others about something else. Azriel responded to a few messages when Cassian appeared with three glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Did you see Mor?” he said, putting all his goodies on the coffee table. Azriel shrugged indifferently. “Haven’t seen her in years. You wouldn’t believe what happened!”

Azriel gestured for him to stop, feeling no curiosity about where Mor had spent the last four years of her life. Even if it was in a Moroccan prison, he couldn’t care less.

“Here are my employees of the month,” Rhysand said as he entered the room. A light smile on his face, in a good mood even after talking with Mor… damn, he was having a good day, and for some reason, Azriel was sure it was related to a particular Archeron sister.

“How was the wedding?” Azriel asked. Rhysand shrugged, clearly suppressing a grin.

“It didn’t happen. To my great regret,” he said with no regret in his tone. “You have no idea what a responsibility it is to drive home a bride who changed her mind.”

Cassian chuckled, opening the bottle of wine and pouring it into the glasses. Azriel just shook his head, realizing there was a long story behind this that Rhysand would tell them.

The next morning, Azriel decided to take pity on Eris and texted him that the car was ready and he could pick it up. Eris read the message almost immediately but only replied two hours later. With one word.

“Ok.”

A few minutes later, Eris condescended to add that he was very busy and would be free after nine in the evening. Without asking if this time was convenient for Azriel, he wrote that he would send the address later and went offline.

Azriel thought that overall, ten years in prison for murder would be worth it.

He spent a few more minutes seething with anger at Vanserra for treating him like some kind of call boy who could be summoned at any time to fulfill any order. Exaggeration? Yes. But Azriel didn’t care that he was exaggerating. And, as luck would have it, Cassian wasn't on shift to complain about the Ferrari owner's awful behavior.

Instead, Amren at the receptionist's desk suffered, who, for some unknown reason, agreed to work there, even though neither Rhysand nor she liked it. Nevertheless, she continued to sit in her chair at the desk, occasionally bothering to bill clients or keep track of the budget and other things.

Azriel spent a good twenty minutes complaining to her about what an asshole Eris was, vividly describing his arrogant attitude and overall asshole behavior. Amren, in her honorable sixty-two years, pretended not to hear half of his words, complaining about old age hearing, and poured herself some liqueur into her tea. Azriel didn’t comment on it, knowing it would only make things worse for himself, and returned to work.

The world didn’t revolve around Eris Vanserra; he had many other cars needing repairs. Azriel spent the whole day in blissful silence, dealing with less pretentious cars than a Ferrari, enjoying the lack of socialization.

Nevertheless, after nine in the evening, he received a message from His Highness. Eris sent the address, adding a haughty “hurry up,” and nothing more. No thank you, no please. Azriel clenched his phone in his hand until his knuckles turned white, then forced himself to exhale. Taking a few more deep breaths, he forced himself to remain calm and found the Ferrari keys in his overalls pocket.

A good bonus – for exactly twenty minutes he had access to a chic car. Azriel got into the Ferrari, started the engine, and turned on the navigation system with the destination address Eris had sent. He ran his hand over the smooth leather steering wheel and felt the sharp contrast – bottomless abyss – between his world and that of people like Eris more acutely than ever.

The bottomless abyss that could hardly ever be crossed in a lawful manner. For just a second, a fleeting moment, Azriel wondered what it would have been like if he had stayed at his father's house. But he quickly pushes that thought away, cursing himself for even daring to think such a thing. It was better to repair cars for peanuts for the rest of his life than to endure what he went through in his own home. And they made enough money at the workshop. He might not be driving a Ferrari, but he wasn't destitute either.

The car itself was just superb, and for a second, Azriel felt sorry that such a luxurious ride belonged to a jerk like Eris. He suppressed the urge to speed or break traffic rules so that Eris would get fined because the traffic police were still around, and it would be long and hard to explain to the cops why a mechanic had a Ferrari.

In the end, he arrived at the location. Eris was already there, leaning against his car, lazily talking to someone on the phone, with the same attitude he had towards Azriel. Unable to think of anything better, Azriel, without slowing down, turned the steering wheel and stopped the car exactly one step away from Eris, covering his shoes with dust from the wheels.

Eris raised his gaze, frowning, but within a second, the corners of his lips twisted into a smirk. Azriel mirrored the smirk as he got out of the car, tossing the keys in the air, which Eris caught deftly, doing the same with the Volvo keys.

Azriel’s brain treacherously threw up the thought that Eris was handsome. Yes, handsome, but definitely out of his league. Absolutely out of his league. Moreover, this was Eris Vanserra—a snobbish and arrogant bastard with whom Azriel had no desire to deal. Not business-wise (he hoped Eris never brought his Ferrari again) and certainly not personally.

“Will the transfer suffice?” Eris asked, one hand in the pocket of a coat that looked like it cost more than the entire workshop where Azriel worked, the other holding the phone.

“It will suffice.”

Azriel named the price. He thought about it for a long time yesterday and consulted with Cassian, who only urged him to jack up the price as much as possible. They discussed it together, adding and subtracting the price. In the end, the original price tripled. But Eris, with his arrogant manner, looked like he couldn't care less about the money and would pay any amount named.

Eris looked at him for a few seconds, and Azriel started to regret how much he exaggerated the repair cost. However, instead of calling him out on it, Eris tilted his head to the side and said, “You look different in clean clothes,” sounding like a damn mockery.

“And you’ll be a bastard in any clothes,” Azriel shrugged, not wanting to play nice anymore when Vanserra allowed himself such things.

For a moment, Eris’s eyes widened, as if he was ready to say something, but then he reconsidered and smirked, lowering his gaze to his phone to make the transfer.

“You have no idea how popular that opinion is,” he chuckled, getting into his car. Azriel heared the notification sound from his phone as Eris drove away.

Sitting in his car and spending another five minutes adjusting the seat to its usual normal position, damn Vanserra, Azriel decided to check his phone. Several messages from Cassian with exclamations about how Nesta chased him off the staircase of her apartment with a broom. That this time she didn’t threaten to bury him alive in the woods, so it’s really a sign of growing affection. And that this time the Ice Queen actually accepted a bouquet of flowers.

Azriel chuckled at all these messages, vividly describing his best friend's romantic escapades. Then a message from Rhysand asking him to cover his shift tomorrow because he’s once again leaving due to personal circumstances. And you don’t need to be a genius to figure out who exactly was this personal circumstance.

And finally, the persistent notification about the transfer from Eris.

Damn it.

Bastard.

“What the…” Azriel closed his eyes, hoping that it was just sleep deprivation affecting his vision. That the numbers were just blurred before his eyes. But when he opened his eyes and looked at the amount again, the number was still three times more than stated.

Eris Vanserra can shove this handout up his ass or literally wipe himself with that banknotes, but Azriel didn’t need it. Definitely not from this bastard. Definitely not with his dismissive and haughty manner.

However, for the next 24 hours, all attempts to send part of the amount back failed. Eris had closed the transfers. Azriel called him for the third time, which was three times more than his pride would allow on any other day. However, another part of his brain still screamed that he didn’t need this money, ignoring Cassian's words that any normal person would have long since accepted the money.

Any other person. But not Azriel, because with his stubbornness like a mule, he was not going to give up so easily.

Without responding to any message or call, Eris showed up at the workshop again. This time in a Porsche.

“What happened to the Ferrari?” Azriel asked, raising an eyebrow. Eris shrugged, getting out of the car.

“I think this one might need a checkup.”

“So, the last money transfer was an advance?”

“What advance?” Eris smirked, clearly understanding everything.

Azriel stared him down, trying to figure out what Vanserra was up to. And the Porsche? The car was clearly the latest model, just off the showroom floor. So unless Eris was paranoid or a control freak, the car didn’t need a checkup at all.

“Seriously, what’s all this about?” Azriel asked directly. “Why transfer so much?”

Eris raised his eyebrows in a comical manner, in mock surprise by what it was about.

“So it’s about the money?” he asked. “Then you should have thought about that before you charged me three times the price.”

Azriel freezes. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Eris really knew about the markup. And Eris was a damn lawyer. A good lawyer. The best lawyer. If he wanted, he could shut down this workshop in an instant for fraud, and it would be Azriel’s fault.

Instead of threats, Eris just smirked, satisfied with his reaction.

“What do you want?” Azriel asked, frowning, his voice quieter, more hoarse.

Eris tilted his head to the side and remained silent for a few seconds as if studying him. Azriel involuntarily did the same, cursing himself for noticing the sprinkling of freckles on Eris’s face.

“Go on a date with me,” Eris said, completely throwing Azriel off balance. Did he really say that? tag list: @sizzlingstarlightsky @isnotwhatyourethinking @molcat07 @chairofchaos a/n: lmk if you're interested in this series; want to be added to a taglist; any recommendations to post's design because I never posted fanfics here and don't know much about features

[vonev]

The Strings Of Webs (and the ones you’ve woven)

Miguel O’Hara x reader

Chapter 1: The Beginning Of Something New (and something unknown)

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, angst, hurt/comfort.

Summary: So—just imagine, one day you’re sitting in your home, enjoying your day off of the usual stressful work you had, only for a mysterious asshole to appear and snatch you away from your home, your safe space. 

Not only that, but he decided to put you in his sick version of a jail and start demeaning your entire existence in front of other strangers that, for some reason, are replicas of each other. Something something Spider-men and the Spider Society, the entire safety and security of the multiverse on your hands, and that you were the cause of everyone’s downfall.

 Yeah, that’s your life now.

Part I Part II 

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“—be wary of glitches around you, contact your local hospital immediately if you or your family encounter symptoms or signs of glitching—“

“—whoever decided we should allow kids to have free lunches in school doesn’t realize that the school needs to be fed too! This is why—“

“—and I said, boom! Spider-man, I caught you red-handed!”

“Spider-man spotted running around the city terrorizing civilians with whipped cream, but witnesses said it was a hoax by some random troll—“

“—on tonight’s news of Daily Bugle, Spider-man has been found dead—“

You halted.

The notion of mindlessly clicking next on the different channels paused when you heard the key words, ‘Spider-man’ and ‘found dead’.

To say you were shocked was an understatement of the century, Spider-man out of all the people in the entire universe was declared deceased should not simply gloss over everyone’s mind.

Your jaw hung open, the words still dancing in your mind like lovers on a weekend honeymoon trip, holding onto each other yet under the surface, something else was brewing.

Fuck.

You wanted to seek out Spider-man, so how are you supposed to, now, if he is dead?

You gritted your teeth out of pure frustration, you had hoped you’d catch him in his act of swinging around your part of the city, just being the friendly neighborhood Spider-man as he always usually does.

You are desperate for an answer to a question, nervously biting down on the skin around your nail as you stood up and paced around your living room for a solution.

Bring him back from the dead? No.

Frankenstein him and pray he would have a sliver of his memory left? No.

Pray? No, God never answers, anyway.

You scratched the itchy spot where the spider bit you earlier, pondering over the chances of you being able to summon his spirit through a summoning ritual in the book called ‘Satanism for beginners: dummies edition’ you found at a random thrift shop earlier.

You weren’t in a rush per se, but then again, Spider-man not being alive meant you would never be able to satiate your raging curiosity.

You shrugged, and mourned for Spider-man in your special little way: making yourself a bomb ass dinner and popping a brand new champagne bottle in his honor, as a salute to his service and him as a whole.

After all, Spider-man would’ve wanted this. You doubt he would want people to gather around and shed tears on his grave rather than share happy encounters together with each other in his memories.

You were only assuming, but he did seem like a sweet kid from the handful of run-ins you had with him.

Letting out a deep sigh, you let your feet carry you to your kitchen, rummaging through the fridge in search of the barely expired package of steak shoved into the far back. You inspected the meat sitting inside the packaging, noting how it was starting to turn a grey-greenish hue. You debated on even cooking it and risking your health, but your stomach grumbled the moment you did and you decided against the better of it and made the meal anyway.

You let the well-seasoned steak sit in the pan with melted butter and rosemary, casually basking it in melted butter once in a while with a spoon with the garlic clove sitting on the side, your other hand holding a glass of champagne from the bottle you popped, taking leisure sips in-between your cooking.

Despite its flaws, the smell of the steak was heavenly.

You give yourself a pat on the back and proceed to nicely decorate your plate with the cut-up steak, bringing it to the living room along with the bottle of champagne for more of it later.

“—Spider-man’s identity has been revealed upon his death—“

On the screen, it showed a picture of a promising, rather young looking man, with messy blonde streaks of hair adorning his face and a nice smile with a glint of joy in his eyes.

He looked like he could’ve been anyone’s kid, and that thought saddened you. You decided to switch to Netflix and brought the blanket over your lap as you leisurely browse the catalogue for what seemed like eternity, your steak slowly going cold.

“Holy fuck, nothing at all.”

You settled for watching a 4-hour video essay on YouTube instead, slowly munching your steak away and huddled up in your comfy blanket.

As if the universe had it out for you, a bright orange glow suddenly took over your tiny apartment space in mere seconds, you snapped your head toward the source and immediately shot an arm up to cover your eyes, the lights were borderline blinding. You tried to sneak glances toward what could’ve caused the commotion, and your heart almost popped out of your chest at the sight of a random portal-looking hole in the middle of your apartment.

And out came the hole was possibly one of the biggest men you’ve seen, standing at a staggering 6 '8 stature you would think he had been an otherworldly entity. You could’ve sworn you saw him tore through the fabric of space and time with what seemed to be blades built into his elbow.

And his suit…

He looked like a Spider-man, with the obvious spider symbol embedded into the front of his skin-tight suit. He was a tall wall of pure muscles, looking nothing like the Spider-man your city has grown to know and love, but how could he be Spider-man—

—if Spider-man is dead?  

You looked into his gaze, a fit of pure rage, disdain and disgust could be felt from where you assumed would be his eyes. After all, they say eyes are the windows to one’s soul. His gaze held onto yours as he slowly approached where you sat, you felt a shiver down your spine that spoke to your soul. And it wasn’t as though he had a face to gauge his emotions by—his posture and the big, intimidating steps he took said it all.

This was terrifying, he was terrifying.

Your breath hitched once he got close enough to see the hair standing at the back of your neck like a frightened cat.

Was it hot in here, or was it just you? Or maybe him?

You had no clue, but you could feel yourself starting to sweat as though you had just run a marathon, and your senses were on high alert with how close the man was to you, your flight or fight alarm blaring like a thousand horns in your head.

He was not good news.

But you couldn’t move.

You felt yourself frozen up, and you wish you had been better at responding because you could’ve, and are probably about to be murdered. You took a gulp of breath, suddenly the feeling of your saliva going down your throat felt more vivid than ever in the small confined space of you and him.

You could see the way he scrunched up his nose with the moving wrinkles of his mask, pulling back from staring you down.

He diverted his attention to the watch on his wrist, fiddling with it before a hologram appeared in mid-air like some sort of Sci-Fi freak show, and a small lady appeared on the screen.

“What is it you want now, Miguel?” She groaned, seemingly annoyed at his advance of calling her out to do whatever he wanted at the time.

“Don’t give me that attitude, Lyla, pull out the files from yesterday,” he wasted no time biting back at her, almost as though he would start a fight with her right then and there if he wanted to.

From where you sat, with your legs tightly close to your chest and your blanket now on the floor, you still held dear to the plate of steak you were enjoying half a minute ago before everything conspired, your grip like a super-glue on the fork you held. You noted the rather adorable appearance of the girl, Lyla, was it?

She had a full body fur coat on with what you were certain was a pair of large, heart shaped glasses sitting on her tiny nose bridge.

“Nuh-uh,” she quipped, staring at her nails like she was bored of what Miguel had to say.

“Lyla.”

“Nope.”

“I swear to God—“

“Good luck with that, Miguel.”

You found it comical how they went back and forth with each other, you couldn’t tell if Miguel was joining in on the fun or he had been genuinely annoyed—and for all you know (and for what you couldn’t) he seemed to lean in on the latter. To be fair, he didn’t strike you as the type to bring fun into the party with what he had shown so far.

“Lyla, could you please show me the files from yesterday,” he paused for a few seconds, as if the next words out of his mouth hurt him physically to say out loud, “with a cherry on top.”

Lyla seemed satisfied with that, you could hear her giggle. “Already on it,” and swiped her hand across the air as multiple screens appeared, some with more content than the others, but amongst all the mumbo-jumbo of information you saw one thing that struck curiosity further into you—

—it was a profile of your face, and from what you saw, you looked absolutely amazing in the picture.

You let out a sigh of relief, at least they had the decency to pick a nice picture of you.

At least when you die, you’ll die looking pretty.

Miguel snapped his head to you when he heard your sigh, the pretend-eyes on his mask narrowed to a dangerous slit.

“Don’t think you’re getting away with this, criminal.”

You don’t know what you were supposed to feel with the way he bit his words at you, hissing, almost. But you felt quite offended—and you had a backbone unlike anyone else that would’ve been in your situation.

“You—you did not just threaten me,” You fought his gaze with the determination and anger in yours, and for a flash of a second, you saw the way his eyes widened—almost as though he was surprised you would rebut him. “You come into my home, ruin my nice dinner, and now you act like I just annihilated your entire family!”

You had placed your dinner and glass of champagne onto the IKEA coffee table in front of you, choosing to cross your arms over your chest as you scoffed in his direction, staring him down (or up?) like a disappointed parent at a teacher-parent meeting conference.

His lips pulled back in a snarl, and if he hadn’t had any ounce of self-restraint; he would’ve been pouncing on you with force you never even knew were possible. But to him, you only sound like a child whining about not getting their favorite toy—which greatly amused him, considering what you have done.

“Funny coming from someone who terrorized multiple dimensions,” he scoffed, inching his face closer to yours by towering his massive figure over you, an act of intimidation meant to catch you off-guard and make you fear him.

But what he didn't know was that you worked at Starbucks—so nothing, and you mean nothing could scare you like the ladies did when they’re on their fifth run of Starbucks of the day, irritated from their job and demanding custom drinks that made you cry on your lunch break. You merely glanced at him, your face stoic and devoid of any signs of fear.

“Listen here, big guy,” you jabbed a finger at his chest, caught off guard by how unexpectedly soft the fabric of his suit was—you could vividly feel the tensed muscles beneath them. “You don’t get to strut into my home via some strange portal and tell me what I did wrong, and for your information, you sound like a massive idiot going on about your ‘multidimensional threat’ bullcrap.”

By the end of your rant, he had already concluded that you were going to be a pain in his ass; and for that, he reached his arm out to grab the wrist you pointed at him with, squeezing it, serving as a silent threat.

The kind that wouldn’t end well if you don’t listen.

And to his dismay, you showed no signs of discomfort, only an increased amount of annoyance he could spot in your eyes as you tried to snatch your wrist away from his steel grip but ultimately failed.

“Listen here, cariño,” he said, sarcasm dripping off of him like honey. “You don’t get to dictate who’s in control after all that you’ve done,” his hold on your wrist now tightened tenfold, and he relished in the discomfort he could see when your face contorted, hearing your hiss of pain.

“Dickhead,” you grumbled underneath your breath, the frustration, annoyance and anger boiling in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him—you held back your tongue from hurling more insults his way. And to your dismay, he caught what slipped between your lips, his face getting closer than ever and you could feel the fan of his breath on the tip of your nose.

“Wanna repeat that?”

“I said—“ you prepared yourself for an attack, a foot to his abdomen would do it, just one quick move and he would be out of your hair as you flee from the perpetrator. “Fucking,” …anytime now—

—“Dickhead!”

In an instant, your foot connected with his abdomen, and you kicked. The next few seconds were a blur—his eyes widening at the feeling of your foot on his torso and the actual impact it had. You were frightened at the way he was pushed off of you and into the wall behind him, the strength of your kick causing the wall to give in from the sudden pressure. You could’ve sworn you saw the massive dent in the walls when he slid down—but you wasted zero milliseconds pondering any thoughts you may have.

As he slowly gathered his senses, you were already out of the apartment, bolting.

The adrenaline started to kick in as you practically ran for your life like you’ve never had before—that was because you didn’t have to until now.

You didn’t have to turn around to hear how Miguel had busted through your apartment window, the way the ground shook (or was it just you?) as you felt the weight of his limbs and how they carried him fast.

He was approaching.

And God, for once in your life did you wish you dead.

You would figure out how to explain to your landlord about the broken window and crumbled walls later—for now, survive.

But somehow, you outran him—choosing to swerve your way past the innocent bystanders in a zigzag manner as you yelled ‘sorry’ and ‘forgive me’, if you had learn anything from watching animal documentaries, it was to escape predators by confusing it thus your zigzag marathon.

You were frantically praying to something out there that your strategy was working, because if you paid attention, you would feel the way he was borderline breathing down your neck, toying with you. Your heartbeat thumped in your ears, edging the thin thread of going deaf with how loud it was.

The people you rushed past all collectively gasped and ogled, some even cheered, and you could just tell he was on your tail.

That’s no good.

Your eyes noted the sight of an entry to an alleyway, it was your only chance to survive his borderline murderous attempt at capturing you as you skillfully took a swift turn into the alleyway, your back immediately met the wall as you tried to calm your haggard breaths—you did not want to be spotted by him.

A flash of blue and red rushed past the corridor where you hid, and after a few seconds of no signs of activity of him being near you—you let out a small sigh, one that you had been holding on to dear life.

If you had known any better, you would’ve spotted the sight of his feet above you at the top of the building, crouched as he watched your every move—the way your body suggested your relaxed state and how you strut deeper into the alleyway; big mistake, in his humble opinion.

With the thought in mind that you had effectively avoided Miguel, you slowly caught your breath, your chest heaving as you wiped away the huge amount of sweat that gathered on your forehead. You started chuckling, in your adrenaline high, you weren’t able to hear the way Miguel stealthily fell on a balcony closer to you, how he dropped behind you without as much as a ‘thud’ coming from his soft landing.

To you, you just had the chase of your life—and to your utter surprise, you managed to swerve off a man of a stature and agility like his; it was enough to warren yourself a pat on the back as you felt a smile tug at your lips.

“Having fun?”

Shit. Shit. Double shit.

You were a goner.

Your senses were off the charts now, tingling like a spider crawling all over the back of your neck, sending a shockwave of shivers down your spine. You could smell him, that or your senses were starting to betray you. For a flash of a second what felt like claws tugged at your ankle, causing you to tumble over onto your stomach as you let out a loud yelp in pain.

He had caught up to you, to your unfortunate self, evident by the weight of his foot pressed against the small of your back, applying an immense amount of pressure that caused you to cry out in pain.

“Fucking—how?!” You shouted, your throat hoarse from all the yelling and screaming activities you had been conducting, your high slowly wearing off as your mind instantly jumped into a new stage of emotions you’ve never truly felt before: the utter fear that sent chills down your very core, the burning fire running amok in your nerves, and the loud banging headache you felt when you were knocked down.

“You let your guards down,” Miguel found utmost amusement in the way you squirm underneath his foot, your arms struggling to catch a hold onto something, anything. To him, it was just an ordinary chase on the daily he would frequently experience, running off of the high that it gave him as he bent over to look into your gaze; filled with so much hatred and disdain—and all for him.

It excited him, almost.

But to you, having led the most normal life ever of an average person, being chased by a multidimensional superhero who could traverse the universe within a flick of his wrist was never part of your scheduled programs. And at this moment, you had no idea what to believe in anymore.

The universe was playing a cruel joke on you, and they are laughing.

You caught his gaze and could note the way his pretend-eyes glistened with a bundle of emotions: rage, annoyance, a murderous intent, and excitement. All seething and hissing underneath that stupid mask of his. If he was honest to himself, the situation was the most fun he had in a while.

“Next time,” as he got closer to you, his voice turned into a mere whisper, “Try not breathing so hard, cariño.”

With what you would assume was your death approaching in the figure of a bear for a man—his mask dissipated within an instance in pixels, his face now bare to you as he only got closer and closer, your eyes blown wide open with fear and the pace of your breathing picking back up into a brutal pace as anxiety swelled in your chest.

He had lifted his foot off of your back only to engulf you in his pair of strong, tree trunks for arms. You watched the way his jaw hung open, the light bounced off his fangs, the glint almost blinding you as you merely laid there, spent and mentally exhausted in his arms.

This was it.

This was how you would die.

In a game of predator and prey—and you were the prey that thought they got away.

And for the last few seconds of what you assumed to be the end of your life—you struggled against his hold, yet no attempts of yours were successful at feigning him off of you. He had the audacity to chuckle at your effort, like they meant nothing to him.

Because they didn’t.

To him, you were just an average, unfortunate prey becoming the meal he would treat himself to every night as a reward for his hard work having slaughtered you for his satiations; that being hunger and self-fulfillment.

And because he eyed you like one.

It was hard to miss the red glow in his iris, dominating the ring with his pupils blown out, looking like a crazed man with an addiction—and he had found his drug.

“Relax, you’re only making it harder for yourself.”

He brushed aside your hair, exposing the vulnerable spot of your neck—you could feel the way the tip of his fangs teased the bare skin on the back of where your neck and shoulder connected in a junction, taking his sweet time as his fingers traced up the sides of your arms, you could feel the bruises starting to blossom on your skin in response to his iron-like grip.

And before you knew it, he sunk his fangs into you, breaking your skin as you could only struggle even more so in his hold in pathetic attempts at escaping.

It burnt.

Oh God it burnt so fucking bad.

If you had thought your nerves were on fire before, they were quite literally bathing in a pool of lava by now. The venom has slowly integrated itself into your blood flow, inviting itself in like that annoying neighbor’s kid you never liked barging into your home.

You felt downright violated.

But you were helpless.

And for what felt like the last moment of your life, you could only sob, feeling the bubble of tears bursting and swimming down your reddened yet ghastly-looking cheeks like fish in the ocean. Consciousness slowly started to seep away like grasping at sands—little by little, they would be gone. Your vision gradually declined on you every second.

And along was what little dignity you had left as you slumped in Miguel’s arms, lifeless.

[kindagayfish]

Hello friend!

Im new to the trigun family after watching Stampede and recently ive been on a Knives kick and i dont see much content about him x reader.

So i was wondering if we could get some headcanons about what would make Knives feel “those gross human feelings” (love, the need to protect,need for affection) for the reader, and how he would tell them or show them?

I just need some knives fluff! Boy needs and hug! If you dont wanna write that, thats totally fine!! Thank you!!

A/N: Knives is SUCH an interesting character and im literally so feral for him. This is very much stream-of-conscious writing and not proofread. It also turned out so much longer than I expected! I legit got so carried away so I hope you enjoy it!!

Also I feel like my thoughts/headcanons for Knives will always be constantly evolving because he's just such a complex character??? And I love it???

Contains: Hints of nsfw thoughts if you squint??, fluff I guess??, can knives even do fluff???, the slowest of slowburns for this man

So we know Knives does know what love feels like…sorta. He loves Vash, and wants to see a future where they can both live their lives without the fear of being used for what they are. However, that means killing every human left on the planet. So it’s a twisted kind of love…but he still cares in his own way.

I don’t think Knives would notice you right away. It won’t be some love-at-first-sight, omg this human was so nice to me thing. It will take A LOT of time. He has completely blocked himself off from anyone because of fear, and fear is an intense driving force.

Perhaps you’re involved in his grand scheme somehow; A scientist in a lab who has taken a special interest in the Plants. At first, you’re focused on finding a more sustainable way for them to be used…but then after witnessing one open itself up, showing a high level of intelligence, you change your studies to find a way for them to live beyond the confines of the glass tanks.

You’re aware of Knives. Aware that he’s what they call an Independent. And you take notes on him, studying any file that isn’t restricted from the ships that once roamed the universe.

Knives becomes aware of you rather quickly. It's hard to ignore the way your eyes follow his every move, jotting down your observations quickly into a notebook that never seems to leave your hands. At first he finds it irritating, having this human stalk him like a shadow. However, it was only when you caught him on a particularly bad day that he finally spoke to you.

"Get OUT." His voice was ice, sending a sharp tendral into your notebook, tearing it from your hands. You let out a pained yelp, though none of the blades touched had you, and ran out of the room.

After he's calmed down, curiosity gets the better of him, and Knives spends the rest of the evening reading through your notes.

The next day it's him that seeks you out. Knives finds you in a lab, placing your in-tact notebook on the table in front of you before stating that some of your observations were incorrect, which causes you to flush with embarrassment. He leaves immediately after, and upon inspecting your notebook, you find that he had crossed out some of your own notes, replacing it with the "correct" information.

Knives begins to tolerate your company. You're not as insufferable as the other humans, and he finds himself quite intrigued by how brave you've gotten around him ever since that day. But he continues to keep himself at a distance….for now.

So anyways as your "relationship" with Knives progresses:

Knives shows his love through acts of service and quality time. He allows you into his space; allows himself to lower his guard and try to understand these strange feelings he gets when around you. Although, again, this takes time.

He'll start to show interest in whatever experiments you're running, quietly observing from a respectable distance. It might even start to feel like you’re the one being studied from how intense his silent stare is (he is 100% memorizing everything about you).

The more time spent with you, the more possessive he becomes of this time...and just you in general.

Knives knows that you have to talk to others in order to do your job, but that doesn't mean he won't glare at them until they walk away. He prides himself on how his presence alone can clear a room so it can just be the two of you.

If you forget to eat, time getting away from you, Knives might sigh and fetch you something. Setting it down directly in front of you and making comments under his breath about how "humans are pathetic" and how you "can't even take care of yourself". You're like a pet, he tells himself...rationalizing why he would go out of his way to make sure you stay healthy.

Physical touch comes much later

Sometimes you'll feel him lean in from behind, gazing over your shoulder to gain a better view of what you're working on. Heat radiates off of his body, but he never brings himself to touch you. Knives finds it amusing at how flustered you get when he does this and likes to test your boundaries as well as his own. He’ll catch himself too often wondering how soft your skin would feel under his fingertips. It’s a disgusting thought, really. (he is so touch starved but will NOT allow himself to indulge in this innocent fantasy because he’s stubborn and has the biggest god complex)

But it eventually happens one evening when you hand him your notebook. All of his senses are ignited, the place where your fingers brushed against his hand burns throughout the night. Knives can't bring himself to admit he likes this feeling, at least not out loud.

Oh but does he crave it.

It's a thrill, an adrenaline rush, and strangely even more fulfilling than the feeling he gets when he takes a human life.

Starts as "accidental". Fingers colliding when reaching for the same thing, the back of his hand brushing against yours as you both walk, standing too close to you so that when you take a step back, you bump into his chest.

Soon he's grabbing your wrist to stop you from doing something stupid, placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you out of a room, even taking your hand in his, frowning at the fresh injury on your skin, but also burning up inside at the fact that his own hand swallows yours completely. That you're just so fragile. So human.

Knives is absolutely obsessed.

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[sunspearesque]

Fruitful

Summary: Oberyn Martell, a lover of great generosity, expresses his love primarily through acts of service. With a keen memory, he spares no effort to exceed expectations in bringing joy to his beloved.

A/N: as the world around me becomes entranced by "the orange theory," my thoughts wander to what he might do for his lover... so i wrote this; a casual smut-less headcanon using my AU, where his lover is my oc, Nala, from my upcoming multichapter fic, Whispers of Vendetta :D i hope you enjoy it, friends xoxo i also invite my fellow writers to do this with their favorite characters and share their headcanons with us <3

In the warm embrace of a Dornish afternoon, he reclined on their balcony, sharing the company of his beloved amid a plethora of succulent fruits and Dornish wine. His daughters engaged in rigorous training in front of them on the ground.

"My mother used to peel fruits for me," Nala chuckled, peeling a pear for Oberyn on the velvety lounge chair they shared. "I despised the stickiness afterward."

"Is that so?" Adjusting his position, he kissed her shoulder. "And why do you find yourself peeling fruits now?" Another kiss, this time on her neck.

"I don't know..." Turning her head to meet his gaze, she smiled. "Perhaps it's because I love you."

Unable to resist, Oberyn's arms enveloped her waist, pulling her close as he showered her cheeks with kisses, eliciting giggles from her.

"But I've never liked pears," she panted after his affectionate onslaught.

Arching an eyebrow, he inquired, "Then what is your preference, my little love?"

"Pomegranates," she answered, her gaze fixed on his lips.

"Exotic," he smirked.

"And oranges."

The Next Morning...

"Veros, I need you to fetch the preeminent farmer in Dorne and send them to Essos. Instruct them to procure the finest orange and pomegranate seeds," Oberyn commanded, his voice cutting through the air. He scanned his surroundings, his eyes piercing, as he added, "I seek nothing less than the absolute best."

"Yes, my prince."

Two Years Have Passed...

Amidst the verdant gardens behind their castle, Oberyn and Nala sauntered, the world a palette of nature's hues. Suddenly, she halted, her gaze fixated on a tree. "I don't recall this tree being here," Nala remarked, squinting to inspect the blossoms.

Smiling, Oberyn embraced her from behind, "Indeed, my love. I instructed our gardener to plant them a few years past."

"I love them." Nala whispered.

"I love you more," he thought.

A Few Years Later...

In the early morning hours, Oberyn stealthily slipped out of their chamber, having received confirmation from their gardener that the trees were poised to bear fruit imminently. For ten consecutive days, he continued this clandestine ritual, checking until the moment arrived when both trees proudly displayed bright, ripe produce. With an exuberant grin, he hastened back to their chamber.

"Nala, my love," he whispered gently, seeking to rouse her.

"What's happened? Are you well?" Nala startled awake, her eyes wide with concern. "Are the girls alright?"

"We are well, my love, fret not." Cupping her cheeks in his palms, Oberyn reassured her, his thumb smoothing over them gently. "I need to show you something."

"This early?" She furrowed her brow, puzzled by his excitement.

"Yes, come on with me."

Taking her hand, he guided her out of their bed, wrapping her shoulders with his shawl. Together, they descended the stairs, exiting the castle, and stepped into their garden.

"What are you about?" she inquired, perplexed, as he knelt before her, tapping on his shoulders.

"Climb onto my shoulders, my love."

At first, hesitation lingered in her gaze, a questioning look that suggested he might have lost his wits—my old man driven to madness.

"And your back?" she reminded him cautiously.

"Climb, Nala," he repeated, a raised brow emphasizing his determination.

Slowly, she ascended his back, perching on his shoulder, her legs dangling over his chest.

"Hold on tight," he advised before rising to his feet, moving slowly toward the tree.

The tree, vibrant and teeming with life, bore numerous flowers, yet the fruits remained elusive, concealed among the leaves, shy of human touch.

He sensed her recognition when she gasped, almost slipping from his shoulders, before he steadied her with his hands on her thighs.

"Oberyn..." she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.

Squeezing her thighs on his shoulder, he conveyed reassurance—I know, my little love.

"Can you reach them?" he inquired.

"Yes," she responded quietly, sniffling. She reached out to pluck the bright oranges, three in total. Moving a few paces to the next tree, she picked the sole pomegranate. She used the hem of her nightgown to cradle the fruits before Oberyn lowered himself, allowing her to dismount from his shoulders.

Standing there, holding her gown with the fruits, tears streaming down her cheeks, her lips trembling, she looked at him—her prince, the love of her life. Loving her as if she were the sole soul worthy of such devotion. Seven years had passed, and he had orchestrated all of this because she had once reminisced about her childhood without realizing the impact of her words. He stood before her, a broad grin on his face, proud of his intricate plan. His sweat-adorned bangs clung to his forehead, his chest bare, golden, and tough—tough except when he cradled her in his arms. Dressed in white trousers with bare feet, he looked as majestic as ever. His grin waned as soon as he noticed the tears in her eyes. Swiftly, he moved towards her, cupping her face.

"Why this sorrow, my love?" he inquired, his gaze flickering anxiously between her eyes.

"Not sorrow. I just—just love you," she confessed, breaking into sobs. He enveloped her in a warm embrace, cupping her head, smoothing her hair, and pressing kisses to her temples.

Lifting her face, he kissed her gently, once, twice. He continued until joy eclipsed sadness within her. His kisses persisted until her laughter rang in his ears—and by the Gods, there’s nothing sweeter than your lover’s laughter in your mouth.

"Why did you do all of this, Oberyn?" she queried, gazing at him. "You know I relish the daily fruits we have."

"I know," he replied, kissing her again. "I want you to feel my love for you in these trees. Witness it blossom every moon, taste it, nourish yourself with it, live through it."

Because that’s what your love does to me.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Convenience Store Vampire, part 5

Part 1, Part 2, part 3, part 4

Before I could ask him, the door swung open, and brought with it the noise of the Exorcists.

It was a whole new wave of wailing, a horrific noise that incapacitated me with agony. I wanted to claw my ears out, so deafeningly sharp it was, and I doubted the spirit fared any better. Only Hash could mute the awful cacophony. I clenched my hands around my ears, curling up behind my desk. 

“Alright, shut it off,” a brusque voice said. The din cut off abruptly, leaving my ears ringing with the memory of the aural torture. I looked up to find a stern, tall woman glare down at me. She wore dark sunglasses and the cruel badge of the Exorcists. (I say cruel because their insignia is a stake and the sealing sigil against ghosts and spirits. Then again, what did I expect from a group of people who called themselves monster-hunters?) “Well, look what we have here.”

“Two disgusting monsters,” another exorcist said. He was short and rotund, shaped like a poisonous berry. “And the kind lady who informed us of the death of one of our people. Miss, do you mind stepping out to come talk to us? You aren't in any trouble, we just need witness information.”

Hash did not turn back to glance at either of us. In the tones of a frightened, confused plebian, she warbled, “Thank you, Officer. I- I didn't know what to do… Should I have done anything better?”

The male exorcist gave her a patronising smile. “No, not at all. Thank you so much for informing us, and thank you even more for sticking around. I'm sure it must have been worrying to stay in a shop run by a _monster_.” He gave me a dirty glance, and I pursed my lips. 

What was I to do? The Exorcists had it in for us inhumans, especially immortals. Oh, they tolerated elves and closed one eye when it came to angels, but spirits? Vampires? Shifters? No, those were relegated to the title of monstrous scum. Because shifters had attacked their kind once, and us vampires needed blood to live, and the spirits were just too strange for them to trust. 

I sighed and put on my customer service face, a thin lipped smile that did not reach my eyes. Nothing I could do about it except protect that ghost, I supposed. “Hello, welcome to Smiley Mart. How may I help you today?”

The female exorcist sneered at me. “I'm Lieutenant Viccenia Carter of the Luxatian Exorcists. Me and my partner, Lieutenant Boxely, are here to investigate the death of one of our colleagues. Where were you in the past twenty four hours?” Her pen was poised on the paper, eager to take down anything incriminating I said.

“I went to work at seven in the morning, and I have not left the room since,” I said drily. Yes, it was a lie, but there was no way they could know. (Though there were security cameras, they could not detect me, the ghost, or the spirit, and my supervisor had not bothered investing in a magically enhanced detection system.) 

Lieutenant Carter nodded seriously and took it down. “And you, wight, where were you?”

The spirit gave her a cold glare. “I entered not long before you did, huntress. I needed to procure groceries, just as any being in this city does. Has some new law been passed against my kinden purchasing deep-fried chicken skin?” 

It was hilarious to watch the exorcists adjust their attitudes when confronted with an honest to goodness old-worlder. Almost every inhuman had adapted in some form or shape to modern life, and the exorcists had grown accustomed to dealing with inhumans who used local slang and wore T-shirts with local band insignias. Lieutenant Boxely straightened up, looming over the spirit, emanating authority. His partner folded her arms and glared down at him.

Hash's boyfriend was not bothered. He had started smiling, a faint grin that showed rows of shark's teeth. “Well? I might be immortal, but I doubt you two are, and if we stand here long enough, you two might be in danger of expiring,” he said slyly, inspecting his fingernails as though he had no care in the world.

It infuriated Carter, who took a step closer, so her shadow fell over him. “What's your name, wight? It seems you don't know how things work around here. One of our people is dead, and one of yours is to blame,” she said, snarling. “So you'd best watch your tongue, or you'll find out that your people aren't the scariest things around here.”

“My people?” The spirit laughed. “My people would do a far better job than _that_. Why, I think a baby with a gun could do a superior job.”

“You little-” Boxely grabbed the spirit and lifted him up by the collar. “I have half a mind to arrest you right here and now, for obstruction of justice.”

The spirit met my gaze and gave me an nigh-imperceptible jerk of his head. Casually, I glanced at where he was pointing. Ectoplasm, along with some peculiar black liquid, was pooling from under the broom closet. 

Crap. If the exorcists glanced that way- I did not want to think of what would happen. I had to distract them, keep their eyes on me and the spirit.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[pix4japan]

Vending Machines: From Pokémon Collaborations to Disaster Preparedness

Location: Gumyoji, Minami Ward, Yokohama, Japan Timestamp: 17:45・2024/04/09

Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter ISO 400 for 1/250 sec. at ƒ/2 Classic Negative film simulation

Japan boasts an impressive array of vending machines, numbering around 2.6 million as of December 2023. In the span of the last four decades, I've witnessed significant shifts in this vending landscape. Notably, there has been a decline in machines vending alcohol and cigarettes, paralleled by a rise in machines offering both hot and cold beverages from a single unit. Among these innovations, my personal favorite is the advent of machines equipped with QR code scanning capabilities, allowing seamless payment through an app on my smartphone.

In my photo, two distinct elements immediately captured my eye: the presence of a Pokémon character adorning the vending machine, and upon closer inspection, the machine's disaster response capabilities.

The Ito En beverage company has partnered with the popular Pokémon Go game for a joint promotion of the game and Ito En drinks. Beyond its promotional features, this vending machine also serves a crucial role in the local community as a disaster response vending machine. In the event of a severe earthquake and subsequent power outage, it can dispense drinks at no cost, providing essential relief to those affected by the crisis.

While I sincerely hope to never have to utilize the services of a disaster response vending machine, it's reassuring to know that some large corporations are stepping up to make their services and products accessible to society during times of crisis.

Check out my full write-up (a concise 2-minute read), which includes a glossary and references for further reading (https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20240409-vending).

[ynscrazylife]

han solo meeting mechanic!reader hcs

(in honor of it being may the fourth)

The Millenium Falcon is facing problems that not even Chewbacca can handle, being: old age. Usage. The ship is in need of a few new parts. Han is insistent that he can pilot just fine, but when the engine nearly craps out on them for the third time, Chewbacca refuses to let this go on. Han has to get new parts.

He searches around to find a highly skilled mechanic and he ends up walking into your place, where you sell parts and also fix ships, droids, whatever falls into your lap.

Han is upfront with what he needs, wasting no time. “Do you have it or not?” He asks you, already annoyed because travelling your planet burned up a lot of fuel.

You do not take kindly to his attitude and are quick to match wits with him. “I do, for a price. You got the money or not?” You respond with.

Han’s not used to this. It annoys him. And intrigues him. He dumps a bag of money on your desk and, after you inspect it, you give him a cheeky smile and skip off to get the parts.

Han’s first feelings of affection for you arrive when he sees you trying to find the right parts. You sit right next to the Millenium Falcon, tons of different parts at your side. You have this concentrated look on your face, eyebrows and nose scrunched up, that he finds amusing.

But, it’s taking a while. Han leans against his ship, tapping his foot. “You gonna be done this year, at least?” He asks.

The glare you give him almost has him laughing — with you, not at you, he promises. “Do you want your ship to keep working or not?” You retort.

He shuts up, content to keep on watching you. When you find the right parts, you install them. This, Han finds, is a sight to behold. You’re hot, there’s no denying it.

When you finish, you stand up, grease on your hands and forehead.

“Our business is done here, Mr. Solo,” you tell him.

“Now, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you walk around with that?” He says, smirking as he steps forward and uses his thumb to wipe the grease off.

This has you blushing a bit, which he takes pride in. He thanks you for his service and goes to board the Millenium Falcon, but hesitates.

Han turns around and asks you out. Right then and there.

He’s definitely been a handful to deal with, but you found you liked dealing with him. Once you got past your frustration. So, you accept.

You become Han’s new favorite mechanic.